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honorarysimp · 3 months ago

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Chapter 4: Strangers in the Night

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The Northern Edge: 1 Mile into Canadian Waters

The salty breeze of the sea blew over the deck of the sea-worn vessel, carrying with it the smell of salt water, fish, and hard labor.

The crew of the sea-vessel scurry about the deck, hauling ropes and supplies, calling to eachother as the ship rocks on the choppy waters of the open sea.

The waves splashed against the sides of the boat, spraying the salty water on the crew, causing a few of them to swear and grumble as they were spattered.

The crew haul up another load of scallops, the net on the end of the rope heaving as it was pulled up. Once the scallop-filled net was on the deck, Nunes rushes over to pull the release lever, dropping its load of scallops across the deck.

Shells covered the wooden deck in a sea of white foam, Skeemo cursing as he accidentally stumbles and kicks shells across the deck with his boots.

“I don’t know guys, I think she really likes me” Charlie continues to argue his case, tugging his gloves more securely on to his hands as the other two men begin shoveling the scallops into buckets.

“You’re delusional, my friend, black label doesn’t like anyone in the way you’re dreaming up” Skeemo says as he shoots Charlie a smirk, which he only rolls his eyes to in response as he joins them on scooping up the scallops off the deck floor.

“You’re better off focusing on choosing between law school and being a deckhand, Charlie” Costa can be heard chiming in as he crosses the deck to head into the Captain’s quarters, most likely to rejoin Tom in discussing their next spot to hit.

“What? You don’t think I have a chance?”

“You have to be lucky to have a chance with Mabel, that’s all I’m gonna say” Nunes adds in which only makes Skeemo bellow with laughter, sharing a fist bump like they have an inside joke Charlie is clearly missing.

He straightens up, a confused boyish smile on his face, “I don’t know I think I’m lucky, I mean she drove like a goddamn NASCAR driver to get me to the dock in time”.

“Finest kind” Nunes shouts in agreement, thumping his fist to his chest and pointing it over at Charlie, making his smile widen.

Skeemo shrugs, “look all we’re saying is you’re gonna get in a lot of trouble with that, Mabel is as good as they come but…”

Nunes gives him a look, subtly shaking his head. Charlie catches this and almost asks what it is they know and he doesn’t.

But then Tom is yelling from the Captain’s quarters, telling them to get a move on, how they don’t have all day.

The crew rushes to finish clearing the deck of scallop shells as quickly as possible, kicking the shells to the side of the ship and tossing the rotten ones overboard. They work with practiced efficiency, moving quickly to clear the deck and readying the net for another drop.

As they go about working, Charlie finds himself thinking over the conversation with the guys, and how their choice of words as well as their aloofness to the situation made him feel some type of way.

Charlie didn’t know it then, but lucky won’t be a stroke of fate in his favor, it would be a person.

____________________________________________

Despite knowing you should just leave it be, you find yourself on your way to Mabel’s place, a need to apologize burning deep in your chest.

You’d tossed and turned all night, your mind replaying your last conversation with Mabel over and over again. The words left unsaid, the tension between you, all of it swims through your head and keeping you restlessly wired.

That, and you couldn’t get comfortable, it’s like trying to lay with pins and needles. Everything fucking hurts.

The words and the tension between you two keep replaying in your head like a broken record, keeping you from finding any sort of peace.

It's early morning now and you find yourself on your way to her place, driven by a need to apologize, to bridge the gap that has grown between you. Lack of sleep isn't the only thing you blame for this unexpected visit - there's a heavy guilt gnawing at you.

You have no problem admitting on your own when you’re in the wrong, however, you do tend to do the exact opposite whenever you’re being called out.

You pull up outside her place, your heart pounding in your chest. A whirlwind of emotions threatens to drown you - guilt, regret, worry. You know deep down that you shouldn't be here this early, that she will definitely be angry with you for showing up unannounced at the crack of dawn. But the pull to see her, to apologize, to fix things, is stronger than your logical thinking.

Just as you cut the engine, your heart sinks as you hear the front door slams against the wall, the sound jolting you from your thoughts and pulling your gaze.

And then your stomach drops as you realize it’s Charlie, his expression twisted and his eyes rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept at all. His gaze then finds your car, and in that moment all thoughts of apologizing to Mabel vanish, replaced by a deep sense of dread.

“Shit” you mutter, tugging at the doorhandle and being quick about slipping out of the vehicle. You’d rather him take it out on you than your car.

You walk around the hood of your car, raising your hands in an attempt to calm him. "Charlie," you call out, your heart pounding in your chest “come on man take it easy we can talk about whatever this is-“

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER! This is YOUR fault!” he roars, now barreling towards you with vendetta.

A second later, you spot Mabel bursting out of her apartment, her face filled with confusion and worry at the sound of shouting. She stops at the sight of the two of you, her eyes darting between you and Charlie.

Just as Charlie swings at you, Mabel yells "Charlie, stop!", her voice echoes through the early morning air, laced with concern and a hint of anger.

Even busted up, you manage to sidestep his punch effortlessly, years of experience kicking in. You grab his arm and twist it behind his back, pinning him face down against the hood of your car with a firm grip.

You lean in close to him, your voice firm but calm as you say, "Charlie, I need you to chill the fuck out. I'm not trying to hurt you, but don’t think I won’t." You keep him in place, your grip unyielding despite his attempts to break free.

“LET ME GO, YOU PSYCHO!” You can feel the tension coursing through his body, the coiled energy of a fight or flight response, but you remain calm, your attention focused on keeping him still.

Mabel steps in, her voice raised in anger as she roughly pulls you away from Charlie. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" she scolds, pushing you back, eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and disappointment. "You're attracting attention and acting like idiots!"

As you're pulled away from Charlie, he instantly stands upright, rubbing at his twisted arm with a sullen expression. He pins you with a glare over Mabel’s shoulder, and it makes something that taunts the line between possessive and protective stir within you.

You start to open your mouth to protest that he started it but Mabel cuts you off before you can say anything. “I don’t care what bullshit you have to say!” she says, her voice raised and authoritative. “I don’t care who threw the first punch. You’re both acting like fucking idiots right now! Why are you even here, in the first place?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch in your throat. You weren't expecting this confrontation, and the intensity of her questions has you uncharacteristically taken aback. "I..." you start, searching for the right words as you wet your lips.

"I came here to talk to you."

Charlie can't help but scoff in disbelief, throwing his arms up in the air and shaking his head at you. "This is exactly what I was talking about, Mabel!" he exclaims, his voice sharp and angry. "Lucky just shows up at your place, like it's not a big deal! This asshole is playing you, and you just eat it up!"

You feel a pang of confusion and a small sting of hurt at Charlie's words. You had come here with the best intentions, but his anger and suspicion make you feel like maybe you've made a mistake.

Mabel on the other hand, whirls on Charlie and snaps at him, her voice filled with anger. "I meant it when I said this conversation is over! So fucking drop it" she says firmly.

Charlie starts to protest again, his voice loud and agitated. "You're my girlfriend! How you’re going about this is deflective and complete bullshit-" he insists, his face reddening with anger.

But Mabel cuts him off with a mirthless laugh, her eyes narrowing as she retorts, "Since when? You haven't exactly been acting like it lately, have you?"

Mabel steps closer to him, her voice rising as her pent-up emotions finally boil over. "You haven't been supportive of me wanting to go to community college, or did you forget about that in the midst of your self righteous quest to be the hero?!" she lists out, her voice growing more heated as she continues.

"This actually your fault, you know that right? I did YOU a favor, put myself in a compromising position. Now I’m fucked, I was gonna go to community college. Jesus, Charlie, you’re barely present in the conversations when I’m trying to talk to you about it!”

Charlie throws his hands up in frustration, his own emotions finally bubbling over. "I don't know what you want!" he explodes, his voice rising.

“What do you expect me to say, huh? Look where you come from and look where I come from, I don’t know what you want me to say to you! I have no place to do that!”

Mabel looks at him in disbelief, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. "The point isn't about giving me exactly what I want," she says firmly, stepping back and pinning Charlie with a steely gaze.

"The point is about you showing that you care, that you care about my dreams and ambitions. And clearly" she continues, her words stinging, "you don't."

You glance anxiously back and forth between Mabel and Charlie, feeling increasingly out of place as their argument continues. It's clear that their conversation is spiraling, with Charlie saying all the wrong things and Mabel's frustration and anger growing by the minute.

In your defense, you hadn't intended to witness this blowup. Charlie had brought their argument outside and kept on pushing all the wrong buttons.

You know Mabel can handle her own, but if he doesn’t check it, you’ll easily knock his teeth down his throat.

“I do care-“Charlie begins to protest, but Mabel cuts him off before he can say more, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Oh, you care? Really?" she retorts. "How exactly have you shown me that you care? Because from where I'm standing, you’ve been no where when I’ve needed you the last few days".

You step up, interjecting into their argument with a tentative murmur of her name, trying to defend Charlie. "Mabel," you murmur, feeling a pang of empathy for Charlie, despite your… reservations about him "don’t-"

Mabel pivots her attention to you, her anger now directed your way. She punctuates her words with a warning jab of her finger in your direction, her voice sharp and biting. "Stay the fuck out of this," she snaps, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. "This has nothing to do with you-"

Charlie cuts in abruptly, his attention shifting to you as he points at you, his tone accusatory. "It has everything to do with Lucky! What's with you always being there whenever something bad happens to her, huh?!” he accuses, his voice laced with suspicion. "You always happen to show up and play the hero, don't you? You’re fake as shit, I mean Lucky isn’t even your real name, does anyone know it?!-“

Wow, okay, so much for trying to defend him. This is why you’re never the bigger person.

Mabel pushes against Charlie's chest, her frustration and anger causing her to lose control. Her voice is a mixture of anger and desperation as she snaps at him, her words laced with a mix of hurt and anger.

"Lucky is the only person I've ever been able to count on! My whole life!" she exclaims, her voice rising on each word. "You're always late, or you blow me off, or you make me feel like my dreams don't even matter. But-" she gestures towards you, something a bit softer involuntarily slipping into her gaze.

"-Y/N has always been here for me, before you, and now clearly after you”.

It’s been so long since anyone has referred to you by your legal name, rather than the nickname you chose to start going by back in your adolescence. And the fact that it’s coming from her mouth makes it all the more meaningful.

The revelation lingers in the air for a charged few seconds, and as Charlie glances between the two of you with an unreadable expression. It’s almost like he knows he’ll never be able to compare to the history you two share.

Still, Charlie retorts, his voice strained with stress and responsibility as he defends his actions. "I have my brother to think about," he says, his expression earnest. "I'm doing everything I can to keep us both safe. You have no idea what I'm dealing with”.

The silence that follows his words is heavy and deafening, hanging in the air like a thick veil.

You and Mabel exchange a knowing look, both of you thinking the same thing. His excuse, no matter how genuine his feelings for his brother are, comes off as selfish and self-centered. It's as if he's using his brother as a shield to deflect criticism and avoid taking responsibility.

And considering the situation, where you stand, the danger you’ve put yourself in for her safety, this seems to be chipping the headstone of whatever is going on between Charlie and Mabel. Because as her face shifts to something venomous, a look you’ve had directed at you once before, you know he’s fucked.

Mabel's tone is cold and unforgiving as she utters her biting words, her voice laced with a biting sarcasm. "Unbelievable," she says, her eyes hardening as she looks at Charlie. "I should've known an entitled, rich jackass like you would be this selfish. Honestly, I called it. What a waste of my time."

The moment hangs heavy in the air, thick with tension and raw emotions. The slowly rising sun, its soft light bathing the scene in an early-morning glow, seems to do little to soften the heated confrontation. Mabel and Charlie stand facing each other, engaged in a tense standoff, each unwilling to back down or concede.

So, you take it upon yourself to try and help.

In an attempt to diffuse the tension, your arms raised in a mockingly serious gesture as you glance up at the sky.

"Excuse me, oh wise clouds above," you declaim, "is the elephant in the room with us tonight?" Your words hang in the air, the sarcastic question adding a touch of levity to the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

Mabel shoots you a sharp glare, clearly not amused by your attempt at injecting some humor into the situation. "I want you both to leave, I can’t think with all the bitching" she instructs firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. Without another word, she turns and heads towards the stairs leading up to her place, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her anger and frustration.

The tension between you and Charlie is palpable, neither of you willing to meet each other's gaze. The silence is thick with unspoken words and lingering resentment. After a few moments, Charlie breaks the stillness, his movements stiff and tense as he turns and walks away without a glance back.

The sound of a truck starting up fills the clearing, tires pushing along pavement fades into the distance, leaving you standing alone in the heavy atmosphere.

You turn towards your car, preparing to follow Mabel's demands and leave. But then you pause, your hand on the door handle, torn. There's something nagging at you, an itch you can't quite scratch.

Your mind begins to race, thoughts flickering through your mind like a slideshow of memories. You think back on all the other times Mabel has told you to leave, the heated arguments, the strained moments, the harsh words exchanged. The weight of each memory hits you like a punch to the gut.

The thought of Mabel being alone, feeling isolated and abandoned, cuts through your thoughts. You know her better than that. You can picture her up in her apartment now, still angry and upset, struggling to cope with the fallout of her fight with Charlie.

This realization hits you like a wave, and with it comes a second realization that you shouldn’t have listened to her when she told you to leave.

Not now, not a year ago, never again.

Against your better judgement, you let go of the door handle, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. You take a deep breath and turn away from your car, facing the stairs leading up to Mabel's apartment.

It's a risky move, going against her wishes and potentially angering her even further. But the thought of leaving her alone, hurting and vulnerable, doesn't sit right with you.

This time, you'll stay, despite the potential consequences.

Personal growth? Perhaps. Or maybe you’re just done using her chasing you off as an excuse for not fighting hard enough for her.

You don't even knock. It's an unspoken agreement between you, your oldest routine. She never knocks either, because a door means nothing when a person is your home.

So, you open the door without making a sound, gently pushing it open and stepping into Mabel's apartment.

You step around the changing divider, your footsteps almost inaudible on the rug. Mabel glances in your direction, noticing movement from the corner of her eye. She pivots quickly, turning her head to look at you with a mix of surprise, anger, and resignation.

The atmosphere is heavy with unspoken emotions, a thick tension hanging in the air. Frustration, hurt, anger - they all churn within you, blending together in a bittersweet cocktail of feelings. Both of you are aware of the lack of communication that has led to this point. So many moments left unexplained, all the opportunities wasted.

It's a familiar dance. One you've both participated in before, each one taking turns in the lead. The silence between you is deafening.

Mabel surges forward, her anger and frustration bubbling over. She tries to push at you, her movements weakened by the maelstrom of emotions raging inside of her.

The words she means to muster up, words meant to tell you to leave, lodge in her throat, unable to escape. Instead, they come out as a strangled sob.

You catch her wrists as she lashes out at you, holding them firmly but gently. Wordlessly and without a second thought, you pull her into a tight embrace, feeling her body relax and sink into your arms.

For the first time in over a year, Mabel crumbles, her emotional walls finally crumbling as the weight of the past week crashes down on her. Her body trembles as she muffles her sobs into your chest, letting go and surrendering to the overwhelming emotions.

The feeling of holding her is both familiar and new at the same time. Your heart aches for her, each muffled shudder feeling like a stab to your chest.

But you swallow your own emotions, smothering them in order to be there for her in this moment. Your grip is firm, reassuring, even though your own eyes sting with unshed tears.

Mabel suddenly pulls away, sniffling and wiping at her eyes, trying to compose herself. Her voice is soft, a mix of irritation and vulnerability as she utters the question, "God, why do you always do this?"

The question hangs heavily in the air, loaded with the complexities of your relationship.

You stand there, stunned, your confusion evident on your face. You utter a soft and puzzled, "I don't understand."

The words betray your own emotions - confusion, hurt, guilt - all swirling together in a chaotic storm within you.

Mabel stands with her back to you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest in a defensive, closed-off stance. She gnaws nervously on her thumbnail, a nervous habit that surfaces in moments of stress.

After taking a shaky breath, she answers, her tone defensive. "You always show up, even now a year later, even after what happened" Mabel says tremulously.

"Whenever I'm upset, whenever I'm hurt, you're always there. You always show up when it matters, and you're always so fucking good to me in those moments," she adds, her voice catching. "And it just... it pisses me off, you know? You piss me off."

You listen as Mabel speaks, her back still turned to you. The mix of emotions in her voice is palpable, each word she says is laced with pain and confusion, a complex maelstrom of feelings that reflect the history between you two. You listen in silence, absorbing everything she says, feeling the weight of it in your chest.

She continues, her voice a mix of anger and hurt, "You’ve always had to be the one to save the day. What's your deal, huh? Why can't you just leave me alone? Why do you always have to do this?"

As you step forward, shaking your head, you utter a pleading, "don't do this."

But Mabel's emotions are already boiling over, and your words seem to only stoke the fire, rather than quell it.

She turns to face you, her eyes blazing with an intensity that matches the whirlwind inside of her.

"You know what, let’s fucking do this, it’s long overdue!" she practically snarls back, her voice sharp and defiant.

The flashback hits you forcefully, transporting you back to a time when similar words were exchanged, when the same argument erupted between you.

Your anger flares in your chest, mirroring the intensity of that moment in the past. You straighten up, challenging her with your own declaration, "fine! You wanna do this now? Wanna let it out on me again? Go ahead! It's about time!"

Mabel surges forward, her frustration flaring as she pushes at you with surprising force. You feel this one, body still aching from the other day, but you bite your tongue and swallow it down.

The last thing you need is to let her see you weak, or make her feel worse than she already does.

Her voice is sharp and filled with accusiation as she demands, "why didn't you tell me the truth about Weeks?"

You push her hands away, your own voice taut with frustration. "You already know the answer to that," you retort, your own emotions bubbling to the surface "I already told you why."

Mabel steps forward to push you again, only this time you step back, the motion forgotten as her voice rises, "in the four years we’ve known each other you never once told me, so don’t give me that same bullshit excuse about how you were ashamed." The hurt and betrayal in her tone is palpable, reflecting the weight of the secret you carried.

“I am ashamed, why the fuck do you think I stopped running with him after everything that happened?!” You retort back, running your fingers through your hair.

“You still had every opportunity to tell me, and you didn’t! I had to find out FROM HIM!”

Tears stream down Mabel's cheeks, raw and exposed. The disappointment in her eyes cuts deep as she shakes her head at you.

"I hate you," she whispers, her voice thick with hurt, "because you made me fall for you, knowing what you knew, along with the fact Weeks is the reason my mom got into drug dealing. Which you also conveniently forgot to mention”.

The anger roars to life inside of you as you throw your hands up and ask pointedly, "so is that why you ratted me out to him? To get even? Even after I torched his stash? I only did that because of your vendetta against him!"

Mabel points a threatening finger at you, "I never asked you to do that for me," she snaps, her words heavy with anger and guilt. "Even now after all this time, do you really still think I set you up? That I wanted to watch him beat the shit out of you?!"

“I don’t know what to think, you cut me out and disappeared before I could make you talk to me! I only know what he told me, he’s family Mabel-“

Your protest is cut off abruptly as Mabel's voice cuts through the air, her words filled with pain. "Yeah, well, I'm your family too!" she says, her voice rising in volume. "And the truth is, I didn't have a choice! My hands were tied!"

Your voice rises to a near shout as you insist, "everyone has a choice!”

But before you can continue your protests, Mabel drops a revelation that cuts through your need to be heard.

"He threatened me," she utters in a shaky voice, "if I ever told you the truth."

The anger that flared within you simmers down into a state of confusion. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as a moment of silence descends upon you both, the weight of her confession hanging in the air.

There's a visible shift in Mabel's demeanor as the initial acrimony of the argument begins to subside. The fire in her eyes dulls slightly, replaced by a flicker of regret.

It's as if the impact of her words in the heat of the moment is starting to sink in, and she begins to feel the weight of the things she said.

You take a step forward, your face contorted from the tangle of emotions inside you. Your voice is quieter now, the anger softening into a mixture of hurt and a need to understand. "Mabel," you murmur, voice strained, "what truth?”

Mabel hesitates, her head shaking in a reflexive defensive motion. She tries to turn away, her body angling away from you. But you reach out, catching her arm gently, your touch light but firm, silently insisting for her to face you and tell you the truth.

Your eyes meet, and that's the moment when Mabel's defenses crumble. The weight of the secret she's been carrying for the past year comes crashing down as she finally utters the confession. "I told my mom," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt and pain. "I told her what you did and… she sold you out to Weeks”.

Mabel continues, her voice shaky and her eyes filled with a mix of emotions. She wets her lips, her mouth working nervously as she struggles to get the words out.

"I... wanted to get back at her, have her know the drugs she cares about more than her kids was gone" she confesses, her voice laced with a strange blend of guilt and bitterness.

"For everything she put me through, for the years of pain and neglect. It was a moment of weakness, the words just came out on impulse. I didn’t think it would spiral out of control like it did."

Mabel's eyes harden as they meet yours, a cold expression settling on her face. Her voice takes on a matter-of-fact tone as she continues. "Weeks found me the day before he confronted you," she says, her words cool and detached. "He threatened me, told me if I wanted my ‘bitch of a mother’ to still have his business then I needed to keep my mouth shut, and if I didn’t…”

Your stomach twists as the gravity of her confession sinks in, the hurt and betrayal from that day welling up inside of you once again. But this time, a hint of understanding begins to surface, a piece of the shattered puzzle slotting into place.

Even with the truth now laid bare in front of you, your mind races with question after question.

But the only coherent words that escape your lips are simple: "Why? Why didn't you tell me?" your voice cracks, a mixture of hurt, confusion, and desperation.

Mabel's frustration flares as she pulls away from your grasp, her voice sharpening. "Because you think you're invincible," she retorts, words laced with anger yet again.

"He knows I'm the one thing that makes you weak. That's why I couldn't tell you, because you would have barreled in, with no care for your safety, and gotten yourself killed”.

The words cut deep, like a sharp jab to your chest. Your own emotions rise to the surface, and you snap back, raw with hurt and betrayal.

“So you just clocked out and chose money over us? Over me?!" The disbelief in your voice is mirrored by the hurt in your eyes, the reality of her choice ripping through you once again.

Mabel throws her hands up, “it was never about the money!" she asserts, her voice sharp with emotion.

"I don't want to be the one who’s in love with you when you inevitably get yourself killed!" the words escape her lips in a pain-filled outburst, and the way she freezes right after only tells you it was an admission she didn’t mean to confess.

The tension in the room evaporates suddenly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. You and Mabel stand there, facing each other, the weight of the truth now laid bare between you.

The air is dense with the enormity of everything that had gone unsaid for so long, all of it sitting wide like a gaping reopen wound.

Mabel's voice is soft and raw as she speaks, her words heavy with pain and weariness. "I can't keep doing this, with you," she says, her voice trembling just slightly. "I can't keep worrying about you, knowing that one wrong move could get you killed. I can't keep reliving the fear every time I think you're in danger."

Your jaw tightens, your gaze fixed on the floor as you mutter softly, the words a quiet confession filled with determination. "I can defy him and screw him over, Mabel, but… I can't abandon him after everything he’s done for me."

You’ve felt this weight for years now, heavy on your shoulders is obligation, loyalty, and a deeply ingrained sense of responsibility.

Your eyes meet Mabel's, and in that moment, you see the pain and hurt etched on her face.

Her voice is a broken whisper as she asks, "But you can abandon me, and that's okay?"

The question hang heavily in the air, a raw and vulnerable plea that cuts deep.

Your head shakes in vehement denial. The words are strained, a mixture of hurt and frustration twists your features as you retort, "I never abandoned you. You were the one who shut me out and told me to go".

Both of you stand there, the realization of your own shortcomings and those of the other dragging heavily on you.

However, with emotions running so high, it's clear that this conversation has reached a temporary stalemate.

Mabel turns away from you, her voice hoarse from all the shouting, uttering "just leave."

Her body language betraying hesitation, there's a hint of something in her voice that suggests she might not entirely mean it. There's a strained, reluctant look in her eyes, a flicker of conflict warring within her.

Which is exactly why she turned away from you, because she knows you’ll see it, you always see right through her eventually.

For the first time, you stand your ground, refusing to be pushed away. The hard part is over, the truth and lies laid out in full view. You're done letting her keep you at arm's length, done with the secrets that have torn you apart.

You’ve both made mistakes, even if they were with the right intentions.

With determination in your eyes, you decide that you won't let it continue, that you won't let the lies keep you apart any longer.

“No, not this time. We've spent too long dancing around each other, hiding behind lies and half-truths”.

Mabel glances back at you, her expression torn between surprise and a hint of stubborn resistance. But it's her eyes that speak volumes – there's a flicker of something there, a mixture of exasperation and something deeper, something more like hope.

She doesn't respond right away, the internal struggle playing out on her face.

Eventually, Mabel mutters something under her breath, finality in her voice.

"I guess you'll just have to stay then”.

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#mabel finestkind #mabel x y/n #mabel x reader #mabel x you

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powderblueblood · 7 months ago

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TEN — THE NEW FACE OF FAILURE

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summary: a surprise visitor shows up at nancy wheeler's house during your sleepover. eddie has a run-in with steve harrington and gets some hard-to-choke down news from a teacher. things with your newly released convict father seem to be going... eerily well. content warnings: does excessive yappin count. cussin! shitty dads! allusion to past physical abuse! drugs and smoking! heavy pettin! lovesick and scared about it edlacy! word count: 11.6k

Dear reader,

For the first time in forever, I have nothing smart to say. I mean, really. For the first time in forever, when things have reached a previously unprecedented crescendo of shit-hitting-fannery, when my life has truly shown every possible sign of being headed toward complete ruin, when it’s not just opposite day but bizarro world incarnate, I feel…

Good.

Because I’m looking at him.

And he’s looking back at me.

And Nancy Wheeler is yelling for him to get in the goddamned window.

Eddie Munson has no business standing outside the Wheeler’s garage with a fistful of pebbles, cautiously flicking them at a second story window, yet he is. The soft pelting noise had made your neck jerk up from where it craned over Nancy’s nails, painting them a springy green and go, “Do you hear that or is it my paranoia talking?”

See, when you woke up that morning, you knew you had two phone calls to make. Instead of using the traceable line of your house phone, you’d snatched a handful of quarters and booked it to the payphone at the edge of the lot. You’d almost stopped at the Munson trailer, tossing your own rocks at Eddie’s window, but thought better of it– there was always a chance that the newly exonerated (sort of) Ray Doevski would be peering through the blinds, taking a Rear Window affect to his newly instated house arrest.

Yeah. House arrest, and you were sure that the same crack had run concurrently through the minds of you and both your parents– we’d hardly call this a house. But Ray was ordered to stay put, and even had this nutty gadget tagged to his ankle, this new fangled monitor that they were just rolling out.

“Always on the cutting edge, aren’t you, Daddy?”

With shaking fingers, you thunked in Eddie’s number, which he’d scrawled inside the cover of a Flannery O’Connor short story collection you’d been carting around a couple of months ago. It was one of those days that came up every now and again, where you couldn’t quite keep the lid on feeling blue. The weight of everything came down on you in an avalanche, leaving you unable to throw your pithy remarks into conversation with him or with Ronnie like you usually would’ve. Pretty much silent, pretty much staring a hole through the middle distance. He grabbed the book from you in the library during free period, your free period which he wasn’t even in, and whispered, “Just in case that curse gets lifted and you get your voice back. I’m sure you’ve got, like, a laundry list of barbs you’ve been dying to unload on me all day.”

You remembered the way his eyes softened as he slid the book back to you, pressing his ringed hand against the cover for a couple seconds longer than he needed to.

“Or just… for anything, y’know. We can just talk. About nothing. If it helps.”

At the time, you fought the instinct to put your hand over his.

“Won’t Wayne care that I’m calling?” you’d crackled, voice weary from underuse.

Eddie shrugged. “Not if you pretend you’re Gareth.”

And that was exactly what you were hoping you wouldn’t have to do, shivering in your thin sweater as the dial tone to the Munson’s droned out. What if Wayne answered? What if you couldn’t rightfully approximate the voice of a balls-half-dropped freshman? What if he knew it was you, what would he do?

Well, you needn’t have worried, because you apparently had a future in impressions. You squeaked out something about being the aforementioned Emerson looking for Eddie (at this ungodly hour of the morning?), something about Hellfire.

“Gareth the Great! What’s the problem, the Arcane Brotherhood finally scoop your ass? Need me to come bust you from their tower? I told you, goin’ all Fear and Loathing in Luskan is gonna cost y–”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, it’s me,” you chattered, but even through the worry, a tiny smile pulled at your lips.

“Uh. Disregard everything I just said.” His voice had an early-morning static to it that you wanted to stay tuned into. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

“Hi… are you… shivering right now? Need me to come warm you up, because I’d be more than happy to cr–”

“Eddie, I’m at the payphone–”

“--what the hell are you doin’ out there?”

“--will you shut up so I can tell you? I don’t have a lot of time, so I need to cut right to the chase.”

“Sorry,” and this breathy little laugh runs through his voice that nearly knocks you clean out. God. What you wouldn’t give to hear that breathed into your ear instead of through some handset flaking rust. “Please, cut away.”

But, uh, yeah. That other thing.

“My father got out of prison some-fucking-how–”

“Wait, what? Like he esc–,” you listen as Eddie drops his voice to a hiss, “Like he escaped?!”

“Oh my god, let me finish! –but, psh, no. Ray Doevski is a man of manicured hand, alright, he’s not tunneling out of anywhere. It’s all apparently legally above board, but… he’s– he’s at home. He’s in the trailer… He’s there right now.”

The fear in your chest was beginning to make your breathing feel white hot, hard to get out. Walls closing in. Your dad is at home. He is in your trailer. He is there right now. Five minutes alone in your room, a flick of his eyes over your belongings, he’ll know everything– everything that you’ve done–

You didn’t even notice that your breaths were turning into low, panicked gasps until Eddie’s voice broke through the receiver again.

“Lace, stay put. I’m comin’ out there.”

“Eddie, no!” you barked down the phone, and a couple of birds scattered from the powerline overhead. Despite the fact that you were pretty sure collapsing into Eddie’s arms would have put a temporary stopper on the panic, you weren’t awarded such luxuries in this life. Figures. “I’ve got to get back to have some phony-ass breakfast with them in, like, now and you cannot be seen near me. Not here, okay?”

What Eddie crackled back with was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart chamber. It wasn’t a plea, or a demand. He simply said, brimming with a bright resolve, “Say the word and I’m there. Right next to you. Hear me?”

You had never heard anyone sound so sure about you before.

Well, Eddie’s valiance was rivaled only by Nancy Wheeler, who you phoned up next. Karen Wheeler answered in a chirpy voice that even sounded blonde, her voice pitching higher when you announced who was calling.

“Oh, Lacy! Of course. I’ll grab her for you, sweetie.” A little too goddamn knowing-sounding for your liking.

But Nancy was all firm edges, picking up on the tremble in your voice just like Eddie had. “Well, you’re coming over. Obviously. Pack a bag– we need to put in serious work for that Streak article you’re finishing, right? Might even be an all-nighter. I’ll order pizza.”

With your dad shackled to the trailer and your mom reluctant to leave his side, there wasn’t a whole lot they could do to prevent you from swanning off to the Wheeler residence. Had to stay true to your commitments, after all, something your dad constantly impressed upon you. But when you reminded him of this as you hitched your overnight bag over your shoulder, heading out to Nancy’s waiting car, he met you with a serene smile.

“Of course, honey. Do what you need to do.” No argument. No pushback. Not even a snide remark. That chilled you to the bone.

You attempted to distract yourself from… well, the whole meal of it, by allowing the Precious Moments-themed decor of the Wheeler household to wash over you. The house is warm and chintzy inside, with shoes piled up by the door and laundry overflowing in baskets. Nancy’s bedroom is just as achingly normal in tones of pink and cream, a sanctuary and a strangle between girlhood and growing up. She’d shyly batted a couple of stuffed animals away from the bed that had seen the throes of her and Steve Harrington. Her Tom Cruise poster hangs opposite a pinboard of college brochures. Barbara Holland’s memorial card on her mirror.

Guilt and innocence and upward mobility.

As you looked around, you thought about the photo strips from the mall of you and Tina and Cass and Carol, how they were stuffed away in a box somewhere. You made a mental note to tug Nancy into the next photobooth you both came across. And Ronnie, for that matter.

Nancy was kind about everything, of course, like she always is; she didn’t push for information about your dad’s surprise return, but you gave it pretty willingly as you cracked into her Cosmo and nail polish collection. Everything but the you and Eddie of it all… that juicy morsel you were saving until the witching hour struck, the customary time for girls to tell secrets at sleepovers.

But somebody always has to try and get the jump on you.

Which is how you and Nancy end up hanging out of her window, a beaming Eddie staring up at you from the pavement.

“What the hell is he doing down there?” Nancy hisses, her eyes panicked and flaring.

“I’m not entirely sure,” but even through the initial flash of panic, your voice has taken on this dreamy quality that makes Nancy roll her eyes–and rightfully so! “Munson, what say you? What the hell are you doing down there?”

“I–”

Nancy doesn’t even let him finish, just lets out an exasperated sigh and tells him, “Just– come up here, alright? I do not want to answer for what’s gonna happen if my dad catches you in the driveway!”

Without a second thought, Eddie makes to hoist himself into Nancy’s dinky bedroom window. He falls over the little seat in a jangle of silver and leather and hair and gleaming teeth– “Ow! Jesus!” “Eddie, shut. Up!” Nancy winces, you wince, but as Eddie rolls onto his back and clears the hair out of his eyes, you realize that fluttering in your stomach is not a fight or flight response.

He smiles up at you, all teeth and mischief. “Hi. Whatcha doin’?”

Oh, no.

You nudge him in the ribs with your foot, way too light for him to yelp like that. Nancy looks like she’s going to kick the shit out of him for real–and you too, maybe.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know about this?” she demands, turning on you. You notice that she’s still holding her fingers aloft, which you appreciate! No one seems to care about manicures as much as you do. It’s nice to finally be seen, for Chrissake.

“Like I’d bring the heat around your place, Nancy! Come on, currently in a precarious situation much?”

Hilarious to describe Eddie Munson as heat when he is, at best, a bull in Wheeler’s overstuffed china shop. Adorably so, you have to concede, watching him pick up a little porcelain figurine from her dresser.

Nancy’s not buying it.

“I plead the eternal fifth!” you exclaim, eyes wide and willing the laugh to stay out of your voice as Eddie peers around Nancy’s stuff. “He operates on his own logic.”

Nancy eyes you warily before her gaze darts to Eddie. “Can you not touch anything? ”

“You have a cat just like this!” Eddie barks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” the both of you chorus.

Delicately, Eddie replaces the little ceramic cat with a severely offended look. “Sheesh, ladies, I thought we were friends.” He drops the pretense pretty fast, jerking his chin in your direction with a smile that has I ain’t goin’ nowhere written all over it. “I need a word with the duchess here.”

“So leave a message!”

“He can’t–” “--you think we got answering machines in Forest Hills?” “--my dad–” “--life might be different for all you up here on Maple–” “--will have him taken out by sniper rifle.” “--you know this woman used a payphone for the first time in her life today?”

A squinting Nancy lets this settle in the air for a second, like a stink bomb that’s just been deployed. I mean, you don’t know if she can see it exactly, but the charge between you and Eddie isn’t exactly subtle. Changed, maybe, from will-they-won’t-they to they-did-and-it’s-hazardous. Realization soon dawns on her.

“Oh, you–ohhh,” Nancy nods, and chirps another, “Oh!”

Then, a thunderous hammering that just about brings down Nancy’s bedroom door. The three of you lurch and freeze. Your hand instinctively goes to grab Eddie’s arm, fingers finding the soft leather. Your lashes flutter.

“Nan-cyyyyy!”

That high-pitched, middle-schooled, reedy little tone? “Oh, shit. It’s just Mike.”

“Mom said you were getting pizza so you have to get a pie for me and the guys! Wait,” some juvenile sounding muttering, “Two pies!”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Nancy snarls, in the way only an older sister can, “I… am going to go out there and run interference and you– five minutes, okay?! I’m–” She goes so far as to set a timer on her watch. “I mean it.”

Both you and Eddie make noises in the affirmative, him sidling closer and closer to you as Nancy moves out of the room. But she pivots, nailing you both with pointed index fingers. “And don’t– don’t you even think about it. You two are not subtle, I will know!”

“Wheeler, I resent that perverted implication!” Eddie hisses, but his fingers are already walking themselves over the curve of your ass. You’d say something if you weren’t desperately trying to keep yourself under control.

“Mike, quit yelling the house down like an asshole!” “Who is that? Have you and Lacy got a guy in there? Gross, are you sharing a boyfriend or something?” “Shut up, don’t be disgusting, I’ll kill you, get downstairs!”

Soon as Nancy’s door clicks behind her, you wrestle an easily malleable Eddie down to sit on the bed and climb right into his lap, thighs planting either side of him. Your body is completely abuzz now that you’re alone with him again, physical form melding instantly to the heat of his body. Eddie’s gaze darkens just a touch, like he’s dimmed the switch inside his head from mischievous to slightly dastardly. “Oh, shut up!” you say, and catch your mouth on his.

“I didn’t say shit!” Eddie breathes in return, falling right into your rhythm.

“You heard the chief,” you struggle through desperate lip smacking; that lived in taste of him, cigarettes and sweet soda, makes your head feel all baubly on the stem of your neck, “Five minutes,” Eddie’s hands web into your hair, your knees sag into the comforter, “Explain yourself.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Eddie’s mouth clicks sweetly against yours, words a bullshit mumble against your tongue. A heady mix of relief and desire flood you as you brace your hands around his shoulders.

“Don’t lie,” you say, tinge of a whimper creeping in as Eddie’s grip starts to harden, indenting the flesh of your thigh. “I’ll kill you.”

Looking at his grin is one thing, but feeling it against your neck as his mouth embarks on its own journey is something completely different. “Prom–”

“Eddie, how did you even know I was here?” A light, mindless slap comes down on his shoulder. Your breathing is becoming troublingly labored, head becoming troublingly spinny as Eddie’s teeth graze your collarbone.

“Rudimentary guesswork!” he gasps, coming up for air that’s soon stolen by the ready plushness of your mouth. “Okay. Okay. Fine, I saw Wheeler pick you up in her goddamn station wagon and–” Eddie’s voice cracks a touch as your hips press harder into him, “--put two and two together?”

“And you came here because…? Expound, already!” Your furious, air-starved hiss is a stark contrast to the way your lips keep chasing his.

“I wanted to c– I needed to come–” he swallows your stupid blooming smirk with another kiss, “Shut up. I wanted to make sure you were okay. And I couldn’t sleep. Could you sleep? I couldn’t sleep, just kept thinkin’... Kept… hnm, thinkin’ about you… About you like this… ‘n last night…”

As he babbles, your heart jackrabbits. Christ, you want him so bad. You’d listen to him like this for hours–talking like this alone, open and wanting, is enough to get you off. Eddie’s easing your skirt up your ass, rucking that fabric up slow like he did last night–but you want more than last night, if that’s possible, you want all of him, and for longer and for good–

You want him so badly that you forget where you are. Eyes snap open to catch direct iris-on-iris contact with Nancy’s Tom Cruise poster, hung strategically in view from her bed.

Nancy’s bed. Nancy’s room. Nancy’s fucking Tom Cruise poster.

“Shit,” you say in a strangle, right against his cheek. “Shit, what are we doing?” You rear right back, getting a good look at Eddie’s ruffled demeanor, his blush-high complexion. That intoxicated look he’s wearing just from feeling you up.

Someone looking at you the way Eddie is right now feels completely, totally brand new. Ardent and urgent, untouched by influence.

You’re almost positive that your gulp is audible.

With a couple of rapid blinks, Eddie seems to come back down to earth.

“No. No, you’re right, um– listen, at the risk of completely humiliating myself–”

“More than you did crawling in that window? This is crazed.”

Eddie pauses a beat, a genuine look of offense constricting his features. His hands have moved from your ass to your waist, and don’t shift.

“Hold on–Doevski, are you marking my dismount?”

You assholes just can’t help yourselves, can you? Mouth twitching at the corners, you harden up your gaze.

“I’m just saying, if you weren’t wearing ten tonnes of regalia, you might be able to make a more subtle entrance–”

“--who died and made you a hellenodikas?”

“Oh! Pulling out the Ancient Greek mythology on me now, huh?”

“I would never… pull out on you,” Eddie says and manages to hold his stone faced expression for a grand total of half a second before both your faces split in two. See, you hate him for this; that he can keep perfectly in time with you, and has since the jump.

You’re the first to move. You edge yourself off Eddie’s lap, his hands mournfully side along your legs as you move.

“C’mon. Montague moment’s over. Kick rocks.”

He gives you one good, solid nod and mockingly straightens himself out before attempting to worm his way back out the window. Crouching half in-half out, he pauses. Some remnant of a smile he smiled at you about a million years ago flickers across his face.

“You know, Lace,” Eddie says, “you keep throwin’ me out of windows like this, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t like me.”

The door of the record store. The hot blast of stoned realization. Your fingers around his wrist.

Knees working faster than your brain, you bend to Eddie and meet his mouth again. The kiss is soft and gentle, devolving into several little pecks around his smiling cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. To tide you over. To be continued.

“Eh, I don’t like you,” you mumble, tips of your noses brushing. “That much.”

“Yeah? Well, you got a funny way of showing it.”

You watch Eddie’s dismount (an easy six) and nervous jog all the way ‘til he’s disappeared through the shrubbery of the Wheeler’s. Soon as he’s out of sight, you’re almost positive that you catch a flash of burgundy paintwork zipping past the driveway, but it’s too fast to tell. Weird.

Nancy near slices your fingers clean off as she noiselessly returns to the room, slamming the window shut. For as enraged as she’s trying to look, this girl with her half-painted nails also bears the familiar expression of someone baying for gossip.

“Spill everything. Right now.”

—

Eddie is a living, breathing, stink bomb of a cliche. He’s walking on air, he’s signed a lease on cloud nine, he’s all Gene Kelly’d out and still tap dancing down the locker lined steel trap of Hawkins High. Push back his curling bangs and he’s sure that PROPERTY OF LACY DOEVSKI is etched on his forehead, by the delicate hand that wields your fountain pen.

Dude’s a goner. Lights out, KO’d, hit the bricks gone. And he only has himself to blame.

If it were anyone else, he’s pretty sure it’d be different. Easier to stamp out the flame of hotheaded lust beneath his sneakers like a bag of dogshit on fire if it was some other right-side-of-town type girl. If it was just about being his diametric opposite. But it’s not. It’s you, sharp and silly and sexy, a total turn on even when you’re doing your best O’Donnell impression to sic him into studying. The you that he’s been slyly slipping into the NPCs of Hellfire, in ways that make Ronnie’s eyes roll (but she still tries to flirt with them, and that weirdly makes him a little… jealous? That dwarf is slick when she wants to be). The you that sometimes make a cameo appearance at his lunch table when you’re not holed up in the newspaper room, sat with poise and pith that the rest of the gaggle of nerds just don’t know what to do with.

Eddie can’t count the amount of times he’s wanted to crawl across that table and kiss you. And he’s been close to doing it. Couple times. Remnants of sloppy joes on his hands and knees.

But now he can kiss you, at least in private anyway, because there’s still a roadblock or two you have to navigate. And so what! What’s a little challenge when you’re this blissfully, head fuckerly, heartburningly in l—

“Watch where you’re going, asshole.”

This particular dagger comes straight out of the maw of Hawkins High’s crown jackass, Steve Harrington, whose shoulder Eddie’s just accidentally checked. Now, Eddie’s never cared much for Harrington, but never thought much about him either—the feeling, outside of scoring a baggie or two, is apparently mutual. But the glower Steve is sporting says anything but nonchalance.

“Jeez, Harrington,” the grin Eddie’s sporting makes a full meal out of a plate of shit, “If you like me so much, you can just say so. No need for the whole pullin’ pigtails routine.”

Steve stares at him for a good, hard second or two— so rigidly, in fact, that it nearly makes Eddie’s face falter. Who pissed in this guy’s Cheerios? Because, even if he double counts on his fingers, Eddie’s sure it wasn’t him.

“I,” Steve starts, pretty dumbly, “I’m havin’ a party on Friday. You should come.”

Eddie knows an order when he hears one, but it’s usually couched in something like, You got any good stuff, man? Y’know, phrased in the strained way popular kids do when they pretend not to hate his guts for half a second.

He knocks a mocking two fingered salute off his forehead and Steve’s grimace deepens. “Be there with bells on, sire.”

Up the hallway, one of the classroom doors creaks open.

“I don’t have all afternoon, Mr Munson.”

Steve looks past him to the imposing, near-six foot figure of Ms O’Donnell, impatiently tapping her shoes against the linoleum. Eddie’s smirk flattens into a tight line.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m in high demand! As you can see.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response and takes off toward the exit.

“Quit gazing after the quarterback and get in here,” O’Donnell demands. And who is Eddie to deny her, Amazonian Baba Yaga that she is?

“Ms O’Deeeee, you call yourself a Hawkins Tiger?” he says, turning on heel, “You oughta know that Harrington is one of our finest ball players. Loves to play with balls, that one.”

“You can attest to that first hand, can you?” O’Donnell snarks, settling down behind her desk and gesturing Eddie to get comfortable at the top of the class.

Oh, Iris. She’s right on his level, when she’s not tearing him a new asshole, scholastically speaking.

Her name may not be Iris either, but tomato potato. Eddie slumps down into the desk like a graceless, clinking cat.

“I know you didn’t bring me here to talk about my extracurriculars. That would be a breach of propriety on your part.”

“Sure as hell I did not.” O’Donnell removes her eyeglasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, as she often does not even thirty seconds into an interaction with Eddie. “I’m missing my granddaughter’s recital for this, I want you to know that.”

He’s pulled out the there’s no way you’re old enough to be a grandmother line half a dozen too many times for it to fly again. Not that it ever did— look at this woman, with her tented fingers! She has a clear sight line right through his bullshit.

“I appreciate that you value my education more than some pipsqueak with a cello.”

“The problem is that you don’t,” O’Donnell sighs. There’s a note of defeat in her voice. “Eddie, we need to talk.”

In all the years O’Donnell has been on his case (four consecutive), she’s never addressed him by his first name. Eddie shifts in his seat a little, good mood not quite punctured yet. But askew, slightly.

“They finally found out about our clandestine little tryst, huh? Well, you can tell Higgins and the school board that I’m—“

“Shut up.”

He does. Right up.

“You understand why I push you so hard, don’t you?” O’Donnell asks him, and instead of some smartass response, Eddie clams. Ask him honestly and he’d say she’s a past-prime faculty lifer in desperate need of a power trip. That’s the narrative he’d always gone with anyway, the reason she’d always single him out and make an example of him and insist on the repeat exams he’d rarely end up passing anyways. Like, just flunk him, okay? Get the humiliation over with.

“It’s because I know your situation,” she tells him, “And I know you’re better than it. By a goddamn country mile.”

That knocks him. He blinks. Huh?

“You’re bright, you know. If you only allowed yourself to be,” O’Donnell nods, leafing through a manila folder in front of her, “If you could only find some way to focus, you’d be a halfway to decent student. Might even make it to college.”

“Don’t be too generous,” Eddie scoffs, arms folding over his chest. He can feel the defense rising.

O’Donnell stares at him over the rim of her glasses. “Oh, I’m not. Because the reality is, you’re too far gone. I’ve done all I can to try and drag you out of the sandpit of shit you’ve managed to fall into, but our time is coming to a swift and brutal end.”

A beat.

“Christ, who died and made you my guidance counselor—“

“You’re not graduating, Eddie.”

A cold sear runs down Eddie’s spine. “Um.”

Alright. Alright, look. It’s not like he hadn’t expected this, in some way or another, but again, if he is really honest… Eddie had expected some eleventh hour miracle that ended up with him with that diploma in his hand. Walking the stage in that godawful green gown, scooting down the line to take his place beside Ronnie and… and you.

First Munson to ever do it, at least in the proud township Hawkins. Something solid to his name, finally. A GED that wasn’t necessarily a ticket to college, but proof that he could break the family curse of not following through. He didn’t need to be valedictorian or anything, he just needed…

“But—but,” begins the scramble, “I’ve been doing… better, right? Like, I’ve gotten my grades up… not massively but a little!”

And he had. Fact is, these last handful of months, he hadnt just been dicking around with you and Ronnie after school— you’d actually gone out of your way to slice off some of those legendary brain smarts and slide them his way, bumping him up a letter grade in at least three subjects.

You’d said something similar to O’Donnell.

You’ve got something, y’know, beyond all the hair and regalia. This system is rigged to fail anyone who surrenders to being, like, a bad test taker— so you just have to game the system and make it work for Eddie Munson. Right?

Then you’d poked him in the cheek with your number two pencil and he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned, brain lingering on that little touch for days.

That was before. Before your bedroom. Before Wheeler’s bedroom. Shit, before Granny Ecker’s closet.

“Now, Eddie. Jesus. You’d need a miracle to get you anywhere close where you need to be to get out of here. Look, I am telling you this because I—“

“Why? Why do you even care? You’re the one that’s been failing me half the time.”

“Yes, because you’ve been failing, smartass! Think I’ve got a choice in the matter?” O’Donnell and her high Midwestern fury shuts him up again. “I’m telling you this because… well, it’s time to weigh up your options.”

“Which are none.”

“Which could be none. The question on almost the entire faculty’s mind is, why haven’t you dropped out by now? And I’ve got a pretty good stab, I think.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Because, contrary to popular belief, you’re not your father.”

Eddie has to look away. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I knew Al Munson. My first year here, I taught him. And I was green then, sure, in the goddamn dark ages but even then I knew he was just looking for any easy way out.”

“And I’m not, huh?”

“No. Because you would’ve dropped out by now.” O’Donnell closes the folder like she’s seen enough. “Eddie, you have something to prove. And it’s worth proving.”

Far be it from Eddie to believe that any teacher in this school actually gives a shit about him, but the glance he steals to O’Donnell makes a damn strong argument otherwise.

“So w… what do I do?”

“God knows half the staff doesn’t want you around for another year. Sorry, but it’s true,” O’Donnell rolls her eyes and Eddie feels the sting of his last name, the skid mark of his father’s legacy following him wherever he goes, “I’ll work on it. Starting with Higgins, which should earn me canonization of some kind.”

“Castle in the sky and all that shit.”

Eddie doesn’t exactly nod; defiance is as strong as his white blood cells. He kind of wants O’Donnell to prove that she’s serious about helping him. About caring at all.

She goes on, tone strict and pushing.

“But you– keep your nose to the grindstone. Just because you’re not gonna pull through this year completely doesn’t mean that the improvement in the last couple of months meant nothing. I have noticed, by the way. And, uh, keep up the peer tutoring.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Peer tutoring,” there’s amusement dancing in O’Donnell’s words that makes them a little uneven, “Lacy Doevski’s been so kind as to take you under her wing, hasn’t she?”

A shock of heat takes seat on his cheeks. Right. He’d forgotten about that scam you ran like a ride on lawnmower through Kaminsky’s class.

“Y—yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“Well, keep that something going. It’s good. For the both of you,” O’Donnell clips with a knowing look. “I knew her father too.”

She dismisses him with a wave and Eddie, feeling like she’d just made him tie up a pair of leaden boots, follows the tug of his deflated heart like a compass. A tread through the eerily empty after-hours halls brings back a memory here and there. Getting caught smoking under the stairwell on the first day of freshman year; a girl named Phoebe lending him a pencil in Biology, which he ended up using to pretend-stab Tommy Hagan who made fun of her stammer (Tommy cried like a bitch, as if Eddie would ever actually do that); fighting against his better judgment and jimmying the lock of a classroom open so he could help Gareth make a new character sheet for Hellfire and getting detention when they were found out, while the freshman hid under the desk so he wouldn’t be caught too. Plenty of little battles lost. But this is the big one–the one that tells him he’s doomed to repeat this adolescent torture for at least another year.

However, as soon as he shoulders the swinging door open and sees you, bathed in a pool of lamplight with reams of typewriter paper surrounding you, and you pull your fountain pen from your mouth with a tired smile, stitched together just for him…

KO. The big gold belt. Eddie Munson, heavyweight champion of the world.

“Hey, Hildy,” he says, sliding down the short handrail into the typing pool, just because he knows it’ll make you roll your eyes and laugh. And it totally does, a croaky little giggle rasping out of your lips. “What’s the scoop?”

“Don’t you dare come any closer.” Your voice, your outstretched hand, makes Eddie freeze in a rigged marionette’s pose. It’s like your words have actual alchemic pull, how powerless he is to obey you and shit. “Let me just…”

“Seriously?” Eddie lets his arms drop, playing with a ball of elastic bands from the desk he sits on as you painstakingly reorganize your papers. “Y’know, I really should have an early preview of this, given I’m the star of the goddamn article and all. What if I object? What if you paint me in, like, an unflattering light? I could sue. Character defamation.”

“You’re taking care of that defamation all on your own, darling,” you yawn, the punch of your words not quite hitting like they usually would as you stagger across the newsroom to him. You’re exhausted–Eddie can see it. The deep shadows under your pretty eyes, new ink stains appearing on your fingers every day. You’re jerky and shaky, overcaffeinated to the point that the drug ain’t even working anymore. You’re working yourself to the bone. It’s been like this for ages; every spare moment that Eddie doesn’t see you, you’re playing catch up for college applications. “But no. Not ‘til it’s cooked and printed. My portfolio needs this article for a lead-in and it has to be bulletproof. Watertight. Unassailable. Other words for–”

“--perfect?” Eddie steps in, tossing the elastics over his shoulder and tugging you closer so that you’re just about sitting in his lap. “In that case, you chose a real winner of a subject.”

“Eddie.”

“No, seriously! Trailer park nobody with a fantasy game club. Wah-wah. I don’t envy the amount of fluffing you probably have to do to make it remotely appealing to… whoever’s in charge of reading that shit.”

“Admissions board,” you supply. You’re close enough that Eddie can taste your perfume and honestly, he’s doing a great job of not just licking it clean off your neck. “And I know this is one of your self-pity rally cries, and I won’t entertain it. Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about Hellfire. The whole… well, I’m not saying any more. You’re just gonna have to read it and find out.”

“But I want my ego massaged,” Eddie pitifully whines, right out his nose. He clutches onto you harder, the pressure of your body against his alleviating the pressure of his total failure. His breath snags as you, so tired that you’re nearly trembling, kiss him softly.

“Mm, let’s compromise. I can massage something else,” you hum against his chasing lips, but something saintly touches him before you get the chance to move your inky hand. He uh-uhs you.

“Much as I appreciate the offer and will immediately curse myself for turning you down the second I get back to the trailer… you’re worn out, Lace. Seriously.” Eddie flicks a lock of your hair out of your face. Were you always like this, even when you were queen bitch? Did anyone ever think to check in on you before? “You been sleepin’? At all?”

“I have a countdown to my future and a convict father taking up residence on my couch. Of course I’m not sleeping. I’m optimizing,” you snit in the sleepiest voice he’s ever heard, your head is lolling against his shoulder. The pout you’re wearing makes Eddie want to bundle you right back to Forest Hills, tuck you up in his grody sheets and not let the rest of the world in ‘til you’ve got your strength back. Just you, him, some records. He’d read to you from The Silmarillion, because that was a surefire way to send you unconscious in seconds.

“I just need to get this article done and then I’m… I’m good. It’s out of my hands,” you croak.

“Then it’s… NYU’s problem, right?” says Eddie.

“Columbia,” you murmur, “with Emerson as a safety.”

“Lofty safety.”

“I’m a lofty girl. But you know what? I’m gonna get in.”

A pang in the key of dread hits Eddie in the throat. “I believe that.”

“But you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because of a silly little story I wrote about you.” You curl Eddie’s hair around your finger and he wonders if you can feel the physical sensation of him melting. Dripping all over you like a pathetic soft serve. “It’s so beyond comprehension but… You’re gonna make my dreams come true, Eddie Munson. I can feel it.”

About time I returned the favor, huh? is what he wants to say, but it’s not the time and it’s not the place and he thinks you might be drifting off in his arms. So he just breathes you in, and takes the win.

—

One thing Ray Doevski was always known to do was move. Not so much in a without exercise, the body devours itself kind of fashion, but in a without constantly one-upping oneself, the self devours itself kind of fashion. With Ray, moving was always some new business venture, some new property acquisition. Some other new reason for a cocktail party, so your mom would have an excuse to pretty herself up and you’d make your on-cue cameo, sweeping through the room and waving at all the important people your father had charmed and collected like stamps. And like stamps, the people he tended to collect all got more valuable with age. Ray liked old money, even if your family was on the newer end of the see-saw.

You saw all that for what it was now. Running the big scamola, charming these people out of pocket with that ugly Hawkins High class ring on his finger. Gold, garish, glaring, a glimmering green stone set right in the center. You hated that thing.

So, to see someone so diligently dedicated to movement and momentum sit docile on the sofa is pretty fucking disturbing. With that ankle monitor permanently welded to his leg, Ray can’t do so much as stand outside for a smoke without the heat coming down on him. Such are the conditions of his parole. It’s a humiliating fate, watching someone so previously well-kempt rot before you.

And more disturbing still, your father seems… not unhappy about his situation. As far as a man on house arrest goes, he’s not angry. He’s not irritable, he doesn’t even seem that frustrated. It’s strange. He’d even asked you to borrow a couple of your books to keep him occupied. That threw you. He’d never taken an interest in your voracious love for literature before… but boredom does absolute downright Invasion of the Body Snatchers type shit to a man.

He smiles at you from the corner of the sofa as you come in from an evening shift at the bookstore, your worn copy of Answered Prayers by Truman Capote in hand. It sends a cold dart through your tummy.

“You!” comes a snarl and your elbow is being snatched before you can even regain your bearings.

“What the f–”

Your mother slams her bedroom door so hard it seems to shake the trailer. It occurs to you that you haven’t stood inside her bedroom in weeks–months, maybe–or even seen inside of it save for the odd glance. Even then, it was always the sad staging of dresses and hose strewn across the bed, glasses with scarlet staining sitting on the nightstand and the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume growing old and flat and stale. But she’d straightened the place up– now the bedsheets sat tight around the corners of the mattress, and Gloriana’s jewelry was tidied away somewhere. No used wine glasses to behold. Like housekeeping had breezed through.

She told you she worked as a maid once, ‘For about a minute. Before your father rescued me.’

“What’s your problem?” you snipe, rubbing your pinched elbow through your sweater sleeve.

Your mother exhales a furious stream of smoke through her grit teeth, Dunhill poised, lit and ready. “You have to do something with him!”

“Me?!” you hiss back. Alarm sets off a roil in your stomach. You’d made incredibly delicate work of avoiding your father since he landed on the other side of the trailer’s formica table, notching it all down to I’m eighteen, I’m about to graduate, I’ve got work to do! All of which is definitely true, but you’d padded it out a little.

Padded it out with the time you spent with your lips on Eddie Munson’s lips, sure, but…

“Yes, you!” Gloriana spits, “Don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve been skirting around him since he came back. Shouldn’t you be over the moon with yourself?”

“I am. I am over the moon.” Greatest lie you’d ever told. “He’s back! Hurray! We’re all happy families again. Do we get the house back? Do I get my car?”

Your mother’s lip lifts into a little smirk. “Oh, Lacy. Has someone gone and turned your head about Daddy? Knocked him off his pedestal?”

See, your mother’s always had this thing– this seething jealousy about the way you looked up to your father. Not necessarily because you never looked up to her the same way (you’d written plenty in your journal about the vapidity of being a ‘society wife’, as she definitely was– a kind of cornfed Midwestern Slim Keith, an ex-pageant girl from the unremarkable middle point of Hawkins who benefitted entirely from her once-poor husband’s grafting), but because you were there at all. Yearning for his approval and robbing his attention.

Not like you ever got much of either.

“You want I should call the cops and tell them he’s been running phone scams from the trailer?”

Your mom lets out a little huff that could be mistaken for a laugh. “He just sits there, all day long. And when he’s not sitting, he’s curtain twitching.”

Just like you’d thought. Rear Window. Danger zone.

“This place could use a neighborhood watch,” comes the pith through your nerves, “Has he seen anything good, at least?”

Gloriana rolls her eyes at you, hooded with the pretense of as if I’d tell you. “That’s the other thing. He doesn’t talk. But he does ask questions.”

“Like?” you ask, after a rough swallow that alerts you to how dry your throat has suddenly gotten.

Finely penciled eyebrows quirk. It reminds you of how much your mother can resemble Ava Gardner, when she puts some chutzpah into it. “Better get out there if you want to keep him from his suspicions, is all I’m saying.”

As if she knows more than she’s letting slip.

“Shouldn’t you be over the moon? Aren’t you happy that he’s out?” You turn the mirror on her. Gloriana’s eyelids flicker, as if she’s exhausted by the mere question.

“Of course I am. Don’t be ridiculous,” she sighs. “But some things… were easier. Before. You and I didn’t need to pretend–”

That we liked each other.

“Yeah.” You snip right into her sentence because although you’re well aware of the scope of your mother’s feelings toward you, it still stings to hear it said out. She’s still your mom, after all. Or, she should be.

Standing in this room is making you nauseous.

“I’ll keep him occupied for a while.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Moments later, you’re tossing a pack of cards on the little formica breakfast table. It used to be a universal language in your household, when your father was still feigning interest in you. He taught you to play cards, and taught you how to cheat at them. You only retained one of those things. Little miracles.

“Want to deal?”

Ray slowly closes the cover on Answered Prayers and rises to the table.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” he says, a smile playing around his mouth. You resist the pull to roll your eyes, as if he’s bestowing such an honor on you—and wonder when exactly you did stop worshiping him.

Sometime between the last time you’d seen the back of his hand and the guilty verdict, you’re guessing.

You lay out his hand, and yours. He archly remarks, “Gin?”

“I’ve gotten better.”

“You’ve gotten a lot of things, haven’t you?” Ray says, focusing on his cards. “Lot of things have changed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, I admit, I came on a little… strong that first night I came home.” Strong was one word for it; you’d call it more of a three-hour cross examination delivered while you were trapped inside an iron maiden. You’d shed as little light on the whole Munson situation as you could. He gave me a ride once or twice. We go to school together, what do you expect? “But can you blame me? With you and your mother living in… this place? I had to know. To be sure that you were safe.”

You want to think, he doesn’t give a shit about safety. He gives a shit about treason. About me fraternizing with his enemy’s offspring, or whatever. But the way he says it gives you pause.

“It’s not so bad,” you shrug, swapping out a card. “It’s cozy.”

We’re not cozy people.

Ray takes a dig into the stock pile himself, regarding you with a curious look. “See what I mean? You seem… more willing to accept your circumstances. It’s interesting.”

The line between Ray Doevski praising and insulting you is like fishing line; depends on what he’s baiting you with. Accepting one’s circumstances was usually Doevskian for accepting failure.

“What, did you expect me to be kicking up tantrums about not having a clawfoot bathtub anymore? Because I’m not,” you smirk, “I’ve even adjusted to the notion of not always having hot water.”

Your mind flashes back to the small, square shower in the Munson trailer and you make a mental note to ask Eddie how his water heated to boiling within seconds.

“That, I could personally never get used to.”

“Plumbing wasn’t so great in IDOC, I take it?”

“No. But that didn’t register so high on my scale of problems inside.”

“Was it scary?”

“Yes.”

“And were you… in danger?”

A long beat settles between you. Ray shifts in the vinyl-backed seat, a tiny squeak the only sound between him and his apparent discomfort. Chills, again. You get a chill.

“... yes,” he says, and meets your eyes. They’ve sunk a fraction more than the last time you’d looked into them. Some of the gray shocks in his hair have turned white. Scary, to witness real evidence of your parents growing old. And frightened. “Lacy, I’d done badly by a lot of people. Some of them were even inside with me, and they wanted retribution, and that was fair. I could live with that,” depending on what end of a shiv he was on, you guessed, “But I also did badly by you. Very badly.”

Ah, acknowledgement that their father has lied about their criminal enterprises for the better part of her life–just what every little girl wants. It wasn’t as if you had still staunchly believed the not guilty campaign that your parents had spearheaded throughout Ray’s trial, even in the face of stony evidence. He was guilty; you had to figure out if you cared about the crimes, or the fact that he’d led you to believe he was so much better than he was.

But this is the first time he’s really copped to it.

You’re not quite sure what his admission is supposed to do, so you stare at your spades.

“It makes sense that you don’t trust me anymore,” Ray goes on, “But I love you, and I always will. All I’ve ever wanted is to provide the best for you, the very best I could. Better than that, even– because that’s what you deserve. The whole world, Lacy.”

Stomach churning, you wish he’d stop calling you that. Your nickname sounds wrong in his mouth. A world apart from the girl he thinks you are.

“I just feel like you could’ve done that without skimming money off children’s charities,” you hear yourself saying before you register that your mouth is drawling off the words, “And laundering money through those rentals. And… what was it, drug trafficking? I lost count.”

Knowingly, you brace for explosion. Ray flipping the table, scattering his hand and laying an open palm across your face, the dull thunk of his Hawkins High class ring making contact with your cheekbone. That’d be something. Something solid. Something you could point to, that said I know who he is, I tried to stand up to him, I’m not him, please don’t think that I am.

But he doesn’t, so the line of your shoulders tense for no reason. He digs a cigarette out of the soft pack laying on the table and flicks it towards you with a fingertip. His right hand, ring finger bare. He’s not wearing it.

He is wearing a sad grin of humility, shrugging like, well, kid, you got me there. Dead to rights.

He looks like somebody else.

“So, how’s your life been, Lacy Doevski?” A charm dances around his tone, the way a flame dances around the edge of a photograph that doesn’t want to burn.

And despite your best fucking instincts, despite the way that nickname falls out of his mouth like upchuck, despite the fact that you should hate him, there’s a change in the lighting around him that you just cannot help but want to engage with.

“You really wanna know?”

“I really wanna know. Tell me everything. The road to Columbia, how’s that going? The newspaper. This job at the bookstore in town. Your friend, uh, Nancy, right? She seems like a nice kid. I know Ted Wheeler, a little bit. Went to school with him and her mom, Karen. And everybody knew Karen, but, uh, don’t mention that to Nancy!” He steals another card from the stock pile, but doesn’t discard one from his hand. You decide not to mention it. “I want to know everything, Lacy. I’ve been way too distracted with things that don’t matter as much as you. Call this… makin’ up for lost time.”

Your shoulders shrug into themselves, like when you were a little kid and he’d let you sit on the big leather chair in his office after you’d sat outside the door for a solid hour, begging to come in. The corners of your lips pick up.

“Just about to finish my applications. I’m submitting this writing portfolio–”

“--I thought we talked about business school?”

You seize. You had. An effort in setting you up for a future of undebatable prestige started to sound more like sending you off to the meet market, the more your father talked about it. Business school is where you’ll meet young men of excellent character, Lorelei. Excellent family stock. It won’t hurt if they see that you’re smart, too.

… why the everloving fu-huuuck would you go to business school when you spend every spare second of the day giving yourself carpal tunnel and preaching about that Woolfe chick, Lace? Nope, you need someplace with climbing ivy and people whose dissenting opinions on cliterature you can cat fight with. Eddie Munson, leaning over the counter at the Bookstore and shedding light on your secret desire to bury yourself in novels and pretention with his ever-burning flare of perception.

Cliterature? you’d asked, brow an arch.

Classic literature. As written by the fairer sex. Bronte and broads.

Well, Jesus Christ. Who died and let you lead the third wave of feminism, Munson?

“Um…” You hadn’t prepared a good defense for this. You felt a stab of nausea.

“It’s okay!” your dad chuckles, tapping you on the wrist in reassurance, “You changed your mind. That’s fine. But it’s still Columbia, right?”

“God, of course. Couldn’t imagine anywhere else.”

“Good.” The smile reaches his eyes. “Sorry, your portfolio.”

“Right, uh– I’m just about polishing it off and I’ve got a great lead in, my last article for the Streak…” you trail off. A warning signal travels down your brain stem. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him about Hellfire. You’ve got to keep him as far away as–

“About what?” Ray asks brightly. Picks up a card. Discards another. You see a twitch in his mouth.

“An after school club,” you blurt. “My, um. My friend Ronnie’s in it. We were… lab partners. Junior year. Dissected frogs together.”

“Yeah, that really bonds people for life, huh?” Ray says. Not a trace of irony. “Well, I look forward to reading it. If you want me to. I know writers can be very precious about their work.”

And their subjects.

“Uh, well. We’ll see. I might not want to jinx it after I send off my applications.”

“Superstitious,” he smiles, “Just like your old man.”

“And I have a boyfriend.” The blurting just doesn’t let up from you, eh? Like you have to cover all your bases while Ray is swept up in this gregarious mood. “And he goes to… Ithaca. I think.”

Your father makes a face that stands up to some interpretation of, la-di-da, lookit you! and Christ, you’re nearly sure he’s bought it. College guy… he’d kind of fallen by the wayside since you took that trip to Saturday morning detention. He’d better fucking pick up if you call now, if he hadn’t gone back to Vermont or wherever.

“Well, look, I’m glad you’ve kept that momentum even given… everything. And I’m glad you seem to be surrounding yourself with good, level-headed people.” People he would have called nobodies eight months ago. People you would have called nobodies eight months ago. “Like Nancy. And this Ronnie. And that you’ve stayed out of trouble, as much as you can.”

You swear you see his eyes flick to the window beside you. In the direction of the trailer across the way, where a warm yellow light glows from the bedroom. There’s a shake in your breath, but Ray isn’t quite done.

“I’m incredibly proud of the woman you’re becoming, Lacy. And look at that–” His hand slaps down on the table, revealing his melds. “--gin! I thought you said you got better at this, kid!”

“You took me by surprise, Daddy. What can I say.”

—

“Quit that. That’s explosive cargo you’re flickin’.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Tap, tap, tap. One of the hinges of this rusty, crusty, dusty old domed metal lunchbox is loose, and you can’t stop toying with it. “This is what you’ve been carrying your motherlode around in?”

“What about your mother’s load?” Eddie says, scraping the lunchbox a couple of inches away from you on the bench. Still, you reach for it, and he smacks your hand away. “Respect the receptacle, please. It’s a thing of legend.”

“Seems like a dangerously obvious hiding place for a bunch of illegal substances,” you say, brow creased. Had Eddie put any thought into his operation thus far? Because this seems extremely haphazard. He’s always swinging that goddamn thing around school, and one look inside the false bottom could put him away for a long time, if the Reagan administration had anything to do with it.

“Exactly! Making it the last place anyone would think to look!” Eddie beams, flicking the lid open. “Class A drugs? Why, no, officer, these are my party pretzels. From home.” A deeply tragic baggie of crushed pretzel pieces lands between the two of you. Your frown deepens a degree or two. Eddie shrugs, shaking his curls out a little and starts picking through the detritus in the lunch box. Other than a couple of dime bags, a box of Camels, a lighter and some loose Twizzlers, his load’s light.

“How exactly does one get into the business of selling hydroponics et cetera out of a lunchbox, Eddie?”

“Why, you lookin’ to diversify your criminal skillset?” That sly poke. You roll your eyes, jiggling your mary jane’d foot and pick up a bag of Mary Jane herself.

“I’m just curious about the trajectory! The more I learn about you, the more it occurs to me that you’re possibly the uncoolest drug dealer in history. You know, stereotypically speaking.”

“The answer I think you’re looking for is that I’m a big, big boy,” Eddie rasps, taking an exaggerated chomp out of one of the liquorice ropes, “and I contain multitudes. Shit happens. Sometimes it leads to you selling pot. Et cetera.”

“What kind of shit?”

He considers you for a second, but you’re bright-eyed and curious about him. He jumps back from you when you’re like this sometimes, like he just touched a hot stove. You’d give him shit for it, but you did the same thing. The Twizzler waves in your face. “If I didn’t have such a brain-damage inducing crush on you, I’d think you were a narc.”

“Eddie.” Though your heart does jump like a needle on a scratched record when he says crush. Particularly when he says crush like that. But he could elaborate on that for you later.

“Fine, fine, fine– I’m not gonna get into the finer points of it now, but… basically, some shit went down with my dad that meant I had to move in with Wayne and working at the plant isn’t actually the cash cow that you’d think it is, and neither is me picking up barback shifts at the Hideout so… I hit up my dad’s friend Rick who said he’d help me out if I ever needed it and here we are. Lunchbox and all. Half ounces for halfwits at horrible parties.” Eddie toughens into this tense line as he speaks, like he’s halfway embarrassed about having to do this. “Means to an end, y’know?”

You nod, though you want to prod further so bad. “Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.”

Exactly, Eddie mouths with narrowed eyes, another bite into the Twizzler. “You know what tune I’m singin’.”

Better than the both of you realize, it seems.

“This whole,” you gesture around the circular clearing, the place everyone knows you come to meet Munson to score product, “place does kind of look like the kind of hotspot where one might catch Goody Proctor dancing with the Devil.”

It’s your first time out here–you’d elegantly skirted the responsibility of ever having to pick up for your group of friends but it’s… delightfully creepy. Whispers cragging through the tree branches. Eddie’s presence knocking you off guard at every turn–well, not you. Not anymore.

“Rumors are kind of starting to add up. Satanic worship, human sacrifice… girls panties going missing. That’s all I’m saying.”

A maddened grin peeling over his features, Eddie scooches closer to where you sit, perched on top of the rotting picnic table. “Why do you think I lured you out here, Lace?” His fingertips race up your calf and you spill a giggle, squirming away. “The Dark Lord requires another infernal bride!” He leaps up, ticklish touch attacking your sides ‘til you’re shrieking, not working quite as hard as you could to beat him away.

“Ed–Eddie, st-aaahap!”

“It’s all cool! It’s no big deal! Just take your clothes off and sign my yearbook! Then, hey presto, the big guy’ll give you whatever you want.”

Eddie’s hands slow to a still on your hips, your uncrossed legs caging his sides. His lids fall, mouth prepping a pout for yours, but you press your thumb into his lips.

“Whatever I want?” you whisper, eyes narrowing.

A smirk flickers across Eddie’s mouth, a puff of breath pressing his mouth into your thumb until the tip is wedged between the edge of his teeth. Your breathing stills for a second and you resist pushing it further into his mouth.

“Shit,” he murmurs, moving your hand across his cheek so he can kiss you full on the mouth. His tongue is needy and searching, making you curve into him just a touch. You can feel the prickle of his stubble coming up. Eddie with a five o’clock shadow… “I’d give you whatever you want, Lace. John Hancock in the Book of the Beast or no.”

The wettened peaks of his lips go straight for your jugular. You two have shared enough mouth-to-mouth episodes for him to know that feeling his tongue against your pulse is liable to make you do nutty things.

“Tell me what you want, dahling one,” Eddie’s mouth crawls up your jaw in an approximation of Bela Lugosi, up to your ear, where he knows you’re ticklish too. You feel him smile at your breathy laugh. “Anything you desire, anything beneath the blazing sun and under the heaving mud, anything under the banner of… the Hawkins township, because I don’t have a lot of gas money right now…”

“I want you,” you struggle through a sigh–his stupid mouthy beautiful mouth, “to get rid of that goddamn lunchbox. At least, for illegal purposes. Keep it for pretzels.”

Eddie honks out a nasally groan far too close to your ear and you jerk back. “No! You’re supposed to be all, ‘I absolutely indubitably want you, Eddie,’ and then we’re supposed to, ee-ee,” he thrusts his clothed hips into yours animatedly, “on this very table top. Until you realize it’s covered in woodlice.”

“Well, I can’t fuck you if you’re in prison. I’m telling you, that old tin thing falls apart in the hallway and you’re being tried as a full adult!” Wait, did he say woodlice?

“You worry too much. S’gonna make you warty. Plus,” he says, unlatching himself from you and tossing his effects back in the tin box, “this is a family heirloom. Al Munson made good on his last straight job at the plant for a grand total of six hours, and all he got was this lousy lunchbox.”

Speaking of Al…

“Y’know, I was thinking… If it wasn’t for your dad…” Your hands knit in your lap as you pretend to look around for woodlice.

“‘If it wasn’t for Al’ what?” Eddie’s tone is flat, “Grand theft auto would decrease tenfold from here to Bloomington? Less diner waitresses would have complexes about men who abuse the free refill system? Starcourt Mall wouldn’t have burned down?”

Your eyebrows knit. Okay, pause. “What has he got to do with Starcourt Mall?”

“I’m not a hundred percent, but I have a theory,” Eddie says, arms bound across his chest. “It involves horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia.”

“And you told me my Larry Kline theory was crazy!”

“Well, funny you mention because my idea actually runs kind of concurrent to that–”

“No, let’s put a pin in that for a second,” you cut him off, “It’s… my dad. I think he might actually be somewhat rehabilitated. Knocked down a peg, maybe? He actually displayed a hint of diffidence, Eddie. I think I … kind of have Al to thank for that.”

Sure, there was an air of initial disconcert to you and your dad’s little game of gin rummy, but the more you ruminated on it, the more it felt… threatless. Your mom had even joined you for a grim dinner of mac and cheese, where the three of you had nearly fondly reminisced on the pasta alla vodka from a restaurant they always went to on New Years Eve in Indianapolis. Maybe that’s what it took; a stint in prison to crack his ego like the Liberty Bell, and now Ray Doevski had to bear the humility like everyone else. Maybe he’d make good on his promise, making up for lost time.

But the disbelief, and, in fact, concern that Eddie is eyeballing your way says something different.

“Don’t thank Al for anything.”

“I’m just saying. Dad and I actually talked last night, for the first time in… ever, really, and it didn’t feel like he was sizing me up. It was.. He was… nice.”

“Lacy.” Eddie’s shoulder’s sag. He hops up on the table next to you, bringing you knee to knee. The tear in his jeans rubs against the webbed nylon of your tights. When he looks at you, it’s with rounded eyes that could very well have been checking you for brain damage. “I don’t mean to blow out your candle or anything, but coming from someone as well versed in the tales of a crooked father who never really changes as I… I don’t buy this Ray of sunshine bit.”

Your hackles start to raise. Hey. Just because Al Munson was a famed and patterned piece of shit didn’t necessarily mean–

Eddie clocks you immediately, your crunched brow and pursed mouth. His hands go up, requesting pause. “Look. This is your first time at the convict parent rodeo, so I know how it is. Whirlwind. They always roar in in some Cadillac full of promises, right, swearing to make everything they fucked up right by you. But it never sticks, Lace. They’re hardwired to not follow through, okay? At least not on anything that doesn’t serve their own vain little agenda. With Al, it’s always some big dick scheme, something that’s gonna set us, and by us I mean him, up for life. No matter how good it feels to have them back, it– it always feels better when they’re gone.”

His searching eyes dart to his hands, as if he’d said a touch too much. On the one hand, a couple of painful pop rocks explode in your chest. You always feel this way whenever he mentions Al– Eddie’s let you in on glimpses here and there, revealing that he hasn’t quite shucked off the essence of being a hurt kid. It presents you with the super challenging desire to soothe the memory, but you dance around it at a distance. The dad stuff, it’s still sticky for the both of you. But now that Ray is back, and Al is back, you kind of have to talk about it. It figures pretty keenly into… whatever the fuck you two think you’re doing.

Then, on the other hand, a quick flash of resentment burns in you. Yeah, your dad is hardwired–why can’t mine be different?

“Better?” you ask.

“Maybe–not better,” Eddie rectifies, his rings knocking against his palm. “But easier. It’s always easier when he’s gone, even if I want him to be there. At least I know what to expect when he doesn’t call or write or whatever, which is nothing.”

“So I should do the same? Expect nothing?” You can’t hide the bite in your voice, and you can’t meet his eyes when he looks at you.

“Lacy,” he says, searching hard for you in there, “You know what kind of guy your dad is. All the pomp and circumstance in the world won’t change what you’ve already seen. What you’ve already been through. This nice guy shit is a tactic– you…”

A heavy-ringed hand pulls your face to his, forcing you to look him in his earnest, gleaming eyes.

“You deserve more than that.”

Confusion with a sadness chaser churns in you. The metallic chill of Eddie’s rings against your cheek. A cooling comfort. Not a harsh sting. Not an open palm. A cradle.

“I know you don’t believe me, for whatever reason, but you do deserve more than that.”

I still want you to be wrong, a voice hisses in the back of your head. Fucking Medusa rising.

“Yeah,” you nod in his hands, surrendering because it’s the right thing to say. “Yeah, of course I do. I’ll be careful. It’s fine.”

“And speaking of careful,” Eddie’s timbre hits a more suggestive spot, his hand falling from your jaw to your shoulder, “Harrington’s having a party on Friday, s’why I need fresh supplies.”

“Oh, really?” you mumble, mood not immediately perking up.

“Yes, really,” Eddie mocks, grip slipping to your waist. “I was thinking… y’know. Harrington’s house is big. Lotta rooms. Lotta beds…”

“Lot of intimacy at big parties,” you paraphrase Gatsby. “But the last time I was at Harrington’s… Is that such a good idea? Risking a repeat of teenage gladiator?”

“You were hardly gladiating, you were performing The Crab Monologues. Now, Carol, she wa–”

A scowl starts growing on your face. “Not helping your case.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry,” Eddie grins that bitten, private grin he deploys when he’s just about to lay one on you. “Will you show if I promise to protect you from wild redheaded assailants?”

“I’ll consider it. But that better include that little neighbor girl of yours, too,” you warn, suddenly reminded of the viscous stink-eye that Billy Hargrove’s stepsister had been throwing your way the last couple of times that you passed her in the trailer park. “Orphan Annie has it out for me for some reason.”

“You’re so cute when you’re paranoid.”

“You have a woodlouse in your bangs.”“Wuagh! Where! Kill it!”

author's notes: christ it is GOOD TO BE BACK!!! if this feels like a part one to something, that is because it very much is, my friends. this was on its way to becoming a 20k+ chapter, which would freak me out actually so i decided to have some boundaries for once and split it in two. get you warmed up for what's to come. it's drama. btw. anyway on with the show - ohhh, you guys i have been listening to so much early-mid 00s emo in order to write this story. i realized that that's my secret weapon, because it's just as melodramatic as these two fucking dumbshits are. points to anyone who knows what the title of the chapter is a reference to (bonus points if they can find it a second time in a past chapter of this story) - flannery o'connor is of course a standard doevski pick for an author, but also a nod to maya hawke playing her in the biopic, which looks exquisite btw - back at it with the extremely rudimentary dnd references! i thought fear and loathing in luskan was fun - eddie WOULD know a ton about ancient greek mythology, specifically the goings on at the olympics, but not because he has any real vested interest in it but moreso because when he researches for a campaign he goes absolutely hard, like me with my 26 tabs open googling 'nail polish shades popular 80s teen girl bonne bell' - kick rocks! montague moment's over! but real quick-- what's munson? it is not hand, nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part... belonging to a man :) - yet another hellfire & ice fancast moment, i must present my personal pick for o'donnell-- it's gotta be allison janney, baby. less in the 10 things i hate about you guidance counselor vein, rather in the stepmom from juno vein. - 'hey hildy, what's the scoop?' had to get a his girl friday reference in somewhere, didn't i - answered prayers by truman capote is not only the cuntiest book ever written (capote essentially sold the secrets of his wealthy socialite friends in order to write it) but is also the latest ryan murphy adaptation - we stan jordan baker from the great gatsby in this house alright! that's all for this one! hope you enjoyed it, i know it's heavy on set up but next chapter will see us right back at casa de harrington for another blowout party, so... brace yourselves. please comment and reblog to support the work, thank you hellcats i love you forever

#published by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

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grumpyeagleandfriends · 10 months ago

Text

À Terre II | Poe Dameron x OC/Reader

A/N: Reader is a Resistance pilot that was captured during a solo reconnaissance mission. They escape by hijacking a ship. Gravely injured and hanging by a thread, they rejoin the Resistance by crash landing just outside of the base on D'Qar. A certain distraught squadron leader runs out to help.

Hurt/Comfort. Gratuitous, self-serving one shot TWO PART story. I have rewritten the first chapter in addition to adding on a second installment. This time it's in Poe's POV. I don’t like using “y/n” so I give the reader a generic, 1 syllable Star Wars name in the middle of this bad boy. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ve been daydreaming about this for months years, so I finally decided to write it all out. There’s a little bit of a long set up, but I’m not sorry about it.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions blood and torture. Shellshock/PTSD vibes. Cursing. Tons of graphic medical stuff. Injections (so needles).

Word count: 5,439

Masterlist

Blood was everywhere when he finally made it inside the cockpit...

Even after he got her free from the safety harness, when all he could do was keep her calm and alert until the med techs arrived, he noticed the way she looked at him, the way she pulled it together to focus every time she nearly fell asleep. Hol hadn’t been able to properly talk, but with every command he gave her, she nodded and tried her best to comply.

The metallic iron smell of it nearly knocked him back when he opened the canopy. It covered everything. Her shaking hands, her hair, her flight suit, he even found it coating the inside of her mouth after he coaxed her to let him take away the life support mask.

He desperately wanted to give her water to see if she could drink, but there wasn’t any to be found in the cockpit. He wanted to put her in one of his jackets to help stop her from shaking, but the patch of trees she crashed landed into was too far from his quarters on base. He wanted to scream at her for being so goddamn stubborn, but he couldn’t shake the way she desperately clutched onto his hand.

They hadn't been careful enough when extracting her. There wasn't enough time to wait for proper immobilization equipment to be brought out to the crash site. Between Hol's blood loss and the ship leaking dangerous fluids into the forest, they made the difficult call to just move.

Seeing that utmost trust in her eyes, alongside the fear and the pain, was what really scared him the most. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he let her die there, not after she clawed her way back to them.

He had no way of knowing at that moment, but the jostling when they lifted her out caused a broken rib to puncture one of her lungs. Poe couldn’t keep from blaming himself for his own role in that.

The second they placed her onto the hover gurney, her condition began to rapidly deteriorate. One of the med techs caught sight of her blue fingertips and immediately diagnosed a collapsed lung. Poe only just managed to clamber out of the cockpit to see it all. He stood frozen on the wing of the ship while he watched them cut open her flight suit to reveal her bloated chest. The bright glow of a laser scalpel quickly appeared and they made an emergency incision between her ribs to let the trapped air escape.

Once they got her breathing again, she was loaded onto the back of the waiting med truck and they took off. Poe was left to follow behind on the back of a ship technician's speeder bike.

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

He sprinted into the medbay only a few moments after Hol was rushed in on the hover gurney. Bypassing the waiting area and going directly through the sliding double doors was unusually easy. In hindsight it should have struck him as odd that no one stopped him, but the overstretched med staff meant that no one paid him any mind when he planted himself against the back wall in triage.

As promised, Kalonia’s team was already primed and waiting to receive her. Poe had to crane his neck to be able to see, but he counted at least seven different med techs helping transfer her over to the exam bed.

They began working like a well calibrated machine, her dirty flight suit was sliced open and quickly stripped away. As soon as they were connected, the more sophisticated diagnostic scanners lit up and began displaying the worst of her injuries. Images of her chest cavity were produced on a monitor near the end of the exam bed, along with her vitals.

From where he stood, Poe was able to catch Hol’s foot beginning to subtly twitch. He wondered initially if he had just imagined the movement, but the surrounding med staff began to take notice as well.

“Eyes are beginning to flutter, she might be starting to come around.”

Dr. Kalonia took a step back as her staff continued their work. She pulled aside the young medic who had been down in the cockpit with Poe. He began rattling off the details of Hol’s condition when found and how exactly she was transported. After a couple of minutes he began gesturing over his shoulder in Poe’s direction, causing Kalonia to promptly look up. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of him standing back by the door.

Shit…

His back stiffened in preparation for an argument that never came.

“Dameron, get over here!”

She issued the instruction like an admiral as she pointed him over to the top of the exam bed.

He didn't think, he just immediately crossed over. The moment he was within reach, she grabbed hold of his arm and brought him to stand where she was.

“Do exactly what you did down at the crash site, alright? Talk to your pilot. Keep her calm.”

Hol’s head gently lolled to the side on the padded exam table, her face slack and eyes half-lidded. She went still once more just as he took his place. He cupped her face in his hands, noting how cool and clammy her skin felt against his palms.

Kalonia stood to his right, a penlight ready in her hand to test the reaction of her patient’s pupils.

“C’mon, Tarmin…” She called while carefully tugging open Hol’s eyelid.

Immediately, there was a weak moan, greatly muffled by the respirator mask. Hol tried to roll away from the touch, but Poe’s hands braced either side of her head.

“Hey, hey- it's okay. Easy, kid, easy.” He whispered, holding her in place just long enough for Kalonia to work.

“Settle down, Lieutenant.” The doctor spoke as she pulled away. “You crash landed on D’Qar. You’re in medical.”

Poe didn't let go once she finished. He continued cradling Hol's head, his short nails scratching at her scalp in some attempt at providing comfort.

Her body was fully exposed under the surgical lights, revealing the extent of the damage that he wasn't able to see back in the cockpit. The bruising along her abdomen and rib cage was mostly black, as if there were large ink blots staining her skin. There were blaster grazes on her right side, localized swelling where her right forearm was clearly fractured, wounds in her lower abdomen...

So much of it jumped out at once, he found it hard to focus on any one injury long enough. He began to wonder just what sort of state she was in before the crash.

Hol emitted another faint groan, one where he could distinctly hear a wheezing sound that came from deep in her chest. Her body jerked from the force of a cough. Red flecks of blood appeared inside the clear respirator mask.

Slowly, she began to blink against the lights. A worry line formed in the center of her forehead.

"No...n-no… "

It was hoarse and strained, but everyone standing around caught the audible plea. Hol's good hand suddenly lifted in an attempt to bat away those touching her.

Dr. Kalonia cursed.

"Restrain her! I'm trying to insert a chest catheter here!”

Padded white cuffs were produced and promptly attached around each of her limbs, securing her to the exam bed.

"Hol, look at me." Poe commanded. He cupped her jaw as he leaned directly over her, giving her no choice but to comply. He made himself the only thing she had to look at. His shadow worked to shield her eyes from the glaring overhead lights while also blocking her view of the med staff.

Her gaze was glassy and unfocused, but she was thankfully looking at him.

"You've got to relax." He urged, his hand smoothing her tangled hair back off her face as he spoke. "We’re trying to patch you up, alright? Let us help."

She blinked at the sound of his voice, and though the distress on her face didn't fade, she went still on the exam bed. Her eyes remained set in his direction.

"There you go, sunshine..." Poe quietly praised, using once again the affectionate name he knew she absolutely hated. "Keep those eyes on me, don't worry about anything else."

His attention never left her, but he was aware that Kalonia and another med tech were beginning to work at prepping the incision site to insert the chest tube. He wasn't convinced that Hol recognized who he was or even that she was somewhere safe, but he couldn't risk her getting freaked out by the procedure being performed on her chest.

There was still visible fear in her eyes, but she never looked away from him. Her struggling thankfully ceased as she began to lean into one of his palms bracing the side of her face.

"You're safe, you know that?" He found himself reminding her. The pads of his thumbs traced over the outer shells of her ears, trying again to ease the visible discomfort he saw etched in her face. "Promise you, babe. You're good, we've got you."

Hol winced before swallowing. His brow furrowed as he watched her lips suddenly part.

“Poe…"

Her voice was painfully raw, and normally the sound of her saying his name would have been reason for relief, but he only worried that she was wasting her energy trying to talk.

“Yeah, hey, Hol.” He greeted in a whisper, dipping just enough to brush his lips to her hairline. "It's me. I'm right here."

He frowned when she tried to say something more, something longer and impossible to parse.

"Shh-hey, no, that's enough. Don't want you to talk anymore." He gently scolded. "We’re going to do like before, okay? You relax while I run my mouth.”

Poe doubted she remembered their conversation down in the cockpit, but she thankfully fell silent. Her eyes remained on him as he kept quietly talking to her, blabbering on about how lucky she was to get out of briefings and inventory duty for the next few weeks, about how she was going to sit back on the medbay's best painkillers and watch the trashiest holovids he could find.

He knew deep down that she probably wasn't following him entirely, but he was trying to reassure himself at this point more than her. He was keenly aware that none of what he was saying was guaranteed, but he had to give himself something to hold on to, because imagining anything else simply was not an option for him.

She had to pull through this.

She had to be fine.

Minutes passed like that, Hol's unfocused gaze trained on Poe's face as he worked at keeping her distracted. Kalonia was able to successfully insert the temporary catheter into Hol's chest, which would assure the function of her uninjured lung until they could patch up the other.

Poe listened closely as a medtech outlined all of the crucial information, providing him with the rough plan of how her treatment would proceed. Once they finished stabilizing her most grave injuries, she would be taken back for surgery. There would be some additional testing after, which would take a couple of hours...

The explanation suddenly stopped short when an alarm began to sound from one of the machines. The level of the urgency in the room immediately started to bubble over.

"Heart rate is increasing!" Someone announced.

Poe visibly paled as he watched Hol's eyes roll backward. His hands still bracing her head, he desperately looked up at the med staff, searching for some kind of instruction.

"Dameron, out!"

Kalonia swooped in and firmly shouldered him out of the way.

Before he could object, a med droid approached and began to usher him towards the door.

"Doc, what's going on?" He demanded, sidestepping the mechanical arms reaching for his shirt. "What's wrong?"

His question went ignored. Hold was entirely obscured from his view. There were too many people now surrounding the exam bed.

"She's seizing! Start anticonvulsants and prepare for a transfusion!"

"Master Dameron, the team needs to prepare the patient for surgery. You must leave."

The med droid's pincers whirred as it closed in on Poe.

"Don't tell me what I have to do!" He snapped, the outline of his jaw more pronounced as he spoke through clenched teeth.

In a moment of sheer stupidity, he pushed back hard against the unforgivingly solid metal chest. He clearly forgot that these droids were built to easily lift the deadweight of critically ill patients of any species.

The mechanical arms tightly wrapped around him, securing his own arms to his sides. They closed, crushing him flush against the droid's metal body. The gesture was completed so quickly that he could feel the air being forced out of his own chest.

Poe feebly kicked, but it was useless. The droid easily hauled him back out through the double doors and towards the waiting area.

________________________

The word about who crash-landed into the trees traveled like wildfire across base. All of black squadron, Finn, BB-8, several of the x-wing techs and pilots from various outfits formed a large group just outside of the medbay. Each of them had duties elsewhere that they were purposefully ignoring, choosing out of loyalty to be present while one of their own hung in some grave state between life and death. They were the ones who threw back countless drinks in the mess hall together, who organized a massive fantasy Gravball league that nearly sent the entire Resistance into chaos, and who pooled their commissary credits to throw each other birthday parties.

They were all present to witness the painful moment Poe was forcibly escorted out of the sliding double doors leading to triage.

"Shit!-alright, alright! Let go!" His shouts ricocheted down the hallway as he finally managed to yank himself free. The force of the motion caused him to promptly fall to the floor.

The others watched as he quickly scrambled up from the ground, stumbling and hurrying to kick at the back of the retreating med droid.

He missed, which only served to enrage him further. The doors promptly closed behind the droid and Poe spun around— his mouth set in a tight line while he began to inexplicably search his surroundings. His chest rose and fell for several beats. His face twisted into a sneer before he abruptly lashed out at the nearest object, sending a trashcan flying with his boot. The steel barrel was thankfully empty, but the sharp clang sent a shockwave across the medbay.

The few people waiting in the sitting area immediately stood up to vacate the space.

Finn was the first to take a step forward to intervene, but he was halted by a large hand on his arm. He turned his head to see Snap, skin still humid as if he came straight from the refresher.

"Best to stand back and let it pass." The pilot urged with a sad shake of his head. "His scenes are never pretty."

Finn didn't want to agree, but as he stood and watched the scene unfolding before them he couldn't find any reason to argue. Snap and the others would know better. They did know.

Poe’s hands were pressed to the back of his head, his fingers laced together as he glared at the closed doors. He could have easily pushed his way back through, but he inexplicably remained where he stood. His eyes shot a deadly amount of spite toward whatever was happening on the other side of those doors— information that, for the time being, only he knew.

His arms fell heavily to his sides. Ignoring the uneasy looks following him, he turned and traipsed over to the first row of waiting chairs, silently throwing himself down onto one of the seats.His legs stretched out while he leaned back, his arms folded over his chest.

He continued to stare at the doors, a hard glint in his eyes for the faceless goliath wrecking untold damage on the other side.

The others slowly filtered over to join him in the waiting area. A supportive hand would occasionally grip his shoulder or linger on his knee, but no one said anything. Those unvoiced questions sat heavy above their heads.

BB-8 remained near Poe’s feet, unusually still and silent.

Hours grudgingly crawled by. The light outside faded away and began to just barely creep back over the horizon when someone finally came out to speak to them.

Poe was the only one to be escorted back behind the double doors. Dr. Kalonia stood there waiting for him, still dressed in some of her surgical garb. Thankfully, her mask was off, because her facial expression alone was able to answer his most crucial question.

She was alive.

Kalonia began to turn before she motioned for him to come along.

"Follow me, Dameron..."

________________________

They walked together down the main hallway of the medical wing, back to where Poe knew the overnight patient beds were located. He remained silent as Kalonia gave the run through of everything— what exactly happened when he was forced out of triage and what they were able to correct during surgery. Internal bleeding was what caused Hol to begin seizing. They performed a blood transfusion that stabilized her enough to undergo surgery, but they hadn’t been confident that she would make it through. The surgery itself took hours, but they were successfully able to localize and stop the bleeding in her abdomen and patch up her punctured lung. They installed a more substantial drainage tube in her chest to allow excess air and fluids to escape so her lung could continue to heal.

She would need to be kept asleep so her body could focus on repairing itself, but Kalonia was going to let Poe see her while they performed some additional tests.

They came to a stop just before the smallest room along the hallway. Due to space constraints on base, most of the rooms along this corridor housed multiple beds. This room was only for patients in a bad enough state to justify being kept isolated from others.

Kalonia stood aside to let him enter first.

They had Hol lying half-covered on an exam bed, her chest was mostly obscured by bandages. The first thing he noticed was that she was clean now, so much so that it made his head spin.

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, because of course they were going to scrub away the blood and grime before putting her on fresh bedding. But still, the contrast from when he found her sitting strapped in that downed ship was startling.

Several machines were attached to her body. She was hooked up to a respirator and receiving fluids intravenously, but Poe also caught sight of the aforementioned drainage tube extending from a patch of bandages in her side. It ran all the way over the edge of the bed into a receptacle on the floor. Her injured arm was wrapped in bacta strips and immobilized with a splint.

He remained a few feet away from her bed, a distance that he decided would be safe, because it felt too dangerous to touch her. His eyes slowly took in every piece of equipment being used to keep her stable, at first he began to count but stopped himself when he reached double digits.

His brow furrowed the moment he noticed the padded white cuffs still attaching Hol's wrists to the bed frame.

"Why is she still strapped down?" He demanded, his voice oddly distorted from hours of not speaking.

"It’s just a precaution for now.” Kalonia began to explain, seeming to choose her words cautiously. “She’s still on anticonvulsants to help reduce the likelihood of further seizures, but even while sedated there are still some tremors. With the location of the drainage tube we can’t risk her moving too violently or ripping it out when she wakes.”

Poe blinked, taking a moment to process the information.

"How long does she have to keep the tube?”

“No more than 2 to 3 days.”

He nodded while he chewed on his lower lip, his eyes still trained on Hol.

“Look, Dameron…”

She interrupted his thoughts in a gentle tone that was meant to be comforting, but it only made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. Dr. Kalonia was known for ruthlessly running the medbay like a battleship. They went back far too long, he knew to brace for the worst whenever she started to go soft.

Poe turned to face her, the pit of dread he felt low in his stomach was only growing. He would have given anything in that moment for them to fall into their traditional roles, for him to be the one injured and for her to be yelling at him. - Dammit, Dameron! Either make yourself useful or get the hell out of my medbay!

But she only continued to speak in that horribly gentle tone.

“As Tarmin’s commanding officer, there is something else that you should know.”

She walked him around to the opposite side of the bed, where there was noticeably less tubing.

“During the examination before her surgery, I noticed some smaller injuries that made me order full lab work.”

He watched as she lifted the bit of blanket covering Hol’s legs.

“I found infected injection sites on the insides of her arms and thighs, then these small circular burns on her ankles.”

Immediately Poe began to understand the rationale behind her delicate words.

He'd seen those marks on more than a few Resistance members who managed to escape capture. He sported similar ones himself after being captured on Jakku...after the Finalizer.

“We found traces of antipsychotics, nerve agents, and truth serum in her system.” Kalonia continued to explain.

He bowed his head as he listened, the sour taste of bile was creeping up in the back of his mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose while the facts began to register in his mind. His teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek, he forced himself to slowly exhale.

"There are chafe marks on her body from restraints. The partial break to her humerus looks like it's from prolonged strain during intero—"

He couldn’t let her fully pronounce the word.

"Alright!”

He didn't have it in him to yell anymore, but the tension in his voice filled the space like a streak of lightning.

To her credit, Kalonia never flinched at the sound. She stood patiently, unwavering, her face neutral as she watched him. An uneasy silence settled over the room.

He took a shaky breath, being mindful to adjust his tone before continuing.

“It’s okay.” He spoke softly, voice trembling despite his efforts. “I-I got it, Doc.”

He turned to face away as he desperately tried to calm the tightening in his throat. The corners of his eyes were sharply stinging. The best he could do to regain control was to continue biting down hard on the inside of his mouth, inhaling and exhaling through his nose.

After a couple of minutes he scrubbed both hands over his stubbled face. With the heels of his palms he rubbed at his eyes until he saw stars. Slowly, much too slowly for his liking, he was able to push his own agony down enough to recenter.

Poe turned to face Kalonia once more. He cleared his throat.

“She's not going to be in too much pain when she wakes up?” He demanded. “You can keep her comfortable, right?”

She pointed his attention to the IV stand by the head of the exam bed.

"I can't promise when she wakes up that she won't be in some pain, but we can adjust the medication through her drip and it'll take effect almost immediately."

He nodded. His hand combed through his hair before he slowly approached the bedside once more.

Poe stood and watched Hol's face for several minutes. He searched hard for any signs of movement or distress but found nothing. Her features were mercifully still and serene for the moment. She was protected under the fog of artificial sleep.

“How long are you going to keep her under?”

The question was spoken in a near whisper.

“Depends on her vitals, but at least a day, maybe two.”

Kalonia took the time to show him her vitals displayed on the monitor near the head of the bed, providing a brief explanation of what the numbers currently meant. For the moment, everything hovered just barely inside the acceptable range. It was far from ideal, but it was at least temporarily stable. They would have to see over the next few days how she progressed.

While standing there together, they witnessed a ripple of stiff movement pass through Hol’s limbs.

“Whoa…” Poe visibly straightened, alarm written on his face as he began to think the worst.

Kalonia’s hand found his arm.

“Those movements aren’t another seizure.” She assured him. “It’s a residual effect from nerve agent exposure. Think of it like the nerves in her body recalibrating.”

Poe nodded in quiet understanding, but all he could think about was the excuse Kalonia gave him earlier for keeping Hol restrained— how she didn’t want her to hurt herself. There was some logic behind it, he could admit that much. But now that he knew some of what happened to her, he could barely stomach the idea.

They allowed him to stay in Hol’s room overnight. Kalonia had a cot brought in for him to sleep on, but only under the condition that he promised two things: to use the refresher across the hall and to actually get some sleep.

When he was finally alone with her he felt oddly numb. There in the nearly dark ward of the medbay, he stood over Hol’s bed and just watched her. It took several minutes for him to work up the courage to approach, but he did it. His hand briefly rested on the metal railing, as if he was grounding himself before he finally reached to touch her.

His fingers snaked between her own as he slotted his hand over her's. Immediately he realized that her skin felt strangely warm, prompting him to reach up and feel the side of her face. A quick look at her vitals confirmed his suspicions, she had a low-grade fever beginning to form.

Poe made a note to point it out to one of the medtechs when they would come to make their rounds. He touched her hand once more before he stepped back to take a seat on the unfolded cot.

From there he watched her rest. He felt the heavy pull of exhaustion on his body, but sleep was the last thing he wanted for himself. His mind was all over the place, thinking about too many things at once.

Leia would come to visit her soon. He knew that much. Once she was past the worst and strong enough to speak, they would make her issue a report and do a formal debrief in front of Leia and her counsel.

It would be long and grueling. She would have to relive everything in great detail and be thoroughly questioned. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know all of the facts himself, but he definitely knew that he didn’t want to put her through having to recount it too many times. Those meetings were meant to be classified, but it wouldn’t take long before everyone would know.

Poe so desperately wished that he could save her from that part—when everyone on base would begin to look at her differently. He knew that it was inevitable though. While he sat there next to her bed, watching over her while she slept, he could only think about what was to come.

He knew that for however long she stayed asleep in this room, she was at least protected from all that was waiting out there. The thought comforted him some, even if it was only temporary.

He also knew that the two of them needed to talk about a lot of things once she woke up.

Her position in Black Squadron needed to be rethought. It was a massive understatement to say that her flying under him was unethical. Before Hol left for Batuu they tried to be discreet about their relationship. They both told themselves that they were doing a good enough job keeping things secret, a delusion that went well past the point of denial. They thought their regular heated arguments in front of the others and their general refusal to touch each other would provide ample cover, but their sneaking off to fuck in supplies closets hadn't always been the most covert. But now that she was back, Poe was ready to throw discretion out the window.

There were without a doubt other positions for her as a pilot, other opportunities, but it was going to be difficult convincing her. Making her understand that it wasn’t a punishment would be delicate.

He would talk it over with Leia, with some of the other squadron leaders. He would confess that he was the one in the wrong, and readily accept whatever disciplinary action came his way. They would figure something out for Hol. They had to.

Poe knew he also owed her an apology. He could have handled things differently when she volunteered for the mission, he could have spoken his mind while remaining supportive. His only memories of that conversation were just of him dressing her down, desperately trying to pull rank as a last ditch effort to keep her from leaving by herself.

The truth was that he was so fucking proud of her. During the weeks she was gone he had been livid, walking around with anger bubbling under his skin at all times. But now all he wanted was for her to hear how proud he felt, because he didn't want to leave her with those memories of their final argument.

She kept her head cool and found her way back. She survived whatever hell she fell into and fought her way out. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how she managed to pull off the execution of that landing. She had one broken arm, was trying to evade being hit with no comms system, all while coming in on fumes.

A medtech came by a couple of hours later, which woke Poe out of a light sleep.

He sat up and watched from his cot as they administered medication, checked the tubes and wires around her body to make sure nothing was out of place.

He mentioned the fever, which thankfully hadn't climbed any higher. They started her on another course of antibiotics.

“She looks peaceful, doesn’t she?” They asked him at one point.

The very moment he heard the word a bitter taste spread across his entire tongue, making his mouth twist downward in a frown. He knew they meant well enough, but his head still snapped around to look at them in disbelief.

Because "peaceful" had never been Hol.

Conniving.

Stubborn.

Impulsive.

A pain in his ass.

There were easily ten dozen choice adjectives he and quite a few others on this base could use to describe Hol Tarmin, but peaceful was definitely not one.

Peaceful was a word that people used to describe the dead.

And his girl wasn’t fucking dead.

The very idea was something he couldn’t dwell on for too long, because of the way his foundation had very nearly crumbled during those weeks she was gone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt panic the way he had at the crash site, thinking at any moment he would be forced to helplessly watch while she slipped away from him, like watching water slowly leak out of his cupped hands.

It felt selfish to have those thoughts while she was lying there in front of him, but he was keenly aware of how impossibly lucky they were to get her back — how impossibly lucky he was.

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atinylittlepain · 1 year ago

Text

Apothecary Chapter Eight

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

Samhain is here, and for the first time in a while, she has people to share it with.

word count: 5.2K

warnings | 18+ smut, angst, discussions of grief, spooky-ooky action

a/n | it's here! hands down this has been my favorite chapter to write so far. i would love to hear what you think as always, my inbox is open <3

..............................

Summer has been laid to rest under the whispered chill of fall. The mountains are burned up all orange and yellow, leaves fit to fall in the soon-to-come snap of frost. But for now, as October comes to an end, the days are still tinged with warmth while the nights shiver in the suggestion of the oncoming winter, and Halloween is just around the corner.

Joel had thought it silly, if not downright stupid, when he and Ellie first came to Jackson, all the holidays upheld and celebrated in town. But this year, as the annual fall dance comes closer, he’s hard pressed to be bothered by it with his woman flitting around him, obvious in her excited anticipation.

“Oh, Joel, before you go I have something to give you.”

“This– this is a rusty nail.” She just smiles, curling her fingers under his palm to close his hand over the, quite literally, rusty nail she just gave him.

“Just, humor me, alright? It’s a tradition, for protection. I gave one to Ellie too. Just keep it in your pocket for the next few days.” By now, he’s realized that sometimes it’s easier to just go along with what she tells him, no questions asked, so he nods, pocketing the nail with a smile that he hopes looks grateful. He can also tell that she’s nervous, and he’d bet that it’s because he’s started picking up patrol shifts again, leaving early this morning to meet Tommy at the gate. So if him having an old nail in his pocket is going to make her feel even a little better, he’s happy to oblige her request.

“Thank you, darlin. I’ll see you tonight, ok?” One kiss, a second, and a third, before he finally tears himself away from her, slipping out the front door and into the cool morning air.

“Morning, trouble.”

Mrrp

Stevie is quick to fall into stride alongside him, something he’s still getting used to on the mornings he has patrol, her watchful eyes seeing him out of the gate.

“I see you’ve still got a second shadow following you.” Tommy grins at him as he approaches, eyes glancing down to Stevie who lets out another meow, sitting down rather primly and looking between the two brothers.

“She ain’t–”

“Coming, yeah, you say that everytime, Joel. I’m pretty sure I could figure out that a cat ain’t coming on patrol by myself though.”

Mrrrrp

Tommy gives the cat in question a disbelieving look, eyebrows raised as he looks back up at Joel who can’t help the smug grin tugging at his lips. Tommy lets out a huff, shaking his head.

“Y’all are so fucking weird. Let’s go before the cat starts talking, goddamn.”

…

For the first time in a while, things feel simple, maybe even good. She’s hesitant to let her mind settle on good for fear of jinxing it all, but at the very least, things are really, really not bad. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that Samhain is only a few days away.

It’s the busiest time of year for her, in more ways than one. With the impending chill, more and more people around town are coming down with head colds and whatever else they might pick up in close quarters, a neverending rotation of sniffles and coughs that she’s been tending to while also trying to get ready for the sabbat. While she’s always kept the traditions alive for herself, this year is different, this year she gets to share it with people for the first time in ages, and she might be going just a bit overboard because of it.

Truly, she’s been pulling out all the stops this week. Rosemary and wild rose wreaths for protection through the transition from light to dark, soul cakes for breakfast studded with dried fruit just like her mom would make, and a fresh batch of candles ready to light her altar through the three nights of the pagan new year.

While Joel seems content to let her whirl around him in preparation, Ellie has enthusiastically taken part, listening intently to her explanations of all the rituals and traditions and helping out in the kitchen and in the shop when she can. She can’t help but be reminded of herself as a kid, her mom sharing with her all these things she now gets to share with Ellie.

“So, no bonfire?”

“Sorry, kid, not in this world. It’s just not safe anymore. But we can get the fireplace going and that’ll work just as well.” Though there’s still a slight disappointed slump to her shoulders, Ellie nods, her fingers continuing deft work on another wreath, perched on a stool at the butcher block in the back of the shop.

“You’re getting better at that than me, Ellie. Could I take that one to Maura? I was gonna check in on her this afternoon and I’d like to bring her something.”

“Yeah, for sure. Is she, like, doing ok?” Her own hands still where she had been pruning back some errant leaves, turning to fully look at Ellie with a sigh.

“I think so, yeah. I know Matthew hasn’t given her any more trouble, probably too embarrassed to try. And I think she’s settling in well to her new place.”

“What about Mason?” She swallows the thick heat in her throat at Ellie’s question, schooling her face in something she hopes looks like indifference.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know. For a guy who seems to enjoy causing a lot of fucking problems it’s kinda weird how quiet he is all of a sudden.” She knows the truth that Ellie’s words hold all too well, and had been thinking about this herself for a while now. She hadn’t seen or heard from Mason since what happened at the town hall, and to her knowledge, no one else had either, keeping to himself and his shifts. And while she’d like to just forget about him, his bitter words and blatant violence toward her are hard to shake from her mind.

“Let’s just take a win where we can get one, huh, kid? I don’t– don’t even wanna think about that man so long as I don’t have to.” Ellie seems to accept her reply with a slightly distracted hum, holding up the wreath she just finished with a satisfied smirk.

“Fuck yeah. Am I good, or am I good? I mean, c’mon.” It might be silly, but she feels pride unfurling in her chest watching Ellie. No one else has ever been so interested in what she does, and it feels like a relief she didn’t know she was craving to get to share this all with her.

“Pretty damn good, kid. Thanks for helping me out.”

…

He gets back to town spooked, just a little. It isn’t like anything absolutely dire had happened, though it could have turned rotten real quick. He and Tommy had split off early in the day to circle the dam and meet back up somewhere in the middle. It had been a quiet morning, the woods wrapped in a faint mist, leaves falling like rain, when he heard a low, warbling groan from deeper in the trees. It was obvious to him that it wasn’t an infected, the sound had been so different from anything he’d heard before, and he couldn’t help but dismount and inch into the underbrush, trying to catch sight of what had made a noise like that.

A grizzly, that’s what had made the sound, brown fur matted over a hulking body that rose all of eight feet in the air when it stood up on its haunches and snarled at Joel. He was stunned still where he stood by the sight, gun uselessly cocked against an animal that could have killed him in one powerful swipe. And for a moment, it had seemed like that’s exactly what was about to happen, the bear letting out a rumbling roar, jowls warbling with the sound. But then, and it’s going to sound strange, the animal had paused, and had tilted its head at Joel like it was considering him, before slumping back down onto all fours, letting out a snuff that sounded like a conclusion, and trundling right past him further into the thickening forest.

The whole ride back to town, he can’t help but thumb the corroded nail sitting in his jacket pocket, a jilted energy running circuits in his veins. But the hitch in his chest is smoothed out when he does get home, opening the front door to warmth and the smell of food, something savory mingling with the scent of apples cooking. And the sight of her, comfortably moving around the kitchen, something in the oven and a large pot bubbling on the stove, has his heart kicking up in an entirely different way.

“I can feel you staring, Miller.” She glances at him over her shoulder, a crooked smile as she gives the pot a few stirs before turning and padding over to him where he’s leaning against the doorframe, her palm sliding from his chest to curl behind his neck as she leans in for a kiss. He reckons that this won’t ever get old for him, the apparent ease they move with together, how he can reach out and she’ll reach right back. She gives him a quirked look when she pulls away, brows furrowed.

“You alright?” She can clock him like no other. Sometimes it seems like she knows what he’s feeling before he even does, and if she hadn’t insisted that she most definitely can’t read minds, he would have guessed that she could.

“Mmhmm, just tired. Glad to be home.” Though her brows stay just slightly pinched, she seems to accept his excuse, a quick rub of her palm over her chest before she pulls away to check on whatever she has cooking.

“Is Ellie around?”

“At movie night with Dina. They’re playing Hocus Pocus from what I heard.”

“Got enough of that at home, don’t we?” She scoffs, elbowing him lightly where he’s sidled up behind her.

“Rude, and to think I was making you dinner.” She cranes her neck to look at him over her shoulder, hands finding his on her waist and tangling their fingers together as she scrunches her nose at him. He opens his mouth to say something smart back to her, but his eyes catch on the spoon stirring itself in the pot, drawing her attention back to the stove as well.

“Oops, got a little distracted.” Yeah, he still hasn’t gotten used to her getting distracted.

Dinner is warm and rich and near coma-inducing, both of them sitting back with contented sighs at the dining table, the sun long set, windows going purple and hazy in the glow of the kitchen lights.

“Was Ellie supposed to be home for dinner?” Her brow furrows at his question, head tilted in confusion.

“No, I told you she’s at movie night. Why do you ask?”

“You set an extra place, I just assumed–”

“Oh, no, that’s not– it’s another tradition. You set a place for the people you love who have passed on. Most folks just do it for the three days starting on Halloween. But we always started leaving a plate out a day early, don’t ask me why, it was just the way my mom did it.” It’s clear to him that she’s being careful about what she says, and how she says it. She’s been careful about explaining the holiday, and he can understand why. She had told him that this time of year is marked most by communion with and remembrance of the dead, a subject they’ve been skirting around ever since that night when she tried to talk to him about Sarah, and he bolted like a spooked horse.

“Is that who you set the place for now? Your mom?” Her smile tempers, eyes rounding with a familiar sadness as she nods.

“Yeah, other family too. And I have to admit, I know it’s not my place, but I’ve been thinking about– about Sarah as well.” It’s a leap for her to make, he knows it, and he’s willing to make it with her, reaching his hand across the table to rest over the top of hers, puzzle pieces fitting together in a shared silence.

“Thank you for thinking of her, darlin.” Another nod and a small smile.

“Could I– can I share something with you? And maybe you could help me with it?”

…

“So that’s what all this is for?”

“What’d you think it was for?”

“Honestly, I stopped asking questions about things like this a while ago. Just assumed whatever this was, you had some sort of plan for it.” She has to let out a huff of a laugh at his clearly truthful answer, shaking her head before focusing back on the items spread over the desktop of her bureau.

“Well, I do have a plan, and it’s called an altar. It’s a space made to honor the departed, and to keep them a little closer to us.” She’s already laid out candles, dried leaves, and small wreaths of herbs on the desk, now pulling open one of the bureau’s drawers to get out a worn, weathered photo, tenderly unfolding it. Holding it out so Joel can see, a small sound of recognition rumbles in his chest.

“Is that you?” His finger just hovers over the face of the girl in the photo.

“Mmhmm, and that’s my mom, and my grandmother. I must have been twelve, maybe thirteen, when this was taken.” When she glances at him, something like wonder is laced in his expression, lips parted in a slight smile as he continues to study the picture. Clearing her throat, and her mind, she tucks the photo in amongst the altar before looking at him again.

“It’s nice to include pieces of them, if you have any. I was wondering, um– I mean I don’t know if you’d even want to– but if you have anything of Sarah’s, I was wondering if you’d like to add a piece of her to it?” The words feel thick and clunky coming out, regret an almost instant aftertaste at the way his face falls. But then he surprises her, clearing his throat and nodding before silently unfastening his watch and placing it on the altar, a tap of his fingers to the face of it before he takes a step back.

“And it’s just for the next three days, right?” Worry is pinching his brow, eyes swimming, and she doesn’t resist the urge to reach for him, a hand on his cheek and one right over his heart.

“That’s right. It just lets them know that we’re thinking about them a little more than usual, that’s all. And then we go back to carrying them with us however we can.” He gives her a short nod, tears like silver in his eyes as he rests his hand over hers on his chest, his other palm coming to cup her cheek.

“She would’ve liked you, y’know.” It’s so unexpected, her breath catches in her throat at his words.

“You think so?”

“I think you two would’ve got on like a house on fire. Probably would’ve ganged up on me too, though you and Ellie already do that I suppose.” The warbly sound of her own laugh makes her realize that she’s started crying too, the soft sweep of his thumb brushing away a few stray tears.

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but my mom would’ve hated you.” The spluttering laugh he lets out sends her into a huffed spiral of her own, quiet grins between the two of them.

“Would’ve hated me, huh?”

“Mmhmm, nothing personal though. She just believed that women should never get tied down to a man for long.” He hums at that, both of them holding back another laugh through their tears.

“And what do you believe, darlin?”

“I believe that you are the one exception to that rule, Joel Miller.”

…

Seeing as the last town dance he went to ended with him busting his knuckles open on a man’s face, Joel isn’t exactly raring to go to this one. But hers and Ellie’s shared excitement is more than making up for his own disinterest.

“Look, old man, Stevie and I match.” Ellie jumps off the last two steps of the porch, Stevie letting out a distressed mewl from her place in her arms at the sudden movement.

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny.” Ellie’s got on black jeans, a black sweater, and a black headband with two triangular scraps of fabric attached to look like cat ears, cradling Stevie in her arms as the finishing touch to her makeshift costume.

“What’re you supposed to be? A lumberjack with anger issues?” He huffs at her rather sharp question, glancing down at his flannel, the same flannel he wears at least twice a week these days.

“Sure, let’s go with that, kid.”

“You two ready?” Her voice pulls his attention away from Ellie’s smug grin, and when he catches sight of her, his mind goes so hazy he can’t be bothered to pick his jaw up off the ground.

“That hat is fucking wicked.” He doesn’t even have half a mind to scold Ellie for her language, too busy taking in the sight of his woman. She’s wearing the same mismatched sneakers she’s always got on, her bare shins peeking out beneath the hem of her black dress. A very nicely-fitting black dress at that, long-sleeved, with a deep neckline he can’t seem to take his eyes away from. It’s too good, the hat sitting atop her head, the pointed top and the wide brim an almost cartoonish calling-card, and the grin on her face as she stands before him tells him that she knows it too.

“Well?” She holds out her arms, a little flare in her wrists as she looks at him, and all he can do is let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Where the hell did you get a hat like that?” She pinches the brim between her fingers, giving him a wink.

“Found it in the attic of my old house when I first moved in. Been saving it for a special occasion. You like?” He pulls her in for a kiss, all crooked from their mirrored grins.

“Ugh, c’mon, Stevie. Let’s go before they inflict any more damage to our eyeballs.” She pulls away with a laugh at Ellie’s very vocal dismay, taking Joel’s hand in hers with a light squeeze.

“Sorry, kid. No more eyeball damage, I promise. Let’s get a move on.”

Once again, the dining hall has been fitted out for the dance, tables pushed aside to clear the floor and a ragtag band putting out half-decent music. But this time is different too. This time, he’s got an easy arm wrapped around his woman’s waist, holding onto her in a crowd that no longer stares and whispers, but welcomes with easy smiles and talk. Everyone is in some sort of attempted costume, and he catches sight of Tommy making his way toward them through the crowd, an old cowboy hat on his head and a bandana tied around his neck.

“What’re you supposed to be, brother? A slightly less pissed off version of yourself?” While he grunts at his brother’s teasing, she laughs easily, happy to pick up the social slack where Joel refuses to engage.

“Happy Halloween, Tommy. I saw Maria and your boy out front. I can’t believe how big he’s gotten, gonna be quite the little heartbreaker in a few years.” The clear pride in Tommy’s smile sets warmth spreading in Joel’s chest. It’s been a surprising bright spot for him, watching his brother step into fatherhood. Not that he’d ever tell Tommy, but it’s a good look on him.

“He’s something else, ain’t he? Not gonna be able to keep up with him at the rate he’s growing. But anyways, just wanted to come say howdy. Y’all enjoy yourselves, alright?” With a brisk clap to Joel’s shoulder, Tommy is moving back through the crowd, lobbing easy greetings to folks left and right.

“Alright, my angry lumberjack, are you gonna ask me to dance or what?”

“You heard that, huh? Don’t even know how the kid knows what a lumberjack is.” Her smile is easy, humor crinkling her eyes as she looks at him.

“Mmhmm, but for the record, you make a very cute, angry lumberjack.” What he does next surprises even him, taking her hand and leading her into the throng of swaying couples on the dance floor with a confidence he hasn’t felt in decades. The band is playing a slower song, light threadings of a guitar and the old piano, a sweet suggestion to pull her close, one arm hooked around her waist, his other tucked between their chests where their hands are tangled together. Judging by the widening of her eyes, lips parted in a crooked smile, she hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“You’ve been holding out on me if you’ve been able to dance this nicely this whole time, Miller.” He can feel himself going a bit sheepish under her praise, eyes turned down as he leads them in a simple string of steps.

“Haven’t danced in a long time, darlin.” They fall into an easy silence, the music and din of the hall lulling them into the movement. Though everything comes crashing to a jilted stop, music fizzling out under the sudden scuffle in the crowd. It’s instinct, the way his arm tightens around her, keeping her close as he cranes his neck to see where the raised voices are coming from, his stomach dropping when he lays eyes on who it is.

He can’t hear what’s being said, but judging by the steely look on Tommy’s face and the hazy sneer on Mason’s, it’s nothing friendly. And through the crowd, Mason’s bloodshot eyes land on him first, before sliding over to her, a grin smearing across his face that Joel would like nothing more than to smack clean off him. But Tommy is quick to take Mason out of the hall with a harsh grip on his shoulder, gone as soon as he appeared, though the damage has already been done judging by the slack frown on her face.

“Joel, can we go, please?” His chest tightens at the way her voice has flattened, the quiet question slipped from her downturned mouth, eyes stuck where Mason had been standing.

“Yeah, darlin, we’ll go home. Lemme find Ellie and let her know, alright?”

He keeps her hand in his the whole walk home, not letting go until they’re in their bedroom and she’s sitting down on the edge of the bed, a deep furrow between her brows.

“God, I feel so stupid for letting that affect me like I did. I’m sorry, Joel. We were having a good time and I– I ruined it.” He sits down as close to her as he can, tucking her under his arm and dropping a kiss to the top of her head, her hat discarded on the floor.

“Didn’t ruin a thing, darlin. I’m just sorry that pathetic bastard came around at all.” He can tell that she’s working through it in her mind, somewhere between the past and the present, lips slightly pursed and eyes focused on her hands in her lap, but she doesn’t get stuck on it, a long exhale bringing her back to him, tilting her head to look at him with a suggestion of a smile. She doesn’t say anything, slipping out of his hold like liquid and padding quietly over to her bureau where the altar is set up. It’s grace embodied, the way she leans over one of the unlit candles, pursing her lips and exhaling like you would to extinguish a flame, though instead the wick smokes and crackles into a bright blaze.

“Well now you’re just showing off.” A shrug and a laugh from her as she lights the other candles with the one she just lit, the altar being cast in a warm and pulsing glow.

…

Maybe she had been showing off, just a little, drinking in the way his eyes widen and don’t pull away from her for even a second as she turns back to him and extends her hand.

“Would you mind finishing that dance with me?” The light in the bedroom is dim, just a lamp and the candles casting a haze of warmth across the room, but she can still see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he stands up and slides his hand into hers.

There’s no music, but they don’t need it, finding an easy sway in their close tangle. She rests her cheek at his shoulder, nose brushing along the juncture of his neck, breathing him in, feeling his hands splayed across her back, the insistent pump of his heart, stronger than anything she’s ever heard before.

“Think you mentioned something a while ago about dancing naked.” She can hear the smug crook of his smile in his words, making her laugh as she pulls back to look at him.

“Hmm, yeah, I just said that to seduce you.” He chuckles at the smarmy waggle of her eyebrows, pulling her tighter against him.

“Didn’t have to do that, darlin. Reckon I was gone for you from day one.” The kiss they slip into is more like a shared sigh, swallowing each other’s relief, muscles slackening under wandering hands. They move with patience, like time has stopped with the slow trails of fingers, the languid press of lips. A shiver runs through her when he tugs the zipper of her dress down, sliding the fabric down her arms, letting it pool around her still socked feet. She wants skin against skin, stepping closer to him as she slips her fingers through the buttons of his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders as soon as she can, leaving his torso warm and bare for her to press against, mouths open and receiving whatever the other is willing to give.

And all of a sudden that tender patience snaps into a snarling desperation, Joel’s hands a searing grip on her hips, keeping her close as he ducks his head down to mouth at the tops of her breasts, only giving her enough space to slip out of her bra before he’s dipping back down and taking one of her nipples into the heat of his mouth, teeth a dizzying graze. They’ve had slow and sweet, and this isn’t that, her back pressing up against one of the bedroom walls as he cages her in, warm and trembling breaths fanning over her skin as she tugs open his belt and rucks his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his flushed cock, resting heavy and heated against her thigh.

When they first came together, it had been all questions, all Can I? Like this? Is that good? Are you? But they no longer need words now, communicating in the hungry sweep of palms and the flicker of darkened eyes. He hitches her knee against his hip, opening her up to him, his cock an aching drag through her cunt before he presses into her, pleasure tinged with the throbbing stretch of him.

Her back slides up the wall with each thrust of his hips, his hand cradling the back of her head to keep her from thumping her skull. It’s all harsh breaths and broken grunts, her eyes scrunching shut only for Joel to coax her gaze back with a gentle let me see you, darlin– look at me, baby, eyes on me, that’s it. He presses his forehead to hers, holding her steady through every hard press of his hips, his cock grazing so deep it’s all she can do to let out a quiet whimper of his name.

“I know, darlin– fuck, I know– always so good, huh? Lemme have it, honey, just like this.” He knows her almost too well by now, when to pull back, to slow down, to draw it out, and when to give her more, to press her over the edge, to twist up her pleasure only to unravel it. His hips still against hers when she comes, a deep grind inside of her that draws out her high, spasming around him as she digs her nails into his shoulders. Slackening in his arms, her mind cuts through the haze, confusion settling in when she realizes he still hasn’t moved, his forehead pressed to her sternum.

“Are you– did you–”

“Fuck, darlin, I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking and I– Jesus christ.” He pulls out with a shuddering breath, and that’s when she notices it, the warm trickle of him making her knees go weak. Joel, meanwhile, seems to be in perfect remorse, muttering a string of apologies, his hands hovering at her waist like he’s afraid to touch her. Finally, she cuts off his rambling, her palm cupping his jaw to get him to focus on her.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You seriously think I don’t know how to take care of something like this? Honestly, I’m a little offended.” His face goes completely slack at her words, a disbelieving laugh coming out on a long exhale.

“I– you– goddamn. God fucking damn, think I almost had a heart attack.” His words come out on another laugh, hands framing her face as he lands a hard kiss to her forehead, making her chuckle at his reaction.

“No heart attacks on my watch, Miller. I love you too much to let that happen.” This kiss lands a bit lower, a smacking press of his lips to hers before he pulls away with a sheepish smile.

“Love you, darlin. Let’s, uh, let’s get you cleaned up.”

…

It’s much later in the night when she untangles herself from his embrace, successfully slipping out of bed without waking him. Grabbing the blanket Joel had kicked off in his sleep and wrapping herself up in it, she quietly pads downstairs and out onto the back porch.

“Hey, little miss, did you and Ellie have fun?” Stevie is happy to jump into her lap where she has sat down on the porch steps, a content purr thrumming as she nuzzles against her palm. A moment, that’s all she wanted, to think about the people she’s lost in the cool closeness of the night. But she and Stevie aren’t alone, not anymore. Something like family, something a little magic.

...............................

taglist: @boofy1998 @misspascaliverse @jasminedragoon @beskarandblasters @daddy-din @subconsciouscollapse @avidreader73 @pedgeitopascal @littlelou22 @wannab-urs @hannahlupinblack @whoiscaroline @leeeesahhh @str84pedro @mumma-moonchild @disregardedplant @mxtokko @igloo71 @secretdazeobservation @eddie-munson-dungeon-master @cressida-clearwood @mydailyhyperfixations @mingeniee @the-ginger-hedge-witch @delicious-collection @gab-thelamb-onthemoon @thereaperisabitch @lunxramour @jupiter-sky @parrotpeggy @abbiesxox @nerdreader @ssa-raye @vermillionwinter @jksprincess10 @jordycat-2018 @lavenderkee @hungryforbatboys @casa-boiardi

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #apothecary #joel miller au #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic

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angelasscribbles · 1 year ago

Text

Victim of Love Chapter 3: Old Friends and New

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,146

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: drinking

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

I heard about you and that man There's just one thing I don't understand

My other stuff: Master List.

Drake rejoined the party in progress, fingering the scrap of paper in his hand. He sat down at the bar as he eyed the hastily scribbled number. Pulling out his phone, he typed it in and sent a text: You gave me your number, but you still haven’t told me your name.

“Hey, there you are!” a familiar voice called out.

Drake’s head snapped up as he pocked the phone, along with the scrap of paper, a grin spreading across his face, “Liam!”

He stood quickly and embraced his old friend.

“I was wondering if you were going to make it!” Liam gestured for him to retake his seat before taking the one next to him.

“I wouldn’t miss your anniversary party!” Drake retook his seat.

“I appreciate that, but it would be nice to see you between the big events.” The childhood best friends had drifted apart, at least geographically, over the last several years.

“Sorry, Li, I know. The last time I was here was your wedding.”

“And my coronation before that.”

“Mom and the ranch have both really needed me.”

“I understand, it’s not like I’ve been to Texas to visit you. Believe me, I understand obligation and responsibility all too well.”

Drake’s brows creased at the trace of sadness in his tone. “Everything okay?”

��What? Yes, everything is fine! Let’s get a drink, I had the bar stock your favorite whiskey!”

“I know, I just haven’t had a chance to drink any yet….” He trailed off as the memory of why he’d abandoned his first drink of the night intruded upon his thoughts. Heat spiked through his veins as the image of her naked body arching up into his spilled through his mind and his eyes scanned the room for her.

“Well, let’s correct that immediately!” Liam laughed as he signaled the bartender over to take their order.

The bartender quickly poured and then slid two glasses over to them.

Drake held his glass up in a toast, “Congratulations!”

“On which part?”

“Both! Here’s to navigating the first year of marriage successfully and to the impending birth of Cordonia’s heir!”

“I’ll drink to that!” Liam lifted his glass in salute and then both men drank.

They spent a few minutes catching up then Liam excused himself, “I have to get back to this interminable ball but please, join me after this monstrosity of a party is over! Upstairs, third floor, the private sitting room in the west wing.”

“West wing? The royal quarters are in the east wing!”

“Yes, well, since my marriage, my wife has taken over…everything there. The decorating, the meal planning, how often the goddamn toothbrushes are replaced! Nothing there feels like mine anymore…” A sigh of frustration escaped him as pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just…the west wing, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Drake agreed sympathy pulling through him. He knew Liam had married for duty, not love. He’d been best man at the wedding and Liam had confided in him then that his heart lie with another, but she hadn’t been approved by the council.

He didn’t envy Liam his money, position, or titles. Running a cattle ranch was hard work, but his life was his own.

His thoughts were drawn away from his best friend when his phone pinged. He pulled it out and glanced down at the screen.

I’m not in the habit of telling strangers my name.

He shook his head with a grin as he typed back, I’d say after tonight we’re intimately acquainted. Or would you like to go for round three?

Don’t threaten me with a good time.

They continued to banter back and forth until he’d pried her name out of her and the ball was over.

No one’s ever made me work this hard for a name before. When can I see you again, Riley?

No immediate response, but that didn’t mean anything. Right?

He made his way upstairs and into the west wing. He knocked on the door and then opened it and entered without waiting for a response. Looking around, he noted the new furnishings and decorations in the room. When he had lived at the palace, this entire wing had been in disuse and filled with dusty, centuries-old furnishings. It now looked like something he’d actually be comfortable living in, “I like what you’ve done with the place!”

“Thanks,” Liam handed him a drink and took a seat in a plush leather recliner facing the door, “I’ve missed you. Please tell me you’re done playing cowboy and ready to move back home.”

Drake folded himself into the matching chair across from Liam with a sigh, “I’m not playing cowboy, Li! I’m-“

“I know, I know!” Liam interrupted him, “But let’s be honest. You’re not doing anything that a good foreman can’t do and I’m willing to pay you a small fortune to come back home and take your place in the Royal Guard!”

Drake had left a lucrative military career when his mother had requested his assistance with the family ranch back in Texas. If he were being honest, he did miss Cordonia and even the palace. It had been his home for half his life and Liam was the closest thing to a brother he had.

“Make me an official offer and I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” Liam’s face lit up in delight.

Drake shook his head with an amused grunt, “Yeah. Why not? But don’t get too excited! I said I’d consider it!”

The truth was, as much as he loved his mother, she could be a lot. And Liam was right, he could hire a foreman for the day-to-day running of the ranch.

“Excellent! How long are you here for this time?”

“A week or two, I really want to go out and check on the cabin.” He hadn’t set foot in it in three years.

As if reading his mind Liam assured him, “I’ve had Bastien looking after it. He goes out at least once every few months, makes sure nothing is leaking, no one has broken in, things like that.”

“Thanks, Li. I really appreciate it. Speaking of the cabin…” he gestured around the room, “this looks more like something I would pick for it than something you’d pick for the palace.”

“Oh, I didn’t do this,” Liam grinned.

“But then who-“

“Remember at my wedding when I told you there was someone else? Someone I wished I could have chosen?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I somehow managed to convince her to stick around and-“

The door opened again and Liam’s entire being lit up. The tension eased from his shoulders as he leapt to his feet to greet her. The change was noticeable and significant, “Here she is now!”

Drake turned around in his seat as the smell of lavender and lilac hit him like a full-throttle freight train right in the chest.

#victim of love #angelasscribbles #trr au #the royal romance fanfic #the royal romance #drake walker #trr #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #liam rys #choices

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swampstew · 2 months ago

Text

What's the Magic Word?

Chapter 14: Testing the Waters

On the fifth day at sea, the pirates came across a deserted island. Docking with plans to restock on supplies and scout around, Rowena left with Killer, Heat, Wire and a quarter of the crew. That morning at breakfast Rowena had stood in front of the crew and apologized for losing control of her magic again. Everyone wasn suprisingly chill about it, some cracked jokes about taking lessons in ass kicking from her, to which she was grateful. She had been nervous that she would be alienated from the crew after the incident, or worse, shunned. Kid had not been present in the mess hall, nor was he on the deck as the pirates departed.

Kid to his credit, was doing his goddamn best to stay out of Rowena’s way. Unable to sleep or eat, he isolated himself to his workshop. At first, he tried to work on some engineering projects but every time he pulled out a blueprint, he would be reminded of the designs he had made with the Witch.

They were really good ideas too he just couldn’t bring himself to work on them; he knew he would need her around in case he needed her help with the concepts and he just couldn’t risk it. So instead, he mashed metal to metal, smelted it down, crushed it with his power, and started the cycle over again. By the time the crew had come back aboard, Kid had gone through half of his scraps.

He took dinner in his room but he hardly touched the plate. He laid in bed; head directed at the vanity he had made her. He turned over, burying his head into a pillow – fuck, it still smells like her. He got up and ripped off the sheets, throwing them in the ofuro tub with soap.

He sulked at his desk, fingers tapping until his eyes laid on his music transponder. He picked the tiny creature up and thought about the song Rowena had first played; he let the foreign lyrics wander in his mind as he silently begged the stupid snail to play the song, because of course he had been too busy staring at her ass to remember the stupid fucking song title. The snail blinked at him but did not play and with an angry snarl, he prepared to smash it on the table.

It’s little eye stalks bulged and seeing its tiny, terrified expression deflated the hothead, instead he felt guilt for it. He’d neglected to feed or care for it until Rowena had reminded him it was a living thing and now he was on the cusp of killing it.

But he’s a murderer, so why can’t he kill a bug?

He put it down shakily and it fled to hide behind a stack of paper. Kid began pacing in his room breathing hard, he began pulling on his hair when he heard a light knocking. He opened it, only a little disappointed at seeing Killer.

The blonde man walked in, a map in his hand, “Is now a good time?”

Kid grunted at him, sitting back at his desk. Spreading the paper down, Killer began talking but Kid wasn’t paying any attention.

“Kid? KID!” Killer slammed a hand down on the map.

The Captain’s eyes snapped into focus, narrowing at his friend. “WHAT?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that we have about three weeks of sailing ahead of us to reach the next inhabited island. Do we want to try and stop anywhere familiar along the way?”

“What for?”

“I don’t know, so you can get out of this fucking cabin?”

“Don’t want to.”

“What is going on with you? Did…Did you and Rowena break up or something?”

Kid glared hatefully at him.

“Oh. I’m sorry Kid. That’s…that’s rough, buddy,” he said weakly.

Kid said nothing.

“Do you want me to leave?”

The redhead shook his head. Killer sighed, pulled out a chair and sat down, taking his mask off.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Kid grunted, “The fuck you mean? She said she wanted space from me, so here I am hiding like a cowardly cunt.”

“You sure? Women sometimes say they want one thing when they really mean another,” Killer suggested.

“She called me another Gecko Moria, I think she’s pretty goddamn serious about the space.”

“Oof,” Killer shook his head, “That seems uncharitable.”

“It makes perfect sense to me. I am who I am. She has her baggage and I’m just a stupid brute who didn’t stop to think for one fucking second,” he gritted his teeth, fingers curling against the table. “I don’t – I’m freaking out Kil, I don’t know what to do.”

Killer leaned back against the chair, “I guess just give her time to figure out her feelings. She apologized to the crew this morning, maybe she’ll apologize to you too? I’m not saying she was right calling you out like that but I think she knows you’re not like that guy. Not by a long shot.”

“We murder and torture people, mate. Pretty sure that puts us and him on equal footing as ‘evil guys,’” Kid shot him a skeptical look, disgusted with himself for using air quotes in conversation.

“Hmmm nah. If she really felt that way, I don’t think she would have slept with you in the first place. And you both fucked…a lot. Very loudly. You on the other hand, should stop moping around. That’s not going to bring her back. I think you should get back to what you normally do, wait for her to make the first move. Go be Captain of the Victoria Punk, you have your dreams to fulfill too.” Killer drummed his fingers on the table.

Kid punched his fist on the table, finally losing his shit, “What’s the point in being King of the Pirates if the woman I want as my Queen hates my fucking guts?!”

Killer’s eyes shot open, blue irises shining underneath bushy bangs. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, “Well, this is quite the development. When did you realize you wanted to wife her up?”

Crinkling his nose, “Between the time I realized she’s the coolest person alive to when she almost drowned.”

The ghost of a smile twitched on Killer’s lips. Speaking softly, “You know, historically kings took whoever they wanted.”

“I'm.Not.Fucking.Doing.That.” Kid snapped through clenched jaws, eyes flashing dangerously as amber irises turned blood orange. “I cannot do that to her.”

“Damn, you’ve got it bad,” Killer whistled at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this enamored since Vic-” Kid threw his helmet across the room.

“Ok then. I don’t know how else to advise you. Just know that I’m here for you, 100% in whatever you do or happens,” and Killer left the room. Kid slammed his head against the table.

Finding safety in his own room, Killer thumbed his mask softly. “So much for letting her go."

𓏧 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏧

It was late at night; the sea was calm and Kid stood at the railing inside the dinosaur’s mouth. They had been at sea for days and not once did he see Rowena. He frowned with arms crossed over his chest. Following Killer’s advice, Kid had gotten his shit together and resumed his duties.

He had hoped that by being out and about he would have at least some face time with the Witch, whether in passing or for meals but she was nowhere to be found. He picked at the chipped paint on his nails, a scowl on his face. He thought about all the things he wanted say to her, things he could have done differently; he didn’t notice when the door to the mouth had opened and closed.

Rowena walked up behind him silently, making herself known by tugging his coat. He whipped his head around, shocked to see her there. “I was just leaving,” he said turning.

“I was hoping to talk to you.”

He gingerly stepped back to the railing, waiting for her to continue. She wrung her hands for a moment before dropping them, tilting her head up she looked him square in the eyes.

“I want to apologize to you. I should not have compared you to Moria – that was unwarranted. I was speaking from a place of hurt and anger. And I want to let you know that I appreciated what you said. I’ve been thinking it about it a lot these last few days. My actions had nothing to do with trying to defy or undermine you, I just wanted to save those children from trauma,” she dropped her gaze to the floor.

Kid cleared his throat, “I know what I did was fucked up and as much as I wish I could turn back time, what’s done is done. I hurt you after I said I wouldn’t, after I agreed to protect you. I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust back.”

His face flushed red as he continued, “I want to be the man you turn to and feel safe with; I don’t want to push you away.”

He almost didn’t register when her arms wrapped around him. Her body trembling against his – that snapped him to attention. He closed his arms around her, holding her close. He leaned his head on top of hers. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Rowena pulled back, turning to lean against the rail.

“I like your new tattoo.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly. He felt his body freeze when her hand touched his, bringing it to her face. “Your nails are ruined. Do you want me to paint a new coat on?”

Kid half shrugged, then nodded his head.

“Ok, I’ll look to see if I have any polish. Or you can bring yours to my room. Sometime tomorrow?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

She nodded too, dropping his hand and resuming her gaze out to the black sea. She lifted her hand and a stream of water lazily whipped around in front of them. Sparkling in the water were thousands of tiny microorganisms that glowed a weird green color. They watched together in silence as she let ribbon after ribbon of water rise and fall, the glow reflecting in their faces. Kid was so entranced that he didn’t see the gentle stream of water beside him until it nailed him in the head.

Through one eye he could see the Witch covering her face, giggling quietly. As the water slid down his face, he gave her a playful grin. She lowered her hand and gave him a small smile in return.

𓏧 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏧

Kid stood outside of Rowena’s room, a crusty bottle of polish in his hand. She greeted him, leading him to her table she mixed some tonic into his bottle to thin the paint.

“We’re going to be sailing for a few weeks. Could use your help with one of the designs we drafted. I think the desalination tank is a good place to start,” he peeled off the last bit of paint on his nails.

“Yeah that sounds like a good idea. Do you really think we won’t come across any islands in the meantime?”

“I’m sure we will but this is all uncharted territory so we don’t know for sure what we’ll find.”

“Makes sense. Well, whenever we set foot on dry land, I hope they have a bookstore.” She began applying a thin coat to his nails. “Do you still want me training with the crew? I apparently made an impression last time.”

Clearing his throat, “We’re going to go in a different direction, I think. You should probably focus on endurance training, building muscle, and we can go over Haki more in-depth too. You’ve demonstrated a unique ability to harness all three types but you should work on them some more. Don’t know what else I can do for you in witchcraft. How is that going?”

Rowena closed the bottle, letting the paint dry. “I’ve finished my reading materials but I need to put them into practice. I kind of need a place to do it all though, hopefully in peace. Honestly though, I’m kind of stuck. I can read every book, scroll, scrap, and I can attempt them all; but if I had an actual teacher I could probably learn faster, maybe be twice as good. I think I have a lead on such a person but not sure how I can make it work yet.”

Kid raised his eyebrow. Rowena began applying a second coat, not saying anything at first.

“I…made a contract with a guardian so there shouldn’t be any more issue with astral projection, but truthfully I’m not sure searching the planes is a worthwhile venture. The entity I made the pact with had close ties with two legendary witches of my coven. In exchange for being my guardian, my vow is to…um...find a way to release them from the plane. Admittedly, I don’t actually know how to do that. I think all I can do now is ask for guidance and hope that along the way I can get stronger and learn how to fulfil my bargain.”

“Does that mean you’ll be spending more time astral projecting?”

“Hopefully not, I do not like it there. There is a way to contact them but I must search for it. I don’t know how this will end up. I’m hopeful but I’m also nervous. What do you think?”

Kid blew on his fingers, foot bouncing on the floor. “Just tell me what you need and we’ll get it. So, this guardian, do they have a name?”

“You said you were from the South Blue right?” Kid nodded. “Are you familiar with the legend of Cú Chulainn?” He blinked. “Legendary hero, the Child of Light?”

“I…maybe? I don’t really remember. I can ask Killer.” Rowena nodded, pulling out a bottle of topcoat polish. “A hero teaching you witchcraft…what are the odds?”

“Weird right? I’m not sure what it means, and I did not see that coming during my tarot readings.”

“Tarot, what kind of magic is that, is it like palm reading?”

“It’s a branch of magic called Divination. There are other forms too, but Tarot is by far the easiest and less dramatic way.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, in some practices it can be really easy to accidentally let out demons, become possessed, create poltergeists; it has its downsides.”

“How many branches of magic are there?”

“I don’t really know. But I’m gonna find out. That’s my dream now, to become the most powerful Witch in the world.” She blew on his nails.

“I see. Then I think you should do whatever it takes to become so. But, aren’t you kind of already the most powerful Witch, since you’re....” he paused.

“I don’t know that that’s true. Witches have left the Island of Thorns in the past that may or may not still be out in the world. And even if there aren’t, being the best by technicality is not good enough. As the assumed sole survivor, it’s now my duty to uphold our traditions and customs, and maybe one day pass them down to the next generation. It’s…a really big responsibility. I need to Be the Best that ever was. My entire coven’s existence is now on my shoulders.” She dropped his hand. “All done.”

“Thanks, you did good. I didn’t realize how important this was to you but that makes sense.”

“Kid, why do you want to be King of the Pirates?”

“The glory.”

“That’s it?”

“What else is there? Compared to the righteous greed of the rulers, the criminals of the world seem much more honorable. World Nobles... Slaves... Human auction halls... Against the ‘purity’ of these upper classes, the villains of the world look positively humane in comparison. It's because the world is in the hands of scum like them that it's all screwed to hell. I mean, we're not the nicest of guys, but at least we're honest about it. When scum rules the world, only more scum is born. I’m not going to play by their rules; after I find One Piece, I’ll tear it all down because I can.”

“I didn’t realize you had ambitions after finding the treasure. I thought that was the endgame for you.”

“I’m not going to be an old man when I find it!”

“No not like that. I mean, I was under the impression that you just wanted to be King, and then you would – I don’t know I guess make a base for yourself and live out your life in complete luxury and freedom?”

Kid began laughing, “I’m going to do that too! Don’t you get it? I’m ALWAYS going to do whatever I want, whenever I want. Being King of the Pirates is just a formality. My jolly roger already strikes fear in the heart of sailors, everyone will cower before me when I’m King. No one will ever look down on me again.”

Rowena nodded her head, eyes closed with a smile, “Yeah that sounds like Eustass Kid.”

The Captain stood, stretching, “You can use my cabin to practice your craft. I’ll be around the ship, might come in from time to time but it’s the only real space where you can have your privacy. Plus, your vanity is in there and all.”

“Are you sure? Some things might require me to like mark up your floor and walls.”

He made a face but it was quickly replaced with a smirk, “Just make sure its cleaned whenever you’re done.”

She smiled and gave him a hug, he wrapped his arms around her. He thought for a moment and then kissed the top of her head. He felt her bristle at that and he dropped his arms.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” she whispered.

He nodded, nail digging into his palm, “I’ll let you get back to it. Goodnight Ro’.”

He walked back to his cabin and sat on his stripped bed looking at his hands. Rowena had done a great job: the paint job and the companionship; he winced at himself for the last bit of it. Looking at the nail he dug into his hand, he saw that it was smudged. He scoffed at it, always fucking shit up.

Read on AO3

#eustass kid #eustass kid x rowena #what's the magic word?#eustasscaptainkid #one piece fanfiction #one piece #kid pirates #eustass kid x oc #firstmatesimp #rowena the witch #ao3 writer #eustass captain kid #raven's reading nook #ao3 fanfic #ao3 works

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acorrespondence · 1 year ago

Note

From "i put this heavy heart in you":

“Hello?” says a voice over the line.

“Shit. You ain’t Raylan,” Boyd says. He steps out onto the porch and closes the door behind him.

“Ah... no. Look, this line isn’t really for personal calls—“

“Well,” says Boyd, “I happen to have some information as pertains to the two enterprisin individuals busted out of Big Sandy this very night.”

There’s a pause. “All right,” the voice says eventually. It’s a slow drawl, professional enough, though something about it strikes Boyd as bored, maybe even sarcastic. Although he supposes he’d be aggravated himself, having to answer another man’s phone half past four in the morning. “What is your information?”

Boyd looks out at the headlights flashing by, the roads here never quiet, even in the small hours before dawn. “Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens was ten, fifteen minutes out of Parisville on the Mountain Parkway towards Big Sandy as of 9:20 this evenin. However, if you were to contact the prison, I fear you might find that Raylan Givens never made it back to survey the livin quarters of the escapees, as he was intended to do. I believe he encountered a gas station he saw as suspicious—and I have an inkling his suspicions may’ve proved founded.”

“And… how do you know this?” asks the voice slowly. Suspiciously. Boyd supposes it must sound like an awful lot of detail, to someone who hasn’t spent the last three hours turning every facet over in his head like seaglass, holding each one up to the light, waiting for something to shine through.

Boyd sees no cause to lie. He smiles into the mouthpiece, the one that shows every tooth in his head. “Well, Deputy, I was on the phone with him when he happened upon the very service station in question.”

The deputy on the phone makes a skeptical noise. “And you think this has somethin to do with the escaped convicts?”

“I do believe that to be the likely case, yes,” says Boyd. His hand flexes around the phone, a movement only half-conscious. He only notices when the plastic case creaks. “And if it ain’t, then, when you find him, you tell that fucker to answer his goddamn cell phone.”

The deputy snorts. “All right. Thank you for your information. And what is your name and loca—“

Ah, the phone call. As we know from later on in this chapter, the guy who answers the phone is Tim (and I do hope I did a good enough job characterizing him that this was clear even before he confirms it in the car on the way to Shirley’s later). He is going to be so bummed when he finds out that Raylan came out to Rachel first, after he laid such nice groundwork for such a confidence, but boy is just too subtle for his own good. Of course, this was a large part of the point of this scene: much of this fic deals with being closeted, how and when to come out, the fact that queer people often have to come out over and over again, and the fact that they can be out in some places or to some people but not others; if coming out should ever be necessary and the ramifications of that decision; etc. So, this is the first instance of anyone having cause to question whether or not Raylan is straight. Since Tim in this fic (and in canon, let’s be honest now) is gay, I gave that honor to him. He’s the one most likely to draw the correct conclusion.

I’m so glad you picked this bit, I was very proud of my Tim voice here; plus, it’s the first instance where we hear Boyd talking to someone he doesn’t live with, so I got to really stretch my vocabulist muscles. I know I’ve talked about it before, though I can’t remember where—possibly DMs with @boydcrowdr?—but based on my extensive rewatching of canon I came to the conclusion that Boyd’s language isn’t quite as elevated with the people he’s closest with, including Raylan. I’ve incorporated this quirk of character into my fic, and so while he always has a big vocabulary and likes to throw some impressive words in at random, I’ve written his everyday dialogue more casually so far. He’s at his most verbose when he’s a) defensive or b) trying to get someone (or a group of someones, as it were) to do something. Here, he’s stressed, at a disadvantage, and trying to convince someone of something, so it was fun to let loose on the eloquence front. The hope is that, upon close inspection, the fic hints at Boyd’s state of mind, as well as his intentions, in accordance with how pedantic he’s being.

I think Boyd’s feelings are pretty clear through the narration, but as for Tim, I think he starts the conversation annoyed and confused, but then gets intrigued, and by the time he hangs up he’s feeling pretty amused and obviously curious, which leads him to go fishing the next day, when he has Raylan as a lone captive audience. Prior to this call, he was stuck in the office doing boring shit in the middle of the night because of this prison break bullshit, his new colleague is out doing all the legwork Tim would much prefer to be doing right now, so this ends up being a pretty interesting event to cut through the boredom. Ultimately, he doesn’t regret picking up Raylan’s desk phone; his night would have felt a lot more pointless and monotonous if he hadn’t. Plus, you know. It’s nice not to be the only one.

So, after California, we now have all the most important players from the Marshals’ office at three different places when it comes to their knowledge of Raylan being queer: Rachel, who he told outright; Tim, who guessed correctly; and Art, who’s still in the dark. This, of course, adds several delicious layers of tension that are very fun to work with. And the one of the three who has the most reasonable argument to claim that he should know is the only guy who doesn’t.

(Ask game here)

#ask game #heavy heart #willow universewoman star-shine #my fic #justified #tim gutterson #boyd crowder #writing #long post #i hope this lives up to the spirit of the game!#i didn’t really talk about what i was thinking about while writing it because. well #i’m mostly just thinking about what i’m going to write haha #i basically have the scene playing out in my head so i can add details #thanks justie i’m so glad i got a bite for this one :)#justie2justie communication #also sorry for the lack of puns i love puns but couldn’t fit any in :(#justie author commentary

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glitterandmoondustofficial · 10 months ago

Text

Side to Side

Chapter 247: Selfish

Notes:

Characters: Ruby Rating: Mature Warnings: Language, relationship drama Notes: uhhhhh hi? Not sure who still reads this but hey! Here’s a four month late chapter. There’s a couple reasons why I’m so late and one of them being that this chapter was kinda hard to write and you’ll see why when you read it. Another reason is just my stress levels have been bonkers. Thr final reason is that bg3 really has almost taken over my life. BUT FEAR NOT!!!! Law and Ruby are still at the forefront of my mind this chapter was just difficult and a long time coming. Like planned for years but I wanted to make sure it was as good as I hoped.

~~~~~~

Ruby tried to not be stuck in her own head when things were quiet. Although “quiet” was pretty subjective in Dressrosa. There were so many loud and bright parties on the island. Every night she could see the lights shining through her window in her flat.

One of the first non-essential items she had bought was a sleep mask. This was too joyous for her at the moment. Then again she was being such a drag that maybe she wasn’t the best judge of joyous things. She was quite bitter about her situation. She was very bitter actually. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be on the Tang with her crew. She wanted Shachi to braid her hair and she wanted to gossip with Ikkaku.

Instead she was playing spy for Law. Which she had done to herself. Law did try to stop her multiple times. Multiple times. She couldn’t blame him. She shouldn’t blame him.

But part of her did.

Deep down she blamed him for everything.

She was angry and she was bitter. She was so goddamn mad.

She should be blaming herself, and she probably actually did. This was all her decision. From being in Dressrosa to agreeing to being in a relationship with Law.

Ruby sat on Law’s bed. Cotton balls were in between her toes as the nail polish dried. Her hair was in a bun and a mud mask was on her face.

Law sat at his desk, mumbling and grumbling and huffing. He tapped his pen on a notebook in annoyance. He was in a bad mood.

“Hey, Law?” Ruby called, tapping her fingers against her thigh. “Why don’t you come to bed?” He stopped tapping his pen but didn’t turn to her and he didn’t say anything. Ruby frowned. “Law?”

“Not in the mood,” he said. “I have work to do.”

Ruby sighed. “I just want to spend time with you,” she said quietly. “Do you not want to spend time with me?” He didn’t answer. “Is that a “no?””

“Get some sleep, Rube,” he said.

Ruby frowned deeply, an ache in her chest, an anger in her chest. Why couldn’t he just spend time with her? Why couldn’t he just hold her?

She sighed and got out of his bed. She took the cotton balls from between her toes and threw them on the nightstand, a petty way of showing him her anger. She quietly left for the crew quarters, not bothering to wish him goodnight.

Maybe her and Law weren’t as healthy as she had originally thought. When recalling their relationship she tried to only think of the good things, the loving things, even the sad things, but she didn’t think about the bad stuff, the annoying stuff. All their arguments and when they were bad to each other.

She had shown everyone her relationship as if she had put the rose tinted glasses on them instead of her because she knew how they were. She knew that he was irritable, impolite, and, honestly, unhealthy. And she also knew she was irritable, impolite, and, honestly, a bitch. Two assholes who tried to find comfort in each other and yet were so stupidly bad at it that they were irritated half the time. How could she possibly show that to anyone, especially when the crew seemed so happy for them?

And they had good moments. God, they had some wonderfully good moments. The moments where her heart soared and she knew exactly why she loved him. The Law that he could be. The Law he should be. Not the Law that he was.

Of course not. How could he be?

How could he be anything other than obsessive, irritable, violent, and angry? Some pirate captain who was so focused on his revenge that he didn’t pay attention to his girlfriend half the time. Of course she focused on the good things. Of course she only showed everyone the good things.

“Law, just listen to me,” she said. “All I’m asking is for you to chill out for, like, an hour.”

“Okay. I’m not going to,” he bit. He stared down at her like she was a minor annoyance. Like she was a fly buzzing in his ear.

“Why the hell not? I’m your girlfriend! You’re supposed to want to spend time with me.”

“I don’t want to,” he said. “I have more important things to do.”

“More important things than just holding hands for an hour?”

“Don’t you find yourself selfish? You can’t monopolize my time.”

She grinded her teeth together. “I’m allowed to fucking be selfish. I love you! I want to just spend time with you!”

“We’ll have sex later,” he said and waved her off. “Isn’t that half of being in a relationship?” He said it so casually, so flat, that she wasn’t sure how to feel.

“Does it all mean so little to you?” She asked, trying to get anything from him.

He scoffed. “Don’t pull that,” he snapped. “You know that I love you, I’m allowed to not make you a priority. Don’t try that manipulation tactic on me, Rube, I’m not one of your victims.” She breathed through her nose. A rough puff of air, letting him know that she was pissed. “Why do you do this when I’m trying to focus? You only do this when I’m trying to work.”

“It’s not like I’m scheming to pull you away,” she argued. “I just think you should spend some time away from the desk and with me. Could you have a little more faith in me?”

“As the person who knows you best on this damn ship I’d say I have the right amount of faith in you.”

She felt like screaming. She felt like walking up to him and shaking him until that damn brain of his rattled against his skull. Instead she turned on her heel. “Come to me when you feel like apologizing. Otherwise I’m not returning to this room.”

Ruby laid on her back as she stared at the ceiling. Guitars and singing were loud enough to be heard echoed in her flat. The lights from the party shone through the window.

“Were we even good to each other?” She asked herself. “Were we always covering up what we really were?” She sighed. “Does he love me? Do I love him?” Tears rolled down her cheeks, her chest burning in pain. “No, I love him. I do!” She argued against herself. “I’m just alone. I’m just stupid and selfish and…” she sniffed. “God, he really does suck . What was I thinking?!” She laughed through her sobs, tears rolling down her face and onto her pillow.

“So, Elissa,” Maria interrupted Ruby’s thoughts as she swept the floor. “What do you do for fun?”

Ruby blinked and looked over to the woman. “Uhm.” What to say. Did she have normal hobbies? What did she like to do again? Did she even remember who she was? “I guess I like fashion and art.”

“You guess?” She questioned while she cocked her head.

“I, uh, yeah,” Ruby said and shifted. “You know, makeup and dresses and stuff like that.”

Maria stared at her, her eyes appraising her. “You must have left a lot of yourself behind when you left your island,” she said with a nod. “I can only imagine what it’s like picking up pieces after you’ve lost someone the way you have.”

Ruby stared at her and she felt herself hardening her core. Covering up the toxic waste that was her heart and mind. “Ah, yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, something like that. Leaving myself behind and whatnot. That’s how this works, right? I’m afraid I’ve lost my mind!”

Maria laughed and Ruby bit her tongue as she smiled. “Do you like dancing?”

Ruby’s eyebrows twitched. “I suppose I do?”

“Great!” Maria clapped. “Let’s go out tonight!”

“Wha- really?”

“Of course! You know, us Dressrosans are quite passionate dancers! I believe you’ll be quite impressed with us!”

Ruby chuckled. A tired smile spread across her face. “I see. Well, alright, I could use some fun in my life.”

“Great! Meet me here at 8:00!”

Ruby stared at herself in the mirror.

She stared at her bruised eyes, her frown, and her dull hair.

“What in the goddamn…” she mumbled to herself. “Is this really what I look like?” She rubbed her face with her fingers. “Fucking shit. I look like…like shit!” She pulled away from the bathroom counter and rubbed her face. “Whyyyy did I agree to this?!” She huffed. “This is supposed to be a covert operation and I’m going to a party in the enemy’s territory?! Law is going to kill me!” She huffed and stared at herself in the mirror again, tears rolling down her face. She watched the tears and her furious face. “Why am I pissed? Why am I considering this? Because I’m mad at Law? Am I fucking rebelling against him? How stupid am I? Fuck!” She threw her makeup bag at the shower door, its contents spilling out. “Everyone is right about me. He was right about me. I’m so goddamn selfish.” She sobbed.

“Ruby,” Law groaned. “The world doesn’t revolve around you and your needs.”

“And why not?” She grinned at him cutely.

He stared at her, that annoyed crease in his brows that he always got when he wasn’t giving in to her. “Because your needs are simple and irritating. I’m not going shopping with you.”

“You know there was a time where you used to go out of your way to do things with me,” she said and placed her fists on her hips. “What changed? Why don’t you want to spend time with me?”

“Well, you already let me fuck you, why go out of my way to do anything else?”

Ruby’s eyes widened. “Are…are you serious?! How fucking dare you!” She hadn’t felt a rage like this in years. She turned around and started to walk out of the room. “I can’t look at you, you goddamn asshole.” She was pulled back by the arm roughly. “Don’t fucking try. I am more than sex you fucker.” She snatched her arm back.

“Would you just let me apologize!”

“Why?! So you can just do it again?” Her voice cracked, betraying her. Her bottom lip shook and tears of rage filled her eyes.

“Ruby, just listen to me,” Law groaned, exasperated. “I’m sorry, dammit. I took it too far.” He sighed and lifted his hand to her face. He wiped a tear with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re more to me than that. You’ve always been more.”

Ruby stared at the dancing women in their flowy skirts. The men playing guitars. The flowers. Everyone clapped and cheered. She sat at a picnic table set up on the outskirts of the party with a bottle of beer.

Why was she here again?

What was her purpose?

She watched Maria dancing with who Ruby assumed was her friend. Dressrosa was a warm island but Ruby felt cold. She sighed and sipped her beer. How rude would it be to leave the party without telling Maria?

“You look depressed, señiorita.” Ruby looked up from her beer bottle and stared at a handsome man smiling down at her. “Such a beautiful woman shouldn’t be sitting alone.” She huffed and rolled her eyes. The man took the opportunity to sit across from her. “Let me guess, your date has left you to be with another woman?” She didn’t answer him. “No? Perhaps your lover cheated and you’re here to get revenge?” She sipped her beer. “Again, no? Hmmm,” he hummed and scratched his chin. He snapped. “You’re on the run from someone! Come to Dressrosa to forget all about them! I’m right aren’t I, Sela D Ruby.”

Ruby’s eyes widened and she squeezed her bottle. She stared at the smirking man. “Who are you?” She demanded.

“Not your enemy,” he said.

“Then who is?”

The man looked to the side and stared at the castle. Ruby narrowed her eyes. “You’re quite the enigma,” he said. “We wanted you to join us but after the explosion we couldn’t find you.”

Ruby scoffed. “Revolutionaries,” she hissed. “You didn’t look very hard. There was a trail of blood.” The man was silent. “Why are you bothering with me now? I’m probably too fucked for you guys now.”

“Because we’re after the same thing.” Ruby said nothing. “I didn’t expect you to be so far from your captain but it seems he really did send you away.”

Ruby huffed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“We’ve been tracking your progress and we’ve tried to keep the government off your trail.”

“ Why ?”

The man cocked his head. “Didn’t I just say we want the same things? Plus, if you truly are on the run from your captain, then it would be easier to convince you to join our cause.”

“I’m not interested in a cause,” she said and sipped from her bottle. “If you wanted me to join you and believe in that cause you should’ve followed that blood trail.”

“Then how about a place to stay? Going from a ship to a-”

“I’m not-!” She grimaced. “I’m not on the run from him,” she whispered. “I’m here to-”

“Feed him information?” She chewed on her lip. “What if I told you that we want to deal with all this before he even reaches the island?”

Ruby stared at him. “Why did you approach me?”

“The way I see it, you don’t care who deals with the situation as long as you and him come out okay.” She sipped her beer. “If we take care of it, then you both come out unscathed and can go about your lives. Or you can join us. Whatever.”

Ruby sighed.

“Elissa!” She heard Maria call. Ruby looked over to her.

“Don’t worry about answering me now. I’ll come find you.”

“Wait, how-?!” She blinked and he was gone. “Piss,” she groaned.

“Elissa,” Maria breathed as she ran up to her. “Were you just talking to someone?”

“Just some pervert thinking he could take me home,” Ruby said with an eyeroll. “What did you need?”

Maria grabbed her hand. “Let’s dance!” She laughed and started to pull Ruby along.

“I don’t know how!” Ruby said.

“Come on! That doesn’t matter!”

Ruby chuckled lightly, allowing Maria to drag her along.

“Any new developments?” She heard Law’s flat voice ask.

Ruby swallowed. “I haven’t found anything yet if that’s what you mean,” she said as she stood naked in her flat.

He sighed. “I see.” He sighed again. “I’m really starting to regret sending you there.”

“Starting to?” She questioned. “You regretted it since I brought it up,” she said, slightly annoyed.

He was silent for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?” He repeated. “You’re being pissy.”

“I’m not-” she took a deep breath. “I just miss everyone. Sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Everyone misses you, too,” he said. “Me included.”

For some reason that didn’t comfort her like it should’ve. “Law?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

He was silent. She could hear him breathing. “Why would you ask that?” He sounded hurt. Guilt immediately settled into her chest.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’m just not feeling well.” She sat on the bed.

“Get some rest,” he said. “You need to be at your best.”

“I know.”

“And there was nothing else? No development?”

Ruby swallowed, thinking about the revolutionary and whatever information they already had. “No.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Have a good night. Love you.”

Ruby sighed. “I love you, too.”

Ruby dropped the receiver and let it hang off the den den mushi , the dial tone loud in the small room. She stared into the dark flat before covering her face with her hands, starting to silently sob in the lonely room.

#one piece #op fanfic #lawxoc #law x oc #x oc #side to side #sela ruby #ruby sela #UNRELIABLE NARRATOR BEAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#one piece fanfiction

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themerriweathermage · 2 years ago

Text

The Council of Nost Bronadui

Chapter Four: The Long Road Home

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. I was sitting at the rail station, waiting for everyone to board when Quinn managed to catch sight of me through the wall of Clippers standing around me. Before I entirely recognized what was happening, he was using his shoulder to muscle through the wall. When they didn’t budge, when they banded together to refuse him, he grabbed at one of their swords, managing to pull it out of its sheath and got as far to raise it before Meraxes’ wing slammed down in between them, cutting him off from the Clippers, the sword grating uselessly against her body.

“That is enough.” It was both a command to Meraxes, though I knew she would not obey, and to Quinn. The ground shook as Meraxes rumbled out a roar in warning.

“But...” Quinn started. I cut him off.

“I am no longer your concern.” I replied sharply. “Take a step further and I’m sure Meraxes would love to detain you for the rest of this journey, but I assure you, you don’t want that.”

“If I recall, your sister said you couldn’t control that dragon.”

“Just because Meraxes isn’t flesh and blood doesn’t mean she isn’t sentient. As I’m sure you can imagine, she has a particular set of feelings towards you. I might would behave if I were you, Baron Quinn.”

He said nothing afterwards, and when Meraxes finally moved her wing, I saw that our Clippers had detained him and taken the sword from him, and that he was in escort onto the train. Which meant that I was going next, and it wasn’t soon enough for my tastes. I was immediately curled up in my quarters, praying that this journey wouldn’t make my stomach turn anymore than it already was.

I couldn’t recall the last time I had an episode like this. Scratch that. I could recall it well enough. I groaned softly; the perpetual motion of the train going through the rest of the mines was gonna make me sicker than I was already. Even the little bit of sleep I had managed to get hadn’t been restful.

There was a hand on my cheek. “Is there anything I can get you?” Lydia whispered.

“It will pass.” I murmured. “It always does.”

“You shouldn’t have to suffer, Bren. When we get to Rojas’ territory for the supply drop off, I’ll see about requisitioning a healer.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I nosed into the pillow, staunching the nausea while she was here.

Yes, I do, Lydia thought. He was a mess, gone from bad to worse on the train. If she had to hazard a guess, he’d finally pushed himself too far and collapsed under the weight of the council. Bren looked horrible to say the least, the magic that protected him in his daily life faded and now the weight of the barony showed through so much more. Not to mention that he was huddled under a blanket, skin overheated and yet somehow still shivering in chill.

She was gone for a moment, and then I felt the blessed relief of a cold damp cloth being pressed against my forehead. Any other action I might have cursed but this one was welcome. “Does it help?”

“A little bit.” I breathed, trying to relax under her touch as she pressed her hand to my back, rubbing in soothing circles. As much as I hated to admit it, the action had me falling asleep quicker than I expected.

“Try to get some rest.” She murmured. And even in the depths of sleep, I managed a reply even if it didn’t entirely register.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Lydia froze for a moment, turning back to look at Bren but he was solidly out of it. It was only the sounds of arguing coming from behind the partition that drew her out of her shocked state.

Quinn made his way to the other end of the train but before he could get there, Sunny stepped in front of him, face as cold as the steel blade on his hip.

“Let me through.”

“He told you himself he is no longer your concern.”

“He’s whining, Sunny.”

“He’s goddamn sick, Quinn!” Sunny snapped. “Because as much as he talks about how this isn’t for you and it’s only for your barony, he’s run himself ragged because of you. For you. You could do us all a favor and piss off out of his life. Sure, he’d be heartbroken but at least he wouldn’t suffer for you!” Quinn was a little taken aback by Sunny’s behavior. Certainly, Sunny protected the man, as any Clipper should have for his baron, but the tone, the expression, the venom in his voice, told Quinn that this ran far deeper than just a Clipper’s loyalty.

“You care for him.” Quinn whispered, backing down just a little.

“Anyone in their right mind would. He’s a good man. And you don’t deserve him.”

“Keep it down!” Lydia stepped out from behind the partition, hissing out a curse on both their names. “Unless you fancy being thrown off this train...”

“We’re in transit.” Quinn started, taken aback. “That would kill...”

“I don’t care.” Lydia snapped, scowling at him. “You’re not helping this situation so sit down and shut up!” To their surprise, Quinn actually backed off, retreating to the end of the rail car he’d come from, slumping into a seat, almost dejected looking. Sunny raised an eyebrow at Lydia slightly.

“What? He’s not doing well.”

“More about the part of throwing Quinn off the train.” Sunny murmured.

“I... I have questions for Nix when we get back.”

“How is he?” It had been blissfully silent for the longest time until Quinn broke the silence. Perhaps, Lydia thought, for a moment he’d actually been worried that she would have had him tossed off the train and into the depths of the mines.

“He isn’t your concern.” Lydia replied.

“Bullshit.” Quinn muttered. “He’s hurting.”

“As if you have any right to care when you’ve already shown your true colors. Once upon a time, he might have believed that your concern was genuine, born out of the spirit of allyship or even something else, but what right do you have to care after what you did to him?” Lydia asked. She hadn’t been looking at Quinn but noticed his movement out of the corner of her eye. Apparently he was finding the ground fascinating.

“He... I...”

“Even if he actually cares about you,” which he does but Lydia wasn’t going to say it, “Haven’t you noticed that he surrounds himself with people who know you, people who have lived with you, people who have worked for you, with you? Do you think he’ll let himself be hurt so easily again?”

“I...” Quinn started, quiet for once, folding his arms and tucking his head against his chest. In all her time knowing Quinn, she’d never seen him make the attempt to be small, to keep his head down. Even if he wasn’t verbally admitting defeat, his behavior certainly indicated it. Either that or he was actually genuinely concerned for Bren. Lydia wasn’t sure, but she didn’t press it either.

Quinn knew he was all but detained, confined to a section of the train car with Sunny guarding one end and a duo of Clippers on the other. But Bren was here too, tucked away behind a partition, doing that thing where he suffered alone and in silence. What the hell had happened to him out there?

When the train rolled into the station at Rojas’ territory, Quinn thought for sure that Bren would make an effort to greet the other baron, but he saw no such signs. What he did see was Lydia and Sunny arguing quietly as they got off the train together, leaving Sebastian to stand guard at Bren's door. He could have muscled his way through Sebastian but the other man seemed to know that he was being eyed down.

It wouldn’t have been the first time that Quinn had seen Bren sick. They’d had their share of trysts before... well, Quinn didn’t want to think about it. Rather than go to a healer, he’d come to Quinn in the midnight hours, exhausted beyond measure, mostly compliant beneath his hands. And he wondered, if those were the moments Bren had referred to in their earlier conversation back in that tavern. He didn’t say a word to Sebastian when he slipped past the guard to go see if he could find something in Rojas’ markets for Bren.

“The 611 trade route is here.” Esme announced.

“Late, but Bren warned me it would be.” Rojas didn’t look up from his paperwork.

“Did he happen to tell you who was on it?” Esme asked. That made Rojas pause, glancing up.

“Do I want to know?”

“You should know that Baron Quinn is pacing about your markets at the rail station, and I must admit, he looks rather lost.”

“That explains why Bren was a little less than divulgent about why the route was going to be late.” Rojas muttered.

“On a more serious note, Regent Lydia and Captain Sunny have also disembarked to requisition a healer.” His expression turned serious.

“Give them whatever they need.”

“And Quinn?” Rojas raised an eyebrow slightly.

“You want to help Quinn? I thought your brother had a remarked interest in Bren’s apparent singleness.”

“I know when an enemy is rattled, Baron. And Quinn is very rattled. Weaponless, but rattled. I want him back in his own barony the quickest he can be, and if that means helping him to get him back on the rail...”

“Then it’s at your discretion, but be careful. Weaponless or not, Quinn is not a man one trifles with.”

Quinn paced back and forth through the market, thinking, thinking about all the times that he’d taken care of Bren, and trying to remember what he liked best when he was at his most vulnerable times. He wasn’t expecting to be approached, and when a hand touched his arm gently, he growled.

“Can I help you, Baron?” Esme asked. Quinn recognized her as Rojas’ Regent but her name evaded him and right now, he didn’t care. He glowered for a minute but that attitude quickly deflated when she didn’t back away or leave him alone.

“Bren is...” Quinn wondered how much he should divulge. “Not feeling well. I want to take him something, maybe that he can eat.” Esme nodded to his request. Bren’s trade order they knew well enough. He was fond of sweet things, but perhaps something light for someone feeling under the weather.

Quinn watched her flit around the market, gathering up supplies for him to take back when his eyes settled on a crate of peaches, and he seemed to recall Bren saying something about liking fruit.

“First peach harvest of the season.” Esme started, coming to his side with her assortment. “I’m sure Baron Bren would like them. He has a particular fondness for them.”

“I’ll take it.”

“How many, Baron?” The vendor asked.

“The crate.” Quinn shuffled through his pockets, leaving more than double the worth of coin on the counter while the vendor stared on, speechless.

Quinn left distracted, and followed Esme back to the train where she laid out her assortment of supplies.

“Mint tea should help with his nausea. And then maybe if he’s feeling up to it, here’s a simple broth to get something on his stomach. If he can tolerate more, some cured meats and cheeses which are his favorite, and of course,” Esme gestured to the crate Quinn was carrying.

“Thank you.” Quinn murmured. She paused for a minute, looking at his back because now he was going toe to toe with Sebastian at Bren’s door, stunned that he bothered at all to thank her. But she had business with the other occupants of the train and a clearance to give to their healing ward so she didn’t stick around to see the outcome.

“My orders were to--” Sebastian started. He was unsure about Quinn, because his behavior certainly indicated that he was distraught about Bren being sick. Quinn leveled him a very stern glare.

“You are not bound to his Regent or to his Captain. Move or I will move you.” That was fair. Sebastian owed Bren no loyalty, even though he was quite loyal to Lydia.

“I will keep my eye on you.”

“Fine. Move.” Quinn repeated, and Sebastian did, letting him into the room with Bren with all his assortments of food.

I blinked away the sleep as I came to, hearing someone move about the room, and then suddenly, there was someone at my bedside, a hand sliding against my cheek that wasn’t Lydia’s. From the touch of his fingers alone, I knew it was Quinn.

“Can you drink this for me?” Quinn breathed quietly, holding out a cup for me to drink from. I furrowed my brow slightly, leaning forward to take a sniff of the contents. Mint tea. I nodded, taking small and hesitant sips. “Lydia went to get a healer.”

“How’d you get pas’ Sunny?” I asked softly.

“Sunny went with her. Sebastian let me by.” How Sebastian had gotten mixed up with the guard, I had no idea, unless Lydia had persuaded him to stay as extra security.

“Mm.” I groaned, dry retching over the side of the bed, reaching for the bucket, hand crossed over my stomach. I couldn’t deny that the tea was good, but the feelings it brought with it were unpleasant and it felt like my stomach was tearing me from the inside out. “You shouldn’t be here.” I rasped out. But he didn’t leave. In fact, he was making himself comfortable at my bedside. He was quiet, doing nothing more than helping me drink, but there was serious concern in his eyes.

Quinn reached out again to touch me, but his hand hesitated, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not it was a good idea.

“You can, you know.” I murmured, sinking down into the comfort of my pillows when the first wave of nausea finally passed.

“I-- You--” Quinn started, uncertain until I guided his hand to let it rest against my cheek. “I did this to you.”

“You didn’t do jack shit to me, Quinn.” I murmured.

“Something happened. Something bad. Something because of me.” I didn’t move to disagree with him. He wasn’t wrong that he was at the source of it, but he certainly didn’t do anything to me to cause it. Quinn opened a container of broth. “Can you eat for me?”

“I can try.” I offered him that, letting him spoon-feed me until I couldn’t take anymore. He was so worried, almost to the point of panic, but maybe he’d never really seen me like this, when all my guards were down. I started to realize, when the nausea passed, that I recognized my symptoms. That I was so hungry that I was nauseous and that my blood sugar was low enough that my body was very deeply protesting it. “Did you happen to bring anything sweet?”

“Here.” Quinn all but shoved half a peach in my direction. “Rogas’ Regent recommended it. Said you liked them.” That was quite the offered gift. I managed to pull myself up into a sitting position, dizzy, but knowing now that I needed to eat for it to go away.

“Her name is Esme.” I whispered, taking a bite, skin and all, and savoring the sweetness.

“Who?”

“Rojas’ Regent. Her name is Esme.” I murmured.

“Is there anything more I can get for you?” Quinn asked, once I’d finished all I could stomach for now. My body would just have to settle with what I’d given it.

“Stay. Please. Until Lydia gets back.” I whispered, propping up my pillows and leaning back into them, drifting. It was nice to get something on my stomach but I didn’t know how long it would last.

Quinn looked over his shoulder to find that Bren had nosed into the pillows and apparently fallen asleep. For once, for real, Quinn got a good look at him. There was more white coloring his hair than before and his skin was paler than normal. He was tempted to brush back the strands of hair that had fallen into Bren’s face but he kept his hands to himself.

The stress of the barony had not been kind to Bren, Quinn mused. His train of thought was interrupted by Sebastian. “Lydia is on her way back.”

Fair, Quinn thought, that he’d be warned but Bren had asked him to stay, and he couldn’t leave now, not while he looked so vulnerable. So he prepared himself to face Lydia’s wrath when she returned healer in tow. Sunny wrinkled his nose at the sight of Quinn sitting there.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“He asked me to stay. At least, until Lydia returned.” Quinn made his way to his feet. “And now that she’s here--”

“His fever has broken.” Lydia murmured, her hand on Bren’s cheek. “Did he... talk to you? Coherently?”

“He was able to eat and drink some.” Sebastian volunteered.

“He kept it down?” Lydia asked. Quinn nodded. As much as Lydia hated to admit it, there was apparently some good coming of Bren’s request that Quinn travel with them, and it wasn’t just so their guard could keep an extra eye on him. As much as she hated it, there was a part of Bren that would try, just for Quinn, to be better, to get better.

It was rare these days for Bren to show up silent to his cabin, Waldo thought, but he was there now, and Waldo didn’t know how long he’d been there. Sure, he’d seen Quinn out and about in the barracks but thought that only meant that the Summit was over.

But here he was, his back still turned on Waldo, shoulders tensed beyond measure. Oh Waldo knew that Bren came here when he wanted to hide, only... Bren wasn’t hiding.

“Was the Summit that bad?” Waldo asked. He didn’t receive an answer, at least not immediately. He was tending to his birds when Bren finally said something, his hands gripped so tightly at either end of the wooden table that Waldo heard it splinter beneath his grip, recognizing that there was a part of Bren that wasn’t entirely human right now.

“I had a vision.” Waldo didn’t know if that was plausible or not. The range of Bren’s druidic powers wasn’t extensively known to him.

“It was just a bad dream.” When Waldo tried to console him, Bren whirled, a strange dark colored aura flaring beneath his shirt.

“It wasn’t!” Touchy subject, Waldo thought.

“Okay.” He backed down from the part of consoling Bren when clearly that wasn’t the way to go. “What made this a vision and not just a bad dream?”

“I watched it play out. I watched Quinn talk the talk, walk the walk. I watched it play out exactly the way it had in my vision.” Bren snapped. There was a beat of silence and then his shoulders slumped. “I changed the path.”

“So why are you so bent out of shape about it? If it didn’t come to pass?” When Bren finally met his eyes, even Waldo could see that it had taken a toll on him.

“No matter which path it split into, the Badlands suffered in the wake of it.” Bren started.

“The Badlands?” Waldo asked. “Are you certain?” Then this wasn’t just about one or two baronies, if Bren was going to measure it extensively.

“Either my sister turned into a true Targaryen-- to the point of holding Quinn as a personal POW-- or I turned into a Bewilderbeast.”

“You’ll have to run that by me again.”

“It’s a giant ice-breathing dragon. Bigger than Meraxes. And she was a casualty in that too.”

“Was this over--?” Waldo didn’t even have to finish it to know. It was over Quinn. Whatever had happened in his vision, whatever he wasn’t saying... Bren shivered, pulling his jacket further in on himself. His eyes were bloodshot, whether from stress or lack of sleep or tears, Waldo wasn’t sure. But for certain, Bren was rattled. “Have you talked to Nix?”

“I can’t.”

“Everybody has that side they don’t show, Bren. You really think I wouldn’t be above torture? You don’t know me if you do.”

“I know damn well what you’re capable of.” Bren retorted, his voice low. “And I know damn well what I’m capable of.”

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

“If I lose him, I’ll go insane.”

“You need to take a step back from Quinn.” Waldo murmured.

“I love him!”

“Then let him go!” Waldo all but yelled it. “You saw it yourself what’ll happen if you continue to love him, and yet you persist. Let him go, Bren!”

“I can’t.” Bren admitted. Waldo stared for a minute.

“The door is that way.” He pointed. “Figure yourself out. And don’t come back until you do.” For a moment, Bren glowered at him, taking his leave. He paused in the doorway.

“I have left Quinn to his decision of whether or not he will help his people. That being said, I will neither help nor hinder your coup. Should you succeed, I simply ask that he be exiled.”

“Exile?” Waldo asked in disbelief.

“Please.” It was the only word Bren would give him before leaving.

#The Council of Nost Bronadui #Welcome to the Badlands #Welcome to the Badlands Series #Sunny X OFC #Quinn X OMC #Angst #Hurt/Comfort

2 notes · View notes

eupheme · 2 months ago

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ahh claire so excited to see this! 💖 your writing is always so fucking gorgeous and I can’t wait to dive in (esp with how you left us! 👀)

And gosh I love the peek into her thoughts, trying to work while so solely fixed on him (and wondering if his are on her!!) and like - that urge to listen just because she knows that he’s going to make it good, so much better than a quick release, I love that! 💖

The tea! And his quarters!! I love the slow burn of their opening up (like - in terms of how clearly into each other they are but like, all these sweet new moments they’re having together!) it’s awesome to experience it with them.

I did love her idea of making him watch because god that would be torture for him I’m sure (in the best way) but phew that physical relief that washes over him when she changes her mind!! 👀

Klaue’s breath is warm through the fabric of your panties, his tone indicating that it may have been less hope and more desperation.

YESS make him desperate!! The yearning is so perfect!

“And because…because I can feel that you want it too, and that makes me feel really fucking good.”

“There’s very little in this world I want more, darling. I love feeling how wet you get when you’re desperate for my tongue."

Ahhh! The way they want each other so clearly has me so feral.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you here in my bed.”

Oh my god 😳

“Want to keep you here.”

omg they are so in love

and !!!! the way you weave him having such a commanding voice and presence while being so goddamn soft at times has me absolutely melting. And god the way he almost has her coming just from teasing her chest, that promise to return later is so fucking good!

“If you think I wouldn't spend the entire night with my mouth against you warm, sweet cunt." He punctuates this with a firm lick that has a moan lilting in your throat. "Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to work a little harder to turn off that mind of yours."

Holy shit. All of this was so good, how attentive and greedy and wanting he is, how hard she’s trying to listen and keep her hands where he told her -

“Yes, fuck, you feel so good. You're the only one who's ever made me want to beg, Ulysses.”

Ahh!!! This chapter has me by the throat, oh my god. And how he lets her take it, then this!!

“Fuck, that’s it.” His voice is rough with hard fought restraint. “Use my cock like the needy little thing you are.”

Sorry to quote so much but just - all of your dialogue is absolutely taking me out. And how he’s looking at her when he comes, all of this was so hot and so intimate and I am losing it!! (“bright with the flame of a sapphire sacrament” <- absolutely gorgeous) and he’s going to kill her, he’s going to kill ME - and omg when he keeps the vibrator I was grinning (and I so know he’s hoping to keep her in his bed a little longer, even if he can’t stay!!)

The details in his room were so cool and so perfect - and all the feelings in this and the ending had me grinning! This was absolutely amazing!!! I love every chapter you post but the intimacy and vulnerability in this definitely has it as one I’m going to be thinking of often!! 💖💖

Salvation is a Deep Dark Well

Chapter 3: Now When I Look In Your Eyes

[ Masterlist - Part Two ] -> [ Masterlist - Part One ]

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F!Reader Word count: 9.4K Chapters: 3/6 Rating: Explicit

Summary: You manage to distract yourself for long enough to make through the rest of the day, but when Klaue finally returns to you he still makes you wait, surprising you with something unexpected before finally making good on his promise.

Warnings: Explicit!, Mild Age Difference, Reader is Late 30s, Use of Pet Names, Teasing, Smut, Dirty Talk, Reference to Masturbation (F), Mild Size Kink, Soft Dom, Nipple Play, Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Begging, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms (F), PIV Sex, Cock Riding, Cream Pie, Praise Kink, Needy Dom, Very Brief Fingering, Cum Eating, Porn With Plot, Reader is In It Now Kids, More Accidental Feelings Oh No

Author's Note: Hello, friends, and welcome back! When I tell you I'm very glad I split up this chapter - this was essentially supposed to be a chapter "prologue" of maybe 2k, and then, well, *gestures broadly*. Klaue wants what he wants, what can I say. 😏

The next chapter is going to be an undertaking (gala!), and I can't really give a timeline at this point, but it's at least outlined and in the meantime you can read their little holiday interlude (which I accidentally wrote first, lol) and it'll now be in order! ☺️

As always, thank you for reading and for sticking with me, I hope you enjoy this next chapter! 💕

✨ Read on AO3 ✨

Chapter title is from "Come Alive" by Cannons

Now that you're by my side I get this feeling, get this feeling Like I'm hypnotized Now when I see your eyes I get this feeling, get this feeling I just come alive And I've been dreaming of you Do you dream of me too?

Through every ounce of will you can summon you somehow manage to last.

After stopping by your room to quickly wash and change, you realize once you get back to the industrial sector that there’s not enough of your shift left to justify starting on any new projects, so instead you occupy yourself with busy work - finally putting away your station that was left in disarray after the tense altercation earlier, and getting rid of everyone’s scrap that's been piling up in the workspace.

Then you trudge through a layer of fresh snow to finally finish the inventory that you’d attempted to start two days ago before everything had gone to shit.

Even as you try to focus on the tedium of the various tasks you inevitably find yourself turning over Klaue’s request - his command - in your mind.

Honestly, you probably wouldn’t have done more than think about it, having really just been wanting to tease him (which you’re starting to enjoy doing, perhaps a little too much), but on top of the natural frustration from being interrupted, then being told that you couldn’t?

He'd managed to find a way to drive you mad even when he was nowhere near you.

Waves of heat roll through you as you make entries in the log, and every time you move you’re growing increasingly aware of the slick sensation between your thighs, a reminder that you’re already making a mess of your fresh panties.

And, so? What do you want?

Besides whatever he’ll give you.

Besides everything.

A thick index finger slowly sinking into you, dragging and curling while his thumb rubs your throbbing clit until you’re shaking.

Another tick on your paperwork and you circle the total a little more aggressively than necessary, leaving a little tear in the paper, ink marking the page beneath.

Locking up the first cage you move on to the next, feeling as though plumes of steam should be visibly rolling off of you, and eyeing a snowdrift you wonder if it would draw too much attention if you just lay down on it face first. It seems like the only thing that might actually cool you off right now as the overlap of memory and anticipation has an aching heat wrapping around your hips and flowing outward from deep in your belly.

His thigh pressed against your sex, but now you're bare for him, the hair on his leg dark with your arousal as strong muscles flex beneath you, and this time you rut against him for as long as you want.

And he's the first man who's made it feel like it’s alright for you to want. Unafraid of your desire Klaue instead seeks it out, coaxing you to surrender to it, pushing you to admit that it’s yours until you can't help but take and then, oh, the satisfied darkness in his eyes when you do.

As you continue to work you wonder if maybe he’s feeling the same way you are right now. Does it make him hard to think about you while he deals with his men and speaks to important figures? Is he shifting and adjusting himself at the thought of how needy you must be but forced to deny yourself?

Or is he calm, knowing that even now there’s a way that every thought is tethered to him, not thousands of miles away but right here in the same building, waiting.

The idea of him being distracted pleases you, but certainly does nothing to help the throb in your core. You think about how easy it would have been to find a release when you’d stopped by your room, and now you're growing so distracted that you’re tempted to go back or to slip away into a washroom. It would be quick with how worked up you are and then maybe you’d be able to actually concentrate.

After all, how would he know if you did?

And yet a part of you knows that it wouldn’t be satisfying, not really. That same part that connects to the tugging desire to be good, that wants him to be pleased that you’ve obeyed.

So you shake your head and fall back on a trick you use to help curb your emotions when you’ve had to deal with shitty people throughout your career, starting to rhyme off words in your head - glow, tomorrow, elbow, tempo, Orinoco Flow. Gradually your mind begins to calm a bit, and after several slow breaths the ache ebbs enough that you’re able to focus back on the tanks and the clipboard in your hand.

Once you settle into a rhythm you manage to finish the inventory pretty quickly, even if can’t completely stop your mind from spinning a little, and as you lock everything up and head back to drop off the paperwork with Tom, you finally have to admit to yourself that you knew what your answer was going to be as soon as Klaue told you to decide.

Several hours later the sun has fully set when you open your door to the welcome sight of Klaue standing in the hallway.

You want to reach out for him, to grab his shirt and pull him to you, but for now you simply watch as he walks in and slowly shuts the door behind him and turns to face you.

“Did you have enough water?”

You can’t help but huff a laugh that the first thing out of his mouth is to make sure you’d listened to what he’d said, even though he must be more than aware that all you want is for him to throw you onto the bed.

“I’ve been drinking.” You assure him, though you can’t help rolling your eyes a little.

His gaze narrows, not questioning but still eyeing the half-empty bottle on your nightstand.

“And you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m feeling like I might lose my mind if you don’t touch me soon,” you all but scoff.

“You know what I mean, darling,” he warns, sharp eyes flicking down to your lips.

For the love of god, please just kiss me.

“Still good, Ulysses, I swear. And I promise I’ll let you know if I’m not.” you reply, sweetly frustrated, but you can’t help but smile at his concern.

He seems placated, but still doesn’t approach you.

“And did you work past your shift?”

You swear to god one more question and you’re just going to throw yourself at him, though this one still gives you pause.

It had been your instinct to, you can’t deny it, tempted to find more to occupy yourself so that you wouldn’t be quite so trapped with your thoughts. But you’d resisted, and once you passed off the paperwork there was no real reason to stick around.

“No. I didn’t.”

You feel a little silly at the giddiness that follows your truthful reply and the pleased grin that twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“And you waited.”

These words are lower and there is no question in them.

You’re certain that he already knows the answer, that he could tell as soon as he’d walked in the door. You’ve been antsy, unable to stop shifting on your feet, your restless hands unconsciously picking up your scarf from the table by the door and twisting the short fringe into tiny spikes during this exchange.

“I did.”

Slowly he steps toward you, plucking the scarf from your fingers and dropping it back on the table.

“I’m glad to hear it.” His voice drops, your breath hitching in anticipation when a hand lifts to finally reach for you.

But then he pauses, fingertips a hairsbreadth from your skin. Seeming to consider something he pulls back again and you have to bite back the frustrated noise that wants to escape your throat.

“Come with me,” Klaue moves away from you, nodding toward the door.

“I’d very much like to, thanks,” you think, the tingle of the near contact leaving your nerves buzzing, but while you're nearing your wit’s end you can’t help but be curious about what he’s thinking.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath you nod wordlessly, but as you walk over to grab your key card from the bedside table you make a quick decision. Following the temptation of a thought that you’d been considering earlier you slide open the drawer to find something hidden within, quickly pocketing it along with the key and your phone.

Before you’ve gone very far, though, Klaue directs you to the canteen. You can’t say that this is what you were expecting but you wait quietly, curiosity knitting your brows as he starts to work one of the machines, hot water pouring over a black tea bag as he adds a packet of honey to the dark, steaming liquid. But then instead of drinking it himself he hands it to you.

“I know you didn’t drink enough water,” he chides.

Your mouth drops open though no words come out.

You want to laugh, acutely aware that you both know the reason for the tea. Eyes wide, you glance around and even though you know that anyone who might be watching will continue on oblivious, when your eyes meet his heat flares between your thighs as you recall the tears that stained your cheeks while you gratefully licked his mess from your lips.

“Thank you.” Your heart races as you bite back a smile and finally wrap your fingers around the proffered drink, and then with a darkening look you feel a hand on the small of your back, swiftly guiding you on your way.

You really had felt fine but as you sip the hot liquid you have to admit that it feels nice as the honey soothes your throat, a frown and another swallow of your tea unable to tamp down the flutter in your chest that seems to match the sweetness on your tongue.

When you reach a familiar juncture you wonder if he wants to finish things where they’d started, but then you make a different turn and then another, leading you away from his office until eventually he stops in front of a door that appears to be down its own hallway.

The cup freezes on its path to your lips when you notice the key card in his hand and the realization suddenly hits you: These are Klaue’s quarters.

Oh shit.

It hadn’t even occurred to you as a possibility tonight. Not that you hadn’t thought about it - in fact you’d thought about it more than a few times - but you still feel like a deer caught in the headlights as the lock beeps and clicks open.

Your heart pounds as you follow him inside where you’re greeted by an insistent pinging coming from a workstation in the corner, and with an impatient sound Klaue walks to the desk with a scaled down version of what you’d seen in his office.

“Hm, I need to check on this. I’ll just be a minute.”

You barely hear him. He could have very well told you that an Asgardian ambassador and the Queen of England were waiting for a video call with him and you’re not sure that you would have reacted.

As you wait for him you force the analytical side of your brain to kick in and try to observe some of the details, noting that his room is almost identical to your own quarters, just bigger: An open layout, a closet in the same spot, but with something that could actually be considered a proper window.

The main difference is the additional space akin to an office with the desk and electronics connected to several monitors, which doesn’t really surprise you: Klaue doesn’t strike you as the type to ever really stop working - at least not for very long.

Aside from the cool light emanating from the corner where he’s sitting the room is dim and unexpectedly warm, and as you look around your eyes inexorably stray to the bed (his bed), partially made, the covers and sheets a stoney grey and roughly pulled up to where crooked pillows sit against the headboard and-

Jesus, you need to sit down.

Unfortunately the only place to sit right now would be the bed, which just makes you need to sit down even more, and-.

Oh god.

Squeezing your eyes shut you take several slow inhales in an attempt to get your pounding heart under control.

“So..”

You nearly jump at the sound of his voice, and when your eyes fly back open you see that he’s finished, the monitors now sitting dark behind him.

“Have you decided, darling?” Klaue’s words are deceptively casual, belying the heat in his eyes.

He’s back now, focused entirely on you again, chin propped against his knuckles as his hungry gaze slides over your body, and you can’t help how your own eyes immediately stray to his spread thighs and the prominent ridge between them that’s growing evident even in the low light.

“I have.” You manage to keep your voice soft, but you can’t hide the tremble in your reply.

Pushing himself up out of the chair Klaue slowly saunters over to where you still haven't moved, stopping when he's close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, invisible tendrils of need reaching out for him, desperate to close the gap.

“And?” The word is low and breathless and sets your nerves alight.

Finding it difficult to meet his eyes your teeth catch your lower lip, a shy flush working its way through your body even as your desire flares hot again.

“Well, it wasn’t easy.” You glance at him through your lashes. “I had a lot of time to think. And there are so many ways that you make me feel good.”

As you speak he finally reaches out to you, fingers grasping the hem of your shirt and tugging it up until you lift your arms to allow him to pull it over your head.

“Go on.” Klaue prompts, leaving you to swallow a moan when he suddenly drops to his knees.

Looking up at you expectantly his hands slide up the backs of your thighs, briefly cupping and squeezing the curve of your ass before moving to your waist to seek the bare skin there.

“Well, I was thinking about…letting you watch me.”

Fingertips still in their ghosting path just above your waistband.

“I thought about letting you watch how I use my fingers to make myself come when I’m alone here. Alone and wishing you could hear me every time I moan your name.”

You can see that his breathing is going rough at your words, and licking your lips you continue.

“Or maybe…using this.” Slipping your fingers into the pocket in the side of your leggings, you pull out what you’d tucked next to your phone earlier, shining silver and not much bigger than a tube of lipstick.

Brief confusion followed by a sharp look of understanding flashes across Klaue's face as he realizes what you’re holding.

“A vibrator?” His voice is intrigued, a brow arching as he takes the small device from you and turns it over in his fingers, perhaps imagining you using it, writhing in pleasure yet unsatisfied because it’s not him.

But at the same time you can tell he wasn’t expecting this, his expression coloured perhaps with a shade of disappointment. And that shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does.

He looks like he’s going to say something but holds it back, he’d laid out the parameters, after all. He’d told you that you had to decide how you were going to come, but he didn’t actually say that it had to be him.

“I thought about you watching me with this against my clit, until you decide I’ve had enough. Until I beg you to let me stop.”

You can see his mind working though he’s uncharacteristically quiet, the fingers of his free hand digging into your hip so hard it’s beginning to ache.

“But…then I changed my mind.”

“Yeah?” Klaue’s voice is strained as he seems to go still as stone, hardly seeming to breathe now, waiting for you to continue.

“I want your mouth, Ulysses.”

A look of pained relief glints across his eyes before hardening back into a vehement blue, and without waiting for you to say anything else he roughly tugs at the waistband of your leggings, peeling them halfway down your thighs, and then with a groaned sigh his lips are suddenly pressed against your clothed mound.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Klaue’s breath is warm through the fabric of your panties, his tone indicating that it may have been less hope and more desperation.

“Tell me why.” His command is the rumble of a distant storm that sends a shudder through your body.

“Because…I couldn’t stop thinking - I can never stop thinking about it, Ulysses, oh-”

You gasp when his tongue is suddenly on you, pressing to easily part your cleft before sliding down to taste the damp spot where your arousal has soaked through the fabric.

“Is that all?” He asks with an infuriatingly coy smile, waiting for you to continue.

“I need your mouth between my legs, I need you to taste what you do to me, what just the thought of you does to me, oh my god-”

He rolls his tongue against your clit, the slick friction quickly growing rougher and more demanding.

“And because…because I can feel that you want it too, and that makes me feel really fucking good.”

Arching against his mouth your words trail off to a moan, but just as pleasure begins to swirl hot and insistent Klaue pulls away, his fingers tugging your panties down as well, and your hands brace on his shoulders as he helps you out of everything.

“There’s very little in this world I want more, darling. I love feeling how wet you get when you’re desperate for my tongue."

As you watch his fingers moving it occurs to you that he often seems intent on being the one to undress you, calloused palms running over the skin he's revealed, that's his to reveal, eyes dark and riven with need as though seeing you for the first time.

Once you’re stripped down to only your bra he pauses, hands fitting around your waist, forehead resting against your hip. Warm breath washes over your skin and although he’s so, so close to where you’re aching for his touch you find yourself pausing with him, your mind growing quiet.

It’s a different kind of quiet from the way he so deftly empties your head with his fingers or his cock, every thought supplanted by pleasure. There’s still a trembling anticipation that can't be ignored, electricity buzzing steadily through the air between you, but for a moment you both surrender to the calm, hovering in that space between heartbeats.

Your hands explore the backs of his, playing over his rings, over the leather cuff on his wrist, and when they trail over his forearms you can feel the faintest tremble in his muscles as he holds you against him.

Your fingers find a salt and pepper curl and brush it away from his face, needing to see him, the breath nearly knocked from your lungs when his shining blue gaze finds yours. He almost looks surprised, perhaps unused to your tenderness, but after a breath the crease between his brows softens as he leans into your touch.

It’s not long, though, before the air begins to crackle again and with his eyes still on yours he shifts, slowly dragging the tip of his nose along your cleft with a deep inhale and a sigh, and just that warmth against your sensitive flesh has you whimpering, the calm quickly ebbing away as your aching need swiftly flows back in.

Your hips flex forward to seek more and your breath catches in anticipation of his tongue, but instead he pulls away, and before you have a chance to protest he's standing again, reaching quickly to unclasp your bra, sensing a crack in his composure in the brief fumble of his fingers as they work the metal loops.

Now standing naked in his room Klaue moves in close enough that as you breathe the peaks of your nipples brush against his still clothed chest, and when he leans in you instinctively tilt your head.

“Tell me again.” Lips ghosting across the skin beneath your ear sends fresh heat to your core.

“I need your mouth, need you to make me come on your tongue.” You pause before adding. “As many times as you want. Please.”

“That's right, you will.” Klaue replies, his voice low and tight with need. “Now, on the bed, darling.”

Without hesitation you quickly make your way over to sit on the bed, the scent of him swirling around you as you adjust the pillows and settle back, and when you glance back up you're greeted by the intoxicating vision of Klaue standing at the foot of the bed, fingers frozen on the bottom button of his now open shirt.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you here in my bed.” He says with a rough sigh, fingers freeing the last button as his gaze slides up your legs and over the soft swell of your breasts.

“Can’t be more than the number of times I’ve thought about being here.” You admit in turn, a smirk beginning but quickly falling as you watch him peel off his shirt, muscles flexing beneath the ink that paints his chest and shoulders.

“I have to say, it seems I was right, Mot.”

“About what?” You frown.

“About how lovely you’d look, right there.”

Caught off guard by the sweetness in his words a reply falters on your lips, and you squeeze your thighs together as though it might help you to hide from the way he makes you feel. But of course he notices.

“Would you spread your legs for me, please?”

Biting your lip you meet his eyes and begin to slowly straighten your legs, sliding them down towards the foot of the bed before letting your knees fall open. At first it’s just enough to give him a teasing peek but the heat of his gaze has you helpless to keep yourself from him.

Spreading your legs wider you pull your knees back and open, and when the cool air hits you exposed skin you’re immediately aware of just how wet you are, and not just your sex - you can feel the insides of your thighs have become damp with your arousal as well and judging by the look on his face he can see it.

Slowly you shift down a bit more, giving a little upward rock of your hips for his benefit as you tuck one hand up behind your head, letting the other rest across your hip, attempting to look much calmer than you feel.

Following to where you’ve made a lovely display for him on his bed he removes the last of his layers, freeing the deliciously thick curve of his cock to hang heavy and twitching between his thighs, and standing above you he tilts his head appraisingly. A flush of heat crawls through every inch of your body as he takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, then slowly sits down on the edge of the bed..

Reaching out a hand he lets his fingertips alight on your knee before dragging them up over the skin of your inner thigh, his eyes staying fixed along the path they take, watching intently as your muscles flex and quiver beneath his touch.

“Not my fingers, then? You’re sure?” Klaue teases, smirking when your hips cant up against the air. With significant effort you manage to drag your thoughts away from how good it feels, how easy it would be to let him relieve the ache in your core.

“YesI’msure,” you blurt in a rush, quickly reaching down to stop his hand where it hovers inches from your sex.

“Both hands.” He says quietly, eyes flicking above your head in explanation. “And keep them there. Understood?”

“Yes. I understand, Ulysses.” You nod, the vice of your fingers slowly releasing him.

Once you’ve tucked your hands up and between the two pillows you’re resting against, he seems satisfied and moves the rest of the way onto the bed, positioning his body over yours.

He’s warm and heavy and you can feel the grin when his lips find the hollow of your throat, your hips beginning to roll slowly beneath him, acutely aware of his hard cock nudging against the inside of your thigh.

“I’ve thought about you here like this for so long.” Klaue murmurs, his tongue tasting your skin, trailing slow kisses up one side of your neck and then down the other, making his way down your chest before pausing at your breasts.

Then you think you hear something else, something quieter, whispered against your heartbeat.

“Want to keep you here.”

But you're distracted by his mouth again before you can really register the words, overwhelmed by how you’re already trembling and clenching just from the drag of his lips across your inflamed skin, and maybe you imagined it anyway.

When his tongue flicks over your nipple none of your thoughts don’t stand a chance, a moan immediately sliding from deep in your chest. He spends just enough time on each to leave them peaked and aching, but when he starts to move further down you stop him.

“No, wait! More please, please..”

You look down at him, breathless and imploring, arching your chest up to encourage him, sighing with relief when his tongue returns to swirl over the pebbled flesh, and soon you’re moaning again as he alternates from one to the other, kissing and sucking until you’re writhing beneath the solid weight of him.

Just when you think you can’t take any more he holds a nipple between his lips, just the very tip of his tongue flicking quickly until an ache starts to build deep in your belly, everything growing hot and tight and then suddenly your back is arching hard as you let out a broken cry, and while his tongue continues to work a hand cups your other breast, his thumb circling there in a matching rhythm as your cunt clenches around nothing.

It doesn’t have the same peaking intensity but it still feels like you're coming, like if he keeps doing this you just might, and only when he pulls away does the desperate tension finally release from your muscles with a gasp.

“Another night I’m going to find out how many times I can make you do that.” He looks up at you, his expression more than a little smug. “But right now I think it’s time I made good on my promise, don’t you?”

You’re unable to respond with more than a nod, still panting and shuddering as he resumes his path downward. Your skin shines in the low light as his lips and tongue lave along your stomach and over your hips, and as he finally reaches the juncture of your thighs Klaue adjusts himself, setting there so that he’s lying with his erection pressed firmly into the mattress.

He pauses then, using his thumbs to gently spread you open for him, his mouth hovering just over your aching sex to let you feel his breath before you feel his touch.

“God, you are soaked for me, aren’t you?”

Before you can form any kind of reply he presses his lips against you, kissing just above your swollen bud, teasingly close to where you need him so badly that all you can do is whine for it.

“What was that, my darling?” He prompts you, gently taunting.

“I need your mouth on my pussy, please I needohhgod-”

He cuts you off with a flick of his tongue, then another, at first grazing you gently but then unable to resist he licks a hungry stripe through your folds, and the sudden slick warmth combined with the vibration of his moan through your cunt has you greedily rolling your hips.

Watching him as his tongue continues to move between your legs you can sense the tension in his shoulders gradually softening, that tension he holds as part of his natural state, ever curled and ready to react drains away as he gives in to your honeyed musk, his arms sliding around your thighs to hold you snug against his mouth.

You want to reach down, to run your hands over his neck and shoulders and through his curls, but you resist, gripping the pillow tighter in an effort to keep them where they are, not daring to take the chance that he might stop.

But then he does pull off of you suddenly, silently looking up at you with heavy lidded eyes.

“What- what’s wrong?” You pant, confused and trying not to be concerned.

“You’re not a dream, are you?” Klaue murmurs, resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh, plush beneath the scratch of his beard. He watches you for a long moment as though he were a parched man in the desert afraid that you were a mirage, and if he’s not careful he might lose sight of you.

“I don’t think so?” Relief floods you and you laugh softly.

“No. You taste too good to be a dream.”

Seeming reassured his mouth is on you again, lips soft and warm as they slowly, slowly close around your clit, and the gentle suction he adds now has your breath stuttering in your chest.

Your body begins to tremble, and seeming to anticipate it his arms tighten around your thighs just as you buck, keeping you in place as everything grows achingly bright and you arch against his mouth until you’re crying out, the pillowcase twisting in your fists as his hum of approval around your clit finally sends your orgasm surging through you hard and swift, pent up hours of thwarted desire finally finding its release.

And even when the pulsing waves begin to soften, he has no intention of stopping.

At times it feels like he’s trying to tease you apart at the seams, at others it seems to want to devour you all at once, and while Klaue has never been shy about exploring you he seems to relish taking his time tonight, soaking in your heat, teasing and licking every inch of you to find new patterns that make you sigh and roll your hips.

Your desperate pleas grow less and less articulate as his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips so that he can grind your cunt against his tongue, and as overwhelming as it is you find yourself sinking into it. Letting the only thing you need be his mouth against the soft place between your legs you eventually lose track of how much time passes, simply focusing on the susurrus of heat and pleasure that flows out from your center as the sheets below you become soaked with your release.

Eventually when you start to whine and try to pull away Klaue sees fit to give you respite, suckling instead at the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh until bruises begin to bloom there, and as his lips drag slowly across your skin you take the chance to watch him, your eyes catching the movement of his hips, his perfect ass flexing as he slowly ruts against the bed.

He must be achingly hard now, and you find yourself breathless at the thought of the stain he’s leaving on the sheets beneath him. Fresh heat spreads through your core as you imagine how his cock is twitching and leaking for you, and it’s not long before he notices your needy movements starting to seek him out again, eliciting a whimper when he presses a soft kiss against your clit.

This time, though, he waits, letting his mouth simply rest gently against you, warm and soft and shockingly patient, until just as he senses you starting to fully relax he suddenly sucks your clit between his lips and you’re gasping at the heated pressure around your bundle of nerves, his fluttering tongue unrelenting until you’re his name is the only sound your mouth can form.

Even now, sweaty and blissfully exhausted as he chases the last twitches of pleasure from your sex, you’re surprised that you can still feel the heady swirl of need humming through your tender flesh. And yet, although you have no real desire to pull away, and even though he told you that he was going to decide when you were finished, the thought still tugs from the back of your mind that he’s given you enough.

“You don't...don’t have to keep going.” You manage to stammer between panted breaths.

Pulling his mouth off of you Klaue looks up, his beard and full lips glistening with your juices.

It's tempting, god it's so tempting to let him continue. You can feel yourself growing dangerously addicted to his unabashed hunger between your legs, yet you can’t deny that there’s a growing need for something else.

Because he hasn’t even put his fingers inside of you, only his tongue occasionally dipping down to tease at your entrance, and you’re fucking aching for more, imagining the arch and flex of his back as he fucks into you instead of wasting it on the mattress.

So you tilt your hips up to give him a more open view of where you’re dripping for him, a soft whine in your throat.

“What's the matter, darling? Tell me.”

“You said- you said if I was good…”

“Yes?” His eyes are fixed on yours as he mouths at the sensitive crease where your thigh meets your hip.

“You said I could come on your cock. And I waited. Like you said.”

“Yes, you did.” He pauses, considering. “But you were a tease, too, weren’t you? Pretending you wanted your little toy.”

Shit. Of course he’d figured you out. Your mind spins quickly, trying to figure out a way to keep what you’d been hoping for from slipping away.

“But I wasn’t lying, I did think about that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did. But it was never going to be what you asked for, was it?”

You suck at your lower lip to keep from pouting and you have to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

What the hell has this man done to you? You’d lost count of how many times he’d made you come already and yet you’re on the verge of tears at the thought of not getting to fuck him tonight. But you hardly get to see him, after all. It’s not fair.

“No,” you finally admit meekly. “Ohh ‘m sorry.”

You whimper when the tip of a thick finger begins circling your entrance, but as soon as you tilt your hips to try to encourage him deeper he pulls his hand back.

“No, please, I need you.”

“Would you like to be a little more specific for me?” Klaue asks, watching your face intently as his finger slowly returns, and you know he can feel the flutter of your muscles as he dips teasingly into you.

“I need you inside me.” Saying it out loud sets an invisible spark alight, pushing out thoughts of anything else as your words continue to tumble out in a rush.

“God, do you have any idea how perfect your cock is? How wet I get when I think about you stretching me open? And I think about it it every fucking day. I need you to fuck me, Ulysses, need you to fill me with your cock and your cum, please I need you so fucking bad, I need you, I-”

The last words are cut off when your voice hitches, fighting to hold back the tears that prick hot at the corners of your eyes.

Desperate with need you’re only dimly aware that he’s moving, shifting himself to the head of the bed so that his back is against the pillows and then he’s tugging you up, causing you to let out a startled “Oh!” as your hands quickly move to catch yourself on his chest, quickly reminded of how strong he is as powerful arms lift you until you’re straddling his lap.

The thick length of him is hot and achingly hard, and he sucks a breath through his teeth when he slides through your folds, parting your cleft until the head, flushed and drooling, bumps against your swollen clit.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Klaue hums with a satisfied grin.

You’re nearly giddy with relief as you feel another upward flex of his hips, a heated slide of skin against slippery skin, and then you press your mouth against his, moaning when you taste yourself on his lips. He responds quickly, his tongue delving into your mouth, your kiss deep and full of desire as the rock of both of your hips grows more insistent.

Bracing more firmly on your knees you lift up, allowing him to slide further down until your kiss is broken by a moan when his cock catches at your entrance, your muscles already trying to clench around him.

Impatient now you reach a hand down between your legs to grip him, gasping at how hot he is beneath your fingers. He gives you a stuttered groan when you drag the mixture of his precum and your arousal along his length before shifting to line him up with your opening, and then finally you drop your hips firmly down.

Your head tips back with a sigh as you revel in the delicious ache of his girth slowly nudging into you, his mouth immediately moving to nip at the column of your neck, whispering praises against your skin.

“Needed my cock, hmm?” Klaue's voice pitches low. “That's good. I want there to be nothing else you can think about. Don't want you satisfied unless you're full of me.”

You feel a fresh surge of arousal at his words, your slick already dripping down his cock as you rock down harder, desperate to fit him inside of you.

“Yes, fuck, you feel so good. You're the only one who's ever made me want to beg, Ulysses.”

His eyes darken at your admission, groaning as your walls clench around him.

“I'm a lucky man, then, because you're so beautiful when you beg, klein Mot.”

Bliss continues to spool out through your body, and you’ve been so distracted by the sweet relief that you’re just realizing that he isn’t moving, that there’s a tension in his thighs and in the muscles of his jaw as he fights to keep himself still, focused only on watching you split yourself open on him.

Keeping your pace slow you allow yourself to luxuriate in every sensation, in the ridges of his cock as he slides deeper into you, the heat of broad hands roaming over you skin, dimpling the flesh of your thighs and then sliding to grip your ass, spreading you obscenely as you work yourself further down his length.

You’ve never been able to watch him like this and you’re nearly delirious from the sight, from the way he reacts to every flutter of your pussy around him, his arms flexing as his grip on you tightens in an effort to hold himself back. As you continue to ride him your own hands can’t help sliding greedily over the firm muscles of his shoulders, over the hair that covers his chest and belly and then down to where, although he’s softening with age, you’re still you’re keenly aware of the strength that resides beneath your fingers.

But as good as this feels there’s a frustration building, because although it’s gotten easier to take him he’s still so much, and you’re struggling to take him as deep as you want.

And judging by the look in his eyes, he can sense it.

“More,” you plead, the movement of your hips growing more insistent.

“What's the matter?” He asks with a wolfish glint of gold. “You said you needed my cock, darling. So take it.”

His bitten words are harsh, lightning crackling behind his teeth.

A surge of adrenaline courses through your veins as your hands slide around to grip the back of his neck in search of more purchase, fingernails digging crescents into his skin as you rock down harder. You can feel a low growl that you slowly realize is coming from your own chest as you desperately work to take all of him, and determined now you don't stop until your hips are snug against his, every inch of you finally stretched and spread open on his cock.

Breathing through the ache of it you take a moment to savour the prize of him fully buried in you, moaning when you give a firm roll of your hips and feel the slick friction of coarse hair at the base of him pressing and dragging against your folds, your eyes slipping closed with a blissful smile.

“Look at you.” Klaue rumbles, his fingers reaching to brush sweat-damp strands of hair away from your face. “That's my good girl.”

Tugged back by his words your eyes flutter open again as you rise up and slowly drop back down, your breathing mirroring one another as you find a rhythm. When you begin to add a rolling motion in time with each downward plunge you’re gratified when his mouth drops open, head tilting back to knock against the headboard with a groaned curse, though he still watches you through dark lashes, taking in the pleased curve of your lips and the bounce of your tits as your movements start to grow rougher.

Because you’re not sure if it's the angle from being on top and him sitting up like this but every slide of his cock into is you drawing an intoxicating flush of pleasure, tension swiftly coiling deep in your belly and licking a path up your spine as your breath comes in shorter and shorter gasps, and already being so overstimulated you’re unprepared for how quickly you can feel your climax approaching.

“Fuck, that’s it.” His voice is rough with hard fought restraint. “Use my cock like the needy little thing you are.”

Sweat beads on your skin, threads of pleasure stringing tight as the first inevitable surge begins to build, but then your thighs flex and your back arches and with the change in angle and the way your muscles are starting to tighten around him he’s suddenly slipping from where he’d been perfectly rooted deep inside you and you can feel the heated pleasure pulling away.

You were so close that you can’t get out anything more than a mixture of frustrated pleas, but then his voice cuts through the haze, dark and driving straight to your core.

“No.” Klaue growls. “Stay down.”

Gripping your hips tight he finally takes control, a hoarse cry ripped from your throat as he roughly forces his cock back into your clenching cunt, and startled by the sound that escapes you bite your lip hard, trying to hold it back.

“None of that,” he grits. “You're going to let me hear you, yeah? Because those lovely noises you make, they’re mine. The way my name sounds when you come, that's for me.”

Both of his arms encircle your waist and then you’re surrounded by him, by his grip, his voice, his musk, all of it demanding your pleasure, and your mouth drops open as you succumb to his command with a ragged moan.

Your thighs are burning now as you ride him, but with the edges of your climax gathering again you wouldn’t stop even if you could, and this time when your muscles tense and you buck suddenly against his grip he’s ready, powerful arms holding you in place.

You cling to his shoulders, desperate to hold on to something as you feel yourself tipping, the nearly unbearable friction against your clit drawing everything to a bright point, a silvery haze creeping in at the edges of your vision as you hover over the line between blissful agony and release.

“Going to come so hard for me, aren’t you?” His rasping words are more a plea than a question, rough from the rhythm of your hips as you grind helplessly against him. “So fucking beautiful.”

Finally you gasp a lungful of air as though hitting a shock of cold water and then the breath is forced from your lungs by a sob, tears you hadn't realized were pooling in your eyes spilling over as your orgasm crashes through you, his name falling in a tattered cry from your lips.

Your inhibitions are completely lost as you fuck yourself on his cock, chasing wave after wave of pleasure that rolls through your body and you can feel the rush of your release slicking the skin between you as you fall utterly apart, the heat of it only just starting to ebb when his gruff words bring you back to him, cutting through the din of ecstasy.

“Fuck, Mot don't stop. Need to come in your pussy, I'm-” Klaue stammers, his voice cracking with need.

“Ohh please,” you can only moan through hitched sobs.

Not able to thrust into you the way he normally wants he instead grips you tight, bracing his heels against the mattress and rutting his hips up as best he can while roughly grinding you down, his eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on keeping himself buried as deep inside of you as he can.

“Look at me,” you plead, your voice thick with tears and want.

Klaue’s eyes snap to yours, bright with the flame of a sapphire sacrament and after a few more broken thrusts he jerks beneath you, the muscles of his thighs flexing against the insides of yours, his bruising grip holding you down until relief floods his features and you feel the first hard throb of his cock, your name a honeyed plea on his lips as he comes deep inside you.

The tension in your body has finally begun to soften and as you regain some control you force yourself to hold as still as you can, wanting to feel everything, to feel every pulse as he spills himself inside you, soaking in the delicious sound of every grunted sigh as the thick warmth of his cum fills you.

He continues to twitch and throb inside you as you both catch your breath, large hands beginning to soothe over your back and sides and then back down to your hips, a satisfied hum rolling through his chest as his touch follows the lazy cant of your hips.

Sweat damp skin slides against skin and your moan matches his when he grips your ass and rocks you slowly up and then back down on his still stiff length, and though he hisses at the overstimulation he does it again, and then again, until wet sounds are filling the room as you writhe languidly against each other, the sticky slick of both of your leaking out from where you’re deliciously swollen and sore.

“God, the only thing better than the sweet taste of you, darling, is how pretty your pussy sounds when you’re full of my cum.”

“Jesus, Ulysses.” Your reply is half moan, half delirious laughter. “You’re going to kill me, I swear.”

He sucks a breath at the flex of your muscles around him when you laugh, though he still looks rather pleased with himself.

“Just returning the favour,” Klaue teases, though there's a sweet edge to his smug grin.

Giving him a watery smile you tuck your head down to rest your damp cheek against the slope of his shoulder, and when you start to work your hands between his back and the pillow he adjusts so that you can slide them around his broad waist.

Gradually you both grow still, the only movement for several moments is the rise and fall of your chests as you quietly rest against one another, the claw on the cord around his neck pressing into you to leave a mirrored indentation in your skin.

Slowly you nuzzle your cheek along the scruff of his beard, seeking every bit of contact he'll give you, relaxing further when the weight of his arms settles around your waist, and as you sit wrapped in each other you allow for the thought that maybe he's just as reluctant as you to untwine just yet.

And that maybe you did hear him say it earlier.

“Want to keep you here.”

Still, you don't want to overthink what he meant, so for now you let yourself simply enjoy this, here, tracing the salt of inked skin along his neck with your lips, though perhaps still hoping that, for tonight at least, he’ll want to keep you a little longer.

When you do eventually separate you're both still content not to get up right away, bodies relaxed and half pressed against one another, a hand splayed across a waist, hip and thigh meeting.

You're not sure when he does get up but as you drift in and out of sleep you hear Klaue in the shower, although you have no interest in moving yourself, not caring about the mess between your thighs enough to do anything about it just yet. You might even admit that you're rather enjoying it.

Eventually he returns to where you lie in a half-twilight, your eyes blinking open when the mattress dips beneath his weight.

“You don't have to leave, darling, but I do need to go,” he says. “I won't be able to come back tonight, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you'd like.”

Pushing yourself up you begin to protest but his mouth quickly finds yours, silencing you with a swipe of his tongue. The kiss is firm and slow, a hand moving to cup your jaw, working with his lips to guide you back down to the pillow.

“It's really no problem to go back,” you start when he releases you, “I can-”

He kisses you again deeper this time, a little more demanding, coaxing your mouth open as his tongue slides against yours until you’re wondering what your reason was for arguing at all, and when he releases you this time you can only look up at him with a glassy-eyed smile.

“Rest.” He murmurs, a thumb drifting across your cheek as you nod.

Before he stands to go, though, he draws your attention to something in his hand that glints in the low light.

“I'll be keeping this here, by the way.”

Your mouth forms a silent “o” as you watch him tuck your vibrator into the drawer of his night table and slide it shut.

“I forgot about that.” You whisper with a bashful smile.

“So did I,” he admits, his fingers tugging down the sheet that's covering you to reveal your naked form. “And when I did remember, I wasn't really in the mood to share.”

His hand coaxes a knee open, his jaw clenching when he catches the mess still shining between your legs.

“But you might not be so lucky in the future.”

There's a glint of a warning when his eyes return to yours, but before you can say anything you’re gasping when he suddenly slides two fingers into you, thrusting deep before pulling back out and you moan when, instead of offering them to you, he takes them into his own mouth, a satisfied hum rumbling through his chest at the taste of you mixed with him.

You’re still staring at him half stunned when he stands back up, licking his lips as his eyes sweep appraisingly over your body, as though he's trying to commit the image of you like this to memory.

“And you say I'm a tease. Do you have to go??” You try not to sound too needy, though you're pretty sure the way your hips are shifting again gives you away.

“I'm afraid I do, darling. Believe me, if I didn't...” He gives a rough sigh, frustration plain on his face. “But I'm here for two more days, and I will be taking advantage of them.”

“I certainly hope so,” you reply, a lazy smile curving your lips.

He gives you one last look as he closes behind him, and almost immediately you can feel sleep starting to steal over you again. You don't plan on staying very long, though, and as you turn over and tug the sheet back up you tell yourself you’re just going to close your eyes for a few more minutes, however it's several hours later when you open them again and realize that it’s now late (or early, rather).

Once you manage to orient yourself in the unfamiliar space you have to laugh, entirely unsurprised at this point that you’d passed out almost immediately.

After showering you actually don't rush to leave, but strange as it is to be here without him you find yourself unable to resist the chance to observe his room a little more closely.

While this obviously isn't a permanent space it still has details of him scattered around; you'd noted a razor and shaving bar next to the sink, one of his khaki shirts hanging on a hook in the bathroom.

You take a peek at a shelf by the door, full of books that for the most part you don't recognize or aren't in English, but you do spot Mary Shelley's “Frankenstein”, a small wood carved stingray next to it.

Hanging on the wall beside the shelf there's a framed photo of the ocean that looks like it was taken by a 35mm camera. Is it from somewhere he's been? Did he take it himself?

Sitting back down on the bed you intend to check your messages but your mind still wanders. You wonder if he does have somewhere that’s…maybe not home, but a place where pieces of him might be a little more embedded, that looks and smells familiar when he returns from time away. Somewhere that he rests.

You know it's time to head back to your room so you can get ready for the morning shift but you’re hesitant to get up just yet. Glancing at the bed and the mussed sheets, your hand slides over the pillow he'd been leaning against, acutely aware of the scent of him surrounding you, and without really thinking you lean down and press your nose into the creased fabric.

Immediately you're overwhelmed by the heady scent of him that infiltrates your senses: His musk beneath the soap, sweat and a faint trace of oil, all tied up with the still present scent of your mixed arousal, and it's only when you take a shuddering breath that you realize you’d been holding back a sob.

Sitting back up your hand quickly flies to your mouth, breath caught in your chest as you blink away the tears.

Shit.

The intensity of it honestly doesn't surprise you anymore, Klaue makes you feel - seems to revel in making you feel - more than you ever thought you could, teasing away the layers, revealing pieces of you that you didn’t even realize had been hidden.

“I don’t know what this is.”

“And I don’t know if I can tell you.”

None of this feels any clearer now yet there's a certainty settling in your chest, and it feels like that part of you that's been unsteady since you’d met Klaue in Utrecht is finally starting to right itself. And at the same time, maybe for the first time, you feel something unlocking in you, opening to the possibility of perhaps letting someone else help you find your balance.

So although you have no idea where this path leads, you're starting to accept that you aren't going to be able to stop until you find out.

AN: Once again, thank you so much for reading! 🥰 As I said this next chapter is going to be a beast (already trying to talk myself out of splitting it up again if it comes to that, lol), but I'm looking forward to continuing to exploring things between these two idiots, and I hope you'll come along for the ride!

#ulysses klaue x reader #jess reads #2024 fave fics #fic rec: ulysses klaue

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

Text

sweet lies [02]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. explicit smut, slight body worship, public sex, dirty talk, praising, toxic megumi, fwb dynamics, slight angst, body marking, sukuna bullying megumi, age gap, scratching, mentions of oral (m receiving) and mutual masturbation, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 also UHM do you guys want me to make the ending angsty or fluffy? i wrote out two versions so LOL let me know what you think! we’ll get more of the megumi scenes on the next chapter though~

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Sukuna isn’t kidding when he said he’ll have you unable to walk by the end of this.

You’ve lost count of how many times you guys have fucked.

Once more in the stalls when you thought of repaying the favor by sucking him off, followed by him growing impatient and hauling you inside his car. Both of you were too tired to go for another round, but were still very much addicted for the other’s touch that mutual masturbation seems like the best option.

Thankfully, Sukuna’s cut his nails, so having three of his fingers buried knuckle deep in you feels like absolute heaven. He’s not complaining about your smooth hands wrapped around his shaft either, especially not when you’ve had enough practice with Megumi to know just how to make a guy lose his mind. By the time you’ve made it back home, Sukuna’s grown hard again, too impatient to make it to the bed before he just fucks you raw against the wall. You’re trembling at his hold, left with no choice but to trust his strength to drop you on his cock and bounce you to his pleasure.

It’s a miracle you’ve made it on the bed.

His digital clock reads a quarter at three in the morning, and for a moment, you worry about how tired you’ll be in class tomorrow when Sukuna’s large hands grips your thighs sharply.

“Goddamn,” he hisses through clenched teeth, chuckling at the irresistible sight of your breasts bouncing before him. Limbs tangled, minds controlled with the primal need to fuck, and moans shared with his deep grunts – you somehow end up on top of him, your thighs feeling like they’re on the verge of giving up as you continue to ride his thick length.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he slaps your ass and causes your hips to rut deeper, forcing that delicious curve of his cock to meld with your walls. You throw your head back, palms planted on his chest, focused only on that burning pleasure between your thighs. “I could fuck you all night long.”

Even though you truly have no wish to, you shake your head, fingers balling into a fist. “I have class tomorrow, need to wake up early,” you protest, the words falling into deaf ears as Sukuna thrusts up into you. He must’ve noticed how you’re growing tired and took matters into his own hands, feet grounded on the mattress to pound deliriously into you. You’re debating whether to be thankful or frustrated he still has so much energy even after hours of fucking, but it honestly doesn’t matter. You’re falling into his chest, arms slipping on your equally sweat-covered bodies. Right now, you just wanted to cum – once more, again, one last time! “Ah, Sukuna, t-too much!”

“Too much?” he laughs and tangles his hand to caress your scalp, the gesture too soothing that you almost forgot he’s fucking you into oblivion. “Want me to go slow?”

“No…”

“Thought so, sweetheart,” his grin is absolutely cocky as he bends his knees in a fold, pushing you until your back rests on his muscular thighs. Your mouth falls open at his hands wrapping around your threat, keeping you right there, hips flat and grinding on his cock. “Come on. Come for me,” Sukuna urges, tightening his hold around your neck a little harder.

That’s all you need for your vision to blur and see stars, your body’s shaking uncontrollable. He’s thrusting with all his power and energy that it feels like you’re nothing but a hole on top of him, tongue falling open in a wanton manner as your drool trails down your chin.

You look filthy, you feel filthy, and yet, Sukuna sees it entirely different.

“So – fucking – gorgeous, fuck. I woulda fucked you sooner if I didn’t feel weird about it.”

“What?”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he smirks at your half fucked out state. Sukuna rolls his hips in such a mind numbing manner that you end up staring at the ceiling, trying your hardest to decipher the colors of his room to get a grip of yourself. But he feels so hot, cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, your puffy lips encasing him with a translucent ring of cum and it feels so fucking good you don’t really understand what he’s saying anymore. “Did you really think I never saw you in my dreams?” he slaps your ass again, the reflexive response of tightening around him pulling a deep groan from the beautiful man beneath you. “I have such a sexy roommate, I couldn’t help it.”

“Then why didn’t you – ah, right there, shit – tell me?”

“Cuz,” he snickers and finally lets you breathe, your pupils blowing wide from the sudden flow of air. Sukuna kneads your breasts greedily, never stopping his mind-numbing rhythm of ramming deep into you. Your body burns, your thighs ache, your pussy feels sensitive but you can’t find the energy to stop him. Instead, you fall prey, failing in your mission to keep him wrapped around your fingers because now you’re wrapped around his cock, and you were quite fucking addicted to it. “You’re my friend’s student. Felt so fucking wrong.”

“What’s the difference now?”

“The difference is,” Sukuna’s face contorts into something of discomfort for a moment before he leans forward, his sturdy grip homing in on your hips again. You feel his searing breath on your ear, so parching it puts the warmth of your pussy to shame. “Having you like this has never felt so right, and I’ll keep fucking you if you let me.”

“I-I’d let you,” you concede absentmindedly and capture his lips for a sloppy kiss, tongues giving up on a battle of dominance. You’re always so clingy when you’re about to come, something Megumi never fails to chastise you for, and you fear Sukuna might push you away as you wrap an arm around him, nails painfully scratching down his back. Red marks leave a trail on its wake until his blood pierces through the sheets, the pain manifested through the increasing roughness of his pace. Now it’s your turn to whimper in his ear, pulling the man close and tugging harshly at the ends of his hair. Gosh, were you actually crying? “Sukuna, I’m close! Yes, yes, right there!”

Sukuna groans at the erotic sounds you reward him with. “Come for me, that’s right, ohhhh,” he stills inside you, his seed spilling deep inside you. You wince at the burst of warmth spreading all over your belly and Sukuna chuckles at your bulging belly. He presses down on it to coax his cum to trickle all over his cock, and he’s fucking filthy – you learn easily – to watch you make a mess on his cock with a childish smile on his face.

You push yourself off him and fall to his side, him following suit not long afterwards. The room feels completely stuffed from your intense fucking, the bruises on your body and scratches on his back a huge attestment to that.

Your legs remain wide open as you clench around nothing, his cum oozing out like a waterfall. Sukuna (that damned pervert) dips two fingers into your hole for one last moment just to drench his fingers in it, his eyes lit up in wonder while he lets it web around his fingers. You snicker at his actions and roll to his side, eyes fluttering close from the wave of exhaustion that comes into full force.

The lingerie set you intended to wear for Megumi was now ripped at the other side of the room, discarded, forgotten – merely evidence of a moment that had never been given to him.

Oddly enough, you don’t feel bad, not even when Sukuna faces you, his cheeks squished by his soft pillows. “I’m spent. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. My gym sessions can’t compare to this.”

“You go to the gym?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t born this gorgeous, you know. I had to work hard for this,” Sukuna gestures to his body. You can’t help but follow the gestures and admire the hard planes of his muscle ripped above one another, the smatter of dark hair leading down his hips adding to his already immense sexual charisma. It makes you want to jump on him all over again, and you have to bite your lip to resist that urge, rolling your eyes at him in favor of letting him know you could totally go for another round.

“Dork.”

“Got me laid though, was worth the effort,” he jokes, and you both laugh.

It’s actually…weird, to laugh so casually with someone like this. It might be normal for Sukuna in his past sexual endeavors, but it’s totally a different thing for you. You and Megumi had never even bothered with aftercare. As long as he’s satisfied himself, he’d clean himself off in the bathroom and wear his sweatpants, winking at you before he leaves you alone all over again. The memory – albeit not really a regrettable one – is still painful each time you’re reminded you’ll keep coming back to him.

But are things different now? Could you go back to Megumi? You only ever wanted to fuck Sukuna because you’re sad and horny, but it wouldn’t be fair to him, especially when your roommate has been nothing but nice to you. Besides, him being a little more decent doesn’t immediately equate he’s different than Megumi.

For all you know, you could just be another cheap fuck. Sukuna is older and sexier, after all, he’s clearly had a lot more experience than you do.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna rests his head on his palms, elbows flat on the bed as he turns to you. The expression on his face is unreadable, but there’s some sort of softness behind it – a softness you’re not really familiar with.

“Hey. I don’t exactly know what you’re going through, not everything, anyway, but whatever we have right now, I want you to know it’s not because I see just as a pretty pussy, okay?” he says with a straight face, but you really shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up because Sukuna smirks, mischievous eyes darting back and forth to your soaked pussy and bare breasts. “Although you do have a pretty pussy. Can I eat you out again?”

With that, you snatch the pillow underneath him and whack it straight at his face. Sukuna laughs at your protests, the sound growing louder and a lot more mocking the harder you hit him. “Gosh, Sukuna, shut up!”

You end up hitting him way too many times in the face that he can’t get his words through, and before you could react, Sukuna’s ripped the pillow away from you. He cages you in his arms and hovers over you once more, his boneless dick grazing the insides of your thigh. It’s not meant to be sexual, and nothing about his stance gives off anything that shows he wants to do it again, but you can’t help but feel aroused, shifting your legs up and down the bed as you squirm.

“Seriously though,” he repeats, “We can be casual, or this could be a one time thing. Card’s all yours to play. If you want to forget everything tomorrow, I’d gladly do it. Let’s just go back to the way we were-”

“Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Did you really think I was only using you to distract myself?”

Sukuna’s lips flatten into a line. “I’m not stupid,” he says somberly, “I could tell you were still thinking about him. Not that I mind, though, you can’t stop yourself from loving someone,” Faintly, you’re distracted by his thumbs rubbing at your pulse point. It’s so lulling you want to fall asleep, but Sukuna isn’t done talking. “My point is…you don’t have to worry about being weird with me. We could just be friends with benefits, if you want, and not the kind you have with your boy toy either. ”

His blatantly catches you off guard and your eyes widen before they narrow at him, trying your best to hide your embarrassment. If Megumi was painfully honest, Sukuna’s ridiculously blunt that his mere words make your heart do weird things you’d rather not feel.

Careful, you remind yourself, Megumi is the one you want. You have to keep reminding yourself that before your feelings get the best of you. It’s Megumi, it’s always been Megumi and it always will be Megumi. Sukuna is just your roommate who’s nice enough to take your mind off things. You only wish you weren’t lying too much in case he gets the wrong idea you’re leading him on, but then again, isn’t that what you’re doing?

Friends with benefits or not – you still have no plans on getting involved with this guy any longer.

It’s always Megumi. You just really needed a quick fuck, someone whose dick didn’t belong with the guy you’re so hung up on over. The change feels nice and you definitely feel a lot better than the last time you met Megumi, but this guilt…it tastes bitter on your tongue, too heavy to swallow and ignore. It’s always Megumi, you tell yourself again in an attempt to relieve your pain.

Though it doesn’t subside and you huff in exasperation, turning away from Sukuna. You can’t stand looking at him right now.

“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, but the tears – the guilt, the heartbreak of not being Megumi’s lover, the regret and the ironic need to be closer to Sukuna feels all so confusing – all threaten to burst through. You don’t want him to see you cry, that would be lame, so you scoot closer to him and kiss his shoulder as you shyly ask, “C-can we cuddle?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to sound too nervous to ask.”

“Sorry, it’s just-”

“He never does that?”

“…Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not him,” Sukuna answers confidently, surprising you when he grabs your ass to press you flush against him. You’re both sweaty and hot to the point it’s uncomfortable, but Sukuna smells so sweet with his lingering cologne that you can’t help yourself from planting your face in his neck, breathing in the little hums he makes. Sukuna kisses the crown of your head – which is a little too sweet than you’d like – while his other hand runs down your back in a slow, sensual manner. Hell, it feels close to body worshipping, and you hate that you silently want more of this. “I’d cuddle you every day if you asked me to.”

“You’re surprisingly sweet,” you voice with a smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles from the low laughter, and like that, you cling to him like he’s the only sturdy pillar in your life. It’s pathetic, maybe even desperate, but if he doesn’t mind, then why should you?

However, the moment is quickly ruined when the bell rings. “Shit, I forgot he was coming over!”

Sukuna glares at the door and holds you tighter, almost possessively, and refuses to let you go even as you squirm under him. “At three in the morning?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to meet him right now,” you groan helplessly.

Sukuna shoots you a blank look after that, then shoots out of the bed in an instant. You watch as he quickly dresses up in a fresh pair of sweatpants, grabbing a random hoodie from the back of his chair, presumably to hide the scratch marks. You have to hide your smile behind your hand because he looks so drool-worthy with marks littered on his already marked skin, and the fact he lets you mark him is even hotter.

He pauses at the door for a moment, pointing a finger at where you peered up at him curiously. “Stay there. I’ll talk to him and say you went out or whatever. Just make sure to silence your phone in case he calls. Better yet, turn it off.”

Sukuna closes the door behind him, already on the way to the entrance just as you press your ears against the door to eavesdrop. There’s a slight shuffling before the door unlocks, then, “Why the fuck did you lock-” Megumi pauses in his words, and you can perfectly picture his infamous scowl painting his handsome features already. Gosh, you wish you could actually see it, but if Megumi catches you sleeping with someone else, he might totally lose interest in you. That’s not something you could afford to happen.

“Oh. You’re her roommate.” You snigger at his usual what the fuck tone – how Megumi of him.

“Hey, kid, it’s a little too late for a visit, don’t you think?” Sukuna taunts, and it takes everything in you to not burst through the door at that moment. You’re stuck between wanting to laugh and crying, mostly because you would love and hate for Megumi to get riled up. “Do your parents know you’re here? Kids shouldn’t be out this late.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, I’m in uni,” he defends, “Do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her.”

Deciding fuck it, you open the door by an inch, just enough to peek. As expected, Megumi is glaring behind Sukuna’s shoulders in search of you. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s completely calm, checking his nails boredly as if Megumi isn’t fuming in front of him. And boy, do you know how much Megumi hates being ignored. “Oh, I think she went out, I don’t know why though. House was empty when I got here.”

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

At Megumi’s imposing tone, Sukuna tilts his head to scrutinize Megumi. Now that you’re seeing them together, Sukuna’s twice the size of Megs, their height and shoulder width too different to start comparing. But knowing Megumi, he’s not going to back down from a tattooed guy twice his size, not even as he sarcastically remarks, “Ain’t you her friend? She should be telling you that kind of stuff.”

Truthfully, you expected he would put up more of a fight. The two of them share a heated staring competition before Megumi scoffs, the first one to look away. “Whatever,” he dismisses, “Tell her to pick her damn phone up. I’ve been calling for the past hour.”

“I think I should tell her to get better friends.”

“What was that?”

“I said get home safely,” Sukuna chirps. Even with his back turned to you, you could tell Sukuna’s just further pressing his buttons with a grin that’s not meant to be inviting at all. Just when you think it’s done, however, Sukuna finishes off with, “Kid.”

Megumi rages. His blue eyes flame into something feral, his fists balled at his sides. He’s always had a temper issue and you nearly reveal yourself to stop whatever fight is about to ensue, but Sukuna’s already closing the door, ridding any opportunity for the younger one to retaliate. At the sound of the door closing, Sukuna leans against the door, his smile still plastered on his face as if he knows you’re watching the whole time. He meets your eyes from the slight peep of his door, waving his hands sarcastically.

“Sukuna, you didn’t have to be so mean.”

“Sorry,” he isn’t apologetic at all. “Next time I’ll be nicer to your asshole crushes,” he adds with a slight roll of his eyes and you punch his chest playfully. You don’t stop him from grabbing your wrists to embrace you in a hug that doesn’t seem so platonic – but not so suggestive either. Sukuna rests his chin on top of your hand while he sways you both side to side, his voice muffled in your hair. “I understand why you’re attracted to him though. He’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, he is,” you agree sadly, thinking of how much it’s really all a waste Megumi has to be like that. “Just sucks his personality ruins everything.”

“A pretty face is always deceiving,” Sukuna suddenly pulls away and holds you an arm’s length away. “Hey, want to have early breakfast?”

“I think that would be late dinner,” you frown at him.

“Whatever, food is food,” he responds rather excitedly, and you watch as Sukuna rummages through the fridge. Now that you think about it, having sex so much really took a toll on you, and your stomach grumbles loudly. Sukuna hides his chuckles through the fridge but you hear him anyway, shouting at him that you’re not hungry. “Wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Now go get cleaned and changed, I’ll make something for you.”

If anyone were to tell you that a good fucking is all that’s needed for you to immediately form a new kind of friendship with your roommate, you’d call them weird. Sukuna isn’t necessarily out of reach, you and him just simply didn’t cross paths.

But now, you’re dressed comfortably in his boxers and the oversized shirt you stole from him, eating the slightly burn cheese sandwich he’s made, sharing conversation and laughing with him like you’ve been doing it for such a long time. Your sandwich is actually half forgotten on the plate as you whack your palms on the counter, “That’s how you and Prof Gojo met? I never would’ve expected you guys fought over a girl!”

“He was fucking annoying in high school,” Sukuna grumbles over an angry bite, “He was getting all the girls that when someone confessed to me, the hottest chick, no less, he straight up punched me in the face,” you laugh as you imagine the memory of a younger, already rebellious looking Sukuna getting smacked by the even more intolerable Gojo Satoru. Sukuna is lost in his own memories as well, shaking his head from around the last bites of his bread. It’s clear he hates the burnt crust judging from the way he turns a little green, but he’s bragged about his cooking skills so proudly that he has to save face in front of you. “Ah, such good times,” he muses before wincing at his own words, dropping his bread in disgust. “Damn, I sound old, don’t I?”

“You’re only like, five years older than me, it’s fine,” you giggle, “I like the maturity that comes with older people. You’re a lot easier to be with than guys my age.”

“Please,” Sukuna smirks, “Just say you like fucking older men. I won’t judge.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would be jumping over the counter to strangle your roommate who’s now running like hell, your laughter bursting through the once silent apartment, you would call them a liar. But now, you and Sukuna are panting on the floor, too tired from sprinting all around before calling it quits. Maybe it’s a lie – maybe this connection will never really be that much of a big deal – but as long as this lie and play pretend of friendship lasts, you’ll just enjoy every sweet moment of it.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed) (bold can’t be tagged) @uwubby-1 @expectoscamander @your-consulting-fangirl @dora-the-grownup @cosmotoic @charlie-xo @kittaliapenn @sukunas-cult-leader @flowersgirl02 @cloudsinthecosmos @90s-belladonna @averysheart-raleighsdick @generousstudentpsychic-bat @kat-su-ki @issamomma

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #sukuna x reader angst #sukuna x reader romance #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader imagines #ryoumen sukuna imagines #sukuna imagines #sweet lies: part two

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wyn-n-tonic · 4 years ago

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Oceans in the Desert

Word Count: 1,176 Warning: This is a couple dealing with the loss of a child, that is the theme. It is softness wrapped in grief. I am including an author's note at the end because what I have to say can also be triggering and I don't want to put that just out here and potentially harm or isolate somebody. Anyway, if you're reading this I love you and if you continue on, I love you. But if this subject matter is too triggering? Guess what! I love you.

Gif by: @aomine-dajki.

He’s…changed.

Since losing the baby, he’s changed.

It shouldn’t be shocking, there are two people feeling this sudden absence and it is a fire consuming the tangled branches of their lives. But she is, at first. The hard exterior he usually sported had begun to soften. It always was around her. But everybody else? He was no longer the strong Din. And in her arms? He was completely shattered.

She’s changed too. Resolute in the belief that a loving and full family wasn’t where her role was meant to be played. She expected his face to change when looking at her. Imagined him twisting away from her. But if it changed at all, it was only with the gentle understanding of shared sadness.

Their grief came in unspoken shifts. Hers flowing freely in the light, an open book adding new chapters to the pages he knew so well. His came softly in the night, the darkness veiling him in the same safety of his uniform, allowing him to become free.

Life pattered on in a four-four beat and so, too, did their graceful dance. Families are torn apart every day and the world doesn’t stop. The world won’t stop for them either, it can’t. To process is to work. To tinker. To lead, not to lean. It’s always been like that, the orphan and the runaway. But where they used to hold themselves, they now hold each other.

He became reckless, helmet tossed to the side. He traded the armor for vulnerability, seeking a different kind of anonymity in the eyes of the world.

“I think I’m done with this,” he whispered, “Ana, I can’t do this anymore.”

Her breath caught behind the ever-present lump in her throat, forcing her upward in shock. She looked towards the rough outline of him at the edge of the bed, heart leaping forward as the gunshot signaling the start of the race rang heavy in her ears.

This is it.

“Din, I—“ What does she say? She never was a beggar but this is different. She wasn’t losing him too. “I didn’t mean for it to all fall apart like this. I didn’t mean t—“

“What?” He turns suddenly and cradles her tear stained cheek in his hand, his heartbeat radiating through his palms. “Stars, did you thin—“

But she’s already nodding into his hand, holding his wrist in a vice grip refusing to lose his touch. He’s a space heater and that warmth’s not lost in the gentle laugh that escapes him now. It’s the sweetest sound the living quarters have heard in weeks.

“No.” He’s pressing that soft pout to her forehead. “Never.” The tip of her nose. “My sweet girl.” Her lips.

Water wells heavy in relief on her lids but, still, she says, “I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I—“ he pulls her to his chest and swallows hard, unable to keep looking into those big eyes still wild with the fear of fresh loss. “We are fragile. I should’ve chosen my words with care, I’m sorry. What I meant was that I can’t keep bowing out and acting like everything is normal.”

He stops, a ragged breath drawn into tired lungs.

“I don’t understand, Din.”

The quaking starts from somewhere deep within him, somewhere far below his sternum. Hollow where his soul should be, as if reaching in and seeking it out would produce nothing but empty air. The same vacancy has carved through her.

His tears fall like stars in the galaxy of her hair.

He waits five beats of his exhausted heart to steady himself before he speaks again, somehow softer, “I can’t continue to run and hunt and hide like this. I cannot keep living in transience and call that healing from my trauma and I won’t let you either.”

“You want a different life? With me?”

“I want a normal life. With you.”

“Din,” she’s pulling back, hands finding his face in the dim light, “What about the Creed? The Guild?”

He pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ears and when he speaks again, he is completely calm. Firm. Resolved.

“I will no longer be bound by rules I did not create.”

Her eyes are searching his, looking for a shred of doubt but there’s none to be found. His mind’s made up but, “Din, you’ve spent thirty-something yea—“

“Fuck the Creed, Ana. The only good thing they ever brought me was my family,” a ragged breath draws through him once more, “but they’re the reason we lost our son. I will not do this anymore. I will not do this to you anymore. We both deserve stability after what we’ve been through.”

The pad of her thumb runs across the curve of his cheek, the constant tears doing in weeks what usually takes years. Her man, her mountain of a man, has been reshaped in front of her. "Where will we go?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere green. I think he liked green.”

He nods, sadder still. “I think so too. I wish I could’ve asked him.”

“I wish for so many things, Din. I would’ve waited centuries just to hear his little voice. What do you think his first word would’ve been?”

He laughs again and it fills the emptiness of the room, of them. “Well, he spent all his time with us so my credits would be on, ‘Fuck.’”

Her laughter bubbles up, lilting in time with his as they imagine their sweet boy, beaming up at them with his little teeth and wide eyes.

“And the thing is, Ana,” he’s settling down, chest rising and falling at a normal pace now, “I wouldn’t even have admonished him. I wouldn’t have denied that boy a goddamn thing.”

“No,” she brushes his overgrown curls to the side, “neither would I. He had us wrapped around his finger the moment he came into our orbit.”

His heart visibly sinks, “Laughing makes me feel guilty.”

“Yeah,” she bites her lip and pulls him into her, allowing gravity to take them both to bed, “it makes me feel guilty too."

“I keep wondering if this pain will ever end and then, in fleeting moments, I forget there was ever pain to begin with. Then it hits me all over again because I don’t want to forget him.”

“No, my love, I don’t want to either. They say forgetting is the ultimate loss. I won’t let you do that.” She takes a deep breath as her fingers tangle into the wilds that have claimed his crown. “Promise me that you won’t let him slip away from me either.”

He pulls her closer, wringing out what little space is left between their bodies. Lips finding hers in the gentlest kiss as salt water mixes in the shared space of home, he whispers, “I promise you.”

One day, the pain may subside into a dull ache. One day, it may even go away altogether. But for now?

The sobs that shook their bodies could’ve filled oceans in the desert.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This was one of the hardest, most cathartic things I've ever written. I lost a child when I was twenty-two and I did it all by myself while surrounded by people who said they loved me. I wrote this the way that I did because it's how I wanted my ex partner to behave, I wanted him to care and cry with me and he didn't. His reaction made me believe that nobody else would care or cry with me either. I stayed silent in my grief for years. I used to feel like losing that pregnancy made me a failure but when I finally opened up about it the amount of love and support I received was everything that I had been craving. If you are suffering through this grief alone, I promise you that you're not and I hope that the people you are surrounded by give you the love and the care that you deserve. I hope that the people around you cry with you. You're not a failure, you never have been.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #grogu #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars #sir i am crying because i will never be grogu's mother #pedro pascal #loss #ofc #original female character #baby yoda

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makeste · 4 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 295: So How Are You Holding Up (Because I’m a Potato)

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi randomly and graciously decided to answer all of our long-standing questions about Mr. Compress, including “is he secretly hot,” “is he secretly related to that Robin Hood thief guy,” and “is he ever going to use his quirk to chain chomp a hole right through his ass??” with the answer to all three being “yes, of course.” As for our follow-up questions, “sir, is Mr. Compress going to die,” and “holy shit,” his answers were, respectively, “wait and see,” and, “I understand, really I do, but that isn’t actually a question.” Well, he’s got us there.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi finally ends the War arc with the speed and grace of an overworked college student scrambling to BS their entire midterm essay with five minutes left before the deadline. Deku’s Spidey Sense is all “what up, I exist, p.s. you’re in danger kid” like oh shit, no, you think?? Compress is all “I’m not gonna die but I am going to pass out and be captured” and honestly, at this point I’ll take it. Spinner is all “Tomura you can have this one last Souvenir Hand I found that was in the oven for too long” and slaps it on his face because HE’S JUST TRYING TO BE HELPFUL, SHUT UP. Dabi is all, “[currently in a marble].”Tomura is all “actually, I’m AFO.” AFO is all “hahahahaha” and summons all of the remaining Noumus to cart him and Spinner and Dabi off to safety. Deku is all “DAMMIT TOMURA I’M REALLY MAD AT YOU FOR KILLING, AND I QUOTE, ‘AN UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF PEOPLE’, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, GET THIS, I TOTALLY WANT TO SAVE YOU TOO! LMAO ISN’T THAT WILD.” Fandom is all “OH MY GOD, NO WAY, is what we would say if we had literally never met Deku before, I guess.” And then the arc just ends, lol. See you in the new year, kids.

WAKE UP, LINK... I MEAN, DEKU

jesus christ Vestiges, not a one of you guys has got any chill at ALL. LISTEN TO ME. THIS CHILD IS DEAD. HE IS DECEASED. LOOK AT HIM. HE’S LYING THERE ALL DAZED WITH HIS ARMS AND LEGS TURNED INTO GREEN PUDDING AND YOU’RE ALL “GET UP LAZYBONES” LIKE I SWEAR TO GOD. CAN HE JUST REST?? CAN YOU ALL JUST CALL IT A DRAW WITH THE VILLAINS ALREADY SO WE CAN FINALLY END THIS TRAUMATIC ARC AND MOVE ON TO THE NEW “TRIAGE AND ROBOT LIMBS FOR EVERYBODY” ARC INSTEAD

LIE BACK DOWN YOU IDIOT!!

no you didn’t pass out because of a ~heatwave~, you passed out because he set you on fire while you were out here shooting Blackwhip out of your mouth with your SPINDLY ACCORDION LIMBS dangling uselessly from you like WINDCHIMES you RIDICULOUS BOY

“where’s Todoroki-kun” oh shiiiiiiit. right. god I hope someone caught him. BAKUGOU OWES HIM A FAVOR, HOW ‘BOUT IT

OH NEVER MIND HE APPARENTLY CAUGHT HIMSELF??

Todoroki Shouto has really highkey been the MVP of the entire fourth quarter of this arc. he deserves the world, and odds are all Horikoshi’s going to give him are lasting trauma, and a souvenir shirt that says “I survived this stupid arc and all I got was this t-shirt”

anyway now Deku’s being hit by a Lightning Bolt of Realization or some such? idk what’s going on, but I bet you it’s related to Tomura waking up again

OH SHIT??

LOL WHAT. THAT’S IT?? SPIDEY-SENSE?? I mean we all predicted Spidey-Sense being one of his quirks like ages ago, so Well Done, Us, I guess

but also, seriously?? all of that drama and intrigue about the fourth user’s quirk and this is what we end up with? what was All Might being so cagey about then? how did this dude die? I need answers goddammit. new, better answers lol

maybe it’s something to do with the fact that Deku keeps talking about how his head hurts?

I mean, for Deku of all people to be all “ouch that hurts”, it must really fucking hurt, you know? like oh my god Deku are you dying

lmao and SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO APPARENTLY DON’T FEEL PAIN

this man is out here FROLICKING, half-naked and half-torsoed, AND STILL FEVERISHLY RATTLING OFF HIS MONOLGOUE. YOU HAVEN’T EVEN ESCAPED YET YOU DINGUS. did watching Dabi pour bleach over his head inspire you to think of interesting new ways you could abuse your own body for the sake of Theatrics?? why are villains Like This

anyway so now Mirio’s punching him, because what else are you even supposed to do in this situation

I read this speech bubble three times in a row very carefully this time around just to make sure I was reading the words right. and then looked for a T/L note below. and there was none. whatever RHA, at least you all are out here enjoying yourselves

wait what?

I guess he hasn’t woken up yet after all?? so then wtf is Deku’s Spidey Sense getting all worked up about. I mean to be fair there’s danger all around them still so having a Spidey Sense in this kind of situation is kind of like bringing a smoke alarm to a BBQ

now what

wait did he put them back in the marble?? or is that panel just meant to show us how they were in the marble earlier?? Horikoshi please make this less confusing, I’m already having trouble staying focused as it is. and on top of everything else Compress is cascading blood like Niagara Falls right now and I’m starting to wonder if you really are going to kill him off

anyway so Mirio is still in mid-punch, and now he’s reaching out to punch Spinner with his other hand. heh. Mirio please be careful Tomura is right there, and I swear to god Horikoshi IF HE LAYS A HAND ON HIS SWIRLY BLOND HEAD SO HELP ME I WILL MAIL YOU A VIAL OF MY TEARS

okay seriously what the hell is happening

when you attach?? everyone?? to your body?? whose body?? who is this??

oh wait okay it’s a flashback to Tomura talking about his Hands

lmao this is so disjointed, I can’t tell what’s a flashback and what isn’t and whose thoughts these are lmao I give up. I’m just going to fire up a bunch of question marks until this starts making some goddamn sense. ???????

??????

????????

-- !!!!!!!!!!!

okay hold up. so did Spinner just slap Tomura’s last remaining Signature Fashion Hand onto his face just now for absolutely no reason?? is that what’s going on?? and fuck me but it actually worked too, lmao. is your buddy unconscious and unresponsive to stimuli?? no problem, just slap ‘em in the face with a burnt and shriveled severed hand. works every time

p.s. I SWEAR TO GOD HORIKOSHI. IF YOU TOUCH MIRIO!!! HE’S A GOOD BOY LEAVE HIM ALONE

??????????

OKAY WELL. I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WTF IS HAPPENING, BUT AT LEAST MIRIO’S NOT DEAD. KACCHAN GOT BLOWN AWAY THOUGH SOB. HOW IRONIC THAT THE GOD OF EXPLOSION MURDERS WOULD BE MURDERED BY AN EXPLOSION WHILE I WAS BUSY SAYING “OH MY GOD”

ohhhhhh, okay. so this is AFO’s narration

and that’s a partial answer to the question of “why did AFO bother raising Tomura up as his heir if he was planning on taking over his body the whole time.” apparently it makes it easier to control him. joy :’)

also this image of a potato wearing a Tomura wig is sending me fjkllkhl

oh my god he summoned all the Noumu to him like Aquaman and his sea creatures. this whole situation just keeps on getting better

-- oh hell no. oh fuck me, fucking shit

SHIT SHIT SHIT. I’M SORRY SPINNER, TOMURA CAN’T COME TO THE PHONE RIGHT NOW

oh my god. I fucking hate everything right now oh my god

I GUESS WE FIGURED OUT WHAT DEKU’S SPIDEY SENSE WAS WARNING HIM ABOUT, THEN ಠ_ಠ

fucking great!! so I guess nobody is getting a happy ending today, then. the heroes got their asses handed to them (sorry Compress, it’s a figure of speech, didn’t mean to be disrespectful); Deku and Kacchan died; Shouto’s evil brother came back from the dead to ruin his life; everyone and their dog lost various limbs; and the villains have now lost Twice (dead), Compress and Machia (presumably going to be captured), and now their fearless leader’s body has been completely taken over by AFO, which is such an unsexy development that it managed to completely undo all of the Mr. Compress Sexiness from last week. goddamn it

DAMN IT HORIKOSHI ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO END IT LIKE THIS

up close Hadou’s face is looking pretty rough. :/ that’s going to scar over isn’t it. at least she’ll look like a badass

meanwhile I appreciate that Horikoshi drew what looks to be a little puff of air next to Kacchan’s mouth, just to reassure us all that he’s not actually dead. that’s fine. you just lie there then. also his wound really is in the exact same place as All Might’s and it’s giving me all kinds of feels you guys but whatever I’m not gonna sit here dwelling on it all day

AND POOR SHOUTO. IS HE STILL CRYING OMG. AND ENDEAVOR, WAY TO DO NOTHING STILL. THE ALL TIME CHAMP OF SITTING AROUND AND STARING, GOOD FOR YOU

ARE YOU FOR REAL, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW

(－‸ლ)

lol

“peace out, loser.” “SHUT YOUR TRAP, HO.” quality encounter right here

anyway so he’s blasting Deku with something and Deku’s just flying back all unconscious-like. so then, what even was the point of all that, huh

oh I see, it was to lead us into one last Deku monologue to close this arc out

oh my god Deku if you say you’re going to save him I will turn around and do a cannonball into a ballpit of feels right now, don’t do this to me

OH SNAP I THINK HE’S GONNA THOUGH

DID HE LOOK LIKE HE NEEDED SAVING?? I MUST CONFESS YOU AND I ARE OF A MIND HERE, YOUNG BROCCOLI. YES IN SPITE OF ALL THE MURDERS. WHAT CAN I SAY IT’S COMPLICATED

by the way I just have to point out here, that after all of those impossibly pretty close-ups of Hawks’s unconscious face, Horikoshi really did my child dirty here lmao

he looks like a squished cockroach. THAT’S MY BABY BOY

and it looks like the cavalry is finally on its way too! took them long enough. so I guess they can take care of any of the remaining Noumu stragglers, but first let Deku finish his speech. listen up Deku I really need you to say something cool and iconic to cap off this thus-far admittedly underwhelming Last Chapter Of The Year, here

AHHHHHHH YES HE REALLY DID IT HE SAID THE THING

well he thought the thing, anyway. close enough. I’ll take it!

so this is really the end of the arc then! or at least I hope, good lord. anyways, all right then so let’s do a quick status check:

it looks like the Noumu are hauling Tomura and Spinner away to safety, but it doesn’t look like they managed to save Machia or Compress. this honestly might be in Compress’s best interests though. the heroes can get him some medical help along with Kacchan and Endeavor and everyone else

Dabi is apparently hidden inside Spinner’s scarf, but do they have any way of releasing him without Compress there to undo the quirk? will he be all right in there. like how is he going to get food and water and air and stuff lol. does it wear off after a bit? can Compress undo it when he wakes up, even if he’s in custody? is there a distance limit on it?

and Skeptic was presumably turned into a marble as well, but Compress didn’t bother mentioning him at all. nobody cares about poor Skeptic lol

and bonus AFO theories status check:

Dad for One - AFO called Deku worthless and hasn’t seemed to take the least bit of interest in him despite getting to see his fancy SIXQUIRKS up close and personal. so if he is his dad he sure as heck is a terrible one, that’s all I can say

All for One for All/Deku is a horcrux - well the Spidey Sense seems to offer an alternative explanation to why Deku could sense AFO’s presence, but on the other hand it doesn’t explain why AFO was able to sense Deku’s as well (seeing his dreams and such). still thinking there’s a connection there, guys, idk

AFO is the final villain - five words for you: “EVERYTHING IS FOR MY SAKE.” is that concrete enough yet lol. pretty sure this arc marked both the beginning and end of Tomura’s brief stint as the Big Bad. Deku’s got it in his mind to save him now somehow, and we all know what happens when Deku starts getting determined to save people. look out AFO

as for the heroes, they’re all varying degrees of Fucked and I think it’s honestly too much to even take stock of at this point. maybe if I get a rush of hyperfixation in the next couple days or so I’ll do a separate post analyzing the impact of this arc and where things currently stand and where they might be headed from here

but in the meantime, ngl, this chapter was kind of a hot mess lmao. but whatever, I don’t even care because at least he managed to get all of it done within the allotted 17 pages, meaning that next week (or rather two weeks from now, sob) we really can get moving onto the aforementioned Triage arc! BRING ON THAT ANGST. I am so fucking hyped goddammit

#bnha 295 #all for one #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #mr. compress #spinner (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #idk why but this chapter was so exhausting to get through lol #I've enjoyed this arc so much but I guess at the end the fatigue just hit me all at once #almost 40 chapters we've been doing this #that's one chapter for every year iida has been alive #still it sure was epic though #now bring on that angsty aftermath

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yikesharringrove · 4 years ago

Text

Show Pony

Chapter one - Big Sky

Also on Ao3

Billy doesn’t give a fuck about the rodeo.

He doesn’t care about country music, or fancy horse riding, or the beauty queens, even the bull riders.

What he does give a fuck about it not being in his house today.

Not when his dad was obviously itching to pick a fight. Not when Max gave him such an easy out over breakfast.

“I saw a flyer for a rodeo. I think it’d be kinda neat.”

It was in town for four more weeks.

And Billy could tell the second he and Max bought tickets, he was about to be spending more time than he ever fuckin’ thought he would spend at a rodeo.

He based that on the way Max’s eyes lit up the second she stepped inside the big fairgrounds.

Not knowing that he was right. He was about to spend a lot of time at the rodeo.

But not for Max.

For himself.

And a pretty horse rider named Steve.

He didn’t see Steve that first day.

Was too busy shelling out his own hard-earned cash to buy Max sugary funnel cakes. Sitting next to her watching the poor suckers get bucked off their pissed-off bull.

But when Max was in the car she turned to him, the sun setting outside, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

And the tickets were dirt cheap. And Billy hates being at home.

So they did.

And they watched the rodeo queens.

And the team-roping.

But it wasn’t until the calf roping that Billy felt his heart sink.

Because he thinks Steve Harrington might be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Tall and broad, smiling like sunshine at his gorgeous black quarter horse, patting her strong neck and leading her to the entry point of the arena.

His name was loudly announced after the event name.

Calf roping, with our very own Steve Harrington! Steve will navigate his beautiful June into the arena, trying to rope and tie down a calf as quickly as possible!

Billy had tuned out everything but his name.

Leaning forward on his bench seat to watch him lead June up to the starting line, give her a few more pats before swinging one leg up, heaving himself up and over her back, settling into the saddle with a grace Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to describe.

Steve appeared to shake himself out, leaning forward over June’s neck to speak quietly to the sleek horse, wiggling his hips a bit in the saddle.

And then he sat back up, readying himself and waiting for the countdown.

He was off like a fucking shot.

Billy’s never seen anything fucking like it.

June kicked up dirt as she thundered through the arena behind a small herd of a few calves, Steve ducked low against her neck as he led her forward, his lips moving as he spoke quietly to her, egging her on and forward. He was clinging to her for dear life, his legs straining as he was tossed up and down in the saddle.

And then he let go of her reins, one hand reaching for the rope on his belt.

And it was the most hick shit he’s ever seen.

This flannel-wearing cowboy on his perfect fucking horse, roping a baby fucking cow.

He slipped the knot around it from his perch on the moving horse, lassoing it easily like that was a common skill, and with a fluid practiced movement, he tossed himself off the slowing horse, getting on one knee to tip over the calf and tie it up like it was second nature.

And maybe it was. Performing in a show like this.

That’s all it was, a performance. Practiced and rehearsed over and over for Steve and June.

It was over in a blink, Steve tossing his hands up to show he was finished, and the calf didn’t break its bonds.

The whistle blew and Steve’s time was read to the arena. Nine seconds. And apparently, nine seconds was a good time, judging by the way Steve’s raised his fists in the air, and patted June’s neck so gently.

He mounted back on his gorgeous horse as the calf he had roped was released by a few of the rodeo workers and the next guy took his position at the starting line.

Steve did a lap around the arena of June’s back, smiling and waving to the crowd.

And maybe Billy just has an overactive imagination.

Maybe his stupid gay brain was looking for something not there.

But he could’ve sworn he saw Steve grin just a little bit brighter in his direction.

There were a few riders after him. Competing to earn a faster score on the same track.

But Billy didn’t give a fuck about calf roping if he wasn’t watching Steve and June.

The sun was setting as Billy finally led Max out of the fairgrounds, one hand on the top of her head, steering her towards the Camaro.

“So, you think we can come back next weekend” Max was giving him a big shit-eating grin, powdered sugar all done her front from the final funnel cake Billy had shelled out to buy her.

“Don’t see why not. Get’s us outta the fuckin’ house, don’t it.”

“Plus, there are lots of good-looking cowboys, just everywhere. Did you see the guy doing the cattle roping, or whatever? He was cute .” Billy rolled his eyes. Max was just touching the age when she stopped thinking of boys as gross, saw them as cute, and whatever else she said. It also made her realize that having a gay brother apparently meant talking about nothing but boys. It made Billy wanna slam his head into the steering wheel. He grunted in response as she kept going on and on about Steve.

Like Billy didn’t see the way his thighs gripped the sides of his horse, like he didn’t watch as he hurled himself off June to tie up the fucking calf. Like he didn’t watch him take that fucking victory lap, shit-eating grin looking like home on his pretty fucking face.

“You gotta carry your own weight, you know that, right Shitbird? I’m talking, pay for your own damn fried shit.” He bets Susan would give him money for tickets if he acts real nice this week.

He can’t blow all his savings at the fucking rodeo of all things this summer. He’s got plans for the wad of cash burning a hole in the shoebox in the back of his closet.

Max huffed at him.

“What am I supposed to do? Get a job? I’m thirteen .”

“So? Babysit or some shit. Rob an ATM. Fuck if I care. Just quit stealing all ‘a my goddamn cash for your fuckin’ funnel cakes .”

“You’re just pissed off because you didn’t try one. They’re the best. You gotta have one next week.”

“I, unlike you, care about what I put in my body.”

“Yeah, because cigarettes and beer are so much better than fried dough .”

“Whatever.” The truth is, Billy’s gotta watch what he eats. Max didn’t know him when he was prepubescent and chubby. He can’t be sitting there shoving funnel cakes in his mouth and not expect it to all go to his gut. Not like her. There’s not an ounce of fucking baby fat on her. She’s positively scrawny. If anything, the funnel cake might help her out a bit.

“Yeah, whatever .” She huffed, slumping back in her passenger seat. “But can we come back?”

“Fuck, if you keep askin’ me, the answer’s no .”

She huffed again. She does that a whole lot when they talk.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I saw the way you were watching Steve race. You were practically drooling .”

Billy clenched his jaw.

“Was not .”

“Was too .”

And Max had a knack of leading Billy into moments like this, childish little arguments that made him feel kinda weird inside. Made him feel kinda warm at how sibling it was. Like they hadn’t been forced together just a few years ago.

For all his bitching, he really did like the little spit. If he didn’t, he’d be a bigger asshole than she’s always accusing him of being.

“You don’t even know what I look like when I’m really eyeing a boy, if you think that was it. Just, you know. Respected his riding.”

“ Respected his riding. Yeah ‘cause you wish he was riding-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m pushing you out of the fucking car.”

“I’m right, though.”

Billy just reached forward to turn up the radio, letting Dee Snider drown out any other awful shit Max wanted to say to him.

Which was probably showing his hand too much. No direct answer pretty much means affirmative when it comes to Billy. And yeah, Max knows that. Judging by the way she’s cackling like a goddamn gremlin over the sound of the music.

He just pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal, letting them fly down the highway.

And he thought about Steve and June, thought about how fast Steve could press that girl to go. Thought about him leaning forward, flattening himself to the horse’s neck, gripping onto the reins and urging her forward, urging her faster.

And if he thought about those strong legs wrapped around him, if he thought about what Max was about to say, Steve riding Billy like he would that fucking horse, his hips flexing as he bounces up and down, well, that’s his business.

And the next Saturday, Susan slid him a crisp twenty-dollar bill to buy Max some lunch at the rodeo.

They took it more seriously this time, bringing water bottles, and Max slathering thick white sunscreen on her freckled skin.

Billy even wore shorts, some old jeans he sacrificed to the summer gods when he wore holes in the thighs and chopped pretty much in half.

And it was kinda fun.

He knew what to expect now. Knew the barrel racing was all women, all beautiful horses winding their way along clover-shaped tracks. He knew that the bull riding was a little more fun to watch with a shot in him, and that his fake i.d. could get him an alcohol wristband from the tent at the front.

Max sneered at him when he bought himself a beer later in the day.

“Uh, you know you have to drive me home, right? Like, and not crash your stupid car on the way home.”

“Fuck off. It’s one beer.”

“And also that shot earlier, and I know you have a flask.”

“Okay, what are you, the cops? I’m just tryna enjoy myself in this blistering fucking heat. I don’t exactly get my rocks off to any of this shit.” Which is a lie. He’s totally sold on every stupid fucking event at the motherfucking rodeo.

“Fine. You wanna get stupid and drunk? Then you have to take me to the pageant. I wanna watch it.”

“Since fucking when do you give a shit about the pageant .” Max glared at him. Her nose was beginning to get red.

Maybe if Billy were less of a shithead he would tell her to put some sunscreen on. But she was really testing his patience today.

And then her eyes went huge, and her jaw went slack, and Billy was just about to tell her to close it and quit lookin’ like a dead fuckin’ fish when he heard someone cough slightly behind him.

And when he turned, he almost made the exact same stupid dead fish face as Max.

Because gorgeous cowboy Steve was standing right in front of him. In another cracker of a flannel shirt, stupid blue jeans, and fucking cowboy boots, because yeah. He’s a goddamn hick that rides a horse and ties up calves in a traveling rodeo for a fucking living.

And God save Billy, because hot damn.

Steve had an easy smile on his face, a little bit lopsided, and perfect white teeth showing between perfect pink lips.

“Hey there.”

“Howdy,” Billy responded before he could stop himself, his face burning up.

He was hoping he was already sweaty enough Steve wouldn’t notice the flush.

But thankfully, Steve’s smile went wider, and he laughed, this gorgeous bright laugh, his head tossing back, and that thick hair flowing easily.

He had gold streaks in his hair, lighter browns tussled within the darker colors. Billy wondered if they were natural, days spent out in the sun on his horse. Part of him hoped they weren’t. Part of him hoped that Steve was that intentional with himself and his goddamn hair.

He smiled at Billy.

“I’m Steve.”

“We saw you. Last weekend,” Max blurted out before Billy could kick her. She looked shocked that she had even spoken when Billy turned to give her a death glare. But Steve just laughed his gorgeous laugh again.

“And what’d you think?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you on the way home.” And Steve was back to looking at Billy, and his eyes are so fucking big, like, who’s eyes are just. Like that. Just fuckin’. Big.

“And what about you, uh-”

“Billy. And this is Max. My sister.”

“Well, Billy,” and fuck Billy nearly creamed himself at the sound of Steve saying his name. “Did you like my display of talents ?”

“Could say so. I don’t give too many shits about all this hick farm stuff. But I can respect it.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” And Steve reached out to pat Billy once on the shoulder. “I hope I see y’all around. I gotta head off, June needs some TLC before our time.” He smiled at Max, and her already red face flushed deeper, almost blending into the roots of her flaming hair.

And then he doubled back.

“You know what, I forgot why I came over here in the first place.” He was digging through his jeans, rummaging around in his back pockets.

Billy wanted to slide his hands in there, cop a feel while he helped Steve look for whatever he was going to offer Billy.

And then Steve brought out two white wristbands.

“They’re for, uh, VIP seating and stuff. If you’re interested. Gets you closer to the arena. That way I can just see what you look like after I’m comin’ off a ride.”

Hoo boy.

This little cowboy has some fucking charm.

And he knows it too, judging by his smug little half-smile he gave Billy while he fastened the wristband around his wrist.

He helped Max with hers, doing it faster than he had Billy’s, and with a lot less eye contact, which was a good sign. He’s not perving on his twelve-year-old sister. Which is cool.

And then he was looking back at Billy, and brushing his long fingers over the tops of Billy’s shoulders, his arms out in his shirt, the arms torn off an old Aerosmith t-shirt he found at the Goodwill last year.

“You should reapply sunblock. Don’t want you burning now.” And Billy’s sure if Steve was wearing a Stetson, he woulda tipped it at them. “Enjoy the pageant.”

And he was off, and Christ, those jeans. How did Steve even successfully ride his horse in those things? They were so tight, showed off his nice peachy ass as he walked through the fairgrounds.

“Wow,” Max said. And yeah, Billy felt the same.

“In case it wasn’t clear, based on the way he was flirting with me, and also that he’s way too old for you, but, uh, dibs .”

“Billy, you can’t just call dibs on a person.” Billy just laughed.

He knows that his twelve-year-old fucking sister doesn’t have a shot in Hell with Steve. Really, he doubts he even has a shot in Hell with Steve, but he also likes to spend his time making her life as difficult as possible without actually being a shitty person. So, he just riles her up. Says shit that’ll get her going. He wouldn’t be doing his brotherly duties if he didn’t say that shit.

Max calls it even by kicking him in the shin twice and making him watch the stupid beauty pageant.

Which, like, why the fuck are there beauty pageants at the rodeo anyway?

Turns out it wasn’t pageant at all, but the four previous Miss Rodeo’s all lined up and looking far too glammed out for this fucking heat.

Max faked being disgruntled by the disappointment, but Billy knows, somewhere inside that tough bitch little soul of hers, she’s glad she didn’t have to sit through a goddamn pageant just to make Billy miserable.

Besides, Billy had whipped out his flask a few times, and he was feeling alright. Just buzzed enough that the heat had stopped making him feel quite so disgusting.

But not too drunk to miss calf roping.

And yeah, maybe it was a little bit lame to make their way over to the VIP seating earlier enough that they scored the front row. But when Steve came trotting out, leading June behind him, Billy was close enough he could pick out the cluster of moles on Steve’s left cheek.

So, lame was not in Billy’s vocabulary today.

It was pretty much the same thing as last week. Steve made everyone in the arena ooh and aah with his riding, tied up the calf in less than ten seconds once again.

But this time, when he took that jaunty little lap around the small arena, Billy knows for a fact Steve grinned at him. Knows his stupid gay brain wasn’t making up the wink he tossed effortlessly in Billy’s direction.

And they left, just like last weekend, as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon.

“Just, c’mon. Mom gave you money .” Max was whining for a corn dog, of all things. When they have perfectly good, not fried food, at home.

“Maxine, I swear to Christ, I’m fucking tired. Let’s go home so I can crash, and you can fucking drive Susan up the goddamn wall with your whining.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too bad.” And Billy felt his insides curdling at that voice, felt himself wilting and shriveling because he would not be getting out of this day without one final, no doubt embarrassing, encounter with his gorgeous cowboy.

Steve was leaning against a booth selling chili fries, looking like a perfect picture of a Clint Eastwood movie.

Billy had never liked westerns.

But he was gonna go home and spend all night watching every one he could get his grubby little hands on.

Steve pushed off the side of the booth as Max found her words again.

“You don’t have to live with him.”

“And you don’t have to live with my folks. I’d trade you any day.”

And Billy nearly died. Right there. On the spot. Because. Holy shit. I’d trade you any day.

Billy was more than happy to follow this fucking hick around America, watch him ride his pretty horse before fucking him against the stable wall.

Or whatever. Do they have stables? Billy doesn’t know how a traveling rodeo works.

But like, they’ve gotta have stables, right?

“Nah, you’d get sick of him. He stinks.”

“Have you ever smelled horse shit? Because that’s the fragrance I wake up to every morning.”

And Max was laughing, and Steve was laughing, and Billy was trying to keep his hands as casually as possible in front of his slight chub.

“Will I get the privilege of seeing you two again?” And what a way to word it? The privilege. And then Steve was looking Billy up and down, and he was biting that perfect bottom lip and opening his mouth and “I could always give you my phone number. So we can. Meet up. Next time you’re here.”

“‘Course. You can give us the grand tour.”

And Steve was digging in those tight back pockets again, and shoving his phone into Billy’s hand, and he doesn’t have a passcode, but his home screen was a picture of him and his fucking horse which is, just about the sweetest thing Billy’s ever seen.

And Billy put himself in as Billy Hargrove , and then panicked because Steve doesn’t know his fucking last name. So he settled for Billy and then for good measure shoved San Diego after it because. Billy’s a common name, okay?

And Steve took his non-password protected fuckin’ horse girl phone, and Billy was giving him as charming a smile as he could muster with sweat on his upper lip and saying-

“You better text me, Pretty Boy. So I can save your number.” Billy shrugged, looking off to his left to try and seem. Nonchalant. “In case I wanna see you again.”

And Max was rolling her eyes, but she wasn’t stopping away. Wasn’t even whining at Billy, no doubt on her best behavior in front of hot cowboy Steve.

But Steve had a glint in his eye, and if Max wasn’t here Billy would be playing this all different, laying on the charm a lot thicker than he was.

But he can’t be a horny bastard in front of her. That’s just, like, gross.

So he settles for making a real show of licking his bottom lip, and maybe flexing his bare arms just a tiny bit.

“We should probably get goin’. Got a curfew for this one,” Billy jerked his head in Max’s direction. She huffed before she could stop herself. “See you around, Cowboy Steve.”

And Steve gave another one of his pretty ringing laughs.

“Come again soon, Billy and Max.” And again, Billy’s sure that if Steve were wearing a hat, he would’ve flicked the brim at them as he set off back into the rodeo, dodgin off the main thoroughfare.

“Wow. That was embarrassing for you.”

Billy whipped his head around to stare at Max, giving her the most disgusted look he could muster.

“The fuck you mean?”

“You were so obvious.”

“That’s the fucking point . We were flirting. It’s supposed to be obvious, you demon.” Billy shoved her once before stomping in the direction of the parking lot.

“Yeah but you were like, making these faces at him.”

“Shut the fuck up. I know what I was doing, okay? It was all very calculated . Let him know I’m down for it, and if he texts, then I’m good to go. If not, then I move on.”

And the thought of Steve not texting was kinda, disappointing. Because Billy really wanted him to text. He wanted to stay up late giggling at his phone and the dumb things Steve texts him and pretend they don’t make him flush like a fucking school girl.

He pointedly didn’t look at his notification when he reached the car, just shoved an old tape in and turned up Black Sabbath when Max wrinkled her nose at it.

They were both quiet on the drive back home. Something heavy unsaid between them.

And only as Billy was pulling into his spot in the driveway did Max suck in a big breath to actually put it out there.

“I won’t tell. About him. Not even Mom. Not even that I think he’s cool.”

“Thanks. Easier just to. Avoid at all costs.”

And if Billy were a better person, maybe he would hug her or something.

But they don’t do that. Instead he sighed and didn’t hip check her violently off the porch like his instincts were telling him. So really, he’s a fucking saint.

#yikes writes #rodeo au #show pony #steve harrington #billy harringrove #steve harringrove #thought i'd make a proper post with the story for ppl that wanted to read it here #i'm very proud of it!!#please read it!!

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angelasscribbles · 2 years ago

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The King's Punishment Part 2: A Bad Romance Three-Shot

Mini Series: The King's Punishment

Original Series: Bad Romance

Bad Romance One-Shots

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Riley x Liam, Liam x Max, Riley x Max, Riley x Drake, Riley x Rashad

Paring this chapter: Riley x Drake x Siobhan (F!OC)

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

Warnings for this chapter: Purely gratuitous sex

Word Count: 3,218

My other stuff: Master List.

Drake opened the door and his eyes widened in surprise, “What are you doing here? Is everything ok?”

His gaze dropped to the overnight bag in her hand as she pushed her way past him. He stepped to the side to let her by.

“Spending the night with you tonight.” She informed him, tossing the bag onto the couch.

“I'm not complaining, at all, but… why?”

“Liam and Max are in trouble.”

“What the hell did those two do now?”

“Do you really want to know? Because it's sexual in nature.”

“Oh, hell no!” He placed his hands over his ears as he shook his head. His eyes went to the overnight bag again, now laying where she had tossed it on the couch, “I'm confused by the overnight bag though.”

“What confuses you about it?”

“What's it for? You have clothes here. You’ve always kept clothes here.” She did, in fact, have both a dresser and her own closet in Drake’s quarters, both of which were well and fully stocked with all the basic clothing items like panties, bras, socks, t-shirts, tank tops, shorts, sweatpants, and pajamas. She had clothes in both Drake and Liam’s suite’s as well as in the room she kept for herself at the palace, her bedrooms at Valtoria, Ramsford and her rooms at Applewood and every other royal residence across Cordonia as well as abroad. It saved a lot of time on packing.

“Oh, that,” She waved her hand in the air dismissively, “I packed like eight pair of underwear, four t-shirts and no pants. The bag was for dramatic effect.”

“Dramatic effect, huh?”

“It worked.” She told him, “Liam almost shit his pants.”

Drake couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him at the image that painted. “Good. I’m sure he deserved it for whatever he did, which I still don’t want to know.”

Riley smirked, “Yeah, he did.”

“Have you eaten? Would you like some dinner?” He asked her.

Riley considered him for a moment, then pulled out her phone, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “Dinner can wait.”

“What are you doing?”

She gave him a wicked grin, “I’m about to give you an extra special treat. Besides, I was promised a threesome tonight and goddamn it, I’m getting one!”

“Uh….what?”

“Not like that. Don’t worry. I know you don’t swing that way. I’m ordering another woman.”

“Just like that? Like having room service sent up?”

“Yes, Drake. I have booty calls on speed dial, don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised that people want you, Riley. That’s kind of your superpower. I just….you really want….”

“Drake.” She stepped into his personal space and ran a hand down his chest, “Ever since you found out about me and Hana, you’ve been making jokes about wanting to watch me with another woman. Or was that all just talk?”

He felt his dick twitch at the mental image she provoked, “Yeah, no. I most definitely do want to see that!”

“Then tonight’s your lucky night. Now stop questioning it and kiss me.”

Fire flared through his eyes, deepening from his usual brightness to a darker, hammered copper shade, the subtle gold flecks standing out a little sharper. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her into his body so that he could comply with her demand. Her head was already tipped up to him, waiting, her full, lush lips parted in invitation. He licked her bottom lip, grazing it with his tongue before pulling it between his teeth. She moaned into his mouth as their tongues collided.

Riley pulled away and shoved him backwards, “Sit.” She ordered as he fell back onto the couch. His hands reached for her greedily as she straddled him. He surged upwards, capturing her lips again as his hands slid under her shirt.

He groaned as his hips thrust up and his hands rolled across her breasts, their mouths still locked on each other. Riley quickly unbuttoned her top, exposing her bare chest to him. She pulled away from his kiss. He jerked upwards trying to recapture her lips, but she tipped her head away and laughed, instead, using her hands to guide his head into her chest. He set to work sucking and licking at her tits with vigor. They spent several long minutes exploring each other with hands, fingers, tongues, and lips.

“Goddamn, just let me inside you right now.” He breathed.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” She teased.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Riley pulled away with a seductive grin. “There’s the threesome I ordered.”

“Don’t leave.” Drake groaned, reaching for her. His hands grabbed only empty air as she vacated his lap.

“Trust me, you’re going to enjoy this. Now be a good boy and go wait in the bedroom. I have something in that overnight bag I want to change into.”

Drake stood and reached for her again, “You could just come naked.”

She danced out of his reach with a smirk, “Bedroom. Now.”

“Fine.” He grumbled as he made his way to his room to wait, but he couldn’t deny the arousal and anticipation swirling through him. He pulled off his shoes and socks, untucked his shirt, pulled a dark blue, contoured wingchair next to the bed and sat down to wait.

Riley entered the room a few minutes later with another woman in tow. She looked vaguely familiar. Obviously she worked and/or lived at the palace because she’d gotten to his room so quickly, so he’d probably seen her before. But it was the sight of Riley that knocked the breath from his body. He inhaled sharply as he took her in.

“Are you nervous?” She asked in amusement as she took a quick selfie and sent it off in a text to Liam, to make sure he knew what he was missing.

Drake swallowed thickly. “No…yes.” His eyes traced her movements as she sashayed around the bed in the stupidly short negligee that left very little to the imagination. It was clingy where it should be, flaring out at the bottom, the neckline plunging almost to her navel. It was a patchwork of red lace and silk, revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth, glowing skin.

“You said you wanted to watch.”

He licked his lips and nodded, eyes still locked on her.

“Drake, this is Siobhan. Siobhan, Drake.”

His eyes flicked over to the other woman standing in his bedroom. She was shorter than Riley, her hair was dark, like Liam’s, long like Riley’s, but straight, smooth, glossy. She was pretty. Not as pretty as Riley, but she had pouty, kissable lips and curves in all the right places. He couldn’t deny that Riley managed to pull hot women. Her ability to attract whatever attention she wanted apparently didn’t apply just to men.

He only wanted Riley. But he couldn’t deny that the thought of this woman’s lips wrapped around him made his dick throb a little. His eyes must have lingered there too long, Riley noticed.

“You like her mouth?” She asked, grabbing and pinching the other woman’s cheeks, “It is a very pretty mouth.”

Riley wound a length of hair around her hand as she brought her mouth to Siobhan’s and ran her tongue across the woman’s bottom lip. Siobhan shuddered; her eyes trained on Riley like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like she would drown in her desire for her. Drake recognized the look, and the feeling. He watched while Riley bit into Siobhan’s bottom lip, then sucked it between her own lips. Riley pushed her tongue into Siobhan’s mouth, still holding her hair with one hand, while the other hand squeezed one of her very ample breasts.

“Fuck me.” Drake groaned, his pants suddenly too tight.

Riley stepped back with a seductive grin, “Oh, we’ll get to that alright. But first, some ground rules. You don’t touch her, unless I tell you too, got it?”

He lunged out of the chair, arms shooting out to encircle her, jerking her forward with a growl, “You’re the only one I want to touch. I just want to watch!” He lowered his head and started nipping at the side of her neck.

“Perfect.” She smiled as she pushed him away, “Now stand there and be a good boy. Siobhan, help me undress him.”

“With pleasure, my queen!”

Riley had given up on trying to convince Siobhan that she didn’t have to call her that, mostly because she’d come to like it. The way she said it made it sound so sexual, just like Liam did when they were alone.

Siobhan moved to Drake’s side; quickly reaching to shove his shirt from his shoulders. Riley’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, bending her arm back a little. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to get her attention, “The same rule goes for you. You touch him only when, where and how I tell you. Understood?”

Siobhan nodded, frozen, eyes locked on Riley, awaiting further instructions.

Riley released her arm as a slow, satisfied grin spread across her face, “That’s my good girl. Now take his shirt off.”

As Siobhan worked his shirt off, Riley pulled his belt off, unbuttoned his pants and slid the zipper down. She pushed the top of his pants and boxer briefs down, until they tangled around his ankles. His erection sprang free, rock hard and glistening with precum.

“Drake, step out of those pants and sit down in that chair.” Riley ordered. “Siobhan, don’t let him touch me.”

“Yes, my queen.” Siobhan moved behind Drake, grabbing both his wrists and pinning them behind him. Before he realized what she was doing, he found his hands restrained with a pair of handcuffs.

Riley shoved his legs apart as she got down on her knees in front of him. Making direct eye contact she placed the flat of her tongue at his base and licked all the way up the shaft. A primal sound issued from the back of his throat as he watched her, “Fuck, Riley!”

She smiled up at him then ran her tongue lightly around the tip until he was trembling with the strain of not being able to touch her. His entire body arched toward her, silently begging for her to take him all the way into her mouth and to stop being gentle. She lapped the precum off his tip with a flick of her tongue then moved away.

“Please!” He gasped out.

“Siobhan, your turn.” She grabbed the other woman by the hair and kissed her, hard, then whispered, “Don’t let him cum yet. If you make him cum, you won’t, not tonight. Do I make myself clear?”

Siobhan nodded as she sank to her knees in front of him. He was filled with equal parts anticipation, desire and fear. Before he could look at Riley to make sure she was ok with it, Siobhan had him in her mouth. He watched as she took him all the way in, moving her mouth slowly up and down.

“Drake.” At the sound of Riley’s voice, his eyes snapped up to her. She slid the negligee down her body and stepped out of it. His eyes stayed glued to her as she poured some massage oil into the palm of her hand, rubbed her hands together then began to massage her own breasts. She played with them, pinching the nipples, rolling them between her fingers, lifting one tit as she lowered her head, her tongue darting out to lap around her own nipple.

“Jesus, Riley!” His body lurched forward, but his momentum was stopped by the fact that his hands were restrained behind the chairback.

“Siobhan, get up and come here.” Riley commanded.

The other woman rose immediately from her knees and went eagerly into Riley’s arms.

“I want to taste him on you.” Riley told her before running her tongue across Siobhan’s lips then kissing her deeply.

Drake watched Riley basically lick him off Siobhan’s lips and suck him from her mouth. His head fell back, as he struggled against the cuffs, “Oh Jesus fucking Christ!”

Drake was ready to explode, and he couldn’t even stroke himself. He watched as Riley walked toward him with a sway in her hips. His eyes devoured her, tension coiled tight inside him, ready to pounce if given a chance.

Riley sank to her knees in front of him once again, only instead of using her mouth, she leaned into him, pressing his cock between her tits and sliding herself up and down his length. Sounds escaped him that he’d never made before and sweat beaded on his brow as he pushed his body off the chair, moving himself frantically between her breasts. Just when he thought he was about to erupt, she stopped. She moved away as he continued to strain toward her, helpless, high-pitched grunts spilling from him.

“Riley….please….”

“Oh, no, babe. You wanted to watch. You haven’t watched yet. Siobhan, come here.” Riley threw herself onto the bed and crooked a finger at her companion.

Siobhan bounced onto the bed then stopped, asking permission first, “Can I taste you, my queen?”

“You may.”

Siobhan crawled up Riley’s body, kissing her bare skin as she went. She took her time, delighting in every swipe of her tongue on Riley’s soft, supple flesh. She worked her way slowly up, kissing and licking her trembling stomach, smoothing her tongue over her breasts, lapping her way up Riley’s neck until she made it to her lips. Their lips clashed together as primordial, guttural sounds issued from Drake’s throat.

Siobhan reversed directions, her lips gliding down again. When she positioned herself between Riley’s legs and looked up at her queen for approval, Riley moved her fingers in a spinning motion and Siobhan complied by swinging her body around so that her mouth was over Riley’s pussy, and her pussy was hovering over Riley’s.

Drake felt like he was in a fever dream as he watched, unable to touch her, unable to touch himself, as the two women pleasured each other.

Siobhan came first, pausing her own ministrations as she cried out her orgasm. Then she swung herself around to attack the soft flesh between Riley’s legs with renewed vigor. When Riley screamed, arching her back off the mattress, Drake thought he was going to cum right then. His dick was harder than it had ever been in his life, and it was throbbing almost painfully.

“Riley…baby….”

“Yes, Drake?” She asked innocently.

“I want to touch you so bad….please….”

“Siobhan, uncuff the man. It’s your turn to watch.”

“May I touch myself while I watch my queen?”

“Yes, you’ve been a very good girl.” Riley responded.

The moment Drake was free of the cuffs, he dove for the bed, grabbing her legs and yanking her forcefully down with a deep, throaty growl. His release had been denied for so long that he was on a razors edge between pleasure and pain. He’d thought that all he wanted was to bury himself in her, but despite the overwhelmingly erotic pleasure he’d derived from watching the two women together, he felt a deeper, more primal need to reclaim her, to possess her, to make her scream out his name. To reassert his dominance, to prove that, no matter what Siobhan had done to her, no matter how much Riley had enjoyed it, no matter how often Riley allowed Siobhan into her bed, no matter what, she was still his and no one could make her feel as good as he could.

He pushed her legs apart, pressing them both down into the bed as his fingers dug into her thighs, his mouth attacking the naked skin of her inner thigh. He sucked hard enough to bruise, needing to mark her, to lay claim to her, to brand her as his. He didn’t stop until he’d left bruises up and down the inside of both of her legs, from just above the knees to the crook where the legs attach to the pelvis.

He pulled back and surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction before running his tongue along her crevice. He plunged one finger, then two, inside her as his tongue worked at her clit. He set a relentless pace as she writhed and bucked beneath him. Her hands sank into his hair, the tell tale feel of her grip tightening as she pulled harder at his hair telling him she was almost there. He picked up the pace even more as he crooked his fingers inside her and suddenly she was thrashing against him, crying out his name as hot liquid coated his fingers. He withdrew them and used his tongue to lap it up.

“Drake-“

Before she could say another word, he backed off the bed onto his feet, pulled her down, flipped her over and entered her from behind.

“Oh God, yes! Fuck me harder!” Riley cried out, her hands fisting the sheets as she pushed back against him.

Drake’s thrusts were already frantic as he rushed towards the climax that he’d been denied for so long. But this time he was in control. From the chair he’d vacated, he heard Siobhan cry out as she pushed herself over the edge. He never took his eyes off Riley though, her perfect, plump ass in the air just for him, her body rocking back and forth as he hammered into her. Her soft moans and whimpers turning into loud groans and gasps as she rammed herself back into him.

“Fuck, Drake, I’m going to cum again!” Her whines increased in pitch and length until he felt her clenching around him.

That was it, all he could take. He slammed into her one more time, hard, the force of it sending them both crashing to the bed, her pinned between him and the mattress. He lay on top her, his sweat mingling with hers as he pulsed into her, wave after wave of ecstasy washing over him. The orgasm denial had built the tension higher and higher so that when the thread of his restraint finally snapped, a flood of endorphin laced euphoria crashed through him, shocking in its intensity. “Fuck, Riley….” He breathed into her neck.

“Mmmm.” Was all she managed in way of an answer, marinating in her own post orgasmic bliss.

When he could finally move again, he rolled off of her and climbed further into the bed to collapse on his back, chest heaving as he looked up at the ceiling. “Jesus. That was….fuck.”

“You’re welcome.” Riley giggled as she crawled up next to him. She looked over at Siobhan and motioned to her, “Come on, you too.”

Siobhan smiled as she clambered into the bed and snuggled happily up under Riley’s outstretched arm, resting her head on her queen’s chest.

Riley’s other hand reached down to entwine her fingers through Drake’s. She sighed in contentment as she turned her head to gaze up at him. She was satisfied that she’d made his fantasy come true and thoroughly enjoyed herself in the process. The night had turned out pretty damn good for her after all.

That didn’t mean that Liam and Max were off the hook though. Not by a long shot.

#the kings punishment #bad romance #angelasscribbles #drake walker #riley brooks #drake x riley #trr poly #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #the royal romance fanfic #drake x mc #Riley x Siobhan #trr #choices #the royal romance #choices stories you play

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