#as a thank you for being a saint and keeping his ass alive and in the least amount of pain she could | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bktaro · 3 years ago

Text

seven-three (part 3)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties, rough sex

tw: daddy kink, spitting, sex toys, dirty talk, creampie, cockwarming, anal, voyerism(ish), squirting

wc: 9.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

a/n : hi all! thank you for waiting so patiently. this chapter is a personal favourite of mine (of all time), and i'm so excited to finally share it with you all. i originally wanted to make this a one shot smut, but i’ve been wanting to expand it into a mini fic. not sure if tumblr is the place for uploading that type of content, but please let me know if it’s something you would be interested in reading!!

anyways, enjoy this nastyyy chapter!!

An absolute masterpiece— that’s what Nanami thinks you are. A magnificent work of art, somehow misplaced and laid out on the bed in front of him instead of an exhibit in some renowned museum.

Every inch of you is enticing to him. From the strands of hair sprayed across the pillow case caressing the back of your head, your chest that rises up and down in anticipation, the glistening sheen of sweat of your body illuminated under the peaking moonlight from the windows, and his favourite, your legs that are propped open just enough for him to see droplets of your juice threatening to leak on to the bedsheets below— he’s mesmerized by it all . By no means was he an intensely religious man, but in the moment he couldn’t be more thankful for God’s utmost greatest and most beautiful creation— women .

He considers himself to be a good and honest man, yet nowhere close to a saint to be deserving of what God had offered and placed right in front of him. Nanami thinks it has to be a dream— and just maybe the best damn dream he’s ever had. You just look too good to be real, splayed across the bed naked with nothing but desire in your eyes, waiting only for him.

But when his hands roam to explore the soft flesh of your bare skin, feeling you shudder slightly under his touch alongside the tiny whimpers leaving your lips, Nanami knows— and silently thanks God— it’s real. You were real.

His gaze on your body is intense with hunger, so much so you could practically feel his eyes digging into the depths of your skin, and you begin to think it’s deep enough to reach even into the surface of your soul. Mixed with the grazes of his fingers, it’s an alluring sensation despite the minimal touch on the areas most needy, causing you to let out a louder whine and roll your hips just the slightest into the mattress in the search of any sort of physical relief.

“Please…” Your voice comes out shaky, pupils directly looking into his above yours. “...I need you.”

Unable to hold back, a low, nearly inaudible grumble vibrates in his throat at your actions and words. Perhaps he’s the one who saved a nation in his past life, something remarkable of that sort to be lucky enough to be alive and present in this very moment. Or he truly really was just one lucky ass bastard, somehow having a Goddess of a woman practically begging him to fuck her right underneath him.

True, you were the one granting him a wish, but by no means did that mean he couldn’t help grant a few of your own wishes at the same time. Alongside the original, he now had an additional goal that was simple: give you the experience like none other so no other partner could ever compare to him. And of course, Nanami is nothing but confident he’ll be able to achieve just that. Failure was never an option in his books— especially not now.

“Patience, pretty girl.” Nanami whispers, fingers softly caressing the side of your jawline. “First, open your mouth again for me.”

You oblige without hesitation, mind still partially woozy from your second orgasm minutes ago. Nanami grins at the view of your semi dazed expression, tongue hanging out before his instructions to even do so. Gently, he allows a string of saliva to fall from his mouth and into yours, watching the glob of foreign liquid pool onto the pad of your tongue.

“Stay just like that, and don’t move an inch until I say so.”

You do just as he commands, remaining still the best you can for the few seconds you can feel him shuffling on the bed to reach into the bedside drawers. Despite being clouded in the aftermath of your orgasmic high, when you hear the cluttering of his hands rummaging through the contents of the drawer your mind wanders to the possibilities of what Nanami was searching for. Lube? Condoms?

It then instantly dawns on you what else it could be. The rustling of a cardboard box being opened is enough of a signal to confirm your thoughts even seconds before Nanami returns with the suspected item in hand. A sex toy, replicating the shape of a generous sized penis and colored in a translucent purple hue dangles above your eyes, causing them to widen once more.

“It’s nowhere as good as my cock, of course...” Nanami begins, leaving another soft, comforting kiss in the crook of your neck. “...but we need to get that sweet little hole of yours ready for me, don’t we?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, a trend of his throughout the night thus far, placing the tip of the dildo on the surface of your tongue. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat when he watches your lips wrap around the rest of the toy, taking it deeper into your mouth while keeping your eyes locked onto his.

You work your tongue up and down the rubber surface, tracing the ridges and coating the surface with as much saliva as you could. Nanami can’t help but to silently watch in awe your head bob up and down the toy, a part of him almost becoming jealous that it isn’t his dick back in your mouth instead.

After a few more rounds of making sure the toy was properly lubed and ready, Nanami pulls the toy away from your puckered lips. He smirks at your disappointed whine at the sudden retraction, bringing a hand to caress the top of your head in reassurance.

“No more, you’re making me start to get jealous of a fucking piece of rubber.” Nanami whispers, continuing to stroke your hair and soon after leaving a gentle kiss on the edge of your forehead. His hands halt their movements moments later, moving to tilt your chin up towards him forcing you to see the coy grin now spread across his lips.

“Tell me, are you ready to get fucked stupid, doll? To have that pretty little mind of yours be filled with nothing but my cock?”

Watching the string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to the tip of the now glistening rubber tip of the toy break off, you nod your head frantically. You were more than ready, desperate in desire for more. Even without saying a single word, it was written all over you— in that moment there was nothing more you wanted in the world than him .

Lucky for you, Nanami was fluent in reading the writing of the unwritten plea of a girl searching for the remedy for her lustful trance. He was an intelligent man, after all. Yet, no matter how incredibly alluring you were to him, somehow at the same time you were just as cute, eyes wide blinking up towards him just like an actual doll. He thinks only an insane, evil man would be crazy enough to leave someone as cute as you in the distress you were in.

Thankfully, Nanami considered himself a good man— once again, not a saint of any sorts, but simply a good man. And as a good man, he wouldn’t let you suffer any longer.

Nanami shifts his body, moving to crouch in between your spread legs. You’re so wet, pussy glistening with a layer of the sweet sheen he just couldn’t get enough of, holding himself back from licking it all up then and there. Perhaps he didn’t even need you to prep the toy with your joint saliva— you had more than enough lube naturally already, and you could feel it too.

So you’re shocked when you feel him spit on your cunt— and you're even more surprised when you feel his fingers spread the mixture of liquids from your cunt down to your ass, and slip a finger teasingly into your hole. You can’t help but let out a loud moan at the sudden unexpected intrusion, feeling a bit shy at the position yet already immensely satisfied with the bare minimum of a touch.

“Oh, darling,” Nanami grins, watching your sudden jerk in movements at his actions, pussy clenching at nothing in front of his eyes. “You like that, don’t you?”

You did, you really did— and there was no reason to lie and say you didn’t.

“Yes… please give me more.”

“Where do you want it, doll? In here?” Nanami asks, removing his finger and hovering the tip of the dildo by the entrance of your cunt, before slowly bringing it down to graze over your ass instead. “Or maybe here?”

It’s almost like a game to him, perhaps his new favourite game, seeing just how far he could tease you and watch you whine and wriggle in desire.

“Anywhere…”

Yet, it’s a game Nanami was running out of will for him to continue to play.

His body adjusts once more to hover above yours again, cupping the side of your cheek to bring your lips upwards into a kiss. It’s another gentle kiss, calming and reassuring in nature, feeling the warmth of his body on yours that makes you wonder if time could be kind enough to stop right then and there forever.

But your wonder shifts back into reality, reverting to what you really were desiring at the moment when you feel the tip of the dildo finally sink inside you, breaking the kiss and replacing it with a moan into his mouth. Your hands come up to grip the blades of his broad shoulders, head tilting back in pure relief.

“Oh god …”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

All you can do is whimper out a wordless response, nodding your head instead. It’s good— so fucking good, to finally get your aching hole tended too, yet you still feel as though something is missing. You know all too well what it is, and Nanami chuckles because of course, even though your face twinges in pleasure and soft moans escape your lips the deeper he pushes the dildo in, he too already knows.

He thinks maybe in a previous life he had already explored you, well aware of every single area you were most sensitive in and how to make you feel good because it’s almost scary how he knows you all too well already. Despite never having laid a single finger on you before tonight, he’s already fluent in reading the language of your body and what you’re truly wanting long before you even muster the strength to say it.

So he could give you what you want right then and there. But he also could keep his favourite game going— just a little bit longer than he planned too.

“Yes… so fucking good… but… I-I want… you.”

“You want me?” Nanami asks, almost too nonchalantly compared to the twitching of his hard cock at your plea. “The toy in your ass isn’t enough for my slutty girl?”

“No…I want your cock… inside me.”

A dildo now deep in your ass was more than pleasurable and nice, but the both of you knew feeling his pulsating cock in your aching cunt is what you desired even more . To feel him, all eleven inches throbbing inside of you, fucking your tight hole senseless.

And he’ll give up his favourite game and give you just that. Nanami is a good man, after all.

“I’ll share your mouth and ass with this toy— but from here on out your pussy is mine and only mine.”

Nanami moves in an instant, roughly spreading your legs just a bit further with his own, pushing your knees apart in order to fixate himself properly in between. A shudder travels up your spine once more feeling the hot flesh of his cock against your bare skin, the length caressed and rubbing in between your cunt up and down while the tip grazes just teasingly against your swollen clit.

“You’ve been so good for me, sweet girl.” Nanami leans forward on his forearms beside each side of your head and murmurs into your ear, breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s my turn to make you feel so fucking good.”

It’s the last bit of words you could properly understand and digest before your mind melts into mush, turning into nothing but putty right into the palm of his hands. The room fills with nothing but the sound of two harmonious moans when the head of his cock finally dips inside your cunt, the nails of your fingers digging deeper into his shoulders in desperate search of something to grab onto.

“Breathe baby.” Nanami whispers. “You can take it all.”

He’s big — so big it’s a mystery to both you and him on how he’s able to continue to push into you inch by inch, your cunt squeezing him tighter the deeper and deeper he goes. Alongside the dildo deep inside your hole, it’s already too intense— and when the last inch of his cock finds its way inside you it breaks the last sheer remainder of strength you have left. Your mind becomes woozy once more, back arching off the bed while your hands roam to grip the back of his hair as your body twitches on his cock, releasing a loud moan that overpowers his simultaneous one and echoes throughout the room.

Nanami’s eyes widen in realization in the aftermath, watching your body loosen and relax onto the bed, fingers loosely locked behind his neck.

“Already?”

You feel your face turn warm, and once again you're thankful for the mask that partially covers the redness of your embarrassed cheeks. Yet, you think it’s still not enough to hide behind, releasing your fingers from behind him and raising up both your hands to conceal your face instead.

“Shut up…”

“No, don’t be embarrassed.” Nanami chuckles, reaching for one of your hands to pry them away from your face and bringing it to his lips to leave a kiss on the inside of your wrist instead. “I’m glad I can make you feel that good… not to mention it’s was also extremely fucking sexy watching you cum on my cock.”

You begin to think it’s truly a hidden talent of his you were lucky to see. He seemed to just have the right words everytime to put you in such a lust filled trance again and again— and you just couldn’t get enough.

“You have to make me do that again at least five more times, daddy .”

A cheeky grin creeps up on Nanami’s face. You wonder if it’s because of the flirtatious manner of your words, or if it's the soft moan you let out instantly when you feel his cock twitch inside of you that serves as a silent response to your words itself.

“It’ll be my pleasure to watch you cum, darling.” Nanami pins your wrist in his hand down above your head and into the mattress, kissing your lips with his in between his words. “Over and over , again and again until you can’t take it anymore.”

There’s a part of you that wonders if his lips had some sort of transparent chemicals difficult for the human eye to see. You were beginning to find yourself already addicted to the feeling of them, especially against your own. Soft like previously or hot and passionate like now, his kisses were nothing but hypnotic, drawing you effortlessly faster and deeper into the abyss of Nanami Kento.

You’re only snapped out of the trance of his kiss when it’s broken once again with a moan escaping your lips, feeling the length of his cock slowly slip out of you. The sudden emptiness leaves you aching for something more, clenching against nothing in the hopes of hugging even just an inch of him from escaping you.

“No…” You whisper, your free hand coming up to grip the back of his shoulder in an effort to push his body closer to you. “Put it back in…”

Your efforts show no successful action, his frame much too broad and built to be waived by the strength of just one of your arms. But your plea yields different results, a low, rumbling groan vibrating in his throat and the head of his cock sinking back inside your pulsating walls.

His movements are slow and gentle at first, allowing you to feel and grip every inch of his cock enter and leave your cunt. Rhythmic in pattern, Nanami’s hips work in what feels like matches the beat of your heart, filling you up and emptying you again and again, his soft grunts of pleasure quiet and low, but loud enough to sound like a subtle melody to your ears.

Gradually, the pace of his hips thrusting into you increases the more he feels your cunt adjust and mould into the shape of him, alongside the sound of your moans filling the room increasing in volume. The tips of your fingers can’t help but curl against his back with the rising pleasure, digging into his skin and scratching the surface, surely bound to leave marks to serve as a momento for the night later on.

You think maybe Nanami is angry momentarily at your markings on his skin, his hand that pinned yours down into the mattress above your head releasing for only a second to roughly grab yours behind his shoulder. Bringing that hand to join your other, Nanami now held both your hands down by the wrist, restricting you from freely moving.

“Bad girl. That’s gonna hurt later.”

The now familiar smirk reappearing on his face hovered over yours was more than enough to tell you he wasn’t angry at all. It was the opposite in actuality— the stinging pain would just remind him later on how he fucked you just that good, and his cock throbs just merely at the thought already.

“Punish me then.” You spit out. “Don’t be gentle like you do with good girls— fuck me like bad girls deserve.”

Nanami lets out another groan, and you can feel his cock twitch mid thrust inside of you. Somehow, he was more turned on than he already was— his vision shifting you from the complying, good girl you were in his eyes to the slutty, needy fuck doll you wanted to be.

He readjusts to sit partially upright, releasing his weight holding him up by his forearm and instead using that arm to grip onto the meat of the back of your thigh. Pushing your leg upwards his arm wraps around your thigh, spreading you open more and tossing your leg above his shoulder.

“I’ll fuck you just like a bad girl then.” Nanami mumbles, the grip on your wrists becoming stronger. “I’ll fuck you like you’re a little slut that knows nothing but getting stuffed with cock.”

You can’t help but clench your cunt at his words, feeling yourself get wetter in response. Nanami feels it too, your excitement squeezing his cock even tighter, and he flashes you a quick tiny, knowing grin that lasts only for a few seconds, before roughly snapping his hips back into you.

His pace is fast, still rhythmic but now much faster— pounding your cunt at a speed that makes it difficult for you to even catch your breath. Your leg held up and on his shoulder spread your cunt even further than before, allowing him to reach deeper inside of your cunt and just barely hitting your most sensitive area, causing you to cry out every time his cock mercilessly pounded deep into you.

Seeing your eyes roll back, Nanami moans at the feeling of your pussy clench around his cock even tighter. It’s a sign he’s familiar with— you were close, and he thinks it's the perfect moment to release his grip from your wrists. Your hands instantly curl into fists, gripping at nothing in pleasure while with his now free hand, he brings it to tend to your swollen clit, rubbing the bud with the pads of his fingers.

“Fuck… if you do that I’ll… I’m…”

“You’re what?” Nanami groans, his fingers pressing harder circles onto your clit. “Say it clearly.”

“I’m gonna cum.” You whine, arching your back off the mattress and grinding on his cock the best you could. “I’m gonna fucking cum…”

It’s overwhelming. You’re sensitive to the touch, already overstimulated with his cock pounding your pussy, fingers rubbing your clit, and dildo still shoved in your ass. But it feels so damn good that the familiar knot in your stomach releases once more, curling your toes and sending you into bliss.

Nanami curses under his breath, slowing the movements of his hips before pulling completely out to watch your body relax on the bed once more. Your breaths come out in haggered pants, struggling to catch your breath, and you feel the Nanami’s weight sink into the bed beside you, the callousness of his hands soon after rubbing up and down the skin of your legs in an attempt to soothe the shaking of them down.

“You’re so gorgeous when you cum.” Nanami murmurs, breath warm against the shell of your ear with his body now laying beside you on his side. “So. Fucking. Gorgeous.”

His hands find their way to inch upwards from your legs to your hips, gently turning you around to face your body towards his. Fingers instantly find themselves in their habitual spot, just underneath the surface of your chin, lifting up your lips and trapping them into another fiery kiss with him.

The kiss breaks when Nanami pulls away with a smirk, releasing his hands from your body to lean backwards onto the mattress on his backside. A hand holds the back of his head propped upon a pillow behind him that leans against the headboard of the bed, legs spread and open in a way that almost serves to proudly display his fully erected cock, his other hand pumping the shaft covered with a sheen of your liquid.

A lump forms in your throat at the sight, a reaction formed as a result of a mix of nervousness, embarrassment and excitement. You still had no idea just how he was able to pound into you with something of that caliber, and how now he was suggesting now you were supposed to fuck yourself on it. Yet, the glistening liquid belonging to you coating his cock— a tad embarrassing in retrospect— was a clear indication that he was in fact able to fit it all inside you, and the pleasure was that you’ve never experienced before.

Despite growing increasingly exhausted and tired, you still wanted him again. Again and again, you wanted nothing more than him .

You feel your cunt throb at the thought, biting your bottom lip down in the hopes of holding back the drool you might just let escape, hungry for more of him. And you would be a complete fool to think Nanami doesn’t notice your entranced expression, the tiny smirk on his face transforming into a larger, smug grin instead.

“Doll.” Nanami calls, a single finger rising into the air gesturing to you to come closer towards him. “Why don’t you come here and ride my cock?”

It’s a request you're more than willing to fulfill, finding your body moving on its own accord onto your hands and knees, slowly crawling forward towards him. Your palms rest flat on top of his chiseled abdomen when you finally reach close enough to touch him, utilizing the surface to balance yourself on to your knees to straddle both sides of his body.

Nanami’s hand pumping his cock retracts, joining his other supporting his head against the headboard when your hands travel to wrap around his length. Gathering another pool of saliva in your mouth, you let the trail spit drop down to the head, using your hands to twist and jerk his cock, coating the surface with the liquid.

“Oh fuck .” Nanami hisses, face suddenly wincing when one of your hands roam just a touch lower, squeezing on his balls. “You’re a little minx.”

A staggered groan escapes his lips watching you drop your body lower, beginning to grind your wet cunt onto the shaft of his cock. You feel one particular vein, perhaps the same protruding one from earlier throb at the warmth of your cunt rubbing back and forth on his, causing the corner of your lip to hitch upwards.

“What are you going to do after tonight?” You ask with a small grin, continuing to grind yourself on him. “You won’t be able to stop thinking about me.”

Nanami chuckles, instantly shooting you a confident smile back.

“Darling, what a ridiculous question. I thought you knew your pussy was going to be mine and only mine after tonight.”

In an instant, his body swiftly sits upright, giving you little time to react and forcing you to abruptly halt your movement. Your eyes widen, letting out a startled gasp when you feel an arm snake around your waist from behind, pulling your body close enough towards him so his chest was now pressed up against yours.

“I’m greedy, you know. I want to keep you to myself, and I don’t like sharing what’s mine.” He begins, voice low and fingers coming to grip your chin to lock your gaze onto him. “And I also know you won’t be able to stop thinking about me either, so this works for us well, doesn’t it?”

Nanami leans forward, trapping your lips with his into a sensual kiss, serving as almost a metaphorical action in sealing the deal to his words that were nothing but truthful in nature.

A part of you completely agreed that in hindsight it was a rather ridiculous claim to be so hooked onto the other so quickly. You could more than understand the foolishness in agreeing to only reserve your bodies for one another after merely a single sexual encounter.

Yet you already could imagine how lackluster any other partner would be in comparison to the sex you experienced with Nanami thus far, only becoming better and better with each passing second. And as much as part of you screams internally of how uncharacteristically weak you were to him, falling right into the palm of his hand exactly how he wanted you, you just couldn’t help it. If it wasn’t already so painfully crystal clear before, Nanami Kento was definitely not your ordinary hook up at all— he was much more enticing, luring you every bit through whatever spell he had casted onto you.

Gojo would have to wait for his threesome longer than anticipated— you had signed the dotted lines on the metaphoric contract, returning the kiss with just as much passion and lust.

“There’s some truth to that, I suppose.” You give him a tiny grin against his lips and a wink when you pull away, and Nanami answers in a hearty chuckle.

“That’s a good enough response for me.”

“Is it really? Somehow I don’t buy that.”

“Words don’t hold the entire amount of truth— I’m a firm believer that actions speak louder instead.”

You let out a startled gasp, feeling Nanami’s large hands suddenly snake down your body, roughly grasping onto the curves of your ass.

“And what I’m saying is I’d rather see you start bouncing on my cock— only if you really agree, gorgeous.”

Nanami releases his hands from your body, falling back onto the mattress with his hands returning against the headboard. Holding the back of his head, he’s arguably waiting almost too calmly for your next move. He had given all the power in your court, allowing you to choose the next course of action.

And when he watches your body readjust, steadily gripping onto his cock and angling it to sit yourself on top of it, he can’t help but let out a wide grin, silently celebrating his victory.

“Hold on baby. I want you to turn around and ride it— show me how you can bounce that ass.”

You do just that with no hesitation, turning yourself swiftly around, straddling him with your backside faced towards him. The new position itself makes your cheeks grow warm in both excitement and embarrassment, all your most intimate places now on full display for him to see.

It takes every ounce of strength in Nanami’s entire body to hold back from letting his cock bust right then and there as soon as he watches you slowly lower yourself and take him in, your soft moans once more breaking the silence in the room. The sight is so lewd and erotic to him, focused on nothing but how his cock continues to disappear inch by inch inside you, tightly gripping him as if you were holding on to dear life and the purple dildo still sticking out of your ass.

“Oh my god, baby .” You moan when the final inch slides in, now balls deep on top of him. “You’re so fucking big, baby… filling me up so good.”

Nanami’s mind begins to teeter violently at the combination of it all, your words, the lewd sight and sounds, and he’s no longer confident in how much longer he can hold back from reaching his peak. And when you begin to move, allowing yourself to bounce up and down his cock, he knows he's a goner sooner than later.

His hands reach forward to grip onto either side of your hips, simultaneously grinding his upwards in sync with yours helping you reach the deepest parts of your cunt with every bounce increasing in both intensity and speed. The head of his cock brushes past your most sensitive area, feeling him just right in the pit of your stomach that makes you cry out a moan that echoes the entire room and clench onto him even tighter.

The purple toy glides teasing in and out of your ass with every assisted bounce on his cock, and the view is almost taunting to Nanami, becoming embarrassingly jealous once more at the inanimate object. But it also leaves him curious just how much more you could take, so much so his hands move quicker than his brain, wrapping his fingers around the toy and beginning to pump it in and out inside of you.

Curses drop from underneath your tongue, falling partially forward on the palms of your hands, fingers gripping onto Nanami’s legs in overwhelming pleasure coming from both your holes now getting fucked. Yet you find it impossible to stop yourself from moving your hips up and down, not wanting the pleasure to end even for a second, continuing to take now both his cock and dildo inside of you.

“Fuck… I can’t…it’s so much… filling me up.”

“Yes you can, baby. You’re doing so good, taking it all in... I can feel you getting so much wetter and tighter just for me.”

You’ve grown even wetter now, becoming even more drunk on lust the moment your second hole became another slutty little hole, with the temporary only purpose to be used for pleasure purposes. Nanami also grows more and more drunk on lust seeing your body react, watching the way you squeeze on both his cock and the dildo, your own slick now dripping out of your cunt and down your thighs. The movement of his hips become increasingly sporadic and less rhythmic, mind clouded with nothing but the need to continue to fuck you senseless.

“Say it, you like getting both of your holes fucked by me, don’t you?”

“I love getting both my holes fucked by your big cock.”

“You want to be filled with my cum, don’t you, dirty girl?”

“Yes...please fill my slutty hole with your cum...”

You’re a moaning mess, the air around you filled with nothing but the lewd squelching noises, Nanami’s grunts pounding into you, and your cries of pleasure. With one final thrust of his throbbing cock, you feel the hot load of Nanami’s cum shoot inside your cunt, a shiver traveling up your spine as you simultaneously reach your own orgasm at the sensation.

A moment of serenity envelops the room; you have collapsed fully now onto his legs, Nanami unmoving, cock still deep buried inside you with his cum now trickling out of your cunt and onto his cock. Only the sounds of panting can be heard from the both of you, blissfully recovering from your post orgasm high.

But of course, it lasts for just a moment. Nanami wasn’t one to let things last longer than necessary, after all.

“I didn’t get to see you cum.” Nanami states, shattering the silence in the air. “Do it again.”

You can’t help but blink a few times, turning your head slightly back to look at the man behind you.

“ What ?” Surely you heard wrong, right?

You didn’t. It was exactly as you heard, confirmed when Nanami flashes you another half grin, just a peek of the whites of his teeth showing through.

“You heard me. I missed seeing you cum, so sit on my cock facing me and do it again.”

“You’re crazy.” You let out a small scoff in disbelief, only to transition into the corner of your lips tugged upwards in an excited smirk you fail to hold yourself back from hiding.

“Am I?” Nanami questions, reaching forward to teasingly squeeze the meaty flesh of your ass that triggers you to release a whimper at the touch. “Your little pussy that just throbbed on my cock is telling me differently— you like this idea too.”

His hands move once more, slowly pulling the dildo out of your ass that in return brings about another soft groan to rumble from your throat. Nanami is already a sucker to the sound, growing incredibly weak to it mixed with the sight in front of him of both your cunt and asshole clenching at the sudden loss, instinctively gripping whatever you could to remain filled up. His dick hardens once more at the sensation and sight, twitching against your walls again.

“Guess actions really do speak louder than words, huh?” You grin, your words come out in between breathy moans, eyeing him from just over your shoulder.

“Exactly, you’re one to catch on quickly.”

Nanami’s hands roam again, tossing the purple dildo to the side of the bed and placing his hands to grip either side of your hips. When you feel them gently squeeze your skin, you take it as a sign to readjust your position, briefly lifting yourself off of him, only to sit back down on his cock when you turn back around to now face him.

You lean forward, both your hands softly grasping either side of his neck to pull him in for another kiss, both sloppy and needy in nature. It only breaks when Nanami lets out a low moan, feeling you teasingly clench your cunt around his cock.

“Fuck, stop doing that.”

“Why should I?” You ask, grinning once more. “Maybe I want to see you cum too.”

“If you keep doing that, you definitely will.”

You let out a gentle laugh against his lips, bringing your lips back onto his. Nanami’s hands find refuge on the sides of your hip once more, sitting back upright to deepen the kiss, further exploring your mouth with his tongue.

One hand slowly begins to dip from the side of your hip, on to your thighs, his fingertips trickling skillfully back and forth in the inner part of your upper legs. It’s only when his fingers suddenly move upwards to caress the swollen bud of your clit in steady circles you interrupt the kiss once more, tilting your head back and letting a breathy moan escape.

“Feels good…”

Nanami catches sight of the skin of your neck, the smooth and soft surface now fully inviting him the more you tilt your head back. Similar to a magnetic pull, his body is drawn instantly, lips finding themselves attacking the sensitive skin.

“It does, doesn’t it?” His words come out muffled, in between the kisses against your neck. “Especially when your clit is extra sensitive from getting fucked so hard.”

Your fingers curl once more against the blades of his shoulders, feeling the hand remaining on your hip beginning to guide you in moving back and forth.

“You make me feel so good too darling, knowing you’re just filled with my cum, and warming my cock so good just like this.”

You’re immensely spoiled. At least, that’s the thought that races throughout your mind feeling Nanami work carefully on all the most sensitive areas of your body. As rough as he could be, Nanami concurrently treated your body as if it was a sacred possession tending attentively to all the areas that could give you the most pleasure, in return making you feel as if you were on cloud nine with every kiss, nip and touch. And when the pressure of his fingers against your clit grows harder, and the large, firm hand on your hip directs your hips to grind on his cock faster, the all too familiar pressure in your stomach builds once more.

It arrives faster than Nanami thinks— he too is already fully aware of your little whimpers and increased movements that indicate your upcoming release. But he really isn’t surprised, you were only growing more and more sensitive and overstimulated with every second passing that now perhaps even the tiniest bits of effort from him were enough to make you clench your cunt around him just the way he liked it.

This time, Nanami makes sure to watch your face thoroughly, drinking in every twinge in your face, bite to your lower lip, and moan that drops from your mouth. It’s a shame to him the mask of yours, as pretty as it is, covers him from seeing the entirety of your face just on the edge of cumming, but Nanami prefers to think you make it up in other ways. The shaking of your legs growing weaker despite hips moving faster, the bouncing of your breasts with every movement, and his personal favourite in contrary to his slight teasing for it earlier— your nails that scratch up and down his back, desperately clawing away in the hopes of reaching for something— he’s enthralled by it all, how the gorgeous, well put together woman he saw hours before at the bar was the same as the one in his arms on the verge of her sixth orgasam of the night.

So when you finally do cum once again, letting the more than familiar build up knot in your stomach loose once more, Nanami is of course, mesmerized by it all, filling the air with his own moans at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him tighter than ever before. Yet, not a single ounce of how turned on you made him dwindle, somehow only intensifying— especially amplified at the hint of the sunrise beginning to seep into the room past the sheer curtains of the window beside the bed, reminding him of a little promise he had made to you earlier in the night.

He doesn’t give you much time to think about it, a few mere seconds at most if you were truly to keep record. Although a fan of foreplay and buildup, he was already far too lost in lust and desire to wait any longer. Your body slumped against his chest, head on his shoulder, breaths heavy and arms wrapped around his neck is the perfect position for him to lift you from the back of your thighs up almost too effortlessly, a startled yelp leaving your mouth at the sudden movement.

“Hush, it’s okay baby.” Nanami soothes, a tiny chuckle following, feeling your arms strength and your legs wrap instictintly around him. “You did so good, and now I just wanted to show you what I promised you earlier.”

A sudden jolt of coldness attacks your backside, sending a shiver to run down your spine. You let out another gasp at the abruptness of it all, only to be responded with the tiny grin on Nanami’s lips, ushering you to turn around and look behind you.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

His grip behind your legs loosening and steady hands resting on yours hips once more gently assisting your weak legs in standing up. There were zero lies in his words, confirmed when you turn around and see the view for yourself peeking through the partially opened curtains of the floor to ceiling windows.

The familiar city before you was now blanketed with an orange hue matching the color of the sun rising from a distance away. The current time remains a mystery to you, but what you could gather was that it was the hour of the day where the city just began to stir awake, the sounds of traffic and humans minimal, and only the true early birds of the world awake and roaming the streets. It was tranquility at its finest, rare to see in the normally bustling city you called home, and a spectacular view that makes you stop and stare in awe.

“It is.” You whisper. “I forgot this city can look this gorg—”

You’re unable to finish the sentence, abruptly cut off midway through. A loud moan replaces it instead, your body falling forward and both your hands flat against the glass in front of you for support when you suddenly feel the head of Nanami’s cock slide back in from behind you unexpectedly, cursing under your breath at the sensation.

“I wasn’t talking about the city.” Nanami smirks, fully aware you’re eyeing his every move through the subtle reflection of the glass. “I was talking about you . This sexy body, this pretty face, this ass, and this pussy… this fucking pussy … words couldn’t describe how it makes me go crazy… my god .”

You let out a louder moan, fingers curling against the window feeling Nanami’s thick and long cock quickly filling you up balls deep. Contrary to before, this time he spent little time teasing you, going slow and making sure you felt every single inch. You had already become accustomed to his body, and Nanami had been accustomed to yours— Nanami no longer had the patience to wait to fuck you senseless once more.

His hands briefly leave your sides, reaching up towards the curtains instead. Grabbing each one on either side of your bodies, Nanami pulls the fabric away, allowing more light to enter the room, and more of the window exposed from the protection of the curtains to the outside. Your eyes widen at the realization, but when Nanami’s hands grip at your waist once more, pulling his cock out and then slamming back in, words of argument become difficult to formulate.

“Wait… there could be people outside…” You manage to mumble in between the mewls releasing at the sensation of his cock slowly sliding in and out of you. “What if they see… that’s embarrassing…”

“I said I’d fuck you so everyone could see, didn’t I?” Nanami hisses, thrusts beginning to increase in speed. “And even though you say that your pussy throbbing on me is telling me you like the idea of people seeing you get fucked up against this window, don’t you?”

He knows you too well. And as scary as it should be for someone whom you practically just met to know you this well, to you the rush of it all is more overpowering— all you can do is let out a tiny grin because he was right. Something about him railing you against the window of a penthouse hotel room, in full view during the sunrise of a beautiful morning for anyone at the right place and time to see was enthralling.

“You’re right, baby, it turns me on so much that someone might be able to watch me get fucked hard by your big cock.” You moan, feeling the tip of his cock brushing against your womb. “Everyone watching me get used as your little slutty fuck doll makes me so wet.”

Nanami does nothing but groan loudly at your words, serving more than enough as a response. His hands ghosts upwards to reach to tangle into the back of your hair, fingers gripping the strands and pulling them back rough enough your entire body follows suit. With your back against his chest, Nanami takes a step forward, pushing your breasts and the side of your face against the window, and all your hands can do is still support his rough movements by clawing away at the window.

“Whose pussy is this? Tell me if you want me to fuck you harder.”

“Yours, It belongs to you!”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami coos, grip on your hair becoming stronger. “My slutty girl.”

The sound of skin slapping and moans echoes throughout the room, Nanami’s hips snapping into you harder with every passing second, pushing you back and forth against the window. Your knees buckle instantly when Nanami’s cock brushes past your most sensitive spot, releasing a moan that comes straight from the depths of your lungs.

“Right there,” You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, too overwhelmed with pleasure. “Oh my god, right fucking there—!”

Nanami grins, knowing he’s found the spot that makes your toes curl in pleasure, eyes roll to the back of your head, and legs shake, threatening to give out at any moment. And when his thrusts pinpoint that specific spot, rhythmically hitting on beat to a silent song that makes your head spin once more, both you and him know all too well what’s to come next.

“It feels so fucking good,” You cry out, endless strings of moans and curses dropping from your lips. “I can’t… I’m gonna—”

“Don’t hold back. Cum baby, cum all over my cock.”

You don’t— not even in the slightest bit. You let your mind grow numb, the high of the orgasm riding your entire body, allowing Nanami to give his last few thrusts, only an unworldly noise leaving your throat. Your body jolts in a way you’ve never experienced before, so much so Nanami has to snake an arm around your waist, holding you steady upright from collapsing from your now completely weakened knees.

“Baby, look at me.” Nanami calls, voice soft with a twinge of startled concern. “Are you tired? We can stop now if you want.”

His movements cease, slowly pulling his length from you emitting a groan from both of you. You muster up the strength you have remaining once more to stand upright, looking behind your shoulder and give him a small, reassuring smile, shaking your head side to side.

“No… I’m still okay, thank you for asking.” A hand reaches backwards, latching on to the side of his neck to bring him down for a brief and comforting kiss. “You’re actually such a sweetie, you know?”

Nanami shrugs his shoulders when you let him go, clearing his throat and reaching to scratch at the back of his neck. His actions were uncharacteristically bashful compared to what he had shown you throughout the night thus far, and it was both intimate and refreshing to you to see another side of him you haven’t seen before.

You wanted to know more about him, effortlessly encapsulated by the growing enigma that was him — Nanami Kento. The more you learnt about him, the more you wondered what other side of him he could possibly surprise you further with.

However, for now, there was another issue present to solve in the current moment. The feeling of Nanami’s rock hard cock, long and stiff looming over your backside, reminded you that he had pleased you so well up until now, and it was now his turn to be absolutely spoiled by you.

You lean forward once more, bending fully over to display your ass towards him. Looking over your shoulder once more, a small grin forms upon your face watching Nanami’s stunned expression, eyes fixated right on your assets showcased in front of him.

“I can’t let you just stay this hard, baby.” You whisper, your hands reaching behind you to spread both of your cheeks open. “I want you to let it all out inside here.”

“Fuck,” Nanami curses, watching you wriggle your ass back and forth against his cock. “How did I get so fucking lucky with you?”

“Because you’re a good man… with a blessed cock to follow. Now hurry up and fuck my ass.”

The once cold glass of the window had now turned warm, condensation coating the surface of the glass with droplets of water— except for where the silhouette of your body that was pressed up against the window was not too long ago. The sight is erotic and incredibly lewd, and a part of Nanami wonders if he even had the strength to make it inside you.

But he does nonetheless, moving slowly to allow the tighter hole to adjust to his impressive length and girth. You weren’t a stranger to anal at all, but you definitely weren’t accustomed to someone of Nanami’s size, slightly wincing in the initial discomfort. Nanami takes notice of this, gently soothing the sides of your body in encouragement.

“Baby… you’re taking me so good. Let me know when you’re ready for me to move.”

A few more moments is all it takes, the discomfort quickly dwindling and pleasure replacing its spot. When a breathless moan parts from your lips, fingers scratching the surface of the window in front of you once more in search of more pleasure, you start to move your hips slightly, taking in the rest of his length.

Nanami’s hands grip the sides of your waist once more, beginning to guide your hips up and down his cock. You squeeze him tighter than ever before, Nanami watching the inches of his cock disappear, stretching the tiny hole more than you could take.

“ Fuck. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, darling.”

A new pool of wetness forms from your cunt, and mixed with creaminess of Nanami’s cum inside from earlier you feel the liquids begin to drip in between your legs, running down the insides of your thighs. Removing one hand from the window, you dip your hand in between your legs, examining the slick in between the folds of your cunt. Bringing the fingers back up to your mouth, you make sure to look at Nanami over your shoulder before sticking your tongue out, humming in satisfaction while licking the liquids off your fingers.

“You and I taste so good together.” You grin as best as you can, eyes partially closed and brain fucked out to the core, bringing your hand out behind you towards him in offering. “Don’t we?”

Nanami groans loudly, rejecting your offering. Instead, you feel the palm of his hand pushing the small of your back down once more, forcing you to look forward once more and to hold back onto the window. His hips pick up, increasing its speed entering in and out of you, but this time you feel his chest against your back, a hand snaking forward and fingers rubbing your clit back and forth.

“You’re gonna fucking be the death of me princess.” Nanami whispers, breath heavy against your ear. “But I can play against you and your little minx ways.”

His body moves faster, an outburst of the last bit of his remaining stamina bursting in both his hips thrusting into you, and his fingers moving against your clit frantically back and forth. Numbness clouds your mind once more, eyes shutting close and rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s fucking right baby doll, you tease me like that and I’ll make that pretty little brain of yours turn stupid with nothing but cock on your mind.”

It was too much. In your overstimulated, over sensitive current state, the combination of everything was just too much. The tension in the pit of your stomach grows, this time differently than previous— more intense, striking you in a way you’ve only felt just a few times in your life.

“Oh my god—” You cry out, eyes shut closed so tight you can feel the formation of a few tears in the corners of your eyes. “No— I’m gonna—”

The synchronization is almost artistic. The way your body convulses underneath his, liquid squirting from your cunt across the lower part of the window and onto the floor below, joined merely seconds later by the drips of Nanami’s cum painting your insides that overflow outwards onto the floor below. Your knees finally give in, falling onto the ground in exhaustion and Nanami finds himself accompanying you in an instance, the last of his stamina escaping him and fatigue overwhelming him.

It’s arguably messy. Definitely to most not the most desired situation, laying on the cold, marble floor surrounded by the physical fragments of both your orgasms. But when you turn around to face Nanami, softly panting in an attempt to recollect his breath from his high, the back of his hand resting on his forehead in exhaustion, you can’t help but let out a small, weak laugh. And when Nanami’s eyes flicker towards you at the sound of your laughter, he can’t help but join in as well, fully understanding the beauty of the moment.

Something about it was almost ironic. You were in the most luxurious penthouse suite, experiencing the most sexy, alluring nearly dream-like night with a man almost too good to be true. This part now was most likely the most realistic portion of the dream-like night, yet, it was your favourite.

It was perfect. Imperfectly perfect. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“I’m going to wash up. Care to join me?”

“You know that’s not gonna work.” You reply, pointing up at your mask. “We can’t keep these on in the shower.”

“I don’t care anymore, you’re more than just a quick fuck to me now.” Nanami smiles, a hand reaching forward to tangle with yours.“I already know you’re gorgeous, but I want to see your entire face for myself.”

You wanted to. You really did. But the reality looming over you was too strong to ignore. Despite being your prince for the night, in reality, he still remained your colleague in the office. You knew mixing pleasure with work was never a good idea, and you knew the responsible choice was to remain keeping the two separate.

“Not yet.” Your hand squeezes his back. “Let’s keep up the mystery a little longer.”

—

“Marlboro’s? These are impossible to find here, how’d you get your hands on this?”

You climb back onto the bed, shaking a towel into your damp hair with one hand in an attempt to dry your hair, nudging at the red cardboard box that laid on top of Nanami’s lap. Nanami shrugs, taking two cigarettes out of the box, placing one in his mouth and offering the other in your direction.

“Connections.”

Taking the cigarette, you toss the damp towel onto the armrest of the nearby chair. You join Nanami under the covers of the duvet, and when you situate yourself to mimic him in leaning against the headboard, he reaches over his bedside table for the metallic lighter.

“What, did I just fuck some wanted gangster or something?”

“Not at all,” Nanami chuckles, finding humour in your accusation. “I’m just a regular salaryman… with an interesting part time job.”

He lights the tip of your cigarette first, lighting his own shortly after. A short silence fills the air when the both of you simultaneously take the first drag, seeping in the bitter flavor.

“I won’t ask.” You wink at him, and Nanami rolls his eyes in response. “Keeps you more sexy, like a mystery, you know?”

“What do you smoke then?”

“Blackstones.”

“Awful.” Nanami scrunches his nose in a cringe, instantly tossing the red cardboard box onto your lap covered with the duvet. “Take this pack on me, and treat yourself to something not garbage once in a while.”

“Cigarettes are garbage in general. Literally poison killing you slowly— but for some reason I can’t stop.

Nanami nods in agreement, taking another drag.

“I could never give up — especially cigarettes after sex. Something about ending the night with a good cigarette is the cherry on top.”

“Blackstones taste like cherry, so that could be literal if you wanted it to be.”

“Huh, makes sense.” Nanami pauses, turning to you with a cheeky smile. “You kind of tasted like cherries and tobacco when I first kissed you.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows raise, reciprocating his coy smile back “What about now?”

Nanami leans forward, his free hand reaching to cup the side of your neck, lifting your face upwards towards him. Your eyes flutter closed when your lips meet his, gently caressing with yours and delicately exploring you, drinking in every single flavour he could.

“A mix of tobacco,” Nanami grins against your lips. “And a little bit of me.”

#Nanami #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #nanami smut #nanami reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #smut

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a-supernatural-writer · 3 years ago

Text

Phantom Travler Pt.1

Pairing: Eventual Sam x OC x Dean

Warnings: language

Word Count: 5,751

Isabeau hums in content as she shifts closer to Dean's sleeping form. Isabeau's body was naturally warm, but being close to another person's warmth was nice.

Both Dean and Isabeau's legs were tangled together, Isabeau was encased in Dean's chest, his arms wrapped around her.

The blankets were tossed off to the side, Dean wearing a shirt and his boxers and Isabeau only wearing her black lace bra and underwear, and one of her plaid shirts that was unbuttoned.

Isabeau never really cared if Dean and Sam saw her only in her under garments, she was never one for wearing clothing while in bed. Not to mention the boys never commented about it, so she didn't think they were uncomfortable with it.

Isabeau's eyes opened slowly, small rays of light flooding into the motel room. She looked at Dean's sleeping face and smiled. She closed her eyes, curling her head underneath Dean's chin and into his chest.

It was Dean's night to share the bed with her and he was always a cuddler. That was another thing that the three did. Isabeau switched between Dean and Sam to share the motel beds with. It was sort of an unspoken agreement they've had since they were teenagers.

Isabeau hears the door open, Dean awakens, his eyes watching Isabeau's figure, and moving his arm that was under her to underneath the pillow, ready to pull out a weapon.

The door slams and Dean turns quickly to look, causing Isabeau to open her eyes.

Isabeau looks over seeing Sam standing in the room with coffees and a bag of food. "Morning, sunshines." Sam says.

Dean groans. "What time is it?" Dean asks.

Isabeau rubbed at her eyes, trying to fully wake up.

"Uh, it's about five forty-five." Sam answers.

"In the morning?" Dean asks.

"Yep." Sam confirms.

"Where does the day go?" Dean asks.

Him and Isabeau untangle from their cuddling. Isabeau sits up, reaching for one of the cups in Sam's hands. He smiles softly at her, handing her a cup.

Isabeau smiled as the smell of green tea wafted in her face.

"You're a saint, Sam. Thank you." Isabeau thanks Sam.

Dean sits up. "Did you get any sleep last night?" He asks.

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours." Sam says.

"Liar. 'Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial."

Isabeau raised a brow at Sam's lie. She was passed out before both brothers around midnight. She technically didn't need the sleep but it felt wonderful. Sleep was a mistress that Isabeau would happily submit to any day of the week.

Dean swung around so he was sitting on the side of the bed, Isabeau did the same.

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV." Sam holds his hands up in defense.

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal." Sam says.

Isabeau gave him a look. "Yeah, it is. You won't even let me do aromatherapy on you anymore." She took a sip of her tea.

Dean pouted. "Now that's bad, you never turn that down."

"Look, I appreciate your concern-" Sam starts.

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep our asses alive, so I need you sharp."

Sam shrugs.

"Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?" Dean asks.

Isabeau frowns. That was the reason why Isabeau did aromatherapy on Sam. He came to her the night after Jess's death about the nightmares. That's when Isabeau insisted on helping him sleep and he came to her every night following, but recently he stopped. It worried the hell out of her.

With a sigh, Sam crosses the room, sits on the other bed, and hands a coffee to Dean. "Yeah. But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you."

"You can't let it. You can't bring it home like that." Dean takes a sip of his coffee.

"So, what? All this it...never keeps you up at night?" Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head.

"Never? You're never afraid?"

"No, not really." Dean says.

Sam scoffs and reaches under Dean's pillow to pull out a large hunting knife and holds it up as evidence. Isabeau chokes on her tea in shock. "That was underneath my head?" She whispered out.

Dean glances at Isabeau and takes the knife back. "That's not fear. That is precaution."

"All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue." Sam says.

Isabeau rolls her eyes and switches over to Sam's side. "You wouldn't be so tired if you let me help you."

"Beau.."

"Don't 'Beau', me. Next motel stop, you are letting me help. Don't fight with me on this."

Dean's phone rings, breaking Isabeau and Sam's conversation and he answers it. "Hello?"

"Dean, it's, uh, it's Jerry Panowski. You and your dad helped me out a couple years back." Isabeau and Sam looked at Dean, chewing on their breakfast.

"Oh, right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing. It's not back, is it?" Isabeau tilted her head at Dean's words.

"No. No. Thank god, no. But it's something else, and...uh, I think it could be a lot worse."

"What is it?" Dean asks.

"Can we talk in person?"

Dean eyes Sam, and Sam eyes back. Dean looks to Isabeau, she shrugs, taking a bite of her bagel.

"Yeah, sure. We'll be up there… See you then." Dean hangs up the phone.

Isabeau huffs, "Call dibs on the bathroom first, Dean." She wraps up her half un-eaten bagel and places back in the bag.

"Oh, come on!" Dean whines.

Isabeau chuckles getting up from her spot, placing her tea on the table and grabbing a change of clothes from her bag. "Too bad, Winchester."

As she walks to the bathroom, Dean sips at his coffee, watching her. His eyes lowered down until they landed on her ass. "Dude."

Sam hisses out at Dean as Isabeau walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

Dean raises a brow at Sam. "What?"

Sam gave him a bitch face. "Seriously? Checking out Beau?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, if you haven't noticed Sam, she grew into one hell of a woman. Strong, witty, and not to mention hot. Don't deny it."

"She's our best friend."

Dean pointed at Sam. "Ah, but you didn't deny that she's hot. I know she's our best friend, Sammy. Just being around her again is stirring up some old feelings."

Sam blinked in surprise. "Old feelings? You like Isabeau?"

Dean stared at Sam, not saying anything. They both knew the answer to that question.

Sam groaned, rubbing his face. "I guess we're both screwed then." Sam says.

"Didn't expect that from you." Dean says.

Sam looked away. "I'm not ready, Dean. Not after losing Jess, not yet."

Both brothers sighed. "Then, when you're ready, we'll talk. I won't say anything to her." Dean states.

Sam chuckled. "I thought no chick-flick moments?"

Dean chuckled as well. "When it comes to Isabeau, chick-flick moments are accepted."

"Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out." Jerry says to Sam.

Isabeau walks just behind the three, listening to their conversation.

"Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?" Sam asks, quickly glancing at Dean who was looking around.

"Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie." A random worker commented as he passed by the group.

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking. Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?" Jerry asks.

"Yeah, I was. I'm… taking some time off." Sam answered.

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time." Jerry told Sam.

"He did?" Sam asks, surprised.

Isabeau smiled. Even when the boys and their father fought, John loved his two sons no matter what.

"Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?" Jerry asks Dean.

"He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now." Dean answers.

"Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" Jerry says with a smile.

Dean laughs as Isabeau silently nods with a smile of her own.

"No, not by a long shot." Sam disagrees.

Isabeau lightly punches Sam's arm at the comment.

Jerry looked back at Isabeau. "Not to mention we get the famous, Isabeau."

Isabeau looked at Sam and Dean in confusion. Both brothers shrugged at her. How the hell did Jerry know about Isabeau.

Jerry, seeing Isabeau's confusion, explained further. "John told me about you. He talks about you like you're his own kid. But, he said you work with your family?"

Isabeau nodded. "Yeah, both my parents and my three younger brothers. All of us grew up in the uh, lifestyle." Isabeau explained to Jerry.

Jerry nodded at her. "I see. Anyways, I got something I want you guys to hear."

"I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley." Jerry says to Dean, putting a CD in a drive.

Dean, Sam and Isabeau were sitting across from Jerry, waiting to be informed of the situation.

"Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours." Jerry explains more before the recording plays.

"Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britania 2485—immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message—May be experiencing some mechanical failure…" The entire recording was crackling and the voices themselves were indistinct. There was a loud moan at the end of the recording.

Isabeau narrowed her eyes, looking over to Sam and Dean to see if they could make any sense of the recording. They were just as confused as she was.

"Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south." The three looked away from each other and back to Jerry.

"Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive." Jerry explained and Dean's brow rose in surprise.

"Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault." Jerry says.

"You don't think it was?" Sam asks.

Jerry shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors." Sam starts listening off the things they need.

"And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Isabeau adds in.

If she could see or touch the wreckage, it could then figure out what they were dealing with.

"The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage...fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance." Jerry says.

Dean frowns, "No problem."

Sam and Isabeau are waiting by the car outside a Copy Jack. Isabeau is on the phone, leaning against the impala, next to Sam. "Hey, Olivia. What's up?"

Sam tilted his head at Isabeau, curious to who Olivia was.

The voice of a woman responded from the other line. "Nothing much. Just calling to check in on you. Everyone at the house misses you. We heard you picked up hunting with Sam and Dean."

Isabeau chuckled. "I miss you guys too. And yeah, the three of us have been hunting since I left home. Hope you don't mind that they stole me away from you girls."

Olivia laughed through the phone. "Oh, some of the girls are a little pissed. That's only because we all didn't have our bonding session before you left."

Isabeau's cheeks turned a little red. "I'm sure they can find a way to release their frustrations. Besides, we can go a while without it. If they get desperate, I'm sure I can take a quick trip."

"You might have to. We miss our leader." Olivia teases.

Isabeau rolls her eyes. "Drop the title."

"What?! It's true!"

Isabeau chuckled. "Not that I don't love the phone call, but…"

Olivia groaned, "But you're on a hunt and you need to focus. Yeah, I get it." Olivia paused. "Have fun with your lover boys."

"Oh, fuck you!" Isabeau laughed out.

"Oh, honey, I'm waiting for it. Come home soon!" With that, Olivia hung up and Isabeau shook her head in disbelief, shoving her phone into her pocket.

"Friend?" Sam asks with a smile.

Isabeau nods. "Yeah. Olivia's a hybrid as well. We've hunted together since the end of middle school."

Sam nods his head. "There are other hybrids out there? What kind?"

"There's a lot of us actually. We've all found each other in middle school; been friends ever since. All of us are half witches and the other half is a different supernatural being. Everyone of one of them hunts back home." Isabeau explains to Sam about the newly found knowledge of there being other hybrids apart from her.

As Dean exits the Copy Jack, an attractive woman enters, catching his attention.

"Hey" The woman says.

"Hi." Dean says with a smile.

Isabeau rolls her eyes as Sam raises his hands up, "You've been in there forever."

Dean holds up three IDs, "You can't rush perfection."

Isabeau sees what is on the IDs, "Homeland Security?" Isabeau takes her ID, looking at it closely.

Sam takes his own ID, "That's pretty illegal, even for us."

Dean nods with a smile, "Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times." Dean walks over the drivers side and gets in.

Sam and Isabeau follow suit; Sam getting into the passenger seat and Isabeau sliding into the back seat.

"All right, so, what do you got?" Dean asks.

"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder." Sam answers.

"Yeah?"

"Listen." Sam plays the tape, which has been edited on his computer to pull out a scratchy voice.

"No survivors!" The voice exclaims.

"No survivors"? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors." Dean asks, confused.

Isabeau shakes her head. "Got me stumped."

"So, what are you two thinking? A haunted flight?" Dean asks as Isabeau leans forward, leaning on the front seat.

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers." Sam explains.

"Mm-hmm." Dean hums, considering Sam's theory.

Isabeau continues, "Or remember flight 401?"

Dean looks at Isabeau, "Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights."

Isabeau snapped her fingers. "Correctomundo."

"Yep." Dean agrees.

"Maybe we got a similar deal." Sam says.

"All right, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?" Dean asks and pulls out the list of the seven survivors that Jerry gave them.

Sam leans over, pointing at the list. "Third on the list: Max Jaffey."

"Why him?"

Well, for one, he's from around here. And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did." Sam explains.

Dean looks over at Sam. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I spoke to his mother."

"And she told us where to find him." Isabeau finished.

The Impala is parked in front of the gate to a building with a sign out front reading Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital, while Dean, Sam and Isabeau were in the hospital's garden talking to Max.

Max is walking with a cane between Sam and Dean, and Isabeau is walking beside Dean.

"I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security." Max states.

"Right. Some new information has come up. So if you could just answer a couple questions…" Dean trails off.

"Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?" Sam inquires.

"Like what?" Max asks.

"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe... voices." Isabeau lists off things that Max could've possibly seen or heard.

Max turns to Isabeau. "No, nothing." He looks away.

"Mr. Joffey—" Dean starts.

"Jaffey." Max corrects him.

The four sit down in the chairs that were placed in the gardens, all of them surrounding a table.

"Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?" Dean says Max's name correctly and continues to ask.

Max nods at Dean.

"Can I ask why?" Dean questions.

"I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash." Max says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Uh huh. And that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?"

"I...I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Isabeau and Sam look on as Dean pries more. "See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what."

Max kisses his teeth, "No. No, I was...delusional. Seeing things."

Dean turns to Sam and Isabeau, "He was seeing things."

Sam tilts his head and gives Dean a look, before looking to Max, "It's okay. Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please."

"There was...this-man. And, uh, he had these...eyes-these, uh...black eyes." Isabeau tensed at Max's words, reaching out to Dean's knee.

Dean glanced at her, reaching down to place his hand over her own and looked back at Max.

"And I saw him-or I thought I saw him…" Max pauses in thought.

"What?" Dean urges Max to continue, squeezing Isabeau's hand under the table.

Max sighs, "He opened the emergency exit." Dean blinked in surprise. "But that's...that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door."

Isabeau licked her lips, not really knowing how to respond, "Yeah."

"This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?" Sam asks.

"What are you, nuts?" Max looks at him in disbelief.

Sam tilts his head and blinks.

"He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me." Max says.

Sam looks to Dean and Isabeau. Dean purses his lips and Isabeau sighs.

The impala pulls up in front of a house. "So here we are. George Phelps, seat 20C." Sam says.

All three of them look towards the house. "Hmm. Man, I don't care how strong you are." Dean says.

Dean, Sam and Isabeau get out of the car, closing the doors.

"Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight." Dean leans against the impala.

"Not if you're human. But maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form." Sam turns to Dean and both brothers look at Isabeau.

Isabeau shrugs. "Some creatures do take human form to blend in."

"Does that look like a creature's lair to you?" Dean points to the house.

Sam turns to look at the perfectly ordinary house.

Isabeau sighs, "You never know."

Dean, Isabeau and Sam sit across from Mrs. Phelps. Sam picks up a framed photograph. "This is your late husband?"

Mrs. Phelps nods her head, "Yes, that was my George."

"And you said he was a...dentist?" Dean points to the photo.

"Mm-hm." Mrs. Phelps confirms. "He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…" Mrs. Phelps was holding back tears.

"How long were you married?" Isabeau crosses her legs.

Mrs. Phelps smiles softly, "Thirteen years."

Isabeau gave her soft smile of her own. Being married for that long, Isabeau could only dream of being with someone for so long.

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything...strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asks.

"Well…uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."

Dean and Sam look at each other. Isabeau rubs a hand over her mouth. It wasn't the answer that any of them were looking for.

Sam, Isabeau and Dean walk down the stairs out front of the house.

"I mean it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense." Sam concludes

"A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified. You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage." Dean says.

Isabeau smiles, turning toward the brothers, "Okay. But if we're gonna go that route, we'd better look the part."

Isabeau stands next to the impala outside of the store, "Mort's for Style", waiting for Sam and Dean to exit.

Isabeau was now dressed in a slate grey button up shirt with a couple of the buttons undone, a black blazer, black dress pants, and black heeled ankle boots.

She didn't bother putting her hair into any fancy style, just having it loose was fine. She also put away her accessories, leaving her wrist and fingers feeling empty. She already had an ensemble of suits packed in her bags from previous hunts.

Dean and Sam exit the store, wearing crisp black suits with white shirts. Isabeau smirks at the two, appreciating the fact that they looked absolutely smoking hot in suits.

Dean looks down at himself in distaste, "Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers."

Sam adjusts his collar. "No, you don't. You look more like a...seventh-grader at his first dance." He teases Dean.

Dean looks down at himself again. "I hate this thing."

"I like it." Isabeau walks up to them, smiling brightly at the two. Both brothers stop to take Isabeau's new appearance. Never once had either of them seen Isabeau anything remotely dressy, and the heels were also a nice surprise for them.

Dean couldn't help but rake his eyes up and down Isabeau's body, letting out a low whistle. Sam was also looking at every inch of Isabeau, but was better at being discreet about it.

Isabeau's smile widened even more when she realized that they were both checking her out.

She turns to Dean, fixing his tie. "I would be lucky to be the date to your first dance." She teases Dean, bringing up Sam's joke.

Dean gave her a confident smirk, "I'd be the lucky one, sweetheart. Though I did expect a skirt."

Isabeau scoffs, patting his chest, "The day I wear a skirt is the day I go insane."

She turns to Sam, "Have I told you that I like you in a suit and tie, Stretch?"

Sam licks his lips, not expecting the question. "No?"

Isabeau smirks, "Well, I guess I better say it more often. Come on you two, we want to get into that warehouse, right?"

Isabeau walks away, leaving the brothers behind and sliding into the back seat of the impala.

Sam and Dean look at each other. "She's going to be the death of me." Dean simply states.

"You and me, both." Sam agrees.

They enter the warehouse and show their badges to the security guard, who nods and lets them in.

They walk among plane wreckage; Dean pulls out a device and puts earbuds in his ears.

"What is that?" Sam asks.

"It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies." Dean answers.

"Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?"

"'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade." Dean grins, proud of his work.

Isabeau purses her lips, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam says sarcastically. Dean's grin falls, frowning at Sam.

Dean runs the EMF meter over pieces of the wreckage, Isabeau follows suit with ghosting her hands over the materials. Nothing so far.

Dean comes to a piece that was the emergency door handle to the plane, the EMF meter clicking rapidly over the piece that was covered in yellow dust. "Check out the emergency door handle."

Dean puts away the EMF meter and scratches at the yellow dust, getting some on his hand. "What is this stuff?"

"One way to find out." Sam scrapes some of the yellow dust into a bag with his pocket knife.

Dean gestures Isabeau to the handle. "You're up hot stuff."

Isabeau reaches her hand up to the handle, grasping it in her hand. She frowns, no images filling her vision whatsoever. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Sam asks, placing the bag in his pocket.

Isabeau shrugs, "Nothing. This new power isn't always consistent."

Dean rubs her shoulder, "It's okay. Can't always rely on it."

The sound of a door banging open draws their attention away from the evidence. "I think we have company heading our way, boys."

Dean nodded, and all three of them headed out one of the back doors just before two agents and several security guards burst in with their guns drawn.

They make it outside, Sam, Isabeau and Dean peer around a corner and walk out casually. An alarm blares, and they run to the gated exit. Pulling off his suit jacket, Dean throws it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence, and Dean and Sam climb over.

Isabeau follows suit, pushing off from the ground, and jumping over the fence without even touching it and landing perfectly on her feet. Sam and Dean look at her in surprise. "Thank god for gymnastics." She tells them.

Dean grabs his jacket with a smile. "Well, these monkey suits do come in handy."

Dean runs off with Isabeau and Sam follows the two.

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

The three were back in Jerry's office, still in their suits. Isabeau took off her blazer, rolled up the sleeves of her button up to her elbows and put her jewelry back on. None of them had time to change, but god be damned if Isabeau went another minute without her accessories.

Jerry looks at the yellow stuff through a microscope; what the microscope sees is replicated on a screen. "Huh. This stuff is covered in sulfur."

Isabeau bit her lip at the information, she already knew what they were dealing with, but she didn't want to say anything. I would cause too many questions that she couldn't answer.

"You're sure?" Sam asks.

"Take a look for yourself." Jerry moves away as banging sounds are heard from outside the office.

"You effin' piece of crap…" A man shouted in the distance. The noises were coming from him.

"If you fellows will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire." Jerry says, leaving the office.

As he leaves, Dean goes over and looks into the microscope.

"Hey. Einstein. Yeah, you. What the heck you doing? Put the wrench down—" Isabeau slightly chuckles as she hears Jerry scolding a random worker.

"Hmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue." Dean implies.

"Demonic possession." Isabeau states. Both of them look at her. Isabeau shrugs in response.

Dean purses his lips. "It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch."

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible." Sam shrugs.

"Yeah, but, this goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?" Dean stands straight, hands on his hips.

"You ever heard of something like this before?" Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head. "Never."

Both of them look at her. Isabeau shrugs in response. "Dealt with a few back in college. That's why I reacted the way I did when we talked to Max when he said the black eyes; I already had a hunch on what we were dealing with."

A knock on Jerry's office door made the three look away from each other and to the source. Standing in the doorway was a woman around Isabeau's age. She had strawberry blonde hair that was pulled into a messy bun, freckles covered her entire face and had bright green eyes. The woman smiled at Isabeau.

"Heya, Isa."

Isabeau smiled. "Olivia."

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

The four headed back to their motel room. Dean and Sam were at first hesitant with Olivia tagging along, but once Isabeau told Dean and reminded Sam that Olivia was hunter like them, they let her come with them.

Sam,Isabeau and Dean also changed back into their regular clothing.

Isabeau was beyond happy to back in her regular clothing. It's nice to dress nice once in while, even if it's for undercover, but comfort always won over fashion.

All four of them were in full research mode, with images and articles taped to the walls and strewn across the beds, Sam is looking at something on the computer and Dean is reading something on one bed while sitting on the other.

Isabeau and Olivia are searching through Isabeau's books on the floor. Each of them passing notes to each other silently, working together perfectly without even talking to one another.

"So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it." Sam lists off everything he found.

"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this." Dean counters.

"Well, that's not exactly true." Olivia speaks up, both girls getting up from their spots.

Isabeau sits at the table across from Sam and Olivia stands behind Isabeau, her hands resting on the back of her chair.

"You see according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease." Olivia continues.

"And this one causes plane crashes?" Dean questions Olivia.

Olivia stares blankly at Dean, her hands moving to Isabeau's shoulders, squeezing them lightly. Dean's gaze lands on the interaction, his hand clenching and unclenching into a fist and gets up with a huff.

Sam observes the girls as well. They were awfully close and touchy together.

Isabeau notices the boy's reactions and looks away, one of her hands reaching up to land on top of one of Olivia's.

"All right, so, what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?" Dean walks toward them.

Sam sighs, "Yeah. You know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one?"

Dean snorts, turning away.

"What?" Sam asks.

Dean scratches the back of his head, turning back toward them. "I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake."

Isabeau looks up at Olivia, both of them giving the other a knowing look. The two knew so much more than Sam and Dean knew.

"This is big. And I wish Dad was here." Dean admits.

"Yeah. Me too." Sam agrees.

"Not normal for you…" Isabeau starts.

"What?" Dean asks.

Isabeau sighs. "Demons… as I said, came across a few in college. I still hunted, and I hunted things that not even you guys or John has seen yet. It wasn't all sunshine and daisies, Dean."

Olivia smiles sadly at Isabeau, reaching with her free hand to push back a few stray hairs behind her ear. "College wasn't easy for any of us, Isa."

Sam furrowed his brow at Olivia's gesture. He thought it was quite intimate. He just assumed that the two of them were friends, I mean that's what she told them. Was she lying? If she was; why?

Dean's phone rings, and he answers it. "Hello?"

"Dean, it's Jerry."

"Oh, hey, Jerry." Dean greets.

"My pilot friend...Chuck Lambert is dead." Jerry's voice slightly breaks at the end.

"Wha—Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?" Dean stutters out, his face full of shock.

"He and his buddy went up in a small twin about an hour ago. The plane went down." Jerry answers.

"Where'd this happen?"

"About sixty miles west of here, near Nazareth."

Dean blinks. "I'll try to ignore the irony in that."

"I'm sorry?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon." Dean hangs up.

Sam looks over, "Another crash?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

"Where?"

"Nazareth." Dean answers.

Olivia moves her hands away from Isabeau and claps them together. "That's my cue to leave. It was nice to finally meet you both." Olivia says to Sam and Dean.

Dean gives Olivia a smug smile. "Isabeau talks about us?"

Isabeau rolls her eyes, throwing Dean a look.

Olivia chuckles. "Well I mean, yeah. You guys were her best friends first."

Olivia looks at Isabeau. "Send me off?"

Isabeau gets up and swings her arm around Olivia's shoulder with a smile. "Of course. Wait here a minute?" She asks Sam and Dean to give them a couple minutes alone outside.

Sam nods. "No problem."

Olivia and Isabeau walk outside the motel and stop in the middle of the parking lot. "I approve." Olivia states.

Isabeau scoffs at Olivia. "Really? You approve?"

"Have you seen them? They are literally eye candy. Plus, they seem good enough for our beautiful leader."

"You are never going to stop with that title, are you?" Isabeau asks, removing her arm from Olivia's shoulder and the two now facing each other.

Olivia shrugs. "Even if it isn't official, Isa. Deal with it."

"But I'll deal with your bullshit all the time. Can I get a pass?"

Olivia rolls her eyes and playfully shoves Isabeau, causing the two to laugh. "I am warning you though, if you aren't coming home anytime soon, expect visits from all of us at one point or another."

Isabeau nods her head. "I'll keep that in mind… Be good?"

Olivia smirks, her eyes turning into an ink black. "Honey, I'm half demon. I'll be less of a pain in the ass than usual."

Isabeau's eyes turned into a fiery orange in response to Olivia. "I'd expect nothing less."

The two laugh and come together for a tight hug. "Be safe." Isabeau says as the two pull away, both of their eyes back to normal.

Olivia gave Isabeau a two finger salute before disappearing into thin air, leaving Isabeau alone.

Isabeau rolls her eyes, "Always dramatic."

Isabeau looks back at the motel, sighing to herself.

One day she would tell them.

One day she will tell Sam and Dean that some of her best friends are half demons.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural season one #season one #phantom traveler #part one #oc #female original character #supernatural original character #sam x oc x dean #sam winchester x oc #dean winchester x oc #x reader #supernatural x reader

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deniigi · 4 years ago

Text

hi I have something for y’all called a disaster.

I wrote an Inimitable!Spiderman/Modern Star Wars AU because no one can stop me, not even myself. it is like 47 pages long. I am handing it tenderly to y’all.

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Title: impossible scenario

Summary: Peter runs into some drunk assholes arguing, calling each other Han and Luke. He lets it roll off him until he can’t anymore and eventually finds himself for the first time on the other side of someone more chaotic than himself.

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

There was an argument happening under a fire escape. Peter knew about it because a concerned dude wearing a fuckin’ Yankees cap had flagged him down with waving arms and told him that someone needed saving, Spiderman. Some tall asshole was kidnapping a young blond dude, the guy and his too-cool-for-him girlfriend explained. They’d heard the two scuffling.

Peter maybe stared for a beat too long at them because the gal pointed two blocks behind him and said, “That way. I think the blond guy might be drugged. He’s slurrin’ something strong.”

Peter liked her shoes. They looked like Miles’s, but blue.

“Spidey?”

Miles told Peter all the time that he wasn’t cool enough to wear Jordans. MJ and Johnny had agreed. Such sad times.

“Spidey.”

“I got it,” Peter sighed.

The gal tsked.

“Man, you’re too young to be this jaded,” she said.

Peter sighed.

“You’re the third person to say that this week,” he said. “You think I should go back to therapy?”

There was a pause.

“You know that answer, dude,” cool-gal said. “Go save the twink.”

Twink. Got it. Thank you, citizen.

“There are websites for that shit, Spidey.”

Bye now.

“Apps, even.”

Bye, bye.

“BetterHelp or Headspace or somethin’—”

“Two blocks, you said?” Peter asked.

Two blocks away, there was indeed a man with dark hair trying to lift a violently intoxicated twink up onto the first steps of a fire escape. Peter examined his options. There were many ways to ruin a potential kidnapper’s day. His favorite involved coke and mentos, although he’d received feedback that that was a waste of perfectly good food. Down the list was also the option to walk over and scream bloody murder so that the kidnapper shat themselves and dropped their target.

That was good, but Peter was tired and the thought of mustering up the energy to scream at a noticeable volume made his thighs turn to Jell-o.

That left snark and violence.

Today, he would not choose violence. Only for today.

He strode out of his dark temporary residence between two dumpsters directly towards the tall dude and his mark. The mark was a messy one. Bless his heart, he was unwittingly making himself the most noncompliant victim to have ever victim-ed. Every time the tall guy got him almost vertical, he gave up his corporeal form to become drunk slime and ooze back to the ground with various moaning sound effects.

It would have been funny if not for the kidnapping context.

The fact that Peter had been standing there under the beams of two separate side-building security lights and neither of those two had noticed yet was also objectively funny—or would have been, if Peter had the capacity for processing humor at the moment.

Alas. This was what he got for telling Tony that he’d evolved beyond the need for sleep. He got caffeine-pilled. And there would be no true rest until that shit wore off, exhausted as Peter’s body yearned to be.

“Kid, work with me here,” the tall guy said.

“I can’t, I’ll die,” the shorter one moaned.

“Luke.”

“I’ve done my time—thirty years in AZKA—”

“Keep your voice down, oh my god.”

Peter was just standing here, fellas.

“Luke.”

“Why’s it always me? Why’s it always gotta be me? The hell did I do to piss off the whole galax-galaxy? HA. My bad, my bad. The whole universe?”

God, what a mood.

The tall guy dropped his grip on the smaller one and loomed over his puddle of ooze with poison in his gaze.

“People are going to die, Luke,” he said.

“So what? They’re always dyin’. Everywhere I go, people’re dyin’ and when it’s not them dyin’, you know who is?”

“Kid.”

“ME.”

“So you’re just gonna wallow there, feelin’ sorry for yourself?” the tall dude snapped.

“Sure am,” the puddle of ooze hummed.

This was not a kidnapping. This was a come-to-Jesus in the back alley of a bar. Peter was not needed here. He turned around on his heel and stopped when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that?” someone whispered.

“Don’t mind me, pal, just your friendly neighborhood—” he started.

“Look what you did,” Tall and Handsome hissed at Ooze-Man. “Someone went and called Spiderman on us.”

Peter lifted a brow as Ooze-man ripped its chest up from the asphalt and composed itself back into a human shape with fluffy blonde hair and huge wide eyes.

“Omigod, it’s Spiderman,” the guy said. “Wait, no. Gimme a hand. No, not that one, fuck off, nevermind, I don’t need you.”

He drew himself up to standing, only leaning slightly on his buddy there and gave Peter as lopsided smile.

“Hi, there,” he said with a twang that Peter couldn’t place. “Were you lookin’ for someone, handsome?”

Ah, they had reached the time of night when all the drunks needed to tell Peter things he already knew about his ass. He loved this time.

Not to mention that this dude looked eerily like Johnny. Scarily like Johnny. So much like Johnny that Peter almost wanted to take a picture of him to send to Sue so that she could print up some lost and found posters.

“Just lookin’ at you, babe,” he said. “This guy botherin’ you?”

The tall guy blanched and then grabbed at his face in horror. Peter swallowed his laugh.

“He sure is, hon. You got time to rescue me?” Blondie crooned.

“Luke, please. Please.”

“Because I’m in real distress,” ‘Luke’ said with a pout mighty enough to fell Thor.

“You sure seem like it,” Peter said. “C’mere. I’ll walk you home. Leave that tool, he ain’t worth your breath.”

He held out an elbow like proper gentleman and was pleased at the hand that Luke laid over his heart in response.

Peter could imagine Johnny’s face in six different expression of jealous horror at a selfie taken with this look-alike. Each was beautiful in its own special way. As payment for being referred to counseling by the public, he at least deserved to receive at least two of those faces.

“You mean that?” Luke asked him.

“He doesn’t,” his tall companion said.

“I sure do, where do you live? I’ll walk you,” Peter said.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry, he’s gonna escort me,” Luke said, all choked up and fanning his eyes lightly.

This tall friend grabbed him before he could escape, though, and pulled him back behind his own body.

“Listen, Spidey, this is a misunderstanding,” he drawled. “I know this idiot—he is technically my idiot— and I’m the one escorting his ass home. Thanks, though. You’re a real menace. Beat it.”

MMMMMMM.

And here Peter had been planning on being jaded and miserable this fine night. How could he now when this dude was ticking every box that made him feel alive?

“What’s your name, dollface?” Peter asked across the short distance.

“None of your business,” Tall Guy answered abruptly.

“Luke,” Luke said around him. “Are you gonna save me?”

“In just a minute,” Peter said, striding forward with a hard roll in his shoulder and deep drop in his knees.

It was amazing how Tall Guy wanted to take some steps back all of the sudden. Peter couldn’t help but let a smirk widen his face as he advanced.

“Okay, hang on now,” Tall Guy said with both palms out in front of him. “You don’t know what this is about, Spidey. You don’t want to get involved with this, trust me. He’s just bein’ dramatic. No need to get testy.”

“You sure do a lot of talkin’ for your friend there,” Peter noted through his grin.

“Yeah, Han,” Luke said.

Ha.

Han. Han and Luke. Ned was gonna be enraptured when Peter told him about this later.

“Luke. Back me up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” ‘Han’ finally snapped. “I’m not doin’ this because I want you to suffer, alright? I don’t want nothin’ to do with it either, okay? No one does. But it’s this or—”

“Or everyone else,” Luke finished for him in a strangely toneless voice.

Han sighed.

“It’s always everyone else,” Luke said.

“Not here.”

“Why’s it always everyone el—No, no, here. Why not? We’ve got fucking Spiderman in our midst, how much more surreal can this moment get? No. You listen to me, Han—”

“I’ve been listening to you all damn evening and you know what I’m hearing?”

“—I lost my life for this. I lost my home, my aunt, my uncle, my hand—”

“I’m hearing you making this about you.”

“—everything I ever knew, and I tried to make it right, didn’t I? I made the school. I gathered the kids—”

“And it’s not just about you this time, kid. It’s not about you, it’s not about me, or Leia, or Chewie or—”

“—I lost my kid and the love of my life, and I finally get a second chance at finding them and giving them the goddamn happy ending they deserve, and the next thing I know—”

“Luke, you’re the only one,” Han said.

“I WAS NEVER. THE ONLY. ONE, HAN,” Luke roared out of absolutely nowhere, sober as a saint. “I was never the only one. EVER. Ahsoka. Go find her. She’s everything that I’m not and more. She’s the real—”

“Luke.”

“Stop saying that name. I HATE that name. I would do anything for twenty goddamn seconds where I didn’t have to be him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Han said quietly. His shoulders had rounded out and become black and heavy under the weight of their shadow. Luke’s eyes, however, looked like topaz.

“I mean it,” Luke said.

Oho.

So shit had gotten real tense, real fast, so Peter about to make a decision that was gonna make Shelley so proud of him she would weep when he finally slunk back in through her office door.

He was leaving. He was turning around and taking a wee jog. Maybe turning a corner, having a little jump over a fence, up a wall, to a place as far away from this one as superhumanly possible.

Bye, bye.

“This galaxy needs you, Luke.”

Peter stopped five paces away.

“They need you,” Han repeated. “And I need you.”

Peter slowly looked back to see that Luke’s face had twisted sharply out of the light, towards the alley wall.

“I’m sorry that we met again like this,” Han said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s always you. You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“Shut up,” Luke said.

“But if you don’t do something, then it won’t be just me and you and all these random others sliding back into that cesspit we all barely crawled out of.”

“Stop.”

“You’ll never find him if things go back the way they were.”

“You—you don’t know that. There—maybe—”

“Luke. Listen to me. Please.”

“Maybe there’s a chance—”

“Luke,” Han said reaching out and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder and clenching it hard enough that Peter should see the bunched fabric, “Do you want Din to live through this shitshow a second time? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Peter shivered. The pressure at the base of his neck was building. The Spidey Sense wanted to hiss in his ears like white noise. It pinned him where he was, staring over his shoulder at those two solid shapes, one digging a hand into the flesh of the other.

His stomach turned.

Luke said something that Peter couldn’t hear. Han pulled him toward his own body by the grip he had on his shoulder. At first, Luke seemed to stagger, like he was walking on black ice. He stopped a single step away from Han’s body, still with his face angled severely away. Han said something to him.

There was a long pause, then Luke seemed to fall forward. Han caught him and crushed his head into his shoulder, lowering his own until it was almost touching Luke’s ear. They clung to each other.

Luke was crying.

The Spidey Sense started to crackle and pop in Peter’s ears.

“I gotchu, kid,” Han said in a rasp. “I gotchu. We’re gonna get through it.”

Peter blinked once and finally unlocked the muscles in his neck. He wasn’t meant to witness this. He held out a wrist and fired a line.

It was weird.

It was just weird.

Something wasn’t right. And Peter couldn’t make his stomach not writhe about it.

Luke.

Han.

An offhand mention of like, characters. Character names. They were character names. Leia, Chewie.

Peter had heard of people who lived their lives honestly believing that they had been other people—fake people—in past lives, but like, damn man. Why would you put yourself in a position like that were you were moved to actual tears for some elaborate street-drama?

Maybe it had been a joke? That was the only thing he could think it could be. Maybe the universe had gazed upon his hubris at work and gone ‘ah yes, I know what this young man needs: emotional confusion at midnight on a Thursday. That’ll fix him.’

If that was the case, then yeah. Good job, universe. Good job, larpers. Y’all are equally sick.

But if not—and Peter no longer lived in a world where he could rule out any possibilities—then he had just witnessed—Dude, he’d just witnessed—

He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond him. It was so far beyond him that like he might have a real stroke taking the thought seriously.

There was only one person who could hold that kind of information unscathed.

Only one.

PP: Ned. I need you to listen to me and tell me I’m not crazy.

NL: no promises but go on

PP: I think? I just saw? Luke Skywalker? And Han Solo? In an alley behind Kitty’s?????

NL: fascinating

JS: Say more

PP: who let you in here?

JS: you?

PP: SECURITY

NL: Peter say more

PP: I can’t there’s a nerd in here and it’s vibrating at the wrong decibel. SECURITY???

MJ: yeah?

PP: I’m trying to have a breakdown. Can you remove Matchstick please?

MJ: what kind of breakdown

JS: he thinks he met Luke Skywalker

PP: Security has failed me. God?

NL: Peter can you name three things you can see.

PP: I am not manic. I am in touch with reality. I’m just having anxiety because I just fucking saw two people calling each other Luke and Han fighting behind Kitty’s. Like real fighting.

JS: nicknames?

PP: I—

PP: oh my god nicknames

PP: Johnny I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. never leave my side

JS: 😊

MJ: wow that’s cringe. Imagine naming yourself after SW characters

NL: does kitty do a cosplay night now????

PP: idk it was wild. People thought that ‘Han’ was trying to kidnap ‘Luke’ but when I got over there, Luke started flirting with me and then shit got real and they started arguing over like him hating his name and not wanting to do something and losing everything or some shit

NL: that’s a lot. I’m sure it was nothing, though, peter.

PP: yeah it was. My SS has been going nuts ever since I left. You think they bugged me?

JS: yes I will come search your body imminently

MJ: my job storm, back off

JS: after MJ has finished prelim checks, I will then search your body for you out of the kindness of my heart ❤

NL: that’s weird, the SS doesn’t usually freak out about cosplayers

PP: ikr?

NL: lol imagine if they were serious

MJ: don’t say that

JS: well now we have to lean in. thanks ned

JS: they were definitely real. God they were so real. You hear that Fate? You got us. They’re definitely real.

PP: BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE?

MJ: cue breakdown

NL: that would be so fucking funny. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo trying to save the world from the hellscape of nyc. The rats alone would thwart them.

PP: ned I’m freaking out

NL: oh you mean you’re actually freaking out?

PP: deeply

NL: oh shit sorry. I’ll be over, have you slept yet?

PP: NO

MJ: on it

JS: can I join?

NL: no johnny

MJ: no johnny

PP: 😭

JS: one day our love will build a bridge, peter. In the meantime I am stroking your ear comfortingly from midtown

Need and MJ’s weight pinning him to a mattress brought sleep but not necessarily comfort. They both thought that this was a sick joke someone had played on him that was now destroying his psyche. They thought that the couple pointing him back towards the cosplayers had been in on the joke.

Peter would have agreed with them if it wasn’t for the Spidey Sense. Everything else lined up perfectly.

Ned sighed in the morning and told Peter to go talk to Wade.

Wade’s hallucinations were, by far, more auditory than visual, but he stayed quiet while Peter talked his ear off over the phone in his locked office. He waited until Peter had run out of words to describe the feeling of impending doom and then huffed a bit of a laugh into the receiver.

“Them Star Wars people are unreal, Pete, you know this,” he said. “Look at Ned.”

Ned was perfect.

“Take off those rosy shades, hon. Now, look again.”

Ned had perhaps memorized the entire scripts of the first three movie and 90% of the spaceship names and the jedi lineages.

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Peter didn’t want to.

“We all gotta do shit we don’t want do.”

Fine.

Ned’s goal in life was to go to his wedding in a stormtrooper suit.

“Keep going.”

Every Lego project they’d built together since 13 years-old had been a Star Wars-related one. When Ned had decided to move out of his parents’ place, he’d shed actual tears over MJ and Peter mutually suggesting that he sell some of his memorabilia.

“Will this delightful buffet before our very eyes, what is the likelihood of your two pals being drunk larpers in too deep to quit?” Wade asked.

73%.

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Wade.”

“No problem. Although, now I gotta see this. You said they were behind Kitty’s? You think I can get a stormtrooper costume in 8 hours?”

“They’re not still gonna be there, Wade,” Peter huffed. “It’s 10 am.”

“You ain’t know that. What if Luke Skywalker’s a useless drunk, huh? You ever think of that?”

No.

“What’d he look like?”

Peter groaned.

“He looked like Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Blond hair, blue eyes—sort of like a chipmunk that forgot its stripes.”

“I’m onto you, Skywalker.”

Peter hung up to Wade’s cackle. He slouched low and tapped his pen against his desk. Then against his fingers.

He stared at the edge of his keyboard.

“What’s the weirdest thing you could imagine, Pete?” he asked himself.

PP: sam

SC: yeah?

PP: do you like star wars?

SC: nah

PP: you’re perfect

PP: do you believe in past lives?

SC: like spiritually or culturally? I know I was a cult-kid for a min there but before that we were Buddhists and like, past lives are part of the package

PP: that’s cool. What do you think of people being reborn as themselves again like, 500000000 years later? From a galaxy far far away?

SC: I don’t think about those people

PP: okay well, hypothetically. Let’s say that you were going to imagine someone who embodied that whole spirit. Who would it be?

SC: Buddha

PP: not buddha

SC: is this a riddle? Is it Jesus?

PP: THOR. Thank you this has been helpful ily bye

Mr. Stark asked him over a cup of viciously black coffee why Peter was seeking out the demigod of his present nightmares.

That usually meant that he and Thor had disagreed on basic physics principles again. Peter took that also to mean that the demigod was still in the building. Possibly loose.

“He’s with Banner,” Mr. Stark said scathingly.

“Thanks, you’re amazing,” Peter said as he sailed out of the room.

Thor was sitting on Dr. Banner’s lab table, despite Dr. Banner telling him to get off no fewer than two times in the five minutes that Peter was in there, schmoozing and making pleasantries. He warmed Thor up to the home-run hit by asking him all about past lives and present lives and what the soul was on Asgard. Thor was only too happy to explain a load of nonsense that made Banner roll his eyes and poke at his muscles with a thermometer.

“So, hypothetically speaking,” Peter drawled in a very casual lean, “With the infinite galaxies and universes, etcetera, there could be one where Star Wars people exist. And so hypothetically, they could get reborn into a universe like ours.”

Thor blinked at him.

“You remember the laser swords?” Dr. Banner deadpanned.

Thor lit up.

“I suppose it’s possible,” he told Peter indulgently. “But if that was the case then it would be a long tragedy, no?”

…yes…

Say more, Thor-man.

“Well,” Thor said with a big, happy smile, “The series of events that unfolded in that story seemed to me to be one of triumph and tragedy. With one would come the other—that’s how these stories work, yes?”

…yes.

“So if Master Luke Skywalker and his companions arrived into our space here, then they must experience the same in order to be themselves,” Thor said, bobbing his head in pity. “Perhaps what would look like a new start for such people would result only in terror and disappointment until the same conclusion was reached.”

Peter felt his own grin twitch.

“So it’s not impossible?” he asked.

Both Thor and Banner looked at him quizzically at the same time.

“Peter?” Dr. Banner asked. “Is this coming from somewhere?”

Peter’s grin twitched so violently, it turned into a grimace that even superstrength would not let him maintain.

“Can I borrow one of you?” he asked.

Wade was not happy to be met outside of Kitty’s in the middle of the day, especially because his stormtrooper outfit, in his words, ‘did no justice for the size of his balls.’

Peter was ignoring that. He dragged Thor past Wade’s righteous anger until he was standing on the place where the other two had stood the night before. Thor stood there gamely.

“There,” Peter said. “Any like, energy signatures?”

Thor glanced around and shrugged.

Wade scowled at him and hounded him off the spot so that he could stand there instead.

“I feel nothing,” he said, devoid of emotion.

“Same,” Thor said.

Damnit.

“Perhaps you are—”

The Spidey Sense smashed through all of Peter’s sense and screamed at him to get to the street.

Get to the street. Get to the street. Get to the—

There.

Across the way. Chipmunk, no stripes.

That was the guy from the day before. He was on the opposite sidewalk smashed in with the crowd, dragging a hand through his hair and laden with a backpack and two separate totes. He was wearing a strange set of clothes—a mash of casual and formal—and seemed to be in a hurry, the type of hurry that involved pushing past folks at a half-jog and not stopping at streetlights.

“Got ‘im,” Peter hissed.

“No shit?” Wade asked over his shoulder.

Thor made a sound of interest.

“I see him, too,” he said. “What incredible energy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Wh—

Peter whirled on him.

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he warned. “I’m gonna go distract. You two, on my six.”

Peter broke four traffic laws on his way around the block. He swung himself around a corner and fucked up the collar on his labcoat and counted to four before stepping out right into ‘Luke’s path.

They collided. Luke stumbled back and dropped one of his totes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Peter blustered. “Are you okay?”

Luke swore and dropped down without answering, collecting the odd ends of metal that had clattered out from his bag and now rolled loose over the pavement. Peter stooped to join, gathering rings and pipes of all sorts of sizes in his hands. Oncoming folks gave them a wide berth.

It took a moment for Luke to realize what Peter was doing, but when he did, his shoulders went stiff as a board.

“DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” he snapped, just as Peter made to pick up a little plastic bag with a wad of tissue inside it.

Peter froze.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said.

This time, Luke finally met his eye.

“Oh, Jesus. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke blustered, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ve got them. Thank you, though. It’s okay.”

He took the metal out of Peter’s hands and stuffed them back into his bag. He snatched the plastic bag before Peter could touch it and put that on top.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood. “Thanks again.”

And just like that, he hurried off past Peter down the pavement.

Peter watched him go.

“Catch?” Wade asked softly from the corner.

“Negative,” Peter said, reaching into his sleeve and holding up the thin aluminum tube he’d hidden up there by the edge of his shirt-sleeve.

It was shiny and longer than he’d expect for any plumbing project. The inside appeared to be coated with some sort of heavy, non-reactive material, and half of the outside had grooved bands carved into it.

“Someone’s building something,” he said.

“Mid-century sink?” Wade asked, taking the tube.

“Nope,” Peter said.

NL: That is a lightsaber hilt

NL: where did you get that? It’s like mega accurate. Was it etsy?

PP: I stole it

NL: give it back

PP: I can’t I stole it from Luke Skywalker.

NL: Peter.

NL: we talked about this.

PP: He’s Luke Skywalker. I swear on the grave of my mother

MJ: this is a problem. This is now an intervention.

PP: I will prove it. If he’s Luke Skywalker, then he will do ANYTHING to get this thing back.

NL: and if not?

PP: then I will wait two days before politely tracking down his home address and then I will return it via wall crawling

JS: UM

JS: SORRY

JS: PETER CAN YOU CALL ME?

PP: no

NL: no

MJ: no

JS: are

JS: are you sure??? Because there’s a guy in Reed’s lab right now talking to him and Sue, asking SUPER politely for access to—I shit you not—the crystals we picked up from that space trip the other day???

NL: …

PP: …

MJ: …

PP: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

MJ: fake

NL: no way

PP: WHAT’S HIS NAME, JOHNNY BOY????

JS: I can’t

PP: nope you gotta

JS: I can’t I’m gonna cry I didn’t ask for this

MJ: out with it

NL: please say it’s obi-wan

JS: HHHHHHHHHHH

JS: nope

JS: just a guy named Ben 🙃

PP: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

PP: I told you motherfuckers

JS: right. So like. Awkward. But you uh, know that hilt thing you have?

PP: …is Obi-Wan Kenobi about to beat my ass, Johnny?

There was something about putting the hilt into the palm of someone more famous than Captain America that made Peter’s knees weak.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker had flirted with him the other night.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize him as Spiderman.

Nothing helped, really, especially when those big topaz eyes lifted and Peter could see that their rims were red and raw.

“Thanks,” Luke Skywalker—the embodiment of hope itself—said in a soft, defeated rasp.

Every alarm in Peter’s head said to save him. Save him from what? How? Who knew.

Ned and MJ seemed to feel the same way, if the pressure on each of his arms was anything to go by.

“Well, that’s all cleared up, then. Thank you so much for your help; it is deeply appreciated,” a stupidly pleasant gentleman with a perfectly combed beard and lovingly coifed light hair said to the room at large.

Obi-Wan Kenobi—pardon, Ben Kennedi—was far more handsome than any movie could ever dream to make him. What they’d done to him in the 1970s, Peter saw now, was a fucking crime. He watched as this beautiful human being set a warm hand on Luke Skywalker’s—pardon, Luke Naberry’s—shoulder and used it to steer him towards the Baxter Building’s front entrance.

He watched as the two of them, like true Master and Padawan, stepped out onto the landing and opted for the stairs. For one fleeting, unbelievable second, Luke looked back over his shoulder at all of them before taking the next step after his Master.

He was right the other night.

He wasn’t the only jedi. Not anymore.

“So that just happened,” Sue acknowledged for everyone after the door had clicked closed and the sound of footsteps had faded off to nothing.

“I’m going to cry,” Reed announced.

“This is single-handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ned said.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into our kitchen,” Reed told Sue like she hadn’t been there right next to him.

“The empire is trying to establish itself under our very feet,” Sue said back a little viciously.

“The real empire,” Reed whimpered.

Wait.

No, go back.

“For real?” Peter asked.

Sue and Reed looked back at the rest of them and then exchanged a look.

Peter was sad now. Depressed and laid out on his side staring back at Valeria’s huge eyes on the floor while Ned and MJ and Johnny asked Reed and Sue two hundred clarifying questions.

Peter didn’t need the specifics. He was thinking back on the conversation that he’d witnessed between Luke and Han Solo—Han Solo who was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and an accent straight out of New Jersey. Solo who had probably been charged with forcing Luke to face the facts in front of all of them because he was the one who Luke trusted most.

But it had shattered them—both of them.

The New Hope had given up everything. He was tired. His heart was torn. He was jaded just like Peter had been that same night. He’d been avoiding the tightrope that Peter had already started crossing, though, probably looking for every possible way to not have to set the first foot on that wobbly line.

He’d walked it before.

Valeria reached out with a chubby, round hand and touched the side of Peter’s face.

“Spiderman,” she said with terrifying understanding, “Someone needs help.”

He wriggled in close enough to bonk heads with her.

“Baby Storm,” he whispered, “I think you’re right.”

MJ thought that Peter needed to leave things alone. She pointed out that he had plenty of problems without getting involved in universe-saving. She gestured to Johnny and volunteered him for the job.

Johnny refused on account of needing to be the prettiest blond in any room. He claimed that if he wasn’t, he had to fight for dominance.

Ned was on the other end of the spectrum. He had 43 reasons why Peter should get involved with things, and 40 of them ended up in the same place which was ‘it would be cool.’

One of Ned’s better reasons, however, involved pointing out that Peter had already stolen half of a lightsaber. He was good and involved now, whether he wanted to be or not. And that was enough for Peter to decide to go on a hunt to give a formal apology.

He recruited Ned to help him locate Luke Skywalker.

That didn’t work.

They tried Luke Naberry.

That didn’t work either.

They ended up going through every possible iteration of every Star Wars name they knew and then filtered out the people who’d been named by exuberant parents and then filtered out anyone who didn’t live in New York and they ended up with fat lot of still nothing.

It was like Luke Skywalker didn’t truly exist in this world.

Until MJ found his Instagram by typing in ‘guys who look weirdly like Luke Skywalker.’

She held the phone aloft in triumph and they all gathered round to gape in awe at her intelligence and research skills.

Luke’s Instagram was nothing but pictures of coffee.

He had one selfie and this selfie was enough to have gotten him onto a BuzzFeed article. In it he was holding—you guessed it—coffee. Iced coffee. One in each hand.

He was shaking them, and one had been labeled with his name—hence the public connection made.

“Someone needs to tell him that coffee is not a food group,” Johnny observed.

“Maybe he works nights,” MJ said.

Ned lifted an eyebrow.

“Maybe this is his job,” he said.

There was a pause.

Some snooping revealed that Luke was an honest to god food website editor. He was a cameraman.

Repeat. Luke Skywalker, cameraman. He filmed all the food hosts for his company’s Youtube channel. He edited videos. He more or less blended into the background of everything, while having his finger prints on damn near everything.

This was a man after Peter’s own soul. They were kindred spirits in hidden identities, content creation, and suffering under a boulder of responsibility too great to cope with.

He had to find him now.

And after they had his Instagram it wasn’t too hard. He seemed to hang out in various parts of the Bronx and Peter just so happened to know some folks out that way.

Louis told Peter that he would never speak to him again if he found, befriended, and then didn’t share Luke Skywalker (the man, the real man, I’m not fucking with you, Louis). But he also recognized a place on Luke’s instagram that he seemed to be working his way through the menu of. He sent along an address and told Peter not to forget his promises.

Angel asked why he was looking for Johnny Storm in the Bronx.

Peter left Louis to rattle sense into her.

He took a walk on Saturday morning. A long walk. A long train ride, then a walk, then a half hour of squinting, and then, lo and behold, he found a blond guy banging his head into the center of an out door metal table across from a woman with heavy braids trailing down the sides of her neck. She was much older than him and drummed white-painted fingernails across her cheek as she thought.

Peter hid and called Ned and MJ for an ID. He peeked the phone’s camera out enough for them to see the other two and then snatched it back.

Ned was about to flip a table.

“That’s clearly Ahsoka Tano,” he said. “She—the braids, dude. Dead give-away. And she put ribbons in them, like what even is discretion?”

Peter didn’t know that person. He continued not to know this person, even as Ned dragged him through a trainwreck of Star Wars lore.

“So she’s a friend,” he said.

“She’s like a jedi, but not like a jedi, she was a jedi, but then she said ‘fuck the order’ and—”

Great. Peter was approaching.

Ned held his face in his hands. MJ told Peter to report back on his findings. Peter ended the call and inched closer, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the coffee joint to see what nonsense they were selling.

It was nonsense with lots of syrup. He could never say no to syrup.

He watched the two outside while waiting for his order. Luke gesticulated to his friend and she spoke, giving reasonable gestures back. He stopped her and dug out his phone and that little plastic baggy full of fluffy material. He answered his phone. His friend took the little bag and held it up to the light.

She frowned at it.

Luke pushed away from the table and walked away to take his call. Peter’s order was called. He grabbed it and swerved out towards the patio.

“Hello,” he said at the edge of Luke and his friend’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

Luke’s friend stared at him.

“It is,” she said. “Move along, hon, you’re ten years too young.”

Wow.

“For your friend?” Peter tried. “Could I leave my number?”

He had this lady’s attention now. She was looking him up and down, appraising. Peter tried not to flex. He stayed cool. Matt-levels of cool. He smiled winningly.

“Alright, why not?” she said, digging through her bag for a receipt and a pen. Peter beamed as he leaned down to scrawl his number down on the back. He got halfway through before he heard a step stop nearby.

“Look alive, kid,” Luke’s friend said. “Hey, Luke, this guy was just—”

“You again?” Luke said.

Peter lifted his head and brows.

“Hi,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

There was a long silence.

Luke’s friend looked between them and then gave Luke a long, judgmental stare.

“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “Thanks, though. How did you find me here?”

Mmm. Beginner’s luck.

“Here,” Peter said, offering his number on the receipt. “If you ever need someone to talk to who gets it.”

Luke’s friend bit her lip and looked away in secondhand embarrassment. Peter ignored her for now.

“Thanks,” Luke said. “You don’t and you won’t. But you’re very pretty.”

Nice.

“You’d be surprised,” Peter told him. “Gimme a text. I’ll leave y’all alone now. Enjoy your coffee.”

He left. But not before hearing, “but that ass, Luke.”

Ned told him that there was no way that Luke was ever going to text him and he was disappointed in Peter’s hostage-taking skills.

But he was proved wrong two hours later and, for his crimes, had to admit Peter’s brilliance publicly.

LS: hi sorry. This is Luke. This morning when you stopped by our table, did you happen to see a little plastic bag on it?

Why yes. The one in Peter’s pocket right now? That bag?

PP: hi!! I did, actually. You guys aren’t very subtle 😏

LS: it’s not coke

PP: I’m not judging

LS: no, it’s not coke, I swear. It’s something INFINITELY more important. Did you happen to see if it had fallen on the ground?

PP: ah, no, sorry. I didn’t see it

PP: OH NO

PP: oh my god I’m so sorry, I think I took it with me when I accidentally took your friend’s pen.

LS: I

LS: what’s your name?

PP: Peter ❤

LS: Peter, you have a fucking problem

LS: I’m starting to think that you want something from me. And listen, you’re a handsome guy, but I’m not available and my type isn’t kleptomaniac. What do you want for it?

PP: well you got me

PP: to talk

LS: about what?

PP: mostly about why you look like you’re a wet phonebook in a bad gutter

LS: a phonebook???? What era are you even from????

PP: I could say the same to you, sir.

LS: I

LS: wh

LS: alright touche. The point is that I’m not going to talk to you. I just need that bag back. It’s a life and death situation.

PP: what are they? They aren’t coke crystals.

LS: how would you know?

PP: what are you, a cop?

LS: NO. This is going nowhere. What. Do. You. Want?

PP: To. Talk.

LS: I’m not going to talk to you.

PP: then why did you ask me to rescue you?

He held his breath.

LS: I didn’t

PP: you did

LS: I didn’t ask you for shit. This is it. What’s your last name.

PP: Man 😊

LS: Man what

PP: That’s my last name.

LS: Peter Man.

PP: oop, nope, sorry. That’s someone else.

LS: …so I’m calling the police, now. That’s what we’re saying?

PP: depends. Do you still need to be rescued?

Come on, Skywalker. Come on, remember.

LS: I never asked you to rescue me.

PP: You did. Think back.

LS: I didn’t

LS: I just made a joke to

LS: WHAT AFAJSDFA DTTH E FUCK

Peter cackled and let himself fall onto his back.

PP: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ❤

LS: YOU’RE

PP: Just your friendly neighborhood guy ❤

LS: YOU

LS: you

PP: me

LS: THAT’s how the storms knew you

PP: yep 💋

LS: I don’t even know what to say

PP: it’s okay, you don’t have to say shit. The main thing I wanted you to know was that I hear you. And if you need it, I’ve got you.

LS: You’re literally trying to rescue me??

PP: it’s my job

LS: IT ISN’T. How have you never been arrested? how did you find me? Did you track my phone? Is it some kind of spider thing???

PP: yes

LS: I am legally obligated to kill you with the force now

PP: harder daddy

LS: ADaaSDASFSDFSdd

LS: oh my god Han is going to lose his gourd

LS: I’m sorry I just I can’t believe you of all people stole my damn hilt

PP: I’ve got……………………..sticky fingers

LS: go die

LS: no I didn’t mean that sorry that’s a thing with me and my sister. I mean, okay. You got me. Hero of NYC.

Peter’s cheeks were starting to hurt.

PP: I’ll bring them back to you.

LS: Please do, Ben’s about to have a stroke.

PP: you mean obi-wan?

LS: he’s convinced his cat ate them. There’s a staring contest happening. No one has blinked in two minutes and I don’t want to be here for the internal investigation.

PP: where do you live?

Luke sent an address. Peter held his phone high and walked it into the living room where Ned was bitchily composing an Instagram post. He and MJ looked up at the same time.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peter said. “Luke Skywalker and Co. live in a cemetery.”

It wasn’t a cemetery. It was a funeral home, but close enough.

Luke was waiting outside on the stoop in a cardigan about four sizes too big for him. It was there probably to protect him from the equally large ragdoll cat in his arms.

Peter smiled. Luke stared at him and then shook his head and went through the screen door. Ned gave Peter a biting look.

“Made friends, I see,” he said.

“We’re doin’ great,” Peter told him, hopping up the stairs. “Look at us, totally—”

“Insidious.”

Peter stopped and turned nervously to see through the screen door where Obi-Wan Kenobi had seized both of the cat’s cheeks. Luke continued to hold it with maximum doneness levels.

“Where have you been?” Obi-Wan asked the cat seriously.

“We have guests,” Luke said. “Take your beast.”

Obi-Wan snatched the cat out of Luke’s arms with contempt all over his face.

“You are a villain of the highest order,” he told it.

“Ben. Guests. Please evacuate. I am hosting negotiations,” Luke said.

“We should have named you ‘Sith.’”

“Ben.”

Peter was not going to laugh at Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was too surreal.

“Come in,” Luke said, returning to hold open the screen. “I hope you’re not allergic. There are two of them.”

T-two?

“The other one is Junior.”

Peter stepped over the threshold and found himself in a room that looked like a human birdhouse. It was full of surfaces that were almost completely empty, as though an enrichment object had once lived there but had been removed as punishment. Luke waved Ned and MJ in and accepted their apologies on Peter’s behalf.

Peter ignored them to lock eyes with a creature more stunning than any he had ever encountered. It sat on the kitchen counter by a single clear jar labelled ‘Not Spice.’ It blinked grumpy green eyes.

“Oh, it’s these people again?”

They all looked behind them to see Obi-Wan peering around a doorframe with the first cat draped over his shoulders.

“Kleptomaniac,” Luke said, pointing at Peter. Peter waved.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I will distract Ahsoka.”

He vanished. Luke grimaced after him.

“Let’s go talk in the back,” he said. “There are no bodies, I promise.”

The funeral home had a little deck and a yard small even for this far out in Queens. It was crammed full of plants that appeared to be in a competition to bloom. Luke invited them to sit and then left to make coffee.

Coffee, yes, how had Peter forgotten.

He peeked over the side of the deck down where there was a large stone set in the center of the garden.

“A seeing stone,” Ned whispered to him.

“Oh, how did you know?”

They all jumped.

Peter swore that Obi-Wan hadn’t opened that sliding door. How had—what—

Ned was at a loss for words in the face of one of his greatest heroes.

“I—uh. M-movie? I mean, sorry. It was in The Mandalorian, second season, with the—”

“Yet more television,” Obi-Wan said derisively.

They all stared.

“Can you teleport?” MJ asked him.

“I thought you were bothering Ahsoka?” Luke asked, from inside. He squeezed past the man and his cat with three glass mugs in hand. He set them down on the little square table off to the side of the desk railing.

“I was, but then I got curious,” Obi-Wan said. “And I lost Junior.”

Luke stared at him.

“I’m going to lock you in the basement,” he said.

“Try, try, and try again,” Obi-Wan told him, petting his beloved cat’s head.

“Do you even know who Spiderman is, old man?”

“More television.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter had to keep a conscious watch on his jaw, lest it fall open in the face of the most handsome, clueless man on the planet. He watched as Obi-Wan, disgusted with all this ‘television’ nonsense skulked back off into the guts of the home. Luke shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’re talking. Fork ‘em.”

Ah.

Fair was fair.

Peter produced the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over. There was a shout somewhere inside followed by someone going ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

“Ben keeps our home ghost free. He terrifies all the wannabee haunters,” Luke said simply. “Thank you for these. I imagine it’s somewhat of a shock to learn that it’s all real.”

It was, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing Peter had encountered by far.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked conversationally.

Luke gave him a weird brow.

He seemed smaller than before in that enormous cardigan. Certainly smaller than the movies made him seem. His face was a little thinner too, and his lips seemed to slope into an almost permanent pout.

“About twenty years,” he said. “We were born in California, but Anakin moved us here when we were eight.”

Anakin? Like, Darth Vader, Anakin?

“’Luke, I am your father’—yeah, that guy,” Luke said with a scoff. “Except, you know, he ain’t dead. And he’s the only one who can make Ben remember that tea isn’t a meal, so we keep him around for that and to scream back at Leia.”

Peter was already completely lost to the dynamics of this household. It wasn’t like the books and movies—Ned’s twitching for his phone to take notes was proof enough of that.

“That’s awkward,” MJ said. “So did y’all do like, collective counselling for the past life shit?”

Luke deflated and moaned into his hands.

“It’s not past life shit if your damn name is the same,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

It sounded like it.

Imagine growing up with your apparently-Star War-obsessed father and uncle who’d built a home and a business (presumably) around that shit, only to find out later that they’d done it because it was literally their religion.

What a trip.

“When did you find out?” Peter asked gently.

“Oh, you know. Last week,” Luke said with a bitter grin. “Quit my fulltime job. Dumped my ex. Broke my lease and now here I am. Once again. Back at this place.”

“Do you want a hug?” Ned asked into the awkward silence.

“You’re very sweet,” Luke said. “If I touch another human, I will start crying and never stop.”

Yikes.

Barely holdin’ on by a thread there, buddy? How’s the hyperawareness going?

“Why does it matter, is my question. For you, I mean,” Luke said with a suspicious squint. “You fought a goblin guy, didn’t you? With a hover board?”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, yeah.

Yeah, Peter sure had done that.

“And like, the bird dude? Didn’t you down a plane?”

Perhaps.

But Luke had blown up the Deathstar, no?

“These things are not equivalent,” Luke said flatly. “I joined a rebel alliance. There were loads of us.”

Mmm. Perhaps so.

“God, how old are you even? You look 22.”

Peter gawked.

“I’m 27,” he said.

Luke did a double-take.

“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”

“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.

Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.

“The Force,” he said.

Ned’s face fell.

“Do we not have the Force, here?” he asked.

Luke flinched.

“Listen,” he said abruptly, “We’re workin’ on it. This isn’t our original galaxy. The rules are all different. The only one who’s managed to make even a spark happen is Obi-Wan so far, but as soon as we find Master Yoda, it’s over. We’ll already have won.”

“You lost Yoda,” MJ mused.

Luke stammered and caught himself.

“We lost a lot of people,” he snapped. “It happens when you shift galaxies. Anyways, that’s what the stone is for.”

MJ glanced back at the stone and then leaned her forearms onto the small table.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You jedi folks all popped up over here by some cosmic accident. You don’t have the Force. Most of you don’t even remember who you are. You lost your most experienced Master, and you’re going to fight the Sith?”

Peter stirred his coffee nervously.

Luke’s eye twitched.

“We don’t need the others,” he said. “We only need the Force. To fight the Sith. Yes.”

MJ frowned deep and held her chin with both hands.

“So you need the thing you for sure don’t have the most,” she said.

Luke opened his mouth, but not before the window by the door snapped open and Obi-Wan leaned out to say, “We always have the Force.”

Luke covered his face in despair.

“I was listening from the kitchen window,” Obi-Wan told him lovingly.

“GO FIND CODY ALREADY,” Luke roared at him.

“I did, he’s right here,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, stroking his angry cat.

“The other Cody.”

“Oh, I am trying, don’t you worry.”

“Ben, so help me God—”

“Force.”

“SO HELP ME FORCE—”

Star Wars had really left out the part about Luke’s explosive temper. Peter winced, but Ned laughed and the sound seemed to have a calming effect on Jedi-on-Jedi crime about to take place in the kitchen. Obi-Wan appeared pleased with this development and emboldened. He wove past Luke out onto the desk and came over, cat and all, to point down to the seeing stone in the middle of the garden.

“Others who feel the Force’s energy will be drawn to it,” he told Ned fondly. “It’s how we got Luke back home.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “You called me.”

“And so others will also come,” Obi-Wan said with confidence. “The most important thing is that we believe in the Force. And from that, we will find guidance and power and—”

“He means Yoda,” Luke translated. “He’s been putting frogs on it as an offering, even though me, Ahsoka, and Anakin told him that this is a human’s world. A human’s world, Ben. Even if he did eat them, he’s not eating them raw.”

“Don’t be discouraged by Luke’s attitude, he is very stressed,” Obi-Wan told Ned and Ned only affectionately. “I told him not to be, you see there are four of us here already, and the Chosen One is among us.”

“Anakin told you to stop calling him that,” Luke moaned, massaging his temples.

“He was the first to be aware of our present situation,” Obi-Wan said.

“He took a hallucinogen and had a paranoid breakdown,” Luke pleaded. “Ben, please. Go inside. Think of your blood pressure.”

“Perhaps, but it was a useful breakdown, was it not?”

“I am so sorry for him, he’s getting senile,” Luke said to the rest of them.

“Your energy is different,” Obi-Wan informed Peter out of absolutely nowhere. “Are you also Force-sensitive? Were you drawn to the stone?”

Er.

No.

Sorry?

“He’s Spiderman,” Luke said, gesturing pointedly. “Remember Spiderman?”

Obi-Wan did not. Peter suspected, actually, that Obi-Wan still used phonebooks, if he used phones at all, that was.

Luke took a deep breath and let it out.

“Okay, let me just lay it out,” he said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t have to get involved with this. We appreciate your help, but what would help us even more is if you stay out of it, alright?”

Yeah, okay. Sure. Peter could respect that.

“Amazing. And don’t tell other people.”

Understood.

“Unless they’re Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. “In which case, ask them how they feel about rocks.”

Luke just stared at him coldly this time.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” he said dangerously.

“No, I used to be stressed,” Obi-Wan told him. “But you and Ani are doing that for me, so I have resolved to be a free spirit. Nice to meet all of you. Have more coffee. I don’t like this one; I will have it out of the house by sundown.”

He left, and possibly for good this time. No one knew what to say in his absence.

“So,” Peter tried, desperate for something to break up the tension. “You said a few days ago that you were looking for someone?”

Luke finally stopped making growling faces towards the sliding door. He lit up like a bulb.

“I am, actually,” he said.

Luke was looking for a very particular person named ‘Din.’ He described him as ‘six feet tall and covered in armor.’ He asked if they knew of such a person.

Peter had to shove a hand against his mouth in case he made an unwanted connection between this description and Obi-Wan behavior.

“Haven’t,” MJ said. “Who is he?”

“My husband,” Luke said.

Ned choked.

Peter choked.

MJ tilted her head.

“You have a husband?” she asked. “I would have remembered a husband in that series.”

Luke leaned his chin on his palm and gazed sideways over the city. He seemed to sigh.

“I don’t know why he isn’t connected to me in the media created here,” he said. “It’s probably because he’s always been very shy.”

Oh, aw. Peter loved that. The contrast between them was heart-warming.

“We had a son together,” Luke said. “His child. He brought him to me. One of my students, at first.”

Hang on a minute here.

Peter exchanged a glance with Ned. Ned tried very hard to pick a way to approach this sensitively. He landed on asking, “What was his name again?”

“Din,” Luke said. “Din Djarin.”

Ned cringed.

“He was a Mandalorian,” Luke explained. “Very, very, very shy. Like, he would rather chew off his own leg than make small talk with a stranger. I think, before I knew all this, I was still subconsciously looking for him. All my exes are the same type.”

That—

Okay, so like.

Did these people own a TV?

“Do we look like we own a TV?” Luke deadpanned. “No. If Ben senses anything bigger than a datapad happening in this place, he’s driven to madness and breaks it.”

UH?

“He doesn’t actually break it,” Luke sighed. “He just finds a way to make it unusable—putting clothes on it, disconnecting the monitor, that kind of thing. He thinks they waste electricity.”

What a guy. Peter wanted to put him and May in a room and see what conspiracies they could spin together.

“Why do you ask?” Luke asked.

Ned cleared his throat.

“Do you have a, uh, datapad, then?” he asked.

“DIN. That’s DIN. He’s got his own show. Oh my god, that’s—stay right there. Don’t move.”

Bless this man. Peter wanted to hug him so bad. They’d lost him to the staircase leading up from the second floor to the attic. Peter wondered who he was showing the tablet to.

Maybe Obi-Wan?

“I told you this already,” a voice up there said.

“LOOK AT HIM.”

“You’re killin’ me, smalls. We had this exact conversation last week. Did you forget?”

“You knew where he was.”

“Alright, alright. Downward march.”

Anakin fucking Skywalker came down the stairs with a handful of Luke’s shirt in one hand and the tablet shoved under his other arm. He paused and frowned at the three of them in the kitchen frozen in shock, and then apparently decided that that didn’t matter. He carried on dragging Luke with him towards the kitchen counter. He dropped the tablet onto it and Peter realized that the lower half of his sleeve on that side was empty.

He watched as the guy let go of Luke and chased the not-angry cat off the counter, cursing.

“Alright, this?” he said, tapping on the tablet. “Is the link I put here.” He rapped the same finger on what Peter now saw was a whiteboard covered in rows upon rows of symbols that he’d never seen before.

“Din here? Din here. You see?” Vader told Luke with untold patience.

“I can’t read that,” Luke moaned. “You lied to me.”

“It’s up in the kitchen, Luke.”

“You’re a liar and a cad. Do it in Basic.”

“This is Basic.”

Oh, dear. All that fanfic about Luke meeting Darth Vader and having a breakdown was looking real embarrassed now, wasn’t it?

“If it’s Basic, why can’t I read it?” Luke demanded.

“Because, like I told you last night, the night before, and the night before that,” Vader said painstakingly, “It doesn’t all come back at once. It’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Luke snapped.

Vader leaned his head back with half-lidded eyes. Luke didn’t look even remotely like his kid, even with him looking all pre-quels-like now.

“We talked about this, too, remember?” Vader asked.

Obviously not. Luke was distressed. He had eyes only for the tablet now.

“No, of course not, silly me,” Vader said. “Why are humans here?”

“Ahsoka went home,” Luke said.

“Thank you, that was not my question.”

“What was your question?”

“Why are non-order humans here?”

“I told you, Ahsoka went—”

“Son, I will kill you if you continue to act like Obi-Wan,” Vader said without missing a beat.

“You can try,” Luke said offhandedly. “But only one of us has two handed grip.”

There was a long stare.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Vader told him. “Why do we have living guests?”

He gestured back to Peter, Ned, and MJ like they were flies on a set of blinds.

“Oh, because that’s Spiderman and he stole your kyber crystals,” Luke said.

Vader rounded on Peter, and Peter actually felt fear.

Vader blinked once.

“This may as well happen,” he decided somehow placidly. “I’m going back upstairs. Where did your grand-master go?”

“Into the mist,” Luke said. “Can you feel Din?”

“Negative, ghostrider.”

“When the Force chooses you first out of favoritism, can you feel for Din?”

“Ah yes, can I feel for your Force-repellant life partner with all of the Force energy that I do not have? Yes, I sure can.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, primary monstrosity of my loins.”

UM?

This felt a little hostile for Peter’s tastes. Not that it wasn’t earned. Clearly it was earned. It was just horrifying.

“Guests, you are dismissed,” Vader said in their direction. “Unless you’re drawn to the rock outside, in which case, you may stay. Otherwise, do not darken this doorstep again, or else we will leave you with the other dead in the morgue.”

“Thanks for bringing the crystals,” Luke said from behind him. “And for talking. I do feel better, actually.”

They left the funeral home. Obi-Wan was outside by the mailbox as though waiting for them. Peter wasn’t sure he had any emotional energy left to approach him with.

“Thank you for speaking to Luke,” he said as the three of them attempted to pass unnoticed. “It’s good for him to talk to others his own age.”

Uh-huh. Good night, sir?

“Good night, Peter, Ned, and Michelle.”

They hadn’t given their names.

They definitely hadn’t given their names.

Ned wasn’t sleeping for two years. He made this clear with a lot of clapping gestures and then rolled around on the floor, talking about all kinds of shit that Peter couldn’t decipher. MJ watched him and flicked her eyes up to Peter with concern on her forehead.

“That family is cinematically dysfunctional,” she said.

Correct.

“They’re barely their own characters.”

Correct.

“What now?”

Peter wasn’t sure. The best he could think of was to just keep an eye on the situation. Maybe check in every couple of weeks?

“If you say so,” MJ said. “I think you made Ned’s life, by the way. Good job.”

Peter tried checking in every two weeks. It started because he happened to hear of a tunnel collapsing in Queens nearby the funeral home. He texted Luke to ask if he needed a save and all he got back was a ‘well, not anymore.’

After that, Peter kept a close eye on happenstances occurring around the city. There were more than he bargained for. And when he glanced at Luke’s Instagram after the first week after the tunnel collapse, he noted that two of the nails on the hand Luke held his coffee to the camera with had gone completely black.

That was worrying.

Peter was used to be the danger-prone asshole in his friendgroup. He did not like this role-reversal. MJ asked him sarcastically what the problem was.

He texted Luke again.

PP: how many nails do you have left bro?

LS: we put a hole in one to release the pressure

PP: that don’t sound great bro.

LS: it’s fine. Oh, but good news

PP: oh?

LS: the most predictable thing ever has happened. The Vader has regained force power

PP: that’s worrying

LS: ? why?

PP: won’t he go dark?

LS: ah, no. He fucked up and raised me and Leia with Ben this time after our mom died. He had his chance to go dark and traded it for 8 consecutive hours of sleep instead.

PP: I truly don’t know what to say

LS: It’s fine we did 12 years of family therapy after the accident so we are no longer on the DSS watchlist

PP: I know less what to say

LS: he won’t find din :/

PP: is that your priority right now?

LS: aren’t you supposed to be spiderman or something? Don’t you have chaotic things to say?

PP: you know normally I do, this is literally out of character for me. but I think you also might be absorbing my chaos.

LS: that’s fair. I have that effect on people. Hey, is your buddy Ned available to chat? He knows more than I can remember about my old life. Can I borrow him?

That sounded like a horrendous decision.

PP: yeah let me get you his number.

LS: thanksssss

Ned reported a few days later that his services were needed at the funeral home. He was leaving them all now to befriend Luke Skywalker as was his true destiny.

He came back a few hours later and reported that his services had been helpful and he was pleased to say that Darth Vader was now the official herder of ‘wans’ in the house. This included all Obi-Wans and padawans.

He seemed to be the only guy there who could like, retain information given to him for some reason. He accepted this as his lot in life and went around repeating the same things to the others ad nauseum until they finally stuck for them.

Peter wondered if that was his personal hell.

Ned didn’t think so. He thought the guy was pretty chill about it and had probably been doing it for a while now. He did it more for Ahsoka Tano and Luke than he did for Obi-Wan. Although that was probably because Obi-Wan appeared to be on a hunt that made all non-relevant information given to him slip off his back like water.

Another two weeks. Another text.

PP: hey luke, I saw you drowning on the news. You okay?

LS: GOD my ex-workplace keeps calling welfare checks on our house. We’ve had more cops here then flies these last few days.

PP: ex-workplace is one way to refer to your old job. Sounds like they cared about you. What did you do?

LS: preschool teacher.

Peter was going to lose his shit right here on this bed.

PP: was that your calling?

LS: that was Luke Naberry’s calling. Luke Skywalker’s calling is to make the lightsaber go vrrrrrrm

PP: you honestly terrify me

LS: thanks han says the same thing. OH. HE FOUND CHEWIE.

PP: no shit??

LS: yeah I told Ned, not you. But yeah. He found him lugging boxes for a bodega. And now they both work at the same bodega. Which like, objectively, is a bad thing because Han was a UN translator.

PP: I’m

PP: sorry

PP: what?

LS: I know he was all respectable and shit. It was awful. I can look at him again without feeling like I’ve failed in every part of my life.

PP: dare I ask what your sister does?

LS: lawyer

PP: not senator?

LS: we’re not old enough to be senators.

PP: every moment becomes more concerning than the next. You fascinate me. This is why they put you in like, all the films.

LS: because I’m sexy yeah

PP: that too

LS: not to you. I’m off-limits bub. I’m married.

PP: how’s that going for you?

LS: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

PP: I see. So no Din yet?

LS: I will find him if it kills me

PP: that’s so romantic. Hey you should watch that series. They gave him a little green yoda in it. Really cute.

LS: that’s my son you piece of shit

There was no winning here.

MJ asked him a few weeks later if he was still keeping up with the Jedi drama since the whole city had recently decided that Peter was a snack.

Obviously he hadn’t.

She told him not to worry, Ned had. She told him to talk to Ned, so he went and talked to Ned with a heatpad in one hand and a coldpack in the other.

Ned patted at him sympathetically and informed him that Luke had reunited with the Force. It was going poorly for him, mostly because the Force wasn’t used to people being in touch with it in these parts of the universe. It kept telling each of the jedi that there was a disturbance and then luring them to each other to fight to the death.

Luke described it as the Force-equivalent of an auto-immune disease.

They’d taken to gathering in the living room of the funeral home to meditate in a circle, as though to calm the Force’s anxiety while scenting each other for protection.

It had a 40% success rate. Everyone was sleeping in locked rooms for the time being, just in case someone got compelled to do something rash.

Peter asked Ned if he’d finally lost his crown as King Chaos of NYC.

Ned patted him on the knee more firmly than before and said that he could regain his crown by introducing a calming element into the jedi household.

Peter had his pride to defend, so he asked what that element ought to be.

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the leader of all Mandalorians, was bound to have a name that looked nothing like the one they had for him. Luke nearly exploded when Peter approached him to asked him (and his taped fingers) more about who Din Djarin was outside the name.

They proceeded with caution, however. So far, Peter and Ned had discovered only dissonance between Luke’s account of his life partner (his ‘heart, stars, sun, and sand’) and the guy on the screen for the tv show. That was to be expected, given that they had met Luke now and learned of his somewhat explosive personality.

But even still, Luke’s description of Din Djarin as ‘kind, compassionate, tender, shy, emotionally stable, dependable, sweet, caring, and hunky’ seemed slightly biased.

Peter just wanted to know how tall this guy was. Hair color. Eye color. Skin color. Blood type. That kind of shit.

Luke said that Din had brown hair, brown eyes, Type Who Knows What blood, and was about six feet tall. He had no idea how much he weighed. He’d never had need for that information. He knew that Din was human, which was probably helpful in a galaxy far, far away. He knew that he spoke Mando’a as his first language, then Basic, then a whopping fifteen others. And he knew that Din was probably looking after their son.

Vader asked Peter over a mug of coffee (also labeled in the funeral home’s cabinet as ‘not spice.’) if Spidersenses could overcome a dearth of information. It took Peter a few moments to realize that he was sympathizing with him.

“You’re not going to find Din,” Vader told Luke. “You need to look for the kid. You’ll find the kid first, you always have.”

Luke took his coffee and poured it down the drain.

Peter decided that he didn’t want to get in between that burgeoning battle. He told Luke to text him if he remembered anything else.

Wade was pissed that Peter had been meeting and ‘cavorting’ with Luke Skywalker without him. He claimed ownership of the Din Djarin mystery in order to cram himself into Luke’s good graces. But quickly, he ran into the same stumbling blocks as Peter.

Din Djarin was six feet tall with brown eyes and brown hair.

That was what they currently had to go on.

Wade would have torn out his hair if he had any, but he stopped himself and accepted the challenge. Peter watched over his shoulder as he chicken-pecked his way into a list of social security numbers held by the NYC State ID issuing department and started methodically filtering names that did not sound like ‘Din.’

He started broad with all ‘D’s and then narrowed it down further and further and further until he was left with a shitload of Daniels.

He stared at the screen before him and vibrated.

Peter massaged his shoulders before he cracked.

It helped. Wade started filtering by height, then by eye color. Then by hair, and only ended up with several hundred people.

He vibrated again, but this time, Peter couldn’t help him.

He sighed. Wade said that there had to be a better way to do this. He got up.

Wade made about four thousand missing posters with the name Din Djarin on them which he recruited the whole team to plaster up around NYC. This was not a request.

Miles asked him why they were doing this for a tv character and had to be let in on the gig.

He lost his shit.

Louis tried to retain his shit.

Angel still didn’t know how the whole jedi thing worked.

Dave hummed and haw’ed and took his time in calling bullshit. Wade asked him to look deep into his eyes and ask if he was entertaining bullshit that fine evening.

Dave changed his opinion and took a stack.

There was no way that shit was supposed to work. There was just no way. A) because Wade had the worst ideas of all mankind and B) because Peter had the worst luck of all mankind. So the two of them together should have destroyed all the prospects of success for that job.

But instead, while they were hatching a new plot involving setting up a sham sociological study for people who responded to Star Wars names, Wade’s phone went off.

He grabbed it and opened the message and lo and behold right there was a note that read,

“I hope you are not a reporting body because this is going to sound certifiably insane, but I think I might be the guy you’re looking for?”

Wade screamed.

Peter scolded him not to get too excited too soon. They had to see the man first.

Wade texted furiously, asking for a picture and got a message back that said, “please do not dox me.”

They got no answer until Wade promised not to dox the guy.

And then they got an image of a man with brown hair and brown eyes with olive skin. His face was remarkably square. The picture wasn’t just him, though, he had in his arms a little boy with a head covered in tight ringlets. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he was maybe two years old.

The caption said, “apologies, my son needed to be in the picture.”

Wade cooed and entered Dad Mode to ask how old the baby was and what he liked to do and Peter lost the fathers to that small talk for a while before Wade oh-so-casually asked, “So you feel like you’re from outer space?”

“It sounds strange,” the guy on the other said wrote back, “But I do. Like every day I wake up and look in the mirror and something is wrong. I feel like I’m always forgetting something when I leave the house. I watched the tv show of the guy who’s name was on your fliers and the kid in it reminds me so much of my son. It’s eerie. They make the same sounds. He made the same sounds before we even watched that show.”

Wade whistled.

“I think this is him, Pete,” he said. “He called Baby Yoda a ‘kid’ not a yoda.”

Peter stared. He hadn’t even caught that. That was smart as hell.

“So what now?” he asked.

Wade sniffed.

“Get Skywalker to send you a selfie,” he said.

PP: Luke are you pretty right now?

LS: My face is intact

PP: take a selfie and send it to me

LS: cannot do that. Face is intact is a baseline situation. Let me find an old one. Oh, they all have my ex in them. This is awkward.

PP: it doesn’t matter I can crop it.

LS: no I have to be cute or I’ll perish hold on

PP: are you sure you’re not Johnny Storm?

LS: yes, he’s got loads of muscles. Sent.

Selfie acquired.

Luke looked very smiley in it. His eyes were blown out from the lighting, but it showed his sloping smile and his low, back-set dimples. Peter sent it to Wade. Wade sent it to his new friend.

They waited.

They waited five minutes.

Then ten.

Then half an hour.

Then nearly two.

And finally, Wade’s phone rang. He picked it up and set it on speaker so that Peter could hear.

“Hello?” Wade said.

There was a long pause.

“Where did you get that picture?” a low, almost smoky voice demanded on the other side.

“A friend,” Wade said sleazily. “You know him? He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”

It took the dude on the other side of the line worryingly long to respond.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

Wade brought his head down in interest.

“What’re you willing do to?” he asked.

They waited. Peter didn’t know what was taking this guy so long to—

“Anything.”

Ah.

Okay. That.

That sounded about right.

Wade cackled.

“You know his name?” he asked.

“I do,” the man said.

“What’s his name then, pal?” Wade asked.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Peter clutched the back of the couch. Wade was grinning so hard, Peter could see it through his mask.

“You want him, you need to show me that you know who he is,” Wade said. “I ain’t got ‘im here, but I know where he is. Come on, big boy. Who is he?”

Peter could hear the man take in a deep, shaky breath.

“His name is Luke,” Din fucking Djarin, the Mandalorian himself, said.

Din fucking Djarin’s name at the moment was Danny Jabaran. He stood six feet tall with a medium build and that baby of his in his arms.

He was not afraid of Wade.

He was not afraid of Peter.

The suits didn’t scare him; this man was a space warrior. The leader of the space warriors. Peter was humbled to stand in his presence, old jeans and tattoos and all.

“Vigilantes,” he acknowledged.

“Deadpool,” Wade said, offering a hand. “And this is?”

“Grogu,” Djarin said.

Baby Yoda lifted his big liquid eyes up to Wade and blinked twice. Then he wriggled around and hid in Djarin’s neck. Djarin put a hand on his back and didn’t drop eye contact.

“Tell me everything,” Djarin said.

Ned screamed. Michelle screamed. Peter reminded them that he had neighbors and invited Mr. Mand’alor to sit on the couch for a bit while he called Luke.

Michelle claimed the spot next to Djarin and asked Baby Yoda Grogu for his little hand. He studied her and hid again, making a prolonged sound of distress that Djarin cut off by saying, “Hey. Manners.”

This somehow made baby Grogu turn back to Michelle to stare at her offered hand.

He took it. She shook with him and then took hers away.

Grogu perked up and reached for it again.

“You’re the Mandalorian,” Ned said.

Djarin looked right at him.

“A Mandalorian,” he corrected.

Ned blinked back tears.

“You’re so cool,” he creaked.

Djarin frowned.

“You...are too?” he tried.

Ned wept into a fist.

Peter left them to call Luke in his bedroom. Luke picked up on the third ring with the start of an ingrained greeting that sounded a whole lot like a customer service recording. He caught himself, though.

“I have someone I’d like you to talk to,” Peter said. “I think you might want to sit down.”

Luke’s unusual quiet on the other side made Peter grin.

“Are you sitting?” he asked.

“I’m sitting.”

“Alright, one moment,” Peter said, walking out into the living room. Djarin had edged far, far away from Ned, as far as he possibly could without being rude. He looked up when Peter came over and sat down on the arm next to him.

“Say hi,” Peter said.

Djarin frowned at him and then the phone.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Peter waited. Djarin lifted his head over to see the phone’s screen.

“Hello?” he tried.

“Din?”

The Spidey Sense crashed through Peter like a tidal wave.

Djarin had gone completely still.

“Din? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

“Shit,” Djarin said, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Goddamnit. Jesus.”

“DIN.”

“Dank Fucking Farrik.”

“Oh my god.”

Baby Grogu’s face snapped toward the phone with huge eyes. He grabbed at Djarin’s collar, then his jaw and started bouncing a little in his arms.

“Bu?” he asked.

Djarin couldn’t make himself move.

“Grogu?” Luke asked. “Hey, baby, is that you, bubba?”

Grogu grabbed Djarin’s face urgently, so that he couldn’t hide his raw eyes anymore.

He pointed at the phone.

“Yeah, I hear ‘im, kid,” Djarin said.

“MMMMM. Gib.”

“Ah. That’s not ours. We don’t grab. We ask,” Djarin reminded as Grogu pleaded for the phone. Peter snickered and gave it to him. He just held it, staring.

“Do you wanna see him?” Peter asked. “Luke, can we maybe video chat?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke said. “Hold on. Oh god, my face. Uh, hey Din are you still near-sighted, hon?”

Djarin huffed a laugh that turned into a whole-body tremor.

“I got contacts,” he said a little hysterically.

“You got WHAT?” Luke yipped, “Okay, no. No, I gotta. Be still, this heart. Okay let me just take off the butterflies. On moment, Grogu, Daddy’s just gotta dunk his face in the damn sink.”

MJ bounced her eyebrows at Peter as he gently took the phone back from Grogu and tapped on the camera. He offered it back the kid and received a deep gaze of wonder in return. Djarin turned the screen right-side up in his hands.

Luke finally turned his camera on and revealed himself to be very swollen in the jaw with damp hair and a cut very close to the rim of his left eye.

Grogu screeched.

Luke laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, “I’m gonna cry. Oh my god. Where’re your ears, pal?”

Grogu analyzed this reaction for 2 full seconds and then shoved the camera right into his dad’s forehead. Djarin took it from him and liberated himself so that he could see Luke who was clutching at his face, absolutely already sobbing, bless him.

He looked up to see Grogu and instead got Djarin and finally just broke right in half.

Peter swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. His eyes were starting to warm a little.

Djarin found a watery smile in himself.

“I know you’re not cryin’ because of me,” he said gently.

“Where’s your helmet?” Luke sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes. “People are watching, you harlot.”

“I know,” Djarin said. “I lost it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Luke.”

“This is all my fault. I should’ve—I should’ve—”

“Luke,” Djarin said again, full of warmth, “You died for us.”

Luke shook harder than ever.

“There is no greater sacrifice a warrior can make,” Djarin told him. “I was honored for you to have made it for me and our son. This has always been the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Luke stammered.

“I missed you,” Djarin said. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

“I was a preschool teacher in the Bronx, man, I dunno what happened,” Luke said tipping his face up to force the tears back in.

“In the Bronx? Where?”

“Uh, off Allerton and Lurting?”

Djarin started shaking with laugher.

“I work off Laconia and Mace,” he said.

“You what?”

“We’ve been blocks apart this whole time.”

Awwwwww.

“I’m going to stab myself,” Luke moaned. “I’m going to stab myself in the arm. I was right there and I sold out for my part-time gig barely weeks ago. Oh my god. I’m going to—move, old man, I’m suffering—Wait. Din, did you find your parents?”

Djarin stood up and held the phone out straight.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

Look at all these people hugging each other.

Look at them crying all over. There was a baby in there, wailing because he was so happy to be back in the arms of his other dad.

Aww. AWWWW. Peter was getting emotional again, he was going to see himself out.

“Wait. Peter.”

He looked up to find Luke holding a hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You really are a superhero, you know that?”

Yeah.

Sometimes, he did.

The city had plenty of problems as it was, yeah, more now with a bunch of jedi running around, linking up with each other and spreading memory like mushroom spores. But it didn’t feel that much different.

What it felt like now was Ned showing Grogu how to hold his hand at the seeing stone in the funeral home’s back yard to make the Force happen while Obi-Wan reported cheerfully that the cat perched on it was still not levitating.

It also felt like watching Luke freak out over text to Ned and Michelle about his ex losing their mind at him dumping them after two years to marry this random mechanic within a week of getting together.

Peter got to see this from new angles, too, one of which was the bottom of the funeral home’s attic stairs, which Anakin Skywalker liked to sit on while his grandkids—both Grogu and Han Solo and Leia Organa (pardon, Leia Naberry)’s son—came over to show him things that he was very well aware of. These were stolen from him by Auntie Ahsoka and her friends who Ned knew and Peter did not.

And there was something warming about how even these folks—people from a galaxy far, far away, occasionally needed a Spiderman.

#spiderman #starwars #dinluke #inimitable verse #ficlet #this is the niche of the niche but I know like 5 of you read both my mando and spiderman fics #so this is for you doll #and also the fact that I have a fucking PROBLEM

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little-mad · 3 years ago

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 8

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Maybe after all the shit Gavin had experienced ever since he’d been dragged from his prison cell back on Earth, he should have been used to giant related weirdness. He’d been held in a fist, toted around in a cage, and pinned down to the ground by a massive hand. In theory, riding around in Rael’s hand wasn’t that much stranger in comparison. And yet, Gavin felt unimaginably uncomfortable with his current position.

It wasn’t really that Gavin felt he was in any particular danger. Weirdly enough, he actually believed Rael’s claim that he would be careful. No, he wouldn’t say he was necessarily afraid. What he was feeling had more to do with the fact that he was almost surrounded on all sides by one single person. He was sitting on Rael’s palm, with the alteon’s chest behind him and his other hand directly in front of him. Not to mention the fact that the guy’s head loomed far above, able to look down at the person in his hand whenever he wanted. Long story short, Gavin felt smothered. And what was weirder than being smothered? Being smothered by the same person who had so far expressed nothing but distaste and disinterest in him since their first meeting.

“I guess it's an improvement from threatening to crush me,” Gavin thought to himself. He supposed this was preferable. The problem was, he didn’t know how to respond to this kind of behavior. Gavin was an expert at reacting to people not liking him much. Even if he knew Rael did like him, he might have some idea of what to do and what to say. However, Gavin couldn’t make heads or tails of how the big guy felt!

“Uh, I guess I should thank you for saving me,” Gavin finally said, breaking the silence that had developed ever since they’d departed from the stream. He fidgeted, trying not to think about the fact that the thing he was sitting on was literally alive. “Maybe this would seem less weird if I’d ever ridden a horse before…”

Rael didn’t take his eyes off the path in front of him aside from shooting a quick glance down at his passenger. “I was just doing my job,” he stated.

Maybe Gavin was getting ahead of himself thinking he’d made any progress with Rael. Maybe the guy really was just doing his job, and any increased kindness Gavin had detected was just an extension of his job.

As pathetic as it undoubtedly was, Gavin didn’t want to believe Rael really didn’t give a rat’s ass about him. He was completely alone in this dimension, cut off from anyone and everyone who had given at least half a shit about him. And so maybe Gavin was desperate to find someone he could imagine was on his side. He wanted a friend, and Rael was quite literally his only option. “God, I need to snap out of it! I’m supposed to be a hardened criminal damn it!”

Gavin craned his neck to look up at Rael’s face. “Well, I gotta admit, you were pretty badass back there.” It was very uncommon for Gavin to root for any type of law enforcement, for obvious reasons, but for once he was on the side of authority. How ironic was it that he, a thief who had been undone by his own greed, had almost been abducted in order to satisfy someone else’s greed? Fate really was a funny thing, huh?

A perplexed expression crossed over Rael’s face. “Badass? That’s intended as some form of compliment, correct?”

Gavin had to stifle a chuckle. He kind of forgot the alteon only had a very vague knowledge of human slang. He suddenly felt like he was holding a conversation with Spock, Rael even had the pointy ears to match. “Yeah...it sort of means you were impressively tough,” Gavin explained.

Rael gave a small nod of understanding. “I see, well...thank you I suppose.” The little note of awkwardness in his voice was enough to cause Gavin to break out in a grin. Rael sounded like a person and not some giant robot of formality and meanness.

Unwilling to let the break in Rael’s facade go to waste, Gavin initiated his mouth’s blab feature. “You know, next to that Kaydin guy, you’re like a saint,” he started, not even realizing he was now reclining back in Rael’s palm. “I’d pick hanging out with you over him anyday.”

With a light scoff, Rael rolled his eyes. “Being preferable over a brigand like that man is not as high of praise as you seem to think it is,” he said, though his tone was lacking in any real bite.

Gavin snickered. “I guess so, but to be fair I’ve only ever met three alteons.” None of them had made an especially great impression though, so he was beginning to think a part of alteon culture was just being naturally shitty at introductions. Of course, Gavin couldn’t really judge, he wouldn’t say he was all that great at first impression either.

“I’m surprised you weren’t more taken with the ruffians, considering you’re both criminals and all,” Rael replied, a nearly imperceptible smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, not all criminals get along. That is a very common misconception,” Gavin stated matter-of-factly.

Rael snorted. Gavin was surprised someone like him could even make such a casual sound. “How very educational you are,” he said, sending another brief glance down at the human in his hands.

Gavin could hardly believe what was happening. He was actually taking part in back and forth banter with Rael, the guy who had seemed like an impenetrable stone wall of crankiness. If Gavin closed his eyes and ignored the feeling of flesh beneath him, he could almost imagine he was talking to a human and not an eighty foot colossus.

Rael had no idea what the hell he was doing. It was almost as if he’d been possessed or something, because he never would have imagined himself engaging in repartee with a human of all people. And yet somehow, it felt so natural and effortless. Rael would never consider himself a particularly talkative person, but with Gavin carrying the bulk of the conversation, it was easy to keep banter going.

Honestly, Rael wasn’t even sure what had triggered the change in his own behavior. Perhaps seeing the human’s life threatened by another alteon had had some kind of mirror effect. It was possible that witnessing the fear Kaydin inflicted upon Gavin had given Rael a new perspective on his own threatening behaviors.

Kaydin had obviously been the villain in the scenario. Did that mean Rael was the villain in his previous interactions with Gavin? He was a member of the Imperial Guard, he was supposed to be a hero--but it was becoming increasingly clear that he hadn’t been acting as such.

“I do not get paid enough to do this much self reflection on the job,” Rael thought sourly. This whole situation would be a lot simpler if he could just keep on ignoring Gavin and disregarding his feelings. It was a shame his conscience had gotten so loud all of a sudden.

“It is kind of flattering that I’m apparently so valuable that that guy was about ready to risk it all to get his hands on me,” Gavin said. Rael looked down to see a playful smirk on the little guy’s lips.

While Gavin had obviously been intending to be humorous, Rael couldn’t help but frown slightly. It was troubling how desperate Kaydin had been to get a hold of a human. What was even more troubling, was that Rael knew the desperation was sensible. Gavin would fetch a hefty sum on the black market, and Rael could only imagine the sort of things one might want to buy a human for. After the encounter with Kaydin and his partner, Rael wouldn’t be assured of Gavin’s safety until they were within the palace walls.

“You’re currently the only human in this realm, that makes you something of a rarity,” Rael told Gavin.

Most alteons had never seen a human in real life before, and unless things changed drastically, most never would. Typically, only those close to the Emperor were able to even catch a glimpse, hence why it was something of a status symbol. Of course, Rael had never really seen it that way himself.

“I guess I should feel honored,” Gavin quipped. “Although, the fact that I’m a prisoner kind of ruins things.” Rael fought the urge to twitch as he felt the human reposition himself on his palm. He still couldn’t believe such a tiny body could hold such a large personality.

“Perhaps crime doesn’t pay quite as much as you thought,” Rael retorted. He still found it stunning that the little guy he was currently holding in his hand had managed to rob an alteon.

Gavin scoffed. “Hey, it paid just fine until I took the diplomat job.” That caught Rael’s attention. He had been under the impression that Gavin had stolen the ring from the diplomat for himself, likely with the intention of selling it. However, the way Gavin had phrased it made it seem as though he had done it at someone else’s request.

“Wait, someone hired you to steal that ring?” Rael inquired, his gaze jumping back and forth from looking ahead and looking down at Gavin.

A dry laugh came from the human as he leaned back on his hands. “Like I ever would’ve thought of stealing from an alteon myself,” he said sarcastically. “Obviously someone hired me to do it.”

Rael’s eyebrows shot up. So Gavin had just been doing someone else’s dirty work? What he’d done had still been illegal, but still, wasn’t the one who had employed him the one truly in the wrong? “You took the fall for the one who hired you?”

Gavin gave a shrug. “Not exactly, but I didn’t know the real name of the guy who gave me the job, so there was no point even bothering to tell the cops.” He said it so nonchalantly. Did he not realize he might not be in the situation he was in, being escorted to the Emperor by an alteon, had his employer been identified and arrested?

“You don’t seem to care all that much,” Rael noted.

“I chose to take the job when I didn’t have to, blaming it on someone else isn’t gonna help anything,” Gavin replied. Rael was stunned by how...mature he was being. Initially, Gavin had struck him as nothing more than an honorless thief, devoid of any sense of responsibility. And yet here he was, accepting culpability for his own actions even when there was a perfect scapegoat right there for him to blame.

“Will wonders never cease,” Rael breathed.

“What?” Gavin called up. Rael had forgotten how sensitive to even the quietest noises human ears were.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael #Rael not being a jerk? Who knew it could be possible

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sweeethinny · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, Sweet! Ooh, thank you so much for sending me a prompt, I'm working on it! If you could please write "Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" for any ship, my only request is that it's in some kind of AU. I love your AUs!

Sorry for the delay Mah, hope you like this Jily Muggle AU <3

Ps: for those who don't know, Valentine's Day is celebrated on the 12th of June in Brazil, and in June we have what we call the 'June Party', where it's time to exalt Brazilian folklore, and - for those who are Catholics - is the month of June Saints, the saints who baptized Jesus.

This month, there are parties where people go dressed as hillbillies, there is a lot of food, depending on the party, drinks, a lot of dancing, and it is for many the best time of year.

Couples tend to go matching, always wearing plaid clothes, with lace, ruffles and patches, and usually women braid their hair, paint their cheeks pink and men - for those who don't - paint a fake beard on their faces. They also wear a straw hat, and everything is very colorful.

A typical outfit for you, you understand more or less how it is <3 - HERE and HERE

I hope you all like it, I always like to insert a little of my culture in the fanfics <3

read bellow the cut <3

"Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" He said, kneeling in front of her.

"Unfortunately," she said, but there was a smile on her face, a smile that James thought was adorable, and it matched her sun-rosy cheeks and the flaming strands of hair that fell over her face.

“I'll pretend to believe you.” He smiled, grimacing when she threw up again, what now felt like just water. "I'll never let you drink again."

"I never want to drink again," Lily laid her head on the toilet seat, her eyes almost closed and stared at James as if she was unable to focus her vision but was trying. The noise from the backyard party was still loud, but inside, the two of them on the bathroom floor, the silence was comforting.

"Famous last words." He shrugged, wanting to laugh but feeling sorry for her, who looked like she wanted to throw up some more. "Evans, you better pull yourself together, or I'll have to take you to the hospital, and I think it's the last place you want to go." James raised his eyebrows, wanting her to remember exactly where they were.

The idea at first was good; a weekend among friends at James' grandparents' farm, abusing every last drop of trust his parents had in him and Sirius. They promised they'd take care of the house, and it was going to be quiet, but now, when he looks out the window and sees Remus jumping off the roof into the pool, and Peter upside down trying to drink beer, he thinks things have lost a bit the control.

As long as nobody ended up in the hospital and nothing was broken, everything was perfect.

The nearest hospital was over two hours away, and none of them had the ability to drive for so long on a dirt road that it took a lot of concentration not to end up with a mired or overturned car.

"I'll be fine." She settled on the floor, leaning her back against the cool wall behind her and closing her eyes. It took James a lot of concentration to keep his eyes off her perfectly sculpted breasts, gorgeous in that black bikini. Her tanned skin made it difficult.

"Can you get up?" James asked, no longer able to stand being in such a small space with Lily so close to him, even though she had been vomiting less than a minute ago. She nodded and accepted his hand when he reached out.

James helped her wash her face and the back of her neck, trying not to think too much about how hot her skin was and how the scent of sunscreen and Lily blended together perfectly.

"Are you better, Evans?" Sirius appeared just as they walked out of the bathroom, cheeks rosy from the sun and alcohol, hair pulled back in a bun and bathing trunks falling over his hips. He had a smirk on his face, which James thought was the drinking's fault, but when Hestia walked out of the room Sirius had just left, her hair messier than before and her bikini smoothing, James understood what was happened. ‘Or do we need to call for help for you?'

"I'm great, Black." Lily tossed her hair back, as if she wanted to prove her point to him. “Dressing problems, Hess?” The girl was almost to the back door, ready to go unnoticed, but she stopped as soon as she heard her name.

Her cheeks caught fire, but her smile didn't waver.

"Yes, the knot was too tight." Hestia shrugged, pointing to the knot in her tanned back. "Sirius was helping me." James chuckled, noticing when Sirius nodded, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"I'm sure he helped." Lily looked at Sirius, then at Hestia, finally walking towards the door, her ass looking like the hottest thing in the world.

"Careful not to drool, Prongs." Sirius slapped the back of his head, looking like he wanted to wake him up from the perverted dream he was having, his drunken brain imagining everything he could do if Lily stopped looking at him just as a friend.

“You're imagining things, you idiot.” He defended himself, following the three of them outside.

The day was sunny, and even with a little wind, there was a mass of hot air that made them sweaty even when they were standing still. Everyone was sporting a tan/redness from their carelessness, and tomorrow probably wouldn't be so kind to them, but James knew that no one here was caring about tomorrow and the possible side effects of spending too much time in the sun.

It was Sirius who had come up with the idea, after looking tired of hearing complaints from Peter and Hestia about how hot it was and how they wanted to go swimming somewhere. James had blamed him for just organizing this because it was a reason for him to see Hestia in bikinis, because this wasn't the first summer Peter had complained about the heat, but it was the first that the girls had joined their group.

They had met in college, Lily was in the lab with Peter, and Marlene was in the same class as James, and when Remus asked Hestia to have lunch with them, somehow they had all become friends.

It was a unlikely group, James admitted that, but having Marlene, Lily and Hestia around always seemed to make their group much more alive and complete somehow, even though James had never thought they needed more members.

As he sat down on the lounge chair next to Lily, James wondered what she would do if he tried to flirt with her; would she repay or would she push him away and their group would break up? He'd seen how a little shocked she looked when he'd taken off his shirt, but maybe it was the tattoos that had caused it to her.

"I always thought you were too much of a mama's boy for that," she'd said, pointing to his chest, where a constellation was drawn.

Maybe that was just the shock, but James liked to think there was something else, and before she wanted to throw up her guts, he was thinking that Lily was returning the flirting start they were having, sitting by the pool while James gave her his seductive smile.

"Feeling better?" James looked over at her, lying on the lounger with her sunglasses on and her belly white with sunscreen.

"Yes now." Lily sighed. "Sorry I made you see me in that situation."

"Nothing." James shrugged. "I've gotten a lot worse, don't worry…" He took a deep breath, gathering his chest boldly and thanking that his mind was a little clouded by the beer. "Lily, are you going with anyone to Liz's party?"

Liz was a girl who studied with James, they were classmates in the Philosophy class, she was a Brazilian exchange student, and had said that she would have a party to celebrate Valentine's Day on the same date that was celebrated in Brazil, and that it was a party with the themed 'june party', which implied that they dressed in checkered clothes, or round and lace-filled dresses. She had also said that they should go as couples, but for singles, there would be something like a kissing chain or something, James hadn't quite understood.

From the photos she had shown, it looked interesting, and any opportunity to ask Lily out, James was taking it.

"I hadn't thought to go, until now." She turned her head toward him, and James cursed her sunglasses, preventing him from seeing those beautiful green eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date?

"Could be if you want," He smiled, hoping it was seductive enough.

"Are you asking me on a date after you saw me throw up?" This time Lily lifted her glasses, and her green eyes glared at him, her eyebrow raised and an adorable little smile on her lips.

"I said I've been worse." James bit his cheek, a little anxiously. 'Then? Do you want to be my partner? I can wear a dress if you like, I look really cute in lace.” He winked, just to make her laugh—and she did.

"I want," Lily put her glasses back on, and lay back down. 'Just because I want to see you wearing lace and ruffles… I promise to be a good gentleman and court you.' It was he who laughed now, thinking it was alcohol that made him feel silly like that, laughing at anything she said and with all those butterflies in the stomach.

"Fine, can't wait." He grinned from ear to ear, he would probably have his face torn open if he continued like this, but he was too happy to care.

He was going on a date with Lily Evans.

#jily au #muggle au #james x lily #marauders #prongs #james potter #lily evans #jily

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dreamcast-official · 3 years ago

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Alright, tell me about saint seiya.

YESSSSS THANK YOU BESTIE THIS SHOW IS SOO NORMAL I PROMISE <3

SO LET’S START WITH THE FACT THAT THE PROTAGONISTS ARE JUST A GROUP OF 13-YEAR-OLD BOYS WHO DONT FEAR DEATH AND ONE (1) 15-YEAR-OLD WHO THINKS HE’S THE SHIT (HE ISN’T). AND ALSO GOD IS THERE IG. GOD IS A 13-YEAR-OLD GIRL.

the power system and worldbuilding are soo good and the show will Not let you forget Anything unless they do. one episode has a character say “five bronze saints defeated a silver saint?” literally five times because you Need to understand that five bronze saints defeated a silver saint. on the other hand there’s some shit they’ll say one (1) time and then just think you’ll remember it and bring it up fifty episodes later. never forget how they introduced a rival character only to put him on the bus for the rest of the series. the main character’s whole ass character motive (finding his sister after they were separated so he could become a saint) was forgotten until the very goddamn end of this show it’s so funny

THIS SHOW IS LITERALLY THAT ONE POST THATS LIKE “WHEN THE SHOUNEN SO MISOGYNISTIC IT’S JUST GAY” AND WHILE I HATE THAT THEY DONT TREAT THE GIRL CHARACTERS WELL IT’S SOO FUNNY TO ME.

i also find it extremely hilarious how so much of this show is just these grown ass adults trying their goddamn hardest to kill these children. they just. can’t. like they just can’t fucking kill these kids it’s so funny to me. saga spent like the bigger half of the original 80s series trying to kill saori and he just couldn’t fucking do it this almost-30 man was just completely unable to kill this 13yo girl. because she’s god. thats why he couldnt kill her.

ALSO SDOIVHSFPDOVSHFD THESE 13YOS GROUPED UP AND KILLED THE CONCEPT OF DEATH. LIKE THEY KILLED HADES, THE GUY WHO’S BEEN ALIVE SINCE BEFORE THE WORLD, THE GUY WHO FINDS A NEW HOST EVERY 100 YEARS, THE GUY WHO KEEPS HIS HOSTS FOREVER AND KEEPS THEIR BODIES STASHED AWAY AFTER THEY DIE, THE GUY WHO IS LITERALLY DEATH. THESE 13YO BOYS WHO HAD A BIT OF A BAD DAY JUST FUCKIGN KILLED HIM. IT WAS SO FUNNY.

one of the boys just constantly removes his armor to get stronger which?/??? ok king. that’s the opposite of what removing your armor would do but ok. go off

the designs in this show are sooo fucking good except when they aren’t. trust me there’s a reason why a solid chunk of the gold saints never wear their helmets.

ALSO THE MUSIC FOR THIS SHOW FUCKS SO HARD?????? LIKE. PEGASUS FANTASY MY FUCKING BELOVED THIS SONG FUCKS SO HARD IT DOESN’T SURPRISE ME THEY REUSED IT FOR THE UNOFFICIAL SEQUEL (WHICH I ALSO LIKE DESPITE IT BEING REALLY BAD)

since this is me making this i need to say: andromeda shun is the best character in the entire franchise (this includes every spinoff, not just the actual series) and he’s the strongest of the bronze saints you people just don’t wanna admit that he’s stronger than ikki because he’s the “girly” one. also if you say shun is the girly one i’ll kill you all he did was wear pink and cry a little bit.

#the-mediocre-writer #milk.mail #saint seiya #I LITERALLY DONT HAVE THE WORDS TO THANK YOU FOR ASKING ABOUT THIS TALKING ABT STS IS SO FUNNY WHEN ITS TO PEOPLE WHO DONT KNOW ANYTHING ABO #UT IT #SHUN MY FUCKING BELOVED IM HOLDING HIM. APHRODITE ALSO MY BELOVED IM SORRY I DIDNT TALK ABOUT YOU KING

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

Text

Madness

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja

Summary: “I was wondering if I could request an imagine where the reader is a princess and Ivar travels to England with his brothers & thinks the princess is beautiful but he gets teased by Sigurd and his brothers but she can understand their language and decides to flirt with him in front of everyone?”

So I made her Kwenthrith’s daughter because why the fuck not, and Blaeja (Aelle’s daughter) is on this cause again, why the fuck not. Also the Reader might be a tad insane, but at this rate all my Reader characters are idk what to tell u

Word Count: 4.7k (I’m sorry lol)

Warnings: Mentions of rape and child abuse, mentions and allusions to violence and death, my horrible writing

A/N: Idk how I feel about this, I hope I don’t dissapoint the anon that requested it lol. Hope you enjoy, thank you for reading, and ily! <3

Also, I kinda went a lil overboard :/

The handmaid is fixing the coronet over your head when you hear the doors to your rooms open, so she turns to demand propriety from whoever entered unannounced, but seeing Aelle’s daughter with a devilish smile on her lips stops her on her tracks.

“Your Grace.” The woman bows gracefully, and steps back, letting Blaeja take her place.

“Are you ready?” The girl whispers to you, adept hand working at the tresses of your hair to make sure it is carefully hidden under your veil that showcases the delicate circlet on your head.

“You are the one that will be sent off to be married, my friend,” You remind her, chuckling, “To one of those…”

“Lord Sigurd is not that bad,” She interrupts, what for a second sounds like girlish infatuation on her tone. You are opening your mouth to quip on how she refers to one of those brutes as a ‘Lord’ but she clears her throat, and continues, “He played some music for me, the other day.”

“You have nothing to fear then,” You mock with a roll of your eyes, “Maybe he also played music for your father before they executed him, made all of it a much more lovely affair.”

Blaeja tugs at your hair in warning, and you steal a glance at the handmaid that looks carefully at the floor. As if she needed eyes to hear you, as if you didn’t know how she’ll gossip about this with the others.

“Careful, or I’ll ask that you come with me,” She laughs, “I’ll have you sold for two gold coins.”

“You are talking to the heiress to a broken and war-torn kingdom, Lady Blaeja, you better remember that!” You tell her in jest, and she laughs, with that laugh you two share, that laugh born out of despair and loss and uncertainty.

“How could I? Judith never lets me forget what a might Mercia continues to be.” She replies with no little disdain in her tone. After a breath of hesitation, she orders with curt words for the servants to leave you two alone, and once the doors close, the Princess of Northumbria kneels in front of you where you sit, grabbing your hands tightly on her own.

“You are scaring me.”

“There’s no reason to fear,” She tells you even as tears fill her eyes. With a tremulous smile, she whispers, “I heard my sister talking with her husband, about you.”

“Me?”

“Alfred would benefit greatly from having a Mercian Princess as wife,” She states, and though she smiles you feel only cold settling over your heart, dread. “With your mother dead…”

“Dead when King Ecbert, blessed be his memory, took control over Mercia, Blaeja! They already own my kingdom.” You remind her lowly, leaning down so your faces are closer to each other, but this doesn’t dim her smile.

Your heart aches at the reminder of your mother, for her, in all her sins and her scars, was the only family you ever had. The only protection you had, in that palace filled with monsters.

If you think about it, if you sit surrounded by all your sins and your mistakes and your faults and think about it, you know it was the sight of her shaking hands as she looked at them expecting to see blood and told you of the death of her brother that made you stop having faith in your God.

It wasn’t the death of a would-be king at the hands of his sister what made you realize the bishops and priests and deacons and saints were all full of lies, no. It was the emptiness in her gaze as she spoke of walking out of that room a Queen and realizing it wasn’t enough to make up for the pain he -the last remaining alive in the long line of monsters that made up your family- caused her.

It was the hoarse voice of the proud and ruthless Queen of Mercia telling you of the barbarity that took place right under her father’s willfully ignorant gaze, it was the shaking hands that clasped your own and begged for forgiveness that she didn’t need to ask for, it was the severed heads brought in by the Vikings that weren’t enough to heal her, it was the realization God, if he was ever there, looked away most of her life.

You shake those thoughts off, and focus on the Princess before you that smiles in a mix of joy for your fate and bitterness for hers.

With shaky breaths, you insist, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They would have Mercian blood on their lineage, it would strengthen their claim.” She states, and the disgust it fills you with makes you feel shame. You should be ecstatic at the chance of becoming Queen, at the prospect giving Wessex strong sons to prepare for ruling and beautiful daughters to…to exchange like broodmares, like Blaeja, given to a Viking of all men, breakable daughters to fail to protect, like Kwenthrith, raped by her own brother and uncle.

You remember your mother’s pain. You remember her whispers about the court being filled with snakes, you remember her stories about the women with swords and loud voices.

And you remember King Ecbert’s lessons. You remember his tales about the land where his Ragnar Lothbrok came from, you remember his bitterness at the strange land that captured the heart of a man of God such as Athelstan.

You meet her brown eyes, and force a smile on your lips, because may the earth part underneath your feet and drag you down, you will not wed Alfred.

____

They introduce you to the sons of Ragnar, and you will admit, Blaeja looks positively smitten by the easy smile the blond man gives her in greeting. Lovely.

Judith makes a point of having you be sitting next to Alfred who, blessed be his soul, attempts to strike conversation with you only to be stopped by his own shyness.

You still offer him a few courteous smiles, and thank his kindness when he offers it so. When the Vikings talk amongst each other, mostly about the strange food and customs, you notice the King looks at you to gauge your expression, as if he knows you also know their tongue.

You worry about how much King Ecbert shared with him for a moment, but say nothing.

“So, the one that walked in with your bride,” One of the sons of Ragnar starts, and though you decide to pay attention you keep your gaze on your food and the entertainment going on around you, offering one of the performers a small smile. “Who is she?”

“Princess of Mercia, I think. The crazy queen father fought for with Uncle Rollo and the others, that’s her daughter.” A man with hair that you thought first was short but realized later falls down his back in a thick braid, his blond beard unkept, but his eyes those of an experienced man as they look over the room.

“Let’s hope beauty is not all she shares with that crazy bitch, huh? I would love to fuck a Saxon princess again.” Mocks a man you weren’t introduced to, so not a son of Ragnar, with ink on his face and long dark hair.

You realize too late you have lifted your gaze and set your eyes on him, what is sure to be affront and embarrassment showing on your face.

You lower your eyes again to the table before you, clenching your hands into fists on your lap, but you feel like someone is looking at you, and from the other end of the table, when you peek carefully, you catch the eyes of the one they introduced but whose name you can’t remember, the one with short dark hair, the one whose legs seem to be broken.

He looks at you with a silver of surprise, but there’s something else there. Regardless, you know he knows, and it makes fear settle on your stomach like acid. You wonder if this is what Burgred felt when he was poisoned.

“You’ve been staring at her all night, Ivar,” Blaeja’s betrothed starts, voice sickly mocking. “Are you hoping she’ll look back? Take your cripple ass to her bed?”

“Sigurd…” One of the elder brothers grumbles, clearly tired of it all.

“I’m just saying, he’d have more luck forcing a thrall to touch him than hoping a free woman will.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you, brother? Fucking your slave so she can’t even say no.”

“Who out of the two of us will bed a princess, hmm? It surely isn’t the cripple that can’t even please a slave right, is it?”

You and Alfred exchange a look, no longer pretending either of you don’t understand, as the youngest, Ivar, snarls some threat at his brother, voice and temper rising alike.

Refusing to be spoken of like some sort of cunt with a crown, you speak up, though your gaze remains on your plate.

“Princess Blaeja asks you to play that awful lute to keep your paws off her, so I fear that arrogance is unfounded, my Prince.”

Alfred chokes on his drink as he tries covering a startled laugh with a cough, and you feel wide eyes from the end of the table where the Vikings seat settle on you.

“What did you say?” One of the men asks slowly, and with the madness your mother left you with, you lift your gaze and meet the eyes of the man you recognize as Bjorn Ironside.

“My mother wasn’t crazy,” Is all you reply with gritted teeth, before turning to the blonde that Blaeja is to marry. You don’t know what it is that makes you open your mouth again, but you do, “And I was indeed looking at your brother. I feel for you deeply, my Prince, if you can’t recognize want in a woman’s gaze.”

Alfred clears his throat, what you could swear is a smile -the youthful smile of a boy witnessing chaos- shyly settling on his lips, and stands up to propose a toast and dissipate the atmosphere.

“With this being one of the last nights our dear Blaeja, daughter of the late King Aelle, blessed be his soul, spends with us, I-…”

You don’t listen anymore, taking a sip from your wine and catching over the rim of your goblet the eyes of the youngest son of Ragnar -Ivar, you remind yourself- on you, studying you with a mix of mistrust and curiosity.

You keep your gaze on his, and as you lower your cup from your lips, you offer a smile. His own lips tremble in what was sure to be an instinctual reply with a smile of his own, before he schools his features.

Regardless, he takes his eyes off yours and in his whole posture embarrassment is written. Managing to fluster a Viking of all men fills you with a thrill, a heat, like no other.

The men toast and you gesture your goodbyes as the dinner is dispersed. Before you can make it out the door, Blaeja stops you with a hand on your arm.

“What did y-…do you speak their tongue?”

“I do. King Ecbert taught me a lot before he died,” You state, before frowning in confusion and thoughtfulness, “Before he died at the hands of these men…Blaeja, my friend, don’t you ever stop and think about how strange it all has become?”

Blaeja only narrows her eyes with a growing exasperated smile on her lips.

“I care about what you said to my future husband.”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” You pat her cheek in friendly jest, making her roll her eyes. After a moment of consideration, you tell her, “Though he may not play his lute as often anymore, I fear.”

____

You wait impatiently by the window to your room, wondering over and over if this is the wrong choice, if you are making the worst mistake possible, if you are walking into the wolf’s den.

Before you can think yourself out of this, Blaeja, with her head covered by a dark cloak, makes her way into your room.

“I didn’t think your betrothed would agree.” Is all you state, dryly, as she motions for you to get your own cloak.

“Oh, I can assure you Prince Sigurd despises you, but luckily, he seems to adore me. Go, and don’t make me regret this.”

With a light laugh you kiss her cheek and dart out of the room, ready to follow the familiar path to where you asked Prince Sigurd to arrange a meeting between his brother and you.

“So it is you.” He says, dragging himself up a couch in front of yours. You clasp your hands together to keep them from trembling, and try to remember all the logic, all the strategy, you’ve put behind this stupid plan of yours.

“I told them to let you know.” You reply curtly, but the Prince shrugs.

“Sigurd could be mocking me. Make the cripple think he is meeting with the Princess?” He shrugs, but it is not nonchalant in the slightest. In all of his fame and vitriol, you notice, now only remains a man uncertain, unmoored, braced for rejection or mocking like you’ve scarcely seen before. The knowledge that you, or the combination of you and his older brother, seem to be a vulnerable point for him is a knowledge you don’t truly know what to do with. You say nothing in response, and with a movement of his head, after settling in his seat, he insists, “Why did you want to meet with me?”

“You norsemen have a reputation,” You start carefully, plucking at a lose string on the sleeve of your dress. “And the crown needs the allegiance Blaeja’s marriage with your brother gives them, so no mat-…”

“I don’t like your roundabout ways,” He states brusquely, and it stops you on your tracks, your eyes wide and lips parted as you stare at the Prince. He gestures with one hand, a frown starting to mar his face, “Just say what you want, Princess.”

“I want you to take me with you back to wherever it is you come from. I want them to believe I’ve been stolen.”

The Prince looks at you like you have grown a second head, and to be quite frank, once the words have left your lips you realize you might as well have. This is foolish, and dangerous, and...crazy.

That’s what they called your mother, not only these norsemen but all of them. Because she admitted what many didn’t dare to: that if she had been born with a cock they all would have bowed and given her the crown she deserved, that the earth would have been easier to walk on.

You refuse to think madness is a bad trait.

You don’t have to ponder whether the Viking will see it as such, for you notice you have piqued his interest, you notice the curiosity at the madness in your request.

“Are you sure you aren’t the mad Mercian princess?”

You offer a humorless laugh at his taunt, and retort, “I don’t want to be here anymore. And…I can prove useful to you.”

“If you say a wife…”

You don’t let him finish, leaning closer and whispering,

“They want me to marry Alfred.”

“And you don’t want to.”

“His grandfather took Mercia from me, I will not be used as a broodmare so they can hold on tighter to my kingdom.”

The Viking starts to smile, wild and yet calculating, the ruthless and intelligent man his fame says he is.

“But you don’t want revenge.”

“They can fight for the scraps of what once was a mighty kingdom for the rest of time for all I care,” You offer honestly, “I do not want to be caught up in between. I will have to give him children if I marry him, and I refuse to let a child of mine suffer like my mother did, like Blaeja did.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, and his tone grows cruel, mocking, like the cat that plays with the poor mouse before eating it, when he insists, “I could make you a slave, sell you. If you annoy me, I could torture you. If you betray me, I would kill you.”

“I told you I was of use to you, though,” You insist past the fear that makes your hands tremble, “I will not be of use in pieces. You and Alfred played chess before, haven’t you?”

He loosens his posture, his expression is no longer so guarded and venomous as he asks, “And what is this use?”

“I’m a pawn they want to make Queen,” You state, and the Viking starts to smile. You knew he was smart; you knew he was aware of how he could take advantage of ‘taking’ you as a prisoner for his own gain. You have a feeling he wanted to know if you were aware of how your position could be played. Like chess, you ponder. “Surely you could ask for a lot in exchange for my safe return home.”

He considers your words in silence for a few moments, eyes travelling between yours as if trying to read your response to the words he has not yet uttered.

“And if I don’t want to return you to your home?”

You shrug, “Then they’ll have a rallying call for their war against your people, and I will be free from these…these nobles and their fucking priests.”

The Viking breathes a laugh, surprised and a little enthralled it seems, but you find yourself smiling back.

You keep careful eyes on the moon that travels the skies, watchful over the time that you will have to return to your rooms before anyone notices your absence. But in the meantime, you enjoy with easy smiles and a light heart the company of the Viking, surprisingly enough.

____

And the few extra days Blaeja can buy you do almost nothing for the plans of your escape -a part of you is certain the Viking has a plan he won’t share with you- but it does let you get to know the man you are asking to kidnap you. A giant brute like the others, that’s for certain, but he is smart, and cunning, and his dry humor never fails to make you laugh.

You find yourself intrigued, captivated, much more so than you could have thought when you made the choice to speak out against his brother during that first dinner. It is no secret to you he is no longer a pawn in the game you decided to play, but you cannot help but think you still are merely a pawn to him.

One of the nights you meet under the guard of the moon, he starts, “I cannot take you from this city, not without an army.”

“I know.”

His eyebrows raise, “And you have thought of a way around that.”

“Haven’t you?” You reply with a small smile, knowing he has.

“If you could go closer to York…”

“Or you closer to Tamworth.”

“We’d have no way to leave by sea. I can’t exactly walk through the wilderness with you, Princess, as you can see.”

You roll your eyes with a smile on your lips, but eventually acquiesce with a nod.

You sigh, “Then I don’t know, Ivar.”

You notice it is the first time you have said his name instead of his title, and you raise startled and apologetic eyes to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though you notice his gaze lingering on you for a few moments longer than it should.

It gives your still young and innocent heart a shock of hope that you feel all the way to the tips of your fingers.

“One way or another, I will steal you, Princess,” He insistes, and you only lift an eyebrow in response. He crosses his arms, “I promise.”

____

“They leave tonight.” Blaeja starts from her place sitting at your side on the garden bench. You turn to her.

“You leave tonight,” You remind her, “Aren’t you forgetting your lovely husband to be?”

But she shakes her head, “Prince Sigurd and I will marry if he returns,” Her voice wavers, and you realize with a mix of dread and joy she has learned to care for the Viking. She straightens her back and continues, “When he returns from the battle they depart today to prepare for.”

“Against Alfred?”

“Against the woman that murdered their mother. He says they are to take back their Kingdom from her.”

“Your Prince trusts you with all of these things.”

“His brother tells you things too.” She states without hesitation, and you look at her but stay silent, not denying Ivar has told you of Queen Aslaug and her murder already. Many things actually, just as you have told him many things too.

“So it will be a while before you see him again, if ever.” You muse, not only talking about her. It would be foolish to feel pain, loss, fear; you tell yourself. It doesn’t stop the prick of tears on your eyes, or the pit of pain on your chest.

“I will depart to Bamburgh in three days to await word of the outcome of the battle.”

You lay your head on her shoulder, releasing a shaky breath, “I’ll miss you.”

_____

Judith hounds you like a dog and it is starting to get on your nerves. You feel you are being judged and considered carefully for the role of Alfred’s wife, a role you do not want to be in and, if you were to ask him, you don’t think he’d want you in either.

The talks start of having a royal wedding soon after Blaeja weds the Viking Prince, who seems to have survived the battle for Kattegat. You tried asking around, bribing a servant or two, to figure out the fate of Prince Ivar, but you are too close to bearing the crown for them to feel comfortable trading secrets with you, it seems.

You catch sight of Alfred’s eyes on you during a dinner one night, and he offers what you swear is a soothing smile even if his warm eyes shine with regret.

Judith grabs onto her son’s arm and a tired-looking Aethelwulf stands up from his throne, calling for the attention of the clergy and nobles alike.

They announce you as Alfred’s betrothed after a few words you don’t bother with listening to.

As a gift for his bride to be, Alfred arranges for a few soldiers to escort you to Bamburgh, apparently at the request of Princess Blaeja that you accompany her on her wedding day. And barely with time to pack, almost three months after you last saw her, you are in a carriage on your way to the North.

____

She looks radiant, that’s the first thing you notice when you see her awaiting for you by the gates to the royal home. Bright smile and even brighter eyes, rosy cheeks and excitement and joy written all over her posture.

It gladdens you, to know she will be wed to a man she can care for, a man that can care for her. That maybe, just maybe, like in those tales your mother used to mock, there’s love to be felt before the Lord is to bind them together.

And once the ships arrive you will not lie and pretend you don’t feel disappointment, maybe grief, at the absence of the vitriolic yet captivating prince you met what seems so long ago.

You heard them talking about a son of Ragnar becoming King of Kattegat, and you have no doubts as to who bears the crown now. In another world, you may have left, he may have earned a kingdom in what used to be Mercia or Northumbria in exchange for the safe return to Wessex you’d never make.

But you will not let it stop you from finding a way out of this arrangement, of this…this marriage.

The possibility of asking Blaeja to claim you as a permanent resident of her land is there, of course, but you don’t think she has enough leverage against the crown itself to be able to keep you more than a few months. You could simply run away, but you are not stupid, you know you’d die or be found before you can spend a moon in the wilderness.

Still, you are a smart woman, you tell yourself, you will find a way out.

While the dinner -feast, they call it- in celebration for the wedding takes place, a man you recognize as one of the eldest sons of Ragnar approaches you while you sit alone.

You cannot help the pang of fear that runs through you at the sight of one of those giants looming over you, but you still offer what you hope is a courteous smile.

“You have to come with me.” He tells you, and you frown.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Follow me.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, turning his back to you and slithering effortlessly between the dancing and feasting guests. After a moment of consideration, with a small smile on your face as if it were a thrillingly dangerous game of hide and seek, you chase after the Viking.

He leads you all the way down to the docks, and since the moon is high up in the skies, the streets are almost deserted and you are left forced to guide yourself in the darkness or thanks to the rare and dim light of a faraway lantern.

You still push on, your heart beating on your ears and fear and thrill bubbling under your skin.

“This is where I leave you, Princess,” The son of Ragnar says, stopping abruptly and turning to you. You frown, but he doesn’t step closer so you have nothing to fear. “We will see each other again.”

The man with the blondish and long hair gestures a mock of a formal goodbye, and walks confidently back to the royal home where the party -feast- is still taking place.

You are left dumbfounded and alone in the darkness, and instinct makes you want to chase after him and demand answers.

“Following a strange Viking into the darkness,” A familiar voice starts from behind you, stopping you on your tracks, “No wonder people say you are as crazy as your mother, Princess.”

You turn around with a frown and raised chin, ready to retort, “My mother was not c-…”

But you realize halfway as the words leave your lips whose voice it is, to whom the familiar pale blue eyes belong to.

Ivar stands now, and his hair seems longer and braided in some strange style, even his armor looks different. It seems like years have passed even though it has scarcely been half a year yet.

“You’re alive.” You whisper, and the Viking frowns, affronted.

“Of course I am,” He replies arrogantly, and you cannot keep the smile from your lips. He extends a hand, “And I’ve come to…steal you, was it?”

You don’t answer, even if a part of you is thrilled at him remember that first conversation. You only look at him with wide eyes.

“You’re a king now.”

“Hmm, and I was offered a queen, was I not?”

It startles you back to reality, back to your senses, and you notice the three ships with dim lanterns and silent warriors docked at the sides of the dragon-headed ship Ivar -King Ivar now, you suppose- stands in.

“That’s…not what I meant.” You say, but still your hand grasps at the skirts of your dress to lift it up, and you walk closer.

“Have you decided to stay with them?” And the sudden steel underneath his words, a promise of what you could be at the other end of if he is to believe you’ve fooled him, or gone back on your word, makes a thrill of fear go down your back.

“No, but…”

“Usually stealing a bride doesn’t involve this much talking, Princess.” He interrupts, and extends a hand, and you look at it with wide eyes.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“I-…” You look into his eyes, pale blue eyes that you saw more than once when you closed your own in these past months, and a breathy laugh leaves your lips, “This is madness.”

Ivar says nothing, but his hand is still stretched between you. You take it, and jump into the ship.

___

So, that was it :/ I have a feeling it’s pretty boring but I’ll hope that’s cause I wrote it lol

Thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think, and if you wanna rquest anything go right ahead, I promise to try my best lol

Thank you, I hoped you enjoyed <3

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #vikings imagine

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deans-baby-momma · 3 years ago

Text

Forbidden

Chapter 14

Set in season 14 and follows Y/N, a young girl from the Apocalypse world as she tries to navigate this new place that she was thrust in after being rescued and the feelings she begins to have for someone she really shoudln’t be having them for.

Warnings: There’s a bit of angst, smut and fluff in each chapter. I will tag the smut chapters appropriately but if you’re following me and reading any of my stories, you know it’s gonna be there. LOL

WC: 1276

After looking Stuart over and finding no clues as to why a ghost would be pursuing him, other than it was someone who he had royally pissed off, I join Dean and Dirk and listen as they continue comparing horror films, particularly the All Saint’s Day anthology.

I have to admit David Yaeger is one scary son of a bitch, though with his skin all fried and scorched and the Hannibal Lecter-esque mask while wielding a razor sharp axe? I wouldn’t want to meet ‘Hatchet Man’ in a dark alley any time, ever!

Dean and Dirk’s conversation gets interrupted when Dean’s phone rings and he steps away to answer it.

“You’re pretty,” Dirk says shyly as he looks toward me. He isn’t looking at me; almost like he is too timid and sheepish to look at me directly.

I smile and cross my arms across my chest. “Thanks.”

Dean comes back and breaks the nervous tension between the comic store nerd and myself. “So, the ghost is Jordan MacNeal-”

“Jordy? Nah he’s dead,” Dirk says and then pauses as what Dean said dawn on him. “Wait, you said ghost. A ghost? A real live actual ghost did this to Stuart? And you think that ghost is Jordy?”

“I don’t think,” Dean replies. “I know. Listen we got to keep you and Stuart here-” he continues as he motions toward the still unconscious body on the bed. “-safe. I don’t have a lot of time. C’mon.”

Dean grabs Dirk by the shoulder of his jacket and pulls him into Stuart’s room and to the chair beside the bed.

He grabs a large canister out of the bag that I just now notice is here and starts laying a salt line around the two young men.

“If ghosts are real,” Dirk asks as he watches Dean. “Does that mean vampires…?”

“Yup.”

“Witches?”

“Uh-huh,” Dean answers as he maneuvers around the wires and cords at the head of the bed.

“Werewolves?”

Dean finishes the salt circle and throws the canister to me. I bend down and put it back in the bag. “Unless it’s Godzilla, it’s real, alright?”

“But…”

Dean doesn’t listen as he begins to explain to Dirk that his best bet would be to not move out of the salt line.

“Now! Listen to me, ghosts can’t cross a salt line okay? So whatever you hear, whatever you see, whatever happens, stay inside. Capiche?”

Once we get Dirk shielded, along with Stuart, Dean and I begin casing the hallways, on the lookout for the stupid Hatchet Man mannequin from the comic store.

When Sam had called Dean and informed him who the ghost was, he had also told his brother that the spirit had possessed the life-size Yaeger doll, attacked him and Samantha, the store clerk and they barely made it out alive. They were now working on figuring out what object Jordan’s spirit was attached to since he had been cremated. Sam had warned that Jordy was headed to the medical center to finish off Stuart and we were planning to do anything and everything to stop that.

Dean and I are in the third, or maybe it’s the fourth, hospital hallway looking for and examining every nook and cranny for any signs that the Hatchet Man (possessed by Jordy) has actually made it to the hospital. Dean has his Colt M1911 in his hand, poised and geared to use it if needed while I have my trusty bowie knife at the ready.

“So, you said your dad was cocky and smug. Wanna elaborate?”

“Really dude?” I answer, astonished that he is choosing right now to talk about my father. “You think this is the time to discuss my dad and his vanity?” Dean looks back at me and I realize he is just trying to make conversation. “Okay, well like I said. He was a conceited ass. He was always right about things and he knew he was always right. Anyone who took a chance to question him or his motives usually ended up benched. I was never allowed to go on hunts. He kept me on research to keep me safe he claimed. I took it upon myself to learn karate and jujitsu. He knew I could hold my own in a fight but he never let me prove myself. He was a chauvinist.”

“You said him and Sammy- well that Sammy- never argued? They got along? Like all the time?”

I can’t help but shrug my shoulders. “Yea, my dad and my uncle were brothers and best friends and it seemed like one always knew what the other was thinking. They were in sync.”

Dean smiles and says “That’s a boy band.”

“What?” I ask, completely confused. “What’s a boy band?”

Dean just chuckles and tells me to nevermind as we approach the morgue in the hospital’s underbelly.

“If I tell you to stay here, you’d stab me in the gut wouldn’t you?” Dean asks.

“Damn right!”

“Okay, well just…….follow me. Please?”

I nod and we enter the infirmary quietly and stealthily. There are a few bodies on tables, covered with white cloths and the incandescent bulbs overhead buzzes and flickers as we make our way through.

Suddenly the door opens behind us and we both jump behind a file cabinet to hide. Dean peeks around the piece of furniture and I can see his shoulders relax. He steps out of the hiding spot and grabs Dirk by the shoulder.

“I thought I told you to stay put!”

“You don’t… He’s here,” Dirk says and from the sound of his voice I can tell he is terrified.

“Where?” Dean asks and I see movement in my peripheral vision. One of the previously presumed dead bodies begin to rise and as the white sheet falls, we all come face to face with the protagonist of what Dean refers to as ‘the greatest horror saga of all time’.

The possessed dummy presses the button on his chest and David Yaeger’s voice says, “Time to slice and dice.”

“Oh hell!” Dean exclaims as he grabs my hand and pulls me as he pushes Dirk out of the room and we take off running from the threat.

Dean stops running midway down the hall and looks at the wall. There is an emergency box hanging on the wall with an axe in it. Dean uses his elbow to break the glass and grabs the weapon and turns back to the morgue.

“This son of a bitch is going down,” he states as he starts walking back toward the morgue. Dirk and I look at each other wide-eyed before we follow him. By the time we get to the morgue, Dean has already been disarmed by Jordan and is now throwing instruments and equipment toward the monster.

Jordan overpowers Dean and has him in a chokehold and I can’t watch anymore. I hand my bowie to Dirk and run toward them, jumping onto Hatchet Man’s back and start pounding him with my fists.

Out of nowhere we hear Sam yelling, “The keychain! He’s connected to the keychain.”

As Hatchet Man tries to fend off my attack he lets go of Dean enough that he is able to grab the keychain from the living mannequin’s body and tosses it to Sam.

Together, Sam and Samantha set the keychain on fire and the five of us watch as Hatchet Man, possessed by Jordan, goes up in flames. The recorded voice of David Yaeger slowing down before trailing off.

Dean puts his arms around my shoulders and we walk out of the hospital with Sam, Dirk, and Samantha behind us.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @wintersoldierwinchester @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits @nancymcl @kazsrm67 @lostdarksoul6

#supernatural #supernatural season 14 #spn #canon adjacent #dean winchester #sam winchester #mary winchester #y/n winchester #jack kline #bobby singer #angst #fluff #smut #dean x y/n

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mominousrex · 3 years ago

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That Gregor: A Shebby Debbie Story

Gregor (Pre-Mia on Abafar) FANFIC!!!

Introducing female OCs (Debala & Mumu). Commander Cody gets some love too!

WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF SHEBBYS.

18+ MATURE THEMES

(CH. 2 is 18+ NSFW and well...you will have to go to my AO3 for that)

Wanted to get something done for Gregor! @clonetober this one is 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Thanks to @saint-tries @catsarefurrypeople for the beta love!

SHEB = "ASS" in Mando'a

SHEBBY = A beautiful piece of ass that loves clones and is loved by clones.

CH. 1 - GIRL MEETS BOY

Oddly, it was a busy weeknight at 79’s.

Debbie didn’t even bother to style her signature red hair this evening. Her bangs were perfectly straight as usual, and the uneven layers of her blunt bob looked more casual when she just let them be. She barely had any make-up on, save for this morning’s coat of mascara that now looked like a smokey eye framing her sea-green eyes. So what if some of the boys noticed her freckles tonight? Many of them already knew most of the freckles on her body. What could it hurt if they noticed them on her cheeks and nose? At least she had four different types of lip gloss somewhere buried in her purse, somewhere. Thankfully she had her comfiest strappy heels and the ever-reliable black halter maxi dress that looked sleek and sexy but fit like a cloud of nothing.

Debbie hadn’t seen this many clones out on a Wednesday night in a long time. Perhaps some mission had gone exceptionally well and she missed the holonet report. It was hard to keep up with all the war reels lately. She’d had a long day at work and was looking forward to a simple night in for her “alone time”. Debbie was very particular about her nights to relax and be by herself. She had finally mastered the balance of having a good time with others and having a good time just hanging with herself.

But, she forgot she promised Mumu, the latest gal who happily fell into the Shebby scene, that she would meet with her tonight and go over all the different terminology and rankings of the GAR. Being a shebby was about having a good time, but it was also like a research project, a form of civil service, and a masterclass in sexual empowerment too.

When the war first started and the clones took over the fledgling 79’s club, Debbie was there almost every night of the week. The rest of the city saw them as bizarre wonders of science that only served the purpose of fighting against the Separatists. Debbie and her girlfriends saw them as something so much more. Sure they were gorgeous, built, and way too much fun. But they also invoked a desperation to live in the moment. It was contagious. They lived half-lives. For clone soldiers, life in this fucked up galaxy moved at a hyperspeed pace with their accelerated aging and constant brushes with death. Every day alive was a gift to have and a curse to keep up the fight.

When she started hanging out with one, she couldn’t help but want to see how another was different. And then another. And then another. It never ended. A different version of the same man. A man that you wanted badly, who may or may not fancy you back, but there was always another one...who absolutely did.

“Deb! Deb! Fuck girl, the commandos are here tonight! I think it’s Foxtrot, right?”

“Oh, fuckin hell they are. Commander Cody owes me a threesome.”

“Deb! You are shameless.”

“You bet I am. I won that holodart game. Fucker can’t handle losing. I knew he would chicken out,” Debbie adjusted Mumu’s wide bra strap for her and tucked it back under her top. She swept Mu’s long jet black hair to cover it up. Mumu was petite but had the galaxy’s greatest tits in the world and no idea what to do with them. The fact that she didn’t show them off made the gentle sweetness about her even more adorable.

“He’s a great fuck that Cody. But most of his men are terrible. He needs to show them. I think he’s just greedy. Not like those 501st boys. Torrent squad alone, they could tie me up again—-”

“Again?” Mumu looked both horrified and intrigued.

“You heard me,” Deb signaled to the bartender, “they could tie me up again, fuck my brains out the lot of them, and just leave me there, waiting until they get back.”

“Was the new one Fives as good as everyone says?”

“Mumu? The answer is yes, of course. He is the best at eating pussy, that’s one gifted soldier. Especially in front of his brothers. He’s a showoff. Wait, stop—You didn’t fuck him that night? Mumu you gotta listen to me when I give solid advice.”

“Oh, I know. We didn’t do anything really. Some kissing. He’s such a good kisser. It was really sweet,” Debbie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she listened to Mumu’s gushing, “We were having so much fun laughing and he just walked me home.”

“He walked you home? Fives?! Aw, that is...sweet. That’s some Wolfe Pack shit. They always take their time. They like the chase.” Deb realized she may have to emotionally nurse another shebby back to life after Fives. Fives was a “shiny” in the 501st and new to the shebby scene himself. An ARC trooper clone that had that rare combo of infectious charisma, romantic intelligence, and a twisted pension for drama. He wasn’t a bad guy at all. He really did fall for every girl that fell for him. It was just that practically every girl fell for him first . The civvies were the ones who would end up going absolutely berserk and waiting for him outside 79’s or sneaking into the barracks to confront him about who he’s been seeing. Shebby gals had to make sure to let the boys have their fun and move on. But Fives was almost impossible to move on from for most gals. Half the girls that his twin, Echo, hooked up with were rebounding from Fives. This was even worse because Echo was probably the one they should have hooked up within the first place (if they were looking for the fully committed, caring, and dedicated one.) Those Domino shinies were a dangerously wonderful new addition to the 501st. And Debbie made sure to tell that Captain of theirs to watch out for them. “Rex, those two are going to either save the galaxy themselves or destroy every female they encounter. Maybe both.”

Who knows? Maybe Mumu’s porcelain skin was thicker than it looked.

“Well, you’ll fuck him, Mumu. I would say just stick with that. I mean it. Ignore him and stuff. Even if he actually likes you. Which you are so fucking cute, Mu — he’s for sure into you. But don’t get too hung up on him. I think that romance shit is a turn on for him. Fives get girls all crazy in love and it makes the sex really good but then he drops ‘em and starts this crazy game where he’s juggling three or four at once,” she threw back her shot. Mumu was nodding her head like a good student agreeing to an assignment she was never going to actually do. Then she mimicked Debbie and threw back her shot too.

The great Commander Cody of the 212th had finally made his way over to the bar a few meters away. He has two or three of his men trailing behind, as usual.

One catches Debbie’s eye, a rarity. That’s a new one . The new one also catches Debbie looking at him and gives her the naughtiest little “I caught you” grin that made her chest heave with fire that shot right down to her panties.

Debbie hesitated. Which Debbie doesn’t do. Fuck. Who the fuck is that?!

“Gregor!!!” Mumu shouted and dragged Debbie by the arm as she ran over to this ...Gregor .

“Yay! My dancing buddy!” Mumu ran over and gave him a kiss as he grabbed her waist and hugged her, smiling and laughing as Mumu threw her long black hair behind her shoulders. Gregor even wiped Mumu’s bangs out her face for her as she was squealing and laughing with him. Maker of men that was a sweet move.

Debbie made sure to go nowhere near that wild animal she had yet to tame. She then heads over to Commander Cody. She was his first shebby and he was her first clone. It seemed like ages ago. The clones somehow made time feel like it was flying. Now, Cody was more like an old friend worth a laugh or the once-in-a-while lovely night of reliable, great sex, “You’re a sore loser Commander Cody. I’m owed.”

“Debala. How’s your evening?”

“It could be better, Commander. I want what I’m owed.”

“You’ll have to pardon my delay. I’m in the middle of a galactic civil war.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Cody laughs as he orders his drink letting Debbie continue, “You know, I was hoping the 212th actually appreciated what they were fighting for. You better not start slacking on us now... Victory is up to all of us! ” They both lazily said in unison, then Cody mimed jerking off as Debala mimed getting shot in the face.

Cody chimed in looking out at Gregor and Mumu, “I like the little soldier you brought with you tonight. Her tits are incredible. She should be falling over with that little body of hers.”

“Ohhhh no you don’t! I was very clear. This time I wanted you and one of your men. We had a deal. I beat you at holodarts fair and square and it’s been two weeks, CC-2224.”

“Oh, we’re going there, Deb?” He handed her water as he drank his beer.

Gregor and Mumu come barging into this grown-up conversation. Gregor is dancing while twirling Mumu and requesting permission all at the same time. Debbie is so turned on she knows she has a look of disgust on her face. “Permission to go get something to eat, sir?”

Cody sighed, “Gregor we just ate.”

“Always hungry, sir.”

Cody looks at Deb shaking his head, “It’s true.”

“Painfully true, sir,” he winks at Debbie, “plus I want to buy Mumu here some ice cream.”

Cody gives Gregor a dry commander’s tone, “Don’t eat her ice cream, Gregor. Girls don’t like that.”

Gregor looks over at Deb, “I heard they don’t mind sharing a lick or two” a wicked giggle followed. He was locked on her, “I’m Gregor,” he said as he kissed her hand and raised his eyebrows.

“Debala,” she raised a shoulder to feign being slightly impressed.

“Hello, Debala.”

Some clones have a nice smile, some clones have a hot grin, but this one had a positively poisonous smirk. She was struck good.

“Careful Gregor, you’re talking to the Commander of the Shebby Army, Shebby Debbie.”

“Well, I only know her as Debala. I like saying your name. I'm calling you Debala ,” he said her name that time to feel it in his mouth and let his tongue flick the last syllable off of his teeth.

Deb was impressed. This one liked to play. She let her eyes size him up and he allowed it. Cody wasn’t even paying attention.

“I can make you say my name a little louder if you want, Gregor.”

He laughed at that, “I bet!” His laugh was uniquely wild and it made Debbie squeeze her thighs together and clench right then and there to practically rub herself into her seat. Her mouth was processing the false alarm of sudden arousal and she was struck speechless from his laugh, his eyes on her beaming his whole wonderful energy into her being.

Mumu is now back, “Deb! Come get ice cream with us. Gregor’s treat.”

Gregor turned to Mumu with a pinch of her soft chunk above her hips, “Gregor’s treat?! Oh is it now, Mumu? I’m taking care of both of you ? You’re gonna dance with me for one more song then!” Mumu was all over him at that point making him look beyond desirable.

“Nah love, you kids go,” Debbie hadn’t been bonked over the head like a little teenager in years, maybe a decade.

Cody once again called out to his brother, “Gregor, don’t hurt yourself again. Soldier, not a dancer.”

“Aren’t we though, Commander? He whips Mumu around with a seductive man handling twirl that now has her ass backing into him one little ass shake at a time to get home to his perfect rhythmic hips. Debbie noticed that he never took his eyes off of Mumu's face, hair, or neck. Kriff, he’s attentive. Most clones, the ones that will dance, just watch their own lap hitting your ass, grinding your crotch, or just your tits jiggling like they were men starved.

This little shit. He’s showing off his moves all over Mumu and looking at Deb the whole time. It’s getting hot, so Debbie looks over at Cody.

Gregor then tickles Mumu and she squeals and giggles all over him, her glorious breasts bouncing with every laugh. The hot and bothered mood now shifted to playful and naughty.

Debbie is still shocked she had never met him before, “Were you hiding this one from me, Cody?”

“Huh? What? Ohhhh, you want Gregor?” He smiled with a proud twinkle in his eye.

“At some point, maybe.”

Cody’s expression shifted from smiling to strategizing, “Interesting...”

Debbie always forgets that Commander Cody is actually a brilliant strategist. He was genetically designed to be so. Cody continued, “I’d like to watch him fuck her, wouldn’t you?”

Deb could play along and see where this goes, “Tempting. I might be watching that right now? I’d bet he’d like to watch you fuck us ladies silly.”

“Maybe. But I always like watching you take care of your soldiers, Deb. Gregor would definitely be into that.”

“Hmmm...so, from three to four then, Commander? Can Gregor handle it?” Maker, Deb knew this Gregor could handle by that first look he gave her.

Are you renegotiating your win, Debala? Tsk tsk tsk. Gregor can handle it, I think?”

“You think? Oh no. What’s wrong with this one?”

“He got pretty banged up in the heart by a civvie, some clerk at the requisition warehouse. See, Deb? That’s why we’re glad to have wonderful shebbies like you and the girls. We don’t need anyone messing with the boys' heads.

“For the Republic...Commander,” Debbie now wanted to fuck Gregor and hold him. Oh boy. She better keep it together. She and Cody raised their shots to clink and down ‘em.

Gregor now had swooped back in with Mumu’s impossibly gorgeous teardrop-shaped tits draped all over his back and smushing here and there with the music and Gregor keeping the beat. Debbie knows that Mu’s tits probably felt so good up against his broad shoulders. She’s almost blatantly caressing them against his now semi sweaty shirt. The thought of it gets Debbie the softest hint of wet. Enough to be effective, but still in control of the situation.

“Permission, sir?”

“Gregor, when we’re at 79’s you don’t have to ask for permission to go get ice cream,” Gregor just sat there blankly looking at him until Cody responded, “Granted. Be back here in twenty minutes. Special assignment,” Cody smiles as Gregor’s eyes smile to that last addition and he salutes them both in good fun.

Mumu catches Debbie looking at her with a smile. She rolls her eyes with a silent I know, don’t fall in love. But Debbie gives her a wink and an air smooch, knowing that she’ll be helping MuMu with her first tag team fuck later.

Besides, Debbie’s got her own moves to show off to this Gregor.

WANT TO JOIN THE FUN? Head over to AO3 for Chapter 2

#clonetober2021 #clone commando gregor #commander cody #gregor x oc #cody x oc #shebby debbie #79s clone bar #captain gregor

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darylandbethfanforever9 · 4 years ago

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Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 3

AN: I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far, and thank you everyone who has commented, reblogged or liked the story :)

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+

Warnings: Smut, violence, flashbacks of past sexual assault, descriptions of torture and racial hate. Not Tony Stark friendly.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, Sam/Sharon, Clint/Laura, eventual Clint/Yelena and Frank/Karen Page.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a mysterious woman, he starts to realize maybe his past isn’t too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14.

The girls at the Red Room would whisper about the Winter Soldier. He was a ghost story, a tale whispered to keep them in line by warning them if they didn't succeed in the classes or missions, that the soldat would creep into their room and kill them.

She remembered seeing those cold eyes watching her and over girls when he had come to the academy to train one of their classes. He had thrown a young girl called Polina Paseka across the room after she failed four times to do a pirouette in ballet class.

She frowned as she tried to make sense of how the Winter Soldier had escaped the Red Room. It was rare when someone was able to make it out, almost impossible. She decided to call Carter and inquire about the soldier. Her interest was piqued by the man. Maybe she would know something.

Bucky and the others returned to the compound to inform Fury about the black ops team that the Power Broker had sent to kidnap Isaiah and Eli Bradley. The man must have been hellbent on creating the serum after Zemo destroyed the ones that Dr. Nadler had created. "Hill is identifying the people who were sent to kidnap Isaiah and his grandson. Two of them have already been identified," Fury announced grimly. He pulled up two images of two men, one of whom that Bucky recognized instantly. Jack Rollins. He knew him from being there at the Ideal Federal Savings bank when he had his mind wiped by Pierce after trying to kill Steve, Sam and Natasha in Washington D.C. "You might remember the guy on the left, Barnes and Rogers. That is Jack Rollins, former member of the STRIKE Team. After fleeing the U.S., he settled in Madripoor and began working as a mercenary for the highest bidder. Tomas Calderon is a former S.H.I.E.L.D agent, who was fired after killing a group of Inhuman refugees in Nairobi, Kenya," Fury explained gravely. He paused for a moment before glancing their way. "Rogers, Wilson, I want you to ask Carter if she knows how long this mystery young woman has been living in Madripoor. See if there's a gang war brewing over a power struggle. Barnes, Barton and Maximoff, I want you three to talk to Russo, Karen Page, Murdock, and Curtis Hoyle. See what they know about the Power Broker," the director instructed. They nodded and all left.

The first thing Ana decided to do was renovate the whole damn penthouse that the Power Broker owned. She ordered new bedding, a new mattress, and a nice bed frame. There was no way in hell she was sleeping in his bed. She followed suit with the rest of the apartment, glad to have all this control now. The next thing she did was arrange a meeting with all the criminals who lived in Madripoor. She was putting down some rules. She was no saint - far from it - but no way in hell was she tolerating slavery, sex trafficking, and fucking child molesters and pedophiles. She knew Madripoor thrived on crime, but she was going to be instilling some rules for everyone. She personally called off the bounties on the Winter Soldier, the Falcon and Baron Zemo, from what she had heard around. She had no quarrel with them at the minute. Her main focus was going to be ensuring the Red Room remained shut down. She didn't want anyone else to go through what she had gone through. No child deserved that horror. The buzzer rang then, and she answered the call immediately. She had a feeling that a few of them were going to be aggravating. But she had dealt with worse people. "Miss Liukin, this is Conrad Mack. You wish to speak with me about a beneficial arrangement between us?" The man asked politely. She smiled slightly. "Please come in, Mr. Mack," she said smoothly. The door was unlocked and locked behind him. She might have her bodyguards, but she wasn't defenseless by herself if Conrad decided to play dirty. Two could play at that game. Conrad Mack entered the living room. He was a handsome man in person. He had dark brown eyes, but there was a sharpness in them, like an eagle, always watching. He was wearing casual, but smart clothing. "Mr. Mack, it's a pleasure to meet with you. I've heard a lot of things about you," Ana said warmly. The man offered her a charming smile that showed perfect white teeth. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Liukin. I have to say that I'm impressed by your bloodless takeover of Madripoor. If you don't mind me asking, what inspired you to take over Madripoor from the Power Broker?" She smiled at his question, as she sipped from her glass of red wine and Conrad drank from his glass of whisky. The man was a gangster, but he did have morals. She decided to give him some of the truth. "The Power Broker wished to recreate the Super Soldier serum after Baron Zemo destroyed the vials that Karli Morgenthau stole from him. But he wanted me to kidnap a man called Isaiah Bradley and his grandson…I presume you know who he is?" she asked meaningfully. Conrad nodded, his smile turning to a grimace. "Yeah, I know who he is. My grandaddy fought with him in World War II. The US government threw him in jail and took his blood. He escaped during the eighties and settled down in Baltimore," the man said bitterly, well aware of America's racial discrimination against African-Americans. Ana nodded at his answer as she looked at the Monet art that decorated the walls. She disliked racists fiercely. "Then you understand why the Power Broker had to go, Conrad?" He lets out a quiet nod at that. "As I've said before, I'm not a saint. I've done some horrible things. But I draw the line at people dragging innocents back into their dirty hands. For years I had no control of what I was able to do, and now that I do, you can bet I'm going to make sure that no one else gets hurt like that." Conrad smiles to that. "That's very noble of you." Ana snorts and shakes her head. "Not noble. It's called being a human. However,…I'm not a good person too. And the reason we're here is because of that." She comes over to him, leaning against her chair. "I know about your little business on the side here. You thrive from the drug community here, don't you?" "If we're being honest, it is one of, if not the most, profitable business you can have in Madripoor." "On the brink of a collapse the city would be if that whole system decided to go belly-up," Ana states, holding her glass in her hands. "Which is why I'm willing to offer a truce with you. An agreement, of sorts. If you keep a low profile and continue your business, I'll make sure it can still run with the people here and the cops won't be on your ass. I know how hard it can be to stay on the downlow but I'm willing to compromise on that as long as your guys don't interfere with what I'm trying to do." Conrad raises an eyebrow. "You're very interesting, you know that?" She raises an eyebrow back at him. "How so?" "You're like the opposite version of what you say you are. You're trying to be good but also trying to keep crime going…it's a strange contradiction, if you will." Ana shrugs her shoulders, walking over to where he sits. "We all have our contradictions. But the main part here is making sure your business can still run despite those contradictions. So…" She holds out her hand to him. "Do we have a deal?" Conrad looks at her hand for a split second before extending outwards, shaking it firmly. "We have a deal."

Talking with Karen, Frank, Matthew and Foggy had gone about as well as Bucky had been expecting. They didn't know that much about the Power Broker except for the fact that he just wanted to have as much power as possible, simple as that. They had stumbled into them when Fisk had gone away to jail, leaving his powerful empire in the city free for the taking. Due to the power vacuum, the Power Broker had tried to break in.

But luckily, they had come in at the right moment to stop him from taking over, before he had escaped off to Madripoor. Bucky truly wondered what went through this man's mind to make him think like that, that he could suddenly own everyone just because one man got arrested. But then again, the man was clearly unstable. If he wanted to still create more and more super-solder serums for the world to use…there was no way he would allow that. Secretly, Bucky really hoped this new mysterious woman had killed the Power Broker. Hell, maybe even taken over herself. If she was willing to help Sharon out and let them know about Isiah, she at least had some sort of morals compared to the original man. But he also had a feeling that Fury, if he did find out who this woman was, was most likely going to send them after her. So maybe he'd get the chance to meet her after all. A part of him still couldn't believe that he had seen Ana at a coffee shop…it was such a small world. A part of her still felt so familiar, and at the same time he couldn't remember where he had seen her before. He was thankful that the Wakandan's had gotten out all the trigger words in his mind but damn it, he wished he had his whole mind back. Something he would just have to live with for now.

Was this a stupid idea? Probably. Could Fury walk in at any moment? Most likely. But Natasha needed to know. She had to know if this woman was alive truly or not. Maybe she would get lucky, and they would be able to swing around this situation. Maybe the woman who had come into the facility wasn't even close to her. When Nat and Yelena had destroyed the Red Room area, they had been able to access their system remotely to be able to view who had died and who had lived from the program. She had never checked for her to see if she was still around. But this time was better than no time. She typed in the name quickly, searching through the files before she lands on the one, she had wanted. And her shoulders sink as soon as she reads through the file on the computer screen. 'Anastasia Liukin. Dead – complications of operation.' "Oh, thank God," Natasha breathes out, running her hand through her hair. This at least said that she was gone. Maybe she would be able to get out of this alive. But something still didn't sit right. A part of her didn't think that she was dead. If it wasn't her…then who? She bites her lip, glancing deeper into the file.

"Fuck it," she said finally, before delving further into the files. She found information on Anastasia about the year she was born. The young woman had been born on July 10, 1995 in Voronezh, Voronezh Oblast, Russia in the aftermath of the Soviet Union collapsing. Her mother had died when she was five years old, and she had no one else to raise her. She was then placed in an orphanage until the age of seven when the Red Room had approached her under the illusion of being taken to a ballet boarding school. There were no other records of her aside from the file about her dying from an operation. The reasons for the operation were redacted, but deep-down Natasha knew the reason. 'I had to do it. I had to protect Yelena. She was too soft for the Red Room despite all the training we put her through,' she thought rationally, ignoring the pang of guilt that pulsed through her.

Sharon was honestly trying to keep herself calm as she drove to the penthouse that was owned by the Power Broker. She hadn't seen the mysterious woman again, but she had told Sharon to call her Ana. Now, she was driving there and was stunned by the sight before her very eyes. The building itself was amazing and very spacious, but the apartment was even better. She was shown into the penthouse by a bodyguard and kept her face neutral as she was greeted by none other than Ana. "You wanted to see me?" She asked politely. Ana smiled at her calmly as Sharon sat down on the comfortable black velvet sofa. The living room was very spacious but had a homey-vibe around it. There were framed photographs on the mantelpiece. "Yes. I was wondering if I could buy some of the Art Deco paintings and sculptures in your art gallery?" Ana asked curiously. Sharon blinked in surprise but nodded and leaned forward. "I'll be happy to sell you them, Miss Liukin," she said reassuringly, stunned that the woman wasn't going to kill her for helping Bucky, Sam and Zemo escape from the Power Broker. Speaking of the man, she hadn't seen him around Madripoor for the last couple of days. She wondered if finally, someone had killed him for having too much control and power. Considering Ana was in his penthouse, she had quite the feeling it had something to do with her, since the man had been tied up by her not that long ago. "Then I'll see you tomorrow morning. I'll enjoy doing business with you, Sharon," Ana said kindly, her voice genuine. Sharon nodded as they both walked out, seeing that the whole penthouse was being renovated. At Sharon looking, Ana smiled as she put her bottle of water down on the coffee table. "This penthouse belonged to the Power Broker, and it didn't give a welcoming feel. So, I decided to have the whole house renovated, including an indoor ballet studio, along with an indoor swimming pool, a library, and many bedrooms," the woman explained amusedly. Sharon smiled before saying goodbye and Ana watched her leave. She had to admit, it seemed the women had the strength to stay around – and wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

Bucky was annoyed with himself. He felt like he had seen Ana before and not at the coffee shop. It was irritating to say the very least, as he walked to the conference room, where Fury was holding a team meeting. He entered the room, sitting next to Steve, Sam, Clint and Wanda as Billy and Grant joined them. He wasn't surprised to see Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne being in the room but was wary about seeing Bruce and Tony in the room. Both of them, along with Natasha and Yelena, despised him. He didn't blame Natasha for hating him - he had tried to kill her three times, and had attempted to apologize, but she had refused his apology. "Now that you're all here, I have news about the mystery woman who infiltrated the compound. We ran her through Interpol, MI6, FBI, and the S.H.I.E.L.D database and found nothing on her. She's unknown to us," Fury explained gravely, his face betraying nothing. "So, what you want us to do then? It's pretty obvious that she's dangerous if she escaped the HYDRA base, and they had her in cyrostasis," Tony questioned suspiciously. It was Steve spoke up. "That doesn't necessarily mean that she's dangerous, Tony. She's most like been forcibly placed in cyrostasis. We did uncover some possible information," Steve informed Fury, who looked interested as he looked at the man. "What did you and the team find out then?" The director inquired curiously. He was clearly wondering if the young woman was a threat to them. "We did some digging - plus Sharon called us this morning. The Power Broker might possibly be dead, as he's not been seen for at least three days. He was last seen Monday night, and had arranged to meet a young woman to discuss kidnapping Isaiah and Eli Bradley, so he could use their blood to recreate the Super-Soldier serum. According to Sharon, the young woman refused to comply, and a fight broke out," Steve explained quietly, his voice not quite disapproving at the young woman's actions and possibly murdering the Power Broker. "She was the person who told Sharon about the attack on Isiah." Fury looked thoughtful and looked around at everyone who was sitting at the table. Natasha and Yelena were silent, but they were clearly hiding something. "Is there something you'd like to add, Belova and Romanoff?" he asked calmly. Natasha nodded. "There is something I'd like to add, Fury." Natasha stands as she grabs the file of Ana, placing it on the table. "I did some digging on this girl with the file that we found in the HYDRA base in Siberia. As the ones who shut down the Red Room and the areas surrounding it, we are allowed remote access to the former directory of agents that we've had interactions with. It turns out that Ana has actually died from an operation due to unforeseen circumstances," Natasha states. "At least that was what her records state." "Hold on." Bucky stands from where he was, gesturing to the file. "That's impossible. We've been doing our own research and there has been some steady evidence that she's still alive." "Barnes, I remember her. She's gone." "That's impossible because I saw her literally days ago," Bucky says angrily, but he holds back his temper to a point. He didn't want to let go of his own morals because Nat's words contradicted his own. Her brow raises in shock. "You're-wait, what? How the hell did you-" "She was in a coffee shop," Bucky states, crossing his arms against his chest. "A couple days ago before heading off. I didn't learn the girl's name, but she looked exactly like Ana. There's no mistaking it." "You're insane, she's gone!" "No, she's not!" "ENOUGH!" Fury yells, his booming voice causing them to jump in surprise. They both turn their eyes to where Fury was breathing heavily, his head down, clearly trying to control his own temper. He takes a moment before looking at the two of them. "Sit both your asses down now!" The two Avengers do as he says, knowing that if they pissed him off even more there'd be more than just yelling coming their way. Fury starts to pace before he looks to them. "From what I see, we have several problems here. One is-" His phone suddenly pings, and he pulls it out quickly to glance at it before cursing under his breath. "Now we got even more problems," he mutters, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Just got word from H.Q. Apparently, the original Power Broker is officially dead." Silence rings throughout the room. Bucky knew it. He just knew it.

"Again, now we got even more problems," Fury continues, running a hand along his head before looking to them. "One, we have some mysterious woman that broke into our damn base and now is missing. Two, we have a power dynamic clearly underway in Madripoor, and another young woman there that we don't know about looking to take over. Third, we have two goddamn conflicting arguments about a girl that we don't even know about. There’re too many things here for us to even come to a proper conclusion. I'm over this fighting that we got going." "Then what do you suggest we do, sir?" Natasha asks, raising her brow. Fury sighs and then nods back at the team. "What we do best – undercover. But there ain't no way I'm sending a whole team after this girl. If the Power Broker is dead, that means she's a serious threat, regardless if she'll hurt us or not. She's got friends in high places. Only one of you are fit enough to do a proper undercover mission of this high of a status." His eyes turn directly to where Bucky was. "And that's you, Barnes." His brow raises in surprise. "Me?" "I can't think of someone better than the former Winter Soldier. It can't be Nat or Yelena with personal ties to this said mystery woman, but we don't know how much she knows about you possibly. It's the best option for us going forward. I'm not about to let any other goddamn intruder come in, so we need to find out who this woman is as soon as possible, and if she's taking over as the Power Broker." Bucky was quiet for a moment, letting his words mingle. He wasn't wrong. He most likely would be able to find her the quickest and see exactly who this woman was. "Plus, you've literally seen her before," Steve agrees lightly. "If anything, that'll only help you try and find her again." "I think he's got this," Sam states, agreeing. Bucky rolls his eyes and glances at his friends. "It's alright, guys. I'm fine." He always knew that the ones who were on his side tried their best to show their support for him, but something he just wanted to prove it himself. He turns back to Fury. "I can do that, sir." "Good, glad to hear it." Fury stands and grabs the file. "You leave as early as tomorrow. We want to make sure we handle this with care but as quickly as possible. Don't want to linger any longer. Pack your belongings – I'll inform Sharon that you're heading to Madripoor and you're undercover there." "Sounds good," Bucky responds, standing. "Meeting adjourned," Fury concludes, getting up and heading out, pulling his phone as he does so. Bucky hears Tony groan as he stands, sighing. "He's making a mistake sending you out." "Tony, we don't need this right now," Steve responds, trying to shut down the fight before it even began. "How can you even trust him to do a good job? He was literally part of HYDRA, the place that this mysterious woman is even coming from!" "So are Nat and Yelena and you trust them," Wanda points out from where she stands. "They at least had a head on their shoulders to sign the damn accords." Steve sighs and shakes his head. "I'll never be able to prove to you that Bucky is a good man, but that's your loss. It's not like I'm not surprised Nat is on your side after she did what she did." At Nat's confused expression, Steve snorts. "Don't show me that look, Nat. I know that you agreed with Tony to lock Bucky up is a psych unit even before he was pardoned. I know you don't want him here just as much as Tony doesn't. You don't need to say anything." Bucky runs a hand through his hair stressfully. Good god, this wasn't how he wanted his mission to start out.

#Bucky Barnes x OC #Bucky Barnes faniction #Dark Bucky Barnes #steve rogers/natasha romanoff

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

Text

First Kiss (In the Time Of COVID)

Harringrove April prompt 01 (because I missed it the first time): First Kiss! Second to last! Almost there! Steve gets touch-hungry enough to consider the ridiculous health-organization suggestions about gloryholes, and has sex and then a whole relationship with a man he meets at a bar...before he ever gets to kiss him.

Steve was only at the bar because it was right next to the dry-cleaners with no public bathrooms, but he couldn’t help staring at the New York City Department Of Health Safer Sex Guidelines, posted right on the wall between the sinks as he washed his hands.

Gloryholes were recommended, it said. Somebody had highlighted it, and somebody else had smacked a big lipsticked kiss on it, which was definitely not within sanitary guidelines. Steve stood there like a post, thinking about a hot mouth around his dick, instead of going home to his cold, gray apartment, and yelling weird greetings every morning at his neighbors between balconies, stuff like “You hallucinating yet? I hear people have been hallucinating!” and “How’re you enjoying solitary?!”

He thought about being touched by another human being.

He hadn’t really noticed the hole in the wall before, other than kind of wondering why, like, why not make out in the car, even—but COVID changed things. He bit his lips together, and eased back around to look in the stall again. It wasn’t that bad, even if the people doing graffiti couldn’t spell. It was tidy, and there was plenty of toilet paper, so at least the staff were in here regularly, he thought. The floor wasn’t sticky, or anything. He leaned to look through the hole, and saw a flash of pink skin, as he heard a scrambling in the next stall.

After a second, the person knocked on the stall wall. “You stick your cock through there and I’ll suck it,” he said, his voice a little wobbly, like he knew exactly how bizarre this was, and he was trying not to laugh.

Steve bit back a laugh of his own, snorting into his hand. “Jesus, I’m not even drunk,” he told the voice, who laughed outright.

“It’s my fucking lunch hour. You gonna feed me?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, patting the condom he always, optimistically, carried in his back pocket. “Now I kinda don’t want to,” he said, and the other guy laughed harder. “Okay,” Steve said, steeling himself. “I’m going for it. Gonna put my cock in this creepy hole. Don’t bite it off.” He heard a snort as he checked the expiration date on the condom—he hadn’t had sex in eons, it felt like, and he half-expected to see it had expired in 1492—but it wasn’t even gonna expire soon, so he took it as a positive omen.

“The hell are you doing, hurry up,” said the other man, shuffling his feet, and Steve rolled his eyes, and the condom onto his dick.

“Sure hope nothing over there’s hungry,” he muttered, taking a deep breath before he stuck his dick in the hole in a bathroom stall, stone cold sober, before noon. “Hungry for a dick meal. Ready to bite.”

“I might,” the other guy breathed, laughing, but Steve could feel him brush his lips along the side. “Mmm, polyisoprene,” he mumbled.

“Suck enough dick you recognize condoms?” Steve asked, snorting a laugh, and felt him laugh along.

“You want an expert, don’cha,” he shot back, taking Steve’s cock on his tongue, and Steve groaned, his body thudding hard against the wall. It creaked, loud, and the guy pulled off again, laughing.

“I do,” Steve told him. “I do, I do, I want an expert, come back, dick-monster.”

“I’m not gonna bite off your dick,” said the guy, snickering again.

“I don’t even care,” Steve said honestly, “—just lemme come first, jesus—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, slipping Steve’s cock between his lips again, and in, deep down his throat where his muscles clenched around it. Steve could hear him choking with gusto, and he just leaned against the wall, feeling the first human touch he’d had in months.

He’d given the pizza guy a tip, ages ago, it seemed like, and the guy’s hand had brushed his, and they’d both stood there, staring at their hands, like maybe Steve oughtta propose marriage, and the guy like maybe he was gonna accept. They’d said goodbye awkwardly, whipping the hand sanitizer out of their pockets as they turned away, and now Steve couldn’t order pizza without his neck feeling warm.

The guy eating his dick for lunch was so much better, and Steve longed to touch him, and tip him back in a pile of pillows in the warm afternoon sun. Take the man back to his bed, bury his hands in warm hair—pull him up the bed and kiss him, maybe—feel the weight of another person on his body. He clenched his hands on the top of the stall wall, grunting as the hot tongue stroked the bottom of his dick, and the tip pushed against the spongy back of the guy’s throat.

Steve wasn’t good at talking, really, particularly not when all his attention was on his dick, but he couldn’t grab the man, so he tried. “God, you’re good at this,” he whispered, his mouth fumbling the words a little, but he thought the idea came through. “Jesus, you’re amazing. Christ. God, your mouth. I bet you’re beautiful, holy shit,” he rambled. “Even if you’re not beautiful, you’re beautiful, holy crap, I wanna kiss you.”

The guy pulled back a couple times, then all the way off, coughing and trying to breathe. “Sorry,” he gasped, clearing his throat. “Sorry—”

“Take your time, buddy,” Steve told him, feeling like his whole body was a bomb on a timer ticking down, but also like he wanted to draw it out, maybe, a little. “Shit,” he panted, mumbling like a moron, now he’d started. “You’re the best dick-eating monster ever, you’re like, better than the ones on Sesame Street,” he told the dude, sincerely, and heard him burst out laughing again.

“You want a blow job or what,” he gasped, sounding like he was crying. “Stop making me laugh, christ. There aren’t dick-eating monsters on Sesame Street.”

“...oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Steve realized breathlessly, nodding. The stall wall was cool against his sweaty skin. “You’re smart, huh.”

“Jesus,” the guy breathed, and then Steve felt his mouth again, and his hips spasmed against the glory hole. He made a guttural noise as he came, intending half a warning, half a compliment, but the guy just waited as he went still, and then pulled back, panting.

“Fuck,” Steve whispered, coming down, his heart pounding half out of his chest. “God, that was good.”

“I am an expert,” the dude said—hoarsely, probably because he’d let Steve fuck his throat for minutes on end.

“Yeah, you are,” Steve agreed, sitting down on the toilet edge. “Damn. Gimme a sec—wait, you got another condom? I only had one.”

“...it’s fine,” the guy laughed. “I’m a dick monster, remember, s’enough for me.”

“Next time,” Steve said, impulsively, and heard a thump on the other side of the wall.

“...you, uh,” the guy said, and trailed off, as Steve checked his phone, and grimaced.

“I gotta go,” he said, over the guy asking something kinda quietly on the other side. “Wait, what?”

“Nothing, go ahead,” he laughed, and Steve frowned at the wall.

“...I have this Zoom meeting,” he said, grimacing.

“Same bat-time, same bat-channel?” the guy asked, and Steve laughed.

“This your usual break?”

“Yeah. I’ll have you for lunch anytime,” the guys said, and Steve sighed, flattening his hand against the wall, and wishing he could touch.

“Jesus, what’d I do right to get a day like today,” he said, and the dick-monster snickered.

“Better run, dude.”

“Yes, thanks,” Steve told him, yanking his zipper shut, and his mask back over his ears. “Thanks, man, I haven’t touched anybody in like. A year. You’re a goddamn saint.”

“Saint monster,” he said, as Steve left.

Steve had to pick up his dry-cleaning two days later, and it occurred to him he really should’ve gotten the guy’s number, or at least asked what days he had off. He slid into the bathroom, touched his back pocket again, and felt the two condoms. He cleared his throat, grimacing, because it seemed creepy as hell to drop and stare through the glory hole.

After a couple minutes, he heard the door open and a flurry of footsteps, and then a thud at the stall wall as he dropped to his knees. “I’m here,” his benefactor said, breathless.

“Okay,” Steve said, pulling a condom out, and trying to find the spot to tear it open.

“Don’t sound all fucking excited to see me,” the guy said, his voice flat, suddenly. “I know I’m just some—”

“No, no, hey,” Steve said, addressing the knees he could see under the wall of the stall. “I was trying to get the damn condom open. Your turn, right?”

“...you wanna suck me off?” the guy asked, slowly. “You don’t gotta. I’m an absolute whore for praise, seriously, just keep telling me how good I’m doing—”

“...I mean, I can do that,” Steve said, wishing he could see the dude’s face, instead of trying to gauge the meaning of every pause in his sentences. “But I can suck you off, first.”

“...what a gentleman,” he said, laughing, and then Steve heard him unzip.

The sight of someone else’s skin, even through a glory hole, made Steve’s mouth water like he was a gotdamn cannibalistic psychopath. He wished desperately that he could just touch, without the plastic barrier. He pinched the end of the condom and held it against the end of the guy’s already-hard cock, pushing the ring up and over hot skin, and he knelt to try and breathe in the smell of another human.

The guy smelled a little sweaty, and a bit like soap, and Steve’s hands actually shook as he resisted reaching through and scratching his nails through the bed of curls around the base of the cock in his hands. Even through plastic, the dude’s dick was satisfyingly heavy, warm, and alive, and he kissed it as soon as he’d gotten enough of the condom on. The guy grunted, thumping against the creaky stall wall like Steve had done, and they both laughed.

“You know the best part of bathroom sex,” the guy panted, the tip of the condom already filling as he leaked, “—it’s the acoustics, right, I sound like a whole-ass porno in here.”

“That’s not the best part,” Steve told him, swallowing, and then swallowing again, because he didn’t know touching someone, even through plastic, could make him want to crawl under the wall of a bathroom stall if it meant he could touch them more. He never thought he’d be so happy to see a dick. “God, you feel good.”

“...I am good,” the guy whispered, barely audible in the weird, loud bathroom acoustics with the fan going, and Steve laughed, kissing his cock again. It jerked in his hand.

“You are good,” he breathed against it, and the dude bit back a groan. “You’re perfect,” Steve said, following a hunch, and felt the guy thump his hips against the wall between them again.

Steve grinned, bending down to swirl his tongue around the tip, and he saw the dude’s hands grip the upper edge of the stall, his knuckles whitening. The little hexagonal tiles dug into Steve’s knees, a bit, but he didn’t mind. He felt himself getting hard, and unzipped his pants, absently freeing his dick with a sigh of relief.

Steve had always liked sucking cock. He’d wondered whether it would be any fun, though, without the feeling of hips under his hands, or fingers in his hair—but he could see the guy’s shoes shifting, and feel the soft thumps against the stall as he forgot everything except Steve’s mouth around him. Steve could look up and see his grip straining on the stall wall, and smell him, the laundry and sweat and cologne smell of him—and hear him, louder than Steve, grunting streams of “Fuck, fuck, jesus, fuck,” and “God, don’t slow down, you asshole,” and “Oh shit, do that again, please, please, please…” trailing off into begging, panting gibberish.

When he came, he staggered back and thudded down onto the toilet seat with a clatter. “Just—just gimme a minute,” he panted, as Steve grabbed toilet paper, and wiped the spit off his face and chin.

“Take your time,” he said, and the toilet seat squeaked as the guy cleared his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, shit, sorry, fuck. Lemme just get down there, asshole—”

“No, I mean it,” Steve said, sitting down himself, and giving his dick a squeeze. He let his eyes fall shut at the relief. “Take as long as you want, I don’t have a meeting or anything.”

“...shit,” the guy breathed. “Yeah.”

“...wanna give me your number?” Steve asked, trying to distract himself from the thought of the dude’s mouth, of pushing into the heat of another human being.

“Shit, yes,” the guy blurted. “Yeah, yes, please.” He recited it, and Steve put it in his phone, taking care his extreme horniness didn’t make his hand shake and drop his phone in the toilet.

“I’m saving you as ‘beautiful dick guy’,” he said, and Beautiful Dick Guy laughed.

“Text me, so I know you’ve got it,” he said, and Steve did, before tucking his phone safely away.

“What are you saving me as?” Steve asked. “Best blowjob ever? Nice Mouth Dude?”

“Surprised you didn’t save me as ‘Dick Monster’,” the guy muttered, and Steve snorted a laugh, as he slid the other condom on.

“Well, you haven’t bitten it off yet.”

“I’m not gonna bite it off!” he laughed.

“You might,” Steve told him, patting the wall, because he wanted to touch something. “I mean—”

“Get your cock in my mouth, jesus,” the dude said, and Steve stood, and pressed his cock through the glory hole to the guy’s lips with a grunt of relief.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “Thank you, god. Thank you.”

Beautiful Dick Guy pulled off, and Steve bit back a groan of protest. “Stop making it sound like I’m donating to charity,” he growled, before sinking Steve’s cock between his lips again, and swallowing around it.

“Dunno what you wanna hear,” Steve muttered. “God, you’re good at this.” The mouth around his dick hummed approvingly, and Steve nearly came at the vibration, moaning. “You’re perfect, you’re amazing,” he mumbled, on autopilot. “Jesus, you’re a fucking gift, you’re the best thing that ever happened to my cock, I swear, you’re a goddamn miracle, you’re a natural disater on my dick—”

The dude started laughing again, choking and coughing, and Steve grabbed the top of the stall, wishing it wouldn’t be weird and unsafe to just climb on the toilet and lean over to kiss him like the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet—or better yet, open the door and walk into the other stall, and dip him like the end of a tango. Steve mumbled some version of all that, and the guy cackled harder. “Sorry,” he wheezed. “Sorry, sorry.”

“No hurry, man,” Steve told him, taking a deep breath. “Can’t...rush art, right.”

“Jesus,” the dude snorted, coughing again, and Steve cocked his head, trying to think around all the blood pounding in his dick.

“...other people must tell you you’re good at this,” he said, “—like, all the time,” and everything was quiet for a long second.

“...yeah,” the guy finally said, sounding a little bitter. “Everybody’s super polite and respectful, when you suck them off in a toilet.”

“Oh,” Steve said, grimacing, and squirming, a little, at the memory of how the dude’s voice felt against his dick. “Well. Um. Would it be weird if I texted you? Like. I can’t ask you out.”

“...you wanna ask me out?” the guy asked, laughing.

“I can’t, there’s—there’s nowhere we can go,” Steve said, wondering whether it’d be rude to pull his cock back through, and jerk off, if it was just gonna sit there untouched. “We could, um, we could like...wave at each other in the park, but it’s cold.”

“You’d date me?” came his voice again. “You haven’t even asked my name yet.”

“Steve,” Steve said quickly. “And you are?”

“...Billy,” Billy said, and just as Steve was distracted, thinking about what kinda shitheel would fuck a guy’s mouth and not ask his name, the heat of Billy’s mouth sank over his cock again, and Steve just tried to keep his mouth moving, mumbling how fantastic Billy had to be.

Billy left first, while Steve took stock of the brain cells he’d lost through his dick. Thanks so much, he texted. Sorry I can’t kiss you.

what, arrived back, almost instantly.

I mean, Steve sent, and then stared at the screen, trying to figure out what he meant. I love listening to you laugh

I want to kiss your face while you laugh

wrap around you when you shiver

leave hickies all over your body

hold you when you’re all fucked out

wake you up with my mouth on your cock

my hands holding your thighs

dont do this to me at work, Billy sent back, and Steve hunched his shoulders, grimacing, but then his phone buzzed again. i’ll die i’m fucking dying holy shit god yes kiss me hold me down

I can come back next week, Steve sent, grinning.

fuck you, Billy sent back. you know how many actual hours that is

why you gonna make me wait that long

asshole

Steve laughed, grinning at his screen.

When he left, he took a long look at the bar, and a dude with light brown curls, thick, dark brows, and amazing gray-blue eyes watched him. It was hard to tell his expression through the mask, but Steve was pretty sure it was a grin.

later, beautiful cock monster, he sent, and he heard the familiar snorted laugh.

fuck you, his phone told him.

The next morning, he sent g’morning, beautiful, and hope you’re having a lunch as amazing as you are, and kiss emoticons, and Billy sent back eggplants and staring eyes and suggested Steve come by the bar twice a day.

He learned over the next few weeks that Billy could get nearly any conversation back around to sucking Steve’s cock, and it made it kinda...hard to talk to him, honestly, when Steve wanted to put him on speaker over lunch, or watch a movie. He had more phone sex than he’d had in ever, but Billy kinda sounded like he was taking his cues from a phone sex hotline, and that...wasn’t quite what Steve had been...longing for.

“I watched some Sesame Street clips with this kid I know on Zoom,” Steve told him. “Looked for you. You live near, like, Bert and Ernie? Is that the queer community there?”

“Were you thinking about my dick?” Billy asked, snickering, and Steve hadn’t been, really, he’d been thinking about Billy’s laugh. “My mouth misses you more, though,” Billy whispered, “—misses your heat, man, misses stretching around you—” and Steve was half-hard in his jeans, again, and too tired to do anything about it.

“I gotta go,” he sighed, and Billy was silent at the other end. It felt less like dating, and more like watching the same porn over and over.

When Billy called just as Steve was settling in with warm pajamas, popcorn, beer, and a good K-drama, about to find out who the mother-in-law’s secret son’s girlfriend actually was, Billy called, already panting. Steve couldn’t help thinking I just got you off after lunch.

“I’m kinda busy,” he said, pausing the show.

“Aren’t you off?” Billy asked, after a pause. “You’re off, right?”

“...yeah, I just have...stuff,” Steve said, grimacing.

Billy was quiet for long enough that Steve glared off into space, because his popcorn was getting cold. “...maybe in an hour?” Billy offered.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Steve said, “—or later this week.”

“...yeah, okay, you call me,” Billy said, and hung up.

Steve shook his head, sighing, and clicked his show back on, watching with big eyes as he tried to figure out the complicated relationships. He didn’t remember to text Billy that night—and he didn’t hear anything back, either, so he didn’t worry about it, too much. It was kinda nice, honestly, not getting a phone call at seven am from a guy Steve barely knew telling him what to do with his huge, meaty cock. Somehow, formulaic sex hotline talk didn’t help him feel any less lonely.

By the end of the week, he was kinda dreading calling Billy at all, so he called Robin instead.

“He’s too horny,” she said slowly. “Steve, everybody’s horny. We’ve all been in solitary for a year. I would probably eat out a fire hydrant to feel some juices on my face, okay, go easy on this guy.”

“It’s not...ugh,” Steve sighed, rubbing his face. “It’s like talking to one of those viagra emails, okay? Like, why even talk to a real person, if he’s just gonna…like, I get him off, but he won’t talk about anything else, I don’t know if he’s ever seen a movie—”

“...he’s boring, it sounds like,” she sighed. “That sucks, man.”

“He is,” Steve groaned. “I feel like I’m talking to a budget sex line operator. He cuts me off whenever I even mention work, or like, anything—”

“...sounds like he might think you’re boring too, buddy,” she said, with her trademark blend of cynical sympathy.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.

“Better wrap it up,” she said, and he nodded, grimacing.

hey, he texted. I don’t think this is gonna work out.

Billy called an hour later, and Steve sighed, but swiped to answer, and said “Hello?”

“God,” Billy whispered. “I thought you might’ve already blocked me.”

“Haven’t yet,” Steve said, drumming his fingers on his tabletop, and waiting.

“‘Yet’. Okay,” Billy said, laughing. It sounded a little—pissed, maybe, and Steve braced himself, listening to Billy’s soft breaths. It sounded like he was walking somewhere. “Is—is there anything—any way I could get another chance,” he panted, and then it went silent, like he was holding his breath.

Why, Steve wondered, frowning. He bit his lips, thinking.

“If there’s anything you want from me, just tell me,” Billy said, sounding a little less steady. “Or shit, if—if you don’t want something, just—just tell me what you want, I don’t—”

“It’s not you, it’s m—” Steve tried, making a face, and Billy cut him off, laughing, but sniffling.

“No. No, don’t give me that, it’s definitely me, I can tell, okay. You wanted me and then talking to me was a fucking chore, what—come on,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You said you wanted to hold me, don’t—”

I was lonely, Steve thought of saying, and winced. I can’t make myself like you.

“Don’t make me get a job on Sesame Street,” Billy said hoarsely, laughing. “I don’t think they actually have openings for Dick Monsters,” and there he was, the guy Steve had listened to giggling, the man he had liked.

He took a deep breath, thinking.

“...okay, yeah,” Billy said, clearing his throat. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

At least, Steve thought, feeling his face heat, he could tell Billy hadn’t been bored. “...you...wanna try again,” he said, cautiously, and Billy made a weird noise like he was slurping up nothing through a wet straw.

“Yes. Yes,” he whispered. “Yeah, is that—is that even—”

“Okay,” Steve told him, and felt indescribably guilty listening to his boyfriend burst into tears.

“Fuck, okay, tell me—tell me what you want,” he gulped. “I don’t wanna piss you off again, tell me—”

“You didn’t piss me off,” Steve told him, and Billy swallowed hard.

“Okay,” he said again. “What—why—”

“...you’re like talking to a SPAM email,” Steve finally said, brutally honest. “Like, every time I try to talk to you—”

“What?!” Billy asked, laughing, a little bitterly.

“I try to tell you what I’m having for lunch or something, and all of a sudden you’re all ‘biggest HUGE cock, daddy’,” Steve groaned. “Like...if I’m that boring, d’you even want to date me?”

“...should I just call less,” Billy asked. “I know I was calling too much, I was trying to just—just wait for you to call me, just call sometimes—”

“You’re not listening,” Steve said, sighing.

“No, I am, I swear!” Billy yelped. “I’m listening, you don’t want me trying to keep you on the line, I’ll stop. I’ll—when you’re done I’ll just hang up, I swear, I’m listening, I am—”

“I’m not...trying to get you to hang up,” Steve said slowly. “I’m—I’m just telling you stuff? I just—I’ve got a life, y’know, I thought maybe—you’d wanna know me.”

“I thought you were fucking bored,” Billy yelled, then, fuzzier, “—no, sorry, sorry—” before the phone was back to his ear. “Every time I’d get you on the phone you’re like ‘So anyway, lots to do today—’”

“Oh,” Steve said, grimacing.

“You always sounded bored. You’re always bored, with me,” Billy said, laughing. “Shit, I knew this was coming, don’t—don’t date me just because I begged, christ.”

“It’s not even really dating,” Steve sighed, wondering if he’d have noticed Billy’s tension earlier, across a table from him.

“...yeah, not—not really,” Billy agreed, then, more quietly. “We’re just talking, sometimes.”

“Want to go for a walk,” Steve asked, and Billy held his breath again, then blew it out with a soft sigh.

“...not if you’re dumping me,” he said, and Steve sat up straighter.

“No! No, just—I wanna see you. I didn’t even wanna dump you, I thought you were fucking bored, man.”

“...okay,” Billy said, sounding like he might be smiling, finally, and when Steve arrived at the park, there he was, texting.

Steve’s phone buzzed as he approached—sure enough, it was the guy he’d seen at the bar, with dark eyebrows and pretty gray-blue eyes over his mask.

dont make me wait, dickhead, it said.

“I’m here,” Steve called, and Billy looked up, and grinned with his eyes. “Shit,” Steve said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and Billy’s smile dropped. He searched Steve’s face. “I just wanna hug you,” Steve admitted, staying six feet away. “You look cute.”

Billy laughed, his eyes crinkling, and Steve wriggled his hands in his pockets, groaning melodramatically.

“Tell me something about you,” Steve told him. “Uh, not about your cock.”

“...um,” Billy said, kicking a pinecone along the path. “Huh. I got a little sister. Max. She’s home now, but she’ll head back to college. When they reopen.”

“This is the kinda shit I should know when we’ve been dating for nearly a month, and we talk every goddamn day,” Steve growled, hunching his shoulders.

“Well, truly fucking sorry,” Billy said, glancing over. “The only part of me I knew you liked was my dick, so—”

“No, I’m not—I should’ve asked,” Steve said, swivelling, and waving his hands in the air as another horrifying thought occurred to him. “What’s your last name, Billy?!”

“Hargrove,” Billy said, grinning at him.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered, shaking his head, and walked on. He grabbed his phone, and changed his boyfriend’s contact info to include his actual name, feeling like a dipshit.

When they decided, shivering, to head home, Steve turned around to watch Billy walk away, and caught him doing the same thing.

I really like you, Steve texted. sorry you didn’t know.

Billy turned on his heel and blew Steve a kiss, and Steve jumped and pretended to catch it like a fly ball, before holding it cupped in his hands.

nerd, Billy sent.

your nerd, Steve sent back, triumphantly, with two thumbs up across the park at Billy, who started laughing so hard again he had to lean on his knees.

He found Billy Hargrove on Instagram, and Twitter, and scrolled through photos of a really unfairly hot man as he sat in his car, his eyebrows raised. There were photos of Steve’s texts, with loads of comments and hearts, and Steve found himself grimly going through posts where he’d texted and Billy’d posted the screenshot, and then video of him screaming into a pillow, or things Steve had said with two pages of comments and analysis.

‘I think you could do better than somebody who doesn’t like you very much’ caught his eye, and he bit his lips together.

Good thing it’s not up to you, Billy had replied, and Steve nodded, glaring at the username, MadMax666.

I like him a lot, Steve typed, but that didn’t seem like enough, so he deleted it. ‘I like him more than anyone else does’ was worse, and he grimaced, deleting that one. I know he’s amazing, he put, finally, and got back a Who is this?? from Billy’s logon.

The dumb boyfriend, Steve told him, and then everything exploded with heart emoticons, and Steve just called him, grinning. “Hey, Billy,” he said, and Billy laughed.

“Hey, Steve,” he said back, softly, and Steve talked him off the way they had at first, in the bathroom at Billy’s work, telling Billy he was amazing and perfect and good.

The next time Steve went by the bar, he called first, and Billy laughed breathlessly when he said he was coming by.

“Advance notice,” he said. “Almost like a date, huh?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice a little sooner,” Steve admitted, and got a short pause before a hissed “Oh my god.” Steve laughed.

“Maybe something special, then,” Billy whispered, and when Steve got there, instead of seeing Billy’s knees as he dropped to the floor instantly, Billy’s hands were curled over the wall of the stall. “...just shove on in,” he said, and Steve realized that, bizarrely, he was about to have actual penetrative sex with someone he’d never touched.

He unzipped his pants, and rolled a condom on, as Billy said “I know this isn’t what you want. From dating. I—I thought maybe—”

Steve dropped his already-dripping dick to slide his fingers over Billy’s, on the wall of the stall, and hear his voice hitch and shudder. “You’re perfect, babe. You’re enough.”

“...love you,” Billy whispered, maybe.

“What?!” Steve asked, startled, and Billy said “Nothing, nothing.”

Billy didn’t seem to know Steve had found his Twitter too, and all discussion of Steve floated over there, which would have made him feel creepy about reading it, except it was invariably something that just meant Steve needed to call and cheer him up, that he wouldn’t have known if he wasn’t eavesdropping.

What are you gonna do in that huge apartment all by yourself, somebody asked Billy, in the spring, and Steve’s heartbeat a little faster scrolling back to see Billy’s boyfriend had moved out months before, and his little sister was going back to college.

Want to move in with me? he typed, and reconsidered, staring at it instead of hitting send. He counted the months he’d known Billy on his fingers, grimacing.

Can’t pay the rent here with reduced hours, can’t get the deposit to move, popped up on Billy’s Twitter, and Steve glowered at it, then called.

“Move in with me,” he said, when Billy answered.

“...what?” Billy breathed.

“Move in with me,” Steve said again. “You’re alone, right? Come live with me.”

“...is there room?” Billy asked, sounding bewildered. “For me?”

“There’s a little room I use as my office,” Steve said, making a face. “I, uh, I kinda thought you wouldn’t be using it, though.”

“You want me to live with you?” Billy asked again, like his brain was skipping, and Steve laughed.

“Yeah, dick-monster, I do.”

“...you’ve never even seen my face,” Billy muttered, and Steve laughed.

“Is it my fault you’re so fucking tired of Zoom?”

“That doesn’t count,” Billy huffed.

“I’m vaccinated,” Steve told him. “I’ve been quarantining.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Billy said dourly. “I’m crawling out of my skin over here.”

“It’s safe as it can be. D’you want to?”

“Of course I—we’ve never even had the exclusive conversation,” Billy groaned. “Are we?!”

“COVID makes shit weird,” Steve sighed. “I figured you were it for me, yeah.”

“I have never touched your flesh,” Billy moaned, like a serial killer, and Steve snorted.

“Calm down, carnivore,” he said, “—you want help moving?”

“Yes,” Billy sighed. “Yeah. Gimme a couple days—”

“Days?!” Steve asked, startled, and Billy was quiet on the other end. “Days are fine!” Steve corrected. “Days are good!”

“Okay,” Billy said, laughing softly. “Days.”

As soon as the furniture and boxes were piled in Steve’s front room, he sidled over to Billy, who was leaning against the counter panting, his eyes closed. Billy’s jacket was open, from the heat of hauling boxes up the stairs, and Steve ran his fingers down Billy’s neck, and then yanked him close into a hug, feeling the warmth and bulk of him breathing.

“Oof,” Billy whispered, but he relaxed into it with a sigh, leaning his whole weight against Steve.

Steve breathed him in, realizing he felt weak, a little, with the need to squeeze Billy as hard as he could. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Mmmn,” he said, contentedly.

Steve hauled him back to the bed, stripping him down on the way. He wouldn’t quit squirming, and Steve rubbed stubble all over his neck, making him yell. They nearly tripped, because neither of them wanted to pull back enough to look down, but they made it to Steve’s bed. Steve pushed him back, and then crouched over him.

Steve unhooked the mask from his own ears, and ran his fingers up Billy’s arm to his head to untie his. “Feel like I’m lifting your veil,” Steve told him.

Billy kept his eyes shut, smiling as Steve lifted his mask. He was pretty, prettier than his pictures, square-jawed and mustached, and Steve ran his fingers over his boyfriend’s cheek for the first time, just exploring. He tweaked the one dangling earring, and brushed his thumb over Billy’s lips, and Billy bit back a moan, turning his head in Steve’s hands to kiss his fingers.

“...y’know I’m never gonna stop touching you,” Steve whispered, and Billy laughed, his long lashes brushing his freckled cheeks. “...you’re perfect.”

“Mmmn,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows doubtfully.

“You’d be perfect if you had a smashed nose like a cauliflower, and nine-hundred eyes like a fly,” Steve told him, honestly, and Billy burst out laughing.

“Not much of a compliment, then,” he pointed out, opening his eyes and grinning at Steve, and Steve couldn’t help touching his grin, feeling where his cheeks bunched as he smiled.

It felt so good to touch someone.

“...god,” he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips over Billy’s smile. "May I kiss the bride?"

Billy laughed against his lips, hot and human.

My other Harringrove April prompts are here!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Whoops I'm a month late #Touch-starved #Long-distance relationship #Because of social distancing #Getting together

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