#blockading doors with my body

[safyresky]

New achievement unlocked: husbando called me an obstacle course before bed and I cackled so hard my ribs hurt

[autumnmobile12]

All right, here's the thing about the Todoroki fire-users.

Most forms of glass melt at a temperature of 1,400°C to 1,600° C.

Orange flames have a range of 1100°C to 1200°C.

So unless either of them can exceed the 1400°C threshold and get into the white flame range (1300°C - 1500°C), Shouto and Endeavor cannot melt glass.

But with a blue flame that burns 1,400°C-1,600°C, this bitch sure can.

So now that in the Ambush Simulation AU I've revealed Nine and his entourage are the LoV, imagine the opening scene of Heroes Rising:

Whichever henchmen they've hired to transport the cargo in that car chase scene are careening down the highway, the Pros are in pursuit...and so's the Vanguard.

Car accidents caused by the fleeing villains have put Rock Lock and company out of commission, but Shimura's motorcycle can maneuver through just fine, so he and his passenger are still in the game like it's a Greek chariot race. Nobody really knew the Vanguard was going to make an appearance, nobody knows how they got the info on what was happening, but hey, they're provisionally licensed and can operate under Pros now, so no one's going to complain about the extra manpower on their side.

So my thoughts and prayers are with the poor driver of the armored vehicle whose sole job is to focus on the road. He just wants to survive the night without getting arrested, his comrades can worry about the Pros behind them, he's more concerned about the Pros blockading the road in front of them, one of whom is Endeavor. He's not paying attention to that loud thunk he heard on the roof.

Things are already looking a little sticky...

...and then this crazy bastard appears in the windshield and starts melting the glass. Not breaking it; it's too thick to break without a weapon. Just slowly melting it so the poor guy has enough time to contemplate and regret some key life choices.

(There's a very specific image in my head here and it's the drowned corpse scene from the anime Ghost Hunt if anyone's familiar with that one.)

Anyway, the getaway driver just panics and veers over the guardrail and down the mountainside as it goes in the film, which pretty much leaves Shimura to stop his bike and stare alongside Endeavor down at the path of destroyed vegetation in horror as the sound of screeching metal fades to silence.

Shimura: ....

Endeavor: .... *slowly turns to look at Shimura*

Shimura: *doesn't look up* Hey, don't look at me. You created that monster.

...

And recall that scene ends with Endeavor heading down the hill to investigate the crash and finds Hawks already there:

Touya: What's the situation with my leg? It feels like it's either been broken or impaled.

Hawks: Actually, it's both. That's an...impressive compound fracture.

Touya: All that and I only got a busted leg? *sits up* Oh, no wait, fuck, there's two of you and Endeavor's multiplying.

Endeavor: *fed up* ....scared me to death, you shit for brains. Where's the League?

Hawks: I think they managed to warp out at the last minute. Genius here is the only body I found breathing or otherwise.

Touya: *cackling* Shut the fuck up, Feathers!

...

Shimura: You have got to stop smiling like you regularly devour the souls of small children and their pets.

Touya: *adrenaline wearing off, pain finally setting in* I have no idea what you're talking about.

Rock Lock: *standing over both of them* Exactly what was your plan back there?

Touya: Obviously, I was thinking I could get control of the steering wheel. Not my fault the driver had the nerves of a dandelion. Also, I'm not the one who thought chasing down an armored vehicle with four-door sedans was a good idea, so why I am the only stupid one here? Now everyone be quiet, my head is splitting and I just suffered the indignity of being carried away from an accident by my father.

Endeavor: Carrying you was easier when you were four.

Touya: The last time you carried me is when I was four!

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 8

Writer's Note: Short and Sweet this evening! One final shot - Don't forget to submit your answer for our poll Sending all the love, as per X

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear // Mild violence // Mild kissing // Mild indications of sleeping together (nothing overly descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Readers over the age of 18 only please

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

Geta turned over from his side to meet Aurelia’s face, only to find she wasn’t there. Perplexed, he got out of bed and put on his robe to go and find his wife. On walking out the door, he found Alba attending to basic chores around the hall.

“Alba, where is she? Where is Aurelia?” he was growing concerned as she never left without letting him know where she was.

“Ah my Lord, someone came to fetch her this morning? Macrinus, I believe was his name?”

Geta breathed in deeply and straightened his posture. He and Aurelia had a long discussion last night over her stance on Macrinus and his leering way of imposing on their household.

“She left unaccompanied? You let her?”

Alba didn’t know what to say. She knew Aurelia was a woman of her own right, taking little heed of any advice she was give. “Sire, I-”

“Enough Alba. Where did they go?”

“To the Gladiators.”

***

“You put great work into your men, Macrinus, no?”

“Oh yes, Empress. Great work indeed. These men came from nothing. I have made them into the stallions they are today.” Aurelia tried her best to hide her disgust at the lack of empathy that this man had.

“Tell me, Empress, if you will. Do you trust your husband?”

Aurelia stopped walking and stared at the man, “Why do you ask such foolish questions? Of course I trust him.” Macrinus nodded his head, “Why, do you have concern that I should not?” She knew his game. She was much more intelligent than these men give her credit for.

“Well my Lady, it is just that – ah, forgive me, I should have said nothing.”

“No, no, Macrinus. Tell me now. I demand it.”

“Do you know of his plans for Ostia, your hometown?”

Aurelia furled her eyebrows, “No, I do not. But you have began, so you will finish.”

Macrinus sighed, taking Aurelia by the arm, walking further. “He wishes to build a further palace, right by the water. Great fortresses to blockade and guard Rome’s great land. It means that all who live there will be displaced. I wonder what will happen to your dear Mater and Pater. It’s all very sad. I’m surprised he has not discussed this with you, after all you are the Empress and have a right to know.” Aurelia nodded her head, why did Geta not tell you of such plans?

“Thank you for your kind service Macrinus.”

“Anytime, my lady.”

They walked further down the hall before they were met with a searingly angry Geta. His long cloak swept in the wind, with each thunderous step he took along the uneven tiles. He bit his lip as hard as he could in a bid to contain his emotions.

“Macrinus, I see you have found my wife. How are we seeing today in so?”

Macrinus grinned at the Emperor. He could see he had gotten under his skin. “My Lord, I have a meeting with your brother – I think it best for you to join also. We have good news for the future of Rome!” He clapped Geta on the shoulder, to which Geta grimaced at his wife, grabbing her by the arm. “Let us meet Caracalla, and hear this good news.” He leant down and growled into Aurelia’s ear, “Never leave me again without telling me where you are going.”

Aurelia looked up to him to see him extremely angry, she curtly nodded and carried on walking to meet Caracalla in the main event space. However, she was as equally angry with him and would discuss the matter later.

***

Caracalla stood entwined with several people, all kissing various parts of his body. He shooed them away once Macrinus and Geta entered. He didn’t notice Aurelia behind but once she emerged he announced, “Ah brother, good to see you have brought your dog with you, yet again.” Geta looked at Caracalla with only fire in his eyes, “Brother, it would serve you well to keep that mouth of yours shut and stop with the degradation of my wife.”

Caracalla laughed, “Oooh brother please, calm. It was merely a joke. Anyway, it is good she is here. She needs to know of the new and good news!”

Geta questions, “What good news?”

“Macrinus is eligible for Senate promotion.”

“Excuse me?” Geta exclaimed. “Brother, may I speak with you a moment? In private.”

The two took themselves off to the exterior balcony, while Macrinus announced to Aurelia, “Some people just don’t know when to stop, Aurelia.” She perked her ears to this, “Yes, I would agree. I have seen so much destroyed from people not knowing their boundaries. But, do tell, how have you experienced?”

“Ah I shouldn’t say,”

She interrupted him, “Yes, as you keep alluding to Macrinus, yet spill all. Do tell.” She affirmed confidently.

He smirked at her, “Senator Thraex. He is a man who, let’s just say, has a want. A problem. He borrowed quite a bit of money off me, but cannot pay it back.” Aurelia was about to speak before Macrinus began again, “You see we found a solution – I now own his home. He has nothing. That’s what we need in Rome, Aurelia. Men who get what they want, and ensure nothing in their way stops them.” Aurelia narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth before the loud clashing of voices and objects stopped her. She rose from her seat to walk over to where Geta and Caracalla were. The door suddenly flung open with Caracalla rushing out, tears streaming his face, “MACRINUS, COME NOW. WE’RE LEAVING. GAMES ARE CANCELLED TODAY. YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING BROTHER!” Macrinus rose, bowed to Aurelia and followed Caracalla.

Looking into the room she saw Geta like she had never seen him before. Enraged. Red faced. Veins popping out in places where she never thought a vein would run. He roughly took her by the hand, muttering words to himself that Aurelia couldn’t make out. Geta took her to his quarters rather than hers. He sent all hands away, he just wanted the space to him and Aurelia.

As soon as they were on their own, he sat down on the large seat in front of him and broke down to cry. Aurelia knelt before him.

“Dear one, what is wrong?” Aurelia asked softly.

He looked to her with such sorrow in his eyes. “I thought something happened to you this morning, when you weren’t there. I am sorry for the way I acted toward you earlier. I was rushed.”

Aurelia took his hands, “Geta, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have left without saying anything but I didn’t want to disturb your slumber. You look very sweet in your sleep.” She giggled to the Emperor, to which he wrinkled his nose in return and kissed the back of her hand. “I promise, from now on tell you everything and even bring you with me if I must.”

Geta nodded and continued, “Now I have Caracalla to worry about…”

Aurelia sighed, “Only now you have to worry about him?” she jibed.

“Aurelia, this is serious. I fear the disease my brother has of the loins has spread to his brain. He is saying the most ridiculous things, and agreeing to the most ridiculous ventures. I really think that Macrinus has had a helping hand here. My brother is very impressionable.”

Aurelia paused then began, “Speaking of Macrinus, he was telling me of your venture you want to see through for Ostia.”

Geta looked at her with a puzzled look, “What plans?”

She relayed what Macrinus had told her. Geta began, “Aurelia I have never said such things – why would I want my palace at sea level anyhow? Surely that would entice more to invade Rome if they knew the leader was there at such easy access?”

Aurelia paused to think. He had a point. Until it clicked, “He’s trying to drive a wedge between us. He wants me to think ill of you.”

Geta was to begin again before they were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Marcus Acacius busts through, “Emperor, Empress, forgive me for the intrusion, but something has happened at the Senate. It’s Macrinus. He has been appointed in as Senator over Thraex. He is the new higher power.”

Aurelia’s eyes shot wide, with Geta clearing his throat.

“We must discuss how we are to solve this problem. Immediately.”

Part 9

[theoxenfree]

FATHOMLESS

eldritch detective x reader | 2.1k | 18+

everyone at the precinct spoke at length about detective arsenè being the best in watt city. others claimed he'd always been there; meanwhile, he seemed to have just appeared one day. more concerning than that, however, was the fact no one ever pointed out he had no face.

warnings; dubcon, alcohol consumption, fictitious precinct + detective work, roughly proofread.

repost from my old blog 2kmps. please interact + reblog of you enjoyed!!

Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face. It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You'd blamed the long hours, the glowing blue screens and useless eye prescriptions and corporate greed and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.

“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.

“Who? Arsené?” they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”

Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.

“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division, an older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, set aside his bifocals and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy, hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”

But, this was the first time you had heard he'd worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he spoke about the alcohol.

“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct, a pretty woman with silky black hair and long, blunt nails she used the tips of to clack away on her keyboard. “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”

She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct; you were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.

After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet: slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated. Practiced. Repeated.

This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it; until one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.

You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.

Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.

“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”

As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.

“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”

“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been there, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”

“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”

“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”

It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it. Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.

Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.

“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.

You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.

When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.

“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”

For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.

“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or for your reputation?” you asked.

He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.

“Neither,” was what he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”

The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.

At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.

He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.

“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”

You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.

[piratefishmama]

Fake It Till You Make It | Part 8

"Oh Steven..."

The view of Eddie was obstructed pretty quickly when Steve manoeuvred him behind him, turning fully to face his dad using his broader body to shield Eddie from view. “He’s—”

“Panicking. He’s panicking. I have eyes Steven. Lynda get this poor boy a glass of water would you?” A chair creaking from inside the room told them all his mother had gotten up to do as she was asked, and while that might have caused most to relax, Steve still stood his ground. A human blockade. “It’s okay son, you’re going to have to move eventually it might as well be now, he’s safe.”

“Is he?” Eddie rested his forehead against the centre of Steve’s shoulders, right at the base of his neck, just… rested there, Steve wouldn’t let anyone hurt him, it’d be okay.

“Well I’m not about to invite my son to send me to hospital, am I?” A wise choice, it seemed like Steve was fully prepared to do just that if necessary. “This house is safe for you both, and it always will be.” John stepped to the side a little, just enough to be able to see around Steve’s shoulder, although Steve was tempted to move into his way again, he’d put himself in the way of a train if it meant protecting someone else, Eddie was certain of it at that point “Eddie… was it?”

He’d overheard while Steve was talking to him. He knew his name. Eddie looked up, basically peeking over Steve’s shoulder. It was awkward, given they were almost the same height, but… he still felt safer there.

“Oh heavens, John step aside, you’re frightening the poor thing to death” And there was Lynda, nudging John aside with a tall glass of water in hand “Eddie, come on out from behind there,” as if ‘there’ wasn’t her damn close to six foot son “it’s okay” he was a grown man, yet he felt like he was seven all over again, hiding behind a couch away from the police who’d come to get his dad.

He’d only hidden because his dad used to tell him that if he was naughty the police would take him away, and he may have… coincidentally… drawn on his bedroom wall, he’d hidden it pretty well but… there were suddenly police bashing down the door!

Just so happened they were there for his father, who’d been doing much naughtier things.

Steve didn’t move, so that left the choice up to him. A choice he had to make, no matter how scary it was. He was there, there was no getting out of the plan now. They’d seen him, he couldn’t make a run for it… or he could but he’d never able to look Steve or Dustin in the face ever again, which left only one real option.

He took a deep breath, placed a hand on Steve’s bicep, and stepped out from behind him. Steve’s hand was very quick to find his, holding him, grounding him, a tether to keep him stable and god it felt nice to have it there, warm, and secure, fingers perfectly slotted between his own. He could only imagine what a pair they looked though.

The King and the Court Jester.

The Jock and the Freak.

Perfect and Completely Imperfect.

He knew what he looked like, how people looked at him, even in clean clothes, even having brushed his hair, he still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed sometimes, and Steve… god… There weren’t words for how perfect Steve looked.

It seemed effortless but Eddie knew Steve must have put in genuine effort. It was attractive how much effort he must have been putting in.

They all looked that perfect though. He truly looked so very out of place. Lynda in her pristine white shirtdress, a belt around her waist giving it shape and John in his expensive pale blue polo and pressed chinos.

There he was, in a hand-me-down red and black flannel, the only pair of jeans he owned that weren’t ripped at the knee (although they were getting there), hands full of silver rings, an old handed down Casio watch, scuffed Reeboks, and the one band Tee he had that wasn’t dirty.

The pickings had been slim he really should have done some laundry. He should have accepted Steve’s offer to help him clean up. They’d have been still doing it!

“Hi… I’m—I’m Eddie… Eddie Munson.” They didn’t know the family name, and it didn’t surprise him either, Wayne wasn’t raised in Hawkins, he’d just settled there after he learned Eddie would be handed to him. Traded his truck for a trailer in a random pick of a town and swapped his long haul journeys for night shifts at the plant and that was that.

They couldn’t have known his family name.

“Oh my…” it wasn’t a disgusted oh my, although her eyes did widen, he felt… seen as she looked him up and down, seemingly sizing him up, and then… she turned to Steve and all his worries seemed to vanish when she, with genuine mischief in her voice, said “he’s a bit out of your league isn’t he, Steven? I know we encourage you to be ambitious but—”

“W-what?!” And that was Steve, flustered in his response “No, I’m—he’s—”

“Sweetheart” oh she sounded so cheeky “he has tattoos” Eddie quickly glanced down at his bare forearms where he’d rolled his sleeves up earlier, bats on display, his tattoos usually a source of judgement, she wasn’t judging him though. “You’re afraid of needles.”

“I am NOT!”

“That’s not what I remember from your last round of shots.”

“I was five.” At least he was the last time they’d gone with him to get his shots done. "I've had plenty of shots since then."

“These fears don’t just vanish, Steven, how do you expect to hold onto this handsome young man if you can’t even handle a little pri—”

“Lynda please.” John interrupted what would have been a stellar takedown with a comical amount of exasperation, the man pinching the bridge of his nose as if staving off an incoming headache. Eddie, against all odds, was smiling, fighting back genuine giggles, the free hand not wrapped within Steve’s lifted to cover his mouth as if to hold them in.

“What? It’s not like it didn’t work.” She handed John the glass she’d been holding, since Eddie no longer seemed to need the water, then took a step closer to Eddie “Eddie, dear… how about you and Steven come into the living room, and we can get to know you a little, how does that sound?” There was no anger in her tone, no disgust hidden in the layers of it, she just… she smiled at him.

Where were these ‘rich assholes’ people kept claiming the Harringtons to be? Because he didn’t see them. He could understand the hesitation to trust, he was still nervous, the fear still licked at his very soul that maybe, just maybe they were biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike when he couldn’t get out, but… was there any reason to be distrustful?

Had the Harringtons ever been outspoken against his people? Ever? Save for maybe one or two occasions where Steve had called someone queer as an insult back in high school, before he’d obviously grown.

People just assumed.

Those at the bottom just assumed the worst of all of those at the top. Same as most assumed the worst of him, that he was mean, that he was scary. They were just at opposite ends of the social ladder. There had to be some good among the rich, why not the Harringtons?

Why couldn’t they be good? Why not at least give them the opportunity to be good?

“Y-yeah… yeah, that’d uh—that’d be okay I think.” Steve squeezed his hand so gently, another attempt to ground him, to keep him tethered. To keep him calm, and it worked. It helped. Steve was there, Steve would keep him safe. No matter who came at them, Steve would keep him safe, not a King at all.

A loyal Knight, a Paladin, a Defender. He’d probably be safe walking through the fiery pits of hell itself, as long as Steve was there beside him. “You sure you’re okay, Eddie? We can go back to yours, we can just… try another day.” And Steve checked in with him too as his parents returned to the Living room, Lynda pausing at the door to wait for them while her husband continued on.

Steve’s hand warm around his, looking at him with a level of concern nobody had bothered to bestow upon him before.

Not even Wayne, but Wayne was kinda gruff, he showed his love in other ways. Steve barely knew him… he was just, that kind of person apparently.

“Nah, we’re here now and with you here? My very own big, strong knight in shining armour? I’m pretty sure I could brave anything.”

And that bashful little smile of Steve’s whenever someone praised him?

Beautiful.

Beautiful enough to chase any bad feelings away with their tails between their legs. Beautiful enough to give him the boost he needed to pull Steve along by his hand and into that living room with Lynda, beautiful enough to give him the strength to take on the goddamn world.

Or at least the scariest thing he could think of in it at the time, that being… being himself in front of two complete strangers who could ruin his life with zero repercussions aside from their son being angry at them.

So it was a pretty big deal, that smile of his.

The first thing Eddie registered as he entered the main living room though, was that off to the right, there was a magnificent mahogany table, complete with three chairs on either side and one at each end.

Last time he’d seen it, it’d been covered in pizza boxes and alcohol options, its majesty concealed beneath a layer of filth. “Stevie can I—” couldn’t help himself

“Later” Steve was quicker than him though, Dustin had already brought up the table before, it wasn’t hard to guess where Eddie’s mind would go.

Of course he’d shot Dustin down, but Eddie? Maybe… just maybe he’d let Eddie use it. Only once his parents left again though, something told him they’d draw a line at a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, one of the main highlights of the ongoing Satanic Panic, being held in their dining room, whether they used it or not.

“So!" John began as he found his seat once more, waiting only for Steve and Eddie to sit down on the sofa close by, side by side, hand in hand, looking like the least likeliest pair in existence, to begin. "Eddie, tell us a little about yourself, how’d you both meet?”

Straight into the deep end then. "Well..."

Part 10

[cookie-crumblr]

✨My Dastardly Villain~✨

F!Hero Reader x M!Villain Yan OC Kai~

Part 4~

Part 1 here!

<—Previous Part __ Next Part—>

His Info 💰✨

MINORS DNI!

CW: F!Reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, non con touching/groping (not by ML), swearing(sorry i always forget to tag that) brief NON CON (not by ML)it’s grossssss), readers super name is Solar,

What the fuck!

What the shit!

What the fuck!

Kai asked you of all people to date him?? What was he thinking!?

He wasn’t.

You’re his worst enemy!

Not to mention if you found out that he knew and he wasn’t telling you��

No, not the time to care!

But…

He does.

He can’t help it, he already likes the person you are…

Not to mention your sexual chemistry together. His face heats up just thinking about your silhouette, the way your body moves as you walk, your gait, your skin… Everything is perfect about you.

How are you so infuriatingly contradicting.

You, who he never once thought of as an actual person, rather just a blockade between him and his goals.

He inspects a dreaded lock of hair absentmindedly, trying to distract himself from having to think any longer. He groans and gets up out of bed. “Fuck,” escapes him in a harsh puff of air from the depths of his soul.

He returns to his bedroom to find you up and getting dressed in a flurry of swift motions, halting half in pants and half out, to look at him guiltily when he enters.

“Planning to leave before i come back?” He chuckles with a devious smirk, not really meaning it.

“Ha ha. No, I have work… I got a call for something… Urgent.”

A twinge of jealousy rings through him, if he’s here, and it’s a sunday; so you don’t have cleanup duty, then what are you being paged for?

He crosses his arms and pouts without thinking.

“Hah! Kai, stop it! You’re so cute,” you close the distance to pinch his cheek lightly.

“I am not cute.” He says with his arms crossed.

You giggle to yourself on your way out.

Hero HQ~

A super girl you don’t recognize speed walks out of the commander’s office while crying, right as you enter… An omen of what to come, sure, but that poor girl, did she at least get an omen of her own?

As you stand somewhat awkwardly, practically pressed against the door, ready to bolt, he inspects you with precision.

“Solar, you know you don’t belong in D class, right?” he says in a low, slow voice.

“I don’t know that.” You fold your arms pouting. Why does it feel like he’s a parent talking to a petulant child.

“Come sit…” He pats his legs.

You go to plop into one of the chairs across from his desk, about halfway down, he stops you “Not there, Solar, you’re a smart girl, come.”

You freeze staring out the window behind him while starting to blank it out.

With tungsten weighted feet, you shakily step around the desk and sit on his leg.

He picks you up like a child under your arms and places you in the middle of his lap…

You feel sick when something hard pokes you from underneath.

His hand slides down your sides. then down your thighs. He feels you up for a while, all while you’re tuning him out. Your mind flits to Kai, his smile, his laugh, the way he plays with his hair all the time when he’s anxious.

Villain HQ~

“What’s wrong Sobek, darling?” The Madame asks him in a matronly tone, her arms full with a stack of antique tomes towering well over her crown.

She’s much shorter than Sobek, and more on the round side. Her well endowed chest fills out a dark red dress with a deep v, and a slit all the way up to her hip. Even shorter in stature and hidden behind books her presence is commanding.

“Nothing… Do you want help with those?” He asks, knowing the answer already.

“No thank you dear, if i was struggling i’d just use my powers hah!” She barks a laugh that somehow still sounds elegant coming from her.

Everyone is lax at this headquarters, supers with their feet up on their desks playing their nimtendos, the goofy madame, just ignoring all of them, and going straight to her office with enough books that she won’t read fully to last her a couple days. He sighs, this place is home.

He decides to join some of the supers gaming on a play terminal 5 hooked up to a projector. It’s in a room with three glass walls and a sunken floor with a sectional sofa and a few ottomans filling it.

*POP*

You shiver as you fall into a lap, saving you from—

You open your eyes hoping tot see Kai…

Youve fallen into Sobek’s lap.

You had been thinking about Kai…“Sobek? I was thinking about—” He slaps a hand over your mouth and that’s when realization for where you are hits everyone around you.

You’re too distracted by the fact that you teleported into Sobek’s lap while thinking about Kai, and have previously teleported into Kai’s lap focusing on Sobek…

“Is that a hero!?” A super in blue shouts.

How did you not see it? His body is exactly the same.

“HEY THERES A HERO!!!” Another one screeches.

They scramble off of the couch and some people walking by the windows see you, and swiftly pull an alarm switch on a wall nearby.

A blaring buzzer fills the atmosphere and pulses against your ear drums.

Your chest thrums violently with the noisy vibrations.

“Solar!? this is the villain HQ!” He hisses over the alarm!

“….” You’re frozen, staring into eyes that are hidden behind a mask.

“We have to get you out of here before the madame—” He’s cut off—

“Sobek!!!” A melodic voice rings out as if over an intercom, but you see the woman through the glass standing in front of the cubicles.

“RUN!” he shouts.

“Where? What!?” You aren’t prepared, your mind short circuits as it spins like a merry go round orbiting Kai and Sobek.

He throws your body over the sunken in couch at that point, “Just run!!!” And when your legs hit the ground they listen even while you’re still confused. You propel forward on them.

You see an elevator closing and sprint for that.

Even though Sobek is much faster than you, he ops to follow you close behind, protecting you from any bolts of power directed at you, hurling orbs of water to slow them down or stop them completely before they can touch you.

Other office workers are hiding under the desks as you pass by you see them pulling in their chairs to help hide themselves.

Kai suddenly overtakes you, tackling you down to the floor, and covering you with his body as a blast of something wizzes over your heads.

The elevator is still closing, all of this is happening in matters of second.

he’s the first to stand, jumping to his feet and taking your hand in his to pull you along.

You make it, just barely, he slaps his hand over the closing door and forces it back open, then he shoves you inside.

Without looking back he jumps in with you, and puts up a wall of turbulent water outside the elevator to protect you as the door closes far too slowly.

time feels like it slows with it.

You notice another man already inside, his eyes are wide as he glances between you both.

Kai smashes the ground floor button to go up, then spins to inspect you, his hands fly to your face tilting your head this way and that.

You snap out of it and smack his hands away from you. “What the fuck Kai!?”

He covers your mouth again, “Solar! once we are—”

You knock off his hand, “fuck no! You’re explaining yourself right now.”

The man looks between you two once more, when you meet his gaze he looks straight forward and sucks in his lips as if trying to pull himself physically out of here.

Kai lowers his voice to a whisper, “I knew it was you…”

Your heart drops. “You were messing with me?”

“No!! Solar! I… I like you.” He turns around suddenly and messes with his hair again.

You bite your lip, you don’t know what to think or say. You like Kai too… but Sobek? You can’t stand him. “I need some time.” you say with an empty voice. still trying to block out the world.

The elevator dings.

You walk out around Kai with your head down, and your heart clenching in your chest.

He watches you walk away, the same tightness in his.

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, mention of and description of death, night knig, description of blood and minor gore. mention of sandors death. This chapter is just kinda boring and super sad.

Previous chapter here

Chapter 28

The faint echoes of screaming and chasing of metals can be heard. The thick stone walls of the crypt doing everything but keeping the horror noises out where they are supposed to be. You look around you, seeing the women and children and some elderly people holding each other close. 

“Please!!! Please open the door.. Hey… hey.. Ahh” screaming and banging on the crypt door startles everyone but it soon fades out leaving the eerie quiet to fill the ears. You let your mind wander with everything Sandor has told you about the fight. How you cannot kill what is already dead and how he can make them rise again, giving him an infinite army.

“He can make the rise again…” you mutter under your breath. 

“Y/n?... you alright.” Sansa whispers to you. You shake your head looking around. 

“We're not safe in here..” you say to her. 

“What? Yes we are, the fight is above us…” she says frowning in confusion. 

“N-no no sansa were not we have to get deeper into the crypt where the first people were buried.” you say getting up and gathering the blanket around you. 

“Your grace?” Tyrion asks you as he stands confused. 

“We're not safe!” you exclaim.

“Yes we are!! Shh.” Sansa tries to comfort you.

“Where are we sansa?! Where are we right now!” you ask frantically. 

“My family's crypts under winter fell” she says 

“He said they can rise again.. Were surrounded by the night kings soldiers…” you say. She stops freezing in her tracks as the sound of stone cracking and falling turns both your gazes to a crypt wall where a dead man pulls himself out of the casket. 

“Oh god..” she says other people take notice as more stones begin to split and crack causing more bodies to come out. A woman screams as she's pulled backwards and is pulled apart. Everyone gets up and begins to scream and run as the crypts become flourished with the dead. 

“Joss!” you yell as you pull up your dress running to the entrance of the crypt. You pull up the blockade lock on the door pushing the doors open as joss defends you from behind cutting down a few men. 

“Come!” you yell to him as the door opens. Fire, blood, death and fighting is fogged with dragon smoke and icy mist. You pull a sword out of the body beside you and head outwards. Avoiding the dead and cutting down people who try to collide with you. 

“Your grace!” joss yells to you as he leads you to an opening. You follow him as it leads you both up to the castle. It's quiet but with the screams and the people running once again loudons the atmosphere. You both run through the halls being chased by the dead. You topple over stands and statues blocking their way. 

Turning a corner you run into a man screaming but he holds you still covering your mouth with his hand. Your husband. 

“What the fuck are you doing out of the crypt this isnt safe!” he quietly exclaims to you. 

“He raised them… from the crypt. Everyone was being killed.” you say panting out of breath. Sandor is covered in dirt and blood. He looks exhausted already but it's long from over.

“You need to hide. There's a side closet in the north tower!” he says. 

“N-no no i'm not leaving you. Not again I'm not!” You exclaim tears now running down your face. 

“Fuck… you need to go..I cannot loose you. I won't.” Sandor presses a firm kiss against your lips before yelling at you and joss. 

GO!” joss takes your arm and pulls you away from your husband as you both run through the halls once more trying to stay as quiet as you can. The roof above as you run through suddenly collapses in as the dead fall through causing you both to have to find another way. 

“This way.” joss says as you run the other way to the side out of the door way back onto the outskirts of the battle. You're pushed and fall into the ground as people run for their lives. 

You try to get up but your dress is stuck on the barricade spike. You try to pull it off but there's no luck. You try to reach for the sword that you dropped to cut yourself free but you cant reach it as it fell farther than you when dropping it. You hear the snarling and gurgling of one of the dead soldiers as it runs to you holding a sword to you. 

“No no.!” You try to pull away even trying to unrustle your skirt. 

“Y/N!!” you hear your name as joss runs back to you taking out the soldier as well as two others before he cuts you free helping you up. 

“Go g-” he stops and coughs but blood comes out as you both look down, a sword through his chest. You look up at each other. 

“joss…no..no joss!” you exclaim as you move around him yelling you kill the dead behind him and he falls to the ground. 

“Joss, come on. It's okay.. I got you.” You say trying to help him up he gets up holding his stomach. You rush into the north side and move up a stair flight before he can't go any further and drops down the floor laboring breathing as he bleeds. 

“no..no we have to keep going.” you say crying, putting your hand over his to help stop some of the bleeding. 

“i-..i'm sorry..i can't..” he huffs. You nod 

“Th-that's okay.. You're okay.” you say. He nods weakly, smiling. You hear the snarling and screaming of more dead. 

“Look at me..” you say to him, placing your free hand on his face. He looks at you, tears welling up and streaming down his cheeks. 

“I love you…you are everything to me. You've helped me survive, you've helped me smile when I can't. You are not just my squire.. You're my friend, my family, a son....” you cry. He cries a weak smile is placed on his face. 

“I'm not going to leave you.” you say 

“y/n..” he says. 

You look over seeing two dead, one crawling itself up the stairs, the other scraping an ax on the side of the wall. It roars, spotting you both. You pull joss into a hug waiting for the arch of pain that comes before death. But it doesn't come. Scared to look, you slowly turn your head back to the dead. They both lay lifeless on the steps. 

You reluctantly stand up, you look out the staircase window seeing people dropping lifeless. You go back to joss kneeling back down. His head hangs to the side as if he'd fallen asleep but his eyes remain open. 

“J-joss..hey..” you say, lifting his head to you. You see his face knowing he is gone. You sob, running your fingers over his face, closing his eyes. You pull him back to you in a hug sobbing into him.

—-------

You stand over joss’s body as he lays on one of the many pires built. Podrick stands next to you holding his lover's hand as tears roll down your cheeks as you lean down to kiss his forehead. Jon begins to speak. 

“We stand here today to say goodbye to your sisters and brothers, to our fathers and mothers, daughters….and sons. To our fellows who set aside their differences to come here and fight together, and die together, so that others might live, everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid, we need to keep them alive in memory. It is an honor and a duty.” he says he looks to the side as someone hands him a torch, he walks over to one of the pyres and lights it. 

Sandor places his hand on your lower back as he holds a torch you back up a bit with podrick as he lights the prie. You watch as the flames grow higher and you take your place back to where everyone stands. 

“What was the last thing he said to you?” podrick asks. 

“He said my name… what about you?” you ask him to turn your head to face him. Podrick stands there looking at the flame. 

“...he told me he loved me ... .a-and i ... .i didn't say anything back.” he answers. You take a breath and nod looking back to the flame. 

“He knew..podrick even if you couldn't say anything. He knows.” you reply.

“Come on..” you say to him, placing your hand on his arm, turning him away as you lead him into the castle. Everyone begins to follow slowly, some taking more time to grieve than others. They all begin to head to the banquet hall where meals have been prepared not that anyone really would want to eat but it's set up anyway. 

Your husband takes a seat and Gendryl joins him. You stand on the side with Sansa as people begin to enter, sitting and taking the meal before them. 

You watch people eat and talk. It's fairly quiet but there's still chatter. 

“You should eat your grace.” jon says to you 

“I'm not hungry.” you say. Jon sighs as you look up at him. 

“You've lost a lot in the past few months.” he says to you while taking a sip of whatever's in his cup. 

“Yeah…we all have.” you say you watch as sandor sits alone eating. Tormund comes up to him patting him on the back and taking a seat next to him talking in his ear. You can see he’s extremely annoyed as Tormund continues talking. But it's the girl who comes up to him and wraps her arm around him as he pours himself another drink that bothers you most. 

“Excuse me.” you say to jon before gathering the front of your skirt and walking to your husband. He turns to the girl and growls at her, startled and stands up hurrying off. You rest your hand on his shoulder bracing yourself to sit next to him. 

“Aye you fuck off i-” he stops himself when he sees its you. He takes your hand in his and kisses it as you take your seat.

“Sorry.. Thought you were another one of them.” he huffs, chugging his cup.

“Others still startle at you.” you say leaning into him. 

“Good. Tyrion said "I'm turning soft..” he replies. You chuckle nodding. 

“I just hope it's not…too soft.” you say. He chuckles now at your innuendo. 

“You've changed my love.” he says to you kissing your temple. 

“So have you.” you smile at him before you place your head on his shoulder. 

“Lets leave.” he says you. You frown in confusion. 

“Leave?” you ask your head still resting on his shoulder. 

“Mm. go home.” he says. You shake your head and scoff before replying to him. 

“We don't have a home sandor..” you say a bit sad. 

“Then ill build one for you. We don't have to live in a castle. Im not going to to be pimped and prodded like a fucking whore before she beds a royal…all i want is you.” he says taking another drink from his cup. You look back up to him seeing he is truly serious. 

He looks down to you waiting for an answer you smile and nod to him. 

“We’ll leave tomorrow.” you say. He nods back to you. 

Next chapter coming soon.

I now have a sandor cleagane (Hound Dogs) community open where I’ll be posting sneak peeks, spoilers and teasers to the rest of fox and the hound as well as other fics. If youd like to join click the link. This comm will have smut and other not safe for work sneak peeks so minor DNI.

HOUND DOG COMMUNITY!!

Thank you so much for being patient in waiting for this chapter im now back to being free and posting a chapter every week or so!!

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Taglist @stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover ex160-blog1 @midnightprocrastinator @haus-of-a-thousand-fandoms @friendlyspacemartian @ellesmythe @shadowzena43 @frmmi @sarah5462 @mydollish @po0ki3 @silverwingxox

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 13 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Chapter warnings: Noncanonical dragons, canon divergence, smut, domestic abuse, rough sex, choking, slapping, knife/blood play, breeding kink

“The king is dead!” “They found him in his own chamber, throat slit and his hand around the knife.” “Could he truly have taken his own life?”

Maelessa poured wine into the cups as the members of the council discussed the king’s death. Just as when Viserys had died, the doors to the council room remained shut, and news of the king’s death were kept quiet until the council figured out their next move.

“We cannot afford to ponder and wait, the realm needs a ruler. War is being waged on us, we cannot sit and grieve and do nothing. We will hold a public funeral for my brother and afterwards, crown me in the dragon pit just like we did Aegon.” Aemond’s words were harsh but true. This was not the time for patience and slowness to act. Lord Larys was hesitant, Lord Jasper eager to agree with Aemond, and Maester Orwyle was mostly silent.

“It does seem rather conspicuous that the king would pass so suddenly, before he could speak…” Larys spoke. “Are you insinuating something, Lord Larys?” Maelessa interrupted him harshly. A small smirk appeared on Aemond’s lips.

“Stand down, Maelītsos. You’ve proven yourself a most valuable servant of the realm but I have not granted you a voice on this council,” he reminded her. She bowed her head quickly.

“Yes, your Grace, forgive me.” Heat burned between her legs at the public scorn. Aemond wisely pardoned the Clubfoot’s words, speaking with a voice soft as honey.

“It is only natural that we should ask ourselves the true circumstances of Aegon’s death. But we must accept that we may never truly know. I mourn my brother, truly. I loved him dearly. But for the good of the realm we cannot stall. We must proceed,” he stated, and so they did.

Aegon’s funeral was held in the eye of the public. Commoners were welcome to see the as king Aegon’s body, swaddled in bandages, was laid atop a large pyre. Aemond himself carried the torch toward the pyre to light it, honouring Aegon in the way of the dragonlords, sending him off in a great fire. He would have had Vhagar light the pyre in the traditional way, but the dragon was too large and too frightful to involve in such a ceremony. He spoke of his brother in high regard, he reminded the public of Aegon’s heroic deeds in the battle of Rook’s Rest, and laid him to rest calling him Aegon the Dragonheart. Tears were shed among the commoners, and Aemond played his part so perfectly that none would ever suspect him of having a hand in the king’s death. None but Larys Strong, who wouldn’t stop looking between Aemond and Maelessa suspiciously. She would have to find a way to deal with him.

Once the funeral was over, the royal company moved along to the dragonpit. Maelessa had polished the crown, the one of Aegon the Conqueror, and she was eager to place it upon her husband’s brow. She was the one who spoke at the coronation. The music of trumpets followed Aemond’s walk towards the stage, and when they quieted, Maelessa began to speak.

“In the time of Aegon the Dragonheart’s injury, prince Aemond has wisely and valiantly served the realm and your city as prince regent! In his short time as regent, he has marshalled armies to keep you safe from the attacks of the enemy!” She twisted her own tongue by calling her mother the enemy, felt the words tug at her very soul, but she went on. “He has sent his dragonrider to burn the enemy’s blockade, allowing food into the city once more! We should all be honoured to lift Aemond Targaryen up as our king!” her voice echoed through the hall and the commonfolk cheered her. More music played as she lifted up the crown of the Conqueror and placed it on Aemond’s head. Maelessa was the first to kneel before him, the new queen on her knees before her king, and then the septon made the announcement.

“All hail his Grace, Aemond Targaryen, first of his name! King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men! Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the Realm! Aemond the king!” he announced. The bells rang, the commoners cheered, and Maelessa smiled proudly. Finally, their plans of many years had come into place. Their time was here. Aemond was king, and she was his queen.

The joy had been short lived, as during his first council meeting as king, they had been interrupted by a sighting of a dragon. It was the dragon Seasmoke, flying over the city with a rider on his back. Maelessa was shocked, she couldn’t understand how her mother managed to find new dragonriders. Aemond had been furious, commanding Maelessa to stay inside the city while he jumped onto his horse and rode as fast as he could towards Vhagar where she rested outside the gates. She knew he headed towards Dragonstone, but the pain of waiting for him while she knew nothing of his whereabouts was killing her. 

She tried to be reasonable, tried to think of ways forward, what their next step would be, but all she could think about was where Aemond was, if he was unharmed, if he had met her mother. Who Seasmoke’s new rider was and if there were more. If she had found riders for Silverwing and Vermithor, Aemond could be in danger. She wanted to take Catlys and their new dragon friends and follow him, but she remembered his words. Your king commands you to stay. So she did.

While Aemond was gone, Alicent returned. She was struck with grief upon hearing of the death of her son, and showed not a trace of happiness at the news of Aemond’s coronation. She retired herself to Helaena’s chambers, preferring not to see anyone else.

When Aemond finally returned he was covered in ash, blind with rage.

“My love!” Maelessa exclaimed as she ran to greet him, but was met with the back of his hand splitting her cheek. She crashed towards the wall and cried out in shock rather than pain. Quickly his hand snaked around her throat and pinned her to the stone wall.

“You mother has risen three new dragons against us! All of them have riders!” he spat, eye flashing madly. Maelessa clawed at his wrists. “I would have burned them all, but Vhagar and I were forced to retreat.” His grip softened and he leaned his forehead against hers, tracing his thumb over the tiny wound on her cheek. “I need you, Maelītsos, I am lost without you. I did something mad,” he whispered.

“What did you do, my king?” she asked, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. His breath was heavy, and his hands opened and closed, debating if he should strike her again, or touch her gently to still his rage.

“Sharp point. We burned it to the ground,” he confessed, bowing his head in shame, resting it against hers. She sighed in defeat and Aemond clutched her waist with his trembling hands. “I’m frightened, Maelessa. I don’t know what to do. Help me,” he begged, and she wiped away the tears on his face before anyone could see. Nodding, she took his face in her hands.

“I will, Aemond. Go talk to Helaena. Her dragon is the largest we have after Vhagar. See if you can’t persuade her to use Dreamfyre to defend the city. And speak with your councillors, too. Tell them what happened. But Aemond,” she said, grabbing his wrist before he could take off. “Be careful what you say to Larys. I don’t trust him.”

Aemond nodded, taking her advice. He ran his thumb over the cut on her cheek again and gave her a look, a silent apology, before he left.

News of the atrocities at Sharp Point spread quickly, and it seemed Aemond had no luck with his council or with his sister. He returned to Maelessa even more angry than before, this time he found her in their chambers.

“Helaena! That’s your solution!” he yelled, slamming the door behind him. Maelessa rose from the chair, looking her mad king in the eye.

“She refused to help?” she asked. Aemond’s hands twitched, eager to hurt something, or someone. She took a step forward.

“Don’t…” he warned, raising his hand to halt her. She took another step forward. “Maelītsos, stop, I’ll hurt you again.” His voice shook with pain and his hand still trembled. “I’m not scared of you,” she said, taking step after step towards him.

“I burnt a city to the ground because I was afraid and angry!” he yelled. “I’m not myself! There is something inside me that burns, that makes me…” he trailed off and looked away, beating at his chest in frustration, unable to look at her. “We are at war! There’s no one I can trust anymore save for you and I cannot ask you to fight your family! What I did to you upon my return, it wasn’t by choice! Burning that village, striking you… I’m so angry, all the time. You’re the only person that can still my rage and yet…” He let out a scream. Maelessa took his hand and brought it up to her chest, placing his fingers on the scars spelling out his name.

“Hurt me. I can take it,” she whispered. Aemond looked up at her, his eye wide. He shook his head.

“I don’t trust myself,” he insisted, but Maelessa smiled and remained calm.

“I trust you. Whatever you do now it’ll be done in fury. That’s no way for a king to act. Let me be your outlet. Hurt me as much as you like, take all your anger out on me and then we’ll resume talks of how to move forward. Trust me, my king. I can take it.” Her voice was just a whisper, but it was enough for Aemond to growl and wrap his fists around her throat, shoving her backwards against the wall and squeezing until she beat at his arms, clawing for breath. Just before she was about to lose consciousness he released her, slapped her face with his palm and then the back of his hand, leaving a purple bruise on her cheekbone. She yelped in pain but smiled at him, happy to be of service.

He crashed his lips down on hers, bit her lip, her tongue, her jaw, her neck, palming at her body through her clothes, ripping holes in the sheer pink gown she wore, rubbing his hands over her breasts and tearing the dress down. He slapped her tits, time and time again until she whimpered and cried, hunching over in pain, then he fisted his hand in her hair and forced her back up to look at him as he pinched her nipples tightly. Despite her tears, Maelessa felt herself grow wet and needy for her king. She would never tire of being used by him, training her body to take whatever abuse he wished to give her.

The tattered remains of her dress fell off when he pushed her towards the floor and she stumbled and fell. He threw the gown aside and shoved her face down into the cold floor as he mounted her. She panted with excitement as she heard him struggle with his belt and trousers. His mind was too clouded with rage and lust to even speak, all he could do was snarl as he dug his nails into her behind and rammed his hard cock into her eagerly awaiting cunt. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she moaned, tasting the floor beneath her as he set a rough and relentless pace, fucking her until her cheek and hips scraped against the stone.

She heard the sound of him spitting before she felt it on her face, and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. Angrily, he spat on her again before he rubbed his saliva all over her face, mixing it with the blood from the cut on her cheek. It stung deliciously.

“More,” she begged. “Hurt me, Aemond, I want it…” 

His cock hit so deeply inside her she swore it touched her cervix, and then he pulled the Valyrian steel dagger from his pants, bringing it to her throat. The threat of the cold steel against her skin at each thrust drove her mad with desire, and judging from the feral sounds coming from Aemond, it had the same effect on him. When he pressed her face into the floor again and thrust into her, the dagger nicked her skin, drawing blood. She winced, but he didn’t acknowledge it, lost in his own pleasure. The blade nicked her again and again before Aemond changed his angle. She now found her cheek being smeared in her own blood as he fucked her mercilessly, and the insanity of it all had her spiralling towards an orgasm in no time.

Three more rough thrusts up against her cervix had her coming undone, crying out his name, shaking beneath him as he sank his teeth into the skin of her shoulder, leaving his mark. When she came down from her high he pulled out of her and dragged her up by her wrist, smacking her bloody face one more time for good measure before he bent her over the table and thrust into her again, pumping into her wildly, chasing his own pleasure.

“I’ll fill you…” he growled. “I’ll put my heir into you… fill your sweet cunt with my seed until it takes root. You’ll bear an heir for me, Maelītsos, I know you will.” His words were ragged, punctuated by his snapping hips grinding into her. With his fists in her hair, he growled one more time and spilled his seed inside her, burying his cock deep. His thrusts grew slow and erratic and then he finally stilled. His hands released her hair and travelled down her back softly, scratching her skin. He pulled out of her and slumped back against the bed, and Maelessa tried to turn around to face him but stumbled, giggling. She sat back into the armchair and watched her husband breathe heavily.

Aemond’s seed dripped out of her wet pussy. What fun for the maids to clean, she thought. He looked at her and his face changed, regret drawing his brows together and he frowned.

“Look at you…” he mumbled. “I put you through too much.”

Maelessa smiled at him and rose, walking on shaky legs towards him and taking his face in her hands.

“Don’t go soft on me now, my king. You needed this,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. Then she was the one to find a wet rag to clean them both up with. As they sat down together, she in Aemond’s lap on the armchair, she decided now was the time. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s good news. I’ve made a discovery.” “What sort of discovery?” he wondered, trailing his fingers down her thigh.

“One that will help us in the war. When Catlys and I visited the Kingswood we found dragons. Wild ones. Two are fighting size, two are babes,” she informed him, brushing through his hair with her fingers. Aemond’s eye widened.

“Wild dragons in the city? Impossible,” he insisted. “Even so, they’re wild. They won’t fight for us. And even if they would, we have no riders for them! I’m not putting low born bastards on dragons like Rhaenyra.” Maelessa smiled again, excited to tell him of her experiments. “I’ve trained them,” she said. Aemond furrowed his brows and looked at her on confusion. “Just like dogs. I taught them commands and gave them meat when they obeyed. They will fight with us, Aemond, even without riders, I’m certain of it.” “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, searching her eyes frantically.

“I needed to be absolutely certain before I told you. One of them must have been in the air and seen us when we flew to burn the blockade. It followed us and helped us burn the ships, without command, simply because it expected food in return. I’m certain they’ll help us protect the city if we throw some sheep at them. What do you say?” she asked and bit her lip eagerly.

“I say you’re fucking brilliant, Maelessa.”

***

After spending half the night speaking his his wife, Aemond made another attempt to talk to his sister. Her dragon was formidable, and despite the wild dragons Maelessa had found, they needed more. Dreamfyre would tip the scales in their favour again.

“Sister,” he spoke softly as he approached her on her balcony. “We share the same blood, you and I. I know you wish no harm to anyone. But in a time like this, when the good of the realm depends on us…” He extended his hand, reaching out to touch her, but stopped himself, remembering how he had lost control earlier and treated her much harsher than she deserved, just like he had his own wife. He would not touch her, he decided, fearing he would lose control again. He continued speaking. “Our mother is not a dragonrider. She cannot understand that you and I have a truer call to heed. Come with me,” he said, sounding much more vulnerable that he meant to. “To Harrenhal. We will lay waste to Daemon and his army. Let our enemies see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

When he had told Maelessa of his plans to go to Harrenhal, she had cried. She didn’t like the idea of him leaving, she thought as king he needed to remain here in the city to protect it. Aemond saw her point, but he also knew that Daemon’s newly marshalled army needed to be defeated, and he thought the best way to do it was by taking Vhagar. Now that Maelessa was queen, she could stay in the city and rule in his absence. Helaena didn’t even turn to face him as she answered.

“And if I refuse? Will you burn me as you did Aegon?” she asked, and Aemond froze. His blood grew cold and he felt like his tongue grew in his mouth. How did she know?

“That is a lie,” he whispered. Now his sister turned to look at him.

“I saw it,” she said, looking at him with intent in her eyes like he’d never seen before. Usually, she looked off into the distance or her eyes were cloudy and lost in thought Now she seemed to be staring directly into his soul. “You burned him, and you let him fall.” “What you say is treason,” Aemond countered, desperately wanting to find a way out of this conversation. He didn’t understand how Helaena could know this, and it would only get worse. 

“Or will you let your wife cut my throat in my bed?” she asked. Now Aemond’s hands trembled again and he was fearful for real. How could this be?

“I could have you killed for accusing the queen of such an act,” he threatened, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them. Coming for him was one thing, coming for Maelessa was another entirely. Helaena didn’t look menacing, though, she didn’t look angry, she did not appear to want to threaten him. She simply spoke as if she had read their story before it had played out.

“The Stranger looms over your shoulder wherever you go. She’s the only reason he will not catch you.” Helaena spoke ominously, then turned to leave him and return back to her chamber. But before she entered, she stopped. “I did not go with you to Harrenhal. But I rode Dreamfyre to protect your wife. That is my part, for the kneeling queen must live in order for you to see victory.”

Aemond returned to his sleeping wife, spooked. He nestled himself close to her warm naked body and held her tightly. If he could make any sense of Helaena’s words, Maelessa would play a more important part in this war than he had ever thought.

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[grippingbeskar]

unearthed

chapter four - fitted

warnings— canon typical violence, swearing, a slow slow build up and it’s painful i hate it here.

a/n— thanks for all the support guys!!! i’m trying to get these up as quick as i can, because i feel like this will read better if it’s all done together but that’s okay!!! we will get there! also i didn’t realise how short this chapter was i’m sorry next one coming super fast i promise xx.

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“Can you just run me through it one more time?” You ask, eyes unsure of where to land. The man in front of you bites back a sigh, and you remind yourself to actually pay attention this time.

“All you have to do is walk up the stairs. You’ll kneel in front of the Armourer, and the King will stand at your side. She’ll say the phrases, and you repeat them.” You swallow, already having forgotten what you were supposed to say. “This is before you meet the King and say your offical vows.”

“Right. And that… that was happening in the…” He isn’t able to hold back his sigh this time, though he keeps himself in check The people here seem to respect you— or tolerate you enough that they’ve become accustomed to your presence.

“The greenhouse. It’s our most secluded area. It will be safe for him then, to reveal himself to you and intertwine the two halves of a whole that is your union.” You choke, spluttering the bottle of water you were sipping on.

“I’m— I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, you are in love. In Mandalorian custom, this is what is etched in the Old Way. You are to become part of his clan, in a more intimate way than anyone ever will.” Love. Stars fucking help you.

“And he agreed to… that?”

“It is expected.” The man finishes, and your mind freezes up like you’ve down a glass of blue milk too quick. “Are you alright, my lady?”

“Yeah! Yep. Super… that’s all— so great! Very much in love. I actually have to— go. I have to go and do something. I’ll be back—“ You were basically running now, despite the man’s protests, the door shutting behind you when you were already halfway down the hall.

It was too much.

Tomorrow, you’d be marrying him— joining a way of life you knew frighteningly little about, and now you were just supposed to… to see him? With anyone else, it would of been the first thing you’d done, but with him it feels like a way bigger deal. You know it is. You can’t help but feel like an imposter… like you’re stealing something from him he clearly does not want to give. Something that should belong to someone he truely cared about… not part of some contract.

The way he talked about it that day in the city, as brief as the conversation was, you could tell he cared. You hardly knew him, but you could read him better now. He actually wasn’t that hard to understand once you’d watched him for a little— his body language betrayed him too often. You imagined under that helmet he made all kinds of faces, unable to hide the emotion that you almost knew flashed across it.

It was hard not to think of what was under there. Often. Too often to be simple curiosity.

When you finally see the door to your room, you were about ready to pass out, but a giant shiny metal blockade slammed into you just as you rounded the corner.

“Fucking hell!” You shout, your palm flying to your now throbbing head. “I swear I’m gonna get you a bell or something. Stars.”

He laughs quickly, the sound soothing the ache in your head, but it’s gone too soon. When you come to, your eyes opening, it’s a sight for sore eyes. The gentle stream of moonlight coming from the hallway bathes the silver armour in a soft white, the beskar lined floors twinkling like stars.

“I was looking for you. You need to come with me— the Armourer wants to see you.” You try not to groan, your eyes closing again. “She needs to choose your armour. For tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Your wedding day. And induction into the way of the Mandalorian. Of course. That.

“Right— okay, I can… let’s go. Lead the way.” You sigh, going to take a step. He surprises you when he reaches out, gentle hands wrapping around your wrists.

The gesture stops you in your tracks, breath catching in your lungs. He scans you, helmet moving slowly across your features while his hands bring your own away from your face. The exhaustion you were just feeling seems to seep out of you the longer his attention is undivided on your eyes, adrenaline rushing to your heart.

He was so overwhelming. He took up every tiny space in your vision and your mind when he was looking at you. It was impossible to think straight around him. You were too busy thinking of… of the way his hands were tight but gentle, something you could easily get out of if you wanted to. You also think about how you… don’t want to get out of his hold. Not anytime soon.

“How long has it been since you slept?” He asks, his voice as gentle as his hands holding you in place.

“Do I look that bad?” You try to joke, and his head just tilts. It’s not one of his ‘okay, you got me there’ head tilts either. No, this one is more… calculating. Systematic. Not very fun. “I don’t know— I just got up early this morning. We’re getting married tomorrow, and apparently there’s a lot more planning involved than I thought.”

“You don’t sleep well here.” He was still holding you. You flexed your fingers, knuckles brushing lightly against the cool chest plate of his hard armour. “These past few weeks, you haven’t slept.”

“I have! I just…” Your shoulders sag, but you manage to keep looking into the black lines of his helmet. It was weird to think his eyes were right under there. “I don’t sleep well anywhere. It’s not just Mandalore. Scouts Honour.”

“I don’t know what that is.” You laugh, and somehow a small conversation with him wakes you up enough to snark back.

“Yeah. Hard to imagine you as a Boy Scout.” He says nothing about how he knows you haven’t slept, but instead holds you there for just a second longer. In the silence, you try to imagine what he’s thinking.

If he wasn’t buried under a helmet, you would think this was a move. A way to pull you closer, hands at his chest, so he could easily lean down to kiss you. But him being…him, he must just really be examining you. Studying you.

Your palms were sweating a little, and he finally lets you go, air whooshing back into your body when he steps away.

“We’ll be quick.” He says simply, leading you towards the end of the hall. You shuffle behind him, your fingers wrapping around the small part of your wrist where his gloves held you. The skin tingles, and you shove your hands in your pockets after that, refusing to look at them.

Din watched you. He found himself doing that a lot these days. You stick to the edge of the room, not nervous or intimidated, but it’s like you were trying to respect the space.

The Armorer had managed to get the Forge looking in some what good condition— at the very least, she was back to what she did best. Making armour that would protect the next generation of Mandalore.

“Din Djarin. You have what I requested?” She speaks, and you watch curiously, taking a step forward as he hands over a stack of beskar ingots. The choice was clear— if you were going to stand with him, you’d be in nothing but the best of what he had to offer.

When the Armourer calls your name, you step forward, your eyes flitting between the giant metal sphere of the Forge and the stack of beskar Din just handed over.

“You are to take the helm. To join Din Djarin as a part of his clan. Do you accept the offer presented?” She asks, her voice the same monotone it always it. When he looks back to you, you weren’t focused on any of the parts of the room. No, you were staring straight at him.

“Din Djarin.” You try the words out in your tongue. He never told you his name. Something sinks in his gut at that, and the fact that you never asked. “I’ve never heard a name like that before.”

“Do you accept?” The Armorer repeats, and you finally look away. He can’t help but feel confused— the way his gut twists and his hands clench even at the memory of the way you say his name. He wants to hear you more— wants to ask you questions like you do to him so freely. Instead, he stays quiet.

“Yeah— yes. I accept.” You say the last part as a question, looking to him. When he nods, you repeat it more firm. The confidence clings to you well. It suits you.

As the Armourer works, he remembers what his people were saying about you in the city. How you were fitting to the planet so well, it’s like you were born here. You had a way to never seem out of place— not like he was when he first came. Everything that took him so long to figure out, you navigated with ease.

They were right. It did suit you— the planet, the beskar… everything.

They were right about something else, too. The part Din conveniently left out when you asked him what he’d heard through the helmets’ receiver. Those women in the city… they couldn’t stop speaking of how beautiful you were.

Din swallowed. Of course he’d… noticed. It was impossible not to. You were a princess— now a Queen, always dressed in glowing colours, your hair flowing freely, a wild look about you like you’d just as easily spend your days navigating Hoth as you did sorting paperwork.

When he’d first seen you, his mouth had gone dry. He thought it was because he knew what was to come— the inevitable marriage, the closeness that would ensue. But looking at you now, being fitting into pauldrons of armour, he realised it may not be the dresses or the winning royal decor— it might just be because those women were right. You were beautiful.

“This is the Way.” The Armourer recites, and takes back the pieces of beskar to place them in the Forge. “The suit will be ready for tomorrow.”

Din nods, his chest tight at the reality. Tomorrow, you would be his wife. He’d bring you into his clan, a part of his planet, potentially tying himself to you for the rest of his life.

He turned and left the room without another word.

You were pacing. The small balcony attached to your room didn’t allow you a lot of room to move, but you needed to get this nervous energy out.

You’d already holo’ed Kaylen, four times in the past hour, and as many times as she’d offered the best advice she could, there was only so much she could do. No matter how many well placed words she chimed down the line, you were still getting married tomorrow.

It was stupid. You’d pictured this day— all kinds of ways, really. A practical part of you had imagined something like this. Alone, a man you couldn’t put a face to, just as reluctant as you are standing at the end of the isle. You knew it was coming, but a part of you was still holding onto that stupidly fragile sliver of hope that you’d marry someone you…loved.

It wasn’t that you were upset about who you were marrying, though. Just the circumstances. In fact, the past few weeks have made you think that in another world, where you were given the time, you could even see yourself growing to like… Din.

Din. That was his name. Another part of the mystery unfurled. When the Armorer had called it out, a thrill rushed through you, and you’d felt like you’d been let in on some giant secret. You weren’t going to ask— not that you didn’t want to know, but it was more about the conversation you had with him on that first day. To give his heart was to give his trust. He was already giving up so much of himself when he clearly didn’t want to. His name was his, and it would come when he was ready. Or, apparently, when the Armourer was ready.

Just as you were going to crawl back inside and attempt to get some sleep, a familiar voice called you out. When your head shot around, you couldn’t see him straight away, and you could not believe he’d snuck up on you again. But where the hell was he—

He called your name again, and you looked up and to the right.

“What the fuck?” Your eyes widened, seeing him lean over a much larger balcony, helmet tilted to the side. “How long have you been up there?”

“I live here.” You sigh loudly.

“Right...”

“You still aren’t sleeping.” He says, something in his voice making you feel the same way as when he was holding your wrists in the corridor.

That’s how he knew.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I could hear you pacing.” The helmet tilts to the other side, every one of his movements slow and calm.

“Sorry.” You look outwards, the dark midnight of the planet obscuring the entire city. It was almost impossible to see any of the swirling stars and expanding buildings from here. The only person you could see was Din.

“Don't apologise. I was already awake.” You laugh tiredly at that, looking back up to him. “Are you still…okay, going through with this?”

“Scared I’m going to leave you at the altar?” The quiet response you don’t receive makes you feel a little guilty. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

He shifts on his feet. Even this far away you can read his body language. How his hands clench at his sides, his legs stand straight and boots turned inwards, like he's preparing for a hit that won't come. It nearly makes you smile. Another little bit of mystery unfolded for your eyes only.

“I was meaning to tell you. I heard back from my friend in the Outer Rim. She may be able to tell you about some of the serial codes if you can identify the droids. We would have go to her, though. She doesn’t travel much. And she's paranoid about working with me over comms.” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, and you feel entirely selfish.

Of course. Your parents. The droids that your father was interested in. You’d been swept up in it— in him. He was taking every slice of your attention, occupying every inch of your mind, there’d been moments where you’d forgotten your purpose here.

“Of course! When can we go?!” You are suddenly wide awake, leaning over the railing and stretching to look up at him.

“We could tomorrow, after the… ceremony. We have time before things are settled. We could see if there’s a lead. When you return to your home, you follow it and report back. Once we have numbers, I’ll talk to Bo-Katan.” Stars— real hope was building in your chest, and it was all thanks to him.

“Thankyou, Din. You don’t… you don’t know how much that means to me.” You’d been searching what felt like your entire short reign for something… anything that could lead you to your parents murderers. The New Republic scrapped anything related to the Empire, and anyone that knew anything was definitely not going to speak to a new ruler of a powerful planet. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“If you do what you said you would— help my people recover what we have lost, there’s no debt.” With the short words, he turns around, and you lose sight of the face of the helmet you’d started to actually like. “Try to sleep.”

“Yeah…” You fade off as he disappears, something in your heart telling you to call after him.

You don’t know why. There’s nothing left to say. He’s doing exactly what he said, and there’s no reason to continue this very professional conversation—

“One more thing.” He calls, and you nearly trip yourself with how fast you turn back around. “It would be good if we keep this trip between us. People can get… uncomfortable, with Empire technology. We don’t want to spook anyone with information off.”

“Sounds like a plan, Din Djarin.” He keeps staring down at you, helmet masked in the dim light of the planets moons.

“You keep saying my name.” He says it, but it doesn't sound like he's angry. Almost like he just wants to know why.

“I’m planning to wear it out, considering how much you wanted to keep it from me.” Even from a level up, you can hear him breathe out— and then he laughs. Just once, and the sound makes you stand up on your toes, like you’re leaning towards it.

“Goodnight.” He says, then disappears, the lock of his door sounding obnoxiously loud.

You wanted to ask him more questions. Listen to his voice— the low, vibrating tone of it soothing your screaming thoughts. He was right, of course. You knew first hand how quickly people shut down when being questioned on old tech. Only, people knew your face, and would dismiss your questions.

But now you had something; someone new on your side. And not a single person in the galaxy knew he was coming but you.

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[ladyinred2248]

King of the North, Finan x Reader, Part 1

Warnings: Mature, MINORS DNI. Violence and sexual themes. Possible character death. Misogyny. Angst.

This is the sequel to The Scottish Princess, find the series in my Masterlist.

Two days had felt like two years since Finan had last seen you and held you in his arms. He worried relentlessly for your safety, praying to God every moment that he would find you safe and unharmed. He felt that he must be cursed to have to live with such misery, a twist of fate threatening the family you two had made, the one Finan desperately wanted. Regardless, his emotions did not wane as he commanded the men, seeking every last bit of strength he had to continue on. He locked away his feelings somewhere deep inside his heart, not daring to show them, for revenge was now his main objective, and retrieving the love of his life was his duty.

The guardsmen of Ulaid and Constantin’s kingdom besieged Winchester with brutal force, Finan’s command being to kill anyone who prevented them from storming the palace. Steapa and a band of guardsmen blockaded the front entrance, and Steapa’s eyes grew wide when he saw the Irishman before him, now with practically an entire army at his side and ferocity he had seen in battle before but this time it was somehow much different. The way he held himself had changed. He had become stronger, an unrelenting conviction and confidence allowing him to show no mercy for any man.

Finan dismounted his horse, his overwhelming number of guardsmen attacking the ones who stood with Steapa, and a fight ensued until Finan was able to reach him, sword drawn and eventually held to Steapa’s chest as the men folded.

“Where is she?” Finan asked him, almost menacingly.

Steapa hesitated, putting his hands up as he searched Finan’s eyes for some semblance of the Irishman he had known for years.

 “Finan, I...” Steapa stuttered, the attack being so unforeseen and brutal that his hands trembled for the first time in his life it seemed.

Finan chuckled darkly, a smirk forming across his lips as he pushed the sword down into Steapa’s armor further, “I won’t ask you again.”

Domnal came over to stand beside Finan, smirking at the feared look on Steapa’s face.

“The King’s command was that she would be traded to the Danes.” Steapa admitted.

Finan looked away in fury, then back down to Steapa’s gaze, holding his sword at his chest still.

“Finan, NO!” Uhtred shouted desperately from a distance, Sihtric and Osferth’s eyes growing wide along with him.

“You took her?” Finan asked Steapa, calmly now which grew Steapa’s concern just the same.

Steapa looked down at the sword that almost pierced through his armor, then back up to Finan’s gaze hesitantly. “I… I had no choice.”

As soon as the last word had left Steapa’s lips, Finan thrusted his sword into Steapa’s belly, turning it slightly to illicit pain before withdrawing his sword from his body. Steapa fell to the ground, choking in pain and now potentially mortally wounded.

“All of you should yield,” Finan shouted to Alfred’s guardsmen with a dark chuckle, resting his bloodied sword over his shoulder, “It’s pathetic how loyal you are to a broken man.”

Uhtred almost fell to his knees at the sight of Steapa, Sihtric coming over to embrace him to hold him upright.

“Remember lads,” Finan shouted to his guardsmen teasingly as he began to ascend the steps of the palace, “I want the lovely Lady Aelswith.”

Sihtric spoke to Uhtred, but he didn’t hear a word of it for several moments as he stared at Steapa’s body on the ground, blood spilled on the steps of the palace at Winchester.

“Lord!” Sihtric said urgently, shaking Uhtred’s shoulders, “What now, Lord?” 

Uhtred shook his head, more so in disbelief than in a response before he answered. “Do nothing.”

Finan knew the doors to the palace had been barricaded, but stood in front of them anyway, taking a moment to gaze at the view from the front steps before commanding the guardsmen once more. 

“Ram the doors!”

The guards assembled in lines and rammed the door over and over, Finan watching with his sword resting over his shoulder, until the large doors to the palace busted completely open.  Finan and Domnal shared a grin with each other as the men infiltrated the palace and more fighting ensued. Constantin came to join them, placing a hand on Finan’s shoulder in pride and contempt for the fallen city of Winchester. Domnal laughed as Finan went to sit on Alfred’s throne, crossing his leg and seemingly relaxed with a smirk on his face.

Within the hour, the men of Ulaid had found and rammed another door, finding Alfred and Aelswith hiding behind it. They brought them to Finan, who still sat on Alfred’s throne, and he chuckled as the King and Queen of Wessex were knocked down to their knees before him by the guards, their hands bound in front of them. 

“It is custom to kneel, is it not?” Finan teased them, chuckling darkly.

Alfred glared at Finan while he trembled with rage, Aelswith holding a similar glare but sincerely fearful at the same time, her bounded hands shaking.

Finan got up from his seat, holding eye contact with Alfred as he took his sword to rest in front of his throat.

“I have a trade of my own, Lord King… your wife, for mine.” Finan chuckled.

“Please,” Alfred begged sternly, “Finan, I beg of you… I can rectify this.”

Finan took his sword away from Alfred’s throat, sheathing it, then kicked Alfred in the chest abruptly with a strong force, knocking the breath out of him and causing him to gasp for air. Finan laughed darkly again, circling Alfred as he lay on the ground, then came over to Aelswith, taking her chin between his fingers as she tried to pull away.

“Hello, pretty lady. You’ll be our humble servant now, won’t ya?” Finan winked at her.

Aelswith spat at his feet and started cursing him, so Finan nodded to Domnal and gestured for him to grab Aelswith up from her knees, “Take her.”

“Please!” Alfred pleaded, still gasping for air, “I will tell you where she is!”

Finan chuckled at him and bit his lip. “Oh, you will do better than that. You will show me,” Finan turned to his guardsmen and pointed his sword at Alfred. “We are taking him with us.”

Finan looked back to Alfred who was still knelt over in pain. “Now,” Finan started, “Where are the Danes?”

Alfred glared at him, looking down before he spoke.

“I don’t know. I traded her to Earl Haestan.”

As soon as Alfred spoke, he was cut off as Finan punched him in the face with brutal force. 

“Ya don’t know, Lord King?!” Finan shouted, bringing his fist to Alfred’s face again. 

“Haestan? I believe they would be in East Anglia, would they not?” Domnal asked Alfred, who spat blood on the ground.

“I can imagine, yes.” Alfred mumbled.

“We will go to Haestan then,” Finan chuckled, his senses raging but his demeanor a twisted form of calm, “Perhaps we take your wife with us instead, hm? Reward my men for their service?” He said, his guardsmen chuckling along with him. They had not served Finan for long, but already admired the grisly demeanor he held.

“Good idea, Your Grace,” Domnal added, chuckling, “She will be very popular.”

“Please,” Alfred pleaded, bleeding from his nose and lip now while breathing heavily, “Just take me. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Good,” Finan hummed, then knelt down to whisper in Alfred’s ear, “To think…all of this could have been prevented if you hadn’t been so jealous of my cock.” 

Domnal and Finan laughed together at Finan’s comment, bringing Alfred up from his knees and dragging him away with the others.

King Constantin came over to grab Finan’s arm to beg his attention before he left with the others, nodding to him before he spoke.

“You have already served her well, lad.” 

Finan nodded back to him with furrowed brows before commanding his guardsmen again. Your father was ordered to occupy the palace at Winchester, while Finan and Domnal followed as the guardsmen took Alfred as their prisoner, dragging him outside the palace brutally. Finan had only wanted to torture Alfred and would not subject a woman to harm, so the Lady Aelswith was left with Constantin at the palace.

“You will die for this.” Alfred muttered to Finan.

“I would love to see ya try, Lord.”

You had been forced to travel with Haestan’s fleet to East Anglia, exhausted and extremely frightened. Steapa had knocked you out when you were abducted from Saltwic, and when you finally woke up you were already positioned before Alfred and Haestan, being sent away with the Danes in an instant. You begged with Alfred when you realized what was happening, but he gave you no semblance of sympathy.

“She’s an important one,” Haestan said to a fellow Dane, Dagfinn, then looked at you. “Why would the King of Wessex so willingly hand you over, little girl?”

Your hands trembled as you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

“Do you speak?” Haestan chuckled, grabbing your jaw with his hand.

“I-I was taken against my will,” you mumbled, then found the strength to speak up, “Lord, I.. I am betrothed, please...p-please don’t hurt me.”

Haestan looked at you curiously, then chuckled to Dagfinn. “Well, that is a shame.” 

The Danes laughed, and suddenly tears fell from your eyes as you imagined your impending fate. 

Surprisingly, the Danes did not touch or harm you, but kept your hands bound and gave you your own horse to ride upon, which they directed to keep you in close reach. When the first stop was made to set up camp for the night, Haestan grabbed you from your horse, and you yelped in fear even though he wasn’t harsh with you. He tied another rope around your waist and secured it to a tree, making sure you had no room for escape while he made and stoked a fire. He spoke to you softly all of the sudden, questioning you.

“Who was your betrothed?” He asked.

You bit your lip to hold back tears, not able to answer him without completely falling apart.

“Tell me who you are.” Haestan said softly again.

He groaned and grew impatient when you wouldn’t answer him, so he stood from the fire and came closer to you, kneeling down as you flinched.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’d rather trade you for silver,” he chuckled.

You returned his remark with a soft semblance of a smile, nodding slightly as Haestan continued.

“Alfred thinks we made peace with him, but he is wrong. There will never be peace,” Haestan chuckled, “Even when he gifts us beautiful women like you.”

Your hands started to tremble again, your gut telling you that you could never turn your back or trust this brute of a man, regardless of his words.

“Who owns you?” Haestan asked again.

You looked up at him, tears in your eyes and slight rage. “I am not someone’s property! I…I am a noble of Scotland.”

Haestan grinned at your words, thinking of the riches he could acquire with your ransom. 

Haestan gave you a smirk. “And who can I send word to on your behalf?”

You were hesitant to tell him of your father’s position to implicate him further, but you could definitely have him send for Finan, who you thought would be well known enough to reach in Winchester at the very least. 

“His n-name is Finan, of Winchester. O-of Coccham, I mean!”

Haestan held your gaze for a few moments, then rolled his eyes with a groan. You searched his eyes for a moment before speaking urgently.

“What? What is it? Y-you know him?!”

“Of course I know the Irish bastard,” Haestan scoffed, “Uhtred’s man?”

“Yes!!! Yes,” you answered, “Please, they will give you anything you want.”

Haestan laughed, untying the rope that held your waist to the tree but keeping your hands bound, “Come, sit by the fire and warm yourself. We will journey to Uhtred and his men at first light. And I may very well be a rich man by tomorrow,” he laughed again.

“Thank you,” you said softly, Haestan’s lack of vileness giving you enough calm to stop your heart from racing for a moment.

Finan and Domnal’s troop had started the route to East Anglia, and soon the sun was setting on the horizon. Uhtred had decided to follow, against his own better judgment, but him and the others stayed far back and weren’t sure if Finan knew they had indeed chosen to come along.

“Lord, does this make us traitors?” Sihtric asked as the men sat on their horses, Osferth silently wondering the same thing.

Uhtred had been deep in contemplation, and took a moment to acknowledge the question.

“Yes, Sihtric. It has all gone too far now.”

“But we continue to follow, yes?” Sihtric asked.

Uhtred shrugged somewhat hopelessly. “I can’t leave him to face this alone... I need to bring him back to himself. But I can’t do that until the Princess is found. She is the key to his heart. You two are free men, free to choose.”

Sihtric nodded, and then so did Osferth. “We will stay, Lord.”

The troop made camp at dusk, and Uhtred witnessed Finan walking away from the camp by himself at a distance. Uhtred made a split decision and ran to him. He noticed when he got closer that he was different, the darkness in his eyes gone at this moment and replaced with tears.

Finan looked over to see Uhtred coming near, rubbing the tears from his eyes quickly before nodding to Uhtred, who immediately put a hand on his shoulder, searching his gaze.

“Lord?”

Uhtred chuckled at Finan’s accent. There he was again, his Irishman.

Uhtred wrapped him in a strong embrace. He felt Finan begin to sob into his shoulder, so he pulled him in tighter. Uhtred knew that Finan’s heart had been shattered the moment you had been discovered missing, and Domnal and Constantin’s presence influenced him in violent and political ways. Finan was strong, perhaps one of the strongest and fiercest men Uhtred had ever met. However, the coming days, weeks, and months would determine his destiny as he faced the heavy burden of loving someone enough to burn everything to the ground.

>>> Part 2

Thank you for reading. Please reblog and comment 💜

Taglist: @gemini-mama @persephones-journey @alexagirlie @justanother-sihtricgirlie @whitedarkmoonflower

@ficnation @bcon24

Graphics by @saradika-graphics 💗

[lost-in-derry]

Communion

This is my belated Christmas present to @seth-silver-ink! A fic based off their sentient bo-rifle post. It’s also the first complete chapter of a fic I’ve ever written! Stay tune for part two.

********************** **********************

Kallus regained consciousness feeling completely fine, which was the first clue that something was wrong. Even on his best days some part of his body ached. Usually the leg he’d broken on Bahryn that had never healed quite right, his head from staring at his data pad until he passed out, or on very special mornings, both.

The second clue, upon opening his eyes, was that he appeared to be in an infinite void. Better than being strapped into an Imperial interrogation chair, but still concerning. Kallus sat up slowly to get a better sense of his surroundings. The ground beneath him was smooth and reflective. It rippled when he pressed his hand to it, but found himself completely dry as he stood up. The sky, if one could call it that, was a misty color. Squinting his eyes and staring hard, Kallus thought he could almost see stars. Everything around him was touched with the warm gentle colors of a sunrise.

With little else to do Kallus started walking. The ground rippled softly beneath him with each step and he tried to recall how he’d gotten here. Events wove themselves together slowly. There was a mission. An unusual mission. Zeb had come to him early in the morning and said the Ghost Crew had found something- no, someone. Many someone’s, and they were very important. Lasat. Prisoners in a labor-camp.

Kallus had helped the Spectres free Lasat before, but always from a distance. He would sneak into security rooms, open doors, take out guards, guide the others through escape routes, all the while taking care that he wasn’t seen. Afterwards he’d find his way back to the Glimmer and distract any TIE fighters while the Ghost snuck away with the prisoners. It’s not like he was allowed to know where they were going anyway. But this time had been different. There was a blockade around the planet the Lasat were being held on that only the Ghost could get through. The labor camp was the largest they’d ever attempted to breach. Security was much tighter and the control room was nearly impossible to get to. There’d be no time for him to get there before the rest of the crew was spotted. Kallus had to memorize the camp layout and guide everyone through in person.

It would be the first time he’d come face to face with a Lasat other than Zeb since Lasan and he was… scared. The whole flight through hyperspace Kallus could feel the icy grip of his sins crawling down his spine. He sat in the galley, staring at the camp blueprints and trying not to vomit. By the time the Ghost made it through the blockade and landed on the planet he’d managed to convince himself that none of the Lasat would recognize him. So long as he kept his head down and focused on getting everyone into the camp and back out safely, everything would be fine.

The moment he’d entered the prison Kallus felt strange. He heard something. A whisper, a buzzing in the back of his mind. Something was wrong but he didn’t know what. The further into the compound they got the louder the sound became. It almost sounded like a voice.

Chopper had just opened the main gate so the prisoners could make the last sprint across the landing pad towards Hera and the Ghost while Kallus and the rest of the crew kept the guards busy.

“Hey, traitor!”

Kallus whipped around, the voice he heard with his ears nearly drowned out by the one calling out in his head. In front of him was an imperial officer he vaguely recognized from his time on Thrawn’s ship. They hadn’t interacted much but the man had always seemed to dislike Kallus beyond the usual animosity between ISB agents and the rest of the Empire. The officer wasn’t important. What was important was that he had a bo-rifle in his hands. Kallus’ bo-rifle. And he heard it scream as the man clumsily ignited it.

Kallus’ body moved on its own. He closed the distance between him and the officer in one blink. His opponent raised the bo-rifle to block an incoming attack, but Kallus wasn’t aiming for him. The only thought in his mind was getting the weapon out of his hands. He wrenched the staff out of one hand, reached out and snapped the wrist of the other. The officer cried out in pain and kicked himself backwards, releasing the staff. Kallus felt it hum in his hands. He swung the bo-rifle, aiming for the officer’s neck with the bayonet blade attached to the side. He felt it connect at the same moment he heard the blaster he hadn’t noticed the officer pull out firing into his chest.

Kallus halted. Everything after that was black and he’d woken up here. It occurred to him for the first time that he might be dead.

“Not quite, but you’re close.”

Kallus’ eyes jerked up and standing in front of him was a Lasat. He recognized his face from one of the many that haunted his dreams. This was the Honor Guard he’d won the bo-rifle from.

Kallus opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing to get words out.

“It’s you.”

The Guard flicked his ears in amusement. “It’s me.”

Zeb had told him once that it was customary for a follower of Boosahn Keeraw to bow to whoever had given them their weapon. Kallus put a fist in his other hand in front of him and lowered his head. The Guard inclined his head in response. Kallus frowned in confusion.

“Are you a ghost? How are you here if I’m not dead as well?” He didn’t even know where ‘here’ was.

The Guard sat down and gestured for Kallus to do the same.

“I’m not a ghost. I’m not really even the Lasat you fought. I’m more… the bo-rifle’s memory of him.”

He gave Kallus a moment to process what he’d just heard before continuing.

“Right now you’re communing with the bo-rifle. It can’t speak, so it uses the forms of its past wielders to communicate with its current one.”

Kallus raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I can’t be the current wielder.”

“Why not? You defeated me in single combat. You claimed the bo-rifle through Boosahn Keeraw.”

Kallus dropped his gaze to the ground. His reflection stared back from beneath him.

“There was no honor in invading your home.”

“True.” He flinched at the Guards bluntness.

“But the bo-rifle sensed the potential in you to become something better than you were. The Empire could not snuff out the light in you completely.” The Guard smiled slightly, like he knew something Kallus didn’t. “And you had a purpose yet to serve, Warrior.”

Kallus’ face pinched in confusion. Before he could ask what that meant the Guard made a dismissive gesture.

“An explanation for another time, perhaps. The bo-rifle called to you for a reason, aside from freeing it.”

All levity dropped from the Guard’s face.

“You have a choice to make.”

Kallus sat up straight and listened with bated breath.

“I said earlier you were close to death. You stand on the precipice between your world and the next. You are connected to the bo-rifle enough for it to tip the scales one way or the other. It can send you back or let you go.”

The Guards eyes softened.

“It has seen your life. It knows the pain you’ve endured. You’ve done enough good now to earn the peace death would bring you.”

“…And if I go back?”

The Guard was silent for a moment.

“You will face your sins. You will hurt and bleed again. You will meet your nightmares. You will stare the darkness of the abyss in the eye once more and I cannot promise you will survive.”

Kallus closed his eyes. He remembered watching his mother slowly die of a disease they couldn’t afford medicine for. He remembered starving in the Lower Levels of Coruscant. He remembered the Academy, how everyone looked at him like he was garbage that had crawled up from the sewer. He remembered Weiss and the ISB program and how they’d turned him into a monster his mother wouldn’t recognize. He remembered Onderon and how helpless he’d been. He remembered Lasan, standing in the ashes of the atrocity he’d been too blind to see he was helping commit. He remembered Lothal. Meeting a band of rebels. Chasing them through the stars. He remembered Bahryn and Zeb and a conversation that had changed everything. A spark igniting within him that had set flame to a rebel’s heart that had been growing for years under the surface. He remembered dragging himself out an escape pod. He remembered being shown kindness and compassion and forgiveness he didn’t deserve by people who would become the first family he’d have since he was nine years old. He remembered how he’d do anything to protect them and their dream.

The Guards green eyes stared back at him, waiting.

“It’s a hard choice.”

Kallus smiled.

“No. It isn’t.”

The Guard smiled back.

“Alexsandr Kallus, do you swear to use this bo-rifle with honor, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and bring light to a dark galaxy?”

“I swear.”

They both stood. “Then it’s time for you to go.”

The world around them grew brighter and started to disappear.

“Wait!” Kallus cried as he felt himself start to slip away. “What’s your name?”

The Guard let out a gentle laugh.

“My name was Romai.”

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 9: Broken Cage

Ch. 8 &lt;; Series Masterlist

Warnings: violence, blood and injury, character death.

Summary: Canary will make them pay for everything. All at once.

Do not read this work if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 2800~

“Luke is taking too long.” Alan comments to no one in particular, his cup of coffee in front of him left untouched after the first few sips - it tasted like sewage water, truth be told. 

Charlie simply hummed in acknowledgment as he munched down on some crackers he had found in his backpack - the only non-stale food in the cabin. He gulped them down with cold coffee, and Alan decided not to think too much about the state of his taste buds. 

“He’s probably just avoiding the cops,” Charlie finally commented after a few silent minutes, “maybe there are blockades and shit.”

Alan said nothing, limiting himself to smoke his cigarette and watch out of the open cabin door towards the road. It was almost noon, and he had returned to the cabin hours ago. He had planned on getting some shut-eye once Luke had come back, but the hours passed with no news and he was growing antsy. 

He knew that as far as Luke was concerned, the only thing the police could arrest him for was driving a stolen van. If that was the case, it would be only a matter of time until he received a call from the police station and he would have to present himself as his friend to bail him out, or as his lawyer and demand his release until a set court date. He had done it with Charlie a couple of times before, it would be a first for Luke. 

A quiet grumble interrupted his musings, and both men looked at the direction it came from. Alan suddenly remembered that their cute little hostage hadn’t had anything to eat in almost two days, and he sighed. “...Right.” He took one cracker from the sleeve and stood up, stepping slowly towards her. 

Canary froze up, inwardly cursing her stomach for being so impatient and calling their attention. She had been painstakingly rubbing the hilt of the knife against her bindings, keeping her wrist movements hidden from her captors with the rest of her body. She had managed to avoid detection so far, and it seemed as if her greatest traitor would be her own body. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears as Alan approached her, and she wormed away from him in an attempt to hide her little plan. 

He stopped right before the bed, and showed her the cracker held between two fingers. “If you try to bite me, I’ll tear your teeth out one by one, understand?” 

Canary gulped and nodded, knowing that her best chance of escaping would be by them letting down their guard. That would only happen if they didn’t see her as a danger, and the only way she could accomplish that, was to be obedient and submissive. Only until she got her damn restraints off, though. 

Alan nodded and leaned down, pressing the cracker against her lips. She took it with her teeth as slowly as she could, trying her best not to touch his fingers with her lips. Alan smirked, releasing the cracker and stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “Good girl.”

She felt like lurching whatever remained in her empty stomach as she heard him - it definitely sounded much better when it was Simon saying it - but she ate the cracker in silence. It was a little humid, but it would do for now. 

“If you behave,” Alan hummed, pulling away, and walking back to his seat, “you’ll get another one later.” 

She now really wanted to bite his fingers off. 

“I can think of something else for her to eat, though,” Charlie leered at her, licking his lips with a wolfish grin. 

She narrowed her eyes. I dare you to try, see how my chompers work, she thought, but stayed silent as she swallowed the cracker. Canary had resumed her work on the ligatures as they were distracted, slowly grinding the knife against the bindings, which were giving away little by little. The more they loosened, the more she could feel the rope burn around her wrists. She kept her breathing steady, not looking away from the men as she worked. 

Alan seemed to read her thoughts, though, as he cackled out loud. “You want to live the rest of your life with half a dick? Be my guest then.” Charlie simply shook his head, lighting a cigarette and clowning the smoke towards her. 

“She won’t be able to if I dislocate her jaw, though,” he chuckled darkly, enjoying the mental image that his brain conjured, already feeling his blood pooling to his crotch. 

“That’s for the buyer to decide, and you know that,” Alan scolded him, and put out the butt of his cig on the table. He checked his wrist watch and stood up with a grunt, patting down the front of his jacket. “I’m off to check if we got an answer from our buyer,” he walked to the door and sent Charlie a last warning, “I’m serious, if you do anything to her that can’t be covered with a band-aid, I’m going to kill you.”

Charlie watched him go with a snort, taking a long drag of his cig, “You’re no fun.” 

The last thread of the rope snapped away at the same moment the door closed shut behind Alan, and Canary nearly cried in relief. She managed to stealthily pull the pieces of rope away from her wrists and hold the knife tightly in one hand. Her blood pounded through the bruises and into her hands, cramping the tips of her fingers, but she was well aware that she had no time to relax. Charlie had stood up from his chair. 

He downed the last bit of his coffee and lit another cigarette, his eyes leisurely traveling from her chest to her feet. He took a step closer to the end of the bed, his eyes shifting to her face. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” he grumbled with a smirk, fiddling with the cigarette and leaning in to hold her ankles with his free hand. 

Canary kicked back half-heartedly and let out a small whimper while her eyes fixed on his openings, she needed to make him think she wanted to crawl away from him, that would make him lean in even closer. She was dangling the bait in front of him, and her hand clutched the knife, ready to swing at the smallest chance. “Try not to scream so much, okay? Alan is busy, after all.”

Charlie used his leg to press down on her thighs, unknowingly offering her a full view of his back. His free hand clutched her ankles while the hand holding the cigarette inched closer to her skin. He failed to see the shadow over his shoulder as the knife came down. 

Canary was significantly weakened from her usual strength, due to the drugs, the hunger, the dehydration. But she still managed to dig the knife halfway into his back - more or less where his upper-lung should be. He let out a painful howl and tried to flinch away, but her hand clamped down on his upper arm and pulled out the knife, before forcing it down on his neck as fast as she could. 

The thin muscle gave way to the steel and Canary pulled the knife out just as quickly as she stabbed it, and blood began spurting out in the same rhythm as his heartbeat. Charlie’s legs managed to pull him away from her only to tumble down onto the floor, taking the chair down with him. 

Canary jumped on her feet, ignoring the stinging pain in her soles, and readied herself to attack again. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and fueled her with almost the same energy she felt in the battlefield. A sense of euphoria surrounded her when he looked up at her with a mixture of fear and rage, desperately trying to put pressure on the hole in his neck. He opened his mouth but only a gurgling sound came out, and she knew that he was starting to drown in his own blood.

Canary raised her hand holding the knife and took a deep breath, before smirking down at him. He was going to pay for everything, all at once. 

~~~~~~

“Get in,” Luke did as was told, or attempted to, since his hands were still handcuffed behind his back. A strong hand pushed him into the car and he groaned in protest, before setting down in the middle of the backseat. 

He allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath, until he realized he wouldn't be alone. The Sergeant with the mohawk and the Lieutenant with the skull mask climbed in and sat on his sides, their enormous bodies barely fitting in the back of the patrol car - and big weapons held between their legs. Suddenly the air in the back of the patrol was stuffy and he barely had room to breathe.

An officer sat behind the wheel and Hartford climbed in the passenger seat. “Where?” He simply asked, looking at Luke out of the corner of his eye. 

“T-take the road around campus and cross the bridge,” Luke could barely let the words out of his mouth, feeling two pairs of eyes practically digging through his flesh, “then take the first turn to the right.”

The patrol car drove off, and Price’s jeep followed with him and Gaz inside. 

~~~~~~

Alan stopped dead in his tracks as he was walking down the road. He knew he had heard a shout, but wasn’t sure of whether it was the girl or Charlie. He slowly turned around, weighing his options. 

If it was the girl and Charlie lost it again and tried to ‘shut her up’, they would surely lose another product before he even got a sale confirmation. If it was Charlie, and the girl had managed to hurt him in some way, it meant that he would fight back - the girl was tied, drugged, and hungry; he was at an advantage and would certainly bust her head open. Again, lost product. 

A third possibility crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly - it couldn’t be possible that she had managed to untie herself. Even if she did, he was still stronger than her, there was no way…

A few moments passed in silence before he began walking back to the cabin. Minutes passed when he finally reached the cabin and opened the door, his mouth instantly slackening in shock. 

Charlie was on the floor with his limbs spread out, lying in a pool of his own blood, and their hostage was kneeling on top of him with her hand holding the knife that was still buried to the hilt in Charlie’s chest. She was disheveled, her clothes were covered in blood and her eyes shot up to meet Alan’s. He felt a shiver travel down his spine - her eyes were cold and deadly. His hand reached under his jacket where he hid his holster at the same moment she stood up. 

Canary held the knife tightly in her hand and ran forward, nearly slipping on the blood with her bare feet, as she stormed to her enemy with a battle scream that nearly drowned the bang of the shot being fired. 

~~~~~~

“Um… Take the road up north and drive on,” Luke gulped as he sat up straight. He had the feeling that if he relaxed just a little, he would die. However, both Soap and Ghost remained silent, simply watching out of the window and only occasionally sending Luke a glare, just to make sure he couldn’t try anything funny. They both knew that their presence in the car alone was enough to inhibit any fighting plan he could conjure up.

As the car turned right on the intersection, a few minutes passed before Hartford recognized the scenery and his heart dropped. A day prior, Melanie Kirk was shot and killed in that road, and the detective remembered exactly which tree had stopped her car. Now, he was traveling down that same road, with one of the men involved in her death, to rescue the woman she had tried to help. 

He looked into the side view mirror and saw Ghost’s eyes on him. He seemed to be thinking the exact same thing as him. 

They will pay for everything. 

~~~~~~

The sound of the bed sheets ripping under the hilt of her knife was barely louder than her panting. Once Canary gathered enough strips of fabric, she took a large square of fabric and folded it several times to create a press, and held it against her open wound with a groan. The bullet had gone through and through, and although it passed dangerously close to her lung, she didn’t hear any whistling sounds coming out of her wound. 

Canary wrapped her makeshift bandages around herself as tightly as she could, knowing that it would be only a matter of time until her blood started to stain the cloth even further. She couldn’t sit still, though. She knew that the third man had been out for a while, and he would be back at any minute now. She was now too injured to hold a fight with an uninjured man who was probably also armed, while she only had a knife.  

Despite the risk of blood loss being too great, it was still a fighting chance that she wouldn’t have if she just stayed idle. If she made it to a road with more traffic, she would be able to find help. 

As she walked out of the cabin, she was faced with a difficult decision: should she walk on the road, or should she sneakily walk through the forest? She would be able to flag down a vehicle easier if she walked on the road. However, she would also be easily found by the third man. Besides, he was supposed to get another vehicle, so she may not recognize the danger until it becomes too late. 

The forest would definitely hide her from view from the road, but it would be hard to navigate in it without having been able to see the road when they got there. She glanced down at her newly acquired shoes, courtesy of Baldie’s corpse. They were a couple sizes too big, but they would help protect her feet from the terrain. 

Her wound stung, and she looked up at the sky. It was past noon now, and the sun felt nice on her skin. The wind made her shiver - she would have at least 4 hours of sunlight before she was consumed by the dark. She needed to find help before then. 

Canary took a deep breath and marched forward, decidedly walking into the forest, unaware of Alan’s eyes trained on her. He had somehow avoided death, and managed to get up as she left, his weapon still in his hand. He wheezed and coughed as the taste of iron filled his mouth at the effort, but his entire body was fueled by rage. Pure adrenaline pumped through his veins as he gripped his gun and staggered after her. 

Straight into the woods.

A/N: Canary made Charlie into a cushion pin for his own knife.

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[dykebeeduo]

i've always head cannoned obsidian as being cold to the touch, especially crying obsidian, this in turn makes pandora's vault a very strange place, I imagine that the air is thick warm and sulfurous stinging eyeballs, leaving faces covered in tears as sores as rashes crop up around the eyes from rubbing away the salt from tears that rapidly dry off, ever hour of every day exists a hot unbearable heat yet all around you is cold walls and floors.

It's nearly impossible to sleep and when you do sleep the parts of you that touch the floor become numb and pale speckled with redness as frostbite slowly settles in while the rest of you is red from heat, sweating water as fast as you can't drink it. most of the inhabitants couldn't sleep for more then two or three hours at a time, waking up to pace, chug water, chew at potatoes eaten either raw or burnt in the fire and mashed against the floor, scribbling out increasingly incoherent words in one of the numerous leather bound journals that are scattered around the cell, some missing chunks off of the cover, after weeks of potatoes, the thick tanned leather tastes like a home cooked meal.

eventually after being inside long enough some people bagan looping deaths, letting the lava purify their tired minds killing them quickly yet very painfully, just to be reawoken and dumped into freezing cold water, some would stay in the waterpool long enough to drown while others would climb out and stark walking towards the lava once more, and after hours, or days of this they might grow tired, falling into a deep slumber waking parched, half frozen and half fried and walk towards the lava one last time, then standing up and out of the water and walking slowly, damp feet padding across the cold floor and open up the chest, grab a potato and sit back down.

"how to leave?" was the question on everyone's minds, each attempt more futile then the last, clocks thrown against the floor shards of brass casing scrape away at the obsidian leaving small areas of the floor worn down and covered in knife-sharp slivers of the deep purple volcanic glass, others try the direct route camping out on the lava side of the netherite blocks that keep them in when the lava recedes, covering their bodies in burns from popping lava searching for the chance at escape when the bridge crosses, only one every stayed it out until the bridge came and by then they were at deaths door, unable to move as weeping burns held their limbs in place like glue whimpering for the warden to push them in and allow then to die and respawn back behind the netherite blockades.

occasionally they would make conversation with one another, hoarse voices spilling secrets without inhibition and unable to think coherently enough to understand possible consequences. days may go by when all they do is talk and, weeks my go by when all they do is cry.

frustration mounts whenever the lava breaks, bridge slowly moving along, bringing with it "you can't leave yet"s and "ever"s, more potatoes, and for the first small while clocks. when the bridge slows to a stop the wild arms begin to swing over netherite blocks, a futile effort to knock the warden into the lava that holds them in, im sorrys echo off the walls as the lava closes around the irredeemable and the innocents, the "wrong place at the wrong time"ers, the ones whose only crime was the history they had made.

if things had gone right he might still be there, but debts must be paid and now pandora's vault sits empty, floor still littered with half eaten journals, shards of broken obsidian, potato peels and tattered spare uniforms.

[crowo]

my cane should part waters. the clack of it on the pavement turning heads, a loud harbinger of my arrival. my cane should part seas of people. people should flow out of my path as i approach like the wind cuts through reeds, parting channels of space between the ruckus of the crowd.

i shouldn't trip over uneven cobblestone, over outstretched feet, over unmoving blockades. my path is sacred. my limping gait moves proudly on despite how difficult it gets to breathe in the swell of the crowd.

the swift wheels of my chair slow to a stop at unmoving bodies and my booming voice goes unheard. the metallic taste of rage becomes bitter on my tongue. peering eyes watch my movements, condescending voices talking down to me. I am surrounded on all sides by staircases and narrow doorframes and unsafe sidewalks, where sidewalks even exist. the safety of my home becoming like a prison when it's so impossible to leave its walls.

my chair should move buildings. my chair should force the doors wider, make the stairs into flat ramps for my wheels. my chair should move mountains from my path. it should fill the potholes in the streets and repave the walkways. as i roll, my chair should bring a rolling tide of freedom. no more fear of stares and opinions and judgement. only acceptance and open arms and parted crowds to allow my wheels to fly free.

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 3 - A Helping Hand

Summary: Settling in Jackson has proved far more difficult than you originally imagined.

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.2k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, slow burn, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, eventual smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix-it fic

“I had asked you,” you continued, voice shaking and hollow as the scar on the side of your leg began to twinge, “for one thing…and you didn’t—“ “You’re damn right I didn’t! I have lost enough,” his tone was hard and unwavering, unapologetic but desperate, “I don’t need any more blood on my hands.”

Chapter 2 || Series Masterlist

What exactly did it mean to acclimate? Was it an actual change that slowly rippled through your body and psyche alike rewriting scripts and forging new paths to lead you to new emotions, new experiences, a new life? Or was it simply taking the old and shoving it behind a door, your new reality boarding it up with whatever small blockades it could find to keep the past at bay? Every slam of it against the feeble barrier threatening to send you rappelling into ruin. That’s what it felt like. 

Tommy and Maria had agreed to let you out on patrol with one catch, you spend half your required working time training up the patrolmen on what Tommy had referred to as a “dying art.” Three days a week you rode through the paths of the mountains that still felt more like home than the four walls that housed you, the other two or three dragging along as you tried to harness what little patience your frame contained to help the hopeless with the collection of bows and quivers that went unused in the armory. 

“No,” you sighed, stomping over to a kid that couldn’t be more than 17 and lifting his elbow, “you’ll go straight into the ground.”

“Sorry…” he mumbled, guilt joining your agitation, the dark clouds rolling in representing your souring mood just as much as the storm you’d been warned about this morning. 

“Pack it up!” Maria called, relief flooding you as she stopped beside you, “Not you.”

As much as Maria Miller was trying to become a friend, she was also the leader of Jackson, although she hated the title. Maria made decisions when she had to and never more, leaving the residents of the town to figure out as much on their own without risking anarchy, the rules established long ago and abided by without much resistance. On most days, she felt like an equal, but when it was time for business it was made very clear. Her face hardened, spine straightened, and her intonation sharpened, it made your stomach drop to the dirt.

“When’s the last time you went to the market?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest, “Joel says you haven’t been by. And Indy told Tommy you gave her your voucher last week.”

“Tommy gave me a bunch—“ you began, but Maria’s hand shooting into the air snapped your lips shut. 

“We gave you enough for a week, maybe two. It’s been almost a month.”

And you still had more than half of it left. Although your fresh produce was eaten quickly so as not to waste it, the meat had gone untouched and the dried goods were used sparingly, meticulously rationed and stored for longevity. As Maria awaited a response you wouldn’t give her, the words you knew she’d respond with echoed in your ears. You’re not out there anymore. 

“Go see Joel,” she finally conceded in your silence, “He wants his freezer back.”

If Joel wasn’t at the Tipsy Bison, he’d wait another day. Your stomach had yet to adjust to the food that was served, but scotch was something that had always gone down easy. The fire at the back of your throat was a comforting heat, that warmth radiating out from your belly to your fingers and loosening tension you always seemed to forget was there. 

“When are you gonna pay this tab, Deacon?” Seth growled as he slid a second your way, the almost empty bar quiet enough to almost welcome his attempts at debt collection.

“Here ya go,” the sound of a plan backfiring drawled from your left, “Should cover it.”

The stool creaked beneath his weight as he took a seat, the glass perched between your fingers no longer feeling like a chalice of relief as Seth hummed in approval at Joel’s currency of choice. 

“Fan of venison, Seth?” you taunted before draining your glass, sucking air through your teeth as you passed it back to him, “Trade ya.”

“He’s got more than enough to cover it,” Joel growled, Seth’s gaze sliding over menacingly to find an unwavering hazel stare only a fool would argue with, “You drink too much.”

“How would you know?”

“Cause I just paid your debt.”

“Technically I paid…”

“Technically.”

The silence, it was always so easy. Maybe it was because you both enjoyed it, that had already been established. The confidence of familiarity was a balm. This mutual respect born from the instinct to survive had morphed into whatever sat heavy in the inches separating your body from his, a constant weight that was both comforting and tangible. 

“You got a haircut,” you finally chimed, enjoying the way the lines around his eyes deepened as he furrowed his brow. 

“Yeah,” his voice practically vibrated in your chest, “Better than doin’ it myself.”

“I like it when it’s longer.” 

He paused, your statement catching him off guard and derailing his intentions. You were looking just as thin as you were a month ago while both he and Ellie had packed on a few healthy pounds. The purple beneath your eyes was still dark and your skin sallow, and he hadn’t been the only one to notice. 

“Ellie says there ain’t shit to eat at your place.”

Was everyone watching you? 

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not hosting a dinner party anytime soon,” you replied, eyes focused forward though you could feel his own fixated on your face. 

“Funny you mention that. Ellie insists you come by tonight, she found herself a cookbook. Tommy and Maria’ll be there too.”

“My ceiling leaks. So, might have to accept.”

“It what?”

The change in his face wasn’t subtle. His body went rigid as his attention snapped entirely to you, the speed at which he moved causing you to flinch and your eyes turn to find the source of his alertness. Then, you realized it was you. 

“My ceiling leaks. It’s not a huge deal,” you brushed off, remembering the first summer rain that had woken you from a rare deep sleep a few days after moving in, “it’s just upstairs. I sleep on the cou—“

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “Why the hell are you livin’ in a house with a leaking roof?”

Because it had been more than anything you’d been given before. Misery hadn’t turned you around on the map to gratitude as you’d begun navigating this new, disorienting life. The same four walls welcomed you home every night, gates and guards protecting a space you didn’t fear the people walking between like the ones before it. You’d smiled here, laughed, and despite your instance that you didn’t belong, the residents of Jackson had done nothing but prove you wrong at every turn. If the roof leaked, then so be it. 

“I didn’t know who to ask,” you answered after a pause, just needing something to say, and you immediately regretted it the moment his nostrils flared. 

“Me!” He sounded almost offended that it needed to be stated, “You ain’t eatin’, I’d bet my last dollar you ain’t sleepin’—“

“Yeah well, you don’t have a dollar so…”

Every muscle fiber in his body twitched with the urge to walk the hell away from you until the forests captured in the color of your eyes welcomed him home again. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he muttered, getting a drink of his own from Seth who still lingered close by, “Put this on her new tab.”

The amber liquid burned on the way down, igniting the fire kindling in his belly further. Muscle defined the freckle-dusted stretch of your arms, the tank top you wore snug across your torso, and your hair hung down from the half-braided updo you sported like a curtain cascading down your shoulders. You looked tense enough to snap, did he piss you off that bad? 

“Hey Joel,” a voice too sweet called out from the door, his attention snapping instantly over to a woman you had yet to be introduced to, “Tommy needs you. Horde.”

“God damnit.”

“Maria is going to see Ellie.”

“Alright then.”

He felt you leave before he saw it, the rush of air your quick departure blew against his back had his attention snapping from Francine in front of him to you storming out of the door. The way your fiery locks stood in stark contrast to the darkened skies like an eternal flame, not even the rain pouring from the skies enough to snuff you out. 

“Ready?” Francine asked after an awkward pause, her voice wary and confused.

“Yeah,” he grunted, pouring a second glass Seth had clearly sensed was necessary back in a single toss before venturing into the downpour.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Finally, those kitchen pots had a purpose. Enshrouded in the dark that had settled over the town, you sat on the edge of the bed, your eyes following each droplet of water as it plunked down against the metal, each pop immersing you back to a more familiar world. The putrid smell of the damp underground tunnels you’d found yourself crawling through more often than you’d liked transported you back, a shiver shooting up your spine as the reminder of the bone-chilling cold and decaying remnants of a world long-dead burrowed in your chest. 

It was like a siren song the way that curved bow of wood sang out from the night. It sat right beside your back door, your hands aching to feel its taut string and tattered quiver. If the rain soaked you to the bone, at least you had a healthy supply of dry clothes to put on upon your return home. And a hot shower. 

Your boots squeaked along with the old stairs as you stampeded down, a clap of thundering masking the slam of your door against the siding as you ran out into the rain, the drops cooling your sweat-slicked skin. The air was heavy and humid, the petrichor filling your nostrils so comforting you contemplated bottling it up and saving it for the next episode of melancholy that overtook you. 

Upon moving in, Joel had somehow ensured a few bales of hay made it to your backyard. With the first fire of your bolt into the dense, compacted grass, you were reminded you had yet to thank him for that. It was too late for it now. 

Within minutes you were soaked to the skin, your clothes clinging to your body in ways that felt too familiar and too pleasant. This shouldn’t be satisfying, but the flashes of lightning across the sky illuminating the mountainscape before your eyes welcomed you into its treacherous embrace. 

Even through the pouring rain and booming thunder, you heard the crunch of a rock beneath a boot, your own feet too solidly planted to be the culprit. Your hand shot to your belt as you whirled, the blade of your knife mere centimeters away from a figure kept hidden by the darkness. When a white-hot blaze seared across the landscape again, the hazel eyes you’d seen haunting your dreams boring down on you flared, his expression nothing short of perturbed by his current predicament. 

“Why do you have that?” he asked with an air of annoyance, his rough, calloused fingers plucking the weapon free from your iron grip.

“Never know,” you snapped, turning your attention back to the collection of arrows accumulating in your target, “Why are you here?”

“Walkin’ home.”

“Your house is closer to the stables than mine.”

“I took the long way.”

The arrow’s song as it soared through the air broke the silence that had reclaimed the space, and despite his intrusion, it wasn’t lost on you that your grip was slightly more relaxed, your jaw less tense. 

“Lemme look at the ceiling,” he sighed, your fingers freezing as they ran along the feathers perched between them. 

“It’s fine,” you lied, knowing the pot you’d used to catch the droplets was probably near full, “I’m already soaked.”

“Your god damn roof leaks—“

“I don’t care!”

He’d begun to close distance, the way his sodden T-shirt stuck to his body not lost on you as you dared a peek through the corners of your eyes. When he pulled the bow from your hand, you didn’t protest, instead widening the crevice left between you into a canyon as you approached the edge of your yard and plucked each arrow free carefully. The heads were still dry, the innermost layers of the bricks of hay still dry, unaffected by what was happening at the surface. 

“Why don’t you go inside and dry off?” he suggested, this time you hadn’t heard him approach.

“I prefer it out here,” you replied.

“I’m startin’ to pick up on that.”

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

That quip had his face hardening. His nostrils flared before his palm swallowed his chin and mouth, his attempts to regulate his irritation failing. It had been weeks since you’d spoken to him, hell you’d barely held a conversation with him since you got here, and he hated how much that bothered him. He’d kept up with you through Ellie, and even she’d grown worried. When the initial shock of settling here had worn off, it had been replaced with something far more sinister. Something everyone had come to find concern in.

“Go eat somethin’” he sighed, “I brought you food—”

“For fucks sake,” you muttered beneath your breath, “Just give it up already.”

“Give what up?” His voice thundered along with the skies. “We ain’t out there anymore! Stop acting like it!”

“I’m not your responsibility anymore!”

“I just wanna help—“

“I never asked for your help, Joel!”

From the moment you’d fired that arrow off to land between his feet as he approached the building you’d been hidden in, you’d never asked him for help. It was Ellie that had insisted you tag along, and who were you to give a kid the weight of guilt to carry? You were burdened enough by it, saving her from that had been worth any cost. So every time he’d offered to keep you going, to find you a better place to settle, you’d accepted. And that landed you here, in a house you knew nothing about leading a life you were ill-suited for. 

There was an undeniable tug you felt towards the man standing three feet away, staring at you with confusion and apprehension. It terrified you. The way your eyes shot around your empty bedroom searching for him when you woke with a scream and how your fingers brushed over his neat handwriting in the patrol logs; it made you want to run. You just couldn’t be sure in which direction. 

“I had asked you,” you continued, voice shaking and hollow as the scar on the side of your leg began to twinge, “for one thing…and you didn’t—“

“You’re damn right I didn’t! I have lost enough,” his tone was hard and unwavering, unapologetic but desperate, “I don’t need any more blood on my hands.”

“Am I your penance then? The balm to your scathed conscience? Fix me and you’re absolved of your sins?”

“It ain’t like that…”

“It is exactly like that. You should have left me where you found me.”

It was like a knife to his chest. Your face was unreadable, hardened like stone, the night too dark to see if that flicker of vulnerability was sparkling in your eye. He’d seen it before. But even that might not have been enough to convince him that your words had been a lie. 

“No,” was all he gave, it was all he needed to say, and when your mouth opened to retort he was already prepping to stop you in your tracks. 

“What are you two knuckleheads doin’ out in the rain?” Tommy’s lighthearted voice sliced through the tension, both of your shoulders relaxing as he came into view, “You know there’s a whole house behind ya?”

“I was just going in,” you answered, eyes still locked on Joel, his not willing to lose whatever battle of wills you’d entered. 

“Well, before you do, be ready at 0700 tomorrow. Both of you. We’re cleanin’ up.”

“Cleaning up what?”

“Oh, you didn’t tell her?”

No. Joel had somehow forgotten about the horde of 60 he and Tommy had stumbled upon. Not that informing you of that was why he’d come here in the first place. He listened as Tommy filled you in, begging your face to change, the corners of your lips to lift even slightly, any hint that the rage you’d been hurling at him had subsided. But you gave him nothing, simply nodding at Tommy’s instructions to be at the stables and leaving him to dwell on this exchange overnight. 

“What’s the deal with you and her anyway?” Tommy inquired with a mischievous lilt as the light of your bedroom began to glow.

“How do you mean?” Maybe playing dumb would work. 

“I ain’t ever seen you so smitten before.”

The reaction was too over the top, Joel knew it and Tommy certainly did. A theatrical wave of the hand and too loud a scoff was telling, Tommy’s smirk signaling the failure of his ability to keep the lid on whatever was brewing and ready to burst. 

“The hell are you on about?” Joel snapped, just because he had given himself away didn’t mean he had to admit it. 

“Oh c’mon Joel, I’ve known you most of your life. You think I can’t pick up on a thing or two?” 

“Boy, you forget I’ve done all this already?”

“Please. We both know Rebecca wasn’t real. That was obligation. This is somethin’ different.”

Ire blossomed across his cheeks, that wasn’t a name he ever wanted to hear again. It didn’t matter that the wounds she’d left behind were over three decades old, they’d never quite scabbed over, the slightest scrape enough to reopen them entirely and send blood oozing over every clean surface he’d been able to wipe the evidence free from. 

“Don’t…” Joel cautioned, malice thick in his gruff timbre.

“You brought her all the way here,” Tommy pressed, “Why?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Because you feel somethin’. That’s why.”

Your silhouette caught the corner of his eye, the curtains maintaining your privacy as he watched you pace past the window. He could practically feel your anxiety, the urge to storm in and quiet these demons that ran rampant in your head quelled by your final words to him. 

You should have left me where you found me.

“Tell me the ground doesn’t feel more solid beneath those boots when she’s around.” Tommy’s insistence was only making this worse, harder to ignore. 

“I ain’t listenin’ to this,” he sneered, it was his turn to run now, “You got your happy white picket life. Don’t shove it on me.”

“Shove what? God forbid you be content for a god damn moment of your life, right? Can’t be Joel anymore if you crack a fuckin’ smile.”

“That’s enough.”

Tommy’s hands went up in surrender, but Joel was well aware the war was far from over. In the years after Rebecca, he’d done the same thing, attempts at hooking Joel up with the women that threw themselves at him, each date ending in disaster until he’d finally put a stop to it. He hated that Tommy might finally be right this time, the ground did feel more solid when he found himself wandering through your gaze, the weight of you clinging to his torso a comfort he’d come to miss. 

“Her ceiling leaks,” Joel parted with as he turned, his bed calling him in from the rain, “Fix it.”

Chapter 4

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here (18+):

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Arriving at the apartment, they were greeted almost immediately by a needy chorus of mewls coming from the bathroom. Upon registering the noise, Nines' head perked up with interest. His feet moved reflexively, trailing towards the source, when a hurried hand shot out to stop him.

"Oh no, you don't. No goddamn cats, they can wait."

"I did not intend on staying for long," the android replied, briskly defending himself. "Just a quick hello. I've missed them."

As endearing as the response was, Gavin was in no mood to exercise patience. He kicked the front door shut with enough force that he almost broke it. Then he pulled Nines around, propelling him into a swivel until their bodies faced each other. 

There was a modest distance between them, but it didn't stay this way for long as the disgruntled man quickly advanced. Bunching his hands into the front of the android's black undershirt, holding him firmly in place as he pinned him against a nearby wall. "Yeah, well, I've missed you too, and I take fucking priority." 

It was a completely superfluous gesture. Nines could have easily broken the hold had he wanted to, but he seemed willing to humour him. Allowing Gavin to savour in his fleeting moment of victory. 

Revelling in their closeness, the man glanced up at his former partner and greedily surveyed his features. Taking in the freckles and moles he had come to love so much, wondering just how far they spread across his body—and if it would be possible to count them all using his mouth. Focus shifted to his neck, seeking a preview, when he was hit by an unwelcome blockade. The obnoxiously high collar of a CyberLife jacket. 

The garment covered far too much, to the extent it seemed genuinely criminal. He wanted nothing more than to crumple it up and throw it in the trash. Allowing it to end up in a landfill somewhere—decomposing, forgotten to time.

"We needn't rush things," Nines whispered, leaning in close. "I think both of us have waited quite eagerly for this."

"Exactly, and I'm not waiting any longer." One of the hands that had been bunched in the android's shirt moved to cup his jaw, thumb trailing across his lips. "I want you now asshole."

Nines hummed against the digit as though the suggestion was something that required genuine consideration. The longer he remained silent, the more Gavin began to wonder if he was toying with him or if he'd actually changed his mind. Then, with a firm sweeping gesture, his hand was smacked away. 

The android captured his lips in a slow, indulgent kiss. Gavin offered little resistance when his arms were grabbed and firmly pinned above his head. If anything, he encouraged the action with a shameless roll of his hips. 

The taller man shuddered, making no secret of how much he had enjoyed the friction—before responding in kind, moving their bodies together with fervid intensity.

"I thought you wanted me to take you to your room?"

"Changed my mind," Gavin clipped back. "Couldn't give less of a shit where you fuck me, as long as you hurry up and do it…"

Nines pursed his lips, seeming to deliberate on the invitation. Then, without warning, he reached down—scooping a strong arm beneath the man's legs and effortlessly hoisting him into the air. Gavin yelped in surprise, hooking onto his neck in an effort to avoid tumbling backwards. 

He knew the android had made some strides in his social capabilities. On his own admittance, he had been practising, but being quite literally swept off his feet was something that had caught the detective off guard. Glancing up at his former partner, face burning with embarrassment, he noted how thoroughly pleased he seemed with himself.

"While I'm sure we'd both enjoy exploring the numerous places I could fuck you, I think that the bedroom would be the best place to start." Nines planted another kiss on his lips, ensuring there would be no room for debate. "Let me take you there."

It sent shivers down his spine as it struck Gavin just how attractive he found the current situation. Nines holding him up like a prize in a flagrant display of dominance, having done so with zero exertion. His mind flooded with scenarios of how that strength could be put to use. All completely depraved, and none of which he thought would be entertained given his current condition. 

"My legs still work, dickhead. I can walk", he grumbled in a weak attempt to save face. 

"I do not wish for you to strain yourself preemptively. Not with what I intend to do to you."

Any further protest died on his tongue as the excitement coiling in his stomach amplified. The air around them felt hot, almost stifling, exacerbated by the warmth that radiated off the android as he carried him through the apartment. 

It was something that Gavin had more idly noted back at the hospital. Just how warm he was. The heat seemed to be mounting in the wake of their current situation, leaving him wondering what Nines might be feeling. Questioning if he felt any of the same burning, carnal excitement currently raging within himself. 

His speculation came to an end when one of his dangling legs brushed against the android's crotch, striking the telling firmness that strained the front of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to rip them off—most practically with his hands, but more alluringly with his teeth. Desperate to see what he was hiding within the confines of the increasingly taut material. 

As they entered the bedroom, Nines took great care not to trip on the multitude of discarded clothes littering the floor. It was hilariously transparent just how desperately he wished to clean the mess, coupled with a vehement desire to resist the temptation—not wanting to get distracted from the task at hand. 

With gentle consideration, Gavin was set down on the sheets, disappointed by the sudden absence of warmth. This disappointment was only fleeting, as in a fluid motion, the android had joined him. Crawling onto the bed, caging his body with powerful limbs. He leaned in closer, wasting no time in claiming the man's eager mouth once again.

As they kissed, wandering hands searched his body. Starting at his neck and moving down his arms. Ultimately, they fanned inwards, melding to the firm contours of his stomach.

Nines played with the hem of his shirt, teasing the fabric, before pushing up and slipping his palm along the expanse of newly exposed flesh. He moved slowly, ensuring that every inch was searched with carefully applied weight. Fingertips flitted curiously, interspersed with firmer presses—as though he were seeking to map out a template. 

Gavin was struck by two things. The first was excitement, speculating on what Nines intended to do with such a vividly constructed image. The second was jealousy, as he cursed the limitations of his own imagination. His fantasies could never lend themselves the same degree of realism, something he had longed for immensely during his many lonely nights. 

Except now, he reasoned, that he didn't need a more distinct manifestation. The Nines in front of him was real—touching and holding him, as though his body were the only thing that existed.

"Remember what I said", he whispered, the smooth resonance of his voice complimenting the gentle strokes of his hands. "I'm going to do the work. Do not move unless I say you can." 

In the past, Gavin would have levelled some form of resistance. If only to goad a reaction from whoever he was sleeping with—but there was something about the juxtaposition between Nines' featherlight touches and the heady dominance of his command that compelled him to relent. 

This was clearly a good decision, as the android allowed his hips to drop, rubbing against him in a sensual motion. Regrettably, the action never lent itself to any increased weight or force, as he seemed displeased with how Gavin's jeans sought to minimise the friction.

"You are wearing too many clothes."

The matter-of-factly way he said this elicited a scoff from the detective. He gently shrugged his shoulders in a show of false commiseration. "Can't get undressed if I can't move, genius."

Nines sought to remedy the situation immediately. Toying with his belt before unfastening the buckle and smoothly sliding the leather from the loops of his pants. The sight of the android brandishing the item left his mouth dry. 

Fuck, wonder what he could do with that.

He continued to undress him, taking his time as he fussed with his clothes, folding them neatly to one side. The strange behaviour proved difficult not to laugh at, but Gavin was distracted from his amusement as the final item of clothing, his boxers, were unceremoniously ripped away. 

He was left to lay bare across the sheets. Painfully hard, chest heaving in anticipation. Nines stared down at him, trailing every inch of his body with shameless indulgence. 

Then, a sound escaped his throat. Almost like a growl, but underscored by harsh, metallic twangs. Without warning, he dipped forward, and Gavin watched on in giddy delight as a head of meticulously styled hair slipped its way between his thighs. 

He explored the tender flesh, leaving marks with his lips and teeth. His intent to chart his course seemed mingled with a hint of possessiveness, as though he were trying to establish a claim. 

His wandering mouth swept inwards—as a curious tongue ran a stripe along the bottom of his length. Gavin shuddered in disbelief, pulling his head forward as he struggled to get a better look. From the fleeting glance he was permitted, he concluded that he'd never seen anything more arousing:

Nines knelt between his legs, greedily lapping at his cock. Bright eyes stared at him, trained intently on his face. He started at the base of the shaft before running his way up. Swirling an enticing wetness around his tip before capturing it with a teasing suckle. 

The captivating show was taken far too quickly, as Gavin felt a weight on his chest, pinning him to the bed. 

"I told you not to move."

He whined in protest, but the noise lodged in his throat as a tight heat promptly engulfed him. The android hummed around his arousal, low and throaty, sending vibrations throughout his body. 

Holy fucking shit—

Gavin was forced to bite the back of his hand lest he find release there and then. It had been a long time since he last shared this sort of intimacy with someone—and even longer since it had felt this good. He didn't want it to end pre-emptively, wishing to revel in the sensations for as long as possible. 

With every bob of his head, Nines inched further down his length until his nose was brushing his stomach. He allowed the erection to strike the back of his throat with repeated vigour. 

Staving off release became increasingly difficult as Gavin groaned in appreciation, head flopping against the sheets. His hand fisted its way into the back of the android’s hair, tugging encouragingly. An action which, in all technicality, required some movement—but Nines neglected to complain.

Then, his hand was forced upwards as the seal around him was removed with a sinful pop. Cool air struck his skin unpleasantly as he made a heated sound of protest. "What the hell, why did you stop?"

"I don't want you to finish. Not yet." Nines quickly pulled himself up, pressing his mouth against the sensitive crook of his neck. Skilled lips sucked and teased, eliciting a shiver. "I want you to come with me inside of you. Would you find that agreeable, Detective?"

The way the title was practically purred—the fact he knew to say it at all—was a testament to just how observant he had been in studying Gavin's responses. Understanding all the tiny nuances that drove him completely insane. 

All blood rushed from his brain, promptly heading south. He'd never wanted anything more. It pained him just how deeply he desired Nines to have him. Taking everything he wanted, ruining him for anyone else. 

"Very," he growled, voice like gravel. "I need you to fuck me. Please."

Nines pulled away and swiftly began removing his clothes. Gavin was starting to question whether he would—or if he was enjoying the dynamic of still being dressed whilst the other was left completely exposed. 

His jacket was removed first, much to the detective's overwhelming delight, before skilled fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of his black undershirt. The sleek material parted, revealing a growing margin of skin. 

The freckles, Gavin soon discovered, were everywhere. Flawlessly distributed, dotting the pale canvas in just the right amounts. Nines' body was the perfect balance of enticing softness and lithe muscle. Without any exaggeration, he was a masterpiece. It left him feeling woefully inadequate in comparison, but overwhelming desire quickly circumvented any envy. 

"Did they use my wet dreams as the fucking template when they built you?" His appreciative gaze trailed the marks, tracing patterns. "Because whatever they paid the perverted bastard who was in charge of designing this, it wasn't enough."

The android chuckled at the strange compliment, planting a firm kiss against the base of his neck. "The admiration is mutual; I find you equally appealing." 

He had no doubt Nines meant this, the weight of his desire permeating every syllable. Despite the assurance, he snorted, struck by the absurdity of someone so perfect being anything but underwhelmed by his appearance. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

The affectionate kisses stopped. Nines reeled back at alarming speed, features tensed and eyes blown as though he'd been struck in the face. "You’re beautiful," he said quickly, almost like a reflex.

The abrupt sentiment had caught the detective off guard and proved enough to tip him over the edge. He laughed, loud and unrestrained, unable to suppress it any longer. The android looked entirely crushed, a sharp burst of red casting over his increasingly forlorn expression. 

"I’m sorry, just—that wasn't what I thought you were gonna say," Gavin explained, interspersed by lingering wheezes. "No one’s ever called me that. It’s not something you really expect to hear. As a guy."

The LED faded into a contemplative yellow, as though he were committing the information to memory. "I fail to understand why not. It seems to be a fairly apt descriptor." 

Before Gavin could seek to protest this, hands were on him again. Carefully avoiding the sights of his most recent injuries, paying special attention to his scars. Nines traced each with careful precision as his synthetic skin retracted, revealing the white tips of his fingers. 

"Your body tells a story that mine never could. I find it fascinating." As he spoke, his skin continued to fade until the entirety of his hands were exposed. "I could spend all day here—looking, touching, studying every detail."

Overwhelmed by the unabashed admiration, Gavin held his breath. Something swelled inside his chest, seeming to grow in intensity with every second shared between them. Maybe he understood what he was feeling better than previously assessed.

Then, a knee brushed the neglected ache between his legs, promptly derailing the sentiment. Reminding him of other, more urgent concerns. "You gonna keep waxing poetic like that, or are you gonna fuck me already?"

"I think you'll find I am capable of doing both."

His pants were finally removed, revealing a pair of dark boxer briefs. Perplexingly, they appeared to be CyberLife branded—with the company's name on the waistband, alongside a small triangle marker. Gavin was about to make a joke about how closely they resembled the uniform of a certain club when the garment was silently slipped away.

Suddenly, he had no idea what he had been thinking about. Instead, he was focused entirely on the junction between the android's thighs, taking in the sight hungrily. 

Nines brought a set of fingers to his mouth, flicking the ends with his tongue before slipping them past his lips. His head tilted back as he sucked, eyes subtly lidded—an action that seemed almost effortlessly sexy. As he pulled the digits out, they were coated with a thick, jelly-like substance. 

Gavin could have easily fainted from excitement upon realising what it was. "You produce your own lube?" 

"...Is that a problem?"

"I mean, no, obviously not—but damn, Nines. You sure you don't moonlight as a Traci?"

"Lubricant can be used for an array of purposes. I don't think my designers had this situation in mind when they implemented the feature."

Before the man could respond, slicked fingers brushed his opening, applying pressure to the tight muscle. He bit the inside of his cheek, stifling a whine. Then, the movements stopped, just shy of breaching his warmth. 

You've got to be fucking kidding me.  

He was about to bombard Nines with a series of suitably impassioned grievances when he noted the subdued vulnerability in his eyes—and halted himself immediately.

"I've never done this before, so I apologise if my performance fails to meet your usual standards."

Oh…

Oh.  

Truthfully, Gavin already suspected this was the case, but he was uncertain how to proceed upon receiving confirmation. Understanding just how significant this moment was, and not wishing to take the privilege for granted. He knew he needed to offer Nines some form of reassurance. Lest he go down as one of the biggest assholes in history. 

"You okay if I move now?" He asked playfully, motioning to the covers beneath him. "Or am I still on bed arrest?"

The troubled expression relaxed a bit as the android let out a small huff of amusement. "I think that would be okay, provided you take it slow."

In compliance with his wishes, Gavin reached forward slowly until his hand had brushed the side of his face. He trailed the length of his defined jaw before gently cupping it. "If you last longer than two minutes, you'll meet my standards. Hell, you'll exceed them."

The response to this was mixed, with Nines appearing both saddened and relieved by the revelation. He leaned into Gavin's touch, turning his head and pressing his lips to the heel of his palm.

"I'm sorry to hear that your previous partners did not set higher expectations. My stamina greatly exceeds that of a human. I also do not have a refractory period, so we can go for as long as you feel comfortable."

Fuuuuck. "Okay, so that's sounding really great. Before we start, though, mind if I ask you something personal?"

The android glanced down between them as though making a point of their shared undress. "I suspect we’ve passed modesty at this stage."

"Right, yeah, so… shit, are you going to be able to feel anything?" 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the detective flinched. He had wanted to approach the subject as delicately as possible and was unsure if he was already botching his efforts. If the perplexed expression that had greeted him was anything to go by, he likely was. 

"Like, I'm assuming it's all functional down there..." He made a loose circling motion towards the android's crotch and immediately regretted it. You're making it worse, you stupid asshole, "but does it come with any sensitivity?"

"I have indulged in the feature many times and can confirm it is very enjoyable."

Nines said this with an air of casual finality, as though he expected the conversation to tidily breeze along. Needless to say, this did not happen.

"Oh yeah?" Gavin replied, trying his best to downplay his interest but failing miserably. He smacked his rapidly drying lips, seeking moisture. "Wouldn't have pegged you as the type to jerk off. Seem a bit uptight for that."

Evidently, the android was not about to let the joke slip by without consequence. The fingers that had been left to trail idly against the man's entrance suddenly pressed forward, breaching the first ring of muscle. He gasped at the sudden intrusion—a sound which quickly transitioned into a low, appreciative moan as he shamelessly arched towards the digits.

"It is an unsavoury habit for which you are entirely responsible," Nines informed darkly, finding himself at the shell of his ear. Gently blowing into the canal with targeted synthetic breaths. 

The fingers continued to tease him, working their way skillfully through his body. Brushing the sensitive walls, pushing and spreading in line with his eager responses. 

"You saying you think about me when you touch yourself?" Gavin asked, surprised that the words were even coherent amidst a series of husky pants. 

"Who else would I think about?" 

The sound that escaped his lips could barely be considered human, not helped by the fact that the fingers had brushed a bundle of nerves before steadily retracting. 

"Easy", he warned, his voice strained by the increasing weight of passion, "If you say, or do, anything else, this is gonna be over pretty quick."

There was a moment where it appeared as though Nines may comply as his fingers continued to recede. When suddenly, they pushed forward, and curled, striking the nerves full-force with targeted precision. 

Gavin almost screamed as his vision filled with stars. He was helpless to do anything but writhe against the sheets, bathed in a growing sheen of sweat. The high of the sensation peaked and tapered, allowing another string of garbled words to escape his lips. "Jesus fuck—you sure you've never done this before?" 

"I watched an extensive catalogue of pornography, as well as conducted several pre-constructions, in preparation for this moment—" 

Nines skillfully changed the angle. Teasing him through his dipping high, building it up again in a way Gavin didn't think was possible. He balled his hands into the covers, trembling as he did so. 

"I then learned that such material is riddled with misinformation and cited some more credible sources." 

"Well, they were good fucking sources because you're about to make me come without even touchin’ me."

The android withdrew his hand, seeming intent on keeping true to his original promise. The fingers continued to stroke and massage as they left his body, and the man beneath him groaned in a confusing mixture of pleasure and exasperation. 

If this bastard doesn't let me come soon, I'm going to riot. 

"So it feels good?"

"More than good", he grunted back, disliking how empty he suddenly felt. "Would feel even better if it was your dick instead of your fingers."

Ever responsive to the man's needs, Nines quickly repositioned himself—until his hips were pressed against his opening, rubbing against it. 

He entered him slowly, controlling the movement as he firmly gripped his hips. His LED was going crazy—a frenzied light show that seemed to worsen with every inch that disappeared into the willing heat beneath him. 

The thrusts started shallow and testing as his thumbs traced loving circles against the man's skin. He seemed lost entirely to the sensation, his pupils blown and lips parted, as wisps of styled brown hair cascaded down his forehead. 

Gavin bucked forward, encouraging Nines deeper inside and causing the android to tremble. It sent vibrations through both of their bodies as his eyelids fluttered open and closed. Garbled static leaked from his lips, mingled with throaty moans, as his head rolled back appreciatively. 

"You feel incredible."

"So do you." He bucked his hips forward again, with greater zeal, desperate for more. "Now go faster. This is torture, I can’t take it."

There was hesitance as the android's eyes surveyed the scattered bruises that marred his chest. Streaks of black that were fading into sickly shades of purple and green. 

"I don't want to hurt you", he said softly, planting a kiss against each of them as though willing them out of existence. 

"You won't." He reached up, draping his arms across his shoulders. "If I need you to stop, I'll say. Promise."

Taking advantage of how the man had sought to crane forward, Nines shifted his weight back, ensuring their bodies stayed connected. Their positions had changed, with Gavin sitting in his lap, straddling his hips. "I will allow you to set the pace." He suggested, holding him close, burrowing his face into a mess of tousled hair. "And then I will take over."

Gavin groaned brazenly before bringing his hips up—and firmly thrusting down. He repeated the motion several times, steadily building in intensity before his weakened muscles started to ache. Nines, sensing his mounting exhaustion, was quick to take over. 

The pace was fast, in seamless rhythm with what the man had sought to establish. Their bodies were pressed firmly together, trapping his hardness between them. It rubbed against Nines' taut stomach, creating a delicious friction.

"Yes, fuck—just like that—"

It wasn't long until the android lost any semblance of self-control. The movements became desperate and unorganised. With their current proximity, Gavin could hear the sounds of his inner components, building from a steady hum to a fierce rumble. 

His skin was hot—almost burning—as patches faded in and out, revealing shifting blotches of white. Unlike the action performed on his hands, this seemed entirely involuntary. Gavin couldn't help but find it mesmerising, as well as inexplicably attractive. 

A hand snaked between them, capturing his hardness in a tight fist before moving it in measured strokes, matching the rhythm of the thrusts. 

"Oh my god." The additional stimulation proved more than Gavin could take. A rising heat coiled in his stomach, begging for release. "Shit—I'm so close—don't stop."

With his available hand, Nines pulled him into a firm embrace, nails digging sharply into his shoulder. Gavin clung back, body arching, as he panted into the crook of his neck. 

With a final, targeted thrust, his vision went white. There was a rush of heat, filling him up until it dripped in rivulets down his thighs. His hold slipped from the android's neck, and in the loss of the support, his body flopped unceremoniously to the bed. 

"...Nines, did you just come?" He reached between his legs, testing the theory. His eyes lit up in disbelief as he examined the opaque material coating his fingers. Almost indistinguishable from the real thing, save for a subtle blue tinge. "Fuck me."

"I believe you'll find I already did," Nines said back, smirking coyly at his stunned expression. "My sexual components are designed to simulate human intercourse as much as possible. The release is optional, but I thought you might like it."

Gavin hummed in distant acknowledgement as he tried to establish some control over his increasingly debauched thoughts. Wondering if the substance was safe for consumption. How it might feel and taste filling his mouth—

"I can refrain from doing it again in the future if it is not in line with your preferences."

"Don't you fucking dare", he shot back, wiping his fingers off on the bed. "If that wasn't already the best sex I've had in my life, you filling me up would have tipped the scales." 

He rolled to his side, body limp, as he made a clumsy gesture for Nines to join him. The android slipped into place, ensuring they were face-to-face, as he trailed a languid path up and down the length of his arm. 

"Are you satisfied, or do you wish to continue?" 

The question elicited a greedy moan from the thoroughly spent man. "Fuck, I’d give anything to say yes… but I won't be able to do that again for a while. Everything hurts."

The delicate trails paused as Nines gripped his forearm, fingers tensed. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?" 

"Because I didn't want you to, dipshit." Gavin chuckled to himself before the added exertion it placed on his chest caused him to wince. "The mind is willing, but the body is weak. Stupid flesh prison."

"Nothing about it is stupid", came a stern correction as the android took one of his hands and placed it to his mouth. Sweeping the fingers across his lips, peppering each with gentle kisses. "It will be well worth the wait until I can have you again."

Gavin hummed contentedly as he closed his eyes, indulging in the pleasant sensations. "Looking forward to it."

"Do you want me to get you anything?" 

"Not right now, just…" The sentence hung suspended in the air, waiting for elaboration. Casting aside any lingering concerns of pride or fear, he committed himself entirely to the simple bliss he was feeling. Choosing to trust in it.

"Stay with me."

As he opened his eyes, an adoring gaze stared back at him—wide and searching—before being accompanied by a comforting smile. Their foreheads were pressed together in an action that promised love and security. 

"As long as you want me to."