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kastlequill · 9 months

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knock, knock

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader word count: 1.4k summary: when an unstoppable force meets a movable object tags: whumptober, first meetings, bank robbery, rescue, hurt/comfort, fluff if you squint, civilian!reader, miguel is a dork, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here

Work was awful; always was, always would be. But today differed in its awfulness.

Usually, work sucked because of power-tripping bosses, incompetent coworkers, and asshole customers. As a banker, you had grown accustomed to dealing with not-so-nice folks who were eager to withdraw funds or deposit a fat check. Today, however, went to shit for an entirely new set of reasons.

A blaster dug deeper into the small of your back. “Do you know where the vault is or not, lady?”

Robbing a bank. How original.

“Yes, I—” God, what could you even say? It wasn’t as if the nutjob would see reason. “I have the code. If you ease up a bit on the gun, I can open it for you. No one has to get hurt here.”

The few silent moments of deliberation filled you with unease. There was no telling how triggerhappy this guy was, nor how impulsive.

“Don’t even think about playing any games. I’ll vaporize you faster than you can scream for help,” he snarled directly into your ear, the fabric of his ski mask brushing against skin. The press of the blaster disappeared, and you exhaled in relief. “Lead the way.”

And so you did.

You were in no position to play hero, not when he could pull the trigger in a split second, and certainly not when your pay was barely above the minimum wage. Dying for a job that didn’t even care to provide you with a livable salary would fucking suck.

Luckily, you wouldn’t have to.

As you started to direct the intruder to the back of the building, adrenaline mounting and mind racing, a blur of red and blue suddenly cut across the room. With its speed came a gust of wind that ruffled your hair and drew your full attention toward the flurry of motion. At the center of the chaos stood a man who you’d only ever seen on the news, whether as a still photo printed in the papers or as a shaky video on TV filmed by some random passerby.

Spider-Man. Easily beating the absolute shit out of the guy who had threatened you mere moments ago.

While they were both distracted, you tiptoed back to the front counter, crawled into the space between your chair and the desk setup, then pushed the emergency button that dispatched law enforcement. But you knew help wouldn’t arrive for at least another fifteen minutes.

The joys of living in Nueva York.

From where you hid, it was possible to glean a fragmented view of the fight, criminal versus vigilante. The latter threw the former around as if he were merely a ragdoll, and the sheer ease with which the hero did so reminded you of a cat pawing at a helpless mouse, wanting to have a little fun before the ultimate kill. They exchanged words as well as punches, but your hearing didn’t extend so far as to hear the specifics of their no doubt hostile, undiplomatic conversation.

Commotion raged on; pained groans accompanied by the subsequent splintering wood as the robber’s body crashed into another desk, followed by resonant thuds as unnaturally-powerful fists rained down on him. Spider-Man held little back and had no qualms delivering a violent retribution.

Not that you had any, either.

Finally, after what seemed to be an endless brawl—if such a one-sided beating could even qualify as a brawl—there was silence at last. Complete and utter silence. No heavy breathing from exertion, no agonized howls, no groveling for mercy.

Just quiet. The type of quiet that settled over a desolate city post-natural disaster, that permeated the air in a bloodied warzone post-surrender.

Until a throat cleared from somewhere above. “You in there?”

When you glanced up, the face that greeted you wasn’t by definition a face, but rather a mask. Red lines framed where eyes laid hidden, and the expression into which the markings configured told of slight concern. The outline of his hulking figure was illuminated by the flickering of a broken light, occasionally revealing to you a skeletonized spider emblem on his torso.

You found yourself wanting to absorb every little detail, every pattern and design, because you didn’t think it statistically probable that you would see him again. If the universe was feeling benevolent, then these kinds of events would happen only once in a lifetime. Prior to today, you’d not had the pleasure of crossing paths with Death, nor had you the good fortune of being in the vicinity of one of the most wanted men in the city.

A great deal had changed since this morning, however. And, to be quite frank, you were ready for the world to return to normal, eager for tomorrow to begin and end without misery or mayhem—

His knuckles rapped the counter overhead. “Knock, knock.”

What the hell. Was this guy for real? He didn’t give you the impression of being the funny type, but neither did he seem the kind of guy to participate in idle chatter.

“Who’s there?” you replied, curious yet cautious.

“A little old lady.”

“A little old lady who?”

“Bank telling and yodeling? Talk about being talented,” he remarked with a low whistle of admiration.

At the cheesy punchline, you crawled out from your hiding spot, stood, and stretched a bit to assuage the ache that had settled in your muscles as a result of crouching for too long. You dusted off your knees once much of the tension had dissipated then fixed him with an unwavering stare, raising an unimpressed brow.

“I’ve got one more for you.” Spider-Man put his hands on his waist and lifted his chin. While true that his features were obscured, you’d bet his eyes had become narrowed and intent, determined to evoke your laughter. “Knock, knock.”

Fine, I’ll bite. “Who’s there?”

“Police.”

“Police who?”

“Police hurry up, I need to take my lunch break.”

Lunch break.

You hadn’t had the chance to go on yours, too preoccupied trying to survive being held at gunpoint. Mortifyingly, this realization caused a salty wet trail to travel the length of your cheek, then another, and then a choked sob bubbled forth against your will.

The hero cursed something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath and sheepishly rubbed a hand down his masked face. Clearly, comforting crying civilians didn’t come naturally to him the way combat did. Although, in his defense, few had the energy to navigate a hysterical woman’s emotions after just starting (and finishing) a fight.

“I didn’t mean. . . The jokes are stupid, I know—”

“—no, it’s not that.” You waved off the unwarranted apology and attempted to put a lid on the accumulated stress that had decided to manifest in the form of frustrated tears. “I just realized I didn’t even get to eat lunch, is all. I always clock out at 12:30, but that asshole threw everything off with his shitty robbery attempt, so now it’s 1:07, and we’re only allowed thirty minutes, and I still haven’t had any food today besides a soggy bagel this morning, and I’m so fucking tired, and he pulled a blaster on me—”

The rant quickly devolved into hurried gasps for air, your chest heaving, your lungs not fully functional. How embarrassing to be rendered to a state of hyperventilation, especially since an infamous vigilante was around to witness your crumbling composure.

“Deep breaths,” Spider-Man murmured, pulling you by the shoulders toward him, your nose connecting with his sternum. To you, such was an act of humanity free from ulterior motives; this hug was the simple conclusion to everything that had transpired. A solace. “That’s it, just breathe when I breathe.”

Easier said than done, but you could appreciate the sentiment all the same. Some minutes later, your lungs had begun to expand and contract at a regulated pace, heeding his own rhythm.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. Was it safety, then, that caused this warm fuzziness to bloom in your chest?

You couldn’t recall when you’d last felt this comforted by another’s presence, when you’d last been this at peace in a world overrun with strife and conflict. There was no telling how long you stayed wrapped up in his steady embrace, your respirations synced. The very passage of time seemed to halt, the two of you frozen in this singular moment.

Only when the wailing of sirens began to draw nearer did he remove himself from you and vacate the premises, swinging from one building to the next, further and further away.

Only when he left your line of sight did you finally shut your eyes, preparing yourself to be questioned by the approaching news anchors and police officers.

fin.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #spiderman x reader #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #marvel #whumptober #my fic #fic: knock knock

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phyllisthefirst · 4 months

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Standing here until you make me move or The One with all the Dates

The "Plus One"-option on Bill's wedding invitations sends George into an existential crisis. His solution? Go on as many dates as possible to find someone to bring to the wedding. Which is ridiculous, because Joe is right here and has been in love with George for ages. The problem? He doesn't know if George knows, and he sure as hell doesn't know how to tell him. [Warnings: Mention of predatory behavior, lots of alcohol consumption, tooth-rotting fluff.]

The first time Joe asks George out, his friend actually laughs.

Luckily for Joe’s pride, he wasn't really asking him out, not in a “will you go on a date with me”-sort of way. It was more like Bill trying to not-very-subtly hint that maybe George should come to his wedding as Joe’s date and George finding the mere suggestion hilarious.

Because that’s how it all starts, with the Plus One-option on Bill’s wedding invitations sending George into a full-blown crisis.

“Some of our friends are already getting married, and I can’t even get a plus one,” he laments into his rum and coke.

“I didn’t even know you were looking to date someone,” Joe points out, very sensibly he thinks. (He should have known that George wouldn’t respond well to “sensible”.)

“You’re right, it’s no wonder I don’t have someone to bring to the wedding - I wasn’t even dating. But that changes now.”

And so it begins.

Before Joe has had a chance to grasp the full meaning of George’s declaration, George is on his phone, registering for three different dating apps. The rest of the night, he’s busy uploading photos and writing quippy introductions and swiping right on what must be the entire gay population of Philadelphia.

Joe tries not to let his face show how much it stings: Here he is, a friend who’s been through thick and thin with George, who’d do anything for him, and who can’t imagine anything he’d like more than to sit next to George at Bill and Fran’s wedding, to dance and flirt with him and take him home at the end of the night - but George would rather take a chance on an army of strangers.

With a sigh, Joe takes a long draft of his beer, turning his attention to the TV mounted behind the bar. It’s showing a hockey game he would normally be interested in, but right now, he barely registers the score. The only thing he’s aware of, out of the corner of his eye, is the regular motion of George swiping on his phone.

He can only hope that this idea, like many of George’s stupider ones, fizzles out quickly.

***

It doesn't. George goes at the task of finding a date with the single-minded zeal of a hyperactive pitbull.

The problem is, George doesn't seem to be very good at dating people that would actually be a good fit for him (in Joe's humble though admittedly biased opinion).

[Read on ao3]

Joe knows this because unfortunately, George decides to bring his dates to Currahee, the bar conveniently owned by their mutual friend Bill, where Joe helps out behind the bar a few times a week because Bill can't afford to hire an actual second bartender. George claims it's convenient because he lives just one block over, and as much as it pains Joe to watch the parade of losers George has decided to pick over him, at least this way he knows all those dates are taking place in a safe, public space. If a few shitty nights are the price Joe has to pay for that, so be it.

And, it has to be said, the nights suck for both of them - because George's dates are terrible.

The first date is with a guy who won't shut up about his crypto scam, and even tries to get George to invest. George is trying so hard to please the man - his first date in months, he confided in Joe beforehand - that he almost signs up for it. Joe has to intervene by accidentally spilling a glass of beer over the guy’s phone. The douchebag immediately starts yelling for Joe's manager and demanding he be fired or possibly stoned to death, until George gets to his feet, a hard look in his eyes, and shoves in between Joe and his irate and surprisingly buff date.

“Look, dude, you need to chill. It was an accident. I can give you my insurance details and we can get it sorted, if you really can't afford to replace it on your own.”

Joe has to hide a grin as the man huffs, murmurs something rude and strides out, sticky phone clutched tightly in his hand. George may appear ditzy sometimes, but he's got a sharp brain and a real knack for manipulating people. (A talent that would be suspicious if Joe wasn't so sure that George would only ever use it for good.)

“Thanks,” Joe says, gets behind the bar and pours George a shot of Bourbon, one of the good ones from the high shelf. Bill would give him shit for it but Bill doesn't need to know. He slides it over, noticing George's questioning glance. “For saving me from having to pay up for that stupid expensive phone.”

George takes a sip of his drink before he raises his eyes to look at Joe for an unnervingly long time.

“I'm not sure if you weren't the one who saved me first.” Joe can practically hear the gears turning in George's head as he tries frantically to keep his face impassive.

He's saved by the arrival of a particularly boisterous group of guests, some of whom are regulars who know George and pull him over to their table. Still, as he turns his attention to the bar and the glasses that need cleaning, he can still feel George's eyes on him.

***

The next date isn't quite as eventful, but it's with another wildly incompatible person and George seems bored to tears. The third one goes similarly, which really makes Joe wonder why the hell people would ever try and find someone on those dating apps. Isn't the point of those that you can get to know someone a little bit before you meet, find out if you have similar interests? But the man on George's third date spends the entire evening talking about his camping trips and the long hikes he's planning, and Joe knows from painful experience that George hates anything outdoorsy that goes beyond lounging around in the park.

On the fourth date, Joe nearly intervenes again. The conversation seems to be going fine, flowing smoother than on the other three dates, but Joe can't help but notice how George's date keeps egging him on to drink, keeps ordering new rounds. An hour into the date, George looks glassy-eyed and tipsy and his date keeps crowding into him, leaning into his space, putting his hands all over him. Joe watches from behind the bar, noticing with growing alarm that George seems more and more uncomfortable, repeatedly making it a point to lean back or try to subtly remove the man's hands from his body. The message doesn't seem to get through.

Bill, who came by to relieve Joe, is watching the scene with equal unease, eyes glued to the two men before them. Somehow, he still notices when Joe sets down his towel and makes a move to get out from behind the bar and tell the creep to get out. Bill's hand on his arm stops him.

“Don't. He can do this on his own. We'll keep an eye on them but you can't swoop in to try and save him.”

Rationally, Joe knows Bill is right. George may be small but he's by no means frail. It's just that he's also friendly and never wants to hurt anyone's feelings, and sometimes that translates into never telling anyone No. But on this evening, Joe's worrying turns out to be for nothing: not two minutes later, George abruptly gets to his feet. Even in the dim light of the bar Joe can tell how pale he is.

“This isn't going to work,” he says, voice flat, before he turns and walks out.

This time, Joe doesn't let Bill stop him when he strides out after his friend.

“George!”

George flinches at the sound of his name but turns around after a second. For an instant, relief flashes across his face, followed by something that looks uncomfortably like embarrassment.

“That was bad, huh? Should have probably ended it sooner.”

“As long as you ended it.” Joe wants to comfort his friend, to tell him that he did the right thing and he's proud of him, but as always, the right words don't seem to find him.

“I guess you would have just socked him in the face.” George sounds bitter, and Joe just knows he's somehow coming to the conclusion that the other man's shitty behavior was his own fault.

“Maybe. Maybe I would have frozen up. I don't know, George, because I've never been in this situation. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you got yourself out of it.”

George scoffs. “By running away like a scared kid.”

“By drawing boundaries and sticking to them. What you just did was brave, George. You should be proud of yourself.”

George doesn’t look entirely convinced but he also doesn’t protest. Joe hopes that his words have lodged themselves in George’s mind and that maybe, however long in the future, they’ll help him see himself the way Joe sees him.

“You want me to walk you home?”

George shakes his head.

“I think I need to be alone right now.”

“Alright. If you do want some company later, just call me, alright?”

You’re not alone, he wants to add. You have people who love you. But George has a habit of helping everyone else and refusing help when he needs it himself, so Joe doesn’t want to push and risk that he’ll retreat further.

“Thanks, Joe.”

George still looks a little down, understandably, but before he turns to walk away, Joe notes that he’s less pale than he was just a moment ago. Tamping down on the urge to fuss over him some more, Joe watches his friend walk away, eyes tracking him until he turns into his own street, before he walks back inside the bar.

George’s sleazy date is still inside, arguing with Bill about not wanting to pay for all those drinks he pushed on George. Joe retreats behind the bar, knowing there’s no need for him to intervene. Before anything else, Bill Guarnere is a stubborn son of a bitch - it’s only a matter of time until the creep realizes he’ll be lucky if an empty wallet is all he walks out with tonight.

***

For about a week after that night, George doesn't have a date lined up. Instead, he asks Joe if he wants to hang out and watch a movie on Saturday and they do, just the two of them because all of their friends are busy, according to George.

George, who came in looking like he hadn't slept in days, falls asleep twenty minutes into the movie and doesn't wake up until the credits roll, and Joe feels simultaneously like the luckiest and the unhappiest man alive.

He doesn’t wake him up, just drapes a blanket over him and makes breakfast the next morning.

***

Date five is another bust, though at least it's not as unsettling as the one before, just a rather short evening of lukewarm conversation. The guy bails out after less than an hour with a classic fake emergency and leaves George behind looking absolutely dejected.

This time, Joe doesn't even bother to hide that he's taking the good Gin when he fixes up a drink and takes it over to George's table.

George looks up and smiles at him, but it's a mere shadow of his usual 1000-watt-smile.

“I think I'll just head home. Thanks for trying to cheer me up though.”

George leaves and Joe returns behind the bar, pensively sipping the excellent Gin and Tonic he knows George would have loved.

He's greeted by the smack of a towel across his thigh (the non-prosthetic one, so it really stings) and a glowering Bill.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“That was for being an idiot! Why don’t you just tell him you actually want to go out with him and spare us all this torture?”

“What would be the point? He’s obviously not interested.”

“Why, because he’s dating a bunch of assholes?”

“He clearly thinks that anyone would be better than me.”

“Maybe he just doesn't know you're an option at all, have you thought about that?”

He has, but it doesn't seem likely. Sure, Joe doesn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, and George can be a little distracted sometimes. But surely after he's been pining after his friend for literal years now, George must have noticed something. He's good with people, almost creepily perceptive when it comes to all things social, so there's no way he doesn't know how Joe feels. Joe just always figured he didn't want to make things weird for them by bringing it up, which would be typical of George - always looking out for others' feelings.

Joe doesn't reply, too afraid of what will come spilling out if he opens his mouth now, but Bill seems to get it and doesn't probe.

“That Gin is coming out of your paycheck by the way.”

“What paycheck?”

Bill just flips him off.

***

The sixth date is the best for George by far, and the absolute worst for Joe. Because for once, George and his date seem to actually hit it off.

They're talking and laughing the entire evening, heads bent together to show each other stuff on their phone. George's eyes are sparkling and he's smiling the whole time and he's never looked better.

When the two of them leave together just after midnight, it's Joe who needs a drink - plucked from the bottom shelf but filled to the brim.

Bill doesn't say anything.

***

Oddly enough, despite their clear connection, date number 6 doesn't make a repeat appearance.

“He was great and we had a lot of things in common, but we didn't click romantically,” George explains the next time they’re hanging out at Currahee (they really should find some other place to hang out. Maybe pick up a hobby other than drinking.). “I've invited him to my DnD group though.”

So George has made a friend but still doesn't have a date for the wedding. Joe feels a flash of relief, immediately followed by guilt because that's his friend and he deserves to find love.

He pours George a drink and takes one for himself while he's at it. Despite George's cheerful tone, Joe can tell this whole thing is getting him down.

***

Still, George won't be kept down for long. Three days later, he's at it again, and Joe finally reaches the end of his tether.

He's witnessed a lot of deplorable behavior on those so-called dates, but date number seven takes the cake. For the entire evening, George tries his hardest - makes conversation, asks about the other man's interests, and fires off joke after joke.

The man doesn't laugh at a single one. And then he has the nerve to interrupt George halfway through a genuinely funny story to ask derisively:

“Do you always talk this much?”

That's when Joe sees red. Because yes, George always talks this much and especially if he's nervous, but that's one of the things that make him him. And if that guy can't appreciate that, or feels the need to put him down for it, then he has no business wasting George's time.

George may appear like nothing more than a fun-loving goofball on the surface, but deeper down, he’s smart and warm and caring and able to be quiet when it counts. After Joe’s accident, it was Bill’s aggressive brand of tough love and George’s cheerful but never patronizing support that got him through the worst.

In short, George deserves better than this asshole.

Before he’s properly thought about it, Joe is standing by George’s table, glaring down at his friend. He’s pissed at the asshole sitting across from him, but more than that, he’s pissed at George for letting himself get treated this way.

“I need to talk to you,” Joe blurts out.

“Now? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Now.”

George murmurs an apology, then follows Joe behind the bar.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Why are you letting that guy talk to you like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know. Talking down to you.”

“He wasn’t that bad…” George starts, but Joe is all out of patience.

“He’s an asshole. And so were at least two more in your parade of morons. And yet you keep going out with them. So why do you do this to yourself?”

“I told you, I don't want to go stag to Bill's wedding.”

“Who gives a shit about Bill's wedding?”

“Hey!”, comes a muffled protest from the storage room. Joe pulls George out the back exit - Bill has already witnessed too much of this shitshow.

“It's not just about Bill's wedding, okay? I just… I don't want to be alone anymore.”

“That's not a good enough reason to waste your time on assholes who walk all over you or try to take advantage.”

George opens his mouth as if to protest, but Joe doesn't let him. He doesn't talk much, usually, but he figures it's about time he said his piece.

“Besides, you're not alone, alright? You've got me and Bill and all our friends.”

“It's not the same though. I want…”

“I know. And I'm telling you: You've got me.” George still looks confused. Joe’s never been good with words, he knows that, but it suddenly feels vital to really make himself clear for once. “If you wanted me like that, you could have me.”

“I… you… what?”

“I told you I'd go to the wedding with you. Hell, I'd go anywhere with you. And of course I'll respect if you don't want that, but you have to stop putting up with assholes who treat you like garbage. You're worth more than that.”

And then Joe witnesses something he hadn’t thought was possible until now: George is all out of words. He just keeps staring at Joe, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as saucers.

Having to be the one to keep a conversation going with George of all people is not something Joe has ever experienced, but if he has to, he’ll do it. He’s on a roll anyway, after keeping everything in for so long.

“I'm in love with you. And it's okay if you don't feel the same way about me. But I need you to know that you’re great, and…”

Joe doesn’t get a chance to continue what would be a very long list of everything great about George, because he’s suddenly cut off by a pair of lips on his.

George’s lips, to be precise.

They’re soft but purposeful, and it’s gratifying though not at all surprising to find that they’re not just talented at talking a mile a minute.

Now it’s Joe who freezes in surprise, but George seems to be recovering well from his initial shock. His hands, which were on the collar of Joe’s jacket to pull him in for that spectacular kiss, are now sliding around Joe’s neck and into his hair, fingertips scratching along his scalp in a way that makes goosebumps race along his skin.

Belatedly, Joe realizes that that’s something he’s allowed to do as well, and he puts his hands on George’s waist, gently at first and then, when George pushes closer, digging in a little firmer. It’s a good decision, because he was still not entirely sure that this is really happening, that he didn’t just slip on the constantly wet floor behind the bar and hit his head (he keeps telling Bill he needs to buy some safety mats).

But no, this is real: George’s waist under his hands, sporting the tiniest hint of love handles because George always slacks off on going to the gym in the winter, George’s chest flush against his, his hands still running through Joe’s hair, his lips wandering from Joe’s mouth to the edge of his jaw and along his neck to catapult Joe right back out of his body.

He moans and George’s breath hitches against his skin, his hips stuttering forward and God, he’s tempted to drag George back inside and straight to the bathroom to see what he might try to make him do that again… But there’s something they should be doing first.

“George…” he pants. He should be embarrassed to be so out of breath, but then who wouldn’t be, in his place? George doesn’t react, still nuzzling into his neck and making it hard to think straight, and he just barely manages to repeat his name.

Slowly - reluctantly, something inside Joe sings - George pulls back to look at him. He’s flushed, his lips red and puffy and if Joe thought he looked good the other night, smiling at the date that luckily just turned into a new friend, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now, slightly dazed and a little goofy and the most beautiful thing Joe has ever seen.

“George, I… I need you to say something.”

George shrugs.

“What’s there to say? I’m in love with you too. I just had no idea you felt the same.”

“I asked you to go to the wedding with me.”

“No, Bill told me to go to the wedding with you, and you just sort of grunted and glared at him. How the hell was I supposed to know you wanted the same thing?”

Joe lets his head drop forward on George’s shoulder, understanding only belatedly that he’s embarrassed. After all, if he had the guts to tell George how he’s feeling, they could have spared themselves a lot of terrible dates.

“I guess I’m not good at talking about my feelings.”

George huffs out a laugh. “Terrible. But you managed it in the end, and that’s all that matters.”

He pulls back a little, ducking his head so he can catch Joe’s eyes.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Joe doesn’t have to be asked twice. He barely remembers to stick his head in the door to call out to Bill that he’s leaving early tonight.

Bill takes one look at him, presumably looking just as messy as George, smirks, and makes a shooing motion with his hands.

“Get outta here.” And then, because Bill can never resist being an asshole: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That rules out practically nothing,” George comments with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and Joe leans down to steal another kiss before they start making their way to George’s apartment, taking a lot longer than they usually would because they have to stop every few steps to kiss again.

They’re halfway up the stairs to George’s apartment when something occurs to Joe.

“Hey, if you felt the same way, why didn’t you say something?”

George shrugs. “Because I thought there’s no way in hell you would want me. I mean, look at us.” He gestures vaguely at the space between them, and Joe stifles a sigh.

Clearly, between his own inability to communicate and George’s criminal lack of self-esteem, they have some things to work on.

But that can wait, at least for today.

***

Later, after they’ve made out all over George’s apartment but they haven’t talked all that much - because like George put it, what else is there to say? - George draws back from yet another steamy kiss to look at Joe, studying him the way he’s been doing sometimes. For a moment, he just looks, his fingertips running feather-light along Joe’s jaw. Then he laughs softly and shakes his head.

“I can’t believe I could have been doing this for weeks,” he says, almost to himself, with an awe in his voice that makes warmth unfurl inside Joe.

“This?” Joe raises an eyebrow, hoping to make George blush, but the other man meets his eyes with no shame and smiles impishly.

“You.”

Joe barks out a laugh, then leans in to steal a quick kiss from George’s lips.

“George? You could have been doing this for years.”

Now George’s eyes widen and that coveted blush does appear.

“Years?” He squeaks. Joe nods, and George lets his forehead thunk against his shoulder. “I’m an idiot.”

Joe can’t help but smile again, too happy for his usual admonishment that George needs to stop calling himself an idiot. Instead, he hooks his finger under George’s chin and forces him to lift his head, only so he can dip down and kiss him again.

“Yeah,” he confirms as he draws back, a little breathless. “But you’re my idiot.”

George doesn’t protest.

Joe feels like his heart is going to explode right out of his ribcage.

#band of brothers #luztoye #band of brothers fic #I promise I'm still working on my OC fics. I was just super tempted to try this.

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afreakingdork · 1 year

Text

Weak Spot - Chapter 10

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension

Synopsis: When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Consciousness came back to you in stages.

The first of which was the dull throb that spread out from your ear drums and through to your eye balls.

Discomfort made you roll over.

The motion of which shot pain spikes to some places and revealed numbness in others.

You gave a wounded whimper before taking on a fight with your eye lids.

It was a lengthy battle but when the last proverbial bell rung, it was you who won out.

Looking through cloudy lenses, you were found yourself tucked into a large bed you didn’t recognize.

You tried to force an arm up to rub at your eyes, but the motion ached so you settled for rapid blinking.

It cleared the fog and you squinted to take in your surroundings. The bed seemed nice and beyond it there were little walls that barely marked off the bedroom from an open living space. You could see a large convolutedly shaped gaming chair tucked behind the leftmost wall and a kitchen beyond that where natural light was pouring in from a window. Turning your head to look to take in your immediate room, you heard a crinkling to your right that caught your attention. You swiveled to find patches of gauze taped down cleanly in a circle that extended around the crook of your neck to your back. Fighting back the pain, you reached up to touch them and found they were protecting a soreness with a stickiness that you were sure was some kind of antiseptic ointment underneath. Wincing, a flash of teeth came to mind.

Memories were trickling in as you realized your shoulders were bare. With a unwieldy grunt, you sat up enough to peak under the covers and found yourself naked with several dark bruises littering your sides. In a rush it came back to you: hands, lips, sex, and Donatello. You tugged the sheet right up over your mouth and held it there with tight fists.

You had passed out.

You almost laughed, but the blanket barrier kept it in.

Looking out again to see no one in sight, you uncovered you upper body. The bruises carved tridactyl shapes around your waist and blotches down the part of your hips that were visible. Your abdomen was achingly tender and when you pushed a testing finger there you were assaulted with memories of panting ecstasy. Sinking back down into the bed, you pulled the covers up to your chin once more.

You were in his apartment.

“Donnie?” You tested in a quiet voice.

Nothing replied and you shimmied to the other side of the mattress the best you good against your hips scream in protest. It afforded you a clip of the living room where you saw a bit of couch and a TV screen mounted on the wall just beyond it. It was the only thing on any wall. You swiveled to check the bedroom and found these walls equally barren too. Staring at the blackout curtains pulled to your left, you thought hard. The small apartment was cluttered with furniture pieces in a way that gave it an artificial fullness. In reality the place had very little personality and seemed to act only for function. It reminded you of Donnie himself and you tapped a finger to the sheets.

In doing so you remembered your previous night check and studied the fabric. You were sure; these were definitely a completely different shade of purple from the one’s before. So he’d changed the sheets and bandaged your wound. Taking stock, you sent a hand southward to find yourself free of latent stickiness. A little flush built up in your cheeks as you tried to picture him cleaning off your limp form. It seemed almost too tender and also a touch pathetic on your part. You grimaced and in doing so felt the thickness on your tongue. That, paired with the grease on your face, was from sleep. Scooting back to the edge of the bed, you glimpsed a nightstand and frowned when your phone wasn’t there.

It was enough to bring you up again. Across the room and even on the other nightstand there was no sign of any of your belongings. Knowing that he’d cleaned up around here made it seem implausible that he’d just leave everything else kicked around in the living room. At least, that’s where you thought most of your stuff had landed. For as much as you remembered, it still felt like mostly broad strokes under the intense lust that had taken hold.

“Don!” You called out and the silence gave you the faintest reverberation.

He definitely was not home.

You frowned.

What were you supposed to do?

It became aggravatingly clear that you’d never labeled what you were. Donnie had set a hard line that the lunch meetings weren’t dates; though you secretly thought otherwise. All in all, you weren’t officially dating. By his standards, you’d barely made it through a single date and then had a one night stand.

Your chest tightened.

Moments of clarity cropped up to argue otherwise. There had been times last night where he’d been so incredibly sweet that it felt like so much more than some mind-blowing fuck. Twisting around until your legs were off the mattress, you stared down. Pulling the sheets back from them revealed your knees were nearly purple from the gauntlet. He’d been borderline feral. Body too battered to translate the heated thoughts to anything, you grit your teeth. Any little worries could be solved as soon as you found your stuff. With a deep steadying inhale, you pushed off the bed.

Your legs wobbled threateningly until you were forced to kick your calves back against the bed frame to keep yourself upright. Nude and cold just from the foreign environment, you looked forward to see an open door against the wall. From what you had gathered from the layout, it had to be the bathroom. It was as good a first destination as any. You made it exactly one step before your knees gave out. Landing on them you yelped in pain and dropped down until your ass hit the faux hardwood flooring. It caused a new stab of pain centered from your throbbing core. Unable to curl up away from it, you splayed in an attempt to life yourself. It only succeeded in splitting you hips which brought on a fresh wave of torture. Near sobbing, you tugged hard on the sheet behind you. It became a small comfort as you pulled it partially free from the mattress and wrapped it around yourself.

Keeping still and building up the strength to crawl back into bed, the echo of the door lock sounded. Unwarranted fear of who it could be gave you a jolt. Pulling the covers tighter, a dozen concurrent thoughts battled for your attention.

They were about to find you nude.

You looked pathetic collapsed on the floor.

What if it wasn’t Donatello?

His mattress was quite large for one person.

He was also one quite large person.

Where were your damn underwear?

Feeling helpless, you held your breath in wait. The door opened and a sharp boot clacked against the smooth flooring. There was a shuffling of fabric, the jingling of keys, and finally the crinkling of a paper bag. The shoes didn’t sound again and silenced seem to take hold. Warily peeking above the mattress you felt very much like a trapped animal. Donatello’s form clipped in the kitchen and your heart shot straight to your throat.

“Donnie!”

He straightened in a way that read off guard before he spun around. You watched his eyes hit where you had been laying first before trailing as he followed the messed sheets. He was in motion and through the threshold of the bedroom when his finally found you.

“Welcome home…” You gave an awkward smile.

He sighed.

Your gaze dropped instinctively and the one-time nature of the event clawed at the back of your mind. You wondered if you weren’t supposed to have been here when he got back. Maybe there was a note by the door you hadn’t made it to. Quiet, you sank deeper into yourself until something was sat on the bed. You moved to see what it was when instead you were caught by Donnie knelt right in front of you.

“What did you do?”

“Me?”

“Who else would I be referring to?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” You pretended to trail off as if thinking before glowering at him. “Someone else collapsed on your floor?” You could feel how childish it was, but you had no control; the scream of your muscles threatened to swallow you up.

He took your bite in until his eyes dipped down to the pooling sheet on the ground. “You were supposed to sleep until I got back.”

“I did not…” You strung the words out.

“No, you didn’t.” He repeated with an offset tone that seemed to solidify something for him. You heard him mumble something, but he was also in motion. “Back on the bed or did you have other pressing matters?”

“Where’s my stuff?” You reached for him and he did the same before hesitating.

“I had your clothes cleaned and…” He trailed off and made a noise of irritation. “I left your phone, wallet, and keys by the door.”

“Not great.” You finally got a hold of one of his hands.

“Not ideal.” He agreed and again stretched towards you before halting.

“What?” You snipped at him.

He seemed put off and instead caught a bit of the sheet. It was the exact right flap that he could pull back and reveal your exposed side. Doing so, you shifted against the open air and winced as a shock of pain chased the move.

Everything was quiet for a long moment and when you finally wrenched your eyes open you found him staring at your body with low lids. You tried to read what little information was there, but it was masked in solemn contemplation.

“Don.”

He made a noise that he heard, but didn’t move.

“Look at me.”

“I am.” There was a sharp edge to the words.

You sighed, which tinged in a few muscles, but the weight of it finally pulled his eye. “It hurts, but I’m not hurt, ok?”

He didn’t search your face as much as his intense stare seemed to try to coax out any falsities.

“I would do everything over again the same exact way.”

“I doubt that.”

“That’s your problem.” You brought one of your arms up. “Here.” You held out the hand there.

He reached and you carefully wrapped his digits around your ribs.

“An unbruised spot to lift me from.” You confirmed before giving a squeeze to the hand you already had a grip on.

In a gentle whisk, you were on the bed without a single wasted movement. You settled against your body’s protest and Donnie hovered close by with an even closer eye. When you had gotten mostly back in place, he passed you the sheet which you tucked around your body.

“See? I’m not broken.”

“You’ll need ice.” He turned and from his direction you assumed he was following through with that note by heading to the kitchen.

“Bring back my phone!” You called after him as your eyes landed on a large brown paper bag with woven handles. You wanted to reach for it, but thought better. “What’s this?”

“Three types of eggs Benedict.” His voice drifted in a sideways pass as he went from the kitchen to the front door.

You thought over the statement before you had to fight back a bob. He appeared in a beeline for the bathroom and you gaped after him until he returned. He slowed at your face, juggling with a couple of bags of rice in one hand and your phone in the other. “From that breakfast place I mentioned?”

“Yes, put your legs out.” He gestured with the armful as he passed you your device.

Trying to keep the pained look on your face to a minimum, you followed his instruction. “The place I mentioned offhandedly when we were…?s”

“Correct, though I did not realize there would be multiple types of Benedicts available.” He carefully placed a bag of rice on each of your knees and you could feel the chill to them through the sheet.

“So you bought all of them?”

“Technically there were four more, but you at least specified ‘twist.’ It allowed me to eliminate the traditional and quote unquote healthy options.” He came closer and was careful in what hip his chose to prop the next bag of rice against.

“And the last two?”

“Deconstructed.” He held the final bag, thinking. “From the menu they no longer struck me as Benedict and instead would more appropriately be labeled huevos rancheros.”

Shooting off a few quick texts about how you were still alive, you set your phone aside to take the rice from him. He relinquished it and you settled for it right against your lower abdomen with a wheezy sigh. “I don’t know what to say…”

“I would have preferred us to have breakfast in the other room as I don’t condone breakfast in bed.”

You gave him a dry look.

“But!” He added the word with extra emphasis as if you wouldn’t catch that he never intended to say it at all. “Exceptions must be made.”

“Mhm.” You rolled your eyes as he walked away again. With his watchful eye gone, you tried to toe the breakfast bag closer. Unable to reach without stretching your hips, you settled on studying the way your knees were already blissfully going numb.

When he returned, he had a sort of laptop tray that he set up over you before grabbing the bag. You watched him with growing fondness as he struggled with how to get all three to-go boxes settled on the surface and you leaned into him. He took you in carefully and you tilted your head up to offer yourself for a kiss. For a moment you thought he might respond before his lower lip curled up in disgust.

“Absolutely not, your breath is horrendous.”

“Stop offsetting every romantic thing you do!”

“You should appreciate my standards.” He griped and left the boxes in a stack for you to deal with.

“I’m going to spill hollandaise on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

“They aren’t-!” He hitched and you hid your amusement by peeking into each meal. “Don’t.” His tone was sharp as he slid onto the opposite side of the bed.

“Bet you won’t stop me.” You smiled and adjusted the stack to select the second box.

“While I may not be able to intercept you, I can surely snatch whatever filthy crumbs you try to drop.”

Trying to keep from flexing muscles, you attempted a small laugh and grabbed some utensils he had left to the side. “I’d love to talk about that, by the way.”

“What?” He leaned toward you but seemed more curious about the food.

You slid the box up to the lap desk edge closest to him before carving out a bite. You took care putting it in your mouth and chewed until a glowing light sparked in your eye. You shared it with him before remembering yourself and passed him the second set of utensils you saw. He came in closer to carve out his own morsel.

You swallowed with a delighted tilt of your head. “How you’re ripped.”

He gave you an unamused look before taking a second bite.

“You work out daily?”

“Something like that.” He hummed, picking lightly at a salad the dish came with.

It would be another moot point, so, after eating a little more to work up your nerves, you switched to another topic you wanted to touch on. “Last night was… crazy.”

His knife halted in its descent.

You could feel him looking at you, but light embarrassment kept you from returning it. “Good crazy.”

The utensil finally made its journey.

“Think you’ll believe me if I keep reminding you of that?”

“Words only mean so much.”

There was a small, but heavy tone behind that phrase.

It caused an odd thump in your chest which you swallowed down.

“So if I wanted to do it again?”

He leaned forward until he was in your vision and you could feel he was taking great care not to dip the mattress. “Not a chance. You need to heal from this first.”

“After I heal?” You took the last bite of this box.

He weighed his options in selecting the next one. “We can discuss it then.”

While he debated a decision of his own, you took a chance to do the same internally. You were caught in an odd uncertainty that his distant attitude wasn’t helping. “Do you… not want to?”

He chose a box and set the other on the far side of your tray. He then opened his pick and examined the dish. “I got you a toothbrush.”

He would no longer get away with pretending not to hear you. “Uh?”

He cleanly sliced out a bite and had to do some adjustments to keep the sauce on his fork. “I don’t know what kind of toothpaste you use. You’ll have to settle for mine. I presume you’ll want to shower, but I ran into a similar problem. I only use a body wash tailored to my needs.”

You watched him with growing curiosity.

“I still need to make coffee, but then I considered if you took cream or sugar. There were an absurd amount of variations there as well.”

The bite had started to fall from his fork again and he abandoned the set in the box.

“I have…” He slowed and flexed his fingers. “Never had to… consider of the needs of another person in this way.” Through a lowered head, he turned only enough to glimpse you.

You gave the barest nod.

“The toothbrush is disposable. A sort of cheap one that you would take on a trip.”

The pieces were there, but you were afraid to assemble the puzzle wrong.

All too quickly, he suddenly shot out and grabbed his fork. You heard the click of his teeth against the tines as he bit down too hard and then turned away to chew. “You can either tell me which type you prefer or bring your own.”

Your eyes widened in a way that beckoned your lips to follow in a similar salute. Your features then liquefied around that dopey grin as you stared at the back of his head. His embarrassment at the whole act only further softened your heart and you wished so badly that had made it to the bathroom earlier. Left with little choice, you turned towards your meal and tried the second Benedict. It melted in your mouth.

He let you eat for another minute before he seemed to find it safe to return. You could tell there was a raw edge to him so you decided not to push it. He relaxed in a grateful way and, as you moved on to the last box, you managed only a single bite before feeling too full and passing the meal off to him. He polished it off with ease before clearing the bed. When he returned from the kitchen, you were testing your now iced muscles.

“Do you have any… normal clothes?”

He gave you a sardonic look.

“Like a t-shirt.” You returned the gaze and gestured to his sleek turtleneck.

He continued the staring contest before relenting with a roll of his eyes. “I have a few.”

“Can I borrow one?”

He was moving over to a dresser tucked against the mock wall between rooms. “I can get you your clothes.”

“You had them dry-cleaned right?”

“Obviously.” He stopped and folded his arms.

“Yeah, I don’t do that. That’s the cleanest they’re gonna get and I’m not going to get them dirty with all of… this.” You gave a vague swipe over yourself.

“You’re not going home in only a t-shirt.” With his arms already tucked, he doubled down on the pose by pushing his weight to one hip.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You gave a cynical half grin. “I want to wear it while I wash up.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” He nearly huffed.

“I don’t want to brush my teeth naked!” The shout straightened your back and in doing so tightened your core which became an immediate problem.

You weren’t trying to guilt him, but, as you curled forward to nurse the wound, you were glad to hear a drawer open. You brought your head up to give him a thankful look when a shirt slammed right into your face.

“Donnie!” You clawed at the fabric, your pain set aside for anger.

He ignored you verbally and instead approached your side of the bed.

You gave him a final glare before bunching up the fabric to make it easy to slip over your head. As soon as you brought it up in preparation to do so, the reality of the next sequence of events hit you. A frustrated noise died in your throat and you could sense him get closer.

“Let me help.”

“It’s embarrassing…”

“It isn’t.” A hand gingerly touched a spot on your back and you arched against it. Against your will, the shirt bundle came up with him nursing the process along to alleviate the slightest unnecessary movement. As you brought your arms down, he was rolling the fabric down around your waist.

“You’ll have to help me to the bathroom, but I can use the sink as leverage to stay upright.”

“Y/N.”

“There’s no way I’m gonna survive a shower. I’ll settle for a whore’s bath.”

“Ahem.”

“Wait, did you have my underwear dry-cleaned too?!” You finally looked up at him.

“’Stubborn.’”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“No, I lost control. You’re injured.”

“I wanted you to. It’s my own fault.”

He gave a deep frown before coming down to your eye level. “We aren’t doing this.”

“Maybe you aren’t…”

“Y/N.”

“It’s dumb!” The shout stung your ears and body. You cringed and looked towards the hands in your lap. “It’s dumb. I know it’s dumb. I just… You’re so damn guilty and I wanted this.” You scrubbed a hand down your face and hated the sticky unwashed feel of it. “And I didn’t know it would hurt this much and I feel so useless and I hate putting that on you and I don’t want you to think I’m some delicate little human who can’t do that again.”

He didn’t respond and you couldn’t bare to look at him. You mulled over what to do when you felt a faint touch to your shoulder. You focused on your breathing instead of acknowledging it until crawled around your neck. His hand then lightly came around to tip your head in his direction and he planted a kiss into your hair. He then mumbled there, “Let’s get you washed up.”

“I smell that bad, huh?” The acid in the sentence ended up burning you more.

He shook his head. “I complained only about your breath.”

You relented only enough to give him a muddled look.

The hand around you moved to your ribs and you took it as a signal. You steadied yourself against him and he lifted you onto your feet. You swayed there before he adjusted his grip and then together, at a pace you set, he walked you over to the bathroom. He made sure you were stable by the sink before tentatively releasing you. You shared a glance in the mirror where he seemed to smile at himself before dipping down to press another kiss into your head. Finding yourself unable to return the gesture and he gave a squeeze to your shoulders. You tipped your head back to see what he wanted and you found his head by your ear. “You smell like musk and me.”

You had to cling to the sink as he disappeared. You heard the barest chuckle from right around the corner which said he had planted himself close if need be. Choosing to ignore his hovering, you gave yourself a proper once over in the glass. His shirt was worn but soft and the neckline was so large that it almost came off your shoulder. It was a stark contrast to his other clothes. You wondered both when he’d wear it and if it predated whatever happened to his neck. The thought leveled you and you took the still packaged toothbrush from where it was perched on the counter. In a tear you had it open and got to brushing your teeth.

Suds in your mouth, you thought about how he kept his body covered and how much he’d let you see. You weighed how big a deal it was as you spit. Cleaning up, you realized you needed a wash cloth and turned your head to find one extended through the door. “Are you watching or have you been waiting like that?”

“The latter, I got this and your clothes after confirming you could remain upright.”

“I told you.”

“I’m trying to not offset myself as someone so poorly put it.”

“Come in here, jerk.” You aimed a smile at him in the mirror which disarmed the guarded look he entered with. He switched to suspicious one and you gave him a lopsided grin. “Let’s see that special body wash of yours.”

He seemed intrigued by the thought and moved over to the shower. He retrieved a bottle that had no label, but was clear to showcase a silky white liquid inside. He passed it to you and you turned it to the side to watch the slow viscosity of it.

“Let me guess-?”

“I order it.”

“Of all things?” Your reflection was surprised.

“In this case I have a supplier that accounts for not only my specific skin’s needs, but the upcoming changes in weather. I could make it if I wanted, but it’s less effort to buy it.” He departed again and there was a swing of lingering movement behind you. It meant leaning to the side, but you eventually glimpsed a hanger with your plastic covered clothes dangling from the door’s knob. You shook your head at them before setting the bottle aside. Mentally preparing yourself, you stopped as you realized there was a piece of clothing in the way.

You gave an annoyed huff.

“The shirt?” The was a smugness to his voice.

“Hurry up.” You responded bitterly as he appeared behind you once again. He carried a cocky air along with him and you went to lift your arms and hurry him up. He stopped you by caging your elbows to your body. You frowned in the mirror.

“Stay still.” His hands trended down and around your body until you lost track of them. Closing your eyes to see if you could locate him, you felt a delicate brush around the back of your knee. It was where the shirt’s hem landed and you felt the fabric pull as he bundled it up. In a slow rolling motion, he continued to gather the fabric up to your shoulders. Open air nipped at your back and the pull meant a counter tug at the hemline in your front. It left your nethers exposed and you pushed closer to the sink. “Watch your head.” You tipped your chin slightly as he lifted the wreath over you. His chest pressed lightly against your back as he then guided the shirt to naturally roll down your arms until it was free.

Barechested and watching Donnie in the mirror, you could tell he was lingering on the bruises again as the bright bathroom light cast them in a sickly shade. “I’ve got it from here.” You urged him though he lingered with a lengthy glance before retreating with the shirt in tow. You made quick work on washing up and were surprised at how sudsy the velvety soap lathered. It seemed to contrast it’s scentless nature. It made sense considering Donnie’s nose and, as you dressed, you idly wondered if he found the smell of any of your products overwhelming.

It took clutching to the door frame, but you made it a few wobbly steps on your own. Flexing your knees felt like a threat and an uneven distribution of weight on your hips hinted at collapse, but otherwise you could stay mostly upright if you had aid. Donnie was no where nearby and you wondered if the flat of the wall would provide enough support. You reached out to try it when he appeared in a rush. He jarred at the sight of you and you felt a smile tug at your lips. “You busy?”

His upper body rotated incrementally like he was going to gesture to something before he thought better of it. “Can you walk?”

“Maybe like a penguin.” The stress of holding one position wore on you so you leaned heavily into the door frame.

He took the shift seriously and you considered explaining what you meant when he came in close. A quick analysis found tension bunching his shoulders. Your followed it down his arms and realized he was restraining himself. It reminded you of what he said earlier.

“We aren’t doing this.”

“Are you willing to accept my help now?”

“No.” You reached forward and made it apparent before you jammed a finger into his chest. “We both…” The move quickly gave way to a weakness in your legs. “Shit, can you-!?”

He caught your arm which strung you between him and where you were still clinging to the door frame.

“I need to sit down.”

“Will you let me-?”

“Yes! Just-!” You snapped your mouth shut around the unpleasantries that tried to leak out. It was the only way you could stop the bitterness on your lips.

You waited for your weight to dispense in a way that said you could let go, but Donnie seemed stuck.

“Uh, any day now?” You had to prompt him and the tone took the exact quality you hadn’t wanted it to.

“I don’t know where to grab you.” There was a unsavory bite to his voice as well.

This was not what you wanted to agree on.

“I thought we okay’d the ribs?” You twisted your head up to glimpse him and found a canined grimace on his face.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a delicate area, there’s a chance-”

It was a stupid back and forth.

You hated it.

Using his distraction you yanked your arm from him the same time you let go of the door casing. The twist of grips meant your legs gave out and you prepared yourself for the fall. Donnie shot forward on instinct and his arms came around your waist. It stung from the bruises there, but it was nothing in comparison to your legs.

You still had to clench your jaw to speak. “Was that so hard?”

“What is wrong with you?!”

You felt a little dizzy.

“Y/N!” There was a desperation to his voice.

You didn’t feel like passing you exactly. It was more like the pain receptors were confusing everything into a lightheaded dream-like state. You felt your body rise up and the constriction around your brain elevated. You were heading towards the couch when lucidity welcomed you. Being lowered into cushions, you found yourself cradled in a modified princess carry; Donnie had a grip on the thick of your thigh and your ribs for support.

“I’m… okay…” Your voice sounded much weaker than you felt.

“Vasovagal syncope.” He grumbled out the phrase before delicately setting you down. He retracted himself and you could tell he was going to step away. A fear shot through you and you caught the hem of his sweater in a pinch. Obviously in a heightened state, he caught the tiny movement before he could even feel the tug.

“Wait…”

He obeyed by dropping to his knees beside you.

It took you a moment to register how quickly he acquiesced. “What-?” Several questions vied for your tongue before bottlenecking. You had to give your head a shake to clear it and adjust yourself with a wince to get into a more comfortable position. “Vaso-what?”

“Vasovagal syncope, it’s a sort of overreaction by the parasympathetic nervous system to any number of stressors. It causes blood pressure and heart rate drops.” His hand was on your wrist and you sort of registered it was at your pulse.

“Fun. Great. Something else to worry about.” You brought a hand up to massage the bridge of your nose.

“I’d like to get you some water and prop your legs up.”

Surveying him and then the couch, you found no pillows there. You sort of registered you hadn’t had anything to drink, but a rudimentary part of your brain refused to let him go. You spied the armrest near your feet and made an effort to try to sling your legs up there.

He stopped you as soon as you tried to move. “Y/N-”

“This should be fine.”

A low-pitched sound came from him and his eyes lit up with irritation. “Stop interrupting me.”

Any number of excuses died on your lips as he looked down his snout at you in a way that said he had choice words for poor defenses.

You gave up and laid back.

He didn’t take it as acceptance and instead waited quietly by your side.

“Can we talk this out?”

“What is there to discuss?”

You mustered your best enraged look and sent it his way.

He took it in and returned nothing but a cold stare that said he stood by his statement.

You wanted so badly to turn over and enhance your glare, but you had settled into a quasi-state just beyond the reach of pain. “Drop the act.”

“There’s no act.” His lips rolled his exasperation from one side to the other. “All I see is an infuriating individual that would rather cling to puerile excuses than accept aftercare.”

“After-” The sound of your voice caught you and your processing time kicked in a little too late. As if building up to an land slide revelation, the first little pebbles fled from the mountain in your mind as a warning. It came in the form of his reserved nature. Then a few trees snapped and the duality of his acts warped. It went from him getting in his way to apprehension. The rumble echoed in all the times you had assumed his stance. The first boulder careened down in the way his stare lingered on your body. You screwed your eyes shut as the mental ground slid out from under you. “Not just me…”

He seemed quieter than humanly possible.

You opened your eyes and took him in. It seemed so obvious now that it wasn’t his usual mask. He had simply applied a sort of glue to keep himself together. He had a scarred quality to him that you couldn’t believe you missed. “You need it too.”

He put up the barest offense, but you immediately caught how flimsy the deflect was.

Trying to shift only the weight of your shoulders, you reached out to him. His hands stayed somewhere down by his legs, but he leaned in. You gave a careful swipe of his cheek making sure to keep the pressure heavy enough so it’d feel substantial. “It was a lot, hm?”

“It’s not-”

You had the barest protest on your lips, but you chomped down on it.

He still caught it and gave you a wary look.

You pet his cheek again and could feel the faint grumble in his throat more than hear it.

“It wasn’t the effort.”

You nodded. “Let me rephrase: it was a lot of touch.”

A shot of rigidity went through him.

“Then there was a stark absence of it.”

He rallied against his body’s stiffness by butting his head against your hand. You rotated to palm his jaw and he let a portion of his weight sit there.

“That and you lost control a few times, which you hate…”

He looked away.

Psychically you felt bad enough, but mentally you wished you could punish yourself a little more. “And then I left you all alone.”

“That couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t you fault.”

You waited until he was done to move your grip; this time it was to press an index finger to his lips. “We can talk about me after. I want to focus on you right now.”

His brow knit and he spoke against your digit. “It should be equal exchange.”

“I guess, but it doesn’t have to be at the same time.”

He seemed to think it over.

While he processed you coaxed him over with leading swipes of your hand. His chin soon rested against your chest and the couch moved slightly as he let his weight fall against it. “Do you want to talk about it? Coming to and finding me gone?”

He gave a sigh and his pupils slid to your face. “Overriding the momentary illogical panic that I had killed you, I checked your vitals and made sure you were stable.”

“But I didn’t wake up.”

“No.” He settled a little more weight on you and the pressure had a comforting quality. From where you’d abandoned your hand after getting him to your intended destination, you brought it back up to set it on his head. His lids seemed to be growing heavy. “You were pushed to your psychical limits so it made a sort of sense.”

You hummed in agreement.

On the losing side of the battle, you watched him duke it out until his eyes finally closed. “For awhile there was nothing I could do until I realized there were far too many things to take care of.”

“The sheets, the bite, the cum… “

He shook your body with a single bob of laughter that stayed in his chest.

“Which was, by the way, a lot. Like a lot! And I didn’t-er-we didn’t… No, I don’t have anything…?” You tried to raise your head to get a look at him and sorely wished you’d allowed him to get whatever prop he had offered earlier.

He examined you through the barest crack in his lids before one of his arms came up and tucked under your neck. “I took care of it.”

“You… took care of it?” There was a tinny quality to your voice as the statement seemed far too simple when it was actually outlandish.

He closed his eyes and gave his usual closed off aura.

This one you weren’t up for accepting so easily. “You didn’t… slip me something? Did you?”

He gave an indignant snort, opened his eyes, and gave an enflamed, “No.”

“Sorry, I just don’t know what you mean.”

Keeping his chin rooted to your chest, he turned toward you a little more. “I would never drug you without your knowledge. I can assure you that nothing was done to you. I simply took care of it.”

You gaped at him.

“Cumming inside is something we should have discussed. I meant to do that-” He looked away and the displeasure wafting off of him said he was definitely thinking of a specific moment you had thrown him off from. “-among other things. Shall we use protection or something of the sort going forward?”

You flushed on contact. It was the first time he’d actually confirmed you’d have sex again while also asking you point blank if you wanted another creampie. Against any sensibilities you had left, you turned away as the combination shot straight through to your sorest area.

You felt the shift in his head as he took the scent in. He then came right back and you could feel his gaze boring holes into your turned cheek.

You bit your lip.

“Verbal confirmation, please.”

“Whatever you did-” You made sure to imbue your displeasure in not knowing this fact. “-it’s… safe, repeatable, and…?”

The arm under your head jostled slightly as he rose. The pivot he did said he swiveled on his knees until he was elongated and hovering over you. “100% effective.”

Another pulse meant another wince.

He pressed his lips to your cheek and lingered there.

“Again, please, again.” Your voice was so small, you could barely hear it.

He nodded and gave you the space to turn to him. Your face still burned and he caught you in a complimentary kiss.

He only pulled back far enough to lay his head against your throat, threading it so his lips were tucked against the underside of your chin.

“You seem a little more like yourself.”

He gave an affirmative hum.

You brought a hand up and carefully laid it on his shoulder.

He twitched the muscle there as if to accept the gesture. “All that time you were asleep and you still somehow picked the worst to wake up.”

“It’s almost like karma for leaving you when you woke up.”

“I don’t believe in that.”

“That tracks.”

“You didn’t hit your head or anything when you fell, did you?”

You tapped his shoulder with your thumb. “Only a head injury could excuse that thought process?”

“No, though I might be inclined to agree with that.”

You made an irate noise with your throat and he kissed the sound away.

“I meant it more as something I should have asked when I found you.”

“Ah, yes. Don’s version of ‘are you alright?’”

“You’re joking, but that is standard procedure.”

“I’m alright. It was just…” The morning came back to you and with it came the odd flurry of emotions you’d gone through. “It was confusing. I thought maybe… it had been a one-night stand and-”

He shot upright and stared down at you openly.

You blinked up at him and searched, but couldn’t find any discernible reaction.

“Continue.”

“Uh… I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage that getting out. I didn’t have anything. I couldn’t find anything. I was just alone.” You turned away from the scorch of his intense gaze. “I didn’t know if you had a roommate or someone else would walk in.”

“Someone else?”

“I don’t… know.”

You were both caught in that sentence for what seemed like a lengthy amount of time. The web didn’t release either of you so much as Donnie seemed to fall out of its snare. He nearly collapsed onto you, only pulling back the moment of impact. It jostled your legs a little and between the small hiss it elicited from you, he rooted his nose against your neck. This time, he settled with his lips against your pulse before he spoke into your body. “There’s no one else. I live alone.”

You weren’t sure if his next few moves were necessarily kisses or him just trying to get as close to you possible. It was strangely affirming. “Gotcha.”

“We’ve moved onto you now, correct?”

“Depends, how do you feel?”

“Settled.”

“If you’re ok, then…”

“How are you now?”

“Sore.” It was immediate and the agonizing forefront of everything you did.

“I have a regiment for that. We’ll start it soon.”

“You make pharmaceuticals too?” You joked.

You could feel his brows raise.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s my second most sought after credential.”

“Guessing your job was fun once. Now I have no idea outside of entrepreneur.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Not with their appalling connotations.”

You shook your head and it bumped his nose with each swipe as he refused to move.

“Emotionally?”

“Surprisingly alright.” Taking advantage, you tipped your head towards him which pressed his snout flat against your jugular.

He remained still and you wondered if he could breath.

“The little worries seem silly now. I’m still wiped.” You let your eyes drift shut. “The embarrassment feels embarrassing; it makes me wonder if I had known it was supposed to be aftercare from the start, then would I have acted the same way.”

He gave a little nod that you sensed had a tinge of guilt over how he hadn’t clarified.

“Considering I was fucked like a sex toy, I feel… really good…” You chewed your lip as a few tantalizing memories surfaced. “I don’t feel less because of it or anything like that…”

Feeling the need to touch him more, you brought your hand up as he also was set in motion. He evaluated the appendage by catching it and looked you over in an appreciative way.

You shared a heated glance before you were pulled toward one another. Meeting in the middle, you kissed in a way that felt like a silent confirmation. When you pulled back, you caught the genial quality in his eye.

“Pillows, water, ointment, fresh ice, and coffee? How does that order sound?”

You lit up and propped yourself up on your elbows. “The coffee!”

He dusted himself off as he stood.

“Move coffee up-” You counted off your fingers. “Three and otherwise, we’re good?”

“Fine, but only because I can do the others while it brews.”

You gave a cheer that you immediately regretted and he shooed you before disappearing to get you a pillow.

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction #weakspotfic

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xxmyhomexx · 9 months

Text

W: TIME CATCHER: Worth

I haven't playes the story, but I've watched other people play it, and Shen intrigues me. I have a thing for an age-gap, grumpy rugged looking men whose hearts can be tamed, and...BOOM! Idea!

This has no connection to the game. Warning: intended for older readers!

~~~

The party was in full swing as Nova and her friends celebrated their victory against the Church. The ban and restrictions for Others had been lifted, allowing magic-users and other supernatural beings to live in harmony. Nova cheered with her loved ones as they took sips of champagne, toasting to a new day where they no longer had to hide their identities or their powers.

"Cheers to new beginnings," Vesper proclaimes.

"To new life," Nova tossed back her glass.

"TO LIFE!" Onyx laughed, albeit a bit too bubbly from the glassy look in her eye. She yelped when she tripped off the chair she sat around the outdoor fireplace in the moonlight, falling out and landing on her backside. Everyone started to laugh, which caused Onyx to hiss in embarrassement. But when she noticed the gleam in her friends' eyes, she too surrendered to the aroma of happiness.

Lucien and his clan of vampires arrived minutes later, conversing amongst their new allies. An hour or so in, Shen excused himself from Jorge, nodding as he disappeared and walked inside The Nest. Nova, watching him, scratched her chin curiously. Vesper watched her track his moves, smiling in understanding.

"Go to him," she nudged her shoulder. "He wants you to follow."

Nova peered behind her, raising a brow. "And how do you know?"

"Power of Presence, hun." she smirked.

Nova rolled her eyes, getting out of her chair. "Excuse me."

Vesper giggled and wished her a goodnight. Nova tossed her coat over her shoulders, exiting through the building. Her heels clicked against the pavement, golden eyes casting shadows over the people passing her. It was a gorgeous night, but the night would be even better if she could find the warlock that stole her curiosity...and heart.

"Are you looking for me?" A man's deep voice startled her. Turning around, Shen came up right beside her. He had his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his neutral expression following her eyes.

"Me? Well..." Nova tried to play it cool. "Just...wanted to take a walk."

"After I was gone."

Nova pursed her lips, making him smirk in amusement.

"I was wondering why you left. Jorge said you weren't one for company too long."

"I am," Shen declined. "But I like my quiet time, too."

"So do I," Nova smiled. "Guess we'll have quiet time together."

Shen didn't protest this time, not around her. He walked closer, hovering over her which caused her insides to curl and her legs to shake. Shen was an enigma, but their encounters in the past told her he was feeling the things she did for him. The endless tattoos on his arms, across his chest, and neck lit up. He gently wrapped one arm around her, portaling them away from the city and to somewhere Nova had never been before.

Nova turned her head, looking around the room. It was completely different from her apartment, more dark, open and sparse. The walls were almost bare with a few images here and there, a sofa in the middle of the living room with a small coffee table and TV stand mounted on the wall. She could see the hall which lead to the bathroom and bedroom. It must be Shen's place, she realized. Next to the door, Shen slid his arms through the sleeves of his prized coat, carefully nestling it on a rack before motioning her to join him on the balcony.

"Wow," Nova's gaze settled on him. "This place is so...you."

"I know it isn't much," Shen was honest. "But I don't hold the value of decorating to a high standard like Vesper or Jorge."

"I knew it!" Nova clapped her hands together in a victorious laugh. Shen just scoffed and pulled up a chair for her, walking back inside and calling out what she wanted to drink.

"Water's fine!"

He sat next to her seconds later with two water bottles, handing one to her. As Nova gulped hers down, she noticed the view. While his apartment may have been barren, the view was different. The lights and traffic of the city lit up like a painting, and she smiled big like a child on Christmas. Shen's lips thinned into his own short grin, clearing his throat.

"You can't find a view like this for cheap in the city anymore."

"No," Nova's eyes gazed at his hand. "You can't."

Without thinking, she reached out to touch him, to see how he'd react. Shen tensed when he felt the tips of her fingers over his tatted knuckles, emptying his bottle in a few swigs. Her hands were soft, fingers elegant and painted with glossy polish. She gripped the back with her palm, settling over it. To her surprise, he made no move to jerk away, like he got splashed in the face with acid or someone messed with his jacket.

"Nova..."

How far could she go? Leaning over her chair, she leaned in just as he turned his head toward her, freezing when he noticed her lips. The empty water bottle clattered on the porch, her lips gently molding to his. It was a gentle kiss, soft and sweet. Shen's eyes widened, tattoos pulsing from blue to black. It was as if she were inviting him in, taking the initiative but allowing room for him to make his own choice. His eyes softened to half-lids, allowing it to last a few more seconds until she pulled away. She had a smile on her face, but his look remained impassive.

"Shen..."

"What do you want from me?" He asked.

Nova's grin faded.

"Nova..." Shen sighed. "You are a young lady with a bright future, and I'm a warlock with many hard years on my shoulders, including my age. The things I've seen...what I had to do..."

"Is that supposed to matter to me?" Nova was unfazed. Shen's brows frowned, confusion plastured on his face.

"Your past never scared me away, and look at what we've accomplished. People finally accept us, even though it took a long time! And age is just a number. That's why...I want everything of you. I just-"

"Sssshhh." Shen pressed a tatted finger to her lips, silencing her. He tilted her chin, meeting her gaze. He threaded his fingers through her hair, capturing her lips with his. Nova tensed for a minute from shock, but returned his kiss. They were soft, easing into each other. Shen broke away, taking her hand and lifting her to her feet, escorting her back into the apartment. Their feet carried them to the only bedroom, one with a king sized bed and a lone bookshelf. Flicking his hand, candles on the windowsill and two dressers lit the room in waves of blue.

Nova gasped. "Beautiful..."

Shen turned her back around, cupping her face in his hands, allowing her to kiss him again. When they broke apart, Nova sighed as he gently turned her toward the bed, sliding off her coat until it pooled at their feet. Nova knew where things were going, making her gut turn to stone. Shen's hands trailed up her arms, his nails leaving goosebumps and sending shivers down her spine. Shuddering, she froze when he came upon the straps of her navy blue gown.

"May I?" He leaned in toward her ear.

When she didn't answer, he pressed himself against her.

"Y-yes."

He smirked and lowered one strap down, caressing her shoulder with his lips. Nova lulled her head, feeling his teeth nip a path up to her ear where he gently bit down on her lobe before lowering the other strap, tugging it off. Now that her dress was gone, all she was left in was her underwear. She had kicked off her heels when they started to kiss, and now her heart raced. She turned to him, gulping down her nerves. Hissing, she managed to undo the three belts that held his garments together until he lowered her hands.

"Let me," he noticed she was shaking. "You're shaking."

"I'm...cold."

"Cold?"

He just grinned. He slid his shirt off, followed by his pants. Nova's jaw dropped at his tattoos, the intricate designs captivating her. She wanted to trace their patterns with her fingers. She stepped closer to Shen, placing a hand on his torso, sliding it up slowly. His abs rippled beneath her hand, and Shen grabbed it before it could reach his face. With this, he slid his tongue between her teeth, deeply exploring her mouth as they fell back on the bed.

"Oof!" Nova's back hit the black covers and pillows. She saw Shen staring intently at her, awaiting the show. Nova blushed as she reached behind her, unclasping her bra and throwing it aside. Gulping, she then ridded herself of the rest of her underwear, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Shen then did the same thing, gazing at her with desire.

"S-Shen...I..."

Shen leaned down and grazed his lips along her jawline, nipping just enough to earn him a low moan.

Nova's head perked up as his hands kneaded her breasts, before one moved lower between her thighs. Yelping, she locked her knees together when she felt his fingers dance within. When one entered, another followed, and she covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her cries.

"L-let me...t-touch you, too..."

"No," his voice was firm. "You may not."

Shen then lowered his head toward her breasts, taking turns pleasuring them with his mouth. Nova's body responded in earnest, sensitive to everything he was doing. Removing his fingers, he grazed his thumb across her lips, noticing how plump they were.

"Shen," she begged. "I need you. P-please..."

He kissed her lips, muting her trembling voice. "We'll get there. Just enjoy this."

Nova tangled her fingers in his hair, deepening their kiss. She sucked on his lips, biting and soothing. Shen growled, capturing her bottom lip with his teeth, before shoving his tongue deep in her mouth. French kissing was so tasteful, so erotic and exciting when it was with the one you loved. Pulling away, he kissed along her throat, collar blades, down the sensitive region between her breasts, across her navel with flicks of his tongue and nips of his teeth. Soon, he buried his head in her.

"Agh!" She breathed. Tears flowed from her eyes, the building pleasure stinging, waiting to be released. Soft sobs escaped her lips, unable to cope with it any longer. Her body was beginning to betray her, taking in Shen too much at one time. As he rose up, he saw her tear streaked face.

"Sssshhh..." he soothed. Sniffling, Nova felt the pads of his thumbs wipe her wet eyes before his lips kissed each lid.

"Don't cry, Nova. You're beautiful."

"You...you make me feel beautiful."

Shen smiled, kissing the column of her throat. He excused himself for a moment, slipping on protection.

As she kissed him, Shen jerked his hips forward, causing her to cry out and wrap her arms around him, digging her nails in his back. He stayed like that for a moment, allowing her to get used to it before she pleaded for him to keep going.

"Yes, yes!" She cried as he pulled her on top of him. Now laying on his back, he trailed one hand up her stomach, settling his palm on her navel while balancing her with the other on his hip. His tattooes lit up blue, his eyes turning the same color. Nova's eyes snapped open, yellow light engulfing her. She moaned as he interlaced her fingers with his.

"M-more!" He flipped her on her stomach, this time from behind. Nova could see yellow and blue flowers, connecting to each other as her fingers tightened in his. She looked behind her, moments away from melting.

"Shen...I'm so close..."

"Then let go, my love," he said. "Let go."

When his moves became harsher, she cried out with one final jerk, collapsing on the bed. Shen caught her, one arm around her waist with the other buried in her hair. He kissed the back of her head, sweat beading down his body. The tattoos returned to their normal hue, and Nova heaved against him.

"My God," she panted. "T-that..."

"Nova."

He leaned in, kissing her as they fell in bed together. He pecked at her lips, running a finger down her chin. Nova kissed his palm, their chests gradually slowing.

"Stay with me," Shen whispered. "Be mine."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Shen held her close that night, closer than anyone in his entire life.

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justal0wk3yg4mer · 11 months

Text

Things I've Said: Hogwarts Legacy

Me: *Player/My actions* Character Dialogue

If you think I'm not going to use my real name for this. You're wrong. Give me my fucking letter.

5 minutes in and there's some intense shit going down. That's normal.

What matters, is who wields it. Well that is the most sensible thing I've heard at the beginning of a game.

*Squealing* The wand motions!

GRIFFENDOR! (I know what half of you MFs are gonna say. Fight me, I've taken the Pottermore tests)

I'm gonna spin all the globes.

*Freaks the fuck out over the sounds the cats make when you pet them.*

KAMAHAAA!!!

Bro, I'm smackin' the shit outta these keys.

Why does this handle look like a dildo?

Damn I have no filter; should have lied.

...the Mandrake! *Lowers TV volume* Had to be the fucking Mandrake.

Ah, a Vegan's worst nightmare...angry lettuce.

Bro, I'd smash some pumpkins with or without a wand.

Wow, this place is creepy *Immediately sees something and runs into said creepy place*

Tell him his grandson is a bitch.

Hogwarts, meet Thief 2014 lockpicking skills.

Siriana is mom.

And we don't have more interactions with Ominis because...?

I get to...I GET TO CATCH THEM ALL!?!?!

Deek, I would die for you.

Man got fucked up by a twig, then back for rounds 2 and 3, and still got his ass whooped!

No wait please tell me more about these monuments. *Spends the next 30 minutes finding astronomy tablets and looking at stars like a dork*

Aye yo, are those Jolly Ranchers?

*Physically crying* It's so big.

Y'all got me walkin' into a recommended level 25 and this MF is a 31?!?!

Amit went from 😀 to 😨

Why does it have to glow? It doesn't need to glow, isn't 8 legs enough?

*Gets Flipendo* Bro, Imma 'bout to break necks.

Damn a Hufflepuff on a trip. Tumblr was right.

Sebastian, honey, let me tell you my safeword: Pineapples. We got it? Cool. Pineapples, put the fucking bones down.

They practically made spiders the highlight of this game and I do not appreciate it...well, I do actually but that's not the point.

You need a smack to the face...with a chair.

Ominis is a true 'G'.

Why is he fighting me?!? Whoop you nephew's ass not mine!

Top 10 anime betrayals.

Damn, this horseman's fixin' to make me act up. Honestly if Dorran betrays us, I would thank him...Tumblr don't judge me.

I legit about to quit the game if Natty died. Like no joke.

*Listens to NPC* Who's out there breakin' bones? Actually I am, gimme some of that.

My wardrobe is upgraded. My potions are stocked. Power is full. I'M READY BITCH.

I need this on Spotify.

Alright, Fig and I did our heart to heart. Now he's probably gonna get killed...I'm kidding please don't.

I SAID I WAS KIDDING PLEASE DON'T

Stop, I didn't ask for a eulogy. 😭

I know she's being sweet right now but I am mesmerized by herself stirring mug.

I didn't really have a word count but I did have a question. Leave a comment if you'd like:

BEST MODE OF TRAVEL: Beast Mount or Broom?

#things i've said #video games #gaming #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #professor fig #magic

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modernmisadventures · 9 months

Text

Chapter 12: Do You Wanna Build a PC?

The apartment building stretched intimidatingly into the sky before Jess, as she stared at its glass-paneled walls in awe. Even idling in the upper parts of town felt… well, wrong, given her status as a lowly bartender, dressed in a simple tank top and jeans as she was.

Figuring she’d hesitated long enough, she pushed through the revolving doors, eyes widening at what greeted her inside. A massive, open lobby, a fountain decorating the center with what felt like entirely too many guards standing around - primarily Au Ra men, dressed in suits with dark sunglasses blocking their eyes. Had she entered an apartment building, or a bank?

“Excuse me?” A call echoed through the otherwise-empty room; a Midlander man stared expectantly at the out-of-place woman from his seat behind a desk. “Do you have business at Takechi Towers?”

“I, um- Yes!” Jess fought the urge to turn tail and run, quickly fishing her tomephone out of her pocket against her better judgment and pulling up her messages. “I’m here to see a Varrus Varlineau, Apartment 12A?”

The receptionist seemed satisfied with that answer, giving a nod to one of the guards beside the elevator, before motioning the Highlander over.

“Have a good day, miss.”

With that, she was ushered onto the elevator, where yet another Au Ra awaited, wordlessly pressing the button for floor 12.

The ride was… well, unbelievably awkward, to say the least, Jess doing her best not to stare at the man as he looked unflinchingly straight ahead. Part of her wondered if she was about to step off the elevator into a kidnapping plot… And, for as little as she knew of Cirdan… It didn’t seem implausible.

Which did little to explain why a goofy, seemingly-kind-hearted man like Varrus would associate with him.

They arrived after what felt like an eternity, the elevator operator uttering not a single word, leaving the woman to step off on her own. There were only two doors on the floor: one labeled 12A and another ‘roof access.’ Her steps echoed unsettlingly as she strode down the short, tiled hallway to the solid metal door, noting the several deadbolts visible from her side.

Deadbolts? Were they so necessary, with all the security even preventing her from getting up to the top floor in the first place? Just what kind of apartment complex was this?

Glancing back over her shoulder, she found the elevator gone, and her chances of escape along with. And so, fighting her nervousness, she reached up and tapped the knocker against the steel, a ting ting ting breaking the silence of the building. She didn’t even hear the footsteps from inside; had she not heard the deadbolts sliding, she’d have thought that perhaps she got the wrong day, or time, that no one was home…

Instead, the door swung open, revealing the smiling face of a familiar Elezen, instantly calming her nerves - until she remembered he was still a complete stranger to her. One whose super-secured apartment she was about to enter.

“Glad you made it,” he greeted, opening the door wide, his invitation clear. And what she saw as she stepped inside sent her jaw dropping to the floor. A wall of windows lined one side of the open living area, affording a view over all of Carteneau and the flats beyond illuminating the kitchen - a kitchen she could only ever dream of, with professional, state-of-the-art cooking equipment, a full gas stove, two built-in ovens and a fridge larger than her bed. And the living room in between boasted the largest TV she’d ever seen, mounted into the wall, with two plush leather couches and… not much else.

Decorating was, as far as Jess could tell, not the men’s strong suit.

A spiral staircase sat off to one side, leading to a balcony above, and a host of doors she assumed must have been some manner of bedroom, with a second set of doors on the base floor below. The floor itself was a grey hardwood throughout, the walls pristine white. Clean… Almost too clean.

Not that she cared, in that moment; she unabashedly hurried past Varrus, leaning on the windowsill and practically pressing her face up against the glass.

“Varrus!” she gasped, her wondrous expression reflecting in the crystal-clear windows. “This is amazing!”

“Not bad, huh?” he chuckled; she heard him setting the handful of locks before striding towards her.

“Not bad?!” She shot him a glance over her shoulder. “Varrus, I live in a basement. This is heaven!”

She turned to see him smiling at her, nervously fidgeting with his hands. “Yeah, I, um… It’s Cir’s place, not mine. I just moved in a month or two ago…”

“Ah, that explains the lack of… furnishings.”

“You got me there.” He nervously chuckled. “Well, I’ve got the PC stuff ready in my bedroom, if you’d like to give that a go.”

“Your bedroom?” Her brows furrowed, her worry creeping back in - she’d trusted him thus far, trusted him enough to wander into what felt like a government vault, let him lock her inside on the top floor of the building with no other escapes… Her eyes quickly looked him up and down - he was a good fulm taller than her, and she could see a hint of muscle beneath his buttoned-up shirt and rolled-up sleeves, but, given her training, she felt fairly confident she could take him, if she had need. Now, getting out in a hurry, on the other hand…

“Oh, I- I just-” He must have caught her concern, his own brows furrowing as he bit his lip. “I didn’t mean it like that; my computer desk is in my bedroom, is all, but I could grab everything and move it out here if that’s better for you. To make you more comfortable. I didn’t mean to imply-”

She couldn’t help but cock her head, his words slowly trailing off as a smile grew upon her face - no, his nervous fidgeting and stuttering told her all she’d needed to know.

“You’re fine,” she assured. “I’m sorry for thinking poorly of you.”

“No, I should have-”

“Varrus.” She gently placed a hand upon his arm, silencing him once more. “You’re fine. Now, are you going to take me to your bedroom or not?”

She felt an evil glee rising inside of her as she watched him blush, the very tips of his ears turning a light pink as he cleared his throat.

“Right, it’s… this way.”

She let her hand fall from his arm as he turned, leading her back to one of the doors on the main floor - only for her eyebrows to shoot straight into her hairline. The bedroom was nearly as impressive as the rest of the apartment, a solid wall of floor-to-ceiling window framing the massive bed, a PC with multiple monitors nestled into a corner, a messy, walk-in closet in another, but most importantly was-

“Is that a balcony?!”

Jess didn’t wait for an answer, hurrying past the Elezen and yanking open the sliding glass door. Sure enough, a wide balcony greeted her, a table with two seats situated beside the fanciful railing; she stopped ilms before reaching the edge, hesitantly peeking over before yelping and jumping back, practically colliding with the man behind her.

“Careful,” Varrus snorted. “Would hate to see you fall.”

“You and I both.” Cautiously, she gripped the railing, peering over just as far as she dared before stepping back once more. “I can’t believe you live in a place like this!”

“Most days, neither can I.”

Yet there was one place she hadn’t inspected… perhaps the most important of them all. Manners be damned, she gently brushed past the Elezen, heading towards the door she’d spotted along the wall - and opening it revealed exactly what she thought it would. The bathroom was larger than most bedrooms she’d seen, hosting the same floor-to-ceiling window along the outer wall with a large, open stone shower, a double vanity across from it, beside-

“Is that a jacuzzi?!” Jess couldn’t help but gasp, eyeing the large tub situated into the floor. “Do you mind if I just… live in here? You won’t even notice me, I promise.”

At that, Varrus gave a laugh that echoed off the tiled floor. “It’s… a bit much, yeah. Cir gets a lot more use out of his jacuzzi than I do - and I don’t think I need to explain why.”

“Oh.” The word fell from her lips probably harsher than she’d intended; it seemed Cip was right about his… activities, without her. Though, judging by the photo she’d regrettably seen the previous night… perhaps Cip herself would be getting quite cozy with the Au Ra’s tub in the near future. “Well, I mean, you must get some fun out of it, right?”

“Not… in that way,” Varrus muttered; Jess glanced over her shoulder to find him rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, that’s a waste,” she snorted. “A place like this and you could convince just about anyone you wanted to spend some quality time with you.” Not that she imagined he needed to work hard to convince anyone, not with his tall, lean build, his thick, wavy hair and warm, golden eyes. No, she was certain he could get damn near anyone he wanted, and probably did, if he lived with the likes of Cirdan.

“Maybe… But I’ve never found anyone I wanted to invite here - aside from you, that is.” And as she met his eye with a small smirk, he quickly held his palms up, stammering, “I- I mean, not like that, I just- I was trying to make a joke. I- I’m not very good at this, sorry.”

“What, flirting with women in your private bathroom?”

“What? No! Joking! I- I mean, I’m not good at that either- Not that I’d know, mind you, but-”

Shaking her head, she took mercy on the poor, adorable man, striding back towards him and giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“The, uh… You’re welcome to hang out in my bathroom if you really want, but the PC stuff is in here.”

“Oh. Right.” So enthralled had she been in her surroundings and her company that she’d already forgotten why she was there - and it wasn’t for the jacuzzi, much to her dismay. With a blush of her own, she followed the man back into his bedchambers, where he stopped before his desk, all manner of strange devices strewn about.

“Ok,” she placed her hands on her hips, “this all looks downright Allagan to me. Where do I start.”

“Grab the motherboard first.”

At her blank stare, he granted her mercy, reaching forward and handing her easily the most confusing item on the desk. “This one. Here, lay it on top of this box. Everything we have will plug into this.”

She nodded, staring at the foreign item in confusion.

“Now, the easiest thing to do next is to install the CPU - the little square one…”

And so Jess did her best to follow along with his instructions; though, all things told, Varrus really did the most of the work; she was simply content to listen to his smooth, deep voice gently walking her through the steps, his hand occasionally closing over hers, guiding her movements, until, somehow, she tightened the final screw, securing the myriad of parts into its case.

“And there you go.” Varrus grinned. “See, I told you you could do it.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Jess huffed, staring at the newly-built PC before her in awe. “Where’s the catch?”

“Well, we have to turn it on - and pray it works. Then I have to test and install some things - nothing fun, I assure you.”

“Well, then we’ll make it fun.”

He laughed. “I like the way you think.” And so he pulled over his chair, motioning to the bed behind him, where Jess sat herself down - only to gasp in surprise at the plushness that rose up to encompass her. She couldn’t help but laugh, flopping backwards into the mess of blankets.

“Having fun?”

She glanced over the plume of down comforter to catch the Elezen bemusedly grinning at her.

“I don’t know how you ever leave this bed.”

“Some days, neither do I.”

“So,” she propped herself up on her elbows, “you said you moved in only a few months ago? How did you meet Cirdan?”

“At work, believe it or not. I took a job for his father’s company; he was sent to oversee my work, and through that we got to talking and he explained he was looking for a roommate. This whole place is owned by his father, too. Only way we can afford to live here.”

She let out a hum. “Explains a lot. So what is it Cirdan, or his father, do?”

“I… don’t know.”

She raised an eyebrow at the Elezen in surprise. “Do you not have the same job?”

“Oh, no,” Varrus snorted. “I’m just a lowly tech maintenance guy. Cir does… Well, he handles a lot of his father’s… business. What exactly that business is, I haven’t asked - and I’m willing to bet you can guess why.”

Hesitantly, she nodded - there was something decidedly unsettling about the whole place, though, there in that bedroom, she felt surprisingly at ease - especially for being around a stranger. A completely adorable stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

“Well, where did you live before this?”

“With my mother, actually,” came his answer, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “And my sister. I know, I know, pretty old to live with my parents at 24 and already out of college, but-”

“Hey, I’m not judging - like I said, I live in a basement.”

Varrus gave a relieved grin. “Well, shall we see if this baby posts?”

“Posts?”

“Turns on.”

“How do you turn it on?”

“Well,” he smirked, “usually I like to stroke it gently and whisper sweet nothings into its ports-”

“Varrus!”

He laughed. “There’s a power button - you plugged it into the motherboard, but I don’t blame you for not remembering. Here.” With a click, the machine whirred to life, a myriad of rainbow lights emitting from inside as its fans spun up and a logo flashed across one of the Elezen’s screens.

“There. Easy peasy.”

“Hm, I guess you are good at turning things on.”

“Computers, anyway.”

She watched him glance away with another blush, and decided that shade of pink definitely suited his bronzed skin.

“So, uh, you mentioned a mother and sister? Anyone else in your life?” A question that had a hidden meaning, one she wasn’t brave enough to ask outright.

“My cousin,” came his answer. “And that’s it. My father died in a fire when I was young - we moved here from Ishgard shortly after.”

“Wait-” she interjected, “you’re Ishgardian?”

Varrus gave a nod. “Sorry I don’t have the sexy accent - I was young when we left.”

“That’s amazing!” she gasped, sitting up fully and leaning forward against her knees. “I’ve always wanted to visit, the land of knights and dragons, the beautiful winters, the castles, the grand balls…”

“Well, maybe several ages ago. Now it’s just religion and politics - the scenery’s nice, though.”

“Oh, I can only imagine.” She could just picture it in her head, the rolling, green forests of pine, the snow-capped mountains all around, where man and dragon worked hand-in…claw?

“Well, maybe I ought to show you around sometime.”

She raised an eyebrow to match his, and the thought of visiting somewhere exotic with a tall, handsome native…? It sounded like the perfect vacation to her.

“Maybe you should.”

Once again, the two caught each others’ gazes - she felt she could simply lose herself in his honey-colored eyes, the carrying the warmth of his smile, contrasting against his deep, purple hair whose long strands fell messily into his face. With a start, she thought back to her conversation with Cip the other day, about her ideal man - someone tall, with long hair and warm eyes… Well, only time would tell, but maybe, just maybe…

“I, um… Still have a few things to test here.”

Oh. Right. The computer.

“You can help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen, if you’d like.”

“Sounds great.” Jess stood with a stretch, catching him staring at her as she opened her eyes once more - only for him to quickly glance away as soon as he realized he was being watched. She was used to be stared at, in her line of work, of course, but, somehow… it felt different, coming from him. More… sincere, in a way. Almost heartwarming.

Not that she was so cheesy to believe anything like that.

All the same, she hadn’t eaten in a while… and an excuse to snoop through their gorgeous kitchen was one she simply couldn’t pass. She strode out of the room, making straight for the kitchen - yet every cabinet she opened came up empty, save for a lone salt-shaker and a pitiful lemon pepper seasoning, alongside a handful of dishes. Puzzled, she opened the fridge - and the reason soon became clear. Piled nearly to the top was takeout container upon takeout container; she couldn’t help but shudder, quickly closing the fridge and marching back into the Elezen’s room.

“Why, exactly, do you have nothing but takeout in your fridge?!”

“There’s not just takeout,” Varrus insisted, his tone almost pained as he swiveled in his chair to face her. “I’m almost certain there’s a tube of salami in one of the drawers.”

“Do you seriously invite people over and expect them to be satisfied with just your salami?”

The man shrugged. “I… don’t really have people over. Cir does, often - people he intends to sleep with. They just show up, do the deed and leave. Guests are a new thing to both of us; I suppose I never thought about it. If you’d like, I can order-”

She cut him off with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll make something when I get back to the bar. But surely you know how to cook?”

The Elezen’s furrowed brows answered that.

“Are you telling me… You have that entire gorgeous kitchen… And neither of you cook?!”

Now that was nearly enough to make her faint - or scream.

“Look, you said you’re 24, yeah? I think it’s about time you learn.”

“I’ve just… never had a reason to.”

“Well, what if I taught you? At least the basics, as repayment for teaching me how to build a computer.”

“What? No, I couldn’t ask you to do that, don’t feel like you have to do something in return-”

“I don’t have to.” She grinned. “I want to.”

“In that case,” he matched her smile, “I don’t think I can rightly say no.”

“I’d do it tonight, here and now, if I didn’t have to leave for work.”

Varrus’ smile slowly faded, a sigh escaping his lips as he glanced up to the clock on his wall. “Right. You probably need to go. Well, here.” He stood, quickly flicking the computer off and unplugging it before holding it out to her, much to her confusion. “For you.”

“For me?” She gently accepted the PC, finding it surprisingly light in her arms. She’d agreed to learn how to build a computer; never in his invitation had he mentioned giving her one. “Varrus, I can’t accept this! I don’t even have-”

“Oh, right!” He turned, bending over and rummaging beneath his desk, before returning with a mouse and keyboard. “You’ll need these, too.”

“But, I can’t…” She trailed off at the sadness that flickered through his eyes, concern plain upon his face… a look she simply couldn’t refuse. So, instead, she buried her pride and her shame, planting a wide grin upon her face. “Thank you, Varrus. You’re too sweet.”

“So you’ve said,” he laughed. “I look forward to hearing your Mast Effect adventures while you’re beating my ass with a whisk. Um, in the kitchen. Learning to cook. That is.”

“Of course,” she nodded, though she knew she wouldn’t exactly be playing anytime soon - the last thing she wanted to admit was that she didn’t exactly have a screen… or a chair… or a place to put it… But it would make a nice memento to her first day with a new friend.

A new friend she felt she was very much beginning to like.

Platonically, of course.

“When do you want to come by again? For cooking, I mean.”

“Um…” She peeked over the PC in her arms, barely able to see. “How about… Saturday?”

“Saturday it is.” His grin was wide, filling her own chest with a joy unlike any she’d felt before.

“Saturday.” She nodded once more. It was only the chiming of the clock that gave her cause to stir, breaking her from his spell as he glanced at the clock once more, then the door behind her.

“Here, let me help you with the doors.”

She nodded gratefully, following as he guided her back towards the front and unlocked the myriad of bolts and chains.

“Saturday, unless I see you sooner.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” came her farewell, as she stepped into the hallway, meeting his gaze one last time before he slowly closed the door. And, gods, she hoped he wouldn’t be.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #au: misadventures in modern eorzea #author: sasslett #oc: jess shepard #oc: varrus varlineau

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