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xhoess · 3 months ago

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One night?

Hugh jackman x fem bod reader

Masterlist words: 6.4k

After a one-night stand with 55-year-old Hugh Jackman, you feel awkward and try to avoid him. Meanwhile, Hugh confidently brags about it to your mutual friend, Ryan , who playfully meddles to bring you two together.

Warning: reader is lowkey hard to get, one night stand, unprotected sex (no mention of use of protection)

The evening air was alive with the buzz of social chatter, glasses clinking, and laughter resonating off the walls of a stylish loft downtown. You had been dragged out of your comfortable corner of solitude by your friend, Ryan Reynolds, who insisted that you needed some fun in your life. “Trust me, you won’t regret it,” he had said with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes that always hinted at trouble.

You weren’t so sure, but as you stepped into the lively atmosphere, you felt an electrifying shift. The dim lights, artfully placed, cast a warm glow over smiling faces, and an eclectic mix of music pulsed through the air, drawing people in. It didn’t take long before your reservations melted away, and you found yourself in a conversation with a group of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

And then you saw him—Hugh Jackman. The man was a phenomenon, both in presence and stature. He stood across the room, laughing heartily at something Ryan had said, his infectious energy making it hard for anyone not to smile simply at the sight of him. You’d seen him on-screen, the charismatic hero, the rugged romantic—all those roles where he effortlessly commanded attention. But seeing him in person was an entirely different experience, as if he radiated a warmth that drew people close.

After a few glasses of wine, you felt more daring. You joined in the laughter, and soon you found yourself at the center of attention, with Hugh leaning closer, his voice rich and dulcet. The two of you exchanged banter, playful teasing leading to more poignant moments. There was an undeniable chemistry, but you kept trying to rationalize it. He was a superstar, after all. This vivacity was just part of the package.

As the night deepened, Ryan made another appearance, raising his glass in a toast, playfully calling Hugh a “debonair devil” and throwing you into the spotlight. “Everyone, meet the incredible [Your Name]—the one who’s managed to actually keep up with our Hugh!” His words hung in the air, and you flushed at the attention. But instead of retreating, something inside you ignited.

The next few hours passed in a delightful haze. You lost track of time, your laughter blending with the music. More drinks led to more boldness, and before you knew it, you and Hugh were wandering off, away from the prying eyes of party-goers. He casually wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leaning in close as he whispered playful jokes, leaving trails of electricity in the air between you.

Eventually, you found yourselves in a secluded corner of the rooftop, the skyline of the city stretching beneath the starlit sky. The world felt far away, and in that moment, the spark turned into a wildfire. You kissed. One kiss quickly morphed into several, each more fervent than the last, a build-up of desire igniting the space between you. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and in his embrace, the age gap, fame, and reason all slipped away.

When the night finally turned into early morning, you bundled up in Hugh’s oversized jacket as you stumbled back inside, laughter still spilling from your lips. There was a softness to the quiet hours, a comforting intimacy that felt not just appropriate, but destined. Hugh is a true gentleman, even during the sex and you are happy you got to find that out.

Yet, as dawn crested over the city, reality came rushing in, and an urgent wave of self-awareness swept over you. Morning light filtered through the large windows, illuminating every detail of the loft—the coffee table strewn with discarded cups, your shoes haphazardly piled by the door. Hugh stirred beside you, his features softened in sleep, and you could hardly process the weight of what had happened.

You slipped out of bed, heart racing, panic clawing its way up as regret mingled with shock and embarrassment. What had you done? You never intended to become a fleeting escapade for someone like him, yet there you were. Barely muttering a goodbye, you rushed to dress, avoiding his sleepy gaze as you pushed through the door into the sunlight.

Outside, you took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp morning air. Your heart still raced, but not just from the remnants of exhilaration—doubt began to seep in. Did Hugh think this was all some grand joke? You knew you would have to confront him again, perhaps inevitably, and the very thought filled you with dread.

Bounding into the day, the encounter lingered heavy in your mind, and the weight of uncertainty settled in your chest. And in the back of your head, a nagging fear surfaced as you realized this wasn't just a one-off night. It was a fleeting moment that could hold consequences, not just for your heart but for how you'd navigate the world that now felt altered, charged.

As you moved through your day, rushing toward the familiar comforts of routine, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being caught in a whirlwind that had started with a laugh and a chemistry that simmered just below the surface. Would you plunge back into that world, face Hugh again, and risk the brittle facade of this night you now lived tangled in emotions? You weren’t sure, but one thing was certain—everything was different now.

The days turned into weeks, and time seemed to slip through your fingers like sand. The memory of that spontaneous night with Hugh Jackman haunted you, but not with the sweetness of nostalgia; instead, it lingered like an awkward itch you couldn’t scratch. You told yourself it was just a moment of misplaced passion, a blip on the radar of your usually controlled existence. Yet each encounter you avoided only intensified your feelings of embarrassment.

At work, you braced yourself for the inevitable moment of bumping into him. The open-plan office felt smaller, each cubicle a potential minefield. Your heart raced every time you heard footsteps echoing down the hall, and you were always caught off-guard when the laughter of your colleagues reached your ears, signifying a potential run-in with Hugh. You stuck to the kitchen and the far corners of your office like they were safe havens. Every time you spotted him, the warmth of his smile haunted your thoughts, and you’d scurry away like a mouse caught in the spotlight.

Your friends began to notice your odd behavior, and they found it amusing. As if they were part of a clandestine club, they would share whispers whenever you entered a room where Hugh was present. The urgency to escape their knowing glances made you feel small. You were convinced that they could hear your heart pounding in your chest, your cheeks flaming red.

One evening, a mutual friend of yours and Hugh’s, Ryan Reynolds, decided to host a gathering at his place. The list of invitees was promising—a mix of familiar faces and the usual suspects from the entertainment industry. You had hoped the guest list would deter Hugh and allow you to slip into the evening undetected, but as you entered the lively apartment filled with laughter and chatter, there he was, standing in the corner, casually sipping on a glass of whiskey, looking effortlessly charming.

You grabbed a drink from the bar and sought refuge in a group at the opposite end of the room, this time determined to blend in and keep your distance. Your heart raced every time you caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and that infectious grin. When Ryan approached, smirking, and nudged you lightly, you decided to change the subject.

“Did you see the latest episode of that show we like?” you blurted out, desperate for an escape.

Ryan grinned widely, his deep-set dimples growing more pronounced. “Oh, come on. You’re not even trying to play it cool. Just look at him!” He gestured dramatically toward Hugh, who was now animatedly recounting some event to a group of adoring listeners. “You’ve got to admit there’s a certain kind of charm to him. Plus, he's quite the catch.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. “He’s Hugh Jackman. He’s a movie star for a reason. What would he want from me, anyway?”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You seem to underestimate yourself. It’s not just about fame or looks; he clearly found something intriguing about you, too. Have you talked to him since… you know?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice theatrically. “The one-night stand?”

You shot him a glare, your face feeling hot again. “No, and I don’t plan to. I’m not interested in being someone’s fling, not now and not with him.”

Ryan chuckled, his laughter contagious. “Suit yourself, but you know avoidance doesn’t work forever. It’ll just make things more awkward when you finally do talk. Trust me, buddy. You either have to confront him or accept your fate as the queen of dodging Hugh Jackman at every social event in town.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in futility. Ryan had a point, but the thought of facing Hugh made you sick. You mentally berated yourself for allowing your life to spiral into this convoluted game of hide-and-seek with a man who seemed entirely unbothered by your embarrassment.

A slow current of tension poured through the room as you tried to engage in conversation with other guests, but every laugh, every joke, felt somehow muted when you knew Hugh was just a few feet away. It didn’t help that your thoughts kept betraying you, forever looping back to the memory of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, and the intoxicating thrill of the night you had shared.

As the night wore on, you found yourself perched on the edge of an armchair, a drink clutched in your hands, your pulse racing. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him across the room, his attention shifting from one friend to another. Ryan sauntered over, his aim on your emotional crutch as he settled beside you.

“You’re really living up to ‘avoidance game’ title,” he quipped lightly as he sipped his drink, leaving you to quietly groan in embarrassment. “What are you going to do when it’s just the two of you alone? Hide in the bathroom?”

“Shut up, Ryan.” You shot him a half-hearted jest, but the truth tugged at you from within. The urge to vanish from the room altogether was becoming harder to ignore.

To your horror, Ryan had zero intentions of letting the subject rest. With a devilish grin, he called out over the din. “Hey, Hugh! Come over here!”

You felt your throat go dry as panic swallowed you whole. Before you could protest, you discovered there was no easy escape; Hugh broke through the crowd toward you, his smile brightened with surprising enthusiasm.

“Hey, there!” he greeted, his voice smooth like aged whiskey. “We’ve got to stop running into each other this way. Are you casually dating or just playing hard to get?” His playful tone masked a serious undertone, leaving you speechless.

The laughter of others dissolved into the background as you met his gaze. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made you feel hilariously exposed. Suddenly, Ryan’s amused commentary faded, and the chatter around you became nothing but white noise.

Feigning nonchalance, you tried to muster a witty response, but your mind raced with conflicted thoughts. Just as you opened your mouth, however, Ryan interjected, refusing to let you hide. “Come on! Aren’t you going to admit how much fun you both had that night?”

Your heart plummeted as you caught sight of Hugh’s quirked brow. That single comment could either seal your fate or force you into uncharted territory.

You took a deep breath. “It was fun, sure, but it was just one night,” you managed to say. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, unintentionally cloaking your vulnerability.

Hugh leaned closer, a glimmer of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Just one night can be quite a catalyst, you know. But I get it,” he said smoothly. “I was just saying it could be… more. If you’re open to that.”

His words rippled through you, deflating the air of retreat you’d clung to. You exchanged glances with Ryan, who bore a look of triumph, and felt a flicker of courage bloom in your chest. Maybe it was time to start facing your fears instead of running away.

The night went on, and while the laughter and conversations flowed, one fact remained clear: you could only avoid Hugh so long. It was time to take a step, however small, toward the possibilities ahead.

The days melted into a haze of awkward encounters and isolated avoidance. You hyper-extended your social calendar to dodge the chance of running into Hugh. Your daily routine became a game of evasive maneuvers, transforming grocery trips and coffee runs into tactical missions. You would glance around the corner of the café, peeking through the narrow opening, praying he wasn’t inside. Your friend circle, once a source of laughter, now felt like a confining labyrinth.

But Ryan Reynolds had other plans—a devilish mind full of schemes and mischief. You didn’t realize how invested he was in the unfolding amorous soap opera until an impending charity gala invitation arrived in your inbox. It read:

“Hey, you can’t miss this one! Hugh will definitely be there, and I’ll save you a dance! XOXO, Ryan.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of dread anchor itself in your stomach.

That evening, dressed in a sleek emerald gown, you stood before the mirror in your hallway, giving yourself one last pep talk. “It’s just one night. Get through it. Nothing to fear.” The familiar jingle of Ryan’s laughter echoed in your mind, but this time it struck a different chord. You mentally cursed him for playing matchmaker, knowing full well he would be waiting for the inevitable spectacle of your internal collapse.

When you arrived at the gala, the glimmer of extravagant decorations momentarily distracted you from your emotional turmoil. The venue was alive with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You searched the ballroom, and amidst the chaos, you spotted Ryan’s gleaming smile against the crowd, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Then, you saw him: Hugh. He looked somehow both regal and entirely rebellious, in a tailored suit that clung to his form with effortless charm.

Your heart raced. It felt as if the universe had conspired to throw you into the lion’s den.

“Hey! You made it!” Ryan greeted you with exaggerated enthusiasm, effectively drawing your attention to Hugh, who was, tragically, making his way toward your small gathering. You exchanged panicked glances with Ryan, but there was no escape route—just your relentless heart drumming against your chest.

“Look who it is!” Hugh exclaimed with that signature grin that managed to light up the whole room. You couldn’t help but respond with a forced smile, suddenly very aware of the heat radiating from your cheeks.

“Hi, Hugh,” you managed, your voice coming out steadier than you felt.

“Got you all dolled up, huh?” His comment was playful, laced with teasing familiarity. You felt the anxiety begin to swirl again. Though the audience was largely indifferent, Ryan leaned closer with his trademark smirk, as if reveling in the banter between you two.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I dressed up. Didn’t think I’d find you here,” you said, trying your best to sound relaxed while grappling with the tension in your own words.

“Ryan insisted I swing by,” he said casually, motioning towards Ryan, who clearly found amusement in your awkward exchange. “He’s been raving about all the beautiful faces here tonight.”

At this point, it was clear He was getting a kick out of your flustered demeanor, while Ryan, the instigator, was eagerly observing the spice of your misadventure with barely contained laughter.

“By the way, I’ve heard some nasty rumors about you avoiding me. Let’s debunk them now, shall we?” Hugh asked, his tone teasing yet somehow probing deeper than anything Ryan could dream up.

You felt your insides twist. “Avoid? Me?” The denial rolled off your tongue before you could even process those ridiculous feelings of shame.

Hugh leaned closer; his eyes glinted with something mischievous, perhaps even a challenge. “Sure. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Just then, Ryan interjected, “What’s going on here? I thought this was a gala, not an interrogation!” His laughter rang merrily through the tension, lightening the mood a fraction yet also amplifying your sense of confinement.

“Don’t mind me. I was just appreciating the chemistry,” Hugh replied, his tone laced with flirtation.

You felt your lips press together firmly to suppress whatever might escape. “Well, I’m happy you found it amusing,” you retaliated, your nerve momentarily bolstered by indignation. Ryan’s laughter resonated around you like salt on your wounds.

“Let me ask you this,” Hugh continued, looking at you, his famous brow furrowed with determination. “What are you so afraid of? You’ve got me intrigued.”

Your heart kicked in at his words. Intrigued? Was it that simple? You caught a glimpse of sincerity in his eyes somewhere beneath the lighthearted banter, as if he was feigning levity to mask genuine interest.

Before you could respond, Ryan jumped in with a grand orchestration. “Alright, let’s get the dancing started!” He whisked you away, and despite the crowd surging past you, you felt a subtle pull to where Hugh was standing, eyes lingering over both you and Ryan.

As you danced, your thoughts revolved around the mess of your emotions, the fun and confidence in face of uncertainty somehow intertwined with an undeniable charm. Ryan continued attempting to match orchestrations that would leave you both in funny situations.

But ultimately, it was the persistent voice of Hugh’s laughter and charisma echoing throughout the room that cast an undeniable shroud over your every thought. Ryan’s meddling had only intensified the reality—you were drawn to this man, this older man, despite all your attempts to convince yourself otherwise.

Unbeknownst to Ryan, who was orchestrating his playful havoc, you could feel the walls starting to crumble. Hugh’s undeniable charm kept you hanging on each word, and deep down, you sensed that perhaps this could still lead someplace unexpected—even if it meant letting go of your fears in the process.

Tonight might be the night you had to confront your own feelings—for better or worse.

The weeks following that fateful night had been a whirlwind of awkward social engagements and an assortment of encounters with Hugh Jackman that left you bombarded with mixed emotions. Each time you saw him, your heart raced, and you felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up your neck. All your efforts to hide away—from cozy cafes to spontaneous happy hours—proved futile when your closest friend, Ryan Reynolds, couldn’t resist pulling you both into the same orbit.

Life turned into a game of avoidance, but the irony was that the more you avoided Hugh, the more his playful demeanor shone through, like a beacon drawing you in. No matter how you tried to be indifferent, each encounter left you flustered and conflicted as Hugh’s cocky grin made your resolve waver. You were becoming increasingly aware, however, that he wasn’t merely playing. There was a persistent undercurrent of genuine interest in his gaze.

But that day—today—you could take it no longer. You were tired of squabbling with your emotions, tired of feeling like you were hiding from the world. No more dancing around it. You had to confront him. In your mind, a million phrases swirled as you prepared for this moment. “Is this a joke for you?” “Do you even care?” “What do you want?”

Arming yourself with an unflinching resolve, you decided to confront Hugh at a coffee shop where the three of you had agreed to meet for brunch. When you arrived, you noticed him already seated, a radiant smile gracing his handsome features as he spoke animatedly with Ryan. Their laughter floated high, light and easy.

Taking a deep breath—and ignoring the flutter in your stomach—you strode up to them, trying to project an air of calm confidence. Ryan’s eyes caught yours first, and his playful smirk grew wider, silently cheering you on. “Ah, look who decided to join us!” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Hugh’s gaze flickered up, and though his smile remained, there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “Hey, you! You still look like you’re avoiding a hangman’s noose!”

“Can we talk?” you said, giving him no room to wiggle out of your demands. “Just you and me.” You gestured for Ryan to leave, and he caught on quickly, winking as he made his way to order more coffee. The air felt charged with tension as you found yourself sitting across from Hugh, whose casual demeanor slowly shifted when he sensed the seriousness of your tone.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, leaning back, arms crossed, an edge of amusement behind his gaze.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to find the right words to articulate the mess of feelings swirling inside. “I… I’ve been thinking about that night we spent together,” you began, feeling all the warmth drain out of your cheeks. “And how you seem to treat it like—like it’s just a funny story to tell. Meanwhile, I’ve been the one feeling all sorts of things, trying to figure out what it meant.”

His brows knitted together, surprise darting across his face. “You think I treat it like a joke?” His voice lowered, and you could feel a shift in the atmosphere. “I’ve been talking to Ryan about it because, quite frankly, that night with you was more than what I expected.”

You blinked, the words catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his casual demeanor washing away, replaced by a raw sincerity that you hadn’t seen before. “Listen, it was fun and spontaneous. Sure, I may have bragged a bit to Ryan, but it’s because I actually liked it—liked you. I wasn’t expecting to feel a connection like that, even if it was one night. I’ve been thinking about you far more than I anticipated.”

Your heart raced, anger and disappointment gradually subsiding to intrigue as you tried to digest his words. “But how can you say that? You’re Hugh Jackman! You have women throwing themselves at your feet, and I just…” You paused, feeling vulnerable. “I thought you saw me as just a fleeting adventure.”

His expression softened, and he shook his head. “You’re not just a fleeting adventure. You caught my attention in more ways than one, and I’m here hoping we can explore that.”

For a moment, the restaurant faded away, and you could only focus on the honesty etched in his gaze. The air hummed with possibility, and their laughter felt distant, like an echo. “So, what does that mean?” you asked, quietly bracing yourself for his answer.

“It means I’d like to see you again, properly this time. No braggadocio. Just us,” he said, his voice steady and inviting, allowing gentle hope to ripple through the space between you. “But that’s only if you’re willing, of course.”

You took a moment to process it all. There was a genuine sincerity in Hugh’s words that sent both excitement and trepidation coursing through you. He was serious; he truly wanted something more.

After a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, you found your voice. “I think I’d like that,” you said, heart thumping loudly in your chest. “But I want us to take our time. No rushing, just… getting to know each other.”

A smile spread across Hugh’s face, and in that moment, all the insecurities that had piled up began to dissipate under the warm glow of what could be. “I can do that,” he said, and in that exchange, you felt a sense of relief and liberation wash over you.

As Ryan returned with steaming cups of coffee, his eyes darted between the two of you, practically vibrating with curiosity. You shot him a smile, and his relief echoed yours—this conversation had been long overdue. The future felt bright as the conversation flowed freely, and the tension of the past began to blend into laughter and genuine connection.

The unexpected night had transformed into a new beginning, one filled with promise and the exhilarating anticipation of what was to come.

The flickering candlelight cast gentle shadows on the walls of your favorite little bistro. It was the perfect backdrop for an evening that promised to be both anxiety-inducing and thrilling. You sat at the table, nervously twisting your napkin, a small wave of disbelief rolling over you. Here you were, on a date with Hugh Jackman. Just days ago, the thought of being near him made your stomach churn with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, but tonight was different. Tonight, there was a chance for something more, something real.

Hugh arrived ten minutes late, as expected. There was a certain charm to his lackadaisical attitude, and any potential annoyance you might have felt quickly melted away when you saw him stride through the door. He wore a fitted blazer over a casual shirt, his hair tousled just enough to give off an effortlessly handsome vibe. The moment his dark eyes met yours, a smile spread across his face, and suddenly, it was as if the world beyond those doors faded away.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said with an easy confidence, pulling out your chair before sinking into his own opposite you. “Apologies for being late. I got sidetracked discovering the lowest rated movie in my collection.”

“Please tell me you didn’t actually watch it,” you replied, trying to maintain a lighthearted tone despite the fluttering nerves in your stomach.

He chuckled, leaning forward slightly, the candlelight illuminating the laughter lines around his eyes. “I couldn’t resist. A curiosity like that tangles with a gift,” he teased, his voice low and cool. “But enough about me—this night is all about you. Tell me what I should know about the real you that I missed in our initial… let’s call it a rendezvous.”

You felt the heat creeping up your cheeks and hesitated. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell. Just your average 35-year-old coping with a midlife existential crisis, wondering when it’s going to stop being so hard to find a decent dating app.”

He laughed again, a deep, warm sound that made your heart race a little faster. “Ah, behold the average woman. If only they knew what a gem they were missing out on.”

The conversation flowed easily from there, drifting through topics of childhood memories, cinematic favorites, and that dreaded question of where you see yourself in five years. With each shared laugh and stolen glance, your embarrassment about your initial encounter began to fade. Under the surface of playful banter was a palpable connection, strong and undeniable.

After dessert—the perfect mix of rich chocolate mousse and a shared slice of cherry pie—you suggested heading back to your place to let Hugh meet your cat, Oliver. He leaned back, a playful spark in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

“Your cat? What’s the protocol? Should I come in with a peace offering of tuna or simply wow him with my charm?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “A little bit of both wouldn’t hurt.”

As you arrived at your apartment, you were hit by a wave of uncertainty. Would Oliver take kindly to your illustrious guest? The last thing you wanted was for Hugh to feel uncomfortable petting a cat that determined the rules of engagement.

Inside, Oliver, your fluffy ball of mischief and warmth, immediately strutted over to Hugh and inspected him with an air of royal disdain. Hugh knelt down, extending a hand. “Greetings, noble feline. I come in truce and admiration for your majestic reign over this castle.”

Somewhere deep within you, laughter bubbled up, and for a moment, the awkwardness lay forgotten. Hugh scratched beneath Oliver’s chin, and you watched, captivated, as the cat melted under his touch. “He seems to approve,” you said, feeling lightheaded with relief.

As the evening wore on, and the bottle of wine you’d shared began to take effect, you felt a warm flush of confidence wash over you. Hugh, on the other hand, had relaxed into a more vulnerable state. He shared stories from his past—triumphs and failures, moments of joy that shaped him, and doubts that sometimes seeped through his confident facade. It struck you how rare this side of him was, and your attraction grew deeper, fed by a blend of admiration and genuine rapport.

“Can I admit something?” he said after a long pause. His gaze rested on you, earnest and unshielded. “After that night, I wasn’t sure what to think. I found myself intrigued by you in ways I hadn’t anticipated.”

Your heart raced. His honesty disarmed you. “I felt the same way,” you admitted softly. “But I was embarrassed. I thought you saw it as just a fling.”

He shook his head slowly, a half-smile playing on his lips. “When I braggadociously told Ryan about you, I was trying to mask my own surprise at how drawn I am to you. What we shared was undoubtedly intense, but the depth we’ve explored tonight feels even more thrilling.”

There was a weight to his words, and in that charged moment, everything shifted. The distance that had lingered before this night closed in, replaced with an electric tension. You leaned closer, surrendering to the undeniable chemistry cultivated through laughter and shared moments.

And then, without thinking, you reached out, your fingertips brushing against his. It was a mere whisper of a touch, but the air around you crackled with anticipation. He responded by leaning in, his breath soft on your skin, eyes dark and searching for confirmation.

You found yourself in Hugh's embrace once again, the chemistry between you palpable. His lips met yours, a tender exploration that soon turned passionate. As you kissed, you could feel your bodies yearning for each other, the connection between you undeniable.

"May I?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as his hands found their way to your waist.

You nodded, feeling every heartbeat echo in your ears as he closed the space between you. Your bodies pressed against each other, the heat between you intense.

As you pulled away, breathless, a soft smile graced his lips, revealing the thrill of vulnerability shared. "Why don't we make this a regular thing?" he suggested, his voice now thick with emotion.

You grinned, heart swelling with possibility. "I'd like that. More than you know."

You led him to your bedroom, shedding clothes as you went. Your bodies entwined, hands exploring, mouths tasting. The anticipation built as you kissed and touched each other, the pleasure mounting.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groaned as he entered you, your bodies becoming one. You moved together, every thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

you moaned, your bodies slick with sweat. "Don't stop."

As the night unfolded, every moment felt richer than the last. The sex was intense and passionate, fueled by desire and a deep connection. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was filled with emotion and meaning.

"Yes, fuck, yes," you cried out as you reached your peak, your body trembling with pleasure. He followed soon after, his body shuddering as he cum inside you.

As you lay in each other's arms, spent and satisfied, you knew that this was the beginning of something special. The unexpected had led to the most beautiful new beginning.

#smut #hugh jackman fiction #hugh jackman fluff #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #ryan reynolds #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #wolverine #hugh jackman #wolverine smut #hugh jackman smut #love #one night stand #funny #liveblogging #live

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fanfoolishness · 7 months ago

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I like to imagine that in the future, people remember the clones. After Palpatine falls for good on Exegol, imagine an explosion of freedom and knowledge in those days after the final defeat: imagine archaeologists and scholars plumbing the depths of Imperial and First Order records, trying to figure out what had happened so it could never happen again. And through it all they find the clones’ story woven into everything, until a new field emerges of Clone Studies, a loose alliance of military history buffs and research biologists and anthropologists and ethicists.

They catalogue the Kaminoans’ research; they review the clone memorials on Coruscant, on Zeffo, monuments as large as a massive wall or as small as a quiet statue, from people throughout the galaxy who were grateful for what they did. They study the great tragedy and betrayal of the chip, finally understanding the scope of Palpatine’s plans and bringing them out into the open, sharing the truth that the clones never chose to betray the Jedi Order and Republic they had served faithfully. They study old war vids and oral histories from people of long-lived species or whose grandparents remembered the clones; they build, memory by memory, a sense of the culture, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the loyalty. They collect vids of battle songs and in-jokes and an interior language shared among them, springing up over the years.

They find and list their names, self-chosen or given by their brothers: Rex, Fives, Howzer, Echo, Tup, Gregor, Wolffe, Cody, Boil, Waxer, Cut. They study the clones whose differences defined them and knit them into a family whose ties could not be broken, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Omega. They study the discarded who nevertheless still had value - 99, Emerie, the clones who were culled in infancy for being wrong. There are specialists who devote their entire branch of study to the only male unaltered clone and his infamous exploits throughout the galaxy, so alike his father’s. They study the years of the clone rebellion, a fight that paved the way for the next wave of fighters and the next after them.

The clones are gone. That is undisputed. Their kind came for a little while, and then vanished, burning brightly; their tale was a tragedy, but one unique in all its seeming sameness. There are conferences and holovids and books. There are debates and research firing up young scholars about a time only their great-grandparents can remember.

In the future, after all the clones are gone, there are still stories.

#the clones #clone wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #Star Wars #clone force 99 #I’m just having feelings okay #Star Wars meta #clone wars meta #bad batch meta #clones

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kacievvbbbb · 3 months ago

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You do get the sense that the fallout of Roger's death and the Roger pirates disbanding not so much traumatized Buggy and Shanks indifferent ways but instead generated such drastically different reactions to the trauma.

While the trauma of everything seemed to push Shanks into the future, always constantly waiting for something, putting plans on hold and then later in place, for this great moment, this great coming that he sees on the Horizon. For Buggy it rooted him firmly in the past keeping him trapped in this grief masquerading as anger.

While Roger's death forced Shanks to grow up fast, it kind of arrested Buggy's development keeping him stuck in those same feelings, rooted int that same place.

You get the sense that Buggy's whole east blue schtick is just one long overdue rebellious phase one big fuck you to Roger and his ideals. He's rebelling against Roger's principles. One of their rules was don't steal from innocent people and Buggy was keeping a whole town in poverty. If Roger and Luffy's pirating styles are diametrically opposed to someone like Blackbeard, who might be the most literal pirate in the entire series, then buggy is the parody of that Blackbeard piratism. He is playing up cruelty, being the most piratey pirate possible, hell he's literally a clown on a stage. It's all a show! It's his own special way of trying to "get back at Roger" of trying to discard everything Roger taught him for this overacted, over exaggerated clownish cruelty. Mentally he never left that execution square. He is still 15, alone and scared.

Hell he literally never left either, while I'm pretty sure Shanks' booked it out of the east blue as fast as he could, Buggy never lef, might have never left, if not for Luffy. It's part of why Luffy bothers him so much, he's just like Roger everything that Buggy is trying hard to forget and here comes this kid, whose never even met the Captain but is wearing his hat, shoving it right back in his face.

It makes sense that he never leaves the east blue till Luffy literally forces him out of it (fucking with Luffy gets him captured and imprisoned) and it makes sense that it's Luffy that literally breaks him out of prison, literally sets him free, and on the path to greatness that maybe he was always meant to achieve (even if he trips his way into it). This boy that is tragically so much like his old captain but so beautifully unabashedly himself, is what Buggy needs to start letting go off the past, to start trying to move forward.

Maybe that's why Buggy, at what could arguably be described as his lowest moment, gets the strength to free himself from his own self imprisonment, realizing that even back then he was locking himself away and pinning his own dreams on Shanks. And, maybe for the first time ever, Buggy really own his dream. He declares to his tormentors and his crew and the entire world that; actually He wants to find the one piece, him, as captain of his own crew, this crew, not just a part of someone else's. That's his dream and he's willing to turn the world upside down to do it.

#Buggy for Pirate king 2024 #I can't lie I believe that he might actually do it. It might be just for the bit and just for a few seconds but he'll do it!#No where else for him to trip up too #I think it's great that yeah Luffy liberates kingdoms in all these big ways #but from the beginning of the story in all these little ways he's been setting people free and in his own little way he set Buggy free too #my favorite thing recently has been dissecting all the ways in which how the roger pirating handling of everything ruined these boys lives #honestly not just them judging from what we've seen it's the whole crew cause Rayleigh's defiantly not doing okay #Buggy has such middle child syndrome despite being the exact same age as Shanks and not having a younger sibling #like of course he was going to feel like he had to fall under Shanks Shanks probably felt chosen by god it's hard not to feel second to tha #This feels more like a collection of thoughts than the cohesive essay I was going for #but I guess that's what happens when you literally only have a collection of thoughs #It took me a while but I actually fuck with the star clown #buggy the star clown #buggy pirates #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #one piece analysis #character analysis #shanks #red haired shanks #cross guild #roger pirates #gol d. roger #monkey d. luffy #buggy #shanks and buggy #one piece #one piece thoughts #one piece meta #op

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lookingforariaa · 4 months ago

Text

Attack On Titan: Actor AU ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ From the very first "Attack on Titan" table read, Eren Jaeger and Y/N L/N been locked in a personal war. They had hated each other, for their own personal reasons. But, now, fate (or the writers) had dealt them a cruel hand: their characters, the series' central love interests, were about to share their first intimate scene. actor!eren x actress!reader

Ensconced in the makeup chair, you flipped through the script with practiced ease. Your brow furrowed in concentration as you absorbed the scene directions and drilled the lines for today's shoot into your memory.

If 13 year old you thought it was bad enough having to share your first kiss with Eren Jaeger at the end of the season 2 finale with a bunch of camera's pointed at you, she would probably want to kill herself for this scene.

Smiles were plastered on for fans, talk show appearances, the whole nine yards. But everyone on set knew the hatred simmering beneath the surface between Eren and you. But your reasons for the animosity ran deeper than just hating him for the funsies.

You'd always bristled at entitled people like Eren Yeager. His producer father had undoubtedly greased the wheels for his leading role alongside you. He hadn't earned it like everyone in this series had, and he had gotten one of the leading roles in the series.

It wasn't fair. The rich always win.

The first table read had confirmed your worst fears. You had extended a friendly hand, introducing yourself as his love interest and the second leading role in the series.

Eren's response? A dismissive scoff and a head-to-toe sweep that spoke volumes. That self-satisfied smirk ignited a fire in your gut. People like him, who waltzed into success on silver platters, were everything you weren't. You'd clawed your way up, and his arrogance was a slap in the face to everything you'd achieve

The hatred towards Eren only intensified on the first filming day. His arrogance wasn't confined to you. He barked orders at crew members and treated his assistant like an indentured servant. Your blood pressure skyrocketed.

These were people, not props for his entitled performance.

He treated them like they weren't human.

The scene triggered a raw nerve. You knew all too well the sting of dehumanization. The humiliation. Your mother was a single parent forced into sex work to keep a roof over your head. Even if you lived in a brothel full of sex workers, you didn't ask god for anything else other than to get your mom another job.

You had watched your mom try her best to hide you from the men coming in so you wouldn't have to fall into the hands of prostitution as well. The way those men treated her - a flicker of desire followed by callous dismissal, like a discarded rag.

Like she wasn't even worthy enough to be called a human.

You had clawed your way out. Your striking features - the cascading dark blonde hair and the mesmerising hazel eyes and amazing acting skills - were your ticket to this role, a chance to give your mother a life she deserved.

Seeing Eren was like looking into a mirror of your traumatic past, seeing your mom thrashed around like an object.

Blinking back the sleep in your eyes after having drinks with Sasha the entire night, the scripts pages wavered in your hands, the words blurring at the edges.

Sasha's death still felt unreal. You'd sought solace in her company after they killed her character, clinging to the real Sasha for as long as possible.

A yawn stretched your lips into a wide, ungainly shape. The gentle hum of the hair curlers and the soft touch of the makeup brushes did little to dispel the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

The last layer of blush being applied felt strangely cool against your warm cheeks. You lowered your heavy lashes as they started applying a gentle layer of mascara to your makeup as the finishing touch.

The problem with Attack On Titan was the fact that all the makeup had to look natural. But at the same time all the girls, especially you and Mikasa, had to look beautiful.

Which wasn't hard, because both of you were drop dead gorgeous. But both of you were too humble to ever admit it out loud.

You skimmed through the script one last time as the Matt, your gay best friend who mostly does your hair, brushes them out slightly to make them look more natural.

Perfect," he sighed dramatically, a playful smile on his face. "Ready for today's shoot?"

You rolled your eyes, a groan escaping your lips. "Absolutely not."

"Yeah, figured," Matt chuckled. "t's funny honestly. Do you actually have to ride his thigh? God, the writers hate you."

"Oh shut up!" You scoffed, slapping his arm with your script as you looked a laughing Matt through the mirror.

"Okay, come on, they're asking for you."

"Tell them I'll be right out."

The director barked out his final instructions, taking help from Isayama as his gaze flickering between you and Eren.

Both of you stood with arms crossed and brows furrowed, listening carefully to the director and Isayam. Eren, clad in his iconic faded green shirt and a the black jacket over it.

While you wore a white button-up strained slightly against your chest, the small black corset tied right beneath your chest emphasizing your hourglass figure beneath it.

"So, remember, Y/N you hate him in this scene, you despise him." The director emphasized, looking down at the script.

"Yeah, that's gonna be easy to act out." You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Eren smirked, leaning down for his mouth to reach your ear. "Don't forget what scene we're filming." His breath tickled your ear. You didn't know what sent the chills down your spine-- his mouth being so close to your ear, or the fact that he was referring to how you had absolutely no control in this scene.

The director clapped his hands, snapping you and Eren out of your silent standoff. You cleared your throat, forcing your attention away from the infuriating green shirt and towards the man barking orders.

"Y/N," he said, pointing at you, "when you say, 'So you're going to kill billions of people for what?!' I want a reaction. Fling your arms wide, like you're trying to grasp the weight of those lives. Let your anger crackle in your eyes, burning into Eren as you demand an answer." You nodded.

His gaze shifted to Eren, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Eren, when you deliver the line, 'For you,' I want hesitation. Let out a sigh that speaks volumes. Run your hand through your hair, whatever. Turn away, build the drama. Then, do a dramatic turn around back towards Y/N, unleashing that scream with every ounce of conviction you have. Got it?"

Eren nodded understandingly, pursing his lips. "Got it."

"Great! Let's get this scene rolling!" The director boomed, clapping his hands. A flurry of activity followed as the set crew started getting the prison set ready for filming, fixing any minor misplaces in it.

You and Eren stood by, the tension crackling between you like live wires. Within minutes, the set was prepped, the harsh overhead lights casting stark shadows on the fabricated brick walls. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the emotional rollercoaster about to unfold.

"Scene 27, take 1."

"Lights," The director sighed, "Cameras." He pointed, "And.. action!"

The sterile light glinted off the metal bars, casting a harsh glow on the tense scene unfolding. You stood across from Eren, your voice laced with barely contained fury

"I know what I'm doing," you spat, the words sharp as shards of ice. "But do you, Eren? Do you have any goddamn clue what you're doing?!"

Eren was positioned before a cracked mirror, avoided your gaze. His knuckles tightened around the chipped porcelain sink, the strain evident in his posture. A sigh, heavy and laced with despair, escaped his lips as he stared down at his clenched fists.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah?" you shrieked, disbelief and frustration clawing at your throat. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like a single thought has crossed that thick skull of yours!"

Your hands flew to your hair, tugging at the strands in agitation. Frustration boiled over, and you flung your arms wide, the metal cot scraping against the wall with a jarring clang

"Eren!" you roared, your voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "You're about to make billions die at the hands of a horrifying death! And for what?!"

Eren remained silent, his back a rigid wall against your onslaught. A shaky breath escaped him, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth seemed ready to shatter. Slowly, he raised his hand, running it through his hair in a gesture of defeat. His eyes, half-lidded and shadowed, flickered towards his reflection in the mirror, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, he spun around, his voice laced with a desperate conviction that bordered on hysteria.

"For you!" he screamed, the words echoing through the cell. But as quickly as the outburst erupted, it died down. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, and he repeated the words, this time a mere whisper, "For you..." His half lidded eyes met yours.

"Well, that's fucking stupid!" You screamed out.

"Cut!" You furrowed your eyebrows and turned your head back to the director. "Y/N! Your resolve breaks for a second, okay? You still love him deep down and when he looks at you like that your heart aches." The director says, clutching at his own heart to emphasise. "So wait for a second, show emotion, and then say the stupid line."

"Idiot." Eren muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

"Okay, got it. Everything else was fine?" You asked, ignoring his comment.

"Yeah." The director responded, "Let's take it again from Eren's line."

"Scene 27, take 2."

"Lights, camera.. action!"

Eren sighs once more, "For you.."

A tremor ran through your composure. Your eyelids fluttered shut for a brief moment, a shaky breath escaping your lips. When your eyes reopened, the anger had returned, but it felt brittle, tinged with a flicker of something else - confusion, maybe even a hint of pain. It was a fleeting glimpse, quickly masked by the familiar fury

"Well that's.. that's fucking stupid!" You stammered, trying to showcase your characters resolve breaking.

"Is it?! I think it's fucking stupid that you aren't understanding that Marley wants to take you so you can make pure royal blooded babies with my brother so they can take the founding titan easily!" Eren roared, turning back to you.

"Babies?" The word hung in the air, a foreign concept amidst the weight of Eren's plan. The anger you wielded began to crumble at the edges.

A shaky laugh escaped you, a humorless sound that echoed off the cold stone walls. "Is that it, Eren? All this so I don't sleep with your fucking brother?!"

Eren's jaw clenched tight. He ran his hands through his hair again, his voice laced with a desperate edge. "You aren't fucking getting it! They'll use you, Y/N! Turn you into a breeding machine for their twisted agenda and then kill you! This way, at least you're..." His voice trailed off, the defiance flickering for a moment.

"Atleast i'm what? Safe? You fucking sociopath! You're killing all these people for one person?!"

"Shut up."

"That's what you are.. a murderer, a psychopath!"

"Shut the fuck up." He growled, grabbing you by your neck and pushing you against the wall, choking you slightly. The camera followed both of you in kind.

You smiled, scoffing. "Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

A tense silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the ragged rasp of your breath. Disgust simmered in your eyes, a mirror image of the icy loathing reflected back from Eren. The space between you crackled with unspoken hostility

He was supposed to kiss you now, but you were glad he wasn't, otherwise you might've barfed in his mouth. He looked at you with the same expression etched on his face: disgust.

"Cut!" The director yelled out and Eren rolled his eyes, sighing as he released your neck and immediately walked away from you.

The director slammed his script down, the sound echoing through the soundstage. "Alright, what's going on here? You two are supposed to be passionately making out, not glaring at each other like you're about to duel."

Eren scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe our characters wouldn't actually kiss in this situation."

You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowing. "Oh, and why wouldn't they? Because your fragile ego can't handle kissing someone who doesn't fawn over you?"

Eren's smirk vanished, replaced by a cold stare. "Funny you should mention ego. It takes a certain level of delusion to think anyone would be interested in someone who constantly reeks of desperation."

You bristled. "Desperation? At least I earned this role on my own merit, unlike some nepo baby." You smirked. "At least I don't need a daddy with a fat wallet to buy my way into a role."

Eren's voice turned low and dangerous. "Careful. You wouldn't want to upset the golden goose who keeps this whole production afloat, would you?"

Y/N leaned forward, her voice a steely whisper. "Don't you dare pull that daddy producer stunt on me. You think your money can buy you everything? It can't buy respect, and it certainly can't buy genuine affection."

Eren's smirk faltered for a moment, his jaw clenching, much to your amusement. "Oh, touchy subject? Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

The director sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, can we focus? This scene is supposed to be about raw emotions, about their need for each other. Let's take it again, both of you are professionals, I know you can handle it."

"Scene 27, take 3."

"Lights, Camera... Action!"

The boy holding the movie clip snapper sighs, exhausted, even from a simple job as his. "Scene 27... take 23."

"Okay, guys, If it doesn't happen this time then we'll have to redo this tomorrow. And then we won't have time to film the scenes scheduled for tomorrow, hence the season 4 premiere will get delayed. So, just be professionals for once. You aren't kids anymore." The director sighs, putting his cap back on as he leans back in the chair.

Both you and Eren get back into place as the director yells action and Eren quickly slams you against the wall.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

You and Eren looked at each other for a second and you almost thought he was going to chicken out once more, so did the director as he rolled his eyes and slid a hand across his face.

But he didn't.

Eren quickly brought his lips to yours, rough and full of all the hatred that's been simmering between both of you all this while. It was a frantic kiss, as the director had wanted. Both of you were breathless as his hand stopped choking you and went to the side of your neck and the other clutched at your waist, and your hands went to grasp at his hair.

It was a tangled mess of limbs as your heads moved together at the speed of light, begging to deepen the kiss, begging to explore every inch of each others mouth. The air crackled with unspoken desire, the kiss a whirlwind of exploring touches and desperate needy moans.

Everything was a blur. Gasping breaths mingled with the frantic rhythm of your kiss, his tongue had even made an appearance. It surprised you, because when kissing a co-star the other doesn't use tongue to keep the kiss professional and to show the person respect.

But what would Eren Jaeger know about respect?

His hands gripped your waist, a possessive ache that mirrored your owns as one of your hands tugged at his hair and the other caressed his cheek. The kiss deepened, your heads moving together frantically, a battle fought on bruised lips and tangled tongues.

A whimper escaped your lips as Eren grabbed your hair and tilted your head backwards, the kiss turning urgent, so frantic. It felt like an eternity, a culmination of unspoken longing poured into this single, desperate moment.

Your hands twisted in his hair, pulling at it harshly on purpose, hoping it would hurt. With the groan that he let out into the kiss, you were sure it did.

Then, with a swift movement, Eren shoved his knee in between your legs, your surprised moan swallowed by the next searing kiss.

His hand shot out, gripping your throat as your heads whipped back and forth, a frantic chase for deepening the kiss. A tender moan left your lips as Eren's grip on your throat tightened, his tongue thrusting deeper. The sound of your kiss echoed in the room, into the mic, a desperate rhythm. You let out another soft, breathy moan and it was muffled into his mouth as he tried to get even closer to you.

And with the directors snap, which was your cue to start grinding on his thigh, you did just that. A soft moan escaped your lips and muffled into his mouth. "Eren." You sighed into the kiss, as you disconnected your lips and connected your forehead with his, grinding on his thigh.

Fuck. You didn't expect this to happen, especially not with Eren, but you could feel your pussy pulsate and throb with need. You just hoped he couldn't feel it.

"We shouldn't do this." You said in a soft moan as you threw your head back, giving Eren the chance to kiss down your neck.

"We shouldn't." He sighed into your neck.

"It's a bad idea." Your grinding intensified and his hand came to grab at your hips to help you, a sigh of pleasure escaping you, your nails digging into his shoulder.

"It is." You could feel his breath on your neck.

"I loathe you."

"The feelings mutual."

The air crackled as your eyes locked with Eren's. You guys locked eyes for a moment, as written in the script.

And then you leaned down as you were slightly lifted above the ground with a surge of undeniable desire. Your lips met in a frantic kiss, a tangle of emotions that both fueled and fought against your self-control. The kiss was so rushed, such a blur. Both your heads moving so frantically to fight for dominance.

It was like you were fighting to crawl into each others skin.

A strangled sound escaped your throat, a mix of surprise and something more primal. A flicker of uncertainty crossed your mind. Fuck, why were you enjoying this?

Shame threatened to choke the rising tide of sensation, but Eren's touch, a hand gently yanking at your hair, grounded you. In that moment, you were caught in a delicious storm of confusion and exhilaration.

"Cut!"

You tore yourself away from the kiss, gasping for breath. Eren mirrored your action, his chest heaving slightly. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Both of you gazed at each other with longing and confusion, almost disgust and hate for themselves because deep down they know they liked it.

''Great job! I love the intensity. We'll just need to film some POV and closeup shots for the sex scenes and we're done for the day." The director smiled, praising both of you. "Let's take 5."

You started to walk away, but before you could leave, Eren grabbed your hand. "Also, by the way." You sighed and rolled your eyes.

"What?"

"I could feel that, you know."

Shit.

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bbydeathclaw · 1 year ago

Text

Petulance

pairing: silco x fem!reader (nsfw)

AO3

summary: Silco sends you away to try to get some work done and you decide to be a horrendous little shit about it.

tags: fluff, smut, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), good ol' mating press, teasing, bratty reader, simp silco

word count: 5.4k

adorably aesthetic mdni banner by @cafekitsune

a/n: hello! this is my first time writing in a looong while almost 10 years to be exact please don't look at me. but I had to get back into it with this shamelessly self indulgent fic of my favorite brooding king pin. I hope you enjoy!

Silco had thought it a bit odd at first, the ease with which you’d taken your leave from his office tonight. Ordinarily when he’d attempt to send you away in favor of getting his paperwork done in a more timely manner, you’d put up some form of sulky little protest.

An overemphasized pout coupled with a look of feigned sadness, eyebrows furrowed together when you’d offer to assist him with said work. Your reason being that it would ‘probably get done faster’ between the two of you.

A lie, and a blatant one at that. You were, on all counts, absolutely shit at keeping your focus on any tasks he’d try to give you. You knew it. He most certainly knew it. Truly he’d wonder why you’d even bother offering at all if you just spent most of the time trying to distract him anyway.

Still, he can’t say he isn’t amused by your actions. He finds these juvenile acts of yours terribly endearing for the most part, and even starts to look forward to them, knowing full well that he'll give in to just about anything if you’d simply ask it of him.

Which is why he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed when you don’t do any of this at all, and Silco starts to regret his idiotic suggestion entirely until you throw a cheeky smirk his way instead.

“Alright, I think I’ll go bug Sevika for a bit.”

A single eyebrow quirk, followed by a low hum of approval.

“I’m sure she’ll be positively thrilled by that,” he replies, suppressing a smirk of his own at the thought of his second in command being pestered by someone almost half her size.

He’s still disheartened by your willingness to leave, but ultimately makes peace with it knowing that you’d more than likely return at some point. You give him a small wave with your fingers followed by a wink over your shoulder, and Silco doesn't hesitate to drag his gaze over your body shamelessly as it saunters out of his office.

About an hour passes, and the music coming from downstairs is just starting to pick up for the evening. You enter the room with a fluid sidestep, leaning back against the door once it closes behind you. His good brow raises slightly. “Back so soon?”

You don’t answer at first, instead making your way over to one of the tables in his office, like a cat quietly stalking about until something catches its interest. He watches you methodically as you settle for one of Jinx’s old trinkets that had been long discarded, carefully turning it over in your hand. “Sevika called me a menace.”

This time he makes no attempt to hide the subtle upturn from the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with her, my dear.”

“She seems pretty cranky tonight.”

“Hm, surely through absolutely no fault of your own.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in what he can only assume is an attempt to stifle a giggle before turning to face him with an adorably giddy expression that makes his chest tighten.

“Whatcha doin’?”

So innocent, as if you were completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Silco doesn’t answer you verbally, merely bringing his forehead to rest against his hand and lifting the piece of paper he’s holding in the air with the other. The sullen face you make doesn’t go unnoticed by him as you turn to put the gadget back down with an airy sigh.

“Well,” you drag the word out. “I guess I’d better let you get back to it.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says in turn, though it comes off more teasing rather than the displeasure he’s trying to convey.

You study his face for another beat or two before you finally respond. “Okay, if that’s really what you want.” It’s not. Not even in the slightest. “I’ll go see if Thieram needs any help at the bar.”

“My love, Theiram is more than capable of handling his responsibilities as a bartender alone. It’s why I hired him, in fact.” He pauses. “Have you perhaps considered staying up here and behaving yourself, rather than looking for more ways to wreak havoc amongst my employees?”

For a moment Silco thinks that he may be tipping his hand too soon, fearing that you’ve caught on to the fact that he’s basically been doing fuck all except sitting here and waiting for you to come back to his office. His suspicion only rises with the way you’re tilting your head and downright beaming at him with ill-disguised glee, like you’d been reading his every thought.

“If I stayed up here it certainly wouldn’t be to behave myself.”

The paper he’s holding makes an audible crunch sound, his hand crumpling the edge of it faintly in response to your suggestive remark.

Before he has the chance to reply with some snarky comment, you’re already heading towards the door, making a show of swaying your hips and giving him another view of the delicious swell of your backside before you take your leave again. His chair makes an audible groan as he leans back against it and lets out a lengthy sigh, running a hand through his hair and glancing down into his lap at the result of your seemingly endless torment.

Intolerable minx.

By the third time you make your way back up, only about half an hour has passed, and Silco’s all but given up on the prospects of getting any semblance of work done tonight. His thoughts being entirely permeated by you and the state you’d left him in.

The Last Drop is in full swing now, and the liveliness of everything going on downstairs comes through the open door as you re-enter his office. However this time, he makes no effort to acknowledge your arrival, his chair now facing away from his desk, turned instead towards the large stained glass window that bathes him in a sickly, pale green light. All the noise from the club gets muffled when the door shuts once again, followed by the sound of purposeful footsteps making their way over to him.

“Welcome back,” he states flatly, trying to sound as disinterested as he can manage in his current predicament while he looks over his clipboard in a vain attempt at trying to salvage what was supposed to be a productive evening.

“Hello there, almighty Eye of Zaun,” you chime back with a playful lilt in your voice. “Did you miss me?”

Silco’s eyes tick upwards and stare blankly at the window straight ahead, actively suppressing the urge to let out another heavy sigh. You were going to be the death of him at this rate, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. How you managed to be both so insufferable and still so unbelievably charming he’ll never quite understand. Before he has the chance to turn his chair with an already fixed scowl, he hears a faint thud behind him, the distinct sound of glass meeting wood only slightly muted by a soft shuffling of papers.

A few seconds pass before Silco finally spins around to face you, seeing that a tumbler has been set down right on top of the paperwork he had been ruminating over all night. He’s also greeted by the sight of you already sitting in a chair directly in front of his desk, grinning from ear to ear. His heart swells at the sight and his scowl gradually melts away, only to be replaced by something more along the lines of skepticism when he takes in your expression fully.

Your smile is accompanied by what appears to be a look of pure satisfaction, though he has no clue as to why. His non-discolored eye narrows at you, like a parent trying to figure out what misdeed their child has committed behind their back.

Silco regards you warily for another moment, taking in every minute detail of your face in hopes of detecting something that might give you away while he reaches for the glass set in front of him. Ice clinks against the sides as he swirls it around before bringing it to his lips, taking a long sip followed by a hum of appreciation. His eyes shoot back up to meet yours, and finds you now biting your lip while trying, and failing, to suppress a huge grin.

You’re definitely up to something, that much he’s certain of now, and the fact that he still can’t figure out what it is causes his previously feigned discontent to turn into more of a bubbling frustration, having just about enough of whatever game you’re playing. A fleeting thought crosses his mind as he glances down at the drink now dangling from his fingertips, then back up to you.

Silco knows you’ve taken in the brief look of suspicion on his face when you let out a laugh that, despite the visible displeasure he's exuding towards you, is still one of the sweetest sounds he's ever heard.

“I didn’t poison you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you quip, clearly amused at the implication.

“At this point I would be grateful if you did.”

You laugh again, but it comes out more like a short exhale through your nose along with a relaxed grin, taking a sip of your own beverage, and Silco’s good eye narrows at you once again.

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No.”

Silence.

“Then what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He practically glares at you for what feels like a considerable amount of time before it finally dawns on him that you haven’t left yet.

“Did you need something darling? Or have you just come to find more ways to elicit whatever reaction you’ve been hoping for this evening?” Silco brings the tumbler to his mouth once more, letting it hover there momentarily in order to get the rest of his words out. “Because if the intended reaction was to see how far you can test my patience I can assure you-”

Words die on his lips immediately when you make a move to stand, mismatched eyes shooting down to your waist to see what appears to be quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you in, leaving so very little to the imagination.

He’s still holding the glass right up to his face while he watches you make your way around the only obstacle that separates the two of you before hopping onto one of the corners, your butt and thighs jiggling faintly when they make contact with the solid piece of furniture. “I just figured you could use a drink after such a long night of hard work. Is that so wrong?”

Silco tracks your movements with an almost predatory fixation, watching you lean back slightly to rest against your arms, crossing one leg over the other and he has to actively resist the urge to scoff. This thing is hardly covering anything, you’re essentially sitting there with your bare ass on his desk. The realization of that along with the sight of everything you’re showing has his cock hardening at an alarming rate.

You don’t seem to notice, or if you do you don’t say anything, eyebrows knitting together in a poorly disguised attempt at looking genuinely worried. “What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy to see me.”

Silco sets the glass down onto his desk with a bit more force than intended, turning his chair to face all the way forward and bringing his mouth to rest against interlocked fingers. Any moment now he’s expecting you to hop right off that corner and make your way back downstairs, back to a place filled with depraved and perverted onlookers.

Realistically he knows no harm would ever befall you while you were down in the Last Drop. All of his subordinates had been given clear instruction to keep a watchful eye on you at all times, and after a while a lot of them had started to do it less out of obligation and more so out of genuine care, especially Jinx and Sevika.

Plus, he knows you can hold your own in a fight. Growing up in the undercity had hardened you just enough to make you a scrappy but formidable opponent. So logically speaking, Silco knows there's no safer place for you to be, but the thought of anyone other than himself seeing you in that, especially the less than respectable patrons that frequent his establishment nearly every night, makes his blood boil.

“Of course I'm happy to see you, my dear,” he retorts, turning his head to look over at you once more, eyes darting downwards to that indecent piece of fabric wrapped around your waist then back up to meet your gaze. “It's just that I'm seeing quite a lot of you at the moment, and if you go back downstairs, so will everyone else.” His last words come out strained as he shifts in his chair in a poor attempt to alleviate his growing erection.

“Oh, you mean my skirt? Is there…something wrong with it?” You lift your hips to take the tiniest of scoots towards him, and Silco’s eyes immediately hone in on the action.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Another scoot. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped, especially in this.”

At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if you really are trying to kill him, taking controlled and steady breaths while he attempts to suppress his growing ire in response to such a ridiculous question. Of course there’s something wrong with it. Silco’s sure he’d nearly be able to see the soft outline of your mound if you were to spread your legs, even in the slightest.

He lets out another deep breath before picking up his pen and casually scribbling his signature on one of the invoices strewn about in front of him. “You will not be going back down there like that.”

He’s not looking at you, but Silco can see the movements of you moving closer out of the corner of his unmarred eye.

“Are you..asking me to stay?”

He doesn’t respond, instead electing to take another piece of paper to scrawl his name at the bottom offhandedly. He knows what you’re playing at, the fact that it took him so long to realize it irks him to no end. He wouldn’t mind answering honestly and just telling you that yes, he does want you to stay, but the thought of giving into your bratty little antics this evening doesn’t sit quite right with him.

Which is why he makes the conscious decision to ignore you as you move close enough to where your upper leg is now narrowly brushing his elbow, the shift causing him to mess up the tail end of another signature. Silco chances a glance towards the movement and regrets it��almost immediately when he takes in the soft curve of your thigh, his cock twitching painfully at the sight.

He makes his second mistake when he follows the tantalizing trail of your body upwards and is met with the most unabashed, shit eating grin plastered across your face. He has to force himself to look away, the hand not holding his pen coming up to drag his long fingers back and forth across his mouth as he contemplates the idea of sending you away all together, leaving you pouty and disappointed. And for a moment he comes close to doing just that, until he makes the grave error of risking a glance up at your face again.

You’re not smiling anymore, expression replaced by something far more lustful and serious. Silco simply stares as your tongue slides out to pull your bottom lip in between your teeth before gently nudging his elbow with your knee. He doesn’t hesitate in dropping his arm to offer you the space in front of him, and you slide over gracefully. He stays perfectly still while you plant a foot atop each of the armrests of his ornate chair, knees pressed tightly together.

He finally responds to your earlier question with one of his own.

“What would possibly give you that idea?” His voice is light and teasing, all traces of anger gone. “You’ve been nothing short of a nightmare all evening, love. And now this?” Fingertips come up to stroke the side of your calf, humming appreciatively. “What am I going to do with you?”

This earns Silco a wide, toothy grin as you scoot forward. “Whatever do you mean? I’m just sitting here.”

“Don't be coy with me, sweetheart.” He leans forward, breath fanning over your knees as he speaks. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” knees parting just barely, “to answer my question.”

Silco pushes his tongue against his cheek in minor annoyance before sliding both hands up your legs and over your knees, then back down until he reaches your hips. He grips firmly at the supple flesh and yanks you closer towards him, eliciting a sharp squeak followed by a string of giggles.

“I think you might be the most aggravating creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of courting.”

Your face adorns a look of mock appreciation. “Awe, thank you!”

Slender hands travel back up to your knees. “Truly just a tantalizing little menace.” He waits for you to part them further, granting him the access he’s so desperately craving. “One that I’m both drawn to and irritated by all at once.”

Your smile is nothing short of haughty, as if you’re truly taking everything he’s telling you as a compliment. “Well now you’ve really got me hot and bothered,” you shoot back, knees moving further away from each other until you’re spread all the way open for him.

Although spoken in a sarcastic tone, Silco sees that your words are in fact true, his eyes taking in the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“Indulge me, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to trace the backs of your thighs with his knuckles, causing goosebumps to decorate your soft skin. “Why the need to be so difficult tonight?”

You shiver at the touch, bottom lip still tucked between your teeth as he brings a thumb up to stroke lazily over your pussy.

“J-just for fun,” you retort, but your voice doesn’t hold the same conviction. “Wanted to see..how long it would take.”

“How long what would take?”

The laugh you let out is shaky at best, but there’s still a bit of confidence left when you answer. “For you to ask me to stay.”

It only takes about half a second before Silco’s thumb pushes into your core and his tongue cards a long, hot stripe along your folds. The noise you make spurring him on further as his mouth envelopes your clit, giving it a harsh suck before pulling away with a satisfying wet plop sound.

“I don’t recall asking anything of the sort,” he chides, sliding his thumb back out. “If memory serves me correctly, you came into my office several times practically demanding my attention.”

Silco punctuates his last few words by pushing two fingers into you, pulling another sharp inhale from your lips as he turns his palm to face upward and curls them inside of you.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he starts, bringing his thumb to circle against your now swollen clit, drawing a long whine out of you as you work your hips against him. “..that perhaps I attempt to send you away in order to finish with my tasks quickly, just so I can get back to doting on you with said attention? Selfish little creature.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, speaking between shallow breaths. “You.. could have just.. said that.. you know.”

Silco smirks, watching you look back at him with a pair of pleading eyes. “And deny myself the pleasure of seeing your lovely pouts and open displays of petulance?” He adds a third finger. “I think not.”

“Silco,” you whine, “please.”

His cock twitches in response, and he doesn’t waste any time bringing his mouth back down to your bud and swirling his tongue around it lavishly while his fingers twist and turn inside of you. He watches you throw your head back, one of your hands snaking upwards to grip the edge of the desk above your head, the other coming to latch onto the top of his head hard as you roll your hips against him.

“There, that’s it,” he coos, “show me how eager you are. Use me.”

This draws another string of small gasps and moans from you, coupled with lewd, wet, slurping sounds as Silco continues to lap and suck at your clit, bringing his free hand to grip your thigh and anchor you to him. The strain in his pants grows increasingly more painful when you sigh his name affectionately, followed by a noise of protest when he removes his fingers from you all together in an effort to tug at intricate buttons of his trousers, freeing his aching cock and palming himself to the sight of your ruined state.

Your arousal coating his fingers serves as a welcome lubricant for him to stroke himself languidly, relishing in the feeling of you bucking up into him, using him to chase your own end. His licks are hot and thorough, leaving no part of your heat untouched.

“Yes,” Silco groans into you, “just like that.”

Your other hand comes down to unbutton your top, cupping and squeezing at one of your breasts, and he knows you’re close by the way you’re begging and pleading above him. The sound of your voice feeds into his determination, letting go of his cock in order to wrap both arms around your thighs, securing you in place and devouring you like a starved man.

The way you cry out his name while your walls flutter around his tongue has him reeling, mismatched eyes boring into you, watching your orgasm in complete reverence as your fluids run down his chin.

“Good girl,” Silco sighs, his movements slowing down to let you ride out your climax. “You always make such sweet sounds for me.”

Your legs tremble and the vicelike grasp you have on his hair loosens before you slump back down onto his desk, words barely managing to come through your short and labored breaths.

“Could've been making them a lot earlier if you’d…stop trying to kick me out.”

A hint of a smile creeps up on his face as he presses small, feather light kisses up the backs of your thighs, leaving glistening spots of your slick behind in their wake. “You know, it is possible to keep your unsolicited remarks to yourself every once in a while.”

Yours breaks into a devious grin that tugs at his heart without mercy. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Mmm, point taken.”

Silco stands to turn your body so that you’re taking up the full length of his desk before climbing up onto it and bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head. His length bobs thick and heavy with need, bringing it to rest against your slit.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You roll your hips against him needily, coating his cock with your arousal. “Maybe.”

“You drive me absolutely mad,” he growls, voice dripping with carnal hunger as he pushes your legs up against your chest once again, lining himself up with your entrance. And it’s the way you're looking up at him with your lip tucked in between your teeth in anticipation, the slight inward curl of your eyebrows in an almost pleading expression that has him pushing into you in one, smooth buck forward, making you gasp as he bottoms out inside of you.

Silco sees your eyes roll back, and he has to physically stop himself from doing the same. He wants to see it all, wants to see your blissed out expression while he fucks you, wants to see all the different ways he can make you come undone beneath him.

You make a pitiful attempt at stifling a moan, one that ultimately fails when Silco starts to rock his hips against yours, pulling them back slowly and savoring the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls before driving them forward with a sharp, pointed thrust. But he’s right there with you, exhaling a throaty groan at the feeling of your walls engulfing him so deliciously, the sensation being nothing short of divine.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he whispers, lowering his head and tilting it to place gentle kisses along your jawline before nipping at your earlobe. “Like we were made for each other.”

The breathy whine this elicits causes him to straighten himself upright again, picking up his pace steadily, and soon the room is filled with the obscene, wet smacking of skin against skin as Silco begins to pump into you with feral-like need. He readjusts your legs so that your calves are hooked over his shoulders, letting him fuck you so much deeper.

You’re a mess of broken pleas beneath him, and he clings to every single one, a symphony meant solely for him and him alone. Silco watches you with wholly, unabashed devotion as your face twists and contorts in pleasure, pleasure that only he can bring you. And though he wants to feel like he’s still in control, he knows deep down he’s equally ruined by what you do to him, maybe even more so. His seafoam eye glazes over, and strands of hair fall loosely around his face as he ruts into you.

You reach up and try to put your arms around his neck, but the position your legs are in only allow you to claw at his shoulders helplessly. “S-silco, please..”

“Oh? I see someone’s finally learned some manners,” he taunts.

The huff of annoyance you let out amuses him more than he’d care to admit, “For fuck’s sake, Sil. Let me hold you.”

“Demanding thing,” he scolds, but gives into your ‘request’ regardless, lowering your legs just enough so that your knees fall to the side and hook over his forearms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck with open urgency. And now you’re pulling him down and holding him there, like the waters he'd nearly drowned in.

Silco’s jaw goes slack as he turns his head and pants in your ear like some wild beast, whose sole purpose is to bring you to your end. Like it was all he was ever made for. Your head turns to meet his lips with your own, and he tries to keep some semblance of restraint while he kisses you, but he can’t, not with you. It’s hungry and sloppy, full of exceeding desperation.

He breaks the kiss reluctantly to make his way down to your neck, lips and tongue moving against the delicate flesh and littering your throat with marks of all kinds, leaving no room for anyone to question who you belong to. “Mine,” Silco snarls possessively in between sucks and bites.

He's about to pull away when one of your hands slides up to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and locking him in place, begging for more, more, more, and Silco’s more than happy to oblige. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger so tightly, and this realization both excites and ruins him as he begins to ram everything he has into you with new purpose.

“Oh fuck, Silco. Right there,” you cry out, voice becoming raspy and hoarse from your continuous gasps in between moans.

"Yes, that's it. Show me how much you want this, how much you need this," he huffs out through gritted teeth, trying to establish some form of dominance once again, but it's no use when he realizes his words are just as applicable to him as they are to you.

He forgoes his hold on your legs, letting them fall to your sides briefly before wrapping them around his waist. Your eyes flutter shut and your head starts to loll to the side, but Silco grabs your jaw quickly and forces you to look directly at him.

“None of that, darling. I want you to look at me when you come undone,” His breath comes out ragged and primal. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

You nod frantically in response, eyes drifting downward to stare at his mouth, like a silent plea. He takes the hint without delay, squishing your cheeks together until your lips form a small pout before leaning down to kiss you fervently. His tongue swirls around yours, hot and wanting, before he pulls away just enough for him to pant into your open mouth, his connecting to yours by the thinnest string of saliva.

Silco can sense your second orgasm approaching rapidly, and he brings his fingers towards your lips. You take the hint right away, wrapping them around his digits and sucking on them lavishly. Once he’s satisfied enough, he removes them and snakes his hand down through your intertwined bodies, settling for the bundle of nerves located between your legs.

Your moans increase in pitch, arms and legs squeezing even tighter around him as he works you with skilled flicks of his wrist.

“You’ve endured this so well, my love,” he whispers against your ear, voice laced with unrestrained hedonism and resolve. “Let’s reward all that effort of yours tonight, shall we?”

His question is rhetorical, but you nod so eagerly for him nonetheless as your walls begin to pulsate, clenching so unbelievably tight around him you’re practically pushing his cock out, nearly sending him over the edge himself.

“That’s my girl,” he sighs with heavy grit and worship. “You feel incredible.”

Silco’s face comes back up to hover over yours, looking directly into your eyes while he fucks you through your climax, his own looming closer and closer. He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your labored breaths greedily as his thrusts begin to stagger before coming to a complete halt, his pelvis flush against yours as his cock twitches obscenely within your heat. He lets out a harsh, guttural moan right into your mouth as he spills into you, your walls continuing to milk him with stuttered squeezes, and he has to pull away sharply to exhale a series of delirious gasps.

Your chests heave against one another, waves of pleasure slowly dissipating as your sweat soaked bodies stay interlocked. Silco shifts slightly, bringing his hands to stroke the top of your head lazily with his fingertips. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he places soft, tender kisses along your cheeks, your eyes, your lips, anything within reach.

He’s rewarded with a giggle, followed by a dopey little grin.

“You know,” you say as your breaths finally return to normal. “I just remembered the other reason you try to send me away while you work.”

Silco already knows the answer, but you punctuate your words anyway by wiggling your ass, causing the sound of his paperwork shuffling beneath you, followed by a light yelp as he smacks your bottom lightly.

“Impossible little wench,” he chastises, lifting himself off of you and being greeted once again by the sight of the thing you keep referring to as a ‘skirt’. He grabs the edge of it with his fingertips, holding it up like it was a cursed object. “Where in Janna’s name did you even get this from?”

You bark out a laugh before propping yourself up hastily to look down at it with pride. “Ran let me borrow it.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Borrow it,” he repeats, “as in you have every intention of giving it back to them?”

You stare at him for a moment, no doubt mulling over your answer.

“...No?”

Silco smirks at your response before leaning in. “Good girl. Besides, I think we may find many more uses for it still.”

Your eyes widen with child-like wonder, but for the entirely wrong reason. “Oh, so you’ll wear it for me, too?”

He stares back at you blankly, blinking several times before rolling his eyes almost theatrically, earning him another small fit of laughter as he finally graces you with a response.

“Whatever pleases you, I suppose.”

#silco #silco arcane #arcane silco #arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #silco fanfic #silco fanfiction #bratty reader #simp silco #mdni

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uniiiquehecrt · 1 year ago

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OH BOY LET ME TELL YOU THE SHORT VERSION OF THE STORY MY FRIEND ;;V;;

There are A LOT of things wrong with Ragnarok and Love and Thunder, but all of it boils down to the following two things:

Taika Waititi (eg: being a bad directoral fit for Thor movies... not just because he's seemingly a director/screenwriter far more suited towards satirical comedies, but because he fundamentally does not understand thor or loki as characters, and absolutely DOES NOT respect the previous Thor installments that made Thor relevant in the first place. Both attitudes of which show deeply ingrained in both of the films he's directed, and iterations of the brodinsons that show up post!ragnarok)

The Guardians of the Galaxy Effect (aka: post!GotG, and harbingered a bit by the success of Avengers and Iron Man, the MCU decided to shift all of their effort into making 'quippy' characters who rely on sarcasm and bathos as their main forms of communication... Despite the fact that not every character views and reacts to the world in the same vein as Tony Stark, and GotG was SPECIFICALLY written to be a superhero group comedy, not a High-Sci-Fantasy, Shakespearean family drama piece like Thor.)

Despite Thor: the Dark World's Financial Success in debut despite going against films like About Time, The Best Man Holiday, and various other films that would be competition for Thor's viewership, Dark World was effectively nitpicked to high hell by press for what I can only describe best as 'loki favoritism', ( "Only when Tom Hiddleston is on screen, as Thor’s dark-souled stepbrother, Loki, does any real drama take hold. [...] Which makes you realize [Loki is] just about the only character in the movie who has an inside." - CNN Entertainment) despite the film being Thor's film, NOT Loki's. Doesn't matter, though, that this film is objectively soundly written as a Thor film from a screenwriting perspective, because if Loki's not at the forefront it's apparently not engaging. (the marketing of this movie did NOT help matters, though. It's not a surprise to me, in hindsight, that the fangirls went rabid at the side character's supposed lack of presence or involvement, I suppose.)

And the above points about Dark World and GotG are important because those two factors DIRECTLY PROMPTED Marvel and in particular Chris Hemsworth into wanting to switch directions for the character. The fanbase and critics (who i'd imagine very rarely know anything about what makes a good, sound, well-written story, smh) burned Chris badly enough that he's basically been rejecting what makes Thor such a special character in the first place. ...And it didn't exactly do him any good.

I'm personally trained in screenwriting, so I intend to step-by-step break down the fundamental elements of Ragnarok to better explain precisely WHY I feel so strongly that Ragnarok is a complete MESS of a film that's poorly written. Tbh I might take a crack at Thor (2011) and Dark World just for fun to contrast. The biggest failings of TDW and 2011 is not their screenwriting, it was how many key scenes fell onto the cutting room floor in the post-production edit rather than the pre-production and shooting stages.

At the end of the day Ragnarok in particular (and L+T but I haven't touched that one directly yet; it makes me too livid...) is fundamentally flawed right down to its core and I'd need an entire other, very long, and more strongly worded post to properly break down precisely what is wrong with it. (but for example: thor has no character development in that film, and taika's attempt to express a theme is directly contradicted in the climactic, power-within moment, there is no midpoint shift and by all means, Ragnarok is actually Loki's film, not Thor's. Despite this, Loki's character development from Dark World is conveniently sidestepped and swept aside as if it never existed. So they retread ground already paved in TDW, and Loki ends up dying in Infinity War without a proper resolution or real, mutual reconciliation with his brother as a result... It's insulting.)

If you want to, for now, learn more about Ragnarok in particular there are some WONDERFUL people out there who have broken down why Thor from Dark World is so beautifully well done. @beheworthy / @quirkyrogue in particular has some amazing essays I'm personally fond of already written breaking down Thor as a character, The Dark World, how Ragnarok in particular utterly destroyed everything so wonderful about Thor, and so on and so forth. If you have a couple of minutes I would absolutely recommend her posts. They're well written, succinct, and can explain things incredibly well, especially if you're not totally well-versed in Thor's movies prior!

You can find some of my favorites of hers here

How Taika Waititi Ruined Thor Thor: Love and Thunder and How Not to Write Films Thor: Love and Thunder and Character Regression Infinity War is the Movie Thor: Ragnarok Should Have Been and These Two Mini-Metas about Dark World Scenes bc yeah man I feel this these ones have always been my favorite too BLAST THE EDITING FLOOR.

Anyways these are absolutely beautiful reads that I completely agree with at every turn.

#infinity war also deserves a shout out but it's not included bc ragnarok comes in between #the most awful film of his franchise besides l+t don't even get me STARTED on that one #and by that i mean let me rant and be salty like gd

Now I’m interested because I’ve always heard Dark World or Love and Thunder as the worst of the Marvel movies.

Only watched the Dr. Strange ones. And Infinity War/Endgame.

#(hecking /this close/ to fully writing up a 12 page essay on exactly how ragnarok is messy and fails every storytelling fundamental)#(not just once or twice but at every turn.)#(from not having thor have a goal or a want vs. need or a midpoint shift or completely discarding past character development)#(hela's involvement completely derails the flow of the movie it jumps between thor/hela/heimdal/valkyrie/loki at every turn)#(the main theme doesn't exist because the want vs. need doesn't exist and so therefore there's no lowest moment)#(there's no dedication to the new paradigm or selfish struggle to return to the old world before the inciting incident)#(frankly hela should have been odin's sister not thor's but taika just decided hey why don't we take this complex father/king)#(and completely abolish his whole character)#(now instead of a complicated father who has a hard time turning his king brain off so he can even BE a father at all to his sons)#(he's a manipulative narcissistic borderline emotionally abusive a-hole who baits thor into asking a question that will shatter)#(thor's entire world and worldview of odin and his home his family and more importantly his own sense of self and self worth its so bad)#(and that doesn't get resolved at all bc taika never even bothers to see what he's /done/ to poor odin and especially to thor)#(ALL OF THIS I CAN POINT TO VERY SPECIFIC EVIDENCE AND RULES OF THUMB ITS JUST IM SO PRESSED)#anti thor ragnarok #&&. thor.#&&. meta #anti taika waititi #long post #&&. whispers.#darkwee009 #&&. | marvel. |#screenwriting

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tripleyeeet · 2 months ago

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RUSH

SUMMARY: During a long shift, a certain regular catches your eye. Possibly your heart too, after treating you to a night of pampering. PAIRING: Shiu Kong/Female Reader WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex that turns somno, basically just a lot of soft, unrealistic domesticity really. A/N: Life's been hard so here's a super self indulgent fic about Shiu simply taking care of reader <3 I've literally been writing this for nearly 3 weeks straight so hopefully somebody likes it. WC: 9K (oof)

MASTERLIST

After around the fourth or fifth Friday in a row of seeing him, you finally notice he's staring. With heavy-lidded eyes throughout the night, his gaze is seemingly locked onto your frame as you rush around the bar, tending to everyone’s needs. His body angled so that he can get a good look at you grabbing bottles and garnishes while carefully weaving around your coworkers like you’re dancing to the beat of the music that blares through the speakers.

When you notice, you feel your focus flicker for just a second. As you stop to speak to a pair of women, chatting about something mundane and entirely uninteresting, suddenly it’s like there’s this target locked against the side of your face. The imaginary barrel of a gun pointing directly at you, ready to take the shot, causing your gaze to shift.

Like usual, he’s tucked into the farthest corner, casually leaning against the bar. His expression appearing almost empty as you glance over to see he’s clad in a simple suit. His jacket discarded onto the bar top beside him, leaving only a button-up and a loosened tie, prompting you to raise a brow.

He usually never stays long enough to take off his jacket…

“Uh, hello!”

Deep in thought, suddenly the drunken snarl of one of the girls pulls you back. A wave of annoyance washing over as you release a breath and look back, making sure to smile. “Sorry, what was that?”

Afterwards, you let out a casual laugh and joke about your bad hearing before they thankfully laugh alongside you, eventually repeating their order. The simple exchange giving you the chance to refocus on the task at hand, moving over to the ice machine to start filling up your shaker tins.

“Seems like someone’s got an admirer.”

While pouring various spirits, your coworker, Himari, gently bumps her hip against yours. A signal that she recognizes the familiar man, too. His presence continuing to linger in ways that make you let out another laugh, this time the sound echoing your nerves. “Calm down, I’m sure he’s just looking for a top-up.”

Almost immediately, she shakes her head. “Nah, he’s fully giving you the eyes, babe.”

At that, you roll your own and give her an almost smug look, your eyes flickering to see him almost smirking —as if somehow he can hear you talking over the music. “Yeah, okay.”

“You want to go talk to him?”

You shake your head almost immediately, even though deep down you can’t deny your interest. Considering he’s practically become a staple over these last few weeks, there’s a part of you that wants to say hi. Maybe to introduce yourself so that you can better build that classic bartender-customer rapport. But then, you notice the huge crowd of people swarming around. Every one of them vying for your attention with drunken minds and heavy pockets, causing the desire to earn money to outweigh everything else.

Which ultimately ends up costing you a lot of energy in the long run. As the night quickly progresses, you can feel your mind begin to cave in on itself. Each customer that comes after the next becoming more and more of a chore to deal with thanks to the intake of alcohol. Eventually, testing your patience towards the ragged businessmen who always demand Old Fashions or the group of young college kids who scream for more tequila shots.

Every passing moment makes you wish you’d taken your coworker up on her previous offer. Especially now that the bar’s completely packed, leaving barely any room to breathe let alone speak, you wish you could turn back time. Stop the clock and wind it back so that, instead of just watching the man who still idly sits, almost acting unaware of the chaos that surrounds him, you could talk to him. Maybe ask him what he does or how his day went. Using his presence as an excuse to take a load off while you offer up all your usual jokes in hopes he’ll slowly warm up to you.

And the longer you think about it, the more the idea foolishly creates a sense of longing. Your stomach tightening at the sight of him shifting in his seat, wondering if that’ll be the moment he finally calls it quits. The sight of him only moving just to further settle on the stool making you scrunch up your face in annoyance, realizing how crazy you’re acting.

Considering he’s nothing more than a stranger, the impulse you feel to connect with him is completely ridiculous. Nothing more than some silly delusion brought on by the exhaustion, you tell yourself. His residency amongst the rowdy crowd serving as nothing more than some false oasis that’ll inevitably disappoint you if you go over.

So, you don’t. Instead, forcing your mind to think about the money, you allow every tip to fuel you. Each one navigating you further from his frame, your mind too immersed in the task at hand until suddenly last call rolls around.

At which point, you find yourself forced to talk to him. After you notice your coworkers pushed deep into the trenches of last-minute orders, you realize then that you just have to do it. To be the one to bite the bullet and find out why exactly this guy’s decided to pick tonight of all nights to linger and stare. Your tired feet pushing you to stand directly across from him, arms spread across the counter to hold yourself up as you offer a smile.

“We’re doing last call,” you tell him, watching him slowly glance between you and the empty beer bottle in his hand. “You want one more?”

He ponders for a minute, his other hand moving to stroke his chin as he sort of smiles to himself, eventually shrugging. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

In response, you give him a nod and shuffle over to the fridge to get him another, grabbing the opener off your belt to shuck it off before trading him for the old one. “You got a tab to close?”

He nods.

“What’s it under?”

“Kong.”

This time, you nod, rushing away to grab his receipt —typing in the name to find a rather abysmal order of four beers, not including the one you just gave him.

That’s all he drank? Damn…

“So, how’s your night been?”

Handing him the receipt after it prints, you watch as he pulls out a handful of bills and tosses them on top of the piece of paper. His expression seeming a bit distracted as he eventually looks at you and blinks. “It’s been fine. A bit dull, honestly.”

“Yeah, how come?”

“Nobody to talk to,” he simply says. The sound of his voice expressing such a casual tone despite the weight of his words hitting you like a brick. The implication of his admission making you swallow hard before awkwardly laughing, not sure if his comment was even necessarily meant for you.

“Yeah, well, Friday’s are a little nuts, unfortunately.”

Glancing around, he takes a moment to take in the sight of all the drunken bodies crowding around, waiting for their final turn. The gears in his head turning for a bit before he looks back at you. “I’m starting to realize that.”

“Yeah.”

Releasing a low hum, you then wonder if maybe you should say your goodbyes or linger a bit longer, knowing deep down you should probably do the former. Seeing as it’s your job and already you can sense the frustrations of those who surround the space you’re currently occupying, looking at you with desperate eyes, it’s probably better if you just throw in the towel. Call it night and maybe try again next week. But then there’s a moment where you look back at each other and there’s this feeling. A pressure in your stomach that makes you swallow hard and start to settle. Your body practically leaning into his space as you narrow your eyes.

“How come you’re here so late, anyway?” you ask, allowing the curiosity you’ve secretly harboured all night to finally release.

Once again, he shrugs. Only this time, there’s a faint smile pulling across his face. “Figured it might be fun to people watch for a bit longer.”

Bullshit.

Regardless of such a thought, a smile of your own appears in response —your mind unconvinced. “Was it fun?”

“The people watching?”

You nod.

He shrugs.

Then, both of you become lost in this strange limbo of charged silence. Your thoughts now drifting to wonder why all of a sudden he seems so… interesting as you continue to watch him lift the beer to his lips to take a sip.

“S’pose it was alright.”

Slightly taken aback by his bluntness, you can’t help but snort in response. Your eyes rolling as he chuckles and you reach for the cash in front of you, taking a moment to count it, realizing it’s well over the asking price. “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t a total bore for you,” you tell him after, shoving it all into the pocket of your apron. “Otherwise you might not come back.”

“Didn’t realize you cared if I came back.”

As soon as you notice the smug expression that begins to appear across his face after he speaks, your mouth presses into a thin line. Realizing then that your words are the perfect fuel for him to keep the conversation going.

“I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“Sure did, sweetheart.”

Again, he chuckles and takes another sip, continuing to stare. His eyes practically memorizing every move you make as you try to appear busy by reaching for a handful of dirty glasses and tucking them under the bar.

“Well, can’t deny that I’d hate to see you go. You’re one of the good ones.”

“Am I?”

You grab a cloth and start to wipe down the counter, watching him lean back to give you more space. His expression continuing to showcase how pleased he seems at your words. “I mean, yeah. You’re quiet, you wait your turn, you tip,” you begin to list off a handful of reasons, each one piquing his interest as he watches you dart around, continuing to close. “You’re also not creepy. Unless you count the staring problem.”

Despite your comment, he merely just takes another sip, completely unfazed. “Caught that, huh?”

“Hard not to when you don’t even try to hide it, Mr. Kong,” you tease.

“Shiu.”

At that, you scrunch up your face in confusion. “Sorry?”

“My name,” he clarifies. “It’s Shiu.”

Shiu.

Standing there for a few moments, you repeat the name in your head so it doesn’t get lost. Committing the sound to memory before you offer your hand across the counter, saying your own name in return. Immediately clocking the way he seems to repeat your tactic, allowing it to sink in.

“Nice to finally put a name to a face.”

“Likewise.”

Still shaking his hand, you then hear the sound of Himari calling you. The sudden sound pulling you from this strange bubble of ease you’ve somehow settled in, causing you to swear under your breath. “Sorry, I uh—“

“It’s okay. Duty calls?”

Glancing between him and the never-ending line of customers still waiting for their final drinks, you release a sigh and nod. “Unfortunately.”

“Good luck.”

It’s the last thing you hear from him after you offer an awkward wave goodbye. The tone of his voice, forever casual and polite. A direct contrast to the type of response you’re used to getting from men who try to talk to you, causing your mind to regret not reaching out sooner.

Because maybe if you had, the rest of your night wouldn’t have been so awful. As you shift back into bartender mode, ushering person after person to order their drinks as fast as possible, maybe you could’ve felt content instead of disappointed. The feeling of satisfaction fuelling your drive rather than allowing the sadness to slow you down, knowing you might have to wait a whole other week to see him again.

And that’s if he decides to come back. Which, unfortunately, is a thought that plagues you even after you’ve finished cleaning the fridges and the floors and the—

“Saw you talking to Shiu.”

Your thoughts are interrupted again. The mention of him making you faintly smile even though the mere thought of him also kind of stresses you out. “Yeah. He’s… surprisingly nice.”

“I know. I’m the one who usually serves him.” Himari smiles almost proudly when she says that, her teeth peeking out from between her parted lips as she throws her bag over her shoulder, following you towards the door.

“You must like him then,” you joke, nudging your elbow against hers. “With the way he tips and all that.”

Himari snorts and pulls her keys out, spinning them around her finger as you push open the door, allowing her to follow behind before turning back to lock up. “It’s definitely a plus, I’ll admit. But he’s a decent guy, too —fun to talk to.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, distractedly pulling out her phone to shoot her boyfriend a text. Most likely telling him that she’s finished for the night and heading home like she usually does before glancing back up. “Doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes either.”

Upon hearing that, you can’t help but swallow a bit. Especially after you clock the way her expression immediately turns mischievous. Her lips curling upwards as she wiggles her brows, forcing you to turn away and shove your hands into the pockets of your coat. Your mind foolishly starting to concoct his image without warning. The sight of his warm, slightly aged features shifting to the forefront of your thoughts causing you to narrow your eyes.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess he’s… decent,” you lie, knowing deep down he’s definitely more than that because if anything he’s exactly your type.

Which is why Himari quickly glances at you, completely unconvinced as she begins to walk, leading you around the corner to where the two of you usually park your cars. “Just decent?” she then pries, raising a brow.

At which point, you know your reaction is a dead giveaway. Thanks to the way your mouth awkwardly opens and closes, unable to come up with a viable enough answer to make it seem like you see him as anything other than attractive, you know she knows. Prompting you to huff in response and look away, hearing her laugh as she pokes your arm.

“You know he thinks you’re cute too, right?”

Your neck practically breaks from how quickly you turn to face her, your brows knitting together in slight shock. “What?”

“What? You seriously didn’t pick up on that? Why do you think I was trying to get you to talk to him earlier?”

You shrug your shoulders, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know, I just figured you were—“

“Trying to set you up with some random guy?”

At first, you pause, then you sigh, realizing yes. That's exactly what you figured she was doing.

“Is that why it took you so long to go talk to him?”

You realize then you don’t really have an answer that doesn’t sound completely selfish, causing you to cross your arms over your chest and sort of pout as you walk the rest of the way to your cars in silence. Noticing from the corner of your eye another vehicle that's parked a few stalls away, a familiar body occupying its driver’s seat.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you hear Himari practically sing then. Her voice filled with a specific air of humour that has you scoffing and lightly shoving her aside. The act causing her to retaliate with a shove of her own that makes both of you laugh, inevitably catching the attention of the driver.

Slowly but surely, his eyes move to make eye contact with yours, stilling for a moment before lighting up entirely. And it’s a sight that makes your stomach twist a bit. As you watch the lines around his eyes become more prominent before they’re whisked away by the turn of his neck, you can’t help but deny your attraction. That undeniable pull from earlier returning with a vengeance as you deeply breathe and try to turn back to Himari, realizing she’s already halfway inside her vehicle, waving goodbye.

“You’re leaving already?” you then whisper through clenched teeth —your eyes darting between her and Shiu who’s back to staring. The pupils of his eyes practically boring holes into your skull as you see him reach to pop his door open.

“Have fun,” you hear Himari say. Then after a few painfully short seconds pass, she’s gone. The rumble of her old, worn-out car drifting into the distance as you continue to stand there, confused as to how you’re meant to proceed now that there’s not a bar top wedged between you or another body to turn to for guidance if the conversation gets stale. The lack of crutches making you shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans and awkwardly clear your throat, watching him move forward, his expression amused and soft. The kind of look that makes you both terrified and interested. A mix of anxious energy flowing through your veins as he stops in front of you, offering what appears to be the subtle etchings of a smirk as he mirrors the hands inside your pockets.

“Long time no see.”

You hum and nod, your lips curling into a small grin. “It would seem so.”

“Have a good close?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you turn to glance around the parking lot, immediately clocking the absence of the usual buzzing energy that surrounds you whenever he’s around. The lack of drunken bodies and blaring music making the conversation abruptly stop. Your mind suddenly failing to fill in the blanks as you continue to stand, distractedly picking at the fabric inside your pocket.

Which is something Shiu recognizes as he lets out a chuckle and looks at the ground, his expression shifting from confident to nervous in a single second, making you feel weirdly calm as you join in, laughing over your shared silence.

“Sorry, I tend to forget how to properly talk after a long shift,” you eventually admit, moving your hands to rub your eyes.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk,” he replies. “We can just stand here.”

As your hands slowly peel down your face, you can’t help but curiously narrow your eyes at that. Your interest piquing as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes, popping a single one in his mouth before pocketing the box, and switching it out for a lighter.

“You smoke?”

“Sometimes.”

Cupping his hand around the end, he flicks his thumb against the spark wheel —the familiar crackle of flame sounding between the two of you before he sucks and sighs, releasing a plume of smoke strategically away from your face.

“That’s a bad habit.”

You can’t help but snort, watching as he hands it over. His fingers gently grazing against yours in the process. “Bit of a hypocritical statement, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t smoke.”

“Ah, of course. So this is one of those healthy cigarettes they’ve supposedly invented?”

He motions towards your hand, nodding. “Good eye.”

At that, you roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile as you press your lips around the aforementioned cigarette. Allowing that familiar bitter taste of nicotine to hit your tongue as you take a deep breath and hand it back. His fingers brushing against yours for the second time.

“So, what are you still doing here anyways?”

You know it’s a bold question, despite the answer being obvious. More than likely he’s here because he wants to talk to you. To speak to you without the pressure of a purchase or a time limit lingering in the background. To vocalize whatever thoughts might come to mind without having to yell across a counter coated in the remnants of sticky cocktails.

All of it’s obvious to you before you even ask, but still, there’s a portion of your brain that can’t help but deny it. That small sliver of space making you question his intentions. Your insecurities lingering, making you wonder if he finds your pretty or interesting or if he just wants to fuck.

“Thought I’d wait to see if you wanted to continue our conversation from back there.” As he speaks, he motions in the general direction of the bar with his chin. All while his hand rises to take another few puffs of smoke into his mouth. His lips parting to push the excess out in a steady stream before he grins again. “Sorry, is that too forward of me?”

You shake your head almost immediately. Then, you raise your hand for the passing of the cigarette, holding it for a moment as you try to articulate your thoughts into words. Eventually settling on, “No, I like forward. Forward’s good, makes things easy.”

In response, he raises a brow, watching you part your lips and suck, his eyes never leaving yours even after you’ve finished smoking and have moved to give it back. His stare intensely making you almost shiver when his fingers bump against you. “Glad we can agree.”

You let out an approving hum and cross your arms over your chest. The urge to do something with your hands overwhelming your mind as you look down at the pavement and readjust your stance, moving a tad bit closer.

“So, uh, do you want to hang out or just…?”

“Just what?”

His expression contorts again, the previous casualty of it shifting into some foreign and heavy. The weight of it making you clear your throat and glance at the ground again, trying to find the right words to say in order to convey your preference without actually outright stating it.

“Hang out,” is what you end up saying, your tone a bit more suggestive, praying he understands the difference.

“Hang out or hang out?”

“Yeah….”

The moments that pass are awkward. A mess of silent tension and narrowed eyes. His gaze lingering against the side of your face when you inevitably turn your head in embarrassment, knowing you’ve fucked it. Whatever this is, you’ve absolutely, truly fu—

“Can I pick both? Is that an option or is it more of a red pill, blue pill situation?”

You quickly turn to face him, unable to hide the surprise that appears across your face as you open your mouth, partially stuttering. “I’d uh —I’d be fine with both, yeah.”

He hums almost happily as he finally takes another drag. After flicking the excess ash that’s formed, he smiles around the smoke and takes a few deep inhales before he makes the pass, watching you shake your head before he drops whatever’s left on the ground to stomp it out.

“You hungry?”

You are —starving, actually. But, at the same time as you look around, trying to gauge how to say that, you can’t deny the lack of options. The obvious late night hour forcing a potential limit as you inevitably look back and your eyes sharing a flicker of something you can’t quite place before you say, “We could go back to mine and I can make us something?”

It’s enough to force his smile to branch out further. The obvious excitement taking over when you then ask for his phone, inputting the address to your apartment before you tell him you’ll meet him there. The anticipation of it all nearly killing you as you appropriately part ways to your respective cars, wondering what happens next.

As expected, the whole way there your mind fills with various scenarios. Each one eventually leading to the same result, prompting you to instinctively tighten your fingers around the steering wheel with a heavy breath. Every end scene making you swallow hard and feel a bit warm, imagining what he might be like. How he might approach the hang-out portion of your time spent together. What his hands might feel like. Or his mouth.

By the time you arrive, standing outside waiting, your thoughts are a mess. The wreckage of lewd thoughts mingling with more appropriate ones to create a buzz of nerves as you shift your weight on each foot. Your body slowly but surely pacing across the length of your apartment entrance as you quietly hum to yourself, thinking about how to greet him. Which, unfortunately, is a thought that causes you to spiral further. The expectancy to be charming and appealing suddenly becoming less of an afterthought now that he’s going to be entering your space.

No longer in a neutral zone, you’re well aware you have to make some sort of impression that isn’t just flirting behind a bar for tips. You have to be nice and attractive in a less abrupt, business-y way. To give him what he wants without being too desperate. To be endearing. To keep him interested despite knowing next to nothing about him or what he likes or wants or needs.

Biting your thumbnail, it comes to a point where you’re left exhausted before he even shows up, and stupidly, the thought of cancelling on him does cross your mind. Feeling the expectations are suddenly too high you debate waiting until he gets here to make some bullshit excuse about being too tired or feeling sick. But then he parks and gets out of his car, offering you that same soft grin from earlier and you kind of melt on the spot. All of your previous desires rushing to the forefront of your mind, causing your heart to beat a little quicker when you press your fob against the edge of the door and invite him in. No longer feeling as anxious as you walk up the stairs to the third floor, casually chatting about the drive.

“You didn’t get lost or anything?”

He shakes his head, following you down the hall. His face still sporting that same grin that makes your own mouth upturn without warning. “I’m assuming you found your way without any trouble, too?”

You scoff out a laugh and nod, eventually reaching down to unlock your door when you make it there. Feeling your fingers twitch as you work the lock and push it open, suddenly realizing that he’s here —stepping inside your apartment like it isn’t the most nerve-wracking experience you’ve endured in a while.

“You can hang your coat there if you want,” you then tell him, motioning to the hooks behind the door when he slowly closes it. Your eyes lingering as he casually steps out of his shoes before following your instructions; his own eyes glancing around.

“Nice place.”

Moving towards the kitchen, you drop your stuff on one of the stools that line the island, offering an appreciative hum. “Thanks. It’s a bit small, but it’s just me, so…”

After nodding, he steps further in to continue surveying. His eyes focusing on the overflowing bookshelf in the corner and the cluster of plants near the window. His eyes shifting position with each new object he takes in, clearly finding certain things more interesting than others.

“You ever get lonely all cooped up in here?”

As expected, the question catches you a bit off guard, but you quickly recover by turning away to open the fridge. Taking a moment to scan the contents before deciding that some kind of stir-fry is probably your best chance at a proper meal. “I guess sometimes I do,” you eventually say after gathering your thoughts. All while collecting a handful of veggies from one of the lower drawers before turning back around to place them on the counter. “Why?”

He presses his palms against the marble that separates you, his expression softening when he looks up to see you already whizzing around to grab an apron and tie it around your waist. The speed of your hands afterwards darting to grab a knife off the magnetic strip on the wall, making him huff.

“You said you lived alone,” he points out, watching you dip down to grab a cutting board from one of the drawers beneath you —your head bobbing in and out of view before returning not long after. “Got curious.”

“About my loneliness levels?” You raise a brow at him, reaching for a handful of mushrooms to chop.

“Yeah, what would you rate them?” He grins.

As you quickly guide your knife back and forth, you smile back and glance up for just a second. “Right now? Probably a two.”

“Okay, but how about in general?”

You scrunch up your face, trying to think of an accurate number. “Maybe a seven?”

“A seven?”

Sensing that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, you let out a nervous laugh, feeling your hands begin to still as you look back up, watching the shock on his face. “What? Is that bad?”

He lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “That’s a dangerously high number, sweetheart. Don’t you have friends that can help lower that?”

In response, you roll your eyes before pushing your chopped mushrooms aside and reaching for some carrots. Your thoughts shifting to whether or not he’s simply flirting or if there’s a genuine hint of concern in his voice.

“I mean, I’ve got weird work hours, so no. Not really.”

“What about Himari?”

You shrug. “She’s usually with her boyfriend.”

He goes silent for a couple of seconds after that, causing you to look up and see him appear lost in thought before he inevitably catches your gaze. Both of you staring at each other for a couple of seconds, your eyes narrowing in curiosity until Shiu finally clears his throat and wanders around the counter to your side, holding out his hand.

“You shouldn’t be cooking for me after a long shift,” he suddenly tells her. “Especially not if I’m the first friend you’ve hung out with in ages.”

You’re not sure whether to be offended or flattered at that moment, so you just resort to parting your lips and staring. The entirety of you unable to comprehend why this guy —this incredibly stable and attractive-looking guy— has decided that out of the blue, you’re his friend and he needs to cook for you.

“It’s not a big deal. I like cooking.”

Stepping closer, he starts to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt and roll them up, shaking his head the entire time. “Nobody likes cooking, sweetheart. Not after a shift of dealing with shitty college kids throwing money in their face.”

“No, seriously it’s—“

He cuts you off with a huff. The kind that instantly has you pressing your lips together, knowing deep down he’s right. Aside from the hunger in your stomach and the desire to impress him, the last thing you want to be doing is cooking. So, you don’t argue when he eventually pushes his hand closer, wiggling his fingers for you to transfer over the knife, or when he tells you to take off the apron and sit down.

“Good girl. Now what am I making here?”

When he looks down to take a quick inventory of the ingredients, you feel your stomach flip at his words. The very obviously suggestive term of endearment making your eyes slightly widen when you know he’s not looking before you quickly reset your face and reply, “I was just gonna make stir-fry.”

“Okay, good I can work with that. Where’s your sauces?”

You’re about to stand when he points the knife at you, scolding your behaviour like you’re some sort of child he’s been tasked with keeping in line. The sight of him making your eyes roll as you point to the cupboard left of the oven’s hood vent. “Noodles are to the right, too.”

In response, he puts down the knife, appearing pleased before he turns to gather everything he needs. His arms stretching upward, causing your eyes to trail the length of his back with interest, admiring the view.

“Do you have any hon— were you just staring at my ass?”

Looking up, you blink and part your lips before shaking your head in embarrassment. “No.”

“No? Then what were you looking at?” As if to better prove his point he looks down at the space around him, examining seemingly every aspect of the kitchen before he looks back at you with a skeptical look. “I feel like you’re lying.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

Holding back the urge to laugh, you press your lips together and breathe, watching him shake his head before continuing the process of chopping produce and putting together a simple sauce. Both of which he performs with a surprising amount of ease while cooking the noodles and making conversation.

“So, how’d you wind up bartending?”

“Started doing it during college and realized I liked it more than sitting in a classroom. So, I dropped out and started doing it full time.”

“Good money I’m guessing?”

You grin and nod, prompting him to snort as he eventually begins to sauté. His wrist flicking the pan with every burst of flame that surrounds the base. “What do you do?”

When he hesitates to respond, you already know it’s bad. Or, at the very least, an answer both of you know has the potential to change the trajectory of the night. A detail you don’t particularly want to think about now that you’ve decided that he’s actually kind of…

“I’m kind of like a mediator,” he eventually says, his tone unsure as he stares at the pan, watching the veggies begin to crisp above the heat of the stovetop. “Basically, I connect a pair of clients together and make sure the jobs they collaborate on go according to plan.”

“Bit of an odd way to describe a job,” you point out, leaning your elbows against the counter as you hold your chin in your hands. “I’m assuming it’s a little less than legal.”

That comment surprises him. You can tell because almost immediately after he’s looking at you like he’s angry. All narrow-eyed with pinched brows and a frown, causing you to laugh.

“Relax, I work a service job in one of the shadier parts of town. I’ve seen my fair share of illegal things.”

“Right.”

He seems skeptical, but thankfully he doesn’t dwell on it for long. Seeming to accept your answer in at least some capacity, he instead moves on by turning his attention back to the food, combining all the finished ingredients to create a delicious looking dish that has your mouth already watering.

“Question though, you wouldn’t happen to be a chef on the side would you?”

He snorts and wanders around your kitchen in search of bowls, eventually finding the right cupboard on his second try. “No. I’m just a guy who knows how to cut shit up and cook it in a pan.”

“Hey, you made noodles and sauce, too. Give yourself some credit.”

This time, he rolls his eyes and hands you a bowl before opening a random drawer to successfully find your cutlery, causing him to grin. “You should probably try it before offering any sort of praise.”

“Fair,” you respond with a laugh, taking the fork he inevitably offers you with a dramatic before digging in without question. Your mouth practically inhaling the food he so graciously made with a hum.

“Good?”

“So good,” you mumble, using the back of your hand to hide your lack of manners as he lets out a sigh of relief and starts to dish some up for himself.

“Thank god. Imagine I made all this and it ended up tasting like shit. Fucking embarrassing.”

Too distracted to do much of anything but eat by that point, you merely chuckle and continue shovelling forkful after forkful down until you’re done. The entire concept of conversation lost as you focus on filling your aching stomach. Something you’re sure Shiu finds a bit awkward as he lingers near the oven, opting to lean against the back counter to eat and sometimes stare rather than sit next to you.

“You must be starving over there,” he eventually points out. "My food can’t be that good.”

Leaning over to rip a piece of paper towel off the roll on your counter, you pause to wipe your mouth before smiling. “Tourist season is so insane. I didn’t get a chance to eat dinner during my shift,” you reply honestly, dropping your napkin to prepare one of your final bites. “This is also really good, though. Better than mine.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, finishing the meal off. Every part of you feeling satisfied as you sink further into your chair, watching as Shiu’s face subtly lights up at your praise. “Really good sauce. How’d you measure?”

“With the heart? I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, flashing you a smug grin that has the inside of your stomach doing somersaults. Your body shifting in your chair to set down your bowl and slowly stretch. All while trying not to think about the way his eyes seem to linger on your frame, taking in your sudden discomfort —studying it with slightly narrowed eyes that cause you to anxiously glance away.

Which only makes the fear that grows worse, unaware of where his gaze might sit. Considering he seems to be far more curious and attentive than the average person you’ve experienced, the lack of awareness only serves to quicken your heart rate. The pounding drum of your organ making you swallow hard and slowly look back, watching as he reaches for your fork and bowl, turning his attention to the act of cleaning instead.

“Oh, no, you don’t—“

Without missing a beat, he looks up at you with those same eyes as before. Two thin slits warning you to back off as he deposits each dish carefully into the sink. Then, without protest, each of his hands shift to grab your soap and sponge, lathering everything up beneath a steady stream of warm water.

“You always this stubborn?”

You frown, staring at his hands as he speaks, noticing the etchings of scars and freckles. Clusters of markings both grown and inflicted littering his skin like constellations. “No.”

He scoffs out a laugh, prompting you to look up and see him shaking his head. “Hm, I have a hard time believing that.”

“Why?”

He moves each dish to the drying rack as he speaks, his tone lowering a bit, like he’s revealing a secret. “Well, first off, you’re clearly not used to the whole concept of being taken care of,” he points out.

You scrunch up your face at that, causing him to snort and shake his head again as he reaches for the tea towel that hangs off your oven door, using it to dry his hands.

“See? That’s a typical reaction from someone who’s overly independent.”

“I’m not overly independent. I’m perfectly fine.”

Well aware of how you’re merely trying to defend yourself, Shiu then breaks out into a small smirk and leans across the counter, resting his elbows on the edge as he inches forward. His body ever so slowly attempting to enter as much of your space as he can. “Then you won’t mind if I keep doing what I’m doing, then?” he asks, raising his brow. “Without complaint.”

At first, you don’t really understand what he means. Thanks to the fact that you’re more focused on the proximity of his face to yours, the comment entirely flies over your head. The sultry tone of his voice failing to hit your ears as you narrow your eyes and cock your head, trying to make sense of it all.

Because truthfully, he doesn’t make much sense to you. With his pretty face and casually, suave demeanour, you can’t understand why he’d willing to dote on you merely for the sake of sex. Or, why, despite your lack of answer to his statement, he remains entirely still —his patience unwavering even after you’ve let out a gentle huff.

“I’ll warn you now, I tend to complain a lot.”

“During sex?”

Almost immediately, you close your eyes in embarrassment, remembering that the trajectory of your conversation has since changed to that, prompting you to sigh. “No, I mean, just like, in general.”

In response, he lets out a chuckle, causing you to pinch the bridge of your nose and release a deep breath, trying desperately to figure out how to recover until you feel his hand gripping the curve of your elbow, guiding it down to rest on your thigh with gentle fingers.

“Ah, so not during sex,” you then hear him say, the cool tone of his voice forcing your eyes to open back up realizing he’s now at your side, twirling your stool around to face him. “Noted.”

Somehow feeling even more nervous, you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Your appearance resembling the classic fish out of water look —all dead-eyed and empty-minded. Every previous thought and feeling lost once you’re ripped from the crest of the waves only to become wedged between his fingers.

Which is a look that, unsurprisingly, makes him laugh as he lowers himself down to your level when he sits down next to you. While using his hand to curiously explore the exposed parts of your forearm, you can tell he’s enjoying your response. The way your body slightly twitches forward to chase his hand or how you uncomfortably shift and avoid his gaze. It’s obvious he finds it amusing, because not long after he’s drawing patterns into your calloused palm with a smile; his thumb circling each patch of roughness he finds, soothing the aches and pains of scrubbing bar tops and serving drinks.

“You’re not used to this much attention, are you?”

As he chuckles, you huff, unable to hide the obvious. “Not really, no.”

“That’s a damn shame.”

Suddenly, you feel his other hand move to steady the one he’s massaging; both thumbs dragging down the centre of your palm towards your wrist, causing you to hum and flex your fingers, the desire for more slowly growing. The needs you’ve long since pushed to the back of your mind returning with a vengeance in ways that make you swallow hard and glance between his face and the efforts of his labour.

It makes your chest ache pretty much instantly; the sight. Considering it’s been ages since someone has touched you like this —like you simply deserve to be— you’re starting to feel a bit breathless. The gesture of his hands ripping the air straight from your lungs as you open your mouth again, needing to speak.

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

It’s a question that’s pretty much driven you from the start. From the moment he first laid that hefty tip on the counter in front of you during your shift, you haven’t been able to stop yourself from wondering what he wants from you. Why he’s been so kind and giving despite knowing so little about you.

In response, he shrugs his shoulders, continuing his ministrations. Refusing to stop for even a second as a small grin peels across his face and he looks up. “I don’t know. Felt like you needed it.”

And it sounds like nothing when he says it. All nonchalant and casual, as if he does this kind of thing all the time, but to you, it’s everything. It’s complicated, yet simple. Painful, yet pleasant. A reminder that sometimes you’re human and need these kinds of things despite constantly brushing them off.

More importantly, though, it makes you feel desperate as your other hand shifts through the air to cup his cheek. And again when you suddenly lean in, pressing your mouth to his in order to finally taste the smoke on his tongue from your shared cigarette. The bitter flavour embedding itself in the cracks of your lips, driving you to push through the voice at the back of your mind telling you to stop.

Because usually, that’s what you do. Whenever you feel any sort of tether, you take a knife and sever them off; refusing to get close. Defying the urge to connect in order to protect yourself. Avoiding the offers of hands that might want to hold you through the hard times.

However, beneath your touch, as Shiu stills for a moment in response, you don’t feel that at all. Instead, you just feel magnetized. The desire to move closer taking over when he inevitably joins by moving a hand to your waist —another to the back of your neck to pull himself further in.

Humming softly, you then feel him tense beneath your fingers as you hungrily pull at his clothes. The rough touch of your roaming hands trying to find purchase in a place where the distance will hopefully feel less separate, driving him mad as he lifts you onto the counter and groans. Both of his hands returning the favour in unrestrained pushes and pulls as he maneuvers you to his liking and grins.

“Can’t say I was expecting that,” he ends up telling you after you part ways; his tone haggard and heavy. The obvious presence of desire gracing the base of his throat, causing the heavy puffs of breath you share to quickly become the only sound other than the shuffling of fabric as he slides his fingers across the waistband of your jeans.

“Me either, to be fair.”

His grin widens a bit at that. “Not in the habit of kissing strangers I’m guessing?”

As you go to shake your head, you feel his fingers start to fiddle with the top button of your pants. His knuckles brushing against the exposed parts of your lower stomach. Every subtle motion making you feel incredibly warm as your own hands find a home in the fabric of his collar.

“I tend to leave before the kissing happens. If I’m honest.”

“How come?”

You shrug, not wanting to get into it. Instead, wanting to feel what it’s like to continue moving forward and propel yourself into the unknown as you rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. Your scattered mind gradually calming down when his fingers understand what you need and begin to discard the lower half of your clothes. Each piece of fabric clumsily shifting off your skin, prompting Shiu to curse under his breath while you laugh and lift your hips to help.

“Could you wear tighter fucking jeans, Jesus, it’s like a damn chastity belt.”

You snort and feel his fingers immediately pull your underwear to the side once he tosses your pants onto the floor. The dip of his mouth open and already watering, causing you to let out a panicked sound when he licks a long strip up your slit.

“Just relax.”

The immediate heat of his words only serve to do the opposite as you try and shift your hips away only to be brought back and dove into once more. His hands now embedding themselves into your thighs to get a better angle, causing you to huff.

“Wait, it’s okay. You don’t have—“

You’re immediately silenced by the flattening of his tongue alongside his eyes which turn up in annoyance. His obvious distaste for your constant protesting becoming old, especially now that his mouth is wrapped around you, making your resolve quickly melt away when he applies a bit more pressure.

Breathing hard, you then keep your eyes locked downward, watching him pinch your thighs and explore with his tongue. The act of him pleasuring you for the sake of nothing in particular causing your mind to fog up. All the nervous energy you once felt seemingly evaporating like a puff of hot smoke now that he’s trailing his tongue through your folds, languidly inching his way across every nerve in search of something new. Like he’s mapping you out while he listens to every breath that falls from your open lips. Each pant spurring him further, prompting him to push his nose against your clit, prodding it with every movement he makes alongside the fingers that start to part your entrance.

Which overwhelms you completely. The presence of too many stimuli at once making you whimper under your breath and try to sneak away again. Your body craving some sort of release once you feel his tongue forcefully slip into your cunt; the softness of it slipping up and around until his face is practically embedding itself in your flesh. Joining you as one in ways that have you reaching for his hair just for something to keep you steady.

Because right now, you’re teetering on the edge of something. A precipice that you know should feel familiar, yet remains distant in knowledge. The feeling of him wrapped up in your thighs, eating you out like a man who’s never known the taste of something so sweet, causing you to revert to basic instincts. To touch and feel and groan and listen —every sense melding together as he pushes you over the edge and the rush of that something becomes everything at once.

He’s all you feel as you come. Quickly becoming all you want, too, when he ultimately pulls away, breathing so hard you honestly fear he might pass out on the spot.

“You okay?” you can’t help but ask, causing both of you to smile as he wipes you off his chin and laps it up with a nod.

“I should be asking you that. You look—”

“Rough?”

He scoffs out a laugh and cups the side of your neck. Then, he shakes his head and runs his thumb along your cheek, gently caressing you. “No, you look good. Just a little out of it.”

In response, you hum and let your eyelids shift downward, realizing then that you’re incredibly exhausted. Your body becoming loose and low —relying on his touch to keep you afloat as you reach for his shoulders. “I’m a little tired.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, mentally preparing to apologize and explain why until he starts maneuvering you like earlier. His hands gently forcing your legs to wrap around his waist as he lifts and moves you further into the depths of your apartment in search of your bed.

“Where am I going?”

You point to the end of the hall, feeling him shift. The sounds of his feet padding across the hardwood becoming the only noise between you until he hits the carpet of your bedroom and thoughtfully hums.

At which point, you’re already half asleep in his arms. The weight of the day finally hitting your mind when he lays you out across the bed only to linger above you, watching your eyes flicker.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out then, causing him to raise a brow and bring his face towards yours.

“What for?”

In your increasingly tired state, you huff and raise your hands to your eyes, rubbing them gently. “I didn’t return the favour.”

“Favour?” He scoffs out a laugh, his head dipping to playfully bump your noses together. “What do you mean?”

“You just… you did all that stuff for me and now I’m falling asleep.”

“Okay, and?”

He sounds almost offended that you would even insinuate that he cares. Something that you figure shouldn’t surprise you at this point considering he’s been nothing but giving.

“And…”

As you trail off, you suddenly force your eyes to open a bit wider —to be more present as you begin to work through the weight of your own exhaustion and pull him down. Allowing yourself to be the one to take the reins by kissing his mouth again. Forcing this need to solely be kind and chivalrous to disappear as you both start to rush through the fumbling of more discarded clothes. His obvious desire to continue whatever this is between you causing him to let you sit up to discard his tie and untuck his shirt. Your fingers clawing at item after item in a mess of blissed-out confusion until eventually he’s buried deep inside of you, groaning your name.

Which only fuels the impulse to be the one to take care of him. To show your appreciation for the company and the food and everything in between as you somehow shift to the top. Your body towering over his —hips melding together in a quick, steady rhythm of desperation.

“Relax,” you tell him then, leaning forward to run your hand across his cheek. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Despite the position you find yourselves in, he still manages to laugh. The call back to his behaviours making him merely roll his eyes and say, “Alright, go ahead then, sweetheart. Return your favour.”

Smiling back, you do. Slowing down the movements of your hips so that you can work your way back up. Creating a tension of needy fingers that grip onto your sides, helping guide you through the ebbs and flows of his cock. And at first, it’s nice —simple. The constant drift between you making you feel a bit lightheaded as you both mumble each other’s praises between lazy kisses. But then, you feel yourself melting further down. Your consciousness beginning to falter with every push and pull until he’s left doing all the work again.

Letting out a laugh, he wraps an arm around your torso and kisses your face, still pistoning up. “What happened to all that… hospitality you were boasting about?” he jokingly chastises between breaths, glancing down to see that your eyes are already closed; your breath heavy as you let out a groan.

“Too tired,” you mumble out. “I’ll make it up… tomorrow.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Shiu manages to hear it. And soon after, thankfully accept it too as he slows back down again, eventually stopping to breathe until he sees you lift your head and shake it.

“What? You want me to keep going?”

You just nod and drop your head back down again, hearing him scoff and follow through. Every muscle in your body feeling simultaneously loose and tight once he begins to move again, gently dragging himself in and out and quietly groaning as you slowly drift to sleep, already dreaming about tomorrow.

#shiu kong #shiu kong fic #shiu kong smut #jjk fic #jjk smut #shiu kong x reader #shiu kong x female reader #shiu kong x bartender reader #sum writes

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eyesthatroll · 9 months ago

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my champ | n. mackinnon

pairing; nathan mackinnon x fem!reader

warning(s); kissing, cursing, mention of insecurity/self pressure??

summary; not long enough for a summary but took inspiration sort of from this tweet!!!! (🥹🥹)

word count; 0.83k

author's note; guys, i don't know how it happened, but i became enamored with nathan mackinnon in the time span of like 17 hours. i don't know what it is, there's just something about him!!!!!! anyways, go canucks!1!1! also this was going to be a lot longer but i haven't written in a while and just wanted to get back into the swing of things, hope it's not too bad. love ya!

Entering the hotel room, you feel an overwhelming sense of fatigue, prompting you to collapse onto the plush queen-sized bed positioned at the room's center. Disregarding the conventional way of removing your shoes, you nudge them off with your toes, allowing them to tumble onto the soft carpeted floor, not really caring where they land while simultaneously hoping Nathan doesn’t trip on them.

"Baby?" Nathan's voice echoes from the bathroom. In reply, you emit a soft hum, the gentle cascade of water from the sink filling the room's silence.

Exiting the bathroom, he casually discards his jacket onto a coat rack affixed to the wall. Crossing over to the opposite side of the bed, he bends down to meet your gaze at eye level. "You okay?"

You roll your eyes, a subtle sigh escaping your lips. "Tired, hungry, dreading the weekend.”

He rises from his previous position, and you shift on the bed, making room for him to join. Settling in effortlessly, he turns his body to lie on his side, supporting his head with his elbow, giving him a perfect view of you. His gaze focuses on your left hand, where you absentmindedly fiddle with the gorgeous 4-carat radiant-cut diamond ring adorning your finger.

"I'll never get tired of seeing that on your finger," Nathan's voice is a gentle murmur, as if he fears that speaking any louder about your wedding ring would broadcast it to the entire world.

You respond with a soft smile, lifting your gaze to meet his deep blue eyes, filled with nothing but adoration. "It's a beautiful ring."

Indeed, it truly was. The diamond, precisely cut to the shape you desired, struck the perfect balance in size—not overly showy, as larger ones might seem to you, yet not too small, just perfectly proportioned. Leave it to Nathan to discover and present you with your dream ring, even though you had only casually mentioned your preferences maybe once in the past two years.

"You're beautiful," he comments easily, his free hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your teeth graze your bottom lip as you fight back a smile. "You're so corny.”

His thumb meets his middle finger to flick you in the forehead, shaking his head as he falls back onto the pillow. "Fuck off."

Seeing an opportunity, you use it to gracefully climb over him, your posture settling over the waistband of his sweatpants, which were hanging dangerously low. Taking a moment, you allow yourself to truly look at him, your breath catching in your throat as you admire your husband.

"What?" he asks, eyebrows quirked.

You shake your head. "You're so handsome."

He truly was, in every inconceivable sense of the word. You made it a point to express that sentiment and offer other compliments on a daily basis. Nathan, being a professional athlete, tended to be hard on himself and often overly critical. While you knew your compliments couldn't fully dispel what brewed below the surface, you liked to believe they provided some solace at least a little bit.

"Who's corny now?" he teases, his hands shifting from his sides to your waist, slipping under the thick material of one of his old hoodies that you've stolen.

"I'm serious," you groan, laying a gentle slap against his chest.

"So was I," he counters. "And I-"

You lean down swiftly, pressing your lips against his in an attempt to silence him, and it works like a charm. Though, you can feel his famous Nate Mackinnon giggle against your lips, prompting one of your own. When you pull apart, a soft smile graces your lips as your fingers trace down the scruff of his beard. "My Stanley Cup champ."

His cheeks redden at your words, and he lets out an airy laugh.

"I'm so proud of you, you know that?" you ask, and he nods. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, undoubtedly carrying a lingering taste of strawberry from your tinted lip balm.

"You tell me every day," he answers with a quick retort, rolling his eyes. However, a smile lingers on his lips.

Raising a brow, you inquire, "Do you believe me?"

Asking the question seemed to hang in the air, the silence stretching before he responded. His brow furrows, and you could almost feel the weight of his thoughts. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, a mix of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “Course I do,” he finally answers.

You narrow your eyes at him, sensing his hesitation. That wasn’t a very convincing answer, but you decide not to pressure him further. Instead, you lean down and rejoin your lips with his. This time, his hands migrate from your waist to your bum, their grip firm and reassuring as he sucks in your bottom lip.

"I love you so damn much," he murmurs, between kisses down your neck.

God, did you love this man with everything in you.

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon x you #nathan mackinnon x reader #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon fluff #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nathan mackinnon oneshot #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon imagines

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trippinsorrows · 2 months ago

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looking through your eyes + short

a/n: angsty mess that's very multiverse based and somehow is 2 thousand freaking words....

----

"dada!"

one word. one word has easily become solana's favorite word in the entirety of the english language. a great feat considering her immense reverence and respect for the written word.

but, it's solely because unlike many of the other infinite words to exist, this one means so much to her. it means everything to her.

it's her world.

she is her world.

tearing her focus from the soapy water where she washes the dishes and pots from tonight's dinner, solana instead focuses on the sight that she would give anything to make her usual.

roman, this large specimen of a man, sitting on the floor, legs spread. he's dressed in some joggers, his shirt discarded, a small smile on his face as he speaks in a low voice to their 11-month-old daughter who wobbles in his direction.

it makes solana chuckle. melea rarely walks for her, prefers to crawl her cute self all over the house, if she could. but the minute her daddy comes around, she suddenly finds the ability and drive to use her legs.

solana studies the way roman reaches over to pick up melea, his own smile growing at the sound of his baby girl's sweet giggles as he lifts her up and plays with her.

eyes shutting, solana revels in this moment. does her best to stay in the here and now. tries not to think about tomorrow, about the absence of roman's body next to her in the bed, the crushing feeling of going into melea's crib, waking her up only for her to ask with those big, beautiful eyes, "dada?"

it kills her.

every. single. time.

sadness clouding her previous enjoyment, solana returns her focus to cleaning up the kitchen, instead focusing on making sure everything is put away and the dishes used are all sparkling clean.

it's an effective distraction, because by the time she's done, roman is sitting on the sofa, holding a sleeping melea.

small smile, she walks over to quietly sit down next to him, asking, "you want me to put her down?"

he looks over, shaking his head, "not yet."

she nods. she should have expected that. he enjoys spending as much time with her as he can when he can. for obvious reasons.

solana simply lays against the sofa, studying her daughter's sleeping face. as much as melea clearly loves her daddy, she looks so much like her mama. the most she has from roman is his dark hair color and those eyes. which solana has zero complaints about. of the many things she loves about her husband, his eyes rank pretty high up there.

"can you believe she's going to be one next month?" solana is both asking him and herself. it blows her mind sometimes just how quickly times has passed. continued to pass. her sweet little girl is going to be a year. it's been an entire year since solana became a mother.

roman chuckles, eyes focused on his daughter who sleeps so calmly on his chest. "not at all."

solana swallows, asking, "will you be here for her birthday?"

at that, his eyes turn to her, surprised almost, "of course." he then asks, almost defensively, "why?"

she shrugs, not wanting to feed too much into that defensiveness. "i never know when you're coming, ro."

"i wouldn't miss my daughter's first birthday, sol."

solana hates it. hates the bitter retort she has to do her best to suppress. to push away. it's cruel and uncalled for, but it's exactly how she feels.

clearing her throat, she carefully moves off the sofa, murmuring, "i'm gonna go take my shower."

she doesn't say anything else, already knowing he'll most likely have melea down and in bed by the time she gets out.

and that's exactly what happens, solana walking out the shower to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. as soon as he lifts his head to look at her, his phone is discarded, and he's motioning her to come over.

wordlessly, she walks in between his thick, muscular legs until his hands are on her hips.

solana bites down on her lip, more than eager to skip to the part where he makes love to her throughout the night, until both of them are completely spent, tangled limbs and souls intertwined.

but roman has something else on his mind, bringing up not even an hour ago. "you wanted to say something. earlier."

solana stills for a second. she should have known better. known he would pick up on it.

she shakes her head, moving her hands up and down his strong shoulders. "it doesn't matter."

"everything matters when it comes to you, solana," he reminds, again asking, "tell me."

looking away, she debates lying to him, but she already knows it's a stupid plan. there is no lying to her husband. he sees through everything.

so, she swallows her anxiety at how she believes or knows this conversation will play out and shrugs, "i was just....i was just going to say maybe....maybe it would be easier if we....if we could come live with you." it's in watching his eyes shut, the almost scowl on his face and especially the way he stands up, walking away, hands on his hip, that solana knows exactly how this is going to play out.

not well.

as per usual.

"baby....we've talked about this." solana hugs herself, already dreading it. "why do you keep bringing it up? where is this coming from?"

"where do you think it came from, roman?" she asks, shaking her head. "our daughter is turning one, and i had to ask you if you're going to be there for her birthday, because i never know when you have time for us and when you don't---"

he turns around at that, gaze sharp and steel. "don't do that. don't fucking do that. you know what you mean to me. what she means to me."

feeling emboldened, she challenges, "just not enough for us to actually live together like a family?"

roman's eyes soften ever so slightly as he once again expresses, "it's too danger---"

"God, i'm so sick and tired of hear that." she cuts him off, eyes closing, mentally replaying the many times she's heard as such. "i understand that, roman. i do, but what you don't seem to understand is how hard this is for me." solana doesn't know where exactly it's coming from, well, not entirely, but the restrain she typically uses when it comes to this sensitive subject is all but gone. "i wake up alone almost every night. i go to sleep alone. i wake up our daughter alone. i bring her to my mom's alone. god, i---roman, i attended every ultrasound appointment alone. you....you weren't even there for her birth."

it's a low blow. deep down, she knows that. doesn't need to see the hurt flash in his eyes at something she knows he'll never truly get over. but, that wasn't just hard for him. it was hard for her. one of the happiest days of her life was also the saddest, because while her mom was with her on one side, the other side where he should have been, helping and supporting her as she gave him his first child, was empty.

but, of course, he won't comment on that, won't talk about one of his most painful regrets. he instead deflects, granted with a gentleness reserved for her and their child..

his volume lowers as well. "sol, you knew it would be this way before---"

"you're right, i did." because she did. because he made her very aware from the very beginning that he could never openly be with her. it was too dangerous. he had far too many enemies and would never risk anything happening to her. she understood it then. still understands it now, especially with them having a baby. it just sucks though. "and i'm not...i'm not mad at you, ro. i'm just frustrated with the situation. i'm tired of feeling like a single mother---"

at that, she sees the pain melt into something much more familiar for most people acquainted with roman reigns.

she sees anger.

but, she knows it's really hurt. he's understandably hurt by her honesty.

"you're acting like i don't fucking do anything." his tone continues to stay in the lanes of harshness, which doesn't help her tone down her frustration. "i'm trying, solana."

"but, it's not enough, roman!" she doesn't intend to raise her voice. it's a natural consequence of the emotions that have been bubbling to the surface for some time now. eyes watering, she explains, "you've given me this beautiful house, yes. i want for nothing financially, yes. you have the fucking secret service it feels like watching me and mel, yes, but.....but, i still feel so alone." sniffling, she admits, "i feel like i love you full time, but you only love us part time. when you can. and that's not....that's not fair. it's.....it's starting to mess with me, roman."

the tears are inevitable at this point, and before she knows it, roman is before her, gently cupping her face, wiping away her tears. "baby, please don't cry." it fascinates her how only seconds ago he was being borderline mean only for him to shift so easily into this gentle man who she loves with every part of her. "i fucking hate seeing you upset. you know this."

he would have hated to see her last week when she truly broke down over all of this.

"sometimes, i....i wonder if we moved too fast." met, married, and pregnant within a year, most would say it was absolutely too fast. most don't know, however, just how deeply she loves this man. "is this what you want?"

"i love you, solana. i love melea. i would give fucking anything for things to be different, but i can't. i can't change who i am, and what i do." he swallows. "but, i can't lose you either, so tell me how we make this work."

the real answer is she doesn't know. she doesn't know the sustainability of this dynamic. sporadic visits from her husband who only a handful of people know is her husband as he visits her and a daughter even fewer people know exist. she wants to love and be in love openly and wholly. not in the shadows and corners of secrecy.

but, maybe that's another problem for another day, because what solana wants the most is to just be with this man. be with the man she's shared so many first with. first time. first love. first child. there is no her without him, and navigating that might be difficult, but she'll do it. because she'll do anything be with him.

"i love you." she murmurs and moves against his chest, letting him hold and comfort her as he murmurs those precious words back to her. it settles her. more than it maybe should, but she doesn't question it. pulling back, solana reaches for his hand, moving it to her stomach. "the first one....just please be there for the first appointment."

roman seems to understand what she's telling him, but he still wants an additional layer of reassurance. "are you...."

she nods. a small, sad smile sets on her face. "yes, and i....i just want you there with me to hear it. to hear our baby's heartbeat this time."

roman scoffs, clearly a mixture of emotions: surprised, confused, happy. he then nods, his own face settling into the perfect combination of determination and dedication. "i'll be there." he kisses her forehead, so gently, so lovingly, vowing, "we're gonna be fine, sol. i promise."

as he takes her in his arms yet again, showering her with all of his love and vulnerability, rare displays only allotted to her and melea, solana's eyes shut.

if only she felt the same.

if only she trusted that they would be okay.

that this will work out.

but, she's not.

she's just not.

#ltye short

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melancholicstation · 26 days ago

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Take Me Out To The Ball Game — john f. kennedy

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

authors note: i use jfk's nickname "jack" in this if you're confused!

summary: you’re self-imposed pity party after your failed romance with a left-end jack kennedy is interrupted when you dragged along by your girlfriends to a football game held at the harvard crimson. you were comfortable going as you were assured that jack had gotten sick with strep days prior. what you didn’t know, however, was that as you’re eyes glaze over the field a certain insufferable blue-eyed boy would be quick to meet your gaze…

warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, sleazy man, public sex at a baseball field, bit of degradation but not too much.

words: 2808

Now you wouldn't regard yourself as the kind of woman to lose herself in mindless rumination over a failed collegiate love, but looking down at yourself from a birds-eye perspective: you just may have been kidding yourself.

To put it plainly you're a wreck. Emotionally strictly. One disposition you count your lucky stars for is the ardent dedication that you carry within yourself to the performance of femininity. And by god was it a performance, entirely unnatural to you.

This love stupor you've been in for 8 to 9 business days simply needed to end, and your new attitude started with you discarding the days-old clothes you donned while rotting away in your poster board twin-size bed. Deny as you have many times to yourself, you didn't wear these clothes out of a slobbish penchant for convenience or pure happenstance, you wore them because they smelled of him: feeling that if you wore something that had once touched his skin that you too could still inhabit the body of the boy who you had lost. Still touch what had so cruelly been ripped away from you from the very boy himself. What a cruel boy he'd morphed into these past few days.

You rummaged through the large chest of drawers that your mother just insisted you keep for "functionality" knowing full well her hatred of the object: a dreadful eyesore of a gift from your grandmother on your father's side. You decided upon a poplin sleeveless dress tastefully skimming the fleshy part of your upper thigh. You move ghostly, in a pathetic slump-like state towards your vanity: a treasure in dorm-living, and start to unpack your beauty packing cubes: one labelled "hair", one labelled "skin", and one labelled "make-up" in thick bolded typewriter font. Some time passed and before you knew it you were applying your last coat of sérum teinté N°1 when you were rudely interrupted by a barrage of knocking and girlish condescending shouts from the other side of your dorm door.

You roll your eyes, despite being unconsciously excited to experience the delightful distraction of girlhood in the form of your girlfriends. As soon as you unlock the door, each of your girlfriends bound through the door every one of pawing at you with a look of pity in their eyes. "Oh come on don't look at me like that I'm not dead yet: I can smell the sympathy on all of you"

Betty, a friend who had eagerly sought you out during orientation, and attached herself to you, not unlike a succubus escapertaly exclaimed "Well you don't look far from death sweetheart why do you think we made the trouble to come up five flights of stairs looking for you? You are a case of upmost urgency!"

"Well I--" you're excuses are cut short when Betty's partner in crime: Alana pipes up, a brown-haired girl who stood at maximum 5 foot 4, "Oh come on y/n!, you think we'd show up if you weren't in dire straights. Take a look at my shoes--" She physically moves your hand to feel the leather glide over your fingertips "--do you really think I'd risk dirtying the soles of brand new Dior slingbacks on dormitory stairwells if we weren't really concerned about you?"

"I suppose you may be right. It's downright dreadful what's he's done to me. Before him I felt I was made for great, I had hopes for the future. But now all I sincerely believe that my being, my flesh and blood was created to love him, to tend to him. And I know it isn't right or near darn healthy to feel or think this way but dammit I do--and it's proving damn near impossible to shake."

By the end of your monologue your hands had begun to shake and your face to become an odd shade of green, nearly immediately the hands of your two friends came to encompass you whole. You knew they didn't understand, couldn't comprehend the stupor he had placed on you, but they cared enough to listen and that was even for now.

After a well-needed clean up job by your friends, who more closely resembled catholic saints at this point, of your dormitory littered with stained coffee mugs, pomegranates seeds on the windowsill, and a plate of un-touched steak fries from the cafeteria.

It was during this time that you'd been asked--no informed that you and them would attend the four o'clock baseball game at the Harvard crimson. A grim place for even people in the highest of spirits: a setting marked by the unmistakable musk of fake grass, cheap mulled beer, and an overflow of appalling showcases of testosterone.

"And you're sure he's not going to be there. Not even in a twenty foot radius?"

"Who Jack? God no he told coach that he had strep throat. Probably rotting away in bed as we speak. Serves him right for what he's done to such an innocent like you." Betty says. You quietly scoff at "innocent girl" if only they knew what perverted, sickening acts you had done with jack, simply in the last fews months: on desks, on lampposts, in the backs of cars, simply anywhere and everywhere that had no present inhabitants that you two could surmise.

"Now that that silly thought is out of your head you need to get into that bedroom and find an nice looking dress, just because you feel awful doesn't give you the right to look it" Alana says in a tone so backhanded it could only come from a motherly kind of love.

You reluctantly do what she says, with a slight pep in your step, despite the pitfalls of the crimson sport arenas you were always a fan of anywhere you could smoke and drink at 2:00 pm and not look like a total degenerate slob.

You take a quick admiring glance at the 18th century armoire, the one prized possession you had forcibly removed from your childhood bedroom in New Hampshire along with you for the move much to your mother's dismay, and survey your options of dress. You zero in on a particular pair of field shorts which are clearly not yours but Jacks.

*flashback*

"When are you gonna change for the date?" You say to jack with applying your about tenth coat of rouge onto your lips, checks, and eyelids. "Whadda you mean sweetheart? I am dressed" Jack teases kissing his way up your neck making eye contact with his reflection. How vain.

You survey him from top to bottom, the top half of him is lacklustre but workable: a cream pullover with the collar of his white collared shirt peeping out every so slightly. But the bottom half is down-right offensive: tennis socks paired with field shorts so tight that there's a pronounced bulge noticeable to the naked eye. "Oh Jack you've gotta change. Don't you know we're going out with my friends--who trust me will not find it as comical as your friends would. I feel like it's staring right at me."

"Do you wanna' kneel down and take them right off, then they can really stare right at you honey?" Jack chuckles, always ready for a sexual escape even on an uneventful Wednesday evening. His sexual drive was concerning at best and rotted to the core at worst. But despite this, you too seemed to be afflicted by the same kind of constant desire around the presence of Jack. So you did as you were told, kneeled and started slipping of his boxers with little complaint and complete submission.

*end of flashback*

You're released from your temporary haze, as a knock comes at your bedroom door: it's Betty "Y/n we'll be waiting outside for you in the courtyard. Don't be more than 10 minutes I really don't want to wait in those retched lines with those retched Harvard boys."

You reply to her with an affirmation signally that you'll be out in a minute and turn quickly back to your armoire. As undergarments you went for the staples: a silk georgette camisole, and slip skirt. Quickly you find a wool dress cut above the knee in a pattern reminiscent of a kaleidoscope, detailed with mother of pearl buttons trading from your neck all the way down to your mid-behind (authors note: for imaginative purposes imagine those iconic Alexander McQueen dresses but make it 1930s era). You slip on a pair of slightly beaten up heeled oxfords and grab your favourite nappa leather bag. You glide out of your dormitory, drift down the stairwell with the temperament of a girl who desperately needs to spend some time with her beloved friends.

As your trio enters the stadium you tell Alana and Betty to go up and gather the greasy yet delightful treats and drinks while you go find each of your seats in the bustling chaos. You finally find the seating number after bumbling around for longer than you would've liked to admit. And before you know it Alana and Betty have come back mulled bear in hand an dried peanuts in the other, seemingly without delay the home team takes their defensive positions and the game gets well and truly under way.

But just as your mind is finally taken away from the blonde-haired equivalent of a sea barnacle on your brain that simply won't get off the interior of your mind: you spot him in the flesh.

A tanned face and beaming pair of blue-grey eyes meet yours from across the field. Definitely not the face of a person suffering from strep throat and is most definitely the face of the man who'd shattered your heart with a simple note stating that he couldn't "do this anymore" left on the windowsill: John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

Your friends hadn't caught on, clearly as they continued business as usual for the rest of the game, trying and failing in engaging you in conversation about what was transpiring on the field. But you couldn't pay attention, no you were paying particular attention to one man on the field.

The game ends unceremoniously, with Alana drenched from the amount of times Betty had thrown her hands in anger spilling mulled bear across the seats, and her friend.

But just as you three gather yourselves to get going, a familiar touch caress the clothed skin of your shoulder. Jack. "Funny seeing you here, I'd hoped you were withering away in that dorm of yours from Strep. Clearly not."

"You know I hate to disappoint you but I seem to have made a miraculously quick recovery. Dr. Schuab says it was the fastest he's ever seen!" Jack chuckles in an effort to diffuse the present tension that one could only cut with a butcher's knife.

"Well now that's not the truth, our last encounter disappointed me greatly"

"I know that Honey--" you physically recoiled at the term of endearment, a mix of revulsion at the man he caused you and the desire that the very presence of him inspired in you.

"--and that's why I came to talk to you. Look you stay here and I'm going to clean up and come right back to explain it all to you. Promise you'll wait for me, it'll be worth your while."

You quietly nod in shock immediately defaulting to agreeing to whatever he says, he has that certain effect on you it would seem. And before you know it Jack's scrambling to keep up with his teammates before entering the locker rooms.

Jack keeps you waiting for about 15 minutes, a minute longer and you would've walked out until you saw that beaming face barrelling towards you. Without a word he took your hand, leading you down a flight on stairs and directly onto the field. "Isn't this like totally, one-hundred percent illegal?"

"I wouldn't worry about it. See those floodlights up there? Dad funded them." Jack says in a tone trying to portray humbleness but failing in an adorable manner.

Your still stood fully upright as jack plops his body onto the fake turf, rolling around like a labrador in the summer heat. But just as quickly, his eyes zero in on you and he crawls his way, ever so slowly to your feet.

You squint your eyes in confusion as he goes to rest his head upon the fleshy part of your stomach, placidly placing suggestive kisses around the area. You quickly take the base of his head within his hands--"Now what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Just resting. Is it bothering you?" He says innocently "No what's bothering me is that you're acting like nothing happened, like you didn't completely cut me off."

"Baby I was being stupid, you gotta forgive me. I get like that sometimes, a compulsion of sorts to run. It had nothing to do with you." Jack says, and you don't know if youyourre stupid or smart for believing his words. You become puddy in his hands, slowly dropping to the grass as he starts to suck on your stomach with his lips, desperate to leave a mark. A monument.

Jack slowly taps on your face, waking you out of the passionate haze, and delicately slips his digits into your mouth. Encouraging and praising you to keep sucking them, telling you "what a good girl you're being for him" "the best in the god damn world". His moves are as smooth as a ballet dancers as he enters them into your warm, engorged mound. His fingers are an inviting stretch that leaves you whimpering to an empty stadium. As you moans start to increase in brevity and volume Jack places you on your back and starts to climb on top of you overing words of encourgament

"--Oh it's a big stretch isn't it. I haven't been taking care of you have I? I need to remedy that for my best girl don't I Huh? Don't I?" he says in a tone so patronising it's deeply arousing. Suddenly he stops his motions "Come on Y/n I wanna hear you say it. You need my help."

Your pleas come out quick and breathy "I do I do-Jack you have no idea". Once you reach your climax you feel as though you've been possessed, a good all-encompassing possession that you pray to never be broken free of. In the struggle the valley of your breasts are now fully exposed to Jack and in typical Jack fashion he uses this to his advantage.

Consistently sucking on your nipples while unbuttoning the fly of his pants and boxers all at the same time. It's then when you release a sticky substance coating his boxers. It's only then that you realise that in the haze of your personal euphoria, you had missed that Jack had came in his pants simply from pleasuring you. What a sight that was.

In recognising this you unconsciously giggle to yourself, to which Jack notices quickly throwing his soiled underwear and pants to the side "Hey now, what's got you giggling?"

"Nothing" you breath out, turning your head to the side feeling it be slightly irritated by the artificial turf. "Oh nothing really? We'll i'll give you something to giggle about, c'mere" quickly he grabs dominant possession of your hips and plunges his cock into your warm mound, already sensitive. Plunging in and out, in and out. And in such quick succession that you're sure to have grass burn the next morning.

He continues until for a while until he completely removes himself, and rests his member on your stomach slapping it around the flesh just to tease your already desperate frame, before quickly inserting it back where it belongs. "Best girl, pretty please hold on just for a minute, want to cum with you around me."

"Can't--Jack I-i"

"Yes you can and you will" Jack says in a tone that leaves no room for rebuttal. Finally you know you can finally let go when the tell-tale signs of Jack's impending climax appears: the relaxed eyebrows, shut eyelids, and rapid movements.

Jack holds you tight to your chest, his hot spurts filling you up wholeheartedly. Minutes later you stay like this, held together by each other's limbs.

"You think you can walk--never mind" Jack changes his mind mid-sentence after taking a look at you, completely blissed out, and adopts a bridal-carry despite his poor back, transporting you from one end of the field to the other.

You start to drift off as he carries you out of the stadium and back onto campus grounds, lullabied by the sound of his breaths and the faint kisses he litters across the crown of your head. The most delightful jewels any girl in Massachusetts could even dream of having.

the end.

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hrefna-the-raven · 4 months ago

Text

His first

Masterlist - Horror masterlist - Misc.

Kenneth "Leatherface" Slaughter x female reader

Part 1

Summary: You finally confessed and Kenny is torn between sweet memories and self-doubt.

Notes: *sigh* I still just want that old man to be happy...🥹 so here is some smut 😇

Warnings: smut (18+), alcohol

Reader: short female reader, female genitals but no other details mentioned

Part 2

Kenneth groaned, fighting off the harsh awakening by the jackhammer pounding within his skull. His hand darted around frantically until it eventually grasped the edge of the curtains, hastily pulling them shut. He blinked slowly, relieved that the bright morning sun had ceased its invasion of his room with its disgustingly bright rays. His entire body froze as he suddenly grew all too aware of the soft breaths coming from your naked body nestled against his. It almost felt as if...panic clawed violently at his chest, his trembling hand cautiously lifted the blanket, confirming his fears. Both of you were lying in his bed...naked...his lips parted as a silent scream passed them and his breath grew increasingly erratic. His mind was blank, a gaping void instead of whatever happened yesterday. Why couldn't he remember yesterday? Why was he trapped in this situation? Did he...? With you of all people? He gasped at the sudden bits and pieces of memories flooding back into his mind, his gaze falling upon the empty liquor bottle resting on the small table across the room.

He had just draped a blanket over Ma, who had dozed off on the sofa, when he noticed you making your way upstairs with a bottle in hand. The two of you settled on his bed while you talked about your past, how you'd ended up in Harlow and how much he meant to you. Your fingers nervously intertwined with his and he continued to take sips of the bottle, his mind trying to overthrow years of abuse and doubt in favour of the love you were willing to give him, right until he felt the room spinning around him. He got up, almost loosing his balance as he stumbled towards the table to place the bottle on it, unaware of the feeling that would hit him the moment he turned around to face you. The way you looked at him pierced right through his heart, those doe eyes brimming with all the affection and love for him. Fear, sadness and a strangely beautiful happiness waged war within him, a struggle of the heart alone since the alcohol had discarded his brain from the equation. As soon as he sank back onto the bed, you shifted, straddling him while you playfully nudged the tip of his nose with his, inching closer for another kiss. Freed from all his usual reservations, his hands instinctively moved to the small of your back, gently caressing downwards before digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your butt, grinding you against him. A sinful moan rumbled in his chest and his half-hard cock stirred beneath your movements. The twinkle in your eyes changed, replaced by a hint of worry and his stomach churned as fear resurfaced.

"Have you ever...", you shyly asked, pausing mid-sentence as you gestured towards your lips and then his.

He shook his head, pointing towards you before holding up one finger, nodding when you asked if it meant that you were his first.

"Oh", such a simple sound of surprise before you went silent, your gaze drifting over his figure while you hazily unbuttoned his shirt, "so you never had....sex either?"

He shook his head again, embarassed by the blush on his face and sighing slightly frustrated at the many memories of him falling in love, only for them to be running away, screaming in terror, back then at his old home. This town was dead, a forsaken place no woman ever found her way to, except for you. Before he could articulate anything, you pecked his lips and broke the silence.

"Do you...uhm...know how to...I mean....sex...would you know...?", you stuttered, unsure on how to voice this question without hurting him.

A boisterous laugh erupted from Kenneth, and the way your eyes sparkled indicated that it was the most delightful and endearing sound you had ever heard from him. He kicked a dirty and worn cardboard box from underneath the bed before handing it to you, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he waited for you to open it. Eyes wide in disbelief, you pulled out one of the many vintage magazines and as you skimmed through the pages of naked women that weren't glued together, he could observe the slow change of expression upon realising that you currently held his collection of porn rags in your hands. He chuckled as you threw it back into the box and closed it before it disappeared beneath his bed again.

"Alright I get it, you were living in the middle of nowhere, not on the moon", you laughed nervously before kissing him again, teasingly running your tongue over his lower lip, showing him that you simply couldn't get enough of him.

Your body shifting slightly beside him drew his attention back to the present. A soft murmur escaped from your lips as your leg moved up, gradually inching closer to his groin. He shuddred, feeling the precum trickling on his belly at every twitch of his now fully hard cock. Faint whimpers spilled from his lips, one hand moving downwards, stroking himself, carefully slow to not disturb your slumber. Every fibre in his body craved your touch, your love, he wanted to bathe in all of it once more. The bittersweet memories lingered, tormenting him as a constant reminder that you'd surely leave the moment you wake up, naked and sober, next to the ugly old man tipsy you seemed so eager to please the previous night.

"Look at you", you cooed, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his pants, "you deserve to be worshipped."

Kenneth's head fell back, eyes shut tight and his mouth hanging open, whimpering at the feeling of your hands on his dick. It was so different, so much better than anything he had ever imagined during all those lonely nights in his room while touching himself. Slow, deliberate strokes, each one pushing him closer to the edge. Your touch brought a pleasure he struggled to contain. His eyes shot open the moment he felt those soft lips wrapped around his leaking tip, sucking it ever so slowly before sinking down. The deep moan coming him resembled more a strangled scream trapped in his throat while he helplessly watched his cock disappear in your mouth. Despite the alcohol coursing through his veins, everything felt so overly sensitive, the way your tongue licked over his length and your teeth gently grazed his tip each time your head moved down. Each moan of his was rewarded by a satisfied hum, its vibrations proving to be the last drop in his bucket full of pent-up tension. Loud groans, which almost sounded like your name, spilled from his lips like a prayer and his cock twitched in your mouth, his salty release running down your throat. His gaze was glued to you, observing how you licked away the last drops of his cum before snuggling up next to him, that loving smile never leaving you.

"I love every part of you, Kenny", you murmured, planting a trail of sweet kisses along his neck, "I hope you enjoyed your birthday."

He huffed, unable to hide his grin until the exhaustion and the liquour finally lulled him to sleep.

One last glance at your sleeping form, assuring himself that you wouldn't notice how he quickened his strokes, he closed his eyes to fully surrender to the pleasure. He was so occupied with chasing his orgasm that he failed to notice that you'd just woken up, licking your lips greedily at the sight of him pleasuring himself beside you. He wasn't sure how long you had been watching him, only becoming aware of what was happening the moment you pounced on him, pressing your dripping entrance against his cock, letting only the tip slide in. The initial shock of his denied orgasm quickly turned into something feral, a primal heat burning between his thighs, urging him to thrust his hips up and he almost bit off his tongue in the desperate attempt to not succumb.

"Kenny", you pleaded when his hands shot up to grasp your hips firmly to hold you in place, "I want you, I need you."

He shook his head frantically, too afraid to surrender to everything your were offering. He couldn't blame this neither on the alcohol nor on it being late after a long day and it terrified him beyond words. Why would a gracious angel such as yourself desire him? The monster, the cannibal, the son, hidden away to not scare anyone, only ever allowed to roam to either work or slaughter. As if you heard his thoughts, you leaned in, cupping his cheeks and placed a kiss on his forehead.

"You have been so kind to me from the very first day, you deserve all the goodness that comes your way", you brushed a few strands of hair from his face, "I might not hear your voice, but I do see and hear your heart. If you want it, I'll be yours for as long as I live. I love you, Kenny."

He growled, his last will to resist fading upon hearing those three little words he had yearned for his entire existence. Sitting up, his lips crashed on yours while his hands guided you down onto him. He bucked his hips up as he continued to push you down, trying to bury himself as deeply within you as possible. The symphony of sinful moans and the creaking of the old bed filled the small bedroom. He'd never forget the way your greedy tight cunt swallowed all of his cock, losing himself within your delicious wetness until he came undone, filling you up with his release. Kenneth continued to move your hips while thrusting up, helping you chase your own high. Right as you were giving in to your orgasm, as your walls clenched around still hard length, he mustered all his courage, longing to give you something precious back for all the kindness you had brought into his life.

"I-I...l-l-l-lov-ve you t-t-t-too", Kenneth stuttered.

He cringed at the sound of his own voice and the Southern drawl he couldn't hide. It had been nearly fifty years since he last spoke, but Ginny had understood his insecurities and had allowed him to communicate without words. He had found solace in silence, until you entered his life. You had become someone special to him, and he was willing to face his doubts head-on, fighting against the internal struggles that had plagued him for so long. He wanted to give you the gift of spoken words, to confess the emotions that had been burning inside him since the day you first stepped through the doors of the orphanage. You had become his whole world. As you nestled beside him, your fingers tracing gentle patterns across his hairy chest, he couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to the old saying of "blow out the candles and make a wish." After all these years, it seemed that his wish had finally been granted.

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shares-a-vest · 2 years ago

Text

No one knows why Eddie and Nancy call each other "my dear" and "honey" respectively. Not even Steve and Robin, who only give a brief pause (and sometimes a confused, "huh?") before going back to whatever nonsense. Even though it is absolutely, one hundred percent, their fault.

It’s all because Eddie and Nancy are dating two people permanently attached at the hip. "Platonic soulmates" they say, repeated ad nauseam. Two people who should be siblings. A pair of bickering sisters who are also sometimes gross brothers. A brother and sister duo so chaotic they give the Sinclairs a run for their money.

Platonic soulmates who act like two silly drunk girls when they are out at a bar. Two losers who cackle with laughter and sing along far too loudly to the radio on the way home.

A pair of idiots stumbling up the stairs in Steve’s house, gradually discarding jackets, bags and accessories.

Eddie is relatively sober, having played with the band and Nancy is tipsy, never one to entirely shake her sensible and put-together self. So Eddie follows behind, closing the front door, locking it and turning the lights off, while Nancy scurries along picking up the tossed attire.

"You're my best friend!" Robin shouts, squishing Steve's cheeks together as they hang off each other, wobbly at the top of the stairs.

"Love you, Robbie!" Steve says, voice cracking as he sniffles and kisses her on the cheek.

He takes her hand and they disappear up the hall.

By the time Eddie reaches Steve’s bedroom, Steve and Robin are passed out on that plaid bedspread, all curled up together like two creatures huddled together for warmth and companionship.

Nancy grumbles as she straightens up the shoes scattered at the foot of the bed.

"I swear they forget we exist sometimes," she says, huffing as she tugs off Robin’s left boot that she’d only managed to unzip.

"Oh absolutely," Eddie agrees.

He can’t help but walk over to Steve’s bedside and brush his fringe from his face. Steve produces a gross snorting nose at the movement, cuddling in closer to his best friend.

"Stop… snoring… di…" Robin mumbles, not getting out her favourite nickname before drifting back off to sleep.

Eddie steps back and folds his arms, resigning himself to spending his Sunday tolerating two hungover platonic soulmates in their worst and most annoying form.

Nancy rolls her eyes. "Get your bag and come into the spare room."

They make quick work of changing, Eddie in an oversized band tee and a pair of Steve’s checked pyjama pants he had taken ownership of. He looks in the mirror as he stands side-by-side Nancy in the upstairs bathroom, both brushing their teeth in silence. He looks over her pale pink nightdress, embellished with embroidered flowers and can’t help the huffed laugh that escapes him.

"What?" Nancy smiles and spits out her toothpaste in the sink.

"We look like an old married couple who have run out of things to talk about."

Nancy giggles, quickly moving to a washcloth to wipe her mouth before she bursts out laughing. She zips up her cosmetics bag and makes a sharp turn to face Eddie, her brow quirked.

"Honey, did you enjoy the soiree this evening?" she says in an uptight, snooty voice, cocking her chin and giving a sly smile.

"Splendid, my dear!" he replies, toothbrush dangling from his mouth as he bows with a flourish. "Although the band was an absolute bore."

"Don't say that!" Nancy chides, breaking character as she playfully slaps his shoulder.

He snorts a laugh as he finishes up and rinses his mouth out, dripping water everywhere.

"Wheeler, there were like seven people there, including you, Steve and Rob," he laughs, dropping the facade too.

"Shall we retire for the night?" she says, changing the subject and slipping back into character. She offers her hand.

"To the bedroom!" he declares, pointing to the door.

The spare bedroom is, unsurprisingly, similar to the rest of the house. Sparse and low-lit with heavy dark curtains that make Steve’s plaid drapes look light and airy in comparison.

"I hope you don’t snore as much as Steve, Nancy," Eddie warns without any heat behind his words as he punches his pillow into a shape that isn't flat and solid.

"He does snore, doesn’t he?" she wonders aloud as she slips under the covers, huffing a laugh. "Robin talks in her sleep. Nothing serious or anything. Total nonsense."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Of course she does."

"Last week she woke me up," she starts as she pokes at his shoulder. "Tapping on my shoulder saying, ‘Nance, tell the fish it’s time to get ready for school’."

"Di-did you have… fish children?" he asks before doubling over, cackling.

"I think so," Nancy ponders, speaking slow before snorting a laugh.

"Goodnight, my dear."

"Night, honey."

At that, they turn away from each other, snuggling under the covers for a restful night’s sleep.

The following morning, Steve and Robin swap out his bed for cocooning themselves in blankets on the Harrington's gigantic couch as Eddie finishes up making their breakfast. They’d stirred fairly early in the morning, moving into the guest room and not-at-all subtly waking Eddie and Nancy to demand breakfast, all the while complaining about their whereabouts the night before.

Nancy enters the kitchen, freshly showered and laughs at the state of their counterparts. But they do not surface. If anything, Eddie swears Steve’s snoring is getting louder with every passing minute.

"Breakfast is all set, my dear," Eddie says, flinging a teatowel over his shoulder and offering her Steve's plate.

She hesitates but he gestures to the others on the couch. Robin is now babbling something incoherently as she taps Steve on the shoulder.

"Thank you, honey," Nancy giggles as she takes the food.

#eddie and nancy are the more sensible counterparts to platonic stobin thanks for coming to my ted talk #platonic with a capital p #platonic edancy #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #the fruity four #platonic stobin #edancy ficlet #steddie #ronance #robin buckley #steve harrington #lilys ficlets

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dreaming-of-mossballs · 2 months ago

Text

All of this, for a phonograph? - (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: After having an odd dream and unexpectedly getting a promotion, you head down to the Underworld in some weird journey of self-discovery that ends up in a whole lot of chaos.

▸ Genre(s): fluff, angst

▸ Word Count: 16.6k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions, violence, mentions of blood, crying, emetephobia tw, having to wake up early,

A/N: IM SO FUCKINGN TIRED.

I was not expecting to surpass my word count record. Anyways, sorry for the initial jankyness. I don’t write in present tense often

MOSSBALL MASTERLIST (psst more gepard here)

Sitting at a desk in front of a window, accompanied by a stained brass lamp and an old family photo you were certain had been lost (during the evacuation of Rivet Town), you watched the people of Belobog mill about the Alexandra Plaza beneath the setting sun.

You smile softly to yourself, laying your tired fountain pen to rest beside a variety of parchments that contained pictures of flowers you had never seen, and writing that didn’t quite make sense.

Something tugs at the corners of your mind to make you rise from your seat and tiptoe down the hallway towards the kitchen.

It was your kitchen, presumably.

The mahogany floorboards creaked softly in protest, but they were covered by the sound of the familiar sound of music coming from the phonograph you’d had as a child. It got louder the closer you got to the end of the hallway.

How you missed those old songs. You used to sit by the fireplace with a warm cup of milk, listening to the music while the flames flickered at you.

From the kitchen, golden light peeps through the doorway at you. Warm and comforting, it drips over the paintings and vases decorating the hallway.

It was so strange. This place felt like home, yet you had never seen it before in your entire life.

As you push open the door, your heart leaps and lodges itself directly in your throat.

Oh. It’s Gepard, you think, surprised.

He stands in front of the kitchen sink, a bright blue apron adorning his waist and shoulders, with dishwashing gloves to match. Bubbles from the soapy water floated around him while he worked, and then sank to the tile floor, where they disappeared with a few soft pops.

The oven light illuminated something resting on the top rack. You lick your lips; it was always a joy whenever Gepard decided to cook.

“Ah, good evening, honey,” Gepard says, discarding his gloves and resting them on the counter. “Are you finished for the day?”

Honey?

Something about that struck an odd note.

“Yep! All done,” you say, not quite knowing what you’re talking about. “I can rest easy now. Thanks for taking care of the dishes,”

You smile and bound over to his side in your slippers.

“I’m happy to hear that. The pie is almost done, are you feeling hungry at all?” He asks. He unties his apron, (which, you might add, looks very good on him) and pulls two plates out of the cupboard. You have two of everything, from spoons to mugs. It makes your heart flutter like a herd of butterflies.

“Um… gosh, this was unexpected. But pie sounds great!” You reply while bending down to peer through the oven door. Its crust was a wonderful golden color, just like the sun. “What kind is it?”

“Apple,” Gepard replies. He sidles up next to you until your shoulders are touching. You had a decent view of the hair on the back of his neck from here, which was slightly darker than the hair on top of his head. Definitely cute, you think.

The captain smiles gently at you, almost puppy-esque in the way his eyes search yours for approval. He tilts his head downward and—

Wait a moment. Why was he so close? What was going on?

—to slowly and tenderly place a kiss on your cheek.

Your heart threatens to reach escape velocity.

Whoa there, scooter. Keep it cool, now, you scold yourself.

“You’re always so generous,” you compliment, cupping his cheeks with your hands. You shut your eyes, and this time, kiss him gently on the lips. It felt so right, the way you combed your fingers through his hair and how you knew exactly what to do.

Gepard’s cheeks burn pink as you pull away. The color contrasted his blue eyes, which resembled rich, deep sapphires with icy blue highlights at the bottom. You stared at them dreamily, when suddenly a strange ringing invaded your eardrums.

Oh, that must be the pie.

You pulled some oven mitts that were the size of cookie sheets out of your pockets and turned back to the oven— which had, for some reason, been very curiously turned into a washing machine.

You whip around again, and this time your husband(?) is dressed in full military regalia. Gepard takes a few steps back and throws himself out of the open kitchen window, saluting you as he goes.

You were certain you lived in a two-story building.

And oh, the ringing. It was getting increasingly louder. You clamp your hands over your ears indignantly while scanning the room for the source of the noise.

Can we not do this right now? You thought. I just wanted some pie,

Gravity seemed to be playing tricks on you as the fog began to lift, pulling you out of your deep sleep.

You blinked. The strange building had been replaced by the wooden ceiling of the Eversummer Florist you were used to.

Phonograph… I need to get my phonograph so Gepard and I can—,

Groaning, you limply smacked the phone on your bedside table with your arm and turned to tuck the blankets back under your chin. But the damn thing rang again as if to mock you.

Huh. I don’t remember setting two alarms, you thought. You clicked your tongue on the top of your mouth, cringing at the dreaded taste of morning breath as you sat up slowly.

You picked up the phone, hazily coming to the realization that it wasn’t yours. The alarm’s label was titled, “surprise,” which was ironic, considering it was quite the unpleasant one. A picture of Artem, from the hit novel, Tale of the Winterlands, was set as the lock screen.

There was no other person whom it could belong to.

The old wooden door to your dorm swung open, slamming into your armoire, which you were grateful was already chipped at that point. The sounds of streamers and confetti poppers blasted through whatever peace of mind you previously had, and a group of people, all wearing green berets, invaded your room. They were waving party wands around like it was the last day on Jarilo-VI.

Speaking of Vaska, she was busy pushing her way through the gaggle of people. She squeezed her body out of the fray to stand right over you, her green eyes staring straight at you unblinkingly, like some sort of lizard.

“Congratulations, (Y/N)! You’ve been promoted!” She cheered at you through cupped hands. Before you had realized it, you’d shot out of bed in surprise, flinging your covers everywhere.

“What? Really??” You asked, your jaw agape. You were still in your pajamas, but you were far beyond the fear of being seen in them.

“That’s right,” Meg, your boss, remarked. She was strict, but rather kind. “You’re now the general manager of the Eversummer Florist!”

She did have some odd ways of celebrating, though.

“Unless… you’d like to turn it down, of course,” she teased with a shrug.

“WAIT—! No, there’s no need. I would like the promotion, please,” you blurted. Vaska chuckled as she watched you scramble to put on your slippers,

Meg planted her hands on her hips sassily. “As I thought. Now, can you give everyone a thank you for giving you such a lovely surprise?”

“Thank you, everyone,” you gave them a toothy grin. A few whoops and cheers erupted from the back of the crowd.

“There’s a cupcake for you downstairs,” your boss added. “Pick it up whenever you like. Anyway, have a nice day off, kiddo. You deserve it more than anyone,”

“Aww, thank you so much!” You exclaimed. A cupcake sounded wonderful.

Meg tuned right around and whisked herself out of the door from whence she came. Everyone else followed suit in a single file line, like a group of ducklings. That made you chuckle.

You opened the blinds and peered outside. Icicles coated the power lines and hung from the roofs of houses, announcing the upcoming Solwarm Festival with their appearance. Meg probably had an ulterior motive, seeing as Belobog hadn’t held a Solwarm Festival in years— and Vaska had a particular penchant to break down under pressure. She could probably use another person to help ensure the festivities went smoothly.

You scoffed confidently at the challenge. With you and Vaska on the job, there was nothing on Jarilo-VI that could take you down. It would be a good way to show off your newfound skill at the job as well.

But as you stood there, woozy from the forceful wake-up and experiencing the overwhelming need to pee, your brow furrowed.

What exactly do I want to do from now on?

The question came hurtling entirely out of the Snow Plains, punching you right in the nose.

Yes, you had moved to the surface and become some sort of flower tycoon. And you were as sure as you could be that you liked your job. Plus, you had even gotten a promotion. To the position of general manager, of all things!

But had you really put any thought into what your future might be? You had been given the opportunity to move to the surface by the ADCS (or Administrative District Civil Service), and you had taken it.

After a year of living here, you now had a few more things to consider. Did you want to move back home? Surely not after getting a promotion. Your boss would kill you.

Additionally, you weren’t necessarily homesick. Life in the mines was largely nomadic. Where employment was, you would follow. You didn’t miss the hacking cough you’d develop during the winter from the rock dust building up in your lungs.

Friends didn’t stay too long either. You all had to eat in some way or another, and work wasn’t always guaranteed for people who traveled together.

Maybe you could help expand the flower business? Or even get an apartment of your own? Perhaps officially studying mechanical engineering might be the way to go…

All these thoughts made your brain feel like it was going to split. You sighed, plopping back down on your bed before you remembered Meg had given you a pile of flyers to hand out two days prior. They advertised the Solwarm Festival and its details, a good source of information for anyone who wasn’t privileged enough to have experienced the festivities.

You had meant to give one to Natasha, since you weren’t sure how well news travelled from one floor to another. Plus, since Rivet Town was mostly safe again, you could probably pick up your phonograph from your old home.

Rats, you thought. So much for my day off.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

The streets and buildings of Belobog’s Administrative District had a light dusting of snow on them, much akin to the powdered sugar they put on the pastries they sold at the local café.

Alexandra Plaza was certainly filled with things to do, including, but not limited to visiting the Neverwinter Workshop, seeing a play at the Golden Theatre, and taking a tour of the Belobog History and Culture Museum. It was nothing short of incredible. Of course, there were a fair amount of activities in the underworld too; they would just be considered less than legal to the people up here.

You munched on your cupcake as you meandered your way to the rail car, the one specifically tasked with bringing denizens of Belobog from one level to another as thoughts flowed through your head. They’d fly in like birds, then disappear without a trace, so you had no time to dwell on them. Ones about your future, your old home, and the expectations you had for yourself.

What is it that I want, exactly?

You weren’t quite sure. You shuddered. That dream earlier had really shaken you up.

They say people dream about what they want the most, you wondered. But was it realistic in the slightest? You didn’t think so at all.

A cloud of frosty air rose in front of your face as you let out a heavy sigh. As you were reaching the ticket gate, you rounded a corner and nearly knocked heads with an older woman. She wore a maroon leather jacket trimmed with brown mink fur that brought attention to the hood and sleeves.

She glared daggers at you, pulling her tote close to herself and mumbling something about “soot-dwellers.” Meanwhile, you did everything in your power not to let your eyes roll out of your sockets.

Straightening your back, you hopped onto the rail car, leaving the Overworld and your worries behind you.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

As the rickety screeches of the elevator subsided, you felt like you were on cloud nine.

The underground was as familiar as the back of your hand. Although you’d spent a fair bit of your years as a vagrant in the mines, Boulder Town had an air of nostalgia to it as well. The miners used to gather there for a meal and a drink after a long day’s work (although it was mostly for a drink, if your memory served you correctly).

Soot and iron flooded your nostrils in waves as you walked around the northeast corner of town. The faraway shouts of the Fight Club arena, along with the hearty laughter from the miners in the tunnels, could be heard.

And how you missed this feeling! The sighs, the smells, the feeling of belonging. It all brought memories flooding through your brain. You missed singing and dancing around a campfire with other workers— arms around each other’s shoulders, mugs of bread soda in hand— while also competing to balance as many items as you could on Peak, the lazy miner (the record was 17).

A common saying from the old folks was that Geomarrow could make your blood run hot. And honestly, you believed them. One glance around the city hammered in the impression of hot-blooded community you felt. Geomarrow was the lifeblood of Belobog, and you were proud to be a part of it every step of the way.

Surface-dwellers could never understand it, you thought to yourself smugly. But you would never say that aloud.

You blended in seamlessly here, no mannerism you’d learned as a child going forgotten. You fell back into your usual swaggering gait, patting the backs of every old friend you came across. There was Seele, arguing with some poor member of Wildfire right next to the grocery stand; Hook, who was running at full speed alongside two other children, and you could’ve sworn you spotted a flash of someone with dark blue hair and green eyes before they vanished into a dark alleyway.

Old neighbors and colleagues greeted you, which made you smile. In the Underworld, there were no formal titles that you had to remember. Nobility? Never heard of it. If you were self-made down here, it was no joke.

Speaking of self-made, Miss Natasha was the real deal.

After nailing a good amount of posters to the walls, you dusted the soot off of your hands and headed towards the local clinic. The shopkeeper’s bell rang as you entered.

“Hi there, Miss Natasha!” You waved, the fliers pressed tightly to your chest.

The clinician smiled gently at you. “My, my. It’s been a while, (Y/N). How’s life been treating you?”

She stood front and center of the small, cramped room. Only a few cots were occupied; your favorite one next to the Geomarrow heater seemed to beckon you to come and have a seat.

“Quite well, as a matter of fact,” you chirped. “How about you? It looks pretty empty in here… although I guess that’s a good thing,”

Natasha chuckled softly. “I’ve been healthy, thank you kindly. One of the miners actually had a baby last week,” she placed down the vial she had been holding onto a nearby table.

“That’s wonderful!” You responded, clasping your hands together. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

One of the flyers slipped out of your arms and floated slowly to the concrete floor.

“Shoot. Actually, I came down here to give you this,” you said, sheepish about your faulty attention span. You handed her a flier, which had an illustration of a bright orange Solarflower bouquet.

Natasha let out a gasp and placed a hand in front of her mouth. “My goodness. They haven’t held a Solwarm Festival in many years. I didn’t think there would be one ever again,” she beamed at you. “I would be honored to attend, (Y/N),”

You bounced happily on the balls of your feet. Somewhere in the background, the shopkeeper’s bell rang, but the noise was quickly submerged by your other thoughts.

“I’m so glad!” You jabbered on and on. “Make sure to stop by the florist’s for some free suncakes. We partnered with a local bakery this year, so hopefully we can draw in lots of business. And—,”

Natasha’s red eyes flickered towards the clinic entrance behind you for a split second, which made you pause and turn your head slightly. And oh boy, were you glad you did.

Because standing in front of the clinic door was none other than Captain Gepard of the Silvermane Guards, surrounded on both sides by armored soldiers.

The captain locked eyes with you for a moment before you decided the Geomarrow heater in the corner of the room was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen in your life.

Gepard’s eyebrow raised at you quizzically.

“Miss Natasha,” said Gepard. “The Fragmentum monsters in the southernmost part of Rivet Town have been taken care of. Is there anything else you’d like us to attend to?”

He shot another glance at you. There you stood— hands behind your back while bouncing from one foot to the other— decidedly not looking at him. You prayed to Qlipoth he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from his position.

It felt decidedly strange running into him like this. You stood on one side of the room in front of a few raggedy cots, and he stood on the other, soldiers ready to back him up at a moment’s notice less than a foot behind him.

Just like the day you came to the overworld, you felt completely out of place.

Natasha pressed her hands together with a pleased expression. “Wonderful! I believe you’re all set to go for today. Thank you all for your service,”

Her smile practically lit up the room. Gepard nodded. “It’s the least we could do, Miss Natasha,”

You took the opportunity to take a small sidestep towards a rack of scrubs to hide behind.

Natasha, almost certainly sensing your jackhammering heartbeat, turned towards you, effectively gluing you to where you stood.

Shoot! She’s like an apex predator,

“So… Captain. Have you met (Y/N)?” She inquired casually. “They were one of my biggest helpers back in the day, in fact,”

You jumped in, a hint of nervousness present in your voice. “Yes, yes. We’ve met before. We’re well acquainted— and um, friends, I guess?”

You muttered a quiet, halfhearted “yeah” under your breath. You couldn’t see the soldiers’ eyes under their metal visors, but you could guarantee they were eyeing you with major secondhand embarrassment. They probably had no idea you two knew each other. Or maybe they thought that some weirdo from the underground was cozying up to their captain. Decidedly awkward, you thought.

One of them let out a raspy cough, which brought you back to your senses.

“It’s really best I get going,” you told your old caretaker. “I have to pick up an old family heirloom at my old place. Nice seeing you, Gepard,”

You smiled as best you could, but to Gepard, it appeared as if it were made of ice. Compared to how much you usually talked, the room felt frigid in the absence of your chatter.

The captain wondered what the reason could be for such visible uneasiness. But he forced himself to keep his lips shut. Now was not the time.

Natasha gave you a reassuring pat on the back as you floundered around in your head. Better to let the youngsters sort themselves out, she thought. It was about time you learned, anyway.

“Oh, before I forget,” Natasha added. “Be sure to take care around that area, dear. You may need clearance to enter. Maybe you should bring someone along with you?”

“Right, sounds good,” you replied, glossing over the last half of what she had said. You wanted to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. But Gepard’s incredible generosity could not be thwarted.

“Perhaps us guards could come with?” He offered.

You punched yourself mentally at not hightailing it out of there earlier.

“I’m sure its fine. There’s really no need to trouble yourselves—,” you said, waving your arms about.

Gepard didn’t falter in the slightest. “The leader of Wildfire herself said it may be dangerous, and it is imperative to us that the safety of Belobog’s citizens is ensured. We’d like to help if we can,”

Ouch. He was right on the money. Natasha’s powers of suggestion were seriously unmatched. The instructions her smile hid were very, very thinly veiled.

Your shoulders fell as you deflated. “Okay, fine,”

Gepard dipped his head, and all the Silvermane Guards tapped the butt ends of their halberds on the floor in unison, causing the ceiling to shake. A ceramic vase tipped over, causing the flower inside to meet its unfortunate end. You looked at it mournfully.

“Wait—,” you paused. “How many of you are coming, exactly?”

“As many as you need,” Gepard replied, tapping his fist to his chest.

You felt a wave of panic rising in your throat at the horrifying vision of being surrounded and jostled around by an entire squad of soldiers. “Oh, there’s no need for you all to come. Just one or two is fine, thank you,”

You imagined your old neighbors peering out their windows at you and gasping at the notion that you had been arrested.

“…you know what? Maybe just one is fine,”

“Understood,” said the captain. “You four may go back to your posts. I’ll accompany (Y/N) to Rivet Town,”

You cursed the goddess of fortune for choosing this exact moment to smite you.

Normally you’d be happy to see him, but all of these soldiers standing around were giving you a major freak-out. To make matters even more stressful, each of these people directly served the Supreme Guardian.

Of all people to have a gigantic crush on, why’d it have to be one of Belobog’s most incredible and amazing people?? You sighed. Why couldn’t you have fallen for that weird guy who stood by the Everwinter Monument every day? He was waaay closer to your league.

You gave Gepard a queasy thumbs-up.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

Humming an old mining song was the only thing keeping you distracted from Gepard’s shining presence beside you.

Now that the other guards were gone, it should be alright, you thought. But you couldn’t bring yourself to start a conversation for some reason.

Easy now, (Y/N). Yes, the object of your unrequited love is walking right next to you. But it could be worse. It could be an automaton Direwolf!

So why was it so damn hard to talk all of a sudden??

He didn’t look like a Direwolf, even though he was as tall as one, you thought. You narrowed your eyes at him as you walked to double check.

Gepard glanced down at you with a questioning “hm” that almost made you keel over.

Curses. This was overwhelming.

Additionally, your original hypothesis was proven correct a few months ago. Gepard was a big softie at heart. He’d even get down in the dumps when his flowers would inevitably die (which hadn’t happened recently, thanks to you.)

You wondered if he ever worried about other people’s opinions. He was so kind and considerate, it pained you to imagine him getting the brunt of public backlash as such an influential figure.

Knowing him, he probably didn’t. But if he did, he would likely hide it to avoid burdening others. He wasn’t exactly the type to expose his soft underbelly, after all.

You hoped that if anything came up, he’d consider reaching out to you. The man who was Belobog’s iron defense always went above and beyond for the people. But he ought to have someone looking out for him, too.

Scoffing at yourself, you shook your head. Gepard really brought out a slew of worries in you. You did your best to swallow down the lump in your throat when suddenly, you were hit with the nostalgic smell of your old favorite food cart.

Was that grilled olm?? Your mind kicked into high gear. Your stomach let out a loud growl as if to protest the fact that you’d only had a cupcake for breakfast.

You turned to your companion with a pleading look in your eyes. “Oh man, I’m starving. Gepard, would you mind if I made a stop for some grub real quick? I promise it won’t be long!”

“Not at all,” he responded. Without a second to waste, you took off running towards the corner of town where all the food stalls were gathered.

Gepard looked from afar with a pensive look on his face. You’d always held a sort of confidence in the way you walked, but here, in your second hometown, you flitted from stall to stall with an aura of familiarity he had never seen before. You had no problem dodging obstacles that cropped up from nowhere; Gepard, however, felt like his limbs were made of wood as he tried in vain to catch up to you. His eyes had widened hilariously as he stepped into a pothole and his arms went flying in the air.

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaimed while offering your arm out to him for balance. You bit back a laugh at his flushed cheeks. “Would you want to sit down while I wait in line?”

He accepted your offer graciously, and took a seat at one of the low-seated tables by a chain link fence.

You gawked as you watched the Silvermane Guard Captain willingly plant himself at a kiddie table. Gepard could barely fit his knees under it, making him stick out like a giant rock crab.

But you were rudely jostled from your thoughts, as just when you were about to order, two men shouldered right in front of you. You recognized the red leather jackets they wore, symbolizing they were fight club combatants.

Ugh. Scott’s boys. Many knew all too well about his unsavory business practices. Some got involved because they had no choice. Others joined because they wanted the power. You had stayed far away from the institution, preferring to run with a more respectable crowd.

One of the men had chopped brown hair and messy stubble, while the other had blonde hair cut in a mullet. Although you couldn’t tell he was blonde at first, because almost every strand was coated in coal dust. You pinched your nose shut at the smell of motor oil and grease.

They were busy chatting up the vendor with no hint of shame at what they’d done. Your eyes narrowed as you saw one of them shoot a glance at you out of the side of his eye.

They knew damn well what they’d done.

You weren’t going to take this shit from a couple of Luka wannabes, you decided.

Before the brown-haired man could finish ordering, you rapped him on the shoulder harshly. He paused for a short moment to turn his head towards you.

“Excuse me,” you said with a hint of disdain. “I couldn’t help but notice you happened to jump the line,”

The man turned without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. “…and a plate of Belobog sausages with extra sauerkraut—,”

Your eye twitched.

“Hey, you,” you interjected, tapping him again. “The line starts back there. Have you considered getting your eyes tested?”

“It’s just food, love,” he replied. The man paused for a second to spit a glob on the ground next to your shoe. Your lip curled in disgust.

“I see your mother never taught you manners,” you hissed.

The people behind you were starting to murmur.

You clenched your fist at your side as you stared him down, but before you could break his nose, you remembered that Gepard was still sitting by himself at the kiddie table.

You sighed. It probably wasn’t the best idea to get into a fight in front of a refined young noble such as himself. He might have a heart attack.

Unfortunately, the brown-haired man wasn’t finished with you. He grabbed your coat collar and yanked you towards him as his companion snickered. You could make out every scar and every bead of sweat on his face.

Sheesh. Overkill, if you ask me.

“Look man, I’m sorry, okay?” You scowled. “Cut in line all you want. You’re the big man. Happy now?”

Okay, you had to admit that wasn’t the best apology in the world. But you would’ve vomited had you made it any nicer.

He snorted, reaching a calloused hand towards your messenger bag. “Yeah? Well, I oughta teach you not to—,”

You scraped the front of his shins as hard as you could with the inside of your steel-toed utility boots.

The man roared like a wounded bear and released your collar, enabling you the opportunity to push yourself away. As he fought through the haze of pain, he readied his stance to fling himself at you, when Gepard’s metal gauntlet pushed against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Do we have a problem here?” Your companion asked.

His blue eyes narrowed threateningly at the man, who was currently fighting Gepard’s iron grip. If the captain had let go at that moment, he would have absolutely torn you to shreds.

Murmurs began to erupt from the crowd, such as, “Why is the captain here?” And “serves him right,”

The man snarled again, frothing at the lips. This time, he went for Gepard, wrapping both hands around his throat. You witnessed his expression contort in surprise, and your hackles raised higher than they ever had.

Thinking on your feet, you grabbed the nearest plate of food— which happened to be Frostweave Salmon with cocktail sauce— and threw a large fillet at the man. It hit him square in the face, temporarily stunning him. Sure, it wasn’t a taser, but it was the best you could do.

His blonde-haired companion, having a better sense of self preservation than he did, yanked him backward and away from Gepard. One downward glance at his plethora of medals told him all he needed to know. He signaled at his friend to retreat for the time being, and they slunk away, shooting glares full of venom at you as they went.

You snuck a peek at the vendor, who was currently cowering behind the condiment station. She motioned to you with her hand:

Just go.

Slipping a few shields on the counter for the trouble, you sped off towards Rivet Town once more.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“Want one?” You asked Gepard. You held up a limp fillet about 20cm away from his face.

“No, but thank you for the offer,” he declined politely. Your cheeks were still flushed with heat from the subsiding chaos.

“I appreciate your help, by the way,”

“Think nothing of it,” he said, in usual Gepard fashion. The captain’s forward gaze didn’t waver in the slightest.

You soon reached the Rivet Town checkpoint run by two automaton hounds and a few vagrants with shovels. After quickly looking over your papers, they allowed you to enter the premises.

Ever since the disaster, the town had remained eerily silent. Even though it was safe, the only noise you could pick up was your own footsteps. You were so used to the background noise of gears grinding and metal squealing loudly, that the fact that you could hear your own breathing made a chill creep up your spine.

The creepy ambience aside, the salmon was awfully bland, you thought, while munching solemnly. The texture was that of something that had been frozen and thawed multiple times. You were disappointed the quality had dipped so low since you’d left.

“(Y/N), are you feeling alright?” Gepard’s voice rang out of the blue.

You nearly choked on a chunk of fish. “What? No, why?”

He looked at you with horror in his eyes. Realizing your mistake, you jumped in faster than you could say “chicken and mushroom skewer.”

“YES. I mean, yes! I’m okay, why do you ask?” You crammed the rest of the salmon in your mouth and tossed the empty plate in the nearest dumpster.

“Please excuse me for being intrusive, but you’re usually… a bit more talkative, perhaps?” Gepard said, scratching his chin. He had an instinctive desire to rest a hand on your shoulder, but you seemed farther away from him than usual, both physically and emotionally.

“I guess I do, huh?” You let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m okay, just a little tired, I guess. Thanks for worrying, though,”

Gepard’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, but he didn’t want to intrude.

Meanwhile, you lamented at your emotional communication skills rivaling that of a five-year-old’s. You’d better pick up the slack before he started to suspect something.

As you continued on your not-so-leisurely stroll, you came across an open clearing, with nothing but a single food cart in the middle. It seemed to be fully operational, with steam still rising from the griddles.

The sight completely baffled Gepard.

“What reason would a food cart have to be all the way out here?” He asked.

“Oh, that?” You said, turning to look at the cart. The sight would’ve appeared completely eerie to a normal person; the cart had no wheels, and yet there weren’t any visible marks indicating it had been dragged from somewhere. “That’s Belobog Burritos, of course!”

“Belobog… Burritos?” He wondered aloud.

“Yep. It’s a food stall that’s kind of an urban legend. Been here as long as I can remember,” you shrugged. “It sits there every day, no owner or anything, but there’s always freshly made food. Even when the town went under, it was still up and running,”

You waved your hands in his face in a vague gesture that he assumed was supposed to be spooky. His irises made a concentrated effort to follow your every motion.

“…or so I’ve heard,” you continued. “Apparently, if you get something from the stall, you have to pay in full or some seriously bad stuff starts happening to you,”

Gepard cast a stiff look back at the cart, feeling his blood run as cold as ice. He suppressed a shudder and continued walking. But the thought kept weighing on his mind as he walked. He felt as if there was a lump in his throat, preventing him from breathing in all the way.

Jeez, he looks pretty shaken up, you thought as you stole a glance at him after a few minutes. His face was a few shades paler than it had been previously, and his neck was all stiff. It looked like he was trying his best to not be scared (and failing miserably).

Maybe you could hold his hand to make it less scary, a part of you whispered slyly.

You beat that internal voice with a sledgehammer as soon as it surfaced.

I guess I’ll check if he’s okay,

You tried to lay a hand on his deltoid, but completely missed and firmly patted his lower back— which was much more intimate a gesture than you’d attempted. Gepard’s shoulders flew upwards in a flash as he curled them in towards his chest, and his eyes blew wide open.

“Gyeep!” He let out a strangled shriek through clenched teeth.

Your jaw fell open.

“Oh, shit!” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, are you alright?”

His armor rattled with how heavily he was breathing as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Sheesh, you had never seen him this shaken before.

Gepard’s face burned like a furnace. “I’m perfectly fine. Just ill at ease,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and dabbing at his forehead with it.

That didn’t do much to convince you that bringing him had been the right idea. You sighed. Gepard really was too kind for his own good.

Holding out your elbow at a right angle, you made a small offer to reassure him.

“Want to hold on to me until we get there?” You asked. “It’s okay if you’re scared, you know,”

You glanced around at the old, ruined buildings, which were surrounded by barbed wire and rubble. The whole area felt hostile, even to you.

“I don’t blame you, honestly. This place is pretty freaky,” you said with a short laugh.

“Okay,” Gepard paused. “If it’s alright with you,”

You smiled warmly at him. “Go ahead,”

He raised his arm and gingerly placed a hand on your bicep, curling his fingers slightly around it for a better grip.

“There! You have nothing to fear now,” you said reassuringly. Gepard blushed. He wanted nothing more than to beat himself up for falling apart in front of you in such an uncouth manner.

You continued walking towards your destination; this time, his heartbeat felt a bit more relaxed with you at his side.

After a short while, the ruined structure of your old home appeared looming from the dark. As a monument to the destruction, the skeletal building almost seemed to reach towards the false sky above.

“Quaint, isn’t it,” you joked, turning towards Gepard. Looking at the house in its entirety, the shutters were missing from the windows, the roof was nonexistent, and the chimney had been mostly reduced to a pile of bricks. It was entirely unsalvageable from a realist’s perspective.

The captain studied your features carefully— you showed no traces of hurt or anger that would normally be present at such a scene.

It puzzled him, how you were able to maintain such a cheerful demeanor when a building that was supposed to represent comfort and safety was torn completely to shreds. He was filled with admiration at how well you had held yourself together.

“Let’s go in,” you said. You nudged away the splintered wood door with your elbow and stepped into the building— you really hoped it hadn’t been ransacked while you were away.

Gepard’s hand dropped reluctantly to his side. He followed suit, scanning the interior for any structural instabilities.

“What are you searching for?” He inquired.

You were busy bending down over a fallen bookshelf with books scattered in its midst. You analyzed the wreckage; a few ceramic teacups and saucers lay crushed under the impact zone, which you took care to avoid.

You brushed a few coal-black cobwebs out of your way that made you want to pull your skin off. “Just an old phonograph. It meant a lot to me as a kid, so I figured it was time I went back for it,” you said, not bothering to mention the dream you’d had that morning.

As much as you wanted to deny it, it almost felt like the phonograph was the one part of the dream that could come true. Hearing the music you listened to in your childhood again wasn’t a hard thing to accomplish, but that lovely, soft feeling that had blanketed your heart when you had realized that Gepard was waiting for you in that kitchen— you didn’t think you could recreate that.

Considering your dream would never, ever happen.

You felt disappointment form a hard lump in your stomach.

When did I start believing in a pipe dream? You wondered. Natasha would scold you for chasing such nebulous goals.

“I got a promotion recently too. I was actually considering moving out and getting an apartment instead of staying at the florist’s. It gets crowded there sometimes,” you said offhandedly.

“You got promoted?” Gepard replied, his eyebrows arching in surprise. He hadn’t heard anything about this, even with Serval serving as the best grapevine around.

“Yeah, I did!” You said happily. “I totally forgot to mention it because—,”

I’ve been avoiding you since we went to the museum, whispered your inside voice.

“I… wanted to surprise the others,” you drabbled, your shoulders drooping the slightest bit. But you picked them up as fast as you could.

“Of course,” he said. “You have my sincerest congratulations,”

That sent another pang of guilt through you. He was so incredibly earnest. And here you were, lying straight to his face in order to keep him at an arm’s distance. All because your own feelings were too much to handle.

You needed something to take your mind off the situation, and quickly.

“Hey, check this out!” You said with a little more artificial enthusiasm than you’d intended. “This photo is practically ancient!”

You hoisted an old sepia photo of you and your grandmother in front of your chest. You were watching her lift a tray of cookies into the oven in the kitchen. There was a huge variety of sweets, including chocolate buckeyes, and coconut macarons. You missed her baking more than anything.

In the picture, your grandma wore a simple lilac apron, decorated lovingly with white lace around the edges. It was incredibly well-made; you’d had trouble finding one of similar quality ever since (even though the goods were supposed to be super high-end in the overworld).

Gepard, however, had lost all ability to speak, completely blown away by the piece of your past you had so voluntarily let him see.

You looked so joyful as a child, completely free of expectations that would have been bestowed upon you had you been raised as a noble, like him. That wide, toothless smile held treasures he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“So cute…” you muttered softly. You quietly removed the picture from its frame and slipped it into your bag, where you felt it rest alongside your old pickaxe that you brought with you everywhere.

Running a quick check in the tiny hall closet, you thought you heard the high-pitched sound of ice cracking in the kitchen.

Weird, you thought, poking your head around the corner to take a better look. But what you saw nothing short of baffled you.

An ice-type Fragmentum creature, donning the damaged apron of your beloved grandmother, stood in front of the oven range. The kitchen itself was mostly intact, save for a few boxes of grains scattered about and a few appliances knocked over.

“Oh,” you started. “Son of a—,”

The creature let loose a gurgling sound from its throat and charged at you.

“Shit—!” You yelped as you scrabbled around for the nearest weapon. All reason leaving you, you completely forgot about the pickaxe in your bag. In the few seconds before it reached you, you took notice of a rusty frying pan hanging from a holder on the wall. Mimicking Gepard, you swung it with every drop of strength in your body and landed a forceful whack on the side the monster’s head.

The sound of metal on metal rang out all through the house. Bits of ice fell off the creature, sizzling with eerie smoke as they hit the tiled floor.

The figure struggled to regain its balance, reaching its icy claws toward your face. You could feel the icy chill radiating off of them, stealing your heat away.

That’s my heat, you bastard!

Gepard, having certainly heard the commotion, came speeding into the room like the cheetah he was named after. You were clinging onto the back of the monster, which was bucking you around like a Voidranger in a futile attempt to dislodge you.

In a sudden burst of effort, it flung you backwards and sent you careening into one of the cabinets. Bits of rotten wood showered on you from the impact, and a stray spice bottle hit you on the head. You disgustedly spit out the sawdust that had snuck into your mouth and caked your tongue.

The captain desperately scanned the room for something to use. The kitchen was far too small to activate his shielding device, so he wrapped his arms around the nearest table and hurled it straight at the icy foe (all while praying you wouldn’t be furious at him afterward for ruining your kitchen).

Thankfully, the table made an excellent weapon. It sent the monster sprawling across the floor with a creaking groan. Gepard then launched himself at it and pinned it to the floor with his arms.

Unfortunately, the enemy hadn’t quite given up yet. It wrestled one of its arms free of Gepard’s grasp and reached its clawed hand to slice at his lower legs. In a strange fit of ingenuity, you grabbed your pickaxe out of your bag, wedged it under the Fragmentum creature’s head, and just like a bottle cap— you twisted its head clean off.

Letting out a sickening crack, the monster’s head rolled leisurely across the floor and bonked into an open cabinet door. You nearly vomited at the sight.

Now unoccupied, Gepard rushed to your side. “Are you—,” he started.

“Yeah,” you choked out. “I’m okay,”

You clutched your chest while letting out wheezing gasps.

The captain glanced around the area worriedly. “I think it’s best we get going. There could very well be more monsters around here,”

“Wait—,” you gasped, scrambling to your feet. “I think— I think I found it,”

You peered into the cabinet that had been violently smashed o pieces. Something glinted at you from the debris— but a grinding sound came from outside that made your hair on your neck stand completely on end.

Bending down, you brushed away the wood chips from the spice cabinet and successfully uncovered the old phonograph. It was in decent condition, aside from a few screws missing, and your family’s record collection lay right beneath it.

“Ah, classic gran,” you said aloud. She did have a habit of putting things in the wrong places, after all. That saved you from having to check the upstairs floor.

“Okay, now let’s go,” you declared. You crammed as much of the device as you could into your bag, the horn still handing out of the flap, and made a mad dash for the front door. Gepard’s armor rattled as he followed suit.

We better tell the guards about this, you thought while your feet pounded against the pavement. Your breath condensed in large clouds as your throat burned with the taste of iron.

You cast a glance over your shoulder to see if Gepard was still following, just in time to see his eyes widen in horror.

Your boots left long marks in the dirt as you skidded to a halt. There you stood, aghast, as you realized what greeted you wasn’t the exit— but an automaton Direwolf.

It stood tall and menacing, with steam pouring out its joints and pistons that fired like a heartbeat. As a piece of technology from the old world, no one fully understood how they worked, not even denizens of the Robot Settlement, who modified and repaired them for a living. It made dealing with hostile ones a living hell.

“By the Architects,” Gepard swore. “(Y/N), find somewhere to hide, quickly!”

You obliged, opting for the nearest shelter that happened to be a pile of crates and barrels to the right of him. You crouched like a bear cub with your knees pressed to your chest as you tried to get a grasp on the situation from your location. Your companion was gearing up to ready himself for battle.

Shit. I need an opening to activate Earthwork, Gepard thought. He hoisted the barrier-device-slash-guitar-case defensively. I have no one to cover for me here,

The aggressor made of meshing cogs eyed him ominously through its crosshair. He eyed it back, the gaze of a predator in his eyes. He refused to falter, even minutely. Doing so would mean death for the both of you.

It raised its one chainsaw arm with a thundering roar, and the battle began.

The earth shook tremendously with every step as it sped forward, full-throttle. Gepard’s heart thrummed as he tried to consider all his options, but it was closing the distance faster than he could formulate his thoughts. He couldn’t roll right or risk giving away your position, or dodge too much and risk leading it towards the settlements. But a solid hit to one of the leg joints would slow it down considerably.

The automaton Direwolf swung ferociously at the captain, cutting large glowing divots in the nearby boulders that sizzled as they touched the surrounding air. Steam hissed, loud and high-pitched in your ears, bringing out a type of instinctual fear from within you.

A grimace crossed Gepard’s features. Direwolves were built for speed, so there was no chance you could both outrun it. Additionally, there was nothing that could escape the gaze of its optical sensor with so little cover around. He was going to have to fight it head-on.

It raised its mechanical arm to strike once more. The captain grasped his battering ram firmly by the handle, and swung it in a large arc. It landed a solid blow in between the metal plates that comprised its abdominal area, and sparks showered in the air, suggesting a sufficient amount of damage had been dealt.

The now open wires sizzled as the automaton staggered backwards. Gepard wasted no time seizing the opportunity; he was relentless in his following sequence of attacks, aiming for the most vital points concealed within the machinery.

He ducked under its flailing limbs and struck a heavy blow on the machine’s back. But it swiveled its torso around unexpectedly, without moving its legs even a millimeter, and swung at him again, leaving deep scores in the earth. Gepard skidded out of the way, leaving his cape billowing wildly behind him with the following dust cloud.

Your eyes flickered around the area as clangs and thuds rang out around the clearing. You reached a mitten-clad hand out tentatively to slink along the ground, but retracted it as white-hot sparks showered your exposed forearm. You had to make your next move, and quickly.

There was no way Gepard could win a battle of endurance. Not even with his superhuman amount of stamina. You almost called out to him, but halted when you realized it could easily draw the Direwolf’s attention to you. And you had nothing but your old pickaxe in your bag to defend yourself with.

You had to get help. It made no difference if it was the vagrants with shovels or the entirety of the Silvermane Guards. You had to make sure Gepard got out safe.

You ran a quick scan over the area; there were a few other piles of debris that were sizable enough to stay out of the monster’s field of view. If you could just make it to the exit, you’d be free to call for help.

Ducking your head, you sprinted to the closest pile and dove behind it. You snuck a quick peek at the scene. Gepard was still holding his own. Good.

This time around, you hid behind a barrel laying on its side. A patch of metal lattice fell over with a loud crash due to the shockwaves of the fight, but the machine paid you no mind.

Finally, you resorted to shuffling on your hands and knees to crawl just out of view behind a tarp that was almost threadbare. By this point, your pants were ripped and your knees were bleeding, picking up bits of rocks and glass that stuck to your sticky skin. But you ignored it. You were in the homestretch. The guards couldn’t be too far away now, they had probably heard all the commotion and—

You heard a loud thud that made your limbs completely freeze over.

Trembling, you turned ever-so-slightly behind you. You caught sight of a stray barrel rolling over to bump itself on your foot, followed by a pained groan that stole your breath right from your throat.

Gepard?

In the dim lighting, you could vaguely make out a figure clad in silver and gold, laying limply against a wall, a few broken crates on each side. Fire flickered in the background, illuminating the barrier device laying discarded on the ground, just out of arm’s reach for him.

You noticed something drip down slowly from the top of his head and soak into his fur collar, staining it a bright crimson. His eyes were closed, and he was showing no signs of moving.

Blood… that was definitely blood.

Time seemed to grind to a halt around you. Your knees threatened to give out, and you could only vaguely make out the sound of your own voice— screaming, wailing— something that wasn’t quite words. The sounds from the enemy machine sounded muffled, as if they were deep underwater, in a world different from your own.

Shaking profusely, you became aware of just how much fear had saturated your body. But you had to keep moving. The captain was alive until proven otherwise.

And you would hang on until the very end.

You ground your teeth together and made a quick sweep of the area. There was a package of dynamite that miners used to blow apart piles of debris to your right, but you had nothing to light it with. Even if you did, you didn’t trust your aim enough to keep Gepard out of the blast radius. To your left lay some books, a radio, and— an oddly shaped rock?

Whatever. It was just the right size for throwing.

You stuffed it in between your arms and pushed aside another book just in time to spot one of the old flares the miners used to use.

Yes! That could be your saving grace.

Your arms wavered so much that you thought that they might fall out, but you had to keep going. Gepard’s life was on the line.

You whipped back around and cranked your arm back far as it could go, when suddenly, you felt something whir and vibrate in your palm— and a strange mechanical voice rang out in your ear.

“Hello,” said the voice, which seemed to be coming from your palm. “I am Findie, model 17703 of the home-finding series. Please input your instructions, and I will locate whatever you are looking for!”

You whipped the rock(?) in front of your face. One of the gears rotated, as if it were waving “hi” to you.

“What the FUCK??” You roared in surprise.

A rock was a rock, no matter how much it yapped, you decided. You twisted the cap off of the fuse, wound your arm up, and chucked the rock with the fury of a blizzard.

“Over here, asshole!” You screamed. Your fear tore through your body like a tornado, threatening to tear you apart.

Fury rolled off of you in waves as you held the fuse high above your head. Clouds of red smoke rose into the air and billowed around you, swirling around your dust-covered face.

The rock landed square on the machine’s metal head with a loud tang.

The machine turned towards you menacingly for a short moment, but immediately refocused on the prey directly in front of it.

Shit. That was bad.

You scrabbled on the ground for anything you could get your hands on. A lantern? That would do. A plank of wood? Why not. Who gave a shit at this point??

Anything that would get you out of there and safe and sound. You’d promised you would help Serval with an invention later that week, and you weren’t one to break your promises.

The items bounced off of the machine one after another. It would halt its movements every time one made contact, but you were running out of things to throw.

Tears and ash clogged your eyes, but you wouldn’t let up, even for a second. Not until every bone in your body was forcefully broken and you were bruised and battered into next month.

“Get your GRUBBY HANDS off of him!” You roared. Tears and snot were streaming down your face now, and your entire body screamed at you to run, escape, anything. But you forced your feet to stay rooted to the ground where they were.

Gepard’s head lolled weakly to the side. You choked as you assumed the worst had come to fruition, and you felt as if the world was crumbling around you.

You were in the middle of chucking a portable radio at the thing when you heard the smattering of feet heading in your direction. You gasped as a wayward antenna poked you right in the eye.

Soldiers. And a lot of them, at that.

Guards in Silvermane uniforms stormed the clearing, waving around halberds, cannons, and muskets galore. Without wasting a second, the cannoneers let out a barrage of attacks that nearly blew both of your ears off.

“Backup is here, Captain!” One of the soldiers announced. You spotted a slight movement from the spot where he lay.

Another wave of firing went off. Cannonballs embedded themselves in the joints of the machine, inhibiting its movement— it began to creak and sway on its feet. Evidently enough, it realized that the most imminent threat came from the squadron of soldiers that had arrived, rather than Gepard, who was likely unconscious.

The main soldier continued issuing orders. You watched him, completely enraptured, from behind. You hardly noticed as a Silvermane gunner snuck up from behind you, and shuttled you somewhere out of harm’s way.

Soldiers had successfully managed to surround the automaton, impeding its movement. The Direwolf stamped its feet in confusion at the sudden commotion.

Shots rang out once more, and several nets weighed down by iron balls wrapped around the machine— along with a grappling hook that tied its legs together with a cord. But the machine sliced through the feeble wires with little effort.

As you took a step back, something clanked against your thigh from inside your bag. You gasped, turning to the soldier beside you with a realization.

“You have to disable the control panel,” you said, recalling your previous knowledge of when you worked in the mines.

“We’re more than aware of that,” he said curtly. He turned back to the battlefields without as much as another word.

“Yes, but the door to the panel is impervious to attacks. Could you take out the optical sensor on its face, maybe?”

The guard sighed, but shouted to the nearest cannoneer to aim a shot towards its face. An explosion burst from the area where the attack had landed. The automaton was now twitching violently with its sensors disabled.

Gepard, who was slowly regaining consciousness, sensed the sudden halt in activity. It was far noisier than it had been previously, the shouts of men and the clanging of metal made his head throb with pain. Sticky red liquid coated his falling eyelids, staining his vision red. The captain ignored the pounding in his skull and forced himself to his feet.

I… have to… I’m… still.. needed…

His body groaned with effort. He fought through the haze of pain and commanded his eyes to focus.

Earthwork was just a hair’s breath away. All he had to do was grab it.

Qlipoth… give me strength!

The captain mustered every ounce of courage in his body, bracing his arm against a nearby wall for support. Blood dripped down his face with even more fervor, but he wiped it off with his glove, sending a few small droplets smattering to the ground.

“The captain— he’s alive!” One of the men cheered. You gasped as you saw him stagger to his feet.

Gepard willed his muscles to move and dove in between the machine’s legs. He snatched his weapon and spun, quickly smashing it in one of its knees. The Direwolf lost its footing and toppled over immediately.

“Captain, use this!”

Gepard swiveled, surprised to hear the voice coming from not one of his own soldiers, but you.

Your pickaxe sailed through the air and clattered on the ground at his feet.

“Use it to break into the control panel on its chest,” you instructed with a shout. “There should be an emergency off switch right in the center!”

He grabbed the tool, but instead of using it to pry open the door to the circuit breaker, he punched it repeatedly with the metal gauntlet on his right hand until the steel door crumpled like a piece of paper. Your jaw dropped in shock at the sheer ferocity of the sight.

Clinging to the machine’s torso, Gepard scanned the machine’s chest cavity for the switch. But bundles and bundles of wires blocked his view.

The gigantic machine began to rumble. Gepard had to act, urgently. There wasn’t enough time to search for the switch, but he had to do something.

As thoughts fired through his brain like lightning, he had an idea. He could use the pickaxe to hook under the wires and pull them out. If he used his hands, his metal gauntlet would likely act as a lightning rod and thoroughly fry him, but the pickaxe’s handle was entirely made of wood. It was a decent shot.

The captain held the pickaxe with both his hands and used it to dig under the nest of wires, using his legs to anchor him to the machine— and yanked backwards until the threads snapped. He did it again, this time winding them around the pickaxe like spaghetti before pulling once again.

The machine fizzled and popped, its lights flickering before finally succumbing to the damage and collapsed, leaving enormous dust clouds in its wake. You covered your mouth with your shirt to avoid breathing them in.

Gepard’s chest heaved with great effort, and three guards hurried to his side, immediately, shouting things like, “Captain, are you injured?” And “Captain, we were so worried!” You were surprised at just how much emotion the usually stoic guards’ voices held when dealing with their leader.

The young noble let out an enormous sigh of relief. As soldiers practically swarmed him on all sides, one offered their shoulder for him to lean on, and they hobbled back towards the Silvermane Guard camp together.

You were barely aware of the sensation of someone throwing a blanket around your shoulders (even though you were still sweating buckets), and leading you to another location. You figured this was the secondary location of the Silvermane Guards’ camp, reserved for dealing with the public.

Said location was farther than Gepard than you had hoped it would be, but you couldn’t afford to be picky at this point. You were dropped off at an inconspicuous tent that was complete with snacks and apple juice to await further instructions. You felt much like a lost child.

The tent had a few tarps and blankets on the ground to shield you from the cold, hard ground, which would suck the heat out of any living thing that it came into contact with. It also included a stack of down pillows in the corner, which you readily surrounded yourself with, stacking a few to prop yourself up like a makeshift recliner. They definitely weren’t the softest things in the world, but they offered a welcome respite for your aching bones.

Although the tent’s canvas was reasonably thick, voices still managed to make their way in from outside. Bits and pieces of conversations, mostly about the incident and how you were faring. You wish they’d just ask you, honestly.

The next time you heard someone’s voice, you took the opportunity to creep out of your tent and ask them how Gepard was doing. The recipient of your questioning was power-walking with a few rifles in their arms that were likely being brought back to the barracks.

You lifted a hand to get their attention. “Excuse me, is Gep—,”

You bit your tongue. The sheer amount of guilt that welled up in your throat was utterly stifling. You didn’t have the right to address him with so little respect after what he’d been through.

“Um…” you continued, fighting through the anxiety that threatened to close your windpipe. “Is the captain okay?”

“Captain Gepard?” The soldier turned to face you. “Yes, he has a few injuries, but he will survive,”

You let out a wheezing sigh of relief that made your knees shake. “Thank Qlipoth. What kind of injuries?”

“Well— he got his brains jostled around a little bit when his head got bashed against a wall,” the soldier mused. He had an air of casual-ness about him. “He has a few lacerations from some shrapnel as well. Did you see the one on his head? That one was real nasty,”

Nothing had prepared you for the way the ground wriggled beneath you or how your stomach flipped inside out and backwards. You couldn’t breathe for a moment as your diaphragm heaved uncomfortably. You staggered over to the scrap metal pile, where you proceeded to vomit up the meal you’d gotten from the food stall earlier.

The soldier watched as you wiped away the vile liquid dripping from your chin and turned back around.

“Sorry,” you muttered. Why the hell would you say it like that?? You glowered at him internally. He shuddered, feeling your gaze on him.

At that moment, you wanted to be anywhere else but there.

“I’ll uh— I’ll get you a cup of tea,” the soldier said apologetically. You took a seat on a wooden crate, bracing yourself by gripping its edges so tightly you thought your knuckles would freeze that way.

They came back in a heartbeat with a steaming cup of tea, as promised. It was the type commonly used in the Silvermane Guards’ rations. You drank it gratefully, elated to finally be rid of the taste of vomit in your mouth.

After you’d finished, you asked if there was anything you could help with around camp. The guard looked at you like you’d sprouted an extra head.

“H-help out? Why?” He asked. “We couldn’t possibly ask you to help out all you’ve been through, Mx. (Y/N),”

After all I’ve been through, huh?

You barked a dry laugh.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you said plainly. “You all have done so much for me. I feel like I owe it to you all,”

You clenched your fist to quell the slight bitterness that was eating at you. “Besides, the only reason I made it out of there alive was because the captain saved me,”

The soldier sighed, loaded with uncertainty at your statement. “I’m not sure, since it’s technically against protocol to enlist the help of citizens without proper reason. But firstly, you should go see the lieutenant—,” he said, resting his hand on his chin. “—I believe he wanted to obtain an incident report from you, but there’s a chance he’ll have a job for you to do afterward,” he pointed you in the direction of the tent, which had a large dark blue banner flying above it.

“Right, okay,” you acquiesced. You set your cup down, dusted off your tunic, and waved the soldier goodbye. He waved back, with a slight air of confusion about what had just happened.

Meanwhile, guards milled about everywhere you went. You soundlessly slipped into the tent you had been directed to, awaiting your sentencing, sitting down in a foldable metal chair in front of a desk with a quill and an inkwell. You flinched at how cold it was.

The tents here weren’t the most comfortable thing ever, but they were much neater than the ones in the vagrant camp, where people hoarded every scrap of metal they could get their hands on. This led to tents looking more like portable junkyard balloons.

A breeze of air whisked its way inside as the tent flaps peeled open, and the lieutenant’s metal visor glowed like a flame in the lamplight. The man had to duck a fair bit so as not to act as an extra support pole inside the tent.

He set down his hefty shield with a clunk, all while sitting down in front of you. A sheaf of papers also made its appearance from his bag, and he shuffled through them with incredible dexterity (considering he wore clunky metal gauntlets on both hands).

“Hello,” the man said, raising his hand in greeting. “I’m Lieutenant Thrace Hawthorne of the 4th Division of Silvermane Guards. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You must be (Y/N), I presume?” He asked as he extended his other hand towards you.

You took it cautiously, keeping a close eye on his body language. “Yes, that’s me. I was instructed to come here by another guard,”

He gave you a firm handshake, but squeezed your knuckles in a way that made them throb with pain. Air hissed thinly through your teeth. “Yes, and I thank you for being here as we intended,”

You retracted your arm, eyeing the man up and down suspiciously. You couldn’t discern his facial expressions with that stupid hat in the way.

“—you are aware that the Silvermane Guards do everything in our power to maintain a safe environment for the people of Belobog, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied obediently.

“And, in order to keep the Guards as safe as possible, we need as much information as we can get,”

You nodded.

“Good,” he said while dipping the pen nib into the inkwell. “So, I will be asking you a few questions about what happened down here today. Is that alright with you?”

You agreed, albeit not too enthusiastically. Something in your gut told you that you didn’t exactly have the option to refuse.

“I’m glad we have an understanding,” he replied smoothly. “So, what kind of business were you two conducting in Rivet Town earlier today?

You paused, scratching your chin. “I went to retrieve an family heirloom from my old home. Captain Gepard was merely accompanying me at that time,” you explained. “We intended to be in and out in less than half an hour,”

The man across from you scribbled down a few notes. “Were you aware that it was a dangerous area at the time?”

“I was not. We had been told it was largely safe,” you responded. “Threats that severe shouldn’t have been lurking there, as far as we knew,”

Lieutenant Hawthorne tutted, which rubbed you the wrong way. Just his presence made you want to itch. “Where or from whom did you receive this information?”

“No one in particular. I’d just heard word on the street,”

“Any particular people that come to mind?”

“No, sorry,” you shook your head. You’d seen far too many people on your way to recall accurately who had told you what.

“Okay. And why was Captain Gepard accompanying you at that time?”

“I was visiting Natasha, and she had said that it might be best if someone came with me, because it might not be particularly safe,”

“Ah… that Natasha,” The man mused. “Wildfire’s leader,” he said, flipping the page over. You pursed your lips at him as something twisted in your gut. You didn’t trust this man as far as you could throw him and his stupid gigantic shield.

Don’t you dare say her name like that, you hissed.

“The captain himself volunteered to go,” you jumped in quickly. “That’s just the way he—,”

You froze, realizing you’d given away more than you’d intended to. Your emotions had gotten the better of you.

Hawthorne’s gaze was unwavering through his silver visor. “Interesting… on the other hand, what is Miss Natasha like?”

This time, you thought through your words carefully. “She’s— she’s a kind woman and one of the hardest working people in the underworld. She takes care of people at every possible opportunity,”

“What’s her relationship to you?” He inquired.

“She’s the local doctor. Everyone knows her,” you said bluntly.

“Does she have any strong opinions about the Guards that you know of?” The lieutenant asked.

“Not that I’m aware,” you shook your head. “She’s never refused their help or spoken badly of them,” you explained. “She has the best intentions for everyone, no matter their background,”

Unlike you, you slimy bastard, you whispered internally.

Lieutenant Hawthorne asked you a few more questions, mostly about the automaton and the rescue, such as what color it was, if there were any discernible features, etc., before asking completely out of the blue,

“Are you romantically involved with Captain Gepard?”

“No??” You shot a look loaded with incredulity at him. “With all due respect, where did that come from, sir?”

“He’s never mentioned you before,” Hawthorne stated. His voice was like unbending steel. “An affair is unlikely, but not impossible,”

Who in their right mind would arrange a secret rendezvous in RIVET TOWN?? You snorted. This officer wasn’t worth a lukewarm bottle of rye bread soda.

“Then what is your relationship with him?”

Hah. As if I knew, you scoffed. You tried to formulate an answer as best you could.

“We’re friends. And I assume that, like most people, Gepard likes to keep his work and his life separate. That is all,” you said, your tone as flat as a sheet of paper.

“I can tell from your tone that you did not particularly enjoy those last few questions,” the man said, resting his hands on the table. “But this incident was incredibly serious. The guards may suspect some sort of foul play,” he stated matter-of-factly.

You clenched your fists at your sides so hard your knuckles turned white.

“I’m sorry for asking something so intrusive. But, a word of advice, (Y/N)—,” the lieutenant said, motioning towards you. “I suggest you keep your distance from the captain for the time being. As a witness of such an alarming incident, you wouldn’t want to draw attention to yourself,”

I know that, you gritted your teeth. I’m not stupid,

“Especially considering how he was outside of his usual territory. Some might think you lured him there on purpose,”

You bit back tears, pinching the bridge of your nose to hide your quivering jaw. “Sure. I’ll keep your advice in mind, thanks,”

Turning away so that he couldn’t see your expression, you pushed aside the tent flaps with barely controlled anger.

You knew he was right. All you ever did was get Gepard into odd situations that he wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Guilt crashed over you in waves. You were a bad influence, dragging him everywhere without a spare thought for his job or reputation. And he was probably too kind to turn you down otherwise.

Did he even really like you?

You knew this thought was ridiculous, but maybe, just maybe, you had deluded yourself into believing it. It sent sharp jabs of pain through your chest that wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to think around it.

You walked in circles around camp in an attempt to calm yourself down. But it didn’t work. Finally, you ran across the same soldier that had given you tea earlier, and pestered him politely enough that he finally revealed Gepard’s location to you.

You had to get word from the man himself, or you’d never find peace.

After a few minutes of walking around, you spotted a tent that had a few more soldiers milling about it than usual.

Not knowing whether or not their eyes were on you, you approached it cautiously. You crept in even though your mind wasn’t sure if you really deserved to be there.

The medical tent was dark— you had to scrunch your eyes up a fair bit to adjust to the lighting. But, using the small sliver of light filtering in from the inside, you could faintly make out the shape of Gepard lying motionlessly on a cot.

You quietly pulled a metal bin up next to his right side to serve as a shoddy chair. It was then that you realized the true extent of the damage you had done.

The captain’s head was wrapped in bandages that partially covered his left eye. A pad of gauze with adhesive tape on each side was stuck to his chin, and there was a pillow on each side of his head to keep his neck in place, along with one under him to keep him supported. Most of his armor, such as the metal breastplate and his medals, had been removed and set aside, save for the metal arm armor he wore. You wondered if someone had forgotten to remove it.

You noticed his cape hanging torn from a metal rack, and stared at it with a plaintive expression for a few. You didn’t think there was anything you were capable of doing to make this situation any better.

Sighing, you rested an elbow on your knee while tracing the outline of his hand with your free arm. He was resting so peacefully— albeit his eyebrows were a bit furrowed— maybe it would be best if you let him rest for now and came back later?

You rose to your feet quietly like a mouse. But even with a severe head injury, the captain’s perception hadn’t dampened a bit. He began to stir.

“Mmm… Franz? What is it?” He croaked weakly, his brows furrowing the slightest bit. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Franz, is that you?” The captain asked again, a little bit stronger this time. You flinched as he wined in pain. He was definitely feeling the hit he’d taken. You returned to your seat on the frosty metal bin.

“No, sorry,” you said softly. Your stomach churned like butter just looking at him. “…it’s me,”

You patted his hand gingerly, willing your tears to go away.

“(Y/N)…”

Gepard opened his eyes to get a better look in the dim lighting of the tent. You leaned over the cot, your eyes filled to the brim with guilt and ash covering your cheekbones.

“I’m… glad that you’re safe,” he rasped. The captain cleared his throat painfully.

“That’s my line, dummy,” you smiled at him, slightly relieved. But your voice was loaded with pain.

“How are you feeling?” You asked. “There was a lot of… blood… as they were carrying you out,”

“I received a fairly bad cut right above my left eye,” he said. “They gave me a few stitches for it. I did hit my head pretty badly, but it’s nothing life threatening, thankfully,”

“Thanks the architects,” you sighed. “Your armor looks pretty beat up too. Are you gonna get it fixed?”

“It did its job,” Gepard replied. Lantern light hit its surface and it glinted, as if it was agreeing. “My rib cage could have cracked otherwise,”

He patted one of his ribs with his gloved hand to hammer the point home. You felt another twinge of guilt in your chest.

“R-right. Is there anything you need? Like water, y’know,” you murmured.

“I’m satisfied for now. Franz got me everything I needed earlier,” he cut you off.

“Okay,” you chewed on your lip in silence. Your hands fidgeted with nothing, as if searching for something to do.

You could tell Gepard’s eyes were trained on you, but you kept your own focused on the ground. A few chunks of dirt surrounded your feet where they had broken off from your boots that drew your attention.

Tears kept threatening to well up in your lower eyelids, but Preservation be damned— you were not going to cry right in front of him.

You rubbed your face with your sleeve, which unfortunately still smelled like bile, and feigned a cough to make the action less conspicuous.

“Y’know… I wanted to thank you for saving me back there,” you paused, staring off into the distance. “I got off with nothing but a few scratches because you kept me safe,”

Gepard hummed in acknowledgment, for he was unable to nod with his head and neck incapacitated. What you couldn’t hear, however, was how the inside of his head had whispered to him that if you had gotten injured, he would never have forgiven himself. The captain couldn’t say it outright— but he hoped that the way he gazed at you so longingly would get the message across.

With your nerves ticking at the fact he hadn’t said anything, you added, “They asked me like, a million questions before they let me go,” you chuckled lightly. It felt misplaced, but it was the best you could do to cheer him up.

Gepard didn’t seem to find the humor in it, though. His eyes stared back up at the ceiling. “Is that so?”

“Y-yeah,” you twiddled your thumbs slightly. “Some guy named Hawthorne— he sat me down for an hour or two earlier. He seemed kinda shady,”

“Oh, Lieutenant Hawthorne?” Gepard pondered. “I know of him. He may come off as a bit cunning, but he means well. Hawthorne lost his brother during the quarantine of the underworld. He just wants to keep the guards safe from any threat, so that no one has to go through the same experience he did,”

“Really?” You gasped in shock. “I guess I owe the guy an apology then,” you said, resting your head in your hands as your chest twinged with embarrassment.

“…I really jumped the gun on that one, huh?” You sighed.

“I don’t blame you,” Gepard replied. “Trusting your gut is important. And you would have more than enough reason to harbor some animosity, given the way the guards treated you all here previously,”

Something about his voice— although it wasn’t outright comforting— soothed your nerves a bit. Only someone so level-headed could reassure you so well, you laughed inwardly. Which was impressive— considering he was lying exhausted and halfway dead in front of you.

Maybe you didn’t have the right to be scared, because this was just the nature of his job (you know, the one he did every day for a living). But he was supposed to fight valiantly for Belobog’s people,

Not a single, worthless vagrant like yourself.

You kept inhaling a preparatory breath to speak, but each time the words would vanish right as they were about to exit your lips.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to spit it out.

“Gepard… I have a question to ask you,” you paused. “It’s kind of weird— but is that okay?”

The young noble’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Surely it wasn’t— no, it didn’t look like it.

That wasn’t the face of someone who was about to confess. He scolded himself mentally. This wasn’t the time or the place to be thinking about it. Instead, every hill and valley of your expression was laden with worry and pain. He wished he could sit up and take you into his arms, so he could whisk all of that pain away.

“It’s fine with me,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s just—,” oh Aeons, this is so embarrassing, “Why is it that you hang around someone like me? If I’m being honest, I really don’t understand,”

Gepard’s mouth went dry.

“Someone like you? What might you mean by that?” He inhaled sharply.

“I’m just a troublemaker,” you replied, smiling sadly at him. “And you’re a guard. We’re as different as winter and spring,” you were taken aback almost disbelievingly.

“You’re hardly a troublemaker,” Gepard retorted. “At least, not in Serval’s sense, where she deliberately makes things harder for me,”

Okay, well, maybe not deliberately.

You grimaced. “That may be true. But, I cause you problems in other ways. Like, that time at the cafe tables. You’re a public figure, for Qlipoth’s sake! What was I thinking, pulling you up there in broad daylight?”

You clamped your mouth shut before you ran entirely out of breath. “My presence also puts a strain on your reputation. I’m from the underworld. We’re supposed to be lazy and dishonest, y’know,” you scolded. “I hear old ladies whispering about it all the time,”

You kept yammering, “Hawthorne even asked me if you were off horsing around with me because I brought you out there today,” you groaned frustratedly. “All I do is get you into weird situations,”

You were a centimeter away from pulling all your hair out.

“That’s not entirely true. I get into plenty of weird situations myself,” Gepard protested. “For instance, Serval—,”

“Stop throwing your sister under the bus!” You barked, proceeding to pinch him in the thigh.

“Agh—!” He flinched with a yelp. “As I was saying— that isn’t true in the slightest. Yes, we may have ended up in a few strange situations. But those are a rare minority of the times we spend together,” he shot back.

Gepard reached out and rested his gloved hand on your knee reassuringly, a new look coming across his face. Your heart twirled in your chest.

“Did you know that before we met, my days were largely routine… just like clockwork?” He asked.

“But you brought excitement into my life,” he declared. “Being friends with someone unaffiliated with the guards has been incredibly beneficial in terms of my own personal happi—,”

The captain cleared his throat before he gave away anything more. His cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink. “A-anyways,” he sputtered. “The benefits of being your companion far outweigh any drawbacks you think you might have,”

A noise of surprise escaped from your throat as you felt your face begin to heat. Wow, he sure had a way with words. But you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“I— well, what are the guards going to think about you nearly getting killed over a stupid piece of junk?!?” You blurted out, your voice breaking. The phonograph in your bag bumped against the cot at the sudden outburst.

Gepard searched your eyes in vain for what you might be feeling, but he came up completely empty. His chest fell at your distressed face.

“It’s true that the guards are tasked with many important duties,” he began, enunciating each and every word slowly. “Such as defending the union, serving the people, and enforcing the orders of the Supreme Guardian… I believe my help today would fall under the ‘serving the people’ category,”

You tilted your head at him as if to beckon him to explain further.

“We get called to track down lost pets or put up posters quite frequently, in fact. It may not be the most exciting job, but it is an honor to help the citizens of Belobog in any way, shape, or form,” he said stubbornly. “And you are one of the people, are you not?”

He defiantly exhaled through his nose. You were left looking at him, slack-jawed. He’d left you almost no room to argue.

“But— I’m not a technically a citizen of Belobog. I’m just a random vagrant from the mines!” You argued. It was a dumber point than you wanted to push, but you knew no other way to fight back.

“Belobogian creed dictates that we treat the people with respect, no matter where they should live,” the captain said without a hint of doubt. “It’s true that the previous Supreme Guardian sanctioned efforts to close off the underworld, but it was framed in the light that it would ensure the safety of the people on the surface. But it was wrong,”

Gepard sighed, feeling the weight of your words squeezing his chest. “It was my understanding that we were all just trying to survive the Eternal Freeze… but in any case, it would have been disrespectful to ignore Miss Natasha’s request to accompany you—,”

Okay, now that’s stretching it a bit, you blanched.

“—and let you go by yourself. In fact, Article 4, Section 5, Line 2 of the Silvermane Guard handbook states that—,” he blathered on. It honestly impressed you. You were helpless to do anything besides stare in disbelief as words poured from his mouth like a waterfall.

“But wh-what about the higher ups and the old folk? Won’t they get angry at you if they find out you’re hanging out with someone of my standing?” You jumped in the moment he stopped to take a breath.

“If people want to trouble themselves with our relationship, which is in fact, none of their business, I say we let them,” Gepard responded. “It is of no concern to me unless it affects you negatively. In which case, I would step in,”

He tightened his grasp on your leg. “I did not reach the station I am at by trying to please those types of meddling figures. Your background has never once concerned me, not even for a second,”

The captain locked eyes with you in such a way that you thought you’d evaporate if you averted your gaze, it was so intense.

“You are not some kind of vermin,” he proclaimed. “It pains me to see you talk about yourself like this. You are one of the Eversummer Florist’s most capable workers, and first and foremost— you are my friend,”

He finally clamped his mouth shut. Aeons, the man in front of you had no clue how much those words meant to you. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“I promise you, (Y/N). What people think will not come between us in the slightest. I will be your iron wall, whenever or wherever you may need me,” he vowed with every fiber in his body.

And that’s when tears came pouring down your face.

They streamed down your cheeks and soaked into the collar of your coat. Your body shook with sobs, your shoulders shuddering every time you drew in a breath.

It happened so fast that Gepard was completely at a loss. He stammered out a few words, horrified that he might have caused something, but all that came out were a mess of vowels.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. Short cries escaped your throat that you tried to stifle with your hand, and you gripped your knees tightly, trying to still your shaking body. But it wouldn’t stop. Your chest felt tight, so tight.

“(Y/N),” Gepard said gently from his position on the cot. “(Y/N),” he called again.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispered. “I’m here for you,”

All of those feelings flowed out of you like a dam had broken. He wove his thumb in circles around the fabric of your pants in a comforting gesture, easing your aching soul.

You grasped his hands suddenly with both of your own and held it to your cheek, letting the warmth of his skin through his glove calm you down. You nuzzled into the palm of his hand mournfully, tears continuing to trickle down your face, until they finally slowed to a stop, your cheeks and eyes still wet.

After the crying had subsided, leaving only the occasional hiccup, Gepard pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pant pocket and handed it to you. You blew into it loudly, giving him a congested apology afterwards.

You threw your head back to look up at the tent ceiling while blinking away any remaining tears. Willfully scrunching up your face, you let out a calming breath and returned to looking at the captain. He had a relieved look on his face.

“Okay,” you breathed. “I’m okay now. Thank you, Gepard,”

“It was the least I could do,” he said, placing his hand back down on the cot.

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “But it was more than enough,” you mustered up the best smile you could in order to reassure him.

“Um, about what you were saying earlier—,” you brought up. “If— if you say so. But the higher ups, would they withhold a promotion from you or because you were hanging out with me?”

He smiled gently at you, capturing your soul effortlessly with that simple motion. “I’m quite satisfied with being the captain of the Silvermane Guards, thank you. My deeds as a soldier stand as a testament to that,”

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your coat jacket. “Hah, I guess I was worried for nothing then,” you said with a hint of frustration. “How silly of me,”

Gepard reached up and patted your head reassuringly, causing your eyes to widen. “The fault isn’t all yours. I appreciate you being so considerate, but it’s not your job to protect me,”

He put such meaning into every word he said. Such an admirable way of life.

You swatted his hand away lightheartedly. “Yeah? Well, it’s not your job to protect me, then,” you sniffed. You stuck your tongue out at him as far as it would go, which elicited a short laugh from Gepard.

Aeons, that smiling face was priceless. You could just lean over and kiss him right on that cot.

The smile faded from your face, replaced with something else now. You reached over him and wiped some stray hairs from his face using your single clean glove, watching them fall back into place with a satisfied look.

As you were retracting your arm— much to your surprise— he gently lifted one of his hands and placed it to yours, palm-to-palm. His fingers were slightly bent, so they wrapped around to the back of your hand. A smile danced on your lips; your face and neck much warmer than previously.

You clasped your hand entirely around his, admiring his soft smile. It was so warm and dreamy, a rare ember in a world as cold and hard as Jarilo-VI— a planet so unlike its namesake.

Just when you were stroking the side of his hand with your thumb, you heard a deep rumble (or maybe it was more like a growl?) from your companion’s stomach region.

Gepard went as red as a tomato.

“Captain… I thought you said you didn’t need anything?” You squinted your eyes at him accusingly at the realization.

Gepard internally cursed himself.

Sighing, he said,

“…maybe some porridge will do, thank you,”

BONUS:

“Ugh,” you grunted. “C-captain, you’re heavy! Franz, can you help me get him up real quick?”

Lieutenant Hawthorne, who was walking by the tent at the time, heard shuffling and something that sounded like a grunt of protest from the captain.

“Truly, (Y/N). I can sit up by myse—,”

“NO,” exclaimed both your and Franz’s voices loudly. Hawthorne stopped in his tracks.

“May I at least hold the spoon?” Gepard pleaded. Hawthorne could see your silhouettes from the lantern light cast upon the tent’s walls. You had your hands on your hips as Franz held a bowl and a tray behind you.

You snorted. “In your dreams. I got you all banged up, so it’s my job to take care of you. If I leave you be, you’ll just overwork yourself until you pass out again!”

“May I remind you, that was but a singular instance when—,”

“Lalalalala!” You sang obnoxiously. “I can’t hear you!”

“(Y/N), I beg of you. I must maintain my dignity,” he implored one last time.

“Here comes the Astral Express!” Hawthorne heard you shout, completely overshadowing the captain.

The tent went silent for a moment.

“It’s good, right?” You asked after a short pause.

“…yes,”

Th lieutenant chuckled to himself and continued on his way.

BONUS 2: Belobog Central Hospital

“…and as long as you take care of yourself, you should be good to go in about two weeks,” said the head nurse to Gepard, who was just finishing up giving him the synopsis of his condition. “We’ll be monitoring your condition for the time being, okay? Head injuries are nothing to joke about,”

He agreed. The captain lay in a hospital bed with a neck brace and one leg elevated with a foam wedge, which, frankly, he thought was overkill, considering he was able to walk to the camp.

A vase of fake flowers lay on the bedside table. Gepard smiled to himself. You’d mutter under your breath and call it a waste of a good vase.

After half an hour, the pain medications they had given him finally kicked in, and he’d drifted off to sleep.

He dreamt about making you a rye bread soda iceberg, your eyes lighting up as he placed it in front of you. Maybe once winter came around, he’d make you a pie, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He snoozed softly, when suddenly he was awoken in the middle of the night by a scratching sound at the hospital window.

Gepard lifted his body as much as he could to get a better look, when he spotted the tops of two blonde heads along with a purple-haired one.

The tufted ears on Lynx’s hat wobbled. Serval’s blue eyes peered above the windowsill and they narrowed into crescents as she grinned. Meanwhile, Pela was looking around frantically, making sure no one spotted them.

His elder sister reached up with the multi-tool you had bought her, and fiddled with the lock. The latch came open with a clean pop. And true to her name, Serval slunk in gracefully, her heels clacking on the laminated floor.

“Hi, little bro,” she smirked. “Are visiting hours over?”

He looked at her incredulously. “I think you know the answer to that. Why else would you be breaking in?”

“Breaking in is a stretch,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Like I said, we’re visiting— just outside of the intended time!”

Gepard sighed. “I cannot believe you managed to drag the other two into this. What if you get caught?”

“Actually, it’s three,” your voice piped up. It came from somewhere under Pela. You spoke again. “And we won’t, I promise,”

The captain’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

That’s right. He was on the second floor.

Lynx hoisted herself up, and Pela began to follow suit.

“H-how?” He blurted. “How did you get in here?”

“There’s a dumpster out back that we used to elevate ourselves,” Pela said, not wavering in the slightest. “It could only hold about two people, so (Y/N) is currently holding me up,”

She hoisted herself entirely into the room and beckoned the others to come hoist you up. Gepard spotted one mitten, then the other. And then the rest of you came into view. And you were holding a basket with a blue silk ribbon tied to it.

“We brought you a gift basket!” You whisper yelled. Gepard’s face lit up like a spotlight at the sight of you.

You hopped over to his side and leaned over him with a smile, showing him the contents of the basket. “We’ve got flowers, and cookies, and— hey! Are those fake flowers?” You snapped your head towards the flowerpot indignantly.

You put the basket down and scoffed. “That’s a waste of a good damn vase if I’ve ever seen one,”

Whisking yourself towards the sin against botany, you yanked the faux flowers out and tossed them aside. Then you replaced them with a few stems of white tulips from your basket and filled the vase with water from the nearby sink.

Gepard smiled. You’d said it all almost word-for-word.

And so you stayed a while, talking well into the night. And you were all so tired that no one showed up to their jobs the next day.

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

💙 THANKS FOR READINF I LOVE YOU 💙

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