#i should probably stick them up on ao3 one of these days

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello, hope you're a having a good day

Could you write something about 141 x reader where the sparring session turns a little too not your usual sparring (if you know what I mean). The reader and them being all sweaty and shit and like the sexual tension that's been there for a while. This idea has been plaguing my mind since forever. Thank youuuu

Haha! Yes! Omg, I love it. Okay, for this, I didn't go full smut. When someone mentions sexual tension, I tend to hyperfocus on that and want to bathe in it. Give me naughty thoughts and flirting-maybe even some actual physical contact that borders on dangerous territory. Give me the yearning! I want to giggle and kick my feet and think about what might happen later.

So, I indulged in that regard! I had lots of fun with this. Thank you so much for sending it in!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141!Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, knife play, grinding, rough kissing, caught in the act, training, naughty thoughts, mutual yearning

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Come on. Come at me.”

Soap rolls his shoulders and then brings his fists up in a fighting stance. He makes a “go on” gestured with his hands.

Every muscle in your body is sore. Tired doesn’t even begin to describe how you’re feeling. But you want to best Soap. He’s been on your ass for weeks now—insisting that the two of you should spar together. It’s not the sparring that makes you warm and tingly but the way he suggests it.

Always leaning in. Standing far too close. Bumping your shoulder with his.

Soap waits, but you’re not sure how to proceed. So far, you’ve been completely unsuccessful. As if knowing all your moves, Soap has dodged each blow and kick, effortlessly taking you down to the mat every time you thinking you’ve ensnared him.

Stealth is more your thing. Creeping around in the shadows. Taking out opponents from afar. A sniper scope is your friend. Hand-to-hand isn’t.

You lunge for him and Soap steps back. Fist missing him, you sidestep and go for a jab in the stomach. Soap slaps your hand away, and you want to yell in frustration.

“Sloppy today,” chides Soap, grinning like this amuses him.

It probably does. He’s one for a good laugh.

This time you feign, and Soap takes it, moving in. You’re ready for him, turning out of his swing to duck beneath and then aim for the face. Soap rises to block, and opens a clear line to his groin.

Fucking beautiful.

Lifting your foot, you don’t tap him hard, just enough for his cheeks to go pink. Soap grunts, and you chuckle.

“Shouldn’t have left yourself—”

With an oof, your back smacks against the tumble mat beneath you. Soaps snags your wrists and pins them above your head. You go to kick out at him, but Soap’s knees are between your legs. He shoves them wider.

You’re completely trapped beneath him.

And in a completely inappropriate position.

From where you’re pinned, you notice the small beads of sweat on his brow and how a few pieces of hair stick to his skin. Though his chest is covered by a shirt, it’s snug, with every muscle on display. Those powerful thighs of his press against yours in such a way that you’re imagining nothing between your bodies.

Would he feel this powerful over you if the two of you were elsewhere? Perhaps, somewhere more private. Somewhere without a tumble mat. Somewhere with a bed.

“Can’t harm the goods, love,” says Soap, his voice husky. You’re not sure if it’s from the close contact or from the tap you gave his crotch.

“Then don’t leave them vulnerable,” you reply, almost not recognizing the sound of your own voice. It too is husky as if dipped in desire.

The middle of Soap’s brow scrunches slightly. His gaze travels downward to linger on your lips and then further still until you sense him admiring more than he is observing.

“Soap—”

His gaze snaps upward. “Johnny,” he corrects. “Think we’re on closer terms.”

“Are we?” you ask, as his hips start to relax.

The press of him against you is apparent, and the hardness there is poking at you. Insistent. And you don’t want to ignore it.

Instead, you press upward, grinding against him.

Soap—no—Johnny, makes a sound in his throat.

One moment you’re under him and then you’re in his lap, the two of you sitting up, staring into each other’s eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your hands fists the front of his shirt.

“You—”

“Are we interrupting something?”

You and Johnny turn just as Ghost and Gaz enter the gym. Gaz has a towel draped over his shoulder. The water bottle he holds it half-way towards his mouth before he freezes, gaze locked on you and Johnny.

Ghost cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest.

You’re speechless. Lost. Your mind hasn’t caught up.

But Johnny’s has.

With a twist, Johnny rolls and then lightly tosses you off him as if the two of you were simply practicing and not staring into each other’s eyes.

“You want a go, Lt?” asks Johnny.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“You up for another round?” asks Kyle.

The man is grinning like he could do this all day. You’re sore everywhere—ready to collapse from exhaustion. Hand-to-hand combat is not your thing which is why you’re here in the training room with Kyle.

Yes, you need practice, but you’ve also had your eye on him, admiring him when you think no one is looking. It’s an excuse for some alone time.

“I’d rather eat glass,” you mutter, snatching up your water bottle and drinking the last of it.

“Hate me that much?” he teases.

“So much so that I wanted to spend the afternoon beating your ass.”

Kyle bursts out laughing. He snatches the water bottle out of your hand and aims it at you, squeezing. There’s nothing in it. A few measly drops hit your face and then you lunge for him. Kyle jumps back and extends his arms outward.

“One more round.” He winks. “Come on, love.”

He’s being cheeky, and your blood is pumping.

Kyle tosses your water bottle to the side as you stride forward. His arms go up, and then the two of you are nothing but flying fists and feet. He’s faster, blocking every blow you send his way.

Sweat accumulates on your brow and on the back of your neck, dripping down your spine. You lick your lips, taste the salt from the sweat.

You duck. Swing. Kyle snatches your wrist and twists, pinning your arm behind you. With a sharp jab of your elbow, you nail Kyle in the stomach, freeing yourself.

As you spin to lash out, Kyle is right there, in your space, blocking all movement. You try to step back, to allow space in your next strike, but Kyle rushes in. The two of you are twisted up. Falling. Slamming into the mat on the floor.

You shove and Kyle resists, his strength outmatching yours. With cheek pressed into the mat, you have nowhere to go. You’re completely on your stomach, and all of Kyle’s weight is on you. He breathes heavily, chest heaving. You feel his breath against your skin, and the contact only sends your skin into a shiver.

Your mind drifts, lingering in places it shouldn’t. Worse—Kyle is aroused. His hardness pokes at your ass. But whether he notices or not is unclear.

“You’re improving,” he says.

“I have a good teacher.”

Kyle makes a noise that sounds like agreement. Every muscle is tense, and even Kyle’s hold on you seems laced with something harsh. But then it eases. Softens. His grip loosens enough that you roll onto your side, glancing up at him.

He is so goddamn close. Just a gentle tilt of the head and your lips would meet his. It wouldn’t be that hard. He’s right there.

Kyle blinks, and then his gaze trails downward, lingering on your lips.

“We,” he begins. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

His thumb traces along the side of your throat, and your eyelids flutter with contentment. A little moan escapes you, and you hear Kyle’s sharp inhale.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck it.”

His thumb becomes his whole hand. Holding you in place, Kyle goes all in, claiming your lips with his. It is dominating, and you happily give in to him.

John Price

Your back hits the tumble mat with a sharp slap. The exposed portions of your shoulders and back sting from the contact.

"Again."

Groaning, you push up to a seated position. "We've been at this for hours."

"And you need practice," counters Price.

He's hatless. And shirtless. Only in cargo pants and boots, Captain Price's bare skin glistens with sweat. You won't pretend that the sight of him like this doesn't intrigue you. For months now you've been observing Captain Price in more than just a professional manner. It's hard not to, and the sweat-drenched man before you isn't helping things.

Captain Price runs his fingers through his hair, taking a step back. The casualness to the movement causes your stomach to twist with desire. Your body betrays you, and you have no idea if these feelings are entirely one-sided. Sometimes you think you might gleam a notion of his thoughts, but it always manages to slip through your grasp.

Price offers his hand, and an idea forms.

You extend yours, but don't close the distance. Price is the one that leans forward to do so. It's the perfect opportunity. When your fingers close around his, you tug back, throwing him off balance.

Price tips forward, and you turn to the side as he crashes down to the mat. In one fluid movement, you roll Price onto his back and straddle his stomach.

"Never let your guard down. That's what you always say."

Price's eyes widen slightly before softening. The corner of his mouth twitches into a hint of amusement. It immediately sends heat flaring through you.

"I do," he replies, and it's nearly a coo.

That smirk of his widens into an actual smile, and then it's you on your back and Price straddling. You strike out with an elbow but Price catches your swing, trapping your arms above your head. He bends forward a bit, and it is then that you feel the stiffness against your stomach.

Price makes no move to hide it, and you don’t dare glance downward.

"You need to do better-"

"Captain."

Price immediately recoils, sitting up and releasing your arms. You twist to look behind you, only to find Ghost and Soap standing nearby. Ghost is ever the silent observer, but Soap's head is slightly tilted to the side, the middle of his brow pinched like he's not sure what's happening.

"Meeting starts in five,” says Soap. “Came to find you."

Price coughs and then he's off you, kneeling and offering you a hand again. You don't try to knock him down.

"Just going over some pointers,” replies Price.

"Pointers?" deadpans Ghost and you shoot him a look. He shrugs at you, gaze lingering before moving to his captain.

"Give me ten minutes. Shower. Then I'll be there."

Captain Price gives you a quick glance before walking off with Soap. Ghost crosses his arms over his chest and just stares.

“What?" you snap

"Pointers," he repeats.

"Oh, fuck off, Simon."

He chuckles and turns to follow the two out of the training room.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Your posture is terrible."

"That's very helpful, Lieutenant,” you deadpan.

"Are you sassing me?"

"No."

Simon shakes his head and sighs. “Can’t throw a knife accurately if you’re hunched like a goblin.”

“Goblin,” you mutter under your breath. “Asshole.”

“What was that?”

You clear your throat. “Seems easy, Lieutenant. You just throw the pointy end at the enemy.”

Simon grunts and then grabs your raised arm. "You won't hit anything standing like that."

You resist his pull but you're outmatch when it comes to strength. With one hand on your arm and one on your waist, Simon shifts you into position.

"Like this," he instructs, bringing your arm back. "Firm grip. Feet pointed forward." Simon releases your arm but his hand on your waist remains. "Throw. At the target."

You let the knife fly. It strikes just right of the bullseye.

"Again,” nods Simon.

"Really?"

Simon slowly drops his hand from your waist, the tips of fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

Removing a knife from his boot, Simon flips it end over end. "We could hone your skills a different way."

"What way?"

“Grab your knife and find out.”

Stalking toward the bullseyes, you yank out the knife, joining Simon in the sparring ring. He bends at the knee, crouching into a fight stance. You mimic the movement.

Simon lunges first and you sidestep. But he's quick for such a large man. He moves around and behind you so fast he's almost a blur.

Grabbing your wrist, Simon lightly twists and pins you against his front, the knife tip pointed at your throat.

"Again,” he growls.

Simon lightly shoves you away. You spin. Striking out. He slaps your arm down and raises his own, the knife tip pointed at your throat for a second time.

"Again."

Showing your teeth, you charge at him, barreling into him at the middle. Simon staggers but doesn't faulter. He attempts to toss you off him, but you remain firm, grabbing hold.

This unloads him, his weight toppling with you. The two of you go down. Simon rolls you onto your back, his body pressed to yours, knife at your throat again.

"Better,” he says. “Still needs improvement."

You go to shove him off, but Simon doesn't budge. He remains where he is, and every point of contact is like an electrical spark. Even his face is close, balaclava nearly scratching against your skin. There is not part of him you’re not touching.

Awareness settles in.

Simon is all hardness over you.

"Have any tips you can give me?" you reply.

His gaze slowly lowers to your lips. His hips shift slightly, something stiff poking against your inner thigh.

“I have one,” he murmurs.

Bet I can guess.

“How do you want it?” he continues.

"You're the expert," you reply softly, hooking your leg over the back of his.

It's an invitation, one you aren't sure he'll take.

There’s a brief pause, and then Simon hums in agreement. It’s a pleased sound, one that instantly makes you shiver. Without taking the knife from your throat, he closes the distance, lips pressing against yours through the balaclava.

Heat erupts, the knife in your hand forgotten on the floor as you grab at him, fingers digging in.

It's only a tease. You want the real thing.

"What's the tip?" you ask once he breaks the connection.

Simon answers by grinding his hips against yours.

That one. Got it.

“We should—”

A door slams from somewhere down the hall. Simon’s head snaps up. The knife disappears, and then Simon is pushing himself away, kneeling beside you. His head is turned toward the main doors, but no one enters.

“It’s late,” you say. No one should be coming this way.

He turns back to you. “Your knife skills are shit.”

You groan. “I know. Goblin hunch. Got it.”

Simon snorts, and offers his hand. You take it, and he pulls you into a seated position. “Just a few more rounds,” he says, and then with a husky twinge to his tone, “and then I’ll go make sure the locker room is clear.”

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[1emon1ime]

Dominance Hierarchy (Koba x Human!Reader)

(art by me)

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57723100/chapters/146903323

In this new world of predator and prey you are no longer the dominant species.

Rating: 18+ Pure smut. MDNI!

Warning: Non consensual, Gun Play, Interspecies Sex

There's dirt on your clothes. There's blood on your face. Bruises on your knees and grazes on your arms. There's dry soil on your skin, sticking coldly and clammy to your sweat. And there's a lump in your throat that just wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times you've tried to swallow it.

You suck in a huge breath of air and look up to the sky; the only semblance of color in a sea of green and brown. The trees that loom over you are still, the wind has left and all that's left is a cold hollow silence. Your lungs fill with cold air, and the chill hits your chest like a dagger.

You're lost.

How many hours-- How many days has it been now?

You can't even recall the faces of your parents. What they looked like, sounded like. It's been so long since they succumbed to the virus. But you-- You were still here. Somehow, you'd managed to make it this far. But... 

What was the point?

What was the point of anything anymore? You're tired, you're hungry and you're scared. So scared.

You're alone. 

And no matter how many times you tell yourself to keep going, the tears just won't stop coming.

You had been with a small group of survivors for the past year or two and while it was company; you could never really get along with them. Humans become violent and animalistic when resources were scarce. You had witnessed people kill one another for things as little as scraps of food, cannibalize one another to feed their family.

Man was only empathetic and kind when he had a a surplus of food. Now he was just as dangerous as any other predator out in the woods.

The last person you had been travelling with had died yesterday. You watched them keel over from fatigue, they just couldn't go on anymore. Hypothermia quickly set in that night and that was it. In the morning, you left her body and set out to look for an exit. You weren't even that close, death had become a constant part of your life now.

"I swear there's still game in that forest." She had said. Industrial agriculture had long collapsed, desperation had led many here, but you knew the truth. There were probably no animals left in the forest. The moment big supply chains had shut down, hoards of hungry people had caught everything, from street rats to deer. Their populations had no time to rebound. It was an endless cycle of ecological overshoot.

Perhaps not this area though.

Because there was something else, the reason you were reluctant to even traverse into this patch of forest in the first place.

The rumors . 

"They say that this area is heavily guarded," you had told her, "no one ever returns from here with their life. Least not their mental state." 

Damn it.

You should have listened to yourself. You should have stayed back.

But what was there to even go back to ? More violence and desperation? More chaos and collapse? There had to be something more out there-- something beyond the boundary. 

At this point, you probably didn't have much time left. You were growing weaker and malnourished with every day that passed. Not only that but you were completely on your own now, no weapons and no means to defend yourself. It was dangerous to stay here and it was dangerous to go back...

All you focused on at the moment was survival.

You wandered deeper into the forest, desperately searching for some relief: food, water, maybe even an old abandoned village that you could pillage for supplies. But the further you traversed, the more disorientated you became. Everything started looking the same. The trees all looked identical and the ground was so uniform that any footprints or other signs of human presence would be easily missed. Even worse, you couldn't tell which way the sun was facing. It was always behind the canopy of branches.

As you stumbled through the woods, a sudden movement caught your eye. Just ahead of you, a deer darted from one side of the path to another, sensing something that you had missed.

Rustle, rustle.

You froze, head sharply turning to the source of the sound.

You felt your heart race, the beat echoing between your ears as you turned around and felt relief wash over you when there was nothing there. A lone human girl with no weapons or defence was as easy picking as a deer. Without the safety of your community or your weapons, you were defenceless. Your species, once the apex predator of the world, free to pillage the Earth until it had been plucked bare had been reduced to a mere prey item on the menu for one of the many predators that lurked in the forest.

It felt like you had been walking for hours but it must have been a couple of minutes at the most. Your body shivered, the chill air stinging at your exposed flesh and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You shivered, your clothes had gotten torn up in the thick bush, leaving you even more exposed to the elements.

Was it even worth it to keep going? You had nothing left but your survival instinct kept you from killing yourself. The hope that maybe one day you would be able to escape and find a place where the virus could not spread, a place where people had not gone insane. 

Right. Survival instinct. Embedded deep into the most primal part of your brain.That part that kept you turning your head every time you heard a strange sound, or start running when you spotted a predator out of the corner of your eye. But even your ancient instincts were failing you. That rustling sound appeared again. Someone-- or some thing was following you.

Rustle .

There it was. That sound again. The movements continued and this time, you could not ignore it. Something was definitely there.

Your hands trembled and your vision blurred. You felt sick, dizzy and weak. The cold air made you light-headed and your heart was pounding loudly in your chest. The only thing you could focus on was that sound and try to make out where it was coming from.

You could hear your own breath, heavy and ragged as you tried to calm down. The sound echoed through the silence, a deafening noise. Your legs began to shake and buckle under your own weight. The ground trembled beneath you and the air filled with the sound of something moving through the trees, something big. It could only be one thing. The source of the rumors and the reason why nobody ever returned from this forest.

You were the prey now.

You were prey and he was the hunter.

Your eyes widened as a creature stepped out into the open. It was not something that you were expecting to see at all. The look in his eyes was different from any bear or lion prowling the bush. Almost as if he were sapient.

He moved toward you. A large, scarred ape, standing upright and pointing a handgun directly at your head. He was a hulking presence, a brute of an animal that was more than capable of tearing you limb from limb if he so desired. He was also far more intelligent than any mere animal, an unsettling air of cunning being his eyes as he considered you. His lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing his sharp fangs.

You stared back at him, wide eyed in disbelief at what you were seeing. So the rumors were true after all … How long had he been tracking you? Had he been waiting for you to come here so he could ambush you? What was he going to do? Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation but your body wouldn't move, frozen in fear. Afraid that if you did anything he would kill you instantly.

Koba's eyes raked over you in a calculating, almost clinical way. He could see the way you shuddered and trembled under his gaze. You were terror incarnate, your fear and hopelessness filling the air like a sweet fragrance. He could sense your rapid heart rate, see the way your body tensed up in a futile attempt to flee from him.

"Don't. Move." 

He spoke, voice low and raspy. Hearing those words leave his mouth threw you off. The sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine like a jolt of electricity.

You couldn’t move– even if you wanted to.

He took a step towards you and you stumbled back, tripping over your own feet and landing flat on your ass. The ape took a second step and then another, moving slowly and deliberately. Taunting you and revelling in your fear. What a pathetic creature you were, without your community, without any defence, you were weak. An even easier catch than a mere rabbit.

He grunted as he came to a halt right in front of you, a mere foot or two from your face. Koba stared down at you with his good eye, casting daggers at your own with so much malice, and for what? What did you ever do to him ? The scars littered along his body were the first thing that you noted about him, especially the large one that ran down over his eye. Each scar told a story, you longed to know more about. What on Earth was he?

He stared you down into submission as he came within striking distance. Gaze travelling over your body, appraising your form and making your skin crawl. He gave you the ill feeling of being stalked and caught under the prowler's strong grasp.

What a monster, you thought.

"You. Weak."

‘I know .’ You wanted to say. ‘ I am so weak, so pathetic, so alone. Please just kill me and get it over with .’

But every time you tried to talk, the words got caught in your throat. All you could manage was a pathetic whine.

The ape was standing less than a foot away from you now, his scent overwhelming. He smelled of blood, sweat and earth. A primal, masculine scent that made your stomach twist and your heart beat faster.

Koba crouched down slightly so that he could get a better look at you. He tilted his head to the side a little as he watched you closely with his intense stare.

Your eyes flicked down to the weapon in his hand and you wondered if you could grab it before he shot you. It seemed unlikely.

Ever observant, he noticed the way you eyed the gun.

"Don't bother." He growled and grabbed one of your wrists, holding it in a tight grasp, hard enough to leave a bruise.

***

Many armed men had passed through this patch of forest and Koba had dealt with them before they had even reached the colony. He had picked them off one by one, like shooting fish in a barrel. He had the advantage of being able to aim at them from the tree tops, they would never see it coming. Over time Koba had honed his hunting skills to perfection. He was praised within the clan for defending the territory and being able to take down large prey by himself. Not only was it a source of pride for him but the thrill of stalking and tracking down his prey, landing that killing blow inflamed his body with adrenaline. It felt good . Especially to kill humans.

He loved the thrill of the hunt.

Most days, he would return with a deer or some other small herbivore but today he was feeling extra bold and something in the air smelled off. Koba had been plotting for months to find another human trespassing through their patch of forest and traumatize them so badly that they would never return again. 

He had not anticipated finding one so early in his daily hunt, however. A human female, no less. Most who passed through here, as rare as it was, were armed men. But this girl was weak, alone and had no means of defence. Almost pitiful, like a rabbit waiting to be caught in a snare. Her weakness made him curl up his nose in disgust.

Koba made a mental note of her direction and swore quietly under his breath. The girl wouldn't be going anywhere soon. He could have just killed her on sight, but he wanted to play out every part of the story, even the beginning. She was now his prey and he intended on playing it out perfectly.

He had already decided that he wanted to make an example out of this intruder; a warning to others that this land belonged to the apes and anyone who tried to cross it would pay a steep price.

The first thing he noticed was that she was alone. He knew instinctively what that meant. She probably came looking for someone, maybe her friend? A lover perhaps? Where there were one human there always had to be more not far behind.

***

Koba could sense your nervousness, he could smell the fear radiating off you, you were not a threat to him like the others and yet–

He didn't need to kill you to make you pay. 

You knew that something was off by how long your execution was being drawn out. Why was he hesitating? He could have already killed you easily by now but he hadn't. Why? You shuddered, imagining what sort of plans a monster like him could have for someone like you.

"P-Please don't hurt me!" You begged, pathetically. Tears were almost welling in the corners of your eyes. How did you end up in this situation? You just knew that you would end up dying here. You had somehow survived the virus outbreak but so carelessly fell prey to a bloodthirsty predator. No-- he was more than a predator, he knew what he was doing. Every move had been carefully calculated. An exacted revenge.

His hold on your wrist tightened even more. He inched closer, his face now just inches from yours. 

"Shut up, human." Your pleading had clearly angered him. "You belong to Koba now.”

Koba released your wrist and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him defiantly.

"Koba?" You blinked, stunned.

He laughed darkly. Koba was on a power trip, something he had always dreamed of. Capturing a live human, alone and vulnerable making them feel all of the pain and misery that he had been subjected to. Being the one in control for once in his life. You just unfortunately had to be the one to fall into his sick plan for revenge. You had been there in the wrong place at the wrong time.

With his free hand, Koba grabbed one of your arms so violently that you felt it almost dislocate.

"Ahhh!" You yelped as you were dragged across the ground for what seemed like forever. The foliage and loose branches causing fresh cuts, tearing more of your clothes off. Your whole body ached, and every step he took made you feel as if your bones were about to break.

After a long and uncomfortable trek, Koba stopped at the base of a large tree surrounding an open grassland, he tossed you to the ground like a piece of garbage and spat at you.

You looked up at him with a mixture of anger and fear. You were shaking, your heart racing, the sound of it echoing between your ears.

"Now. We have fun." He grinned, baring his teeth.

"W-What are you talking about?" You backed away from him, scrambling to get to your feet, but he grabbed you by the hair and slammed you face-first into the tree, tossing his gun to the side momentarily. The impact made your vision go black for a few seconds.Your nose was bleeding and you could taste the coppery blood on your lips. Then, you felt something; he had tightly seized both of your wrists and began binding them together with rope.

"You humans. Think we animals. You keep us in cages. For your amusement. Experiments."

Koba spat the words with venom, his rage burning in his eyes as he pulled the rope tight as it could go.

"Please... I don't understand."

Your confusion only instigated his rage further.

"Now--" Koba leaned forward, his thick fur warm against you. "You will know. What is it like– "

He tore your clothes off, shredding the fabric, leaving you completely exposed. The last part of your humanity, gone.

"to be hurt."

You closed your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks. This wasn't happening. There was no way that this was real. 

"No! Please stop!"

Your pleas fell on deaf ears.

Koba whipped you around so that you were facing him and he could get a better look at your naked body. You noticed him staring down your form, studying all of the details. He had never seen a human naked. Wondered why they always covered themselves with clothes. He reached out to touch one of your breasts, entranced by the way your nipples stiffened in the cold, how the microscopic hairs on your arms stood up as you shook under his large and imposing shadow.

He grabbed you by the throat and pinned you against the tree.

"P-Please, don't."

"You are mine now." He spoke through shallow breaths "And I will enjoy-- Taking you."

You shook your head, the tears flowing freely now.

"I don't want this."

"Too bad. This is happening."

Koba began to fondle one of your breasts and you backed up but he pulled you back toward him and growled. A clear warning, you understood.

“I– Ahhh What are you–!?” You groaned through clattering teeth as he began to suck on one of your nipples, squeezing your breasts, kneading the soft flesh. “--Why…”

You couldn't help but moan, telling yourself that you didn't want this but why did it feel so good? You felt utterly debased, humiliated beyond belief. This is what you had been reduced to. A plaything for this ape. But you had also been touch starved for so long and your body unwillingly began to respond to the touch.

He ignored your pleas and continued groping you. Your nipples hardened under his touch, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Koba glared at you before scanning your entire body. He leaned in, intense stare intimidating you. So much he wanted to do. To exact his revenge. To give you the same scars that had been inflicted onto him. To make you ‘ugly’ with marks, cuts, bruises, ugly like him. Why should he have been the only one to suffer? 

He had no intention of being gentle with you.

The rage whelmed up in him and he sank his teeth into your collarbone, leaving a raw wound. You yelped, wincing in pain which he seemed to enjoy. What a sick and twisted monster, you thought. You couldn’t read him. One minute he was growling at you, revelling in your pain and the next he was almost… gentle.

Your body tensed as his hands travelled down and cupped your buttocks, kneading them, digging his fingers into your flesh.

Koba looked at you with a hungry, predatory gaze. The way that touching you in various places had you responding so positively was only making his urges stronger. Not only had Koba been frustrated by years of pent up anger toward humans but he was also deprived. He was deprived of the affection that he was due, deprived of being in control and deprived of having sex.

He reached out and caressed the side of your face, the rough pads of his fingers tracing the contours of your jaw and the hollows of your cheeks. His hand then moved lower, down to the crook of your neck, where it rested. You felt his warm breath against your skin, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you.

You could hear him inhale deeply, taking in your scent.

"Please don't..."

You could feel his erection growing larger and harder, his excitement palpable. The bulge rubbing against your belly.

Koba reached down and began to rub his large hand over your pussy.

"No. No! Please!" You thrashed to the side, almost escaping, if only it weren't for the fact that your arms were still bound and one of your ankles had been wounded in the struggle that made outpacing him all but impossible.

The ape wasn't pleased with your attempt to deny him. Suddenly, he lunged at you, pinning you to the ground and knocking the air out of your lungs.

You gasped for breath, struggling against his hold. His body was warm and solid against yours, his weight crushing you.

"Stop struggling," he growled.

You stopped, staring up at him with wide eyes and h e grinned, satisfied at how you resisted when he demanded. Perhaps you were finally starting to learn. To be obedient. 

Koba got up and coaxed you onto your knees in front of him.

A large hand cupped your chin and forced your head up to look at your aggressor. You squirmed in place, kneeling in front of him, your bloody knees shook below you, barely keeping you in position. Rope burning uncomfortably against your bound wrists. The hand let go and grabbed your hair, pulling harshly. It seemed to amuse him every time you flinched.

You looked at the creature towering above you and he snarled, showing his sharp fangs. Your eyes fell to the ground and stayed there. You were so tired and hurt, you couldn't find the strength to fight against it anymore.

That was, until something cold, hard and metal was pressed against your lips, snapping you out of your stupor.

You froze instinctively, heart hammering against your chest.

You felt the click of the safety be released as the vibrations tingled your lips.

"Open. Mouth." Koba demanded, dragging the gun across your cheek to rest firm against your forehead. He gripped the base of his cock with a steady hand and angled it towards your mouth.

Nothing felt real.

"W-What?" You asked, dumbfounded.

The gun was pushed harder against your temple. That was it, it was final. You couldn't say no even if you wanted to, you didn't need a gun pressing into your forehead to remind you of how low you were. So utterly debased and humiliated.

Koba didn't say a word, instead thrusting his cock between your lips, forcing you to stretch your jaw to accommodate his length. You felt like you could throw up.

"Tongue. Out." Koba commanded and you obeyed, sticking out your tongue.

"Suck."

You gulped, slowly bobbing your head. Your body trembled and a cold shiver ran down your spine. Terrified that he might slip up and accidentally pull the trigger. Your life could end at any moment. In some ways, it already had been.

You felt so low. So dirty. So entirely worthless and ashamed.

Steel bit into your skin as you started lapping and licking the underside of his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip.

Tears streamed down your red and swollen cheeks as Koba grunted in approval.

"Good. Keep going."

You sucked on his cock, bobbing your head up and down, trying not to gag as he thrust his hips, but not once did you stop your movements. The gun against your head wouldn't allow you to.

“That’s… it…” He moaned and nudged the gun lower on your face, stroking your bruised cheekbone.

Praise. The words were hollow, but… Praise. Praise.

You winced slightly at how he stroked your cheek with the cold metal weapon, making sure that you didn’t stop massaging his length with your tongue. Maybe if you did a good enough job, it would all be over soon and he would let you go– or kill you. Whichever came first.

He must have been close, the way he began to groan above you, breathing in short bursts, his cock fully engorged and twitching in your mouth.

You were given no warning as the gun was tossed to the side and Koba’s hands gripped tightly into your hair and he began to slam you down on his edging cock. You spluttered and gagged, but Koba paid no mind, furiously pulling you forward and backward, fucking your mouth earnestly. 

With a final set of delirious, frenzied thrusts, Koba very suddenly pulled your head back, fist still grabbing hard into your hair, a string of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. He gripped his dick, stroking himself a few more times. Once, twice, you steadied yourself, knees shaking as if they’d give out at any moment.

Koba grunted again and pulled his cock out of your mouth, stroking it with his hand, aiming for your face.

"Keep mouth open–" He growled and you obeyed.

With a low grunt, he came, splashing his hot seed all over your face and into your mouth.

You tried not to gag, swallowing his load and looking away in disgust.

He looked down at you, smiling.

"Clean. With tongue." He commanded, his voice firm and unyielding.

You shuddered, but complied, licking his cock clean.

Your whole body felt like lead. Your shoulders were aching and your knees were screaming from kneeling on the floor. Your mind was still struggling to process everything that had just happened.

The ape laughed lowly as you finished licking him clean.

"Good human. Now, on ground. On all fours. Head down, ass up."

"P-please, I–" You uttered, uselessly.

Koba interrupted,

"Now."

"P-please...I-I can't." You stammered, "I don't want to, I..."

You tried to protest, but he was not listening. 

Koba's hand shot up and gripped your hair, yanking you roughly to your feet. You screamed in pain, tears streaming down your face as he dragged you across the floor and threw you onto the long grass.

You could feel his hot breath on your skin, nails digging into your flesh leaving fresh bruises.

"No... please..." You pleaded, "please don't do this."

Your voice was shaking, as if he cared. You knew begging and crying was useless, made you look even more pathetic to him.

Koba gave a satisfied grunt seeing you cower under him, bare and filthy. Truly lower than any animal in the forest. “What a pathetic creature”, he thought. How had he ever let himself be controlled by one of these things? They were weak and cowardly without their weapons. He was living out his ultimate revenge fantasy. No longer was it him on the operating table, no longer was he the one being beaten, inspected and abused. He had captured his prey and wasn’t letting go. And the power trip was only turning him on more. To have a weak, powerless human under his fingertip. An eye for an eye.

He mused at all of the things he was going to do to you, grinning at how you winced in terror when he wrapped one of his large hands around your neck and squeezed ever so slightly.

“You. Are so weak.”

His hand roamed lower, reaching between your legs.

You squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but he held you firmly in place.

He moved his hand, pushing his index finger inside of you and then added a second before you could even register what was happening.

"Nnng, no.."

You moaned and squirmed as he slowly pumped his thick fingers in and out of you, his thumb brushing against your clit.

You bit your lip and closed your eyes, trying to focus on anything else but the fact that this ape was about to violate you in the most intimate place.

Koba grinned and pressed his thumb firmly against your clit.

"A-Ahh!"

Your body reacted involuntarily, your hips bucking and pushing against him.

Koba watched your reaction, a mixture of amusement and lust playing on his face. He was enjoying teasing you.

Your cheeks burned with shame. How could your body betray you like this? How low... how could he possibly reduce you to this. He kept up his pace, thrusting his fingers into you harder and faster, rubbing your clit in circles with his thumb.

"S-stop." You pleaded desperately, feeling as if you would collapse under the pressure, "please... nghhhh,"

Your body tensed as his hands travelled down and cupped your buttocks. Koba began grinding his crotch against yours, the bulge of his erection rubbing against your wet pussy. No longer could you hide how aroused you were when the ape above you could see it clearly, could hear it in your voice.

"Ahh... N-No. Please, stop..."

He smirked, enjoying your pleas and desperate resistance, how you tried to deny how good it felt. He was going to take what he wanted from you whether you let him or not. He was the top predator here, after all.

You whimpered as his cock rubbed against you, the friction causing sparks to shoot through your body.

"N-not that--"

Koba ignored your cries, pushing his length inside of you.

Your breath caught in your throat, the sudden sensation of being filled by his thick cock overwhelming you.

"It hurts!"

As if he cared-- he was enjoying your pain, your screams. You were his prey, his capture, his toy to play with. 

His grip tightened, his nails digging into your flesh and leaving marks, bruises that would show the next day, if you even lived to see it.

Koba growled as he pounded into you, his cock stretching your tight hole, filling you. And with your wrists still tightly bound behind your back, there wasn't anything you could do to stop him. You weren't used to this kind of rough treatment. Time felt like it was moving in slow motion, his nails digging into the soft flesh, drawing blood. 

Koba pulled out and then slammed himself into you again. He fucked you like he had been pent up for months, releasing his sexual frustration on you. Your pussy ached and throbbed, the pain turning to pleasure. You moaned and cried out as he thrust into you, hitting a spot inside of you that felt good .

So good that you allowed a loud moan to escape your lips that definitely didn't go unnoticed. 

He grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head up, forcing you to look him in the eyes. To understand who your superior was. That you were beneath him. A filthy lowly human, only good to dump cum into.

You could hear the sound of his grunting and growling, the sound of his heavy breathing and his heartbeat pounding in your ears. You felt as if you were going to pass out, your body unable to cope with the shock and pain of being so utterly and brutally violated.

Koba continued to fuck you, his pace quickening, the sound of his ragged breath filling the air.

Your body began to shake and tremble as your orgasm built up inside you. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you to stop, telling you not to give in, but your body was betraying you, taking pleasure from the ape’s violation.

The tension inside you reached a breaking point and you cried out, the sound escaping from your lips.

Koba continued to pound into you, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing becoming more ragged.

You felt his cock pulsing inside you, his seed spilling deep inside of you as he finished. You gasped and panted, the feeling of being stretched so much was driving you insane.

Your body was trembling, your legs shaking and you felt as if you were going to pass out.

Koba finally withdrew his cock from you, the sticky warmth of his cum dripping from your abused hole.

He released his grip on your hips, leaving you laying in a pool of his seed, your body quivering.

Koba stood over you, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Filthy. Human." He sneered.

At least, finally, it was over. You thought.

Until he gripped onto your hips again, pulling you flush up against himself. No, Koba's stamina was relentless. The day was just beginning. 

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!eddie

part 2 here | ao3 link here

Eddie chose a career in voice acting to avoid shit like this.

Forced socializing. Schmoozing with hotshot directors who are used to everyone kissing their ass until their lips bleed. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit. 

… Okay yeah sure, Eddie kisses asses. But only in the literal, consensual kind of way. Usually after a few mediocre dinner dates, at least.

But this particular fuckhole of a director is insisting that Eddie attends the production shoot of the commercial that he’ll be narrating for. Which is weird - that’s not how this process typically goes. Eddie gets the script and records it in his studio. Easy peasy.

“I do things a little differently with my projects.” The director sneers into the phone’s speaker. Eddie silently gags at the oozing amounts of ego on this guy. “I want to immerse you into my vision.”

Ew. Eddie would rather immerse himself into a nap, but whatever. A job is a job.

“Understood.” Eddie agrees with minimal teeth-clenching. “I’ll be on set shortly.”

The phone clicks dead with nothing but a chuckle from the guy. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘thank you.’ Rude… but that’s kind of an industry standard, so why did Eddie expect anything different?

He folds the script into his back pocket, throws on a shirt that screams ‘Los Angeles disaster gay,’ and makes his way to the studio lot.

Fucking yay. 

Upon arrival, the director immediately escorts Eddie into the green room. Rambles on about needing him to meet the lead model for this commercial.

“Isn’t he just posing with the product?” Eddie lets his snarkiness run loose with that question, knows it right away.

Luckily, the guy is too busy snapping at a crew member to notice. “You’ll be voicing his character’s inner narrations.”

“Right.”

“And I want your tone to be seamless with the energy that he’s giving in this shoot. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Mostly loud.

The director swings open the door and reveals maybe the most cosmically beautiful person that Eddie has ever seen.

“Eddie, this is Steve.” The director says. “Steve, this is Eddie.”

Models are beautiful people, that’s the goddamn gig. Makeup, no makeup. Photoshop, no photoshop. They just look better than the general population and society accepts that as a fact.

But Eddie is a grubby little voice actor that burrows himself up in his boxy apartment for days. Very little sunlight, very little human interaction, and a shit ton of takeout.

Long story short, he doesn’t get out much. So this? Seeing a biblically hot heartthrob in the flesh? With his own two eyes? It’s knocking him into deep space. Sending him into an astral projection without sticking a tablet on his tongue first.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Steve holds out his hand while someone brushes more powder onto his shiny, glowy skin. God, that’s the best damn skin Eddie has ever seen. Powder be damned, Steve doesn’t need it’s chalky finish.

Eddie shakes himself out of this spell, takes Steve’s hand like he’s somehow worthy of touching him. “Yeah, you too.”

Lame. So lame. On a scale of one to Star Wars prequels, his response is the CGI in Attack of the Clones. ��Yeah, you too?’ Ugh, what a dumbass.

The director tells them to get acquainted and to be on set in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Eddie has to be convincingly normal for ten whole minutes. Pfft, that’s laughable, but he’ll give it a shot.

“That guy’s a total asshat.” Steve grumbles.

Oh. Eddie could smother him in kisses for saying that. Lick Steve clean of all that stupid powder and probably die of talc poisoning. Death By Licking a Model is one hell of a way to go.

“Yeah.” Find some new words, Munson. “Major asshat. But he happens to be paying my bills this month, so technically, he’s my favorite major asshat.”

“Oh, same.” Steve laughs. It’s fucking glorious too. Eddie kind of wishes he had brought his microphone so that he could capture such a wonderful sound with high quality recording software. Is that creepy? Maybe he should dial it back. 

... As if. This guy’s hair is sculpted with effortless perfection and his shoulder blades could slice through a French baguette. No way Eddie can dial it back or keep it together.

“So you’re doing the voice work on the commercial, right?” Steve asks.

‘Yup.” Eddie shoves both hands into his pockets. “Indeed I am.” 

Okay, that was borderline Yoda. Get a grip.

Steve seems unfazed though. “That’s cool. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”

“Thanks.” Eddie smiles warmly. Nerves mellowing out. “And I can’t wait to see you in action out there.”

“Hope I can give you some good inspiration.” And Steve winks, legit winks at Eddie. Does it like it’s normal too, like he winks at everybody. He probably winks at nuns just to see if he can get them to consider conversion.

Eddie is so hopeless. Fucking tragic at this point.

They walk into the studio and are greeted by a somber, archaic set design. There’s a massive throne in the middle that is draped with fur. 

It’s… tacky. That’s the nicest adjective Eddie has to describe it. Tacky bullshit.

“I thought this was for a cologne ad.” Eddie says, eyeing the snowy backdrop.

Steve nods. “It is.”

“So what’s with the secondhand Game of Thrones set?”

“Mr. Asshat thinks this is his cinematic debut.”

Eddie snorts. Loves that he already has inside jokes with this beautiful, beautiful creature. “Someone should tell Mr. Asshat that this is visual plagiarism.”

“Nah.” Steve runs his hand over the tacky fur piece. Smirks to himself as he speaks. “I say we let him suffer.”

Eddie’s legs wobble. “Damn, you’re hot.”

He sounds ridiculously uncool, so breathy and gone. But Steve shrugs in a non-pitying kind of way, so maybe Eddie's uncoolness is excused. Or expected.

While the camera and lighting crew finalize their positions, Steve takes off his robe, revealing his costume.

Torn, muddied pants. Ripped and clawed to shreds. A billowy white top that’s completely unbuttoned. Un-laced? Eddie’s not entirely sure about the mechanics - just knows that Steve’s chest is out, that’s all he can focus on.

There’s a dented crown that the stylist places next to the throne, right at Steve’s feet. It’s shimmery yet tarnished, catches the light in a kaleidoscope effect.

The product is called The Fallen King, so deductive reasoning tells Eddie that Steve is meant to be the physical embodiment of this scent. He recalls something in the script about his title being slandered by promiscuity and forbidden love. Apparently they’ve bottled up that smell into a cologne. 

Do people really want to smell like a dethroned monarch? That’s a thing? Huh.

Just to make the sexual torture even more unbearable, Eddie gets to spectate alongside Mr. Asshat himself. Which also means that Eddie almost has a center view of Steve’s performance.

Cause that’s exactly what he’s giving. A performance. A full display production of his body, his face. His whole godlike essence. 

It’s unfair how fucked Eddie is from watching Steve pose. He can hold the oddest positions without budging a single tendon. So still. Durable. Strong.

Every last thought in Eddie’s head is impure from that observation. He wants to wrap his fingers around Steve’s muscles until he finally moves, twitches. Eddie wants to watch as Steve’s pretty lips part, falling open with sighs. See how long it takes for those sighs to turn into moans.

Steve slumps back into the throne, legs spread obscenely far apart. His gaze droops low and dark, practically eye-fucking the camera. It’s crazy how jealous Eddie is of that stupid inanimate object. The things he would do to get eye-fucked by that golden sex god up there…

His internal porno gets interrupted by a new pose. A wicked one. Steve is on his knees now, looking up into the camera lens. He sinks into the dreamiest expression. Looks dazed, all spaced-out and helpless. Eddie kneads at the growing heat in his pants with the heel of his palm. Hopes it’s not fucking obvious that he’s so horned up right now.

The director clears his throat and yells over the camera’s constant shuttering. “Can you tilt your head back, Steve?”

And Steve does. So obedient, so exceptional at his job. His head rolls back on his neck, shoulders sagging with the shift of weight.

Eddie is chewing the inside of his cheek, nearly ready to take the horny loss and go jack off in his car. Steve is in the most ideal position now, totally vulnerable. Eddie could fuck him so good like that, let Steve melt into his touch. He’d treat him like treasure, spoil him with dick and praise. Eddie would catch him if his legs give out. Would lick Steve’s kiss-bitten lips until the swelling goes down.

God, Eddie is so sick in the head for conjuring up x-rated scenes like this. In public, surrounded by strangers. Literally on the clock. He seriously needs to get his head checked for having such a whorish imagination.

The shoot ends shortly after that last pose, the one that rocked Eddie’s world. He closes his eyes for a minute, takes a few deep breaths. Tries to inhale some goddamn decency.

“How was it?” Steve heads his way, snaking his arms back into the bathrobe.

Eddie blinks hard. “It was… you were…” And the words stop. Nothing else comes out, his throat is strangled and bare.

Steve gives a soft laugh, nudges Eddie’s arm with his elbow. “Guess you do better when there’s a script in front of you, huh?”

Oh. So he’s pretty and darkly playful? This is too good, too delicious.

Eddie wets his bottom lip, recovers quickly. “I do better when there’s not an earthbound angel in my presence.”

“Wow.” Steve raises both eyebrows. “That’s quite the compliment.”

“Oh come on - you must get compliments all the time.”

“Not like that one though.”

“No?”

Steve takes a step into Eddie’s space. “Definitely not.”

They just stare after that - mostly because it’s Eddie’s turn to speak but words are so secondary when there’s this much beauty to behold. Gazing becomes his top priority.

And before the conversation can lead to an exchange of last names or phone numbers, Steve is rushed off by his agent. Maybe his publicist. Maybe his mom, Eddie has no fucking clue. Just someone taking away his shiny new toy. He sort of feels like reenacting that scene in Cast Away when the volleyball drifts into the ocean. Be dramatic as all hell about this ending.

Eddie doesn’t actually jack off in his car, although he really wants to. No, he decides to use all of his adrenaline and pent-up hormones for the voice recording. It gives his vocals this strained, chesty sound. Sinful and corrupt. Cracking with emotion in certain spots, spiking the volume in all the right ways.

It might be too much, a little bit too suggestive for a lousy cologne advertisement.

But as he listens back, Eddie can’t help but picture Steve. Imagining snapshots of him from every angle, especially the unspeakable ones. The recording barely sounds like a script anymore. It almost sounds like Eddie whispering the lines directly into Steve’s ear. A dirty secret between them.

This is it, he thinks. Sends the audio file to his sound mixer without a second read-through, without a retake. This might be the best voiceover Eddie Munson has ever done.

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[steddieasitgoes]

he can't sit with us (or maybe he can?)

written for @steddie-week Day 4 prompt: Trade Rating: T | wc: 2651 | no cw thank you to @stevethehairington and @thefreakandthehair for beta-ing this one for me!! Read on ao3

Eddie is amped up. 

Lunch has always been his favorite part of the school day, but today is going to be an especially good one. Not because of his lunch — he forgot to grab the sandwich he made last night so he wouldn’t forget, and he’s been out of lunch credit for weeks now, so he’s shit out of luck on that front — but because today’s the day he unleashes his latest rant on the hivemind that is the Hawkins High student body. 

It’s taken him weeks to work out everything he wants to say about the giant mall they’re building a few blocks from Main Street that everyone and their workaholic fathers are excited about. The one that led to the demolishment of Hawkins' second-best trailer park — Forest Hills being the best, obviously. He even asked Wayne’s advice on what he should say since his uncle has way more experience going against The Man™ and The Man’s™ People. 

He’s pretty proud of what he’s come up with. Sure, it’s a typical Munson rant that goes on a personal tangent in the middle about how Sam Goody and Tape World are probably going to put Jet’s Jams out of music. And okay, yeah, Jet’s Jams is the fucking worst most of the time and only ever has the top 40s bullshit in stock, but at least Eddie has some pull with good ole’ Jet and can bargain with the dude to order a metal record or two every once in a while. You think Sam Goody is going to take his advice? Not a chance in hell!

But then he’ll get back on track and get into the educational stuff that Wayne talked to him about. At least, that’s the plan; all he has to do is stick to the bullet point list he scribbled out in Ms. O’Donnell’s class thirty minutes ago, ignoring whatever the fuck she was going on about at the front of the room. 

It’s going to be great. Definitely one of his best lunchtime soapbox speeches. Hell, maybe this will be the one to actually wake some of his peers up. Capitalism is the real devil here. Not him. 

He’s bouncing with adrenaline and nerves as he saunters into the crowded cafeteria, ready for his moment, ready for—

What the hell? 

Eddie stops midstride when he spots Gareth and Jeff waving at him from a table in the middle of the room. Again, what the hell? That’s not their table. Not even fucking close. 

Eddie doesn’t believe in the social hierarchy of high school cliques, but he does respect the lunch table distribution system Hawkins’ operates under. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that tables in the middle are destined for the so-called elite. Not his Dungeons & Dragons club and the other lost sheep stragglers he’s accumulated over his extended high school career.  

They’re supposed to be sitting at a table on the outskirts of the room. The one by the windows, with the art kids to his right and the drama kids to his left. The weirdo, outcast corner. 

And yet, there they are in the middle of the room at a table usually occupied by the so-called elites and anyone else they’ve deemed worthy of their company. 

“This isn’t our table,” Eddie says, slamming his hands down with enough force to knock Gareth’s brown paper bag over, taking his unopened Dr. Pepper can with it. 

Gareth scowls, righting the can. “Now I see why you’re a super senior. Of course, it’s not our fucking table!” 

Eddie intertwines his fingers before pillowing his chin against them. “Okay then, Gareth the Great, tell me why we are sitting here.” 

“Our table is occupied,” Jeff supplies. 

“Occupied? Everyone knows that’s our table! Is this person new? Have they recently had a lobotomy?” 

This time, it’s Freak who speaks up. “No. He knows. He probably just doesn’t give a shit. A table’s a table or whatever.” 

Or whatever? Fat chance. A table hasn’t ever been just a table in the hellscape that is Hawkins High. Still, Eddie can’t help but be curious. There aren’t many people who would willingly sit at a new table this late into the school year. It’s a ballsy move.

He figures it’s a scorned drama kid or drumline member — there’s always drama in those groups; someone is always fucking someone they shouldn’t be, horny assholes. But when he turns to get a glance at this intruder, it’s not a butthurt outcast taking up court at the table, but rather Hawkins' very own Fallen King, Steve Harrington. 

For the third time, what the hell? 

“Did you tell him it’s our table?” 

“No! He’s Steve Harrington! I don’t think he’ll appreciate a couple of nerds telling him to move.” 

“And we value our lives too much to mess with upperclassmen,” Gareth says, mumbling something about learning his lesson the last time he tried something stupid like that. 

Eddie rolls his eyes before scoffing loud enough to startle the nearby table of cheerleaders. He wiggles his fingers in an innocent wave before focusing his attention back on his friends. 

“Please, Steve is all bark and no bite. And he hasn’t been Steve Harrington in a while.” Eddie raises his voice several octaves, batting his eyelashes as he says Steve’s name. “Now he’s just Steve Harrington,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with a nonchalance he never would have expected to use for someone of Steve’s former status. “He’s just some guy whose girlfriend dumped him for an artsy loner.” 

“It doesn’t matter, man! You don’t mess with people like Harrington,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s just like a one-time thing or something. It’s not like any of his friends are sitting with him. Maybe he’s just fighting with them.” 

Jeff has a point. Steve is alone. Sitting at the table all be himself, poking disinterestedly at an apple sauce cup. He’s not cowering or trying to make himself smaller like most people would do if they were stuck eating lunch alone, but he’s not making a show of it either. He’s just there. Minding his own business, staring out the windows Eddie has spent all five years of his high school career looking out off. 

“Those sounds like quitting words, Jefferson,” Eddie taunts, turning his attention back to the group. He makes a show of looking each and every Hellfire member in the eyes when he speaks again. “Are we quitters?” 

The entire table groans, a few shake their heads. Gareth, always the brave one, throws a chip at Eddie’s head that he manages to catch in his mouth. And people say he’s not athletic! 

“Since we’re not quitters, what should we do about this unlawful infiltration?” 

“I don’t know if it's an infiltration,” Freak says. “We just like traded tables without a verbal agreement.” 

“That’s worse than a seize!” 

“I don’t know, man. You’re the one that’s all fired up about it. Why don’t you go over there and ask Harrington to give it back to us.” 

“You know what,” Eddie says, pushing off the table until he’s standing. “I will.” 

With the same gravitas he entered the cafeteria with, Eddie saunters over to Steve. The sooner he gets this table thing handled, the sooner he can get on with his lunchtime diatribe — see Mr. Vance, I do listen in English class, old bat.

Eddie’s not a quiet walker by any means — he’s had enough pillows thrown at his head from Wayne for the way he stomps around the trailer in the mornings — but he manages to sneak up on Steve. Maybe it’s because his eyes are trained on a squirrel running up a tree in the distance, mumbling encouragements as the poor thing struggles to make it up. 

Huh, Harrington’s a squirrel fan? Who knew? 

Eddie’s watch chirps, a reminder that there are only ten minutes left of lunch. Jesus H. Christ! He’ll have to do an abridged version of his speech now, but it should still be enough to get his point across. That is if he manages to get Steve to trade tables with them without a fight. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Steve,” Eddie says, loud enough to startle Steve out of the squirrel watching. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

Steve glances up at him with a look of disinterest he seems to have perfected in his fall from grace. And honestly, as much as Eddie hates to admit it and would never say it out loud unless he was being waterboarded or some shit, this new version of Steve really works for him. 

“Your humble what?” Steve asks, dropping his disinterest to look up confused instead. 

His brows pull together, scrunching up his forehead in a way that should be unflattering but is honestly sort of endearing. And his head is tilted to the side like a confused animal — something Eddie has a lot of experience with, given his unofficial status as a trailer park animal rescuer. Eddie’s so lost in studying Steve’s confusion that he forgets to actually respond, which like, is new territory for Eddie. He’s never one not to talk. 

“Look, man, I don’t know what you want, but could you just spit it out so I can go back to enjoying my lunch?”

Eddie’s personality returns to his body in an instant. “Enjoying your lunch, you say?” He takes a second to glance at Steve’s lunch tray. A measly bite has been taken out of the cardboard the school passes off as pizza. The side of congealed mac and cheese sits untouch and his apple sauce cup is open but still perfectly intact. “Doesn’t look like you ate at all, Steve.” 

“Seriously, Munson, what do you want?” 

Eddie tsks and yanks the seat next to Steve away from the table before not-so-gracefully falling into it. He kicks his feet up on the table a moment later, the toe of his boot knocking against the carton of milk he’s willing to bet Steve also hasn’t touched. Though he can’t really blame him for that one. Milk is not a lunchtime beverage, and no amount of dairy propaganda is ever going to change that. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Harrington, this is my table.” 

“I didn’t know the cafeteria had assigned seats.” 

“Bullshit, you didn’t,” Eddie growls, throwing his hands up in the air. The move forces him to lose his balance, chair wobbling on two legs under him, threatening to give out and dump him on his ass. Definitely not the lunchtime show he was hoping to give today. But before he meets his demise, Steve extends his hand, steadying the chair long enough for Eddie to drop his feet and reclaim his balance. “Thanks.” 

Steve grunts in response and goes back to staring out the window. 

Fucking squirrel. 

“Look, Steve,” Eddie says, getting straight to the point this time. “I don’t know why you decided to switch tables today or why you decided my table was the one you suddenly wanted, but can we please just switch back?” 

“I’m good here.” 

He tears his eyes away from the window for long enough to glance at his former table, where Gareth and Jeff are using straws as lightsabers without a care in the world. Steve snorts, and Eddie stiffens; he really, really doesn’t want to have to fight anyone today, but if Steve’s willing to be a dick about his friends in front of his face, well, fight, he will. But then Steve’s face softens, and he shakes his head in amusement. 

“Looks like your friends are good where they’re at, too. Though the lightsaber skills could use some work,” Steve teases. “Are we good then?”

“No, we’re not good!” Eddie shouts, trying his best to keep his brain on task. We’re here to get our table back, not ponder why Steve Harrington suddenly has a soft spot for nerds because what? “That’s your table, man, and this is ours. You’re going to upset the fragile balance of this place.” 

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me or something? I thought upsetting the balance was your life goal.” 

How dare Steve Harrington read him like that.

Since his dramatics haven’t worked, Eddie opts for the truth this time. “I have no interest in sitting in the middle of the damn cafeteria where everyone can see me and my friends just to cause a little societal unrest.” 

“And I have no interest in being forced to sit in the middle so everyone can stare at me while judging me and my mistakes.” 

Oh. 

The truth shouldn’t be all that shocking. Anyone who has eyes has witnessed Steve’s fall from King too well; Eddie’s not sure there is a word for what Steve is now. He’s not a pariah or an outcast, not smart enough to be a nerd, and the rumor is he quit basketball, so he’s not a jock. He’s just… lost? 

Steve groans, running a hand over his face for a second before his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?” 

“Uh, sure?” 

“Look, Eddie, I’m not going to trade tables with you, but if this one means that much to you, I don’t mind sharing.” 

“I thought you said you don’t want people staring at you?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Okay, well, sitting with the Freaks of Hawkins is definitely going to get people staring and talking, and honestly, you might even have to dodge a punch or two just for being in our vicinity.” 

“I’ll survive.” 

For the first time in his life, Eddie has no idea what to say. On one hand the idea of sharing a table is so preposterous he’s convinced he might be dreaming right now. But after a quick pinch to confirm that he is awake, he goes back to weighing his options. Sharing a table with Steve isn’t ideal, but sitting in the middle of the fucking cafeteria is a death sentence. He might be able to hold his own with the upper echelon of Hawkins High, but his ragtag group of friends isn’t so scrappy. 

And then there’s the lost sheep of it all. 

Eddie’s spent most of his high school career looking after lonely high schoolers. Whisking them under his wing, giving them a safe space to eat lunch or a club to hang out at after school to avoid having to walk back home alone. He thought he’d become somewhat of an expert at it, but it seems Steve Harrington has managed to slip through his cracks. 

Eddie would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he didn’t at least try with Steve. It’s not like he has to join Hellfire or anything. All he’s really asking for his a spot at their lunch table. 

“I have one condition.” 

“Of course you do,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. 

“Actually, I have two.” Steve chuckles and motions for Eddie to get on with it already. “One, you can’t make fun of anything that happens at the table. We’re weird. You know it, we know it. We’re allowed to tease each other about it. You are not.” 

“I wouldn’t do that. Not anymore.” 

Eddie nods. “And two, you have to give me your dessert every day.” 

“Every day?” Steve balks. “You can have my applesauce and pudding cups, but I’m not giving you Friday’s chocolate cake.” 

“Guess you’re going to have to go back to sitting at the fishbowl table then.” 

Eddie watches as Steve considers this for a moment before his shoulders heave the world’s biggest sigh. “Fine.” 

Without warning, Eddie pushes away from the table, the legs of the chair screeching against the linoleum. His lips twitch at the corners, pulling into a genuine smile as he stands and offers Steve his hand. “Welcome to the Freak table, Steve.” 

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 4 - The Distance

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe. 8.7k words. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.

CW: MDNI +18 explicit content. a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes, nightmares, mentions of torture, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past SA, choking, receiving injections, sex, anal sex, spanking, handjob.

AN: The writers block has been ROUGH but hey ya get your first smut for the series. It is a poly fic after all. XD

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You’re sitting in John’s office with Dr. Piper while he’s looking through some folders. You’re trying hard to not be nervous. It reminds you of the times you would be called into the Professor's office. It was rarely for anything good. John puts the papers away, locking the drawer on his desk. It’s way too familiar for your liking, but John doesn’t look mad. 

“We’re going to be leaving for a few days, 3 at the most,” John says. 

“Where are you going?” you ask. 

“Wisconsin.

“You shouldn’t need us. I’ll leave you a way to contact us but if you do I’m going to assume it’s an emergency.” He looks between you both. Now you’re worried about him, all of them. They’re probably going away to do something dangerous. You could never see them again, they’re soldiers after all.

“What are you going to do?” you ask. 

“Dr. Montgomery let us know where we can find some of the formula. We’re going to get some so it can speed up her research,” John explains. So they can find a cure sooner. You’re still not sure what to think of this, but you know they want a cure.

You look over at Dr. Piper. She’s listening to him. You shouldn’t care, it’s your job to be a good omega and do whatever your alpha wants. John and Simon both want a cure. You’re not really listening to the conversation but Dr. Piper nods at him now and then. They’re going to be gone for a few days. You can live with that, just a few days. 

“We’ll be back before you know it.” John smiles. You smile back at him. 

“When are you leaving?” you ask. 

“Tonight.”  

Tonight comes quicker than you think. Everyone had been so busy that Johnny and Kyle didn’t even have time to eat dinner with you. It’s the first time you’d been to the mess alone. You missed the days when Dr. Piper would bring you your meals and you didn’t have to leave the barracks. She said getting out of the barracks is good though, a nice change of scenery and fresh air. 

You can’t sleep. You're not sure why. You’re turning around in bed and whatever position you’re in feels uncomfortable. You can see the light coming in under your door, you can hear their voices in the common room. You want to see them again, one last time before they leave. You slip out of bed pulling your arms around your chest. With the window open your room is always cold. 

You crack open the door and you can see them all moving around the common room. You see John’s back as he gives orders in a low voice. You’re sneaking down the corridor. You don’t know why you’re trying to be sneaky. It’s not like you’d get into trouble for wanting to say goodbye to them. You see Johnny leave the building as you make it to John, and it’s almost like he senses you before you have time to reach out to tap him on the back. He turns around, looking at you, resting the tablet he has in his hands down by his side. 

“You should be sleeping,” he says. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit. A little smile forms on his lips as he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll be back soon,” he says. You look up in his eyes, his deep blue eyes. He looks sad, his expression soft. Maybe if you beg, he’ll stay.

“What if you get hurt?” you say. He lets out a chuckle, his hand moving up to your face. 

“No one’s getting hurt. Not on my watch,” he says, and you believe him. What if he gets hurt though? You don’t think you could live with yourself if any of them got hurt. 

“Cap, the truck’s here.” You look past John to see Kyle sticking his head around the door. He pauses when he notices you. John waves him away before turning his attention back to you. 

“You’re not going to worry while we’re gone are you?” Price says. You shake your head, and he leans down kissing the top of your head. You wish he didn’t have to go. His scent strong in the air, you project your scent onto him. It’s all you can really do. You see him react to it, his thumb stroking your cheek. He sighs, dropping his hand and turning to leave. You smile for him. That's what he needs, for you to be a good omega for him and not worry, or at least make him think you’re not worried. 

“Stay safe,” you call as he leaves out the door. 

“Always,” he says, smiling. You watch as he leaves, the door closing behind him. The place already feels empty. You hit the switch on the wall and the building goes dark. You walk back down to your room, there’s already a pit forming in your stomach. You almost want to wake up Dr. Piper just so you’ll have someone near you so you won’t be alone. You walk into your room seeing your nest. It’s all you want. You rush over to it, flopping down on the pillows, pulling the blankets over you. They’ll be safe, they know what they’re doing.

Your dreams are filled with visions of everyone dying. Johnny dies quickly, always shot in the head bleeding out on the floor. Kyle’s not so lucky, some kind of chemical that burns his skin and his lungs as he screams in pain. Simon’s next he takes the longest to go down, fighting to the bitter end, his body punctured with knives and bullets.

Then there’s John, it’s always the Professor who gets him and tortures him just like every other alpha he’s slaughtered. You hate the Professor being in your dreams, you hate that you’re riddled with nightmares. Dr. Piper said it’s normal—something called PTSD. You hate that they’ve all left, you hate Dr. Piper, they're doing this for her, for the cure. You don’t even want a cure. But you have to do this for them. Be a good omega. 

It’s been 24 hours since they left. You’ve been lonely. You didn’t think you were going to miss them as much as you do. You miss Johnny and Kyle keeping you company, lunches have been too quiet. Dr. Piper has been so busy you haven’t seen her much, and she’s been skipping lunch. You hate being alone. The mess is loud and busy. It’s the only other time you see any other soldiers. Sometimes you see them training around the base but then they’re caught up in whatever they're doing. 

You miss John the most. Dr. Piper said it’s normal to miss your pack, to feel like this. It doesn’t make it any easier, especially when you’re not sure when they’re going to be back. You hope John’s safe. You hope they all are.

In the mess people stare. You hear them talking under their breath. It makes you uncomfortable, so you eat faster, their eyes drilling into the back of you. It’s not their fault, they just don’t understand. You’re sick of being called a freak. You heard a new one yesterday, ‘barracks bunny.’ At least that doesn’t sound bad, and bunnies are cute. You miss having an alpha around, and you miss having someone you can go to for safety. Dr. Piper was right, John is a good alpha. When he comes back you want to go for another walk in the forest. 

You’re not allowed to leave the base alone. Maybe you could sneak out though, figure out another way through the fence. There has to be a break in the walls somewhere. Then you could see the lake whenever you want. You sigh as you finish your pudding, it's custard flavor this time. You should take a sandwich to Dr. Piper, she probably needs it. She’s been working so hard. You throw your tray away and pick up a chicken sandwich. You walk out the mess passing soldiers coming in for a late lunch. 

‘She’s fucking some SAS soldier,’ a voice says, followed with laughter. ‘Really an SAS soldier?’ 

Why should you even care? You shouldn’t care, all they think is that you’re some sex toy. Maybe that’s what John wants? You haven't had time to talk to him about it. He’s always been so soft, so kind. When he’s in heat, he’ll be different though. At the end of the day, it’s all you really are. An omega made for an alpha, to breed with an alpha make more omegas. 

You walk over to the lab still squeezing the sandwich in your hands. You’re going to start going for food later, maybe then you can avoid the rush of soldiers. At least here you’re accepted, people won’t stare or judge you. You walk in the scent of beta is strong in the air. It’s relaxing, and you stop squishing the sandwich. 

“Hey.” You turn to see the alpha looking at you, his hands behind his back as he leans forward. He’s not like other alphas. If he didn’t smell so strong, you’d presume he was a beta. Even the way he holds himself is like he’s shy. 

“Dr. Miller right?” you say, keeping your distance. He nods. 

“I’ve been working on a hormone blocker for Lieutenant Riley, would you like to see?” He says moving to the side of the table he’s working on. You can see a microscope set up. You nod, feeling intimidated by his presence, but you're too curious. You walk over to the table. He smiles at you and you press your eye up to the microscope. You don’t know what you’re looking at but it looks pretty. 

“Awesome right?” he says, sounding enthusiastic. You back up, smiling at him. 

“Do you think it will help him?” you ask. He shrugs. 

“I hope so, that’s why I’m working on it.” He looks at you sympathetically. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you offer. It feels right. He smiles at you. 

“I’ll let you know,” he says. You nod at him. He seems nice, he makes you think of John, kind and smiley. You walk across the lab to Dr. Pipers office. You knock and she calls you in. Her office is small, not like John's; there's no personality in it, just lab equipment and a massive window looking out into the lab. She’s sitting behind a desk typing on the computer as you sit down. 

“I got you a sandwich,” you say, putting it down on her desk. “Have you ever had your own office before?” you ask her as she moves to look over at you. 

“No. Are you missing them yet?” she asks.

“It’s only been a day,” you say. You do miss them though. 

“They’re your pack. I would expect you to be missing them after a few hours.” She leans back in her chair. You nod. 

“They’ll be back before you know it. I did ask John if one of them could stay but he said they were all needed,” she explains. You would have liked it if one of them had stayed, if not to just eat with you.

“How are the nightmares?” she asks. You hang your head, you don’t want to talk about it. 

“I hear you screaming at night. We could try some sleeping pills?” she asks. You look up at her. You don’t know if you want that. Would it even help? You shake your head. 

“It’s not that bad, I don’t remember them anyway,” you lie. You’ve always found lying so easy to Dr. Piper or betas in general. Even so, you can tell she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push it any further. 

“Think they’ll be back tomorrow?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. They’ll be back when they’re back. John said it could be 3 days at least.” You nod, you don’t know what you were expecting her to say. You wonder what constitutes an emergency, what would have them racing back across the country for you. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you ask, looking out the window and seeing scientists working. 

“No. You should get some rest, things are going to get busy over the next few weeks. You should appreciate the down time,” Dr. Piper smiles. You sigh, you’re sick of being stuck in the barracks, the TV can only keep you occupied for so long. 

“Think it would be possible to get some books?” you ask. You used to read in the bunker. There was a bookshelf in one of the rooms, and you must have read each book about a million times but it was something to do. 

“I can talk to John about it when he gets back.” She rolls away on her chair and picks up a bag pulling a book out. She hands it over to you. You take it out of her hands, it’s a pretty book with a picture of a cat and a girl on the front. 

“Alice in Wonderland. It’s a bit on the nose, I was going to wait to give it to you,” she says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, flicking through it. It’s old, the pages are turning yellow on the edges, and it's got the old book smell you like. 

“It’s about a girl who follows a rabbit down a hole into a mysterious land where she has adventures. It’s a classic book, if you like it I can definitely get you more.” She smiles, her computer beeping capturing her attention. You smile back getting up to leave, excited to have something to do other than watch TV.

Dr. Miller waves as you pass him, clutching the book. You rush back to the barracks. It’s starting to rain and when you make it back to your room you can hear the pitter patter of drops on the window, there’s a cool breeze brushing through and you can smell the pine from the forest. It’s perfect as you crawl into your nest, throwing a blanket round your shoulders. 

You open the book surprised to see your name written on the first page. It’s signed by Dr. Piper. Happy 13th birthday. It makes a lump form in your throat. She’s had this all these years. You wonder why she never gave it to you, or maybe it was the Professor stopping her. It makes you smile. You shuffle deeper into your nest and make a mental note to thank her later as you start reading.

Doctor Montgomery and Price both agreed if there was going to be a sample of the formula it would be in Professor Hale’s mansion. He hardly spent time at his other properties, just used them when he needed to travel. Besides this was where his home lab was. It wasn’t hard to get blueprints for the mansion. The place was huge, the lab suspected to be in the basement. 

“Place looks quiet, no lights, no movement.” It’s Ghost’s voice in Price’s ear. 

“Copy,” he replies. The place was quiet, no cars, no one in or out for hours. The sun is starting to set and no lights are being turned on. If the Professor was here, he wasn’t letting them know. They should move in now in case someone comes back in the evening. 

“Let’s move.” Price looks over at Soap and Gaz kneeling next to him on the forest's edge. He hears Ghost say copy as Soap leaves the cover of the foliage to meet him. Gaz moves too, standing up out of the bushes. Something’s different now, he feels more on edge then normal, like his senses have been turned up to the max. 

“Think he’s out?” Gaz asks, breaking Price’s train of thought. 

“Think so,” Price responds, getting up and walking with Gaz over to a side door. The Professor’s not a threat, but it would be nice to be able to deal with him now. He’s lucky they still don’t know where he is. The sun is low in the sky. The view from the back of the mansion is nice. Sprawling fields broken up by woodlines, he takes a moment to soak it in. 

When they get to the side door Price signals for Gaz to get the crowbar in position. Everyone is stacked up on the door. He nods at Gaz who presses down on the crowbar as the door pops open. Price gives the order for Ghost and Soap to enter. They walk in. There are no alarms—that's not good. It’s almost too quiet. Everyone funnels in. Price let’s Ghost take the lead as they walk through the kitchen into what looks like a living room. 

“Where’s the entrance to this basement?” Soap asks.

“Main lobby,” Gaz replies. Ghost keeps walking, scanning each corner as he moves. They make it to the lobby. Price can see the front doors. The place is quiet, there's no one here. 

“Ghost, Gaz, clear the next floor, Soap let’s go,” Price says gesturing to the next room. He can see Soap smile in the dark as he moves into the next room. It doesn’t take long for Soap and Price to finish clearing the ground floor. Dr. Montgomery said it was normal to hear and see things better. One of the perks of the formula, it makes clearing rooms easier when you can sense what’s in there before you enter.

Soap was already good at sweeping rooms before this but now he’s like a fine tuned machine, Price watches his nostrils flare as he enters each room, every source of noise being snapped to in an instant. It’s mainly creaking floors, rats behind the walls. Maybe he’ll have to look into some training to help them all get better at using their senses to their advantage. At least until they have a cure.  

Price can hear Ghost and Gaz upstairs, their methodical steps, the opening and closing of doors. Definitely the best thing is being able to see better even in this low light, that’s a massive advantage. The building loops round and before they know it they’re back in the lobby. Price looks for the stairs to the basement as they wait for Ghost and Gaz to come back from upstairs. 

“Place is clear,” Ghost says as he comes down the stairs with Gaz following behind. Price nods and they all follow him to the open door. They make it down into the lab. The place looks ransacked. Maybe Dr. Montgomery was right and he’s fled with the only known sample of the formula. A light comes on and now Price can see the extent of the damage, it doesn’t look like there is much left. Gaz and Soap are already pulling drawers and cupboards open. 

“What are we looking for exactly?” 

“Medical vials, anything labeled, omega project or omega initiative,” Price says going over to a computer. 

“Do you ever read the briefs?” Gaz asks. 

“‘Course,” Soap replies. Gaz hums. To Price’s surprise the computer turns on as he moves the mouse. Unsurprisingly the whole thing has been wiped. 

“Price!” Ghost calls from round one of the corners in the room. Price goes round seeing Ghost leaned over a computer. He presses play on the video. It's you, although you look younger, thinner. Your hair tied back, you look pale, sitting in a chair, your head slumped forward.

“How do you feel?” asks Dr. Montgomery. She’s the person sitting on the other end of the table, just out of frame. You don’t respond, just sniffle. 

“It’s been 5 days, and you’re coming down from your–” there’s a pause “—19th heat.” Your head looks up, your eyes swollen with tears. There’s bruising too, on your cheeks and on your neck. A knot forms in Price’s stomach. 

“Have you got any pain anywhere?” she asks. You shake your head. 

“The water is for you,” Dr. Montgomery says sliding the glass closer to you. You reach out to grip it with a shaking hand. There are marks around your wrists. The video glitches and skips along. 

“Heat experiment 15 was a failure.” It’s another voice out of frame. It’s a low male voice, it must be the Professor. There’s the sound of a door opening interrupting his speech.

“You said they would leave her neck and face alone.” It’s Dr. Montgomery, she sounds mad. 

“Doctor, you know I cannot control people’s actions,” the Professor sighs. “Is she going to recover?” 

“Physically, yes the bruising is already improving.” 

“Then what is the problem?” he asks, sounding annoyed. 

“She is becoming more and more aware during her heats. Mentally this is taking a toll,” Dr. Montgomery says. Simon skips to the next video. This time your hair is wet sticking to your face, blood running down the side of your head. The table is gone. 

“You keep pushing and pushing. How are you ever going to be a good omega if you keep pushing your alpha!” It’s just the Professor and he sounds mad, the anger is almost radiating through the monitor. The Professor steps into frame pressing his face up against yours, you flinch trying to lean back as far as you can. 

“No alpha will ever want a disobedient omega.” His hand grips your throat, choking you, pulling your neck up. Your hands grip his wrists, feet flailing. 

“You will stay here until you’ve learned your lesson!” he snaps, letting you go. You fall forward out of the chair and onto the floor pulling your knees to your chest. The Professor walks out of frame for a second then comes back, pulling your hair up. You yelp in pain as he places something on the back of your neck. You scream as the Professor holds your hands away from your neck, then your body goes limp. Ghost steps forward pulling a USB stick out the computer the video stops playing. 

“Soap!” Price shouts. He walks round the corner. “Did you listen to the part of the brief about which explosives to bring?” 

“‘Course, sir,” he smiles. Price looks at Ghost. There’s anger in his eyes. They both just witnessed the same thing, and that was only a snippet. There’s a pit in his stomach that he hasn’t felt in years. 

“Set the charges,” Price says, pushing past Soap. 

“Let’s find the formula, then blow this place further into the dirt.”

“Hey, stranger,” Dr. Miller says as you walk into the lab. It’s been over 48 hours now and you’ve still not heard if they’re coming back yet or not. You smile at him as you watch him pipetting something into a test tube. He’s alone, it is getting darker out and you’re surprised anyone is still working other than Dr. Piper. You can’t remember what you came in here for. You just wanted some company from someone who understands. It didn’t take you long to finish the book, and you read it twice before falling asleep yesterday. 

“Still working on the hormone blocker?” you ask him, and he nods. You pull over a stool to watch him. 

“I think I’m a bad omega,” you say as he squirts more solution into another tube. The chemical changes colour.  

“Missing your alpha?” he asks sympathetically. You nod, but it’s not just John. Your whole pack is gone, you miss them all.

“When did you leave the bunker?” you ask. He looks over at you for a second. 

“I managed to get out a few months before Professor Hale started to kill off the alphas.” 

“You were lucky,” you say. You remember the mass slaughter. The stench of blood was thick in the air for days. You remember how the Professor told you it was your fault. You were not being a good omega. You thought you remembered every alpha, the Professor made you scent all of them. Maybe there were more than you remembered. 

“Do you think there can be 2 alphas in a pack?” you ask him. He sits back in the stool humming.

“I think your pack situation is very unique. I think Lieutenant Riley is very controlled,” he says. It’s not exactly what you want to hear.  

“Why do you think you’re a bad omega?” he asks, changing the subject. 

“I don’t know if I want the cure,” you say. 

“That doesn’t make you a bad omega, that makes you human,” he says, smiling as he picks up a vial of something shaking it in his hand. 

“What about you, do you want a cure?” you ask him. He pauses for a second. 

“A lot of us had very normal lives before working for Professor Hale. Being in a relationship with kids, it’s hard when you have all these new instincts. Not to mention you’re the only omega we know that exists. That’s not easy for alphas knowing the only shot we have of getting an omega is one who’s already claimed,” he explains.

You didn’t think about it like that. You know what it’s like, the burning drive to find an alpha. You’ve lived through not having one for years. Maybe the Professor was being kind when he killed all the alphas, it was that or condemning them to a life of pain, searching for something they’ll never get.

“Did you have a family?” you ask. 

He shakes his head. “I had a mother who lived in Oregon, she died a couple of years ago.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say. That’s what you’re supposed to say when someone dies. He looks at you and smiles.

“I have some samples I need to test on you. They’re just simple compounds. I can give you them now. It would be a really big help.” You can smell his sincerity in the air. You nod before you even realise what you’re doing. He smiles going into a drawer and taking out two syringes. 

“Actually, I should ask Dr. Piper,” you say. 

“Don’t worry it will only take a few seconds, there’s no need to bother her, she's so busy.” His alpha is strong in the air. You don’t really have much of a choice. Before you’ve even realised it you're nodding, rolling your sleeve up. You turn to the side for him, as he cleans your arm.  

“Sharp scratch,” he says pressing the first injection in, you don’t feel anything.  

“What is it?” you ask. 

“Captain Price is going to claim you right?” You nod. His alpha is almost suffocating, it makes nervous goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. You forgot what question you asked.

“Will it help them?” you ask. He smiles, injecting the second syringe.

“Of course, everything you do here helps them.” 

“They really want a cure,” you say as he finishes and you pull your sleeve back down. 

“What do you want?” he asks, turning to write something down on a clipboard.

“I want to make them happy, and be a good omega.” It doesn't matter what you think. It’s whatever they want, especially John. You want to keep him happy. He looks over from the papers to you. 

“You know I have been working on an idea with Dr. Montgomery. I think maybe if you could give us a hand we could figure it out quicker.” He looks at you, you don’t know what to say. You should talk to her first. 

“It would really help them. We might even be able to get a cure sooner,” he says. You swallow the lump in your throat. You should do this for them, be a good omega. You remember how angry Simon was a few days ago, even asking to be discharged. You nod reluctantly. 

“I’ll talk to Dr. Montgomery, will you come back tomorrow, early morning around 6?” You nod hopping off the stool. 

“You’re a good omega for this. Captain Price will be very proud.” You smile at the praise. John will be happy. The sooner they can find a cure, the happier they will be. You smile at him as you leave the lab. You wonder why Dr. Piper hasn’t approached you about helping before. Maybe she’s not ready yet, or maybe she’s just trying to give you a break.

You don’t care, she’s lied to you before, for years. Maybe Dr. Miller is closer than he thinks to a cure. The least you can do is help. You walk back to the barracks. It’s already evening and the days feel like they’ve been going faster. That’s good, at least. Hopefully they’ll be back soon. 

You wake to the smell of alpha in the air. You sit up straight looking around. You’re laid out on the sofa. You don’t remember making it to the barracks or turning the TV on, or falling asleep. Your head is swimming, the scent of alpha is strong, you see the door open as Price and Johnny walk into the room. You smile when you see them, you want to throw yourself in John’s arms instead you pull yourself off the sofa. 

“Hey lass did ya miss us?” Johnny says, you nod going over to them. John’s alpha scent washes over you, and you project your scent into the air for him. He looks tired. 

“Yeah, it’s been boring.” Maybe you should tell them about your conversation with Dr. Miller. No, you want to wait until you have something more concrete to show them. No point in getting their hopes up for nothing. 

“Did you get the formula?” you ask as Gaz walks in the building. 

“You bet we did!” Johnny calls swinging a bag over his shoulder. You smile at him. That’s good, you’re happy for them. Now Dr. Piper has one less obstacle, and with the help you’ve been giving they could have a cure in a few months. John comes over to you, his scent strong. There’s something else there too. Sadness. 

“Let’s have a quick chat,” he says, leading you to his office. You’ve missed him, missed being around him, missed his scent. He sits down on the sofa patting the spot next to him. You smile sitting down.  

“We went to Professor Hale’s house. That was where Dr. Montgomery said we could find a copy of the formula.” Your breath catches in your throat. You dig your nails into your palms. Why didn’t they tell you?

“D-did you kill him?” you ask, swallowing hard. 

“No, he wasn’t there. We got a copy of the formula, it should help Dr. Montgomery find a cure quicker.” You nod ignoring the pain in your palms. You feel relief. You shouldn’t be relieved—he was a bad man—but for some reason you’re relieved he’s not dead. 

“I saw a video, a video of you—” 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you say getting up. You’re embarrassed, you want to cry, you want to run away. You turn away from him, you can’t look at him right now. You were happy in the fact that you thought everything from the bunker had been destroyed. Of course the Professor kept videos of you. You can only imagine what John saw, and none of it is good.

“It’s okay,” you hear him say as he gets up off the sofa.  

“I know he would take videos. I know.” You can’t stop the tears now. Cameras were just part of your life, he would record everything for research. He especially liked to record your heats. You’re lucky you remember so little of them, you wish you didn’t remember any of it. You feel John rest one of his hands on your shoulder. You freeze up. His hand is warm, strong. He’s not going to hurt you, but he could. It would be so easy for him to slip his hand on the back of your neck and it would be over. Everything in your body is telling you to protect your neck, to run. His scent is suffocating, the smell of sadness is gone. You smell something else. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says. You smell the betas worry through the doors. You know they’re standing there listening, they’re projecting, they're trying to mask your scent without even realising it. 

“I’m okay.” It’s a lie. You’re being a bad omega, you’re lying to your alpha. You hear him sigh. He can tell. You tense up even more than you thought you ever could. You wait for the anger, the shouting, anything. His hand leaves your shoulder. It's not what you’re expecting, your hand goes up to the back of your neck. You swallow hard letting the betas scent relax you and turn to face John. His expression is soft. His hand slowly comes up to cup your cheek. You let him, keeping your eyes on him as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. 

“They hurt you,” he says as a matter of fact. You look down, you can’t look him in the eyes right now. You can’t tell what’s embarrassment or what’s sadness. 

“I only got what I deserved,” you say, looking back up at him. You can’t look in his eyes. He might not want to punish you now but he will eventually. You’re a bad omega. His hands come back to your shoulders, and you almost flinch away. His hands grip you strong and firm keeping you in place. 

“If anyone tells you that you deserved what you went through, you send them my way, all right?” he asks. You nod. You trust him, you trust him. 

You press yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around him as you sob, trying your best to keep quiet. His scent fills your nose and you relax into him. He’s your alpha, you’re part of his pack.

“What are you going to do, kick their ass?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

“Worse,” he says, kissing the top of your head. You believe him. For a few seconds you let yourself imagine him kicking the Professor's ass. He would be able to, the Professor is bigger but John’s a trained soldier. You hum into his chest, letting your scent fill the air as his hand rubs your back. 

“I trust you John, I'm just not used to trusting people,” you say, opening your eyes, the tears run down your face. He pushes you off his chest, you almost want to whine from the break of contact. His hand comes up to brush your cheeks. 

“I know.” He’s gentle, his hands move slowly as you look in his eyes. You didn’t want it to just be a biology thing. You like him. You wish one day you could maybe love him. His head tips down as he leans into you, you look at his lips. He wants to kiss you, you want to kiss him. Panic rises in your chest—what if you’re a bad kisser, you’ve never kissed anyone before! You don’t have time to worry about it as his lips meet yours. You close your eyes. His lips are soft but his beard tickles your face and it makes you smile. You don’t know if you’re doing it right but you must be on the right track as he pulls you closer to him, his arms running down your body, his fingers mapping out each curve. 

You don’t even realise you’re not breathing until his tongue presses against your lips and you gasp opening your mouth for him. Just like his touch his tongue is gentle too, he moves slow like he’s taking his time to explore your mouth. His hands grip your waist pulling you tighter as he continues his slow movements. You can smell it in the air now, arousal. You try to ignore it, it’s strong though almost as strong as his alpha. He senses your change in body movements and pulls away. You open your eyes looking at him, his eyes glossed over as he comes back up to stroke your cheek.  

“What’s wrong?” He asks, you feel yourself blushing.

“Nothing.” You say smiling up at him. “That was nice.” He kisses your forehead, you wrap your arms around him and he pulls you into the hug. You can still smell the beta’s through the door, you feel embarrassed now, they’ve been listening to this whole thing.

“Johnny and Kyle are standing outside the door.” You smile breaking away from the hug as his hands drop down to your waist. He walks around you to the door. When he opens it you can hear them scuttling away. He turns to you and you walk back into his embrace. 

“How about a cup of tea and some horrible reality TV?” he asks. You smile at him. 

“All I’ve done is watch TV for the last few days.” 

“Great so you’ll know all the best channels,” he says. You let him wrap his arm around him as you both walk out into the main common room. Johnny winks at you from the kitchen. 

“MacTavish, Garrick, get some rest,” he says to the room which is followed by ‘yes sirs.’ 

“Where’s Simon?” you ask.

“I’m sure he’ll be around soon,” John says as he moves you over to the sofa. You sit down as he heads into the kitchen. 

“How do you take the tea?”

“I like it milky and sweet.” You see him smile as he turns into the fridge. You turn the TV on flicking through the channels till you find something. 

You watch him work in the kitchen, spooning sugar into mugs, then water, then milk. He brings the mugs over and you move over making space for him as he sits down next to you. His arm rests round the back of the sofa and he motions for you to lay in his arms. He wants you to lay in his arms, your alpha wants you to lay in his arms. You pull your legs on the sofa and scoot over resting your head against his chest and your arm around his stomach. The show on the TV is familiar, you recognize the people, actors? You can’t tell. 

“So what’s this about?” he asks, wrapping his free hand around you while he sips his tea. 

“These women all live near each other in these big houses. The blonde haired woman is always upset about something,” you explain, cuddling into him. His arm is warm, you can hear his heartbeat, you can feel each muscle and scar under his shirt. 

“John, I like spending time with you,” you say as you find your fingers run across his stomach. He kisses your head again. 

“I know, we have all the time in the world.” That’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one. It’s what you need now though, his familiar scent filling your lungs. It’s what you need. It’s making you dizzy. His arm runs down your back then back up to your arm making goosebumps stand up on the back of your neck. You’ve missed him, you’re glad he’s back and safe.

“I’ll be a good omega for you,” you breathe as your body gets tired again. You feel safe, you are safe. You close your eyes.

Simon walks into the lab letting the door slam behind him. He doesn’t care if she knows he’s here or not. 

“Welcome back,” she says, watching him walk across the room. He doesn’t say anything as he stops at the table she’s working on. He puts a small crate down on the table. She stands up and clicks it open, running her fingers over the vials then looking up at Simon smiling. He used to like her smile, now he just sees the evil behind it. She takes the vials, turning to put them in a fridge behind her.

“How did it go? Smoothly?” she asks, turning back to look at him. 

“Classified,” he grunts. 

“Well omega’s been missing you,” she sighs, he can hear the annoyance in it. He huffs, shaking his head. She missed Price, not him.

“We got what you needed, and this,” he says, throwing the USB on the table. 

“What’s this?” she asks picking it up. 

“Maybe you’ll find something helpful. If not, well.” 

“Well what?” 

“Thought you might enjoy some memories.” He turns to walk away. 

“Memories? What are you talking about?” she says confused. 

“You stayed to keep her alive. I saw what it was like for her.” His voice is harsh in the air.

“Simon—” 

“No. You kept her alive. You kept her alive to be tortured.” He doesn’t want to talk to her right now. He wants to be with you, and he can’t even do that.

“So what? I should have let her die? Hale would have picked another omega, another subject,” Dr. Piper says. 

“So what?” he snaps. “She’s a human being, she’s a person. You let her suffer. You let her suffer and that's on you.” His hand rests on the door handle. 

“Simon. I tried so hard for her. I put my life on the line for her.” She steps round the desk towards him. He huffs letting his hand fall from the door handle. 

“No more excuses. You made the choice to let her go through it,” he says, turning to face her. Her eyes dilate for a second and she takes a step back. He wants to trust her, but everytime he lets his guard down with her something reminds him of who she is.

“I’m not making excuses,” she says. 

“You are, you just don’t realise it.” He opens the door and leaves. 

Simon walks through the door into the barracks. He looks at Price on the sofa with you laying up against his chest. You’re asleep breathing steady against him. You’re safe, calm in his arms. He can smell you in the air, always something sweet, strawberries or cherries. He remembers how you looked in the videos, how you looked so helpless. Price told him to destroy the USB, but he already decided he was going to give it to Dr. Montgomery. 

“You gave her the formula?” Price asks as Simon closes the door behind him. 

“Yeah, she’s working on it,” Simon says, coming over to the sofa. He moves round to the other side, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over you. Price nods at him. Simon knows all about Price’s glances, knows what they mean. He wants to be left alone.  

“How is she?” Simon asks, stepping back round the TV. 

“She’s fine, missed us,” Price says. Simon can hear the hesitation in his voice. Simon sighs, soaks you in: eyes closed, mouth open slightly, your arm wrapped round Price’s stomach. He wants nothing more than to climb onto the sofa with you both, pry you out of Price’s arms and into his. He knows you haven’t missed him. He just hopes you’re not scared of him.

“You good?” Price asks. Simon doesn’t want to lie to him.

“All good, sir,” Simon replies. 

“If you want to talk about it, you know I'm around,” Price says. 

“It’s okay Price, I’m good.” Simon’s voice is harsh in the air, his heart pounding in his ears as your scent fills his nose. You’re relaxed, you’re safe. It’s nothing like the videos, it’s nothing like the reports he has seen. 

He’s jealous. He wishes you were in his arms. He doesn’t want to be jealous of Price but he can’t help it. There’s an ache there, something he can’t put his finger on. It hurts like a deep pain in his chest, something he hasn’t felt in years. He remembers what Dr. Montgomery said; it’ll get easier once you’re claimed. He wishes it was him doing it instead of John. 

He picks his bag up then heads to his room walking past Johnny’s open door, his kit spread all over the floor. Typical, he must be the one in the showers since Gaz’s door is closed. He goes into his room throwing his bag down. He grabs a towel and a change of clothes. He needs to blow off some steam. 

Simon walks into the bathroom, his nose filled with the smell of Johnny. It’s a good smell, soapy and fresh. It reminds Simon of a warm summer's day, clean sheets in the breeze. Johnny’s head pokes out from one of the showers. 

“Hey LT, come to cop a look?” Johnny winks at him from across the room. Simon rolls his eyes, stripping his clothes off, pulling his mask over his head. He can feel Johnny’s eyes on him. Simon likes when Johnny’s eyes are on him, and he’s not sure why. There’s a new scent in the air, he could faintly smell it when he walked into the building earlier. Vanilla, only this time it's heavy in the room, he makes his way round to the showers. Simon can see Johnny trying and failing to avoid his gaze. Maybe it was just Johnny’s shower gel this whole time. 

“See something you like, Sergeant?” Simon asks, turning on the shower. He holds his hand under the water as it starts off cold. 

“It’s nice and warm in here, sir,” Johnny says, leaning on the wall between them. There’s the smell of vanilla again, this time it hits Simon fast, right at the back of his nose. He looks over at Johnny with that cheeky grin on his face and before he knows it, he’s turned off his shower. 

Johnny’s eyes follow him around as he steps into the cubicle with him. Johnny’s hands immediately run up Simon’s chest, his hands are soft, and his touch is nice. Simon presses closer to Johnny backing him up against the wall. Johnny leans up, planting his lips on Simon as he grips his waist. Simon’s hands run down Johnny’s arms as he forces his tongue into his mouth. Johnny’s touch is familiar, he knows where to touch him, how to kiss him. Simon relaxes into it letting Johnny’s hands run over him. Simon moves one of his hands up to run through Johnny’s hair letting his fingers massage his scalp. 

“It’s been a while,” Johnny says between kisses. He was right, it had been a while. Simon had missed Johnny’s touch. Maybe this is what he needed, a true way to relax and destress. Ever since you showed up in their lives everything had just been a mixture of emotions, everything had been moving at a million miles an hour. Simon could use a break, and Johnny always knows how to make Simon feel good.

Johnny’s mouth moves to his neck, he grips Simon’s cock, thrusting his hands down his shaft pressing his thumb on the underside the way Simon likes it. Johnny looks back up at him smiling before he plants another kiss on his lips. Johnny shuffles his body like he’s about to get on his knees, but Simon grips his arms instead. Johnny looks at him confused, tipping his head to the side. 

“We’re skipping the foreplay,” Simon says in a low voice that sends shivers up Johnny’s spine. There’s the cheeky grin again. Simon doesn’t change his expression, leaning down to kiss him before spinning him around. Johnny doesn’t need to be asked twice bracing himself on the short shower wall. This was definitely what Simon needed, he grips Johnny’s ass parting his cheeks digging his fingers into his skin.

It doesn’t take long for Johnny to relax too, the air being filled with the smell of something musky Simon can’t quite put his finger on. Even though the act is familiar, the sensations and the smells are new. That heavy scent of vanilla that’s making Simon’s head spin, the smell of beta filling the air and the other scent Simon can’t place. 

Johnny lets out the most beautiful moan Simon has ever heard as he eases himself into him. One of Simon’s hands reaches around to find Johnny’s cock. He pushes Johnny’s hand out the way, replacing it with his. 

“Christ Si, desperate?” Johnny moans as Simon starts to thrust into him. Simon brings his free hand up to cover Johnny’s mouth. 

“Quiet MacTavish, unless you want Price and the omega to know whats going on.” He gestures towards the wall. Johnny nods and Simon releases his hand from around Johnny’s mouth. Johnny keeps quiet but doesn’t relent with the snarky comments. Simon’s almost not paying attention, letting Johnny run his mouth, enjoying hearing his voice and letting himself get lost in the pleasure. His senses feel heightened, he can tell Johnny feels it too, Johnny’s panting becoming faster as Simon wraps his arm round his stomach hitching him up so he’s bouncing down onto him. 

The smell of alpha is strong in the air and it only gets stronger the closer Simon gets to cumming, it makes the hairs stand up on the back of Johnny’s neck, his moans becoming more like whimpers as he gives into the scent. It’s intoxicating. Simon isn’t thinking when he cums, his hand pumping his fist on Johnny’s cock, letting Johnny get as loud as he wants as he thrusts into Simon’s hand. The smell of beta and vanilla fills the air. Johnny goes limp in Simon’s arms and he holds him against the wall. 

Simon’s head is spinning, his body tingling, he’s never felt pleasure like this before, Johnny's arms are slumped over the short wall as he pants, Simon’s hand still holding his spent cock. Simon rubs his thumb over the tip causing Johnny’s whole body to twitch and shudder up against him. Simon slowly moves Johnny back under the warm water holding him up against his chest. 

“Fecking incredible sir.” Simon can’t help smiling as he lets go of Johnny letting him stand by himself. 

“Not too bad yourself Johnny,” Simon says, slapping Johnny's ass as he leaves the cubicle, going into the one next to him. This time he lets the cold water hit his skin, and his mind turns to you, the smell of strawberries fills his nose. He tries to shake it away, but it’s not long before the pit forms again in his chest like there’s something missing. Simon looks over at Johnny.

He’s finishing up, turning the shower off to leave. It’s not the same anymore, the burning pain of needing an omega is too strong. He wanted Johnny but he needs you. He closes his eyes, turning up the heat on the water. He lets it burn his shoulders as he hears the door to the room open and close. 

He’s alone now but he doesn’t want to be. He wishes it was you in the shower with him today, not Johnny. He can’t keep doing this, he has to get over you, for the team's sake. You’re Price’s omega not his, and until there is a cure it has to be that way. Frustration builds in him as he goes to leave the shower, drying his body and pulling on the fresh change of clothes. 

He has to break this up. There's no other way to do it. He picks his mask up, rubbing his thumb over the fabric before pulling it on. Simon can feel whatever he wants for the omega, but Ghost can’t care. It’s just a job, you're just a job, the job is to find a cure and leave this world behind. He picks up his towel leaving the steaming bathroom.

He looks over at the sofa. Price is asleep now, his head tipped back snoring softly. You’re still asleep against his chest, the blanket pulled all the way up to your face. Ghost sighs reluctantly. He can’t let Price sleep on the sofa all night, he’ll fuck his back up. He walks over and shakes Price’s shoulder, it doesn’t take much for him to jump awake. 

“You should go to bed,” he says once Price meets his eyeline. Price looks down at you still sleeping. He moves like he doesn’t want to wake you. Ghost sighs, he turns to walk away. He did his job and woke Price up. He hears Price waking you up as he goes back into his room. He moves fast, closing the door behind him and leaning up against it. He smells the unmistakable scent of strawberries as you pass his room. He closes his eyes, breathing it in. He smiles as your scent fills his nose. That’s it, that's the last time he’ll do that. From now on, for everyone's sake, you’re a stranger to him. 

Next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Thank you as aways to rememberwren who told me my work was good when my brain was telling me it was shit <3

[alchemistc]

fascination with your presentation | bucktommy 1/1

read on ao3

Tommy likes to touch things. It's just a random quirk of his that Eddie's noticed - a hand sliding along the back of the couch as he follows Eddie into the kitchen to grab a beer, fingers balancing along the table as he leans, elbow pressing into the frame of the doorway like he's gauging the space between walls.

He's tactile - a smack to the space between his shoulders, fist bumps and high fives and teasing hair ruffles when he's got Eddie pinned in the middle of a spar and they both know Eddie isn't getting out of it.

It's nice. There aren't a lot of men, especially with their background, in their line of work, who are remotely comfortable expressing affection like that.

He's a fan.

Christopher is less so, when Tommy lays a big hand to the crown of his head and goes for a noogie. He huffs, rolls his eyes, rolls his head forward and away from the touch, makes some noise about a call he's supposed to make later that night and how he doesn't want his hair messed up for it, and Tommy holds his hands up in apology, fighting a grin as Chris smooths his hair back down.

Eddie's used to it already, so it takes him a second to really notice Tommy rounding the edge of the table to flick through papers and pictures and receipts tacked to the fridge as he digs through one of his drawers in search of the bottle opener he knows he has stashed in here somewhere. Eddie's more of a twist cap beer guy, but Tommy's oddly flavored fancy bottles always need an opener.

"Here," Tommy says, and Eddie turns just in time to catch the keys Tommy slings at him.

"I don't like your truck that much," Eddie tells him, which is a lie.

Tommy tips his head forward to indicate the keys. "Bottle opener, Diaz."

Which makes sense. He should get one for himself, actually. It's a little shocking neither one of them carries a utility knife on them. The preparedness rules maybe didn't stick after discharge as well as they could have

Tommy's gaze drifts, and Eddie watches his head tilt, ring and middle finger reaching up to tap at one of the pictures on the fridge. Chris and Buck, a few years back, some trip to the museum during either Buck or Chris' dinosaur phase. Buck's holding a giant stuffed pteranodon ("Pterodactyls were smaller and had cone-shaped teeth and backward-projecting crests, actually, and this isn't technically the most accurate depiction anyway, it's generally accepted they probably had feathers, now." -- So, definitely Buck's phase, now that he's remembering.) and Chris has a specific brand of smile across his face that Eddie has quietly dubbed his Buck-smile. Something around the edges of his eyes that's always just a little brighter for Buck.

"Cute picture," Tommy says, and Chris's eyes draw to it as Tommy taps his knuckles once-twice to it before dropping his hand to his side.

It's not the first time someone in this circle of three has brought up Buck.

The first night Tommy'd been here, camped out on the couch watching a game, Chris had had a million questions, and Buck had come up pretty naturally over the course of them comparing disasters they'd been a part of, or worked.

Chris had brought up the tsunami, which had led to a back and forth where they discovered Tommy had likely flown right over them at least once during that disaster of a day, and then it had evolved into Chris memorializing all of Buck's greatest (most traumatizing) hits - pinned under a fire engine, climbing a crane tower in the middle of a county wide panic about a shooter targeting firefighters (he doesn't bring up Eddie being shot, which - maybe they should revisit that at some point, make sure Chris isn't burying that), Buck getting struck by lightning, Buck taking charge in the bridge collapse.

And obviously, if Chris was gonna debate Star Wars, he was gonna bring up Buck's involved opinions on Machete order and OG vs Prequels vs the Somehow Palpatine Returned era, and be delighted that Tommy's opinion differed from Buck's, because that made Chris the victor in that ongoing battle.

Buck is a big part of Chris and Eddie's lives, so he's gonna be dropped into conversation. Nothing strange about that.

Tommy always calls him Evan, which is a big old dose of whiplash every time, and he can't think why he does that, because despite Buck introducing himself (weirdly) as Buh-Evan Buckley, they've seen each other since, and no one else Tommy talks to calls him Evan, so he doesn't know why Buck hasn't corrected him.

Chris' mouth does something strange as Tommy keeps looking at the picture, his expression going a little curious in a way Eddie can't quite parse, and then he's grinning. There's no reason to be suspicious, except for the way he actually puts down his phone to engage with Tommy as Eddie passes a beer off.

"Yeah, Buck always takes me to exhibits every time there's a new one. He's cool like that."

Tommy hums around his first sip, expression placid, posture relaxed. "Maybe I could take you to the next one."

Christopher's eyes narrow.

Eddie's lost.

"Uh, not without Buck. Carla took me once without him and he pretended to be fine about it for weeks until I asked him to take me again. He was not happy we went without him. But you could come with us."

Tommy tap-tap-taps his finger against the rim of his bottle, unfazed by the slightly territorial way Chris had phrased it. Eddie's fazed. Eddie is not sure there's not a second layer to this conversation he's missing. "I'll look it up. Jot it down in my day book."

Christopher is too young to have a clue what that means, but he doesn't seem to be quite done with whatever the hell it is he's got going on right now. "Good," he says. "Buck's single right now, so he's got a lot of extra time for stuff."

Tommy's gaze flits to Christopher's, and Eddie doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on, but it's a weighted look for half a second before Chris' gaze turns back to his phone.

"You have his number, right? Maybe you should call him and figure out a day we can all go."

Something happens around the corners of Tommy's mouth that he hides by tipping the bottle mouth against his lips again. "Yeah. I've got his number."

For a second Eddie wonders why, before he remembers catching Buck down at Harbor before the fight. When had Buck gotten his number?

"Cool," says Chris, eyes already glued back to his phone. "We usually get lunch first. Buck really likes pizza."

"Everyone likes pizza," Tommy says, eyes glimmering with mirth that Eddie absolutely does not know the source of.

"Yeah, but Buck's picky about it. He says there's a perfect pizza to crust ratio that most places don't get right. Also he likes it when they have a stone oven, and the little pizza risers."

Tommy rolls his tongue over his teeth. And - why is Eddie watching this interaction so carefully? It's not like he's worried Tommy's gonna say something weird to his kid, even if his kid is being weird.

"I'm gonna go throw the game on. You hungry?"

Tommy's eyes shift to meet his, and Eddie feels that same frisson of excitement he gets sometimes when Buck is paying close attention to him. "I could eat. Not pizza though. There's nowhere around here with a good stone oven."

"Dad likes pineapple on his pizza, his pizza opinions suck."

Eddie tosses his hands up. This is an old argument, one created entirely by Buck because Chris hadn't minded a good Canadian pizza before Buck declared war on them. "Pizza's just pizza. I was thinking Chinese, anyway."

"Can we get those spring rolls Buck always gets?"

Tommy's gaze slips to the fridge one more time, eyes drifting across the picture he'd pointed out earlier, before he unclips the menu for the Chinese place down the street from its spot half-covering the calendar to hand it off to Eddie. He spots the circle around their plans for Thursday and reaches out to touch the date.

"You invite anyone else for Thursday?"

Eddie rolls his top lip over his bottom one. "Buck hates basketball, turns me down every time I ask. I might ask Chim, though, he and his brother always liked to play."

Literally nothing in Tommy's expression changes, but Eddie feels like he's reacting to something in that sentence anyway. He's trying to figure out how to cut the weird tension in the room when Christopher starts listing off his order, and he's so distracted by trying to get a list prepared to call that he misses two thirds of Chris and Tommy's continued conversation, which is somehow, for some reason, still about Buck. Geez, is Chris pissed that Eddie's got a new friend? He should invite Buck next time he makes plans to hang out at home with Tommy.

----

"It was a date," Buck tells him, a week and a half later, while Eddie's staring at his phone like looking hard enough might make it, and his relationship with Marisol, maybe disappear. Just for a little while, while he squares things up with God.

Eddie tosses his phone, turns to look at Buck in the second before it computes, manages to pull back just enough so that it's not a full, ridiculous double take.

"When you and Marisol ran into me and Tommy, we were on a date."

"Really?" Buck usually tells him the second he's interested in someone, because for some reason he thinks Eddie has any idea how to have a loving, lasting relationship, even though Eddie's been lobbing live grenades straight at love since he was fourteen. He hadn't said a word to Eddie about -

Well.

Well actually --

Well shit.

Oh, he's definitely giving Tommy and Christopher both shit about this later.

"Wait, Tommy's gay?"

A whole host of things are suddenly lining up -- Buck at Harbor the afternoon before the fight, and Buck asking half a million questions after the fight, and Buck and Tommy both picking at the thread of Christopher's praises for the other, and -- Buck had been jealous. Buck had been jealous of Eddie spending time with Tommy. Buck had shoulder checked him to the court and sprained his ankle because he liked the guy enough to lose his head about it.

Oh, he's gonna hold this over all of their heads for sure.

Which for the moment is apparently not that great an idea because Tommy'd pressed pause after one date, which is fast even for Buck. He tells him so.

"When we ran into you guys I kinda made an idiot of myself and he said he doesn't think I'm ready." Buck looks -- sad. Disappointed. Nervous, hands rubbing at his thighs like he's soothing himself. It's a fair point, on Tommy's part, even if he doesn't know all the details.

(Something about hot chicks pings in the back of his mind, but he shelves it for later.)

Buck's never really hinted at romantic inclinations in that direction, although some of his comments about good looking guys are making a little more sense, in retrospect.

"What do you think?" Eddie's pretty sure he knows the answer to this question, but he asks anyway, because Buck likes to work these things out. He likes to talk about them. Eddie imagines not being able to articulate exactly what he was feeling without wondering if his friends would think it was weird probably (definitely) contributed to his wildly dramatic behavior the last few weeks.

Geez, Tia Pepa would be eating this telenovela shit up.

"I kinda can't stop thinking about him," Buck tells him, and it's a voice Eddie's not entirely sure he's ever heard from Buck before -- at least when he's talking about someone he's into. Buck's always got a checklist and a trillion rationalizations. Now he just sounds... smitten.

And Tommy is too, Eddie thinks. He is absolutely gonna call him out for pumping his kid for information. Maybe accuse him of only befriending him to get to Buck -- see if he can make the unflappable Tommy Kinard flap, a little.

"You should call him," Eddie tells him, already imagining double dates with a partner of Buck's he doesn't hope will spontaneously combust in the middle of dinner. Maybe between Tommy, Chris and Eddie they can finally convince Buck to go to one of the car shows he's always rolling his eyes at. Maybe Tommy and his terribly hidden romantic side can actually match Buck's crazy.

Eddie hugs Buck on his way out the door and feels the tension drain from his shoulders.

Maybe touched starved Buck will get to enjoy that little tactile quirk of Tommy's, too.

[covetyou]

the best of you, honey, belongs to me

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con, unprotected P in V, oral (f receiving), creampie, choking, spanking, mild praise kink, potential assault, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.5k chapter summary: Joel Miller is an asshole. An asshole and a liar. Right?

A/N: HOLY SHIT I DID IT I FINISHED SOMETHING. I did it Ma!

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this month. Your support has been silly lovely and I genuinely love you all a little bit.

Ty to @iamasaddie and @jupiter-soups for being the first people to cheer me on from the sidelines. You both made me excited about my own writing, which feels weird but I'm very grateful to you.

I hope you like it, thank you, goodbye, see you soon, I love you.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

song: NFWMB by Hozier

Joel Miller was a massive fucking liar, you'd realized.

You probably would have been able to guess that before, but as you were stood here, back pushed against a brick wall in an alleyway, it was clear as day.

You'd been dragged down here by two men - a small rat like one and a taller one with a mean look on his face - and thrown against the wall. Your back smarted, and you tried to reason with them, but they were tugging at your clothes and threatening you before you could think of anything useful to say.

They were torn off you as quick as they were on you.

And now, heavy fists were pounding into them, beating into their faces and stomachs as they slouched pathetically against the brick opposite. Joel had found you, somehow noticed in a crowd of people that you were suddenly gone. He had someone with him, they looked similar enough that they could have been family, and both were beating into the men that had dragged you down the alley.

A yelled threat and the two men were hobbling away, beaten and bloody and holding onto themselves in their retreat.

"You okay?"

You're looking at Joel, so it takes a second to register that the other man is addressing you. You slowly turn to him - definitely related - and nod. You're stunned and a little winded more than anything.

Joel is flexing his fist, staring daggers at you. His companion doesn't say another word to you, but you hear him talk in hushed tones to Joel, before Joel mutters something back to him and he walks away.

You should probably be more scared of being alone down an alley with Joel Miller than the other two guys but, though it confuses you, you feel safer than ever. He'd protected you, saved you, and that's how you knew that Joel Miller was a fucking liar.

"C'mon," he growls to you, walking away and expecting you to follow. Of course, you follow, even through the low lying anger and frustration that's still simmering in your belly.

As you walk behind, you watch as he clenches his fist and flexes his hands over and over. Before you know it you're outside his apartment block, being roughly dragged up the stairs by a heavy hand on your arm, dragged down a corridor and deposited in front of his front door. He doesn't look at you as he fishes his key out from an inner pocket on his coat.

"Saw you fuckin' lookin' at me, I told you not to do that shit," he says angrily, throwing you into his apartment and slamming the door closed behind you.

"They hurt you?" You shake your head. "They touch you?" You shake your head again.

His nostrils flair. You can almost hear the bones in his hands creak from how hard he's clenching his fists.

And so you poke the fucking bear again, because what is there to lose. You'd spent all week mulling it over, getting angrier and angrier as you talked yourself in circles. He didn't like you and you definitely didn't like him. You didn't want to kiss him, but also you did. Neither of you cared, but maybe both of you did. Everything was feeling like a lie and all you wanted was the truth. So you poke, bracing yourself for impact.

"You're a liar," you whisper, pulling at the sleeves of your coat.

His eyes immediately snap to yours, and he's making quick work of the distance between you. He's toe to toe with you when he stops, looking down at you, fists still firmly clenched at his sides.

"What did you fuckin' say to me?"

You swallow before you speak again, meek as a mouse but a fire in your belly. "You're a liar. You said you wouldn't look out for me."

"S'that why you kept lookin'? S'that why you got yourself in trouble? To prove some fuckin' point?"

You frown at him - it hadn't been intentional. You were glaring at him when they grabbed you, stuffing a gloved hand over your mouth to keep your scream from being heard. The people around you didn't care, didn't stop what they were doing or go for help. They just left you. But Joel came anyway.

"You think I asked for that?" you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. You never have and never will cry in front of this man, not like this anyway. You watch as his mouth curls to sneer at you, the fire turning into a sick feeling bubbling up through your belly as you watch his lip raise.

You don't know what comes over you, but you push at his chest, wanting to touch him and get him away from you in equal measure. It takes him by surprise, the force of your push making him stumble back.

You both stare at each other, unmoving for a beat, both shocked that you'd dare to touch him let alone push him. You think maybe you should run, get away before he gets you, but your reactions are slower than his, and you're raising your arms to protect yourself as he makes one big stride over to you.

The blow doesn't come.

He's pulling at your coat, jerking it down your arms, before tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. It gets caught, and you hear a tear as it catches on your arm, but he keeps pulling anyway. The fabric splits from your body, tattered and ruined as it's discarded on the floor.

"You think I would fuckin' hit you?" he says angrily as he tugs at the rest of your clothes. "You think I would fuckin' hurt you in any way you don't want?"

You have no time to answer before he's manhandling you again, pushing you roughly into his room.

He pushes you forward onto his bed, bending you over and holding you there as he reaches around and tugs at your zipper. You fight to stand, but the weight of his hand keeps you in place as he pulls your pants and panties down in one, leaving them around your knees so you can't run to escape even if you wanted to. Any thought that you could, should, run is already gone. You don't want to, not any more. Whatever he wants to do, whatever anger he has for you, you want it. You want to feel his anger, you want it to burn into yours until you combust.

A hand claps down on your ass and you feel the sting ripple up your back. He wanted that one to hurt, and it did. Another sharp slap hits your other cheek soon after, the sting of pain made worse by your cold skin, but you're glad for it because you wanted that one to hurt too.

Both his hands rub across your cheeks, drawing a groan from you as he massages them and soothes the sting before rough fingers pull you apart. He always did like looking.

He wastes no time in plunging his wet tongue into your pussy from behind, Joel's hands yanking your pants down the to your feet to spread you open further for him. "You're fuckin' dripping," he says between breaths as you push back into his face.

"You this wet from those guys?" You don't answer, so he slaps a hand down on your ass again.

"Fuckin' answer me."

"N-no. M'not wet from them."

"Then why," he says, breathing deeply as he devours your pussy, the cold of his nose tickling your hole as the scruff on his jaw scratches at your inner thighs. "Tell me. Tell me why this needy fuckin' pussy is so wet."

"Because of you," you push your face down into his bed, biting at his sheets as his tongue swipes over your clit, already so sensitive your legs are shaking. You arch your back, exposing more of your cunt to his relentless tongue. There's no question or thread of shame in your mind why you like this - why you're already so close to coming undone just from him being an asshole and playing with your pussy.

"Me, huh? Little hole's desperate for me? Look at her cryin' out to be stuffed full, drippin' all over the place."

You couldn't help the drip of slick from your cunt, or the way his words always worked to make it worse. You knew you were a mess, but by now you knew he liked it, even if he taunted you for it. You felt how his grasping hands got firmer, saw as his cock got harder, just at the sight of your glistening pussy.

Two of his thick fingers are pushing into you, the cold feel of them startling you as they slide home. You'd spent a week thinking of his fist buried in your cunt, but his fingers still felt so thick, so much, plunged into your dripping wet heat as they were.

"If you make a mess on my sheets I'll rub your fuckin' nose in it. Act like an animal I'll treat you like one."

If you were an animal, he was fucking feral - a snarling, growling, feral animal of a man that you just couldn't resist.

His fingers curl, dragging against your walls harshly as his tongue slides against your clit again, swirling around the stretched rim where his fingers are embedded in you, tasting you, before slurping at your clit once more. You grind your hips back against his face, trying to get more friction on your clit as he fucks you with his fingers. They're warmed now, the burning heat from your cunt drawing the chill from his bones.

The wet squelch in your cunt is obscene as he laps at your clit, drawing you so close already, your feet still tangled in your pants and your moans muffled by the push of your face into his sheets.

Joel's fingers are gone just as your orgasm starts to raise its head over the horizon, ruining any high you were so close to getting. You slam your fist down on the bed in frustration, ignoring his gruff laugh as you muffle your fuck into his bed. His knees crack as he stands, undoing his belt and pulling his cock from his pants. He doesn't stroke himself, he doesn't need to, he just squeezes himself at the base, lines himself up with your hole and pushes forward.

A strangled moan pulls from your chest as he sheathes himself, pulling your hips back flush with his as his cock impales you in one movement.

"Fuck, if this pussy don't just love this dick."

He draws back slowly, pulling any slick from your cunt back with him, coating himself in you, before slamming back to the hilt.

"Uhh, f-fuck."

You feel him draw back again, holding himself back from you, tip barely inside your cunt, teasing himself at your entrance. Before he can, you push back onto his cock, taking him in with a deep moan.

He stifles a groan, fingers digging into your hips, pinching the flesh in his grip. You try to move, to fuck yourself on his length, but his grip won't let you. You can feel him throb inside you, and you hope he's already close to coming, that he wants you that much he can barely hold himself back.

The thought is gone as soon as he starts pulling back again and thrusting forward quickly, repeatedly slamming his hips into your ass and pulling you back onto him. The sharp slap of his hips and wet squelches of your pussy are muffled only by your moans and Joel's shaky breathing.

"Tell me - you fuck anyone else - like this," you say through staccato gasps as his cock collides with your cervix. "If you say you do - I'll know - you're even more of a - fucking liar."

He throws you forward, pulling out and standing glaring down at you when you twist to look at him, finally able to kick your pants and shoes off your feet.

"You think you're special?" he growls. You take him in, his massive figure stood there still clothed, cock hanging lewdly from his pants and covered in your slick. You want to lick it, taste your own pussy on his cock and catch the drip of precum from his tip before it's wasted.

"No. I'm not. And neither are you," you spread your legs as you say it, willing him to come back, to start fucking you again, but not daring to ask for it. "You're an asshole. I just like that you make me feel good."

"Feeling's mutual, sweetheart." He's pouncing on you before you can process it, yanking his shirt over his head before pulling your spread thighs across his clothed ones, notching at your entrance and sliding straight back in.

You thud back down onto the bed with the force of his cock fucking into you, staring up at him with an open mouth, panting as he starts to cant into you once again. His hands are holding your thighs against his as he rocks so deeply into you you think you can see your lower belly pulse with each movement.

His hands slide down your thighs, pulling you apart where his cock joined with you, swiping a thumb up the slick gathered there and rubbing it around your clit in rough circles. You reach down, hand trying to meet his and hold him there, but he swats you away. You move further instead, grabbing at the waistband of his pants and tugging down, slipping them over his ass before he's pushing you back again. Your fingers drag across his abdomen as you fall back again, watching a shudder crawl through him with the graze of your fingertips.

You try not to smile when his hand falls from you and shimmies his pants further down his legs, over his knees and kicking them off the end of the bed whilst still buried in you. You can see all of him again now, his broad shoulders, dark nipples, the trail of hair down to his cock where it disappears inside you. His thick thighs, spread almost as lewdly as yours, dusted in hair, the muscles flexing with each rock into you. He doesn't look at you as you drink him in, eyes focused on your cunt as he pulls you back open.

He spits down onto your clit. You whine when it collides with your skin and starts to trickle down your spread pussy. You whine again when his thumb draws it up and around your clit, massaging it into you, each swipe of his thumb jerking your swollen nub and bringing you closer to coming undone as he pounds you hard into his mattress.

You throw your head back with the feeling of it all, moaning loudly into the open room.

"You'd let me do anythin' to you, huh."

"Yeah," you admit, head still thrown back and eyes closed. You would, you couldn't even say why, just that you knew you would. That for all the pain at the end of the world, this was a pain that was worth it, a stretch that made you ache in the right ways, the sting of his palm that electrified you, made you feel alive.

"You're just beggin' for me to slap your pussy pink again, ain't you? Fill that pretty little asshole up with my cum. Wear you like a fuckin' glove." He's growling, muttering obscene things to you, things you both know to be true. "You'd let me fuck you anyway I want, even share you with whoever I want."

You nod, stupidly bobbing your head along with the rhythm of him sliding into you.

"This pussy is mine," he growls. "Say it."

"Yours!" you pant, you didn't want it to be anyone elses any more, what was the point when he'd ruined you for anyone else. "M'yours!" Fuck.

"All o' you? That's more than I even asked for sweetheart."

And he's falling forward over you, hands planting either side of your head for leverage as he pounds into you harder than he ever has, abandoning your clit just as you were about to fall apart underneath him yet again. Any words to correct yourself are gone as you groan, pulling your brows together and watching him. His face relaxes and contorts over and over, sweat beads at his temples. You know his hair would feel damp if only you would reached up to touch it.

He shifts to his elbows, the sweat from his chest and belly mingling with yours, making your bodies slick as they slide together. You watch his mouth open as he pants, the heat of his breath on your face cooling the sweat dripping down your neck. You can smell him, see every imperfection of his skin in such detail that you're struck dumb, angry, and desperate all in one swoop. Something so close still feels so far away, and a frustrated sob is bubbling from you before you can stop it.

Something inside you snaps with that. You'd be chasing it for weeks, denied something you hadn't even dared to ask for.

You grab him by the throat as his hips roll into you, gasping out a breath before you grit your teeth and say it, forcing him to look directly at you.

"Fucking kiss me."

He laughs in your face and you fight down the shame for even daring to ask for something you wanted, something you deserved. "Is that what you want?"

You nod, squeezing his throat beneath your fingertips.

He pulls back from you - you want to claw at him and hold him to you but he pushes your hand against his throat with his own. He looks down between you, your pussy creaming around his cock and swollen clit twitching with each thrust.

You tighten the grip on the sides of his throat, feeling the hard thud of blood through his veins at your fingertips, drawing his eyes back to yours.

"Fuck, that's it, sweetheart."

He suddenly throws your arm down from his neck, pinning both if your hands down as he puts his weight on top of you.

"That what you want?" he grits out. "That what you keep coming back for? Thought you were whoring yourself out for pills, not a fuckin' kiss. Are you that fuckin' desperate?"

He's goading you, you know he is. Still, you want to scream at him, but his face is close to yours now, so terrifyingly close you could kiss him by accident if you weren't careful. Suddenly you're terrified of it, desperate but terrified.

His aquiline nose slides up the side of your face, and you stop breathing. "You want this?"

"Please." You'll be angry at yourself for begging later, right now you'd say anything if it meant he'd finally give it to you.

He drags his nose across your face, rubs his nose against yours. He's practically still inside you now, the shallow rock of his hips the only movement either of you are making. "You sure?"

"Please," you whisper again, breath ghosting across his lips. You try not to move your mouth too much, barely muttering the word in case your mouth touches his. His own breath huffs against your mouth, teasing you with the taste of him.

"S'all you want, huh?"

"Mm." He's so close you don't trust yourself to speak.

His nose nuzzles into yours, the hair on his face tickling at your sensitive top lip. Then you feel it, the bow of his top lip swiping against yours, not kissing just feeling.

You're frozen, terrified to move, terrified to feel what you've been desperate for for months.

But you made it through the worst days at the end of the world. What was fear any more except another lie.

You press your lips forward, done with waiting, done with being patient, done with putting others first. You want it so badly that finally, finally, you take it.

At the first press of your lips to his, he releases your wrists, sliding his hand down the curve of your body to hold you to him. You moan into his mouth, blinking back angry tears as you wrap your own hand around his neck to pull him in further. At first he doesn't move against you, letting you kiss the soft swell of his mouth, but when you slip your tongue against his bottom lip and breathe him in, his mouth opens and his lips press to yours, giving back everything you're taking.

"This all you wanted this whole time?" he whispers against your mouth.

"Not all I wanted," you mumble. Your eyes are closed, head dizzy from breathing so deeply, from finally doing the thing you'd literally only dreamed of.

"No?"

"No," you swallow before continuing, the shame of admission gone now. What shame could there even be when it was so obvious. You open your eyes just as you speak. "I wanted all of it."

"Yeah?" You think from the look on his face that he needed to hear it as much as you needed to say it, so you kiss him again, just because you can.

He presses his hips into you harder, making you gasp straight into his mouth, the sharp pressure of his cock so much with the fuzzy high in your head. He does it again, kissing you of his own volition this time and swallowing your moan down as he starts fucking you again, one hand settling in your hair as the other wanders your body. You can still taste the salty sweetness of your own pussy on his mouth as you lick into him.

Your own hand dances with his over your body, teasing your own nipples and stroking down, down, until you push your hand between your bodies and feel between your legs. You're a mess, sweat and the wetness from your pussy merged together to create a slip and slide of slick as he slides his cock into your tender hole. You stroke at the base of him and feel another shudder work its way through his body before you move your hand back to yourself, circling your own clit as he rocks his length into you.

"You gonna make yourself come on my cock?" he says, looking down where your hand strokes at your clit. You nod, lips brushing his, capturing him in another kiss as you moan, so close already.

"Good fuckin' girl. You rub that pretty pussy. She just fuckin' loves this dick." True.

His cock in your pussy, his hands in your hair, holding your body, your own hand strumming your clit with well practiced movements, the feeling of his lips on your own. It's all so much so quickly, everything you've been craving for so long, that the fire in your body burns so bright it explodes out of every pore before you can hold it off.

"F-fuck, Joeeel."

You come with a cry, every part of your body shuddering and convulsing, hand twitching over your own cunt as you desperately try to keep the high going as long as you can, until you're so sensitive all you can do is grip your own thigh, your nails creating half moons in the soft flesh.

"You're all mine, huh?" he says gently, still inside you now as he feels your walls pulse and twitch around him. You nod, floating from his kisses and your own high. "No one else gonna touch this pussy. S'all mine."

"S'yours."

"Needy, needy, pussy," he grunts into your mouth, as your cunt quivers around him, an aftershock pulled from you at just his words and the rasp of his coarse hair against your clit.

It hits you then, for all he called you needy you never actually asked for what you wanted, what you needed. You never took it either. Not until now. But he always did.

"I think you're just as needy as I am," you whisper.

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head. "I never said I wasn't, sweetheart."

A quick shuffle of his knees later he's pounding into you with abandon, your cunt had barely stopped throbbing by the time he started again.

"Ohhhh, god."

You don't move to kiss him again, he's chasing whatever high he needs now and you let him take it, back arching, moaning as he pounds away, cock slipping inside you with ease. The hand in your hair pulls harder, tugging your head back. You think this is going to be it, he's going to come inside you like this, but then wet kisses are being peppered across your neck and collar bone, his moans sounding more like those of a common whore than his usual grunts.

You want to come again already, so you grip him tight, hands roaming from your body to his arms, his shoulders. Your nails claw at him, pulling him closer and pushing him away, trying to tear him apart with your bare hands as he fucks you.

He moves quicker still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he holds onto you and slams home over and over. You think he's almost there - hope he is because how much more screaming can your voice take before it breaks - when he's yanking your hair again. His mouth latches to your own in a sloppy kiss, tongue fighting with yours and his cock squelching into the wet heat of your pussy as he comes undone, groaning into your mouth, shuddering, fucking ropes of thick cum into your empty cunt and never stilling for a second.

His hips stop bucking against yours before his mouth does. He kisses you softer, groaning, slowing down to catch his breath before he finally removes his lips from yours with a shuddering gasp, screwing his eyes shut.

Cum practically gushes out of you when he pulls out, and you expect him to get up and leave like he has every time before. He doesn't. Instead, he rests his head next to yours, kissing your shoulder, the warmth of his body encasing yours.

Your face finds his, nudging against his jaw. He shifts, letting you in, and your mouth finds his again. You kiss him until you turn to liquid, sighing deeply and tracing soft patterns on his skin and your own with your fingertips.

Eventually, he releases your hair, and you think the moment is truly over. But then he rolls over, flopping down next to you, the weight of him dipping the mattress and making you shift closer to his side. He closes his eyes, putting an arm behind his head, and you take the chance to look down at his naked body, his cock now soft between his legs.

The feeling that bubbles up through you rips out of your mouth in a laugh. Joel's eyes fly open, finding yours, making you laugh harder. Tears are falling from your eyes - the absurdity of it all too much to bear. So angry at him, at yourself, for weeks now. Wanting something for so long, something that it turns out you could have just reached out and grabbed. Driving yourself near mad over wanting to be touched in a way you thought he never would, when maybe all along he thought you never wanted it. You're left with nothing but small giggles and an aching belly by the time the feeling bubbles out of you completely.

You wonder how all of this must look to him. How small and naive you must look, just a silly girl giggling in his bed. If he thinks it, he doesn't voice it. He just shakes his head softly and raises an eyebrow at you, as if to ask if you're done.

You lie next to each other in silence after that. He doesn't tell you to leave, and you don't move to either. You just lie there, arms barely touching, sweat drying and cooling both of your bodies.

You'd always been okay with silence, more often than not finding yourself with nothing to say, especially these days. But something in this moment tells you to speak, and so you do, filling the silence with your own voice before the opportunity can be taken from you.

"Thanks for helping me out there," you start softly. "I know you said you wouldn't, and I'm not trying to prove a point I just... Thank you. I was looking at you. I couldn't help it. I've been... angry. At you, yeah, but mostly myself. So I was looking, but I didn't realize it was that much, I swear and I -"

"S'okay," he stops your ramble so simply and quickly you frown, an involuntary tut falls of your mouth. He casts a glance over to you, almost chastising as he continues. "Ain't lyin' when I say it though. You gotta stop lookin' at me. I really can't be lookin' out for you, just got lucky this time. There's assholes bigger than me out there."

"Doubt it," you scoff. He raises an eyebrow and runs his tongue along his teeth, daring you to say more. You don't.

You fiddle with the sheets between you, biting at your cheek and bottom lip, so much more to say but the words just ending up jumbled in your head.

"I wasn't lying either. When I said I want it. All of it." That's a start, you figure.

"You don't want me. I could be anyone."

"Maybe I don't. Never said I did. I just know that I want whatever this is," you gesture between the two of you. Whatever had started as a transaction was clearly more than that now. You enjoyed the feel of him, the way he touched you and talked to you. You enjoyed the escape of it all. It was nice to know another person in the world knew you were there, that you existed, cared about you in some way, even if it was only enough to make sure you came. "Sex was never really any good with anyone else anyway."

"I've got other people I have arrangements with. I've got Tess, I've got -"

"I know. That doesn't matter. I'm not asking you to change. I don't want anything to change. I just want..." you trail off, shrugging. "I just want this for me. I don't care what it is for you, as long as it's good too."

He looks at you, taking you in with curious eyes, working out if what you're saying is true. If really, in this moment here and now, you want this exactly as it is. "I can do that."

You think that he gets it, understands it all more than you could ever explain. The thought of that alone is more comforting than any touch he could give you. It could have been a sweet moment, if that's what you two were. But it's not, and still he ruins it anyway.

"Pussy really is no one else's but mine, huh?" There's an edge to his voice that tells you he's holding back a laugh, and you could fucking hit him.

This time, you do. You relish in the oof that leaves his body as your hand collides with the side of his chest. He catches your wrist before you can land another soft blow, your skin prickling in his firm grip. You know from the feel of his hand and the look in his eye that you'll fuck him again before you leave his apartment today.

It only takes a few minutes for you to prove yourself right. You climb on top of him all soft curves and bouncing tits, hair a mess, face scrunched and jaw relaxed as you ride him, kissing him as much as you've ever wanted. Even when your legs ache, when he starts fucking up into you with each bounce of your hips, you carry on, wanting to take from him again and have him fill you.

He never tells you to leave, but eventually you get up, putting your clothes on, tucking your torn t-shirt around you. You expect your dad will be wondering where you've got to soon.

Joel sits and watches you dress until you're stood fully clothed, looking at him lying nude on his bed, a total contrast to what happened in this room just a week ago.

You think for a moment, waiting as he gets up and walks with you back through his apartment. You take in the last few hours. The last week. The last few months of knowing Joel Miller.

"Joel?"

"Mm."

You look him up and down as you stand in front of his door, still naked as the day he was born. "You're a massive slut, you know that, right?"

He laughs. Full bellied, head back, laughs.

"Takes one to know one, sweetheart," he says with a smirk, winking as he unlatches the front door.

You kiss Joel again as you leave his apartment. He can't stop you now, and you don't think he would ever even try.

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[penny00dreadful]

Written for @psychocatnerd for the @steddiesummerexchange

It's a body swap fic, baybeeee! I hope you like it! 🥰🖤

Rating: Explicit

Part 2 AO3

Steve slowly came to consciousness and immediately knew something was wrong.

Everything just felt off.

Like the world had been tilted one degree to the left.

Blinking his eyes open he felt just slightly more settled by the familiar sights around him. 

The various metal posters and leaflets tacked to the wall, the amp and guitar just in his peripheral vision and the feel of the room around him told him he was in Eddie’s bed.

He didn’t remember coming over to Eddie’s last night but clearly he must have.

It wouldn’t have been the most unusual thing in the world. The two of them were practically inseparable at this stage. Steve was trying and failing every day to douse the fire of his incredibly strong and incredibly embarrassing crush and Eddie probably just viewed him as a good friend.

Steve shifted around, staying in his comfy cocoon for as long as he could allow himself.

But as sensations came back to him from waking up, something else seemed off. And he noticed the second weird thing of the morning as he took stock of everything around him and turned his head towards Eddie’s side of the bed. 

Eddie wasn’t here. Eddie wasn’t lying next to him, in his own bed, a cloud of wild hair sticking up at all angles and the most atrocious morning breath and skin and tattoos and all elbows and knees.

Eddie never woke up before him.

The guy practically had to be dragged from sleep by multiple alarms and the smell of coffee like some kind of Pepe Le Pew, his nose pulling him from dreamland before his mind had caught up, but Eddie wasn’t here.

He wasn’t sprawled over Steve like a weighted blanket or curled into his arms like they so often were when they woke up, neither of them really talking about it but also neither of them really had an issue with it. 

Maybe he had slipped out to the bathroom or something?

But Steve couldn’t hear any other sounds apart from Wayne moving around the kitchen and he knew it was Wayne because of that grumbling smoker's cough.

What the fuck was going on?

Why was Steve cuddled up in Eddie’s bed without the man in question?

Dragging himself to his feet, Steve had only just managed to stand when he nearly jumped out of his skin because double what the fuck there was something tickling, something dragging over his back that was definitely not supposed to be there.

Steve slapped his hand behind him, curling his fingers around whatever the fuck it was and yanked, trying to put as much distance between it and himself as he could. But that only resulted in his scalp screaming in pain because whatever it was, was attached to his fucking head?

Still holding a fistful of whatever the fuck it was in his hand, it felt suspiciously like hair, what the fuck, he nearly fell on his ass as he tried to hurry himself over to Eddie’s mirror because since fucking when had he become so uncoordinated?

Looking up at the mirror hanging over his desk that was borderline unusable because of the amount of photos and more flyers and doodles and other shit stuck to it, not to mention the giant fucking guitar blocking it, Steve was nearly shocked out of his skin again because what the fuck… Eddie?

Eddie was standing there, blinking back at him through the mirror looking just as outraged and freaked as Steve felt.

Except Eddie wasn’t standing behind him when he turned to look and the Eddie in the mirror turned to look as well and then and then Steve finally took in the big glaring obvious thing that he probably should have noticed first.

Steve’s own reflection wasn’t there.

Was this… wasn’t that some kind of vampire thing? Not being able to see his reflection?

It was just Eddie blinking at him with his fist in his hair and and from the look in his eye, he was starting to panic like Steve was starting to panic because what the fuck was going on?

It could be the vampire thing or maybe Eddie was trapped in the mirror? Was this some kind of mirror dimension fuckery or something like that?

Steve reached a hand out to try and calm him because he was feeling pretty fucking panicked himself right now but he hated seeing Eddie this way and the guy must also be fucking freezing because, oh yeah, had Steve failed to mention that Eddie was stark fucking naked for some reason?

Eddie reached out at the exact same moment, mimicking his movements perfectly.

A little too perfectly.

Steve’s hand was in his eyeline now, except that that wasn’t his fucking hand. That was Eddie’s fucking hand attached to his body and Steve would know Eddie’s hand anywhere. 

He’d spent fucking long enough staring at them as they moved and gestured and rested on his thighs and Steve has had so many, so many thoughts about those fucking fingers.

Especially since Eddie had decided to lean even harder into the ‘Freak’ persona with more tattoos and more piercings and just somehow becoming all around fucking hotter than ever before, the fucking asshole.

Didn’t he know that Steve was only a man?

A weak, weak, bisexual disaster of a man?

Only it was even worse now because Eddie had apparently gotten far more tattoos and piercings than Steve had known about, the guy was still naked in the mirror and it was taking every ounce of willpower Steve had to not look down.

Point is, that the hand attached to his body is not his own hand and when he looked back up to see what the fuck Eddie was making of this, Eddie was following his movements again and was that Eddie in the mirror?

Could it be him? Like, Steve, him?

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shitfuckballs and ass.

Steve took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart and finally took stock of everything, glancing down at the body he was in.

God, he was in trouble, he was in so much trouble.

Yup, that-

Fuck, that was Eddie’s body.

He was in Eddie’s body.

Fuck.

Why did he have to be so hot?

Steve felt like he was about to burst into flames. He had an eyefull of tattoos stretching across pale and scarred skin, a nipple piercing winking up at him, dragging his gaze like a moth to a flame and he refused to look any lower but he could feel it.

He could feel it.

Fuck, he needed to not be getting hard right now because that was like a… a violation or something.

He needed to calm down and figure out what was going on because the only two options he could think of were that he was having some kind of psychotic episode which would be not good or this was some kind of supernatural nonsense which would also be not good.

Okay, okay. Relax. Everything was fine?

Everything was fine. 

He would figure it out and everything would be fine.

Except hold on because everything might not be fine because if Steve was here, in Eddie’s body, then where the fuck was Eddie?

Okay, he needed… fuck.

When did he get so scatterbrained about everything?

He needed to find Eddie’s walkie. Where did he keep it?

Steve turned, dragging his eyes through the clutter around Eddie’s room, waiting for the familiar shape to jump out at him all the while trying not to pay attention to the fucking beast swinging between his legs.

Why was it always the skinny nerds who had the biggest dicks?

Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Get it together, Steve. 

He needed to fucking stop thinking about it and just find the goddamned walkie. 

Except he couldn’t. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to because knowing Eddie, he could have hidden it in a fucking lampshade or something for safekeeping because apparently Eddie’s mind refused to run in straight lines. 

Steve sighed to himself, giving it up for a lost cause. 

Next option, the phone.

Except… no.

Pants first and then phone. 

He didn’t want to scar Wayne. The man needed a break. 

Steve snatched up the clothes sitting at the end of the bed that Eddie had presumably shed the night before. Apparently when the guy was in his bed alone, without Steve, he slept completely naked.

“Could sleep naked with me if he wanted to.” Steve grumbled to himself, finally covering up all of that tempting skin that he wanted to taste and gaining some of his sanity back.

Just as he stepped out of Eddie’s room, the phone rang. 

Wayne was the closest from the two, picking it up while stirring the tea Steve had bought him to help him sleep better. It made something unbearably fond and a little embarrassed squirm in his chest.

After a muttered grunt of a hello, he looked up at Steve and held the receiver out.

“It’s your boy, son.”

Steve’s heart thumped loud and hard in his chest.

Eddie’s boy?

Eddie had a boy?

Eddie had a boyfriend?

Why hadn’t he told him?

Did he know about Steve’s big gay crush?

And how the fuck was Steve supposed to answer the phone to Eddie’s boyfriend and pretend to be him when he didn’t even know that Eddie had a boyfriend? 

He was gonna fuck up Eddie’s relationship and then Eddie would know and be miserable and oh fuck. Jesus Christ, this was all fucked. 

Steve swallowed as Wayne raised his eyebrows, still holding the receiver aloft and he took it with hands he was trying to keep from shaking. 

“Hello?” Steve said into the phone and oh wow that was trippy as shit, hearing Eddie’s voice come out of his own mouth, the same but different, being heard inside his own head.

“I know your secret.”

Oh fucking hell, double trippy as shit because that was his voice, Steve’s voice coming down the line at him. Steve scrunched up his nose.

Was that what he sounded like? All the time? Gross.

So, what the fuck did Wayne mean by ‘your boy’?

“What?” Steve replied, oh so eloquently. 

“I know your secret, Stevie.” And yup. That was Eddie. His familiar tone and intonation sounded very strange through Steve’s voice. “I found Miss Farrah looking at me from your bathroom cabinet.”

Steve sighed, the tension leaking out of his body at least with the knowledge that Eddie was safe, even if he was stuck in Steve’s body. 

“Are you telling me while I spent this whole time freaking out, you were just going through my stuff?”

Eddie hummed. 

“Not quite. Got a little distracted.”

“Oh?” Steve hedged, not really sure if he wanted the answer to that. Fuck, what did he find? “By what?”

But apparently Eddie wasn’t going to answer his fucking question. 

Typical.

“What secrets of mine did you find?”

Your giant fucking penis. 

“Nothing.”

Steve could practically hear Eddie light up over the line.

“Oh, so you did find something! What was it, sweetheart? Did you find my super secret porn stash?”

“No!” Steve snapped back but… maybe he could go back and look for it. 

Maybe just to get an idea… Just a little bit of curiosity-

“Did you find mine?” Steve asked in a panic, because fuck if Eddie had, he’d know. Steve’s porn stash was full of leather and tattoos and motorbikes and handcuffs and he’d know.

“I guess you’ll never know.”

Steve sighed in frustration and rapped the receiver of the phone against his forehead.

Okay, well, Eddie was still teasing him, still talking to him so he probably hadn’t. He probably had no fucking idea that Steve was just a little obsessed and a lot horny over him and Steve was going to do everything within his power to keep it that way.

“Okay. Just- just stay there, I’m on my way over. We need to figure this out.”

“Oh.” Eddie whined, probably pouting, the menace. “But I was so looking forward to getting behind the wheel of your baby.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve snapped. “Don’t you dare. I’m coming over, just sit your ass down and don’t touch anything.”

“Too late for that.”

Steve’s brain came to a screeching halt.

What… what… what? Did he? He couldn’t have. Would he? Would Eddie have indulged himself in a morning jerk off inside Steve’s body while Steve was denying himself that very thing. 

Well that just was not fair. 

“I can’t have this conversation with you over the phone. Do not go near my car. I’ll be there in twenty.” He didn’t give Eddie a chance to answer, just slammed the phone back down and tried desperately not to think of Eddie touching his dick, even if it was in his own hand in his own body.

Clothes. 

He needed clothes.

He needed to dress Eddie in appropriate clothes. Clothes that would say Eddie.

Steve shuffled his way back to Eddie’s room, threw open his closet door and was left just staring.

There was no organisation here at all.

There were jackets in with T-shirts and jeans and jumpers thrown in with no rhyme or reason, even though almost everything was black, there were still splashes of red or grey or white in between all of it which meant not only were they not organised by type, they also were not organised by colour.

Steve’s closet at home had a meticulous order to it, a colour out of place would have his shoulders tensing but strangely he found the lack of organisation here didn’t bother him as much as he knew it should.

Maybe just because it was Eddie’s space, he didn’t know.

Finding something that made Eddie look like Eddie was surprisingly easy, everything in there was just so him.

But even so Steve couldn’t deny himself the opportunity once his hand landed on a cut off t-shirt.

Sue him, it was hot outside.

But did every single pair of jeans Eddie owned have to be so damn tight?

Steve was stuck in between complaining and not complaining because while he was squeezing himself inside, it became abundantly clear that the pair he was wearing were way too fucking tight to wear underwear with which then brought up the question of, did Eddie go commando occasionally?

He must, right?

Jesus fucking Christ, Steve could not handle this right now.

He somehow managed to get Eddie’s body completely dressed without passing the fuck out and luckily for him, Wayne was already in bed by the time he flew out the front door to the trailer. 

Steve sat himself down in the driver's seat of Eddie’s van and could do nothing but stare.

Because he hadn’t thought about this.

Fuck.

It was a gear shift.

His Bimmer was an automatic.

Fucking hell Eddie could drive manual.

Why was that so hot?

Why was that so hot?

And why had he never fucking noticed it before?

How had he never noticed it before?

What the fuck was he going to do?

Steve shifted in his seat, trying to keep his heart rate in check. Despite the fact that he was in Eddie’s body, trying not to touch it all over like some kind of stalker creep, wearing Eddie’s clothes was still really doing something for him.

His jeans were tight. Steve was no stranger to tight jeans but Eddie’s were something else, and anyway, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to put Eddie’s body in the tightest thing he owned, though he was slightly regretting it now.

The seam at the crotch was digging and tugging against his balls and that fucking piercing, sending his blood rushing all over and he had to stop himself from rolling his hips up against it just to feel it again. 

He could feel the air against his knees and his stomach, his skin erupting into goosebumps, he was so completely surrounded. In Eddie’s clothes, in his van, in his fucking skin.

Jesus Christ Steve couldn’t handle this, he needed to go drown himself in the lake.

He glared down at the gear shift, trying to figure out what he could do before he huffed to himself and threw the van door back open.

Fuck it, his house wasn’t that far, he’d walk. He was not going to give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing him struggle to drive his van up the driveway. He’d probably destroy something in the engine if he tried.

And maybe the walk could do something to calm him the fuck down.  

Part 2 AO3

As always, my biggest thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

[arc852]

Stuck

Summary: It's the second day of spring break and Jimmy is left alone for a bit as Joel and his parents go to the store. As Jimmy explores more of Joel's room he finds something that he wished he hadn't...and in the worst way possible.

Warnings: Feeling helpless, feeling trapped, inhumane mouse traps, panic, fear, worry, and mentions of death

Word Count: 4095

AO3 Link

Okay, it took me a second to figure out how to go about this but I figured out that the only place this would really make sense to happen is at Joel's house. So, this happens right after Sweet Tooth and before Eepy!

Strap in guys, this one is pretty angsty. And kind of long. It sort of got away from me. I hope you guys enjoy!

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 “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Joel asked, still nervous about leaving Jimmy alone. Especially for such a long period of time.

 Jimmy nodded and gave Joel a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine Joel. Besides, going to class with you is one thing. But going to the store seems…a bit much.”

 Joel let out a sigh but he could see Jimmy’s point. “Yeah, that’s fair. You would just be in my pocket the whole time too, which probably wouldn’t be very fun for you huh?”

 “Yeah, not really. At least here I can explore your house some more.” And Jimmy was excited to do so. He hadn’t even gotten through half of Joel’s room before he had come back with dinner the night before, so he was excited to see the rest of it. And maybe even the rest of the house.

 “Alright. Just be careful.” Joel said and then headed toward the door. Before opening it though, he looked back at Jimmy again. “I should be back in a couple of hours.”

 “Have fun!” Jimmy said with a wave and then watched as Joel quickly opened the door, walked out, and closed the door. He did it fast, just in case one of his parents were walking by. He heard the footsteps leave and then Jimmy was alone.

 Jimmy stood up and stretched for a moment, before getting out his rope and stabbing it into the nightstand. He then shimmied down the rope and decided to keep it there just in case he wanted to go back up later. Jimmy figured he would mostly be sticking to the floor anyway, so no reason to take it with him.

 He looked around the room, taking in his options. He had already explored underneath the bed, the nightstand, and the dresser that Joel had pushed up against the wall. So, it seemed his next exploration was to be the closet on the opposite side of the room. Thankfully, the closet door was already open, so he wouldn’t have to worry about squeezing through the bottom of the door or anything like that.

 Jimmy made his way toward that direction, walking casually and taking in the sights around him. If he was being honest, it was a little weird being back in an actual house. He hadn’t stepped foot in one since…well, since Jimmy had left home when he was 12. It brought back a lot of memories.

 It was different from the dorms, in the sense that it had a more homey feel to it. It felt more lived in, more cherished. Many college students may have lived in the dorm buildings but none of them saw it as permanent. It wasn’t supposed to be. But this house…this was permanent. Joel had lived here with his family since he was little and while Joel may move on, his parents were sticking around. And Joel would always see this house as his, in one way or another.

 Jimmy didn’t have that. His childhood home was long gone. He didn’t even know where it had been. He never had a reason to pay attention to something like that before. And he was in too much of a bad head space when he decided leaving was best for him to pay attention to how far the college was from the house. 

 Jimmy shook his head. That was not a bundle of memories he wanted to get into right now. It had been a long time since he had thought about his old home, of his parents, but it seemed being in a house again was making everything come back.

 Jimmy focused back on the task at hand, which was exploring the closet. He had made it to the opening, staring up at the darkness that awaited him. It was a walk in closet, so plenty of room to explore. Jimmy squinted his eyes to try and see into the darkness. Ever since becoming friends with Grian and Joel, and staying out of the walls, his once keen night vision was all but gone. Grian said it had something to do with getting used to the light, that his eyes had soaked up too much of it and was now more similar to a human’s than a borrower’s.

 Jimmy missed it less than he thought he would have but at times like these, he did wish his eyesight was back to how it used to be.

 Still, the longer he stared into the darkness the more his eyes began to adjust. It still wasn’t as much as he could see before but it was better than nothing.

 He made his way into the closet, looking around for anything interesting. There were some shelves above him but they were much too far up for Jimmy to reach even with his hook. So he focused on the floor, seeing something back in the far corner of the closet. It appeared to be a small box, small enough that Jimmy should be able to open it and look inside. Maybe he would find some old trinkets of Joel’s or maybe just some clothes but Jimmy was excited to find out.

 He walked towards it, staying close to the wall as he did so. But as he got further into the closet, the darkness became too much again. The light from the room not quite reaching as far back. Jimmy blinked, trying to get used to the darkness once more but as he took another step, his foot caught on something and he tripped.

 Normally, a trip like that would be no big deal. Especially with the carpet to break his fall, it was more embarrassing than painful to trip like that. But something was different this time. As Jimmy fell, it was not the softness of the carpet that met him.

 Jimmy landed with a strange squelching noise, his body landing on top of some sort of pasty substance.

 Jimmy landed in a way where both his arms were up at an angle and his head was tilted to the side, the right side of his face getting the brunt of the fall. The rest of his body lay flat on the mystery surface.

 Jimmy groaned, the impact more surprising than painful but still. Jimmy sighed and moved his arms to get himself up. Except…they didn’t move. Jimmy blinked and tried lifting his head to see what was wrong but he didn’t get far. His head was stuck too and the only thing that happened was his skin and hair got pulled, causing a sharp pain that made Jimmy yelp and stop what he was doing.

 Jimmy laid there for a moment, processing what was wrong and why he couldn’t move.

 And then it hit him.

 This was a glue trap.

 A deep sense of panic overtook Jimmy’s entire being as he realized this. Glue traps were awful, one of the worst traps that could be set up. They were dangerous, so very dangerous. If a borrower got stuck in one, then there was no way out. Either the human found you or, what happened a majority of the time, you died. You were completely and utterly stuck until you eventually just died.

 And that was if you had fallen into the trap the ‘right way’. Jimmy had heard a few stories when he was younger from his parents, of borrowers who had unfortunately fallen into the trap face first. They had suffocated to death in just a few minutes. But his parents had told that story with the underline of how lucky those borrowers had been. 

 Despite what his parents had thought, Jimmy was very happy that he hadn’t fallen face first.

 But still, he didn’t have a way out. The more he pulled, the more he stuck and the more painful it was to even try. Jimmy had no choice but to still and try to control his breathing as much as he could. 

 The only thing keeping him from truly panicking was the fact that, unlike other borrowers who had found themselves in this situation, Jimmy actually did have someone who could help him.

 The only problem was Joel was still gone and would probably be gone for at least another hour. But Jimmy didn’t have another choice. He was stuck. He just had to wait and breathe through it. He couldn’t let the panic that still festered deep in his gut to take control. He would be fine. Joel would get him out. He wasn’t going to die here.

 He just had to wait.

  ***

   Jimmy perked up as soon as he heard the bedroom door open close to an hour later. He had managed to keep his breathing steady but his heart still raced and now that the very fragile calm had been interrupted, the panic was coming back.

 “Jimmy? I’m back. Where are you?” Joel called out into the room after closing the door behind him. His eyes scanned the room, refusing to move until he saw where Jimmy was. He saw the string dangling from the nightstand so he could only assume he was somewhere on the floor, but Joel didn’t know where. 

 Suddenly, his entire body tensed and panic replaced every other feeling as he heard a faint but clear voice.

 “Joel! Help!” Jimmy screamed, trying to be heard from where he was in the closet.

 “J-Jimmy?!” Joel yelled back and Jimmy wanted to cry in relief that Joel had actually heard him. “Where are you?!”

 Joel was rapidly scanning the room now, wondering what kind of trouble Jimmy was in. Was it a spider? A rat? He needed to find him, to save him.

 Jimmy took a deep breath. “I’m in the closet! I-I’m stuck!”

 “Stuck?” Joel’s gaze went to the closet and he finally allowed himself to move to get over to it. He stopped at the doorway and turned on the light, scanning the floor, looking for Jimmy or anything else out of place. His eyes widened as he finally saw where Jimmy was.

 “Jimmy…” Joel said softly, gently moving so he was now kneeled down on the ground next to where Jimmy was stuck in a glue trap of all things. He held his hands out, like he wanted to reach for Jimmy but he kept them frozen like that, unsure how to even start going about this. “Oh gosh, are…are you alright?”

 Jimmy winced. “I’m…not hurt.” Jimmy decided to go with. Because otherwise, he was very much not okay.

 “Okay…okay, okay.” Joel couldn’t believe this. “I’m…I’m so sorry, I had no idea this was in here. My parents must have--”

 “I know, Joel. I know.” Jimmy said, cutting Joel off. “Just please, get me out of here.”

 “Right! Right. Uh…” Joel looked at Jimmy stuck in the trap, trying to figure something out. Finally, he reached out his hand, hovering it over Jimmy. “I’m gonna touch you, okay?” Joel wouldn’t normally announce something like that but with how this situation was, and with both of them panicking, he thought it would be a good thing to do.

 Jimmy hummed in response and shut his eyes tight. Joel slowly let his fingers grip the side of Jimmy’s body and he carefully tried to pull him up and out of the trap.

 As Joel started to pull, Jimmy’s eyes widened in pain. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Jimmy suddenly and loudly screamed. Joel let go of Jimmy faster than if something had burned him. Joel’s eyes widened, guilt crowding his features. 

 “Sorry, sorry!” Was all Joel could say, moving his hand far away from where Jimmy was. Jimmy took some deep breaths, trying to calm his panic and let the pain subside.

 “Let’s…Let’s not do that again.” Jimmy said after a moment. Joel only nodded, feeling incredibly bad for having just hurt Jimmy. He had never hurt the borrower before, even when they first met he tried his best to be careful. He never wanted to hurt Jimmy and now he had. 

 Jimmy tried to shift a little, of course not getting very far. “There’s gotta be another way. Right?” Jimmy asked after Joel didn’t speak for a moment, worry etching his features.

 Joel blinked and shook himself out of his little funk. Jimmy needed him right now, he needed to focus. “Yeah, I can google it. Hold on, let’s get you off the floor.” Joel hesitated slightly but reached out his hands again. “I’m going to pick up the trap.” Joel warned before doing so, making sure to avoid the parts with the actual glue on it. The last thing he needed was to get his hands stuck right along with Jimmy.

 Jimmy braced himself as Joel lifted up the trap and Jimmy along with it. Joel was careful to keep his hands steady as he stood up and walked over to his desk. “Okay, setting you down now.” Joel said, warning Jimmy again before he gently placed the trap down on top of the desk. Joel let out a little breath and then decided he needed to sit down for a second, so he took the seat at the desk and then got his phone out to try and figure out how to get Jimmy unstuck.

 Jimmy was faced toward Joel and so he couldn’t help but look up at the human like this. After being with his humans for months now, he was used to strange angles and different perspectives. But it was different this time. Jimmy was being forced down, unable to move himself, forced to look at Joel from an angle that still made Jimmy’s heart race, just a little bit.

 He felt helpless, for the first time in a long time.

 Jimmy closed his eyes, trying to stop his tears from falling. He took in a shaky breath, trying to ease his mind. Unfortunately, after months of being around Jimmy, Joel noticed and looked away from his phone for a moment to show concern for the borrower. “Jimmy? Hey, it’s okay. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

 Jimmy sniffed and opened his eyes, doing his best to meet Joel’s. “I know.” And he did. He was sure Joel would get him out. It was just…being put in this situation in the first place was really not doing good things for Jimmy mentally.

 Joel looked like he wanted to ask him something else, catching onto the fact that there was still something wrong. But he decided the best thing to do was get Jimmy out of there and so he just nodded and went back to searching it up.

 “Okay, I got it.” Joel said a minute later, reading the instructions carefully. “I need to get a few things though.” Joel looked down at the borrower with a slight wince. “I'll be right back, okay?”

 If Jimmy was being honest, he really didn’t want Joel to leave him. But he knew that wasn’t possible right now. “Okay.”

 Joel nodded and left, being as quick as he could in collecting the things he needed. It was a bit difficult with his parents there but he managed to hide the fact he was taking the cooking oil from the kitchen. The last thing he needed was his parent’s questioning him on why he was taking it up to his room.

 He was back in less than five minutes, putting everything he had gathered onto the table. “Right, so it says rubbing oil on the parts that are stuck will help it to unstick.” Joel explained as he put on the gloves. “Ready?”

 Jimmy hummed and Joel grabbed the bottle of oil. He hesitated for a moment before squirting some on the edges of Jimmy’s body, as well as some extra on his gloved hands. Jimmy shut his eyes, the oil feeling weird against his skin and hair. Once Joel had poured out a generous amount of the oil, he put it down and switched to gently rubbing it in. Carefully moving his fingers in gentle motions across Jimmy’s tiny limbs.

 Jimmy opened his eyes briefly, seeing Joel’s face in deep concentration. Jimmy let out a deep breath. He couldn’t even let himself get lost in the familiar touches of Joel’s hand, because the glove was a foreign thing that almost made Jimmy jump in a panic at being touched by it. He reminded himself that it was Joel though and tried to keep himself relaxed.

 Slowly, but surely, the glue started to come off and Jimmy felt himself be able to lift his arms up. Joel took the opportunity to get some more of the oil underneath Jimmy’s body, where the majority of him was stuck. It felt like hours but really was only about ten minutes before Jimmy felt the rubbing stop.

 “Okay…I’m gonna try lifting you up again.” Joel said and Jimmy nodded, something he could actually do now. Joel lowered his gloved hand, gripping Jimmy’s sides gently between his fingers. He went slow, incredibly slow, giving Jimmy plenty of time to tell him if it was starting to hurt again. But Jimmy didn’t say anything and so Joel continued until he was able to fully lift Jimmy up and off of the glue trap. 

 Immediately, Joel switched his hold on the borrower, moving so he was now holding him in cupped hands. Jimmy was still dripping in oil and covered sporadically in leftover glue, but he was out. Jimmy let out a small sigh of relief.

 “There we go.” Joel said, smiling in relief himself. “That wasn’t…too bad.” He winced at his own words and very quickly continued. “Uh, come on. I’m sure you want to get cleaned up.”

 Jimmy just nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet. Joel held him close as he opened his door, checking for his parents before quickly making his way to the bathroom. Once in, he carefully set Jimmy down on the counter and set up the sink so Jimmy could take a bath in it, just like he had done the night before when Jimmy had made a mess with the chocolate cake.

 Once the bath was set up, Joel left some soap and a hand towel on the counter and then glanced back down at Jimmy. “I’ll be back in a bit with some clean clothes for you. Okay?” Joel asked. When Jimmy just nodded, Joel frowned sadly. “Okay.” Joel said again and then left the bathroom.

 As soon as Joel left, Jimmy wasted no time in taking off the glue crusted and oil covered clothes. He left them on a pile on the counter, though he wasn’t sure they could be saved. Jimmy didn’t have a lot of clothes but he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to even try and wash them.

 Jimmy dipped into the tub and immediately started scrubbing with the soap Joel gave him. Thankfully, with the oil mixed in, the last bit of glue came off easily and the oil wasn’t far behind. As Jimmy moved onto his hair, there was a brief knock on the bathroom door before it opened, Joel coming in with a hand in front of his eyes. “It’s just me. I’m not looking.” Joel said and Jimmy couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

 Joel’s hands were now free of any gloves and he held a small pile of borrower sized clothes in his hand. He blindly set them on top of the counter. “You almost done?” Joel asked.

 “Yeah, just gotta finish my hair.” Jimmy said. “Give me ten more minutes?”

 Joel nodded and then left the bathroom once more. Jimmy finished up quickly, rinsing his hair out and double checking he got all the glue off. He seemed all clean, thankfully, so he hoisted himself out of the sink and dried off.

 Joel knocked on the door just as Jimmy finished getting dressed. Joel opened the door a little bit. “All good?”

 “Yeah.” Jimmy replied and only then did Joel walk in. He sent Jimmy a small smile, glad to see him cleaned up and looking a bit better. Though Jimmy’s mood was still down. He glanced over at the pile of dirty clothes and motioned to it.

 “What did you want to do with these?” Joel asked and Jimmy frowned as he followed Joel’s motion over to the pile of clothes. Jimmy quickly turned away.

 “You can just throw them away.” Jimmy said, not wanting to look at them anymore. They were ruined anyway.

 Joel bit his lip. Jimmy never threw things away, it was against a borrower’s nature, according to Jimmy. Grian and Joel always had to convince him to throw certain things away. But, after what Jimmy had gone through, Joel couldn’t really blame him. “That’s fair.” He settled on and then quickly lifted the clothes and dumped them in the trash. 

 He washed his hands after touching the oily clothes and then gently scooped Jimmy up in his hands, taking him back into his room. As they entered, Jimmy noticed the glue trap was already gone and he couldn’t help but be very thankful for that.

 Joel walked over to the nightstand and started lowering his hand to set Jimmy down but Jimmy scooted back, further onto Joel’s palm. Joel looked at him confused and Jimmy looked down with a slight blush on his cheeks. “Can…could you hold me just for a bit longer, actually?” Jimmy asked, not making eye contact with Joel.

 Normally, Joel would jump on the chance to tease Jimmy about this. But he knew this situation was delicate and he couldn’t help but feel warmth blossom in his chest at the thought that Jimmy wanted his comfort like this. And honestly, he hadn’t wanted to put Jimmy down anyway. “Yeah, of course Jim.”

 He brought his hand back up, closer to his chest, and then glanced around the room, his eyes falling on his laptop. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

 Jimmy hummed. A movie sounded nice, though he wasn’t sure if he would really be paying attention to it or not. Joel grabbed his laptop with his free hand and then climbed into bed, leaning back against his pillow and headboard as he set up his laptop on the bed right in front of his crossed legs. 

 Jimmy stayed in his hold, soaking up the warmth and comfort of Joel’s uncovered hand. As the movie started, Joel’s hands moved a bit lower, resting on his lap as he added his other hand to give Jimmy more room.

 Jimmy had been right, he didn’t pay too much attention to the movie. Wasn’t even sure what they were watching. He was too focused on the way Joel’s finger rubbed up and down his back in a steady and grounding way.

 “Joel?” Jimmy said, glancing up at Joel.

 “Yeah, Jim?” Joel said, already looking down. It seemed Joel was having a hard time focusing on the movie as well.

 Jimmy bit his lip and let out a small breath. “Thank you. I don’t…I don’t know what would have happened if…” Jimmy couldn’t even finish the sentence. He was lying too, he knew exactly what would have happened if Jimmy didn’t have Joel. It was those thoughts, paired with the overwhelming feeling of helplessness in that situation, that was causing him to be so down.

 Joel blinked and looked down at Jimmy sadly. Even though Jimmy didn’t finish, it wasn’t hard to guess where Jimmy had been going with it. “Of course. I’m just…I’m so sorry that that happened to you.” Joel let out a sigh. “I’m gonna talk to my parents tomorrow. Make up a story about the glue trap. Maybe saying I stepped in it? Found a mouse in it? I don’t know yet, but I’m gonna try to convince them to get rid of all of them.”

 Jimmy nodded. “That…Yeah. That would be great. Thank you, Joel.”

 Joel nodded, he was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. To anyone. 

 Joel brought his hands up a little, bringing Jimmy to eye level. “Are you okay?” Joel asked again, now that everything was over.

 Jimmy took in a shaky breath…and then shook his head. Joel’s eyebrows knit together in concern but Jimmy spoke before Joel could say anything. “I’m really not.” Jimmy blinked back a few tears. “But…I will be.”

 And as Joel brought him to his chest and they shared their own version of a hug, Jimmy knew that with Joel, and Grian, by his side, he really was going to be okay.

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty : like real people do (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 8.4k

summary : princess and din spend another day together, chasing a feeling of normalcy

warnings, etc. : language, angst, slight discussions of pregnancy, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, soooo much talking during sex, dom/sub vibes, a lot of sex

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

Mando and Din. 

All you can think about right now is how there must be two of them. 

You’re playing with his curls. His snores bounce off the walls of the closet and his head rests against your chest as you let your fingers comb through his hair.

Mando has always taken. (Not that you mind.) But Din liked to give. 

Is it selfish to want both?

If it is then you might just be a selfish person. How could you not? You’ve been presented with a man who has quite literally made a point to worship you, a man who is your heart. Your kar’ta.

Maybe you could tease him into man-handling you today. It probably wouldn’t be hard to do, not that you don’t love how gentle he was with you last night, it just made you hungry.

Hungry for more of him. 

And if you’re being selfish, you might as well admit to yourself that you want it all.   

You want it all.

No shame in thinking about it. 

You want to walk through the street holding his hand, you want to worship him the way he worships you, and you want to wake up like this. Skin against skin, tangled in the sheets.

You want to be his, and for him to be yours.

You want everything. 

You want people to know that he is yours.

Maybe someday you want kids.

None of these things are practical. You know that, but you can want them.

“He isn’t going to touch you. Ever again. I never should have let him in the first place.”

Din doesn’t want to share. Maybe he won’t. He’s clearly capable of things, maybe he really can protect you from your husband. 

It’s a nice dream.

Speaking of nice dreams, he stirs a little in his sleep, his hands slide across your spine, under you as his snores stutter for a moment before leveling back out.

His face is pressed against your chest and you can feel his breath on your flesh, occasionally his lips move against you as he mumbles to no one. You let your hands roam a little, to give you a vague outline of him. 

There’s a prominent scar on the back of his head, a thin line with a slight indent where his hair doesn’t grow. 

Letting your fingers gently graze down his neck you can feel the mess of curls there, all of varying lengths. Maybe someday he’d let you cut his hair for him. In all honesty though, that’s the one thing you don’t want from him. 

Or at least you don’t need it.

You care about him too much to want to see his face. Sure you’re curious but you’d never ask for such a thing. 

His back and shoulders have it the worst. You can feel the lines that stick out on his skin and indents from old wounds healed over. It’s still a little surprising how much bulk the armor adds. He’s remarkably broad but considerably more lithe than you ever would have thought. And he’s softer. You know what he’s capable of, obviously he’s a former bounty hunter, he’s toned but there’s something about him that’s soft.

His skin is soft, the way he holds you is gentle, like he’s being careful.

Would he allow you to see his body? 

You’ve seen parts already, his hands, and other things. But now that you can feel all of the scars he has you’d like to see them, and ask him how he got them. 

You wish you knew what time it was. How much time you have left like this, perfect and undisturbed. But there’s responsibilities. One of them being the fact that you have dinner with Kodo tonight. Almost as if he sensed your distress his snores stop and he presses a kiss against your breast. 

“Is it morning sarad?” His voice is thick with sleep.

“I think so.” You manage to mumble back. 

“What do you want to do today?” He yawns as he says it and lifts himself off of you briefly, when he lays back down you feel steel against your skin and his voice is modulated. 

“I thought we could go back into the city.” You let your hand settle between his shoulder blades. “I wanted to help out the woman I met yesterday. She was telling me about her daughter's store.”

“Mhmm.” 

“And then I have dinner with Kodo.” 

He doesn’t have a response to that but you note that his entire body tenses up. 

It makes you want to do something for him. 

To remind him that you care for him as much as he cares for you. And to make him forget that at the end of every week he has to escort you back to your husband.

“And after that I thought maybe we could go to your cabin if that’s alright.” 

He relaxes the tiniest bit. 

“That’s more than alright.” His hands start to move down, from your hips to your thighs. “What did you want to do once we got there?” 

“I have a little surprise for you.” You gasp out as he squeezes your thighs, sitting up on his knees to get a better angle. 

“What do you want to do before all that?”

Him.

Stay like this forever.

Ignore the knocking on your bedroom door.

Kriff.

The girls. 

You’re sitting up in an instant, scrambling around in the darkness, trying to find your discarded nightie. Thankfully he senses your panic as he flips the switch for the lamp, dimly illuminating the closet as you hear the girls start milling about the main room. 

You find the thin white fabric slipping it on quickly before stumbling to your feet. Din seems to be in a state of shock, sitting still in the silence so you grab the first dress you find. 

“Just- shit, just stay here, I’ll come get you when they’re gone.” Is all you whisper before you rush out, quickly shutting the closet door behind you, the girls staring at you in silence. 

“Good morning, my lady.” Elaine speaks first, her voice hesitant as she takes in your disheveled form. Thankfully they waste no time getting you into your routine, in the light of the main room you get a good look at yourself in the mirror as they change you into new undergarments. 

It’s not a great look. 

You know that. 

You aren’t wearing panties and your thighs are littered with bite marks. Both the girls gawk at you and there really is nothing to say so you don’t bother. There’s no possible excuse for this. They dress you in silence, at one point Elaine laughs but covers it with a cough. 

Other than that everything seems to be going smoothly until you see Lysa going towards the closet to fetch you some shoes and you nearly tumble out of your chair at the vanity as you turn around to stop her. 

“No!” Everyone freezes in place and you can feel your face getting hot as you stumble over your words. “Sorry, I just- I-I’ll get them. Thank you though, but I’ll get them.” There’s a long moment of silence before they both look to the closet and then back at you. 

“...Okay?” Elaine says it like she’s trying to calm you as you frantically look between the two of them. 

You really know how to make a bad situation worse. They finish dressing you quickly, the dress you grabbed is rather pretty. A dark red top contrasting a long champagne tulle skirt with stars all along the bottom. If you weren’t currently so flustered you’d probably admire it more. 

They work swiftly on your hair and makeup, leaving it as simple as possible before rushing out. Once they’re in the hall you can hear them whispering and laughing, you hear Lysa say something about how the Mandalorian is not at his post outside your door. 

Your face is getting hot all over again and it doesn’t help when the second they’re gone the closet door swings open and Din steps out, already back in all of his armor. 

It’s like you have a school yard crush on him as you stare at him, twisting your hands a bit in front of you. 

You had been tangled in each other's bodies not even an hour ago yet you’re flustered just staring at him.

Not wanting to make a fool of yourself by stumbling over your words you just turn on your heel and head out the door, with him following closely behind. 

“Leo!” You yell, the moment you close the door behind you, the Mandalorian standing firmly at your side as Leodall hurries towards you, bowing.

“Good morning, ma’am, how can I help you?”

You give him a polite smile.

“I’m going to be going into the city today, I’d like some credits please.” With that he rushes off and you stand in the hall, staring at Din with a smile.

“You’re going to run the royal family's funds dry at this rate.” He whispers, bumping his shoulder against yours. 

“What a shame that would be.” You mutter back as Leo makes his hasty return, handing you the coin purse which you hand off the Din, Leo rushing away in the opposite direction. 

★

You go through the usual routine of getting your trackers and you eagerly step out of the gates into the street. Din dismisses the speeder to your delight as you begin to walk through the street, it’s still rather early and it seems like most vendors are heading towards the market streets or opening their shops, you make an effort to smile and wave at as many people as possible. 

While you walk he matches your speed, staying next to you but not touching you, he leans down to whisper. 

“You look nice.” The rasp in his voice makes you tingly as you feel your face getting hot. He sounds like he’s still waking up.

“Thank you.” You whisper back, not bothering to lean towards him, knowing he’ll hear you. 

It’s the dumbest thing to get all hot and bothered about but outside of sex he doesn’t really compliment you like that, it feels… normal. Like something a normal couple would do. 

You make a beeline towards what you know to be the woman you met yesterday’s store. Din stays close behind you as you push open the shop door, a little bell jingles as you step into what appears to be a standard supermarket, you recognize the woman at the front counter to be Vivian’s daughter, giving her a smile you approach, asking where Vivian is and being taken towards the back, Din stays silent as he follows. 

In the back storage rooms you’re pleased to find the older woman at a table along with a small surprise waiting for you.

“You actually came back?” She’s got a shocked grin on her face as you sit next to her at the table where she appears to be putting labels on different fruits and vegetables. 

“Of course I did, I said I would.” You smile at her before smiling at the toddler in her lap, you recognize him from yesterday, one of the younger boys playing with your Mandalorian, the one who kept drooling on Din’s armor, you give him a small wave. “Hello, little one.” 

He waves back at you, currently drooling on an apple slice and what appears to be a permanent frown plastered on his face. 

You look at Din, holding out your hand for the coin purse, he places it in your palm before taking his place behind your chair, keeping his hands on the back of it. 

“Here, I brought this for you.” You set the bag onto the table in front of her and she seems a little taken aback. 

“Your highness, we can’t take this, you’re very kind but, it’s too much.” She pushes the bag back in your direction. 

“I insist, really.” You give her a reassuring smile as she cuts another slice of apple, handing it to the boy you assume to be her grandson. 

“I can’t just take your money…” She seems unsure still as she stares at it. 

“Yes, you can, we have too much of it anyway.” She still looks a bit hesitant so you try your best to put her at ease, it’s probably off putting, to have royalty show up at your place of business and offer you money without asking for anything in return. “Think of it as a purchase, I need a few things, this should cover everything and you can consider the rest as a tip.” This seems to convince her as she nods slowly. 

“If you insist, princess.” 

You grin at her.

“I do, insist.” You find yourself staring at the toddler, you haven’t gotten to interact with a baby since you left home, watching him makes you miss your younger siblings as you look back up at Vivian. “Would it be alright if I held him?” She lifts him up under his arms, passing him over the table to you.

“Say hello to the princess, Theodore.” She says, setting him in your lap. 

He doesn’t seem inclined to greet you but he doesn’t seem inclined to do anything other than drool, but he doesn’t protest now that you’re holding him which fills you with a sense of accomplishment as you carefully bounce him in your lap. 

“Hello, Theodore.” You whisper, leaning down a bit so you can see his face better, he has a few teeth that appear to be coming in as he chews, his wide eyes meet yours as he gives you a curious look. One of his chubby little hands grips your wrist and you can’t help but stare up at Din. The helmet is tilted down, watching you intently. “Isn’t he just the cutest thing?” You continue to gently bounce your knee as Vivian hands him another apple slice before looking up at the Mandalorian. 

“Would you like to hold him?” The moment she says it you’re turning in your seat, picking up the baby and holding him towards Din who’s starting to protest but you’ve already pressed Theodore into his arms. 

“Perfect, you can hold him while I help Vivian.” You give him a smirk before turning back around in your chair, you can hear Din sigh as you look away. “What do you need me to do?” 

She shows you what goes where, you just have to follow the labels and put the correct stickers onto the matching product. It’s busy work but you really don’t mind it, you’ve spent weeks upon weeks in the castle with a few small trips out, you consider any change from your routine to be a blessing. She seems a little shocked that you would leave the castle to do this kind of thing and you once again have to reassure her a few times as you start.

“Once we finish this up can you help me find a few things?” You ask, labeling a carton of berries. 

“Of course, princess.” 

You sit for a few more minutes, enjoying the peace as a radio in the corner plays a soft tune. 

“Careful now ik’aad.” You hear Din mumbling behind you, when you turn to look at him he’s got Theodore cradled in one arm, his free hand pokes at the little one's stomach as he chubby little fingers pull on his glove. He doesn’t even seem to notice you as the little boy tugs his glove off completely, his bare hand ruffles Theodores curls. “It isn’t wise to steal from a bounty hunter.” The boy finally cracks a smile and you feel a sorrow settling in your stomach. 

That is what you want. The sense of domesticity you feel watching him hold this baby, you can physically see the paternal instinct coming off of him.

Is he thinking about his own little one? 

“Can you help me put that back on, ad?” He whispers, Theodore shoves the glove back onto Din’s hand, missing his pinky, letting out a high pitched laugh that fills the room. 

You turn back to the table, you can’t bear to watch anymore. 

Pick up a fruit. Put a sticker on it. Ignore the little giggles behind you. Repeat. 

You manage that, ignoring the question that is now demanding your attention. You keep it pushed down and locked away, until suddenly, and without warning the exact thing you’re trying to ignore is asked. 

“Do you want children someday, princess?” Vivian’s voice snaps you out of your little work routine and you realize you’re nearly done labeling everything. 

Kriff, think of an answer. Obviously she’s implying children you would have with Kodo but you know that your answer is going to be noted by the man who is standing silently behind you now. You can practically feel Din anxiously waiting for you to answer. 

Certainly it’s too soon to think about kids with Din. 

Right?

Your time with him sort of melts together, it’s only been a couple of months since you met him but it feels like so much more considering the fact that you spend every waking moment together. 

But your relationship is technically undefined. 

For Maker’s sake you haven’t even said I love you, you can’t think about kids. 

Shit, do you love him? 

You’re gonna give yourself a headache, focus on the kid thing first before you give yourself another impossible to answer question.

Kids with Din wasn’t even a possibility a week ago, but now? This is obviously more than casual, he’s made that pretty clear with his several declarations of devotion to you. You wouldn’t want to have kids here, you couldn’t have kids here. You don’t even want to think about what Kodo would do if you were pregnant after never consummating your marriage with him. 

Of course you could wait until Kodo wanted heirs.

The thought makes you cringe.

But you could wait, and take a gamble, there would be no guarantee as to who’s children you’d be carrying though. Of course you’d know once they came out either blonde little monsters or brunette with pretty little noses. 

Now you’re thinking about little ones with your eyes and messy brown curls. 

And suddenly you’re filled with fear for your hypothetical child when you think of what your husband's reaction to babies that look nothing like him would be. 

No kids. 

At least not here. Maybe in another life, on another planet, you could have your little brunette babies. And a partner who doesn’t terrify you. 

“Ma’am?” Vivian once again snaps you back to reality, how long have you been staring at the table, Din is directly behind you now, his hand hovers over your shoulder, not actually touching you. 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” You clear your throat when your voice cracks. Din drops his hand but not before gently brushing his fingertips against you, it’s the most comfort he can give you with someone else present. 

“I was wondering if you wanted children someday.” She says it patiently, like she knows this question has you in mental turmoil. 

Answer honestly. 

“I haven’t really thought about it. Maybe, someday, Kodo isn’t really ready for kids yet.” It’s a shitty answer, and you kind of think Din deserves a better one but it’s true. You decide you don’t want kids if you’d have to have them here. If you were somewhere else and it was just you and Din then yes, maybe you’d give it a shot, but you have a husband here, so you’d never take that risk, not if it meant risking the lives of any babies who don’t bear a resemblance to Kodo. 

She doesn’t press further and you finish labeling everything in silence, once you’re done you help her stand. Leaning in to whisper to her.

“Would it be okay if Mando watches the baby for a few minutes while you help me with something?” You need to keep him distracted while you do this. 

“I think that would be fine.” She grins, the two of you starting to leave the storage room while he grumbles something about not being a babysitter as he follows, Theodore still held in the crook of one of his arms. 

Exactly as you’d hoped Theodore seems to get distracted by something, driving Mando to fall behind as you walk arm in arm with Vivian through the aisles. 

“I’m trying to make a dessert I got in the markets.” You keep your voice low and hushed. “It was sort of like a snack cake, I’m pretty sure it was vanilla and maybe cinnamon? I have a cookbook at home but I didn’t have time to grab it this morning.” She nods as you speak.

“I think I know what you’re looking for.” She points you towards a few different things, mostly essentials that you know you won’t have access to, it’s rather simple, flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla extract, and a few other things. Eventually Din catches up but Theodore appears to have found a burst of energy and keeps him busy once he sets him down and ends up chasing him through the aisles. Once you have everything she helps you check out, putting everything into cloth bags as you exchange pleasantries with Theodore’s mother, until Din walks over holding the little boy with purple stained lips in one arm and his other hand holds a carton of blueberries. 

“He got into these.” Stoic and professional as ever in public, he hands the giggling boy to his mother before setting the carton into your bags, placing a handful of credits onto the counter for them before gathering your things in his arms. Vivian tries to hand him his money back but he’s already out the door. You give her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, he’s not much of a talker, I had a wonderful time today, thank you for keeping me company.” You take her hand in yours, the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles at you.

“You’re welcome anytime, princess. We were honored to host a member of the royal family.” You give her hand a reassuring squeeze before giving Theodore a wave. 

“Good bye, Theo, I’ll visit soon.” He gives you a hesitant wave as you exit the shop, joining Din out on the sidewalk. 

“Did you get everything you needed?” He’s dropped that stern tone of voice.

His Mando voice. He’s Din again. 

“Yes, I think I’m good, I’ll need you to put all of that in your cabin.” You gesture towards the bags as you start walking. 

“Excuse me?” He easily matches your stride.

“I just want to try something. Can you just do this one thing for me without asking any questions?” You turn to stare at him and he doesn’t speak for a few moments but he nods. “Thank you.” 

★

When you arrive back at the castle it’s just after noon, you promise to stay in your chambers until Din returns after taking the groceries to his cabin.

If everything goes according to plan you’ll go to the library for a few hours until dinner time, you’ll get through dinner as quickly as possible. And once that’s taken care of, Din will sneak you out to the cabin for a few hours.

You’ve got several hours before you’ll need to do any of that though. And currently your mind is wandering a bit. You’ve had a mentally exhausting morning and there’s one specific thing you’re sure would help you relax. You want to not think about the many questions that are currently plaguing your mind. So you think of a less exhausting question.

Is he still going to be weird about having sex? 

Is he going to need you to really want it everytime?  

You always want it. If he’d give it to you all the time you’d never leave your room. If you ask him when he returns would he lock the door and take you right here in the middle of the day? 

It’s not like you haven’t had sex in the middle of the day. 

That gives you an idea. 

If this works you won’t have to beg him, you’ll just get him worked up until he takes it. And you know exactly what to do to get him to take it. It worked previously to get him all bothered so why not try again. 

When he returns you’ve got one of the books you bought yesterday under your arm and you give him an innocent smile.

“Library?”

He has one of the books he picked for himself in his hand. 

“Library.”

You try not to seem too eager as you walk rather quickly there. As always it’s eerily empty and you rush over to your nook. Leaving him plenty of space to sit next to you, which he does. You set your book in your lap so he can get a good look at it. 

Bound in Beskar. 

You stifle a laugh as you stare at the cover art of a woman in a loose fitting dress pressed against the chest of a Mandalorian. This Mandalorian’s armor is a mix of colors, the helmet reminds you of Din’s but the rest of the armor is a chestnut brown except for one of the pauldrons which is half blue and half tan.

“You can’t be serious.” He turns to stare at you and you grin. 

“What? It looks like a good book.” You feign innocence, opening up the book, delighted to find it’s as kitschy as you had hoped it would be. A story about a Mandalorian blacksmith and a woman in town who becomes employed by him. You ignore him completely, hoping he’ll take the bait but he just opens his own reading, so you rest your head on his pauldron and read. 

At the very least you’ll get to enjoy the book. 

Which you do for the better part of an hour. You’re so engrossed by the campy romance you don’t even notice when Din stops turning pages in his own book, sitting completely still next to you. 

Until you flip to a page where the blacksmith bends the protagonist over the anvil, he finally shifts a little in his seat, clearing his throat yet when he speaks his voice is husky and dangerous. 

“You really want to do this?” 

Yes. Probably more than anything. 

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“For someone who claims that I’m constantly plotting to get the upper hand on them you do a lot of scheming.” His hand is on your waist. 

You don’t have a response. Just a big stupid grin on your face. 

“You’re terrible. How many hours a day do you spend masterminding different ways to lure me into bed?” He squeezes your waist, pulling you a little closer. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You scoff, although he may have a point. 

“I’m starting to think that you take me for a common whore.” His voice keeps getting softer and softer, you instinctively lean closer to him. 

“You’re distracting me from my book.” You whisper back to him.

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” That’s the last thing he says before standing up and you’re about to apologize for taking it too far when he kneels on the floor in front of you.

There’s a solid moment of silence before he speaks again. 

“If it’s so important, then keep reading.” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. 

You stare at the pages. trying to ignore the way he plays with the hem of your skirt.

Focus on the book. 

The Mandalorian in the book doesn’t have a name, coincidentally he goes by Mando. You couldn’t be happier about it. 

“Such a pretty dress.” He murmurs. You don’t dare stop reading to respond to him. Focusing on the smut in front of you, it doesn’t seem practical to chain someone to an anvil the way it’s done in the story. 

You’re trying to logistically imagine how one would weld another person's cuffs to an anvil without hurting them in the process when you freeze, hearing a hiss of air. 

“Keep your eyes on the pages.” You don’t dare move. Watching in your peripherals as he lifts the helmet off. 

In broad daylight. 

Where anyone could walk in. 

You focus on the words, you aren’t comprehending them in the slightest but you do everything in your power to make sure you see nothing. 

You decide to just close your eyes, it isn’t worth the risk. 

His hands push your skirt up to your waist, exposing your bottom half to him, his hand pushes your thighs apart and he hums softly in approval, admiring the marks he left there the previous night. 

“Now, I want you to be good and read your book for me, sarad, okay?” His hands guide the book up in front of you and you slowly open your eyes, he’s got you holding it close enough to your face that you can’t see him. 

He doesn’t wait for a response, he just hooks a finger around your panties, tugging them down quickly, removing them completely. You’re holding your breath in anticipation, waiting for the mouth that never comes. 

“Tell me about the book.” You feel him rest his head on your thigh.

“What?” He can’t be serious.

“The book you so badly wanted to read, tell me about it.”

He’s staring at your pussy and he wants to do this. Fine, if it gets you what you want, you have such little dignity left regarding your relationship with him at this point, why not? 

“The Mandalorian in it is a blacksmith, they call him an armorer…” You start hesitantly but once you get halfway through the first sentence he drags his tongue between your folds, drawing a sharp gasp from you, the moment you stop, he stops. 

He’s mean. 

You like that he’s mean. 

“He makes armor for all the other Mandalorians.” 

One hand pushes your thigh up a little more while the other spreads you open. 

“And the woman needed a job so she-” 

Without warning his lips wrap around your clit, you know better than to stop talking. 

“S-she takes a job in his shop, and then, kriff, she knocks something over-” 

He’s in no rush. He briefly sucks directly on your clit before moving down a bit, plunging his tongue into your weeping cunt. 

“Fuck, Din.” And just like that he’s pulled back. You almost throw the book in frustration but you can’t even do that because you might see something. “Come on…” You whine softly.

“Already with the complaining?” You hear him tsk quietly, his hand squeezing the meat of your thigh. “I’ve barely started.” 

“You’re being an ass.” You grumble.

“And you need to be taught a lesson.” His hand lifts briefly before slapping your thigh, the loud smack is a stark juxtaposition to the silence of the shelves. 

“What lesson?” 

His hand reaches up over your book pointing at the pages. 

“That if you want something, you need to ask for it. Now, tell me about your book.” 

The nerve of him, to tell you that you have to really want it and then days later tell you that all you had to do was ask. You’d tell him off right now, maybe even return the slap if you weren’t so turned on right now. 

You sigh.

“She knocks something over in his workshop.” 

He picks up right where he left off, his tongue pushes inside of you and you swallow your moan as his free hand starts to work your clit. 

“It’s nothing important, it's just like a- ah, a hammer or, or something.” 

He’s drawing slow circles onto that bundle of nerves, you’re embarrassed to say that he’s rapidly working you towards an orgasm already. Who gave him the right to know just how to push your buttons.

“And he gets mad, he b-bends her over his knee-” 

He switches, dragging his tongue upwards to your clit while plunging a gloved finger into your cunt. 

“D-dank farrik- and he spanks her, for- fuck- for dropping the, the thing.” 

He hums against you, the vibration has your thighs squeezing around his head, he doesn’t seem to mind, the hand that isn’t currently trying to fit a second finger into you throws one of your legs over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around it to keep you in place. 

“And, and, and- the next day she knocks something over ag- Din!” 

He pulls his fingers out completely before shoving them back into you. You don’t bother looking at the pages anymore, you let your head fall back, leaning against the glass of the window behind you.

“She knocks another one of his- his tools over to get him t-to spank her again. Shit, m-my eyes are closed.” You toss the book to the side, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your fingers tangle themselves in his hair. “He bends her over the anv- Maker, the anvil, and I don’t know what happens next, I haven’t gotten that far, d-don’t stop, please.” 

Thank the gods he doesn’t stop, he seems to be too content with his efforts to stop now. But just to make sure he doesn’t you keep rambling.

“M’sorry, for not telling you what I- what I wanted.” You’re mostly gasps at this point as you tug at his curls, trying to pull him closer while he methodically pushes his fingers in and out of you. And Maker that tongue.

It’s a good thing he has the creed because if he didn’t you’d spend all day on his tongue. 

He’s eagerly lapping at your clit, tracing different shapes against you, the constant stimulation has your back arching, your admission of guilt has him working faster than ever. 

“Next time… I’ll ask, p-promise.” You groan, fuck, you’ll ask right now, it’s basically a habit at this point. “Can I cum? Please, Din, can I?” 

He doesn’t pull off, too focused on what he’s doing but he mumbles something against you that sounds like yes so you chase that high. 

It doesn’t take long and you’re seeing stars, one of your hands detaches from his hair to cover your mouth as his name forces its way out of your throat. You’re vaguely aware of his tongue licking up your remaining wetness before pulling off of you, your eyes are still closed but his hand leaves your thigh and comes up to cover them. 

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” His lips crash against yours as you taste yourself on him.

There’s those words again. You’re about to ask him what they mean but he starts kissing down your face, moving from your lips to your chin to your jaw. Finally settling at your throat.

“Don’t go to dinner.” He’s whispering against the skin of your neck.

He could convince you to do just about anything right now. 

“Okay.” You whisper back, he doesn’t respond, did he hear you? You nod instead which seems to register with him.

“Tell him you don’t feel well.” He places a soft kiss on the column of your throat. 

“I will.” 

★

And that’s exactly what you do.

Once you’ve caught your breath you return to your chambers, summoning Leo and tell him you’re feeling a bit under the weather, and won’t be attending dinner with Kodo tonight. He protests a bit until finally you mention having lady troubles and his face gets an even darker shade of orange before he scurries off. 

And then you say goodbye to Din. With a whispered promise to see him soon. 

A part of you thinks someones going to come fetch you, and force you down to dinner but no one ever does. You told Din to wait two hours just in case but the first hour passes and nothing happens so you rush to the closet to change. It’ll be considerably easier to sneak you in and out if you aren’t in a shimmering gown. You manage to get out of the dress after a few minutes of struggling.

You find the pants you set aside. Happily tugging on a pair of gray trousers and a white cotton tunic. 

You’ve still got at least half an hour before he’ll be back so you search for the cookbook of desserts, it only takes a few minutes for you to find the snack cakes that he likes, folding the corner of the page you set it aside.

Next order of business.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

Find out what that means. 

You go to the pile of books, looking for the translation book you bought but you can’t find it. You double check every title but it’s gone.

The bastard must have taken it. 

“Son of a-” You start to grumble to yourself but the door swings open, and there he is. “You’re early, and you’re a thief.” You march over to the bed, grabbing the cookbook as he holds the door open for you.

“I missed you.” He murmurs. “And I have no idea what you mean.” 

He missed you.

Maybe you can forgive him for taking your book. 

“Fine. Let’s go.” 

You move quickly, he checks around corners before hurrying you forward in silence throughout the dark halls of the castle. You exhale loudly once you make it outside through the exit you use to get to the gardens. He holds a hand out to you but you hesitate to take it.

“What if someone sees from a window?” 

“It’s dark, they won’t be able to tell it’s us, it could be anyone.” It doesn’t reassure you completely but you take his hand nonetheless, walking through the darkness you quickly realize he’s right, you can’t see your feet in front of you as you stumble onward and you’re suddenly glad to have him guiding you. Walking in silence for a few minutes.

“So what’s this surprise you’ve got planned?” He gently squeezes your hand as you feel the terrain below your feet change, indicating you’re off of the lawn and onto the trail in the woods. 

“Promise not to laugh?”

It’s starting to remind you of the birthday you surprised him with and you’re feeling more and more stupid the closer you get to the cabin. 

“You know I can’t promise that.” He lets your arms gently swing back and forth.

“Then I’m not telling you.”

“Fine. I promise not to laugh.” He chuckles as he says it and you hope he sees your scowl in the darkness. 

“I was gonna bake something for you. Just so we could, I don’t know it’s dumb, but we can try and feel like a normal couple for a few hours.” You say it as quickly as possible, to just get it out of the way.

His arm stops swinging, he’s pulling you along now and you feel dread washing over you from his lack of a response. 

“Or we can do literally anything else, it doesn’t really matter to me…” You add quickly. You’re about to keep on rambling just to fill the silence but he scoops you up into his arms, you hear the sound of his boots stepping into water and it’s only a few more seconds before you hear the creak of the door followed by wood floors beneath your feet. He flips the switch that turns the lamps around his home on.

“I would love it if you baked something.” He finally says. He almost sounds choked up but you aren’t sure, and decide not to press as he sits at the table, removing his boots, setting them by the door to dry, you head towards the kitchenette, getting the things you purchased out of the cupboards and out on the counter. Opening the book as you read the recipe, hearing the clunk of his armor being removed behind you. 

You don’t have a lot of kitchen experience but it seems easy enough. Once you start mixing things in a large bowl you find he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. 

“Do you need help?” He sounds at peace. 

You want him to sound like this all the time.

“No, this is your surprise, go sit down.” You turn your head to smile at him, he’s down to just his flight suit and helmet as he retreats to the kitchen table.

When you check the ingredient list again you turn to check on him, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, like he doesn’t know how to relax. 

You ask yourself a question you’ve wondered before. 

Who takes care of him?

All he does is take care of you, who’s taking care of him?

Has anyone taken care of him? Ever? 

You need to get him to relax, even just a little. So you start with a joke.

“You’re still mean during sex.” You crack an egg as you say it and you thankfully get a chuckle from him.

“And you still like it.”

“Clearly I’m not the only one who likes it.” You turn to face him, bowl in one arm, wooden spoon in the other as you mix. “You’re lucky I’m so good at doing what you like, what would you do without me?” You grin at him before turning back around, grabbing the cupcake tin you found, it isn’t the exact shape you neeed but it’s the closest thing he has. 

“Really? I didn’t realize it required a lot of skill to sit still and take it.” He taunts, you resist turning around and throwing something at him. 

“It’s harder than what you do. Believe it or not it isn’t easy to try and maintain your dignity in those situations.” You begin pouring the batter into the tin. 

“It isn’t exactly easy to convince you to lose your dignity, princess.” 

Maybe you can get him to relax in a different way. 

Afterall, he did say all you had to do was ask. 

“If only there was a way to find out which way is harder.” You turn the dial on the oven before sliding the pan in, it’s tiny, only just big enough to hold the one pan. “We’ve got about an hour.” You slowly make your way around the room, clicking the lamps off.

He stands up from his chair, visor trained on you.

“I’m asking for sex, if that wasn’t clear.” You say with a condescending tone as you sit on the bed. 

There’s no hesitation in his strides as he slots himself between your legs. He pushes his knee up between your thighs as he starts laying you back against his mattress. You sit up on your elbows.

“Sit with your back against the headboard.” You say it as sternly as you can manage and it stops him dead in his tracks making you grin. “I thought we wanted to find out which way was harder?” You say a bit quieter, he seems to be considering it for a moment before he nods, getting off of you and sitting as you told him to, legs out in front of him, his erection already visibly straining against the flight suit. 

You should probably figure out what you’re gonna do now. 

You were all talk up until this point. A part of you thought he’d just do what he normally does and just take what he wanted, now here you are and you’re the one who is expected to take. 

What does he normally do? 

He would get on top, in a position above you.

So that’s just what you do, straddling his waist as you sit down on his thighs. It’s actually a bit strange to have him not telling you what to do. 

That’s what you should do next. Tell him what to do. 

He usually gets you to tell him something, or admit something, or he’s just trying to prove a point. Like he wants you to be as flustered as possible.

And he doesn’t shut up unless he’s using his mouth for something else. 

Your hands drag down the fabric on his chest, stopping at his stomach before going back up to his shoulders. 

What could you get him to say that would get him fired up the way he likes to do to you? 

“What does ni kar'tayl gar darasuum mean?” Your hands rest on his shoulders as you say it and he laughs. 

“It’s nothing, just something you say to someone you care about.” He’s still laughing a bit as he says it.

“That isn’t an answer, I want to know what it means.” You let your hands unzip the crotch of his flight suit, his cock slaps against his stomach once you do, you hear him sharply inhale through his teeth.

“I don’t know what it means.” He mutters as you lean back a bit to get your own pants off, tossing them to the floor along with your panties. 

The cabin smells like vanilla. 

“I think you do.” You position yourself back in his lap, hovering above him on your knees as you bring your hand between your thighs, placing your other hand on his shoulder to balance yourself as you slide two fingers into yourself with a groan, your head falling forward against his helmet, his hands find your waist but you remove your fingers.

“No touching Din, not until I say so.”

“You know I’m stronger than you, right?” He drops his hands nonetheless. 

“Shut it.” You pick up where you left off with your fingers, scissoring them, stretching yourself a bit for him. “What does mesh’la mean?” You lean forward a bit more, spitting on his length as you remove your fingers once more, using your combined wetness and spit as a lubricant as you begin to slowly stroke him, his head leaning back ever so slightly.

“It means beautiful.” He sounds strained, it makes you smile as you continue your leisurely pace. 

“Okay. You can touch me now.” His hands fly back to your waist, his grip is tighter this time. “What about cyare?” You soften your voice, picking up speed a tiny bit so he knows that if he tells you he’ll get more. 

“B-beloved.” He stammers a bit and your face is getting hot. He was right, it is harder to do this, or maybe you just don’t have the patience for it because you know you should probably tease him for a lot longer but you don’t want to wait, moving yourself forwards to line him up at your entrance. Staring into the helmet as you grip him at the base of his cock.

“What about ni kar'tayl gar darasuum?” He begins a breathless chuckle but it’s cut short as you sink yourself down onto him halfway. You stare at him, waiting for an answer, when you never get one you take your time easing yourself the rest of the way onto him. He stays mostly quiet, aside from the occasional grunt or gasp but his grip on your waist is definitely going to leave bruises. “Cyar’ika? What does that mean?” 

“Darling.” With that answer you put your hands back on his shoulders, moving yourself up and down on him at your own pace, savoring the feeling of how he splits you open, due to your own impatience there’s a bit of a sting from the stretch but you wouldn’t change a thing. 

You maintain what you think is eye contact as you ride him, the only sounds now in the cabin are the sounds of your flesh slapping together and your collective gasps. 

“I’ll stop reading those books in front of you if you tell me.” 

He laughs again.

“I don’t mind the books.” 

You pick up the pace, lifting yourself almost completely off of him before slamming yourself back down on his length. His groan is downright pornagraphic. 

“Do you have a weird fetish? I’ll let you act out a weird fetish with me if you tell me.” That gets another breathless laugh.

“I don’t have a weird fetish.”

“I’ll buy something lacy and green and wear it for you again.” You need to convince him and soon because your thighs burn and you aren’t sure how much longer you’re gonna last, he rests his helmet on your shoulder.

“You’re gonna do that anyway.” You hate that he’s right. 

You’ve only got one other thing you can think of to offer, and honestly you just hope he doesn’t think you’re being ridiculous.

“If you tell me I’ll get a pill.” You blurt out. “I’ll get a pill and you can cum inside me.” His grip on your waist tightens the moment you say it and much to your surprise, you finish, in a blinding hot flash you feel your stomach tighten, and before you know it’s happening he’s hastily lifting you off of him, a strangled moan comes from the modulator as you watch him paint the inside of your thighs with his seed. 

There’s a beat of silence, you both breathlessly stare at each other in surprise until he starts to laugh and quickly you are too. He pulls you to him so you sit against the headboard as well. 

“So you liked one of my offers?” 

“I might have been interested in one of them” He chuckles in response as you rest your head against his arm. 

You’re turning towards him to give him a smile but it seems he has other plans.

He doesn’t give you a warning when he does it and you don’t hear the hiss of air, when you turn you see his plush bottom lip, chin, and patches of facial hair before shutting your eyes tight. 

Kriff.

You aren’t sure what to say, you're feeling a little shell-shocked as he leans forward, giving you a chaste kiss before situating his helmet once more, you don’t open your eyes until you hear it lock back into place. He says something so quietly you can’t quite make it out. 

“What did you say?” You whisper back, still trying to get over the shock of seeing a fraction of his face while simultaneously trying to remember every detail. 

“It means I love you.” 

Your eyes go wide and you stare at him in silence for so long that you have to make another batch of cakes.

The ones in the oven are burned when you finally go to check on them. 

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[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

I will love you (I really love you)

My second fic for @painlandweek has been posted. You can read it below or here on AO3!

Prompt: love confessions

Word Count: approx. 5K

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Summary: Five times Charles tries to tell Edwin that he's in love with him and one time he succeeds.

***

Before

It might be the shock of being tossed nearly ten meters that does it. It might be that the mysterious statue they’re investigating is located in about as scenic a place as you can find: deep in the forest in the middle of nowhere, right next to a little lagoon with a waterfall. Or it might be those lexicographic spectacles that Edwin takes every opportunity to wear.

“Are you quite alright, Charles?” Edwin calls. 

Charles lies flat on his back, staring up at the blue sky filtering in through the trees and taking account of all his various limbs. “Yeah, I’m aces. Never better.”

“Excellent. I think we can assume this final rune is a protection sigil of some sort. It seems to prevent anyone from touching the statue.”

“Yeah, think I gathered that, mate.” Charles pushes himself up on his elbows to find that Edwin is still kneeling at the base of the statue, examining it as closely as he can without touching it, his spectacles slipping down his nose. Charles always thinks that the lexicographic spectacles look like something a somewhat dorky James Bond would wear. They make Edwin’s green eyes look enormous.

Edwin looks up at him and smiles, looking as pleased as he always does when he’s cracked open the latest clue. “I think I know what’s been troubling our client.”

It might be the shock. It might be the lagoon. It might be the way Edwin’s eyes look framed by those spectacles or the satisfied smile he’s wearing.

Whatever it is, it feels like a hundred protection sigils slamming into him when Charles realizes that he’s head over tits in love with Edwin Payne.

***

“Niko,” Charles says the next day, sitting at Niko and Crystal’s kitchen table. Edwin is back at the office, working on their latest report for the Night Nurse. She made the mistake of calling their last report “half-assed” so Edwin is exacting his revenge by reporting every detail of their latest case, down to the interesting beetle they found crawling on the enchanted statue. He’ll be hours yet. “You’re good at this romance stuff, aren’t you?”

Niko puts down her mug of tea and smiles knowingly. “The only kind of anime I watch more than detective stories are romances.”

“Right,” Charles says. “Because I think I might be a bit rubbish at romance.”

Leaning against the counter, Crystal makes a sound that’s a bit too noncommittal. He could tell her that she’s also pretty rubbish at romance, which is why they decided months ago that they really should stick with being friends, but he’s on a mission that doesn’t involve arguing with Crystal today.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Niko says loyally. “Why do you think you’re rubbish?”

“Because it took me over three decades to figure out I’m in love with Edwin.”

He expects this to be a momentous announcement. His world seems like it’s been turned entirely upside down in the hours since he realized. Except, neither Niko nor Crystal look particularly shocked. Crystal lets out a long, exasperated breath while Niko beams at him.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” Niko claps her hands together.

“Waiting for this?” Bemused, Charles looks between Niko and Crystal.

“Nope.” Crystal shakes her head. “I am not getting involved in this.”

He bristles. “What? You don’t approve?”

That earns him an eye roll that he probably deserves. “No, but it feels super weird to talk about two of my best friends hooking up, especially when I used to make out with one of them on a regular basis.”

“We’re not just going to hook up. I love him.”

Niko makes a noise like he just made some kind of romantic speech at the end of a movie, complete with swelling music.

“Still not getting involved,” Crystal says.

Before Charles can protest, Niko reaches across the table and grabs his hand. “Tell us everything.”

So he tells them all about his realization at the statue. He thinks it makes for an anticlimactic story, but Niko seems delighted.

“And what did he say when you told him?” she asks.

“Er.” Charles scrubs a hand through his hair.

Crystal arches an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told him yet.”

“Wasn’t the right time. We were on a case and you know how Edwin gets about distractions.”

She mutters something to herself. He can’t hear the words, but he guesses they aren’t complimentary.

“Oi, thought you weren’t getting involved.” He glares at her.

“I don’t need to be involved to judge you.”

Niko interrupts his retort. “You’re going to tell him, right?”

“Of course I am,” Charles says, like the thought doesn’t terrify him a little. “Just need to find the right time, yeah?”

Niko nods seriously. “He did tell you he loved you on the steps out of Hell. That’s pretty dramatic. I guess it will be hard to top that.”

“He told you that?” Charles is appalled. “Both of you?”

“Of course he told us,” Crystal deadpans. “He and Niko spent half the flight from Seattle to London dissecting the whole thing.”

Ah. Charles had spent most of that flight hanging out on the wing of the plane. There were some perks to being dead. “Well, I’m not going to go back to Hell just so I can tell Edwin I love him, so I’ll figure something else out.”

“Skywriting,” Niko says. “No, find him a really old book and write something romantic inside. Or maybe a series of love letters, each with a clue to find the next one. Edwin would love that. Oooh, or you could find a fairy ring and—”

Charles holds out a hand to stop her. “Mate, hate to break it to you, but I’d rather go back to Hell than deal with fairies.”

“Or you could just tell him,” Crystal says. “You’re practically an old married couple anyway. May as well make it official.”

“That’s why it needs to be super romantic.” Niko looks a bit starry-eyed. “You guys have been building up to this for, like, forever.”

“Right,” Charles says slowly. “Romantic. I can do romantic.”

***

1

The very spot where Charles first realized that he was madly in love with Edwin Payne seems the natural place to  confess his feelings. Luckily, they have reason to revisit the statue by the lagoon, so Edwin can break the enchantment that’s been plaguing their client. It’s not often their cases bring them somewhere with a waterfall; Charles knows he should take advantage of the romantic scenery while he can.

He stands by and watches Edwin work, admiring the way his graceful hands move as he carves a circle of runes around the statue. He’s always liked watching Edwin work, but it’s only now that he’s letting himself notice the fluid motion of his fingers and the way his mouth purses in concentration.

“Charles?”

Charles blinks. “Yeah, mate?”

He’s been so busy watching the hand holding the chalk that he totally missed that Edwin’s other hand is outstretched, clearly expecting Charles to deposit whatever he needs into his hand without any fuss, as Charles has been doing for years. Instead, Charles blinks at the outstretched hand, mind strangely blank. Edwin has a tiny freckle on the inside of his wrist, just peeking out from under the glove. Has it always been there?

“The Dictionary of Ancient Runes, Volume 18, if you please, Charles?” Edwin asks in the tone he uses when he’s trying very hard not to snap.

“Sure thing.” Charles fishes in his infinite backpack and produces the thick, navy blue volume, handing it over. 

Edwin examines one of the pages for a moment, then carefully draws the last few runes before snapping the book shut and straightening up. “There. Now we wait a quarter of an hour or so and if this doesn’t work, onto Plan B.”

“Right.” This is the part Charles has been waiting for. He throws a casual arm around Edwin’s shoulders, steering him to face the lagoon. “Pretty view, isn’t it?”

“The kind of view that makes me glad I don’t have corporeal flesh, or I’d be getting eaten alive by mosquitoes,” Edwin says dryly.

That’s what Charles adores about Edwin, his romantic spirit. He realizes he’s bouncing nervously on his toes and forces himself to still. “Remember Hell?” he blurts out, then winces. That wasn’t how he planned on starting this, by reminding Edwin of terror and pain. Fuck, he had a whole speech planned. He even rehearsed it with Niko.

Edwin turns to face him. One of his eyebrows has crept so high up on his forehead that Charles half-expects it to take flight. “I think I recall something of the sort.”

There’s nothing to do but plow on, hoping to salvage this. “What we talked about…”

“We talked about many things in Hell.” Abruptly, Edwin turns back to the lagoon.

Charles is starting to panic a little. He seems to be messing this up and he's not completely sure how. “Listen, Edwin—” He registers movement out of the corner of his eye and has already shoved Edwin out of the way when a stone arm swings right through the place where his friend was just standing. When he turns, he finds the statue standing next to its pedestal, its serene smile suddenly seeming much more menacing.

“Time for Plan B, Charles!” Edwin shouts, but Charles is already drawing his cricket bat.

By the time they’re done, the lagoon is filled with chunks of broken statue and the view doesn’t seem quite so romantic anymore.

***

2

It’s only natural that after the Case of the Statue with the Shit Bloody Timing, they have a series of tough cases, one of which involves ritual sacrifice, which always makes Edwin extra twitchy. Crystal also has a crisis with her parents, leaving her unavailable. After over three decades without a psychic, Edwin and Charles have gotten so used to having her around in the past months that her absence throws them off their game. Plus, something has put the Night Nurse in a foul mood—Niko is convinced that she’s pining for Jenny, but Charles has his doubts—so she’s riding their asses harder than usual.

All in all, it’s not a great time for Charles to be distracted, but he can’t help it. When he looks at Edwin, he can feel all the things he’s not saying like a physical weight on his tongue. He half-expects them to all come bursting out like the girl in The Exorcist and the split pea soup. It’s hard to focus on murder and magical mayhem, when Edwin Payne is existing in the same space as him, with his kissable mouth and his perfect hair that Charles desperately wants to see mussed up. And his high-waisted pants, which Charles has become more than a little obsessed with. Did Edwin always have a great ass? He feels like he should have noticed that earlier.

Still, Charles has time to work on his next plan. Since none of their cases take them to anywhere remotely scenic—unless you count the posh house where they end up fighting a vampire—he has to come up with something new. His chance finally presents itself on a quiet, rainy night where Crystal and Niko are off having a girl’s night with some friends from school and the Night Nurse is probably somewhere making kittens cry.

“Got you something, mate,” Charles says in as casual a tone as he can manage.

“Oh?” Edwin looks up from the thick, leather-bound tome about flesh-eating fungi he’s reading. “My birthday isn’t for months, Charles.”

“This is just because.” Feeling a little shy, Charles hands over the wrapped parcel. “Hope you like it.”

Still looking puzzled, Edwin unwraps the gift. When the paper falls away, revealing the book inside, he lets out a little gasp and looks up at Charles with wide eyes. “Where did you find this?”

“Had to do some digging, but I found it at some weird little bookshop across town.” Getting the bookseller to agree to sell it to him had been a challenge—the man had acted like Charles was about to carve out his firstborn’s still-beating heart—but Charles knows how to use his smile to his advantage.

“This has been out of print for nearly a century.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Years ago, Edwin lamented to Charles that he’d been greatly enjoying a detective serial in the last months of his life, only to return from Hell to find that not a single copy of the story seemed to remain and no one even seemed to remember its existence. Edwin never learned how it ended and it’s been bothering him for decades.

“Thank you, Charles.” Edwin’s voice is choked. “This is… very thoughtful.”

“Hope it has a happy ending, mate.”

Edwin smiles at him, eyes a little too bright. “Truly, I just want to know if my guess about who the killer is was right.”

“Sure it was. You’re a pretty crack detective.”

Edwin laughs and ducks his head. Squaring his shoulders, Charles takes a step closer. “Edwin, I…”

There’s a pop and the Night Nurse appears in the center of the office, holding a thick stack of papers and scowling at them. “Would anyone like to explain to me why the report on the Molly Mickelson case contains seven thousand words about the origins of the word ‘ectoplasm?’”

***

3

Their caseload continues to be jam packed and every time Charles tries to find a chance to tell Edwin he loves him, someone always seems to interrupt, whether it’s a client, the Night Nurse, Crystal, Niko, Jenny, the ghost postman, or even the bloody Cat King swinging by London to “just say hi.” Charles is about to put wards up on the office so no one can barge in for an hour or two, but he knows Edwin will decry that as bad for business.

Instead, he remembers Niko’s suggestion of a series of love letters. He doesn’t know if he has multiple love letters in him—he’s good with words, but not necessarily with putting them in writing—but he thinks he can manage at least one decent one. So while Edwin is spending an evening with Niko, Charles takes advantage of the empty office to try and put everything he feels into writing.

He spends hours pouring his heart out onto a sheet of paper, discarding countless drafts as not being good enough. He tells Edwin that he’s everything to him, that he feels so bloody lucky to get to spend the rest of eternity with him, that he’s pretty sure the tranquil eternity the Night Nurse is always nattering on about is right here, solving cases with his best mate for the rest of his existence. He tells him he loves him in every way he knows how until he’s filled up two whole sheets of paper with everything he’s feeling.

Just as he’s slipped the letter into an envelope and left it on the desk for Edwin to find, the door comes flying open and Niko comes racing in, Edwin at her heels. Charles knows the minute he sees their wide-eyed, terrified expressions that something is terribly wrong.

“Hellhound!” Edwin gasps out.

“What?” Charles grabs his cricket bat from where it’s leaning against the wall. “I thought you went to the movies. How the hell did you run into a—”

But there’s no time to find out the details, because then a flaming hound with burning red eyes and razor sharp teeth bursts into the office, its attention focused on Edwin, and there’s too much screaming and fire to have a proper conversation. When they finally send the beastie back to Hell where it belongs, half the office is burnt to a crisp and the other half is in disarray, but all three of them are unharmed.

Charles stares at the desk, which sports a giant scorch mark right down the middle. Most of the papers on it were burnt to ash. All that’s left of his letter to Edwin is a single corner. He picks it up and pockets it before Edwin can see, even though there’s nothing obviously romantic about the bit that’s left.

“It’s alright,” Edwin says, following Charles’s gaze. “Nothing I was working on was of great value. And I’ve been thinking we need a larger desk anyway, now that we have more members of the agency.”

Charles nods jerkily, feeling like the scrap of paper in his pocket is an iron weight. “Aces. No harm done, then.”

***

4

Of course, the hellhound isn’t the end. It turns out that the last demon that owned Edwin’s soul—whatever being controlled that hideous doll-headed spider—has sold his soul to another demon and this new bloke wants to collect. The Night Nurse is doing everything she can on the bureaucratic side to sort things out, but in the meantime, Charles and Edwin have to dodge a line of bounty hunters and other beasts sent to drag Edwin back to Hell.

But Charles keeps Edwin safe, like he’s been keeping him safe for over three decades, until something is able to get past his defenses.

“Just a little farther.” Charles holds Edwin tighter against him, like he can physically block him from the pain of the iron shackles that are still locked around his wrists. There wasn’t time to pick the locks; they just had to run. “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s quite alright, Charles. I’ve had worse.” But Edwin is shivering, back in the nightclothes he died in, a sure sign that he’s deeply shaken. They’re lucky that the bounty hunter who caught him didn’t bring him straight back to Hell, that he wanted to play with his food first. Charles doesn’t feel very lucky right now.

He turns them down a narrow street, trying to keep their movements erratic. He doesn’t know if the bounty hunter knows where their office is and he doesn’t want to lead him to it.

“Talk to me, please,” Edwin says weakly.

“About what?” Charles checks behind them, but doesn’t see any figures following them.

“About anything. Distract me.”

Charles glances down at the iron cuffs around Edwin’s wrists, which are smoking slightly. His hands are shaking. Charles knows that Edwin has had worse injuries than an iron burn, but knowing that he’s suffering because Charles wasn’t quick enough to protect him lodges something sour in his throat.

“Do you remember that case with the poltergeist in the hotel a few years back?” Charles asks.

“Of course.” Edwin’s grimace starts to look more like a smile. “You do love a chance to go undercover.”

“Hey, it was the poshest hotel I’d ever been in. Had to take advantage, didn’t I?” Donning their disguises and going undercover as a married couple had been Edwin’s idea, but Charles had thrown himself into it with gusto. In retrospect, he wonders if he was already in love with Edwin, with the way he took every opportunity to hold his friend’s hand and call him “love.”

“Yes, well.” Edwin ducks his head. “The poltergeist has moved on to her afterlife, so it was a job well done.”

“We should go back sometime,” Charles says. “As us, I mean. No disguises this time.”

Edwin gives him a strange look. “And why would we do that?”

“Because it was a nice hotel, mate. Good to get out of the city once in a while, yeah?”

“I suppose so.” There’s a faint flush on Edwin’s cheeks and Charles wonders if he’s remembering pretending to canoodle in the lobby or holding hands as they walked through the gardens. He wonders if Edwin was in love with him back then, or if he didn’t realize until Port Townsend. Charles hasn’t asked.

“Here.” Charles stops behind a dumpster. “Let me get these things off you, then we can find a mirror, yeah?”

Edwin nods and Charles retrieves his lockpicking kit before he starts to work on the iron cuffs. As the cuffs fall to the ground, he looks up and finds Edwin watching him, cheeks still flushed. An overflowing dumpster in a seedy alleyway is hardly the kind of romantic place Charles has been imagining to have this conversation, but he could have lost Edwin tonight. If Edwin had gone back to Hell never knowing how loved he is, Charles never would have forgiven himself.

He rubs his thumbs over the iron burns on Edwin’s wrists. “That was one of my favorite cases we’ve ever worked.”

“Yes, Charles, it was a lovely hotel, even if we could not enjoy the complimentary chocolates.”

“No, mate.” Charles entwines his fingers with Edwin’s, squeezing gently. “Because I got to spend that weekend with you.”

Edwin’s brow furrows adorably. “We’ve spent thirty-five years in one another’s company, Charles.”

“Not like that. Edwin, I—”

With a screech of metal, the dumpster goes sliding across the alleyway, slamming into the wall, and Charles spins around to greet the demonic bounty hunter with his cricket bat.

***

5

It turns out that Charles doesn’t much like being the damsel in distress.

Being taken captive by the bounty hunter is one thing. Being held hostage so Edwin will turn himself over is another. The worst part isn’t even the iron shackles or listening to the demon blather on about earning some respect in Hell. The worst part is knowing that Edwin is going to turn himself over, because Charles would do the same without hesitation if their positions were reversed.

What Charles does enjoy more than he ever thought he would is Edwin striding towards him with a sword in hand, splattered in blood that isn’t his, while the bounty hunter’s headless corpse lies on the ground behind them. Edwin’s fighting form is still shit and there’s no way he would have stood a chance if he hadn’t had the element of surprise—the bounty hunter was clearly expecting the trembling virgin sacrifice and not the competent detective with decades of experience—but  Charles isn’t about to tell him that. Not yet, at least.

“That was brills, mate.” Charles can tell that he’s wearing a dopey grin, but he can’t stop himself. Edwin looks like a fairytale knight, if fairytale knights wore slightly crooked bow ties and tweed jackets.

With a disgusted noise, Edwin picks at the front of his jacket. “Thank you, Charles, but I will be leaving that to you in the future. Being the brains involves significantly less… viscera.”

“Oh, no, you’re not getting out of this. Now that I know you know how to use a sword—” Charles breaks off, frowning. “Wait, where did you get that? I thought it was in my bag.”

“It was.” Edwin bends to clumsily pick the locks on Edwin’s shackles. “I had a bit of a chat with your bag of tricks. It seems to be somewhat sentient, because when I told it that if it ripped off my arm, you might be lost forever, it gave me the sword without fuss.”

Charles’s grin widens. “See, mate? Told you that you could figure it out with a little practice.”

Edwin rolls his eyes up at the ceiling. “I got lucky. I’ll leave the magical voids to you in the future.”

“Don’t do that.” Hands freed, Charles reaches up to cup Edwin’s face in his hands. “You’re bloody brilliant, Edwin. You just saved my neck. I was going to go out of my mind if I had to keep listening to that twat blathering on.”

“Truly, I have saved you from a dreadful fate.” For an instant, Charles thinks that Edwin’s gaze drifts down to his lips before snapping back up to meet his eyes. He wonders if he should lean up to kiss Edwin, or if he should wait until Edwin isn’t covered in blood.

“Edwin,” Charles breathes. “I just need you to know, I—”

“Edwin? Charles?” The door bursts open and Crystal and Niko come racing in. Charles sees them register the bounty hunter’s body on the ground, then Charles and Edwin standing together, unharmed. Niko smiles with relief, but Crystal just looks pissed.

“How did you get in here?” Edwin demands. “I locked the door behind me.”

“Yeah, you did, and you are so lucky you’re already dead, or I would kill you.” Crystal’s words are belied by the fact that she crosses the room to pull Edwin into a hug. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that it was far too dangerous for the two of you to be involved in a confrontation with a demon. As I explained at length.”

“And as I explained at length—”

While they bicker, Niko pulls Charles to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.” Charles pulls her into a hug with one arm, then scoops both Edwin and Crystal up with the other arm. Both make noises like angry cats, but come willingly, allowing themselves to be manhandled into a group hug. Charles rests his head against Edwin’s shoulder, Niko and Crystal tucked between them, and closes his eyes. Right now, he can’t even be upset about the interruption.

***

+1

“So that’s that, then,” Charles says later, safely back in their office, their iron burns healed, Niko and Crystal seen back to their flat, and the Night Nurse off doing whatever she does in her spare time.

“It appears to be.” Edwin is busy organizing their new desk. “If the Night Nurse has gotten things with Hell sorted out, I can’t imagine we’ll have to deal with any more bounty hunters. Why take a bounty with no reward?”

Charles makes a skeptical noise. The Night Nurse and Edwin both seem satisfied with the demon’s word that he won’t make any more plays for Edwin, but Charles will be keeping an eye out for the foreseeable future. He’ll be damned if he lets another denizen of Hell lay hands on his best mate. Bad enough that it’s happened twice in a year under his watch.

Edwin must know what he’s thinking, because he looks up with a small smile. “I’m fine, Charles.”

“Nearly weren’t.”

“But you saved me.”

“And then you saved me.”

“Someone had to do it,” Edwin says softly and Charles can’t speak for a moment, overwhelmed by a swell of warmth.

Edwin turns away, face flushing. “Anyway, job officially jobbed, as you say. I think we should give it a day before taking on any more clients. I don’t know about you, but I could use some rest.”

“You want to take a break?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t take any iron to the head, did you?”

He can’t see Edwin’s face, but can feel his eye roll from across the room. “I simply have some reading to catch up on.” He picks up the book Charles gave him last week up off the desk.

The warm feeling in Charles’s chest grows. “Still need to find out if you were right about the killer?”

“I can say with almost total certainty that I’m entirely right about the killer.” Edwin settles down on the couch with the book, thumbing it open.

Charles plops down on the other end of the couch. “Read to me out loud?”

Edwin looks up, surprised. “From the beginning?”

“Only if you want to.” Charles doesn’t give a damn about the story; he just likes listening to Edwin reading out loud, goofy voices and all.

“I’d be happy to.” Edwin flips back to the beginning and begins to read.

Letting Edwin’s familiar voice wash over him, Charles closes his eyes and leans back into the couch, letting his knee bump comfortably into Edwin’s thigh. He hardly listens to the words, just enjoys the moment. Their office is quiet and peaceful around them, the only sound besides Edwin’s voice the light tap of raindrops against the windowsill. Edwin is safe and they’re home.

Opening his eyes, he watches Edwin, who sits in his shirtsleeves, lips curled into a little smile as he reads out a particularly silly line of dialogue. He glances over to see Charles’s reaction and Charles grins at him, feeling so in love with him that he thinks he might burst with it.

There’s no scenic view or trail of love letters. There’s no great, dramatic moment. There’s just Charles, Edwin, and the home they’ve built together over the past thirty-plus years.

Something in his expression causes Edwin’s voice to falter, a tiny furrow forming between his eyes. “Not enjoying it?”

“No, it’s aces,” Charles says softly. “I just love you.”

Edwin huffs out a tiny breath and turns back to the book. “I love you too.”

“No, I really love you.” And in case he doesn’t get it, Charles adds, “I’m in love with you, mate.”

Edwin blinks once, then twice, getting the look on his face that he does when he's working on a particularly difficult puzzle. For a moment, Charles wonders if maybe he missed his chance. Maybe Edwin fell out of love with him months ago and all this waiting for the perfect time has been for nothing. Maybe the perfect time was months ago on the staircase out of Hell. Maybe the perfect time was over thirty years ago and he just didn't see it until it was too late.

And then Edwin turns to him, putting the book aside, a slow, almost shy smile spreading across his face. "I love you too," he says again, his voice wavering a little with emotion, and Charles knows with complete certainty that in his many, many years of existence, no moment has been as perfect as this.

***

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or comments on AO3.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter six

you know you never stood a chance series

six: hold me like a grudge

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.6k

Summary: After a tense situation, you reunite with Ellie and Joel.

Warnings: dub-con due to power imbalance, free use, sex as payment, vaginal sex, cum eating, Joel is mean/bad with feelings, this is not canon compliant, no use of y/n, degradation, canon-typical violence and danger, description of injury, spanking, pussy spanking, rough oral (m receiving)

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When the grass outside rustles underfoot, you flinch. You’ve been there for a while, long enough that the adrenaline started to seep out and leave you shaking in its wake.

The only reason you don’t shoot when you see a shadow is that Ellie takes the risk of speaking first.

“Hey, is that you?”

It’s so quiet, so careful. A sick part of you wants to stay silent, to hope they leave. But you’re forced to reckon with Joel’s evaluation of you: you’d never survive out here on your own. Probably wouldn’t even make it back to Boston, and then what? Get shot by FEDRA trying to get back in?

“Ellie?” you whisper back.

“Hey, Joel!” Ellie starts to yell, stopping when you shush her loudly from the garage.

You move, stepping closer to the frame where you can see her before moving into the light. She throws her arms around you, and you freeze, holding the gun pointed to the grass, too afraid to move.

“I know he’s an asshole, but don’t do that again,” she scolds, brow furrowed.

You’re thrown off guard but feel a rush of affection for the girl. “Sorry,” you say.

Joel comes out of the house from the back door and glowers at the two of you. “Inside,” he barks.

You follow behind Ellie as she rolls her eyes and prattles on about a large stick and what he should do with it.

He shuts the door behind you, clearly having scoped out the whole house before Ellie found you. He turns to her. “Upstairs.”

“What?”

“Upstairs, now,” he snarls.

She goes to protest but catches your eye.

“Please,” you say. You don’t want her to witness whatever he’s about to say to you.

When she’s gone, he rounds on you. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

You stare at the floor, lips twisted as you fight the urge to lash out.

He lifts your chin with his hand. “Huh? You listening to me?” He huffs out a laugh. “Clearly not, or we wouldn’t be here right now. We got one fuckin’ rule, do you remember?”

When you still don’t answer, he shakes your chin a little, jostling your jaw and drawing your glare to him.

“Well?” he says.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Do as I’m fuckin’ told,” you mimic his drawl, poorly.

This wasn’t your first time out. After that night, when he fought with Tess, he dragged you with them on a supply run. It was fairly standard shit. Before you left the QZ, he had armed you—for appearances only, he reiterated, don’t touch those unless you’re gonna be ready to use them—and then told you the rule.

And you listened. Same shit, different place. He said drop, you’d drop. He said run, you’d run. Mostly, you just kept a nice resting bitch face in place so their contacts wouldn’t know you were an easy target.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he says, still holding your face in place. He tugs the revolver from your other hand, not that you resist, and shoves it in his waistband.

“Just leave me here.”

“Shut up.”

“You asked me a question.”

“Yeah, and I expected a real answer, not a stupid one.”

You move to kneel, but he grabs you.

“Not a bad idea, sweetheart, but you gotta watch that ankle.”

The thought gives him pause, and you watch apprehensively as he considers things.

“We’re staying here today. You’re gonna rest that fuckin’ ankle, and we’ll get back on the road in the morning.”

Ellie is thrilled to discover you’ll be taking the day off in a place with real beds. She finds some old sudoku books and pencils and hangs out in “her” room.

True to his word, Joel makes you stay in bed all day. Your foot is propped up on a stack of pillows. You sulk, but he brings you a couple of books to choose from, a bottle of water, and some cold soup, just like getting sick back in the old days.

Actually, it’s a little too much like the old days. It makes you want to run. Instead, you let the historical nonfiction novels lull you in and out of a hazy sleep.

He comes to get you after nightfall. Ellie’s sound asleep, and he brings you into the room he had staked claim to.

“You ready to say sorry?”

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you mumble.

“What were you thinking?” He asks again. He’s softened since this morning, to your great relief.

“I’m tired of being your burden.”

“Is this ‘cause I don’t get to fuck you?”

“No. I mean, sort of. It’s bad enough that I can’t pay you out here. But then to be a risk, to create more trouble than just being a mouth to feed…”

He’s quiet for a minute. “Lay down on your back. Head over here,” he gestures to the end of the mattress.

The abrupt change is exhausting, but you do as you’re told. Once you’re lying there, head draped off the edge of the bed, he reaches down and takes his cock out. He has to bend his knees a little, being just tall enough over average to not quite fit together, but he slides into your mouth.

It’s so easy this way for him to press right into your throat.

You try to pour out your excess emotions, the residual fear, the relief, everything by finding purpose through his dick, but he pulls out when you try to get a hold of him.

“Not this time, sweetheart. You want me to take what ya owe me? Fine. I’m gonna use your throat as a fuckin cocksleeve.”

The words shouldn’t please you, but they do. The catharsis of the relief, the elation at being useful, and his touch all send you trembling.

“You better not cum,” he warns. “Not until I’m fillin’ ya up.”

You want to argue that he’s already filling you up, but a) he’s absolutely not in the mood, and b) well, he’s filling you up, so you can’t really speak.

Instead, you do the only thing you really can do. You lay there and take it. He lets you curl your hands around his thighs, holding on so you don’t go scooting up the mattress during the more aggressive thrusts. It lets you stabilize your head and tilt to an angle that grants just a little more air.

It’s rough in a way he hasn’t been before, which is saying something, but it’s also transcendental. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you’re in the fucking clouds. You’ve never felt so light, so peaceful.

He pulls out abruptly, fingers squeezing the base of his cock as he pants. It’s still so close to you, so you use his legs to push upward and try to get it back in your mouth.

He swats at your cunt. “Quit it.”

You moan, the pain turning quickly into a tingle that spreads across your lips and clit. It worked, though, and you back off, now dangling half off the bed, only supported by your palms against the thick trunks of his thighs.

He scoops you up, an arm under each of yours, and pushes you back up on the mattress. “Hands ‘n knees,” he says.

You’re still feeling a little weird, so when you’ve gotten into position, you drag a pillow over and nuzzle your face down into it, arms threaded under it to hold it against you.

“You’re all cockdumb now, huh?” His hand traces over your lower back. You moan, a quiet, rumbly thing, and press back toward him.

He smacks your ass. “Hold still, pretty girl. Let me open you up.”

You don’t do more than drool and moan as he works his fingers into you, stretching you to ease his passage. His other hand stays on your lower back like a brand, an anchor. When he pulls his fingers out, he licks them clean before guiding his cock to where you’re dripping and aching for him.

He pushes in slowly, and you arch your back under his broad palm. He pushes you back down against the bed, hand settling between your shoulder blades and another wrapped in your hair.

“Stupid girl,” he grumbles. “Foolish little brat.”

Tears well up. It’s so much. Everywhere he touches you is past ignition, already licked clean by his flame, ash smoldering in the wake.

“Quiet,” he hisses, and you realize the soft little sounds permeating your dream were your moans and gasps. You bite your lip hard, face screwing up at the pain, but it works.

He doesn’t like that, though. He lets go of your hair and sighs, pulling out just to roll you onto your back before plunging back in and picking up the pace to take you apart. He pushes his thumb into your mouth, groaning as your teeth sink into the dry and calloused flesh, tethering you to the earth.

The sound of his hips slapping against you should be a bigger concern, but that would mean stopping or slowing down, and he doesn’t see that as an option. Instead, he watches as your blank eyes blink up at him, wet and wide, and your lips wrapped around his thumb.

“Christ. You really just need your holes filled, and suddenly, ya know how to be good. Fuckin’ slut.”

“Your fault,” you choke out, the words slammed out of you by his aggressive pounding. “Wasn’t—b-before.”

You wish you hadn’t said anything when he laughs again, dark and pleased with himself.

“Yeah, you’re right. Only a fuckin’ whore for me now, huh?”

Finally, finally, he touches you when he’s getting close, tugging the thumb from your mouth to rub the wet pad of it against your clit.

“You ready, sweetheart? Gonna cum on my cock, make me feel good?”

You whimper, nodding. “Yes, Joel, please.”

He works you to it until you break down, clenching around him so tight. He has to make himself pull out, his sex-addled brain screaming for him to bury himself deep in you. Instead, he covers your stomach.

You’re shaking through the aftershocks of your orgasm, and he rubs at your clit until you give him another one. It’s easy, you fall right apart, and then you’re practically limp, breasts heaving with the effort to breathe steadily.

He swipes a finger through his mess and brings it up to your mouth. You suck it clean, and he does it again until he’s fed you most of it. You take it each time, sucking and licking his finger, and watching him with wide eyes.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet like this. Why can’t you just listen this good all the time?” It’s said softly, fondly, but it cuts you deep. He stands up, stretches, and leaves the room without another word.

You start to cry, burying your face in the pillow and holding your breath so he doesn’t hear. You’ve gotten good at this, over the decades, of choking down your weakness and swallowing it whole, letting it rip you up inside rather than out, so by the time he’s come back in the room, you’ve quieted.

You rub away any lingering tears with sleepy fists and a yawn.

“You think you can sleep with your ankle propped up?” he says when he crosses the room.

You nod, one fist still over your left eye, which won’t stop stinging, and sling your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up.

He catches your shoulder. “You’re stayin’ right here. Lay down, and I’ll set it up.”

Slowly, you settle back onto the bed. He must really not want you to walk on it if he’s going to trade rooms. Maybe the injury was worse than you thought.

The rest of his cum has dried, leaving a tacky residue on your stomach. He doesn’t wipe it clean, though; he never does anymore. Not worth wasting the water over, you think.

That’s what he tells himself, too.

The gentle hands you remember from so long ago have returned, delicately arranging pillows under your leg. You twist your top half to thank him, only to find him pulling back the blanket to slide into bed beside you.

It’s fully dark, now, when he presses a kiss into your hair and settles on his back beside you. Even through both of your shirts, you can feel the warmth of him where your back presses to him. He doesn’t hold you, but the closeness is enough to let you drift off to sleep.

The sun breaks through the bedroom windows before the birdsong wakes you. Joel is already awake when you roll over. This time, he does sneak his arm beneath you, pulling you to his chest.

You can’t breathe, too afraid the movement will fully wake him up. He’s never, not once, given you this much of him. You idly wish he hadn’t, because how were you supposed to live without it now?

“This is a nice quilt,” he says, shattering the silence before you work yourself into a panic. “Shame we gotta leave it here.”

“You get the stuff, and I’ll make you one when we get back.” Your voice is muffled in his shirt, too tense to pull away and properly look at him.

“Didn’t know you could sew.”

“I’m a woman of many talents, Miller. Sucking cock, basic sewing, annoying the hell outta you…” Aw, fuck. End of list. Oh well.

He chuckles, and you hate the way you can never tell if he’s laughing at your joke or laughing at you.

You fall back into quiet again, and when you think he might have dozed back off, you relax a little, letting your head find a home in the hollow where his arm meets his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to his t-shirt.

“I know, sweetheart. Look, when we get home, if you want to leave, I won’t stop ya. But not out here. Not like this.”

“M’not leaving. I got a quilt to make, remember?”

He leans down and kisses the top of your head, resting that way for a moment with you drawn close.

Of course, the peace doesn’t last. Ellie bursts through the door, boundless energy as always, sending your already-racing heart into overdrive.

“—room is empty; what did you say to her? Couldn’t you just have been nice?”

Joel waits, staring at her blankly. You, however, have buried your face in his side. You’re both fully dressed, and there’s no evidence of anything, but you know she’s not stupid.

“Oh, ew, god, come on! What the fuck is wrong with you?” She’s backing out, pulling the door behind her, but her disgust carries down the hall.

Joel tilts your chin up with a curled finger. “At least we know she didn’t hear any of the other times I fucked ya.”

Your cheeks are on fire, and you can’t look him in the eye.

“It’s not like she walked in on us,” he teases.

“She’s never going to talk to us again,” you groan.

“She’ll get over it. If not, you can give her the talk.”

“Oh no. No, you can handle that.”

“Let’s let the Fireflies handle that,” he decides, scrubbing at his beard with one hand. He gets up, groaning. “Should make it to Bill’s today, even if we go slow.”

“Joel—”

“I know you’re not about to argue with me, right?”

Your mouth twists into a scowl, but you soften when you look up at him. The sun through the window is bathing him in yellow, and his brown eyes trip up your heart like they always do.

“No,” you say with a sigh. “I’ll follow you.”

He stops you before you leave the room, two fingers under your chin. “When we get to Bill’s, I’ll help you add another thing to that skillset of yours.”

“What?”

He hands you back the revolver you had stolen from the garage skeleton. “I’ll teach ya how to shoot.”

next chapter

*title from "Hold Me Like a Grudge" by Fall Out Boy

[yaut-jaknowit]

The Moon Will Shine On Us Again

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3512

Warning: slight gore, gun shots, blood, reader is injured.

Summary: There's a knock on your door. No one should be here, let alone at your door and wanting entrance. The mother and her knew born needed to be protected. You weren't going to let them be fed to the wolves. You grab your gun and face whoever is at your door. Deadly force is needed.

Author Note: From high demand. Glad you guys are loving it! Don't worry all! Here's the second part. I might also write a third part as well. Thank you for the support as well! Greatly appreciate it.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here)

This had quickly become a life or death situation. On the outskirts, you didn’t know why you were willing to stick your neck out. Someone wanted the mother, wanted her either dead or alive. They had tracked her through the forest of your property and all the way up your cabin. A place deep in the forest. Not somewhere a person would just stumble across.

In its bony cage, your heart pounded, on the verge of escaping and flopping around on the ground. To steel your nerves, you clenched your teeth together and tip-toed out of the room. The door was closed behind you, to seal away what evidence you could. Anything to give the mother more time to escape… if it came down to that.

What were you doing?! You barely know how to use a gun, let alone the one in your hand! And if those people were able to down a creature of her size and threatening nature, you shuttered. What would they do to you?

Here goes your life. You pushed off of the bedroom door and walked over to the door. Every creaky floorboard you knew in the place was missed in each step. You didn’t want them to know you were coming towards them, just in case; nor let them know someone was inside. Despite your truck parked out front, maybe they’ll believe either the creature killed you or you’re off on the property.

A few steps from the door, on the edge of the living, you stood with your loaded gun. The weapon shaking in your hand.

“Open the door!” a male voice demanded from the outside and pounded on the door. A lump instantly formed in your throat. “We know its in there.” Your eyes widen, breath catching. Everything changed at the man’s words. If they knew… they also knew someone, a person, was inside too, harboring her. You forcefully swallowed the lump and flicked off the safety. Then, you readied yourself for whatever action they take next.

A muffled of exchanged words came from two people. The door groaned and rattled from a powerful strike. You stumbled back, legs hitting a chair in the living room. Another bash against the door.

Unfortunately for you, the wood that made up the door was twice as old as you. It’s seen better days, been through horrid winters and soaking summer. The third hit caused the wood to splinter and give, leaving a mess on your once clean floors. You bristled and aimed the weapon in hand at the first figure you saw through the broken door. “Leave!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, voice, thankfully, not cracking from the force.

Yet, the weapon wasn’t true in its aim. The barrel twitching from the nerves controlling your hands. “Get the fuck off of my property!” You probably weren’t the most scariest thing on the block. Just a lone person who draws for most of their free time, holding a pistol but shaking too much.

Two people stood on your red porch, each holding a rifle of their own. Other weapons that you didn’t pay attention to adorn their body. One was wearing a ski mask of sorts, reasonable for the weather. Said man raised a brow and chuckle, shaking his head. “What are you going do? Shoot us?” he scoffed, brushing off the threat of you pointing a gun at them.

The other figure, dress similar but only had a cloth covering hi nose and below laughed with his partner. Then, they stopped at the same time, becoming stern. Ski mask guy took a step into the house, head scanning around. “Nice place you have here-“ his gaze fell back onto you “-shame if anything happened to it.” You swallowed thickly at the threat.

“Now, let’s stop this boring banter. Where is it? You give it up, you’ll get a fat paycheck to stay quiet, and you won’t get a bullet to the head. Fair deal?” the man with the neck gaiter offered, voice honeyed but uncaring. It felt like it didn’t matter the option, they’ll happily put you down.

Your chest start to hurt from how hard it pounded. Is this where you died? For an unknown creature who is a mother? What has your life become? You shook your head and steeled your grasp on the weapon. “Last warning: get out of my house!” you voice nearly wavered, about to show your true emotions. Though, you could bet a hundred dollars they already knew.

One of them snorted, the other shrugged his shoulders then raised his rifle. Before he had a chance, knowing they would kill you if you didn’t shoot first, you pulled the trigger. Despite being a pistol, you weren’t prepared for any knockback it gave. Your aim definitely wasn’t true.

That didn’t stop you. Both of them ducked down, not expecting you to fire first, but you didn’t stop. Bullets flew violently through the sky, possibly hitting their marks or not. In all honesty, you shot blindly at the two.

Once the ringing in your ears stopped and the trigger just clicked, empty, you dropped your arms. Each man was collapsed on the ground. One had a large pool of blood around him, body lifeless on the stained wood floor. His other partner was shakily breathing, gasping for air.

The pistol was promptly dropped. Your hands covered your mouth as you stumbled away from the murder scene you had created. Sobs raked your fragile body. What had you just done?! Your back met some soft. The couch. You rested heavily against, blankly staring at the two men on the floor. Blood. From bullet hole you caused from shooting them, killing them. You… oh my god.

Tears poured down your face. You couldn’t believe what you had just did to two people. Yeah… they weren’t nice people, they wanted to hurt a mother… whatever she is. They had hurt her already. And they wanted to hurt you, kill you. Silence you about this situation.

Why?

The question of the year: why?

In the haze of you distraught, you held onto what sanity you had left. Your body was shaking worse than leaf in the aftermath. Either from the adrenaline… or something else.

As the powerful chemical waned, you hissed at the pain in your thigh and glanced down. A dark patch stained your pants. Blood. Your legs nearly gave out at the sight. They shot you! “Fuck!” you cursed and clutched onto the couch tighter. Your thoughts were far too wild to comprehend. What do you even do?! You sobbed harder, on the verge of a total breakdown.

Through the fog and craziness of your thoughts that drowned out nearly everything, you heard the tall tale sign of the floorboards. You spun around, ready to face your attacker. But it was just the humanoid creature. She moved softly, not as if she was scared, but mindful of her steps and movements. Or like she knew what she was doing.

All you could do was watch as she, without the green, sticky blob, stepped up to your trembling form. Her piercing, purple gaze scanned over you, from head to toe. From there, she stops on the blood coming from your thigh. The wound hurting worse over time. The mother peered past you and observed the scene behind you.

She must have deemed it safe and turned her gaze on you. As the seconds ticked by, you couldn’t handle the weight on your injured leg. The couch became your crutch. A motion she easily notice.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, easily engulfing the limb, nothing more than her holding a stick. The mother tugged you towards her before dragging you along, back towards the bedroom. Unable to think straight, you aimlessly let her take you back to the room and had you sat down on the bed. The bed, a usual comfort, did nothing to sooth you.

You began to curl up, closing yourself off, legs drawing up to your chest despite the pain. Your hands gripped at your hair and tugged on the strands. “I killed someone… I killed,” you murmured to no one in particular.

“Oh my god!” Your head whipped up and found the mother’s eyes on you. “I killed them! I-I… what have I done!” Then, you tried to get off of the bed and pace. But a sturdy hand held you back down. She grunted and squeezed your shoulder. ‘Stay.’ How could you stay?! You fought against her.

“No! No-no-no-no-no! I killed them. They’re dead. I shot them. Oh my god, oh my god.” The grip tightened but you brushed off the touch mentally. Everything in your body itched to be on your feet, moving, pacing, doing something. You had to do something. You killed people! How could you?!

A short snarl barely caught your attention long enough to shatter your world. “Quiet!” a deep, guttural voice demanded silence. Your lips sealed shut. She just spoke. This humanoid figure that wasn’t from here… spoke.

Pain raged in your leg, the first thing you noticed. You gasped and sat up too quickly. Stars danced along your vision, everything disoriented now. A groan sounded low in your throat as you tried to figure out what was what. Yet, the throbbing in your leg made it hard to think. Why was it… You gazed at your exposed legs and the white bandage snuggly secured on your thigh.

Okay, why are you not wearing pants? Why is there gauze on-you killed two people! You gasped harshly enough to make you start to cough.

A glass of water was passed to you. You mumbled your thanks and sipped from the cup. Wait! Your head snapped to gaze at the green figure standing next to you. She towered over you. More than usual. You were on the bed. You groaned and clutch at your head as all this information was far too overwhelming. That didn’t stop you from downing the water, body dehydrated.

You take a chance to glance up at the mother. In her arm was cradling the little child she had birthed earlier. Its cries have been soothed, possibly sleeping after such a harrowing event for itself today. Honestly, you were shocked she hadn’t slept after birth. From what you’ve heard, it takes a lot out of you. Makes sense when you bring new life into the world.

Nervously, you scratched the back of your neck. “Thanks… for the water,” you spoke your gratitude, knowing she wouldn’t respond. It hit you right then and there. You had no pants on, nothing! Even as it pulled at your aching leg, you snatched a blanket and covered your exposed bits to her. Thankfully, she decided to leave alone your underwear.

Everything started to come back to you in small bits before the puzzle was put back together. The two men killed by you; the bullet hole in your leg, the fact she spoke. She spoke!

The mother dipped her head minutely. “You are welcome,” she said in a low voice with a lot of timbre. It sounded like she struggled to get the words out. A person who didn’t have the vocal cords to speak the language. A short thought of what her language sounded like came mind, but you brushed it off.

Despite already hearing her speak before, your brain short circuited again. It took you a moment to shake off the shock and look the mother in the eye. “Y-you speak?” Instantly, you cringed. That sounded horrible. “Sorry,” was your next word to save your hide from her. All she did was raised the one brow with five gems studded into her skin.

“I do speak. Learning ooman is not a rarity.” The more she spoke, the more you learned her different speech pattern. It was more formal, slow and a little unclear, but like a queen talking with her subjects. Who or what was she?

But ‘ooman’? That didn’t slip past your attention. It dawned you on. Human. Strange way of saying it but you weren’t going to bring that up.

The child in her arms gave a tiny squeak and lightly shivered in her hold. Before you realized what you were doing, you were offering the nearest blanket to the mother. Said cloth had been covering your exposed legs. She looked at the fabric for a moment before taking it. Carefully but skillfully, she wrapped her newborn in the blanket and kept the child cradled close.

While she did that, you used another blanket to cover up your legs. Once the three of you were settled, you stared at one another. For what reason, you couldn’t figure out. But, deep down, you were intrigued, despite all that has happened.

What now? What happens now? You killed two people. What made the guilt inside of you twist like a rusted blade was the idea of how to get rid of the evidence. How to make it look like these men never came here, never came after her? With all the bullet holes and blood probably stain not only your wood floors but the carpet too… what are you going to do?

A might palm captured your shoulder and gave your torso a shake. “I give you gratitude, ooman. You are unlike the rest of your race.” Past experience hung heavy in her words. A chapter that didn’t need to be opened. Not now. Her hand slipped off of your shoulder.

Her words made you think. Race. That solidified the idea she wasn’t human, not at all. “What… are you?” you muttered and bowed your head. You desperately hoped your words wouldn’t offend her in anyway. A chaste chitter that reminded you of a laugh sounded from her. You took that as a good sigh and raised your head.

“I was waiting for that… question.” She paused there and slowly blinked, eyes looking down at you. She was thinking of something in her mind then relaxed slightly. You saw the slight twitch when the move pulled at her own wounds. “I cannot say much but you did protect me and my suckling. You have earned my respect. I am a Yautja. An alien.”

For some reason, your heart swelled at the knowledge of knowing you had her respect. To know that a dangerous looking alien-alien! Oh my god! An alien! You, what… Your jaw dropped but not a sound came from you. This meant, aliens were real. Completely real. And you had just helped one not only give birth but protected them. You covered your mouth and tried to reel in this new information. An earthshattering discovery.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a deep, stuttering breath. “W-what’s your name?” She tilts her head, a little to the side, to look down at you with an inspecting eye. Said gaze flickered to the bundle in her arms. Her expression softened at the sight then she looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I am called Gawtin.” You hummed thoughtfully and lightly bobbed your head. To be polite, you returned the gesture which she acted indifferently. Not that it bothered you.

Silence engulfed the two of you. Yet, the throbbing in your leg didn’t wane. It burned. You worried at your bottom lip until blood spilt. She huffed, like she could taste the blood in the air… Wait, could she? She was alien. Her physical make-up could be completely different. You just shook your head side to side and rid of those thoughts.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

Your gaze looked back up at the massive… Yautja, Gawtin before you. “What happens now?” It was a necessary question that needed to be answered or some closure. Look at where you were! Two dead people in your cabin in the middle of nowhere with an alien and her baby. There was a bullet hole in your thigh as well, an injured gained from defending not only your property but the mother.

She took a moment to carefully plan her next words. “Endless possibilities. Due to the honor code, I am bound to you until my debt is paid, but I must return to my home world with my child. I must gather all of my armor and weapons stolen from me by your ooman government.”

This was a lot of information that made your brain fuzzy to think of all the possibilities. Honor code? Home world? Retrieving her items? Your government? What does this all mean?!

“You are not safe here. You will come with me. Your ooman government will send more. I cannot allow you to get… injured-“

“What are you saying?” you interrupted her without meaning any harm. All you needed was a dumbed down version.

The Yautja gaze a shortened growl. Your lips tightened against one another. Lesson learned. “You will come with me. I must protect you until the debt is paid,” she stated gruffly, as if it a chore to keep you alive. She had mentioned an honor code, meaning she has to follow rules. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t chosen to just kill you and be on her way.

Your brows furrowed. “Go with you? But why?” you sputtered and tried to turn onto your knees and face her. But the wound on your thigh wouldn’t allow you. Shit. You weren’t in good shape.

Gawtin leaned down to get close to your face, making sure her point finally struck you. “Your society frowns upon murder, does it not? Those two s’yuit-de are dead because of you.” Your face paled at her efficient words.

Prison. Murder. She was completely right. No matter how you spun it. You had killed two people. All the evidence would show you as murderer then sent straight to prison, locked up for life.

Now, you had two choices: prison or Gawtin. Prison was a lifetime of four concrete walls and survival. Gawtin… she was an unknown but couldn’t hurt you. Wouldn’t? She couldn’t due to her ‘honor code’ but what about wouldn’t. If the debt was paid, would she slaughter you where you stood. Was that better than prison?

As you gazed upon the muscular alien who waited for you to speak next, the choice was obvious. Timidly, you nodded your head. Gawtin scoffed. “Glad you agreed willingly. I am not above dragging you though.” Just something freely she stated, as if it was normal.

She stood back up to her full height, reminding you on how big was compared to your smaller form. “Gather what you deem necessary. We need to move,” she spoke and left the bedside to exit through the door. A door she had to lean down to get through.

You listened to her words and slide off of the bed. Pain shot up your leg and almost sent you to your knees but locked a knee helped. Through the aching, you limped around the room and place clothes in a small duffle bag.

At the entrance of the bedroom door, you stopped. Off to the left was your sketchbook and pencil. An item you couldn’t leave behind. It too was placed into the duffle bag. Now, you were prepared for wherever the mother was going to take you. You walked out of the room but paused at the overwhelming smell and sight slapped you right in the face.

It took every ounce and more of your being not to bend over and puke out what was in your stomach. She, Gawtin nonchalantly stepped over the bodies and left through the front door. To save yourself the trouble, you spun on your heel and escaped through the back entrance. Anything not to come close to the… mess you created.

At the front, Gawtin waited with her child still wrapped in the blankets from before. A chill was powering over the forest air as the sun was already falling again. Damn the mountains and winter. Thankfully, a jacket was wrapped around your torso to fend off the chill.

The alien looked down at you, eyes scanning over your body before giving a minute dip of her massive head. “We shall head towards the base. I must gather my supplies back before we find my ship and leave this c’jit planet,” she snarled towards the end. You couldn’t help but feel hurt and a need to defend your planet. But with one look at her stopped you.

All you could do was nod. Even though many questions were stuck to the tip of you tongue, never leaving, never asked. In good time, they’ll be answered. With the way she spoke, like it was complete fact and part of her fate, you weren’t going to argue with that.

One last look down at you, she turned and began the trek. Her strides long, powerful. Every one was nearly three for your own. With the pain in your leg, you didn’t how long you were going to last. This was your choice to live with now.

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Epilogue

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13k

(CW: SMUT 18+, face sitting, cunnilingus, overstimulation, blow jobs, fingering, unprotected p in v, some cute role playing, Astarion really likes the sound of his own voice)

Summary:

You feel Astarion’s hand move, his thumb running along the length of your palm up to brush against the ring on his finger. 

“We met at my ball. A year ago, tonight.”

Though the beat of your heart is missing and it no longer flutters away inside your chest, a familiar warmth spreads through your veins all the same. 

“Happy anniversary,” you say and you feel a goofy smile spreading across your face.

“Not yet, my love,” Astarion says, but he smiles just as wide. “Not for another two days.”

Read on ao3 here

You could watch Astarion sleep forever. His mouth hangs open slightly and his gentle breathing mixes with the sound of waves. His face is so soft when he’s asleep and with the sun shining off his hair, he can only be described as angelic. 

The two of you are still on the beach, laying on the blanket spread out over the rock. Your feet are tangled with Astarion’s as you curl on your side to watch him doze. Touching. Always touching. The thought makes you smile.

When he wakes up, his long, pale lashes blink open slowly and his arms reach out to pull you tighter against him. You shower his face with kisses and he basks in your affection. 

By the late afternoon, the two of you decide to finally head back to the cottage. There had been a tentative plan for your first day in the sun which most certainly did involve you and Astarion making love on the beach, but which did not account for how long that would take. You probably should have woken Astarion up if you wanted to stick to the schedule, but he was sleeping so peacefully beside you and it seemed like a crime to disturb him. 

And besides, it’s not like the two of you were in a rush- being immortal meant there would be endless time for you both to explore the abilities that Mephistopheles had returned to you.

As you watch Astarion lazily pull on his trousers and shrug back on his shirt, you can’t help but think that he can be a little right sometimes- it is rather devastating to lose sight of his perfect body.

After watching him dress, you push yourself up from sitting on the rock, sliding your chemise and your loosened corset over your head. 

“Help, please,” you say, turning your back to Astarion so he can help lace up your corset. 

“Now, why would I do that? Helping you back in your clothes doesn’t benefit me in the slightest.”

“Astarion,” you whip around to face him with narrowed eyes. “If you aren’t going to help me, then you’re the one that’s going up to the house to fetch Shadowheart because there is no way I am walking back up there with my corset in hand like some kind of cheap harlot. And you know Shadowheart is going to be exceptionally ill-tempered if you bother her since I gave her the day off.”

You watch as he weighs out which option he finds more annoying in his head. 

“Turn around,” he grumbles. He drops a kiss to your shoulder and sighs. “You know, I have a love-hate relationship with this thing. I can’t deny that it makes your breasts look wonderful, but if you’re wearing it, that means I can’t actually see them, which is a travesty.”

“Poor Astarion,” you tease. “For he cannot always be touching his wife’s perfect breasts.”

“No,” he teases back, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Sometimes, I have to touch her cunt instead.”

“You’re too clever for your own good.” You playfully shove his head off your shoulder and he laughs, hands finally moving to help with your corset.

You know he does a purposefully bad job lacing it up. It doesn’t bother you too much because you also know that Astarion would likely be encouraging you to shed the offending garment from your body almost immediately upon your return to the house.

You reward him for his troubles with a peck on the cheek. Astarion seemingly deems it not enough payment for his efforts because he grabs your hips and dips you back into a bruising kiss that leaves you a bit weak in the knees. After a few more kisses, the two of you take your time walking back up to the cottage, your entwined fingers swinging loosely between you. 

When you enter, there’s a lavish spread of food in the kitchen- meats and cheeses and fancy chocolate desserts. The two of you had told the kitchen staff to make everything but evidently you had underestimated how much everything there was. 

When you sneak a peek at Astarion’s face, he looks a bit too overwhelmed by all the choices so you take over, instructing the kitchen staff to bring wine and to load a tray full of berries and sweet little tarts and the fancy chocolate desserts and deliver it all to your and Astarion’s bedroom. You aren’t sure why, but you have the sneaking suspicion that Astarion has a bit of a sweet tooth. 

When the staff ask what to do with the rest of the food, you tell them to throw a feast of their own tonight. 

And as you expected, the moment the door is shut to the bedroom, Astarion is pulling his shirt back off and helping you strip back out of your clothes to pull you onto the bed with him. 

As the two of you lounge on the bed together, you press different fruits to Astarion’s lips for him to taste. It hadn’t been that long since you’d eaten, but watching Astarion was something special. The way his eyes closed in pleasure. The way he would let out a little moan when he tasted something he really liked. The way he would lean over to lick the up the juices that ran down your arm when you fed him a particularly juicy strawberry. 

Eventually, you both grow bored of the food and the tray lays discarded on the other side of the room. The two of you curl into one another, sated and content.

Astarion’s hand rests on your stomach and you absentmindedly roll his wedding ring around his finger as you watch the curtains swaying in the breeze. The sun dips back down over the horizon. 

Astarion knocks his head lightly against yours to guide your attention back to him. 

“It’s been a year now, you know.”

You turn your head to look at him quizzically. “A year?”

You aren’t even sure you know the date, let alone why it holds any special significance outside the fact that it was your first day in the sunlight. You had unfortunately lost track of time in your haze of being a newborn vampire.

You feel Astarion’s hand move, his thumb running along the length of your palm up to brush against the ring on his finger. 

“We met at my ball. A year ago, tonight.”

Though the beat of your heart is missing and it no longer flutters away inside your chest, a familiar warmth spreads through your veins all the same. 

“Happy anniversary,” you say and you feel a goofy smile spreading across your face.

“Not yet, my love,” Astarion says, but he smiles just as wide. “Not for another two days.”

You roll your eyes affectionately but the two of you continue smiling at one another until Astarion leans over to kiss you. The sweet press of his lips against yours deepens as his tongue slides into your mouth. You whine when he pulls away.

“Always so needy, always so desperate for me,” Astarion murmurs.

You huff out a laugh and stretch lazily, playfully elbowing him. “Keep talking like that and I’ll rescind the comment I was going to make that I like you better now than I did at this time last year.”

Astarion simply smiles at your insincere taunt and props his head up on his hand, looking down on you with the hungry eyes of a predator playing with its food. 

“I don’t know, I found it rather amusing when you held that butter knife up to my throat.”

“That’s just because you thought I didn’t know how to use it. You know better now.”

He gives you a condescending, arrogant smile. “It’s cute that you still think you can get the upper hand on me.”

And because you like nothing more in this world than proving people wrong, you reach out, quickly wrapping a leg around Astarion’s hip and pressing on his shoulders to push him backward so you are sitting on top of him, straddling him. You catch his hands with yours, lovingly threading your fingers together before you wrench his hands over his head. 

He doesn’t even try to fight back, which is boring.

“Still don’t think I have the upper hand?” you ask.

“No, I know you don’t.” Astarion’s arms flex underneath yours, pushing back against your hold. There’s a hidden strength there.

“And yet, I’m the one who came out on top.” 

You squeeze his hands to accentuate your point, a silent reminder that he is the one at your mercy right now. 

“Cute,” Astarion says and you shoot him a glare. 

And then, with the graceful elegance of a cat, Astarion manages to flip the two of you so that he is the one pinning you down on the bed. 

“But just know, darling, the only reason you were there is because I adore having you on top of me.” 

You test his hold on your arms but he’s stronger than he looks and your hands are locked in an iron vice.

“Fine, you win,” you admit reluctantly.

“And what do I get as my prize?” Astarion’s got a mischievous little gleam in his eye that spells trouble.

“What do you want?”

He drags his nose down your throat, inhaling your scent. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to ask for a bite. A silly request considering you had never refused him in the past. But Astarion simply retraces his path up your neck, gliding his tongue along your skin.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps, tongue skimming the shell of your ear. “Let me watch.”

Astarion rolls off you, sprawling among the pillows on the bed. His gaze trails along your body like a caress. Down the curve of your shoulder, over the valley of your breasts. Perfect, he had called them earlier. His eyes continue lower, staring expectantly at the juncture of your thighs.

“Well,” Astarion says impatiently. “I’m waiting.”

Beneath his cocky veneer, you recognize that this is Astarion asking your permission, presenting you with the opportunity to deny him. But what idiotic person would ever do that? Who wouldn’t allow the moon and stars to worship them? 

You sit yourself up to lean back against the wall of pillows on the bed and you spread your legs open before him. Astarion inches closer ever so slightly, staring at you with the same awed fascination of a man looking upon the divine.

You really put on a show for him, too- taking the time to let your hands wander your skin. His tongue darts out, wetting his perfect red lips, almost as if he is already fantasizing about the taste of you on his tongue.

When your hand finally makes contact with your cunt, you move your fingers in the way that you have taught yourself over the years, chasing after climax in moments of pent up frustration. Straightforward. To the point.

“No, slow down,” Astarion instructs. “I want to watch you struggle. Only when you have reached the heights of your desperation, only when you have gone delirious with need, only when you beg for it, will I grant you the release you so desire.”

You slow your movements. It’s a poor imitation of what you know Astarion is capable of- all clumsy where his hands are deft, all amateur where he is pure grace. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he orders, propping himself up to move closer to you. 

“Good,” you tell him, honestly. Because it does feel good. Just not as good as you know it could.

Astarion’s eyes narrow when he senses your hesitance. “What else?”

“Not the same as yours…” you confess in a whisper and you feel your skin flushing with heat. “Gods, the things you can do with your hands could bring the world to ruin.”

“Would you like that?” Astarion’s fingers stroke along your ankle, sending streaks of pleasure curling up around your legs, straight to your aching clit, which you roll slippery circles against with your fingers. “Would you like for me to bring you the world, bloody and bruised in my hands, and present it to you as a token of my love?”

You aren’t entirely sure whether Astarion genuinely means this or if this is a role he is adopting for this moment. All you know is that the desperate whine that forces its way from your chest is agonizingly real. 

“You liked that, did you, pet?” Astarion chuckles, all dark and deep and sending a chill down your spine. “You want to hear how I’d burn the world for you? How I’d take the charred remains and mold it in your shape?” His thumb traces little circles around your ankle bone. “I would have blotted out the sun for you. I would have made it rain death and darkness and chaos if we had not found our cure. I would have drowned the world in corruption and laid the soaking remains at your feet.”

And you know he’s not lying- that in another life, all these words are true. It shouldn’t turn you on. It does anyway. 

Astarion’s hands burn where they brush your calf. He touches you possessively, as if your body was simply an extension of his own.

And if he will not touch you where you need him the most, you will let yourself drown in his voice. You will let his words caress your skin where his hands will not. You will hear more of how this man you love would destroy the world, if only you asked.

“More,” you plead with him and he grins arrogantly.

He speaks with a newfound confidence, fingers running up and down your calf, but never any higher. 

“Just think of what we’re going to do to them, my beloved. All those fools… They think they know what true power looks like, but we’ll show them. We’ll rule from the shadows. And you, my queen, only need to point. I shall be your weapon. I shall be the one to enact your ruthless judgment upon the world.”

Astarion is relishing in the sound of his own voice, as well. His other hand falls down to languidly stroke his cock. There’s a lovely bead of moisture at the tip and your mouth waters, you want nothing more than to lean over and take him in your mouth, to let his hands thread in your hair as he guides your mouth along his hard length…

Astarion gently nips at your thigh, drawing your attention back to him. 

“And do you know how I plan to begin my crusade?” he asks, but doesn’t give you any time to answer. “I’ll start with all those men. Anyone who ever looked at you as less than the goddess you are. Any of them who spoke- No, dared to even think of you in a degrading, vulgar manner. Any of them who merely wasted your time by boring you with their presence.” 

Astarion’s hand curls around your knee, slender fingers brushing the sensitive skin along the back and making you shiver. He wrenches your leg open wider, giving himself a better view of the way your fingers slide along your cunt. 

His gaze stays transfixed on your cunt as he speaks. “I’ll kill them all.”

You shouldn’t want that but oh, you do. That bloodthirsty, hungry part of you wants nothing more than to watch Astarion rip those men limb from limb, to watch him bathe himself in their blood and allow you to lick it clean from his skin afterward. 

You reward Astarion by sinking one of your fingers into yourself and his mouth hangs open in awe. Slowly, his head has moved closer to you and your obscene wetness makes you acutely aware of each panting breath he releases. His grip tightens desperately around your knee, as if he is having to clutch onto you to hold himself back from reaching out to touch you. 

You move your finger slowly, letting the palm of your heel continue to graze against your aching clit. It’s not enough. It’s not Astarion- you aren’t full enough, your fingers don’t curl and hit that spot Astarion always manages to find.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” Astarion whispers in breathless praise and you feel the way your cunt tightens around your finger. You know that if he was buried deep inside you, that would have made him moan and his hips would stutter before he rutted into you even faster, even harder.

“What did I ever do before you?” He turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Do you have any idea how it feels to gaze upon perfection?”

Yes, you think. You know that feeling intimately as perfection is gazing up at you right now, his head resting in your lap as his blood-red eyes devour you. 

His voice is low and dark. “For months, I kept myself away from you, spent my time longing and pining and waiting for you to return to my arms. For months, all I had to sustain myself on was the memories of your silken skin. Of the pool of nectar hidden between your thighs. Of the noises you make. Oh,” Astarion cries out and his hand picks up speed where it strokes his cock. “Those pretty noises. I missed those the most.”

You make one such noise now- a desperate, gasping moan.

Astarion’s eyes are ruthless when they dart up to your face. “If you ever left me-”

“Never,” you cut him off.

You’ll speak with him about that insecurity later- assuage him and assure him until every doubt has been killed from his mind. But not now. Now is the time to feed into this wonderful power fantasy the two of you are discovering together. 

You let out another sound, a pitiful whine, annoyed that your hands have brought you teetering so close to the precipice of bliss with no hope of falling over it.

“Do you need me that badly, pet?” Astarion chides, his hand mercifully moving higher up your leg, closer, so close, almost right there, nearly at the spot you need him to touch you. He stops. You nearly sob.  

“I wouldn’t have let you leave me anyway,” he hisses, fingers digging into the flesh of your hip so hard that you worry it would leave bruises if you were still human. And thank the gods you aren’t if it means Astarion can clutch at you with such desperate abandon with little to no consequences to you. “Besides, if you had, I would have followed you. Anywhere you went, to the ends of the earth. Understand?”

You nod.

You know there is a metaphorical truth to his words. If you wanted, Astarion would have let you leave. But his heart would have followed after you. Just as surely as yours would have stayed with him. 

“You have to say it if you want me to touch you.” You feel Astarion smirking where his mouth rests against your thigh. He has enjoyed this- has enjoyed watching you back yourself into a corner. Now, it was time for him to pounce. 

“I understand.”

Astarion descends with the ferocity of a man whose very last shred of control was hanging on by a thread. He sucks your fingers into his mouth, messy and ravenous, as if he doesn’t want to waste a single drop of your arousal. His own hand quickly takes over, slipping a finger inside you and curling it so good. Your hands claw desperately at the sheets. 

You come almost immediately. After so much build up, it was little wonder it would happen so quickly. What is a wonder is that Astarion immediately pulls his hand and mouth away from you rather than driving you repeatedly to the brink of madness like you had expected. 

For lack of a better term, the whole thing is anticlimactic.

Astarion, seemingly sensing your disappointment, reclines back on the pillows behind him.

“Well, come on, then.” He gives your ass an affectionate pat, silently instructing you to move on top of him. “I’ve given you one. You’ll have to work for the rest of them.”

You crawl over to him, moving to sling your leg around his hips, wanting nothing more than to grind yourself against his cock and guide him into you.

“Not there, pet,” he catches your leg, reflexes still somehow lightning quick even when you know he has to be distracted by how hard he is. 

“Sit on my face,” Astarion says, using his grip on your leg to pull your knee up by his shoulder. 

And out of everything that has happened today- from making a deal with an archdevil to watching a breathtaking sunrise to discovering Astarion has a penchant for blackberries- this request is what has shocked you the most.

 “But what about you?”

Astarion laughs, his soft fingers stroking along the back of your leg. “My motivations are not selfless, if that’s what concerns you, little flower. Your cunt is my favorite meal. I need to spend time appreciating it with these new taste buds. And besides, this bed is just so comfortable. You’ll forgive me if I want to lay back and relax while I feast for once.”

“But I want you to feel good, too,” you pout.

“I assure you, I do.” Astarion tugs more insistently on your hip and you move, knees framing either side of his head. 

“You can stop whenever you want.”

“I know, my love,” Astarion’s face softens and he catches your left hand, bringing it to his lips so he can press a kiss to your knuckles, right under your wedding ring. “Now, as much as I appreciate you checking in with me, you’re keeping me from my plans of drowning between your thighs.”

His arms, soft and surprisingly strong, wrap around your hips and pull you down. His nose brushes along the thatch of hair on your pubic bone before he continues to move it lower. And for a moment, the two of you sit like that, with you shivering in anticipation and Astarion simply breathing against your cunt. 

And then, his mouth is on you and there’s lightning running through your veins. He presses an open mouthed kiss to your cunt before his tongue flattens and he licks.

You feel his strangled groan reverberating in your own bones as he continues lapping. His nose brushes against your clit and you have to reach out one of your hands to steady yourself on the headboard. Your other hand winds its way into Astarion’s hair, tugging at the white curls whenever he does something especially wonderful. Which is… pretty much always. 

When the gods made Astarion, they surely started with his tongue. 

The whole time, his hands stroke and knead along the flesh of your thighs and ass, guiding you to start rolling your hips. It has his nose moving against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars and gasping for air.

Astarion leads to climax again. And again. And again.

Astarion plays your body like it is a violin and he is your virtuoso. He plucks and pulls at the strings, creating a symphony of music that threatens to overwhelm you. Your thighs ache and burn and still you continue rolling your hips against his face. Still, he continues to lap at your cunt with the fervor of a dying man.

At some point, you have transcended your corporeal form. Nothing else exists but these waves of pleasure- constant, unending.

Surely, the ringing you hear in your ears is some form of holy communion. Surely, the gods in the heavens have finally noticed Astarion missing from their ranks and have come to summon him home.

Your grip in his hair slackens. Your head bows in reverence.

It takes you far too long to register that Astarion’s mouth is no longer upon you.

“There you are,” He says, voice a low rasp. “You were missing from me for a moment.”

His beauty is stunning. His chin is glistening, his lips are red and swollen, his white curls are messy and wild. And best of all, he’s got that pretty, pink blush on his cheeks.

Astarion’s hands continue rubbing soothingly along your thighs, anchoring you back to your body.

“Too much, too good,” you slur out. 

Your whole body feels all delightfully fuzzy and light as air. 

Astarion slides out from underneath your legs and gathers you in his arms. You’re sure that you are very moldable and easy to move around right now since you think you might have turned into liquid.

You feel Astarion lips brush against your forehead as he wraps his arms tighter around you. Faintly, you register him praising how good you did, how you listened so well, how you gifted him with yet another lovely moment to cherish forever. The whole time, his fingers knead gently into your muscles, easing away the dull aching in your hips. You simply sigh and curl further into him.  

“We should have a ball,” you say, tracing your fingers in little heart shapes over his chest. “To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Our anniversary.”

Astarion’s lips press against your forehead. “We’ll have as many balls as you want. Gods, you can have whatever you want, you only need to say the word and I’ll get it for you. Or, well- I’ll have someone else get it for you, more likely.”

You giggle. “What about a kiss?”

“Hm, I think I can handle that by myself.”

—-----------------

FOUR YEARS LATER

The dress you're wearing tonight truly is breathtaking. In the past, the price of the red silk alone would have nearly made your jaw drop, but you had gotten used to prices like that after years of Astarion waving them away like they were nothing. 

‘What’s the point of money if you aren’t going to spend it,’ Astarion had said. 

After the dressmaker had finished construction, Astarion had spent weeks embroidering the material. The front of the gown only hinted at the masterful craftsmanship- just a delicate chain of flowers along your waist, but the long train which followed you was decadent to the extreme. The lovely red had been nearly covered in the shimmery gold thread, a garden following behind you. 

Astarion had said it was some of his best work to date and had praised you as his muse. 

And the past few months, you had gotten to enjoy a lot of time watching him as the two of you sat out in the gardens in the sunlight, entranced by how his fingers were able to move the tiny silver needle so easily, spinning gold seemingly out of thin air. He never pricked himself, like you and the roses. 

And of course, Astarion had insisted that the two of you matched. His waistcoat was the same blood red fabric covered in flowers that he had embroidered.

Astarion had even humored you by letting you sew some little stars onto the inner lining of his waistcoat, right over his unbeating heart. He had feigned that he had been doing you some big favor, allowing you to put your mark on his body, but you caught how his eyes went a little misty when he saw your work.

“You look wonderful, darling,” Astarion slides up behind you as stand before the mirror, attempting to clasp the ruby necklace behind your neck. His hands meet your own and he deftly clasps the chain into place before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest.

Your reflection grins back at him.

“We can see our reflections and still, the mirror doesn’t do you justice,” Astarion says, nose trailing over your collarbone to the juncture of your neck where he always likes to bite down. He surprises you by redirecting instead, coming up to whisper huskily in your ear, “The way this fabric hugs your body, the way the silk brings out the red in your eyes, the way the diamonds in your hair shine like stars in the night sky, those are all things too lovely to be captured by a simple pane of glass.”

You turn your head toward him and Astarion lips move closer and closer to yours with each word until they are just a hair’s breadth away. The anticipation is killing you, but you hold steady, daring him to meet you. 

He brings his hand up to gently cradle the back of your head-

“Don’t mess up her hair!” Shadowheart yells from across the room, where she’s fiddling with all the leftover hairpins. She huffs quietly to herself, “I spent forever on that.”

You and Astarion are shocked out of your trance, his hand immediately dropping away from your hair. Astarion is so startled by her presence that his cool facade even slips for a moment as he mutters out a quiet ‘sorry.’

“What’s she still doing here?” He whispers to you just loud enough that you know Shadowheart can hear and roll her eyes. 

You use the opportunity to slip out of his arms and continue getting ready.

“I asked her to stay,” you tell him, pulling the gloves up your arms. You watch the twin marks on your wrist disappear as you slide on the silken white fabric. “I don’t trust myself around you and I’m determined to get down to the ball on time this year.”

You hold out your wrist so Astarion can clasp the slippery little buttons along the side. He just stares at you for a moment, giving you a look like ‘you know this kind of task is beneath me’ and you jut your wrist at him a bit more insistently and he rolls his eyes as he grabs your arm. 

“I assure you, little flower,” Astarion says as he buttons your glove, placing a delicate kiss to your wrist before he moves on to the other. “You would have made it to the ball on time.”

“That’s what you said last year. And then we ended up being an hour late.”

No, if you were allowed to be alone with Astarion, he would surely have already bent you over your vanity by now and your throat would be decorated by a necklace of his bite marks. And as beautiful as blood and jewels go together, it would have certainly distracted from the ornate ruby necklace Astarion had given you as a fifth anniversary present.

Five years. Has it really been that long already? Or have you simply been too happy to notice the time passing?

“I don’t recall hearing any complaints from you last year, my love. In fact, I do believe you said ‘more’ quite a few times,” Astarion’s hand drops and rests heavily on your hip. “And besides, who cares what those idiots think?”

“We have to at least pretend to care about propriety, darling,” you remind Astarion and he rolls his eyes. You know he’s going to say something like ‘fuck propriety, let the world know how a true man satisfies his wife,’ so you gently rearrange the folds of his cravat as you speak, “There’s going to be a lot of important people here tonight. We need to uphold their high opinion of us if we hope to continue to use them.”

“I love the way you think,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye, pulling you back into his arms. 

Shadowheart loudly clears her throat and Astarion glares at her but steps away from you.

“Don’t be upset, husband, there’s still plenty of time to let you plant your seed in my garden tonight,” you say, giving Astarion a big wink at your double entendre.

He looks mortified for a moment before he’s practically falling over in laughter. “Be honest, little flower, how long have you been waiting to use that line?”

“It just came to me.”

Astarion tilts your chin up, a devilish smirk on his beautiful face. “That won’t be the only thing coming in you tonight.”

“You two are strange and… off-putting.” Shadowheart has a look of disgust on her face that has you burying your head in Astarion’s chest to laugh.

“Speaking of strange, Lae’zel is going to be here tonight. I’m sure she’d love it if you made an appearance downstairs long enough for her to ask you for a dance,” Astarion says and Shadowheart’s face turns bright red as she tries to excuse herself from the room as quickly as possible. 

“Look at what you did!” You cry out. “You chased off a perfectly good Shadowheart!” 

“Yes, but now I can finally do this.”

Astarion leans down to kiss you, careful to keep his hands resting on your hips and far away from your ornate hairstyle. You sigh happily against his lips and he presses a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth before he pulls away.

“You ready?” he asks, holding his arm out to you. 

You tuck yourself into his side and the two of you make your way down to the party.

Of course, because this is a ball hosted by Astarion, there’s a big fanfare at your entrance as your names are announced. The two of you descend down the stairs with the grace and elegance that only two vampires can possess. When you reach the ballroom, people are swarming the two of you immediately, begging to speak with you and offer their congratulations on your anniversary. 

The gentry were practically throwing themselves at your feet and what were you supposed to do? Stop them? No, not when it was so much more fun to encourage them. 

You and Astarion make your initial rounds, but your eyes continue scanning the crowds. You hope your father comes again this year. It always fills you with glee, the fact that he shows up every year and is forced to celebrate your anniversary with Astarion. Forced to watch you be happy and in love and thriving. That he continues to grow old and wither away while you and Astarion retain your youthful glows. 

You spot him over by the wine and you’re filled with the wicked thought that maybe one year, you would kill him, make it look like a drunken old fool had stumbled out into the woods and been attacked by an animal. 

Astarion’s hand comes to the small of your back. Touching. Always touching. His breath whispers against your ear, “Oh, I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that glare. Tell me, wife, who do you want me to kill for you tonight?”

“No one,” you think for a moment. “Yet.”

A sly grin spreads across your husband’s face. “Only speak the words and it shall be done. I am yours to command.”

“Oh, I know you are, pet,” you tease him, trying to sound like him. You even give him a little pat on the cheek for added effect. Astarions bares his fangs playfully at you.

“Come dance with me, I’m bored,” you tug on his hand.

You let Astarion wrap you in his arms and spin you around the dancefloor.

“Should I be hurt that you aren’t tripping over your feet at the sight of me anymore, little flower?”

“No, I just have expensive tastes now,” you giggle. “I fear I’m growing too used to awe-inspiring beauties such as yours.”

Astarion’s hand moves down your back, just a bit too low to be acceptable. “Sounds like you’re getting too spoiled.”

“I’m not the one to blame for that problem, star. Not when you insist on buying me far too many lavish gifts.”

“You might be right,” Astarion agrees with a chuckle. “I just can’t help myself. My gifts always look so beautiful on you and your face always lights up so bright. It’s addictive, your smile.”

You smile brightly up at him and Astarion looks upon you with adoration. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Wyll interrupts with a friendly hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “But I believe I was promised a dance?”

He bows elegantly and extends his hand out.

“Wyll!” You cry out happily. “You know that I always save a dance for you!”

“Who said I was asking you?” Wyll playfully holds his hand out to Astarion, who feigns a delighted shock. “Lord Ancunin, if I may.”

“Cute,” you say, looking between the two of them and pouting. “But you can dance with Astarion later. Right now, it’s my turn.”

They both laugh. 

“Have fun.” Astarion drops a kiss on your cheek and passes you off to Wyll. “I’ll go speak with Lord Idril about our stance on the upcoming council vote. He’s the last person we need to sway.”

The upcoming vote was about providing relief to farmers after a particularly long and harsh winter. You and Astarion really did try to use your influence for good from time to time honestly.

The two of you simply had your own methods for doing good that others might qualify as ‘morally questionable’ and ‘deeply manipulative.’ 

Astarion glides away with a charming smile on his face, waving at adoring nobles as he passes by like he’s the king himself.

“I can’t even imagine the size of his ego by the end of the night,” Wyll says.

You don’t mind too much, Astarion with an ego in public turned into a mouthy Astarion in the bedroom later. The ego boost of the ball was most certainly worth it if you were the one to reap the rewards at the end of the night. 

But you’re fairly certain that Wyll doesn’t want to hear about your methods for taming a wild Astarion so you turn the conversation back to him with a friendly smile.

“How have you been?” you ask as the two of you begin to step in time to the music. 

“Can’t complain. Karlach and I have been traveling along the Sword Coast, as of late.”

“Ah, yes, the formidable Blade of Frontiers,” you tease but you catch the way Wyll’s chest puffs out proudly at the nickname. “That’s what they’re calling you now, right? I’ve been keeping up with your adventures through Volo’s books.”

Wyll rolls his eyes. “Volo… If I fought half as many battles half as valiantly as he writes, I’d wholly be dead.” 

You laugh. Volo was always known for his exaggerations, but you had been so proud when he decided to start following Karlach and Wyll since it kept you up to date on their valiant adventures.

“It’s good storytelling. His books are always best-sellers for a reason,” you say with a shrug. “And besides, I quite like to imagine you and Karlach out there slaying dragons and hunting down devils.”

Wyll laughs, “Yes, devils have become a bit of a speciality of ours.”

“Where’s she at by the way? I haven’t seen her yet this evening.” 

“She’s here, but she’s doing her own dancing,” Wyll grins when he speaks of Karlach and you wonder if his smile is a bit too affectionate to be considered friendly. “She doesn’t like all the stuffy rich-people small talk.”

“Gods, and who could blame her?” You groan when you and Wyll hear the couple next to you discussing how they think you and Astarion sourced the shrimp. “They seem to be exceptionally dull this evening.”

The two of you giggle together and Wyll spins you in a delightful twirl.

“So,” he asks when he brings you back from the twirl, “How are the renovations on the Szarr palace going?”

“Ancunin palace,” you correct him. 

In the interests of venturing into the political landscape of Baldur’s Gate, you and Astarion had decided to renovate the old Szarr palace to use as a secondary base. It had been sitting vacant in the years since Astarion had left and a couple bands of rogues and thieves managed to find their way inside, tearing the place apart. 

A part of you was almost glad when you and Astarion had discovered the disrepair- it felt like poetic symbolism of how his life as a spawn was dead and behind him and that now, he could build something beautiful in its place. 

You and Astarion had spent a long time hiring new staff to work at the palace and even longer working on plans for the renovations. Astarion leaned toward opulence and grandeur in all areas of life, so his ideas were rather… ambitious. It had taken a while to find guild artisans who met his high standards of craftsmanship (and that’s not even mentioning the headache of how few people specialize in gold metalwork, which Astarion would still complain about at length when the mood struck him). 

But aside from your husband’s expensive tastes, the whole process had been mostly fun. The two of you had spent many afternoons laying out in the gardens, swapping fantasies of how you pictured each room in the palace looking. It felt like the two of you were building a home together.

A very expensive, very gold home, but a home, nonetheless. 

Your visits to the palace were still infrequent, however. Astarion still had nightmares and episodes that always seemed to get worse after a visit. You hated to see him in pain and you knew he was frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t simply will himself out of those moments. 

You both knew it would still take time. Luckily, time was the one thing the two of you had in abundance. 

“It’s been slow progress,” you answer Wyll. “There’s lots of memories there, so I think it will take us a while. Though, we are planning another trip to the city soon. How’s your father doing?”

“He’s well,” Wyll smiles and you know he is grateful you asked. Both he and his father adored talking about one another. It was wonderful to see a family with that much love, even as the two of them attempted to navigate past their previous differences.

Astarion had told you about Wyll’s complicated relationship with his father soon after you had met him. Since you and Astarion were beginning to make a name for yourselves in Baldur’s Gate and Wyll’s father was the Duke of the city, it only made sense to introduce yourselves. It didn’t hurt that Duke Ravengard was surprisingly refreshing company in a city full of pompous nobles. 

“He’s sorry he couldn’t make it tonight but he wanted me to extend an invitation for you and Astarion to dine with him again next time you visit Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll says. “Father said that he’d be sure to buy more wine this time so Astarion doesn’t bleed him dry again.”

“I do apologize, bleeding people dry is a particularly nasty habit of mine,” Astarion interrupts.

You know your face lights up when you see him, even if you have only been parted for a few short dances.

“If you’ll excuse me, Wyll.” Astarion’s hand rests on your lower back and you lean into his side instinctually. “I think I’d like another dance with my wife.”

“Of course,” Wyll smiles at the two of you. “And congratulations on your anniversary.” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially to you, but loud enough that Astarion can overhear. “Somehow, you’ve made Astarion considerably less insufferable to be around. We all owe you our thanks for that.”

“I’m not insufferable,” Astarion pouts, pulling your body against his far tighter than most of the other married couples dancing together. 

“No, darling,” you reassure him. “Not unless your feet are cold.”

He was a particular sort of monster when he was cold. It was lucky that you knew a few good ways to warm him back up. 

“Little minx.” He pinches your hip affectionately. “You’re far too much trouble. I’m not sure why I bother to keep you around.”

“Cause you love me.” You move your hand up from his shoulder to cradle the back of his head, stroking your thumb along the sharp line of his jaw.

Astarion’s eyes soften. “I do, don’t I?”

He looks so handsome, you think to yourself. The red in his waistcoat really does bring out the shade of his eyes and when he’s staring at you like this, his heart nearly bleeds out of them. You let your hand drop from Astarion’s face when it is time for Astarion to twirl you in the dance. He pulls you back into him, your back against his chest.

“Got the vote by the way,” his voice is a whisper in your ear. 

He means to disguise his true intentions of political scheming as a loving husband whispering words of affection in his wife’s ear. And he really did whisper in your ear often enough that his actions hardly turned any eyes. 

“Turns out Idril really doesn’t want his wife to find out about the bastards he’s left around the Lower City. Thanks for that bit of gossip by the way.” Astarion twirls you out again and you miss the cool line of his body pressed against your back. 

You give him one of your ‘I told you so’ smiles. “I knew that damned sewing circle would feed me something good eventually. It’s all about playing the long game for you and I.”

“Be honest, darling,” Astarion smirks, “you really just like taking credit for my embroidery, don’t you?”

He’s only partially right. You mostly like showing off his work because you’re proud to have such a talented husband. It’s a very small part of you that does enjoy passing it off as your own since your own attempts at needlework were typically abysmal. 

You laugh. “Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t listening through the walls as they praise your work.”

“Do you really think so little of me as to believe I need the approval of a group of old married hags?” Astarion gasps in faux offense. You giggle and he drops the act to laugh along with you. “Did you enjoy your dance with Wyll?”

“I did. Wyll’s an excellent dancer,” you answer. And then, because you can’t resist teasing Astarion, you add, “Some might say he’s better than you.”

“Oh, really?” Astarion raises his eyebrows. 

“Some might. But not me.”

Astarion looks so pleased with himself, like he could exist off your praise alone. 

“It’s all about the right partner,” he says, repeating one of your favorite phrases back to you.

“And I’m lucky that I found mine.” 

The smile he gives you is radiant. 

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Gale, trying to get Astarion’s attention. “Looks like Gale is here with your little snack.”

You give both Gale and the woman standing next to him a friendly wave. Now that you are a more experienced vampire, you have better control over your bloodlust and so, about a year ago you had started feeding from the townspeople that you and Astarion payed. It has allowed you to develop tenuous friendships with a few of them. 

But tonight, the two of you had a plan. This snack was for Astarion alone.

Astarion kisses you in a way that is far too scandalous for public eyes. Over the years, that kind of behavior has come to be expected from the two of you, so people simply avert their gazes. And anyone that is staring at you in shock, you simply ignore, choosing instead to enjoy the way Astarion’s fingers curl underneath your chin to tilt your face up to his and the way his lips slide sweetly against yours.

“See you in a few minutes,” he murmurs before he’s walking over to Gale. 

You mingle a while longer before you leisurely make your way out to the gardens, following Astarion. The warm summer night doesn’t feel quite as hot against your skin as it did when you were human. It’s easy to find Astarion now. You know the path in the garden and, more than that, you can smell him. You can practically taste the sharp metallic sting in the air from the woman he’s drinking. 

But it’s not your job to find him easily tonight so you wander, slipping your gloves down your arms and discarding them on a bench to be picked up later as you let your hands brush along the delicate rose petals. You need to make Astarion a new bouquet soon, you think absentmindedly, the one currently in his study was starting to droop.

Eventually, you round the corner to the spot where you know Astarion will be.

He has the woman in his arms, his mouth on her throat. You think back to that first night you saw him, when your heart had shuddered with fear and dread and beneath that, some carnal desire that you couldn’t yet name. You make sure to step loudly so Astarion will hear you but deep down, you know he is just as aware of you as you are of him, even if he is a bit distracted by feeding right now. 

His eyes tear up to look at you, all crimson red and blood dripping down his chin. The shiver that runs down your spine is caused by elation rather than terror, like all those years ago. Looking at him, you cannot help but be filled with love and warmth.

Astarion practically drops the other woman to the ground as he moves to chase after you.

You laugh, a twinkling, sparkly thing that belongs like a star in the night sky, and you have to stop yourself from practically skipping with delight back up to the manor. You remind yourself that you’re supposed to be acting scared as you sneak a peek at Astarion over your shoulder. 

He catches your wrist in his grasp just when you’re about to slip inside and he drags you to that familiar closet. It’s cozy and it’s dark and there’s not much room inside unless Astarion’s body is pressed tightly against your own. His arm presses deliciously against your throat to pin you in place.

His eyes are ravenous as they flit across your face. “Tell me, sweet flower, what’s an innocent thing like you doing out in the gardens all by herself at this time of night?”

“My husband left me all alone,” you say demurely, looking up at Astarion from underneath your lashes.

“He must be a stupid man, indeed, if he ever dared to leave a treasure as precious as you unaccompanied.”

“Yes, he’s very stupid,” you say, poking at his ribs. It’s just so hard to resist teasing him when he presents you with so many wonderful opportunities. 

Astarion rolls his eyes, moving his arm from your neck to rest his hand on the wall, next to your head. “Well, that’s not fun, pet. That’s just being mean.”

“I’m playing along! Like you told me. It just gets too self-referential and confusing if I think about it for too long, star. Somehow you’re both my husband and the seductive vampire that lures me into dark corners.” You whine, your hand moving to squeeze his ass and pull him closer to you. “Just tell me pretty things and fuck me, please.”

Astarion’s hand cups your cheek. “I do that all the time, my love. I was trying to make tonight memorable.”

“Every day with you is memorable in its own way, even without the role playing,” you promise him. You nuzzle into Astarion’s hand and his thumb strokes softly along your cheekbone. 

“You’re sweet,” Astarion says and his face melts into a soft smile. 

“I think I just need more rules about what I’m supposed to say. I’m not you- I can’t just whip up seductive lines full of dirty innuendos at the drop of a hat.”

Astarion laughs. “I am rather gifted at that, aren’t I? We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I can take you upstairs and make love to you like I normally do if you’d prefer.”

It’s a tempting offer. Astarion making love to you was likely one of your favorite activities. You liked it almost as much as when Astarion went on a bit of a power trip and whispered lovely, depraved things to you while he fucked you like you were his entire reason for existing, which was exactly what he was offering you tonight.

Besides, when Astarion had brought up this idea, he had been so excited to try it out, so excited to recreate the night you first met in a space where the two of you could act on all the perverse desires you had been holding back. 

And you truly loved seeing Astarion enjoying and having fun with intimacy, watching his comfort zone expand with time and listening to the new desires he whispered that he wanted to try. 

Sometimes, he didn’t end up liking the outcome nearly as much as the idea. There had been that… unfortunate time where Astarion’s hands had only been bound to the bedposts for a few minutes before he was already pulling himself free from the loose restraints, pleading with you that he was sorry. You had simply wrapped your arms around him and held him against your chest, reminding him that he never needed to apologize for setting boundaries. 

No, from then on, restraints were saved solely for you. 

“No, let me try again.” You drop your hand from his ass and smile sweetly up at him. “Can we go back to the beginning, please?”

Astarion presses a quick peck on your lips. “Just follow my lead. I’ll make it easy for you.”

He takes a moment to compose himself before he’s pressing his arm against your throat again, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes. It sends an immediate spark of arousal straight to your cunt.

“Tell me, sweet flower, what’s an innocent thing like you doing out in the gardens all by herself at this time of night?”

You look at him with your best impression of wide, scared eyes, like you are a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. You speak, voice barely a whisper, “Chasing after monsters, it seems.”

“A monster?” Astarion laughs, all dark and condescending. “Is that what you think you saw?”

He presses his leg between yours, pinning you to the wall with the full weight of his body and your cunt is aching and it would be easy, so, so easy, to just grind yourself down against his thigh. 

“I don’t know what I saw,” you say and your voice comes out surprisingly breathy and naive. You tilt your head up a bit to look at Astarion, exposing more of your neck and your hand clings desperately to the hem of his coat, pulling him tighter against you. “All I know is that you’re simply too beautiful to be human.”

And in another life, perhaps these are the exact words that you would have said to Astarion in that closet when you first met. Perhaps if you had put up less of a fight or been brave enough to say what you were truly thinking, you would have confessed how you thought he was a beam of moonlight come to life, how you thought that there was no way that the perfect man in front of you could exist because he had to be the embodiment of all your childhood fantasies.

“And yet, I was not the most beautiful person in that garden tonight.” His voice is smooth and silky and feels like a caress on your skin. 

His arm flexes where it sits across your neck and his fingers brush along your collarbone, just the hint of a touch. You roll your hips down upon Astarion’s leg and apparently he’s feeling benevolent tonight because he pushes his thigh into you a little bit harder and it provides just the amount of friction you need. 

“Yes, the woman you were with was very pretty.”

It’s a bit too boring if you just feed Astarion compliments. He deserves to do some work here, too.  

“Don’t go chasing after compliments. It’s unbecoming of you.” Astarion’s arm presses harder into your throat and he narrows his eyes at you. You don’t even need to breathe but the slight impact on your airflow has you feeling dizzy. Or maybe that’s just Astarion’s scent, all bergamot and rosemary and the hint of blood on his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and you both know that you don’t mean it because your hips don’t even stutter where they grind against Astarion’s leg. 

“You already know that I meant you,” he continues, ignoring your insincere apology. “All those roses, all those flowers, and they looked pale and lifeless compared to you.”

His voice is low and hungry in your ear. He licks along the shell of it before he whispers, “Don’t all the great poets compare cunts to flowers? I fear they’d run out of words if they ever saw yours. I’d have to kill them all, obviously, but at least they would gaze upon perfection before they died.”

Yeah, that line was a little too ‘your husband’ Astarion and less ‘vampire cornering you in a dark room’ Astarion. It sends a victorious trill singing in your veins because you know he’s fighting just as hard as you to keep himself composed. 

Astarion takes a shuddering breath and corrects himself. “It’s truly a shame that I’m going to have to kill you.” 

“No, please. Perhaps I can find some way to convince you that I’m worth keeping alive.” 

You really play it up, too- pouting your lips, looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, tilting your chin up to expose your neck just so. Astarion loved to spoil you normally, but he was always so especially susceptible to your begging.

Astarion releases his arm from where it had been pressed against your neck, tracing one of his fingers down his favorite artery. You can feel Astarion’s cock where it presses into your stomach, hard and heavy. 

And although his body betrays his desires, Astarion manages to keep his voice flat and unimpressed when he speaks, like this negotiation is beneath him. “I already have more than enough blood, my sweet treat. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more creative about what you can offer me.”

“I’ve been told that I have a very talented mouth. Let me show you. Maybe that will change your mind.”

And thank the gods Astarion released his arm from your neck because now you have more freedom to move. He moans when you catch one of his earlobes between your teeth and his hand comes back up, wrapping gently around your throat and pushing you away from him. 

Gods, you can only imagine how wonderful his hand looks wrapped around your throat, accentuated by the lovely ruby necklace he had given you. Maybe you would have to ask him to do it again later in front of a mirror, so you could actually see it. 

“Hm, you’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Astarion asks. He shifts his hand so his thumb presses heavily against your bottom lip. His eyes feel like they’re burning into you. “Go on, then, show me.”

You part your lips, letting his thumb slide into your mouth. You suck on it greedily, letting your tongue swirl around it teasingly in that same way you know he always likes around the head of his cock in a silent promise of what is to come. You can feel Astarion’s hips grinding subtly against you as he watches your lewd display and it makes your cunt move so wonderfully against his leg.

“Very well, pet, you’ve proven your point.” His breathing is ragged as he slips his thumb out of your mouth. He leaves a wet trail as he slides it along your chin, all the way down your throat. “Now it’s time for you to really convince me.”

Astarion’s hands fall down to your hips and he pulls you with him, moving until his back is against the wall and your body is leaning into him. His mouth grazes yours as he purrs, “Your lips are going to look so pretty wrapped around my cock.”

He continues to trail teasing almost-kisses along the length of your neck before he bites down. You gasp at the shock of cold, but his mouth retracts from your skin almost immediately. You whine in protest- the bite was too quick, you didn’t even get to really enjoy it.

“On your knees, darling,” he commands, voice all deep and heavy with desire. 

You obediently sink down to your knees in front of Astarion and look up at him as one of your hands reaches out to run along the outline of his hard cock straining against his trousers. Your touches are light and fleeting and his hips jolt involuntarily as he tries to press himself harder into your hand.

You’re the one on your knees for him and yet you are the one who will control his pleasure. What a lovely dynamic.

“Promise you won’t kill me?” you ask, acting timid as you fiddle with the fastenings on his pants. 

“I don’t know,” Astarion’s eyes glint dangerously in the darkness. “Perhaps a little death is in order tonight.”

It’s a cheesy double entendre but he sells it with the way he’s looking down on you like he can’t wait to devour you. You feel electric, like all your veins in your body are sending molten fire straight to your cunt. 

You make quick work of the fastenings on Astarion’s pants and he helps you push them down enough to free his cock. He hisses when your hand wraps around his length. 

It’s up to you now, whether you want this to be quick and messy or whether you want to drag this out so long that Astarion is crying and begging to come. Or maybe a mix of both? You’ll see where the mood takes you, you decide, as you lean forward to kiss the base of Astarion’s cock. 

You trace a line of teasing kisses along the whole length and when you reach the head of his cock, you let your tongue slip out to run along the slit. Astarion groans, his fingers threading into your hair as a silent request to finally take him in your mouth. You ignore him, content to trace another line of kisses back down his cock. 

“Right now, I’m leaning toward killing you,” Astarion says and you can’t help but laugh. You apologize by licking a stripe along the underside of his cock before sucking the tip into the soft, wet heat of mouth.

“Gods, your mouth,” Astarion groans. 

You hum in response and Astarion’s hips give a little buck. You take the cue and begin bobbing your head slowly, swirling your tongue around his tip a few times in between each drag of your mouth up and down his cock. You’re trying to take your time, you want Astarion to enjoy this as long as possible, want to make this moment good and special for him.  

You take more and more of his cock into your mouth as you move, hollowing your cheeks and bringing your hand up to assist where you’re unable to fit him in your mouth. Quickly, too quickly for what you have planned tonight, you’re able to get a good rhythm going and Astarion’s cock pulses in your mouth in response as he lets out a long string of curses.

Because you are a bit selfish and you don’t want this to end just yet, you pull your mouth off Astarion with a gentle pop. You keep pumping your hand up and down at a slow pace- enough to feel good, but not enough for him to come. Not yet. 

With Astarion’s fingers still loosely threaded in your hair, you sneak a peek up at him. He’s breathtakingly gorgeous, of course. His head tilts back against the wall, eyes closed in rapture, and his beautiful pink lips are slightly parted as soft gasps and breaths escape his mouth. 

Gods, you want nothing more than to bite him, to taste his little snack from earlier for yourself. 

You grab his wrist with your other hand, bringing it toward your mouth. Pushing up his sleeve, you run your nose along the veins in his wrist. 

“Let me taste you,” you plead. And then because you know Astarion is weak for you, especially when you’re on your knees for him, you add a breathy, “please.”

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes and his voice is so deliciously condescending when he says, “Only since you asked so nicely. Drink up, pet.”

With his permission given, you sink your teeth into the soft flesh of his wrist. It tastes divine. You let your tongue lick away the blood until his wounds have closed and then you set back to work on his cock with a renewed vigor. 

When you take him back in your mouth, you lift your hand up to pat on Astarion’s thigh three times, the signal between the two of you that it was okay for him to start moving however he wanted.

His fingers curl in your hair a bit more insistently as he starts guiding your motions and you relax your jaw, letting him fuck into your mouth as he chases after his orgasm. You wish you could get to your cunt more easily around the skirts of this heavy ball gown because you’re practically aching with need. 

“That’s- fuck, so good, my love,” Astarion pants out. 

His hips quicken and you know he’s close so you move one of your hands to cup his balls and you feel them tightening beneath your fingers. 

“Fuck, I’m going to-” Astarion gasps. “That okay?”

And it would make you smile, if your mouth wasn’t currently otherwise occupied. It was sweet, how even in the heat of the moment, Astarion still found the time to check in with you. Even now, after years of assuring him that was unnecessary. 

You pat on his leg thigh again, another okay, and it only takes a few more thrusts before his cock is twitching and he’s coming in your mouth. 

When you finish swallowing, Astarion is guiding you to stand again, pressing his mouth to yours in a messy kiss. Gods, are you ever grateful that Astarion is not shy. It certainly helped you over the initial awkwardness you felt at moments like this very quickly. 

Astarion groans into your mouth as he tastes himself. The metallic tang of the woman’s blood still remains faintly on his own lips. You find yourself fighting against Astarion as you both try desperately to chase after the taste in the other’s mouth. 

Between your messy kisses, Astarion ungracefully works to bunch the gorgeous fabric of your dress up to your hips, shifting again to push you against the wall. 

“Hold,” Astarion instructs you, passing your bunched up skirts off to you. You collect them in your arms and hold them up around your waist. His lips slide slowly and deliciously against yours before he murmurs, “I can smell you. I can practically taste in the air how wet you are. And we don’t want you making a mess out of your pretty dress, now do we? I imagine someone worked very hard on that.”

Astarion’s leg presses against you and for a moment, you wonder if that was his hidden plan for the night all along- if he was going to make you rut against his leg in the dark closet, guiding you to ecstasy with just the sound of his voice. You start rolling your hips again and the relief you feel at finally giving your cunt some attention nearly makes you sob.

“Now, now, pet,” Astarion tuts. “I know your cunt is just aching for me, but now is the time for patience. If you can wait just a little longer, I promise to reward you handsomely.”

And oh, how you adored being rewarded by Astarion. It usually involved at least a few orgasms that left your legs shaking and your mind spinning. Astarion accentuates his words by kicking your legs a bit wider apart with one of his own feet. His hand moves down between your body, fingers brushing against your cunt.

“Just like I expected, you’re practically dripping. You like sucking my cock that much, don’t you?”

Your eyes fall closed as you let yourself drown in the soft strokes of Astarion’s fingers along your folds. It feels like you might very well burn alive.

Astarion’s other hand gently weaves through your hair. You’re sure the rubies that Shadowheart spent hours weaving into your hair have long since been scattered across the floor. You can’t bring yourself to even begin to care. 

“Answer me when I speak to you, pet,” he commands in that wonderful low voice. 

It’s accompanied by a sharp tug on the roots of your hair that have you offering up your neck to Astarion. His mouth dips down to suck at your throat and you mewl in delight when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. 

“You know I love your cock,” you tell him. 

You’d add how much you love the rest of him, too, but that doesn’t seem to fit the mood right now. No, you’d save that for later tonight while you rode him, forbidding his hands from roaming your body. With his hands tightly gripping the sheets, you would shower him in praise and be those lovely, pathetic whimpers he made as he fought to keep his hands off you. 

Astarion hums, tilting your chin up to press another deep, slow kiss to your lips. “And you know I adore your mouth.”

His hand keeps moving in maddening, feather-light patterns along your cunt, occasionally moving up to brush against your clit before his fingers are darting away again. It seems Astarion has not finished having his fun with you tonight. 

He speaks against your lips, “You look so pretty on your knees for me. I’d keep you there forever, pet, but I think I’d grow tired of not being able to properly kiss you.”

And if anyone else said that line, you’d be rolling your eyes and grimacing about how corny it was. But this is Astarion and he commits and says it in the low, hungry voice that has your toes curling and heat pooling in your cunt.

His mouth is hovering just centimeters away from yours. You can feel each panting breath on your lips. You move forward to kiss him, but Astarion tugs on your hair again, keeping you just a hair's breadth away from what you want. 

Trying to outsmart Astarion, you use your free arm that is not holding your skirts to pull him down by his cravat and seal his lips against yours. He actually seems rather glad that you managed to work around his grip in your hair as he hums happily into the kiss. 

And either Astarion is extra observant tonight or you’re just being extra obvious about the way you chase after the taste of blood in his mouth.  

“She tasted divine,” Astarion says, his thumb making a slow circle around your clit before it’s gone again. “But I doubt you want to hear about that, do you, pet? No, I think you’d much rather hear about how she paled in comparison to you.”

He dips just the tip of one of his fingers inside you before pulling it out again almost immediately.

“She was nothing. They’re all nothing,” Astarion hisses. Gods, how did that even manage to sound attractive coming from him? “No one else has ever made me feel as good as you.”

For a moment, his pure, unadulterated love breaks through on his face and your chest burns with love- you know how devoted he is to you, you know how much he adores you. 

For a moment, it is just the two of you in a little bubble of love. And then Astarion finally, mercifully pushes a finger into you, working it in and out so agonizingly slow. You whimper and Astarion smiles wickedly down at you. 

“They all bow to us, you know?” Astarion asks, knowing you are in no state to answer. “They bow to me. To you.”

You pull his lips down to yours again and slip your tongue in his mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing- he knows this line of speaking always works you into a state of frenzy. And you know that arrogant side of him enjoys the sound of his voice just as much as you do. 

It had been so easy, too, to work the nobles onto your side, to start poisoning their minds with your and Astarion’s ideas. A few carefully placed smiles, a few favors promised and repaid, a few veiled threats. The two of you worked together so easily- Astarion charmed and you schemed. 

Astarion chuckles, slipping another finger into you and curling them in a way that makes you unsteady on your feet. He seems perfectly content to keep his other hand threaded in your hair, delivering your mouth to his whenever he wants a kiss. 

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you, pet? You like thinking about them on their knees for you, just like you were for me a few moments ago.” The heel of his palm brushes against your clit. “Do you want to hear more? Do you want to hear about how even the sun herself bows her head in deference to your light and beauty? About how even I bow down to you, surrendering myself to you in worship?”

“Show me, then,” you pant out, pulling on the back of his neck to press his forehead against yours. “Show me how you intend to worship me.”

That has Astarion cursing under his breath and reaching down to give his cock a few pumps before he’s pushing into you, already hard again. 

The fullness and the stretch of him finally inside you soothes the ache that had been plaguing you all night. And when he moves, you can’t help the barrage of moans and gasps that fall from your lips.

“Quiet, little flower. We don’t want everyone to hear, do we?” Astarion asks, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. They’re still wet with your arousal and you follow his silent cue, sucking them into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he purrs and it sends a spark straight to your cunt. You feel yourself tighten around his cock and Astarion groans in response, his hips thrusting into you with even more desperation. 

The thought of who’s the one being loud now? passes through your mind as Astarion groans and tells you how good you feel. And then, because deep down, you’re a little bit vindictive, you let one of your fangs scratch along the skin of Astarion’s fingers in your mouth. You greedily lick up the blood, enjoying the way it mixes with the taste of your wetness on your tongue. 

What was it that Astarion always called the combination of your blood and your cunt? The nectar of the gods? He might be onto something there. 

Astarion’s eyes lock in on you with a single-minded focus before he’s wrenching his fingers from your mouth, capturing your lips with his own. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and bites down, lapping up the blood until your wound closes.

“I love you,” you whisper when he pulls away.

His cock pulses inside you and his hips stutter a bit before he can recover his rhythm. You would never get tired of that- of reminding Astarion of how deeply you loved him and watching how he never failed to viscerally react to those words. 

“Love you, too,” Astarion says, pressing a peck to your cheek. You can feel him smiling against your skin. It’s a total contradiction to the obscene way his cock drives into you.

You grab Astarion’s hand from where it had been gently cupping your face and drag it down between your bodies. 

“Need your hands.”

“I know just what you need,” he assures as his magical fingers begin circling your clit. 

There’s that lovely heat building low in your stomach, rising into a great inferno that surrounds you. And with Astarion’s whispered promises of how he loves you, how good you feel, how you shine brighter than the sun, you come. 

Astarion fucks you through your orgasm before his fingers fall away from your sensitive clit and his hips continue to drive into you as he chases after his own high.

“Come for me,” you tell him, half a command and half a begged request. “Want to feel you inside me.”

Astarion’s forehead rests against yours as he comes.

He keeps you pressed to the wall with the full weight of his body for a few moments longer as the two of you fight to steady your breathing. 

Frankly, it’s a miracle that you managed to hold up your dress the whole time. You had been so worried about damaging the lovely needlework that Astarion had spent so long embroidering that you had kept the fabric clenched to your stomach in an iron-vice the whole time. 

Astarion ensures you are steady on your feet before he shuffles around the closet in search of a rag to wipe between your legs. He finds one and helps you to clean up before throwing it in a bucket with the other dirty rags. You finally release your skirts and flex the muscles in your aching arm as you lean back against the wall, grabbing Astarion’s wrist to pull him back toward you. 

“I love you.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he pulls you into a hug. “I love you, too, now and forever.”

“‘Til death do us part,” you tease, because the idea of death to a vampire seems nothing more than a joke. 

Astarion laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And even after then.”

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

Notes:

Me? Ending a fic on the title? It's almost like I planned that from the beginning... This chapter could alternatively be called 'I let Astarion have a delusions of grandeur as a treat for working on himself.' He's still the Astarion we know and love and of course he's still a little bit evil, but now he's got a wife to help him channel all that energy in healthier ways!

Wow, I can't believe this story is over and this is my final note. I'm getting a bit teary eyed as I write this. Know that I will never be able to fully express my appreciation to everyone who has read/liked/commented on this story. This whole experience has been so much more fun that I ever could have imagined and I have all of you to thank for that!!!

As always, hugest thank you to my beta-writer (and real life friend) AliensNSuch on ao3. She has put up with my insane text rants about obscure details and she has logged many, many hours editing this thing and hyping me up over the parts I hate. I owe her a lifetime of boba for her service!

I've also got some plans for a new fic that I'm gonna start. I'll have a follow up post on my blog talking about my plans if anyone is interested in that. I'm not quite done with Astarion yet!

Thanks again. I love you all!

Taglist: @ayselluna@idkbrodontaskme@maruichio@fanfic-share@the-littlest-bruja@asterordinary@divineknightmare@fandomarchiveilyd

[sailing-through-hawkins]

i got a much bigger response to my Harrington Charms Hellfire post than i expected so i wrote a little something that was along the lines of what i was thinking!

Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Part 4 ✧ AO3

Sometimes Eddie thinks the real Upside-Down is his life after they close up the gates and pulverize Vecna ("they" in this situation being superhero Jane Hopper and the rest of her merry band of warriors), because past-Eddie would probably have a breakdown over...well, everything.

For one thing, Eddie is currently in the passenger seat of none other than Steve Harrington's Beemer, at the man's very request himself.

"Wait, I'll drop you off."

"'Preciate the thought, Steve but -"

"Munson. It's been like two weeks since you even started walking by yourself, sorry if I'm kinda worried about letting you go across town without me."

"Uh...just you?"

"Any of us, but me specifically since I'm clearly everyone's chauffeur. Might as well play the role, right?"

It's been like a month and every time Eddie wants to go anywhere in the slowly rebuilding town, Steve's right there with him. It'd be infuriating if it wasn't so obvious he liked doing it. If Steve wasn't so intent on just making sure Eddie's alright and yeah the mother-henning should have gotten old by now but if Eddie even thinks about telling him to stop, all he sees is sad eyes and hunched shoulders hiding under a complacent smile and wave bye-bye. God those eyes are fucking weapons.

They're heading over to Gareth's garage for a light-hearted band session. It's funny because Dustin was the one who convinced Eddie to "get your head out of your ass and talk to your friends, dick" and actually reach out to the rest of Hellfire about the whole 'not a murderer OR dead' thing. After some apologizing (ugh) and grovelling (double ugh), the rest of his sheep were willing to forgive him for ignoring their calls and visits while he was in recovery. Provided, of course, that he continue to check in with them on a bi-weekly basis at minimum. It's unfortunate that Steve, for all his head trauma, makes sure that Eddie actually sticks to that basis.

The things he does for love.

Or no, not love, definitely not love, it is way too fucking soon to call this teensy little infatuation anything as huge as love. No. Not love at all.

They're about to reach Gareth's place, that's important. By the time Steve rolls to a stop outside the garage, Eddie's panic (not panic, just a strong argument, this is not love) has simmered down. He has to take his time getting out of the car today, thank whatever deity is out there for quick-feet Steve, who runs around the front to help Eddie out onto his two feet. It's been a rough week but he had way worse back in that first month at the hospital, not to mention needing a little Steve-assistance isn't the worst thing in the world.

"Hey!"

Eddie blinks as Steve helps him lean against the car, the spots in his vision fading away to reveal Gareth right up in his space with a murderous gaze directed right at Steve.

Eddie worries that he's gonna start a fight even though it's been months since he's introduced Steve as his live-in-nurse (nobody takes Eddie's hints at a sexy nurse uniform to heart thankfully, he doesn't know what he'd do if Steve caught on that he's only half-joking) and Steve's been doing the best he can to make amends with Hellfire.

At least the guys aren't walking on eggshells around him anymore, judging by how Gareth barely took a glance to assess Eddie's wellbeing before going back to glaring at Steve with eyes ready to kill. Well fuck you too Gareth.

He crosses his arms, eyes burning with resentment as he continues go stare down a pretty nonchalant Steve who is very much in Eddie's space as he also leans against the car, fuck he's so close. When Eddie glances at him to scope out what the fuck is happening, he sees that gaze again. The gaze that reminds Eddie of Steve's days as King, looking over his reigning population with a boredom teetering on malicious negligence. That gaze used to send Eddie's mind into hysterics, painting images of crowding into the King's space just to see those big brown eyes waver. But that's not how it is anymore, Steve's eyes are usually brimming with concern, irritation or a spark of contentment as he watches his little nuggets run around screaming about Eddie's latest one-shot campaign.

Right now, there's no screaming teenagers. It's just silence for a few moments, a tension building in Eddie's bones until he thinks this must be what it's like to watch a sports match, head running back-and-forth between the two teams and waiting with baited breath.

"So?" Gareth spits out, squinting at Steve, just tilts his head in response and lets a few strands of perfect fall into his eyes, damn that bastard. Gareth grits his teeth and takes a breath, "What did you think?"

Steve watches Gareth, as if assessing his line delivery, shifting so he fully faces him but is still totally in Eddie's space with a hand on the car roof behind Eddie and the other crooked up on Steve's hip. The motion lets Eddie smell his aftershave and fuck, Steve still runs so warm. Whatever he finds in Gareth has to be what he wants because he gives them both a half-lidded smirk and shrugs his shoulders. "Eh, wasn't that into it."

Gareth sputters, face turning crimson and Eddie is like super confused because what the fuck is going on right now? 

Steve is the one to fully break his brain with a laugh that throws his head back, his neck stretching out so the light hits his jawline perfectly, that bastard. He looks back at Gareth's flushed face with a sunny grin that sets fire to Eddie's veins. "You totally liked it, didn't you?"

Eddie snaps his head to Gareth, who squirms before dropping his shoulders. His little mutter of, "Yeah, I did," sounds so defeated that Eddie feels a second-hand guilt, but over what? He has no fucking clue.

That small pit of guilt quickly dissolves into even more confusion when Steve laughs again, kicking himself off his car to land a hand on Gareth's shoulder and fucking wink at Eddie. "The miracle of Grease, huh Munson?"

Record-scratch. Sorry, what?

"Sorry, what?" Eddie snaps his eyes from the grinning god that is Steve and the sulking fluster that is a member of his club, one of his friends, one of his very overprotective sheep who has hated Steve's guts for a long time and is now letting the guy give him a fucking noogie in broad daylight with empty complaints.

"Looks like I've been corrupting your crew, Eds, if Gary being a Greaser -"

"I am NOT a Greaser, I just -"

Gary? Steve calls Gareth the Great...Gary? And he doesn't even comment on it? Last time Jeff tried that, Gareth threatened to hide a spider in his guitar case. But Steve Harrington, someone Gareth has had no qualms about verbally tearing apart, does it and it's fine?

"Eds? Hey, Eddie." And now Steve's looking at him with that concern-rotten gaze, eyes flitting over every inch of Eddie's face as if to pinpoint what's wrong and fix it with a smile and a soft you're okay now, I've got you. "Back with me?"

Swallowing down an incessant I'm always with you, sweetheart, Eddie nods. In his peripheral, Gareth is watching him with his hands out as if to catch Eddie from falling. Which is stupid because Eddie hasn't fallen from light-headedness in like two days (Eddie shuts up the part of his brain that reminds him Gareth wouldn't know that with a part that says Dustin probably gives the whole club daily medical chart updates) and wait fuck is that Steve's hand on his neck right now?

"So!" Eddie claps his hands, eye twitching as Steve's hand slowly trails to his shoulder, lingering for a moment before he takes it off entirely. Stupid jock bastard with his touchy-ness and his smile and - "What's this I hear about Grease, Gary?"

Oh yeah, there's that livid face of watch out for the tarantula bitch, Eddie's missed that. Well, Gareth still does it everyday but not at Eddie for a while there, probably because of the whole intensive injury recovery shit. Oh well. "None of your -"

"Gareth and I made a bet," Steve clamps his hand back onto Gareth to shove them closer together, pointedly ignoring Gareth glare of betrayal. The space on the back of Eddie's neck still burns with the ghost of Steve's touch, something ugly in his chest snarling at how that touch is now on Gareth's arm. He wonders if the bats left him with more than bites sometimes. "About some movies we recommended each other. And since I won, that means -"

"No way, I'm not -"

"Uh yeah you are, I won so -"

"Fuck you, Harrington -"

"Not on the first date, hotshot," Steve laughs as Gareth tries wrangling out of his hold, holding onto him by his shoulders with one gloriously bulging forearm. Eddie's starting to think the light-headedness might be a symptom of something other than his brush with the bats. Oh don't think about the bats, bad move, bad move. "Didn't know you raised a cheater, Eddie."

Steve's eyes are glowing with mirth, his grin wide as Gareth threatens to bite him with a smile of his own. And that's. Huh?

"And I didn't know you two were so close," Eddie manages to cough out, snapping his gaze to Gareth with a raised eyebrow. He squirms again, ducking out of Steve's grasp (Eddie can't imagine why anyone would want to) and dusting off his shirt. "Holding out on me, Harrington?"

Steve shrugs, his eyes fixating right next to Eddie's eyes. He steps closer, a firm and warm presence right in Eddie's space, right in front of him, and raises a hand to caress Eddie's hair, that fucker. Eddie stifles his gasp because he knows Steve's just getting something out of his hair, like he does every goddamn time he sees a leaf or dust or fucking anything in Eddie's mass of curls. "Just being friendly. Now giddy up, you two've got a session to do."

"Not sticking around?" Gareth looks back at the garage, the forced nonchalance in his tone nothing compared to the shadow of King Steve's gaze. "Frank wanted to ask you about those threads from last week."

"Shit," Steve slapped his forehead, looking into the garage at Frankie who - fucking waves at them?! Mr. "Do what you want but I'm never falling for that Harrington charm bullshit" is waving at Steve. Who, incidentally, waves back with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Frankie, I can't make it today, got a shift with the supply run! Rain check on the wardrobe?"

And Frank the Unwavering, notorious for sticking to his guns with a grip tight enough to choke a man, gives Steve a thumbs up before going back to strumming with Jeff. What the fuck.

"Wardrobe?" Eddie chokes.

"Don't worry about it," Steve waves a hand in the air and gently pulls Eddie off the car, settling his arm around Gareth, who takes Eddie's weight with ease. "I'll tell you later. You'll be good to take him, or should I?"

Gareth scoffs but his eyebrows aren't scrunched with any irritation or anger. "I think I can handle it, Harrington. Go handle your hero shit."

And here's the thing. Steve has a thing about that word. Eddie's noticed because, well, he's always watching Steve and he has a rocky relationship with the word "hero." Sometimes his whole body glows with the praise, smile so wide and eyes so sparkly it makes Eddie want to scream. Other times, Steve shrinks just a little, barely noticeable, and his smile dims and his eyes are shadowed with something Eddie doesn't understand. Or can't understand. He's not sure.

This time, Steve seems to be on the glowing side of things but it's so subtle compared to usual that Eddie just has to blink and all that golden haze is gone already. He blinks again and Steve's waving bye to him, blinks and Steve's in his car, blinks and he's driving back on the road to wherever people need him to be.

Gareth snorts, tugging Eddie out of his daze and shuffling them both toward the sofa at the back of the garage, the brown beauty it is. "Wipe the drool, man, you're getting it all over my hair."

"Oh like you're one to talk," Eddie waits until Gareth settles him on the sofa and fully stands up before fluttering his eyelashes up at him. "Gary."

"Shut up!" Gareth flushes, stomping over to his (barely holding together, but Eddie likes to think they're made of the same stuff Steve is, to keep going after a fucking averted apocalypse) drums. Jeff laughs when he fumbles with his sticks and Eddie grins when Gareth's attempt at throwing them lands the fuckers right at Frank and that sets them all off.

Yeah, maybe some stuff has turned on its head, Steve and the town and Eddie's general worldview, but he's still got his inner circle and that's good enough for him.