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javier-pena · 9 months

Text

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #embers

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freechard · 10 months

Text

My Debut Short Story

I wrote One Kind Day on the 12th of December 2022 for the student publication.

Here it is:

Ronnie took from the box of bills and change and handed 75 pesos to an old man wearing a white shirt waiting at the window. "Thank you," said the man after taking the money. Ronnie smiled and nodded as if saying, "welcome, sir". The man went away. But as soon as he left Ronnie, who was behind the window, a woman in a purple top holding a big container came near. She put it on the counter in front of the window, and its royal blue color reflected in the glass pane. Ronnie slid the window open, taking the container in and the 25 pesos payment. He unscrewed the container and threw it lightly in the sink. He turned and put the money in the box. And then he cleaned the container and placed it under the faucet, where purified water gushed out. While waiting for it to be filled, he remembered something. Smiling, he thought that it was Saturday—his payday. He would usually get his salary in the evening. Now, the sun was an inch away from the horizon and would set in less than 30 minutes. But not just that, tomorrow would be his birthday. He kept smiling, thinking about all these good things at hand while the water started to reach the container's mouth. He screwed the cap back and wiped the container. After sealing it, he pushed it outside in the woman's direction, his dreamy smile never leaving his face. "Hi, Ron," said his boss. Ron looked and saw a tall man walk into the water-refilling station. Mr. Cruz just came back and surely brought Ron's salary. Happier now, Ron greeted him in an unusually excited tone. "That will be the last," said Mr. Cruz, referring to the woman who embarked on her way home, hauling the container behind her. "Let's clean so we can go now," he added. So they swept, wiped, unplugged the purifying machine, and arranged and checked everything. Now they were done, and they could go. But before going, Mr. Cruz gave Ron his one-week salary. "I added 200 pesos. That's my gift," Mr. Cruz said after giving 1,700 pesos to Ronnie. Ron had told Mr. Cruz about his birthday and his plan to have her mom cook spaghetti that day. That is why Mr. Cruz was aware of it and gave him a monetary gift. Both of them went outside. They pulled down the large metal rolling door that covered the store and locked it. Ronnie looked intently at Mr. Cruz in the eyes and extended his gratitude. "Thank you so much, sir," said Ron. "You have been nice to me since my first day. I appreciate your kindness, sir". "Oh! It's nothing, boy. Get going and be safe on your way". Ronnie waved goodbye to his boss and walked his way home. He looked up to see the now-dark sky. And as the evening breeze brushed him, Ronnie once again beamed at the thought that tomorrow, on his 14th birthday, he would be able to taste again the spaghetti he had been yearning for.

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panicatthediaz · 3 years

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40 (almost kiss) + 54 (secret relationship)? 🥰

Being in bed at 12:00 am will not stop me, I guess. Bonus Getting Together, I guess. Spent 3 or so hours at this. Ops.

Post S4. This is a disgusting amount of fluff. Unbeta'd (but self proof-read) as I wrote this from 12 am to 3:30 am.

On AO3

Years In The Making

Not that he believed it, but he was sure most people around him would say it was meant to be; something fated somewhere to happen somehow. Eddie didn't really believe that.

What he did believe was that they may have been too afraid (or maybe too repressed, in his case) to see what was going on, what had been growing for a long while. Years, maybe?

But getting shot (again) had given him a good shake, and he could say he'd been almost disappointed to see Ana by his bedside. No fault of her own, of course not, but...

He was pretty sure of what he wanted at that moment.

Breaking things off with her hadn't been that difficult, or painful, a couple of weeks after his return home. Ana's disappointment was clear, but she seemed to know as well as he did that they weren't going anywhere as a couple. With a promise to stay in touch, she walked out of his home one last time.

Now all he had to do was talk to Buck.

Buck had been cagey for the first few days when Eddie had asked him about Taylor. It took about a week and a couple of beers for him to blurt out, "She kissed me then ran out." He fidgeted for a couple of minutes. "Then she came back and we talked through it."

Eddie's heart sank, but he still put on a smile for the sake of his friend (if that was all that he would be for Buck, he'd make do). "And?"

"And we are at very different stages when it comes to romance." Buck shrugged, but the tiny frown was right there between his brows. "She became a good friend, but damn, we wouldn't have lasted as a couple."

Buck finished his beer and turned to Eddie, though not looking beyond the water bottle he was holding in his one good hand.

"She, uh... She isn't quite who I want." Buck cleared his throat, abruptly standing up and walking away from the dining table to place his empty bottle in the recyclable bin. "How is Ana, by the way?"

Eddie accepted the deflection well enough, watching as Buck stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, a stance that tried to project calm. Eddie doubted he was anywhere near it; he never enjoyed talking about failed relationships (including those that never took off).

"We broke up last week," he replied easily, standing up to refill his bottle in the kitchen. "Don't worry," he added, seeing the wide-eyed surprise (and dare he say, hope?) in Buck's expression. "It was pretty amicable and even. We both saw we weren't going to get anywhere and decided to split."

"Okay," Buck whispered, following him into the kitchen. "You okay?"

Eddie nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I'm fine." Though he had to ask... "Who is it?" Buck's confused, scrunched-up expression was pretty damn cute, making him look a little bit more like the Golden Retriever pup Hen and Chimney often compared him to. "You said Taylor isn't who you want, so who is it?"

"Eddie," he said on a groan, though he simply leaned against the counter instead of answering.

"See," Eddie spoke with a new bout of confidence (maybe just as ill-placed as the excitement he was starting to feel), standing against the sink across from Buck. "I'm kind of hoping for a specific answer here."

Buck didn't reply. Eddie had barely even noticed a shift in Buck's expression before he moved into his space, pressing a hard kiss against his lips, a huge contrast to how softly his hands cradled his head and how careful he was to not press against the sling and his injured shoulder.

Eddie wasn't sure if the bottle ended up on the sink or on the floor by their feet. What mattered was that he managed to get his hand on Buck's neck, drawing him even closer.

(Not that Buck let either of them press too close, and god, he loved him.

And he was distantly aware that he should be at least a little freaked out over the thought after one kiss - their first kiss - but, well... Years in the making and all that.)

One kiss became two, became many, and Eddie could see the same feelings reflected in Buck's blue eyes. Belonging, a finally and a home.

There was no need to go beyond kissing and cuddling, both of them content to sit even closer together, hands intertwined whenever they could.

It was... Soft in a way Eddie hadn't had in so long, intimate in ways he thought he wouldn't experience.

And they weren't subtle, weren't actively trying to keep anything a secret. Eddie was still off work, doing his PT as he should and Buck had been staying at his house (their home, he couldn't help but think every time) since Eddie got out of the hospital anyway.

But two months passed and the only two people aware of the change in their relationship were Christopher and Carla because they found them cuddled up on the couch, Eddie knocked out by painkillers and then too out of it to deny anything when his son questioned him about it.

(Christopher had simply nodded with a mumbled "Good" and left it at that. They still had no idea what that was about.)

The sling had come off a few days ago, though he still couldn't do that much, and it was driving Eddie up a wall. Buck was at the station, and he didn't want to think about the conniption he'd have if he drove there.

He knocked on Christopher's bedroom door, opening it slowly to see his son smiling at him from where he sat with his book.

"Hey, buddy." It was impossible not to smile back, feeling the all-encompassing warmth at the fact that he was still here, could see his son growing up for a while longer. "What do you say we pay a visit to the station?"

The frown he got for that was so much like Shannon's that he didn't know what to do with the pang in his chest. There was no guilt, not then, over the fact he missed her. He just did, she should be able to see how much their kid was growing, how much like her he could be sometimes. And maybe she was, if the afterlife turned out to be a thing after all.

"You are not supposed to drive."

And that tone was way too much like Buck's, just this morning, for Eddie to hold back his laughter.

"I was thinking we could take an Uber." He shrugged with his left shoulder. He might have been desperate to get out of the house, but he wasn't stupid; he didn't want pain and he didn't want to end up lectured by the entire team once he got there. "What do you say?"

Christopher considered it for a moment, then placed his bookmark and got up. "Let's go!"

"You better not have come in your car, Eddie!"

He rolled his eyes at the very much expected exclamation as Christopher giggled beside him.

"Don't worry, Buck," the kid said, walking ahead as Buck came downstairs. "I didn't let him drive."

"Thank God for you, kid," Buck said, kneeling on one knee to give Chris a hug. "Your dad is stubborn, he probably would have driven here if it weren't for you."

"Hey!" There was no real annoyance in his protest, but Eddie still said, "I get enough sass from my kid, don't you start, too."

Buck, in such a show of maturity, stuck out his tongue at him before turning to Christopher once again.

"Come on, buddy, let's go see the fun people."

Chris' laughter echoed in the station, and Eddie let the light atmosphere carry him upstairs to the loft where he was greeted by the rest of the team with hugs, and some friendly pats on (thankfully) his uninjured shoulder.

Chimney and Hen immediately walked with Christopher to the pinball machine, and Bobby had given him a plate of leftover breakfast to carry wherever he ended up sitting.

He chose the couch, where Buck had already made himself comfortable again and was currently watching the trio at the machine. They could hear Hen encouraging Chris to beat Chim's high score.

"Hey you," Buck greeted softly, an arm going around his shoulders as Eddie adjusted himself.

"Hey yourself." Buck glanced at the other side of the loft, then pressed a quick peck to his lips. Apparently, everyone was sufficiently distracted. "How are you?"

"So far so good." He took one of the biscuits from Eddie's plate, quickly popping it into his mouth as if Eddie hadn't sat here to share them. "I'd ask how your day is going, but it's obvious you're bored out of your mind."

Eddie groaned, letting his head fall back against Buck's arm. He was beyond bored, at this point, and no amount of movies or video games had helped. Buck's chuckle beside him was another pretty good incentive to get out of the house.

He turned his head to face him, his own expression undoubtedly soft as he took in the man that had been by his side for so long and for so many things already.

Buck's expression softened even more, somehow, his smile bright as the sun and even warmer. He leaned closer and-

And what sounded like a very undignified squeak interrupted their almost-kiss, causing Eddie to huff in mild annoyance and turn around.

Chimney stood by the dining table, gaping at them. Bobby was still in the kitchen and turned to look at them at the sound of Chimney's squeak.

"What's wrong, Chim?" Hen asked, frowning all the way from the pinball machine (where Christopher continued to play).

"They..." He gestured between the two of them. "Since when are you two together?!" He ignored Hen's own surprised exclamation. "They were about to kiss!"

"Yeah," Eddie confirmed, nonchalantly making himself comfortable in Buck's arms in the new position so he could look at the rest of their team. "And you had to ruin the mood."

Buck hid his face in his hair, and Eddie could hear the quiet snickering. They really thought the others would have caught up after two months of visiting Eddie at least once every few days.

"What about Ana?"

"We broke up two months ago, man."

"And Taylor?"

"Dude, we never started dating in the first place." The exasperation was clear in Buck's voice. "She's really just a friend."

Chimney nodded, satisfied for the time being. They had no doubt that there would be more questions later.

"When did this even happen?" Hen asked this time, walking over with Christopher.

"Two months ago," Chris answered before either of them could, smiling a little too innocently. "A week or something after Dad broke up with Miss Flores."

Eddie had no idea Christopher knew that level of details, but he had definitely been out of it when he told him. Maybe he said more than he remembered.

"Well," Bobby finally spoke up, walking over to their little family unit on the couch, now that Christopher was tucked on Eddie's other side. "I'm happy for you two." Eddie could feel whatever tension had been on Buck's body (not that there was much in the first place) drain out of him at Bobby's words. "And we can deal with HR and paperwork once you're back at the station," he added, directed at Eddie. Bobby's smile was genuinely warm, putting him even further at ease.

Years in the making. Maybe it was obvious to everyone else, but Eddie wouldn't change a thing about the road they took to get here. It had been hard and full of hurt, but what they had was solid and them and it was definitely worth it all.

Including the cheering, clapping, and whistles of everyone else when Buck pressed a kiss to his lips right there and then simply because he could.

#9-1-1 #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #9-1-1 on fox #buddie #my writing #911 #911 on fox #I have no idea how many words this is #it just happened #WeresWriting

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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years

Text

The Rules of Engagement (2/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 5.9k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence. we are starting to earn that m rating now, folks

a/n: at the end. unbeta’d, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

You wake the next morning feeling better than you have any right to feel, given the guaro you’d drank last night. You tiptoe into the living area to check on Javi. He’s slumped over, one arm thrown over his head, the other crushed under the throw pillow, blanket crumpled on the floor below him. He’s snoring softly.

You grimace, just knowing that it’s going to be a rough morning for him.

You start with coffee, naturally. While the water is heating, you rummage through the kitchen, not making any particular effort to be silent - Javi has to wake up eventually - but still trying to keep from banging around too much.

“Fuck,” you hiss, staring indignantly into the fridge. You’d cooked all the eggs last night, and there’s nothing left for breakfast.

“Whhhaa?” Javi sits up slowly. All you can see is a dark bird’s nest peeking over the sofa. Given last night’s realization and your fascination with his hair, you decide that’s probably a good thing.

“No groceries in,” you admit apologetically. He’ll have to make do with coffee.

“Ugh,” you hear him groan from the living room. He must have slumped forward or something, because you can’t see him anymore. “Ears.” His voice is pathetic.

You pour the coffee into two mugs, automatically adding creamer to yours, sugar to his. It occurs to you that making Javier Peña’s morning cup of coffee should not come so naturally to you.

You roll you eyes at the thought. All the more reason for this to stop.

He’s doubled over on his knees, head in hands, fingers carding through his wild hair. You bite your lip.

He does look pitiful, and admittedly, you are partially to blame. You set his coffee down in front of him, along with a couple of aspirin tablets. “Here,” you do your best to keep your voice soft. “This’ll help a little.”

He glares darkly at you, looking like an indignant little boy, and reaches for the coffee. Gulps. Grimaces as he burns his tongue. Slams the cup down. Sighs. Picks up the pills. Tosses those back, too. Closes his eyes. Falls back onto the sofa as easily as he’s able with his aching head.

Okay, then. Javier Peña is not a morning person. You’d known that already - it’s endearing, but old news. Javier Peña with a hangover, though, is an absolute drama queen. This, you file away as new information.

You reach for his coffee cup and refill it.

He side-eyes you as you approach him with his second mug. “You,” he says accusatorially, pointing a crooked finger in your direction and leering in a way that’s both disturbing and appealing. “You promised me magic eggs.”

“You’re not wrong,” You tell him, settling down with your own coffee cup. “But I did say to hold off on that last shot, too, didn’t I?”

He growls, eyes world-weary and bloodshot, and reaches for his mug. “Point,” he admits reluctantly. “Ugh.”

“If you’re going to puke, please try to make it to a trashcan first, preferably the one in bathroom,” you tell him as you start rummaging around the cabinets for anything that could be remotely edible. “The tiles there are easier to clean.”

“Christ,” he whines. “I’m not that fucked.” He stands, then wobbles, bracing himself on the back of the sofa and breathing heavily, looking a little green.

“Right,” you say dryly, turning back to your cabinets. Cereal, but your milk has probably gone off by now. There’s a pack of lentils in the back of pantry that you’d bought god-knows-when, but those take far too long to be cooked for breakfast, and besides, who even likes lentils anyway?

You jump as Javi presses his chest against your back, looking over your shoulder to inspect your depressingly empty cabinets. “Looks like we’re shit out of luck,” he grumbles as you try not to react to the fact that you can feel the rumble of his voice as he speaks. “What kind of woman are you, anyway?” he wonders aloud as he reaches around you to rifle through your disappointing pantry.

You whirl, jabbing him with an elbow. “The kind who doesn’t cook you breakfast!”

He smirks at you, moving closer, and oh, that caffeine must be working, because he’s grinning now. “Oh really?” he asks, damn near pinning you to the cabinet doors. “Because that’s not what I remember from last night.”

You roll your eyes, side-stepping him before he starts grinding into your hips. You couldn’t avoid reacting to that.

“What you remember was a rescue mission, Peña, not domestic bliss. If I hadn’t made you those eggs, you wouldn’t be capable of standing here teasing me this morning, and that’s a promise.”

His smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Well then, I owe you one, I guess.” He glances at his watch, then back at you. “Let me take you for breakfast? There’s a little cafe down the street that’s quick and discreet.”

You turn to frown at him, bag of lentils rattling as it drops to the floor.

He stares right back at you, naked save for his boxers and socks. His hair is a mess, his face a little swollen from last night, eyes just a tiny bit glossy, but his expression is dead serious. He holds a hand out to you, as if he’d like to escort you down the stairs right now.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

He rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his coffee in one go and setting the cup on the counter as he approaches you. “Ears,” he says softly, and something in you fucking trembles at that voice, all cracked and hoarse in the early morning. “I owe you breakfast.” He reaches for your hands, gathers them to his chest. “Let me.”

You tilt your face up, as if you expect him to drop a kiss on your forehead, then jump back as if burned. His erection is digging into your thigh, needy and insistent, and it takes everything in your power to step away instead of grinding into him.

You take a deep, shaking breath, feeling yourself flood with need for him. He’s looking at you, far more observant that he ought to be capable of, as hungover as he is, and it spikes something resentful in you.

“Yeah?” you say, keeping your voice light and teasing. “You gonna do something about that, first?”

He doesn’t even pretend to be confused, just reaches down to blatantly adjust himself. “If you aren’t, I guess,” he says evenly, one brow cocked in question.

Goddamn it.

You lick your lips, an unconscious move that makes his cock twitch.

You swallow back a smile, suddenly relieved. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, you still have the power here. “Nah,” you grin up at him, teasing, swiping your tongue behind your teeth in a way that you know drives him crazy. “It’s hardly been a week, remember? I’m not that desperate yet.”

His gaze narrows as he sizes you up. A hand deliberately slips beneath the hem of his boxers. “You sure, babe?”

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling that,” you tell him sweetly.

The expression that answers you is predatory. “I’ll just borrow your shower, then.” He winks at you. “Be ready in ten.”

♠

You’re ready in five.

He takes an absurdly long time. You halfway consider banging on the bathroom door to remind him not to run out your hot water, but decide not to give him the satisfaction. Just as you’re starting to get truly annoyed, the water shuts off. He opens the door moments later, all wet and dripping, towel hanging low over his hips.

Asshole.

He makes no issue of changing in front of you, but hell, you aren’t going to leave, either - you need access to your own bathroom, for godssake - and you do your best not to look at his glistening skin as he slips into yesterday’s clothes. You tell yourself that it’s no big deal, we all have bodies, and his is nothing you’ve never seen, anyway.

You can’t help but notice, though, when he bends over, fully dressed, and snatches a pair of your panties from the floor.

You eyeball him from where you’re perched on the counter with your feet in the sink. Javi meets your gaze in the mirror and holds aloft the panties, draping them suggestively over his chest, and then, before you can even scowl at him, he’s winking at you, balling them up and stuffing them into the back pocket of his jeans.

The fuck??

You decide not to say anything. They’re just cotton undies, some of your favorites, sure, but comfy, not sexy. Complaining will definitely give him points. Instead, you roll your eyes hard enough to dislodge your contacts, forcing yourself to sulk open-mouthed in the mirror as you blink to settle them back into place.

By the time you’ve done that, he’s standing beside you, brushing his teeth as if nothing is amiss.

You glance down. Even with a second day of wear, those jeans are tight enough that you can clearly see the outline of your panties in his back pocket.

Motherfucker.

“Ready, Ears?” he asks as you finish tying back your braid. Cool as fucking anything. You can’t even tell he’s hungover, the absolute cuntstain.

“Sure.” You hop down from the sink, allowing him to catch you, even though it’s totally unnecessary. For just a second, your body is pressed against his, heat and damp of the shower emanating from his skin, his belt digging into your belly.

He grins down at you, bright-eyed and thoroughly obnoxious, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “So this place has the best waffles…”

♠

You make it to the office just after 0830. Not late enough to truly raise eyebrows, but your face still flames as you slip into your headset. Nobody bats an eye except for Torres, who glances up suspiciously. You shake your head at him, and he ducks back down, attending his station as if he’d never noticed you walk in.

Work keeps you busy. The Search Bloc boys are swarming, prepping this and that for their afternoon excursion to Medellín. Centra Spike is flying two teams over the targeted neighborhood, doing their best to patch in for any last minute intel, and the whole day devolves into chaos.

You’ve forgotten all about Javi until you happen to pass him in the hallway on your lunch break. He’s in full Agent Peña mode, talking to Murphy with his fists on his hips, flaying his leather jacket out behind him like a pair of demon wings. You can’t help but notice the outline of your panties bunched up at the bottom of his left back pocket.

The contrast of the image, the smooth as silk DEA agent displaying the outline of your fucking underwear on his ass for all to see and wonder about, is enough to set your body on fire.

You make a quick detour to the bathroom, hunching over the sink to look in the mirror. The woman staring back at you has wide eyes and swollen lips. Her cheeks are burning. Her braid is frazzled, and she’s wearing a stunned, dumb expression on her face.

‘Oh, honey,’ you think condescendingly to your reflection, ‘you have no chill.’

It occurs to you, suddenly, that the women’s bathrooms at the CNP Headquarters are frequently cleaned and rarely used. Mirrors surround you on three walls. Anybody could walk in behind you, lifting your skirt and pushing aside your panties as he thrusts into you, and you could watch it all from your position over the sink.

Shame and desire are literally flooding you. Angrily, you enter the nearest stall, dragging your soaked panties down your legs. You bundle them up and swipe at yourself with them, stuffing in the wastebasket with a growl when you're done. 'That’s two pair of undies that man has lost me,' you think viciously, cursing your body for reacting so strongly. Goddamn Javier Peña for taking your underwear to work with him in the first place, the kinky-ass kleptomaniac bastard.

There’s too much going on for you to be preoccupied like this right now.

You exit the bathroom when you fucking finally feel clean again, smoothing your skirt over your ass and checking yourself out once again in the mirror.

This woman still looks a little flushed, but her eyes are glittering now, narrowed in annoyance. You definitely don’t have any panty lines to worry about. You smooth down the flyaways that are attempting to escape your braid and sigh, thinking you can easily pass for just having a busy work day.

It’ll have to do.

♠

Search Bloc is scheduled to board the chopper at 1400 hours.

It’s no big deal. You know with all your heart that your intel is good - you’d triple checked it twice before even handing it to Javi - but something about the hustle and bustle at the embassy has you on edge. You make your way to the landing pad, not even trying to justify a reason for being there.

You just want to see Javi one time before he leaves.

And there he is, standing just afield of the chopper with Murphy and some other member of the Colombian brass whose name you hadn’t bothered to learn. Their heads are pressed together, hair waving in the wind of the chopper blades, shouting, pointing.

Your heart speeds. Javi’s wearing that fucking bulletproof vest, the green one that hardly covers him in any capacity that actually matters. Dread pools in your belly as you take him in - salmon colored shirt sleeves exposing tanned arms, padded armor that extends over his subclavian artery with less breadth than a teenager could get away with wearing in a typical high school classroom. His heart is covered, thankfully, but his neck is vulnerable, as is most of his shoulder. One of your good friends had been a medic in Desert Storm, and you’ve heard enough of his horror stories to know that a gunshot wound to the clavicular area is nearly always lethal. Never mind one to the neck or head.

You take a breath, then another. You’ve done your job. You know without a doubt that the conversation you’d listened to, over and over, had verified Verdugo’s presence in Medellín.

More importantly, you’re confident in Javi’s abilities. He’s sharp, and he’s a survivor. He can protect himself, you’re sure of it.

As if he’d sensed your thoughts, Javi whirls, looking back at you with his hand raised to block the sun. You meet his gaze, waving subtly in acknowledgement.

“Be careful,” you mouth, not certain if you’re close enough for him to read you lips.

Please.

His only response is a sharp nod.

♠

It’s barely been a day, and already it’s burning a hole in you, missing him.

You tell yourself that it could just be libido that’s burning a hole in you, too.

He’s left one of his shirts on your floor, the asshole. It’s the yellow one that reminds you of your neighborhood mailman back home. You pick it up and immediately throw it in the dirty laundry, quick as if it had burned. You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to smell him.

You just want him safe.

You sit on your sofa, staring idly at the lopsided stack of playing cards that he’d left half-shuffled on your coffee table.

♠

Rumor is at Centra Strike that the Search Bloc team has run into some “legal problems.” The situation is pending intervention by the local authorities.

“There’s nothing for you to do, Ears. Go home.”

♠

You bump into Ana on your way up the stairs.

“Hey!” she lights up when she first sees you, but then her face settles into a thoughtful frown. “You look worried.” She moves closer, all gentle concern, resting a hand on your shoulder. Behind her, Emilio is watching, probably picking up on more than he lets on. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, mustering up a half-hearted smile. “Everything is fine.”

She grimaces like she doesn’t quite believe you, but squeezes your arm and lets you go anyway. “Men are the worst. Come find me, Ears, if you need to talk.”

You nod, biting your lip. “Thanks.”

♠

You’re just getting ready for bed when the front door creaks open, and Javi slips in.

Something in your chest leaps to see him, but your grins fades as you glance up from your book.

Javi looks terrible. His shoulders are slumped, motions jerky and exhausted as he drops wallet, keys, gun, cigarettes, pager, one by one, onto your kitchen counter.

“Hey,” you say softly, setting the book aside and rising to your feet.

“Hey,” he breathes, more of a huff than a word. He shrugs out of his jacket, skirting around the coffee table to settle heavily on the sofa. He leans forward on his elbows, head bowed, staring absently at the worn carpet.

Jesus.

Carefully, as if approaching a wild animal, you move in beside him, not quite close enough to brush his shoulder. You take a moment to reign in your palpable relief at seeing him here, alive and unharmed. How you feel is not important right now.

What’s important is Javi, who’s slumped with his hands clasped over his knees. Dejection leaks from him in tangible waves, and you can’t help but move closer, resting your hand on his shoulder in silent comfort. He trembles subtly at your touch, but doesn’t flinch away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask after a long moment. It’s the only thing you know to offer.

He inhales sharply at your voice, as if he’d forgotten you were there, then heaves another massive sigh, pressing his palms into his eyes and digging his fingers through his hair.

“There’s a fucking leak in the Medellín force,” he bites out tersely.

You stiffen as if he’d poured ice water down your back. “Oh god.” All that intel, all those men, delivered directly to Verdugo, to Escobar…

“Yeah,” he growls, muscles of his back tensing. “We walked right into a trap.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, the implications hitting you one by one. You’re struck with the sudden urge to wrap your arms around him and cling for dear life, emotions tangling and snarling in your chest - gratitude, overwhelming relief, concern, curiosity. You manage to hold still, settling for slowly rubbing his shoulder, your fingers carding back and forth against the thin material of his shirt.

It’s overwhelming and frustrating, your powerlessness in this situation. He’s come straight to you, again, but you aren’t sure what to say, or how you can help.

“I’m here,” you whisper after a long moment, because it’s true. You are.

He takes a deep breath, then another. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move, but some of the tension seems to drain from him.

“Somebody had prepared them for our arrival,” he says at last. His voice is stretched thin, eyes glazed as he stares into space, reliving the day. “Once we reached the house, we were surrounded. Had to shoot our way out.”

Oh, Christ.

“I lost four men.” He drops his head again, covering his face.

The thought of Javier Peña being ashamed, feeling like he has to hide from you, is so ridiculously unfathomable that you just can’t allow it. You reach for his hand, twining your fingers through his so quickly that you aren’t even aware you’ve made the decision to do so. He glances down at your clasped hands, startled and a little awestruck, and then raises his eyes to meet yours. They’re dark and wet, wide with wonder and a question.

You squeeze his hand once, tightly.

He inhales sharply, tipping his head over and back to rest against your chest. The movement surprises you, but it’s not unwelcome, and you shift to accommodate him, arching against the arm of the sofa, wriggling you leg out from beneath you and encircling his shoulder with your free arm.

You sit there in the dark like that for a long moment, just breathing, existing.

“And that’s not all,” he confesses after a long silence.

Wait, really? You’re not sure if you even answer aloud, you’re so caught up in what he’s saying.

“Afterward, they implied there was a problem with our warrants, that we shouldn’t have had access to that neighborhood to begin with.” Javi huffs. “Trying to get our visas pulled.”

Horror floods you. “But-”

He tilts back to make upside down eye contact with you. Any other time, you’d think he was being cute, but now, it’s nothing but exhausted desperation. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “It didn’t go through - our paperwork was solid.” He chuckles mirthlessly, shaking his head at the stupidity of the situation. “Good news is, though, we know who the rat is. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

You try not to think too hard about the implications of that.

“But still,” his expression hardens. “It’s a headache.”

Understatement. “Yeah,” you agree wholeheartedly. You imagine Javi having to deal with bureaucracy bullshit right after fighting for his life in a shootout. Anger flares in your chest. “I’m sorry.” The words burst out of you, impassioned and thoroughly useless. “They target you in the only way they know how, Peña. It’s because you’re a threat. You’re getting close, or they wouldn’t bother.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, tell that to the Lopez family. His wife is weeks away from delivering their first baby.” He raises the pitch of his voice, expression of mock sympathy twisting his face. “I’m so sorry, señora, but on the bright side, we are getting really close to catching Pablo Escobar.”

His words cut you like broken glass, rending you raw. You’re horrified to feel tears gathering in your eyes.

You can’t even be angry, though, because he’s right.

You inhale shakily, and he flops over, burying his face in your clavicle. You don’t even hesitate, just gather him closer, carding your free fingers over his neck and shoulders in earnest now. This is deep shit, goddammit, well beyond your realm of experience. You don’t know how to comfort him, you just know that he needs something, and you’re willing to offer whatever you have to give.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, squeezing your still-clasped hands to remind him that you’re here. He squeezes back, exhaling another deep, shuddering breath, and relaxes so far into your touch that his lips are resting in the hollow of your throat.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that you might be taking advantage of him. He’s here seeking your comfort, and as justified as that is, you’re not sure if it’s entirely fair to him, given how you feel. Not that you’re getting any sort of sexual or emotional gratification from this moment - not by a long shot. Still, though, it reeks of deception somehow.

Javi cracks an eye open, tilting his face up to question your sudden stillness.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, meeting his gaze. You’re not sure exactly what you’re asking. You’re feeling vulnerable, all flayed open and too-exposed, like you’re crossing a boundary of some sort. 'Can I touch you like this?' you wonder. 'Is it too intimate? Am I allowed to comfort you, just for comfort’s sake?'

‘Am I breaking the rules?’

He blinks up at you, and despite your best effort at remaining expressionless, those dark eyes pin you with an intensity that makes you swear he’s pulling the thoughts straight from your brain.

You stifle a gasp, barely managing to hold his gaze without blinking or squirming.

“Yeah,” Javi whispers after a long moment. He allows his eyes to flutter closed, and you breathe a long, slow sigh of relief. “It’s good.”

♠

You blink yourself awake early the next morning, squinting at the pale sunlight that filters through your smudged window.

You didn’t have the heart to leave Javi last night, and eventually, you’d both fallen into an exhausted sleep, an awkward tangle of limbs on your tiny sofa. He’s sprawled out with his head cocked back, right arm crushing a throw pillow beneath his jaw, one leg extended, the other foot draped over the coffee table. Sometime in the night, you’d nestled into the crook of his neck, unconsciously straddling his thigh, and he’d hooked his free arm around you, snaking a hand beneath your shirt to splay his fingers across the bare skin of your stomach.

You glance up, heart rate speeding double-time as awareness of your situation seeps in.

It’s not the first time you’ve woken up to Javier Peña. But never like this. Never on the sofa. Never pressed into him, all wrapped up and tangled in one another, warm and soft and sleepy. Never fully clothed, and definitely never after the vulnerability he’d allowed you to glimpse last night.

A rush of affection and deep, aching need floods your core. Your muscles tense unconsciously as your hips tilt into his leg, desperately seeking friction.

You stifle a gasp, sucking down the overwhelming urge to kiss him awake, to throw a leg over him properly and grind deliciously against his hips…

You stop, breathing raggedly.

You’ve always had a thing for morning sex. There’s something deliciously intimate about it, all hushed whispers and slow rocking beneath blankets, still clinging to the heat of sleep. It’s gentle and private, a secret without guile, and these new, intense feelings that you’re harboring for Javi have you absolutely leaking and trembling at the mere suggestion of it.

You have to get out of here.

Carefully, moving as slowly as your shaking muscles allow, you duck beneath his arm. He shifts, humming, and you catch your breath, watching carefully as he curls into himself with a soft sigh.

Goddamn.

You stand there for a long moment, heart hammering in your chest, confirming that he’s still out. You can’t help but trace his face with your eyes, noting the uneven patches of stubble that have grown in during the past three days, the curl of his dark lashes, the stripe of soft belly that his shirt leaves exposed, his hot, heavy breaths, slow and deep with sleep.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You run the shower hot, not even pretending to stifle your arousal. The thrum of the water is a welcome weight on your shoulders, tickling sensitive skin as it soaks your hair and sluices down your body. You follow its trail with your fingers, slipping them over pebbled nipples, teasing briefly, then dragging down your belly. The sound of the spray grounds you, drowning your moans. You recall the image that you awoke to, the pressure of Javi’s arm curled around you, your hips angled just perfectly over his thigh, the heat and slow, steady throb of life that pulsed from the crook of his neck.

You tilt your head just slightly, arching into him, peppering his jaw with gentle kisses. His eyes flutter open, and he shifts, opening himself to grant you access. You straddle him properly, sliding up his chest to curl into him, and he smiles lazily.

“Good morning,” you whisper, capturing him in a slow kiss, sucking gently at his lower lip.

“Mmm,” he moans incoherently into your mouth, still pliant with sleep. His erection digs into you, and you grind over it, one long, slow roll of your hips.

He bucks, hitching a sharp breath into your mouth.

“Javi,” You pull hard at your sex, mimicking the pressure of rocking against him, groaning and bucking into your hand. The water continues to beat steadily on your back and shoulders, and you slide to the floor, thumb teasing at your clit, fingers arching to find that perfect spot deep inside you.

You bring your opposite hand up to graze against your face, fingers spayed across your cheek, thumb dragging down your neck.

“Come here,” Javi grins lazily up at you. He cups your jaw in his hand, pulling you so close that your foreheads press together. You rub your cheek against his stubble, nipping gently at his pulse point as you line yourself up. You don’t need any foreplay - you’re already dripping for him. His eyes drift shut and his breath hitches as you slide down onto his cock as slowly as you can manage. You rock back and forth, finding an easy rhythm as you adjust to the pressure of his length inside you, and he bucks to meet you halfway, thrusting faster as you sink deeper.

“Is this okay?” he whispers up to you with doe eyes. He’s more awake now, but still soft, still gentle.

“Perfect,” you promise, adjusting your the angle as you bend down to kiss him again.

With no warning, he swipes his tongue greedily behind your teeth, sucking steadily as he circles your back to dig hard at your ass with those gigantic hands, arching deep into you at the same time.

You gasp. “Javi!”

The bathroom door slams open with a bang, and you’re jerked back to reality. Javi, real, live, awake Javi, is staring at you in wide-eyed shock.

You don’t even have time to be embarrassed.

His face hardens in an instant as he takes you in, eyes narrowing, lips curling into an expression that’s damn near feral. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses, spitting the ‘f’ hard.

“What’s it look like?” you answer breathlessly. You know you look ridiculous, panting on shower floor, knees hiked up with your feet pressed to the glass, fingers still nestled inside you. You are thoroughly exposed to him, and yeah, in the back of your mind, you know that there’s part of you that should be ashamed at being found in this position, but right now, there’s no room in you for any emotion except for anger.

It burns in you suddenly, white hot indignation. “Goddammit, Javi, what do you want??”

His face is disbelief and thunder, frozen in a snarl that is terrifying in its intensity. His fingers are curled at his sides, muscles braced for a fight. Your heart hammers in your chest. He is every inch the man who guns down killers for a living. “You called my name."

Ah, and there’s the shame. It floods you like water, cool and cloying, and suddenly, you’re desperate for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, shower and all.

“Oh,” you think you might say, or something similarly useless.

He growls, stalking forward as if he’s about to yank the shower door open, then stops as if jerked. You can only watch, transfixed, as his expression shifts from livid, to devastated, to carefully blank. It’s over in the blink of an eye, so quickly that you question the validity of your own observation, and then, before you can even think, Javi is whirling on his heel, slamming the door behind him with a ferocity that makes the glass walls shudder.

You lie there on the wet tiles, fingers still resting on your sex, reliving the scene over and over until the water runs cold.

You’d called his name.

Shouted it, or moaned it, or screamed it, who even knows. The point is, he’d heard you.

Wincing, you replay your fantasy, or what you can remember of it.

Well, shit.

The anger comes roiling back, poisoned with brittle resentment. You stand, shuddering as you slam the tap off.

That motherfucker.

He had no right. He’d slept in your house, eaten your food, barged into your bathroom, intruded on your private shower.

As if he belonged here.

‘But…’ shame whispers hoarsely in your ear, reminding you that you’d wanted him here. You’d welcomed him into your home, given him your goddamned spare key, rubbed his neck, tucked him in.

Fuck, you’d called his name.

With the second recollection comes vague fascination, and maybe curiosity. Javi was so angry. Furious, damned near trembling with it. That aborted little move toward you, as if he’d like to either strangle you or shove his tongue down your throat, you’re not sure which. The careful restraint, the hasty retreat.

What did it mean?

Arousal flares, but distant, dimmed. You’ll get off on this fantasy one day, you’re absolutely certain, but it will be a long time before the sting of the memory fades.

Slowly, shakily, you exit the shower, shivering as you reach for your towel. One thing is absolutely certain.

You really don’t want to go to work today.

♠

He doesn’t look at you.

You don’t look at him.

Well, then.

You’re tempted to make a snide crack about fragile masculinity’s fear of female sexuality, but then you remember how fucking observant he is, how attentive, cataloguing your every expression, noting what you liked and what you didn’t, how he’d make a point to watch you as you’d come, like he was savoring the experience every time.

Something shockingly akin to grief swells in your chest. Automatically, you shift to watch him from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his typewriter, shoulders slumped and head bowed, long fingers peck-pecking away, brow furrowed in concentration.

It’s the same little furrow that you recognize from when he’d first studied the card game you’d left on your coffee table. You recognize the shoulder-slump, too, and the stiffness he’s carrying in his body, as if stress is locking all of his muscles painfully in place. He’d been that way last night, too, when he’d first come home.

You inhale sharply. You can’t fucking do this anymore.

You rise suddenly, nearly knocking your chair over with the force of the motion. You gather your notebook and pens, nodding to Jacoby as you exit the room.

“I’d like to request a transfer,” you announce as soon as Strechner lets you into his office.

It’s bold of you. Bill Stechner, CIA station chief in Colombia, is your boss’ boss’ boss. He is undeniably a big fish, important enough that he is rarely available even by appointment, aloof and irreverent and informal by all accounts. You’ve spoken to him only once, for all of thirty seconds.

“Oh really?” Stechner hardly glances up from the magazine he’s reading. “And why’s that?”

“I’d like to take a more active role in Centra Spike,” you barrel on. “You’ve seen my credentials, sir - fifty-four recon fly-overs in Kuwait, along with advanced training in data analytics and RDF. The training required will be minimal, I’ve proven myself capable here.”

Stechner clicks his tongue, setting the magazine aside. “Have you?” he wonders. “Because I was lead to believe that the Medellín sting that was initiated on your intel was an unprecedented failure.”

Well goddamn, this was a mistake. Anger and shame flood you, and you can feel the blood draining from your face. Stechner’s thoroughly blasé tone isn’t helping staunch your reaction at all. You draw a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood.

“I refuse to take responsibility for that, sir -”

He scoffs, waving you off with a lazy hand. “Bill, please. Or Stechner, if you must. We don’t do formalities here.” He tugs at his canvas jacket and lifts a brow in your direction. “You were saying?”

“I was saying, Mister Stechner,” you speak slowly and calmly, as if addressing a small child, “that I cannot take responsibility for the corruption of the Colombian National Police.” You take another deep breath and continue. “The intel that I vetted for Centra Spike was good. We both know it. Those deaths fall on Martinez and the men in Medellín. Not me.”

Stechner watches your for a long minute, head cocked in consideration.

You force yourself to shut up. Your heart is beating so loud that you’re certain that he can hear it, and you want nothing more than to slam the door shut on your way out of his office and be through with this conversation.

After an eternity, Stechner hums. His expression doesn’t change, but you get the feeling that you’ve passed some sort of test.

You hold your breath, waiting.

You need this.

“How’s your Spanish?” he asks after a long moment.

You don’t even hesitate. “Mejorando, señor.” It’s not quite a lie - you are getting better.

Stechner raises his eyebrows in challenge.

You meet his gaze, expressionless.

Suddenly, Stechner grins. “I’ll consider it,” he says, rising to his feet.

You return the smile tightly, a wash of relief rushing over you. "Thank you, sir."

♠

Word travels fast at headquarters.

“Heard you applied for a transfer,” Murphy calls as you duck past his little corner of the hallway. “Ballsy of you, confronting Stechner like that.”

“Applied,” you remind him firmly, doing your best not to react to the way Javi stiffens behind him. “We’ll see what happens.”

Murphy smirks. “Well, I heard you got it.” He clasps your shoulder. “Congrats, Ears. That’s great.”

“Thanks, Murph,” you smile wanly at him.

Somehow, you don’t feel like celebrating.

♠

author’s notes/confessions:

inspired by a conversation with @tiffdawg - she gets all of the credit for this hot mess. Tiff, if you’re sick of tags, just let me know. :)

masturbation scenes are a nightmare of tenses. Again, I welcome comments and gentle criticisms. I am well out of my depth here.

part of the Better Love ‘verse. Check it out on AO3 {here}.

Merry Christmas to those of us who are celebrating today. Love you all!

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capricorn-stark · 3 years

Text

Othello Pt 2

pairing: jason todd x reader, reader is a psych major because i think the concept of psych majors in Gotham is funny lmao

warning: i wrote this at 1 am again, kinda long, swearing

a/n: i mention Dana Harlowe and Annie B’s diner, they’re both from RHATO’s final two issues lol. still dedicated to @tadpole-san even though she hate crimed me

part 1

“I thought you said you wanted to get coffee,” you started when you noticed Jason veering away from where your regular coffee shop should’ve been, choosing to cut through the street and venture to a different path entirely. “Because you just-”

“Yeah, I know, I’m hungry,” he declared, slipping his hands into his pockets and tilting his head towards another row of stores illuminated with neon-lights and flickering street lamps. “This place has better stuff than overpriced coffee, promise.” You let out an exaggerated gasp of shock at that notion and he laughed, nudging your shoulder with his.

It was always strange to be walking around Gotham during the night, but with Jason by your side, it was far less worrying than it usually was. On your own, you couldn’t even imagine traveling around the dark streets littered with muggers, petty thieves, and the occasional evil clown prince or two - one minute, you’d be speed-walking down the streets, the next minute you could end up as the lucky winner of Scarecrow’s fear-gas testing special.

You actually knew someone who had been in that very situation. They were in Arkham now.

With Jason, it was almost ridiculous how much safer you felt. It didn’t take a whole lot of observational skills to notice how the men who usually leered at you and your friends when you passed shrank and slipped into the shadows when a man over 6 feet in height and built like a tank walked past them. Jason himself was in a good mood tonight, his shoulders relaxed and a slight smile playing at his lips while he told you about the local theatrical-adaptation of Othello that was currently under production near Gotham University.

You were getting used to seeing him like this - not so moody, smiling, present - but you had also noticed the expressions he had when no one was looking, when he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, when his gaze had a certain intensity to them that you hadn’t ever quite seen before. He didn’t really like talking about himself or his life, preferring to keep conversations centered around school or you. The few times you had tried asking about his family and work had all led to him clamming up and quickly dropping the subject, his body language rigid and completely closed-off, the crease by his brows deepening as his expression transformed into a scowl. It was the first time you realized that Jason Todd could actually be genuinely scary - and the first time you realized there was a much, much darker side of him that you weren’t sure if you wanted to see.

You knew it wasn’t your place to pry, and you had never brought it up since - but you couldn’t help but wonder just what had happened to make someone like him so angry.

“...and I figured we could - did you just zone out on me?”

You snapped back into attention at his rather dramatic tone, flinching out of your character analysis to pay actual mind to the man in question himself.

“No, I just-”

“Yeah? What did I just say?” Jason challenged, grasping your arm to pull you away from the traffic lane you had nearly walked right into. His disbelieving expression made your face burn red - but much to your relief (and embarrassment), he was laughing.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t completely zoned out-”

“After you literally walked into traffic? Yeah, I can tell,” he deadpanned, tugging you towards him right as the cars slowed to a halt, the pedestrian signal blinking above you. The sudden action and the sudden closeness made your face heat up - something he apparently noticed when his bright green eyes flickered across your features and caused a smirk to tug at his lips. Instead of the teasing you had braced yourself for, you watched as he tilted his head towards the diner across the street, letting go of your arm. “It’s right over there, c’mon.”

He was already moving towards the crosswalk when you shook yourself out of your stupor, quickly moving to catch up with him and glancing up at the diner. The big glowing red letters on the sign beside it read “Annie B’s”.

“They got good food,” he explained at your questioning look, leaning forwards to swing the door open for you. “I used to hang around here a lot when I was a kid.”

“I don’t think I’ve actually seen this place before,” you commented, entering and hearing Jason close the door behind him, taking a quick glance around before you took a seat in one of the cherry-red and white leather booths. “Kinda wish I had.”

The entire diner had a vintage touch to it, from the luminescent pink and blue lights lining the ceilings to the multicolored tile floors, the cherry-red barstools, and even the jukebox in the corner cranking out old-timey tunes. There were only a few other people sitting at the bar and chilling in a booth a few down from your own, all too absorbed in their own worlds to pay much mind to the two of you. You could hear the sizzling of the food being made back in the kitchen, emitting a heavenly aroma that made your stomach growl not-so subtly. Jason laughed as he slid down across from you, sliding one delicate paper menu over as he scanned over the other.

“Pretty cool, huh? And like I said, they got great food.” He nodded at your stomach and you rolled your eyes, eliciting another laugh from him. “Knock yourself out, ‘cus dinner’s on me.” Before you could open your mouth to object, the kitchen doors flew open and a woman stepped out holding a heaping tray of food.

“One chicken fried steak with a side of mashed potatoes and rings,” she announced as she set down the trays in front of a man sitting a few booths down, already moving to refill his glass with a pitcher of water. “Enjoy your dinner, Phil.”

“Thanks, Dana,” the man told her as he picked up his fork and gave her a crooked-toothed grin, already digging into his food. “Always do.”

“I sure hope so,” the lady agreed, moving to walk back towards the kitchen before catching sight of them. She broke into a grin at the sight of Jason sending her a playful salute, changing course to head towards their booth instead. “Well, look who it is!” she exclaimed, securing her curly black hair out of her face with an orange-and-green bandana as she stopped in front of them. “Jason Todd decided to drop by for a little visit, did he? And he brought a friend.”

The sight of her beaming at you was too contagious for you to not smile back up at her in return.

“Hi, Dana,” Jason grinned, nodding at you as she looked between the two of you. “This is Y/N. Y/N, Dana Harlowe. Her dad runs this place.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Dana told you with another grin, leaning forwards to shake your hand in greeting. “When I decided to help out at the diner tonight, I wasn’t expecting a miracle. I definitely didn’t think this boy would ever walk in here with a date of all things-”

“Oh as if,” Jason scoffed loudly as the two of you laughed, face reddening beneath the bright colored lights. “Have you seen me? I was born a lady-killer.” He shot you a wink and you sent him another playful eye roll.

“Yeah, you sure killed me alright.” Dana burst out laughing again as Jason immediately let out a protest of betrayal at your words.

“I like you,” she decided when she finally managed to straighten, taking out her notepad and pen with another brilliant smile. “Did y’all decide what you wanted yet, or do you need another minute?” Jason glanced over at you and you nodded back up at her.

“Sure, I’m ready.”

Dana headed back into the kitchen for your food after you ordered, leaving the two of you to sit in a comfortable, familiar silence, the sound of forks scraping against porcelain plates and vintage beats being the only disruptors.

“I used to hear these songs on Gotham City Radio all the time,” Jason finally began after taking a sip of his water, fixating his gaze back on you as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the leather seat. “Growing up, I mean. I still do, sometimes.”

“Classic jazz?” You grinned, taking a small sip of your own water in turn. “You? I didn’t get that vibe from you.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with a slight shrug.

“At my old place, I had, uh, a butler. He wasn’t really a butler, honestly, he was more like a dad than anything. Or, like, a really cool grandpa. He had a whole rack of guns and shit he kept polished in this big cabinet thing-” You raised a brow, attempting to hide your amusement by taking another sip of water. You were a little surprised that he had actually started talking about his family at all - you weren’t about to ruin it, and boy, did you want to know more about the guy. “And he used to play that station all the time at home, GC Radio Classics. I guess I kinda missed hearing it.”

“He does sound pretty cool,” you admitted with a smile, setting the glass back down. “Do you still visit him?” Jason hesitated a few moments before attempting a nonchalant shrug. You noticed the tightness in his body language again, the same sort of tightness you saw when he was closing up around you.

“Not much anymore,” he finally said, letting his shoulders drop a little bit. “It’s been...a while. Just got some shit going on.” You watched him take another drink before you spoke again.

“If you ever want to talk about it with me - or talk about anything, really - you can, Jason.” It wasn’t just the products of your psych major showing through you - you meant your words, and the slight smile playing at his lips seemed to signal that he had understood that as well.

“Don’t worry about it, seriously. But thanks.” You nodded, looking up again when the kitchen doors flew open once again, Dana heading out towards your table with another two trays heaped with mouth-watering food.

“And here you go,” she smiled as she set your respective meals down before you, taking your glasses to refill them as well. “Enjoy your food, you two. Call me over if there’s anything else you need, yeah?” You both thanked Dana as she sashayed away again, letting the doors swing shut behind her once again after checking up on the rest of her customers.

Neither of you wasted any time digging into the food as soon as it appeared, finishing most of it in mere minutes like the starving university students you were, breaking the silence with the occasional offer at trying something the other had gotten. The aroma had been no false-alarm - it tasted even better than you had anticipated, and that was certainly saying something. Savory fries, buttery biscuits, and smoky burgers were better than anything else you had in a while.

“How did I not find this place sooner?” you sighed as you pressed a napkin to your lips, leaning back against your seat as you tried to process just how full you really felt. At this rate, you would have to roll your way out of the place. “I know you said it was gonna be good, but I didn’t expect it to be this good.”

“I told you,” Jason grinned as he finished up the last of his burger and fries, crumpling up his own napkins and setting them into the tray to throw away. “I know good food places! I grew up around these streets.”

“So did I!” you protested as he laughed and stood up to throw all the trash away, setting the trays back where they were supposed to go and pulling out his wallet just as Dana appeared by the kitchen’s window with two milkshakes.

“You can count these on the house,” she told him as she slid them over, ignoring his protests and sending you a wink as you stood up from the booth as well. “Enjoy your night - and it was real nice meeting you, Y/N. Todd, I better be seeing you around more often.”

“Yes ma’am,” he deadpanned, his smile warm as she waved them out anyways. “Thanks, Dana.”

You called out a thanks to her as well, tightening your jacket around you as you left the warmth of the diner and felt the chill of Gotham’s dreary night hit you once more. Jason handed you your milkshake, bringing his own straw to his lips and taking a sip.

“You guys seem close,” you noted with a smile as you took a sip yourself, relishing the cold, sweet taste of the shake in delight. Jason chuckled at that, shrugging as you walked along the illuminated sidewalks in no particular direction.

“She’s like an annoying sister to me. I’ve known her since I was a puny kid.” You watched as the corners of his mouth curled into a slight smile as he took another sip. “Dana, her sister, and her dad were good to me growing up. They’re great people.”

That, you had been able to tell just from meeting the woman herself.

“I liked meeting her. She was pretty cool.” He chuckled again and spared you another glance. “And thanks, by the way, for dinner tonight. It really was really good. And way better than just coffee.”

“I told you,” he grinned, flickering those brilliant green eyes across your face again. “I know where the good spots around Gotham are. We don’t have a lot of them, but when we do have them, they’re pretty damn good.” That elicited a laugh from you and Jason stopped beneath one of the streetlamps lining the sidewalk.

“You did better than I expected, Todd.” He made a big show of popping his collar and scoffing at your comment.

“What, you expected me to not impress you? Do you think that low of me?”

“That theatre minor of yours is really starting to make an entrance, you can put it away now-”

“Hey!” You burst out laughing and he couldn’t help but join. You felt pretty sure that he looked the happiest right then and there than you had ever really seen him - whatever that might’ve meant. Pretty soon, your laughter was residing and he had taken a slight step forwards, a cheeky grin still plastered on his face. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You looked back up at him with a nonchalant shrug despite fighting back another smile yourself.

“Yeah, it was a pretty good night.” His gaze flickered towards your lips before settling back on your face.

“Yeah?” The sounds of honking cars and the murmurs of people walking past all around you felt like they were being drowned out somehow when you felt him get a little bit closer. The smile tugged at the corner of your mouth again.

“Yeah.” Another moment passed before Jason finally closed the distance between you, meeting your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss for a man who looked like he could snap a baseball bat with his bare hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck after yet another moment, feeling him draw you even closer to him at the action.

Literally and figuratively, it was a sweet kiss. The milkshake truly had done wonders.

You were a little breathless when he finally pulled away, and you hoped the shitty streetlight would keep him from seeing just how red your face had gone. Jason was grinning at your reaction, rubbing the back of his neck.

“C’mon, that was better than pretty good.”

“Shut up,” you told him immediately, swatting his arm and moving to continue your walk again as he laughed and easily moved to catch up to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“It was! You gotta admit it, that was pretty great-”

“Shut up, Jason.”

Just like that, once again, you had Othello of all things to thank for your night. Maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been such a terrible book after all.

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thran-duils · 4 years

Text

Use All of Me (P.9)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Nine) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 2,440 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death

Part Eight || Part Ten || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Steve was downstairs in the Avengers compound working on something with Bruce. He would not tell you what it was, but you had a feeling it had to do with their drugs. You had overheard him on the phone, which confirmed that they were involved with shady business. He had left you upstairs, letting you mill about on your own. It was nice to be out of the house. You had taken the opportunity to walk outside along the waterfront. It was tranquil by the water away from the building. You wished you had brought some bread to feed the ducks.

Instead of taking the elevator, you had elected to take the stairs back up to the communal areas of the facility.

When you arrived back in the main room, you were breathing heavier than normal. You were already getting winded far easier now, which was annoying. Bucky was in there now and he noticed your discomfort when you walked in. You tried to look normal, but he had already seen it.

“Y/N, here,” he said coming over to you and putting an arm around your shoulder to lead you to the couch. “What happened?”

“I took the stairs,” you told him, laughing uncomfortably. “Not boding well for at home… staircases and all.” You let him sit you down.

“You cut your hair,” you said to Bucky, giving him a small smile.

He ran his hand over his far shorter hair, returning the smile. “You like it?” You nodded. “I was getting tired of the upkeep. Far easier to manage in the shower now.”

Your own hand ran over your stomach – a habit that was becoming common – as you chuckled. “I can imagine. It does look suave though.”

“That’s what I am always going for,” Bucky said jokingly. “Do you want some water?”

“Sure.”

He fetched you some and the two of you made small talk until your breathing and heart rate was back under control.

“I do feel I should work out more. Steve has a gym. I just have only been using the treadmill.”

“You think anything more than a treadmill is smart the further you get into this?”

“People work out all the way up to giving birth,” you told him. “But I’m sure I’ll need to get the okay from Dr. Kamal before Steve agrees to any strength training or the like.”

You stood up to return the glass to the bar, Bucky watching you with caution. You walked past him, stretching out your legs. On the way back to the seating area, you passed the table. It was glowing around the edges and you frowned slightly. Curiosity got the better of you.

Your fingers ran over the table and as Bucky warned, “Y/N, don’t—" suddenly a hologram popped up. You jumped back seeing all these equations you did not recognize. Bucky sighed, pulling you away from it just as a door slammed down the hall and loud voices echoed down the hall to the room the two of you were in. Tony stormed into the room with Clint on his heel.

“I don’t give a shit who gets the blowback! I almost got fucking SHOT, if you happened to miss that!” Tony was practically shouting.

Clint started, “I get that, Tony, but—”

“Who touched that?” Tony barked, turning an accusing look at you and Bucky, cutting Clint off.

The way Bucky slightly stood in front of you, sheltering you from Tony’s melting glare was all he needed. He advanced on the two of you and Bucky pushed you even further behind him.

“The next time you put your hands on something that doesn’t belong to you, I’ll put a bullet between those pretty eyes!”

“Tony!” Bucky barked at him now, standing his ground. “She just touched the table as she was walking by. She wasn’t snooping. Back off!”

Straightening up, Tony had a stare off with Bucky, the tension in the room thick.

Tearing his gaze away from Bucky, Tony told you, “Sorry. I’m not frustrated with you.” He whipped around and looked at Clint again. “Who I am frustrated with is that idiot.” He clicked something on the table, turning it off, the hologram disappearing.

“You already killed him,” Clint pointed out. “I don’t know what more you want to do to him.”

“Defile the body? Chop it up?” Tony suggested wildly as he strode over to the bar. He grabbed a bottle of Wild Turkey and poured himself a healthy amount. He took a long drink before smacking his lips and leaning on the counter. The other three of you were watching him with unease, wondering what he was going to do next. After a few moments, he looked up and demanded, “Where the hell is Nat?”

“She was making sure the shipment got through,” Clint answered.

“I know that,” Tony said strained. “But where is she now?”

“Hopefully on her way back.”

“What happened?” Bucky finally ventured to ask.

Tony snarled, “Adrian was trying to get some revenge. We gave him a fucking chance to work for us and he decided that wasn’t going to work for him. Well, now his face is kicked the fuck in, thanks to yours truly. You know, I am ready to just wipe out the rest of his stupid little shit stain of a crew – his fiancé included because if that little bitch tries to squeal—”

“Tony,” Clint said sharply, catching his attention. “Y/N doesn’t need to hear shit like that.”

Waving at you wildly, Tony snapped, “She’s in it now. She’s gonna hear shit sometimes. Right, sweetheart?” He directed the last at you and your mouth fell open, unsure of what he wanted you to say.

“Um, yes?”

“Right. See, Clint? I’m sure Steve has said some shit in front of her too. It happens. I’ve done it to Pepper plenty of times. They’re the side pieces. Which is why his bitch needs to get gone. Now. She’s a liability.”

Bucky tried this time, “We can talk about that later. You just need to relax. Have some more whiskey.”

Tony shook his head at them trying to shut him up, but he did all the same, taking another large gulp of his whiskey.

You sat back down slowly, resting back on the couch, taking in what you had just heard. You knowing even the slightest about their operation made you a liability apparently. It made whatever Bryce said the other day truer: you would have the whole team after you if you tried to leave and they would want to find you because they would not want you to talk about anything. It compounded the risk of running away.

Tony refilled his glass and came over to the couch, sitting down near you. “You mind if I turn on the TV?” You shook your head and he chucked you underneath the chin. “Good girl. I just need to watch some people knock the shit out of each other. There was a fight card last night and I missed it.”

Natasha appeared, closely followed by Bruce and Steve. She looked upset and Tony held up his finger. She stopped, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Uh uh. The three here got me calmed down, stopping me from exploding my artificial heart. I need a few. Just tell me yes or no, did the shipment go through?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. I will discuss the bullshit later. I need a little bit of time before we plot on the next move. Actually, if you have questions, Barton or Barnes can take you out into the hall and give you the basics of what I want to do. Y/N and I can sit in here and watch Holloway hopefully knock this joker out.”

You locked eyes with Steve and gave him a slight shrug, sinking back down into the couch. His hand rested on your shoulder as he leaned down to give you a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’ll be back then, love,” he said before following Bucky out of the room.

<> <> <>

‘This is going to be your favorite!” Yua announced.

“Is it from you then?” you teased.

Natalie and Yua had arranged a baby shower for you. When they brought up the idea, you had proposed to Steve it be done here at home. He was more receptive to the idea presented that way. You had pushed your luck, suggesting he should not be home while the party was going on, mentioning it was a baby shower, typically for the ladies. You believed he was relieved you were excited about the idea at all, extending it towards the idea of being a mother, because he agreed quite heartily.

He was not quiet about it to the team, and you found yourself having three more guests added to the list: Natasha, Pepper, and Wanda. You were surprised at Natasha, she did not seem the type to enjoy such a get together but you kept that to yourself. She had been enjoying herself well enough, passing Natalie, exchanging looks.

Your friends insisted on you staying upstairs while they decorated and only allowed you to come down once they were finished.

Yua smirked, “Maybe.”

You laughed in return, opening the gift, the one of many more to go.

A little while later, you managed to pull Natalie aside while everyone was distracted with passing out prizes for a game. She followed you away from the room and let you lead her to the bathroom. You closed the door behind the two of you and turned around quickly.

“Can I use your phone?”

“Sure,” Natalie said, looking at you curiously but handed it over.

Googling, you tried to see the time it would take if you were to follow through with what you wanted to do. In seconds, your hope was dashed.

It was three hours at least – and that was with good traffic – to Grand Central Station. There was no way you would be able to get there in time before Steve realized you were missing. Even if you managed to knock Bryce and Patricia out with sleeping pills, Steve would more than likely check in and see them unresponsive.

You numbly handed the phone back to Natalie.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing the look on your face.

“It’s nothing.”

“Y/N.”

Tears welled up and you wiped at your eyes, shaking your head. “If I tell you it will wrap you into it and I don’t want that. I don’t want you to be unsafe.”

She grasped your shoulders and forced you to look at her. “Y/N,” she repeated. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…he – Steve – wants 5 or 6 kids,” you told Natalie tearfully. Her eyes widened in shock and you hissed, “I know!”

“He said that?”

You nodded. “I haven’t even had the first two.”

“Did he even ask you what you thought about it?”

You shook your head now. “Of course not.”

Natalie’s shoulders fell and you sighed heavily, wiping at your eyes again, “He loves me. I know he does in the form he believes it to be true. But it’s… it’s suffocating. I can’t eat anything not approved for my health by my nutritionist and the babies healths. I didn’t have any say in that, he made that decision for me. I don’t leave without him and if I want to, I have to tell him where I’m going so he knows where to go if something ‘goes wrong’ and he can find me quickly. I’m afraid to google anything that might be suspicious because I’m afraid he’s going to ask to check my phone. He hasn’t ever but the fear is there if he ever got suspicious, you know?”

Slowly, Natalie said, “No. I don’t know. that’s not normal, Y/N.”

“Right. And I mean, he forced me to move in with him, sell my apartment, he quit my job for me—”

“Hold on. He did that?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you wanted that.”

“Are you joking me? I told him I could work. I’m pregnant, not disabled I believe were my exact words. And he said he didn’t want me working and I was going to end up not working at all anyway if I was with him.” Natalie rose her eyebrows and you shrugged helplessly. “I…I wanted to leave. I asked Bryce – my security – first and he told me he wouldn’t help me and made me promise I wouldn’t try to leave. So, then I wanted to take a train. Somewhere. Anywhere. It would be hard to track a train route if I took someone’s ticket at the station rather than being on camera and buying my own. I could manage on my own. Find a church to take me in and I could work to make up for their hospitality. I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to see your phone. See how far away it was.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a plan, Y/N.”

You burst into tears and she immediately grabbed your shoulders. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s not rude, it’s true. I’m… fucked!”

“If you’re that miserable—”

“I’m not miserable all the time,” you cut in.

“But you want to leave.”

“Yes, but more so I want to be able to breathe! If I could just do that…” you breathed shakily. “If he gave me space, I would be satisfied. I would be okay being with him. I just don’t see it happening… and I hate it because I still want it to work as I want to run away at the same time.” Rubbing your stomach, you looked around the bathroom. Sniffling, you said, “All the baby gifts are so nice. I could make the best of this.” You cradled your stomach closer, and said, “You don’t have to say it. I know you warned me. I was just smitten… so very smitten. And he was so sweet. I didn’t care about the danger.”

Natalie pulled you into a tight hug, cradling you close, electing to stay quiet.

<> <> <>

Outside the bathroom window, Natasha ground her teeth. She had been doing rounds around the grounds, wanting to get air from the tittering women inside. The bushes had done enough to hide her from sight. She heard Y/N and Natalie speaking and gotten curious why they were both in the bathroom. When she was able to hear clearly, Y/N was talking about having to sell her apartment because Steve ‘forced’ her too.

Natasha left the bushes when they fell silent, careful to not make any noise.

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #marvel fic #dark marvel fic #my shit

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cellsshapedlikestars · 4 years

Text

prompt fic

Prompt from @hilarychuff - pick one of your fave movies or tv shows and shamelessly force jonsa into the plot

I have *technically* done this twice already - once with my Supernatural AU we’ve got crosses on our eyes and once with my Secret Garden AU signs but really, can one ever get enough of shamelessly forcing jonsa into other media? No.

And since I’m not actually a big movie person (almost all my fave movies are from my childhood, like the Secret Garden or Howl’s Moving Castle or Labyrinth), I went with TV show for this drabble/ficlet. It was super fun to write, so thank you for the prompt!

.....

“He's staring at you.”

Sansa tries not to react, keeping her fingers on the fountain soda press, watching the cup fill up with Coke.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” she sighs and finally looks at Jeyne, who's draped over the counter to whisper to her. “When did he get here?”

“He's been here for an hour,” Jeyne says, which startles her.

“Dickon's been here for an hour?” She absolutely had not seen Dickon today. The Crashdown isn't really that busy, a few tourists, a few locals, she thinks she would have seen him.

“Not Dickon,” Jeyne huffs. “Jon Snow.”

With that, she almost does drop the cup she's holding, but she manages to place it on Jeyne's tray instead. “One Cosmic Cola and an Abtuc-tea, table 2,” she gestures at the tray, which already had the tea ready.

“You're not even a little curious?” Jeyne doesn't take the tray and leave like she's supposed to. She's still bent half over the counter, sly smile on her face. “He's been like, staring at you. He's always staring at you.”

“Jon Snow is not staring at me,” she hisses, though she can't help when her eyes flick up to the table where Jon Snow has been sitting for the past hour with his friends (and sure enough, he's looking at her, though his eyes dart away the minute she looks up). “I barely even know him. I don't think I've ever talked to him.”

“Well,” Jeyne slides back and down onto her feet, straightening her apron, hands smoothing over the silver alien face, “that doesn't mean he's not staring at you. And I doubt he wants to talk.” She giggles and takes the tray over to table two – two men who must be tourists because Sansa has never seen them before. She's glad Jeyne has that table because the men had been fine when they came in, but over the past half hour, they've gotten progressively louder, like they're arguing about something.

When she hears Theon call out order up from the back, she sighs and takes her own tray and loads it with the Comet Chili and a Sigourney Weaver and she tries not to think about Jon Snow as she takes it over to another table of tourists, a man and a woman who she knows she can wrangle a great tip out of.

(She doesn't need to think about boys, she's had just about enough of them, thank you very much. Last year she'd briefly dated Joffrey and over the summer she'd gone on a few dates with Dickon Tarley that weren't terrible, but just so boring. Even his kisses were boring.)

“Have you ever seen an alien?” the male tourist asks, looking over her uniform (she wants to think he's eyeing the alien apron, but most men seem to use it as an excuse to stare at her legs under the short skirt. Why her parents picked this uniform, she'll never know).

She slips into her believer persona and bites her lip and looks around suspiciously before giving a shaky “no”.

“You have!” the woman falls for it immediately and Sansa makes a show of shifting from foot to foot. “You have to tell us!”

“I don't know anything,” Sansa hedges, drawing it out because playing with tourists always makes boring days at the diner more fun. She knows Jeyne is likely watching, too.

“We aren't government,” the guy reassures and she wants to laugh. No shit, she thinks. If they were undercover CIA or FBI or MIB like in those Will Smith movies, they'd be the best undercover agents ever. No respectable human would ever wear what this guy is wearing.

“Alright, but you can't tell anyone,” she breathes, eyes going wide like she's sharing her deepest, darkest secret. Then she slips her hand into her apron and pulls out a photo and hands it to the tourists. “My grandmother took this photo of the crash site before the government cleaned it up.” She lets them stare at it in awe and they don't notice as Jeyne passes by with an exaggerated eye roll. “Don't tell anyone,” she whispers and takes the photo back and leaves the table, suppressing a smile when she can hear them furiously discussing the photo behind her.

When she's near the back at the refill station, she begins to shove more straws into her apron so she always has one handy when someone inevitably asks for another because they have magically lost theirs. Jeyne comes by to grab a pot of coffee and lowly sing-songs “he's staring at you again!” before heading back out. Sure enough, when Sansa looks up, Jon is just looking away from her and she feels something twist low in her belly that she tries to ignore.

She's technically still dating Dickon and sure, he's boring, but he's nice enough and has done nothing to offend her and-

Shouting snaps her out of her thoughts and she looks up just in time to see the two men who had been arguing stand up from their table. Their shouts are louder now, a full fight, and she watches in what seems like slow motion as one of them pulls a gun out of his jacket. She distantly hears screams and all she can think is good, Jeyne has ducked down, that's safe before there's a sharp crack and it feels like someone has punched her in the stomach.

“Sansa!” she thinks it's Jeyne calling her name and she should respond, but she can't seem to.

“Call an ambulance,” a voice she doesn't recognize is saying and then suddenly there's a dark figure over her and she realizes she's laying on the floor. How did she get there? “Sansa,” the voice says and she can't quite focus on the person kneeling over her, but she thinks it's a him. He does something, his hands moving near her stomach, something jostles her body, but she feels sort of numb and so she can't tell what's happening. She turns her head a bit and Jeyne is on the phone, looking paler than Sansa has ever seen.

“Look at me,” the voice says and then a hand is on her face, turning her head away from Jeyne. She blinks to try and clear her vision and the blurry shape turns into Jon Snow. A very worried looking Jon Snow. “Sansa, you have to look at me, ok?”

She does, she keeps her eyes on his because she can't seem to not and then his hand moves down and she feels a vague pressure on her stomach and then the diner is suddenly gone and she's in the desert and she's walking and she's so tired and she's scared and hungry and naked and alone. Then she's in a trailer with a large man who smells like alcohol and cigarettes and he's yelling and throwing things and she's still scared and alone. Then she's at school, but not the high school, the elementary school and she's watching herself play tag with Jeyne and Beth on the playground in that horrible dress Aunt Lysa had bought her and mom had made her wear because it was polite. She hated that dress, but watching herself now, she doesn't hate it. She thinks it's cute.

Suddenly she's back in the diner and Jon Snow is leaning over her and he sits back and she doesn't feel numb anymore. She props herself up on her elbows and notices two things at once – one, Jon's hands are shaking and covered in what appears to be blood, and two, her uniform is unbuttoned and open down to her apron.

She watches Jon look around and grab a ketchup bottle that he smashes against the floor and then he dumps the rest of the bottle onto her. “You broke the bottle,” he says like he's trying to keep his voice steady. “When the gun when off, you tripped and fell and broke the bottle and spilled it on yourself.”

She nods dumbly, and he gets up and when she looks past him, she can see his friend Aegon standing by the door gesturing wildly for Jon and they both head out of the diner and get into a Jeep that she can see Rhaenys is driving and it speeds away the minute they're all in.

“God, Sansa, are you ok?” Jeyne sobs as Sansa stands. “I thought you got shot!”

Sansa holds her uniform together with shaking hands and tries as best she can to button it up.

There's chaos in the diner until Sheriff Tarly arrives and she answers his questions as best she can. The men were arguing, no she doesn't know who they were, they must have been tourists. They were fighting and one pulled a gun and it accidentally went off. She got scared and she tripped and she broke the ketchup bottle she'd been holding. Yes, she's ok. No, she doesn't need medical attention. (The whole time Jeyne stares at her, but she doesn't say anything with the Sheriff around.)

Her parents arrive and send her home to get cleaned up as they handle everything and when she's in the bathroom, she pulls off her uniform and holds it up and finds the small bullet hole in the fabric and she manages not to cry until she's in the shower under the hot water. She calms down by the time she's done and she steps out and puts her hair up in a towel and instead of grabbing a second, she goes to the mirror and wipes the condensation off because she needs to make sure there's no bullet hole in her stomach like there should be. And there's not.

Instead of a bullet hole, there's a large silver handprint spanning her stomach, right where Jon Snow had touched her.

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsaff #roswell au #because why not #mostly because i feel like buffy has already been done #although i did almost choose twin peaks #prompt

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morimallow · 4 years

Text

SFW/ Fluff Alphabet (Suna Rintarou)

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

He is well-aware that he has a salty attitude. Up until now, he still wonders how you can still somehow manage to deal with his shit and stay with him and he adores you for that. Your patience is unfathomable. Whenever he rants about a recent issue regarding him, you can always sound unaffected and not sarcastic when in comes to your responses. He also admires how you respect his privacy and personal space. You would always ask him if he wants to talk about it and when he says no, you'd just stay with him until he's ready or when he gets over it.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Eyes. HE LOVES THE FEELING OF GETTING LOST IN YOUR EYES. It's like he could totally see your feelings for him. He looks at it to know whether or not you're lying, to know if you're joking, and to prepare himself if he sees your eyes getting glossy or maybe he just looks at it because ✨force of habit✨. AND YOUR SQUISHY CHEEKS. He likes to pinch them whenever you're within his reach because.. well, he just wants some sort of physical contact? Plus you're really cute.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Spooning. He doesn't want you to see that faint smile of his after he kisses your hair and shoulder once you settled against him. He loves your satisfied sigh when he lightly rubs your skin, his breathing lulling you to sleep. If you're just chilling on the couch though, he likes to snake one arm around your waist then he starts playing with your tummy like a fidget something.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Classic stay-at-home date. He doesn't want other people to meddle with your time together because he knows for a fact that someone from his team EHEM, TSUM-TSUM, EHEM always goes out and there's this possibility that you'd bump into him with girls swarming around him. Experimenting Osamu's recipes! He loves it when you appreciate things he does. Then after you'd just cuddle while watching horror movies.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

We all know he ain't verbal unless he's spouting insults so he's more into actions. Simple things like holding the door for you, bringing you lunch when it's near exams (he'd sometimes pull you to the cafeteria for a breather), and a silent trip with him walking you to your home. He isn't expressive either so you'd just have to decipher what his feelings are by looking at his eyebrows.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Hush, he maybe low-key probably theoretically might like babies. Doesn't mind if it's a girl or boy, he'd teach them how to roast someone. Plus just the thought of you holding your baby makes his heart go doki-doki. AFTER MARRIAGE, OF COURSE.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

He used to think of it as a waste of time and money but now it's more like a way to say he cares about you. He buys you things you need like ink refills when he notices your pen nearly out of ink. He doesn't spoil you that much with material things because he knows you're already satisfied.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

The typical you'd-get-lost-and-it-would-be-hard-for-me-to-find-you-and-it's-too-much-work typa guy when you go out. He does creep his hand towards yours when you're alone but there are also times he just wants to link your pinkies because he finds it cute? Occasionally kisses your knuckles when you take a break from studying. He'd tap his thumb multiple times on the back of your palm before games and you'd tap back two times as a good luck.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

If it's a minor one and he can just patch it up, he'd be silent, just making one-word commands as he takes care of you. Once done, he'd call you stupid can't you say “be careful next time” like a normal person and kiss your forehead after flicking it. If it's an accident in school, he'd be the one to take you to the clinic or if he's out, he'd have your friends reporting to him.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

YOU WOULDN'T REALIZE IT'S A JOKE. He considers himself funny though because his team laughs when he insults the twins but he realizes it's different with you. It's kinda like this: he asks you a question with his usual serious face, “What do you call a pony with a cough?” Silence. “A little hoarse.” He'd suppress his laugh because he really thinks it's funny but you just give him an unimpressed look.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Light. Feathery. Ones. On your forehead, nose, cheeks after he pinches it, side of your mouth. Even his pecks feel like one, long, passionate kiss. Keeps his kisses short and simple unless you show him signs of you-know-what. Likes to kiss the back of your head while he squishes your face with one hand.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

Hugs. Plenty of them. It's a way of saying you're safe with him and he won't do anything to hurt you. Smothers you with kisses from time to time when he feels like you need reassurance. He takes care of you. He leaves a glass of water on your bedside table so you wouldn't have to walk in the dark.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

That time after one of the games when you came up to him and shamelessly kissed him in front of the whole team. He was frozen like the rest of them and they swore they saw him smile a bit as you smile up to him while playing with his hair.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

Fears that one day, he won't hear your satisfied sigh when you're settled against him. That would mean he's not your safe space anymore and you already tired and uncomfortable.

O = Oddity (what quirk/s do they have?)

He likes to believe that cracking knuckles can release stress. After an argument, whenever he studies, he cracks his knuckles.

He says ‘I love you’ back ALWAYS. He's always conveying his feelings through actions so the least he could do is to reply to your I love you's. Even if he's already near dream land, he'd still say it back.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

He usually sticks with “oi” but ehem, he likes to call you by sickly.. icky.. weak-to-the-knees endearments with that hot voice of his HAVE YOU HEARD HIM IN EPISODE 14 I WAS SCREAMING. He saves the darling, sweetheart, honey, boo when it's just the two of you but calls you by your cute nickname followed by baby when he wants to flaunt you.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. YOU'RE HIS CHARGING STATION. YOU. ARE. HIS. REST. MAKING BULALO (I think it's called beef bone marrow stew in English???) IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT JUST BECAUSE. Drowsy kisses just because also. (╥﹏╥)

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

The Simple Things by Michael Carreon because... just listen to it.

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

ABSOLUTE TRUST. Y'all are faithful and respect each other's privacy. If he doesn't wanna talk about it then no. If he does, then you'll listen. If you ask him something that's been bothering you like seeing him and one of his classmates walking through the school gates together while you're outside waiting, he'll explain. No arguments. He knows you're there for him and you know he won't tell you anything if he knows he can handle it himself. You're fine. He's fine.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

Probably 2-3 months? He was whipped when you snapped at him. Man, his mind was blank. No rebuttals. Took him a week to confess to you then y'all started dating but you made it official by attending one of his games.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

He'll buy you your comfort foods. Lightly squeezes your shoulder while you rant about the reason you're upset. OVERALL, HE WON'T TALK BECAUSE THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND YOU ALONE. Would probably do everything you make him do because you're upset. Keeps his nasty remarks when you're feeling better.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

Either he won't talk about you or presents you to everyone with a smug look on his face, he's never in between. He is rather proud about you and your achievements because he's seen you through the process of it all. PROUD BOYFRIEND.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

If it's a physical fight, he'd fight behind you because he knows you can handle it. If some bastard harasses you, he'd fight for you. If it's a mental battle, he'd fight beside you. He knows you're strong but that doesn't mean you have to go through it alone.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

Very, very well. Slight movement of your eyebrows and he knows you're uncomfortable. When you bite your lower lip, he knows you're gonna cry. With simple hand gestures, he knows you're hiding something. He's just very observant and he wants you to know that he knows what you're implying without even a word. One smirk, and you're pranking Atsumu the next second.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

Asks you to marry him out of the blue. On your couch. With matching fuzzy socks, fox slippers, and satin pyjamas. While sipping on your hot beverage. Honestly so sweet, you can't change my mind.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

Your gentle hand on his cheek and your soft gaze. Plus ice pops.

NSFW Alphabet (Suna Rintaro)

M. List

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tchallasbabymama · 4 years

Text

M’Baku’s Love- Chapter 3

Let me know if you want to be tagged, and make sure you check out my masterlist HERE for chapters 1& 2 and my other stories.

Also, just so y’all know, the last scene has paraphrased lines from the movie (which you should definitely go watch if you haven’t yet.)

Enjoy!

Word count: 2392

___________________________________________________

The day of the open house was upon them and M’Baku was more than excited to get to work with Monae some more. The workday crept by and as soon as the clock struck 5 he hurried out of his office and down the two flights of stairs to the arts wing. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, but he followed the sound of drums coming from one of the rooms. He walked up to the door and peeked in, seeing Monae teaching a class full of children West African dance. He leaned up against the doorframe and took in her graceful form and mesmerizing hips. He could have stood there and watched her move forever until one of the kids turned and saw him off to the side.

“Hi Mr. M’Baku!”

Monae and the kids turned towards him and greeted him. Monae’s smile was the brightest in the room.

“Hello children, Miss Monae.”

She sent him a small wave as the children surrounded him, all talking at once and all wanting to show him their moves.

“Alright, kiddos, lets all show M’Baku what you’ve been working on before you get out of here, Ok?”

“Ok!”

The drummers started back up and the kids started to dance, the looks on their little brown faces making Monae smile at their joy. She watched her students with pride as they finished the number and took their bows. She and M’Baku both erupted in applause.

“Very good, class! Ok y’all can go on home now. If you come to the open house make sure you stop by and say hi, Mr. M’Baku here is going to be my assistant for the evening.”

The kids grabbed their bags to head home, some of them stopping to hug Monae and M’Baku on the way out to their guardians. M’Baku was taken aback since he had not had enough experience around young children to know they have no concept of personal space. Monae laughed at the confused look on his face, a near permanent fixture he was becoming used to by being in this new land. He was just happy he could make her smile.

After the last child ran out, almost tripping over her shoelaces, Monae introduced M’Baku to her drummers Kehinde and Rodney. They bonded for a bit before Rodney slid out of the way to let M’Baku play his drum.

Monae couldn’t help but move with the way he struck the beautifully made instrument.. Her feet and hips took on a life of their own and she let the beat carry her however it saw fit. M’Baku already thought her choreographed dances were beautiful, but this? Her natural movement called to him as he moved her body with each stroke of his hands. Neither one of them were sure how long they were going for, but Rodney had to clear his throat to break the trance.

“Hey so I uh, I gotta head out. Sorry to interrupt whatever that was.” He pointed between the two, obviously picking up on the chemistry.

“Yeah, no, y’all get outta here. It’s late anyway. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“See ya Monae, byyyeeee M’Baku.” Rodney and Kehinde snickered as they left the room.

“So, what first?” M’Baku asked, still coming down from the high he just experienced with her.

“Woo, sorry, let me uh catch my breath real quick...you’re good.” She gestured towards the drum.

“So are you,” he gestured towards her body and she cracked a smile.

“I’m aware.” She walked around him to the other side of the room to start straightening up the space. He joined in and the room was spotless in minutes.

“So,” she clapped. “I figured since the kids love you so much you’d be great at keeping them busy while the adults talk to me. Nakia brought us a bunch of Wakandan children’s books, so how about you read to the kids? You have to do voices though, if you don’t do voices I’m putting you somewhere else.” She was dead serious.

“What kind of monster does not change their voice to read to children?” M’Baku asked incredulously.

Monae’s mind flashed to two years ago when she asked Derrick to do something similar at the after school program where she volunteered. He just read it straight like it was a speech, and the kids were restless. It was a nightmare.

“You would be surprised. Ok so take a look through these and see if any jump out at you,” she handed him the crate full of books and he thumbed through them.

“I do not see any Jabari books,” he pulled out a small notepad and began scribbling his thoughts down.

“You don’t use the beads like the others?”

“I could, but it is unnecessary technology for the most part.”

Monae nodded, remembering that the Jabari preferred to live analog.

“Let me run this by you real quick, and you tell me what you think,” Monae started as he turned to give her his full attention. “I have sooooo many Wakandan beads I need to get rid of, so how about I set up a jewelry station across the hall? Just some beads and string, nothing too fancy. Then over in the paint lab I was thinking of using these extra textile scraps and old magazines to make mixed media collages. For the last station I have like a million gourds for the kids to paint, and I figured they could do that next door. I have three volunteers set up at each station, so don’t worry, you’ll have help with the kids. I wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves like that.” She winked at him as M’Baku nodded along, processing everything she said.

“This is not my specialty, but that sounds like a good plan to me.”

“What is your specialty?”

“I am a man of many talents, as you can see, but I am a warrior above all else.”

Her cheeks felt hot as she tried to quiet the damsel in distress inside her brain. She cleared her throat and changed the subject.

“You mentioned that there aren’t any Jabari stories in here. You don’t have to use the books if you’d rather go off the cuff with it.”

M’Baku’s gap toothed smile shone through as his theatrical side woke up from its slumber.

“You might regret that later.”

______

The children loved M’Baku so much they barely touched the crafts Monae had set up for them. He regaled the kids, and the adults, with Jabari folktales about snowmen and giant gorillas and how the Jabari came to be.

“And then the Jabari left for the mountains. For centuries, the Jabari and the rest of Wakanda were angry at each other until-“

“Why?” interrupted a kid with his front two teeth missing.

“Well because the Jabari cared more for tradition and old ways, but the Wakandans wanted everything shiny and new. They argued so much they had to move away to keep the peace, and that is when Hanuman guided the Jabari to the mountains.”

“Who’s Hanuman?” asked a little girl with beaded cornrows.

“The god who guides and protects us.”

“My mama says theres only one god and his name ain’t Hanuman,” she responded with an attitude. Some of the parents and kids nodded along in agreement.

“Well, you see, your mother is simply wrong-”

“Ok, that's enough for now. Let's give Mr. M’Baku a round of applause for storytime, huh?” Monae interrupted before things got too heated, and the crowd clapped for their griot.

People wandered in and out of the room for the next couple hours, enjoying the crafts and M’Baku’s storytime. Monae kept everything running smoothly, including refilling M’Baku’s water bottle multiple times to keep his voice strong. Shortly before closing time T’Challa wandered into the room and sat with the children listening to the same stories M’Baku had told so many times that night Monae could recite them herself. When it was over and the last guest had left the center all the staff and volunteers breathed a sigh of relief.

“I think that went well!” M’Baku said, his voice hitching from overuse.

“Drink some more. Oh yeah, they absolutely loved you. You know T’Challa recorded your dramatics while he was here? You could win a Tony with that performance.” Monae gushed, proud of her, uh, friend.

“Who?”

“It's an award for stage actors. I’ll make you a list like the one Captain America had.”

“What sort of list?”

“Of pop culture and historical things you should know. He spoke about it in an interview a few years ago and I thought ‘that’s brilliant, I’d do that too’ but I never had the chance...until now.”, her excitement was palpable.

“That is a good idea, I will have to commend him on that the next time I see him.”

Monae froze.

“I’m sorry, you know Captain America?”

“Well yes, he and some other Avengers have been to Wakanda a couple times.”

Monae was speechless. She’d had a huge crush on Steve Rogers ever since he defrosted.

“I- what’s he like?” she asked, barely forming words.

M’Baku found her obvious fawning amusing and wondered if this is how she would look if she spoke about him to others.

“He is nice,” M’Baku said before leaning in a little closer. “Especially for a colonizer.”

Monae cackled and they continued to straighten up the room. Once the area was sufficiently cleaned for the night, the two headed out to their cars. Monae yawned as they packed her little electric car full of art supplies.

“It seems it is past your bedti-” he was cut off by the sound of his stomach trying to climb out his body. “Well, then.”

They broke out into laughter, only subsiding when her stomach answered the mating call.

“Would you like to accompany me to dinner? It will be my treat. I was planning on going to The V Spot for some more jackfruit tacos.”

“Mmm, they have these vegan nachos that I would sell my arm for, but I’m so tired I’ll probably fall asleep on you. Next time?” she sent him an apologetic grin.

“Next time it is, then.”

Monae turned to get into her car before stopping and turning back around to face him.

“You know what? I think I have one good hour left in me. Let’s meet there.”

_____

Both of them were too tired to speak, especially since M’Baku had done enough talking that night to warrant a week of silence. M’Baku paid for their food and they left, still in comfortable silence until reaching the sidewalk.

“Let me walk you home, you should not be out here by yourself.”

“M’Baku I can literally see my building from here.”

“And? Anything could happen between here and there. I would never forgive myself!”

The butterflies in her stomach were in full flight mode, and her face grew hot. She playfully rolled her eyes at him and turned away to mask her blushing face.

“Ok fine.” She said with faux reluctance. She wanted nothing more than to spend every moment she could with this man, but the ring weighing down her finger made it challenging. She knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but Derrick is always out of town on business and she can feel the relationship slipping away. Even before M’Baku swooped in, her feelings for her fiance had started to dwindle. However, she did enjoy spending time with M’Baku and she figured there’d be no harm in taking the short stroll between The V Spot and her place.

“So, which direction?” M’Baku asked and Monae pointed to the right before they slowly took off down the street, arm in arm, in silence once again before Monae spoke up two minutes later.

“Well, this is me.”

They both just stood there, not knowing how to end the night.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?”

“Of course...I will say though, where I am from when you walk someone home from a date there is usually a goodnight kiss involved.”

She was stunned at his forwardness, and she could feel her pulse all over her body.

“But I guess this was not really a date, huh?”

“Um, n-no. M’Baku you know I’m engaged.” She said, looking down.

“Yes, but do you?” his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head as stepped closer to her. She didn’t move away, so he took another step forward so that their bodies were almost pressed together.

“It was date-like.” she conceded.

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in tight, closing the tiny gap of space left between the two of them. Her hands found their way to his chest and his other hand came up to tilt her chin upwards before he placed a light kiss on her lips and let her go. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked over his face. She took in his prominent brow and his strong jaw, his pillowy lips and his soft eyes. He was a giant wall of a man and she couldn’t get enough of how he felt up against her,

“That’s it?” she teased before pulling him back and making him lean down into a deeper kiss. His hands rested respectfully at the small of her back despite his desire to explore her body more, and hers rested around his neck for the same reason. They broke away quickly when the door of the apartment building opened and an older man walked out with his dog, undoubtedly to go on a nighttime walk around the neighborhood before retiring for the night. He looked at them and shook his head before mumbling something under his breath about heathens.

They looked back at each other and broke out laughing.

“You should go,” Monae said softly while fiddling with his collar.

“I do not want to,” he whispered.

“I know, but-”

“You are engaged. I know,” he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Goodnight Monae.”

“Goodnight M’Baku, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waited for her to get inside before turning around and heading back the way they came to make the short journey to his temporary home. The entire walk back, he hummed along to an unwritten love song in his head with a goofy smile on his face. He could still taste her and, by Hanuman, he wanted more.

Next Chapter

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #m'baku x oc #black!oc #m'baku #m'baku's love #fluff

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marcid-blue · 1 year

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hotpinkrathian · 4 years

Text

Double Date

(Kyalin) (Korrasami)

“I still don't understand why you agreed to this." Lin grumbled while Kya buttoned up the neck part on Lin's dress.

"Because, Korra and Asami have been nothing but nice to us since we... made the announcement. And it's good for us, and them."

"I can't possibly comprehend how this much stress is good for me."

"Oh Lin, stop being dramatic and get the keys. We don't want to be late," Kya said, rubbing the back of Lin's shoulders briefly before grabbing a purse and making way to the door. Lin bent the keys to her palm and followed, still grumbling under her breath.

"Hey, look there they are," Asami whispered to Korra, who had enticed herself by making a tune from hitting knives on the glasses.

"Hmm? Oh look, is Lin in a dress?"

"I think so."

"Bolin would love this." Asami nodded in agreement and the two of them played it cool while the older couple took their seats.

"Good evening Korra, Asami," Kya smiled, placing her jacket in the back of the chair.

"Good evening," Asami replied with an equally gentle smile.

"Lin nice dress," Korra blurted, getting an elbow to the stomach from her girlfriend. Lin just stared at her, her arms crossed and the same unamused look on her face.

"So, do you two come to this place often?" Kya asked.

"It's our favourite, it's central too so that helps. Some days we are together from 9 till 5 and others we hardly see each other. We always seem to end up here." Asami explained, taking a sip of her water when she was done.

"Oh I get it, I can't tell you how many times I've had to go to the station to bring Lin home from work."

"It's not that often," Lin protested, weakly. Kya rolled her eyes and Asami stifled a smile.

"Kya have you been to the air temple recently?" Korra asked.

"I was there the other day, why?"

"I was just wondering how everyone was doing. They're not around as much anymore, I hate to admit but I kind of miss Tenzin breathing down my back." Kya laughed and flipped the page of her menu.

"Tenzin has the effect on people. While he's around you hate him, when he's gone you miss him. Everyone's doing good, Jinora has really stepped into her role as a master, and Tenzin thinks that there's another arrow ceremony in the near future."

"That's amazing! I'm so happy for all of them."

"And how about little Rohan?" Asami asked.

"Well, he was crawling like crazy when I saw him, so he's mobile."

"Any sign of bending?"

"Not yet, but they didn't know the others were benders until they were a little older. There's still time." A waitress came, an empty platter in hand and a pencil and paper ready to go.

"My name Karina, I'll be your server today, can I start you girls off with some drinks?"

"I'll just get a virgin Margarita, Cherry please," Asami said.

"Yeah and I'll get one of those, with the alcohol in Lime," Korra added.

"I'll get a red wine, whatever's cheapest is fine," Kya grinned.

"I'll go for a soft drink, anything's fine," Lin said.

"Alright I'll be back soon enough" Karina smiled before taking off for the kitchen.

"Virgin Margarita, ill never understand, Asami," Korra joked.

"Well someone's gotta take you home."

"I know, I appreciate it. Even though I tease you." Asami blushed, and tried to hide her face from Kya who watched them with a sloppy grin.

Lin observed her surroundings, she tried to do the small talk like Kya had asked, but it was hard, and awkward. Instead she avoided eye contact, happy watching the workers move about.

"Well anyway, I show up at the precinct, and Mako is standing outside, this look on his face and I knew things were bad. I ran inside and I kid you not I busted down the doors to her office, Lin had a knife wound up her side, it was bleeding all over. And you know what she says to me? 'Kya it's not a big deal'" The younger girls laugh and Lin looked over to them.

"Okay honey, you're exaggerating just a bit. It wasn't a "knife wound" it was a scratch that just so happened to be caused by a knife shaped piece of metal." Lin added. Korra and Asami laughed, and Lin smiled, just a bit. She fiddled with the straw of her drink, halfhearted you listening to Asami tell then about one of their adventures on their vacation.

"Hey Lin, you okay?" Kya asked.

"Hmm? Yeah fine. I'm just going to the bathroom, excuse me." She replied, ignoring the worried glances from the rest of the group. She made her way to the bathroom, her brow sweating as more and more people set their eyes on her. She couldn't stop thinking about what had happened earlier today. She was out, and an aggressive older man had targeted her, because of her relationship with Kya. And now the four of them, being out together, it didn't feel safe..She hadn't told Kya, she knew how the water bender would worry, but she couldn't help but keep her eyes peeled on their surroundings, just in case another jackass tried to approach her with bad intentions. The bathroom was empty, thankfully, and she let herself relax by the sink for a moment. Taking in the silence and solitude of the room. It wasn't long before the door swung open, and the Avatar stepped in, desperate not to disturb the peace.

"Lin. You uh... good in here?"

"I'm fine Korra, go back to the table."

"See you say that, but something tells me I should stay."

"You're confused."

"Hmmm, try I'm confused. Well not me. You. You say: I'm confused." Lin sighed and faced away from the younger girl, putting a hand to her forehead on a crossed elbow. "Did someone say something? Was it Asami she can get pretty talkative sometimes. I don't get it you know? She says I have a habit of unnecessary rambling but I rarely speak-"

"-Korra. Oh my god."

"Something is wrong." Lin sighed again, this time Korra can you to her, stepping into her eye sight. "Lin you can tell me anything. I'll even keep it a secret if you want." Korra grinned, not a happy grin, but one that instilled confidence in Lin.

"I was attacked today."

"Ok not where I thought this was going, but continue."

"Some old bigot, guess he caught wind of my current relationship status, and that was too much for him."

"Wait, he attacked you because of..."

"Yeah."

"Does Kya know?"

"No! She'd get all angry, wouldn't let it down."

"Oh. Well honestly Lin, I have to hand it to you, you have the tolerance of Avatar Aang. If it were me... I would've been really destructive."

"Well its not like I didn't do nothing, I just didn't do enough."

"Ever since people found out about me and Asami, it hasn't been as happy go lucky as it used to be. So many people are happy for us, but there's still a lot of people who make enemies of themselves. I'm the Avatar and usually that's enough to send them running but you, you're a person."

"I'm the chief of Police,"

"That makes it worse. Some people have a problem with woman in power, a gay woman in power is just unheard of." Lin felt the corners of her mouth curve into a smile.

"Thanks Korra."

"Are you ready to go back to the table?"

"Yes, I am."

"Thank the Lion Turtles, I'm starving."

"Here they come, it looks like Korra got through to her," Asami whispered.

"Well I'll be darned," Kya replied as Lin and Korra sat at the table. "You good babe?" Kya asked.

"Great," Lin replied with a smile, kissing Kya in the cheek. Kya felt herself blush, and she spun the noodles on her fork in hopes of it fading. She caught Korra winking at her from the other side of the table and she smiled, releasing a discreet laugh.

"Where's the waitress?" She asked after a moment, "I'm ready for another glass of wine."

"Hell yeah!" Korra cheered, beckoning the waitress and getting herself a beer and Kya another glass of wine.

"Just bring the bottle," Kya told the waitress before she could leave. "So," Kya started, "What are we drinking to tonight Korra?"

"We, are drinking to Lin Beifong. For being the best bad ass in the city!"

"I can get behind that!" Kya smiled.

"Same here. To Lin Beifong then!" Asami added, raising her glass to theirs. Lin smiled, and with the motivation from her peers she raised her glass too, getting much more enthusiasm then she deserved. They took a sip at the same time, Korra and Kya's lasted significantly longer, nearly downing their newly refilled drinks in one go.

"Lin," Kya attempted at a whisper, "I love you," Lin smiled, and not without a small shake of her head she looked at her girlfriend.

"I love you too."

"Okay Korra, you and Kya can hang out tomorrow. Sure, Lin can drink with you next time. No we aren't stopping at Mako's stop teasing him it's not nice." Lin laughed as Asami put a four drink Korra into the car.

"Come on," she offered her own arm to Kya who stumbled a bit out of the restaurant, catching herself on Lin's arm.

"Lin I have been meaning to tell you all night, that dress really works for you."

"Tell me at home."

"Oh I will," Kya replied, rubbing her hand down Lin's cheek.

"You got that handled?" Lin shouted to Asami, who nodded, putting both thumbs up.

"Do you?" Asami asked.

"It's my job," Lin replied, boding farewell to the inventor and her girlfriend. Lin got in her own Sato Mobile, Kya leaned against the window, gazing out at the city lazily. They drove insolence for a few blocks, before Kya sat up, looking at Lin with a surprisingly straight face.

"Lin I know you pretty well," she said, "I know you well enough to know something bothered you today. You don't have to tell me, I'm just glad you're okay." Lin smiled, and let Kya rest her head on Lin's lap while she drove, using one hand to stroke her hair. The rest of the drive was silent, except the sound of their breathing, at one point Kya's became so steady Lin thought she had dozed off, but then she felt the waterbender adjust her head so she was looking straight up at Lin. From the look on her eyes Lin felt as though she was reading Kya's mind, your so beautiful. Kya had never let her forget it, and although the words made Lin feel awkward, she couldn't deny the small spark of joy each time it was said.

#kyalin #legend of korra #lin beifong #team avatar #korrasami #asami sato #avatar the last airbender

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littlemissagrafina · 4 years

Text

A Sunflower's Bloom

Third and final part in the Remember the sun, little flower series for @angxlsgrxce

Read on AO3

Tony walked into the lab only to be greeted by Peter who was sitting on top of his work bench in a position that could only be described as pretzel meets spaghetti.

Peter was lying on his side with his back against the wall that his bench was propped against, his one leg was stretched behind him, the other bent over it with his foot flat against the table top.

It was then that Tony noticed his one arm was looped under his bent leg and he was using his other arm to prop his head slightly as he carefully stirred up a new batch of his web formula.

Overall, it was quite normal for Peter with his strange spider flexibility but just looking at him made Tony's back ache.

"Peter, buddy, spider of my life, are you ever going to sit in a slightly normal position?" Tony couldn't help but tease the teenager, letting out a laugh at Peter's fake look of betrayal.

"Mr. Stark! That would imply that I am a regular person and we both know that I could never be normal. Besides, it's comfortable." With that he went back to his formula, looking at it with a slight furrow to his brows that made his nose scrunch up in a way that Tony couldn't help but think resembled a bunny rabbit.

Tony walked over to his own work bench and wheeled his chair back to Peter's. Sitting down in front of the bench, he picked up a pen and poked at Peter's leg until he looked up at the older man.

"What's got you frowning at your webs like that?"

With a huff, Peter unfolded himself and sat up on the edge of the bench with his legs hanging off the edge. He handed Tony the bodum beaker and picked up his bag, fishing his notebook out from it before putting it back on the floor. He flipped to a page near the back and handed that to Tony as well.

"I'm trying to find a way to make it stop clogging up the compartment when I have to refill it but I can't figure out what I need to do without changing the components of the fluid I already have. Everything that I've come up with so far makes it too watery." He explained as Tony looked over his workings on the paper.

Tony hummed to let him know that he was listening. He was quiet for a while before speaking again. "Okay, a fair warning, Pete. I have an idea but, as far as Pepper would be concerned, it's not the safest so we're gonna move over to the testing station and try it out there. That good?"

Peter nodded and slid off the bench to follow Tony to a more secured area of the lab that they had made after their last drone went a little crazy and set fire to Dumm-e and Tony's R&D paperwork.

Setting up the beaker and grabbing a few chemicals as well as safety goggles and gloves, Tony explained his idea for adding a different chemical to slightly tweak the reaction of Peter's new formula, hoping to stop the clogging as Peter desired without too much change to the original tried and tested formula.

"Ready?"

Peter just grinned, slipping his goggles over his eyes. He watched as Tony added one of the chemicals, stirred it, and asked him to look at it as well as prompting Peter to tell him what changes he saw with each new chemical that they added.

Neither paid attention as Tony reached for the last chemical he wanted to test.

Neither of them noticed that it had accidentally been switched by Dumm-e while they had been speaking and nerding over the ways they could change and improve the formula for different uses other than Peter's regular webs.

Neither noticed until the drops of liquid from the last chemical went up in an explosion of harmless sparks and smoke, a black cloud blowing back up into their faces and the sparks setting off the lab's sprinkler system automatically.

Both Tony and Peter jerked backwards, Peter almost falling over when he slipped on the water currently still falling from the sprinklers. He grabbed onto Tony which ended up being what pulled both of them off balance, sending them to the floor in a jumbled mess of limbs and a pained yelp with Peter landed on his arm.

"Peter!" Tony gasped, managing to heave himself up a moment later and reach down to help Peter up too. He hesitated when Peter hissed and pulled his arm away, panic instantly flooding his chest at Peter's pain.

Kneeling down, Tony lifted Peter to his feet by his shoulders instead of pulling him up by his arm. As soon as the teenager was standing, Tony was fussing over him, grabbing a clean rag (now conveniently wet from the sprinklers) from a nearby table and wiping the wet cloth over Peter's face to clean the ash off and make sure none of it had somehow made its way into his eyes behind the safety goggles.

Tony was damn grateful that he had become so much more careful when it came to lab safety after he had started working with Peter so often.

Used to Tony's automatic fussing, Peter took a moment to assess himself for any pain or irritation, knowing Tony would ask him as soon as he calmed slightly.

A moment later the man did just that.

"Were you hurt? I heard your cry when you landed. What's wrong with your arm? Did you inhale any of the smoke?" Tony rapidly shot the questions at him, ushering Peter towards the dry end of the lab and onto the couch in the one corner.

"No I wasn't badly hurt, I just sprained my wrist when I tried to catch myself when we fell. Yes, I did inhale some but not a lot because I don't feel a lot of irritation or pain." Peter answered and then cut Tony off before he could ask more questions.

"Yes, I know we have to be careful with the smoke inhalation, especially because of the chemicals, but I know how it feels when it's bad because of the fires I've had to help with. I promise I'll tell you if I start feeling anything bad or painful."

Peter's straight to the point answers finally calmed Tony enough for him to sit down on the couch next to him.

Tony opened his mouth, going to ask if Peter was sure he was okay before changing his mind. "Okay, okay, I believe you. Can Fri scan you just to be safe?"

Knowing that Tony needed the peace of mind, Peter nodded and a moment later the A.I reported back with exactly what Peter had said. A sprained wrist and minor irritation to his windpipe.

"I would recommend ice for his wrist and a glass of milk for his throat, Boss." Friday's Irish voice spoke out.

Peter nudged Tony lightly with his shoulder. "See? I'm okay. Now that we're done with me, are you okay?"

With a little huff and a smile, Tony relented. His kid was okay. No need to panic. Nope, not at all.

Peter nudged him again. If he had to answer truthfully then so did Tony.

"Yeah, Roo, I'm fine, I promise. A bit of irritation as well but no sprains, bruises, or broken bones." Tony assured him, and asked Friday to do a quick scan of him as well, thinking it was only fair since he had the A.I scan Peter.

Once again she confirmed that there was no major injury or problem.

"C'mon, I wanna go wash the ash off my face and we should probably both go grab a shower and change into dry clothes. We need to make sure that we don't have any leftover chemicals left on us and you don't need to get sick from sitting around in wet clothes, either."

Tony was about to get up from the couch when he noticed a bruise peeking out from under the sleeve of Peter's injured wrist. He reached out and carefully held it in his own hand, the sleeve riding up more to show the black lines of what looked like the sunflower that was usually etched across the skin of Peter's lower forearm.

The only thing that made it not so normal was that the ink looked like it wasn't running down Peter's arm after getting it wet. It hadn't even smudged at all.

Looking up at the teen in question and receiving a nod, Tony pulled the sleeve up more to reveal the rest of the flower. He ran a finger over it, careful to not put pressure on Peter's wrist.

"Peter?" Tony asked softly, making sure that his voice was open and gentle.

Peter gave a quiet hmm in response. He knew that he didn't have to be nervous of telling Tony, the man's reaction and acceptance just of the markers when he first found out was proof enough of it, but he couldn't help the slight anxiety that bubbled up in his chest.

An arm was draped over his shoulders, and he was pulled into a hug.

"When did you get it done, bud?"

"A few weeks ago." Peter mumbled into Tony's shoulder.

Oh, Tony thought. The sudden light, happiness that Peter had exuded recently made sense now. His kid had finally found the permanency that he had needed.

Pulling away, Tony asked Peter to look at him. He grinned widely at the teen when he did, three simple words being said and immediately soothing a place in Peter's heart that he hadn't known was scared.

"I like it."

Peter smiled too. "Yeah?" At Tony's nod he spoke again. "I uhh, I got two. I have another one, I mean, not just this one. I got two that day." He stumbled over his words now, a bit bashful now that he wasn't as nervous about Tony's reaction.

Tony's steady smile helped some of his confidence come back.

"Can I see it? The other one?" Tony asked him, taking notice of the shy excitement in Peter's eyes.

Peter gave a small smile and turned a bit. "It's on my back." He explained to Tony's slightly confused expression.

Peter tugged his shirt up a bit until he was sure that the colourful petals and leaves of the sunflower were visible.

"That's Ben's flower." Tony muttered. It wasn't quite a question nor was it a statement but Peter answered anyway.

"Yeah. It's Ben's flower."

After a moment of silence, Peter lowered his shirt and turned around to face Tony. The man looked at him, a strange glint in his eyes.

"He'd be proud of you, you know. I didn't know him but from what you and May have told me… well, he was an incredible man Peter. Especially to have had a hand in raising someone like you who is so kind, giving, and loving."

Hugging the man who had become his father in all but blood, Peter felt his heart warm. He had lost, he had grieved, and he had hurt. But he had also found, healed, and loved.

Peter was drawn from his thoughts by Tony hugging him closer before pulling away and getting up from the couch. "C'mon, kid. Let's go get clean and then we can sort out the mess in here before Pepper has both our hides to cushion her seat during that meeting tomorrow."

"Tony, do you really think he would be proud?" Peter asked him just as they walked out the lab doors.

"Bud, the proof is right there in those very petals on your skin. He loved you and would be so proud."

Tony was right in more ways than one as Peter would later learn because a sunflowers meaning was adoration, loyalty and longevity.

And in the ink on his skin, in the pictures and paintings on the walls, in the memories of his uncle, Peter found that and so much more.

Peter had finally found healing from the grief that had swallowed him for so long. He had a reminder and a hope with him, something to remember the good, the happy, and the love that he had experienced as well as all that was still to come.

His sunflower had bloomed and it was glorious.

#irondad #spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #iron man #spider-man #irondad fanfic #irondad fanfiction

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

Note

ahhh grats on the milestone!! also holy shit youve got 500 prompts stored away somewhere??? im gonna go with my favourite number combo..... 317 👀 im super excited to see what you come up with!! 💖 -bbsitterpng

@babysitterpng Thank you so much!!! And yes, 500 goddamn prompts, all carefully curated, only the best for my beloved mutuals and followers!!

I got SO ELATED when I saw that you sent me a mystery prompt request!!!! ❤️💕 I would have finished it yesterday, but I got uhhh distracted 😏😏😏

317. “I think you’ll be happy to know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again and again and again; I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this immediately, and while I worry the exposition seems too rushed, I am very satisfied with the rest, all near 4k words!

So please, enjoy~

Today has been a long day that started when the sun had barely found its place in the sky.

Neil was beating at his bedroom door, asking why it’s locked, threatening to kick it down, demanding that Billy get up right now to mow the lawn, just to complain about what a shitty job he did after, shouting about how he has to do everything himself.

Billy would beat his pillows, lift weights till his muscles hurt, and smoke like a chimney, all to alleviate stress in one way or another.

At 12 Max was leaving to go play DnD with her little loser friends, ready to skate her way over there, but Billy needed to get out of the house, have a valid excuse, and it doesn’t get better than “watching out for his little sister.”

They’re on good terms now, after they had gotten in an intense fight and she screamed at him to just leave her and her friends alone, and after not spending every waking hour hating and antagonizing her, she’s not as annoying anymore, and Billy thinks that perhaps his anger was the issue here, not her being a little shit.

That realisation helped him a lot in general. It’s around that time he “apologised” to Harrington the best he could, but when Steve was nice and understanding of his issues, it only made him angry again. Billy doesn’t believe he deserves to be forgiven so easily, no, Harrington should have hit him, defended himself, gotten pissed and told Billy to fuck off.

Instead they wound up at Benny’s diner, sharing a giant plate of fries and a milkshake each.

“My treat,” Steve insisted.

And that’s when old issues resurfaced; the same exact issues that meant they had to leave California. The same exact issues that brought Billy’s wrath upon this pretty boy. The same exact issues that led one thing to another, and now Billy knows the route from his house to the Harrington Mansion like the back of his hand; could drive it with his eyes closed now.

But he doesn’t want to seem needy or clingy. Doesn’t want to be what he is - the way he is.

So after dropping Max off at the Wheeler’s house, the fiery redhead even going as far as to offer him a bit of a smile, he didn’t go home. Didn’t drive to Steve’s house either no matter how much he wanted to.

Don’t be needy, don’t be clingy. You’ll see him later.

So for four hours he drove around town, smoked by the quarry, got admired at a gas station when he refilled, passed Steve’s street far too many times, went to the empty pool that’s closed for the year and sat with his feet over the edge and smoked some more, restlessly kicking the tiling. Over the course of this time he checked his watch at least a billion times.

When it was finally 4pm, he drove to pick up his sister and El - the gang having managed to convince both Steve and Billy to take them to the movies to watch the last screening of The Neverending Story, which doesn’t exactly sound like something he wants to watch, but knowing Steve will be there, he agreed all too readily.

And as he pulls back up to the Wheeler’s again, he sees the brown BMW, Steve leaning against the door as he waits for the boys to pile into his car. Billy’s heart is beating like a painful drum in his aching chest, and when Steve sees him sitting and waiting for the girls, he smiles at him and waves.

Billy is as always astounded and breathless by the way Steve smiles, the way Steve looks at him now, like he’s happy to see him. He can’t smile back, he wants to, but his face feels dull and incapacitated. He wants to just kick open his car door, stomp up to Steve and fucking kiss him. Instead he simply waves back.

Then Max breaks the trance as she pulls open the door and crawls in to sit in the back with El.

“What the hell took you guys so long, I’m starving,” Billy complains as he looks over his shoulder at them.

Max is smart and doesn’t answer, and Billy is smart and doesn’t ask again. No he remains quiet as they follow the beemer, Max and El laughing loud and joyous behind him like girls their age do, talking about shit he doesn’t care for, just focuses on the car in front as they drive to Benny’s diner for early dinner before going to wolf down popcorn at the cinema.

The gang is eager and excited, like kids should be, running to the diner as they talk all too frantically about whatever it is kids talk about, Billy is really not paying attention, when Steve is right there.

“Find a booth where we can all sit!” Steve shouts after them, and Billy’s not sure if they heard him at all. “Hey Hargrove, got a smoke?” his voice kinder and friendly, too friendly, as he addresses Billy.

Steve leans against the hood of the camaro, smiling all too wide. He’s dressed in high waisted jeans and a red crop top that shows just enough of a midriff for it to be too much for Billy.

He takes up a spot next to Steve, just far away enough for it to not be suspicious, but absolutely too far away for it to not be enough, yet even from here he can smell the floral soap and honey shampoo. Can’t help but think of how soft Steve’s skin is, how silky his hair is, all newly washed and clean of him. Wonders if the purple hickeys are still visible across his chest, up his thighs.

Even though Steve is trying his best to meet Billy’s gaze, he refuses to look at him just in case it would be too obvious what he’s thinking about, as he unwraps a fresh pack of Marlboro and offers one up.

When Billy ignites his lighter and reaches forth, Steve touches his hand, holds it steady as he leans in to bring his cigarette to the flame. There’s a burning sensation where his pale, soft hand connects them, and when Steve dares rub Billy’s wrist with his fingers, there’s a pain shooting through his heart, a sharp wanting for more. No, a need for more. He’s caught staring at those pretty, pink lips when Steve pulls away and exhales a cloud.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a wry smile, clearly aware.

“You know damn well ‘what’s wrong’,” Billy snaps a bit harsher than intended as he continues to force himself to look away.

Thankfully Steve takes it well and huffs a laugh filled with smoke.

They end up in silence after that; the comfortable kind that comes from being at peace together, easy and relaxed and pleasant, one where they don’t need words because there’s no longer any doubt between them. Perhaps that’s what love is, as cheesy and gross as that may be, Billy ponders. To be able to just exist together without it being awkward or stilted. Perhaps he’s fallen a bit in love with his ex-rival. Or perhaps he’s just in love with how he feels when he’s with Steve, both physical and not.

It isn’t till Steve finishes his cigarette, drops it on the asphalt and stomps it out, that he speaks,

“Oh, I almost forgot, I wanted to tell you something.” He’s smiling like the cat that got the cream, licking his lips a bit too slowly as he goes to whisper in Billy’s ear, “I think you’ll be happy to know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Billy’s heart skips several beats at that, before then going too fast - rapidly pumping blood through him, and there’s a certain rush of it going straight to his dick. He stares too long into those deep, dark eyes, mischievous and satisfied with the response as Billy short circuits.

“What?”

Steve shrugs and tips his head to the side a bit, acting all innocent and oblivious, lips drawn tight in a smile that goes from ear to ear. He opens his mouth and takes a long inhale, insinuating that he’s about to say something, then simply turns around, hands in his pockets as he walks towards the diner.

Leaving Billy behind, baffled, astonished, dumbfounded.

The next two hours feels like days.

They sit in the diner, Billy and Steve across from one another.

The kids are still as energetic as before, their voices a jumble of words and phrases and retellings of DnD from today’s session. Steve chews on his straw as he tries to follow along with whatever they’re talking about, laughing when they laugh, nodding on occasions. Whenever he looks over at Billy, blue eyes flee to stare out the window instead, finding great interest in the pattern of how one street light flickers.

Before the movie starts, they go to let out water by the urinals of the cinema, Billy standing right next to Steve, having hoped to catch a glimpse, see if he’s telling the truth, the urge near irresistible to just take a quick look, but the other men around them might not take too kindly to something like that.

And during the movie they sit together at the end of the row.

Steve, Billy, Max, El, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas.

He didn’t care for the movie before, only going along as a sign of friendliness and to have an excuse to not be home, but now. Now he’s almost hating having to sit here, next to Steve, shoulders nearly touching, shoes pressed together on the dark floor, only an armrest between them.

For the first twenty arduous minutes, Steve doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, showing no sign of registering how near they are, just watches the movie in silence with a smile, while Billy is sat next to him, burning up despite his shirt being unbuttoned as always, mind racing with thoughts and images of Steve Steve Steve.

So distracted by all of that, that he nearly jumps when Steve touches his hand. Same softness and tenderness from earlier on the parking lot, the way Steve always touches him with just a hint of hesitance when they’re not completely alone.

But the cinema is dark, the kids are entranced, and there’s barely a handful of people besides them, so maybe it’s safe enough.

Billy raises his fingers into the touch, thinking that Steve wants to hold hands, intertwine them, any of that stupid romantic shit that he loves and Billy pretends to only barely tolerate, but the touch moves past that, a feather across the back of his hand, up to gently and carefully grab him by the wrist.

At that, Billy finally looks down, keeps facing the big screen but pays acute attention to what Steve is doing, where he’s leading his hand, placing it on his knee, Billy’s fingers in between spread legs. He continues to guide the hand further up, towards the heat of where his thighs meet, effectively sending Billy’s heart rate sky high.

When he finally turns his head, he finds Steve staring right back, a small and restrained smile, and in that moment, Billy feels like he can read Steve’s thoughts, knows exactly what’s on his mind, never doubts it for a second, and is proved right when Steve stands up and climbs over the seat to walk along the empty row behind them.

Billy whips around to Max, and hisses out, “We’re going for a smoke, don’t fucking go anywhere.”

“Yeah yeah,” she groans all indifferent and waves him away, eyes big and caught in the movie.

The bathroom at the Hawk is as clean as it ever gets, and perhaps not too shockingly, empty. Movies are running and people are seated.

Steve stands looking at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair, not that it looks any different to Billy now than before.

He takes heavy steps towards the brunette, announcing himself and catches Steve’s eyes in the mirror, watching as Billy approaches and steps behind him. Billy leans in to run his nose up Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply and humming out pleasantly, blinking slowly as he keeps pressing his face into the crook there, not quite kissing yet.

Eyes dart back to the mirror where heavenly blue meets chocolate brown, a feverish intensity there as Steve stares back. Gently, but with no hesitation, Billy snakes his arms around Steve’s waist, past the belt and up to touch where skin shows between jeans and the top.

When there’s no ‘stop’, he keeps going, curls his fingers around the red fabric and lifts up, exposing Steve’s chest to the both of them in the mirror. Bitten and marked, purple and red, Billy eyes his masterwork with an appreciative gaze, and with one hand keeping the shirt away, he moves the other up to graze his fingers across each little bruise his lips left just two days ago.

Steve hums a bit, erotic and turned on, and if more were to happen now, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d found their way together in public. And perhaps that thought strikes Steve just as it does Billy, for he pushes back into him, rubbing his soft ass against where he finds a slight bulge already.

“Fuck, Stevie…” Billy huffs and breathes against Steve’s neck, eyes closed as he relishes in the slow friction, kissing sloppy and half-minded against pale skin. “You really wanna do this here? Where the kids could just walk in any moment?”

“I would have maybe pushed you into a stall first,” Steve laughs, a slight stutter to it. “But I was thinking your car? The movie is like two hours, we could find an alley, park there, let me ride your cock?”

A growl escapes by the enchantment of those words, and Billy bites into Steve’s neck, earning him an illicit little hiss and smirk.

“How am I supposed to say no when you put it like that?”

Neither of them feel particularly bad for just abandoning the gang like that, but they’ll be quick, hidden in this alleyway, not too far away from the theatre, a bit of fun while the others gawk and gape at the magic of movies.

But it’s hard to be remorseful, when Steve is moaning like this, Billy two fingers deep in him in the driver's seat of the camaro.

Steve didn't lie about going commando today; told Billy, “When I found out you were tagging along, I hoped I’d get to have you alone like this.”

It took Steve less than two seconds to start getting undressed when Billy turned off the engine, whereafter he crawled right onto his lap, hard and bottomless, knees over Billy’s shoulders, feet locked behind the headrest, back against the steering wheel.

“Ah-h, mmh, fuck, Billy-” he whines, hands placed firm on Billy’s legs for support as he lifts and angles his ass to allow Billy access with lubed up fingers.

His other hand squeezes Steve’s leaking prick, using the precum to slick up the flesh, keeping him hard and crying like that. His own lonesome cock aches where it lies full against his stomach; the button down having been opened completely to avoid staining it, and giving Steve something to admire.

“Billy, please, just- oh- just fuck me already!” Steve’s voice pitched high with lust and impatience, brows drawn together, his arms shaking underneath his own weight.

“Just don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” Billy purrs.

He watches with great interest as he pumps two fingers in and out of Steve’s wet hole, making a scissoring motion to stretch him properly.

“Mmh, we don’t exactly have time for that, and I need you so bad,” Steve says with the sweetest, most alluring tone he can.

And God if that doesn’t go straight to Billy’s twitching dick.

“You sure?” He wants to double check anyways.

“Yes- yes! Just- get a condom, I don’t wanna ruin my favourite pants.”

Billy chuckles lightly at that thought as he leans to reach for the glovebox, absolutely turned on by the idea of Steve walking around brimming with him, his cum dripping out and running down his thighs. Perhaps another time.

The condom rolls on with ease, Billy having become quite the expert with one through time, but he has been getting a lot of practice lately what with Steve and his more adventurous side, and wearing a rubber when fucking in public makes for an easy and quick cleanup. He gives himself a few good strokes to lube up good and nice, ensuring that Steve gets a smooth ride as he aligns himself with the hole that flutters eagerly to suck him in.

Greedy, starved, zealous, Steve sits himself on that veiny dick, ass fully flush with Billy’s hips, breathlessly gasping and cursing around his name, “Fuck Billy…”

“Mmmh,” Billy hums and licks his lips, staring down with adoration at how he’s buried deep inside of Steve’s ass, tight with lack of preparation, but- “You feel so good baby, taking my cock so well.”

He brings his hands to grab Steve by the hips and guide him in a circular motion, muscles clenching around him that can only be described as beautiful, eliciting groans and causing him to dig in his nails.

Steve’s panting, bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat, the windows fogged up, telling anyone that would walk by exactly what was going on, and when he lifts up to fuck himself on Billy’s fat erection, they shake the entire car with his fervor; each time he sinks down he moans more; moans with less and less self control.

“Take off your shirt, pretty boy,” Billy drawls out and swipes his tongue across shiny and sharp teeth. “Wanna see you.”

It’s a hurried motion that takes less than three seconds for Steve to yank off the crop top and grab on to Billy’s knees again, refusing to wait even one moment in the haze of his neediness.

Billy, however, faced with marks of his own making, takes time to appreciate how perfectly purple suits Steve’s pale skin, blooming across his pecs, his tits, near nipples that strut now, begging to be touched. And who is he not to oblige. Hands travel up from hips, past the waist, to Steve’s chest - the brunette seemingly lost in chasing his own high, that he doesn’t notice where Billy is going till he presses hard against the sensitive buds.

“A-ah! Fuck, Billy!” And he throws his head back.

Steve’s entire body tenses at that, each muscle flexing and twitching, contracting around Billy’s steely cock, and he can’t help himself but to thrust into the clenching hole, the rim taking a chokehold on the base of his prick. Steve has to bring up a hand against the roof of the car to keep himself from hitting his head, while also giving him the ideal leverage to push down hard, bodies colliding, skin slapping together in a lascivious and erotic rhythm.

“God, you’re such a little slut for my cock, huh baby?” Billy growls like a ravenous wolf as he pounds into Steve, forcing out every little cry and moan, telling him that he’s hitting just the right spot.

“Billy- Billy, ah-a, fuck- fuck-” Steve whimpers and looks down to watch one hand on his hip that pulls him down, another rubbing hard against his nipple.

“Yeah, harrh, listen to yourself,” and Billy pauses to listen to how Steve mewls, revelling in the fact that he’s the cause of that. “So loud and lewd, baby, calling out my name like that.”

“Billy.”

He’s a confident guy, Keg King and lady killer, and while shit like emotions and feelings stuns him, this brings him alive, lust coiling in his gut, burning hot and white, ramping up to a fever pitch as he fucks with wild abandon into Steve’s wet cunt.

Billy hasn’t bothered masturbating in a good while, no, he saves all of that pent up energy for Steve, to fill him up; desire blinding him to anyone else but his princess.

“Mmhnn- ahh, fuck, Stevie, can’t wait to get you alone tonight,” he says, voice fucked out and perverted, Steve looking at him as he speaks, “Drop off all the little shits and then fuck you into your mattress till you’re a mess, pump you full of my cum.”

Steve’s eyes screws shut tight, mouth wide open as he moans, “Yes, oh God, Billy-”

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Yes! Please! Fuck-” He nods the best he can, hair bouncing.

“You’re such a good little whore for me, princess, so needy for my cock.”

“Billy- Billy please,” Steve croons, all pathetic and close.

“Anything,” Billy responds with fast devotion, a promise that he gladly lives up to, knowing well what it is Steve is begging for, wants to hear him say it anyways.

“Touch me, please, ah-h- I’m so so close, fuck…”

Billy grins wide, so self satisfied it’s nearly disgusting, and he closes his fingers firm around Steve’s slick erection; he gets so fucking wet, leaking profusely, swears it only happens when he’s with Billy like this.

“Just like that, yes! Oh fuck, I’m- ah-”

“Yeah, cum for me baby, wanna watch you- show me what I do to you.”

Billy jerks him off quick and crude, knows how Steve likes it, how he needs it; loves being manhandled, talks about that whenever he’s with Billy he feels small and light.

And Steve cums with a loud and unadulterated moan, stilling his entire body in a tense pose as Billy fucks him fast; slamming quickly against his prostate, hand milking him good till he’s emptied out on his own chest.

It is a glorious thing to watch, a masterpiece of performance only for him, a grand show for a one man audience that Billy gets to relive again and again and again. Steve’s jaw drops as he continues to cry out like he’s a goddamn porn star, overstimulated and loving it.

Billy’s own orgasm is far less showy; a few shallow, brutish thrusts, grunting through gritted teeth, he shoves Steve down onto him hard as his hips stutter through completion, waves of impossible heat pouring out and leaving him a puddle of bliss and euphoria.

Time is lost to them, as they sit like that; Steve’s one leg having fallen between the seats as he went limp with exhaustion, still firmly planted in Billy’s lap, who’s soft and complacent and fucking tired, both of them breathing heavy.

“We should… we should go back…” Steve mumbles with closed eyes.

Billy’s watching the way Steve’s cum slowly slips down his chest, running over his abs and nearing his pubic hair.

“Do we have to?” he eventually manages to ask.

And Steve chuckles at that, the vibrations through his body clenching around Billy’s spent cock and he can’t help the sore “ooh”s and “ahh”s as he tries to pull away from it.

“Sadly we do. Can’t have the kids walk home alone in the dark, besides…” Steve grinds his ass onto Billy’s lap, making him wince in not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but definitely too much. “Think you promised to… fuck me into my mattress?”

#Harringrove #My Writing #Lemon #Mystery Prompt #500 followers #Babysitterpng #hope it was as good for you as it was for me sweets #😌#Anonymous

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imjeralee · 4 years

Text

Wallflower: Chapter 19 - rEaD mE :)

Raihan x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary: You’re an unassuming Pokemon breeder who works at the nursery in the Wild Area and he’s Raihan, the fearsome gym leader of Hammerlocke who has more than a million followers. You don’t want anything to do with him but he’s…persistent.

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Lemon, smut, violence, language.

Extra note: this chapter is also messed up

rEaD mE :)

...

Drifloon has deposited the little girl in a strange world.

It looks around, seemingly confused. This new area they're in is eerily quiet and it resembles a cave of some sort... The pokemon turns to the girl, tilting it's head to the side. She's beginning to stir as she lies on the cold, hard ground. Perhaps this is her doing?

A profound darkness sweeps their surroundings but then a weak, tawny glow begins to dot the area and Drifloon sees that there are several glowing rocks on the wall which is the source of the light along with a strange, jellyfish-like being that has appeared from nowhere. It floats around and hovers near them, dancing around in the dark before it jostles closer. Drifloon watches it cautiously.

You watch silently as the little girl finally wakes up, looks up and around and realises she's far from home. Bringing her knees to her chest, she begins to sniffle and wail.

"Looker?" You call out, "Looker, are you here?"

"I'm still here. What do you see?"

"There's a Nihilego." You mutter.

"What's going on?"

You continue to observe: Nihilego floats near the little girl and the balloon Pokemon watches it warily. It tries to get closer but Drifloon stops it by hurling a ball of dark energy at it, prompting it to retreat - but only briefly. Nihilego comes back, determined to get it's human host and the girl begins to cry.

Drifloon continues hurling shadow balls at the creature and the girl keeps crying, her sobs growing louder and louder until a bright light suddenly flashes and you watch as a slit appears in mid-air, as though the very fabric of the universe is being torn open, a glitch in the matrix - and the slit widens and expands into a circle, revealing a clear blue sky within and a large spray of trees - it occurs to you that it is Ilex Forest.

Without wasting a further second, the exhausted Drifloon grabs the girl's arm and tugs her towards the portal as the Nihilego swoops down on them, its tentacles reaching for the girl. However, the portal closes in seconds and its prey disappears within, abruptly leaving the scene.

It was a close call.

Nihilego watches the empty space before it turns to you.

You're still here.

You stiffen on the spot, freezing up entirely.

"What's wrong?"

The creature begins to slink over towards your direction.

This can't be right.

Looker said nothing here can hurt you.

".......It's looking at me." You cannot explain it but you feel it is staring right at you, it can see you.

And it's coming closer.

"Looker, get me out of here!"

But nothing happens and Nihilego comes closer and closer and it lifts one of its thin, transparent tentacles towards you and -

...

Your eyes open in a snap as you jerk awake.

You've returned to the interrogation room. You're lying on the hypnotherapy chair with Looker and Hypno at your side. However, it doesn't stop the distress from overwhelming you; your heart begins beating frantically and your breathing grows laboured, your forehead covered in sweat.

"It's okay, you're safe now. Take deep breaths." Looker instructs as your panicked eyes meet his. "Breathe in."

You suck in a noisy breath, still trembling.

"Now breathe out."

You exhale as calmly as possible.

Looker does this breathing exercise with you until your breathing returns to normal and your pulse slows down and it takes a while but finally, you've tamed your racing heart and panicked state and you slump over the chair, exhausted. You look up and around the room, noticing that it's been roughly an hour since the session and you're surprised you were under for so long considering you thought it was a relatively short experience.

Also, the band on your wrist is pulsing fiercely with two lines dotting the small screen - one line is orange and other one is green. The green one must be reflecting your heart rate as it blips in a routine fashion whilst the orange line is incredibly erratic, going in all sorts of directions. Meanwhile, the polygraph which Looker mentioned earlier shows a convoluted zigzag pattern all over the white sheet.

Looker hands you a cup of water and a tissue and you thank him as you dab all over at your damp forehead. He asks, "Are you okay?"

"I...I think so." You mutter, gulping the water down noisily. He takes the cup off you and refills it.

"Take it easy." He mutters, handing you the cup once more as he returns to his chair whilst Hypno moves to sit on the stool, watching the two of you with its beady eyes.

"I saw it, Looker. I saw everything. It was Driffie."

"I know."

"And he took me to this weird place where I saw Nihilego - and it saw me. It was looking at me." You continue to mutter in disbelief. The tape is still recording, which you're all too aware of. "....I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't think I'm the missing child you're looking for."

Looker emits an inaudible sigh under his breath and throws his glance to the recorder on the desk. "...We've confirmed two possible theories though. That place you were in - there's a name for it - it's known as Ultra Deep Sea. It's the home of Nihilego. You've passed through an Ultra Wormhole. During the session, your energy levels spiked and the reading went off the chart. There's a practice called remote-viewing. If you've never heard of it before, it's not that well known or scientifically proven but essentially..."

"It's okay, I've heard of it and I know what it is."

Looker nods again. "Whilst you were under...although you were hypnotised, you made contact with Ultra Deep Sea. I believe that's why Nihilego saw you. Although you were viewing a past memory, you had crossed over." A brief silence spawns until he adds, "My theory is that your energy diverted you and Drifloon to a different dimension. You were also able to open a portal which deposited you in Ilex Forest."

"But how? I don't get it."

"It would seem to be because you were under extreme emotional distress." Looker mutters, "Your Drifloon protected you from Nihilego. I don't think he realises what he has done. Do you despise him for what happened?"

Despise Driffie? "I don't...I don't know."

"What are you going to do?"

You sigh heavily, holding your head in your hands. "...I don't know." You say through gritted teeth as your head begins to throb; you can't stress it enough.

The session's over now, so Looker thanks you for the time and for your cooperation. The session yielded very good results and interesting information which he'll send to the Bureau for examination and further study.

Whilst Looker recalls Hypno and begins tidying up, he says, "I'll talk to my superiors about this and get back to you. However, you need to be careful from now on. If we hadn't undergone the hypnosis, I doubt you would've known about your abilities. We've opened a door - one which we intend to keep shut."

"What do you mean?"

"The last thing we need right now are Ultra Wormholes opening and closing in Galar." Looker says, and you nod. "Keep the band with you at all times; it will continue to read your energy levels. Avoid anything that can and will inflict emotional distress. Things are going to be different from now on."

"Got it." You say; you really doubt anything will trigger you to undergo or experience the intense emotional distress that you felt when you were in Ultra Deep Space. "Bye Looker."

"Goodbye."

When you leave the room, you close the door behind you and turn round, spotting Raihan in the empty waiting area: he's slumped over a plushy seat with one hand stuck in his hoodie and Rotom in his other hand, scrolling through photos on his social media account until he senses your presence and looks up.

"Rai, what are you doing here?" You ask as you head over and stop in front of him.

He looks up at you with a wide grin, puts Rotom down but his phone chooses to float by his left shoulder. Reaching for your hand, he lifts your palm to his lips and you can't help but smile as he pecks the back of your hand and your knuckles with light, warm kisses. "Thought I'd come pick you up. How'd it go?" He murmurs, when he releases you to rub your palm gently.

"It was fine. I'm fine." You shrug casually but your face says otherwise; Raihan stares at you for longer than usual and you wonder what's wrong until you blink and something wet and warm trickles down your eye and over your cheek. "Oh..." You quickly lift a hand up, wiping at your face and the corner of the eye. "What's wrong with me....? I'm...I'm crying."

Raihan stands up immediately, reaching for you and pulling you into his embrace. "C'mere." He says, encircling his arms around you protectively. You're so small and tiny in his arms all of a sudden.

“Sorry...” You croak out as your vision becomes blurred with tears.

He chuckles, giving you a squeeze. ”Don't apologise, just let it all out...” Raihan murmurs as he hugs you tightly, patting you and rubbing little circles on your back.

You hug him in return as you're enveloped all over with his warmth and he presses his nose against the side of your head, nuzzling your hair affectionately. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begin sobbing and Raihan pats you on the head and strokes your hair soothingly. You can't seem to stop, sniffling and snivelling drearily in his arms.

He doesn't ask you what happened, he just hugs you and tells you its going to be okay, over and over again.

When you finally stop, he slowly loosens his grip and peers at you inquisitively. "...You okay?"

"Uh-huh." You choke out, nodding as you wipe your eyes.

Letting go of you, he cups your cheeks, plants a big kiss on your forehead. "Let's go."

You nod.

Once you leave Hammerlocke police station, you were planning to go to Raihan's place but when you see the massive gate, you decide to leave the city instead and sit down on the large stone steps of Hammerlocke that connects to the Wild Area, overlooking the magnificent green pastures. Your eyes are puffy and red and occasionally you'll still hiccup and sniff slightly but you're no longer crying. Raihan joins you, seating himself by your side and you both sit and stare at the vast grandness of the expanse.

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes as he watches you. Re-opening your eyes, you slide your gaze to the sky where you see a few Butterfree and Beautifly in the air until one of the Butterfree abandons the group, deciding to flutter towards your direction. You gingerly hold your arm out, reaching for it and it lands on your finger and looks at you. Raihan observes you quietly before lifting Rotom up and snapping a quick picture.

He switches the camera shutter to silence mode so the sound of the shutter won't scare the Butterfree away and takes a few shots of you with the butterfly pokemon before it flies away. You watch the Pokemon return to its group before you throw your gaze to the ground, bringing your knees to your chest.

You tell him everything that happened.

Although you're not sure where to start precisely, you tell him that Drifloon took you away. It took one moment where your mother and father took their eyes off you - perhaps for a few seconds or so - and you were gone but you didn't end up being spirited away, it turns out that you are a Fallerand you had somehow passed through an Ultra Wormhole and you ended up in Ultra Deep Sea. A Nihilego attacked but you were able to escape by opening a wormhole that brought you to Ilex Forest in Johto.

And then...obviously, you were found.

Raihan listens intently and it's a lot to take in; you wonder what his reaction might be but the more you spoke, the more you could not believe your own ears.

It sounds....unbelievable.

Raihan's holding your hand the entire time and he gives you an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sorry about Driffie. What'll you do about him?"

You hesitate before fishing out Drifloon's pokeball and you press on the button, releasing him. Drifloon appears, blinking at you and Raihan with his beady eyes. Standing up on the step to face him, you say, "I know what you did. You took me away from my family.... and if I continue to keep you, I...I-I can't forgive you for what you've done, I just can't - "

Inhaling a shaky breath, you mentally shake your head. Your fists curl at your sides as Raihan watches your interchange silently. "I'm releasing you; I don't want you anymore." You utter, "Go."

Driffie attempts to float towards you but you firmly stand your ground.

"I said go. Go on, get!"

The balloon pokemon shrinks away at the threatening tone of your voice and lowers its head. With his pokeball in hand, you toss it as far as you can, watching it vanish over the horizon. Driffie watches it sail in the air, blinking wildly before turning to you. "Floo....!"

"Get out of here! I don't want to see you ever again!"

Finally, Driffie stops.

You glare at the small pokemon and it turns round sadly and hovers towards the plains before he disappears from your view entirely; Raihan slowly moves to stand up beside you. You know what he's thinking - he's never seen this side of you before. You've never raised your voice, been angry. Not like this. Not towards a pokemon, no. You've always been so loving and caring. For a long time you stare at the horizon, wondering if Driffie would return.

He doesn't.

Your legs shake and you almost collapse if Raihan didn't catch you.

Tears build up in your eyes as you begin sobbing helplessly all over again and the dragon tamer helps you sit down with him and brings you into a hug, gently pulling you into his lap and wrapping your arms around your waist and you loop your arms around his neck in return and although you've embraced him many times before, this time you hold onto Raihan as tightly as possible as though fearing he would disappear. Raihan lets you cry it all out, rubbing your back and stroking your hair soothingly.

"He's gone," you croak out, wiping at your eyes. Your voice is hoarse and raspy. "Rai. Have I made a big mistake?"

Raihan looks conflicted; he can't give you a straight answer. "I'm so sorry, princess." He murmurs, threading his fingers through your hair and brushing some strands behind your ear before he presses his lips against your cheek.

"...Nothing's changed. I still don't know my real family and I still don't know where I come from."

"Maybe you're from a parallel dimension."

"...That's a bit farfetched."

"What if you're from that dimension your brother mentioned, where there's no such thing as pokemon?"

"No, I'm pretty sure there's pokemon where I'm from. I can't imagine a world without pokemon. It would be miserable, I bet."

He laughs and you feel his chest rumbling. "What if there's another you from another dimension somewhere out there and she's with a parallel mighty Raihan."

"Well...even in a different dimension, we're still together."

"Yep." Raihan presses another deep kiss over the curve of your cheek and the thought actually makes you happy. It occurs to you that he's trying to cheer you up so you force out a chuckle, "When's your next appointment with Looker?" He murmurs, as he continues smothering your jaw and cheek with kisses.

"I dunno; he says he'll be in touch. I've to keep this band on for the time being and make sure my energy levels don't go crazy or something bad might happen. Looker didn't say that but I got the feeling that was what he was trying to say. Who knows, maybe I'll end up opening an Ultra Wormhole by accident or something. I don't know." You say with a sigh, blowing some hair from your eyes before you turn to him and his lips press against yours.

He was aiming for the cheek but when your lips meet, he pulls back with a grin and then leans forwards once more, capturing your lips with his. You kiss passionately for a brief moment or so, until Raihan gently pries your lips apart and tangles his tongue with yours. Admittedly, you don't kiss enough with tongue so Raihan pulls you further into his chest, your mouths pressing harder together.

When you finally break apart, his grin widens as you sit in his lap, breathless. "C'mon, let's go. Let's go check out some beds."

You force yourself to smile, nodding. "Okay."

...

A few days later.

After bed-shopping the other day with Raihan at a department store in Wyndon, you had returned home, glancing at your little cottage house. Something just feels different but you can't quite place your finger on what it is and why. Perhaps it is a matter of perspective.

It's just you, Espie and Poliwag in the house now.

A day ago or so, you could not bring yourself to get out of bed. You found yourself wondering why you were alive and what was the reason why you were even here on this earth. You were suffering and in pain. You called in sick and took a few days off. You couldn't bring yourself to get dressed properly, comb your hair, wash your teeth or hair or face...you could not even eat or drink....and your Pokemon tried their hardest to bring you out of this depression and luckily you were able to snap yourself out of it. Your pokemon care for you and love you. You still need to train Dreepy; he's counting on you.

And you still have Raihan and your family. It would hurt them to see you like this.

Therefore, you pulled yourself out of bed the day after.

You've called mom and Glenn, informing them what happened and what you had discovered. They want to visit you in Galar but you reassure them countless of times that you're fine. You tell them you've released Driffie. It's a shame, they said.

You do miss Driffie, but what's been done has been done.

In an attempt to move on with your life and focus on other things, you call your friend's mother and ask about the progress of your friend's recovery. Your friend's mother tells you she is getting better and firmly believes that she will be waking up soon; her fingers twitch occasionally and she responds to her voice. You thank the heavens above that your friend is fine.

Also, you're going to move in with Raihan. You've arranged some time to talk to your landlord about your lease - you still have roughly a half year left on your contract and although you looked over the terms and conditions, you had wanted to speak to the landlord to clarify on a few things. You wonder if you can break lease early, but most likely you might get fined... unless you find someone who can take over.

Raihan's already ordered the new bed which will arrive during the weekend - it's a king-sized mattress, not too soft or too hard. You both had tested out a few mattresses at the store which was a fun experience and eventually discovered the one dream mattress that fitted both your needs. It was perfect for sleeping and for...well...you know, other activities.

You're really looking forward to moving in with him. Never in a million years did you think you would meet your partner whilst working abroad - and now you are going to live together too. You're aware that usually this can also test the strength of one's relationship because you never truly know what someone's really like until you live with them. Nevertheless, it's all very exciting.

You're going to attend one of Raihan's matches later on and then you will be meeting with him to buy some necessities.

You had spent all of last night on the phone discussing about things you'd be sharing from now on - it dawns to you that this is new to Raihan as well - but essentially you'll get the bottom shelf of the bathroom cabinet because he's tall and can reach the top shelf better. You'll sleep on the right side of the bed near the window and he'll sleep on the left near the door. You'll get your own cupboard and drawer in the kitchen where you can put your baking stuff. And he'll clear some room in the cupboard under the stairs so you can put the equipment you use for work inside.

You fondly recall how you had been chatting animatedly with him about what you'll do together on the weekends, how you'll spend your evenings and how you can both take turns cooking breakfast, lunch or dinner. Indeed, it's the life you've always dreamed of and a few years ago, you wouldn't have thought about these things...but having someone by your side and sharing things is very appealing to you.

It's almost time for Raihan's match so you grab the ticket he's given you and head out with Espie. The Corviknight taxi takes you to Hammerlocke in a matter of minutes and you approach the stadium, joining the massive queue of fans and tourists alike. The lobby is bustling - a huge number of people queue up for merchandise, taking photos with Ball Guy and various aspects of the interior of Hammerlocke stadium. It's even busier when you enter the stalls - you weave your way through the crowd and finally find your block.

Raihan's gotten you a front row VIP seat so once you show your ticket and the attendant allows you in, you realise you're sitting with all the hardcore, die-hard Raihan fans who have broke their banks for the chance to see their idol up close and personal; they are screaming and cheering for him, waving glow sticks and taking selfies with their friends and pokemon. The majority are female and as you hop down the aisle and find your seat, you notice a few girls stop chatting abruptly about their Raihan photo collection and stare at you; you think they recognise you and immediately, the entire row goes silent.

You don't pay them any attention; you sit down in your seat with Espie in your arms and wait for the match to begin, watching the large TV screen which shows a video of the Pokemon League and several replays of Leon's and Raihan's matches. Down below on the pitch and you see the cheerleaders have split themselves into two groups, practising a routine for the crowd whilst they wait. You fail to see Alicia, funnily enough.

"...Isn't that Raihan's girlfriend?"

"What?!"

"She's here??"

"Yeah, I think that's her..."

You don't respond to the conversation that's going on in the background. Let them talk. Who cares?

The stalls are slowly being filled up and once all seats are full and the match is about to start; suddenly the lights of the stadium go dim, bathing the audience in darkness until a few spotlights switch on and the cheerleaders cartwheel away and out of view as the referee appears - he's roughly Kabu's age, wearing a black and white striped jersey, matching shorts, socks and shoes; the crowd gasp in awe as the huge screen stops playing the Macro Cosmos endorsed videos and is stamped with the words: "Welcome ladies and gentlemen!!!"

The referee has a microphone taped over his cheek near his mouth, his voice amplified as he thanks everyone for coming, announcing loudly that the match is going to begin; he holds his arm up, gesturing to the left of the stadium. "Please welcome....gym challenger three hundred and sixty one!"

The crowd begins to go wild and you watch as the gym challenger appears, emerging from the dark corridor. It's a teenager in the gym challenger uniform, maybe....fifteen or sixteen years old. Although she's reached the final gym, she looks terrified.

The referee then announces Raihan, throwing his arm to the corridor in the right and the crowd goes insane. The fangirls in your block begin screaming for him and stomping on the floor, causing your row to shake violently. Espie clings onto you and folds her ears down in an effort to blot out the noise as Raihan finally appears and the cheering grows a thousand times louder in volume that you think your eardrums are about to burst.

You check if Espie's fine and she seems okay, so you avert attention to your boyfriend as he swaggers out to face off the challenger. Along the way he waves to the crowd before he takes a selfie and your heart thumps hard against your chest; you watch him stride across the pitch and smile widely to yourself for you are extremely proud of him.

Bringing Rotom out, you ask him to take some photos of Raihan for you. The dragon tamer also seems to be searching for you so you wave frantically with Espie meowing loudly, hoping to catch his eye. You hope he sees you and when he spots you in the stall, he gives you a wink.

A few girls behind you think he's winking at them and squeal with delight.

Raihan and the challenger arrive at the middle of the pitch and exchange a few friendly words of sportsmanship before they turn away, heading to their respective spots. The referee stands at a safe distance in the middle, glancing at the gym challenger and Raihan. With his whistle in hand, the referee tells both battlers to get ready - the TV begins a countdown, starting at three - and Raihan brings his Rotom out with a gentle smile, checking the little screen briefly before he lifts his arm and in a split second, his expression changes into a fierce one.

The fangirls scream wildly in response and the countdown is over; the message on the huge TV immediately switches to "You are challenged by Gym Leader Raihan!" and the referee blows on the whistle.

The match starts.

Raihan does his signature pose before he tosses two ultra balls onto the field.

He begins the battle with Gigalith and Flygon; Gigalith's ability whips up a sandstorm but the crowd is safe from the weather effects by a mysterious, invisible shield that protects the viewers whilst the referee, Raihan and the gym challenger are battered.

It's a tad hard to see and you wouldn't have known exactly what was going on unless the referee wasn't outlining the match with energetic vigour that keeps the crowd on their toes, full of nail-biting suspense. The TV also shows close ups from both battlers from various camera angles. The battle is tense but the gym challenger is prepared - she's brought a fairy type and a water type. Gigalith is quickly taken down after a few hits and Flygon is smacked around by a 'Play Rough' move courtesy of her Grimmsnarl. Flygon takes down the water pokemon and Raihan brings out Sandaconda, who quickly knocks out Grimmsnarl.

When both are down to their final pokemon, Raihan releases Duraludon and starts to Dynamax him but not before taking a quick selfie with the enlarged glowing ultra ball; it's the moment everyone's been waiting for as he tosses it high into the air. The fangirls alternate away from mindless screaming and cheering and begin chanting to a tune which you are all too familiar with, having watched so many battles online.

In fact, the entire stadium is lit up with this chanting and it encompasses the entire arena which is now bathed in a red glow as Duraludon re-appears, having grown to the size of a skyscraper (and looking very much like one too).

"Bring the storm! My partner will send everyone in the stadium flying!" Raihan yells, and it's his trademark quote which causes the crowd to erupt into a frenzy.

The gym challenger releases their pokemon - it's a Cinderace - and she dynamaxes it. It also grows to a gargantuan size that matches Duraludon and you watch as both pokemon whale blows on each other using G-Max moves until Duraludon's health is brought down to zero and he returns to normal size, collapsing over the pitch.

Raihan's expression falls as he recalls the fainted pokemon and the referee blows the whistle again, officially ending the match.

"Gym challenger three hundred and sixty one WINS!"

Raihan hangs his head low whilst the gym challenger jumps up and down with happiness and dances around with her Cinderace.

The fangirls seem sad too but soon the crowd returns to cheer and Raihan picks himself back up with Rotom grinning haplessly.

"...At least I still have my good looks." He mutters to himself with a pout, adjusting his headband over his forehead. The fangirls go crazy, squealing with glee.

Re-gathering at the middle of the pitch, Raihan shakes hands with the gym challenger and passes over the badge. You don't stay for the cheerleaders when they re-appear to celebrate the victory and watch as Raihan heads for the corridor whilst confetti and happy messages appear on the screen.

Leaving your seat with Espie, you quickly leave the stalls and take the stairs down to the 'staff only' area, showing your pass to a gym trainer who lets you through. You arrive at the dark corridor where you see Raihan leaning against the wall - he's been waiting for you - and you quickly make your way over.

"Rai!" You call out to him and he looks up from his phone, grinning at you.

"Hey, princess."

You hold your arms out but instead, he pulls you into his arms and crushes you into a tight embrace that would put a Bewear to shame and promptly lifts you off the ground, spinning you round in a circle before he settles you back onto your feet where he clutches you firmly and buries his nose into your neck, trailing kisses over your cheeks and lips. You can't help but giggle as he kisses you all over.

"I watched the match; it was amazing."

"But I lost."

"Aww, it's okay." You gently pat his head, smoothing down his hair before you pinch his cheeks gently, "You did a great job out there."

"The gym challengers are seriously keeping me on my toes. How can I keep up with Leon at this rate?" He mutters as you let go; he leans forwards and he smooches you, pressing his lips firmly over yours again and again.

"Perhaps you'd be interested in some EV training?" You suggest, "Then you'll be able to squash all of Leon's Pokemon with one hit."

"Nah, s'alright. If I did that, it wouldn't be fair on Leon and it wouldn't be fun either." He replies with a wicked grin. Scooping your hand with his, he kisses your knuckles swiftly. "Let's get outta here. I'm hungry."

"Sure, where'd you wanna go?"

"Hm, let me think about it. I gotta grab something from my locker first."

"Okay, I'll wait for you outside in the lobby." You reply, and he presses a quick kiss on your forehead before you split up.

Raihan heads to the locker room and you make a beeline for the exit until you spot the gym trainer from before who let you in, holding onto a white envelope. He looks a little troubled and as you pass him, he stops you in your path.

"Oh, uh...Excuse me." He says, "Are you Raihan's girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Someone just came up to me and told me to give this to you." He hands you the envelope and you raise a brow as you hold it limply in your hands.

Turning it around, your blood turns cold when you see that the front is indeed addressed to yourself and it is stamped with the words: rEaD mE :)

Your eyes grow wide and slowly, you pry open the flap. Delving your hand inside, you pull out a single piece of paper which you unfold and there are instructions spelled in Unown, telling you that they have the DVD and you are to meet at the top of Rose Tower immediately. You are not to tell a single soul and you must come alone.

Or else.

Panic seeps into you all over. Fear grips you like ice and you reread the instructions a second time....you cannot believe it. It's deja vu all over again. And again, it's to do with the goddamn DVD. However, as you tremble and shake in horror, suddenly these feelings evaporate entirely, replaced with searing hot anger as you scrunch up the blackmail letter so tightly that your knuckles go white and your bones clench.

It’s happening again.

Why is this happening again?

You're about to use Rotom to call Looker.

But you stop.

No, this time you will deal with this on your own. Whoever it is and whatever it is they want, you simply don't care anymore. You have your pokemon with you so you are well-protected and you won't show any mercy.

You are sick and tired of being pushed around and you aren't going to let this pass, to let them get away with it.

Not this time.

The energy band on your wrists starts to blip intensely but you ignore it.

You tell the gym trainer to inform Raihan that you've got to leave due to an emergency and without further ado, you leave the stadium abruptly and hail a taxi. You don't want Raihan to worry or get hurt because of you. You'll deal with this quietly and quickly.

When the Corviknight taxi arrives in Wyndon, you enter Rose Tower without further ado and although a staff member comes up to you, asking a polite 'How can I help you?', you tell them someone is expecting you at the top of the tower and they seem to understand, allowing you entry to the lift.

You enter, watching the lift doors close behind you and it begins to chug up to the top floor. You clutch onto the strap of your bag firmly, your knees quaking. You can't help it. Your stomach does numerous flips, the back of your throat is dry. The lift finally arrives at its destination and the doors slide open, revealing the same outdoor arena you had once set foot on with Raihan, although on this occasion the dragon tamer is not with you.

You step inside and there are two familiar figures within: it's Alicia and Raihan's ex-girlfriend.

You’re not totally shocked to the very core that they are the ones behind this. You always knew they were up to no good and they disliked you so the fact that they are the ones responsible doesn't really make heads turn. This is it, probably. The final confrontation. You will tell them to leave you alone right here and now. You storm over, stopping a short distance away and you give them beady looks whilst they stare you down.

Raihan's ex speaks first. "I didn't think you'd come."

You notice Alicia's Rotom phone is facing you with a little light on. Holy crap, are they...are they recording this???

You ignore the phone for the time being. "Where is it?" You demand angrily, having successfully stamped down the fear and nervousness and you're able to control your voice; you don't stammer or at stutter at all and your energy band blips again.

"Oh? Not so timid now, are you?"

"Answer the goddamn question."

Raihan's ex isn't fazed by your newfound hostility considering the last time you spoke, it was all rather genial. She dips her hand into her bag and pulls out a shiny, flat disc. "You mean this?"

"Hand it over." You growl, "I'm not in the mood for any games."

"I'll hand it over if you do something for me in return."

"You want me to break up with Raihan, don't you? I know you messaged him. Why are you doing this? I thought he already told you this - he doesn't want you," you bark and her face goes a funny colour in response. "And you don't deserve him."

"It's not like you deserve him either." She quips back.

It's because of the DVD that this is happening so honestly, you could just walk away from this. "Do you know what? Just do it. Just upload it online. See if I care, because I clearly don't and neither does Raihan. You don't scare me, neither of you do."

There's a brief silence and Alicia throws a quick glance at the ex worryingly. "Maybe we should - "

"Shut up." The ex snaps, crossing her arms. Her expression turns dark but then her lips curl into a cruel sneer. "Fine then, maybe I will. And I'll also tell everyone that you're adopted, that you were abused when you were a kid and that you were bullied in school, that you're nothing but a loser. I'll dig up every single dirty little secret you have and make sure it goes public."

Your fists curl. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. How does she know this, how did she find out???? You cannot fathom and as she smirks, you begin to seethe with rage. You are enraged, flush with anger. But at the same time, you are also panicking deep inside.

"...Is she having a mental breakdown?" Alicia mutters.

"Who cares, you're getting this on camera, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

You begin to find it hard to breathe, your mind racing frantically and your heart cannot pounding so hard it hurts - and they notice, laughing at your reaction. They're recording this too. Why is this happening? Should you fight her? With punches and kicks? No, she's not alone - you're unlikely to get the upperhand although you want to strangle the wind out of her if you could. Hell, you could get your pokemon to attack them but that's a criminal offence. Realising that you have no advantage here, you find yourself at a loss and you're reduced to a quaking mess again, sick to the stomach.

As you despair, the band on your wrist beeps louder and louder and the orange line is spiralling out of control; it's at the peak, quivering violently as the reading begins to go off the charts, the band cannot keep up as you become lightheaded and dizzy and you drop to the ground.

Suddenly, their laughter stops.

Instead, they're now adamant in staring wide-eyed at something behind you.

Turning round, a slit has appeared in mid-air.

...

Meanwhile.

Looker sits in his office in Hammerlocke Police station, going over the transcript of the hypnosis session.

She had described Ultra Deep Sea in-depth. She had even seen a Nihilego. Looker rubs the bottom of his chin as he reads the final part: the Nihilego had seen her during the session. He has a bad feeling about this so he goes to one of his briefcases and opens it. There's only foam inside, cushioning a single pokeball and a folded piece of paper.

The label on it says: "Type: Null - Property of Macro Cosmos."

Looker takes out the paper and unravels it, revealing that it is now property of the Bureau, having been confiscated. He glances to where his signature is along with the print where it details that Type: Null is under Looker's protection. Contemplating to himself, Looker reaches for a small bottle of correction fluid from a tub on the desk and carefully removes his name.

Once it dries, he picks up a pen and writes her name in his place.

Nodding to himself, Looker folds the paper back and pats the pokeball. "You'll be in good hands." He says.

Suddenly, his Rotom phone beeps loudly and he glances over. "Bzzzrt, abnormal energy level detected from zzzubject zzzixteen!" Rotom cries out.

His brows furrow at once. "Whereabouts?" Looker demands as he gets up from his seat, grabbing his coat off the hook and donning it. He picks up his suitcase too, packing in some of his equipment.

"It'zzz coming from Rozzze Tower in Wyndon."

"Thanks, Rotom. Let's go check it out."

Looker hopes he's not too late.

...

#pkmn #pokemon #pokemonsword #pokemonshield #pokemon shield and sword #jeralee #fanfic #fic #kibana #raihan x reader #Raihan x you #reader #archive of our own #wallflower #reader insert

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prongsisabadger · 3 years

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TWP Chapter 28

Wolffe and I spoke casually as we made our way towards the bridge. Not a lot had happened since I’d been gone, the Pack had mostly been assigned extractions, rescue missions and patrols among other things. The clone commander didn’t show his feelings on the lack of battlefront action, but then again, I was still his superior and it might have looked like he was complaining to some. He was glad I was back, I could tell that much. Wolffe might have looked like an emotionless steel blast wall, but the man was still a sentient, and sentients interacted with the Force. It was a quiet, tame feeling he allowed himself in the confines of his mind, but he would never allow it to show. Clone Commander Wolffe was many things, emotional was not one of them, even if he did feel things deeply in the privacy of his soul.

Like Obi-Wan, he felt safe because he was strong and reliable and fiercely loyal. But my Master at least allowed himself to show feelings to those he cared for and trusted the most. Wolffe was the kind of person that didn’t open up easily even to his closest friends, regardless of how deeply he felt about things. It was the kind of self control and discipline only extensive training and programming in a Kaminoan facility could grant. I was pretty sure Master Plo and I were the only ones that had an idea of how Wolffe felt about certain things, and it both felt like privilege and like I was intruding on something deeply personal. Those were things the Force told us about him, not things he had volunteered himself, so Master Plo and I had come to the silent agreement that we would not speak about them until he volunteered the information himself. It was both heartwarming and sad to have such a close, intimate look into a person such as him and not be able to share them because at the end of the day it would have been very intrusive.

That is how I knew it hadn’t been the 104th who had gifted me the vibroblade, it had been him. That is how I knew he was annoyed at the celebration the 212th wanted to throw for me. That is how I knew he liked my older armour best, because it didn’t have a wide, loud orange stripe. That is how I knew Art hadn’t been completely dishonest when he told me Wolffe was a little too protective of me.

And now, walking side by side, finally having a moment to ourselves in what seemed like years, I could feel how at ease he was. The Force around him flowed naturally, almost visible in how bright it felt, and yet, to the naked eye, he looked no different. His back straight and his pace leisurely, face relaxed as he spoke of his brothers’ shenanigans. He was so at peace, and for a moment there I didn’t realize that very peace was being reflected within me.

I was so lost in the feeling of the Force around him that I missed the question he asked me.

“Huh? I’m sorry, what was that?”

Wolffe cleared his throat and repeated the question, never taking his eyes off the corridor ahead.

“I was wondering about the new robes, Commander. They suit you.”

I looked down at myself. Right, the new robes. Last time he’d seen me I had been wearing a style that resembled Tusken robes. They had soon proved to be quite inefficient when I’d accidentally caught fire twice.

“Oh, right. I thought that since my armour represents who I fight for, who I fight with; then my robes should tell a story too. Where I came from, where I am, where I’m headed.” I answered truthfully.

“But, Commander, you don’t have the insignia of the Republic on your-” said Wolffe, confused for a second until his mind clicked. I could see the realization in his eyes. “Oh- don’t let anyone know that.” he added seriously, taking me by the arm and guiding me towards the wall for privacy. He looked in every direction before looking me dead in the eyes and saying the next words. “Some could call that treason, Commander.”

I smiled at him and put a hand on his bicep.

“You are not anyone, Wolffe. I trust you. You know I fight in this war because I have to, but I am not a soldier. I fight so that the Dark Side doesn’t win, I fight so that innocents don’t suffer, I fight because I can’t bear to see the Jedi commissioning an army of slaves and do nothing about it. I’m not blind, Wolffe, clones aren’t free, the war has hit you the hardest and until you are free to do your own will, the least I can do is keep you alive. This war cannot last forever.”

Wolffe was not one to show emotion, but I knew stoic when I saw it, and I had the Force. He wanted to disagree with me, he wanted to tell me he was a free man and that he fought because it was the right thing to do, but he knew that was not true. He wanted to tell me he was not a slave, he wanted to tell me that his brothers and him did not need protecting, that they did not need pity or saving, but he knew it wasn’t true.

He wanted to be angry, to contradict me, to defend the system, the very people that had created them, he wanted to say that without the war they would not exist. But existing to fulfil somebody else's purpose, to die for that cause that wasn’t his own, to know his life had no meaning of its own, that was not living. His eyes were conflicted, his soul tormented, his conscience raging because he wanted to fight, but he didn’t know how much of that will was his own.

In the end, all he could do was take a deep breath in to try and calm the storm raging inside of him and say:

“We will not betray your trust, Commander. I will not betray your trust.”

…

I had an entire week off with the Pack before our next deployment, and I spent every single moment of it catching up with the boys. After a disastrous night bar hopping in Coruscant, I promptly decided the Jedi had the right idea when they said alcohol was no good. One hangover was enough to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. I spent the day after napping on a cot while Art worked on my left shoulder blade, and only got up to sip on my water bottle -which Boost, Force bless him, refilled every time I emptied it- and to go to the refresher. At some point during noon, Twitch brough Art and I lunch from the mess hall and stayed to chat before going off to do some reading of his own. It was a very lazy day, and so were the ones that followed. Except for the evenings when Headfirst came to drag my ass to the training facility and made me do my lightsaber drills while he did his own thing. We would wrap up the day with a spar which, to be completely honest, wasn’t always a fair fight. Since I had the advantage of Jedi training, Headfirst had gotten into the habit of playing dirty. We had to agree on a new set of rules when he decided trying to get me angry with misogynistic comments was a perfectly good idea. He had a black eye for the next two days.

Once our week was over, briefings and preparations for our next mission to Khorm started. It was the first mission I would be in command of, Master Plo was being held up in Coruscant my Council duties and would not be coming with us. So the mission was technically in my hands -even if I did have Wolffe and Vero Zapal, our admiral. The situation in Khorm was unknown to us. Like in Orto Plutonia, the republic had lost contact with a clone division stationed there. The entire overview looked, at first glance, like a re-living of Orto Plutonia, since Khorm is also a frozen planet, but something felt terribly off to me. I told Wolffe and Zapal this, and that we would be going in to investigate with the utmost caution. Things never happened the same way twice, and I doubted the universe was going to go easy on me on my first command.

I was going to take every precaution and plan every last second of the mission, and prepare at least one contingency plan. I knew from experience that battles had a knack for throwing plans out the garbage shoot but it paid well to be prepared. Every maneuver, every flight route, every entrance, nook and cranny of the facility was taken into account; and every plan I made, I ran by both Wolffe and Admiral Zapal for their opinions.

It’s safe to say I didn’t really sleep well that week, not because of nightmares or resurfacing memories, but stress and anxiety does have a knack for making sleep restless. I meditated more during that week than I had before any battle I’d faught up until that point. I practiced mindfulness every morning as I woke up and tried my hardest to keep the Force as close to me as I could.

I tried to keep my appearance as neat and put together as I could, and tried to do the same to my quarters, but the amount of holomaps and datapads on my desk were too many to keep in a neat pile. I didn’t want any aspect of my life to be neglected during that time, because neglect leads to darker places and I would not allow myself to be distracted in any way. Lives were at stake.

My friends helped in any way they could when they weren’t busy making their own preparations. Some sat with me during lunch, even when I was too busy reading to talk to them, others forced me to exercise or to take recreation breaks, others simply checked on me at night to make sure I wouldn’t stay up too late reading. It warmed my heart, even when I couldn’t tell them how thankful I was for taking care of me.

I also fell into the habit of performing my lightsaber drills every morning and every night. The funny feeling I had about the mission only grew as our departure date neared and something told me I needed to be ready. In any other situation, I would have considered the possibility that I was being paranoid, but we were at war against a very real enemy. It was only paranoia if they weren’t out to get you, and our enemy was.

It was almost time for lights out when Wolffe walked into the training facility. Only a section of it was lit up, the one that I was still using. I repeated form after form, one, two, ten, forty times until I was satisfied with it. I felt him approach me from the darkness, but I didn’t acknowledge him until he stood a few feet away from me, watching, waiting for me to stop. I didn’t.

“You should turn in for the night, Commander.” He said finally, never shifting his posture. Straight, solid, face and body language betraying nothing as he stood with his hands at his back.

“My forms aren’t as good as they should be, I’m staying for at least another 50 reps” I said, never stopping, my pace never dwindling. “Go to bed, Wolffe.”

He said nothing, but he also didn’t move. Wolffe just stood there, watching me move through the forms once, twice, three times. He wasn’t annoyed, I knew that much. He wasn’t pitying me either, he was simply there to make sure I didn’t work myself to exhaustion. He didn’t even feel resigned, it felt like he knew me well enough that he didn’t expect me to stop when he asked me to. He felt determined, like he knew the only way to get me to listen right then would be waiting for me to be done. There were times to insist and times to wait, he had known me long enough to identify each of those instances and react accordingly.

Wolffe knew I was nervous and doing my very best so that everything went smoothly. He knew the thing that stressed me out the most was the fact that his brothers’ lives, my friends’ lives might be in danger. He knew I would blame myself for each and every loss we suffered, and he knew this was my way of getting ready for that. Because we would lose men, we always did. But up until that point, I had never been the one in charge, I had never been responsible for the cones’ deaths, not really.

So Wolffe stood there, silent and strong and reassuring. Because he knew nothing he said would make me feel any less responsible, because he knew the best thing he could do was to be there for me.

#TWP #clone wars fan fiction #star wars the clone wars #plo koon #obi-wan kenobi #commander wolffe #captain rex #ahsoka tano #padawan!oc

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