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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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The Rules of Engagement (1/5)

part one of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 6.3k

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, eventual smut.

a/n: at the end. @tiffdawg, I finally did it.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Your alarm buzzes, and you roll over groggily.

0615.

Goddamn. You flop a pillow over your head, blocking out the early morning sun, and wonder if three hours of sleep is any better than no sleep at all.

Somehow, you kind of doubt it.

The alarm blares again, a failsafe you’d been wise enough to set up after round two had led you to the shower. You gather your still-damp hair, wincing at how gross that feels, and elbow Peña in the shoulder.

“Morning, sunshine!” You toss your soggy pillow onto his face.

He grunts pathetically, cracks an eye just enough to send you a sliver of resentment, and lifts a middle finger vaguely in your direction.

You’re completely unsympathetic. “Not my fault this time, Peña.”

He curses you in Spanish as you flick on the lights on your way to the kitchen. Coffee is your first order of business.

You’re not sure exactly when Agent Peña became a fixture in your apartment. Oh, you can nail down the general timeline pretty well - a night out with the Search Bloc boys had ended with Peña coming to your place, and things had unfolded naturally from there. The sex was good. Very good. You’ve always had a high drive, and Peña is a man who can deliver. You’re pretty creative, and he’s fairly open minded, and neither of you seem to care to make things complicated with Labels and Conversations. Somewhere down the line, wild nights out evolved into even wilder nights in, and then, before you knew it, you’d let Peña borrow your spare key when he’d left his wallet on your coffee table.

That had been at least two months ago. The sex is still good, and Peña is still leaving his shit everywhere, so neither of you bothered to say anything about it.

It works. That’s all that matters.

You’ve just sat down with your drink in your hands as the doorbell buzzes. “What the fuck?” You glance at the kitchen clock. It’s not even 0630.

The doorbell buzzes again.

You eyeball the gun that Peña has left lying on the kitchen counter. Nobody should be looking for you this early in the morning.

“Hey!” Somebody is knocking now, and shouting, and ugh, you recognize that voice. You leave the gun where it is - somewhat reluctantly - and slam open the door with a ferocity that sends Steve Murphy stumbling into your kitchen.

“Good morning,” you say serenely.

“Good morning to you, too, Ears,” Murphy grimaces up at you.

“That’s not my name,” you remind him for the thousandth time. Not that it will make any difference. Ever since you’d made the mistake of introducing yourself as Centra Spike’s new liaison by saying, “I’ll be your ears,” the Search Bloc boys had leapt at the opportunity to tease. You’re pretty sure most of them don’t realize that you have any other name.

Somehow, it irks you more coming from Murphy.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as politely as your temper allows. Murphy has never been your favorite person, and your caffeine definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.

Murphy rights himself, fixing you with a glare that doesn’t threaten in the slightest. “I’m looking for Javi,” he says. He has the audacity to glance around your tiny living space, as if he’d come with a search warrant.

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly aware of your too-thin nightshirt, and lift a brow in Murphy’s direction. “And what makes you think he’d be here?”

Murphy pins you with an ‘I see right through your bullshit’ expression. “Call it a hunch.”

Right on cue, footsteps clatter down the kitchen stairs. Murphy smirks. You don’t bother to hide a sigh.

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Peña echoes you unconsciously. You try not to cringe at the smug glance Murphy throws your way.

Instead, you turn to glare at Javi, and oh god.

His shirt is buttoned all wrong, hanging lopsided and displaying half his chest, if he’d just given up at the top.

Subtle.

Murphy apparently doesn’t have the stones to address it, because he waves a manilla folder in front of Peña’s face. “Special delivery,” he says, dropping the file on your coffee table with a smack.

Peña dives for it, brow furrowed. Whatever he sees must be good, because he snaps his head up to stare at Murphy. “Where did you get these?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.

“My contact in Medellín.” Steve rests his hands on his belt ever so casually, as if daring Peña to question him.

Peña does. “Since when do you have a contact in Medellín?”

You wonder the same. Partners are usually aware of each other’s informants, unless it’s that kind of contact. Isn’t Murphy married?

“Not important.” Murphy shuts him down quickly.

“Verdugo,” Peña breathes.

You shoot a questioning glance at Murphy. In the three months you’ve been in Colombia, your Spanish is rapidly improving, but Murphy has been here longer, and some things are still beyond you. “Butcher,” he translates with a grimace. “Or executioner. One of Escobar’s top sicarios.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lovely.”

Peña glances up, surprised to hear you speak, as if he’d forgotten that he’s standing in your living room.

Murphy doesn’t acknowledge you. “He’s in Medellín, Javi.” He stretches, then makes for your front door. “I’m gonna turn in for a bit. Late night.”

Peña grunts, settling on your sofa with the file as Murphy sees himself out.

You sidle up behind him, curious. He knows you’re there - your hair is falling over his shoulder and you’re doing nothing to stifle your breathing, but Peña’s only acknowledgement of your presence is to shift his body ever so slightly to the left, unspokenly granting you access to the file.

You bite your lip, pleased and a little unnerved at the implication. You suppose that Peña wouldn’t be Peña unless he’s breaking the rules. He certainly has a reputation for it.

It hits a little differently, though, knowing that he’s committing a felony just to satisfy your curiosity. And on your fucking sofa, too.

You shake the butterflies away. Peña is flipping through a series of grainy photos, each showcasing the same guy. Somebody, Murphy probably, has circled his face in red ink, and there are further notes in the margins, written hastily. Landmarks, you guess. Peña is reading too fast for you to decipher much, but you spot a map of what you assume is Medellín in the shuffle. It is similarly annotated with scrawling red ink.

Peña flips through the file once, and then again, slower.

You brace yourself on on your forearms, glancing at the clock. You aren’t expected at the embassy until eight - you can afford to be patient.

Whatever this is, it’s big.

Deciding you’ve gleaned all you can from the file, you turn your attention to Peña. He’s leaned forward on your sofa, arms on thighs, lost in thought. Every muscle is tensed, as if he could spring up at any moment, his gaze is narrowed, his brow furrowed in a way that tempts you to lick it.

The thought startles you. You aren’t a goddamn animal.

Are you? Your mind drifts to Murphy, smirking with his arms folded in your kitchen like he could see through your nightshirt, right into your fucking brain.

A stone sinks in your chest. Landing this position with Centra Spike had been your first big break in a lifetime of frustrations. You’d joined the army fresh out of school, angling to be an analyst with the special forces. The good ol’ U. S. of A. had gladly foot the bill for your education in exchange for you signing your life away, and you’d chugged through a mind-numbingly boring double major of mathematics and computer science, all on the sage advice of your recruiter.

The reality of active duty was a kick in the fucking teeth. The brass had taken one look at you - a wide-eyed, idealistic woman with a big hair and bigger goals - and promptly slapped you with a desk job. You’d spent three more years rotting away in a forgotten back corner of an office building in Kuwait, filing reports and delivering messages. Occasionally, they’d throw you a bone and hand you a code to rewrite. Your commanding officer got all the credit, and you were just a glorified secretary.

By the time your contract was up, you’d been sidelined, interrupted, passed-over, underestimated, scoffed, and just flat-out ignored enough to be thoroughly fed up with military life. The glass ceiling in the U.S. Army is raised just high enough to suffocate its victims slowly, and you were sick sick of being stifled.

Being recruited by the CIA for analyst work in the hunt for Pablo Escobar had been pure, dumb luck. Right now, you might just be a liaison, but this is your shot. Your last one, probably, and you’re not willing to give it up just to get laid.

Not even for the best lay of your life.

Peña slaps the file shut with gentle smack, startling you from your thoughts. He reaches for his boots, moving with a single-minded determination that you’d find sexy if it weren’t so damned inconvenient.

“Peña.”

He doesn’t react, just gathers his badge and keys from the end table as if you aren’t even there.

“Peña.” You say it louder this time.

“Hmm?”

“Javi!” You call his name without even realizing it, and it works. His head snaps up, eyes wide, staring at you as if he’s just now seen you for the first time.

You have his undivided attention now.

“Yeah?” He blinks, all wide brown eyes, and fuck it all, you can feel yourself flushing under his gaze.

You swallow hard, push past the strange flutter in your chest. “We’re getting too predicable.”

His brow furrows. “Come again?”

You decide to take the high road, but you can’t stop your lips twitching at the obvious joke that he’s left himself open for. He’s quick to follow your though process, though - his eyes sparkle with laugher, daring you to call him on his blunder.

Shit.

You press on. “This,” you start, grimacing. He’s still looking at you, and his expression is warm. Flirtatious. “What we’re doing…” Goddamn, your face is aflame. “I mean, we’re not exactly subtle.”

He draws back, expression shuttering instantly. “Don’t worry about Murphy,” he says firmly. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

The ‘if he knows what’s good for him’ is clearly implied.

“It’s not just Murphy,” you press. You can’t exactly put into words what it is that you're trying to make Peña understand, you just know it's important that he does.

“What are you suggesting?” He’s standing now, still holding the file against his chest, as if to defend himself with it.

You shake your head. “I think,” you say slowly, trying hard not to catch his eye, “that we need to cool it.”

Silence. You can feel his raised eyebrow.

You step forward. You’re focusing hard on finding the right words without revealing too much, but your hands are desperate for something to do. “We need to stop fucking around.”

There, you said it.

“Oh?” There’s something amused in his tone, but you shrug it off, still refusing to look at him.

“Yeah,” you answer hotly. “Isn’t this fraternization? Shouldn’t we be worried about our careers, or some shit? We both have a lot to lose here.” You glance up, emboldened by your speech. “Do you want to catch Escobar or not?”

He’s looking down at you, not taking you the least bit seriously, expression damn near indulgent.

Indignation sets a fire in your chest.

“You think you can just quit me, cold turkey,” he asks in a voice as smooth as silk.

Goddammit, he’s mocking you.

“Absolutely.” You look him firmly in the eye, former awkwardness forgotten, more determined than you’ve ever been.

He huffs directly in your face. “You won’t last a week, Ears.” He cups your cheek in his hand, skimming your jawline with his thumb. “I know you, remember.”

Oh, the bastard. “You think you can go longer?” You counter, stepping into his chest. You’re pissed now. Peña is a well-known man whore, and you know, know, that you are exactly his type.

He laughs now, openly and genuinely amused. “Longer than you,” he says, glancing down at where your hands are absently fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

Oh, fuck.

“I’m fixing you, you absolute asshole,” you hiss, beyond grateful that you’ve yet to undo his last cockeyed button. “Unless you want to show up at the office all freshly fucked and lopsided.” You hold up the hem of his shirt, clearly displaying his mismatched edges.

“Oh.” At least he has the grace to look abashed.

“Yeah,” you swallow dryly, suddenly aware of how close he his, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, sex and the scent of your own bedsheets.

Goddamn, you want him already.

You push it all away, patting him condescendingly on the chest. Two can play this game. “Just looking out for your career, Agent Peña.”

He sighs somewhat theatrically, but you can see the conflict warring in him.

“Well, then, Ears,” he says after a long moment. He rebuttons his shirt properly this time, fingers working quickly. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

You meet his gaze evenly. “Guess so.”

The door shuts behind him, and you sink to the sofa. It’s still warm from where he’d been sitting.

Oh fuck, what have you done?

♠

You’re not watching, you’re not, but you can’t help but notice when Peña comes swaggering into the office at ten am, wearing those sunglasses and those fucking too-tight, dark wash jeans, chugging a cup of coffee like he knows that his exposed neck is a weapon.

You make eye contact through the glass, just for a moment, and he winks at you.

You smirk back, a plan forming in your mind.

This means war.

♠

You retaliate by letting your hair curl wild over your shoulders and squeezing yourself into a leather skirt that is just barely work appropriate. The Search Bloc boys bombard you with whistles and winks and catcalls all day.

It’s worth it, though, to see Agent Peña’s eyes go wide and blinking, to watch him swallow so hard.

“Fucking tease,” Murphy hisses as you glide past his desk.

You flip him off in response.

♠

Your apartment feels strangely empty.

It’s Saturday afternoon. Search Bloc is investigating a tip in Medellín, and Centra Spike doesn’t need you in today. You briefly consider going out, but that would involve changing out of your sweats, and besides, aside from the Search Bloc guys, you really don’t have many friends in Colombia.

You sit down on your sofa, drawing the coffee table toward you, and deal yourself a hand of solitaire. The cards had belonged to your dad before he passed them down to you, and they are comfortable in your hand, worn soft with age. There’s a trick to shuffling a deck this old, and something comfortable in the practice.

The hand you deal is a losing hand.

Frustrated, you stomp down the stairs to the little pharmacy below your flat. “Hola, Emilio!” you wave to the older man working the counter. Emilio doesn’t speak much English, and your Spanish is improving slower than you’d like, but you mostly manage to communicate just fine.

You make your way to the little display of liquor bottles and ponder it for a minute. There’s nothing remotely recognizable on the shelves, but you’re not exactly committed to buying anything, anyway.

There’s nothing more pathetic than drinking alone.

A presence at your shoulder makes you jump. It’s just Emilio. He smiles at you, and reaches for a bottle of clear liquor whose packaging reminds you a little too much of antiseptic hand spray for comfort. He presses it into your hands. “Guaro.”

“This is what I need, then?” you ask him. “Este? It’s good?”

“Guaro.” He’s nodding and grinning, rattling something in rapid-fire Spanish that you’re far too slow to translate. The enthusiasm behind it is hard to miss, though.

“He says it’s good and strong. Respect it, and it will respect you.” Emilo’s daughter winks up at you. She’s bent over, stocking shelves, and you’d missed her, distracted as you’d been by your conversation with Emilio.

You smile gratefully. Ana must be home from university this weekend. You’ve only met once or twice, but she’s kind, and doesn’t mind translating for you. You think you might have been friends, if she was around more.

“Gracias,” you tell her, and mean it. “Aguardiente,” you sound out slowly, frowning down at the bottle. “Sugar water?”

“Something like that.” Ana rises, leaving the box of chicharrones on the floor. “You’ll find that most of the locals just call it guaro. It’s a staple in Colombia. Hard to find anywhere else, and even transporting it between cities is dangerous.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as if to say, ‘what’s new?’

“But it’s just liquor, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. Alcohol, sugar, anise…” She shrugs, and laughs. “Simple, but there’s something magic about it. You don’t want to go too hard with this. Sit down and have a small glass with a lime. Slower is better.”

You frown. Anise. It jogs something in your memory, some long-forgotten fact…

“Trust me.” Ana is at your elbow now, pinning you with an earnest stare. “It hits hard, and fast. Papa wasn’t lying.”

You laugh. “Is that the college experience speaking?”

“Oh, yes. Seguro.”

Ana follows you as you take the bottle of guaro to the register. “And how are your classes going?” you ask as Emilio rings you up.

Ana grimaces, shaking her head as she cuts her gaze to Emilio. “It’s good to have a little break,” she admits.

You sympathize with that. You hadn’t cared too much for the tedium of higher education either. Emilio hands you a little paper bag, and you wave goodbye to him with a smile. “I’ll have to catch you when you’ve got a free weekend,” you tell Ana as you head toward the stairs that lead to your flat. You hold up the liquor suggestively. “You can teach me all about how to respect this guaro.”

Ana laughs. “What are you doing this evening? We close up at eight.”

Your face breaks into a grin. It’s hard making friends in Colombia just with the language barrier alone, never mind that your work with Centra Spike forces you to keep so many secrets. Without Peña around, life here is lonely. But Ana seems innocent enough, and it’s just a drink. “Perfect! I’ll be here.”

You walk up the steps feeling much lighter than when you descended them.

♠

Ana doesn’t stay long. She looks around your apartment, carefully assessing, then nodding as if satisfied.

You let it go.

She teaches you to tap the bottom of the bottle to expel the liquor, almost as if you’re pouring ketchup from a glass container. Looking at the contents, they don’t seem particularly viscous. When you ask her why this is necessary, Ana shrugs. “It’s a mystery,” she tells you, and you write it off as one of the eccentricities of Colombian culture, paying rapt attention as Ana begins explaining one of only three acceptable ways to serve the guaro.

♠

“I’ve got something for you,” you announce brightly, slapping both hands firmly on Javier Peña’s desk and leaning in just a hair too close to be strictly professional.

“Oh?” His face breaks into a slow smirk, and he tilts back in his swivel chair, stretching just enough to give you a good view of those too-tight jeans as he hooks his fingers behind his head. “And what’s that?”

Smug fucking bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. You cool your jets and wink at him, teasing a manilla file for him to see. “We thought you might like this.”

“We?”

“Okay, fine, Jacoby caught some chatter, but I vetted it,�� you press on, refusing to let him derail you. This is huge. “It’s Verdugo.”

Peña glances up at you, suddenly intense. “You sure?”

“Well, it’s not him personally,” you admit. “At least, not his voice. But,” You slam the transcript down on his desk. “We caught an entire conversation verifying his presence at a safehouse in Medellín.” You pause for full dramatic effect before going in for the kill. “A specific safehouse in Medellín.”

Javi reverts to Agent Peña instantly, all flirting forgotten as he leans forward on his elbows. “Show me.”

You bend over, noticing absently that your hair is once again falling into his face as you tap your finger over the address. Peña settles in to read the full report as you watch, his eyes darting back and forth over the pages at a rate that is truly impressive. When he glances back up at you, the ferocity of his gaze is startling.

“They’re getting ready to make a move.” There’s something like a spark of hope in his eyes, tiny, but growing stronger as he processes the information you’ve given him.

“Yeah,” you say, throat suddenly dry. He’s looking at you with earnest gratitude, and it tugs at something deep in your chest.

“This is big,” he breathes, and just like that, he’s on his feet, gathering the file, punching a number into his desktop telephone.

“This is Peña,” he says as the call connects. “We’ve got something.”

♠

It’s dark when you finally get home. Claudia Messina, head of DEA operations in Colombia, had cornered you in her office for hours, going over and over the information you’d vetted. You brain is absolutely fried, the victory of the discovery stifled by having to defend your work again and again.

You just need a drink.

“About time!” a voice startles you as you turn to shut the door behind you. You jump, barely suppressing a shriek, and whirl around.

Goddamn Javier Peña with his goddamned spare key.

He’s smirking at you from your sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Any other day, you’d have noticed his presence instantly just from the smell.

“What the fuck?” Your voice is more of a whine than you’d like, but dammit, you’re tired, and dammit, he’s gotten one over on you.

He knows it, too, the smug bastard. “Expecting somebody else?” he asks, sauntering toward you with a devastating smile that manages to be both possessive and suggestive all at once.

“No,” you answer somewhat grumpily. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

Given your sulky attitude, you’re surprised to see that his smile brightens a bit. You frown at him, still confused as to why the fuck he is here, and he bustles into the kitchen, clinking around, pouring you a drink.

You sigh and relax onto the sofa. At least you’ll have that.

He comes back, a tumbler of clear liquor in each hand. Ah, so he’s found your guaro. You suspect that he’s helped himself to at least one measure already. He hands you a glass, and you take it gratefully, sniffing at the contents.

He’s drinking it neat, apparently.

“So!” he says, settling beside you on the sofa, close enough that your thighs touch. He pins you with an intense stare. You raise a brow in response, intrigued and a little confused.

He smiles. “Your tip from this morning was a gold mine, Ears.” He eases back, propping his feet on your coffee table in a way that you should probably reprimand him for. He sips, sighs, leans in to bump your shoulder playfully, then settles with his hands at his waist, long fingers fiddling with the glass he’s cradling. “Martinez wants us to go for Verdugo tomorrow,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “Based on your information.”

“Really?” You can hardly believe it. Most of what you do is verify things that others have found, or carry files from Centra Spike to Search Bloc. Same old, same old. Even though you’ve trained for this for years, you’ve never been integral in interpreting and locating a conversation before, especially not for a target as high level as Verdugo.

Javi twists to smile up at you, a real smile. “Really,” he says, pointing a finger in your direction. He watches you fight back a grin. “Go on, be smug. This is big.”

“Wow,” you mouth, somewhat awed that you’ve contributed anything, let alone this, to the hunt for Pablo Escobar.

The reaction isn’t lost on Javi. He sits up, wraps his arms around your shoulders and squeezes gently. “Pretty much. You gave us enough information that we feel confident about initiating a sting in Medellín.” He reaches up with both hands, catching your face at the edge of your jaw and drawing you close. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Ears.”

Ears. Yours are burning at the heat of his touch. You’re acutely aware of his palms cupping your cheeks. His eyes are dark, too dark, and open, looking at you as if you’ve single handled handed Escobar to the DEA on a golden platter.

You suppress a shudder, leaning in to him as he pulls you in for a hug. Christ, his body feels so good as it cradles yours, arms snaking around your back, stubble gritting awkwardly into your cheek, the scent of smoke and liquor clouding you -

You wonder, abruptly, how much he’s had to drink.

“Peña,” you say swiftly, pulling away from him to stand. The way he’s looking at you right now, giddy and awestruck and openly hungry, well, it’s not going to last. You know it won’t. It can’t.

His face falls, as if he’s confused at your sudden rejection.

You shake your head. Peña is just drunk. You guys aren’t like this. You don’t hug and share and hold each other. It was only ever sex, and it’s not even that anymore.

You’re overwhelmed, suddenly and without warning, at how desperately you want him.

Not just the sex, though honestly, you have missed that. No, what you want is -

You shove that thought down, locking it away so deeply that it will never see the light of day.

You cannot have feelings for Javier Peña.

“Ears?” he questions, tilting his head just so, managing to look more sober than he has all evening.

“I just need another drink,” you say as you sidestep him, making your way to the kitchen. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as his gaze follows you. He seems to take your deference at face value - he’s lighter than you’ve seen him in weeks, excited, almost chipper, if you can believe it. The meeting with Martinez must have gone very well. You snort, contrasting his meeting to yours with Messina. The dissonance is enough to wonder, offhandedly, if some not-so-subtle sexism is at play.

You shake off that thought. It’s not helpful, just depressing, especially here in Colombia. Instead, you turn to look at Javi.

He’s still flopped on your sofa, his original drink in his hand, hunched over the stack of playing cards that you’d left out last night.

Your dad had taught you to play solitaire from a young age. There’s a variation for two players, a game which one will inevitably win, but the real challenge is for the single player, in which triumph relies equally on skill and luck. Last night, after Ana had left, you’d played a long, brutal game, ultimately finding yourself blocked, helpless to do anything but shuffle the deck over, and over, and over again.

Losing two games in a row is just shameful, and you’d left the cards on the table, eager to look at them again with fresh eyes.

Javi eyeballs the game with a furrowed brow. You’d managed to make it quite far. Had the cards fallen in any different order, you’d have won easily. Carefully, Javi flicks over one card from the stack, frowns, then another. This one is a red queen, and he plays it eagerly, shuffling the black jack to its new position and opening up another space.

“Hey!” you protest. He glances up at you, bemused, and you shove a newly made drink into his hand as you settle beside him.

“You missed that move,” he explains, pointing exaggeratedly with the pinky finger that holds the tumbler.

You roll your eyes. “I play draw three,” you correct him. You reshuffle the cards to their original places, this time drawing three from the deck: a five of spades on top, Javi’s red queen in the middle, and the ace of spades below both. The top card, the five of spades, has no place to be played, so you flip all three cards into the discard pile and draw three more from the deck.

Javi frowns. “Seems like you’re making it a lot harder than it has to be.”

You sigh. Men. “Single draw solitaire is for kids,” you counter with a vicious smile. “Just for them to learn to play the game. Real players draw three.”

He huffs, “Oh, really?” he’s smirking up at you, eyes sparkling in amusement. “Are you the kind of woman who likes a challenge, Ears?”

He’s just dying to prove you wrong.

“I’m the kind of woman who refuses to cut corners just so I can win a dumb card game.” you inform him sagely.

“Hmmm,” he says, staring contemplatively at the cards. You let him shuffle through the deck twice, each time verifying what you already know - the game, played as it is, is unbeatable.

‘Seems a little silly to me,’ he teases, bopping you on the nose. “Letting your ego get in the way of winning.”

Of course Javier Peña would see it that way. You kick back, letting your feet settle at the edge of the coffee table. “Go on then,” you tell him, siping at your drink. “Swoop in and save my game with your kiddie version, you fucking hero.”

He laughs overtly at that, eyes sparkling, and something clenches hard in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so open, laughing and flirting and playing stupid games after a long day at work.

It’s nice.

You settle in to watch him work his magic. He’s making plays at an alarming rate - it seems like no time at all before the deck is empty.

You glance at the clock, biting back a sigh. Less than five minutes.

He’s smirking up at you, all mussed and smug, eyes alight with warmth, and suddenly, something swoops dangerously in your belly.

That hair, those eyes, his laugh. Warm skin in the dim glow of the lamplight, his body sprawled over your sofa, just begging to be teased.

You wonder again why he’s here. You’ve made it clear that there’s no more sex, so…

Oh, god.

Glancing back down at him, tousled hair and crooked smile, ridiculous mustache, plopped indelicately on your sofa, you suddenly realize.

Javier Peña had sought you out for your company. For no other reason than that he’d had a good day, and wanted to share it with you.

And oh, oh god.

You’re still so caught up in the sex and your fucking feelings that you can’t divorce that from your friendship, which is obviously important to him. He’s not out celebrating with Murphy - he’s here, in your apartment, with no expectation other than to kick your ass by cheating at children’s card games.

The realization takes the breath from your lungs.

You’re the problem here. Just like with the fucking card game, you’re the one making it complicated.

Javi needs a friend.

Javi needs a friend, and he’d sought you out so that you can just chill together, and all you can think as he shuffles those damned cards is how the callouses of his fingers would catch deliciously against your clit as he dips them inside you.

And, and…

You cut off that dark thought. You are not going there.

Jesus Christ, what kind of friend are you?

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” you say. It’s a beat too late and obviously hollow, but Javi doesn’t seem to notice, and you’ve managed to keep the tremor out of your voice, so that’s a win. You rise, making for the kitchen, desperate to do something with your hands. You find yourself pouring Javi yet another drink - is this his third? Or fourth? You aren’t sure - and making yourself a second, much lighter version.

The last thing you want is to do something stupid.

Javi meets you at the kitchen bar, and you slide the tumbler across to him. He eyeballs it speculatively, raising it and tilting it to view the contents in the dim kitchen light.

“Goddamn, Ears.” He snorts. “Are you trying to poison me?”

The denial falls from your tongue as he tilts back his glass from earlier, his second, - or third? - the one that you’d made. He swallows, pushing the empty glass back into you hand, and stands, catching himself on the edge of the table as if he’d moved too fast.

“Alright?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath, then straightens, slowly letting go of the countertop. “Fine,” he says, cocking a brow at you. “But what is that stuff?”

You laugh. “Emilio, you know, from downstairs, he found it for me. Says it’s a Colombian staple, and I can’t leave without having a bottle at least once.”

Javi blinks one too many times, then giggles. Despite your best effort, you snort at the sound. "Well then,” he raises his full tumblr to your half full one, and they clink awkwardly. “To local rotgut and poor life choices,” he toasts, as solemnly as he as able.

“Salud!” you counter, managing to sound a just a hair more sober. Javi is swaying as he stands, and suddenly, you’re concerned. “When did you last eat?”

He glances at you, tilting his head as if your question makes no goddamn sense, and you sigh heavily. Idiot man.

“Okay, hold off on that one,” you warn him - he looks as if he’s about to toss it back, too. “Let me at least make you some eggs first.”

“Eggs?”

You’re already bustling around your tiny kitchen, pulling a pan from below the stove. “Yeah, moron,” you tell him, unable to stop the grin that catches your lips. “Eggs and salsa. Best food for staving off a hangover that I’ve found so far.”

Javi throws back the rest of his drink anyway, then comes to press his body to your side. “Is that a fact?”

“It’s a fucking science,” you counter, unable to resist slamming your hips into his to nudge him out of the way as you reach into the fridge for the butter.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. “How can I be of assistance?” he purrs into your ear, and suddenly, it’s very, very hard to concentrate on cooking.

“Sit. Down.” You hiss, slapping his butt with a dishtowel. He yowls more than strictly necessary, the drama queen; you’re an excellent towel-popper, but it shouldn’t hurt that much.

Still, you rub his ass in compensation, matching his lecherous grin when he fixes it on you. “Have a seat,” you tell him again, kicking a barstool vaguely in his direction. “And watch the magic.”

♠

Javi cleans his plate enthusiastically. “So what’s the secret?” he asks, mouth full, still staring up at you like your shitty scrambled eggs are the best meal he’s ever eaten.

You snort. “No secret, Peña.” You hold up your stick of butter, much lighter than it’d been before, and toss it back into the fridge. “You literally just watched me cook them.”

He grins loopily.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile. How could a man as competent and independent as Javier Peña forget to do something as basic as eat?

Well, it hardly matters. Even with the food you’ve made, he’s going to have a massive hangover in the morning. Ana had cautioned you several times to go easy on the guaro, and you trust her judgement. Emilio’s shit, in particular, is cheap, potent, and deadly.

Well, he’ll pay for it tomorrow. You shake you head, watching him bumble around the kitchen and drop his dirty plate in the sink. Javi stands at your side, warm and solid as you draw just enough water to let the dishes soak.

He reaches for your dish soap, and you stop him with a hand on his arm. Javi glances down at you, still a little drunkenly, but his eyes are warm, his lips parted just slightly, and you pull away from him as if burned.

“I’ll get them in the morning,” you manage hoarsely.

He shrugs, brushes your shoulder with his hand as he bumbles away, and you take a moment to lean against the sink and calm your racing heart.

God, what is with you lately?

Javi has already crashed on your sofa, shoes kicked off, legs sprawled, grinning lazily in your direction.

You manage not to oogle at him, but it’s a near thing.

Instead, you flop down on his opposite side, allowing your legs to tangle in the middle.

He makes a big show of yawning, tilting his wrist up to glance at his watch. You crane your neck to look at the kitchen clock. It’s only 10:33, but you’re both feeling a little lit - Javi more than you, thankfully - and you both have a big day tomorrow.

You sigh, reaching down to collect the empty glasses and discarded playing cards, slipping Javi’s keys in your back pocket while he’s not looking.

He scoffs.

Oh. You whirl, realizing he’d been watching you all along.

“So, am I staying over, Ears?” He grins up at you, a little tired, but still in an excellent mood.

“You are definitely staying over, Peña,” you tell him firmly, trying not to laugh at the wounded puppy expression on his face as he reacts to your tone. His eyes have gone so wide, pout so pathetic that you can’t help but grin, even as you toss a throw pillow haphazardly over his lap.

That seems to get a rise out of him. He sits up, frowning at the pillow. “I’m on the sofa?” he whines.

“Yup!’ you say happily, enjoying the power dynamic for what it is. Putting Javier Peña in your bed tonight would lead straight to…

Well, you’re both drunk, and even if you weren’t, you’re not willing to give up on your bet. Not with the nasty realization that you’d had tonight, for sure.

Javi must follow your thoughts, because he sobers instantly. “Okay,” he says softly, settling back down and cramming the pillow beneath his shoulder.

You’re kind enough to tuck him in, which really just consists of dragging your comforter from you bed and draping it over his ass and shoulders. His boots are lying haphazardly on the floor - you decide to leave them for him to trip over in the morning - and you don’t bother to cover his feet, knowing that he sleeps with his socks outside of the blanket, the weirdo.

Just as you turn away, a single brown eye catches your gaze. He’d been watching you again.

The thought sends a tremor down your spine. “Need anything else?” you ask clinically, trying to ignore the urge to either kiss him, or scream.

He huffs contentedly, rocking against the cushions like an animal sinking into a burrow. His eyes drift closed, and you can’t help but just notice how dark his lashes are against his cheek. “Can’t think of anything,” he murmurs, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Good night,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder as you pass by to turn out the lights.

“Night, babe.”

You choke. Well, maybe he won’t remember.

Fat chance. He’s drunk, but he’s not wasted. You decide to raise him, because any other response from you will be awkward, forever.

“Good night, honey,” you answer sweetly as you flick off the light.

In the darkness, you hear him snort.

♠

author’s notes/confessions:

I have never written Javier Peña. I have never written in second person. I have never written decent smut. I speak no Spanish. Advice and criticisms, if delivered kindly, are very welcome.

Yeah, I realize that I wrote Javi a little lighter/goofier here than he’s probably typically depicted. Hang tight, guys. He’s not taking this seriously yet, but he will be. Just wait.

Guaro/Aguardiente a legit Colombian liquor, and I tried to depict it as accurately as possible for never having tried it. The anise thought that reader has is a reference to absinthe, which is a trip if you’ve ever managed to acquire the real deal (something that’s kind of difficult if you live in the States, unfortunately). Also, I’m unsure if you can just walk into a pharmacy and buy liquor in Colombia, but hey, just go with it.

This started as a conversation with Tiff and turned into... well, this. I am so, so sorry. Expect about 20k and three chapters. Probably.

Not beta’d. you get what you get, my friends.

At the risk of sounding pathetic, your feedback absolutely inspires me to write faster. I don’t make the rules, guys. I just write.

This installment is (mostly) complete, but I’d love to hear what you like and what you don’t, and what you want to see next. My inbox is open. I welcome messages. I want to make friends.

Love you guys big, and happy holidays to those of you who are celebrating!

#Javier Peña #narcos #javi x reader #Javier Peña x reader #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javi x you #narcos fic #smut #narcos fanfiction #pedro fandom #pedro fanfiction #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña imagine #narcos netflix

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heliosthegriffin · 4 years ago

Text

A blade should be sharp at all times

Marrows up to the group, his tail wagging ecstatically behind him: You guys want to play a prank on Juan?

Ren and Nora’s eyes narrow, but they say nothing.

Flynt, Cobalt, Ivory, Neon, Yang and Elm all look at him with obvious interest.

Harriet snorts dismissively: Why would I want to bother the new meat? He’s got enough problems as it is.

Winter nods her head in agreement.

Marrow’s tail stops wagging, as he looks offended: Because it would be funny!

Harriet rolls her eyes and walks away.

Marrow: Fine, be that way!

He turns back to the more interested members of the room: So, what about you guys? Wanna hear it?

Ren says nothing and Nora motions for him to continue: Depends on what the prank is?

Yang nods along: Yeah, Xiao-Long as it’s nothing too mean to Milf-Magnet.

The rest of the room groans; while Yang absorbs the life-force they’ve lost to her pun.

Marrow smiles and continues: It’s nothing too out there, it’s just an old Atlas military tradition, to see how prepared a recruit is for field work.

Ren rubs his chin: I don’t know, Jaune and the rest of us have spent pretty of time in the field, he hardly ever leaves his armor, or his weapons besides when he cleans himself.

Marrows smile widens: That’s the idea!

Ren’s eyes widen in disbelief: You’re going to prank him in the showers?

Marrow doesn’t say a thing but his tail wags faster.

Ren groans and hold his face.

Nora though...

Her face splits into a manic grin as she starts cackling wildly, falling onto her back as she laughs so hard.

Ren shakes his head in leaves.

Marrow points his hand at Ren: STAY!

Ren freezes in place.

Marrow a little sheepishly: Uh, can’t have you spoiling the surpise, sorry.

Nora still keeps on laughing.

Ren’s pink eyes sparkle briefly, then a magenta pulse of aura breaks Marrows hold on him.

Marrows eyes widen in disbelief.

Ren rolls his neck and scowls at Marrow: Believe it or not, having strong aura control is just as important as a strong semblance.

Marrow falls to his knees, his tail desperately waving behind him: Please, please, don’t tell Joanna!

Ren shakes his head and leaves.

Nora: Don’t worry, he won’t say a thing or do anything, in fact, neither will I. Have fun kids.

Nora then follows Ren out.

The room goes silent.

Yang: Well, that’s ominous.

She then notices Winter is still in the room.

Yang: Why are you still here?

Winter huffs: To make sure you all don’t go too far with your ‘Prank’. I will observe and intervene should you all go to far.

Marrow cheers: Yay! Alright, everyone here is how it’ll work. Flynt, Ivory, and Cobalt, you three will being most of the legwork. Cobalt and Ivory, find Jaune and tell him he’s got special permission to use the Specialist private bathrooms, Flynt I want you to hide in the bathroom and use your semblance to make it seem like we’re under attack to scare him out.

Marrow takes a breath and turns to Neon, Yang and Elm: Here’s you girls is part, to really sell it I want you all to make sound noises and make it seem like you’re fighting, then when Joe runs out from the showers I’ll make his freeze, then you girls can throw cold water on him! He’ll be so embarrassed!

Ivory and Cobalt shrug, though Flynt, Neon and Yang seem a little put off.

Neon: I don’t know, seem a little mean spirited.

Flynt: Yeah, we’re not best friends and all, but I don’t want to embarrest the guy.

Yang scratches her chin: It doesn’t seem very, cool thing to do to a friend.

Elm though looked excited: Don’t worry! This is nothing, what’s a little nudity between comrades! If you’re out in the field and not prepared to fight at anytime, even naked, or if you get embarrassed by your comrades seeming you nude, you’re not cut out for being a Hunter. Hell, all of the Ace-Ops have done it. Even Winter!

The sound of a sword leaving it’s sheath rang out.

Winter says says menacingly. I made you promise to never speak of it again, all of you.

Elm: Oops.

Marrow waves them off: Whatever! Anyway this is just a rite of passage in Atlas, come on guys it’ll be a laugh.

The group thinks it over and eventually complies.

Marrow: Alright! Lets get this show on the road!

--------

Ivory and Cobalt escort Jaune through the halls.

Jaune: Wow, Gen. Ironwood really said I could use the Specialist Showers? That’s really kind of him!

Ivory nods and smiles: Gen. Ironwood always takes care of his own.

Cobalt taps Jaune’s shoulder and gives him a approving look.

Cobalt: Deserve it, hard training and self-improvement are their own reward. But, Top Brass notice.

Jaune’s cheek glow slightly, a slight smile forming: Thanks, It really hard sometime, you know, to be able to see that I’ve improved, heh, no matter how much I feel like i’ve grown, I still feel like a waste of space and a burden on my team.

The group comes to a stop, Ivory and Cobalt looking slightly uncomfortable now.

Jaune turns around flashing them a pleasant grin, “Well, thanks guys. I’ll make sure to tell the General thanks, and that I won’t disappoint his trust for giving me a chance to be Huntsman.

Ivory and Cobalt say nothing and nod.

Jaune then enters the private bathroom.

Cobalt and Ivory look at each other.

Ivory: Are we the baddies?

Cobolt: Yes, but better him, than us.

Ivory sighs and taps his wrist, a small ringing occurs.

Ivory: The target is in position.

-------

Jaune walks through the state of the art bathroom humming a pleasent tune, completely unaware of the watching eyes on him.

He goes into a stall and undresses, the prying eyes losing sight of him.

Jaune then leaves the stall a towel wrapped around his waist and goes the hi-tech showers, another towel bundled in his arms.

Flynt watches Jaune enter the shower stall and sighs deeply, he liked Jaune, he really did, a decent guy all-around. But, if it kept others from seeing’s Flynt’s birthmark for another day, he would do what must be done.

He used his semblance, dividing himself into four copies of himself and then took off running inbetween the stalls.

Flynt x4: We’re under attack!

As Flynt came to the end of the room, he was not prepared for what happened next.

--------

Neon and Yang sparred with Elm in the changing room, where Jaune would have to enter to get dressed, trying to create as authenity as possible combat sounds.

Elm grabbed Yangs right hook and swung her into Neon.

Elm smiles: Got to be quicker than that.

Yang and Neon got off of each other and squared up for round two.

Marrow whispered yelled at them: It’s time! Get into postion, I just heard Flynt.

The girls and Elm nodded picking up bucket of ice-water while Marrow got ready to freeze Jaune. With Marrow having to stop himself from cracking up at the thought of Jaun’s expression.

Yang looked slightly recluntant, but the idea of a good prank won out.

Winter sighed in the corner ready to stop the prank if it goes to far, and hopefully preserve some decency.

The wall to the showers exploded out towards them, a spray of dust and stone and metal sharpnel covering the room, as heavy wet foot steps ran towards them as bellowing war howl echoed out from the destroyed room.

A figure running through the cloud of dust glowing a faint golden white, carrying a mechashifted sword in two hands over his head, the blade glowing blue from the hardlight dust along with gravity dust purple in the middle.

Jaune then leaps out of the dust howling: Just try and take them from me again you bastards! I’ll split you in twain, I’ll break you over my knees and slay you! I won’t let you take them from me again!

The group stands dazed as Jaune runs straight through them and through a wall, completely naked, his towel being shredding into binding that tied his meaty tube of a cock to his lower-thigh, while holding his sword overhead before slashing in front of him creating a hole for him to jump out into the campus.

A blush creeps up the faces of those present.

Marrow burst out laughing: That was amazing! Did anyone, get a picture?

Elm falls to her knees: I think I’m in love?

Neon shake her head sadly: No, I was too... Mesmerized.

Yang: So that’s why he wears two belts.

Winter...

Winter has disappeered.

------

Later that evening....

Atlas Reporter: A well-known Huntsman known as Jaune Arc has gone on a murderous Grimm-Hunting rampage all while streaking! What will those crazy kids think of next! Next on the block, pregnancy rates in Mantle having been climbing by over 750% over the last six hours, is this related to the previous new? The Answer may surprise you.

Ren flicks the Scroll-Box closed.

He then rests his head on Nora’s shoulder.

Ren: Yep, it happened again.

Nora: We did nothign to stop it.

Ren: We could have warned them... But, better they learn first hand.

Nora: You did it because you thought it was funny, don’t you dare lie to me.

Ren smiles as he opens the scroll so that Nora can see, the Scroll showing a madly blushing Winter chasing after Jaune in a Bullhead, providing both aerial support, and firing t-shirt and boxer shorts at him, while he rampages through a horde of Grimm.

Ren smirking and pulling Nora close: You know me too well.

#Jaune Arc

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criminalmindsmad · 5 years ago

Text

What baby?

Requests are OPEN until Sunday! Hope you like it teehee - Ash x

Request: can you write a request where you're in a relationship with Hotch and the rest of the team don't know until the reader finds out she's pregnant.

"Ok, you go in now and I'll meet you there in half an hour" you rolled out of his arms so he could move. He sat up slightly and looked down at you, your hair all messy from the pillows, eyes still pressed closed and a quite contented expression on your lips. He smiled as he stroked the hair out of your face.

"I don't believe you y/n." He chuckled to himself and he saw one of your eyes pop open to look at him, you smiled at him, one of your cheeky smiles.

"Fine, 45 minutes" you spun yourself over snatching the quilt away from him. He pounced on top of you trapping you in a duvet cocoon and placing his face inches from yours. Your eyes traced over his face and you bit your lip "I love you."

"I love you too y/n." He smirked as he pressed his lips gently to yours, releasing you from your cozy prison so you could bring your hands up to his hair. His grip was thoroughly on your thigh, forcing out a small moan from inside you.

Just as things were getting good your phone's buzzed, swiftly followed by the face of Penelope Garcia plastering itself over Hotch's phone screen as her caller ID flashed up.

"I'll hop in the shower while you answer that. We can pick this up later huh?" He nodded and slapped your butt as you walked past him. You winked as you dropped your pyjamas on the floor just as he answered the phone.

***

The team touched down in Colorado and Hotch sent you and JJ to the crime scene, a mother of two had been brutally murdered in her home while the rest of her family were locked in the basement.

You both walked directly to the crime scene, the body was still in the centre of the room as CSI technicians hurried around the place collecting evidence. JJ started to rattle off things she had noticed as you quietly listened and observed. You decided to have a look at the victim to see if the state of her body could tell you anything. Pulling back the sheet you felt the bile rise in your throat and you found yourself gagging, you were not normally the one to be phased by a crime scene but everything in you felt like it wanted to get out. You quickly set the sheet down and stood up hoping taking the site away would make you feel better.

"Y/n are you ok? Do you wanna go and get some air?" JJ looked at you with her concerned eyes, but you didn't want her to worry about you, at least you didn't have your head caved in by some psycho.

'yeah...yeah I'm fi...I'm..oh god" you quickly ran out of the house and past the police tape, losing your breakfast next to an unsuspecting tree. A couple of the local police officers had watched your antics and quietly judged you. You centred yourself and managed to stop the seasick feeling from overcoming you again. Popping a piece of gum in your mouth and wiping your mouth you headed back into the crime scene, greeted by JJ doing the 'im very worried but I don't want you to think about it too much so I'm going to pretend it didn't happen but will give you a look as I leave to tell you I'm worried' act. "I'm fine JJ" you smiled at her reassuringly "must've eaten something bad"

***

"Are you sure you're ok?" Hotch had pulled you aside at the precinct after JJ mentioned your incident.

"Yes I'm fine" you glanced around to make sure none of your team could see you before placing your hand on his and squeezing "I just took a funny turn, it was either something I ate or for once I stopped being an FBI robot and let the site of a woman with a caved in face bother me" you looked into his brown eyes and pleaded with him to relax, you'd been through much worse together and a little sickness wasn't going to hurt.

Hotch and you had gotten off to a rocky start, he didn't particularly want you on his team but the brass had forced him to take you on after you'd made it clear you were a valuable asset. In an attempt to prove a point he had really put you through your paces, making you jump through hoops and testing you in any way he could. But no matter what he did and how hard he pushed you, you came back fighting and he had to admit he was impressed. Gradually your relationship developed, you became very good friends and discovered you were strangely very similar but it only took one small moment of weakness on your part for you to plant a kiss on him and push your relationship over into the next stage. Somehow, and you had no idea how, you had managed to keep this relationship a secret for over a year, you'd been sure the team had caught on but yet they never did, Garcia continued to sign you up to dating apps without your permission and Rossi had forced Hotch onto a multitude of blind dates. You'd thought about telling them a couple times but it never felt right, and besides having a secret from your team was just a little bit, on a lot, fun.

"I know y/n. But I just worry, and it gets harder to pretend it's just because I'm your boss when every time I see you my stomach hurts" you smiled at him and bought your hand to his cheek.

"I know what you mean but you have nothing to worry about. I'm too busy to get sick, busy being sexaay" you struck an awkward pose and he just stared at you.

"Wow I think we should break up." He laughed as you softly smacked him "let's get back to the team before you strike another 'sexy' pose and I tear your clothes off"

"Oh my Agent Hotchner that's hardly appropriate" you winked as you walked out of the door.

***

"Ryan Yates FBI put your hands in the air!" You and Reid apprehended the unsub, backing him into a corner and forcing him to surrender. As you walked over to him and grabbed his wrist he swung his body back and slammed you into a wall knocking the air out of you. Reid quickly took down the unsub and cuffed him while the rest of the team filed into the room. Aaron, trying to stay professional, ran over to you to check if you were ok, helping you to your feet.

"Are you ok? You hurt?"

"No no I'm fine, just a bit winded, I can walk it off." You smiled at him and held onto his arms as you got your breath back. Suddenly, your knees felt week and your vision began to blur, you felt your body falling from beneath you as you reached out further for him "aaron...something's not right... Aaron"

***

The soft beeping of the heart monitor woke you up and you opened your eyes as you shuffled up the bed. You looked around the hospital room and were greeted with the faces of your team, Aaron was sat right next to your bed looking the most worried you'd ever seen him.

"What happened?" In all honestly you felt fine, actually you felt quite refreshed.

"You collapsed, just after we took down Yates" Reid piped up from the corner of the room "how are you feeling?"

"I'm ok" you smiled at him and then looked at Aaron, still looking pale and concerned "I'm ok Aaron, I probably just got winded and forgot to breath, either that or I just passed out because I thought it might spice things up a bit" you winked at Rossi who rolled his eyes and shook his head.

A short round doctor appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat to catch you attention. "Ah Miss Y/l/n I'm so glad to see you awake."

"Yes, I'm so sorry about this, I'm sure it was nothing, have you come to discharge me?" You smiled at him.

"Actually Y/n I just needed to ask you some questions about the baby?" He walked over to the foot of the bed.

"What baby?"

"You baby miss Y/N. You're pregnant?" Your mouth dropped open. As did Aaron's. As did every member of the teams'.

"Pregnant?" Both you and Aaron spoke in unison, eyes fixed on the doctor. "I'm pregnant?"

"Yes. About 10 weeks" your eyes began to tear up and you looked at Aaron.

"I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant!" You began to cry as you smiled and took his hand "I'm gonna have a baby." You looked into his tearful eyes "we're gonna have a baby"

"Yeah…yeah we are." He leaned in and kissed you, pulling you close to him and wrapping his arms around you. "I love you so much"

"I love you too" you choked out as your lungs filled with happy sobs. He took his arms from around you and pressed his hand against your stomach. Bringing you in for another kiss.

"Ahem" the room descended into silence as you both realised who was still stood in the room. Slowly you took your eyes off one another and scanned around the room, a sea of shocked faces greeted you. You couldn't help it, but you started to giggle.

"I guess we have a lot of explaining to do huh" you looked back to Aaron who just started to smile "can I have my congratulations hugs first?" You looked over to Rossi who cracked the biggest smile and came in to hug you both followed swiftly by the rest of the team. And as you and Aaron were pressed together by the weight your your team you looked up at him as he spoke.

"You will be the best mum and the best wife." And he pulled a ring out of his back pocket.

#criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds request #hotch imagine #criminal minds season 11

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prettyboybarzal · 5 years ago

Note

15 or 21 from the angst/fluff list with either barzal or beauvillier please? Love everything you write 💜💜

this took me so long and i am sORRY. i hope you like it and thank u for the sweet message 🥺

21: “Shouldn’t you be with him?” w/ Mr. Barzal

It was just like you to go above and beyond for someone who probably wouldn’t do the same for you. But, honestly, you couldn’t help it. Especially when it came to Mat.

And, honestly, it wasn’t just for him. Sure, it was his birthday. But, all the guys were getting ready to head home for the off season, so it was more of a send-off than just a party for Mat’s birthday. It was for everyone. And, because it was for everyone, you were getting no help from anyone.

It was around 7 p.m. that you were rushing down the hall to your apartment with bags of finger foods and beer. As you rounded the corner to your door, you bumped straight into Derick Brassard’s chest.

“Jesus, YN,” he murmured. “Are you good?”

“Oh, good!” you exclaimed. You passed a bag off to him and shoved him back towards your door. “Why are you here?”

“I was dropping off beer for later,” he answered. “I just left it at your front door.”

“For all my neighbors to see and steal?”

“You’re dramatic,” he noted. You came to a stop at your front door where Derick picked the beer up from the welcome mat as you unlocked the apartment. “Where should I put this?”

“Put everything on the kitchen counter.”

Derick ducked into the kitchen and placed everything down before turning to take the rest from your hands. You walked away with just the balloons and began to tie them around the chairs at your dining table.

“You know you didn’t have to do all this for us,” he murmured, leaning up against the wall. “We gladly would have just met up at a bar to grab a few drinks and shoot the shit.”

“Yeah, I know that,” you stated. You fastened the last balloon to the last chair and looked around the room with your hands on your hips. “But I figured this is a nice treat. Just our friends, hanging out, celebrating the season.”

“Celebrating Mat’s birthday,” Brass mumbled under his breath. You looked over at him and noticed the card in his hand. He waved it at you. You took a step forward and snatched it out of his hand.

“Two birds, one stone,” you stated. “Besides, you know he’d be bitching if we didn’t do something for him.”

Derick hummed, a knowing smile settling on his lips as he stepped towards the door.

“Do you need anything else, dude?” he asked. “I have to go home and shower, but if you need anything I can bring it when I come over.”

“I think I’m okay.”

“Alright, lover girl.”

Brassard was out the door a moment later, leaving you with the scarlet red blush across your cheeks.

Every time you were with one of the Isles boys, another one of them noticed your crush on Mat. The first was Anthony, simply because he was around the two of you more than the others. It was right before the Christmas break. You’d gone out for drinks with the two boys in the city and Mat’s hands were on you the entire night.

It was innocent really, and he was drunk. But, Tito couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to where Mat’s hands rested on your hips, or around your waist and against your stomach. He’d watch with wide eyes as he sipped his drink. He didn’t intend on saying anything about it until Mat passed out on your couch afterwards and Beau found you staring at his face while you ran your fingers through his hair.

“If I was in your position, I would’ve been so annoyed at him right now.”

“Why?”

“There were so many guys checking you out tonight,” Anthony stated. “But this one was all over you.”

“It’s whatever.”

Tito didn’t miss the blush that appeared on your face, and took a mental note of it for later.

The second to notice was Ebs. It came when he had to pick Mat up at your apartment before practice one morning. He had come over for dinner the night before and, again, ended up sleeping over. While he gathered his stuff from inside, you went out to say hi to Jordan.

“Why do you let him live here rent free?” he asked with a smirk. You raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s literally always here.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He is,” he insisted. “This is like the third time this week, I think. Beau and I check his location. We have a running bet.”

Before the conversation could continue, Mat came bounding out of your apartment. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder and placed a kiss on your hairline before hopping into the car.

Now, it was Derick.

You figured from their perspective that all of Mat’s little touchy-feely mannerisms would look suspicious. But, you’d seen him leave bars with tons of girls before and he never once tried to do that with you.

And, sure, he’d slept over maybe way too many times and drunk Mat had left kisses against your neck and your shoulders. He even had a key to your place, and left at least one piece of clothing at your place every time he came over. But, there were absolutely no hidden feelings. That was just the way he was. Touchy, feely. Besides, he’d been in a relationship not long ago and you figured he just liked that you could substitute for that type of commitment.

People started showing up to your apartment around 9:30 p.m., Derick being amongst the first there. He helped make sure that everyone was eating and starting to drink. He also set up a few drinking games before disappearing into the kitchen to make some pigs in a blanket. You followed him in to make sure he didn’t fuck it up.

Mat and Beau arrived a little while later, unbeknownst to you. They said their hellos to everyone in the living room before Mat started asking about you.

“Kitchen, I think,” one of the boys told him as Tito settled into a game of flip cup with them. Mat smiled and headed in the direction of the kitchen, only to find you and Derick giggling in front of the oven.

“Barzy!” Derick exclaimed as soon as he saw him. Mat gave him a half-assed smile, trying his best suppress the jealous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Derick glanced back at you. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

He slipped out past Mat, sending you an eyebrow raise behind Mat’s back.

“Hey, you,” you greeted him. Mat stepped forward and wrapped an arm around your waist. He pulled you against his chest and kissed your forehead. “Happy early birthday.”

“Thank you.”

His greeting was a little less enthusiastic than normal, but you brushed it off with a smile.

“I’ll be out in a bit,” you told him. “Go have some fun and I’ll find you in a little bit.”

Mat offered you nothing but a nod before you slipped back out to the living room. He tried to shake the picture of you and Derick in the kitchen from his mind, but it sort of ruined his night. He didn’t like seeing you with another guy in the kitchen, in such a domestic moment. He wanted that to be him.

And it didn’t help that as soon as Derick left the bathroom he went back to the kitchen.

It wasn’t for another fifteen or twenty minutes that the two of you joined the rest of the party, and even then you seemed to be attached to his hip.

If Mat wasn’t so dense, maybe he would have realized that everyone else had already partnered up for beer pong. You had to go with Derick. But, again, jealousy makes some people a little stupid. Especially Barzy.

The beer pong tournament was Beau’s idea, of course, and he managed to make Barzy his partner, despite everyone’s complaints that they were an unfair duo. They ran the tables the entire time, which was surprising considering every time Mat wasn’t shooting the ball, he was busy shooting daggers in Derick’s direction.

When the tournament was finally over, Mat fell onto the couch and began to sulk. That’s when you made your move to flop down beside him. You picked his arm up and wrapped it over your shoulders, sending him a dorky smile as you did so. He didn’t smile back.

“Shouldn’t you be with him?” Mat asked, nodding his head in Derick’s direction. You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion. “I mean, you’ve spent the entire night hanging around Brass. Might as well keep it that way. Don’t worry about me.”

Mat peeled his arm away from you and leaned away, grimace on his face.

“You’re kidding, right?” you asked. You hoped the question would bring him back to reality. It didn’t. He just remained stone faced, waiting for you to explain yourself. Which you definitely didn’t need to do. “Fine, yeah, I should be with him.”

As soon as you stood up and went back to Derick, Mat knew he fucked up. He watched Derick lean in to listen to you and glance back in his direction. He raised his eyebrows at Mat before wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

He tried to brush it off for the rest of the night, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. And he couldn’t stop glancing at you, searching for you in the crowd of people as the night went on. You stuck with Derick, it’s what Mat asked for really. He couldn’t blame you.

He drank a little too much, maybe, and by the time people began to filter out of the apartment he realized it was now or never. But, he couldn’t find you anywhere. So, he frantically searched for Derick. No way the two of you would disappear together, right?

“Ready to head out?” Beau asked. Mat turned on his heel at the voice and released a quick breath when he saw Derick over Beau’s shoulder. “Mat?”

“Give me a few?”

The boys nodded, knowing damn well that Mat needed to make an apology tour before leaving.

Mat went down the hallway and knocked on your bedroom door before opening it. You weren’t in there, but there was a gift bag on the bed with his name on it. He glanced over his shoulder and approached it. He ran his fingers along the ribbon tying the handles together and then grabbed the card that was peeking out of it.

He didn’t hear the door to your bathroom open, didn’t hear you lean up against the frame to watch him.

“Are you going to open the card, or what?”

“YN,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Just open it.”

You walked over and plopped down at the end of the bed beside the gift bag, motioning for him to open your gift.

He opened the card and read it to himself.

Happy birthday to the best guy I know. Thankful for your curls, your hugs, your kisses, and all the memories we’ve made. Here’s to another trip around the sun. I love you! – YNN

Mat closed the card and pouted at you, but you just raised your eyebrows at him in a way of telling him you were sick of his shit from tonight.

“I threw you this entire party. By myself,” you told him. “I did this for you. Not for Tito, or Derick, or anybody else. You. I said it was for everyone because you’re all going home for the off season, but every other one of the guys called bullshit. They all knew this was just an excuse for me to celebrate your birthday with you.”

Mat sighed, but you continued talking.

“But you are so fucking dense that you didn’t even realize that. And then you came up with this bizarre scenario in your head where I want to be with Brass over you. Are you kidding me, Barz? The only person I ever want to be with is you. I’m so tired of trying to get you to notice how much I like you when it always goes right over your stupid head.”

Mat stared at the words on the card for another moment. He kept reading the same part over and over again. ‘your curls, your hugs, your kisses’ and ‘I love you’.

You waited for him to say something, anything, watching as he read the card again and again.

Finally, he looked up at you and tossed the card onto the bed. He took your face in his hands and ducked his head to yours. And then he stopped, lips ghosting over yours momentarily before he closed the gap between you. You gasped into his kiss, standing to get closer to him. His arm wrapped around your waist, tightening his grip on you.

When he pulled away, you fell back on your heels with your eyes still closed. His free hand brushed along your hairline and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You finally looked up at him, still breathing heavily.

“I like you a lot.”

“Do you?” you asked, giving him a skeptical look.

“So much,” he murmured. “I saw you with Derick and I just assumed the worst. I’ve been trying to confess how I feel for so long, but I like how things are and I didn’t wanna ruin it.”

“How things are?” you repeated. “Like how we act like we’re dating, but there’s no label?”

Mat’s cheeks flushed.

“I hate that,” you admitted. “I just figured I was a safety blanket… That I was the only one with feelings here.”

“Not at all,” he stated with a shake of his head. He leaned in again and kissed you once more. When he pulled away this time, he whispered, “I’m sorry that I’m an asshole. I’m sorry that you did all this for me and I didn’t appreciate it.”

“You can just make it up to me now.”

Mat’s eyes went wide and all the heat went to your cheeks. You couldn’t believe you’d just said that. And with your whole chest.

“Hold that thought,” he said. He turned and walked out of your room. “Tito? Brass? I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

“We know!” Derick called back as Tito yelled, “Use protection!”

The door to your apartment shut and Mat came back into your room with a pump of his fist. He walked right up to you and picked you up to drop you onto the bed. He crawled up and hovered over you with a devilish smirk.

“Now, where were we?”

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #mk writes

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knightofthecourt · 5 years ago

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Love Bites - Chapter 5

Belatrice Gray was a TA at Belgrave University, working hard to stay on top of her marking and trying not to flunk her own studies, when a night out with her bff Randall and his roommates, changed everything.

Hamish Duke x OC fiction with fluff, romance and angst. OC description has been left out to allow for reader personalisation!

The morning after he’d taken her home, Randall appeared at her door with coffee, bagels and a tube of anti-inflammatory gel, which he’d instructed her to apply three times a day to her legs alongside pain killers and bed rest. Bela didn’t need to be told twice - she happily spent the next 24 hours in bed, only moving to visit the bathroom and fetch snacks.

Though she’d slept well in Hamish’s room, she could barely keep her eyes open once she got home.

She still couldn’t remember what had happened, but Randall had assured her that this was a totally normal side-effect of some sedatives, and she’d feel better after sleep.

And he was right. On Sunday morning Bela had woken with a clear head and a spring - well, maybe a hop - in her step. While the rest, cold compresses and pain relief had considerably lessened her discomfort, the bruises had yet to fade.

With a renewed sense of purpose she took a shower, pulled on her comfiest leggings and fired off a quick text to Randall before heading to the laundry room.

- - - - -

As Bela climbed the stairs to the penthouse hallway she looked around, trying to distract herself from the dull throbbing in her legs. There was no denying that the building was beautiful; lovingly restored exposed brick clad the walls of the stairwell, accented by a highly polished brass bannister, industrial light fittings and a buffed hardwood floor that looked suspiciously like an original feature.

An apartment here must cost more than what Hamish made in a year. Bela was beginning to suspect that the tall blonde had more disposable income than most of the other TAs she knew at Belgrave.

The only thing that the deluxe block was missing, she thought, was an elevator.

She huffed in relief as she finally came face-to-face with the slick, black penthouse door. She took a moment to catch her breath and then rapped twice.

After a few minutes a sleepy figure dressed in a casual navy button-down, appeared from behind the door.

“Bela?” Hamish’s eyebrows arched in surprise as he looked at the woman on his doorstep. “I thought you were resting?… I mean… Hello.” His eyes crinkled slightly as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

The corner of Bela’s mouth lifted in a small smile as she raised her eyes to catch his. “I’m fine, promise. Sorry if I woke you, I messaged Randall for your address - I hope that’s ok? I just wanted to say thank you for letting me borrow these.” She held out a stack of freshly-washed clothes towards him. “And for everything else - you know, you kind of saved me”.

Hamish flushed slightly. “I don’t know about that” he shrugged, “I’m sure you would have done the same for a friend.”

He reached out to grab the bundle, brushing his warm fingers against Bela’s wrist.

“Ah - right.” Bela pulled her arm back abruptly. She suddenly felt self-conscious. Friend. Of course Hamish was just being polite, as always. Their date plans had been ruined twice now and after the situation the other night he was probably starting to regret asking her out in the first place.

Hamish frowned as a small crease appeared between her brows.

“Yeah,” she began, “of course. Thanks anyway though, I really appreciate it.” She produced a clear bottle from her bag and thrust it towards him. “Just, as a thank you - taking care of someone isn’t much fun on a night out. Let me know if I can do anything, I owe you a favour now!”

Hamish barely had time to drop the clothes and grab the vodka before she turned away from the door and bolted down the hallway. He stood frozen for a moment before he rushed after her. By the time he reached Bela she had already travelled down one set of stairs - a surprising distance for someone who was still visibly struggling to move comfortably.

“Wait! Bels - wait a minute.”

She didn’t stop until his hand closed around her elbow. He wanted to tell her how he felt, how angry and guilty he was that she had been threatened because of him and how glad he was that she was ok - more than glad, but when she spun around her expression caught him off-guard. She lifted her head defiantly, cheeks burning.

His words died under her steady gaze.

Instead, Hamish raised the bottle. “You can’t expect me to drink this on my own?”

- - - - -

“Liquid Lust” Bela declared with a flourish, handing him a sunset-hued beverage.

Hamish took a sip and sighed in appreciation “It’s fruity.” He took a second sip, “...and strong”.

Bela grinned. “That’s the tequila. I can’t believe you had hibiscus tea and syrup in your bar, what are the chances?”.

“A well-stocked bar, is one of life’s essentials.” Hamish smiled back at her from over the rim of his glass. Hours had passed since Bela had turned up at his door. Comfortable conversation over an afternoon drink had morphed gradually into a cocktail-making competition, though Hamish couldn’t say when exactly they’d moved from one to the other, or who was winning.

They’d started with a Cupid’s Arrow, which led to a round of blackberry Potion d’Amours, then on to a pink-tinted Queen of Hearts and finally, the rather interestingly-named, Between the Sheets. Things were starting to get a little blurry around the edges.

Now they were both sprawled across Hamish’s large leather sofa, Bela’s legs outstretched, her feet resting in his lap.

“Your turn.” Bela prompted, waving her empty glass.

Hamish reluctantly dislodged her and made his way to the open-shelved bar that took up a large portion of the wall in his loft space. He ducked behind the countertop and reappeared after a few minutes with two tall glasses.

“Sex on the Beach.” he said with a wry smile.

Bela’s eyes widened slightly and then she burst out laughing. “Wait -” she said, setting the glass down on the nearby coffee table before walking to the bar. She emerged moments later with two smaller glasses. “We should drink these first then,” she said with a wink, “best not to rush things”.

She handed him a smaller glass topped with whipped cream. “It’s a shot.” Hamish felt heat creep up his neck as he recognised the layers of amaretto, coffee liqueur and irish cream. “Yes… a Blow Job shot”.

Bela snorted. “Take it you’ve had one before then?”

The sound that came out of Hamish’s throat was something close to a growl. He threw the shot back and chased it with his cocktail.

“Bottoms up,” he gestured to her to finish her drinks before heading back to the bar.

Two can play at this game, he thought darkley.

On some level Hamish acknowledged that his judgement was impaired. Logically he knew his reaction to Bela being in danger, the way he’d lost control, wasn’t normal, but when he was around her he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about it. She made him feel good for the first time in longer than he cared to remember and he deserved to feel good, didn’t he?

He set down a tumbler filled with clear liquid.

“Don’t tell me we’re switching to water?” Bela looked a little disappointed.

“No,” Hamish smirked “Vodka, rosemary syrup and lemon juice, also known as a Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down”.

It was Bela’s turn to blush.

- - - - -

“Huh?” Hamish raised his head from the sofa to look over to the bar, where Bela’s head was just visible.

“I said, do you have cola?” she asked, looking through the various bottles, jars and garnishes in the bar’s mini fridge.

Hamish pulled himself to his feet and went to retrieve a bottle from the kitchen. “Here.” He held it out to her as he joined her behind the bar.

“Of course it was in your actual fridge, not your special cocktail fridge,” she said, nudging him in the side playfully.

Hamish tried not to focus on the warm tingle that spread through his midriff when she made contact. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the vanilla and cinnamon scent from her shampoo as she leaned across him to add a generous splash of cola to the glasses in front of him.

Thanks to his heightened senses her smell was one of the first things he’d noticed about Bela when he met her - warm and rich like freshly-baked pastries. He almost wished she hadn’t washed his clothes before returning them.

“Soulmate?”

His eyes shot open. “Yes… uh.” He faltered, uncharacteristically. “Sorry, what?”

She shot him a questioning look, “It’s a Soulmate.” She gestured to the glasses on the counter, “Rum, cherries, cola. Hey, are you ok Haim? Do you want water instead?”.

Hamish shook his head, “No, I’m ok - I can handle my alcohol”.

“Of course you can, Profess- ah!”.

He caught her as she tripped, pulling her close to his chest to support her weight before she hit the floor. The heat of her body, pressed flush against his, soaked through the thin layers of cotton separating them and spread through him, an instant warmth that sparked what felt like a million minuscule explosions across every cell in his body.

They both hesitated for a moment before Bela took a shallow breath and pulled herself off him. Through a cloud of embarrassment she dimly registered how Hamish’s hand lingered on the small of her back and how shaken he looked as he reluctantly stepped away.

“There you go, saving me again.” She glanced up at him and then frowned, turning to the mess on the counter. “Our drinks weren’t so lucky”.

He recovered quickly, producing a stack of cocktail napkins from a nearby draw, which he used to dab the pools of liquid. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s fine, I’ll get us a refill - do you think you can make it to the sofa without injuring yourself?”

Bela rolled her eyes, “I’m not always this clumsy you know, maybe i’m the one who can’t hold my drink.”

“Ok” Hamish nodded firmly, as he busied himself clearing up the mess and adding ingredients to a fresh set of glasses. “Well, this will be our last one then.”

Bela mentally kicked herself as she carefully picked her way back to the living area. The last thing she wanted right now was for the evening to end. She was enjoying seeing the normally buttoned-up Hamish let loose a little, but even in this state he was too much of a gentleman to let her drink too much. Still, flirty-tipsy Hamish might just be her new favourite drinking companion - and she couldn’t deny how good it felt to have his arms wrapped around her when he caught her.

His thin shirt had done little to hide the broad, muscular outline of his shoulders when he pulled her to him, and even distracted by her own clumsiness, she found herself wanting to run her hands across those shoulders and down his back.

Caught in her own thoughts, she barely noticed that she had been staring at him, watching the shape of his arms, shoulders and chest, until he cleared his throat, snapping her out of her haze, and handed over her final drink.

She took it, and quickly swallowed a sip to hide her embarrassment. “Apple juice, gin and... lemon?” she guessed, swirling remnants of the sweet, sharp liquid around her mouth.

“Impressive.” Hamish sat down and leaned towards her, his eyes deep pools. “I call it Dutch Courage.”

“Oh, really?” Bela placed her glass down. Her heart beat faster as she leaned towards Hamish, noting with interest when his cheeks flushed and he edged closer, as if he could hear the steady thrumming in her chest. His eyes flicked down as she licked a trace of lemony sweetness from her lips. “And what are we going to do with our Dutch Courage, Haim?”

Hamish growled lightly under his breath. “To hell with it,” he whispered, before leaning forward suddenly, capturing her lips in a kiss.

#love bites #the order #hamish duke #hamish duke x oc #randall carpio #lillith bathory #the knights of st christopher #hamish duke x reader #the knights of saint christopher #werewolves #werewolf

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lille082 · 5 years ago

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marital bliss

this fic fulfills the squares “fake marriage” and “there was only one (1) bed” on the Trope Prompt Table (004) by @mi6-cafe

marital bliss

“...So you see, I’ve royally mucked things up and I’m afraid he's going to think our whole honeymoon is ruined if I can’t turn things around.”

The proprietor of the bed and breakfast peered closely at Bond over her spectacles before she broke into a sympathetic smile. He had a feeling the Armani suit played into her decision, despite how much rainwater it was holding currently.

“Oh, he won’t hold it against ya,” she rounded the reception desk and flipped open an appointment book, her finger tracking over the page until she found what she was looking for. “Just what I thought, our honeymoon suite’s booked through Thursday, sorry to say, but I have a cozy little room with a fireplace available if that’ll do.”

Bond played up his relief, heaving out a sigh and an amazed grin.

“Oh, we’ll take what we can get! Thank you so much,” he reached out to shake her hand, taking it warmly in his. The older women blushed and gave him a knowing look. “If we need to pay a late booking fee or anything, that’s no problem.”

She waved her hand dismissively at him and tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear.

“Oh, nonsense. I’m just glad we had an open room for ya. Why don’t you go fetch that fella of yours and I’ll get everything sorted out here, Mr.--”

“Bond,” he gave her his most charming smile, leaning against the counter. “James Bond.”

“Well, nice ta meet ya, Mr. Bond. I’m Helen. Here, take this--” she rummaged under the counter for a moment before handing him an umbrella. “You don’t need to get any more soaked than you already are.”

Bond accepted the umbrella gratefully and headed back out into the storm.

Sure, Q had seen the door open and Bond amble out with an umbrella. And sure, he figured that meant they had lodgings for the night, thankfully. And sure, maybe it was childish, but he couldn’t help wanting to make him suffer just a little bit more.

Bond approached the passenger door and pulled on the handle to open it for Q, but the door didn’t budge. Q glanced up from his phone with a bored look on his face and looked at Bond through the glass. Bond rapped on the window, staring at him expectantly, and Q unlocked the car with a sigh.

“Yes?” His waspish tone was sharp over the sound of rain on the roof of the car.

Bond kept his answer just as short.

“C’mon, we’ve got a room.”

Q took the umbrella from Bond without a word, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and tightened his grip on the prototype case, leaving the rest of their luggage (or what little remained of it) to him.

He didn’t wait for Bond before setting off for the dry indoors.

Q entered the small lobby area and closed the umbrella on the threshold, shaking it off under the eaves before turning his attention inside.

“And you must be the other Mr. Bond!” A sweet, very midwestern American accent rang out and Q turned to stare at her in shock for just a moment before nodding slowly.

“I suppose I must be,” he grinned, now kicking himself that he didn’t brief with Bond before coming in because clearly he’d already gotten to talking with the older woman behind the desk.

“I know, it’s hard to get used to it at first, but you will. Get used to having a new name that is,” she said and held out her hand. “I’m Helen.”

Q stepped forward to shake it when the door opened behind him.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Helen said, holding his hand between her’s, tutting. “Your new husband is absolutely frozen, Mr. Bond.”

“James, please,” Bond said, setting the suitcase down next to Q, who slowly pulled his hand away from Helen. “To be fair, he’s always cold. Lounging around the flat in jumpers in the middle of the summer. But I’ve always run hot, so we balance each other out.”

Q felt Bond’s arm wind around his waist and it took every ounce of his energy not to elbow James in the stomach. He relaxed into the embrace, following his lead.

“Well, I had Roger head on up to the room to start a fire for you,” she said, grabbing a honest-to-god brass key from a pigeon hole behind the desk. Q tried not to look completely horrified at the complete lack of modern innovation or security in the setup.

Helen led them up a narrow stairway and down a short hall before reaching an ajar door.

“Again, sorry we don’t have that honeymoon suite available, but I hope this’ll do,” she said as she pushed the door open and led them in. A man in overalls was throwing another log on the fire and Bond set their luggage down off to the side. He hooked his chin over Q’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

“Really, Helen, it’s perfect. Besides, it doesn’t matter where we sleep, as long as we’re with each other.”

Q saw the woman put her hand over her heart at the sentiment and had to close his eyes to cover up him rolling them. He felt the warm press of lips along his jaw and an involuntary shiver ran through him.

“Oh, we should leave ya alone to warm up,” Helen said, nodding at Roger who got to his feet. “If ya boys need anything, just give us a ring downstairs. There should be enough towels and blankets, but let us know, and we’ll bring more up in a jiffy!”

Roger guided Helen out of the room with a hand on her elbow and Bond broke their embrace to quickly lock the door behind them.

“What the fuck, Bond?” Q hissed, stepping into Bond’s path as the agent loosened his tie and shrugged out of his soaked suit jacket. “This is your plan? Hide in the middle of fucking nowhere Missouri and hope they didn’t follow us?”

Bond ignored Q in favor of unbuttoning his shirt.

“Also: our honeymoon? That’s the best you could come up with? What are we supposed to do with this?” Q gestured exaggeratedly at the single bed in the room.

Q received a raised eyebrow as his only response before Bond dropped trou.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Q turned around and marched towards the luggage that was piled in the corner. He rifled through his go bag until he heard the bathroom door shut. Stripping his wet socks from his feet, he threw them in a pile on top of Bond’s jacket with relish.

He shrugged out of his coat and made quick work of changing out of his wet clothes into dry ones. He eventually settled himself in front of the fireplace, leaning against the bed, and donned the warmest pair of socks he’d brought with him. As he stared at the fire and listened to the sound of the shower running, his mind immediately reminded him of the electric charge feel of Bond’s fingers pressed against his stomach, the scrape of stubble against his cheek, and the eyeful he’d been graciously granted moments before.

He dropped his head back against the foot of the bed with a groan, conceding there was no way he’d sleep tonight.

#00Q #trope prompt table #team00 #agent 0018 #0018 #mi6-cafe #trope prompt #fake marriage #only one bed #007 fest #007 fest 2020

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years ago

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The General’s Daughter Chapter 7

Title: The General’s Daughter Chapter 7

Summary: Stevie Holstead was enjoying her time at a hospital in Seoul. She was there with friends, even with the ever-watching eyes of her father watching her. That was until Margaret Houlihan decided she needed help with the nurses. Now Stevie is heading to the 4077th, and a whole lot of adventure that she never thought she would see in her lifetime.

Series Warnings: Language, violence, war themes, later attempted non-con, sexual themes, later sexual scene, crude humor, and more that might come to mind later on.

AN: Thank you to @piratewithvigor and @jaxl-road for putting up with my never ending ideas, no matter how stupid they are.

Taglist: @traceyaudette

“So Captain,” Klinger started, puffing on his cigar as Trapper dealt the cards for their game a week or so after the General’s visit. “How does a woman named Elizabeth and a man named Samuel end up with a daughter named Stevie?”

“I’ve been wondering that one myself,” BJ picked up his hand to look at it.

“Well who names a kid BJ and that’s it?” Stevie shot back. “I mean, what does that even stand for?” BJ smirked.

“It can stand for whatever you want it to,” He told her. She glared at him for a second before turning her attention to her cards and her story.

“Well, when my mom was pregnant with me, the doctor she was seeing told her I was going to be a boy. So mom and dad had decided on the name Steven after mom’s brother who died in Austria. But then I came out a girl and they had no girl names to back up on. Mom remembered that she used to call her brother Stevie, and she thought that sounded girly enough to pass.” Stevie explained.

“Oh wow,” Radar gasped, completely in awe. Stevie wasn’t sure if it was because of the story of her name or the cards he had, but she smiled and accepted it anyway.

“I’m one of a kind,” Stevie took a sip of her beer.

“That’s the truth,” Henry mumbled. Stevie shook her head.

“Trapper, how’d you get your nickname?” Stevie asked.

“Well, I’d tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me,” Trapper laughed. Hawkeye joined the table then.

“She’d probably actually smack you,” He commented, leaning over to kiss Stevie’s cheek and hopefully sneak a peek at her cards. Trapper rolled his eyes. “Okay, is everyone ready?”

“I think so,” Father Mulcahey nodded. Just as they were about to play, the doors to the officers club opened and Margaret walked in.

“Ah, Margaret. Always a lovely sight,” BJ said without even glancing up at her.

“Save it. What are you guys doing?” She asked, staring them all down. Stevie held up her cards.

“Wanna join us Major?” She asked. Margaret looked over all of them before she took the cards from Stevie and took a seat.

“What’s the bet?”

****

Thanksgiving came and went. The members of the 4077th shared a meal together the best that they could before they dealt with the few wounded that came during the temporary ceasefire. That Friday after, Stevie was sat cross legged on her bed, counting out her money. She had a list of people she needed to shop for, and she was sure that the wounded would be heavy between now and Christmas, and she wouldn’t get to do much shopping.

“Colonel, can I have a day pass?” Stevie asked not too long after.

“What for?” Henry asked. “Is it something with the general?”

“No. Christmas is coming up and I have some errands to run,” Stevie explained. “Please Henry.”

“Well, since you said it so nicely. Radar!”

“Here’s your pass Captain,” Radar said, walking in and handing it to her. She smiled and kissed his cheek, making Radar’s cheeks shine bright red.

“Do you want to take anyone with you?” Henry asked.

“I think I can manage,” Stevie told him. “Thank you.” She headed back to her tent to get her helmet and everything else she needed for her trip to the city.

“And just where are you off to?” Trapper asked as Stevie passed him and BJ while heading to the motor pool.

“Seoul,” She told them. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

“And you didn’t invite me? How rude,” Trapper laughed. Stevie just shook her head.

“I’m going to say bye to Hawkeye. I’ll be back later today.” She got in the jeep and headed over towards Post-OP, where Hawkeye was making his rounds. Stevie made her way in.

“Did I miss a memo? Wear your army hat day?” Hawkeye asked with a laugh.

“Only the best fashion for a Seoul trip,” She told him. “I’ll be back later today.”

“Do you have a driver?” He asked. “I mean, I volunteer.”

“I’ll be just fine Hawkeye,” Stevie told him, standing on her tiptoes to give him a brief kiss. Some of the injured men hooted and hollered at the sight. “Oh, shush.” She laughed.

“Just be careful, okay?” Hawkeye kissed the top of her head.

“I’m always careful,” She told him with a smile before departing for her trip to Seoul.

****

Frank had relieved Hawkeye in Post-OP, so Hawkeye headed back to the Swamp. BJ was on his cot, reading a letter from Peg and Erin, and Trapper was writing to Louise, Cathy, and Becky. Hawkeye headed to the Still, poured himself a drink, and settled on his cot.

“What do you think Stevie’s going to Seoul for?” Hawkeye asked aloud.

“Her dad probably summoned her to introduce her to some brass or something like that,” BJ told him. Hawkeye nodded and settled down to enjoy his drink

****

“Oh no!” Radar said as he ran towards the Swamp. “Captains! We’ve got an injured man out here!” BJ, Trapper, and Hawkeye headed out to meet the Jeep.

“What happened?” BJ asked as the three doctors started to examine the injured soldier in the back of the jeep.

“We were scouting, looking for a sniper that had injured someone earlier and found him on the side of the road,” The driver explained. “We had just taken a woman to the 8063rd that got hit by the sniper.”

“Wait, a woman?” Hawkeye asked.

“Yeah, got hit in the chest,” The driver told him. Trapper and BJ glanced up at Hawkeye.

“Hawk, it wasn’t her,” Trapper assured him, but Hawkeye wasn’t listening.

“Think you guys can manage?” He asked, waving at the wounded soldier.

“Yeah, we got him,” Trapper nodded. “But what are you doing?”

“I have to make a call to Seoul,” Hawkeye told them before going to Radar’s office to make a call. Radar was working on his report when Hawkeye approached his desk.

“Radar, I need to make a call,” Hawkeye told him. “Quickly.”

“I have a list of things to do and…” Radar looked up at Hawkeye, and the look on his face ignited him. “Give me just a second, okay? Who are we calling?”

“General Samuel Holstead,” Hawkeye told him.

“Stevie’s dad? Why are we calling him?”

“An emergency,” Hawkeye told him. Radar nodded and got the phone.

“Sparky? Yeah it’s Radar. I need to get in touch with Seoul. General Samuel Holstead,” Radar listened for a second. “Sparky, it’s a medical emergency. Hurry.” A few moments later, Radar was handing Hawkeye the phone.

“General? It’s Hawkeye,” Hawkeye sighed. “Captain Pierce. Your daughter’s boyfriend.”

“ Oh, Captain. What do I owe this call to?”

“Is Stevie still there?” Hawkeye asked.

“ No, she left about a half hour ago or so. Why?”

“We have sniper fire general. We just got an injured man and the driver said they took a woman to the 8063rd.” Hawkeye wanted to get up and pace. He felt so hopeless just sitting here, manning the phone.

“ I’m calling the 8063rd right now,” Samuel told Hawkeye before hanging up. Hawkeye stood and started to pace before turning to look at Radar.

“Radar, can you…”

“Sparky, get me the 8063rd,” Radar spoke into the phone before Hawkeye even had a chance to finish his sentence.

****

Stevie parked her jeep in front of her tent. Looking around to make sure no one was going to sneak up on her, she unloaded her footlocker from the back of the jeep and dragged it inside, replacing it at the end of her cot with a smile.

“There. Christmas is taken care of,” She smiled to herself as she put her helmet away and headed back out to return the jeep and go see Hawkeye.

****

Hawkeye had just hung up the phone with the 8063rd, BJ and Trapper hovering after having fixed up the injured soldier and were waiting to hear any news.

“I couldn’t get through,” Hawkeye sighed as the door opened. “I don’t know who the injured woman is.”

“Someone’s injured?” Stevie asked as she stepped inside the office.

“Yeah, it might be...Stevie!” Trapper’s smile lit up as he wrapped her in a big hug.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" BJ hugged her next.

“Did I miss something?” Stevie asked when he pulled back. Hawkeye came over and quickly wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “Hawk?”

“Are you ok?” Hawkeye asked, pulling back from her so he could look at her.

“I’m fine, just very confused,” She looked at all three of the surgeons. Radar had gone to tell Henry what was going on.

“We got an injured man. Shot by a sniper,” BJ explained. “And the driver told us they had just taken a woman to the 8063rd for the same reason.”

“And you guys thought it was me,” Stevie finished. They all nodded. “I’m fine guys. I got escorted back by a convoy heading to another unit. No snipers or shooting or anything like that.” Hawkeye pulled her to him again, trying to calm himself down.

“Any news from the 8063rd?” Henry asked as him and Radar walked in. “If anything happened to her I’ll…”

“Henry, she’s all right,” Trapper told the colonel. Hawkeye let go of Stevie so Henry and Radar could see her alive and well.

“Oh thank god,” Henry sighed. “You’re not allowed to scare us like that ever again!”

“I will try my hardest,” Stevie smiled. “Now, I need to shower.” She waved goodbye to them and headed out of the office, Hawkeye following her.

#the general's daughter #mash #fanfiction #hawkeye pierce

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fortheloveoffanfic · 5 years ago

Text

The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- Last week’s chapter had so many typos that it wasn’t even funny. This is very late, but I kept getting distracted.)

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3 Chapter4 Chapter5 Chapter6 Chapter7 Chapter8 Chapter9 Chapter10 Chapter11

Chapter 12- Matrimony

“Watch you spin around In your highest heels You are the best one Of the best ones.” -Dashboard Confessional, Stolen (Slow version.)

After the incident at his house, Y/n and Keanu had talked, not argued that time, but simply talked. He had been honest, telling her that it might only get worse from then on, and it had. Somehow, they had found her work and her apartment building and even if they weren’t shoving cameras in her face, the paparazzi were always lurking where she couldn’t see them. Pictures of her had started to make the rounds on the internet, along with speculations and of course, the occasional insult.

Who was the woman that had stolen Keanu’s heart?

Had he ever smiled like that with other women?

She’s spending a lot of time at his place, is she moving in soon?

How long had they been dating?

Why is she so young?

Where’d he even meet her?

The last one was one that Y/n couldn’t really get. Was it an insult? A compliment? It didn’t really sound like either. They had even managed to find out some of Y/n’s personal information, her name, her birthplace and where she went to school. Ah the woes of the internet!

Much to Y/n’s surprise though, there had also been the rare compliment and at some point through out the past week and a half, she had built up a small following; a tiny clique on social media that had already become obsessed with her. They fawned over the way she dressed, her make-up, how pleasant she seemed even if they’d never even met her and how much they admired that she had substance in her own right; she didn’t need Keanu’s fortune for stability, she was her own woman, not ‘arm candy waiting to cash in on his next paycheck’.

Above the insults, the compliments and the questions being hurled her way, Keanu had been the loudest voice, and the holder of the only other opinion that really mattered in that situation. After the tour bus had gotten as many shots as they could, he’d been sure to make ensure that she was okay before telling her that they really only had two options moving forward as a couple; come clean and tell the fans what they wanted to hear, or keep running around and stealing kisses in the shadows. Keanu had told her to take all the time she needed to think it over, and that he’d be fine with either, as long as they were still together, but a week and a half later, Y/n could see through the cracks of his cool persona. He wanted an answer.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been debating it though, she really had. But with all the stress of Julie’s wedding, she found herself incapable of making a decision. Neither seemed to be the right one. On one hand, coming out as a couple meant that their lives would be on display, she’d never have the privacy she did before and there wasn’t a thing of her relationship that would just be there. But on the other, sneaking around was hard and there were only so many places in L.A that offered quiet calmness and good entertainment; by then being followed and going on regular dates seemed synonymous with each other.

Even as they had navigated LAX, readying themselves to board the plane to Las Vegas, cameras were aimed at their faces and invasive questions shot their way. Thankfully though, things seemed to cool down upon their arrival at the hotel where Julie and Eric’s wedding would take place; right at the poolside.

The three days since they had landed went by in a blur and between making last minute changes to the menu and compiling the final guest list, Y/n had barely found a minute to enjoy the beginnings of their trip with Keanu.

“You have your tux, right?” Y/n asked, checking through her bag again, making sure she had everything so she wouldn’t have to hurry back to their room in the midst of getting ready.

Keanu sauntered out of the adjoining bathroom, towel over his imitate areas riding low on his hips. Biting her lips, it took an insurmountable level of will power to even shift her gaze from his faintly defined ‘v’ line to his eyes. Keanu didn’t have one of those ‘gym bods’ that so many women fawned over, instead, he had the faintest definition at his chest and a soft stomach, but Y/n loved every part of it. He was real, and he was hers. Chuckling, Keanu approached her, his hair still wet from his shower, though his skin a bit toweled off, “See something you like?” He teased, grabbing her hips, his hands slipping under the hem of her pale yellow blouse.

“Maybe,” Y/n giggled, her hands skimming Keanu’s forearms and biceps, settling on his shoulders. Standing on the tips of her toes, she caught his lips in a deep kiss, yelping when his hands slid around her back to cup her ass, squeezing gently, “Don’t do that!” She protested, a wide grin still splitting her lips.

“Why not?” Keanu taunted, going to nibble on her lower lip, his words muffled by his lips on hers, “Seems like you’re enjoying it.”

Trying, though weakly, to push away, Y/n protested feebly, “I have to go get ready with Jules, that’s why. The wedding is in a few hours.”

“Wedding always start late,” Keanu counted, reeling her back in.

“Not this one,” Y/n objected. When she finally untangled from his embrace, very reluctantly so, it was hard to not give into Keanu’s playful pout, “We’ll have tonight, and the rest of this week.”

“Fine,” Keanu feigned annoyance; huffing as he looked away, folding his muscled arms across his broad chest, “As long as you promise.”

Sighing, Y/n rolled her eyes and biting back a soft smile, she closed the distance she had just put between them, placing her hands on his elbows, “I promise,” she emphasized, “Now, you never answered me about your tux.”

Leaning down to gently tap his forehead to Y/n’s, Keanu chortled quietly; that was probably the sixth time that she’d asked if he’d brought along a tux, and that was just since they’d gotten there. “It’s still right over there,” he pointed to the armoire where a black garment bag hung of one off the brass knobs.

“Right, right. Sorry,” Y/n shook her head, exhaling loudly, “I’ve just been...”

“Stressed?” Keanu lovingly pecked her forehead, “I know baby, it’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, her grin faint, cuddling to Keanu’s chest so she could warp her arms around her middle, “Why are weddings so much work?”

Hugging her back, her fingers soothingly rubbing up and down her spine, Keanu bent his head so he could bury his nose in Y/n’s hair, “Because they’re special, and special things take work sometimes.”

“So wise,” Y/n hummed, only pulling away from their embrace when she felt her breathing even out and her heart slow; leave it to Keanu to be the eye of the hurricane, the sheltered harbor in the storm. “I should head upstairs.”

“Yeah,” Keanu kissed Y/n briefly after he’d walked her to the door, “I’ll see you later,” he waved, watching as she shrunk with distance, finally disappearing into the elevator.

Three hours later From the glass panes on the door separating the hotel’s downstairs dining hall from the gorgeous pool area, Y/n could see how the small team of hired decorators had gone all out. A white carpet peppered with colorful flower petals lined the pathway towards the alter, which had been set up before the pool; the man-made waterfall providing the perfect background. White chairs adorned with baby pink and rose gold chiffon drapes and flowers flanked the walkway and on the right sat Julie’s guests while on the left were Eric’s The setting sun casted a dark orange hue over the environs and the mood was perfected by short candles, set in mason jars floating carelessly in the pool.

The officiant stood behind a white, short pillar, hands slipped into his pockets as he awaited the start of the ceremony. Not too far off from the greying man, was Eric, dressed in a light brown tux, nervously rocking back and forth as he awaited his bride. Next to him stood his best man and, several feet to their left, the string quartet had set themselves up, adding a melodious backdrop for the buzzing chatter.

Y/n briefly glanced at Julie, who stood anxiously at her side, holding her bouquet in a death grip. She looked beautiful, her white tea length dress embellished with glittering rhinestones, a two-inch thick ribbon belt at her waist and capped lace, sleeves barely going over her shoulders. Julie and Y/n had spent hours the week before, searching for the perfect dress, though, when the clerk at the last boutique they had visited brought that one out, Julie had known from just the sight of it that she had found the one. The ivory silk and number looked like it was made for Y/n’s best friend. Her blonde hair had been pinned strategically with bejeweled accessories, her vintage netted veil falling over her face. Upon seeing her for the first time, Y/n had almost teared up; her closest friends, someone who had become family over the past twenty-five years, getting married, and she was right there at her side while it happened.

“You ready?” Y/n turned to Julie, who was buzzing with nervous energy.

Letting out a breath, Julie met Y/n’s eyes, her own wide and worried, “I don’t know,” blinking back unshed tears, she shook her head, “Y/n/n, what if this is a mistake, what if you’re right?”

Y/n furrowed her brows, fighting the urge to drag her red stained lips through her teeth. At first, Y/n had thought that Julie getting married so soon couldn’t be anything but a mistake, but then, it was clear that Y/n had only been projecting her own fears onto her friend’s relationship. And by the way Julie and Eric looked at each other, it was clear that above everything, they loved each other, just like she loved Keanu. Sighing, Y/n rubbed Julie’s shoulder affectionately, “It’s not, and I was wrong. Jules, you love him, and that man out there,” she pointed to Eric, “Loves you.”

Straightening her back and passing a hand over the skirt of her dress, Julie nodded firmly, “You know, I always thought you’d get married first,” at that Y/n just chuckled, rolling her eyes, and Julie continued, “But maybe yours will be the next wedding I go to.”

Y/n hadn’t ever though of her wedding being in the near future, but settling down was something she had always wanted. Maybe with Keanu, the thought, and its realization, wouldn’t be so far off. “Maybe,” was all she said in return.

At the nod of one the hotel’s staff that had been recruited for the wedding, the music changed from a serene instrumental piece to the Wedding March. A couple other staff members pulled the double doors open just as the gathered guests stood. It wasn’t a lot, just a few from either side, and Y/n could easily make out her own parents in the third row; Julie was like a second daughter to them, there was no way that they’d miss her wedding. Keanu sat, looking as dapper as ever, at the nearest end of the second row, one of Julie’s cousins next to him.

Slowly, and arm in arm, Y/n and Julie walked up the aisle, the sound of cameras shuttering and clicking adding to the music and the trickle of the water. In what felt like no time, Y/n was tearing up again as she pecked Julie on the cheek and briefly hugged her soon-to-be, sort of, brother in law. “I’m so happy for both of you,” she offered softly, before taking her place as not only the maid of honor, but also the only bridesmaid.

Julie handed over her bouquet and at some point, someone else gave her one of the rings to keep until they were ready for it. The lovely ceremony went off without a hitch and as the officiant recited a poem about love, Y/n searched the crowd, easily meeting Keanu’s eyes, smiling as his own grin widened. “I love you,” she mouthed just before Julie and Eric exchanged vows.

Putting his hand over his chest, he returned soundlessly, “I love you too.”

By the Julie and Eric had been pronounced man and wife, it was near night floor and before Y/n could reunite with Keanu, she’d stayed back with them to take pictures. The photo session had taken nearly hour and by the time she was finished, just in time to head back inside before the some one to announce the newly weds, she was all but falling into Keanu’s arms.

“Hi,” she sighed breathily, not hesitating before sinking into his arms, “It’s over, mostly,” she giggled.

Keanu chuckled, basking in their embrace as he pushed off the bar counter, “It is.” Even when they pulled away, Keanu’s hands lingered on Y/n’s arms, “I can’t believe I’m just now getting the chance to tell you how beautiful you look, a vison in pink,” he praised.

“Aww,” Y/n cooed, blushing, “Thank you,” for emphasis, she did a little curtsy; pulling on the skirt of her short dress. Since she had been the only bridesmaid, Julie had given her most of the power in choosing the dress, only asking that she stay within the color-scheme. Ultimately, Y/n had gone with a knee length pink, sleeveless, chiffon with a conservative ‘v’ shaped neckline and a crossed back, exposing some of the skin there, pairing her ensemble a pair of heeled sandals and a decorative bandeau. “You look quiet dashing yourself,” Y/n winked, “Who knew you’d be so fucking hot in a suit.”

Keanu laughed a little louder, his hand reaching for Y/n’s hip, pulling her in so he could plant a kiss on her lips, “You really know how to flatter a guy, don‘t you?”

“You make it easy,” Y/n hummed in returned, their sweet, short, kisses morphing into a full blown make-out session, “I love you,” she managed in the short time between kisses.

“I love you too,” Keanu barely returned before her lips were on his again. His arms snaked her waist and Y/n maintained a loose grip on the lapels of his jacket.

They were so lost in each other that neither of them noticed the older couple standing a couple feet away, until a man cleared his throat loudly. Springing apart, Keanu smoothed his hand over his jacket and Y/n put her fingers to her lips, turning around to see the culprits, eyes widening, “Mom, dad!” She smiled tightly.

Stiffly, she approached them, and they each pulled Y/n into quickly hugs as Keanu kept a safe distance, observing silently, “Honey!” Her mother grinned, though anyone one could see that there was a district curiosity in her eyes.

Though, Keanu would take curiosity over the dagger-glares from her father any day. The man who looked nothing short of very intimidating, offered a stare that suggested that he was ready to strangle who ever the man sucking his daughter’s face was. “Y/n,” he tried to smile affectionately, “You never told her you were seeing someone new.”

“Roger,” her mother swatted at his chest, “What your father means is that.....well, dear, we didn’t know you had a friend.”

“A boyfriend,” Roger gave Keanu a steely once over, “Or, in this case, a man-friend.”

Exhaling, Y/n laughed nervously, “I.....guess it slipped me,” or rather, she had conveniently avoided telling them in fear of their reaction. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of Keanu; she could never be, but Y/n was terrified that her parents would hate him, besides she hadn’t let any boyfriend meet them since collage. “Dad, mom,” she nodded to them, moving back a little to take Keanu’s hand, urging him forward even though he seemed nervous, “This is Keanu, my boyfriend. And Keanu, this is my mom Maryann and my dad Roger.”

“He’s an actor,” her father observed bluntly, narrowing his eyes in skepticism, “They don’t treat their women right.” Roger took Keanu’s offered hand, squeezing tight as he gave it a firm shake.

“Daddy!” Y/n gasped, moving closer to Keanu, slipping her hand around his back defensively, “Keanu is-”

“No, its okay Y/n,” Keanu glanced down at Y/n, his eyes communicating to her that it was okay and that he didn't need her to stand up for him. Clearing his throat Keanu nodded stiffly at Roger, politely retracting his hand, letting it fall to his side. Turning back to her parents, Keanu stood up a little straighter and plastered on the sweetest smile he had, “I know that people in my career don’t have the best rap, but I can promise you that I have the best of intentions for Y/n. She’s,” he glanced Y/n again, that time with love and adoration, “The most remarkable woman I’ve ever met, and I plan on treating her well.”

Roger raised his head higher, seeing to regard Keanu in a new light. Everyone seemed to hold their breaths for his next words and Y/n sighed in relief when he finally spoke again, slapping Keanu’s shoulder, “I was wondering if you’d have the balls to stand up to me, can’t have by little girl running around with a whimp.“

That time, both Y/n and her mother gasped loudly, looking to her father who just chuckled quietly. Realizing that Roger wasn’t going to say much more, having already gotten what he set out to find, Maryann spoke next, seemingly a bit taken a back, “So, how did you two meet?”

“At a party, Julie introduced us,” Y/n’s breath shuddered as she hung on for her mother’s go at testing Keanu, “We started dating a little while after.”

Nodding slowly, Y/n’s mother hummed, licking her lips, “Okay,” her brows knitted, “It’s just.....” Maryann’s smile faltered, “Y/n/n, can I just, steal you away for a second?”

Stuttering, Y/n frowned deeply. “Sure,” she nodded hesitantly, pecking Keanu’s cheek before following her mother to a quieter corner. When they were a distance away from Keanu and her father, Y/n spared them one last glance before turning back to her mother, “Mom, what’s up?”

Maryann worried on her words for a few seconds, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” she reached for Y/n’s hand, “But are you sure a man like Keanu is what you want?”

Tilting her head, Y/n frowned, fighting the urge to suck in a nervous breath, “What do you mean?”

“It’s just....well...” What a heavy sigh, Maryann finally relented, “He’s so much older than you.”

Scoffing, Y/n shook her head, “Doesn’t matter how old he is; I love him,” she determined, squaring her shoulders, ready for that interaction to be over.

“Doesn't matter?” Her mother’s disdain evident, “Y/n, he’s at least twenty years older than you. Don’t you think it’ll matter when he’s ready for things that you aren’t?”

“Like what? Kids?” Y/n rolled her eyes; she hadn’t meant for her words to come across as harsh, but she wasn’t about to stand there and let her mother condemn her relationship. In fact, that was why Y/n hadn’t mentioned Keanu to her over their phone calls in the first place; she adored her mother, but really didn’t want her bad-mouthing her relationship with Keanu.

“What the hell does that mean?” Maryann’s teeth were gritted, signaling that Y/n had struck a nerve, “I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made!”

“So marrying dad was a mistake, huh? Or was it just having us?” Y/n ripped her hand away from her mother’s loose grip, folding her arms defensively across her chest. Around them, guests navigated the grand hall, their giddy laughter and excited chatter was a vast contrast to the conflict bubbling between Y/n and her mother.

Anger flared in Maryann’s eyes, “That is not what I meant!” She hissed loudly.

“But it’s what you meant every time you say you regret not living your life before you were forced to become a mother. Newsflash mom, I’m not like you, I want marriage and kids and everything you didn’t, and I want it with Keanu,” taking a deep breath, Y/n blinked back her tears, “You know what mom? I don’t need this right now, or at all, I love Keanu and if you’re not okay with that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry because he means a lot to me and there’s nothing you, or anyone can say that will change my mind, and I’m sorry that you can’t accept him because of something as menial as his age. But I’m not sorry for loving him.” Sniffling, Y/n swiped at her eyes, “I should go mingle.....or something,” shaking her head, Y/n turned on her heel, stalking off.

“I’m just trying to help you,” her mother stressed, hand on her temple as Y/n walked away

Nodding stiffly, Y/n was too far gone, at least for now, to continue that conversation with her mother, “I don’t need your help mom, I just wanted you to be happy for me.”

”Maybe you should slow down a bit,” Keanu mused, reaching for Y/n’s glass, which she tired to move out of his reach, “I love you baby, but nobody wants a drunk bridesmaid, especially when you’re the only bridesmaid.”

Y/n hadn’t told Keanu what she and her mother had talked about, instead, she had opted to drown her anger with alcohol and hope that the hangover the next day wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe getting drunk at her best friend's wedding wasn’t her best idea, but nearly a bottle and a half of champagne later, she was a bit past caring. “Not drunk,” Y/n frowned when Keanu moved the bottle out of her reach, “You need to loosen up babe, we’re at a wedding, not a funeral.”

Keanu furrowed his brows, wondering if Y/n could hear the first hints of slur in her voice. He knew something was bothering her, and he knew it had everything to do with what had happened between her and her mother. If only she’d tell him. “We don’t need to be drunk because we’re at a wedding,” Keanu reasoned.

“Don’t need to be sober either. Besides,” she sang, clumsily pulling off her bandeau and brushing her hair out of her face, “We need to have fun,” Leaning in to Keanu, who sat on the chair pulled close to Y/n’s, she brought her face close to his, “Don’t you want to have fun Keanu?” Y/n’s lips were an inch away from his and just when he though she was going to kiss him, Y/n reached out, trying to sneak the bottle out of his hold.

Thankfully, Keanu hadn’t had half as much as his girlfriend and was able to react quickly, raising his hand over his head, leaving Y/n stumbling into him. With his free arm, Keanu kept Y/n from falling over, “Maybe we should get you some fresh air.”

“You wanna go outside?” Her features brightened significantly, the alcohol tinting her cheeks rosy pink.

“Yeah,” Keanu chuckled at her childlike wonder, “Come on,” he helped her stand, leading her with a hand on her lower back, through the doors, out to where the ceremony was held earlier.

Outside, some of the candles still burned in the water while most of the chairs had been shifted around, no longer reflective of the earlier uniformed elegance. The air was cool, which was surprising, and with the door now closed, the music was muffled, though not inaudible. Shrugging off his jacket, Keanu helped Y/n into it, smiling at how the dark material swallowed her up.

Keanu led them over to a couple chairs near the pool, where some decorative plants would guard them from any prying eyes, “Do you wanna talk about it?” He broke their silence.

“Talk about what?” She feigned ignorance, not looing at him directly.

“What happened between you and your mother,” Keanu draped his arm around Y/n’s shoulders, keeping her tucked at his side, “You know that you can talk to me about anything,” he kissed her temple.

“I know,” Y/n hummed, her eyes glassy, her voice soft, “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. She’s thinks that I’m making a mistake, I don’t,” she shook her shoulders.

“You don’t think you’re going to regret being with me one day?” Keanu angled his head to catch a glimpse of her face. He hadn’t thought about it before, but now that it was out there, he couldn’t help but worry that he wasn’t the best thing for her. What would happen in twenty years, the space between them would look so different when they were older, when the shine wore off and a loving relationship turned into....whatever it would? What about one day, when he wasn’t with her anymore? Could he bare to put her through it, could she stand the thought enough to stay with him?

For the first time since they sat, Y/n smiled, snorting a laugh, “No, of course not. I don’t care about what the future looks like, as long as you love me in it,” Y/n smiled wistfully, twisting and reaching out awkwardly to brush some strands out of Keanu’s “Are you gonna regret being with me?”

Smiling, Keanu tentatively squeezed her shoulders, “I could never.”

“Good,” Y/n’s grin widened, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.�� Standing abruptly, Y/n went over to a cleared spot in front of the pool, “We shouldn’t waste such a beautiful night dwelling on that.”

Leaning back into his chair, Keanu put one hand on his thigh, the other still hanging off of what was Y/n’s chair. She seemed so lost in her own little, drunken world. Spreading her arms out at her side, Y/n spun in a full circle, her dress flaring carelessly around her knees. Keanu regarded her with wonder and amazement, not fully understanding what good deed could have accounted for Y/n coming into his life. How had he managed to get so lucky, when just two months ago, he was alone.

But there he was, at a wedding, with possibly the love of his life. Happy, contented and excited for the future. She had come into his life, and changed it, faster than he could have ever imagined. She captivated him with her beauty, enthralled him with her sweet voice and captured his heart before Keanu could realize it. Y/n was a hundred times better than anyone woman he could dream up; she was his own personal piece of heaven, and if he could be fortunate enough to spend the rest of his life with her, then he couldn’t care less if he’d make it to the golden gates that everyone talked about.

Licking his lips, he continued staring as she came over to him, giggling, “Come on,” Y/n urged, reaching for his hands, trying to pull Keanu off the seat.

“Where do you want to go?” He chortled as she lead him to the other side of the pool, far out of sight.

Holding onto his shoulder, she undid her shoes, tossing them to the side. “Right here,” she chirped, and for a minute, Keanu was worried that she was going to get in, though, Y/n just sat on the edge of the pool, dipping her feet up to her ankles. “Sit,” she encouraged, patting the spot next to her.

Shaking his head, Keanu kicked off his shoes, took off his socks and rolled his pants up to his knees. From the minute he sat, Y/n put her head on his shoulder and he pulled her in at the waist, laying his cheek on her hair, “I love you,” Y/n said softly, “Like, a lot.”

“I love you too,” Keanu smiled, “Very, very much.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/n pulled away to meet his eyes, reaching over to lace her fingers with those of his free hand with his, “I want everything with you Ke. Everything.”

“I want that with you too Y/n,” he assured her, giving her hand a loving squeeze.

Smiling nervously, Y/n continued, finally making a decision that she had been pondering on for the past two weeks, “Good, because I think we should do it, because I don’t care if everyone knows, or hell, if no one knows. But I don’t see why we should make this harder than it has to be.”

Keanu stammered; he couldn’t believe his ears, “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t make a decision like this after drinking so much.”

“I’m sure,” Y/n nodded, a light breeze rustling their hair, and she leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips, feeling his grip on her waist tighten, “I can’t see myself being with someone else; tomorrow or ever. Lets go public Keanu.”

Laughing breathlessly, Keanu pulled her in for a celebratory kiss, “Okay,” he agreed giddily when they broke, “Lets do it.”

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @soarocks @a-really-bi-girl @kindainlovewithkeanu @bophmometwolf666

#Keanu reeves #Keanu reeves x reader #Keanu reeves x you #Keanu reeves fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick #the one that stays #the one that chapter 12 #Keanu reeves fluff #fluff #angst

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welcometoels · 4 years ago

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Session Eleven - Slathiel

And so, our adventurers completed their quest for the four items of power, and returned them to the entity known as Slathiel, as promised.

Or did they?

Something about this being rubbed certain party members up the wrong way. This, combined with the close personal connection each of them felt to one of the items, gave them pause.

Thus, a plan was hatched - each party member would speak to some of the friends they had made in town, and gather a little posse to speak to this so-called Slathiel - that way, if everything suddenly went wrong, they would have strong support in the ensuing battle.

Kadis makes the first move. Stepping into Jackie & Clutchstraw’s, he has a friendly chat with Drow artificer Aberron - who, understandably, still has a lot of questions. Kadis fills him in as best he can, and Aberron - after a quick consultation with his brass owl, Dominique - agrees.

Oddsock takes a more direct approach. Storming into the Dogwood Trading Post (Presented By Himself), he invites Jackie Face to come out and play. Jackie, though, has business in mind - specifically beer business. The market research has gone swimmingly, with the new hoppy brew going down especially well with the hard-grafting carpenters in town - in particular with the man who took the lead on building the Potions & Artifices shop: a man they refer to fondly as Jackies’ Hammer.

After agreeing that this would make a fabulous name for the beer, Oddsock gives Jackie Face a few more details about the upcoming fight. Face becomes uncharacteristically quiet, muttering under his breath about company values, teamwork and synergy, in a way the Dog finds strangely familiar. Suddenly, Jackie Face disappears into a large box of miscellaneous armour parts in the corner, and promises to see the team outside shortly.

Talion heads over to the Jaunty Skinner to speak to his new buddy and nighttime companion Freginald Biceppe. Being very well disposed towards both fighting and Talion - his two favourite things to do - Freginald needs very little encouragement to join the fray, and pledges his two meaty fists to the party’s cause.

On the other side of the pub, Julius finds Gyder at the bar with the latest in a line of foaming ales, and X at a nearby table, idly doodling couches with a distracted look on her face. Gyder has a new haircut - trimmed almost to the skin at the sides and back, with a asymmetrical fringe. It is the kind of cut that would look spiffy on an Elf, but serves mostly to accentuate the severity of her face. This may have been the point.

Julius approaches both with a panicked entreaty for help. X yelps and quickly hides her drawings, before asking what is wrong. After a brief, stuttering rundown of the situation from the Otter, X immediately agrees to assist, and turns to Gyder. The Half-Orc drains her ale in one swallow - game on.

Out in the town square, as everyone gathers, new companion Batch 38 Unit 12 is standing in conversation with Aberron Clutchstraw. The Helpforged cleric is going into extensive detail regarding their inner workings, while the Drow stands agog, in rapt attention.

Suddenly, from the Trading Post door, there appears a strange contraption: Half of a suit of armour, with raccoon faces peeking out from the neck and wrist holes, mounted on a unicycle. Jackies Left and Right clutch a katar and tea tray respectively, while Jackie Face shouts commands at Jackie Bottom’s madly pedalling feet. Jackie Middle is in there somewhere, doubtless horribly warm at the heart of the hastily-assembled Mecha-Jackie.

Standing in the deepening dusk and watching with a sense of bemusement as this all take place, Slathiel now commands attention. An agreement was made, a quest given and accepted, yet no items of power have yet been presented. Folding their six golden arms and flapping their wings, Slathiel requests them once again.

It is now that the party begins to ask questions that had been festering since their first encounter - specifically about who Slathiel is, and what they need the gems and lanterns for - but Slathiel is not in an answering mood.

Talion laments his lack of a Detect Good & Evil spell, and 38/12 - helpful by design - twists the spell focus on their chest to the left, lighting up several magical runes imprinted on their body. With a wave of their hand, the verdict is announced:

“This entity before us is... Evil.”

With that, Slathiel’s demeanour changes. Unfolding their mighty ruby wings and taking flight up to the roof of the Jaunty Skinner, their form too begins to alter: The six golden arms merge into two thick, grey, scaly limbs, their height increases and their head widens, with a mouthful of sharp teeth and two cruel eyes glaring down at the gathered people below.

The creature hunches forward on the roof, turning its hands about in arcane gestures. “I gave you the chance to do what I asked,” it says, “but you have chosen death.”

From its scaly hands it shoots a Fireball, straight at 38/12. The Helpforged dodges the worst of the blast, but Kadis and Aberron are less fortunate, finding themselves close to death.

Worse still, Dominique is hit full force by the flames, and is shattered to pieces - a pile of broken brass and a single bright gem lying where the owl once was.

38/12 does their best to apply healing, while X dashes over to assist and Aberron, recovering from the loss of Dominique, conjures up an Eldritch Cannon to imbue those nearby with bonus health. The Jackies make a decent fist of pedalling in roughly the right direction, whilst buffing themselves with the Power of Commerce.

Deeper into the fight, those that can fire projectiles do so, to varying levels of success. Kadis dashes round to the side of the inn with the intent to scale it, and Julius cast Faerie Fire on Slathiel, lighting it up like a festive tree. Having achieved this, he transforms into a giant Wolf Spider, and begins to climb the front of the pub.

Slathiel, infuriated by this affront, descends, in order to bring the fight to the party. Freginald takes this as his cue, and makes with the fancy footwork and fists to the face. Talion lends his rapier to the fray, Gyder strides forth with her greataxe, and X conjurs up a spiritual weapon to assist.

Julius, abandoning the wall plan, drops his spider form and brings up a Moonbeam of radiant energy upon Slathiel, while Aberron moves in to support, Oddsock makes ready with Blasts both Eldritch and Searing, and the Jackies roll out in entirely the wrong direction.

Kadis, hearing the decent of Slathiel around the corner, attempt to jimmy open one of the Jaunty Skinner’s windows, with little success. He does, however, attract landlady/mayor Tiatha Rowe’s attention, and asks her to fetch a lantern from the wall and bring it to him.

As all of this goes on, a terrible shout is heard from the south. The figure that appears is familiar, but somewhat worse for where - green-scaled Dragonborn in dirt-covered robes, with a ragged sword wound at his throat.

As he charges in, he shouts after the monk who took his lantern. The body may be Graindude, but the voice is pure Aberraton Mortesque.

He is a distant concern for now, out on the edge of town. There are more pressing matters, such as the giant lizard who is now bearing down on Freginald, to terrible effect.

Fortunately, 38/12 is on hand to provide healing, while X lets rip with a Guiding Bolt. Talion and Gyder cut away as Julius’ Moonbean shines down, and the Jackies nearly make it to the battle.

Back inside the Skinner, Tiatha has reached the window and hands a torch out to Kadis, along with a request that he try and keep the fight out of her pub. This request becomes harder to fulfil, as Barty appears from the back.

Seeing the carnage on his doorstep, something changes inside the affable Gnome. He pulls out his meat cleaver and carving knife, bellows several nautical oaths into the air, and charges forth with the rage of a sea storm.

Slathiel rears away from this new attack, and launches its fury at Freginald once again. Undeterred, the brawny fighter hammers a fist straight into its jaw, smashing its head with furious vengeance and showering the inn’s chef with gore - which he loves.

And Lo! What sight do we see here? Losing control of the unicycle once again, the Jackies charge, by accident more than design, straight into the advancing corpse of the reanimated Graindude. They set about his rotten head and shoulders with bites, jabs and tea tray slaps.

As this furious (and inadvertent) melee ensues, Kadis puts into action his torch plan. Sharpening the unlit end, he channels his apple-lobbing skills and smashes the torch in the direction of the corpse... and misses completely.

Another fine plan foiled by the Dice Gods.

Fortunately, his friends are on hand with less convoluted fighting styles, and before long the revenant falls under fist, axe, rapier, raccoon, cutlery, magic blasts, and a final scourging strike from the Moonbeam, showering everyone with rotten Warlock.

Finally, quiet falls over Dogwood square. Barty goes to draw a bath, and Aberron picks up the gem that used to be Dominique, promising to remake her better than ever.

The others simply stagger about, congratulating each other on a fight well fought, before becoming silent.

The whole world becomes silent. Then, it begins to fade from view, and nothing can be seen, heard or felt around our party of four.

The round red gem and silver lantern rise from their keepers, and float in the air, joined in this negative space by the blue gem and green lantern. As they float, they begin to dance in a slow circle above the party’s heads.

And then a voice. A slow, calm, pleasant voice.

“Well done. You were very good, very entertaining, wonderful to watch. You were not fooled by that creature, and you have forged a beautiful bond as a party.

“We will meet again, I’m sure, elsewhere in this world. But for now, I will leave you with a gift.”

The gems and lanterns begin to change form in the space above their heads. The blue gem shrinks into a perfect blue pebble, and attached itself to Julius’ necklack, next to Pa McGinley’s charm; the green lantern becomes a small black and green egg, and sets itself next to Kadis’ cursed idol; The silver lantern flattens itself into something that could be a plectrum or a silver dragon scale, and hangs beside Talion’s jagged onyx charm; and the red gem becomes a gleaming red bottle cap, which hangs on to Oddsock’s leather tunic, at his neck.

Finally, the remains of Slathiel swim into view, and a perfect golden gem emerges from its skull. This too undergoes a transformation, into a tiny golden gear, which lands in Kadis’ hand.

“There is one more,” says the disembodied voice. “Make sure this gets to them.”

The world then rushes back into view, but not quite as it was. The dusk sky is subtly different in colour - more vibrant than before - and way off to the south stands a tall spire.

It is completely unfamiliar to Oddsock, though Julius may once or twice have seen it on the far horizon, and Kadis and Talion will have heard tales of it - the tallest tower in Els.

It is Barty, though, who speaks.

“Monthend Spire,” he says, his voice filled with awe. “Now I know where we are.”

#dnd #dnd homebrew #5e

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johannstutt413 · 5 years ago

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(requested by gamerwolf29)

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages!” The Doctor was standing in the middle of the dojo, cupping his hands to spread the sound better. “We have a very special demonstration for you today! In the red corner, the battlin’ boxer who’ll knock your lights out UNLESS you’ve got the goods. It’s our fish-snatching honeysucker come down from the Underground, BEEEEEEEHUNTER!”

“Alright, let’s do this!” Beehunter was in her usual gear, minus the brass knuckles.

The Announcer (a new role of his) directed the crowd of enthused Operators to her opponent. “And in the blue corner, the grandmaster and heir of an ancient style who’s renowned for her work both on and off the battlefield; normally, she’s packing a pair of metal gauntlets, but tonight, the gloves are coming off! It’s the powerhouse panda who’ll leave you black and white all over, FEEEEEEEEAAAAAter!”

“Thanks for the invite!” She was bouncing on her toes, at least as excited about this matchup as Beehunter was, although she’d decided to wear a more traditional outfit. “This is gonna be exciting!”

“I don’t doubt that one bit. Alright, we’re closing off betting, so once Swire’s given me the thumbs-up...Let’s get this show on the road! One round, fight until your opponent either gives out or gives up. 3...2...1...LET’S RUMBLEEEEEEEE!!!!”

The reason the Doctor called this a special demonstration was obvious from the moment their fists met the first time; Beehunter was a master of the tavern-brawler’s style, using whatever tricks were available to leave her opponents knocked senseless, while FEater, despite her reputation, had not only received classical training, but real combat experience had honed her into a precise weapon with an encyclopedic knowledge of the ways the Universal Fist could bring her opponent to their knees. In theory, this was the ultimate battle of nature versus nurture, instinct versus intellect, and some of the crowd had shown up just to see which would win out.

Most, however, had simply seen the posters Deepcolor had drawn about a no-holds-beared fistfight between the two Operators best known for exercising their right to bear arms while refusing to bear arms, and the number of puns the Doctor had crammed into his marketing pitch had impressed enough people that word had spread like wildfire. If they’d had a proper ring, they could have gotten Siege to dress up and hold the round cards and made this a proper MMA match, but for their purposes? It was probably better this way.

All-in-all, it took Beehunter five minutes of brutal hand-to-hand to finally win the fight, much to the surprise and delight of the audience. Both of them were bruised to hell and back, but Gavial was there to fix them up after the fight (not intentionally, just because she was the Medic most interested with events like this), and once they could both walk off the field of battle, the Doctor and a couple volunteers worked on cleaning things up for the next event (a sparring match between Ch’en and Texas) while the bear-knuckled brawlers went to the locker room.

“Man, that was something!” Beehunter was floating on air after her victory, but she knew how close it’d been. “I mean, I knew from your movies you could fight, but getting to actually feel it was amazing! And some of those takedowns - if you had those gloves on, I would’ve totally died!”

“I’m really impressed you took that fight, Bee. I knew you were good, too, but you totally outdid your reputation out there. Aaaah, I just wished we could’ve done a full three rounds!” FEater was pumped up, too - it didn’t matter who won the fight in the end, what mattered was how incredible the journey had been all the way to the end.

The grizzled veteran nodded. “Yeah, that would’ve- hey, we could, though, couldn’t we?”

“Oh, I wish,” FEater sighed. “I can’t do it today, but maybe later this week?”

“Aww, you’re not up for one now?”

She smirked. “Right now?”

“Yeah, why not?” Bee grinned; they’d both changed out of their clothes and were heading to the showers. “We did it back in the Underground all the time! Some of my best fights happened in baths.”

“Alright, let’s do this, then.” FEater and Beehunter went to the back, where a wall of showerheads were set up, and turned on every other head.

Once everything was set up, the grizzly counted off. “Alright, three, two, one, go!”

“Hyah!” The panda charged forward, only to trip in the middle of the attack; she landed her shot, but instead of a punch, she accidentally tackled Bee to the ground. Neither of them were hurt that much, but FEater’s head was firmly lodged in her opponent’s chest for a few moments. She sat up once she came to her senses, breathing heavily. “Is that going to happen a lot?”

“Yeah, probably. Still wanna do it?” Beehunter was no longer focused on the fight.

FEater followed her eyes and chuckled. “Eyes up here, Bee.”

“I’ve made my choice,” she smiled back. “Which of us is bigger, though...”

“I think I have a better idea for what we can do while we’re here,” the panda announced, crawling hand-and-knee back to Beehunter.

Her target sat up, arching her back. “Oh do you now?”

“Yep!” FEater went straight from her crawl to wrapping her arms around Bee’s neck, pulling her head into her chest with a giggle. “I may not be able to top you in a fight, but I bet I can have you screaming ‘Uncle.’”

“You’re on, starlet!” Beehunter pushed her back, and the rest...is probably a bit too steamy for this Tumblr blog.

#arknights #FEater (arknights)#Beehunter (arknights)#i have a few weaknesses #this certainly falls under one of them #would love to know which of these two would win a best of three though #arknights fic

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mypassionfortrash · 6 years ago

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Do More of What Scares You (Part 12)

After you leave, things go from bad to worse for Roger over the rest of the tour as his bandmates distance themselves from him. Back home, your best friend comes up with a plan to take your mind off Roger. 💡Catch up: 1&2 ~ 3&4 ~ 5&6 ~ 7&8&9 ~ 10&11💡

Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I’m going to be posting the final two parts over the weekend! Get ready!

Things got worse for Roger as the tour progressed.

He stumbled through each show, barely registering which city he found himself in; trashed kits, broken bottles and spending a fortune on thrills of every kind had become ingrained in his daily routine. He threw himself back into the rock and roll lifestyle with gusto.

Every night, the parties grew with wild, unchecked opulence. Cocaine did the rounds. It never agreed with him, but he took it by the bucketload these days. Strippers were a staple. He loved those. He especially enjoyed the ‘extra services’ they offered to select (read: rich) clients. He’d tip them handsomely, too - more out of self pity than gratitude.

Each member of his band slowly distanced themselves from him.

Roger couldn’t see past the inciting incident that led to the demise of his relationship. And the blame for that he placed squarely on Freddie. He was as twisted as Roger, and he had other, better and more important distractions to attend to. Any time Roger and Freddie ended up in the same room together, it would always end in Roger reminding Freddie that he left his girlfriend for dead; then Freddie’s assistant, Paul, would drag him away to the nearest sordid club to make him forget about that day’s argument. Roger loved holding grudges, though. There was no way of breaking that cycle, so Freddie made sure to keep his distance for the rest of the tour.

Then Deacy grew tired of his hostility. Roger was like a petulant child, whining about how much he missed his girlfriend, and how it was all Freddie’s fault she left him. There was only so much Deacy could listen to, so much he could watch. Not wanting to be dragged into Roger’s mission for self destruction, Deacy quietly gave up spending time with him. Roger would swing by Deacy’s hotel room after every other gig, looking for another buddy to get wrecked with. But Deacy knew how to fob people off - it wasn’t hard when it was a drunk and emotional Roger. “I’m busy,” “I’m washing my hair,” “Sorry, Veronica’s going to call and put the kids on the phone.” All lies. He spent more time sampling local bars - and local women - with the crew than with his bandmates.

Brian stuck by Roger the longest. He was always the one to try to make Roger see sense when he was deep in the throes of another rough night. But when Roger almost suffocated in a pile of white powder and his own vomit, Brian just couldn’t bring himself to watch as his best friend ruined himself so stubbornly. There was no talking to Roger.

And so, on the morning that Queen were due to fly home, Roger had to be woken up by his assistant, Crystal.

He lay, spaced out of his dainty blonde head, in the centre of a kingsized bed with a greasy looking prostitute on each arm. A peaceful scene, that Crystal took great pleasure in ruining by throwing no less than six icy glasses of water over.

“The fuck did you do that for?” Roger whined, sitting bolt upright.

“You’re supposed to be on a flight home in two hours,” Crystal responded with a jab of his finger. “Get them out of here and get in the shower. You fucking stink.”

Roger groaned, throwing himself back down into his pillow, while his company frantically retrieved their scant clothing from the previous night.

Crystal gave it an hour, standing guard outside Roger’s room. He had even taken the liberty of dragging Roger’s belongings down to the car outside. But when Roger failed to show, he took matters into his own hands. He teamed up with Ratty, one of Freddie’s roadies, to haul the drummer outside by any means necessary. He was like a dead weight - the pair swore they nearly put their back out, carting him out of the hotel.

When the deed was done, and Mr Taylor was safely stowed in First (with enough champagne and cocaine to last him the flight back to Heathrow), they took their places in Coach with a sigh and a toast of cheap lager. Homeward bound.

—————————————

The weeks you spent away from Roger were hard. There was no denying it. The smallest things would remind you of him. Something one of your friends said or a Mercedes zooming past you on the street - even the shape of your coworker’s glasses transported you back to misty forests, open waters and skinny dipping.

But life continued to deal you blows you couldn’t avoid.

Alex meant well. They all did. And you were certain they were growing tired of your musings about where Roger was, or what he was getting up to. And with whom.

It was a Friday night. You and Alex had parked yourselves in front of the telly for the night, sinking Prosecco like it was going out of fashion, and committed yourselves to cheering you up. Temporarily, at least.

Fat lot of good it did you. All Alex was good for was babbling on about how lovely Jake - her ‘oh so perfect’ other half - was. He bought her flowers when she had the flu. He always did the dishes after she cooked him dinner - like that was an achievement in itself. Apparently he was a catch. She was in love. Besotted. And it only made you think of Roger.

Eventually, the conversation turned to you. She couldn’t resist.

But her own sparkling brand of brass blonde narcissism shone through.

“I could have told you Roger was no good for you when you told me about him,” she grumbled, necking the dregs in her glass. “I could have chosen someone better for you. You know, Jake’s brother, Michael’s a dish. Maybe he’d be interested in you.” She reached her slender hand out to brush your hair behind your ear, getting a good look at you with those murky, serpentine eyes of her’s. “Of course, we’re going to have to do something about all of this, aren’t we? You just don’t make the best of yourself.”

Your stomach lurched. “What’s wrong with the way I look? Freddie-”

“But Freddie’s not your friend, remember? From what you told me, it sounds like Freddie left you for dead!” she scoffed, widening her eyes. She looked manic, rocking toward you to hammer home her point. “Tell me you’ll come to dinner with us - a double date!”

“What?”

“Oh come off it! It’s time you got back in the dating game!”

“The dating game?”

“Yes! Me, you, Michael and Jake! It’ll be fun.”

“Which night was it you wanted to…” You trailed off, twirling a strand of your hair around your finger. Your brain clawed for any excuse not to go.

“Next Friday. Jake and I are going to that new Greek place near Covent Garden. Halloumi, it’s called.”

“I-I… I don’t even like halloumi!” You thought that was a good enough reason. Evidently not.

Alex drummed her hand against the sofa, annunciating every single word. “They. Do. More. Than. Halloumi.”

You huffed, sinking back into the sofa. The rushing in your ears was never far away; you could predict how awful that double date was going to be and how noisy your brain would get. But Alex was like a dog with a bone. And you were tiring of this conversation. “I don’t know if I’m up to this.”

Alex rolled her eyes and poured herself another glass of wine. “Always so dramatic. It’s not even going to be half as bad as you think it’ll be. It’s just your… anxiety… thing,” she shrugged.

“If I say yes, will you stop pestering me?”

———

Seven days later, you were crammed like sardines around a table inside Halloumi. The room was packed to the rafters, like they had made every effort to cram as many bodies into one room as they could. Mugginess hung in the air like a noose around your neck, reminding you of stressful summer commutes, or how you felt on your first date with Roger.

Oh god, there he was again.

All those conscious efforts you made to make him leave you alone weren’t exactly working the way you hoped.

It didn’t help matters that you could barely read Jake or Alex or Michael’s lips over the bustle as they indulged in mindless chatter. Unable to join in, you zoned out.

Not that you wanted to be there, or join in, for that matter.

Michael wasn’t even your type. His plaid suit didn’t fit him and his shoes looked like they belonged to a clown. His laugh was so abrasive that it made you recoil whenever he erupted into a fit of it, bashing the table for good measure. Alex said he was a dish, but it looked like he was wearing tonight’s dish - shards of spinach sandwiched between his teeth. He was no Roger.

Another joke and another round of laughs brought you back to your senses for a moment. Just long enough for you to noticed that you had stewed through one of your favourite red dresses while your brain did its hamster-wheel thing and your ears went off to sea.

Had you worn this one for Roger? Fuck, you did. On your first fucking date. Typical.

The realisation forced you to your feet, driving a wedge through the niceties being exchanged around the table. Alex, Jake and Michael put down their cutlery in unison to gawp at you. No words fell from their lips. A first this evening.

You welcomed it. They were insufferable. Three of the most grotesque human beings you had ever met, actually.

“I’m…” you trailed off, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the bathroom.

Alex rolled her eyes. “Go on! Do a runner!” she mocked, with the brothers echoing her cruel laughter.

Your legs couldn’t have carried you through the rickety wooden door in the corner of the room any faster if they tried. When it slammed closed, your surroundings began to cave in on you. Like a victorian outhouse, the stench of faeces burned in your nostrils and settled in your lungs, shaking up the acid in your gut. There was no holding back. Hunched over a hole on an elevated plinth, you let it all go. Heaving and squirming and sweating. The sweat etched blotches underneath the arms of your dress and all down your back. The damp material felt constrictive as it clung to your skin; there was no way you could go back out there. Absolutely not, you thought, straightening your back.

You turned towards the sink and eyed yourself in the mirror. The buzzing and flickering of the lights could turn even the most beautiful woman into a gargoyle. But the signs of your mental state showed everywhere. Trails of vomit tracked down from the corners of your mouth, and your mascara had run a mile. You just looked like a sad clown. Huffing, you puffed out your cheeks and looked up at the ceiling, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink. God, those lights were harsh on your eyes. You scrunched them shut isolating yourself in just one way.

The rushing was still there.

The longer you stayed rooted on the spot, the more unstable your feet in your four-inch heels became. Turning back to the rudimentary throne, your eyes searching the room for an escape route.

A tiny, open window behind the loo caught your attention.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for freedom. It never occurred to you that your body might not fit through the slender gap. Rational thought didn’t rank highly on your list of priorities in that moment.

You stood up straight on the wooden plinth, sizing up the window. You sucked in your stomach and patted down your breasts (it did nothing to make them smaller, just a cursory comfort ahead of your disappearing act). And then you went for it.

You grabbed the ledge, hauled yourself up and burst headfirst out into the street above.

It was raining. It was dark. But at least you were out of there.

——————————————————————————————————

You couldn’t remember how or when you got home the night before, but you woke up the next morning fully clothed. Complete with your heels still on. Tossing on to your back, you recoiled in horror as a dreamy orange sunrise seeped through your bedroom curtains. You groaned. Life wasn’t going to get better by itself. You had to make an effort. Something. Anything.

So you resolved to make time for yourself; going where you wanted, doing things you loved and trying to make sense of where your life had got to.

That first hour was torture. You were still groggy from the night before; coffee burned more than it usually did and showering felt akin to having millions of ice shards fired at you for a whole five minutes. Even picking out something to wear was a chore.

But when you finally pulled a comfy sweater and your favourite jeans, and fixed your hair and did your makeup, a small sliver of hope shot through your brain. You could do this. You could go a whole day without thinking about Roger. None of your friends’ futile efforts at finding you love, or Roger Meddows Taylor’s sleights could get to you now, you thought, flouncing towards your door and shoving on your coat.

You opened your door, ready to go. But the figure loitering in your hallway stopped you in your tracks.

“Jim?”

He turned to face you, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I thought I had the wrong block for a moment there,” he laughed quietly. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

You crossed your arms. “So Roger’s got you doing his dirty work for him now, has he?”

“No, but he’s the reason I needed to see you.” His brow furrowed, finding the words to say to you. “I haven’t heard from him in three weeks.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“We’ve tried everything. He’s not answering the door, or his phone. None of us have heard from him. We’re not even sure if he’s home. We’re off to Munich tomorrow. To record another album.”

“If this is about money-”

“Please. The label can sing for it for all I care. God knows, we have enough of it to buy our way out,” Jim rambled, scratching the back of his head. “I’m just worried what Freddie, Brian and John will do if anything has happened to Roger. They’re a family.”

“With all due respect, I’m not in the right frame of mind to see him right now.”

“But he’ll listen to you.”

You shouldered past Jim and hurried down the first flight of stairs. “I still don’t care.”

“Please,” Jim pleaded, his words preventing you from taking another step. “Just go and see him.”

Determined to maintain your steely resolve, you clenched your jaw. “That’s not my problem, Jim. I’ll see you around.”

That sadistic streak reared its ugly head within you. Wandering aimlessly through the city, you took pleasure in the thought of Roger sitting in his flat, or at his mansion, pining for you. It proved to be just the tonic for your broken heart. Knowing that he was hurting so badly that he couldn’t even bear to be around his own bandmates had you smiling to yourself at regular intervals. The crowds at Kensington Market were like a warm hug, blanketing you as you threaded your way between the bodies and the stalls, picking up trinkets and treats every so often until your arms were full and your belly ached from hunger. Home time.

You wearily plonked yourself down on a rare, free seat on the tube, settling in for the ride back to Brixton. Your eyes felt heavy. Your head lolled back, allowing the carriage window to judder against your skull. It felt strangely therapeutic, beating your brain to sleep.

The feverish knock of a fist on fine oak rattled you to your senses. Drowsy from the tube ride, it didn’t even register that it was your own hand stretched out in front of you, rapping on a towering auburn coloured door. And then it clicked.

You had never been here before.

But you just knew.

Your stomach dropped.

But you couldn’t stop your hand from battering the door.

You glanced around at the quiet street; the pristine row of white townhouses, the river of crisp orange leaves on the pavement, the expensive cars. Your heart pounded against your ribcage. Your ears rushed. Your hand quickened.

Until…

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #queen

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years ago

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all i’ve ever known is how to hold my own

I promise, this is the last thing that will distract me from the betrothal au fic

please please reblog and leave a comment and donate to my ko-fi if you can

Mollymauk was tired.

He’d been tired for a very long time. Pretty much ever since he’d arrived here in the village of Foamside. But maybe even before that, maybe since he’d left Zadash or since he’d realised he was pregnant against everything he’d thought to be possible.

Maybe he’d always been tired. He always did seem to have a heavy weight on his shoulders; the weight of not knowing. Not knowing how to get around even a village as small as this one, as unfamiliar as it’s many alleyways and twisting cobbled streets were, the whole town slanted and twisted and warped as if by time and the sea like driftwood. Not knowing if he’d have enough money to build a life for his son or how to take care of such a small baby. Not knowing what was happening to his friends, who had always felt much more like his family, back in a Zadash that was becoming increasingly hostile to people like them.

Not knowing if one day, he’d wake up with a blank mind once more, no longer knowing where he was or who he was. Everything gone with no warning at all; not even remembering his sweet little boy.

Not even him.

But Mollymauk did everything he could to live like that wasn’t a possibility, he always had. He acted as if everything was fine, as if he didn’t have any troubles at all, as if the weight on his shoulders just didn’t exist.

Fortunately, finding his feet in Foamside and starting to pull himself together, drawing up plans for how he was going to make this work for Trinket, was occupying so much of his time and energy that he scarcely had enough space in his brain to give in to any of the deep pits that littered his mind like pockmarks.

Mollymauk was nothing if he wasn’t an optimist. He’d been given very little choice to be anything else.

But it was certainly proving useful. He’d only arrived a short week ago and, after feeling like he was going to scream if he needed to stay loafing around the inside of this empty cottage a single second longer, he’d already gone on a frantic cleaning spree and realised that the ground floor of the place could be turned into a store.

Molly had noticed so many travellers passing through this collection of oddball stores groaning with antiques and inns that seemed to be populated purely by locals and collections of slowly rotting rowboats down on the shoreline. Several had gotten off at the coach station the same night he did, with the confident, purposeful air of those who knew exactly where they were going and what the next day would hold. Mollymauk remembered envying them and their certain futures as he’d curled tighter around his three day old son in his arms and anxiously tried to remember Marion’s instructions to her summer home.

Molly knew exactly how to win people over, how to use gentle twists of his words to give customers ideas that weren’t even their own and winkle the money from their pockets. It’s what he’d been doing for- quite literally- as long as he could remember and surely selling potion ingredients and small healing patches and other adventuring paraphernalia couldn’t be as hard as selling sex and the deliberately marked up drinks at the brothel’s bar?

But opening a store required money and a premises. The latter he had, thanks to Marion. It was the former that was Mollymauk’s first hurdle.

He still had some of his wages though saving up hadn’t really been on his mind back when he was a famed and lauded courtesan, basically a prince in the slightly sordid underworld of Zadash, with nothing to stop him indulging his hedonistic streak. Certainly no awareness that he’d find himself here in a nearly completely unfamiliar town with a son to take care of and provide for. It had been a depressing, bitter reminder, when he’d looked at his finances and found them almost non-existent, of how woefully unprepared he was to be a father.

Marion had of course tried to press money on him as he’d left, even sneaking bags of coins into his trunk as he’d tearfully packed up what little possessions were actually his and not the property of the brothel. Molly had stayed resolute, taking it all out and leaving it pointedly on the counter, the two of them ending up in a frustrating, unacknowledged game of hide and seek.

Mollymauk had gotten himself into this mess and, besides, he already owed Marion far too much. She hadn’t just given him a home and an income and a bed, ever since she’d found him drinking dazedly in the bar with no concept who he was or where he’d come from, with nothing but a splitting headache and dirt under his nails. Marion had given him a mother. She’d given him a constant feeling of love and support. Mollymauk didn’t remember anything of his past life but he had a strong gut feeling that this was the first time he’d ever had anything close to a family.

The best thing he could do was take her example and pass it on to his son. He didn’t want any more than that.

Fortunately, he hadn’t frittered away everything he’d gotten at the brothel.

Mollymauk moved quietly as he set the trunk he’d travelled with on the kitchen table and flicked open the large, brass clasps. Trinket was finally asleep after hours and hours of colicky wailing and he didn’t want to wake him.

He hummed to himself as he worked, mostly to fill the empty, dark space around him. The moon was framed almost perfectly in the window, hanging suspended in a black velvet sky above a dull grey sea, calmly continuing it’s constant push and pull along the beach even as the whole of Foamside slept.

Everyone but Molly.

He knew he should be asleep, part of him was desperate to crash onto the slightly musty but still very comfortable bed just by Trinket’s cradle and snatch as much sleep as he could before his son’s sniffles and splutters woke them both up again in a depressingly short space of time.

But he knew he was too wound up for sleep. Too many things to do. Too much pulling at his attention. And he was still shaking off the nocturnal habits he’d picked up at the brothel.

So he was finishing the last bits of unpacking, pulling out various tissue wrapped parcels from the depths of his trunk. Some tinkled like bells, some made the soft whispering noise of silk on silk, some rustled like tiny sacks of rice as he laid them all on the table and marked them neatly with a piece of chalk. Each one was given an address, a name, a pre-agreed upon price to be carried around town the next day and exchanged for the gold, silver and copper he’d been promised for each by various shopkeepers around the town.

Since he’d arrived and had his grand idea to open a store, Mollymauk had been wandering up and down the main streets of Foamside with Trinket tucked into a little sling around his front, learning the layout of the town and making deals with all the relevant people, following hundreds of confusing instructions from locals whose thick accents he was still getting used to, zigzagging across the town from store to store, killing two birds with one stone.

Being a famous courtesan had come with it’s perks. As he’d worked his way up to the lauded position he’d held and lounged there prettily, being passed from lord to lady to prince to princess to dignitary to judge to magnate to whoever the hell else cared to own him for a night, he’d been given a great many expensive and extravagant gifts. Lingerie made of the finest, sheerest silks, enough jewels to make a dragon envious, exotic scents and vials of lube and moisturiser, even elaborately carved figures in a variety of erotic poses or hand crafted sex toys in wood, glass, metal and ivory. He’d all found it a little silly back in Zadash, how these people would vie for his attention, shower him with these presents to win his favour that seemed impossibly expensive to him but had probably barely put a dent in his client’s vast amounts of wealth, when every single one of them would pretend not to know him in the daylight. As if he was just a think that they could hang jewels and silks on, a mannequin to display their own wealth and importance.

It had felt like a puerile little game to Molly, back then. Now it made his stomach twist a little.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered now was that he could take all these gifts and sell them on, getting his start in this town. He mumbled a small prayer of thanks to the idiocy of the aristocracy as he pulled out the last of the packages.

Altogether, it would be enough, enough to renovate the bottom floor into a proper store and buy the first round of stock. What happened from then on was entirely in his hands but it was a start. That was all he needed, a start, a chance.

Mollymauk had everything laid out on the bed, ready to be packed up for tomorrow. Maybe he and Trinket would have a little extra to buy some more of those pastries from the bakery. There’d been nothing like it in Zadash, eating them hot right from the bag as they’d sat together on the sand, watching the waves, and Trinket had crowed happily as he’d licked powdered sugar off his daddy’s fingertip.

Molly was about to put the trunk away before his heart lurched like the waves breaking outside.

One of the packages must have caught on something and torn, revealing the metallic, glittering innards. Gold mostly, heavy chains, expensive and ostentatious. But there was a single thread of silver in amongst it, much thinner and simpler than the others. Mollymauk told himself he was only going to nudge it back into place and bind the parcel up tighter and shove it out of his sight and out of his mind. But instead he hooked that thin silver chain free and held it up to the light.

He’d almost forgotten it. He’d almost let it go.

If he hadn’t noticed it there, if it had just gone to the jewellers with the rest of it, this unassuming necklace with tiny, black opal moons and stars that had once been a part of his heart, would he have remembered it suddenly somewhere down the line?

Molly knew this was what he was supposed to want, to slowly forget how it had felt to be held by him and kissed by him and how different it had been than it ever was with any of his other clients, how his heart had fluttered when he’d first fastened this necklace for him, gently holding his hair back and telling him how beautiful it looked. It wouldn’t do Molly any good to want him back or to dwell on what they’d had, it would be a uniquely painful form of self-inflicted torture. The best thing to do, the only sensible thing to do, would be to sell this necklace along with the rest of it. It wasn’t even worth much in comparison to the extravagant gold and eyeball sized jewels of all the other gifts.

But somehow, the idea of losing it was twisting Molly’s insides more than he could bear.

It hadn’t needed to cost as much. It hadn’t needed to be flashy or gaudy.

It had come from Caleb. It had been the most precious thing he’d ever given him, until Trinket was born.

Sighing, cursing himself, Molly slid the necklace into the pocket of his tunic. He could feel it’s presence the whole time he was sliding the trunk back into the wardrobe and putting the parcels into his pack for tomorrow, almost as of the chain were made of iron rather than whisper thin silver.

He moved from the humble little kitchen that he’d determinedly ingrained with the smells of baking and cookies (it had taken three attempts until he managed not to burn them) and down the short hallway to the bedroom. There had been enough in the cottage for Trinket to have his own room, a nursery of sorts, but neither of them had been happy with being out of each other’s eyelines for very long. So the tiny little half tiefling had a cradle set up next to the bed, a hand me down from Marion that it melted Molly’s heart to think had once held baby Jester. He would use it for a few hours before he started fidgeting and whimpering and reaching out for his daddy, Molly pouncing eagerly and bringing him into the safety of his blankets, tucked up against his chest like his arms alone would be enough to shield him from the rest of the world.

But there was a mobile on it, a reaching hand with various sewn and stuffed sea creatures hanging from each finger. It was cute so he’d left it up and Trinket seemed to like it. He’d try to grab it and his stubby tail would swish this way and that and bunch up all his blankets. Moving slowly and carefully so he didn’t knock the whole thing and jerk his poor, sniffly little baby awake, Molly looped the necklace around the stem of the mobile and let it dangle, the moons and stars hanging there like a perfect negative of the real one outside the window.

Trinket was soundly asleep so Molly could take a long, sweet few moments to study his face. It was so beautiful, he still found it difficult to believe it was real. He had a brushing of freckles across a little snub nose and perfect little lavender lips that his tiny rosebud tongue was currently poking out of slightly. His horns were just tiny bumps on his forehead but they’d grow. All of him would grow. Trinket would become a fully-fledged person with his own hopes and dreams and a whole, long, turbulent future.

Molly wiped the tear away before it could slide off the bridge of his nose. He kissed his fingertips and lightly pressed them to his son’s forehead before he turned away to finally give himself over to a death like sleep.

The necklace stayed on the mobile, turning with the ghost of momentum, catching the moonlight every so often. Molly knew he couldn’t keep it. He couldn’t keep a hold of those memories without burning himself and prolonging the pain.

But Trinket could. He deserved at least a little something of his papa.

#widomauk #mollymauk tealeaf #trans mollymauk #cr mollymauk #caleb widogast #cr caleb #courtesan au #angst #critical role #cr campaign 2 #wildemount campaign

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innerkerlon · 3 years ago

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Shower on off valve

Shower on off valve install#

Shower on off valve full#

Choose from either a square or round design and find the style that suits you.

Shower on off valve full#

We offer a full range of black bathroom taps and showers including shower valves, shower kits, fixed heads & arms, freestanding bath shower mixers, basin taps & bath fillers. This shower valve is also available in a square design or as a triple valve. Alternatively, counter-clockwise will OPEN the valve and allow water to pass through the valve. Turning the handle clockwise will tighten the valve stem inside and force a gate CLOSED or press a rubber gasket against a seat to restrict the flow of water. The square levers and stylish black finish are perfect for updating an existing bathroom or being the focal point of a new bathroom suite. Shut off valves with a wheel or other multi-turn valves operate by spinning the handle. This twin thermostatic shower valve coordinates beautifully with our round slide rail kit and shower head. This valve is the component that allows you to stop water flow from the shower faucet or tub spout and send it to the shower head, and vice versa. A shower valve performs two essential functions it controls the rate of water flow and the temperature of water in your shower. The PVD finish doesn't scratch, scuff or fade over time meaning we are able to offer a lifetime guarantee on the finish, leaving you with the peace of mind that your new bathroom will stand the test of time. Ball or gate valves are the same types of valves normally used to control plumbing branch lines. Find best dropshippers for UK shower on off valve and buy cheap bathroom sets with shower curtain on Dhgate website with high quality & fast delivery to UK. Unlike many other black showers available today, this shower valve features a black PVD finish which results in a more durable finish, perfect for taps and showers which are regularly exposed to water. This product is WRAS approved and has undergone mechanical and water quality testing and has demonstrated it is compliant with the requirements of regulations and bylaws. A shower valve with TMV2 approval will automatically reduce or shut off the water supply if the temperature becomes too hot. However, the good news is that they can be installed very quickly if you have a reputable. The bad news is that these cost around £75. TMV2 approval means this shower valve has been designed, built and tested to comply with national and international standards which reduce the risk of scalding in domestic environments. If your shower is suddenly fluctuating in temperature for no reason, that means that you probably have a problem with the temperature sensor (the thermostatic cartridge) in your thermostatic mixer valve. The concealed shower valve is TMV2 and WRAS approved. Want to use both outlets at the same time? This pack is also available with a triple valve, which allows you to operate both outlets simultaneously. Use the top control to manage water flow and the bottom control to manage water temperature.

Shower on off valve install#

This valve features 2 controls and an in-built diverter allowing you to install two different outlets and switch between the two freely. A shower mixer valve connects to the hot and cold water supplies, and controls the flow and temperature of the water to a shower head. To view what comes in the box and to see basic installation guides click on the View Additional / Larger images under the picture to the left then click next on the large picture to view all of the additional images.Black Complete Concealed Shower - This Pack Includesġ x Twin Concealed Black Round Shower Valve With Diverter, 1 x Round Shower Kit, 1 x Round Shower Head, 1 x Wall Mounted Fixed Arm Solid brass construction with 8 ~ 10 microns of mirror chrome plate.Standard 1/2 ins BSP (15mm) male inlet and outlet thread Nuie Showers Traditional Twin Concealed Thermostatic Shower Valve.Thermostatic Shower Mixer Finish Set with Shut-Off Chrome Plated 10706000. When the washers inside a shower valve wear out, they can become thin enough to vibrate as water flows past them, and the vibration creates the high-pitched sound you hear. Wall plate 50mm Diameter, chrome on brass. Find a brand new or replacement concealed shower valve at low discount prices.Triple purpose shower holder, water isolating valve and a medium for connecting the warm water pipe from the mixer valve to the Bidet shower hose. Finished in mirror chrome, ideally suited for use with our MIX2000, MIX6000, MIX6400 and MIX6500 mixer valves. Compatible with all our range of bidet showers. Placing the shower head in the mount actuates the valve automatically closing the water supply to the shower hose and head. Premium quality solid brass wall plate elbow with integral shower holder and water shut off valve with mirror chrome finish. Shut off valves will also close around any product to make sure there is a 100 seal. Grohe Sena: Auto water shut off shower valve: The shut off valve function will 100 stop the flow of media when completely in the closed position.

#Shower on off valve

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voyages-extraordinaires · 7 years ago

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Interlude 01

(Warning, the following chapter contains explicit sexual content between Nemo and Aronnax. It is not necessary to the plot, so feel free to skip if the subject matter makes you uncomfortable.)

The shower feels incredible.

It wasn’t a particularly strenuous day, but it was a long one. Even though the submarine is completed, there is still loads of work to be completed before we can depart.

The past couple of hours have been fairly simple, just fitting ourselves into dive suits. Unfortunately, I was conducting experiments when the underwater testing was done, but the boys were chatting excitedly about it for the rest of the day.

Nemo looked so handsome in his suit. I held my breath when he took off his brass helmet, trying my best not to notice the bead of sweat trickling tantalizingly down his neck.

I lean against the stall wall, letting my mind go blank as the water pounds into my back.

He’s been driving me crazy in the best way. On nights when I’m not completely exhausted from work, his vision fills my mind until I have to grant myself selfish release.

… That started becoming a habit of mine back in Saint’s mansion. The thought of Nemo makes my body awaken lasciviously.

If only the showers were private, I might be able to risk satisfying myself here. But they aren’t, so what’s the use of fantasizing?

I turn off the shower and begin to towel myself dry.

It’s really quite pathetic, how hot my body feels just from remembering him.

I quickly pull on my robes and begin the short walk back to my room. The sooner I get back, the sooner I can distract myself with the Harper’s supply lists, the sooner I can fall asleep.

But when I open the door to my room, I see that those same lists are already being examined by the very person I was trying to distract myself from.

This isn’t the first time he’s appeared in my room, of course. I don’t lock the door so he’s always able to access it. Truth be told, I think he prefers my room to his.

…I can’t say I blame him, either. To say that his room is sparse would be an understatement. No scientific mess, no paintings, no gadgets, even the map of Lincoln Island hanging on every wall had been taken down. It is completely blank save for a brass bed and white bedsheets. It’s like all of his passions exist in laboratories or mechanical beasts, and when he gets to his ‘own’ space, not shared by science… it’s empty. Completely empty.

It’s depressing to think about it, and the stark difference between the man and the room is emphasized when Nemo lopes over to me with a wide smile.

“I’m glad you’re here~! I was hoping to get your opinion on Impey Barbicaaaaaaaane’s proposed changes. I personally think it’s a bit much, especially since we’ll likely only be sailing for a week each way. But Caaaaaaaaardia-chan agrees with his changes, which made him even moooore enthusiastic, which made him even leeeeeess likely to listen to reason! Love makes fools of the greatest minds!”

Well, it’s a distraction, anyway.

I smile. “To be honest, thinking of supplies and weaponry and all this realistic stuff has been rather far from my mind, I’m afraid. I’m still trying to convince myself that it’s real. Seeing this amazing creation coming to life in front of me… sometimes it feels like it’s all a fantasy.”

I look away, suddenly feeling sheepish. “I guess it’s different for you, Nemo. I mean, you’ve been creating all these incredible things and mm—”

Nemo’s kissing me. Slowly, deeply, holding my face in his hands so I couldn’t pull away.

Eventually I have to push back on his chest so I can breathe. The smile on his face is so eager and bright, it’s amazing what such a small compliment can do to this man.

He takes my hand and lays his cheek on it adoringly.

“Oh, Profeeeeessor! I will show you that it’s real! I can plant such memories on your body, so your mind is forced to remember that it’s aaaaaaaall real!” he says. “If you juuuuust…” He moves his mouth to my ear and whispers. “Let meeeeee…”

I tilt my head so he can reach more of my skin. He responds, gently kissing my earlobe and down my jaw until he reaches my neck.

I shiver as I feel him smile against the bruise he inflicted on me before. Then, there’s a warm sensation as he begins to trace his tongue along the yellowing pattern.

“…Let me….” He repeats.

I let out a ragged breath and nod.

He giggles and grips my hair, turning my head so I have to look at him.

“Thaaaaat’s not good enough! No, I want you to say it… I want there to be no question… say that you want me! Say it so that anyone could understand! The whole world!”

He had sounded so in control before, but now he was begging. He was telling me ‘I want to feel needed’.

“Nemo… I want to… how can I say this…”

It’s hard for me to concentrate, especially as I hear him take off his gloves.

“I want us to be… connected. More than just our minds, more than just our… our love of science, I want…”

I barely had to mention science before Nemo’s smile widened into a grin, his goggles glinting in such a way that my entire body screamed ‘DANGER’.

It also screamed, ‘Don’t’ stop’.

“Thaaaaaat’s where you’re wrong, my daaaarling! It IS science! Everything that we will discover tonight is a testament to the power that science holds over all of us! Fwee hee hee hee… oh, there are so many things I will teach you, Professor…”

He puts a hand on his hip and leans over, adjusting his goggles so he can get a closer look at my expression.

“Now, then…” the corners of his lips curl. “What were you saaaaaying~?”

He’s so close to me, I can’t resist. I tilt my head and give his smile a quick kiss. “I want to sleep with you, Nemo. In all the different ways. I want… our bodies to be one… I want all of you inside of me…”

I trail off, my eyes widening when I remember something.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I continue. “Not for anything, but… but I don’t have any way to…”

Nemo produces a small bottle with a flourish and a giggle.

“Cyyyyyyyrene Smith is quite the chemist! She developed so that her workers can consummate their desires without worry of any unfooooortunate interruptions! It’s truly a triumph of science over our base animal instincts! So, dear Professor, shall we indulge~?”

He pops a round, cherry-red pill in his mouth before gripping my chin and pushing his mouth against mine. I quickly yield, enough for him to easily push the pill into my mouth with his tongue. I close my eyes and swallow before wrapping my arms around his neck, not ready to break the kiss yet. He hums in satisfaction, letting the tips of our tongues play against each other.

This time, he’s the one who pops his foot. I giggle, and he pulls away and rubs his nose against mine.

He quickly takes off his jacket and drapes it over one of the chairs, but before he can walk to the bed I stop him.

“What I said wasn’t good enough.”

I loop my arm around his waist and lead him back to me, pushing my body against him.

“You told me to say it so that the whole world could understand. The whole world wouldn’t understand my words.”

His expression is so cute, his lips are drooping in confusion but his eyebrows are arced with such curiosity.

I pull him to my height and quickly undo his choker, tossing it onto my desk.

I seek out his eyes behind his goggles and brush his hair away from his neck as I whisper, “Let me leave my mark on you.”

I pull down the collar of his sweater. His skin is so beautiful, soft and warm. I lean in and place my lips against his neck, gently roaming over the muscles until I feel his pulse radiating from his carotid artery. It feels good against my lips, and I open them slightly to taste his skin.

The reaction is immediate, Nemo wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in deeper. When I begin to suck on his skin, he lets out a high-pitched sigh that could only be described as ‘wanton’. Encouraged, I bury my face in his neck, trying to the motions that caused my neck to bruise so beautifully.

But he can clearly still feel the hesitation in my movement, because he wraps one of his hands around the back of my head and whispers, “Deeper… please……”

I nod before biting down, and the needy moan that reaches my ears is all the reward I need.

Though, when I pull away and look at the rosy marks I’ve left on his neck, I can’t help but feel a little proud. It’s much lighter than the bruise he left on me, that goes without saying, but…

“Now everyone in the world can see,” I whisper. “Just how badly I want this genius scientist.”

I can feel how hard Nemo is breathing. When he pushes himself against me again, I can feel another source of hardness, too. It makes my body ache.

“Just from kissing…” he groans. “You’ve already made me like this…”

I take him by the shoulders and lead him back to the bed, laying him down. Before I think about what I’m doing, I swing one of my legs over him and sit on his stomach.

He smirks and lifts his knees up, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure -that‘s- where you want to sit, my cuuuute Professor~?”

I grin as I begin to fiddle with the leather strap on his chest. “If I sat any lower, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself… and I want to savor every moment of this.”

“How cute…” Nemo grins as he begins to unwrap the bandages from his arms. “But don’t woooorry, I won’t let you run away after this first time. Oh, no, there’s too much we have to discover… we’ll have to examine each other thousands of times before we’re satisfied~!”

He sits up to pull the leather off of his shoulder, pausing long enough to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“How did you end up on top, anyway~?”

I yelp as he rolls us over, pinning me beneath him. His hair tickles my neck as he leans down and begins to undo my robe.

“H-Hey!” I exclaim. “That’s not fair!”

I reach over him and begin to pull his sweater over his head, but he won’t cooperate so all I can do is reach under the fabric to feel his thin shoulders and back.

He kisses down my collarbone, and I feel my entire body flush when he kisses the hollow between my breasts.

Then, he pushes the edges of my robe aside, leaving my body entirely visible in the electric light.

I quickly pull him to my chest out of both love and embarrassment. The closer I hold him to me, the less he can see.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of my body, and it’s not like I haven’t had lovers, either. But because it’s him… I feel like he can look right through me. My skin feels so red under his body, blood pumping to my extremities in preparation.

I shiver when I feel the metal of his goggles against me, and he laughs as he reaches around to undo them.

When he looks up at me with those beautiful eyes of his, I look away.

“Don’t tell me now that you’re getting shy!” the volume of his guffaw makes me jump. “Don’t you think it’s a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittle late for that?!”

Nemo sits back with a wide smile, looking over my body with excitement usually reserved for some great scientific discovery.

I can see his eyes darting over me, taking it all in. When I begin to cover myself, he quickly pushes my arms down back against the bed.

“Your breasts move quite beautifully when you shiver, did you know that~?” his voice is almost at a normal volume for once, and the quietness surprises me almost as much as the sensation of his fingers trailing up my stomach.

“A woman’s breasts… biologically they have very little to do with copulation, and yet…”

I clench my fists in the bedsheets when he leans down and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth.

“And yet even I, a man of science, can’t help but be entraaaaanced!” he locks his mouth over my breast and begins to suck, and I can only squirm under his weight. He’s pulling at my skin, enough to make me squirm, but the rough sensation is more pleasurable than anything!

He pulls back to take a shuddering breath, threads of saliva still connecting my nipple to his mouth.

“You’re responding excellently to stimulation,” he pauses to wipe his mouth, admiring how his kiss made my skin shine with wetness. “But you’re still so nervous, aren’t you? You poor thiiiing… the chemicals in your brain are sending so many signals to your body. I can’t take advantage of your lust-riddled mind like this! Please, allow me to treat you with a scientist-assisted hysterical paroxysm before we continue~.”

Hysterical paroxysm. An orgasm. Though “female hysteria” was losing credibility in the medical field, I could tell from Nemo’s expression that he wasn’t above playing with the term.

“But, Nemo, if I finish…”

“Shhh~” he winks as he puts a finger to my mouth. “One of the greatest blessings that the vagina has over the penis is its ability to withstand multiple assaults without rest~! Please, allow me to take advantage of your body’s natural abilities. Your flesh will swell with release, and your nervous brain will be soothed… making it easier for both your body and mind to…”

He pauses to grin, his teeth shining. “… Accept me.”

He takes one of my hands and brings it to the front of his pants. I look down with a curious smile as my hand seeks out the heat of his crotch. I narrow my eyes blissfully when I wrap my hand around his shaft, feeling it harden further in my grasp. But… something feels different from past lovers. I feel a different sort of hardness there, too.

I quickly pull my hand back when my mind makes the connection—metal! Likely the same kind of metal that decorates his face!

I look up at him, dumbfounded, and he bursts into laughter, rolling onto his back with delighted tears in his eyes.

“N-Nemo… are you…”

He stares at me, waiting for me to finish the question.

“Pierced….?”

“Yes.”

His answer was so simple, I can feel myself staring at him quite stupidly.

He rolls onto his side and props himself up, motioning me to come closer. When I do, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me sweetly.

“So how abooooout it?” he whispers. “Let me satisfy you, Professor. So that it will feel even better when we’re finally united~!”

He lowers his head and kisses my shoulder. “Besides, there’s so much more of you I want to discover… so let me have a taste…”

His eyes dart down to my crotch, and I instinctively squeeze my legs shut out of nervousness.

But… that nervousness is what he wanted to remove, right?

I nod.

“All right… but… I want to see you, first.” I pout. “Nemo, it’s… not fair that you’ve been able to examine me so closely…”

Nemo’s smile is lopsided as he sits up. “That’s true.” He begins to pull his sweater over his head, and I quickly climb into his lap, leaning down to kiss his abdomen as it’s exposed.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long…” I whisper as I continue to kiss up his torso, pausing to feel his stomach move with each deep breath. Then, as he finally pulls the sweater over his head and tosses it aside, I run my tongue from one nipple to the other before mimicking his cruel sucking.

He laughs and tilts his head, brushing my hair away from my face so he can watch me.

His skin feels so soft and fragrant, you would never guess it from the busy schedule he keeps but he clearly puts a lot of effort into beauty. The lavender oil on his skin intoxicates me in ways I never thought it would.

I curse into his skin as I fumble with his belt buckle. When he laughs I look up at him and mutter, “Are you going to help me, or are you getting off on watching me?!”

He gives me a wink. “Aren’t the best discoveries made after a bit of struuuuuggle~?” But he finally helps me in undoing his belt. Without warning, he quickly shoves down his pants, kicking them and his boots off the side of the bed in one fluid motion.

When he leans back, I dare to look down.

“O-Oh…”

I’m not sure whether it’s the penis itself or the glinting metal that catches my attention first.

Even though it’s not fully erect, his foreskin has pulled back to show its head, dark and red from engorgement. I look up at him to get permission, and he just looks at me with a proud smile.

I reach out and gently put my fingertips to it, lifting it up so I can get a better look at his piercings.

There are three golden barbells on the underside of his shaft, styled in such a way that they look like the rungs of a ladder. Then, his foreskin is pierced with a lovely ring, and the thought of it rubbing against my insides makes my labia throb.

I begin to pet it without really realizing what I’m doing and soon it begins throbbing against my palm.

“I want a taste, too,” I say as I lean down to get a closer look.

“Not faaaaair…” Nemo whines. “I wanted to do it first~!”

But he doesn’t stop me as I gingerly cup his scrotum, relishing its weight against my palm. With my free hand I begin to stroke the upper side of his shaft, the one free of piercings. Honestly, I’m a little too nervous about hurting him to give him a proper handjob, but I make up for it by bringing my lips to his frenulum and giving him a soft kiss.

It’s so hot, I can’t stop myself from continuing my curious kisses, smiling as I feel his foreskin retract more and his penis stiffen to full attention.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” I coo as I begin to drag my mouth down the underside, kissing him down his ‘ladder’ and gently beginning to suck on the base.

His only response is a needy moan.

I slowly run my tongue from base to tip, stopping only to flick my tongue against his ring. I carefully take the piercing in my mouth and hum, and the vibrations make Nemo arch his back.

“G-Gently…” he stammers, and I pull back. A bead of clear pre-seminal fluid has begun to dribble from his urethra, and I quickly begin to kiss it away. I lick the saltiness from my lips before kissing the tip. “May I?” I dart my tongue out against his urethra, finally brave enough to lock eyes with him.

This time, he’s the one who looks away.

“I’d love nothing more than that…” he pauses to suck in a breath. “B-But… I don’t know how long I’d last… the thought of filling your warm mouth would be a temptation I just couldn’t ignore….”

I feel like I’m in a daze as I slowly slide the head of his penis into my mouth. The heat is incredible, and I let out a disappointed moan as Nemo pulls my head back.

My brain is so foggy, all I can do is hungrily watch him throb.

“You… don’t get… to finish me… thaaaaaaaaaaat easily….!!” His smile is crazed, and I shiver as he leans in and licks my lips, tasting himself on me. Then he kisses me, laying me down on the pillow in a gentle motion that doesn’t match the expression on his face.

He kisses my knuckles, my fingertips, my palms, and then makes sure that I’m watching him as he lowers himself to nibble on my stomach, making me twitch with each light pinch of his metal teeth. Then, with a final bite he spreads my legs and hoists them up so my knees are in the air.

I cover my eyes with my arm, not wanting to look.

“What’s wroooong?” Nemo quickly jumps back up and pushes my arm away, looking at me with a worried expression. He’s so cute that I have to reach up and touch his cheek to reassure him. He leans into it adoringly, still looking at me for my answer.

“N-Nothing, I just…” I laugh. “It … it feels like I’m being examined…”

His worried expression disappears, and he joins me in my laughter.

“You are, darling, you are! But don’t worry… I won’t experiment on you without telling you ex-act-ly what I plan to do first,” his lecherous grin returns as he speaks. He lowers himself back down between my legs, and my body spasms when he runs his knuckles against my vulva.

“You’re already so engorged…” he giggles, but then his voice lowers. “Did touching me turn you on that much~?”

I decide to throw the embarrassment right back at him: “Yes, it did.”

His eyes widen and his cheeks redden, but he clears his throat before leaning back down between my legs. He spreads my labia with his thumbs, playing with the puffy skin and lightly blowing on it.

“What—what do you even plan on doing?” I ask, shivering at the sensation of his hot breath.

He looks up at me, though all I can see are his arched eyebrows.

“I toooold you, I want a taste… and don’t you dare try to stop me! You need assistance with a hysterical paroxysm.”

He lifts himself back up to kiss my pelvis before sticking his tongue out playfully.

“You’re beautiful.”

Two simple words. Words that I hadn’t heard anyone say to me in years.

They affect me so much, and the only thing I can think of in response is: “So are you.”

He just smiles happily at me before kissing down the outside of my labia, soft and chaste compared to what I expected. Somehow, these teasing touches drive me crazy, and I arch my hips in hopes that he’ll get the message.

He does get the message, but instead of doing what I ask, he moves his head to the side and begins sucking on my inner thigh.

“Maybe I should leave my marks down here, too… where no one else can see…”

I suck in my breath when takes one of my outer lips into his mouth and tugs on it, lightly grinding on the skin until I wince. He lets the flesh go with a ‘pop’ before licking over the bruise that’s surely begun forming.

Then he pulls my labia apart again and finally begins to roam over the flesh it protects with the tip of his tongue.

“Slightly bitter…” he muses, almost to himself. “But so warm and soft…”

“You don’t have to say things like that!” I sit up to glare at him, but he just buries his face in-between my legs and laughs. When I feel him begin to lick along my inner labia, I slowly sink back into the pillow.

He’s clearly done this before. He’s hitting so many amazing spots, licking from my perineum up to just below my clitoris. He always hesitates, teasing me, breathing on that most sensitive part on my body before ducking back down.

“Ne… Nemo, please…”

“Hmmm~?” his voice is lilting. “Getting a little impatient, are you? Don’t you knoooooow how much better something feels if you have to wait for it…?”

I lean my head back and groan when I feel him rub the pads of his index and middle finger on either side of my clitoris, not close enough to touch it, but close enough to stimulate the surrounding nerves.

“Hmm, this has potential, though…”

“Nemo, what are you--?”

He shushes me before gently running his fingers over my clitoral hood.

“Oohhhhhh--! Yes, the skin here is perfect~!”

I’m not quite sure I understand why he has a sudden fascination with my clitoral hood (especially since my clitoris is throbbing for his attention). Still, it isn’t an unpleasant sensation when he tugs at the skin.

“Hmmm~ yes, yeeeees indeed! Perhaaaaaaps after this voyage, I’ll be able to give you a permanent mark here…! Yes, a pretty piece of jewelry, for my eyes ooooonly…”

My eyes snap open in realization.

“I really… I really don’t think I’ll be ready for anything like that…” I stammer.

Nemo pouts. “Hmm~ a shame, really… but I suppose such a reaction is expected from my Polly-chan… oh, well…”

He licks his thumb and finally runs it over the tip of my clitoris. I push my hips up, letting out a pleased sigh as he begins to teasingly rub it between his wet fingers.

I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself, especially when he pushes his thumb against my perineum. The nerves there are connected to the clitoris, and I can practically feel it swell as he finally, finally begins to slowly lick it.

“Don’t stop, Nemo…” I begin to slowly move my hips in time with his licks, and he responds by taking my clitoris in his mouth and sucking on it.

I prop myself up on my elbows, lust clouding my mind enough to allow myself to burst through my shame in order to watch him pleasure me.

He notices this and looks up at me, inhaling my scent deeply with a wide smile. Then, he props himself up and comes closer to me.

“Wait, I haven’t finished…”

“Oh, I know~” Nemo grins and tilts my chin back before bringing his fingers to my lips. I lock eyes with him before taking his index finger in my mouth, wrapping my lips tight around it and taking it all the way down to the base.

“That’s it…” he says. “Make sure you get it nice and wet for me, hmm~?”

I get an idea about what he’s trying to do, so I do the same thing to his middle finger, taking it in deep. He smiles and ruffles my hair with his free hand before moving back down between my legs.

“It’s fun to sometimes get the specimen to help, you seeeeee?” he giggles before rubbing those wet fingers against my vaginal entrance.

“Now, let’s see how this feels…” he puts his lips over my clitoris again before sliding his two fingers inside me.

“Oh my god…” I groan.

“Fwee hee hee… you can call me that if you waaaaaaaant, but it won’t make me go any easier on you~!” He gives me a quick lick before going back to sucking on the most sensitive part of my body.

Nemo’s inside of me. That same hand that built the Nautilus, that brought London to its knees is now flexing its fingers, curling them and rubbing at sensitive nerves, spreading them apart to see just how wide I can open for him.

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly I’m reaching the edge, but I keep on watching. I can see how slick his fingers and face are from the lubricants my body is producing, eager to welcome him inside.

He pulls his fingers out to admire how wet they are, and I cry out in agitation.

He looks a little surprised at how forceful I sound, but he laughs at how pitiful he’s made me before giving me the attention I’m craving.

My breathing is becoming more labored, and my body begins to spasm in anticipation. Finally, he slides a third finger inside of me and uses his other hand to apply pressure to my perineum and anus. The full coverage of his affections, from my clitoris all the way down, is what makes my orgasm so powerful that the edges of my vision go white.

I grit my teeth and seize, my body going through wave after wave of amazing delirium. I can hear how sloppy I’ve become, his fingers still sliding in and out with ease as I finish.

I don’t know how long it is before I finally collapse back on the pillow, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Nemo sits up and rubs his jaw, murmuring, “That was… faster than I expected…”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been with a man,” I admit. “Maybe I was just more sensitive… but, the more likely answer is that it’s because it was you, Nemo.”

“If you keep on saying cute things like that, you’ll make me bluuuuuuuuush~!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had been blushing all night.

“But, Polly-chaaaaaan… do you think you’re ready?”

I look down at his erection, still standing tall and twitching in anticipation. Even though I already orgasmed, I can feel myself beginning to salivate at the sight of it.

I spread my legs again and hold my arms out for him as an invitation.

He leans down and kisses one of my offered hands before pulling my hips towards him and positioning himself. With a wicked smirk he rubs the tip of his penis against my sensitive clitoris, and my legs begin to spasm again.

“Couldn’t resiiiiist!” he lilts. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you~?” He nudges his head against my vaginal entrance and sucks in his breath.

We’re holding each other’s gazes as he enters me.

Every nerve lining the walls of my insides scream in delight as his penis slides inside with ease. So this incredible sensation is why he wanted me to orgasm first--!

I can feel his piercings, too, it’s fantastic. I can only imagine how wonderful it would feel if he were taking me from behind, the metal rubbing against the more sensitive of my vaginal walls.

But as he lays down on top of me, all I can think about is how perfect it is for his body to be on mine. I wrap my legs around him as he settles into position.

“Stay… stay still for just a moment…” I breathe.

He tilts his head. “Does it hurt?”

I shake my head. “I want… I just want to focus on the feeling of us together like this, connected.”

He leans down and licks away a tear I didn’t even realize I had shed.

It’s so hot inside of me. I can feel my vagina squeezing down on him, eager to accept his lovemaking. But for just a moment longer, I want to savor of him deep inside of me.

He brings his lips back to mine and kisses me gently, our mouths barely touching.

Finally, I bury my head in his neck and nod. “N-Now…”

I can practically see stars when he gives me his first thrust.

It’s not just our genitals, our entire bodies are grinding against each other as we begin this ritual that is the basis of my entire line of study.

Nemo props himself up on his elbows so he can thrust in deeper, and I lift my hips so my entire vulva can be stimulated by his skin and scrotum. My body is shaking, already exhausted and overloaded from my first orgasm of the night.

But he’s relentless, just like I want him to be. I can feel his tip nudging my cervix with each thrust—it’s a strange sensation, but both the pressure and the knowledge that it’s because he’s so deep inside of me is an incredible turn-on.

“P-Pauline…!”

He’s begun panting, his voice hitching in his throat and escaping in needy moans and gasps.

He pulls my hips up so he’s in as deep as he can be, grinding exquisitely against me. When he gives another thrust, my second orgasm makes me convulse with such ferocity that I’m clinging to Nemo with all of my strength.

“Alreaaaaady?” he smiles down at me. “Poor little professor, I’ve just begun…!”

He slides out and turns me over before hugging me, both of us on our sides. He clamps his mouth down over my throat before lifting my leg up and penetrating me from behind.

I knew the pressure of his piercings rubbing against me would be amazing, but this is too much! I moan so loudly that I clap my hand over my mouth to stop the sound from escaping.

Nemo, as expected, won’t have any of that. He yanks my hand away from my mouth and kisses my wrist, still thrusting deep inside.

“Let—them—heaaaar!!”

I cry out his name, but the sound is drowned out by his mad cackling.

He’s thrusting with such force that his scrotum is slapping my vulva, sending shockwaves of my own madness through me.

I try to grip at the bedsheets, but in this position it’s easier for me to grip his arm, and I dig my nails into his skin in an attempt to hold on to my mind. I can feel his penis harden even more, signaling to me just how close he is.

He buries his head in my shoulder and moans deeply as the first wave of his orgasm hits him. His penis pulses inside of me, and this sensation coupled with the intimate warmth of his semen is what gives me my third orgasm of the night.

Nemo is clinging tightly to me, his body trembling from the force of his orgasm.

My heart is pounding as the waves finally die down, and both of us lay there in blissful silence.

My body is heavy, I can hardly move.

“Was that…” Nemo finally groans. “Was thaaaaaaat a third time…?”

I’m too weak to even answer, so I just nod despite my embarrassment.

He laughs, his voice finally beginning to grow hoarse from exhaustion.

We lay there in silence before I finally mutter: “I can’t move… I think I would fall if I tried to stand up…”

Nemo kisses me on the shoulder before slowly pulling out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, standing up to turn out the light.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” I sleepily roll over to look at him, and yelp when he uses what little energy he has remaining to drape himself on top of me.

“No…” he smiles. “I’m staying here for as long as I can… my cute… cute professor… all mine… just… mine…”

His voice begins to slow, and it isn’t long before he begins to snore deeply.

I whisper an apology to Cardia in the room next door before I close my eyes and let sleep take over my exhausted body.

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