#so I just need to write out the full chapter next and then start drawing lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

btsvt-bar · 2 months

Text

FEVER

pairing ꩜ journalist!mingyu x afab!reader x journalist!wonwoo

synopsis ꩜ a promotion at work, the new political reporter and a few bottles of wine. writing for a prestigious newspaper can be much more exciting than it seems. it all depends on who your co-workers are.

content/genre ꩜ frenemies with benefits, threesome, smut (18+ mdni)

author's note ꩜ not proofread . comments are apreciated! lmk if you wanna be tagged on part 2 ♡

warnings under the cut!

part one | part two

warnings ꩜ smut, threesome, anal sex, oral (m. receiving), masturbation (f. and m. receiving), cum swallowing, double penetration, alcohol consumption, tipsy sex, sex in the workplace, voyeurism, tit sucking, jacuzzi sex, protected sex. lmk if i forgot something important.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

chapter one

The newsroom of the largest newspaper in the city of Chicago and the Great Lakes region was exactly what one could expect: true chaos. Phones ringing all the time, people talking loudly, papers scattered in the corners, journalists typing at full speed to deliver their articles in time… the place was a huge mess, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

You walk quickly among the dozens of tables scattered irregularly across the 6th floor of the building. Being the responsible for the entertainment and arts column, you needed to submit an unfinished article in less than two hours.

The click of your white scarpins were practically inaudible over the cacophony of the room. A little out of breath, you arrive at your table and drop your red bag on the dark wooden tabletop with an audible thump, drawing Kim Mingyu's attention.

The black-haired man looks away from the screen in front of him and starts analyzing your outfit. From the pants tight enough to outline your ass perfectly, the refined silk blouse showing just enough cleavage and the small crucifix that rested near your throat. Mingyu lets out a sigh, he hadn't been with you in bed for three hours and he already wanted to drag you back.

"Did you lose something here on my desk, Kim?" you question in a mocking tone when you notice him staring. Of course you wouldn't miss the opportunity to tease him.

"Not really" he responds by getting up and slowly approaching you. A roguish smile tugs at his mouth. "You, on the other hand, lost a pair of lace panties at my place."

"Mingyu!" you shriek and slap the man's strong chest.

"Relax, darling. No one listened." he informs with a wink. "Would you like a coffee? You look tired, didn't you sleep well?"

The worst part of spending the night with him was his inflated ego the next day.

"You are ridiculous."

In a completely childish act, you throw him a middle finger. Mingyu laughs and leaves to grab a coffee for the two of you.

If one asked any Chicago Tribune employee who y/n y/l/n and Kim Mingyu are, they would, undoubtedly, say "the biggest rivals who have ever worked here".

The two of you had been on the newspaper's journalistic team since the beginning of college. You started together as interns, and since then fought like cat and dog. You weren’t sure, but you thought your enmity started with an argument in the archives room. You just knew that "hating" Kim Mingyu in front of everyone was as natural as breathing.

What most people didn't know was that you don’t replicate Tom & Jerry's behavior when you are alone. Protected from curious eyes, you enjoyed your time in a much more pleasurable way.

Literally.

You hated the term "friends with benefits" to describe what you had with Mingyu. Yes, you were friends outside of work. And yes, you had sex occasionally. But you hated people's need to label things, so you preferred to think of Mingyu as just a friend. The "frenemies" dynamic worked well, both sides were comfortable with it.

And that was enough for now.

"I already added sugar. Two small spoons, right? "Mingyu declares as he approaches to hand over the mug filled with steaming coffee.

"Yes, thank you." you offer a grateful smile and take a small sip of the dark liquid.

You weren’t even surprised that he knew how you had your coffee, you’ve had many breakfasts together.

"Good morning!" Yunjin, your best friend, greets you with a beaming smile. "Have you seen Dino?" the youngest questions as she approaches you. "I need to get a file from his computer."

You look back at your friend's table and notice his backpack on the sideboard, but the man himself was nowhere to be found.

"Lipinski asked him to go to her office about twenty minutes ago." Mingyu responds without looking away from the computer screen. "I have no idea why."

You frown at the information.

"Weird." Yunjin comments when turning on her own computer.

"He’ll be back" you state with a shrug.

"Is he being fired?" Yunjin freaks out.

"He wasn't fired. "Mingyu laughs, amused by the situation.

"And how are you so sure?"

Mingyu points something behind you. You turn your head in sync with Yunjin, and see Dino walking towards the three of you. And he wasn't alone.

The man accompanying Dino wore a black suit, white t-shirt and a dark blue tie with white stripes. He was taller than Dino by a good few inches and, even in a suit, it was noticeable that he took care of his physique and probably went to the gym regularly. However, what left you and Yunjin flustered was his beauty.

"Guys, meet our new political journalist." Dino introduces the man.

"Jeon Wonwoo." says as he extends his hand to Yunjin, who was closer to him.

"Yunjin, fashion and lifestyle." the woman introduces herself by taking his hand.

Wonwoo addresses you with expectation in his eyes. His eyes, you notice, are striking and intense. The kind that seems to be able to read your soul with just one look.

"y/n, entertainment and arts."

Suddenly, you feel like the room is too hot.

Maybe it was because of the man in front of you, who was undeniably handsome and seemed too good to be true. Or maybe it was his baritone voice. You hadn't expected the deep, husky tone that came out of his full, heart-shaped lips.

You bite her lower lip to contain a sigh and shake his hand eagerly.

"Mingyu, sports." His face contorts a little, as if he’d already decided that he didn't like Wonwoo.

"Nice to meet you all" Wonwoo says with a friendly smile and adjusts his glasses over his elegant nose.

"Your table should arrive tomorrow." Dino says, drawing everyone’s attention. "You can use mine for today, I'm going to do some field work and I'll be out all day." the youngest explains as he gathers his belongings and puts them inside his backpack. "Now, I need to take you to HR. Let 's go".

Wonwoo agrees and leaves his backpack on the table. The two head to the elevator hall with Dino explaining more about how the newsroom works.

"I call dibs!" you exclaim as soon as you’re sure Wonwoo can’t hear you.

"Hey, not fair!" Yunjin whimpers.

"You already have Dino"

"And you already have Mingyu."

"Dibs… on what?" Mingyu raises his eyebrow when asking. He wasn't even sure if he even wanted to know what the two of you were talking about.

"To fuck him." Yunjin responds as if it was obvious, gesturing with her hand at the same time. "The new guy is pretty hot, if you ask me."

"Your bad taste scares me."

Mingyu's handsome features contort into a frown. He knew he had no right to be jealous of you, but he couldn't help it. It was difficult, even more so when it directly affected his ego. The thought that he might no longer be the only one to have your attention made him slightly irritated.

"Are you jealous?" you tease as you give the man a knowing look.

"He's dying of jealousy." Yunjin says in disbelief. "I never thought I would see Kim Mingyu like this."

"In your dreams, darlings." he says with a mocking tone and goes back to work. "I need to finish my article".

You exchange a glance with Yunjin and you two let out an amused laugh. You take a sip of your almost cold coffee and risk one last look in Mingyu's direction.

The man was frowning and pouting like a toddler being denied something for the first time.

"Don’t be like that. I promise you’ll always be my favorite." you smile flirtatiously.

Totally out of character, Mingyu offers a shy smile.

"You make it sound so sweet when you lie to me" he snorts and you laugh at the comment, finding the whole situation funny as hell.

Everyone returns to their tasks, but the slight irrational jealousy remains in Mingyu’s thoughts. He lets out an unhappy sigh, feeling extremely stupid.

The brunette takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to refocus on finishing the basketball game schedule he needed to deliver. For now, that’s all he could do.

chapter two

It was Wednesday and the Chicago Tribune newsroom was practically empty. You, Mingyu, Wonwoo and two other journalists were the only ones there.

You feel like you’re being watched and look around, finding Mingyu staring from his desk, his bottom lip casually caught between his teeth. You could practically hear his mind engines turning.

You were very angry at him the night before. Out of jealousy, Mingyu was a total dick to you and to Wonwoo at the company dinner. However, after you shouted at him for around 20 minutes and he fingered you in the backseat of his car, you calmed down a bit. You still pretended to be mad, but you weren’t one to really hold on to grudges.

"I need your help in the archives room. "Mingyu says, shaking you out of your own thoughts.

"Is it difficult for you to find a file on your own?" you tease, tilting your head mockingly.

Mingyu smirks.

"It would be easier if the person who organized it had a decent system, my dear." he teases, remembering why you supposedly hated each other. The man gets up and says: "Let's go, I don't have all day".

You roll your eyes at him, but stand up anyways. He leads the way, and the two of you leave an unaware Wonwoo behind.

Mingyu opens the heavy wooden door and lets you get in first. The lights flickered a few times before stabilizing. Several silver shelves filled with white folders were scattered around the place, as well as some wooden tables and chairs. In the right corner, they had a copy machine and other stationery items that could help journalists' research.

You walk a few inches to the first shelf and only then realize that Mingyu didn't say what he was looking for. "What do you want to find?"

"Archives about the 1958 World Cup."

"Hm... I don't know if we'll have much on the subject" you state as you walk towards the shelves at the end of one of the aisles. "This is the stupidest thing to find around here, why would you even… " you’re cut off when Mingyu turns you around to face him.

He presses you against the low sideboard against the back wall of the room. Your eyes widened, not understanding what was happening. Mingyu runs his large hand across your cheek. He wets his lips, staring at yours eagerly.

"Is it okay if I say ‘shut up and kiss me’?"

You roll your eyes, but grab the man by his tie and pull him in for a kiss. Mingyu lets out a sound of approval, satisfied with your attitude. He lifts you and places you on the sideboard, positioning himself between your legs.

Mingyu raises his hands to your ass and squeezes hard, bringing you even closer. You tangle a hand in his hair, while the other one lightly scratches his nape just the way you knew he liked. Your tongues caress each other with dexterity, having already done this hundreds of times.

The kiss wasn't at a desperate pace with a hint of anger, like it was the last time you hooked up. It seemed like Mingyu wanted to prove a point. He kissed you as if he wanted to mark you as his. And you loved it. The world seemed to disappear when you kissed like that. An earthquake could happen, none of you would notice.

The man separates your lips and starts distributing wet kisses across your jaw and neck. You let your head fall back, giving him more space to explore. Mingyu opens the buttons on the black blouse you wear and notices you weren’t wearing a bra. He lets out a grunt as he raises his strong hands calmly; touching you gently. Too gently. You start to get impatient, knowing you didn't have much time before someone else showed up.

Mingyu wraps his lips around your right nipple, making you let out a soft moan. He gives it a few seconds of attention before moving on to the other and repeating the same process of giving small licks and pulling away with a gentle brush of his teeth. He kisses up from your boobs to your neck, his hands stripping you out of your black skirt in the same rhythm.

"You can stop there." you pull the man by his dark locks when he tries to give you a hickey near your collarbone. You hated being marked in visible places.

"Sorry…" the look he gives you is warm and without the slightest trace of regret. His swollen lips pull back into a sly smile and you roll your eyes out of habit. With no more time to waste, the journalist opens the button on his own pants while you take care of removing your panties.

And that's when you see him. If Mingyu turned his face a little, he would see him too.

Precariously leaning on a file box, two hallways away, was Jeon Wonwoo. His eyes widen when he realizes that you discovered him there. You bite your lower lip and wink at him, making it clear that everything was fine.

Wonwoo lets out a breath, which he hadn't even realized he was holding until then. The man didn't intend to be there. He had gone to the files room after you, at Lipinski's request. He didn't expect to find his coworkers about to have sex.

And he didn't expect to want to stay there to watch.

Suddenly feeling bewildered, Wonwoo backs up until his back rests against the white cabinets that were adjacent to the bookshelf that hid him. He brings his right hand to his forehead and presses the space between his eyebrows with his fingertips.

The room was too hot, the black tie suffocated him, the tailored trousers felt like a prison. A little desperate, he runs his hand through his hair, removing it from his sweaty forehead. Your low moans pull him back to the reality of where he was and what was happening just a feet away from him. He straightens his body, ready to get out of there.

However, he can't leave without taking one last look.

Mingyu hid his face in your neck as he fucked you in a controlled tempo. You hugged him tightly, with your lower lip trapped between your teeth in an attempt to contain your moans.

As if they were magnets, your eyes soon meet Wonwoo's again. You smirk, amused to know he was still there.

With his hands shaking, the man lets out a tortured sigh and walks away, leaving the room as quickly and silently as possible.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

"I need to say something." you declare as you try to adjust the black blouse on your body. It was completely crumpled, but whatever.

"Go ahead” Mingyu turns to look at you.

You open and close your mouth several times, unsure of how to start the sentence. As someone whose job was the use of words, you were definitely failing to communicate.

"I didn't want to talk when we were... " you interrupted the sentence, implying what they were doing. "Wonwoo saw us."

Mingyu stops trying to straighten his messy hair and looks at you suspiciously, as if you had just told him that you knew which numbers would be drawn in the lottery.

"And that’s a problem because…?"

"Why aren't you nervous about this? "you question, finding the man’s reaction weird.

You tilt your head, analyzing the man in front of you. He was strangely calm for someone who had just heard that the new nemesis had seen naked the woman he had been jealous of a few days ago.

"What do you think he's going to do? Go out and tell everyone he saw us here?" he rolls his eyes and tucks the hem of his white blouse into his pants. "As if."

"Of course not, you moron. I thought you would freak out for another reason."

"And what reason could that be?" Mingyu asks, holding your chin with his long fingers, forcing you to look at him.

"Nevermind."

Mingyu shrugs, it was in his best interest to leave that subject aside. You try to adjust your black skirt, unzipping at the back to make the process easier.

"How much did he see?" Mingyu asks himself as he leans against the sideboard, waiting for you.

"I don't know when he arrived, but I saw him before you... oh, you know."

"Before I fucked you?" Mingyu laughs loudly and you slap his chest, suddenly feeling ashamed. "Who knows, maybe he learned a thing or two…"

"You are annoying, Kim Mingyu." you let an amused smile escape your lips.

You turn around in a silent request for help from the man, who zips up your skirt.

"And you love it, my dear" Mingyu kisses your neck as he carefully pulls the zipper up. "Now, move that beautiful ass of yours. We have deadlines." he gives you a playful slap on the butt before heading to the exit.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

read part two!

tags ꩜ i hope you liked it so far!

@asscoups17 @wonvsmile @porridgesblog @gaslysainz @thepoopdokyeomtouched @sunset-sana @coupsgfsstuff @stagefrjghts @wonuwonder

#I'm nervous pls dont hate it #mingyu smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen hard hours #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #mingyu x reader #wonwoo x reader #my works

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zordanna · 14 days

Text

𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓮

A fluffy fic inspired from this old drawing I did🍃

English is not my first language and I hate writing so don’t expect too much. It’s just a small scene where Sebastian realises he’s in love with my MC, you can imagine yours there too of course! I ain’t stopping you🫡 enjoy I guess?

Sebastian yawned softly as he kept silently reading his history of magic notes while sitting on the carpet and resting his back on the couch, Eleonora was next to him laying fully on it while reading the chapter trying really hard to not fall asleep.

“Ugh I swear I’m failing this time”

She mumbled while flipping pages. Sebastian rolled his eyes and spoke back with annoyance.

“You literally have the highest grades of all the students in our class, shut up-”

Eleonora huffed and gave him a soft nudge with her knee in response.

“Just because the competition prefers wandering in the restricted section more than studying actual subjects. You know- instead of forbidden ones”

Sebastian groaned and rested his head on the couch seat cushion to look at her better.

“You are a pain in the ass.” He breathed out glancing back at his notes pretending to ignore her.

“The feeling is mutual”

She ruffled his brown curls gaining a soft laugh from him , the boy rested one cheek on the cushion and gazed at her while his notes ended up spread around the intricated embodied carpet of Russel living room. Sebastian glanced at the book and got an idea.

“I can read it for you, if you want, so we both learn something at least”

His proposal sounded quite nice to Eleonora, she gave him the book and set herself comfortable as he cleared his throat. He started reading and he could almost feel her gaze caressing his skin, Sebastian didn’t know how he managed to say the words correctly without fumbling while having that lovely pair of blue eyes staring at him, the warmth of her presence, her sweet scent of lavender and soap pervading his nostrils…Merlin help him!

On the other side Eleonora’s eyes were looking at his freckles, she always thought they looked like a starry sky , sometimes she would find full constellations in them while stealing glances at her friend’s features. She glanced at his lashes, was it even legal to have them so long and soft? The way they fluttered while he was reading, the way the sun was making them shine with a warm orange shade. She was mesmerised. That’s for sure. The words sounded like a sweet lullaby rather than an actual lecture on how their ancestors channeled magic trough the years, her eyes felt heavy and her body a little too relaxed.

Maybe if she closed her eyes just for a second…yeah that should do it.

Sebastian was reading the last paragraph when he heard soft snoring coming from his right side ,he turned his head a little to check on Eleonora and a warm smile formed on his lips as he realised she had fallen asleep. He closed the book putting it away before adjusting himself leaning closer to the sleeping girl. He rested his elbow on the couch cushion careful to not disturb her rest, as usual Eleonora needed her afternoon nap.

Memories of their third year flashed in his mind, rainy afternoons spent napping all together on the same couch down in the undercroft between a mess of books and unfinished candies. Anne was still…well Anne. No curse, no pain just Anne, sleeping peacefully while her tiny head would rest on Ominis shoulder as he was nestled up almost like a cat. Eleonora’s long blonde hair would tickle his nose as he often found himself using her soft curls as a pillow. They always smelled so good it wasn’t his fault they felt so comfy.

Instinctively Sebastian brushed off some of her blonde strands that were framing her face, very carefully as if she was made of porcelain. Her long blonde curls that once were left wild and free were now tied up in that blue ribbon he gifted her almost two years ago.

“You keep wearing it all the time mh?”

He mumbled softly more to himself than to her. The soft blue satin fabric was a bit smudged near the knot after years of wearing it every day, that’s what happens with the things you love most isn’t it? They change.

Sebastian always questioned why she would refuse to buy another one, a prettier one maybe made from the most expensive silk with embodied details but she always said that one was just perfect. She loved it.

And he loved how beautiful she looked with it. He loved the way it always made her eyes stand out matching their colour, he loved how it swayed like a swallowtail when she would rush around the hallways late for classes trying to not trip on other students. Swallows are a sign of hope and freedom, he was certain that if she had to be an animal she would be one of them. She was always there trying to see the good side of everything, which in his darker days was both infuriating and yet comforting. It was reassuring having her slapping some sense in his thick skull sometimes, he couldn’t deny it.

He also loved that, her scolding tone, her stubbornness and resolution whenever he was acting like a complete ass. He loved the way she would ruffle his hair to annoy him, he loved how her soft hands were making him feel butterflies flying around his stomach every damn time…

Sebastian’s chocolate brown eyes were fixed on Eleonora’s delicate face as the sudden realisation hit him like a whole bombarda in his chest.

He was falling in love. No. He was in love. Utterly. Undeniably in love.

He didn’t realise his face was few centimetres away from hers till now, his lips dangerously close to hers. Before doing something stupid and reckless he pulled away slightly and took a moment to gain his composure, his eyes wandered around the luxurious living room of her family’s manor, the paintings of the Russels were almost staring at him, judging him with their cold gaze.

Who was he trying to fool? He was nobody compared to her family, an orphan living in a cottage with his grumpy uncle, it would never be fair to her. Knowing her parents Eleonora had probably her life planned since day one, as her older sister Ofelia once told him they lived in a golden cage with all comforts but still a cage. It was all doomed from the start so- for now it was better to suppress those feelings. To pretend they never had been there.

For now having her friendship was more than he could hope for, Sebastian looked at the big wood carved clock and checked the time, it was getting pretty late, he sighed and with a soft spoken tone called for her.

“Hey…Birdie”

The world would never want them together, that’s what he was telling himself, yet when he saw those blue eyes and that warm sleepy smile greeting him Sebastian thought that the world could burn or destroy itself in that exact moment.

The world would know Lady Eleonora Russel but Birdie. Birdie was just for him and that was all he needed.

“Birdie? What am I a chicken?”

Eleonora said with a snort while sitting up and stretching a bit letting a yawn escape her lips.

“No more like a goose.”

Sebastian retorted with a cheeky grin. She had no idea of what passed by his mind all the short time she was asleep.

“Ouch- did I snore loud?”

“Terribly. I mistaken you for a troll or something at some point.”

Eleonora laughed at the statement and crossed her arms in a proud stance.

“Was I annoying you?”

“Terribly.” Sebastian said faking an exasperated sigh.

“Good. I can consider my mission accomplished then”

She added with a chuckle while they both got up to walk towards the kitchen for stealing a snack or two. Luckily her parents wouldn’t be back till next early morning considering their habit to attend balls and ceremonies maintaining their high social status connections. That was a relief for the two of them but also for the servitude. The house elves were quite fond of Eleonora, a true ray of sunshine in that toxic household.

The afternoon passed by with their usual playful bantering like any other. It was better pretending nothing happened for Sebastian, it was for the best really.

Was it? Only time would tell. For now they were just fifteen, sitting on the kitchen counter munching a stolen slice of lemon tart while yapping about how they were both convinced Professor Garlick was hiding “special plants” somewhere in the greenhouse.

It was a normal spring afternoon during the end of the 19th century.

Flowers were blooming , birds were chirping and the air smelled like clean laundry and soap.

Winter was just a distant thought, none of them could ever imagine how everything would irreversibly change in few months.

Moments like these would be soon turned into distant faded happy memories but for now…it was all that mattered.

#hogwarts legacy #art #hogwarts legacy art #hogwarts legacy mc #illustrators on tumblr #my ocs #oc art #artwork #illustration #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #fluff #oc x canon #sebastian sallow x reader

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annymation · 5 months

Text

The Kingdom of Wishes- A “Wish” Rewrite

Chapter 2- Asha's Big Day

Please read Chapter 1 before this one.

Asha wakes up with the first rays of sunshine coming out of the window hitting her eyes, she blinks a few times as things start coming into focus.

The room she’s in is not the same we saw her in the opening with Sabino, it’s a rustic bedroom with a more detailed built to it, with wood carvings that resemble animals on the walls and furniture, including on a bed next to Asha’s with the name “Dahlia” carved on it.

Also there’s way less of Asha’s drawing hanging on the walls, just a few of her favorite ones. One in particular it’s a drawing of her and Dahlia together, although, Asha’s face doesn’t look exactly how she really is in real life, she still needs more practice with self portraits.

Asha stretches her arms and yawns, waking up a little someone on a little bed next to hers.

And from the tiny bedsheets comes out a baby goat that quickly jumps to her lap excitedly bleating and licking her cheeks.

“Heheheh good morning to you too, Valentino” she says as she hugs him.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks as if the goat could answer, and sure enough, he does

"Maaaa! Maaa!" the baby goat bleats shaking his head positively

"That's good, I slept well too... Although, I had the weirdest dream"

"Maa?" not to brag but I'm writing peak dialogue here the goat raises one eyebrow

"I can't remember much but... I think I saw a boy made of light, and he was trying to tell me something, I couldn't understand what it was… but I feel like he was asking me to not give away something, something important… Weird huh?" She asks her baby goat, who's too busy munching her blanket to pay attention, since ya know, baby's short attention span.

"Yeah, I guess it's just as weird as the fact I ask for advice from a goat hihih" She giggles to herself as she takes the blanket off his mouth, Valentino hops out of the bed jumping around and falling over like:

(Baby goats are so cute, like, how did Disney manage to make a baby goat NOT cute?)

Asha looks at her pet fondly and chuckles a little with his little jumps. But then her smile lessens a bit and she looks out her window, from there she can see the castle, imposing and radiant in the distance.

"Today really is the day, huh?..." She says softly, with a hint of both anxiousness but also hopefulness in her voice

Asha hears something approaching her door, the distinct sound of footsteps, as in, MANY footsteps, and a few whispers like "shhh she might still be sleeping" "be careful with that cake, will ya? It took me all night " "ouch! Simon, that's my foot!" "SHHHH"

Asha smiles, knowing full well who's coming, she waits eagerly for the door to open.

The door opens revealing her friends, all together trying to fit through the door, with Dahlia on the front, and she says:

"Is she awa- OH SHE IS! SHES AWAKE OKAY LETS GO- Happy birthday to-"

They all sing happy birthday as they get in, some more gracefully than others since Gabo just tripped over Valentino and fell on the floor, he's clearly very angry about that.

Hal rushes over to Asha holding a purple birthday cake with one candle, she's smiling widely and singing louder and more beautifully than everyone else. (She did have the best singing voice of the 7, in my opinion)

Meanwhile Dario is struggling to balance a tower of 7 presents, all of different colors and sizes, he manages to catch some with his feet before they fell on the floor, he’s pretty much performing a balancing act.

Simon stops in the middle of the song to give a big yawn.

Safi sneezes because of the smoke from the candle.

Bazeema is singing veeeeery quietly and clapping her hands softly.

Asha is overjoyed by the surprise "Awww guys! Thank you so much! Dahlia, this cake looks amazing!" She says looking at a beautifully decorated cake

If you wanna picture it lets say it’s just like the unbirthday cake from Alice in Wonderland, but purple.

"You're welcome!" Dahlia replied, very proud of herself "I guess when your little sis is an assistant at the royal kitchen you get some perks, am I right? hihi" Obviously they're not actually sisters but since Asha has been living with Dahlia and her parents they treat each other as if they were.

"We are soooo happy for you Asha!" Hal exclaims "You'll finally get a wish! this is so exciting!" She starts jumping up and down with the cake, Gabo quickly takes it off of her hands, annoyed by her recklessness.

Bazeema shyly and quietly remarks "yes, you deserve it more than anyone Asha, after all the kindness you spread to others" she has a big smile on her lips.

Asha puts her hand behind her neck smiling awkwardly "I mean, it's not really that big a deal, I think I'll just wish for something small"

Gabo, who is placing the cake on the table next to Asha's bed, turns his head abruptly after hearing that "Uuuh haha, excuse me? After 18 years of waiting you just gonna ask for something small? Are you crazy? A wish can change your life for the better, ya know? I ,for example, am gonna wish for a bunch of diamonds and gold" he claims smugly

Simon doesn't seem like he's fully paying attention, but even then he realizes Gabo had an oversight "… Wait, but now that you told us, it won't come true, remember? that's one of the king's rule-"

"THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME SIMON! THAT TOOOTALY DIDN'T JUST RUIN MY DAY" Gabo screams, frustrated by his slip up, because yeah, you CAN'T wish for something that other people know you want, it has to be a secret.

Safi is itching his nose as he claims "I think we all know what Asha is gonna wish for tho"

he glances at Asha's sketchbook that is laying next to her bed

Asha gives him a smug smile "Ooh-ho you think I'll wish to become a better artist? Hehehe nope!"

Dahlia of all people looks the most shocked "What?! Really? Aww that was my bet too, all I see you doing is drawing on that sketchbook everyday"

"And you often complain that you don't feel like they're good enough" Simon adds

"Heheh well yeah, I just don't feel they're quite the same level as my mom's drawings, that's all"

Hal raises her eyebrow as she smiles "Now that's just silly, I've seen you draw Asha, your drawings are AMAAAAZING! Just look!"

Hal grabs Asha's sketch book and starts showing to the others

"H-heey wait! those aren't finished!" Asha stutters, concerned they might see some of her rough and less than perfect drawings

(side note, never look at an artists sketchbook without permission, that's like reading someone's diary)

Asha grabs the notebook back, but sees all her friends staring at her expectedly (except Gabo cause he's still frustrated he'll have to think about a whole new wish) , so she breathes in and shows them.

She goes through the pages showing animals, landscapes, rooms, people, and if this was in the movie maybe some pages could have concept arts, both from wish and from previous Disney movies, as a subtle homage to the artists.

All of them sit next to Asha on the bed as she turns the pages, they're amazed.

"Wooow you've improved so much, Asha" Bazeema says, while giving some excited little claps

"You call that unfinished? then they'll look even better when you're done" Safi commented.

"They look really pretty" Dario communicates using sign language.

"See? I told ya'll" Hal says victorious.

Gabo and Simon look slightly unimpressed. Dahlia has already seen most of those so she has no comments, Asha knows how much she loves her drawings, she even glued some of them on their room.

"Thank you, that means a lot actually... " Asha says while staring at one particular drawing of her grandfather and her on a tree branch, looking up at the stars.

"… Most people say I'm just wasting my time but I really feel like I'm getting better everyday… Although." she flips the pages to show a drawing she made of herself, but the face doesn't fully resembles Asha's (could be a concept art) "I still can't figure out how to draw myself properly."

Gabo seems to try holding his tongue but he let's out anyway "I mean… to be frank, it kinda is waste of time when you think about it"

"Gabo!" Dahlia scolded him

"Hey I'm just saying, why take so much time practicing to be as great of an artist as your mom when you can just wish TODAY to be the best artist ever?" Gabo says frankly.

Asha doesn't really mind Gabo's previous comment, she's used to it, so she just shrugs and explains "Well for one, like Simon said, a wish that other people know about cannot be granted"

"Ugh don't remind me" Gabo facepalms, still angry by his own mistake.

"And second" Asha continues "I just feel more satisfied like this, working hard to improve everyday, even if I don't think my art is perfect just yet, I feel proud of myself every time I improve, and that drives me to keep trying to get better and better."

Simon chuckles at that "Hehe you're an amazing person Asha, but that's one thing I'll never understand, all of that sounds so hard, sometimes it's easier, and smarter, to just...*yaaaawn* take the easy route, ya know?..." As he rambles, Simon starts laying down on Asha's bed without noticing and almost immediately falls asleep.

That doesn't phase the group at all, they're used to it.

Asha closes her sketchbook and starts getting ready for the day "Well not for me, and another thing, if I wished to become a better artist I would forget that wish and my passion about drawing for a little while, and I REALLY don't want that, no, I'm gonna wish for something else." She says while taking off her braids scarf (Like this one, she wears it to sleep)

Hal claps her hands, smiling ear to ear "You go Asha! make a wish that counts! Now... BOYS! OUT! Shoo shoo! Get out of here, this is a girls only zone" She says pushing Dario, Gabo and Safi out the door

(Yes Hal, please get them OUT, I can't keep writing dialogue for 8 different people!)

"You too sleepy head, wait with the others downstairs" Dahlia shakes Simon a couple of times to wake him up.

"Uh what- why?" Simon wakes up confused

"Cause' we gotta get the birthday princess ready for her big day" Hal says, while sitting Asha in front of a mirror.

"Princess? Haha what?" Asha asks, holding her laughter

"Why, yes. You're a princess for today! Whatever you say goes, now, let's get your birthday hair done!" Hal says excited, while Asha grabs from a drawer some silver beads to decorate her braids.

"I can help you pick up a dress" Bazeema says quietly

"Heheh you all are too much" Asha says with a smile

(I just realized while writing this that Valentino kinda just vanished, didn't he?... Okay let's say he went downstairs after Gabo tripped on him, there, crisis averted)

Dahlia walks holding something behind her back and coughs a little as if to clear her throat, but really it's just to get their attention "If you think this is too much, wait till you see EVERYTHING else we've planned for today"

Asha gives Dahlia a knowing look with a smile "You made a list, didn't you?"

"You bet!" Dahlia reveals a long list that hits the floor with a step by step plan of all the activities they'll do the whole day.

"First! We gonna eat my cake for breakfast, yay! Then! We'll visit the royal garden, Bazeema has spent months preparing a small garden of Purple Hyacinths just for you"

Asha gasps "Those are my favorite flowers!"

"hihihi I know" Bazeema says giggling bashfully

Dahlia continues "Of course, Safi won't go with us to that because of-"

"AAA AAAAACHOOOOO!"

They hear from downstairs.

"... That, so to make it up to him, the next event is at his house where we gonna play our instruments the whooole morning"

"But I don't play any instruments" Asha says, her hair fully ready while she takes a dress Bazeema picked up for her.

"No problem, you can just dance and sing." Dahlia says "And then after that we have lunch and finally when it's sunset we go to the wish ceremony! So, what do you think?"

"That all sound's amazing" Asha says coming from behind a room divider (ya know those wood curtain like things that people use to dress up behind them?) now dressed in a purple dress, with a few star details embroidered on the base.

"Great!" Dahlia says "Because that's just the first part of the list, we got a filled day ahead-"

"You do indeed" Dahlia is interrupted by a new voice coming from behind the door "Good morning girls, may I come in?"

"Oh! Sure thing mom" Dahlia says opening the door

We see a woman that looks a lot like Dahlia but, of course, older, and wearing a dress that is composed only of muted shades of blue from top to bottom.

"Morning ms. Hayashi" Asha waves to her cheerfully.

"Good morning Asha, happy birthday" the woman says with a smile then redirects her attention to her daughter "Dahlia, I need your help, the King and Queen's wedding anniversary is in 2 days and the queen didn't like the cake recipe I came up with, I need to test a new recipe as soon as possible, so go to the market and buy me these ingredients." she hands Dahlia a grocery list.

"Wh- but mom I told you I'd be dizzy- I-I mean busy today” Dahlia replaces words when she’s nervous the same way Doc did constantly in Snow White “it's Asha's birthday, and this list is huge, it'll take me too long and mess up our whole schedule"

"I can help you" Asha chimed in

"whAT- OH NO YOU WON'T YOUNG LADY!" Dahlia exclaims pointing a finger at her

Hal and Bazeema are just in the background watching now

"Young lady? I'm officially older than you, remember? hehehe" Asha jokes

"Don't get funny with me you little ray of sunshine! You're turning 18 today, I won't have you spend your birthday in a carpet- I MEAN market!"

"Umm we can help too" Bazeema says meekly.

"Yeah, and the boys too, so we can get it done faster" Hal adds

"Huh? but-but our plan though" Dahlia points to the list

"Anywhere I spend with you guys it's special, then, after we're done buying what your mom needs, we can go to the royal garden, and then to Safi's house" Asha reassures her friend

".... *sigh* fiiiiiine, we'll help you, mom" Dahlia bemoaned, very frustrated with the change in plans.

"Thank you girls, please be back before sunset" She starts walking down the hallway

Then, Dahlia remembers something

"oh OH WAIT- Bazeema, grab a book that is under my bed please!" she asks her friend, since it's more difficult for her to bend down with her crutch and overall her mobility disabilities.

"Um alright" Bazeema grabs an old book that is almost falling apart, it has "family recipes" on the cover "This one?"

"That's the one. mom! mom!!" Dahlia walks up to her mom and shows her the book "Look what I found under the food cabinet last week~"

Her mom looks surprised "Huh... I haven't seen this in years"

"You said you wanted to test a new recipe, weeeell this book has a lot of cool recipes I've never heard about before! And I'm sure King Magnifico and Queen Amable would think so too!" She opens the book, it has hand written recipes in both English, Spanish and Japanese "By the way, how come you never told me about this?"

Asha and the other two look at them talking and Asha notices how Dahlia's mom looks... Indifferent to this book that is apparently a family relic, with recipes from her native culture, surely she'd at least feel nostalgic by it, would't she?

"That's nice sweetie, but that's not the type of food your majesties would like, I only make meals for them, remember?" she says in a very detached way, almost robotic.

Dahlia looks disappointed "Oh... Okay... Then maybe you can teach me later?" Dahlia asks, hopeful.

"... I don't think I'll have the time dear, I have way too much work already at the castle, besides, there's nothing interesting in that book anyway" she explains, clearly not caring at all.

Her mother leaves, Dahlia hugs the book tightly.

... Well that was weird wasn't it? I'm sure it's not foreshadowing anything...

Anywaaaay that's enough of a scene on Asha's bedroom, let's move this along.

We cut to the gang splitting up at the plaza, each one going to a different sales stall.

It's our first look in the actual kingdom, and it is... Exactly like it was in the actual Wish movie, only notable difference is that the sculptures and paintings on the walls and floors are no longer only of king Magnifico, there are images of the king AND queen all over the place.

And most people are dressed head to toe with muted shades of blue, white and yellow. Younger people like kids, teenagers and Asha and her friends stand out because they dress up with more varied and bright colors... Except for Simon, whose clothes are more of a muted bluish green and white... I'm sure that doesn't mean anything tho.

Asha and Dahlia are picking some fruits together, and Asha notices how Dahlia looks upset and deep in her thoughts.

"I'm sorry your mom is too busy, if you want we can try making those recipes together later" Asha says trying to comfort her best friend

"Huh what?" She snaps out of her train of thoughts "Oh that? pffft That was fine, I'm used to it, she and my dad... Always prioritize working for the king" she looks clearly frustrated.

Asha places a hand on her shoulder, concerned.

Dahlia glances at her friend and takes some deep breaths

"But yeah... I'd like to try making them with you, that'd be nice" She smiles at her friend and holds her hand "But hey enough about me, this is YOUR day! So, excited to have your wish granted? humm? hmm?" Dahlia is back to her bubbly self, trying to lighten the mood

"Honestly? I'm excited because after today I won't have the expectation of MAKING a wish at all" Asha says sounding almost relieved just thinking about it.

Dahlia looks confused "Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you feel it? Like everyone expects you to have this--like-- GREAT goal you want to reach more than anything, that something you can't wait to wish for King Magnifico, and if you don't have it everyone thinks you have no ambition? Well, I don't have that something, I just want a simple life." Asha explains like this is something she has been holding inside for a while.

"... Sis, you lost me" Dahlia chuckles a little "You can wish for anything, doesn't have to be grand at all, and that won't CHANGE your life, if anything it'll just make it better." she says trying to reassure her friend even though she doesn't understand her struggle

Asha is smiling but there's a hint of sadness in her eyes, knowing her best friend doesn't understand how she feels, so she tries changing the subject "Yeah... It sure didn't make Simon happy, did it?"

"What do you mean?" Dahlia asks while buying some apples

"The droopy eyes, the constant yawning, the fact we gotta cary a pillow for him everywhere we go because he might literally collapse from exhaustion out of nowhere" Asha lists it like it's obvious (because it kinda is)

"Ah he explained that to us before, remember? Since the day he turned 18 his dad has been more strict with their training, so he can be the next captain of the royal guard. Sometimes Simon just doesn't get enough sleep"

"I know… I guess that makes sense, kinda" Asha looks down, thinking about how Simon reminds her a lot of her grandfather... But Simon is literally 21, he should NOT be acting and feeling like a man that died when he was 100, that's not right, regardless of how terrible his dad is.

"Okay I gotta ask" Dahlia interrupts her thoughts "Do you even know what you'll be wishing for, because I somehow got a feeling you don't know yet" her best friend looks at her suspiciously.

"Oh ya know, just something simple. Something that won't change my life at all-"

That comment caught the attention of a nearby juggling performer who was entertaining some children near the market, he stops what he's doing and rushes over towards the two girls while doing some cartwheels.

"After all the only one who can change my life is m-"

"MAGNIFICO GRANTS NO "SIMPLE WISH", CHILD" the jester exclaims interrupting Asha as he points his finger to her face.

"Oh- Hello there" Asha looks surprised but she can kinda already tell where this is going

Because now, it's song time!

This is a concept lyric still, with no specific instrumentals nor established rhythm yet, just inspired by "Keep your friends close" From Epic: The Musical. But in the future the song may have it's own instrumentals, with the help of @annamations03

But for now, just read these lyrics like a poem and try to imagine the vibes.

I Made A Wish

Lyrics in bold white are sang by background characters

(Jester) Child, are you not in the know? How can one not dream to have anything they wish for? Why, you’d end up hopeless and alone! But! if you’re in need of assistance Perhaps a jester with no persistence Can show just how wondrous is this kingdom we call home!

Ha ha ha I made a wish! Yes, I was as young as you! Then your majesty made me into something new Back then I was shy— You? I know, right? But now I bring joy to all of those around! See, it’s that simple, no need to think so much! Just look within and a wish can be found And our dear king will bring in his magic touch! Yes yes, I know how this works I’ve been living here since birth But the thing is that I don’t see any perks… Sounds like you lack self-worth What? Ha ha ha I made a wish! And my light shone brighter! Whatever you want is what you’ll get! Show some gratitude, kid, don’t you wanna be wiser? Just forget with no regret! Ummm 'Cause why would ya take the hardest route? When dreams coming true here is more than allowed So make a wish too, for your life to turn around! Whatever you want is what you’ll get! (Whatever you want is what you’ll get) (Asha Talking) Thank you for the advice, but… I still think I can make my dreams come true on my own, I'll just give him a simple wish because it's tradition. (Jester, still singing) *sigh* Alrighty then, but don't forget That's something you might regret. (Dahlia Talking) Okaaaay now that THATS over, let's go meet up with the others … Hey, this is the day for you to make YOUR wish. Doesn't matter what anyone else says that wish should be like, okay? … *Breathes in* *breathes out* Okay! Let's go!

(Asha and her friends are on their way to Safi's house to play instruments together, Asha looks around listening to background characters singing as they walk)

(Random Citizens) I made a wish, and the king made it all better! Whatever you want is what you'll get (Whatever you want is what you'll get) Here in Rosas we got no worries, no pressure Just forget with no regret (Just forget with no regret) 'Cause in a world so cruel and unjust We can trust our dreams won't get crushed, so I made a wish, and I don't regret it! Just forget with no regret (Just forget with no regret)

(They get to Safi's house and start playing instruments together, Asha dances but internally she's very conflicted, and we get a glimpse of what's going on inside her head as she sings to herself while still listening to her friend's voices faintly. She recollects about her grandfather, and how he never remembered what his wish was.)

(Asha) It's my day, so they say Make a wish that you won't regret Well, I know it may not go this way Cause' when you made a wish, all you got was to forget (7 teens) Today 's your day! Will the same happen to me once I wish away? To celebrate you! And what even is this wish I wanna pursue? Now it's your time Time step up those stairs and do what's expected Now it's your time You all are the only ones who I truly feel connected Now it's your time Can't I just stay here Please, let me stay here Now it's your time (????) Now it's your time

(Asha looks confused, a voice she doesn't recognize echoed in her head. But she has no time to question it, because Gabo just realized... The sun is setting.)

(Gabo) It's time… GUYS! It's time! It's wish ceremony time! (Everyone) LET' S GO! (7 Teens): We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta go (Asha): I know, I know, I know, I know

(Citizens sing the main chorus as they run to the castle, we cut to the wish ceremony, and we see Asha and her friends getting there, just in time for the king's entrance, with a huge puff of green smoke covering the stage, and lighting effects to dazzle the public, we hear the voice of the king of Rosas echo like a thunder, as he jumps out of the smoke.)

HELLOOOOOO ROSAS!

HA HA HA Come on! Come all! It's that time again! Don't be shy now! All you'll do is gain! Just fall in line now! Here's where dreams start! Cause' if I'm your ring master then you are all my stars!

(The king dances around the stage, full of energy as he hypes up the already excited crowd. Meanwhile, queen Amable walks in gracefully and begins to sing melodically as if she's singing a lullaby. Asha is already in the line to give her wish, she's the last in line.)

Ooooh This, my flowers, is our reason for living To see all your wanting be turned into wishing So just come now ,my darlings, and welcome to Rosas Where your yearning comes true, no what-ifs and no wonders

NOW'S TIME FOR THE MAIN EVENT!

(People in line) We forget with no regret All he got was to forget What we want is what you'll get I'll finally get my wish I'll make a simple wish With just a magic swish

Oh I can't wait for it! Oh I can't wait to end this! Oh I can't wait to grant it!- ...

This last part is like the end of "We Don't Talk About Bruno" where characters sing all at the same time, and we see Asha slowly approaching the king and queen more and more as the line keeps getting smaller and smaller the more people give away their wishes, Asha's turn is approaching, and then...

She's right in front of Magnifico, he stands his hand to get her wish, she takes a deep breath and... she thinks on her wish.

...

Nothing happens.

...

The song ends abruptly.

...

Asha opens her eyes expecting to see a wish bubble.

...

All she sees is Magnifico's hand.

...

The whole crowd goes quiet. Magnifico and Amable exchange a quick confused glance to one another.

"... Is anything wrong, little one?" The king asks, staring at her expectingly but still with a very calm smile.

Asha get's nervous, she can feel everyone's eyes on her.

"I- I'm sorry your highness, I might not be focusing on it hard enough... Is it supposed to be hard?" She looks up to them both looking for some guidance.

The queen notices the girl's anxiety and gives her a soothing caress on her shoulder "Do not fret my flower, it's different for everyone, you can take aaall the time you need" She says in a motherly tone.

That does help Asha calm down a little bit, but she still can't manifest her wish no matter how hard she tries.

"Hmmm" Magnifico ponders for a moment "Say, how about you just whisper what you wish for to me?"

"... But isn't that against the rules?" Asha asks

The king can't help but chuckle at that "Well, I'll know what your wish is either way so of course the "Keep your wish a secret" rule doesn't apply to me. Come now, I promise I won't judge." He speaks in a soothing tone and a welcoming smile.

Asha hesitates for a moment, but she steps closer to the king, who's now leaning down to be on the same level as her so she can whisper in his ear.

She whispers something and...

Magnifico's face contorts from a gentle smile to a dumbfounded frown with his eyebrows raised all the way up.

The queen is staring at them puzzled, what could she wish for that threw him out of the loop so quickly?

As they slowwwwly distance themselves, the king and Asha are now staring at each other, the king still leaning down to her eye level... He whispers to her:

"... Why on earth would you wish for high grass to grow on your backyard?" the king questions like she's insane.

Asha whispers back

"... Because my pet goat likes to eat high grass... A lot... Your majesty" she adds that last part like she almost forgot to address him formally.

The king stares at her for a few seconds, that to Asha felt like it were minutes.

His smile returns to his face though, so that's good right?

But the smile turns into quiet snickering, as if the king is trying really hard to hold in a huge uncontrollable laughter, but he has to hold it in, can't lose his composure like that in front of his subjects.

Asha did have a wish in that moment, she wished the floor would eat her up so she could escape this embarassment.

Everyone in the crowd, and the queen as well, looks shocked at the king's reaction.

Magnifico takes some deep breaths and calms down.

"Oh my... hahah that's a good one, thank you, I needed a laugh today... oof okay okay I'm good, *cough* now come on, what's your actual wish?" He asks her again cheerfully

"... It wasn't a joke my king, I just have a simple wish, really." she explains with her voice sounding meek

The king realizes his mistake...

"Wait... Has no one ever told you?" The king asks her, raising one eyebrow.

"Told me what?"

"Well eh- now how can I put this... I believe you might misunderstand what I actually DO, my dear" The king starts explaining

"... Misunderstood what?" Asha is very concerned with what the answer may be

The king starts walking around Asha, circling her while he explains, similar to a teacher lecturing a child "You see... People who come here don't wish for simple mundane things, although yes, I have gotten a few who, like you, thought they could just wish to "Dance on beat" or "Have hair that touch down on their feet"... Which was very odd may I add- But the point is that my magic is not made to grant those wishes."

Asha can already feel her heart sink, she's starting to understand where the king is going with this, but she holds some hope it's not what she think's it is

"So umm..." Asha shyly asks "What kind of wishes DO you grant?"

The king looks at her with a big radiant smile as he answers her qauestion

"The ones that matter, of course! The wish that comes from deeeep inside that big heart of yours, your main goal in life! To put it simply, my child, what you must give me is the wish that makes you... well... YOU!" The king claims passionately, his demeanor full of enthusiasm like he's describing the most beautiful thing in the world.

That's it... That's exactly what Asha was afraid he'd say.

She CAN'T give him this wish because she doesn't know WHAT THAT WISH IS!

And even if she did know for sure... She doesn't want to hand it to him... That wish... whatever it is, it's HERS.

Her father used to write about how important it is to chase after what you wish for, how is she gonna chase after something Magnifico is just gonna hand to her, where's the fun in that?

Also, is this common knowledge?? How come no one ever told her she had to give to the king the most essential part of herself???People are just okay with that???? Do all those 18 year olds that came before her already have that figured out?????

(Technically the Jester did tell her, but she didn't think he was for real, the lesson is, take clowns seriously)

"Hey! Are you listening? Helloooo?" Asha is snapped out of her own thoughts by the king literally snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"I- I'm sorry I dozed off for a second... What were you saying, your majesty?"

"We were saying that a wish is what makes you who YOU are." The queen says patiently "Which begs the question, my dear...

Who are you?"

Chapter 3

Final Thoughts

"Asha's Big Day" indeed, this took me the whole day to write lmao

Okay so let me just say, the reason I focused a on Dahlia's mom for bit was because I wanted to introduce how Magnifico's magic is affecting the people of Rosas, besides just Simon who is affected because his wish hasn't been granted yet, unlike him Dahlia's mom DID get her wish granted...

You might know where I'm going with this if you read my blog explaining how I'd rewrite the villains, but if you're new, hi, welcome to the madness, you don't have to read how'd rewrite them if you'd rather be surprised by the twist.

Oh, and you surely don't have to worry about what's the symbolism behind a purple hyacinths, Asha's favorite flower, there sure is no meaning to that.

hehe

Also I legit laughed to myself for several minutes thinking about how I builded up Asha's wish the whoooooole chapter

AND IT TURNS OUT ALL SHE WANTED TO WISH FOR WAS GRASS

FREAKIN

GRASS

She must be protected at all cost.

Alrighty, hope you’ve enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, see you guys on the next chapter!

Thank you for reading!

#disney wish #wish #wish 2023 #wish asha #wish disney #wish movie #wish rewrite #king magnifico #wish reimagined #rewrite #long post #fanfic #script #wish the 7 teens #asha #kingdom of wishes

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shygirl4991 · 29 days

Text

Chapter 5 Grand Sleepover

Art done by @alianarepasa do not repost Summary: After the event of Splits into Three everything felt like things were back to normal, that is until Three’s boyfriend kicks down his front door announcing he has fallen under the same spell he did. Together they will learn the secret of the cherry potion and with SMG4 splits put an end to the evil gang's plan. Sequel to Split into Threes

Last Chapter Next Chapter

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Comedy, Romance, action and adventure, Trauma, IGBP

SMG4 sighs as he waves the crew goodbye, they all agree to come by another day to help with the personalities. Once gone he turns to see Three talking with Artist, he watches as the personality glows with excitement over whatever his boyfriend was telling him. He takes out his sketchbook and runs to the others, with a nod Three walks up to four “We need to make rooms for them to stay at right now, after all you do have an empty second floor you're still working on.”

Four nods as he throws himself to his partner “This is going to be a long couple of days…at least the bright side of the day was the gloves and your delicious cherry coffee!” SMG3 gets tense as he gently lifts Fours head to look at him. Trying to remain calm and collected he asked the question he feared “Did you drink a full cup of cherry coffee?” he should have known this was the reason, why didn't it hit him sooner. Three only had a sip and his three personalities were a lot, SMG4 got six, thinking on it more he starts to remember what book told him which only got the guardian concerned for his boyfriend. Four gives him a bright smile “Of course you make great coffee!” Artist hums doodling the rooms when he notices Delinquent removing his gloves and glaring at them, slowly he approaches “D im collecting room ideas, busy?” The personality hides the gloves and turns before writing his thoughts down. He rips the page out and hands it to Artist, taking the paper and seeing his idea Artist smiles softly “Tonight lets have some fun, you in?” Delinquent gives Artist a look before noticing a smirk looking at him then at three. He lets out a low chuckle “Ah…well if the others want to then you know i'm all for it,” for once Delinquent was excited for something other then his plans.

With a nod, Artist keeps doodling the rooms and goes off to ask the rest. Delinquent watches as the group starts shaking the Artist to hurry and draw their room. His eyes then landed on his original and Three, he saw Three face go pale causing him to tilt his head “Wonder what those two are doing?” Three takes Four hands and walks to the bedroom, once the door is slammed he starts looking around the room. Four stares at his partner confused “Uh Three what are you looking for?” Three sighs standing up and giving him a sheepish smile “So the cherry coffee, you were never meant to drink it.” he sighs sitting on the bed. He touches the pins “Drinking the coffee i notice the cherry flavor, then next thing i know bam i have three versions of myself. So I put the coffee in the fridge to figure shit out later! How did you even get your hands on it?”

Four blinks and slowly points at the spade pin “I…did the others know? I went to the fridge and got the coffee. Spade said it was okay for me to take it, are you saying you drank random cherry coffee which started all this?!” Three rolled his eyes. Getting up from the bed he glares at his boyfriend “OH YEAH I JUST DECIDED OH LOOK FREE COFFEE MIGHT AS WELL FUCKING DRINK IT!” Anger was building up in four as he stomps up to three “THEN HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THE CHERRY IN THE COFFEE IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANY CHERRY COFFEE IN YOUR PLACE!” Three stays silent, his eyes go wide “Your right!” he walks out of the room with Four chasing him “Where are you going?!” three stops at the door and turns to four “To check my coffee machine.” He pulls at the door and stares at it confused, he pushes the door, still the door did not want to open. The personalities turn and walk up to the door, Ringmaster chuckles “Door trouble?” Prince gently pushed Three away and attempted to open the door “The door..is stuck?”

Four walks up shaking the door, seeing the door didn't open he ran to a window and attempted to open it. He blinks realizing even the window wouldn't open “GUYS!? EVEN THE WINDOWS WON'T OPEN!” They all scattered trying to find an exit.After a while Delinquent sighs kicking the front door, to his surprise it swung open “Hey look at that i manage to fix the door,” everyone stops and turns looking at the door confused. Four look at Delinquent then the door “How the hell?” Three runs out of the castle to his cafe without a second thought, once inside he starts to investigate his machines. He opens the coffee machine and gasps seeing what's inside the machine, it was pink liquid, he knew it was risky but had to know. He reaches towards the liquid only to be stopped when he hears the cafe door open, he closes the machine and gives a small smile at Four. “Still looking, when I find out anything you will be the first one to know blue!”

Four nods as he looks back at the castle then at Three “Hey…what happened at the castle, that was weird huh?” Three nods “Yeah, it's almost like something didn't want us to see something.” Seeing Four’s eyes flicker to a different color made Three approach Four “Hey blue, i get the anxiety but we got this!” SMG4 grabs Three’s hand “You told me a gang were after your personalities…what if thats what happened back there?” Three pulls Four closer to him. Slowly he wraps his free arm around the man, he thinks over his boyfriend's words as he stares at the castle “I don't think so, these guys have no idea about you yet. Trust me if they knew about you guys they would be at our front door.” Something did rub Three the wrong way, how did the whole castle end up locked up like that. Even more strange, why did everything open the moment Delinquent opened the door?

Before he could think more on it an explosion was heard over at the castle, they exchanged a look before running over. Artist sighs at the mess of paint all over the second floor, Ringmaster smirks, proud of the paint explosion he made. Prince grab’s Artist holding the man back “YOU DUMBASS WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY PAINT!” Ringmaster turns, giving him a smirk “Showing you what true art looks like.” Delinquent looks around at the mess “It looks more like Depresso came in here and vomited.”

Ringmaster glares at the orange man “What? No, I painted each corner that belongs to each of us!” Artist lets out a bitter chuckle “You moron, the colors are everywhere where do any of us go when you have green mixed with White!” SMG3 and Four run up stairs to see the mess of paint everywhere. The personalities noticing them all point towards Ringmaster, he lets out a gasp at how fast the others sold him out. Three sighs walking up to Artist “Let me have the room plans, the cherry hunt can wait for now.” He hands over the plans as Three puts on a hard hat, the others walk away to stand next to four. Seeing this SMG4 turns to Ringmaster “I dont get why you have to bother Artist so much,” Ringmaster scoffs at the comment “Artist thinks he is better than me, i was here first the good days of memewarts!” Four frowns and watches Artist angrily pick up his paint cans from the floor. At that moment he felt something toward the Artist, he walked over helping with cleaning up the paint “We will get you more paint, or maybe take a break from painting…i recently picked up digital art.” Artist eye glow as he leans closer to Four “I can try digital? Hehe my power grows,” Artist laughs to himself worrying Four.

Delinquent frowns watching the interaction, Producer seeing the frown takes Delinquent's hand. The man turns to look confused at the personality “He cares for us…i…he has to right?” Delinquent could only let out a hum as he turned his attention to SMG3. The man looks over the plans and claps his hands, a white light takes over making everyone cover their eyes. The moment the group looked again six rooms were built, they gaps as they walk up to their door. Artist giggles touching the name plate “Our Mcdreamy has some skills under his belt huh?” “Not impressed,” was all Delinquent said before going in the room and locking it, with a sigh they all thank Three and walk into their room. Three smiles and gentle pats Fours back “It is getting late, you should join them and rest. Hopefully that nightmare doesn't come back, if it does though i'm right next door.” Four nods and they both leave to rest. Artist peeks out the door watching the pair leave, the moment they are gone he begins his plan. Walking to his sewing machine, Artist starts looking over the room plans “Now, let's make some fun pajamas shall we. Wonder what everyone requested, hehe.”

Once done, Artist visits every room handing out a package, he changes into his own colorful pj’s. He walks down stairs waiting to see everyone, his smile grows seeing each personality come out in their pj’s. Delinquent chuckles “Why are you so basic? Plaid really?” Ringmaster waves his hand “I'm not here to impress, Pajamas are for sleeping plus you're wearing a band shirt you're not that original!” Parent comes out excited over his pj’s, as he skips over to the group the rest stared in horror over his Beeg onesie. They turn to Artist who only gives them an apologetic smile. Producer and Prince come out ready to show off their pj’s only to freeze seeing Parents onesie “I know it's just so cute right?” Prince pats Parents back “It's fantastic!” Delinquent makes a disgusted face as he keeps staring at the pj. That's when a light bulb lit up “Hey guys, in a way this is like one of those sleep overs the original always pictured. Why don't we make this night a fun one and prank SMG3,” he lets out a mischievous grin. Artist pulls Delinquent into a surprise hug “YES! LET'S DO IT!” all according to plan.

The group plans their prank while Producer plays with the sleeves of his shirt “Guys…I don't know about this. What if we make him hate us? OH GOD WHAT IF HE GROWS TO HATE US AFTER THIS!?” Delinquent walks up to Producer, everyone relaxes hoping the man would help Producer relax “I would honestly love that.” Parent runs up to the shock Producer “uh hey kiddo i have an idea, let's play the don't listen to D game!” Parent keep distracting Producer and the rest finish up their plans. Now that the plan is done, the group sneaks over to the cafe and notices Three was awake. Artist snaps his fingers “Damn he is awake, I’m paintfully aware of my limitations so i wont know how to distract him.” they all look down lost in thought on how to distract the man. Delinquent sighs as he walks ahead of the group only to be stopped by Producer “I…i will do it.” The group stare at Producer in shock, with a shaky breath he walks into the cafe.

Three stares at his coffee machine nervously, he wasn't sure what would happen if he attempted to taste it. Would it bring them back? Would he risk it and anger them by bringing them back out? He hears the door open making him look away, there he sees Producer nervously messing with his sleeves again “Cute pj’s im guessing artist helped?” the personality nods as he walks closer to Three. He watches the personality, confused, he reaches out “Hey are you okay?” Producer then suddenly hugs him. Three smiles softly hugging the personality back, he then blushes “okay the hug is going on too long can we stop, not because i'm really enjoying it or anything it’s just awkward!” Producer lets out a chuckle as he pulls away. The group watches waiting for their moment to sneak in, Delinquent on the other hand blushes seeing the hug that happens.

Producer shyly looks down “I uh…god please don't hate me for asking but…you're our boyfriend. You and the original kissed yeah? W-what is that like?” the group gasps at the question as their eyes move to Three to see what happens next. The heart pin glows as he gets closer to Producer “Are you asking to kiss me?” Producer’s face goes red as he starts to panic “AH THIS WAS SO STUPID I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME FORGET WHAT I SAID!” Three reaches out to Producer and gently caresses his face, the touch relaxes the man as he looks up confused “Then kiss me you silly, you're a part of blue. I love everything about him and that includes you.” Delinquent bites his lip seeing the moment between them, his head started to hurt the more he watched. He takes a step back “uh guys we can sneak over here let's hurry!” The group nods slowly going through the door and sneak to the back to get into Three’s room.

Producer was lost in Three’s eyes, he didn't notice the others running inside the cafe and starting their mission. The group take out their camera, Artist lets out an evil giggle getting Parent ready “Okay now use Beeg face to cover yours hehe we are going to make Three’s room a Beeg paradise!” Delinquent chuckles alongside artist as they take the photo and start decorating the room with it. Ringmaster chuckles as he opens the elevator “Alright guys let's go! While I won't get in trouble because I'm the star of the show, I can't lose my groupies!” Artist smacks him aside “Right like you would have anything like that.” Producer was feeling himself lose steam from all the flirting Three was doing, that was until the elevator ding caught threes attention. In a panic Producer grabs Three pulling him close, the group slowly sneak by to escape the cafe. Producer lets out a shaky breath “Please don't hate me..” before Three could ask anything Producer leans forward gently kissing Three. As the group celebrates making it out, Delinquent stares at Producer and Three kissing. A memory hit him making his face go red as he looked away, he had to remind himself of his mission as he followed the group to the castle. Producer attempts to fun off in a panic, Three then grabs him gently pulling him back “Hey PD its okay! Remember what I said, you're a part of blue, no matter what i will love all of you guys!” Producer looks down nervously thinking over his words.

“Save him…please save D…he is fading away,” Producer closes his eyes, scared to see Three’s face. The heart pin stops glowing as Three gently lifts Producers face “What do you mean he is fading?” Producer lets out a shaky breath. He then looks into three’s eyes “You said you love all of us no matter what, save D no matter what please!” The Spade pin flickers as Three nods “I promise, when the morning gets here, i will talk to four and see why he would deny his jealous side.” Producer shakes his head “I can't say more but…D is more than just jealousy,” with a small smile he walks out of the cafe. SMG3 watches Producer leave “More…than jealousy, what else could he be?”

Producer catches up with the others as they celebrate their victory, the group get together in Artist room and watch movies. Producer looks at Delinquent giving the man a soft smile, Delinquent nods and lets out a sigh. Over time the group falls asleep except Delinquent, he gets up and steps outside the castle to get blinded by the sun “Morning already huh?” a sharp pain hits him causing him to fall to his knees. SMG3 walks out of his cafe, he lets out an annoyed sigh at the fact his room was covered in strange beeg photos. He was impressed that producer managed to distract him for the others to pull the prank off. Delinquent notice Three and attempts to get away, he curses when he just ends up falling to the floor. The pain was becoming too much for the personality, he groaned trying to find something to help him. His eyes start to flicker as the pain gets worse, he lets out a scream catching SMG3 attention “Delinquent!”

Three helps Delinquent up before checking on him “What happened? Are you okay?” the man's eye twitched before the pain stopped. He nods “I'm okay…” SMG3 lets out a sigh of relief, seeing how close they are he pushed Three away. That's when he realized he was alone with SMG3 “No one is around us…hehe hahaha!” Three looks at the man concerned, this wasn't how heart acted when he was fading “Hey uh everything alright?” Delinquent nods “I lost my hat, if you want to be a hero so badly want to help me find it?” he tilts his head giving chills to Three. With a nod they both walk away from the showgrounds, SMG3 didn't like the feeling he was getting from the personality in front of him. Delinquent was silent as they walked to an alleyway “I lost my hat in there,” everything about this screamed trap to Three. He nods as he pats Delinquent making the personality go first, he watches as Delinquent starts to look around. “I have something to ask, the way you fell down…are you fading away?” Delinquent pauses. Slowly he stood up laughing, the laugh was dark, devoid of joy. He turns smiling at Three “OH! So you're going around putting things together!”

Three frowns walking closer to him “Delinquent..i want to trust and help you i'm not the bad guy.” Delinquent’s face twisted “BUT I AM!” a tentacle came from the ground swinging at Three, acting fast he jumps out of the way and glares at Delinquent. “That wasn't meme energy…that looked like…Delinquent what happened to you?” Delinquent laughs as he charges at Three. In a panic Three dodge and shoved Delinquent, the personality hits the gate door to the alleyway. The door falls off the hinge hitting a fire hydrant soaking the man. SMG3 gasps at the sight, Delinquent slowly gets up laughing “DO YOU SEE WHAT HE MADE ME?!” The black paint was being washed off. After a few moments white hair was revealed, his orange pink eyes were now completely pink.

“Delinquent…” distracted by the man's appearance, Three didn't notice another tentacle behind him. It swings slamming three to the ground, knocking him out cold. Delinquent walks up SMG3 moving his hair out of his face “I need you, you're the only one that knows the power and I would love to meet the real you.” He lifts up Three and walks into the shadows disappearing.

#smg4 #smg3 #smg34 #shygirl4991 #smg4 smg3 #smg43 #smg34 fanfiction #split into threes #six splits for fours #alianarepasa

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astral--horrorshow · 11 months

Text

Around-The-Clock Shadows

Platonic Yandere ROTTMNT x Reader

Info: This will be a full-length fic including multiple ROTTMNT characters, the main storyline revolves around the Mad Dogs.

Fic Summary: You sure are likeable, aren't you?

Chapter 1: Preparations and Purple Dragons

Characters: Kendra, Jase, Jeremy, Donatello, Raphael, Michaelangelo, Leonardo

A/N: Kicking off the first day of my summer break with a fic! I've been working on this for a while now, so I hope you like it! Apologies for the short length and any bad writing! I was very inspired by @yanteetle , @pianocat939 , @yanyanderes , and @yandere-toons ! (edit: @oleander-nin too!!)

If you want to be added to a taglist, just say the word! If you want to draw fanart or make anything based off of this, I would be literally honored. Please don't be shy, I will love whatever you make! If you have any questions about the fic, feel free to ask!

TW: Kidnapping plans, toxic relationships, stalking, Jase gets kicked in the shin (spoiler: it's Kendra), attempted(?) peer pressure, Leo and Donnie are creepers.

I do not condone any of the behaviors found or done in this fic. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. If you or someone you know is being treated like this, please contact the authorities.

Please Reblog writer's work!

Chapter Summary: You hang out with the Purple Dragons, and the Hamato brothers prepare for your arrival.

Word Count: 1166

☆~☆~☆

Kendra had her hand on the back of your neck, leading you further into the Purple Dragon's closed-off corner of the computer lab.

"And this is the Dragon's Tooth," she said as she pointed to a large, circular table with a small, green device suspended in a glass tube.

"Oooo!" You leaned towards it in curiosity, careful to not get too close to the lasers, "What does it do?" Before Kendra could answer you, Jase rushed over and started to explain with a speedy voice, "The Dragon's Tooth is a military-grade piece of technology that- ow!"

Kendra had kicked him in the shin. Hard. From what you had known about her, she didn't like to be interuppted.

"Shut up, Jase," Kendra snapped.

Jase kneeled on the ground on one leg, rubbing the kicked one with a grimace on his angular face. You reached out to him, but Kendra casually pulled you by the collar of your shirt next to her, placing her hand on the back of the neck you craned to see if Jase was okay and pushed you along yet again.

Your watch suddenly let out a long, piercing beep, which caused your gaze to turn to the plastic screen.

"Oh, I need to get home!" You exclaimed, rushing from Kendra to grab your bag.

"Awh, c'mon, can't you stay a little longer?" Jeremy strolled towards you along with the rest of the Purple Dragons. You were, quite literally, cornered by them, but you still persisted in your quest to return home.

"But I really gotta leave! I'll see you tommorow!" You rushed out, waving to the students strung up by their knickers outside their tech cubbyhole. The Purple Dragons didn't pursue, looking at the silent, red device on the collar of shirt in a cocktails of smugness and satisfaction (mostly from Kendra) and slight guilt of invading your privacy (mostly Jase).

You rushed to the bike racks as soon as you came out of the double doors of the High School. Going to unlock your bike, you spotted a figure in purple slink down an alleyway.

You pulled up to your residence, locking your bike and unlocking the door to your home. Taking off your shoes, and setting your bag down on your bed, you flopped down onto the carpet, feeling the rough material rubbing against your cheek. Despite it grating against your face, you found a sense of comfort in the act. You turned towards your bed, focusing on the underside. Stuck to one of the nails of the supports, was a bright orange piece of cloth. You reached out your arm, grabbing the fabric between your fingers. It was a bit worn, but perfectly clean otherwise. How odd, you didn't remember having any clothes like that.

☆~☆~☆

You opened the freezer door, shivering at the blast of cold air hitting your face. You grabbed the ice cream container as fast you could, and gingerly closed the freezer as to not wake up your family. As you sucked the spoon free of the frozen treat, you gazed at the moonlight filtering through your kitchen. There were a few clouds, but otherwise it was clear. You couldn't see the stars, though. Not in New York City, where lights and air pollution thrive. Putting the ice cream back, (you couldn't eat so much to the point where it would be noticeable) you pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders and tiptoed back to your bedroom. You buried yourself under the warm covers, a welcome respite from the cold, and closed your eyes, unaware of the being outside your window.

Leonardo chuckled to himself, and propped his elbows up on the windowstill. He watched you cutely snuggle your pillow, your cheek squishing against it. The only thing he wanted was to pinch and squish them 'till they got numb, but bringing you home sooner than planned would make the rest of your new brothers irritated at him. You fell asleep almost immediately, you must've been so tired, poor baby. He pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.

"Hey, Don- what? Yeah, I know it's late. Don't shout at me right now. Yeah, add ice cream to the list."

☆~☆~☆

Mikey skipped into the room, holding a pair of slippers in his hand. He set them down near the bed just as Donatello finished spreading a thick, fluffy blanket on it.

"Ah, thank you, Michael," Donnie spoke upon seeing Mikey with the slippers.

"Anything for them!" Mikey squealed, obviously shaking with excitement.

"Hey, party people," Leo casually called out as he strolled into the room, holding his ōdachi over his shoulders like they were regular sticks instead of mystical, deadly weapons. Upon the red-earned sliders entrance, Donnie turned and glared.

"Leo, I don't see why you had to call me at exactly 2:38 AM last night. It could've waited until morning."

"What?" Leo pulled his hand to his chest in mock indignation, "And not complete the list? I swear, it's like you don't even want them to be happy here!"

"Of course I do!"

Before their squabble could turn into a full-on argument, Raph burst in the room with a number of plushies of different shapes, sizes, and colors in his arms, which he started to arrange on the bed. Donnie sauntered away from Leo to help Raph in an attempt to keep his temper under control, and Mikey arranged things around the room. Leo slumped his shoulders, made a portal with a single slash of his ōdachi, and fell backwards into it.

☆~☆~☆

Donatello typed on his keyboard, occasionally turning his gaze to the other screens, which had a plethora of security cameras, locations of trackers, and information displayed on them. "Occasionally" being every few seconds. Eventually, he gave up on his coding and leaned back to soak up all the information on you and blue light the multiple moniters could give him. He was the number one expert on you, which he had to be if you were going to be happy in the Lair. He was also going to be your older brother soon, which meant he had to make up for all the missing years. You didn't know how much you needed them all, but you would soon. Very, very soon. A ping from his phone pulled him from his obsessive thoughts. He had sent S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N to guard you throughout the day when he or his brothers couldn't do it themselves. His eyes widened to saucers when he saw the feed from his creation.

You, standing there. With the Purple Dragons. Talking to you. Touching you. The Purple Dragons. You, oblivious to their danger.

Donnie leapt up from his chair and sprinted toward the door, racing through the halls. He wouldn't let that horrible, deceiving, Kendra and her flunkies take advantage of you. Over his dead body.

"I'll be there very soon," he thought, "Wait for me just a little longer.

I'll save you."

☆~☆~☆

A/N: *chuckles* you're in danger.

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theflowerrooms · 9 months

Text

His Game • Spencer’s masterlist • main masterlist

Stockholm Syndrome

chapter 5 • back to chapter 4

chapter summary; testing each other, learning about your own trust. You’re developing some type of positive feeling toward Spencer, and he’s quick to prove to you just how much he appreciates it.

warnings: dark themes, smut, kidnapping, manipulative behaviour, dubcon, overstimulation, dacryphilia, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), unprotected sex, marking

wordcount: 4K

The room was dark when you woke up, hummed and stretched, arms covering the expanse of the bed. the opposite side of the bed wasn’t made, where Spencer had slept after the movies.

You basked in the bed that smelled like Spencer, smelled like your captor. You smiled and pressed your face into his pillow, it smelled even more like him. You remembered his lips on your lips, his hands on your waist.

A loud slam, the heavy door close outside. He’d gone. Your stomach dropped. You remembered him pistol-whipping you, remembered his thumb pressing into your wound.

You scrambled out of bed, eyes brimming with tears. You hated to be alone, you wanted so badly for him to just stay. Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, you pulled it open, sighing loudly with relief when you saw him there.

The understanding of the danger and severity of your situation was lost from you the second you locked eyes with him. Your chest burning with a pleasurable warmth and the tears in your eyes shifting into a comfortable glaze.

"Good morning Angel." He greeted you, smile on his thin lips. He placed a takeout bag on the small island and you deduced that the sound of the door closing was him returning rather than leaving. You watched him pull food from the bag, fresh, straight from the diner you loved so much.

You smiled sweetly and walked over to him, sitting at the island where he placed the food in front of you. You thanked him and he smiled wider at you.

He stood behind you as you ate, moving your hair so it wouldn't rub against your skin as he pet it. One of his hands pet your hair and the other rested against your collarbone, encouraging you to lean back against his chest.

It was so comfortable, warm and safe. It was terribly domestic, him loving on you while you ate food he got for you because he knew you loved it. It was enough to take away from the fact that you were being pet by your kidnapper, no idea where you were.

When you finished, you leaned back against Spencer's chest completely. He hummed softly and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you and kissing the crown of your head. "I have to go."

"What?" You pouted up at him before he'd even finished speaking and he pouted back at you, half mockingly.

"I have to go, for work." He said shortly and you huffed. You really didn't want him to leave. You feel like you should be grateful that you get to be left alone, that Spencer would leave. But you dreaded it. Those five days he was gone drove you insane.

Somewhere in the back of your mind also, you knew that if he wasn't there with you, you would have some clarity, you would be fully aware of how scared you should be, how dangerous Spencer is. You didn't want that clarity.

He grabbed a notebook and pen from his satchel and sat next to you. "You need more things to do when you're alone, I know that you'll get bored quickly, I imagine it was difficult while I was gone before." He spoke and you nodded.

With that you and Spencer curated a list of things he could bring back for you. Movies to watch, a sketchbook and drawing supplies, toys for Milo, cards, and a few other small things. You were grateful and looked forward to the new things. You were so lucky you figured. You saw so many kidnapping victims who were dirty and hurt, used, cold and hungry. But here you were, warm and clean, full from food you loved, writing up a list of things so you could have more fun. And the bruise Spencer gave you was almost entirely healed.

You started to feel sick, remembering the kidnapping victims you'd saved, the ones you hadn't saved. People just like you who'd been taken by people just like Spencer.

Spencer tapped your chin and you turned to look at him, the eye contact working wonders for your new anxiety. You didn't feel any resentment to him, no fear, you no longer felt sick. Still you felt more aware.

"Do you want me to bring any books for specific topics? So you can study? That could be fun." It was a very 'Spencer' thing, studying for fun. "You're interested in learning about entomology, right?" You nodded and he wrote it down. "What else?"

"Stockholm Syndrome." You rasped and the look Spencer gave you made your blood run cold.

"Do you think you are developing Stockholm syndrome?" You couldn't read his emotions at all. You heard excitement, remorse, guilt, disgust, hope.

"I don't know. Let me learn more about it and we'll find out." You had an attitude that hadn't been there since the first day you arrived.

"Are you developing Stockholm Syndrome?" He asked again, tense.

"When was the last time you went to see your mother?" You asked. You weren't concerned about his mother, you wanted to redirect him, bring up his mom so he would stop interrogating his victim.

And still, the look of guilt and sadness that took over his face made you regret it. His shoulders slumped and the corners of his mouth dipped down just slightly.

You frowned and timidly brought a hand to his face, holding his cheek gently and flinching when he leaned toward your touch. "I'm sorry Spencer." Your voice broke, you wanted to cry. You hated that you made him upset, you were terrified that he'd hurt you as punishment.

"It's alright angel." He put the list in his pocket and stood, you stood with him, following him to the door.

You pouted up at him, you still didn't really want him to leave. He smiled down at you and leaned down to kiss your forehead. You leaned up into his lips and he smiled against your skin. He proceeded to look over your face after that, gaze switching between your eyes and lips. He leaned down and kissed you. Deeper than last night, hand gripping the back of your neck and pulling you into him. You sighed against his lips and he pushed his tongue past your lips, kissing you until you whined softly and he pulled back.

"I'll see you tomorrow angel." A smile and then he left. You teared up as the door closed. Your heart pounded against your chest, syncing with the sound of each eight locks locking behind him.

You wished he'd come back. Wished he'd decide to just give up on work, throw away his life like he'd thrown away yours and come back and be with you.

Because quickly, you were all too aware again of how lonely, isolated and scared you were.

✽-

Were you developing Stockholm syndrome? For now you settled on no. Nobody who had Stockholm syndrome was consciously and blatantly aware of it. And you were sure that you couldn't possibly have Stockholm syndrome because you would have to be convinced that you were in love with Spencer, and you for sure were not.

You rested on the soft couch, curled up in a blanket. 9pm. You'd had a small nap way earlier and made yourself dinner, and now you sat comfortably, rewatching Scream, cup of warm tea in your hand.

It was the sex scene between Sidney and Billy playing before you, and it made you feel a way you hadn't before. Warmth in your stomach watching the way he touched her. You craved intimacy like that, you hated being alone like this. You wished Spencer would quit the BAU and stay with you full time. You shook your head at yourself. You wished the BAU would find you and bring you home, and then you wouldn't ever be alone, you could have intimacy from anyone, not Spencer.

Spencer. You watched Billy kiss Sidney, it made you think of the way Spencer kissed you, how he asked first, how he didn't kiss you before you were ready. You had been so lucky, Spencer was an incredible captor, so sweet to you.

You could hear footsteps, locks turning and your heart jumped in your chest. What if you'd been found? Unlikely, but maybe that door would open and Derek would be behind it, or Hotch, or even some ordinary police officer.

It wasn't, it was Spencer. And surprisingly you felt relief that it was him instead of someone coming to your rescue. You didn't even process your own thoughts before you placed your tea on the coffee table and raced over to Spencer, face buried into his chest and arms around his waist.

He chuckled lowly and held you close to himself, burying his face into the crown of your head and inhaling deeply. He pressed kisses to the part in your hair and hummed. "I missed you angel."

You just hummed in response, telling him you missed him too without verbally admitting it, which you weren't sure you could. He cupped your cheeks and lifted your face so he could look into your eyes.

He held eye contact with you for a lengthy moment. It was a strange gesture that you figured most people wouldn't understand, you hardly did. What you did understand was that Spencer struggled with eye contact, and still he pushed himself to make eye contact with you, for you.

He kissed your forehead, then between your eyebrows, leaving a trail of kisses down the bridge of your nose before he found your lips, kissing you deeply, tongue chasing yours.

You blushed and moved away from him when it got too much, stomach flipping and heart pounding, face sure to be deep red. You looked down at your feet and he held your chin, turning your face up to look at him.

"How was your day my angel?" He asked, hand gliding down your back to the hem of your shirt, his hand slid up under the fabric and he stroked your back softly.

"Good. Long." You sighed. I missed you. "I like it better when you're here." You whispered, as if anyone aside from Spencer and your cat would hear you. Your heart soared and the look your words brought to Spencer's face, brown eyes filled with appreciate and wonder.

"Everything is better when I'm with you angel. That's why I needed to take you here." He brushed your hair behind your ear with his free hand and you nodded in understanding, in agreement.

Spencer was a good man. And he'd gone through so much, if you made things better for him, he deserved to keep you.

You went through the bag of things Spencer brought with him to occupy you when he was away. More movies and some cards and art supplies. You placed the books on entomology and Stockholm Syndrome on a shelf. You wouldn't open the Stockholm Syndrome books you'd decided, you're smart, you're a profiler with the FBI, you would know if you had Stockholm Syndrome.

Now you sat on the floor, you and Milo playing with a wand Spencer had gotten him while the man put together a scratch post for the cat, wide smile on his face as he watched you.

You smiled and laughed watching Milo. That's how amazing Spencer was, he didn't need to bring Milo, didn't need to spend money on him, but he did, for you. You were so lucky.

You remembered how scared you were when you thought Spencer might have killed him. You remembered how guilty you felt that Spencer killed your neighbour, but you knew he wouldn't have done that if he hadn't needed to.

'Derek does not matter anymore' You remembered him saying that, for the first time since he arrived from work, you felt uneasy. "Spencer?" You got his attention. "When we were fighting, you said Derek didn't matter anymore. Did- did you do something to him?" You didn't miss the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. "I'm only asking 'cause he's like my brother. I don't love him like that- like the way you love me." Your voice shook, eyes brimming with tears.

He took a moment to answer you, each passing second leading you to be more and more worried he had killed Derek. "No. Derek's fine, I didn't hurt him- I meant that he doesn't matter because all you need now is-is me, I brought you here and you're mine, I'm all that matters." He didn't raise his voice at you like you'd expected, he didn't seem very angry, more anxious.

"You do matter Spencer." You reassured him, chewing on your lip and petting Milo. "I just was worried about him, I'm sorry." You looked down at your cat, purring in your lap, you didn't want Spencer to see the tears rolling down your face, but he did anyway.

"I promise Derek's alright. He's worried about you, and he misses you. But you're perfectly fine right?" He sniffed and you nodded as he stood. "Alright angel, come here." He ordered and you listened, immediately going over to him. A small part of you worried he'd hurt you, a large part of you was thrilled when all he did was pull you into his arms. "You don't have to be sorry for how you feel angel, it's okay to worry about the people out there. Do you understand? No apologies." He spoke softly and you nodded. He kissed the top of your head and his lips turned in a smile. "It's getting late darling, let's head to bed.

✽-

You looked at your clock, 4:12AM. The lights were off and you were comfy in your bed with Spencer asleep, arm thrown over your side, Milo sleeping soundly at your feet.

It was so cold, you huffed as you moved closer to Spencer, failing to get any extra warmth. You pushed his arm that was weighing you down and slid out of the bed, intending to get a blanket off of the couch to add to the pile of blankets on the bed. When you walked toward your open bedroom door, you immediately noticed it.

The door to the exit was wide open. You looked back at Spencer and Milo before you sped over to it. There was a wooden staircase that lead up to an open hatch, the star filled night sky behind it.

You looked back to your open bedroom door, you could see the shape of Spencer in your bed, still asleep. Your legs shook as you bounded up the stairs. Collapsing at the very top one, sitting down and heaving breaths of fresh air.

You reached an arm out and touched the damp grass, breathed in the chilly air, stared up at the stars and the moon that you had unknowingly missed so terribly.

It was a moment before it dawned on you that you could leave. You looked around, in the woods somewhere with no idea how to get home. Still it was a chance. You could put Milo in his carrier and leave. Find your way back to home, to Derek and the rest of your family.

You refused to reflect on the way you felt, the way you weighed your options, and the idea of leaving Spencer scared you more than the idea of staying with him.

You wiped the tears from your eyes as you closed the hatch and went back down the stairs. You rubbed at your warm cheeks after you closed to door to the exit. You chewed your lip as you rushed back into the bedroom, immediately climbing back into the bed with Spencer.

You held the blanket in fists as you pressed your back against Spencer’s chest with force, exhaling a sigh of relief when his arm snaked around your waist again.

“You could’ve left.” His voice startled you despite how quietly he whispered. You bit down on your lip and turned to face him, hiding your face against the column of his throat.

“I know.” Your voice shook and he held you close to him. “I didn’t want to… I really liked seeing the stars out there though. And- and the moon.” Spencer could feel your tears wetting his shirt and he kissed the top of your head before twisting so you lay flat on your back and he hovered over you.

“Thank you for staying.” He whispered, eyes glossy. He kissed you, a quick gentle peck before he stared into your eyes. Then his hand was on your throat, kissing you harder and deeper than he had before.

In a matter of seconds you were panting and keening toward him. His thigh slotted between yours and you hadn’t even noticed that you’d been rubbing yourself against his thigh until his hand moved from your throat to your hips, guiding you, swallowing the soft and needy whimpers that left your throat.

Lips fell from yours to your neck. “Thank you so much Angel. So good for me- gonna let me thank you?” His voice had a needy rasp that had you reeling, nodding your head as fast as you could. You felt him smile against the warm skin of your neck. “Words baby, let me hear that pretty voice.” And you gasped as he immediately began to suck on your pulse point.

“Yes, Spencer. Please.” You stumbled over each word that left your mouth, whining for him. He happily obliged, leaving kisses and hickeys down your neck until he got to your collarbone. He shuffled further down, pressing your shirt up to your chin. He groaned and wet his lips with his tongue.

“Pretty angel.” He rasped, hands gripping your sides roughly while he took a nipple in his mouth. He hummed around it and you moaned, you could feel his bulge growing beneath his pants. He left hickeys over your sternum, your stomach. And then he quickly pulled your pants and underwear down and off.

It startled you, but you were too needy to care. He hadn’t asked, but you were sure he’d stop if you asked him to.

His hands were warm on your thighs as he spread them, and you didn’t have time to be nervous or insecure before he was gliding his tongue through your folds and capturing your clit between his lips, moaning around it.

You moaned in return, legs shaking on either side of his head. Everything felt so intense. Because you hadn’t been touched like this in so long, because for such a long time since you got here, you’d only been touched at all by Spencer. You depended on him for intimacy and you yearned for his hands on you.

He moaned against you again and it shot vibrations and hot energy up your stomach and spine. He sucked your clit and shook his head from side to side, you couldn’t control your hips bucking up against Spencer’s mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind it one bit, he yearned for it.

A whine began to leave your kiss swollen lips, breaking half way and turning into a moan when Spencer inserted his index finger into your cunt. He didn’t go slow, but that didn’t matter. You were so wet and desperate, ready for him, that it just slid in with no resistance, your body took him in immediately, clenching desperately around his one finger.

Never would you verbally admit it, pressing back against his mouth and hand, not physically capable of getting any words out, you desperately wanted more. Another finger, for him to go faster. It didn’t seem you had to ask for anything because he already knew what you needed.

In one fluid motion, he added his middle finger alongside his first one, fucking them in and out of you at a faster pace. You were already overloaded on pleasure before he started flicking his tongue fast over your clit, simultaneously crooking his fingers upward and bullying your g-spot.

You were practically screaming. “Please, please, please… god… please-” your begging turned to incoherent rambling and that on its own turned Spencer on beyond belief, hips pressing his cock against the mattress for some relief.

Your whole body felt tense, freezing and hot at the same time. Your legs tried to close, push Spencer out but he held your left thigh down with his palm, keeping you in place. “Come on sweet Angel, you got it, cum for me.” He mumbled against your heat, voice heavy.

That’s all it took before the coil deep inside your stomach snapped and you screamed, hips shaking and legs locking behind Spencer’s head as you came.

All of your muscles seized up and relaxed repeatedly as came, and you hardly had any time to actually come down from your orgasm before Spencer was kissing you and you felt the tip of his cock pressing against your cunt- still raw from your orgasm.

“Spencer- ‘s too sensitive.” You whimpering, raising your head as much as you could to look at where you met below your waists. He was much bigger than you’d expected, intimidatingly so.

He didn’t seem to care how sensitive you were, listening to you let out a moan from both pain and pleasure as he fed inch after inch of himself into you.

“Been waiting for this for so long.” He groaned into your ear after letting his forehead drop to the pillow you rested on. “Thought about this every night for months and months. Needed it before I even met you, Derek showed us a picture of you and I knew. Knew I’d be deep inside you just like this someday.” He rambled, that was all the time he gave you before he thrusted in and out of you at an unexpectedly fast pace.

You were so sensitive, it felt too good, too much, overwhelming. Spencer moaned as your nails dug into his shoulders, it only made him fuck you faster. He kissed away each tear that fell down your flushed cheeks.

He knew he’d finish embarrassingly fast, he’d wanted nothing more than this for so long. He slid a hand down between you both, rubbing fast and tight circles over your pudgy, swollen and tender clit.

You screamed yet again, heels locking behind Spencer’s back unintentionally, pulling him closer to you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, broken whimpers and sentences without words rushing out of your mouth.

Only a few more thrusts from and you were cumming again. Hoarse whines of pleasure echoing off of the walls of your prison. The constant clenching of your walls around him triggered his orgasm. He bit down on the junction between your neck and shoulder to centre himself as his hips jerked and he came deep inside of you, painting your cervix.

For a while you stayed like that, Spencer hovering on top of you, hot breath on your neck, cock softening inside of you. It was relaxing, you needed this peaceful intimacy more than he did and he knew that, more than happy to give you everything you needed right now.

His chin dragged against yours as he lifted his head again. You moved forward and kissed him, the first kiss you’d initiated since he took you. His lips were soft, dented from his teeth, salty from the sweat and tears he kissed off of you.

He kissed you back, humming happily, smiling, which made you smile too. He pulled out, much to your dismay, grinning at the sad sound you made at the loss of his cock inside of you.

The second he was laying on his back you were turning and curling into him, he didn’t mind at all, beyond happy to hold you, coddle you and give you kisses over your damp hairline.

“Do you wanna shower now angel? Or would you rather to shower in the morning?” He asked you, sweet and sultry. You just shook your head, pressing your face against his bare chest.

“Don’t wanna shower yet, just want- I want you.” You sniffled, foggy and clingy, he grinned down at you.

“You’re always going to have me.”

@justanerd1 @the-sun-died-out @eddies-van86 @alfjorcitos @natashaashleymarvelromanoff @tuesday-yellowxx @niyahwhoreworld @wilcherwatchers @aesthetics-villa @no-soy-fer

#petalwrites #his game #spencer reid fanfiction #dark spencer reid #dark!spencer #tw kidnapping #kidnapping #kidnapping fic #smut #angst #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut

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paperbackribs · 8 months

Text

Witch Steve

(working title)

next: Chapter 2: The Aftermath

So 👉👈 You were all so encouraging that I was inspired to write 14 chapters of Witch Steve. This will eventually be going up on Ao3, but while I'm finishing it up and re-editing I'll post the start of it all on Tumblr. Chapter content: steddie to come, platonic stobin, ~2K words.

Edit/Update: This is a 15 chapter fic. Ao3 here.

Chapter 1 The Sacrifice

Robin fiddles with the vodka bottle full of gasoline in her hands, “…in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low.”

She sighs, stuffing one of their rags into the mouth of the clear glass and completing their next Molotov cocktail. Steve watches the resignation on her face and thinks that if anyone deserves to have a moment of love and joy in the face of the world ending, it’s Robin.

It’s all of them, he reflects, looking out onto the grassy clearing.

The forest of trees behind Lucas and Erica reminds him of where they will be taking their battle to shortly. Vecna waiting in the Upside Down like a venomous spider in his web. Manipulating the troubled emotions and frightening visions of his victims, ready to break them in more than one way for his selfish desires.

Exuberant laughter draws his eyes over Nancy tailoring her weapon to Dustin as he dodges Eddie’s outstretched hands. Fondness rises within Steve like the warmth of rising bread. The fading sun frames the two boys as Eddie speaks earnestly into Dustin’s grinning face, the bond between them obvious even from here.

“Maybe it’s not the time for romance,” he admits, pensive as he watches Eddie tackle Dustin to the ground with a cackle. “But isn't love the most important thing when it is the end of the world.”

Robin knocks her knees amicably against his and he knows that this is her way of saying she loves him. He smiles back at her; he loves her too. He says it silently because he does, more than he can say at this moment. The words heavy and stuck at the back of his throat.

He wishes she could have had her moment with Vickie before they face the coming danger. The fragility of their situation leaves him with a disturbing feeling of unease churning in his gut.

It’s the fear of losing Robin that further feeds into Steve’s increasing sense of foreboding, making his teeth clench and nails dig into his palms. He has to Know, Steve decides; he needs to make sure there is hope for a later where love and romance can be indulged.

In the heart of the quiet afternoon, Steve allows the sounds of the boys roughhousing and Erica’s sharp, but not unkind, words to become muffled. While he relaxes his fists and Robin fades from his sight, Steve unfurls his uncanny gift to see into the murky depths of their futures. He hears a soft, haunting melody reaching out to him through the ethereal and a glimmering sheen covers his vision.

Like a weaver of fate, he gently unravels the white threads of destiny that intertwine around the lives of those he cherishes. Even Eddie, new to the party but just as entrenched in their fight, running scared; yet Steve thinks, just as courageously meeting the more experienced members toe to toe.

And it is only Eddie’s fate that gleams a terrible ox-blood red, a twisted tapestry of the future revealing a grim reality. Steve’s unease deepens as he Sees two roads diverging before Eddie, each leading to vastly different destinies.

One road, he is unsurprised to find, is golden bright and brilliant, full of joy, love, and friendship. This Eddie would be the guiding light for those he loves and who will love him just as fiercely as he holds them to his heart.

Steve swallows over the hard knot in his throat at the thought of all the beauty that is stolen if Eddie loses that path: because the other is shrouded in a terrible darkness.

If Eddie chooses this road, a jagged tear will be torn through the tapestry of too many lives. An unravelling thread that leads to the frayed fabric of its survivors in a way that Steve thinks the self-deprecating Eddie would never suspect.

Aside from family, only one other person knows Steve’s truth. Keeps his secret close to her breast, alongside twin confessions on a bathroom floor. Robin haltingly refusing Steve’s advances to favour Tammy Thompson and Steve blurting out that he comes from a long line of Witches. Taught at his nana’s knee and made to understand that this is something just as private to him as Robin understands her sexuality to be to her.

He watches Dustin’s wide smile, still innocent amongst a grim collection of dark moments, and Knows that this will be a turning point for his young friend. One in which Dustin lives a life spirited and mirthful or another irrecoverable scarred and linked to a critical event of grief and regret. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine and he decides he can’t stand idly by, watching as Eddie teeters on the precipice of these two divergent paths.

Drawing from long lessons of heritage and the power he and his kind hold, Steve decides on a potent action that will allow him to weave a new pattern.

---

Scarlet lightning roars in the darkness behind Eddie and Dustin as the boys wait for Steve, Robin and Nancy to depart and attack Vecna. The trailer behind the boys is tightly wrapped in the sinister vines of the Upside Down and the smell of sulphur rains down with the grey ash that coats the world in a bitter blanket. Steve watches the ghostly flakes drift onto the cloud of Eddie’s bound-back hair, and he knows that this is the moment that he readied for.

Steve reaches out to Eddie with his uncanny gift — a glass sphere, like a marble, is cradled innocently at the centre of his hand. It is as big as an apricot pit and strangely swirls with warm browns and flecks of gold, like the gentle play of sunlight flickering through to a forest floor. Steve holds his open palm out to Eddie, his hazel eyes filled with a heartfelt entreaty.

"Eddie," he asks softly, "take the marble and swallow it. Please, trust me."

Even in the short time that Steve has known Eddie, he gets that the other guy isn’t known for his impulse control. Despite this, he’s still somewhat surprised when Eddie, with no hesitation, takes the marble and swallows it down. Doe-eyed pools of warm brown look up at him through dark bangs.

“I do,” Eddie shrugs with a mysterious smile.

“What was that” Dustin shrieks, the faux military tags he had insisted on wearing jingling in agitation.

Robin stays silent behind him; Steve knows she’s holding her questions for later, having cottoned onto that he was up to something mystical when he’d hidden in the RV for a while. Only clasping his arm briefly in support when he had walked past, sweating and still pale.

Nancy though is just as surprised as Dustin and looks on at them suspiciously.

Eddie knocks an arm lightly into Dustin’s side, “I don’t know, but it tastes like hot chocolate. Warm,” he chuckles softly, “even comforting.” He turns questioning eyes back to Steve, “but, yeah, what was that?”

Steve feels how tight his smile is. “A little insurance.”

He talks to both of them, trying to instil them to obey by the force of his words alone. Knows that Dustin can be a stubborn little shit. “Just… if this goes south, I mean, at all. You abort.” But his focus turns, inevitably, to Eddie. “Don’t be a hero, man. Okay?”

A flash of emotion crosses Eddie’s face too quickly for Steve to understand before he slings an arm around Dustin’s skinny shoulders. “Of course, look at us. We are not heroes.” Under his hoodie and headband, Dustin grimaces in agreement.

The deep feeling of foreboding in his gut is untouched by their reassurance, but Steve doesn’t bother to unravel his Sight again. He’s done what he can and now he follows the girls to battle Vecna and maybe free them all from this nightmare once and for damn good.

As they travel through the dark forest, neither girl notices the small glowing pulse that Steve presses to each of them. The marks fade softly before the other can notice it. Transported by a light brush over Nancy’s tight shoulders and a firm squeeze of Robin’s sweaty hand in his.

The attack against Vecna is fierce but the three of them have never struck more certain or true. Steve with his axe, Robin and her cocktails, and Nancy with the shorn-off shotgun. Their attacks land every time and between their physical assault and Max’s diversion, something must go right because the world shudders once, then twice, but stays steady before Vecna screams harshly and his pale, grotesque body falls broken to floor. His web of terror finally shattered.

The rest of the decrepit house, vines and all, quickly catch from the blazing gasoline and the three stumble after each other, racing to the still-rancid outdoor air. But it’s air free of Vecna and that makes it all the sweeter.

With a whoop, Robin jumps into Steve’s waiting arms and breathlessly he swings her in joy. Resting his forehead on hers, he knows she can see every nuance of his relief, sensing him finally releasing the suffocating fear of the Upside Down. “This is it, Robin. I can feel it.” Steve exclaims.

Robin’s blue eyes, which sometimes can be so cynical for a person this young, gleam in belief. Belief in Steve and that he can See the truth of it all. She wraps her hands around his shoulders and is shaking in a combination of comfort and ebbing adrenalin. “Thank god,” she breathes.

“Let’s hope so,” Nancy interrupts. But she’s looking on at them with a small smile.

Steve knows it will take a long time for her to believe that it is true. And she doesn’t have the benefit of Steve’s Knowing as they do. But she’ll get there, he thinks. Much like it will take them all time to heal, they will. And the kids will bounce back, he thinks with faith. They’ve been made to be too resilient for children their age but he’s grateful for it, nonetheless.

It’s at the thought of Dustin that Steve remembers Eddie and those two paths he had seen; he urges the girls on, back to the uncanny version of the trailer park. Impatience sparking through to his fingertips.

They’ve not quite reached it yet when Steve hears the haunting cries of anguish that echo through the empty forest and roads of the Upside Down.

Dustin is hunched over the still-warm but devastatingly motionless body of his beloved Dungeon Master and friend. Bright red blood spills everywhere, coating Dustin's hands and across his face where he has smeared a hand over his cheeks. Eyes filled with tears and pain, Dustin looks up at Steve and cries out that the older boy had tried to save him.

“He said he didn’t run, Steve. But he did. He did. He ran to the demo-bats and they— they—"

Dustin starts hiccupping between tears and short, frantic breaths. He grabs at Eddie’s camouflage jacket, shaking the body as if it will jolt the older boy awake.

“Eddie!” Dustin cries. His voice, often bigger and louder than his short body would seem, breaks through the empty quiet of the Upside Down. No more swarming bats or jagged bolts of red lightning to distract from the palpable sense of grief saturating into their tired bodies. The only cruel answer is the flakes of ash gathering over Eddie’s unresponsive body like this terrible world is already trying to bury him away.

Steve’s heart is breaking, he feels the crack of it cleanly through his chest and in the thickening at the back of his throat and burning behind his eyes. But he is not powerless; this is exactly what he prepared for.

With a firm, yet gentle hand, Steve unlocks Dustin’s stiff fingers and shifts him into Nancy’s waiting embrace. She tries to turn him in her arms, but Dustin refuses to look away.

Nancy must think that Steve is going to quietly close the lids over Eddie’s blank eyes, which should be bright and expressive; eyes that were full of mischief just hours ago. Or that Steve will try to pick up the body and take it back with them, impossible as it seems in the moment, to think of carrying a heavy and limp weight vertically and against gravity where climbing through the Upside Down gates, with only their own bodies to support them, had been hard enough.

He’s not going to do any of those things, Steve thinks fiercely. He won’t need to.

With an unwavering determination, Steve drops to his knees and pushes his left hand down, through and deep into the realm of the mystical, until he finds an answering beat, a corresponding warmth. He pulls, straining with every ounce of physical and spiritual strength he possesses. A pearlescent light suddenly pushes out from Steve's link to Eddie, it pours unendingly into the dark landscape before pulsing sharply. The ethereal cuts precisely through the unclean atmosphere before rapidly shrinking back into the connection between the two boys.

Steve's own spirit is being drained, a live wire shooting up his arm and threading through every vein of his body in a white, blinding heat. But Steve knows that it is in this critical moment where he could lose his own body and soul, where the world hangs in the balance between life and death, that something miraculous can happen.

And it does.

Eddie draws a shuddering breath and his eyelids flutter open. His chest starts to rise even as his gaze looks unsteadily out into the living world once more.

“Steve?” he whispers hoarsely.

“I’ve got you, Eddie,” Steve murmurs, checking that the wounds are healing under the slick blood. His left arm is numb, but he uses the shaking right to examine Eddie’s torso where jagged gashes are rapidly closing over.

“It’s all right, we’ll get you help, you’re gonna be okay."

“No, Steve, your eyes…” Eddie lifts a shaking finger to touch Steve’s face, leaving a red fingerprint behind to mark Steve with the very essence of his mortal life.

Steve knows what he must see since this has worked. Because reality is not the same as when Eddie had closed his eyes for seemingly the last time. As Eddie returned from the brink of death, Steve now sees the world through one rich hazel eye, while the other will remain forever white and sightless, an eerie testament to the price paid to mend the shattered threads of destiny.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

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#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #paperbackribs writing

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asterdisaster06 · 9 months

Text

i love you ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?

ghost x reader [exes], slight soap x reader [mostly platonic], platonic 141 x reader

Pt 1. Pt 2. 3.

summary > Soap interactions with you, bringing you food after you skip dinner in favor of taking a nap, Price wants to see you - see pt 1 for overall fic summary

word count > 1.6k

warnings > should be none

a/n > future chapters should be longer, this just felt like a nice cutoff and I'm just starting to get the hang of fanfic writing. gotta love our boy Soap though. it might be a while for the next chapter though since i'm working on other works too

ao3

“Goddamn, who let a little birdie in here?” He laughs.

Soap. You had heard quite a bit about this particular Scotsman from your ex lover. You had an inkling that you two would’ve gotten along, even bringing it up to Simon once or twice about meeting him. He denied your request, sighing goodnaturedly about how you two apart are already the death of him - let alone together. You claimed that this was all the more reason to meet him, or at the very least, let him know of your existence. Simon had always paused around this point and you had never pushed it, and now you’re kind of glad. The last thing you needed was another person that was no longer a stranger around this base. You were supposed to be having a new start, and that would be very difficult if MacTavish knew of your existence beforehand.

However, you hadn’t expected to run into one of Simon’s teammates so soon into your arrival on base. The world seemed to have different plans though.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to get to my room?” You ask politely, pulling out your information to show him.

“Aye, I do happen to know the way, follow me, Lass.”

You were honestly counting on him not knowing, but you’re realizing now that he’s the kind of person that would figure it out whether he knew initially or not. It seems like you’re stuck in the company of this man and his mohawk for a little while longer. It’s not like you particularly disliked him, in fact it was quite the opposite. It’s just the memories of your past are being dredged up by him, and his association with Simon wasn’t helping.

“So, what’s up with the mask,” He asks, drawing out the ‘a’ in the last word, coming off as teasing you.

You were attempting to come up with a half truth, because you truly hadn’t worn this mask minus on missions at your old base. It was simply this place that brought out that side of you. Or maybe it was a person rather than a place.

“I just find it comforting, y’know?” You decide on, finally. It wasn’t a lie, the mask truly did offer you comfort around here. It just probably isn’t for a reason that Soap would detect.

“I think you’d get along well with one of my masked comrades, maybe bond about hiding identities or somethin’” Soap chuckles.

You offer a slight smile in return, the anxiety that had recently left coming back in full force. You knew exactly who he was talking about, and you vehemently disagreed with what Soap had to say.

“You should join us for dinner after you get settled in, I could be your little tour guide,” Soap says, winking at you.

“I’ll have to think about it, stranger,” You offer back, smiling.

“Oh yeah! The name’s Soap. Soap MacTavish,” He laughs.

“You can call me Angel,” You say, blushing as you realize the implications.

He sends you a curious look with an eyebrow raise. “Oh? Let me at least take you out to dinner first, Bonnie.”

“Very funny, it’s my callsign. Like I assume yours is, unless your parents really hated you,” You joke, almost enjoying this banter with Soap.

“Oi, we don’t judge around here,” He laughs, referring to your silly callsigns.

“I suppose I’ll see you around, Soap?” You ask, ready to settle down in your own space. With your own silence to accompany you.

“Is that a yes to dinner?” He jokes, aware of the double meaning of his sentence.

“Oh knock it off, I’ll have to think about it,” You smile, wondering if this is how it could’ve been in another life. A life where you had actually gotten to meet Soap under different circumstances. You unlock your door, entering and turning back to see Soap still there.

“Don’t think too hard! I wouldn’t want you to worry that pretty little head of yours too much, Bonnie,” He teases, already deciding on a nickname for you it seems.

“We hardly know each other, and you have no clue what I look like,” You laugh, pushing him out of your doorframe, amused at his antics nonetheless.

“Oh, I’m sure you look slightly better than a troll under the bridge at least,” He says with a toothy grin. “You’re not ugly, are you?” He asks ironically.

“Quite the opposite,” You offer up with a crooked smile.

“That’s what I thought,” He says with a smile that rivals the Cheshire cat. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”

“You’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll be fine alone,” You say, tiredly. It’s not like you wanted to cut your friendly banter with Soap short. On the other hand, you didn’t exactly feel like socializing. Not after your tiring day already.

“Alright, alright rookie. But I am bringing something around later to make sure you eat. If it wasn’t me it would be Price, so don’t think it’s any trouble,” He says, predicting your words before you could even voice them.

“Who are you calling a rookie, Sergeant?” You chirp out.

“Are you not one? Price just mentioned that we would be getting someone new, or maybe I was zoning out when he mentioned your details. Actually no, I definitely was. I think I was throwing crumpled up paper at Gaz - you’ll meet him later,” Soap explains, smiling at the end.

Gaz. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. Simon had spoken less of him specifically but whatever he did have to say, it was only full of praise. That or another story of his unfortunate luck lending him time hanging from a rope out of a helicopter. That story had always made you laugh.

“I’m technically a Lieutenant,” You manage to say between laughter.

“Jesus Christ, another one? I wouldn’t have coined you for one,” Soap exclaimed.

“And why’s that?” You ask, curious but already knowing the answer. People have always underestimated you based on looks and size. Starting from your first days at the academy to when you first got your callsign to even after you were nicknamed the ‘Angel of Death.’ Other soldiers had only reinforced Simon’s words that you weren’t worthy of your position, let alone the opportunity to even try.

“Just the way our Lieutenant, or I guess I should start referring to him as ‘First Lieutenant’ now, responded to the details that I didn’t hear. He almost seemed to be. . . worried about having someone else to worry about. Looking at you now though, I can tell we’re going to have nothing to worry about,” He ends with a smile.

Huh, that was new. You didn’t expect that from Soap, but you suppose he’s just full of surprises. Fitting for the demolitionist that has a knack for gunpowder filled surprises. Nonetheless, you had luggage to unpack and sleep to catch up on. You eventually get Soap to leave you alone to your devices, putting on your playlist and unpacking about half of your shit before getting too tired to continue. Laying back on your freshly made bed, your eyes flutter closed and you fall into unconsciousness.

A knock at your door wakes you and you shake off your sleepiness - rubbing your eyes and stretching as you do. The blurriness of both your vision and mind makes you almost forget where you are. Only for a second though.

“Open up, Angel!” Soap yells through the door.

He really had no capabilities of being subtle, did he. You stumble a bit getting out of bed but find your footing and make your way to the wooden door, turning the knob and opening it. The brightness of the hallway makes you flinch slightly before your eyes adjust to the lighting.

“What do you want?” You ask the man who’s simply standing and staring at you.

“You- you don’t have your mask on-” He stammers, seemingly caught between staring and shielding his face out of politeness.

“I mean, I don’t sleep with it on, and you did kind of wake me up, MacTavish,” You sigh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Oh right! Here’s your food,” Soap smiles sheepishly, taking the tupperware out from behind his back. It has a silly little doodle of himself in cartoon form saying “Food for Angel, No touchy” which you found amusing enough to smile at.

“Thank you Soap, genuinely,” You offer up, taking his gift of food from his hands.

He smiles back at you, sending you a mock salute before heading off to presumably his room. Before he gets to the end of the hallway he suddenly stops and turns, yelling back at you that Price wants to see you in his office after you finish eating. He really waited until the last minute for that one, didn’t he? Despite the slight annoyance you held, it was overshadowed by the simple amusement you had watching the man. He might not have known you knew of his famous shenanigans before you even set eyes on him, but you would get there. You take a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of what the mess hall had to offer for today. It exceeded your expectations, but that could just be the fact that your old base had shit food.

You truly wondered what Price had to say to you, deciding that he was calling you down to fire you for the disrespect you had shown him and your apparent partner by leaving so suddenly. Obviously, it was not going to be that dramatic, but you still worried a tad bit. You were aware that you would likely be working alongside Simon, and some small masochistic part of you accepted this job despite it. Maybe in spite of it. You wanted to prove yourself to him, though you’re now realizing that he’ll eventually need to know your identity. Something you aren’t keen on sharing.

That part of you had been shed long ago, and now your new feathers have grown in.

149 notes · View notes

thecreelhouse · 4 months

Text

part time soulmate, full time problem

Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns) || MDNI!

Summary: While you and Gator brace yourselves for your inevitable departure in two days, feelings threaten to break the surface for both of you. Amidst that, your families come home unexpectedly, and the past comes back to throw one last punch your way.

Word count: 6.3k

CW/Tags: PTSD, domestic/familial abuse (physical and emotional), violence and descriptions of violence, brief weight mention/fatphobia, gun mention, misogyny, alcoholism, death mention, dissociation, no smut this chapter (sry y’all!!), hurt/comfort, fluff

Series Masterlist // Read on AO3

A/N: I realized when I finished writing this chapter I can’t remember if it was mentioned in the show if Gator lived on his own or not, so if it’s not canon, whoops lol. Please take all of the tags into consideration before reading. If any of this is upsetting to you and you need to skip this one, I completely understand. Take care of yourselves first babes!! Next chapter will be back to the filth lol promise, and it only goes up from here. Thank you again for all the support on this series on here and AO3 🫶🏻

Day 8

It takes five whole days for the snowstorm to end. With your face pressed up against the window, you can’t believe your eyes, fogging up the glass with your breath.

“Am I dreaming? Do you see this?” Your fingers are splayed on the frigid cold glass, tingling over the temperature contrast.

Gator tiredly shuffles up behind you, “No, ‘cause your big head’s in the way, freak.” His arms slide around your hips while he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Why is your chin so boney? Quit stabbin’ my head with it, jerk.” You reach back to his face, shoving your now freezing hands on his cheeks; Gator yelps at the sharp cold touch.

“Get your corpse hands offa’ me,” He grumbles, large hands grabbing yours and pinning them to your sides. “Can ya’ at least let me wake up fully before you start misbehavin’?”

“The sun’s out!” You’re ignoring his grumpiness, thrilled the snow is finally done burying the two of you alive in this house. There’s also a weird, subtle pang in your heart that being snowed in together is coming to an end. You kind of liked being in your own little corner of the world with Gator, even if you almost killed each other at first, while visiting home, also your least favorite place in the world.

“I gotta call someone to clear the driveway.” He draws off his vape, blowing it over your head. A fluffy, thick cloud hits the window, blocking your view. “No way in hell either of us are shoveling any of that by hand.” You want to tease him for having his vape on hand shortly after getting up, but you realize it’s not a good time for teasing. Gator’s mind is elsewhere as he lets go of you; you catch on to his moodiness, realizing it’s more than just trying to wake up.

Spinning around to face him, you let your backside rest against the window sill.

“Hey, you doin’ alright?” You glance up to see him fixated on something, or maybe nothing, outside, brows drawing together while he’s lost in thought. “Gator?”

He can’t bring his eyes to meet yours, void of any expression. Leaning forward, your hand slips into his, softly lacing your fingers between his, while your thumb strokes along his hand.

“You have to go back soon, don’t you?”

You’ve been desperately trying to avoid this conversation, but you can’t push it off any longer. It’s not fair to Gator. It’s not fair to you.

“T- two days… I was kinda wishin’ the flight would be canceled because of the storm… but that’s— that’s just my luck, I guess,” You stutter, quickly following with forced optimism. “But we have two whole days together! It’s better than nothing.”

“Was kinda wishin’ for that too, darlin’.” Gator murmurs, finally peering down at you. There’s a rare, vulnerable sadness in his eyes, and that sadness is infectious as hell; you don’t even fight the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Jesus, this was easier to think about when we hated each other a week ago.” You’re cracking a joke to lighten the mood, but neither of you crack a smile or even force a laugh at the comment.

Gator steps closer, releasing your hand to cradle your face in his hands; the motion forces you to really look him in the eye, but he’s blurry through your tears. He lightly kisses your forehead and doesn’t pull back. Your arms enclose around him with little grace, hoping if you hold on tight enough, neither of you have to leave this week, or even this moment, behind.

“If I’m bein’ honest…” His voice crumbles, throat drying up as he holds back his own tears. “…we never hated each other, did we?”

You shake your head before hiding your face in his shoulder, “Never did. Not really. I was just angry.”

“Yeah, but you had every right to be. You still do.” Gator’s well aware that the wound hasn’t fully healed, and this past week was only a heavy duty bandaid slapped on top. He’d understand if you never fully forgave him, or never fully trusted him again.

“You’re not as awful as you think you are, Gator. You… you were pretty rotten… but you’re not that person anymore.”

“I’m tryin’ not to be. Still got a long way to go.”

“That’s all you can and should do. Just shows you want to be a better version of yourself. You deserve another chance, you deserve to be l—“

You bite your tongue before the big, scary ‘L’ word can sneak out, and redirect.

“I think trying is brave. Admitting your past self wasn’t who you should’ve been, making efforts to change that, even small changes, it’s big. It’s really fucking big. It’s scary, but I believe in you. You never completely lost your true self, it was buried by all the shit you’ve been through.”

While appreciative of your encouragement, he shakes his head, “That’s not an excuse, though.”

“You’re right. But it explains it. I think it’s still important to acknowledge it. Nothing changes until you acknowledge the truth of things.”

“Fuckin-a…” Gator’s at a loss for words. He knows you’ve been through a lot of shit too. The both of you have, with a lot of parallels in the suffering you had both endured. Yet you turned your pain into something more for yourself, and Gator just… pushed his pain aside. Ignored it, as if it’d disappear on its own someday.

You knew he never had a choice, though. Not under this roof. Not with that fuckin’ terrible excuse of a father. Even when he became old enough to know better, it couldn’t have been easy to watch everyone and everything change for the better while stuck in this godforsaken, hollow place. He gets why you moved. There was no hope here. Not really for anyone.

It wasn’t that you thought every person had to have a big, adventurous move halfway across the country to grow as a human being, but there’s truths everyone has to face at some point, or you drag them behind you like a ball and chain until your leg snaps.

None of the abuse Gator survived was an excuse for who he was shaped into, but nothing can change without addressing the root cause head-on.

“I hate this place. I hate what it’s done to us both. I hate the bitterness we were both raised under, the fucked up values and beliefs… and speaking of, how the hell did our parents allow us to have sleepovers as kids?” You can’t help getting sidetracked, and it pulls a soft chuckle from Gator.

“You really are still a pro at distracting yourself.”

“Listen, my brain likes to try to jump ten steps ahead of my mouth, but then it just kinda trips and tumbles and—“

Like a familiar routine at this point, Gator cuts you off with a kiss, sickeningly sweet with whatever artificial fruity flavor he just inhaled, just as clumsy and heartfelt as all the others before. Usually, by now, you’d smile with his lips on yours, but all you can think of is how much you’re gonna miss the familiarity of his quirks that you’ve grown to love so quickly.

Fuck. There’s that word again.

Gator pulls back to answer your question, “There’s a reason we stopped havin’ sleepovers as kids, y’know.”

“What? Why?” You tilt your head in confusion. Gator laughs and looks away.

“Pretty sure your ma’ called my mom when ya’ started your period.” He snorts, face turning red. Your jaw drops.

“No way?! That was the reason?”

His eyes squint shut as he laughs harder, nodding as his head leans forward to rest against yours. “They thought we’d try to fuck around I guess, worried we’d be ‘tempted by the devil’ or whatever.” He’s laughing in between his words as he reminisces about the ridiculous logic, if it could even be called that. “I overheard the conversation and kinda connected the dots.”

“Oh my god, I was thirteen! I was still playing with dolls! I didn’t even know why periods were a thing. I still thought babies came from the stork!” You’re almost bothered finding this out so much later in life, but Gator’s laughter is always contagious to you; you let the annoyance go, noting how it’s only further proof the two of you had parents that believed in the most outlandish nonsense.

“Wait, you still believed the stork was a thing at thirteen?”

“….. Maybe.”

“Now look at ya’, you’re the one corrupting me.”

“Hey, it takes two to tango, freak.” You taunt back, grabbing the vape from his hands. “Haven’t seen this in a lil’ while, I’m surprised.”

“My mouth’s been busy with… other things lately.” He smirks as you roll your eyes, shoving the vape in his hands. He also pays no mind to the way you use his insult- now a weirdly endearing term- back at him. Again he inhales the nauseating sugary flavor, blowing it in your face like a dick. “Well, they didn’t do a very good job at keepin’ us pure, huh?”

You go to grab the vape back, but he simply holds it high above your head. “I’m gonna take that damn thing and throw it into the fuckin’ snow.”

“Yeah, alright, if you can even reach it from down there.” He’s twirling it between his fingers, waggling his brows at you. “You need a step stool?”

“I ain’t even that short, asshole.” You grumble, relaxing back against the window sill, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just shorter than you, and it’s only a few inches.

“Says every short person ever.” His playful comment is met with you flipping him off before moving on.

“Y’know, I can’t even be surprised about this whole thing about the sleepovers. Ma’ wouldn’t buy me tampons, only pads. She thought even that was too sinful.” You’re sputtering out the words with giggles, realizing how bonkers this all sounds out loud.

“We really had fucked up families.” He jokes, grimacing. “But I’m glad they made us hang out all the fuckin’ time.”

“We still have fucked up families.” You quip, but you watch Gator’s smile fade quickly. The laughter dissolves with it. You know exactly what’s on his mind, so you’re concerned, but cautious to ask, “You still miss her?”

You knew only that his mother, Linda, “disappeared”, leaving him behind as a kid. You were only aware of the small details of hell Roy put Nadine through, and how badly that fucked up Gator even more. And you’d have to be blind as a bat to not notice the way he’s numb to Karen’s existence in the family.

He forces a sigh out, shrugging it off. “It’s— it’s still hard to talk ‘bout.” He’s contemplating if he should talk about any of it, and if he did, where the hell he would even begin.

“Hey, it’s okay. No pressure. If you ever do wanna talk about any of that… or anything… you know I’m here for you.” Your arms envelope around him, giving a reassuring hug. “If, and when, you’re ready, I’m here. Always.”

Gator hugs back, tighter than your grip; it’s his response to your kind words, and you don’t push for anything further, and he’s grateful for that. Hand in hand, his calloused, slightly wind-bitten skin is another comforting familiarity to you as he pulls you towards the door.

“C’mon, freak, let’s find someone with a stupid fuckin’ snow plow and make breakfast before ya’ corrupt me further.” He looks back at you, with that signature, smug smirk you’ve grown to love.

There’s no denying it anymore. It’s love.

And you’re terrified.

———

The sunshine reflects off the snow, creating that whimsical, sparkly look over its smoothed over surface. But god damn, is it blinding.

Insisting you needed to learn about gun safety before ever even touching a gun, Gator drags you out into the frigid outdoors to try some target practice out in a field.

You’re bundled in multiple layers; leggings under your jeans, three pairs of socks in your boots, a cozy and worn hat you crocheted years ago with a matching scarf and mittens, and a combo of your leather jacket, Gator’s sweatshirt, and multiple shirts underneath. You’re still freezing, though, so you keep your hands pulled through the sleeves, holding them close to your body to keep them warm.

Gator’s in his bomber jacket, and usual, minimal layers— maybe just minimal to you, but you’re cold just looking at him— smirking at your get up. He’s wearing the neck warmer that you made him, though, blooming a certain kind of warmth and joy in your heart that he actually likes it.

Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of warmth that’ll actually keep you from freezing out here.

You glare behind your heart shaped sunglasses, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, shove it up your ass, Tillman.”

“You look like the kid from ‘A Christmas Story’, y’know, the one that can’t put his arms down—“

“Yeah, yeah, look who’s talkin’, Mr. ‘I wear 90s sport sunglasses only dads wear’.”

He whips them off his face, pointing to you with them. “Hey, watch it.”

“What? Ya’ gonna spank me for teasing you? Good luck through these layers.” You laugh, and Gator rolls his eyes in return, ignoring your comment before trudging on through the snow.

The snow barely melted, but the harsh winds smoothed it out to subtle, fluffy hills, only to feel crunchy when you step on them, boots falling through to the colder layers underneath. Somehow it makes the ranch look even more barren than usual. It’s like riding a bicycle, though, you never forget—

Except, you did. You forgot how to maneuver through any amount of snow larger than a foot, and you’re grumbling under your breath with annoyance that Gator dragged you out here, trying to lift your legs through the snow to walk properly.

You also forgot how to ride a bicycle, but that’s not important right now.

“Gator, I don’t wanna keep goin’, it’s cold.”

“It’s winter.”

“Really? I thought it was summer. I was actually hopin’ to go swimmin’.”

Gator sighs over your lazy sarcasm, continuing on with a few more crunchy steps, until he hears a faint, fluffy ‘thud’ behind him. Sucking in a breath to try and stop an inevitable snicker, he spins around to find you feet away, flopped over in a mound of snow, and— just your luck— face down. You roll over, pouting as snow speckled all over your face as it slowly melts against the heat of your body.

With frustration, you groan loudly, laying in the snow like a rag doll that’s given up. Backtracking, Gator looks down at you, smug as he mocks your pout with an over exaggerated one.

“You know what this is, right?” He’s referring to the air mattress incident.

Eyes narrowing at him, you grumble, “You and your karma can kiss my ass.” You flip him off with a bright red, painfully cold middle finger.

“Yeah? That a promise?”

“Gator.”

“Fine, c’mere,” He relents, standing over you and offers his hands out to you, waiting to pull you up. You reach back, but as his hands lock around yours, you use all your strength to pull him down into the snow with you. The loose, dusty snow puffs up and around him like confetti on impact. Landing face first, just as you did, he rolls over with a grunt, glaring at you. “You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

Grinning, you quip back, “Like you aren’t one in mine?” Gator opens his mouth to respond, probably with some snarky comment, but it dies on his lips when he gets a better glimpse of you.

Gator can’t resist admiring how pretty you look, even if you’re bundled up like a comical marshmallow, face wet and cold from the snow. The way the early setting sun reflects off the snow, into your eyes, illuminating the color of them. How the tip of your nose is flushed from the cold, cheeks in the same shade to match; it still looks cute on you. You’re panting, trying to catch your breath in the thin, winter air, but you’re still grinning like a dork at him, and he catches his own like a bad cold, hitting hard and all at once.

Your eyes are glued to his face, admiring the way his cheeks are tinted in the most subtle shade of red, thanks to the winter wind. How soft his smile is when he’s not being a smug little bastard, with lips chapped— I’m getting him some goddamn chapstick— and the bonus of the wound on his bottom lip from yesterday. All the little freckles and moles scattered across his skin, almost like little constellations you’re tempted to trace out. How the sun reflecting off the snow illuminates his eyes, too, adding an extra glow to his already warm eyes, brown and soft with flecks of hazel in them.

There’s no questioning it. No denial. You’re in love with Gator, the once gangly, awkward little kid you grew up with, now handsome and strong; a bit rugged around the edges while still secretly carrying a soft, heavy heart, filled with more kindness than he likes to believe. It terrifies you, to be in love with anyone, let alone your childhood best friend who ended up your enemy for years; when you came home, this was never even a thought that crossed your mind.

You didn’t even realize you still felt deeply for him, not even when you were crocheting a gift for him, not even when you were plucking glass and ceramic shards from his knees, and certainly not even when he took care of you after fucking around for the first time.

Maybe there was nothing to realize when it was there all along.

He’s a little winded from being pulled down by surprised, breathy as he begins to speak. “Hey, can I tell ya’ somethin’?”

Golden hour is taking over, blanketing the expanse of the property and beyond the horizon with hues of oranges and gold, purples and pinks; the two of you are painted in the stunning natural light, and you hope to God this is a good question, or the timing of whatever he’s about to ask could be absolute shit.

You nod, curious and a little nervous. “Yeah, f’course.”

Gator chuckles nervously before taking a deep breath, “I… I think I—“

An engine roars across the field near the house, interrupting Gator; wheels crunching along the snow packed down on the driveway from the plow that came through earlier. The two of you sit up quickly to see your father’s truck pulling up to the house, and your heart sinks. You immediately become nauseated and anxious at the sight; Gator can tell you’re frightened, slipping his cold hand into your soft, mitten-bundled one.

“I- I didn’t know they were gon’ be back tonight.” He can feel you trembling as you say that, voice shaking along too; you feel small, so wrapped up in the comfort and security you and Gator had created over the past week, only for that to be erased by the unexpected arrival of your families. Your mind races, scrambling to put together any vigilance and defense for whatever bullshit is about to come, for either of you.

It was tolerable to handle your parents when you first arrived in North Dakota, because you could prepare and brace yourself for their abuse. Right now though, where you should find peace in your vulnerability with Gator, you feel like you’re drowning in it, trying to claw your way through choppy waters that only slip between your fingers.

“M’not leavin’ your side, darlin’.” Gator reassures you, voice quiet, as if they can hear the two of you from this far away. Meanwhile, not a single one of them looks over in your direction, entering the house without a look back. “We can go back to my place tonight, if you’re alright with that.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. We can pack quick and get the fuck outta here. And I’ll take you to the airport when you gotta go in a few days.”

“Gator, that’s so outta the way for you—“

“M’not leaving you with your dad, I don’t trust that fu—“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so rude, he’s still your family.”

“Nah. He’s not. He’s never been, never will be. Bound by blood don’t mean shit.” You can feel your fear shifting into rage; taking deep breaths, you try to calm yourself, knowing you can’t waltz back in there hostile or bitter.

Gator stands and pulls you up, hand still secure in yours. He waits for you to take the first steps, not wanting to rush you into what could be a toxic situation.

When the pair of you reach the front porch, Gator asks, “Would ya’ feel better in the car? I can grab your stuff before we leave. I don’t mind.”

You shake your head, steeling yourself for whatever could, and would, happen beyond that door, before heading inside.

The warmth of the house isn’t enough to shake the cold from your bones. Your fathers are both at the kitchen table, glasses with dark liquor in both of their hands, while your mother’s already stuck at the stove; you can hear the faint sounds of Karen talking to the twins upstairs.

Your father looks up as he sees you walk in, Gator trailing behind. A sneering look upon his alcohol worn face.

“Whoa! Looks like someone gained some holiday weight since we left,” Your father slurs, laughing when his comment twists your face into offense.

Fucking moron, I’m under like, 60 layers of clothes.

“We were outside, I had layers on, y’know, ‘cause it’s winter.”

“Watch your tone, girl.” The last word radiates with disgust towards you.

Roy’s watching all of this, silently, letting your father spit hatred right off the bat. He sips his drink, shooting a glare at Gator, who has a hand pressed against the small of your back, reassures you he’s here. You can barely feel it through the inches of fabric, but the sentiment is all the same.

“Yer’ makin’ your poor mother slave over a hot stove ‘cause you couldn’t be bothered to have dinner ready for us.” He spits. You tense up, trying to hold your anger in.

“How was I supposed to know when you’d be home, you never said shit. You don’t have to force Ma to do anything. I ain’t obligated to do anything I don’t wanna, either.” Your voice threatens to break, but you hold yourself together. Your mother still won’t look at you. Won’t even address you’re in the room. “You could learn how to do somethin’ y’self for once.”

Your father shoves himself out of his chair, striding over to you; Gator can feel you try to make yourself small and hide. “Where the fuck are your manners, woman?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “Six feet under with your dead daughter, asshole.”

“Don’t you dare talk ‘bout Willow like that—“

“Like what, Pa?” It’s taking a toll on you mentally and physically already, to balance between standing your ground, calming yourself, and hiding your fear. Your fingers clench into fists at your sides. “Don’t try actin’ like you care now.”

“It’s yer fault she died, makin’ her drive in the snow like that—“

Gator attempts to step in, still feigning respect to keep whatever little peace was left. “Sir, you can’t be twistin’ the truth like that. A drunk driver took her life—“

“Gator, stay out of it.” Roy warns, and immediately Gator shuts himself up out of fear of retaliation.

“It’s true, y’know. She was the safest driver I knew in this town, even in the snow.” You back Gator up. “It wasn’t her fault. How dare you blame her when she can’t even defend herself.”

Because she’s gone. Forever.

“She shouldn’t have been drivin’ so young, but you talked her into that one.” Your father sneers; he’s not speaking out of anger that she’s gone, he’s fueled by the insistent need to always be right, to always keep control.

“Willow had to learn ‘cause home wasn’t safe for her! She needed a way out. You made her life a livin’ hell in every way possible! I had to learn how to mend my own wounds while I was under your roof, and I took care of hers, ‘cause we couldn’t go to the hospital. I kept Lo’ alive a lot longer than either of you would ever! You and Ma both were supposed to protect her, supposed t’love her!”

Cruelly, he barks out a laugh, “Not like you did much—“

“You fuckin’ listen to me right fuckin’ now, you sick fuck,” You’re much shorter than your father, but the rage makes you feel bigger than he ever could be. You’re pointing a firm finger into his chest, only making him stumble back a bit because he’s already drunk. “I did everythin’ I could for that sweet girl, I taught her how to drive, I helped her with homework nearly every night, I gave her a safe place to rest her head once I moved out of your fucked up house. She had hope with me by her side. She had a future set that you woulda’ never cared to give her. She worked so. Fucking. Hard. Some drunk fuck took that away, not me. Not the snow. A drunk driver that didn’t give a flyin’ fuck about anyone but himself—

“Which, by the way,” You turn to Roy, eyes glassy as you try holding back tears; Gator reaches out protectively to hold you back, but you still glare at Roy. “The driver only got a slap on the wrist ‘cause it was one of your buddies, huh? Did ya’ tell my parents that one? You useless piece of—“

A sharp sting tingles across your face, with numbness and a deafening ringing in your ears to follow; your father uses his wedding ring as a weapon of discipline as he backhands you across the face. Pain sets in, and you can feel yourself dissociate as your vision doubles; reaching up to your face, you pull your hand back and find blood dripping down your fingers. You can’t hear the way your mother gasps, or the way your father tells her to know her place.

You also don’t realize Gator let go of you to lunge at your father, slamming him against the wall with force that knocks the wind out of his lungs. The arm pinning him across his neck doesn’t help much with his shallow breathing, either.

“Gator—“

“Roy, shut the fuck up, for once in your fuckin’ life.” Gator spits before turning back to your father, pressure increasing on his throat as he lays his arm into him with almost all he’s got, without killing him, of course.

Everything is blurry to you, everything sounds like it’s underwater and miles away as you stumble back into a wall, leaning into it for support. The edges of your vision begin closing in, turning black. Your heart beats wildly, and your body is begging to hyperventilate.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

“Touch her again, and I’ll make sure ya’ rot in a lonely, filthy cell ‘till the end of your days, you sick fuck.” Gator spits into your father’s face, which is slowly turning blue as his windpipe is being nearly crushed. Roy reaches for Gator roughly, but Gator throws an elbow back, perfectly aimed at his throat. His father coughs wildly, collapsing to the ground while he holds his throat, glaring at his son in disbelief.

You’ve never seen Gator so livid before; it’s the first thing you can see clearly as the blurriness dissolves from your vision, taking the ear-piercing ringing along with it. His jaw looks like it’ll break any second with how hard he’s gritting his teeth together, with nostrils flared and a threatening glare towards your father.

You don’t hear Karen come downstairs, but you can slightly hear her yell, “What is goin’ on in here?!”

Gator turns to her, still holding nearly all of his body weight to keep your father from moving; this is when his eyes soften, oddly enough. “Karen, you needa’ take your girls and leave, unless ya’ wanna die here stayin’ with this fuckin’ pig.” He glares at Roy, still gasping for air on the kitchen floor.

She’s speechless, eyes darting all around, from Gator, to Roy, to your father, then your mother, and you, holding your face to stop the bleeding. She can’t tear her eyes away from you, knowing by experience how badly hurt you are. Unexpectedly, she’s reaching out to guide you out of the room, murmuring, “C’mon, gotta clean that up ‘fore it gets infected.”

It’s incredibly surreal that Karen steps up with motherly care in an instant, where your own mother couldn’t, and wouldn’t dare. She doesn’t say much to you, letting you zone out in the bathroom while you’re on the toilet seat, trying not to lose consciousness as she tends to the gash on your face.

“It ain’t worth it, y’know. Gator’s right. Y’all gotta go somewhere safe.” You mumble, startling her a bit after going so long keeping silent. She’s trying to focus on cleaning the blood off, but you can tell her mind is elsewhere, too. “One time’s too many, y’know. Bein’ hit and stuff.” She doesn’t say it, but you know she knows already. “You and your kids deserve better than this.”

Before she can respond, Gator’s in the doorway, pushing a wad of cash at Karen, from god knows where. You’re secretly hoping he stole it from his dad, an extra blow to his ego. “Even if it’s just a motel or somethin’, y’all gotta get out and find somewhere safe.”

She looks at it hesitantly, then back at Gator, “Why are you doin’ this?”

Gator hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, shoving it in her hands, “‘Cause you don’t gotta end up like my mom, too.” He looks over at you, “Darlin’, we gotta go. I got no clue how long they’re down for, but it bought us some time.” He comes in after Karen quickly bandages the now clean laceration, helping you up to head out of the room. Before leaving, he turns back to Karen, “I suggest y’all leave soon as y’can, too.”

Guiding you to the stairs, Karen catches his attention one more time. “Gator?” He throws a glance over his shoulder at her. “You better keep her safe.”

He nods, shifting your arm around his shoulder, and winding his arm around you, under your arms to hold you up, using him as support. You’re in a daze, hearing everything, but feeling so distant.

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s not just politely answering, he’s firmly promising.

As the two of you head for the door, you pass your mother, weeping on the couch, unable to look at you. You know it’s useless, but you have to try. You’d regret it if you didn’t. You stop in your tracks, stopping Gator alongside you. He notices you can’t look away from your mother and the state she’s in, and helps you over to her. Gator stands close, making sure nothing else happens to you, while you sit next to her.

“Ma?” You reach out to grab her hand, with a crumpled up wad of tissues in her grip. She can’t look at you. She won’t. “You don’t gotta live like this anymore.”

Her sniffling and weeping continues. You can feel the shards of your heart that you’ve taped and glued back together, time and time again, splinter apart once more.

“Mama, you don’t have to stay with him. I can help you find somewhere to go— you can even come with me. You can be safe.” You’re pleading with her; there’s a lot you resent her for, but she still never deserved the abuse and turmoil your father dragged her through. “You deserve better. Always have, Mama. Please.”

When she finally speaks, she still can’t look you in the eye. “It’ll get better when you leave.” It’s said so simply, but it just crushes whatever splinters are left of your broken heart. “He never wanted daughters from the start.”

You hold in your tears; you never saw crying as a sign of being weak, but your mother doesn’t deserve your vulnerability at this point. She didn’t deserve you, or Willow. Neither of them did. You both should’ve been raised in a family with unconditional love.

Looking at Gator, you hold your arm out, and he helps you back on your feet. You glance at your mother one last time, who still won’t look at you. “Yeah, well… we never wanted the parents we got… So I guess we’re even.”

Goodbye, Ma.

As you and Gator head for the door, you hear her try to muffle her sobs with more tissues. You take one last glance into the kitchen, Roy and your father both unconscious on the floor. Roy’s throat is already bruising, and your father’s face is unrecognizable, pummeled to a bloody pulp. Gator tries shielding you away, but you already see the damage. He’s alive, and the bleeding slowed, but he’s out cold, probably for a while, too.

“M’sorry you saw that.”

Your mind wanders as Gator wraps you in a big blanket, the one you used the night the power went out, before cautiously heading to his cruiser to help you into the passenger seat. When you’re settled in, he kisses your forehead before tugging the blanket around you tighter, making sure you’re warm and as comfortable as you can be, despite the pain.

“You’re safe in here, gimme a few minutes, I gotta grab your stuff, okay?” You nod at his words, dozing off seconds after he shuts the car door, locking it, just in case. The exhaustion of everything that just happened takes over, forcing you to rest.

The ride to Gator’s place is quiet enough that you’re able to stay asleep for the few minutes it takes to arrive.

“Darlin’, c’mon, let’s get ya’ inside.” You’re woken up by Gator softly speaking, pulling you out of the cruiser, confused as to what’s going on or where you are until awareness slowly sets in. “I grabbed our stuff already, and we can do whatever you want to, or if you need some space, I can give ya’ that.”

You can’t find your words or collect your thoughts, still lost in a daze, so you nod distractedly in response while he helps you inside.

Gator’s apartment is cluttered here and there; you knew he was rarely here to keep things tidy, though, with how often he was made to do Roy’s dirty work for him.

He throws the covers back on his bed to get you settled and comfy, helping you out of the several layers of clothes and your boots before laying you down, while you wrap yourself back up in the blanket he gave you earlier. “You should probably eat somethin’—“ You shake your head ‘no’. “Well, at least you need some water. Maybe painkillers— wait, you shouldn’t take any on an empty stomach. Maybe ice? Yeah, ice.” You tug on his hand before he turns away to leave, so he crouches down next to you at the edge of his bed. “What’s up, darlin’?”

Your voice cracks, forcing your words through a dry, choked up throat, “Are you okay?”

Normally, Gator would tease you for asking, for putting him first before yourself. He was never dishonest when he answered before, but he’s being upfront this time. “No… I don’t think I am.”

You sit up quickly, groaning as the room spins; Gator has to guide you back down to the bed, but you prop yourself up on your arm, leaning onto it as your tired eyes search his expression. “Did he hurt you? Did your dad hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em both—“

Barely above a whisper, Gator pushes the hair falling in your face behind your ear, “Easy there, tiger.” He can’t bring himself to laugh as he gently teases you, but does his best to smile, though it’s somber. “Not physically. Watchin’ him attack you like that… I shoulda’ kept you away from your dad, or let y’stay in the car from the start. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”

Your face falls while sorrow floods through you. “Gator, you did protect me. You probably saved my life tonight, or at least saved me an ambulance trip. You know he would’ve kept going if you didn’t stop him.” You hold his face in your hand, “You’ve always let me fight my own battles, and you’ve always stepped in if I needed backup. It’s something I’ve always been grateful for. You are someone I’m always grateful for.”

His thumb grazes your jawline on the same side your fresh wound is, careful not to get too close to it. “Not sure why you’d say that after what I did to you before you moved… But m’glad you weren’t alone with this shit tonight.”

“If anyone’s ever deserved a second chance, it’s you. It’s always been you, Gator.” You mumble the last part out as your eyelids grow heavy, head sinking back into the pillow, but it’s just coherent enough for Gator to hear it. He pulls the blankets over you, assuring you’re cozy and warm, while waiting for you to settle into a deep sleep; he hopes your dreams are even just the tiniest bit sweeter than this day was for you.

Silently, Gator promises to himself and you, that he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe, and make sure you know you’re really, truly loved.

He just hopes to God he has the balls to work himself up to the confession again tomorrow.

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x you #Fargo #part time soulmate full time problem #my fics

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staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

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Identity Pt 4

Part (4) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I owe loads of responses and I'm sorry! I got the writing bug and any spare time I've had in front of a computer, I just wanted to write! Quick answer to the most common question, though: Yeah, the implication is that the contact is her dad - that'll be touched on a bit more later, though, and I'll try to actually be a good tumblr person and respond to everyone's lovely comments this week now that I've purged this chapter out!

Huge preemptive warning before even getting to the real warnings! This is one of those particularly dark chapters that may be too intense for some readers. If that's the case, I'm more than happy to make a summary for continuity's sake; just please take caution to read the tags

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

WC: 3,231

Fire tore through my nose and throat, body wrenching forward with violent coughs that sent pain shooting down my side, but the movement stopped short, chest held fast to something behind me – no… beneath me? I couldn’t think beyond the desperate need for air, head shaking as though it might rid my eyes and nose of the liquid still dripping down my face as my jaw gaped around choked gasps. The distorted hum of unfamiliar voices resonated nearby, pausing mere seconds before another torrent of icy water crashed over me, robbing me of what pitiful taste of air I’d fought so hard to gain and sending me back down that spiral of panicked suffocation, diaphragm convulsing uselessly beneath that torturous burn of drowning.

Something locked around my jaw, forcing my gaze toward the blurred colors that surely hid an unknown face and drawing a startled grunt of pain from me. I could almost hear words, confident at least that they were male before my attacker released me harshly enough to slam my already throbbing head against whatever lay beneath it. I’d only just realized my wrists were bound behind me when another frigid wave was thrown at me, again leaving me sputtering for breath.

“… a patient man…” That voice growled, mind finally grasping some meager bit of clarity. “I suggest you answer my questions before things get really unpleasant.” Wheezing, I quickly looked about us for some hint as to what was happening, but the dark cell offered no clues toward who he was or where he’d taken me. I think I was tied to a chair leaning back at a precarious angle, but I couldn’t move enough to check before he grabbed me again, fingers burring into my already bruised jaw.

“Eyes on me, yuh damn rat.” He grumbled. Without conscious thought, I realized some part of me expected to find a grizzled, old man covered in scars, eyes full of enraged contempt, but that’s not who stood beside me. He appeared to barely be in his thirties, white shirt marred with sweat and blood and stains I tried not to look too closely at lest I see something far worse. Years of drinking left is stomach distended and his skin blotchy, and what light may once have filled pale, green eyes had long since abandoned him. There was no anger fueling his actions, no obvious cause for him to seek retribution from long held vendetta. This was his job, and he’d simply lost the will to be bothered by the horrors it forced him to do.

“Ah. Guess yuh weren’t really awake yet, were yuh?” He hummed more to himself than to me, “Concussions can be tricky like that…” With a deep sigh, he stepped back, hand dropping absently away from me. “Let’s start over, then.” The way he rubbed his hand over his face, the weariness dragging against his movements, it felt so painfully displaced against the way my heart raced.

“Who ordered the hit?” Lost, I could only stare at him, thoughts far too muddled beneath fear and confusion to fathom a response. “How about we start with something easier?” He muttered, though he still reached for something behind me. I heard the click of a button followed by the rush of water through pipework overhead, and the terror that gripped me was visceral, body shaking too hard to manage even a broken gasp, limbs wrenching against the shackles about my wrists and ankles.

The vague sensation of pain each movement sent tearing through my left side didn’t matter, nor the growing understanding that there had been an explosion; that everyone near the podium must have been caught in the blast, and I couldn’t begin to guess the extent of my own injuries even as I recalled the horrifying images of those far less fortunate. That knowledge, that pain, none of it mattered in the face of where I now lay: trapped before this stranger who owed me no loyalties and sought only to force answers from me that I could never give.

“Where are yuh from?” I wondered if the hint of a slur in his voice was from mere disinterest, or if he’d already begun numbing himself with some bottle stashed amidst the grime-streaked walls. “Not gonna tell me your name, either, I assume?” My jaw ground shut, gaze turning blindly to the dark ceiling above us. He offered no further warning before clicking another button to unleash the next rush of water. I managed to keep most of it from flooding my mouth, but the pressure forced enough up my nose to send me into another fit of strangled coughs.

“You’re with the Republic, yeah? Some kinda spy or something? What’s that fancy swamp planet…” He seemed to think it over for several seconds before remembering. “Naboo! You from Naboo?” Breath shattering between clattering teeth, I kept my attention turned pointedly away from him, clinging to some distant memory that it was better to remain silent during an interrogation; that even shouted curses yielded more easily to breaking than simply never speaking at all, and then I had to come to terms with that simple fact that that’s exactly what this was: an interrogation.

How long had it been since the gala? Was I still on the same planet? Was I on a planet at all? I didn’t want to acknowledge what the answers to those questions might mean; didn’t want to let myself listen for the rumble of engines or hum or air recyclers. It was easier not to know.

A tsk sounded from the man beside me, and I had to fight not to let my expression crumble beneath that fear.

“A’right.” I wanted to slap him for the disinterest in that breathy sigh, anger drawing my lips into a scowl. Again, there was no warning. A dark sack was pulled roughly over my face. I had just enough time to gasp before that water began to pour down. My chest bucked with violent fits, fighting to force some sliver of air through the endless onslaught, but it wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

The was a moment when that determination first faltered beneath the weight of a panic no amount of logic could hope to supersede; a fleeting breadth of understanding just how alone I was, how little I meant, and how hopeless even the denial that forbade me from listening for engines truly was, because regardless my dreams and nightmares, regardless the sincerity of my intentions or the purpose I once believed drove me through moments when I wanted nothing more than to shatter, the simple reality was that death didn’t care and all I’d done would amount to nothing. There was no promise of one more chance, no reason swaying whether I lived or died, no thought beyond a bone-deep, primal terror, and not a damn thing I could do to change any of it.

Powerless, I laid beneath the flow of soured water, body thrashing uselessly as the man just stood there, watching; waiting. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sensation of that sack about my face constricting with each failed gasp overwhelmed every memory I’d ever made, forsook every imagined possibility of a future, dispelled whatever higher knowledge supposedly separated sentience from feral beasts, and I knew he was utterly impartial to all of it as my lungs burned, spine wrenching against restraints that offered no leeway. The weakness that crept up my limbs was a strange thing. I barely noticed it beneath the new form of darkness overtaking me, yet some whisper of frustration balked at how quickly my muscles began to fail, how deafening my heartbeat became as those frantic coughs faded beneath wet gurgles.

Still, there was some futile sense of denial, a disbelief promising me that he wouldn’t actually let me die; that this was merely some sick form of intimidation meant to break me, and I knew exactly how foolish that thought was as the water flooded my lungs.

Agony filled my chest, my head. Fire burned my sinuses and left my throat raw as my torso convulsed in violent coughs even as I strained for breath, begging my own body to grant me some small taste of air. It felt like waking; like I’d been asleep for ages, mind hazed beneath that fog of confusion.

“..ere yuh are… Come on back.” Was that voice familiar? I vaguely thought it shouldn’t be despite how my eyes automatically travelled toward it, unable yet to make out anything beyond a blurred shaped. “Can you tell me your name?” Were his words slurring, or was my hearing merely faltering beneath that disorientating weariness eager to drag me back into unconsciousness? I knew that question, though – it had long since become ingrained into my psyche from years of asking. What’s your name? What’s the date? Where are we, right now? Where…

My lips stumbled around an initial attempt at forming an answer but managed only a choked whimper beneath a hurt that left even strangled gasps crippling. That moment of physical hinderance was enough to grant the very beginnings of a clarity that threatened to break me as some distorted mockery of sensation slowly began to return; glimpses of soiled walls, the scent of putrid water, pain lancing through joints held fast about the hard surface beneath me, through flesh left raw and torn from how violently my body had struggled against restraints still binding my wrists and ankles, looped about my chest and stomach, and the fear that stole through me was like nothing I’d ever known.

In an instant, my heart began to race, the rhythm far too quick to not be a danger in itself, but I could spare no thought toward something so mundane as a heart attack as my every muscle began to convulse, the icy obstruction of adrenaline flooding my veins as logic and rationale faltered in the wake of memories.

“Damn… figured it’d figured take longer ‘en that.” He mumbled, and I froze at the bundle of still dripping cloth hanging from his hand, unable to either tear my gaze away nor stomach the sight of it. “‘ere’s how this works,” he started, utterly unmoved by how my body shied from him as he reached toward me with that cursed fabric. “Ain’t gotta go through any of that again if you don’t want to.” The way my every cell screamed against the feeling of that mask being pulled even halfway down my face left me thrashing anew, numb to any damage sustained from how desperately I found myself flailing against my bounds. “Just gotta answer my questions, an’ it all stops.”

There was no thought; no memory even of how to think as the first drops of water danced atop my forehead. My every muscle tightened, body wrenching away with more force than it could take. Something cracked. I didn’t feel it. My teeth ground together even as my jaw strained to open, to drag as much of that precious, stale air into my lungs as I could.

“Who are yuh working with?” Rage. There was no suffocating torrent of liquid. It was barely a splash, but he knew exactly how little work he needed to do to rend me into that hysterical frenzy that so effortlessly robbed me of all but my most ancient, primal instinct, and I loathed him for how quickly it worked, lips wrenching back into a snarl.

The next gush held none of that earlier restraint. Water filled my mouth and flooded my nose, instantly sending me into ragged, gagging coughs, body jerking in an effort to at least lean onto my side that I might rid my airway of that burning, frigid certainty of drowning.

“Who orchestrated the explosion?” I thought of the mercenary as another surge of water poured over me just long enough to leave me gasping.

How do I free him!

“Who was the target?” I don’t know if there were words in whatever scream I felt tearing through my throat, but he waited mere seconds, unmoved by my choked cries.

Tell me.

“Who placed the bombs?” His emotionless voice reverberated through the darkness, lifting the mask just clear of my lips after each question before dragging it back down in the wake of answers that left him wanting, and I could only flail atop that unyielding surface as he unleashed that frigid water again and again.

I thought of the hatred in my brother’s eyes as my mind flickered at the edges of suffocation.

“Who ordered the hit?”

Did I deserve this?

“Who’s behind the assassination attempt?”

Why didn’t he just kill me?

“Tell me who ordered the hit.”

Kill me.

“Who were you sent to kill?”

Kill me kill me kill me

“Who placed the bombs?”

His earlier boredom was beginning to turn impatient. My body barely managed to struggle anymore. Didn’t matter.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I wanted that darkness. Yearned for it… because anything was better than this endless torture, hours and seconds and years of drowning with no hope of it ever stopping, no sense of time, no sense of self.

“Who-”

The sudden flurry of sounds meant nothing. I’d long since lost any grasp on reality, more certain that I was already dead than I was that those harsh, broken wheezes voiced my own, failing attempts at breath. I don’t know when that sack had been removed nor what muttered pleas tumbled listlessly from numb lips. Flashes of grey and white armor held no meaning, nor did whispered words blaring through speakers, though I remembered some fleeting thought toward the futility of whispering into a mic.

Movement. It didn’t feel like that perceived sense of endlessly falling preceding loss of consciousness… It felt like… running? My eyelids bat against the illusion painted atop the black cloth I was so sure awaited me the instant I managed to truly see. It wasn’t until I tried to move that that madness returned. No restraints held my arms trapped behind me. No unyielding board pressed painfully into my back. I was held only by the arms looped beneath my knees and shoulders, and the instant I understood that, I fought with every hint of strength granted to me by that panic-induced insanity.

I couldn’t hear anything above the chorus of sudden shouts, focus trained solely on freeing myself of that near embrace. I’d barely begun to thrash before feeling the floor rise up to meet me, body instantly kicking out to distance myself from my captor until my heels slid useless atop muck-coated stone, doing nothing more than pressing my back more firmly into the wall behind me.

“…” Muffled words lost beneath the pounding of my heart and the rasp of air catching in too-moist lungs fluttering with hyperventilated breaths stolen between wet coughs. I tried to draw my arms between myself and the figure kneeling before me, but could barely convince my hands to twitch, flared fingers trembling mere inches above the ground.

“…! …ack! Come on, kid; come back!” His voice finally broke through that frenzy, and my eyes locked on his, every muscle freezing beyond that persistent shiver I couldn’t begin to quell. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if I’d break again. My brows drew weakly together, thoughts too frantic to more than stare at him for several seconds.

“…W… Wol…” His shoulders sank at my stammered attempt to call his name.

“Right here, kid.” It was such a strange thing to hear the gentleness in his voice, but that lingering sense of wrong drew me further from the shattered recess of my mind, vaguely noting the four figures posted around us, and I didn’t need to see their helms to know who they were, that they had their weapons trained on the corridors stretching out at either side of me, ready to fire at the faintest hint of a threat. They’d found me… This was real… So, why couldn’t I free myself of that relentless fear, that deafening need to run, to find some dark corner and hide?

“I need to get you out of here.” He explained, words purposefully slowed in a way I should have taken offense to. In that moment, however, that slowness was the only reason I could make sense of them. Get out… They were going to get me out of here… but my body revolted from the very thought of letting him touch me again, of letting anyone touch…

“You can hold on to me, or I can carry you, but we can’t stay here.” I wanted to shout at that familiar, cold logic, the silent apology nestled in his hushed statement, frustration spiking at the weakness preventing my hands from clasping over my ears regardless how useless I knew the gesture to be.

“Hey – hey, look at me.” The guilt tainting his command made me want to scream even as my eyes automatically flicked back to his, some distant thought finally realizing he’d forgone protocol in favor of letting me see his face, helmet abandoned on the ground beside him. My name left his lips in a whisper, head ducking slightly to draw my unsteady gaze back toward him.

“We need to move.” My jaw tensed with curses and pleas and senseless shouts, despite my inability to hold enough breath to manage more than a stammered whimper, chest still seizing with half coughs from the phantom sensation of flooded lungs.

“Do you want me to sedate you?” He barely murmured the quiet offer, head ducking toward me. Did I… I thought of that blissful emptiness… that escape from this fear, from the pain of wounds I couldn’t remember sustaining, from the anger wrought by my own inability to force some semblance of control over myself, and, with a sob, I nodded. His expression darkened, but he said nothing as he returned the gesture.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and the tremble seizing through me redoubled, terror spiking at the threat of subjecting myself to that darkness. “You’re going to be alright, kid… Just close your eyes.” He promised… I’d never doubted him before… not like this… but how could I possibly believe him? I knew he could see how frightened I was, how lost I was in that fear; I knew he was counting every second wasted trying to guide me through this, how each of those seconds redoubled the risk of being caught, but he said nothing as I struggled to find myself through that panic, and he wasted no time when I finally managed to force my eyes shut.

The instant I felt the prick of needles, my body balked, managing to jump mere inches away, but his touch was already there, hand delicately catching my cheek as those fleeting reserves of strength abandoned me, muscles quickly going limp against him.

“Alright… I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” A final shiver darted down my spine as the warmth of his breath danced across my scalp, barely noting how carefully he eased me back into his arms, but the distant familiarity of finding myself nestled against him, of tasting his scent in my every stammered gasp even as I felt my mind begin to slip away was a comfort I clung to until even that faded.

Next Chapter

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welovelouisandbucky · 9 months

Text

Peter Parker Headcanon

Summary:This is how I think Peter Parker would be with artist!reader

A/n: heyya guys!!! I just wanna apologize and thank everyone who showed support to few of my series that I started but did not post anything after first chapter, I started those series when I was feeling very motivated and was full of ideas but in excitement I didn't planned them out properly and it backfired. I wasn't feeling like it anymore but I knew I have to post and I did write chapters for all of them but I wasn't happy with my work so I never posted them, and it's my fault because I shouldn't have posted them online before planning them out properly, but I promise I will complete them but not anytime soon because I just don't feel like writing them any more. for now I just want to write small one shots and headcanons so I would really appreciate if you guys show these ideas support too, thank you!!

S/n: you can imagine any Peter Parker but I personally had Andrew!Peter in mind when writing this so yeah, likes and reblogs are appreciated and as well as positive criticism, pls don't hate on me 😭 thank you!

T/w: just fluff!! One swear word? none I guess other than my writing lol

I think he really enjoys drawing because it's one of the things he finds calming.

He usually prefers to watch you draw/sketch, because he thinks you look super cute while you're concentrating on a certain detail or drawing the outline of the figure.

When you guys are drawing together, he'd try to draw you, so he can show you how beautiful you truly are. He just loves you so much he can't help it.

Gets distracted easily, and blames it on you, and when you ask what you did he'll say something like "stop being so goddamn cute!" or like "you're looking too cozy and cute, makes me wanna cuddle the life out of you!"

He absolutely LOVES painting with you because then he gets to start a paint war with you. In two or less minutes you guys would be covered in 50 shades of grey🤭😉

And let me tell you, the way he drew you is *chef's kiss* so good. The boy literally put his heart out on this drawing.

When he finally shows you the drawing he'd say something like "I'm sorry if it's not good. And please be honest if it's shit, okay?" "Peter, what are you talking about?! This is beautiful! I look so pretty!! You made me so beautiful in this!" " Well that's because YOU are BEAUTIFUL!"

He'll most definitely take you to picnic dates, somewhere far and beautiful. He'd lay there next to you while you draw in silence. Those kinds of dates are his favorite; super relaxing and peaceful.

Would model for you if you ask him to, but the poor boy can't sit still. He needs to move or else he'll go crazy, but will apologize every time he moves, you're quick to tell him it's fine and that you don't expect him to become a statue.

Would buy you art supplies but will be too scared to give you because he knows you don't like it when he spends his money on you. So he'll sneakingly leave it at your desk thinking you won't notice, but of course you did. Will get scolding from you afterwards.

Let's be honest, you love it when he buys you art supplies, it makes you happy to know that he actually cares enough to got you those, but the thing is art supplies are expensive as fuck! He works really hard for what he earns, and you don't want him to waste it on you. You get scolded in return when you tell him this.

"Nonsense! I'm not wasting anything, you should know that, Y/n! You know, it actually hurts me to think you'd even think something like that." "I'm sorry, Peter." "You're forgiven, but only because I need my cuddles and kisses," "and because you love me?" "yeah that too, but mostly my cuddles."

Definitely, will take (swing) you to different places he thought was worthy enough to be drawn. Or when you're not feeling motivated, or when the art block is just too strong; because he understands how tough it can get for you.

He's always there for you no matter what. He truly understands you, and helps you out when you have no motivation or ideas to create anything. Calms you down when you're frustrated because the drawing you finished is not looking the way you wanted it to be. Always tells you how talented you are and how much he's proud of you and everything you create

Always reminds you to take care of yourself and asks you if you have eaten anything yet? Because when you're drawing you always lose track of time and forget to eat.

Definitely finds it funny when you rant about how drawing hands is an absolute nightmare, but agrees with you nonetheless.

100% had said "draw me like one of your French girls" at some point with a dramatic gesture.

Shows you off to everyone he meets like, " have you met my girlfriend? She's so talented like ohmygod, here look at this" proceeds to show the person your artwork while you stand there embarrassed but so in love

Definitely has hung up your drawings in his room

He's your number one supporter, but does points out mistakes if he sees one (we love honest feedbacks)

So in conclusion Peter Parker is absolutely whipped for you

Thank you so much for reading this I hope you enjoyed this!!

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asimplearchivist · 5 months

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‘ 𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ jake struggled to decide whether you were a blessing or a curse to the system—his personal feelings about you didn’t matter. they never had. ⤏ until they suddenly did, that is. ⤏ now he had to fix the mess he caused before he ruined everything for the two he’s trying to protect most as well as you. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader word count ☾ 15.6k a/n ☽ ⤏ this chapter was certainly a challenge to write! I have such a particular interpretation of jake in my head influenced by such lovely headcanons and fanfics in the mk community that I had a bit of stage-fright trying to portray him with justice to my vision of him. having very little on-screen material from which to go off of certainly doesn’t help—steven and marc’s voices are so clear to me, but jake’s is a little more subtle and stepping out to develop it on my own was a little nerve-wracking because I wanted so badly to do him justice! ⤏ I also apologize that this chapter came late—I had a busy weekend on top of homework and I was wrestling with jake’s characterization. but here he is, now! let me know if y’all like how I wrote him! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc had met you, officially, it had been an accident.

The first time Jake met you, it was an inevitability.

Steven and Marc were wrapped around each of your pinky fingers. Completely enamored with you. Nearly worshiped the ground that you walked on. You had lodged yourself inextricably into their gravitational pull, orbiting them as though you’d always been fixed to their collective side—present almost as often as Jake was.

Jake found it inconvenient at best. Dangerous at worst.

Because despite his near slip-up, fumbling just a bit at the suddenness of stepping in that fateful night Marc had decided to swoop in and rescue you (not that you’d really needed rescuing—you were owed credit for holding your own better than most women with whom they’d ever interacted in such scenarios), the two had not been particularly watchful for him.

Sure, they discussed it more—never around you, of course, worried that you would worry about their unease, being unable to properly identify the source of their combined blackouts. The outlier. But they were doing little else than that, and Jake had almost been concerned about them trying to draw him out by force. Biding their time, maybe. But that was fine—Jake was patient. He waited them out every other time he slipped to the front while they were unaware, save during emergencies, and this would be no different—eventually they’d drop their guard, start to doubt their suspicions, and put the idea to the back of their mind where he dwelt and he could comfortably resume his work.

…That was, provided you were removed from the equation altogether.

London loomed in the height of winter, several months later. They had gotten over themselves long enough to enter full and individual romantic relationships with you, and Jake had to admit that he had never felt either of them as happy as they were around you. Marc had loved Layla dearly, still did, and Jake knew she had been integral to keeping him steady and for some of his healing—but you were different. You were an unknown variable, and yet Marc was putting in his every effort to make it work, not looking to repeat his past mistakes in order to ensure your mutual and assured trust: you knowing the brutal nature of Marc’s past and Marc entrusting you with the intimate knowledge of it.

It had taken time, of course (an excruciatingly long period of it, in fact), but you hadn’t flinched once even when he’d told you of the blood staining his hands, both innocent and villainous, during his time as a soldier and mercenary. You had stayed, hadn’t run, hadn’t treated him like the killer he’d always convinced himself that he was. Marc had been relieved.

Jake had only grown frustrated. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand.

Because Steven’s infatuation with you was one thing. He’d had a few crushes here and there, had been laboring in the dating scene for weeks by the time Marc had inadvertently revealed himself to his alter, and Jake had even tried to help the pobrecito* catch a break once. (Jake couldn’t lie—he’d almost hoped that he could’ve caught a break, too, since Marc had left Layla high and dry and Jake had been pent up with all the mounting stress Marc had only been internalizing instead of dealing with in a somewhat healthy manner—but Steven had deserved to be doted on by a pretty woman at least once in his oblivious, lonely life, and Dylan the tour guide was a very pretty woman.) Steven was a romantic at heart, had sought a meaningful relationship more than anything for the longest, so it was to be expected that he’d eventually fall in with some unwitting little thing ignorant to the myriad problems riddling the inner depths of his psyche—that, Jake could have dealt with, hypothetically, if things had escalated to that point. A quick misunderstanding carefully orchestrated leading to a break-up would have been a simple solution, and while it would have hurt Steven greatly for a while, it would have been ultimately necessary for both the long-term safety of the system and for the security of Jake’s continued, secretive role as Khonshu’s fantoche*.

But Marc getting involved threw an entirely new wrench into the gears of Jake’s plans. Because Marc Spector operated in black or white. All or nothing. Always had and always would. Either he didn’t trust you as far as he could throw you or he’d carry you through the depths of hell barefooted on red-hot coals and have the nerve to apologize to you for stumbling on his bleeding blisters.

Marc’s trust came two-fold, also, now that he was in full cohesion with Steven—he still didn’t readily trust anyone, but if Steven did? He was sold soon after just on the principle of the matter. Steven’s judgment of character was, admittedly, as keen as any telepath’s, despite his naïveté and optimism—and Marc trusted Steven more than he trusted anyone else in the world. Even Layla. Even you.

Even Jake, though it had been entirely subconscious up until very recently.

Because he’d fought Jake the last time he’d forced himself to the front to save his life (and yours, by extension, loathe as Jake was to admit it), whereas before Jake had always managed to blindside him. It was a close call—one that Jake could not afford to make again.

And it would be so much fucking easier if you weren’t around so damn often.

Any bit of spare time the boys had that happened to coincide with yours, they were trying to see you: from snack breaks between your classes or on your shared lunch breaks to movie nights featuring home cooked meals and set tables and lit candles because you were just as much of a romantic as Steven was (God help them). You dried one bloom from every bouquet of flowers they ever brought you, keeping them all in a pitcher you used as a centerpiece more than once. You had even started packing them lunches, for Christ’s sake, with plentiful options that either Steven or Marc would enjoy depending on who ended up fronting. Even when either (or both) of you were too tired to go out on the town for a date (which happened so often Jake wondered how Marc hadn’t depleted his bank account already), the long evenings you weren’t obligated to work or study were spent cuddled up on the couch in your apartment or theirs, oblivious to the outside world as you indulged in each other’s company.

The winter brought worsening weather with it, which meant that you were spending more time at home with them. You’d even started spending the night, which was treading on Jake’s very last nerve—his one assured bastion of being able to take the body surreptitiously without Marc or Steven realizing it was put into jeopardy because while you were a heavy sleeper (almost like a fucking corpse, really—he’d had to check to make sure you were even breathing, once), you hadn’t yet gotten used to sharing a bed with someone, which resulted in you rousing slightly any time the body so much as shifted. Marc still had night terrors occasionally, and you’d never fail to comfort him back to sleep, even at the cost of your own rest.

Jake should be thankful, really, if he thought about it for too long. Marc had managed to keep sober long before he met you, but his cravings had dissipated almost entirely since you’d gently steered him towards sodas instead of beer—meaning no more black-out drunk episodes from which Jake had to nurse the body back from the brink. The body rested better with you there to anchor their unsteady mind at the times it decided to bring back the bad memories. You were feeding them better than they’d eaten since living with Layla, hearty and savory dishes that had packed a few pounds onto their lean frame, helping to negate Marc and Steven’s combined forgetfulness towards even the most basic practices of self-care. You had even started buying them groceries in thanks for the dinners they bought you, keeping their fridge and cabinets full and their personal products stocked up throughout the apartment.

You were doing the brunt of his job for him—making sure the body was taken care of and that neither of them spiraled nor regressed. He should be happy that he didn’t have to pull so much weight anymore, that he got to kick back and relax.

So why did it all piss him off so damn much?

You were pretty, he supposed. Not the most stunning bird he’d ever seen, but you were a decent pull on Steven’s part. You got along with the little nerd, and you got along with Marc—which was a feat in and of itself. You had an incredibly dry sense of humor on top of a quick tongue that drew inadvertent chuckles from even the surliest of Marc’s moods. You kept up with Steven’s intellect effortlessly, and the pair of you could talk hours upon hours on the most mundane of topics—oftentimes earning a scolding from Marc whenever the conversation would carry on past midnight (which would only make you both giggle and apologize sheepishly and rarely actually curbed your shared enthusiasm). You mediated their occasional disagreements with utmost diplomacy, always playing devil’s advocate even on their most childish of squabbles, never played favorites even when they’d playfully compete for your affections—you stood resolute in your stance of loving them equally in their own unique relationships with you.

You made them completely, perfectly, incandescently happy. That should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Because Jake was getting…distracted.

He’d always been strictly about business—the sole reason he existed. He protected the body, no matter the cost. Now he had Khonshu to answer to, and that was difficult enough, trying to balance enough time at night to do the old bird’s bidding while Marc and Steven slept—blissfully unaware thanks to Jake’s skill in repressing them both to the work he’d been doing the last several months trying to cull out the vestiges of Harrow’s cult.

Because of course that bastard hadn’t taken all his people with him to Cairo to hunt for Ammit’s tomb. Of course he’d left pockets of his followers scattered all over London—assured by his own success, he’d planted them there in order to divide and conquer the city once he’d freed Ammit. And of course they had to be skilled enough at hiding to require him to painstakingly construct an elaborate underground network of people keeping their ears to the ground for any signs. That’s what was taking so long to eradicate them all, and it irritated Khonshu to no end, having to sit and wait when he constantly hounded Jake to ‘execute his justice’. Jake was patient. The god of the moon was most certainly not.

Now add the stress of keeping you unaware of his goings-on? With your infuriatingly saccharine smile and fawn-like fluttering lashes and easy affection that haunted the back of his mind when he did find precious little time to front? He could hardly concentrate on prowling the streets anymore when your detergent of choice had wormed its way into the clothes he kept packed away in the back of Marc’s closet, well away from view (because you even did their laundry for them sometimes when Steven ended up working late on inventory—like a little housewife or something), the scent trapped under Khonshu’s armor nearly smothering him.

Jake knew, deep down though he’d done his best to ignore it, that his ruse would come to a head eventually—Marc was keen on his interiority now that he was no longer in denial of his issues; and Steven was, too, since Marc had let him in on all of it. Jake just didn’t anticipate having to deal with you and your unnervingly observant perception on top of it.

Ultimately it was of little surprise that the scouts for the rest of Harrow’s carroñeros* had put a flag on you, since Jake’s alters spent so much time with you in plain public view. At the very least, it had allowed for that one slippery bastard to finally be put away after somehow surviving Jake’s wrath with him ever having realized it, even if it had put you in danger. The hijo de puta* had played a calculated risk to come after you, trying to cover it up as a robbery rather than a hit to get back at the spectre picking them all off one by one—one that hadn’t paid off in the slightest. He was lucky that Jake hadn’t had the time nor privacy to do exactly what he’d wanted to—a fractured temple via blunt force trauma, hopefully with an added concussion, would have to suffice for the time being. He’d better pray that he wasn’t released anytime soon.

Especially since he’d had the audacity and the gall (and the balls) to target you. Jake wasn’t cruel enough to wish you any harm, don’t get him wrong. You hadn’t done anything wrong, necessarily, just…frustrated him to no end. They were lucky that you’d had the foresight to text them, or else that would’ve been the last that Marc or Steven would’ve ever seen of you.

Jake knew that would only have resulted in disaster.

You had crossed over the threshold of being a danger to the system to being a necessity for their safety and sanity—because if something happened to you now, Jake doubted sincerely that he would ever be able to pick up the pieces of Marc or Steven’s hearts and minds. And so Jake was forced to resolve himself to add one more individual to his list. For the betterment of the system.

Joder, pues claro.*

…It wasn’t as if he didn’t like you. He had to admit that much to himself, at least. You were pleasant enough to be around. You did tell good jokes, well thought out ones that made Jake have to think about them a little while before he got them. He appreciated how rational you were about things, rarely letting your emotions impact otherwise simple miscommunications or misunderstandings over which most women would have a conniption, choosing to talk out your problems while also being honest about how you felt rather than giving them the silent treatment or some shit—it was a necessary balance to Marc’s precarious internalizations of his own complicated feelings and his ever-present struggles to express them in a concise and healthy manner. Jake didn’t mind listening in on your tangents all that much, even if the topics didn’t interest him in the slightest—your passion and thought process kept him hooked enough, as did the dimples bordering your smile and the creases crinkling the corners of your glittering eyes. You were a damn good cook, to boot—Jake had snuck your leftovers on those late nights more often than he’d ever readily admit out loud. Neither still were you hard on the eyes.

So…yeah. If Jake found himself co-fronting, lingering in the back of the headspace well away from Marc and Steven’s reach, as Marc watched you gape at the street performer juggling flaming swords while balancing on a unicycle…that was between him and the soft smile tugging at the corners of their host’s mouth that Jake would likely have reflected despite himself.

The early evening had plunged the city into a nose-numbing one—but you’d been itching to revel in the cold, misty air and to venture out into London’s brimming nightlife with the bolstering safety you’d confessed to feeling while in their presence. The entire plaza was thrumming with music and noise and laughter, light and fire mixing to highlight the angles, curves, and planes of your disbelieving face. You were bundled up to the nines to fight the cold, still unaccustomed to the weather in contrast to the south US’ comparatively mild winters, but you refused to tuck one hand into your pocket in favor of clasping Marc’s firmly. Seated on a bench wedged so closely together that even Jake could feel the tremors in your limbs, you remained glued to his side as though to sap the warmth from the body—evidently, it wasn’t working, because you let out a shuddering breath as your teeth chattered when the performer paused to take a break. Another stepped up to take his place, and the loosely gathered crowd clapped to welcome him.

“You’re going to freeze if you don’t let me take you home,” Marc rumbled into your ear, covered by the toboggan he’d insisted you wear to spare yourself from frostbite.

“Just a little longer, honey?” you pleaded, turning your head to gaze up at him with those infuriatingly fawn-like eyes. “It’s supposed to ice over tonight and I just know I’m going to get cabin fever tomorrow.”

Marc huffed out a wry chuckle, unthreading your fingers to coil his arm around your shoulders and to tug you closer, keeping his mouth tucked close to your ear. “You’re a homebody, baby. I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble staying inside cuddled up with us for the weekend than you normally do.”

You pouted at him playfully, jutting out your bottom lip, and Marc’s gaze was fixed on it until you smoothed your expression. “All right,” you bemoaned, tilting your head away in faux dejection, “I suppose I’ll allow you to coop me up for the next couple of days…” You fluttered your lashes at him. “...as long as you promise to keep me warm, that is. Won’t you, honey?”

“As if you even had to ask.” Marc dipped his head to skim his brow against yours, peering directly into your eyes. “But that’ll require thawing you out first. It’s not getting any warmer.”

“I can think of a few ways to solve that,” you murmured, half-lidded, and slanted your mouth over his—the breath’s breadth between your lips and his was quickly stolen by Marc with a low, knowing chuckle.

Jake rolled his eyes. Metaphorically, of course. He’d even facepalm if he could. You two were hopeless—and he’d thought Steven had it bad.

Can it, Casanova, remarked the Brit as though summoned by Jake’s internal musing, she’s still shakin’.

“I know, I know,” Marc mumbled, pulling away and shaking his head at your amused expression. It had taken a while for both of them to get comfortable enough to vocalize their seemingly one-sided conversations around you, but you treated it as normally as if you could hear the third party, too. Marc patted your hip and stood, grumbling under his breath at the stiffness of his muscles, courtesy of Jake’s last bloody brawl a few nights prior—unbeknownst to either of his alters, of course. “Come on, I bought hot chocolate. We’ll start with that, and then a hot shower.”

You gasped in delight, lurching up to your feet and latching onto his hand once more. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” you demanded, tugging eagerly at his arm toward the direction of the bus stop. “You could’ve gotten me home hours ago!”

“I wasn’t going to stop you from enjoying all this,” Marc returned, allowing you to guide him in the wrong direction only to see the excited sway of your hips. His eyes cut over the plaza on reflex, but locked onto a couple of guys lingering near the fountain that started to move in the same direction at the same time. His brow furrowed. “Let’s take a shortcut—don’t want to miss the bus.”

He folded your hand over the crook of his arm instead, winding his way through the crowd in an attempt to lose his tail. Jake could feel Marc’s mind crowding with alarm—who they could be, what they would be doing, which group he had once pissed off that now had decided to try to ruin his night—and he edged just a touch closer to the front to peer through Marc’s periphery.

Ah, yes. The bastard with the scar that had come after you had a handful of lackeys, and these cabrónes* were two of them. Twins, big and ginger and mean as hell. Marc was none the wiser to the reason why they were after the body, however—no recognition passed through his racing thoughts—and Jake inwardly cursed.

Steven noticed Marc’s growing apprehension, likewise. What’s wrong, Marc?

“Nothing,” he muttered, causing you to glance up at him questioningly.

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, glancing around the thinning people as Marc herded you towards the end of the plaza where it was quiet and dark. He ushered you into a narrow alleyway that broke out onto the main street, and while your brow was furrowed, you followed him without resistance. “We haven’t gone this way before.”

“We’re being followed,” he muttered to you, glancing over his shoulder towards the retreating lights. “Remember what I’ve told you?”

Your expression morphed from shock to grave in an instant. It was a discussion Marc had reiterated multiple times—being in a relationship with a wanted man always entailed a certain amount of danger, and Marc had hammered emergency protocol into your head in the event that something like this ever happened. He had hoped that it wouldn’t, for your sake, and the fact that you were schooling any signs of fear in all but your eyes only reinforced the reason why Jake hadn’t wanted you involved at all in the first place.

Jake pressed in closer. Marc’s ears were straining in lieu of ample light, eyes trained on the end of the alleyway—which became shadowed as another pair of silhouettes hemmed the both of you in.

Marc, Steven breathed, tone tight with worry, what now?

“Fuck,” Marc hissed, jerking you against his chest. He whipped around to dart back out from whence you’d come, but the twins had caught up. Heart pounding, he cupped a hand around your head and whispered urgently, “I’m going to take these guys down first so you can run back to the plaza where it’s lit and there’s other people. Call the cops and stick with a group and do not go anywhere by yourself, all right? Not until I come get you.”

Your hands were vices around the collar of his jacket, eyes shining in the dim. Your voice quivered. “Marc, I am not leaving you here alone.”

His fingers tightened around your shoulders. Their footsteps were picking up in speed from both directions, echoing off the dampened brick. “We talked about this—you promised you’d listen to me,” he growled. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Us. We’ve faced worse odds.”

“What if—” you started, but didn’t have enough time to finish.

Marc shoved you behind him as the first giant reached out with mitts for hands towards you. Marc latched onto the bulky limb, twisting his wrist and pinning him onto the concrete in seconds. He pressed and jerked and the unfortunate soul’s arm popped out of place—a wet, skin-crawling pop that resonated far more loudly off the narrow walls than it should have. The man cried out in pain.

“Marc!” you gasped.

Jake leaned in as Marc took a blow to the side of the head—the other twin’s paw clapped against his ear and sent him careening into the wall, discombobulated as his hearing rang like a siren. His shaken equilibrium buckled his knees, but he pushed himself upright to land a series of resounding punches along the brute’s side and back, targeting the sensitive places sure to bruise at the very least. The ribs gave under the combination of Marc’s strength and expertise, and like a tree the second twin was felled with a well-timed hook to the chin.

“Go!” Marc snapped over the ringing in his ears, hooking a hand around your waist and shoving you in the direction of the exit between the two groaning gingers. “Get out of here!”

You turned back to look at him, utterly terrified. “But—!”

“Damn it, baby, please just—”

The latter pair of cultists didn’t give him as ample a warning as the former—and they were smart enough to pull the guns from their holsters rather than rely on their hands. The shot flashed like lightning, muffled by its silencer.

Marc staggered back, the burning in his side stealing the breath from his lungs. The tinnitus increased twofold, to the point that your startled shout was drowned out entirely. The pounding of their pulse roared in their ears, and Jake thought he heard Steven hollering over the din trapped in their head.

Marc’s control slipped in his shock and pain. Steven grappled for it in terror wholly driven to protect you. Jake seized the opportunity and yanked them both back into the headspace to block them off as he lunged forward—so suddenly that the body folded in half from the strain. His knees buckled and his shoulder struck the brick, jarring him.

“This is the guy that’s been giving us so much trouble?” gloated one of them. “All it takes is one bullet?”

“We’ve shot this one more than a dozen times and it’s never stopped him before,” the other said warily. “Where’s all that get-up?”

Jake muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

“What’s that?” crooned the fool, gesturing lackadaisically towards him with the smoldering muzzle. “Have something to say before we rid the world of your chaos, asshole?”

“Sí.” The avatar raised his head, glowing eyes casting his assailants' suddenly wan, fallen countenances in a spectral hue. “Dije,” he growled as the familiar ragged bandages coiled around his limbs while he straightened to his full height, “te vas a arrepentir, pendejos.*”

The bullet clinked against the damp asphalt as he was fully enveloped in the armor.

“Ah, shit,” they said in unison.

The shock on their faces precluded the terror that followed his swift movement. The crescents whistled as he slung them in their direction—the cocky one caught it in the throat, plunging through his jugular. Blood splattered in a wide arc against the ground as he fell. The cautious one managed to tumble to the side to avoid it, however—just barely.

A heavy hand grabbed his padded shoulder and whirled Jake around—only to be struck across the temple with an errant piece of pipe. Mierda. The twins were back up on their feet, tag-teaming to make up for their missing mobility.

Jake jerked his head back to avoid another swing, summoning a truncheon from the small of his back and shattered the first’s wrist with a well-timed parry. Two more strikes upon the man’s solar plexus and skull sent him crumpling to the ground, totally unconscious at the very least. Two to go.

He didn’t have time to pause. The gunman fired thrice at his back, but the slugs passed right through him. Jake exchanged blows with the twin for a moment, finally propelling himself off the brick wall and swinging over the expanse of his mountainous shoulders to lock and twist his neck between his knees and bring the behemoth crashing down face-first. He didn’t move again even as Jake leapt back to his feet and pitched another array of darts at the gunman’s retreating back. Sliced flesh, a gurgled curse, and the clatter of metal preceded the heavy tumble of his body.

Jake stalked further into the shadows, tucking the truncheon back into its holster and flexing his fists. He grabbed the collar of the gunman’s jacket and hoisted him upright, pinning him to the wall with his forearm against his throat. Blood dribbled from the corners of the man’s mouth onto the woven gauntlet.

“Tell me where the rest of your amigos* are and I’ll consider letting you go,” he growled.

“Funny,” the man spat viciously onto Jake’s mask near his shielded eyes, “how you think I’ll talk after you murdered them!”

“Just like you attacked a bunch of innocent kids, yeah?” Jake snarled. “Said their scales wouldn’t balance just ‘cause they were picking on someone else? Even though your fucking goddess is dead and you don’t even have the power to read a single palm? Child murder isn’t going to get you where you’re wanting to end up, pendejo, and a little bullying isn’t enough to condone ritual execution!”

The gunman roared and tried to grapple with him, but Jake only pinned his wrists into the mortar with a dart over his head before jabbing him in the ribs. He only noticed the panic button clasped between his fingers once the indicator began to blink a rapid crimson.

“Mierda,” Jake hissed, clocking his elbow across the bastard’s face and snatching the device once he slumped over. He dropped and smashed it with his heel, grinding it into bits.

“...Baby?”

Jake stiffened, head whipping towards the sound of your small voice. You had cowered against the wall, plunged mostly in shadow, but your hunched shoulders and quick breaths fogging against the shafts of light that the street lamp at his back cast tipped off your apprehension. He didn’t have time to react, save to open his mouth, before the distant squeal of brakes, the heavy slam of vehicle doors, shouting, and rapid footsteps at the far end of the alley interrupted him.

He marched over to you, the armor receding with every step. He glimpsed your eyes in the dark, round and anxious, even as he gripped your arm and tugged you in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he muttered gruffly. “Better scram.”

“What’s wrong?” you breathed instead, resisting him. You were sturdy, he had to give you that, even as the heels of your boots skidded against the rain-slickened pavement.

“Other than having a bunch of madmen with guns on our tails? Nothing at all.” He pulled a bit more forcefully this time. “Let’s go.”

Your protesting noise was drowned out by an ear-ringing report of a gun, and the air near Jake’s ear whistled with the near miss of a bullet. It ricocheted off the brick and had mortar showering the ground.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Jake hissed. “Corres, chaparrita!*”

He pulled you along behind him into a full sprint. The pair of you broke out of the alley towards the crowded plaza once more. You stumbled a couple of times on the uneven concrete due to the awkward mobility afforded by Jake’s unforgiving grip on your wrist, but he was not going to let you go for fear of you falling behind and getting snatched or worse. His scowl and speed drew bemused glances from the bystanders, but their expressions morphed into shock when their eyes passed over his shoulders.

So the bastards were pissed (or desperate) enough to give chase in broad moonlight. They had balls, he had to give them that—and while it made them stupid, it didn’t make them any less dangerous.

He headed towards the far side where the plaza merged onto the main road littered with vendors on the broad sidewalks. People buzzed along the blocked off street—for the entire event would last all weekend and force all the normal goers to circumnavigate the grounds—in tight throngs, along which he had no doubt he could lose the zealots. The tactic has served him well countless times before—and not just in London, or while under Khonshu’s directive. Merging and camouflaging with oblivious civilians and letting one’s hunters pass one by altogether often worked better than trying to outrun them or to hide outright.

The gateway was narrow, and Jake shoved a man twice his size out of his way to hook a sharp left. The man’s curses were drowned out by your profuse, breathless apologies, and Jake growled out a tense, “Callate!*” before narrowly dodging a street lamp since he’d cast a glare over his shoulder at you.

People’s attention only grew as the street funneled into a narrow crosswalk connecting to a broader street. Jake hooked a right that time, darting past families and couples as he went. You were keeping up with him surprisingly well, but your panting was getting too loud—your stamina would give out soon. He had to figure out a way to blend the both of you in without drawing attention so the zealots would go on and he could double back to lose them completely.

Another right at the end of the block revealed another market street, though the middle was undulating with dancing couples as a busking band was playing a lively, energetic tune.

“Mierda,” he growled, “las cosas que hago por vosotros, hermanos.*”

Jake hauled you to a brisk walk instead, melting into the ring of onlookers clapping along with raucous chatter and laughter. They would provide good enough cover, but Jake knew he could show neither of your faces or else the ruse would be for naught. That necessitated unbearably close proximity with the bane of his existence for the last few months—and you had clocked him instantly. It wouldn’t fly for long.

Jake broke through the wall of people nearest the booths, thankful for the partial shadow that would aid to your obscurement. He hastily tugged the collar of Marc’s jacket up, ruffled his fingers through their hair to conceal the majority of their upper features, and hooked an arm around the middle of your back to tug you against his chest. You scarcely caught yourself on his shoulders to keep your nose from bashing into his sternum. With his free hand he pulled the toboggan from your head and stuffed it into your pocket before tugging the back of your scarf up the back of your head and over your forehead, overlapping the tails to cover your chin and mouth—which opened as your brows furrowed in protest.

Jake ducked his head, pressing his lips against your covered ear. “If you want to live long enough to see the end of the night,” he hissed, hands slipping to your waist and beginning to sway you in time with the music, “you’ll do exactly as I do. Me entiendes?*”

You pursed your lips, but the indignant flare behind your eyes didn’t flicker once—even as exclamations of shock caught his attention. Jake pulled you further back into the shadows, but to his luck a couple of other dancers swung between the pair of you and the zealots squinting down the street for any sign.

Jake began to match the others’ movements to appear more natural, the quick tempo dictating the shuffle of his feet—forward, scuffle, back, ad nauseam, faster than he could breathe. He could hardly concentrate on that as well at the moment, unfortunately, given he hadn’t danced in years.

You were hot under your clothes from the running spree, seeping through yours and his shared layers where the weight of your torso was pressed tightly against his. He kept his face tucked close to the sweep of your neck and shoulder, angling his broad shoulders towards them, winding carefully behind more and more couples while keeping careful rhythm. Your panting came harsh and high next to his ear, your breath warming his chilled shell and lobe. Your hands slipped from his shoulders to rest more convincingly on his chest, a firm press to keep your balance.

Although you didn’t seem to know all the specific steps to this dance, you were obviously familiar with the form and rhythm of it. You were a natural, the shimmy of your hips almost smoother than his own—you didn’t stumble once, light on your feet as you (reluctantly) allowed him to guide you without a single glance behind you to confirm he wasn’t about to walk you into a wall or another person. No, your eyes stayed fixed on what you could see of his face the entire time, forehead perspiring and cheeks darkened from exertion, mouth slightly agape to pull in much-needed air. You were studying him, it seemed like, scanning his features as though dissecting every crease and stretch.

Jake didn’t like it, not one bit. You already knew too much—the last thing he needed was you committing any of him to memory.

Instead of stopping, the band shifted into an entirely new song with a different beat altogether, but when Jake adapted to it, you did so, too—seamlessly, in fact, perfectly in tune to the body’s movements. (Ew. He didn’t need to think about that shit.) The two of you were so close that your knees would have knocked together if your feet weren’t offset. You were used to it, to him, even though you’d only learned the body while the others were using it. You knew him, even though he was a stranger.

Shit, shit, shit. He was so fucked.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of Marc’s sweatshirt over his thrumming heart, anchoring yourself as the tension finally drained from your form—he felt it before he saw it, watching your shoulders loosen as you lost yourself to the music. You almost seemed to be enjoying it, and Jake almost lamented the fact that you were only able to indulge in it under these very dire circumstances.

Almost.

“Are they gone?” you ventured breathlessly, chin brushing against his clavicle as you tilted your head forward so he’d hear your low tone that caused each hair on the nape of his neck to stand on end.

Jake blinked, then looked back up to the street corner with a deep-set frown. “Me distraiste jodidamente,*” he growled under his breath, shoving the visceral image of your chapped lips to the very back of his mind. “Yes, they’re gone.”

Your expression relaxed, then, into one of relief. The song tapered into an end, allowing both the dancers and the musicians a breather, and Jake finally peeled himself away from you as though your warmth had scorched him. He grasped your elbow again, tugging you through a narrow passage between booths to the mouth of a quiet side street with outdoor diners clustered around tables set out despite the weather.

He expected questions. He expected you to demand answers, like any other person in your situation would. ‘Who were they? Why were they trying to hurt me? Who the hell are you and why are you not Marc or Steven?’

He did not expect, however, for you to drop your gaze to his abdomen and to fish your hand under Marc’s jacket. He flinched back, but you’d already hooked a finger into the hole torn into the sticky, blood-soaked material of Marc’s shirt, fingertip grazing the smooth, whole flesh underneath and searing your fingerprint there in the process. He pushed your hand away, taking a half step back to distance himself from the mix of concern and confusion in your eyes.

“Are you hurt?” you asked him quietly, not venturing further into his personal space (to his relief).

Jake clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.

You hesitated. “What’s…what’s your name?”

Fuck his lack of luck, honestly. He half-turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at you.

“...Thank you for saving me.”

He scoffed under his breath. “If you’d kept your promise to Marc in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Your tone instantly sharpened with indignation. “I know what I promised him, but he—you got fucking shot! I wasn’t about to leave you to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died. Just a scratch,” he groused, contorting and tugging the hem of the shirt up to show you the unblemished skin there, smeared with tacky blood against his knuckles. “See? Missed.”

“They did not miss,” you told him matter-of-factly. “I saw Marc fall. There’s fucking blood all over you—I’m not stupid. Do not lie to me.” You stepped closer, then, pointing that same bloodied finger at him and poking him in the sternum. He bared his teeth at you, cornered with the alley wall at his back. “All that back there was something that you’ve got going on, wasn’t it? Marc hasn’t told me about anything like this.”

You were too goddamn smart for your own fucking good. “There’s a lot that Marc hasn’t told you,” he growled, “and for good reason.”

Your eyes flashed. “And I bet you’re the authority on all of that, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

“I’ve noticed them being vigilant lately, but they won’t tell me what’s bothering them. Lots of private conversations—and no, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t listen in on them—and they get anxious when they’re tired or spacey. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out why they’ve been walking on eggshells ever since you popped up in the coffee shop that night—”

Jake’s jaw dropped open. Things were rapidly escalating out of hand, faster than he could hold them together. “How on earth do you—?”

“Marc is many things,” you said lowly, “but he is not a man who glorifies in violence. It bothers him still to touch me on his bad days, much less brushing up against a stranger. He wouldn’t smirk when he knocks someone out cold—with the pommel of a knife, no less. Neither would Steven, for that matter.”

Jake squared his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest to brush your hand away, glowering down at you. “Why haven’t you said anything to them?”

“Because they haven’t brought it up. I don’t push them for answers that they don’t want to give me. I know it’s already hard enough for them to be open to communicating their thoughts and feelings between themselves—I don’t want to pressure them any more by adding myself to the mix.” You jutted your chin. “But if you’re going to keep putting them in danger, you need to let them know what’s going on so they don’t get caught off-guard again.”

“You need to keep your nose out of my business and let me do my goddamn job,” he ground out.

“It becomes my business when both of our lives get put on the line!” you returned. “And what exactly is your job, huh? Circus performer with a specialty in knives?” You tugged on the hem of the jacket, ignoring how he went rigid. “Where do you keep that costume so they don’t realize they’re wearing it, too, by the way? Because I know for a fact that Steven would’ve mentioned cosplaying as the fucking Mummy if he knew about—”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not a costume.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” You raised a haughty brow. “Do they know you’re running around like an albino version of London’s Daredevil?”

He was not about to explain all of Khonshu’s business to you. You knew too much already, and if Marc and/or Steven even caught wind of the old bird still hanging around, Jake was done for. “They don’t know about me for a reason, chaparrita, and I’d like to keep it that way. They can’t know about me—it’s better for all of us in the long run—so if you’d very kindly just keep your trap shut—”

“You have to tell them about you,” you told him firmly, eyes blazing, “and about whatever vigilante shit you’ve got going on. It’s not fair to them—they think they’re free from Marc’s old merc work, and here you are using the body against their consent to do whatever it is that you please. Do you realize how much danger you’re putting them in carrying on with shit like this?”

“I am protecting them,” he bit back, a snarl building in the back of his throat.

“By getting them ambushed in a fucking alley?” you snapped. “Your involvement in this could’ve gotten all three of you killed!”

“That costume is the only thing that can keep them alive through anything!” Jake returned sharply. “They would’ve been fine!”

“And what about me?” you demanded. “What about my safety? I know I chose my lot once Marc told me about his past, but this is adding a whole new level to all this that I wasn’t prepared for! What if you hadn’t been there, lingering in the background, or—or however you knew to step in? Do I need to live my life looking over my shoulder just in case there’s someone tailing me, waiting to catch me off-guard long enough to hurt me to get to them thinking they’re you? How do you think they’d react if something happened to me out of the blue, just by my being around them and whoever it is you’re fighting, thinking you’re the same person because you share the same face? Even then, they’d try to get to the bottom of it, and they could get shot, or stabbed, or—or whatever, just by trying to clean up your fucking mess!”

“If you weren’t around being seen with our face in the first place, you wouldn’t be involved to start with,” he growled, “and I wouldn’t have to concern myself with keeping you out of harm’s way all the time! You’re a liability to them—if something happened to you, they’d lose their shit, and I can’t have that happen. You’re as much of a danger to their wellbeing as these fucking cabrónes are!”

You retreated then, hurt flashing across your features so fast he almost missed it, before you schooled your expression into something frigid enough that it sent a chill down Jake’s spine. You floundered for words, lips moving without a sound, and Jake’s fuse shortened by the second. You swallowed, then, and roughly tipped your chin up—in defiance, certainly, but Jake didn’t miss the shine of moisture welling along your lash line. “…Do they feel that way, since you do?” you finally ventured. “Somewhere deep down? That I’m just a burden to them?”

“No,” he sighed, tucking his head and scrubbing his hand down his face. “There’s not a thing in this fucking world that they wouldn’t do for you, chaparrita, or kill themselves by trying. That’s the problem. That’s what makes you so dangerous. They care about you far too much.”

“And you don’t, I take it?” you supposed tightly. “Is that your job? Not to care?”

Jake ground his jaw so tightly his temples throbbed. “Don’t put words in my fucking mouth.”

“Then tell me why, exactly, you’re so hellbent on hiding yourself from them when they’re already trying so goddamn hard to heal and work together? What gives you the right to opt out and do whatever you damn well please, spilling more blood on their hands at the same time they’re trying to wash them clean?”

“There’s nothing special about me,” he bit out, “and they don’t need me—because if they knew what I’ve had to do to keep them alive they’d never forgive themselves!” Your brows twitched up, and Jake snarled under his breath. “Mierda. Just stay out of my fucking business, will you? The less you know, the better. And do not tell them about this, or about me, me entiendes?”

“I am not going to lie to Marc or Steven, and it’s stupid of you to think that I would,” you told him resolutely. “Either you tell them, or I will.”

“Did you miss all of what I just fucking said?” he spat. “If they know about me, it’ll do far more harm than good. They have a hard enough time reconciling what they’ve gone through, I don’t need to add all my shit to it!”

“You’ve helped them survive what they’ve gone through,” you pointed out, and Jake’s breath stopped short. “I’m not stupid, despite what you may think. I can tell even now that your primary concern is their well-being. But don’t you think telling them that you’re here, and that you’re a—a what, a superhero?—wouldn’t that be better than keeping them in the dark?”

“I am not a hero, chaparrita,” he told you darkly.

“Well, you’re certainly not a villain,” you responded evenly—as if you were stating fact.

Jake scowled. “Did they tell you what happened in Egypt? What really happened?”

Your eyes flashed. “They don’t have to, it’s not really any of my business. I know it was hard on them and they don’t like to talk about—”

“We got shot. Twice. We died! And it was only that armor that brought us back!” Jake flashed his teeth. “Marc let the bastard that did it go, but I killed him. That’s the difference between Marc or Steven and I, chaparrita: I hurt those who deserve it and feel no remorse for it.”

You blinked, then, eyes rounded. Realization dawned behind your gaze, and when you looked sharply off to the side, a stray tear slipped over the curve of your cheek. Your expression tightened, and Jake could imagine that you were finally putting together all the fragments of what Steven and Marc had mentioned offhandedly about their time in Egypt.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, sinking against the wall and dropping his head back against the brick. He dragged a hand down his face with a harsh sigh. He’d completely fumbled this entire situation. “...Mira.* If something were to happen to you, mis hermanos* won’t take it well.” He looked down at you, eyes half-lidded—meeting fire with fire obviously didn’t work with you. Even when Marc was being surly, you only listened when he stopped and lowered his voice. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that you shut down when you were shouted at, based on the way you’d stared at him like a doe caught in headlights. “...Do you really care about them?”

Your head recoiled to stare at him critically. The vessels in your sclera were an agitated crimson. “Of course I do!”

“Then you’ll listen to me, all right?” He straightened and stepped closer, fingers flexing at his side while he repressed the urge to reach out to you. Seeing you upset was doing funny shit to him. (He didn’t like it. Not one bit.) “After what happened tonight, I can’t afford to wait any longer. I need to finish up my business as soon as possible—I spent too long investigating and biding my time to see when those guys would crawl out of their nest. They are dangerous, and I’m going to do my damnedest to tie up all those loose ends. All right? That means I can’t have you caught in the crossfire. And once I get done with that…” He shook his head, casting his eyes upwards briefly. “...then we’ll talk—you know, about…everything else. Do you understand?”

You glared at him for a long moment, lips pursed as you considered him. Finally, you nodded curtly, once.

He raised a brow. “Can you say it for me?”

Your temples flexed. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Buena nena.*” He peered around the corner just to ensure that the zealots hadn’t doubled back, then moved to the edge of the street and flagged down a cab. When they stopped, he gestured you over. You watched him warily all the while, glancing both ways. He reached for the door and grasped the handle, but you laid your hand over his. He froze.

“Please,” you murmured, pleading him with your gaze, “be careful. Keep taking care of them. Let me know if…if you need any help. If there’s anything I can do...” You squeezed his hand, then let it go. “I’d prefer you three to come back in one piece, you know.”

He swallowed roughly, then nodded. He opened the door, and as you stooped to climb inside, his hand curved around the back of your head. You glanced up at him in surprise, but once you were seated, he abruptly retracted his touch.

“I’m trusting you,” you told him. “I don’t want this to be the last time we meet.”

Jake gave you a rueful, wooden smile. “If you’re lucky, cariño*, you won’t ever have to see me again.”

He shut the door, waved off the driver, and shoved his hands into the pockets of Marc’s jacket. He watched the cab round the corner out of sight, closing his eyes briefly, and turned to start walking in the opposite direction.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

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dragon-kazansky · 6 months

Text

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

SEASON 2 CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Blackbeard rules the sea. Despite wanting his captain back, Izzy realises his mistake. Protecting the crew is his concern. Protecting you is his life mission. Stede's return brings hope, but there's a lot of work to be done before this crew becomes a family.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Spoilers. Izzy serenades you. Wee John looks absolutely amazing. Ned wants to make music with you.

Chapter Fifteen - Night to remember

♡♡♡

You find Izzy drinking up on deck. You make your way over to him and take the bottle from him.

"Bit early for that."

Izzy sighs and looks at you. "I spoke to Ed."

"Oh?" You give him your full attention. "Go on."

"He said sorry."

You smile a little and reach out to caress Izzy's cold cheek softly.

"There's hope."

Izzy says nothing and leans into your touch. "Your hands a cold," he whispers.

"So is your face. The cold sea air is setting in." You smile at him. "Come here."

Izzy leans in a little closer and you kiss him. "There. That will warm you up."

Izzy smiles. You both stay there a little while.

♡♡♡

The crew totally just Calypso'd their captain. Things had been a little stable onboard the ship, so Frenchie used the good old excuse of Calypso's birthday to celebrate.

Stede also thought this was a good way for Ed to make things right again. To turn the poison into positivity.

A party sounded like fun. You were excited.

You joined the crew on shore to spend some of the leftover treasure on things for the party. Food, drink, decoration. It was going to be great.

Izzy followed you through the stalls. As you looked at all the wars available, Izzy looked at you.

He was so in love with you. He couldn't deny it. You were everything to him. There was not a single treasure in the world that would mean more to him than you. His whole world was right there in front of him.

"Izzy, look at this!" You lift up a silver chain belt with lots of little charms hanging off it. The charms looked like little stars to him.

"Very nice."

You put it back down to look at other stuff. Izzy doesn't hesitate to pick up the belt and pay for it, putting it in his satchel for sake keeping.

You pass a stall of flowers and smile as you look at them. You pluck one from the table and turn around to face Izzy. He stops walking as you draw closer and tuck the flower into his waistcoat. You smile.

"There."

He smiles and looks at your face, admiring your eyes. Maybe he could dance with you at this party... but then Izzy remembers his leg and decides to forget that thought. You see the expression on his face change and reach out to him.

"What is it? What's the matter?" You ask softly.

"Nothing. Come on." He takes your hand in his and leads you onward. You don't ask any more questions, but you do keep your eye on him.

♡♡♡

The ship is decorated with fabric, lanterns, flowers, and other little bits the crew managed to find.

You were in Izzy's cabin, well, you supposed it was yours too. You spent enough time in there with him. Izzy wasn't here, but something was sitting on the bed for you. Alongside it was a note written in Izzy's neat writing. You smiled at it as you read it.

A gift for you. Wear it at the party.

- Your Izzy.

You place the note down and unwrap the gift waiting for you. It was only wrapped by cloth and rope, but it was neatly done. Izzy had taken care to make sure it was nicely kept for you.

Silver catches your eye. You smile as you pick up the the belt you had seen in the market earlier that day. Izzy had bought it for you. You put it on right away.

Jim had helped pick out some clothes for you for the party. The crew were apparently dressing up a lite for the occasion. It wasn't much, but it was a nice change from your usual garb.

You make your way up onto the deck to see the party had started. The crew were smiling, drinking, having fun. It was a good atmosphere, and something that was well needed after everything everyone had been through.

It was about time the crew healed.

Ed and Stede were talking to each other on one side of the ship. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but for a brief second Ed looked up at you. You allowed yourself to smile and nod at him.

Ed seemed to really appreciate that.

Yes, he went off the rails and took your lover's leg. Yes, he tortured the crew and tried to kill everyone. But there was room to forgive if Ed just opened his eyes and tried to reconnect.

Izzy would always be your main priority though. No matter what Ed said or did.

Speaking of Izzy, you couldn't see him on deck. You looked around wondering if he was hiding in one of the dark corners of the deck. You weren't about to let him miss out on a good night.

You couldn't see him.

Still, you smiled as Jim came over and splashed you, laughing like a maniac. You laughed too, getting into it.

"Greetings, mortals."

You all turn around to find Wee John standing on the stairs. Your jaw drops slightly at the sight.

"Is that Wee John?" Stede asks.

"'Tis I, Calypso."

You smile. Archie bows down and Jim makes their way a little closer.

"Raise your motherfucking glasses or feel my absolute wrath," Wee John, uh, Calypso, demands.

Everyone raises their glasses with a cheer.

In that next moment you hear Izzy's voice. "Yeah, just play that. Just follow my beat." He limps forward.

Your expression turns to one of surprise and awe.

There stands Izzy, still in his usual gear, but with a few added accessories. The flower you gifted him at the market was tucked into his waistcoat, and he was wearing make up. His hair has been touched up too.

He looked good.

Frenchie plays a few chords and you're once again taken back by what is happening. Izzy starts to sing.

"Hold me close and hold me fast,

The magic spell you cast,

This is la vie en rose."

He sings softly, looking a little awkward, but he carries on singing anyway. As other start to dance around you, you stand there and watch Izzy sing.

"When you kiss me, heaven sighs,

And though I close my eyes,

I see la vie en rose."

Izzy walks over to you and takes your hand, kissing it softly. You can't help the smile that settles on your face. You wonder if he can hear your heart racing in your chest.

"When you press me to your heart...

I'm in a world apart,

A world where roses bloom."

Izzy pulls you in closer and you both began to dance with the others. He keeps the song going.

"And when you speak angels sing from above,

Every day words seem to turn into love-"

He is just about to sing the next word when something shoots at the ship. Everyone begins to panic. Izzy holds onto you. He pulls you down off to the side, his arms around you firmly.

"Good evening, doomed crew of The Revenge." A voice says, followed by the soft tune of a violin.

You know that voice.

"New Low. Fuckin' perfect." Ed sighs.

"I'm going to torture you all, by the way." Ned states proudly.

Izzy had his arm out in front of you, keeping you behind him. You smile softly. He was trying to protect you, but you knew Ned had the whole crew under his thumb.

At least you got tied up close to Izzy where he could see you.

"So, what's the plan, you weird fuck?" Izzy asks the lady that walks over to him.

"Yeah, I'm probably gonna cut your skin off in strips or some bullshit like that." She replies.

"You don't sound very excited about it," Frenchie says from where he is sat.

"What are we celebrating here, guys?" She asks, looking around the ship.

"It's Calypso's birthday," Wee John replies. "I'm Calypso."

"Oh, God. Guys, they Calypso'd them."

"Ned would shit his pants if we did that," one of the others said.

"Yeah, Captain likes a bit of whimsy now and then," Frenchie says.

"Well, I guess our captains have very different ideas about whimsy."

"Maybe we should talk about it," Olu suggests.

"No. Same shit, different day."

"Ya know, whatever this is, it's just gonna turn me on," Izzy says to her.

You chuckle. Izzy smiles at you.

"Should have said so, dear." You wink at him.

"Go fuck yourself," the woman says to him.

"That's my job," you say, not caring who on the crew heard. Some of them groan. Izzy smile and shakes his head softly. He's used to your remarks.

Ed and Stede are brought back out onto the deck. Ed is strung up by his arms and legs, his restraints pulling tight.

"Tighter, please. I think you've almost fixed my lower back," Ed says to Ned.

"Alright, you idiots. It's almost showtime." Ned says. "Everyone settled in? Prepared to give their finest performance?"

He stands and turns around to the lady who had been talking to Izzy earlier. "Can you hurry up?" He asks her, seemingly irritated.

"Do you wan it done fast or do you want it done well?" She asks back.

"Both!"

Stede is sensing some issues between them. "Torturing is won't get your record back."

"I know that. I'm just doing it for the lolz." Ned says to him. "Now, you are about to witness a little something I call, "The Symphony." Let's all tune up! Tuning up!"

They start to torture the crew enough to get them screaming in pain

Ned walks around the deck playing his violin. Stede gets hit.

"Jesus!"

"No! You're late!" Ned groans.

"I wasn't late," the lady says.

"It really hurts," Stede pouts.

"Thank you," the lady smiles. "It's nice to get a little positive reinforcement now and again."

"Don't talk to my employee," Ned warns Stede.

"Oh, that's the problem." Stede says. "You see her as your employee rather than the person she actually is."

"Okay, kill him." Ned instructs. "Let's take it from the top."

Stede manages to get his hands free. He grabs the lady and holds her at knife point. "Enough trifling! Release my crew or Hellkat- Is it Hellkat?"

"It's actually Hellkat Maggie," she says.

"Oh! That's a beautiful name."

You sigh from where you're sat. This isn't how you expected tonight to go. You were looking forward to spending a fun evening with Izzy.

"Go ahead an kill her. She can't even tie a rope correctly," Ned scoffs.

"Maybe I'm demoralised by your constant fucking criticism," she argues back

"Me too. I've had enough of the shiny fuck." Another says.

"I don't like the way it makes me feel working for you," adds another of his crew.

"You're mercenaries. You don't have feelings." Ned says, looking at them all.

"How about you stop telling me who I am?" Hellkat states.

"Yeah, and she has a name." Stede reminds him. "A beautiful one."

The door bursts open and Black Pete comes out screaming, Lucius behind him. It just dawned on you that you hadn't seen them all day.

"Guys, Stede's already got this!" Ed says to them.

"Yeah. Where you been?" Olu asks.

"We got engaged."

Everyone smiles and awes. That's so cute! Yeah, no wonder they've been gone day.

"I love that!" Stede says. "Anywho, where were we? Oh, that's right. Your lot was turning, weren't you?" He asks Hellkat. He hands the knife over to her.

Ned lowers his violin.

Ned's crew start turning their weapons on him.

Ned is promptly restrained. His crew are given some of the treasure aboard The Revenge, and they're sent on their way in a boat. Ned is left behind for Stede to deal with.

The moment you had been freed from your restraints you hurried to free Izzy, holding onto him. He says nothing as he looks at you, not once dropping his gaze. His hands settle on you, happy he can hold you close again.

"So, Bland Beard. How ya gonna do it?" Ned asks.

"I'm not. I don't respect you enough to kill you," Ed says to him. "You're not worth the poison."

"What happened to you?" Ned asks. "You used to be a killer, but now you're just a washed-up, low-born dirtbag."

Stede holds his sword up to Ned. "Walk!"

"Now this is how ya do it," Ned grins. "This is what it's all about right here."

Stede shoves him forward. They walk over to where the plank is still up. "Get up." Stede orders.

"On the plank?" Ned asks.

"Yeah."

"That is kinky," Ned gasps. "You're gonna toss me into the sea?" Ned steps up onto the plank.

"Works for spiders. Works for men," Stede says to him.

"Ya know, once you kill me, you are a real pirate," Ned tells him. "You're not an amateur anymore."

"Don't do it, Stede," Ed says, looking at his man. "Killing in cold blood, you can't come back from that."

"See? That's why he likes you." Ned turns to look at Stede. "It's because of your bumbling amateur status. You're like a pet, I think."

"You hurt my crew," Stede stands his ground. "You shit-talked my friend and damaged my ship. But worst of all, you fucked Calypso's birthday!"

The crew cheer and agree with Stede.

Stede takes the violin which had been put down earlier. He turns back to face Ned.

"What would you like me to do? Jump?" Ned asks.

"No, don't forget your fiddle." Stede throws the violin right at Ned. Ned loses balance and falls into the cold sea below.

Stede had done it.

You watch him go as he walks away.

"Give him a minute," Izzy says to Ed. "First jill's always a mind-fuck."

"I'm gonna check on him." Ed follows after Stede.

You sigh and lean against Izzy. He wraps an arm around you and kisses your head gently. You chuckle and look at him.

"What a night, eh?"

His smiles at you. "Should we carry on where we left off?" He asks.

You look at him slightly confused.

Izzy takes your hand and kisses it before making his way up the stairs. You watch him go as he stands up in front of the helm. He starts to sing again and you smile.

Only this time he sings in french. You smile as he looks at you.

"Je vois la vie en rose

Il me dit des mots d'amour

Des mots de tous les jours

Mais moi, ça me fait quelque chose

Il est entré dans mon cœur

Une grande part de bonheur

Dont je connais la cause

C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie

Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie."

He smiles at you. You smile back. You had no idea he was so- talented! All these years and you're still discovering things about him

You love that man so much.

Roach sets off fireworks.

You applaud Izzy along with the rest of the crew. You all cheer. Izzy laughs.

He continues to sing as you make your way up the stairs. He holds a hand out for you as you reach the top. You chuckle and take his hand letting him draw you in closer.

"Da, da, da, da, da, da." The crew begin to sing along.

As Izzy finishes the song he pulls you in for a kiss. You return the kiss, reach up to hold his face gently in your hands.

"One more song! One more song!" The crew chant.

You laugh as you and Izzy part.

"I've got one more song!" Izzy says to them. You laugh again and take his hand in yours.

This has been a night to remember after all.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 - @the-chocoholic-writer - @bugbugboy - @callmemana - @the-shenny-of-azkaban - @cool-ontherun-world - @outer-space-beech - @ahewi24 - @grace585 - @innertimemachinegirl - @dmitrytherat - @emilynissangtr - @fruitymoonbeams-blog -

#izzy hands x reader #spirit of the sea #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd #dragon writes

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thatbanditqueen · 1 year

Text

No One Walks Out Ch 5: Salty Lips

Warnings: Tarot misinformation, penetrative vaginal sex, manipulation, fluff, smut, then angsty tears. 18+ Minors DNI.

Apparently I don't know how to schedule things so I am posting earlier than expected. Please file your complaints accordingly.

Word Count: 9.4 K

Summary: Becky has settled into the rhythm of life at Graceland over the first few days there, though she still has not had a full tour. Luckily, her hosts finally get it together to show her around. She goes to visit her sister, but encounters an unexpected guest. At least for her.

I need to first thank my alpha, @whositmcwhatsit for reading the first draft and giving me feedback as she corrected my grammar. Which is generally bad. Thanks Jade, I some how fooled you into hanging out with me and I would feel guilty for asking you to read my stuff, because it takes you away from your own writing which is necessary and needed for the good of the fandom. But you always make my work better so I cannot feel guilty at all. No, I selfishly will take every glance and glint and comment you give me.

Also thanks to my fellow Elvis sister wives for all their morale support and brilliance. Just being in your orbit is a gift: @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love

If you need to catch up first:

Chapter 4: Kaleidoscope

or start from the beginning: No One Walks Out On Big Daddy Masterlist

Chapter 5: Salty Lips

11:45 a.m. Thursday, June 19, 1975

Graceland Estate, Memphis, TN

A cardinal twittered loudly, joined by a chickadee, and Becky was so ensconced in the bubble of idyllic life at Graceland that she wondered if this musical rendition wasn’t just for her benefit. Lisa gave an excited hum where she sat next to Becky on top of the picnic table by the pool and slapped down another tarot card.

“Alright, Becky, ‘Page of Swords’, what does this one mean?”

Becky looked closely at the drawing, closing one eye and squinting nearer for effect.

“Well, babt,” Becky mused, trying to stifle a grin and pronounce the girl’s fortune with complete confidence. “They all go together.” She set it next to the other cards they had drawn: Strength, The Chariot and The Moon. Becky was not sure how many cards you were supposed to put down when reading tarot, but four seemed like a good number.

”So?” Lisa slapped her hand on the table.

“Well, so, Page of Swords, as we can see here now, obviously means you are gonna live on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and you’ll have yellow tights, and a pretty pink dress, and a big ol’ sword that you’ll be very good at using,”

“I’m already pretty good with my daddy’s samurai sword, wanna see?”

“Hmmm, maybe later.”

Becky thought of her shooting lesson the other day and decided against more deadly weapons. Getting through the day without letting Lisa kill or be killed would count as a win for bonding with the kid of her new - lover? fling? friend? - whatever Elvis was to her. She decided to go with fling. A short fling. They were two grown adults having a casual, fun, very short fling. Well, one rock star and one adult.

Was she even an adult? She had spent most of the last three days playing with a seven year old until the late afternoon, and then playing with Elvis into the night. She felt like she had wandered into a strange, enchanted land where all the adults acted like children and all the children acted like adults. Water fights, target practice, ice cream for breakfast, and impulsive shopping sprees.

Not having a schedule or others depending on her had been freeing at first, but now, on day four of life at Graceland, Becky had started to feel somewhat unmoored from reality away from the structure of her daily life back home.

She looked down at the table, where Lisa was tapping on the next card, and continued her tarot reading.

“Ok, see here, Strength, that’s an angel with a lion. Of course, now, that is just symbolic. The angel is your conscience telling you the right thing to do, but you won’t have this moral confidence until you own a lion. They can be very difficult pets, I hear, I recommend getting an ice locker for all the gazelle meat you are going to need to feed it.”

“You’re silly, Becky, no one owns lions as pets.”

“No one yet, but hey baby, according to your fortune, you are gonna change all that. There’s nothing you can do. It’s in the cards. That means it has to happen.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, her lips betraying a smile. “Ok, what else?”

“Well, here, The Chariot, clearly one day you will go to Egypt and meet a prince -”

“And marry him?”

“Well, that depends. On whether you like him or wanna feed him to your lion?” Becky growled and gashed her teeth playfully as if she was going to eat Lisa’s shoulder. Just as Lisa shrieked and hit Becky, the back door slammed and they glanced over to see Elvis’ aunt Delta stagger out.

“Alright, Lisa Marie now, s’getting to be round lunch time. I just got Ma settled out in the rockin’ chair, so it’s time for you to come eat.” Delta looked Becky up and down as she spoke.

“Whatcha y’all got goin on?” she said, and Becky noticed Lisa stiffen and gather up the cards.

“We’re just playing Old Maid, Aunt Delta.”

Becky raised her eyebrow at Lisa, who just shook her head with a crafty smile. Becky turned to the older woman. Hmmm, I guess these older ladies don’t approve of mystical practices. Or maybe they only let one resident here get away doing whatever he wanted.

She thought of Elvis’ grandmother, who had turned to her after he had left the dinner table the night before, taken her arm and whispered low:

“I hope ya don’t break his heart, like all the rest. That young boy ova there has been through so much. Don’t know why he canna find a good woman. Guess they just don’t make us like they used ta.” Minnie Mae had then released Becky’s hand and spit part of her chew into the tea cup next to her dinner plate.

Becky only had a moment to feel uneasy before Elvis swooped back in and pulled her into the den and onto his lap, where he cajoled Lisa to perform “Crocodile Rock” for the group on top of the coffee table.

No, I reckon these good ole girls who sit around bemoaning the lack of any good women left would probably not go in for tarot cards, Becky thought, as she looked at Elvis’ aunt.

“How are you doing today, Ms. Presley?”

“Hmmm, it’s Biggs. And it’s Mrs. And never you mind, you can save it, I don’t care for you kissing up ta me. I know your kind.”

Becky tightened her smile at Delta’s grimace, wondering if that was the faint odor of vodka wafting off the older woman. Just then, Delta weaved towards her and gripped a nearby chair to steady herself. Her eyes narrowed at Becky in judgment.

“You are like all the others, waiting around for your payday. Out for all you can get. Bout as useful as gum on a boot heel. Humph.”

“Oh brother, here we go!” Lisa jumped up and walked past Delta. “C’mon, Becky Butt, let’s go get some chocolate cake.”

Becky smiled even wider at Delta as she followed Lisa, and watched the older woman scan the pool area, before tottering back to the house behind them.

“Chocolate cake? That doesn’t sound like a good lunch.”

“Oh, it’s the best lunch, don’t worry, I told Nancy before she left this morning, so it’s all ready.”

“They - they let you have that for lunch”

“Let me?” Lisa grinned a devious grin and her eyes sparkled. “I’m the boss round here when Daddy’s asleep. If they ever give me any guff, I just lay down tha law an let ‘em know how it is, jack.”

“Oh? And how is it?”

“Get with the program or git!” Lisa held the door to the kitchen open for Becky, and grabbed the milk out of the fridge.

Sure enough, there in the middle of the counter was a tall, chocolate cake adorned with a circle of pink frosting rosettes. Lisa poured two tall glasses of milk and carefully set out china plates with all the hospitality of a true, Southern hostess.

“Don’t worry, Becky, it’s vegetarian!” Lisa announced, grabbing the biggest knife Becky had ever seen, almost the length of the short, seven year old’s arm, as she proceeded to carve two large, unwieldy pieces from the beautiful dessert.

*********************************************************************

Becky was certain that her chocolate cake was about to make an encore appearance as the golf cart whipped around the bend. Grabbing the top of the seat, she looked over at Lisa as the little girl pushed her foot harder on the pedal and yelped with glee while she steered them down the grass behind the carport.

“I didn’t realize golf carts could go this fast.” Becky gripped her seat tighter, her knees jostling up and down against the metal bar at the front.

“Oh yeah, these are top o’ the line, Becky. Watch, I can get it to go even fast—” Becky put her hand up in protest.

“Nope, not necessary, this - this is great. Very refreshing in the heat.”

Lisa pushed her feet down a little further and Becky held on for dear life as the air whipped through her dark curls and reminded her very much that she was alive and wanted to keep it that way.

“Ok, so this is the stable,” Lisa pointed to a large white building coming up on their left side. “It’s called House of the Rising Sun, and most people think it's after a song, but actually, it's named after Daddy’s horse, Rising Sun. Though I always say he should be named Setting Sun, on account of the fact that the sun is usually setting before Papa gets up and goes riding.” Lisa slapped her thigh, as if making a rimshot on a drum set, and Becky realized this was her cue to laugh, so she let out a chuckle and rubbed Lisa’s hair.

“Yeah, that is a much better name. Or Sleeping Bear, hmmm?” Lisa giggled.

“Or Grumpy Sleepy Bear.”

“That one sounds perfect, what do you think? We have time to paint a new sign?”

Lisa laughed as she drove them on, showing Becky the trailer where her daddy’s nurse, Tish lived, and the other where Billy, Jo and their kids lived, and they wound their way around the back of the paddock.

“That’s where Daddy likes to race his horses with the guys.”

“For special occasions? Or just for fun?”

“Oh, he does it to show off for the fans.”

Becky snorted down a laugh and and attempted to catch her hair and pulled it back up as it escaped into the wind.

“Um, ha - how do you know he does it for the fans? He tell you that?”

“No, my mama told me; he likes to race the horses round for no good reason, just to show off for the fans cuz he’s a big show off and he’ll never really be a true questrion.”

“Well, I don’t know, I mean your mom may not know —”

“Oh, she does, she knows everything. Daddy’s always saying my mama’s the biggest know-it-all you’ll ever meet. And hippo cat. Why would he call a woman a hippo and a cat?”

“Hmm.” Becky grabbed the side rail as the golf cart swerved back around towards the mansion, trying not to laugh at Lisa’s casual description of her parents. “I bet he meant something else and said it wrong, cuz you’re right, doesn’t make any sense.”

Lisa seemed to agree, nodding her head. And on to the next point of interest, her proud, confident tour guide voice explained that the house butted up to fence over there used to be her granddaddy’s.

They drove past the throng of fans at the front gate near the bottom of the hill they were coming up and Lisa asked Becky if she needed any money or a new camera. Becky wasn’t sure exactly how this related to the crowd, but she had some suspicions as she looked over her shoulder at the people mulling aroun down at the gate. So, instead, she rubbed the sweat off her forehead and complained about the heat.

Parking the golf cart back at the side of the house, Lisa led the way back inside, suggesting they cool down in the pool. Becky didn’t have a bathing suit, but jumped in wearing her tee shirt over underwear, letting her feet push off the rough, concrete bottom of the pool. She felt an almost instant sense of relief and rejuvenation as she sprung up weightlessly through the cool water and floated to the top, rubbing the chlorine out of her eyes. This was, of course, a futile exercise, as more chlorine water was in her face almost immediately, followed by the sounds of Lisa laughing from where she was splashing Becky a few feet away.

“Oh, you are gonna get it!”

Lisa’s screams ricocheted through the patio as Becky swam over, grabbed her and threw her playfully back into the water.

They raced each other like this for a bit, and then played catch in the water. Lisa particularly liked trying to aim directly in front of Becky, and shrieked with delight when Becky let the ball hit the water and then dramatically flustered about in the wake of the splash, uttering out a loud, affected:

“Now heyyyyy! That’s not fair!”

After a while, Mary brought them out some lemonade, and ham and cheese sandwiches, and they dangled their feet in the side of the pool, eating. Becky pulled the ham out of her sandwich, and Lisa opened her mouth, motioning for Becky to drop the cold cut in, chuckling.

“Hmmm, we make a good pair, huh?”

Lisa nodded, speaking with a full mouth:

“Mmmm choww nuhff.” She swallowed, and took a sip of lemonade. “How’d you get to be such a good swimmer? You don’ all kinds of fancy moves out there, I never seen anyone swim sideways like that or stay underwater so long.”

“I was on my high school swim team. Then I used to lead canoe trips down the Cahaba, that’s the big river where I’m from, over in Birmingham.” She ruffled Lisa’s hair. “And I was a camp counselor for a while in Mississippi, we spent most of our summer in the pool. I reckon I was a fish in my past life, that’s what Helga used to say.

“Your nanny?”

“MMhmm. You have a good memory, kid, I can tell. You’re whip smart.”

Lisa giggled and splashed Becky with her foot. Water was violently flying up in the air as they commenced in an epic foot splash fight when a loud, deep ‘Ahem’ made their feet still. Lisa’s lips were pursed, emitting a nervous laugh and Becky met her eyes with frightened giddy trepidation as they turned in unison to see the tall, broad silhouette of Elvis behind them. Becky coughed nervously.

His thumbs hung down from the belt at his white trousers and he tilted his sunglasses down to look over them, adjusting his stance.

“MMMM what's - a -a - ahappenin’ ova round these parts, mhmmm?” Elvis tried unsuccessfully to keep his lip from quirking into a smile as his voice boomed out comically deep.

Lisa giggled, and pointed. “Becky started it!”

Gaping, Becky pushed her into the pool with a whispered, “Thanks a lot, Lisa Marie Benedict Arnold Presley!” Then jumped up to say hi to Elvis.

His face beamed with a grin but then, as she got closer, his lip tightened and his chin tilted out as he took in her swimsuit.

“Becky, what the hell are ya wearin’, girl?”

Becky pulled her shirt down, and Elvis went to grab her hands to stop her, as it just made her nipples more pronounced through the thin, wet fabric.

“Elvis, I don’t have a bathing suit, I didn’t think it was that big of a differe—”

“Honey, I can see your hair through your panties,” he whispered gruffly, wrapping Becky in the thick, white, suede jacket he’d been wearing. As part of his outfit. Outside. In June. In Memphis. Becky rolled her shoulders, trying to shirk it off, looking into his eyes imploringly.

“Elvis, I’m all wet, it will ruin this suede and get it all dirty. It’s so humid, too, I just th—”

“Becky, don’t worry about the jacket.” He pulled her in, unable to resist flicking her over her nipple imself as he scolded her to cover up. “Anyone could see you out here.”

“Baby, no one is out here.”

“But they could be, boy, they could be.. ‘Sides, think now what if a band of drugged-out commie burglars jumped the back fence, and I, I had to send you running to safety at that motel across the street? You don’t wanna be waiting for me and the boys and the police in public like this.” He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Elvis, that’s ridiculous - what is the likelihood tha—”

“Now, c’mon on, you never know, it’s getting rougher every day out there. These are the things ya gotta consider.”

Becky was about to argue with him further, that he was being paranoid, and where did he even come up with this stuff, commie drug dealer burglars? She thought of Elvis doing some of the karate moves he had taught her as a band of crazy-eyed youths scaled the back wall, and almost giggled. However, she was suddenly distracted by the fingers tracing over her hips, underneath the suede jacket, and she shivered as she felt goosebumps rise up on the back of her neck, still chilled from the water. Elvis leaned in to kiss her forehead, and she closed her eyes with a low gasp, feeling his belly press into hers.

“Good thing you got me around to think of every angle.” Elvis clicked his tongue and point to his head. ”Go on upstairs and get cleaned up, wanna give you a tour of Graceland.” He patted Becky on the butt as he turned her to the house.

Shuffling forward in the comfort of her new mobile suede sauna, Becky heard Lisa pull out of the water and ask her dad if they could have a bonfire tonight with hot dogs and baked potatoes and corn and s’mores and coconut cake and ice cream.

“Course, baby, jus let Mary and Charlie know how you want it.”

Becky opened the door at the side of the house, she looked back to see Elvis kneeling and smiling as he wrapped Lisa in a towel.

“You’re the boss, booger, I jus’ work here.”

Becky could feel the brightness radiating from Lisa’s broad smile as she went inside, and she shook her head as she mused to herself how sweet they were together. The way Elvis spoiled his daughter was charming when Becky pushed aside her own parenting philosophy, which she had always considered to be overly permissive until spending this last week at Graceland.

She frowned at the prospect of having to parent with someone like him, and felt a sharp pang of sympathy for Priscilla, a woman whom Becky had always regarded as a bit of a cold Yankee. As if you could ever know what someone is like from reading gossip magazines, silly girl.

Getting dressed, Becky chided herself for not telling Elvis about her earlier tour of the estate. It was just that he had looked so intent as he told her what they were doing, and the sound of his voice gently commanding her made her agree with whatever he said, take whatever he offered, do whatever he wanted to do.

Yeah, a long term relationship with this man is trouble. Becky reflected on how relieved she had been when Lisa didn’t wake up and come get her until 10:30 that morning, instead of 8 a.m., like she had the first day, and felt a bit disgusted with herself. Ugh, Elvis’ lifestyle is warping your judgment. Sleep all day, play all night, and now I have to go pretend that I haven’t already seen the grounds of Graceland.

*********************************************************************

The dirt shifted under Becky’s Keds as she walked beside Elvis towards the stables, holding his hand as he squeezed it tightly and turned to look at her, eyes soft and bright as he spoke. Becky summoned a look of awe as if seeing the building for the first time.

“Right, now this is the House of the Rising Sun, on account of my horse, Rising Sun. Though I reckon I shoulda named him Setting Sun, because, ya know, that’s usually when I’m getting up.” Elvis looked at Becky expectantly, and she forced a giggle, leaning into him as they walked into the building.

The sound of horses’ snorting and whinnying greeted them, and Becky followed Elvis as he grabbed a handful of sugar cubes from the front counter and leaned against the white gate of the first stall, waggling his eyebrows at Becky as she cautiously stepped forward. He took her hand, unrolling her fingers and putting a piece of sugar in the middle, then clicking his tongue as the large palomino nuzzled into him, nickering and searching for treats.

“Now, go on, he won’t bite ya - much.” Elvis smirked, watching as Becky rolled her lips in and put out her hand, shrieking at the tickle of the horse’s chin hairs on her hand.

“Is this one yours?”

“MMhmmm, this is Rising Sun,” Elvis told her, turning to ruffle the blonde tuft of hair between the golden horse’s ears.

Becky cautiously stroked the white blaze down the middle of his face, stopping to rub his muzzle as he sniffed her hand for more sugar. She looked into Rising Sun’s large brown eyes, wondering how such a majestic creature could be tamed, and how quickly he would trample over her for more sugar.

“He’s beautiful. And terrifying.” She said, then looked up at Elvis. “Just like you, I suppose.”

Elvis’ fingers caressed over Becky’s dress, stopping at the small of her back to rub into her tenderly.

“Oh now, don’t tell me ya afraid of me, now honey. Or these horsies, are ya Becky Butt?” He moved behind her, his hand trailing slowly over her arm, down from her shoulder, until it was over the back of her palm. He slowly guided her palm up to smooth over the side of Rising Sun’s face and cheek, leaning into whisper into her neck. “See, now, now, see? He’s a good boy, gentle and well trained as can be. Ain’t got nothin ta fear from hims.”

Elvis kisses warmed her skin, and Becky shuddered as his lips crushed into her. Moaning, she dropped her hand and turned into him, biting her lip in anticipation as Elvis rolled back on his feet and then forward, pressing her into the white pole that separated the stalls. Rising Sun grunted at them and blew his nose, and Becky squealed at the feeling of his large, gummy mouth chewing at her hair. Elvis' mouth quirked into a smile, but his hand rubbed her side more intently, and a fierce, starved look animated his eyes.

“Get now, silly horse, that ain’t hay.” He gently pushed Rising Sun away, and pulled Becky into him, gripping her tightly.

A tingle burned in Becky’s belly and she breathed out in hushed desire.

“Huh. How - how does my hair look?”

“Looks a a a, a whole lot better than it's gonna once I’m through wit ya.” Elvis said softly, through a high breathy giggle. Then he looked down, bashfully, his hand rubbing Becky’s waist up and down then pinching her on both sides. Becky giggled, pulling herself into his frame, her hand working up over his chest as she kissed his jaw.

“Why, Elvis Presley, I declare, are you - are you trying to seduce me? In the barn?”

He shook his head, a goofy expression pushed his lips into a pout.

“Depends.”

Becky arched her eyebrow, her fingers toyed with the high blue collar of Elvis’ shirt. “Mmmmmm? Depends on what?”

Elvis withdrew, blushing, his jaw tightening, suddenly changing his mind from whatever he had been thinking about doing, “Neva mind, baby. Here, let me introduce ya to the other horses.”

Becky followed him, brushing her hand over the top of his belt and sweeping along his back.

“Ok darlin’, you’re the boss.” Pushing her hand around him, Becky leaned into Elvis, and he drew her tighter into his side, looking ahead to give a large, black horse a sugar cube.

“This here, now, this boy is special, this is Ebony’s Double, come from a real champion stud, Ebony Masterpiece.”

Becky put her hand up to the horse’s neck, feeling his muscles ripple under his silky black coat as she rolled her hand over him. Breathing in, her eyes locked with Elvis as she caught him looking down at her, and she thought about reaching up on her tiptoes to try and kiss him, but instead kissed his shoulder. It was easier, and she relished the way he squeezed her into him in response. His bottom lip dropped down with his chin, and his voice came out in a raspy croak.

“Hey there, lil’ girl.”

Becky nuzzled in, and shifted the rubber soles of her shoes to pivot and bring her closer into Elvis' chest.

“Hey,” she whispered into his armpit.

Elvis brought her chin up and leaned down, his hand moving to cradle her neck as she curled her fingers into his shirt. Gentle kisses became more fervent as his hands crept lower until they cupped her bottom and Elvis was holding Becky up. Notched above his tummy, Becky’s knees bumped up awkwardly against his elbows, and Elvis chuckled as he carried her towards the back of the barn, almost dropping her with a mild stumble. That would have been the end of the white suede suit. But he quickly recovered, grunting as he jostled Becky up and smiling at the sound of her breathy chuckles as she held onto his shoulders while they staggered to the back of the barn. Becky could hear the sound of horse’s hooves, grunts and neighs, but they were peripheral to the sound of the heartbeat pulsing through her ears.

Becky felt the edge of the workbench where Elvis placed her atop. They were at the back of the stables, next to a saddle presumably left for repair. Beckys legs hitched on either side of Elvis' body, and she dragged her thumb over his cheek, moaning out as his lips found that spot on her neck once more and his hands moved under her skirt, slowly, carefully, tugging on her underwear.

“Hey,” she murmured. Elvis cheeks reddened above a smirk as his dark blue eyes looked down at the ground.

“Hey,” he breathed out in a deep voice.

Becky fell back on the table, resting on her wrists.

“Hey.” she waggled her eyebrows and dangled her legs, then tightened them at his side.

He shook his head, unbuttoning his trousers and moving over her, his lips feathering above her as he whispered: “Heyyyyyyy.”

Becky gasped as she felt him thrust slowly upwards into her, moaning out into his mouth.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.”

She wrapped her legs around him, rocking her hips to meet him in the slow, gentle cadence of their love making. His eyes narrowed on hers as his movements became more deliberate, and his thumb found the slick over her clitoris, swirling in time to their needy rolls back and forth over the workbench. Heat coiled in her belly, and Becky leaned back as a guttural cry escaped her mouth.“Heeyyyyyy fucking ohmygod heyyyyyyYYYYYY GODDAMMMIT” as her climax overtook her.

Elvis leaned forward, peppering kisses over her collarbone and burying his head in her bosom where he continued to slow move in and out of her until he came with a vehement grunt and remained there, head in her chest, panting through the final thrusts before stilling completely.

Becky relished the weight of his body pressing down on her, insistent, immediate, she wanted it to crush her forever. His shaggy swath of black hair moved as Elvis’ chin protruded forward, and she met his blue eyes, looking up at her from his smug, boyish expression. She melted in the radiance of his smile. “Hey.” Elvis blushed, again, then grunted as he pulled himself up and grinned at Becky’s playfully shove.

“Hey is for horses, Presley,” she gasped, and he laughed as he zipped up, bending down to restore her panties to their rightful place.

She wondered if she had made the wrong first impression on the horses, as they ambled out of the stable and back toward the house.

“Hmmm, so that was the tour huh?”

“I think that’s all the tour I can manage right now, lil girl.”

“OK, well, Lisa already showed me the smokehouse, and I’m definitely not having sex in there.”

“Hmmm, well, figured you should know by now, telling me something isn’t gonna happen just about guarantees I havta try.” He slapped her bottom and she shoved him away, only to have his arm instantly around her, drawing her into the warmth of his body as he kissed her head.

“Just so you know, Becky, I did not intend to get busy back there.”

Becky nestled into his shoulder as they walked. She could still hear the sounds of twenty horses behind them if she focused, joined by the sound of crickets and cars on the far off roads buzzing into the twilight of early evening. Above it all, she could feel the grain of Elvis' voice as it rumbling into her ear, heating the side of her neck with each word.

“I, I - I just, well, suddenly couldn’t help myself. Don’t feel that way very often, honey, I think - ” He stopped talking abruptly and turned Becky in to face him.

“Honey, now stop walking already, I’m tryin’ to tell ya something.”

As he looked at her, he noticed that her hair really had come half out of the up twist she had styled it in that evening, and he paused to take out her hair pins, freeing her curls and arranging them over her shoulders.

“There, better.” He nodded with satisfaction. “What was I sayin’? Oh yeah. OK. Here it is. I think I’m starting to really fall for ya, baby. I think, well, I think you should move up here. Can’t bear ta think about taking you back to Jackson next week.”

“This week,” Becky muttered, crossing her arms. “Sunday.”

Suddenly the buzzing, post-coital glow disintegrated and she stood still trying to process what he had said.

He took her shoulders in his hands. “Think about it. Didn’t you say you have a sister here in Memphis?”

Becky nodded, her mind still swimming, wondering if there was any way in hell she could, would, should pursue this. Looking up into Elvis’ eyes was like diving into a sea of endless optimism where everything was possible.

“Hey, I got a business meeting I gotta handle tomorrow night, maybe you could go visit your sister? I was thinking you probably would want to while you're up here anyway. And you can think things over. How it would be, if I got you a place up here, come live with your lil girl in Memphis?”

Becky stood there, nodding again, looking back down at the house. Elvis started to walk.

“Don’t just stand there woman, get in here. The most handsome man in the world just asked if you’d be his baby, least you can do is give him some sugar and say thank you.”

Becky leaned back into Elvis' open arm and kissed his chest. “Hmmm, just took me by surprise is all. I, um, I need to think about it, that’s a big deal, Elvis, I , well, I feel strongly about you too.”

She tickled his side as they walked, and he jerked back with a, *Hey, now.*

“You’re right, though, I should try and see my sister. Tomorrow night, I guess.”

*********************************************************************

6:15 p.m. Friday, June 20th 1975

Still at Graceland, for now…

It was one of the new dresses Elvis had bought her that week, a purple, jersey halter dress, that Becky pulled over her head, before asking Lisa to help clasp the simple, diamond drop necklace around the back of her neck. Lisa jumped back, and put out her wrists for a spray of perfume as Becky doused herself and twirled around.

“How do I look?” Lisa put her hand to her chin, thinking carefully.

“I think you need more eye make-up.”

“Ha, maybe, but trust me, my sister is the opposite of glamorous. She’s a judge. And I’m crashing a dinner party, so I think modest, simple, less-is-more sort of look is what I want.”

“Well,” Lisa sighed, ”you definitely nailed the less part. You’re hardly wearing any diamonds. Sure you don’t wanna borrow some of mine?”

Becky fidgeted with the ring she was wearing, the gift Elvis had given her that first night at Graceland. It was almost too large and gaudy for her style, let alone her sister Deborah’s taste. But it had come to be a comforting talisman, something she felt and twisted when she felt nervous or out of her element here with Elvis, doing whatever she thought she was doing. *Acting like an immature teenager who just discovered what sex is*, she thought to herself.

Becky also sensed Elvis would be hurt if he saw her without the ring, because he’d mentioned how nice it looked on her several times, usually taking her hand and kissing the ring there before turning her palm and kissing the center of her hand. And pulling her in for a kiss. *Ughhh, these kisses*. Even the way his dry lips bumped over hers at first touch caused a burning electricity to electrify her face and she became instantly incapable of reason.

Becky sighed, she had this impending sense of doom, her inner Cassandra, as Ida would say, always on high alert to call out trouble at the slightest provocation. Just trust him. This is fun. This feels right. Everything is ok. Wear the damn ring to Debbie’s dinner party.

Becky’s dress swished around her legs as she carefully walked down the staircase, trying not to trip in the orange platform heels Elvis had picked out at the boutique during a late night shopping spree on Wednesday. As she descended, she saw him whispering with Charlie, then the two men heard her and turned around, smiling in an eerie unison. Elvis was somewhat dressed up for his business meeting, in a dark red suit with a light blue dress shirt with a high, starched collar framing his face.

“There she is, Charlie. There’s the most beautiful gal in the world. And the smartest. And the funniest.”

Becky teetered on her platforms as she put her foot down another step.

“And the most graceful woman in the world.” He let out a low guffaw with out, and Becky narrowed her eyes at him

“Oh, keep laughing, Elvis Aaron Presley, I’mma get you for that. Buying me mile-high shoes an then laughing at how I walk in theses unnatural torture devices!”

Becky ran down the rest of the stairs and leapt onto his waist, ruffling his hair as Elvis chuckled.

“God, crazy woman, tryin’ ta kill me?” Becky kissed his forehead as he jostled her up and down, then placing her safely on the ground.

“Mhmmm. Just wanted to give you a kiss for good luck with your business dinner.”

Elvis kissed her back on the cheek as he ushered her and Charlie out of the door with a swat to the butt and a “See ya later, sweetheart.”

Charlie’s white Pontiac was waiting in front for them and they walked around, Charlie leading to open her door. Just as Becky was about to duck into the passenger seat, she saw the long, black snout of Elvis’ Stutz Blackhawk rolling up the driveway, Jerry at the steering wheel. Next to him sat the thin, blonde frame of Linda Thompson outlined against the dark, red leather interior. Jerry was a statue, stoic and serious as he pulled up and Linda burst out of the car to stride over.

“Charlie Hodge, you handsome man, where you runnin’ off to this evening? And who’s your friend?”

Charlie let out a shrill, high-pitched laugh, wondering to himself how Jerry had managed to arrive twenty minutes earlier than he had been told. Becky smiled awkwardly as she watched Linda give Charlie an air kiss on each side of his face, and then turned to Becky and her tight, wide forced cheerful smile.

Charlie stammered quickly, “Ugh, Linda, this is my cousin Becky, from Birmingham, come up to visit while her kid is at summer camp. I, ugh, well I -”

“He promised me I’d get to meet Elvis while I was here,” Becky gushed, summoning all of her energy to force her tongue to sound excited. She watched Jerry get out of the car and walk to join them. His lips were pursed, and his shoulders were stiff.

“Oh, well, it just dills my pickle to meet Charlie’s family, I feel like we’re practically family ourselves, seein’ how much time I spend with this good ole boy.”

Becky tried very hard not to tense up as Linda threw her arms around her to squeeze her tight. Linda wore a red, satin evening gown with cutouts along the side that emphasized her the curves of her sveltetorso and the wide hips below. Becky felt as though her tall, awkward fleshy figure and bust overwhelmed Linda’s body completely.

“Gosh, I just love that dress,” Linda exclaimed, adjusting the layers of Becky’s hair off her shoulder. “Though I don’t know if I could pull that color off, mhmmm, don’t know if that would be my choice, but it's so you, isn’t it?”

Becky smiled. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“So, Charlie, the old boy been behaving?” Linda winked at Becky, then whispered conspiratorially. “You know, Elvis is a good, Christian man, s’just that the devil is mighty powerful, hmmm, know what I mean?”

“MMMhmmmm.”

Becky nodded. It was like she was back in high school and one of the popular girls had waltzed up to her desk at the school newspaper, indirectly ordering her to do a story about the committee decorating the homecoming game bleachers. Ughhh. Becky steeled herself, falling back on the niceties that she was well versed in.

“I can’t even imagine! Gosh, it’s so exciting to meet you, I’ve seen your pictures in the paper and, of course, Charlie has told us about you. But you are just more precious in person, you really are.”

Linda gave Becky another hug. “Well bless your heart, Becky. Aren’t *you* the sweetest.”

Jerry coughed. “Hm, yeah, we better get going.”

Linda shrugged her shoulders. “Ugh, I know, we got this Police Charity Dinner to go to, I flew in from LA just for this. I guess the Lord saw fit for me to make it. And meet you! I hope I get to see you again while you are visiting, are you staying here? With Charlie?”

“Oh God no.”—“No she aint!”

Charlie and Becky both answered together. Becky smiled big again, hugging Linda one more time. From the big, wide-eyed puppy dog look on her face, Becky felt she seemed to expect it. “No, no, I’m staying with my sis - sorority sister from college, who lives here, we’re actually just heading there now, for dinner. In fact, we better scoot, eh cuz?” Becky looked at Charlie, and sat into the car.

Charlie closed the door, a big smile at Linda as Jerry led her up the steps into the house, and Linda waved goodbye. “I hope y’all have a the best night, see you again real soon!”

A tense feeling pushed up from Becky’s tummy and seized her shoulders in a tight anxious grip. It was one thing to know you were spending the week with a man who was seeing several women at once. It was another thing to come face to face with one and have to lie about who you were and what you were doing. Becky felt dirty, dirty and sick. She didn’t know how she could possibly face her perfect fucking sister, Deborah, and Debbie’s husband Steve, another lawyer, and the various lawyer professional type guests she expected to be at this dinner party. Charlie patted her thigh, seeming to intuit her thoughts, at least in part.

“Ya know, he’s not a bad guy, the boss man. He carries a heavy burden. And Linda’s moved out to LA to try and break into the movie biz. She had him buy her a home here in Memphis. It’s like they both know it’s over but neither one can bear to pull the trigger. And she knew how it was to date someone like him.”

Becky nodded, telling herself not to cry, and leaned against the window, hitting her head on the cool glass a few times as she swore under her breath at how stupid she was to be here. She muttered to herself in yiddish:

“Ugh, whenever you have choices, oy vey, my sheyna maidel, boy oh boy do you somehow always manage to pick the worst. Your picker is broken, that’s what it is. When you go home, you are turning your love life over to Ida and her yenta brigade. There is a reason they used matchmakers in the old country. People are incapable of making good choices in men when left to their own devices. Stupid, foolish, idiot girl!” She hit her head on the window one last time, and then realized they had pulled up in front of Debbie’s house.

Charlie rubbed her shoulder. “I’ll be out here waiting when you’re ready. I - he - I - he’s gonna be dropping Linda off at the other house. It was, it is, all part of the plan. You see, her brother’s in the police force here. It, ugh, it just made sense that she would be his date for this big charity ball fundraiser for the cops.”

Becky nodded, half in a daze, trying to mentally prepare for her sister, for the dinner party, and for Elvis later.

“Hmmm, yeah, no, totally makes sense, absolutely.” She breathed in, then looked over at Charlie’s apologetic face. “Wait, you’re just gonna wait here?”

“Yeah, the boss, he, well, he wanted me to look after you. On account of all the druggies running wild these days.” Becky nodded.

“Right. The drugged out commie burglars, those are clearly the biggest threat to my livelihood right now. Not Elvis Presley and his selfish manipulative ways. Not his powerful girlfriend, or her cop brother. Not my family and their judgment. No, no no, it’s the invisible commie drug criminals supposedly lurking everywhere. Well, thank god you’re here Charlie, I feel so much safer.”

She slammed the car door, knowing it was unfair to take it out on Charlie, but the look on his face when she bent to the window made her heart sink even further before she uttered one word of apology. Because his goofy, winsome smile told her she was not the first woman to yell at him like this. Not only did he seem to expect it, he had mentally braced himself for it. Becky’s face softened apologetically.

“I’m sorry, for that. I’ll try not to be more than an hour.”

“S’ok, we’re family now, cuz.”

Becky knew that Charlie’s smile was meant to be reassuring, but it made her stomach drop even more as she turned and braced herself for a night at the Hoffman - Blumfeld’s (very intentionally hyphenated modern family of the 1970s) Dinner Party.

*********************************************************************

To say the night was uncomfortable and embarrassing would have been generous. Everyone else at the dinner party was dressed in jeans, khakis or linen pants and some sort of comfortable blouse or semi-casual shirt, and Becky felt she stood out like a Vegas showgirl at a library full of nerds. Which was probably the best way to describe Debbie, her husband Steve and their social circle. She was grateful it had been Debbie who opened the front door, so she could walk Becky into the side room and they could make their flustered hellos alone.

Debbie wore a pair of sensible khakis and a tasteful floral button up top tucked in. As predicted, Debbie wore no make-up. And all judgment, though she tried to repress and be loose and fun.

Six years older than Becky, Debbie had always been half friend/half-parent to her, and this was a characteristic she inhabited calling out “Rebecca, please come in!” when she greeted Becky at the door.

Thank god for wine, the Hoffman-Blumfeld intentionally hyphenated household had some very good bottles of wine on offer and, after sipping one glass gracefully, and the another quickly in the kitchen, Becky was able to exhale and confront the evening with a blundering fort of confidence. She decided to pretend the meeting with Linda never happened, and stumbled confidently through her description of her relationship. She was dating a man who worked in the music business, after meeting him with Danny at a radio event fundraiser for the tornado in Mississippi. Was it serious? Well, sort of, he had invited her to Memphis for the week to meet his daughter, and he was trying to persuade her to move there. But her very successful life managing Saul and Ida’s store, and all her f.’

riends, made her reluctant to leave Jackson.

“I’m just taking a day at a time.” Becky winked and sipped her wine, before taking another mouthful of salmon.

After dessert, Debbie cornered her in the kitchen and asked if they could talk somewhere. Putting up her finger while she poured another glass of wine, Becky nodded and followed Deb to a bedroom, where she sat on a tasteful quilt blanket and had a tasteful restrained conversation about the impossibility of letting her father see Ruth secretly the next time she was in Birmingham.

“She is his only grandchild, Becks.”

“Well, they should have thought about that possibility when they kicked me out. Three months pregnant. Pronounced me a shonda, and disowned me.”

“Do you really want to have Ruth grow up without her grandparents?”

“I didn’t make that decision, Debbie, they did. Maybe, maybe, maybe if Papa was willing to admit how wrong they were, and stand up to Mama, and if he had any backbone at all and publicly welcomed me home for everyone to see, for Ruth to experience a true family, maybe.”

Debbie responded with a knowing look. “Well, I told Papa I was gonna see you when he called earlier, and I promised to ask, but I don’t blame you. I wish Ruth was here now, it’s been too long. And this guy, hmmm? Sounds promising. He wants you to move here?” Becky gulped her wine down first, rubbing her sister's arm.

“Yup, yes, mhmmm. Oh yeah, finally, right? Everything’s coming up Becky. I can’t wait for you to meet him, because I’ll definitely be back up here with Ruth after she finishes camp. Ah, yes, mmhmmm.” She downed the last sip of wine, smiling so enthusiastically she almost laughed at how absurd the charade was. “I feel like, ugh, finally, right? I’m finally getting that happiness I searched for, for so long. ”

*********************************************************************

“You are never going to find happiness.” Becky said to the fork of coconut cake as she brought it to her mouth, letting the sweet, sticky crunchy sugar do its work comforting her momentarily as she chewed it and swallowed it down with some chocolate milk. The door to the kitchen opened, and she jerked her head up to see little Lisa Marie poke her head around.

“What are you doing?”

“Umm, late night cake?” Becky answered.

“Have you been crying?” Lisa asked as she stepped closer, getting herself a plate and a piece of cake.

“No, honey, no, it’s just been a long day.”

“Is it cuz of my daddy?”

Becky shook her head, too vigorously perhaps. “Npoooo no nononoo. No. It’s just been a long day.”

“You’re a bad liar, Becky Butt,” Lisa said, taking a big bite of cake, and then rubbing Becky’s shoulder. It broke her heart to see Lisa’s genuine look of pity staring up at her as she tried to comfort Becky. “Why is he like this? Mommy says he ruins every relationship and he’ll never truly be happy.”

Becky laughed at Lisa’s matter-of-fact statement. “Oh, my dear, I think your mama is very wise, but who knows what the future will bring. I do know your daddy loves you, that’s a relationship that makes him happy. Trust me, my parents never openly showed me love the way I see him show you. He’s a good man. There are just some things I might do differently if I were him.”

Lisa looked up at her. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I’d carry around less guns, I guess, that's dangerous. And maybe wear less jewelry, probably out there blinding people with all those dazzling gems and diamonds all over his person.”

Lisa laughed out loud as she finished her cake, and let Becky walk her up the stairs where she tucked Lisa back into bed and then returned to the kitchen.

Becky was down on her knees, looking through the drawers under the phone when she heard the door behind her slam shut. Glancing up, she saw Elvis’ broad figure swagger slowly toward her in the dimness of the kitchen lit only by one of the lights under a cabinet. He sighed and stopped, hands bracing the front of his hips, spread out fully extending his fingers as they tapped a little ditty over the sides of his belly.

With his jacket pushed back at the hips, he looked even wider and more intimidating than usual. His lips were pursed in a frown at the sight of Becky in the jeans, converse and Destin tee shirt she had been wearing when she left Jackson the previous Sunday.

“Huh, hey.”

Becky turned back to look up at him. “Oh, hey!”

He adjusted his stance, pivoting his feet and twitching his left knee, his thumbs tapping over his belt.

“Watcha doin’?”

“You don’t know where the yellow pages are, do you? I’ve been looking for a phone book for the last fifteen minutes.”

Elvis sucked in a deep breath and adjusted his glasses. “Why, uh, why ya looking for the phone book?”

“Well, maybe you can help me.”

Becky returned her attention to the kitchen drawers in front of her, trying not to flinch as she heard the thud of Elvis boots walk closer and stop directly behind her. She chose not to twist back around and look at him, afraid she might cry or be dramatic, so she decided to speak directly into the drawers as she continued to look through them.

“You see, I’m trying to find a number for a local cab company, so I can get to the Greyhound station.”

“Mhmmm. I noticed your bag in the foyer.”

“Oh yeah, that,” Becky sighed, shutting one drawer and then opening another. “Well, you see, it just dills my pickle to be all prepared and ready to go when I call up a car to come get me. Although I had rather hoped I would have been gone before you got back, I didn’t want to bother you. But, since you’re here, maybe you can make yourself useful and help find the phone book?”

Elvis bent and leaned over the island that jutted out of the counter at the front of the kitchen.

“Honey, I have absolutely no intention a helpin’ you find a phone book.”

Becky stopped and fell back against the cupboard next to the set of drawers, her legs stretching out over the dark, burgundy carpet that covered the kitchen.She banged her hand back and closed her eyes.

“Why? Why can’t you just give me the phonebook?”

Elvis walked over and stood above Becky, his hand reaching down. “Cuz I don’t want you ta leave, honey. Not like this. C’mon, let’s talk. If you still wanna go home, why, I’ll drive you back to Jackson myself, like I promised.”

Becky glared up at his hand. “No.”

“What, you just gonna stay there on the ground?”

“Mhmmm.” She crossed her legs and her arms and tilted back into the cabinet. “Yup, yessiree. This is my home now, til I get a cab, I reckon.”

Elvis meandered over slowly and groaned as he lowered himself next to her on the floor. He moved his hand out to touch hers, only to be rebuked by their swift retreat back under her breasts in a huff of crossed arms and limbs. He rolled his neck to meet her gaze against the wooden cabinet.

“Honey, you are actin’ like a child. This is all one big misunderstanding. Now, c’mon.”

Elvis put his hand over her thigh, but Becky swatted it away, so he grabbed the foot she had criss crossed over her knee, and rolled into her shoulder as he scooted closer, squeezing her foot.

“Becky, look, you know I have other friends —”

“Girl friends, yes, I know about them, but apparently they don’t know about me. Do you have any idea how horrible that felt? Lying, looking at your beautiful beauty queen girlfriend, pretending to be Charlie’s cousin?” She pressed her face against the cupboard and let the tears come pouring out. “Ugh, I am so stupid, I know this isn’t me. I am not cut out to be the other woman.”

“Sssshhh.” Elvis put his arm around Becky’s shoulder, massaging her as he drew her body into his, bringing her head to nuzzle in his chest, where she gave up and grasped his shirt, letting the sobs come out as she cried into him. “Sshhhh. S’ok, s’ok.”

“No, s’not ok, ugh, I’m a horrible person, a traitor to my sex.” Her fist bumped tepidly into Elvis’ chest. She looked up at his chuckles. “What, why are you laughing at me?”

“Baby, you are too pretty to cry. Now, come on. Linda is not my wife, she knows it, I know it, things haven’t been going well and our relationship has been sorta peeterin’ out. But I have to do things my own way, ok? Her brother is on the police force, it made sense, right now, for me to take her as my date. But I swear, nothing happened. I’m here with you. At my house. Would I have a mistress at my house, where I lived, if I was keeping her a secret?”

Becky wiped her eyes. “You think she knows about me? She knew when she met me?”

Elvis sucked in his breath. “Honey, I don’t know, and frankly, right now I don’t care who knows. I-I, I didn’t wanna get into it tonight. But Linda knows well enough how it is with me. Look, I want to be with you, here, now. So let’s be together, and let’s go to bed.”

He said this with finality, and stood up, groaning slightly and steadying himself against the sink, and Becky followed, exhaling loudly as she pulled herself up on his outstretched hand and walked with him out of the kitchen, still sniffling and wiping her eyes into his silk dress shirt.

“Ok, but only because the floor was starting to feel uncomfortable. And I couldn’t find the phone book.”

Elvis smiled and Becky watched his cheeks twitch above the pout of his mouth, and she couldn’t help it, she led herself into his embrace.

“There now, lil girl, why you go get yourself all worked up like that?”

Becky looked down, blushing trying to just calm herself and feel good about making peace, or whatever it was she was doing. Giving in. No, you are having fun, she told herself. It’s silly to be upset over Linda, and was the use of fighting? This is a short, fun, little fling. Somehow his logic made sense at the same time that it made no sense at all. Becky’s head ached trying to sort it out, she decided that she was tired and exhausted and still a little tipsy, and needed to stop fighting and let herself fall forward into Elvis’ pliant, warm belly. He took a silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and wiped her eyes, then softly pressed his lips to Becky’s mouth.

“Mmmm, baby, those are some salty lips.”

Elvis lifted his hand, thumbing over her lower lip slowly, it made Becky gasp and she watched him respond with a smirk. He leaned in slowly, and Becky shivered when he breathed on her, watching with anticipation as he licked his own lip and hesitated with a wider smirk before pressing his mouth into hers. More forcefully this time, his hands soothing up her sides.

“S’alright now, s’alright, no more cryin, ok, lil girl? Too pretty ta cry like this. Goin’ on and making my favorite lips all salty. "

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#no one walks out on big daddy #elvis presley #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis smut #1975 elvis #banditqueenwrites

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dystopicjumpsuit · 11 months

Text

Turn It Up When You're Gone (2/2)

The conclusion... Or is it? Posting these has got my thots going again, so I may need to write another installment. UPDATE: I did it. Also, this chapter has one of my favorite lines I've ever written. Guess which one?

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Delta Squad is back on board your Star Destroyer, and Sev is determined to make up for lost time. Reader is about to learn that commandos do it better.

Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship, facef*cking (but not like you expect)

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Delta squad is back on the Guarlara two days later. You know this because they stroll casually into the mess while you’re eating breakfast. You almost stab yourself in the face with your fork when the one with the blood-red paint turns and looks right at you. Your eyes widen, and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Girl, you good?” Jeelee asks, noticing your agitation.

“Yeah, I just—uh, I realized I need to—I forgot, um—” you stammer.

You can practically see Sev’s smirk behind his helmet.

Cocky bastard.

“I need to stop by the, uh, med bay before my shift starts,” you finish lamely.

“Are you all right?” Drinna asks, concern evident in their wide eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just, uh, lady problems.”

“What kind of lady problems?” Draa asks, confused.

Jeelee and Drinna send pitying glances at the clone trooper.

“Sorry, was that too nosy?” the clone asks with a sheepish expression. “I just don’t have much experience, is all.”

“That’s okay, Draa,” you reassure him. “You should ask the medic to explain it.”

You excuse yourself and make a beeline out of the mess. You’ve listened to Sev’s recording more times than you care to admit, and you aren’t quite prepared to face him in front of an audience of dozens of clones—not to mention the coworkers who already know about your crush.

When you reach your workstation, your message indicator light is blinking.

“Tactical, this RC-1207. Any trouble with those feeds?”

You record a response. “No trouble, 1207. Everything came through loud and clear. If you want to run another diagnostic, be sure to do it after 2100 hours when the feeds update.”

There. That ought to do it. Subtle enough not to raise any eyebrows if anyone overhears, and obvious enough for him to figure it out.

---

When you return to your quarters promptly at 2100 hours, Sev is already waiting for you, helmet and gloves removed and resting on the floor. He stands up from his seat on the edge of your bunk as the door slides open to admit you. You step inside quickly and close the door.

“Hi,” you say. You sound nervous, even to yourself.

“Hi,” he replies.

You’ve had all day to think about this. For hours, your mind has tormented you with erotic fantasies, heating your skin and leaving you drenched and slippery. You have imagined Sev’s large hands touching you everywhere, his talented mouth drifting over your body as he tells you all the filthy, delicious things he wants to do to you, the fullness of his cock as he stretches you out.

But now that he’s here, in the flesh, in your space, you feel awkward. He’s a big man, even bigger in his armor, and the small room feels crowded with both of you inside. You aren’t sure what to say, or what to do with your hands. They’ve taken on a mind of their own, fluttering in front of you, fidgeting with your cuffs, and finally wrapping around your waist in a self-soothing embrace. Sev also seems unsure what to do, and it occurs to you that you’ve invited a total stranger into your bunk.

“I’m Sev,” he says.

“I know,” you nod. “I heard on the feeds.”

“Should I just call you ‘tactical’?” he asks. “I want to make sure I’m yelling the right name all night.”

You laugh and tell him your name.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you whisper.

You expect him to go straight for the goods, so it’s a surprise when he takes your hand and draws it away from your body. He strokes his thumb across your skin, across your fingers, across your wrist.

“I knew you’d be soft. Even softer than I imagined,” he says with satisfaction. He presses his fingers to the pulse point on your wrist. “Your heart is racing, little one. Are you sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” you say. You raise your free hand to trace the lines of his face, and he leans into the contact, closing his eyes. You wonder if he’s ever felt a gentle touch before. You brush your fingers over his skin. Intellectually, you have always known what he would look like, but now you take in all the small details that make him unique from his fellow clones. The scars, the faint lines around his eyes, the slightly longer-than-regulation hair, the prickly scruff of a beard that hasn’t been shaved in three cycles. Deep circles under his eyes betray his exhaustion, and you feel a momentary twinge of guilt at keeping him awake after a mission.

“Do—do you?” you ask.

His mouth twists in a half smile. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the last three rotations. I want this.”

He presses his lips to your palm, and then he reaches for you, pulling you into his strong arms, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His duraplast armor is hard and cool against you, and you scramble for purchase against it.

“You taste amazing,” he says against your lips. His tongue brushes against you, and you part your lips to let him in.

Oh, damn, he’s good. He kisses you with an intense, single-minded focus, as though you—your mouth, your lips, your tongue, your pleasure—are the only thing in the galaxy. There’s no awkward, over-enthusiastic tongue thrusting; just slow, skillful movement that pulls you in and steals your breath. His kiss leaves you lightheaded and unsteady, and you’re grateful for the way he cradles your body in his arms, keeping you from melting into a quivering heap at his feet.

“Kriff me, did they teach you to kiss like that in commando school?” you breathe.

“Yeah, we learned it after hostage extraction and before demolitions,” he says, deadpan.

You laugh again, and he looks very pleased with himself.

“They also taught us how to take off our armor in under a minute,” he says. “Want to see a demonstration?”

“Will you do a sexy dance while you show me?” you ask.

“That might slow me down,” he replies.

“In that case, skip the dance,” you say. “What’s your personal best time?”

“Thirty-nine seconds. I was motivated,” he says.

“And are you motivated now?” you ask.

“Time me and find out,” he suggests.

“I’d rather enjoy the show,” you say.

“Don’t blink,” he says with a smirk.

He strips off his armor. He works efficiently, and you watch with interest. You’ve never seen a clone go through the process before. He starts with his vambraces, works his way up his arms, then removes the cuirass and proceeds down his torso and legs. Each piece is stacked neatly as he removes it, and you suspect the habit is so ingrained in him that he couldn’t leave the duraplast in a messy pile if he tried.

“I think I shaved a couple seconds off my best time,” he says once he’s stripped down to his body glove.

You remember the way he tallies his kills on each mission.

“You’re very competitive, aren’t you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “How many times did you make yourself come to that recording?”

Your skin heats, and you aren't sure if you're embarrassed, aroused, or both. “Why do you want to know?”

“Professional curiosity. Also, I want to know how many to aim for tonight.”

“Uh, six,” you confess.

“That’s only two per day,” he says. “I’ll have to do better with my next recording.”

“It was actually three the first night and only one on the second. I was tired,” you explain, a little defensively.

“I hope you’re rested up,” he says, tugging you into another searing kiss.

You slide your hands up his back, feeling the hard muscles shift beneath the black fabric of his body glove. The man is massive, built like a tank, and if the bulge you feel pressing against your belly is what you think it is, he is proportionate all the way down. You grind your pelvis against him experimentally, and in response, he crowds you against the wall, growling into your mouth.

Actually growling. Maker save you.

His hands settle on your hips as he pulls you against him. Yep, definitely proportionate, you think.

His kisses are hot and frantic now, and his hands roam possessively over your body. He moves his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, next to your ear. His warm breath whispers across your skin, leaving a thrill of arousal in its wake.

“Do you know how hard it is to stay focused on the mission when all I can think about is you, fucking yourself to my voice?”

“Tell me,” you gasp, needing to hear those obscene words from him.

“Almost got nailed by a vulture droid ‘cause I was thinking about these tits.” He slides his hand up the rough wool of your uniform to palm your breast. “Oh, kark, that’s good. So fuckin’ good. Let me see you.”

You start to unzip your uniform jacket, but Sev is impatient. He yanks the zipper down and shoves the jacket off your arms.

“How many kriffing layers are you wearing?” he demands.

“Only three more,” you laugh. “Let me help.”

You unbutton and remove your uniform blouse, then slip your undershirt off over your head and unclasp your bra as Sev unzips your trousers and tugs them down.

“Finally,” he says when you are fully bare. “Stars, look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He trails his hands reverently across your skin. His fingertips are rough and calloused, but they touch you with an aching tenderness that leaves you breathless. He drops to his knees, bringing his head level with your chest, and draws you to his mouth. The sensation is overwhelming. His busy hands touch you everywhere: fondling your breasts, sliding up the inside of your thigh to squeeze your ass, brushing across your clitoris to feel the dampness gathering there.

“Sev,” you breathe as he sucks your nipple into his mouth. His lips tug insistently as his tongue swirls over you again and again, and your body thrums in response.

“Fucking perfect tits,” he mumbles against you. “Even better than I thought. So soft. You look so good in my hands.”

You look down to see his large, brown hand on your breast, your flesh spilling out between his fingers as he squeezes you gently.

“You can be rougher with me,” you whisper, “if you want.”

His dark eyes snap to yours, and he pinches your nipple experimentally. Pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp, your head dropping backward to lean against the cold durasteel walls.

“Like this?” he asks, sucking your nipple into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth.

“Yes!” you hiss. “Harder!”

He groans and does as you order, finally giving you the intense stimulation you crave.

“Oh fuck, yes, just like that, don’t stop, keep going,” you chant.

His clever mouth is doing unspeakable things to you. Kissing, sucking, biting, teasing, worshiping. You are stunned to feel your orgasm building, and you wonder if it is possible for you to come like this. The tension draws tighter and tighter, but you need more.

Sev releases your breast and kisses down your belly. He pauses when he reaches your hip, working over you with excruciating thoroughness.

“Kark, I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” he says, his voice even deeper than usual. “I wanted you the first time I saw you.” He presses a hard, open-mouth kiss onto your hip bone, and his tongue flicks across your skin. “Jerked my cock to you every time I took a shower. I made myself come so many times imagining this beautiful little cunt.”

He is still playing with your breast with one hand, squeezing and pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. His other hand grasps your ass roughly, digging his fingers into your flesh. His kisses are brutal, hovering on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain, leaving a stinging trail as he makes his way slowly—so agonizingly slowly—across your pelvis.

And gods, it’s so much. It’s too much, and you can’t stand it any more. You grab his head and shove him against your pussy, and his tongue flicks out to slide between your labia and swirl over your clitoris, and fuck that’s it right there just like that—fuck! Your orgasm takes you by surprise, slamming into you, wrenching his name from your throat in a ragged cry. Your hips buck against Sev’s face, and you would feel bad for using him like this, but he’s grunting with pleasure, and his mouth is on you and his tongue is inside you, and he’s grabbing your ass to pull you even harder against him as you fuck his face, and then your legs give out, and he catches you, supporting your weight with his strong arms as he sucks your clit into his mouth until he wrings out the last tremors of your orgasm, and then he eases you down the durasteel wall to rest on his thighs.

Your lungs heave for oxygen, and your forehead drops to rest on his shoulder. He’s still wearing his body glove, and the fabric is soft against your face. He wraps his arms around you, stroking the back of your head as he whispers the sweetest words in your ear: so good for me, so beautiful, taste so sweet, so pretty when you come, love to watch you lose control, so fucking sexy.

You roll your head to face him, burying yourself against his neck. He smells like salt and skin and battlefield smoke and bacta, and your tongue darts out to taste him, drawing a rumble of pleasure from his chest.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

He lets out a single, short laugh. “No, babygirl. You could fuck me into the ground, and I’d thank you for giving me a warrior’s death.”

You can feel his erection pressing against you, and you slide your hand down his body to stroke his length through the thin fabric of his body glove.

“In that case, I should probably take care of this,” you murmur. “Can’t fuck all night if we don’t start early.”

---

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