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lastbluetardis · 6 months

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Sacred New Beginnings (19/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Explicit, ~5000 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 |

James can hardly hear past the roar of his pulse in his ears as he is the sole focus of Jackie Tyler’s—(Jackie Peters’s? He’ll have to ask Rose what last name her mum has)—ire. Gone is the cheerful grin he’d seen in the photos Rose had sent of herself and her mother on holiday in Barcelona; now that joy is replaced with the sort of rage only a mother is capable of.

He throws a desperate glance at the other adult in the room, but Tyler Peters is stunned into silence, his eyes locked on James as though he’d never seen a human being before.

Absurdly, this is what unfreezes James, and he throws out a stupid little, “Hello. I’m James Noble. Pleasure.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showin’ up here,” Jackie spits, stalking ever-closer. James regrets that he didn’t use the last two seconds to free himself from his position of being backed against the countertop. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mummy! Daddy!”

Jackie whirls around to face the corridor at the sound of a tiny voice and pitter-patter of feet. She automatically crouches, and Tony gallops headlong into his mother’s waiting arms. She scoops him up and peppers kisses across his fair skin.

“Did you have a good night with sissy?” Jacke coos, stroking his hair away from his face. “She didn’t feed you any ice cream, did she?”

“Yeah! An’ made hotdogs and cheesy ‘tatoes, then we played Jus’ Dance, an’ James was there!”

“Oh?” Jackie asks, flashing James a withering glare. “When did he get here?”

“Yeah, he’s so fun!” Tony squeals, pivoting in his mother’s arms to beam at James. “He’s my fav’rite.”

Rose finally emerges from down the hall, her cheeks stained scarlet as she squeaks, “Hi, Mum. I expected you to text when you got here.”

“Oh, so you could hide this one somewhere?” Jackie scowls, gesturing to James.

“I… I wanted… I was gonna tell you…”

“What, that you let ‘im come weaslin’ back into your life? Did he come up with a sob story? Made it real convincin’, did he?”

“Jacks,” Tyler says quietly, inclining his head slightly towards Tony, who is still ensconced in his mother’s arms and watching the exchange curiously. “Let’s save it, eh?

Jackie purses her lips, then presses them to her son’s temple before handing the child to his father. “Take him outside, yeah? Meet you downstairs.”

“Five minutes,” Tyler warns. “This one needs to get to bed.” To his son, he chirps, “Say bye to sissy!”

“Bye-bye sissy! Gimme hugs and kisses!”

Rose tiptoes around her mother, not sparing her a glance as she scoops her little brother into her arms and gives him a couple of big twirls around the room.

“Spinny hug, spinny hug!” Tony screeches, clinging to Rose for dear life.

The sight makes something hollow ache in the pit of James’s gut. The siblings clearly adore each other, and Rose is so good with him.

“Bye-bye James!” Small hands tap his legs, and he realizes Tony is gesturing for a hug. He hesitates for only a fraction, but he can’t say no to those big brown eyes.

“G’night Tony,” he whispers, kneeling for a brief embrace. “Thanks for playing with me tonight.”

“All right, little man, wanna see who can race down the stairs fastest?” Tyler asks his son, ruffling Tony’s fair blond hair.

“Yeah! Onetwothreego!”

Tony bolts out of the flat, giggling madly, leaving his father to leisurely stroll behind him. Before Tyler closes the door behind him, he spins and says, “Good night, Rosie.”

“Night,” she mumbles, looking increasingly uncomfortable at the prospect of being left alone with her mother.

James nearly fumbles out an excuse to leave, but realizes that would be the most cowardly thing he’d ever done, and Rose deserves better than that. So he pulls on his big boy pants and turns to face the music.

Before he can speak, Jackie turns on Rose and throws her arms up into the air. “What are you thinking?! Have you gone mental?!”

“Mum, please just…”

“Whatever happened to “I deserve better than bein’ the latest in a long line”? I thought you were over bein’ a good time for someone who would drop you in a heartbeat for someone younger and smarter and prettier?”

Rose flinches from her mother, and James takes an automatic step towards her, reaching across the space between them.

“It’s not… it’s not like that,” Rose says weakly. “I got it wrong.”

“Oh, did you? ‘Cos from where I’m sittin’, it’s bloody obvious what’s going on here. Mister Handsome Rich Rockstar has swindled you again, tellin’ you whatever it is you want to hear so he can keep you ‘til he’s done with you.”

“Er, I’m not technically a rockstar,” James blurts, and he can hardly believe what has just come out of his mouth. But he can’t stop. It’s like his brain has ceased all higher function and his mouth has taken over. “More folk-pop. Indy, maybe? Soft pop?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackie snaps, turning to him with fire in her eyes.

He clacks his teeth together and nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an attempt to make himself seem as small as possible, which is quite the impossible feat, considering his height.

“You! You need to get the hell away from my daughter if you know what’s good for you. You men, you’re all the same, taking what you want, thinkin’ you’re entitled to get your way, lyin’ through your bleedin’ teeth to get what you want. Well I won’t stand for it! My Rose deserves better. She isn’t a girl you can shag and drop the moment someone else comes along.”

“I… I know,” James stammers, his mouth impossibly dry and his stomach roiling in discomfort.

“Oh, do you?” Jackie remarks, false surprise lifting her face. “You had no problem tellin’ the entire bloody world you were just havin’ a bit of fun. ‘Cos that’s all you really want, isn’t it? Fun and a place to wet your cock…”

“Mum! Enough!” Rose shouts, red-faced and near-tears. “I was wrong. We’d both misunderstood each other. But we’re together now. Properly.”

“That’s what he told you, didn’t he? Bet he sounded real sorry too. Bet he said all the right words, didn’t he?”

James’s heart falls when he sees Rose flinch and drop her gaze to her feet.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly. “Say whatever you want about me, but Rose is smart enough to make her own decisions about her life, no matter what you believe. Yes, when Rose and I first started seeing each other, we each thought it was something casual. And I was an idiot for what I told the reporters. But things are different now. I want what’s best for her.”

Jackie grunts dismissively. “You say that now, but the moment she gives you a bit of bad press, you’re going to spin whatever little tale you need to tell to get the public on your side, and my Rose is gonna be the one who gets smeared through the muck.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Mum, please,” Rose whispers. “I know I have an awful track record with boyfriends, but those are my mistakes to make. Maybe James will be a mistake, maybe he won’t be, but you have to let me live my life the way I choose to. And right now, I choose him.”

Jackie softens a fraction as she turns to her daughter. It’s as though with him out of sight, the gentle mother returns. She reaches to Rose and cradles her jaw, stroking her cheeks as she says, “My Rose. I will always want the best for you. It killed me to see you in such a state on holiday. I don’t want to see you be taken advantage of. Is it money? Sweetheart, you know me and your dad will help you out, you don’t need to stay with him for that.”

James is slightly offended that Jackie thinks he’s paying Rose to hang out with him or paying her for sex, but before he can think of a response, Rose covers her mother’s hands and leans into the touch.

“It’s not money,” she assures. “He’s not paying for anything of mine.”

“He bloody well should—he’s rich! You better not be payin’ for your dates!”

Rose lets out a sniffly giggle and throws her arms around her mother, who holds her tightly and rocks her from side to side. James wonders if he should sneak out while they’re distracted, but he finds he’s rooted to the spot, trying to wrap his head around the last few minutes.

“Please be safe, sweetheart,” Jackie whispers. “Please.”

“I am safe, Mum. And I wish you’d believe me when I say I’m happy. Really happy.”

“I believe that you believe it,” Jackie says, pulling back just far enough to kiss Rose’s forehead. “Remember that I’m here for you the moment you need me. Don’t you ever think you can’t come home to your old mum.”

Rose nods wordlessly.

The fight seems to have left Jackie, but she turns to him and says, “Don’t you dare hurt her, or mess her over.”

“I– I won’t,” he vows.

Jackie narrows her eyes, scanning him up and down, but doesn’t say anything else. She turns away from him and back to Rose. “I gotta go. It’s way past Tony’s bedtime. Thanks for watchin’ him.”

“Of course. I love spending time with him,” Rose says, guiding her mother to the door.

“I love you. More than anything.”

“Love you too. Drive safe.”

Jackie kisses both of Rose’s cheeks and doesn’t even look James’s way as she sweeps out of the flat.

oOoOo

Downstairs in the foyer, Tyler Peters is desperately trying to occupy his definitely-tired-but-pretending-he’s-not-tired four-year-old, and it’s going about as well as one could hope. Tony is racing laps around the room, skillfully dodging the amused (and mercifully tolerant) tenants of the building who are simply trying to enter or exit the building.

“Watch it, mate,” he calls when Tony nearly barrels into the little old lady who has lived in this building for decades. She is one of the few residents who already leased a flat here before Tyler became the owner of the building. “So sorry Mrs. Donovan.”

“Oh, my grandsons have just as much energy,” the old woman says cheerfully, smiling down at Tony. “These bones may be old, but they’re sturdier than they look.”

“Hi!” Tony chirps, flashing a toothy smile. “Bye!”

And so the laps continue.

And continue…

Tyler sighs and checks his watch. He should’ve known Jackie couldn’t keep it to five minutes. It’s nearing on fifteen, and he’s about to corral his son so they can go fetch her when the lift dings and Jackie steps out, her eyes sparking and her jaw locked.

“Mummy!” Tony sprints over and takes her hand. “Time to go!”

Tyler joins his family and takes his wife’s free hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of hers.

“Chat go all right?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking,” Jackie grumbles. “I mean… James bloody Noble?! It was bad enough to hear my daughter was havin’ a lark with that… that… scoundrel in the first place. But now she’s taken him back? Stupid. Irresponsible.”

Tyler bites back a smirk and knocks his elbow into her ribs. “Put yourself in her shoes, eh? When you were her age, you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t have bedded Bono if he’d shown the slightest bit of interest in you?”

“It’s not the same!” she complains. “Bono never would’ve…”

“And Rose likely thought James Noble never would’ve,” he says simply. “You know I love her dearly and that I want the best for her, but Rose seems happy right now. Will it last? Probably not. But let her have this, eh? How many people can say they dated a famous singer in their youth? It’ll be a story for the grandkids and great-grandkids.”

His wife huffs out another impatient breath, but doesn’t argue further. “Yeah. Maybe. But still. James bloody Noble. I just hope Rose knows what she’s doing, datin’ that man…”

Tyler wraps his arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze, but doesn’t say more. Together, they walk out of the foyer of the building, all while being watched by two young women leaning on the wall beside the lifts.

The women exchange stunned, disbelieving looks.

“James Noble? The James Noble?” one of them asks.

“With Rose Tyler?” the other asks. “The girl up in flat 10-2?”

No fucking way…

oOoOo

James stares at the front door for several long seconds after Jackie’s marvelous exit. Rose shifts away from his side to step forward, twisting the lock and fastening the deadbolt chain before she clunks her forehead into the door. She doesn’t move from her position, so he goes to her.

Carefully, he slips his arms around her waist and presses a whisper-soft kiss to the side of her neck. Though she feels limp, she manages to spin in his grasp to instead plonk her head into his chest rather than her front door. She simply stands there, unmoving, as he rubs her back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice muffled. “I didn’t think… I thought she’d… I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, nestling his stubbly cheek into her hair and breathing her in. Never before has a parental introduction gone so poorly. Usually his partners are as famous as him, so the parents are accepting and gracious or simply indifferent. Occasionally they’ll fawn over him.

But the outright hostility and venom that Jackie just spat at him…

“I didn’t realize you’d told your mum about me,” he finally says, matching the volume of his voice with hers.

She groans and says, “During our holiday. I’d been out of sorts, thinkin’ you didn’t care about us at all. Mum caught on to my mood. I didn’t mean to tell her, but I was quite upset, and it all just sorta… came out. And when I saw your red-carpet interview that confirmed I was just a bit of fun for you… I lost it, and she saw my reaction, and it wasn’t good.”

James wishes he could go back in time and wallop his past self across the head for his thoughtless comments. He wishes he’d had the courage to tell the interviewer how he felt about Rose, to tell the world that he was riding the high of falling in love, and that he wanted to keep it private. But he hadn’t. He’d been a prick and a twat, and he’d broken Rose’s heart from five and a half thousand miles away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve forgiven you for it all. But I just… I guess I’d forgotten how much I’d told Mum about you. And I’d forgotten how upset she was on my behalf. I was stupid for thinking that telling her on the spot that you and I were properly together would be enough for her to accept you. I shouldn’t have done it this way… I should have talked to her first, then introduced you. I’m so stupid.”

His stomach churns as he squeezes her tightly, as though that could rid them both of the shock they’re in.

“Should I… should I go?” he asks, mentally pleading with her to say no. The thought of spending his night in his empty house makes him ache with loneliness.

To his relief, she shakes his head. “I don’t want you to, but I don’t feel like I deserve to have you with me tonight. My mum just… verbally eviscerated you. You must be so angry.”

“Not at all,” he insists. “Well… I’m a bit chastened. And a bit embarrassed that I made such a poor first impression, and that you’d been so upset about my behavior that you told your mum how awful I am. But I still want to be here. With you. If that’s all right.”

In response, Rose finally lifts her face from where it had been pressed into his shirt. Her eyes are a little red but completely dry, though he barely registers that fact before she threads her fingers through his hair, presses up onto her toes, and brushes her mouth to his. His eyes flutter shut at the glorious pressure of her kiss. He melts into her, splaying his palm across her back to hold her close.

“Stay,” she murmurs when she breaks away, though she catches his lips in another kiss a moment later. “Please stay with me.”

“For as long as you wish,” he says, because there is nothing on this planet that could make him leave.

Apart from her kiss of greeting at the door, this is the first that James has had Rose’s hands and lips on him in over a week. He tries to keep it chaste and slow, still unsure whether it’s appropriate for him to stay, while hoping to convey comfort and support through his body. He really shouldn’t let them get carried away; Rose is obviously upset, but he just can’t help it. He’s drawing as much strength from her as she hopefully is from him.

He has the presence of mind to keep his hands in safe places, primarily across the expanse of her back. He grabs onto the fabric to anchor himself as he basks in the heady intoxication of her mouth.

They each know exactly where this kiss is headed but pretend not to, and instead they explore each other’s mouths in lazy, indolent strokes of lips and tongue. James quickly becomes far too hot, his skin flushed and tingling with anticipation of things to come. He tentatively dips his fingers beneath her jumper, shuddering to touch her bare skin. She sighs into his mouth and presses her front flush with his.

He’s steadily getting hard in his jeans, each beat of his heart sending his blood rushing down, down, down, helped along by the rocking of Rose’s hips. He drops a hand to her arse, caressing and squeezing and pulling her more tightly into him. With his other hand, he tangles his fingers into her hair and guides her head back a bit to get better access to her neck. She grips his hips with near-bruising force as he plants row after row of searing kisses to the sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. That familiar whining moan rushes out of her as she shudders in his arms, holding him close to urge him on. Not that he needs the encouragement.

Without breaking the kiss or the press of their bodies, James slowly guides them down the hall and to Rose’s bedroom. It takes ages, as he keeps getting distracted with the taste of her skin and the sound of her quiet gasps. They move even more slowly when Rose remembers that she has hands, then proceeds to use them to cup him and stroke him through his jeans.

“Christ,” he chokes out as a spark of pleasure zips up his spine.

“Rose,” she counters, giving him a playful squeeze that sends a full-body shudder through him.

“Smart-arse. Fuck, do that again.”

A laugh hums up her throat, vibrating against his now-still lips as she grips him tightly and rubs. He’s going to fucking lose it, right here in the doorway of her bedroom, but Christ this feels so good and he never, ever wants her to stop.

The intensity recedes a moment later, and he regains his senses enough to tug her hand away from him to instead guide her all the way into her room. There’s a pile of laundry on her bed that Rose haphazardly shoves to the floor.

“Clothes off,” she orders as she fumbles with the hem of her jumper, tugging until she pulls it over her head.

He doesn’t need telling twice.

Neither of them bothers with trying to sexily disrobe the other. Rather, they go for speed and efficiency, and soon enough, they’re both wonderfully naked. She’s as beautiful as he remembers, even more so, and he drags her down to the mattress with him. They move together until Rose is on her back, her legs open for him, and he’s atop her, his hips cradled in hers. She reaches between them for his cock, and strokes him a few times as she guides him inside of her.

He presses in, slowly, inch by inch, shivering at the sensations rushing through him. He groans through clenched teeth as he’s fully seated, forcing himself to wait, to give Rose a moment to adjust. She’s panting beneath him, chest rising and falling as her nails bite into the fleshy part of his back.

“Okay,” she whispers, arching her hips up and pulling him close for a rough, sloppy kiss that conveys everything she wants and needs from him.

His skin sings, tingling at the sensation of so much of her body pressed to his. His blood turns molten, burning him from within as he begins to move.

“Feels so good,” he chokes out, pulling back and plunging forward in a steady, measured manner. The slick glide of her all around him is as addictive as ever, and he trembles with the pleasure slowly mounting in him.

“Uh huh.” Her agreement dies on a moan as he thrusts in with a little more force this time. “James.”

He catches her bottom lip between his before releasing it to kiss her again. He teases his tongue into her mouth, flicking at the roof of her mouth just behind her front teeth, then going back to simpler kisses. Rose clings to him, kissing him back in equal measure as her nails rake down his spine to cup his arse, guiding his quickening rhythm. The sting of her nails coils a raging, aching heat low in his spine, building higher and higher until he knows it won’t be much longer until he’s lost.

“I missed you,” he grunts as her muscles begin to tighten around him. Thank fuck; she’s as close as he is. He redoubles his effort, wanting to push her over the edge first. “So much.”

“Me too,” she gasps. “Fuck. Please…”

He speeds up his rhythm, giving up on kissing her lips and instead tucking his face into the side of her neck. He breathes her in then plants his mouth to that patch of skin beneath her ear that is always her undoing. He grins to himself as she shudders and curses and moans, and when he dips a hand between them to rub her, she breaks.

She cries out and writhes into the mattress, arching her hips up and up and up, closer to him, closer to the sensations he is wringing out of her. She’s perfect, and fucking hell, he’s right on her heels. The perfect pressure within him pulls tighter, making him lose all sense as he chases his high. He thrusts with abandon, clenching his teeth as the flames fan hotter, drowning him, consuming him…

He lets out a wrenching moan and thrusts deeply into her, releasing helplessly, shaking and cursing and burying his face into her. Sensation sparks through him, channeling relief and pleasure through his entire body, curling his toes and stealing his breath. She’s everywhere, all around him and holding him through this maelstrom that has never felt so fucking good.

Rose… he thinks he gasps her name, but the rushing in his ears deafens him to anything except his erratic heartbeat.

He returns to awareness by Rose lazily stroking his back and kissing the top of his shoulder. His body is too heavy to move, but he manages to pull out and flop indelicately beside her, keeping an arm and leg slung over her. She laughs quietly at his antics, and he grins into the pillow. He cracks open an eye to look at her, and the sight of her smile and sex-mussed hair and flushed cheeks ignites a joy and love so deep that he begins to giggle. His body is thrumming with hormones that make him feel boneless and content, and through it all, he laughs and folds himself closer to Rose.

She’s laughing with him and turns to face him fully. He mirrors her position so they’re both on their sides, their legs tangled lazily together. He reaches out and brushes a few rogue strands of hair away from her face, then leans in to kiss her softly.

“That was great,” he whispers into the sacred silence of her bedroom.

“Mhm. Very great.”

“The most great,” he says, beaming as she rolls her eyes.

“Did you have a nice trip?” she asks.

He hums in wordless assent, and briefly tells her all about the week he’d spent in east Asia, meeting fans and doing photoshoots while promoting Catalysis.

“How was your week? Are you feeling better?” While her voice is still raspy from the illness she’d contracted, she looks and sounds much better than she had during their video chat on his last night in Japan.

“Much better. Teaching classes while feeling like death is always frustrating, but it’s easier than arranging for a substitute,” she says with a shrug.

He frowns, but they already had this discussion about how shittily schools treat their teachers, so he lets it go.

“I’ve got an upcoming holiday concert at the O2, weekend after next,” he murmurs, remembering the monthly schedule Donna had sent him that morning. “I’d… I’d really like you to come. If you want. It’s not just me. I think Ed Sheeran is on the list too. And Astrid Peth. She’s a good mate of mine. You can bring a few friends with you. There’s a private suite for my guests, so you could stay hidden, mostly, as long as cameras aren’t wandering around. And my mum’ll be there too. I think. Well. I should invite her, shouldn’t I…?”

Rose interrupts his nervous rambling with a soft kiss. He melts into her, but she breaks it far too soon for his liking.

“I’d love to,” she says, cupping his cheek before scraping her nails through his hair.

His eyes flutter shut at the echoes of pleasure that ripple through him, and he grins at her acceptance of his invitation. He’s giddy at the thought of being on stage and looking into his private suite to see Rose. His favorite pieces of his life will be in the same place, melding together perfectly.

He leans forward to kiss her again, and she willingly reciprocates.

oOoOo

They sleep, eventually. Between (and during) bouts of sex, they talk about everything and nothing. It’s like nothing bad can happen to them here, not when they’re twined so intimately, not when they’re making each other laugh so freely.

Wrung out in that perfect post-marathon-sex way, James buries himself beneath Rose’s blankets and lets blissful unconsciousness claim him. His dreams are vague and foggy, and he doesn’t remember them when he awakes later that morning to sunlight peeking through Rose’s curtains.

His eyes are gritty and heavy as he leans over to check the time. It’s barely 8am, but he feels refreshed, even though the drowsiness of lingering sleep tugs at him again. His shuffling has disturbed Rose, who curls close to him and mutters something unintelligible. He kisses her forehead and closes his eyes once more.

He drifts in and out for many long minutes before the gurgling of his stomach is too distracting. Even Rose hears it, and she pokes his belly, mumbling, “Shush.”

“Can’t exactly help it. Mind if I order a breakfast and coffee delivery?”

“Go for it,” Rose says through a yawn.

“Then can I borrow your shower?” he asks, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around his naked waist.

“Go for it,” she repeats, tucking an arm beneath her pillow to glance up at him. Her gaze falls to the morning erection that is somehow poking at the blankets despite their multiple rounds of very satisfying sex the night before. “Well, hello.”

She gently prods it, giggling when it bobs a bit. “Bouncy.”

James stifles a snort. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”

“Pfft.”

He lets her mindlessly poke his cock as he scrolls to a food delivery app and orders a selection of bagels and croissants for them, as well as his favorite coffee and her favorite tea. His chest balloons with warmth when he adds Rose’s address to his list of favorites, then places their breakfast order.

“Should be here in half an hour,” he says, resting his phone on the nightstand, ignoring the handful of missed notifications. It’s the bloody weekend, for God’s sake. It can wait. For good measure, he completely silences everything, not wanting his morning with Rose to be disturbed.

“Hmmm, how can we pass the time?” Rose muses, blinking up at him through her lashes and grinning wickedly.

She shows him just how entertaining thirty minutes can be.

He doesn’t have time for a shower before there’s a knock at the door that has them scrambling for clothes. He tugs on his pants and t-shirt while Rose simply dons a robe overtop her knickers, cinching it tight at the waist to keep her modesty. They emerge from the bedroom, with James going to the kitchen for plates while Rose heads to the door.

There’s an odd commotion in the hallway, but James doesn’t really think much of it, not as he absently wonders what he and Rose could do today. Maybe they can sneak out somewhere and visit a museum or something. Maybe he could take her to the studio—it should be fairly empty on a Saturday morning. Maybe they can take an impromptu road trip to somewhere Rose has never been. Pack their bags and drive to the first place they can think of. Book a hotel and order in a bunch of fancy food and rent some films to watch and get drunk on expensive wine and kiss until their lips are bruised. God, that sounds like a perfect weekend, and he hopes Rose will be agreeable.

But all of those plans, those hopes, are dashed the moment Rose opens her front door to reveal a stunned delivery person and over a dozen paparazzi photographers, armed and ready with flashing cameras.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #sacred new beginnings #ten x rose au #james x rose #my fic #romance #angst #it's heeeeere!!!#enjoy 😘💜

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ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa · 9 months

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What If Kokichi Used The Pillow of Admiration (AU)

the rough idea of it goes as far back as a whole year ago, but Pit brought it up again recently, so I remembered: hey, I have my own version of it

He's using it every night since the first trial and the dreams change as the game goes on

because Kokichi cares about everyone, no matter how hard he pretends he doesn't, there's a lot of scenarios based off what he would wish for them coming right after deaths

The first one is everyone being friends in a normal high school setting like Kaede wished for. Another one when he's part of an adventurer party with Rantaro and a bunch of others and they help reunite the Amami siblings. In his dreams Ryoma is happy with his family. Kirumi serves no one, but is still the mom friend. Angie's god doesn't ask for blood donations, and she doesn't use him to make her demands either.

Not everybody appears in every dream, but he accumulates friends, gets closer to more of them, even though in the waking world he only gets further away from the living and can't confirm the dead would be the same if he got to know them as well as he did their dream counterparts. Probably not.

It starts to change into more of a romantic fantasy centering him and Shuichi after the final FTE, so mid ch3? The rest fades to background, but it's still about the chase and pining and being reluctant friends, maybe.

He gets a full domestic established relationship after the 4th trial, sees Gonta and Miu as his best friends, who give speeches at the wedding, leaving Gonta babysitting the child he and Shuichi adopted, and then he wakes up ready to claim he's the mastermind. Full on despair.

He doesn't take the pillow to the hangar, throws the thing into the trash.

#kokichi ouma #kaede akamatsu #rantaro amami #ryoma hoshi #kirumi tojo #angie yonaga #shuichi saihara #saiouma #oumasai #gonta gokuhara #miu iruma #ndrv3 #made by me #danganronpa

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tottymatsuno · 2 years

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Updated Info + MINORS AND BLM*TSU/PROSH*PPER DNI! 18+ ONLY!

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Todomatsu Multichapters

Pink Angel From Hell

PINK ANGEL FROM HELL

In The Peach Pit; Saw You Fake It

IN THE PEACH PIT; SAW YOU FAKE IT

Peach Pit Ch1 | Peach Pit Ch2 | Peach Pit Ch3 | Peach Pit Ch4 |

Equal Footing

EQUAL FOOTING

Equal Footing Ch1 | Equal Footing Ch2 | Equal Footing Ch3 |

Pure Snow; Muddy Tracks

PURE SNOW; MUDDIED TRACKS

Apostasy

Trisaigon 1 | Trisaigon 2 |

Idol Worship

TOTTY ONESHOTS

OTHER BASTARDS

LOVING YOU IS EASY BECAUSE YOU'RE DEAD

Loving You Is Easy Because You're Dead

Osomatsu Karamatsu Ichimatsu

WHO YOU REALLY ARE

Who You Actually Are

Baker Nonny's Request

Osomatsu | Karamatsu |

ALL REQUESTS

Random lil things

#new pinned post #gonna add the other links later

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4izawas · 3 years

Text

Game Over [Supernatural] [SAW!AU MINISERIES} CH3 - COIL

Series Summary: The Winchesters and their allies bite off more than they can chew when they try to track someone who isn’t exactly a monster…

Warnings: Blood, gore, torture, character death, drug addiction, alcohol addiction

Theme: Hello Zepp (Charles Clouser)

Contents: saw!au, serial killer!au, pawn!reader, victim!reader, former victim!reader, Senior Player!Reader, Senior Player!OFC, Senior Player!OMC, Senior Player!OMC, Player!Dean Winchester, Player!Sam Winchester, Player!Rowena MacLeod, Player!Crowley/Fergus MacLeod, Player!Castiel Novak, Player!OFC, Player!OMC

Note: Certain gifs used were made by the lovely @marril96, who inspired this AU. Go send her some love, she’s absolutely incredible!

The group walked through the building for a while, Rowena keeping an eye on the woman in front of her. After what she’d said, an eerie silence had settled over the group - an eerie silence that Rowena did not like.

Sasha’s voice echoes through the silence, making Rowena jump and tear her eyes away from Y/N’s back. “Hey! I found a door over here!”

“I need the flashlight,” Tom says; he grabs the flashlight out of Allen’s hands before going through the door. He walks down some stairs, holding the baseball bat and the light, then through a door to a wide open room. The others swiftly follow, and Dean notices something curious.

“Over there,” he calls, directing everyone’s attention to what he’d seen.

Something in a robe is lying in the corner.

Dean and Tom give each other a looo that conveyed silent understanding before walking towards it in tandem, Tom whispering, “What the fuck?”

They work like a team, Tom standing ready with the spiked bat while Dean puts the human like thing into view.

“Oh, shit,” Sasha mutters, backing away a little. A rather shoddy looking mannequin is inside the robe. An envelope with the word ‘Romi’ has been pinned to the doll’s chest with a knife. Allen jumps up when Sam turns the light on.

“Hey!” He exclaims, voicing his surprise. His eyes land on Sam, who’s still holding the string that turned the overhead light on between his fingers. “Damn, kid.”

“Sorry.” Sam replies quietly, looking down to his right when Rowena comes up next to him.

“Don’t be, we needed the light,” she replies simply, and Allen shrugs and nods.

“True,” he responds as the envelope on the mannequin is pulled loose by Dean, who looks it over.

“What the fuck is a Romi?” The hunter asks, eyeing the name on the front.

Weasel, who’s been more or less hiding in his hoodie, weakly speaks up.

“It’s - It’s me: Romi,” he says, “It’s my name.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he replies, “I thought your name was Wesley?”

“Romi’s my first name; it was my father’s.” Weasel mutters back; Rowena rolls her eyes.

“Only he could be so unfortunate as to have you as both a son and a namesake.” The ginger growls lowly, still strongly disliking him for all the ‘whore’s that he’d thrown around only hours earlier. Y/N snorts in response, but Weasel does nothing as Rowena is flanked by not only the elder player but by both Sam and Dean, who look down at him threateningly. Unwilling to oppose the two walls of muscle, he turns away as Tom grabs the recorder out of the mannequin’s lap. The tape is put into it and played while Weasel stands by a nearby electrical panel.

“‘Cross the empty room in front of you and stop at the door. Go one at a time, largest down to smallest in threes. You will receive further information afterwards.’”

Everyone crosses the room as ordered, starting with Tom, Y/N, and Rowena. Allen, Castiel, and Sasha follow, and are then in turn also followed by Sam, Dean, and Crowley. Weasel is left alone on the other side of the room with the recorder. He goes to follow, but suddenly terrifyingly familiar laughter sounds and the floor breaks under him. He screams, falling down into a pit of what seem to be roots, then sees(even though it’s dark) a tape and grabs it, pressing play.

“‘Hello, Romi - I want to play a game. For years you have burned those around you with your lies, cons, and deceits. Now you’ll have a chance to redeem yourself for the games you played with others… by playing one of mine.’” As Jigsaw’s voice echoes through both chambers, Y/N leans against a nearby cabinet as Weasel desperately slams his fists on the metal siding of the pit of roots. “‘In front of you are two keys to help you escape - they are not required for those above you, but for you to get out of this situation, you must retrieve them. One is my gift to you for helping me kidnap the others. The second is yours to donate. However, one of them will come with a price. Remember, Romi: once you are in your personal hell, only the devil can help you out - so watch your step and tread carefully.’”

During the tape’s runtime, everyone had looked down towards Weasel, confused or angered by what they’ve just heard.

“Wait a minute - What does that mean, ‘kidnap the others’?” Dean asks, already getting angry.

“How would I know?” Weasel responds nervously, but Sasha… Sasha remembers.

“Because you put us here,” she hisses, “see, I remember. My car... I stepped in halfway, but dropped my keys. I got them and got back in and started the car, but you popped up behind me and pressed a handkerchief against my nose and mouth; I saw you in the rear view.”

“Chloroform,” Crowley mutters darkly, interrupting her; if he wasn’t stripped of his abilities, his eyes would be blood red.

“You kissed me right before I passed out, you fucking freak,” she turns to everyone else above the pit with her. “I knew I knew him. You’re the last person I saw before I woke up here. You did this.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Tom asks warily, “You better be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Weasel began speaking to Dean, who was closer to the edge, as if the hunter would take his side, “You would have done the same. I did what I had to do!”

“Fucking disgusting,” is Dean’s only response, eyes filled with fury. Tom stalks over to the edge, eyes wild.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he says, pulling the knife out of the dummy’s chest and points it furiously at his fellow captive down below. “You got five seconds to get us out of here.”

“I don’t know the way out!” The scrawny man cries. Out of frustration, or to have a possible weapon, Sasha breaks a glass bottle she’d found and had been holding. Y/N just watches with mild interest, completely uninterested in the proceedings before her. Sasha, however, is overcome with her emotions over being kidnapped and drugged and anything in between.

“Bullshit! You put us in here, you can get us out of here!” She shouts.

“N-No, I can’t!” Weasel cries, shaking his head.

Sam speaks next, his voice cold and furious, “Then you’re a dead man.”

“S-So are you!” Weaseling retorts, and suddenly Dean appears from wherever he’d disappeared to behind the lip.

“Say it again and your body’ll hit the floor sooner than necessary,” he hisses darkly. Weasel jumps back and Tom steps towards him, but Rowena prevents a possible scuffle.

“It’s not gonna… Wait, wait, wait,” she was mainly ignored - at least, she was until she’d had enough. “WAIT! Listen to me!” Everyone focuses on her. “He’s got two keys in that room. We’re all wasting time here when he could just be running for them!”

“Wasting time - wasting time? Are you kidding me?! He kidnapped me in the middle of the night!” Sasha snarls, advancing on the shorter woman.

“We don’t even know what’s in that room,” Sam snaps, slightly wedding himself between the two women. “Are you yourself willing to stick yourself in his situation to find out?” He looks around the room, which is suddenly silent. “Are any of you?”

Y/N shrugs.

“Why the fuck not,” she states, breaking the tension. Almost everyone visibly relaxes at the sound of her voice, even though she wasn’t attempting in any way to comfort them. Crowley shakes his head.

“Okay, wait - So who gets them? I mean, there’s two, so which two people get the keys after he escapes?”

Dean himself speaks louder, trying to get the focus back. “We’ll work that out later! We have other things to worry about here.”

Tom ignores everyone and speaks directly to Weasel. “Right now, you’re going in there-“ He points into the darkness, “…or I’ll come down and kill you where you stand.”

Fine! I guess I’m going in there to get those stupid keys - But I get one!” Weasel squeaks. The accomplice crouches down and crawls into the room where the two keys dangling from the ceiling. “Ugh, it feels like a bunch of roots or something in here - and they’re moving.”

“Like Devil’s Snare from Harry Potter?” Sam asks curiously. There’s a pause then a response.

“Yeah, but is this really the time to be a ten foot nerd?”

“Shut up!” Dean barks, and Weasel jumps, squashing something beneath his foot. There was a hiss as air escaped it, but Weasel ignored it, looking up at the key above him instead. “Ah-hah!” He pulls the key at the halfway point loose and pockets it. “One for me….”

“Hurry up!” Crowley growls.

“Okay, okay! I’m going, damn,” Weasel tries to get the second key, but it slips out of his hands and swings around. “Come on, baby!” he grunts as he whirls around, climbing the mountain of roots in different ways so as to get to the treasure above. “You guys can fight over this one.”

“Thank you, Weasel - now come on!” Allen urges. Weasel finally grabs it, yanking the key from its chain, but the chain that the key was dangling from is connected to the door of the pit. It closes, locking Weasel inside.

“Oh, shit - The fucking door closed!” Tom exclaims. The trap activates, lights flashing on blindingly. No one can see anything, blinded by said lights as they stagger off to the viewing area by the door - but all they hear are Weasels screams.

“Open the door! Open the door! Let me out!”

“It’s locked! I can’t open it!” Tom shouts back, squinting his eyes shut. The captive crawls through the now roiling ‘roots’ to the door and tries to kick it open, slicing his already injured leg up severely

“Open the door! Open the fucking door! I’m getting bit!” He howls, “Ow, fuck!”

“Come on! Get him out of there!” Castiel urged, as blind as everyone else. The room rings with a cacophony of different words, but in the end they’re all mainly the same:

“The door! The keys! I can’t get it open!”

And of course, there was Weasel screaming in agony in the locked room.

Sam, still blinded like the rest, catches what the man was shouting, “What’s biting you?!”

“SNAKES!” Weasel roars. A few seconds after, everyone's vision slowly comes back and they’re all horrified; the pit is full of a roiling nest of snakes long as Sam was tall at the very least. Dean’s eyes widen and his heart begins to race; snakes were a fear of his that he never mentioned.

“Get him out of there!” He snaps. The weaselly man crawls to the other end of the pit and bangs on the glass window desperately, frightened and in deep pain. A snake rears its head back before striking, clamping its mouth down on his waist and dragging him away. Weasel screams and struggles to the other ends of the room, desperate to survive. On the other end, he sees his key to survival: a devil has been painted nearby a valve with the word "Twist" near it - no doubt it opens another door, but the sea of serpents only come across it, going higher and higher, overshadowing it. Tom tries to pull the door open, but the handle is glowing hot from mechanisms heating it from the inside so they can’t let him out, Sasha covers her ears from the torturous groans coming out of the pit as the skinny man is slowly wrapped in in the coils of a snake as long as the room itself.

“H-Help-“ he weakly whispers.

“Get him out!” Rowena shrieks, but the snake only tightens its grip around him, easing its cool body further up around Weasel’s, slowly but surely crushing him.

“Use your coat! Use your fucking coat!” Sam shouts desperately. Tom’s coat is wound around the burning hot handle, but despite their best pulling efforts, the door remains closed; all they could do was watch.

“Come on! He’s dying in there!” Dean cries.

“Stop it!” Rowena shouts.

“Come on!” Dean grunts, putting all his strength into opening the door, “Turn!”

“Stop it!” Sam bellows, adding his own cries to Rowena’s.

“Got to put your weight on it!” Tom says urgently, “we can work together!”

Both men throw everything they have into it, but it’s all for nothing.

“STOP IT!” Sasha screams as Weasel spasms and screams, eyes seeming to get larger and larger and his face redder and redder as the pressure against his body mounted against him.

Castiel points at the back of the room in a hidden corner, “There’s a glass window over there - we can break it!”

Everyone, besides Rowena (who’s still barefoot from her own trial), runs to the other side.

“He’s got the keys in his hand.” Y/N murmurs. Dean tries to talk to Weasel, knowing how terrified the other man was.

“Hang on, man. We’re gonna get you out!”

“We can’t break the glass,” Y/N says simply; no one listens. Weasel slams the hand closest to them against the glass window, stunning the others. Sasha is in tears.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” She hated Weasel, but not that much.

Rowena and Sasha start screaming, while Tom tries to make way, everyone still ignoring Y/N.

“Get out of the fucking way! Move, move, move!”

He attempts to kick the glass in, but it doesn’t work.

“Shit - Come on!” Dean urges, his hero complex absolutely raging. This man was a dick, but they couldn’t let him die!

Weasel reaches out, screaming anxiously and trying to crawl out of the snake’s grip, but is unsuccessful. The snake’s coils tighten even more, making Weasel’s eyes bulge out of his skull until -

Pop.

Sasha screamed as one of Weasel’s eyes pops from its socket and hangs loosely against his cheek, barely attached but still so. His jaw is slack in shock as he’s slowly crushed, his other eye is forced from its socket, and most everyone gags at the sight, even the hunters. The only ones that don’t are Y/N and Crowley - and evening Crowley looks slightly sick to his stomach. Y/N?

Y/N has no expression on her face.

The snake holding him rears up and finally swoops down, taking his head into its mouth right before the room goes black and silent.

Everyone is silent for a moment before Dean breaks it.

“Fuck!” He snarls, punching the wall. Sam leans against it, sliding down and letting his head hang, his hair covering his face in his misery. Everyone begins to mourn in their own way.

“He’s - He’s dead,” Rowena whispers. Y/N looks the room over with her eyes, then turns and begins to walk through the door, whispering three words under her breath where no one heard but Rowena:

“Game over, Romi.”

Original Post: Supernatural AU | Saw

Idea Credits To: @marril96

Game Over - @marril96 @rebelliouswinchester @moonie-flower101 @loonylunalovegood77 @thuutthuutbilly @fandom-imagines1 @ruthieconnellfan @afanofeverything1 @castiel-has-bees @tofeartheunknown @l4life

Supernatural - @fandom-princess-forevermore

Dean Winchester - @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @stoneyggirl @defenderrosetyler

Sam Winchester - @defenderrosetyler

Rowena MacLeod - @marril96

Castiel Novak - @winchesteratheart13

Crowley/Fergus Macleod - @bucky-babygirl

Forevers - @deanmonandnegansbitch @twdeadlysins

#supernatural #game over #game over series #Rowena MacLeod x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #Castiel x reader #Castiel Novak x reader #Crowley x reader #fergus macleod x reader #gore #blood #death #snakes #torture

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loversandantiheroes · 3 years

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Which of Your Fics

Got tagged for this quite awhile by the lovely and talented @astroboots, (ty sug 💗) and it kinda got buried in my drafts. So in the spirit of trying to clean it out, here it is. I *think* this is all the questions that came with it, but it’s so far back I can’t find it. This will probably be exceedingly boring for everybody given how few fics I’ve actually contributed to the Pedro Pit so far. Apologies in advance.

Which fic did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got?

None, really. I’m not trying to be humble, I’ve just got exceedingly low expectations. XD

Which fic got a better reaction than you expected?

Everything I’ve written in the last two years. I mean that sincerely. Partly just based on prior experience in writing fanfic (combination of still being pretty new to writing fanfic and writing some very niche stuff nobody was interested in), but also just...Case History got an insane reaction, and I sure as shit didn’t expect to walk into the Pedro Pit, toss out a Whiskey fic and get the response I did.

Which fic is your funniest?

Not sure on that one. Humor tends not to be a big focus, just a kind of a byproduct. I don’t think I can point to one.

Is your darkest/angstiest?

There’s a few contenders on that front. A lot of my earlier OUAT fics were horror-tinged or straight up angst-fests. My only TSW fic features my poor bee’s first death. At least two of my canon-ish compliant DW fics are angsty as all hell, and that’s not even counting Like Blood Running Warm, the vampire au, which...well I mean it’s a vampire au, ffs, there’s gonna be a body count by the time that wraps up. There’s also Structural Damage, which is my DA:I Cullen x F!Inquisitor fic that deals with Cullen going off of lyrium and that’s definitely not the lightest topic (though there’s a lot of that fic I’d like to go back and fix). And I mean Hotel Hobbies is starting to unearth the buried angst as well.

Is your absolute favorite?

God that’s hard. Part of me wants to say Jigsaw just because I put so much work into trying to make the sci-fi bullshit make sense for the sake of a fix-it fic and I’m just proud that I managed to finish it. Like it exists, it’s complete, it’s done, the nerds have been put back together and all is right with the universe. There’s also some damn good writing in there, too. But Case History is such a strangely special series to me, and Hotel Hobbies has morphed from a one-off “Whiskey deserves to get tied up and tormented and I bet he’d love it” fic to something a lot deeper and more emotionally grounded. So I don’t know. Three way tie?

Is your least favorite?

Oof. Restless. More DA:I fic. It’s not exactly bad, but it did not come out the way that I’d hoped.

Which was the easiest to write?

My memory is wonky, so that’s a tough one to pick. I’m gonna say probably Risk & Reward. That just sort of came out in a rush during a bout of anxiety, most of the difficulty involved was just trying to make sure everything was in the correct order (damn you, non-linear thinking).

The hardest?

I mean at this stage the next segment of Case History and Ch3 of Hotel Hobbies could duke it out for the reigning champion. I have too many fics that I’ve started and found myself stuck in. But I think the one that caused me the most like actual stress and agony was Structural Damage. I was trying very very very very hard to strike a balance with the portrayal of Cullen’s lyrium addiction, not wanting to handwave it as something easily fixed and not turning it into a “I will cure you by the miracle power of love and boning.” That and trying to handle PTSD in a respectful way and just...yeah. That one took a lot out of me. Somehow at least that prepared me for writing Side Effects, so the stress on that one was considerably less.

Which fic has your favourite line/paragraph?

Oh god I have a few. Jigsaw alone has so many bits I’m proud of. Here’s one:

He studies her, intent, almost desperate, as if she were a map of some place he thought he had traveled long ago, perhaps in a dream. His eyes search out familiarity, looking for a landmark in the darkness of her eyes or the upturn of her nose or the sweep of cupid’s bow above her lips. But then his eyes blur, losing focus, and his face falls. There is no recognition here; her face is still beyond the edges of his map. Here there be monsters.

I am also, of all things, very attached to this bit from Referral (Case History #7)

“I’ve been busy,” Alex insists, shoulders straightening. “Y’know. School stuff.”

An awkward moment of silence passes while Abigail shuffles for another pumpkin. It’s a lie. You know it, and clearly Abigail knows it, too. It might just be Pelican Town’s worst kept secret, right next to the Mayor’s pointlessly illicit “affair” with a single woman. Alex hadn’t been able to secure a sports scholarship after graduation, and without a proper college fund he’d been left with no real options. The kid was watching a dream die in real time, and was doing his damnedest to pretend it was still breathing.

Harvey would’ve understood.

Which fic have you re-read the most?

At this stage it’s somewhere between Hotel Hobbies and The House Call. The latter was very much written as a bit of comfort during a very very bad month, and re-reading it is very much a fictional hug.

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keelywolfe · 5 years

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FIC: Severed Bonds (Chapter 12)

Summary: Edge, Jedi Knight, is lost in a Galaxy without the Jedi Order and the only one left to him is one who already betrayed them all.

Tags/Warnings: Spicyhoney, Star Wars AU, Darkfic, Angst, Minor Character Deaths, Friends to Enemies to ?, Hatesex…?, Trauma, Implied Possible Insanity, Rough Sex, Lemons, Mentions of Prostitution, Violence, Possessiveness

Severed Bonds: a Spicyhoney SW AU

CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4: Interlude | CH5 | CH6: Interlude 2 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 |

Read Chapter 12 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

The mines were never empty.

No matter the hour, whether or not the dual suns were in the skies, there were workers of any species in the long tunnels that snaked beneath the ground. Digging for the rich dorium ore, alone or in groups, working as many or as few hours as they cared. All that mattered to the Company was the amount of ore they brought in and each worker took company credit for their pay.

It was accepted for goods in the little mining town and no other place in the galaxy, keeping them trapped by their own funds on this desolate planet. That and the stims they could purchase with their credits and when a worker fell in one of the dank tunnels, sickened from breathing in the ore dust or simply dead, there would be a mad scramble for their half-filled bucket.

And the cycle continued.

One worker, a Kel Dor by their distinctive breathing apparatus and face mask, worked long hours every day, filling only slightly more buckets of ore as any other.

They worked alone and the thugs that preyed on the solo workers followed them the first few days, eager for a fresh victim.

Only to halt in confusion as they seemed to vanish within the depths of the mine, leaving the would-be thieves to fight amongst themselves over who allowed them to get away.

Two days after their arrival, something happened within the gangs, a bloody affair spoken of in whispers, and no further attempts were made to follow them. They were left alone to fill their buckets, hours of backbreaking work for a pittance and if they were given an extra credit or two at the ore exchange, no one stood close enough to notice a subtle flick of a hand or a low, persuasive murmur through the voice synth.

The mining town was in truth little more than a few rows of shanties manned by rotten-tooth proprietors selling cheap goods and stims. They came out only to shriek at any miner who collapsed by their shack, kicking them vigorously and spitting curses. Until the unfortunate either stumbled out of the way of their ire or were otherwise dragged away by the stoic cleaners, their bodies cast into one of the large, open pits scattered across the wasteland.

The Kel Dor stopped at one of the food stalls, using their credits to purchase a few containers of greasy noodles and packages of the thin, bland nutritional wafers. Another stall sold them a few jogan fruits with only a few dark places softened with rot.

Normally the Kel Dor would set his packages into a rucksack and be on their way with that, but this day they paused, considering. Finally, they made a last purchase, a small grease-spotted box that they added to the rest.

No one paid them any mind. Most of the others were scurrying to purchase their daily stims and food was an afterthought. All of them scrawny, skeletal beings who would be replaced by others who looked the same, an endless line of spiritual twins who would mine the ore till death replaced them with the next.

The Kel Dor went past them, the huddled groups already sagging to the ground in chemical bliss. They walked out of town to the dusty outskirts where few lived. On a rickety rack, a speeder was locked into place along with sparse collection of other vehicles and any brave enough to lay a hand on it earned a nasty shock for their trouble.

The Kel Dor straddled it without concern, shifting to guide it over the cracked, parched ground out into the wastelands.

When they were out of view of the ramshackle town, a small droid wriggled free of a side pouch, chirping happily as it clambered up to nestle into the rider’s lap.

The droid earned a gentle pat for the effort, and they rode on with only the roaring motor breaking the silence.

The first sun was creasing the horizon when the ship came into view. They pulled up next to it, parking the speeder within the protection grid before the Kel Dor stripped off the respirator, peeling away the mask to breathe in great gulps of sweltering air.

Edge wiped wearily at his sweaty skull despite the filth of his gloves. The arid climate was all the more unpleasant for having to wear a disguise, but it worked well enough.

Plenty of species needed a breathing apparatus in different environments. No one had given him a second glance here past gauging how easily he would be robbed, and those looks had been easily dissuaded with a little subterfuge and Force persuasion.

He gathered up the day’s supplies along with the sweaty mask and started for the boarding ramp.

“Shall we join Rus for dinner?” Edge asked, pausing to allow BD-7 a chance to scramble up and sit on his shoulder.

It made a rude sound at that and Edge struggled not to laugh, if only to keep from encouraging it. The little droid hadn't grown any fonder of Rus over the weeks they’d been here and took any opportunity it could to lay siege on his ankles. Rus’s boots were covered in a fine collection of little scuffs and no amount of Edge’s scolding could convince BD to stop.

For some reason, Rus found this hilarious, never lashing out at the little droid. Small, strange things could spark his temper, but always he nudged the little droid aside without leaving so much as a scratch, striding away from the string of chirping abuse that BD-7 hurled at him daily with nothing more than a chuckle.

That odd acceptance wasn’t enough for Edge to trust them alone while he worked. BD-7 always traveled with him during the day, keeping guard over their vehicle while Edge gathered enough ore for the credits they needed.

It was exhausting work even with a judicious use of Force, but physical labor Edge could manage. If the credits were barely a quarter of what a laborer would earn on a civilized planet, they were in no position to negotiate. What was more difficult was walking past the other miners, feeling the aura of death around them, their lives leeching away in hard work and an endless cloud of mind-fogging drugs.

He couldn’t help them. Even if Edge spent all his hard-earned credits on extra food, they wouldn’t accept it, slapping away a generous hand if it wasn’t holding out a stim.

All he could do was earn enough to keep them in meals and fuel. His work at least gave them an appearance of legitimacy, for whatever it was Rus was doing in the late hours certainly was not.

Most nights after their evening meal was shared, Rus would take the respirator and speeder, heading out to earn credits his own way.

Not sex, Edge didn’t think. Rus came back to him bearing no unusual bruises, and always with republic credits rather than company ones, adding them to their stash.

He didn’t ask how Rus was earning credits. Better, perhaps, not to know when he unable to claim Rus, at least not the way he did Edge.

Love, Edge could allow, offering it for Rus to cast away or silently accept, depending on his mood. Jealousy Edge could not let take root; his unsettled emotions were difficult enough to deal with during his daily meditations. Rus’s bones belonged to no one but himself.

The opposite was not true. A claim had been laid down on Naiver-12 that Edge did not refute.

That Edge belonged to Rus would have upset him, once. Once he would have been disgusted by the very idea. These days he was more than willing to give over his body to Rus, opening to him, only to him.

Unequal, yes, and Edge didn’t care. Rus’s body was for anyone and his body was only for Rus. He’d accepted that from the beginning.

But their minds and souls were only to be shared with each other. Edge’s soul would accept nothing less and he could feel Rus’s acceptance of that every time they opened their bond.

His body was not his soul, but even with that unspoken agreement, it was still a relief to know no one was laying rough hands on Rus those nights.

Sharing the respirator, on the other hand, was a minor annoyance, but until they could afford another, it would have to do. It did make Edge wonder what Rus had done wearing their shared face that turned the thugs’ gazes of greedy interest to fear when they saw him. Not enough to ask.

But breathing in Rus’s scent every morning, the sweetness of his sweat, was not unpleasant. It lingered for the first hours of his day, a small comfort in the midst of hard work.

There were baths in the encampment, but even if Edge dared stripping down to reveal his bones, he wouldn’t want to bathe in filthy, stagnant water that probably held countless diseases. A sonic shower was better than slow death from plague, if only barely.

There was a sanitary station directly next to the ship’s entrance. Edge stripped out of his jumpsuit and sent it down the cleaning chute for the morning, stepping beneath the quick, uncomfortable sweep of the sonics. Bare, he walked to their quarters, BD-7 clinging easily to his shoulder, only hopping off reluctantly when Edge dressed in his robes. A thin protection to face his…lover?...but better than nudity.

Only then did he make his way to the galley.

Rus was lying on one of the benches at the table, his long legs sprawled off the end. He didn’t sit up until Edge set out the food containers and the heavy, rich scent of cooked food filled the air.

“what are you killing us with today?” Rus asked at last, swinging his legs under the table.

He snagged one of the flimsicard containers, pulling out a noodle with his bare fingers and slurping it noisily. Rus only laughed when Edge slapped the back of his skull unhesitatingly, dropping an eating utensil in front of Rus with a pointed clatter.

“the creche master isn’t here to scold me,” Rus said coyly. A subtle dig, that one. He must’ve slept well while Edge was gone to be more playful than cruel.

There was some relief at that, outside of the tiny cut of his words; Rus’s nightmares were growing steadily worse.

On the nights that he didn’t run his mysterious errands, he always woke screaming, his sockets blank and dark, whatever memories haunting him concealed behind a wall in his mind.

He seemed rested enough today. Perhaps sleeping in the daylight hours was better for now despite the heat of the suns testing the cooling systems. Anything was better than waking to those awful screams.

Rus was making steady progress on the noodles and Edge opened his own container, suppressed hunger breaking free of its bonds.

The noodles were just this side of too salty, but the broth they were swimming in was satisfyingly rich. Slices of some fungi floated in it and the vegetables were unknown but crunched with alluring freshness. A meat option was available but Edge never ordered it. Unknown vegetables were acceptable in most cases, unknown meat, almost never.

The nutritional wafers were put away with the other preservable supplies. The small, grease-stained box, however, was pushed silently over to Rus.

Who opened it with wary curiosity to reveal a small, sugar-crusted cake. It cost an entire credit on its own, an almost unknown indulgence on this planet that Edge bought on impulse. Rus had always had a sweet tooth.

Rus didn’t comment on the cake, but his moan of appreciation as he devoured it spoke volumes. When it was gone, he licked a bony finger and dabbled in the box for the last of the crumbs. This time Edge let his lack of manners go. It might be some time before there were sweets again.

It was a pleasant meal, all things considered. So Edge was taken off guard when Rus abruptly asked, “what were you going to do after they killed me?”

“What do you mean? When who killed you?” It wasn’t uncommon for Rus to wander off on a mental tangent, leaving Edge struggling to catch up.

Rus slanted him a sideways look. The darkened circles beneath his sockets were ones of permanence, and his eye lights were coldly amused. “the jedi, of course. the council sent jedi to kill me.”

“I wasn’t there to kill you.” It was more truth than not.

Not enough. Rus’s smile curled into a sneer. “how charming, you were going to save me, were you?” He shook his head, pityingly. “do you really think that was the plan for the others?”

No. He didn’t. But he was sick of playing the role of enemy, sick of being the villain in Rus’s story. Distance gave some clarity and there were wrongs committed on both sides between them, Jedi and Sith, Edge and Rus, and Edge was weary of being the whipping boy. A cracked skull and the loss of all the Jedi was enough penance for anyone.

“what were you doing there?” Edge countered.

“me?” Rus looked at him in surprise. “my master sent me to javin for negotiations. it was beneath my skills, to be honest, and it seems he somehow forgot to tell me not only about the jedi hunting me down, but also about his little plan with the clone troopers.” He tutted sadly, but his fury colored the Force around them with bitter heat. “mind must be going, poor old thing.”

Rus’s grin was sour. “what i am sure about is that i wasn’t supposed to survive that little rendezvous. either the jedi were supposed to kill me or the clone troopers. you and i should be dead, jedi….ouch! stop, you brat!” Rus reached down and there was a clang from the slap of bone against metal, not nearly as loud as it could have been. “i wasn’t threatening him, i was stating a fact! would you mind calling off your watchdog before i kick him into a black hole?”

It was an idle threat but perhaps better to not take chances.

“BD-7, come here.” For a wonder, he did as he was told for once, sullenly trudging over to Edge. Honestly, he hadn’t realized droids had the capacity to glare before meeting this one.

But oddly, the growing tension was broken. The glowing rage in Rus’s eye lights dimmed to something thoughtful.

“why don’t you put your pet in a time out,” Rus said suddenly, “and you can come over here and fuck me.”

“You told me we were planning our next move tonight.” But the flare of heat in his soul and between his legs was willing to postpone.

“i am,” Rus licked his teeth, and the banked heat in his sockets was enticing rather than alarming. “i think better when i’m relaxed.”

By the time Edge wrangled the small, furious droid out the door, the empty food containers were scattered on the floor and Rus was atop the table, bare femurs spread and his legs dangling off the end from his bent knees.

Edge leaned over him, bracing his hands on the table, eye lights trailing over those slim, scarred bones. Rus tipped his skull up for a kiss and his heated amusement turned to confusion when Edge didn’t take it.

“You were right,” Edge told him, low. “If I couldn’t save you, I was going to kill you.”

“ah, there we are,” Rus only smirked up at him, a glittery shine in his eye lights. “well, according to jedi thinking, by killing me you would be saving me. what about now? have you learned to think for yourself, yet?”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Edge tried. It was a promise they’d shared before, both of them, broken time and again. It shouldn’t hurt when Rus called him on it.

“awww, you’ve already hurt me plenty, haven’t you, sweetheart.” And the laughter beneath those words was a wound of its own. “but if you’re promising not to kill me, i may take you up on it.” The sudden softness on his face, uncertain gentleness, sent another pang through Edge’s soul, a more tender wound. “thinking on your own, though, that takes a while, jedi. took me a long time. now, are you going to fuck me or are you waiting for me to top?”

Edge didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words for any part of that. Instead, he slid down, cutting off Rus’s startled protests by pressing his face to the softness between his legs, his cunt softer than any other part of Rus, even his soul.

He buried his tongue in that sweetness, over and over, until fingers were scrabbling at his skull and Rus was swearing in broken gasps. Until Rus braced a foot against his shoulder and pushed, only enough to give him leverage to pull Edge on top of him.

Both of them fumbled together at his trousers, fingers tangled with fabric and each other. When his cock was finally free, Edge wasted no time, only briefly slicking through those wet folds before pressing inside.

“ah, yes…fuck…hard-harder!” Rus slurred out. He didn’t wait, wrapped both legs around Edge’s pelvis and tried to drag him in.

Edge resisted, pressed in deep, waiting as Rus pleaded and clawed at him, waiting until that hoarse, begging voice broke.

Then he slowly withdrew, only to plunge back in in one long, hard stroke. Rus wailed as Edge rode him relentlessly, driving into him while Rus begged without shame. Their bodies crashed together, the table creaked and screeched with every thrust, jittering across the floor. Until it hit the wall and there it thumped, once, twice, and Edge threw his head back with a harsh groan as he came in that wet, trembling heat.

Gasping, he sagged down on Rus, ignoring his frustrated swearing. With effort, he managed to work a hand between them. Edge rocked his pelvis in short thrusts even as he softened inside him, circled the hard nub of his clit with a thumb until Rus shuddered, hands and cunt tightening convulsively as he toppled over his own peak.

Then there was nothing but panting, their sweat mingling as Edge managed to rise up shakily on his elbows. Rus didn’t quite respond to his soft kiss, parted his teeth drowsily but his tongue was lax against Edge’s coaxing one.

He didn’t protest when Edge shifted, breathed out a contented sigh as Edge carefully withdrew and fastened his trousers. Only snuggled into Edge’s arms when he picked Rus up, kicking aside the crushed food containers to carry Rus to their bed.

Edge set him gently onto the blankets and it was only a moment’s work to pull off his own robes, settling next to him. Their bond wasn’t opened, but softened, inviting a light press of thoughts and Edge did, curling up against Rus’s mind as he did the same to his body.

But the nightmare still came. Rus woke screaming in his arms and all Edge could do was hold him, soothe him with useless words.

Slowly, Rus settled. His body, always and never Edge’s, was thin and trembling beneath the blankets. His mind was a brick wall. Lying in the darkness, holding him close, Edge could only wonder at what was hidden behind the closed shutters of Rus’s mind.

Perhaps it was time to find out.

-tbc-

#Spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #star wars AU

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artistic-writer · 5 years

Text

Alii dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) - CS Werewolf AU - Ch 21

Title: Alii dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) by @artistic-writer artwork by @cocohook38 & @artistic-writer

Rating: E (overall rating) for explicit sexual content, language and themes throughout. Trigger warnings will follow and be added as they are needed to avoid spoilers.

Art by @cocohook38 - Poster - Emma - David - Killian - James - Walsh - Graham - Liam - Brennan - Ruby

Chapter Art by @cocohook38 - Ch1 - Ch2 - Ch3 - Ch4 (NSFW) - Ch5

Art by @artistic-writer - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Werewolf sunday! And oh look, Emma’s heat is over ;)

Massive thanks to my wonderful betas, @hookedonapirate who is one of the best beta’s this fandom has to offer - I seriously love her guys, and she deserves all the good things <3 <3 and @kmomof4 to whom this fic is also gifted for her birthday and for creating the @cssns Thank you to my crew, @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @courtorderedcake @doodlelolly0910 and special thanks to @killian-whump @killianmesmalls and @sherlockianwhovian for how they helped with the last few chapters. And to @flipperbrain who drew THIS piece of art for this fic in December, before it was even written!

Taglist: @cssns @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight@ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife

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There was a storm when Emma awoke the next day, the grey skies stopping any light from penetrating the windows of Liam’s loft and the sound of hailstones bouncing off the panes of glass in each window. The room was dull, an invisible fog making every colour muted, which heightened the ambience of the storm raging outside. Emma’s eyeballs rolled under her lids, tiny white specks dancing around in the blackness, her brain trying to catch up to the sound she was hearing, processing each tap against the glass, one after another.

She shifted her weight, one leg rubbing against the hairy calf of the man who was asleep next to her, their legs entangled under the thin sheet that covered them as they lay awkwardly askew. They had spent most of the night making love, holding each other after each euphoric release that had left them both exhausted and wanting more. Neither had wanted to sleep, unable to accept the fact that they might be holding each other, feeling each other, for the last time. Neither had wanted to stop gazing upon the other.

Each moment was precious, the night turning into day quicker than they had realised. Emma swallowed a thick lump down her dry throat and curled her body closer to Killian’s, the warmth from his naked form enveloping her and making the hair under her hairline flush hotter than usual. Emma peeled one eye open, the smile on Killian’s face even in sleep, catching her eyes immediately as he slumbered on his front next to her, his face pressed into the pillow and Emma resting her head on his forearm.

His hair was a mess, likely from how many times she had raked her fingers across his scalp the night before and the ear she could see still bore the light bruising inflicted by her teeth when she had bit down on the tough, pointy flesh. Emma smirked, recalling the noises he had made, the way he had sighed her name time and time again like it was his last earthly breath, and her name was all he could say.

The gentle rise and fall of his lungs made his muscles ripple across his back, a soft rumble vibrating in the back of his throat as he exhaled into the pillowcase. There was a slight flush in his cheeks, still, and Emma couldn’t help but reach over and push a stray strand of hair from his forehead. Killian’s nose wrinkled but he stayed asleep, his lips sucking in as he heaved a sigh and relaxed back into his dream state.

Not even the rumble of thunder outside woke him, and when a flash of lightning illuminated his face, it caused no stir. Emma smirked, watching him sleep and getting lost in his visage, each feature of his face as enticing as the last. Emma couldn’t help herself and let her hand slip along the side of his face, her thumb gently caressing the raised, reddened scar on his cheek so softly he probably couldn't feel it.

Emma knew Killian had fought to get to where he was. A mongrel life would not have been easy, especially if he had crossed paths with other wolves along the way, and it warmed her heart to know that he would fight for her. Emma knew he had fought Walsh at least once before, and an unsettled pang dug itself into her gut as she recalled the horrific sounds he had made when he had been tortured. Forcing a change as Walsh had was barbaric, the stuff of nightmares, and Walsh would pay for what he had done.

Emma let her hand skim down Killian’s neck, the slow pulse there thrumming against her fingertip as she brushed over the new scars under his jawline. She traced the curve of his shoulder, outlining it with her palm, before pushing herself into a sitting position and watching the movement of her hand as it explored his trunk. Emma had never really looked at Killian’s back before now, unless in wolf form, and she gulped hard at the sight of it. He was littered with scars, most of them clearly from bites and scratches, the jagged edges always healing to leave a distinctly shaped scar she had seen many times before.

She tentatively brushed her fingers over the skin between the since healed wounds, skirting her fingertip over the bumpy flesh of each scar in case she woke him. He groaned a little in his sleep, his whole body vibrating with the sound, raspy and deep in his chest, and Emma noticed his brows furrow when she touched a particularly thick line of scar tissue towards his liver. A row of distinctive puncture holes had healed at his side, the arrangement of scars clearly a bite mark that gave Emma more questions than answers.

“Please,” Killian rasped suddenly and Emma pulled her hand away from his skin with a gasp. His eyes were still firmly closed, crinkling at the edges as he pinched them even more tightly closed, his lips parting slightly as his breath became shallow. He shifted his weight, rolling over onto his back in one fluid movement and letting his head flop to one side, facing away from her. Emma waited, holding her breath, but he was definitely still asleep.

The rain increased outside, crashing into the windows and making the room deafeningly loud. Streaks ran down the panes, flowing like tears along the edges of the frames and Emma had only looked away for a second when she heard Killian take a sharp intake of a catching breath. She looked back to his slumbering figure, new scars glowing a silvery white along his sides as he gasped for more shallow breaths.

“Don’t,” Killian stuttered weakly, his head twitching on the pillow and his hands closing around nothing, grasping out at anything he could. Emma leaned forward, planting her hand to his chest, the scars warming under her hand immediately and Killian’s body relaxing into her touch. He sighed, soothed but the sadness still etched on his face as Emma skimmed her hand across his torso and inspected the other half of the bite mark she could see.

Without warning, Killian’s arm shot up and he wrapped his hands around Emma’s arm in a crushing grip, the skin around her wrist turning white. She contained a cry, the silent sound of pain leaving her mouth in nothing more than a squeak and Killian held her hand in place, his jaw clenching in anger as he held her hand from his skin. Emma covered her mouth with her other hand, pinching her eyes closed and swallowing hard, before blinking back tears and peeling her eyes open to see Killian staring straight at her.

“Don’t,” he repeated, his glassy stare fixed on her and his voice laced with a pleading sorrow that broke Emma’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered quickly, tugging against his hold. Killian relaxed his grip and Emma’s hand immediately went to his face, soothing his panic inducing nightmare that had clearly tumbled over into reality when she had touched his scar. It meant something, she could tell, and when she saw his expression soften, she gave him a warm smile.

“Emma, I-,” Killian began sheepishly, licking his lips nervously and blinking himself awake. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He worried quickly, eyes flickering over her arm.

“It’s okay,” Emma told him softly, her thumb caressing his cheek in smooth, rhythmic strokes. It wasn’t much, it was just two little words and a few light touches, but they both felt like it meant so much more at that moment. Finally, Killian’s lips twitched into a shy smile. “Want to talk about it?” Emma cocked her head sideways, her hair falling to cover her knees.

Killian shook his head and found her hand with his, turning it upside down and turning his face to kiss her palm. Emma felt a tingle shoot through her arm right down to the pit of her stomach, the supple, kiss bruised flesh of Killian’s lips setting her skin on fire instantly. When he was done, he pulled her sideways and Emma followed his lead, settling herself across his torso and letting the sheet fall from her naked body.

“Was it a nightmare?” Emma asked him, shuffling her weight until she was practically sitting across his chest, legs tucked up under his armpits and her hands finding the length of his beard. Her digits smoothed through the growth, each twisted, coarse hair tickling her fingers and Killian humming in appreciation of her touch.

“Nothing to worry about,” he assured her, letting his eyes fall closed as Emma scratched through his facial hair. “Just one from a long time ago.”

“You’ve had it before?” Emma asked softly, feeling Killian’s skin tighten under her assault.

Killian nodded limply. “An old childhood trauma, that’s all.”

“Like my shifting accident in the lake?” Emma smirked, feeling much more at ease about telling her story. She knew Killian would never keep anything from her, but she also recognised his reluctance to relive the memory in his own mind. He wasn’t hiding things from her, he was just not ready to face it.

Her reference made Killian smile a toothy grin and his eyes reopened to meet hers. “Aye, something like that, love.” He said no more, and Emma understood.

“But you’re okay?” Emma asked softly. “Last question, I promise,” she giggled, flattening her body to his and kissing his cheek. Her hands held his head in place whilst her lips assaulted his face, exaggerated kiss sounds echoing into the room and drowning out the sound of the rain.

“I am now,” Killian smirked with a chuckle. His hand smoothed over her back, fingertips dancing over the ridge of her shoulder blades and over each bump on her spine. Emma sucked in a breath and Killian grinned against the side of her face when she buried her face in his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be so easily distracted, Mr Jones,” Emma cooed salaciously, the heat in her core beginning to burn at her insides. She was raw, still swollen from the night before, but she couldn’t help but want Killian, even with the day marking the end of her heat. She had felt it start to fade away during the night, her core temperature returning to normal and the slickness between her thighs less every time Killian had brushed her body in his sleep.

“You shouldn’t be so distracting, Miss Nolan,” Killian growled, planting his hands firmly on her bare behind and pulling her higher up his body. Emma squealed, unable to stop him as he caught one of her nipples in his mouth, making her arch her back towards him and dig her nails into the headboard. Killian sucked hard against the rosy flesh, pulling it into a stiff peak and humming against Emma’s skin, the twitch of his erection not going unnoticed below his waist. “Your heat is ending,” he said idly, dragging his tongue between the mounds that hung just in front of his face.

“You can smell that?” Emma blushed, sitting back to look down at him. Killian let her move, reluctant to let go of the globes of her ass, he held her so she had no choice but to arch her back away from him and rest her hands on his hip bones.

“Amongst other things.” Killian smirked and raised an eyebrow at her, pulling her even higher up his chest with little resistance until her thighs sat over his shoulders and her sex was almost touching his lips. He nuzzled her folds, inhaling her enticing scent that was a little more muted than it had been, but no less aromatic. Emma watched him, her breath catching in her throat and her heart pounding beneath her ribcage, the blood pounding in her ears and between her now open legs.

Emma’s hand found his head and her fingers scrunched his hair, pulling gently with a sexual frustration she thought had left her. It seemed Killian could draw pleasure out of any part of her, at any time, and like an addict, she would gladly take her next fix. There was a pause, his eyes meeting hers, the blue that she had always found so warm and comforting long since replaced by a dark grey that rivalled the storm clouds above them.

“What are you waiting for?” Emma teased with a coy smile. She snaked her hand down the front of her own body, purposely brushing her nipples into much harder buds than before and settled her hand between her thighs. Killian watched her nimble fingers part her outer lips, the glistening treasure that lay beneath flooding his senses with the smell of her arousal. He nibbled his bottom lip and felt himself grow even harder at the sight before him. When he looked back up to her, swallowing hard, Emma smirked, rolling her own bottom lip between her teeth innocently. “Do you need an invitation?”

“Absolutely not.” Killian gave her a wicked grin, his lips barely moving before he closed the gap between his lips and Emma’s sex and pressed a kiss to her clit. Emma moaned instantly, her back curving and pushing her hips harder into his ministrations, the breath leaving her lungs on a heavy, relieved sigh. She hadn’t even known how wound up she was until she had opened her eyes and seen Killian beside her, the memories of the night before coming back to her in a flood of emotions.

Emma rolled her hips a little more, hissing through her teeth when a tingling sensation rippled through her lower abdomen. Killian flicked his gaze up to meet her eyes again, giving her a heavy lidded, sly smile as he tortured her clit with his tongue, circling the throbbing nub with just the tip of his talented muscle.

“Fuck, Killian,” Emma hissed, her cheeks tingling with a blush. She rolled her hips again, her free flowing juices coating Killian’s chin. He let out a breathy laugh at her state, swiping his tongue around her entrance and along the inside of her fleshy lips, teasing her with the prospect of tasting her more intimate areas. Emma groaned in frustration, glaring at the man between her thighs.

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian offered between licks, Emma’s arousal coating his tongue and sliding pleasantly down his throat when he swallowed. “You just taste so-,” he began with a dreamy tone, but Emma’s hands pulling at his haircut him off. Killian stopped, wincing slightly at her sudden aggression and looked up her body once more.

“Touch yourself,” Emma commanded darkly. “Touch yourself and fuck me with your tongue.”

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Killian, more blood impossibly rushing to his rock hard erection at Emma’s words. He grabbed her behind again, holding her to his face as he plunged his tongue inside of her and let out a hum of appreciation at the taste that coated his mouth. Emma went heavy, leaning back on his chest, her entire body overcome with pleasure, each nerve ending firing at the same time and rendering her almost completely helpless. All she could do was cry out, his name on her lips like a prayer, her nails digging into where her hand lay flat on his torso behind her.

When he was happy with the agonizing rhythm he was setting, Killian slipped his hand from her fleshy globes and slid it down his own body and took himself in hand. He was like marble, solid and heavy in his hand, a light drizzle of pre-cum already having oozed onto the thatch of hair covering his stomach. Emma ground down on his tongue, riding his face wantonly and Killian increased the speed of his masturbation when Emma began tugging at her nipples.

The sound of the rain blended into the sound of blood in her ears as Emma felt the coil in the belly begin to tighten, her inner muscles flexing against Killian’s tongue each time he was inside of her and her clit begging for his attention when he was not. Killian lathed her nub, gently scraping his teeth over the ultra sensitive bud with a cruel smirk, watching the way Emma’s face contorted with her impending orgasm.

“Are you going to come on my face?” Killian growled as he took a breath, thrusting his hips up into his hand, his velvety soft skin shifting over his erection and building his own release low in his belly.

“Fuck, yes,” Emma hissed, throwing her head back.

“Am I going to make you come hard, love?” Killian was almost shaking underneath her, his words earning him a whine from the goddess currently straddling his face. He focused on her clit where he knew Emma had been building the most powerful orgasm, the steady throb of blood to the nub so obvious, he had felt it on his lips each time he gave it a gentle kiss.

“God, yes,” Emma cried with a pained sound. She was so close her thighs had begun to quake and her breathing had slowed to a pant, a heat creeping up her spine. “So hard. Killian, don’t stop, right there.”

“Like this?” Killian purred, increasing his speed over the hardened nub.

“There!” Emma gasped, looking back down between her thighs. She felt a rush of arousal at seeing Killian eating her out, his eyes pinched closed in his own pleasure and his hand furiously pounding his length behind her, and without warning, her orgasm hit her suddenly. She squeaked, covering her mouth quickly and she began to shake through Killian’s licking, each flick of his tongue like a new kind of torture against her clit.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, Killian sat up, and in one swift move she was sliding down his torso and being impaled on his hot, hard length. She cried out, the sudden intrusion of his girth heightening her already fluttering orgasm to a new level, the spots behind her eyes never ceasing as she bumped her clit on his pubic bone and came again.

“My, my,” Killian teased darkly, watching her face contort and her eyes roll back in her head. She was a blubbering mess, in a daze from back to back orgasms that had left her incoherent and limp in his arms, weakly grinding herself against him to extend her pleasure with a whimpering groan. “Such a wanton thing.”

“Don’t fucking tease me,” Emma panted, her forehead sticky with sweat. She rocked her hips harder, desperately needing him to move inside of her, anything, the lack of friction too frustrating to bear. “Please.”

Killian was close too, his own orgasm slowly being coaxed out by the ripple of Emma’s muscles and the sopping wetness that had dribbled out as she came, whimpering her pleas. It had been too long, their need to use protection now extinct because Emma’s heat was over, and Killian’s couldn’t wait one more second to feel her wet, slick heat around his unsheathed length. He smoothed his hands through her hair, brushing it from her flustered face and seized her lips in a ferocious kiss. All Emma could do was moan into his kiss, begging against his mouth to stop in almost a cry as his length rubbed a new pleasure point inside of her.

“Killian, please,” Emma whimpered, her body teetering on the edge of euphoria again, her entire being shaking in his lap.

“I’ve missed this feeling,” Killian panted, kissing her eyelids. “I can’t take those blasted condoms any more.” Killian smirked wickedly, the sweat along his brow running down his temple as he slowed his assault and let her still on top of him. Emma whined, but she was glad for the respite, her nipples like pebbles against Killian’s chest as she sagged into his arms.

“No more,” Emma sighed in agreement, her chest heaving for breath and her insides throbbing painfully. “God, you’re amazing,” Emma panted, the fluttering sensation between her thighs begging for him to move again. Killian let out a breathy laugh, kissing the underside of her jaw in a hungry, open mouthed kiss.

“You’ve got one more in you, love,” Killian purred. “I can feel it.”

“Please,” Emma gave him a salacious smile and a raise of her eyebrow, carding her fingers through his hair. “Make me come.”

“Aye,” Killed panted, his cock twitching inside of her. “I think,” he said smoothly, plucking her arms from where they rested on his shoulders and gently moving them behind her back. Emma gave him a broad grin, her excitement intensifying as she complied, crossing her wrists over each other behind her back and letting him gather them up in his hands. “Slow and shallow should do the trick.”

In a sitting position, Killian could only thrust shallowly, but he rolled his hips against the mattress to make sure to cause enough friction against every detail of Emma’s inner core. Her eyes rolled back in her head again, the sheen of sweat over her body beginning to cool her in the chill of their room, and she ground her clit down against his body on each thrust.

It was agony, a delicious torture that only Killian could provide, but he was right. She had one more in her and when Killian felt her tell tale pull at his length and heard Emma’s breath hitch in her throat, he knew he would come too. Seeing Emma come undone was one of the most erotic things for him and he loved the way she chased after every last drop of her pleasure. With a grunt he came at the same time she did, pulling hard on her wrists to keep her body still as he emptied himself inside of her with a few short, hard thrusts.

Emma finally wiggled her arms free when she felt him relax, grabbing his face in her hands and kissing his mouth awkwardly, most of her attention at the corner of his smile as he wrapped her up in his arms protectively. He gave her a squeeze, his muscles bulging against her skin as he kissed her back, lips smacking and lingering against each other as the storm continued outside.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” Killian promised softly, his words a breath against the skin of Emma’s bosom. He had shifted their position and they were now laying back in bed, his head resting sleepily against her chest, her fingers stroking through his sleep and sex messed hair in a slow, soothing motion. Emma kicked out the sheet that was wedged beneath them and shook it loose, letting it flutter to cover them both once more.

“I know,” Emma said with a nod and a hint of sadness. She didn’t know what returning home would bring, no one would, and the longer they waited the more anxiety built up inside both of them.

Killian brushed his thumb over her ribcage, staring at the wall beside the bed. “I wish I could tell you what the dream means. The longer I don’t know, the more I’m starting to think that the headstone is for me.”

“Don’t say that.” Emma stopped her stroking and let him tilt his head up to look at her. She caressed his cheek, her heart cracking in her chest at the sorrow she saw in his eyes. “And the other is not me,” she told him firmly. “So you can stop thinking that right now.”

Killian gave her a warm smile. “How do you know me so well?” He teased, echoing her question from a while ago.

“Fate,” Emma told him firmly. “And that can be changed, so even if the names are ours, we’ll make sure they don’t become our reality.”

The smile that Emma gave him was weak, partly forced, but genuine all the same. She leaned forward, cupping Killian’s cheek in her palm as she kissed him, his hands still against the sides of her body. His touch was electrifying on her skin and Emma felt the skin around her nipples prickle again, her lips curving into a smirk against his when Killian’s hand slid to the pebbled nub.

“Fate has other ideas for us right now,” he growled, pulling his lips from hers and giving her one last dark, lust filled stare before taking the bud in his mouth and rolling his tongue over Emma’s nipple. She arched her back instinctively, watching him suckle her breasts like a hungry babe, a groan tumbling from his lips as he shifted his weight to accommodate his now growing erection.

“Killian!” The room’s ambience was shattered instantly as the door flew open and Liam barged over the threshold, unable to stop himself from looking directly at his younger brother and Emma’s breasts. “Oh, shit!” he screeched, quickly turning away from the scene before him, pinching his eyes closed and trying to erase the images from his mind.

“Bloody Hell, Liam!” Killian spat, annoyed. He hastily covered Emma with his body, tugging the sheet up higher over his shoulders so she could hide in the darkness it cast over them.

“I am so sorry, lass,” Liam stammered to Emma, rubbing his temples nervously.

“It’s okay, really,” Emma assured him from under his brother, stifling her laugh against Killian’s forearm beside her head.

“What do you want? We’re busy.” Killian ground out through clenched teeth, Emma’s slender figure writhing against his length beneath him. She gave him a coy smirk that she knew Liam couldn't see, and proceeded to suck her finger salaciously.

“Might I remind you that is my bed, Killian,” Liam countered angrily, waving his arm behind him towards the bed that he was one hundred percent sure he would have to now burn.

“Get to the point then,” Killian spat, mesmerized by Emma’s tongue as it licked up and down her finger tantalisingly slowly.

“Fine,” Liam grunted, bending over and hurriedly grabbing at Killian’s jeans. They had been his, borrowed after Killian’s clothing had shredded during his encounter with Walsh, but now he was sure he wouldn’t need them anymore. He tossed them at the bed, making sure the denim bundle hit Killian square in the back. “Get dressed.”

“Why?” Killian grumbled with a wince. Emma bit her bottom lip and he cocked his head to the side, begging her with a silent glare to relent her teasing.

“I just got a call from Father,” Liam said hurriedly, retrieving a nearby shirt and throwing it at his brother.

“What did he say?” Killian’s cheeks went pale, even though he was leaning over Emma’s body, and she placed a palm to his cheek to help him remain calm. Any mention of his father sent him into a state but she could always keep him grounded.

“Just get dressed,” he said firmly. “I’ll tell you in the lounge.”

Ten minutes later, Killian and Emma had joined Liam in the lounge. He avoided Emma’s gaze as they exited the bedroom, a pink tinge flushing his cheeks which made her lips twitch up into a knowing smirk. Emma was not embarrassed by her body, she never would be, but it seemed living in the fringes of werewolf society had given Liam a complex about seeing another person naked, especially a woman, in his bed, having her breast sucked by his brother.

Liam cleared his throat, motioning for them to sit down on the couch. Killian sat down first, positioning himself sideways so that Emma had no choice but to slide into his lap, his strong arms wrapping themselves around her body and hugging her tightly, almost possessively. The mention of his father had triggered his need to hold on to the ones he loved, both Emma and Liam, and Killian would be lying if he wasn’t apprehensive about what Liam had to say.

“I’m sorry again,” Liam told Emma softly, rubbing his hands together to try and eradicate some of the sweat from his palms. Emma simply nodded at his apology, her arm looping around Killian’s neck and her hand flattening to his bare shoulder. He was in only his jeans and Emma had put on her bra and panties, deciding to dress in Killian’s tee because the smell was comforting.

“What did Father say?” Killian prodded impatiently, his bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor and his toes flexing against the grain of the wood.

“Neverland is ready,” Liam said sadly, watching the floor between his feet. “Father says they have begun preparations for the attack.”

“So, it’s today?” Emma asked quickly, her fingers gently idling in the hair that grew on the back of Killian’s neck.

“Aye,” Liam nodded, lifting his gaze and looking between the both of them. “It seems that way.”

“Then we have to go,” Emma looked at Killian, the lump in her throat suddenly too hard to swallow comfortably. “My family could be in trouble.”

“I don’t like this,” Killian said concerned. “It feels like a trap.” His eyes met Liam’s across the low coffee table between them and he felt Emma’s hands still on his neck, the tension there clearly interrupting her lazy massage. He still didn’t know if he trusted his father, he barely knew the man, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to risk his or Emma’s life to find out if Brennan was telling the truth or leading them into a trap.

“Do you really think our father would lie to us?” Liam’s head flopped to one side, sympathetically pleading with Killian to trust him.

“I don’t know. Would he?” Killian asked his brother with a bite to his words.

“I think what Killian means,” Emma began, looking between the brothers, “is this information has been handed to us very conveniently.”

“Father said you wouldn’t trust him,” Liam scoffed, shaking his head.

“Would you?” Killian spat, raising his eyebrows at his brother. Emma could feel his rage bubbling beneath the surface, his leg muscles underneath her growing more tense by the second. His fist clenched where it rested on her naked thigh and she shot him a glance, flattening a placating hand to his hairy chest.

“Hey,” Emma said soothingly, drawing his attention to her face. He looked up and she gave him a warm, comforting smile, her fingers gently scratching through his chest hair. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and I wish more than anything that I had stayed in that alleyway to help you fight-,”

“They would have done worse to you,” Liam interrupted and Killian flashed him a dark stare.

“You’re right,” Emma nodded in agreement. “And I will live the rest of my life knowing that you saved me.” She looked back to Killian who had dropped his head to watch his balled fist turning white on her lap. He flexed the muscles, watching his forearm ripple this way and that, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth. “I would give anything to trade places with you, to take away the nightmares,” Emma soothed softly, watching her hand as she ran her nimble fingers over Killian’s furrowed brow. “We can’t change what happened, but we can make them pay,” Emma said sadly, looking back to Liam who wished more than anything he could take away the pain his brother was feeling.

Killian, despite putting on a strong facade, was still hurt, damaged by what Walsh had done to him in the forest and he had been letting his anxiety overshadow his ability to see clearly. Emma knew as well as Liam did that Killian would never fully heal unless he expressed his anger, and as much as she enjoyed his attentions, fucking and running through the forest was never going to fix the broken parts of his mind. Killian needed to face his abuser head on.

Killian needed closure. He needed revenge.

“Brother, I’m not asking you to trust him,” Liam began. “But you trust me, don’t you?”

Killian’s head snapped up to meet his brother’s and he gave him a confused look. “Of course I do.”

“Then trust that I know our father is telling the truth,” Liam said firmly. “Please.”

Emma’s hand found his face, cupping his jaw in her palm and chasing away the knot in his gut. He looked up to her beautiful face, the soft wisps of her golden hair sticking out in all directions, untamed but no less lovely, and she gave him a gentle smile. Her lips were soft and inviting, pink from slight bruising, and the serenity Killian felt was overwhelming. He let his head drop to her chest and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tenderly as she placed a soft kiss to the back of his head.

“It’s okay to be scared,” she told him compassionately as if she had forgotten Liam sitting opposite them. “I’m scared too.”

“I’m not scared of dying,” Killian said finally, lifting his head. He gave her one last fleeting glance that broke her heart in two before looking over to his brother. “I’m scared of losing myself.”

Liam knew exactly what Killian was talking about. The night they had fought Walsh might have been over a decade ago, but Liam would never forget the look on Killian’s face when he thought he might have taken a life. He was elated, a darkness rising to the surface behind his previously kind eyes and showing Liam the true nature of his wolf side. Killian was a fighter, his scar littered body attested to that, and Liam knew that it wouldn’t be long before Killian finally couldn’t hold back the canine urge to kill any longer.

“You won’t,” Liam told his brother firmly. “I swear it, brother.”

“He needs to pay,” Killian growled darkly.

“And he will,” Emma chimed in softly, her hands running through Killian’s hair and bringing him back to the light. He looked up to her with an apologetic look, blinking away the darkness behind his blue eyes and feeling the warmth of her smile wash over him. “If he survives the attack, my father will make sure of it.”

Killian sobered a little at the mention of David Nolan, the Misthaven pack leader who had put a bounty on his head. He knew she was right. For what he had planned for his daughter, David would make sure Walsh suffered, but what would he do to a mongrel who had fallen in love with his daughter?

“I’ve called Graham,” Liam announced to both of them. “I am going to stay at the cabin with Ruby and Davin, just in case any Neverland wolves have followed their scent there. He is going to meet you at Misthaven.” Liam stood, flattening down the wrinkles in his shirt and heaving a sigh as he made his way around the coffee table. “Make sure you keep the Neverland wolves occupied at Misthaven. I’ll protect Ruby and the babe.”

Killian helped Emma to stand and mirrored his brother, both of them facing each other and speaking with the unspoken bond that they had always had. They didn’t have to say anything; they just knew what the other was thinking. “Good luck,” Liam said, giving him a tight lipped smile and extending his hand to his brother.

Killian looked at Liam’s hand between them briefly, before taking his brother’s hand in his and holding on hard. He shook it once, his knuckles turning white, before yanking hard and pulling his brother into the tightest embrace they had ever had. Liam wrapped a strong arm around his brother, his hand finding the back of Killian’s head and holding him tightly, neither saying a word.

Liam was petrified of losing his brother but he had to stay strong. He was the older sibling and had always needed to carry the weight of sorrow. Killian was too fragile to cope with loss, but damn if he wasn’t the bravest wolf Liam had ever known. Liam knew what would happen if Killian were to lose Emma, he could see it now as clear as day, and he finally understood his brother’s need to protect her, even if it was from her own family and could mean his demise. He didn’t hate Emma at all. How could he? She was the light that drove away the darkness within his brother’s soul.

They parted, Killian hastily wiping away a stray tear that had fallen from his eyelids during the embrace. Emma placed a hand to his back, just to let him know she was there, and that she always would be.

“Good luck, Emma,” Liam told her with all of the sincerity he could muster. “Maybe when this is over, we can get to know each other a little better? I’d love to get to know the woman who has tamed my little brother.”

“Younger,” Killian huffed, feebly landing a punch on Liam’s arm.

“I’d like that,” Emma smiled warmly, lacing her fingers with Killian’s and resting her face to his bicep.

“Graham said he would be at Misthaven within two hours,” Liam told them quickly, checking the time of his watch. “That gives you guys a little over ninety minutes to prepare.”

“We’re ready,” Killian said firmly, looking down at the she-wolf beside him. Emma nodded, pressing her lips to his shoulder with a nod. “I’ll call you when it's over,” Killian promised his brother.

“Thank you,” Liam sighed, relief flowing from his every cell as he made his way towards the door of his apartment. He paused, hand on the door handle before turning back to the half naked couple in his lounge. He fixed his stare on Emma, licking his lips nervously. “Bring him back to me,” he said in a broken voice that cracked in his throat. Emma had no time to answer before Liam was gone, the faint echo of his footsteps as he made his way down the stairs the only sound in the loft.

#alii dimidium lunam #ch21 #cs fic #cs au #cs werewolf au #temporary dog au #angst #smut #wolves of misthaven

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itsjustanothertuesday · 6 years

Text

Would You Rather: Bechloe AU

By MightyTacos on AO3 and FF.net

CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4

Hey friends! I finally updated my movie crossover script of Would You Rather. I made some changes to the cast, so that each player in the game at the table is from PP1. Chloe and Beca are still the main characters, but the surrounding players had a switch around. I decided to keep the characters in line with each of the Bellas’ personalities, with some minor exceptions. Although it may be obvious that Lily is the main antag because she has some dark interests, it seemed more intriguing to have Stacie as the sadistic yet hot character (which means for whoever has seen the film, this should be fun for later!).

CH4:

“We have one small matter to clear up before we begin. In the interest of discretion, and eliminating distraction and unfair advantage, we ask that you leave all possessions here during the game... Phones, keys, et cetera." Bevans spoke over the group seated in a side room, panning his eyes across the lot.

“I don't like this.” Fat Amy said in a gruff voice, standing up from her position on a loveseat. “I don't like it.”

“I assure you they will be safe.” Bevans replied, holding out a bowl in front of Fat Amy. “These are the rules.”

Fat Amy glanced down at Chloe before giving a beady-eyed look at the butler. After failing to challenge his gaze, she reached in her pockets and placed her keys and phone into the bellows of the bowl. Bevans waved the bowl around to collect the other contestants’ possessions, who all hesitantly reached forward to place handbags and mobiles into the pile.

“Right. If you're ready, I'll escort you through to the dining room.” Bevans gave a curt nod. “This way.”

The group all followed suit, walking in a slow pace with Aubrey pushing Lily in her wheelchair. Bevans proceeded to slide a frosted glass door to the side, standing by the door as the ten entered the dining room. A delicately designed, wooden table resided in the center of the room and seats were laid around the table with a name designation for each guest.

“Please, take a seat. Place cards have been provided.”

The group walked around the table, searching for their card before pulling out the padded chairs and sitting in front of utensils and a glass of water. Fat Amy immediately went to examine the windows before sitting down, pulling back the gold-colored curtains only to realize that no window nor glass were behind them, only the same ornate wall paper that lined the rest of the dining room.

Chloe examined her name card, looking over the printed letters before placing it to the side.

Shortly thereafter, Lambrick entered the room with Julian quickly following suit. Julian proceeded to sit at one head of the table whilst Lambrick stood at the end of the other.

And... good evening, everyone.” Lambrick announced, resting his hands on the table. I apologize if I've kept anyone waiting. Welcome to the Lambrick house.” He paused, before adding with an odd enthusiasm: “Oh, this is my son, Julian.”

“Hello.” Julian gave behind side smirk as the group all looked down the table to see Lambrick’s son. Beca went so far as to give a small, awkward wave from her seat.

“Now, you've all met our butler, Bevans, and his staff, yes?” Lambrick pointed to the door, where Bevans was planted alongside another, taller butler. “Bevans. Let's start with some wine, shall we?”

“Dinner tonight is seared foie gras and rib eye steak with a red wine reduction, served with asparagus and garlic leek mashed potato. Enjoy.”

Full plates were placed in front of each guest, with some more eager to start than others.

“Haven't had a meal like this in so long.” Beca muttered, cutting through the steak with quick saws of her knife.

“Never had a meal like this, you kidding me?” Aubrey mocked.

Chloe glanced at Aubrey to her right and Beca to her left, noticing the contents of the plates before raising a tender hand halfway into the air.

“Mm, yes?” Lambrick caught the sight whilst gulping down some wine, stopping to grant her the attention.

“I probably should have mentioned this before.” Chloe began, starting to look down at the food. “Um, I'm a vegetarian.”

Julian immediately scoffs at the end of her sentence, moving to reach for his glass.

“Well, this is interesting. We don't have anything else in the kitchen, Iris.” Lambrick answered with folded hands, adding a half smile at the end.

“Okay. I, I don't mean to be a bother.” Chloe stuttered. “Uh, the potatoes are fine. I'll be fine.”

“So, have you always been a vegetarian?” Lily asked meekly from across the table.

“Most of my life, yes. Long time. I just can't imagine eating...”

Lambrick paused his eating to interrupt: “I think... that we have just found our first opportunity to award some money tonight. Iris. I would like for you to eat the steak and the foie gras. I really would.”

“I can't do that.” Chloe responded with finality, shaking her head.

“You can... But you won't. Yet.” Lambrick toyed, pointing his dinner knife at Chloe.

“No, I really, I can't do it. I'm not trying to be rude. I just, I won't do it.” Shephard Lambrick had already been gracious enough to invite her for this dinner opportunity but crossing her own morals for the sake of a shock factor was something she could never do.

“Listen, I, I understand that it's not going to be easy. But I refuse to accept... that you don't have a price. $5,000 to eat the steak and this decadent foie gras.” Lambrick forked himself some of the steak, adding an exaggerated “Mmmm!”

He chuckled a bit to himself, chewing, before upping the ante. “Make it 10,000.”

The other contestants looked at Chloe, watching her face for any change in expression. Although Lily smiled widely at Chloe, Stacie glanced to the side with a mischievous smirk.

Lambrick instinctively placed a wad of bills secured with a rubberband onto the tabletop, repeating: “$10,000.”

Chloe glared at the money, seeing that the stack of money was composed of $100s.

“What could you do with that?”

“You should eat it. Just close your eyes!” Lily spoke with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “It's a lot of money.”

Cynthia Rose hummed in agreement besides Lily, chewing with a nod of her head. Chloe could only exhale with a scoff, fiddling with the fork in her right hand. After a moment, she glanced at Aubrey before switching the fork to her left hand and picking up the knife. She tore out a small triangle of the medium-cooked meat, darting it into her mouth with a grimace.

Lambrick chuckled as Chloe struggled, instructing her to eat it with some of the liver also served on the plate. Chloe muttered to herself with a shaky breath as Stacie could only snicker at the sight.

“I can't believe I'm doing this.” Chloe sawed at the other food on her plate.

“Yeah, but $10,000 though.” Beca spoke to the disheartened figure to her right, trying to justify the means of breaking a vegetarian diet.

“A lifetime of discipline and commitment to cause wiped away by a mere $10,000.” Lambrick guffawed from the end of the table. ”Well, that is nothing compared to what's really at stake tonight, I can assure you of that.”

Lambrick paused before watching Fat Amy drinking next to him.

“You don't like the wine?”

“Well, no, it's not that.” Fat Amy answered after a quick swallow, placing her glass of water back on the table.

“We can get you something else. We have some wonderful scotch.”

“No, no thanks, I don't drink.” She answered again with a nervous chuckle, cutting away at her steak.

“Oh... Oh, I see. You're a recovering alcoholic. Aren't you?”

Fat Amy maintained eye contact with him before replying thickly: “It's not your business.”

Lambrick only chuckled. “On the contrary. You are here essentially begging me for money. How is that not my business?”

Fat Amy refused to answer, tonguing the inside of her cheek with a soft stare.

“How long has it been?”

“It's been 16 years, and I turned everything in my life around.” She finally answered with a sigh, addressing more of the table at large than only Lambrick.

“But you haven't. Look at you. You're still mired in a pit of poor health and crippling debt. I'd hate to see what you looked like 16 years ago. I mean, really. What's the point?”

“Please.” Fat Amy insisted, short with annoyance. “Why are you doing this?”

Lambrick slammed his utensils back onto his plate, cutting the air with a sharp clank of metal on ceramic.

“Because I want to help you. Look... It's safe to say that drinking is what ruined your life in the first place, isn't it? So, what if... drinking again could help you save it?”

“What?”

“I will give you $10,000 if you drink that glass of wine.”

“Oh.” Fat Amy finalized with a chuckle. “No. No, no way, no. You don't understand. You have no idea how hard I've worked.”

“Ah, but Chloe here, uh, she just devoured a pile of meat, and she's a devout vegetarian, and you won't drink a little wine.”

“It's totally different. Why are you doing this to me?”

Bevans dropped additional wads of money on the table next to Fat Amy, with Lambrick bantering: “$50,000. If you won't drink... this decanter of the finest scotch that money can buy, right now. 50,000.”

“This is what, a test? It's not real.” Fat Amy was sweating beneath her formal attire, aware of how many sets of eyes were watching her.

“Oh, no... I am deadly serious, Fat Amy, and you know that I am.” Lambrick uttered with malice. “The glass of wine or the whole damn decanter. Now, it seems to me that the wine is... That's pretty simple, isn't it? But the scotch. Well, we could consider that a, a momentary lapse to... change your life.”

Fat Amy’s stirred in her seat, making out in a soft tone: “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“So, what would you rather do?”

The blonde began watering at the eyes, looking at the options of alcohol in front of her. Lambrick’s gaze felt hot on her face as she reached for the fifth of scotch and ripped off the top with a quick pop. She cocked the container at Lambrick before guzzling directly from the bottle, taking several gulps before putting it back down.

Lambrick leaned onto the back legs of his chair, chortling with a slow clap. “That's a good time.”

“Thanks.” Fat Amy said curtly, taking another long sip.

“Bevans.” Lambrick called for his butler, ushering his staff to remove the plates form the table. “That was brilliant, as usual. My compliments to Marcel.” A few suited men cleaned the table within minutes before Lambrick stood up to initiate a toast. After a few taps of his knife on a glass, he began.

“Regarding tonight's game. Please allow me to alleviate any concerns you have.”

“We haven't already been playing?” Aubrey looked up at him in mild confusion.

“Oh, no, the game has yet to officially begin.”

#wyr #would you rather #bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe au #pitch perfect au #pitch perfect #fanfic #fanfiction #mine

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breakmyreddieheart · 6 years

Text

This Charming Man - Reddie

One-Shot AU based on this song by The Smiths

Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is having bike problems. Stuck in the middle of nowhere and late for dinner with Myra, a stranger from a past life appears to provide the help he didn’t even know he needed...

Featuring: Reddie, fluff

Setting: Adult Eddie & Richie before Eddie’s married to Myra.

A/N: Sorry not Ch3 of (PD)SA, but I was just listening to this song in the shower and thought the lyrics in this song were absolute Reddie-bait and had to get it down. Ch3 soon...ish.

---

Two. Punctured. Tires.

Who punctures two tires at once!?

And these weren’t any old punctures - these were bloody great gashes that had torn each tire beyond all hope of repair.

Now, of all the things you could say about Eddie Kaspbrak: that he was unprepared for any situation was not one of them. His bike contained not one, but two saddlebags with all the essentials for fixing your bike on the fly and then some. However, needing two spare inner-tubes was not something he had anticipated.

Whilst riding up a particularly steep hill - and getting mighty out of breath in the process - he had been loathe to discover that some mouthbreather had tossed a beer bottle from their car window, shattering it on the roadside. He, of course, discovered this too late; having ridden forcefully through the glass debris and coming over the handlebars as the metal of the wheels ground on the tarmac.

So here he sat, grazed and out of breath by the side of the road next to the flipped frame of his teal blue road bike.

“Myra’s going to kill me,” he thought mournfully to himself.

It was becoming increasingly clear that he was not going to be home in time for dinner. This wasn’t just any dinner either. Tonight was the night that Eddie would be proposing.

It wasn’t like he could just do it another night either - like many things in his life, the evening had been planned to the letter. Myra had picked out the ring she wanted, booked the restaurant, hired a violinist, and only stopped short of booking the wedding venue. They would dine, and Eddie would get down on one knee somewhere between the main course and dessert and pop the question. He knew the answer already, but an unsettling feeling still rested in the pit of his stomach.

Myra wasn’t fond of surprises, see. She knew how anxious Eddie could get, so she had taken it upon herself to “remove the burden” - orchestrating the proposal of her dreams in the process. Spontaneity be damned.

This, however, had not been planned. As he did before any big event in his life, he had decided to take a long bike ride to get his thoughts in order. Having cycled for well over an hour, he wasn’t certain how far he’d gone, or where he was now marooned. But the fear had begun to set in; he would not make it back in time by foot.

One thing was certain, however: he would never hear the end of this.

Not one, but two cars had already driven past in the last 30 minutes without so much as slowing down. He supposed that no one really wanted his wreck of a bike in their car, but one of them could have at least stopped and asked if he needed help.

Just as he was beginning to give up hope and start the long walk home, he spotted a vehicle approaching from the bottom of the hill. As it got closer he saw that - even better - it was a pickup truck. All dignity now out the window, he bounced on the spot, waving his arms in order to get the driver’s attention.

It worked!

The pickup slowed as it approached and the window slid down to reveal a handsome man about Eddie’s age.

“Whoa...” Eddie thought to himself as he stared, mouth half open, at the sight before him. The man had a gorgeous mane of black hair down to his shoulders and wore a soft leather jacket with a loose, linen shirt. Eddie caught himself staring at the man’s chest, where it seemed that he hadn’t bothered with half of the buttons. He quickly looked up to see the man grinning amusedly, cocking up one eyebrow in a cheeky grin.

“I didn’t realize there was a pep rally today. Where’s your pom poms?” the man chuckled. Eddie immediately regretted his elaborate display, a blush creeping across his face. “Looks like you’re having some trouble. Need a ride?”

Eddie paused for a moment, taken back by how attractive this man was. He nodded quickly then realized he should probably say something. “Uh.. yeah thanks, I’d really appreciate it. You’re really saving my skin.”

He shook his head as he realized what he was thinking. This was a guy! He wasn’t attracted to guys... was he? He supposed he’d never really thought about it. He’d only ever been with Myra, and he kind of fell into that relationship at his mother’s insistence. But goodness, Myra! He was getting engaged, he shouldn’t be ogling other people, let alone some random guy in a pickup!

As the man stepped out of the car, Eddie couldn’t help but notice his jeans. They were the tightest he’d ever seen; acid-wash black and torn in places. He realized he was staring again.

“Eyes are up here, sweetheart” he laughed, prompting Eddie to whip his head upwards, blushing even deeper. “The names Richie,” he said, grabbing Eddie’s hand firmly with both of his hands and shaking, “but you might know me better as Rich ‘Records’ Tozier.”

The name did ring a bell, but Eddie didn’t listen to the radio a lot. At least not enough to recognize this guy, Myra preferred classical music after all.

After a pause, Eddie realized he still hadn’t replied.

“...And what can I call you?” Richie prompted.

“E-Eddie, Eddie Kaspbrak!” he sputtered, feeling embarrassed about how suddenly unable he was to produce words.

“Ok E-Eddie Kaspbrak, gimme a hand getting this bike in the truck,” he said, walking over to where the bike lay. As he approached he let out a low whistle. “Wow, you’ve really done a number on these tires!”

Eddie rushed over to help, accidentally grabbing Richie’s hand as he lifted the frame. He quickly let go, almost dropping the bike in surprise. Richie laughed as they lifted it onto the back of the truck.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” he said, turning to look at Eddie “...unless you ask nicely!” He gave an exaggerated wink before slamming the back of the truck and jumping back in the driver's seat. Eddie stood for a moment, not knowing what to make of this guy. He was so crass considering they’d just met!

As he got into the passenger seat, he sank into what was possibly the most comfortable car seat his back end had ever graced; smooth leather upholstery, clearly not original to the truck - Richie clearly cared more about the truck’s interior than the rest of the vehicle. He wasn’t sure if it was just the comparison to his less-than-comfortable bike seat, but this was a welcome comfort after the day he’d had so far.

“So where shall we be driving today, sir?” Richie asked in a posh British accent, tipping his imaginary chauffeur’s cap. Eddie described where he lived and Richie beamed back “I’m staying a few blocks away from there. Howdy neighbor!”

As they drove off, Eddie noticed the car clock: 6.30pm. He was definitely going to be late, and Myra was definitely going to be upset. The thought lay heavy on his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to getting home.

“Say, have I met you before?” Richie interrupted Eddie’s grim musings. He looked over to Richie with a confused expression.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing...” He looked at Richie for a moment as he looked out towards the road. His face nagged at his memory like a scene from a freshly woken dream. “What was it you said you do?”

“I’m a DJ, millionaire, philanthropist, playboy - you name it!” Richie joked “But no, really, I run a crappy radio show over on the West Coast. I’m only in town for some awards thing my boss wanted me to go ‘represent the station’ for.”

“Gee, that sounds exciting!” Eddie’s heart did a little flutter. In his line of work he was used to being in cars with celebrities but, for some reason, this one provoked something in him. “Perhaps I’ve driven for you before - I run a chauffeur company in the city. Do you come here often?”

Richie laughed, “Not as exciting as you might think. I’m afraid I’m not really high-profile enough to be jetting off to New York all that much - not really a millionaire I’m afraid. Can’t afford to be driven around by cuties such as yourself!” Eddie blushed again, “As for philanthropist - well, I like to help out the occasional damsel in distress.”

Another wink, another flutter, another blush.

“Hey, I’m not a damsel, okay, and don’t call me cute” Eddie protested, furrowing his brows; to which Richie looked over and smirked, softening Eddie’s expression. “...b-but I do appreciate the help. I’m gonna be late home for dinner as it is, my girlfriend’s gonna kill me!”

“Girlfriend?” Richie raised his brows, not bothering to disguise the disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t sound too surprised then!” Eddie scoffed.

“Sorry, I saw the short-shorts and just assumed...” Richie rolled his eyes suggestively.

“What?? They’re cycling shorts, dumbass!” Eddie blushed again as they both laughed. He couldn’t think why but he felt incredibly comfortable in Richie’s presence. Richie was certainly acting familiar enough.

Eddie’s face dropped again as he remembered his impending situation.

“So get this,” he said, reaching inside his fanny pack and pulling out a small ring box, “I’m supposed to be proposing tonight.”

“Whoa!” Richie exclaimed, taking his eyes off the road for a second to get a look at the ring. “You shoulda said, there were a few red lights back there I probably coulda blitz’d.”

“It’s okay... I’m already late, and I’m not exactly looking forward to getting back now. I’ve already ruined her magical evening...” Eddie trailed off, sounding pretty morose.

“It’s always nice to see young love in action,” Richie said sarcastically, “you seem so thrilled to be making this great declaration of love.”

“It was her idea, really.” Eddie had no idea why he was suddenly spilling the things he hadn’t even told his close friends to this stranger, but somehow he felt like he could. “We have a good thing, you know? The business is going well, my mother likes her, she really loves me I think...”

“...and you love her?”

“Of course! I mean, I guess? I’ve never been in love before, I don’t really have a frame of reference.”

There was silence for a moment. As they were approaching a junction, Richie pulled the truck over and turned to look Eddie dead in the eye. His breath hitched in his throat wondering what Richie was about to say.

“Okay! So.” He gestured out the windscreen ahead, “I can turn left here and we can go drop you back at your place. Or - and hear me out here - I can take a right into town. We drive to that jewelry store, return that fancy ring of yours and use the money to flee the country? I hear they have nice rains down in Africa this time of year?”

Eddie laughed at the obvious joke, but the idea sounded appealing right now.

“You’re an idiot, Tozier” Eddie chuckled. Richie grinned.

“We could at least burn some time and go for a drink - bit of dutch courage before I send you home to the old ball and chain?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for a night on the town, am I?” Eddie gestured to his cycling gear.

“Eddie darling,” Richie scoffed in a pretentious posh voice, “a guy like you shouldn’t care about such things!” Eddie turned away to hide the blushing on his face. Richie was making a habit of this... “Besides, people would be too busy checking out my ass anyway. You certainly got an eyefull!”

Eddie’s face was bright red now.

“Hey, I was just noting how tatty your jeans look! For a millionaire, you should really dress better.”

“Ouch, you found my weakness, my terrible fashion sense.” Richie clutched his heart in mock pain before shifting the truck back into gear. He gave Eddie a wry smile, “Home it is then.”

As they drove off, he thought about Richie’s words; did he really love Myra? Was he just going through with this because it was expected of him? But then, really, what was the alternative? His life was tied up here, he was stable, he had a good thing going. But something about Rich ‘Records’ Tozier made him question a lot of things he thought he knew...

“Music?” Richie said, turning the radio on without really waiting for a response. A Smiths song came on mid-way through. Eddie recognized it, but wasn’t sure where he’d heard it before.

The rain falls hard on a humdrum town This town has dragged you down

“Man, I love this one!” Richie exclaimed. As he drove, he moved his head along to the music, drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Eddie watched him, feeling some strange fascination with the way he moved. He was distracted, however, by another lyric:

How can you stay with a fat girl who'll say “Oh! Would you like to marry me? And if you like you can buy the ring" She doesn't care about anything

He grimaced at the irony and sank deeper into the soft leather seat, his stomach turning with nerves. He has to do it. He can’t back out now.

After a couple more songs - Richie dancing along enthusiastically to each of them - they pulled into Eddie’s street; he felt a strange sorrow that their journey was over so soon. Pulling up to the house, he noticed the lights were all out except for the front room upstairs. Myra must have gone to bed, which means she had probably eaten without him - which meant he was definitely in the dog house.

Richie hopped out of the Truck and went to retrieve the bike from the back, and Eddie braced himself before getting out and following.

“Thank you so much, you really didn’t have to help me. I owe you big time.”

“Anything for a damsel in distress!” Richie grinned heroicly. Eddie shot him a look, but couldn’t help but follow through with a smirk. “Here,” Richie handed him a beaten-up business card with a number scrawled on it. “If you ever find yourself in LA, give me a call. I might let you buy me a drink as payback!” He smiled and winked, drawing yet another blush to Eddie’s cheeks.

Eddie smiled nervously, he liked that idea very much.

“I sure will,” Eddie sighed, wondering if he might ever happen to just find himself in LA. “Well, good luck with your awards thing...I best be getting inside.” He glanced towards the house, and Richie gave him a knowing look, nodding softly.

“Best of luck with your thing too, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie smiled, holding out a hand. Eddie shook it, perhaps longer than was necessary, and watched as Richie got back into the truck and started the engine.

He stood there as Richie drove away, playing nervously with the ring box in his fanny pack. He stood there a while longer as well, playing over what had just occurred and clutching the tatty business card to his chest.

“Would you like to marry me? And if you like you can buy the ring I don't dream about anyone - except myself”

The lyrics from the song in the truck played in his head as he dragged the bike frame back to the house. As he walked through the front doot he set the ring box down on the side, pocketing the business card in his jacket.

He wasn’t sure how his conversation with Myra would go, but he was sure he felt different after meeting Richie Tozier.

---

A/N: Ok, so this was written over a few days and I may have rushed the ending a little there but I wanted to get this out so I could carry on with (PD)SA. Just tagging people on that list cause I guess you might wanna read this??

Leaving it up to your imagination what happens next. Did Eddie break it off with Myra and fly to LA to pursue his strange new feelings? Or perhaps he got married and forgot about the whole ordeal until he received a phone call, returned to Derry and got his arm torn off? (omg I’m sorry I need to go to fucking sleep)

#reddie #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #reddie au #reddie fic

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