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imagine-darksiders · 7 months ago

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Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

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It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

#Optimus Prime #TFP #optimus x reader #Reader #Fluff #protective optimus #Nevada

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boohorns1136439 · 4 months ago

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Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (01)

I didn’t expect to drop the first chapter so fast. Thank you everyone who liked and/or commented on my previous post !! Hope y’all will like this one !!

Summary <- 01 -> 02

Masterlist

Taglist

Warning: I don’t know anything about hospital or how they actually work, I tried to make it accurate as much as possible, cursing ?

tags: aged-up characters ; Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; afab!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; eventually smut

Also, reader is bisexual !

Working in a hospital was always exhausting. You never imagined yourself becoming a doctor; in fact, you never even dreamt of it. But with a healing quirk like yours, combined with the prestige and respect the profession brought, you felt pushed into it. It wasn’t so bad, though. Being a beta, you had an edge here. In a place where emotions ran high and pheromones flooded the air, you stayed grounded. While alphas and omegas could be thrown into chaos by the scent and pheromones around them, you kept your cool. It was one of the few perks of being a beta in a high-stress environment like this.

Today felt no different from the others as you made your way down the sterile hallway, heading for your next patient. Just as you were about to enter their room, the sound of hurried footsteps caught your attention. A group of paramedics rushed past you, wheeling a stretcher with a patient barely visible under layers of blankets.

The moment they passed, the air shifted. The doctor in charge, a tall, sharp-eyed alpha, started barking orders at the nurses, his voice cutting through the usual calmness of the hospital. You could tell by the urgency that this wasn’t just any patient. No, this had to be someone important. A pro-hero, maybe? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them was brought in after a brutal fight. For a moment, curiosity sparked inside you, and you wondered who they were. But duty called. You pushed open the door to your patient’s room, the soft click of the handle snapping you back into focus. Your professional demeanor slid into place like a well-worn mask.

"Good morning! How are you feeling today?"

The patient shifted under the thin sheet, eyes half-closed.

"Better, I think... Still sore, though," they murmured.

You nodded, already making mental notes.

“That’s to be expected. Let’s have a look at those vitals and see how you're doing.”

After finishing up with your patient, the day moved on with the usual requests and minor chaos of the hospital. It wasn’t long before Asuna, the cute omega nurse, approached you again, her brown eyes wide as she asked

“Please, Y/N, I really need to leave early today. I swear I’ll buy your lunch tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but wonder why people always came to you for favors. It wasn’t like you had a particularly welcoming vibe, yet somehow, this was the third time she had asked you to cover her last round so she could head out early.

“Y/N, I promise, it’s the last time.”

Her wide brown eyes locked onto yours, and you knew she had you. It wasn’t the first time Asuna had asked for a favor, and you doubted it would be the last.

“Alright, Asuna, you’re a pain in the ass. This is the last time, though. I mean it,” you said, though your tone didn’t carry much conviction.

Her smile brightened, and with a quick, “Thank you, Doctor L/N!” she handed you her patient list and dashed off to the locker room.

You shook your head slightly, more amused than annoyed. People always seemed to assume you were an easy target for these things, but the truth was, you just didn’t care enough to make a big deal out of it. Besides, it was easier to say yes and get on with your day than to fight over it. Since she was assigned to the hero wing, you made your way there, your steps steady and automatic. The hero wing wasn’t all that different from the rest of the hospital, just quieter. The lighting was a bit softer, and the rooms offered a little more privacy, but beyond that, it was still a hospital—white walls, the faint scent of disinfectant in the air, and the steady hum of medical equipment. You made your way down the familiar hallway, passing a few closed doors until you reached the patient’s room at the end.

After a brief knock on the door with no response, you entered the room, heading straight for the bed. Their room was larger than most, with enough space to accommodate any necessary equipment, but otherwise, it was like every other patient room. The sunlight filtered through thin blue curtains, casting a dull glow over the room. You checked the vitals on instinct, your eyes drifting to the patient, and then froze when you realized who you were looking at pro-hero Shoto Todoroki.

Seeing him up close was something else. One of Japan’s most famous heroes, practically a celebrity, and here he was, fast asleep in front of you. His hair rested against his shoulders, the unusual coloring drawing your attention in a way you couldn’t quite explain. His features were sharp yet soft and refined, but it was the contrast in his appearance, much like an exotic bird, that caught your eye. There was something striking, captivating about the way he looked. He was just... pretty. There was no other way to describe it. Everything about him screamed "pretty boy." You were so captivated by the length of his lashes, thick and dark against his skin, that you didn’t even notice when his eyes opened and met yours.

The two of you stared at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity. You’d heard Shoto was on the quieter side, but this silence felt different, as if he were trying to figure out why a doctor had been watching him sleep. It was unprofessional—creepy, even—and you had no valid excuse for why you were still staring. The awkwardness of the moment built until it was unbearable, and just as you opened your mouth to apologize, you noticed something shift in his gaze.

There was something more beneath it now, something charged. His cheeks flushed, the soft pink blossoming across his skin like a dahlia. The color spread gradually, delicate at first but quickly deepening into a rich, vibrant hue. His wide eyes, one blue and one gray, darkened as his pupils expanded, a hazy look settling in them. As if he was suddenly hyperaware of every breath you took. The heart monitor’s consistent beeping suddenly picked up pace, the rhythm escalating without warning.

Instinctively, you reached out, your hand barely grazing his shoulder. His entire body trembled at the touch. It was immediate, his body responding to even the slightest touch.

Then, in a small, broken voice, he whispered.

“Alpha... please…”

You almost laughed at the absurdity of it, the words so out of place that they felt like a joke. But before you could react, a scent hit you, so strong and unexpected that it threatened to short-circuit your brain.

Alright, I did the first one. As always, I like criticism and I find them really helpful so don’t hesitate to tell me if something is weird or wrong about my writing !!

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers !

Summary <- 01 -> 02

Taglist

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formylovetodaryldixon · 2 months ago

Text

"DARYL DIXON - MASTERLIST."

Hi! This is my masterlist of all the imagines I wrote here. Thank you so, so much for the love my stories are getting♥ I'll do my best to keep writting good stories for you. - Vi. (They are posted from the last to the first) Hope you like them!

Series:

"Like there was no tomorrow” Daryl Dixon promised himself, the night he let you go, that he would always love you, like there was no tomorrow. But when you come back into his life, you’re sure you won't fall for him again. However, even against your wishes, he will stay close to you, protecting you from getting hurt or worse, because a life without you is unimaginable. Now, like a roller coaster of emotions, you have to face your confusing feelings in an apocalyptic world, until you finally decide what the hell you expect from life, besides the chance to live one more day.

And when a little girl shows up in your lifes, she may be the path to a safe place you two can finally call home. But, will that be enough to be together? Or will the past be too much to survive the storm?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

One shots:

"You are." To Daryl, you are different, you are special, you are everything. But when his jealousy over a "prank" from your friend leads to a misunderstanding you can't resolve, and an incident the next day that nearly costs you your life, it causes Daryl to have a huge revelation about his feelings for you.

"Fight or fight." The Dixon brothers know there are only two options when faced with a problem: fight or fight, but maybe that lesson isn't such a bad one for Marley when she tries to defend her friend.

"Until I found you." You always felt lost, adrift, until you found him. Oddly enough, Daryl always felt the same way, until he found you. From the moment you two met until your life together in Alexandria–quite a story.

"One of these days." For you and your husband, trying to find the right time to have a little fun is not always so easy.

"Marley's stickers." After returning from a supply run with stickers for his daughter, Daryl is no longer sure if giving them to Marley was a good idea when he finds his crossbow covered in them, especially when he has to leave again with his group.

"Stay with me." When an old trauma begins to hunt you down again, Merle ends up telling your husband the truth, your deepest secret.

“When you finally came back.” After escaping from the saviors, Daryl and you finally meet again to stay together this time. And there, alone, your husband gives you a letter that perhaps expresses a little of what you mean to him. (light smut)

"On a snowy day." On a snowy day, Daryl's daughter tells him about an interesting conversation between you and Aunt Maggie, but Marley ends up spilling the beans to Carol too about her daddy's worst fear.

"Make you happy." Daryl reminisces about the day you two got married, when you found out you were pregnant, and when Marley was born.

"Like gravity." A recap from when you and Daryl met until he said he loved you.

"Karma butterfly." The actions we take produce their corresponding results, good or bad. And that's what happens with Spencer when he decides to play the bad guy against you and Daryl after you two decide to move in together in a house like the married couple you were before the apocalypse.

"A whole new world." For Daryl, it still feels like living in a whole new world with his daughter by his side, but in the hour that he is left alone with Marley, Daryl proves he is the best dad ever.

"The way to heal a heart." When his heart can’t stand the pain of a loss, you discover why Daryl ignored you all those days. But there, you tell your husband the way his heart can heal.

“Russian roulette.” The game of killing or dying was too much for you after Richard was about to use you as bait, so you left to not be part of that life. However, it happens that you have a husband who is an excellent hunter, and who swears to you that he would burn everything in his path until he finds you. (light smut)

"Catching the fox." Jesus only caused problems since you, Daryl and Rick met him during a run, but that doesn’t prevent you all from having a little fun. (Even if you come home empty-handed)

"The truth - Part 1." For the first time in his life, Daryl tells Carol the story of how you two met. "The truth - Part 2." Alone in the place she always loved, Daryl finally tells her the words he always wanted to say to her. Will he finally be able to propose to her?

"For life." Daryl tells his daughter about the day she was born (And she asks him an awkward question)

"My everything." A sleepless night after your and Daryl's baby was born.

"Like a roller coaster.” Marriages always have their ups and downs like a roller coaster. Even in the midst of an apocalypse, Daryl and you play a game until the situation gets a little out of control, but in the end, the only thing you two are sure about is that you have each other to keep living.

"The little spoon." During a night of drinking, you let Maggie, Glenn and Carol know that Daryl likes to be the little spoon.

“In your eyes.” The truth can easily be seen in the eyes of the person you love. That night, Daryl saw in your eyes how much you love him. But the next day after Aiden tried to attack you, Daryl knew who was responsible for the cut on your lip without you saying his name.

“Scars i would live with.” Daryl wonders why you don’t touch his back when you two make love.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon twd #dad!daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction

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nerdallwritey · 3 months ago

Text

About to Strike (Part 2)

***IMPORTANT! PLEASE NOTE: This is Part 2 to Part 6 (it makes sense, I promise) of my Beauty and the Bard series! Find Part 1 of this chapter here. If you'd rather read it all in one go, it's also posted to AO3.

Summary: “Oh,” he said smoothly, his features settling into a seductive smirk. “Giving me a ring so soon, my sweet? I’m flattered.” He plucked the ring from your hand and attempted to slide it onto his fingers. “Alas,” he sighed dramatically, “it’s too small - something I've never had trouble with in the past.” You made a face and smacked him lightly on his bicep, causing him to laugh. He caught your hand in his and examined your fingers. “I suppose you’ll have to wear it instead.” He slid the ring onto your pinky gently. It was a perfect fit. The two of you stared down at it for a moment, a quiet tension hanging in the air. “Mine,” he breathed, turning the ring over and over around your finger. “Yours,” you confirmed, bringing a hand to his cheek and looking him in the eyes. OR You and Astarion have a room to yourselves at the Last Light Inn. What happens next?

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 21.3k (This particular part is 10.6k) CW: smut, reader is new to sex,piv sex, oral (male receiving), hand job, vaginal fingering, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, protective Astarion, soft Astarion, whimpering Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), lots of party banter, AND JAHEIRA!! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 and 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 Last chance to go back to Part 1 of this chapter!

a/n: So sorry to be posting another tumblr two parter. Once I started writing, I simply couldn't stop. Thank you if you made it this far! Your reward is once again smut! I hope you all enjoy :) (Thank you to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!)

The room was fairly cozy; a full sized bed was made neatly in the back left corner by a door that led out into the wrap-around porch that surrounded the inn, while an upholstered couch sat in front of a large window, and a storage chest was hidden behind an ornate screen, full of alchemical materials and a few gold pieces.

You set your backpack down and removed your armor, taking note of the contents of the room and pausing when you saw Astarion on his hands and knees by the bed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, shutting the curtains on the window and raising your eyebrows at him as he held his ear to the ground.

“Shh, shh, shh, quiet darling,” he said softly and knocked on the board below his ear. His eyes lit up when the wood made a hollow sound. “Just as I thought!” He sat up on his knees and pried at the edge of the board until it lifted to reveal a small hiding cubby for valuables underneath. He flashed you a winning grin before reaching his arm down into the hole blindly.

You sat on the bed to get a better angle as you watched and leaned forward to brush your hands through his hair.

“Aha! Found something!” he said assuredly before retracting his arm to share his findings with you. He opened his hand to reveal a crumpled letter and a tarnished ring.

You snorted. “A thrilling yield,” you said, patting his shoulder, “well done.”

Astarion let out a frustrated exhale. “Maybe the ring is worth something?” he tossed the letter aside, which you picked up and scanned quickly.

“This Ketheric Thorm guy seems to be no joke,” you said absently, reflecting on the contents of the letter. The author wrote of feeling stuck at the inn on their way to Baldur’s Gate, and of how the people from the nearby village were on edge whenever they were asked about Ketheric. It had clearly been written long ago.

Astarion had one eye closed and inspected the ring closely. “Yes, yes, he’s a brute and a hellion, blah blah blah, we can worry about that tomorrow.” He opened his eye again and turned to you. “Tell me, dear, what does this say?”

He handed you the ring, which was ice cold when you held it in your palm. You sensed that it was full of ice magic, and took a closer look at the inside of the band. A series of names had been scratched out, one after the other. The last word, however, was untouched, and not a name.

“‘Mine,’” you read aloud.

Astarion was already up and looking for more items hidden within the room. “You don’t need to lay claim to it,” he said, inspecting an emerald ring that he found on the dresser, “it’s worthless. You can have it.”

You laughed. “No,” you said, getting up and walking over to him. You held the ring between your thumb and index finger, angling it in front of his face to where the inscription could be read in the candle light. “Mine,” you repeated.

“Oh,” he said smoothly, his features settling into a seductive smirk. “Giving me a ring so soon, my sweet? I’m flattered.” He plucked the ring from your hand and attempted to slide it onto his fingers. “Alas,” he sighed dramatically, “it’s too small - something I've never had trouble with in the past.” You made a face and smacked him lightly on his bicep, causing him to laugh. He caught your hand in his and examined your fingers. “I suppose you’ll have to wear it instead.��

He slid the ring onto your pinky gently.

It was a perfect fit.

The two of you stared down at it for a moment, a quiet tension hanging in the air.

“Mine,” he breathed, turning the ring over and over around your finger.

“Yours,” you confirmed, bringing a hand to his cheek and looking him in the eyes.

His hand came up to meet yours and his eyes were half lidded when you closed the distance and kissed him fiercely. Your tongue flicked out to prod at his bottom lip and he gladly opened for you with a rumble low in his chest. He pulled you closer by the hips and shuffled you backwards toward the bed.

“Mine,” he repeated between breaths. “You’re mine,” he growled and pushed you backwards with enough force to make you fall onto the bed. You yelped gleefully and repositioned yourself to be more comfortable as he climbed on top of you. He continued to kiss you eagerly; all over your face, jaw, and throat.

“Aren’t you…” your breathing was heavy and your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, “aren’t you scared of hurting me?”

Astarion paused his kisses and pulled back to look at you. “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all,” you exhaled, pulling him back down by the collar of his shirt and kissing him clumsily as you threw your arms around his neck.

He moaned weakly against your mouth. “I’ve missed you,” he said, moving down to drag his fangs along your throat.

“Bite me,” you sighed, angling your head to give him better access to feed.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he cooed and clicked his tongue. “If this night continues how I think it’s going to, then I’d rather taste you-” he moved his mouth to your ear and said lowly, “-while I’m inside of you.”

You shivered and threw your hands over your face, whining pathetically. “From anyone else, that would have been terrible.”

“Mmm,” he hummed as he nuzzled his nose along your jawline. “But you can’t leave now. I’ve given you a ring, which you’ve foolishly accepted.”

“Ah,” you nodded slowly, “trapped by societal expectations. Curses!” You held your fist up to the sky, cursing no one in particular. “Though, that means you’re trapped with me, too.”

Astarion continued kissing you, making a noise of affirmation against your mouth. “A shame, considering I can’t stand you,” he rolled his hips, causing you to inhale sharply when you felt how hard he already was. “Ignore that, that has nothing to do with my hatred for you.”

“I can tell,” you teased, palming at his shirt.

He took the hint and sat up to pull the fabric over his head.

You watched him, your eyes roaming all over his unfairly beautiful body, until they landed on his left thigh and you gasped.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m what?” Astarion looked himself over, but fell backwards when you sprang off the bed to run towards your backpack.

“You’re bleeding,” you said again, shuffling back over to him with your bag in hand and rummaging through your belongings to find the salve and bandages you’d been using on your own wound.

Astarion now saw the crimson stain on the front of his leg, complete with a slash through the fabric of his pants. “And I just mended these,” he sighed.

“Take them off,” you instructed, tapping his right thigh.

He smirked. “Are you sure, darling? You might like what you see.”

You gave him a look that said “I’m being serious,” and he groaned.

“Fine.” He stood and undid the clasps of his trousers before shimmying out of them and dropping them ungracefully onto the floor next to him. He sat back down on the bed and you did your best not to stare at his erection. He rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to bite you,” he said. “Though I certainly intend to.” He raised his eyebrows seductively.

You nodded absently at his comment, to which he muttered, “Oh, you’re no fun,” and began to assess his wound. It looked as though it had stopped bleeding hours ago, but the fact remained that he had gotten injured in the first place. You got up again and walked over to the wash basin in the corner of the room to retrieve water to clean the blood.

“When did you get this?” You knelt in front of him with the wet cloth and began to gently dab at the injury. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, watching your hands. “I suppose I got it from one of those cultists we battled earlier. But my armor was too dark to see the blood.”

“You didn’t feel it?” you asked.

Astarion laughed humorlessly. “I’ve felt more pain in my life than anyone should ever have to.” Your hands froze at that. He sighed. “I may have felt something slash me, but obviously it wasn’t enough to take me down.”

“Obviously,” you smiled up at him sadly.

He looked back at you fondly and brushed his fingers across your cheekbone. Then he furrowed his brow. “If I’m not mistaken, you know a healing spell or two that could make quick work of this scratch.”

It was hardly a scratch. An injury like this would have downed a weaker man. Or at least made it harder for him to walk. It wasn’t a very deep wound, but you had no doubt that it had been painful.

You felt your cheeks go red. “I do have some healing spells…”

“But…?”

“But… you took such good care of me while I was healing, I feel like I should return the favor.” You looked back up at him shyly.

He was watching you smugly and sitting back on his hands. “Go on then,” he nodded his head towards the salve you were about to spread over the wound.

You pressed your lips into a line and focused on covering the entire injured area tenderly, but effectively. “I can still cast a healing spell if you’d prefer.”

“Oh no, dear,” his laugh was real this time, “I’d much rather experience your soft touches and longing glances than one quick blip from the weave.”

“I always knew you only wanted me for my soft touches and longing glances,” you teased.

“Call me old fashioned,” he shrugged with a smirk.

“Astarion!” you gasped, reaching for the salve and spreading a generous amount on his thigh. “You shouldn’t call yourself old. You don’t look a day over two hundred and fifty!”

“Very funny,” he narrowed his eyes at you. “But I’m not two hundred and fifty!”

You tilted your head, concealing a smile. “You’re not? My apologies.”

“And to think I was going to allow you to have sex with me tonight.” He sat up and crossed his arms. “Pity. Your loss.”

As an act of rebellion, you reached forward and squeezed his cock through his underwear. Astarion let out a pathetic whine and his entire body tensed.

He looked at you and furrowed his brow. “Warn a man, would you?”

“Sorry,” you said genuinely, hiding behind an awkward smile.

He bounced his left leg, bringing your attention back to the wound. “Now hurry up and wrap my damn leg.”

You nodded and began to wind the bandages you’d collected around his thigh. “Is this tight enough?” you asked after a few wraps.

Astarion nodded, once again watching your hands. “Yes, darling. You make a marvelous nursemaid.”

Your eyes wandered as you continued to wrap the wound. His thighs were more muscular than you’d ever noticed. Being this up close and personal with them made you appreciate just how powerful he was. You’d never admit that to him, lest it go to his head, but in these past weeks since you’d met him, all the running, and fighting, and crouching in preparation to strike enemies, had really paid off.

Hesitantly, you leaned forward and kissed the tender skin on the inside of his thigh.

He inhaled shakily in response. “Easy,” he said on an equally shaky exhale.

Slowly, you placed another kiss inside his thigh, higher this time, all the while still wrapping his wound. You watched his face intently.

He was focused completely on you, his pupils blown wide.

You kissed him again, even higher. “Does that feel nice?” you asked.

“Don’t be si-illy,” he rolled his eyes but his voice caught when you kissed him again. “Of course it feels nice.”

“Good,” you smiled and licked a stripe from the middle of his thigh, up to the top, bringing your face dangerously close to his bulge. You were pretty sure you saw it twitch.

Astarion shuddered. “Gods above…”

You tucked the bandage into itself and tugged it a little to make sure it was sturdy. When you were satisfied, you stood up fully and wrapped your arms around Astarion’s neck.

“There,” you said quietly, stepping between his legs. You watched his mouth before finding his eyes again. “All better.”

Astarion nodded wordlessly, watching your mouth in turn.

“Tell me next time you’re hurt,” you leaned your forehead against his.

“Careful what you wish for, darling,” he purred. “I may willingly step in front of an arrow if it means I get to have your attention all to myself.” He went to kiss you but you pulled back with a laugh.

“As if you don’t always have my attention.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes you speak to the others.” He pouted, adding, “It’s awful.”

You mirrored his pout. “Poor thing.”

He pulled you closer by the hips and kissed your clothed stomach. “Enough stalling,” he reached for the hem of your shirt. “I’ve waited long enough to have you again.”

When he went to pull your shirt up, you halted his wrists. He looked up at you curiously.

“What’s the matter, my sweet?”

You took a step back and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “It’s nothing.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow at you. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

You exhaled through your nose. “It’s just that… well… I know you’ve seen every part of me-”

“Yes.”

“-and that you liked what you saw.”

“Oh, yes.”

“But now…” you waved your hands through the air, trying to say what you wanted to say without sounding stupid. “Now I’ve got this scar.” You held a hand to the wound on your right side.

It had been a few days now that you’d gone without wrapping the injury. The skin had healed and no longer bled, now it was just a matter of stretching and continuing to let your body heal itself. But it also meant that you saw the remnants of your near death experience every time you looked down. Not to mention the twin wound on your back. You didn’t like seeing the scar, which honestly could have been much more gruesome, but it only served as a reminder of how badly you’d messed up that day. You hated remembering the terrified look on Astarion’s face when he cradled you on the battlefield, or the way he held you close as he ran for help. The whole thing was just… ugly.

And yet, Astarion laughed.

“You seem to forget who you’re talking to, darling.”

You scrunched your nose at him. “Your scars are a horrible reminder of everything you’ve gone through at the hands of that horrible man. Mine are from a mistake I made that scared the hells out of the person I l- care for the most. You’re a survivor, I’m just… a problem.”

“Dearest, you’re someone who also survived.” Astarion stood from the bed.

You avoided his gaze. “But it’s my fault it happened in the first place. You didn’t sign up for this.” You gestured to your torso and rested a hand over where the scar was hidden under your shirt.

“No,” he said softly, bending to kiss your neck. “But you’re someone who I’ll choose again and again, regardless of some trivial blemish.”

You froze and watched him pull away, noting that soft look in his eye that you loved so much. “Really?”

He rolled his eyes and placed his hands on the hem of your shirt again. “May I?”

You twisted the ring on your pinky to distract yourself. “Okay.”

Astarion bent to kiss your lips softly, then carefully pulled the shirt over your head.

The scar cut diagonally across your appendix region, pink and shining ever so slightly in the candle light.

“Do you know why I love this scar?” Astarion sank to his knees before you, never breaking eye contact with you.

Your breath caught in your throat. Instead of making some sort of snarky remark about what he’d just said as a means of deflection, you merely shook your head.

“I love this scar-” he leaned forward to kiss the tender skin, “-because, like your heartbeat, it means you're still here.” He kissed across your stomach. “With me.” He took your hand and fiddled with the ring on your finger. “Mine.” He looked up at you smugly.

You let out a breathy laugh. “You’re going to be insufferable about that, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he said, narrowing his eyes seductively and standing up to kiss your mouth again.

You whimpered lamely when he slid his tongue into your mouth and turned to push you gently onto the bed. Once you were comfortably lying among the pillows, he climbed on top of you again and continued kissing you slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked against your lips.

“Uh huh,” you exhaled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Good,” he whispered, and rolled his hips against your pelvis, reminding you of his desire.

You tangled your leg around his. “Astarion…” you sighed.

He was kissing across your jaw, rolling his hips slowly. “Yes, sweet girl?”

“I want to try something,” you placed a hand on his chest to gently signal for him to stop his kisses.

“Oh?” he smirked. “Feeling experimental, are we?”

You nodded shyly, then pushed lightly on his shoulder to get him to pull away from you. “Take my spot,” you said, sitting up and gesturing for him to lie down where you had just been.

“What are you planning?” he asked with a smile and obediently took your place at the head of the bed. “Riding me again? Bondage of some kind? Or perhaps something you read in one of Shadowheart’s cheap paperbacks?”

You sat back on your knees between his legs. “I told you that you took such good care of me when I was hurt,” you rubbed your hands up and down his thighs, careful to avoid his wrapped cut, “now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Is it, now? And I’m assuming this doesn’t involve wrapping some other wound I haven’t noticed.”

You shook your head. “Do you trust me?”

He let out an amused breath through his nose. “Of course I do.” Then he added, “But don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned at him and marveled at the way he watched you, so open and unafraid. It made your heart soar. You cleared your throat.

“I’ll need your help,” you dipped your head bashfully.

“Anything,” he said, not taking his eyes off your face.

You leaned forward and kissed his clothed cock.

“Ohhh,” he sighed blissfully. “You’re very sweet, darling, but you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” you said, kissing him again.

Astarion closed his eyes and arched his back a little, chasing the warmth your lips left behind. When he opened his eyes, he looked almost embarrassed by the neediness his hips had given away.

“Please,” you said softly. “I want nothing more than to take care of you, my love.”

He remained silent as he considered your offer.

“Show me how,” you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his underwear and felt him shiver beneath you.

Then you watched the mask go up with a seductive arch of his eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose we can give it a try,” Astarion said, his voice airy and detached.

You immediately crawled up the bed to hover over his face. He looked back at you with a alluring smirk. “Hey,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It’s me.” You brushed his cheek with the back of your knuckles. “You’re safe.”

Astarion stared at you before shaking his head mildly and smiling. “I know,” he said. “I want this.”

You bent and kissed him deeply, reaching a hand up to massage the tip of his left ear.

He moaned quietly and you felt his hips bump yours, seeking friction. “Please,” he whispered.

You gave him a sideways smile before shimmying back down his body and hooking your fingers under his waistband again.

“Wait,” he interrupted.

You paused. “What’s wrong?”

He pouted - something you realized he did quite a lot, now that you thought about it. “I miss your breasts.”

You snorted and crawled up to him once more. “Would you care to do the honors?” You hovered above him, low enough that he could reach behind your back and undo the clasps of your bra.

“More than anything,” he murmured. Almost as soon as he answered was the clothing off your body and on the floor next to the bed. He sat up a little and took one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Hey!” you laughed and pushed him away. “Bad.” You pointed a scolding finger at him. “I’m supposed to be pleasuring you.”

Astarion smiled, half lidded. “Apologies, darling. You’re too delicious, and I’ve missed your taste.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you deflected and tried once more to travel down his hips. “Is this okay?” you asked, once more hooking your fingers under his waistband.

“Yes, my sweet.” His voice was soft and genuine, with the slightest twinge of eagerness.

You nodded and pulled at his undergarments, working them down his hips and onto the floor next to you. When his cock emerged, it was red and swollen, leaking precum at the tip. You tried not to look intimidated by this new, somewhat daunting task that laid before you, but Astarion saw your expression and laughed.

“Is it as pretty as you remembered?” he asked, barely containing his mirth.

“Gorgeous,” you teased. “Now tell me what to do.”

He laughed again. “Well, when I was pleasuring another man, I’d start with my hands. They usually enjoyed that.”

You tilted your head to the side. “But is that what you like to start with?”

“I-” he paused. “A good question. I was rarely on this end of things. But… Yes, I do enjoy your hands on me. You’re warm. And you moisturize.”

Now you laughed. “Glad you noticed.”

“You’re wonderfully soft, my dear,” he confirmed. “Now… do you remember what I’ve shown you before?”

“Yes,” you said and reached forward, taking his shaft into your hand and squeezing slightly.

“Ah,” Astarion shut his eyes and smiled. “Good.”

You moved your hand upwards towards the head and twisted, gathering some of his precum and spreading it down his length as you brought your hand back down.

“That’s it,” he said softly, his eyes still closed. “The tip is particularly sensitive.”

You nodded, not that he could see you, and raised your hand up again to swipe your thumb over his slit.

“Oh, yes, that feels amazing,” he opened his eyes to watch you with a lopsided grin. “May I show you something?”

“Please,” you said, pulling your hand away.

“No no,” he shook his head and lifted himself up with one arm. “Give me your hand,” he held his out and you allowed him to guide you back towards his cock. “Right here,” he said, leading your hand to the underside of the head where it connected with his shaft, “feels marvelous when you stroke it gently. Like this.” He took your thumb and ran it over the skin lightly, back and forth. He exhaled, blowing cool air into your face before lying back down. “Just like that,” he sighed, his voice gravelly.

Feeling brave, you kept lightly stroking the area and spat into your free hand before wrapping it around his length and pumping up and down.

Astarion inhaled sharply at the sensation. “I see you’re not completely in the- ah- the dark.”

You smiled. “I may have been reading some of Shadowheart’s cheap paperbacks, yes.”

He laughed airly. “You’re adorable.”

“Am I?” you asked mischievously before repositioning yourself between his legs so that you were now lying on your stomach, your hands never stopping their motions. You leaned forward and replaced the hand at his tip with your tongue, swiping back and forth repeatedly. He tasted of salt and sweat and something that you’d describe as distinctly Astarion.

His body jerked involuntarily. “Why you…” He leaned up to look at you and noted the glee in your eyes. “Cheeky,” he chuckled.

You kissed the tip of his cock and licked at his slit, which was still weeping precum.

“Unf,” Astarion whined.

You hummed lightly. “Does that feel good?” Your left hand was still pumping up and down, and you bent to kiss the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” he sighed, reaching forward to twist a hand into your hair. “But darling,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “I may need more.”

“Would you like my mouth?” you asked bluntly.

He eyed you curiously. “Do you really want to?”

You rolled your eyes and licked his slit again. “No, clearly not.”

Astarion laughed shakily. “Then, if you’re offering, there’s nothing I’d like more than your mouth.”

“Good,” you smiled. “You’ll have to help me. There’s only so much a paperback can teach you.”

“I don’t know, what you were doing felt pretty good,” he smiled.

“I’m being serious,” you said. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“How sweet,” he twisted his hand more tightly into your hair. “Of course I’ll help, sweet girl.”

You turned your head towards his hand in your hair and kissed his wrist. “What first?”

“First,” he said, “you need to relax. Let go of the tension in your shoulders.”

“Okay,” you nodded and focused on relaxing your muscles. “I just want to get this right.”

“And you will, pet, but I can promise you that this will be much more enjoyable for both of us if you’re out of your own head.”

You scoffed. “Me? Thinking too much? How dare you.”

“Mmm,” Astarion hummed teasingly. “My mistake.” He took in your eager expression and chuckled again. “Rather than trying to fit me in your mouth all in one go, I find that it’s quite useful to tease first. Like what you were just doing with your kissing and licking. That feels remarkable.”

“Kissing and licking,” you repeated. “Got it.”

“And then,” he continued, “when you think you’re ready, you can slowly start taking me into your mouth. But be wary of your teeth and choking.” He thought for a moment before adding “And pay attention to me.”

“Is that not what this is?”

He gave you a mildly annoyed, but unsurprised look. “Yes, clearly. I mean, listen to your partner. Their voice and body will usually give away if they’re feeling good and what they like best.”

“Kiss, lick, mouth, careful of choking, listen to you. I think I can do that.”

“Teeth, darling,” he said, flashing his fangs, “don’t forget to mind the teeth.”

“You never do,” you teased.

He smiled, but you observed some hesitation in his face. “Really, darling, you don’t have to-”

“Shush,” you said, sitting up on your knees and leaning forward to kiss his mouth. “I want to do this. You deserve to be taken care of for once.”

His eyes were nothing but fond when he bent upwards to kiss you. “Alright,” he murmured.

“Tell me if anything feels bad,” you said, repositioning yourself between his legs. “So help me gods, I’m going to make you come tonight.”

Astarion laughed. “I believe in you, darling.”

You kissed his tip again and returned your hand to pumping his shaft once again.

“Yes,” Astarion breathed, “hands are good too.”

Boldly, you started licking long, languid strokes with the flat of your tongue up and down the head of his cock.

Astarion’s hips jerked involuntarily. “Very good,” he groaned.

You planted a kiss where your tongue had just been, then removed your hand to lick a stripe from the base of his length up to the top. You blew softly on the saliva left behind and smiled when his thighs tensed and heard his breath catch in his throat. He sighed out your name, a blissful look on his face. You alternated between kissing and licking and paid close attention to areas that had Astarion bucking his hips, or biting his lip, or moaning softly.

His hands tightened in your hair when you licked a particularly sensitive spot. “Gods,” he focused his eyes on you, “you’re wonderful.”

You kissed him once more before saying, “I’m going to try taking you now.”

Astarion’s breath caught again, this time with anticipation. “Go slow, darling. There’s no rush.”

“Don’t you have dinner plans?” you deflected with a joke, trying not to get too in your head before taking him into your mouth.

Astarion groaned. “You are my dinner plans, you rotten woman.”

“We should stop talking now.”

“Agreed.”

You took a deep breath to slow your heart rate, which had Astarion chuckling again.

“Honestly darling, if this is too much-”

Before he could finish, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his cock and swirled your tongue in a circular motion, causing him to gasp loudly and arch his back in surprise. You giggled at his reaction, the vibration of your voice further causing him to clutch at the sheets beneath him.

“Oh…” he breathed. “More of that, please.”

You did as instructed and added your hand to pump up and down his length. He let out a small cry of pleasure in response. You gave an experimental suck and were delighted to be met with an even louder cry of pleasure.

“Darling,” he moaned, “you’re a natural.”

You hummed a “thank you” and lowered your head, attempting to take more of him into your mouth.

“Ah,” Astarion squeaked. “So warm.”

Your hand continued to work the base of his cock while you took even more of him, experimenting with your limit. When he bumped against the back of your throat, you felt yourself gag, and pulled back.

“No,” Astarion whined, “come back…”

“Sorry,” you wiped your eyes to rid yourself of the tears that had involuntarily gathered at the corners.

He watched your hand, still pumping up and down. “Don’t apologize, dear, just come back to me.”

You studied his face, which was relaxed, save for the mild distress caused by your mouth leaving him. “You’re enjoying it?”

“Can’t you tell?” He took your chin in his hand and smiled fondly. “I think you know me well enough by now to know if I was faking it.”

You nuzzled his hand. “I would hope so.”

“Please darling,” he whispered, “you’re doing so well. Give it another go.”

You smiled, thrilled that you were able to do this for him and that he was actually enjoying himself. “Any tips for gagging?”

He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Well if you’re nervous that I don’t like it, throw that thought away. The sensation of your throat constricting is heavenly.”

“Good to know,” you nodded.

“But if you don’t like the sensation, I’ve read that squeezing your left thumb can help reduce your gag reflex. And it’s worked for me when I’ve tried it.” He held up his left hand and demonstrated wrapping his other four fingers around his thumb. You swapped your left hand, which was still slowly stroking him, with your right hand, and mirrored the motion. He nodded. “That’s it.”

“Okay,” you said with a newfound confidence. You dipped your head back down and kissed the head of his cock again before taking him back into your mouth gradually.

Astarion threw his head back, a fangy smile gracing his features. “Ahh…” he exhaled.

You felt him twitch in your mouth and giggled. The vibration of that once again had Astarion humming pleasantly. Rather than seeing how far you could take him this time, you took a decent amount before lifting back up and bobbing back down. You repeated this a few times, trying to take more of him with each bob of your head.

Astarion twisted a hand into your hair again and whined out your name. “So good… so good for me.”

When his tip bumped the back of your throat this time, you squeezed your thumb and found yourself not as rattled this time. Emboldened, you started taking even more of him, despite the tears gathering in your eyes.

“Oh gods,” he whimpered when you let your right hand move downwards to start fondling his balls lightly.

You hummed again before popping off of him to catch your breath. Astarion’s chest was rising and falling heavily, and the smile on his face was nothing short of euphoric.

“You better not stop,” he said through a laugh.

“Those of us still living actually need to breathe, sorry,” you licked along his shaft again before returning to bobbing up and down, with him down your throat. You swallowed involuntarily, which had him whimpering again and bucking his hips deeper.

“Ah,” he moaned quietly. “You feel perfect. I could have you like this forever.”

You hummed an affirmation, making his hips twitch again.

“Don’t you…” his breathing was still labored, despite his lack of breath, “Don’t you dare make a… snide remark about being together… forever.”

“Mmm,” you said, sounding an awful lot like “Aww.” You pulled back up and swirled your tongue around the head again.

“Oh…” he moaned again. “You’ll have to… show me… the paperbacks you’ve been reading.”

You gave him a thumbs up with the hand that wasn’t currently fondling his balls and brought it back down to slide it up and down his thigh softly. Goosebumps emerged on his skin and he inhaled sharply.

“I’m close, darling girl,” he brushed his hand through your hair encouragingly before fisting it tightly again. “Keep going.”

You could feel with your tongue as you bobbed back down that he was more rigid now than when you’d begun. He was also twitching more frequently and bucking his hips to chase after your mouth.

He ran his free hand through his hair. “Where shall I-?”

You gave him a brutal suck before popping off with a filthy sound. “Not sure I’m ready to swallow yet,” you admitted shyly, despite a string of drool connecting you to him. Your right hand was back to twisting around his length.

He loosed a breathy laugh. “Understandable.”

“I suppose on my chest?”

He laughed again. “You- ah- suppose?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaimed. “Is that sexy? I’ve never been cum on before.”

He smiled fondly and thumbed over your lip again. “You’re always sexy, pet.”

“Liar,” you laughed, “you’ve seen me drool in my sleep.”

“And what a sexy drooler you are,” he teased.

You scowled. “Ew, don’t say that.”

He groaned, but not at your remark. “Really darling, I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Right,” you said, “chest it is.” You returned your mouth to his cock, kissing it sloppily before taking him back into your mouth as much as you could.

You decided to start humming “Bard Song” while moving up and down, a callback to the night of the tiefling party, when he’d hummed an offkey version for you.

“Ohh, please,” he whimpered pathetically at the humming sensation mixed with your hands on his shaft and thigh, “please.”

You took that as encouragement to hum a bit louder.

“More,” Astarion whined, “faster.”

You squeezed your hand around his length a bit harder and started increasing your speed. He, in turn, was letting out louder, less censored moans.

“Good,” he breathed, “such a good girl.” His hips began bucking wildly and you did your best to remain where you were. “I’m going to- ah- darling,” his eyes rolled back before he shut them and reached to tap your shoulder, signaling for you to stop.

You pulled back to hover over him and watched as he began stroking himself furiously. Wanting to spur him on even more, you began massaging the tips of his ears, which had him calling out your name before spilling all over your chest and his abdomen.

The sensation was sticky and warm, and you were surprised by just how much of it there was. Normally you’d try to avoid a mess like this, but seeing the intense focus turned to pure bliss on Astarion’s face made it worthwhile in your eyes.

He opened his eyes and gave you the most radiant smile you’d ever seen. “Oh, darling,” he sat up and kissed your mouth fiercely, “that was incredible.”

“I’m glad it was to your liking,” you smiled against his lips and kissed him again. He pulled you closer, making your chest press against his. “Oh!” you yelped, pulling back and observing how his cum on your chest had transferred onto his chest.

Astarion brought a hand up to his face and swiped it down his features as he laughed. “Not the worst thing I’ve been covered in.”

“I will not be asking you to elaborate,” you said.

“Nor would I want you to.” He sat up a little. “Let’s get you cleaned up, beautiful.”

“No, no, no,” you held a gentle hand to his chest and made him lie back down. “Allow me.” You rolled off of him and walked over to the wash basin in the corner.

Astarion sat back up to watch you. “Well,” he said airily, “one could get used to this sort of service.”

You found a clean cloth and wet it thoroughly. “Get used to it, pretty boy,” you walked back over to him, “you’re not in this alone anymore.”

“I suppose I’m not,” he chuckled.

You began to wipe Astarion down, ridding his chest of any unwanted substance before moving down to his stomach. You gasped when you felt him lean forward and lick your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Just helping to expedite the process.” He smirked at you. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“How kind,” you said, pushing him back. “Um… did you want me to do that to you?”

Astarion blinked a few times. “Oh, no, certainly not. I mean, unless you want to!” He searched your eyes, but you scrunched your nose a little at the thought. “Yes,” he chuckled, “I find the process to be rather… I don’t know… It’s not my favorite thing. Much too salty.”

“Then… why are you doing it now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, watching your hands clean off his stomach with the cloth, “other men liked it when I put on a bit of a show when it came to cum.”

“Well, I’m not other men.” you said, dramatically gripping your breasts firmly in both hands, then regretting it when they came away sticky.

He laughed. “Let me help you, dear.”

You allowed him to take the cloth from you and observed him thoughtfully. “Just so you know, you never have to put on a show for me.”

He met your eye, looking at a loss for words.

“I mean,” you said quickly, “you can if you want to, but you never have to. I like you, and it’s not because of how great you are at sex.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “so you finally admit it.”

“Shut up,” you slapped his bicep gently. “You know what I mean.”

He sighed and looked at you fondly. “What ever did I do to deserve a sweetheart like you?”

“You’ve always deserved this kind of care,” you said, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m just sorry it took so long for me to find you.”

He pressed his forehead to yours and spoke softly. “You really took your time, didn’t you? Selfish.”

You snorted and pushed him away, a devilish grin on his face. “That’s a new one, by the way,” you smiled. “‘Sweetheart.’”

He began to wipe your stomach clean, paying extra delicate attention to the area around your scar. “Like that one? There’s plenty more in the arsenal. Let’s see…” He bent and kissed your neck. “Sweetheart… sweetie… sweetness…”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” you laughed, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re delicious,” he murmured next to your ear before biting it gently.

“Oh, you haven’t eaten!” you exclaimed, suddenly remembering that you’d asked him to bite you earlier.

Astarion nuzzled your neck with his nose before pulling back. “Relax, darling. I haven’t forgotten. But you have, it would seem.”

“What do you mean?”

Satisfied with how clean the both of you were now, Astarion threw the cloth back towards the washbasin. “I mean,” he brought his face close to yours, “don’t you remember when I said I wanted to taste you?”

I’d rather taste you while I’m inside of you.

Right.

“Still?” you asked.

He nodded.

“But…” you furrowed your brow. “If this is about feeling like you owe me, cut it out. That’s not how it works anymore.”

Astarion whined. “Darling, this is the first night I’ve been in a proper bed in months. This isn’t about payment, this is about allowing my to finally fuck you properly.”

You were taken aback by that. “So… what were all those other times?”

Astarion quirked his mouth to the side. “Well, those were still me fucking you but… in the woods.”

You snorted. “You’re an idiot.”

He crashed his lips into yours desperately. “Please,” he moaned. “I need to feel you again.”

“Are you,” you smirked, “begging?”

“Darling, if I was begging, you’d know.”

“And if I say no?”

“I won’t beg,” he said, looking down his nose at you. “But don’t say no.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Okay, tough guy. If you’re still up for it, then so am I.”

“Excellent,” Astarion placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed you fiercely before flipping you onto your back. He hovered above you, still kissing you deeply, and you felt his hands reach for the waistband of your pants. He hummed into your mouth by way of asking permission, and you hummed back an affirmation. He pulled away and undid the ties on the front before pulling both your pants and underwear down at the same time.

“You are fast,” you remarked.

“Practice, darling,” he said before crawling on top of you and kissing you again.

“Are you even,” you said between kisses, “ready for another round?” You looked down and saw that he was already getting hard again.

“I’ve missed you,” he shrugged and kissed your throat. “It’s impossible for me to not want you right now.”

“Oh,” you said, genuinely flattered. “I’ve missed you too, my love.”

He moaned against your throat and rolled his hips against yours. “Say that again.”

“‘I’ve missed you?’”

He clicked his tongue. “Well, obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “No, the other thing.”

“‘My love?’” The phrase was met with another roll of Astarion’s hips.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m yours,” he reached for your hand, which still had the ring on, and twisted it. “And you’re mine.”

“Yes, my love,” you sighed, wrapping your leg around his hip to pull him closer, “I’m yours.”

“My beautiful girl,” he bumped his nose against yours affectionately.

You gasped in surprise when you felt him slide his fingers through your folds.

“You did miss me,” he teased. “Shall I help you feel good, darling?”

“Please,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He continued to slide his fingers between your legs, spreading your slick and preparing you to take him. “No funny business tonight,” he said. “No new positions or experimental moves. I just want to feel you around me.”

“I can agree to those- ah- terms.” You stuttered when his thumb began circling your clit. “Whatever you want.”

He looked at you with an overwhelming fondness before kissing you sweetly. “Thank you, darling.”

It was then that he stuck a finger into your core slowly and you gasped, tightening your arms around his shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he cooed, “I’m preparing you to take me, my sweet. You’re going to do so well.” He began to pump the finger in and out of you slowly, curling it just so. When your body relaxed, he picked up the pace. “There now,” he said, “you’re doing so well already.”

You nodded and watched his hand move between your legs. “You can go faster.”

Astarion smiled and picked up the pace on his pumping and circling your clit. You tensed in pleasure.

“I’m going to add another,” he said, looking you in the eye. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you nodded and tightened your grip on him once again when he inserted the second finger slowly.

“Okay?” he asked, making sure you were alright.

“Careful,” you said, causing him to halt his motions, “you’re being awfully nice to me.”

“Don’t ruin this,” he said flatly, and pumped his fingers into your core harshly.

“Ah!” you exclaimed with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry!”

He leaned forward and kissed your mouth again. “You’re forgiven.” When he pulled back, he scowled. “For now.”

You laughed. “How generous.”

His fingers suddenly brushed against the spongy spot inside of you and you keened.

“There,” you moaned. “That felt amazing.”

“Good,” Astarion smirked and focused his attention on hitting that spot over and over with some force, all the while circling your clit.

That familiar tightening in your stomach started to make itself known, and you moved one of your hands to grip Astarion’s curls. “I’m close,” you said.

“Very good,” he purred and increased the pace of his hand once more. His other hand came up to tangle into your hair and he started kissing you deeply.

Your hips rolled against his hand, chasing even more friction. “Astarion,” you whined.

“Come for me, darling,” he murmured next to your ear. “You can do it. You made me feel so divine earlier, I know you can come for me too.”

“Keep talking,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut and willing your climax to overtake you.

He chuckled lowly. “It’s been so hard keeping my hands off you while you were healing this last tenday, sweet girl. All I wanted to do was rip your clothes off, and get my mouth on you, and touch you everywhere.” You whined and bucked your hips. “I adore you, precious thing. I promise I’ll protect you from now on. So that I’ll never have to hold back again.”

The words, combined with the brutal pace of his fingers and thumb hurdled you over the edge and into your climax, which had you calling out for Astarion and gripping onto his back.

“I’m here,” he cooed. “You’re so beautiful when you let go.”

As you came back down and caught your breath, you smiled at him. “I missed that.”

Astarion scoffed lightheartedly. “And here I thought you liked me for more than how fantastic I am at sex.”

“I lied,” you teased.

“Oof,” Astarion held a hand to his heart. “If my heart were beating, surely it would break.”

You sat up and kissed him swiftly. “I adore you too, dummy.”

“I know,” he said pompously and you reached behind you and whacked him in the side of the head with a pillow. “Ow!” he exclaimed, and you laughed at the way his hair became disheveled. “Come here, you,” he growled, pinning you back on the bed and kissing you deeply once more. He ground his hips against yours, allowing you to feel how hard he had become.

He pulled back and looked into your eyes with unrestrained desire. You looked down and saw him aligning himself at your entrance.

“Ready?” he asked sincerely.

“Please,” you rested your forehead against his.

He pressed into you slowly, making you inhale sharply before you relaxed into the sensation. Astarion, meanwhile, appeared to be struggling. He’d paused, and his eyes were shut tight.

“Are you alright?” you asked, caressing his hair and brushing against the back of his ear.

“Huh?” He opened his eyes with a start, then smiled down at you seductively. “Oh, yes darling, why wouldn’t I be?”

You pursed your lips. “We can stop if something is wrong.”

“No!” Astarion’s eyes widened. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m just… overwhelmed, I think.”

“By…?”

He rolled his hips slowly and closed his eyes again. “You feel so good. It’s been too long. And I’m still not used to… this.” He opened his eyes and used his chin to gesture towards you.

“What, my excellent breasts?” you deflected, feeling scrutinized under his gaze.

“While, yes, they are excellent,” he reached forward and squeezed your left breast for good measure, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said quietly. “But what exactly… did you mean?”

He sighed. “I’m still figuring that out. It’s never felt this way before and I… forgot.” He rolled his hips again and your eyes fluttered closed.

“F-forgot?”

“How good this can feel. How good you feel.” He reached for your hands and tangled your fingers together with his on either side of your head. “We’re going to go extra slow tonight. I want to savor this.” He kissed you, his tongue sliding into your mouth before he started thrusting his hips at a leisurely pace.

You moaned into his mouth. “Take your time.”

“I plan to,” he said, caressing one of your thumbs with his own.

The two of you remained like that for a few quiet moments, the only sounds being your hitched breaths and skin slapping against skin.

“Mmm,” you hummed, a pleased smile on your face. “This is nice.”

“This is nice,” Astarion agreed, biting your ear gently.

You sighed dreamily. “What would you usually talk to your… um… previous partners about? During sex?”

He pulled away from your ear and furrowed his brow. “Must we talk about others at a time like this?” He wet his thumb in his mouth sensually, and brought it down to your clit.

You gasped and arched your back. “Of- of course not. I just like hearing your thoughts.”

Astarion smirked and leaned forward again to kiss your jaw. “Couldn’t you use the tadpole for that?”

You wrapped a leg around his waist. “I- ah- I guess. But it feels wrong to do that without your permission.”

He growled against your throat and thrust into you harshly. “You always know just what to say.”

You laughed. “Liar.”

He thrust into you again. “Normally I was just trying to make the other person reach the finish line, so to speak. I’d say or do whatever was necessary to get them there.”

“And you?”

“Oh, perish the thought. My needs were never at the forefront.”

“My love…” you whined.

“People are much more willing to follow you around after you’ve brought them to the peak of pleasure.” He laughed a little. “Kind of like how you won’t stop following me around.”

You scoffed with a smile. “Do not compare me to someone you had to sleep with. And you’re the one who begged to be inside of me earlier. Not to mention when I had you in my mouth.”

Astarion thrust into you again forcibly. “I did not beg.” He thrust once more, changing the direction of his circles on your clit with his thumb. “Although I’m fairly certain I could get you to beg.” He flashed his fangs at you.

“Oh, please,” you said on an eyeroll.

“And there we have it,” he smirked. “I win.”

“That was not me begging.”

“I heard a ‘please,’ didn’t I?”

“I loathe you,” you said, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss.

“I’m a magnificent bastard, aren’t I?” he took your other thigh and hiked it around his waist, making you lock your feet together. “Oh,” he moaned loudly, “I never want to leave this room.”

“We-”

He pressed a finger to your lips. “Do not list our many incomplete tasks right now, I beg of you, my darling.”

“You what?”

“I beg- oh shut up.” He withdrew himself from your cunt and slammed himself back in, coaxing a gleeful moan out of your throat. “Can’t you say anything sexy?”

“Hmm…” you thought aloud, closing your eyes when he began kissing your jaw again. “Sometimes, when I see how beautiful you are, I’m just dumbfounded.”

He chuckled. “Me too.”

“But I love talking to you, more than anything.”

“This isn’t really the kind of ‘sexy’ I had in mind, but do go on.”

“Even now, as you’re finally fucking me on a bed, I’m just as thrilled to hear your voice.”

Astarion gave you a questioning look. “High praise from a bard.”

You kissed his bare shoulder. “You’re not trying to impress me, you're just… here with me. As Astarion.”

That made him pause for a moment. “Oh, believe me, dear, Astarion is trying very hard to impress you right now.” He rolled his hips at a slightly different angle, hiking you up closer to him.

“Well- ah- it’s working. Great job.” You leaned up to kiss him and he chased your lips as you laid back in the pillows. He continued kissing all over your face and down your neck. He paused when his nose bumped the base of your throat.

“Darling?”

An unspoken question.

“Hungry?”

He nodded against your skin, searching for a good spot to strike.

“Take what you need,” you whispered. “It’s yours.”

“Thank you.” You heard him inhale before the piercing coldness of his bite entered your veins. Your entire body tensed before you were overcome with the familiar pleasant numbness.

“Oh, Astarion,” you groaned, raking your fingers through his hair.

You could feel how slowly he was drinking from you, almost in time with how slowly he was still thrusting into you. He kept letting out tiny whimpers of delight, excited to finally taste you again.

“You’re heavenly,” he said, pulling back momentarily as if to catch his breath. “I almost forgot how much I love your flavor. So sophisticated and sweet.” He dove in again, first licking the wound before biting down and continuing to drink.

“Take as much as you like,” you sighed, bucking your hips when his thrusts started to pick up some speed. “Just don’t kill me.”

He chuckled against your throat but didn’t let up. He resumed letting out little noises of pleasure, and brought one of his hands up to paw at your breast. The other was cradling the back of your head affectionately.

You could feel his cock growing steadily more rigid within you, the more Astarion drank. His speed was also steadily increasing, with thrusts becoming much more frequent than the slow passionate movements they’d been at the start of the encounter.

“Astarion,” you whined, feeling yourself become more lightheaded than his usual feedings.

“Mmf,” he said articulately before pulling back from your throat and licking the wounds to soothe the mild pain and clean excess drops of blood. When you could see his face once more, the tips of his ears were dusted a light shade of pink, and you swore there was more color in his face. His radiant smile was back, and he looked at you as if you were the sun itself.

“As good as you remember?” you asked, laughing lightly at his expression.

“Better,” he said, surging forward to kiss you. You welcomed the coppery tang of your blood on his tongue happily. “Now, if you don’t mind, a reward.”

“Hey-” you warned.

“I want to,” he insisted. “Besides, it’s not just for you.” He laughed. “Can you imagine? How selfish are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s see it then.”

He smirked and moved over to your ear, murmuring, “I’m going to make you come again, sweetheart.” He pulled away, looking proud of himself. “That name works in a few ways actually. Because your blood is sweet, and it comes from your heart. And because it’s quite an endearing nickname.”

You nodded. “We’ll work on your tight five and get you a slot in the Laff Riot at the Elfsong once we’re back in Baldur’s Gate.”

“Oh, hush you,” he said, quieting you with a kiss. “I feel great,” he smiled down at you, returning his hand to your clit as he continued thrusting into your core. “Don’t ever almost die again.”

“I-” you gasped at a particularly pleasant thrust, “I’ll try.”

“Good girl,” he purred, bringing his forehead to yours. “Tell me, darling, how can I help you?”

“My boobs are feeling pretty neglected, if I’m being honest.” You gave him a sideways smile.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “‘Boobs,’” he mocked. “I suppose I can do that.” He smirked before lowering down to your left breast and teasing your nipple lightly with his teeth. His left hand came up to massage your right breast as his right hand continued to circle your clit. He sucked at the bud of your nipple rather harshly, causing it to pebble in his mouth and his tongue swirled around it greedily.

You arched your back in pleasure and tried pulling him closer with your legs still locked around his middle. He hummed against your skin and turned his attention to your right breast with his mouth.

“You’re so good,” you said wistfully, your eyes closed. “I love this.”

“Ah luff thish too,” he said, licking around your right nipple and making you laugh.

“Keep going,” you said, tapping your foot against Astarion��s bare ass, encouraging him to thrust faster.

He let out an amused breath through his nose before picking up the pace as requested. His thumb on your clit sped up as well.

“Oh gods…” you moaned, digging your nails into his scalp. You could feel yourself getting close again, just a little more and you’d be tumbling over the edge into your climax. “Talk to me,” you said desperately.

Astarion lifted his face from your nipple. “About what?”

“Anything,” you looked at him pleadingly. “Say something sappy.” When he gave you a stupidly seductive look, you amended “And mean it!”

His face immediately fell, but his pace didn’t falter. “I need to think about this for a second.”

You laughed. “You don’t have to, just keep going. I’m close.”

“Is this like when I made you come by telling a joke?”

“I didn’t-” you rolled your eyes. “Yes, it’s exactly like that.”

Astarion nodded dutifully and thought for a moment. “I could say something about how in these accursed shadow lands, you are my light?”

You were squeezing your eyes tight, trying to reach your peak. “That could work. Ah!” Astarion bit your nipple again lightly.

“Hmm… no, feels too sappy. Oh.” It looked like something dawned on him. He bent forward again to kiss your neck and whined when you pulled lightly at his hair. “Earlier,” he said, sounding out of breath, “when Jaheira likened you to my mate,” he almost spat the word, “I didn’t… entirely hate it.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. “What?”

He nodded against you. “I like… having you around. And if some old druid likens that to procreating bears or whatever, then so be it.”

You smiled. “That might be one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“So come, gods damn you! I want to come too!”

You laughed. “Kiss me, dummy.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled his face to yours. He moaned into your mouth when your tongue slipped past his lips. “Yours,” you murmured.

Astarion growled, kissing you deeper. “Mine.”

With a few more circles of your clit and another brutal thrust from his hips, you fell into your climax, feeling him coming not far behind. Your cunt pulsed and fluttered around him, sending bursts of pleasure throughout your body. He moaned your name before collapsing on top of you, thoroughly spent.

He smiled at you lazily. “Well darling?”

You blinked at him.

“Performance review? From a humble bard such as yourself.”

You laughed. “The critics at the Baldur’s Gate Gazette will sing your praises for years to come.”

“Outstanding.” He kissed your chest before carefully pulling out of you and getting off the bed.

You watched him walk to the washbasin and wet a fresh cloth before coming back and wiping down the space between your legs.

“Here,” he said, handing you his discarded shirt from earlier.

“Are you sure?” you asked, taking the shirt and watching him wipe himself down with the cloth.

“It smells like you when you sleep in it,” he said earnestly. “But would it kill you to move less in your sleep? You might ruin the neckline.”

“I’m going to purposely stretch it out now,” you joked.

“Menace,” he said, sounding scandalized, before tossing the cloth towards the washbasin and pulling on a pair of loose cotton pants from his backpack.

“Those are new,” you remarked.

He crawled onto the bed and tucked himself into your side. “Now that I’m sleeping on a bed, the protection from the leather against dirt is no longer necessary.”

“How practical,” you said, turning to face him as he pulled the blanket over the both of you. “And where did you find them?”

“I may have stumbled upon them in Gale’s belongings.”

You snorted. “You’re the menace.”

“And you like me so much,” he teased, scrunching his nose at you.

“I do,” you smiled and poked his nose before yawning.

Astarion chuckled. “Did I tire you out, darling?”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” you said, “we killed a pretty big spider earlier.”

He snorted. “I believe they’re called driders.”

“Tomayto tomahto,” you closed your eyes and scooted forward to snuggle into his chest.

Astarion hummed a vague agreement and wrapped his arms around you. “Goodnight, my sweet.”

“Sleep well, my love. I hope you had fun tonight.” You didn’t open your eyes and instead bent forward to kiss his bare chest.

He exhaled through his nose. “That I did. Thank you.”

You smiled against his skin before your features relaxed and you drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~

Above your sleeping form, Astarion stared at the wall, unblinking.

A million thoughts were running through his mind, all of them revolving around you.

He’d forgotten how good sex could be. He’d convinced himself that he was okay without it, that you were okay without it, while you were recovering, and for the most part, he was. He was happy, even! Staying by your side all day and simply enjoying your company and silly commentary had been more than enough. And it seemed that you were happy, too.

But in that time, he’d forgotten.

He’d forgotten how his feelings for you might interfere and make things… better.

Could it always be like this?

He looked down at you, breathing steadily in his arms, and took your hand in his. He observed the ring on your pinky and twisted it a few times. He took it off of you and slipped it back on a few more times. He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it repeatedly.

He was in big trouble.

You’d said and done things tonight that made him feel… loved. And he’d basked in it like the sun was still high in the sky.

He’d been mulling over his feelings recently, but not really. Why should he when things were good the way they were?

The problem was that he no longer wanted things to just be good the way they were.

He wanted more.

And he wanted you to feel as loved as he did.

Wait.

Oh no.

He was in love with you.

Fuck!

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wlntrsldler · 11 months ago

Text

poisoned mercury | end up here

a/n: i'm going FERALLLLLLL over this chapter. enjoy poisoned mercury's debut album hehe.

iv. end up here by 5sos

series masterlist | previous | next

“your band name doesn’t even make any sense,” you argued, eyes narrowing at the boy in front of you.

luke crashed your secret spot, again, and refused to let you smoke in silence until you gave him a detailed explanation of how your day went. he knew you didn’t smoke every day, only on days that were particularly hard. he noticed that your bad days always had something to do with your dad, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring that up.

anyway, you got fed up with his badgering and that stupid smirk on his face because he knew you were about to crack, and decided that if he was going to act like a toddler, you would too. hence, why you were now bringing up his band name.

luke took offense to that because he thought the band name was cool. he was the one to suggest it. he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let his hurt show on his face, “what do you mean? poisoned mercury is a sick name.”

“mercury is already poisonous. your band name is like redundant or some shit.”

“then why did so many people in history ingest it?” luke asked, recalling the one thing he remembered from his high school history class before he dropped out. he took a drag from his cigarette, turning his body a bit so the wind didn’t blow the smoke directly in your face.

“they fucking died, castellan,” you replied, deadpan.

“oh,” he blinked, staring off, “i didn’t know that.”

you rolled your eyes, a habit that you’ve picked up whenever you were with him and sat back down on the bench. luke joined you, silent as he thought about what you just said. he really needed to stop zoning out during lessons, but since he was already out of high school, he guessed it didn’t matter anymore.

as much as you hate to admit it, luke castellan was growing on you. sure, he got on your nerves like nobody else– the boy just doesn’t quit– but, he wasn’t half as bad as you originally thought. not that you’d ever tell him that though.

when you got back to the cabin last week after helping with concert prep, the cabin was spotless. there were no empty red bull cans in sight, the table tops were free of crumbs, floor vacuumed and mopped, and there was even a candle burning on the counter. you approached your bedroom door to find a post-it on the handle. luke’s messy writing was smudged around the corners, but you could still make out what it said.

“five star,

i snitched on the boys and my mom will have a stern talk with them about their cleanliness. can’t promise that people will stop talking about me, but i can promise you won’t have to live in the dojo casa house mojo or whatever it was.

ps i’m using the spot tomorrow, just thought i should let you know. maybe we can set up a calendar for reservations.

luke :)”

the cabin hasn’t been as messy since. whatever may castellan told the boys worked like a charm. there was still the occasional trash, but nothing crazy. it smelled better in the cabin too, still like a boy, but it smelled like expensive cologne more than anything. cedarwood and pine.

and thankfully, the luke castellan hype train was starting to run out of steam, with many people finally realizing that he was also just a human being and the surprising revelation that luke castellan was not entertaining anyone during his time at camp helped with it as well. you still heard whispers about him here and there, but you were glad the topic of conversation was beginning to switch to something else.

you and luke walked to the gym and back home every morning together. he and the boys sat with you and clarisse during meals. they tagged along for music lessons and spoke to the kids, which they really appreciated. they helped the older campers with writing music, luke particularly. you’d been around a few musicians in your life and many of them only kissed ass when your dad was around, but poisoned mercury was different. they were passionate about their music. that was clear.

after a conversation with clarisse, where she managed to convince you that not all musicians are like your ex, you began to let loose a little bit. you hung out with the boys more, partly as an excuse so clarisse could hang out with chris without causing too much suspicion, and found that you actually enjoyed their company. and luke castellan? well, he wasn’t half bad. that doesn’t mean he got off easy though.

you took a hit of your vape, facing him, “are you done interrogating me?”

“for now, yeah,” he smiled as you shook your head. “are you coming to the concert tonight?”

“well, i did help organize it.”

“a simple yes would’ve sufficed, five star,” luke teased, relighting his cigarette. it was burning unevenly and luke was never one to waste his cigarettes. “you gonna watch us play?”

“don’t have a choice. dad wants me there the whole time.”

“you can act a little excited,” luke ran a hand through his curls, “we are pretty good, you know.”

“i know,” you hummed. the sun was beginning to set and there was a slight breeze in the air. goosebumps formed on your skin, the t-shirt and denim shorts you wore didn’t offer much comfort. you shivered, “i have listened to your music.”

“are you cold?”

your teeth chattered, but you shook your head, “i’m fine.”

luke took off his hoodie, tossing it in your direction, “take it.”

“no,” you tossed it back to him, “told you i’m good.”

always so stubborn, luke thought.

“if you catch a cold, that’s not on me,” he placed the hoodie on the bench between the two of you. “which songs have you listened to?”

“kilby girl, of course. it played on the radio so much when you guys first dropped it,” you said, remembering the days where you and your hometown friends would blast it in the car. it reminded you of high school, reckless decisions, life-long memories, and the thrill of knowing you were going to be playing the sport you’d worked so hard to excel in at a d1 level in the fall. you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, “i really like family line. it might be my favorite.”

luke’s eyebrows shot up. not many people talked about family line. it was probably their least streamed song. they never performed the song on tour because it was difficult for luke to sing it. it was a personal song to him. it was inspired by his relationship with his father, or lack thereof.

when poisoned mercury first got signed to olympus records, luke sent a message to his dad on facebook. luke hadn’t tried to contact him since he was ten, not since his father returned his letter to him unopened, no response but a “return to sender” stamp plastered over the envelope. but after the small congratulatory party his mom set up for the band after they signed, luke felt like a little kid again, a kid who wanted to share the great news with his dad, so he found his dad on facebook, made an account, and sent him a message.

he didn’t get a reply, which was expected, but it felt good for a second to pretend that he had a father to tell his good news to. luke thought he didn’t care about whether or not his dad was proud of him, but when his message went from “sent” to “read” a few days later, he was brought back to those moments in his life when he cried and wondered why he wasn’t enough to make his dad stay. he wrote family line in one sitting, on his bed in his bedroom in connecticut, looking at the little league medals on his wall that seemed to mock him.

he originally didn’t want it on the album because he felt like it didn’t fit the vibe of the rest of the songs and that it was too real, too vulnerable for a debut album, but then he played it for his mom and she loved it. she cried when she first heard it and luke knew that even if people didn’t like the song, he was going to put it out for his mom.

“huh,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, “wasn’t expecting that one. thought you’d be more of a crash my car type of girl.”

“i like that too,” you shrugged, “but family line. that song. i don’t think i have the words to describe it.”

“thanks, five star,” luke looked down at his feet, taking a puff from his dying cigarette. “that’s my mom’s favorite, too.”

“did you write it?”

luke nodded, looking to face you. there was a new expression on your face, one that you’d never used with him before. it was a mix of disbelief and awe. he tried not to get offended that you didn’t think he could write something like family line, but he couldn’t blame you. he didn’t really portray the type of person who would be able to be that raw and vulnerable on a song. “me and trav write the lyrics for our songs, mostly. chris and connor help too, but the bulk of the lyrics are me.”

“you need to stop doing that.”

he cocked his head to the side, crushing the cigarette butt on the hardware of the bench, “doing what?”

“surprising me,” you shook your head, “i don’t like it.”

“i don’t know what to tell you,” he chuckled, leaning back on the bench. he looked out into the lake, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains, “i have layers. you just gotta give me a chance.”

“how do you do it?” you sat criss cross on the bench, leaning against the arm rest. “how do you write like that?”

you’d always been curious about music, even if you weren’t good at it. your dad was never one to answer your questions, especially because you were interested in lyrics more than anything, and that wasn’t his forte.

luke mimicked your actions, “i dunno. personal experience, i guess?”

you frowned, thinking about the lyrics of family line. luke never talked about his dad, but spoke highly of his mom. was family line based on his own life? if it was, his dad was an asshole.

you relented to the cold, grabbing the hoodie that he left in between the two of you. you ignored the triumphant smile on his face when you draped the sweater over your bare legs, shielding them from the wind chills.

he continued, “sometimes things happen to me that get me worked up and i have to write a song about it. sometimes, it’s based on my imagination. it depends.”

you wanted to ask him about his dad, but you didn’t know if he considered you guys friends yet. it’s not like you made it easy for him anyway. you could deal with the banters and annoyance, but you didn’t want to push him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to. you could be a dick, but you weren’t cruel.

you changed the subject, “okay, let’s play a game.”

“21 questions?” luke bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. he waggled his eyebrows, dodging your arm that reached out to smack him.

“you’re gross,” you gagged, knowing the implications of the game, “no, i’m gonna ask about the songs on your album and you tell me if it’s real life or from your imagination.”

“alright, go for it five star,” he beamed, propping his elbows on his crossed knees. he loved talking about music with anyone. he could go on and on for hours.

“18.”

“real,” luke snorted, remembering the first time travis pitched the idea for the song to the band, “but not my experience. it was trav. he met this girl at one of our gigs in new york, right after we got signed, and he was obsessed. she was a freshman at nyu and she kept telling him he was too young for her, even though she was just less than a year older. trav was hooked.”

you could picture it. it was definitely something travis would do. “okay, another one of my favorites. only angel?”

“not real,” luke shook his head, a slight blush creeping up on his face. “if you tell anyone, five star, i will vehemently deny it, but i had a crush on jade west from victorious and i wrote it about her.”

there was something about jade west that made luke like a love-sick puppy. ignoring the fact that she was hot, her attitude was something that luke was attracted to. she had a tough exterior and acted like she didn’t care about people, but she had her moments where she was soft and kind to the people she cared about the most. luke liked that. the idea that someone could be sensitive but only to the people they deemed worthy.

he’d spent so much of his life trying to be worthy, in whatever way the stage of his life defined it, and he craved it– a pat on the back, an approval, a confirmation that he was worthy of it.

you threw your head back laughing, surprised by his ridiculous confession. the sound of your laughter rang across the woods, making luke smile. your voice echoed throughout the trees and he his senses were surrounded by you. it hit luke like a truck.

he sucked in a breath, taking out his phone. he jolted from his seat for more than one reason. “shit, five star. we gotta go.”

you took out your phone too, checking the time. your eyes widened as you got up from your seat. you threw his hoodie over to him, “fuck, we’re late.”

the two of you raced out of the woods, arriving to the concert venue with flushed faces and rapid breaths. you could feel clarisse’s knowing eyes on you as you got ready for the concert. you tried your best to ignore it. you were going to deal with that later.

–

“and for the final event, i know you guys are looking forward to this one,” your dad laughed into the mic. the sun was long gone and there were disco lights illuminating the stage. a smoke machine was on either corner, making it difficult to see the bottom half of the stage. you and clarisse stood in the front row, listening to the deafening cheers of the campers. “ladies and gents, welcome poisoned mercury!”

the screams got louder which you didn’t even know was possible. travis entered the stage first, sticking his tongue out as he expertly twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. connor came in next, smiling and waving at the crowd as he plugged his guitar into the amp. chris walked in with his bass strapped around his neck, eyes immediately finding clarisse and sending her a shy smile. you nudged her teasingly, enjoying the way she blushed under the lights.

then luke castellan walked in. he ditched his hoodie and t-shirt and walked in with a white tank top on, messing with the curls on his head. he tugged on the silver necklace around his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd. he threw a wink to the group of the older girls in the back, turning to travis to let out a laugh at their reaction. the lights on the boys were blinding and a thin layer of sweat already began to form on their skin despite the bite to the air.

luke took center stage, picking up his guitar. he leaned over directly in front of you, fingers pretending to mess with the wires connecting his guitar to the speakers, “hey, five star.”

he straightened his back before you could reply. clarisse’s eyes darted between you and the boy, now nudging you like you did to her earlier. you rolled your eyes, smiling at the rest of the boys as luke began talking on the mic.

“what’s up, camp half blood?” luke screamed into the mic. the crowd roared. “we’re poisoned mercury and we are so happy to be with you guys here this summer. before we close out this awesome concert, i wanna introduce our lovely band.”

“on drums, we have the one and only, travis stoll!” luke turned around to applaud travis as he did a little drum solo, head banging as he hit the drums. he turned to connor, “on lead guitar, we have the amazing connor stoll!”

connor strummed his guitar, leaning over on the left side to soak in the applause of the crowd. the girls beside you swooned as he unleashed one of his award-winning smiles.

luke faced chris, “and on bass, we have my very best friend in the entire world, my 4lifer, chris rodriguez!” clarisse cheered loudly for chris as he played a tune on his bass, mouthing, “love you, brother,” to luke as he played. the crowd quited for a second as luke addressed them again, “and my name is luke castellan. we’re poisoned mercury!”

you turned around to look at the crowd. the size of the crowd tripled when the boys got on stage. everyone had a smile on their face, excited to hear them play.

“the song we’ll be singing for you guys today is from our debut album,” luke adjusted his mic on the stand. he got closer to it, lips touching the metal, “this is only angel.”

you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at their song choice. this was not the song they were supposed to sing. they’d been rehearsing kilby girl for the past week. luke saw your reaction, laughing along with you.

the instrumentals began and you nearly missed the beat drop because of the cheers from the crowd. as the song progressed, the boys were one with the music. you watched luke sing, working the crowd like a pro. his skin glistened under the spotlight, beads of sweat tricking down the side of his face. he approached chris when the chorus started, dragging his mic stand with him. he swung his guitar around so it rested on his back as he sang the lyrics. his curls were sticking to his forehead, eyebrows raised in glee as he performed.

you couldn’t take your eyes off the lead singer, not even when the rest of the band had their own solos in the song. your eyes were glued on luke; how his adam’s apple was on full display as he threw his head back, getting lost in the music, how his arms flexed as he wrapped the mic cord around his fist, how his thin tank top stuck to his body and how it raised when he lifted his arm up to bring the mic closer to his lips. you saw the outline of his abdomen and his v-line.

but what really got you was his face. he looked at peace on stage, a wide smile on his face, full lips pink and glossy as he licked them in between verses. he looked incredible up there, like that was where he belonged. he was born to be on stage like this.

“fuck,” you mumbled, applauding at the end of their song. luke’s eyes found yours as he sang the last bit of the song, smiling at you. you hoped clarisse couldn’t hear you talk to yourself. you looked down at your feet, tugging nervously on the collar of your shirt, “i get it now.”

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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badomensgoodomens · 3 months ago

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BAD DECISIONS

CHAPTER ONE.

Noah Sebastian X reader

CW: sex and a ridiculously cringy argument. (p-in-v, shower sex, rough dirty talk)

credits to @emluvsuxo who proofread this chapter and did not tell me how absolutely cringy and shitty it is (xoxo) i promise the other two chapters I've written following this one are better academically, and storyline wise.

tag list at bottom of post.

READERS POV

Noah currently had me sprawled out on his bed, his fingers pumping in and out. My head was thrown back with pleasure, but ultimately, I was in a different place. He pauses his movement, “you good?” he asks, gazing down at me. I nod, mumbling about how I had a rough day.

We hooked up often, a stress reliever for both me and him. He wasn’t like other boys i’d fucked, he was slow, meaningful and very set on both ends receiving pleasure. However, I always wake up alone. I wasn’t beginning to care about that factor until now.

When I woke up the next morning, half naked, I just laid there for a while. Why do I all of a sudden need this man for more than just sex. I mean he wasn’t ALL that.. With his uhm….. Fuck.

I crave that man from the inside out.

—-----------------------------------------------

After a couple of hours of wallowing in delusion with my hands between my legs, I dragged myself out to the studio. I needed to work on a few pieces and get them shipped out. Art was a big passion of mine, it was a great stress reliever (alongside sex with the god himself; noah.) I was successfully channelling every emotion without taking it out on someone else, and turning it into art. Soft music played in the background as I spent hours focusing on every individual brush stroke, trying to perfect this specific piece.

I ignored everything for a while, texts from my sister, from my mom, even from noah. I was antsy, and a little dizzy. I was losing daylight, this piece wasn’t even remotely done. I’d have to return to it tomorrow.

I close and lock the door to my studio, heading down the steep flight of stairs to the carpark. I knew Noah went to the gym around here, and prayed silently I wouldn't come across him. I was still incredibly contradicted. Did I really want more from him?

The sun had set and I wasn't even half way home yet, clairo played softly over the radio. I was overwhelmed, not sure how to feel about noah. Fuck. Why is bags playing?

Fuck

Maybe I am in love with him?

_________________________________________________

NOAH'S POV

I chuck my phone down onto my bed, rubbing my hands over my face. She hasn’t responded yet. Maybe she's given up on me.

Fuck. I'm painfully hard and I need her soft skin against mine. I hadn’t told the boys about her, I didn't intend to ever date her, I don’t think. We were merely friends with benefits, I'm not ready for commitment.

It isn’t like I don’t trust her or anything, I'm just scared, and hurt. Natasha fucked me up real bad, hence why we were strictly friends with benefits. No cheating, no trust issues, just meaningless sex. Even though, now when I smell her perfume, it makes me dizzy.

My head was resting on my grey pillows as my hips stuttered, my right hand jerking up and down my cock. Soft groans spilled out of my mouth as my hips snapped up. I was seconds away from cumming when my phone rang, it was her, her contact photo illuminating my entire phone screen. And holy shit it made me cum.

I had taken a photo of her, half naked, standing by the big windows in her bedroom. I’d just fucked her brains out, but she was more intrigued by the moon. I scramble to answer the phone, pulling my pants back up.

“Hi?” her voice came through my phone speaker.

“Hi, are you busy right now?” I asked, readjusting my pants.

Her soft sigh fills my ears, and I almost moan.

“I’m on my way home from the studio, shower sex sounds good enough for you?”

I climb out of bed, mumbling a soft yes.

—---------------------------------------

I pull up to her house at roughly 8pm, letting myself in. She's standing in the kitchen in a pair of paint covered track pants and a sports bra.

“You’re covered in paint” I grin, watching as she eats a microwavable meal. She looks over herself, an embarrassed smile gracing her pretty face. I swear my pants tighten.

“Right. Upstairs. Now.” I smirk, slipping off my shirt.

She turns the shower on and hurries to get her clothes off, discarding her silly little lace thong. My hand reaches the back of her neck, pulling her soft lips against mine. It's a clash of teeth, kisses and moans.

“Bend over” I growl, spitting on my fingers. She does as she's told, making a show of bending over in the spacious shower. My hand comes down harshly on her pretty ass. I gently trace my fingers over her clit, her breathing quickens.

I lean my head down near her ear, nibbling on it, taking notice of the way her thighs squeeze together at the dirty things I'm whispering in her ear.

My fingers slip inside her tight pussy, pumping in and out. Her soft moans fill the room, blessing my ears. “Gonna make you cum, huh?” I groan, watching her clench down on my fingers. “Gonna make you cum with just my fingers, you dirty girl.”

__________________________________

I walk out of the shower, stretching my back. I slip my clothes back on, gathering my stuff to leave. She walks me out, wearing just a tshirt. I clear my throat, turning to face her. She looked up at me, her face littered with a post-orgasmic glow, but her eyes said something different.

READERS POV

He pulls me in for a kiss, a magical one at that. I was enjoying it for a moment until I could taste a hint of hennessy. I pull away, feeling a mix of hurt. “So you just came here to fuck me because you were drunk?!” the words came out before i could even process them. Surprise washes over his face, “w-what?” he mutters, stepping back a little. I rub my hand over my face, why the fuck did i say that?

This was going to go south real quick.

“Am I no good?”

His face is quizzical, his eyebrows raising. “What? Baby-”

“No. don’t call me that. Tell me, am I no good?” the words fell off my lips in a hurry. I felt sick to my stomach, I was head over heels with this man and I needed to know.

“What the fuck are you talking about-”

I cut him off. “Do you actually want to fuck me? Or am I just the only one willing?” I ask, crossing my arms over. My heart hurt.

“I- we talked about this. We are strictly friends with benefits.” Noah responds, shuffling awkwardly back into the house, not wanting to give the neighbours a show. “You’re not even my fucking friend though! You won’t introduce me to your friends, you only come over for sex!" I yell, shutting the front door. Well yeah. That was the whole point of our relationship, but he could’ve at least been nice enough to.

I watch him rub his hand over my face. His leg was bouncing up and down.

“You caught feelings, didn’t you?”

My stomach dropped, I mean I hadn't exactly been secretive, but it was still terrifying.

“Why is that so wrong!!” I cried out, tugging at the roots of my hair. Was it because he was some rockstar? Was he just like… using me for my body? Ironic isn’t it?

He sighs, sitting down on my grey couch.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen-”

“Can I be yours?” the words spill out before i can stop myself, a desperate plea. The room is silent again. My hopes are not very high.

“What-?”

“Can I be yours? Just tell me I'm yours-" I fumble with my words, avoiding eye contact. It felt like I was being burned at the stake.

Panic sets over his face, I panic myself.

“We talked about this- i- i can’t do that.” he answers, standing up. Shuffling towards the door.

“You walk out those doors and you’ll never see me again-” the words were much harsher than intended, but I was at my wits end. Our relationship was boring, just sex and nothing else. That wasn’t what I wanted it to be. God, I felt like some trashy whore.

He faltered his movement slightly, but continued walking.

The last thing he said to me was, 'I’m sorry.' Those words hung in the air, heavy and final, just before I turned away and never saw him again. It wasn’t just the apology that hit me—it was the weight behind it, the finality in his voice, as if it were the last thing he could offer, and it still wasn’t enough. My chest tightened, and a cold wave of nausea rose in my throat. It was as though his words, meant to bring closure, had instead unravelled something inside me, leaving me hollow and raw. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—just the echo of his voice and the bitter sting of what could never be fixed.

The door slammed shut, making the thin walls of the lifeless house shake. Bile rose in my throat, I ran up the creaky stairs, my voice a mixture of pained cries and gagging.

_______________________________________

For days, I couldn’t stop hearing those words—his apology. It looped in my mind like a broken record, each repetition digging deeper. But as the days wore on, I started to realise something. Maybe the hardest part wasn't that he’d hurt me. It was that I was still holding on to the hurt, still letting it have power over me. I had to choose to let go.

authors note:

yes, I know I made this story out to be so much juicier and written so much better, just have some patience. I wrote this literally like 2 months ago and have increasingly gotten better.

Taglist: @lilcrazy011 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

let me know if you’d like to be added

credits: whoever made that divider ily. i swear it was @silent-stories do correct me if I'm wrong.

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moody-alcoholic · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 - The Job.

I just don't know when to stop, if I don't have like 20 projects going at once I get bored. I waited until I had a name though, no longer will I be titling everything 'untitled XYZ fic. It was actually my fiancée who came up with the name.

Work summary: 141 retired and decided to open a delivery company. Only it's not a delivery company, it's a cover for less legal practices. Need a creepy stalker out your life? Someone owes you money? You need to disappear to a new life? Special Delivery Service has got you covered, for a reasonable fee.

Chapter Summary: 5.5k words, Simon x reader, female reader, name used: Dani (this is just personal preference, I don't like using Y/N.) You accept a job offer to work as an office admin for a commercial delivery company. Only the job is not quite as it seems and you come to learn neither are the people you work for.

CW: mentions of abusive ex, alcohol, language, flashbacks of domestic abuse.

masterlist - next

AO3 link

Enjoy <3

You see the job listing towards the bottom of the page:

Office admin wanted! To start immediately. MUST have a background in logistics. Send CV to: [email protected] Competitive salary.

It was short, sweet, to the point and the most promising job posting you had seen all day. You had a background in logistics, you’d just spent the last 3 years working as a supply chain manager. Mainly it was just organising warehouse deliveries but it was experience none the less. You copy the e-mail and send the CV, with a job posting like this you didn’t expect to hear a response back for a few days.

It was already 8pm you’d been applying for jobs all day. You decided to give up for tonight, the sofa and the TV were calling you. You head into the kitchen rummaging through the fridge to see what sad meal you would cook up tonight. You pull out a box of Chinese leftovers, they still smell good. You tip them on a plate throwing it in the microwave as you pour yourself a glass of wine. Turning the TV on channel surfing when your phone starts ringing, you go to pick it up. It’s not a number you know but you swallow your nerves accepting it in case it’s about a job.

“Hello?” You say.

“Hello is this Dani” A male voice comes through the other end.

“Yeah,” You reply feeling nervous all of a sudden, you sip the wine.

“You applied for the office admin job?” The voice says back. You have to think for a second, he can’t mean the job you literally applied for less then 10 minutes ago. You look back over at the laptop screen the e-mail still open.

“Hello?” the voice says.

“Yes, sorry yeah, wow I didn’t expect to hear back so quickly.”

“Yeah, we need someone to start immediately, can you come down for an interview tomorrow?”

“Sure what time?” You ask, you need this job, you need to get back on your feet.

“I’ll message you the time, and the address.” He says, you hear noise in the background sounds like a door slamming.

“Thank you,” you say as you hear the microwave beep.

“No problem, see you tomorrow.” He says and hangs up the phone. You take your food out the microwave and flop down on the sofa tuning into whatever soap was playing on the TV. You’re halfway through your food when you get a text with the address and a time. 10am. You copy the address and put it into google, now is a better time then ever to find out about this company. Special Delivery Service, SDS, you don’t know why that makes you chuckle, it makes you think of DFS, the sofa company. The address is close by only a few streets actually, you could walk there in about 20 minutes, that’s convenient at least. From the looks of the website it’s a commercial delivery company. ‘Discretion is our specialty’ it says as you continue reading, there is not much info just how to contact them for a quote. The pictures are mainly stock images bar the logo.

You’d never heard of them before but it’s not exactly like you’re in the market for commercial deliveries, it has good ratings though, that means something. You throw the phone to the side turning back to the TV. This was good, this is a good start it’s what you need to move on, maybe even a fresh start. It feels like the right time, newly out of toxic relationship, made redundant, all in less then a month.

Maybe you could use a nice change of pace, or maybe you would go to the interview tomorrow and it will be a complete waste of time. Either way it’s a step in the right direction and at least your mum will be happy you’ve found a job, you’re pretty sure she was dreading the thought of having to financially support you until you were back on your feet. Now you were definitely hoping the interview would will go well, the thought of having to rely on your mother to support you was the worst. You would rather ask your ex, Lord knows he owes you one. You finish the food and lounge around watching TV until you start to dose off. You peal yourself off the couch heading into bed, a good nights rest will do you good, besides you want to make a good impression tomorrow.

——————————

You get to the building early, it’s sunny weather for once and you can see the large doors to the building flung open. You peak in and see delivery vans, the whole place looks like it was an ex-mechanic shop. A figure catches the corner of your eye, he’s talking to another man walking across the floor, you can’t hear what they’re saying but the shorter man seems enthusiastic about something. Before you can get a better look they disappear out of your line of sight. You look over to what you assume is the customer entrance, and walk in. There is a man sat behind the counter, he seems distracted by something angrily typing on a computer. He sighs as you reach the desk, his eyes flicking up to you, he scoots back in the chair.

“How can I help?” He asks, his demeanour changing, he’s got a nice smile.

“I’m here for an interview,” You say suddenly feeling nervous. He nods getting up.

“Yeah of course, come through.” He says opening a hidden door in the counter and you walk though. He leads you through to the main room it still smells of fuel, this place definitely used to be a mechanic shop, you can see the covered up pits on the floor where they would access under the cars.

Your attention is drawn to the sound of laughing and you see the two men from earlier stood round a coffee machine. The taller man has his back turned to you while the shorter man is chuckling, hitting the taller man on the back. His eyes move to you, he’s fit, well built, tanned skin, he runs his hand through his slick mohawk, you could have swore he just winked at you. You turn your attention back to the man leading you as you reach a metal staircase.

The second floor-if you can even call it that-is furnished with sofa’s and a kitchenette, you can see a dart board and what looks like a pool table. Looks like a cool place to hangout. You feel bad for not asking the man his name as he leads you an office door. He knocks and you both wait.

“Come in!” a voice calls, you think you recognise it, its the same person you spoke to on the phone yesterday. The door opens and you walk in. You look at the man sat behind the desk, he looks older then the other people you’ve seen, his beard makes him look older then you suspect for some reason, you can see the bags under his eyes like he could do with long nap.

“Thanks Kyle,” He says as you walk in. Okay, his name was Kyle you’d have to remember that. He nods leaving the room closing the door behind you. The man behind the desk gets up as you walk over to him. He comes round putting his hand out for you to shake it.

“John Price,” he says as he nods at you smiling. You nod back.

“Sit please, coffee? Tea?” He gestures to the chair and walks back round the desk.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You look up at him smiling as you sit down. His office walls are massive windows looking down on the room below you can see people moving around now opening the back of the vans. You look back up at him as he takes a paper in his hand.

“3 years as a supply chain manager, studied business in college, pretty impressive.” He says putting the paper back down.

“Thank you,” you say, not that it’s really that impressive the only reason you did a business course was to make your parents happy. You had no idea what you wanted to do when you finished secondary school.

“So do you have any experience in warehouse management?” He asks leaning forward on the desk.

“Well at my last job towards the end, there was a lot of inventory organisation and I was pretty much left in charge of clearing the whole place out before the business went under.” You say, you’re not sure if that’s what he’s expecting, to be honest with the little research you managed to do and the vague job posting you were not sure what to expect.

“The jobs pretty simple. There are three main aspects, the first is the most important; the clients send us a list of good they need transporting, it’ll be your job to assign it to a driver then create the invoices, paperwork, the system is already pretty automatic. A lot of it is just data entry if I’m being honest.” You smile at him as he continues, so far it seems like a pretty easy job.

“The second part is when a client sends a special request, the system is not set up to handle them yet so they can come through as errors, with just an e-mail address attached. If you can assign them to someone great if not forward them on to me. The system will let you know if a driver has available delivery slots.” You nod as he finishes, you could handle this, data entry, assigning jobs to people, easy.

“Sounds good so far.” You reply. He nods.

“The last part is just your general office admin work, you’ll man the front desk, answer the phone, the boys will tell you if they need supplies ordering that kind of stuff. The hours are standard 9 to 5, 5 days a week, we’re closed Saturday Sunday.” He says spinning round in his chair and taking some paper from the printer.

“I live close by actually it’s really convenient.” You say.

“That’s nice, if you want the job I have a contract ready, you can start tomorrow then you’ll have the weekend off.” He says spinning back round straightening the paper out. That’s sudden, the job did say start immediately though, and you really need this job.

“Of course, that’s great.” You say smiling, hoping he can’t see your hesitation. He pushes the stack of papers towards you, you flick through the first few pages of standard workers rights.

“You’ll get 2 weeks paid vacation a year, sick leave and maternity leave should you need it kick in after a month of probation.” He explains, pretty standard. You flick through it to the end page with the salary break down. Holy shit!

“The job requires a certain level of…Discretion.” He explains. “You’re compensated for the inconvenience.”

“What like I can’t tell people were I work?” You ask confused. He looks at you like he’s trying to think of what to say.

“We have clients who expect their information to be handled, appropriately. On top of that some of your colleagues like to keep their work and home life separate.” He says eventually, you frown. That’s strange and he didn’t answer your question. You nod like you understand though, regardless you’ll take the 'hush money.' Especially since you’ll be making more then you’ve never made for what is basically a data entry job, and maybe having to answer the phone a few times. It almost seems to good to be true. You skim over the rest of the legal jargon and company rules.

“Any questions?” He asks as you pick up a pen, you shake your head and sign both pieces of the paper, then hand it to him. He smiles signing it too and ripping off one of the pages handing it back to you.

“One last thing.” He says hesitating for a second. “Do you have a criminal record?”

“No,” you shake your head. He stands nodding and you get up too, as he walks round the desk, heading for the door to his office and you follow him.

“I’ll get one of the boys to show you round before you leave.” He says opening the door.

“MacTavish!” He calls as you follow him out the room. You watch as a man appears at the bottom of the steps, it’s the guy from earlier who was laughing. He’s defiantly good looking there’s no denying it.

“Come show our new recruit around.” He nods coming up the stairs.

“If you have any questions let me know and I’ll e-mail you a full copy of your contract.” John says as he puts his hand out and you shake it.

“I will thank you,” you smile and he heads back into his office.

“John MacTavish!” The man says extending his hand out to you, he’s got an accent for a second you look at him confused.

“Another John?” You ask as you shake his hand.

“Aye, most people call me Johnny though.” He winks. Now you’re sure he winked at you earlier. He walks round you over to the sofa’s and the pool table.

“This is where we chill out between deliveries, or just in general. Do you play?” He asks pointing at the pool table.

“Once or twice, at the pub.” You say. You’re still trying to pin his accent, Welsh or Scottish? You’re too embarrassed to ask. He comes back over to you and you see he’s walking with a limp, it’s especially obvious as you follow him down the steps and he has to grip the banister for support.

“This is were we load the vans up with anything we need, toilets over there and next to them is the store room.” He says pointing to the rooms directly under the upstairs office. There are metal shelves filled with all different kinds of things from basic office supplies to what looks like medical equipment and machinery. The store room door is the only door you’ve seen with a key-code lock on it, makes sense. There is a long table surrounded by chairs and a projector against a far wall. You look over to see another man sat at the table typing on a laptop.

“This is Simon, Simon Riley.” Johnny says as he takes you over. He’s wearing a hoodie pulled over his head and a black surgical mask. Maybe he’s a clean freak? Or maybe this was what John meant by ‘Your colleagues like to keep their work and home life separate.’ You extend your hand out too him as you approach.

“Nice to meet you.” You say, he looks up at you for a second. His eyes are beautiful, a dark caramel, thick eyebrows and you can see strands of blonde hair peaking out from under his hood. He shakes your hand, his grip is firm, you swallow hard. He’s giving off a different vibe then the rest of the people you’ve met so far, you almost want to run away from him.

“Don’t worry about him he’s always grumpy in the morning.” Johnny says leaning into your ear. Simon rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to typing on the laptop. John, Johnny, Simon and Kyle, you repeat the names in your head so they’re burned into your memory. Johnny continues his tour showing you round the main floor, you were right as he explained the building used to be a mechanics until they took it over. Before that it was an abandoned munitions processing plant from the second world war. The building did look old, stylish red brick, huge arched windows that let in a lot of natural light. The doors were even old on rollers, thick and wooden. The more you looked around the more it reminded you of the old workhouses you’d seen in history books. Johnny leads you through to the lobby, the only part of the building that seems to have been renovated in the last 10 years.

“This is Kyle Garrick, we call him Gaz.” Johnny says as Kyle stands up and you shake his hand. He’s fit too, dark skinned, short hair and he’s got a lovely smile, London accent you can tell he’s local too.

“This will be where you work.” Johnny says pulling the chair out.

“I’m sure Price will give you the rundown tomorrow on how the system works, we’re still working on getting it up and running properly.” Johnny says enthusiastically. You nod looking round at the desk, there is a large printer/photocopier in the corner and a plant that looks like it’s seen better days. At least the computer is up to date and honestly you can work with this.

“So nervous for your first day?” Johnny asks as Kyle sits back down.

“Not really.” You say smiling.

“Good lass, that’s what we like to hear!” Johnny says patting you on the shoulder. Scottish, definitely Scottish. Kyle chuckles as he goes back to typing on the computer. You feel like now is the best time to take your leave. You thank Johnny and tell them both you’ll see them tomorrow.

“Wait a second lass, here.” Johnny reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card.

“Any questions drop me a message.” He smiles. You nod pocketing the card and heading out. You look back at the building as you leave seeing Johnny wave, you wave back awkwardly. Why would anyone care about keeping there home and work life separate when you work for a simple delivery company? You think back to Simon with the mask, maybe he’s just hygienic? Regardless it was a good job, close to home and good pay. You wouldn’t have to rely on your mum or your ex to get you through the month. At least that was a weight off your shoulders.

——————————

Later that evening your mother calls.

“Hey mum.” You say as you reluctantly pick up the call, not really feeling in the mood for her energetic energy, especially after Johnny’s enthusiastic tour.

“Hey sweetie! I was just thinking about you today and I thought I would call to tell you, Anne from church has a job opening at her son’s restaurant. You know Chris? He works at that nice Italian place, well I said you were looking for a job and Anne said she would put in a good word.” You sigh as you let your mother talk.

“It’s okay mum I got a job today actually. I went for an interview and they offered me the job on the spot.” You say.

“Oh sweetie that’s amazing where is it?” She asks, you pause, maybe telling your over sharing mother about a job you were warned required discretion was not the best idea.

“It’s just a small firm in the city centre, they were looking for a logistical analyst.” You say lying through your teeth.

“Oh well that sounds fancy, I hope it pays well if you’ll have to be trudging into the centre of London everyday.” You hear her chuckle.

“It does mum don’t worry, I start tomorrow actually.”

“That’s fantastic, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Thanks mum.” You say smiling. There’s a pause on the line.

“Have you spoken to Joe?” She asks, you sigh.

“No mother I have not spoken to him since we broke up.” You reply bitterly wanting to end the conversation now.

“He’s been asking about you, you blocked him or ignored him or something but sweetie I think you should talk to him he misses you.” You sigh, of course he’s turned on your mum, your sweet mother who couldn’t hurt a fly and always sees the best in people. Even toxic abusers.

“I’ll think about it mum, look I have to go I have an early start tomorrow.” You say.

“Okay well get a good rest and good luck for tomorrow I love you.” She says.

“I love you too,” you reply and hang up.

That night you dream of your ex. You’re still with him trapped in the cycle of wake, make him happy, work, make him happy, sleep, repeat. The verbal abuse, the physical abuse, the days he would lock you in the bathroom for hours on end.

You took the lock off the door when he moved out. You’re not sure why it just felt like the right thing to do. You bought a deadbolt for the front door and no longer sleep with the windows open, fearing he could scale the apartment building to get to you. That’s what he does in your dreams, he gets around all the precautions you put in place. You dream of him being in your space, questioning everything you do, insisting on checking your phone and e-mails, even your work ones. Anytime a male’s name came up he would grill you about it for hours, no matter what you said it always felt like he never believed you. But then he would make you feel good, take you to the bedroom and treat you like a princess and it was like he was a different person.

‘He’s just protective sweetie’ your mother says. ‘He loves you.’ The bruises on your arm would say otherwise, wearing turtle necks in summer became your fashion statement for at least a year. ‘He probably doesn’t mean it have you tried talking to him?’ Your brother was no better, to busy with uni to care, too much of a mans man to understand. He’s gone now though and that’s what you have to remember, it’s easier said then done.

——————————

The next morning you show up early. Your body feels heavy after the restless night. You walk in seeing John bent over Kyle’s shoulder as their looking at something on the computer behind the counter.

“Hey, maybe you can figure this out, we’ve been trying to get these documents to copy over and it’s just not working.” Price says as he steps back you walk round watching Kyle trying to drag and drop a file into a folder. An administrative error pops up.

“Mind if I?” You gesture for Kyle to move he holds his hands up rolling away on the chair as you try again. You’re not the most competent with computers but you could probably figure it out. You try compressing the file first then moving it and it works.

“What did you do?” Kyle asks.

“I think the file was too big so I compressed it, do you need it sent in an e-mail?” You ask looking at John.

“Yes please if you don’t mind.” You nod.

“Coffee?” Kyle asks as he gets up out the seat heading into the main building.

“Yes please.” You say turning to smile at him and pulling the chair over so you can sit down. Price explains how everything works as you get situated. He shows you the documents on the computer for how to answer the phone, and deal with walk in requests. The ‘system’ they have set up for assigning deliveries is basically just a glorified spreadsheet which is good, you can work with that it’s not too far out of your comfort zone.

“If you have any questions just call, there is a direct line to my office if you press 1 on the phone.” You nod trying to take it all in as Kyle comes back with a cup of coffee.

“I didn’t know how you took it so I just did milk.” He says.

“That’s fine thank you.” You reply, as he places it next to you. Then heads back. John tells you again to ask if you need anything then also leaves you too it. You’re looking through the computer making sure you defiantly understand everything when Simon and Johnny walk in.

“Morning,” you say to them smiling.

“Morning lass, guess we didn’t scare you away yesterday!” Johnny beams, he seems to have too much energy especially compered to Simon who is still sporting his hoodie and mask combo. His eyes lock onto you as he walks through the lobby, his glare sending shivers down your spine. In a strange way, you’re not scared of him, more intrigued. He walks through the counter to the main floor without saying anything.

“Sorry, he’s a rude bastard when he hasn’t had a coffee yet.” Johnny says.

“It’s okay,” you shake your head. You look through the window into the main floor watching Gaz open the large garage doors out to the street.

“Hey, if we’re both around at 12 want to get lunch together? I know this great sandwich place down the road my treat!” Johnny says. You nod, he really has a way of putting you at ease with his palpable bubbly energy.

“Right, I’ll see ya then lass,” he says and he heads through.

The morning goes quick or maybe it’s because everything feels so new and foreign that it takes you a lot of concentration to make sure you’re doing it right. Before you even try to do anything you’re already calling John in his office about the names, instead of it being Johnny, Simon and Kyle, it’s Gaz, Soap and Ghost. Gaz you remember but the other two it’s a 50/50. John laughs and tells you Soap is Johnny and Ghost is Simon.

Each time you give them a job they stick their heads round the door to pick up the invoice, you try to make it a habit of printing it out as soon as you assign the job, so it’s ready when they come in. You purposely give Simon a job over lunch so Johnny is free, it’s a little cheeky for your first day but you wouldn’t mind spending more time with Johnny.

When lunch comes around Johnny shows you how to set the phone to go to Price’s office and you both leave. The shop is right round the corner but by this time of the day it’s packed with people on their lunch break, you order your sandwiches to go and head back to work to eat them there. You’re both sat upstairs in on the sofa’s, it is nice up here and you can see down to the floor below you gives you something to watch while you eat.

“How’s your first day been so far then?” Johnny asks.

“Fine, it’s just getting used to the system that might take a while.” You confess.

“Yeah, you’re doing great though, my jobs have been smooth and easy all day.” He says. You nod.

“So how did you all meet?” You ask.

“Now that’s a story!” He says sitting up in his chair.

“We were all military together, SAS.” He says. That explains the company name Special Delivery Service, you chuckle it’s cute, funny now you get it.

“Why’d you quit?” You ask.

“Our time was up we chose not to re-enlist, it was Simon’s idea to start a delivery company, something easy we could do in retirement.” He says smiling at your interest.

“Did you ever kill anyone?” You ask, but then immediately regret it, you don’t know if that’s an appropriate question to ask. Johnny just laughs.

“Someone's got to deal with the bad guys.” He says winking.

“Don’t mean they didn’t fight back. Got a nice fucked up knee to show for it.” Johnny says slapping his left leg. That explains the limp he always has when hes walking.

“Has John always been your boss?” You ask moving it away from killing people and being shot.

“Price, yeah he was our captain, it just felt right letting him continue to tell us what to do.” Johnny explains, chuckling. You nod listening to him talk about their life in the military, he’s careful not to go too into specifics, but enough for you to understand it seemed like it was quite a dangerous job. Johnny mentioned something about bombs at one point, that’s scary.

“I bet you travelled a lot though?” You ask finishing your sandwich.

“Oh yeah! That was one of the perks I guess, been all over the place, met some great people.” Johnny says naming a bunch of countries off. You watch as Simon comes back reversing the van into the bay. He jumps out and heads straight into the store room. That reminded you you needed to ask for the code. Johnny gets up checking his watch and throwing his trash in the bin.

“Got a delivery to make, I’ll see you later.” He says heading to the stairs. You nod smiling. When you’re done you knock on John’s door before you head downstairs.

“Come in!” He calls. You go in, for some reason you get this feeling like you’re back at school walking into a teachers office about to ask them for the key to the storage room to get more paper.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks smiling, it almost immediately puts you at ease.

“Good, I was just wondering, the store room, Johnny showed me yesterday but he didn’t give me the code.” You explain. Price nods his head.

“You don’t need the code, it’s for the drivers only, it’s where we keep, sensitive equipment.” He explains. You nod feeling heat rush to your cheeks, maybe you should have asked Johnny instead saved yourself the embarrassment of this conversation.

“Got it, thank you.” You nod leaving the room and closing the door behind you. What kind of sensitive equipment? You hadn’t seen anyone moving anything in or out of there, and you’re pretty sure you saw Simon go in empty handed just now. You’re just more curious then ever. You look down the steps at Simon making his way up with a mug of tea in his hand. You wait until he has reached the top of the stairs before heading down. You smile at him, you can’t tell if he’s smiling back with the mask but you’re assuming he’s not. You make your way back down as he walks into John’s office without knocking.

The rest of the day seems to go by slower, your mind obsessing over the store room for some reason. It’s like an itch you need to scratch, you find yourself looking over to check it now and again. You get a few of those ‘special request’s’ John warned you about, you try to assign them but it doesn’t work. Clearly the system does not like it so you send them off to John. It’s almost like they’re encrypted, maybe you could figure out how to fix it and stop the system from freezing up every time it happens, a task for next week you think.

Jobs stop coming through around 3 and you spend the last few hours of your shift catching up on the other part of your admin job, then you find yourself cleaning the coffee machine. Johnny and Gaz leave early, apparently this is normal for Friday, you wish them a good weekend as they leave going out the vehicle entrance closing the garage doors behind them. You head to use the bathroom next, as you’re washing your hands you hear the door of the store room beep open and the sound of feet running in and out. You hear it open but you don’t hear it close.

You hold your breath, could it be? It’s open. You’re excited for some reason. You quickly slip out cracking the door. Sure enough the door didn’t fully close it’s stuck on the latch. Your curiosity gets the better of you, you can’t help it. You look round quickly, you don’t see anyone, you don’t hear anyone. You push the door open, it’s dark you can’t see inside. You take a step in and an automatic light flicks on. You gasp as you look around the room. It’s way bigger then you expected, so big there is enough room for a table in the middle. Each part of the wall is covered in weapons, knifes, somethings you don’t even know what they would be but they look scary.

The hairs are standing up on the back of your neck, it’s almost like your fight or flight has kicked in as your eyes widen. There are crates everywhere some open with what look like boxes of ammo. You let out a breath feeling fear rise in you, maybe it was airsoft? You move to look in one of the crates near the entrance. Nope those are real bullets. You shouldn’t have seen this you feel panic rising. This is bad and very illegal. You start to back out the room, slowly you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Your body hits something, not something someone. You hear a sigh.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” It’s Simon. You slowly turn his head is tilted to the side his brow creased as his gaze burns into you. Fuck.

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