#how do you always know which questions will slide a knife into my ribs?

[primewritessmut]

1, 2, 5, 12, 31, and 38

I totally was going to do this during my training but the forty gallons of perfume lady but me under for several days. So instead, here it is now.

Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Seeing the Other. I think regardless of what genre I find myself in, there's always a component of that. The joy and tragedy of being seen, fully seen, for who/what you are and being loved or hated (sometimes both!) accordingly.

I don't know if I really have any other comfort zones. But that's almost definitely me having a blind spot to my own writing.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

The You've Got Mail trope!

I think I've mentioned this before but I FUCKING LOVE that trope and I've been dying to give it an actual go. I haven't really been able to find a fandom or situation in which I can envision it going the way I want it to, yet. But someday. Maybe.

Or, you know, I'll just have to do it as an original work.

5. Share one of your strengths.

I'll be honest. I am in a place where I am not feeling my strengths at the moment. Everything feels like splinters underneath my fingernails all the time. Which I think is normal and valid for any type of artist. So for this question, I'm giving you a resounding fuck you.

I'm good at trust falling into a story. Just knowing that I'll figure it out as I go along and not feeling like I need to know everything (or really anything) before starting to write.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

An episode of what? My life? A show? A podcast?

I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're asking me about Loki since you and I scream at each other about that literally every day. And, while I am a S1:E1 enjoyer like yourself, my favorite (and most inspiring) episode is S2:E1. There's a barrier that falls down between Mobius and Loki in that episode, primarily because I think Loki starts to realize that, in all this absolutely Time Slipping bullshit, he keeps going back to Mobius. All the way up to LITERALLY colliding with him near the end. (TWICE.)

31. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I never intend to take liberties with canon. But most of the fandoms I write for are comic fandoms first and foremost (with some movies thrown in) and there's SO MANY goddamn comics. I'm not trying to spend all my writing time lining up all the bits of canon. I'd never write.

Also, there is not way in hell that I'm letting canon get in the way of a good story.

Basically, I try not to stray too far from "accepted" canon, but it's also not tying me down.

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

Uh… all of yours? When I’m yelling “YOU GET IT” at your comments.

Other than that, I have a terrible memory so specific reviews aren’t always something I can recall. However, there are two FLAVORS of review I enjoy a lot. One is the “I think I just discovered a new kink” review which is maybe a bit odd because I typically do not want people infodumping their kinks into my comment section. BUT to hit someone where they live like that? With something I’ve written? It’s pretty cool. Second, the ones that are essentially “wow this was disgusting, but I loved it anyway, I find it all reprehensible but I read to the end.” Sort of the opposite of the first type of comment, I think. That my work repelled someone and they still had to finish it? Deep emotions in both sides. That means I did something right.

x

[alecsalamander]

for @unloneliest, who wanted to learn more about wendy's daughter (and then of course for @agrabitches and @displayheartcode, who are always down for more witchhunters content)

edit: GOD i know you’re gonna be so mean that i didn’t include you @postsfromshayolghul the love of my life my raisin detra

enjoy a series of moments where lacey is absolutely cat's daughter instead

“Shut the fuck up,” Cat growls from the bed, voice sharper from the tubes and the medicine, and then from the pain when Wendy pinches the skin of his elbow. “Watch your language,” he warns, but his voice is the softness of defeat. His words like his hands retreat as soon as they emerge, as though he cannot bear to be touched right now, and without words or space to do so both Cat and the girl shift to allow him. She grins, pointed at the corners like a knife. Like Cat’s. “Yeah,” and whatever her smile is of Cat’s, the rest of her - smooth voice, soft eyes - is someone else entirely. “There’s a fucking kid here.”

“Will you do princess braids today?” At some point in his three hours of sleep a stuffed cat has been tucked beneath his arm, and there’s a nest of pillows at his feet that weren’t there before - Lacey is sitting on his legs, toes tapping against his stomach to wake him, and she’s already turned the volume of the cartoons to low. “Course I will.” He’d spent three weeks perfecting his technique through Youtube videos and a very accommodating mop, but had still been too scared he’d hurt her the first time he took a brush to her curls. “Did you paint my nails?” “Course I did,” she grins around a missing front tooth. Gold glitter, just like hers. Gold glitter, just like King Midas. She’s not his daughter but she may as well be, and he hesitates as he reaches for her with sparkling hands. (“Kaski san?” The question drips like honey from his grandmother’s lips; whose are you, she asks, which bloodline? “Mine,” he feels the growl long before he hears it, feels the way it scrapes at his chest like broken glass; Lacey squeezes her hand harder around his, presses harder against his legs. He can feel the butterfly beat of her heart through her ribs where she leans against his thigh. “She’s mine.”) In the moment of pause, he wonders if he’ll ever stop being terrified of turning her into someone like him - someone too busy ripping their very being to shreds to notice all the people they’ve caught with the back swing. “You’re such a brat,” he hides the shaking of his hands in the start of a six strand waterfall, and loses sight of his own edges in the gold of her hair. “Yeah,” she agrees, and turns up the volume on the show he hates most. “I get it from my dad. He’s sort of a brat, too.”

Cat looks at the barely seven year old in the back seat of his car that he’s lived and breathed for over three years now and tries to find the words to explain to either of them exactly how she’s not even a little bit his. That, more and more and more, he wishes that she even a little bit was. “So,” and he takes a breath to ground himself against the injustice of it all, to squeeze just a little bit of the frustration and desperation he feels out against the steering wheel so it doesn’t leak out in his voice. “When’s it gonna be?” She hiccoughs in that way that means she’s trying as hard as she possibly can not to cry, and she kicks the back of his seat. “When’s what gonna be?” “We’re making a new holiday,” he grins at her, feels the tightness in his chest loosen when she finally grins back. “Not-Father’s Day.” The thump thump thumps against the back of his seat take on a familiar, devastating rhythm. “Today,” she tells him seriously. “It’s today.”

“I taught you how to pick locks,” she doesn’t look up. He’d made enough noise in the kitchen to let her know he was home, but she doesn’t seem to care. “And this is what you’re doing?” Metal scrapes against metal like the slide of her lips, one against the other as she pops the final sound annoyingly. “Yep.” She’s fifteen now and too much like him for him to be able to sleep at night, too many of his angles and lines drawing complex battle plans between her and the world. All of his sharpness, but none of his anger. He leans against the open door frame of her bedroom and watches the rusting lock box open beneath her practiced fingers, revealing an unexpected treasure. It’s her diary from, well, from Before, and he doubts there’s anything in it beyond stickers and scribbles (but he’s been surprised before). “Why did you go through all that effort for a shitty notebook from second grade?” Sometimes he actually forgets whose child she is - she’s his, got his smirk and his stupid sense of humor and his fists up approach to life, but she’s not. She’s Wendy’s. When she stares at him like she does then, the same quietness in her jaw and question in her eyebrows, the reminder is like cold water down his spine. “Why did you teach a kid to pick locks?” He gets it. Because they can. “Because I teach you to get into trouble,” and he grins away horror of all the trouble she could get into, if she’s even anything like him, “and your dad teaches you to get out of it. It’s in the custody agreement.” Teal nails tickle his skin as she pats his cheek. “There is no custody agreement,” she reminds him gently. Carefully, with softness in her face and steel in her eyes. There is no custody, but there is agreement; she’s so much like him that it terrifies him who she might be if he couldn’t be around. “You guys aren’t even divorced.” We aren’t even married, he thinks his response should be, but it terrifies him even more to acknowledge the borrowed place in her orbit he occupies. Sometimes he feels so much at home that he forgets his entire life is on loan, accrued on a price he can never pay; sometimes, he thinks the reminder that they’re no longer forced to keep him might be how he loses them both.

[the-wayside]

Hey, I don't know if you knew already but just now the whole meaning of that temple scene changed for me. Someone said Vegas was sitting in the most wrong position whole time listening monks words but sits in the rightest position while making merit. But during that whole time he was grabbing pete's butt(the way Pete reacted,we can imagine how hard he pressed on) , first observing pete's reactions, than keeping his eyes closed, just at last moment he joins hands together and that bow. I don't know why they didn't make it clear(they showed it in bts),although we do see Vegas hands coming below from Pete, it was vague. Now that note says don't forget to do "THIS" together again to make sure to meet in next life. It now explains pete's frustration. And Macau saying my brother recently taken interest in dharma. I also wonder now the marks on pete's wrist and pain in his other hand which he hides from Vegas but Vegas grabs it tightly while dragging Pete inside making him sigh in pain two times also are Vegas deeds. The scene and vegas has become too creepy now. Like what the... That mf was devoted only once while doing such an unholy thing in a temple. But also at what level vegas interest in Pete has reached? Is this all for scaring Pete or toying with him? For the second time I want to punch him,but this time way too hard.

If Vegas is remotely worth his salt, which he is, he will have noticed that faith is important to Pete. That's why he did these outrageous things to him while he was in prayer. It's a violation of Pete's person and his faith; faith being the thing that gets Pete through his darkest hours (and will when he's taken, unless his faith fails him). Our relationship with our gods is pure and good and Vegas takes pleasure in sullying that.

I didn't know he was touching his backside while they were praying but I did notice that his hand came off much lower. I think if it had been shown it might have been a bit much and it doesn't really add to the scene whereas a simple hand on his back is much more sinister in its normalcy.

I think Vegas sees something in Pete; his interest and curiosity if not outright attraction. I don't think even Pete realizes he's attracted to Vegas. It's not like he was hit by a lightning bolt like Porsche was. Vegas is out here sliding into the DMs like hey baby, how you doin' but in murder vibes. His demeanor attracts Pete. His ability to apply violence in a careful way not to just immediately enact violence. Vegas is never going to be the type like Kinn to come out with fists swinging, he will much more likely slide a knife between your ribs and be done with you.

And you know what, it's attractive; power within violence and I think for someone like Pete who has always been beholden to violence, it feels...safe. Like there are rules and boundaries (he's basically the perfect sub); does and don'ts.

I wonder why Pete prays. Does he want forgiveness for his actions or does he pray to pray away something about himself? Like you said, we do see bruising on his wrist. We have also seen his bare naked ass but never his chest because arguably with their training their chest and upper thighs are probably the safest places to do...whatever it is you're going to do that needs hiding. I'm not saying he does. But if he does, it makes sense.

The long way around to answer your question is that Vegas likes to push people's buttons so that he can be the one who comes out on top. He likes to see people bend and quiver under him because he has to kneel not only to his father but his uncle and cousins and it's like a choke chain he can never get free of, so he ties the noose around someone else. Let them feel as he does. Let them struggle and writhe only to fall to the whims of someone else. It's perverse but also human.

Pete...he just happens to be someone who doesn't mind a length of rope. He has fully given himself to being a bodyguard in the main family household. He submits the moment Kinn calls him. What Vegas could do with someone like that. Someone already broken in a bit. All he has to do is shatter the facade. Except the moment he does that it's over because Pete is perfect for him but he is also incredibly loyal. More than anything Vegas wants someone to call his own. Who will choose him because no one else does. He will see how perfect Pete is and he will never have that unless Pete wants him to. Will he? Clearly but how much is Vegas going to have to suffer for it?

Like, they're both so interesting to me because they're both repulsed by each other in some way and yet they are going to fall so desperately in love despite that.

(also this is why no one plays with me; my stream of consciousness is so wildly bizarre and it's like saying what you want for dinner and getting 13 as the response XD)

[kiridarling]

𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

hanta sero | f!reader, horny!reader, alcohol, bartender!hanta, car sex, riding, half-assed confessions, praise. minors dni!

— 2.9k words

"Look at you, shaking on my cock. I fill you up that well, Baby?"

"Okay, that's enough."

You whine when your shot is plucked out of your hands, your fingers grabbing around nothing once it gets too far from your reach.

"N-No wai—hic!—'m not done yet 'n I paid for that."

You don't even have the sobriety to act enthusiastic, and the bartender raises a pierced eyebrow.

"The club's closing."

You click your tongue at that and groan, before pushing your upper body away from the bar to see that there's no one else here but you and the bartender, with proper lights on to illuminate that the place is a fucking mess.

"What? What happ—happened to partyin' all night long..." You drift, eyes narrowing to make out the floating words on the bartender's name tag, "...Hinata?"

"It's been all night. And it's Hanta," he says curtly, drying what you think might be your shot glass with a fluffy white towel. What a waste. "Another ex?"

"Fine." you nearly yell, dropping your forehead on the bar so hard it hurts—or it would have if you were sober. Which you are. Totally. "And yes. I'm thinking of buying this one dead roses. For shits 'n—hic—gigs."

"Creative," he snorts, sliding his forearms onto the table until they bump into yours from the opposing side. A glass is set next to your head. "C'mon. I'll give you time to sober up while I put everything away. Deal?"

"'N how long 's that gon' take," you struggle to sit up, body tilting to the right despite your best efforts to sit up straight. Hanta shrugs.

"Thirty minutes?"

"That's fine then," you nod, looking around the place through swollen eyes. "'S empty."

"It is. C'mon, drink," he nudges the glass of water your way. You scowl.

"'S gonna make me sober?"

"Yup," Hanta nods, popping the 'p.' You sigh before tossing your head back with another obnoxious groan.

"Then I don' want it," and you contemplate tossing the drink onto the floor, but you figure Hanta wouldn't like that very much. You opt for a pout instead.

"Well, you need it. You're fucked," he says kindly, before picking up the cup full of water and dropping it under your nose. "Now drink."

You sigh, already feeling the sobriety kicking in as you grab your glass by the waist. "You're so fucking difficult."

"Sobriety is good," the bartender offers. You snort.

"Sobriety is fucking terrible," you reply, already hating that it's already kicking in after a few sips. "People come to the club to get fucked. No way I have to leave sober."

"Sober enough to get home," Hanta edits with a nod. It's tempting to throw your heel at his face.

"Sober enough to hate life again," You grouse with narrowed eyes. Hanta shrugs.

"And once you spend a few days hating life, suddenly it doesn't seem so bad," he smiles cheekily before turning his back to you to wash whatever, and you roll your eyes at his optimism.

You stare at him, lips twisted in a disrespectful confusion, and definitely not admiring how the muscles of his back roll under that tight black shirt while he washes the dishes. How can someone look sexy washing the dishes, one may ask, and the answer is—you can't. Therefore, you wholly and completely blame the alcohol for the flush in your cheeks as you pat your back pockets for your wallet so you can pay for a taxi and stumble home to deal with the hangover at work tomorrow.

"You good?" He raises a pierced eyebrow, turning around when you fail to speak. You grimace.

"...My wallet's missing."

Hanta's entire body sags, the rag in his hand hitting the counter as he gives you a look of pure and utter exasperation.

"You're kidding me."

"I..." you pat your butt, just to check and, "Yeah. It's fucking gone."

The noirette runs a heavy hand over his face, before rubbing at the corner of his eyes with a faint yawn. "Fine, then. I can take you home, but you have to wait until I'm done closing."

"Does that mean I can have another drink?" You ask slyly, inching so close your gut digs into the bar in question. Hanta gives you a look of near-disgust.

"No."

You pout, though you don't move away. He's close enough that he's starting to blur but not aggressively close. You notice the faint smattering of freckles against his cheeks, eyes flickering to Hanta's lips as a pink tongue darts to gloss them over.

"You're not bad up close, you know," you breathe, running a finger up the visible vein up his arm. Hanta's eyes dilate but he moves away, and you huff, returning to your seat with a pout at the brush-off.

"You're no fun," you grumble, tucking your hands under your chin. Hanta goes back to wiping down the bar with a chuckle.

"It's against policy," is all he grunts. You roll your eyes.

"Yeah well, your policy fucking sucks," your tongue curls to spit vitriol in a way you didn't even know you could. Hanta's eyebrows raise in amusement at your petulance. "And what's the fucking policy? Don't get laid?"

"No, it's don't take advantage of tipsy customers," he nearly barks with a snort.

"I'm barely tipsy," you offer. Hanta freezes to look you up and down.

"...Sure." You growl.

"I'm not!"

"Well. This is me."

Hanta cocks an eyebrow and the car rumbles to a stop with a jingle of his key in the ignition. His eyes follow yours to the front door. The car ride was pleasantly silent—pleasantly, excluding the weighty air, you couldn't cut with a steak knife that forces your thighs to rub together.

"This is you?"

"Yup."

You pop the 'p' and make no move to get out; he doesn't unlock the door.

"It's a nice place."

"Thanks," you smile, and you have half a mind to invite him inside. You don't, though—you shouldn't. Because what do you think will happen?

"Um...so I guess this is goodbye. I guess." His fingers drum against the leather of his steering wheel, and your eyes drift to his hands.

"Yeah," you eye the purse sat in your lap. "Yeah, right."

He unlocks the door and your grip around your purse tightens as you reach for the door handle. "Thanks, agai—"

"Uh, hold on, actually."

The doors lock. You fight a smile.

And he looks conflicted—drumming fingers changing from a random tap to an anxious beat, teeth digging into the inside of his cheek, and eyes darting everywhere but at you. You sit your elbows on the armrest console.

"Yes?"

"Um, okay," he huffs through his nose, dimples popping in a borderline acrid grin. "What if—what if I wanted to break the policy?"

You feign a gasp, placing a dramatic hand over your heart in sheer horror. "What? Not the policy!"

"Yeah, yeah okay," Hanta snorts, grabbing you by the back of the neck and grinning when you nearly squeal. "C'mere—I want to kiss you."

And, well. Who are you to deny such an offer?

Hanta tastes like gin. You wonder if he's allowed to drink on the job, but it's only a fleeting thought because he's tilting his head and moaning into your mouth, and you find yourself pushing back eagerly.

He's sinfully good with his lips, tongue, whatever—or maybe it's the alcohol. But either way, his lips are plush enough to enjoy but firm enough to dominate, and you melt into the seat as he pulls away and rasps:

"How're you feeling, Pretty?"

Is it just hot in here, or is it just you?

"Um," you flush in seeing his smug grin while he patiently waits for your answer, and it's aggravating. "Good—I'm feeling good."

The noirette hums, eyes dropping to your lips.

"Want to try again?"

You nod, "Yes please."

Hanta's chest rumbles and he's grinning against your lips. "Saying please already? Good girl."

When he presses his lips to yours again, it's with much more weight than the first kiss, and it nearly knocks you into the window. He trails hot kisses down the column of your neck, making you hiss when he bites right under your ear.

The next thing you know, Hanta's unbuckling his seatbelt and then yours, before huffing against your lips: "Backseat."

The moment you two squeeze between both seats, Hanta's pulling you into his lap, his hands taking possession of your waist as if they've always belonged there. As he sucks hickeys into your collarbone, he lifts an eyebrow in question as he slides his hands to the zipper of your dress. "Can I?"

You bite your lip and nod, hips rolling slowly. Hanta hisses and tightens his grip around your waist as he slowly pulls down the zipper, the sound of sliding metal bouncing off the doors of the heated car.

"Just as perfect as I thought they'd be," He groans, chuckling slightly when you berate him for being a pervert—not as if it matters now, with the top of your dress sliding down your arms and under your bra. His hips flex as yours pick up the pace, hiding a smile at the feeling of his hard cock growing against your inner thigh. Hanta shucks your dress to your waist with two big hands, keeping them at your ribs.

"Fuck—keep grinding on me, just like that baby," his eyes drop to watch your hips roll before he's recklessly shoving your bra straps down your shoulders. "You know, I always wondered how you dealt with those assholes. I wouldn't if you were mine."

"Is this your cheesy way of asking me out?" You huff a giggle, and Hanta's dimples pop.

"If you'll take it."

"Make me cum, first," you offer, hips stuttering when he tweaks a nipple. "And then take me on a date."

Hanta snorts, lips returning to your neck. "Aye aye, Cap'n."

You slap him across the chest and Hanta takes the brunt of it with a smile, slowly sliding a hand up your inner thigh that you didn't feel until right now.

He thumbs the hem of your panties in question. You nod without and he bites a lip as he pulls the flimsy thing to the side and slides a calloused finger into your throbbing cunt.

"So fucking wet, holy shit," he breathes against your neck. You rest a hand on the fogging window with a sigh, and pumps his finger slowly—whether it's to get you used to the feeling or to tease, you aren't quite sure.

"You can add another."

"I—" Hanta shudders, nails digging into the meat of your hips. "Okay. Yeah, okay."

As he pushes a second finger in with the first, you two hiss in unison, nails digging hot red lines into his muscled shoulders. Your walls bend around him easily, squeezing his digits with such a firmness it has the poor guy fantasizing what you'll feel like wrapped around his cock. He whimpers behind a bitten lip at the thought, thumb ghosting your clit with a determination to make you feel good.

"You're taking my fingers so well, Baby," he says, groaning when your hips gain a life of their own. Hanta wheezes a laugh at your desperation, strung tight from arousal. "What? Need me to go faster?"

You nod your head, whimpering a meek yes that would be embarrassing if you weren't so worked up. Hanta shakes his head with a low chuckle.

"Ask nicely, Pretty."

"Please!" You practically fling your upper body over his, "I wan—I nee—"

"What's that, my needy baby?" Hanta purrs behind a bitten lip, struggling to keep your hips from bucking because you just look so good. You know his hand has got to be cramping from the angle he fingers you at, but you figure that it doesn't matter—especially when he adds a third, to your pleasant surprise.

"Fuck!" You keen, body curling along with his fingers. Hanta groans as you contract around him and digs his teeth into the junction of your neck, making you gasp along with the painful pleasure.

"You need to fuck me like, right now," you pant, and it's clear you don't have to tell the noirette twice—his slick-soaked fingers rocket to his fly, pulling his cock out with suck a speed it would be worrying if you weren't equally desperate.

"Yes Ma'am," he smiles and you snort, rolling your eyes—though the light mood dies once the head of his cock kisses your entrance. Suddenly, you're not floating anymore but sat in Hanta's heated lap, making all of this feel so much more real—the fogged windows, the skin on skin, the heavy petting. You can't believe you've waited this long, but at the same time, surprised this didn't happen sooner.

"Ready?" You ask, knees digging into leather as you straddle his lap. Hanta's chest shudders.

"Ready when you are."

You roll your eyes. What a gentleman.

With that, you press against him with a little more insistence and he pops the head of his cock in with a huff, muscled chest shuddering as you force yourself down until you hit the base.

"Shit," Hanta wheezes, grip tightening around your waist. He keeps you there—forces your lungs to work hard around his cock—and you quiver around him like a leaf in the wind.

"Look at you," Hanta coos like you're the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen. "Shaking on my cock. I fill you up that well, Baby?"

"Y-Yeah, I—" your throat contracts as you shift, inevitably nestling him deeper and pushing a quiet eep from your throat. It's clear Hanta's getting impatient, hips wiggling as a hot hand reaches for your hands to pin them behind your back. As he holds you at a 45-degree angle, to the point where you're slumped against the seat in front of you, the hand on your waist lifts before dropping you down again.

"Fuck!" You scream, thighs flexing as his hips pick up the pace fairly quickly. The noirette chuckles, tongue peeking in concentration as sweat starts to soak his hair to his forehead.

"Sorry," he pants, though he doesn't really sound that sorry, eyes fixated on where you're connected. "Did you say something? Can't really hear you over all the moaning."

You snarl at that, though it's hard to when he holds you at such an angle. You have half a mind to shut the fuck up, acknowledging that technically, you're outside—but another part of you thinks fuck it, you're forced to hear your neighbors go at it like bunnies at least once a week. They can suffer this one time, right?

"Shit—squeezing me so tight," Hanta grunts under his breath, eyebrows folding in ecstasy. "You trying to make me cum early, sweetheart?"

You whimper and shake your head as Hanta chuckles at how useless you are, as limp as a ragdoll while you take all of him so well. So, so well.

His thumb returns to your clit, and you both moan—you from the stimulation, he when you tighten around him. Hanta adjusts so you're properly sat in his lap again, his hot skin pressed to yours before his palm cracks against your ass with the one order, "Ride it."

Your thighs quiver pathetically as you lift yourself up on his cock, your throat tightening in a muffled squeal when his head rams into your cervix. You've never considered yourself to be a screamer but you suppose there are exceptions, and you consider getting properly fucked by your bartender in a bartender's backseat is a better excuse than any.

"Fuck—fuck just like that, fucking take it," Hanta's grunts are only semi-coherent as his hips buck in time with yours, the flush on his face growing down to his neck with the tight grip on your waist. There isn't much you can do but take it—and the fact that he gives you no wiggle room to squirm away gets you more excited than you feel it should.

"Where—" he pants, the car rocking with your movement as he latches a hand onto the back of the driver's seat. "W-where do you want me to...?"

"Inside," you whimper without a second thought. "I-Inside, please I nee—"

"I gotcha," Hanta's movements slow, opting for a smoother glide instead, and you find that the change in pace pushes you closer to the edge—and as does the thumb on your clit, which is slowly picking up the pace. "You gonna cum, Baby?"

You nod, but it earns you a spank on the ass, "Words, pretty girl."

"Y-Yeah, just—" He rolls your hips—and hard—and that final grind sends you flying off the edge, eyes skewing as you gasp his name. Hanta groans at the sight of you coming undone—the sight of you coming undone for him—and that's enough to make him curse under his breath before his hips stutter twice, and he's filling you with a groan.

"C'mere," he says, and you're not even sure he's done coming as he scrambles to pull you forward via your condensed top (which is between your upper and lower half) to pull you into a spit fueled kiss. It's messy and you're both exhausted, all tongue and spit, but it gets your blood boiling nevertheless. You're the first to pull away.

"Wanna come in for a drink?" You ask, knowing it's an invitation to come clean up and knock the fuck out together. Luckily, Hanta gets the memo, with his flushed face and pierced eyebrow.

"I thought you'd never ask."

[gotnofucks]

Golden Cage

Pairing: soft!dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: You asked Andy to take your case and he asked for you to give yourself to him as payment. (18+ ONLY!!)

Words: 6.3k (lmao sorry)

WARNINGS: dub con, blackmail, coercion, possessive behavior, bad smut, slight angst. SPOILERS FOR DEFENDING JACOB!

A/N: Kinda blurred boundaries here.

MASTERLIST

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You needed more concealer or the only way you’d be going out in public would be with turtlenecks. Andy loved to leave marks on your neck and the rest of the body, and he hated you covering them up. The moment you would come back, the first thing he does is drag you to the bathroom to wipe the makeup off and bare your bruises to his eyes. They were marks of his ownership over you, and they reminded you both of the truth: You belonged to him.

Your life took a turn nearly a year ago when your brother was accused of third-degree murder of his colleague. The case was pretty much a public trial and the scandal rocked your world. Not only did your brother get arrested, but you lost your job too by means of association. You knew your brother was innocent, he would never hurt a fly let alone a human being. But try as you might, you couldn’t get a lawyer to represent him. That’s when Andrew Barber stepped into your life.

Having left prosecution and taking up defense cases, Andy and you met in the police station where you had gone for some information. You were filling a form talking to an aid, the only one who seemed to sympathize with you when Andy walked in. The lady had pointed at him and said, “If anyone could have won a case like yours, it would be him. As an ADA, Andrew Barber never lost a case and he carried that record as a defense lawyer too. But he’s very selective in his cases and well…expensive too”.

You had looked up and followed her gaze and words, a tiny spark of hope lighting in you. After you had hastily filled your form, you waited outside the station hoping you could catch Andy leaving and plead your case to him. When he came out, you waited until he reached his car to approach him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barber?”, You said, twisting your fingers in the hem of your shirt. He turned to look at you in question.

“Yes?”

“Uh, my name is Y/n Y/l/n.” You said and Andy’s eye flashed with recognition of your last name.

“How can I help you Miss Y/l/n?” His voice had a tinge of pity because he knew what you were going through. He’d been through it himself and lost everything in that battle.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of my brother’s case Mr. Barber. I need all the help I can get. He’s innocent. I know he is innocent! Would you please help me?” You were ready to leave your dignity and kneel in front of him if you had to. Your brother was your whole world and you were ready to sacrifice everything for him.

Andy sighed. He looked at you silently before reaching into his pocket and handing you his card.

“Make an appointment for tomorrow, okay? I’ll see what I can do, but no promises. Bring all the files you have on the case and anything else that you think might be of help.”

You’d arrived at the appointment ladened with a huge box of papers. You were surprised when you were told to meet Andy at his house and not his office, but you saw no reason to complain. His house was huge and cozy, but recent changes were visible. Empty bolts on the wall showed recently removed pictures and you quickly recalled the story about the Barber’s scandal you’d read on the net last night. It was a nasty business and you knew deep in your bones that Andy could help you and your brother because he had personal experience with something like this.

“Would you like a drink?”, Andy asked you, taking a seat across from you in his kitchen.

“Just some water please”, You answered, nervously looking at him. He had forgone his business formal inside his home and was wearing a button up with dark jeans. He handed you a glass of water and then motioned to the files in front of you.

“May I?” He asked and you nodded, sliding them over to him and sipped your water.

Andy looked over the papers for quite a long time, his brow furrows. He took out a small notepad and scribbled something on it between his reading, one finger tracing his beard. You looked at him anxiously, trying to decipher his reaction. If you could convince him to take the case, then all hope was not lost for your brother.

After going home last night you had read everything you could about Andrew Barber, and pity had swelled in your heart for him like an ocean. This brave man had lost more than his good name in the society. His ex-wife Laurie was in prison in the attempted murder of their 15-year-old son Jacob, who was still recovering from the injuries inflicted to him by his mother. How Andy could still manage a normal life with work was a wonder. He was only in his 30s to have gone through something so traumatic and you hoped that once this case was over, you could rise from the ashes like him.

After taking a good look at the papers, Andy finally put them down and leaned back on his chair, folding his arms against his chest. You looked at him nervously, chewing on your lip as you waited for him to speak. His gaze lingered for a moment on your lips before meeting your eyes.

“May I please call you Y/n?” He asked and you nodded. “Y/n, I wouldn’t say that this is an easy case. You know it isn’t. Evidence is heavily stacked against your brother.”

“But?”

“But it’s not completely hopeless either. There are loopholes, a lot of them in fact. A lot of evidence is mostly circumstantial, and if we can find some experts to recreate the murder scene digitally, we might be able to prove that your brother is innocent. The stab wound is near the heart, a difficult place to lodge the knife in since you need to get through the rib cage. The murder weapon was quite deep inside the body, meaning a lot of force has been used. I’ve seen your brother’s pictures and just read his reports.” Andy smiled a little. “He certainly doesn’t look like someone strong enough to make this kill wound, especially since there are signs of struggle which would make it even more difficult.”

You looked at him with your mouth parted, eyes wide and hoping. Your heart was beating widely in your chest and you wet your lips before speaking.

“So, there is a chance he will get off?”, You asked.

“I think if we play the right strategy and work things out, there is a chance he might get off.”

You almost lunged across the table and hugged the man. Unbidden, tears stinged your eyes and you sniffled, trying to keep them from rolling down your cheeks. Andy got up and walked around to your side before handing you a tissue. You dabbed your eyes and looked at him with gratitude in your eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”, you sobbed. He patted your back until you calmed down and then sat down beside you. It was only then that another thought hit you. Lawyers like Andy Barber didn’t come cheap. You were so focused on helping your brother you had no idea how you’d pay what you were sure would be thousands of dollars to him.

“Mr. Barber, about the-” You started to say but he cut you off by raising a hand.

“Call me Andy, we’ll be spending lot of time together solving this one. And about payment, don’t worry. I know how difficult a position you are in right now. We can talk money later, after things are a little more sorted.” His words were soft, and you immediately protested.

“I can’t do that. I can’t take advantage of your kindness like that. I’ll write you a cheque, though the next one may take a while. Please, I’ll get the money.” Now that there was a chance to get your brother out, you’ll do anything. You’ll take another job, sell your crappy apartment and car too if you had to. Anything to get your baby brother back under your roof, safe and sound.

“Please Y/n, I insist. We can talk payments later. Right now, we should focus on your brother.” You looked at Andy and murmured a small thanks and he asked you what you’d like for lunch so you can discuss the case over it.

And so, it went. Almost every day after work, you sped down to Andy’s house straight and talked over the case. The scheduled visit with your brother went well and Andy was sure the experts he had hired could give conclusive evidence to how your brother’s body type didn’t match that of the murderer. Over the next few weeks, you became consumed in this battle for justice, and every second of the day you thanked your lucky stars for Andy who became your rock. He always knew just the right thing to say, and more often he was like a friend who heard you out. When things got too difficult and you felt like you were being crushed under the pressure, he would comfort you by ways of a hot mug of coco.

The case progressed smoothly and by the time Andy made the closing arguments, you were sure your brother will be coming home with you. Everyone was right, Andrew Barber was a court room wizard and you saw him in action. The night that your brother came back, you invited Andy and Jacob to dinner. You saw Jacob frequently when you were at the Barber’s and you got along with him nicely. It hurt you to know that a boy so young had to deal with so much in his life, but he still smiled and went on with his life.

Throughout the dinner, your brother thanked Andy incessantly, almost bowing down. There was laughter under your roof the likes of which you didn’t know would ever come back. After eating, your brother and Jacob departed to play some video games and you held Andy back.

“Can we talk?”, you asked him and motioned him away from the living room to the small room you used as a study. He nodded and followed you, closing the door behind you.

“Everything okay?” He asked

“Andy, I can’t thank you enough for what you have done for me. You’ve been so kind and nice to me I feel completely indebted to you. I know you’ve been skirting around the money issue, but please, you need to let me pay you.” It was true. Anytime you brought up the topic of his payment he had changed the subject. You thought it had to do with the fact that your relationship was more than just attorney-client and more like friends and it made him uncomfortable to take money from you.

“I don’t want your money, Y/n”, Andy said firmly.

“Why the hell not? I don’t want your charity Andy. You’re my friend, and you helped me get back everything I thought I would lose. I don’t think I can ever repay you for your kindness, and money is the least I can do. Please”

Andy looked at you for moment before moving to stand right in front of you.

“I don’t want your money.” He repeated. “But you can repay me a different way.”

You looked at him speechlessly, not following. He raised a hand and gently moved a strand of your hair behind your ears.

“Andy…” You whispered.

“I don’t want your money. I want you.” He said and placed his hands on your waist, bringing you closer. Your heart beat a furious rhythm against your chest, and you forgot how to breath for a moment.

“I – what? I don’t understand” You said, trying to move away from him but he would let up. His hands tightened around you and kept you in place.

“I want you. I want you to be mine.” He said and your eyes widened. You pushed against his chest, needing to create some distance between you. You had not seen this coming. Never had you felt any untoward advances from him, he never touched you wrong. Hell, he didn’t even hug you for an unnecessary amount of time. Your relationship was the very definition of platonic. At least, that’s what you thought.

“Andy, what’s wrong with you. I thought we were friends. Please, let me go.” You said and surprisingly he released you and walked back a couple steps.

“We are friends, but I want more than that. I have wanted that for months, but I didn’t say because you had enough on your plate. I don’t want you going back to your house at night when you visit me. I want you under my roof, inside my bed and under me. Look how good you’re with Jacob too. We will be great together.”

You gaped at him and stumbled to a chair and sat down.

“I will not be your personal whore, Andy Barber!” You sneered at him and he started, shaking his head. He came and knelt before your feet, taking your hands in his.

“That’s not what I said at all. I would never do that to you.” He vehemently disagreed. “I want someone to love and cherish, I want a family. I know you can give it to me.”

You tried to jerk your hands out of his, but he held them fast.

“I’m sorry about how this is going. I wasn’t planning on talking about this tonight. But you forced my hand. I want you Y/n, and I will have you. Even if I had asked you out, I know you would have said no because you want to work and provide for your brother. Isn’t that true?” He asked.

He was right. You didn’t plan on dating anyone, anytime soon. You had to focus on your career and there was no place for a man in your life no matter how nice he was.

“You said I gave you back your life. You said you want to repay me. This is what I want. You.” He pressed a kiss on your hands and looked intently in your eyes.

“And what if that’s something I don’t want?” You asked.

Andy’s eyes darkened and he glared at you. He had spent months working tirelessly on your brother’s case and been nothing but a gentleman. He didn’t see any reason why you shouldn’t want him.

“In that case, I’ll make you want me.” He said. “I will never do anything to hurt you, trust me. But I can create situations where the only person who can help you will be me. You’ll run right back into my arms. I – I don’t want to do anything bad. I just want you. Be mine.”

He didn’t say it explicitly, but you got his meaning loud and clear. He’s an influential person, he could do any number of things to force your hand. He had been kind to you till now, but if you gave him reason to be cruel, he will be. This man could very well take away everything he gave you and you both knew that.

Later that night after Andy and Jacob left, you told your brother you want to move in with Andy. He was shocked by the suddenness of the news and you fed him some cock and bull story about falling for each other during the trial and not wanting to keep it a secret now that he was out of prison. Your brother was happy for you, telling you that he’s glad you’ve found someone like Andy who would always protect you. You agreed, Andy would always protect you from the world. But there was no one who could protect you from him.

A week later you moved into Andy’s house. Jacob greeted you at the door and took your stuff inside, apologizing that he couldn’t stay long as he’s spending the weekend at a friend’s. Your heart sank at the thought of being alone with Andy for the next two days. You hadn’t spoken much since he all but forced you to into living with him. You saw Andy in the kitchen, setting up the table and wiping the counters. He painted an utterly domestic figure, walking barefoot in his sweats and T-shirt. Seeing you arrive he smiled and moved closer to kiss your cheek and hug you.

“Welcome home, sweetheart”, He whispered in your ear, holding you close and pressing his forehead to yours. Your hands lay limp at your side and you tried to give a small smile and not push back. You heard an awkward cough from behind you and realized Jacob was fake gagging and giving his father a cheeky grin.

“Can you two like, not do this when I’m here?”, He teased and earned a playful swat from his father.

“You get out of here and don’t cause too much trouble.”, Andy said, and Jacob gave a thumbs up and wink to you both and hurried out. You heard the door shut and your hands became sweaty now that you were alone with Andy after a week. No sooner had Jacob departed that Andy’s hands cupped your face and he pressed a searing kiss on your lips. He put a hand behind your head and coaxed your mouth open, deepening the kiss and moaning. You put your hands around his wrists, closing your eyes.

“Come on, kiss me back like a good honey.” Andy said and you forced yourself to respond. His kisses were like molten fire, all passion and heat that lay over you like a warm blanket. Pulling away, Andy kissed your forehead and eyelids and then just looked at you. His eyes were blown wide and dark, his lips red and moist. You gulped as he kept his eyes on you, drinking in your sight in his arms. He hadn’t touched you that night at your place. Didn’t even kiss you. But now that you were here all alone with him, under his roof…you suppressed a shudder.

“I’m so glad you’re finally here. Come, dinner’s ready.” He led you over to the table and pulled out a chair for you. He sat beside you and filled your plate with your favorite dishes. You thanked him, eating quietly, and wondering what would happen to you tonight. Going by the way Andy’s hand was creeping up on your thigh, you knew you were in for a long night. Andy talked throughout dinner about his day and cranky clients. He shared things like a husband would to his wife and you resisted the urge to bolt out of his house. You made small noises of acknowledgment, too nervous to actually speak. There was much you wanted to ask about how things will progress from now.

“I’ve emptied one side of the closet. You can unpack tomorrow and then we can go shopping for whatever else you might need. We’ll ask Jake to click some pictures to hang around too. The walls are so bare now. Maybe a family portrait in the hall above?”

Your fork clattered to your plate as you heard him talk and you stared at him in disbelief. You’d been hear barely an hour and he was planning your life in a way that gave you chills. With every word he spoke, every plan he had, you felt like he added another bar to your prison.

“Andy, I think I should stay in another room.”, You said softly, and Andy frowned.

“Like hell you’ll stay in another room. You’ll stay with me, sleep in my bed right in my arms. You’re mine now, I think I made it very clear?”

You bit your lip and nervously played with your fingers, trying not to anger him.

“What about Jacob? Would he like it, me staying in your room? I mean, his mother lived there not too long ago and...” You stopped when Andy grabbed your chin and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“You just saw Jake. Did you see any hesitance in him when he welcomed you in? I’d already spoken to him anyway. He has no love for the woman who almost pushed him through death’s door. He likes you and he’s happy for me.”

You nodded and finished the rest of your dinner in silence. You offered to do the dishes, but Andy asked you to relax and see about the place while he tidied up. You wandered up the stairs, a part of house you had not been to before. You opened the first door on the left and found a messy room with a big screen and video games. Closing the door, you ventured forward and opened the door towards the end. This would most probably be your room. The bed was huge, and you moved inside to explore. There was an attached bathroom and a massive walk in closet where you could see Andy had cleared space for you. You sat on the bed and opened the first drawer in the bedside cabinet, finding medicine and phone charger. Opening the second, you found it scattered with stationary and other bits and bots. However, what caught your eye was the box of condom tucked in the back. You took it out and gulped in fear.

“I didn’t think you’d want a baby just right now.”, Andy said from the doorway, startling you. You turned to him and set the box down, moving backward subconsciously as he came towards you and shut the door behind him. He stood in front of you and cupped your jaw, stroking gently.

“You’re so beautiful, every time I look at you my heart stops.”, He whispered, then he bent down and kissed you deeply, his tongue in your mouth and hands roaming your sides. You gasped, your own hands fisting his t-shirt. Holding you around the waist, Andy pushed you back in the middle of the bed, climbing over you and starting to unbutton your shirt. You quickly held his hands, trembling slightly. He looked at you with that dark look in his eyes and you slowly retracted your hands and allowed him to strip you of your shirt. He sucked in a breath, pure worship in his eyes as he took in your shirtless body and reached behind you to unclasp your bra. His hands glided over your collarbones and breasts, gentle in their exploring and squeezed. You moaned despite yourself. You didn’t expect him to be this good to you. You thought he would ravish you like an animal in heat.

Andy kissed you then, one hand on your hip, the other beside your head holding his weight. You responded without really meaning to, getting lost in the heat of him. His smell smothered you until you could taste it on your tongue, and you let out a groan of pure satisfaction as he sucked a hickey into the juncture of your neck. Leaving a searing line of fire with his lips, he whispered in your ear.

“I will bath your body with my tongue until I own each and every part of you. I will mark you as mine and claim you completely. When this night is over, you will crave me with a frenzy that only my touch can quench. I’ll not just make you want me; I’ll make you thirst for me. You’ll beg me to touch you, to mark you and to fill you up.”

His words were a promise and you clenched your thighs in anticipation. That night, he proceeded to take you as his. His laved your body with his tongue, suckling, biting, and leaving marks. Your nipples were wet and sore from his attention, your core drenched and dripping. He made you cum first with his mouth, slurping on you, making you tremble and shout. Then he stretched you around his fingers, moaning dirty fantasies into your mouth while you shook under him. You remember him impaling you on his cock, remember feeling every vein of him even through the condom, you felt him stretching you wider than ever before and you cuming hard enough to see stars. He claimed your body in ways you didn’t think was possible, and you woke up the next day with bruises on parts you didn’t even know could bruise.

Your life with Andy was not unpleasant as such, but it was a golden cage. He got you what you wanted, he never stopped you from working or force you into something you didn’t want to do. You told him you didn’t want to try anal sex and he never pushed for it. You told him you missed your study and he converted a room into a library for you. In all aspects, he was the dream guy any woman could want. Only, you never had the option to make this choice. It was thrust upon you and you had to live it no matter what.

The only thing Andy insisted on was your loyalty and time. He told you in no uncertain terms that if he so much as smelled another man’s cologne on you, he’ll tie you up and edge you until you remembered who you belonged to. You didn’t think he was serious until one night Andy lost his cool after watching you hug a colleague who dropped you home. You ended up tied spread eagle on the bed, crying tears of frustration as he edged you with his mouth and a vibrator for hours. It wasn’t until you sobbed out, “I’m yours!” that he let you cum. The other thing he wanted was your time. He never interrupted your work, but if you’re home, he is the only thing that should be on your mind. He kept you close, always an arm on your waist or you in his lap. His possessiveness knew no bounds and Jacob often joked that he’d need a sawing machine to separate you.

You couldn’t say you hated Andy because you didn’t. Even when he had first forced you into a relationship, you didn’t hate him. He’d been a good friend to you and a great support. He had done too much for you to ever hate him, as you were reminded every time you saw your brother. But you couldn’t say you loved him either. The very fact that if you had a choice you wouldn’t be here gnawed at you. While you laughed with Andy when you saw movies or sighed in pleasure when he put those hands on you, you couldn’t bring yourself to love him. You cared for him, you loved to wake up with his face between your thighs or with your face between his. You loved it when you sat as a family to play scrabble and you and Jake teamed up to beat Andy. You loved it when he tickled you into submission or when you gave him a massage after a tough day at work. But you didn’t love him.

So, it was with trepidation that you looked at the ring you found in his underwear drawer. Settled into a small velvet box, it was a silver band with diamonds lining it. Your hand shook slightly, wondering what you’ll do once he asks you the question you’d been dreading for months now. Did you even have the choice to say no? Did you want to say no? You put the box back where you’d found it and went through your day acting like nothing happened. The next few days you lived in anticipation, wondering every time Andy went into the closet if this would be it. But the ring stayed where it was and with each passing day you became as annoyed as you became relieved.

“Come here, sweetheart”, he said to you one night, holding out his hand and pulling you in his lap on the bed. You snuggled against his chest, you head on his shoulder and arms around him. He stroked your back, placing a kiss on your head as he rocked you slowly.

“Do you want to go back to your brother’s house?” He asked softly and you pulled away to look at him with puzzled eyes.

“What?”

“If you want, you can go back to living with him.”

Your heart started pounding in your chest, breath coming out in stuttered gasps. You didn’t know why but tears filled your eyes as you looked at him in utter disbelief.

“You want me to go away?” Your voice was small, broken like that of a kicked puppy. Andy pulled you tight into himself, holding you close while he cooed at you and shushed.

“No, no baby. I never want you to go away. I just feel like you want to go away.” He said and you buried your head in his neck, not understanding why you weren’t leaping across the room and packing your stuff. This is what you always wanted, your freedom. And now when it was being put on a platter for you, you clung to your prison and your captor.

“I – I don’t know what I want”, you sobbed helplessly, and Andy held you as you cried. He patted your head and pulled your face up to look into your eyes.

“While I am deranged enough to keep you with me like this, even I won’t force you into a marriage. I know you saw the ring, and I know you’ve been withdrawn ever since. I love you, more than anything in the world. You know that, and I’m pretty sure everyone who sees us knows that. Which is exactly why I am willing to set you free. I may be a bad person, but I won’t be a monster. I am giving you the choice you have always wanted. You can go if you want, I won’t stop you. I will not hold anything over you. I want you to be happy, and if that is away from here, away from me, so be it. I won’t be the person holding your happiness at bay.” He said.

You remained silent and after a while Andy set you down on the bed and got up.

“Think about it, it is your choice this time.” He kissed your head and left the room. That was the first night in over a year you’d spent alone, and you cried yourself into a restless sleep, reaching out for the warm body not there. You woke up with eyes sealed shut by dried tears and your whole body aching. The sun was high in the sky meaning you slept well past noon. You walked downstairs into the kitchen, looking around for Andy. You needed to see him, touch him. You needed assurance that he was still there and hadn’t left you. You found Jacob working on his assignment and joined him at the table.

“Good afternoon”, he teased with a smile. Then he looked at your face and cringed. “Jeez, you look sick. Can I get you something? You want me to call dad?”

“I’m fine, just tired. Where is Andy?”, you asked with a raspy voice and gratefully accepted water from Jacob.

“He left early, I think. Left a note on the fridge saying he’ll be back later.” Seeing your face fall, Jacob got up and patted your arm. “You sit here while I get you some coffee. You look like you really need it.”

You nodded and tried not to sniffle. Here was a boy who felt like your own son despite you being not that much older to him. You had a family right here, even if you hadn’t asked for it this way. You held your head in your hands, confused.

Jacob got you coffee and some snacks to munch on. He kept looking at you out of the corner of his eyes, pretending to work. You put down your mug after a few silent minutes and asked him if something was wrong.

“Did you reject dad?” He asked you after hesitating. You gaped at him in shock.

“What? I – No. Why would you say that?”

Jacob turned red stuttered. “Its just…dad showed me the ring. I thought he asked you and well, you’re in such a state and he left early which he has never done since you got here, I thought you said no.” You looked down in your lap, wanting to go upstairs and cry in your pillow.

“Hey, I am so sorry. I just – please don’t say no because of me.” Jacob said earnestly. “I am okay with your relationship. More than okay, in fact. After mom, well, I thought I would never see dad smile again. And then he met you and he started cooking and humming songs again. Then once you moved in…it felt like life had gone back to normal. He became better than before. Mom and he used to fight all the time, but you and he click. So please, if you are worried about me, don’t be.”

You chocked out a pathetic sob and hugged a bewildered Jacob who tried his best to console you. You almost laughed as he let out a few “there there” and “it will be okay”. He was so much like his father.

“Jacob, I think I love your father.”, you said with tears rolling down your cheeks. Jacob grinned a smug smile and breathed out a quite laugh.

“Why do you say that as a bad thing?” He asked.

“Because I don’t know how to tell your father about it” you confessed. Jacob stood up and took you with him. Placing his hands on your shoulder, he turned you around.

“I don’t think you need to tell him anymore.”

Andy stood at the entrance, looking at you both with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He moved closer while you flushed in embarrassment, looking at the floor and shuffling like a naughty child caught causing mischief.

“You, leave.” Andy ordered his son who was smiling like Christmas had come early.

“As if I’d stay for what’s about to happen. I quite like the innocence of my eyes.” Jake joked and scampered when his father glared at him. Andy stood in front of you, looking down at you until you finally raised your head to peak at him from under your wet lashes.

“So…”, he trailed off and you almost stomped your feet once you saw the amusement in his eyes. He is going to milk this moment for all it was worth. You’d made him wait long enough for this.

“So…” You said as well.

“I take it you aren’t going back to your brother’s?”

“No”, you whispered. You wanted him to touch you, to make you his again. Spending one night away from him had driven you almost insane with loneliness. You needed him and yet he didn’t put a hand on you.

“Why not?” He asked instead, tracing his bottom lip with his finger. You squirmed as you watched his action, heat pooling between your legs at the thought of that sensual mouth.

“I – I changed my mind”

“You did, did you?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

You glared at him, making him smirk. You broke and took hold of his collar, pulling him close and brushing your lips against his.

“You know why!” You hissed, trying to kiss him harder but he resisted.

“I don’t know, I mean, is the sex that good?”

The bastard. He was teasing you here and enjoying your discomfort. To hell with everything. You should have just written it on a scrap of paper and dumped it on his lap or something. But then you looked in his eyes which were dancing in the afternoon light, his eyes which had only ever held affection for you. You pushed yourself on you toes and put your mouth against his.

“I love you”

You were in his arms then and he carried you upstairs before you realized what happened. Throwing you on the bed and locking the door, he removed his shirt and climbed over you.

“Again”, he ordered, his lips burning against your throat.

“I love you”, you cried. Your hands found their way into his hair and tugged, making him growl. Both of you tore at your clothes, mouths meeting and teeth gnashing in a desperation to get closer.

“Again”, he said, holding your naked body beneath his, his cock poised at your entrance.

“I love you”

He entered you in a smooth stroke, making you clench around him. He pulled back and looked into your eyes, thrusting slow and deep, relishing in your mewls. He made love to you and you sang the words in his mouth and ear until you both came with muffled cries.

Sweaty and laying in each other’s arms, you basked in the newfound feeling of togetherness. You knew this wasn’t how a normal person falls in love. You realized that someone else may think something was wrong with you. But it is what it is. You loved this man after everything he had done to do. You loved him and you will do your best to let him know that every chance you could.

“So, are you gonna give me that ring now?” You asked.

Andy laughed and looked at you tugged into his naked body.

“With how much you’ve made me wait, you should be the one getting down on your knees.” He joked.

You looked at him with a teasing smile and got up.

“You only had to ask”, you breathed against his mouth before moving down on his body and getting to your knees, ready to show him how much you loved him again and again.

[newtonsheffield]

Part two which I’m assuming is gonna be spicy Sunday materiel…

Titty fuck?

Elaborate please 😏😏

Oh boy. I really, backed myself into a corner with this one didn't I? When Am I actually going to learn????

Anyway. Anthony is a tits man, you can't change my mind.

This is a kind of continuation of this post

And ahh, Happy birthday to my pal, you know who you are.

Really, maybe Kate wasn't as ashamed of her newfound curiosity about sex as she should have been. She'd always been a little curious about it, she supposed and their had definitely been nights when her hand had crept between her legs and her hips had trapped it against the mattress grinding until she fell apart, a pair of dark eyes and a wry smile flashing behind her eyelids.

But then the when Baz Grimston's hands had pawed at her, all she'd wanted to do was run away (Which she had) and she'd ended up with a very long walk home and plenty of time to think, until her mind landed on the fact that, she hadn't wanted him to touch her, because it hadn't been the right him.

She'd maybe always kept a close eye on Anthony Bridgerton, she he'd come back from the holidays 2 years ago with his ear pierced in not one place but two, a grin on his face, and her heart at stuttered a little. But when he'd driven up to school the first day of this year, his motorbike tyres skidding across the garage, a tattoo up his arm, his hair longer and shaggier than it had ever been and she had burned.

And from the very second his lips had touched hers, the fire had nearly consumed her. Her curiosity running out of control, as his tongue moved against hers, their hips grinding together and she couldn't stop thinking about the way his body would feel, heavy against her, warm, firm under her fingertips.

"Sorry, I'm not ready to um... to have sex, I'm not ready to have sex yet." She'd said a little nervously the first time she'd laid against his mattress, as she rode his thigh a little recklessly, his lips nipping at her neck.

"Babe, we can do whatever you want, or nothing at all. Just tell me what you're ready for when." He'd smiled so softly down at her, and her heart had nearly beat out of her chest to get to him, his affection making her feel a little bolder.

"I'd really like it if you fingered me."

The choked noise Anthony had made, was honestly ery worth it.

and with each new experiment, her curiosity only seemed to grow more. And honestly, she wasn't sure if it was just Anthony, but everything they did made her burn for him even brighter. And she'd noticed his slight preoccupation with her chest. The way his eyes were drawn to her cleavage as she bent towards him. The way his hands massaged them gently, his tongue moving over them lazily. And the question had bubbled out of her as they'd stood in his mother's kitchen one day.

"Do you think you'd ever want to cum on my tits?"

Anthony had let out a startled sound, his knife slipping dangerously close to his fingers, He'd taken a deep breath before he put the knife down staring back at her, his ears red.

"Do you... want me to?"

And honestly, she wasn't sure, but she knew she definitely liked the way Anthony ground against her, the way his entire body went slack as he fell apart, clinging to her, and even if she wasn't ready for anything else, she definitely wanted to feel more of him against her.

"I asked you first, Anthony. Do you want to fuck them? Yes or no."

"Yes please." He said it quickly, almost comically so, his head nodding quickly, and it seemed a little settled.

The next time they'd been alone in her house, his lips against hers had been feverish, her hands tugging at his shirt, pulling it over his head, ducking her head to run her tongue along his tattooed ribs, a whine falling from his lips when she pulled her own shirt off, his hands massaging her, his tongue making her shiver as he moaned against them.

"Fuck, I love these." His voice a little breathless as he hummed, the sound cutting off, as her hand ducked into his jeans, her voice surprisingly rough.

"Show me then. Show me how much, Anthony."

Something was building in her stomach as he groaned, his forehead falling against hers for a moment. And then he was pulling back, his hands firmly on her breasts, massaging them, making her moan against him, her hips bucking towards him searching for friction. And then he was sliding between them, the friction of it odd at first until they found a rhythm. And then it felt... good. Too good really, the push and pull, the slip and slide of his skin firm and hard against her, encouraging her towards him, praise falling from his lips again and again, his voice aching with awe. Kate Kate Kate, Oh my god, Babe, it feels so good. You're such a good girl, fuck! Fuck! Oh Fuck! And she hadn't really think she'd get that much from this, but watching her boyfriend fall apart, because of her, for her, made her feel so brilliantly powerful. That by the time his hips stuttered against her, his face falling open, clutching her close as he covered her, she was a little drunk on it.

"Jesus Kate. I love you." Anthony said as Kate cleaned herself off, heat still simmering low in her stomach, her hips rinding against him a little obscenely.

"Can you go down on me then?"

Anthony had tugged her legs over his shoulders before she could blink. "It would be my pleasure, Princess."

[ttuesday]

Hey, my 🤏🇮🇪👻,

I am very much not feeling well today. Its almost like flu but less severe though my body feel like its been by an artic 🥺

Canoo do my 🤏🐭🤠 looking after a reader who feels so awful, they're wrapped up in bed, but insisting to the camp chores

🤏🐭🤠 that she fj e.

Word Count: ~1,580

~No smut unfortunately :( just some angst and floof~

You first felt awful in the early morning. Your head felt heavy, you couldn't concentrate on anything and you got that strange shiver up your spine. It was like you had a dark cloud that followed you wherever you went in camp. 

Your energy had dwindled significantly before you even had your morning coffee. As you trudged around to start your daily chores, you couldn't help but feel like you were dragging around some kind of invisible ball and chain. 

Having the day off seemed like a nice idea but you knew that would end up doing more harm than good. If you didn't do your chores then Tilly or Mary-Beth would have to do the extra work which would make their day worse.

You settled on the best option being to continue with your day as normal as possible. You saw the likes of Arthur and Lenny give you slightly concerned looks as you carried some hay over to the horses, using a lot more effort than you usually did. But it was Micah who was the first to comment on your sick demeanour.

"Darlin" he drawled, coming up behind you as you finally dropped the hay. Once Micah got a good look at you, he furrowed his brow. "Ya look like death" he pointed out. "Thanks for the reminder" you scoffed, turning on your heels and walking away.

You and Micah had been friends for a long time. When you first met him, you could barely stand to be around him but slowly (kinda like a fungus) he began to grow on you. There was no doubt in your mind that Micah was always going to be tough to get along with but somehow, ye made it work. 

"You ain't sick, are ya?" Micah asked, jogging a little to catch up with you. "No I'm not sick, I'm fine" you huffed, feeling another chill crawl up the back of your neck.

Micah stayed quiet for a moment. You didn't look at him so you missed how Micah questionably raised his eyebrow when you said that. He waited a few seconds before commenting "Ya don't look fine". 

"Does it really matter if I'm fine or not?" you snapped, your voice harsher than you expected "Just leave me get back to work, go annoy someone else". 

Micah slowed his pace and let you continue on alone, knowing it's best not to push you when you're like this.

Surprisingly, Micah didn't want to argue with you. Micah had yet to figure out why, but for some reason he didn't want you to dislike him. Maybe it was because you were the only gang member that actually put in the effort to befriend him.

Whenever Micah thought too much about it, he got this fluttering feeling in his chest so he quickly dismissed his thoughts.

---

The next time Micah saw you was just after noon. Thankfully, you were no longer hauling hay around but you were helping Pearson prepare the stew.

Micah knew he wasn't the most hygienic person but he wasn't too sure if it was a great idea to have you near food. Sighing to himself, he strolled over to you and leaned against the table. 

You saw him walking over but decided to ignore him. You were in no mood to deal with him. Micah stayed quiet for a few seconds, watching as you chopped up a potato. You tried to ignore him, scrunching up your nose a little as you focused on your work.

"Try not to get any snot on the veg" Micah observed. Your grip on the knife tightened but you were determined to ignore him.

You've seen Micah pick at people and make comments in the hopes of getting a rise out of them. From seeing these previous interactions, you came to the conclusion that ignoring Micah would be the best way to get him to leave.

Micah wouldn't admit how annoying it was that you didn't reply but he had another plan in mind. "Pearson" he called out, waving his hand and practically ordering the man over. Glancing over to Micah, you gave him a confused look as Pearson made his way over.

"Now I ain't no chef," Micah raised his hands slightly "but I don't think having someone that's sick handling the food is a good idea".

Pearson's eyes went wide as he looked from Micah to you. "Y-you're sick?" he asked, his tone frantic "I'm trying to run a real kitchen here and you're sick?". "I'm not sick!" you protested "I'm just tired".

Pearson dragged his hand down his face as he muttered "Oh my god, you're sick".

Huffing, Pearson shooed you away from the food "Go on, get away from here and go relax for a while". You reluctantly moved away from the food, making sure to give Micah a death stare as you did. 

You marched off but before you could get far, you saw Micah near you again. "Oh just go away, Micah" you scowled "have you not ruined enough for me?".

"You're sick, doll" he repeated again, hoping that maybe this time you'd accept it.

"No I'm not," you denied "the only thing I'm sick of is you and you're... you...". That cloudy feeling in your head tightened and you suddenly lost your train of thought. You closed your eyes to try and regain your focus but instead you swayed, your feet stumbling slightly. 

"Woah there" Micah put his hands on your back and by your ribs to steady you.

You wanted to push him away, tell him that you were fine but deep down you knew that you weren’t. A wave of tiredness washed over you and you leaned into Micah. Every part of you was either fragile or aching. "You think you can walk to my tent?" Micah asked "I think you oughta lie down for a while". 

You attempted to answer him but all you could do was groan and nod your head. Micah held on to you as ye both shuffled over to his tent together. You continued to lean against him, your eyes closed as the hot southern sun glared down on you.

"Here," he muttered, taking off his white hat and hastily plonking it on your head "don't want you getting heat stroke too".

When you got to the tent, Micah guided you down to his bed before closing the flaps of the tent. Being out of the sun made you feel a little better, though your body continued to ache whenever you moved. “How the hell did you get a tent?” you mumbled, glancing around with tired eyes.

Micah chuckled, out of all the questions you could’ve asked, he didn’t expect that one. “Cause I’m a hard worker” he replied as if the answer was that obvious. You scoffed but even that seemed to make your head feel worse.

You scrunched up your face, trying your best to tolerate the pain. “You think it’s some kinda virus?” Micah questioned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Could be the flu,” you groaned “or else I’ve overworked myself lately and this is my body’s way of thanking me”. 

“Relax here for a while, take a nap and don’t get sick in my tent” he ordered “and stop pushing yourself, I got a robbery coming up that I’m already stressed about so I don’t need to be worrying about you too”. That last part wasn’t suppose to come out.

Micah tried to stop himself saying it but he only realised he said it afterwards. That funny feeling in his chest returned as his eyes scanned your face for your reaction. 

“Awh and there I was thinking the infamous Micah Bell didn’t care about anyone but himself” you giggled, easing the sudden dread he felt. He felt strangely thankful that you decided to giggle about it instead of looking at him in disgust. Micah always liked your laugh too so it was nice to hear it... but he’d never tell you that.

“Shut it,” he feigned annoyance, taking his hat from your hat and placing it down lower on your face to cover your eyes “now get some sleep”. 

Micah stood as you joked “Aren’t you going to tuck me in?”. 

“Don’t push your luck” he huffed. Micah glanced behind his shoulder as he walked to the entrance of his tent, watching as you snuggled into his pillow. Usually he gets frustrated with himself whenever he realises you’re making him smile but this time he decided to let it slide.

Just before Micah could step out of the tent, you gently called to him “Micah?”. He stopped, turning back to look at you. “Thank you for taking care of me” you peeked out from his hat, a shy smile on your face. 

Damn you and your kindness. There was that fluttery feeling in his chest yet again. It took Micah a few seconds to reply. He was too busy trying to control the warm sensation in his cheeks to think of a quick witted response. Clearing his throat, Micah looked down at the ground “Sure, you’re welcome”.

As you drifted off to sleep in his bed, Micah sat by the campfire. He made sure to have a clear view of his tent in case you got up or needed any help before he let out a long sigh.

Micah knew it was time he sorted through all of these feelings you gave him. He had ignored them for too long and now it was finally time to confront that fluttery feeling in his chest.

[hoodedguitarist]

Think you can Hide from Me? Part 2

Gif is not mine!

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Summary: You’ve infiltrated into Jabba’s palace with Lando in order to rescue Han. Even though you hated being here, you were safely undercover as just another random piece of scum and villainy in the underworld… Or so you thought. 

Warnings: 18+, slight knife play, choking, dom/sub, teasing, all that good stuff, one slight smidge of fluff to pull at the heartstrings at the end there.

Author’s Notes: It’s weird when other ideas grow off of a main one. But yeah, I love Boba Fett. A distraction to keep the plan safe and undercover, of course.;)

Part 1: The Infiltrator

Part 3: The Regret

Part 4: The Reunion

--

PART 2: The Distraction

The room was small but you were both away from prying eyes and criminals. You suddenly found yourself hoping Lando wasn’t looking for you. This distraction may be hard to explain later…

You thought getting his armor off would be the hard part, but he took care of it, his deft hands quickly removing everything that needed to be removed until he was only left in the clothing. Your eyes climbed hungrily along him as he did so, heart racing and muscles lightly quivering in anticipation. You weren’t going to try and help because you didn’t want to get in the way. He obviously knew what he was doing, and it made you wonder how many times he’d had romps like this, or if you just happened to be a special case, but your thoughts were cut off when Boba had you against the wall again.

“Take it off,” he demanded. “I know you have weapons, I want them gone as well.”

“Scared of a little knife, Fett?” You taunted. Sure, you’d been taught not to play with fire, but when it looked as good as him you just couldn’t resist.

“Are you, (L/N)?” He growled, his knife right back at your throat. Your head leaned back against the wall and a smirk was on your lips. His knife trailed gently down the center of your chest and your breath hitched in your throat.

“Not with you using it like that,” you breathed shakily, “but I’ll do as you say. I’d rather you not ruin my clothes. I’ll need them after.”

“That’s a shame,” Boba tilted his head, his eyes dragging down your form. He sheathed his knife and both of his hands were suddenly on your hips, gripping you hard. “I may want to keep you around for a while yet. It gets lonely between jobs, and you seem so eager for me…” He gripped roughly at your chin and leaned in closer.

“I didn’t take you as the sentimental relationship type,” you sassed back.

“I’m not,” Boba’s voice darkened and his bare thumb brushed across your bottom lip. “I’m the type that fucks you until you can’t walk. You’ll be screaming my name and begging me to do it again. Now take it off, or I’ll cut it off and leave you with no option but to stay.”

You licked your lips and swallowed the smartassed remark on the tip of your tongue. As excited as his words were making you, you couldn’t afford to stay here for that long. Just one good romp, one good fuck just to say you did him, and then you could get back to the task.

Slowly, you reached up and pulled the long, black, nearly thread-bear hoodie off of yourself and dropped it to the side. Your weapons belt was revealed, complete with your blaster, a knife, and two thermal detonators. Boba watched you as you carefully unbuckled it and laid it down on the ground, on top of your hoodie.

“You’re moving rather slow… Having second thoughts?”

“No, I-” but you were cut off as you were pressed hard against the wall, your breath taken away by another demanding kiss from him. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back breathlessly.

“A ‘no’ was all I needed,” he breathed against your lips, and you could only nod, seeing as how you were a bit dazed by him. Your fingers were in his hair and you yanked him back into another hot kiss. Boba’s hands were all over you, pulling at your clothes and running roughly along your curves. His hands slid under your shirt and you could feel how rough they were, but it only turned you on more, made a fire break out across your skin.

In an instant, the shirt was off and tossed somewhere. His dark eyes were trailing over your exposed skin, your bare breasts.

“Oh, sweet girl, where have you been hiding, hm?” His voice was low, gravely, charged with arousal.

“Not from you, I promise,” you breathed. His hands slid up your ribs and kneaded at your breasts, and your back arched as you let out a soft moan. Boba’s hot mouth was on your neck, then, leaving bite laced kisses as his mouth went lower. Suddenly, he grabbed your ass and hoisted you up into his arms and shoved you against the wall again. You were effectively stuck there now, and he was at a better angle to get his mouth on your breasts.

Another needy moan slipped your lips as you clung to his shoulders. He sucked at the sensitive skin, his tongue sliding over a soft bud before giving a small bite. Your hands were in his hair and clinging to him was all you could really do at the moment while he paid attention to your breasts. Your legs were wrapped around him and pleasure twisted in your stomach and pooled between your legs.

“Boba,” his name came out of your mouth in a desperate whine. “Boba, please… Take everything off, please,” you begged him. You could practically feel his smirk against your sensitive skin. He flicked his tongue at you one more time before he let you back down gently.

“I didn’t expect you to beg for me. Especially from you, (Y/N). That’s what I like to hear,” he tilted your chin up and hovered his lips over yours. Your hands still gripped at the fabric of his clothing and you leaned up to meet his parted lips but he pulled back, a dark chuckle slipping his lips. It only made you ache for him more, but it surprised you when he stepped back. You could clearly see how tight his pants had gotten, so what was he doing? “Take the rest off, and sit on my lap.”

You didn’t respond immediately, because you watched him pull his shirt off over his head. 

Fuck why did I not do this with him sooner, you thought. Getting an eyeful of his muscled back, those arms, scars, his tan skin, that ass. You found yourself regretting having waited so long.

“Well?” He looked back at you, but a wicked smirk spread across his lips. “See something you like, princess?”

“Everything,” you breathed, unable to catch yourself right away. You blinked and blushed a little, biting your lip. “Don’t call me princess.”

“Well, I think I’m more inclined to now,” he reached down and began to take off his pants. “You can keep watching, or you can come join me. Either way, I’m getting off. The question is, do you want to as well? I promise it will be much more fun if you come join me,” and just like that, he pushed everything off and he was standing bare before you now. You felt another ache of pleasure streak through you and damn that ass…

“I’ll join you,” you answered. “It’s the whole reason I’m here isn’t it?” You watched him walk over and sit down at the edge of the small bed and when you got a glimpse, you suddenly found yourself hoping you could take it.

You regained yourself and began to take your pants and boots off. It didn’t take long until you were completely bare as well, and he’d been watching you the whole time. Maybe you could play this to your advantage, play with fire again. The burn always felt so good.

You licked your lips and walked over to him, curling a strand of your (h/c) hair behind your ear. You intentionally swayed your hips as you sauntered up to him and you noticed that predatory look about him, every muscle in his body tense as if he were ready to pounce. You stood before him, running a hand through your hair and down along your breasts, groping yourself lightly and trying to entice him, and it seemed to be working. You took it a step further and placed your hands on his knees, letting them slide up along his thighs as you leaned in to him. You parted your lips for a kiss, and just as his were about to meet yours, you smirked and pulled back and let your hands slide back along his knees.

“Oh no you don’t, sweetheart,” his hand shot forward and grabbed your wrist, then yanked you forwards. His hands slid around and grabbed your ass and pulled you down into his lap. His skin was hot against yours and chills broke out along your body. “You like to be a tease, huh?” He never broke his gaze from yours. “I think I may need to fuck that out of you.”

“You can try,” you grinned, sliding your hands down his chest and stomach, groping at his muscles as you went along until you found your prize. You leaned down and bit at his neck as you began pumping his length, stroking slow and hard. Boba moaned, which made you eager for more, but that moan soon turned into a growl and your wrists were back in his tight grip. You pouted. “What?” 

He leaned forward and took your bottom lip between his teeth, gently at first, but then his tongue flicked out and he kissed you deeply, distracting you from any and all teasing. A weak, long moan rumbled from you and your hands were at his back, dragging your nails down.

One rough hand grabbed at your thigh, hard enough to leave marks, while his other hand palmed right between your legs. You couldn’t stop yourself from rutting against him, and he smirked and began to rub his fingers against that sensitive bundle of nerves. You broke the kiss and your grip on him tightened, a weak moan leaving you.

“You’re so wet for me (Y/N). How long have you wanted me to fuck you,” his question came as more of a command.

“Since I-I… Since I first saw you,” you barely managed to speak. “I wanted you when I saw you,” a desperation was in your voice like never before, and Boba was pleased. He slid two fingers into you easily, and you bucked against them a little harder. “Boba…” You whined for him and his lips began to trail up your neck.

“If you want my cock you’ll have to beg for it, sweet girl,” he bit your ear gently before surprising you with another finger. It made you gasp and moan loudly, your body tensing and your thighs quivering.

“Fuck, Boba, please,” your voice was shaky. “Fuck me, I want you to fuck me. I need to feel you inside me.” You leaned back and rested your forehead against his. “Please…” you brushed your lips against his as you begged for him shamelessly.

“You’re such a good girl, (Y/N). You’ve only begged like this for me, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes only you. I swear it,” you promised. It was true. No one else had ever made you feel like this, or ever made you want to be so submissive.

You gasped in surprise when he wrapped his arms around you and laid you back against the bed. When the surprise wore off, you ran your hands along his muscled arms and down his chest, spreading your legs for him.

“That’s right, spread those legs for me sweetheart.”

He adjusted himself and your muscles tensed when his tip was at your entrance. He slid his hands along your body, kneading your breasts again before sliding up your arms. He pinned your wrists above your head.

“Take me, Boba… Fuck me, hard. Don’t hold back.”

“As you wish, (Y/N),” and with that, he pushed himself in. A loud moan was forced past your lips and your back arched slowly. He took it surprisingly easy on you, going a bit more careful to make sure you could take it all. You were stretched, that much was certain, but you were loving how he filled you up. “Damn, (Y/N), should have come to me sooner…”

“I know,” your voice was breathless. “Please, Boba,” you didn’t mind being such a slut for him. He leaned down, his body heavy on top of yours, his mouth wet and smooth on your neck, and he bucked into you and started at a rough pace already. His hands still held your wrists tightly as he picked up his pace, moving into you hard and rough and doing everything right.

“Say my name. Scream for me, princess,” he commanded.

“Yes!” Your fists were balled up, knuckles white. Your eyes fluttered shut and you just laid back and let him take you like that. It was exactly what you wanted. He felt so damn good, his bites and kisses, the way his hips rocked into yours. The only sounds in the room were your combined breaths and moans, and the sound of skin against skin. “Boba… Damn, Boba I’m close!” You tried to warn him.

“Come on,” he growled in your ear. “That’s it, (Y/N), cum for me.”

“Boba… Boba!” Your orgasm had you in a vice grip, your muscles tense and you screamed his name. Your head tossed back, eyes shut tight, body arched perfectly and pressed flush against his.

Boba let your wrists go in favor of gripping your hips and he growled as he continuously pounded into you, loving that tight feeling. It didn’t take long for his orgasm to follow and the both of you were covered in sweat, breathing hard and completely satisfied. 

He laid on top of you for a moment, and you slid your arms around him and rubbed your hands softly against his back where you’d scratched him earlier. Slowly, he pushed himself up to look down at you.

“So? Was that everything you wanted?”

“And much more. Fuck, you have no idea. Damn…”

It made his pride swell, you could practically see it.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” Boba said as he carefully pulled out of you. You both groaned faintly and you laid there for a second before shakily pushing yourself up to a sitting position.

“You don’t have to hold me here. Just say my name, trust me I’ll come running,” you smirked and winked at him. He smirked at you.

“I’ll remember that,” he moved over to get himself dressed again. “And…” he paused a moment and looked at you. “I’ll try to get you some work.”

You blinked and drew back a bit, mildly surprised. Damn, he’d fallen for that trick and he was willing to help?

“Wow… I, um… Thank you, Boba, really. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. So long as you pay me back,” he let his eyes climb down you again as he said that, and you smirked.

“Always.”

Well, hopefully this distraction had paid off in more ways than one. Part of you felt kind of bad for lying to him, but touched that he was willing to help. You probably needed to get back to the main room… But this was going to be a hell of a story, and you were going to do your best to make sure none of your friends shot him.

Hopefully hate sex would be somewhere in the future once he figured out you were only there to rescue Han. All you could do was hope for the best.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Slow Hands | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  Tom and you are old friends. But how you wish it was more. Tom decides to a quiet birthday with you. A birthday wish and a few beers can change your life.

Warnings: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Birthday Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering,Teasing

-

“We should take this back to my place.” you said right to Tom’s face.

“I beg your pardon?” Tom responded, color rising to his cheeks.

“The food.” you held up the bag of takeaway. “We should take the food back to my place to eat, don’t you think?”

“Right, of course.” Tom sputtered. “Excellent plan.” Tom took the bag from you and exited the pub.

You jogged to catch up with him. “What did you think I meant?”

“I’m not sure to be honest.”

“Are you sure wouldn’t rather do something else on your birthday? I mean this is hardly the glamorous lifestyle you are used to.”

Tom laughed. He never grew tired of your constant prodding and poking at his fame.

“You know me better than any magazine article. A nice quiet dinner in with one of my best friends is my idea of a perfect birthday.” He gave a closed lip smile and continued walking on.

The word “friend” hurt more than any bullet or punch. Yes, you appreciated Tom’s friendship more than anything. Treasured it. But you didn’t want to be his friend. You want to be his everything. The one who shares his bed at night. You wanted to add “girl” in front of "friend”. But that was never going to happen. Tom made it clear that he saw as nothing more than a friend. That fucking word again.

“Well come on and I’ll let you pick the first movie of the night.” You picked up the pace, hurrying along the sidewalks of London towards your modest flat.

Tom jogged to catch up. He wrapped his arm your shoulders and pulled you into his side, kissing your temple. “What would I do without you?”

You gritted your teeth without answering.

-

Once the two of you settled on your worn couch, Tom grabbed for the remote while you fetched utensils and drinks in the kitchen. You flopped next to him, thighs touching. You handed him a beer, while he nudged your container of food over.

“So what Disney marshmallow fluff are you going to make me watch this time?” you snarked as you shoved a handful of fries into your mouth.

“Hey! I like that marshmallow fluff.” Tom elbowed you in the ribs. “And chew your food. I don’t want to perform the Heimlich, I only play a doctor on TV.”

You turned to face Tom and with a straight face and took a massive bite of your burger, chewing with your mouth open. Tom’s lips twitched. He picked up his burger and licked his lips before taking a slow bite. Drops of mustard clung to the corner of his mouth.

“You…” you gestured to his mouth. “… have something.”

Tom flicked his tongue out to swipe away the droplets. The whole act made your cheeks hot. Does he even understand what he is doing?! your brain screamed.

“Did I get it?” Tom asked, looking at you with those blue eyes someone could get lost in.

“Um…” you pretended to check, “… yup.” you prayed he didn’t notice your embarrassment.

“Now about that movie…” Tom waggled the remote in front of your face.

-

Two hours later, you finished the burgers and fries and the movie. Several beers lay empty on the table.

“Now that I have tooth decay.” you lunged for the remote, reaching across Tom.

He tried to pull away, but you moved too quick, snatching the remote before he shifted. You fell against his chest. His heart pounded through his t-shirt as you placed a hand against the sharp planes of his torso.

“My turn.” you stuttered as you stood up, rushing to the kitchen. “but first….” you pulled a large box from the fridge. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” you yelled as you placed a cake on the coffee table in front of Tom.

“Darling…” Tom extolled as he drank the last of his beer, placing the empty bottle next to this first empty. “… you shouldn’t have!”

You gave Tom a withering glance.

“But I am glad you did.”

“Are you kidding? I have been thinking about this all day. Do you realize how hard it is to not eat cake?”

He pushed against your shoulder as you sat down next to him. “I appreciate your sacrifice and willpower.”

He reached for the knife but you touched his wrist to stop him cutting the cake.

“We can’t eat yet.”

“Why not?” Tom looked confused.

“Make a wish.” You held up a candle and book of matches.

Tom groaned as he fell back against the couch. “You are not going to sing are you?”

“It’s tradition. You like tradition.”

“Only when it suits me.”

“Humor your dear old friend.”

You snuggled into the crook of his neck. You inhaled his scent. Today he smelled of wood and spice and hops from the beer. And a tinge of something distinctly Tom. You could never name it but you caught whiffs of it on your throw blanket after Tom would crash on your couch after too many beers.

You didn’t see a splash of pink rush across Tom’s cheeks or how his hand hovered over your back, indecisive where to place it. He ultimately let it fall on the back of the couch. He cleared his throat to break the silence as you stared up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Well let’s get on with it.” he clapped his knees as he leaned towards the cake.

You pushed the candle into the thick layer of chocolate frosting, it tilted ever so slightly. You sang Happy Birthday in a slight off key tone while Tom smiled in mock embarrassment and shame.

“Happy Birthday to you!” you finished up as you lifted the cake to his face. “Make a wish.”

Tom looked over at you for a moment and then closed his eyes before blowing out the candle.

“What did you wish for?” you asked as he handed you a big slice of cake.

“I can’t tell you or else it won’t come true!” Tom said through a bite of cake.

“Party pooper.”

“It’s my party.”

“Fine.” you shoveled a big bite of cake into your mouth. “Have your secrets!”

Tom smiled as he took another big bite.

“So…” you asked as you pushed the last bite of your cake. “Now that you are an old man—”

“I resent that remark.” Tom finished up his cake.

“Fine. You’re young, practically a teenager!” you rolled your eyes and Tom suppressed a laugh. “What I meant is you are now 39. The last of your thirties. What you are you planning to do?”

“Well, I haven’t thought about it too much. It just another year.” Tom gave you a look you couldn’t quite place.

“Stop bullshitting me, Tom. I have known you for too long to believe that. You always have some half-baked plan cooking in that brain of yours. What does 39 hold for you? Skydiving? Directorial debut? Wedding in Vegas to a showgirl? Spill it.” You grabbed your now lukewarm beer and took a swig.

Tom shifted in his seat to look at you. An unnerving stare with those damn blue eyes. You squirmed in your seat, hiding the shiver running down your spine and the heat on your neck and cheeks.

“Now that you mention I do have some plans for the coming year.”

“Really?” you leaned in.

“Yes. I am planning on finishing up my commitments to Marvel for the year.”

You nodded knowing that Marvel would always be a major part of Tom’s life.

“And I have a few scripts I am reading. But I am looking to settle down this next year.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.” You stood up and grabbed the plates and hurried to the kitchen. You feared you might cry.

“It’s not anything serious yet.” Tom spoke to the back of your head as he stood. “But I am certain she’s the one.”

Tom came up behind you as you placed the plates in the sink and turned on the water. Tom turned the water off.

“Wow. She must be some kind of girl. Anyone I know?” you choked on your words. You didn’t know which answer would be worse.

“You know her very well.” Tom’s hands trailed slowly up your arms. His fingers teasing your shoulders before they skimmed down your back and lighting on your waist. You turned in his grip to face him.

“I—”

Your thought cut off by Tom’s lips pressing against yours. His hands fisting into the bottom your shirt. The kiss was over almost as fast as it started and Tom pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath heavy against your cheek.

“I hope you feel the same way.” Tom sighed. “Because I want you, darling.”

His finger traced along the curve of your cheek and Tom licked his lips as his eyes darted between your eyes and lips.

“What? How? Huh?” you regain the use of your voice.

“It has always been you. No matter happens. No matter what goes wrong or right. I always come back to you. You are the one constant in my life, my soft place to land.” Tom’s eyes shone bright under the harsh light of your kitchen.

“You mean you can’t tell that I want you?” your lips curved into a smile as your fingers teased the curls at the nape of his neck.

Tom’s face froze in an expression of confusion as his brain processed your words. You leaned into his ear. “I want you too. Bad.”

Tom smiled a wide smile. He pulled you close against his chest, his hand gripped the back of your shirt for dear life.

“Once we start, there will be no stopping me.” Tom raised his eyebrows in question.

“Who is asking you to stop? We can take our time, we can do this all night” you quirked an eyebrow up and that was all Tom needed.

He lunged towards with a fervor. His kiss hungry. You groaned against him and his tongue slipped past your lips, searching. You tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, sliding your hands against the sharp angles of his stomach and chest, the lean muscle flexing under your touch.

“Should be take this to the bedroom?” You asked, panting.

“I thought you would never ask.” Tom pulled you along.

You shed your shirt as you walked through the living room. Tom followed suit and tugged at his jeans while you did the same. You both stopped at the bedroom door to pull your pants off, leaving them there.

Tom grabbed you again. “I have never seen you in just your underwear before.” He brushed an errant piece of hair off your forehead. “You have never looked as beautiful as you do now.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, Tom. You already have my pants off.”

“We’ve wasted so much time, I intend on spending the rest of my days lavishing attention onto the woman I love.”

You caught your breath as you stared at Tom, your best friend. He stood before you in just his underwear, flushed. His pupils large and lust blown, he gazed upon with a look you only saw from him through your TV screen.

“I love you too.” you whispered as you shuffle your feet. “I’ve always loved you. You’re the one, Tom. You stole my heart, you charming bastard.”

You walked towards him and wrapped your arms around him. “And now…” you looked up at him through your lashes as you ran a finger along the waist of his underwear before tugging them down in a single motion. “I want to experience every inch of you.”

Tom walked you back until the backs of your legs hit the bed and you fell back hitting the mattress. He crawled on top of you, his hands snaked behind you and unclasped your bra. He slid his hand underneath the bra to massage your right breast, fingers worrying the nipple into a hard pebble.

“Ahhh!” you moaned as you arched your back to his touch.

“So responsive, darling. I had no idea.”

You slid the bra off your shoulders and threw in onto the floor as Tom gave the same treatment to your left breast, eliciting the same moan from your lips.

“I wonder what other noises you can make?” Tom pondered as he moved down your body. You whimpered when Tom’s fingers traced the waistband of your panties. He pulled them down your legs and discarding somewhere in the dark room.

His breath was hot against your thighs and you tensed not knowing what would happen next. Tom licked your pussy with the flat of his tongue.

“Fuck!” you hissed as you gripped the sheets at your side.

Tom chuckled against you. “Oh, give me time, darling. But for now, let’s see how it takes for you to come undone.”

Tom continued his devouring of you. You bucked your hips against his mouth and he snaked an arm up to hold you fast against the creaking mattress, while the other hand pushed your leg wide, granting him easier access.

“Hmmmph.” you moaned as Tom flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit. He glanced up as your head fell back and grinned. He flicked his tongue against you again and your release edged closer.

As if Tom sensed it, he released your leg and teased a single finger along your slit, collecting juices. He plunged into you and you gripped around him.

“You are so wet already for me.” he cooed as he pumped in and out of you.

“I’m close!” you pleaded as Tom’s fingers curled inside of you.

“Come for me, darling. Come for me.” Tom pleaded as he lowered his head between your legs.

Tom added a second finger as well as sucking against your clit which toppled you over the edge. Your hands flew to tangle into the mess of ginger curls on Tom’s head. Tom continued to pleasure you through your orgasm until you pushed away.

Tom positioned himself between your legs and took himself into one of his hands, giving his hard cock several pumps.

“That was exquisite.” he hummed as he teased the head of his cock along you.

You lifted your hips into him, a silent invitation, and Tom pushed into you. He hissed as he filled you completely.

“Fuck.” Tom breathed as he paused a moment to savor the sensation. “You are amazing. You feel amazing.”

Tom pulled out almost entirely and then plunged into you again, snapping his hips. You pulled him down on top of you, crashing your lips against his. He tasted of you.

Tom continued to snap his hips against you, grazing the pubic bone. Another orgasm quickly approached, and you snaked your hand between your two bodies, finding your clit, drawing tight circles.

“I’m close.” Tom moaned against your neck.

“Me too.”

Tom’s thrusts became hungry and erratic and within seconds, he spilled inside you, his head fell into the crook of your neck. You soon followed, clenching around him, causing Tom to chuckle, his chest shaking in ragged breaths.

As the waves of pleasure dissipated, the two of you lie motionless, neither wanting to move. As if moving would break the spell and the two of you would wake up from this impossible dream.

“Tom?” you questioned.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t breathe.”

Tom rolled off of you and took a place to your side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Sorry about that.”

His long fingers ran along the curves of your bare arm. You feared to look at him. To speak. Afraid he would say he made a mistake.

“So…” you started, staring at the ceiling fan in your bedroom going round and round.

“You’re afraid I’m going to say it’s a mistake.” Tom took your chin in his hand and turned your face to his.

“How did you know?”

“I know you.”

“So…”

“So… the only mistake I made was not telling you about my affections years ago. My mistake was wasting my time chasing a feeling, a love that was sitting right in front of me.”

He kissed your forehead. A simple gesture, he had performed a hundred times before. But now, it was not out of friendship but rather love. He took a breath as he made a decision.

“Marry me?” he whispered as he nuzzled behind your ear.

“What?!” you pulled him away.

“Marry me. When you realize you have found your mate, you want the rest of your life with them to start as soon as possible.”

You searched his face for emotion, for malice, for jest. But there was none.

“Y… ye..yes!” you stuttered out.

Tom pulled you against his chest and he kissed you with the passion of no man before in your life.

“I wished for you. Every year I wished for you.”

“I wished for you too.” you hummed as his arms closed around you and the two of you drifted off in bliss.

[gmariam19]

Hello! I hit one of those follower milestones that we all like to grin about - thank you! I decided to share something to go with the last moodboard I posted, a story I started ages ago but that stalled out at chapter five. The opening is below, and I'm hoping I can get it going again and post it sometime this fall. I'm sure a few details will change, and I do hope to finish some shorter stories before then. But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy it - thanks for reading! :)

One

Poe already misses the ranch.

It’s been months since he's been home, seen his dad, even had a day off. Spending five days on Yavin 4 is exactly what he needed. He feels relaxed and recharged, ready to resume the job of co-General. He's fairly sure he's gained weight from all the eating and drinking they did, but that was what home was for him: koyo fruit and dark caf, roasted runyip steaks with kibla greens and sweetsand cookies for dessert. He hasn't eaten so well for months, maybe years.

Finn looks fairly content as well. Poe had been nervous about the trip, but it was past time to introduce Finn to Kes Dameron. Poe couldn't remember the last time he'd brought someone home, and he'd been a wreck until the moment his father had stepped forward, raised an eyebrow at Finn's outstretched hand, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Kes's eyes had been bright, and Poe had almost choked up; Finn had been stunned at the warm welcome.

Everything had been perfect after that. In fact, maybe a little too good as Poe had been ganged up on more than once by Finn and his father. But to watch them together, talking, laughing, even cooking (though Finn was a disaster of a cook, so he usually ended up doing the washing) was a joy. It made Poe want a life like that more than anything—a quiet life with someone he loved, near friends and family. It was what peace looked like.

Of course, he would probably be bored after a month, but he could still think about it, couldn't he?

For now, there is still work to do, and part of Poe's plan in flying out to see his dad had been to make a few stops on the way back. The first is Torque, a quick jump from Yavin 4. It isn't the nicest spaceport in the sector, but it's the capital and it’s busy, which means they can blend in and listen, get a feel for what’s going on outside their immediate circle. Finn is meeting with one of Vi Moradi's people to exchange news, someone he'd met on Batuu who happened to be passing through the sector, while Poe is meeting with one of Grakkus the Hutt's pilots for a brief, off-the-record meeting on conditions in Hutt space.

Poe walks to a cantina not far from the landing pads on his own, his senses on high alert. He's in a dingy spaceport in the Outer Rim, a general of the Resistance who still has a large bounty on his head. Armed and aware, he notices immediately when he turns that the street he's on—more of an alley, really—is unusually quiet and empty. Perfect setup for an ambush.

He comms Finn. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he says as quietly as he can. "Good chance someone knows we’re here. Stay alert." Finn confirms the message. Poe unhooks his blaster, speeding up his pace. As he reaches the end of the alley, he senses a presence behind him, and feels a blaster in his back.

"Don't move," says a low voice, a familiar voice.

"Finn?" asks Poe. "What're you—"

The blaster pokes him hard in the ribs, so definitely not Finn (and they don't really play like that in public, anyway.) Poe glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned man, a bounty hunter by the looks of him, though he is close in size to Finn and certainly sounds similar.

"Hands up, blaster to me, then turn around slowly."

Poe raises both hands, discreetly tapping his comm twice as he does, and the hunter takes his blaster. Poe turns and finds himself facing his captor. He's dressed in a black flight suit, with a leather vest and boots lined in red, and he’s armed to the teeth. He's only an inch or two taller than Poe but almost two decades older, short hair and beard shot with grey and a prominent scar running from his temple to his jaw on his right side. He seems familiar, though Poe is almost certain they’ve never met before. Strangely enough, what stands out most are the man’s eyes: tired brown eyes that do not look like the cold, hard eyes of most bounty hunters Poe has met.

The man looks at him with a frown.

"What, not what you expected?" Poe asks. "I get that a lot. It's the hair."

The bounty hunter shakes his head as he pats Poe down, taking his second blaster and a knife. "It's the hair that makes you so recognizable, General," the man says. His voice really does sound like Finn, and his eyes…Poe shakes off the idea. "Maybe if you cut it, half a dozen hunters would stop looking for you."

"Only half a dozen?" Poe asks. "How disappointing. I remember when I was on top of everyone's list."

"Sorry, General," the man says, and there is a wry smile with the strangely apologetic words. "Peace is not as good for business."

"Maybe you need a new business," Poe suggests. He has a funny feeling about this grizzled bounty hunter, as if the man before him is nothing like the image he projects. He doesn't want to hurt this man but talk him out of whatever he’s got planned. Or at least talk long enough for Finn to get there.

"You're actually my last job," the man says, almost conversationally. "There's still people willing to pay good money for your head." He takes out a pair of binders and motions at Poe to lower his wrists. Poe leaves his hands up.

"What if I paid you more?" he asks, lowering his voice and moving closer. "And then we forget this ever happened?" He smiles, turning on the charm, but the man snorts at him, so much like Finn that it’s eerie.

"Lower your arms, General. You can't afford me."

Poe shrugs. "It was worth a try." He slowly lowers his wrists, taking another step closer. Just as the hunter is about to clamp them, he headbutts the older man, sliding a pocket blaster into his palm as he steps back and hits the man with a glancing blow in the arm. The hunter recovers quickly, though, and blasts him in the chest, sending Poe flying backward and into the side of the nearest building. He rolls over and groans, thankful it wasn't set to full stun—or kill. This hunter is even more unusual than Poe thought. The man stands over him and is about to speak when Poe hears the click of a blaster behind them.

"Drop it," says Finn. The hunter turns and shoots so fast Poe barely has a chance to shout a warning. But Finn has good instincts too: he ducks and pulls the blaster from the hunter's hands with his newest Force skill. The hunter looks at his gloved hand in surprise before he tries again with a second weapon, and Finn again slams it aside with the Force.

"I could do this all day," Finn says.

The hunter raises an eyebrow. "Then let’s forget the weapons." He charges Finn with raises fists and they start fighting hand to hand.

Poe drags himself to his hands and knees and slowly stands against the wall, hugging his right side with one hand and wiping blood from a cut on his temple with the other. He hit the building hard and will probably have some colorful bruises soon. He watches the fight for a moment as he recovers from the stun bolt: two highly skilled men, one much older than the other, yet still strong. Poe has the odd thought that it's a bit like watching Finn fight himself in thirty years.

It does not take long, however, for Finn to gain the upper hand and pin the man down, call a blaster to his hand, and press it to the man's neck.

"Yield!" he demands. The hunter got in a good hit and Finn's lip is bleeding, and he's clearly pissed off about it.

"Get off me!" the hunter snarls. "I yield."

"Finn," Poe calls, and tosses him the fallen binders. Finn clamps them behind the man's back and hauls the hunter to his feet.

"Who are you?" Finn demands, but the man looks away. Poe finally figures it out—the clothing, the scar, the stories, and he walks over, moving slowly and still holding his side.

"You're Tenga Idoma, aren't you?" he asks. "I've heard of you, didn't think you worked this side of the galaxy."

"A hunter goes where the bounty goes." The bounty hunter is standing tall and proud, a bruise forming on his left jaw, the wound on his arm small but red and raw.

"I'm the bounty," Poe stage-whispers to Finn, who rolls his eyes.

"Oh, you are both wanted men," Idoma says, laughing bitterly. "I figured I couldn't take you together, so I flipped a chip on who to follow first. I didn't think I'd get my ass handed to me by a former trooper if I followed the pilot."

Poe takes a step forward—always his instinctive response when someone refers to Finn as a Stormtrooper—but Finn stops him with a hand on Poe's arm. He's looking at the man curiously.

"Are you a former trooper, too?" Finn asks.

"I neverserved the First Order." The man spits in the street, so vehemently angry it earns a look of surprise from Finn. "They took everything from me."

"Then why are you tracking us down?" Poe asks. "We're fighting to make sure they don't ever do it again, you know."

The man shakes his head. "I told you, this is my last job. Then I'm done."

Finn looks to Poe with a shrug. "What should we do with him?" he asks.

Poe looks at the man, then back at Finn. The resemblance is almost uncanny. Something—his own instincts, or maybe the Force—prompts him to say, "Bring him with us." He turns to the bounty hunter. "You're under arrest."

"You can't arrest me!" Idoma exclaims, and struggles in his binders, grimacing with pain, but Finn holds tight.

"I'm a general, sure I can," says Poe. Which is not strictly true, but he needs more time with this man.

"What are we going to do with him?" Finn asks. "Why don't we turn him in to the authorities here?"

Poe thinks about what to say, how to say it. "I have some more questions for him," he says. "Come on, let's head back to the Falcon."

Finn looks both skeptical and curious as he comms Vi Moradi's man and explains the situation. Poe calls the pilot he was supposed to meet. The hunter moves reluctantly but does not put up a fight. It feels strange to be taking him in so easily, and Poe can’t help but wonder why—or if something is about to go massively wrong. He tries not to think about who Tenga Idoma might really be, but he can’t help but wonder about that as well.

[agentlemuse]

Dea!!! I am so in love with your Buddie the old guard fic I've read it so many times now I LOVE IT could you maybe write a little sequel to it with Eddie whitnessing Buck dying and coming back to life for the first time! No pressure obvs but you'd make me super happy! thanks again for writing the buddie old guard au fic ITS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!

Hayley I am so sorry for making you wait!

Also on AO3

“How much are you willing to wager,” Hen challenges, her own stack of bills being dropped on the table like a declaration of war.

Chim eyes everyone carefully, emptying out all the money in his wallet with a confident pop of his gum. “I’m all in. Buck?”

“All in. Eddie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! It’s tradition,” Buck begs, practically pouting as he tries to get Eddie to join in on the bet. He refuses every time and every time Buck acts surprised.

“Pretty sure the only tradition here is them getting all of your money,” Eddie points out with a smirk, earning a sharp laugh from Athena.

“You are too young to be this lame,” Buck sighs dramatically as Eddie rolls his eyes. He might be lame, but at least he will keep his money.

Just like that Hen is crowing as Buck laments his defeat. He looks to him with wide eyes in hopes of sympathy but all Eddie can do is laugh. He did warn him.

Athena and Bobby were chuckling fondly from their spot in the corner, speaking to each other without saying a word as they do often do. After one night of partaking in too much of Hen’s sangria he asked Buck if they had developed telepathic powers and Buck laughed so hard he snorted red wine out his nose. Considering their immortal status he didn’t think it was quite that funny, but Buck disagreed.

Looking at them now he still says it was a valid question.

“Okay everyone listen up,” Athena announces, drawing the attention of everyone with the simple command. “We have some news.”

“New job,” Buck asks eagerly, already wanting to speed ahead.

Bobby and Athena share a sad look and for the first time since Eddie has known them they look like they’re struggling to find the words to say. Athena stands, picking at a scab on her arm.

A scab.

She shouldn’t have a—

“I’m mortal.”

It’s funny how you can live for a millennia and a single moment can still knock you to your knees.

Athena could still have three, maybe even four, decades with them, but suddenly each moment is finite. He knew this was possible, Buck had told him about Abby, but it wasn’t real until now.

He may not know her as well as the others; hasn’t watched dynasties rise and fall with her, but she’s his family now. He foolishly thought he’d have more time before saying goodbye to family again.

But it’s not about him. It’s about Athena. It’s about the people who have loved her for centuries trying to wrap their minds around life without her.

Eddie doesn’t know much about Buck’s parents, partly because there isn’t much worth remembering from the way Buck tells it, but Athena is his mother for all intents and purposes. Now that she’s - not vulnerable (she’d stab him for even thinking it) - mortal, Buck has been like an overprotective mother hen. Athena has looked ready to strangle him on more than one occasion and he’s pretty sure the fussing is more likely to take years off her life than anything else.

And it’s sweet. Funny even, how Athena looks at him with such exasperated fondness.

Only that overprotectiveness makes a reckless Buck even more reckless.

Which, fine, Buck’s immortal. For now. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? The idea that immortality just ends was hypothetical before now.

And Buck is—

Buck is—

Buck is his family. His person. The only reason he doesn’t spend this eternity of his lamenting every new day.

Buck has been on this earth for nearly a millennia without him, but Eddie doesn’t want to live without him. Not for a thousand years or a thousand days or even a thousand minutes. Not because he needs Buck, but because he wants him. He wants his kind eyes and infectious laughter beside his side. He wants the feel of his breath on the back of his neck as he lays curled in behind him. He’s not sure he can go back to sleeping alone.

A shame he’ll need roughly a thousand years to figure out a way to finally tell him, which is not going to happen with Buck being so eager to get himself killed.

Buck insists on throwing himself into danger, which means Eddie has to throw himself further. He’s younger, newer, he can take more hits. He knows logically that Buck must have died hundreds of times before him, but he hasn’t died since Eddie killed him. Maybe he can’t keep him alive forever, but he can certainly try.

Bobby catches on first.

“Nasty hit you took today.”

“I’ve had worse,” Eddie says nonchalantly, fingers flexing against a phantom wound long since healed. Buck stormed out earlier, pissed he jumped in front of a bullet for him only to bleed out slowly. Tonight Buck will hold him closer, making sure he’s still in one piece; a bittersweet ritual they’ve formed together. He’ll take the anger if it keeps Buck safe.

“You’ve been taking a lot of hits lately.”

“Saying I should work on my ducking skills?”

“Saying you can’t take them all,” Bobby replies, cutting off whatever comment he might be opening his mouth to say with a look. “When is the last time Buck died?”

“You should ask—“

“When?”

“When I shot him,” Eddie admits, jaw clenching.

“He’s had a good run, but good runs end. He knows what’s at stake just like everyone else. We can’t outrun the inevitable. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you try,” Bobby says softly, an unspoken pain behind his eyes. “Don’t miss out on the good worrying about the bad.”

“Wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t so eager to put himself in harm’s way,” Eddie deflects, no real malice in his words.

“Funny, that’s what Buck said about Athena.”

That was hardly the same. Buck is being reckless, Eddie is just—

Well it’s not like he can take care of him through his cooking, now can he?

The next few months they take it easy on the missions, focusing on time together as a family. It’s good, great even, but it’s only a matter of time before the world has a need for their set of skills.

Which is how they find themselves in this dimly lit warehouse in what is clearly a trap.

He and Buck have taken the front, trying to clear a path to the escape route so they can’t get pinned in. The sharp pops of bullets flood his ears, a fog of plaster dust filling the air as bullets lodge in walls instead of bone.

There are too many blind spots and not enough cover.

There’s shouting, cries of pain, but none of them familiar. They’re gaining ground, they’re getting out, they’re—

The sick sound of a bullet striking flesh, muscle, bone enters his ear. A spray of blood hits his cheek.

Eddie turns to see Buck crumple against the ground.

Suddenly there is no noise, no friends or foes. There was only Buck lifeless on the floor, his head a gaping wound of brain matter and skull.

He falls to his knees beside him, blood soaking his trousers as he reaches out to help him. Only, he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“Buck, wake up. Buck. Buck.” He doesn’t recognize his voice, doesn’t recognize the frantic panic of this strange sound coming out of his mouth.

He thinks of all those zombie movies he used to watch with his sisters when he was young. The only way to kill them was to take out the brain. They couldn’t come back from that. Buck couldn’t—

Eddie shot him in the head once, but this was different. There hadn’t been this hole. There hadn’t been brain matter scattered across the floor. Buck hadn’t taken this long to wake up.

He can’t do this without him. He doesn’t want to do this without him.

“Wake up, wake up, you have to wake up,” Eddie demands, then begs.

“Eddie, we have to keep going,” Chim says from across the room, providing cover from enemies he couldn’t care less about. “He’ll catch up.”

He ignores him. Of course he ignores him. He can’t leave Buck. He’s going to wake up, he has to, so why is it taking so long?

The team moves on, because there is no other choice if they want to get out of here, but Eddie doesn’t move. He waits for a sign of life, anything, but Buck stays perfectly still. He should be healing already, blue eyes fluttering and a smile on his lips. He shouldn’t be so still and pale under the stark stream of red.

He’s so lost waiting for puffs of air that aren’t coming he misses the footsteps behind him. It’s not until he feels rough hands grabbing at him that he remembers the fight. He feels a knife slide through his ribs as they try to drag him back. He thrashes wildly, scrambling for any weakness he can exploit. They’re not going to take him away from Buck. He’s not leaving him alone. He’s not—

A single shot rings out and the man Eddie was fighting falls.

Eddie turns back to Buck who is sitting up with a gun in hand.

Eddie scrambles over to him, pulling him close, feeling the side of his head to make sure he’s whole.

“Eddie, we need to catch up with the others,” Buck urges, already back in the game. How can he be so calm? How can he be so steady? “Eddie. Eddie.”

“Your birthmark grew back.”

Buck’s face grows soft for a moment, letting out a puff of breath like it was punched out of him. Eddie can feel the wound on his side healing, but he ignores it, busy feeling the pulse of Buck’s heartbeat where his hand rests on Buck’s neck.

“Eddie, we have to keep going.”

“You weren’t waking up. You took so long to wake up.”

“I’m here, Eddie,” Buck insists, resting his forehead warm and whole against Eddie’s. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you, okay? I won’t leave you. Now let’s go.”

Eddie goes with him because there is no other option. He doesn’t want to be anywhere without him.

It doesn’t doesn’t get any easier to watch him die, but Buck always comes back to him. He has to believe he always will.

[albertasunrise]

No More - Chapter 9

Summary: Frankie has been your best friend since you were in the 2nd grade. You were each other’s first’s, he, your first love and as you’d both gotten older you always somehow fell into bed together after one too many drinks with the boys. You don’t know how much longer you can keep this up but fate has other plans for you both and events are set in motion to decide for you.

Warnings: Angst, Blood and Injury, Hospitalisation, Descriptions of childbirth, Smut 18+ 

Pairings: Frankie/ Reader

~

You’re pulled back by invisible hands as you watch Frankie gasp and choke for air, lips turning a sickly shade of blue and you feel yourself losing control. What was happening? You watch as one of the men that helped him lowers his ear to his chest, closing his eyes in concentration as he tries to listen past the wheezing.

‘Ribs punctured his lung.’ He states as he looks at the man beside him ‘Anyone see an ambulance?’

‘Yeah, it’s coming.’ Chime’s in one of the women that are holding you.

Then you hear the sirens, you hear Brad’s screaming, Frankie’s gasping and Emma’s cries and you feel overwhelmed by the noise. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You bounce Emma in your arms as you try and calm her cries but she won’t stop, her eyes fixed on her dad. Suddenly the ambulance is there and the EMT’s are swarming, getting to work on stabilising Frankie and you decide you can’t watch, you can’t do this again.

‘Ma’am?’ A familiar voice calls and you turn to see the officers that had been looking for Emma ‘Is this Emma?’ Asks the female officer as she smiles at you and your baby.

‘Y-yes.’ You stutter as you try to keep yourself calm.

‘Hello, Emma.’ She says softly as she lets the infant wrap her hand around her index finger ‘You’ve had us all very worried. I’m glad to see you, sweetheart.’

You find her words oddly soothing. She looks at you and gives you a warm smile and you find yourself relaxing a little, able to calm your mind a little from the chaos that surrounds you. You see her partner taking Brad to the police car and you lock eyes with your ex, your blood running cold at the look in his eyes.

‘That should be my baby.’ He growls before spitting on the ground and being roughly shoved in the back of the vehicle.

‘What does he mean by that?’ The female officer asks, noting the sudden panic spreading across your face and placing a comforting hand on your arm.

‘I uh… We’re expecting another baby.’ You state as you finally tear your eyes away from the space that Brad had occupied a few moments ago ‘Brad had been replacing my contraceptive pills with placebos.’

‘It’s not…”

‘No it’s Frankie’s.’ You assure her and she gives you a warm smile.

‘Well, congratulations.’ She says, giving your arm another squeeze ‘He’s going away for a long time. You can rest easy knowing he’ll not hurt your family again.’

‘Thank you.’ You reply as you nod and give her a small smile, before turning to look at the EMT who’s walked up behind you.

‘He’s stable. Few broken ribs, one pierced his lung. Are you going to come in the ambulance?’ They ask, eyes flitting between you and the officer.

‘Yes.’ You reply plainly before placing a small kiss on Emma’s cheek.

‘What the fuck happened?’ Yells a familiar voice and you see Benny and Will sprinting towards you.

You’d forgotten that you’d invited them over this evening but you were so happy to see them both. Their eyes grow even wider when they see Emma in your arms and Ben is quick to pull her from your grasp and hug her tight, weeping as he breathes her in.

'Fuck I missed you Em.' He says as she cradles her head against the crook of his neck.

‘Brad must have seen the baby announcement.’ You start ‘He turned up with Emma and beat Frankie within an inch of his life. I need to go with him will you take care of her. Please.’

‘Of course.’ Nods Will as he takes Emma from his brother and hugs her tightly ‘We’ll get her cleaned and dressed and come by later.’

‘Thank you.’ You give them both a quick hug before sprinting off to the ambulance and clambering inside.

~

He’s going to be okay. Those words keep running around inside your head as you watch Frankie sleep, waiting eagerly for him to open his eyes again. He looks a little better now he’s been cleaned up. His eye’s still swollen and he has a large cut just by his hairline but his face was otherwise okay. His ribs were a different story. Brad had broken several which had lead to one puncturing his lung. You’d been advised that he was fine and that they just wanted to keep him in for a few days for observation to ensure he didn’t develop any infections. They said he’d be out for a few hours due to the strong pain killers they’d given him but you’d sat and waited anyway, hand resting on your small bump. You’d had time to contemplate things. You’d thought about how Frankie had done nothing but put you first in the past few months, despite his internal struggle. He’d cared for you when you were ill and he’d consoled you when you’d learned that you were pregnant again. He’s never once pressured you into anything, just supported you and cared for you and you’d come to realise. He really is in love with you. Once the initial shock of baby number two wore off he’d embraced it, shown you that it was nothing to be ashamed or worried about. That it had been, if anything, a blessing in disguise. Something to hold on to in those hard times and you’d eventually come round to the idea of having another baby with him. Now you couldn’t wait.

‘You’re thinking loudly.’ He grumbles and you practically leap from your seat, grabbing his hand as you watch him slowly come around ‘Where’s Emma?’

‘She’s with Will and Ben.’ You reply, smiling sweetly at him ‘They’re going to bring her around later but I needed to stay with you.’

‘I’m sorry I-.’

‘No shhh…’ You hush as you stand and start to stroke his unruly curls ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Brad’s gone and we're a family again. You, Me, Emma and this little Bean.’ You finish as you lay his hand on your stomach.

‘We?’

You lower your lips to his, careful not to hurt him and you kiss him sweetly. He doesn’t react at first, shocked by this sudden change but then he’s kissing you back, moaning when your tongues collide and fight for dominance. You pull away, lips swollen and cheeks flushed as you catch your breath and look at him sheepishly. Forming your next words carefully.

‘I love you, Francisco Morales.’ You start, raising your finger to quieten him when he goes to speak ‘And I’ve come to realise that you do love me too. I want to raise this baby with you. I want to raise Emma with you. I want us to be a family.’

‘I want that too.’

‘I’m sorry it took my ex beating the shit out of you for me to realise but I do know now… And if you’re not too fed up of waiting, will you have me?’

‘Definitely.’ He replies, yanking you down into another kiss more passionate than the first.

‘I love you, Lazo.’ He mumbles against your lips and you grin and each other like lovesick teens.

~

You were shocked at how many people turned up for Emma’s first Birthday. You’d decided to throw a barbecue and invited all the neighbours who had helped you when Brad had turned up. You'd become quite close to them all, disaster does bring people together. Those neighbours turned up, bringing along their kids and a few had even invited friends who had children Emma’s age. It was fortunate that Frankie had gone overboard on the amount of food he’d bought. You’d gone all out. A petting zoo in the yard, a bouncy castle which Ben spent most of his time on, with Emma of course, and for the parents a camper van bar that was complete with a vast selection of Gin. You were of course six months along and starting to feel it. You’d decided to combine the party with a gender reveal of the new baby so whatever the colour of the sponge in Emma’s cake was, that was what you were having. It had killed you both to wait this long but you wanted to make it special.

‘When are we cutting the cake it looks amazing!’ Questions Benny as he pulls you into a sideways hug and kisses you sweetly on the cheek.

The cake was amazing. You’d found a bakery in town that made the most incredible cakes and you’d commissioned a zoo-themed cake, Emma loved animals.

‘We’re cutting it in a few minutes. Will’s still okay to film it yeah?’

‘Defo babe.’ He replies ‘I reckon it’s another girl. Fish's got feminine swimmers.’

‘Fuck you, Ben.’

‘Nah I reckon it's a boy.’ Pipes up Will as he swans up beside you all ‘This is a great party sweetie. Got some great neighbours here!’

‘That we do!’ You reply with a smile ‘Where’s Emma?’

‘Over there with Sue. I’ll go fetch her.’ Says Frankie as he kisses you softly.

‘I can’t believe you waited two months to find out what the sex of the baby is.’ Says Will as he grabs the camera and tripod to set it up.

‘Right everyone if you could gather around that dashing gentleman just there with the camera. We’re going to cut the cake.’ You exclaim, making your way over to Frankie who’s waiting with Emma in his arms.

Everyone gathers, smiles on their faces and excited chatter filling the air as Will gives you the thumbs up to go.

‘So this isn’t just any ordinary cake.’ You start as you quickly glance at Frankie and Emma ‘It is indeed Emma’s first birthday cake but inside also holds a clue as to whether she’s going to have a little brother or a sister.’

There are a few cheers and a few shouts of ‘Girl’ and ‘Boy’ which elicit chuckles from you and Frankie, Emma clapping with excitement at the sight of her animal cake. You grab the knife and carefully cut a slice before sliding it underneath and holding the top so that you can lift it and reveal the colour inside.

‘FUCK YEAH.’ Shouts Ben and everyone laughs ‘Knew you had girly swimmers, bro!’

Sure enough, the sponge is pink and everyone erupts into cheers and claps, Emma screaming with excitement although probably to mirror everyone else reaction. You place the cake down on a plate and turn to face Frankie and Emma, grinning at them both as she wriggles in his arms.

‘You’re going to have a sister Bean!.’ You say excitedly as she claps her tiny hands ‘Sorry Frank. Maybe next time.’ You wink as you kiss him softly.

‘Next time??’ He exclaims ‘How many kids you planning on having?’ He chuckles as you kiss him sweetly before kissing the top of Emma’s head.

‘Maybe one more.’

‘Congrats Guys.’ Says Will sweetly as he gives you a friendly kiss on the cheek and a hug before turning to Frankie ‘Are you excited Emma?’

She giggles at Will’s question and he laughs at her reaction.

‘She doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s going on man.’ Frankie jokes as he kisses the apple of her cheek ‘Do you Princesa?’ She reacts the same way and everyone laughs a little harder.

~

You're a week late now and you're miserable. You've tried almost everything you can think of you coax the little one out but she's having none of it.

'It's her stubborn Latino blood.' You grumble as you rub your aching belly.

'Hey don't go hating on Latinos!' Frankie chuckles 'Look at Emma! She's the happiest baby on the planet.'

'Yeah... I'm convinced you're giving her pot when I'm not around.' You joke 'It's not normal for a kid to be that laid back. They certainly shouldn't love nap time as much as she does.'

'That, she got from me!.'

'No arguments there.' You reply with a wink.

Frankie booms at that and you laugh along with him before pushing yourself to your feet and waddling to the kitchen.

'What are you doing?'

'Making myself some tea Francisco.'

'I can make it for you.' He says as he walks up behind you and rests his hands on your hips.

'I do nothing but sit and bake this child. Let me make some tea.'

'You do look particularly beautiful today.' He growls in your ear as he pulls you closer to him.

So you'd learned for definite with this pregnancy that Frankie has a pregnancy kink. He couldn't get enough of you and you'd be lying if you said you could get enough of him.

'There's one thing we haven't tried.' He whispers against the shell of your ear as his hand slips down the front of your legs and he strokes a finger along your sex.

'We should try everything we can.' You mumble as you feel your arousal pooling in your core.

'Definitely.' He purrs as he slips two fingers into your heat.

He starts painfully slow and soon you're begging for him to speed up, one hand laced in his hair as the other holds onto the counter for support. He does as you ask and within minutes he's pulled an orgasm out of you. You shiver as he pulls down your leggings along with your panties before you finally kick them off and then you gasp when you feel his length nudge against your folds. He grabs your hips and pulls you back a little, wrapping an arm around you to support you as he pushes himself in. You both gasp together at the feeling, taking a moment to revel in each other before he's snapping his hips back and forth. His pace is maddening and you soon feel yourself approaching another peak, eyes rolling back as he hits that spot inside perfectly with each rock of his hips.

'Shit.' You whimper as you cum hard, your release gushing over him and dripping onto the floor.

'Fucking hell.' He breaths as he speeds up, chasing his release as he tries to pull just one more out of you.

You cum together, moaning loudly as you both hold onto the counter for support, legs shaking from the mind-shattering orgasms you both had. As Franke pulls you he grabs a cloth from the side to clean you up.

'How long does it take to work?' You ask, chuckling as you lean against the counter.

Frankie simply shrugs, pulling up his trousers before bending down to do yours.

'Um, babe.'

'Yeah?'

'I think it worked.' He states and you look down to see a pool of clear liquid beside the one you'd made during sex.

'Great!'

~

Frankie and Will help you to the car as you try to breathe through the contractions, Benny holding onto a fussy Emma who’s trying to wriggle from his arms.

‘You can’t go Em but in a little while you’re going to be a big sister.’ He says softly in her ear as he watches Will and Frankie help you into the car ‘Until then we’re going to play and eat cake.’

This seems to grab her attention as suddenly she’s beaming at him and he chuckles as he looks into her eyes, Frankie’s eyes. He looks up when he notices Frankie sprinting towards him, looking a little frantic as he plants a kiss on Emma’s forehead.

‘You sure you’re going to be okay?’ He asks as he looks at Ben with a panicked expression.

‘We will be fine man.’

‘I’ve left instructions on the table and all her-.’

‘Go before she gives birth in the car.’ Ben interrupts, patting his friend on the shoulder ‘We will be fine. Call us when the baby's here!’

‘Yeah.’ He nods, kisses Emma again and then sprints to the car, cursing in Spanish when he forgets it's a button start, not a key.

The drive to the hospital is chaotic. Your screaming means that Frankie’s swerving as he tries to keep you calm and focus on the road. It’s no surprise when the flashing lights appear and he’s being pulled over but as soon as the officers see you, red-faced and furious in the passenger seat they’re soon escorting you the rest of the way.

‘Well, this is something to tell her when she's older.’ He jokes and you managed to let out a small laugh before another contraction tears through you.

‘FUCK!!’ You scream, knuckles going white as you grip the dashboard in front of you.

‘We’re almost there baby.’

Sure enough, 3 minutes later you’re pulling into the hospital behind the flashing cop car, a nurse with a wheelchair waiting for you.

‘Wow, door service.’ Frankie jokes but you’re in too much pain to see the humour now.

He hops out of the car and runs around to your door, helping you out and into the wheelchair that’s been pushed over.

‘You head in, I’ll park your car for you.’ Says the officer and Frankie is quick to toss him the keys ‘I’ll leave them at the nurse's station.

‘Thank you so much.’ Frankie says as he shakes the officer's hand before following you inside.

You’re quickly taken to a private room, the nurse helping you out of your clothes and into a gown before she, along with Frankie, helps you lay down in the bed.

‘A doctor will be along shortly to see how far along you are.’

You can only nod, tears streaming down your face as you try to breathe through it. This is the first real labour you’ve experienced as you’d passed out during Emma’s. It’s hell and you’re pretty sure you’re crushing every bone in Frankie’s hand but he doesn’t complain, just stands there and takes it.

‘Right I understand a baby is coming.’ The doctor jokes and you glare at him but Frankie laughs.

‘She’s not in the best of humour right now.’ He says and you do manage a chuckle at that.

‘Right well you’re around 8 cms so she’s well on her way.’ He says, giving you both a smile 'I’ll be back soon so see how you’re getting on.

Another half an hour and you’re in the delivery room, holding onto Frankie’s hand for dear life as the doctor tells you to push. You do. Over and over you push until suddenly your screams are replaced with the cries of your newborn daughter and then you sob, your whole body shaking with exhaustion as the nurse hands you your baby. Frankie wraps his arm around your trembling shoulders and rests his chin on your head, looking down at the tiny infant in your arms and he suddenly can't stop the tears that fall. Neither of you had been able to experience Emma’s birth so this was a truly special moment.

‘Has she got a name?’ The nurse asks you both and you suddenly realise you hadn’t agreed on one.

Looking down at her you see that she too has Frankie’s dark hair and golden skin tone but it’s a little early to tell who’s eye’s she’s inherited.

‘I think she looks like an Ava.’ You say as you look lovingly up at Frankie.

‘Yeah.’ He replies, returning your gaze ‘I think so too.’ He finishes before kissing you sweetly.

~

‘Right you all ready?’ Calls out Will as he gets the camera connected up.

‘Yes.’ You all shout in unison.

‘Ava and Emma are getting fussy. Hurry the fuck up Bro.’ Grumbles Benny as he holds a bouncy toddler in his lap.

‘Right.’ Will sprints over to where everyone is sat patiently waiting for him to get the camera set up.

You are sat beside Frankie, his arms around you as you cradle Ava in yours and Ben is then beside him with Emma. Will sits down next to you and clicks the shutter button on his phone before telling everyone to say cheese. The shutter goes and he brings the image up on his phone.

‘First time!!’ He exclaims and you all breathe a sigh of relief before.

‘Pool!.’ Emma shouts at her uncle Ben and he chuckles.

‘Why couldn’t your kid’s first word be normal?’ He chuckles as he chucks Emma in the air and catches her.

‘POOL POOL POOL!.’ She keeps squealing and Frankie grabs her from his friend.

‘We don’t have a pool but you can have a bath?’

‘NO!.’

‘Well, that’s a new one.’ He chuckles as everyone looks at her in surprise.

‘Where did she even learn pool from anyway?’ Enquires Will as he plugs his camera into his laptop.

‘Greg across the street had one put in and he invited everyone round last weekend.’ States Frankie as he pops Emma down and watches her waddle towards Ben ‘Turns out she’s part fish.’

‘Seems apt when her dad is called Catfish.’ Ben jokes, his brother snorting in response.

Frankie just rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself as he gathers the cushions and throws you’d decorated the bench with. It had been Will’s idea for the ‘family photo’ as he’d put it and you’d thrown yourself at the idea. Frankie had never been one for photos but he liked the idea of putting it on the wall amongst the photos of you, him and his family. You had ended up selling your house and moving into his. It was larger and better suited for a growing family but you’d also liked the idea of your children growing up in the same house that you and Frankie did. It felt like everything had come around full circle. All the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place and now you were exactly where you were meant to

[isis-astarte-diana]

Sunday Dinner

Summary: “You’re trying to be distracting, and it’s working!” Missy aggressively flirts her way through a slightly tense Sunday lunchtime in the kitchen.

Warnings: Tickling. Yeah, it’s that fluffy. Innuendo. Also, obviously, MIHOW.

Word Count: 1639

NB: Because I can, I’ve decided that this is a follow on from Milk and Honey - a little bit of domestic fluff (with the teeniest hint of angst) from cohabitating inter-species girlfriends!

"You look especially lovely when you’re holding a knife, you know.”

“Would you behave?” Throwing a look of fond exasperation over your shoulder, you find Missy at the sink, unbuttoning her cuffs. She folds her sleeves elegantly up to her elbows, revealing enough pale skin on her forearms to make you draw your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She purses her lips and cocks her head in an unconvincing facsimile of innocence. “I’m being a good little scullery maid, putting my fair hands to use,” for emphasis she shows you her fingers, wiggling them in the air, “peeling potatoes, just as instructed.”

“Except you’re not peeling potatoes,” you point out, raising an eyebrow. “You’re standing there flirting with me.”

“Oh, poppet.” In the close quarters of your kitchen she only has to take a step to press a swift kiss to your cheek. You smile, ducking your head as she finishes cuffing her sleeves. “I can do both.”

“Yeah, I bet you can.” You turn back to the vegetables on the chopping board and she starts the tap running, setting to work at last. Slashing crosses into the tops of Brussels sprouts, you ask softly, “do you think this’ll be alright?”

“I’m fairly sure we won’t poison them.” She pauses for a moment. “Unless you wanted to, of course, in which case I could always-”

Chuckling, you shake your head. “You know what I mean, Missy.” To begin with, you’d worried that her habit of defusing certain serious conversations with a noncommittal threat of murder or violence might become tiresome; worse, that it was an avoidance tactic on her part to keep difficult topics in the dark. After a while, though, once you’d realised that she was willing and able to talk seriously when you needed her to, it had grown on you, and now, nervous over something as silly as having your friends over for Sunday dinner, you see it for what it is - a way of making you stop to question your own anxieties before they overwhelm you. “You don’t think it’s gonna be- I don’t know... weird?”

“Oh, it’s going to be thoroughly bizarre,” she agrees, over the sound of swift and skilful work at the sink. “Awkward, and uncomfortable, and you’ll probably say something embarrassing that’ll haunt you for weeks-”

Huffing, you butcher a particularly unfortunate sprout beyond recognition. “You’re not helping-”

“-but we’ll get through it. And you’ll feel better for it. And the next time won’t be quite so bad.”

You scoff, feeling mutinous tears heavy in your throat. “You promise?”

“Cross my hearts.” The tap stops running. “Potatoes are done.”

“Wait, really?” Setting the knife down, you turn to see her drying her hands on a tea towel. “That was fast.”

“Oh, of course, now you’re impressed.” She pouts. “Weeks of TARDIS maintenance with a pair of pliers and a butter knife and nobody bats an eye, but peel a few vegetables and she’s weak at the knees.”

“I was always weak at the knees for you.”

Missy grins, setting the towel aside and reaching for your cheek. “Well I know that now, don’t I?”

The moment is broken when her fingers brush your cheekbone and you yelp, jerking away from her. “Your hands are freezing!”

You realise your mistake immediately. 

Her smile widens, the barest flash of canine making you wince. As mischief starts to sparkle in her blue eyes you set your features as sternly as you can and warn, “no, no, Missy, do not-”

There’s nowhere to run as she backs you into the countertop, and before you can brace yourself her icy fingers are sneaking under your jumper and shirt, snatching your breath when they come to rest on the bare skin of your waist and wriggle.

“That’s not fair!” You push weakly at her shoulders, twisting in her grasp. A tickle just under your ribs makes you shriek with furious delight. “I was being nice to you-”

“You’re always nice to me, dearest,” she teases, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of her nose as you jerk under her ministrations. “It’s your greatest weakness.”

“You are a nasty Time Lady,” you squeak, no venom in the words, and she chuckles.

“That was never in question.” Working her fingers higher, she reminds you, “you know how to make it stop.”

You tighten your jaw and shake your head, steadfastly refusing to give in. “I will not.”

“Fine. I can do this all day.” She rolls her eyes skywards, tongue poking at the inside of her cheek as her fingertips climb past the band of your bra, and the first touch to your sensitive underarms makes you cry out, squeezing your biceps to your sides, succeeding only in pinning her hands in place. “Just say the words, and it’ll all be over...”

Whining, you make one last ditch effort to squirm out of her hands before you reluctantly cry, “please, Mistress, have mercy!”

“Good girl!” She snatches her hands away, giving you just long enough to get your breath back before she kisses you. Firm, this time, and not teasing, she rests her palms on your clothed waist. You mirror her, stroking your thumbs over the thin fabric of her blouse as your lips move against hers. When she pulls away, she chides, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You scowl, but the corners of your mouth refuse to keep from turning up. “I’m beginning to understand why you got stabbed.”

“My last wife shot me,” she points out helpfully, “so, you know, swings and roundabouts.”

“You probably deserved it.”

“Oh, I definitely deserved it.” Missy presses another swift kiss to your lips and chucks you under the chin. “Next job?”

“Hmm?” You lean absently into her embrace. “Oh! Next job, I need stuffing.”

She chuckles, sliding her fingers just under the hem of your shirt once more. “Right here, in front of the vegetables?”

It takes you a moment to catch up to what she’s saying, and when you do, you smack her lightly on the arm and pull away. “Oh my God! Do you ever stop?”

“I’m only trying to be helpful, poppet.”

“You’re trying to be distracting, and it’s working! Blue box, top cupboard. I need to put the potatoes in the oven.”

“Blue box, top cupboard,” she echoes, in a mockingly nasal tone. You scoff, getting the potatoes ready to roast. Behind you the cupboard door opens and closes and she sniffs with disdain.

“Are you entirely sure this is a foodstuff?” She brandishes the bag of dehydrated stuffing mix. “Because it doesn’t look like one.”

“You mix it with water, Missy.”

“That sounds worse.” She frowns down at the back of the box and starts to read the instructions aloud with obvious boredom. “Pre-heat the oven to-”

“We’ve done that,” you remind her, bending over to put the roasting tray in. “Just put it in a bowl and-”

“Empty the sachet into a heatproof dish,” she speaks over the top of you, “and add two-hundred millilitres of boiling water, mix well, and, my goodness, you really do have the most captivating backside.”

You squeak, almost burning your fingers on the oven shelf. “I don’t think it says that.”

“No, no, it does, right here.” She shows you the box when you straighten up. “In fact, it says that you absolutely must cancel your plans for the day so that I can-”

"Kettle!” Blushing furiously, you point out the appliance and she smirks, snatching it up and filling it. “What happened to getting through this and feeling better for it?”

“It’s not my fault that you’re a ravishing temptress.” She rolls the word around in her mouth until you shiver. “How am I supposed to concentrate with you standing there looking like that?”

“Looking like what?” You glance down at your jumper and leggings - the ones with a small hole in the knee, you realise now. “In fact, don’t answer that.”

“Stop that.” She lifts your chin with her fingers and her brows draw inwards with her frown. “You look enchanting. You always do.”

“Sorry.” You offer her a weak smile. “I’m just- nervous, I s’pose.”

“Really? Because you hide it so very well.” Missy quirks an eyebrow saucily. “Talk to me, poppet. I’m sure I can help.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Probably,” she agrees, and you laugh. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth talking about.” Leaning against the counter, she loops an arm around your shoulders and gently tugs you into her chest. “Come on. Tell mummy what’s wrong.”

Melting into the embrace, you can’t even muster up a scoff at the way she refers to herself. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“I might laugh at you,” she admits, combing gentle fingers through your hair. “But only a little bit.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and bury your face in her shoulder. “I know that they know about us,” you mumble into her blouse. “But they’ve never actually seen us together, and- I don’t know, being here alone with you has been so good and I s’pose I just liked having you all to myself. Being yours, without anybody watching.”

“I’m not laughing.” She kisses your temple and gives you an encouraging squeeze. “But, as much as I would love to keep you locked away like a princess in a tower, I’m afraid that that might not be very well-received.”

“No, I imagine not.” You nuzzle into her shoulder. “And I am looking forward to making the Doctor squirm.”

“Not as much as I am,” she teases, and you can feel her grin against your cheek as much as you can hear it in her voice. “Could you say the stuffing thing again when they’re here? It’s honestly a shame that there was no audience for that.”

[fallout-lou-begas]

Elevated Extras: Ranger Ghost Companion

You a Courier? If so, this might be your lucky day...if you don't mind walking a bit and your eyes are good. 

(Original sketch by @tarberrymentats / based on the OC Companion Meme by @falloutfandomeventhub / if you borrow this concept please tag it as #fallout elevated extras)

General

Name: Ranger Ghost

Location: Mojave Outpost

How to obtain: Complete the sidequest “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize,” then begin the sidequest “Giving Up the Ghost” to get her reassigned from the Mojave Outpost. Once freed of her assignment, she can travel with the Courier to monitor Legion activity throughout the Mojave.

Companion Quest: “Giving Up the Ghost.”

Ranger Ghost, like everyone else, is sick and tired of being stuck at the Mojave Outpost. Unfortunately, orders are orders. With the courier’s help, though, she just might be able to come down from that rooftop, but dealing with NCR bureaucracy might be a worse ordeal than Legion crucifixion.

Companion Wheel

I think we should travel together. You probably can’t tell, but that’d make me very happy. Let’s get the hell out of here.

Let’s talk about your tactics. Sure. Lecture the ranger on tactics. Go ahead. / What’re you thinking?

I want you to change your combat style. (humoring) Alright. / If you insist.

Use a melee weapon. Close combat, then. / Sure. We can hold their hands and tuck them in while we’re at it. / (Wild Wasteland Enabled) Try to remember the basics of CQC.

Use a ranged weapon. (stating the obvious) It’s what I do. / You going to spot for me? / (deeply sarcastic) Aww. Finally remembered I’m a ranger?

Be passive. Sure, give peace a chance. / Don’t go pacifist on me, now.

Be aggressive: Locked and loaded. / (mocking the company line) Right, and with “extreme prejudice.”

Enough about tactics. Agreed. Anything else? / Are we good, then?

Let’s talk about how close you’re following me. Is there a problem? / What are you...implying, exactly?

Wait here. Right. Things to do, places to be? / Holding down here. / I’ll keep watch here.

Follow me. Let’s roll out. / Finally. Don’t like waiting. / Right. Skip to my fucking lou.

Stay close to me. (sternly cautious) Define “close.” / Got it, on you. / Just don’t bump my gun.

Keep your distance. Positioning, got it. / Yeah, covering you. / (facetious concern) Don’t get lost, now.

Let’s trade equipment. Don’t get fucking handsy, now. / Just don’t hog the ammo.

(Overburdened). I’m not your fucking pack brahmin. / (exasperated) I’ve only got so many pockets.

(Sneaking). Staying low. / (wryly imperative) Quiet, now.

(In Courier’s iron sights). What the fuck is wrong with you? / (slowly, emphasizing) Watch your trigger discipline. / Don’t make me take that away.

(Courier lays mine). I’ve got my eyes on that. / You’d better have a plan for that.

It’s time for us to part ways. It’s because i’m a bitch, isn’t it. / Such sweet fucking sorrow, I bet.

I’d like you to go to the Lucky 38. Hm. Sending the Ghost to the haunted house. See you there. I’ll try not to spook the Securitrons.

We can meet again at the Mojave Outpost. (sucks teeth) Guess I’ll report what I’ve got back to headquarters. Hopefully by now they’ve got someone else watching the brahmins shit full-time.

Injured: (seething) SSShhit. / Didn’t want it like this. / (with conviction) I didn’t get off that roof just to fucking bite it.

Damaged Limb: (shout of pain) Fucker clipped me! / Sure could use a fucking medic.

Regaining Consciousness: What...what the hell happened? / (trailing off) Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck...

Death: (death rattle) / (weakly) Ghosts...can die, huh...ha...

Attributes

Aggression: Aggressive.

Confidence: Brave.

Assistance: Helps friends and allies.

Karma: Neutral.

Perks

Ghost of a Chance: When Ranger Ghost is by your side, so are the odds. In addition to gaining an extra 3% chance to critically hit, any single attack that would kill you may instead leave you just barely alive and invulnerable for a brief moment..

Drops, if killed

Ranger Vest Outfit

Ranger Grey Hat

Authority Glasses

Cowboy Repeater

Combat Knife

Iguana Bits

Grognak the Barbarian

Dialogue, Quest Details, and Ending Slides:

Dialogue

Why do they call you Ghost? What, don’t I scare you? Boo? Nothing? (beat) Well, if you gotta know, it stuck pretty quick back in basic. Not like there were many other albinos in boot camp. The all-white spooky bitch who shoots better at night? Yeah, that’s a ghost, alright. Pissed me off at first, but I came around when it started giving privates the heebie-jeebies. Just a little kick, is all.

What’s an albino? Albinism is a pigment disorder. You know, the color of your skin and hair? As in I don’t have color. Pale as a sheet.

[Medicine 35] A sharpshooter with albinism? Isn’t your vision affected? Done your homework, huh? Well, these big, bad sunglasses aren’t just for intimidation, doc. They only come off when I sleep. Sucks enough being photosensitive in the goddamn desert, but like I said. I’m a lot better at night.

What’s your real name? (the thousandth time she’s answered this exact question) If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.

Aw, come on. Curiosity killed the courier. Don’t push it.

[Speech 40] I’m just trying to understand my partner better. Then “understand” that I don’t owe you shit except loyalty. Just call me Ghost, and you’ll get that.

[Cherchez La Femme] Surely you’ve got a name to match that lovely personality. (flustered) Are you d-...I-...Yeah, I do.But you can just keep calling me Ghost. (quietly) For...for now.

What’s the deal with Ranger Jackson? Man hasn’t got a thought in his fucking head...which is why he’s such a good C.O., from the top down. He’s a nice enough guy on a good day. He’s...principled, for sure. But the man wouldn’t budge on an order from brass if it’d save his life. Stranded caravaneers get so bored and restless because of the impasse he’s overseeing that he’s started (excessive emphasis) “hiring” the rowdier ones for odd jobs off the grounds, which is why we’ve been “losing” supplies for a while. Gets shit done, I guess, but wish he’d show half that drive when bitching to HQ, but no. They tell him to sit tight, he says yes sir, and then he takes it out on us when we get frustrated at the frustrating bullshit.

Do you know Major Knight? (standoffish) Yeah. Good guy. Known him a while. Hell, he’s been at M.O. longer than I have.

What does he do? Repairs, mostly. With all the caravans backed up, we sort of have a monopoly on maintenance and upkeep. And believe me, he does damn fine work.

[Confirmed Bachelor] Is he...you know…? Is he...oh. Between you and me? Yeah. He and I are...alike. I mean, I’m the bitch everybody hates, so I don’t really give a shit, but beneath that…(thinking how best to describe him, ribbing him a bit)...accountant exterior of his, he’s really the soft, sensitive type. Needs someone to talk to sometimes. I’m that someone, sometimes, but if you get the chance...it’d do him good just to know he’s not that alone out here.

How can I best use your skills? Hard to find a way that’d be worse than all the wasted time at M.O., but I’ll make it easy for you: give me a target and let me shoot it. If it’s too close to shoot, I’m trained in hand-to-hand, and if it’s too far to shoot, it’ll never see me coming. Standard repertoire for a ranger.

What’s your opinion on the NCR? High enough to keep me enlisted, low enough to where I’ve got plenty to mock. We’re a good country, a damn good country. We’re the only real country actually left in the West. We’d be the best thing to ever crawl out of the bombed-out ruins of this war if it weren’t for all the bureaucratic bullshit, and the brass getting duller the higher you go. It’s all just song and dance and sloganeering to them out here. Whatever looks good on paper. They don’t give a shit what really happens to people out here, and if Caesar doesn’t kill us, that might. At least on the inside.

What’s it like being a ranger? Ranger training is the best, most brutal gauntlet this side of the Colorado. Hours and hours of days and days spent shooting, drilling, fighting, bringing the body to its breaking points, pouring blood and sweat just to get an inch past the wide-eye hopefuls who were always going to just wash out...and all of it just to stand on a fucking rooftop staring at ants and malnourished raiders on the interstate. I swear, if you gave headquarters a golden egg, they’d fucking cook it.

Were you at the battle of Hoover Dam? Was going to be, but believe it or not, I sat out sick. Got the fucking flu right before and was stuck at McCarran the whole time, half-lucid. Let me tell you, the whole tent of coughs and sneezes crowding around that radio, listening to the reports...when Hanlon ordered that retreat out of Boulder City, we were grabbing our rifles and getting ready to march out on foot, even if we could barely stand. We thought that was it. Of course, it wasn’t, and we cheered so loud when they radioed about the explosion that I hope Caesar damn well heard it.

Do you wish that you had been there? Of course I do. If I miss the next one because I’m stuck at the Outpost or some shit, I’m deserting with a dozen fed-up caravaneers to flank his fucking fort myself, if only for some goddamn excitement.

How do you feel about the Legion? Love ‘em. Joined the NCR because I just wanted to meet them that bad. Their new Legate’s such a heartthrob, I hear.

You’re not serious. (sucks teeth, deep sigh) Look. You saw Nipton. It was just a taste of what they do. I’ve seen good men die on crosses, and that’s a mercy compared to the good women. I hear when women sign up now, they get about five extra “are you sures?” from recruiters. Not officially, of course. Brass would never let people back home know how bad it is. But it’s just another thing that makes me glad I’m a sniper, sometimes. Engage at range. Out of reach.

What about Legion society? Do you know anything about life across the river? There’s nothing across that river. Nothing. (beat, pondering) Do you remember the Enclave War? Bitter, bloody, big explosion at Navarro? And the Brotherhood campaign out here? Even worse of a shitshow, but still, we won that out, too. But the Enclave and the Brotherhood at least stood for something. They were societies, or at least promises of one, and if things had shaken out the other way for the NCR at least something would still be standing here. The Legion isn’t like that. They aren’t “something.” They’re one big razor across Arizona, shaving everything down. And if we don’t stop them here, we never will.

What about their Legate? (with contempt) Lanius, “The Monster of the East.” Caesar must’ve plucked him out of hell or something after his first legate blew it at Hoover Dam. Word from recon is that the only reason we’re all still twiddling our thumbs there is that he’s out making friends for Caesar someplace, and he’ll be bringing them all back for a whole ‘nother goddamn jamboree soon. (tension broken by a funny thought; spoken dryly) Or should I say a Damboree. Since it’d be at the Dam.

Do you know anything about Mr. House? No. Closest I’ve ever been to the Strip has been McCarran, where I was too proud to get wasted on expensive booze in the casinos. As punishment, I got stuck with nothing to do but get shitfaced on cheap booze at the outpost. All I know is Mr. House runs the whole Strip himself, and there’s one casino, the Lucky 36 or something, that’s supposed to be all his. No one’s allowed in, no one’s ever come out. Frankly? Just strikes me as fucking weird.

Companion Quest: Giving Up the Ghost

After completing the sidequest “Eyes On the Prize” (in which the Courier checks Nipton for survivors), Ghost will remark that the Mojave’s going to hell, and all she can do is sit and watch. The Courier will reply that she ought to stop watching and travel with them, to which she’ll respond that her orders are absolute—but if the courier can change her orders somehow, she’d be indebted. The quest then begins.

= = = Stage 1: Deal with Jackson = = =

First, the Courier must speak to Ranger Jackson and convince him to consider Ghost’s reassignment. They can do this through the following dialogue options:

[Speech 80] This outpost is just waiting to be overrun by Legion. You’ll be the next Nipton unless you’re proactive.

[Speech 55; completed “Can’t You Find It In Your Heart” beforehand] Maybe I could tell your superiors about where I “found” these “lost” supplies, then.

[Barter 80] Ghost is an exceptional asset to the rangers. Stationing her here is a waste of valuable NCR resources.

[NCR Fame] There’s work to be done for the NCR out there, and Ghost is who I trust to do it with me.

[Black Widow] I’ve ways of making men come around...especially handsome men in uniform. (The Courier must then sleep with Ranger Jackson)

Note that the Courier can not simply complete the quest “Can’t You Find It In Your Heart?” as a favor to Jackson for Ghost’s reassignment. While he’ll let a caravaneer go, it’ll take more than clearing some ants from the road to get him to compromise his standing force and let go of a ranger. 

Alternatively, Jackson’s death will advance the quest.

Kill Jackson. Similar to Cass’ companion quest, Jackson can simply be killed. However, Ghost is far less sympathetic to this course of action and will confront the Courier over the murder. If Jackson is simply killed, the Courier will either need a convincing alibi [Speech 90] to argue that they weren’t responsible or admit to the murder. If the Courier fails the Speech check or admits to the murder, Ghost will turn hostile (“Maybe you didn’t fucking think this through, but do you know what we call someone who kills an NCR ranger? An enemy of the NCR rangers. Now, eat shit.”). Alternatively, the Courier can intimidate Ghost into silence with a [Terrifying Presence] option, after which a shaken but seething Ghost will simply ask the Courier to leave the outpost and never come back. Passing the Speech check is the way to not fail the quest from this option.

Kill Jackson and frame Cass. If the Courier kills Jackson themself, attempting to loot Jackson’s body will trigger a message suggesting that they could frame Cass for the murder by splashing whiskey on the body (so long as Cass is not currently the player’s companion and is currently at the Mojave Outpost, not the Lucky 38). By adding a whiskey bottle to Jackson’s body without themself or the body being discovered in the meantime, they can successfully implicate Cass for the murder, and explain as much to Ghost. She’ll buy it, since Cass was one of the most frustrated residents of the outpost and was drunk almost all the time. Cass will then disappear from the game, and if Lacey, Major Knight, or Ghost (if the Courier left the outpost before speaking to her again) are asked, they will explain that Cass was arrested by the NCR.

Have someone else kill Jackson. A desperate, fed-up caravaneer named Paul by the brahmin pens is willing to kill Jackson for 5,500 caps. This price can be negotiated down to 4,000 with a [Barter 60] check, and 3,500 with [Barter 75]. At midnight that night, Paul will attempt to sneakily kill Jackson. Alternatively, Paul can be incensed into attacking Jackson immediately and for free with a [Hot Blooded] trait check. In either case, though, there is no guarantee that Paul will succeed, and if Paul is killed then the Courier must advance the quest another way (though they can loot their spent caps from Paul’s body). When spoken to afterwards, Ghost will remark that she saw the Courier speaking to Paul and ask if they had anything to do with it. By passing a [Speech 50] check, the Courier can convincingly lie that they were trying to talk him out of it. With either the [Black Widow] or [Cherchez la Femme] perks, the Courier can lie and say that Paul very foolishly did it to try to impress them. With [Low Intelligence] the Courier can earnestly say that they thought “taking care” of Jackson meant doing something nice for him.

Somehow allow Jackson to die. If Jackson just somehow dies in an unaccounted way, such as from a spawned-in deathclaw eviscerating him in his own office, Ghost will remark on the strangeness of the situation but won’t blame the Courier. This is a failsafe option to prevent quest breakage.

= = = Stage 2: Find a Replacement = = =

If Jackson is alive, he’ll agree with the Courier that he ought to let Ghost go, but he’s still under orders to maintain a standing force at Mojave—a standing force which includes a highly trained sniper. If Jackson has been killed, Ghost will mention that Major Knight is next in command and would be glad to give her clearance, but that he won’t be able to do so without a replacement sniper, either. Either way, the Courier is tasked with finding a suitable replacement. The Courier can ask her for advice:

Who should I look for to be your replacement? They have to be NCR, obviously. Ex-NCR might work, too, so long as they’re in good standing. Any Dick or Jane off the road is a no-go, since brass put the kibosh on officially contracting mercenaries. Oh, and anyone you get would have to be well-trained. Not necessarily a ranger, but good enough to replace one, even for a sit-on-the-shitter job like this. Only the best and brightest get to stare at this fucking road all day, apparently.

Where should I look for your replacement? If you checked out some of the ranger stations around the Mojave, they might be able to move some people around. Hell, take it all the way to McCarran if you want, or with Hanlon. If you’re going to give them shit on my behalf, by all means, go nuts. A lot of higher-ups can be greased with enough favors, anyway. Whoever you get just needs the right credentials. Legion attacks get dragged asses and twiddled thumbs, sure, but bad paperwork would set a goddamn fire at headquarters.

The following characters can be recruited as the Mojave Outpost’s new watch:

A generic ranger. By speaking to the commanding officers of at least three of the NCR ranger camps across the Mojave with sufficient [NCR Fame], the Courier can speak to Chief Hanlon to arrange for Ghost’s replacement with a generic ranger. This option is impossible if “Return to Sender” has already been completed.

Craig Boone. If the Courier has completed “I Forgot to Remember to Forget” in a way that makes Boone repentant over his past, he can be persuaded to take over Ghost’s position as a good way to put his skills to use. Otherwise, he will refuse, either preferring to stay in Novac where he lived with Carla or not wanting to be stuck as a watchman again when he could be out killing Legionnaires. If selected, Boone’s home marker will change from Novac to the Mojave Outpost.

Manny Vargas. Novac’s other sniper can be convinced to take up Ghost’s post, but only if the Courier has completed “One For My Baby,” “Come Fly With Me,” and eradicated the Legion presence from Nelson. Once convinced that Novac seems safe, for now, he’ll be willing to reenlist if paid a generous salary. The Courier can either pay Manny 5,000 caps to reenlist now, pass a [Barter 65] check to explain that it’s a provisional reenlistment and reduce their bribe to 3,000, or if the Courier has already passed the [Confirmed Bachelor] check in dialogue with Knight, they can tell Manny about the cute little major sitting behind the desk all day there by his lonesome. Once convinced, Manny will relocate to the Mojave Outpost and take Ghost’s place.

Bryce Anders. This keen-eyed ranger can be recruited to Ghost’s position if he is rescued from the Vault 3 Fiends by the Courier. Once spoken with in Camp McCarran, the Courier can explain that the Mojave Outpost needs a new ranger stationed there. He will defer to Colonel Hsu’s authority on reassignments, and with a successful [Speech 60], [Medicine 40], or [NCR Fame] check, Hsu will agree to the reassignment on the grounds that it’s a useful position still sedentary enough to not complicate the ranger’s recovery.

Little Buster. The listless bounty hunter at Camp McCarran is looking for another career path and would be willing to take over Ghost’s do-nothing position. However, the only way to recruit him is to fabricate both credentials and enlistment records by either stealing personnel files from either Colonel Hsu’s office at Camp McCarran or from the filing cabinets at Camp Golf, or speaking to Daniel Contreras, who “knows a guy” who’ll take care of it if the Courier has already acquired access to Contreras' expanded inventory by siding with him in the unmarked quest “Dealing with Contreras.”

Private Halford. The sole survivor of Camp Guardian mentions that he wants to head back home through Mojave Outpost after being rescued from the mirelurk caves, at which point the Courier can mention no one is allowed to leave through there, and ask if he’d like to take Ghost’s position there instead. At first he’ll refuse, but with a [Speech 45] or [NCR Fame] check he can be convinced that a quiet, do-nothing watch assignment would be a lot better than anything else after what happened at Camp Guardian, to which he’ll agree. He will also relocate to the Mojave Outpost after being freed anyway, getting stuck like everyone else so that the speech check can be re-attempted. However, Halford isn’t considered well-trained enough for a ranger’s job. The Courier must speak to Jackson (or Knight, if Jackson is dead) and pass a [Speech 80] or [NCR Fame] check to make a strong endorsement, or a [Survival 55] check to explain how impressive it is that he survived an attack from so many mirelurks. Alternatively, the Courier can fabricate impressive enough credentials through the options required to assign Little Buster.

Once Ghost’s replacement has been assigned to the Mojave Outpost, the Courier only needs to speak to Ghost again. She will explain that she’s been “reassigned” to open patrol across the Mojave, ostensibly to track Legion activity, so long as she does so with the Courier. She also gains an additional dialogue option dependent on your choice of replacement:

What do you think of your replacement?

(Generic ranger) For this job? Any ranger’s as wasted as any other. I almost feel bad, I doubt she’ll like that fucking roof any more than I did...almost feel bad. Doesn’t quite cancel out the relief.

(Boone) First recon is one hell of a pull. Took right to it, too, like he was already used to it. Strikes me as the...quiet, contemplative type. Likes to think. Not much else to do up there, anyway. I bet those brahmin pins have never felt safer.

(Manny) First recon is one hell of a pull. Took right to it, too, like he was already used to it. Seems like a nice enough guy, and seems to be getting along with Major Knight. Hell, you love to see it.

(Bryce) A good man. Heard about what the Fiends did to him, and after all that, he certainly deserves a break. Didn’t think of this shit job as much of a vacation before, but seems like it’ll do him good.

(Buster) Not sure where the hell you found this guy, but if (Jackson / Knight) gave the okay, then...okay. I would’ve put a goddamn brahmin in a beret up there if it could have gotten me another assignment.

(Halford) The mirelurk guy? Yeah, he seems alright. I’ve never actually seen a mirelurk, but after hearing his story, I don’t think I want to. I didn’t even know we had a camp that far up there.

Speaking to Ghost after her replacement takes her position completes the quest, and from then on, she can now be recruited as a companion. However, similar to Boone, she will only remain the Courier’s companion if they maintain good reputation with the NCR, and as an active-duty ranger, her intolerance for anti-NCR actions is even more strict.

Ending Slides

If "Giving Up the Ghost” is started, but never completed:

NCR Victory. Ranger Ghost remained at Mojave Outpost, dutifully, thanklessly, and restlessly. When the rangers there received word that the Legion had made their move on the dam, the entire outpost went silent. Waiting. From her rooftop perch, at least she was the first to see the bearer of good news come up the road. In the moment, at least, it was worth everything to be there.

Legion, House, or Independent Victory. Ranger Ghost remained at Mojave Outpost, dutifully, thanklessly, and restlessly. When the rangers there received word that the Legion had made their move on the dam, the entire outpost went silent. Waiting. From her rooftop perch, she was the first to see the NCR’s retreat, as civilians and troopers alike began fleeing through the Long 15. She was right: this whole time, all she could do was watch.

Ghost is dead. Ghost, bitterly, died as she lived...(deep sigh) at the Mojave fucking Outpost.

If “Giving Up the Ghost” is completed:

NCR Victory: When legionnaires by the score descended upon Hoover Dam, Ghost was proud to have been one of the many rangers in the battle that kicked their shit in back across the Colorado. She celebrated with the rest of them, even a smile creeping onto her face every now and then. Still, Ghost returned to business before long, as part of a squad out East tracking down the straggling remnants of Caesar’s retreating Legion.

Legion Victory: Ghost was among the many rangers who fought at Hoover Dam, but when the army of legionnaires led by the Courier, to whom she owed her very presence there, proved unstoppable, she was ultimately among its many casualties. Their advance was too sudden, too overwhelming, for a clean evacuation, and a grisly duel with a centurion trapped her near the front. Still, the Legion never took Ghost alive. She made sure of it.

House or Independent Victory: The arrival of the Securitrons at Hoover Dam was a surprise to every NCR trooper stationed there, including Ghost. Their sudden turn against the NCR, and their allegiance to the Courier, even more so. The triumph of vanquishing the Legion was short-lived, then, as Ghost joined the forced retreat, one pale face in a sea of many. 

Ghost is dead: Despite her name, there was no supernatural flourish when Ghost died. She simply died like a ranger, fighting to the end. That’s all that mattered.

(Bonus) Cass’s Ending Slide if the Courier frames her for the murder of Jackson:

Rose of Sharon Cassidy spent all of her time at the Mojave Outpost in a drunken stupor, which is why when Major Knight oversaw her arrest for the murder of Ranger Jackson, it took so long to get exonerated. By the time the alibi was pieced together and the evidence was admitted as circumstantial, the battle of Hoover Dam shifted NCR’s attention elsewhere, and the crime was never solved. For a few months in the clink, though, at least Cass got what she wanted: home, and finally away from the outpost.

[tearsofsyrup]

quits

— Wonwoo was not aware that a way to counteract his perpetual insomnia was for the heating in his neighbor’s apartment to malfunction.

pairing. jeon wonwoo / reader

genre. fluff, (angst), neighbors au

word count. 3.6k

warnings. profanity

notes. i’m not sure where this came from. i like it, though. hopefully you do, too. if so, please let me know!

-

Wonwoo is sure he could map the cracks littering his ceiling from memory by now.

His limbs ache against his sheets from having been inactive for too long, lips drying and ears ringing beneath still silence. Dark quiet swallows the occasional shudder of his window under heavy winds, thick snowflakes turning the midnight’s sky a blurry gray. Wonwoo stays unmoving, eyelids heavy but remaining open, scrutinizing the aged white paint hovering a short ways above him.

It is cold, too. He would be more peeved with his apartment complex’s stinginess concerning temperature control if he were not sheltered from the consequences beneath his fat duvet, more or less his only escape from shivering in his own home in the winter.

A big toe twitches, a car is heard driving by along the street outside, someone drops something on the floor in the apartment overhead.

Wonwoo has a semi-important meeting tomorrow. Turning his head, he is met with red, angular numbers informing him that the supposed witching hour is fast approaching. An exasperated sigh breaks the silence. His eyelids force themselves shut.

He knows it will not work. No matter how slowly he makes himself breathe, no matter how many sheep he counts, no matter how still he lies. It does not work.

Eyes snap open after an unmeasured amount of time, familiar cracks above always too happy to meet them.

“Fuck it,” he tells himself before sitting up, bare feet flinching at first when they touch the cold wood covering his floors. His alarm clock is left to its own lonesome on his nightstand when the round glasses previously accompanying it find their rightful place on the bridge of Wonwoo’s nose.

Light taps sound throughout his apartment as he guides himself to the kitchen, momentarily swaying due to the fatigue clouding his consciousness. Wonwoo shakes his head subtly before pouring himself a cup of water, all five of his drinking glasses standing uncleaned in his sink. Chilly water slips between his lips.

The soothing effect of rehydrating himself has faded with the years, Wonwoo is poignantly reminded. It no longer compared once he found a better way to fight his insomnia and it never will again. Not even when the better way is no longer available to him. At least his tongue feels less dry now.

He sobers a little when there is a sudden knock against his door.

It takes Wonwoo a few seconds to glance at his clock, just a minute or two having passed since it struck three. He wonders if he should grab his utility knife, just in case but is already walking toward the noise’s source before he can be bothered to entertain the idea.

In his all but intoxicated weariness, he forgets to exploit his peephole before his fingers have already undone the lock and he pulls the door open.

He sobers even a little more when his squinting eyes find you staring up at him with your wide ones, easily recognized surprise arching your brows. Wonwoo probably looks something similar, he would guess.

Your name falls from his stiff lips in the form of a question.

“Oh,” you sound and Wonwoo duly notices how somehow blue and shaky your lips are. And how a thick jacket is hanging over your shoulders. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

Wonwoo remembers how gentle the knock had been and how it under no circumstances could have woken anyone up. It was probably purposeful.

“You didn’t,” he reassures and watches you fidget under his stare.

This is awkward, he realizes. The two of you do not speak often, the typical encounter being a hushed greeting as you pass each other in the stairwell, or merely a polite smile. Of course, there was that one time when Wonwoo was justly wasted and his friends -- well, Junhui -- locked him out of his own apartment as a prank. Miraculously, you were coming home as this happened and let him into your place for a while. He remembers drinking a lot of water, giggling too much and watching you laugh at him. He also remembers thinking your laugh was kind of cute. And how embarrassed he was when he woke up hungover the next day.

Yes, this is awkward, especially at three in the morning but Wonwoo finds himself unaffected. You are nervous, though. You always are around him, always have been. He wonders if you know he has noticed.

A halfway emptied cup of water is still balanced between Wonwoo’s fingers, he suddenly realizes.

“So,” you start with an obvious distress altering your usually soft voice, seemingly tense hands gripping the sleeves of your jacket. “Hate to disturb you but-” You hesitate, finding difficulty in meeting Wonwoo’s stare. He patiently lets you collect your thoughts, hoping that the heavy bags adorning his eyes are not too discouraging. “The heating in my apartment shut off some time earlier today and well... It’s really cold.”

You do not need to elaborate for Wonwoo to understand. If his apartment is as cold as it is with the heating on, he can only imagine what type of a freezer your place must have turned into with these subzero temperatures outside.

“Oh, shit,” he comments.

“Uh, yeah, so...” You purse your lips for a moment and Wonwoo’s feet feel cold beneath him. “I- I tried to sleep but, I really can’t. I’m supposed to help my friend move tomorrow and need to get up kind of early and I just-...”

Wonwoo, despite how unthinkably tired he is, quickly connects the dots and understands what question you are working your way up to asking. He still wants to let you ask it though, in the slim chance that he is wrong. Which he is often not.

A shaky hand pokes out from your thick sleeve and you scratch your scalp in the silence. Wonwoo finds himself hoping you speak soon again, the lack of any noise too loud and too common in his ears. A sip of water slides smoothly down his throat.

“I just- I’m really sorry but, just know that I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t-...” You stop and inhale, feet fidgeting atop the floor. Wonwoo thinks he might be smiling a little, he is not sure. “Is it- Can I sleep here tonight? Just on the couch or- or floor or whatever you are most okay with. I’ll leave early in the morning, I just really need someplace.. warmer to rest for a few hours.”

It is an odd request. And somehow, Wonwoo does not like that you are asking it. You do not know him well enough to justifiably feel comfortable sleeping in his apartment. As far as you know, Wonwoo could be some creep that collects his own nail clippings.

He does not really like the obvious crush you have on him either. You started liking him too easily, he thinks. How could you think it appropriate to develop such a fast crush on him when the most you know about him is his name and that he has friends that like pulling pranks on him?

A part of Wonwoo wants to deny you for these reasons. He probably would, under more conscious circumstances. But he quickly remembers your desperate situation and how unthinkably cold your apartment must be and that it is something past three in the morning. You are lucky that he is not some creep that collects his own nail clippings. And that the blush that is slowly coloring your cheeks is kind of endearing.

He empties his cup down his throat, finally and opens his door further.

“Sure,” he accepts and takes a step sideways. “Come in.”

You look sheepish and mildly shocked as you carefully enter his home and it only then strikes Wonwoo that he is actually letting all but a stranger into his own apartment for the night. He really needs to sleep. Ha.

Worry is not a prominent emotion that he feels then, however, as you could not look any more harmless with your wide eyes scanning his dimly lit living room shyly. Maybe he did a good thing for someone, for once.

“You can sleep on the couch right there,” he gestures to said piece of furniture and your head bobs in a nod. “And use as many blankets as you need.” 

Windows shake and cut through an approaching silence beneath the storm on the other side.

Wonwoo is oddly comfortable in this setting. He is too tired. Lifting his cup to his lips again, he is promptly reminded that it is empty. It would not work anyway, he scoffs.

You turn to him, fingers clutching the clothing covering your chest. “Thank you so much. Really. I seriously owe you now. It was goddamn freezing in there. Just-... Thank you.”

The sides of Wonwoo’s lips curl just a bit before he can prevent it as he waves a dismissive hand your way. “Don’t worry about it. We can be quits now, after... that time I was really drunk.”

He thinks your lips purse to suppress a smile. Wonwoo’s ears feel warmer.

“No, no, seriously,” you say. “If you ever need a favor after this, knock on my door.”

Wonwoo nods, folding under your seemingly decided offer and you quietly stalk toward his couch. He leaves his empty cup in the kitchen and tells you to make yourself at home which earns him yet another thank you before he is sneaking back into his bedroom and closing the door after him.

And he is back to tracing the cracks decorating his ceiling with heavy-lidded eyes and darkening circles below them to match.

Fists tighten around the sheets he rests upon, the insides of his cheeks falling victim to restless teeth. He only wants to sleep, if just for an hour. An hour, he fantasizes, would be enough. Would save him from having to get high on caffeine to stay awake at work tomorrow. Or only half an hour, he is not greedy. Anything.

He thinks of a warm embrace and his heart launches upward and gets stuck in his throat. Slow fingers combing through his unkempt hair, heartbeat grounding and relaxing against his ear. Tender and reassuring hums that would lull him to sleep, decelerate his heart’s pumping and calm his breathing.

The muscle sheltered beneath his rib cage only raps at the thought, pounds in his ears worse than silence does, the memory of a certain voice anything but sedative in his ear.

He shoots upward quickly, chest all but heaving up and down under loud inhales and exhales as he sits and stares out his window, at the relentless snow descending from thick clouds blanketing the sky.

The better way to rebut his insomnia is gone, the memory of it tainted with bad lies and raised voices.

“Shit,” he sighs, face landing in the palms of his hands and he rubs and rubs and rubs-

Until his toilet flushes and he remembers that he has a guest, of sorts.

His eyes sneak a peek of his clock again and it tells him that it has been forty minutes or so since he crawled back beneath his duvet. And you are still awake.

Strong gusts of wind shake against Wonwoo’s window and he sits still, contemplating what to do. His muscles are sluggish, his eyes ache, his hairline is sticky. But he is not going to fall asleep anyway.

Wobbling a little, he opens his door again and proceeds with gentle steps into his living room. There you sit, on his couch with your phone in hand. Wood creaks beneath Wonwoo’s foot and his shoulders tense while his lips purse as your head whips around and your round eyes meet his soon apologetic ones.

A brief silence passes. That Wonwoo ends quickly.

“Can’t sleep?”

Your lips part, phone dismissed by your side. “Uh, no, I-... I have a hard time sleeping in new places sometimes,” you explain, hands squeezing at your arms as you hold yourself. “But I’m warmer now, at least, so...”

Wonwoo nods, watching your chin dip downward for a second before your voice interrupts the taut silence again. He is thankful.

“Sorry if I uh, woke you up when I-”

“No, no, you didn’t,” Wonwoo reassures, like how he did earlier in the night. He approaches you slowly and notices how your back straightens when he sits down beside you. “I’m a bit of an insomniac, actually.”

“Oh,” you react and Wonwoo is too fatigued to dislike the hint of pity in your eyes. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

A deep chuckle rumbles within Wonwoo’s chest. “It’s not your fault. Unless you’re a witch who put a curse on me, or something.”

You snicker at that and Wonwoo feels drunk again because it is a little cuter than it should be. His grin is too wide for this late hour. Early hour. Whatever.

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m just saying sorry on the universe’s behalf because, well, it won’t do it itself...”

Wonwoo’s head dips, a tight smile across his lips. There are many things he would like to hear the universe apologize for. But somehow, the notion feels like a sweet, deceptive lie.

He meets your open stare and shoots you a polite smile. And sighs. He really just wants to sleep. Just.

“Is-... Don’t you have like, some technique for falling asleep?” The question is innocent and reasonable enough, so Wonwoo tries to hide the way in which his eyebrows pinch when he averts his gaze. “Like, medicine or something?”

His fingers clench.

“Uh,” he starts, tongue loose after so many hours of sleeplessness. So many years. “I used to.”

You remain silent and Wonwoo hates it, has to keep talking.

“I was in a relationship. Whenever I slept with her, that’s when I could actually sleep for whole nights.” It has been so long, his squeezing heart recognizes. He tries not to think about it.

He notices how you shift awkwardly in his peripherals, suddenly reminded of your crush on him. Guilt, he feels a bit of that.

“Oh,” you say again and he is pleasantly surprised when the sound is not accompanied by another apology.

You are staring at your fingers when he looks over at you, your profile contorting with faint sheepishness. The large sweater you wear kind of swallows you, socks big and fuzzy over your feet that are criss-crossed in front of you. A sight that revives his smile more easily than he would like.

His smile that dies quite rapidly once more when he notices that you are still shivering.

The heavy duvet laid out across his sheets comes to mind, the warmth and comfort it provides. Wonwoo’s teeth begin chewing at his lip as he stares at you.

He is not sure for how long the silence has stretched before you turn to meet his eye with a mildly questioning expression. His thoughts were too loud that he did not realize the lack of any conversing.

“You’re still cold,” is all he can think to say.

Quickly, you grip one hand with the other, probably as to hide your shaking. Wonwoo frowns.

“I’m really fine,” you insist. “Compared to my place, this is so much better. I- I just need a moment to... warm up.”

Wonwoo really is much too tired, as ridiculous ideas swim in his head and do not sound as ridiculous as he knows them to be. Sleep, he needs to sleep.

He thinks he sees your jaw quivering a bit, teeth probably hacking. His lungs tighten.

“You could- ahh...” Wonwoo’s eyes fall closed, mind whirring with a restless delusion.

He is not in his right mind, he should not make this offer. It is weird. It is creepier than collecting your own nail clippings, he is sure. Sleep, he just needs some sleep.

The clock hanging on the wall ticks and tocks and Wonwoo’s toes curl.

You look puzzled when his eyes reopen.

“I have a big bed.” He internally curses the opening sentence, cheeks heating and distracting him. “Uh, and a warm duvet. It’s- It’s really the only warm place in here and- ugh, I sound like a freak, don’t I?”

A small smile grows across your lips and Wonwoo cannot decide whether it relieves him or bothers him.

“I guess it’s a bit weird but-... This whole situation is kind of... weird, too.”

Wonwoo nods, hairline still sticky as his fingers slide along it. Or sticky again. “Yeah, so, I just-...Two people can fit in there pretty well. I mean- You might get a cold if you... stay here and-... I don’t know.”

“I mean,” Your fingers pick at each other over your lap as you watch them.

Wonwoo remembers your crush again and knows that if he were in his right mind, he would not entertain your liking toward him so easily. Hell, he would not offer sharing his bed with anyone he barely knows, no matter who the anyone was. He really, really needs to sleep.

“I guess,” you continue and Wonwoo feels somehow relieved that you seem somewhat reluctant. “Okay.”

A stillness encases the two of you then and no one moves for a long moment. Until the rate at which Wonwoo’s heart beats begins picking up, just a bit.

The short trip to Wonwoo’s bed feels long and slow and he presses himself as close to the wall as he can muster when he crawls onto his mattress for the third time that night. He notices that you also lie as far from him as the bed allows and only hopes that you will not fall over the edge.

“Thank you,” you whisper, duvet quickly pulled up to your chin.

“No problem,” he replies and snow still falls to cover the roads and pavements.

Those words were your respective wishes for a good night. Or morning, rather.

But Wonwoo can tell with the time that passes and passes, that you are both still awake. He hears it in your controlled breathing, back turned to you as he stares into his wall. A wall whose marks he is familiar with in the same fashion he is with the ones on his ceiling. His ears ring again, always. It is too quiet still.

Having another body near him proves to not be enough, his tired eyes tell him. A sigh is suppressed within his lungs, as to not alarm you. His fist tightens beside his face.

Surprise alerts him when you are the one to break the silence.

“You still awake?” you ask quietly, though it is loud while vibrating against the shells of Wonwoo’s ears. He likes it, it unwinds his fist.

A second or a couple pass before he answers.

“Yeah.”

He feels the mattress move beneath him as you presumably shift, stiffening in his position. Anticipation widens his eyes as he awaits your next move.

“Do you-” You cut yourself off and Wonwoo can hear his heartbeat. He wonders briefly if you can, too. “I can hold you i-if you, want.”

That catches the man off guard and he needs a moment to register your proposal. You can hold him. If he wants.

The thought causes something to bloom and spread inside his chest, something he cannot quite pinpoint, something he has not felt in too long. It is almost uncomfortable.

Wonwoo turns clumsily atop his sheets, springs whimpering within the mattress, until he is met with your wide-eyed stare. He imagines your cheeks to be stained a rosy kind of color but it is too dark to confirm.

You wait patiently for his reply, seemingly readying yourself for rejection and the following embarrassment by troubling your lip.

He wants to save you from feeling that. He wants to sleep.

“You sure?” he questions.

He notices how you inhale deeply, eyelids blinking at him for a while.

“Yes, of course,” you assure, exhaling and Wonwoo feels your breath tickling his nose. You like him too easily. He accepts too easily.

“Okay.”

Neither of you move at first, waiting for the other to do so, before your lips curl and the both of you cannot help but let hushed laughter slip and mingle in the air still separating you.

You scoot forward slightly and Wonwoo quickly follows suit, until his head is suddenly tucked beneath your chin and his cheek is pressed against your chest. It is an effortless fit. Or Wonwoo is just too tired.

This is weird, he knows. But it does not feel weird. He really needs to fucking sleep.

It takes a moment, his eyes wide and his heart jumping against his ribs. He hears that yours sounds similar, Wonwoo’s ear warm while pressed to your shirt. And dread almost starts to boil in the pit of his stomach as he slowly begins feeling like this will not work. That this was a horribly awkward mistake and that he will never be able to meet your eye again.

But your palm resting on his back distracts him from the potential panic, other hand eventually rising to hold the side of his head, near his temple. Your heartbeat slows beneath your sweater, chest rising and falling and demanding Wonwoo’s attention.

It is warm, it is no longer too silent and Wonwoo places a careful arm across your waist. His weight sinks into the mattress below, limbs heavy alike his eyelids that he soon realizes have fallen shut. You smell kind of sweet beneath Wonwoo’s deep breaths, his lips parting when his jaw slackens.

He wonders who will be indebted to who when the sun soon rises. And that becomes his last thought of the night.

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 19) three question game

.-.-.

Ivar had torn a muscle between his bicep and shoulder that made him a lot less mobile. He’d managed to limp on one arm towards the kitchen’s wall and slouched down against it. Resting his swollen cheek against the cool stones, Ivar hid the knife away between the folds of the potato bags that were wrapped around his legs. 

Piglet forcefully placed a basket full of shell beans at his feet. Kneeling down, her instructions followed fast and angry. She broke the bean and sliced off each end of the pod, pulling the pod apart from the seam. 

“Aren’t we just two peas in a pod, huh Piglet?” Ivar joked and immediately scrunched up his face when his split lip opened further.

Piglet didn’t say a word, instead she gave him the stink eye and sagged next to him against the wall. Carrying on with the work, she managed to bless him with one facial expression for the rest of the day: one of unreserved contempt, disapproval, distrust and loathing. And the expression was just the start, soon came the grunts and sighs. 

But she never left his side, still cautiously scanning the room to spot any type of danger or a hint that Ludolf might come around the doorway. 

For someone who called him thick-headed, Piglet was pretty guilty of that trait herself. She refused to speak to him and moved a few feet when Ivar poked her between the ribs to probe a word out of her. 

“Pot, kettle, black, Piglet,” Ivar murmured underneath his breath while his stomach howled like a hungry wolf. He hadn’t had much to chew on. Asking for food was out of the question, he already knew the answer to that; none, just two dark smoldering eyes judging his impulsive behavior. 

At twilight, Ivar waited anxiously for Piglet’s arrival. He’d been brought back to the shed by a serf and chained. Piglet had been sent by Big Cunt to fetch some dry firewood for the pot and Ivar hadn’t seen her since. 

Restlessly, his fingers ran along the sharp side of his new toy. The tool felt foreign in his hand, it had been so long since he’d held a weapon of any variety. Yet he didn’t doubt he was still physically able to slash the knife down and hack his way through the Giant’s rib cage. 

He did wonder about the mental aspect of the task. It had occurred to him that he’d stalled in his reaction at the diner table. And why? Why, in a blink of an eye, had he made that radical decision to extend this torturous life for another day? He could have killed the Giant, with enough eyes to witness that it had been him, just him, who’d turned that rotting face into an entire carcass. 

He sighed, leaned back and rolled his eyes. His reason was the same reason why he’d been jittery and biting his nails; Piglet. 

It would be an act of weakness if he left her alone, to deal with Ludolf and his perverted tendencies. 

A load of bricks fell off his chest when Piglet tiptoed into the shed, carrying a tray of food. However, like the soup, her temper was still at its boiling point. 

“How do I know you didn’t piss in it?” Ivar spoke, trying to mask his relief at seeing her waltz in unharmed. 

Piglet raised her chin and gave him a stone-hard expression before sliding the tray over the makeshift line: “You don’t.” 

Well, she managed to ruin his good mood within seconds. He threw her a deadly glare and scanned over the other items to eat. Today's meal was made up of a possibly-pissed-in-soup, two slices of stale bread that was on the verge of growing mold and an egg. 

Ivar settled with the egg, ticked it against the tray and started peeling off the shell. When he wolfed it down, his stomach still growled and he debated if hay could be used for human consumption. 

“I did not piss in it,” Piglet confidently spoke in his language without a stutter.

Ivar eyed her skeptically for a long moment before deciding to believe her, in all honesty he was so hungry he’d eat it anyways. 

“I spat in it,” Piglet announced dryly as Ivar slurped from his soup. Piglet scrunched up her nose, made a disgusting sound in the back of her throat and spat up a gob of sputum on to the floor. 

At the sight of that, Ivar’s gag reflex immediately kicked in and he spat out a mouthful of soup. 

“I joke,” Piglet grinned while Ivar spat repeatedly on the floor. 

“Bitch,” Ivar growled sourly and stole the two slices of stale bread. 

“Numskull,” Piglet retorted and fled the scene for a moment. 

Ivar glared after her while tearing off tiny bits of bread with his front teeth, hoping that if he ate really slowly, he wouldn’t be so hungry. 

Piglet returned with a knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The fabric was thin, torn and had hay intertwined in nearly every inch of it. Without warning or a word, she dropped down directly next to him and drank a little of his soup.

Piglet wiped her mouth and passed him the bowl, indicating it was safe to eat. Ivar gave her a half shrug, dunked the bread into the lukewarm soup and ate, brooding and cursing her under his breath like a full grown man-child. 

Piglet let him enjoy his moment of crankiness and used the time to rid her blanket from some of the hay. As they sat shoulder to shoulder, the blanket radiated her warmth and with a full belly, Ivar started to unwind for a bit and curiosity got the best of him again.

While lingering a sideway glance, Ivar realised he knew nothing of his faithful companion. She had no real name, no past, no roots that he knew of. And she’d been very keen to keep him in the dark, of pretty much everything. 

A plan formed inside his head when he stored the bowl away and asked her: “Wahid, arbe, sitta?”

Of course Piglet was eager to play her game, always happy to get her mind off of her daily struggles and she went to fetch the knucklebones. She returned and sat back in her previous spot, shoulder to shoulder by her shed-mate and threw the bones on the floor. 

“Wait,” Ivar spoke and held up his hands, “I’d like to add a new rule, to make the game a bit more exciting.” 

Piglet could not fully understand his words and gawked at him a little defensively but allowed him to continue.

“We play a round, the winner gets to ask the loser three questions, which the loser needs to answer truthfully.” Ivar said, pointing up three fingers, “oh c’mon Piglet don’t be so sour, wahid, arbe, sitta.” 

It was clear that Piglet did not like this new rule. But when Ivar crossed his hands and made it clear he wasn’t going to participate otherwise, she agreed half heartedly. 

To his discomfort, Ivar lost the first round of the knuckle game, for some reason he hadn’t calculated that his chances of asking the questions had been fifty-fifty. 

With glee and self indulgence, Piglet wiggled her toes and tilted her head to the side in thought, trying to come up with her three questions. Suddenly, her wiggling stopped and Ivar noticed how small the young woman looked from her own two feet to his.

“Maksura, broken,” she formulated, tapped with her stone cold foot against his, “how?” 

Self consciously, Ivar shuffled his feet a few inches away from hers and threw a bunch of hay on his legs in a pathetic attempt to hide his biggest insecurity. 

“I was born like this,” he answered truthfully, “one of nature's mistakes,” he added bitterly. 

Piglet stared up at him dully: “Allah no make mistakes.” 

Ivar snorted, shocked by the nonsense coming from her mouth: “Let me get straight with you Piglet, your God has nothing to do with me. He did not make me, because he doesn’t exist. It’s a false God, like the one those Christians worship. All frauds in the all-seeing eye of Odin.” 

Piglet rolled her eyes at Ivar’s blasphemy and hummed, thinking of her next question. 

“Why fight toothless?” She asked and ticked on her front teeth when Ivar didn’t understand who she was talking about.

“Because I can.” He answered.

“Hamar,” Piglet flatly told him.  

“No, I’m not Piglet!” Ivar snarled aggravated, “the Giant  -the toothless- can break every bone in my body, cut my throat and bleed me dry, but he’ll never have ultimate power over me. I won’t grant him that, you know yourself that there are things far worse in this life then death. And one of them is losing spirit. He’ll never be able to take that from me, I will taunt him, every day, the best I can without dying, until there comes the opportune moment and then I’ll kill him. Yes, I’ll slaughter the toothless,” Ivar added when Piglet’s cheeks lost a bit of their usual dark color, “they days of the toothless are numbered.” 

“Kill?” Piglet spoke breathlessly. 

Ivar chuckled, “yes, of course,” and held up both hands, “with my bare hands. And teeth,” he said and showed her his teeth. 

In her dark eyes, a part of her adoration for him seemed to be shattered. Which was incomprehensible for Ivar, where he came from, murder was not a sin. Murder was one of the numerous ways to become memorable and glorious. Of course his kingdom wasn’t a cradle of pure anarchy, there were rules, rights and punishments, but murder certainly wasn’t the worst crime. 

So when Piglet stared at him, as if he’d suddenly turned into a three headed monster, he felt a twinge of dread in his chest. For he hadn’t done anything wrong, yet she judged him and his ways. 

“If I kill the toothless, you’d perceive me as evil?” he questioned toneless. 

Piglet nodded and stared at her fingers, as she ticked at the hay.

“Why?” Ivar asked, “that man abuses you, beats you, mistreats you. Why am I evil when I rip out his heart?” he emphasized the word when, because he certainly wanted to give her the impression that he would.

Piglet did not answer, instead she picked up the knucklebones and threw them on the floor. This round Ivar managed to win. 

 Now if he wanted to get any information out of Piglet, he needed to play this out with a silk glove, because she already looked at him like a rabbit trapped by a string. 

“What’s your favorite food?”

His first question visibly surprised her and little warmth returned to her face: “basbousa,” she brought her fingers to her lips as her thoughts traveled back to a place far away from the shed. 

“Cake, warm, sticky,” she continued and bit her lip to sustain the happy memory as long as she could. It was all both of them had left, bittersweet reminders of the past that faded faster and faster each day. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Ivar went on, keeping his questions light.

“Khuruf, sheep,” she answered, plucking at her blanket. 

“And what’s your biggest fear?” Ivar asked. 

“Men,” she stated immediately and Ivar felt the need to punch himself. He’d foolishly expected an answer such as spiders or the dark, for those had been the fears he’d used against the thralls that took care of him when he was young. But of course Piglet’s fear was not of such innocent things.

She picked up the bones and started another game without wasting another breath. Ivar managed to win again to his delight. 

“Where are you from?” 

“Nubia.”

“Nubia?” Ivar repeated, wondering if that was her country or the name of her village, “now where is that?” 

He was prying too much, her eyebrows rose and she huffed: “far.” 

“And how many winters have you been away from Nubia?” Ivar asked.

“Eshr, ten.” 

“What’s your name Piglet? Your real name?” 

His companion remained silent for a while and stared into the distance with a fixed expression before eying him up and down, raising three fingers.

“Three question game,” was all she said before picking up the bones and ambling away. 

Ivar allowed himself to fall back into the hay and let out a frustrated sigh, before shoving hay around and over his body. That woman was utterly frustrating, she hardly spoke a word and if she did it was mostly an insult or a way of belittling him. 

“You better not think you're going to sleep here again,” Ivar snapped when he heard her mince her way back to him, dragging her blanket through the hay and dirt, “that was a one-time deal, you reek and-” 

She wrapped the blanket over his shoulder and silently laid down underneath it with her back against his. Ivar let his fingers feel the thin fabric of the cocoon for the night and sensed the warmth spreading against his tense shoulders. 

“-Fine,” he grunted sullen and nicked some more of the blanket before allowing himself to fall asleep. But just like for the previous night, he slept with one eye open for he was Piglet’s safe keeper. 

 .-.-.

 A/N: For those of you who wonder, Nubia was the ancient name of Sudan. So that’s where Piglet’s from. I know that in this chapter their communication grew a lot and for those who think that’s a little bit too fast or remarkable, remember that Rollo managed to learn French in one episode:P 

 Xoxoxo Nukyster 

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