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absurdthirst · 7 months ago

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Online Love {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.3k

Warnings: Online dating, feelings of inadequacy, anger, upset, mentions of past bullying, Javi having restraint, oral sex (male and female receiving), tiny bit of body worship, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Comments: Coming home after Cali, Javi finds that his dad has moved into modern times. There's a computer in the house. Unsatisfied with his reputation proceeding him, he decides to go online to find out if he can be the man he wants to be. Except the one he connects with, you, has a very complicated past together.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Javier Peña MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The last thing that Javi expected to find at the Peña ranch upon his return, was a computer. He wasn’t even sure that his father had known what one was, let alone how to turn one on. But there it was. A great hulking machine that is set up in the dining room, taking up half the damn table. He had frowned at his pop, hands on his hips as he asked him what the hell he did with the damn thing. “Talk to people.” Chucho laughs at his son’s confused ire and slaps him on the back. “I got that dial up package added to the phone line. Even my accountant told me I needed one.”

Javier avoids the computer for weeks, eying it like it's going to turn on and take over the world. At least, that's what every Sci-Fi movie is about lately. He watches his pa try to cook scrambled eggs and snorts at the curses coming from his father's mouth while he flips through the paper. ‘Free Online Dating Membership. Join Match.com today!’ The ad in the corner catches his eye and he snorts again, wondering who the hell goes on the internet to find a date. He can go to any bar and pick up a woman. Well, he can get a one night stand. Every woman within fifty miles knows about the infamous Javier Peña and his reputation precedes him. The doorbell rings and Javier huffs, folding the paper to get the door. "I got it, pa." He tells his father who is still cursing the now burnt scrambled eggs.

"Oh, uh, hi. Javier." You clear your throat and Javier's eyes widen. He says your name and you are surprised he remembers you. "I have papers for Chucho." You hold up the folder and Javier steps aside. You walk into the kitchen to find Chucho rinsing out a frying pan, the smell of burnt eggs in the air, and you smile at the older Peña. "Just dropping off the quarterly report." You set the folder down.

“You’re his accountant?” Javi asks, following you into the kitchen and he can’t help that his eyes have fallen down to your ass as you walk in front of him. It is a habit when he is around a beautiful woman and you have become that. No longer the awkward and gangly girl he had remembered before he had left for Columbia, you have matured into a graceful woman. It isn’t quite fair because you weren’t too much younger than him.

“Yes.” You turn and give him a confused smile and tilt your head in curiosity at what he was meaning. You had always been good at math, enjoying numbers more than socializing.

“So that-” he points to the computer in the dining room, “is your fault?”

You chuckle a little, "don't you want to join us in the 20th century, Javier? It's nearly the 21st. A computer is the future." You take a step closer to Javier, lowering your voice, "besides, your dad can join forums. Speak to other ranchers. Other widows. There's a whole world out there and that computer brings it to him." You had noticed how lonely Chucho was and he is far too proud to say anything so you suggested the computer.

“What’s wrong with the annual rancher’s association meetings?” Javi snorts, rolling his eyes at the idea of his father courting widows through a computer. His mother was the love of his life, and he had honestly never even suggested moving on. He was still wearing his wedding ring that his mother placed on his finger nearly fifty years ago. “Going to town to the tack and feed store? Meeting people in person?”

You shake your head, "your dad is a proud man. He's loyal to your mother, even after all these years. You can't be honest about how you feel with people you've known for years. On the computer, you can be anonymous, you can tell someone how you truly feel without seeing the judgment on their face. You can be who you really are when you're behind a screen." You confess, knowing you have your own experience with that anonymity. "You wouldn't understand it. You've never had a problem with saying what you think."

That’s not true, and Javi opens his mouth to tell you that, but he stops. You said that one could be the person they wanted to be. Who they really are. Javi glances back at the computer again, contemplating that in a different light. Everyone knew Javier Peña, by his reputation, by the stories that had been written while he was in Colombia. They judged him, or treated him how they expected him to act. Every woman he had met recently just wanted to ‘see if the rumors were true’. He hadn’t taken many of them home. Looking back at you, he shrugs slightly, as if it’s not anything to him. “They are a pain in the ass when they act up.” He grunts.

You chuckle, pointing to the big book on the dining room table next to the computer. "Good thing you have the instruction manual." You quip and walk back over to Chucho who thanks you for bringing the report. "We need to work on the W2's next month." You tell Chucho who nods, "thanks, chiquita." He winks at you and grabs the egg carton. "Any chance you can cook scrambled eggs?" He asks and you giggle, "I would show you but I have to go meet Maria to explain why her new RV is not a tax write off." You chuckle and Chucho winks at you, "luego." You turn to look at Javier, "see you around, Peña." You show yourself out, exhaling deeply as you recognize that you couldn't avoid Javier forever.

Over the next few days, Javi eyes the computer. Debating with himself as he smokes out on the front porch. His dad still won’t allow smoking in the house even though his mother’s oxygen tanks were long gone. Looking at the outline of the large monitor through the screen door and contemplating your comment. He could be someone other than Javier Peña, manwhore or DEA disgrace. He wouldn’t be grumpy or sarcastic, not unless he wanted to appear that way. The person he could be online wouldn’t be burdened with the sorrows and mistakes that seemingly weigh him down. He blows out a breath and crushes out the butt before he yanks the door open and steps back into the house. His father is out for a few hours and he can at least turn it on to see what all the fuss is about.

You bite your lip as you log onto the website. You never imagined you'd join an online dating website. You had seen the video tapes from dating agencies and you never allowed yourself to get so lonely that you resorted to that but the internet brought a new option. You like that there's no photos. Only an initial and a location. It's anonymous and you chat, then decide if you like each other. Sure, you've had some bad matches in person. Some not at all like they described themselves, some total assholes. You keep trying though. You want to find your person.

“Goddamnit.” Javi scowls at the computer and bangs the enter button several times. “Why won’t you do it?” He hisses, seeing the little arrow over the area he wants to go, but it’s not doing anything. “Fuck.” He rolls his eyes at himself and grabs the stupid thing called a mouse. Why it was a mouse, he will never know, but he clicks buttons until the page starts to load, leaning back with an annoyed sigh while he waits.

You have a sip of wine as you wait for the website to load. You sigh, watching the screen flicker as the website is displayed pixel by pixel. When it's loaded, you type in your email address and password. Grabbing the mouse, you click the 'log in' button and lean back, waiting again for the website to load.

It’s been nothing but a pain in the ass to set up this page. Debating on what to put, he had gotten annoyed at himself several times and almost walked away. Now he’s ready to browse available women, but knowing his luck, there won’t be anyone for hundreds of miles.

You set your wine glass down, surprised to see there's a new person online. "J" is the name and his tagline says "here to be myself." That intrigues you. You bite your lip, contemplating clicking on the profile until you select it and wait for it to load. "Name is J. Looking to be myself, find someone to talk to who wants to get to know who I truly am. Texas born and raised. Work in law enforcement so not a creep." You chuckle at the bio and decide to click on the 'chat now' button. You take another gulp of wine and select his profile, typing out a simple "hi".

A box pops up with a loud ding, making Javi sit up. Someone is messaging him already. He tries to suppress the surge of pleasure in his stomach as he remembers to click the line so he can peck at the keyboard. “Hi.” He hits enter and then frowns slightly because it seems so impersonal. “How are you?” He notices the initial and adds that before sending the next message. Frowning as he waits for a response.

You are surprised he responded so fast and your stomach clenches with nerves as you type out “I’m good. Just having a glass of wine. How are you?” You type, glad for those hours you spent on typewriters back when you were a teenager trying to write a novel. It sucked but your typing skills are excellent.

“Well shit.” Javier huffs, slightly amazed at the speed of the reply. He’s used a computer, he had to in those final years with the DEA. Hated it, preferred the typewriter, but he had never really talked to someone online like this before. “What do I say now?” He asks himself, wishing he could light up a cigarette. Hunching over the keyboard, he begins a two finger pecked response. “Wine sounds good right about now, although a glass of whiskey and a cigarette is more my speed.”

You have another sip of wine, waiting for his response. It takes a while and you wonder if he’s walked away from the computer but it soon pings through the speakers and you read his reply. A chuckle escapes your lips, “typical man.” You snort to yourself and reply quickly, hitting enter to send the message. “I don’t smoke. Never have. I don’t care if someone does smoke. So what brings you to this website?” You chew on the skin of your thumb as you wait for his response. It’s nice to talk to someone different. Someone you haven’t known your whole life growing up in Laredo.

Javi feels slightly guilty about smoking as he reads your reply. He will have to air the house out before his pa gets home. Wondering why he’s actually here. “Want someone to get to know me and not what they think they know about me.” Javi types out slowly. “Like I’m trying to quit smoking again, and everyone tells me that I shouldn’t try.”

Your heart clenches at his honest reply. You glance over at the photo of you and your parents when you were younger, remembering how you’d get made fun of for being too geeky. For liking numbers instead of boys. “If you want to quit smoking, you should try. Do it for you. Not anyone else.” You hit send, and then type out “everyone tells me I need to get laid but I don’t want meaningless sex. I want a real relationship. Someone I can talk to and be real myself with.” You hit send before you can think too hard about your reply.

Javi snorts to himself. “Meaningless sex doesn’t help.” He types out. “Not in the long run. I know. Sometimes it just makes you feel worse.” He’s had plenty of time for self reflection and regret. “So who is the real you?”

You sigh and type out “I guess that’s what I’m wanting to figure out. I have been so sensible my entire life. I want to let loose a little. Enjoy life. I struggle to trust anyone and it’s led to me to isolating. Hence why I’m on here.” You hit send and take another gulp of wine, feeling vulnerable.

Javi understands that. “People always call me an asshole, not understanding that I’ve seen shit that would make grown men cry. They wouldn’t believe me if I told them I’ve cried.” He tells you and continues the message. “Letting loose sounds like something I need to do too.”

“Were you in the armed forces?” You type out and he replies, “something like that.” You hum, typing again, “well at least you know yourself. You should be able to cry. Doesn’t make you any less of a man because you cry. As for letting loose, maybe we could help each other out with that.” You hit send and take another sip of wine, glancing over at the clock. It’s getting late.

“We could do that.” Javi hums to himself as he starts to type out his response. “What’s your idea of fun?” He asks. “Or the theory of fun.” His idea of fun is so far removed he doesn’t remember anymore. “I like watching movies.”

“Watching movies is good. I love bowling. I haven’t been since I was a kid.” You confess when you type, “or just a day out in the sun. I work so much. It’s hard to relax. I want to succeed. Stand on my own two feet.” You hit send and exhale, realizing how long you’ve been holding this inside of you.

“Do you like the beach?” Javi asks in return, smirking to himself about going to the bowling alley a few towns over. “Or more of a swimming pool kind of girl? You are a girl, right?”

You giggle, imagining J furrowing his brow. “I’m a girl. It says so in the bio.” You hit enter and continue typing, “you’re a boy?” You ask him to confirm and he responds, “yes.” It said so in his bio but you can’t trust anything on the internet. “I love the beach. And the swimming pool. Pool is better for sex. The beach…sand gets in places you don’t want to imagine.” You shudder, remembering when you went to the beach with your first boyfriend and got sand in too many crevices.

Javi’s brows shoot up when you admit that. He chuckles to himself and decides to be completely honest. “Never had sex in a pool or at the beach.” He types. “Fucked in a swimming hole, does that count?” He asks, remembering the time him and Lorraine went down to the local swimming hangout.

You giggle, typing back, “it kinda does. So, what is the true J? A man of mystery. Perhaps you’re a spy and that’s why you haven’t let anyone close to you.” You smirk as you hit send.

Javi chuckles as he reads that and shakes his head like he is in the room with the other person. “Hardly. No one could ever accuse me of being Bond. I don’t have the patience for it.” He pauses, considering your question. “I’m secretly a romantic. Wishing that I had someone to share a future with. I want to love someone, have them love me. I want laughter and fun, quiet nights reading books, early morning cups of coffee with someone.”

You smile softly at the way he says he wants romance. You want the same thing. You want someone to be happy with, to make happy. You quickly type back “that’s exactly what I want. A partner. I want someone to laugh with, to share my day with.” You hit send before you can think too hard about it.

Smiling as he reads the message, he feels like someone is listening to him for the first time. Really listening to him. He licks his lips and feels like he’s crazy for feeling connected through a computer screen. “Until you find that partner, maybe we can share our days?” He offers, biting his lip and wishing he could unsend it just as soon as it’s posted.

“Absolutely.” You type back and hit send before you think twice. You have a good feel for J and you want to get to know him more, be that person he can talk to. It’s nice to have someone want to talk to you that doesn’t even know what you look like. You yawn, the wine and the long day getting to you, and you type out “I’m exhausted. Long day today. Chat tomorrow?”

Javi looks at the clock and is surprised by how long he’s spent online. Soon, his father will be back. “Sounds good. Sweet dreams.” He types out, sending it and wondering if whoever the other person is will sleep soundly or toss and turn like he normally does. He hopes that it’s the former.

You log off, getting ready for bed and you fall asleep to dreams of a partner who loves you and makes you happy and you make them happy.

****

The entire day you spend thinking about logging back onto the website. You try to concentrate on the numbers in front of you but it’s almost impossible to calculate when you think about what J might look like. His bio said brown eyes and brown hair. You wonder if he’s tall or short. You don’t care, you like talking to him. When you arrive home, you eat dinner and disconnect your phone so you can connect to the internet. The shrill tone of the dial up is a familiar sound to you but still makes you wince until you can log back on the website, tapping your fingers as you wait for any sign that J is online.

“Pa! Don’t pick up the phone, I’m going to be online!” Javi calls out from the dining room to the living room where his dad is laid back in the recliner in front of a soccer game. “I thought it was stupid?” The rough laugh of the older man feels like teasing but Javi rolls his eyes and huffs slightly. His reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he had a headache from staring at the screen last night. “Just don’t pick up the phone!” He demands again and starts to connect the computer so he can see how his online friend is doing this evening.

You smile when the speakers chirp with a new message alert. “Hi. How was your day?” He asks and you type out a quick response. “Long. Boring. But it’s looking up right now. How was your day?” You respond, wondering if he had a good day or if he found it as laborious as you did.

Javi has been looking forward to this all day, if he’s honest with himself. It was what had gotten him through another day of repairing fences and trying to fix everything on the ranch that his pop hadn’t been able to get to. “Seemed like it would never end.” He grins to himself when he thinks that you might have been looking forward to talking to him. “But I’m settled down with a beer, how about you? Got a glass of wine?”

You smile at his response, quickly typing “of course. Cheers, J.” You hit send and type another message. “I was thinking about you today. Wondered what kind of movies you like. What kind of music you like.” You know these questions are juvenile but you like chatting to him and getting to know him without any pressure.

Javi hums to himself. Intrigued that his mystery friend was thinking of him. He taps his chin, wishing for a cigarette, but he had put on a patch this morning, and starts to list them out. “Grew up watching westerns, but I think I like dramas.” He types out. “Action is alright, but they always depict shit wrong. Shooing a car’s gas tanks isn’t going to make it blow up.” He goes on. “Music, I’m still an easy listening, 70’s kind of guy. What about you? What’s your taste in movies and music?”

You snort at his answer about action not being accurate. You type back, “I love dramas. And romance. Westerns…my dad used to watch them so I’ve seen almost every western out there. John Wayne was a big hit in my house growing up. As for music, 70s, 80s. I’m not sure about the 90s. Music is changing. I miss the ballads and classic rock.” You hit send and take a sip of wine, the dial up crackling in the background.

Javi snorts and shrugs slightly, like he’s talking to someone in person. “80s music is a little too peppy for me.” He admits with a grin as he types it out. “Power ballads are amazing.”

You nod as if he’s in the damn room with you and you fluster as you catch yourself. “I can’t imagine you as a Huey Lewis listener.” You type out and he types back, “how do you imagine me?” You bite your lip, “well, your bio says you have brown eyes and brown hair. So I’m guessing your eyes are a little jaded from shit you’ve gone through but also soulful, like the key to your emotions is in your eyes. Most men are guarded but their eyes tell their story.” You hit send, hoping he doesn’t think you’ve overstepped.

Suddenly, he feels like this person is in the room with him and has stripped him naked. Not of his clothes, but of his armor. “I rarely look in the mirror. Except when I’m shaving.” He admits. “But my momma used to say she could tell everything I was feeling through my eyes.”

Your heart aches for the man, clearly he’s been beaten up by life and you want to hold him, tell him it’s all okay. You type back, “wise woman your momma. I understand how you feel. I’m not haunted by demons but I was bullied as a kid until I left school. Too nerdy, not pretty enough. Not thin enough. It still affects me to this day.” You hit send and take a large gulp of wine.

Javi frowns when he sees your words and hates how that could be possible when you are a sweet person. “Size doesn’t matter. Every body type is beautiful in some way.” He types out. “I love women of all shapes and sizes. Pretty only lasts as long as age. It’s the soul that makes a person beautiful.”

His words melt your heart, a man who doesn't just want the pretty Playboy bunny girl to fuck. He seems genuine, unlike most men you meet. "Exactly. That's how I feel. You are attracted to their aura, their personality...looks are a bonus." You hit send and smile into your wine glass, wondering if you should suggest meeting up. His bio shows that he is within 20 miles of you.

“Exactly.” Javi types back immediately. “I want someone who will build a future with me, but also be willing to jump into the truck with a cooler of sodas, a full tank of gas, a map and no destination in mind.” He had imagined taking a road trip once, with Lorraine and she had immediately vetoed it. It might be one of the things that caused him to start rethinking their upcoming marriage so many years ago.

Your stomach twists at how perfect he seems, how he seems to completely understand you. "Well, if you ever need a road trip buddy. I'm your gal.” You type back, a grin on your face and you know you look ridiculous. His chat goes offline after that and you frown, confused and wondering if you did something to upset him.

"Pa! Get off the phone!" Javi yells at his father who picked up the landline, forgetting that Javi is online. "Sorry mijo. I forgot." He admits, slamming the phone down.

“Damnit.” Javi hisses, hoping that you weren’t insulted by his internet dropping out. He listens to the modem dialing and it seems like it’s taking forever. “Hurry up, hurry up!” He growls, his stomach flipping unpleasantly at the idea of you thinking that he’s just done with the conversation. It takes forever in his mind, even if it’s just a few minutes and he’s relieved when the chat reconnects. “Fuck, I’m sorry. My dad picked up the phone.” He types out quickly.

You’re surprised that he lives with his dad but you can’t judge, you lived with your parents until you finished university. His bio says he’s over 40. “It’s fine! Shit happens.” You hit send and giggle slightly, wondering if he was frustrated that the connection dropped. “Thought you didn’t want a road trip buddy.” You tease, watching the message go through for a few seconds until it says delivered.

“Get me out of here!” Javi types back quickly, chuckling to himself. “I never thought living with my dad again would be so frustrating.” He admits. “I moved back to help him and it doesn’t make sense to live somewhere else. He’s stubborn and doesn’t want to admit he’s getting older.”

You like that he is living with his dad to help him. You like that he seems to be a family man. “One day you’ll miss him when he’s gone.” You type, hitting send. “Do you want kids? Marriage?” You ask, curious if he’s interested in that.

Javi frowns as he contemplates that question. It had been one that Lorraine had sort of asked him, in a way, when she asked him if he had imagined their life together. He had. He would have never had kids while he was DEA, but he’s done with that part of his life now. He could have that if he wanted, so does he? He flexes his fingers and starts to type. “Never really thought it was going to happen for me.” He replies. “But I could see it. Now. Had a dangerous job for a long time and I wouldn’t have ever thought about it then. But yeah, I would want that. You?”

You ponder his answer, appreciating his honesty and you aren’t rushing him down the aisle but you like to know if you’re on the same page because you like him. You type back “I want kids someday. If it happens. I’m a big believer that things that are meant to be, happen.”

Javi leans back, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about that. There’s been plenty of times he probably should have become a father, by accident, but it had never happened. He had made sure not to leave any kids behind for the mothers to take care of while he had moved on. He notices that your profile says you are in your 30s. So there’s still time. “One? Two?” He types out. “Boy? Girl? Both?”

You are surprised he’s not running a mile at this conversation. Most men would. “Two. One of each ideally but I’d take healthy babies any day.” You hover to hit send before you add, “what about you? Any ideas on kids?” You hit send and rub your cheek, hating how much you like this guy. Someone whose name you don’t even know. You have no photo, no additional information.

Javi never really thought about it before, not sure if it would matter. He shrugs slightly. “Happy, healthy, safe.” He replies. “Not sure if you really have any options. You’re gonna get what you get. Least that’s how I look at it.”

You chuckle, replying back, “very true. Healthy. Happy. Safe. That’s what everyone wants.” You like that he didn’t say “boy” like every other man would. You chat for another hour, turning the conversation to the best movies of all time until you look at the clock. “I could spend all night talking but I have to get up earlier to get to work. Goodnight J.” You hit send, deciding to wait for his response before you log off.

****

Javi is happy that he installed a second line to the house for the internet. Now he doesn’t have to worry about his pa picking up the phone and kicking him offline. He’s been talking to the woman online for weeks, deciding to call her ‘sweetheart’ instead of just by her initial. It’s funny, because he’s received messages from other women, but he isn’t even interested in responding. Despite his playboy ways before, he had no desire in getting to know anyone else. Grinning as your chat pops up, his typing improves, he quickly greets you. “Hey sweetheart, how was your day? That client’s son still being an asshole?”

You scoff to yourself as you type, “hey handsome. Yeah, he is. God, he thinks he knows better and he’s always been that way. He was best friends with my brother when we were growing up and he was a dick back then.” You hit send, glad you can vent about Javier Peña. He questioned the amount of write offs his dad was submitting with his quarterly filing.

“Just ignore him, he’s probably unhappy.” Lord knows he’s fully aware some people are just unhappy with being questioned. He had tangled with his dad’s accountant again today, frustrated because he knew that the assholes he used to work with wouldn’t stoop to hit his dad to get back at him. Of course, Miss Priss had looked like she was sucking a lemon talking to him about everything. Like he was just trying to make her job harder. He didn’t want his dad to get audited. “Wine or something stronger tonight?” He asks.

“Stronger. Whiskey.” You confess, “he really annoyed me. He thinks he knows best and I wish you could go head to head with him. I think you’d come out on top.” You hit send and take a sip of whiskey. You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you look down at your nails, you really need to get a manicure soon.

Javi chuckles to himself, grinning at the screen and feeling oddly proud to have the confidence of his sweetheart. “I’ll talk to him, see if I can’t get him to back off.” He volunteers. “Can’t let someone upset my sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at the way he calls you his sweetheart. You have talked every night for weeks. You know that he struggles with the things he’s seen. “You’re too sweet, handsome. He wouldn’t know how to handle you.” You giggle as you hit send and take another sip of whiskey, feeling brave. “I know we have been talking for a few weeks. Would you like to meet up?” You hit the backspace, changing your wording, “would you like to meet me sometime?” You hit send and exhale shakily, nervous of his response.

Swallowing harshly, Javi’s eyes must run over your worse half a dozen times before he can grasp that you want to meet him. He types “Yes” before he thinks about it and changes it to “Yes, absolutely.” He doesn’t know when you want to meet but as soon as he sends it, he’s immediately typing again. “You said you haven’t been bowling in forever. Why don’t we do that?”

You are shocked that he remembered what you said from one of your first conversations together online. You immediately type back, “yes, absolutely! I would love that. Are you free on Friday? 7 pm?” You hit send before you think twice about it and you feel giddy at the thought of finally meeting the mystery man you’ve been talking to for weeks on the computer. Hope that you can meet his expectations of you and that he is some kind of creep. Normally you would never meet someone off of the Internet without knowing their full name but you do like the aspect of mystery of him and also you trust him. As insane as that sounds, you trust your mystery man.

Javi hasn’t grinned so widely since he was a teenager, feeling his stomach flutter and twist in pleasure. He types out the name of the bowling alley that is in the next town over, he’s heard that one is better. “Is that one close enough for you? I’ve heard there aren’t as many bowling leagues there, taking up all the lanes. We can bowl and have a few drinks, nothing too fancy.” He sends that and then chuckles. “I’ll even get some nachos and hamburgers.”

Your face hurts from grinning and you type back, “you are spoiling me, handsome. That works for me. I’ll see you there on Friday at 7pm. I’ll wear red lipstick so you know it’s me.” You hit send, reaching up to touch your lips. J had said he loves when a woman wears red lipstick.

Javi can’t even stop nodding at the computer screen. It’s a dumb habit, but he always feels like he is talking to his sweetheart face to face instead of through a screen. “I’ll get there early to make sure we’ve got a lane.” He promises. “I’ll be in a red shirt to match your lips.”

****

Friday comes around and you are nervous all day. Exhaling shakily, you check your red lipstick in the mirror of your car before you lock it up and head into the bowling alley. You’re here to meet J and you are nervous as shit. What if he doesn’t like how you look? What if you don’t live up to expectations? You enter the bowling alley and glance around, not seeing a red shirt so you make your way over to the front desk, hovering as you wait for your mystery man.

He’s got the lane and for some damn reason, Javi had decided to have too much coffee. Now paying for it with having to piss right as he sat down to wait. Trying to hurry as he washes his hands and rushes out of the bathroom. Scanning the people eagerly for the sight of red lips. His sweetheart will be early, he can tell from getting to know her over the past few weeks.

You glance around and see the one and only Javier Peña come out of the bathroom. You huff, "fancy seeing you here, Peña. Did not take you as the type for bowling." Your eyes drift down to his red shirt and your eyes widen, "J?" You choke, realizing he's the only person wearing a red shirt. This has to be a joke. Surely your online companion isn't here yet.

Javi’s eyes widen and he glances down at your lips. “Sweetheart?” He frowns slightly and wonders if this is some kind of sick joke. You hate him, think that you’re better than him because you deal with numbers all day. He could tell you things about numbers that would have your stomach churning. “What are you-“ he can’t even finish the question.

Your eyes widen at the nickname until you shake your head and let out a sarcastic laugh, "is this some kind of joke? Someone hiding with a camera? Did you - did you set up an account to mess with me? Manwhore Peña making out like he wanted something real? Please, you gotta be dreaming. I - oh God. You did this to mess with me. Well, fuck you handsome." You spit the nickname that once held affection for you and you spin on your heel, making your way out of the bowling alley, cheeks burning with mortification and tears stinging in your eyes.

Embarrassed at the people who are staring, Javi rushes out of the bowling alley, abandoning the lane he had already paid for. Spotting you as you hurry to your car, he admires the dress you are wearing even as he calls your name, breaking out into a jog to catch you. “Will you stop, goddamnit?”

You spin as you fumble to unlock your car. Your hands shake as you try to get the key in the lock. "What?" You hiss, knowing that you'll be a funny story he tells his friends tomorrow. The way it's always been. Javier used to make fun of you when you were in high school, your brother his best friend. Hell, your brother was supposed to be his best man until the wedding never happened.

He’s breathing harder as he comes to a stop in front of you, not panting but almost there. “Don’t- don’t leave.” He tells you, not reaching out but the anger on your face cuts deep. You loathe him, but there had to have been something you liked when you were talking to him online. “Look, if you’re - you go in and bowl.” He offers, holding out the slip to claim the shoes from the counter. “I paid for two games, there’s a pitcher of beer and nachos that should already be waiting.” He explains. “I’ll leave, okay?” His eyes slide away from yours, unable to continue staring at you when you despise him so much.

You shake your head, your heart clenching. You really thought you had something special with J. You don’t take the slip from his hand, your eyes stinging with unused tears. “I’ll go. You go bowl, enjoy the beer.” You spit and growl as you try to open your door, managing to yank it open after a while. “I don’t want to be the butt of your jokes ever again.” You hiss as you get into your car and slam the door, turning on the engine.

Javi frowns as you throw your car into gear and pull out of the parking spot, swallowing harshly. His jokes? Yeah, he teased you when you were both younger, but you still take that to heart? He steps back and shoves the claim ticket into his pocket, turning to walk to his truck. The date is ruined and he feels like shit even though he doesn’t know why.

You make it home and when you enter your apartment, you start to sob. Embarrassed that your entire online relationship has been a big joke. You know Javier is probably laughing about leading you on. You collapse on the sofa, burying your face in your hands, and you spend the first night in a long time not on the computer.

Javi comes into a dark house, his pop already in bed and he sits down in front of the computer. Staring at the dark screen and wishing he had never agreed to meet. Now that he knows that it’s you, he doesn’t regret that he created the profile, but he hates the image of your distraught face. Sighing, he turns the computer on, deciding to send you one last message.

You sniff as you log onto your computer after dialing up, wanting to send an email to your mom to vent about what happened when your email pops up with “message from ‘J’ waiting.” You huff and log into the website. You open the message and rub your cheek, hating that the mascara you so excitedly put on is now smudged all over your face.

“Sweetheart….I want to apologize for ruining your night, and your life it seems. I’m sorry that the night was ruined and I wasn’t the man you had been looking for. Your dress was very pretty. I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed getting to know you over the past few weeks and you are wonderful. I hope that you don’t give up looking for that special person that you can explore and share with. Javier.” The message is simple and straightforward, but Javi worries that he might have overstepped by contacting you again at all.

You read his message a few times. Your heart pounding in your chest and you bite your lip as you ponder what to say to him. You thought about what happened during your drive home. You try to reconcile the Javier you know in the daylight to the man you’ve been speaking to for weeks. You clear your throat and type your response, “Javier. I didn’t know it was you when I was messaging you. I guess I was shocked because you used to make fun of me when we were teenagers. You joining my brother to make fun of his geeky sister. I thought you weren’t interested in anything but sex - I heard the rumors about you in Colombia. I can’t figure out how the man who fucked his way through Texas is the same man who told me he wanted romance. All I can think is that this is a big joke at my expense.” You sniff, hating that your eyes sting again. “I really like J and if you are that man, not the man who rolls his eyes when I point out some issues with his dad’s receipts, then I would like to try again. Talk in person.” You hit send before you can regret it.

Javi reads your message and it hurts. The magic of talking to you is now gone and he feels a heavy weight of guilt settling back down on his shoulders and he wishes he had a fucking cigarette. He sighs and starts to type. “Yeah, I made fun of you with your brother when we were teenagers. I was an asshole and it was wrong. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t address the manwhore comments, and decides to address the issue with his father. “I will stay out of your business.” He continues on. “I used to work with men who would dig and have others dig until they had leverage on you. I was just trying to make sure my pop didn’t suffer from me pissing them off.” He sighs and rolls his head around before continuing on. “For what it’s worth, I really was looking forward to that bowling date.”

You read his message, leaning back against your chair, and you swallow down the guilt that swirls in your stomach. Maybe you jumped to judging Javier. He was an asshole, but the guy who has been messaging you for three weeks has made your heart flutter. You bite your lip and type back, “I was really looking forward to it too. I’m sorry I'm defensive. I guess I have a complex from high school. Never being the girl that got asked to the dance and it’s given me some issues. I would never let your dad be dragged into something. I want to make sure he’s protected and doing things above board. Maybe we could try again? I really like J. I’m sure I’d like Javier if I gave him an actual chance.” You hit send and sigh, knowing that you have to accept what he says when he responds.

Javi sighs softly, aware this could be some kind of payback, but he doesn’t think so. “I guess it’s too late tonight.” He would go out, but you might not be able to do it tonight. “How about this? I’m free tomorrow night. If you want to do something, we absolutely can.”

You smile softly, typing out your reply. “Miguel’s? Tomorrow at 8?” You hit send and you know that this could be a massive mistake but you want to try. The man you’ve gotten to know has to be inside of the asshole you grew up with.

The bar in town is much more his speed and Javi quickly types out an agreement. “That sounds good. I’ll see you then.” He bites his lip. “Have a glass of wine and soak in a bath, sweetheart, you deserve it.”

You reread his words a few times, loving and hating the smile on your face. You log off the computer and follow his advice, soaking in the bath with a glass of wine.

****

You glance up at the shitty sign that Miguel’s has had since your papa used to come here and drink after work sometimes. You brush down your dress, walking into the bar and classic rock is playing as you look around for Javi. He’s sitting at the bar, glass of whiskey in front of him, and his eyes widen when he sees you. You walk over to him, a little unsure. “Hi. I guess we should reintroduce ourselves after yesterday.” You tell him, wanting him to know that this is you trying again.

Javi smirks slightly and nods, noticing that you are wearing that red lipstick again. “Red lips.” He hums, wanting to reach out and see if they are as soft as they look. “Guess that makes you sweetheart?” He asks, standing up and pulling out the barstool beside him for you to sit down. “Javier.”

You sit down on the stool beside him, “handsome.” You murmur, taking in the sight of him in a red shirt and you like how he’s trimmed his mustache. He offers you a smile and the bartender comes over. You order a glass of wine and you turn your gaze back to Javier. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday. I was - it was a shock to see you standing there.” You confess, thanking the bartender when he sets your drink down.

“I could tell.” He doesn’t smile or make light of it, nodding to the bartender himself. “I was surprised that it was you standing there.” Javier admits as well. “Although I guess I should have recognized the asshole son you had to deal with.” He snorts, having gone back through the archived conversations now that he knows it’s you and it’s almost silly that he didn’t figure it out before.

You fluster slightly, knowing you said some mean things about him. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was venting. It’s not easy dealing with numbers all day and then you come along and argue it all.” You raise your eyebrows, “I understand that you’re trying to protect your dad but you really are a pain in my ass.” You nudge him and he chuckles, shrugging a shoulder, “I won’t apologize for being protective.” You nod and pick up your drink to have a sip. “Cheers, J.” You reach out to clink your glass against his.

He chuckles again, nodding at sentiment and taking a sip as you do. “We could have used you in Colombia.” Javi compliments you. “Being so good with numbers, you could have spotted things that took us months to figure out with Escobar.” He snorts. “When he was in “jail”-“ Javi uses air quotes. “That asshole would truck in live lobsters. I would have paid money to see you go through his money trail.”

You set your drink down, “I highly doubt that his accountant was tracking his hard earned cash.” You snort and shake your head, “the things you’ve seen down there…I couldn’t even imagine it.” You confess, knowing that he went through a lot during his time in Colombia. “Thank you for the compliment though.” You offer him a smile, “could’ve used your interrogation skills when old man Garcia refused to pay for his filing.”

Javi snorts, imagining putting the screws to that old coot. “That’s when you threaten to tell Mrs. Garcia about his drinking.” He tells you with a wink. Old man Garcia’s wife is heavily religious and has a strict no alcohol rule in her house. You laugh and he taps the bar self consciously. “I wasn’t lying. Online.” He adds. “You know what people think of me. Hell, what you think of me.” He looks at you softly. “Our conversations have been the best parts of my day.”

You soften at the sincerity in his eyes, “me too. I loved talking to you.” You sigh and shake your head, “I think I have misjudged you. I just remembered you when we were younger and then the rumors I heard about Colombia. And leaving Lorraine at the altar. Didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture but I shouldn’t have judged you like that. I think J is the real you, right? If it is, then I want to start again because I like you, Javier. I liked J a lot so if you are the same man, I want to see where this goes.”

Javi smirks at you slightly and leans in. “I thought this was starting again, sweetheart?” He teases playfully. “I don’t mind you misjudging me.” Not exactly the truth, but there’s nothing he can do about it. “Not as long as you give me a fair chance now.” He leans back. “Are you hungry? You always complain about waiting too long to eat. I don’t want you to do that tonight.”

You soften even more at the way he remembers how bad you are at eating and you nod a little too fast. “I’m starving.” You admit, “are you hungry? I wouldn’t mind getting some food after this drink.” You gesture to the bar top and you let your eyes take him in now that you aren’t fighting. His eyes are crinkled when he smiles and his dark hair has grays scattered throughout but he’s as gorgeous as ever. No wonder he fucked around so much. He could have any woman he wants.

“That sounds good.” He admits. “If you don’t want bar food, we could go somewhere else?” He knows you prefer casual over formal, which he really appreciates, but sometimes bar food isn’t what someone wants.

You shake your head, “I like the food here. They have amazing burgers.” You say and he nods, “the fucking best.” You relax a little more, taking another sip of your drink, and you let your eyes wander a little more, taking in the golden skin beneath his shirt, peeking through from the buttons he’s left undone. He notices your appraising eyes and smirks. You fluster and set your glass down, “you know how women see you.” You scoff softly, trying to cover your embarrassment at being caught.

Javi chuckles softly. “Like a notch in their bedpost.” He admits, shrugging slightly. “Last woman that hit on me told me she wanted to see if the rumors were true.” It’s not been a bad thing, but it’s not what he wants now.

His words make you frown and you feel a little guilty for eying him. "For the record, I don't think you could fuck all night long. At least that's what I heard in the grocery store a few weeks ago." You nudge him to show you're joking, "you are more than that. More than what people see." You add with a murmur, recalling the things he said to you. "You're handsome but you're smart, loyal, and funny." You say about the man you know online.

He’s grateful you don’t buy into the rumors and you are willing to judge him on what you’ve talked about. “I’m not eighteen anymore.” He huffs. “Three good rounds is about all I’ve got in me these days.” He admits, smirking slightly. “Four if you’re counting the next morning.”

Your throat goes a little dry and you pick up your wine to take a gulp. “Three is…more than I’ve had.” You confess, “one…sometimes half.” You snort and Javier chuckles, “one and a half.” You shake your head, “no. Half. He came before I did and he didn’t -” You sigh and chuckle softly.

Javi grimaces and shakes his head. “Fuck.” He snorts. “Every man has had a time where he’s too excited or worked up. But you have to make sure your girl squeals in pleasure.” He sends you a small sigh. “Sounds like you slept with some real assholes.”

You snort and nod, “absolutely. Some real assholes.” You echo his words and sigh, “I just want someone who wants me and I want them. To make them happy.” You echo your typed words, knowing he feels the same way.

Javi nods, listening rather than jumping in and offering to make you feel good. He wants to take this slow and show you - and himself - that things can be different. The bartender comes over and he asks for two menus before giving you his attention again. “When was your last relationship?” He asks. “I find it hard to believe that it’s been long. You’re too pretty to be single.”

You thought that Javier would have offered to take you to bed but the fact that he didn’t is refreshing. “Uh, you remember Frankie from the auto shop? I went out with him about two years ago. I’ve been trying to build my business and I haven’t really had time to date. I’m not a one night stand kind of girl.”

He cannot say the same, but he nods, understanding what you mean. “You have to have an emotional connect, right?” He asks, wanting to know more about you. He's still reconciling the woman online with his ex-best friend’s little sister.

You glance down at the menu, his dark eyes burning into you, but you love how his attention is solely on you. “Emotional and primal. I think that the chemistry has to be there from the beginning otherwise you’re possibly waiting for something that could never happen. I thought you were a dick for so many years but I’ve always been attracted to you. Our chemistry was bickering but it was still there from the beginning.”

Javi smirks proudly, his eyes heating up at your confession and he lifts a brow. “I won’t lie and say I’ve always wanted you.” He tells you honestly. “There was a time when you were too young for me. But now…..” he winks. “I can tell you that it’s not just innocent thoughts.”

You bite your lip at his own confession and you lean a little closer to him, “glad we are on the same page now.” You reach out to touch his hand just as the bartender comes over to ask you what you want to order. You lean back from Javier as he gestures for you to go first and you order the burger and fries. Javier orders the same and you hand the menus over. “Best fucking burgers.” He says when he takes a bite into the burger after it arrives. “Damn right.” You groan in agreement after you swallow your bite.

“So.” Javi wipes his mustache with a bar napkin and looks over at you. “If there’s one thing that you’ve never done but always wanted to, what would it be?” He asks, grinning when you lift your brows in surprise at his question.

You hum, tapping your chin after you push your empty plate away. “I want to ride a mechanical bull.” You admit, giggling at the way his brows immediately shoot up. “Seriously?” He asks and you nod, a smirk on your face. “I’ve never had the guts to get up and do it. Always figured I’d look like an idiot and fall within seconds.”

“Everyone looks like an idiot and falls within seconds.” Javi snorts. “You’ll look like everyone else.” You huff and pout slightly, making him tap his chin. “There’s a bull a town over. Hole in the wall place. We could drive over and give it a whirl.”

You grin, “let’s go, Peña.” You reach for your purse and he tuts, “my momma would whoop me for letting a lady pay. It’s our first date.” He reminds you and pulls out his wallet, throwing enough cash down to cover the bill. You thank him, unused to such gentlemanly behavior from him and his gender. You take the hand he extends you and he guides you out of the bar to his truck. “You wanna follow me or I can bring you back here?” He asks and you are hyper focused on the feel of his calloused hand in yours. “Let’s ride together.” You decide and he nods, escorting you around the truck to open the passenger door for you, helping you up.

Javi rounds the front of the truck and climbs in beside you. “It’s only about a twenty minute drive.” He promises as he turns the engine over. “We have another drink, check something off that bucket list of yours and maybe even dance a time or two.”

His truck rumbles as he pulls out of the parking lot and the radio plays a country song. You admire the way his arms flex as he navigates the road, knowing that he realizes he’s attractive but maybe not aware of how much.

“Did you always want to be an accountant?” Javi asks, glancing over at you before looking back at the road. You’re so damn pretty sitting in his passenger seat and he wonders if you will bristle at the question. “I know you’re a math whiz, but was it a goal? Or something you fell into?”

“Kinda?” You answer, “went to college for math and I wanted to work for NASA. Then - then my mom got sick after I graduated and I couldn’t go to Houston. I had an internship there and I turned it down to stay at home. Became an accountant to stay local. She’s better now, thank God, but I always wonder what could’ve been.”

“Holy shit.” He’s impressed. NASA would have been an incredible career and he wonders what kind of life you would have had if you had been able to go for that. “I understand.” He nods, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Mom having cancer while I was in college really changed things for me. Honestly? I don’t know if I would have joined the DEA or not married Lorraine if she hadn’t passed.” He still misses her everyday, not regretting taking care of her one bit, but he had wondered what would have happened if she had lived. Or even lived longer than she did.

You were there the day he left Lorraine at the altar. The whole town was there. “I’m sorry. I remember your mom. She always made me feel so warm. She was kind and always made the best empanadas. I know you were a sheriff. What made you want to join the DEA?” You ask, curious what made him sign up, “was it to get away from Lorraine? From town?”

“Partly.” Javi snorts, remembering how the family he had once been almost welcomed into, had smeared his name through the streets. “She - or her family - told everyone I was fucking her best friend. Never even looked twice at her. But there were a lot of drugs running through town when I was a sheriff's deputy. Wanted to cut it off before it got here.”

You remember the rumor and you weren’t sure if you believed it. Javier was not a womanizer when he was with Lorraine. He seemed to only have eyes for her. “Yeah. It’s still bad. Those assholes will always win. You get rid of Escobar, someone else will take his place.” You sigh, “Lorraine did railroad you down the aisle.”

Javi shrugs slightly. "I loved her, but not enough." He admits. "I had some growing up to do and I don't regret it. Not really. She wouldn't have been happy in Colombia, and I wouldn't have let her stay."

You nod in understanding, “then she dated my brother. He was her rebound and I guess he didn’t really care about his best friend being her ex.” You scoff, remembering how your brother moved in on Lorraine as soon as Javier left town. “I’m sorry he was such an asshole and didn’t respect you.”

He huffs slightly and glances back over at you with an amused look before turning his attention back to the road. "Not a great look." He tells you. "Always wondered if they were fucking around before I left." He admits, revealing something that had been rolling around in his mind for a long time, but never voiced. "Doesn't matter anymore, though. We are all different people than we were back then."

“My brother is an asshole. He lives in Dallas now with his pretty wife and two kids. I haven’t seen him for a while. When Mom was sick, he stayed away. Didn’t even come to see her.” You shake your head and lean back in your seat, “he’s always been an asshole. Used to say I was a nerd who would never have a boyfriend.” You chuckle, “guess he was kind of right.” You look up as Javier pulls into the parking lot of the bar.

“I was an asshole too.” At the time, Javi had thought it was pretty funny. He took part in the teasing thinking that it was all in good sibling fun between you and his best friend. He had been an only child and had been too immature at the time to realize the hurt that it caused you. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs as he shifts the truck into Park and looks over at you. “For everything I did back then. For the hurt I caused. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him.”

You appreciate his apology and you know it’s ridiculous to be hung up on the teasing you got as a teenager but words hurt and they have always stuck with you. You reach out to squeeze his hand, “I appreciate you saying that, Javi. Now…let’s go ride a mechanical bull.” You grin, letting go of his hand so you can unbuckle your seatbelt.

He chuckles as he follows your lead. Sensing that you want to move past that, he climbs out of the truck and comes to your door to help you out. His perusal in your outfit is both to admire you and make sure you will be safe on the bull. “Good thing you wore jeans instead of a dress this time.” He hums.

You snort, “yeah. Don’t want to be flashing my ass to everyone in the bar.” You chuckle and Javier takes your hand to escort you inside the bar after locking his truck. The bar is busy but not slammed and you walk up to the bar to take a seat. Javier gestures for you to say what you want when the bartender comes over and you order a glass of wine while he orders a whiskey. “Liquid courage.” He declares and you giggle, “maybe wine isn’t strong enough.” You hum but don’t change your order.

He smirks slightly and turns to watch the bull in the corner of the room. The floor is covered in mats around it and he leans in, his elbows braced back on the bar. “There she is.” He talks into your ear since it’s loud with conversation and music. “You nervous?”

You shiver at the way his breath fans over you and you turn your head, bringing your face closer to his, “I’m ready. Nervous, but ready.” You promise, knowing that you could look like a fool but you desperately want to try this. It has always looked fun.

“Squeeze your knees tight.” He advises you, his voice dropping slightly on instinct. “Move your hips like you’re riding a man. You’ll do just fine, sweetheart.” The bartender brings your drinks over and he leans back to grab your wine and hand it to you before he takes his whiskey.

You take a gulp of wine, stomach twisting at the way he advises you, his voice lowering. You set your glass down, “you ready Peña?” You ask and he nods, calling the bartender over to say you want to ride the bull. “Sure man. We can get it revved up.” The bartender nods, calling his coworker over to get the bull up and running.

“Now, when you fall, just tuck your body into a ball.” Javi tells you. “People hurt themselves when they try to catch themselves.”

You nod, walking over to the bull. You’re nervous and a little scared but you are excited to try this. You eye the bull, taking Javier’s hand as he helps you up onto the bull. You grip the handles, preparing yourself and you squeeze your thighs like Javier suggested. The machine whirls to life and you squeal, eyes widening as it starts to move.

The bull starts slowly, turning as the front of the machine dips down before it bucks up. Javi watches as your hand flies up, like you’ve seen Bull riders do. Your thighs clench tight around it and you make the first full turn on it. You are damn good, his brow shoots up and his cock twitches in his pants. Making him wonder if you would ride his cock like you are riding the bull, your hips swerving and rolling with the movement of the ride.

You grin, giggling as you ride the bull. It flings around but you remain on top, you rock with the motion, squealing when it swings you around again, and you rock back, feeling invincible as you conquer something on your bucket list.

The speed of the bull increases and Javi can tell you are starting to lose your seat. Knowing you are about to lose your grip on the bull’s sides, he’s still impressed. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistles proudly.

Loving his enthusiasm, you try to hold on for as long as you can but eventually, you fall off. You curl in on yourself like Javier recommended and you hit the mat and the bull stops. “Shit.” You hiss, stumbling a little as you stand up.

“Holy shit.” Javi rushes over and takes hold of your waist, grinning proudly. “That was great!” He tells you. “You’re lying. You have to have ridden a bull before.” He doesn’t think you actually lied, but he loves the breathless exhilaration on your face.

You shake your head, letting him guide you out of the ring. “Never. I - holy shit. I can’t believe I just did that.” You grin and your heart pounds in your chest as you lean against him. “I just did that.” You exhale breathlessly and he nods, a grin on his face. You can’t help it, you cup his cheeks and surge forward to press your lips to his.

Javi is shocked you are kissing him, but he doesn’t push you away. Letting you wrap your arm around him while your tongue slides into his mouth boldly. Groaning, he squeezes your waist and reminds himself that it’s just the adrenaline. Enjoying the fact that you are pressed up against him before you break away.

You pull back and grin at him, still riding your high, and you grab his hand, “let’s go get our drinks. I’m thirsty after that.” You guide him over to the bar again and pick up your glass of wine to have a sip. “You gonna have a ride?” You ask him, wondering if he will attempt to ride the bull.

Javi chuckles as he takes a drink of his whiskey. “Why the hell not?” He asks, pushing the empty glass towards the bartender. “It’s only been at least ten years since I’ve been on a mechanical bull.” He shrugs. “Like riding a bike, right?”

He strides over to the bull and your mouth goes dry as he swings his leg over it to straddle it. You bite your lip as you watch him adjust himself and the bull starts to move.

Javi grew up on the back of a horse and when he was younger, him and his cousins all rodeoed a little. Plus the hell raising younger years where he would come here simply to see how long he could hang on. He's older and isn’t used to it anymore, but he still hangs on and throws you a wink while the bull twists him around for the first rotation.

Your stomach twists with arousal as you watch him swivel his hips and stay on the bull. You lean against the soft barrier and take in the sight of Javier Peña riding the bull. He is sexy and you can feel yourself getting wet from the display he’s putting on.

The operator turns up the speed faster than he did with you and soon enough, Javi is flying off the bull and tucking his body like he had advised you to do. Grunting as he climbs to his feet, he smirks when you rush up to him again. “You lasted longer.” He teases. “Just like a woman.”

You snort, reaching up to brush his hair back that had fallen into his face. “You were amazing. Very sexy to watch.” You confess and he smirks, “yeah?” You nod, “amazing.” You haven’t felt this good in so long, carefree and happy.

“Do you want to try it again later on?” Javi asks, watching you grin at him. “You were really sexy riding it too.” He had a semi from watching you, even though he had no intentions of taking you to bed tonight. This was going to be different.

You love that he thought you looked sexy and you nod, “yes. I’d love that. For now, another drink?” You suggest and he smiles, taking your hand to guide you over to the bar again. You enjoy your drinks, squeal over another round on the bull, and now, your arms are wrapped around his neck as you dance to the music playing. “I really didn’t expect you’d be a dancer.” You confess, enjoying the way his fingers grip your waist.

“Too much of an asshole?” He grins at you, making fun of the unrealistic views you each had of each other. “I like dancing. It’s a good way to be close without being naked.” He hums playfully. “There were a lot of times that it was a good cover for watching sicarios. I would get a trusted asset to come with me. It wouldn’t be fair to make her sit there and just look pretty all night.”

You hum, rocking to the beat. You know about Javier's adventures in Colombia but you know he did that to find Escobar. You dance for a while longer until last orders are called. "One more or shall we head out?" He asks and you are reluctant to go home but you can't have another drink. "Let's go. I need to run errands tomorrow and I don't want to sleep in too late." He nods and pays the bill before escorting you to his truck once again. "I had a really good time tonight." You confess when he is driving back to where your car is parked.

“I did too.” Javi admits easily, probably the most relaxed he has been in a long time. You are easy to talk to now that you aren’t butting heads and Javi doesn’t just look at you like his old friend’s little sister. “Maybe we can do it again soon?” He doesn’t want to assume, you said you were extremely busy with your business at times.

“Absolutely. I’d love to do this again. I’m free on Tuesday if you want to do something?” You ask, knowing it’s crazy to like him this much already but you’ve been getting to know him online for weeks.

“I think I can make that work.” He thinks about the work he has scheduled with his dad and nods. “I’m sure we’ll talk online?” He asks. “If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan, Peña.” You hum, looking out of the window at the passing streetlights until you turn your head to look at him, admiring his profile highlighted by the dashboard and the dim light outside. When you arrive back at your car, he opens the door for you and you reach into your purse for your keys, unlocking your door and before you can open it, Javier cups your cheek, bringing your face to his. His kiss is sweet, tilting your head so he can deepen it a little and you moan softly into his mouth. He’s a good kisser. He pulls back before he goes further and you smile, “goodnight Javier. See you soon.” You slide into the car and buckle your seatbelt then turn the engine, offering him a wave before you put your car in drive and make your way home. Javier stands there for a few moments, watching your car disappear in the distance and he sighs, “holy shit.” He shakes his head and gets into his truck, heading home to his bed. Alone.

****

“You missed!” Javi pumps his fist as he crows playfully, watching you spin around and stick your tongue out at him. He wants to show you what you can do with that tongue, but he just smirks as he gets to his feet after marking out your last set. It’s the third game you’ve played tonight and both of you are almost equally bad at bowling. Making it fun as you joke and play around on the lane. “Watch a professional.” He jokes, blowing on his fingers before he picks up the red and blue swirled ball he had picked out.

You roll your eyes, “sure thing, babe.” You watch him as he makes a show of positioning his feet, rolling his shoulders, before he throws the ball down the lane. It rolls into the gutter and you smother your giggle with your hand until you mark the sheet. “Professional, huh?” You tease, walking over to grab your ball. “How about a bet?” You suggest and he nods, “sure. What’s the bet?” You smirk, “first person to get a strike…gets a kiss.” You proposition and Javier smirks, “you’re on.”

You make a show of positioning yourself to throw the ball, concentrating on the middle line, and you bowl it, holding your breath as you watch it go straight down the middle, all the pins flying as you get a strike. “Hey, that’s cheating!” Javier accuses halfheartedly and you grin, dusting off your hands as you walk over to him. “Now…my prize, Peña?”

Javi leans back in the hard plastic chairs and reaches for your waist, dragging you down into his lap. It’s been a long goddamn time since he’s felt this lighthearted and it’s all because of you. You giggle and throw your arm around his neck as he pulls you closer. “Your prize,” he teases, brushing his nose against yours. “You cheater.” Before you can protest, he lunges forward and presses his lips to yours.

You melt into the kiss, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. His tongue slides against your lower lip and you allow him access, moaning softly into the kiss. His hands slide along your back and you feel giddy, heart pounding as he kisses you. You pull back after several moments, pecking his lips. “What a prize.” You murmur, your lips burning from his kiss. “And for the record, I didn’t cheat. It was luck.”

He chuckles, knowing you haven’t pretended to suck at bowling for three games to suddenly become good. “I know.” He pecks your lips again and pats your hip. “Lucky ass strike. I’m not complaining at all. I reaped the benefits of it too.”

****

You watch Javier shove a handful of popcorn into his mouth and giggle, “slow down. We can get a refill, baby.” You nudge him then take a sip of the large soda. “I heard this is a good movie. I always liked Russell Crowe.” You say as the trailers start.

“It’s Gladiators, hermosa. It’s gonna be epic.” Javier says, channeling the teenage boy who would’ve loved this movie. He used to watch Westerns and Sci-Fi with his dad. They had to go to the movies to watch Star Wars at the midnight showing when it came out. You settle in beside him, leaning closer as the movie starts.

Javi throws his arm around your shoulders and watches you while he watches the movie. Wanting to make sure that you aren’t bored with the movie, but it’s soon apparent that you are just as thrilled with the action as he is. “They used to sleep together.” Javi predicts, talking about the Emperor’s sister.

Javier rubs your arm when you shiver but it’s not from the AC, it’s from him being so close. “I feel like he’s going to die.” You whisper, having a feeling that Maximus isn’t going to make it. You lean over to grab the soda, having a sip, and Javier leans in so you tilt the straw towards him so he can take a sip.

He feels like you are right, sucking down some of the soda and looking over at you and his eyes slide down to your lips. He leans in hums, "I think so too." He admits and leans back, reaching over and taking your hand when you put the soda down.

You feel like a teenager when he squeezes your hand and you watch the rest of the movie. When it’s over, Javier drives you home. His hand in yours as the radio plays and the wind is in your hair from the open windows. When he pulls up outside of your place, he cuts the engine and walks around the truck to open your door. He takes your hand and escorts you to your door. When you get there, you smile at him, “next time, I pick the movie.” You tease and he chuckles, reaching for your waist to pull you closer.

“Rom com.” Javier guesses and you chuckle, reaching up to grip his shirt, dragging him closer.

“You love them really.” You joke and he presses his lips to yours. His tongue slides against yours and he backs you up against the door. You whimper into his mouth and he kisses you thoroughly. He pulls back and your lips tingle when you say “do you want to come in?” You ask and he sighs, “not tonight. I gotta get up early to help Pa with the cows.”

You nod, stomach twisting as you wonder why he hasn’t wanted to sleep with you. “Sure. I’ll see you soon.” You offer him a smile even though it’s a little tight. “Bye, cariño.” He murmurs and you turn to open your door. He stands there until you close it, waving at him until the door is shut. You sigh when you drop your purse down, confused as to why Javier hasn’t slept with you yet. You’ve been dating for 2 months, talking for 3 and you don’t understand why he hasn’t touched you when his reputation displays his willingness to fall into bed. You ponder it all night long until you come up with a plan. You’re going to invite Javier over for dinner and seduce him.

****

Another cold shower. Javi hisses as he shivers under the icy spray of water, closing his eyes and willing his erection to go down. Every day he is hard, especially when he is around you. He’s tried very hard to make sure he doesn’t rush this, he doesn’t rush you into bed. Wanting there to be a solid foundation of trust and respect between you both. He just has to wait until the time is right to move things forward. “Fuck.” He twitches despite the cold temperature and reaches down to wrap his hand around his cock. You are so fucking sexy and he is more attracted to you as the days pass. He’ll have to jerk off, he closes his eyes and thinks about you, reaching out with his other hand to turn the hot water on.

****

You check the chicken is cooked and cover it with foil just as the doorbell rings and you walk over to the door to open it after adjusting your dress. It’s tight and black and you hope he likes it. “Hey baby.” You greet him with a smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Hey." His eyes widen slightly and he wonders if he had misread the situation and undressed. He's glad he stopped to get flowers and a bottle of that wine you like. "You look nice. Very nice."

“Thanks, baby.” You wink and take the flowers from his hand. “These are gorgeous. Thank you.” You carry them into the kitchen and grab a vase to put them in. “Would you mind opening the wine? Dinner is nearly ready.” You tell him and fill the vase to put the flowers in.

“Sure.” You’ve got the wine glasses out as well as a bottle opener, so Javi brings the bottle over to the table to pour out some drinks. “It smells great!” He calls out to the kitchen, listening to you hustle around. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. We could have gone out to dinner.”

You look at him over your shoulder after you put the vase down on the side. You smile at him, “I wanted to treat you. I know you and your Pa don’t cook a lot so I figured you’d enjoy a homemade meal. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus and red wine jus.” You tell him about tonight’s menu as he pours the wine out.

His brows lift in surprise at how elaborate the dinner is and he is impressed. “Are we celebrating something that I wasn’t aware of?” He asks with a slight smile, watching as you give him another one in return. It makes his heart flutter and he can’t help but think how beautiful you are. “Just a nice night together.” Your answer makes Javi hums in approval.

You work fast to put dinner together, setting it down in front of him, and you sit down in the seat beside him at your small kitchen table. “Enjoy.” You tell him and you pick up your knife and fork so you can dig in.

“It looks delicious.” Javi compliments as he looks down at the meal you’ve put in front of him. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You smile at him and again that fluttering in his heart makes him feel young and he wonders if this is that complete love his pa would always claim would one day find him and knock him on his ass.

You talk about your days while you eat. You still message online on nights you can’t see each other, complemented by phone calls, and after you finish eating, you clear the plates and grab the dessert you bought. “Still like pie?” You ask, placing a piece of apple pie and ice cream in front of him.

“You’re spoiling me.” Javi groans, watching the steam from the still hot pie rise and the ice cream start to melt over it. “I will have to plan something special for our next date.” He picks up his spoon and cuts into the pie for a large bite.

You like that he likes the dinner, making you feel special that you can look after him like this. You sit down and watch him devour the dessert. You eat your own plate and after the plates are cleared away, you find yourself on the sofa with your glasses of wine. Your radio plays in the background and you sit beside Javier, your legs tucked beneath you. “You’re so damn handsome.” You reach up to caress his cheek, “and smart. And funny. And I am so happy that we met online.”

“And you are blind.” He chuckles, leaning into your touch. “You are the one who is beautiful, kind and hilarious, you should be running from the disaster that I am. But for some reason you like spending time with me and I’m happy you do.”

“Me too. You’re not a disaster. You’re incredible.” You murmur, leaning in to press your lips to his. He tilts his head and you deepen the kiss, tangling your tongue with his. You kiss for a few moments until you break the kiss, kissing along his neck, and you shift to straddle him, your dress riding up your thighs.

Javi groans, his hands sliding up and down your thighs and he wonders what you are doing. He’s been good at not letting things go too far. “Sweetheart….” He pants, closing his eyes as he can’t believe he’s about to push you away. “Sweetheart, stop.” He murmurs.

You lean back and frown at him, “what’s wrong?” You ask, confused about why he’s pushing you away. “I don’t - not tonight.” He says and you shift off of him, “I don’t know - I’m confused. Am I - are you not attracted to me?” You question him, confused and hurt at him pushing you away.

“What?” He frowns at the question, looking at you like you are crazy. “No- no of course not. I am attracted to you.” He promises, but you shake your head, not believing him. “I am, sweetheart, I just- I’m trying to behave.” He tells you, shoving his hand through his hair and wishing you don’t look like he’s just broken up with you.

You shift to stand up, your stomach twisting, and you stare at him, “you’re trying to behave? I don’t want you to behave.” You look down at him, “I want you to fuck me. It’s been 2 months of dating. I never imagined you would go bowling, go to the movies like a teenager. I love that, don’t get me wrong, I loved all of our dates but God, Peña, I just want you to fuck me.” You exclaim, chest heaving.

Javi swallows harshly, watching you stand in front of him, practically begging him to fuck you. His mouth is dry and he rubs his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “Show me your bedroom, hermosa.” He demands. “You want me to fuck you, that’s where I’ll do it.”

His dark eyes are almost black and you see something in them that makes your stomach twist with arousal. “Baby, I want you.” You take his hand and guide him towards your bedroom, opening the door and you are nervous. Javier has had a lot of lovers. What if you don’t match up?

He’s groaning when he sees your bed and imagines spreading you out on it. You’ll look so pretty thoroughly fucked and exhausted. “I had a physical when I got back home.” Javi murmurs quietly. “And I haven’t slept with anyone, but I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control and I haven’t slept with anyone for a while.” You tell him and you reach for the tie of your wrap dress. You slowly untie it and let your dress fall open to expose the lingerie you picked out in hopes that Javier would touch you tonight.

“Fuck.” He exhales roughly, cock twitching in his pants as he takes in your curves, showcased in lace. “So fucking sexy.” He starts to unbutton his shirt as he strides closer, feeling cocky and yet also nervous because you are so important to him. “What were you thinking about when you got dressed? Me fucking you? I think about that a lot.”

“I was thinking about you. Fucking me. Touching me. I think about that a lot too.” You tell him and reach out to run your hands down his chest. “You’re so gorgeous, Javi.” You murmur, caressing his skin and you slide your hands up to push the shirt from his shoulders.

Javi hums, not used to really accepting compliments. Women would flatter him, in Colombia to earn a bit more, or to get him to fuck them. You, you have nothing but honesty and desire in your eyes and it’s thrilling. “Thought about it a lot too.” He admits with a smirk. “Too many cold showers lately.”

You giggle, “no more cold showers.” You promise and slide your hands lower to unbuckle his belt. You pull it from the loops and let it drop to the floor. You unbutton his jeans, reaching in to squeeze his hard cock and you are shocked to find he doesn’t wear underwear. “Oh God.” You gasp at the girth of him and you pull him out of his underwear.

Javi groans as your fingers wrap around him, twitching in your palm and glancing down at your hand engulfing him. “Fuck.” He hisses, eyes closing when you give him an experimental pump. “You seem surprised, hermosa.” He pants. “Rarely wear underwear. Too hot.”

“I didn’t know.” You admit, “God, didn’t know you had such a gorgeous cock. No wonder every woman from Texas to Colombia wanted you.” You pump him again, shifting down into your knees as you admire his girth and you lean in to wrap your lips around him.

“Shiiiiit.” He hisses, jaw clenching as he looks down at you on your knees in front of him. He’s imagined it, but this looks ever sexier than what he had thought. “Fuck baby, you thought about sucking my cock?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “You like doing it? I want to tongue fuck you. See how you like being licked.”

You moan around his cock at his filthy words, loving the way he talks dirty and it has you soaking your panties. You take him deeper, keeping your eyes on his, and you wrap your fingers around the back of his cock, starting to pump him.

“You’re good at this. Tell me you don’t love sucking cock, you could be a pro.” He grunts, caressing the hinge of your jaw and pushing slightly deeper. “Gonna be thinking about this when I’m working. My cock down your throat while you bat your eyes at me.”

You relax your jaw, letting him push deeper, and his words have you moaning around his cock. Fuck, he’s so gorgeous standing above you. His stomach is slightly soft but you love that. You are proud that he’s enjoying this when he’s had so much experience. You choke around him as you try to take him deeper. You exhale through your nose and try again, taking him deeper into your throat.

“Fuck, don’t hurt yourself, hermosa.” Javi groans, pulling you off of him slightly as he pulls his hips back. “Are you wet? Dripping from having my cock in your mouth? Why don’t you sit on my face while you do it? Let me eat your cunt.”

You nod, dripping wet from him and the idea of him eating you out while you suck him off. Pushing his jeans down, he kicks them off and is bare before you. You stand up on shaky legs and he steadies you. You lean in to kiss him, your tongue tangling with his and he pushes your dress from your shoulders.

He has a lot of experience with undressing a woman. His hands are skilled in stripping someone down and he does it with an eagerness that is more than just hungry for sex. He wants a connection, a bond that cannot be broken even when he pulls away.

You let him reach behind you to unclasp your bra, dragging the straps down your arms until it drops to the floor and your tits are exposed to his hungry gaze. "Javi!" You gasp when he grabs your back, pulling you close so he can duck down and take your nipple into his mouth.

He’s always been a greedy man. Sex is addictive. It's honestly just as addictive as the cocaine he had chased down and tried to prevent people from snorting up their noses. The feeling of losing himself, pleasure both given and received lets him forget about the problems or guilt that weighed him down. Now he gets to just feel you, learn what makes you cry in pleasure.

You moan as his hands slide down to squeeze your ass while he bites and sucks on your nipple until he switches to the other. His fingers hook into your panties and he pushes them down as he kisses along the swell of your breast. “Fuck, need more.” You whine, lightly pushing him away so you can kick your panties aside, patting the bed. “Lay down, baby.”

He chuckles at how eager you are. Following your orders and laying down, giving himself plenty of room away from the headboard. Watching as you peruse his body, your own eyes just as hungry as he knows his are.

You shift to kneel on the bed, shuffling up the bed until you face away from him and straddle his chest. His hands immediately go to your hips to drag you backwards to hover over his face and you bend down to take his cock into your hand.

Javi groans as he takes in the sight of your soaked folds. They are perfect and puffy, soaking wet because of your want of him. His fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you back more so he can flatten his tongue against your folds.

You cry out when he slides his tongue through your folds, making you grind back onto him. “Fuck baby. That’s good.” You whimper and lean down so you can take his cock into your mouth with a moan, wanting him to feel just as good.

Javi groans happily, enjoying the tang of your juices on his tongue. Licking into your cunt eagerly and making it messy. Groaning again when your mouth wraps around his cock again.

You love how he moans into your flesh and you grip his cock, sloppily sucking his cock as you want him to enjoy this as much as you are. You love how enthusiastic he is, sucking your clit into his mouth and you moan around his cock again.

He continues to lick into you, rocking your hips back and burying his tongue deep inside your soaked walls. Twitching in your mouth and groaning when a dribble of precum is spurted into your mouth as you suck.

You moan, hollowing your cheeks around his cock as you take him deeper, rocking back on his face as he sucks on your clit a little harder. It’s so good. You moan and pull off of his cock, continuing to pump him in your hand.

Javi moans into your folds, pulling back slightly. “I don’t want to cum yet.” He grunts before he is diving back in to make you cum.

You huff but loosen your grip on his cock, not taking him back into your mouth but he ducks harder on your clit. You rest your cheek on his thigh as he slides his tongue inside of you. You pant, “God baby. You’re gonna make me cum.” You moan, so close to your orgasm as he pushes his tongue deeper.

That’s the point. He doesn’t stop, speeding up his tongue as it flicks through your walls and pulls you back more firmly on his face. Willing you to cum for him, wanting to hear you and taste you.

You rock back onto his face, unashamed of your need and lust for him, and you moan his name when you fall over the edge. Your thighs gripping his face as he works you through it. “Javi. Oh shit. Baby, I - oh God.” You ramble against his thigh.

Javi loves it. The slick of your release covering his mouth and jaw as he works you through it. Keeping ahold of your hips and your cunt firm to his mouth until you are whimpering his name as a little protest.

He pushes you over the edge and keeps pushing, making you hiss as you get overstimulated. "Javi." You whine his name again, needing him to pull back and he relents, leaning away from your cunt with a groan. You sigh, closing your eyes, "God, so good." You murmur, taking a moment to ride your high.

Javi pants, licking his lips as he strokes your ass. He knows that feeling, riding the wave. He would need a cigarette if he hadn’t been using the patches and he still hasn’t even cum. Shoving his arm under his head, he watches you shift off of him a few minutes later. His cock is throbbing but he doesn’t mind.

You shift to lay beside him, leaning in to kiss him, and he turns his head so you can slide your tongue against his. You moan into the kiss, uncaring about your tangy cum on his lips, and you slide your hand down to grip his cock, squeezing him before you pump him slowly. "You're too good, Javi. How do you want me?" You ask, wanting him to enjoy this in case you don't cum again. You've already gotten more than you would have from other lovers.

Javi groans into your mouth. “I like to kiss and be close.” He admits. “But sometimes I change positions.” He rolls onto you and slides his hand down to bring your thigh up to his hip. “Start this way and end up however we do?”

You nod, sliding your hands along his back, loving the way his muscles flex under your touch. "Sounds perfect." You murmur and he reaches between you to position his cock at your entrance. You close your eyes as he pushes inside of you, your head tilting back while you silently moan at the stretch.

He watches you closely, loving how expressive you are. How you don’t care about how you look. You care about how you feel, how he is making you feel. It looks like you are feeling good and he wants to make you always feel this way. “So pretty.” He moans quietly. “So goddamn pretty and all mine. My pretty girl.”

You slide your hands up into his hair, "yours. All yours." You promise, lifting your legs so you can wrap them around his hips. He sinks deeper inside of you and you whimper, "God, you feel so good inside of me. Move, please." You beg, "don't care if you cum too fast. You already made me cum."

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “Fuck no.” He grunts, pulling his hips back to surge forward again. “Not going to do that to you.” He hisses out, eyes rolling back when you clench down around him. His lips find your skin and he starts to kiss, everywhere he can reach as he starts to move.

His lips on your skin have you on fire, rocking your hips up to meet his thrusts, and you caress his back, loving the way he feels covering your body. You tilt your head back so he can kiss down your neck until you grab his cheeks, bringing his mouth back to yours and you moan into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his as he rocks into you.

Every thrust of his hip makes both of you pant in pleasure, breath exchanged and mingled together as the two of you move. Javi slides his arms around your body and pulls you up close, sinking deeper as he pushes into you again and again.

He drops his hips and he grinds against your clit, making you gasp in pleasure, and he smirks, focusing on that spot again. “Good girl.” He murmurs and the praise makes you push your heels into his ass to press him deeper inside of you. “Shit. Feels so good. I - never felt like this before.” You admit breathlessly, getting closer and closer.

“Good.” It’s not good that you’ve never been fucked properly, but he’s glad you are making sure that you get the attention you deserve. “You feel so good. Tight little pussy squeezing my cock.” He praises roughly. “Could spend all night right here.”

His words make you gush around him and he caresses your thigh as he rocks into you, making you moan when he hits something just right. “Yes. Yes. Javier. Fuck, right there. That - oh God!” You squeal as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him, and his name echoes on your bedroom walls as you cum around him for the first time.

“Fuuuuuck.” He growls, slowly thrusting into you as you fall apart on his cock. Loving how tight you get, how wet. Bracing his knees on the bed, he pulls you up until you are in his lap.

You gasp, feeling him sink deeper and press against your cervix in this position. Your hands grip his waist and you scramble to brace your feet on the bed. “God, Javi.” You cry out when he starts to rock his hips again. “Yes. Love - love this.” You choke out, tilting your head back.

He groans as he rolls his hips up, using his thighs as he works in and out of you. “Fuck, you’re-“ he chokes out, gasping your name when you squeeze him inside your walls again. “Fuck, hermosa.” He hisses, lunging forward and biting down on your jaw as the thrusts become sharper, snapping his hips up.

You love the way he bites as he nips and kisses down your neck until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth. You tangle one hand in his hair, tugging on it to bring his mouth back to yours. Your tongues slide against each other while he thrusts into you and you use your feet to grind down onto him. “Shit. You got me worked up. Might cum again.” You pant against his chin.

“Do it.” He huffs, his hands sliding up and down your back, gripping your ass as he grinds into you. “Cum all over me again. Wanna feel it. So good.” He babbles slightly, hoping you are enjoying this as much as you seem to be. It’s been awhile since he’s had sex but he’s holding out. Jerking off before the date had been a good idea.

You pant, rocking down onto him and it doesn’t take long but it does take you by surprise when you cum again, clamping down on his cock and soaking him for the second him. Your chest heaves as you tilt your head back, moaning his name as you experience bliss once more.

Javi takes that opportunity to kiss along your throat, licking and biting your skin as he rocks up into you, fucking you through your orgasm. Starting to move a little faster as he chases his own pleasure, while the grunts and groans get louder.

You try to rock down onto him, wanting him to cum, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging his face to yours. "Cum for me, Javi." You plead, leaning in to kiss him while he grunts into your mouth.

It doesn’t take many more thrusts, stiffening and moaning your name into your mouth, his cock pulsing deep inside you. Flooding your cunt with ropes of his sticky seed while he pants in pleasure. “Fuck.”

You smile against his chin as he relaxes beneath you, shifting you to lay you down on your pillows. You feel like you're floating as he leans in to gently nip your chin. "So fucking good." You murmur, "rumors were not wrong."

He chuckles quietly. “Glad I could live up to the hype.” He teases. “Fuck- I wish I had a cigarette.” He groans. “Nothing better than a cigarette after amazing sex.”

You sigh, caressing his cheek, "I don't have any cigarettes, baby." You murmur, "sorry." You lean in to kiss his cheek and he nods, "it's okay. I'm trying to quit." You shift to lay down and he pulls out of you, shuffling off the bed to head into your bathroom for a rag so he can clean you up.

Javi cleans up quickly and brings the rag back, damp and soapy to make sure you are wiped clean before he tosses it back into the sink. Not sure if you want him to lay with you, he stands in the doorway and looks at you laying in your bed like a warm puddle, boneless and content. It makes him smile, watching you almost glow in the aftereffects.

“Come here.” You pat the bed and he nods, slipping back into the bed with you after he pulls the comforter from under you. You curl into his chest, swinging your leg over his hip, “are you going to stay the night? I’ve been told I make great pancakes.”

“If you want me to.” Javi settles back against the pillows and holds you close, his fingers tracing the lines of your back as you cuddle close. The fan spins lazily above you and he feels completely relaxed. “I’ll do whatever you want me to.” He chuckles. “Had no other plans, except maybe logging online and talking to this girl I’ve been seeing.”

You grin against his peck, “is she nice?” You ask and Javier smirks and shrugs one shoulder, “she’s alright.” You playfully slap his chest but he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. “I want you to stay.” You murmur, turning your head to kiss his chest.

Javi hums happily and agrees. “Then I’ll stay.” He promises. “But your pancakes better be worth it.” He teases, happy that he had found someone that it was so natural to be with, in and out of bed.

You snort, “just you wait, Peña.” You promise and snuggle into his side again, enjoying the closeness between you.

****

Javier groans as he walks into the kitchen, his jeans on and unbuttoned after he cleaned up in the bathroom. He rubs his eyes and you turn around to look at him, dressed in his shirt. “Pancakes are ready.” You declare, setting a plate down on the table for him but you grab the can of whipped cream to squirt a smiley face on the top cake for him.

He huffs in amusement as he looks down at the smiley face on his pancakes. “Did I do that good fucking you last night?” He teases as he reaches around and pats your ass. “I get the special pancakes?” The last time he had seen this was on a kids menu in some pancake diner. It’s cute and he pulls you down for a kiss.

You giggle against his lips, pecking them a few times, "you did real good, baby. Wanted to show you my appreciation. You said you've been hungrier since you quit smoking so I figured you'd want a big breakfast. Bacon and eggs are nearly done."

“I could have helped you.” He had slept longer than he meant to, intending to wake up with you this morning. However, when he opened his eyes, he was all alone in the bed. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do this. I could have taken you out.”

You shake your head, “I woke up early and didn’t want to wake you up. You looked peaceful. I know you’ve been up early with your dad so you needed the sleep. I like cooking, I like taking care of you.” You confess, biting your lip as you plate up the eggs and bacon and set the plate on the table.

Javi softens and smiles at you. “I’m not complaining at all, sweetheart.” He promises. “I really appreciate it.” He gets up to grab the two mugs of coffee you have poured. “Let’s eat while your hard work is hot.” He tells you, pulling out your chair for you to sit.

You sit down, picking up your knife and fork to dig in to eat and your eyes meet Javier’s as he groans when he takes a bite of your pancakes. “Good?” You ask and he hums, swallowing his bite. “So fucking good.” You grin, proud that he likes them. You watch him eat, enjoying the product of your labor and you notice him staring at you. “Do I have something on my face?” You ask, reaching for the napkin.

“No.” Javi shakes his head and forks up another bite of eggs. “Just admiring how pretty you are without makeup on.” He admits. “You are pretty with it, but I think you’re even more beautiful without it.”

You fluster, cheeks warming at his compliment. Something soft that you never really expected from Javier Peña, especially the one you knew from childhood. “Thank you. I like the five o clock shadow on you.” You gesture to his unshaved face.

“Yeah.” He rubs his face with his hand, feeling the raspiness of the hair growing in. “Can’t grow a beard for shit though.” He snorts. “Comes in all patchy.”

You lean closer, resting your elbow on the table, “sexy no matter what.” You promise and he offers you a bashful smile, making your heart flutter.

****

You wrap your arms around his neck, swaying to the music. Javier decided to take you to the fair that’s happening a town over and you are currently on the makeshift dance floor, swaying to the music played by the teenage band.

“Are you having a good time?” Javi asks, pulling you a little closer and leaning his cheek against yours as the band plays. Tonight has been wonderful, but he can’t remember a time that he’s not had a good time around you. You’ve played some games and ridden some rides, had plenty of fair food, and now he gets to hold you close.

"Always with you, baby." You promise, breathing him in. He's become your home, your person to vent to, to cry with, to laugh with. You've never experienced anything like this.

He leans back to look at you and you lean forward to nudge your nose against him. "I love you." He blurts out and you pull back in surprise. Neither of you have mentioned your feelings yet but you are shocked that he was the first one to say anything. He looks surprised with himself then he gets nervous and you cup his cheek, "I love you too." You declare, leaning forward to brush your lips with his.

Javi smiles against your lips, his fingers digging into your waist as he deepens the kiss. He is home, in mind, body and spirit. Healing every day while sharing himself with you. Your accounts are both canceled, no need to chat online, now that you have each other.

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña imagine #javier peña narcos

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c-e-d-dreamer · 28 days ago

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Top Shelf Love: Chapter 3

A/N: Happy Four Nations Championship!!!! Do you like how I timed this perfectly with puck drop? 😉 I've been absolutely loving watching this tournament and watching Team USA win for Johnny! And it has reinvigorated my motivation to write our beloved, Hockey Cassian. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter! It was both fun and challenging writing a hockey game from Nesta's perspective when she doesn't know the game lol. See the end chapter notes on AO3 for some fun hockey facts

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian smiles down at the yellow fabric in his hands, the strokes and loops of silver sharpie in the one and nine, the dark blue lettering declaring Velasquez. It’s perfect, exactly what he needs, and already, he starts to imagine the reaction it will garner. A thanks, of course. Maybe a smile or a laugh. Hopefully, another dinner.

But perhaps that’s getting ahead of himself.

With a decided nod, he tosses the jersey over his arm, finally slipping out of his truck. He’s never been more thankful to have the vehicle back in his possession. As nice as the rental car the team had provided him with once he arrived had been, there’s something comforting about sitting in this particular cab again. About the soft worn leather seats. About the distinct smell of hockey that never quite leaves the carpet of the truck floor. Hell, even the deep red stain from when Mor decided to open and then subsequently spilt wine is a comfort.

He still remembers when he first purchased the truck. It was his first major purchase after signing his first NHL contract. It had all been so surreal back then, being drafted, being signed, being on a proper NHL sheet of ice for the first time, and even now, Cassian can’t help but think back to when he was just a boy, and what that boy would think if he saw what they grew up and became.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, Cassian continues along the sidewalk until he reaches the storefront of Grumpy & Sunshine Books. When he peers through the front window, he spies Nesta standing just behind the counter. Much like the previous time he stepped inside the bookstore, Nesta has a book opened in front of her.

He's beginning to think it's a regular pose for her.

For a moment, all he can do is stare at her, at the way the lights of the bookstore dance off the golden brown strands of her hair, the soft sweater she’s wearing that’s just oversized enough that the wide collar exposes a sliver of collarbone and shoulder. She has her jaw cradled in the palm of her hand, clearly relaxed and at peace within the quiet of the bookstore. Unguarded in a way he's never seen. Even with the distance between them, Cassian can see the pretty pink that starts to spill across her cheeks, and he has to bite down a smirk as he finally strides inside.

“Did you get to the smutty part?” Cassian asks as he approaches the counter.

Nesta slams her book closed, raising her head to glare at him. “Is this going to become a regular occurrence with you?”

Cassian merely smiles in the face of her ire, holding up the jersey so that Nesta can see the back of it. “One jersey, signed by the entire Preds team. As promised.”

Nesta blinks a few times, but after a moment, she reaches forward, taking the jersey from his hands. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to pass this along to Gwyn.”

“And I also have these,” Cassian continues, reaching into his back pocket. “Three tickets to the Kraken’s home opener.”

Nesta doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move to take the tickets from his hand. Instead, she merely continues to watch him, eyes narrowing slightly. The reaction, the way those blue eyes flare, just has Cassian’s grin growing. It’s certainly a look he’s growing familiar with, one he’ll be adding to his ever growing mental catalog. He waves the tickets, hoping the gesture is enticing, but when that doesn’t work, he merely sets them down on the counter, sliding them over to her.

“You want me to go to a hockey game?” The way she drawls the question practically has Cassian's blood singing.

“How can I be expected to play my best if you’re not there to cheer me on?” Cassian offers, earning an eye roll and a scoff, exactly as he intended.

“Are you going to ask me to wear your away jersey and everything?” Nesta fires back, a smirk tugging up the corner of her lips.

The sight has Cassian’s heart kicking up with excitement, and he chuckles softly. “Been reading a lot of hockey romance novels recently, sweetheart?”

“You wish.”

Despite her words, the pink color that spills across her cheeks betrays her, gives her away. Gods, Cassian would give anything to draw out that pretty color elsewhere. Would give anything to trace that color with his fingers, his lips. Would give anything to see if the pale freckles brought out by that blush are echoed anywhere else across her skin.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but you can’t wear my away jersey even if you want to.”

That gets her attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I don’t have my away jersey. In fact, I don’t have any of my equipment. It’s the team that makes sure the jerseys get washed, that makes sure all the gear stays cleaned, that our preferred sticks are ordered and stocked up. There’s a whole equipment team that’s hired and paid just to do that.”

“So, what?” Nesta asks dryly, crossing her arms. “All you do is just show up?”

“Pretty much. Show up, look pretty, play great hockey.”

Nesta snorts softly, barely more than a low, breathy sound, but Cassian still delights in it all the same. It’s so close to a laugh. Gods, he'd do unholy things to get a laugh out of her, a real laugh. Would it be light and melodic? Would it be low and refreshing? Would it start loud and taper off into little more than breathy giggles? Would her nose scrunch? Would crinkles pop beside her eyes? Would those eyes flare with the joy, the surprise at a laugh tearing out of her? Would the easy serenity remain on her expression when the laugh finally subsided, a soft smile and pink cheeks the footprints in the sand following the warm, gentle wave?

“Cassian.”

“What?” Cassian blinks, realizing belatedly that Nesta was speaking and he most definitely was not listening.

Nesta shakes her head and rolls her eyes again. “You’ve taken too many pucks to the head.”

“And you can watch me take some more to the head on Tuesday.”

“Switching tactics?”

At Cassian’s wide, winning grin, Nesta sighs softly, finally picking up the tickets. She reads them over, and for a moment, Cassian is entranced watching a little dip form between her eyebrows, watching her lips tug down in the barest hint of a frown. Would she ever let him slide his thumb against her skin, to smooth away those lines and those worries?

“If you’re worried about the seats not being together,” Cassian jumps in to assure her. “The team only gives each guy two tickets, so had to ask one of the other guys for the third, but Donny promised me the families have the whole row and they’re not really sticklers on who sits in which seat.”

“In row… S?” Nesta asks, holding up the tickets so Cassian can see the seat listed. “You want me to go to a game, but aren’t even going to get us first row?”

Cassian laughs easily at that. “I’m not a miracle worker, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how expensive seats along the glass are? It’s how the team gets a huge chunk of revenue each game.” Nesta hums at that, but doesn't say anything else.

At her continued silence, Cassian tries to keep his easy smile in place, refuses to let it slip or let his nerves truly show. "So, you'll be there?"

"We'll see," Nesta tells him, but she tucks the tickets away in between the pages of her books.

It feels like a win to Cassian, the same high as watching the puck sink into the netting, and he doesn't bother biting back the way his grin widens in response. But before he can say anything else, his phone starts to vibrate in his back pocket, the reminder he set for himself so he wouldn't be late. He quickly digs his phone out, silencing the alarm, and clears his throat, offering Nesta an apologetic wince.

"I have to get going, but… I'll see you around?"

Nesta merely waves her hand, opening back up her book and settling her cheek on her fist again as she returns to whatever whirlwind romance sweeps her away between the parchment and ink. Cassian knows a dismissal when he sees one. Even if he still desperately wants to know what's happening in her book, what has her so enraptured and desperate to return to the characters and story. He's quite confident he could listen for hours if she wanted to retell him the entire plot. He's quite confident that he'd give anything to know what her favorite romances are, what her favorite moments are, just so he can recreate them.

"Bye," Nesta snaps, her voice dry and annoyed.

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly again, realizing that he was definitely staring like an idiot. Again. With a nod, he finally moves toward the door of the bookshop, knowing that Coach will kill him if he's late for practice.

~ * * * ~

Cassian rolls his shoulders and neck, making his way down the hall and toward the training room. His hair is still wet from his shower, water droplets dripping from the strands and dampening the shoulders of his shirt, and he's definitely feeling the way he pushed himself during practice. But despite it all, there's still a lightness bubbling in his chest, and not just from his interaction with Nesta this morning. He feels like he's starting to mesh with the coaching staff, feels like he's really buying into the system they play here, feels like he can feel chemistry starting to build with the boys.

It's going to be a great season, a great year, he just knows it.

Awbrey is already sitting on one of the massage tables in the training room when Cassian steps inside, getting his shoulder wrapped in kinesiology tape, and Cassian offers him a nod as he walks past. He drops his bag in the corner and grabs a pair of compression boots, settling on one of the open massage tables. He gets to work sliding his feet in and securing the straps nice and tight.

"Need any help with that?" Cresseida asks, stepping over to Cassian with a raised eyebrow. She truly might be his favorite member of the training staff.

"I'm good," Cassian assures her, setting the boots to his desired level. He lets out a relieved sigh when the massage starts, already working through the knots and helping with the soreness. "Although, you could grab my phone from my bag for me. So I don't get bored."

"Exactly what I get paid for: doing menial tasks for hockey players."

"Aw, come on, Cress." Cassian puts on his best pout, gesturing with his arm to the now empty training room. "There's no one else here that needs attention."

Cresseida settles him with an unimpressed look that would definitely send him skittering away if he weren't currently pinned down by the compression boots. She narrows her eyes, the bright blue of them practically icing over, and Cassian offers her his most charming smile. It seems to do the trick, even as she sighs and rolls her eyes, but she steps over to where he dropped his bag.

He waits for her to grab his phone, already thinking about if it would be too much to text Nesta. He could keep it simple, casual, simply ask how her day is going. But a surprised laugh draws his attention, and when he snaps his head in the direction of the sound, Cresseida is holding up the book he'd purchased the first time he visited Nesta's bookstore, the one he simply shoved in the bag and then forgot about.

Viking Bride

"This is certainly not what I was expecting for your reading taste," Cresseida teases, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"What? Because I'm a professional athlete, I can't enjoy romance?"

"Where did you even get a book like this? No way they sell this at a mainstream bookstore."

"This bookstore called Grump & Sunshine Books actually. It's the best romance bookstore in the whole city."

Cresseida hums, flipping through the book. "And what do you think so far? How far have you read?"

"Oh, I don't…"

Cassian lets his words trail off, swallowing back down the admission that he had no intention of ever reading the book, that he only purchased it in an attempt to impress Nesta, a desperate plea to get her to talk to him. Because it gives him an idea, the perfect opening that he's been looking for.

"I haven't finished it yet," Cassian says instead, his grin growing. "But I'll let you know what I think."

~ * * * ~

Nesta

"Who knew there would be so many people," Nesta comments, keeping her eyes on the strands of copper hair leading the way in front of her through the sea of blue all around them.

"It is the home opener," Emerie reminds her, making a face when someone rushes past and knocks against her shoulder.

"This many people care about hockey?"

The dry remark earns Nesta a number of looks from the people around them, even more so when they take in her attire. At least her friends laugh easily, Gwyn turning back and looping her arm through Nesta's with a bright smile as they continue to walk.

"I told you, Nesta Archeron," Gwyn says. "You're going to have more fun than you think."

The benefit of having Gwyn is that she clearly knows where she's going and what she's doing. She leads Nesta and Emerie to the arena entrance and through security. Their tickets are scanned and then they're stepping fully inside. Nesta has to admit, it's impressive. It feels a bit larger than life, certainly spacious and modern. She takes in the large digital screen displays on the wall, the different food and drink options, what appears to be a team store called The Lair.

"Come on," Gwyn exclaims, leading the charge forward. "They let you go down to ice level for warmups."

There's already a number of fans and certainly plenty of children lining the first few rows of the arena, many with signs. Nesta even spots one little girl with a Kraken bobble hat and a sign declaring, Will trade a puck for a box of cookies!, in large looping letters. But despite all the people already there, Gwyn is able to weave and find a place for them right along the glass.

They have to wait longer than Nesta anticipated, especially when they haven't even gotten drinks yet, but eventually both teams skate onto the ice. It's like watching organized chaos, the way some of the players skate laps around their half of the ice, others taking shots at their own goalie, and others still doing what looks like tricks in their own little bubble, spinning around and moving their sticks back and forth quickly.

It's easy enough to spot Cassian. He's one of the few players not wearing a helmet, and Cassian's hair is unmistakable, hanging in loose curls down to his shoulders and the dark blue of his jersey. His smile is wide and bright, and Nesta watches as he skates a lap before throwing his body against his teammate's, shoving the teammate against the glass, with an easy laugh.

Cassian skates away from the teammate, skates right toward where Nesta and her friends are standing, and she wonders if he somehow spotted them, but instead he drops down to his knees against the ice. He does it with surprising ease, like the motion is nothing for him. Nesta can't look away as he leans forward, practically on all fours with his stick against the ice and his knees spread wide. It gives her a perfect view of his ass, even if it's covered in hockey gear.

Cassian slides his knees wider, spreading himself open wider still, and then he starts to move his hips. Forward and back. In small circles. His hips move, and Nesta's mouth goes dry. It's almost sensual, the way he works them, and it's definitely obscene. Cassian straightens back up onto his knees, stretching his arms and his stick behind his back, but the image of his moving hips is already seared in Nesta's mind, a teasing brand of what could be.

A cheer echoes from Nesta's left, jolting her back to the present, and when she looks over, she sees that little girl from earlier jumping up and down excitedly. A quick glance toward the ice reveals one of the Kraken players skating toward the bench, the bright green box of cookies cradled in his glove.

"Cute," Emerie murmurs, clearly noticing the same exchange.

Nesta decides to keep her focus firmly on any player other than Cassian after that as they continue to stand along the glass, watching as slowly but surely, the number of players begin to dwindle. Soon, a horn blares through the whole arena, the players still remaining on the ice heading off and the various fans around them starting to make their way back up the steps toward the concourse. Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn head up the stairs as well, deciding to find food and drinks before they find their seats.

Nesta has a can of beer in one hand and a pretzel in the other as she follows Emerie to the row of their seats. There's already a group of women and a few small children in their allotted row and the one behind. A pretty blonde woman sitting at the end jumps up with a smile, quickly turning to chastise the little boy beside her before turning her attention to Emerie.

"You must be Nesta. I'm Corra. Fionn told me to be on the look out for you."

"Oh, I'm not…" Emerie trails off, turning enough that she can point in Nesta's direction. "That's Nesta. I'm Emerie and this is Gwyn."

Nesta clocks the exact moment the woman notices what she's wearing, but she has to give Corra credit. Her smile only drops a centimeter before stretching wide again.

"Well, I've already asked Clare to switch seats, so you'll have three together."

They all murmur their thanks as they shuffle to the three open seats. Gwyn ends up beside a little girl—the sister to the little boy and Corra's other child it seems—and she wastes no time striking up a conversation with her. Nesta turns her own attention to the arena around them, the ice stretched out below them, even as she can feel the eyes of those around her practically burning a brand between her shoulder blades.

"Is it just me, or does it feel like high school?" Emerie murmurs from Nesta's other side. "Wish someone told us there's apparently a dress code."

Nesta hums her agreement, but she's saved from saying anything else when the lights in the arena go down. Cheers echo through the arena, melding with the music that starts to blare through the sound system. It's quite the display and entrance: the music, the light show displayed across the ice, the mini-movie spliced with hockey clips played on the large screens, even the tentacle lowered down onto the ice. But it feels like a bit much when they take the time to introduce every single player on the team, and Nesta doesn't bother holding back her eye roll when it's Cassian's turn.

But finally, after all the fanfare, the game starts, and Nesta tries her best to keep up. It's all so fast paced, the back and forth across the ice. She doesn't quite understand all the rules, but at one point, Gwyn starts screaming about something that happened, other fans seemingly just as upset.

It doesn't take long for the Kraken to score a goal, leaving the whole arena erupting in excitement, but it seems to take even less time for the other team to score too. By the time the horn is blaring to signal the end of the period, it's tied one to one.

Although there are no goals in the second period, the fast-pace continues. At one point, Cassian skates at one of the players of the other team, throwing his body against him and slamming the other player right into the boards. The two shove and grab at each other in the aftermath, and somewhere in the scuffle, Cassian loses his helmet. He tosses his head back when they separate, getting his hair out of his face, and Nesta wants to curse the Mother with how unfair it all is. How unfair such a display, such aggression, could somehow be so attractive.

By the third period, the energy in the arena has only built even higher. There's six minutes remaining on the clock when something happens, the whistle blowing and play stopping. Whatever it is, everyone around Nesta seems happy about it, cheering as one of the opposing team players skates toward the little hockey player time-out bench.

As play resumes, Cassian jumps over the boards and onto the ice. Nesta watches as one of his teammates passes him the puck, watches as he skates along the blue line painted across the ice with ease, feet criss-crossing over each other. She watches the way players seem to gather and shove in front of the net, watches the way Cassian pulls his stick back just to swing it back forward.

She can't believe he dared to take a shot through so many bodies.

She can't believe the horn sounds to indicate it's a goal.

Almost the entire arena jumps to their feet to cheer, Cassian and his teammates coming together on the ice to celebrate. They skate toward their bench, fist-bumping the teammates there, and then it's just a waiting game. Waiting for the final few minutes to tick down. Waiting for the final horn to sound, signaling the end of the game. Waiting for the team and all of the fans to celebrate the Kraken's victory.

The arena empties out surprisingly quickly once the game is over. Nesta herself is looking forward to getting out of the cold and back home to her warm bed, but it seems that Gwyn has completely enamored the little girl beside her, the little girl holding Gwyn's hand while she chatters away. The younger brother is fast asleep in his mother's lap, and Corra watches on with an expression that is both fond but unsurprised at her other child.

"Alright, don't tell anyone I'm doing this," Corra begins, standing up and adjusting the boy against her hip. "But come on."

Corra leads the way up the stairs and through the concourse toward an elevator. Nesta doesn't hear what she says to security, but they all clamber inside and are taken all the way down to the basement level. Down a hall and through a door finds them inside a large room. The walls are painted the dark blue of the team's colors, three televisions taking up space on two of them. There's sofas and armchairs along with tables and chairs arranged around most of the space, but what looks like a bar stretches across the back wall, and there appear to be children toys tucked away in the corner.

Nesta recognizes many of the women in the room from the seats around them during the game, all chatting and waiting around. It feels like they're standing around forever before the door opens again and the first Kraken player steps into the room. At least, it's like a domino effect after that, and one by one it seems various men step through the door to greet their other half. With each man that steps inside, Gwyn leans over to whisper who it is, and in some cases, statistics or facts about the player, much to Emerie's barely concealed entertainment.

"Nes!"

Nesta turns just in time to watch Cassian step inside the room. The black dress pants he's wearing are form fitting and practically hug the thick lines of muscle of his thighs. The matching jacket for his suit is slung casually over his arm, leaving him in just his black button down, and, of course, he has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, has the first few buttons undone. It gives Nesta the perfect tease of the dark lines of ink hiding beneath the fabric, gives her the perfect view of the veins in his forearms.

His hair is wet and slightly tangled, but somehow the messy look only seems to work for him. A pinkness seems to cling beneath the brown of his cheeks, but whether it's from his post-game shower or the exertion on the ice, Nesta isn't sure. With his wide, easy smile and his bright hazel eyes as he walks directly toward her, he's everything that Nesta wants to hate.

At least she gets to watch in real time as Cassian's smile falters and slips away. Small consolations.

"Are you… are you wearing a Flames jersey? Where'd you even get one of those?"

"What?" Nesta drawls, crossing her arms across her chest and raising a daring eyebrow. "You don't like my hockey jersey?"

The left side of Cassian's lips tug up in a smirk. "I just think you'd look a lot better in blue."

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, but she's spared from saying anything else when Emerie loudly clears her throat, drawing Cassian's attention.

"Emerie. Good to see you again. And you must be Gwyn. Nice to finally meet you."

"Thanks for the tickets, and the jersey," Gwyn tells him. "It was a good game. That was a nice shot at the end."

Cassian shrugs. "I got lucky with Jordy getting the tip."

Gwyn and Cassian continue to talk about hockey and the game, and Nesta is more than happy to just stand there and listen. It gives her a reprieve to remind her traitorous heart to stop being so affected by that stupid smirk of his, by the way he seems intent on looking at her. It gives her a chance to remind herself that no matter how attractive he might look on the ice or after a hockey game, it doesn't change the fact that he'll never actually care about her.

—

2025 tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed; bolded names mean Tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥲): @moodymelanist @sv0430 @bookstantrash @hiimheresworld @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @glowing-stick-generation @goddess-aelin @melphss @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @wolfnesta @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @that-little-red-head @kale-theteaqueen @superflurry @lady-winter-sunrise @freakingata @susanbanarchy @jsmelodies @unhealthyfanobsession @presskmewleroux @nativeswfl @livinforthetea @dying-of-wanderlust @berkskc @the-new-ribbon @underneath-the-sidras @deadandsane

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #pro nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #top shelf love #my fic

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ghostchems · 1 year ago

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bad idea right? - raphael x f!tav (part three)

you set foot into raphael's kingdom without a chaperone to retrieve the hammer he's promised you.

author's note: read part one/two. sorry for taking so long with the next installment. 4.2k words! there's lots in here. haarlep makes an appearance (of course). cunnilingus, face sitting, blowjob, rough sex, overstimulation. ao3 link.

You only caught a glimpse of the House of Hope when Raphael whisked you away during your first meeting but now you’ve nearly been through it top bottom. Yes, he told you to come here and go straight to the boudoir to retrieve the Orphic Hammer but were you really going to give up the opportunity to go through all his stuff? Of course not.

His house floats in the desolate hellscape of Avernus, yet he has no allegiance to Zariel as far as you’re aware. It’s moody and dramatic, two key adjectives for Raphael himself. The archive is overflowing with infernal knowledge, bookshelves from floor to ceiling and his prized possessions on display as if it’s a museum. The dining room is just as grand as you remembered it but with a hint of unease due to the rotting food. He knew he was having company - shouldn’t he have at least cleaned up? You attention is pulled from statues of devils to portraits of himself to the grapes and wine and hookahs seemingly strategically left throughout the house. You fine yourself drawn to the many balconies that oversees the green souls keeping the house afloat. You wonder what would happen if you fell. Will your soul be dammed? Will your bones turn to ash? Will you shed your human body and be stripped down to the delicious soul you are?

You may have learned more about Raphael in the last half hour than all of your other meetings combined. Much to your companions ire, you’ve stopped to speak to every single debtor. They’re broken. Broken souls worn down to the very essence of their being, cursed to toil away in eternity in Raphael’s House of Hope. Something about it… tickles you. He’s been nothing more than “helpful” since you’ve met him, sure the threats have always been there, but seeing what he is actually capable of with your own two eyes makes you remember what he is. A devil. A cambion, specifically. He could turn you inside out with the snap of his finger. But he doesn’t. He’s touched you instead, slithered his way between your legs just as the tadpole has wormed into your brain. Does he see you as a formidable ally? Or another plaything to break down? You wonder if Raphael has already started on you — if this is apart of your deal, scribbled in infernal (a language you can’t read) on your contract.

The thought makes you shiver. It makes you want him all over again. Even if he hasn’t started trying to wear you down… you hope he’ll try.

Speaking of Hope. You didn’t know what to expect when he gave you the order to steer clear but it certainly wasn’t a dwarven cleric being held captive in his basement. She accosted you the moment you set foot into her home, begging you to help her. You smiled and told her you would, the hero that you are. It was a lie, of course. She is desperate and broken but she still clings to her namesake. You can understand why Raphael would keep her — she rebukes his every advance and won’t give up her optimism. She believes she can be saved, and maybe she’s right but your hands are tied. Still, the thought of him having her here to continue to torture when he could be focusing that energy on you. You decide to at least bring it up to him the next time you see him, which has yet to be “scheduled”. Part of you wants him to be waiting for you in the boudoir, hammer and a glass of wine in hand.

“For all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place I really feel quite at home.” Astarion chirps, tearing you away from your thoughts in an effort to get you back to the task at hand. He’s far more understanding than the others and at this point you’re not sure what you would do without him. You offer him a small smile and start to lead your merry group of companions to the boudoir. A crowd, certainly. But this should be easy — pop in, take the hammer which is the salvation for all of Faerūn and then have a pint at Elfsong (and maybe a visit from a certain devil later that evening).

The boudoir is expansive and you can see why it is held in such high esteem by the debtors. There’s a large, steaming bath surrounded by more grapes and wine. You fight off the urge to dip a toe in. There are several desks with journals, quills, books all stacked on top and large canvas paintings of hellish scenes and dark portraits. If these walls could talk…

You see sparks out of the corner of your eye, your head twisting to see an empty space where you companions once stood behind you. A trap. This is a trap. Your chest tightens and you swear to yourself, you should have known something wasn’t right. Anger boils within you and a readiness rises to swing your blade at the next living, breathing thing that comes into your eye line. You keep your hand firm on the handle of your sword and move deeper into the spacious room. Are you a fool to have fallen for Raphael’s trickery? Or is he really that good? Even in the face of potential betrayal,

“Raphael?!” You are bewildered, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed. The devil gives a delighted laugh as he slinks to his knees, his wings stretching out behind him. You blink a few times, overwhelmed just by the sight of him — displayed in all his glory in a leather harness, even though you are sure this is some sort of trick. The second he opened his mouth, you knew. You suck in a deep breath, steeling yourself to focus.

“No, no, love… has he not told you about me?” Haarlep bares his fangs in a sinister smile, creeping closer to you at the edge of the bed. His tail slithers back and forth behind him, dangerous yet playful. You open your mouth to respond but he cuts you off — “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, mouse.” Warmth blossoms in your chest. He talks about you? Haarlep swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lifts himself to his feet, his body becoming the only thing you could possibly focus on. He lingers in front of you and eyes you as if you are a delicious meal, his tongue wetting his lips and a low hum rumbling from his chest. “A pretty little toy, aren’t you?”

“I… no, he hasn’t told me about you.” Confusion. Utter confusion. And, is it… is it hot in here? You’re sweating — you can feel it on your brow. “I’m here for the hammer.” Back to business. “We made a deal and he said it would be here.” Your voice strains, a mix of frustration and being so completely lost in the situation.

“A shame.” Haarlep purrs and leans in closer, leering over you with a sharp smile. “I am not too surprised though — how does one bring up having their own personal incubus who takes their form in casual conversation?” A claw runs along your jaw, the tip of his nail giving you goosebumps. From your adventure in Raphael’s house, it was easy to come to the conclusion that he has a plethora of kinks but this — this is something else. “You’re here for the hammer, that is correct, my dear, but you are also here to play.” His tail starts to slink up your leg and warmth starts to pool in your core.

“B-but Raphael —”

“You have his permission, mouse. And, fun fact about me using Raphael’s likeness — he’ll be able to feel everything we do. He’s expecting it, in fact, and I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” Haarlep’s claw closes around your chin and forces you to gaze into his familiar burning eyes. Black holes. You feel their pull. “Perhaps he is conducting business right now — could you imagine? Him trying to make a deal while being able to taste you on his lips?” A jolt of arousal rushes through you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Haarlep’s lips twitch into a devilish grin as you fall right into his grasp. The image he’s painted for you is beyond tempting; having Raphael be helpless to your touch while he’s off doing his devilish duties, desperate to conceal his erection. And, well, you have his permission, don’t you?

Haarlep lets go of your chin and swishes by you, his warm bicep brushing your shoulder and his tail flicking against your ankle. Your eyes trail after him, catching a glimpse of his toned back and his wing joints, veins bulging from the taut skin. You wonder if Raphael’s looks the same. It dawns on you that you haven’t seen much of his skin, in fact, you haven’t even seen his cock yet despite him spilling his seed inside you. You swallow thickly and take a step back, the backs of your knees hitting the foot of the bed.

“Cat got your tongue, mouse?” Haarlep moves in closer to you, the heat radiating off his body making your chest flush.

“No.” You answer sharply before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your palms and spreading your legs wide. His eyes rake over your figure, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You say nothing but Haarlep understands and sinks to his knees in front of you with his head settling at eye level. A hand rests on his chest, coarse hairs underneath your fingertips as you start to wander lower. Haarlep’s arms curl around your back, the tip of his nose just about touching yours as his body makes your legs spread even more. The heat between you is palpable and only continues to grow while you start to stroke at the ridges along his hips. It’s unusual for Haarlep to get this sort of attention, from both guests of the House and Raphael himself.

“You do not deserve to call such a man ‘Master’.” He can’t help it, locking eyes with yours. His words sting but the feeling is quickly washed away by his tongue slipping into your mouth. The breath leaves your lungs, sinking into the hellfire that is Haarlep. Nothing matters but how he tastes you in a deep kiss, his claws pricking at delicate skin beneath your sleeves. You top is gone in a matter of seconds and whether your helped him take it off of you or it disappeared with magic is beyond your at this point. All you want to do is feel. He breaks the kiss and brushes his lips along your jaw, his teeth nipping right where it meets your earlobe. You pull him closer by his harness until he is flush against you. Haarlep trails kisses further down your neck and your collarbone, sucking and biting enough to draw gasps and hums from you. He gently guides you to lay down on your back, his entire body enveloping you until he starts to move his mouth lower and lower.

Each kiss is like an explosion of sensations along your skin, buzzing and burning yet feeling so deliciously blissed out. You’re melting into the mattress, melting into him, each touch of his taking more and more of you. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake, his mouth then closing around your nipple. His tongue flutters around your hardened peak, making you tip your head back as you give a breathy moan. His hands are somehow everywhere all at once; Fingers feather through his hair and then settle at the base of his horns while he continues his descent. You feel him mouth around your navel with light scrapes of his teeth, his hands slinking down to tug at your pants. He takes his time, pulling them down inch by inch, lavishing kisses across your hip bones. You wriggle out of your pants, growing impatient but not wanting to order him.

Haarlep tongue lazily traces your clit and a ragged gasp escapes your lips, a jolt of pleasure rocketing through you. He laps at your slick folds, groaning at the taste of you and presses his face into you, his nose settling just at your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens and you can’t stop yourself from giving it a sharp tug as you squirm and huff. His claws curl around your thighs, the tips of them digging into the tender flesh of your inner thighs. You’re seeing stars, his tongue pressing into you so deeply while he grunts and laps at your juices. Your back arches off the mattress, your mouth hanging open and spilling hoarse moans. It’s devastatingly sensuous, your temperature rising to a comfortable simmer as your mind starts to clear. This could be forever, couldn’t it? You could stay here with Haarlep’s head between your thighs, devouring you until nothing else matters.

Your hands close around two of his horns and your hips start to roll, tugging him with each of your fluid movements. He growls into your cunt, making your thigh and core muscles tense, a deep groan falling from your lips. You’re so far gone yet so close to the edge, his tongue laving at your core as his claws dig even dipper into your thighs. The fire in your abdomen is raging, overwhelming you almost to the point of no return with soft moans turning to deep whines. You hear a rumbling groan, one too deep to be Haarlep’s, just as your dam bursts. Your eyes flutter open and you see him — Raphael — in cambion form with his navy blue doublet and a smug expression on his face. A broken sob heaves from your chest, Haarlep savoring the taste of your cum.

“Enjoying the amenities, are we?” Oh, he sounds so pleased with himself. If you had any energy you would mouth off but all you’re able to muster is a dramatic eye roll. Raphael slinks out of view, the bed dipping behind your from his weight. He had planned for this, the bastard. Your mouth is still slack and your heart is still pounding, trying to come down from an impossible high when Haarlep grips you by the hips and flips you over, your chin nearly landing in Raphael’s lap. He grabs you, his claw nearly clasped around your entire head and lifts you so that you’re looking up at him, though he makes sure you’re able to get a nice view of how hard he is through his trousers. “You taste sweet, little mouse. It’s only fair that you taste me after how wound up you’ve got me. Allow me to assist in getting you started.” His voice is dangerously low, glee in his fiery eyes as he unlaces his trousers, freeing his leaking cock**.**

It renders you speechless, larger than any cock you’ve seen before and it’s ribbed, a pearl of pre-cum already collecting at the top. Your jaw drops and Raphael takes this as an opportunity, forcing your mouth around him and guides you down his length. You groan as soon as you taste him, his cock heavy on your tongue as you run it along the underside, feeling every bulging vein. He’s so large that you drool and gag once he hits the back of your throat, swallowing and trying to breath comfortably. Haarlep is lurking behind you but you’re too focused at the task at hand to notice — until it’s too late. He positions his head between your legs, this time underneath you, his horns flush with your stomach, hands digging into your ass as his tongue savors your folds.

A moan of surprise rumbles up your throat and your head wrenches backward. Raphael’s grip on your head tightens and forces you back down his length with a violent tug. You’re eyes are watering and you struggle to breathe with his pulsing cock shoved down your throat while Haarlep toys with your clit, pinching it between his fangs and flicking his pointed tongue. Raphael bucks his hips into your mouth, fucking your face as he growls with need. You whimper around him, your vision blurring further from the tears in your eyes and the building tension in your core. You feel helpless, used. It’s the first time with Raphael you’ve felt you didn’t have the upper hand, or at least a cool head. The devils have reduced you to a mewling mess, a toy for them to play with. You mindlessly grind you hips against Haarlep’s face and he groans into you, his nose pressing firmly into your clit. A choked sob falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the sheets and your skin buzzing.

“Your lips are so pretty around my cock, mouse.” Raphael croons and tilts your head up so he can see you. Your cheeks are flushed and streaked in tears, your lips swollen and eyes half-lidded. He would paint you if he wasn’t so preoccupied by that mouth of yours. Hmm, perhaps he could paint your face. His claws dig into the sides of your head as he pulls you off of his cock, his other hand giving himself a few strong pumps before spilling his seed on your face. You’re panting, gasping for air as you sink forward, your cheek landing on the soft sheets. Raphael lifts himself off the bed but you’re too tired to lift your head to watch him, instead focusing on steadying your breath.

“You’ve had your fill.” He sneers and pulls Haarlep out from underneath you who gives a frustrated snarl. There’s some bickering but you’re too overstimulated to listen. After a moment Raphael’s claws settle on your waist with a low hum. He says nothing as he drags his cock along your dripping folds and you give a sharp whine, scrambling to adjust yourself. Your hips press back into him, sinking himself deep inside you with a calculated thrust. Primal lust explodes and courses through your body as you give a broken sob, your legs trembling and your core tensing while you ease his size. One large claw rests on the side of your head, nearly covering your eyes with his long fingers, and he clamps down on you, your face smushed against the mattress. His hips buck wildly against your ass, his pace brutal and punishing but you are basking in it, pushing back into each of his thrusts.

You feel his devilish strength, each roll of his hips sending you forward, your face buried in the covers as you cry and whine in twisted pleasure. Raphael has you laid bare. You’re nothing but a hole to him right now, a means to get him off just as he uses Haarlep. But there’s something about it that sends shivers down your spine: the possessiveness of it all. His claw is splayed out over your head, his other one digging harshly into your hip, slicing your flesh and making you bleed. The only thing on his mind is having you, having you in his true form, exerting his strength over you until you’re a quivering mess. He wants to fill you. Raphael hikes your ass up even higher and fucks into you, the new angle making your toes curl. You moan his name and he gives a pleased purr, driving into you quicker and harder.

You body feels as though it splits apart, overcome with your white hot climax. He rest his entire body weight on you now, crushing you beneath him as he buries himself deep inside you, over and over. His hot breath fills your ear, sharp and strained. You’re shivering, tears staining the sheets. Raphael utters one last hiss, teeth grazing your ear as he spills himself inside you, his hips slowing with each pulse of his cock. He’s on top of you until he’s spent, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You can’t feel your limbs. Your body is trembling, your voice hoarse in your throat as you manage a weak protest. Raphael has you on your back in the blink of an eye, his tail slithering up your hips while he slots himself between your legs, using his knees to spread them further. His board is hard against yours, his clothes having disappeared. Your breath catches in his throat at the pressure of the top of his hard cock against your entrance. Surely you couldn’t take any more of this? You feel like you are about to melt away physically and mentally, your body limp and your brain fogged from the intense overstimulation. Raphael’s massive claws close around both your wrists, pinning them to the bed as his forearms cage you beneath him. The edge in his fiery eyes has softened and his nose drifts along your cheek, taking a deep inhale of your scent.

“A delicate little thing, aren’t you, sweetling?” He growls into your ear, his mouth hot and his sharp teeth pricking your skin. You open your mouth to answer but Raphael shifts his hips forward, the head of his ridged cock easily slipping inside you, the words getting caught in your throat. He hums against your ear and then drags his sharp tongue down the side of your neck. Your eyes roll back, squeezing them shut as he gives a languid thrust and pushes in to the hilt, a loud gasp forcing its way up your throat. Arms slip around his broad shoulders, body arching into his and you feel yourself start to disappear. Raphael lifts his head and hovers his mouth above yours. A groan vibrates up his chest to his throat, his lips parted as he continues at a lazy pace. He can’t get enough of your reactions, your cheeks flushed a delicious shade of pink, your lips swollen from how he fucked your face earlier and those sweet, breathless sounds that are spilling from them.

This is a stark contrast from how he had just taken you, his hips circling in slow, sensual movements that has your core twisting in arousal despite your exhaustion. His own deep moans send current after current through you, reigniting your passion and need for him. You bring your hips up to meet his with each thrust and he bares his teeth as your writhing grows more fluid. Raphael releases your wrists so that he can drag one of his sharp claws down your collarbone and along your side, leaving scratch marks. You move your hand to his hair and you realize this is the first time he’s been comfortably within grasp. Self control out the window, you touch his pointed and then bravely run your fingertips over his horns. Despite looking rugged and razor-sharp they’re smooth beneath your fingers. You wrap your hand around one of them and give it a gentle tug.

“Mouse.” The word is strained, sounding like a warning or potentially a challenge. You take the gamble and pull on his horn again. Raphael shudders, an uncontrolled moan spilling from his lips. His mouth drops open, lips curled into a blissful smile. You hum in response, feeling a deep flush in your chest from his reaction. His eyes sharpen as the feeling passes, slowing his thrusts and silence falling between you. Your breath catches in your throat, tension in your chest, your mind hurdling a million miles an hour suddenly because you feel like you’re in trouble. Raphael slowly moves his claw to curl underneath your chin, eyes locking with his. He groans, his entire body rumbling against you and leans in, capturing your lips. It’s shockingly gentle, passionate that only increases with his need to consume you. His hips jerk, tail wrapping tightly around your leg only to peel you further apart as he picks up his thrusts again. Your tongue runs along his sharp fangs and he purrs into your mouth, biting down on your tongue and lip playfully.

You’re all too aware of the way he throbs inside you, his ridges massaging your walls in a way that makes you see stars. Raphael’s growling grows deeper, vibrating through him as his pace starts to grow ragged, frantic and out of time. He gives a strangled hiss into your mouth, his body shuddering while he empties himself inside you. You’re already so full that it seeps down the insides of your thighs. Raphael breaks the kiss and presses his nose to your flushed cheek, catching his breath.

“I won’t stop. Not ever. Not until I own you completely.” A hot whisper of the clearest words he’s ever spoken to you. You sink further into the mattress, melting away as he rises over you, his red wings ruffling behind him. His obsession with you is written all over his face, his eyes taking in every part of your exhausted body, plotting more ways to keep you in his bed. He cracks his neck and his expression hardens in an effort to get back to the business at hand, though you feel one of his hands stroke at your arm.

“Rest now, mouse.”

Comfortable darkness envelopes you.

#raphael x tav #bg3 raphael x tav #raphael bg3 x tav #bg3 raphael #raphael #what do i even tag this ahahaaa #oo haarlep!#haarlep #haarlep x tav #haarlep x tav x raphael

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 11 months ago

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Second Chance Sorcerer Chapter 2 - A Message

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! So we come to the world of the living where reader is grieving Nanami's death. Reader-centric chapter, but Nanami is brought up heavily. Originally made with my OC, to read that version, check out my AO3 account, but it's in Y/n format here.

Banner by the lovely @actuallysaiyan

Search/follow along using #secondchancesorcerer

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Nanami masterlist

There’s an incessant knocking at the door and it takes all of your energy to not scream at whoever it is to go away. You felt like someone had hit you with a sledgehammer, your sleep disturbed and restless. Why was everyone so determined to give you company when all you wanted to do was be left alone?

No one understood the hollow feeling in your chest, how you woke up every night screaming, remembering Mahito’s disgusting grin of triumph as he had murdered Nanami in cold blood. How you had begged Nanami to let you take him out of Shibuya station along with Maki, the burns on his body looking so raw and painful. He had fixed you with the same look he would give you when you were hesitating to take a shot at him during hand-to-hand combat training sessions. That stern expression of disapproval, despite his own pain and exhaustion.

“Take Maki-san and leave. I’ll be fine Y/n-san. I can’t leave. Not yet.” And you had been helpless to argue against him. You never could. There was a hypnotic quality to the way Nanami instructed you, said with a finality that you could never disobey. The man had a death wish, you knew that, and you had foolishly believed securing him with a protective charm would drive away the shadow of demise that seemed to hover over him all the time. You should have knocked him unconscious and dragged his ass out with Maki. Shoko was on site. She could have healed him, and he would be here, grieving their other losses instead of…

Your heart constricted painfully, remembering how you had held onto Yuji as hard as you could, your ears bleeding from his hysterical screaming as he swore his revenge on Mahito. Nanami’s loss hung heavily in the air. Although most of the Jujutsu community was more invested in Gojo being sealed, it was Nanami’s death that affected you the most. Nanami your mentor, your dour, unwilling mission partner, your whole heart…now gone. Like he had never existed, no trace of him left.

“Y/n-san?” The knocking continues and with a snarl, you roll off the bed, your hair a dreadful mess, not caring that you’re still in pajamas, and yank open the door, only to see Ino and Yuji standing there, Yuji carrying a takeout container. Your ire washes away only to be replaced by a dull ache as you see them. “Oh. it’s you two.” You slink back to the bed and disappear under the covers.

“We haven’t seen you for two days now Y/n-san.” Ino shuts the door as Yuji sets the takeout container on the table. “You can’t just lock yourself away. We’re a team. Team Nanami, remember?” Ino gives you a wan smile which you don’t have the energy to return. Yuji settles down on a chair and says nothing.

Your heart aches for the boy, so young, a teenager, looking so weary and serious, shouldering the weight of a much older man. “I haven’t been in a mood to see anyone. Everything that happened at Shibuya…I can’t.”

Your voice trembles, threatening to spill out all the unspent grief you’re carrying. You hadn't explicitly told anyone about your feelings for Nanami, believing it was pointless. You were his apprentice after all, a title almost similar to being his student, and it was a boundary you hadn’t been willing to cross. Nanami had helped craft your abilities after all, abilities you had been terrified of using, abilities that had plagued your entire life, that you wished you hadn’t been born with; until he had shown you how to use them for a higher purpose.

It was an astonishing experience, developing a cursed technique, needing much hands-on instruction. Literally. Nanami would constantly adjust your hands, your stance, and your combat positions, tutting at you impatiently. You had felt like you were in a ballet academy under the care of a rigorous instructor, the type that would raise their student’s arms and chin and adjust their posture using the end of a cane.

He had started you off the same way that Gojo had done for Yuji, by channeling cursed energy into one of Principal Yaga’s creepy cursed dolls. The doll had given you a black eye that day, but you secretly blamed Nanami for that; you had been watching movies as instructed, the doll in your lap when he had come down to check on you. His deep gravelly voice cutting through the room unexpectedly had caused you to yelp, grip loosening on the doll, which had wasted no time in delivering a blow to your eye.

It was humiliating, feeling like you had failed him on this simple task but he made you nervous. He always gave off an aura of needing perfection and his short, clipped way of giving instruction made you feel inadequate. Everything had been a blur of confusion as you leaned against the sofa, covering your eye and moaning in pain, hearing rapid shuffling footsteps, before Nanami had caught hold of the doll and shoved it into a containment box.

“Let me see.” With your good eye, you saw him leaning over you to check your face. You knew you were blushing but hoped it came off as embarrassment for being punched by the doll rather than the fact that your mentor - your unbelievably attractive mentor- was peering into your face at such close proximity.

You had slowly removed your hand, the area around the eye swollen and tender. Nanami’s expression was strange, almost like he was trying not to laugh as he delicately laid his fingers at the edges of the starting bruise. “I did warn you not to lose concentration,” he said in an even tone, although it betrayed a wisp of amusement. “Go see Ieiri-San. I’m afraid you’ll be sporting a bruise for a while, but her reverse curse technique will take away the pain so at least you won’t feel it.”

Your good eye had glared at him reproachfully. “I was doing fine until you startled me. I didn’t even hear you come in. We should put a bell around your neck.”

You thought you saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly, almost like he was biting back the urge to smile. “Are you under the impression that curses wear bells around their necks, Y/n-San? Because if this is all it takes to startle you…you wouldn’t last a minute on a solo mission.”

His words had brought you back to the reality of the situation, the fuzzy feeling of being near him vanishing in an instant. Always teaching survival tactics, always telling you to run, always putting himself in the line of fire. It had driven you insane, how little self-preservation he had for himself.

“Isn’t there anything that you would like to live for?” You had asked him one morning as you ate breakfast together before catching the train home, having finished a mission the previous night. He fixed you with a scrutinizing stare, whiskey-colored eyes narrowing as though puzzled by your question.

“Like what?”

His response left you stumped. Did the man have no aspirations, no dreams, or wishes he wanted to be fulfilled?

“Like what?” You had parroted back to him, an incredulous look on your face. “There are so many wonderful things about life! Don’t you have a survival bucket list?”

His lip was definitely curling now. Nanami never smiled completely, but the corners of his eyes would crinkle when something amused him, and you could see the lines deepening as he regarded your question, but his tone felt like an adult indulging a child. It was maddeningly patronizing, considering he was just three years older than you, yet he assumed himself to be too mature and aged for such whimsical questions.

“A survival bucket list?” he practically scoffed.

“Yes,” you said trying not to lose your patience with him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, a list of things you’d like to do if you ever had the time.”

“Do you have one?”

“Of course I have one! Most of us have one! Something to keep us going when all we see is death and destruction on a daily basis.”

The thought seemed to intrigue him but you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were being snubbed. Which was why you were taken aback when he asked, “What’s on your survival bucket list?”

“Oh ah…” you tried to gather your thoughts as you spoke, not expecting that he would ask you. “Take a tour of Europe. Go on an African safari. Take scuba diving lessons. Try different pastries and sweets from all over the world.” You lists some of your top activities, then frown as Nanami in a rare moment, flashes you a grin, his teeth showing for a brief second before his face returns to its usual stoic state.

“What?” You had asked almost impatiently. “Is my bucket list funny in some way?”

The blond man shakes his head no before speaking. “It’s not funny at all Y/n-san. I think it’s nice that you have these personal goals.” He says calmly, his voice carrying an unfamiliar lilt you had never heard before.

Your irritation died down when you realized he hadn’t answered you yet. “Do you have one or not?”

He looked thoughtfully at you before replying. “I used to. But it’s not as great as wanting to learn how to scuba dive or trying all the sweets in the world.” His tone changed into something wistful and nostalgic and it played with your heartstrings as you waited for him to continue. “My survival bucket list, if I can call it that, has only one goal. And that is to live long enough to retire.”

Your breath had caught and you waited for him to say more, hoping he wouldn’t shut off. Nanami rarely ever spoke more than what was necessary, but you longed to see more of this side of him, the parts of him that had nothing to do with sorcery.

“Retirement isn’t something a lot of sorcerers get to experience. Most of them die young, and the ones that do survive have so many disabilities that doing anything later in life becomes impossible. If life is favorable to me, and I have all my limbs and mental health by that age, I would love to retire and spend the rest of my days in peace.”

“What does peace look like to you?” you had asked him in a hushed voice, feeling ecstatic about finding out these little details about him.

“A beach, in a country with a low cost of living. Perhaps I’ll live right on the sand, a book in hand, and just take in all the sunshine.” His eyes had taken on a faraway quality, the whiskey color becoming more honeyed, little flecks of gold visible in his irises as though whatever he was thinking of had lit a candle inside him, illuminating his whole being. You could only stare, unable to comprehend how beautiful, how vulnerably human, he looked in that fleeting moment before it vanished behind an impenetrable curtain of indifference. “But that future is a very slim possibility. I don’t like building castles of air.”

The warmth that had settled in your chest dissipated, and you were left with the man you had grown used to; contained, jaded, pessimistic.

“But what if it does happen?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

He let out a sound that could have been interpreted as a disbelieving chuckle. “Then I’d better think about using something more solid than air to build my castle.”

“Y/n-san?”

You’re jolted back to reality as Yuji hands you a tissue. You hadn’t even been aware that you were crying, tears rolling down your cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

“I’m sorry guys.” You dabbed at the tears. “Got lost in thought.”

“We all miss him, Y/n-san,” Yuji says comfortingly, but his voice trembles. “He was more than a teacher to all of us.”

“And we’re still a team despite him being gone,” Ino says assertively and presses the takeout container into your hands. “Eat. You need to.”

You open it to reveal a breakfast sandwich, and although you don’t have much of an appetite, the thoughtfulness of the boys is so sweet that you don’t feel like setting it aside for later. Taking a bite, you try to distract yourself from your own feelings.

“So they weren’t able to recover Gojo from the prison realm?” you ask, trying to get off the topic of their deceased mentor.

Ino shakes his head no, and you are relieved to see that most of his wounds from his fight with Ogami have healed, almost imperceptible to the eyes of a non-sorcerer, although there was a scar running down the left side of his face now.

“They’re doing a recovery throughout Shibuya station, but it’s mostly to pull items belonging to the people who died. You know, to return to their families.” Ino sighs and rests against the wall of your room. “They haven’t found Nanami-san’s blade yet.”

This bit of information is unexpected, and you look at him, then at Yuji who is also listening intently.

“I mean…it probably got lost underneath all the rubble, right? It’ll turn up eventually.” You swallow, hoping the weapon wasn’t lost to the destruction of Shibuya Station.

“I hope so. I’d imagine Nanami-san would want me to have it.” Ino sits down on the edge of your bed. Yuji however, gives him a look of disapproval.

“Why do you get Nanamin’s weapon? I was his student too.”

“Yeah, but I trained under him the longest. By that right, it should come to me.”

“What if he has family? Wouldn’t it go them?” Yuji countered, trying to think of a reasonable argument for why Ino couldn’t simply lay claim to the blade.

“He didn’t have any family,” you say quietly, not really invested in the conversation. Ino and Yuji continued to debate, their conversation becoming indistinct buzzing to you as you finished your sandwich.

“He was your teacher too Y/n-san,” Ino interjects suddenly, with a touch of surprise. “Why aren’t you more interested in who his blade goes to?”

“Because I knew how much he hated using it.”

Your words carry an intensity that makes them both quiet down instantly. As powerful and wonderful as his blade was, you knew your mentor’s distaste for using it. To him, it was a means to an end, no different than using a rifle or an axe. He used it for the sake of exorcising curses, but the blade itself carried no personal meaning to him.

“Nanamin hated his blade?” Yuji asks in a small voice. The disappointment in his eyes had you quickly backpedaling.

“Not the blade itself. I think more so, what it represented for him. A life as a sorcerer. Of facing death every day, knowing this was his duty and he couldn’t escape it.”

Silence follows your words and you wish you hadn’t spoken. You hadn’t meant to put a damper on the boys’ spirits but you couldn't keep quiet either. They were young, in awe of their late teacher who must’ve seemed like a much older man, dispensing wisdom. But knowing how small your age gap was, and how much he hated this line of work, you found yourself compelled to make sure they knew what you knew; that Nanami Kento was a hard-working man, but he never found any joy in using his now legendary weapon at all.

And unknown to them, you had already scavenged Shibuya Station after the emergency evacuation orders were put through. You hadn’t expected to find much, but somehow, through a stroke of luck, had found his tie, the obnoxiously yellow, polka-dotted tie, peeking through the broken cement and glass, stained with blood. His blood.

You had yanked it out quickly and stuffed it into your pocket, a little secret you had been carrying around the last few days. It now lay under your pillow; you worried people would judge you for keeping it, for not washing it but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. At night, you’d run the tie through your fingers, feeling the material slip smoothly through, the faint scent of his cologne still on it. You knew you would never be able to wash it until the last vestiges of that scent faded away. It was the only thing that brought you comfort, that and remembering the day you found out the history of the odd color and print of the tie.

The 4 four of you had been out at the amusement park, Ino and Yuji energetically running around from one ride to the next while you and Nanami had waited in line to grab food for everyone. As you sat waiting for the boys to come back, you had gathered courage and asked him a question that had been in the back of your mind since you became his apprentice.

“Nanami-san?”

“Hmm?” He had turned his focus towards you and you hoped he wouldn’t see the rising color in your cheeks.

“Why do you wear that tie? It just doesn’t match the rest of your outfit.” You held you breath hoping the question wasn’t too personal. But the tie somehow paradoxically brought his outfit together and also threw it out of style.

His expression had changed almost imperceptibly. If you hadn’t spent as much time as you did with him, you might not have noticed it. He rested his elbows on the picnic table, as though conflicted to admit what was going through his mind. Then with a sigh, he said, “It’s to remember an old friend.”

“An old friend?”

“A late friend, to be precise.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. A late friend? He had lost someone close to him?

“It’s a funny story.” Nanami paused as though considering if he should tell you more, then continued. “My favorite show growing up as a child was The Flintstones.”

You stared at him, but you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped you which you suppressed immediately. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that.”

“Well, it was.” Nanami’s lips had twitched. “And my friend knew this. As a joke, he got me a tie that matched Fred Flintstone’s outfit.” Another pause, another sigh, as though the next part was difficult for him to say. “I never wore it until after his death. Now I always do, in remembrance.”

“I’m so sorry,” you had said in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a sad memory for you.”

Nanami shook his head and looked away towards the Ferris wheel, where the boys had disappeared off to. “It was a while ago. I try not to dwell on it for too long.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you’d murmured. His face had softened as he looked at you, the rest of the world blurring from your vision until all that remained in focus was him, the sharp eyes, the high cheekbones, the straight nose, and the chiseled jawline. Barely 30, yet looking like even a few years of sleep wouldn’t wash away the exhaustion that emanated from his bones.

“Even if Nanami-san disliked his weapon, it’s still useful to have.” Ino and Yuji were back to debating about the blade.

You were about to reiterate that you wouldn’t fight them over the blade when suddenly a pale sea foam green light began to glow from underneath your pillow. Both the boys stop bickering, awestruck at the sight. With a trembling hand, you move the pillow, revealing the tie, and making Ino and Yuji draw closer in curiosity. The polka dots on the blood-stained tie were glowing, emanating a warm aura accompanied by a curious scent of lingering coffee.

“What…” You watch with fascination, then look up at Yuji and Ino, who are watching the scene unfold, wide-eyed and filled with wonderment.

“Is that Nanamin’s tie?” Yuji gets closer to the bed, unable to take his eyes away.

“Yeah…I’ve been holding onto it.”

“Is it cursed? Did Nanami-san leave some residual cursed energy when he…?” Ino eyes the tie warily but also speaks in a hushed tone of disbelief.

You shake your head, the aura not feeling sinister to you. Rather, it felt familiar, like you had experienced it before, in those brief moments when Nanami’s eyes would crinkle from amusement…

You gasp and scramble off the bed as the dots begin to lift off the tie, a vignette of sea foam green surrounding each one. They float ethereally in the air, then, one by one start floating out of your room.

“Wait!” Not caring that you’re in pajamas or that you’d been in bed for nearly two days, you chase after the dots, bolting out of the room barefoot, Ino and Yuji hot on your heels. People stared at you as you ran. You knew the group must look quite eccentric, the two boys fully clothed and decent looking, while you looked ratty and deranged, hair flying everywhere as you tracked the dots barefoot, not wanting to lose sight of them.

Finally, the dots make their way into the large courtyard where Nanami would brief you about upcoming missions. They slow down and the trio halts, panting and out of breath. The light surrounding the polka dots brightens before they start arranging themselves into a fixed pattern, you, Ino, and Yuji watching perplexedly.

“Fred Flintstone”

“What?” Yuji looks bewildered. “Who’s that?”

“Isn’t that a cartoon character?” Ino asks, his generation just shy of the classic cartoons millennials had grown up on.

You cover your mouth, trying not to jump to conclusions. “The Flintstones…”

Could it be? Was he…? You let out a strangled laugh of disbelief but yet, what else could it be?

“It’s Nanami-san!” you whisper, and as you do, the energy signature from the polka dots seems to envelop you, and you feel every small little detail you have ever memorized about him; the little marks that formed on the bridge of his nose when he took his glasses off after a mission, how he enjoyed a fresh pot of coffee in the morning, that little sigh of satisfaction he’d make after completing his daily crossword puzzle.

Yuji and Ino look at you incredulously, but you have never been more sure of anything in your life. You look at them in the face, tears in your eyes, not from grief, but at how achingly comforting it was to be bathed in the glow of those polka dots.

“Nanami-san is alive!”

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eddiestightywhities · 5 months ago

Text

if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound? | T | 2,860

[check the link above for tags]

SUMMARY:

“So, you two were…”

“We were on a date. Yes.” Buck is smiling, and Eddie wants to hug him for how damn happy he looks about the whole thing, just as much as he wants to grab his friend's face in both hands and irrationally scream what is happening to us? until his voice is hoarse.

Whatever an out of body experience feels like, Eddie reckons it might be something akin to this. And he knows how dramatic he's being, he does, but he can't seem to stop—even if he is at a complete loss as to why.

Buck's coming out scene from Eddie's POV, where Eddie realises it's not his girlfriend that he's in love with.

read below the cut or on ao3 HERE

Eddie can't tell himself he's never thought about it. He has, it's just he's never—weighed any of it up, exactly. Hasn't openly considered it, or let himself examine the idea there could've been anything else. That there could still be something else. There's only how things were, the way it'd gone a certain way for him when it came to romantic relationships.

Him and a girl. Him and a wife. Him and women. That's just the way it's always been. The way things are for Eddie.

Until Buck is metaphorically punching him in the face with so many huge revelations in the space of a few stark truths that Eddie apparently couldn't, or wouldn't allow himself to look at.

He thinks of that saying; something about not being able to see the wood for all the trees. The forest surrounding Eddie's life has always been frighteningly dense, with no room at all for his branches to grow any taller or wider than his allotted space. Now Eddie is being forced to think about that fully, for the first time in sort of ever, but doesn't have time to process what the hell any of it might mean. A little ruefully, he thinks he'd prefer a literal punch to the face than having to deal with his own neurosis. At once, he's remembering Buck barrelling into him on the basketball court, which—dios, kind of makes sense to him now.

Buck and Tommy went on a date, that's what Buck just told him. When he and Marisol saw them together at the restaurant the other day, they were on a date. With each other.

His brain goes into overdrive.

“Wait, Tommy's gay?”

All of his and Tommy's previous interactions are now running through his head as a flickering montage; some janky film reel spliced together in non-linear fashion. It makes him feel really shitty, re-assessing Tommy's behaviour just because of the guy's sexuality, but it's just—again, certain things are making sense now Eddie's brain has been supplied with this new information. Those bits and pieces of broken thoughts and half-notions he hadn't been able to make fit anywhere in his mind's eye, they're fusing together. Becoming viable. Stuff he'd willed himself not to ponder over now slotting into place.

“Uh, that never came up while you guys were hanging out?” Buck asks.

He tells Buck no, because it very much hadn't, and that it wouldn't have mattered to him anyway. Which of course it wouldn't, obviously, he just feels like his brain—or no, his body, maybe, had been trying to tell him something, tell him this, only Eddie hadn't listened.

Why hadn't he listened?

Then it hits him—kind of like a large shot of tequila hitting your stomach when you haven't put any food inside it for a while—that he is not at all surprised by the fact Buck went on a date with a man. Secondary is the thought that he doesn't know why he isn't taken aback by this lack of surprise.

“Sure. I—I don't think he volunteers it, but, uh, he doesn't hide it.”

He doesn't hide it.

Why does Eddie's chest feel tight?

Like an idiot, he attempts to confirm what Buck has already told him.

“So, you two were…”

“Okay.”

Eddie's nodding, only he doesn't really know what he's nodding at.

Buck asks, “Is that weird?”

At once, he insists, “No. Absolutely not,” even though he feels it is, for some reason, weird. Not because being queer is weird, because no, fuck no, of fucking course it isn't. Maybe it's just because of…

Because?

Why, exactly, Eddie has no clue.

He feels so, so lost.

The forest is a deep dark place, something hiding behind his ribcage mumbles before scuttling off to bury itself some place even further inside of his chest.

Is it Tommy specifically, he wonders, because he's Eddie's new sparring pal, and maybe now he won't be? He digs for a reason as to why that would bother him, but comes up empty handed.

And Tommy, he seems like a good guy.

Which is why Eddie is fairly perturbed when he pictures Tommy's face and it makes him wish he had the power of materialisation, to get the LAFD air support pilot to appear, here and now in Buck's kitchen, so he can sock the fucker in his stupid chiseled jaw with his best right hook, right in front of Buck.

Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him?

“I mean, I like him too.” He says, because he does. At least he did up until a minute ago. He weighs up his words as he's about to speak them, deciding to change his tone a little and aim for a more banter-ish vibe. “I mean, just not the same way you do, evidently.”

Buck wants to kiss Tommy. Maybe wants to fuck Tommy.

Eddie's mouth goes dry.

He simultaneously searches his mind and Buck's face, promising, “This doesn't change a thing between us. Okay?” And Eddie Diaz is a lying liar who lies, because for some reason he can't yet fathom, this changes everything.

Buck has this look, then. Almost something like—disappointment?

Eddie doesn't know what that could mean.

“Good. That's, uh, a relief,” Buck says, and he's nodding, just like Eddie was a moment ago. Eddie can't figure out the reason for that, either, nor why Buck doesn't seem to actually look relieved.

Then he's going on to tell Eddie about how Tommy dumped him.

“Wow,” Eddie says, because what the fuck? Why would anybody let Evan Buckley slip though their fingers? It's honestly always been a mystery to him, how the women Buck has dated in the past have all dropped him at the first hurdle. Buck is kind of the perfect catch. Realising he doesn't quite know how to explain that to Buck, or himself, and knowing he has to come up with something, he finds himself making a joke of it with, “That's fast, even for you.”

Buck doesn't react to that at all, just says it doesn't matter anyway, seeing as he and Tommy weren't actually together, telling Eddie Tommy doesn't think Buck is ready.

Momentarily, Buck looks sort of broken. Shattered into a million pieces that Eddie wants to painstakingly pick up, one by one, so he can lovingly glue his friend back together and make him whole again. Maybe with gold paint, just like kintsugi. They'd seen and learned all about that at a Japanese exhibition over at the LACMA museum with Christopher a couple of years back, and Buck's wondrous awe at the practice—the way the blue of his eyes had reflected the jagged gold lines in the pottery, making them look like tiny planets in his head—had kind of really stuck with Eddie.

He has another fiercely protective desire to kick Kinard's perfectly muscled ass. The guy doesn't even know Buck. Not like Eddie does.

Another millisecond passes, and Eddie clocks that he's actually the asshole here, for making this all about him, even if he's not voicing any of his self-centred bullshit.

All at once, he desperately needs to know what Buck thinks about Tommy's assessment.

““Hmm,” he hedges. “What do you think?”

Buck is smiling again. Nothing like the sun, though, like the beaming smile Eddie knows he can pull from Buck's chest, the one that always makes Eddie think of that time he saw dawn breaking over Abalone Cove, just after he'd moved to L.A.

He shifts his weight a little on his stool.

Is that a weird thing to think?

Eddie's really fucking glad he has a beer in his hand, although he doesn't take a sip. He just grips the bottle a little tighter.

He's not ready to hear it when Buck answers, “I kinda can't stop thinking about him.”

He can't work out why his friend saying those words crushes him the way it does. Why he suddenly feels like punching more than just Kinard. Why he wants to burn the fucking world.

Is it maybe a similar thing to whatever Buck was feeling, after Eddie first started hanging out with Tommy?

Jealousy.

Eddie's a shitty friend sometimes, and has to constantly remind himself to do better. He sucks a breath in through his teeth, trying his damndest not to make it the huge gulp of air his lungs are, for some reason, craving.

“Well, you know what I think?” Eddie forces himself to look up at Buck to say something he really doesn't want to, because he knows it's the right thing to do. “You should call him.”

“Really?” Buck's still smiling, but his eyes are somehow telling Eddie he doesn't believe a single word Eddie is saying.

“Heck yeah. He doesn't know you're an idiot.” You're my idiot. “Once he gets to know you,”—I don't fucking want him to get to know you—“and know that you're an idiot, he'll love you, like we all do.” Like I do.

Santa mierda.

Buck smiles again and asks, a little sheepishly, “What if he says no?”

“Then he's an idiot,” Eddie answers with complete conviction, fiercely, meaning every word of it as much as he meant it when he told Buck you act like you are expendable, but you’re wrong; when he told Buck I forgive you; when he told Buck there's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you. Eddie fixes him with a look he hopes conveys all of this, even though he knows it probably falls short. Then he adds—again, because he knows he should—“But don't walk away from something before you even know what it is,” and feels sick to his stomach as soon as the words have left his mouth.

Buck gives him a wry, knowing sort of smirk, points at Eddie and says, “That sounds like some good advice.”

It takes absolutely everything Eddie has to turn his train of thought around and force himself back into performance mode, feeling the phantom press of the towering trees that surround him and gasping with a suffocation that comes from being completely trapped in the thick of the forest he doesn't think he'll ever make his way out of.

He rolls his eyes, fake-sighs, and says, “Yeah,” adding a scoff for good measure. He tries hating on the smile Buck gifts him, the one which, honestly, looks a little forced, as Eddie lies some more and says, “I gotta talk to Marisol,” because he knows he doesn't have to; he's choosing to. He then pushes himself up and off Buck's kitchen stool even though it's the very last thing he wants to do.

Walking over to Buck's door with his heart inexplicably breaking, he hears Buck do this sort of laugh-sigh combination that Eddie's heard before. It's something Eddie does himself, a strange mix of self-consolation and for show, all rolled up into nervous release.

Eddie stops himself in his tracks, looks down at his phone, at Marisol's dozen-ish texts from the last twelve-or-so hours, and admonishes himself yet again for turning this huge moment of Buck's into something about himself. Only he can't seem to help but perpetuate the issue, because this somehow also feels very much about them; him and Buck.

Eddie is a selfish man, something his mother is still on a mission to make him acutely aware of, and he can't bear to leave without taking the thing he's wanted, he now recognises, since he walked into Buck's apartment around a half-hour back. After he'd gotten into his truck to escape the girlfriend he doesn't really want to be with and drove directly to the safest place he knows of on earth.

He feels only marginally better at being sure the closeness he craves is something Buck also wants.

As Eddie turns around, Buck's eyes shoot up at him with something threaded through his irises that looks a little like hope. Then it blooms over every brilliant feature of his face, and Eddie is overcome by two thoughts: The Abalone Cove-like knowledge that he thinks Buck is sort of beautiful, and a pressing desire to elicit this same look on Buck's face every single day for the rest of however many Eddie has left on this planet.

Fuck, he thinks retrospectively, walking towards the thing he now realises he wants more than anything he's ever wanted.

Buck.

Sliding his phone inside the back pocket of his jeans because he wants both hands for this, Eddie says, “C’mere,” beckoning his best friend over to him while thinking of Neodymium magnets Buck told him and Chris about a while back when Chris was working on that science project about gravity and other natural forces.

Buck is laughing as Eddie reiterates, saying, “Come here,” and Eddie takes and takes and takes, claiming another gift from Buck, one of much needed joviality, as he wills himself to double-down on the best buddy of it all because, yet again, he knows it's the right thing to do.

He reaches for Buck like a dying plant strains its leaves towards the sun, pulling Buck into him just as Buck reaches right back.

Eddie doesn't want to hug Buck. He wants to hold him. He knows he can't do that though, so reluctantly gives Buck's back a manly pat instead as he angles his head away from his friend in a move that feels entirely fucking wrong in each and every fibre of his being.

Cristo, Eddie is fucked.

What has happened here tonight?

Despite feeling like he's losing his mind, Eddie can't let go of Buck just yet. Forcing his body back, his hand moves of its own volition and finds its way home to the curve of Buck's shoulder, thumb being sucked into the dip beneath Buck's collar bone, and Eddie thinks of Neodymium magnets again.

He grins at Buck, and Buck smiles back with that same look of hope in his blue, blue eyes again, albeit a bit more distant now. And Eddie aches to give that hope to him, and more, because it somehow feels like it'd be the most natural thing in the world to do. Except he can't give Buck anything more than this. Not when Tommy presumably kissed Buck and Buck must've kissed Tommy back. Not when Eddie doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

Despite what his mother tells him, some of which he knows to be true, Eddie isn't that selfish.

He pulls back to a safer distance, regardless of how it feels like the exact opposite, the reason he can't drag his hand away from Buck's person entirely, and swallows everything back down.

He points at Buck and says, “Call Tommy,” in a voice that sounds worryingly insincere to his ears.

After that, there is no way on earth, nor in heaven or hell, that he can look at Buck for longer than the single second he dares to allow himself, so he hightails it out of there before anything else can transpire in his chest, like the coward that he is.

He wonders for the entirety of the drive home about the sigh he heard leave Buck's lips as Eddie opened the loft door and left with the wish of a kiss on his own.

Later on, with Marisol, after mutually agreeing to dial their relationship back to the start, he fucks her in his bed.

Eddie has another one of those imaginary out of body experiences as her thin, cold fingers roam his body and he tries not to think about circuit boards from high school science classes.

Set to zero. Forced-response.

Far from enjoyable, it doesn't feel a bit like the first couple of times they had sex, and he has to envisage boxes as he breathes his way through every excruciating part of it, his face a plastic mask of a smile wherever appropriate, making all the right sounds and all the right moves at what are hopefully all the right times and places.

Afterwards, with Marisol delicately snoring away and Eddie using the sound to keep time for his wrestled-down heartbeat, he looks away from the mass of dark hair piled on his chest to watch hers rise and fall; slowly, easily; the epitome of calm in her dreams.

He hopes, then, to fall asleep and dream of buying an axe so he can start chopping down trees and get himself the fuck out of the deep, dark forest he's only just noticed he's been living in his entire fucking life.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to come leave me some kudos and maybe even a comment ❤️

#buddie #buddie fic #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #eddie pov #angst #feelings realization #911 fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #queer fic #queer writer #qww writes #queerweewoo

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itsnotzka · 1 month ago

Text

Hi diddly ho!

This is just a small, simple piece. It was originally meant to be a bonus chapter for another story of mine, but somewhere along the way (two damn years later lol), I changed my mind 😌 But I finished it, thanks to that!

No warnings, no spoilers.

Read the whole thing on Ao3:

(or here, under the cut ↓)

“I have no idea how you do it,” she murmurs, her voice seems to smooth away the edges of my wandering thoughts.“When you make coffee, it tastes different.”

The cold floor bites at my bare feet, a contrast to the warmth coiling up from her steaming mug. Morning sunlight spills through the window in golden ribbons, dust motes drifting lazily in their glow. A distant car horn blares once, then again. A dog barks. The coffee machine clicks off. The tiles are freezing. Why am I barefoot? I don’t like being barefoot.

“Different?” I echo, dragging my focus back to her. “Different how?”

Her lips curl downward in a small, almost imperceptible frown as she taps her chin, lost in thought.

I notice she’s wearing my shirt. It hangs loosely on her, and the dark fabric seems to deepen the color of her eyes—like the sky just before a storm. I wonder, does she choose my shirts because she likes them, or simply because she knows I do?

What did she really mean by ‘different’?

Another bark, this time louder. That’s the neighbor’s dog, isn’t it? The one that doesn’t like me. Why doesn’t she like me? I tried to be nice. I even offered treats once. Perhaps she senses I don’t quite belong here. Somehow, even in this familiar neighborhood, I can’t shake the feeling of being an outsider.

“Different,” she repeats with a chuckle, then hums as she takes a slow sip. “Good different. Makes me want to make you make me coffee every day.”

I laugh at her words. Her eyes twinkle over the rim of the mug like little galaxies caught in the morning light. Wasn’t I meant to take out the trash? My feet protest the cold floor with every step, and the pale tiles shimmer in the morning light. I pause as the chill reminds me to find my socks. Did I even turn on the heating?

I should remember about the trash.

Galaxies. They’re still staring at me.

“Oh?” I drag out a chair to sit in front of her.

I freeze before I do. Coffee. I had a cup of coffee, too. I glance around the kitchen.

Why do I always lose my coffee?

The dog barks once more. Does she sense I’m thinking about her? Why exactly doesn’t that dog like me? Other dogs don’t mind me. Maybe it’s the neighbors. Maybe it’s because I blocked their car once. I apologized, didn’t I? Does a sincere apology not count for anything these days? Maybe I should’ve brought them cookies. Do they even like cookies? What if they’re allergic?

“Looking for this?” Her voice suddenly draws me back.

I blink, focusing again on the present.

She nods toward the coffee machine. Right next to it, my mug sits, steam curling from its surface like a smug little specter.

Logical, isn’t it?

I exhale sharply. “Right! Thank you,” I laugh, reaching for ir. “Sneaky little devil, always hides from me.”

“For sure! Remember to never underestimate the power of a cup of coffee, hun!”

I tip the mug a little too much. Coffee spills over the edge, splattering onto the cold tile, some onto my bare feet. I groan, doubly annoyed—first at the mess, then at my lack of socks. Though maybe it’s for the best. Wet socks are a special kind of hell.

Like the one reserved for people who talk in theaters.

The stain spreads, seeping into the grout like ink bleeding across a page. A Rorschach test in shades of caffeine. What does it look like? A bird? No, a dog. Neighbor’s dog. Maybe the vague outline of some country. If I tilt my head—

I step forward and plant my foot directly in the spill. Warm liquid squelches against my skin.

Fantastic.

With a sharp exhale, I set my mug down and grab a paper towel, swiping at the floor in a few quick motions.

Somewhere in the background, she hums. A soft melody, half-formed, like a thought slipping just out of reach. I know that song. I know it, don’t I? What is it? It’s on the tip of my tongue. No, not my tongue—my brain . Or maybe both. Can something even be on the tip of your brain?

I crumple the paper towel and move to toss it. The trash can groans open. It’s full.

Of course it is.

Remember. The damn. Trash!

With a sigh, I lower myself onto the chair across from her. She watches me over the rim of her mug, one brow slightly raised. That look—amused, but knowing.

She reaches for my hand, pats it gently. Her skin is warm, smooth against mine. Then, still humming, she stands and drifts toward the counter.

Right. My damn coffee.

I sigh again. She just smiles, winking.

Apparently, it’s one of those days, where everything seems to slip away.

"Isn't that yours?" She sets the mug in front of me.

I offer a tired, bitter smile but only nod, wrapping my fingers around the warmth.

I take a sip—too hot. It burns my tongue just enough to be annoying, and I don’t react fast enough to stop it. That’ll bother me all day. Or five minutes. Hard to tell.

She’s still humming. I know that song. I should ask, but I don’t. I don’t know why.

I want to figure it out on my own.

The air smells like coffee and sunlight. Can sunlight have a smell? Not really. But I swear it does. Warm, golden, like something familiar, something comforting. Maybe it’s just dust warming up in the beams of light. Isn’t it too much dust, though? I should clean the apartment.

Didn’t we just clean?

‘Just’ is an exaggeration, I realize. It was over a week ago.

She shifts in her seat, pulling her legs up, knees to her chest, mug cradled between both hands. She always holds her coffee like that. I wonder if it’s for warmth or just a habit. I wonder if she even notices she does it.

“What?” she asks, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“What?” I echo.

“You’re staring with that look of yours. Like a deer in the headlights.”

Oh. I am.

“I—” I start, but the words don’t show up. They scatter before they reach my tongue.

I lift my coffee again. Cooling now, but still warm.

“Just… admiring the view,” I say, half-joking. Except it isn’t a joke at all.

She snorts, shaking her head. "Smooth."

A flicker of a smirk, barely there before she hides it behind the rim of her mug. The shirt, my shirt, slips off one shoulder as she shifts, and just like that, my thoughts derail completely.

The way fabric folds. The way collarbones look in morning light. The asymmetry of it all. One side bare, the other covered. Isn’t asymmetry more interesting? Almost symmetrical but not quite—does that make something more beautiful? Or unsettling? And why? I should Google that later.

I wanted to figure out something else, didn’t I?

What was it?

Oh. Right. The song.

"What are you humming?" I ask before I think.

She blinks. "Huh?"

"The song. You’ve been humming it for the last five minutes."

Or longer?

"Have I?" A pause, then a soft chuckle. "No idea."

I swallow hard. No, no, no.

That kills me. My whole body protests the lack of an answer. Now that I know she doesn’t know, it starts driving me insane.

It’s stuck in my head now—the melody I know but can’t name.

Another sip of coffee. The warmth is nice. Comforting. It does taste good.

She tilts her head, watching me. “You okay?”

I nod. A little too fast. A little too mindlessly. “Yeah. Why?”

“You just…” Her gaze softens. “You look like you’re somewhere else.”

I chew on that. She’s not wrong. I’m always somewhere else. And right here. And nowhere, all at once. Like my brain is a crowded room with too many conversations happening at the same time, and I can only half-listen to each one. Too many things to think about, and the seconds are so short.

I shake my head, as if that’ll clear it. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Loaded question. About everything and nothing all at once—the smell of the air, the half-remembered song stuck in my head, the chill of the tiles beneath me, the existential dread of forgotten Google searches. The fact that I still haven’t taken out the trash. How my tongue still tingles from the too-hot coffee.

How do I even explain that? It’s physically impossible.

So I just shrug. “Just… stuff.”

She laughs—quiet but knowing. Her fingers brush against mine. “That’s a dangerous pastime, isn’t it?”

I exhale a small laugh through my nose.

She reaches across, tracing slow circles over my knuckles with her thumb. Soft. Warm. The noise in my head doesn’t stop, not entirely, but it dims it, like a radio turned down instead of off.

My coffee is the perfect temperature now, that fleeting sweet spot between scalding and lukewarm. I savor it.

Then—like a stray lightning bolt—clarity strikes.

“Hurry, Hurry.”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“The song,” I say, triumphant. “It’s ‘Hurry, Hurry’. Air Traffic Controller, isn’t it?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “It is?”

I nod, grinning.

Her eyebrows lift in surprise, then she lets out a soft laugh. "Oh, yeah... I guess so. I’d never know! Must’ve heard that one from you the other day."

I exhale, relieved. The damn itch in my brain is soothed. The mystery is solved. No more nagging sensation, no more half-formed thought lurking just out of reach. A small, ridiculous victory, but still—a victory.

The world outside still stirs. Another honk, a door slamming, the faint murmur of a passing conversation. The neighbor’s dog, ever-vigilant, yaps twice, as if to remind me she’s still there. Still hating me.

I’m a cat person, anyway.

I take another sip of coffee, stretching out the moment of this unexpected peace.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. The moments in between, the ones that don’t shout for attention but still matter. I should focus on that. The way coffee tastes in the morning. The way her voice lingers in my head even after she’s stopped speaking. The way she looks in my shirts. The way days feel softer with her in them. The way she never judges me.

Well, except for the occasional muffled laugh when I bump into a doorframe. Or that slight flicker of disapproval in her eyes when she realizes I’ve forgotten to eat.

I should tell her that. Not now, but sometime.

She shifts, stretching her legs out under the table until her toes brush against my foot. A small, absent-minded thing, but it makes me smile.

“Yeesh!” She gasps, jerking back. Your feet are freezing!”

“Are they?” I chuckle, wiggling my toes. Or trying to, at least. I can barely feel them. “Didn’t notice.”

She shoots me a knowing look, equal parts unimpressed and amused. Maybe she can read my mind? Some of it, at least.

Then, with a clink, she sets her coffee down and leans in, propping an elbow on the table.

“Oh, honey, before I forget,” she glances at me. “Did you remember to take out the trash? It’s been full for two days now.”

Shit.

#duskwood #duskwood fanfic #Jake's POV #fanfiction #duskwood jake #writers on tumblr #jake duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake x mc

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kay-elle-cee · 6 months ago

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@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 5 || 1097 Words || Read on Ao3 —

10 June 1978

She’s sitting in the shade of a large tree on the Hogwarts’ grounds, her back propped against its bark as James approaches her, a tentative smile on his face.

“So…what did you think?”

Lily groans, tilting her head back and closing her eyes as she feels him take a seat next to her. The grass is soft and warm beneath them, a nice June breeze rustling the leaves above that cover them with shade.

“I revised the most for Arithmancy but after sitting the exam, I’m still shaky on it. I don’t think I did too poorly, but I can kiss an O goodbye.”

“I’m sure it went alright,” he says, nudging her shoulder. “You likely did better than I did.”

She looks up at him, exasperated. “You say that, but you have this infuriating ability to breeze through things with half the amount of studying, you know.”

Though he’s the subject of her fleeting ire, he can’t help but grin as he takes in how lovely she looks, even in her frustration. He bends down to kiss her nose and dodges a swat with a laugh.

“Even if it’s not an O, I’m sure one extra Exceeds Expectations won’t be the be-all, end-all of your illustrious future Ministry career.” Beside him, Lily heaves another sigh as she rests her head on his shoulder, and it compels him to offer further comfort. “Me? I’m expecting Os for Transfig and Charms, but I’m pretty certain I got my rebellions and uprisings mixed up in History of Magic. I’m hoping to scrape by with an A.”

“You’ve got the name though,” comes her light lamentation. “Even with less-than-stellar N.E.W.T.s, everyone will clamber to hire a Potter—”

“I think you overestimate the sway of that name outside the potions sphere—”

“Who on earth wants an Evans?”

James disturbs her resting head to wrap an arm around her and pull her closer to his side. “Well I do, for one. Maybe I haven’t been the clearest—”

Lily’s laugh interrupts him, green eyes glittering with the compliment as they roll at his profession. “Can you just let me stress about my future a bit without swooping in and making love confessions? I was just saying, with everything going on out there—the war, the anti-muggleborn sentiment—I just…want to do the best I can, yeah?” She picks at a blade of grass beside her, retreating into her mind a bit. “I mean, I might not even apply for that position. Not with our other offer. But I want it to be on the table. And I want to know that I know this stuff.”

“Well, Lil, tests aren’t really the measure of that.”

She fixes him with a slightly bemused look. “That’s exactly what they are, actually.”

He brushes her (very correct, thank you very much) statement away with a shooing motion and shakes his head. “So you’ve got some numbers wrong on a test. For whatever you’re looking at doing next—potions regulation or, you know…fighting—you know what you’re doing. A letter difference on one stupid test doesn’t define whether you ‘know’ that.” He punctuates this impassioned speech by tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re brilliant, and I know that. And I reckon anyone who spends five minutes talking to you will, too.”

Her face is warm, a blush burning in her cheeks under James’ praise. She rests her head on his shoulder again, nestling in closer to him as she looks out at the other students milling around on the lawn. How many of them have a clear direction of their lives once they leave this place? How many of them are able to continue as they are—unbothered and untouched by a war that plagues her every thought of ‘next’?

The results of her N.E.W.T.s feel like the most pressing thing in the world, until they don’t. Until she remembers an invitation to an organization that operates in secret, that’s working to fight the wickedness that is the core reason her future is in such flux. But even that, as tempting an invitation as it is, feels unfair at times—insulting. Why shouldn’t she get to lead the life she’d once envisioned? Graduating and working with potions, or working for the Ministry, or any host of normal, non-combative options. The anger of injustice simmers in her veins—the unfairness of it all, the exhaustion that comes with it.

“Do you ever just think of running away?”

The musing slips out without intention, and her stomach clenches. She’s no coward, and she doesn’t expect James to think of her as one, but it’s a question she can’t take back.

His answer comes after a pause: light, like the June breeze around them. “Not really, but I can see the appeal.”

Her worries ease, and she traces idle shapes on the arm that’s around her. “I haven’t thought about it seriously. Not since I was about fifteen and fighting something awful with my sister, and even then it was very fleeting.”

“Where would we go?”

The question catches her off guard and she cranes her neck to look up at him. “What?”

“If we just packed up and ran, where would we go? No N.E.W.T.s needed.”

Her heart flutters. Always willing to go along with a distraction (sometimes to a fault), it’s one of the things she loves about him.

“I’d like to travel,” she starts, turning to look back out at the lawn. “I haven’t really gotten to do that before. But realistically—”

“Why isn’t traveling realistic?”

“It costs money, James.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m coming with you, remember?”

Lily opens her mouth to say something, and he twines his fingers with hers, giving her hand a squeeze.

“You may have to help with the currency conversion, but it’s not an issue. Now, where would we travel?”

It takes a moment for her to find her voice, her lips twitching into a smile. She won’t argue with him too much over a hypothetical, though she knows his offer is anything but. “I’ve been to Spain once, but I’d like to see Paris. Maybe Italy—ooh, Iceland!”

The excitement of her imaginary itinerary has James chuckling as he leans down and places a kiss on her grinning lips. “Sounds great. Just…pack and tell me when we’re off.”

She leans in for another kiss, savoring him and this moment as a brief one of clarity amidst the chaos, thankful for the boy who can indulge her in her silly distractions.

#a life with you #jily #jilytober #jilytober2024 #jilytoberfest2024 #jple #james potter #lily evans

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leesielex · 3 months ago

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The Last Holiday

Chapter 3: A Leap of Faith

Summary: Jon's plans continued to get ruined by Dany's appearance and his guests infatuation with the mysterious woman, he finds he minds less and less.

Preview: “Well, Congressman-”

“Wyman.”

“Wyman. I find the future too depressing to think about.” She smirked, raising her glass to her red lips, swallowing down the truth that threatened to choke her in the moment.

Jon couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes dulled just slightly, though she tried to hide it. He wondered what she could have to be depressed about or if she was merely afraid she would be found out about whatever it was she was really doing there. Before he could think more on it, Maderly was speaking again.

“I would love to hear more about it. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Wait, Wyman,” Jon said. “We have plans tomorrow. We are supposed to take a tour of the Wall.”

It was an hour drive away, but one of the most exquisite and impressive sights in all of Westeros. And it was secluded, which would give them more ample opportunity to discuss business away from prying eyes.

“What is at the Wall besides ice?” Tyrion asked.

Jon’s face flushed with ire. “I arranged a special group for all of us, remember? It will take us to the top, we will tour Castle Black and the museum there. That’s what we are doing tomorrow.”

Daenerys simply sat there until he finished, then turned to Congressman Manderly.

“Well, Wyman, I’m going base jumping tomorrow.”

The entire table perked up at that, including Joffrey, while Jon began to deflate as he watched the interest on everyone else’s faces.

“Really?” Robb said, eyes alight with amusement, as Sansa gasped next to him.

“You’re kidding,” Manderly added.

“Base-jumping? Why?” Tyrion asked, intrigued by her unusual response. He did always love a riddle and Dany certainly fit the criteria.

“Well, I hear it is a freeing and exhilarating experience, according to the brochure at least.”

“And where are you base-jumping from?”

Jon’s blood turned as cold as the Lands of Always Winter, his instincts knowing the answer before it left her plump lips.

“Funny you should ask.” She grinned, turning to look directly at Jon with one bushy brow raised. “It’s at the Wall.”

Click here to read on AO3

#jonerys #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #fanfic #ao3 #jon x dany #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fanfiction #jonerys moodboard #snowxstormworld #Jonerys winter wonderland 2024 #Day 5: cheers to the New Year #modern AU #the last holiday AU

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climbthemountain2020 · 6 months ago

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Still Beautiful Things

Happy Eris Week! @erisweekofficial

It's my very first Eris Week, and I have something for every single day! As always, thank you for the beta reads @cauldronblssd @witch-and-her-witcher

Eris Week Day 1: Bonds | Bargains | Ao3

[After a horrible morning, young Eris makes a bargain with the person he trusts most in the world.]

And I've been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

And I think you should come live with

Me and we can be pirates

Then you won't have to cry

Or hide in the closet

And just like a folk song

Our love will be passed on

“Eris?”

He heard her whispered voice before he saw her, and he let out a breath he'd been holding. He'd been afraid it was his father’s guard looking for him; perhaps Beron had decided that his punishment hadn't been enough. The terror in his chest hadn't quite subsided yet. He took a deep breath to try and steady his pounding heart.

“Eris,” she hissed out, her voice still quiet in his chambers. He could see her through the cross hatches of the door, her dark hair pulled back in a white bow and swishing down her back as she trotted over to look under his bed on quiet feet.

It wasn't a secret what happened in the Forest House–not to the Lady of Autumn, and not to the heir either.

“I'm here, Aida.” He kept his voice low, but cracked the wicker closet door open enough to give an invitation.

Nearly immediately, two dark eyes framed by long lashes were swimming in his vision as she popped her head through the door.

“Hi.” She pulled the rest of her body in, closing the door tightly behind them so the low light flickered in on them in miniscule squares, a checked pattern dotting her pale skin.

“Hi.”

“How'd you know?”

Aida smiled sadly, her rounded cheeks shifting with the movement. “My mother.”

Aida Franc’s mother was one of the court ladies of Autumn, and his mother's best friend. Of course she'd already known what was happening today, likely having already seen his mother with the gash along her arm. Hopefully, she'd healed it. Hopefully, he'd bought her time when he'd drawn Beron’s ire to himself.

“I told him to leave her alone,” Eris ground out, the venom and hatred barely overcoming the exhaustion in his voice. Beron would call this weakness, and he’d be right. Aida grabbed his arm and he winced, her brown eyes widening and then narrowing at his reaction.

“I hate him, Eris.” She spoke too loudly for the space they were in and Eris startled, putting a finger to her lips, cringing when he saw the blood still wet on his hand.

“You must be careful. If anyone ever heard you…”

Aida shook her head, her loose curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I don't care.” She lowered her voice at his frantic eyes. “I don't, Eris. What he does to you, to your mother, is wrong.”

To that, he had nothing to say. She was right, and he was embarrassed, the shame as hot as the big, fat tears beginning to slip down his face. He was nine; he knew he shouldn't cry like a baby any more. Beron had done everything he could and more to break him of the habit, but once they’d begun, he couldn’t stop them.

He wiped violently at the tears, his vision blurring before he remembered too late that the hand he’d wiped with was still covered in.

“Oh, come here.” Aida ripped the fabric of her skirt, tearing a sheet of it to wipe gently at his face.

“Your mother's going to have your hide for that,” he tried to joke, but the crack in his voice gave him away.

She scoffed. “She'll be with your mother well into the night. I doubt she'll notice.”

Their mothers were thick as thieves, having met in court when they were both new to the Forest House and immediately taking a liking to each other. Both married young, both from noble houses, and both pregnant with their first children, they'd become fast friends. Eris and Aida had been born within weeks of each other, and they had been tied at the hip since.

The difference between them, of course, was that Aida’s father loved her mother, dearly, deeply, and in the most profound way that a fae could love another: they were mates. Aida had been born from a union of love, not whatever cruel fate had bound Eris' parents together out of spite. Aida loved to tell Eris the story–her father had been visiting a foreign court on his own father's behalf when he'd stumbled–literally stumbled–into a rock hewn wall upon seeing her mother. He described her as a sparkling gem hidden in a mountain, and when her dazzling eyes had turned on him, the bond had snapped for them both. It was mere weeks before they were back in Autumn, and only months more before they were joyfully expecting Aida.

Perhaps that's why Aida always seemed to glow, to radiate joy, even when she was wracked with anger. She had been wanted, a treasure given from true love. Eris was only an heir, a means to an end, no love to be found between his mother and father.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

The words seemed to echo in the chamber of the closet, stretching out endlessly in the darkness.

“All the time. But there's nowhere to go.” He winced as she touched the cloth to his bleeding brow, then began working on his arm.

“What if I went with you?”

He'd thought about leaving, of course. Nearly every night as he tried to sleep, tried to convince himself that the nightmares at night were better than the ones he faced during the day.

He imagined running into the red and orange woods, the mists at his heels as he tore away into Prythian. But he'd never dared to dream that Aida might come, too.

“You couldn't, your parents–”

“Would find me again if we went to Night. You know I have family there.” She hadn’t met his eyes, but these weren’t answers that she was coming up with on the spot. Eris knew Aida, and that meant he could tell she’d thought this through.

His words were so quiet, just a whisper on his lips, that she wouldn’t have heard if she hadn’t been inches away. “They'd kill us if we were caught.”

“If we were caught.” Her brown eyes sparkled when she finally looked at him, the endless depths nearly black and twinkling with the stars of galaxies within them.

He considered. What if they left together? What of his mother? Would Beron kill her? Would he kill Aida’s parents if he pieced together how they'd fled? He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I can practically hear your thoughts spinning. It doesn't have to be today, Eris. Or even this year. We have all the time in the world.”

The thought calmed him.

“You would leave with me? Truly?” Even in the sparse light, he could see her wide grin stretching across her face.

“Of course, Eris. You're my best friend.” He couldn't help but smile back. She was his best friend, too–the first and only person he'd ever loved apart from his mother.

Aida tore another strip from her skirts, then paused, taking in Eris' bleeding palm.

“Here.” She gestured in the air, and was suddenly holding a knife with a jeweled hilt.

“You're getting better at that.”

She smiled wickedly. “I've been practicing stealing from the kitchens.”

He gasped when she moved her grip from the hilt to the blade, slicing a gash down her own palm then pressing it to his, intertwining their fingers tightly.

“I swear to you, Eris, we'll leave here one day. Somewhere your father won't find us. You and me.”

He could feel her warm blood leaking down his wrist where their hands had clasped, her dark determined eyes fixed on him. He felt the sharp sting of magic on his palm.

The wild grin hadn’t left her face as she pulled back and wiped at their palms, the wounds already nearly healed.

There, where the scars were, were matching identical marks. The skin was pink and delicate, smoothing around it before his very eyes, but it held a definite shape.

In both their palms was a star within a maple leaf, small enough to look like the remnants of a scraped hand acquired while playing.

He looked at her in the low, mottled light, her features bright and lovely even in the dark, and he thought about a life away from here. A life of adventure and new discoveries. A life with his best friend.

“You and me,” he echoed quietly, as her hand found his again.

The events of the morning were forgotten in the back of his mind, her hand back in his all that mattered.

Taglist for the week (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

@cauldronblssd @witch-and-her-witcher @chunkypossum @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @the-darkestminds

#erisweek2024 #my very first!#eris x oc #eris vanserra #acotar fic #👑

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recurringwriter · 18 days ago

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @demial4! thanks for thinking of me! went with this blog since it's the more main one aksdjgh

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

sitting at 109! i never saw that one coming, i'll be real

2) what's your total ao3 word count?

961,632!!!!!!! my goal is to get to 1 million words this year, should be doable [imagine a super flustered blushing emoji here]. i just need to work on any of the longfics i'm stuck in the middle of.

3) what are your top five fics by kudos?

this is why i chose this blog--it's all f/ire /emblem:

say it with swords - felix/sylain/bernadetta/annette this diminuendo only gets obscene - rodrigue/manuela (my best series) i know i never make this easy - arospec felix coming out to rodrigue is it bad enough to call it off - i think this is the rodrigue & annette fic Hate to let you down - this whopper is my first fic. the Eh-U

4) what fandoms do you write for?

mainly 🔥emb/lem and i'm now expanding into the finalled fantasy, which is a series i've never played myself. but i'm greatly enjoying learning about it! i also have 1 monster hunter fic and i'd love to write some weird crossover stuff for old book series no one has ever heard of.

5) do you respond to comments? why or why not?

i try!!! but sometimes i am overcome and don't know what to say, and then put it off, and then feel silly to answer months later and so i never do. trust me it haunts me. i'm always so grateful for comments.

6) what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

it was whatever doesn't make me stronger kills me which i hated for a long time (it's not bad just not to my taste). very ambiguous what happens to sylvain in that one. but then i added a chapter because my beloved fave band released a new album. i still have to add an end proper. since then it's probably anything in the divorce au where i explained the absence of felix's mom. SORRY i just remembered I love you, sincerely, yours truly, yours truly. weird time travel sci-fi sylvain/ingrid.

7) what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

this is really hard because i like open endings that don't feel like endings, or softly happy endings, so they all feel 'quieter' than i might imagine most happy ends. but nothing is like it was, there's nobody here but us (eh-u, rodrigue introducing felix to manuela) is really positive. then there's Rodfic #50: Something in Which to Believe, which i wrote to cheer myself up. rodrigue/reader.

8) do you get hate on fics?

i had the ghost of anne rice comment on a fic but otherwise people have been extremely nice! i'm very grateful.

9) do you write smut?

😏 i actually was writing smut when i was tagged in this

10) do you write crossovers?

yessss i love crossovers!!!! i don't typically do very long ones, they're sort of like the pilot episode of a longer series that never gets aired. but i thoroughly enjoy them.

11) have you ever had a fic stolen?

okay so i don't Believe it was stolen. but i was browsing tags and saw something with Extremely Similar concept to one of my fics and was like. the likelihood that this is stolen is So Low because my fic has under 90 hits. but i was Shocked when i read it.

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

not at this point!

13) have you ever cowritten a fic before?

sort of! i have two co-written fics in progress both are smut and very often share as i write with a friend or friends!

14) what's your all time favourite ship?

suuper hard question because i throw any characters i can into the brig together to see what happens. but probably Rodriguela has the highest spot for being the first one i acted insane about.

15) what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i'm sort of doubtful i'll ever finish wildfire just because it keeps growing. but i'd love to. my felicity-adopts-sephiroth au has also hit an unfortunate wall and i lost all momentum, but i would really like to finish that one.

16) what are your writing strengths?

i have a huge ego so we could be here all day. dialogue, fight scenes, humour are my favourites though.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

describing um. clothing. aaaaaaaaaaaa or deciding what characters should eat. don't make me!!! go read a redwall or something if you want food

18) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i'd probably say 'he said in french that they should go see the hockey match' rather than write out the actual phrase. but if it were something simple i might take a crack at it. i've used fictional words in wildfire now.

19) first fandom you wrote for?

f/ire e/mblem again. it was the pandemic, i'd just gotten through claude's route, and felix was so silly. so i started the eh-u

20) favourite fic you've ever written?

this is impossible to answer because i love so many. but here's my first curling fic: steal of two

i'll tag @omgkalyppso @umbralstars @lumeha

#tag games #recurring writings #thanks for tagging me!!#long post

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softagenda · 1 year ago

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call the hounds (leander)

leander x reader(f)

au - leander takes care of a pest (possessive behavior)

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

Leander stood at the entrance of the alley, one hand braced on his hip. Green, faintly glowing eyes surveyed the scene, taking in the knife, the merc with his hand out, and undoubtedly the ire writ large on your face. With a clap of his hands, he approached and smiled charmingly. To you, he asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Tomcat here can’t take a fight nor a hint, apparently.”

_____________________________________________

“There’s a pub in Lowtown - the Dregs and Pegs - stocks a perfect ale for an evening like this. Let me buy you a drink.”

You swerved through the crowd and headed toward the Wick, one hand hovering by the dagger strapped to your hip. “Not interested.”

“C’mon, I promise it’ll be worth your while! Who can turn down a free drink?”

“Me.” Especially when you’re literally heading toward one right now. Leander typically plied you with drinks every night just to keep you from retreating to your room and passing out for the night.

Stumbling along at your heels, the would-be mercenary laughed. “Playing hard to get, I like it.”

The dagger’s handle slipped into your hand without thinking, your thumb rubbing the pommel. “Not playing.”

“Hey, straight shooter, I like that too.”

Patience thinning underneath the muggy heat of the night, you spun into an alley and upped the pace of your strides, close enough to the Wick that you’d rather lose him in the pub than on the street. Though the Wick was far from choosy with its clientele, mercenaries not affiliated with the Bloodhounds tended to steer clear.

“So you’re not interested in the Dregs - you will find me more than accommodating to your tastes. Shall we head to your usual haunt?”

Fuck this. At the next corner, you turned on your heel and forced him against the wall, dagger out and pressed to his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed against the blade. “How about you be ‘more than accommodating’ to my knife and choke on it?”

The mercenary - Foland something, you couldn’t be bothered to remember - grinned winsomely, his hands raised in surrender. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and perhaps that was the root of the problem. Curly blond hair, brown eyes, full mouth. In decent shape with quality armor, even if that pack of wildewolves had nearly made a particularly meaty dog treat out of him in the wastes.

You’d think twice before saving a random merc’s ass in the future.

“I know I should be frightened right now, and I am, but I must admit,” the merc said under his breath, leering down at you, “but I find this very attractive. Whatever will you do with me?” His head tipped back, pushing his neck closer to the edge of the blade.

He thought this was a fucking game. You pictured it for a moment, but ultimately decided lugging his corpse out of the city would be more hassle than it was worth.

“I can cut this neck or the other one. Take your pick.”

“The other - “ He froze, his flirty smile falling. An entire conversation seemed to play out across his face, and you couldn’t imagine how he’d managed in Eridia with a face that easy to read and that irresistible to a fist. Then the smirk returned. “Oh, I see.”

“You really don’t.”

“You’re into knife play, yes?” He reached up as if to grab your arm.

“For fuck’s sake - “

“Need a hand?”

Both of you froze at the new voice, accompanied by a long shadow at the mouth of the alley. You turned to look and felt a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

“Tomcat here can’t take a fight nor a hint, apparently.”

“That’s - there were three of them, beautiful, I’m only one man - “

“My childhood sword cut down wildewolves.”

The merc flushed around the collar but changed tact at top speed. “You have trained since childhood? That would explain it. As I said on our way back to town, your swordsmanship is stunning - practically a work of art, when considering your attractive physique.”

You shared a weary look with Leander, shoulders sagging a little.

It’d been a long day. You’d ventured out to the wastes in the first place for a job - deliver the corpse of the yellow-crowned serpent to the apothecary. Rumors of the creature terrorizing travelers arriving in the eastern gate had enticed the apothecary enough to put out a sizable bounty.

You’d arrived, waited in the blistering sun until the serpent had left its cave, only to discover that the serpent was, in fact, a naga. It had taken you nearly an hour to finish off the ferocious creature and another hour to drag the body and your own back to the city before the mists returned.

On the way, you’d rescued this cheerful asshole from his well-deserved mauling by wolf, who had promptly followed you through the city, to the apothecary, and now to the doorstep of the Wet Wick.

Leander held your gaze for a moment, completely ignoring the idiot chattering away against your knife at his throat. A shiver slipped down your back, your stomach tightening. “Well, I can’t hold that against him,” he finally said, his eyes still lingering on your face. “You’re gorgeous in the storm of battle. Breathtaking.”

You glanced away, cheeks burning. “... enough of that.”

“Never,” he said.

A moment of silence passed, hanging strangely heavy in the air.

Then Leander stepped closer, his hand brushing against the small of your back. He leaned down to your ear and said, so close you felt his words across the rim of your ear, “I’ll take care of this. Meet me at our usual booth?”

Goosebumps spiraled down your neck. Heart thumping faster, you answered with a quick jerk of your head. Fighting to ignore the heat stirring in your blood at his proximity, you withdrew the dagger and returned it to the holster at your hip.

“Are we heading in for that drink now?” The merc asked, beaming as though he had won a prize.

“Not you.” Brushing past Leander, your stomach flipping when his hand pressed against your back until the final moment you stepped out of reach, you added, “But I’m sure Leander will be ‘more than accommodating to your tastes.””

“That’s what I’m known for!” Leander echoed cheerfully. There’s a scuffle of boots on stone and a thud. When you glanced over your shoulder, the merc was pinned to the alley wall with a companionable hand on his shoulder. “Hold on there, stranger. Let’s get acquainted, shall we?”

You met his gaze one last time before turning the corner. Dark promises echoed back to you under the sweep of lashes.

Then the Wick welcomed you in a clamor of music and laughter, a shroud of beer and bodies pressed together, and the cozy feel of firelight.

_____________________________________________

Once she had turned the corner, Leander released a long, slow breath. He dropped the man’s shoulder and stepped back, his arms crossing over his chest. Holding the smile in place, he asked, “New to Eridia?”

Now that she was out of sight (and out of reach), the other man shrugged and said, “Three days in town. Almost thought it was a wasted journey, but….” his gaze lingered on the mouth of the alley. “Perhaps I’ve just found a reason to say, give the famous city another chance, eh?”

Leander’s hands curled into fists. “Well, Eridia’s not the easiest place to live nor to travel to. Did you come by caravan, or with family?”

“Grain merchant gave me a ride for most of the trip. You wouldn’t believe the places I had to pull straw out of,” he joked, holding out his hand. “Foland, lone merc looking for work.”

Alone. Leander twisted the ring on his middle finger before shaking his hand. The metal warmed on contact. No magic to speak of, nothing latent. “Lone merc, huh? I remember those days. Not easy getting a start here in Eridia.” Thinking back to your words, he asked, “That wildewolves contract - you get that at the guild?”

“Yes. You seem well-informed,” the merc mused. “Are you a merc as well?”

Doesn’t recognize me. Fresh as a babe, then. “No,” he said, checking the position of the sun.

Night had fallen, cloaking the streets in shadow, illuminated in the pockets of light shed by windows and street lamps. Few people passed by on the street, and those who did kept their eyes focused on the road ahead, knowing better than to cast their gazes wandering.

They stood in the middle of the alley. The path to the right let out at the market if you were lucky - if not, one could spend days lost in the labyrinth of slums and abandoned houses lurking at the hill of the district. People got lost all the time.

“From the sounds of that conversation, you struggled with the wildewolves until she arrived. Did you split the profits?”

“I intend to - I’m a man of honor, after all” the merc glanced back to the street, his brow furrowing, before he suddenly beamed. “I’ll pick up the reward from the guild and then - well, that’ll give me a good reason to contact her again, for a beer or maybe even a date.”

Wildewolves extermination, small money job, hasn’t collected. Guild officer’s unlikely to remember, and easily paid off regardless.

“No. I don’t think so,” Leander replied. His hand plucked the gold brooch from his vest and raised it to his mouth. He blew into the point, eliciting a high, hollow whistle. The emerald glowed, illuminating his face.

“Hm? What did you say?” The merc turned toward him. He stiffened, frowning. “Your eyes…what’s happening?”

Leander leaned his back against the opposite wall, pinning the brooch to its proper place. “Had we met under different circumstances, there might have been a place for you in my crew, but,” he paused, his gaze sweeping over the other man, “tomcats don’t heel easily, do they. Not like my hounds. Significant effort, little reward.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Months ago, I could’ve stomached another drooling over her. I had more patience then. After all, she’s… something special. Beautiful. Deadly. Genuine. My knife in the dark.” His thumb stroked the inside of his palm, remembering her touch. Soon, he would be holding her hand in that corner booth, tucked away from the world. He’d have her all to himself, however brief.

Footsteps echoed softly through the alley, the sound reverberating up the stone walls. Shadows appeared at the north and southern exit, cutting off the light from outside.

His hounds had arrived.

“No longer,” he finished.

The merc finally seemed aware that something was not right about his situation. His face paled at the men gathering in the alley, dressed in leather vambraces, armed to the teeth. He looked around toward the opposite end and found more approaching, their shadows looming on the walls, magnified into the silhouette of a great beast.

“Hold on a minute. Just, hold on,” he was saying, sweat forming at his brow as he raised his arms, palms out.

Leander stared at the right hand. Recalled that hand hovering in the air, grasping, seeking to touch what was not his to touch. The fury building inside him from that moment crested inside his chest.

His dagger punctured the skin and cut through the palm as smooth as butter. The blade notched into the stone behind the merc, pinning him in place. Leander held him there, staring hard into his face, the glow of his own eyes painting the merc’s face a sickly green.

Then, before the man could do so much as scream, he yanked the blade out with a twist of his wrist and stepped back as blood gushed from the wound.

Now, the merc screamed. He held his hand, face purpling under the force of his scream, eyes bulging, his whole body shaking. His knees crumpled and sent him to the ground. He huddled there, curled in on himself, whimpering and gasping.

One of his hounds glanced over his shoulder to the street corner before relaxing upon spotting the thin, green veil that shimmered in the air.

“What the fuck,” the merc shrieked, scrambling to ball up a cloth from his pocket to stem the bleeding. “My hand, you son of a bitch!”

Crouching on his heels, Leander mused, “Still yours, though. Had you touched her, I would have cut it off.” He watched the man scramble back from him, writhing on the ground like a worm. “Others haven’t been so lucky.”

“You’re crazy. You’re fuckin’ crazy.” The merc crawled toward the wall and pulled himself to his feet, tears flowing down his face. Those pretty blue eyes bulged in terror, his golden curls smeared in dirt and blood. “I’ll have you in chains before dawn for this. The city guardsmen, the Senobium - they will lock you up for the next century.”

At the mention of the citadel, a rumble passed through the surrounding men.

Leander rose to his feet and returned to the wall as his men inched closer and closer, teeth bared, their eyes shedding an eerie green light.

“Even angels are barred from their lofty tower,” he said, amused at the threat,“If you’re so sure of your welcome, how about a wager? If you can make it to the Senobium’s gates and convince them to let you inside before dawn, you live another day.”

The merc swallowed, his lips pinched together.

“We’ll even give you a head start. Aren’t I generous,” Leander said, his voice low, “tomcat?”

He watched, silent, as the merc shuffled toward the back of the alley where the cluster of men was thinnest, his gaze darting around fearfully. After a moment’s indecision, he shoved the closest man out of his way and sprinted down the alley, footsteps pounding the stone, panting.

A dozen eyes turned on him. Bodies tensed, knees bending, bracing.

Leander smirked.

“Hounds. Hunt.”

That night, as she dozed against his shoulder after three pints of beer, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, Leander closed his eyes and let his magic surge through the hounds, singing in their blood. He grinned under the weight of their euphoria - hearts pounding as they chased the cat through the city, their bloodlust pulsing, teeth sharpening with every nip at his heels.

Through the eyes of his hound, he watched as the merc stumbled and bled through the city, increasingly desperate, bleeding through a thousand wounds with every brush of tooth and claw. He watched as the man shook the gates of the Senobium, begging, pleading to be let in.

He watched as the guards ignored him. He watched as the man grew manic in his fear and despair, wailing and beating the iron bars, until an arrow pierced his shoulder.

He watched as the merc gave up and sprinted back toward the city walls, seeking the watchmen and finding his hounds at every corner, lurking in every shadow.

By the time he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward her room at the back of the Wick, another unfortunate soul was lost to the perils of the city.

Leander returned to the bar after resting her head on the pillow and bribed the bartender into opening up the kitchens and rousing the cooks in spite of the late hour.

His hounds had worked up an appetite.

_________________________________________

a/n: comments and likes are appreciated! thank you for reading!

#leander x mc #leander x reader #touchstarved fic #touchstarved imagines #touchstarved fanfic #touchstarved game

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meowmeow-motherfucker · 4 months ago

Text

Covenant- Chapter 15

Summary: With the five year anniversary of the attack on New York approaching, Odin and Fury come to the agreement that an arranged marriage between Asgard and Earth would show good faith toward all future interactions. When Odin refuses Jane’s candidacy, Agent Coulson is tasked with finding a suitable wife for the prince of Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x OFC Claire Fisher

Word count: 12k (prepare drinks and snackies as always)

Chapter warnings: Thor being a good bro, Loki being a jealous turd, arguing that turns into a fist fight, idiots in love, angst, Claire and Loki both being toxic, witchcraft, gummy bear murder

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtiggerv2 @icytrickster17 @mysteriouslyfriedjellyfish @lokislilkitten @justjoanne242 @amlocked @ddmariegirl @mags-04-blog @sharris8 @meepycheep @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @the-fantasy-loving-angel @jaidenhawke @smolvenger @ladymischief11 @huntress-artemiss

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Thanks for coming along on this journey with me! Buckle up gang :D

Read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51197938/chapters/129363727

If Ragna’s move into her new quarters upset her master, there was nothing to suggest it. As the days passed, Claire watched each member of the court like a hawk, determined to suss out who deserved her ire. So far no suspects had revealed themselves.

Things with Loki were as pleasant as a pit of vipers.

He kept sending her notes, which she kept feeding into the fire. How could he possibly think notes would fix the problem?

Asshat.

Claire hissed as the needle pricked her yet again, sucking the tip of her finger into her mouth with a curse. She was tired of this class, tired of pricking her fingers, tired of pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

Looking down at the doily in her hands, Claire had to admit she had done a good job. The pattern she’d made with her stitches was almost elegant. She wondered if Frigga would approve, if she would like it.

Passing thoughts of giving it to her as a gift made Claire feel warm. It would be a nice gesture, and it would even more nice to have a good relationship with the only maternal figure she had.

Then Claire remembered Frigga was just another cog in Asgard’s machine, and decided she wouldn’t be giving Frigga gifts any time soon.

~~~~

“Your Majesty?” a guard said softly as he approached the council table to address Loki.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I’ve been sent to fetch you, Your Highness. There’s a problem with Her Majesty the princess royal.”

“Problem?”

“Her instructor insists you come at once.”

“By the Norns,” Loki sighed heavily. “Very well. Father, have you any further need of me?”

“We can finish this session without further input from your office,” Odin replied. “Go tend to your wife.”

“Please excuse me, gentlemen,” he gathered his things and left, following the Einherjar from the council chambers. What has she done now?

Several minutes later he entered the lesson room in which Claire and her instructor were sequestered. He found a roomful of animated young girls talking amongst themselves and an incensed instructor lecturing his wife, who sat alone sulking in the corner.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked loudly, gaining the attention of all the room’s occupants.

“Your Majesty!” the instructor said eagerly. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry you had to be bothered with such a trivial matter.”

“Explain.” Loki demanded impatiently.

“Your wife thought it would be appropriate to embroider profanity on her doily,” The instructor sighed. “Your Highness, I understand your wife needs educating in this area, but this is hardly the sort of example a woman of her stature should be setting for the younger students.” She looked to an unrepentant Claire, and demanded she show Loki her finished doily with an imperious gesture. Rolling her eyes, Claire lifted the offensive doily for Loki to see. Despite his best efforts, a burst of laughter escaped him at the sight of it.

The outer edges of the doily had undoubtedly beautiful needlework, bordered with a dainty chain of roses and clusters of tulips. The lettering in the center, however, did not mesh with the respectable border. Claire had elected to proclaim her distaste for embroidery by stitching the words ‘This is fucking stupid’ in black, bold lettering.

The instructor looked from Claire’s doily to Loki, her face a mask of stoic anger. “You understand my unwillingness to allow her to return.”

“Indeed,” Loki sighed. It was funny, but highly inappropriate. “Come along darling.” He gestured for Claire to exit with him. The instructor crossed her arms over her chest, puffing up with self importance.

“Perhaps Her Majesty can return when she displays the appropriate remorse for her actions.” she suggested.

“Not fucking likely.” Claire scoffed, eliciting gasps from the young girls in the room.

“Claire, that’s enough,” Loki said. “Wait for me in the hall.”

“Why; so you can discuss how to best discipline me like a problem child? No!”

“Claire-”

“You know I’m right!” Claire accused Loki. “You know this is a bullshit skill! What service will learning how to cross-stitch do these girls? They should be learning useful skills like diplomacy, history-”

“These girls are far too fragile for such nonsense,” the instructor interjected. “They are being taught the necessary skills for their lives.”

“And their lives will be what- sitting around waiting for their husband to tell them what to do and think?”

“Yes, and you’d be of far better use to me and everyone else if you’d been raised in such a way.” Claire slapped Loki across the face, and everyone froze in stunned silence.

“Fuck you,” She ripped her arm from Loki’s grasp and turned to leave, stopping short when the Einherjar reached for her. “Back the fuck off unless you wanna get slapped too.” She snarled, making the guard recoil from her as though she’d burned him. Pussy.

Claire slammed the door on her way out, leaving Loki and Miss Priss in her dust. Fuck them. Fuck all of them. She’d show them.

~~~~

It didn’t take long for Claire to find out she could not, in fact, show anyone anything.

The university refused to allow her to study. The headmaster had all but laughed her out of his office.

The Gothi was at least kinder in his rejection.

“You are a wife now, Your Majesty. You have duty enough.” he’d said when Claire told him she felt she had a responsibility to serve the people in some way. I have skills, she’d pleaded. Let me use them.

Every door she tried closed in her face.

~~~~

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Astrid began, making Loki's heart sink. Claire wasn't coming. Yet again, she was refusing his invitation. “Her Majesty asked that I inform you she is busy.”

“Busy?” He scoffed. “What in Odin's name does she mean, she is busy?” What in Bor’s name could that woman be up to? It has been a week.

“I'm not sure, Your Majesty. Her Majesty simply sent her regrets.” Astrid replied sheepishly. Truthfully, the princess hadn't seemed sorry at all. She'd cackled like a witch when she'd read her husbands letter, but Astrid didn't dare let that be known.

“She cannot keep punishing me like this,” Loki huffed. “What would you suggest I do?”

“Me?” Astrid asked in surprise.

“As you are the only other person in the room...” Loki replied. Astrid fixed him with a glare, to which he shrugged.

“Perhaps a gesture? It need not be grand.”

“A gesture?” Loki raised his brow skeptically. To what purpose? To reward her for acting like a sullen child? He shook his head. “Absolutely not. Let her sulk. We've a state dinner in two days’ time, and we shall both be required to attend. She won't be able to say she is busy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

~~~~

The following morning, Ragna and Astrid met as usual to gather breakfast for their respective royals.

“What did he say?” Ragna asked eagerly when Astrid joined the throng of servants in the kitchens. It was early morning, and Ragna knew her mistress would have slept fitfully. She had grown to the limits of her cage, Ragna feared, and was beating herself against its bars. While Ragna desired to think of Claire as limitless, she knew very well there was only so much influence any woman could wield without a husband’s assistance. Until the rift between the newly married royals was healed, Claire’s position in the court was dubious at best.

“I suggested a gesture,” Astrid reported. “His Majesty declined.”

“What? Why?”

“’Let her sulk’ were his exact words,” the older woman rolled her eyes. “The stubbornness in that boy, I swear to Odin.”

“Was he simply angry that she refused his invitation yet again?”

“I believe so, but he’s difficult to read at times. I used to know that boy so well,” Astrid sighed, giving a sad shake of her head. “I had such high hopes for them.”

“As did I,” Ragna said sullenly. “Perhaps they did too. Perhaps they just need help!”

“Help?” Astrid scoffed. “You must be very naive to think-”

“You said His Majesty is stubborn. So is Her Majesty. What if they’re both just denying their feelings?” Ragna suggested. “We should make a gesture on His Majesties behalf.”

“What sort of gesture could we hope to make, child?” Ragna folded her lips, unable to give an answer. She glanced around the room, ignoring the older woman’s heavy gaze until an idea popped into her brain.

“I’ll be right back.”

Astrid watched the young woman scurry out of the kitchen, and set about gathering breakfast for the prince and princess. It wouldn’t do for their morning meals to be late just because some girl had a flight of fancy.

She was just putting the finishing touches on the trays when Ragna returned, sweat dotting her brow and cheeks dark pink with exertion.

“Well?”

“Ta da!” Ragna presented a single flower, freshly plucked from the queen’s garden. She understood why the princess was fond of the expression now. It was quite joyful.

“Put that away! What are you thinking?” Astrid hissed, smothering the flower with her palm to hide it from prying eyes. “It is illegal to steal from the queen’s garden!”

“Not for His Majesty, it isn’t,” Ragna placed the flower on the tray just so, fanning out the delicate petals so none were crushed. “There. Do you think she will like it?”

“Why are you so invested in this? Your job is to serve the princess, not ensure her happiness.”

“I owe her my life,” Ragna hissed. “And if I have to risk punishment to make her happy, then so be it. Go be grumpy with your grumpy prince.” she huffed in annoyance, plucking the princess’ tray from the buffet.

“I hope that it works.” Astrid muttered as Ragna disappeared into the corridor.

~~~~

Claire had taken one look at the flower and thrown that into the fire too. She’d then taken her plate into bed and rolled herself into the blankets, her hand snaking out to grab the flaky pastry before it too disappeared into the void.

Ragna had let her sulk while she oversaw the cleaning of the chambers, but at Ragna’s insistence, Claire had allowed herself to be dressed and escorted to the great hall for the midday meal.

As she was halfway through picking at her food, Thor, Sif and the warriors three entered. Though they hailed her, Claire could only muster a wave before returning her focus to her plate. Volstagg attempted to go greet her, but Thor stopped him. Directing his friends toward a table of their own, Thor made his way over to Claire.

“Good afternoon sister,” Thor greeted her softly, taking the seat nearest her. “Does your food offend you?”

“No, I’m just not very hungry.” Claire replied sullenly, not even bothering to look up from her plate.

“I see,” Thor frowned. He’d known Claire was struggling, but clearly he’d misjudged how much. “I saw your needlework,” he remarked with a grin. “It will revolutionize the craft.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Claire snorted, letting her fork drop with a clatter. At last her blue eyes strayed from the table to meet his. “You should give it to Jane,” Some of the light faded from Thor's eyes and Claire winced. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” Thor replied. “I will give it to her when next I see her.”

“Sometime soon, hopefully?”

“We shall see,” Thor said with fake enthusiasm. “Claire, I wished to speak with you.”

“Um...okay. What about?”

“My brother, he...” Thor tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes darting to the cobblestone terrace beneath their feet. “He is not treating you as befitting a princess of Asgard.”

“I mean I give as good as I get-”

“I realize, but it pains me to see you treated thus. I thought you and Loki were well suited; everyone did. But now...I can tell you are unhappy, do not deny it-”

“I'm not!” Claire said baldly. “Look...” she paused, fingers drumming as her mind worked. “Your brothers a dick. So what. I mean what other option did I have except to break up you and Jane-”

“Would you be equally unhappy if things were different?”

“I can't answer that,” Claire huffed. “We talked about this, Thor. You're cool and all but it's a moot point,” she argued. “I made my choice and I stand by it.”

“Which Jane and I are grateful for, but it pains me to see you suffer! I would not treat you thus and it is disgraceful that Loki does.”

“What do you want me to say, dude? I’m not your responsibility,” Claire huffed angrily. “You would be miserable if we’d gotten married and you know it. This is a shitty situation any way you flush it.”

“But I would not be cruel,” Thor insisted. “I will have words with my brother.” He said, his tone resolved as he got to his feet.

“Okay, your funeral.” Claire grumbled to herself, resuming her salad stabbing when Thor strode off.

~~~~

“Ah, Thor. How delightful to see you,” Loki rumbled when Thor darkened the doorway of his study. “What do you want?”

“I would have words with you, brother,” Thor said gravely as he stepped inside the austere room. “I come to champion your wife.”

“Oh do you?” Loki asked lowly. “What concerns have you to level at me?”

“You neglect her, and when you don't you mistreat her-”

“She has a full staff, immaculately appointed chambers, stately clothing, as well as all of my wealth and status,” Loki barked, the heavy tome in his hands hitting the desk with a loud thud. “In what way does that constitute neglect?”

“You known what I mean-”

“Do I?” Loki challenged. “Do I abuse her? Beat her?”

“She is wretched, Loki, because you refuse to have anything to do with her!”

“Me?!” Loki scoffed. “She has ignored all my missives for days-”

“Because you ignored her first!” Thor insisted. “All of Asgard knows how childish you both can be, but Odin's beard, Loki. I would never have treated her this way-”

“Oh NOW we come to the crux of the issue,” Loki laughed darkly. “You refused her hand, Thor. You have no say in what befalls her now.”

“I only meant that-”

“YOU THINK THIS TO BE A GAME?!” Loki shouted over him. “You dare speak to me about my wife as if you have ANY right-”

“You dishonor her!” Thor slammed his fist on the desk between them. “You are meant to be her closest companion! Instead she sequesters herself in her chambers, she hasn’t spoken to Mother in days- when is the last time you’ve even laid eyes on her-” Loki reached across the desk and grabbed Thor by the collar, pulling him bodily from his chair.

“You will listen and you will listen well, brother. If you so much as look at my wife again-” Thor faltered, convinced he was seeing things. He could have sworn Loki's eyes changed from green to black, whites flooding red. “I will take your eyes and feed them to you.”

“Loki-”

“Do. You. Understand.”

“I...yes.” Thor relented. Loki released him, all but shoving him back into his chair.

“If that is all, I have work to do.” Loki gestured for Thor to leave, eyes hard as steel as he watched Thor go.

~~~~

“Does this look okay?” Claire asked Loki as she stepped out from behind the folding screen. It was late in the afternoon, and though their guests for the state dinner had already arrived, the couple would not be greeting them until they arrived at dinner. This was Claire’s first time attending such a formal event and she wanted to make sure she looked presentable before they made their entrance.

She wore a floor length halter-necked gown in a dusty shade of lilac with golden thread along the hems and bust, and two ropes of the thread dangling from the belt. Her golden armband was already in place on her bicep and her hair was braided, the same way Loki had braided her hair on their wedding day (Frigga’s idea). Her hair had grown since she’d arrived, the curled ends now brushing mid-way down her bare back.

Everyone in the palace was under strict instructions to make no mention of the tense relationship between the prince and princess royal- which had led to Claire, her staff, vanity and gown being brought to Loki’s chambers to get ready. Being shoved into shared space had both of them on edge, like cats with their tails puffed and claws out.

“I suppose.” Loki replied coolly, not even sparing her a glance. Claire clenched her jaw in anger; she was so tired of his attitude.

“Would it help if I painted myself blue? Maybe then you would have an opinion.” She said venomously. Loki’s head snapped up and Claire smirked in satisfaction as his eyes became mottled with rage.

“My opinion, wife,” he sneered. “Is that you are a vindictive little creature that would serve me better in a grave than in my bed.”

“Have you looked at yourself lately?!” Claire hissed back at him. “You’re not exactly in line for the ‘Nicest Person of the Year’ award!”

“At least I do not prod at other people’s insecurities as blatantly as you.”

“Oh please,” Claire scoffed. “You do that to me every fucking day, Loki. You know how to hurt me and I know how to hurt you and we are just fucking perfect for each other!” She yelled.

“Like Hel we are,” Loki growled. “Mark my words, little wife. If I could get away with it I’d wring your neck myself!” He snarled viciously, his hands bunching the fabric of her collar.

“I want to stab you in the face.” Claire seethed, shoving against him angrily. Loki had the gall to laugh at her.

“Oh, I could do infinitely more damage to you than you could to me.”

Oh can you? Claire punched Loki in the face, hard. His head shot back and he staggered back a few feet. He glared at her in anger and surprise, his bottom lip split and bloody, and he scoffed when she smirked. In an instant they were exchanging blows. Loki immediately gained the upper hand, seeing as he was stronger, but Claire managed to kick his feet out from under him. They toppled to the floor, each of them grappling for control, grunting and snarling like animals as Astrid raced to the door.

Fabric ripped as Loki shoved Claire off of him and she hit the floor, her breath whooshing out of her painfully. Angrily she swung at him, a quick jut of her knee catching him in the chin when he blocked her arms. Loki growled, pinning her beneath his weight as he moved to crush her windpipe. Claire wrapped her legs around his arm, feet braced against his chest as she pushed against his hold. Black dots clouded her vision as she clawed at his face, and she was never more grateful for having manicured nails than when she cut across his cheek bone. His hold slackened, his weight shifting as he shielded his face in the crook of his arm.

The doors to the room flew open with a loud clang as Odin and Thor strode angrily into the room. Claire’s knee struck Loki between the legs, and he released her in huff of pain, collapsing on top of her.

“Stop!” Odin thundered as Thor pulled Loki off of Claire by his collar. Claire rolled to the side, coughing and wheezing as she cradled her throat.

“Are you alright?” Thor asked, pulling her to her feet.

“Awesome,” Claire croaked, flashing a weak thumb’s up.

“It seems we arrived just in time,” Thor shot Loki a heated look. “What were you thinking?!”

“We will not discuss this here,” Odin barked. “To the council chambers, all of you!”

“Great, another pow-wow.” Claire hissed as Thor herded her and Loki out into the hallway.

~~~~

The ‘pow-wow’ was a full on family meeting with Thor, Frigga, Odin, Loki on one side of the table and Phil, Maria Hill and Director Fury on the other. Claire had been seated awkwardly in the middle between Frigga and Phil, both of whom were fussing over her blooming bruises and the state of her dress.

“Now then, let us discuss this calmly.” Odin sighed from his side of the table, glaring pointedly at Loki.

“Why do you assume that I started the fight?” Loki spat. “Go on; ask the little wench who struck first.”

“Loki!” Frigga chided her youngest son. “That is no way to speak about your wife.”

“You’re just mad that I caught you off guard!” Claire hissed at him.

“Silence; both of you!” Odin shouted. “Is this true?” he asked Claire.

“Yes.” Claire sighed.

“Claire…” Phil groaned beside her. “Why-”

“He threatened to wring my neck!” Claire shouted.

“She threatened to stab me in the face.” Loki shrugged when everyone glared at him.

“You started it you psychopath; all I did was ask your opinion!” Claire’s chair fell to the floor as she sprung to her feet.

“Sit down and shut up Agent Fisher,” Fury finally spoke. “Loki, will you explain what the hell happened-I will get to you in a minute! I asked him.” Fury silenced Claire when she made to protest.

“She asked my opinion of her current attire. We have important guests coming this evening and she wished to make a good impression.”

“And then what?” Fury looked over to Claire.

“He was very rude and condescending. I…may have suggested that he would have a more amicable opinion if I were blue.”

“Ah, but that’s not what started it,” Loki shook his head, leveling his gaze on Claire. “Tell them what you said next.”

“That we’re perfect for each other because we know exactly how to hurt each other.” Loki threw up his hands in victory.

“My wife, the shrew.”

“Piss off, runt!”

“Enough!” Odin silenced them. “This is what prompted you to hit Loki?”

“That’s when he offered to strangle me,” Claire replied. “I offered to rearrange his face, then he said he could do more damage to me.”

“Then she hit me.”

“You deserved it.” Loki smirked at Claire’s words.

“Is this funny to you?” Phil glared at Loki. “Look at her neck! You could have killed her.”

“Yes, I very well could have. But thank Odin, I was interrupted.”

“Clearly this animosity is not resolving itself as I had hoped,” Odin said sternly. “I have no choice but to separate the two of you, after our guests have gone home. I will conceal your injuries while our guests remain but you will wear them with pride until they have healed. Pride is what caused this quarrel so it is only fitting for the punishment. Is this sufficient or have you any suggestions?” he peered over at Fury.

“What about recidivism?” Fury asked. “How do we ensure this doesn’t happen again?”

“If it does, Loki will face my wrath. I will be adding some wounds of my own.”

“Surely Claire will have a consequence as well.” Loki muttered.

“I cannot threaten her as I threaten you-”

“He has a point though,” Claire said. “Maybe…that’s what we need.”

“You would not withstand it,” Loki spat. “Do not agree with me simply to save face.”

“I’m not! We obviously need a buffer.”

“Very well, I will select a resident of the palace to act as said buffer until you are capable of acting like adults. Thor will stand in for the time being.” Odin decreed.

“What of Claire’s consequence?” Phil asked.

“I have already sent a son to the dungeons. I am not above sending a daughter if need be.” Loki looked at Odin in surprise, frowning as he slumped in his chair.

“Is this agreeable to you?” Fury asked Claire, who nodded lamely.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. would like to send a representative to meet with our love birds,” Fury said, glancing to Claire and Loki who were making threatening gestures to each other across the table. He cleared his throat loudly, and both parties looked at him guiltily. “Someone to help them...act like adults.”

“When can we expect your representative?” Frigga asked politely.

“He will need to be briefed, but we can send him within the next few days.”

“Wonderful,” Frigga smiled. “We will have chambers made ready for him. Now we must be getting ready for our guests to arrive. Will you be returning to Midgard or would you prefer to stay?”

“I would like to stay, if that’s alright.” Phil said.

“Fine by me.” Fury replied.

“Very well, we will have chambers prepared for you as well. You may act as a second buffer this evening,” Odin nodded. “Thor, please escort our guest and your charges to their respective chambers.”

“Yes Father.”

~~~~

The great hall was packed with nobles from near and far. Music floated on the air, overlapping conversations making the room buzz as wine and mead flowed like water.

Dinner had been boring, the nobles all tripping over themselves to toast Odin and the royal family and blah blah blah. Even though Phil sat at the table with her and Loki like a babysitter, Claire was glad that at least the food had been good.

Now they were at the “mingling” part of the evening and Claire was just counting the minutes until she could disappear. Frigga had been very clear that even though she and Loki had just tried to kill each other, appearances were still to be kept and they were expected to stay until a certain point in the evening. Many of the nobles in attendance had been at their wedding, but some had not, and they were expected to play the part of newlyweds until their guests left.

She and Loki had done their best so far, and their best was simply pretending the other didn’t exist.

“I’ve always hated events like these,” the woman sighed as she approached Claire. Her eyes were glassy and her breath reeked of wine, and Claire did her best not to show her displeasure on her face. She’d hoped to hide away in the corner until she could slink away and nurse her wounds in private, but instead she plastered a fake smile on her face as the woman continued to complain about the accommodations. “-linen is scratchy and the staff!”

“I have wonderful staff.” Claire replied pleasantly, sipping at her wine. Rich people complain about the weirdest shit.

“They should teach mine how to treat their betters,” the woman replied, one hand fussing with the deep orange of her gown. “Perhaps I could borrow them?”

“They’re people, not books,” Claire wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Things could be worse. You could be doing it yourself.”

“My husband would love that,” the woman chortled, casting a derisive look across the great hall. “Gods, I can’t stand that man. If we had a second home, I would take up residence there.”

“You don’t like each other?”

“We were an arranged match. We wed not long after the king and queen. Our children are grown and duty is fulfilled, but that is all we’ve ever been to each other.”

“That’s...really sad.”

“That is the cost of privilege,” the woman finished her drink, snapping her fingers at a passing servant for a refill. “Don’t be surprised if the same happens to your own marriage.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Claire murmured, leaving the drunk woman to her fresh glass of wine. Determined to shake off the woman’s warning, she passed through the crowd, exchanging false smiles so sweet they made her jaw ache. After several minutes, her eyes landed on Loki's familiar form, and she wove through the crowded room toward him. Loki was deep in conversation with an older man as she approached, giving her a slight smile as she tethered herself to him with an arm around his.

“-wouldn't believe the nerve of these people. They’re rioting in the streets like animals,” the man bemoaned, wine spilling on the deep orange sash he wore as he gestured wildly. Claire’s eyes narrowed as the stain bloomed like blood from a wound. “Everything we've done for them and they have the gall to demand more.”

“Have you considered giving them what they want?” Claire asked.

“I beg your pardon?” the man asked, looking at Loki with derision. “You allow your wife to speak to men so boldly?” Loki’s jaw flexed angrily.

“I-”

“You said your people are rioting. They clearly have a need of which you are either ignorant or uncaring and they feel they have no other choice. Perhaps if you listened to them-”

“I must say you are quite eloquent for a Midgardian,” the man interrupted Claire, completely ignoring her. “I've always thought them to be rather dull.” He added to Loki, as though speaking about a cow instead of a person.

“I can read and write too, if you can believe it,” Claire sneered. “God, you're condescending. It's no wonder your wife can't stand you.” Loki laughed nervously, his hand closing tightly around her elbow just before she could dart out of reach.

“Excuse us, please. Sorry.”

“Don't apologize to that pompous twat!”

“Stop talking,” Loki hissed as he steered her away. “You can't say things like that-”

“The hell I can't!” Claire ripped her arm from his grasp as they neared the small stage the musicians occupied. “I'm not going to let some dickhead talk down to me. I'm not an idiot-”

“I know you're not-”

“How would you know?!” Claire laughed. “Knowing someone requires spending time with them, not pretending they don't exist.”

“I don't-”

“The hell you don't. I get it, you have buyer's remorse. Well tough shit, pal, it's too late to send me home now!”

“Come outside,” Loki pleaded softly, obviously trying to placate her. Even though the music was muffling their argument, the people nearest to them were starting to stare. “Please.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“You are causing a scene.”

“And you are hurting me,” Claire ripped her hand out of his grasp. “Leave me alone.”

“This stops now, do you understand?” Loki hissed under his breath. “You are acting like a spoiled child!”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Claire started giggling as his jaw clenched. “Ooo you are mad. What are you gonna do, huh? Ignore me some more? Or send me another single flower? Oooo or maybe you’d like to choke me more! That'll show me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got your dumb flower on my breakfast tray. You think that's all it's gonna take to win me over, after the way you've treated me? Baby, you're gonna have to try a LOT harder to saddle this brood mare.” Claire splashed her wine in his face and spun on her heel to leave. The room spun violently and she stumbled. She heard several women gasp as strong hands grabbed her by the waist, keeping her upright as they steered her out into the hall. “Leave me alone!”

“You shouldn't be on your own-”

“I'm not going anywhere with you!” Claire snarled. “Just leave me alone; you’re great at that.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“I’m talking about the fact that you abandoned me! The second we got back from our honeymoon you dropped me like a hot potato and I have had to navigate all of this-” Claire gestured wildly to the party they’d just left. “-Alone! You promised me I wouldn’t have to; you promised, Loki. You’re meant to keep your promises and the second you had the chance, you broke them.”

“What in the hell is going on out here?!” Phil whisper-shouted as he leaned out of the great hall.

“GO AWAY!” the married couple shouted in unison. Phil slipped out of the great hall, gesturing for the guards flanking the double doors to close them. Claire saw several guests inside trying to spy on them as the doors closed.

“Things changed.”

“What changed?!” Claire shouted, shoving Loki angrily. “You made me feel like you cared about me, like you loved me,” she wiped her face with the back of her hand, cheeks flaming as she sobbed. “I thought we were happy, that we would be okay! Then as soon as we got back to the city you tossed me aside like trash. And I've never understood why. Why; what did I do?! I-” she stopped herself and took a deep breath, pulling up the proverbial drawbridge as she wiped her tears away. “If you don't care about me, you don't want me around- fine. But I will not live like this, do you hear me? You might as well just knock me up now, because the sooner I have a baby, then the sooner I can move far away from the city and be with people who actually care about me.” Loki stopped short, doubt clouding his eyes as he looked down at her.

“I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Yeah, well- that was then,” Claire snapped. “When I thought we actually had a future. When I thought we could be happy. But now?” Claire laughed sarcastically. “That was our future we saw in there, Loki! That guy you were talking to? His wife hates him. They don’t care about each other; they only care about duty,” she sneered. “How long do you think it’ll take before we’re just like that?” she swallowed thickly, new tears threatening as she looked away. “I didn’t want us to be like this.”

“Claire, you're drunk. We will talk about this more when you're thinking clearly.”

“No! I wanna talk about this NOW!” Claire shoved at him again with all her weight, nearly making him stumble. “You don't get to just throw me away and expect me to come running whenever you call! I'm not your pet, you ass, I am your WIFE!”

“Alright, fine, I apologize,” Loki hissed hurriedly. “Will you please stop shouting?”

“NO! I gave up EVERYTHING for you AND I WILL SHOUT IF I FUCKING FEEL LIKE IT! AND I DO!!”

“At least-”

“NO! I am SICK of you-” her finger poked him in the chest angrily. “-and your dumb handsome face and that dumb distracting thing your jaw does when you get mad-” she blanched, her face going pale. “Oh no.”

“Claire?” Loki asked hopefully. Phil moved in to help, both of them grimacing when Claire doubled over and vomited all over Loki’s boots.

“I yelled too much.” She said pathetically.

“Yes,” Loki frowned. “Clearly, that was the problem.”

“We have lots of problems,” Claire groaned. “Let’s just cut our losses and have a baby now. Fuck it. It works on Earth, right?” she asked, her laughter bordering on hysterical. “How much worse could it possibly be here?”

“Is that really what you want?” Loki asked.

“No!” Claire shoved him away, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “I want the Loki I fell in love with. I don’t even know you,” she snarled, staggering away as guards approached to diffuse the situation. “Leave me alone. I can walk.”

Loki chased after her, leaving a trail of vomit-y foot prints in his wake. He was determined to make her see reason if it killed them both. Phil followed, ready to step in the second things went too far.

“Will you- STOP!” Loki shouted, jerking Claire back with a hand around her bicep.

“Let go!” She fought against his hold, feet slipping in the mess at his feet. “Let GO!” She shrieked, shoving at him hard enough to knock him to the ground. Loki landed in the mess with a disgusting splat. The guards in the hall looked on in shock, Phil stifling his laughter with a hand over his mouth.

“Are you happy now?” Loki asked angrily, his wounds from their earlier altercation reappearing as they grew far enough away from the great hall and their guests.

“Happy? You think I'm happy?!” Claire shouted. “What part of ANY OF THIS would make you think I'm happy?! You should have let me leave when I had the chance instead of tricking me into staying, you selfish! Fucking! ASSHOLE!” Claire accentuated each shout with an angry kick to Loki's leg. A guard finally stepped in to separate them, but a feral glance from Claire and the sudden appearance of the knife she carried stopped him cold. “You put a fucking hand on me and you'll lose it,” She turned back to Loki, color high in her cheeks and tears in her eyes. “Look at me!” She demanded. Her throat felt hoarse from shouting and her neck was sore. Claire knew her wounds had returned as well. She held her arms out angrily, glaring down at him where he still sat. “This is what you wanted, Loki. I hope you're satisfied.” She turned on her heel and left Loki behind once again.

She made her way through the opulent hallways, feeling the walls closing in from every direction. Gunnar eyed her with concern as she finally reached her rooms, flashing her a sympathetic smile as he opened the door. Claire tore off her dress, tears falling freely as she pulled on comfy sweats and a ratty t shirt. She didn't have the patience to undo her hair, so she left it. She collapsed onto the soft bed and let herself sob.

“Your Majesty?” Ragna’s concerned voice made her jump. “Your uncle is outside.”

“Let him in please.” Ragna nodded, disappearing from her blurry vision.

“Claire?” Phil called, his footsteps sounding as he made his way to her bedroom. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Claire said wetly. “Aren’t you glad you stayed? I sure am.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Phil asked as he sat on the bed gingerly.

“Both, I think,” Claire hiccupped. “God, this is so fucked.”

“What the hell happened?” Phil asked as Ragna breezed in with a tray of food and a pitcher of water. “When I left, you two were all over each other.”

“I wish I knew,” Claire shook her head. “Thank you, Ragna. Will you help me fix my hair?”

“Of course,” Ragna crossed the room, grabbing a silver hairbrush from Claire’s vanity before sitting behind her on the bed. “I brought your favorite cake from the kitchen.”

“You’re amazing, thank you.”

“Of course,” Ragna smiled as she began to pluck the pins from Claire’s elaborate hairstyle. “His Majesty is a fool.”

“And to think, I married the smart brother.” Claire quipped, the two women sharing quiet giggles as Ragna brushed Claire’s hair.

“So what, Loki’s a hostile again?” Phil asked. “Was he just pretending this whole time?”

“I don’t know,” Claire shook her head. “Something isn’t adding up. Things changed when we got back from our honeymoon; up until then he was basically a declawed kitten.”

“It’s true,” Ragna offered. “Both of them were quite amorous on the trip.”

“Yes, thank you,” Phil grimaced, his stomach turning at the thought. “Do you have any theories?”

“Nothing concrete. The biggest contender is Yrsa,” Claire spat the name. “She and Loki used to be a thing, and she’s been telling the entire court that he’s bored of me and only wants me to have his babies.”

“And you believe that?”

“I mean, what else am I supposed to think? He barely spends more than ten minutes at a time with me, and usually half that time is taken up with us fighting.”

“More than half,” Ragna muttered under her breath, shrugging when Claire and Phil both glanced at her. “Am I wrong?”

“Ugh, no,” Claire agreed. “I can’t ignore the possibility of Fandral being involved too. He’s been barking up my tree since I got here.”

“Is he allowed to do that?” Phil asked.

“No one is allowed to do that, except Loki. Not that he wants to,” Claire rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I could see Yrsa and Fandral working together.”

“They have been seen walking together,” Ragna reported in a scandalous tone. “Yrsa’s father is furious, if palace gossip is to be believed.”

“You’re kidding,” Claire scoffed. “That’s just great!”

“Why would her father be furious?” Phil asked.

“Because Fandral is a huge skeeze,” Claire replied. “Like if you looked it up in the dictionary, you’d find a large picture of him next to the definition. Not to mention, he’s a huge step down in rank from the prince royal. I’d be pissed too if she was my kid.”

“You’d be pissed over rank?”

“Not so much the rank, but Loki is much cooler than Fandral in my opinion.”

“He made you cry.” Phil said flatly.

“And I will stab him in due time, but I would much rather be married to him than Fandral.” Claire shuddered at the thought.

“I can go stab him right now-”

“Absolutely not- as his wife, I get first dibs! The rest of you can form a line behind me,” Claire argued. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? I can’t live the rest of my life like this.”

“I am once again recommending stabbing-”

“Stabbing isn’t going to solve all of my problems!” Claire shouted. “I need actual advice that won’t land me in prison.” Phil sighed heavily, adjusting his seat on the bed.

“Look, this place is insane, but I have never known you to let another person define you. You always said there were things you would want to do if you were in a position of power, and now you are. Stab Loki, don’t stab Loki; the choice is up to you. But I think you should focus on something else for now.”

“Your uncle has a point,” Ragna agreed. “You should not spend your days hiding. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Take the night and process...all of this,” Phil gestured to Claire. “You have to admit that was a lot, and I wasn’t even technically part of it.”

“Ugh, fine,” Claire rolled her eyes. “At least tell me about the shrink they’re bringing in.”

“We can talk tomorrow. You need to eat all these treats, sober up, and get some sleep,” Phil swooped in and kissed her forehead, something he hadn’t done since she was a preteen. Claire’s nose wrinkled in response, but she allowed the affection. “And no sneaking out to stab anyone.” Phil flashed the ‘I’m-watching-you’ signal before letting himself out.

“Would you like me to stay?” Ragna asked gently.

“No, Ragna, go get some sleep,” Claire got up to retrieve the tray of food. “I have some work to do.”

“Please don’t hesitate to call for me,” Ragna got to her feet to leave. “After all, I am right next door now.”

Claire watched Ragna disappear through the door adjoining their chambers before turning her focus onto the food in front of her. She was still full from dinner, but the tiny cakes were too pretty to resist.

As she ate, Claire thought back to Loki. Clearly resolving things wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Something had to change. But what?

“What am I supposed to do?” She asked the empty room pathetically. “I can't live like this.” Claire got to her feet, wiping her swollen eyes delicately on her sleeve. She rummaged in her armoire for her hidden snack bag. Claire seized a package of peanut butter crackers and the pitcher of water Ragna had left for her. Claire took her offering out onto the terrace, setting the crackers and pitcher on the railing. Stepping back, she slid down the wall to sit on the cold stone floor. “Hekate, please...help me. I don't know what to do.” Exhausted and drained, Claire quickly fell asleep where she sat, tumbling deep into the realm of dreams.

She dreamed of an unseen dog howling, and a deep but feminine voice whispering to her.

“Feelings pass,” the voice promised. “Greatness calls.” Claire saw Ragna and her other ladies, and a hundred thousand silhouettes behind them. Ragna smiled, and Claire jolted awake, her mind suddenly and blissfully clear. She was still upset, but the hurt felt...dulled, almost. Still there, but less central. Claire knew that, even though she still held hope for a good relationship with Loki, there were more important things she could do with her new life.

So Loki was a dick. There was more to life than...well...dick. Claire felt resolved. She would dedicate her life to using her position to help others. But a little mystical warfare couldn’t hurt...

Claire rummaged through her things until she found what she needed. Typically she would prefer a lemon hex, but she didn’t want to arouse suspicion by asking for anything. A jar would suit Loki just fine.

She lit the black candle, sitting at her desk to let it burn down. She wrote Loki’s name on a slip of parchment three times, folding the paper away from her as she focused her intention into it. She stuffed the paper into the bottom of the small jar and added vinegar to it. She added a smattering of red pepper flakes, a dash of black pepper, and a mountain of chili powder.

Brushing off her fingers, Claire sat back and considered the jar. It felt incomplete. She could always pee in the jar, but that felt unnecessary. For all her anger, she might forgive Loki if he stopped being a massive prick.

Claire stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. The early morning sun made her eyes water as she squinted at the mountains, enjoying the cool crisp breeze that ruffled her hair. She let her hands wander across the stone balustrade, the small pock marks in the stone rasping against her skin until she bumped into something unusual with her hand. Claire looked down, eyebrows raising as she realized what it was.

A dead wasp.

Yellow legs curled in the air above the wasps’ thorax, as if reaching to the sky for comfort. Claire couldn’t recall seeing any wasps in her time on Asgard, but she’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Thank you,” she murmured, eyes darting upward as she collected the dead wasp from its resting place. Inside, she dropped it into the jar and inserted the cork plug. “Until you do right by me, everything you touch will crumble. So mote it be.” Claire tipped the black candle, sealing the jar and her intentions in inky wax. The candle was snuffed, and the jar found a new home on the small altar she’d concealed in her armoire.

Exhausted, Claire dragged her feet all the way to her bed, where she collapsed on top of the blankets. Her eyes fluttered closed, willing the sun not to rise any further so she could get some decent rest.

A sudden thought had her reaching for paper and a quill. She wrote quickly, desperate to get her thoughts on paper before she fell asleep.

~~~~

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Ragna called as she stepped into the princess’ bed chamber. The princess lay sprawled face down across the mattress in her night clothes. One slipper clung desperately to the ball of her foot, the other lay on its side halfway across the room as if she’d thrown it. One of her arms hung over the side of the bed, fingers curled loosely around a quill. A dribble of ink had dried along one of her fingers, pinning a scrap of discarded parchment to her fingernail with black ooze. “Perhaps not so good,” Ragna cringed. Her neck would probably be very sore when she woke. “Your Majesty?”

“I’m up!” Claire bolted upright, her spine crackling loudly at the movement and paralyzing her with pain. “Owfucknevermind,” she wheezed, collapsing back onto the bed. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Ragna chuckled. “Shall I draw you a bath?”

“Yes please,” Claire moaned as she tried to burrow into the blankets. The crinkle of parchment made her flinch, gazing at the parchment stuck to her hand in bewilderment. “Is there something stuck to me?” she flapped her hand to get it off, flapping harder when it stayed stuck in place. “Whatthefuck?!”

“It’s alright,” Ragna rushed to help her, carefully unsticking the parchment from her nail bed. “It’s just a bit of parchment. It looks as though you were...oh.”

“What?” Claire asked. “What is it?” Ragna appeared to be holding back laughter as she handed the parchment to Claire.

“I didn’t realize you were artistically inclined. It’s...lovely.”

On the paper, Claire had created a rough sketch of the poop emoji, squared on top of a sloppy rendering Loki’s shoulders.

“Oh yeah, I remember now,” Claire snickered. “Get it? He’s a shit head.” she and Ragna burst into hysterical laughter, throwing them completely off task and making Claire late.

As she was hurrying to the great hall, she accidentally bumped into Thor when she turned a corner, dropping her notebook and the parchment onto the floor.

“Shit, sorry! It’s been a...a rough morning.” Claire said as she stooped to gather her things.

“It is no trouble, sister. I assumed it would be a difficult morning for you.”

“You heard, didn’t you?” Claire asked flatly.

“Dear sister, I believe everyone heard.” Thor offered sympathetically. Hogun, Sif and Volstagg wore matching grimaces on their faces.

“Cool, I love that for me,” Claire groaned. “I didn’t exactly plan on making a scene, it just happened.”

“What is this?” Volstagg asked, bending low to collect something off the ground. Claire’s stomach rioted violently as she recognized the parchment.

“I believe this is-” Sif blanched, her brows furrowing as she brought the parchment closer to her face. “Is this...excrement?”

“He’s a shit head.” Claire said quietly, hugging her things to her chest. The warriors laughed raucously, new peals of laughter beginning with each pass the drawing made around their semi-circle.

“I think you captured him perfectly,” Thor cackled with glee, wiping a tear from his eye as he gazed down at the drawing. “Well done!”

“Thanks, can I get it back please?”

“BROTHER! COME SEE YOUR WIFE’S ARTISTIC RENDERING OF YOU!” Thor bellowed down the hall.

“Thor, no,” Claire begged. “Don’t be that guy, come on, let me have it back, he’s gonna be pissed- okay, more pissed.” She really didn’t want to see Loki right now and she especially didn’t want him to see her making fun of him with Thor and the others. They really didn’t need any more bad blood between them.

“Peace, sister, he will never harm you-”

“That’s not- just give it back, please give it back-”

“I shan’t! Not until Loki sees it!” Thor cried, holding it high above his head. “You cannot possibly reach this high-ack!” Thor found himself sprawled on the floor as Claire tackled him to the floor, arm straining to reach the parchment as Thor fought to hold her back. A familiar (freshly cleaned) pair of boots came into view and Claire’s stomach sank.

“Mother fucker.”

“I beg your pardon?” Disdain dripped from every syllable out of Loki’s mouth. “What is this?” he asked pointedly. “This is low, even for you.” Claire wasn’t sure if he was talking to Thor or her. She cringed as she realized how this must look- they were sort of tangled together. Claire found herself unceremoniously dumped on the floor as Thor jumped to his feet.

“Just a bit of sport! Claire wanted you to see-” Thor collapsed as Claire kicked his leg out from under him, sending the parchment fluttering out of his meaty hand.

“I did not, you big dumb liar!” Great insult Claire. Thor will need ice for that burn. “I was trying to get it back-”

“I care not about your petty squabbles. I am however, rather offended by your artistic liberties.”

“Oh?”

“You are missing quite a bit of detail in my armor, for one,” Loki said pointedly, green eyes flicking up to meet hers. “And secondly, I am disappointed that you neglected to add stink lines. Hardly an example of compelling storytelling, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Thank you very much for the critique, Picasso,” Claire snatched the parchment from his open hand. “I’ll be sure to give you my edits.” she stomped off toward the great hall.

“First thing tomorrow!” Loki called after her, allowing a smirk to grace his features when she flipped him off over her shoulder.

“Loki-”

“Do not speak to me,” Loki rounded on Thor, eyes gleaming with vitriol. “You mean to test me? Do not touch my wife again.”

“I meant no harm-”

“I do not care what your intent is, do not touch her again!”

“But she-”

“ENOUGH!” Thor flinched. “Heed me, brother. Or on my honor as a Prince of Asgard, I shall be forced to demand recompense” Thor’s eyes grew wide with fear.

“You have my word, Loki. I truly meant no ill will.” he said nervously.

Loki stalked away, following his wife’s footsteps toward the great hall. Claire was already seated at their table, doodling in a notebook. Loki said nothing as he approached, watching her write words and circling them before connecting the circles with lines.

“What are you doing?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m making a word web, to brainstorm.” Claire said absently, scrawling the words ‘hjemlos’ and ‘agriculture’ on her paper before drawing a line between them.

“And what is the purpose of this?”

“I’m trying to figure out how best to spend my time and influence,” Claire made another note as Ragna brought her a goblet of juice. “Thank you Ragna. What do you think about this?” she tapped the paper, the two women falling into quiet conversation as Loki looked on.

“You’re plotting with servants now?” he asked when Ragna stepped away.

“I’ve got to do something that doesn’t involve waiting for you to get your head out of your ass,” Claire replied calmly as she scratched something out and added something in. “If you don’t have anything constructive to add, please let me work in peace.”

“Suddenly you care about peace,” Loki laughed sarcastically. “I’m sure our guests last night would have much preferred this new peaceful version of you. Think how quiet the evening would have been without you making a scene.”

“And who pushed me to make that scene?” blue eyes flicked in his direction accusingly.

“I would wager it was the entire cask of wine you consumed. How is your stomach this morning?”

“Funny.”

“I try.” It was clear he had no intent to let her focus on her work, so Claire closed her notebook. She nestled her pen in the metal rings before rounding on him.

“Since you’re so desperate to chat, let me share some things I’ve learned about you in the past few weeks-”

“I do not care what idle observations-”

“You have issues with commitment.”

“This is your world-shattering observation?” Loki scoffed. “I hope you have evidence to support your claim.”

“Oh don’t worry, I kept all the receipts,” Claire patted his arm in a pseudo comforting manner. “Let’s see…you failed at being a king, you failed at defeating your brother, then you failed at conquering my planet, which led to this disaster which you also failed at! In conclusion-”

“Do you have a point?”

“I do, thanks so much for asking. My point is you are really, really great at starting things, and really, reallybad at finishing them- for the love of god, do not make a sex joke right now!” Claire hissed when Loki opened his mouth to argue. Loki’s face wrinkled in disgust.

“I wasn’t,” he grumbled. “The last thing I want to think about at this moment is having sex with you.”

“Oh goody, we’re in agreement!” Claire replied cheerfully. “Now, I’ve had some time to think about your little problem-”

“Have you considered speaking less?”

“Have you considered throwing yourself off the bifrost?” Claire asked. “Oh wait- you already did that! Back to what I was saying-”

“Your theory, whilst entertaining, is wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Very. Whatever our personal climate, the alliance still stands which means it is a success.”

“I couldn’t give a rats ass about the alliance right now. I’m talking about you and me. I stayed here for you. We were building something amazing and you threw it away. You can’t stand to be vulnerable- that’s your real problem.”

“Stop talking.”

“Make me.”

“I could, if I wanted.” his dark eyes glinted with anger.

“So do it. There’s a knife right there,” Claire’s eyes dropped to the knife on his place setting before she met his gaze. “We both know you won’t, Loki. Yesterday aside, you enjoy not being in prison too much to do any permanent damage.”

“I’m so grateful you have me figured out.” Loki said flatly.

“Oh you bet your ass I do,” Claire seethed. “You manipulated me, plain and simple. You made promises you clearly have no intention of keeping, in order to convince me to give up my entire life for you,” Claire set her silverware down, taking a long pull from her goblet. “But it doesn’t matter now. I’m here, and whether you or anyone else helps me I’m going to find a way to use my power and privilege to help people. So see you later, have a terrible day, and suck my dick.” she pushed away from the table, leaving the great hall without another word.

He let her leave, pretending he did not see the look of disappointment Frigga cast his way as he drained his goblet and left in a completely different direction.

~~~~

By mid-morning, Claire had made much more progress on her list of ideas with Ragna’s help. The list of social issues was long, and disheartening, but Claire was determined to pick at least a few that she could start to tackle.

“I think with the stores the palace has, we could easily-” a knock on the door disrupted the women’s conversation. “Come in!”

“The crown prince, Your Highness.” Gunnar announced.

“Thor!” Claire brightened, getting up from the desk to greet him. “This is a surprise! What can I do for you?”

“Hello sister,” Thor said, very obviously not looking in her direction. “I came to apologize for my behavior earlier this morning.”

“Apologize? You mean for showing my drawing to Loki?” Claire chuckled. “I didn’t really mean for him to ever see it, but it was pretty funny. I’m not upset about it- are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine.” Thor nodded, eyes firmly locked on the decorative vase on the mantle.

“Thor?”

“Hmm?”

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Claire looked at Ragna, hoping she had an explanation. Ragna looked just as baffled as Claire.

“Forgive me, sister, I simply do not wish to further court your husband’s ire.”

“Why not? I enjoy pissing him off,” a mental image of steam coming out of Loki’s ears made Claire laugh. “Did he say something to you? Because I’m really not upset- I don’t even know why he would-”

“My brother has always had a possessive streak, something which you seem to inspire even further- not that he should not-” Thor babbled. “I mean- he should defend you, you are his wife- I have no desire to duel with my brother, so if I have offended you-” Claire hadn’t heard this tone from Thor before. He actually sounded panicked.

“Thor-”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to stop talking?”

“Yes please,” Thor pleaded, distress evident in the hunch of his shoulders as he covered his face in his large hands. “I should...I should take my leave.”

“Um...okay,” Claire said. “But just to be clear, whatever Loki’s issue is, is not mine. I’m not mad at you in any way, shape, or form. Capisce?”

“Yes, I...capisce,” Thor gave her an awkward little bow before turning and headbutting the door. He recovered quickly, but Claire and Ragna cringed all the same. “Fare thee well, sister. And...young lady.” Gunnar closed the door behind him as he left, leaving Ragna and Claire completely baffled.

“What the hell was that about?”

~~~~

Confused by the days goings-on, Claire adamantly refused to leave her chambers again. Instead of dinner, she was consuming an unhealthy amount of sugar and fat in the (somewhat) privacy of her own home.

Until Loki showed up.

“What do you want?” Claire asked flatly as Gunnar opened the door. Loki opened his mouth to answer, but was distracted by the orange powder on her bosom. His gaze dropped against his will to her generous chest, prompting Claire to look down and hastily scrub the offending dust away. “Well?”

“I…” Loki’s well-rehearsed apologetic speech vanished into the ether as she glowered at him. Even dressed down with mussed hair and sugar crystals on her lower lip, she was radiant.

“Loki?” The anger in her gaze softened, vulnerability shining through like a ray of sunshine through darkened clouds.

“I came to be sure Thor hasn’t been bothering you.”

“Yes, because he’s such a bother,” Claire scoffed. “He won’t even look in my direction! What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did anything?” Loki balked. “Everyone is forever blaming me for whatever foolish things that oaf does-”

“Oh, will you stow your younger sibling bullshit and just answer the question, Ron Weasley?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh! I didn’t tell you. I’ve decided to start calling you Ron Weasley.” Claire announced, wheeling away from Loki to snag a Twizzler from her array of snacks.

“Why?” Loki huffed as she took a large bite of the confection. “What could I possibly have in common with that miserable gutter rat?”

“Because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon!” Claire shouted, her half-eaten Twizzler striking him ineffectually in the stomach.

“Stop throwing things at me,” Loki demanded, beginning to pace back and forth in front of her door. “And when is Ron ever described as such?”

“In ‘Order of the Phoenix’, you ass!” Claire cried angrily. “Which you would know if you actually read the books instead of just pretending to actually like them to- I don’t know, make me like you more or something!”

“I do like them!” Loki shouted back defensively, resuming his pacing. “This is what you wish to shout at me about?”

“There are a LOT of things I’d like to shout at you about; this just happens to be on my mind at present!”

“By all means,” Loki threw up his hands in defeat. “Well? I expect you have a list prepared of all my sins?”

“Not at the moment,” Claire conceded, folding her arms over her chest. “But if you wait a minute-”

“I’m not here to fight-”

“Then why are you here?” Claire scoffed. “What can I possibly do for you at this moment in time?”

“I had hoped we could resolve our...miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication,” Claire repeated. “That’s what you’re calling it?” Loki shifted impatiently, an angry huff escaping him.

“What would you call it then?” he asked heatedly.

“Why is Thor suddenly terrified to look at me?” Claire demanded to know. Loki’s jaw clenched as he turned away sharply, the muscle flexing as his eyes burned holes in the marble floor.

“That oaf has no right-”

“To look at me?” Claire angrily broke off a piece of a KitKat bar, the crispy wafer crumbling between her molars. “He mentioned a duel. Did you threaten him?”

“There are things you do not understand-”

“What was it about growing up here that was so bad? Hmm? Sure, Thor casts a pretty big shadow but you cast one of your own. Incredibly powerful sorcerer, smart as a whip. So what was it? Did he steal your girlfriend or something? Did you not get enough hugs?”

“No, I didn’t! Is that what you want to hear?!” Loki shouted. “I have always been the second choice, the after thought. Everyone treats me that way, but I will not be second place to Thor- not with you!”

“Who said you were?!”

“I am not going to debate this with you; I saw you this morning. You were all over him!”

“I was trying to get the drawing back-”

“I don’t care. This ends now. Am I understood? If he looks at you again I will gouge out his eyes!”

“WHAT?!” Claire shrieked. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Claire shouted as she began to pelt him with gummy bears. “You don’t get to decide who gets to look at me!” Loki dodged many of the small sugary projectiles, shielding his face with his arm as they bounced uselessly off of his armor.

“I’m the only person who gets to decide!”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Go away.” At her command, Gunnar barred the door with his spear, earning an angry look from Loki.

“You cannot ban me from your chambers!” Claire growled angrily as she realized her bag of gummy bears was tragically empty.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, you arrogant twat! I can’t believe I wasted my last bag of gummy bears on you,” she groaned. “You don’t even like gummy bears!”

“No, but now I can do this!” Loki’s boot stomped down on a defenseless blue bear, Claire looking on in horror as an ugly electric blue smear was streaked across the floor.

“No, not the blue ones! Those are my favorite!”

“Oh how rude of me!” Loki stomped on another blue gummy bear, a matching smear joining the first. “Oops!”

“You did that on purpose!”

“Yes, I did! What are you going to do about it?!”

“Oh you’d better run,” Claire snarled. “Before I figure out a way to smear you across the floor!”

“I’d like to see you try!” Loki turned on his heel to leave, stomping on another gummy bear for good measure.

“Oh that- mother fucker!” Claire howled with rage, leaning out of the doorway to shout after him. “I’m calling Bruce Banner!” There. Let him sweat about that.

The following day

Fueled by spite and still mourning the loss of her gummy bears, Claire set about her plans for the day. Having dealt with the most pressing matter of making sure Ragna was safe, it was time to pivot to another project: starting a care program for the hjemlos.

Per her instructions, a small group of serving women had gathered in the kitchen with supplies to make a collection of food baskets.

The project was well underway when Loki arrived, seemingly determined to distract Claire from her work.

“Unless you’re here to replace the gummy bears you murdered, I’m not interested.” she breezed past him, depositing the apples in her arms in the baskets.

“Clearly you are still upset.”

“I am not.” Claire said simply. “I’m annoyed, not upset.”

“Fine. You were upset, and I came to see what I could do to alleviate your suffering.”

Claire burst into a fit of laughter, making Loki angrier. How dare she laugh at him!

“Wait- did you-” Claire cackled, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “You think I'm sad? Loki, I have a thousand things better to do than sit around and mope over some dumb ass boy,” Claire sneered. “What did you expect me to do, fall to pieces? Wait around for you to give me a crumb of affection? That's not how this works.” Loki looked taken aback.

“But- you were upset,” he backpedaled. “You were, you were upset-”

“I got over it, obviously,” Claire illustrated her point by gesturing toward the baskets of food she was assembling. She picked up an armful of bread loaves to distribute between the baskets. “Look, you're clearly used to people hanging on to your every word and living and breathing for the smallest morsel of your approval. I am not one of them. If you decide to gift me with some half-wilted flowers and a lackluster poem, great. If not, then by the grace of Freyja I will survive.”

“Half-wilted? LACKLUSTER?!” Loki looked insulted, gaping at her dumbfounded. He composed himself with a scoff, straightening his vambrace as his wounded pride made his chest puff up. “Woman, when I decide to woo you, I will not make pathetic, ill-conceived gestures. You will be beside yourself with wanting me.”

“Ha! Excuse me if I don’t hold my breath. Now move, I need to finish these. People are hungry.” She breezed by him, depositing a bread loaf into each of the baskets. Loki gaped after her, astonished at how easily she dismissed him.

“Woman! You- you-” he found himself tripping over his words in a way he hadn't in centuries. “Do not dismiss me as if I were an errant child!” He shadowed her footsteps, crowding her against the wall when she turned. “Do you remember our wedding night? Our honeymoon? How sweetly you begged me to give you release, how you trembled in my bed?” Loki sighed, eyes falling closed with satisfaction. “I could give you that a thousand times over if you would simply stop being ridiculous.”

“Wow, that's so generous.”

“I can be! Let go of this ridiculous charade and-”

“So you would have me earn your affection like a dog?” Claire pushed him back with a snarl. “You're thinking of a pet, not a partner. Now do you mind? I'm on a deadline,” Loki growled as she elbowed past, rebuffing him in full view of the serving staff. “Let's start packaging these for distribution.” Claire spoke to the nearest servant, drawing a circle in the air above a group of finished baskets.

“Do not ignore me- I am your husband and I will be respected!” Color high on his cheeks, Loki lashed out with his seidr, upending several baskets in front of Claire.

“Are you kidding me?” She shot him an ireful glare that would kill a mortal man. The servants looked concerned as she rounded on him with fury in her steps. “If you wanna act like a child I will treat you like one!” She grabbed him by the ear, taking him by surprise and managing to pull him to the door. She shoved him gracelessly out into the hallway, making him stumble and nearly fall on his ass. “Get out!” She slammed the door in his face, rattling the door frame with the force.

The servants were stunned when she turned away from the door.

“Are you alright, Your Majesty?” one of the cooks asked.

“I am fine. I apologize that you had to see that,” Claire replied, releasing the tension in her body with a sharp exhale. “Let’s fix these back up.”

With Loki banished from the kitchen, the group of women made quick work of repairing the baskets. A cart was brought for them to be loaded onto, and Claire enlisted two of the women to help her distribute them. As they were loading the last of the baskets, an Einherjar appeared to escort them out of the palace.

“It is an honor to serve you, princess.” the Einherjar said as he knelt, fist over his heart.

“Please, there’s no need for formality here,” Claire awkwardly gestured for the man to stand up. As he reached eye level, Claire thought he looked similar to Gunnar. “You must be Gunnar’s brother! Agnar, right?”

“I- yes,” the man gasped. “I’m honored you thought to remember me.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m grateful to you for escorting us.” Agnar’s cheeks flushed and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Everything is loaded, my lady.”

“Wonderful, thank you. Shall we?”

The small group made their way from the kitchens and through the gate, joining the throngs of people in the marketplace. People bowed and curtsied as Claire led the group through the rows of vendors, and Claire greeted them in turn, happy to be out in the sunshine on such a beautiful day.

Beyond the market, the crowds thinned out. Agnar took the lead, guiding them to the slums where they were more likely to find hjemlos.

As they came across a small group of people, Claire put all thoughts of Loki out of her mind. It felt good to have something else to focus on, however small.

For now, that was enough.

#meowmeow writes #covenant #loki fic #loki x ofc

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