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aspirationalpeony · 3 months

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Dark Horse

Summary: As a cameraperson on the Abbott documentary crew, you've always had a good working relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. One flirtatious night at her home sends you spinning as you try to figure out if this is really real—not to mention how everyone at Abbott seemed to know about Melissa's crush on you, long before you ever did. (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: Lots of smut, a bit of emotional confusion, and me having absolutely no idea how filming anything works. I just faked my way through it, very horribly. Oops! :) AO3 Link

It all starts with a late shoot.

It's just you and the mic guy and one other crew, and your camera trained on Melissa Schemmenti. She talks, in a way she's done rarely so far. A season and a half and she's always conscious of the stare of the lenses, quick to dart around a corner or cut herself off if she knows the opps are listening.

She takes big sips, almost gulps, from her wine glass. She leads you back and forth across her house, reaching over tables or pointing along walls to find a photo here, another there, and talks. "Me'n Kristen-Marie... This one—" pause for more wine—"from my college graduation." It's the two of them, almost mirror images of each other at that age, with a tall man whose lean face makes you think he has to be their father; on the other side of the girls is their Nana.

There's no trick in this photo: no wedding dress, no blood, no hint of drama between the sisters at all. They just look hopeful and desperately young. This feels private, that Melissa could have been so young—something that shouldn't be content for the show—and you feel an impulse to duck the camera away, hide her secret. When you look at Melissa again, she’s watching you; there’s a glitter in her green eyes you can’t interpret: not hostile, and not the look she gets when she’s hustling someone, either. The gaze she’s giving you is strangely soft.

“Whaddaya think?” she says, to you, not to the camera.

You swallow. Nothing you say will make it to the final cut, but the editors will hear your answer, so you can’t tell her she’s beautiful in that picture. “I think I’m lucky you’re showing me this,” you say at last.

Her eyes move over your face. You feel it almost like a touch, intimate and slow, and you aren’t making it up: her gaze stops at your mouth and hovers there. She bites her lower lip before she lifts her wine glass again for another pull. “Maybe I like ya,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get luckier.”

You’re still blushing when you wrap for the night. You sit on your couch at home—you’re always insomniac after shooting at night, your brain and body still buzzing with the work—and put on Netflix on low volume and you don’t watch, just feel your cheeks still burning, thinking about her lipstick on her wine glass.

Of course, the whole crew knows the story by the next morning. When you turn up, Pedro, your best friend on the crew, says, “Look at you! Dark horse!” and it makes your face sear with heat all over again. He lowers his voice, leans in and nudges you. “C’mon, nothing in the contract about that. You deserve a little fun. Let your Italian mama take care of you.”

You cringe. “Please,” you say, “never say ‘Italian mama’ to me again. Okay?”

“Just sayin’,” he says, and leaves it alone.

Of course, it doesn’t leave you alone. You’ve learned the best way to sneak up on a conversation with Melissa and Barbara is to come at it around a corner, so you’re hovering down the kindergarten hall, camera on the two women, when you hear your name, making you stiffen.

“You said that?” Barbara’s voice is incredulous, sharp. “What did she say?”

“Nothin’, really,” Melissa says, “she was on the clock, y’know.” The smile starts in her voice before it grows on her face. It’s a Cheshire smirk bigger and deeper than you’ve ever seen. “She got all flustered. It was cute. You think she knows I was shootin’ my shot?”

“I think you could have ‘shot your shot’ with a little more dignity,” Barbara says crisply. “Like an adult does. Politely. Pleasantly.”

“Soberly,” Melissa says. “Listen, if it works, it works. I just gotta find out if it did, y’know. Work. She’s kinda shy.”

“I didn’t know you cared for that.”

"What, the quiet ones?"

You have to pull away. You're going to miss the rest of the conversation, but your face is burning again, your heart is pounding, and you're grappling with the reality that Melissa and Barbara are talking about you, that you're subject enough between them to be chatted about so casually, that all this footage is... God, are you ever going to live this down?

You'll go shoot some Janine and Gregory. That's always a crowd-pleaser; the audience loves the sweet tension between them, the way the space between their bodies turns tangible the longer their eye contact holds. You try not to think about Melissa's gaze on yours last night. You try to do your job.

That goes as well as you might expect. Fifteen minutes into some uninspiring quiz-grading ("oh, I never fail anyone," Janine says, "I just give 'em a different colored star—they like the gold ones best, so—") Pedro comes to find you.

"Hey, listen," he says, "I need you to come take care of your Calabrian chili pepper."

"What?"

"You know, your spicy linguini. Your Italian ma—"

"Stop." Your head whips toward Janine at her desk and then back to Pedro. The only thing you can think of to say, your heart thumping all over again, is "She's Sicilian, not Calabrian."

"She's giving us nothing. You got to come do her talking head. She keeps trying to square up to Kai and he doesn't wanna fight her."

"What makes you think she won't fight me?"

He gives you a look over his glasses.

The change in Melissa is instant when she sees you approach. Those folded arms, her squared shoulders, her broad, foot-planted stance—it all melts. She leans into the wall, her head tipping, one booted foot lifting for her toe to play in idle lines along the floor, and, yeah. Whether you picked her or not, this is your Sicilian chili pepper, and you swallow hard as you approach.

"Heya, hon," she says, "who's this clown they got me workin' with? Don't they know I only do this with the professionals?"

You mumble a little as Kai looks between the two of you, rolls his eyes, and backs off.

"We were talking about her Friday night plans," Pedro says. "It's school game night and she's not going."

"Yeah, the kids are too easy to hustle," she says, "it ain't even fun. What, do I look like I wanna spend all Friday winnin' their, I dunno, their Yu-Gi-Oh cards?"

Now's when Pedro should prompt her, ask a question. You glance at him; he nods his permission. "Not sure those are a thing anymore," you say.

"Their Pokemon cards," she says. "Whatever. Point is, it'd be like taking candy from a... Jacob."

You don't look at her; you focus on the camera. It's easier than holding her green gaze. "Is that where you draw the line?"

"Gotta draw it somewhere," she says.

You can't help it. Cautiously you look up, try to make your voice neutral: "So how are you going to spend Friday night?"

She lolls her head to one side and looks at you. She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Prob'ly practicing tricks," she says.

"Tricks?"

"Yeah," she says. "With my magic wand."

You don't really remember the rest of the interview. You sure you babble some other questions, and she gives you some smirking answers, but your head is full of white noise and a singular image: Melissa Schemmenti with a vibrator between her legs.

You're sure other things happen that day. Pedro definitely ribs you some more, you and Kai go get lunch and he complains for a while, Gregory and Janine have one of their not-flirting conversations where he draws up a tightly-plotted itinerary for game night, trying to prove it's possible to run a children's event without delays (it all goes back to his father, of course), at some point you go home and numbly resume your post on the couch in front of your TV screen, trying to make sense of it all.

That picture won't leave your head. You think of the look she gave you that night at her house—intimate, caressing—and how she'd look deep in her pleasure, drunk eyes half-open, her face pink, her hair wild. Does she get naked when she touches herself? She seems too impatient—more like a jeans around her thighs kind of woman—but for a night she's planning ahead—a night she's set aside, just for her pleasure...

Your head drops back and you shut your eyes to see her more clearly. You can imagine the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and chest, the shift of her heavy breasts and the hard peaks of her pink nipples—how does she like to be touched there? Maybe she grabs one breast while she uses the vibrator, plays with a nipple, imagining the rough, confident hand of a lover. You can see the soft field of her belly, the abundance of her hips, her thighs, picturing her cunt, the head of the vibrator against her clit—she doesn't tease, can't tease herself, you imagine, not Melissa.

You can almost smell her sex, you think, until you realize it's yourself you're smelling. Your cunt throbs. You could shove a hand into your underwear now and just take care of it, but...

Your small toy collection lives in a box under your bed. It's nothing fancy, but you do have a small wand vibrator. You peel off your trousers and underwear and drop onto your bed, back against the pillows, holding the purple toy in one hand. Does Melissa have one this size? Or a big, classic one, the kind that could buzz your clit right off? You click the toy on and draw it up your thigh. As it nears the sensitive crease between your leg and your sex, your thigh twitches without meaning to, your clit aching, and you think, okay, no foreplay.

You can't help but wonder as you delve the thrumming head between your folds: does she know you're doing this? Was that the idea—plant herself in your head, grow over everything, including your common sense and your inhibitions, until your whole world flowers Melissa? Could she be doing the same—getting a head start on Friday's plans—thinking of you, right now? You're normally quiet when you do this, but that makes you groan aloud. Your clit pulses.

How does she do this, on a school night, like tonight? Back to the image of her with her trousers halfway down her legs, her hand and her toy crammed into the space between the fabric and her body. You can't help but see her in the outfit from today, that green, clinging top, the black blazer discarded somewhere, slacks caught just above her knees, her hair mussed and tangling against the pillows as she works the vibrator over her clit. No playing games for her, either; just getting the job done, hard and fast.

You come, watching her in your head, her name on your lips; you hope she comes tonight, too, thinking of you, of what she’s doing to you.

The next day, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob are in hushed conversation by the supply closet. You pick an angle from just inside the nearest classroom and train your camera on the slight crack of the open door and you can hear them, even though they think they’re being quiet—classic them.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Janine is saying. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“I think,” Gregory says, “it’s like…” He pauses, picking his words. “Like watching a dog shake a chew toy.”

“I think it’s very brave of Melissa,” says Jacob, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Considering the historical era in which she grew up and started her teaching career, being openly bisexual in the workplace must be a very—”

“Please don’t let her hear you call her ‘historical’,” Gregory interjects.

“It’s cute she has a crush on the camera lady,” Janine says. (“Cameraperson,” Jacob corrects.) “I just want it to turn out nice. You know, the vending machine guy didn’t work out, so. And now he doesn’t stock Gushers anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll be a little more relaxed,” Jacob says. “A little more… Open, fun—”

“She’s not going to start liking you because she’s dating somebody.” Gregory, with characteristic bluntness.

“One can hope,” Jacob says.

“The camera lady—person—is so quiet, though,” Janine muses. “Melissa is so intense.”

“Bet that’s what she likes,” Mr. Johnson says, making them all jump. He steps out from the supply closet; he’s holding a Teachers Without Borders coffee mug you know has to be Jacob’s. He takes a long, slurping sip, making sure everybody sees the logo on the cup. “Melissa gets a sweet little thang to take care of. Camera lady gets an Italian mama.” He says it eye-talian. (Where is everybody getting this phrase from?)

“Please don’t say ‘Italian mama’ again,” Gregory says, giving you a little flush of vindication.

“Why not?” Mr. Johnson says. “When I was on tour in Rome—”

That’s enough for you. You decide the rest of the conversation can go unrecorded. You check the time and it’s nearly lunch—thank God, because you don’t want to make eye contact with any of them for a while; you don’t know how to feel about them all talking about you. You know it’s not you, really, they care about. It’s Melissa, her caginess at odds with how boldly, openly she’s been flirting with you, an attraction so obvious even the younger teachers that she’d never confide in can see it.

Something light and effervescent swirls in your stomach, but there’s a leaden weight there, too. Nerves. And desire. You let Pedro know you’re taking lunch and leave your camera behind, finding Kai a block down, away from the school, hitting his vape. He passes it to you and you take a pull, letting candy-scented vapor out of your nose. You don’t really smoke anymore, but anybody would need a little comfort under these circumstances, you think.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What?” You didn’t know Kai cared about that. “I mean, I guess I’ll talk to her, maybe give her my number, then see—”

“For lunch.”

“Oh.”

You get hoagies together, eating them over a public trash can, standing up. Back at the school you scrub your hands clean in the bathroom and duck Pedro and your camera and you find your way down the second-grade hall to the classroom that's usually the noisiest. It's quiet now: the kids are at the library doing a reading circle with the librarian. Maybe it says something that you know their schedule.

She's in there, glasses low on her nose, working. You pause just on the threshold of the open door. You try to piece together everything you know about her, to make it all fit into the person you see, just a small woman with a love of pleather and a never-ending supply of high-heeled boots, a baseball bat taped under her desk (you've seen it), a guitar propped in one corner of the classroom (does she ever play?), how now she's focused and reading with scrupulous intensity, doubling back on a sentence from time to time, her manicured hand coming up to twitch away a lock of red hair.

You knock on the open door. You see her hand pass under the desk toward the bat before she realizes who's standing there. She cracks a grin, lifting her glasses up to the top of her head. Her eyes travel up and down your body in another look that feels like a touch.

"I was wonderin' when you'd stop by," she says.

You give a little hum. You cross the room to lean against a student's desk, just opposite hers.

"No camera?"

"No," you say, "I wanted it to be just us."

"Huh." She taps her pen on her paper a few times. "You here to let me down easy?" She lifts her chin. The look she gives you isn't intimate now: it's far-removed and challenging, like the gaze of a duelist across a plain. You've seen this before, the way she starts closing herself off, armoring up.

You shake your head. There's a shift in her expression, but the walls don't quite come down. "I guess I wanted to ask what you want."

"That ain't obvious?"

"I mean..." Your arms come up, folding over your chest. "You know, I was here last season, when you were dating that guy... Hulk Hogan."

It surprises a laugh out of her. "Yeah, Gary."

"You asked him out and it was... Different. I mean..." You can't think of how to say it. At last, you say, "Do you take me seriously?" No, that's not it. "I mean, are you just trying to hook up with me? Because, I..." You're starting to burn up again. You rub the back of your neck. "That's not the kind of... Listen, you're beautiful, and sexy, but that's not what it would—I mean, to me, it—"

"You're so cute when you're all shy," Melissa says, sounding equally mystified and amused. She stands. "Look... Maybe I did this all wrong." She circles the desk. "Kinda treated you like a piece of meat."

"Just a little bit," you say.

"I take you serious, hon." She doesn't cross the gap between you two, but mirrors your pose, leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, Gare was a nice guy. But he didn't have, you know... He didn't make me wanna..."

You think of Gregory's metaphor. "Shake him like a chew toy?"

Another laugh. "Yeah, that. And I guess I felt... You know, I'd kinda uncorked the bottle, datin' him, when I thought all that part of my life was done, and when you were at my place the other night, you just looked so good, and I just wanted..."

You smile, eyes down. The cold uncertainty is trickling away and there's warmth pouring into the spaces it's left behind. "Okay," you say.

"Okay?"

When you look up, she's moved a little closer. You can smell her perfume again, warmed on her skin over the course of a long day. You've had the privilege of seeing her in detail, so many times: the fine, thin skin around her eyes, the creases at the corners of her mouth that forecast her smile, the tiny hint of gray growing in at her temples, the mellow warmth of her green gaze, the slope of her nose crooking slightly to her left. It's different with no lens between the two of you, when you're close enough to touch.

"Yeah, okay," she says to whatever she sees in your eyes. She lifts her chin and drops her gaze to your mouth. It's a clear request.

You answer it. You dip your head; there's a moment where your noses nearly bump, but you change your angle, catch her lips with yours. There's a tackiness from her lip gloss and an incredible softness underneath. The warmth of her almost shocks you, vivid past your imagining. Her hand pets at your jaw; you feel the other curl into the collar of your shirt. She pulls you closer by the fabric and you gasp.

You renew the kiss, lips sliding over hers. Your hand rubs down her lower back. You can feel the divot in her spine where it meets her pelvis, just above the generous curve of her ass. Before you can overthink it, your palm is gliding over that curve, your fingers digging into its lushness, Melissa gasping against your mouth as you squeeze.

"Oh," she says faintly when the kiss is over and you're catching your breath. "Huh." Her look is glazed and a little bewildered.

"I, um, I don't want to send mixed messages," you say, "but about Friday..."

"Friday?" she echoes.

"Yeah." You bite down on your smile, watching her try to remember what the hell you're talking about. "I was thinking... I know a few magic tricks of my own."

"Oh," she says again. You watch her eyes spark with understanding, her smile appear slowly, then all at once. "I guess you could come over and show me your stuff." Her hands tighten in your shirt and pull you back in for another kiss.

"Hey, gimme your phone," she says, much, much later, when you're wearing more of her lip gloss than she is. "I want to give ya my number." You don't think before you're unlocking it and passing it into her hands. She lowers her glasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose and thumbs her way around your phone, creating a contact for herself.

You have a flash of nerves—what if she opens your Instagram and sees all the stupid accounts you follow? A vision comes of her seeing all the dog-using-buttons-to-talk videos you've liked, her libido instantly withering... Then she's giving you back your phone and smirking at you, wiping at your lip with her thumb. "Might wanna stop in the bathroom before you get back to work, hon," she says.

When you leave her classroom, it's like floating; you've never felt so light. You stop in the bathroom and you wipe all the lip gloss off your smiling mouth. You catch yourself humming as you and Kai catch some footage of Ava pretending to organize game night, Gregory trying to involve himself, Janine admitting to a little competitive streak.

Your phone buzzes, chimes. "Sorry," you say to Janine and Pedro, who's leading the interview. You wait until you can lower the camera lens to check the notification. You always keep it silenced during the day—did Melissa turn the ringer on?

Italian Mama iMessage

Your face burns. You take a corner away from Pedro and unlock the phone.

Italian Mama You made me real happy

Your blush intensifies; something flutters in your chest. The phone vibrates in your hand as another message comes.

Italian Mama Don't know how I'm going to wait until Friday

The echo of your own thought in her words makes your heart flutter again. You bite your lower lip and type back, Me neither. An electric spark of daring moves you, makes you send her, Maybe I'll practice some magic just to make sure I'm on top of my game.

Is that too much? You hope not. You've basically made a sex appointment with her for Friday—sex appointment, you think, and wince at yourself, your own awkwardness; it's a date—and you don't—your breath hitches as three dots appear on your screen, showing that she's typing.

Italian Mama Oh yeah?

Italian Mama Better practice hard

You feel a pulse low in your belly. You're ready to type a little more flirtation when another message arrives and makes you gasp aloud, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before Pedro or somebody else can hear you.

She's sent you a photo. It's herself pulling down the scoop neck of the hot pink blouse she's wearing today. You can see just the tip of her nose, her chin, the proud line of her soft neck, her freckled sternum, and, holy shit. She's showing you her breasts cradled in a bra made of black lace. And you stare. And you stare.

Italian Mama Little incentive for you

Your mouth is watering. You can see the rosy shadows of her nipples against the lace. You barely register yourself typing back, You're perfect.

Italian Mama Thought you'd like em

You're typing before you can stop yourself. All I'll be able to think about now is what I'm going to do to you.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. Your confidence wavers.

Italian Mama I want you to tell me

You've never imagined you'd be turned on in the halls of Abbott Elementary, but suddenly you're so aware of your cunt, you can't stand it. You're throbbing. You peer around the corner; Pedro isn't even looking your way, he's talking something over about the schedule with another producer. You have time. You glance up and down the hall; nobody except an aide going into a room at the far end.

Your fingers fly over the keys. If you stop to think, you'll psych yourself out, so you blurt out every thought, the iMessage equivalent of babbling—what you'd be doing in Melissa's ear if you could have her right now, in your arms, again...

You're so fucking sexy

I've thought about you so much

I touched myself thinking about you the other night

I'm going to kiss you until you go crazy and you're so turned on you can't take it

I'm going to undress you and I'm going to kiss every fucking inch of you

I'm going to play with you until you're begging

Do you like it rough or gentle?

Three dots.

Italian Mama Little of both

You're typing again in a flurry. You can feel your heart pounding, your breath coming in harder. You probably only have a couple minutes left to really make her feel it.

I'm going to be so gentle with you until you beg me to be rough

I want to bite you

Do you like being bitten?

Italian Mama Yeah

I know you do

On your neck, on your breasts

I'm going to bite your thighs before I eat you out

"Homie, you coming?" Pedro says, with the best and worst timing—and phrasing—he could possibly have.

"Yeah, one sec," you say, and you're proud of how your voice doesn't wobble at all. "Let me just send this. Sorry."

I have to get back to work

Italian Mama Fuck you

Italian Mama How am I supposed to teach like this

Italian Mama Come here and finish what you fuckin started

You laugh, breathless and surprised. You text her, YOU started it! If she hadn't sent you that picture... You scroll back up and look again. In the bit of her face you can see, she's smirking, because of course she is. The luscious curve of her breasts—you can almost feel them, what it would be like to drag your nose down between them, mouth at the soft skin...

Pedro's waiting. You send her a bunch of blowing-kiss emojis and put your phone away again. You're still buzzing with arousal, but you feel a strange satisfaction, knowing that Melissa is a few halls away, squirming behind her desk, thinking about all the promises you've made.

The day passes, somehow. It's a strange mixture of slow, syrupy boredom and electric, frenetic activity as more preparations are made for game night, and your phone periodically buzzes with another message from Melissa. Thankfully (for your pussy—you think it might fall off if it keeps aching like that), the two of you leave the subject of sex, and just talk.

She asks you your birthday, your favorite food. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color? Each one makes you smile. You feel like you're on the receiving end of a Schemmenti interrogation, a mob boss with her goons behind her. You get her answers back in turn: July 19. (You respond in shock, You're a water sign??? and you can almost hear her voice when she dryly responds, I got no clue what that means, hon.) Pasta con sarde. Grew up here in South. Pink.

Your heart flutters with every new thing you learn. Even though you go home (and rub one out) alone, she's a presence with you, not just in your fantasies; you find you're texting her until you fall asleep, phone sliding out of your hand onto the bedspread. And when you wake up the next day, preceding your alarm by a bit, you find a text from her waiting for you, just a few minutes ago: Good morning, baby.

You levitate all the way through Thursday. You spot Melissa a few times that day, but it's a packed day for her two classes, so mostly it's in the hall as she marches lines of students to and fro. She gets you back for yesterday, though: pauses in the doorway of her classroom as she's filing the kids in after lunch, and gives you an up-and-down look of such searing intensity that your body heats, scalp to toes. She smirks before she vanishes into her room.

She makes you crazy. God, she's incredible. You're texting her every chance you both can get, though she's sparser while she's with the kids; it's all light stuff. Get lunch here today, she tells you, Shanae made beef patties, and when Shanae slips you a couple of golden-crusted pastries, you bite into them, smelling warm, floral curry, savory beef on your tongue, and think of how Melissa it is, feeding you from a distance.

That afternoon, just after dismissal, she calls, "Hey," to you from her classroom door. You try not to jump to attention. "I gotta do a lot of work," she says, playing with the strap of her Apple Watch, "or I'd ask you over, but..." Strangely, her eyes drop. It's a hint of shyness and it makes your heart patter, tenderness and affection for her pouring into your chest. "I was thinkin', why don't we go out and get, like, food or a drink or somethin' tomorrow? You know, before you come over."

"Okay," you say. Her eyes flick up and as soon as she sees your goofy grin, her shyness melts away, turns back into the smirking self-assuredness you're more familiar with.

"You pick the place," she says, knocking the wind out of you at once.

Oh, crap. You remember what it was like with her and Gary: he tried to take her to a shitty spot for their first date, and she flicked him away from her like a bug. She's challenging you, you think, asking to be impressed.

You can do that. Dark horse, right? "Okay," you repeat. "I'll pick."

She leans back against the doorframe. All at once she's in that lolling, casual, flirtatious posture that she assumes for you and only you, her face tilted up, gaze intimate and a little sly. "You headin' out? I get a goodbye kiss, or what?"

"Okay," you say a third time, and you can barely kiss her, you're smiling so widely. You take your fill of her, in every sense, one more time before you leave for the day, nerves and excitement and that thread of arousal all tangling together, like a knot of live wires.

You're texting her later, because of course you're texting her later. Do you want it to be a surprise?

Italian Mama I dunno

Italian Mama Surprises never seem to work out for me

That gives you a little twinge. You find yourself running the tip of your finger up and down the side of your phone, the way you'd touch her hand or her cheek, if you could. How about just this one? you ask. And if you hate it, I'll never surprise you again?

You wish you could see her face. It would help you know if she's resigned or wary or scared. You don't want her to be antsy or nervous going into tomorrow; you want her to feel like she makes you feel: like you've got balloons and not bones, like a wind could catch you and carry you off, you're so light and so happy.

Italian Mama Ok

Italian Mama I'm gonna trust ya

It makes your heart do its now-familiar flutter in your chest. It's like there's a bird in there, some delicate fledgling thing eager to start flying. It wants to soar, holding its precious cargo: Melissa Schemmenti's trust.

The next day. Friday. Friday. Somehow, the school day rockets past you. Game night preparations have gone disastrously, and it's time for a patented Ava save, with the help of Janine and Gregory.

"Wow, who could've guessed," Kai mutters to you, and fidgets in the pocket you know holds his vape.

Your hand fidgets in your own pocket, around your phone. You and Mel exchanged good morning texts, a few kiss emojis, promises to meet up before dismissal to solidify your plans, but you haven't had a chance to see her at all.

"I don't know," you say, "I think they'll get it figured out."

"I think she's probably going to use it to mine Bitcoin somehow," Kai says.

Honestly, that sounds plausible. You shake your head anyway and make an excuse and scoot past Pedro. He's not encouraging Ava to stream game night live on Instagram, per se, but everybody knows that will guarantee some Coleman-style silliness, so he needs to get her there somehow. (Can you mine Bitcoin through Instagram?)

You don't need to send any directions to your feet; they're already walking you toward the second grade classrooms. Mel doesn't have lunchroom duty today, so you know she'll probably be catching up on two classes' worth of quizzes, or restocking art supplies, or prepping the next lesson's props and tools. Her door is shut and you peek in through the window.

She's writing on the whiteboard, looking back and forth from a worksheet in her hand, glasses on her nose. You knock. When she sees you, the narrow-eyed look of interrupted concentration melts away; she gives you a smile that shows her teeth, the kind that changes her whole face, turning her girlish, almost a little goofy. It makes your heart melt.

You open the door. "Hey," you say as she puts her glasses on top of her head and caps the marker. Being in the room with her, after not seeing her all morning, feels like coming out of the cold to a blazing fire. "Uh, hi. You look beautiful today." Then, for the third time, stupidly, adoringly, "Hi."

"You missed me, huh?" she says, putting down the marker and paper. "C'mere."

As soon as you're in grabbing distance, she takes two handfuls of your ass and pulls you in for a kiss. You're lost in it for long, long seconds.

She pulls back after giving your lower lip a bite that makes you squeak. She tucks her hands squarely in the back pockets of your jeans, holding you against her. "You look beautiful today too."

"Thanks," you say, barely registering the compliment, the way you're chasing more contact, kissing the corner of her mouth, nosing at her cheek. She's so warm in your arms. She's wearing one of her tough-girl outfits, a blazer and matching top in military green, and you sneak your hand under the jacket, finding a little stripe of bare skin between her shirt and her slacks. You touch her there with a teasing trace of your fingernail.

She shivers. Is she sensitive on her lower back? You file it away to investigate later tonight. The thought of being able to have her all to yourself tonight—hours and hours—sends sparks skipping through you. You have to kiss her again.

"You think it's unprofessional, doin' this at work?" Mel asks you breathlessly when you part again.

"I don't know," you say, "but whatever Gregory and Janine have been doing is worse, kind of."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Melissa says, and gives you a third kiss; this time, the delicate muscle of her tongue laps at you, little frissons of heat that go right between your legs.

"I came to talk about dinner," you say at last, when you think you can survive without kissing her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel says, "right. What am I wearin'?"

"Uh..." You hadn't considered it. You're just going in your usual date outfit—a button-up, a nice pair of trousers. "Business casual?"

"Okay, easy. Do I get a hint where we're goin'?" One eyebrow goes up. Her gaze acquires a competitive glint, one you've seen a hundred times through your camera. "I bet I can guess it."

"Here's your hint," you say, "it's not Italian."

"Smart cookie," Melissa says, which leads you both into another kiss, and then another. "It ain't a sandwich shop, is it?"

"No," you say, "I can't beat cousin Rocco."

"Soul food," she says.

"No. I'll come pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah, come, like, at five. I gotta change and do my face and stuff." She leans back, giving you a squint-eyed look of scrutiny. "Tell me it ain't French."

"It ain't," you promise, and seal it with a kiss. "I have to go. I'm pretending to be in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit," she says, eyes going wide, "we gotta catch up on this freakin' math unit and I forgot, I haven't peed in, like—"

"Go, go," you say with a laugh, letting her extract her hands from your pockets.

When you return, Kai narrows his eyes at you. You shrug at him and you're ready to get back to work, when he reaches across and plucks something off your shoulder: a single red hair. Crap.

"Damn," he says. "Dark horse."

"What's up?" Pedro glances over at you two. Fuck, you don't know if you can take his teasing today—you know he'll want all the details, and you love him, but you want to just get through work and get to Melissa...

"Nothing," Kai says, and drops the hair. He gives you a nod.

You nod back, warmth and gratitude making you smile. He doesn't smile back—you don't think you've ever seen him smile, actually—but you think you see the corner of his mouth curve up, just a little, as he peers into his camera.

Dismissal, a quick goodbye kiss with Melissa, home to get ready. You're normally an all-black kind of girl—it's just easy—but you pause in your closet and find a pink button-up. It's a mellow, soft shade, the same color as a silky blouse you've seen Melissa wear.

You put on your cologne, you style your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s funny: this is the same face you’ve always had, but three days of Melissa have done something to you. Your eyes look larger, softer; there’s a smile on your lips, small but persistent, that’s been there all day.

You haven’t always been lucky with women. You have love in your heart—God, a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like the water of an ancient lake, going down almost infinitely deep, and yet somehow about to overflow. You spent years going around offering it to anyone who would take it, and once they’d drunk their fill, they just moved on, satisfied, never giving a thought to you, never thinking you might want something back, even just gratitude.

So you pulled away. You just hurt too easily: keep them at arm’s length, never close enough to bruise. The quiet one, the shy one; that’s who you became over time, knowing that if you gave out of your abundance, you’d only be depleted. No one’s ever filled your cup.

You find yourself chewing your lip, staring at yourself. You want this to be different. You want this to be something else. Can it be?

You park your car in front of Melissa’s and find yourself wondering: text, or knock? You’re starting to get out of the car when the front door opens, and a rush of surprise and pleasure comes at the thought of Melissa waiting, watching for you. Then your breath catches hard in your throat.

She’s wearing a little red dress that… “Wow,” you say, before she’s even close enough to hear. The square neck of the dress is cut lower than her usual wear, and shows an abundance of skin that makes your mouth water. There’s a princessy quality to the cap sleeves, a delicate detail that’s perfect for Melissa: blazing, challenging red, with a hint of sweetness. The hem stops just above her knees. The fabric shows her body in intimate detail, the delicate rounding of her stomach and the flare of her hips, straining across the perfect shape of her thighs.

Her hair is down. Even late in the day it has a bit of curl. Her green eyes are like gemstones in the early evening light. Her heels have got to be four inches, but she walks with the steadiness of a queen. She��s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You circle the car to get the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, surprised, coming closer, “it’s pink,” and touches your sleeve. It’s not even contact with your skin, barely contact, period, but it sends tingles up and down your arm. “That’s my favorite color.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning like a fool.

Her eyes drop—that hint of shyness again, that tenderness that makes your heart strain against your chest, trying to reach her—before they flick back up. “How do I look?”

“I could look at you for hours,” you tell her honestly.

"I'd kiss ya, but you'd mess up my face," she says. "Here, you get one." She turns and offers her cheek.

You're smiling as you lean down to kiss the offered skin. She's soft and warm, and you get the powdery scent of her makeup, the richness of her perfume.

"Now, c'mon, feed me," she says, and you laugh and open her door.

You drive. She's exactly the kind of passenger you expected: "Hey, check it," every time she sees a car nosing out past a stop sign, or "On your left," when you're trying to merge. "Hey," she barks when somebody cuts you off, a gesticulating, accusatory hand in the air, "cazzo, you wanna watch where you're fuckin' going?"

Melissa. Abrasive, loud, bossy, and you don't feel bulldozed at all. You feel charmed. The smile won't leave your face. You don't know if she could be more herself than right now, in your ancient Volvo, wearing the sexiest outfit you've ever seen on her, looking simultaneously bold and delicate and delicious, and hollering out the window like an angry truck driver.

She's checking her phone as you pull up outside the restaurant, and doesn't look up again until you're opening her door. "Oh," she says, surprised, looking at the place: it's a red brick building, no sign; just a single hanging red lantern beside a white door. You can see her trying to puzzle it out, glancing at you and back to the door.

"It's a bar," you explain. You open the door to your favorite izakaya. Low, golden light and warmth spill out with the Jrock playing over the speaker system.

Melissa cocks her head and looks at you curiously. You only notice that her hand's in her clutch purse when she draws it out again; you hear the rattle of her keys dropping back to the bottom. "Thought you might'a been about to take my other kidney," she says. "I was gonna fight ya."

You blink. It's one of those Melissa-isms, delivered in her dry voice, that you think might be a joke, but it might not be, either. "I wouldn't win if you did."

"You sure as hell wouldn't, baby," she says, and lets you hold the door for her as she steps inside.

You love this place. It feels a bit like your first apartment after you left home, a lot of exposed brick, shoddy white paneling creating an accent wall, and decor that's a little vintage, a little silly: a big, ornate mirror that might have once decorated a cheap theater, brass sconces for lights, Gojira posters in the style of classic ukiyo-e. There's booths on one side of the room and a mirrored bar on the other, with a wall of sake and Japanese whisky.

The hostess recognizes you, waves hi, gestures toward the room for you to seat yourself. It won't start filling up until a little later, so you have your pick of the booths; you take the side that puts your back to the door, letting Melissa have the sightline to the exit.

The low light flatters her. Any light flatters her, but there's something about the dim, intimate, golden warmth of it that makes you stare as she studies the menus, first the drinks, then the food; her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheek, the curve of her lips carving lines there.

She looks up and catches you. The thoughtful twist of her mouth turns into a smirk. The question, though, isn't what you were expecting. "What made you pick here?"

Huh. "I..." You rub the back of your neck, dropping your gaze. "I really like it." That's a start, but not all of it. "I thought you might not have this kind of food all the time. I never see you eating it and I wanted you to have a nice change. And..."

"I come here alone a lot." You shrug. "I have... Good memories here." They are good memories: people-watching, trying new drinks and food, chats with the bartenders, a karaoke night where you fell in with a group of laughing, drunk women who all worked at the same office, who tried to persuade you to bar-hop with them until last call.

But it's always been you, alone; sometimes folded in with somebody else out of goodwill, sometimes noticed for your familiar face and your generous tips, spared a few more minutes of a busy mixologist's time, but always a separation, a glass wall between you and the rest of the room. No one's been on this side of it with you before.

"I wanted you to have a good memory," you say, finally. "I wanted to share it with you."

You glance at Melissa. She's watching you with a look you recognize. It's the one she gave you that night at her house—just earlier this week, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It's tender and intent. It's encouraging. Like she's watching a flower bloom.

"It's already a good memory for me, hon," Melissa says. Something nudges your ankle. It's her foot in its killer heel, gently insinuating between both of yours. You feel her knee against yours, your calves aligned together. She smiles at you. "We're here together."

Your heart does one of its aerial flips.

"You sure get shy for somebody who was talkin' about suckin' my tits before, though," she says.

You choke on nothing. Your face and ears burn. She laughs, her head dropping back, the light glinting on her saints' medals.

"Biting," you squeak, when you can get air. "We were talking about biting."

"Biting," she says, "right. How come you can say all that to me but you're nervous tellin' me you like a bar?"

It's not a bad question. You trace the grain of the wooden tabletop for a second or two, eyes down. "I'm used to giving other people what they like," you say. "I don't mean—it's not that I was lying or faking. No way. I meant it, I mean it, everything I say to you. So much, Melissa." You dart a look up to make sure she understands. "I mean, it's easy for me... For other people, I can express..."

Her hand finds yours on the table and stills it. Her manicured finger gently swipes along the curve below your thumb, down to the sensitive inner skin of your wrist, and traces slowly there, back and forth. She's giving you that look again, gentle and focused and intimate. "I get it," she says simply.

A rush of relief fills you, settling the rattle of your anxious nerves. You turn your hand over and hers settles into yours.

The server appears for your drink orders. You order the house sake, and Melissa says, "Yeah, me too." With your small glasses of sake, the two of you pore over the menu, picking a few things Melissa knows, a few things she's never had before.

The first few plates come out: shumai, hamachi, a bowl of spicy pickle. She gets pieces of toro, unagi, and salmon, and you get a roll and a plate of chashu buns. She gives those a look of pure lust.

"Take one," you say, and push the plate toward her.

She doesn't hesitate. At her first bite, she lets out a guttural moan that goes right between your thighs. You're suddenly much more aware of her ankle still caught between both of your own.

"You think I could get this recipe?" she says of the chashu after the bun has vanished.

"I think you can get whatever you want." Especially from you, especially if she keeps making those noises.

"I sure can," she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

You've seen Melissa eat before, scraping the last bite of salad out of a tupperware or sipping from a Stanley Tucci mug, but it's different like this, sharing a meal. You love watching her small, plump hands with her chopsticks, her drinks; you love her expressive eyes, the way they widen or flutter shut at a perfect bite. Everything she tries she makes you try—insistent, "Here, you taste," like you're not the one who's had the whole menu before, and you oblige, trying to taste it for the first time, like her, letting each one blossom over your tongue, letting yourself fall under her spell.

The bar is packed by the time you're through and she's nibbled her way through a couple of frozen mochi. "We gotta come back here," she declares as the two of you leave, hand in hand. "I wanna try more. You got good taste."

"Yeah, I do," you say, looking at her. It's full dark now, but the streetlights and the moon illuminate her, outlining her red hair in silver, the shape of her hips.

"You gonna take me home now?" she says. She moves closer. "You made a lotta promises, you know."

"I know." Your hands settle on her hips. She tilts her head up; you catch her lips, tasting the plum wine you two shared. It's your first real kiss of the night, and she's mellow, soft, delicious. Still, you tell her, "We don't have to, tonight. I want to, but I don't want you to think..."

"I know," she says, and gives you another kiss. "If I thought you were buyin' dinner to make me put out, I would'a had way more food." Another kiss. "Come on, let's go. Or maybe you don't wanna get lucky?"

You drive back to Melissa's place, her hand on your thigh the whole way. Back over the welcome mat that reads GO AWAY, into the picture-lined place where it all started over a glass of wine.

Melissa takes your coat and her own and gives you her back, hanging them up in a closet by the front door. "I can get you another drink," she's saying, but all you can see is the back of her dress: the silver line of the zipper running from collar to hem, almost invisible.

You move closer and she stiffens when she feels you there, your chest to her back. You gather her hair, move it aside. Above the collar of the dress you can see the line of her nape and the muscle where her neck and her shoulder join. You lean down and kiss it.

Breathing in, you can smell her perfume again, her makeup again. Now, her skin. It's a scent you couldn't begin to describe, something living and animal and sensuous. And her hair: warm, intimate, a little bit of hairspray. You kiss the side of her neck.

"You have no idea," you say quietly. You nose against the shell of her ear. Its soft cartilage is cold from the night air outside, but warming quickly, flushing pink as you kiss it. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are. You don't know what you've been doing to me."

You lift your hands and find the tongue of the zipper. Her breath hitches. You slowly draw it down. The rasp of it is loud between your bodies.

The band of her bra. Red lace. Down her back to the luscious curvature of her hips. You're holding your breath. Her panties are red lace, too, a high-waisted thong that hugs her belly and hips but, oh, fuck: leaves her ass almost totally fucking bare. Of course, in that clinging dress. Couldn't risk panty lines.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you say, and slide the dress fully off her body. It's a puddle of red fabric on the floor. You push her chest-first against the closet door and drop to your knees.

"Oh my God," she says weakly as you hold her hips and kiss your way up the back of one thigh, then the other. The flesh here is dimpled with cellulite, a mark of her perfect abundance. You nose over the curve of her ass and bite one cheek and she squeaks and gives a weak, "Huh," afterward, like she'd surprised herself, and you bite the other cheek and her hips rock back into you.

She's still in her heels. You're starting to smell her sex. You think about having her bend over and put her hands against the door and let you eat her from behind until her knees shake and give out. Fuck, you want to, but you've been making promises; you have plans.

You straighten back up, brushing kisses up the line of her spine. "I want to see your bedroom."

"Fuck," she says dizzily. "Okay. Uh..." She starts to step away from the closet door and for the first time all night, she wobbles in her heels. She gives a little growl of frustration that's so Melissa you can't help but laugh, making her glower your way as she toes out of the shoes.

She leads you up to her bedroom. The big bed is made, but there are plenty of signs of life: the vanity against one wall, scattered with makeup; the bedside table with a dog-eared book and a pair of her glasses; there's a bra tossed over the cracked closet door.

She turns to face you, unself-conscious, and grabs you for another kiss, deep, dirty, her tongue licking into your mouth. "Can't believe you wore my favorite color," she says breathlessly, and starts fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. "God, you look so hot."

Your shirt's halfway open when you get your mouth on her neck. She groans, hands loosening on the fabric. Soft, right along the line of her jaw, under her chin, down her throat where you feel a moan vibrate through the skin. "Harder," she says.

You stay soft. The hollow of her throat, her clavicle. You nose one strap of her bra. She whines, "Harder," and grips your hair.

"I told you," you say. "I'm going to make you beg." She gasps. Your cunt pulses. You wonder if the same thing happened in her classroom that day, if she sat at her desk squirming, little hitches of her breath betraying her.

You squeeze her ass and she sways into you. Your hands shape her hips, up her sides, over her back, feeling the landscape of it, the valley of her spine. You trace the band of her bra. It's so pretty, you almost don't want to take it off.

"Where's your vibrator?" you ask.

"Huh?"

"Your vibrator," you patiently repeat, and lean back. You see in her eyes when it clicks. She leans away from you toward the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer. Inside, there's a pack of melatonin gummies, a lavender and chamomile room spray, a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, and a hot pink wand vibrator. Her sleep aid drawer, you realize.

You pick up the toy. It has a good weight, and the silicone is almost as soft as her skin. You find the power button, click it on, and cycle with a few presses through the three strength settings. You settle back on the first one and test it against the inside of your wrist, feeling the rumble against the sensitive skin there.

You look up again and Melissa's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's breathing hard, staring at you, and she's blushing.

"Lay back against the pillows for me, baby."

She scoots back, gives you a challenging look, and spreads her legs. You can really smell her, a thick, rich, saline scent that makes your mouth water. The drawer's still open and you spot a small bottle of lube; you take it out just in case, then slide the drawer shut.

"You gonna get naked?" she says as you join her on the bed.

"Not yet," you say and kiss her again. And again. The vibrator sits on the mattress, turned off, and you want to make her forget it's there. You take your time, licking at the serrated edge of her teeth, sucking on her lower lip until she's whimpering.

You couldn't have imagined that sound coming from Melissa Schemmenti. You chase it, have to have it again. Her lipstick is smeared, almost gone. She keeps tugging on your hair as you kiss her, starting to squirm beneath you, saying things like "More," and "Harder," but not please—not yet.

She slides down against the pillows, laying herself more fully under your body, and the motion makes the vibrator roll down the mattress to bump her side. Her breath speeds up all over again, and her eyes flick from it to you.

You pick up the toy and click it on. "Keep your legs spread."

"Oh, fuck yes," Melissa says, then whines aloud when you touch the vibrator not to her clothed pussy, but to the inner crease of her thigh. "Fuck, c'mon."

"C'mon, what?" You trail the vibrator up the inside of her thigh, toward her knee, and back down again.

"You know—" her breath stutters when you switch legs. "You know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

That makes her moan. Her head drops back, her chest heaving. You lean down to kiss her sternum, to finally nose against one perfect breast, the way you've hungered for it since that photo. The lace of her bra scratches your cheek. You can feel her nipple through the cup, taut against the fabric. You bring the vibrator up and tease its rumbling head over that peak, making her shudder, then replace it with your mouth, letting her feel the heat and wet, just barely, still separated from you by her bra.

"God, fuck," she says, "fuck you," and you switch breasts, teasing her other nipple to aching stiffness. You nuzzle the skin that her bra offers up, the plump perfect roundness of her breast, part your lips, drag your teeth over it. She's so soft here, so much, and it's perfect. Your hand drops with the vibrator and you trace it over her hip toward her sex, making her squirm, as you busy yourself with soft bites and sucks.

You change your angle a little, propping a hand against the pillows so you can lean over her. Your body casts a shadow and her green eyes look up at you from beneath it, somehow both pleading and mutinous. You idle the vibrator back up along the waistband of her underwear and then slowly down toward her cunt, playing it over the plumpness of her mons.

"Fuck," she says, "fucking fuck you, okay, please," and you smile. "Please, I said please, will you fucking please—"

You bring the wand down over her pussy. Her head rolls back and she groans, starting to squirm. "Pull down your bra for me," you say.

"What?" Her voice, face, are foggy and vague, but after a few seconds she understands, lifting her hands to tug down the bra's cups, showing you her perfect breasts. They're begging for your mouth, and you promised her you'd give her what she wanted when she begged, didn't you?

You drop your head. Kiss over one breast, then the other. Mouth at the flesh—so fucking soft, so good against your lips, sucked into the wetness of your mouth. The tops of her breasts have a small scattering of freckles that you have to dust in turn with adoring kisses. Her hard nipple brushes your cheek and you draw it past your lips as you trace the wand vibrator up and down, from her clit to the entrance of her cunt, back again, never letting it linger.

You switch to her other nipple, leaving her breast damp and reddened from your mouth. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillows as she whines, squirms, moans, says, "Fuck," and, voice breaking a little, "You're still fuckin' teasin' me—please, please, I said it, please—"

The words, her need, are electricity surging straight to your aching clit. Your voice is a rasp to match her own when you lift your head and breathe in her ear, "You sound so good like this, Melissa." She gives a broken whimper. "You're so perfect. I'll give you more. I promise. I'll take care of you. Take your panties off for me, sweetheart."

With a grateful sob she lifts her hips and shoves her underwear down her thighs, no further. You flash on that fantasy you had of her, getting off after a school day, slacks and panties around her knees as she fucked herself. Looks like you were right.

"You might need," she starts to say, but you're already reaching across to pick up the bottle of lube. You click off the vibrator and let her watch you drip the lube over your fingers, slicking them up. She's panting harder and harder just watching you.

With your other hand freed from the vibrator, you can pull the thong all the way off her legs, leaning back on your knees to do it. You push one thigh then the other wide apart. Her pussy is plump and gorgeous, red and swollen, her own wetness gleaming from between her spread labia. You add to it: the softest touch of your fingertips against her sex, trailing up and around the peak of her clit, not touching it directly.

She makes a noise you can barely describe, a groan of misery and arousal and desperation. Sliding your fingers back down toward the heat of her cunt, slipping one slowly inside, watching her as you do it. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting. Once you're sure she's wet enough, you add a second finger. The lube and her own gathering wetness makes a slick, dirty sound as you begin to stroke inside her, all delicacy, all torment.

"Oh, fuck," she says, "don't stop, Jesus Christ, please, don't stop, I need it, I, I..." Now she's babbling, the way she's made you do, one hand fisted in the bed covers, the other grabbing your wrist. "I need it so bad, I need you to fuck me, I've been waitin', please..."

"You've been waiting?" It occurs to you that this version of Melissa, already begging, might be willing to tell you some embarrassing truths. "How long?"

"Since we met," she gasps. "Since—oh, fuck..."

Since you met? That was the very first day of shooting—getting all the establishing shots, the very first moments and interviews. She intimidated you—her and Barbara both did—but Barbara, at least, gave a little, showed a bit of herself to the camera. You remember how Melissa was, arms folded over her chest, cool and hostile with Pedro as he tried to coax her out, get her to introduce herself.

Her eyes had moved from him to you, looking past the camera. "You Sicilian?" she'd asked you. She smiled at you that day and it transformed her sullen, cagey face, turned her, however momentarily, sweet. "Italian?" she'd continued, then her eyes darted from you to Pedro, over to the boom mic guy, trying to get a read on all of you. "You from South?" Her smile vanished. Her voice tightened up again: "Okay, you guys workin' with the cops? 'Cause you gotta tell me."

You reward her for the honesty with a press of your palm against her clit. Her hips jerk up. "I remember that day."

Her head drops back again, her eyes squeezing shut. The words leave her in a breathless rush: "You were so cute'n I hated the cameras but whenever you were there I would just—and you were always so, you were gentle, and—I always knew when you were lookin' at me—"

"I was looking at you every chance I got." You watch her face as you begin to ease a third finger inside her. This one has to burn a little; you can feel her body, resistant at first, starting to stretch to take it, and you don't push; you wait to see her eyes open again, their needy, yielding look. She lets go of the covers to grab one leg under her knee and pull it wider apart to help you. You add a little more lube, just in case, not wanting to hurt her.

"I was always looking at you, Melissa." She stares up at you. There's a crease between her brows, her swollen lips parted; she looks stunned, overwhelmed, face pink, as you slide that third finger inside her.

"I was always looking at you," you repeat, and begin to gently fuck her. Her cunt opens for you and desperately clenches against your fingers, grasping and irregular, trying to keep you. "You're so beautiful. I always wanted you. I thought you were the sexiest, meanest—" that surprises a panting laugh from her—"woman I'd ever seen. You were so smart, so funny—you protected everyone, and you took care of everybody—" her eyes squeeze shut. "Let me take care of you now."

You reach over and pick up the vibrator. You click it on. Her eyes open again at the sound of its buzz. You press the button again, then a third time, bringing it to its strongest setting. Melissa's eyes are huge. She's panting, staring, knowing what you're about to do, and the look of vulnerability and desire on her face, her smeared lipstick, her messy hair, she's perfect, so perfect, and you need to make her come now.

"I need it," you tell her, holding her gaze. "I need it. Let me feel it, Melissa." You bring the vibrator to her swollen, begging clit.

A moment of nothing but her breath caught in her chest and her wide-eyed gaze on yours. Her pussy clamps down around your fingers and you feel the ripples of her orgasm start before she drops her head back and gives a wounded, animal cry.

You chase the waves of her climax, fucking her through them, coaxing them toward you; you rub the head of the vibrator along her slippery clit. Her head tosses back and forth on the pillow like it's too much, but her hand still grasps your wrist, keeping you right where you are, and her hips are working, riding your fingers.

"I can't," she starts saying when she can heave a breath back into her lungs, "I can't, I can't, oh, please—" you click the vibrator off and throw it aside; it nearly rolls off the mattress. You spread the lips of her pussy wide and you lean down and bite one shaking thigh, then the other, then seal your lips over her swollen, tender clit.

Fuck the vibrator: this is your new favorite toy. You play with it and play with it and Melissa comes again, or keeps coming, you're not sure which. One leg goes over your shoulder and her hips twitch and writhe until you have to hold her down.

"Oh my G—oh my God, oh, baby," then, just chanting over and over again, like you could ever tell her no again, like you can deny her anything in the world: "Please, please, please..."

Anything she wants. The whole fucking world, if it were yours to give. You suck and lick at her cunt as her hands find your hair and yank.

How long can she go for? How many times can you make her come? You want to know. You want to fuck her until she faints. But that's not for tonight—not without planning, not without her consent—so when she starts making airy noises that are weak and almost pained, you ease off, slowing your mouth and fingers, letting her come down.

You rub her hips and thighs and her soft belly, and give light kisses to the mound of her pubis. She stops pulling on your hair, grip going slack at first; then, as she comes back into herself by slow degrees, she scratches her nails gently against your scalp.

Kisses for her stomach, her ribs. "Here, baby," you whisper, and reach under her body; she lifts up so you can unhook her bra, sticky fingers brushing her skin. You ease it off and drop it to wherever her panties went. She's nude under you now, flushed all over, body loose and relaxed against the mattress; you pet every inch of her you can reach.

You cup her cheek. Her head turns into the contact. There's sweat gleaming along her hairline and her upper lip. Her eyes, mascara and liner blurred, open to meet yours; her gaze is bleary at first, then sharpens.

You expect another fuck-you, or a joke, or even a "thanks, I needed that," but what she says is, "Now you sit on my face."

Your mind whites out. It's possible you forget the English language for a second or two. When you're back from wherever your soul departed to, she's pulling on the buttons of your shirt, brow knit and wearing an impatient little scowl, yanking the last ones open. "What?" you say weakly.

"I said," Melissa says, fully herself again, no longer the begging, needy, squirming creature of minutes ago, "now you sit on my face. C'mon. Get this off." She grabs the buckle of your belt and works the tongue out of it with a metallic clink.

"I," you say, "I," and she drags your trousers down your legs. You have to lean back off her to get them and your underwear all the way off. Your shirt still hangs open, showing your bra, your bare stomach. She leans up to kiss your sternum with an open mouth, tongue flickering hot against your skin.

"I told you," she growls against your neck, "to sit on my fuckin' face," and there's no more of anything in your world but her, you scrambling up onto your knees, spread wide, her sliding down the bed to get under your cunt.

You falter for a moment; she grabs your hips and yanks you down. There's no playing, no teasing. She drags the flat of her tongue up the folds of your pussy and takes your clit into her mouth and sucks. Her green eyes are open and staring up at you and you see your own dazed pleasure reflected in them.

It takes about five embarrassing seconds before you come in her mouth. She moans loudly against you and tries to hold you where you are, but your legs are shaking badly; imagine if you broke her nose the first night, God—you lift one knee so you can get off of her and drop onto your back.

She follows you. Clambers on top of you intently but unsteadily, still wobbling from her own orgasms, and kisses sloppily down your stomach to get back to your pussy.

"Melissa—" you're gasping, and she's putting her tongue inside you, angling her head to get it in as far as she can. She licks, sucks, wraps her arms around your hips and holds you against her as you try to buck away. The wet noises of her mouth against your cunt are obscene.

You come again, and maybe one more time, you're not sure; your mind blanks again. When you can think, feel, process again, she's giving little kitten licks to your sensitive sex that send shudders up your whole body.

"Okay," you say. Your throat hurts a little—how much noise were you making? You clear it. "Okay. You win." You tap out on the mattress like a boxer. She's wearing a look of supreme satisfaction as she lets you go, her face covered in slick wetness, her makeup a disaster, her hair a messy tangle. She's so beautiful. Your heart does a now-familiar backflip.

She crawls up your body and flops onto her side next to you, curling onto your chest. There's long minutes of just you two breathing, the sound filling the room, a tingling starting in your pussy that you know is the herald of after-sex soreness, her damp fingertips tracing idly on your skin.

You start to smooth out her hair. It'll take a shower and a comb to really fix—maybe you'll suggest it. You trail your fingers down and follow the freckled curve of her shoulder, the roll of flesh on her side along her ribs, the dip of her waist before it opens onto the perfect field of her hips and ass.

Her eyes flick up to yours. They're softer and happier than you've ever seen them; the look on her face is gentle and content. You bring your questing hand up to cup her cheek. She kisses your thumb.

"I'm hungry again," she declares.

A laugh bursts out of you, full of affection. "What?" she says, clearly about to be offended, but before she can go any further, you pull her fully into your arms, wrap around her and squeeze.

You press your face into her neck and inhale, smelling her sweat and skin and sex. "You're perfect for me," you say into that warm curve, muffled against her skin. "You're just perfect." You peck a kiss onto her jaw and lean back to touch her cheek again. "Should we make something? Do you want pasta?"

She grins at you. It's that big, Cheshire smile you saw on her face a few days ago, telling Barbara about how she shot her shot, full of preening satisfaction. She leans in and brushes your nose with hers.

"I knew I picked right," she says, simply, happily. She laces her fingers with yours. "Come on, I got a robe you could wear. You like carbonara?"

She leads you off the rumpled bed. You can see you've left a blurry pink bite mark on one cheek of her perfect ass. She brings you a fuzzy shortie robe ("I like your legs, baby, lemme see 'em") and puts on a silk one herself, and takes your hand again as she opens the bedroom door.

You feel good. You're happy. You realize as she brings you to the kitchen, to the very heart of her home, that you're not alone anymore.

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

Author's Note:

I received the following prompt from an anonymous reader on Tumblr:

"can you write some fluffy smut for Mel x reader where everyone thinks Mel would be in charge in the bedroom because she’s so tough and reader is so shy. but actually reader takes care of Mel."

Back when Season 2 was airing, I saw a few fan posts saying that Lisa Ann had suggested there was a cameraperson on the crew that Melissa thought was cute, which led to the rare scenes where Melissa opens up to the camera. I'm not sure if this is accurate to what she said, but that idea has stuck with me. When I received the above prompt, it went into a blender with that thought, and this is the smoothie that resulted.

I hope I've done justice to this lovely prompt!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #as an FYI: this is my longest fic yet and may be easiest to read on AO3 :)

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vgilantee · 1 year

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dorm room antics {ethan landry}

ethan landry x fem!reader

requested: n/a

words: 2k

a/n: surprise! turns out when my brain decides to work, i can write a 2k word fic in three hours. which means you guys get a march fic! this fic is part of what i like to call “char’s ethan fic universe” in which i haven’t written any other fics, but it’s all apart of the long ask i sent julie (this one here) so i will mention a couple things here that reference it. Also on referencing things, i was tempted make a star wars reference in here, but julie doesn’t need more reasons to point and laugh at me and call me a star wars nerd (julie would never point and laugh at me, i love her). This is not a smut but things get a little steamy. There may be an alternate version that starts the same but is nsfw (oh my god finding a gif for this fic was too hard and this isn't even the one i wanted, but tumblr hates me)

warnings: steamy!, if you were reading fanfics in the 2000s/early 2010s this would count as an orange

pronouns: none used

You had everyone’s timetables memorised, all of you did. It was one of the first things the four of you did at the start of each semester; you sat down and learned each timetable so you always knew where each other was throughout the day. It was how you knew that Chad would be out of his dorm.

You knocked on the door, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Ethan didn’t know you were coming over, you wanted to surprise him with your company on his day free of classes. After your first and only class of the day, you would usually be with Mindy in the library or Tara in one of her lectures. But Mindy had ditched you to spend time with Anika, and Tara was in bed with the flu. Not that you needed the excuses to spend time with Ethan, but Mindy didn’t entirely trust him, so the excuses were required to satiate her.

The sounds of moving around came through the door, and you heard Ethan muttering that he was coming.

“Oh, hey.” Ethan’s curls bounced a little as his head tilted in surprise. He gave you a dopey smile and stepped to the side, letting you move past him and into the room. You had been in the dorm a few times, but you still couldn’t help turning in a slow circle to look around. On his bed was a textbook and notebook, as well as various pens scattered on the sheets.

“Sorry, did I interrupt your studying?” You turned back to face him, lazily pointing at the study supplies on his navy sheets. Ethan blinked, almost as if he forgot the stationery was even there, before shaking his head. As he did, you noticed just how long his curls have gotten, falling into his eyes more than usual.

“No. I mean yeah but-” He bit his lower lip gently. “You’re always welcome to interrupt my study.” Ethan’s mouth quirked in a shy smile, trying to hide how he cringed at what he said.

You took a step toward him and reached your hands up to his shoulders, lazily looping them around the back of his neck. Almost immediately, Ethan’s hands moved around your waist and pulled you flush against him.

“Are you sure? I can leave you to your…” you glanced over at his bed to try and decipher what subject he was studying, “I have no idea what that is but I’m sure it’s important.” You felt the breath of Ethan’s laugh against your hair.

“It’s programming and yeah, I’m sure.” You turned back to him, making quick glances down at his mouth that was so close. “Don’t leave.” Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper, embarrassed but pleading, and you stopped fighting the voice in your head and leaned up to finally kiss him.

It quickly deepened, one of your hands moving to his face and the other weaving into his hair. Ethan’s fingers dug into your waist, pulling you even closer to him, so close that one of his feet ended up between yours.

When you pulled back to take a breath, you kept your eyes closed, foreheads rested together.

“Bed?” You felt his hands tighten slightly as your breath hit his mouth. You and Ethan had slept together before, but only a handful of times, and every time Ethan started out quietly excited, and shy.

Ethan let out a single hum before dropping his hands to the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to jump lightly and wrap your legs around his waist. As soon as he was sure you’re safely held up, he took the five steps from the door to his bed. You expected him to place you on the bed, but instead he turned and sat down, sitting you on his lap. As soon as you’re comfortable (which took a fraction of a second) you pulled him forward by the back of his neck, reigniting the kiss more desperately. You left one hand weaved into his curls, but the other dropped to grip his bicep.

His hands slide up from your thighs, pausing briefly on your ass to give the muscles a gentle squeeze. You rolled your hips gently forward in response to the squeeze, and you felt the light vibration of his hum against your mouth. Ethan moved his hands up a little further, encouraging your movement, and you gently bit his bottom lip. Ethan opened his mouth and the kiss quickly became messier, tongues rolling against each other and teeth occasionally bumping.

As you moved to pull away, you pulled Ethan’s tongue into your mouth and sucked on it gently pulling a moan from deep in his throat. You opened your eyes, seeing him with his cheeks flushed red and his eyes still closed, his mouth opened slightly.

You could never get over how pretty he was, especially when so flushed. And you always felt a swell of pride because you were the one able to get him like that and the only one who got to see the sight underneath you.

Ethan slowly opened his eyes, pupils blown. He slowly raised a hand, pushing some of the hair that had fallen out of its place in your ponytail behind your ear before quickly leaning down and gently bit and kissed at your neck. Your head rolled to the side, desperately exposing more skin for him to give attention to. His tongue rolling over his teeth marks elicited gasps from you, your fingers lightly tugging at his hair in a silent plead for more.

A soft moan broke from your throat as Ethan bit down, slightly harder, and sucked, determined to leave a deep mark. You pulled harder at his curls in retaliation and rolled your hips against him. Ethan dragged his tongue across the mark, continuing to move it up your neck and along your jaw until his mouth meets yours again for a short kiss.

“You sure?” Regardless of how many times you made it clear to Ethan that you wanted him, he always asked, checked to make sure that you hadn’t changed your mind. You rolled your hips again in a silent reply.

“Completely.” Ethan let out a whimper before pulling your hips down, letting you feel his need for you under your core. You let out a choked sound before pulling Ethan into a rough kiss that left him gasping.

For every roll of your hips, Ethan responded with a sound against your mouth, though it didn’t take long for him to begin retaliating instead with soft thrusts upward. Your head fell back with a breathy moan, and Ethan quickly began pressing open mouthed kisses to your throat, humming every time he felt you make sounds.

“Ethan.” You whispered out his name and his hips twitched forward, further into you than his teasing rolls. Using the hand in his hair, you pulled his face back to you, and your other hand slid down his chest before slipping under the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips grazed across his abs, and you smiled against his mouth as stomach flinched from your touch. Your hand continued to move up to his chest, dragging his shirt with him, until you pulled away, silently begging for him to take off his shirt.

Ethan dragged his hands from your waist, across your thighs, prolonging taking his hands away from you, but finally he did, following your quiet ask and took off his shirt. You raked your fingernails down his chest to his stomach pulling a whimper from Ethan, before your hands quickly moved to loop around the back of his neck, moving to kiss him as his warm hands met your skin again, one hand snaking under your shirt to rest on the bare small of your back, and the other resting softly on your cheek.

You gently let out a moan as Ethan bit down on your bottom lip, your nails digging softly into the skin on the nape of his neck.

“Oh, fuck!” Chad’s sudden voice caused you to jolt. You hadn’t even heard the door open, you were so engrossed in the feeling of Ethan. Ethan quickly pulled away from you, and you tried not to follow after his suddenly-missing mouth. “Ew, that is so not what I wanted to see in my dorm.” You rolled your eyes, flipping Chad off over your shoulder.

You tried to fight the soft smile as Ethan pressed his face into the side of your neck, wanting so desperately to hide from his roommate. His soft curls brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps.

Turning to follow the movement of your arm, you glared at Chad, who had a hand over his eyes while dramatically using the other to feel around for his side of the room.

“Oh fuck off, Chad.” You said with a slightly amused laugh. Ethan sighed into your neck and the sudden breath made you realise that you were gently stroking his hair. Your fond smile won against your fighting as Ethan hid.

“This is my room!” Chad threw his hand up, keeping the one already over his eyes pressed firmly in place. “Now, are you done dry humping each other so I can grab my shit?” You reached for the bed beside where Ethan was sitting and grabbed one of his pens, throwing it at Chad but missing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Slowly, ever the drama queen, Chad peels his hand from his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sound of relief.

“I can’t believe you almost defiled my poor, virgin eyes.” He pressed a hand to his heart while walking toward his desk to grab his forgotten textbook. “Corrupting my innocent soul with your filth.” You threw another pen at him, this one hitting him square in the head.

“Innocent, my ass.” Chad let out an indignant gasp. “Don’t you,” you mocked the sound he made, “me, fucker. I’ve walked in on you doing worse.” He gasped again.

“I would never!” His voice was weighed down with sarcasm and he pressed his textbook to his chest. Chad tsked at you before walked back to the door. “Don’t get cum stains on my bed, assholes.” Ethan let out an embarrassed groan against you skin, and you flipped Chad off again.

“I’m going to move to your bed just to spite you.” Chad scrunched his nose in disgust and Ethan pulled back from your neck to stare at you in shock, praying you weren’t serious.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Chad, ever the dramatic, pulled the door shut, ensuring that he got the final word. When you looked back to Ethan, he was still looking at you, eyes wide in horror. You winked at him with a smile.

“You wouldn’t..?” You snorted out a laugh and your head fell back, shaking your head.

“Fuck no.” You ran the backs of your fingers across his cheek softly, revelling in the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Ethan sighed, leaning into your fingers. “He would be so lucky.” His mouth dropped open again and you leaned forward to kiss him on the tip of his nose. Ethan let out a contented hum, and the soft sound caused your hips to grind against him on their own. Once again, Ethan’s fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your waist.

“Did he ruin the mood?” Your voice was shy, unsure whether his bruising fingers was a warning to stop, or him trying to hold back.

“No. Not for me.” Ethan leaned forward as he spoke, saying the words against your shoulder before pressing a light kiss to your skin, rolling his hips up lightly against you to pull a sigh from you while your head rolled back. “Not when you look like that on my lap.” Neither you nor Ethan knew where his confidence came from, but you quickly pushed your questioning aside as he pulled your core down against the tightness in his trousers and bit down on your shoulder softly.

moot tagging: @websterss

#char writes #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry fic #reader insert #ethan landry scream #ethan landry #scream x reader #scream x you #scream reader insert

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ctitan98official · 2 months

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Anonymous: Hii! I've been binge-reading all of your stuff and wondered how you'd think RE8 characters would react to lovable idiot reader saying/doing something actually smart for once?

Hehe, just kidding. Anyway, thanks for reading my stuff :) I love this idea! Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

Alcina lounges in her armchair near the fire, a hint of boredom in her eyes as she awaits your company. As silly as you can be, she adores you and hates whenever you two are apart. Thankfully, you finally stroll in. You do have a bit of a mischievous glint in your eyes, though.

“Draga, have you managed to stay out of trouble today?” She inquires, arching an elegant eyebrow.

“Actually, Alci, I’ve been doing some research on the local plants around the castle grounds!” You tell her and go over to give her a kiss. “I know you’re always achy because of the cadou, but apparently a lot of these herbs can help!”

She tilts her head, genuinely intrigued and touched by your thoughtfulness. “Oh? Well, why don’t you tell me more, draga?” She says, picking you up and settling you on her lap to cuddle.

You show her all of your research and Alcina’s eyes widen in surprise.

She feels a little guilty for underestimating your intelligence, but to be fair, you’re not exactly a brainiac. She shakes her head violently as she tries to stop remembering all of the dumb things you’ve done in the past and leans in, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “Perhaps there’s even more to you than meets the eye, draga.”

Donna:

You’re hanging out with Donna in her workshop when you manage to stumble upon a rare moment of intelligence.

As you examine one of the dolls, you point out a hidden feature Donna has added to its craftsmanship – A small inlay of the Beneviento crest on the back of its neck. It’s something no one else should have been able to notice.

Donna raises an eyebrow, her usually brooding face holding genuine surprise. “You know, tesoro, most people are too terrified to notice the details,” She giggles in her soft voice.

You grin, feeling a surge of confidence. “Well, I’m not most people, babe. I’ve got an eye for the subtle intricacies of your art!”

Donna tilts her head, considering your words (And blushing wildly). It’s a rare occasion for someone to appreciate her work in such a manner, let alone someone as seemingly clueless as yourself.

“You’ve surprised me, cara mia. Perhaps there is a brain in that head of yours after all,” She teases, her tone a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity.

You feign offense but chuckle, reveling in the fact that you managed to impress the mysterious doll maker. “You bring out the best in me, babe,” You shrug.

Miranda:

You stand before Miranda, trying to suppress your usual goofy grin. You’ve just had a surprising burst of intellect and want to share an idea with your lover.

“Listen to this, Miranda,” You begin, your eyes gleaming. “I’ve been thinking about the village’s resources, and I believe we should start distribution to other nearby settlements to build a stronger economy.”

Miranda blinks rapidly for a few moments, trying to figure out where you learned those words, before speaking. “Well, well,” She muses, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Did you borrow some wisdom from the local livestock today, my dear? Or did you accidentally stumble upon a hidden cache of brain cells?”

You chuckle nervously, aware of your usual reputation for dumbassery. “Maybe I’ve been hiding my genius all along, just to keep you on your toes!”

Miranda raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. “Ah, a mastermind hiding behind the facade of a lovable fool. How intriguing. You’re perfect for me,” She says, nuzzling her nose against yours affectionately.

“I’m no fool! I’m stupid! There’s a difference, babe!” You argue.

Miranda playfully rolls her eyes. “Alright, draga mea. Whatever you say.”

Bela:

You and Bela are cuddling on her bed when you suddenly blurt out something you’ve learned recently (A rare feat).

“Babe, I’ve been researching the architecture of the castle and found out a lot about the Dimitrescu family’s history!”

Bela’s eyes widen comically as she takes in what you just said. She looks at you in disbelief before giggling. “You? Researching? Surely you jest, little one.”

You chuckle, realizing the irony of the situation. “No joke, babe! Turns out I can be smart when I put my mind to it.”

Bela crosses her arms, a sly smirk forming on her lips. “Well, I must say I’m surprised. Tell me more.”

As you continue to share your newfound knowledge, Bela can’t help but be amused by the unexpected display of intelligence from her usually endearing, if not a tad foolish, partner. It seems that beneath your playful exterior, there is a hidden depth waiting to be discovered.

Cassandra:

You find yourself standing in the armory with Cass, surrounded by her impressive collection of weapons. As she inspects a particularly wicked-looking dagger, you decide to seize the moment.

In an attempt to impress Cass, you confidently start spouting off some surprisingly detailed information about the knife’s craftsmanship.

Cass’s mouth hangs open, clearly not expecting such knowledge to come from your lips.

You shrug with a mischievous grin, “I may have a hidden appreciation for sharp things too.”

Cass chuckles, clearly enjoying the unexpected turn of events. She puts the dagger down and playfully pinches your cheeks. “Perhaps I’ve been underestimating my favorite little dummy.”

Your eyes light up at her words. “Does this mean you’ll let me play with that big ass claymore you always talk about?!”

Cass smirks, her eyes glinting. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, darling. I’m just saying that I suppose even an idiot can surprise me every now and then.”

With that, you find yourself drawn into a delightful conversation about the intricacies of each blade. You even end up earning a few kisses from your girl. Nice work, stupid.

Daniela:

While Dani is certainly fun-loving and lighthearted, few know just how much of a bookworm she is. She loves to learn and reads constantly.

You have definitely picked up on this, though. You want to surprise her with some of the things you’ve found out about her favorite authors.

Dani is currently curled up on her bed (Reading of course), And you stroll in with unbridled confidence. You take a look at the book she’s reading, Carmilla, and decide to show off a bit. “Hard to believe that book was written before Dracula. Le Fanu must have really inspired Stoker,” You remark.

Dani’s eyes shoot wide open and the excited smile on her face is precious. “You like Carmilla?!” She squeals.

You scratch the back of your head. To be honest, that’s kind of all you learned about the book, but you don’t want to seem like too big of an idiot. “Well, I-”

“Come read with me!” Dani says and pulls you onto her bed before resting on your chest.

You hold her happily as she reads to you and inwardly pat yourself on the back. You just scored some serious snuggle time with your favorite person.

Masterlist

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j4desblurbs · 5 months

Text

HURT YOU

sierra six (courtland gentry) x fem! reader

this man has been running laps in my brain since august so hope you enjoy 🫶 thank you to the loml @retrosabers for helping me with this

summary: six comes home wounded, and seeks comfort in your presence.

warnings: kissing, touching, description of injuries

word count: 1.2k

it had never been this bad.

sure, six had come home with injuries before. it was a part of the job, something that was expected, that you learned to get used to when you started dating him.

but the sight that confronts you now is something that you’d never imagined.

there’s a slight limp to his walk, like he’s favoring one side and doing his best not to show it. his nose is bleeding and looks broken, and there’s probably more under his clothes.

he stumbles through the doorway, trying his hardest to hide the true extent of his injuries. but even his bravest face can’t disguise the great deal of pain he’s clearly in. immediately, you rush to him, gingerly taking his face in your hands. you can feel him relax a little bit into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut at the relief of being home. of being back with you.

even though he was the one who was battered and bloodied, he took the time to ask, “you okay?”

you manage a feeble laugh, looking over him. “i’m fine. but you don’t look okay.”

“i’ll be alright.” he says, wincing slightly.

“court.”

he knows better than to deny you the truth when you use his real name. he lets out a heavy sigh as you lead him over to the bathroom.

“got ambushed in bogota.”

you sigh, helping ease his clothes off him as he sits down on the edge of the bathtub. you look over his injuries, clocking the bruises all over his torso and legs.

you know your way around his body. many nights spend tangled between the sheets, committing every inch of him to memory. you know something doesn’t feel right, no need to look at the blossoming purple on his side.

his rib is definitely broken.

“jesus christ.” you breathe out, trying your best to remain calm. you’re of no use if your hands start shaking.

you busy yourself by digging through the cabinet for the first aid kit, deciding to focus on the things you can handle. six knows you well enough to see through all your nervous ticks. his hand is warm when it wraps around your forearm, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin. it’s a delicate gesture that stands in harsh contrast to the way he sits before you.

“hey.” he says, his tone soft. “it’s okay.”

you close your eyes and let out a puff of air through your nose. his other hand comes to rest against the back of your knee, gently nudging you closer to him.

“promise me that you’ll be more careful next time?”

you both know he can’t promise that. but he always promises it anyways. if it helps you sleep just a little bit better tonight, he would do just about anything.

six nods his head a bit glumly. “i promise.”

you then take care of all the smaller scratches and cuts and bruises, and it’s not long before all that’s left to cover is his broken nose, and the long bruise along his left side, purpling as time passes.

you hesitate to touch it again, recalling the way he flinched earlier. it’s like court can read your mind. he can tell from the wrinkle between your brows that you’re frustrated and unsure.

“there’s nothing you can do.” he tells you softly. “broken ribs just need to heal on their own.”

you frown. “but you won’t have ti-”

“i know i won’t have time.” he moves his hand from your shoulder to your hand, squeezing affectionately. “i just have to be careful, that’s all.”

tears well in your eyes. you hate that he has to do this. that he has to throw himself into mission after mission with barely any time to heal from the last one. knowing that the people he works for view him as disposable. you can’t fathom having anyone but six by your side, and it cuts you to your core knowing the people who put his life on the line don’t view him the same way.

his hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

he says your name softly, gently moving your face to look at him.

“i’m okay.” he reassures you once more. your bottom lip trembles unwillingly, and it nearly brings tears of his own.

“i’m okay.” he repeats for a final time before your resolve finally crumbles. you collapse to the floor between his legs, and you let go of a wrecked sob.

you do your best to reign it in, not wanting to come undone, but you can’t muster enough energy to try.

this breakdown is just because of tonight. it’s been weeks, months even, of having knots in your stomach at the thought of six never coming home. never again being in his arms, never getting that sliver of softness he reserves for you, and only you, ever again.

he wraps his arms around you and hold you close to his chest, in spite of his injuries. he could deal with the pain of a broken bone. he didn’t think he could deal with the pain he feels responsible for.

“sweetheart.” he whispers, trying to get you to calm down as he wipes your tears with his thumb. “look at me.”

with tears still blurring your vision, you look up at him. even with your glassy eyes, you could see he was hurting just as much as you.

one of his hands reaches around to rub at the nape of your neck. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“six-“

“listen to me.” he’s a bit firmer now, but not mean. he knows it’s the only way to snap you out of it sometimes. “it’s going to take a lot more than a broken rib and a bullet hole to keep me away from you, you hear me? nothing could keep me from coming home to you.”

of course, the rational part of you knows that. six is too good at what he does to die, even if he does get injured regularly. despite this, you can’t help the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the constant fear that the next time you see six is in a body bag.

you don’t want to let that fear control you. not right now at least. there may only be a few hours left in today, but you’re going to make them worthwhile.

you pick yourself up off the floor, reaching for six to lead him to your bedroom. you know that you should probably clean up the first aid supplies, but frankly, you couldn’t care less. six rests on the edge of the bed as you find him a shirt, making sure not to disturb any of his wounds as you help him slip it on.

he slides under the covers, pulling you in the bed with him. as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, six presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, resting his chin there for a minute.

“i love you.” his voice is gravelly.

you place your hands over his, gently rubbing your thumbs in soft circles on his wrists. “i love you too.”

he pulls you even closer, cocooning his body around yours and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. you love moments like this; soft, domestic ones that you don’t get to have often because of how much six is away.

you hope that one day, these moments won’t be so fleeting.

#ryan gosling #the gray man #sierra six #sierra six x reader #sierra six smut

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goosewriting · 1 year

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Wherever you go, I go

summary: after reader and Cal are rescued from Bracca, reader questions whether they know him at all.

relationship: Cal Kestisx GN reader

warnings: none!, a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in there but mainly fluff

word count: 4.4k

A/N: i have the Cal Kestis Brain WormsTM and they will not leave me alone sdfsdfd this follows the first part of the game on Bogano pretty closely but not to 100%

Navigation: Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 | Part 3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

You breathe in Bogano’s humid air deeply into your lungs as you stretch your back, stepping out of the ship onto the soft grass. The last 24 hours have been wild.

Around two years ago, you had ended up on Bracca, where you met Cal. You were both around the same age and Prauf had taken a liking to you both, so he had ended up introducing you to the redhead when you were new. They showed you the ropes of the place, how to properly use the machinery and tools, and pretty much everything you needed to know to be a scrapper.

You had been dealt a bad hand early in life; it wasn’t without reason that you ended up on a planet like Bracca after all. You were on your own, needed a job, and the bounty on your head didn’t make it easy to hide, so you had to disappear.

And yet, after everything that happened, you can’t help but think that it wasn’t all so bad, in hindsight at least. Because after leaving behind everything you knew, adopting a new name and taking the first ship to “as far as way as possible” from your homeplanet, it was like the universe dropped you right into Cal’s arms. Or at least that’s how you liked to think about it.

Ever since then, Cal and you became pretty much inseparable. In each other you found the friend and peer you needed right then. You were both pretty secretive about your lives thus far, but you knew that if there was anyone you’d trust on that heap of scraps, it was Cal for sure.

As time went on, you grew ever closer. You ended up telling him about how you had been on the run and needed to lay low for some time. Even if he didn’t tell you much about where he was from, you knew that if he wanted to tell you, he would, on his own time. And you were okay with that. You tried not to make up your own stories about him in your head, yet sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder. Whatever backstory your mind came up with though, never in a thousand years would you have believed the truth if he had told you, which you learned later and saw with your own eyes.

You think back to how that day had started and gone by normally, everyone working on their own thing. It was only on the train ride home that you noticed how weird Prauf was acting, and he and Cal were having a talk in hushed whispers, looking around nervously. You had made a mental note then to ask the readhead what happened later on, but you’d never get to that.

From the moment the train stopped and Stormtroopers escorted you all out to line up, everything happened so fast; the Inquisitors talking about a Jedi traitor in your rows, Cal suddenly taking out a lightsaber, Prauf being killed, the whole train chase… Your memories are foggy, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re having a hard time wrapping your mind around everything that’s happened, or if it’s because you understand exactly what trespassed, but are unwilling to accept it. For now, at least.

Cal had somehow managed to get you out of there, falling onto moving wagons, and ushering you to go on. He fought off the scary Inquisitor lady while you cowered away. Then a mysterious ship came to your aid, bringing Cal and you to safety.

And now it turns out this Cere person needs Cal to go to a… vault of sorts? Because he is actually a Jedi, and needs to pass a test to help her on a mission.

Truly, what a wild 24 hours it has been.

Now on the swampy planet, you somehow convinced Cal to let you tag along. You really don’t want to leave him on his own right now, and to be honest, you also don’t want to be left alone with Cere and the Latero. You aren’t even sure yet if you can trust them. This whole situation is just… too much right now.

So off you go with Cal, making your way towards the first cliff in silence, breathing in the clean air and taking in the sight. Little creatures with big eyes hop around and out of your way, looking at you curiously. As you reach a drop, Cal jumps first, helping you down.

When your feet meet the ground, you don’t let go of his gloved hand just yet. He gives you a questioning look.

“It’s the first time in a while that I’ve been off-planet,” you remark with a smile. “It’s so silent out here. I had almost forgotten what that’s like.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while for me too,” Cal says. “It’s nice out here.”

You two just look at each other for a moment, suddenly aware that it’s the first time in a long time that you’re alone, hidden from prying eyes. And there’s also the bantha in the room of Cal being a Jedi.

“Thank you, by the way,” you speak genuinely. “For… taking me with you, and not leaving me behind.”

“I already lost a friend,” Cal says, and you see the hurt cross his face for a moment. “I wasn’t gonna let them take you too.”

‘Friend,’ you think, and bitterly smile to yourself as Cal turns and keeps walking, without letting go of your hand though. You look at where he holds you, heat starting to spread on your cheeks. You’re painfully aware that your feelings for him have developed into more. You’re not quite sure when it started, but they were solid. And as strange as it was, Cal being a Jedi suddenly seems like the last piece to a puzzle. Everything falls into place, finally making sense. It actually suits him, somehow. And you understand why he didn’t tell you. The memory comes back of how he fought with his lightsaber, and how good he looked while doing that. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts. You were actually planning on confessing at some point, but that just got pushed way further into the future. There’s more pressing matters right now.

You don’t want to force Cal to talk about his past or his abilities, but you do have to talk about what your plan is. Not entirely sure how to approach the subject, you start formulating some questions in your mind, trying to find the best way to word them. You don’t get to ask him though because Cal stops at the base of another cliff, removing his hand from yours, which you miss immediately.

“This seems like a good place to meditate,” he remarks, more to himself than to him.

“Meditate?” you ask.

“Ah, yeah,” Cal says and kneels down onto the ground. “To, you know, connect with the Force. It’ll take just a minute.”

And with that, he closes his eyes and starts evening out his breathing. You look at him for a moment, then decide to sit on a rock a couple steps to the side. It doesn't take long and Cal’s face starts twitching lightly, his brows furrowing. Wherever he is, you hope he’s alright.

You watch him a little longer, then avert your gaze as you realise you’re just shamelessly staring at this point. Taking in your surroundings a little better, you take note of the rocks and their curious colouration, with several shades of reds and browns between the white layers.

Suddenly you hear little, mechanical steps approaching, so you stand up and turn around, your body getting tense in a fight or flight moment. But you immediately relax as you see a curious little droid approaching the two of you. It looks at you, then at Cal, and stands in front of him, seemingly waiting for the redhead to come out of his meditation.

Cal’s breathing starts growing shallow, with the slightest of whimpers, and you want to reach out to him, asking if he’s okay, but you’re not sure if it’s safe to interrupt his meditation. So you just sit next to the droid, who gives you a look and a beep you can’t quite understand; you’ve never been fluent in binary.

With one last pant Cal finally opens his eyes and is met with your worried gaze and the droid.

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers, and gestures to the droid with his chin. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, he joined in earlier. Looks like he was waiting for you to react,” you explain and the beeps sound like agreement to you.

“He says his name is BD-1,” Cal translates, then introduces you both to the little droid. BD gives another series of beep-boops.

“We’re looking for someone,” Cal answers, and BD beeps excitedly. “No, not you,” Cal says with a chuckle. “We’re searching for a Jedi. I think.”

BD jumps with a series of quick beeps, and hurries off.

“Hold on, you know the Jedi?” Cal asks and stands up. “Hold on!” he calls after the droid who is running ahead, and tells you to follow him.

You two navigate through the landscape of floating rocks and cliffs, following BD. He brings you to what seems to be a long abandoned hiding place. As you have to walk over a big pipe to get there, BD arrives first, and gets attacked by a rather ugly, maggot looking creature that was burrowing underground, and you see some sparks fly. Cal rushes to his help, getting rid of the creature and its friends with his lightsaber.

“BD! Are you okay?” you ask the droid, picking him up to inspect his leg, which is pretty busted. He beeps sadly.

Cal joins you, taking a look at the droid to check out the damage, and you can’t help your heart skipping a beat at how he’s standing behind you, looking over your shoulder, and you feel the warmth radiating off of him. BD tilts his head at you for a second but you choose to ignore it, trying to convince yourself that droids can’t pick up on that kinda thing.

“That was pretty brave,” Cal says to BD as he takes the droid from your arms. “And hey, I can help you with that…”

He brings BD over to a workbench, quickly fixing up the mechanical leg. BD seems to run some damage analysis as he stares straight ahead, then beeps at Cal.

“The vault?” he asks. “Yeah, that’s where we’re headed, too. Let’s go.”

“Uhm, what’s happening?” you ask, following behind the other two.

“BD says we have to go to the vault. He said he knows a Jedi, so, I’m guessing that’s where we’ll find them.”

“So… BD is a friend, yes?” you question further, lowering your voice so the droid doesn’t hear you.

“Yeah,” Cal answers, looking after BD that is rushing ahead to show the way. “I hope so…”

Trying to find a way out of the place, you two squeeze through a barely open door. There’s a hallway that could be your exit, but it’s blocked by some thick cables. You’re too late to notice Cal swinging his lightsaber at them; they’re clearly sparking. Before you’re able to stop him, he gets zapped and thrown back. You rush to his side.

“By the Maker, Cal, are you okay?” you ask, checking him for injuries.

“I- I’m okay,” he groans, as he sits up.

You’re about to give him an earful about being reckless when BD rushes to Cal’s side, offering a healing stim canister from a little slot on his cubic head.

“A stim?” Cal asks as he inspects the vial. Looking up at you, he offers you the object with a lopsided smile; you’ve always been the one to patch him up.

You playfully roll your eyes at him, taking the stim and stabbing it into his upper arm.

“That’s better,” Cal sighs, and you help him get back to his feet.

“Thanks, little droid,” you say to BD, and he beeps happily.

“Let’s try that again,” Cal mutters, and you give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Without getting hurt this time, please,” you instruct, to which he chuckles, and you let him go. But BD is now holding onto his leg, beeping. Cal lifts him up and swings him over his shoulder, where the droid settles, and you see the happy little shimmy, which internally makes you go “aaw”. It really is an adorable sight.

The three of you continue your journey to the vault mainly in silence. Cal makes a little conversation with the droid from time to time. You can’t understand everything but it seems that BD doesn’t remember how he got here.

At one point you get to what seems to be the last stretch towards the vault. You wonder how you will get across that narrow space, which essentially is just vertical, rough walls, in mid-air. You turn to Cal, about to voice your concerns, when you see that he touches the wall, and his eyes glaze over, staring beyond the walls into nothingness.

Is he… meditating again?

You wait a couple of seconds, but he remains unmoving. Reaching up, you give his arm a gentle squeeze.

“With persistence…” he mumbles, shaking his head slightly, seemingly coming back from wherever he was.

“Hey, you okay?” you ask him, stepping in front of him to have him meet your eyes.

“Yeah, all good. Just remembering old tricks…” he replies.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just saw my… my old Master,” Cal explains with a slight shudder. “I was remembering my training, as a Padawan.”

Padawans. Jedi Masters. The Force. Those are all names you’ve heard growing up, but you never got to see one for yourself. You were too young to understand what was going on when the Clone Wars ended, but you did hear the stories. Some fantastical, others straight out of a horror holomovie.

“Listen,” Cal speaks softly, taking both your hands in his, and your heart flutters as you look up at him. “I know this must be all so weird to you, and I promise I will explain everything. Just… I have to do this.”

“Do you though?” you counter. “What happened was awful but it was our ticket off of Bracca.” ‘We can start over again. Together’ is what you want to say, but it doesn’t seem like the appropriate time. “Why are you listening to a stranger?”

Cal hesitates for a second.

“It’s hard to explain,” he starts. “There’s just something coming from that vault, it’s like it’s calling out to me. I know you probably don’t understand, but please, trust me on this,” he almost pleads. “If anything is off, we’re leaving, I promise. But if there’s another Jedi… I need to know.”

You don’t trust Cere, or Greez. Maybe even BD, not yet at least. But you trust Cal. So you nod.

“Just promise me one thing,” you insist. “Warn me when you’re about to meditate or think about your old Master. It’s a bit scary when you’re just… gone like that.”

“I will,” he promises with a smile, giving your hands one last squeeze before letting go.

“So,” you say after a while, looking at the vault which is so close, yet so far. “How are we getting there?”

Cal gives BD a sly glance, then looks back at you with that stupid grin you’ve grown to love so much.

“Heads-up: you won’t like this,” he says and suddenly leans in, and you freeze. His arms snake around your back and under your legs, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing. “Hold on!” he quips.

And with that he runs towards the cliff end, and you do hold on, for dear life. Cal skillfully runs along the walls, jumping from one side to the other, until he reaches the far end and hops onto safe ground once more.

He chuckles as he sets you back onto the grass, but you have to hold onto his shoulders a little longer until you feel safe on your legs again.

“Please never do that again,” you mutter under your breath, and Cal laughs.

“C’mon, we’re almost there,” he remarks, gesturing towards the large structure with his chin. BD beeps happily.

You walk next to Cal as you climb the rather steep mud path towards the vault. Up close, it is much taller than what it looked like from a distance. Still, you’re not sure what you expected it to be, but there really isn’t much… It’s just a giant tower surrounding a smaller column. That’s it.

“Huh, such a fuss over this?” you ask no one in particular.

“Hold on, I think I can get it open,” Cal says, and reaches up to touch the front panel. Closing his eyes, he focuses, and you can feel a shift around you as well as under you, as the ground shakes slightly, and the panel opens, revealing a dark and narrow passage.

You inspect the passage, but you can’t see anything through it; it’s just a black void, and it’s rather unsettling.

“I think you should wait here,” Cal states, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”

“But–”

Cal walks into the void, BD still on his shoulders, and you circle around the column to catch him coming back on the other side to make fun of him thinking that would lead anywhere, but he doesn’t come out.

“Cal?” you call, but there isn’t even an echo of your own voice to answer you.

With a sigh, you walk back to the side where the redhead left in, and you lean onto the opposite wall, waiting for him to come back. The wait grows longer and your patience thinner, and for a second, you think that you just got ditched on this swamp planet, and you hug yourself. No, you tell yourself, Cal wouldn't do that.

…Right?

After what feels like an eternity, but probably was just a couple of minutes, Cal and BD finally emerge from the void again. You all but throw yourself onto him, hugging his torso.

“What took you so long!” you say into his chest.

“Sorry, I…” he hesitantly hugs you back, and you can feel he wants to say something but is holding back. So you look up at him.

“What is it?” you ask. “Did you meet the Jedi?”

Cal just looks down at you, studying your face with an unreadable expression, and if you weren’t so worried by his silence, you would probably be very flustered by his gaze and how close his face is to yours.

“Things just got a lot more complicated,” is all Cal offers as an explanation as he takes your hand, pulling you with him, out of the vault. “C’mon.”

“Wait, what?” you ask confused, trying to keep up with his hurried pace. “What happened in there?”

“This is bigger than we could have imagined, I need to tell Cere immediately.”

That’s all you got out of him all the way back to the ship. BD kept looking back at you with questioning beeps, but Cal either didn’t hear or ignored him.

When you finally make it back to the Mantis, you’re out of breath. Cal’s pace was relentless when he was in a hurry, and he did carry you across some of the walls like before without warning, so you were looking forward to getting in there and sitting down for a moment.

“You passed the test,” Cere calls from the entrance of the ship as you approach it.

You beeline for the corner bench behind the round table, where BD hops on as well, and is immediately scolded by Greez. Cal introduces everyone to BD, telling the other two that he’s “with us” now.

Sitting down, Cal starts explaining what he learned in the vault. Some guy called Cordova hid a Holocron with a list of force sensitive children in the vault. The only way to get it though is by following his path, and the next leads are on the planets Zeffo and Dathomir.

You’re still trying to wrap your head around this whole ordeal, when Cal asks Cere why she’s no longer a Jedi. She explains that an experience changed her perspective (vague much?) and she cut herself off from the Force. But she believes that with the holocron they can rebuild the Jedi Order, and in that way fight against the Empire.

When Cere asks Cal if he’s on board with the plan, he’s about to answer, but then looks at you, and you can see in his eyes that he wants to do this. So you give a short nod.

They come up with a plan, deciding what’s the next step, and Cere and Greeze disappear in the cockpit. You find an empty cot at the back of the ship and take a seat.

Your chest tightens at the realisation that Cal isn’t who you thought he was at all. That maybe you don’t know him at all, actually. But Jedi or not, he’s the guy you fell for. Behind whatever it was he’s been trying to hide all these years, there was a personality that was just unmistakably and often unapologetically Cal. And he’s become too important for you to lose.

And now there’s this mission. A mission where, if you got things right, the weight of the universe will be placed on his shoulders. And it makes you angry, because that’s just not fair. There must be other Jedis out there that could do it, right? To make it worse, and you’re aware this might be a selfish thought, it makes you feel inadequate. Was Cal gonna drop you off on the next pit stop? You aren’t exactly an experienced fighter. You doubt they’d have a need for a thief on the run from the Empire. Would you be just a burden to him?

Cal, who survived the Purge of the Jedis, and will now attempt to restore the Order. And you, helplessly in love with him, probably holding him back, because you’re too scared to lose him.

Just as there’s a voice echoing in your mind, telling you that you’re not enough, you feel a dip in the cot beside you. Looking up, you’re met with Cal’s worried gaze.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You slowly nod, but it quickly turns into a shake of your head instead.

“I just…” You hope your voice doesn’t betray you, giving away the tears threatening to spill. “Everything happened so fast, so much all at once. And now I’m left feeling like I don’t know who you are.”

Cal is about to retort but you quickly add, “Wait, I didn’t word that right.”

So he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“What I mean is, we’ve known each other for some time now. And I understand why you hid who you are. I just can’t help but wonder if the Cal I know is the real Cal or not?”

You dare bring your gaze up to meet his, and your chest tightens at the hurt look in his face.

“Because I like the Cal I know,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “A lot.”

He gives you a smile, and you swear you can see the slightest shade of pink spreading on his ears and cheeks.

“There’s only one Cal,” he says, leaning slightly to the side, softly bumping his shoulder into yours. “And he likes you too. A lot.”

For a second, you simply watch your hands in your lap, replaying his words in your mind. You see how his hand gets into your field of vision, folding over yours, and now your brain short-circuits for real. You look up to him, searching for regret or teasing in his eyes, yet you find nothing but affection and warmth. A warmth that spreads through your whole body, and has you taking a shuddering breath.

“So what’s the plan now?” you ask him after a while, giving his hand a squeeze that he returns.

“Telling you the truth,” Cal answers. “And then you can decide if you want to actually be a part of this.”

“And if I say no, you’re just gonna ditch me?” you say with a playful scoff, but a slight panic still sneaks itself into your voice.

“What? No, of course not,” he assures you. “I already talked to Greez. You can stay on the Mantis as long as you need. What I mean is… I want you to stay by my side. But I won’t force you to. We have a pretty ambitious mission, after all.”

“Fighting the Empire?” you ask rhetorically. “Been there, done that.”

“Wait, what?”

“Why do you think I have a bounty on my head, Master Jedi?” you say with a playful tone.

“What did you do?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Hmm,” you stroke your chin as if considering his question. “I’ll tell you after you tell me about your training and how you escaped.”

“Deal,” Cal says with a smile. “And I’m not a Master Jedi, actually. I only ever was a Padawan, an apprentice.”

“Well you have some nice moves for an apprentice,” you chuckle. “And Master or not, you look good with a lightsaber.”

Cal lets out a strangled sound at your comment, face now several shades darker.

You both turn when you hear steps approaching, seeing that it’s Greez. You instinctively want to remove your hand from Cal’s, feeling like you just got caught, but he doesn’t let you go.

“Ah, I see you’ve found the bed,” Greez says. “It’s the only extra we have. We were counting with just one Jedi, after all.”

“Technically you’re not wrong,” you say, unable to meet anyone’s eyes and looking down at the floor instead. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll have to,” Greez answers with a smile as he doesn’t miss your joined hands, and turns to leave. “Come get some dinner, kids.”

Cal wants to stand up but you pull him back. He turns to look at you with a raised brow and you take the chance to plant a kiss on his cheek. You almost laugh at the surprise on his face.

“Wherever you go, I’ll go,” you tell him as you rise to your feet with a smile. “At least it won’t be boring, right?”

— — —

A/N: this may have the potential for a second part? if you'd like that let me know! ♥ // (screenshot is mine)

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings (sorry for the late tag!)

#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #star wars x reader

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badkitty3000 · 1 month

Text

Physical Fitness

Five has been distant lately, but you discover all he needs is a good workout to get his mind back on you again

Words: 2800

Warnings: Smut, Daddy kink, masturbation

☂️Requests open!☂️

Link to my Number Five Fanfiction Master List

Five doesn’t always give you his utmost attention when he gets home. Some days he’s bursting through the door, pissed off about one thing or another, already in mid-sentence while he rants about the lack of brain cells in whoever was annoying him that day. So, you listen quietly, with an amused expression that you try and hide from him until he calms down enough for you to speak. Usually, all it takes is a soft kiss, a scratch down his back with your nails, and maybe even a stiff drink and he’s back to being putty in your hands.

You don’t care if he stomps around the kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and rattling the glasses inside. Or if he’s so worked up, he can’t sit still and he paces back and forth in the living room while muttering various curse words under his breath. You don’t mind because his anger is never aimed at you, and you are also the only one who can dare to try and calm him down without fear of bodily harm.

No, those things don’t bother you. What does bother you is when he outright ignores you. Those times when he hurries through the door, waves a hasty hello without even glancing up, and shuts himself away in his office. When you try and go to him, knocking hesitantly on the door and cracking it open, he’ll look up momentarily from whatever he’s doing, give you a brief smile, and he’s back at it again. On those days, you’ve learned to just let him be. But it still doesn’t make you any less irritated.

He knows it pisses you off. So, later, when you’ve gone to bed before him and you’re feigning sleep, he’ll slip in behind you and pull you close. He’ll whisper how much he loves you and place kisses along your shoulder and neck until you can’t take it anymore and you’re pushing back against him, having forgotten what you were mad about in the first place.

Those days used to be few and far between, but lately, it’s become a habit. Every day these past two weeks, it’s been one quick peck on the cheek or brief hug, before he’s back at his “research” and ignoring you behind closed doors. You’ve tried talking to him, and he says he’ll make an effort but so far you haven’t seen anything change. You know you have a solid relationship and he would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, but you’re not sure why he’s acting like this. Probably just because he’s an oblivious man wrapped up in his own world, but still, it’s making you worry.

When you are stressed, you usually throw yourself into some kind of physical activity. For a while it was kickboxing, and then it was tennis. Lately, it’s been yoga. It seems to work well for relaxing your mind while also getting a bit of a workout. Tonight you think about going to the studio that you usually frequent, but decide you’re too lazy and you’ll just do your own routine at home.

Five is still not home, but you aren’t going to wait for him. Not like it would matter anyway. You change into your sports bra and black leggings, pull your hair back in a ponytail, and fill up your water bottle. Once you are set up in the living room, with the lights dimmed and relaxing music playing, you begin with a few stretches and then move into some more advanced poses.

Your workout is an hour long and about 30 minutes in you have a nice sheen of sweat covering your body and you’re feeling good. The next half is more about cooling down and resetting your mind. As you are getting into position for the next pose, you hear Five open and close the door to the house, and his footsteps walking towards the room you’re in. You don’t stop what you’re doing. Your time is valuable too, and if he can’t be bothered to stop what he’s doing lately, then why should you?

You sense Five walk into the room just as you are bending over in downward facing dog, your hands on the floor in front of you and your ass in the air. You can’t see his face, but when you look through your legs, you can see that he has stopped in the doorway. Then you watch as his polished black dress shoes cross over one another and he leans into the door frame. When you stand up and look over your shoulder you see him casually watching you with a wolfish grin.

“Please, don’t let me stop you,” he says, gesturing with his hand for you to continue. His shirt sleeves are uncuffed and rolled up his forearms as he crosses his arms over his chest in an air of superiority.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Is this what I have to do to get your attention these days? Bend over in tight pants?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

You huff, turning away from him. “Well, I’m going to finish my workout, so either sit there quietly or go back to your office.”

“Alright, I will,” you hear him say as you get back to your routine.

Assuming he was talking about the latter of your two suggestions, you’re caught off guard when you see him cross over and sit down in one of the armchairs facing you.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs with a smirk. “Sitting here quietly.”

Not really wanting to indulge him in whatever he’s up to, you turn away again with a loud sigh and move into another pose. There’s a few more minutes of balancing with your butt on display in Five’s direction, but he doesn’t say anything. Then you move onto the ground on your stomach, pushing the top half of your body up with your arms and looking towards the ceiling.

“So, what’s that one called?”

You sigh again. “Cobra. I thought you were supposed to be quiet.”

When you turn around again, your mouth opens in a partial gape as you watch Five in his chair. He is sitting with his legs splayed and his hand on the very prominent bulge in his crotch, eyeing you up like a hungry predator.

“I got your cobra right here, honey,” he says with a smile, and you can see he’s trying not to laugh at his stupid innuendo.

You try to hold in your own giggle but you can’t and you shake your head. “You’re disgusting.”

With another smart-ass grin, he pulls his tie off, discarding it on the floor. “No. Whipping out my dick and jerking off while watching you would be disgusting.”

Before you can make a comment, he starts doing exactly that; unbuckling his belt and unzipping the fly to his pants. He pushes them down far enough to expose his fully hard cock and he gives it a long stroke with his hand, all while keeping his eyes on you.

You should be disgusted. Or annoyed, at the very least. But, fuck, he looks hot sitting there with his sleeves rolled up and his hair flopping onto his forehead; thick cock in his hand. Your breath speeds up just a little and you swallow the pool of saliva that has collected in your mouth.

You clear your throat and flip your ponytail over your shoulder with a sly grin. “Well…you do what you want, I guess. I’m going to finish this workout.”

As you turn away, you decide you’re going to give him as good of a show as you can come up with. You get down on the ground in child’s pose, making sure to spread your knees out wide and push your ass back towards your heels while you splay your arms out in front of you in supplication. You can’t see him, but the thought of what he is doing while watching you is getting you wet and creating a damp spot in the crotch of your pants.

You are slow and deliberate with your movements, and you are back on your hands and knees, only this time you turn to face him. His breathing is louder as he shamelessly works his fist over his cock, running his thumb over the head and jerking his hips up. You can hear the wet slapping noises as his fingers spread the continuous flow of pre-cum over his shaft and he picks up the pace. One side of his mouth turns up as you look at him but he doesn’t slow his movements.

“Fuck, baby, keep going,” he breathes out.

With a breathy laugh you get back to it, pushing your ass up and arching your neck back in a cow pose. It gives him a nice view of your tits in your skimpy sports bra and you hear him let out a quiet grunt while he vigorously pleasures himself. When you flip around and push your hips towards the sky, legs spread wide in a bridge pose, you hear him moan softly.

Turning back over and staying on your hands and knees, you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes and start to crawl slowly towards him. His breath hitches in his throat when you stop between his legs, wetting your plump pink lips with your tongue and gazing up through a fan of dark lashes. Five lets out a long groan when you reach up and place your hand around his, guiding him as he slowly pumps his cock up and down.

“Do you want to fuck me, Daddy?” you ask as sweetly and innocently as possible.

Five lets out a growl through gritted teeth as he thrusts his hips up into the tight fist around his dick.

“Yes. Fuck, yes, I want to fuck you.”

You lean forward and run the flat of your tongue up the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, keeping your eyes on him until he closes his and leans his head back with a whine.

When you pull back, taking your hand with you, he looks back down at you with a deep crease between his dark brows as you start tracing one finger over the top of his thigh and sticking out your bottom lip.

“Five, I want nothing more than to feel your big, thick cock inside of me right now, but here’s the thing. Unless you get that gorgeous, brilliant head out of your ass and start making an effort to acknowledge me around here, I’m afraid that cobra of yours is going to get mighty lonely. Understand?”

Five lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

You pout some more and then back away, shaking your head. “Sorry, baby. I’m very serious.”

Before you let him respond, your back is turned to him again and you’re bending over in an upside-down V shape while running a hand slowly over one ass cheek and down the back of your thigh.

“Fuck…” you hear him moan under his breath and you know you’ve got him. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice sounding just a tad on the pitiful side. “I will make an effort to pay attention to you more.”

You look at him through your legs again, watching him pout with his dick in his hand, and you smile. “No more slinking into your office the minute you get home and ignoring me?”

“No, I promise. No more.”

You love that he’s practically begging you now, desperate and panting as you tease him with your tight, round ass in front of his face. You press back a little more to accentuate it.

“Alright then, as long as you promise. Now, what was it that you wanted to do to me?”

In a literal flash, Five is behind you, pants falling to the ground and his hands on your hips, tugging you backward. You shriek as he slams his pelvis into your backside, his solid cock pushing between your clothed legs. He yanks you back up to standing with a hand wrapped around your ponytail, his breath hot on your neck as his low and deadly voice buzzes over your skin.

“On your hands and knees. Daddy’s going to fuck you now.”

With a pathetic moan that is partly due to the fact that you can’t help yourself when it comes to his demands, you drop to the floor on your hands and knees. He’s behind you again, tugging at the waistband of your pants and pulling them down your thighs. When you feel his fingers slip in between your legs, your body instinctively reacts by pressing backward onto his hand.

“Five…” you whine, your head hanging down as he pushes his fingers inside you. “Please…”

“What’s wrong sweetheart? I thought you wanted more attention from me.”

You thrust your hips back and forth, fucking his fingers while you moan and gasp like some kind of feral creature. When he pulls his hand away, you feel his wet fingers on your back as he pushes your torso towards the ground. He’s teasing you with his cock, rubbing his leaking head against your clit and through your folds until you can’t stand it anymore.

“Five!” you cry, your face pushed against the floor.

“Let me hear you, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me! Please!”

Five doesn’t hesitate for a second, slipping inside of you, pushing all of the way in until his hips are flush with your ass. He grips your waist tightly, holding you there while you squirm against him.

“Fuuuck…” he groans. “You know exactly how Daddy likes it.”

After a strong slap to your ass, Five starts fucking you hard and deep, driving into you with enough force that your body is propelled forward and you know you’re going to have rug burn on your arms and knees. But it doesn’t matter, because everything he is doing is exactly right. Each time he pounds into you, and you feel his thick cock filling you up, you cry out from how good it feels. Your pussy is soaking wet and throbbing with each thrust and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

He's breathing loud and hard behind you, a loud grunt accompanying each snap of his hips, hands firmly clutching your body; holding you steady while he pumps inside of you.

“Oh shit, you’re such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you come on my cock,” he rasps.

With one expert move of his hand around the front of you, his fingers finding your clit and pressing into it hard, you yell out.

“Oh, god, Five! Yesss….oh fffuckk…I…I…oh shh…”

Your orgasm hits you hard and your fingers claw into the carpet beneath you, your knuckles white, and your body spasming uncontrollably against his. You continue moaning his name while he pounds into you a few more times before swearing loudly and exploding inside of you. You both stay like that, the muscles in your bodies tight and locked into position as your cries and whines soften and then subside. Soon, there is nothing but the ragged sound of your heavy breathing, and you feel him start to soften and pull out.

You both collapse onto the floor on your backs, chests heaving and shiny with sweat. When you look over at Five, you smile and then start laughing breathily.

“What’s so funny?” he smirks, turning his head to the side to look at you while he reaches down to pull up his pants.

You begin to pull up your own as you grin back at him. “You. If I had known all I needed to do to get your attention was stick my ass in your face, I would have done that weeks ago.”

Five chuckles and moves over next to you, propping his head up with one hand. He pushes a damp piece of hair off your face. “It definitely doesn’t hurt for you to do that, and I will always pay attention when that luscious ass is in my face. But I should have listened to you before. I’m sorry if you’ve felt ignored.”

“I just like spending time with you. I don’t mind you going off and doing whatever it is you do in there, but maybe sometimes include me too? You don’t have to shut me out of everything.”

He nods. “You’re right. And like I said, I promise I will stop from here on out.”

He leans down and kisses you while you run a hand through his soft hair. “I’m not sure why or how I love you as much as I do,” you sigh.

“Me either. But, god, am I glad you do.”

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esha-isboogara · 2 years

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jojo relationship headcanons: the jojos

i need more anime mutuals 😫 and i’ve also had jojo brain rot for the past week. anyways this is separated into four spectate parts. one which is all six jojos. two is jobros part 1. three is jobros part 2. and part four is main villains.

jonathan jostar ☆

•just the sweetest man you have ever met oh my god. he’s the kind of boyfriend people write love stories about

•super physical at home. always holding your hand , cuddling you , kissing you - the works. but in public he is more of a gentleman. if he feels the need to protect you he will grab your hand but for the most part he’s hands off

•nature walks >>>

•he’s thrilled that danny likes you. though he’s a bit jealous that the dog gets more affection than him some days

•jojo gets extra flustered with pet names.

• “jonathan, darling, i need help grabbing this book”.

•the man is in absolute shambles. he’s putty in your hands. at this point

•despite his buff figure he likes to be little spoon once in a while. being held makes all the burdens in his world disappear

•very straightforward yet somewhat soft spoken. if he has an issue he will address it immediately but in the kindest way possible

•he’s afraid to be vulnerable sometimes. he doesn’t want to seem weak

•a morning person !! wakes up at the crack of dawn ready to greet the day with a smile. he’s careful not to wake you up though.

•is also super open about his intentions. he plans on marrying you and having five children. it doesn’t matter if their adopted he just wants a nice big family

•does his very best no matter what so overall he’s a 1000/10

joseph jostar ☆

• the perfect mixture of a best friend and boyfriend. there is never a dull moment around jojo

•the dates he takes you on are always spontaneous and fun. late night skinny dipping , joy rides around the city , harassing ceaser. you name it

•is actually really stylish so best believe he os going to put together some matching outfits.

•and i hope you like to eat because he loves trying new foods. he pretends like it’s for the class and the rich experience but he just likes the food

•isn’t the best listener but if he needs to remember something he will. don’t worry about forgotten birthdays or anniversaries he won’t forget. can’t promise you he won’t forget his chores.

•speaking of which he loves to throw elaborate parties. it’s an every weekend affair

•likes to get dressed up and show off how gorgeous the two of you are together. he will flaunt you all around the room if he can.

•gets jealous sometimes. he’s super verbal about it. all he needs is a little reassurance.

•it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been dating he will still flirt with you like he did when you first met

•loves to dance! and yes you will be learning as well.

•you will never be bathing alone again jojo is always there for company

•when he can’t sleep he likes to brainstorm baby names with you. even if you’re one month into dating he just finds it fun

•loves to gossip with you and the girls at the cafe. it’s become a bit of a tradition

jotaro kujo (3) ☆

•a kind and giving soul, though he won’t show the outside world

•such an ass sometimes. he will put things in high places , move your stuff around or have star hide it for him. for a high school student he sure is childish.

•he doesn’t show any type of affection when you’re at school. as cold as this seems he just doesn’t want all the girls to start targeting you. he can’t bear to see his baby hurt

•your first date was an aquarium date. shocker. he loves looking at the sea life and learning about them. beach trips are quite common with him as well.

•jojo usually isn’t one to talk but with you he’s chatting your ear off. he has so much to say sometimes.

•walks you home every day after school. even if he misses a day he will walk his ass right up to that building and wait.

•he gets into fights on the regular so be prepared to get a load of first aid experience. he tries not to worry you with his wounds but they’re always visible

•hates large groups of people so lunch will be eaten on the roof. students aren’t supposed to be up there so it’s always vacant

•holly will make you and jojo a lunch. they’re always so good.

•jotaro tries to keep you away from his doting mother and grandfather but that doesn’t last for long. before you know it they’re all over you.

•you love his family though you aren’t sure what he’s so embarrassed of. they’re so sweet and fun to be around

•since he’s no good with words he’ll buy you little things. flowers,food, little stuffies. he’s even written a letter or two

josuke higashikata ☆

•this is his first relationship so be patient with the baby. most of his relationship advice comes from his mother and okayasu

•small town gossip spreads fast so i hope you didn’t want a private relationship with jojo. he is more than happy to show you off to the world

•he has only experienced relationships through movies and manga. a lot of his actions are cliche and a but cringe but he’s cute so.

•hates the aquarium. jotaro suggests it as a first date spot and josuke laughs in his face.

•holds your hand all around school. he is not shy about showing you off now that everyone knows.

•includes you in like EVERYTHING. he doesn’t want you to feel left out at any time. josuke will explain stands and all that just so you’re up to speed. don’t be scared though y/n. he won’t let anyone hurt you.

•he’s a teenage boy after all so he will try to look cool infront of you all the time. weather that’s getting into a fight or balancing on the rusty rail of a bridge.

•you and tomoko are so close!! josuke acts like he’s annoyed but he’s just so glad you’re getting along

•makes plans with you for the future. he wants to get out of morioh, get married , travel the world. don’t worry he isn’t going to pressure you.

•did someone say double dates ? koichi and josuke set up little get togethers once a month. they’re usually at tonios.

•weather you like it or not okayasu will be sit in on the double dates. doesn’t care about all the love shit he’s there for the food

giorno giovanna ☆

•treats you like royalty weather you like it or not. anything you’ve ever wanted is all yours.

•you are no longer allowed to walk the streets alone so i hope you don’t plan on doing anything shady y/n because there will always always ALWAYS be someone accompanying you

•poetry is one of his specialties so when he’s not doing anything he will write you a beautiful page and give it to you later

•wants to take you travelling. the world is a beautiful place and he wants to make sure you experience it first hand

•he isn’t home as much as he’d like to be so expect a loooot of late night phone calls

jolyne cujoh☆

•she has a bit of trouble showing love because of some childhood trauma but she’s been working on it for you

•wanna see a cool smoke trick? of course you do.

•she misses you so much while she’s locked up. your visits/phone calls is what keeps her going

•she makes you the cutest little crafts and sends them to you. it’s her way of spoiling you the best she can

•when jolyne gets out it’s full of PDA and date after date. there’s lots to make up for

•anime conventions with her are an absolute blast. she loves taking you and showing you all the things she likes

•so much shopping !! she likes to dress cool and in style so the two of you go out and get the newer clothes when they come out

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bloomingapricots · 14 days

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I’m the Older Brother of the Villain, Those Who Dare Touch Him Will Pay

Updated here first at AO3

Summary

Shen Duzhe had no thoughts of being an older brother before, he didn't even know the concept till his younger brother was born. Despite their rocky beginnings, Shen Duzhe loves his brother and younger siblings very much.

Notes

The reader is called Dúzhě (读者) which means “reader”

Duzhe is male and the eldest Shen sibling here

There is some of my feelings as an older sibling

Shen Yuan’s younger sister will be called Hóng (虹) meaning “Rainbow”

Chapter 1 (Here) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter One

“Because you’re an older brother” are words that Shen Duzhe despised most. “You’re an older brother, be more mature” are words Shen Duzhe heard often. “As an older brother, you have to be responsible for your younger siblings” it was not like Shen Duzhe asked his parents for siblings and wanted to be responsible. “You’re siblings, you have to be nice” just because he shared the same blood as them does not mean he should automatically like them.

When Shen Duzhe first learned he was going to have a brother, he did not react much, after all, it was just him and his parents for much of his life up till his younger brother was conceived. And as a child of rich parents who worked so they could live comfortably and lavishly, Shen Duzhe lived without wants. He was more interested in the room his brother will be living in for the next two decades, as Shen Duzhe’s child brain thought it was a pleasant room to look at and the chair in there was very comfortable to sit in.

When Shen Jiu was born, Shen Duzhe was with his grandparents and when they drove to the hospital for him to meet his brother, he did think his brother was cute. As with most families, since Shen Jiu was a newborn he had most of their parents but Shen Duzhe was fine with it since as a rich family they had hired a nanny for Shen Duzhe and he was distracted enough to not feel resentful about it. And it was fun watching Shen Jiu as he wiggled around. It was when they were a lot older, when Shen Jiu started walking and talking that Shen Duzhe started resenting having a brother.

It was not because of Shen Jiu’s action though, it was the action of the people around them that made him feel a bit resentful. The constant words about having to be more mature, having to be more responsible, that if Shen Jiu was hurt or upset, Shen Duzhe was scolded for not keeping an eye on him. As such, the duty of being an older sibling. Such feelings of pressure and expectation of being the older sibling felt suffocating, that being responsible for another person’s well being felt unfair, especially when it resulted in their parents being upset with him. The day Shen Duzhe fully got what it meant to be an older sibling was when he encountered a terrified Shen Jiu after he woke up from a nightmare, a nightmare about his past life.

It was late at night and Shen Duzhe forgot to grab himself a bottle of water for his bedside. As he shuffled to the closest kitchen, out of sheer luck since he was lazily scanning the same old hallway, he spotted a lump huddle at the end of a window drape.

“Jiu Jiu?” Shen Duzhe called out as the lump was pretty small and no adult would hide in a curtain drape. All Shen Duzhe heard was a whimper in response. “Jiu Jiu, Fuqin and Muqin would be fine if you crawled into their bed,” Despite being resentful about the expectation of being a big brother, beside that topic, their parents do occasionally spend one-on-one or two-on-one with him. And Shen Jiu is still young enough that they don’t have to give him tough love yet. Shen Duzhe stood in front of the lump for a long awkward moment as this was technically the first time in a long while he was alone with his brother. “Jiu Jiu... did you have a nightmare?” Shen Duzhe can’t guess any other reason and he was right to guess as the lump flinched. “Again, Fuqin and Muqin will comfort you if you go to them,”

“Go away,” Shen Jiu finally responded, his voice muffled.

“...” Shen Duzhe, as smart as he was, was still a child, and as much as Shen Jiu was an adult reincarnated as a child, is a child with child level limitation now. So Shen Duzhe did what a child would do with a sibling, who in his mind was being unreasonable, and became aggressive. Shen Duzhe tried to drag Shen Jiu out of the drapes but Shen Jiu clanged onto it like his life depended on it till they both started crying in frustration. “Jiu Jiu! let goooooo!” Shen Duzhe sobbed.

“No.” Shen Jiu replied. As Shen Duzhe tugged on Shen Jiu, Shen Jiu started screaming his frustration out. “Why did I have to reincarnate with my memories! That stupid beast face keeps appearing when I sleep!”

“Jiu Jiu, no one is getting into our house without Fuqin and Muqin knowing or past Uncle!” Shen Duzhe replied.

“No! That beast is messing with me again!” Shen Jiu yelled. It was a miracle that the two have not woken up the entire mansion yet. After Shen Duzhe tugged Shen Jiu one too many times, Shen Jiu let go but then tackled Shen Duzhe and started hitting him. Surprisingly, to Shen Duzhe, Shen Jiu’s punch was pretty weak so he was not hurt that much beside his back as he fell on his back. As Shen Duzhe was distracted by his thoughts Shen Jiu started crying again which snapped Shen Duzhe out of his thoughts. “I can never escape! Always a slave! Never thought of!” As the fight left Shen Jiu, he sobbed on top of Shen Duzhe.

“...You would not be here if Fuqin and Muqin did not think of you,” As much as the word sounds sweet, Shen Duzhe is a seven year old child who was not a reincarnator so he was looking at Shen Jiu like he was stupid.

“Stop looking down at me! You hate me for taking your place!” Shen Jiu yelled.

“Huh? Why would I hate you?” Shen Duzhe asked.

“You hate me for taking your parent’s affection! You look down at me for being so weak!” Shen Jiu replied.

“That’s stupid,” Elegantly stated by the seven year old. “You are a baby, a baby could die from something simple like falling from your high chair. That’s not being weak, that is…” As Shen Duzhe tried to think what to say, Shen Jiu sobbed again and subconsciously clung to Shen Duzhe. Shen Duzhe awkwardly rubs his five year old brother’s back in comfort. “Uh, I don’t hate you, Jiu Jiu, I’m just annoyed with the grown ups telling me I have to be mature and responsible. And while I haven’t thought of having a brother, I don’t mind having you as my brother,” After a frustrating fight, the two sleep on the floor and as much as their parents wanted to be mad at the two for getting out of bed and ended up sleeping on the floor. They could see the two growing closer after their fight, especially since Shen Jiu now personally seeks out Shen Duzhe and Shen Duzhe spends time with him.

As the two got older Shen Jiu became an older brother too with the birth of Shen Yuan and later the birth of their younger sister, Shen Hong. Shen Jiu was put into therapy and Shen Duzhe now with a more developed brain had a better understanding of what Shen Jiu had said when they were younger and believed in him. After all, Shen Jiu was incredibly grumpy, unusually so, and Shen Duzhe saw far too many nights of Shen Jiu sneaking into his bed with haunting and terrified eyes. Shen Duzhe sometimes heard Shen Jiu begging someone called Yue Qi to not leave him.

—

“Jiu Jiu, you’re going to pop a blood vessel at this rate from how hard you hate-reading that web novel Yuan-er despises,” Shen Duzhe stated as he sat across the kitchen island from his brother Shen Jiu. After Shen Yuan showed Shen Duzhe and Shen Jiu the web novel that he thought was the trashiest of trash, Shen Duzhe and Shen Yuan noticed the change in Shen Jiu’s expression. The fact that Shen Duzhe’s beloved, pampered, spoiled, baby brother Shen Yuan, who can read a person like a brick wall also saw Shen Jiu’s change in expression was a concern. Was a concern for all of them. And Shen Duzhe connected the dots and when he looked back to Shen Yuan, it seems like he also connected the dots as when Shen Yuan and their baby sister, Shen Hong, was in their late preteens, Shen Jiu told them about his reincarnation.

“No. Don’t tell me, Gege, that Proud Immortal Demon Way… that Shen Qinggqiu-!” Shen Yuan started to yell.

“Yes…” Shen Jiu confirmed in a small voice. A voice Shen Duzhe has not heard since childhood.

“Yuan-er, call Meimei and get food,” Shen Duzhe ordered and Shen Yuan quickly left after yelling he will. Shen Duzhe closed Shen Yuan’s laptop and carried Shen Jiu’s to his room, in the apartment the two of them shared. Shen Yuan still lived with their parents and Shen Hong.

“And you’re ru-” Shen Duzhe cut himself off as he thought the word ruin might trigger Shen Jiu. “That is in the past, a past you cannot return to and a past that cannot reach you here. The you now is Shen Jiu, who is the treasured black jade of the Shen family,”

“Gege…” Shen Jiu stated after a moment of silence. Shen Duzhe stood up to stand next to Shen Jiu.

“In this life, you are a spoiled, pampered, rich second young master,” Shen Duzhe gently took the tablet, with Proud Immortal Demon Way open, out of Shen Jiu’s hand. “You have a good relationship with your siblings and parents so there is no need to fight for your position in the Shen family. You are in the modern world, so you're not restricted on how you act nor are you caged. You are free to do whatever and your family will support you in every way. You will never be hurt, our parents and your Gege will make any assaulter pay no matter what, no matter the price,” That might have sounded, as Shen Yuan would say, a bit Yandere at the end.

“... I’ll stop,” Shen Jiu said.

“Shall we catch a movie with Yuan-er and Meimai?” Shen Duzhe asked, hoping to brighten Shen Jiu’s mood.

“Can it be just the two of us?” Shen Jiu asked in reply.

“Alright,'' was Shen Duzhe’s answer.

#svsss.obv #svsss #scum villain's self-saving system #scum villain's self saving system #shen jiu #shen yuan #shen hong #shen jiu & reader #svsss reader insert #mxtx svsss #mxtx #male reader

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nerdieforpedro · 4 months

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Patrolling on Christmas

Joel Miller x plus size female reader

Fanfiction rating: Teens and up

My blog overall is 18+

Word Count: approx 2.5k

Summary: Joel prefers patrol rather to be around others at Christmas, even after spending a few years in Jackson. He’s paired up with you on patrol and it’s not so bad. If asked, he may even say fair.

Warnings: Post outbreak, cursing, Joel is a grump, depression, survivors’ remorse/guilt, jokes about The Bard, damn knees and back, a fall, minor injury, ending fluff

Notes: I wanted to write Christmas Joel. I was going for sweet & happy. Post-outbreak Joel cropped up and my post shift mood determined that This is The Way. Merry Christmas 🎄 It’s got a sliver of sweet.

“Patrol can wait a day Joel. I don’t get why you’re still so damn weird about Christmas. It’s just all of us gathering at the Tipsy Bison and talking shit. No one’s going to ask you to do anything, not even me for fuck’s sake.” Elle threw her hands up in the air in frustration.

“...Language Elle.” Joel reminded her.

“I mean, I agree, language, but she’s right. There’s other people on rotation who can-” Tommy with his arms crossed explains, trying to put on a stern face. Doesn’t affect Joel at all.

“Shut it. I said I’m goin’. That’s it. See you tonight.” Heavy boots stepped out of the house and stopped on the porch looking back. “Have fun. Stay out of trouble.” With that, he adjusted the rifle that was over his shoulder and made his way to the perimeter to meet up with his patrol partner. He was expecting Sam or John but tried to control his eyebrows raising at the sight of you. He thought you’d join the others at the festivities.

Just like in the world before the outbreak, no one wanted to work holidays. The few holidays that were still celebrated anyway. Joel volunteered in part because the holidays always reminded him of the people he’d lost and it kept his brain from wandering to the dark recesses of his mind. If he kept busy, followed tasks and tired himself to the point of exhaustion, he’d briefly say goodnight to Elle and collapse in his bed. Then he may be blessed with the void of sleep, where his mistakes and failings may not play back through his head because he’s shut down.

The former smuggler wasn’t disappointed or annoyed that you’d be patrolling with him. In fact, it was likely best. You alternated between silence and run-on sentences about any and everything. That also removed his thoughts from being on himself. He even found himself chuckling on occasion at something you’d say that he found funny. He knew you didn’t mean it to come out that way, but hearing about horoscopes that you thought you remembered and comparing them with Maria and the other ladies based on some old papers they’d found was weird as it was ridiculous to Joel. It was good to have a bit of silliness in this hopeless world.

The both of you checked your weapons, you had a revolver in addition to your rifle. You said that you won it in a bet with Fred that Joel would ‘fire’ you as a patrol partner. Joel was curious as to why. You didn’t look directly at him when you told him why. Your gift of gab and keeping things light as well as your build which was short, stocky and thought to be poor for evading clickers, raiders and hunters. Fred wasn’t wrong in that respect outright, but you’d learned to either hide well or improve your aim to prevent them from getting to you.

Joel noted that Fred was a bigger asshole than he thought.

“Doesn't matter. What does is that I get the job done and come home. Let’s go.” Joel followed your lead, it seemed the bet you’d have with Fred had spurred action in you, not a bad thing, but it’s best to keep a cool head.

“Keep focused. Raiders and clickers don’t give two shits about Christmas.” Joel adjusted his rifle again as the two of you walked, it was a familiar path around the Jackson settlement. Shorter than normal patrol.

“I almost thought Elle was with me instead of you Miller with you talking like that.” A light laugh made Joel feel more at ease. ‘That’s more like normal. Am I sounding like Elle? Dammit.’ He wondered if he needed to worry about his own language use. The sun was high behind the clouds, peeking through every so soften as the crunch of grass and dirt was heard from both of your boots.

You still weren’t saying much and Joel had no clue what to say to get you talking. He suggested about halfway that you both sit on a rock. You offered it to him first on account of his knees. Joel’s face contorted into a scowl and refused to sit until you sat down first. When you saw that he was serious, you sat down and patted the space left on the rock and he took his seat next to you. The elder Miller brother turned away from you to keep an eye out as you did on your side. His knees stopped screaming at him that they ached, they only whispered now.

The crisp air reminded Joel that he was alive. His hair flopped with the wind, his eyes squinting slightly to get a better look at the trees and lake in the distance. He flexed and relaxed his fingers, feeling calm when he should be on high alert. Sometimes Joel found himself concerned that he wasn’t built for a calmer life. That he desired the chaos of the unknown instead of the predictability of the commune “Tommy refused to call a spade a spade. The damn place is nice, but it is a commune…” Joel muttered aloud grinning, he recalled discussing it with his brother and him being so adamant about it.

“I mean, a rose by any other name is, well not a rose. I feel like it's supposed to be more poetic than that.” Her answer made Joel turn his head slightly before keeping his face front, he still needs to be aware of any threats.

“I never had much use for The Bard. Especially now. The hell’s that pentameter shit gonna do with a clicker?”

“I’m surprised you remember that Joel. I just remember Romeo and Juliet. Hamlet. Tights and Plays, I think.”

“Full of surprises darlin’, even with these sore knees.” The broad man stood as you turned to look back at him. Hair bouncing on his head and a wry smile on his face. “We should get a move on, ya good?” He saw you nod and stand, though he couldn’t quite make out the look on your face. Maybe he did really surprise you, the thought alone made Joel put a half a pep in his step. His knees would be back to screeching soon enough. This time around you let him lead as you chatted about what the both of you knew about Shakesphere, neither of you remembered much so the two of you started making up things that he may put in a Christmas play.

“There’s gotta be some weird trickster spirit fairies that give good children presents and punish bad children. Plus ghosts, there’s usually a ghost.”

“Hamlet’s daddy came back as a ghost right? Might be a dead relative of whoever the play’s ‘bout. Also need a big feast. There’s also food.”

“Don’t talk about food Joel, I’m going to be even more hungry.”

“They always have turkey legs and grapes and wine at those things I think. I feel like that’s what was always in them plays as props.”

“You’ve seen a Sharkesphere play?”

There was a moment where Joel was quiet. “Now Darlin’ keep this to yourself. I maybe was one of those cousins of Romeo or Juliet. Don’t ‘member which one thou.” he heard you stop walking and looked to see what was wrong. Your face was beaming with this piece of information. Joel almost regretted it, but still wanted you to know. He needed not to think about why, he’d go back in the recesses of his mind again that connected to those emotions. They’re locked away to keep him functioning. “Told ya we gotta move. I’ll leave you right there.” He began walking again and heard your steps move to catch up with him.

It was when the gate to Jackson was within view. It was another period of silence after finishing the conversation about the bard and you asking several questions about Joel’s short stint in acting. He said it didn’t suit him and continued with football. You then asked if maybe he sang since they can sometimes go hand in hand. That wasn’t what did it, Joel heard you tell him that he had the voice for it. Sure it was a little raspy, but what he was able to communicate in verbal and non-verbal cues suited some songs.

Joel Miller is not an easy man to surprise. He’s seen too much, done too much and been through too much for that. At least he thought he had, and when he stopped walking, his foot got caught on some underbrush and he tried to break his fall. His left hand hitting a sharp rock and he went down. Would he be able to get up? How badly was he injured? He didn’t feel his knees right now…nope, never mind. He felt them, even more than before. He heard you yell and move by his side, he was slightly out of it and you weren’t able to lift him all the way.

“Sweetheart, don’t ruin your back. Gimmie a few.” He told you, sure he was embarrassed but he could sulk about that later. Joel really did need to get off the ground. It was cold, he was sore and anything could happen. He’s completely open. Slowly, he rolled on his side and sat up with a loud groan. The worried look on your face made him sigh, he’s supposed to be the experienced one here and he falls right in front of home basically. “Hands darlin’.” Joel stretched his large hands toward yours and you pulled him up, using your body weight to force him upright. He hopped up and took a minute to adjust, large hands holding your small ones. Joel knew he held them a few seconds more than was necessary, but he told himself it was to ensure he was steady so he wouldn’t fall again. But he knew it wasn’t, and it was no help when you decided to walk at side by side with one of your hands on his back. Normally he’d fight you on it as he did with the rock, but he doesn’t mind it being there and understands that you’re trying to help.

Your hand left Joel’s back when you two could see the guards at Jackson’s gate. Joel decided the least he could do was walk you back to your house after reporting in. Nothing unusual, no raiders or clickers. No news was good news. Your house is smaller than Joel’s, it is meant for one person. A small wreath is on your door with a red and gold bow.

“Maria said I had to put something on my door. I’ve never been much for decorating. You have to put it away later.” You explained and unlocked your door, letting him in. You had a couch, kitchen, cabinet with a few books and a dented wooden globe. Tommy had let you keep it and you weren the only person interested in it so he said it was fine you took the thing. All of them had pieces of garland on them. “Sit down Joel, I’m gonna wrap your hand.”

Joel instead walked over to the sink and rinsed his hand under some cold water. “Nah darlin’ you’ve done plenty.” Apparently, you’d had a small first-aid kit. Joel wondered what you may have traded to get one, or what you may have done to earn one.

“If you won’t sit, then I’ll wrap it while you stand. You might want to be nice to your knees though. I won’t have you falling in here.” You’re teasing him, he doesn’t hate it. Joel resigns himself to his fate and plops on your couch, noting some mistletoe on the wooden post next to the loveseat he just sat on. It looked like it was slapped up there. “Maria and Kelly decorated, hence all the garland, I never noticed that though.” Your eyes rolled and you sat next to Joel and took some supplies out of the kit, dabbing and cleaning his hand before adding some clean gauze and wrapping it. You taped it and Joel complemented your work, it was better that it was covered as to stave off an infection. He knew he didn’t need anything like that.

Not thinking about it, Joel patted your thigh before standing up, “Thanks darlin’. Didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’ll be on my way.” He realized he needed to go. It’s been too long any he can’t. He needs to wrap his head around this if he can. Maybe not his head. He just made room for Elle in his heart, would he have room for you too? Did you even want to be there? You’re friendly and talkative with everyone, it just seems special because Joel is aware of how prickly he is. But you’re not treating him differently, he’s reading into it. He may be heavily starved for companionship.

Those heavy boots of his start to carry him toward your door. He’s bid you goodbye, but you grab his arm. “Darlin’ I-”

“Joel, wait.” He closes his eyes for a moment, then stops. His boots step toward you, Joel looks down at you, trying to discover what’s on your face, but it’s something he recognizes - longing. “Could I just, just close your eyes Joel.” He shakes his head, but your grip on his arm doesn’t wane, he allows his body to relax with an exhale.

“S’alright. Don’t feel ya hafta do-”

“I don’t have to do anything. Yes, I know. Just close your eyes will you? This is the most I’ve heard you talk today Joel.” He ended up bending forward slightly, tipping his chin down and his face toward you. A pair of soft lips touched his cheek, right above his graying beard. “M-Marry Christmas Joel. That’s all I wanted to do.”

A smirk spread on Joel’s face, “Sure about that Sweetheart?” He was aware he was playing a dangerous game, but it was enjoyable. He was one for some risk. You huffed which he found adorable, your other hand found its way to his cheek and pinched him.

“I’m sure Joel Miller. Go on home and rest. Your back and knees will thank you. Dream of the bard while you’re at it.” Joel and you chuckled and you lowered your hand as he caught it, kissing the back of it and then your forehead.

“Not going to dream of some puffy bard darlin’, got someone a lot sweeter on my mind. Merry Christmas to you too. Sleep well.” Your grip on his arm loosened and he dropped your hand, heading to the door before opening and exiting your home. He stood on the porch to hear you lock it, then he started walking to he and Elle’s home.

Joel Miller might be ready to let someone in this Christmas.

Joel Miller’s Sweethearts: @morallyinept @fhatbhabie @goodwithcheese @trulybetty @for-a-longlongtime @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @musings-of-a-rose @rhoorl @laurfilijames @avastrasposts @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @megamindsecretlair @saturn-rings-writes @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @maggiemayhemnj @undercoverpena @alltheglitterandtheroar @pedrodascal @linzels-blog @lincolndjarin @pedritapascal @sp00kymulderr @movievillainess721 @perotovar @pamasaur @magpiepillsjunior @yorksgirl @guelyury @legendary-pink-dot

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #Christmas #post outbreak joel

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inkblot22 · 3 months

Text

You Pull It Into Your Lungs

Tell me why I logged in to web today and my theme was no longer what I set it as?? Tumblr, please. I love you but we can't keep doing this. Anyhow, it's here! Part II of The Saltwater Beckons. Hopefully it makes sense, during this chapter I was just trying to set up a very obvious plot conflict for later.

This fic is for: anyone who can handle it! It is going to be more self-indulgent than my others, but I'm going to make a very serious effort to not describe any bits when we get to that point. While I myself am black, there are also no allusions to skin color (ex. "cheeks turned red/pink") in this either, although there could be.

TW for: injury, blood mention, bruises, lots of weird speculation about non-human sentient species, crude flirting (if you squint), some primal stuff but it's not written in a sexy way, Floyd and Jade Leech because they freak me out and I know I'm not the only one. They might be a bit OOC in this, I'm working on it.

The prefect was lucky that Floyd didn’t barge into the shower while they were ridding their body of saltwater and blood. The bite on their shoulder stopped bleeding after a bit of pressure. It was odd that it didn’t stop bleeding faster, like puncture wounds tend to, but it had already begun bruising, darker patches mottling the skin around the bite like some kind of warped galaxy picture.

They sighed and got dressed, surprised to see Floyd, still wet, waiting boredly for them at the door of the natatorium.

“I thought you left.” They said, a cordiality underlying the bluntness.

His hair dripped on his collar and he was leaning somewhat awkwardly on the doorframe, looking at them as though they’d told him the moon was made of cheese, “No. Let’s go.”

Floyd was walking a little strangely, stumbling every few steps and losing his balance, sort of like a toddler learning to walk. They watched for a moment, sort of confused.

“Are you… Why are you walking like that?”

“Shrimpy,” Floyd giggled, halting his movements so abruptly that it was unnatural and turning slightly to look at them. It was less of a beginning of a sentence and more of a warning.

That primal part of their brain screamed.

“Let’s just get you home and then you can keep trying to think.” He said, turning on his heel and walking.

Over time, despite the journey from the natatorium to Ramshackle being short, he did improve in his gait, but it wasn’t until they remembered that he’d been in the water that they realized why he was having issues walking now.

They felt silly for not realizing earlier.

Floyd opened the door to Ramshackle. The prefect never locked it when they went anywhere, since they didn’t have a key for the front door, and who locks a dorm building anyway? They walked up the stairs, took another shower to rid themself of the saltwater feeling, changed into their pajamas, then decided they wanted some tea. When they went downstairs, Floyd was still standing there, playing with various things in the living room.

The only sensible thing they could think of doing was screaming in terror and dashing around the corner. What was he still doing here?! They thought they were alone.

Floyd didn’t pursue, which was something of a surprise. From their spot in the hallway leading to several dust filled rooms, they heard Floyd’s lazy drawl.

“It’s cute how you wanna play, but I’m not in the mood for hide and seek right now. Come over here.” It was less of a request and more of an insistent statement. Not quite a demand. Almost there, though.

The prefect slowly exited their shoddy hiding spot and Floyd’s mismatched eyes were pinning them to the floor almost immediately. He smirked, breaking into a toothy grin as his eyes dragged up and down their form.

“Hmm. I don’t know why I thought you’d have sexier pajamas.” He said before turning back to the knick-knacks over the hearth. He plucked one of them up and looked at it curiously, “What’s this supposed to be?”

He threw it at them with his underhand. They narrowly dodged and the knick-knack made a heavy thunk as it dented the wood floor.

“You could have hurt me! And… I think it’s a whole avocado, but made of brass?” The prefect said, picking the heavy thing up. Crowley was gonna kill them if he ever noticed that spot on the floor. “And what do you mean, ‘sexier pajamas’?”

Floyd snickered as they got closer to him, sliding the brass avocado back onto the hearth. They looked up at him and he responded by slinging an arm around their shoulders.

“I dunno, Shrimpy,” he slurred, leaning far too close to their face as he hooked a finger in their shirt and yanked on it, “Land people are so uptight about wearin’ lots of clothes. The sexiest thing you could wear to sleep is nothing, like me.”

The prefect absolutely didn’t need to know this information. The revelation set a hot burn in their cheeks as their eyes widened, and Floyd spun them out of his grasp, giggling.

“Heehee… it’s so cute that Shrimpy is shy. Well, see ya.”

“Huh?”

“What, you want me to stay the night?”

“Oh! No.”

“Mmm-hmm. Grim’ll be back in the morning. Night.”

And with that, Floyd strolled out of the doors of Ramshackle. The prefect watched him go, grabbed a nice little midnight snack, then went back upstairs and slept.

Their dreams were fitful. The sting in their shoulder didn’t really ease as they woke up every few hours. The moonlight was blinding as they tried to sleep. Without Grim, it was too quiet. Perhaps it would be worth it to ask the ghosts to make some noise, but a glance at the clock revealed that it was around three, so they’d likely all be busy. It was a shame. Usually by now they’d be awake anyways because he had his claws out and was digging his feet into their back, mumbling in his sleep about how powerful he was. It was annoying, but it was familiar.

And familiar was not something they had often in this world.

~*~

The next day, as the prefect was wandering in the halls, lost as they tried to remember how to get to the mess hall, they bumped into a familiar chest.

“Oof!”

“Why, good afternoon, prefect. Where are your friends?” Jade smiled kindly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It never did.

“Oh, I stayed back so I could get my ‘special student work.’ Because I’m not magic.” They looked up at Jade, “They’re at lunch.”

“Oh, really?” He used that coddling tone he adopted with Floyd sometimes, “And why aren’t you with them?”

“I got lost.”

Jade laughed, somehow politely. His gloved hand curled into an elegant fist covered his lips as he giggled, eyes closed in mirth. The prefect laughed along for a moment and then began walking past him, and his eyes flashed open. He stared straight ahead for a moment, his brow furrowing ever so slightly before he grabbed the prefect’s arm and dragged them into a nearby empty classroom.

“Uh… Jade?” They mumbled. “What’s gotten into…?”

Jade hastily loosened their tie and ripped their shirt open, somehow without snapping any buttons off before he tapped his nose against the crook of their neck, taking in a deep draw of air.

Although merfolk, beastmen, and fae did not exist in their world, as far as it had been explained to them, things like this should not happen. They should not be getting pulled into an isolated place and… smelled. They very gently eased their hands onto Jade’s shoulders and he tightened his grip on their shoulders, enough to make them wince.

“Jade, what’s going on?”

Jade leaned up to his full height. He wasn’t smiling. His face had fallen into a very tense frown, and it made their blood run cold. He carefully tugged the clothing from their bitten shoulder off, sucked his teeth, then buttoned their shirt and retied their tie. When he was done, he grabbed them by the upper arm and silently walked them to the mess hall. Once there, he turned to them and regarded them.

His smile twitched back into place and he sighed, “My brother. Heh. Always so hasty.”

“What?”

“Your friends are waiting for you, prefect. Enjoy your lunch.”

They walked in, as he said. Generally, the non-human interactions they had with their fellow students were benign, such as Grim falling asleep if they pet him for too long, or Leona’s voice being growly, but that… that was strange. The prefect took a seat with Ace, Deuce, and Grim, glancing at the doorway.

Jade was no longer there, but the bite from Floyd somehow stung worse than the moment they got it.

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thatredheadwriter · 2 years

Text

Who?

javier peña x reader

This is pure smut (with a little fluff at the end because I can’t resist). During the pursuit of recreational pleasure, you accidentally call Javier something new.

This is an NSFW blurb for female reader with Javier Peña of Narcos. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Lots of pet names

dom!Javier Peña

dom/sub dynamics

Dirty talk

Unprotected P in V sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

Established FWB relationship

Daddy kink (title only)

Creampie

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

You babbled incoherently as Javi fucked you from above. His hot breath fanned your face as he pounded into you ruthlessly. He’d hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and the new angle was finding spots you didn’t even know you had.

“Such a good girl, takin’ it for me like this, princesa,” he purrs, one of his massive hands coming to squeeze your tit, the other firmly gripping your hip in a way that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.

“Ah, fuck…Javi,” you cried, clawing for him, needing to feel him over every inch of you. He happily obliged, changing the angle yet again and throwing you even deeper into bliss.

In all your confused pleadings of, ‘please’ and ‘more’ and other half-formed words, you almost missed it when it slipped past your lips.

“Shit, daddy. Feels so good,” you panted, clawing at his shoulders.

But then he stopped completely, halfway inside you, and looked at you with his brow furrowed.

“What’d you say?” he asked, searching your face as if he could find the words there.

You stuttered and tried to hide your face in the pillow, but he was persistent. The hand that wasn’t holding his weight up off of you came to cup your jaw, forcing you to face him.

“Princesa,” the word rolled off his tongue so smoothly, “What was that you called me?”

“I…I called you daddy,” you confessed, your face burning in shame, tears building at your waterline. Javi and you had the kink conversation fairly early in your ‘mutually beneficial recreational partnership’ as you’d dubbed it, but you never brought up your daddy kink. It was so niche and you’d never met anyone else who was into it. Besides, it’s not like Javi needed anything else to add to his toolkit. He already made you cum faster, harder, and more often than any other partner before him, a fact he was very proud of.

His face softened, and he smiled. “Oh, bebita, you could have told me.”

You gasped as he pulled nearly all the way out before filling you back to the hilt.

“Just needed daddy to fuck you dumb, eh?” he grinned as he resumed his earlier pace, his hand slipping from your jaw to wipe a tear that slipped from your eye.

You nodded, brain going to mush when he called himself daddy. That combined with the sight of him above you, sweaty and gorgeous had your orgasm building even faster than usual.

“Who fucks you this good?” he growled in your ear, hand returning to your hip.

“You, daddy!” you all but sob, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging the way you’ve learned he secretly loves.

“Fuck, that’s right. This is my pussy, bebita.”

“Only yours,” you nod in agreement, so close to cumming already it burns like a white-hot coil inside you. But try as you might, your brain couldn’t function well enough to string words together to warn him.

As if Javi didn’t already know from the flutter of your walls around his cock to the way your bit your bottom lip and whined so lowly that if he wasn’t listening for it, he’d miss it over his own heavy breathing and the sound of skin on skin.

“Gonna cum for me, princesa?” he asked, his thumb moving to where it could rub hard and fast on your clit.

You nodded furiously, barely able to do even that before the dam broke and every muscle in your body was tensing and relaxing in careful coordination. Some part of you was aware that words were still coming out of your mouth, but you had no clue what it was you were saying.

It was Javi’s voice that brought you back, low in your ear. “Solo papi te folla tan bien,” he growled.

As you came down from your high, Javi was still chasing his, but he did remove this thumb from your oversensitive nub, giving you a touch of reprieve. You tugged on his hair once more and pressed lazy kisses to the line of his jaw.

Finally, he came, thrusting hard and not stopping until every last drop was fucked up into you.

Javi rolled to the side, thick arms bringing you with him so he could keep you close without crushing you under his weight.

“Shit, where were you keeping that, princesa?” he huffed a laugh, brushing some stray hair from your face.

You curled into his shoulder, trying to hide your embarrassment, “I didn’t think you’d be into it.”

“Hey,’ he captured your chin in one of his rough hands, placing a kiss to your lips before pulling back to look you in the eye, “You can call me whatever you want, bebita, as long as you keep making those pretty noises for me.”

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jinkookspencil · 2 years

Text

mindlessly mine | jjk

your online class was going well…. until jungkook walked by

tw/description: ~1.2k words / fluff but a little bit suggestive (hints to lingerie and sex) / no smut except kissing and jk squeezes y/n’s boobs lol / but still, minors DNI - y/n’s class is either one for fun, further learning, or her bachelor’s or master’s degree / just a cute little fluff piece, I think we all need some fluffy comfort now and I'm working on other fluffs rn because of that <3 / hope you all enjoy and feedback is always welcome!

Everything on your desk was set up perfectly - you wouldn’t be able to work or focus on your class if it was a mess. But after rearranging the pens and highlighters, filing away documents, and taking out your trusty notebook and current favorite pen, you were ready for your online class.

The class was going really well so far, and most importantly, the teacher was lovely. So lovely in fact, that you already saw yourself forming a friendship with her as you bonded over the same interests and always logged onto the meeting a few minutes earlier than class was due to begin, just to talk.

Mid-conversation with her, you hear a humming behind you and sure enough, Jungkook was behind you with his headphones in, his phone by his mouth as he hummed a melody and sang a few words into it, walking straight into his adjoining studio with closed eyes, lost in the music he was creating.

“He seems sweet,” your teacher says through the screen when you turn back to face her. “And, oh, you’re obviously very happy, so I’m happy. Just don’t let it distract you from this course.”

“Don’t worry,” you smile. Minutes later, after your fellow students have joined the online meeting session, your class began.

---

It was nearing the end of your class, and your teacher was doing her regular roundup sessions that preceded the final bit of the class, her Q&A.

It was a great lesson but you couldn’t wait for it to end, feeling the weight and restriction of the headphones on your head. After Jungkook walked into his studio, you could hear the faint noise of his singing and the beats and melodies he was testing out. While you always enjoyed hearing him sing, it was distracting you when you needed to focus most, but it was nothing your pair of noise-canceling headphones couldn’t fix. And with that, you were immersed in the lesson.

You were so fascinated by today’s topic, with a million questions floating around in your brain. So concentrated on your teacher’s explanation. So focused on absorbing & understanding everything she laid out…..

That you didn’t notice Jungkook walking out of his studio until he appeared at your side and absentmindedly squeezed your breast without a single word before he walked out and into the main apartment.

For the entire. class. to. see.

He didn’t even notice you squirm at his touch before he walked out, his eyes glued to his phone, leaving you flustered and in shock on camera. And almost like the universe forced you to relive your embarrassment, your window on the meeting had a delay and got stuck on the image of you looking at Jungkook in horror - you turn off your mic and camera in a millisecond.

“JEON JUNGKOOK!”

“What?!,” he calls out, appearing at the door to the office seconds later.

“My camera was on,” you utter.

“What?”

“My camera. It was on. I was on Zoom. In class. With my video camera ON when you…squeezed me, JEON JUNGKOOOOOOOK!”, you wail.

Jungkook’s jaw drops for a moment before he bursts out into a quiet giggle. “Oops….” He grits his teeth. “Sorry.”

You wave him off, knowing you had to return to your class. You try to conceal your embarrassment when you turn your camera back on…. but you realize there was no hiding the redness that lingered on your cheeks.

The class had already gotten to the Q&A segment, and you had forgotten all the questions you had eagerly thought of the past hour, the embarrassment replaying itself repeatedly in your mind…. You couldn’t look at the other students, in fear you’d see one of them smirk, and you could barely comprehend their questions….but the end of one student’s comment almost woke you up from your daze. You reckon he asked about an assignment and meeting a deadline, but all you know is that his comment ended with “…It’s best we don’t get distracted this term… Right, Y/N?”

You bite your lip and stare at your keyboard in embarrassment, half-considering dropping out of the class, when you get a chat notification from your teacher.

“it’s alright. don’t worry about it. :)”

Reading her words, and catching a glimpse of the polaroid of you and Jungkook that you had taped to your desk, you feel your embarrassment transform into a weird mixture of anger and confidence in a second - you see the smirk that appeared on your face on-screen before you feel it, rolling your eyes before noticing that, now, it was the other student who was embarrassed.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m lucky to have both a distraction and good grades, too,” you say, your back straighter and your voice more sure than shaky.

As soon as the class ended, you found Jungkook laying on the bed, looking up from his phone at the sight of you by the doorframe.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he pleads, a sincere look on his face as he sits up over the blankets. “I was on my phone and I didn’t realize it was a class.”

“It’s alright, Jungkook,” you smile, brushing his hair with your fingers. “It’s embarrassing, yes, but you’re my favorite distraction. I realized I’m pretty lucky as fuck to have someone squeeze my boobs absentmindedly.”

“Oh!,” he raises his eyebrows, his hands finding your hips and pulling you closer. “Damn, I didn’t think you could get sexier but I like this confidence on you. Fuck yeah, let them all know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

You mimic him and raise your eyebrows back, kissing his forehead. “What’s so important on your phone, anyways? Working on a new song?”

“Yes,” he nods. “But that was before. Then when I was in the studio I just kept writing, and I kept thinking about you, because…. obviously, baby, you know you inspire me, and…. I got excited. Let’s just say I was looking for something….. special. For you to have a lot of fun in,” he winks.

“What type of song led you THERE?!”, you laugh.

“You’ll see…. Why do you think I squeezed you? I was thinking about how much fun I’ll have with you when you wear this thing I got you….”

“Jungkook, you always squeeze me absentmindedly.”

“Ah…. That’s true,” he says with a smirk, squeezing your hips and reaching up to kiss you on the lips. “But really babe, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I got you something, it’ll be here tomorrow. Please wear it tomorrow night, I can’t wait any longer.”

“I wanna see.”

“Baby, it’s tomorrow! You really can’t wait to have me, can’t you?”

“I can have you tonight and tomorrow, can’t I?”, you graze his shoulders.

“F-….”, he looks away, trying to hide a smile. “I want to kiss you and pin you down on the bed so badly..... but I know the wait will make it more special.”

“You always do this….,” you whine.

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s as sexy as you are, and it’s as red as your cheeks can get.”

“Hmmm… okay. You always loved red on me, but I don’t know about that last part. You said it yourself, my confidence is growing. You’ll have to try harder to get me to blush, Jeon Jungkook.”

“There’s always a way.”

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook drabble #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook one shot #jungkook oneshot #bts fluff #bts oneshot #bts one shot #bts scenario #bts reaction #bts fic #jungkook

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grippingbeskar · 2 years

Text

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter eight - learning the basics

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

word count: 5.6k

warnings: canon typical violence, description of blood, death, torture, injuries/cuts/, mentions of mental illness and suicidal thoughts, graphic description of violence and fighting it’s the PUNISHER PEOPLE we be killing left right and mf centre.

a/n: okay first thx for all the sweetness on this series. i am having such a good time writing it and i’m glad someone’s reading it!’ these next few chapters might take a little longer to upload but i will try my best!!! enjoy okay bye!

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“Hey.” A gentle voice streams through your sleep addled brain, and you feel the warmth of a hand over your own. Skin, touching your skin. You almost don’t move, just to keep the sensation. “Wake up.”

The hand leaves you, and your eyes open to darkness. After blinking a few times, your eyes adjust to the tinted film of the sunglasses, and you sit up in the car seat, sliding the sunnies on top of your head. Looking out the windscreen, you don’t recognise where you are. A whole lot of old style buildings like the street, as well as a few small houses in a shared drive way and a motel with a diner attached to the side.

“Where are we?”

“Just outside the city. Figured we’d stop. Eat some real food.” Your stomach grumbled at the thought, the only thing in your system from the past few days being chips and half a sandwich. “Get a hotel room. Madani should call soon, after the reports of the last of the Colonel’s hits go through.”

You don’t miss how he says the Colonel’s hits. Not yours.

“Where’d you get the money for all this stuff?” You ask Frank who nearly disappears in the darkness, the sun setting a lot quicker than you thought. He moves around your side of the car before answering.

“Military pay is good. Plus Madani pays me off for some jobs when I’m around. It’s enough.”

“So I wasn’t entirely wrong when I said you worked for her?”

“Alright, smart ass.” He walks past you, heading straight up to the flashing red and blue signs of the diner.

Once you both slid into a booth, a nice lady hands you a menu, and lingers on the sight of Frank.

“It’s been a while.” She says, smiling fondly at him.

“Don’t get out here as much as I used to. Couldn’t miss a chance for that bacon you got, though.” She ruffled his hair like a kid, and you wanted to hide your face when she turned her attention to you.

“You’ve finally brought a girl around! Good for you. You want the same as him, sweet thing?” It took you a second to realise she was actually talking to you. She was being kind, she called you sweet. Blinking up at her, you nodded, a small please managing to squeak from your mouth as she took the menu. “Hope he’s treating a pretty thing like you right. I know Pete seems rough round the edges, but he’s a real softie when you get to know him.”

“I don’t doubt it.” You feel a little more comfortable as she grabs your hand and squeezes it, before disappearing behind the counter. “Pete?”

“Better than Frank.” His expression is unreadable, his eyes busy staring somewhere behind you.

“Hm. Well let’s hope Pete has better taste in cars than I do. I’m getting tired of driving around in that thing.” You can still see the car out side, looking like it’s one day away from spontaneously combusting.

“My van might still be around. We can do a drive by when Madani gives us a direction.” You drop your chin in your hands, staring at him. Something about the way he’s looking back at you makes you want to know what’s going on in that giant head of his, pretty as it is to look at.

“Alright. I have to ask. What’s with the skull?”

“Huh?”

“On your vest. The skull.”

“What? You don’t like it?” The lady brings your food over, sliding two plates of bacon and eggs in front of you. Despite it nearly being 7pm, you have never wanted breakfast so bad.

“I didn’t say that. Maybe a bit cheesy, but why that?”

“It’s bad-ass.” You drop the bacon on your fork, sudden laughter taking over at his stupid comment.

“Seriously!” You say between breaths, and he was fighting his own smile as he replied.

“Mostly for targets. If I come out at people in the dark, they see the white skull and it’s practically a bullseye.”

“So, you want them to shoot you?”

“They’re gonna shoot me anyways. Better they hit my vest than my head.” You nod, stuffing your face full of food. “Slow down. You’ll choke.”

“God-“ You ignore him, shoving another mouthful of food in. “-I haven’t had a real, hot meal in… fucking years. This is incredible.”

“You didn’t eat? Down there?” This food is so damn good, you hardly realise he’s prying.

“Not like this. All frozen shit. Pretty sure the dogs ate better than I did. This, though. Tastes like heaven.” He nods, watching you as he eats.

Apart from the occasional quip at each other’s eating habits, you scarf down the rest of the food without another word. Your body almost immediately digests it, already feeling ten times stronger just from the one meal. When the lady from before comes back to take your plates, she laughs down at the two of you.

“Like peas in a goddamn pod, you two are! Just the sweetest couple.” She begins to stack your plates, and both you and Frank talk at the same time.

“Oh, we aren’t-“

“She isn’t my-“

“Oh, haven’t had that conversation yet? Petey, you better stop playing around. Hard to find a good woman at all, let alone one who looks this cute.” You find yourself heating up, not so much at the woman’s compliment, but at the way Frank looks at you after she says it.

He squints, his head tilting just slightly, as if he’s considering it. Like he’s only just noticed that you were in fact, a woman, and what that might look like to someone else. You want to sink into the chair, and your grateful when Frank takes his eyes off you to get up and pay.

You head out into the cool of the night, standing near the parked car. Frank comes out not a minute later, and you hardly get a second to recover before he’s right next to you, leaning over to pop the boot. The boot full of weapons and clothes. He grabs one bag, presumably not full of guns because of how small it looked compared to the others, but not before he straps himself with a hand gun, and shoved one towards you.

“I don’t need it.” You say, trying to shove it away, but he resists.

“Didn’t ask that. If you’re staying with me for now, you’ll have one on you. Always.”

“You said it yourself, I don’t even know how to use it. Besides, I seem to remember I got yours off you fairly quick last time. If the moment comes, I’ll just-“

“I don’t take chances, and I don’t do ifs. You stay? Means you take this, and you keep it on you. I’ll teach you the basics.” He starts walking towards the staircase leading up to the rooms of the hotel, and you’re left standing there with a hand gun in your palms, shuffling after him.

You weren’t particularly against guns. You had seen enough of what they could do, pretty much a less violent version of what you can do. You just never needed them, never wanted to take a life with one. You figured if you had chased them down, tortured them, you at least owed it to them to look them in the eye and kill them with your hands.

Also, no one had ever bothered to teach you. And now Frank was offering, so flippantly, like the offer didn’t mean anything to him. If anything, it was an inconvenience for you not to know, or maybe he just wanted to make sure he always had a back up gun when you were around. Either way, here you were, fumbling with the barrel of it, trying to make sure you didn’t accidentally set it off.

As you turned into the room, you were so distracted you hardly noticed the layout. Frank went straight into the bathroom, though, and when you looked up, you saw there was only one bed. Sure, there was a tiny couch in the corner and a chair at the desk, but the double bed was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

“Only room left.” Frank comes out of the bathroom, chucking the bags on the couch, reading your expression clearly. “There’s some clothes in there that should fit. There’s a shop downstairs, too. If you need anything else.”

“Ah.” You look through the bag, seeing shirts, jeans and jumpers that look about your size, or close enough that it wouldn’t matter, but it was missing some pretty important pieces. He just nods to his wallet on the couch, and goes back into the bathroom, locking the door and starting the shower.

Part of you was embarrassed about the idea of having to go downstairs and buy underwear, but most of you was a weird kind of sated that Frank didn’t have a bunch of woman’s underwear lying around for rotation. That like of thinking only dragged you down a mental rabbit hole. Did he do that? Was he turning down women left and right because he was stuck with you? You couldn’t deny he was attractive, and with that smile…

Fuck. You need to focus. Walking out of the room, you gripped the wallet right and headed to the store downstairs. You’d never bought your own clothes, let alone underwear. You weren’t even sure you knew what size you were in them.

The experience was uneventful, and certainly not a fulfilling as you thought. In the end, you grabbed the first things you could find and avoided eye contact with the old man at the counter. Running back up to the room, you didn’t even think before you opened the door, and there must be something about you and hotel rooms, because for the second night in a row you were greeted with a shirtless Frank Castle, standing in only a pair of sweats and a towel around his left shoulder.

You don’t know how the sight makes you feel, but you do know the physical reaction. Your mouth goes dry, and you feel like your legs are about to drop any second. Instead of acting like everything’s normal, though, you just chuck the wallet at him, grab a pile of clothes, and wordlessly shut yourself in the shower, hoping the scalding hot water will sweat out whatever the hell is wrong with you.

You open the new underwear. It was plain, white and clean, but it was yours, and you had bought it. Knowing that, you felt better than you ever had when you put them on. Sliding on another pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that said NYPD, you come out of the bathroom, and you catch Franks face reading the shirt, smirking to himself. You don’t have the concentration to say anything, because as much as he was now wearing a shirt, the sight of him still made you a little air headed.

“Where’s the gun?” Frank asks, and you point to the table on the opposite side of the room. Frank swears under his breath and grabs it, half shoving it into your chest. “When I said ‘keep it on you’, I meant on you.”

“You want me to shower with it? Coddle it, tuck it in at night? What about-“

“Christ. Okay, t’s too late for this shit. Just stand over here.” He points to a spot right in front of the door. You do it, admittedly with a whole lot of resistance. “Take the clip out.”

“The - oh, okay. Like-“ You go to switch someone on the side, and Franks hand stops your movement, warmth enveloping the backs of your hands as he grabs you.

“You just loaded it. Clip release is back here.” With one flick of his finger the clip releases onto the floor. “Safety is here. If you ain’t shooting, this is on. Try it.”

Remembering the way his hands moved on top of yours, you flick the switch off, then on, then back twice more just to be sure. Then you turn your head to look up at him, and he’s hanging right over your shoulder, arms still half outstretched ready to stop you - no, help you.

“Good. Think you can figure out which ones the trigger?”

“Funny.” You feel the hot air of his exhale on the back of your neck, and your shoulders tighten.

“Alright. Now-“ He bends down, picking up the released clip. “Reload it. Slides in here. Just like that.”

“Is that it?” You hear a satisfying ‘click’, and you check the safety again to make sure it’s on.

“Atta girl. Now you keep it loaded, and keep it on you.” He walks away from behind you, and you are still standing there, watching the door like he told you until you hear the groan of the bed, and spin just in time to see Frank chuck his shirt off and start getting in.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Going to be. We’re almost in New York. Could of been followed today.” He says in short, tired sentences as if that was answer enough. No one was tracking you. No one even knew who you were, let alone that you were working together. If that was what you were doing.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Probably not.”

“How come you get to sleep first?”

“You slept all day. I drove.”

“Well, you didn’t let me drive.” His eyes were already closed, but it was probably true. It was only the third time you had seen him sleep, and he needed it a lot more than you did. You sat down on the floor, shuffling back so that your back was leaning against the bed, gun still trained on the door.

“Wake me up in 5 hours.” Franks voice was low, and you managed a nod. It wasn’t long before you could tell he was asleep, his breathing slow and even.

The next few hours pass uneventfully, and you can’t stop your head from dropping back, eyes closing as tiredness overtakes you. He was right, you should probably be keeping an eye out, or practising using this gun, but before long it was long forgotten on the floor, and you were pretty sure you had passed out when Frank started moving behind you.

“Just get in.” Again, his voice was low, and it made your entire body wake up. You turn, the darkness of the room obscuring the view of most of him, but you can see he had shuffled back, giving you just enough room to slide in beside him.

“What about-“

“Get in.” He shifts again. You don’t waste anymore time, inching yourself under the covers. You tried not to think about how warm it was, how close he was to you, or how he hadn’t rolled over, and his face was inches from your back.

“I thought you said we had to sleep in shifts.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, almost lost in the sound of passing traffic outside.

“Not like you could hit anything with that gun anyways.” You turn around, facing him in the darkness. “Neither of us have slept. Once we get to the city, we’ll figure it out.”

“But you-“

“Shh.” God - you really were losing your mind out here. You squeeze your eyes shut, blocking out the way the simple sound made your entire body zap with electricity, and attempt to get some sleep.

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The next few days pass faster than Frank wanted. Eventually you make your way back into the city, and both of you are antsy to get this shit on the road. He’s called Madani three time since you left that hotel, and she still has nothing. The last time he spoke to her, he nearly threw his phone into the wall.

Since then, he’s been trying to figure it out himself. The Colonel couldn’t have gone far, not when you were still on the run, but he would have gone into hiding considering who was after him. He still had a decent army of men behind him, so he’d need space and resources. Using a laptop he grabbed from the storage house, he was currently pulling up every place in a ten mile radius that could manage holding the organisation, while he had you pulling up any mention online of ‘New America’.

He’d been watching you for the past couple days. Not that he had much choice, a flash of shitty hotel rooms and days crammed in a car swamped his memory. It’s usually this part that he hated, finding himself itching to get back out there, make a real dent. He was, and you were too, but he didn’t think he hated it as much this time.

You had been occupying his time. You, and your side comments that pissed him off to all hell, your laugh when he said something that was apparently funny to you, even when he was being dead serious. You were everywhere, in everything he did, and he thought he would of hated it. He was so used to doing this alone, so used to being on his own that he’d made a routine, and he thought he would have hated that being fucked up.

He didn’t. He could hardly remember what it had been like before, now you where here. He think he liked the company, not that he’d tell you that. You’d be cocky as shit.

“So, these guys are fucking awful.” You were sipping on some bright pink drink in the opposite booth of the bar, your face screwed up and eyebrows nearly crossed. “I’m pretty sure I just read a thread about how Hitler ‘did have some strong points’. Tell me you’ve had more luck?”

“Might have something. Reports of a break in down at the docks, near the shipping stations.” He spins the laptop around to you, and watches as you squint, trying to read.

“I think I’ve seen that guy before.” Frank leans over, your hair brushing against his forehead as he moves. “Yeah, Joey or Sam or something.”

“Not Sam.” Frank knows it’s not Sam, because Sam was dead in a garage, probably half decomposed.

“Right, it was Joey. He was one of the guys who carried me out that day. He works with the Colonel.” Eyes wide, you stare up at him. “This could be it, right? It’s big enough, only from two days ago?”

“Only one way to find out.” He shuts the laptop and chucks a few bills on the counter, hearing your feet hit the pavement after him.

“We can go tonight?” He can hear the desperation in your voice, and it hasn’t left his mind that you are on borrowed time. Your brother was out there somewhere, and he knows you’ve only waited this long because you have no other choice than to wait for him.

“Yeah, but- hold on.” You were about to fly past him, but he grabs your arm and hauls you back. He knew you both might only have one shot at this, and as soon as you draw attention to their hide out, they will either scatter or the FBI will move in before he can get to the Colonel. “You can’t pull the same stuff you did back at the safe house. We do this my way, or we don’t do it at all.”

“What - if you are suggesting I sit at home and wait-”

“No, but you don’t go tearing limbs off as soon as you see someone. We play it slow, and you’ll do it when I say.” You stop him on the street, arm coming out and whacking against his chest like he knew you hated.

“Who the hell do you think you are? I get that you’re some one man army type, but you have no right telling me how to do this.”

“How long’s it been, huh? Since you fought someone who knew you were coming? Not counting your stunt on the drive way, you tell me how long it’s been since you fought people who were prepared.” You were breathing through your nose, eyes bright and fiery like they always did when you were pissed. “These guys are on edge. They’re waiting for a fight.”

“Didn’t have a problem taking you down on the first go.”

“You broke into my house. You said it yourself, the past two months you been taking down one man hits who had no idea you were coming. Before that, you’re a good three years out of the game.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You know I’m right. That’s why you’re so fuckin’ pissed off.” You shove him into the wall and start up the stairs to the room you had for the night. He knew he won, then, because you would have stayed and yelled at him till you proved your point. If you had one to make. He didn’t know why he gave a shit. If you wanted to walk in and get yourself shot to pieces, he shouldn’t care.

Still, he was racing up the stairs to make sure you were still there. The door slams behind him, and you were already packing your shit. You were losing sunlight, and the docks were a good thirty minutes away.

“Just listen for one goddamn second!” He shouted, and every part of you froze, spine straightening as you dropped the gun he gave you. “I’ve done this for years. Guys like this, they’re backed into a corner. Waiting. We need to thin them out from the outside, then you do whatever you wanna do after that. I’m just askin’ you to think.”

“My brother is...” He knows that’s why you’re on edge. He walks around in front of you, bending down and picking up the gun next to you.

“I know. This gets us closer, but he’s gonna need you to keep your head.” You swallow and nod, blinking away a tear he knows you don’t want him to see. He pretends he doesn’t. “C’mon. You can learn on the job.” He shoves the gun into your chest, and you both silently pack everything into a bag and leave the room.

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“You see him?”

“I see a bird. It’s eating something.”

“Shift the scope.”

“I think it’s a hot cheeto.”

“Move.” Frank shoves your shoulder with his own and takes his place behind the scope. You were both laying flat on the roof top, watching the storage unit from the police report.

“I don’t need that thing to see. No one’s come in or out. We’re wasting time. Just let me go down there-“

“And get your ass shot, then I’ll have to cover you.” He’s still got one eye down the sniper, the other shut tight. It’s dark out, but the moonlight is reflecting off the water, almost giving the illusion of a spotlight.

“You don’t know that.”

“There. You see ‘im?” Frank says quietly, and you focus, your eyes staring straight down at the exit door near the wharf. If you blinked you would of missed it, but a head ducks straight down, and you catch a eye full of blonde hair before he disappears out of sight again.

“Okay, so there’s people.” Frank takes his face off the sniper to look at you.

“Like I said.”

“We don’t know their ‘New America’.”

“I got a feeling. Plus, that’s the guy from the photo.” Okay, he had you there. “Not just a pretty face, huh?”

You resist the urge to smack him over the head, only because it would be too hard to reach with the angle your both laying at, and settle for rolling your eyes.

“I regret ever complimenting you.” He smiles and then looks back down the scope, a calm focus coming over him as soon as he zooms in.

“Military uniforms. You see anyone else you recognise?” You try to block out some of the reflective moonlight, squinting and searching for a face you can put to a name.

“I can’t see anyone.”

“C’mere.” Frank shuffles over, and a hand pulls your arm across the roof so you were at the exact angle Frank was just looking down. He was laying on his side, and every time he breathed in you could feel his chest brush your arm. It was increasingly hard to focus, but you tried, closing your eye like Frank did and looking down the scope. He puts his arm over your back, and before you can register how he was almost on top of you, you see something.

“There. That guy.”

“Who is it?”

“God, they’ve beaten him to shit.” You take your eye off the scope, not wanting to look anymore. As if you couldn’t hate these guys more. “The doctor who used to sew me up when I was with the Colonel. They have him inside.”

“Alright. You got the ear-piece?” You tap your right ear, the small communication device playing a little song as it connects. “You draw ‘em out, I’ll pick ‘em off. Then you wait.”

“Okay - Jesus, you’ve only said it 300 times.”

“And I’d bet you still didn’t get it.”

“Stick to your sniper, marine. I’ll show you how it’s really done.” With that, you jump up and swing yourself off the rooftop, landing as soft as you can onto the concrete below.

You stick to the shadows, and for the first time since you broke away from the Colonel, you feel somewhat in your element. All this time with Frank you’ve been learning new shit, figuring out how much you really don’t know about the real world, but here? Here, you know what you’re doing, and it was almost too easy to fall back into.

The first step is to draw them out. In your pocket, you pull the pin on a smoke grenade Frank instructed you how to use and roll it towards the door, swiftly climbing up the side of the building, holding out of sight when the four men waltz out to investigate.

In the next second, Frank has blitzed through all four, using only three bullets.

“Show-off.” You hear his laugh cut off over the receiver, and it makes you feel warm despite the cold air blowing around the docks.

“Thought you were gonna show me how it’s done?” As if he called them out, another two guards start coming out from the other side. With a planted look up at the roof top you know only he would see, you drop down right in front of the two men.

“Evening, boys.” You give them a second. You want to see the recognition on their faces - you want them to have time to figure it out. To know who would be their end. You remember these two. One day, they brought you dinner and kicked it under your cell instead of sliding it, and you had to eat off the floor.

Their faces drop, and just as they go to cry out, your hands grab around both of their throats. With one quick snap of your arms, you rip their throats out and their bodies flop and sink lifelessly into the water behind you. You bend down and wash the blood off your hands, and jump back up onto the roof.

“Can you see inside?” Moving on your hands and knees, you crane your neck over the side of the building to catch a look.

“30 or 40 of them. Not all are armed.”

“Must be a skeleton crew. More might come. You see the Colonel?”

“No.” Damn it. He should be here. As much as he was an asshole, he was loyal to his men. Frank was thinking the same thing.

“He’ll be close.” You sit back up straight. “Alright, we need to do this with no alarms. You got your gun?”

“Yes. It’s digging into my thigh.” You try to shift it to a better angle, but it’s better strapped to your leg than stuffed half down your pants like Frank had his.

“Alright. I’m gonna hit the lights.” You lift your head to the fuse box sitting halfway up a lamp post. “When it goes dark, I’ll come in. You stay up there and pick off any that come out. If someone bolts, you tell me and hold your position. I’ll swing around and clean up.”

“Sir, yes sir!” You whisper, and you can hear Franks expression through the silence. The next thing you know, the dock is plunged into real darkness, a few of the men inside murmuring and the doors open.

Staying true to your word, you sit up the top of the building like a hawk. Two men come out, and you waste five bullets to take them out. The silencer on your pistol was working wonders, none of the men inside alerted in the slightest, but your aim needed serious work.

You knew when Frank arrived, because he most definitely wasn’t silent. He was holding two automatic rifles, and emptied the clips shooting into darkness. You think this must be what he looked like that day you got out from underground. Unhinged and bat-shit insane, that stupid skull like a bullseye on his chest.

You kept one eye on the outside, and four more men made a run for it out the back. You hit two, but had to reload, so you only had time to get one other before they were out of range. You could catch him - Frank said no alarms.

“Frank, I’m going for one. I’ll be back in a second.” Through the gun fire and screams, he manages out a reply.

“DONT FUCKIN’ MOVE!” It was too late - if that guy got away all of your effort would be for nothing. If the Colonel knew you were alive, if he thought he was being chased -

“Stay back!” The man raises a gun at you as you reach him, and you walk slow, backing him into a wall. The man shakes in his grip, but holds his stance firm. “You.”

“No need for introductions, then.”

“The Colonels pet.” He spits, and the name makes you recoil. You move fast, snatching the gun off him and pinning him to the wall by his throat. “He knew you would come.”

“Where is he.” You squeeze tighter, his eyes starting to bulge out of his head. If he knew where the Colonel was, where your brother was… you didn’t have time to drag it out of him. You could hear Frank thinning them out from here.

“You only know how to obey. That’s why you found The Punisher.” He growls under your grip.

“You don’t know shit.” Fucking hell. Don’t let him get in your head. Don’t let him get in your head.

“We knew you would come. The Colonel. The Gnucci’s. They knew you would come back for him. They said we just had to wait, and you would return on your knees, begging for retribution. Bobby Gnucci said he always wanted you on your knee-“ He never finished the sentence, because you snap his neck, watching as his jaw hangs open and swings before he crumples to the floor.

“OUTSIDE!” Frank yells through your ear, and you sprint back before you can think too long on the dead man’s words. You see them - four more uniforms running for a boat on the wharf. You shoot two of them, but two make it to the water, so you aim for the engine. With enough bullets it drops off the back, and you launch yourself into the boat. You make quick work of the remaining men, forgoing the gun to work off your anger.

“Done.” You say to Frank, who doesn’t reply. You say his name, and nothing again. A surge of panic comes through you and you sprint inside, seeing no one for a second. You aren’t prepared for how quickly the panic turns to fear.

Then, you turn and see Frank bending down, untying the ropes in the dim overhead of a nearly burnt out flame, the doctor still sitting in the chair the men tied him to.

“You.” The doctor breathes, and he begins to shake his head. “Please. Please I have- he has my-“

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Your voice comes out softer than you thought possible, and it wavers a little. As soon as he saw you, he thought you were here to kill him. You know why. It’s all he ever saw you do. All you ever do.

“You are with him?” Frank stands and chucks the ropes to the side. You try not to look at him as you nod once.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You subtly ask to Frank, who nods once. His face was bruised and leaking blood from somewhere, but he stood on his own. It looked like you had gotten here just at the beginning of whatever they had planned.

“You saved me.” The doctor grabs your arm, fisting the material of your shirt and Frank flinches, bracing and ready to rip him off you.

“He saved you.” You tilt your head to Frank, and the doctor looks back to you.

“I knew you were not one of them.” His thick Russian accent is full of sincerity, and you swallow harshly. “You were never like them.”

“What?” The words knock the wind out of you.

“All those months, and you never became what they wanted. You were never like them.” There was a look on his face, something like sincerity under the black and blue covering his face. “I hope you are able to return to your brother.”

“You - why would you say that? I was-“

“You were never cruel. They wanted you to be one of them, to think like they would. You had the opportunity to do to me as you pleased, as they did, and you didn’t.” You think back, all the times you were left alone with the doctor while he poked and prodded at the Colonel’s command. You only ever directed your anger at the man in the army uniform, because you knew the doctor was just like you.

You stare at him, small, sharp breaths cracking through your lungs. You felt everything start to get smaller, and you took two steps back. Frank grabs onto your arm.

“Hey.”

“Need air.” You rip your arm away despite Frank calling for you, and step outside onto the docks, where three dead bodies lay on top of each other. You see the two in the boat as well, their necks bent at inhuman angles.

How could he say that, when this was what you just did? You were one of them - are one of them. You are no better than any of these men. The only person with any kind of moral code was the one inside, wrapping up the ropes the doctor was tied into. Frank was so good - not just as what he did. At who he was. He was so sure, and he was right. You were grateful for the guns. You’d be dead without him. Without him, you would of died, either by the Colonels hand, the Gnuccis, or maybe even your own.

Frank filled your thoughts as you practised your breathing, and he was the last thing you thought about as the bullet ripped through your stomach, and you fell face first into the freezing water.

[next chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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