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thoughtfulfiction · 4 days ago

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Operation: Den Prep

Author’s note: I feel like Joe is very dramatic about things he can’t control and impending parenthood is definitely chaotic. Hope you enjoy this fluffy piece!

All you wanted to do was take a nap. You weren't asking for much. Just an hour, maybe an hour and a half of uninterrupted sleep.

But no. That would be too easy.

The cars that lined the driveway couldn't be a sign of anything good. Joe wasn't really one to throw parties, and with exactly four weeks before the baby's due date he wasn't exactly the most chill or relaxed man in America. If anything, the cars were a sign that you wouldn't be getting that nap in any time soon.

A gigantic sigh leaves your body when you walk in the door. There are people—strangers— in your home, scrubbing every square inch of the place.

"Joe?" You call out, attempting to scoot past the people dusting the vents.

"He's upstairs in his office," a woman responds kindly, in the midst of scrubbing baseboards. Your friend Nikki, who was with you all day, stares at everyone in shock before helping you up the stairs.

You caught your breath a little while running your hand over your baby bump, feeling like you climbed Everest. Nikki knocks on the door and waits for Joe's voice, telling you two to come in. Your husband was seated at his desk, highlighting sections of The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide for Dads-to-Be, surrounded by several other parenting books.

"Joseph..." Nikki begins since you still can't breathe. “What the hell is going on here?"

"Language," Joe says without looking up from his book, "he can hear you."

Nikki turns to look at you and you shake your head, not wanting to get in the middle of it right now. Your eyes were telling her to just focus on one problem at a time, the biggest issue at hand being the cleaning crew taking over the house. She seems to agree. "Okay, let me try that again," he nods, finally looking up, a disinterested look on his face. “Don't know if you know this but, there are people downstairs treating your home like it's a warzone on germs."

"I know. I hired them to do exactly that. Because it is." He says in a matter of fact tone. “I want everything to be perfect when the baby comes home. The house needs to be as clean as possible so he has a safe environment.”

“Joe, this isn’t prepping for the end of days. You realize babies don’t come out demanding hospital-grade cleanliness, right?” Nikki jokes, leaning against the doorframe.

Joe doesn't find it funny. “Do you even know how many germs are in the average house? I read it’s millions. Millions, Nicole. I’m not risking it.”

You sigh, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He was adorable when he got like this—focused, determined, and completely over the top. It was endearing, but you could already tell you'd have to reel him in before he booked a hazmat team to inspect the nursery. “Joe, I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But we’re supposed to be relaxing these last few weeks, not running ourselves into the ground.”

“You’re the one who should be relaxing,” Joe said, standing and gently guiding you to sit in his chair. “You’re growing a human being. That’s a full-time job. I can handle everything else.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Joe, I don’t need you to handle everything. We’re a team, remember? And besides, I don’t want you burning yourself out before he even gets here.”

“I’m fine,” Joe insisted, his tone firm but caring. "I promise. I just...want everything to be right for him. He’s going to depend on us for everything, you know?”

Nikki sat down on the couch in the corner of the office, still grinning. “I’m not gonna lie, this is kind of impressive. Most dads just install the car seat and call it a day. But you? You’re basically turning this place into a baby-friendly, germ-free utopia."

Joe shot her a look but didn’t argue as you let out a yawn. "Are you tired?" He rushes out, "they should be done in our room, you can go take a nap if you need it. I was serious about you getting some rest."

"And so was I about you getting some rest. We won't be sleeping as much when he gets here so getting a head start on sleepless nights isn't the wisest business decision."

"Okay," Joe folds the corner of the page that he's on and stands up, kissing you on the side of the head. "What if...we kick Nikki and the cleaners out and we go take a nap?"

"Um hello?" Nikki waves her hand in the air, "still here, in the room, with both of you. I can hear everything you're saying."

Joe doesn’t bother acknowledging her, his eyes focused on you as you nod with a laugh. “I love you, Nik, but he’s right. I need to lie down before I collapse.”

Nikki smirks, standing and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “You’re so lucky you’re carrying my baby, Y/N. Go take your little nap, I’ll see myself out.” She pokes Joe in the chest as she passes. “Joe, co-parenting with you is going to suck, but I gotta admit—you’re going to be a killer dad. You just don’t need to stress yourself into a heart attack to prove it.”

Joe rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "For the last time, it's OUR baby. Not yours. There is no co-parenting."

"Sure," Nikki smiles, patting him on the back, "sure buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night. By the way, good luck kicking out the cleaners. I'm pretty sure one of them is power-washing your oven.”

She’s gone before Joe can reply, leaving you shaking with laughter as he mutters, “I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”

When you woke up from your nap, Joe was gone. You found him downstairs, scrolling through the notes on his iPad, intense focus that you'd really only seen when he was going over film. It was heartwarming to see that he was taking impending fatherhood as seriously as he took his job. In a way, being a dad was like taking on another job. With endless hours, no days off and no pay. But the rewards? They were going to be worth everything.

Sinking into the spot next to him, you leaned your head against his shoulder. “What are you up to?”

"Going over the checklist," he replied, his hand automatically resting on your belly, absentmindedly tracing small circles with his thumb. "We've got a bunch of deliveries coming tomorrow to get the nursery done which will probably take a couple days. Then we need to start getting the fridge stocked and pack our hospital bags. I was also thinking we do a trial run to the birth center."

"A trial run? Why?"

“I need to time it,” he said, his fingers still drumming softly against your bump. “Traffic could be bad, you’ll be in pain, and I’d rather not have to deliver a baby in the car. I mean, I can learn how to, but I’d rather not.”

You couldn’t help but smile as his focus shifted momentarily, his hand now lightly tapping your belly like he was sending a secret code. “Joe, we’ll be fine. We’ll get there when we get there. Not everything is gonna go to plan so let’s not waste time but trying to plan out every detail.”

“I hear you and I get what you’re saying but I’d rather be overprepared than caught off guard,” he muttered, flipping to a new note with his free hand. His other stayed firmly planted on your stomach, as though he could steady the world by keeping a connection to the little life inside. “Oh, and dinner with our parents tomorrow…that’s going to be something.”

"Be nice. They mean well," you reminded him, nudging his arm.

“Sure, but last week my dad said something about bourbon on baby gums helping with teething. I had to pretend to choke so I wouldn’t laugh in his face,” Joe said with a soft laugh of his own. Then, without thinking, he leaned down and whispered against your belly, “Just ignore your grandpa, buddy. We’ll do teething the right way.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture, and you reached out to thread your fingers through his hair. “Joe, you’re already such a good dad, you know that?”

His eyes softened as he looked up at you, his hand still cradling your bump. “I just want to get it right, for him… and for you.”

"You will. And you know how I know?" He shakes his head, his eyes locked in on you, searching for your answer. "Because once you put your mind to something, you don't let anything or anyone stop you."

For a moment, he’s quiet, his gaze softening before he speaks. “You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?” He reiterates your words, his voice is barely above a whisper as he leans in, sneaking a kiss.

Your laugh is light, but your heart swells as he places his lips on yours one more time. “Kid’s pretty lucky,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls back. “And he doesn’t even know it yet.”

The rest of the evening is spent ironing out some minor details of Joe's fool proof baby plans.

Your husband is not the handiest person in the world. He's more of a "I'll hire someone who's more qualified" kind of guy. Exhibit A? Full time chef so he doesn't have to cook. Exhibit B? Full time cleaning staff. To be honest, he probably doesn't know how to change a tire. But he also probably has access to triple A and one phone call from Joe Burrow might actually have everyone working that day rushing out to answer the call. With all that being said, you assumed that putting together furniture would not be something he'd be inclined to do. And then a few weeks ago he, Jimmy and your dad spent three hours building a custom Bellini crib. Now that he had a taste of satisfaction in knowing that he put it together with his own hands, he wanted to build everything in the baby's nursery.

Today's project consisted of your dad, Jimmy and Joe putting together a bunch of things that were delivered while you, your mom and Robin sorted through baby clothes and collected freshly washed laundry to place in his closet. Every tiny sock and little hat sent butterflies in your stomach at the thought of your own tiny person wearing these clothes in just a few short weeks. It was both daunting and exciting.

Throughout the day, more people were walking into the house, Ja'Marr came in first since he pretty much lived next door. Sam showed up 30 minutes later, a tool-kit in hand. A few high school friends even drove from Athens to help.

"Guess Joe called in the calvary." Robin says with a laugh, putting the onesies she just pulled out of the dryer in neat stacks to count and fold.

A few hours later, the three of you took a look at the inventory laid out before you. Your son probably had enough clothes to last him through four outfit changes a day for the next few months. You mentally reminded yourself to cut everyone off from buying any more articles of clothing until further notice.

The doorbell rang and Joe magically appeared downstairs to answer it, his Jeff Ruby's catering order had arrived. A few staff members carried in all the food and Joe thanked them on their way out. Before you could even ask, he said "you don't think they're all working for free do you? Had to give them a few incentives." You simply shook your head, a smile forming on your lips as he disappeared upstairs again.

When the guys were finally done, everyone gathered downstairs to eat dinner, casually chatting about life, Ja'Marr giving a recap of his offseason so far and what trips he had planned. Everything was actually normal until your mom spoke up.

"So, who are you guys gonna have in the delivery room with you?"

Joe nudged you under the table with his knee, giving you a look like "here we go."

"Um...we're still finalizing details of the birth plan. I was just thinking me and Joe for now, the less people seeing me at my worst, the better," you joke, trying to keep it light.

"Well what about visitors?" Robin chimes in. “How soon after are we going to be able to meet the little one?"

"We were thinking the next day. Gives us time to settle in, get some sleep and then have you guys meet him," Joe says casually. That seems to satisfy all parties, your parents nod in understanding and you breathe out a sigh of relief that the conversation doesn't go any further.

Pretty soon after dinner, most of the guests are gone and Joe asks if you want to see the nursery. You immediately hold out your arms and let him lift you to your feet, keeping a hand on the small of your back until you reach the room. Before he opens the door he covers your eyes with his other hand. "You ready?"

"Yes," you let out a small laugh, the anticipation eating away at you, "you've been hyping up these packages for weeks let's see what you’ve done."

"Alright," you hear him open the door and he guides you inside by the hand, still keeping your eyes covered. "3...2...1."

Some of the big things had already been put together. The walls had been painted, the closet space was set up, Joe had brought an LED starry-night ceiling projector (on top of the chandelier that was already in the room) and a sleek, modern changing table with a with several gadgets you weren’t ready to mess with. Yes it was too much. No, he wasn't going to return any of it.

Your eyes scanned the room: a plush, white rug that looked too soft to step on without socks, a glider that seemed to have more tech features than your car, and a Dyson purifier glowing faintly in the corner. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all the hands that had come together to make it perfect. “He’s not even here yet, and he’s already so loved,” you said, your voice catching slightly.

"He definitely is," Joe says happily, knowing he and his team nailed it. "Come on, I'll give you a tour." He gestures toward the window, "blackout curtains. I read that they can help babies and toddlers sleep better. They can also help regulate the temperature and reduce noise. For temperature though, I got a Dyson obviously, it's supposed to be the best.” He walks you over to the next spot. “Over here we have the changing table."

"Does this...have a built in warming pad for wipes?"

"Yeah isn't it great?” He beams, “so his little butt is warm when we change him in the middle of the night."

You let out a soft laugh at how much of a softie he already is for someone he hasn’t met yet. "He's gonna be mad we're changing him either way, warm wipes or not. But I know you’ll be using it so it’s fine.”

He opens the top drawer of the changing table, "I put some miscellaneous stuff in here. All organic. Silk-blend crib sheets, swaddles, and burp cloths that I washed yesterday so they're ready to use. Over here is the feeding station and the mini fridge, which I'm really excited about."

"Why do we need a mini fridge in the nursery?"

"Think about this. I'm on overnight baby duty and you're catching up on sleep. Our baby is sobbing because he's hungry. Instead of making him wait while I go downstairs and grab a bottle, we just have the bottles in here. And then this little compartment on this side is a freezer so we can have milk storage bags in here too since the bottle warmer is right there. And watch this,” Joe said, pressing a button on the bottle warmer. “It’s like a Formula 1 pit stop but for babies. Two minutes tops, and he’s good to go.” You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at his comparison.

"You know what? I'm not mad at it. Keep going."

"Right next to the fridge is the actual feeding station so we've got a couple pillows here next to the chair, burp clothes and then a little table in case whoever is in here needs water or to set something down. White noise machine is over here. You gotta play with the setting there's like 100 sound options and custom settings. The baby monitor is cool too, it has HD video, two-way audio, sleep analytics, the whole nine.” Joe pick up the expensive contraption. “Here, let me show you some of the noise machine settings."

He was too excited for you to decline, so you motioned for him to go ahead. "This one is ocean waves," he said, hitting a button. A soft crash of waves echoed through the room. "And this is rainforest sounds. Oh, and this one—"

"OW!" you yelped, clutching your belly and bending forward slightly.

Joe froze mid-button press, the sound of chirping birds now filling the nursery. "What? What happened? Is it happening?" His voice rose an octave as he practically leapt across the room to you.

You couldn’t help but laugh through the sharp jolt of pain, waving him off with one hand. "Relax, Joe. It’s not labor. It’s uh...lightning crotch."

"Lightning what?" His panicked expression turned to utter confusion, and he blinked at you like you’d just spoken a foreign language.

"It’s this sharp, sudden pain down there," you explained, gesturing vaguely toward your lower half. "Totally normal. Just your kid punching my nerves like one of those UFC fighters you're obsessed with."

Joe stared at you, wide-eyed. "That’s a thing? That’s allowed? Why does no one tell dads about this stuff?"

You shrugged, still giggling as you slowly straightened up. "Welcome to pregnancy. Every day’s a surprise," you reassure him, patting him on the back.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely rattled. "Okay, so let me get this straight. So far, there’s morning sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, weird cravings, and now lightning crotch? What’s next? Spontaneous combustion?"

"Would you calm down?" you teased, reaching for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "It’s not that bad. Just part of the process."

Joe let out a dramatic sigh, muttering, "You’re making a whole person, and I can’t even keep up with the symptoms."

"You’re doing great, babe," you said with a smirk. "Now, are you gonna show me what’s in the next drawer, or should I add 'Joe having a meltdown' to my list of pregnancy side effects?"

That earned a laugh from him, and he shook his head, pulling himself together. "Fine. But I’m looking this lightning crotch thing up later," he said, giving you a playful glare before opening the next drawer.

Joe is going through the various assortment of baby blankets but what catches your eye is the bookcase. You step closer to it, running your fingers over the leather-bound spines. "Are these…first editions of Goodnight Moon and Oh the Places You’ll Go?"

"Collector's editions," Joe corrected with a sheepish shrug. "My mom used to read these to me,” Joe explained, his voice soft. “I figured…maybe I could do the same for him. Only with the fanciest versions, of course.”

"Of course,” you affirm. “You're adorable. This place is...a lot. But it's genuinely perfect Joe, you guys did an amazing job, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, I should be thanking you. You're making us parents soon."

"I know. Being in here and seeing it finished makes it feel more real. There's gonna be an actual person using this stuff. That's insane."

He grabs your hand and leads you out of the room, "it is insane. And I can't wait. I wonder what he's gonna look like."

"I hope he looks like you, that would be so adorable. Having a tiny version of you would be a dream."

Joe chuckled, a soft, boyish sound that made your heart flutter. "You’re setting the bar pretty high for this kid," he teased, then paused, his expression turning serious for a moment. "But really, no matter what he looks like I know he'll be perfect."

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the hallway, the soft hum of the mini fridge in the nursery the only sound. For a moment, everything felt perfectly still—just the two of you, on the edge of an adventure that would change your lives forever.

You said goodbye to the last of your visitors and you turned around to Joe standing in the middle of the living room holding a notepad and a pen. "Where did you even get that, weren’t you just hugging your mom?"

"I had it on the coffee table. We’re supposed to watch the video for our prenatal class, remember?"

"Right now?" You ask, looking at your phone. It was only 9pm but it felt like at least one in the morning. You felt like Joe with his strict bedtime during the season.

He nods, already reaching for the remote. "I have big plans for us tomorrow so yeah, now is the perfect time."

"Alright, put it on." You relax into him, grabbing your blanket. "You're really gonna take notes?"

"Yeah. This is for educational purposes, I need any helpful tips I can get."

"You're sure you're gonna be able to watch and write things down? I don't want to scare you but, it might be intense."

"Babe, I get chased by grown men who want to take my head off for a living. Intense is my middle name," he places the notebook on the table and ditches the writing utensil, lazily placing his arm around you before starting the video. "You know what? I might not even take notes this time, I'll probably watch it again in my office in a few weeks when we get closer to the due date and take notes then."

You shrug, letting him do his thing. "Whatever you say, babe."

Joe's relaxed posture slowly turned a bit more tense as the video went on, the graphic image of the baby crowning was unfortunately going to be engrained in his memory for a long time. You had to stifle a laugh as his usual cool, calm, and collected demeanor cracked like a fine china plate dropped onto tile.

"Is...is that what we're gonna go through? What you're gonna go through?" His voice was shaky, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Yup," you emphasized the ‘p’ sound. "That right there is the beauty of childbirth Joseph." You could practically feel his discomfort radiating off him.

"Oh my god." Joe muttered, his eyes wide in disbelief as he tried to mentally recover.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You know, it’s not all that bad. It's just...well, it’s a lot. And it’s very messy.”

He blinked at the screen, still not sure how to process what he’d just witnessed. "Right, sure, a lot. Just—" He exhaled dramatically, trying to find words. "I need a drink. I don't even like alcohol. Or we should maybe just call it a night and go to sleep. I need maybe a small...break from the miracle of life."

You chuckled, wrapping yourself up in the blanket and snuggling into his side. "Welcome to parenthood, Joe. Just wait until you're actually in the room. This was just the trailer."

Joe leaned back, a hand on his forehead as he processed the visual overload. "Little man needs to stay in there a little longer. I'm not ready to watch that horror film."

After declaring that the two of you needed a break from baby stuff, you and Joe took it easy the next day, diving into a true crime marathon after he came home from his morning workout. It was the perfect distraction from all the overwhelming baby prep. But today, he was back at it—better than ever.

"Did you know that newborns don’t have kneecaps? They have cartilage where they should be. They don’t get kneecaps until later."

"Wait what?" you ask, clearly confused.

"Yeah, I read it this morning, it's crazy. He isn't gonna have knees for weeks. I could've used that trick in 2020," Joe adds nonchalantly, his tone as casual as ever as he brushes off his knee injury from years ago. The way he brings it up so easily makes you laugh.

"What else did you learn?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Joe glances over at you, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I read that dads who are involved early on in caregiving—like diaper changes and feedings—bond with their babies faster and more strongly. So I’m all in on that."

"Baby?" you ask, tilting your head to the side as you look over at him.

Joe pipes up, looking away from his hospital bag, still gathering his things. "Yeah?"

"You didn't have a choice on that one. You were gonna feed him and change his diapers whether you liked it or not," you laugh and easily catch the t-shirt he tosses at you. It just happened to be your favorite one you liked to steal and it smelled just like him. That was definitely coming with you to the hospital.

You stand up from your spot on the floor, checking everything off your list. You had comfy clothes, fuzzy socks, four outfits (just in case), a phone charger, a portable charger, a water bottle and a robe which you'd never worn before but Joe insisted you bring it because what if this was the one time that you actually needed it. "What's in your bag?"

Joe opened the Nike duffel and let you take a look. "Why do you have your backup iPad in here?" you ask, a little puzzled.

"OTAs start two weeks after he's born. I need to glance through stuff and make sure I'm ready," he explains, glancing at you with a shrug.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Fine, but what are these doing in here?" You pull out his Bose noise-canceling headphones. "Are you gonna tune me out while I'm in labor?"

Joe looks at you with wide eyes, practically dropping the headphones in surprise. "What? No!" He quickly pulls out another pair, a sheepish smile on his face. "I brought some for you too, just in case you want to listen to music and, you know, maybe tune me out a little."

"You're really thinking ahead, huh?" you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joe shrugs, his smile growing. "I try."

You nod, crossing your arms. "I mean, I guess we’ll see if those headphones get a workout during the labor part."

Joe gives you a playful look, his tone still light-hearted but his eyes full of genuine excitement. "I’m just saying, if you need a little escape from my endless rambling during contractions, at least you have options."

"Oh Joey, I love you."

“I love you,” he sighs, pulling you into a tight hug, feeling steady kicks against his stomach. "And I love you too, baby boy. Kid can't stand not having the attention on him," he smiles, his voice soft but filled with affection.

"Taking after his dad already?" you tease, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin.

Joe pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow with a mock-serious expression. "Now you know that’s just not true."

You chuckle softly, resting your head against his chest. "I guess we’ll see, huh?"

He lets you go and the two of you go through all three bags one more time before Joe announces the next task. "Are you ready for our hospital trial run?"

"I still think it's ridiculous but if it'll make you feel more comfortable then I'm in."

Joe carries all the bags down the stairs, tossing them by the door and has the stopwatch open on his phone. "Okay, here we go." He presses 'start' and grabs the keys and the bags while you stand in the kitchen, taking a sip of water as you waddle to the car.

"Babe, why are you going so slow? We're on a time crunch here."

"Well if you must know, your son is crushing all of her internal organs and grinding my hip bones together. If I walk too fast I’ll pee. And then you'll have to get me new clothes and I'll have to change. That'd be really bad for your time crunch."

He drops it immediately. "Okay you're right, take your time."

Once he helps you in the car he rushes around to the driver's side and buckles in, opening the garage door and pulling out of the driveway. You're holding the phone, watching his time as he drives carefully but efficiently, weaving through the streets like a man on a mission. "What if there's traffic that day?" You ask.

"Then I'll figure it out. I just need ballpark range how long it'll take us to get there." He checks the stopwatch again, the third time in the last five minutes.

"Joe, you don't have to treat this like you’re at the two-minute warning during the Super Bowl when you’re down one score."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel despite your words, his jaw clenching as he glances at you, "better to be safe than sorry."

You shrug, reclining in your seat to take some pressure off your back.

"You good?" He asks gently, his hand finding its way to your leg. "How’s the baby doing?" Joe asks, glancing at you between turns, a hint of concern in his voice. "Should we pull over so you can stretch?"

"No, I'm fine," you sigh, a smile tugging at your lips as you settle in more comfortably. "I could really go for some ice cream right now though."

"We'll get some on the way home," he laughs, a relieved chuckle escaping him. "Call it a reward for a successful trial run."

He pulls into the parking lot of the birth center with a sigh of relief, glancing at his phone in your hand. "13 minutes, not bad at all," he says with a sense of accomplishment.

"Yeah, that's great," you smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "I want a scoop of rocky road and a scoop of raspberry sorbet. In a bowl."

"Together?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

"Yes," you reply, grinning.

Joe pulls out of the parking lot, a proud smile on his face as if he just completed an Olympic event. "Mission accomplished. Ice cream in five minutes."

A week later, Joe was going over a food list with his chef Morgan. "For quick snacks, I was thinking Greek yogurt with granola and fruit, hard-boiled eggs—she'll need the protein. Maybe some string cheese or cheese cubes, nut butter with apples or bananas. We’ll definitely need to stock up on protein bars," he lists off items, looking through the fridge and cabinets.

"What‘a going on in here?" You walk into the kitchen and spot Morgan jotting down every word Joe is saying.

Joe looks up and smiles at you but then pauses for a moment, his eyes tracking your every movement as you waddle over to the counter. He raises an eyebrow. "You alright? You're walking like you just got off a horse."

You roll your eyes playfully but feel a grin spread across your face. "Nice to see you’re paying attention."

"Seriously," Joe says, now focused on you with concern. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he watches you shuffle around. "That’s a pretty pronounced waddle. You okay?"

"Yup, just one of the perks of carrying a tiny human in there." You shrug, trying to act casual about it, but it's hard to ignore how much effort it takes to move these days.

Morgan, glancing between the two of you, stifles a laugh. "It’s the baby," he explains with a knowing look. "The weight shifts, and her body’s getting ready for the big day."

Joe doesn’t look entirely convinced. "I don’t know, babe," he says, lightly tapping your belly. "Maybe we need to get you some support or something. You shouldn’t have to waddle all over the place. Like one of those belly belt things to help take the weight off your hips.”

You smirk. "Trust me, I’ve got it covered. But thanks for noticing."

Joe looks at you, giving you a soft smile that says he’s both amused and a little concerned. "Yeah, no problem. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable."

"Thanks, Joe," you tease, giving him a playful nudge before you turn to Morgan, who’s still scribbling on his notepad as Joe turns his away again. "So, what do you have so far?"

Morgan lists off everything he’s written, "Trail mix, chia pudding, pumpkin or sunflower seeds—"

"We never have those in the house," you note, crossing your arms. "Why now?"

"They're high in zinc and other nutrients that support lactation," Joe says simply, not looking up from the fridge.

"That's helpful but I really will probably need fruit, veggie sticks and hummus since you're interesting in me increasing my protein intake, maybe some avocado toast and smoothies too? Keep it simple, Morgan. I’ll also need the lactation cookies I sent you."

"Noted." Morgan says, catching Joe’s shake of his head as you laugh.

"Just get her whatever she wants," Joe sighs, exasperated, but with a fond smile. "I’m actually glad you brought up the cookies, Y/N, because I wanted to run something by you. Both of you, actually."

You sigh, already dreading the conversation, and the chef looks up from his list. "What’s up?"

Joe pulls out a folder from one of the kitchen drawers, showing Morgan the list of the “best” lactation cookie and energy bite recipes he could find.

"Babe," you groan, "I told you that you're overthinking the cookies. They’re just cookies."

“Lactation cookies,” he corrected, already flipping to another recipe. “These are important. They’re, like, your fuel.”

"My apologies your honor," you laugh again, "carry on."

Morgan laughs too and Joe playfully glares at him. "Yeah—yeah, laugh it up guys." He gestures toward the folder, "I highlighted the key ingredients on each recipe.”

The chef raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of recipes. “You want me to make all of these?”

You stand up and take a peak at the extensive list, "you don't have to do that Morgan, just make a few batches of chocolate chip and call it a day," you sense Joe tensing next to you and you rub his back a little, "you're doing that thing again. Where you're freaking out instead of relaxing. You need to relax," you say with a small smile, guiding him back to calm.

You take your eyes off of Joe and focus your attention back on Morgan. "Thank you for never flinching at his insane requests, but if these cookies don’t work out, you can just order some. As long as they have oats, flaxseed, and brewer’s yeast to support milk production, then I should be fine."

Morgan nods, jotting a few more things down before he leaves to head to the grocery store. Joe looks at you, his expression softening. You nod at him, offering a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, you’re not the only one who’s done their research,” you say, nodding your head as his lips twitch into a smile.

"I’m impressed.” He gives you tiny claps, the playful gesture breaking the moment of seriousness. “Speaking of research...I may have one more surprise for you."

"I don't think I can handle anymore surprises," you groan, "can you just tell me what it is?"

"I don't think you know what a surprise is," he laughs rubbing your back, "let me just show you and then I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

"That's a lie,” you reply flatly, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Okay, fine. It’s definitely a lie," he admits with a sheepish grin, shrugging like he’s caught red-handed.

Joe takes you to the most unlikely place to reveal a surprise. "Joe...why are we in the bathroom?"

"This is the surprise. Do you see anything different?"

You look around, not sensing anything extremely out of place. Until you see it and tears start pooling in your eyes. "How did you—when did you do this?"

"It's just a little something I put together to make things easier for you when we're home. There's another one in the closet downstairs. I'll move it out so you have easy access when it's time." He pauses, taking a second to collect his thoughts. "I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. I know this is going to be tough on you, and I...I want to feel like I’m helping, even if it’s in a small way."

A postpartum station, not the most glamorous gift in the world, but it was one of the most meaningful things he'd ever done for you. Imagining him sitting in his office or sitting up in bed at night doing all this research to ensure you were comfortable made you want to cry. You never thought the sight of adult diapers, nipple cream, and a portable stool could bring you to tears, but here you were, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind it all.

Joe gently wipes at a tear that slips down your cheek, his expression softening as he says, ‘hey, don’t cry. I want you to have everything you need. You deserve it."

You blink back the new tears threatening to spill over, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you thought of all this. Thank you, Joe.

"Pretty much," he shrugs, giving you kiss on the side of the head. "Just one more thing to check off the list."

"And what's that?"

"Bringing him home and having him here, physically with us."

You laugh, resting a hand on your lower belly, on top of Joe's hand. "Oh yeah...that one minor detail."

“Minor detail?!” Joe grins, his eyes bright with amusement. “I think that’s the main event, babe. Let’s hope I don’t need a stopwatch for that one.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment, “Thank you, Joe. For this…for thinking of everything. If you’re this amazing now, I can’t wait to see you as a dad.”

His expression softens, his gaze dropping to your belly as if imagining the tiny life inside. “I just want to make sure you both have everything you need,” he says quietly. He spoke with such quiet certainty that it left no room for doubt—this wasn’t just a job to him; it was everything.

The lump in your throat returns, but this time you let it linger, because this—his quiet devotion, his unwavering effort—is why you fell in love with him. “You’re already doing it,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “And you’re doing it perfectly.”

Joe smiles, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Good. Now let’s get through the rest of this list before he gets here and turns everything upside down.”

Your laugh echoes through the bathroom, the two of you standing there in the glow of anticipation, knowing your lives were about to change in the most beautiful way.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic

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revelboo · 3 months ago

Note

Do you mind writing an Optimus Prime part 2? Whenever 😄 inspiration finds you.

Sure! Also, I just accidentally found out that a single post can’t have over 100 links in it by accident with my Masterlist... Guess I get to par that down to the first chapters of everything and add actual previous/next links to the individual posts to navigate within a storyline.

And I’ve had a few people speculating about it and tried to make it a bit clearer now on the masterlist: the IDW stuff is all one big continuity with Lost Light and the random kink snippets clearly separated as alternate takes/AUs now.

Gravity pt 2

Optimus x Reader

• “You’re going to give them a heart attack when they come to if you don’t stop looming like that,” Ratchet mutters and Optimus looks up trying to decide if his old friend is joking. Given the frown, Ratchet’s serious and he’s not sure what to make of that. He’d known humans were fragile, but your heart can just stop? From fear? “They’re a little banged up, but fine,” Ratchet adds as Optimus stretches out a servo to touch your still form and then hesitates. You’re just so tiny, he’s not sure he can touch you without breaking you. “Who are you giving this one to?”

• Like it’s a forgone conclusion he’ll pawn watching over you on someone else. Someone less busy, less weighed down with duty. “It’s my responsibility,” he says, watching your chest rise and fall. You’ve been out since he caught you and so very still. He keeps his optics on you so he doesn’t have to see Ratchet’s expression. Because this is his responsibility and his guilt. He knows it’s not fair to trap you on the Ark, but keeping the surviving Autobots safe is his priority. And the other humans seem fine. Mostly.

• “Bumblebee would take them,” Ratchet offers, a hand touching his arm. “I think he’d be glad of the company.” Shaking his head, Optimus carefully curls his servos around your limp form and lifts you. Hears Ratchet venting tiredly behind him as he walks out and carries you through the halls to his quarters. Trailbreaker and Hound both turning to look when he walks by, curious. Maybe it’s been a mistake to try to keep his people far from humans. Maybe not. Sideswipe probably won’t be the last to abuse his rules, but he’s not ready to trust the humans to not betray them yet. He can’t.

• Your head is ringing, sinuses burning as you stiffly shift and your body complains about it. Why do you feel like one big bruise? There’s a blanket wrapped around you, but whatever you’re laying on isn’t that soft. Something presses so gently between your shoulder blades that it’s a ghost of a touch then slides down your spine. Repeats the stroke. Lifting your head, you squint up at a huge face staring down at you and everything slams back into focus. The Jeep that wasn’t a Jeep. The wreck. Giant, alien robots. One of which is holding you in one hand while it runs a huge finger down your spine again and again. You start shaking. That petting stopping when it notices.

• You’re awake. And not screaming. That has to be good thing, but remembering Ratchet’s warning, he rumbles and presses a servo carefully over your heart. It’s not stopped, but it is racing. A little, warm hand lands on his servo, your eyes wide in fear as you just tremble. And he understands, you have to realize how tiny you are compared to him, how easily you can be hurt. “You’re going to be okay, little one. I have you,” he says, optics snared on that tiny hand on his. And he knows he’ll protect you just like his Autobots. Be sword or shield for you, whatever you need. You’re his to care for now, that trembling fear hurting him to see.

• That rumbly, deep voice sings in your bones where you’re touching him, because that voice erased any doubts. Blue eyes is definitely a he. And as crazy as it is, you believe him despite the fear. There’s an earnestness in that voice that’s almost a promise of safety. Wonder mingles with the fear still thrumming through you as you stare at those pretty glowing eyes and think that they look unbelievably kind. The thought almost immediately followed with the certainty that you probably have a concussion.

#optimus prime x reader #idw optimus prime #transformers x reader

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Text

Let Me Fix Your Problems, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: Y/N needs to vent, but Rafe needs to solve her issues.

Masterlist

Girls know that when another girl comes to them with a problem, it is just to vent about the issue that they have. Boys. Well, boys like to go to each other for solutions and Rafe isn’t innocent of that mentality. Before Y/N, Rafe hadn’t been in a relationship, so he didn’t have a chance to learn that women just need an outlet to voice their frustration. And he is about to be taught that lesson. He waits for her at the coffee shop with a mug of coffee in his hand and a hot chocolate across from him for her. His fingers tap along the ceramic mug. He looks out the window to see if he can spot her arrival. This is the first time that they are going to be seeing each other in person after returning to campus from the holiday break and he anticipates seeing her again. He wants to see all the gifts she got this Christmas and she is excited to show him. He spots the pompom of her pastel green hat that he sent over to her for Christmas. A massive grin grows on his face and he knows the bell sounding announces her entrance. As she slides into the booth across from him, she leans over the table to kiss him on the lips. “Hey, Rafe. How are you?” she greets.

He can see something is wrong. There is a slight furrow of her brow and a slight dip of her lip that she is trying to hide. He plays along with her pleasantries for now, “I’m good now that I get to see you, Angel. How was your Christmas?” “It was good. I got to spend time with my family. I was also pleasantly surprised with how many gifts I woke up to on Christmas morning. Some handsome fella even gave me this pretty bracelet with his initials on it. I think I might keep it and him around,” she recounts, holding out her wrist for him to see. He takes her arm into his hand, “Wow. That handsome fella must really be special if you are wearing this even though you have only been dating him for around four months.” “Yeah, I guess you can say that I love him,” she teases and kisses him. “Thank you for the gifts, Rafe. I just wish you told me we were also sending each other stuff because I hate the thought of you not getting anything from me on Christmas.”

His warm hand cups her cheek and his thumb brushes reassuringly against her skin. “Don’t worry about it, Angel. You gave me my gift before we left for break. Plus, getting that FaceTime call from you on Christmas day was my gift,” he promises. She kisses his wrist and this thumb goes to trace the slope of her lips. He can’t be in the dark about her sadness anymore. “What’s wrong, my angel? Why do you seem so sad?” he questions. She shrugs, “Nothing, I’m fine.” “Please, don’t lie to me. I can see something is wrong,” he pleads to her. She sighs, “It’s stupid, but Stacey is having a back-to-school get-together this weekend and she didn’t invite me. I guess I feel a little left out.” “That’s not very nice of her. Have you tried telling her how you feel?” he suggests. She shakes her head, “No. Do you know how embarrassing it would be to run to her like a little schoolgirl and tell her she hurt my feelings?” Rafe understands what she is saying and slides in on her side of the booth. He rests her head on his chest, vowing to help her with her problem.

———

Rafe knocks on Stacey’s door and puts his hands behind his back. She opens the door with a slight frown at who is waiting for her. “Uh, Rafe. What are you doing here? Is everything okay with Y/N?” she worries, knowing that Rafe only cares about one person. Rafe’s head moves from side to side, “Actually, she isn’t okay. You didn’t invite her to your get-together this weekend.” Stacey nods and cracks her knuckles nervously. “I did not. Because, you see, Y/N and I aren’t really that close of friends and this party is for girls that I am really close to,” Stacey tries to explain. Her mouth shuts when she sees that is not the answer Rafe is looking for. He chuckles, “Obviously, she feels close enough to you that she feels left out by what you did.” He pauses to see if Stacey has anything to add to her defence. She doesn’t. “You know what I want you to do, correct?” Her head hinges up and down, “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry that I hurt Y/N’s feelings.” “Good, I’m glad we can come to a conclusion. I’ll see you later,” he grins and heads back home.

———

Y/N doesn’t bother to knock. She uses his passcode to storm into his room and finds him on his bed. He sits up right at the sight of her. “Is everything okay, Angel? You didn’t tell me you were coming over,” he frets, rushing to her side. Her arms cross over each other, “You forced Stacey to invite me to her party.” “I did. You said you felt left out that you weren’t invited,” he states. He places his hands above her elbows. She lets out a low laugh, “Why would you do that?”

“Because you had a problem and you needed help fixing it.”

“Rafe, most of the time, when I come to you with my problems, I don’t want you to fix them. I just want you to listen and agree that I am in the right.”

“Why can’t I fix your problems if I have the solution? Come on, let me fix your problems, Angel.”

“Sometimes girls just want someone to vent to. Plus, I don’t even like Stacey so the last thing I want to do is go to her party, but now, I have to go because you made a point of getting her to invite me,” she complains. He chuckles and pulls her into a hug, “Okay, I’ll take that venting thing into account for next time. Angel, if you didn’t want to go to the party, then why did it bother you so much?” “Because I wanted to be able to turn her down,” she mumbles, burying her face into his neck. He lets out an amused breath, “I see. Well, I’m sorry that I ruined your ability to reject her. If you want, I can call you with an emergency half an hour into the party so you can leave early.” Y/N pulls back to look him in the eyes. “That is the least you can do. You are getting me sushi too,” she orders. “Sounds fair. I’ll do whatever you want, Angel.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

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transformers-spike · 1 month ago

Note

TFA Megatron and femme cybertronian who’s so childish and energetic at some point megs has to shush her somehow…😣

That sounded so corny omg forget I said it like that. Anyways he just fucks the shit out of her to make her be quiet😭

Tysm if u do this💗💗

He's such a fun character to write for, I swear

“Stay still,” he orders.

Maybe you should have shut up from the start, stopped bombarding him with questions for the past month and a half and kept on working as their morally dubious (and unpaid) PR manager. He could have snapped earlier. He should have snapped earlier. From the way he has patiently answered your questions compared to Lugnut and Blitzwing who’ve threatened your life more times than you can feasibly count, he has shown nothing but tolerance in the face of your overexcited blabbering. But now? Oh, you’ve gone too far. And there’s no turning back. “Are we… sure about this? I mean, not that I’m complaining,” you say while chuckling nervously. You wriggle in his servo to no avail, his grip is firm, nowhere near painful, but inescapable. “You’ll manage,” he reassures with amusement tilting his voice. His timbre is soft and rumbling, so close you can feel it in your bones. This isn’t your first time getting freaky with the likes of him, but considering the circumstances, you’re apprehensive he may kill you with his spike- “Oh hey, that’s a new model!” you exclaim the second you catch sight of it. Grey and black, lined with red biolights, and much more feasible for someone of your body type to take. “Wow, did you get it from that purple guy? Was it Swindle or something? Anyway, I knew he sold you cool stuff but I didn’t expect him to sell spikes too. Ooh, does he sell valves? If you get a smaller one can I peg you? I promise I’ll do better this time! Pretty please? Please, please please please-” He gives you a warning squeeze. “Fuck! Okay, sorry. I got the message.” You mimic zipping your lips shut and give him a thumbs up. He looks unimpressed. His spike is cool against your thighs from the generous coating of lube, but its tip is deliciously warm. It’s certainly the biggest dick you’ve taken until now, and you consider yourself a size queen. “Oh uh… did you pick, like, the third smallest to give me an extra challenge?” You dare unzip your mouth. “I appreciate you believing in me, but… I don’t think I can survive that ,” you nudge your head in its direction, shivering from the mere thought of it inside of you. “It was custom-ordered,” he says, leering down at your tiny form. He runs his thumb over your breasts, a bead of transfluid forming at the tip of his spike, pink and shiny. You swallow hard. “Believe me,” he continues, breath slick with oil, “this is as small as they could go.” You claw at his servo when he presses it into you, a searing pain shooting through your core. “You could have prepared me at least, you know?” you hiss through gritted teeth. “Yes,” he admits, not a hint of apology behind the mirth in his tone. “But I believe you can manage just fine.” Bold words from someone who’s trying to stuff you like a Thanksgiving turkey. You would call him a cunt if you weren’t throwing your head back and groaning at the feeling of his free servo rubbing circles around your clit. “You really are a bastard,” you squeak, caught between pleasure and pain. His spike is halfway inside of you with no hint of stopping.

“And you should have learned to shut your intake ages ago,” he answers in his silky voice, crookedly smiling down at you. The very sound of him speaking is enough to send a wave of heat to your groin, making your walls involuntarily twitch around him. You glare up at him, his smile widens. The pace he starts at is excruciating; slow shallow thrusts pulling at your pussy, thumb drawing circles around your clit. He stays quiet as always, the only hint of pleasure on his part being the steady whirring of his cooling fans and the hot air being ex-vented against your skin. Soon enough, his spike is fully sheathed inside of you. You can barely move, filled to the brim by something that should decidedly never fit inside a human. “Overwhelmed?” he croons, voice caressing your poor aching nerves. “Fuck you,” you unwisely declare, visibly shaking in his fist. “I’ll consider that a yes,” he adds, mocking, pulling out of you just enough to give you the impression of hope, only to crush it once he stuffs himself back in. He fucks you for what feels like hours, leaving you speechless and numb from his brutal branch of pleasure, twitching around his spike, having cum enough times to leave you shaking in his grasp. You send a prayer to the All Spark when he finally finishes inside of you, filling you up to the brim with transfluid, enough to spill out of you and trickle down the crack of your ass. Your throat is sore from begging for mercy, and if you had any dignity left, you would look away in shame from those piercing red eyes. “Something the matter? You seem awfully quiet,” he teases, still rubbing his digit over abused nerves. “Bitch…” you rasp between ragged breaths.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #valveplug #megatron x reader #tfa megatron x reader #tfa megatron #transformers animated

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iconicstoner · 15 days ago

Text

behind the scenes

gn!bau!reader x aaron hotchner (fluff, confessions)

words: 956

summary: Reader and Hotch have been keeping their love a secret, not even willing to admit it to each other, but when the reader starts having some financial issues Hotch knows he has to do something. The reader isn’t willing to take money from Hotch, but they gladly accept a confession of his love.

“Why did you call me into your office, sir?” you ask, closing the door to Hotchner’s dimly lit office. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone together in his office. Despite what you might want, nothing intimate has ever happened, just many late-night talks; venting to each other, telling stories, laughing, and even the occasional card game. You sit across from him as he slides his stack of paperwork to the side.

“I heard you’ve been struggling with money,” he says bluntly, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. You and Hotch had a confusing relationship. It was obvious to most people the two of you were head over heels, but you would never admit, even to each other, that you were in love. So, you were left to steal glances, let your hands linger when passing paperwork, and lean on each other only after everyone else on the jet fell asleep. With this line of work, anything else was too dangerous.

“Sir, you called me into your office to discuss my financial situation?” you ask quizzically. Aaron rarely called you into his office, not wanting anyone to suspect his true feelings, so this was strange.

“Garcia may have let it slip to me,” he responds, clearly taking this very seriously. You internally facepalm, knowing you shouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone.

“Yes, well the rent at my apartment went up, and on top of that I have student loans to pay off, and it’s just been hard to take care of everything on my salary,” you respond awkwardly.

“I see. I can put in a request for a raise for you if you’d li-”

“No, no that’s fine,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “I know the BAU is dealing with enough budget struggles as it is.”

“I could find the money,” he stares up at you, your features dimmed by the low light. He’d be disappointed if he hadn’t already memorized it.

“Aaron, you cannot give me federal funds to pay my rent,” you say in a hushed whisper, shocked that he would even suggest it. He just smiles.

“Embezzlement? No, I’d like to give you some of my money to help.”

“You can’t do that. What about Jack?”

“I promise, Jack and I are doing perfectly fine. He could go to Harvard for free with the money I have saved.”

“With a father like you, I’m sure he’ll get in.”

“You’re calling me smart?”

“No,” you grin, “but you’re in the FBI, so I’m sure you could guarantee his acceptance.”

“Right, with all the government money I’m embezzling,” he jokes. You just smile, taking a moment to look at him. His smile lines. The faint rings under his eyes from long nights at the office. It was all so perfect. “I just want you to know, I’m serious about this offer.”

“Aaron, my financial situation has been better since I last spoke to Garcia. I’m moving soon and I found a roomate.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says with a small smile, staring into your eyes.

“Will that be all?” you ask, smiling back.

“Yes,” he says reluctantly. “But I have one request.”

“What’s that?” You stand up and Hotch is quick to follow suit.

“You’ll let me visit the new apartment?”

“Of course. As coworkers?” Aaron’s smile fades, his face forming a pensive expression, but he doesn’t say anything. You watch as he swallows thickly, struggling to form a response.

“Yes, of course, as coworkers,” he clarifies. You stare at him, not saying a word, barely struggling to hold your laughter in. He cracks a smile, seeing your expression. “Something to say?” he asks you.

“Maybe you should come over as more than a coworker,” you say slyly, hoping you aren’t pushing the envelope too far.

“I’d like that,” he quickly agrees. Relief floods over you, causing you to smile with glee.

“Is it too soon to kiss you?” You ask playfully, shooting him a wink.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he says, leaning into you. You grab his tie, pulling him in close. Gently, he presses his warm lips against yours. He kisses you deeper, pressing your back against the office door. His big hands grab your waist, keeping you close. You snake your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Slowly, he pulls away, leaving you hungry for more.

“We should probably stop, maybe we could continue this when I get the new apartment tour?” he suggests.

“I’d be very open to that,” you reply with a smile. He smiles back, filling your stomach with butterflies.

“I’ll see you then,” Hotch replies, straightening out his suit. You do the same and open the door, revealing Garcia, Morgan, Spencer, JJ, and Emily staring at you with wide grins.

“I knew it!!” Garcia exclaims, high-fiving Morgan as she giggles.

“Never took Hotch for a ladies man,” Emily jokes dryly.

“You must not have been paying attention,” Morgan chimes in, “the guy’s smooth.”

“Right, and I’m sure he learned it from you,” JJ says sarcastically. You laugh at her remark, drawing attention back to you and Hotch.

“Really?” you ask, embarrassed, “even Spencer knew?

“I pick up on body language very well,” he says straight-faced. “Plus, you didn’t think we were all asleep on the jet, did you?” he asks, smiling wide. The whole team playfully laughs and you turn back to Hotch.

“I think our secret is out,” you tell him.

“They were going to learn eventually,” he says with a smile. He cradles the back of your head and gently kisses your forehead in front of the team. Cheers erupt from your friends, causing you to blush, but Hotch doesn’t seem embarrassed, if anything, he’s proud.

#criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotch imagine

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colourstreakgryffin · 11 months ago

Note

Hello !

Could you please write some headcanons with Alastor and m!reader as his S/O , where reader is a fallen seraphim / ex - seraphim?

Thank you in advance !

Hmmm! Okay! I actually wanted Alastor discovering his partner is a Fallen Angel for a while now. I can imagine what would happen… but uh, anyway. Let’s try this out, shall we? Alastor is now my primary Hazbin Hotel man, which I don’t mind! I love this man!

Alastor- Lies and Deception

Why… why would you lie?! Why did you lie?! Why did… Alastor can barely process what he just learnt. His beloved partner, his cute sweetie. A affectionate polite man, you. You’re not a demon at all, you’re an angel and you were a high-level angel as well. Charlie isn’t the only one who finds out her partner is a angel, Alastor did too

“A-Al! I can explain… I just—” “Save it, Leitore. I don’t want to hear from you” and with that, Alastor goes back down to Hell. Not hearing you out, despite when you try to explain yourself. It hurts your soul seeing your boyfriend, now, so closed-off, cold and disinterested

Alastor refuses to talk to you and when he does, he is quite passive-aggressive but yet, he can’t bring himself to be insulting. He is more business than emotions and comes off as very apathetic. It’s just because he doesn’t know how to act around you anymore with this grand discovery drilled into his head

He avoids you like the plague after the incident in Heaven and Adam revealing both you and Vaggie’s angelic origins to the Group

Alastor had ended up just like Charlie. Both him and Charlie are struggling with learning that their partner lied to them and hid their true selves for so long. Unlike Charlie, who vents to Alastor about Vaggie all the way to the Cannibal Colony, Alastor tries to not focus on you… he doesn’t want a reminder

However, he is eventually talked into trying to make it up with you by his dear friend, Rosie. She reminds him that you’re his lover and that he can’t just shut you out over you not trusting Alastor to not throw you out if you told him the truth… oh, Alastor could kiss Rosie right now! But, he can’t. He needs to make up with you after the weeks he’s spent ignoring you

Like Charlie, Alastor brings over a little gift. Surprised to find out that you’ve gotten back your angel wings after so long of merely looking like an average sinner. Three feathery sets, they are gorgeous and they make your eyes pop. Alastor may not like that his lover is an Angel and he’s a true Demon but that shouldn’t keep you two apart… and after Rosie’s talk, it won’t

After quite the long private talk with you and much forgiveness and acceptance and promising, Alastor is once again, by your side and holding your hand. He was harsh in the past about what he considered a betrayal but he has heard your side of it and forgiven you for lying to him. Not everybody is perfect

Alastor may or may not play with your reborn and re-gained angel wings when he is bored or waiting. You’re always right next to him so he’ll just run sharp long clawed fingers through the gentle feathers and be enamoured by how incredible it feels. Alastor also may just take an nap on your back with how comfortable those wings of yours are

Alastor is your sweet devil, a truly corrupted evil monster but he has an opposite in the man you are, a more pacifistic and harmless soul. Just like Charlie and Vaggie but swapped, you and Alastor are the higher-up Angel-Demon gay couple. Alastor is unredeemable and won’t be going to Heaven whilst you, a being of Heaven, is stuck down here in Hell

Alastor much prefers you stay in your original look but now, that also includes the Seraphim wings. Just keep them out of the way whilst you walk and Alastor is completely content with it. He just has to get use to having an angel in the Hotel… he has to get use to having TWO angels in the Hotel

Trust me, Alastor won’t ask about life as a Seraphim in Heaven. He doesn’t even care about it, he doesn’t care what dropped you into Hell. He only cares that you’re in Hell and that you’ll stay in Hell, stay with him. That’s all he’ll ever ask, but if you want to talk about your past in Heaven, he is all ears

Alastor, also, may not be perfect but he is doing his best to accept the reality that you had to lie to him and now that, you’re both cleared it up with one another. Now, you can be 100% honest with each other

Alastor is encouraging to you, encouraging you to let out your angelic origins and not be frightened by all the Sinners. Everybody in the Hotel knows you and Vaggie are from Heaven, just embrace it. He is embracing it one step at a time

“Oh… darling. I know I was quite harsh to you. I was just upset, I thought the man I loved was against me and I was trying to kill me from the inside. I understand you didn’t want to tell me and that’s okay… we’ll get through this little bump together”

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mossyscavern · 6 days ago

Text

This world is not made for you

___________________________

‘That *pant* *pant* was too close.’

Cliffjumper thought, breathing heavily as he stayed hidden, clutching his carrier bag and the scavenged energon like his life depends on it.

Ever since the war between autobots and decepticons, cliffjumper survives by scavenging for energon in decepticon territory, it’s a life and death experience but it’s all worth it in the end.

He isn’t an autobot nor a decepticon and he likes to keep it that way, less likely to look like the enemy of either side. Even then he’s still a danger to himself. ‘They’re gone, gotta move.’

He thought, placing his bag on his back gently and made a run for it. Out of decepticon territory, into an abandoned energon mining shaft, through the rocky exterior… and into the makeshift home he built, venting heavily.

His vents aren’t built for this yet, he’s still a youngling. A youngling in a very cruel war between two sides of the same shanix.

With deep, greedy, heavy breaths he put the energon cubes down, removed the bag from his back just as gently and sighed, carrying the bag like a new born sparkling, now safe from the destruction.

“Safe and sound…” he says out loud, off lining his optics for a couple of kliks. They online when he heard binary babbling and movement, making the youngling chuckle and look down at the bag.

“Alright, alright.” He says, opening the bag revealing a sparkling. Yellow frame with a similar helm as his own, aqua blue optics blinking tiredly.

The little sparkling looks up and immediately coos and beeps happily, reaching out for cliffjumper’s faceplate. “Hi bumblebee, I’m assuming you’re hungry.” He asks, taking the sparkling out of his bag and cradles the tiny bot.

“Here, don’t drink it too quickly, little brother.” He says to the sparkling, making sure the liquid doesn’t spill all over his brother’s faceplate like last time.

By the time he finished half way bumblebee pushed the cube away and look up at cliffjumper with a pout, it confused him at first.. until he finally gets what he’s trying to say “I’m fine bee, I had my fill already.” He tries to say, but bumblebee huffed.

Pushing the half full energon cube towards cliffjumper and pouts… making the red mini bot huff a laugh. “Oh alright, only because you’re my brother.”

He told the sparkling, drinking his half of the energon bee offered, by the time cliffjumper finished he looks back down with a raised optic ridge. “Happy?”

The sparkling giggles and reaches for cliffjumper, obviously happy despite the situation. “You are lucky you’re so cute.” He says, rocking his brother back and forth, soothing him into sleep mode.

For a bream, cliffjumper heard distant sounds from outside, making the red mini bot furrow his optic ridges in confusion before his optics widened.

“Sorry, bee.. we can’t stay. We gotta go.” He told his sleeping brother, grabbing the makeshift bag, made specifically just for bumblebee to sit comfortably while he scavenges.

He placed bee back in the makeshift bag, it wakes bee up, thanks to the movement cliffjumper is making. “Ciff umber.” Bumblebee says tiredly, staring up at cliffjumper with cyberpuppy eyes.

“I know, I know… I’m sorry, but I promised caddie.” He says, closing the bag back up making sure his sparkling brother is secured, bumblebee is safely hidden, other than his horns peaking out.

Cliffjumper nods in approval and crawls out the makeshift cave. Preying to primus below nothing bad happens if they step out in the open.

With a sigh from his vents, he closes his optics, remembering what his and bumblebee’s carrier said and repeats. “Tomorrow is another day, And we won't have to hide away.” He says, looking behind him at his sparkling brother.

You’ll be a mech, bot! He hears, the voice of his carrier echoed in his helm, finally repeating the last phrase he heard from his parental unit with a determined look on his faceplates.

“But for now it's time to run, it's time to run!”

___________________________

Phew! Wow, damn.

Ok, long story short… I watched the first episode of transformers war for cybertron: siege for a bit, had let my own thoughts wonder, it gave me an idea… and I came up with this. I’m just as shocked at myself as you guys.

Plus, wholesome sibling moment! … i don’t have any other reason.. I just wanna write a sibling moment between a baby sibling and an older sibling.

#transformers #maccadam #cliffjumper #bumblebee #sparkling bumblebee #baby bee au #… too be fair it’s more or so an au… not from the actual show #transformers au #… I think?#kid cliffjumper #I think I made him in his early teens in this…#*shrugs*

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p0is0n-b0ttle · 4 months ago

Text

Two Cats Stuck in a Vent (One-Shot)

Word Count: 8186

Description: Noir gets stuck in a vent and has to call the only person she can trust for the job

Notes: No use of Y/N, instead your hero name Noir is used, no physical descriptions except for the hero suit with a set design. Basic power description for this fic is the suit is alive and his name is Khaane, (if you are aware of the show Miraculous it’s legitimately just Cat Noir with a few tweaks) the suit is black, has cat ears, and a belt tail. Khaane can speak to reader in her mind *like this* Reader is also a vampire but it’s a secret, if you’re interested in how I think the suit looks you can see my art, keep in mind the art is separate from the fic, only the suit is in the fic and its basically just the way I see Noir when I read the fic. Also this is my first fic I’m posting in 7 years so plz be gentle :’D more notes at the end!

TW: afab reader, vamp!reader, very suggestive themes, almost dry humping, cursing, a smidge of angst, blood, mentions of violence (it’s an Adrian Chase fic, fork found in kitchen), detached limbs, no smut but god are they both horny, NOT established relationship (they pining)

“—And I just thought, who would be the best hero to help find him, and of course it had to be you! Since— well, you know…” The old lady, Edna, she called herself, gestured to Noir's cat ears that sat on top of her head.

Noir crosses her arms and gives a slight scowl to the old lady. “Are you one of those people who think I'm actually part cat?” She says in an annoyed questioning tone.

Edna chuckles a bit, surprising Noir with how casual she was with a known criminal, even if some think of her as the hero she once was. “Honey, my eldest daughter absolutely adores you. There isn’t a day that goes by when she doesn’t mention you, and she just so happened to tell me that you are part cat, since your ears and tail move just like those fuzzy little angels. There is absolutely no need to be ashamed!”

Edna puts a hand on her shoulder, which Noir promptly removes casually. The whole being part animal isn’t a uncommon misconception of her and the other heroes that weld these gifted powers, but it's not exactly a smart idea to correct the information, since the less knowledge on these powers keeps everyone safe from their identities being revealed.

Noir rolls her eyes as the old woman keeps yapping about how she could just ‘talk to him, you’ll probably get along‘ and ‘I heard furries are acceptable now, not that I really understand it much’, but Noir interrupts her with a raised hand and tired voice, “Just tell me where you last saw him and I will try my best to find him, no promises though.”

Edna smiles, obviously not bothered by Noir's rudeness, and informs her of where she last saw her “baby”. After dodging another pointless and draining conversation with Edna, she leaves to go searching.

Noir, the supposed strongest wielder out of all the heroes who share her power, once celebrated for her and her partners heroic deeds by defeating powerful enemies and protecting the innocent, given medals for bravery and honor, and currently has more blood on her hands then most criminals, was now on a mission.

A mission to find a lost goddamn cat.

Reduced to this meaningless bullshit, she doesn’t even know why she agreed to this. Thinking more about it, it’s probably because Harcourt sent the group home early since the plan to stop the rest of the White Dragons goons needed more time to prepare, which left her mission-less.

On top of the fact that Adrian didn't want to patrol tonight, which was a first. He’s usually making up excuses to go on patrol, mostly with her, but tonight he had said something about a new episode of Fargo being on and wanting to watch it live for once.

He had asked her to join and watch with him, and said he wanted to “Fargo and chill, but actually chill… maybe” She immediately brushed off the ‘chill’ part with an eye roll but he insisted she would probably like the show. She explained she hadn’t watched any of it, nor even heard of the show before, where he excitedly started explaining the plot in either very close detail, or little to no detail which confused the plot for her further.

She declined the offer telling him she needed to go out tonight, insinuating that she was hungry. Adrian immediately understood and told her to enjoy her meal, then hopped in his car to drive home, leaving her alone for the night.

Adrian Chase was one of a kind, no doubt about it. His constant rambling and murderous intent was alluring to her. She enjoyed his company more than she would ever admit, and even after he had accidentally found out about her secret, she didn't kill him. She realized she couldn’t, especially not after he had accepted it so openly with no judgment.

He had even gone as far as to help her with finding criminals to feed on when she was too weak to do it herself. Though she was never truly too weak to do it, she just honestly adored the way he cared so deeply about her health, and her diet. He’d torture criminals into telling him their blood type, just because she enjoyed certain types. He admitted to looking into how to drain blood from the body, how to keep it as fresh as possible to ensure it was still to her liking, and since she could only drink dead-man's blood he had offered to keep detached limbs in his freezer just in case she needed it.

She quickly expressed how much he didn't need to do that, the kindness toward something no one knew about left her far more flustered then it should have.

Even worse, when she confided in him that she had always worried that drinking the blood of evil would turn her evil, he had offered his own blood to her since he was O negative, the only type of blood she could drink from someone still living.

The trust Adrian had to allow for even the thought of risking his life for Noir, scared her. Even though she’s well aware of having the ability to not suck all the blood from his body in one go, she wouldn’t allow herself to put Adrian in that position for risk alone. Not to mention the intimacy of getting so close to him while on a blood high, her teeth sunken into his neck, lips touching his skin-

Her thoughts about Adrian were interrupted by a loud crashing sound in an alley nearby. She quietly makes her way over to the sound and spots a black and white blur scurry right towards her.

She wasn't expecting the cat to run directly at her as soon as she turned into the alley, and the cat apparently wasn't expecting her to be there either, as its run screeches to a stop it stares at her as its breath heaves.

She holds her hands out and crouches closer to the ground, trying to be less intimidating towards the small frightened animal. “No need to be scared, just let me bring you back home—“

The cat bolts right past her, so she tries strategically tackling it and ends up missing. Her right cat ear twitches as she refrains from growling in anger as she watches it run down the sidewalk away from her.

*Very elegant of you Noir.* Khaane’s voice rattles in her head. She tells Khaane to shut the fuck up as she slowly picks herself up from the dirty ground.

She dusts herself off, muttering something about her dignity before she breaks off into a run after the cat.

She watches as it scurries into another alleyway to its right, and she follows but stays outside the alleyway once more. The cat quickly climbs up a garbage bin and jumps onto a fire escape above it, then it runs up the metal stairs onto the roof.

Noir rubs her face in frustration with one hand, and uses her other hand to unsheath her staff to use as a vaulting pole to get on the roof. She lands on the roof mumbling curses at the cat's invasions to her help.

The cat turns around at the sound of the Noir’s landing, and as soon as he spotted her, he runs in the direction of an open vent and jumps into it. Noir hangs her head and sighs, then starts to make her way over to the vent.

“I should have made your owner pay me for this bullshit.” Noir mutters as she starts to crawl into the vent slowly. Luckily it was blocked off by another metal grate at the end, leaving the cat trapped, unable to bolt away again.

She slowly makes her way through the short vent, with every inch she went, got narrower and narrower. She had to squish her shoulders a bit to fit even some of her upper body in. Using her legs on the ground of the roof, she pushes herself into the vent further.

”Come here you stupid fucking feline.” Noir says as she attempts to army crawl unsuccessfully toward the cat, the vent fighting her as she pushes her way into it.

She hardly gets her waist into the opening of the vent before she reaches for the cat, but it backs up further away from her. With her feet still planted firmly on the ground she quietly growls as she squeezes herself farther in using her forearms.

The vent starts to groan at the strain.

*Noir, be careful.*

“Fucking— Relax Khaane, I've got it. “ She spits out angrily, then reaches for the cat again and misses. He flattens himself against the wall of the vent, attempting to stay as far from Noir's hands as possible.

“You dumbassfuckingcunt—“ She steadies herself to push harder into the vent which in turn gives a louder straining noise. The pressure of the metal squeezing her as she desperately tries to get farther in.

Her hands move to go for the cat once more, only a inch away from him. She leans in farther, trying to ignore the sound.

*Noir…*

“Ive-“ She puts one leg into the vent, her knee digging into the metal.

”Almost-“ Her other leg follows.

Now on both knees, she’s so close to the cat she can feel the fur on her thin gloves. She sucks all her breath in as she finally gets close enough to grab him.

The vent creaks ominously as she goes to wrap her hands around the cat's torso.

*Noir! You’re going to—*

“Got him!” As soon as she grabs onto the cat firmly, her hips shift into the vent with a clunk.

Khaane groans, but she ignores it as she smirks at the cat triumphantly, but her victory is short lived as the pain in her shoulders finally spreads to her collarbones as her bones start to finally feel the pressure the tight space provides.

She hisses in pain, and immediately moves to back out, attempting to put her feet back onto the ground when she discovers a problem.

She’s stuck.

She lets go of the cat during her squabble with the vent, trying to desperately inch her way backwards to no avail. Her shoulders never even budge as she squirms and wiggles in an attempt to escape.

After swearing and struggling for almost 30 minutes, she finally accepts that she is truly stuck.

At this point the cat had decided Noir was no longer a threat, and was now laying down watching the scene unfold in front of him, almost looking amused.

She sighs in defeat and drops her head to the metal floor with a bang, and finally gives Khaane what he wants.

”Fine. Fucking— fine. You win. I should have listened to you—asshole. What are our options?” Khaane hums in thought.

*You wont like it.*

”The fuck do you mean ‘I wont like it’. Just tell me so I can get out of here!”

*You're going to have to call Adrian to help you.*

”Nope. No way.” Noir starts to frantically shove, squirm and ram herself against the metal surrounding her in a last ditch attempt to free herself. After another 10 minutes of fighting the vent, she goes limp in defeat.

There is no way she’s going to call Adrian right? She cant be seen like this, fucking stuck and vulnerable. He’ll lose every ounce of respect he has for her if he sees her this weak looking. But she cant call Harcourt, she’s working on the plan for the mission tomorrow, and so is John most likely. Chris was never even an option since he’d probably leave her here for laughs, She didn't know anyone else who could help.

Except Adrian.

With an angry growl and one last very aggressive flail, she sighs and admits defeat.

“Call Adrian.”

Only after two short rings does he pick up.

”Heya kitty, how's the hunt going tonight?” He answers cheerfully, a complete opposite on how Noir currently feels, even if his voice somewhat melted a little tension away from her aching shoulders. She sighs,

“I need you to come help me with something.” Immediately there is shuffling on the other end.

”Are you hurt—Did someone hurt you? You never ask for my help—“ His frantic worry fills Noir with guilt so she attempts to stop that train ride from going any further.

“I'm not hurt, I'm not in danger, I just— uhm…” She trails off, unsure if she should go through with asking him to drop whatever he was doing to help. He could always just say no.

“Do you need help hiding a body? Because if i'm honest, that’s not really in my wheelhouse. Don’t get me wrong, I'll still help! I'm thinking maybe buying like—five blenders to shred the body would— no that wouldn’t work, bones and shit—tsk— honestly I'm out of ideas.”

Noir hated this feeling of helplessness. Needing help was rare for her. She’s been doing just fine on her own, maybe she could just wait this out, but part of her knows she'll still be stuck here if she doesn’t ask.

”Noir? Are you there?”

”Yeah, Im-I'm here, just— uhm— no blenders needed, there’s no bodies— uhm…”

The cat in front of her decided to finally do something other than stare at her, and he meows loudly as he paws at her nose.

“Was- was that… you?” Adrian asks in a surprised tone. Noir glares at the furry menace,

”No. That wasn't me. Look, I’m—“ She sighs and bangs her head on the ground.

”I'm stuck.” She admits.

“Like, on a equation, orrrrr—“

”I'm stuck in a vent and I can't get out on my own.”

There is just silence from the other side that fills her with unease, maybe she should have waited—

“So you need me to come get you out?” He asks, still slightly confused.

“Yes, but I know you're busy with your Fargo so… It’s honestly not a huge deal, I-I can wait if-“

”Aww kitty, I'll happily come help you! I’m guessing you already called Chris and he was busy—“

”I do not trust Chris enough to come help me with this. That douchebag would probably post this on the internet and ruin my reputation. In absolutely no world would I have trusted him with this.”

Adrian is silent for a moment, the rustling on the other end stopping as well.

”… Are you saying… you trust me?” Noir could hear the happiness seeping through his question, that dopey smile slowly taking over his face flashed through her mind. She shook that thought away quickly, the blush that threatened to show up was embarrassing on its own, but she blamed the situation itself. No other reason for that. Definitely no other reason…

”How fast can you get here?” Dodging the question, she attempts to move again to try and get herself focused on the issue, and not the sweet relief she felt at the joy of his revelation towards her trust toward him.

“As fast as humanly possible!”

————————

After a little while, she hears footsteps slowly make their way over to where she was. A choking noise came from Adrians mouth as she started to try to get herself out on her own after a few minutes of him watching her tail swing in silence. Definitely only looking at her tail…

”You gonna stare, or are you gonna help?” She hisses in embarrassment. Her face finally starts to warm as she realizes the view he must have on his end. Adrian starts to walk closer towards her and clears his throat to speak,

”How exactly can I help if you— uhm— can't be touched?” He asks warily, as if the question could cause her to run far far away, which, yeah, she definitely wanted to at this point.

”What the hell are you talking about?” She says in confusion.

”Well it's just that… You always push away anyone who goes to touch you, so I try not to… you didnt even accept my high-fives… Or Harcourts hand shakes… I'm prrrrretty sure you almost bit me one time when I put my hand on your face—“

”OKAY— Point made, Vig!” She was not about to delve into that. She groans as she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes.

”Look, I trust you okay? Just— do what you need to do to get me out.” She moves arms uncomfortably, or attempts to at least. Is that why he stopped trying to high five her after every mission and instead high-fiving his own hand while looking in her direction? She just figured he gave up, but was it an attempt to make her more comfortable? Even the rest of the group still attempts to make contact without thinking, but he respects her space…

Fuck— he cares so much about her it made her dizzy.

“Fucks sake— Ill hug you at this point if you get me out! Just try at least!” She jumps as a warm hand pats her ass a few times almost as a test after a moment. The almost burning touch lit her face up more, almost triggering her fight or flight response.

“Relax kitty, I'll get you outta there in a jiffy! No way am I missing out on an offer like that!” She hears him crouch closer, both of his hands land on the lower part of her hips as he tilts her to the left and right.

She hears him still as he takes a deep breath in, his hands twitch on her sides before he clears his throat again.

“I'm going to try and pull you out now, okay?” His voice slightly strains as he speaks, his hands twitching again. Noir hums in acknowledgment and puts her head on her arms as she waits.

He steadies one foot on the bottom of the opening of the vent, the other planted on the ground and pulls her hips toward him.

Her shoulders barely move as he tries again with a little more strength, but not enough, as if he’s trying not to hurt her.

“Vig, I’m not made of glass. You can use all your strength, you’re gonna need to,” The faster this ends, the faster her dignity can reform. If she couldn’t get herself out, he definitely wouldn’t be able to with how delicate he was being.

“Trust me.” She growls out reluctantly. He tries again, she could tell he still isn't using his full strength.

“Fuck— you’re really stuck in there huh? Maybe we should call the fire people…“ He says kneeling down closer to her, his hands slowly, too slowly, make their way to the outsides of her thighs and she twitches at the feeling. His hands subconsciously twitch back in turn.

“Do you- do you mean the fire department? No— no fucking way. I’d rather die here—“ She tries to push herself back in tiny thrusts as she speaks, pushing her upper body on the metal floor for some kind of leverage.

“Fuck— Stop moving like that— you gotta relax kitty.” One of Adrians hands goes to cover his covered mouth as he rips eyes away from the direct view of her ass moving in his face. The other hand starts to absentmindedly trace circles into the back of her thigh with his thumb causing her to pause.

When his other hand goes back to her other thigh, mimicking the movement that feels far too good then it possibly should, she bites back a groan and covers her face with her hands.

She bites her lip as he sits there in thought, his thumbs start to slowly add more and more pressure, digging into the muscles of her thighs.

“Shit kitty, you are tense as fuck. Have you ever even had a massage before?” His hands, and attention apparently, start to move up and down the back of her thighs, lightly massaging the tight muscles.

When his hands just miss the swell of her ass and go back down, she squeaks out a very quiet moan from under her hand, hoping to whatever god was watching that he didn't hear it. He hums in question after she doesn’t answer.

“N-no.” Is all she’s able to get out. He sucks in a deep breath as he speaks again,

“No offense kitty, but— shit— you look really good right now—“

“Can- can we talk about anything else while you try and think of a way to get me out?” Her brain was short-circuiting at all of the thoughts of him fucking her, and the close physical contact that she hasn’t felt in years, only just keeping calm enough to remind him of his mission again as she has to fight her thighs from squeezeing together.

He pats her thigh twice a little roughly as he moves to get up. He stares for a moment at the way her ass jiggled at the movement and lets out a breathless “Damn..” Then shakes the trance off.

He starts to walk around the vent, examining it for any weak points that could help as he speaks up again.

After a bit, he says, “I thought the moon was a chunk of the Grand Canyon that broke off.” Noir’s mouth goes agape, almost squawking as she takes that information in but also thankful for the change in subject.

“There is no way you actually thought that…” If Khaane could slam his head into a wall, he would be doing just that and in turn, that feeling made Noir want to do the same.

“I'm not kidding kitty, I thought the moon didn't exist—“

“No, no way—“

”No, hear me out! Follow me here! When the meteor hit the planet and killed all the precious dino’s it knocked a chunk of earth off which was part of the Grand Canyon, and it formed into what the moon is.” Noir stayed silent for a moment, then responded with awe in her voice,

“You think something broke off into space when the meteor that killed the dinosaurs hit the earth? Are you familiar with the Grand Canyon?”

He was quiet for a moment, most likely looking up into the sky in thought like he usually does when he’s trying to confirm a response in his head, “Yes.”

“Doesn't sound like it!” She laughs out. Adrian fist bumps the air behind her, silently beaming at making her laugh, even if he doesn’t really know why.

”Okay, well there isn’t any way for me to unscrew the vent apart since its all melted together…” Adrian puts a hand on his chin in thought as he stares at her ass for answers.

”You mean welded together?” Noir asks, feeling slightly more comfortable and less humiliated.

”Potato tomato. Can’t you just— you know— disintegrate the vent? With your strong cool cat powers?”

“I could, if I want to disintegrate the feline with it.” She says as she glares at the cat itself, now grooming himself without a worry in the world.

Adrian hums in thought, and Noir thinks she hears him sit next to the opening of the vent next to her. Why the fuck isn’t Khaane helping? He has more knowledge than the both of them combined, he has just been silent this whole time.

*I'm honestly just enjoying your struggle, you did do this to yourself…*

Noir growls and rubs her face frustratedly. So Khaane isn’t going to help, for his own entertainment, now she’s left with Adrian and her mind. The latter being on hiatus with the whole situation being so… unique…

She can hear Adrian drumming his fingers against the ground as he hums a song she cant place, then he speaks up again,

”Why don't you like to be touched?” The loaded question hangs in the air for a bit. She really didn't want to get into this while stuckinavent but Noir trusts Adrian, so much more than she realizes. Which is why she answers honestly.

”I don't… not like to be touched, but it's a strange dislike. I guess I don't really like to be touched because… I crave it so much— too much.” Being hurt time and time again has led her to this way of thinking, coupled with the fact Khaane believes any form of love is weak. Everything about touching someone— or being touched— is a vulnerable and trusting process, which has burned her too many times before and left Khaane to heal what he could. But in all honesty, he can’t heal mental wounds, and when he tries, he makes them worse.

“That's kinda sad, Noir…” He says with sadness lacing every word.

”Life could be worse, Vig.” She says bluntly, she wants to be held so tightly that she can’t break, but there are so many pieces on the ground. And she'd rather leave them there instead of burdening someone else to clean up what she can’t.

”Life could be alot better, too” He shoots back. Noir stays silent after that, he’s right of course, but she doesn’t deserve a better life. At this point she’d rather be alone than be with the wrong person. Even if she ends up dying alone, which deep in her core she knows is most likely one of her worst fears.

Her tail swings and hits Adrians leg, and an idea comes to his mind.

”Oh! What if we take your belt off?” He asks, starting to stand up again.

“Do you really think that will help? It doesn’t feel like my belt is stuck on anything.” Noir says, slightly unsure. She can't remember the last time she actually took her belt off since the suit just appears on her as soon as she wants it to.

Adrian shrugs, “It can't hurt to try, right?”

Noir shifts uncomfortably but ultimately agrees. Adrains hands go under the roof of the vent and land on her lower back, and slowly, so fucking slowly, make their way up to the back of her belt. His hands follow the belt to go to reach under her, but stop when they hit the sides of the vent.

“Huh… Guess I have to go underneath.” His hands retract, then tap the insides of her thighs a few times which causes her to jump and cover her face as it somehow gets warmer.

“Open those legs more kitty.” Noir shuts her eyes and shifts her legs open wider. This is fine, totally fine! He’s just a friend. Just a friend helping her get unstuck. Totally platonic!

Adrians left hand rests itself on the back of her thigh, the other reaches underneath her and lands just underneath her chest. His chest makes contact with her thighs, and she can feel how close and warm he is. She bit her lip as the hand on her thigh started to move in circles again in a soothing way, but she wouldn’t exactly call what she felt very soothing.

The hand underneath her slowly drags down across her stomach, searching for the buckle to her belt. As it went lower and lower she finally let out a shiver at the vulnerable spot he was touching so softly. The heat between her legs that she had been desperately ignoring was now making itself very known.

Completelyplatoniccompletelyplatoniccompletelyplatonic

Something told her he was going a little slower then he needed to, but she wasn't about to start complaining.

His hand finally finds its destination, and with a click, the belt comes undone. She breathes out a sigh of relief as he pulls it out from underneath her.

He leans back on his heels still crouched and takes a closer look at the belt. The staff, pouch and tail connected to it caused so many questions he needed answers to, so he asks, “Can your tail still move when it isn’t connected to you? Like a lizard, or a starfish? Also, can I look in your pouch?”

Noir quickly thinks of anything embarrassing that might have been left inside of it, and comes up with nothing.

”Sure, I guess. And no, the tail can't move anymore since it's not connected to the suit, but Vig you need to stay focused. I’d really enjoy getting out before it gets dark.”

After a few moments of Adrian going ‘hmm’ and ‘ohhh’ while he looks at the contents of her belt pouch, eventually he returns to the task at hand. At least it gave her time to recover a little bit.

He claps his hands together and rubs them, “Okay kitty, lemme try and pull you out again.” He stands up and reaches back into the vent again, grabbing her hips like the first time.

After a few more pulls with no success, he maneuvers her legs to wrap around his waist and wraps his arms around each leg, bracing his foot against the vent for leverage. Noir locks her feet against his back and takes a shaky breath.

Adrian slowly starts to lean backward, relying on gravity to do its thing. Soon after he yanks slightly, then tries again harder when nothing budges. He huffs out after it doesn’t work with a few more tries, Noir reminds him that he has to go harder.

The next yank was far more forceful and he lets out a grunt. From this angle she can feel the vibration of it right against her, and it makes her fucking wimper.

“Did that hurt you?” His grip on her legs starts to fall, and in embarrassment and panic she tightens her legs around him a little.

“Keep going, I’m fine. Totally fine…” She whispers the last part mostly to herself, and covers her mouth when he goes to yank again. His breath slightly hitches after he grabs at the junction of her hips and leg to get a better grip and presses her ass against him more.

Adrian adjusts his foot higher on the vent, and a loud groan rips through his chest as he yanks again, a moan gets caught in her hand as bolt of pleasure goes up her spine at the slight relief between her legs when she feels the accents on his suit drag at just the right spot.

At this point she’s fighting with every cell in her body not to start squirming against him, the totally complete practical touches were leaving her so much warmer than she could handle.

Another grunt comes from Adrian, and in frustration with not getting her loose, he moves her hips right against his crotch for a better angle without thinking. Noir lets out a tiny squeak as her brain goes blank.

He’s about to yank again when he pauses, his hands twitch again but he doesn’t continue pulling.

”I just realized this is exactly like a porno I watch like- just last week.” He says casually, the thumbs that rest on her hips starting to soothe in circles again.

Noir can’t form a coherent thought at this point, but after a few seconds of no response or movement from Adrian— what the fuck is he even doing back there— she removes her hand from her mouth to try and derail that thought from both of their minds.

”I’m— I apologize for interupting your Fargo show, the one time you take the day off from patrolling and of course I fuck it up—“

”What? Kitty, you didnt fuck anything up. You needed my help so of course I came, I’d drop anything to come and help you!” Adrian starts to rub her back lightly, but as he continues he starts to massage the tight knots in her lower back making her drop her head as her eyes roll into the back of her head as she groans at the pleasure.

”Besides, I was already recording it, so it's not a big deal. I'll just wait for start of the next season to watch it live-“ That snaps her out of the haze he was putting her under as her head shoots up in shock, and it hits the top of the vent with a bang, the cat in front of her jumps at the sound and glares at her.

She groans as she rubs the top of her head, Adrians hands on her back start moving faster as he asks if she’s okay. Of course she’d interrupt him when he wanted to watch a finale of his favorite show, she’s such a fucking idiot.

”I can't believe I bothered you during a finale— god—I'm such a dick—“

“Noir, you don't bother me, you’ve never bothered me, you couldn’t bother me. I promise you, you’re not a dick, and it's not a big deal—“ He tries to quickly comfort her, as much as he loves Chris, Adrian has heard his fair share of being a bother to his friend, even if he thinks Chris is just being emotionally defensive most of the time. It still makes him feel like shit when he hears it but plays it off.

”But it was important to you, and that’s a big deal to me.” She groans and rubs her face, guilt eating her alive at this point. Adrian is glad she can't see the bashful smile that appears on his face thanks to his mask and the vent.

”I'm such a shitty friend.” She eventually says sadly, the guilt seeping its way through the statement. She already doesn’t think she deserves a friend like Adrian, now she knows she doesn’t deserve his kindness, his laughter, his loyalty. But Adrian isn’t about to let her think that way,

“Don’t say that— you are not a shitty friend. Kitty, I wanted to help you, I’d rather spend time with you more than anything else in the world. Especially if I get to stare at your ass the entire time.” She could hear the smirk on his face as he said the last part, the fact she could tell he was telling the truth made her squirm against him subconsciously.

”Alright, enough with the evil self loathing scorpions kitty, let's get you out, okay?” His hands go back to where they were before on her hips as Noir tries to sort through the wave of emotions she was feeling. She finally settles on an idea that comes to mind.

”I’ll watch Fargo with you from the beginning if that makes up for it.” She sheepishly says, the nervous tone coming from a rejection she was waiting to hear back. Instead she hears an excited gasp from him.

“For real? Are you being for real right now because holy fuck that would be so fucking awesome— It’s a long show so you’d have to come over a ton to finish it but you won’t see me complaining. I can make popcorn and we can have sleepovers-“

“If you get me out in the next five minutes I’ll think about a sleepover, alright?” Her smile started when she realized he was rambling again, his excitement started to seep into her chest as she felt his hands get tighter and tighter the more he went on.

Adrian goes back to yanking Noir, not getting anywhere still. He huffs out one last time in frustration, then Noir yelps as she feels him quickly lift her ass over his chest right under his chin, with his body now leaning fully back and both feet planted on the vent the only thing keeping him from falling on the ground is now Noirs stuck form.

His hands lock together underneath her stomach. His arms over he legs caging her in completely. Noir lets out a shaky breath and covers her burning face with her hands again.

With a strong yank, Noir finally feels her shoulders move back, just a little bit, “It’s working! Keeping going!” She attempts to help by pushing herself with her forearms on the ground of the vent, and with another yank and a grunt from Adrian she feels a slight relief in her collarbones. The thought of almost getting out of the damn vent has clouded over her thoughts, no longer caring about how close they were, or the risqué position they were both in.

“Holy shit— yes— Come on Vig— You— gotta— go— harder—“ Each time she spoke he yanked with more pressure, his grunts getting louder and louder as she finally started to inch back some more. She started to feel his arms shake from the strength he was using, if she wasnt more durable in the suit he probably would have cracked one of her bones at this point, but he kept going and she kept getting closer millimeter by millimeter.

Eventually she feels the pressure on her arms start to lessen, then a familiar clunk noise causes adrenaline to shoot through her. She’s almost out.

She can now hear the vent slowly creaking again as it fights to keep her locked in, but she starts to feel her shoulders lighten, she squeezes her eyes shut and starts to push back even more against the vent to help Adrian more. Noir slowly starts to feel herself winning against the vent as she slides backwards.

”Fuck— yesyesyesyesyesyes!” In a flash, she's outside the vent. Adrian groans as she lands on top of him, he now lays on his back with her just above him, his knees holding her upright against her chest.

Noir blinks a few times to adjust to the difference in light, and realizes the cat she was hunting is now in her hands. Khaane must have grabbed him for her when she was to busy being ecstatic that she was actually getting out.

Noir stares back at the cat with a triumphant smirk, “Got you, you little shit.” The cat growls lowly at her, but doesn’t squirm from her grip, he just accepts defeat and hangs limply in her outstretched hands.

Noir continues basking in her victory until she feels Adrians hands do that familiar twitch on the back of her thighs where they keep her from crushing him. She slowly turns her head around, twisting her body to see him and— oh my god—

She’s basically sitting on his face. Her cunt about an inch away from him. Noir scrambles up, using one of her hands to push herself off of Adrian using his knee, unintentionally spreading his legs wider and he groans in what she is going to call… pain (it wasn’t pain).

As she stands up nothing but apologies come from her mouth, but she goes silent after nothing comes from the masked unmoving hero. He’s just laying on the ground still, his hands resting on his chest as he looks like he’s trying to regulate his breathing.

Noir stands there with the cat in her hands with a worried look, and after another minute or two, she nudges Adrian with her foot lightly, “You good?”

The only response she gets is a thumbs up, which thumps back down onto his chest quickly. Noir smiles lightly, and crouches down next to his head to look into the visor at his closed eyes.

“Thank you for helping me Vig. I really appreciate you coming here to free me, and sorry— about almost riding your face.” Adrians breath hitches, and a twitch goes through him.

After another moment, the cat in her hands meows and Adrian's eyes open at the sound. He looks at the cat in her hands, then up at her and her heart skips a beat as she sees his eyes crinkle behind the visor as he smiles underneath the mask. After a slow breath he clears his throat and speaks,

“It was absolutely positively no problem kitty, I'm siked I was able to help you out.” Noir holds out a hand for him to grab, and he takes it with both of his hands. She pulls him up and has to steady him as he wobbles on his feet a bit.

They stare at each other, Noir bashfully smiles at him then after a beat, she speaks in a monotone voice, “Let's never talk about this again.”

Adrian chuckles and puts his hands on his hips as he shakes his head, “Sorry kitty, but there isn’t a chance in hell that I won’t bring this up again.” Noir groans as she rolls her eyes, the cat in her hands starts to squirm a bit reminding her of his presence.

“Well, I have to return this guy back to his owner… You wanna come with?” Adrian nods his head frantically, and starts marching over to one of the ladders.

”Let’s go!”

”Other way Vig.” Noir smirks as he quickly turns around on his heel.

”I knew that! I was just testing if you knew… Let's go!”

————————

The walk to Edna's house started with Adrian telling Noir that ‘she looked like one of those raccoons with its head stuck in a tin can’, ‘have you ever seen those really cute and funny videos of cats getting stuck in boxes?’, ‘pretty sure I saw a video of a hedgehog with a McDonald’s fry bag stuck on its head’ and probably every other variation of “animal being stuck” that he could think of.

Eventually he started telling her about Fargo. Noir had noticed when Adrian gets really into rambling about something he really likes he starts to curse like a sailor. Khaane counted 26 ’fucks’ in his 3 minute rant about how Martin Freeman is his favorite actor, but no matter how many times he curses, Noirs smile never faded from her face as she listened intently.

When they got to the building Edna lives in, she told Adrian to wait in the alleyway next to it. Edna might have a heart attack seeing him, and the less alive people that knew about them working together the better.

Noir knocks on the door a few times, adjusting the fluffy creature in her hands, as she waits she looks over to the alleyway Adrian is waiting in, and sees his head poking out watching her. She looks away but can't fight the toothy grin that ends up on her face.

Edna opens the door and Noir drops the grin quickly. The old lady laughs in relief as she takes the cat from her outstretched hands.

“Thank you Noir! I was so worried about my baby boy and look at him! Not a scratch on his fuzzy little head! My daughter will be delighted to know her favorite hero saved Mr. Munchkin’s.” Edna scratches at the cat's head as she speaks and has a warm smile on her face as she talks to Noir.

The ‘hero’ rubs the back of her neck awkwardly, the praise making her a little nervous. “You should probably get a collar for him in case this happens again, and think about getting him chipped, it would make things a lot easier next time around. Just to be safe.” She says, trying to avoid the whole hero argument.

Edna starts to go on about how she’ll think about it, and some weird conspiracy shit she read on Facebook one time about someone being able to control the cat from its chip. Noir interrupts her rant with an excuse about needing to help someone else. Edna thanks her again then shuts the door, Noir can hear her sternly telling off her cat from behind it, and walks off back to the alleyway where her friend is waiting.

Noir turns the corner and stops in shock at what she sees. Adrians hand is outstretched toward her, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. But what’s in his hand is what makes her do a double take.

He’s holding someone’s detached arm. From what she can tell it’s their left arm, the thick blood from the ‘incision’ is still leaking heavily. Adrian shifts his feet as Noir stares at the limb in shock, still trying to put the pieces together.

Adrian can see she’s struggling with her shock and speaks up, “I got you dinner! I remember you saying you were hungry when we left HQ… and someone was spray painting in the alley across from us so… Are you… not hungry?” His shoulders slightly fall as he realizes she might have ate already, but Noir shakes her head like a etch a sketch to clear her thoughts up.

“I’m… I'm still hungry… I didn’t get a chance to eat before the old lady asked for help so…” Adrian's entire body springs back to life and he shakes the arm at her excitedly. Noir lets out a breath of a laugh through her nose and grabs the arm from him. Adrian leans forward and starts to rock on his feet as he waits for her to bite, very obviously waiting to watch her eat.

Noir tries to ignore his watching eyes and sinks her teeth into the forearm and starts to drink from it. Her face softens as she indulges the pure energy it gives her as she continues. The blood high makes her hyper focus, an almost animalistic feeling washes over her as she gives into the ride. The arm starts to almost deflate from lack of liquids and eventually she lets go with a pop.

She wipes the excess blood from her lips with the back of her hand, and takes a glance at Adrian again with dilated pupils.

“Was it good? It didn’t have any drugs in it right? I asked him if he did any but he was so nervous that I couldn’t tell if he was lying. Also he said he didn’t know his blood type so— yeah…” He trails off as she starts to stare at the flesh and bone in her hand. A smile slowly creeps onto her face as she thinks about how he is way too thoughtful for his own good.

How could someone— anyone— treat her so nicely? Everything in her tells her that she doesn’t deserve it, that she will never be worth the work, but Adrian is always there somehow batting off those thoughts with a baseball bat in her head. He treats her like she’s everything, and she thinks of herself as if she’s nothing. He deserves something nice for his effort, a gift maybe? What would she even get him?

Noir shakes her head again, her blood high finally starting to lessen. She’ll figure something out for him, he deserves it. Her hand holding the arm starts to glow with a threatening black light, and the arm disintegrates into dust right in front of them.

Noir looks back at Adrian, his body language giving him away completely. He’s nervous, maybe about accidentally drugging her? Noir blows air through her nose and closes her eyes as she rubs her arm awkwardly. Slowly she walks over to him, and stiffly, but very very carefully wraps her arms around his waist and presses herself into him in an attempt at a hug. God she can’t even remember the last time she did this.

Adrian immediately wraps his arms around her in return, squeezing tightly as a content hum leaves him. Noir tips her head down below his chin, leaning on him subconsciously as she starts to melt into the embrace. Her eyes close as the dopamine starts to make her sleepy, her heart pounding as she inhales the scent of kevlar, mint, sweat, coffee, and a hint of dish washing soap. She can hear his heart beating just as fast as hers— god— she feels lightheaded from all the feelings running through her, but she needs to stay on task.

“Thank you Adrian, you’re a really good friend to me. Sorry… I’ve… never really been good at telling people how I feel but… you make me want to try.” Noir pushes her head against his chest a little bit more, taking all the warmth he was so effortlessly offering.

“You don’t have to keep those feelings locked up in your brain kitty, people are like Guinea pigs, they need friends for comfort— or something. I will always be here if you need my help or if you wanna talk, that will never change.” Adrian nuzzles his cheek into her hair affectionately. Noir squeezes him a little tighter as she takes in his words.

Eventually she reluctantly lets go, but does notice his arms linger just a smidge longer than necessary. Noir doesn’t have it in her to look at him, instead looking at the broken cement on the ground.

Adrian claps then rubs his hands together, “Wanna start Fargo at my place? I have popcorn.” He sings the last part as he tries to entice her into going. She looks up at him and smirks before she rolls her eyes then starts to walk out of the alleyway.

“Alright, let’s go then.” Adrian fist bumps the air and starts to jog up to we’re she walks, then ultimately asks,

“So… sleep over? Please?”

Noir lets out a chuckle, “I'll think about it.”

Notes:

— Lemme know what you think! I write a lot tbh but I never post it in fear of not finishing it, or just because it’s not entirely perfect but I’m taking a leap with this one! Also is this way too OC? I struggle with characters that don’t have a set story or power so… idk

— The dialogue about the Grand Canyon is from the Backyard podcast, definitely look them up on tiktok if you want a laugh

— I have so much backstory for Noir, and I have written a little of her story but it definitely needs tweaks but she has tons of potential if y’all like it!

— “I’d rather be alone than be with the wrong person” is from Death Note, also headcanon that Adrian has definitely watched it bc how could he not?

— I’m currently working on a x reader for Daredevil that’s coming along nicely, but this was stuck in my head

— Honestly there has been such a drought in Vigilante fic’s and I’m hoping when season 2 of peacemaker comes out there will be more (my calculations are that it will be done filming by the end of next month yes I did the math also editing should only take about 5 month hopefully don’t get me started how we’ve seen Peacemaker, Harcourt, Adebayo and John on set but no Adrian I’m terrified they changed his suit design or his character)

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #peacemaker #adrian chase x female reader #adrian chase x you #vigilante #adrian chase #adrian chase x y/n #Adrian Chase x noir

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bullet-prooflove · 8 months ago

Note

First kiss with Alden

Tagging: @kmc1989 @sarakafarrah @caffeinatedwoman @elefrog25-blog

You don’t realise that Alden’s courting you, not at first. The dinners start off as a thing between colleagues to vent and discuss the challenges of being in a leadership role. He’d been trying to negotiate muddied waters with Nick Torres and came to you looking for ideas because of the nature of the work you do.

“You’re good at getting people to talk, at making them feel comfortable enough to open up, maybe you can give me a few pointers.” He’d said as the two of you shared a coffee in the breakroom. “I’m at my wit’s end with him.”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas, things I use for difficult witnesses.” You’d told him as you glanced at your watch and sighed. “I don’t have the time right now…”

“There’s this great Portuguese place I’ve been dying to try out.” Alden says with an enthusiasm you envy. Alden Parker and his pastries are legendary around the office. When he first arrived it was suspected to be some form of mind game “Perhaps you can meet me there, we can grab a couple of drinks, maybe a bite and you can help me figure out what to do about Torres.”

The first part of the night is spend discussing strategy. You work with people in trauma on a daily basis, it isn’t hard to recognise it in Nick Torres. You give Alden a little insight into Nick’s history before you lay out a few techniques you’ve had success with in the past. It segues after that into other topics, books you’ve read, the music you love, the fact you have this weird thing for plush lobsters.

“It’s something about the little claws.” You tell him, your hand mimicking the pincer as he peppers you with questions about this revelation. “My niece buys me one every Christmas. It helps that they live in Maine so there’s an abundance of choice.”

He has the same thing with birds, he explains. He still isn’t allowed in a certain national park because he climbed a fence he wasn’t supposed to in order to snap a picture. It’s what started his feud with the Park Service.

He puts you in a cab at the end of the night with the promise to feedback how it goes with Nick. It goes from there after that, dinner becomes a weekly thing, something you look forward to throughout the week because Alden knows all the best places to eat and he’s excellent company.

It’s the night he walks you home that things change. The back of your hand brushed against his, shoulders nudging. There’s this chemistry between the two of you, a connection. It’s been happening for a while now, the little touches that feel like electricity, the heated looks. You can’t stop thinking about how good his hands would feel on your body, what it would be like to undress him.

When he says goodbye, your hand captures his, drawing him back. You can see the surprise in his eyes but you can also see the yearning, the want. Your fingers chase up the lapels of his jacket as you raise up on tip toes and press your mouth to his.

That kiss…

It’s everything.

It’s fire and it’s passion, everything you’d been missing throughout the duration of your marriage. It awakens something in you, something wild, something reckless. You need him, his mouth on your skin, the scrape of his beard between your thighs. You’ve fantasied about this man for weeks and now it’s time for the reckoning.

“Come upstairs.” You request and Alden, he can’t resist.

Love Alden? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#alden parker #alden parker x reader #gary cole #ncis

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kallie-den · 1 month ago

Text

Rescue Hound Chapter Three

Kione grapples with the consequences of what she's done to Sartha - and faces up to what Sartha needs

This is a Warhound story! The preceding stories can be found at this tag

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

—

I’ll save you, Sartha. I promise

Those words, drawn out of Kione by a poisoned, unnatural faith, curdle in her heart as she passes the night in Sartha Thrace’s arms. At first, they felt like a blessing. Not for Sartha. For Kione. There’s an inimitable sense of power to promising salvation to someone—to Sartha Thrace, of all people—and feeling her trust you. Feeling her melt into your own body, sobs subsiding and fear falling away as she believes. That’s intoxicating. That’s divine.

But it doesn’t last. Once Sartha settles into a heavy, peaceful sleep, Kione is left awake and alone with her thoughts, which increasingly circle around the terrible repercussions of what she has done.

They both wanted it. Didn’t they? It was hardly out of character for Sartha. And she’d certainly seemed passionate enough. Desperate, even. Like she had pent-up urges to vent. It was probably good for her to get it all out of her system. Has Sartha ever once complained about getting a chance to fuck Kione? Is it really such a big deal?

Yes, Kione knows. Of course it is. Because she did it by using the words that imperial handler has put in Sartha’s head.

Restful sleep isn’t coming. And Kione is realizing she’s the scum of the earth.

Even basking in Sartha’s body heat strikes her as a sin. Before long, Kione can’t take it. She needs to be somewhere else. She needs to be back in her quarters so she can beat herself up in private. As Kione extracts herself from Sartha’s arms and prepares to leave, she casts a glance at the muzzle she put on Sartha’s head.

It’s truly awful. A symbol of every violation that was inflicted on her friend. It would be a mistake to leave it with Sartha. A crime to let her wake with it on. Kione should slip it off, take it with her, and throw it away.

But after the way she just wielded it, she can’t even bring herself to touch the cursed thing.

Kione puts on her jumpsuit and slips out of Sartha’s quarters empty-handed. Maybe she’ll find a bottle to swipe before she retreats into her own. She needs that, right now. Oblivion. But she can’t face going to the bar. She can’t face being witnessed by another living soul. She just has to hope that at this time of night, the only people awake on the rebel base are the lookouts posted outside.

No such luck. Just as she’s closing the door to Sartha’s room, a rebel soldier comes around the corner and catches her. Her eyes go wide, and for a brief instant, Kione feels transparent, like all her sins are visible to the eye. She goes still. She doesn’t know what to do.

It’s even worse than that, it turns out. Kione quickly sees that from the rebel soldier’s perspective, all she’s done is caught Kione making the walk of shame. Her suspicion is confirmed when, a moment later, the rebel does the worst thing she could possibly do. Calculated, seemingly, to bring Kione the maximum conceivable level of gut-wrenching guilt.

She flashes her a roguish, knowing wink.

***

It’s an entire day before Kione leaves her quarters. Isolation does nothing to quell the froth of shame writhing in her gut, but that’s nothing compared to knowing that she’s out there, somewhere.

Sartha.

How can Kione face her? How can Kione ever face her again? More than once, she makes up her mind to run to the hangar, climb in Theaboros, and fly a thousand miles away just so she doesn’t have to. But each time, as soon as her hand touches the door, what freezes her in her tracks is the simple fear that as soon as she opens it, she might find her friend standing right there.

What kind of look will she have on her face, when Kione sees her? Kione’s dark dreams answer that question a hundred different ways when she finally makes herself settle down to try and sleep.

When she’s awake, there’s little for Kione to do but ask herself an endless stream of questions: how could she have done that to Sartha? Why did she get so angry after their sparring session? Why hadn’t she been able to stop herself?

And why had it all felt so fucking good?

She thinks about the imperial handler, too. The one she saw on Ancyor’s comms log. She’s the one who brainwashed Sartha. Has to be. What kind of person do you have to be to do something like that? To rip open someone’s mind and brand those three words into their thoughts to serve as a collar they can never slip? Kione already knew it had happened, of course. But until last night, she hadn’t even begun to grasp the sick artistry of the brainwasher’s craft. It haunts her, now; the memory of the handler’s eyes, as sharp as scalpels as they seemed to stare through the screen and through time, into Kione’s soul.

The handler is a monster. One look at her and Kione’s certain of that. But after what she did, is she really any different?

All her many questions are nothing more than a spiral. They lead Kione inward and downward, inexorably, through fits of crying, of self-punishment, of vicious ideation. The weight of her actions hangs on her, a heavy, cold sweat, and everything she’s ever felt about Sartha Thrace tastes like poison.

In the end, hunger is what drives her from her self-imposed, self-pitying isolation. The gnawing in Kione’s belly overtakes the gnawing in her head and, as despicably unearned as any act of self-preservation feels, she makes up her mind to slip out of her quarters, steal down to the canteen, and swipe something to eat. If nothing else, she’ll need food in her belly if she decides to run.

Head down, long jacket covering her jumpsuit, it all goes just fine until Kione reaches the canteen and finds Sartha’s already there.

Waiting for her.

There’s no use trying to duck beneath her notice. She’s keeping an eye out and as soon as Kione enters the room, Sartha’s on her feet and headed her way. Kione is a deer in headlights. Her blood is ice. This is how it’s gonna be, huh? Sartha wants to expose her. Have it out in front of a crowd. It makes sense. It’s safer, Kione figures, and guarantees that everyone will know exactly what she’s done. Kione will be lucky not to get executed on the spot.

She doesn’t try to flee. Kione accepts her fate. She deserves it, right?

When Sartha reaches her, the expression on her face is unreadable. But when she speaks, the distinct, earnest adoration in her voice is as stark and shocking as a thunderbolt.

“Hey, Kione,” Sartha says, a touch breathily. “You need to eat, right? I already got us a table.”

After a long moment, Kione replies with an awkward, jerky nod. Her hunger is instantly forgotten, so she simply follows Sartha over to where the hero is sitting. She can’t help but notice that Sartha doesn’t have a tray of her own. Just waiting then, not eating. For a moment, Kione resists the implications staring her in the face. The stay of execution she’s received isn’t comforting. It’s horrifying. But as they sit down, Kione’s forced to acknowledge that the expression on Sartha’s face isn’t unreadable at all. It’s the expression Kione’s put on the faces of dozens of girls by rocking their world after feeding them some stupid pickup line about feeling a connection. The blush. The parted lips. The eager, awe-filled hope in their eyes. She’d know it anywhere.

But on Sartha? It’s so wrong.

“You OK?” Sartha asks. “I got worried. Wasn’t sure where you’d gone when I woke up.”

“You got… worried?” Kione repeats dumbly.

Sartha just smiles at her. “Of course.”

Kione can’t stop staring at her. She doesn’t know what to say, and she’s too busy grappling with her feelings to try and figure that out. A moment ago, her veins were full of ice. Now they’re hot, and flooded with something sticky and intoxicating.

Sartha was worried about her.

It’s not that she didn’t care, before. Sartha was never a bad friend. Not exactly. But she was under a thousand pressures and had a million people vying for her attention. She was the hero of rebellion, and her eyes were always set on the far horizon. Not the kind of friend to count on for if you’re a little quiet and sad and need somebody to take notice.

Until now, apparently.

“Um…” Sartha begins, after the awkward silence has dragged on for a little while. Her visible anxiety is a wonder. “About last night… I’m sorry.”

Kione thought she’d already found the limit of her own capacity for surprise. She was wrong.

“You’re sorry?” she splutters.

Sartha nods. She looks ashamed.

“Why?” Kione asks in a hushed, incredulous voice.

“When we sparred,” Sartha begins. That’s what she wants to talk about? “I disappointed you. I completely fucked up. You were right. You were absolutely right. I need to try harder. Gotta get my head back in the game.” She looks across the table at Kione hopefully. Hoping for forgiveness. “I’ll do better next time.”

It’s everything Kione thought she wanted to hear—and it makes her sick to her stomach. Numbly, she shakes her head.

“No, but…” she stutters. “That’s not… I was…”

Her clear discomfort only seems to fuel Sartha’s penitence. She leans in, voice infused with fresh eagerness.

“I’m sorry,” she insists. “You were right, Kione. I needed to hear it. All of it. I really did.”

“N-no,” Kione groans. “I should be…”

She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want how this makes her feel. She doesn’t want this Sartha.

“Please, Ki,” Sartha presses. Why does she look so damn happy? “I’ll do better. I can do better. I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop!” Kione snaps. Sartha flinches. The wounded look on her face doesn’t make it any easier.

“But-“

“Don’t!” Kione hisses. If she hears one more ‘sorry’ from Sartha’s lips, her head is going to split open. “Understand? Just… don’t. Do not apologize, Sartha.”

Appallingly, a strange light appears in Sartha’s eyes. She sits up very straight and nods.

“Yes, Kione,” she pants.

A fresh wave of nausea passes through the mercenary. No. No, no, no. She has to fix whatever she broke.

“Last night,” Kione attempts. “Uh… after we sparred, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Sartha nods. Gods, she’s hanging on Kione’s every word.

Kione looks down. Something in Sartha’s manner makes it damn near impossible to bring it up, but she has to try.

“I came to your quarters,” Kione forces out through gritted teeth. “I said… some things. No, I mean, I said… something in particular. Some words.”

“Ah.” Sartha hangs her head. Kione senses that she’d be apologizing for something right about now, if not for her instruction. “I guess I’m still a little messed up, from when they… took me. I’m afraid I don’t remember that much about what happened.”

Kione blinks. “You don’t?”

Sartha shakes her head. Pink stains her cheeks and she speaks in a very quiet, secretive voice.

“I mean, I remember a little. Memories kind of bleed over, you might say. From the other me.”

After all that heat, Kione goes cold again. She feels feverish. She feels insane.

“So you do remember?” she presses, even though it pains her.

“We hooked up, right?” Sartha grins sheepishly.

“No,” Kione replies. “Or, well, yeah, sure, I guess. But what I mean is-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Sartha interrupts. Kione realizes she looks a little pained too.

“I kinda have to, Sartha,” Kione presses on. “Especially after I used-“

“Look, um,” Sartha interrupts again. “I wanted it. Let me just say that much, Ki. I wanted it. And it was really, really good.”

Now Kione’s the one blushing like a rookie with a crush. “You did?”

“Of course,” Sartha tells her. As much of a ghost as she’s been these past weeks, in moments like this, her smile still has some of its former radiance. “We’ve hooked up plenty of times, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

It’s so tempting to just agree with her. To simply bask in Sartha Thrace’s favor. To wonder if, perhaps, all the yearning Kione felt the night before wasn’t just one-sided.

Kione Monax has never been very good at resisting temptation.

“I guess so,” she concedes.

She wanted it. Sartha wanted it. They both went a little too far, and clearly the details are a little mutually embarrassing. In that sense, is it really that different from some of Kione’s other misguided conquests?

“So there’s no problem?” Sartha asks hopefully.

Kione wouldn’t go quite that far. There’s one important boundary to set before they can dispense with this.

“Let’s just agree,” she says, blushing. “Not to let that happen again. I mean, maybe sometime, we can… y’know. Again. If we both truly want to. But not like that. With you, Sartha, I don’t want it to be-“

Once again, Kione is interrupted. Not by Sartha. By her own growling stomach. Now that her anxiety is settling, the hunger is coming back. It’s making her just as light-headed.

“Gods, Ki,” Sartha says, face a mask of concern. “Haven’t you eaten?”

“I guess not,” Kione admits. “But seriously, let’s-“

“No, wait,” Sartha stands up out of her chair. “You need some grub. You stay right here, Ki. Let me get you something.”

She hurries off before Kione can mount a protest. Once again, it’s her concern that proves intoxicating. Nobody else in the canteen is sitting close enough to listen in on their hushed conversation, but a couple of rebels quickly pick up on the fact that Sartha is fetching a meal on Kione’s behalf. Some of the jealous looks Kione gets are truly filthy. As usual, looks like that scratch her pride and demand in reply a big, smug, shit-eating grin.

Maybe that’s why she can’t quite find it in herself to broach the subject again once Sartha trots back with a laden tray, looking every bit as proud as a dog with a stick.

***

After that, Kione promises herself that she’ll force the issue. That she’ll have a real conversation with Sartha about the way she took advantage of that imperial trigger phrase. She really means it, too. It’s important. She has too much respect for Sartha to leave her apology unsaid.

But in the end, it’s easy to just… not.

Sartha obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. She breezes past all of Kione’s feeble attempts to touch on the subject. Plus, it’s not like Kione is thrilled at the prospect of explaining to Sartha that she feels like an abusive piece of shit for what she did, and that it’s disturbing how Sartha doesn’t seem to view it in the same light.

Why force that talk when, instead, Kione can simply stay quiet and enjoy the new bond she shares with Sartha?

That’s exactly what she ends up doing. In the wake of her silence, everything returns to normal. Not normal-normal, of course. Sartha’s still damaged goods, and most of her rebel comrades are still plainly, hopelessly unable to cope with that. But it’s closer than ever before, weirdly. Contrary to Sartha’s fears, what Kione did to her doesn’t send her back to the infirmary. If her betrayal is a fresh, deep wound in Sartha’s psyche, a reminder of how her imperial brainwasher opened up her soul and hollowed it out, it doesn’t show. Quite the opposite.

Now, Sartha is better.

Not all the way. But there’s a fresh brightness to her smiles. They seem less forced. Everybody senses it. Her comrades start waving to her again, and she waves back. When they let their hero-worship show, she accepts it with a gracious nod and an easy, modest comment. The rebel doctors closely monitoring her psychological health are all smiles. According to them, she must be healing. Bouncing back. Soon enough, they reckon, she’ll be back to her old self.

And if she’s always at Kione’s side, hanging on the mercenary’s every word? Why, clearly all she needed was a good friend to lean on.

Hearing that puts one hell of a vicious knot in Kione’s stomach.

But not for long. With Sartha at her side, there’s only so much time she can spend wringing her hands. It feels like a waste. Sartha is doing well, isn’t she? Even the doctors think so, and they’d know, right? Besides, doesn’t Kione deserve this? She's been a good friend to Sartha, despite a couple of lapses. She stuck with her when nobody else did. Sartha’s affection starts to feel, more than anything else, like simple recognition.

She still has reservations. Kione can’t quite shake the worry that all of this points to a nameless sickness within the rescued hero. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t push Sartha to try piloting Ancyor again, even though it seems like she would if Kione asked. It’s growing difficult to tell what Sartha genuinely wants, and what she simply thinks Kione wants. But perhaps, after everything she’s been through, putting her in the cockpit of a peerless, hundred-ton war machine isn’t actually the wisest move.

Once or twice, her reservations build to the point she’s tempted to tell someone. The doctors, maybe. About Sartha’s trigger phrase, if not the way she used it. That seems like something they should know, doesn’t it? It seems like it might be important. Really, extremely important.

But then Kione will mention—off-handedly and thoughtlessly, of course—that she needs something and Sartha will bounce up and race off to find her exactly what she’s looking for. When she gets back, she’ll flash Kione this eager, hopeful look until Kione says ‘thank you, Sartha’, and then Sartha will show her the brightest, most contented smile Kione has ever seen on the hero’s face.

The temptation fades. The gods are in their heaven. All is right with the world.

Until the night there’s a knock at Kione’s door.

Kione is just bedding down to sleep when she hears it. She sits up and frowns. That’s weird. Nobody ever comes knocking, and the base is all quiet tonight. Everybody else shipped out on some mission. Apparently not one worth paying Kione for. Given everything that’s been happening, she probably shouldn’t be surprised when she opens the door to her quarters and sees Sartha standing there. But she is.

Sartha never comes to knock on her door. It’s always the other way around.

“Hey, Ki,” Sartha says. The look on her face is fathomless. Sad and eager and ashamed and gleeful all at the same time. “Can I, uh, come in?”

“Sure.”

Kione steps back and lets her in. Once she gets over her surprise, she can’t keep herself from grinning. It’s perfect. It’s what she always wanted. Sartha Thrace, here to climb into her bed. Kione’s turned on already.

“What’s up, Sartha?” Kione asks, playing it as casual as she possibly can. A bit of a fool's errand, given that she probably looks like the cat that got the cream. But she really, really wants to get Sartha to say it.

“Not much.” Sartha sounds decidedly flustered as she steps inside and closes the door. That’s good. That’s great. “You busy?”

It’s funny; Kione hasn’t seen as much of her today as she’s become used to. When they had lunch, she seemed a touch listless. But now, Sartha’s all over the place. Frenetic. Manic. Practically vibrating, and she keeps looking all over everywhere like she’s afraid to let her gaze settle.

As far as Kione’s concerned, it’s perfect.

“Not really, I guess.” Kione stretches lazily. “So, uh, what brings you here?”

Getting to watch Sartha squirm for a moment before she answers is better than Kione could have hoped. “Um…” she replies slowly, voice fraying from the sheer, bubbling tension. “Actually, I… was hoping we could, maybe, do something together. Like before.”

It’s a little mean, but Kione can’t quite bring herself to not smirk and laugh. Gods, Sartha! She sounds like a schoolgirl with a crush. It’s flattering, really. Kione knows she’s a great top. She doesn’t get as much feedback about being a bottom. Sartha’s the only woman in a position to give it. Clearly, Kione’s ass is quite the prize.

It’s desperately tempting to throw herself at Sartha already. To savor her warmth once more. As tarnished as she is, Kione knows she’d still taste like the sun. But Kione reckons she can go for just one more tease. One more bout of squirming.

“Oh, like what, exactly?” she asks, feigning confusion as best she can with this dumb, horny grin on her face. “Not sure what kind of stuff you mean.”

Sartha wraps her arms around herself and squeezes tight. She glances away in desperate embarrassment, and it’s everything Kione could have hoped.

“You know… this?”

Every bit of Kione’s glee turns sour when Sartha sticks a hand into one of the big pockets in her bomber jacket and fishes out the muzzle.

"What the…” The ghost of Kione’s smile remains etched onto her face, and she lets out an inadvertent, nervous titter as hairs rise on her spine. “Y-you’re joking, right?”

“No.” Sartha shakes her head. She’s blushing and embarrassed, but something else is moving through her too, compelling her to hold the muzzle out reverently toward Kione like an offering. “I-I need it.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sartha.”

Kione’s stomach is churning. Why did it have to be this? Why couldn’t it have just been sex?

“Why not?” Sartha pleads. Her eyes are wide, and a jagged, needy light shines from within them. Kione has seen this before, or something like it. She knows it for what it is: addiction.

“Because….” Kione can’t figure out how to explain it; it’s so blindingly obvious that the fact Sartha can’t see it is damning. But it’s so hard to just say ‘no’ to her. That’s one skill Kione has never got the hang of. Instead, she tries bargaining. “OK, um, you want me to… put the muzzle on you? And then we fuck? Shit, if that’s what does it for you then sure. Seems a little dark, but who am I to blame a girl for developing a few kinks after going through it?”

The forced lightness in her voice is a feeble attempt at manifesting. Kione is hoping Sartha won’t say the thing she was always, inevitably going to say.

“N-no. I mean, yes, um. We can fuck if you want to. Yes. Absolutely. But that’s not…” For a moment, Sartha squeezes her eyes closed. Shame and need are fighting a battle within her. Need wins. It was always going to win, and it leaves her leaning in ever closer to Kione and visibly salivating when she opens her mouth to speak. “I need you to use the words.”

Kione lets out a whimper.

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, no, no. No way, Sartha.”

Sartha takes another step toward her, but the muzzle is between them. Kione steps back. That thing terrifies her.

“Why not?” Sartha protests.

“Holy shit, Sartha!” Kione splutters. “That’s so many different kinds of fucked-up I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Why?” Sartha asks again.

Kione is about to deride her for her childishness until she realizes: it’s a real question. On some level, Sartha simply doesn’t get it.

“Gods,” Kione says quietly. “Don’t you see? Those words are what they did to you. A way to control you. It’s not right. People just… they just aren’t supposed to have something like that.”

Sartha goes quiet for a long moment. She looks down—then up again, and Kione sees that her plea for sanity skated off Sartha like a pebble across ice.

“But,” she says eventually. “I need it.”

Kione is on the verge of tearing up. “No,” she begs. “You don’t.”

She's still in there somewhere, isn’t she? The Sartha Thrace that Kione remembers. The ace that pushed her to her limits. The hero that made her want to be better. The woman who never needed anything. Not even Kione.

“It makes me feel whole again,” Sartha explains miserably. It’s like she’s half-aware of how abjectly awful what she’s saying is—but only half. “That’s all I want. To feel good. To be… to be free. That’s what I get from my… other half. Without that, it’s just me. And I feel everything, all the time, weighing me down. Whenever anybody around here looks at me. I can’t do it, Kione.”

The pain in her voice makes it so damn hard. Kione wants so badly to be the one who makes her stop hurting. But it’s too awful. She’s forgiven herself once, just about. No more second chances.

“No, Sartha,” she says, with all the firmness she can find. “You can do it. You really can. I believe in you. Or, you… you can at least try, yeah? If it sucks, if it hurts, I’m there for you. But anything’s better than pulling on the levers they stuck in your head. Hells, there’s so much we don’t know about what they did to you, or how. We don’t know what they were using you for. We don’t know why you were traveling in Ancyor like that, on your own, when we intercepted you. So… you need to stay clear of all of it, OK? You need to get those words out of your head and forget about them. That’s what you need to heal from. Right?”

That’s as heartfelt as Kione gets. She looks long and deep into Sartha’s eyes. Praying to see clarity. Praying to see hate. Hatred might mean she understands, at least, the extent of the violations committed against her. Mostly, though, Kione hopes that they can embrace and fall into bed together, shed tears together, find comfort together. As friends and equals. As more, perhaps.

It’s a stupid dream, of course. Kione should know better. Now she gets what’s coming to all stupid dreamers.

Sartha blinks, and when her eyes open again, she’s gone. Just as gone as when Kione put her off the leash. This time, though, it’s not Hound. Not Sartha’s other self. It’s just the part of Sartha Thrace that is nothing but need.

And need can fight dirty.

“It’s funny,” Sartha says. The way she smiles at Kione, crooked and bleak, is more unnerving than anything. “How you’re saying all this now. Where were all these reservations the other night, Ki?”

“Wha-“ Kione’s guts churn so violently she almost gags. She’s never seen this Sartha before, not once.

“You keep pretending you don’t want it.” Sartha’s eyes are vast and dark. Empty. There’s nothing inside them. Kione feels swallowed up by their gaze. “But you do. Why not just do what you want with me? That’s all I’m offering you.”

“Gods!” Kione gasps. “N-no I don’t.”

“You do,” Sartha insists. She’s unsteady. It’s like she’s drunk. “Be serious, Ki. You’ve been on cloud nine ever since it happened. Just do what you want.”

Another gut punch. The truth itches at Kione’s skin. She can’t deny it, and she can’t stop feeling devastated by the sudden realization that if she keeps saying ‘no’, all of Sartha’s doting adoration will be over.

“You want me to be all yours, right?” Sartha whispers, and it’s all poison. “Always have. All you have to do is say the words.”

“S-shut up,” Kione snaps violently. She can’t handle this Sartha. Not even for a moment.

Sartha’s smile widens still further, but there is absolutely no joy in it. “You know how you could make me shut up?”

“Fuck!” Kione flinches away from her, aghast.

She was right the first time. This is addiction. But still, she hadn’t been prepared for this: for the withdrawal, for the addict who’ll say anything. It’s even more pitiable than the forlorn depression, but that doesn’t stop it getting under Kione’s skin.

Gods, Sartha. That handler. What did she do to you? How did she crawl this deep into your heart?

“Just give me what I need,” Sartha wheedles, advancing on her, not giving her an inch of space. “One more time, at least. Can’t you do that for me, Kione? Don’t you owe me that? Come on. Make it up to me.”

“No!”

“Why not? Why not just do it again?”

“B-because it was rape!” Kione’s been nursing that bitter truth for days. Saying it out loud is a perverse kind of release.

Until Sartha licks her lips to make them wet, then parts them as she looks up at Kione, eyes shining, breath coming in wet pants of deranged craving.

“Don’t you wanna rape me again?”

Kione lets out a wet grunt of pain. It sounds a little too much like a moan for her liking. She’s dizzy. She needs to get out of here. All the ultra-honed merc alarm bells in her head are ringing. This is dangerous. This is her own personal hell.

“You could.” Sartha seizes her advantage. “Any way you want. I made you feel good, right? You want me to fuck you again, Ki?”

Kione’s back is against the wall, and there’s nowhere else to go. Sartha is pressed all the way up against her. The broken hero’s body heat is another vector of attack. This close, Kione can see the burning fever in Sartha’s face. She looks crazed. Like she barely knows what she’s saying.

Only that it’s working.

“Or,” Sartha whispers. “You could fuck me instead. How about that, huh? You could finally have my body. All of it.”

Her voice is so breathy. Feminine, melodic, seductive. It’s so wrong for Sartha Thrace. But who could ever resist it? Not Kione, that’s for sure. It’s more than just dizziness that’s making her light-headed. She’s sick to her stomach, but there’s more to her appetite than just her stomach. To her utter horror, Kione realizes that she’s hard.

A moment later, Sartha notices too. That’s even more horrifying.

“It’s n-n-not…” Kione stammers pathetically. “I’m n-n-not…”

It’s not that she wants to fuck Sartha. That’s what Kione’s trying to say. It’s not about sex. It’s about attention. It’s the way that, right now, she is the focal point of Sartha Thrace’s existence. She has eyes for nobody else. It’s not Kione’s fault she’s completely, hopelessly intoxicated by the experience. How long has she admired Sartha? How often has she wished she could be that good? That strong? That principled and hopeful? All those good, earnest, honest yearnings are crucifying her now. That’s what Kione wants to say.

It’s kind of a lie, unfortunately. Cause she also really does want to fuck Sartha.

“Just say those three words for me,” Sartha promises, “and I’ll be all yours. You can make me anything you want. Anything you need.”

“N-n-nooo,” Kione whines.

“C’mon.” Sartha wheedles. She nestles her leg between Kione’s thighs and raises it so that it presses against her cock. That has Kione seeing stars. “Don’t you want me?”

“Yyyyes!” Kione cries. “Or… I m-m-mean…”

Now she’s admitted it, is there really any point pretending?

Yes. She wants it. Kione wants it so bad. Of course she does. She wants the dependence. She wants that moment when she felt herself reaching into Sartha’s broken head and playing with the pieces. She wants to be Sartha’s everything. She wants to be her god.

And Sartha wants it too. So what’s the problem?

All of a sudden, it’s on the tip of her tongue. Kione wants to say it. It would be so easy to say it. Everything after that would be so easy too. Maybe she could order Sartha to back off. Maybe she could use the words just to get some space to clear her head. Or maybe she and her hound would be swept up in each other until the morning, and morning is so far away. Not having to think and be strong until morning would feel amazing.

“O-Off… The…”

“Yes,” Sartha pants. “Gods, yes, Kione.”

She can sense Kione’s will breaking. In the face of her impending victory, her seductiveness evaporates. Once again, there’s nothing in her eyes but gnawing, bitter need. It makes Sartha look like a black hole into which you could pour everything, forever, without filling it. She starts tearing up, and they are the tears of someone finally approaching the end of their pain.

They reveal that, in the end, Sartha never actually wanted Kione. She just wanted to be nothing at all.

Kione brings both her hands to Sartha’s chest—and shoves her off. Sartha doesn’t resist. She seems stunned that Kione found the strength. In that instant she’s like a lost child, as she looks at the merc.

“Not like this,” Kione says. Her voice is ragged, but it's firm. It’s not that she doesn’t want Sartha. It’s just that if she says ‘yes’ to her now, she’ll never get from her what she truly wants. “Not like this.”

Then, all over the rebel base, alarms start blaring. And everything goes to shit.

***

It feels like it’s been an eternity, even though it’s just twenty minutes later that Kione is standing in the hangar bay on the boarding pier next to Theaboros, making the last few essential pre-launch checks—and watching, from a short distance away, as Sartha does the same with Ancyor.

To most people—to all the mechanics watching from the sidelines and saluting with stars in their eyes—it probably looks like she’s her old self again. Sartha Thrace, getting back in the saddle. Just where she always belonged. Kione can see different. She can see how Sartha’s hands are shaking. She can see the fear—the abject terror—in the hero’s eyes. After their sorry spectacle of a duel a few days before, she can see the painful truth.

Sartha can’t do this.

But she’s going to try, because they asked her to. Her comrades. The people she’s been fighting for all these years. Damn her, she always lets them ask too much of her.

Admittedly, it would have been hard to say ‘no’ to this one. As soon as the alarms started sounding, Kione went for her radio and found they were already calling for her—her and Sartha both. She was preposterously grateful for the interruption until she heard the sitrep:

An imperial recon force is sweeping the sector, and heading straight for the rebel base.

It’s far from unprecedented. Rebels and imperials play a constant cat-and-mouse game with one another, as the empire tries to ferret out rebel positions while the rebels try to keep them hidden. It’s the only way to wage an asymmetric war. Battles and fronts have to be chosen with care; the rest of the time, strength must be conserved and secret.

To that end, rebel fighters are skilled in the art of misdirection. They know just how to put together an ambush in a way that throws imperial hunters off the scent and leads them somewhere else entirely. This time, there’s just one problem.

Everybody is already sortied and out of range, lending assistance to a fight in a neighboring sector.

Plus, the imperial patrol is a lot beefier than usual. The scant few rebel pilots that remain to be deployed aren’t enough to head them off. Not without Sartha.

“I’ll do it,” Kione offered, when they asked. “Send me out. You know my fees. You know I’ll get it done.”

Put the money front and center. Can’t let them know how off-kilter she is. Can’t let them know how much she cares about keeping Sartha Thrace out of combat.

Unfortunately, they already had their wallets out. They want Kione out there. But they want Sartha too. Even then, they said, they’ll be outnumbered. Without Sartha to even the odds, there’s no way.

Kione grimaced when she heard that, and again when she checked the reports for herself and saw that it was probably true. All the same, when they turned to Sartha and told her that they were sorry it was so soon, but that they had no choice, Kione was shaking her head and mouthing ‘please’ behind their backs.

Sartha locked eyes with her, then turned to the base commander, saluted, and said: “You can count on me.”

So here they are, mounting up. Everyone in the hangar has eyes for Sartha Thrace. All the rebels are betting their hopes and dreams on her glorious return to the battlefield. Meanwhile, Kione is looking past the heroism, past even the shaking, fearful hands, and searching for a sign of the broken, needy, hollowed thing she encountered in her quarters just minutes before.

Fuck. This is going to be a disaster.

But since she can’t just say that out loud and expect anybody to listen, Kione remains miserably silent as Theaboros, Ancyor, and just two ramshackle rebel mechs shudder to life and file out of the hangar to march across the blasted landscape to war.

Single file, they follow the bed of a long-dried river that crests several nearby hills as it leads away from the rebel position. It’s the kind of thing few imperial map-makers take notice of; with luck, the scouts will be in the valley below and easy to take by surprise. Kione would love to take the skies and find them herself; Theaboros’s wings are back online, although she’s been warned to be careful with them. Smarter to simply follow the rebels, though. This is their terrain. They know it, and it knows them. Unlike Theaboros, all of their mechs are painted the exact color of the dust their feet are kicking up. They might look like heaps of junk, but they’re built smart.

All machines, someone familiar. says over the radio, head’s up. We’re closing on their last known position. I’m running command and comms, so keep it clean and listen to me.

It shouldn’t make much difference given all the different kinds of hell Kione’s wading through, but for some reason, the little light-bulb moment of recognition she gets at the voice is enough to pierce through it all and, just for a moment, bring her actual, heartfelt joy.

“Radio girl!” she calls out, delighted.

There’s a derisive snort. Radio girl is trying to sound scornful but even over the crackling comm link, Kione can tell she’s smiling.

I have a name, you know, she retorts.

“Yeah?” Kione is smiling too. “Get us back to base in one piece, maybe I’ll think about learning it.”

That gets a laugh out of the rebel. That’s a win, in Kione’s book.

Is this where I tell you to buy me a drink instead? radio girl says. I guess at that point we could just call it even.

“No, no, no,” Kione tuts. “No drinks? Where’s the fun in that? Let’s get twice as drunk instead.”

She hears more laughter over the radio—then another voice. One Kione’s not familiar with. Another rebel pilot.

Merc, stop flirting! the other pilot snaps. Focus.

Not one who’s been introduced to Kione’s unique charms, then.

It’s one hell of a request. Where’s the fun in a scrap if you’re not flirting? Might as well join the empire, and have nothing to say besides ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’. But Kione’s willing to play nice and keep her mouth shut, given the circumstances. Maybe she can have her pleasure later, instead, if she wows miss wet blanket in combat and then tracks her down once they’re back at base.

Kione blinks. It’s been weeks since she’s had a thought like that. Piloting Theaboros against the imperials is starting to make her feel like her usual self again. She can’t believe how good the idea of spending a night all wrapped up in someone who isn’t Sartha sounds.

I see them!

Radio girl’s not flirting now. She’s all business, and so is Kione. A few more steps and Kione sees them too. Almost two dozen black shapes passing in several columns, no more than two hundred feet down the hillside. The rebels are in perfect ambush position, but even so—four perfect shots and four perfect kills would still leave them outnumbered more than two to one.

And that’s assuming Sartha does her part. Kione casts a glance back at Ancyor. During their march, she hasn’t said a single word.

Everybody get in cover and pick your targets. Before they leave our kill zone. Get ready. On my mark.

Kione obeys silently. This is no time for her smart mouth. She unholsters Theaboros’s rifle and levels it carefully at her chosen target. A short distance away, Sartha does the same. That’s good. At least she’s present enough for that. Maybe they’re not totally doomed.

They wait, and the wait is murder. The imperials inch closer and closer at a lazy pace until they’re passing the closest point their path will take them to the rebel ambush. Their reactor signatures should be well-shielded by the terrain, but at this distance all it would take is for one of those idiots to look up. It occurs to Kione to quickly pray that each member of their impromptu squad is aiming at a different hostile. It’s always truly, comically grim when that part of an ambush goes wrong.

Now! Fire!

At radio girl’s word, the rebel squad opens up. The ripping roar of two large autocannons tears open the air and fills the valley beneath with smoke and, a moment later, the crack of Ancyor’s jezzail is punctuated by the crash of its victim collapsing to the ground, disabled. That gun might be Sartha’s sole concession to long-range combat, but it would be a mistake to assume she doesn’t know how to use it. Even now, it seems.

Kione is the only one who isn’t shooting yet. Oh, she’s pulled the trigger. Her weapon just takes a moment to actuate. In the cockpit, Kione feels her entire mech thrum as Theaboros’s reactor spins up, juicing the long, unwieldy rifle in its hands with antimatter. Turns out, that stuff is good for more than just floating. Turns out, controlled micro-annihilations play ungodly havoc with magnetic fields, and with enough charge and the right design—concentric rings firing in sequence around the barrel—you can accelerate a heavy, solid, ferrous slug to sanity-defying speeds until it pierces straight through the core of the first target it hits, comes out the other side, and lodges in the cockpit of the second.

A railgun.

While Theaboros opens all its external vents and literally lets off steam, Kione smirks. Two-in-one. Now that’s a shot. Maybe she should raise her fees again.

Her smirk fades when even as five of them fall, the rest of the imperial patrol pulls together and begins to return fire with alarming alacrity.

Imperial pilots are invariably unimaginative, but they sometimes prove annoyingly professional. These ones have been drilled well. They shift rapidly into a defensive formation and take what cover they can, and soon enough the sounds of their guns utterly drowns out all of the rebel weaponry combined. Most of them are Dorus, and Kione’s never had trouble putting those down, but there’s a newer model with them too. A Xiphos, according to Theaboros’s targeting data. It opens up with more than just gunfire; a large, shoulder-mounted mortar fills the air with deadly hail that threatens to blast the rebel cover apart, leaving them all exposed.

Uh-oh.

It’s not the lethality of their firepower that keeps Kione and the others hopelessly pinned down. It’s certainly not the accuracy either. It’s the sheer volume. Kione is forced to huddle against the bank of the dried river, and the constant whipping and screaming of shells above her head leave her no opportunities to line up a shot. Trying to withstand it for even a moment would be a death sentence.

When you boil it right down, a mech is a giant tin can with a little squishy grape inside. Kione knows you don’t need to punch holes in the can to pop the grape. Rattle it around enough, and you’ll be left with nothing but pulp. Keep whaling on it, and little shards will shear off and start flying around the inside like bullets. Spalling. Bad way to go. Whale on it with something that goes bang, and you can propagate an internal pressure wave that makes the grape implode. Worse way to go.

Kione doesn’t fuck with small arms fire. Armor is a last resort.

That’s why—as usual, when things get rough—Kione is thinking about bolting. It would be so easy this time. All she has to do is turn around and fly away. They’d never catch her.

Giving radio girl mixed signals really would suck, though. And Kione can’t leave Sartha behind, of course. Especially not now.

While she’s fighting to formulate some kind of plan, the rebel who snapped at Kione for flirting gets impatient. Bad move, but easy to do when you’re sitting in a ditch getting shot at. She stands up, ready to shoot, ready to lead the charge, roaring defiance over the radio. Moments later, her mech’s torso is simply gone. The legs are left to topple over like dominoes.

Well, shit.

Kione grits her teeth. The odds are awful and getting worse. Sitting tight isn’t going to help. But the thing is, Kione knows she and Sartha have been through worse. As bad as it is, they can do this.

All they need is a hero.

Kione looks over at Ancyor. Oh no. Sartha isn’t even trying to shoot back.

But she wouldn’t leave Kione out to dry. Would she? When Kione truly needs her, she’ll rise to the occasion. The mercenary is sure of it. Which means all she has to do is force the issue.

“Sartha!” Kione yells down the radio. “Remember Pathyris? Let’s go!”

Before Sartha can tell her not to, Kione guns Theaboros’s flight system and rockets up into the sky.

It’s one of those dumb moves that anybody would tell any rookie pilot to never ever do, no matter how much of a hot-shot they think they are. Never. Be. The. Distraction. The thing is, though, Kione’s beloved Theaboros makes for a truly excellent distraction. The sight of it floating into the sky, all six wings extended and shimmering with anti-matter, will catch anybody’s attention. It makes her target number one, but it always takes Kione’s enemies a moment to adjust their aim. Even once they start shooting in the right direction, Theaboros is maneuverable enough that, if she really needs to, Kione can spend a little time dancing with bullets.

All in all, you couldn’t ask for a better ploy to let Ancyor break cover, charge straight at the imperial lines, and get stuck in right where it belongs.

It works—but only because they’re both really that good, and only because they both really, truly trust each other. Kione trusts Sartha not to keep her waiting, and to put the bad guys down before they can land a solid hit. Sartha trusts Kione to take the flak and be her eyes in the sky, and to use her railgun to blow apart anyone who threatens to put holes in Ancyor.

It’s the kind of tactic nobody would ever teach. Kione and Sartha have honed it over and over, fighting back-to-back against long odds. It’s something only they can do. It is their bond made manifest.

And Sartha isn’t moving.

Kione spares a precious millisecond to switch over to a private comms line. “Thrace!” she cries. “I’ve got you covered. Get in there. We need you.”

All she hears coming over the radio is sobbing.

I can’t do it, Kione.

Sartha’s letting her down. Again. And now they’re all gonna die.

“Sartha!” Kione screams. The shots are getting real close now. She doesn’t have much longer. “Yes, you can! You can do this! Please!”

Even now, even after everything, Kione can’t shake the deep-seated conviction that, at any moment, her hero is going to spring into life and save her. But it’s beginning to dawn on her that she won’t. She really won’t. Sartha isn’t a hero. Not anymore. She’s just scared and helpless, and nothing Kione sobs or begs or yells will change that.

Except one thing.

Kione doesn’t want to say it. She really doesn’t, even now. But she’s realizing that all her guilt and reservations, all that effort spent saying ‘no’ to Sartha, in her quarters—it was all for nothing. All her pleas were wasted breath. It’s a little embarrassing it took her this long to figure it out. Sartha would never come begging to Kione’s quarters and Sartha would never let Kione die like this, and so Sartha is gone. Dead. All Kione rescued on that bridge was a husk. A shell. Nothing more.

But Kione still cares about the husk. And more to the point, a husk has its uses. That imperial handler clearly knew as much. Now Kione’s learning the same lesson. And she will make use of the husk of Sartha Thrace, oh yes. With the right leverage, she’ll be everybody’s hero once more. She’ll be the shining star all those rebel mechanics need to see. And she’ll get Kione and radio girl out of this mess in one piece. Kione will make sure that happens.

Whatever it takes.

“Sartha,” she says into the radio, and the certain knowledge that this will work makes her voice calm and firm. “Off The Leash.”

The sound of growling and slavering is what lets her know that she’s going to be OK. Isn’t that funny? It’s not the dashing, cool, brave Sartha Thrace that saves her.

It’s the faithful, brainwashed, obedient Hound.

She doesn’t need to be told what to do. She’s a good dog. Already, she’s breaking cover and sprinting at the enemy. All Sartha’s hesitation is gone, replaced by a fathomless rage that these prey-things dare to try and hurt Kione. Kione can sense the current of her thoughts. They’re seductive. Kione feels herself pulled into that same feral, violent mindset.

And why fight it? Now that they have Ancyor barreling toward them, the imperial mechs are starting to step back and split their fire. The pressure is receding. In its wake, in the sky, Kione is supreme. Beneath her, the imperials look like ants. Ancyor takes enough pressure off that Kione can take aim with her railgun and turn another one of them into a cored, melting heap.

It’s that Xiphos. Kione starts laughing. New model? It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t they know? Kione has Sartha Thrace in the palm of her hand. She can do anything. She’s a goddess.

All it took was using those three little words.

Why did she waste so much time fighting it?

It feels amazing. The ego trip is unbelievable. Wielding Sartha like the greatest weapon ever forged feels so good. Even the dependency feels good. Kione loves that Sartha needed her to do this. That’s real power. It’s more power than all her merc money ever earned her. Now all she wants to do is ride it out. She wants more.

Is this how the imperial handler who brainwashed Sartha gets to feel all the time? She’s been in Kione’s dreams ever since she saw the recording, in her black leathers and with her sharp, icy gaze. She seemed, even in that brief glimpse, more than human. Perhaps Kione is starting to understand why.

And she yearns to revel in this moment of apotheosis.

“Sartha,” Kione laughs into her radio. “Kill for me.”

Hound whooping with glee and snapping her jaws is all the answer Kione needs.

Split, disorganized fire isn’t even close to enough to put a beast like Ancyor down. Once Hound makes it into melee combat, the fight doesn’t last long. She has all of Sartha’s skill, and Sartha is a legend for a reason. Dorus have basic CQC capabilities, but those do nothing at all to keep them from being ripped apart by Ancyor’s hulking limbs as the hellhound of a mech ducks, weaves and leaps through their fields of fire without taking a scratch. A predatory spider amongst the ants. It’s only moments before their squad cohesion collapses, and after that, it’s just a matter of picking off stragglers. Hound gets most of them. Kione takes out a few, as the mood takes her. Even radio girl manages a couple. She’s still alive, and a better pilot than Kione has been giving her credit for.

And then the imperials are all dead. It’s over.

All it took was letting Sartha off the leash.

The elation of turning defeat into victory washes away the regrets Kione might have had. This is good, she sees. This feels too good to be wrong. It’s saved them, and isn’t that a message? Now Kione is sure. The Sartha Thrace that was cowering uselessly in that ditch doesn’t deserve Kione’s anguished scruples. The Sartha Thrace that was begging for oblivion back in her quarters doesn’t want them, and will never appreciate them. It was all pointless.

Kione gets it now. Sartha Thrace needs a handler.

It’s time for her to step up. Duh.

—

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