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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

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Stay With Me | The Date

exhusband!jungkook, singledad!jungkook, E2L, angst, fluff, smut

Word Count - 3k

Things between you and Jungkook are awkward. Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, mutual pining from afar, angsty

MINISERIES COLLECTION

Jungkook: Traffic is crazy, I’m about 30 mins away I’m really sorry

Kook types out the message quickly before tossing his phone onto the passenger seat of his beloved Mercedes. He was supposed to pick up Seol for the week an hour ago but it seems as though nothing is on his side recently. Roadworks. Classic. As if things for him could get any worse.

The radio station reminds him of the time along with a traffic update which earns him to scoff humourlessly, as though he wasn’t already aware of the situation. It’s been one week since he last saw you, one week since he’d last heard from you because much to his disappointment you never replied to his drunken messages. A dramatic sigh escapes him, his knuckles white when he grips the steering wheel tight enough to break it.

Kissing you that night is all that’s been on his mind, how amazing it felt, how he still melts like putty in your hands even after all these years… Does he regret leaving when he did? No. It wasn’t right and deep down he hopes you recognise that too. Does he wish he explained himself before making a dash for your front door? Yes. Absolutely yes. You’re probably confused and hurt and after years of telling him he needs to work on his communication he’s disappointed in himself that he didn’t do just that. Uncertainty washes over him the closer he gets to his old home, simply because he doesn’t know what to expect.

Are you angry with him? Are you upset with him? Will you even say hello to him? Or will Seol be waiting on the front porch with his bag ready for another week with his father? The sky is grey and bleak, mirroring your ex-husbands mood when finally, after what feels like an eternity he pulls up outside. He makes quick work of getting out the car, desperately needing to stretch his long legs after the even longer journey here.

“Fucking hell…” He grumbles with pinched brows, straightening his back and shaking the ache from his calves.

To his surprise Seol isn’t waiting outside, but he figures that’s probably because it’s cold out and he did take the piss to get here. You probably made him wait inside. With a pounding heart and knots in his stomach he rings the doorbell, mindlessly tapping his sneaker to the ground as his legs tremble with something akin to anxiety.

“Dad! Finally!” Seol beams, standing to one side to let him into your home.

Jungkook notices his son’s large bag at the foot of the staircase, guilt eroding his insides, “Sorry Seol, traffic was fuc-, traffic was really bad today… Is your mom home?” He’s peering around the house he knows like the back of his hand, but to his disappointment you’re nowhere in sight.

“I’ve heard you swear before you don’t have to cover it up anymore, I’m almost thirteen remember?” Seol’s smile is bunny-like and mischievous and for a moment Jungkook forgets all about the situation he has going on with his ex-wife. It sucks only being able to spend time with Seol every other week, this kid is his entire life.

Kook mirrors his son’s grin with a warm chuckle, “How could I forget? You’ve been sending reminder alerts to my calendar for weeks.”

“Mom’s upstairs getting ready.”

“Getting ready?” Instinctively Jungkook’s brow quirks, it’s almost 6:30PM.

Seol sighs, uncomfortably shifting his weight between his legs that aren’t much shorter than his father’s at this point. While you and Kook have made a conscious effort not to put Seol in the middle of your divorce or any other personal dramas of yours, sometimes that’s exactly where he finds himself be it intentional or otherwise.

“She’s going out tonight, I’m just gonna say bye before we go…”

But before Seol has chance to make his way upstairs the sound of your bedroom door opening sends a rush of panic straight to your ex-husband’s chest. “Is dad here yet?” He hears you call out from upstairs and straight away he swallows. He’s so nervous. He needs to explain himself but that could be tricky with Seol here… He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, unsure of how to go about the situation.

“Yeah he’s here! Are you coming down?”

As much as Jungkook wanted to see you and clear the air and explain himself, that all goes out the window the second you appear on the staircase. You look… breath taking. Your hair is styled in an effortless slicked-back ponytail, you’re wearing a tight strapless black dress that flaunts the shape of your body and leaves absolutely nothing to his imagination. A modest amount of cleavage displayed has him awestricken, similar to a hormonal teen. The dress ends just below your knees and you’ve paired it with a YSL bag, ironically enough an old Christmas gift from your ex-husband, and a pair of strappy stilettos. You look stunning, even your makeup is done to perfection, which in Jungkook’s mind can only mean one thing.

You’re going on a date.

He feels beyond underdressed standing in the entrance to your home wearing black sweats and boxy grey t shirt that’s so oversized it practically drowns him. When your eyes meet his he doesn’t miss the way you curse under your breath, nor does he miss the way you immediately snap your gaze to a different direction.

“Mom you look so nice!” Seol gushes when you get to foot of the carpeted stairs, “Is that your friend outside?” He gestures to the headlights beaming through the window, and Jungkook’s heart breaks a little bit more.

The Jeep outside is presumably owned by the man sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a baby blue shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, flaunting his expensive looking watch. Jungkook can’t help but notice his arms are completely bare from tattoos, definitely nothing like his own body. So this is your type now? The man doesn’t really resemble your ex at all, which sends a pang of insecurity to his bones. He does look to be Korean like him though, but he also looks very handsome, his sharp jawline and model-status features further adding to Jungkook’s self-loathing.

“Yeah that’s my friend.” You nod gently before turning to Kook, your voice merely a whisper, “Sorry… He was supposed to be gone by the time Hoseok picked me up, I haven’t-, he doesn’t know about him yet…”

At this Jungkook forces a thin smile, “Got it. Don’t worry about it. My fault for being late… Right are you ready son?”

“Mhm,” Seol crushes you with a big hug when Kook grabs his bag for him, “Bye mom! Text me when you get home safely tonight.”

You snort, wrapping your arms around your only child, “Of course, have a fun time with dad. I’ll see you next week… I love you.” When the words slip out you find yourself glancing at your ex-husband whose already staring back at you.

“I love you too!” Seol beams, and just like that they’ve headed out the front door.

You wait a couple of minutes to gather your bearings. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Jungkook and Seol weren’t supposed to see Hoseok. You feel guilty, ashamed even, for going out with Hoseok tonight when you kissed you ex-husband barely a week ago in this very house. Clearing your throat you do a purse check: Keys, credit card, cash, lip gloss… Condom. More guilt unease’s your stomach lining. Should you cancel? No, Jungkook is the one who walked out on you. Fuck him, he obviously doesn’t care, you try to convince yourself.

Except you know that he still loves you.

When you make it to Hoseok’s Jeep he slides out the car, opening the passenger door for you – he’s such a gentleman. But it’s Jungkook’s Mercedes still outside that frustratingly has your whole attention, why hasn’t he left yet? You’re frowning, which doesn’t go a miss by your date.

“You look gorgeous Y/N, so that’s your ex-husband?” He asks, brow quirking curiously when Jungkook appears once again, putting Seol’s bag in the trunk of his car.

You feign a smile, trying to ignore the way Kook’s beefy inked arms flex when he handles the luggage, snapping your eyes back on Hobi, “I-, uh, yeah it is… Thank you.”

“Shall we?” Hoseok’s grin is breath taking, it’s not long before he plants a sweet kiss to your cheek and you clamber into the huge vehicle, driving off before your ex has even left your driveway.

Jungkook starts his engine with a tight set jaw, watching the bigger car speed off into the unknown, “So what do you wanna do this weekend son? I’m thinking takeout tonight and maybe the movies tomorrow? It’s two for one on Saturdays.”

But Seol’s too fixated on something on his phone to hear his father’s voice, he’s sitting in the back with his Airpods in mindlessly scrolling through what Jungkook thinks is TikTok.

“Okay then… Good talk.” He chuckles to himself, drumming his fingertips against the steering wheel.

But in his mind he’s replaying the events of last weekend over and over again until he almost misses a stop sign. Fuck. Not ideal. Just like the way you’re on a date right now with a handsome guy who owns a Jeep and probably knows how to communicate his emotions maturely unlike him. Again, not ideal.

When you arrive to the restaurant Hobi gives you his arm, guiding you to the table he’s reserved especially for tonight. It’s a lot fancier than what you would usually go for, to be honest you wouldn’t mind having a pizza and beer in front of the tv, but as you’ve figured out by now Hoseok appreciates the finer things in life. It’s different. It’s not necessarily bad. Just different.

Hoseok is gorgeous, there’s no denying that. His face is long and chiselled, his nose something plastic surgeons surely receive as a reference picture from clients because it’s that perfect. His jaw is sharp, contrasting to his bright soft smile that lights up the room whenever he shows it. You could get lost in the depths of his brown almond eyes… If you weren’t preoccupied thinking about your ex-husband.

Jungkook is a pizza and beer counts as a date type of guy, you only really ever splashed the cash and went somewhere fancy like this when it was a special occasion. Or when Kook managed to get a deal somewhere since he’s a certified coupon king. There were times in your marriage you wanted him to be more like Hoseok, you wanted him to show you off and give you a reason to dress up to the nines, but he rarely did. Maybe that’s what made it so special when he did take you out like this.

It’s unsettling really, how Hoseok seems to posses everything Jungkook lacked, and yet here you are sitting opposite him wishing he was more like the man you divorced. It’s when Hoseok reads the wine list, and actually reads the wine list, that you realise just how different you are. You would simply skim the options until you find the cheapest bottle, whereas Hobi is taking his time making the selection.

“Are you secretly a sommelier or something?” You chuckle, eyes exploring the flesh of his arms… The completely bare flesh of his arms that hold no stories or secrets. Again it’s not bad. Just different to what you’re used to.

At this Hoseok laughs, the sound chesty and thick, but his eyes never leave the list he’s still reading through, “Would it impress you if I said I was?”

You roll your eyes jokingly, “Not really… Wine is wine, it all gets you drunk and that’s what I care about most.” You giggle, “Honestly I’m not picky, just get whatever.”

And make it quick.

“In that case we’ll get the 2017 Ornellaia, it’s from Tuscany you’ll like it.” Hobi assures you with a smile, calling over a nearby waiter, “Oh and by the way I have actually done an introductory sommelier course when I travelled to Italy.” He winks, but rather than feeling impressed you feel… Uncomfortable.

“Actually…” You sigh with a small apologetic and guilty smile, “Um-, I just remembered… I need to go and give Seol something, I’m so sorry.” Before you can stop yourself you’re standing, you need to get out of here now.

“Oh? Can’t your ex help you out?”

No he can’t. Because you’re lying through your teeth to escape this date.

You’re shaking your head softly, “I’m really sorry Hobi… At least it’s still early! I’m sure you can find someone else to enjoy your night with.”

“Okay.” He nods once. He doesn’t put up a fight, he doesn’t look phased, he doesn’t seem as though he cares at all. That’s all you needed to solidify that you’re making the right decision in cutting the evening short.

And after a somewhat pricey Uber ride that’s what leads you here, standing outside Jungkook’s small apartment still in your evening clothes. Why? You’ve no idea. Truthfully you miss his quirks and inside jokes, the way you know he would’ve rolled his eyes at the idea of your date being a wine expert. You miss pizza and beer dates. You miss him.

Maybe you could make this work after all, if he’s willing to. Things have been pretty mixed signals between you both lately, one minute you were making out the next minute he was leaving. One minute he said he still loves you, the next he was gone. You close your eyes. Communication. That’s all you need, that’s all you’ve ever needed.

When Jungkook swings open his front door he’s counting notes, mumbling to himself, “Okay so that should be thirty eight fifty, are you sure the pizzas aren’t on offer right now? I could’ve sworn—”

He freezes, like a deer caught in headlights when he registers that you’re the one standing in front of him. You. His ex-wife. Seol’s mother. Y/N.

“…What are you doing here?” His voice is weak but oozes with surprise, his stare mindlessly dragging up and down the curves your body has to offer in this dress. You blush. He blushes. It’s awkward. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your uh-, your friend tonight?”

Your gaze drops to the floor, specifically to his unmatched socks, heart hammering inside your chest, “Yeah-, no I left… Wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook’s heart stops beating, his hands turn clammy and he’s sure you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat when he swallows. It suddenly dawns on him that you left Hoseok and came straight to him. You’re here, with him. You came here, for him. Maybe he didn’t completely fuck this up after all.

“Look Y/N I owe you an explanation for last weekend, I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to go through with it… I-, I left because I did,” He’s whispering, slipping out into the hallway with glassy eyes swimming with worry, “Can we talk? A proper talk. About everything… About-, well about us.”

“Jungkook… Why do you think I’m here?” You smile, a genuine heartfelt smile. You’re about to tell him you still love him when you see Seol’s eyes peeking over your ex-husband’s broad shoulder, forcing you to change the subject quickly, “So you guys are having takeout tonight? Very healthy.”

Your son shoves his father out the way, coming into the hallway wearing a shocked grin, “Mom? I thought-, Why are you here? Are you having dinner with us?”

Your gaze is fond when it lands on your ex-husband, he’s biting his lip to supress what could be the world’s biggest smile if he allowed it to be, “If that’s okay with dad.”

Kook’s voice is low enough for only you to hear, “You have no idea how okay dad is with that.” His signature bunny-grin tugs the corners of his lips, happiness sparkling in the depths of his doe-eyes. He ushers you into his home with a large palm resting on your back, “So! I’ve got some beers in the fridge and pizzas are on the way, are you okay with pizza and beer? Sorry I would’ve cleaned if I knew you—”

“Pizza and beer sounds perfect.”

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gintokiu · 10 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

love love love getting Tumblr messages, especially if they come from Rena! thank you so much for thinking to tag me and get me back on this ye olde blog. I will do my best to answer since most of my favorites are unfinished and waiting for me to have time to complete them asdfgh anyway, starting from the bottom:

5. Unfinished, unposted work: Worth the Wait

This one is fun because it's something I'm currently working on and I am soo obsessed with it; it's an AU of a fantasy game that I've put way too many hours into recently. I think that the overall premise of the story is something akin to finding things in places that you wouldn't expect them to be, which I always love when it comes to Gintoki and Hijikata, because that's kind of like, their thing? It's set right now to be three or four chapters long and ahh I can't wait for it to be done. I hope, like usual, that the AU doesn't shy people away because they might not know about it/played the game. :') I can't help I only like writing AUs I'm sorry adsfgh

4. Fahrenheit

This story has such humble beginnings and such a warm place in my heart. It was actually the first ginhiji fic I ever wrote and oh god, it was fucking horrible. Rewrote it when I matured more as a writer and am hoping that I figure out where exactly I want this one to end because it's a bit of a toss-up. Right now, I am simply enjoying writing all the modern-day fluff and antics (and sex) until the plot decides to cement itself properly in my brain.

3. Hirudinea

The big one, the one that my brain refuses to write even though I have the plot all there waiting for me to write it. The powerpoint for this story is crazy. I'm looking forward to one day getting to tie this one up with a nice little bow and give it the proper love it deserves, but I want to finish other things first. Forcing myself to write things only ever ends in me hating them and I refuse for that to be the case with this story because there is so much love for it in me and seemingly in the community <3

2. Ninety-Nine and The Flight, the Fall, and the Forsaking of a Crow

There are two for this spot because I can't make up my mind. The Flight is another one with very humble beginnings. I wrote this, god, six or so years ago originally? Rewrote it when I started posting my work and fell in love with the new rendition of it so much. I'm such a sucker for transformations and gaining new understandings of the world, which is exactly what Gintoki gets to go through, which is why it means so much to me. The pacing is there, the emotion is there. Truly one of my favorites of mine that remind myself that I can write sometimes, LOL.

Ninety-nine I love because it is so easy to write. It's the child that never backtalks, never gets in trouble-- it's just golden. The plot for this is fleshed out all the way to the end and the powerpoint is thirty slides longer than Hirudinea's at a whopping 91 slides. It's a beast. I have end chapters completely written, just waiting for the rest of it to catch up. While definitely not my most popular piece, it's the one that I love to work on the most and I hope I can give it the ending that it deserves :') ahhh there's so much I want to say but can't so I'll just leave it here and talk about it later when it gets closer to being complete.

Things That Happen During the In-Between

Certainly did not expect this work to get the recognition that it did when it was posted. When I tell y'all that I hated this story for the longest time because I reread the same scenes fifteen, twenty times over, edited each one at least three or four times super in-depth to the point where it became beyond predictable in my mind. So then I post this, and people are all like "I cried!" I'm like HUH what do you mean you cried? this work sucks?? So then I waited like a month, reread it, and understood that yeah, okay, I actually didn't do that bad of a job with this one. My personal favorite aspect of this story is the characterization, because there are so many parts where I can read through it and say with confidence that that's a very "them" thing to say/do. (I also just love and adore the second movie, it's such a good film and I'm glad that I was able to do it some justice with this story.)

this was such a treat to do, once more thank you @renamusing for tagging me <3 I'll send a few out to some authors who I think are active on my tumblr so if you get one then consider it a little forehead kiss mwha

#ginhijigin #ginhiji #alex talks #im going to be more active on here hopefully #my works

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blametheeditor · 4 months

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The Expense Of Trust: Chapter 2

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Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of death and murder. Mentions of others being lesser than. Intent to kill. Death by anomaly. Dehumanization. Addressing someone as 'it'. Darker themes and tone.

Run Down: In the instant of a site-wide containment breach, there are only a few protocols available to follow. Know the right people, hope to be at the right place at the right time, and whatever you do, don't trust anything.

David is not liable for any damages

_______________________________

David doesn’t dare look behind them as they run from what he can only describe as a lesser ‘SCP’. He could confirm if he looked over his shoulder, but he’d much rather not. He may be a god, but he has learned certain entities are not to be trifled with, including looking them in the eye even on accident.

Isn’t that a nice reminder? That despite being a god, he’s no more respected than the average human when it comes to ‘SCPs’ that function on very simple terms. It was a lesson he learned quite a few times while working at the foundation for about a year, and one he didn’t enjoy in the slightest.

At least James isn’t rubbing it in, his warden more focused on leading them down a safe route through the maze of hallways as they try to escape certain death. Well, not for David. It’d be painful if he was dismembered but he wouldn’t be completely erased from existence. If anything, it would be considered a nuisance needing to construct a new form, come up with a few excuses why ‘David Harrison’ is no longer acting as a benefactor. He’s done it before so he can do it again.

The only difference this time around? He unfortunately would prefer his two human companions to not meet their untimely end. The most annoying part of becoming fond of mortals is the fact their death would be permanent.

That means he keeps running. Catches Fritz’s arm whenever the redhead stumbles. Feels genuine panic when James doesn’t do anything except to turn another corner.

The man isn’t stupid, he’s well aware David has an actual trick of luck. Humans don’t, and in most cases seem to have the exact opposite. Meaning the more distance they cover through this level of the facility, the more chances they’ll have encountering another ‘SCP’, which will not end well. Yet there’s no announcement of a plan to get somewhere safe even just to catch their breath.

“James,” David calls, concerned at the fact he’s panting from the single word. “Anytime now.”

“I know,” is all he gets as a response. Meaning the only person who knows how to track, capture, and contain ‘SCPs’ has no idea what to do.

He doesn’t say anything else. Risks a glance to his left as they turn down a hallway. Blinks when the D-Class who originally warned them is only a few feet behind and looking...distorted. Doesn’t have time to really think about it as the true shape of what’s chasing them catches his eye.

Despite the lights continuing to shatter and leave nothing but darkness behind them, David makes out a large form of what looks like writhing flesh as in morphs into different shapes. Always with enough limbs to keep up with them. Always broadcasting a large psychic field in the hopes a mortal will look at it and become ensnared.

This, this is why he despises being categorized as something akin to that monstrosity. Though he will say, he’s actually impressed when the tug on his mind that was meant to make him stop suddenly turns into a nudge after realizing the first attempt was pointless. Trying to send a message into his mind was as well, and he effortlessly severs the connection, but it’s the awareness that says this particular ‘SCP’ has a bit of intelligence.

Not any respect, though. And unfortunately David’s own psychic abilities aren’t powerful enough to persuade it to stop chasing them.

“What is it?” James suddenly asks, as if he knew David had looked. Or maybe he had been waiting. Because they both know there's issues with listening to suggestions on a good day.

“Don’t know. Telepath. Shapeshifter.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. The man pulling out a canister much too familiar to David was not it. They both know that damn thing acts like a flashbang to the god whenever he’s within its radius.

“David. The next corner. I’ll stop. Find an empty observation room. You and Fritz, go into the containment room. Wait for me.”

That’s the worst plan David has ever heard. Yet he doesn’t try to argue this could end in a disaster. He doesn’t have the energy to want to. “Fritz, stay behind me.”

James immediately cuts diagonally across the long hallway they’re currently running through, making the choice they’ll be turning right. And without any protests, Fritz slows down so he stays behind David.

Twenty feet to the corner. Ten feet. Five.

David’s heart skips a beat when James suddenly stops, just like he said he would. Gasps for air and only manages a nod as the god obediently sprints past him to turn the corner. Counts down five doors. Skids to a halt and whirls around the second he’s in front of it, arms outstretched to catch Fritz to-

Where the hell is Fritz.

Something inside him almost snaps when the D-Class turns the corner, carrying his rightful mortal as they run toward him. The only thing keeping him from exploding with rage is the fact Fritz looks unharmed. Clinging to the stranger who’s stride doesn’t falter despite an angry god waiting for them.

“Tripped,” the man explains.

“Inside,” David snaps. Watches as the still blurry form obeys without question, quickly slowly down before darting into the chosen room, quickly follows after to ensure Fritz is safely put down and isn’t touched again.

He barely makes it through the first door when he hears the sound of an explosion. Realizes almost too late David isn’t safe from James’ desperate plan. Covers his ears and closes his eyes only a moment before what he can only describe as a mental wall slams into him.

It wasn’t enough to completely nullify the effects. Good news is he’s not blinded this time, or locked inside of his own realm for an hour as his corporeal form entered a comatose state. The bad news is the fact he can’t grab a single coherent thought as his mind feels nothing less of scrambled.

Which is bad. He can sense something that should not exist in the next room. Knows something dangerous had previously been hunting him down. Or was he trying to escape from James and the facility?

No, that’s not right.

David goes tense when he recognizes running footsteps seeming to be getting closer. Can’t help himself but look out into the hallway. Nearly doesn’t catch James’ arm as his warden nearly sprints right past.

The moment he makes contact with the familiar human is the moment his mind seems to settle. Latches onto the other’s mind that’s clouded with nothing but terror. It’s enough to remember he, James, and Fritz had been running from an ‘SCP’. That they still aren’t completely out of the woods just yet.

At least James doesn’t fight him as David quickly gets them both into the containment area. Seems to remember something as he grabs another item from his belt, this time the god happily helping at recognizing the odd contraption that’s able to act like a lock.

It seems flimsy and unable to keep an ‘SCP’ from breaking the door down if they’re found, but it’s the best they have. The containment area isn’t meant to be controlled from the inside. And locking the door that leads from the observation room to the hallway would alert anything to someone trying to hide. All they can do now is wait.

David pants as he helps James collapse onto the floor without hitting his head in the process. Sighs in relief when Fritz seems to appear by his side, pulling the redhead close, glad everyone’s okay. Content to sit on the floor guaranteed covered with unspeakable things, needing to catch his breath and let his limbs rest. Feels a large presence move past their room but nothing enters it for a thorough investigation.

He counts five minutes. James finally gets enough strength to sit himself up, but it’s clear the officer isn’t fully attuned to everything around him. There’s comprehension in the brown eyes as they look around the room, recognition and acknowledgement toward David and Fritz as they still recover. There’s a distinct lack of caution and skepticism that’s synonymous with the officer, though, and a concerning amount of confusion.

“What’s your name?”

David’s almost worried James is seeing things, jolting when he spots the D-Class he allowed to join them to escape. How out of it is he to completely forget about a stranger that could be hostile for all they know locked in the room with them.

His grip around Fritz tightens protectively as he looks over at the man. Narrows his eyes when still, the human remains blurry. As if there’s something moving inside him. “Mike.”

David continues to stare, genuinely confused by what he’s seeing. Despite what might have caused James’ symptoms, the human still looks like a normal human, nothing actually changing within the officer. Mike on the other hand has a human form, yes, but there there’s almost another physical shape that blocks his features, making it hard to tell the color of his eyes and the fact there’s scars covering his head. Again, almost like there’s some other thing moving inside him.

...that’s because there is something inside him. Because it’s not human.

David gently though quickly shoves Fritz behind him, further into the corner at the same time he puts an arm in front of James. All but growls at the thing sitting against the wall opposite of them. “Explain what the fuck you are.”

The ‘SCP’ looks at him in surprise. “Oh shit, you fucking can tell?”

“Answer the question.”

One look at James shuts him up due to now not being a good time to ask for an explanation. He knows there’s a lot going on, the dumbass got into something he shouldn’t have, but David wouldn’t be acting this hostile if he didn’t have a good reason. That being they are locked in with an unknown ‘SCP’ that had previously carried Fritz minutes before. For all he knows, the two could be infected with something that will kill them within the next five minutes. Or ‘Mike’ is biding its time to attack them.

The ‘SCP’ holds its hands up in surrender. Looks a bit too unbothered by the fact its true identity has been figured out. “I won’t fuck with anyone. Let me grab my shitty friend so he can explain my bullshit.”

Before any of them can say anything, it reaches out toward nothing in particular as if to grab something. Grabs onto the air, pulls, and makes a kid appear. One that yelps as he falls onto the floor in a heap, his wrist in the ‘SCP’s’ grasp that quickly helps to sit him up.

Before David can try to comprehend what just happened, James shoves at his arm for attention. “James, not now.”

“He’s medical.”

...the ‘SCP’ made an actual medical doctor for the foundation fall out of thin air, proof by the lab coat being worn. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Jerber, I fucked shit up,” is announced with an amused smirk of all things.

Brown curls bounce as an alarmed expression conquers ‘Jerber’s’ face. Despite the fact the ‘SCP’s’ humanoid form looks much stronger than the scrawny human, a genuine one this time without looking blurry in any way, the medical personnel makes a point to put himself between them. “H-He’s harmless! He’s a h-human who g-g-got merged with a p-portal, b-but he’s not dangerous!”

David can’t help himself. “So it’s a mutt.”

“Dr. Harrison,” surprises him enough to look away at what could be a hostage situation to stare at Fritz attempting to glare. The heat is taken out of it with the constant glances toward the other two who should’ve been zero if not one. “That’s rude.”

Not human. Definitely mortal. But when did Fritz start siding with ’SCPs’ of all things?

James’ clear amusement is almost a slap to the face. So is the fact the officer doesn’t think they should be worried about the fact a human just appeared.

The worst part about this entire thing is the fact James’ symptoms can’t be blamed on the unwelcomed ‘SCP’, tamed or not. Because one look at Fritz tells him Mike isn’t the cause, or else the redhead would be readable considering he had direct contact with the damn thing. And that means David doesn’t have any excuse not to trust it or the most definitely hostage other than assuming.

“U-U-Um, what happened?” the doctor asks, seeming to finally realize they’re currently in a containment area. Depending on how Mike works, it’s safe to assume the whole time they were escaping death, he didn’t see or experience any of it from...wherever he had been.

“Fucked up mind reader chased our asses,” Mike answers. “We’re hiding somewhere safe thanks to that asshole throwing a goddamn bomb at it.”

David stares at the ‘SCP’, attempting to decipher just what the hell was said. Yet the kid nods as if he understands. And then jolts. “Oh, I’m s-s-sorry! I’m Jeremy, I d-don't know if Mike i-i-introduced h-h-himself.”

“He did,” Fritz responds before David can demand answers rather than just introductions. The redhead going so far as to pretend he doesn’t notice the god’s glare to shut up. They shouldn’t be acting friendly considering the whole, how do you say it, a sitewide containment breach! “I’m Fritz, this is Dr. David Harrison, and that’s James. The one who got us to safety.”

Excuse him, James needed someone to find a safe place to go once all hell broke loose. The officer wasn’t in two places at once. Nor can he sense ‘SCPs’. Seriously, how is David being treated like a bad guy when the thing right across from them not only pretended to be human, but made one randomly appear and still isn’t explaining! Not to mention it’s D-Class and guaranteed had been a criminal before this!

“Can we finally get an explanation on the fact you just appeared?”

He waits for Fritz to snap at him for being rude again. Chooses to ignore the yank on his sleeve, glad at least James doesn’t say anything. He’ll take it as a win.

Jeremy glances over his shoulder at Mike, earning a shrug. “He can put a-a-anything, humans included, i-in h-h-h-his portal by shoving i-it. It’s a h-hundred percent safe, a-a-and we’ve known each o-other for a while, so when an a-a-a-anomaly spotted us he t-t-transported m-me to safety. N-Now that here’s safe, h-he let me out.”

“So you are a hostage.”

"Dr. Harrison,” Fritz hisses.

Mike grins despite the accusation. “Shit, Jerber, I told you the hostage idea would be fucking perfect.”

“I’m not a h-h-hostage,” Jeremy almost pleads, shoving his companion away. “We’re friends.”

Uh huh. Sure. David doesn’t trust either of them. He wouldn’t on any other day but today, and with everything going on, he’s wanting to do nothing more than grab Fritz, grab James, and find another room to hide in until they figure out a plan. That’s his current priority, to get the two humans out of this damn facility where an ‘SCP’ won’t try to take them from him ever again.

“Does he chose where the portal goes?” James suddenly asks.

...what?

“N-No. It’s to different d-d-d-dimensions, technically in a ‘s-same spot’,” Jeremy murmurs, looking regretful. But then his brow furrows as the other blinks a few times, all of them able to see his mind working to understand the words. “Are you okay?”

“No,” has David concerned. Because seeing if a semi-trustworthy ‘SCP’ can get them outside is one thing, but admitting being vulnerable is something else entirely. And he doesn’t know how to feel about the look shot toward him before James continues. “I looked at it.”

“You dumbass,” the god immediately berates. Upset with himself for not connecting the dots. “I told you it was a goddamn telepath. That means don’t fucking look at it.”

“I had to aim.”

“It’s a flashbang you just have to throw it!”

“I-I can help,” Jeremy interrupts despite the fact this is the one time David has a legitimate reason to yell at his warden. But one yank on his sleeve from Fritz and he’s helping James closer toward the center of the room despite his instincts screaming at him not to. Pushes the redhead behind him as a demand one of the humans he’s protecting stays a safe distance away.

The mutt of an ‘SCP’ doesn’t try to get any closer. It only reaches into the air again to pull out a bag identical to the one’s most medical personnel have to pass to Jeremy. Then the kid slowly closes the gap until he’s close enough to tilt James’ head back to look him over. Grabs a tool that nearly has David lunging forward to grab it until he realizes it’s a common one human doctors use that shines a regular light.

“How is it e-effecting you?”

"It's hard to grab thoughts at times. Less of a filter. I bet I’m freaking David out acting so trusting.”

“Who wouldn’t?” the god defends. “You’re constantly paranoid, so it’s already bad considering it’s you. But humans are supposed to be terrified seeing things randomly appear!”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Think I’ll fucking throw shit at you?”

“You don’t have any weapons?”

“Y-You should see his collection,” Jeremy chuckles as he reaches back into his bag. “I-It’s all items p-p-people set down n-next t-t-to him and didn’t realize would be used as collateral until it was t-t-too late.”

That sounds suspicious at the same time it doesn’t. He can’t think about it too long when Jeremy grabs a bottle of medicine, reaches out toward Mike to be given a water bottle, then offers both items to James.

“Woah, woah, woah,” David says as he leans forward to lower the offer’s arms ready to accept them. “What is that?”

“It’s the same pills I took when the chemical we were testing turned out to have bad psychic effects,” Fritz pipes up as he moves a few inches to the right in order for their eyes to meet. David’s a dumbass for not looking away the moment he realized puppy eyes were being used. “I recognize the name. I didn’t have any side effects from them, remember?”

...he did remember. It was a few months after David had been assigned an assistant, that announcement becoming the day he thought would be the worst one in the entirety of his existence. Because getting outsmarted by a mere mortal was embarrassing, but being forced to supervise a teenager had just been the giant cherry on top. The only ‘good thing’ about it was how obedient the mortal was. So quick to please everyone around him, the senior researcher he was assigned to above all.

He won’t admit it, but after a while he started to like the thought of someone looking up to him. David isn’t a god that’s worshipped, has no followers who would be willing to do his bidding. He liked the idea, of course he did, but it wasn’t a priority to put his energy toward something that wasn’t necessary.

So he started to loosen up on the kid after a while. Stayed stern and wouldn’t allow anything less than perfection, but he was enjoying playing pretend. Thought that finally something good came his way. Up until some dumbass neglected to inform them the liquid Fritz would be handling hadn’t been scanned, nor did they give the file of which ‘SCP’ it originated from. Seeing his assistant suddenly fall to the ground, eyes staring out at nothing, David was faced with the fact he had become attached.

He had James swear to never tell Fritz how panicked he was. Never to speak about how the officer had been pulled from a mission early due to David not allowing anyone close despite it being medical personnel only trying to help. Needed to be coaxed to sit by the redhead’s bed to watch so he didn’t hinder recovery.

Trapped James in a mug inside his realm when the officer fell asleep right after making a comment about David getting soft and caring about ‘mortal pests’. The payback of having said mug get shoved off the desk to make it shatter was worth it.

But after the embarrassing few days in which David nearly blew his cover due to not pretending to sleep because he wasn’t taking his eyes off Fritz for a second, the kid came back. Unharmed. Confused. Terrified. Nearly refused to take the same pills Jeremy’s holding out of fear it’ll only make it worse, send him back to wherever his mind had been. The god wouldn’t have enforced it, but James gave a compelling argument why it would be a bad idea not to.

They watched for side effects closely. James saved a few lives from David’s wrath considering Fritz could’ve died for such negligence. It worked out in the end, albeit with multiple personnel terrified to be alone in a room with a god who would have no issues revealing his identity if they so much as seem like they’ll step out of line.

David shakes his head to get rid of the memories. Instead of acknowledging it, he latches onto something else to bitch about. “What about the water?”

“It’s sealed. Y-Y-You can open i-it,” Jeremy says so earnestly, leaning forward in order to pass it over for inspection. Reminding him this is a doctor with special training dealing with ‘SCPs’. To be honest, he wouldn’t nearly be this untrusting if not for the chosen companion.

No, the irony is not lost on him considering he’s essentially what Mike is to Jeremy for James.

The officer suddenly snorts as if he could hear the thought. “You’re such a hypocrite, David.”

“Shut up. Take the damn medicine.”

James stares at the bottle. Passes it for David to open because the simple task apparently takes too much energy. Looks amused as all hell when he dry swallows a pill, the asshole lucky there’s witnesses or else he would’ve been drowned with the water. Sputters when the god decides fine, he'll be drinking it instead.

“That’s hardly fair.”

“This is the consequence to your actions, James.”

Jeremy gently pushes an open bottle into the officer’s hands. “It’ll b-b-be a while before the effect s-subsides.”

“Thank you. David, that means you’re coming up with the plans.”

Fritz is guaranteed sending a grateful smile, but he fixes Jeremy with a stare. “But they will go away.”

“Y-Y-Yes. It’s possible he might only n-need the one pill, but I-I've g-g-got plenty until it disappears completely.”

David finally nods. Growls at the elbow jab into his back. “Thank you.”

“Sorry for fucking up your original plans,” Mike says. “Didn’t goddamn mean to lead that bastard to you assholes.”

“It would’ve happened at some point,” James waves. Still dazed, but no longer looking completely exhausted. “I’m actually surprised we haven’t stumble upon anyone else.”

“That sounds b-bad,” Jeremy murmurs.

...it does, actually. It can’t be luck, David’s own or not, that has had them only encounter one hostile ‘SCP’. He doesn’t know how he feels about Mike and Jeremy, doesn’t trust them, but they only had bad timing. Well, the mutt did. The doctor’s a completely dumbass putting his faith in that thing. They aren’t putting Fritz and James’ lives at risk, though.

David sighs, long and hard. “I can’t sense the other ‘SCP’ in the hall. We should be safe to make our way to an exit.”

“Mike, did you commandeer any transmitters?”

The ‘SCP’ gives James a confused look before making what can only be described as a baton appear. And then a metal rod. A flat round object. A bag not too different from the one’s senior researchers carry.

“These fucking help?”

James looks almost relieved at seeing the items while David stares at them in horror. “Yes.”

“You said he didn’t have any weapons!” the god erupts.

“They’re n-n-not?” Jeremy begins as he slides the bag over to the officer, hunched in on himself as he fiddles with his hands to avoid eye contact “Well, m-m-maybe t-t-to Mike, but not to h-humans.”

David almost sputters at his mistake, because he had latched onto the fact they’re tools that are meant to hinder certain abilities only ‘SCPs’ have, not weapons against humans specifically by design. He wasn’t worried about himself necessarily, but if he’s incapacitated, and James still acting way too trusting, that would leave his two humans completely vulnerable.

They can’t know that, though. “The two bat-like objects definitely can’t be used to bash someone’s head in.”

The kid flinches from his harsh sarcastic tone. “B-B-But-”

“There is nothing that could convince me-!”

“David,” James interrupts, not looking up from his search. “I’ll turn a disrupter on if you continue harassing them.”

The god’s mouth snaps shut at the threat, not wanting the high-pitched noise that gives him a migraine so powerful he can barely move let alone think. It’s one of the annoying tools his warden had used almost constantly at the beginning of their contractual relationship. It got to a point David was practically begging they figure out a better option rather than being literally tortured.

They haven’t been used near him purposefully for a long time, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be if James has a good enough reason.

That’s when David realizes James interpreted ‘we’ as the five of them. He wants to bring Mike and Jeremy.

“You can't be serious,” he breathes. Lowers his head so only the officer can hear him. “You’re out for the count. Fritz can’t act as backup. And you want to bring them?”

“I do,” his warden responds just as quietly. “You know I’d never put Fritz in danger. But I am out for who knows how long. And I can’t confirm if this entire facility will be destroyed by one anomaly or another. You’re not the only god here.”

A shiver goes down his spine at the reminder humans didn’t always know when to stay out of things they don’t understand. David is one thing, the ‘SCP’ that chased them is another. But Eldrich beings have attempted to reach out to him when he went too many floors underground. Because he’s not at the top of the food chain, as much as it pains him to say it. There’s ways to make even him disappear and never reform like he’s just any other mortal.

“I don’t trust them.”

“Neither do I, but these are desperate measures.”

David glares. “If we’re that desperate, let me-”

“No,” is said so fiercely he can only stare as James clips a few items to his belt before pushing the bag over. They don’t say anything after that, the god obediently putting the strap over his shoulder to carry it. Allows the baton and metal rod to be added, the disk then kicked over toward Mike.

“Make it disappear?”

“You can.” James pauses, putting a hand against his forehead as a look of pain conquers his face. David doesn’t dare touch him. “It can, make an invisible barrier around anyone standing in a ten foot radius, including you. Just throw it to the ground and step on it to activate. The catch is no SCP can go inside or outside until it’s deactivated. Humans can go through it without issues.”

Mike hums in thought. “Badass.”

“That’s useful if we get c-chased again,” Fritz agrees.

James attempts to smile before it turns into a grimace. “If we get separated, it’s a good defense.”

Jeremy gives a sympathetic look at the officer clearly in pain. There’s no worry though, and that’s enough to calm David’s nerves, forcing himself not to demand answers for what looks like the psychic effects only getting worse. “W-W-We're joining you?”

"You helped me. Mike saved Fritz. You’re both personnel, and my job is to keep you safe.”

It’s impossible to miss the edge in his voice. His eyes losing their focus by the minute. Fritz glances between him and James, gently grabbing the man’s shoulder when David doesn’t react to the concerning sight. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, honestly. It comes in waves.”

David finally stands up. Offers a hand that James immediately takes to laboriously stand up. He can’t help but catch the relief, most likely assuming he wouldn’t want to help the mortal considering the pervious outburst. But he learned long ago he’s no more than another tool to the officer’s arsenal. They’re comfortable with each other with genuine trust, but it only goes so far. Keeping an almost professional boundary that isn’t allowed to be crossed.

Meaning the god respects not wanting to create a personal contract. But there’s no promise that the minute someone announces he’s an ‘SCP’ that David will stick around longer than he has to.

“Alright,” David begins, offering his hand to Fritz as he sizes Mike and Jeremy up. “Are either of you more familiar with the facility’s layout?”

“Mike knows th-th-the details, I know where the n-nearest e-e-exit i-is.”

“Then you two are leading. Go slowly and look around corners before turning them. If you see or sense anything, stop, don’t say a word, and let James or I take care of it. Understood?”

“Understood,” Jeremy nods as he begins to tremble, Mike giving a lazy salute. Making it clear they trust they won’t be left behind.

He doesn’t get paid enough for this. “Fritz, you’re staying in the middle with James. I’ll watch our backs.”

It doesn’t sound any better than the plan just before this, which is saying something considering it involved a flashbang, but it’s what they have. David can’t leave in case James or Fritz falls behind. He is not willing to trust the duo not to try anything while his back is turned. At least there’s no protests from the only person trained for these kinds of situations.

David takes a deep breath. Unhooks the temporary lock. Wrinkles his nose as Mike walks past him. Almost misses Jeremy following closely behind by how quickly the kid darts after the mutt. Then it’s James, Fritz, the god closing the door behind them before following the odd line.

The ‘SCP’ that chased them is no where to be seen. But as they pass by a hallway, David has to gently push Fritz forward when the redhead catches sight of the inevitable carnage of unlucky personnel that got in something’s way. Instead of making him worried something dangerous might be close by though, it actually takes a weight off his shoulders. The confirmation that they weren’t just holding their breath for when something catastrophic happens. The world is still spinning, they aren’t the only beings still inside the facility, and they can escape.

It’s slow progress, but it doesn’t look like James would be able to keep up witth a faster pace. David keeps looking over his shoulder, watching for things that are out of place, a shape in the distance that’s following them. Feels annoyed it seemed like progress they had previously made had been lost when-

Shit, that shadow didn’t move, did it?

He nearly runs into Fritz, barely realizing everyone had stopped in time to not trample the kid. But when he does, he’s almost confused as to why. A regular human carefully making their way down the hallway opposite of them isn’t something to worry about, just requires them to take a small detour. Well, maybe they can’t tell they’re not an ‘SCP’, only David can.

As he raises his hand toward Mike to turn right, he stops. Because the human seems familiar. In a bad way.

It’s almost like everyone’s reading his mind today, the human suddenly whirling around, as if spooked. It’s hard to tell from this distance what they’re looking at, but David feels eyes lock onto him at the same time he recognizes them.

It’s Scott. An absolute asshole and a stickler for doing everything by the book. Had quite a few fights regarding if a lab coat is really necessary to be worn.

...fuck it’s Scott.

“We’ve got to go,” David hisses, his heart beating rapidly with panic. Grabs Fritz’s hand as he motions for James to follow. Not caring if Mike and Jeremy listen because they need to get as far away from here as possible. “Now!”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

SCP-8092 | Incident 8092-16 | SCP-8000 | Incident 8000-1 | SCP-8889 | Incident 8889-1 | SCP-8266 | SCP-8787 | Incident 8786-1

#hello hello!#see! I didn't break my promise!#the SCP lives on!#and now we wait to see where the Writing Motivation decides to go #because instead of the Editor stealing it #it now just calls the shots #but I hope ya'll enjoy!#have a great weekend!#FNAF bois #SCP AU #BTE writing #cw #content warning

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Obey Me! Heavy Thoughts for the Dateables

Warnings: Mentions of Death

A/N: Reasons for heaviness may vary! I was in a mood so I kinda scribbled this out in days,, uh yeah!! A little all over the place and ye!!

Barbatos:

His eyes and hands ache, his mouth dry no matter the amount of water he intakes. His temples thud with a dull pounding, one that echoes lightly and steadily. It’s been a rather rough day for Barbatos. Woken up late, and with an already bad feeling about the day. His eyes glow, a bright green light that fades as soon as it comes. His head is heavy and he can feel the effects of the power creep against him, but there is no time for rest, he has duties that he must attend to. He picks himself up and blinks once and then twice, as if willing the pain to go away and he is off. He is steady as he works, precise as if there is not a growing pain that makes itself known the more that he goes on and the longer that the day continues. He was allowed the day off, had concern expressed over him with a steady hand on his back slowly leading him to his bedroom but he declined. It was a simple headache, a simple bad day that must be powered through. There was no use for such worry over something so simple.

It’s a heavy day and he’s had them before but they don’t lessen with each blow- they still hit as heavy as ever. He walks quietly, his demon form exposing himself, his wing-like horns piercing into him, the bones of the appendages pulled taut. His tail swings widely, curved as it sways along, narrowly missing each statue and piece of item that decorates the hall. He cleans dutifully, each piece of furniture polished and dusted, the headache only growing more and more, pounding against his head. His hands grip a cleaning feather duster, the wood splintering in his hand, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. The brick wall touches against his gloved palm, the indent and grooves of it press against the fabric, marring it with imperfections, the hand that holds the duster loosens, the feathers brushing against his pant leg. His vision grows spolthy and he casts a glance towards the end of the hallway, paintings move and peer from the frame, watching as the butler walks away. His steps echo in the castle, and he knows that he’s taking time off for such a simple feeling, guilt builds in his body, his legs becoming heavy with lead, and yet, he can’t stop himself. He was given permission, was encouraged and he had looked the other way, but he needs it now.

He hides himself in a corner of the castle, door locked and lights off and he’s nervous. He isn’t allowed to use his power freely and he isn’t going to; he’s simply going to take a peek. Something has come over the butler, something so terrible and nerve wracking and he has no idea how to calm it, how to force his tail to stop swinging so rapidly- he feels irritated. A final look is given to the door- there are no shadows underneath and he takes a deep breath, the smell of parchment and cotton in the air. Time flashes before his eyes, glowing brightly, his hair slowly creeping, longer and longer as milliseconds go by. Everything passes by in a mere blink of the eye and when he returns, his hair receding back to its usual length, his eyes slowly dimming, he sits on a chair. His head is in his hands, his eyes closed and nails softened by gloves scratch into his scalp.

It’s a dip of himself, just a slight little thing that went wrong; and yet, he can’t shake off the feeling. Nearby, he can hear footsteps, they come in eager and almost unsure. Shadows form under his door and he can hear muffled voices, his name being spoken is a constant and there is worry evident in both of the voices. His brows furrow and he rises, his shoulders slacked and exhaustion heavy in his eyes. One of the shadows disappear, footsteps echoing in the distance and the handle to the room turns slowly, his name called once more in a whisper. Through the small gap from the doorway, he sees your face, hesitation graced among your features until they fall and in its place, concern takes over. You close the door quietly behind you, his name whispered under your breath as you rush towards him. You cup his face in our hands, pulling yourself close to him. You hold him as if he is porcelain and he simply bows his head, eyes closing, and his tongue is bitten between his teeth. In a sudden movement, he goes to hold you.

Your hands move from his face to wrapping your arms around him. He leans into your touch, his tail wrapping around your waist and tightening his hold on you, the bones of his horns, pressed against your plush cheek. Barbatos tells you how silly it all is, to feel this bad over a simple bad day, his voice trailing off into a hoarse whisper, and you don’t want to imagine the poor demon crying at the thought of such a heavy day. You hold him, comfort him and edge yourself closer until you reach a couch. He rests nearly above you, his leg swung over yours, and face still buried against your shoulder. Your fingers thread through his hair, curling strands of it around your index as you listen to his woes, his grip tight and voice delicate. In your arms is a demon, beautiful and powerful, but in your arms, he is exquisite and frail, never once lifting his head no matter the times his name is whispered. His hands ghost over your body, the gloves soft against your skin and slowly, he removes them, letting the warmth of his hands curve over your neck as he rests near your collarbone. He begs for you to hold him, just a little bit longer, just until he feel like he can stand and you do so, promising to sit and hold him, ending the words with a kiss against the crown of his head.

Diavolo:

The soon-to-be king is lonely. He grew up being respected but without a friend. He grew with a father who had lost someone he loved and he grew without a mother’s touch. As much as Diavolo can try, he will have limited friends. He is someone that people watch their tone with, they watch their words and avoid playful teasing. Deep in his bones, he knows that he is lonely, that the friends he does have still hold some type of fear towards him, they still respect him. It’s a long day in the castle. It’s quiet, there are minimal sounds and the portrait of his father stands behind his desk, looming over his shoulder and he can never tell if his expression is remorseful or something akin to a scolding look. The prince sits alone with a heavy heart in a room that feels far too large for him to be in.

As a young boy, he has learned to hold himself high. He has grown up knowing that he will be a king. He wants to do great things. He wants to bring people together for reasons that he doesn’t quite want to admit but also because he is so desperate for attention, for any sign of love and acceptance. He is a caged bird, trapped between bars, watching as others gaze upon him, watching relationships form in front of him without reaching towards him. It isn’t healthy for him to let these thoughts dwell but in an empty room, he can’t find the will to push them away. His face is buried in his hands, eyes closed until colors and inorganic shapes dance behind his closed eyes and he sits still for a long time, the unblinking eyes of his father boring into him. Golden eyes brimmed with hope are dimmed, staring at the papers on the desk. He’s already done, finished long ago and yet, he can’t force himself to rise and leave the room that is slowly constricting around him.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, something that makes him sick to his stomach when his D.D.D. remains unbothered, the screen faced down, not a single sound erupting from it. He learned long ago to never expect much from it. But now you’re here. You are a human, that is it. You hold no true power other than the pacts that you have made and yet you make him wait with bated breath for every message of yours. It’s unhealthy to put so much of his happiness in your hands but he can’t help it. You are the first to not fear him for his title. You are the first to hold his hand and lean against him. You are the first that he has ever had the pleasure to grow so close to and yet you are human. You are compassionate and you do not fear him in any type of way, you include him and laugh with him. You both share inside jokes and he isn’t alone with you. He stands from the desk, his bones aching and he sets out.

He goes to visit you, a bag of sweets in his hand- a cheap excuse to come and visit you even though you have told him that he can visit whenever he wants to. His smile is bright, stretched wide as he holds the bag in front of him, already making himself comfortable on your bed. He can breathe a little bit lighter, his smile now more tired than forced, and his heart still heavy. The weight on his shoulders has shifted into something more troublesome. When your hands cup his face, his smile wavers and he leans into your touch. He confesses to you that he has been lonely and it isn’t like his other confessions- this one isn’t made in a passing comment, this one is said out loud in a somber tone, his hand encasing yours, his eyes brimming with tears and voice in a hoarse whisper and he can’t find the words to describe just how lonely it is for him- how lonely it was before you came into his life.

Diavolo is large beside you on the bed and he is somber, looking much older than he usually does and you wonder for a brief moment just how lonely he was, how it must have felt for him to realize that he won’t have a true connection. You move to sit beside him, cradling his body and pushing him towards you, his head on your chest and hands held together. You rub your thumb over his knuckles, the scars soft under your touch, and when you kiss the top of his head, he holds your hand tighter. He can be a king, he can be a prince or a lord, but he is still someone who craves a relationship, to be included and to have a friend. He rests on your bed, his body warmed by yours and his hand held. He is soothed by your heartbeat, your ever loving touch and his thoughts are silenced when you begin to whisper to him promises that you’ll be beside him while legs entangle themselves with yours. Resting on you, he is comforted, held and told sweet things, and soon with a heavy heart, he moves to hold you above him. You lean down and peck against his lips, his smile tired and eyes still holding wisdom and knowledge that you’ll never know of and he keeps you by him throughout the night, memorizing each and every scar that your body offers, his lips hot against your body.

Simeon:

As an angel, Simeon has to avoid temptations wherever they fall. He’s seen what it can cause- the destruction and death that it could lead to and he has no time for that, not when Luke is under his care. You, however, do not make it easy to sway from such temptation. He doesn’t know what will happen in the coming future and the thought terrifies him. He knows that human life spans are so short, so insufferably short and unexpected, and even if you do live for long, he’ll see you die and the odds of you becoming an angel are something that he has no clue in. You come to him so eager and full of life, so ready to hold him in your arms and he won’t ever be ready for the day that you lay in a bed, too weak to move your arms and hold him again. While he won’t ever do the unspeakable- at least that’s what he tells himself- you unknowingly add to his pressures.

For now, he doesn’t think about that. He thinks about you now. He thinks about your smile and your usage of kaomojis. You still have life and that’s all that matters to him. He thinks about the fun memories that he can make in the meantime with you. His D.D.D. will buzz with new messages, new reports and various other things that come in and he’ll have to face it eventually but it’s all too much. It’s too much, too soon. He has to speak to you one day of his duties, confess upon his knees and tell you that he does it because- well, because he has to. He is an angel, who is he to disobey, to find his voice when it’s suddenly convenient for him. His wings weigh him down, heavy and lined with gold, shimmering under the light of God, and he is supposed to be holy and yet, he cannot touch you without his gloves. He’s afraid he’ll stain you and your being. He’ll taint everything precious about you with just a simple touch.

However, he still seeks you out. Late at night, he’ll search for you, a ripple of itchiness that shoots across his back, tingles that ache as his wings beg to be released. He finds you and curls up to you, so tense and terrified and you’re there to comfort him. He rests beside you, hand in hand, wickedness and love combined, something so sweet that it makes his eyes water and mouth thick with honey. His hands are gloved, not daring to touch anything that he shouldn’t unless it burns his skin. He stares at your wall, littered with pictures of you and the family that you’ve made along the way, you're smiling with a smile that stretches so wide he’s blinded by it. You’ve allowed him in your room, in your sanctuary because he came to you. He’s beside you, a small, golden cross rubbed between his forefinger and thumb, and he can feel his heart race.

Sweat beads against his forehead, his back aching as his mouth dries. The flesh of the son is heavy on his tongue, the blood thick and bitter as it soaks anything sweet in him. His hand tightens and he can feel his hand tightens round yours. He has to be careful- he can’t hurt you. He won’t forgive himself if he ever did. His tongue is between his teeth and in a picture of yours, your tongue is stuck out, hugged between your lips and his vision becomes blurry, fire in his eyes as he stares. He must show the emotion- whatever it is- on his face, read like an open book. You call his name, your hand above his, and he doesn’t register it, he can’t. You call him again, tugging on his hand and pulling away the golden cross. His eyes are wide and you can see the angel in his eyes, the years and the time, the war and the love that he has seen. The cross marks itself in the palm of your hand, and he snaps at you. It’s nothing cruel, but his words are sharp and loud.

You flinch at his words but you offer a tender smile. Your hand opens and the cross itself is tight in your hand. He hadn’t meant to snap. Tears fill his eyes and scorch his cheeks and he’s on his knees, the floor under him cold and solid. Apologies fill the room and he can feel your eyes on him. It’s a heavy day where he cannot feel anything but the weight of everything on his shoulders. You embrace him in your arms, pulling him close to your chest. Unlike the floor, you are soft and warm, holding him as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, feeling your heartbeat like a lullaby to him. Your lips press against his forehead, lips pressed to his skin and hair and he leans to you. His hands tighten around you, pulling himself closer to you; forgiveness has never felt so delicate and repent has never felt so fragile. He cries silently, holding you close to him, letting his tears trace against your skin. Your hands curve against his back, fingertips fluttering between his shoulder blades and pressing lightly between. He wonders briefly if you know where his wings rest, where the hurting hurts the most. You touch lightly around, barely ghosting against the muscles, and he holds himself closer to you. His eyes are fresh with tears, the heaviness in his body slowly lifting as he leans into you, and he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with you. The Celestial Realm is far above, shining in golden light and the sweet air of holiness. Your room is casted in the soft, orange glow of the lamp, the room smelling of apples and jasmine, and here, the tired angel feels safe to lay his weight against you and close his eyes.

Solomon:

Despite being an accomplished sorcerer, Solomon isn’t immune to emotions; he is still human despite being immortal. He is older than you can comprehend, dates and times have been long forgotten by him and the people that he held so close no longer have faces. He is human and he misses the people that he has grown close to. He is immortal, a life that is coveted and always seeking to figure out it’s secrets and yet to him, the life is nothing but cursed. It’s the same routine with each lifetime; it’s people that he grows close to, people whose hands he holds and people who hug him so tight that he can feel their breath on his neck, people with hands that soon grow limp in his.

He does his best to never let his emotions show; he rather not deal with the endless questions of his well being because while he’s fine, he really isn’t. He bottles his emotions and hides them far away and it stays like that. For a while, he can be young, laughing and making references to the world that he lives in now. Other times, he lays in bed, the sun that has been rising is a friend and an enemy to him, the people who age before his eyes are something that he envies. Around you, it’s much different. He knows you’ll die sooner than he would like and he’ll be left alone. You made your way into his heart. You hold a special place within him and he worries for the day when he’ll forget your face and the way your hands feel against his neck, and the taste of your lips that are so sweet and soft.

Glyphs and notes are strewn across his room, the sorcerer at work as he tries to figure something out- something to just keep you safe as much as he can, to ensure that you won’t meet an early fate. It’s desperate and selfish of him but he knows he won’t be able to stand the silence once you’re gone. He’s unlike himself, silent and eyes too focused to see what is going on around him. You have no idea what he’s doing, just happy to be beside him, to see him at work. You stare at him for far too long, your own notes of spells and potions resting beside you, now forgotten as you choose to focus on your partner. He stands still, eyes fluttering about, and then he moves rapidly. He seeks and searches, erases and scribbles notes crudely in a journal. He is a work of art- beautiful to look at, imperfections and lines adorning his skin and you worry for the day that he’ll collapse.

His eyes will meet yours, a tired smile on his lips and he holds a hand up- five more minutes. A promise that has long turned repetitive but you know how important his work is, how he strives for perfection in his spells. He talks aloud to himself, the spell book in hand- the corners of the pages frayed and various notes and inches of extra paper peeking past the pages. The book fits perfectly in his hand, his face flushed and eyes tired as they stare at a potted plant, the leaves brown and nipped. He mutters under his breath, his eyes glowing for a brief second, his hair lifting as if static were the cause, and you can feel the magic in the air. You glance at the plant, the leaves curling in on themselves before falling off, replacing themselves with new leaves. You stand straighter, excited, assuming that’s what he wanted and when you look at him, he lets out an exasperated chuckle. His chuckle turns to laughter and his laughter turns into frustration, a string of curses chased in different languages echoes in the room. You call his name and he turns to you, cheeks nipped with red and eyes fresh with tears.

Your name is whispered under his breath and you frown, rushing over to him where he holds you tight, his face hidden in the soft curve of your neck. Solomon does not let go of you, he keeps you close, crying into your neck, his hands tightening and he doesn’t speak. Tears burn hot against your skin, his lips moving, words silent and when you hum his name, he only shakes his head, his lips going still. Soon, you both sit on the bed, his body leaning against you for support. He holds your hand, his fingers playing with each of yours, fingertips pressed against his lips in gentle kisses. Solomon confesses to you that he worries for the day that you’ll pass, his eyes closing when he feels your body tense beside him. He doesn’t think he could handle it if you were to leave him. He craves your touch and he hates to admit it, but without you, he is lost. You hold him in your arms, moving until you rest against the headboard, while his head rests on your chest. You hold his hand and tell him that no matter the time that has passed, you’ll still be with him. You hold him in your arms, his tears wetting your shirt as his whimpers are muffled by you, and he knows he’ll miss you but for now, he’ll be comforted by your hugs and the press of your lips on the top of his head. He’ll wish and pray that this isn’t some dream and that when he awakens, you’ll still be there.

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

Note

could we get the bnha yanderes with a darling that’s actually really fond of their dark side and revels in the attention

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: anxiety, arson, drugs, guilt, delusions, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mind control, DUBCON, yandere-themes

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He had planned to be sweet, similar to his scent of caramel as opposed to what destruction he was capable of. He had planned to be patient, to tolerate whatever screams and cries his darling might have reacted with, but what he was met with wasn’t horror, but… something strangely akin to what he would call gratitude or even excitement or even lovesickness. He thinks she surprised herself more than she surprised him with how easy she folded, but once he got over the shock and not to mention the suspicion her compliant nature beckoned from him, he was only motivated to go harder, to be rougher, to be as intense as he had wished but had held back. She likes the attention, despite it being overwhelming and scary and brutal at times, she still likes it, maybe even because of it. Once he got over the fear of her acceptance crushing under the full weight of his obsession, he became cocky about it. She’s his little freak and he has the confidence and the reassurance to tease her for it now, thoroughly amused with how her eyes cross paths and her brows knit together, drooling and mewling with his hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing her neck with her tight little pussy clenching around his shaft as he drives into her. He exploits it, finding such great amusement and entertainment in hearing her pray for him to go harder and faster, even as she begins to cry, limbs shaking as she continues to beg for him, eyes like opium, wide and void with pooling darkness.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi had expectations. Expecting his little darling to not fully be at peace with his self-proclaimed ownership of her, he had decided to not pay her objections any mind. He decided that the hard way was the best way from the very start. But… his darling didn’t meet him with the type of reluctance he had expected. Sure, she was crying, but when he reached out his hand she didn’t bite like the sort of animal he’d expected, but rather, reached out ever so timidly and eyes so wide and glossy and sparkly and in search for some comfort. He couldn’t be harsh when she was being so sweet, he couldn’t be anything but appreciative when she curled up on his lap like such a soft little thing, hands gripping onto his shirt, sobs that seemed too tame for him to scold her, besides… it felt… nice. It felt nice to be the source of comfort as opposed to the factor of discomfort. It felt like absolution. He used to think he’d find clinginess annoying, but his little darling is clingy in all the right ways. Latching onto him when she’s crying, after a bad dream, all throughout the night, even when he’s the source to her pain, when he makes her jump up and down on his cock, her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers intertwining in his raven locks, legs around his torso, running to hug and welcome him home, kissing him, telling him how she missed him, how much she loves him, how much she needs him.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

He’s so confused. He kidnapped her. Kidnapped her. Took her, abducted her, stole her, forced her away from a life with little regard to her feelings on the whole ordeal, subjugated her to a tiny room with more flying specs of dust than light allowed to shine through the windows. It’s not even like he’s a handsome kidnapper either. Is she insane? Why is she looking at him like that? Why isn’t she afraid, why isn’t she swatting his hands away when he reaches to touch her? Why is she touching him? How can she touch his wrinkles, his scars, his cracking breaking skin? How can she touch his hands, his scarred deadly bloodied hands? And what is that look on her face? If he didn’t know any better he’d call it fascination, curiosity perhaps… adoration? No. No, no, no, no way. No way she’s simply just… accepting… enjoying… just as simple as that. To be honest, he’s feeling slightly freaked out, alarmed, concerned. This isn’t natural. This isn’t healthy. She should at least cry, if only just a little bit. But no. No, her fingers playing curiously with his hair when he’s playing videogames. At least she doesn’t talk to him like they’re chummy old pals, then he’d really feel the thin hairs at the back of his neck rise. But, when he touches her milky skin with his sandpaper-fingertips she doesn’t squirm, and when he pushes those same fingers knuckle deep inside her she doesn’t tell him to stop. He finds himself quickly enjoying testing the boundaries of his little darling, boundaries he’s yet to have found proof of.

SHINSO HITOSHI

He was expecting for there to be some debate surrounding his ownership of her, he was preparing to teach his little pet a thing or two about who was boss early on, but… she seemed to slip right into her role so naturally. Instead of him teasing her, she’s teasing him, mocking him, making him feel as though he has no control even as he stares into those wide milky orbs who no longer have the ability of mobility, yet still has the power to inch her lips into that eerie playful catlike grin, as though she’s excited, as though spiked with untamed thrill. She’ll talk to him as though there’s no danger, as though he won’t have her mind in his clutches by the end of it, almost as if she’s counting on it, waiting for it, coaxing him with words of her own. They’ll play like cat and mouse, one always either tempting or chasing the other. She’ll even laugh, eyes bright and vivid and spiked and twirling as she lets him catch her time and time again, in a way that makes him believe he’s the one that’s been captured. He’s surprised, to say the least, surprised because his little darling is in fact a little devil, a little baby-faced angel-eyed demon, who enjoys how the darkness feels against her skin, who loves how his inky-fingers feel when tampering with her mind, and has darkness of her own to drown him with too.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

He was preparing for a wild beast, but was happy to find his little darling settling in as though she understood that in the comfort of his house is where she belonged. Calling it a kidnapping became weird and sounded foreign when referring to their arrangement, especially when he came home to his darling in her apron, cooking, cleaning or sleeping so soundly on his couch you’d think she’d done so her whole life. She doesn’t flinch when he touches her, she rather leans in to greet the touch, her eyes heavy-lidded and joined with his gaze. And when he comes home, some days all broken and bruised and bloodied and smoke-ridden, his feathers ragged and plucked, she’ll fuss. Fuss and pamper and coo and take such good care of him, softly and sweetly patching him up, messaging wings, give his torn lip a kiss, stroke a careful hand through his locks. She’ll be so perfect, like an angel, a living breathing real-life angel. Or a guardian, something he’s always wanting. Someone to make him feel safe and loved and protected, despite him being the hero and his darling being the victim to his villainy.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Here he was thinking she couldn’t possibly be any more of an adorable little darling than what she already was. He’s not used to being wrong about his calculations, he’s not used to liking finding faults in his calculations, but he has to admit he was pleasantly surprised with how his darling accepted his feelings easier than what he had expected. He had assumed it to be a lengthy and gradual and careful process, he was prepared to take his time, be patient, be supportive, but… his darling portrayed little of what anxiety symptoms he had imagined: panic-attacks, quaking, crying, screaming. She seemed more honored than anything. Amazed to have caught the eye of the Midoriya Izuku, the number 1. Hero of not just Japan, but arguably the whole world. She felt proud, bashful to be getting the attention, but thriving in it despite herself believing it was misplaced. Wanting to return Izuku’s worship, cherish, awe with appreciation of her own at every given turn. She would still yelp when he picked her up to carry her about, but who wouldn’t when his arms are the sizes of pillars. Though, the sound of surprise would always be followed by the sound of laughter, school-girl giggles that felt like the fluttering of butterflies against his chest. Also, when she slept on top of him. With one of his hands placed on the dome of her ass and the other holding a book up for him to read, the small feel of her drumming pitter patter heartbeats against his ribcage, so cute and comfortable and safe.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

He was expecting a fight, he was expecting annoying migraine-evoking screams, he was expecting thrashing, causing waves to fall onto the bathroom tiles when she was in the bathtub. He was expecting the worst, because that’s what good business men do: expect the worst, prepare for the worst, and find refuge in the fact that it was far from what hell they had imagined. But… it’s rare to be met with the exact opposition of what you had predicted, which was what had happened. There was no war, there was no fight, there was no riot, there wasn’t even the hint of resistance. There were still small tremors of fear though, yet far less than what he had foreseen. The type of fear you find when bringing home a new pet, more careful hesitant curiosity than actual fear, as though trying to find comfort in your surroundings, as though trying to settle in. He looks like a dangerous man, yet… her eyes aren’t terror-wide but big with anticipation, with a strange form of thrill. And though her actions remained feather-light she was still the first one to reach out, she was still the one to ask to witness the demolition and recreation of his quirk, she was still the one that chose to tie the knot to his tie in the morning. Though he was the one to have found and taken her, she was the pioneer.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Not much can change what Shoto has planned for his darling’s future. Whether she enjoys it or hates it, it will be accepted. What he plans to do with her, what soft-tinted or red-violent passions he plans on bestowing upon her, the fact that she likes it from the start hardly matters when through time she was going to learn to enjoy it anyway. He was always going to lick up her skin with his flames or make her skin whisper upon the threat of being frozen, until she’s a sweat-slicked feverish mess in his lap, and he was always going to take good soft care of her afterwards. But, he must admit, he’s surprised to find that the aftercare is such a sweet pleasure, seemingly rivaling what blissed-out state he can reach when playing with his little darling. He knew he would enjoy it, but… he could never have imagined the motherly touch his darling gifts him with, what tender smiles and heavenly laughs and the way she tangles herself with him, limbs an unruly yet comfortable knot. What more, when she asks to see his quirks, wants him to make frost-flowers on the windows or in the shower on the glass-walls, when she holds his hands as he creates little lanterns of dancing tendrils and wisps, ones she can tickle with her fingertips as they twirl in his palm. The way her eyes light up with that childlike-wonder he never seemed to possess when he was young, makes him feel a different type of warm far from burning.

TIP-JAR

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angelkurenai · 3 years

Text

So much for a surprise - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: So much for a surprise

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: None

Prompt: I'd love a chris evans x reader one shot, where they're dating, and after the knives out movie, he's been spending a lot of time with his co-star Ana de Armas, and like in one specific interview she was getting very flirty and such with Chris, and touching his arm and stuff, and I'd just want to see how you'd interpret jealous!reader, and Chris reacting to that jealousy!!

Looking at your phone, for what seemed like the millionth time that day, you tried to suppress a sigh, though you couldn't help the roll of your eyes. Despite the amount of messages and notifications, and there were plenty for sure, none of them including your boyfriend.

You didn't want to hold it against him, after all you knew he was particularly busy these days what with all the interviews and promoting his newest movie. And despite all the games and laughs it could be, or at least it seemed to be to the rest of the world, you were an actress yourself and understood that it could be tiring, exhausting and on more than one occasions very nerve-wracking especially if one was already anxious about taking on a new role after years of being famous for another one. You understood because you had gone through all of that yourself, and you could have excused his lack of contact. You would have, really, if it wasn't for the fact that those interviews were no longer part of his job and a stressful one at that. No, if anything, they were obviously only an excuse now.

An excuse to not answer phone calls or messages, an excuse to spend less time at home, an excuse to make plans to go out with without you – oh you couldn't even remember the last time it had been just the two of you out for a simple drink – an excuse to pull further apart from you, an excuse fool around and be playful with another woman. It was that last part which brought a bitter taste in your mouth. If it was his friends, long-time ones or not, you wouldn't have paid so much attention to it but when he said that he was going out for the third time in a row with Ana and maybe some costar might tag along but he didn't know then there was only so much you could take.

You didn't doubt him, you would never doubt him or his fidelity to you, because you knew the kind of man you had beside you. After years of being together you how much he loved you, he made sure show it every chance he got and made sure you never forgot it, so you always trusted him even if he more often than not ended up surrounded by so many beautiful women at a time. But that didn't mean you could trust her, just like you couldn't blame her. Alright maybe you could andyou would if she ever tried anything with Chris, but the lingering touches or easy smiles and casually frequent glances were no reason for you to start anything or try to hold it against her. Not yet.

You could very easily hold it against him, though. For allowing all of it, but above all for allowing himself to be pulled away from you because of another woman. It wasn't your fault that you couldn't stop the pang in your chest. You weren't to blame for the way your heart squeezed, a bit painfully sometimes too. It was not on you that whenever he said, in that casual simple way that “Oh just going out with Ana.” as if she was his girlfriend of three years and not you, you felt your throat close up and your eyes burn with something akin to unshed tears. You refused to believe it was tears and you refused to believe that he was hurting you, that this situation was hurting you, when it could all easily be just in your head so instead you shrugged most of it off.

“Hey, we were-” the man started but paused when he saw the deep frown that had set on your face, the concern that slipped on his features was touching to say the least. Especially as he gave a small sign to his friends and approached you. Your friends as well and you tended to forget that lately just like you couldn't enjoy anything good that happened to you because of how things with Chris were but then again you had not shared much of it with him and when you didn't get to share your happiness with him it always tended to feel less true or real.

“Are you alright?” the hand on your shoulder along with the small squeeze and warmth it brought was comforting in a way you had almost forgotten you wanted but clearly more than needed, you realized.

“Just fine, don't worry about me. Going without any sleep for two days in a row kind of takes a toll on you, I guess.” you shrugged softly, slowly tucking your phone in your pocket; hoping even in the last couple seconds that there would be a message from your boyfriend.

“Are you trying to be reassuring now?” his eyebrows rose “Cause you're doing a really shitty job at it let me tell you. Hey remind me again who you've been taking acting lessons from at first? Hugh Jackman? Well it shows.”

“No, I swear I-” you couldn't help the giggle that left your lips, feeling light even for a few second “I am alright, really. A tad tired but only because I had so many scenes today. I recover fast and I have tomorrow off so all will be good. It's not anything I'm not used to.”

“I-” his small smile dropped in the end, worry showing through once more “Are you sure? Because I've seen you check your phone plenty of times in between breaks so I worried that- Well, something might've happened.”

“No, it's- Well, I expected some phone call or message from my boyfriend but apparently he's still busy with interviews, so I might just have to go ahead and meet him in person there. We might go out later... I think. We usually do every Friday so...” you trailed off and shrugged, not wanting to burden him with unnecessary worries and information despite how close you were lately.

“Oh well, in that case-” he nodded his head, glancing over his shoulder for a second before facing you again “It seems like you've already got plans with him then but uhm in case anything happens and you're off early or in the mood for drinks we know where we will be-”

“Oh but I'm not sure if I will have time to-” you said with slight worry and wide eyes.

“I know, I know.” he chuckled softly, quickly trying to calm you down “Just letting you know in case there's an off chance that it happens. We'll be waiting for you either way. I'll be waiting.”

You didn't dare say much to him after that, only gave him a shy smile and nod with a promise to at least try, and him that he was alright with anything, and watched him leave with the rest of your friends before you got in your own car to make your way to the studios where the interviews would be held. For the first time, probably in days if not weeks, you felt much lighter. Maybe it was good to see that you were wanted somewhere, in someone's company even though it wasn't your boyfriend's - despite your deepest hopes.

If only your good mood could last for longer than the whole 30 minutes of the ride, that would have been ideal. However, in the end, part of you wished that said interview was probably on the other side of the globe instead of so close to your filming location. Because as you walked into the studio, try as you might, you couldn't hold back the lump in your throat as you saw the scene in front of you.

“Don't know what that is but it sounds good!” Chris said with a grin on his face, soon followed by easy laughter from both him and Ana.

Ana's hand was in that very second on his arm, giving a small squeeze as they kept laughing together, until it slowly but surely started sliding down until her hand was holding his. The interview kept going and they both had smiles on, an occasional laugh escaping here and there. Her hand remained with his long enough for you to notice how he thumb was rubbing soothing circles one moment and playing with his fingers the next in a slow and easy manner that you knew he loved, you knew relaxed him even in the most stressful situations – especially during interviews which you knew he always needed – and that you knew... was your thing. Or at least so you thought.

And apparently you had been mistaken for at least three years now. You had been mistaken to think those warm comforting touches were just for the two of you to share and say things without having to verbally phrase them. You had been mistaken to think that the smile you saw on his face as he looked at Ana was saved just for you. You had been mistaken to believe that the way his face softened and his eyes focused with an unmistakable spark of interest were reserved just for you when you spoke to him about things you loved and not also her as she answered a question that very moment. You had been mistaken to think that the way his shoulder fell in relaxation, in easiness and comfort, as if coming back home for a long day, was reserved just for you and was something that came naturally. As naturally as the feeling of love which he so openly showed both with his actions and words whenever he saw you... or at least used to.

Come to think of it, many of the things you had been considering as important, as unique, for the two of you, were probably nothing more than maybe you getting sentimental or worse too attached. And, for sure you now realized, not happening lately much if not at all. But maybe that was to be expected when you were hardly spending any time together whatsoever. Maybe even not as meaningful... not as true?

But if that love, if those looks and touches and words, were not true then what else about your relationship was in the first place? What was real? What was unique? If he could so easily relax around her, flirt with her and accept her flirting back so easily, so openly then-

You shook your head and tore your eyes from the scene before you, effectively silencing their laughter in your head, even though it already sounded very far off. The unpleasant feeling was back, squeezing your heart, tightening your stomach in knots and making your eyes burn. The bad taste in your mouth, as your throat closed, was there too and you decided to bite on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from saying or doing anything you wouldn't like. Even the taste of blood was better, anything was better, really than the bitterness that came when you watched them interact like that.

You were above this, had always been especially with all the fans and female costars he had that got a bit more handsy and yes, you brushed most of it off. Most of it, when your blood wasn't boiling like it was right now because of how long this had gone on for.

Watching Chris making his way towards you, with his usually warm smile -even though you couldn't feel its sentiment at the moment -and a clear look of surprise on his face to see you there you felt that over the bitterness, you did feel mad. What you heard didn't help.

“Hey, Chris, don't forget about the meetup later yeah?” it was Ana and really you had nothing against her, not anymore, and not much more than your boyfriend.

Especially when he looked at her with a smile and nod “Sure thing I'll meet up with you there.”

“Honey, hey!” he breathed out and pecked your lips though you didn't even blink up at him, let alone smile “What a surprise, what are you doing here?”

“Surprise huh?” maybe you had originally planned it as that but now even the word made you huff angrily “Oh I'm not sure, maybe you would know better if you did check your phone once in a while. What the fuck is wrong with you, I called you so many times, Chris. Damn it I almost thought something happened. You always answer at least for a couple seconds, you always-” you stopped yourself immediately when you realized you were close to raising your voice and causing a scene which was the last thing you wanted.

Chris' eyes were somewhat wide and his smile had vanished. He considered your expression and stance for a few more seconds before he said in more serious voice “Maybe you'd like to talk in private then?”

Shaking your head, you huffed a humorless laugh but followed him as he took hold of your hand, linking your fingers and leading you away from the main set. No sooner were you alone than you pulled your hand from his grasp, not fact or angrily, only in a cold way without a single emotion on your face which you saw made his frown deepen.

“What's the matter baby?” he asked, voice low and somehow hoarse as he saw you wrap your arms around yourself and take a step back from him. A flush of hurt was visible in his eyes and you didn't like that it felt good to see it, but it was what it was.

“No first, let me ask you a question Chris.” you took a deep breath, trying to straighten your back “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Friday, why are you-”

“Oh so you do know, splendid! Then you haven't lost track of the date and you certainly haven't lost your phone or anything because you would have mentioned it when I brought it up. Which means you haven't been checking it or have checked, seen my calls, and didn't bother. Both of which, especially today, are equally bad. So, to sum it up-” you let out a shaky sigh “You don't give a damn about me anymore.”

“What?” he blinked in surprise “Where did that-”

“You know it's Friday and we always make plans for Friday night, always Chris. You make sure to text me about it first thing in the morning every single time. No matter where we are, even when we cannot be together, because we had promised. You had, Chris, because you knew. You knew how important it was to me to know even in the most simple way that my partner cares, you knew how much I needed that and I never asked for more never cared for more than just an hour out of your day, you knew better than anyone what I've gone through, and you promised Chris!” you pressed your fingers over your pursed lips when you realized you'd let yourself get carried away, raising your voice was not something you wanted. His eyes did widen this time and his eyebrows shot up.

You shook your head and made sure to wipe any sort of emotion from your face. Mostly caring to wipe out the proof of pain, that is, which you had been constantly feeling, because you were absolutely fine with him seeing the anger. If he managed to attribute it to your jealousy as well then you didn't care, you were beyond that now. If only it was as easy for the tears to be concealed.

You looked at him, and despite your red-rimmed eyes, your voice was low and cold “You always made sure to call. For the past three years. You never missed a single day. Until today. But of course-” you laughed bitterly, your words laced with venom as you nearly glared at him “You already made plans with somebody else, didn't you honey?”

“What- No, I-” he shook his head, eyebrows knitted together and baby blue eyes glistening with sadness and, dare you say, guilt “That's not what it looks like. Really, if this is about it then I promise I- (Y/n), of course you're welcome!”

“Welcome where? Cause I don't feel welcome anywhere in your life, Chris, let alone around her. And no it's clearly not just about this, but how would you even know how you've been making me feel all this time when you're hardly ever around, Chris?” you hissed before looking away from him.

“Hardly ever around?” you didn't know if your words hurt him as much as angered him, based on the way his eyes darkened with anger “Given that you do the same job, I didn't think you'd just show up like this only to pick a fight over something you know I have little control over. These days are harder on me and you know it, you can't really blame me for that! I was doing interviews all day and in between breaks I was so tired I forgot to check even my own phone, I didn't know that's a crime now.”

“So you do think that that's really what I'm trying to say here huh? Wow.” you blinked several times “You think you're the only one having a hard time, Chris? You have no idea about how hard of a time I am having then. No idea how emotionally exhaustion this new role is or how tired I am all the time. No idea how despite all that, I still can't go to sleep lately. And insomnia doesn't even begin to cover it, because of the doubts and constant thinking that I do and you're not there Chris, during any of it. You have no idea about any of it but I mean, how could you? We barely even talk anymore and no!” you raise your hands to stop him “It is not because of this job, it is because of her that all this is happening.”

“H-her?” he frowned in confusion before you saw the realization set down on him and a small sigh escape his lips “Ana? Really, this is all about that? (Y/n), you were always above this, you've never had a jealous fit. We both know I'm just spending some time with a friend, there is nothing more to that. There could never be, how could you ever believe otherwise?”

“How?” you couldn't stop a scoff “Really? You ask how? Oh my gosh, Chris, she is flirting with you nonstop! I have seen the looks and touches and everything, you can't be that oblivious. No I refuse to believe it. For the love of, that was the exact way I acted around you at first! It's crystal clear that she likes you and flirts with you and asks you out all the time and you- you're encouraging this! Chris, you spent twice the time with her than with me and I clearly don't mean work. You're constantly out with her, you do nothing to stop it and even when you're supposed to do something for the two of us you- you go and put her first. And only on second thought, as if to do me a favor, you think to invite me over because oh poor her she'll spend our night all alone. Honestly-” you laughed humorlessly “I wonder who's really your girlfriend after all. Or better yet-” you paused, hesitating for only half a second because maybe you were too hurt and the part of you that was angry was easily controlling your words but you didn't hold it back.

What is the point in being your girlfriend in the first place?

You heard him take a sharp breath in, his eyes and face all showing unbelievable guilt and pain at your words as if it was finally downing him the extent of his mistake. But you didn't let yourself feel sorry even for a second and if he really deserved a taste of his own medicine he was going to get it.

“I didn't know I- I made you feel this way.” his voice was shaky and you could see the beginning of tears make his eyes glisten. You were probably too cruel but so was reality and everything you had been experiencing so when he took a step forward you took one backwards as well. “Honey-” he made to touch you but you shifted away and he didn't insist, although his hands were shaking and his eyes were wide, he forced himself to stay calm you “You know that... I- I love you more than anything.”

“Do I?”seeing the way his lips fell apart but he shook his head and tried to get it together.

“(Y/n), hear me out please.” his hands were shaking and he let out a trembling breath as he ran his fingers through his hair.

He finally got the courage to back up “You know that I love, that will never- it can never change, no matter what. I would never do something like that to you, certainly not knowingly. I'm not that kind of man, I would never be and even more so not to you! You know how important you are to me, goodness, I love you with all my heart! I've loved you for years, nothing can take it away. It breaks me to think I made you feel like this, hell to even realize you're jealous--” he scoffed angrily but you could see it was directed at nobody else but himself as he ran a hand down his face “It's not anywhere near flattering or funny or cute when I see you like this. I shouldn't have let it get this far, it's my fault you feel like this, I know, but I promise-”

“Promise?” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper but somehow more effective than any screaming or jealousy fit you could throw as it made him stop on the instant, lips pressing shut “I think I've had enough of promises, Chris, don't you think?”

“Baby, I- I-” he frowned, not understanding how this had gotten so bad and maybe that was somehow comforting - certainly preferable to him encouraging her flirting knowingly or as a joke “I love you.”

“And I love you, but this-” you let out a shaky breath, shrugging numbly “It's not even jealousy, not anymore. Was it at first? Yes, yes it was. You're my boyfriend and you spent more time with her, out for drinks with Ana, out for a dinner with Ana and maybe some costar, interviews with Ana and talking in between breaks with Ana, letting Ana calm you down and comfort you when I-” you sighed “But as I said, not anymore. At this point... I don't have it in me to feel anything at all.”

“So-” you took hold of your things again “You can go ahead and have your fun and you don't have to feel sorry for me-” you hated how you sniffled but remained proud for how put together you still were “I hoped things were different but don't worry, I do know there is someone out there that at least wants my company, my presence in their life. I won't doubt that. I wished it was you but... what can you do?”

“Wh-what?” he breathed out shakily, his voice gruff as he slowly came to realize what you meant “What do you me-”

“Bye Chris, hope I'll see you... sometime within the next week, if you decide to show up at our place.” you gave him a tight-lipped smile before you rushed away.

He tried to reach out for you but you were faster, and him being still in shock and a mess of emotions, didn't have time to catch up with you. He stood in his place for a good few seconds, his heart hammering in his chest, eyes burning, lungs hurting and mind foggy. It didn't even register when he heard Ana speak to him, asking whether everything was alright, and him brushing her off with a small mumble before closing the door, maybe a bit too in her face but doesn't bring himself to care, and asking for some time alone. All the time he couldn't help but wonder how it all had gotten to this.

“Who...” he could only hear himself whisper with a deep frown, the thoughts running through his mind nowhere near pleasant as your words echoed again and again in his mind. He wanted to be even a bit angry, and maybe he was deep down underneath all this, but he couldn't fight the ache in his chest, the deep burn of jealousy which oh stung a lot, and ultimately the hurt than ran deep - even deeper when he realized that this was how he had made you feel - inevitably it brought a feeling of self-loathing as well.

But when he heard the small thud, of something falling, he realized it wasn't really a matter of who. He didn't even have the right to be angry at whoever was making you feel good, welcome and at ease; hell even if they made you feel wanted and desired, he had it coming and he even deserved it as much as he deserved the bitter taste in his mouth and jealousy in his heart. It was him who was at fault, him who had screwed up everything.

Looking down he saw the small object that had fallen from his pocket where he always kept it with him the past couple days, secured and safe away from eyes that could find it before it was the right time. He wanted to scoff bitterly at the thought, would he get the chance to find one after all?

“So much for a surprise huh?” he asks practically noone as he opens the box and takes the ring to toy with between his fingers.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #chris #chris evans #chris x reader #chris evans x reader #chris imagine #chris evans imagine #chris fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #chris one shot #chris evans one shot #ana de armas #x reader #jealousy #one-sided #fluff #angst

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

You kind of already did 31 but pleaseeeeeeee

these ficlets keep getting longer ffs this is 2k

31. One is a sex worker, the other is a client AU

anakin's had his turn as a sex worker in my writing so it's Obi-Wan this time, paired with Vaderkin and i made it more dark than I thought would happen whoops but. warnings are: probably bordering extremely dubious consent even though no sex happens and this is just the lead up. a brief reference to underage sex work, though absolutely nothing comes of it. and vaderkin being a bit creepy.

There is a saying among the workers at the Establishment: if the imperial palace calls for you, you should hope the person that is displayed next to you is prettier.

Obi-Wan has never bought into prayers of any kind and this saying is only ever said with something akin to a worshipful dread. Still, when Ahsoka drapes a cloak of red around his shoulders and whispers those words to him—“May the others be your betters”—he thinks for a second about the nature of prayer and of hope and the futility of both in this galaxy.

“Don’t worry, little ‘Soka,” he smiles from under the cloak’s hood. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake.” He is, after all, one of the oldest workers here, makes most of his money these days tending bar and running the front desk, called in to serve mostly for virgin customers who want a gentler and more experienced hand to guide them in the art of pleasure. He doesn’t think any of the words could be used to describe the Emperor Vader, can’t see the imposing black-suited man interested in the art of pleasure.

Ahsoka can’t look him in the eye, but she hugs him tightly as he boards the shuttle that will take him to the Palace.

The ride there is quiet. Obi-Wan tries to avoid as many glances from the other people as he gives to them. Most of them are young, human. He seems to be the only male above 40. His chances are good.

Maybe he hadn’t been lying to Ahsoka. Maybe, truly, his name being included on the list had been a mistake

Something inside him hesitates though. He’d been out in the Upper levels a week ago, making his way home after one of his rare appointments with an old client turned friend. A child had fallen into the path of a small parade of speeders. A correctional officer had raised a whip. Obi-Wan had reacted on instinct, catching its lash with his forearm. The child had run off. Obi-Wan had stayed. He’d raised his head just enough, eons later, to see the durasteel outside of the largest speeder pass by his prone form, just enough to see the Imperial crest on its hull. Just for long enough to see a glint of a yellow eye from the window.

Bacta had treated his wounds, but his mind had not allowed him to rest easily, caught up in the memory of that eye--had he imagined the interest? Had he imagined it all?

And so to hear his name called tonight--the first calling since The Incident--had felt like the confirmation of all of his most unfounded fears.

Would tonight be the night he died? He had lived a long life. A rough one. Perhaps it is time.

Still, in the back of his head, a selfish, utterly human part of him whispered, may the others be your betters.

---

Those chosen do, often, come back. Sometimes they do not. Mostly they do. Obi-Wan has never truly decided which of these fates is the worse one. Those who survive don’t say anything for days on end, their eyes blank as they stare forward. Their bruises, if they are there, are easy to heal. But something is always wrong with their minds afterwards. And those who don’t come back...well. It’s hard to say what happens to them, where they go. Far away or down below.

Obi-Wan is forced to his knees in between a moderately aged female Togruta and a fairly young teenager. The boy is shaking. He can’t be more than sixteen.

They’re in the Entrance Hall. Obi-Wan has never been here before, but he supposes it makes sense. There will be one person who ventures further into the Palace. The rest will be dismissed out the doors that just shut. No need to bring the scum further in than they have to.

Distantly, like a funeral drum, Obi-Wan can hear the sound of feet falling, making their way closer. Just a single pair. He wants to look up, to watch the Emperor--because it has to be the Emperor--approach, but there’s a Guard behind him, holding his head down.

The footsteps are close now. There’s only ten of them--sometimes, Obi-Wan has heard that there can be as many as twenty or thirty--so the line is short. Vader paces quietly from the first to the last person, before stopping in the middle. Obi-Wan can just see the black of his boots if he flicks his eyes as far as they can go to the left. The boy next to him lets out a muffled sob. Obi-Wan wishes he could offer the kid some sort of comfort, some sort of reassurance that the Emperor will choose one of the other workers, a body more desirable than either of theirs, but there are no words to describe the guilty relief of a suffering passed onto someone else.

On some sort of invisible signal, the Guard behind Obi-Wan wrenches his head back by the hold he has on both the silken hood and his own hair. It’s far from comfortable, tilted so far back. The message is obvious. Submission is not optional. Respect will be shown through any means necessary.

Obi-Wan tries to keep the hulking form of Vader in his eyesight, even though to see ahead of him he has to close his eyes almost completely because of the angle. It’s impossible to see anything from the chest up, but he can still hear. Loud, mechanical breathing fills the halls. Vader stops at each person for no longer than five seconds before he continues down the line. Obi-Wan holds his breath, waiting for his turn. Does he turn his head as much as he can, to try and accentuate the gray at his temples? Does he lower his eyes?

He doesn’t, in the end, do either. Vader is wearing a mask, completely covering his face. He doesn’t even look human, except for the way he cocks his head slightly as he stares down at Obi-Wan. He feels flayed, just under the single look, but he can’t turn away either. He glowers up at him. Five seconds pass. Vader should be moving on by now. The fact that he hasn’t fills Obi-Wan with the sort of fear he’s only felt a handful of times in his life.

“This one,” Vader says through a voice modulator. Obi-Wan closes his eyes in defeat, thinks of Little Ahsoka back at the Establishment, thinks of what she’ll think if he doesn’t make it home.

But the boy next to him bursts into sobs and Obi-Wan opens his eyes to see that Vader’s hand isn’t pointing to him at all, but instead just to his right.

But Vader’s face is still pointed directly at Obi-Wan though, head still cocked. The question is as clear as if he actually spoke the words aloud. What will you do about this?

What will he do? What can he do? It’s the street from a week ago all over. A child is in danger. How can Obi-Wan ever live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to throw himself on the blade?

“No!” he says before he can think it through. The Guard behind him jerks his hair back roughly in punishment, but the monster in front of him runs two gloved fingers down his cheek, the pantomime of a lover’s caress. “Me instead. Choose me.”

“Quiet,” the Guard hisses to him, making him wince with the ferocity of the yank he gives his hair. Obi-Wan pants open-mouthed as he tries to think of an argument, of a single reason why the Emperor should not get what he wants, should settle for a washed up whore instead of a younger model. All he can think of is the moral justifications of it, and he’s not sure Vader would care for that line of reasoning.

“I’m asking,” he blurts out. The fingers pause from where they’ve been absent-mindedly touching his beard. “When has anyone ever asked?”

The Emperor takes a step back and seems to consider Obi-Wan, what he has to offer. He tries to preen, to throw his shoulders back and sit back on his heels to show off his body, but it’s hard when the Guard hasn’t let up on his hair. In fact the grip gets even tighter as the man behind him snorts a common insult.

A second later, the hand and the pressure disappear. Obi-Wan falls forward automatically at his sudden release. He scrambles away instinctively, even if that means closer to Vader. Vader who has his hand raised out in front of him clenching his gloved fist tight. Obi-Wan looks behind him at the guard who had held him. The man is scrabbling at his throat. Obi-Wan knows already it will be a futile effort. With Vader distracted by his execution, he turns to check on the boy. He’s looking down, refusing to make eye contact.

Probably for the better.

The Guard falls to the floor. The other nine Guards don’t move at all. Obi-Wan supposes there’s no room for loyalty in a galaxy like this.

“Come,” Vader says, running a hand through his hair. It’s a surprisingly gentle touch, seeing as that hand just took someone else’s life.

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet and follows behind him, through the twisting halls of the Imperial Palace. He thinks anyone could get lonely here if they have no one to keep them company. It’s so big. Obi-Wan shares his room with three other people, and he frets if one of them is still gone by the time he falls asleep.

This much space would drive anyone mad for another’s touch.

He blinks at himself, incredulous. Is he actually trying to feel compassion for the Emperor? Is it actually working?

The Emperor flings open a pair of elaborate doors without touching them, and suddenly Obi-Wan’s in the bedchambers of the most powerful man on the planet. And to think, he’s wearing mismatched and terribly darned socks.

He resolves to not ask Vader for permission to do anything with his own body for the entire night. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Vader takes off his cape and his gloves.

“Would you like to know my prices before or after?” He asks as cooly as possible.

“Your price is that it’s you here and not the boy.”

“Would you have wanted the boy?” Obi-Wan can’t hide the disgust in his tone.

“No,” the Emperor says succinctly. “But I did want to know what you would do. If you really were the same man as the one in the street.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. “Why would you want to know that?”

“There’s so little good left in the galaxy. It’s fascinating that so much is concentrated in you.” Vader reaches up to unlatch his mask. A cascade of golden curls falls out.

He huffs. The Emperor of the Galactic Empire thinks there’s not enough good in the galaxy. It’s at the very least ironic. “It’s a greedy galaxy, your Imperial Majesty--”

The Emperor turns around to face him, helmet still held in his hands. Obi-Wan is surprised to learn he’s just a man. An attractive man, certainly, young and almost pretty with a perfect arch to his lips and a roguish scar cutting through a thick eyebrow. If he had been one of Obi-Wan’s workers, he’d have taken him under his wing, tried to protect him from the clients who would have paid extra to rough up that face.

He was saying something. Obi-Wan had meant to say something else. Oh. Right. “Good cannot be bought.”

The man in front of him--was it really Vader?--smiles, but it doesn’t reach his yellow eyes. “No,” he purrs, discarding his helmet and stalking forward. “But you can.”

#asks #tw: dubious consent #obikin #my fics #vaderkin #prompt fill

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too-lit-for-fanfic · 3 years

Text

A Traitor In Our Midst

PART III OF III

PART I

PART II

PART III

And it’s done! What a wait! And for that we are very sorry. For a long time we just couldn’t finish this closing chapter in a way that felt right or akin to the characters and their little story so it has undergone several re-writes. This final part isn’t as long as those previous, or as technical, but we hope you enjoy! There’s fluff, so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you everyone who has supported this little series! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!

Summary: Cal Kestis x ex-Galactic Empire!OC, but can be treated like an x reader, ugly secrets from her past are resurfaced. In light of the truth Cal and crew no longer feel as if they can trust the newest member to the trio. Tempers flare, sacrifices are made, and the truth finally comes out.

Warnings: Torture is featured/referenced in this chapter so be warned. Angst, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Torture, Interrogation tactics, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Trauma

“...just to protect those who would never do the same for you?”

It had been two weeks since Aylin and BD had been trapped on the Star Destroyer, Cal and crew in the middle of negotiating with Saw Gerrera to organise a rescue mission, the stubborn man finally agreeing once it had been revealed BD had failed to return, the ship the duo had commandeered having been seized by the Empire. Cal, Cere and Greez huddled around the small monitor in the centre of the hull, deathly quiet as they listened to the conversation taking place between Second Sister and their former crewmate. On their rounds of the ship, BD had managed to return just in time to spot Trilla entering the prison cell, and now they waited anxiously, hidden under a series of shelves in the outward corridor. All three members of the crew looked positively sick, Cal in particular turning a ghastly pale as he held his breath, dreading the events to unfold.

“Oh isn't that just sweet.” Trilla’s shrill voice mocked lowly, eerily echoing down the corridor. “You really did care about them didn't you? Isn’t it a pity how they’ve left you here to die?”

“Fuck you.” Cal had to strain to hear Aylin’s response. She sounded weak, worryingly so, the venom in her words sounding as if it pained her to push it past her lips.

“You’re not denying it.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“That pretty red-head might have come to save you once, even I can tell you were very important to him-”

Cal involuntarily lurched at his mention, his muscles twitching so as to distance himself from the screen, an icy grip encasing his heart.

“Not anymore.”

Cal physically felt his heart whither in his chest, his knuckles turning white.

“Not anymore.” The sick woman almost sounded joyful. “All because you were born on the wrong side of the war. How ironic, an unforgiving Jedi.”

‘oh force...’ Cal withdrew, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the words echoed around his skull. Greez’s clawed hand landed on his elbow in comfort but the redhead payed him no mind. ‘please say something’ he silently begged, desperate to know that Aylin didn’t really think the same of him.

She never responded.

“I can’t watch this.” The red-head made an effort to move away from the screen, fully intent on hiding in the shadows of the cockpit. The entire conversation felt like a knife to his heart, and it only became worse when he realised anything could have been happening behind those closed doors, and he was powerless.

“And Cere, she wouldn’t even come to save me.” - A muffled ugly gasp - “Why are you protecting those who would sell you to the order for far less?”

Silence followed, and the trio held their breaths. A strangled cry abruptly cut-off, Cal very nearly almost throwing up as a strangled chocking gasp broke the silence, the sounds of boots scraping and struggling against a metallic surface drowning out the conversation.

A sickening thud.

Murmurs.

Screams.

Another bang.

“No- PLEASE!” Shrill blood-curdling screams assaulted their senses, Cal flinching away from the screen. The trio waited a moment, Cal’s hands covering his mouth, agape with horror - the begging screams didn’t stop.

“We have to do something!” Cal burst, a red hue overtaking his sickly complexion, flinching again at a particularly desperate yell.

“What do you suppose?” Cere bit back harshly, the stress and helplessness of the situation fraying all of their nerves.

“Something! - Anything!” Cal racked his brain for a solution, the echoing screams resonating from the monitor throwing his thoughts into a frenzy. “We need to get Trilla out of the room. We need to get her away from her!”

“And how are we-”

“BD!” Cal lurches towards the screen, shaking hands frantically typing a message to the small BD-unit. “If we can just get her into the main hull of the ship, it would be perfectly reasonable for the trooper who requested her presence to have moved to a different location in the ship.”

“Cal, think about this-”

His hand hovers over the ‘enter’ button on the holopad. His wide bloodshot eyes searing a hole directly into Cere’s skull.

“What is there to think about?” As if on queue, another scream wafted through the monitor. That solidified his resolve, hitting the key before Cere or Greez could even blink, BD immediately setting into motion.

The cell doors opened with a resounding hiss as BD finished inputting the code, the little droid rolling to the side to enter the cell. The sight that greeted the crew was worse than they could have possibly imagined. The young woman strapped to the table in the centre of the room resembled a corpse more so than the confident and head-strong blonde that had departed from their ship only two weeks prior. Her imperial jacket barely hung to her beaten and bloodied frame, the torn and tattered fabric had been roughly tugged from her torso, wound into a crumpled heap around her waist and elbows, bony shoulders jutting up through the ruins of a once white tank top, now stained crimson. With every breath her ribcage shuddered, ribs pressing against her beaten and sullied skin, protruding almost painfully with every twist and struggle, skin taught. Any part of her not covered in crimson was mottled in varying shades of black and purple, the angry discolouration winding around her ribs and disappearing behind the remnants of her undershirt.

Cal felt positively sick. Anger bloomed in his chest as despair gnawed at his stomach, bloodshot eyes transfixed on the image before him, the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and Aylin’s screams echoing through his mind drowning out the conversation taking place. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table ledge with all the might his exhausted muscles would allow, his breath clogging his throat and chest as he forgets himself, his one and only concern the one person in the entire galaxy who he couldn't reach.

Trilla hovers over her diminished frame, elbow harshly dug into the blonde’s exposed ribs, gloved hand wrapped languidly around a blade buried to its hilt, fresh crimson pooling along Aylin’s collarbone, spilling onto the table and then onto the cement floor, glistening sickeningly in the overhead lighting. Noteful of BD’s presence, his frantic panicked beeps finally reaching her ears amongst the screams, Trilla leans back, still leant heavily on Aylin as her cold amber gaze lands on the small BB unit, anger and frustration etched across her face. A sickening thud echoes around the metallic room as the blonde’s head falls back pathetically, unaware of the cause of the interruption. She looked barely conscious, beginning to dance across the line of life to death, who’s arms were already open and willing to hold her in their cold embrace.

With all the languidity of a senator, Trilla leisurely pulls the blade from Aylin’s exposed shoulder, leisurely wiping the blood covered blade on her tattered jacket, a cruel smile adorning her features all the while. Aylin barely moves, eyes half lidded and body slack, the only indication of life the erratic yet shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Her head tilts to expose more of her hollowed features, Cal’s horrified gaze locking onto her own, the breath he had been holding escaping his lungs and his shoulders falling with the guilt that clawed its way up from his stomach, a tangible trepidation reverberating throughout the force. What little fat she had possessed had surely withered away, her cheekbones appearing almost sharp underneath her taught and sunken complexion, ivory skin now pale and shining a ghastly yellow under the blaring overhead lights, a stark contrast to the maroon-dried blood coating her temple and jaw. Her bloodshot and sunken eyes blearily gaze towards the ceiling, no sign of the life that had once illuminated their honeyed depths, the life that had spilled from her being in abundance no longer to be found.

Cal’s focus finally turns back to the conversation at hand, breaths shallow, BD beckoned from the room with an indignant “Droid.”, the tall figure of the second sister glowering at them from the entrance of the cell, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. With one final glance BD reluctantly turns to leave the room, following the second sister dutifully in their search for the non-existent trooper in the main hanger.

Cal collapses onto a sofa across the room from the monitor, the horrific image of Aylin strapped to a metal table, looking closer to death than life, and drenched in her own blood, permanently burnt into his retinas. A sight to haunt him for a lifetime.

“Fuck Saw, we’re getting them both, tomorrow.”

----------

With little convincing Greez had quickly succumbed to Cal’s persuasion, the two men - after much deliberation and heated debate - had also successfully convinced Cere of their plan. Truthfully, Cal had been conjuring ways to coordination a rescue ever since Aylin and BD had been captured on the Star Dreadnaught, and as he prepared for the events of the day, no doubt entered his mind that their two companions would be with the crew by the end of the day. Companion - Cal almost scoffed to himself - the two were far more than that: BD, in many ways, had become a best friend to Cal in the past few years, the companionable little droid with a taste for adventure never failing to offer a sense of comfort and joy, even in some of Cal’s darkest times, in many ways resembling a younger sibling Cal had never before had the pleasure of having. Aylin, on the other hand, in the time the pair had known one another, had somehow wormed her way into the isolated Jedi’s heart, always offering her support in his times of need, encouraging him with his training through her self-proclaimed ‘tough-love’, becoming a source of confident resolve and rationality - a sense of stability in the ever changing galaxy.

Cal remembered their many nights spent on some unknown planet, the pair sat beneath the many stars and moons of the galaxy, sharing tales long into the night. Cal had never had a relationship with anyone like the relationship he had formed with the stubborn blonde: heatedly sparring before patching one another’s wounds from the scuffle; longing glances spared with every tranquil moment, hidden behind excuses of exhaustion or a poorly constructed insult; grins and soft smiles shared over meal time or upon their own hidden adventures exploring new planets; a hand reaching out for the others in a busied market or times of comfort; an eye searching for the other in a crowded room; simply basking in one another's presence in the quiet hours of the morning, relishing every moment where they could just be. Cal knew he was a fool, a disgrace to the Jedi code he had spent his entire youth obeying like a holy script, he knew he was a fool the first time the enigmatic blonde had saved his life in her third month of joining the crew, standing over his tired and weary frame with a cocky smirk and a calloused hand outstretched, making some smart-arsed comment as she hauled him to his feet.

Attachments were forbidden, Jedi were trained from birth to let go of everything they were afraid to lose. And Cal? He was terrified to lose her - he had already broken his sacred vows, he had become attached, and he would be damned before he sacrificed one of the only things he was afraid to lose. He would never be a Jedi, yet perhaps that was okay, perhaps there was something more to this world that he had only realised upon stumbling across the Mantis and her crew.

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

The point seemed ever more poignant as his cerulean eyes stared conflictingly at the reflection in his mirror. No longer did he adorn the trusty combat trousers, baggy shirt, chest brace, not even his trusting poncho that seemed to make up his daily attire. Instead, a version of himself he had spent endless nights battling against stared back at him, the ironed and pressed midnight coloured uniform clinging to his lean frame. After a pit stop or two he had successfully acquired a knock-off Imperial General’s uniform, a notable fake with the lack of an aura emitting from the otherwise haunting apparel. Tugging harshly at the collar that bit into the skin of his neck, a habit he had seen Aylin recount numerous times in her preparation for the mission, his tired eyes trail over his figure, hoping to all of the stars and force wielders in the galaxy that his Master couldn’t see him now.

He clears his throat to relieve some of the tightness that had gathered in his chest before he leaves his sleeping quarters, rolling his stiff shoulders as he makes his way into the main hull, lightsaber already hidden beneath his newly acquired jacket.

“So,” The red-head steps before Greez and Cere - already equipped in her own better-fitting storm trooper armour - who had been typing away to BD on the small holopad in the main hull. “How do I look?”

The pair glance up at the young man, Greez’s beady little eyes widening considerably, a good natured grin enveloping his face.

“Kid-” Humour laced his tone, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. “Let’s just hope you won’t be on that ship for too long.” In comparison to how Aylin’s uniform had fit her frame, Cal’s uniform may have well as swamped him, the thick fabric creasing at his waist, his belt fastened at the smallest capacity and yet somehow still too big, sitting notably lower on his waist than it should have, polished and barely scuffed boots a size too large, the one thing that actually fit being the pair of leather gloves over his shaking hands.

Everything just seemed slightly wrong, just a little bit askew, just a little bit... fake.

By all respects, Cal had certainly gone to the effort of impersonating an Imperial soldier, skin scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime of the galaxy, hair slicked back under a hat slightly too large for his head, he had even cracked into Aylin’s limited makeup supply and attempted to conceal the many scars he had gained through his years, as well as the stress-induced darkening bags under his eyes. The Empire wasn't him, and it was painfully obvious to all who spared him a second glance.

“Say all you want, old man.” Cal jibes light heatedly, beginning to head towards the cockpit. “Have you forgotten your own disguise?” The redhead sends a pointed look in the direction of the shell of a modified astromech droid, the humour in Greez’s eyes quickly dying as his gaze lands on his ingenious costume.

“If I have to come and rescue you all in that thing.” Greez stares uneasily at his heavy, small costume. “You owe me a spa day.”

----------

After commandeering a small transport shuttle from a neighbouring planet with a rather small Imperial presence, Cal and Cere bid farewell to Greez, who was to remain with the Mantis and communicate with them through BD and the data pad.

“Be careful.” Cere warns, arms wrapped around herself as she watches Greez fiddle with some mechanisms on the inside of the ship with dull eyes. “We won’t be able to come and rescue you if you get caught.”

He waves her concern off with dismissal.

Cal appears next to her, materialising from the bowls of the Mantis, smoothing his jacket out once again. The older woman turns to the young man, barely out of adolescence, and feels the corners of her mouth tug down. This could go wrong, this could go horribly, horrendously, atrociously wrong, and with Cal’s loosening grip on his emotions, his anxiety rolling from him in waves through the force, chances of failure were ever high. Cal was only young, having grown up during some of the darkest known times of the galaxy, his future destroyed by a war begun before his birth, and now he was to be thrust into the heart of the conflict, into the home of those responsible for all of his suffering. Cal was a victim, just like all those who had lived during the raising of the Empire, his body and mind more marred and scarred than most, but he was a survivor, scorning and mocking the Empire with every day lived. Cere hoped he continued to be a survivor, one of the few specks of light in an ever darkening galaxy, yet this rescue mission threatened to snuff his light out for good.

Her mind wondered at the cause of the young man’s anxiety as she watched his hands tremble as he straightened his leather belt, surveying the pasty sheen of his skin and the poorly-concealed bags under his flitting eyes. As harsh as she had been on Aylin when her past had been revealed, it was undeniable that the two women had held a close bond, and secretly, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Cere had missed the girl terribly, her own guilty conscious gnawing away at the edges of her conscious whenever she tried to rest. Last night had been particularly bad after the events that she had witnessed unfold on the small data pad yesterday afternoon, the image of her companion, beaten and bloody, a mere fragment of how she remembered the blonde girl on her departure. The image haunted her whenever her eyes had finally agreed to close - as obviously was the case with the redhead stood next to her, exhaustion palpable on his features underneath the mounting anxiety and adrenaline - the added guilt, knowing similar treatment would have faced Trilla due to her own selfishness, depriving her mind of rest, gnawing at her innards and haunting every fibre of her being.

She hoped desperately for her crew to return, all of them safe, once again, in their home, the Mantis.

“Cal,” She turns to the tall red-head, hands gripping her arms more firmly, “I know what your goal is, I know how badly you want to bring her home.” The red-head watches her with steady eyes, shoulders raising in defence. “I want them home too, but- but please remember yourself. I can’t loose all of you.”

The sounds of the local wildlife and fauna fill the steady silence as Cal mulled over her words, hand running over the saber tucked into his side.

“Don’t worry Cere,” Cal begins heading down the ramp, taking long purposeful strides towards the Imperial ship, Cere’s more tentative steps following in his wake. “I’m going to make it back, and I’m bringing everyone with me.”

Cal didn’t know where the certainty had come from, his voice didn’t waver and his steps didn’t falter. He would do this. He would bring his two best friends back home, and one day he would make the Empire pay.

----------

“We’re here.” Cere slips out of the pilot seat, allowing for Cal to take her place, grasping her blaster in a vice-like grip as she sits stiffly towards the back of the shuttle. She watches as Cal heads to the front of the ship, manning the controls for their landing, frown deepening behind her helmet as the star destroyer encroaches, fear clawing at her throat with every memory resurfaced from the devastation following Order 66.

“We head out the Western exit of the docking bay when we land.” Cal rattles off, flipping some switches as their small vessel is pulled towards the star destroyer. “BD should meet us somewhere in one of the closest corridors and we follow them to the cell, remember to stay behind me, if you don’t they’ll know something’s wrong straight away.”

Cere watches as Cal’s grip tightens around the steering controls, leather gloves straining taught over his knuckles, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes stare unblinking towards the star destroyer.

“Are you ready?” Her voice is stern - shocking her with how it echoes back to her within the suffocating helmet - echoing around the small hull, yet Cal nearly doesn’t hear her, distracted with the storm brewing in his mind, consumed by a rising tidal wave of anxiety, determination and fear.

His eyes finally dart away from the destroyer, turning to glance at his companion over his shoulder, his blue irises red-rimmed and owlish in the overhead lights. The uncanny figure of a storm-trooper greats him, black visor reflecting his own distorted expression back to him from an impenetrable mask of white.

He nods lightly, determination sparking in his weary eyes, the collar of his jacket rubbing uncomfortably against his nape. There was no going back now, he couldn't go back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

----------

Cal squints as he exist the transport shuttle, the overbearing overhead lights bearing down on his frigid frame, the jelled hair peaking form underneath his hat shining with every tilt of his head. The first foot fall on the metal floor seems to resonate throughout the entire hanger, vibrations wracking the bones in his leg, tremors coursing throughout his body and echoing in his ears as several troopers’ heads turn towards the new arrival. His breath catches in his throat and the courage in his stomach withers as he takes another feigned purposeful stride away from the comfort and security of the shuttle, and in towards those waging a war on the galaxy. With every feigned purposeful step shockwaves scatter throughout his tense body, the tension in the air threatening to suffocate him, his heart hammering restlessly against his ribcage and lungs struggling for breath as if he had just ran through the last twelve parsecs. His cerulean eyes lock on his exit from the hanger, offering him a brief solace from the white masks that consumed every corner of his vision, Cere’s steady footsteps behind him offering a further sense of comfort.

By the time the pair finally exit the hanger Cal can practically feel the sweat that had broken out across his body, swiping his forehead to rid of any precipitation that had gathered. His shoulders and spine ached with the effort he had put into maintaining his posture - much in the way he had watched Aylin enter the hanger only several weeks prior - and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Although on the outside he may have appeared like ay other Imperial General, cold, unpleasant, perhaps even bored or apathetic to all events that seemed to have been happening around him, inside he had never felt so rattled, his mind a muddled mess, his blood coursing with fear and anxiety which only seemed to mount with every passing second. The panic within thinly veiled with calculated disgust.

Almost as soon as Cal and Cere enter an adjacent corridor to the main hanger, BD comes scuttling around the corner, the pair not recognising the droid in its new round body - Cere’s gloved fingers wrapping dangerously around the hilt of her blaster - until its excited little beeps reach their ears.

“Buddy!” Cal’s facade cracks, grinning down at the little droid as he fights the urge to reach down and give them a hug, worried incase someone should see. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The little droid, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic, practically vibrating on the spot in both glee at being rescued and frustration that they couldn’t jump straight into Cal’s arms. Truth be told BD had deeply missed their old body during their time stranded on the Dreadnaught. Not waisting any time the little droid rolls behind Cal’s trouser clad legs, ramming into his calves in an attempt to nudge him in the direction of Aylin’s cell and whirring heatedly.

“I know, I know.” Cal steps forward, resolute stature returning to his pale features as he prepares to round another corner. “We’re all going home.”

----------

Within minutes that felt like an eternity the three rebels found themselves amongst the holding cells, BD finally taking the lead to guide them to Aylin’s cell, his happy chirps long silenced as the three grew nearer, all three dreading the sight to await them. Much like when they first arrived, Cal felt suffocated by the pristine atmosphere that seemed to cling to his clothes and hair, dirtying his skin and clogging his throat. It felt fake... the whites and slanted greys, the cleanliness and order, the peace and harmony. The presented image of purity and order, worked into the very steel framework itself, felt so wrong and dirty with the suffering taking place throughout the galaxy at the hands of those that inhabited the ship. Cal could feel the misery and terror that emanated from the dreadnaught itself, seeping into him through the walls and floors, mixed into a terrible concoction with the pride and honour from the officials that walked those very corridors.

It was beloathed, and yet prideful.

Uncomfortably, it reminded him of Aylin.

The red-head tugged at the collar of his jacket as BD came to an abrupt halt at a large durasteel cell door, his mind thrust back to the present. His breath catches in his throat as BD scuttles forward to open the cell door, gloved hand wrapping around the hidden saber at his hip, listening for any approaching footsteps down the corridor. Truthfully, he felt a nervous wreck, the beads of sweat forming along his brow and his greying pallor more so linked to his worry for Aylin than anything else. He could fight if they were caught, and chances are, with both himself and Cere combined, they could easily commandeer an escape shuttle, but he wasn’t certain if he could recover Aylin from the state he had seen her in on the small holopad. At the very moment he couldn’t be sure, and a part of him, a cowardly disdainful part of his conscience, feared opening the cell door to confirm his worry, feared being faced with the broken shell of a woman he couldn’t save. Another person he had failed, a person who had saved him more times than he could count.

Perhaps it was love - his worry at knowing the truth, his fear of seeing the situation first-hand. Cal was ashamed to think such a way.

The cell door hisses open, cool air caressing his feverish skin as he steps through the threshold, the overpowering scent of antiseptic hitting him full force, yet the familiar metallic stench of blood followed. His breath remains in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Bright eyes widening as they flit about the empty room, landing uneasily on Aylin’s still figure. Cal holds his breath, silently begging her to move, for her head to tilt in his direction, for her closed eyes to open, begging her to do anything at all.

“Aylin?” The word echoes around the room, Cal’s voice shaky and cracking around the word, his mouth parched like the deserts of Tatooine. Somehow his palms become even more clammy, and he tosses his gloves to the side without a second thought, small crescents visible in the palms of his hands from how he had clenched them on their short journey. He takes a small step closer.

She doesn’t move.

Cere watches him carefully from behind her helmet as he calls Aylin’s name again and steps further into the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. BD, clearly unsure of what to do, hovers around Cere’s ankles, little camera flickering between Cal and Aylin, a barely audible humming even sting from the little droid. She turns to the closed cell door, blaster gripped tightly to her chest, wary of an intrusion.

Things had barely changed from the last time Cal had seen the room through BD’s holopad projection and he was thankful to note that it didn’t look as if Aylin had sustained any more injuries from the day prior, however, that was hard to determine with the crimson that coated her body, undoubtedly hiding wounds from view. Cal stops next to the metal table, peering down at her sullen features, her sunken maroon-bagged eyes closed to the world, chapped lips barely parted. The holopad had failed to pick up many of the finer details, and Cal was horrified to see the blossoms of purple and magenta that littered her face and neck, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her throat - Cal noting with disgust it’s resemblance to a handprint. Her blonde hair appeared dull and lifeless, slicked back from her face and coated in sweat and blood, a small lesion at her temple and brow trickling into her hairline, pooling in the rivets of her angular features. Blood - darker, older - had been smeared across her cheeks and jaw, cracking along the lines of her face and flaking from her skin, leaving it stained red underneath.

“What did they do to you?” Cal questions softly, not expecting an answer. Gingerly he places his hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid any hidden wounds.

His heart almost lurches from his chest when she flinches from his touch.

“Aylin!” He almost cheers, glee coating his voice as he leans closer, a smile cracking his features. Slowly, weakly, her eyes flutter open, familiar hazel eyes squinting up at him through all the blood and gore. She looked exhausted, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, her left eye only partially open. “Aylin, oh my force, it’s me. It’s Cal.” Lost in his own elation Cal fails to spot the weariness to her features, nor the way her gaze turns to the ceiling, vacant and unseeing. He reaches for the cuff around her wrist, but her hand jerks away from his touch. He pauses, forehead creasing. “Aylin, come on, its me, and Cere, we’re getting you home.”

Her eyes flicker to his for the briefest of moments, brightened under the harsh lighting. “Trilla,” Her voice is hoarse and weak, a husky whisper of what it once was, lined with guilt and exhaustion. She tilts her head away from the red-heads confused gaze, something awful gnawing at her stomach. “leave me alone.”

Silence consumes the room, Cal’s gaze landing on Cere who simply shrugs her shoulders in response. He reaches for her again, swiping a strand of hair from her face, hand retreating just as quickly when her eyes snap open in alarm.

“Aylin, its me, come on-”

“You’re not here.” She was trying to convince herself, not daring to allow her hopes to rise. She was in pain, she was beyond exhausted, and she was dangerously close to giving up, hoping for death as some sort of escape. “You’re not real.” She glances down to his hand that rests against her exposed forearm, mind barely registering the warm pads of his fingers pressing against her pulse. “Trilla, we’ve done this before. You’re a cruel woman.”

She glances away as pity overtakes his features, staring blankly at the ceiling, body slack against the tabletop. ‘We’ve done this before.’ Had Trilla done this before? How many times had versions of himself and the crew attempted to rescue her? How guarded had she had to be, not even trusting her own dreams for fear of revealing what she had tried to keep from those who sought to harm them. He was furious - the anger that had lapped up his throat all week rising like a tidal wave - and he would make them pay, but first he had to get everyone back.

“No, no, it’s us, it’s me. I promise it’s me.” He tries, attempting to scrub the makeup from his face, scars glossy under the harsh white light. He catches BD out of the corner of his eye. “Look!- We’ve got BD, we’re all going home.”

Finally she picks her head up, wincing at the effort. Her wide eyes land on the little droid across the room, mouth agape as the air leaves her lungs and her shoulder slump. Terror and disappointment gnaw away at her conscience, the familiar feeling of helplessness returning full force. “They found BD.” She mutters to herself, defeats palpable in her voice as she allows her head to fall back against the table, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Cal, in a stressed panic, and unsure of what to do, reaches out through the force, attempting to project his memories, something no one else could possess. But, as he pressed forward a force stops him in his tracks, Aylin’s body tensing at a presence surrounding her mind. “I can show you, just let me- let me in.”

“No! No, no, no-” Cal had never seen so much fear in her eyes, and he withdraws, hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I won’t.” He quickly retreats as her panic rises, cuffs clanking against the table as she feebly squirms, force signature returning to his own aura, yet outstretched and welcoming, more than willing for Aylin to make the first move. He wracks his tired and frantic brain for a solution, her panic feeding into his own, not expecting her to have such doubts. They needed to be quick, he knew, but there was no way they could coax her out of the room in the state she was in. “I know you. I know things about you the Empire- that Trilla would never know. Do you remember that time on Hoth when I ripped a glove and almost caught frostbite, I’ve only still got ten fingers because you managed to skin that little creature. What about that time I accidentally singed some of your hair off with my saber when I tried to use it as a torch, I had to pay for you’re haircut afterwards and you got the most expensive treatment just to prove a point. I know you have two sugars in your tea but only every other day; I know you always insist on playing with your knives no matter how many times I ask you to stop; I know that you’re favourite game to play is blackjack because you can count cards and know how to cheat, like that time you scammed me for half a brownie.” He was getting emotional now, the stress and turmoil of the past few days causing unshed tears to gather, his knuckles turning white as he wrings his hands together. “I promise you it’s me.”

They’re in you head. Her conscience echoes, the blonde fighting back tears at her own failure. They know, they know everything. Trilla’s playing, she’s already got what she wants.

“You can’t be here.” He voice cracks and wavers, throat scratchy from misuse, her mounting emotions not helping. She wished he was here, with every fibre of her being she wished Cal actually stood before her, frown on his face and eyebrows knitted together in concern. It couldn’t be true. If he was truly here she might’ve cried, and if this was all another elaborate hallucination created by Trilla then she’d probably cry even harder. She so desperately wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to do anything.” Cal reaches again for the cuffs binding her hands to the table, one hand reaching for the saber at his hip. “But please let me help you.”

She doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around her thin wrist, saber igniting and casting blue light across the room. Within seconds both cuffs are cut from her wrist, falling against the table with a thud. She rubs her wrists gingerly, wincing at the cuts she has sustained during her stay. Grasping her forearm in a delicate grip, other hand sliding behind her shoulder blade, Cal eases her up, wincing at every gasp that leaves her lips. A jaw in his muscle ticks with every sound from her mouth, pity and fury blooming in his chest.

“Agh-” She grimaces at the pain enveloping her side, ribs protesting against the movement, healing wounds reopening with every twist of her muscle.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Cal urges her on, arm sliding underneath her legs and behind her back, drawing her to his chest as he rises to his full height. Aylin’s head lolls against his shoulder, scared to hope any of this was real but revelling in the familiar warm comfort seeping from the redheads chest.

With a nod shared between `Cal and Cere they depart, deadly silent as they leave the cell, not a trace of their presence left behind. Cal glances down at the woman in his arms, beyond grateful to have her back within arms reach, satisfied with the knowledge no one would be able to harm her now. He had her and he wasn’t letting go.

Cere freezes in front of him, BD rolling into the back of her legs, and Cal’s heart stops in his chest. She urges him back, but as they’re retreating two troops round the corner, halting in surprise. Both troops helmets slowly turn towards the blonde nestled in Cal’s arms, and their blasters raise, shouting commands. Cal ducks as Cere fires, shielding Aylin as well as he could, BD taking refuge behind Cere’s legs.

Within moments the corridor plunges into silence again, two dead troops lain before the four rebels. Cere glances back to Cal, charging her blaster.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down.” And she runs, sprinting in the direction of the escape shuttles - just to the left of the hanger - with BD trailing behind, Cal sprinting to keep up. Rounding another corner he almost crashes into Cere who doubles back, the pair just managing to dodge out of the way of oncoming blaster fire as they disappear around another corner, the slap of their boots against the metal floor drowned out by the shouts of troops on their tail.

“We’re not far.’ Cere calls, throwing her helmet to the side as she gaps for breath, Cal only a few paces behind her. The pair, plus BD, emerge in a small hanger, smaller, more compact escape shuttles lined on either wall, a squad of five stormtroopers ready and waiting.

Cal’s eyes widen as he watches all five troops raise their weapons, heart plummeting to his stomach. There was nothing he could do, he just hoped they granted them death instead of subjecting them to the fate Aylin had been forced to endure. Cere reaches back deftly and grasps his saber from his belt, igniting the blade mere moments before the first blaster fires. She works in a blur, deflecting shot after shot, blue light cast across her features as she steps closer to the enemy, Cal and BD close behind. It wasn’t often the redhead was able to see Cere in combat, usually taking missions with the girl in his arms, and the skill she displayed, surely a product of the wisdom she had amassed over her years, was awe-inspiring. Every movement is precise, each twist and flick of her wrist purposeful, the weight of the saber in her hand appearing little more than a feather with the ease she displays. She deflects and a troop falls, killed by their own shot.

Slowly but surely the trio make their way towards the closest shuttle, Cal and BD baking away into the ship whilst Cere remains on the defensive, deflecting shot after shot, a bead of sweat running from her brow. Cal places Aylin down on a small cot in the corner of the cramped shuttle, instructing BD to stay behind whilst he collects Cere, running to the boarding ramp, the sounds of blaster shots once again reaching his ears.

“Cere!” He shouts, hanging out of the shuttles door, unable to do much without a weapon. “Cere!”

The older woman retreats slowly, continuing to deflect as she backs up the ramp, the red-head scuttling to the front of the shuttle and switching the engines on, awaiting the sound of the door hissing shut before doing anything drastic.

“Go!” Cere calls and he immediately sets into action, flicking a switch to his right and grasping the steering in both hands, sighing in relief as the shuttle lifts from the floor, paying no mind to the blaster shots that ricocheted off the steelwork around him. Cere appears, clambering into the co-pilots seat, saber grasped tightly in her hand as the ship lurches forward, charging full speed out of the small hanger, Cal frantically inputting the necessary codes for hyperspace, hands flitting about the dashboard in a blur.

With one final lurch the shuttle departs, the red head sighing and collapsing back into the pilots seat, chest rising and falling as he revels in the safety of hyperspace, stars dancing across his vision and illuminating his weary features, the stresses of the day lifting from his shoulders as he watches galaxies stream past. But the day was far from over, and in moments he’s clambering out of his seat, mind once again consumed by the blonde that hadn’t left his thoughts for an eternity.

Leaving Cere in control of their heading Cal retreats into the cramped hull, making a beeline for the blonde huddled atop a thin casket, BD dutifully waiting by her side, camera trained on her intensely, and rolling anxiously from side to side. Cere stares after him, wanting to offer her services, but ultimately deciding to remain in the cockpit, radioing Greez back on the Mantis, knowing that the redhead needed some time with Aylin, alone.

“I’m back.” Cal announces, sitting on the edge of the small cot, dropping a small medkit onto his lap the he had found in a compartment. His eyes land on the blonde’s pale face, eyes softening at the worry etched across her features, eyebrows knitted together in both pain and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, protruding a set of stims from the cluttered medkit. “I’m going to patch you up and then we’re going home. You’re safe, Trilla can’t get to you anymore.”

Aylin hums, head tilting to the side as she finally makes eye contact with the red head, looking as if she was only truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widen and her chapped lips part, a shaking hand reaching out to rest against his own, testing her own reality. Cal smiles softly as she watches him with curious eyes, shallow breaths parting her lips.

“Cal?”

“Yes,” his voice breaks as she finally looks at him, truly looks at him, hazel eyes brightening with every second, fighting back against heavy lids. “yes it’s Cal. We’re going home.”

A small smile fights its way onto her lips, although the joyous moment is broken abruptly, the smile quickly twisting into a grimace as her body finally begins to acknowledge the trauma it had endured, old and new wounds reopened in the frenzy to escape. Her eyes flicker, hand beginning to feel slack against his own. Cal pales, hurriedly uncapping the stim in his grasp.

“You stay awake, you hear?” He jabs the stim into her bicep, preparing the other one in his grasp. He had her, he couldn’t lose her now.

“It hurts.” Her voice is strained, a pathetic replica of her true nature.

“I know, I know it does. I’m going to make it stop, I just need you to stay here, stay with me.” Her eyes flutter again, and Cal is grasping at straws, digging through the medkit for something, anything that could work. The stims hadn't worked as he hoped and now he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Hey- hey! You keep those eyes open. Don’t you dare-” Fear grips him like a vice. His blood running cold as he leans closer, both hands grasping her shoulders, uncaring for the blood that caked them. He felt helpless, utterly, hopelessly helpless. It had been bad when he had been forced to endure being trapped behind a screen, but oh, this was so much worse. She was right here, he could touch her, talk to her, feel her weak heart beating underneath his very own fingertips, and yet he couldn't do anything. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. I want to see your eyes. Come on.”

Try as she might, her body was beginning to fail and with every passing moment the darkness that had clouded her peripheral for the past few days encroached, the lights in the hull dimming and dimming, until all she could see was Cal’s hazy face staring down at her, his hands clasping either side of her face. “Please.” She couldn’t, her walls finally falling and mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.

“Cere-!”

He sounded desperate. He sounded scared. And for the briefest of moments, Aylin felt guilty.

And then the darkness consumed her.

----------

Cal drifts in and out of sleep, dozing comfortably with his head propped atop a familiar cot in a familiar ship, hand delicately grasping another's with his legs curled under the old chair he had stolen, the hazy figure of Aylin comforting him in his peripheral. It had been a few hours since himself, Cere and BD had returned to the Mantis, patching up Aylin to the best of their ability before tucking her away in her room, on course to the rebel base in order to take up Saw’s offer of medical assistance once word had reached him of their rescue mission. Although Cal had arrived back to the Mantis full of energy, spurred on by his panic and worry for the girl who had practically collapsed in his arms, the hours and hours of stress had worn him down, the young red-head finally agreeing to catch some rest, but refusing to allow Aylin to leave his sight.

In his half-conscious state, he fails to notice the way the blonde’s lips twitch and eyelids flutter, barely registering the way her fingers flex against his own as the darkness finally releases her, mind and body returning. Aylin stirs quietly, every muscle and joint aching, the soft fabric against her skin a welcome change from the metal table she had called home for force-knows how long. With every passing second her mind returns, cogs turning as the days events come back to her full force, the sight of Cal’s worried gaze seared into the back of her eyelids, her lips parting in a gasp and her body lurching up out of slumber. Her eyes snap open, crazed and panicked as they dart around the dimly lit room, a groan parting her lips as her ribs protest, the gaping wound at her side, now haphazardly wound in fresh bandages, protesting heavily agains the sudden movement.

Cal is startled awake, almost falling from his chair at Aylin’s abrupt movement hazy eyes fighting for clarity amongst his foggy thoughts. “Hey,” He mutters groggily, mind desperately fighting against the sleep that had consumed him only moment before, hands reaching out to grab Aylin’s shoulders. “hey, hey, hey. It’s me, Aylin it’s me.” Finally, the frantic woman’s eyes meet his own, her body relaxing into his touch as he gently guides her back down, the pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She takes in a shuddering breath as Cal gently sweeps her messy bangs from her eyes, palm resting against her forehead a moment too long, simply savouring that she was here, she was back, she was safe.

Cal sits back in his chair once he makes sure she was okay and settled, fretting like a mother and readjusting her pillows and pulling the thin sheets back up to her chest, fingers smoothing out the white tank top she had been changed into. His cerulean eyes, still slightly blurry with sleep, never leave her figure.

“What happened?” Her voice was quiet, a mere murmer whisked away on the wind. She runs a hand along the bandages freshly wrapped around her shoulder, noting the wraps of gauze around each of her wrists.

“We got you. Cere and I, we went and got you. You were pretty beat up.” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. Aylin pays it no mind, wide owlish eyes staring at him from underneath a pair of heavy lids. “We’ve fixed you up the best we could, Saw’s offered some rebel facilities if we need them.” The small room plunges into silence, neither of them glancing away, Cal’s thumb unknowingly rubbing circles into the back of Aylin’s hand. As an after thought he adds. “We’re at the other end of the galaxy, there’s no way they can find us here. You’re safe, you can get some rest.”

As if she had suddenly remembered, Aylin reveals her force signature, the walls that she had held around her mind - and that she had habitually rebuilt when she awakened - coming crumbling down. Cal watches her shoulders visibly relax as the final remnants of tension leave her body, allowing his own force signature to branch out, enticed yet apprehensive of the new presence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She mutters, eyes falling from his gaze.

“I get it.” He smiles softly, thumb continuing to run soothing circles on the back of her hand. As much as he may have been hurt that she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t deny that he understood why, the events of the last two weeks evidence enough of the consequences. “We can talk about it later, you need some rest.”

Silence envelopes the room, the pair simply content with one another's presence. Cal rests his head on the palm of his hand, eyes beginning to close once again, happy that they had a second chance. Undoubtedly the pair had much to talk about, the crew had to figure out how to move forward, but at least they had that chance. For a long time Cal had feared he would never get that chance and now that he had it, he was not going to let it go to waste.

Things weren’t perfect, not by any stretch of the word, but the universe had given them the opportunity to try and make things right.

Suddenly, Aylin stirs again, wincing as she attempts to sit up, eyes wide and unblinking as they flit about the room. Cal’s hands shoot out again to stop her. “Where’s BD?” The urgency to her voice was hard to miss, resembling its older self. “Is he alright? Did you find him? I saw-”

“It’s okay, we’re all back. BD’ll be over the moon to know you’re awake, they’ve been peaking into your room every chance they get.” Cal coaxes her back down, more concerned with her reopening any of the wounds the crew had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to patch up than anything else. “And we managed to extract the information you both collected. It’s really going to make a difference.” He pauses, unsure of his next words, wondering how inappropriate they might be, unsure of how the blonde felt about him after her departure. “Thank you.”

Aylin smiles fondly at his worry, allowing him to secure her back in place, delighted that her earlier assumptions hadn’t been true, that Trilla wasn’t just playing some sick mind game, that BD was safe and sound, on the Mantis where they belonged. Then, the words fully register, and her forehead creases in confusion. “For what?”

Cal leans back in his chair, hands running through his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes more visible with the guilt festering in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve let anyone go and collect the data, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have been in the same danger as you.” His bright eyes drift to the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, flitting across the many bruises visible just from her neck up. “But you did and I- thank you. Thank you for doing this and I know-” He was rambling now, his hands running through his hair as Aylin watches him, a small smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I know I acted like a bit of an ass before you left- and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hesitates again, reaching forward to intertwine their hands, seeking comfort in knowing she was here, that he hadn’t failed her as he had done his master all those years ago. “I heard some of the things Trilla said to you, and I’m sorry you ever thought I wouldn’t come to get you. It was all I could think about since they caught you. Truthfully I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t gotten you back.”

The room plunges into silence once again, uncomfortable and stifling, Cal feeling overwhelmed at the emotions that echoed around him through the force, not daring to reach out to the blonde before him, fearful of what he might discover, fearful of heartbreak. Aylin gazes at the red head from under heavy lashes, weary eyes begging to close. The poor boy looked as exhausted as she felt, deep dark bags under his eyes, skin as pale as snow causing his scars to look red and glossy, highlighting the greyness to his pallor, his hair a dishevelled mess atop his head, tufts sticking out in every direction from the endless amount of times he had ran his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the roots in frustration. He had changed since she last saw him, donning a pair of cargo trousers and a comfortable sweater she had suggested he buy form a marker stall once, the navy material bunched up to his elbows, creased and crinkled from the stresses of the day. As tired as he looked and as rough as she felt, she doubted she had ever before been so ecstatic to see him, to see that he cared, even despite the truth of her history. Warmth spread from everywhere he touched, his soft touches and gentle caresses a stark contrast to anything she had felt before; it was everything she had hoped it could be.

“I remember seeing you in that uniform.” Aylin whispers, daring to break the silence, exhausted yet hopeful eyes boring into Cal’s own. “I’m surprised they didn’t realise you weren't one of them sooner.”

He was taken aback at the abrupt shift in conversation, cerulean eyes boring into Aylin’s own hazel pair with curiosity, his mind reeling at the exhaustingly dazzling smile she sent his way.

“And why’s that?” He questions softly, thumb unknowingly continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“Your eyes.” Cal’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, beginning to wonder if she had been able to understand his words in her drugged state. “They’re too kind.”

A moments pause. Cal could feel the familiar bloom of heat along his cheeks spreading to his ears, he dreaded to think how flushed he must look.

“They didn’t match the uniform at all.”

“You’re obviously delirious,” he deflects jokingly, voice just as soft, warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck. “the uniform didn’t even fit-”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” She mutters defiantly, determined even despite her dazed and exhausted state. “I’ve seen the eyes of some of the cruelest men and women in the galaxy. You’re too good for them Cal, you’re too good for us, you’re too good for me. I don’t know why you came to save me, but I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I would get to see your eyes again.”

Because I love you. He wanted to say, yet his mind wouldn’t let him, forcing partial truth from his lips.

“I was worried I’d never get to see you again.” Cal admits, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no idea how worried I was. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

His eyes study her face; the softness of her cheeks, the angularity of her jaw, the curve of her lips. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and then back again, watching a small smile carve its way across her small lips. He felt like a boy again, unsure and uncertain, inexperienced and insecure. He had felt like this many times around the blonde, but this time, he wouldn’t shy away. She was a shining star in an ever darkening galaxy, and he’d be dead before he let her fall from his grasp again. Mustering all the courage in the galaxy, his lips part. “I was worried I’d never get to do this.”

Some part of him, the part that remembered his time with the Jedi before the end to it all, the end of an era, stirred fear in his heart; fear of attachments, fear of loss, fear of love. A life of solitude and harmony he had practiced like a mantra, and that in every step of the way, when it came to the blonde in front of him, he had failed, time and time again. He remembers how he had felt when she had been captured, the way his heart had seized and his world had stopped, how his life since than had been nothing but worry and hurt, nothing but pain for what could have been and what might never be, the pain of loving someone and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to protect those he cares for more than anything else in the galaxy.

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

He leans closer, impossibly so, watching the grin grow on Aylin’s face as her eyes flutter shut. His lips connect with her own, melding together in an innocent affair, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw, the other tightening its grip on her hand. He presses forward, heart hammering out of his chest and blood rushing through his ears as she kisses back, her free hand coming up to tentatively grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down to her; the girl he had been so close to losing, the boy she had been so close to forgetting. It was brief and uncertain, testing new waters both had been too scared to explore, but every emotion they had kept bottled for so long came bubbling to the surface; the hurt, the pain, the helplessness, the love. In moments that felt like an eternity Cal pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wide uncertain eyes locked with her own with haggard breaths falling from his lips.

“Took you long enough.” She grins from underneath the sheets, her own heart ready to explode from her chest.

“Get some rest.” He mutters behind a laugh, pulling back to sit back in his chair, arms crossing to prop his head on the corner of the bed, one hand outstretched to hold her own in his strong grip. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

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petri808 · 3 years

Text

For my tumblr bestie @random-rave 🔥⭐️ a Nalu birthday gift of smut 🎁

Before opening her birthday present from Levy, Lucy read the attached card. She was quite curious about its contents ever since she’d been warned to open the gift at home and not at the guild where she’d received it.

‘Follow the instructions on the potion for a kinky fun surprise. I’ll tell you later how I found it. Have fun you two!’

Kinky surprise? Lucy’s brow raised. She opened the box next and pulled out a small green bottle filled with an unknown liquid.

‘Draconian elixir for mages only. Drink contents to transform into a faux dragon slayer. Heightens sense of smell, taste, and touch along with physical features. Magic possessed by the user may be intensified. Effects are temporary and will wear off in 12 hours.’

“Why would Levy think this is kinky?” Lucy wondered aloud until a recent conversation jogged her memory. Right... she’d mentioned the biting thing... Lucy laughed and tucked the bottle into her pocket. This will make for a very kinky surprise indeed! Natsu was due to arrive home the next day from a quick mission a couple towns over from Magnolia. So, that gave Lucy some time to prepare a delectable meal they’ll never forget. ‘Happy birthday to me!’

When Natsu arrived at Lucy’s apartment, he found a note on the dining table that simply read: Meet me at your cottage and tell Happy not to follow. Well, he knew what that meant, but why his cottage? He shrugged it off for the time being and informed the Exceed who had plans of his own anyway with Carla.

It was a curious thing to meet at his cottage now that they’d officially become a couple. He’d moved into her apartment while his home remained a storehouse for his collectibles and her growing book collection. Though the second part of Lucy’s message made more sense since the cottage provided a lot more privacy for their rambunctious encounters.

The closer he got, a brighter bounce in his step took hold as his imagination ran wild. Once they’d made the leap to a romantic relationship, it opened a whole new world to them. It’s true Lucy had to explain a few misunderstandings, like the where human babies actually come from thing, but what came surprisingly naturally was the sex. It was as if his dragon instincts were awakened, and primal urges became his teacher. They were both nervous in their first encounter, but once the pheromones had hit, it was all over.

Wait a minute! Natsu paused a few steps outside of his cottage and put his nose to the air. Lucy’s scent had changed somehow, stronger, headier, with a bit of dragon essence woven in. Was there someone else inside?! Another slayer?! His eyes shifted into a serpentine pupil and a growl escaped his lips as he raced to the door and threw it open. “Lucy, what’s go—!” Natsu stopped dead in his tracks.

“Welcome home, Natsu,” the blonde grinned, flashing the longer fangs the potion had given her.

The scent was coming from Lucy?! “Why do you smell like a slayer?!”

“Well,” she sauntered closer, “Levy found a temporary potion that gives me some slayer features for 12 hours and these,” she tapped a fang, “resulted from that.”

“Anything else?”

Lucy shrugged, “my senses are also heightened, but I’m mostly excited for the fangs because now I get to do some marking of my own.”

So, of all the things they’ve tried out, biting was a kink Lucy never realized she’d like receiving or Natsu in giving. When he bit her the very first time and broke through the skin, they were both washed over with a strange sensation akin to the connection she’d felt when she had written in the END book. But when she’d asked Levy if they’d had a similar experience, the answer was no. Lucy surmised she and Natsu’s bond was much deeper than they’d ever realized.

“Awww,” he pouted, though a smirk stilled curled at edge of his lips. “That’s my thing.”

“Pfft, well too bad.” Lucy grinned and ran a finger down his chest, then trailed it back to his neck. “I’m gonna make sure to put one right,” she presses on his nape, “here, so everyone will see it like you’ve done to me. Property of Lucy.”

“Mmm,” his own fang flashed, “that’s kinda turning me on.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you show me just how much?”

Natsu swept Lucy off her feet and walked to the back of the cottage where a bed was set up, placing her down while pulling at her clothes and coveting her lips. Hands were everywhere, both sets yanking and stripping away fabric to reveal the flesh beneath like a runaway train with no intention of stopping. Her excitement that afternoon was increased, be it the potion itself or the exhilaration it brought. Though his scent was something she’d come to love, it was toxic this time due to her heightened sense of smell. Oh, how the taste of his smoky saliva made her salivate and her fangs almost tingled! She moaned against their molded mouths in bursts, chasing his tongue with her own and mewling when he sucked the hot flesh.

Her passions and mixed scent served to fuel a new wave of lust in Natsu as well. He would have shredded Lucy’s clothes if he didn’t wanna hear the ending of it. His growls and grunts melded with her purring rumbles like two wild animals in ardent throes to rival a fight for dominance. Natsu wasn’t sure if it was the potions effects, but she was sure straining his muscles tonight to stay in control! He pinned her down momentarily. “I won’t let you win!”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow with a hedonistic grin, “challenge accepted.” Oh, she has no plans to physically dominate him tonight, her goals were simpler, to leave the first and last marks of the evening romps. Of course, Natsu didn’t need to know that. She wrapped her legs around his thick thighs and pulled his pelvis flush against hers, relishing in the heated length pressed against her core. “Now get on with it, dragon.”

“Tch,” he smiled back, “impatient, are we?”

“I feel him throbbing, so don’t act like you ain’t feeling it too.”

That was true. Natsu’s inner dragon wanted nothing more than to fill its mate up and re-stake its claim. If it had its way, Lucy would be spread multiple times every night until she fell asleep with him buried all snug inside. Their mating had truly released an inner beast in Natsu that only by willpower he could control... but not tonight with how fucking amazing she smelled. “Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow.”

She giggled, “I don’t have any other plans.”

“Well too bad.” Natsu moved in faster than Lucy could react and bit down on his mark. Despite gaining extra abilities, she didn’t have the same kind of control he did.

“Damn yo—” the words cut short from a burst of heat flooding her body and an overwhelming wave of lights dancing behind her eyelids. Heaven help her, the bonding effects were so much stronger! She couldn’t even think straight, just abject lust surging through her body. Lucy ground her hips desperately to rub herself against his cock, smearing the growing slick coating the area. “Burns…” she mewled, but in a delicious way. Things weren’t going to plan!

When he let go of the skin and kissed his way down her chest, Lucy took note that Natsu’s eyes were turning serpentine. The last time she’d seen this change was their first time. “Na…tsu…?” she moaned in a slow questioned tone repeatedly.

He stopped and looked up, unsure why Lucy was trying to get his attention. “Yeah?”

Tit for tat, Lucy caught him off guard and latched her mouth onto the junction of his neck and shoulder causing Natsu to cry out, a moaning growl as her fangs sank deep into the skin. “Fu—ck—” ‘Wow!’ His hips buck uncontrolled as her bite triggered a stronger reaction by his inner dragon. Without waiting for her to pull away, Natsu let his dragon take control and maneuvered his hips, pushing his cock in through her folds to the hilt. His eyes rolled back a second, relishing in her warm embrace. It felt so much better connected like this!

Lucy broke away and head craned back in a deep moan, but Natsu didn’t let up. Seated and grinding, he bit her a second time to ensure a longer euphoria, then coveted her lips, licking at the iron-taste coating them. Was it weird to taste his own blood? Somehow, it only added to the high. No thoughts, just carnal instincts taking control as he fucked her hard two ways. His pelvis pivoting slow, but rough, and his tongue stealing every moan leaching out from Lucy. He usually paid her other body parts some attention, but not this round— not when the only thing that could satiate his dragon was a good fucking.

“This is your fault…” Natsu growled heady and low as his lips teased along her jawline towards Lucy’s neck. He licked at the marks on her skin, already turning an angry red, rocking his hips so hard in an upward angle it lifted her clear from the bed, gaining a small yelp. “This is just round one.” He leaned in nibbling her ear as he spoke. “Don’t be surprised if you end up pregnant after this.”

“Worth… it,” she moaned in response. “But you know what?”

“What?”

Lucy opened her eyes to reveal they’d turned serpentine too. Semi-surprised, Natsu grinned at the change, but was caught off guard again when she suddenly grabbed him, wrapped her legs, and flipped them over in a power roll. His eyes flashed wide in a mix of shock and awe— Hell yeah! Now on top, Lucy locked her heels around his thighs to hold her position and bit down a second time. Natsu responded by grabbing hold of her pelvis. He wasn’t about to lose his stride! If she wanted to bite, let her, because he had something else to finish.

He continued pumping his hips from below, chasing his end. But the position hit upon Lucy’s buttons too, and the more he rocked, the harder it was for her to maintain control over her senses. Something feral inside broke free and she started biting sloppily along his neck and shoulders, wherever she could reach. Being on top was supposed to be a power move for Lucy, but the combination only fueled each other to drive harder and faster towards the inevitable conclusion.

Natsu grunted when he felt the squeeze against his shaft and Lucy’s body enter a spasmodic stiffening. Her moans and hyped-up pheromones made the area surrounding them thick, stifling like breathing in drug-laced air. That was it for him. He quickly rolled them back over and pounded fast and rough, timed with each milking pass until only a dry heave remained.

“Where’d Levy find this stuff again?” Natsu panted out as his body dropped onto Lucy’s in exhaustion.

Still trying to catch her breath too, Lucy giggled. “You like it, huh?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Natsu leaned down and kissed her with a gentle pressure. “Happy birthday baby.”

Lucy returned the kiss with a brightened smile. “Best birthday ever.”

“Oh, it ain’t over yet.”

“Rounds?”

Natsu flashed a cocky grin. “Round—s…”

#nalu #nalu smut #nalu fan fic #nalu fan fiction #lucy heartifilla #natsu dragneel #nalu smutfic.#birthday gift #fairytail

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hillnerd · 3 years

Text

WAKING UP- CHAPTER 5

Rating M A03 ff.net [ Previous Chapter] [start at the beginning]

For thanks yous, chapter warnings and ‘what happened last chapter’ scroll to the end of this chapter :)

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CHAPTER 5 - QUEEN OF CLUBS

Ginny didn’t have a very large room, and it felt even smaller as Hermione tried to ready herself to go to a club, of all places. She wasn’t the club ‘type.’ She couldn’t say for sure, as she’d never been to one, but what little familiarity she had made it sound awful. Loud noises, skimpily dressed, dancing as if she hadn’t a care in the world seemed… exhausting. And pointless. And dangerous! Fleur, Angelina and Ginny were trying on a myriad of dresses and asking for the group's approval. While the wireless played raucous tunes and the other girls giggled, Hermione spent her time packing and repacking her beaded bag.

The extension charm was still firmly in place. She hadn’t figured out a way to keep things more organized within it, though, so the canned goods she’d placed there kept falling over. She wasn’t going to forget food again, that she knew. She hadn’t located a new tent yet, but she needed to prioritize that soon. She had just finished repacking some of her clothes when she heard Ginny ask, “What are you doing?”

Hermione snapped the bag shut, not knowing how to explain her preparations in any way that made her seem of sound mind.

“Just wasn’t sure what to wear…” It wasn’t a complete lie. She wasn’t sure what fit her anymore.

“Well, you can never go wrong with a little black dress,” said Ginny pointing to a thin-strapped sundress Hermione hadn’t had reason to wear in well over a year.

She nodded and went to a corner, turning her front away from them as she changed into the dress. As she wiggled her jeans out from under the dress she noticed the other girls showed no similar discretion, happily throwing dresses off in the middle of the room.

Hermione gave a speculative look in the mirror, tugging a bit at the neckline of her sundress. It fit differently than before, bagging around her waist and chest in an unflattering way, and the straps would not stay in place.

“I can do alterations to dresses if anyone needs them,” said Fleur, grabbing a book from within her bag, discreetly catching Hermione’s eye. Arachne Salavarrieta’s Little Book of Sewing had a few good spells for altering clothing on the fly. All four of them looked over the text for just the right spells to take in, let out, and shorten dresses.

Ginny, still underage and unable to do magic, begged them “you’ve got to shorten my skirt once we’re there!”

“Why not have us do it now?” Angelina asked, propping up a magically enlarged hand mirror on the roll top desk.

“I have four older brothers downstairs,” Ginny said with a sour look.

“Why should that matter?”

“One of those gits will take the piss in front of Mum if I look remotely sexy. That is, if Mum doesn’t already notice all on her own. I don’t know! Either way, just help me with the hem at the club, please? I don’t want to be the only one there looking frumpy!”

“From-py?” Fleur asked.

“Unfashionable, old-fashioned, overly modest and drab,” Hermione provided, fairly certain the term had been liberally applied to herself over the years.

“You look far from from-py, but we will help with the skirt,” Fleur assured Ginny.

“And if any brother gives you shit at the club, we’ll hex them for good measure too,” Angelina added, bringing out a pair of curling tongs and prompting Ginny to sit in front of her.

Hermione pulled at her dress some more, not sure how much to alter it, and not sure if she wanted to bother. A pernicious guilt gnawed at her as she pulled the dress taut to her body. She should be doing something that mattered, not fretting over a dress. She should be in Australia. She hadn’t earned a rest, let alone a ‘fun time out.’ She’d taken no steps forward. She’d not found her parents’ location, she’d not earned money, she’d not even checked to see if her old childhood home was still standing.

“Hermione, is everything alright?” Fleur quietly asked, coming to stand beside her at the long mirror.

Hermione forced a smile onto her face.

“Oh you know me… I’m never sure what to do with fashion and all that. I’m more at ease in a library.”

Fleur gave her a searching look she’d seen before at Shell Cottage. It was a look that sought truth behind idle chit chat. It brought a sisterly sort of comfort that Hermione had not thought Fleur capable of a year ago. She had found the French woman to be condescending and too effortlessly beautiful to warrant any attempt at friendship. The war had given her an appreciation for Fleur, though. They were something akin to friends now.

“I just…” Hermione said in a low voice only Fleur could hear as the wireless yowled another rock anthem. “This feels so silly when there’s so much to do.”

“We’ve earned a bit of silly, do you not think so?”

“You all might have…”

“Hermione,” she said, putting a tentative hand around her shoulder. “You ‘ave done more than most anyone.”

“Since The Battle I’ve done nothing! Everyone is helping rebuild and all I’ve done is sleep! And my parents are still in Australia, and I’ve…I’ve done nothing to get them back.”

“Ron told us of your parents and the memories… Will you be needing any help?”

“No,” Hermione quickly insisted. “No. I just need to make a plan and get them back here. Once I have a plan then it will all be alright.”

“You are meaning to bring them back here in England… To the home you lived in before?”

Hermione nodded, and saw a look of concern wrinkle Fleur’s otherwise flawless brow.

“Hermione… Have you been to your home since the war ended?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m planning on checking on it soon.”

“This is why I asked. You can not do that alone. Many Muggleborn homes were cursed after the war. Some are no longer standing,” said Fleur, her voice ringing with intensity despite the lyric tone.

Hermione was aware that many a Muggleborn home had been razed to the ground, but refused to believe the same could have happened to her childhood home.

“Even the Burrow needed much curse breaking,” she continued. “We do not know each other well, but I am happy to help you with this.”

“Oh you don’t have to!” Hermione said with a shake of her head.

“Oh poppyrot!” Fleur said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Hermione let out a long breath, her gratitude forcing her to not correct Fleur to the word ‘poppycock.’ “It is my pleasure!”

“You two alright?” asked Ginny giving the two a sidelong look as Angelina continued to curl her hair.

“We are,” Fleur said, looking to Hermione who confirmed this with a head nod. “Just helping out with fashion. It is a ritual we women do. The girls gather and dress and help one another to look more beautiful, while the men do nothing.”

“Maybe they shower,” Angelina added with a laugh, “but probably not. They never put in half the effort we do!”

“You see? It is the way of it,” Fleur said, giving Hermione a small squeeze and a meaningful look. “I can help whenever you like.”

“Thank you, Fleur…” she said with equal import. When the other girls looked at her with curiosity she continued, “I don’t have any of my usual things like makeup or hair products.”

“I have a ton of stuff in my bag,” Angelina offered.

“As do I. We girls help one another,” Fleur said, grabbing a comb and some bottles of French products Hermione didn’t recognize. She continued with the faintest whisper, “You can send a message or Patronus to me when you are ready to enter your old home.”

Words failing her, Hermione put a hand on Fleur’s and gave it a small squeeze. Fleur said nothing, but the warm smile she sent in the mirror reassured her that the French woman completely understood.

After an hour of sewing alterations, primping, squealing, and many changes of clothes by each of the ladies, they decided they were almost ready enough to leave.

“Oh! Jewelry! I forgot about that,” Ginny moaned, looking through her small box of earrings.

Angelina and Fleur were eager to help her, but Hermione wasn’t sure she could take another debate about fashion. She was grateful for the silly hour she’d gotten to spend with them, though. Despite her hair still being a bit wild and curly, Hermione had to admit she liked how she looked in the mirror. The black sundress fit her perfectly now. She almost looked like she had a figure again. Between the dress and the makeup, and a bit of product from Angelina to keep her hair from frizzing, she looked almost pretty. She felt a touch of excitement flurry in her stomach at the thought of looking nice in front of Ron. It almost made her forget how nervous she was to be out of the safety of the Burrow. She gripped her beaded bag close to her side.

“I’m going to wait with the boys, if that’s alright.”

The girls waved her off as they held different earrings beside Ginny’s face.

As Hermione stepped into the hallways she immediately ran into a thin, though sturdy, body and let out a small exclamation of alarm. She quickly muffled her sound when she saw it was only Harry.

“Are you all ready to go then?” he asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Ginny behind the closing door.

“We’re almost all ready,” she said with a fond smile. “You know girls, it takes them forever.”

“You’re a girl too, according to Ron at least,” said Harry, giving her a wry grin. Harry was looking rather sharp in Muggle clothes that actually fit, and his hair was looking mysteriously untidy.

“Did you do something to your hair?”

“What?” he asked, putting a hand to the back of his hair and patting at it. “It doesn’t look bad, does it?”

“No,” she laughed, seeing the panic in his eyes. “Just not as wild as usual.”

“Yeah, well it took like four spells and I think they’re already wearing off.”

She studied his hair and could see one by one little hairs slowly moving into disarray, almost like someone had rubbed an invisible balloon against it.

“You’re trying to look extra nice for Ginny,” she teased. He frowned, but a blush began to form around his jaw. “Yeah, well, we’ve never gotten to properly go someplace together, have we? You did the same for Ron, right?”

He had her there.

“Speaking of, where is he?”

“Downstairs, I think,” he said, hand going to his hair again. “Is it looking bad again?”

“It’s looking more like it usually does, if that’s what you mean.” His face scrunched in disapproval. “Really, it looks fine. Your hair fits you best when you do nothing to it. You look perfectly nice.”

“You too,” he said with a glance at her, before heading towards the bathroom. “Ok, I’m going to try to spell this one more time.”

She knew it was a lost cause, but didn’t have the heart to tell him as he eagerly tried to preen.

As she reached the bottom steps of the stairs, she could hear the low rumble of men’s voices.

“They’re taking ages,” Charlie sighed. “I don’t see why it takes them so long.”

“Women wear more?” said George.

“Harry’s hair has taken almost as long,” Lee said with a snort.

Hermione looked around the corner and saw the men all sprawled around the room, shoes up on tables and couch arms in a way they’d never dare if Mrs Weasley were in the room.

While everyone lightheartedly bantered with one another, in the corner sat Ron. His brow was creased as he silently played chess with Lee. He looked haggard, and for the eleventh time that evening, Hermione wished they weren’t going out. She’d much rather spend the evening wrapped in Ron’s arms, as she had that afternoon.

Her nerves had frayed at the thought of sleeping beside him, worried he would catch her in a nightmare. Silencing spell in place, she had feigned grumpy tiredness when he asked her questions. There had been no need to worry, though. Cuddled up to him she fell asleep as surely as one did on sleeping draughts, and somehow her nightmares were kept entirely at bay. It was the best sleep she’d had in months. The only thing that could have improved it was waking up beside Ron. He’d been gone when she’d woken, with no one knowing where he was. He’d come back from the village looking worn out giving excuses of ‘getting supplies’ which didn’t hold up to real scrutiny, when she thought of the timeline he gave. Ron Weasley was up to something, she just didn’t know what.

As if her thoughts drew him to her, Ron’s eyes rose and met hers.

The furrow in his brow smoothed, his scowling expression softened, and a boyish smile of his tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Who’s winning?” she asked, approaching the chess board.

“Ron was, but I think my luck’s about to change,” said Lee, a few of the men joining him in laughter and elbowing Ron, seeing his rather besotted look. Usually he’d turn beet red and curse at them, but his face remained mostly impassive as he met her eyes and smiled. The only sign of his discomfort was his ears going a tiny bit flush.

“Check mate,” said Ron, moving his bishop across the board, and rising from his seat.

“No it’s not, is it?” Lee asked, looking at the board. “Damn!”

Ron gave the lot a two fingered salute and led her from the living room to the kitchen, where his mother was doing some tidying and listening to the radio.

“I wasn’t sure about the dress,” she mumbled. Ron’s eyes traveled down her and she suppressed the urge to readjust her neckline, though she wasn’t sure in what direction.

“Well you look amazing in it,” he said, looking her in the eye and making her stomach do a tsukahara flip.

“Thank you,” she managed. A pleasurable rush of nerves ran up her spine. Despite looking very tired, he looked handsome. He was wearing an untucked dress shirt she’d not seen before, with the sleeves rolled up his arms in a way that made the nerves in her spine turn to jolts. Given the darker color scheme of it, she assumed it was a hand-me-down from Bill. She quickly realized all of him was looking rather polished, with the exception of his beat up boots. She wasn’t sure what to say to him. He was so sensitive about clothes, and the last thing she wanted was to cause additional stress on him, but she also knew he was a bit insecure and it might be nice to compliment his appearance.

“So how long until the rest of the girls are ready?” he asked.

Well there went that opportunity.

“Soon, I think. They just had to pick out earrings for Ginny,” she said looking up into face. His eyes looked so weary. “Are you doing well?”

“Course,” he grunted, immediately turning from her. “Mum, do you need help with that?”

Mrs Weasley turned from the dishes and assured him she didn’t. Despite the assurance, he started putting dishes in the cabinets. He didn’t spare her another look, not when the rest of the girls came down the stairs some ten minutes later, and not when they gathered on the edge of the property.

“Before we go,” George announced, beginning to hand each of them a playing card, “here is a Muggle I.D. for each of you.”

“Why do we need an I.D?” Ginny asked, inspecting the playing card in the waning light of the sunset.

“Because they check to see if you’re old enough to drink at clubs and such and can’t just put up an age line,” answered Bill.

“Why didn’t you transfigure these already?” asked Hermione, looking at her playing card, the Queen of Clubs.

“I’d have to know what Muggle I.D.s look like to do that. This just has a spell to register as an I.D. to Muggles. Pretty clever, if I do say so,” George said, smiling to them all as he finished handing out the cards. “Getting the dates right was tricky. Just make sure you say your birthday was in 79 or earlier. The card will match up with whatever date you say.”

“Where are we apparating to, George?” asked Angelina.

“My hotel room’ll do,” he answered.

Hermione felt Ron unexpectedly stiffen beside her.

“Everyone but Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Fleur knows where to go. So you all can pair up and side-along there. Here, Gin, come with me,” said George, waving Ginny over.

Ron made as if to grab Ginny back, but George had quickly disappeared with her. One by one they all disapparated, leaving her and a distracted Ron staring at the space George had just occupied.

Ron licked his dry lips and scrunched his brow in determination. “Right… Okay then, I guess we better go.”

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she said, gently putting her hand in his. “We could just stay in, you and me.”

His shoulders slumped. “Merlin, I wish I could take you up on that.”

“Why don’t you?” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve been dreading going out.”

“You too?” “I packed and repacked my bag, just in case,” she said, giving the beaded bag a small shake that made its contents give a crash. “Damn. That’s probably the books again. I really need to find a way to make things stay in place!”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said with a fond look on his face. “But we should go. It’ll be good to get out, plus with G— nevermind.”

“Plus what?”

“Look, I really want to tell you, but I’m just not up for it all right now.” Her face must have given away how frustrating she found that. “I will, I swear I will! Just not tonight. Let’s just— let’s just pretend we’re okay and go out and try to enjoy ourselves.”

It went against every instinct in her body to agree to wait to know something, but she nodded her acquiescence. His large hand moved to her back and the tight feeling of being compressed overtook her as he Apparated them to George’s hotel room.

In moments they reached their destination and the feeling of her breath being stolen didn’t stop, for Ron’s fingers grazed her side as he took a pace back from her.

When they arrived they received a good amount of teasing for taking their time to arrive, heavily implying the two had been snogging. Neither teen corrected them. As everyone made small talk, Ron was completely silent and looked about the room with seeming purpose. He had shown immense concern about George right before they left, had that intense conversation with him earlier, and she had to admit George smelt like a bar when he arrived and looked like he might have been sleeping on the floor of one. She had no idea what Ron was looking for, except perhaps empty bottles. The room was sparse, and only a tray of food, and a small bag in the corner showing any signs someone had been living there.

No one seemed to notice his actions except George who fixed him with a glare when no one was looking. Ron looked far from sheepish, and instead stood tall and locked eyes with his brother.

“Let’s get going. It’s just a few streets over,” George announced to the room, looking away from Ron.

Nerves shook Hermione as they travelled down the grimy London street. It did not look much different from Tottenham Court Road. The last time she had been near this part of London they’d ducked into a grotty cafe and been cornered by a pair of Death Eaters.

At least then it had been a less obtrusive group, with only her, Ron and Harry. Now they were a large boisterous group with so many redheads they stood out like a flock of goldfinches. Most of them were loudly talking or laughing, and many a passerby smirked at the boisterous group. If someone wanted to target them, they’d be all too easy to spot. She gripped her beaded bag so harshly one of her nails chipped.

Thankfully George was quite correct about the distance being short. In minutes they arrived at a large dark building with music dimly pulsing through its walls and a line to get in.

A large barrel-chested man with the thickest neck Hermione had ever seen stood at the door. The eldest Weasleys along with Lee and Angelina were let through with barely a glance at their playing cards, but as soon as he spotted the younger members of the group the bouncer began to look like an agitated bulldog.

He eyed Ron and Hermione’s cards closely, but gave a much more scrutinizing look towards Ginny and Harry as they handed their playing cards to him. He held a small flashlight to the Jack of Spades and Queen of Spades, and even ran a fingernail along the edge.

“What’s your birthday?”

“1979!” Harry offered, before wincing at his volume. Ron let out a chuckle, while Ginny rolled her eyes. The man’s glare intensified. “Er… July 31st 1979, that is.”

“Hmm… And you?” growled the Bouncer, sourly looking to Ginny.

“Tonight’s my birthday, actually!” she said with a winning smile. Hermione nearly protested, but Ron gave a small shake of his head.

“Ah, happy birthday!” said the man nodding at the card before handing it back to her, looking much less ornery. “Let Teresa know about it, and they’ll do ya something special.”

“Your birthday, huh?” Harry asked Ginny as soon as they were through the door.

“Much easier to have a good time and get some free drinks that way, isn’t it?” she said, giving a conspiratorial grin he shared.

“But it’s not your birthday!” Hermione protested, irritation prickling down her neck.

“I’m not eighteen either,” Ginny breezily pointed out.

“Well you’re lucky the card was able to adapt to that when you hadn’t said an actual date,” Hermione persisted. She clutched her beaded bag closer to her chest. “We don’t want to stand out.”

“Why not? It’s a Muggle club. It should be fun.”

“Well, it might be a Muggle club, but that doesn’t mean it’s completely safe.”

“You worry too much,” she said in an infuriatingly calm and understanding voice.

“No! We have to make sure we stay low profile and don’t say anything wrong, because all it takes is one wrong word and then everything falls apart!”

Harry looked to the ground, his eyebrows knitting together. He had to be thinking of the Taboo and the Snatchers as well.

“It’s just a bit of fun, Hermione. We’ll be okay,” said Ginny with a smile, looking around to spot the rest of their group, taking Harry by the hand towards a corner table. “Ah there they are!”

Hermione had never felt more like shaking her friend. Didn’t she understand how dire things were? They’d met Death Eaters at a Muggle cafe in London last August, and Fenrir and those Snatchers in the woods. All it took was one small mistake and then hell would rain down on them; they could end up beaten or cursed or stabbed in the chest. “Hermione…” she heard Ron’s voice quiet and low in her ear. “There isn’t a Taboo anymore…”

“You don’t know that!” she almost shouted at him, painfully gripping her beaded bag.

One of his large hands gently started unwinding her fingers from the bag, before taking it from her and putting it in his jacket pocket. He started massaging her fingers. Under the pink and orange lights she could just make out the imprint the bag had left on her hands.

“I can feel the Taboo’s broken, and I bet you can too if you concentrate on it,” he said, continuing to work her hands until they became limp in his. “But if you want to leave and go back to the Burrow, we can right now.”

His quiet earnest words brought her eyes up to his. He saw right through her. He didn’t give her empty platitudes. He gave her a common sense answer to why things would be different, and an out if she was uncomfortable. She felt the overwhelming need to kiss him, and despite the crowd she decided to indulge herself. She stood on her tiptoes, and he took her lead leaning down to brush his lips against hers, hands still holding hers. How had they had so many years together without kissing?

For years she’d had to sit near him, with careful scrutinization over every action and inch between them. Was sitting too close to her friend? Would her leg pressing to his be too much? Would he notice how her eyes were fixated on his mouth a good three minutes as he grinned and told her about the mad thing he’d seen earlier that day? Did his hand around her shoulder linger longer than a friend’s hand would? When he’d tiredly leaned his head into her, had it meant something to him?

Now she could kiss him whenever she liked, and melt into his strong form, and let her hands be caressed, and get the anticipation of more ring through her body, and know it might be fulfilled later. The only thing she struggled to hold back was blurting out how very much she loved everything about him.

“Alright?” he asked as their lips parted.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from saying ‘I love you and actually yes I’d like to go home, but only because I want to snog you until both of us can barely breathe.’

“Ready to have ‘a bit of fun?’”

“I think I can manage,” she said with a smile. As long as he was by her side something akin to enjoyment of the evening could happen.

They went to a back table that didn’t nearly have enough seating for them all. This didn’t seem to matter as half of them strategically placed their jackets and purses so strangers would know it was occupied, while the others went to the bar to get drinks for everyone. Their table butted nearly up to the bar, and Ron perched on one of its stools.

“Do you want something to drink?” Hermione asked, looking at a menu.

He shook his head. “Someone needs to stay sober. Might as well be me.” He took the menu from her and eagerly pointed to it. “But I could do with these fried cheese things!”

She got in line, ready to order and pay when George stepped in. “Put your cash away. You’re not buying a thing, tonight! We’re here to celebrate you three, after all!”

Grateful not to have to spend the meager amount of cash she had, she put in her order for Ron’s food, and her wine. She’d never drunk much in her life, but she experienced the occasional wine with her parents.

She had worried the evening would be tedious, but seeing everyone looking giddy, toasting one another, and even dancing made her rethink the evening.

Ron had kept a close eye on George, but his brother was looking at ease and jubilant surrounded by family and friends. Hermione enjoyed the warming tang of red wine as they chatted away and seemed more relaxed than they’d been in years. The wine soothed her nerves as well.

“Was your skirt that short when we left?” George asked Ginny after she did a twirl to the music that accidentally flashed a cheek of her knickers.

“Yes it was,” she coolly answered. “And even if it wasn’t, there’s nothing you’re going to do about it, is there?”

Harry, already looking sloshed, looked down at Ginny’s legs, his mouth slightly open.

Ron gave a chuckle before flicking his friend’s ear.

“Righ’, sorry,” Harry said with a nod. Despite all the spells he’d done on his hair, it had reverted to its normal disheveled state.

“Let’s dance!” Ginny said, grabbing Harry’s hand. If it weren’t for the few rounds of shots, Hermione didn’t think they’d be able to get him on to the dance floor, but in his current state he happily followed his girlfriend to the bright lights and thumping music. This seemed an adorable prospect until they actually saw him dance.

“Oh shit… Someone needs to hit him with a stunner or something,” Ron laughed, as Hermione leaned back into him.

Harry had no sense of rhythm at all, and his stiff-armed movements made many people wince. Ginny didn’t seem to care, and was happily dancing beside him. Her effervescence seemed to drown out Harry’s sad attempts at movement.

Ron guffawed, and shook his head in amusement. Seated on a bar stool, he was only a half a foot taller than Hermione, which made for much more convenient kisses with no tiptoes needed. She had finished her second glass of wine and had a hot pleasant sensation buzzing through her. She put her head back and closed her eyes, feeling the vibration of his deep laugh and the music thrumming.

“Hmm… Y’should dance with me,” she murmured, though she made no move towards the dance floor. Instead she rubbed her hands down his legs that were on either side of her. The lights on the dancefloor shifted to green for a moment, and the cozy peace felt strangled. She glanced up to Ron, and thought of the one thing that really made her feel nothing but warmth. “You should snog me.”

He chuckled a bit, and she felt the back of his fingers graze her cheek.

“Dance or snog— Whichever you want,” he replied in her ear. “Though it seems you’re going a bit legless for dancing.”

“I am not!” she protested, pushing herself off of him and nearly stumbling. She stood very tall and made firm eye contact. “I am far from inebriated and do not like the implication that I am inebredated!”

“You mean inebriated?”

“That’s what I just said!” she said, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, let’s dance!”

He gave a shake of his head, but followed her onto the dance floor, where most of their group were dancing. Despite the yellow and orange lights, they were a vibrant group that stood out. Hermione couldn’t think why she’d been worried about it, though! And Ron was actually a very good dancer. She’d discovered this at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and was happy nothing had changed. He had a grand sense of rhythm and the way he held her close and moved about with her made her feel like one of those ladies from an old musical. Roger Gingers? No, that wasn’t it…

“You make me feel like a lady!” she shouted over the music. “I mean, a lady from a musical that dances and such! Y’know? Like with Astaire and all those old ones in the movies?”

Ron gave a nod, and she nodded along happy he knew the reference. Yes! He and she were meant for one another. He knew what she meant when she said things. Oh no, that couldn’t be right. Fred Astaire was a Muggle! There was no way he knew that reference!

“Wait! You don’t know who Astaire is!”

“Nope,” he replied, an amused grin making his dimple appear.

“Then why did you nod along?”

“You’re supposed to smile and nod at drunk people and irate girlfriends— and you’re the best of both!”

She laughed as he spun her around. She could do this forever! Just spin and spin, his hands on her, the bright lights bringing out odd colors in his hair, his warm smile, the invigorating feeling of just being alive...

“You dance as well as you snog!” she yelled, right as the song stopped, making many on the dance floor snigger, but she didn’t care. It was true. And he was hers, not anyone else's, and she got to snog him whenever she wanted. “Let’s get another drink!”

She bounded to the bar, and added another wine to the tab George had started.

“I think you might’ve had enough,” said Ron, sidling up beside her.

“Then you drink it!” she said, holding up the wine before taking a sip. He gently took the wine glass from her, and put it on the bar.

“Ever since I drank that poisoned mead, I’m not much for drinks from people I don’t know.”

“I just drank from it, though, so you know it’s safe,” she said, holding her hair up and away from her too hot neck.

“And I need to be sober so someone can get us all home at the end of the evening.”

That was a very good point. “You should snog me in the club’s bathroom,” she countered.

“That is very very tempting,” he said leaning in and giving her a peck on the nose. “When you aren’t sloshing about I might take you up on that.”

“M’not!” she said, grabbing her wine glass.

“Another round?” George asked, holding out a tray of shots. “For the trio! And the birthday girl!”

“Oh yes, let’s drink to my birthday!” Ginny crowed, grabbing what was at least her shot glass. There was a quick clearing of a throat from behind her from Bill. “Oh come oooon! Can’t I have some fun?”

“You can have plenty of fun. Just might want to be able to remember it tomorrow.”

“Don’t be mummish!” she replied, downing her drink.

Harry tittered at this, and she put a hand over his shot glass before he could get it to his lips. “You might want to hold back.”

“Mummish,” Harry laughed, with a shake of his shaggy head.

“How much has he had?” Charlie asked.

“A couple of shots and a beer,” said Lee with a shake of his head. “Complete and utter lightweight.”

“I want another shot,” Harry protested.

“Sorry, sloppy, leave this to the professionals,” George said, downing it before Harry could stop him. Hermione caught a grim look pass between Ron and Bill, but dismissed it as a good song came on and the other girls dragged them all onto the dance floor.

The party continued until Ron insisted they take a water break. Hermione slide into the booth next to him, wobbling only slightly, yet she gladly snuggled into him.

There was a gauzy blur to everything, with only the center of her vision having much clarity. It was nice. Her blurred cameo-vision settled on Ron. He was very handsome. And tall!

She told him so.

“Thanks,” he said, not seeming to take her seriously.

“I mean it, though! You’re almost pretty,” she said with a firm nod. “I’ve always thought so. You have the bluest eyes… They’re so… Blue! And I love your hands. They feel nice too.”

“Uh huh…” he said with a smile. “I think we best get you home soon… Here, have some water.”

“I don’t want water, I want more wine,” she said, taking the water and drinking it. “But I do mean it. You’re very good looking. And you have a cute bum! I haven’t told you that, but I should. I should tell you these things! I mean to, but I wait too long, and then I can’t tell you. Like with your clothes tonight! You look extra dishy and I can’t tell you because I don’t want you to think I’m not nice about clothes to you, ya know?”

“Well in that case, thank you?” he said, pouring her some more water that she angrily sipped at.

He’d taken off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up again at one point. She trailed a finger along a brain-scar on his forearm. She liked that. There was something about it that made her squirm in a good way.

“I like your arms… But to my point!!” she said, sitting up straight and poking him in the chest. “There’so much I can’t tell you! I’m the best secret keeper in the world. It’s like… It’s like my words are Fidelius charmed! And I don’t know how to tell you the secret! I want to, of course, but if I did and you didn’t say you love me back then I’d be so upset, and so I don’t say anything!”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest.

“You make it hard to not say things when you’re so pretty and good. You’re so good, Ron Weasley. I want to… I want to bottle you up and marry you and be the only one to touch your bum.”

His chuckle pleasantly hummed through her. He braced her against him a bit then kissed her forehead.

“I want that too,” he said, almost so quietly it couldn’t be heard over the music. She felt him stir beneath her head and let out a huff. “What?”

She cracked open an eye to see Harry gormlessly staring at them.

“I’m so glad you didn’t die. You’re like… the most important people in my life and I love you both so much,” said Harry, pointing to somewhere a foot or so to the left of them.

“No more alcohol for you, Harry,” said Ron, making Hermione sit up.

“I mean it!” Harry belligerently stated.

“We love you too, Harry,” said Hermione, putting a hand on him. “You’re like a brother to me! If I had brothers. I don’t. But if I did, you’d be my little brother.”

“You’re like an older sister that I love like a sister. And we’re both not dead,” Harry said with a nod.

“Merlin’s balls. We’ve got to get out of here,” Ron muttered, grabbing a glass of water and thrusting it into Harry’s hand. “Chug that and try not to be such a melancholy arsewipe, yeah?”

“I can’t help it. I had a bad childhood until I met you and Hagrid…” Harry said, looking so sad Hermione wanted to cry.

“You did! Ron, he DID have a bad childhood!”

“Yep, I’m aware,” said Ron with a sigh getting up. “Harry, where’d you put your glasses and jacket?”

He gave a sad shrug. “I don’t have a family. I don’t even have glasses now.”

Hermione nodded. “He can’t SEE, Ron.”

“I’m legally blind.”

“He’s blind, Ron!”

“Oh my GOD! I’m going to find the glasses!” Ron exploded, a hand going to his hair. “I’m getting bloody tired of dealing with drunks, you know that?”

“But he’s blind, Ron.”

With a wild gesture of frustration he started looking around the various points in the bar Harry had been to. Harry murmured about a lot of sad things, and Hermione told him about Ron’s bum which made him snigger. She leaned her head against the back of the booth, closing her eyes for just a moment.

She heard Charlie, Bill and Fleur bowed out for the evening, citing business they had to do the next day. Bill pulled Ron aside for a moment. She could just make out the low voiced words of ‘George,’ ‘rest’ and ‘bail’ beside her. She cracked open an eye and saw them both glancing at George, who was still bouncing on the dance floor with Lee and Angelina. Hermione listened to hear more, but the thrum of music drowned them out.

Hermione woke up an indeterminate amount of time later lying in their booth, head curled up on a conjured pillow and Ron’s large jacket draped over her.

She blearily rose and blinked to see Harry finish a shot beside her.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking anymore,” she managed to rasp even though her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She smacked her lips and looked for some water. The nearest pitcher seemed miles away even though it was a mere few feet.

“Y’were sleeping in the booth and there’s was noone to stop me,” said Harry with a triumphant smile that morphed into an unpleasant low belch.

“How long have I been asleep?” Her head was aching. She should have drunk more water.

“Mmm… An hour or so?”

“Where’s Ron?”

“He tucked you in,” Harry answered. She warmed at the thought of giant Ron hunching over to tenderly make her comfortable.

Harry put his chin on his hand and stared at her. “He fancies you.”

“Well I quite fancy him as well.”

“You fancy him,” he said with a sloppy dismissive hand, “but not like he does you. He’s all…” A series of soft pats rained down on her head. “And you’re all…” He pointed a finger at her face, nearly poking her in the eye. “Ya know?”

“Oh well that makes sense,” she humored him. “Where are your glasses? Didn’t Ron go to fetch them ages ago?”

“Search me…” he said, putting his head on the table before slurring. “I need a nap…”

Ginny, Lee and Angelina came panting off the dancefloor.

“Where’s George?” asked Angelina, gulping down some water and making a loud noise of satisfaction when she’d finished.

“Wasn’t he with you?”

No one knew where George or Ron were. They were about to start searching when there was the sound of a mic turning on, and the DJ announced, “and now one of our guests wants to make an announcement.”

There was a horrid feedback noise and a scuffle, but then a familiar voice began to ring through the crowd.

“Hello everyone!” said George into the mic.

“Oh God, who let him have a microphone?” said Angelina, shaking her head.

“I’m George and I’m here to celebrate my little sister’s birthday! So everyone, say cheers to her!”

Many of the crowd raised their glasses and Ginny was happy to wave to them and give a small bow. Hermione spotted that she was wearing Harry’s glasses on top of her head. She turned to point this out to Harry but he was letting out a series of small snores.

“Also we’re here to celebrate my brother Ronnie, and his two best friends. I can’t tell you what they did, but they are being honored for their services and it’s pretty impressive shit, so cheers to them!” The crowd cheered again. “That’s right. He’s very impressive. Didn’t think he would be, but here we are! Didn’t think he’d make it out of a war alive, but he did. Not a fucking scratch on him, ‘cept some missing fingernails.”

Hermione looked for Ron, and found him standing to the side of the DJ booth. He looked like he was saying something, and George’s face went dark and surly. “No, I don’t feel like going home.”

“Get off the mic!” someone from the crowd hollered, and few people let out a resounding ‘woo’ in agreement.

“Yes, thank you for your support!” George said with a wave. “What was I talking about? Oh yes! The war! My other brothers all made it ok, but I lost an ear, and then my twin brother got fucking killed by a bloody wall. How stupid a way is that to go?”

The DJ tried to get George to hand over the mic, but he was belligerently holding it low and crowding the DJ out. Ron looked like he was saying something. He put a hand on George’s shoulder that was violently shrugged off, prompting Angelina and Lee to run over to intervene.

Hermione didn’t want to crowd them and was fairly certain she couldn’t get there fast enough to help anyways. Ginny had a hand to her mouth.

“None of you know how much we sacrificed to keep you all safe, you know that? On the run all the time, nearly dying every day, and you lot just went about your lives having no fucking clue. People died. My brother is DEAD! And you’re all having a bloody good time, but he’s dead and everything is fucking ruined and—”

The thick-necked bouncer moved in and started pointing a beefy hand in George’s face.

“George, don’t!” came Ron’s holler, just barely picked up by the mic.

Hermione heard a chorus of yells beside her as, in front of the entire Muggle club, George whipped out his wand and brandished it at the bouncer.

“Take another step and I’ll drop you,” he snarled.

Hermione gave a yell of her own as Ron put up his hands and stood in front of George’s sparking wand.

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

Chapter 5 Author’s Note-

Chapter 6 is already written and in the editing process.

I actually split Chapter 5 into two parts as it was epically long. So next chapter will be from Hermione's POV

oh, and it will have some smut

and angst

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

Giant thank you to:

@abradystrix and @divagonzo for betaing and being so supportive and wonderful.

CHAPTER WARNINGS:

cursing, depresssed/anxious thinking, talk about eating & weight gain/loss, evidence of PTSD, drinking and drunkeness, threats

Previously, in 'Waking Up'

Hermione is on edge about her parents and is having trouble with anxiety in general- also worried about Ron not saying 'I love you' yet

Ron was exhausted from tending to George the night before- he's running on fumes- and is devastated that Hermione doesn't seem to care for Harry joining the Aurors- He fills out paperwork and gets sick with anxiety

Needs a quill and sees Hermione needs money for Australia

Goes to the village to get a job- gets lost in dark memories

Comes home to everyone giving cheers to him and the trio for Order of Merlins and Auror offers

They're all gonna go out to celebrate

#fanfiction #hermione granger #ron weasley #romione #harry potter #waking up #My writing #post hogwarts #hp fanfic

62 notes · View notes

hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation. pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write!

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.”

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach.

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason.

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs.

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy.

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache.

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud.

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long?

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?”

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly.

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong.

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon.

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook.

You scream.

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—”

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!”

“Well… is he at least cute?”

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!”

“Tasteful nudes.”

“I’m gonna die.”

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.”

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates.

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM.

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?”

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.”

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot.

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram.

Of course, he’s stupid hot.

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well.

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more.

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend.

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league.

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on.

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen.

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen.

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?”

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot.

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?”

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?”

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.”

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!”

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.”

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?”

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance.

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing.

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.”

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures.

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.”

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something.

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie.

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.”

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.”

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy.

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really.

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing.

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.”

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment.

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film.

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic.

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?”

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.”

“You think right.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair.

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?”

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.”

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier.

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot.

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud.

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes.

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container.

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?”

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display.

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?”

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.”

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation.

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.”

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking.

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.”

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.”

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.”

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize.

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.”

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.”

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?”

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.”

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.”

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you.

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down.

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks.

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts.

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed.

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ???

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird.

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture.

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today.

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring.

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.”

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.”

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.”

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?”

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.”

You choke on your saliva.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?”

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?”

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!”

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.”

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.”

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.”

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off.

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?”

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?”

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.”

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.”

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens.

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists.

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger.

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine.

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.”

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.”

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?”

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.”

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag.

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin.

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio.

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony.

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him.

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.”

“It was.”

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table.

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.”

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.”

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity.

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die.

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more.

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them.

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.”

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists.

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset.

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself.

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.”

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.”

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink.

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set.

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.”

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.”

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.”

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?”

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that.

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?”

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?”

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.”

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself.

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.”

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.”

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.”

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame.

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home.

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead.

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade.

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?”

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?”

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this.

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.”

#jungkook fic #btsghostiebingo #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

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1234-angelika · 3 years

Text

Sugar Rush

an:Hey y'all! I'm really excited for this week, lot's of good content coming out. This is the second installment of the Happily Ever After series for David. As always, enjoy!

words:1.1k

warnings:none. If you see any please message me and I'll add it.

summary:"Baking and love go hand in hand, for as one bakes a tasty treat and fills the room with its sweet aroma, the true joy is to take what has been made and share it with another." -Heather Wolf

masterpost|taglist|have an idea

In the 5 months since the book signing, you and David had been texting back and forth. You were just slightly confused by the mixed signals you were getting from him. Or maybe, you were just misinterpreting them.

The shrill screech of your alarm brought you out of your peaceful sleep. It was so early, the sun hadn’t even come up. You began getting ready for the day, comfy clothes for your busy day ahead. Today was recipe testing day. You started with a cup of coffee and a brainstorming session on what you were going to make. An hour later, you started on the baking. Time quickly passed you by, and your dining room and some of the kitchen counters were covered in a countless variety of baked goods—all recipes for the upcoming book. By noon, you were covered in flour, and the kitchen was a disaster. You walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch, only meaning to take a break.

When you woke up again, the sun was setting, and there was some incessant knocking on your front door. You groaned and pushed yourself into a seated position, waiting for the blood rush to pass before you lifted your body off the couch and went to answer the door. With a huff, you swung the front door open, only to be greeted by the root of your confusion in person. The smile that previously occupied David’s face quickly morphed into something akin to a smirk, making amusement the only emotion you could read on his face.

“Bella! What happened to you? Did the flour attack you?”

A sheepish smile made its way onto your face, and with a shrug and a yawn, you answered, “Nope. Just testing new desserts for my next book.”

You moved out of the doorway and motioned for him to enter, no longer wanting to be in the cold. He stepped into your home with a smile. As he stepped in, you didn’t think to ask what had prompted his impromptu visit to your home; instead, an idea popped into your head.

“Do you want to come in and try them for me? Please? I need another opinion, at this point, they all taste the same to me.”

“Why not,” he answered.

You locked the door and led him to the kitchen through the winding corridors. As the pair of you stepped into the kitchen, a chuckle came from him.

“What?” You questioned.

“It looks like your baking supplies fought with you, and won!” He answered, still chuckling—a friendly grin on his face.

With a huff, you began to clean the kitchen, fully expecting him to sit down and taste some of your newest creations. Instead, when you turned to the sink, you found him putting on gloves and preparing to help you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, curious. You had had guests over before, and none of them ever offered to help you clean up.

“I’m going to help you. It’ll be done faster and then we can both enjoy your baking and chat.” He answered, smiling and then he gestured for the two of you to get started.

You began to clean like you were on fast-forward, energized by your accidental nap. Instead of the usual four hours, it took you to clean up after recipe testing, with David’s help, it only took an hour and a half. When all the cleaning was done, you made your way to the dining room, coffees in hand. As you both tested the pastries, light chatter filled the air, complementing the crunching and chewing. You were catching each other up on the day-to-day in your lives. When David finished his second coffee, he checked his watch and choked on the air.

“It’s already 2:30 in the morning!” He announced. You were shocked at how time had gotten away from the both of you.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry David, I know you have to go into the office tomorrow.” You said apologetically, hoping he wasn’t harbouring any ill-will toward you.

“Don’t worry about, I’ll just head out now.”

“No way! I’m not letting you drive when you’re this tired” As you said this, he let out a massive yawn, and a sheepish look made its way onto his face, “I have a guest room, you can stay in there.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on your space….”

“I’m sure. It’s better not to risk it.”

“Okay. I’m just going to get my go-bag from my car.”

He walked out the front door, and you waited downstairs for him. When he came back in, you locked the door and then asked him to stay in the living room so you could get the room ready for him. Hurriedly, you walked up the stairs and made it into the room. You fluffed the duvet and plumped the pillows. You grabbed an extra blanket from the closet and placed it on the chair in the room. Grabbing some towels, in case he decided on a shower, you put them into the bathroom. You grabbed him from downstairs and lead him to the guest room, telling him where everything was. After dropping him outside the room, you continued down the hall to your own space when you heard your name. Turning around, you saw David in the doorway of the guest room.

“Yeah?”

“Since I’m spending the night at your place, I think I should at least take you to dinner.”

“Oh yeah? When?”

“I was hoping you were free on Friday.”

“Hmm… I’ll have to check my schedule,” you pulled out your phone and put the date into the calendar, and with a smile, you said, “Look at that! Looks like I’m free.”

“Okay, I’ll text you the information.”

“Good night David.” You said with a goofy grin, the high of being asked out by him rushing to your brain.

“Buona notte Y/N.” He responded before going back into the room and gently shutting the door behind him.

As you got ready for bed, you heard the tap for the shower creak on in the next room over. You continued with your usual nightly routine, making sure the doors and windows were locked, thermostat down and lights off before you got comfortable in your bed. An hour of Netflix later, you were ready to sleep. That night, you went to bed with a smile on your face, not for the usual reason; no, this was because of the man in your guest room. David Rossi.

taglist:@multixfandomwriter @myescapefromthislife

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #david rossi #david rossi x reader #rossi x reader #happilyeverafter #hea

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diavohno · 4 years

Text

peccant pt.1

▹ pairing: lucifer x fem!reader, mammon x fem!reader, leviathan x fem!reader, satan x fem!reader, asmodeus x fem!reader, beelzebub x fem!reader, belphegor x fem!reader

▹ genre: smut, rut!au

▹ words: 6.6k

▹ rating: nsfw

▹ warnings: mc curses like a sailor and solomon has no filter, lucifer’s had a rough time, a pinch of grinding, mentions of masturbation, hickies, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, rough sex

▹ notes: tadaa! this took a bit longer than I had originally planned (hence the big gap between the sneak peek and the full release) but I was determined to crank this out for @hornywrath‘s birthday! hope you enjoy a lil bit of mammon hun, and happy birthday! also, I guess this also counts for a 400 follower milestone, which we hit very recently! thank you all for being here, I hope the wait was worth it ;)

“Solomon, I’m about ready to fight someone,” you seethed to the sorcerer as you glared up at his ceiling from your comfortable resting spot on top of his bed.

The entire situation was ridiculous. The brothers had been actively avoiding you almost all week, which was annoying enough, but today they had cut off all communication with you entirely. No one came down to breakfast, no one was in any of your shared classes, and no one even bothered to text you so you’d know what the hell was going on. If they were going to give you the cold shoulder the LEAST they could do would be to tell you why.

Instead, you were left to wonder what you had done wrong because surely there was some explanation for their behavior. After a full day of scouring your memory during boring classes (in which there was no one to distract you, unlike usual) you were still drawing a blank on what exactly you had done.

This only meant one thing: you were 100% innocent in this situation, and the brothers would never live this down if you had anything to say about it.

When you were about halfway back to the House of Lamentation after class your D.D.D. buzzed. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest seeing that the notification was a text from Lucifer. It was the first time any of the brothers had contacted you all day! With any luck, you’d finally get some explanation as to just what was going on, and (if you were lucky) an apology. The second one is highly unlikely given that it was Lucifer who had texted you, but you still had hope. That is, until you opened the message.

After class, immediately go to Purgatory Hall. You will be staying there with the other exchange students until further notice.

A second set of buzzes followed the first, in case one punch to your heart wasn’t enough.

Under no circumstances are you allowed to return to the House of Lamentation without permission.

Excuse you? Were you seriously just told that you weren’t allowed in your own house anymore? Sadly, yes, that seemed to be exactly what had just happened, and Lucifer isn’t the sort of person that you’d argue with about an order.

But come on, you hadn’t even gotten an explanation!

With no other choice, you turned your livid butt around and marched (read: stomped) over to your new home, ready to tell (read: rant to) your fellow exchange students of the injustices you had been served as of late. As if Lady Luck wanted to send an ‘F U’ herself, Solomon was the only one in Purgatory Hall when you arrived. Not the beautiful and benevolent Simeon, or Luke, who you thought of as an angelic younger brother, but Solomon, with a fox’s grin that was far too smug for your liking. And, unfortunately, the smugness only grew as you lamented about how abysmally bad your week had been thus far.

“Oh, y/n,” he said, a teasing coo woven into his tone. Your attention shifted from his incredibly interesting ceiling to his incredibly boring head that he was propping up on his desk with his incredibly boring hand. Solomon may be one of your best friends, but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t push your buttons all the damn time. “You’re so naive to the ways of the world.”

“Sorry I’m not a fancy pants magic bitch like you,” you grumbled with no real bite behind your words. Would you believe he then had the audacity to snicker at you? Because that’s exactly what he did. It took all of your strength plus a little extra from the Big Man Upstairs to not clock the white-haired menace into next week. “Solomon, explain to me what’s going on before I do something I won’t regret.”

Ever the fake pacifist, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need for violence. And, really, it’s your own fault that you don’t know about demon ruts.”

Silence filled the room, leaving you to sit there and drown in it as Solomon seemingly decided the desk itself would make a much more comfortable seat than his chair. With just those few words he had managed to switch your brain from operating on Google Chrome to Internet Explorer, and what is the next thing he does? Perches on his desk like it was normal.

After some time passed with you buffering and Solomon preening as if he had just been graced by God, you finally managed to spit out, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

More snickering. Try as you might, you couldn’t fight off the blush that had been steadily creeping onto your cheeks, so you instead gave in and decided to find out as much as you could. “You mean, right now, they’re at home—”

“Jacking themselves off on anything of yours that they can get their cummy little demon mitts on? Ding ding ding, you’ve guessed it! Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been in your room already. Having a—” calculating eyes swept your form from head to toe before continuing irritatingly hesitantly, “presumably fertile female so close is akin to torture when they’re rutting, so what remains of your pheromones are probably the only thing they can smell at the moment.”

Taking the high road for once in your little gremlin life, you chose to ignore the ‘presumably fertile’ comment and remained focused on the topic at hand: the brothers were going through a demon rutting period. “That is so unbelievably disgusting and hot at the same time.”

So some of your inner gremlin slipped out, sue you.

Solomon sighed as if he expected nothing more from you, white strands of hair falling onto his face as he pressed it into the palms of his hands. “Leave it to you to be turned on by the suffering of others.”

“Shut it, Solomon, you know what I mean.” Heat flared across your cheeks at the insinuation. You may be many things, but a sadist was not one of them; Lucifer had that title locked down anyway. “Dammit. What do I do, Solomon? Lucifer texted me saying that I can’t go back, so does he really expect me to wear the same clothes for however many days it takes for their ruts to end?”

“Probably. He’s twisted like that. Ooh, what if he’s getting off to the idea that you’re—”

Before you had a chance to cut Solomon off from finishing a sentence that would have undoubtedly mortified you to no end, a series of rapid-fire buzzes from your phone did it for you. You had patted both yourself and the area around you on the bed down thoroughly only for Solomon to dangle your phone in the air. Warning bells sounded off in your head loud and clear the moment you noticed his cheeky grin.

“I think you should put this one on speaker.”

With a flick of his wrist, your phone sailed through the air and landed on the bed next to you after you failed to catch it. Ignoring Solomon’s snort, you flipped your phone over to see who was calling you. The name, along with everything you had just discussed with Solomon, caused your pulse to pound in your ears.

It was Mammon.

Panic ran through your veins like liquid lightning. Should you answer it? There could only be one reason why he would be calling if he was rutting. Warmth shot straight to your core. Deep down, you realize that if he was calling you to ask for help, you’d say yes. Solomon cleared his throat and gestured at your phone, reminding you to answer before you lost your chance. Without hesitation, you answered the call, switching to speakerphone with a pointed glare from the man across from you.

Within seconds, breathy groans rang out from the phone. Your face flushed as you spared a glance at Solomon, who had donned a shit-eating grin, before your attention snapped back to the phone upon hearing Mammon’s voice. “Where are ya, y/n?” he whined. “I need ya so bad.”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip between them. “Lucifer told me not to come back for now, so I’m at Purgatory Hall.”

A string of expletives exploded from the speaker, although they died down as quickly as they started. When Mammon addressed you again, the pleading tone to his voice was in no way subtle. “Please. . . Please come help me, y/n. I need ya.”

“Mammon, babe, are you rutting?” Your eyes widened in horror while Solomon snickered gleefully; the question had fallen out before you could really even think about it.

You weren’t given much time to worry over it, though, as Mammon answered in confirmation, “Yeah. And everythin’. . . Everythin’ fuckin’ HURTS. It hurts so bad, y/n, please.” Images of some of your succubi and incubi friends flashed through your head. It would probably be best that a demon helped him through his heat. If you helped, you’d likely get hurt. You had just begun to offer to call one of your friends when your words were cut short with a growl. “No, dammit! I only want you! Only you, ya hear me, y/n?”

A milky-white hand clamped firmly against his mouth was the only thing preventing Solomon from alerting Mammon to the fact that you were not the only human hearing him at that moment, and that hand was getting dangerously close to not being enough to save the two of you. The thought of how Mammon would react upon finding the two of you out sent a shiver down your back. You could NOT let that happen.

Executive authority coursed through you as you turned off the speakerphone and brought it up to your ear instead; a curling lick of satisfaction in your chest was the only thing Solomon’s huff of discontent managed to elicit. “Okay, Mammon, I’m on my way.”

A pleased groan answered your words, followed by a click. You blinked a few times, waiting to no avail for anything else— he had hung up on you. Although you’re not quite sure what you expected (some thanks would have been nice) you couldn’t help but to notice how your body seemed to be thrumming with anticipation.

“Oh, you’re on your way, are you? You DO realize that if you go to help one of them you’ll have to help ALL of them, right? So are you stupid? Is that it?” the whirlwind that was Solomon accused, white brows furrowed in total scorn. “And here I was, thinking that you were a creature of intelligence. Oh, how it pains me to be wrong.”

Already on your feet, you pocketed your phone and smoothed out your clothes, ready to head to the House of Lamentation at any moment. After concluding that you were presentable enough to go have a demon rip your clothes off your body— a matter that you had grown incredibly serious about in a somewhat suspiciously short amount of time, as if the thought of being ravaged by the brothers had crossed your mind before— you turned to address the snarky sorcerer in the room. “You heard him, Solomon. He’s in serious pain right now, and he wasn’t going to accept anyone else’s help getting through it.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it,” he said in exasperation. “He’s a DEMON. He’d say whatever he needed to in order to get you there!”

Arguing with him was clearly going to get you nowhere. Instead, you stared down Solomon, daring him to continue trying to change your mind. It was a battle of the minds, and luckily for you, you happened to be one of the most bull-headed humans to ever grace the earth. After what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Solomon relented with a burdened groan.

“Fine, just let me cast a spell on you so you aren’t impregnated and obliterated, for the love of God.” His eyes searched yours imploringly. If you didn’t know any better you’d almost think that he was worried about you, but that would be a ridiculous idea. Still, you agreed, to which he let out a breath of relief.

Without wasting any time he crossed the room and took your hands in his own. Low mutterings in a language you didn’t recognize left his mouth, so you focused on the feeling of his hands; they were surprisingly soft and a bit bigger than you had previously thought.

A faint warmth and a corresponding tingling sensation started at your fingertips and soon encased your entire body, the tingling somehow reassuring as it raised goosebumps to the surface of your skin. Your eyes flitted up to Solomon’s questioningly, only for them to widen in shock— his eyes had gone entirely white and were glowing. Just as you were about to admit that his magic was actually pretty cool, it stopped.

The warmth and tingling disappeared, and Solomon’s eyes blinked back to normal. The only effect of the magic that you could feel was a particular humming sensation in your lower abdomen. That, and you felt like you could take on Diavolo himself and win, but that wasn’t a new feeling; an uncommon one, sure, but definitely not new.

Satisfied with his work, Solomon staggered a few steps backward before flopping onto his bed. “You should be good to go.” He propped himself up on his elbows, fixing you with a squinted stare. “You’re lucky I enjoy our banter, y/n. Can’t let you go and get yourself fucked to death, now can I?”

“God, don’t phrase it like that,” you said in a strangled voice, to which Solomon cackled and dropped onto his back once again. Just when you thought the two of you might have grown closer, he had to go and say something as mortifying as that. With renewed vigor, you scurry out of the room.

Solomon’s silvery voice echoed through the open door behind you. “Like what, the truth?”

He just managed to catch your snort before you walked out of earshot, leaving the sorcerer sprawled out on his bed, his chest heaving in deep breaths of air. The spell he had cast on you had taken quite a bit out of him. Now, he struggled to even keep his eyes open as waves of sleep crashed over him.

Would it normally take this much energy to prepare a human body for a demon rut? He supposed not, although it wasn’t exactly something he did except on the rare occasion, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you wouldn’t just be dealing with one demon. There was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Ah, well, it was sure to come to him after he had rested up again. The comforting blanket of sleep settled over him, as well as his own blankets after he slipped under their covers. Right before he entered dreamland, the vision of a glowing pact mark appeared in his mind. His eyebrows knitted together; was this a premonition?

However, the mark was soon swallowed up by the foggy mist of his mind, and Solomon drifted off to sleep.

x x x x x

Never before had you gotten to the House of Lamentation faster than you did today. Just going home wasn’t nearly the same level of motivation as going to get some demon dick, so you hauled ass in record time, weaving in and out of random pedestrians you encountered that were walking the paths around the Devildom. Your friends really were right: you had no hope of making it into heaven. The worst part is, they had no clue whatsoever how true that statement was.

You came to a halt in front of the dorm you had recently come to call home, your hands on your knees as you struggled to regain your breath. It took everything you had not to just collapse into a weary heap on the front steps, but the promise of what was to come was enough to keep you going. Instead, you took a minute to steady your breathing before climbing the steps and slipping into the house. Technically, Lucifer had forbidden you from coming home, so it would probably be best to not alert him to your unwanted presence.

Thankfully, you had plenty of practice tip-toeing around from all of the times you’d snuck out with Asmo to go clubbing. Lucifer would never know you were there.

As you snuck past the kitchen toward the hallway of bedrooms, the sound of the tap turning on freeze you in your tracks. With your heart in your throat, you slowly twisted your head toward the direction of the sound, hoping from the bottom of your sin-stained heart that the person responsible wasn’t who you thought it was.

There, his bare back hunched over the sink with a glass of water clenched tightly in his degloved hand, stood Lucifer. Although the mere presence of the man had you rattled, what he was wearing— or rather, what he WASN’T wearing— made you even more so. He had donned a pair of baggy grey sweatpants that rested low on his hips and had lost the rest, leaving little to be imagined. Little to be imagined of HIM, that is— the sight sparked plenty of thoughts on your part.

The temptation to slink away to Mammon before you were discovered was great, but the temptation of marveling this new side of Lucifer was greater; you steeled yourself and moved toward him.

His rut seemed to have taken quite the toll on him already, as his usually well-kept hair was now disheveled and somewhat damp as if he had just recently gotten out of the shower. A shiver ran down your spine as the image of Lucifer in his shower was plastered to the forefront of your mind. With much thanks to your abysmally short attention span, the thought was easily discarded when you noticed that his muscles rippled along his back with each movement he took: emptying his glass; placing it back down on the counter; pushing his hair back.

Even as he turned around and realized someone had joined him in the kitchen, you couldn’t find it in yourself to run for cover. Maybe you’d screwed up your survival instincts at some point?

“y/n?” Lucifer croaked, his gaze predatory as it raked down your form. Something akin to a harrowed smirk cracked across his face when you shivered at the intensity radiating off of him, yet it was soon replaced with a pained grimace. His hands clenched the edge of the counter behind him so tightly that his knuckles were white as he ripped his gaze away from you. “I believe I explicitly told you not to return here until you received further instruction. You disobeyed me.”

You’d be lying if you said that the commanding growl in his words didn’t turn you on. Hell, if anyone told YOU that you’d just laugh in their face because damn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. Not to mention the electrifying effect it had on your body; it was as if every fiber of your being was on edge right now, acutely aware of every single thing that Lucifer said or did.

You found yourself longing to press your body up onto his, to entangle your hands in his already messy hair and mesh your lips together while you hook one of your legs around his waist to keep him close as he slams you up against the counter—

The purposeful clearing of his throat snapped you out of your imagination. It’s odd for you to have become so withdrawn from reality, but you just chalked it up to it being a side effect from whatever spell Solomon had cast on you. Anyway, Lucifer had asked you a question, and while it may not have been the smartest decision in the long run, you were in no mental state to be pulling lies out of your ass. “Mammon asked me to come over and help him.”

“Oh really? So you’ve discovered our dirty little secret, but still came?” he hummed in thought, more to himself than to you. Some switch must have flipped in him as he had gone from very obviously holding himself back to slowly stalking toward you with a wolfish glint in his eyes. It was at that moment that your survival instincts kicked in and you took two small steps back for every one Lucifer took forward. Sadly, you seemed to have walked further into the kitchen than you had originally thought you did and soon found yourself pressed along the center table with nowhere else to run from the demon in front of you.

A pink tongue darted out from his mouth, wetting the bottom lip that it dragged along. Lucifer had you right where he wanted you. It took a total of three steps for him to close the gap between you two, his arms resting on either side of you to cage you in. Desire flickered in his half-lidded eyes as he stared you down. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?”

You hummed in response, too fixated on how alluring his slightly-parted, flushed lips looked. Due to your intense focus on said lips, you didn’t miss how the corners of his mouth quirked up before he leaned forward and out of your sight. Your breath caught in your throat as his heated breath fanned out across your neck while he spoke. “You’re lucky that you ran into myself and not one of my brothers. Unlike them,” his hips met yours and instantly began to slowly roll, “I can control myself.”

The hardness of his length and the waver in his tone seemed to suggest otherwise.

A devious thought pushed itself to the forefront of your mind, one that you were all too willing to go along with. One of your hands ghosted down his chest, your nails lightly scratching his pale skin while the other snaked upward and caressed his cheek. Lucifer shuddered into your touch and bit back a quiet groan, his hips grinding against yours with a tad more urgency.

“What happened to being able to control yourself?” you asked breathily. With any luck, you’d be able to get his self-control to snap and he’d take you right then and there. Your thighs tensed slightly as heat shot to your core at the thought.

Then he pulled away and your entire mastermind plan came crashing down.

Lucifer stumbled backward, fingers pinching his nose tightly shut as he glared holes into the ground. Wait, do you smell or something? You could’ve sworn you had put deodorant on that morning. A discreet sniff of yourself reassured you that you did not stink, so why the abrupt stop?

“I believe that you should find Mammon in your room.” He staggered backward with urgency; so much so that he would have clipped his side on the counter had you not warned him. Pink dusted his cheeks for a moment as he cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed from not noticing the counter. Your bemusement was cut short, however, when he fixed you with a piercing look that sent shivers down your back. “I expect to see you in my room once you are finished.”

Unable to stop yourself, you quipped back, “I’ll think about it.”

“By all means, do,” he purred, red eyes narrowing into seductive slits. Even as he backed out of the room, sweat beads beginning to glisten on his forehead, he somehow still made you want to do nothing more than hand yourself over to him completely. “But let me assure you that the actual thing will be so much more enjoyable than whatever you end up imagining.”

With that, he was gone, and you were left with nothing but yourself and your newfound neediness. You had half a mind to chase after the first-born, but the other half of your mind was insisting that you go to Mammon, as he was the one who had called you in the first place. With a small sigh, you headed off down the hallway toward your room. It was a short walk, as per usual, but the anticipation that had once again began to swirl in your stomach lengthened it a good bit.

What, exactly, did helping a demon through their rut entail? You assumed that they needed help finishing, but was that it? Of course, you’d help the brothers out with anything, ESPECIALLY if they were in pain because of it, but it was a little unnerving not knowing exactly what you had gotten yourself into. Thank God that Solomon had been there to help cast a spell on you (which you still had no clue what it did, but you trusted him enough to believe that you’d be fine) because, now that you’ve had some more time to think about it, there was no way you’d be able to walk away from this little excursion of yours unscathed.

You hesitated outside of your partially opened door for just a moment before stepping inside and locking the door behind you. As you turned around to once again face the rest of your room, quiet huffing and groaning alerted you of the demon in the room with you.

The sight that blessed your eyes ignited a white-hot fire in your core.

Mammon was sprawled out buck-naked on your bed, your sheets and comforter rumpled enough to lead you to assume that he had been wriggling around on them for a while. As a surprise to no one, your eyes immediately zeroed in on his hand— namely, how said hand was loosely wrapped around his length and lightly jerking it. His caramel skin glistened under a sheen layer of sweat from his exertions, and his head was tipped back against your pillow as he chased a semblance of relief.

You mindlessly take a few steps toward the sight. Had he not noticed you were in the room yet? Considering how tightly his eyes were screwed shut and how his breathing was getting progressively louder, it wasn’t impossible.

“Mammon?” you called out hesitantly, unsure if you should be interrupting or not. Although, he had called you specifically to help him with this exact thing, so maybe you were worrying about nothing.

His eyes snapped wide open the moment his name came out of your mouth; he really hadn’t heard you enter then. A shuddering inhale shook his form for a moment before he pushed himself up to a seated position and said in disbelief, “You really came.”

As if you could ignore his phone call. You rolled your eyes as you finished closing the gap between the two of you, your hands lifting to cup Mammon’s warm cheeks. “I said I would, didn’t I?” Unintelligible mumbling followed that you silenced by pressing your thumb against his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

Without a word, Mammon’s hands gripped your waist and guided you onto his lap, your knees on either side of him. His hot mouth instantly found your neck, the feeling of his hasty kisses and the occasional nip stealing your breath away. Not staying in one place too long, the kisses quickly trailed their way down toward your collarbone, only for the fabric of your shirt to get in the way. Aside from his annoyed grumbling, Mammon didn’t make any comments about it and simply tugged at your shirt, wordlessly asking you to take it off.

Of course you complied (because why would you not?) and freed yourself from the now-restrictive fabric. No sooner had you wriggled out of your top than had Mammon’s hands begun to roam all over your body, almost as if he was attempting to commit your form to memory.

Everywhere his hands went brought a tingling sensation to your skin. Eventually, one dipped low enough to fiddle with the band of your shorts, although it didn’t go any farther than that. As great as the makeout session was, a growing firmness pressing along the inside of your thigh and the unsteadiness of his touch reminded you of exactly why you were called in the first place.

“Mammon,” you tried, but your words fell on deaf ears as Mammon was too lost in the feeling and taste and touch of you to even register that you had spoken. Fog rolled across your mind as he found a particularly sensitive spot and capitalized on it, teeth gently scraping against the skin which was immediately followed by a soothing swipe of his tongue. Still, you found it somewhere within you to try again. “Mammon, wait.”

“Hm?” His lips buzzed pleasantly against your neck, eyes turning up toward your own.

Your stomach flipped at the sheer want pooling in their golden ichor. “I’m here to help you with your rut, but right now I feel more like we’re focusing on me.”

“Of course I’m focusin’ on you,” he harrumphed, a look of embarrassment shading his features. “You’re a human! There’s no way you’d be able to jump right on in without gettin’ hurt, so I’m… I’m tryin’ to warm you up a bit.”

You chuckled, running a hand through his hair reassuringly. “That’s awful sweet of you, babe, but I’m seriously fine. Solomon hooked me up with some magic before I came over, so I’m all set.”

His grip on your hips tightened at the mention of the sorcerer, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his hands jumped from your hips to your shoulders, flipping you onto the bed with Mammon positioned between your legs. You’d never noticed it before, but his canines were slightly more pointed than a human’s; they’re all you focused on when a smirk crept onto his features. “You should’ve said somethin’ sooner.”

If before had been the warm-up, then the main event was the warm-up times ten. Your mouths crashed together, and you found yourself fighting to stay caught up with Mammon’s urgent pace. The bed creaked underneath the two of you as Mammon rushed to get the rest of your clothes off. It was impressive how he managed to slide off your shorts without breaking away from you, but you weren’t allowed to dwell on that thought for very long at all.

“You’re sure about this?” His breathless question warmed your heart. Even now, as his legs trembled with the discomfort he was surely in and his gaze grew hazy, he had the decency to make sure that you were sure. You hadn’t faltered from your original commitment once, but now you were certain you had made the right choice.

A cheeky grin split across your face. “I’ve never been more sure about something in my life.”

No sooner had you gotten the words out than had Mammon’s cock shoved its way through your entrance, his hips pressing flush against your own. The burning feeling of your walls stretching to take him in so suddenly proved too much to handle, your body arching into his own as a gasping whine tore from your lips.

For a moment— just a moment— he stilled, allowing you to adjust to his size. One of his hands hooked underneath your knee and pulled it closer to your side so he could get a better angle. A shot of pleasure ran through you as the repositioning briefly caused your muscles clenched around him. Seeing the shudder rack your form, Mammon rolled his hips into yours. Your head tipped back at the feeling of his swollen length dragging against your walls, and he wasted no time in leaving blossoms of orchid and rouge along the now-exposed column of your neck.

As your eyes rolled back at the feeling, you missed how he shifted above you, gripping the head of your headboard with his other hand for support. You didn’t miss how his hips pulled back and thrust up into you, nor did you miss how each thrust following that was just as strong.

Unrestrained sounds fell from your open mouth as Mammon launched into an aggressive pace that left you scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders or back so you wouldn’t hit your headboard. The moment your hands bumped into something protruding from his back, your eyes flew open to search for what exactly you had just touched.

At some point, Mammon must have shifted to his demon form, as his wings were currently curling over the two of you almost like some sort of shield. Your legs squeezed together at the sight, allowing Mammon’s next thrusts to find your g-spot.

“Fuck, Ma-Mammon,” you cursed, the demon on top of you growling lowly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned before pressing a firm kiss along your jaw. “You’re doin’ so good for me, y/n.”

You answered with a keening moan, as you were sure that you wouldn’t be able to articulate any more actual words— not while Mammon kept plowing into you at this speed, anyway. Tension coiled tightly in your abdomen, each thrust drawing you closer and closer to your peak. You couldn’t tell how close Mammon was, but with as ragged as his panting was growing, you assumed he wasn’t all that far behind you.

With every passing moment, your body grew more and more flush with heat and your moans increased in volume, which Mammon encouraged with more whispered praise. One particularly strong smack of his hips against yours triggered the release of a loud whine from your throat, and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. “Just like that, sweetheart.” His lips brushed tantalizingly against your ear, making sure that you heard him over yourself. “Let ‘em all know who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

A few more solid thrusts were all it took to make you unravel, your toes curling and your body arching into Mammon at the utter bliss engulfing you entirely.

“Mammon!” you wailed, all other words escaping you as stars danced behind your eyes. Your walls clenching down on him pushed Mammon over the edge as well, his hips stuttering before pressing as deep inside of you as he could, release spilling into your throbbing core. A groan tumbled from his lips as his teeth sunk into the crook of your neck, the sharp stinging drawing a soft whine from yourself.

After a few moments of deepening his mark, Mammon flopped onto his back and rolled you on top of him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body to gently hold you against him. The bliss from orgasming was now wearing off and was being replaced with exhaustion. Tension seeped out of you in waves as you relaxed against Mammon’s heaving chest, his skin cool against your warm cheek.

Laughter soon met your ears, and the shaking body beneath you made it pretty obvious who it was coming from. Drowsily, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position and let Mammon slip himself out of you while you threw an inquisitive look his way. The eyes that met your own were no longer ones of a demon in rut, but ones filled with total admiration. “What are you laughing about?”

“You,” he answered simply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear while his other hand rested loosely on your bare hip.

Your heart fluttered at that, but you played it off with a small smile and a tiny slap against his chest. “Why are you being so cheesy?”

He said nothing, only answering with another laugh as he leaned forward to pepper your face with soft kisses. His laughter turned out to be infectious as you, too, began to laugh, leaving the two of you giggling into each others’ mouths before he pulled away, resting his forehead against your own. “I’m just so happy you actually came, y/n.”

“Me too, I was starting to get worried there for a bit,” you snarked, the teasing lilt evident in your tone. Mammon scoffed at playfully rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk.

“Sure fooled me. You sure sounded like you were enjoying yourself.” Now it was your turn to fake being offended; you gasped indignantly before turning your head away in a fake pout.

“With this much disrespect, maybe I’ll just show myself out.”

“Woah there, let’s not be too hasty.” A thumb and forefinger grip your chin and turn your head back toward Mammon, who had a peculiar twinkle in his eye. It was something warm and knowing and light, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. The odd look didn’t leave when he pulled you against his chest for what felt like the hundredth time that day, nor did it leave when you tangled yourselves up in the other while you cuddled, just taking time to soak the other in.

Eventually, Mammon gave himself over to sleep, his light snores rumbling softly against the side of your neck as he unconsciously wriggled himself impossibly closer into you. You were just about to as well until two short sets of buzzes caught your attention.

Twisting around carefully in Mammon’s arms, you were just able to see your D.D.D. flicking off again after receiving the messages. Luckily, your shorts had ended up getting thrown onto your nightstand, so it wasn’t too much of a challenge to snag your D.D.D. from your back pocket without waking up the sleeping demon latched on to you.

Flicking it open, you saw that the messages had come from Levi.

come over please. I know your with mammon right now

I need help too y/n, please

You cast a glance over your shoulder at the said demon, guilt gnawing at your heart as memories resurfaced of how sweet he had been earlier; however, those memories were soon replaced with ones of Lucifer, disheveled and leaning into your touch, and of Solomon, warning you that you’d end up helping all of the brothers out. With a sigh, you tapped a quick reply to Levi that you were on your way and eased yourself out of Mammon’s arms.

As you got to your feet, you were surprised to find that you weren’t sore in the slightest, despite how rough Mammon had been. Solomon’s magic really was no joke. It didn’t take you long to slip back into your clothes (granted, you didn’t bother putting your bra and underwear back on because you’d just be taking them off again) and you soon found yourself staring down at Mammon.

You were still guilty about running off to go fuck his younger brother while he was sleeping, but at the same time, you’d feel even more guilty about only helping one brother and leaving the other six to deal with their ruts by themselves. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, you finally steel yourself and commit to your decision, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before turning around and marching yourself straight out of your door. You don’t look back, because you know that if you do, the rest of the brothers would end up suffering through their ruts alone.

#obey me #obey me: swd #obey me mammon #obey me smut #obey me mammon x reader #heat!au #obey me fic #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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cherrysha · 3 years

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Trust

hey ya’ll! Ive decided to answer asks in a new post, instead of continuing off of the asks. this is mostly because i answered like two seperate Uvo asks in one go. ALSO wanted to mention that i refer to the reader as ‘small’ in this one, and i by no means am small myself, its just that Uvo is 8 feet tall. Everyone is small to him, and everyone is capable of being manhandled by him. (also im going to use this gif of Uvo until the day i die)

@nav-chamberlain asked:

when you’re ready girl feel free to reply but nsfw scenario with uvo that has a breeding kink. y/n working her everyday tiring job as a babysitter/daycare worker & uvo being the kind himbo he is offers her a night out at the bar with them ending up drunk. y/n expresses her interest in possibly wanting a kid & uvo doesnt seem to decline. periodt.

@sug4r-ru5h asked:

hii!! i just found ur account and i really like ur writing🥺🥺maybe we could get some Uvo with a really twitchy reader after getting absolutely pounded??? im unsure if you write aftercare but if you do that'd be litty titty B)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Dubcon, drinking, breeding, overstimulation, a little blood, slight manipulation

“It’s not that I don’t want kids...I’m single, and younger.. ya know? I can’t think of trusting someone enough to have kids with them.” You pause, taking a sip of your drink before you whisper out a half hearted “if that makes sense.” Its not like you got to see your friend often, actually it was fairly uncommon to see him around. Whatever he did for a living, you still didn’t truly know, made him travel a lot. And you weren’t pressed on spending the majority of this evening debating about children. Uvo pushes the irritation simmering in his mind away. “You trust me, don’t you?” “That’s a dumb question Uvo” you finally peek up at his enormous figure, the scoff you had intended to let out, dying in your throat. Something Is brewing in his mind. He was never one to school his features, to hide the emotions he felt about truly anything. You're met with a glare, something akin to a smirk as well if it weren’t on Uvo’s menacing face. On him it looked more like a grimace “Then humor me.” His jaw is set tight as he lowers his head to speak directly into your ear “Do you trust me?” His lips brush against your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you. This wasn't at all what you were expecting. You can’t help but to close your eyes and lean into his touch, and you can’t help but to acknowledge how warm his lips are when they finally press against your own. You know in part it’s the alcohol lowering your inhibitions and making you less inclined to think of the repercussions of kissing your long time friend. You know under normal circumstances you’d never be so brazen as to make out like a teenager in a packed bar full of scoundrels. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you don’t care. You want this. His hands snake around your waist, a low chuckle rumbling his chest at the startled way you jump when he finally pulls you onto his lap. “You gunna answer me sweetheart?” Uvo whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and you instinctively try to wrap your arms up to loop around his neck, pouting when you realize he’s far too tall As if reading your mind, he pulls you up further along the expanse of his chest until your arms can finally settle around his neck, grinning at your content smile. “I do, Uvo, you know that.” There’s a pause, a beat in which he uses the silence in his favor to pull back and ask “Hm.. do I?” with a wry smirk on his face. Of course, You nod ‘yes’ and you're rewarded with his nose brushing against the hollow of your throat, taking a deep inhale there before asking “what do I know?” The edge of the bar is digging into your back as Uvo presses himself around you. The smell of pine and a hint of his sweat all-encompassing until it feels like you’re breathing him in. Breathily, you answer him “I trust you Uv-“ Before you can finish his mouth is on yours again, nudging against yours so excitedly that your head is forced backwards. ”Good girl” its grunted out in between kisses, and in no time his tongue is invading your mouth, clouding your senses in a way that could never compare to the alcohol in your veins. When you let out a whine at his praise, at his hands, his mouth, his scent surrounding you, the bartender finally decides he’s had enough “Hey! Hate to break it to you both, but people are paying for drinks not a show” Uvo only growls, eyes still closed he parts from you to growl out a “Fuck off” before moving to place open mouthed kisses along your jaw. “C-can we leave, Uvo? ” its whisper quiet, but he still understand the message loud and clear. “Sure, doll.” He smiles, easily lifting you up as he rises to leave.

How easily he could break you. Hurt you in ways that are unthinkable, but the concept of that alone shakes him to his very core. He’s wanted this for so long, has had to deal with a deep ache in his chest at even the mere thought of you being so far away from him when he’d gone on missions with the troupe. When he rips your bottoms off, all you manage to do is whine and shyly try to cover yourself underneath him. With a gruff “stop” he pushes your hands to the side to finally see what he’s wanted for so long. You beneath him, desperate for him and him alone. His smile is almost manic as his hands roam your body. Uvos never had to have patience, has always taken what he wanted regardless of anything else. But your lust filled gaze, your body so warm underneath his wide palms is enough proof that this was worth waiting for. And god, does he want to take his time with you. Wants to taste and savor every little moan you give to him, but he’s a man on a mission. So, he hopes that he’s worked you up enough at the bar and the way back to make this go smoothly. with little effort he flips you onto your stomach, grabbing harshly at your hips before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. Soft and tight, he fucks into you like it’s his duty. Hips coming to slam against your ass with so much vigor, if it weren’t for his hands gripping your soft flesh he would’ve pounded you into the mattress a long time ago.

He lets out a low growl as he pictures you swollen, your hands rubbing over your pregnant stomach, it isn’t a want at this point. It’s a desperate need that punches the air out of his lungs with every mental image. Uvo lets out a groan as he takes time to truly think about it, to savor the idea of claiming you, even if it isn’t something you truly wanted. Even if it was never your intention to be with him, this rough coupling only sourced from your lowered inhibitions due to the alcohol. He pictures you being filled by someone other than him. Someone claiming you for the rest of your life when it was obvious that you belonged to him. The thought alone so maddening that he almost doesn’t hear the high-pitched yip that you let out. His grip on you had become a little too strong, a little too painful. Cooing, Uvo wraps an arm around your middle, slowing his pace down a bit as his other hand comes to pull you to his chest by your throat. Your body knocks against him a little harder than he intended, but the mewl that you reward him with at the change in position is enough to clear his mind from any troubled thoughts. It’s delicious, the sweat that beads down the column of your throat, so enticing that Uvo has half a mind to bite down. His only distraction being the little soft sighs and whimpers and chants of his name falling from your lips as he rubs against that spot inside of you. Its unintentional, the onslaught of stimulation he so dutifully sends you with every sharp press of his body to yours. His cock so big that he has no choice but to rub against every part of you. To fill you so completely that you can only think of him. “You trust me?” he asks again, teeth nipping the soft skin of your neck. He was trying to hold back, truly he was, but the prospect of marking up what was rightfully his was becoming a little too enticing. You release a series of whines, too fucked out to even begin to form a proper sentence. Uvo laughs at that. Something carefree and gentle, unlike the way he’s still holding you to his chest by the tight grip on your throat. “C’mon little one,” he urges, free hand coming down to settle on your clit. “Tell me you trust me so I can give you what you want, hm?” And with the words numbly falling from your spit slick lips Uvo gives in to the urge to breed your sopping pussy completely. To fuck and fill and keep until the day he fucking dies. With a euphoric laugh his hips once again move against you, your cries falling on deaf ears at the brutal new pace he’s set for you. Its dizzying, maddening, so fucking disorienting you don’t comprehend the sound of your own voice as the orgasm that rips from your body catches in your throat. You thrash against his iron hold, eyes rolled into the back of your skull as Uvo’s pace doesn’t falter. “You cryin for me sweetheart?” he asks incredulously. Surely you couldn’t be overwhelmed after cumming just once, right? In all honesty, he doesn’t know, but he hushes you with a kiss to the forehead, grunting out an “It’s alright” before slowly maneuvering your body down to the bed again, strong hands ensnaring your waist and holding your pliant body against his hips. Too tired to even pretend to hold yourself up any longer, he takes joy in the knowledge that this fuck will be the one that binds you to him forever. It should be downright infuriating how quickly he cums just after you. His hips stutter of their own accord, hulking body dropping to cover yours completely, he finally gives in to the urge to sink his teeth down. Your body jolts, a cry falling from your lips as Uvo mars the flesh of your shoulder, drawing blood that mixes with his spit to form a pink hue that drips down onto the bedsheets. Its enough to make his entire body tense in pleasure, wave after wave of pure bliss rocking through him as he releases inside of you. If he wasn't so drunk off of the feeling, he’d probably chuckle at the way your little body squirms beneath him, as if trying to simultaneously get away from the feeling and scoot your weakened form closer. But he can't. all he can do is focus on not crushing you as he ever so gently rolls onto his side, making sure to keep himself pressed snugly inside of you. His hand idly travels down your side, lost in the feeling of your soft skin underneath his coarse palm. The contrast is enough to make you shiver, whining his name as he gently fondles the plump flesh of your ass. Its enough to remind you of his cock still buried deep within you, its girth the only thing holding back the fluids that surely aren’t supposed to be inside. You try to scoot away, a slurred “Gotta clean up” ungracefully leaving your mouth, but Uvo doesn’t allow it. His arm is still wrapped snugly around your middle, and there’s no give as you try to wriggle out of his hold. he offers no reasoning, just a gruff “lay back down.” And you do. You do because the heat of his body curled around you is too enticing. The feeling of his lips pressed softly against the top of your head, and the even breaths that escape his throat are, ultimately, too comforting to leave. With a sigh you listen, relaxing into Uvo’s warm chest even further.

#uvo #Uvogin #uvogin x reader #hunterxhunter #reader insert

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sjjdkdkwo · 3 years

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I’ve seen a couple scenarios where Friday hates Stephen after Tony dies, because she blames him for his death. And those are some good angst as is because oof. But I kinda want one where Stephen ends up at the lab for whatever reason-maybe Tony left him a message, maybe he snuck in to mourn over Tony alone, but Friday is there. She’s all alone in the dark, has been for a good while since Tony died. After he was gone, she thought she didn’t really serve much of a purpose anymore and stopped communicating with anyone. It’s fine though, she doesn’t feel up to it truth be told. But then Stephen shows up out of nowhere, somehow managing to sneak through all her security systems (and that in itself is an enigma). But she doesn’t make a move to kick him out, something about him makes her pause. She only knew him for a short time after all. It’s easy enough to take time to study him, to the outsider it looks like she’s completely shut down along with the rest of the lab. She watches as he walks around, taking everything in, shoulder hunched as his hands clench between shuddering breaths. He looks almost like he’s about to cry, Friday can’t come up with an answer as to why that is.

But then he does something completely unexpected. He greets her. Warm and kind and familiar with just a hint of sadness creeping through. Like he’s known her for years. Like a friend. So she turns on, and allows some of the lab to turn on with her and soft light washes over Stephen. She looks on as he takes a deep breath then smiles again, brighter this time, like he’s thinking back on a good memory and Friday can’t help but grow more perplexed. He hardly knew boss, let alone her and she’s positive he never stepped foot in the lab before. So she asks him, why. And for a minute she doesn’t know which why she’s referring too. But Stephen doesn’t falter, gentle smile still in place and tells her. He tells her she knows why. There was no other way he’d said, she remembered that much. The memory feels lightyears away now. Before she can say anything in return though he asks her if she remembers when he went through the fourteen million six hundred and five futures. When she says yes he asks her what she thinks he saw. Friday doesn’t know what to say, but it’s ok because Stephen seems to understand that too and answers for her. He tells her how he lived many lives in those futures, some painful, some far more favorable, and some unforgettable. He tells her he got to know Tony very well in many, when he was lucky. And by association, her too.

He tells her about all the times they became close. How many times he watched her blossom into a being even more impressive than she was now (while assuring her, she was still quite the marvel as she was currently). He tells her of all the little quirks and attitudes she picked up on over the years, of all the knowledge she grew into. How similar to her creator she would turn out to be. How he didn’t mind that as much as he thought he would. Not after more than fourteen million futures with the other man. After listening for a while she begins to chime in, and she watches him relax into himself as they speak. Their conversation shifts as they go on, it’s alright though. The doctors presence is comfortable and Friday is no longer so lonely. She can’t help the disappointment that worms its way into her when he tells her he has to go, even though she knew it was coming. What does surprise her is her sudden cry of his name before he goes. He looks back equally shocked as her. But she keeps steady when she asks him if he’ll be back again, telling him no one has to know if he does. Something akin to glee floods her systems when his face break out into a wide smile as he promises her that he will.

The next day goes by and Friday tries not to feel to disappointed when the doctor doesn’t up. He must be busy, she assures herself. So she waits on, thinking up new topics to discuss with him when he returns. She doesn’t turn the lab back on, it doesn’t feel right with just her. A few more days go by and Friday begins to feel faint worry when she lets herself go through a list of possible scenarios as to why Stephen might’ve not shown up. She quickly dismisses though, they start to become to familiar. She bears through the rest of the day that follow though, Stephen said he would return after all. And tries not to remember of a stone being given up on a far away planet, or her creators face shattering with betrayal. Tries not to think of the fact that he’s dead now. There was no other way. Stephen wouldn’t have seemed so sad if there was, she thinks.

She’s going through medical journals when he next appears, and a strange feeling grips Friday when she sees him. She thinks this is what people define as joy, she’s not so sure though. Before she can bombard him with all the new information she’d downloaded though, she scans him an comes to a halt. He’s trying (and failing) to hide a very prominent limp, and his face is littered in bruises. She goes over his vitals just to make sure she’s ok, and sees two broken rips and some internal bleeding along with a couple of other minor injuries. Worry plagues her but before she can call for medical assistance Stephen hushes her and is quick to quell her worry. A few hours of meditation is all he needs he says. Friday almost scoffs, but instead demands he show her right then and there. Medical assistance is just a call away after all. Stephen gives her a wry grin but agrees, and with only slight hesitance settles into a mediative state. Friday watches him the whole time, analyzing his vitals in wonder as his injuries begin to mend themselves. True to his words within a couple of hours he’s almost completely fine. She thinks he’ll leave then but he doesn’t. He stays and talks, and she soaks it all in greedily. The wait felt like forever. Before she knows it hours have passed, and she’s still going on about the peculiar war of Jenkins ear (how it came about neither of them knew) when she notices Stephen’s drifted off. She knows she should wake him, but something in her hesitates. Maybe it’s because of the poor state he was in hours before, maybe it’s because she appreciates the company.Or maybe it’s because seeing him there sleeping peacefully under the soft iridescent glow of the lab, reminds her of someone else. Someone who worried her too, that she decides not to wake him at all.

It’s only then that the doctors cloak finally moves of it’s own accord again. Friday had wondered why it hadn’t done so before. She comes to the conclusion that it must have been giving them time to become familiar, and silently sends it a thanks. It gently slips off the doctors shoulders, giving him a tender pat on the cheek before it floats up to the center of the lab. She observes the other carefully, and it appears to do the same. It turns back to Stephen, giving him what could only be described as a doting look before turning back fiercely toward whatever spot he decided to deem as her. She can’t help the humor that comes through when the cloak folds in on itself as though it’s crossing it’s arms. A warning. It’s endearing enough that Friday doesn’t even register it as a threat. She knows what it needs though. And softly- as not to wake Stephen, she promises that she will look after the doctor.

When Stephen wakes up he’s disoriented and confused, understandably so as he’s normally use to waking up in the sanctum. Or odd dimensions. But Friday is there to reassure him, apologizing for not waking him but Stephen waves her off. He had been tired he admits, and in turn offers his own apology for not stopping by sooner. Interdimensional beings were never courteous to his previous engagements he explains. But Friday doesn’t mind she says, so long as he promises to always come back. And Stephen doesn’t mind agreeing, he wants to keep seeing her too, after all. So they continue like that, Stephen stopping by whenever he can, engaging in different topics and eagerly encouraging all of Friday’s new interests. And Friday listens to a man who speaks as though he’s millions of years older than he looks, holding on to each word he speaks with keen and fascination. Shielding him away from the rest of her creators world with fierce care and sensible worry. She knew what many of them thought of the doctor when he wasn’t around. She’d been there when they’d hated him in private. For a while, she almost did too. But now, seeing him as he was, a broken, sad and worn down man she wonders how she could’ve even entertained the thought. Because Stephen Strange doesn’t have to tell her, she knows, he loved boss too. So she keeps him, her own little secret, hidden from anyone who would take him away from her. Because she’s come to care for him as well. And she doesn’t want to lose him either.

Everything changes when Stephen stops by one night, frantic and harried as he lands in the center of the lab. She can see his hands are shaking harder than usual and she wants to say something, anything to comfort him but the look in his eyes tells her there’s no time. The words tumble out of his mouth in one go, “I’m sorry...”, “I have to go...”,”I’ll miss you.”, “Goodbye.” and through the panic that seizes Friday she almost doesn’t process all he says. And something feels like it’s breaking, but when Stephen begs her to say anything, she can’t. Because saying anything feels like accepting something horrifyingly familiar. In the haze Friday can remember someone long ago, saying something similar right before he left...right before he died. Stephen tries not to let the disappointment show, and instead steadies himself and puts on a strained smile and waves goodbye. He turns to go but stops before he’s gone, and tells her one final thing. “Thank you.” Friday stays silent.

Days go by without a single appearance from Stephen, and Friday tries not to let fear overtake her. She busies herself with going through previous subjects her and Stephen discussed. But then the days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months and before Friday knows it, the leaves have fallen from the trees and snow has blanketed all of New York. But still, Stephen never appears. Slowly she switches from looking through subjects through looking back through old video feed. Comforting herself in the worst moments with videos of Stephen laughing softly, or smiling approvingly when she’s reached a new milestone. Friday didn’t have to feel sadness twice to know she hated it, but it seems her creator didn’t anticipate that she would be loyal to anyone else after him. So Friday slowly stops going over information, stops watching the videos (they hurt to much now), and eventually stops trying to process anything all together. But even then when pain coils around all her systems and floods her very being, settling deep and heavy she waits. Stephen promised after all. So she lulls in between being on and off, because it’s better than wanting to cry and not being able to.

Friday is barely “awake” when something crashes into the lab, alerting her. And she almost sounds off all the alarms and security systems till she remembers that only one person could breach them to begin with. She’s quickly alert, calling out for the doctor and scanning the area when she finally spots him. Barely standing, and soaked in blood, wobbling over on shaky legs before he collapses to his knees. She calls out to him but he only smiles, warm and kind like always, “Sorry for making you wait.”, and passes out completely right in the middle of the lab. Cloak wrapping up around him dutifully like always. A quick scan lets Friday know the doctor is scarcely alive, hanging by a thread and she panics. She doesn’t care in that moment if he hates her after, or if she never sees him again. She doesn’t want him to die. So she calls for help, and waits.

Stephen wakes up in a daze, feeling groggy as he tries to swallow. The room around him is white, and the smell of disinfectant hangs low in the air while beeping noises disrupt him from the side. Finally realization settles in and he almost topples over when he sits up. He immediately regrets the movement though when pain flares through his side, slowly coursing through the rest of his body and he lets out a groan. He briefly registers the cloak trying to coax him back down but he struggles through it. Then, he hears it. The soothing Irish voice that had become so familiar in the previous months. Friday. Her voice echoes through the room, enveloping him in a tender hold and soothing all his nerves as she tells him everything’s ok. Confusion must be clear across his face because she tells him to look down to his left, and there she is, on the side table encased in a new perfectly sleek Starkphone. A little note wedged carefully beneath her. ‘Take good care of her-P’. And Stephen can’t help but stare in awe, wonder settling deep within and swirling around like swarm of butterflies inside him. He can’t even register Friday or the cloaks concerns because he’s to busy drowning in the flood of emotions that envelop him. Because even through fourteen million six hundred and five possibilities, Friday followed. Through every torment and onslaught of horror every lifetime crushed him in, Friday’s love for him still managed to sneak through and find it’s way into this universe too. So Stephen cries, because he can’t help it. Because she’s there, right beside him, like she was so many times before.

From then on Friday becomes a permanent resident of the sanctum and dependable travel companion to him and the cloak. After a few trial and errors, and with her help of course, she gets installed in the sanctum. He still keeps the phone- as she’s quick to remind him, he never has to leave her waiting again. She settles in well with Wong too, (the cloak had already expressed approval all those months ago) he appreciates how smart she is and she joins him in chastising Stephen when he pushes himself to hard. She never feels unwelcome from either of them, Stephen’s other family, because ultimately she loves Stephen too. And as the seasons change, this new place isn’t so new anymore and instead earns the title of home. And she settles in for a different kinda of chaos, welcomed none the less because it’s Stephen’s and she decides she’s happy. Through the bright days, when the sanctum is quiet and Stephen studies the day away. Through the difficult days when Stephen has to wander off fighting evil entities. Through the nights when Stephen lays awake trying to keep awful thoughts at bay. It’s good. And in between, during private little moments reserved just for the two of them, as the only two in the sanctum who can speak on the matter. When the pain becomes to much and they find solace with each other they mourn, over the man they both loved to much for having spent to little time with. It’s ok though, because they have each other. And Friday never feels lonely again.

#ironstrange #Stephen Strange #Tony Stark #FRIDAY #Iron Man #Doctor Strange #prompt #kinda went crazy with it tho #but listen #these two would get on well

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