#i need it to be known that as soon as the tag bar covered the gifs my phone went back to normal

[calfrxca]

hello tungle,

take my lag inducing tf one picmix gifs, no seriously, theyre lagging my phone, it's slow as i type this

[sweetiecakesss]

Black Russian | Boothill (18+)

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Synopsis: What better way to pass the time on a slow business day than having sex in the bathroom with the universe's known criminal, Boothill.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇Tags: Boothill, Saloon Owner! Reader, Boothill has a cock, Blowjob, Bathroom Sex, Boothill's synthesia beacon isn't broken in this fic, No P n V just P n M, Gunplay.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇Note: Brainrot about Saloon Owner! Reader x Outlaw! Boothill and am creaming my pants---

The business was slow and quiet as you stood behind the counter with a neutral expression on your face, looking around the people that was seated on their respective seats. Some were already drunk to boot while other were still booming with energy as they watched the television as they chug their beers.

"Hey boss," Turning your head to face where the voice came, you raised your brows. "Am gonna get going now, can't let my woman wait." Orion, you're employee let out. You gave him a nod and a smile.

"Tell the misses I said hi." You let out to which Orion nodded, tipping his hat before he left the saloon, leaving you and the other drunkards in your establishment.

Everything was silent, until you heard the familiar ding of the bell by the door. A man---No, A Robot man entering your saloon. White and black hair flowing behind him, his hat covering his features, and with each stem you can hear metal clanking. You kept your eyes on him as he then made his way to the counter, sitting in front of you as he then removed his cowboy hat. Placing it on top of the counter.

As soon as he removed his hat, your eyes squinted at him as you moved your gaze to your left. Eyeing the wanted poster with the man's picture, a smirk creeping its way to your features as you just looked at him.

"A glass of Black Russian for me, sweetcheeks." The man let out, you looked at him as you moved to grab a small alcohol glass, placing it on the counter infront of him as you started pouring and mixing the drink in front of him.

"You got nice taste." You complimented as he took the well mixed drink and taking a sip before he looked at you and chuckling.

"I like em' strong," He let out, pausing as he took another sip. "The name's Boothill. And you are?"

You looked at him with an amused smile as you cleaned the things you needed to make his drink.

"I don't think telling a wanted man my name is a safe move…" You let out, Boothill looked at you surprised and amused as he let out a raspy chuckle as he placed his glass down on the counter, placing his arms on top of it as he leaned forward, tilting his head to the left.

"Don't be like that, Sweetheart. I ain't gonna bite…" He let out as his eyes roamed your features, scanning you from head and downwards before looking back up to meet your gaze. "Anyways, you've got my name already so why donn'cha tell me yours. Unless you want me to call you sweetheart for the rest of my stay here."

You looked at him amused. "It's Y/N." You let out.

He whistled. "Beautiful name. Suits ya'." He let out as he went ahead to take a sip of his drink once more before finally chugging it down and finishing his drink.

"So. Why is a pretty lil' thing like you work in a saloon?" He asked, his attention on yours as he looked at you with his sharp gaze. You looked at him as you raised your brows.

"If calling me pretty and endearments is your way to get free drinks outta me, I'd rather you not. Shit doesn't work on me." You let out. "And I own this saloon." You added to which Boothill let out another low whistle.

"Strong and Independent, yer just my type…How about that?" He let out as he gave you a smirk.

"I ain't interested." You replied, quickly dismissing his further advancements on you to which he just chuckled in response.

“Oh, c’mon.. You’re not gonna give me a single chance?” He then look around, looking around the place as he then lowered his tone of voice. “C’mon, darlin’. I haven’t had a pretty woman on my arm in ages. Least.. least not one that wasn’t tryin’ to shoot me or put me behind bars.”

You looked at him as you then placed the cloth over your shoulders, leaning forward; You placed your arms on the counter as you then tilted your head to the side.

"If you're looking for a prostitute, I ain't interested." you let out with a smirk. "You're a charming fellow but I ain't an easy one to grab, try your luck in a stripper club instead" you added. A low grunt escaped Boothill's lips as he cocked his eyebrow at you.

"I wasn't lookin' to buy yer services." He retorted as he chuckled. "Not yet, anyways."

"I just told you, I ain't a stripper." You let out as you stood back and crossed your arms over your chest, your brows furrowing at him. Boothill let out a raspy laugh as he ran his cold metallic fingers on his hair while looking at you.

"A Strong, Independent, Funny, and Pretty girl? Hah. How are you even Single…" He let out as he gave you a charming smirk. You looked at him intently as you then grabbed a bottle of vodka, pouring it onto his empty glass.

"Men tell me I'm insane that's why." You replied as you then grabbed the glass with vodka, chugging the drink down with one swift move before placing it down on the counter. A lipstick stain evident on the glass.

Boothill looked at the glass, eyeing the lipstick stain before he then grabbed the glass, holding it from the bottom as he then gave the mark you left on his glass a small kiss while his eyes remained on you. Making sure your eyes never left him for just even a second.

You stared at him in amusement as you then looked around, the quiet saloon still oh so quiet. Looking back at him, you dropped the things you were holding.

"It's a slow day…" You let out in a hum. "Meet me in the bathroom after a few…" You let out with a smirk before walking away and out the counter, your footsteps growing faint as you entered the bathroom.

Boothill made sure to eye you as entered the bathroom, looking away he chuckled to himself as he then moved and grabbed his hat before looking around and following pursuit, entering the bathroom.

You stood there with your arms crossed over your chest, across from him with your back against the wall. Boothill then closed the door behind him before locking it as he approached you, his cold hands holding onto your waist as he pulled you close to him.

"Mind telling me why you invited me in the bathroom?" He let out, humming as he moved his free hand up your body before holding onto your chin and making you look at him. Your gaze was on him as you then grabbed his wrist, opening your mouth you then pushed his fingers inside your mouth, lightly bobbing your head as you make eye contact with him.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" You let out murmured as you then let go of his fingers, your small hands placed on his chest as you gently guided him back until his back was finally against the door.

Your touch was enough to make Boothill shiver, his hands letting go of your waist as he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes meeting yours as he then moved his hand and placing them behind your head, intertwining his fingers with your hair before he then pulled you in a for a kiss.

You let out a hum of satisfaction as your lips finally clashed with his, your hands that was once on his chest, moved up as you grabbed tightly onto his collar. Gripping onto his clothes tightly as you chased his lips, the kiss deepening and messy as you made sure to not let him go. Your free hand moving down until it was now on his waist, holding onto him.

Boothill gasped with delight over the way you both kissed. It was rough and intense, both bodies pressed onto each other as he then let out a groan, his hand that was holding onto your hair moved and gripped onto it tightly, eliciting a moan escaping your mouth, making Boothill have access to more of you as he used his tongue, wrestling with yours.

"Gods…you taste so fucking sweet…" He murmured in between the kiss as he continued to chase the high that the two of you were feeling. You then let out a chuckle in between the kiss.

"I'm addicting…I know…" You slurred a reply as you slowly walked back, letting Boothill pushed his body onto you as he then pushed you against the sink. His hand then let's go of your hair before he grabbed onto the back of your thighs, holding onto you before he lifted you up and placed you on top of the counter.

Cold metallic hands holding tightly onto your thighs as you wrapped your legs around Boothill, his hips thrusting forward to feel the warmth in between your legs. Your pussy throbbing as he proceeded to grind his growing bulge onto you.

As the kiss went on, Boothill was too distracted at the feeling of kissing you and the wetness that was gradually forming in between your legs that he didn't notice the lightness of the gun holster on his waist. Briefly pulling away, both you and Boothill looked at each other in a daze before you gave him a smirk as you raised your hand and pointed the gun muzzle under his chin, making him tilt his head up and to the side as he looked at you surprised and a smirk.

"YOu fucking minx…" He let out as he then raised both his hands in the air.

"Must say, for someone who only seems like to be ninety percent human…You're packing.." You let as your free hand moved to cup the aching bulge in his pants as you made sure to look at him.

Boothill let out a grunt as he jolted his hips forward, chasing your touch.

"I was lucky to have them saved my dick, to be honest…" He let out in between groans, his words getting caught in his throat as you continued to palm him through his pants. You let out a chukle.

"Now what? You gonna' shoot me, Doll?" He let out a question while he kept his gaze on you. You let out a hum.

"I was gonna shoot your brains out but since this little fellow is being so charming…" You let out, pausing briefly as you unwrapped your legs around Boothill, your hand letting go of his crotch as you created a gap between you and him as you then stood on your own feet, guiding him against the wall as you then returned the gun in his holster before kneeling down in front of him. "I thought I'd give you a treat…" You added.

Boothill looked down at you with widened eyes as you skillfully unbuckled his pants, pulling it down and revealing his Cock. Despite being a robot, his cock stood lively as you stared at it. Pale in color with a slightly darkened tip.

Looking up at him, you gave his tip a small kiss before opening your mouth wide, taking the head in your mouth before pulling out again with a pop. Boothill groaned as he looked down at you, his hands reaching to hold onto your shoulders as he tried to push you away from his aching and throbbing cock.

"YOu don't want it?" You asked with a feign pout as your hands wrapped around his shaft, slowly moving it up and down as you gave his tip small pecks down to his shaft before finally reaching his hips.

"N-no…It's just that--Fuck…" Boothill let out as he looked at you, his grip on your shoulder tightening as he threw his head back, feeling your lips all over him.

You gave him a smirk as you then bit down on the flesh of his hip, leaving a mark before moving back and slapping his hardened cock on your face while still giving it kisses, giving it the love it deserves.

"Y/N…" Boothill moaned your name as he looked back down. "Jesus fucking christ just suck my cock already…" He groaned impatiently as his other hand moved to grab the back of your head and pulling onto your hair. As he pulled onto your hair, you can't help but let out a whimper as you looked up at him with a smirk.

"Impatient asshole…"You cussed at him as you tightened the grip around his cock, making boothill nearly fall onto the floor as leaned forward, cock throbbing in your hand as he let out shaky breaths of whimper.

Boothill stood up straight again as he glared at you, before he could even say something you just looked at him in amusement before swallowing in his cock, pushing him deep inside your throat. Boothill bit his lip to supress his groans, his entire body shaking from the pleasure.

All he could hear was gagging noises you made before you were pulling away from his cock, coughing as soon as you pulled away. Boothill looked back at you, his cock throbbing even more as he saw your mascara stained cheeks. A mix of his pre and your saliva dirpping down your chin.

"Fuck, so pretty…" He let out as he used his free hand to hold onto your neck, pulling you in for a soft kiss before letting go of you. You hummed as you let out a giggle before taking in his cock in your mouth one more time.

"Yeah, take me like that…" Boothill groaned as you bobbed your head, your moans adding an extra pleasure to him as the vibrations added a sensation of pleasure. His hands guiding you to move faster and deeper on him.

The bathroom was filled with Boothill's groans and grunts along with the sound of you gagging and slobbering all over his cock, at this point you were sure that whoever attempted to use the bathroom could hear what was going on inside.

"Wait--fuck, sweetheart…'m boutta cum…" Boothill let out in between grunts, you could only look up at him through your lashes as you continued to bob your head, your hand going to grip onto his balls, massaging them.

With one final bob of your head, Boothill pressed you down onto him, making you gag around his cock as he spilled all his cum down your throat. Pulling away, Boothill looked down at you.

"Jesus fuck…You look prettier this way, Doll…" He let out. You looked up at him as you stood up and swallowed his cum all while looking at him.

"You should cut down the Alocohol." You let out as you then headed towards the sink, turning on the faucet as you washed your make up and cum stained face. Boothill let out a chuckle as he then headed your way but before he could even hold you a loud knock resonated within the bathroom, grabbing both of your attention.

"Are you both done there!? I need to fucking pee!" A drunk man slurred from the otherside of the door. Turning off the faucet, you headed your way to the door. Opening it.

"Go pee somewhere else, This bathroom's out of order." You let out, staring down the man before slamming the door to his face, locking it as you turned to face Boothill.

Turning around, you started to unbuckle your belt as you then pushed your pants down. You then placed both your hands on the door, bending forward and exposing your dripping cunt to Boothill.

"Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna fuck me senseless?"

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part i: the winter of our discontent

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.8k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he��s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

hello and welcome to my first ever mando fic!! i binged the entirety of the first two seasons in a week to get me through tedious internship work and accidentally fell in love with our favorite space dad and his cute green child along the way. oops (i regret nothing)

with the outline i currently have for this fic, it’ll be around 11-12 chapters, although that’s likely to grow as we get deeper into the story. the posting schedule might be anywhere from once a week to once a month, but this wip *will* be finished.

the second chapter's scheduled to upload next week as a little treat for y'all, so if you want to catch it then hit that follow button or ask to be added to my taglist! ;)

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

You watched the last of tonight’s drunken patrons stumble out of the cantina and into the bitter Nath night with a relieved sigh. Wiping your hands on the stained apron tied around your waist, you fished a set of bronze keys out of a tiny pocket and began your nightly walk around the perimeter of the bar, locking doors and pulling down rusty shutters as you went. The cantina was silent aside from your quiet shuffling– a welcome reprieve from its usual crowded bustle and chatter so hectic you could barely hear your own thoughts. 

You hummed softly as you adjusted booths back to their original positions and swept crumbs off of battered tabletops, wishing that the small holospeaker at the edge of the room hadn’t been broken in a recent bar fight. Swaying to its pre-Imperial oldies throughout your long, exhausting shifts had been one of the only perks of working in this run-down cantina, but without the soothing ambience of music, a chill threatened to sink into your bones and paralyze you with the deep depression this side of the planet seemed to have succumbed to.

You never planned to stay here for as long as you had. No one really did, except for criminals who knew that no one would willingly come here to search for them and locals who had never known anything else. Nath might have been charming, once– all soft snowflakes and peaceful walks under sepia-toned streetlights– but that was before the Empire had destroyed every semblance of comfort and culture and replaced them with brutalist brick structures that were already crumbling under the weight of their makers’ crimes. The fear lingered long after the Imps had finally left the post, reflected in the sad eyes of the fishmongers’ children and the way one would be hard-pressed to find a factory worker who didn’t spend his nights nursing a bottle and the ghosts of blaster scars across his back.

You had your own scars, of course, but you still held out hope that things would change and you’d make it out of here– although that hope was gradually diminishing as off-world shuttles visited less and less frequently and the permanent winter worsened. Five years ago, you’d been unceremoniously dropped off at the town’s dingy port, forced to land after your shuttle to Corellia was damaged by an unexpected detour through an asteroid field. You’d taken the cantina job thinking you’d only stay long enough to pay for passage on an outgoing ship, but soon learned that any shuttle risking the terrible weather to land here would also charge an exorbitant boarding price– one that would take you years to afford with the meager pay you received. And your tentative plan of stowing away on a spice freighter and sneaking off once it arrived at its destination (you weren’t picky about where, so long as it wasn’t Nath) was tempered by the increasingly likelihood that you’d get blown to pieces the minute you entered space by one of the pirate gangs that ruled the atmosphere these days. So– you were stuck here, at least for now.

The smell of something burning in the back of the cantina drew you out of your thoughts. Cursing, you raced to the kitchen, where your dinner was quickly blackening on the stove. Kriff. You shut off the burner, staring at the charred mess before you for a few seconds before dejectedly scraping it into an almost-overflowing trash bin. Well, there went your plan to eat quickly and head to your tiny flat before the storm outside worsened. Your rental pod had barely enough space for your bed and a miniscule bathroom, so you had to use the cantina kitchen if you wanted to stay fed– but the stove here was so old, it took half an hour longer than usual to cook anything. You resigned yourself to another night sleeping in a booth, since the flurry outside would prevent you from navigating your way home safely. 

You sliced up a few vegetables and set them to simmer in a pot with the last of the herbed broth and sandseed noodles from today’s lunch special, glancing at the bin next to you. It was probably a good idea to take out the foul-smelling waste before you were sealed in next to it all night. Wrinkling your nose at the unappealing scraps of food threatening to fall off the top of the pile, you hefted the bin up and maneuvered it through the back door of the cantina, being careful not to stain your apron any more than it already was. The harsh winds nipped at every sliver of exposed skin and dusted your hair with a pearlescent sheen of snow, making you wish you’d thought to slip on something warmer than your thin blouse and trousers before leaving the protection of the kitchen.

You navigated through the blizzard to the end of the dark alleyway behind the cantina, your path lit only by two buzzing lamps at each end of the narrow corridor. You scrunched your face up against the cold, willing yourself to keep walking despite your extremely limited night vision. Just a few more steps, and then you’d be free of your compostable burden for the night. You turned the corner, stepping to the left where you knew the trash compactor was, and immediately collided with a giant hunk of metal.

Said hunk of metal cursed loudly as it stumbled head-first over the garbage bin you’d dropped in shock after the impact, falling forward into the snow. “Dank ferrik!” 

Your eyes grew wide as the glow of the flickering streetlights illuminated the very-much-alive Mandalorian lying in front of you. It was just your luck that you’d managed to potentially injure the kind of warrior you’d only heard about in hushed rumors, or at least someone who was wearing the armor of one. Okay, injure was a strong word, but all that cold, hard beskar couldn’t be very comfortable to fall on despite the protection it offered. 

“Stars, I’m so sorry, let me–” 

You reached forward, stretching out a hand to help the Mandalorian up when a small green head suddenly popped up out of a tawny bag slung across their side. You yelped in surprise, losing your balance on the icy road and toppling forward. You winced, bracing yourself and preparing for the inevitable impact– except right as you were about to hit the ground, one steel-clad arm shot out to grab your wrist while the other steadied your hips. You gasped at the warmth of the unexpected contact, pulse quickening as you stared at the–man? person?–beneath you, the only thing preventing you from a nasty collection of bruises appearing across your side tomorrow. 

A deep baritone sounded from the helmet– likely modulated, from the slightly grainy tone. “Are you alright?”

Definitely a man, then. You pointedly ignored the butterflies that stirred to life in your stomach at the sound of his voice, praying that he would attribute your shiver to the cold and nothing more. Stars, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute. You tucked away the thought, making a note to do some serious soul-searching later on about the depth of your touch-starvation and its potential impact on your mental state. 

You gave a quick nod, muttering your thanks and carefully rolling to the side as you dusted clumps of snow off of your trousers. You looked up at him to see him gently picking up the little green creature you’d been so startled by earlier and tucking it back into the bag, pulling his cloak over its head to shield it from the chill. That was… rather cute, actually. You thought Mandalorians were supposed to be scary fighters, dedicated to nothing but their Creed, but this one was clearly fond of the small thing clinging to him. You couldn’t blame him; the green creature’s big ears and bug eyes were adorably endearing. 

The cold winds picked up pace, and you wondered why anyone would be out here during such a storm as you got to your feet. Anyone local would have sought shelter hours ago, and no freighter would dare to land in such conditions. 

“Are you... lost?” You tentatively asked. “Can I help you find someone?”

The Mandalorian remained silent for several long seconds, helmet tilted slightly. Whatever he saw in your face seemed to have settled well with him, and he released a quiet huff through the modulator.

“I need to get food. For my son,” he eventually admitted, gesturing to the baby peeking up at you. 

“Oh!” You brightened up considerably as you remembered the flavorful soup you’d started earlier. “Well– I work in a cantina back there,” you said, pointing behind you at the rusted door that led to the kitchen.

“We’re technically closed right now, but I’m sure I can work something out.” You winked at the curious child, smiling as he let out a happy babble. 

The Mandalorian’s helmet hadn’t moved from its focus in your direction, and you suddenly felt nervous. Which seemed stupid, because–yeah, it felt intense, but was he even looking at you from behind the dark visor of his helmet? For all you knew, he was making the most ridiculous expression at you behind all that beskar and you’d never know. The absurd thought made you snicker softly. If no one could see your face, you’d definitely act goofy at people all the time.

The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly, and whoops, he’d definitely noticed your little moment now if he hadn’t been paying attention before. Your face reddened and you quickly gestured for him to follow you as you unlocked the door to the kitchen, relieved when you heard the soft clink of his armor come through the doorway behind you.

You placed your hands on your hips, surveying the dimly lit cantina and deciding to lead the duo to a worn table close to the bar. It looked unassuming, but the chairs were the comfiest in the cantina and you figured the baby would appreciate something softer than the coarse bag he’d been in. 

Once they’d gotten settled in, you set about finding a mug of blue milk for the kid and some water for the Mandalorian. You brought the drinks over to the pair, hiding a smile at how eagerly the little green baby reached for his. 

“You’re pretty thirsty, huh?” You observed as the baby slurped up the cerulean beverage. Shooting the tall, beskar-clad man a glance out of the corner of your eye, you continued, “Must have been quite the trip. Most people don’t usually travel to this side of the galaxy for vacation.”

To your disappointment, the Mandalorian remained as still and stoic as ever. Well, that just wouldn’t do. He was your first visitor in years from anywhere outside of Nath, and you were absolutely not letting him leave without getting a bit of juicy detail on life outside of your current drudgery. You decided to go for another angle.

“You know, kids need good role models in their lives. Ones that show them how to socialize with others and communicate. Display generosity of the loquacious sort, even.” You shrugged innocently in your best attempt to mimic the overly casual air the old women at the tea shop always used before passive-aggressively attempting to set you up with their stay-at-home-nephews. “Never too late to start.”

You got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at you under that helmet. Rude. Huffing, you sat down across the table from him and crossed your arms, trying to guess where under his visor his eyes were. Once you were half-confident that you’d found the spot, you stared intensely at it with your most intimidating expression. Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as you had the firepower of a soggy Lothkitten and probably came off as more desperate than anything. 

“Isn’t there some sort of honor code for Mandalorians? One that includes being noble to strangers and whatnot?” 

No response. Argh. 

“Well, I’d consider it pretty noble to provide a lonely soul such as myself with a bit of storytelling entertainment on this frigid evenin–”

Your final attempt at prying some information out of the armored man was interrupted by the sound of the kitchen timer beeping increasingly louder and louder until you were sure the whole cantina was vibrating with the tinny noise.

“KRIFF, not again!” 

You bolted out of your seat towards the kitchen, but not before you heard a thinly disguised huff of amusement coming out of the modulator. Okay, he was definitely laughing at you. 

Once you’d successfully saved the soup from imminent destruction-via-cursed-stove and somewhat regained your pride, you finally made your way back to the table with three steaming bowls of noodles. You placed the smallest one in front of the child, who cooed happily and immediately began plopping his hands in the bowl. The Mandalorian huffed in exasperation and began prying little green fingers out of the bowl. “Hey. Quit that, we talked about this,” he grumbled. You winced as broth sloshed out of the bowl, landing dangerously close to the baby’s tunic. The kid’s lower lip started to tremble, a blaring warning sign that a tantrum was going to occur in approximately ten seconds if he wasn’t distracted from his current petulant state. 

“Oh– hey, bug, don’t do that,” you said as both father and son turned to look at you. You leaned closer to the wide-eyed baby and pointed to his bowl. “That’s pretty hard to scoop up, yeah? Look, there are easier ways to eat it,” you explained as you brought the bowl up to your lips and raised an eyebrow, hoping that he would do the same. The kid blinked up at you for several long seconds before turning to his father with outstretched hands. The Mandalorian sighed, but held up the dish as requested. You hid a smile behind your bowl at the sight.

“Good job! Okay, now we’re going to try something fun–” You mimed slurping up the soup with a silly face at the baby, who burbled something incomprehensible in response but finally followed your example and focused on his food.

When you were sure that the baby’s clothes were no longer in danger of being drenched by broth– and by extension, frozen stiff whenever the pair headed back into the storm–you quietly tucked into your own meal, closing your eyes at the warm memories the comforting flavours brought. Not for the first time, you missed the earthy smell and placid weather of your homeworld, a stark contrast to this icy prison of a planet. 

“You are… good with him.” 

Your eyes darted up to find the Mandalorian’s helmet angled directly at you. Your face heated at the observation and you gave a small laugh, willing yourself to resist fidgeting under his gaze.

“I– thank you, I’ve always liked kids. Used to volunteer in the nursery back home, actually, before the Empire stole every resource from it they could.” 

Your eyes widened with sudden realization. “You’re not Imperial, are you?”

The Mandalorian scoffed vehemently, the most emotion he’d displayed since he’d fallen back in the alley. “No.”

Well, that answered a few questions at least. You were prepared to move on from the conversation when he hesitantly spoke, “My ship ran into a few… asteroids. Is there a mechanic nearby?”

You set down your spoon, thinking. The closest asteroid field was four solar systems away and almost entirely inaccessible if one was traveling through hyperspace, so the likelihood that he’d truly run into one was small. In that case, he probably had damage from some kind of fight— seeing as the average pacifist wouldn’t need that much armor— and would want someone reliable who wasn’t going to ask questions about laser-sized holes in his ship’s hull.

He hadn’t tried to kill or rob you yet, so you figured his personal tussles were none of your business and decided to give him an honest recommendation. You directed him to a small mechanical hub close to the ice huts where there were few ships and even fewer nosy citizens. “The owner, Sanna, is the best in town,” you admitted. “I haven’t had the chance to visit her personally, but she’s known for being very discreet.”

He nodded, entering the coordinates you’d given him into some sort of device on his wrist. You tried to contain your pleased expression at correctly guessing his reason for being on Nath. And it had only taken you… well, four tries, but that was better than nothing! 

“What is your price?”

You blinked, confused. “My price?”

There was that increasingly frequent head tilt again. His helmet tipped forward, scanning you. “For the food. And information.” He clarified slowly. 

“Oh,” you spoke, surprised. “It’s okay, I was making dinner for myself anyway. And you’d have found out the location of the mechanic from someone else eventually,” you shrugged. 

You couldn’t see his face, but from the disbelieving tone of his voice you imagined his eyebrows to be raised. “Not many people would turn down credits.” 

You winced, reminded of your costly dream to get off-world, but there was no way you’d accept this stranger’s money for such a small favor when he had a kid he needed to provide for. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m not most people,” you laughed sheepishly. 

The Mandalorian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like no, you definitely are not. You squinted at him accusingly.

“Hey, you better not be making fun of my interrogation tactics, metal man.” You leaned forward to poke his soup bowl emphatically. Hm, that was strange– he hadn’t so much as touched it. Did Mandalorians follow some kind of special diet? You resolved to look that up the next time you had access to a datapad.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing that to a lonely soul like yourself.” He responded dryly.

You gasped in mock offense, forgetting your previous train of thought and internally groaning that he’d remembered that part of your disastrous attempt to weasel information out of him. Yeesh. Not your most eloquent moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared,” you shot back in the most syrupy-sweet tone you could muster.

The kid grinned up at you with sharp teeth and blew a soupy bubble towards your face in response. You smiled down at him, adding, “But if you really want to repay me, then bring me back a good story about this little guy the next time you crash land through a— what did you call it? Asteroid field.” You highly doubted the duo would ever willingly return, but if making a deal gave this man peace of mind to know his imaginary debt was settled in some future way then so be it. 

The lights in the cantina began to flicker and you got up with a frown, walking over to the electrical box behind the bar. The dull grey display, crammed with incomprehensibly labelled switches and flashing lights that would give anyone a headache, alerted you that the main generator had been depleted of power. You scrambled over to a window, prying open the shutters a crack only to be met with a dark swirl of snow that completely obscured your view of the street. Stars, the storm had worsened quickly— there was absolutely no chance you were making it home tonight. You slammed the shutter closed and turned around with a grimace that didn’t go unnoticed by the Mandalorian.

“What is it?” He questioned, modulated voice growing wary at the expression on your face.

“We’re running out of power, the main generator’s down from the storm so these lights are going to have to shut off soon. I think there’s enough in the emergency generator to heat the cantina through the night, though.” You hesitated, not sure how to break the bad news. “Unfortunately, the weather is— unmanageable. You’re not making it out of here to the mechanic’s until the blizzard lets up.” 

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, so you continued talking. “I was.. planning on sleeping here tonight.” You muttered, trying to think of a plan. You glanced at the sleepy child resting on the Mandalorian’s beskar chest plate. “I usually keep a couple blankets here for that reason— pretty sure there’s enough to cover the baby, but you might need to be okay with sharing.” 

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, searching your memory for where the emergency supplies were kept. Kriff. How were you supposed to know that you’d be snowed in, and with guests no less? Your grumpy boss really should have put instructions for this type of situation in the closing shift directions instead of the usual “sweep the floors” or your personal favorite: “if the customer creates a corpse, they gotta clean it up themselves”.

The Mandalorian interrupted your musings with a firm, “No need,” gesturing to the charcoal cloak fastened around his pauldrons. You eyed it dubiously, but supposed that the material looked thick enough. That was probably to your benefit, anyway, since you were something of a notorious blanket hog and didn’t think he’d take kindly to having his sheets ripped off him in the dead of night. That seemed like a quick way to wake up with more bruises than you went to sleep with.

“Well— alright then,” you sighed at last, tossing the smaller of your blankets to the man and tucking the other into the side of a nearby booth. “I’ll shut off the lights in a moment. Refresher’s that way, if you need it,” you pointed to the end of a dimly lit hall. The Mandalorian nodded once, then returned his attention to carefully cocooning the child in his lap. You set to work fluffing up your own makeshift bed, folding the cleanest dishtowel you could find into a pillow before trudging over to the light switch and enveloping the room in darkness. 

Quietly feeling your way back to your booth, your eyes adjusted to the pitch-black little by little. You pulled your hair out of its messy updo and curled up on the seat, body slowly relaxing. It was strange, hearing the muffled rhythm of breaths coming from lungs that weren’t your own, but oddly soothing in its own way. 

“G’night,” you mumbled, half-asleep already, consciousness swirled down the psychological drain by the overpowering storm raging outside. The lull-and-hitch of the baby’s soft snores echoing off of solid beskar set you drifting off to sleep faster than you had as a child, so lost to the world that you were sure you dreamed the quiet, belated whisper that sounded back to you.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part ii

[part-time-zombie]

Waiting Out The Storm

pairings: roceit (could be romantic or platonic)

summary: After a rather nasty storm ends up ruining both Roman and Janus' plans, the pair find themselves coming together and putting their differences aside as they cope with the weather.

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, both sides refuse to talk about their feelings, Virgil's a bit of a jerk for a moment, no other sides are there

word count: 3733

A/N: This fic was the result of me getting inspired by the most recent incorrect quotes video, writing two very similar fics, and putting them together because they fit so well in my head. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope it's still good.

Janus should have known this would happen. He had only meant to find some proper peace and quiet by retreating outside to read his book in peace, it’s not like he was asking for much. Of course it was going to rain today. Logan had actually mentioned that to him before he headed out, now that he thought about it. He hadn’t bothered to listen to him at the time, and now he wishes he did. The rain was pelting fiercely around him, and the flimsy awning he was hiding under hardly provided any cover against the seemingly unending storm.

He tried to head back inside the second he felt the first raindrop, only to find the door stubbornly locked and barring him from refuge. No one seemed to hear or acknowledge that he was still outside, no matter how loudly he knocked at the door. They all must be busy in their own rooms, unless they were just ignoring him. Janus didn’t know, but at a guess it may be a mix of both. Patton and Logan have yet to fully hate him, so the only reason they would abandon him to the weather is that they simply didn’t realize he was still outside. Remus was probably doing his own thing as well, because even he wouldn’t subject Janus to this indignity too much. Maybe for a little, but not for this long. Virgil, on the other hand, likely wouldn’t care if Janus were locked out all night.

He had seen him, of course. Virgil just happened to descend the stairs shortly after Janus had knocked, presumably to investigate the ruckus he was making. Looking through the glass, Virgil saw him outside huddled close to the window in a desperate attempt to stay dry as the storm continued to rage around him. Janus gave him the most pitifully helpless look possible, hoping he could appeal to some speck of sympathy in Virgil’s heart. It almost seemed to work for a moment, his face softening in realization as he saw him.

Then he closed the blinds and left him stranded outside.

At any other time, Janus would have found that hilarious. It’s the kind of thing he would do himself, and if he weren’t currently on the receiving end of it he’d be laughing. Right now though, he could only shake in the rain, unsure if it was from the cold or anger.

Janus had hoped that Virgil was willing to move on after all this time. Sure, there had been a falling apart between them years ago, but Janus didn’t hold it against him. Not anymore, at least. He had grown past what had happened, but it looks like Virgil hasn’t forgiven him yet.

He’s really going to let him have it when he gets back inside.

It’s not like they can lock him out forever, right? Surely they wouldn’t do that. Patton likes him at least, and Logan respects him enough. All he has to do is wait until they remember he’s out here and then they’ll let him in, a thousand apologies spilling from their lips.

Janus dismissed the thought with a willful shake of the head. Who was he kidding? Logan didn’t really care about him, and Patton probably forgot about him entirely. The only one who knows he’s out here is Virgil, and it was clear he wasn’t letting him in anytime soon. He thought about finding a way to break in somehow, but he knew he wouldn’t actually do it. They need him to be good before they’ll accept him, and good guys don’t pick locks or use dirty tricks to get what they want, even if it’s just to seek shelter from a storm.

He was already on thin ice after everything else he did, he can’t make it worse now.

Roman actually didn’t mind the rain all that much. Sure, it came with the risk of ruining his outfit, but it was usually worth it.

Besides, they were bound to let him in anytime now. He just has to wait a little longer…

He had merely gone out for a quiet stroll in the park, a chance to clear his head and be by himself for a moment, when he heard the distant clap of thunder rapidly approaching. Luckily, Logan had warned him of the storm and he brought an umbrella just in case. At first it simply made for a nice prop, a bright red to compliment his sash as he idly carried it over his shoulder as he walked. With the rain now cascading all around him, he’s rather glad he thought to take it with him.

The weather hardly hindered his time outside, if anything it only improved it. With the rain came a lovely quietness and solitude he didn’t realize he needed, and as he reached out a hand from under his umbrella to feel the rainfall, he found it to be very grounding and calming. It also gave him the opportunity to quote musicals and romantic movies, though it would be nice to sing a proper duet with a partner some day.

That thought had him somberly slow his steps as he headed back to the apartment. He knew no one would want to do that with him. Logan and Virgil would only roll their eyes in quiet criticism, and as enthusiastic as Patton would be, he wouldn’t take it seriously and would probably only make it into something foolish. At least Roman could sing a few songs by himself on the walk back.

By the time he had returned from his walk, the rain had gone from a light shower to a full-on storm, and he was now more than eager to head back inside.

He almost didn’t even see Janus huddled up by the door, shaking and soaking wet.

Janus looked up and saw him, expression shifting from desolated to defensive. He looked away quickly, wrapping his arms even tighter around himself as he tried his best to look unbothered by the rain, and failing spectacularly.

“What are you doing out here?” Roman couldn’t help but ask.

“Enjoying myself, obviously,” Janus replied with a sarcastic sneer. “I just love being subjected to the elements for hours on end, don’t you?”

Roman rolled his eyes as he walked to the door. If Janus was just going to start another petty squabble again, he’d rather get somewhere dry before the fight could start.

The door didn’t budge when he tried to open it.

“It’s locked, idiot,” Janus muttered. “It’s not like I’d still be out here if I had a choice.”

Roman bit his tongue before he said anything too hurtful. Now was not the time. He knocked loudly on the door, to no response.

“Don’t you think I’d have tried that already? They’re not opening the door; they either don’t hear or don’t care.” Janus sighed, absently kicking at a puddle as he spoke. “I doubt they even know it’s you knocking, they’re probably too focused on letting me suffer to remember you’re stuck out here too.”

Roman only huffed in response, grabbing his phone to call someone only to remember all too belatedly that it had died halfway through his walk. Great. Locked out of the house during a storm with Janus is exactly how he wanted today to turn out.

“I don’t suppose you have your phone on hand, do you?” he asked with a sigh.

Janus shook his head in defeat. “Left it in the house by mistake. I doubt anyone would have even answered if I called them, though. They likely have my number blocked.”

“Why the hell would they lock the door on us?”

Janus only shrugged for a moment, leaning against the wall as the rain continued to pool around his feet. “Who’s to say? Maybe they forgot we’re out here, maybe they thought you had come back by now and just wanted to keep me from getting inside, maybe they knew we were both outside and thought it would be funny.”

Roman didn’t respond to that, instead turning and pounding on the door again, though he knew by now that it wouldn’t work.

“If they didn’t know I was out here, they might have answered by now,” Janus commented. “I think they’re too busy ignoring me to remember you.”

Roman started getting defensive. What did Janus know anyway? “They wouldn’t do that.”

Janus arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And you’re so sure?”

“Of course, we may all joke around but we’d never be so wicked as you’re suggesting.”

Janus turned to face him head on, his expression hardened and full of resentment.

“Virgil closed the blinds on me,” he started, voice flat and deadpan. “He looked right at me and left me out here, knowing full well how bad this storm is.” He gave Roman a humorless grin, one that was sharpened with grim understanding. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing. Tell me how you wouldn’t even think of doing that to me.”

Roman swallowed uncomfortably. He wanted to say that he wouldn’t, but in truth, he probably would. He might have even locked the door on Janus, if it were him.

That’s hardly heroic of him, but it’s the truth. It’s the horrible, horrible truth.

Janus seemed to take his silence as answer enough, as he hummed knowingly before turning away and watching the storm instead.

Roman looked at him, feeling the weight of what he had said settling over him. Sure, he was still angry about what had happened between them, and that pain may never fully heal, but do either of them deserve that? How much longer will they continue to let each other suffer, all because they’re both too proud to do anything else?

The water was now pooling at Roman’s feet, but he hardly paid it any mind. This always happens, doesn’t it? Roman and Janus fight and no one else does anything about it. It’s almost become as predictable as Remus making a mess or Patton messing up.

He gasped as the thought entered his mind. How could he have forgotten? Roman moved away from the door and started blindly feeling around in the rocks by the back porch with his free hand, much to Janus’ confusion.

“What is it that you’re doing now?” he asked, exasperation evident in his tone.

“Usually it’s Patton who gets locked out of the house,” Roman explained as he continued his search. “And it happened enough times for Logan to get fed up and make a spare key. Virgil insisted we hide it to be safe, and it should be right about…” he trailed off, finally locating the large rock it was under. “Here!”

Roman lifted the key with a victorious flourish, hurriedly unlocking the door. Janus all but raced inside and made a beeline for his room, with Roman hanging up his umbrella close behind.

He, unlike Janus, froze in place immediately when he realized just how dark the apartment was. All he could focus on was the suffocating darkness that had filled every corner of the room and flooded his mind with panic. The whole apartment was vacant and void of light, casting eerie shadows and creating frightening shapes in their wake.

The power was out.

It was no secret that Roman disliked the dark, though he tried to downplay just how badly he was frightened of it. It obscured and obstructed his sight, leaving the surroundings open to his overactive imagination (which always ran the risk of manifesting) and left him feeling far too vulnerable and exposed for his liking. He felt simultaneously cut off from the world and surrounded by danger, and despite the faint flickering of a few candles that had been lit to compensate for the darkness, Roman could only think to search of light and safety.

Janus had gone upstairs, and the other sides must be up there, too. Even if he can’t find light he can at least make sure he’s not alone with the shadows. He hurried upstairs in a frantic search for sanctuary, pausing to recollect himself after finding the hallway to be even darker than the living room. Roman tried to gather his breath and cleared his head before finally spotting a sliver of warm, welcoming light peeking out from behind one of the bedroom doors.

Safety at last.

Eager to escape the darkness that surrounded him, he hurriedly tried to open the door, knocking loudly when he found it locked.

Janus finally opened the door, a warm glow from his room seeping out behind him. Despite his time spent left out in the rain, he was surprisingly dry.

“Are you trying to break my door down?” he hissed. “Not to be rude, but I’ve had enough socializing for today, so if you don’t mind I’d like to be left alone now.”

Janus started to close the door on him, and Roman felt his heart lurch as he realized he would be deprived of that safe, soothing light in Janus’ room. Panicked and desperate, Roman reached out a hand and caught the door before it could close, trying his best to force it back open.

“Are you serious?” Janus exclaimed, still blocking Roman from entering his room. “I told you to go. You’ve been more than willing to avoid me before, right?”

“Please,” Roman ignored the shake in his voice. “The power’s out and it’s dark everywhere else.”

“So?”

“So I can’t stand it. I just want some light, that’s all. I don’t like being in the dark. Please, Janus.”

On any other day, Roman would die from embarrassment at the thought of him begging Janus for help. Especially when the help involves admitting to his own weaknesses and fears. Right now, though, all he can focus on is how well-lit Janus’ room is, and how badly he wants to feel safe.

Janus stared silently back at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re scared of the dark, aren’t you?” he finally asked, an unpleasant mixture of condescension and intrigue in his voice.

Roman nodded, an inkling of shame now joining with his still present fear. Of course Janus would mock him for this. What is he thinking, going to Janus for help? It’s not like they’ve buried the hatchet in the storm outside or anything. Janus still hates him, and going to him for help is still a terrible idea. He must have lost his mind to think anything good would come of this.

“Please,” he whispered.

Janus gave him another look before letting out a deep sigh and stepping back, granting Roman access to his room.

“Normally I’d say no, but since you got me out of the storm I’ll oblige this one time,” he said with a groan. “Besides, I don’t like owing people.”

Roman thanked him before quickly heading inside, already feeling himself calm down now that he was out of the dark. Janus’ room was surprisingly decent, with ornate furnishings and regal gold decorations that stood out nicely against the black accents. On the wall to his right was a large, lit fireplace, the source of the reassuring light that lured Roman in here.

Janus sat down on a plush cushion close to the fireplace, picking up the book he must have been reading when Roman interrupted him.

“I wanted to enjoy some much-needed peace and quiet today, and I still intend on doing so, so while you’re here I want you to keep your hands and opinions to yourself, alright?” Janus asked him, the stern tone in his voice leaving no room for debate.

Roman nodded.

“Good, now make yourself comfortable and I’ll do the same.”

With little else to say or do, Roman obediently grabbed a cushion of his own and seated himself on the other side of the fireplace, close enough to be eased by its light while maintaining a respectful distance from Janus.

He didn’t have anything with him to occupy his time, so he instead looked around the room as his mind wandered, taking in the intricate and presumably expensive décor Janus filled his room with. Everything was organized and majestic, and despite Roman preferring lighter and more colorful shades, the lavish accents and atmospheric layout of Janus’ room were surprisingly appealing to his own personal tastes, save for the excessive snake-themed memorabilia, that is.

Roman’s gaze eventually wandered back to Janus, who was still focused on his book and seemed to be trying very hard to pretend Roman wasn’t there. The firelight illuminated his features and wrapped him in a warm and not unpleasant glow that, Roman had to admit, made him look more delicate and even approachable in an enigmatic but alluring way.

“You’re staring,” Janus muttered, eyes flicking up to him for a moment before returning to the page. “Is there a problem, or am I just that handsome?”

Roman flushed, looking away for a moment. “What? Oh, I mean, it’s just… I guess I wanted to say thanks. For letting me in your room, that is.”

Janus looked back up at him, eyes shining by the firelight. “… oh.”

“Uh, what are you reading?” Roman continued, now feeling obligated to keep up the conversation.

“Why are you asking?”

“Well, I’m curious. Is it a good book?”

Janus shifted in his seat. “I think so, but why do you care?”

Roman shrugged, not quite sure how to answer. Why does he care?

Janus let out a huff before going back to his book, muttering a quiet “that’s what I thought,” under his breath as he turned the page.

Janus continued reading, shuffling even closer to the fireplace with what sounded like either another sigh or a shiver. Considering the slight tremble in his hands that he couldn’t fully hide, Roman was tempted to think it was the latter.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I am,” Janus replied with an unsubtle eye roll.

“It’s just, you’re kinda shaking a little bit. Do you not like the dark too?”

Janus stiffened slightly, his grip tightening on the book that he tried to look invested in. “I’m not afraid of the dark, Roman. You’re projecting.”

“Then why are you sitting so close to the fireplace, and why did you light it in the first place?”

Janus sighed before giving Roman a look that suggested he already knew the answer. “Fire isn’t just bright, Roman. Surely you’re clever enough to piece it together.”

Roman ran it over in his head. Janus had shivered just now, but he didn’t look afraid. He definitely didn’t look comfortable, though.

“Are you cold?”

“Congratulations on solving today’s puzzle,” Janus teased, his tone now a mocking version of a game show host for a moment before returning to its usual sardonic state. “Why else did you think I’d have a massive fireplace in my room? It’s good to have a backup heat source, and besides, it does set a rather nice ambiance,” he explained.

Well, it did make sense. He was coldblooded, after all, and even if it’s not freezing right now, a sudden chill can’t be good for him since the weather had taken out the thermostat with the lights. Roman wordlessly summoned a blanket before tossing it over to Janus, only shrugging in a vague response when he looked up at him in confusion.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Janus muttered, not fully looking at him as he wrapped himself up in Roman’s offered blanket.

“If you want. If you do, though, I should probably apologize.”

“Do you want to?”

Roman didn’t know how to answer. Part of him wanted to put this whole mess behind the both of them so they could at least try to get along together, but another part of him was still far too bitter and stubborn to let go so soon. They had both hurt and been hurt, and that pain wasn’t going away any time soon, but he’d be willing to apologize as long as he wasn’t the only one doing it.

“How about we leave it unspoken, then?” Janus offered with a small but sincere smile.

Roman gave him a similar half-smile in return. “That works for me.”

Janus gave him a brief nod in agreement before returning to his spot on the page, now looking noticeably more comfortable and far less displeased.

Roman couldn’t help but smile to himself, partially at having earned some gratitude from Janus, but also at how endearing he looked while bundled up in one of Roman’s blankets. Roman didn’t expect to actually refer to Janus like that, but then again he didn’t think he’d wait out a power outage with him either. This whole situation was surprising, but Roman didn’t really mind.

“You’re staring again.”

Roman felt his face heat up, and most certainly not from the fire. “Do you want me to stop?”

“… Not really,” Janus muttered. Roman only just managed to catch the slight blush on his face.

The two sat in silence after that, but it was a comfortable one with none of the tension from before. The rain could still be heard outside, though it was considerably quieter now. The storm must be passing now, and with luck the power might return within the next few hours.

But on the off chance that it didn’t…

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Janus mumbled, almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud.

Roman leaned forward slightly, straining to hear him better. “What was that?”

Janus held the book higher over his face, as if he were hiding behind it. “I was saying that if, for whatever reason the power is out all night, you’d be allowed to stay over. I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Wait, really?”

“You’re sleeping on the floor, but yes.” Janus lowered the book again, staring at Roman. “Unless of course you’d rather be alone in your own dark room all night.”

“Absolutely not,” Roman replied, a little too hastily. “I mean, um, I’m not against staying over, as long as you’re fine with it. Thanks, I guess, for offering.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Janus gave him another subtle smile that Roman found himself returning, and he realized he wouldn’t mind it if the lights didn’t come back on right away. Spending a dark and stormy night like this with Janus might not be the worst thing in the world.

taglist:

@lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie @nico-the-overlord @rougeside4 @britt-ish123 @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @holdnarrytight @new-zee-land @yuckypuppie @can-i-take-a-stab @keitaisghost

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 9

The journey north begins. They might be out of danger for now, but will things run smoothly?

I finished this chapter on the aeroplane on the way on holiday, and I was itching the whole time to post it once I was back!!

Rating: M Content: Dew has more issues with self-hatred, none of the ghouls know how to communicate effectively Words: 5143

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! As always, lmk if you want in or out! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew awoke to find a water ghoul plastered along his side. Rain was still cold, but his normal cold rather than the dangerously icy temperature he had been the night before. Dew extricated himself from the bear grip Rain had him pinned in, shaking his long limbs off and crawling out from under the blanket. The sun was beginning to creep above the horizon, bathing the land in a pale grey light. He found Swiss sat watching the sunrise, his eyes scanning the horizon periodically. They frequently lingered on the village in the distance, his gaze sad and wistful.

“Morning.” Dew whispered, sitting down next to him and leaning his head on his shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. Swiss had been more withdrawn than usual the previous night, and Dew was worried about him. The naturally more tactile multi ghoul rested his own head on Dew’s and let out tired sigh.

“I was gonna wake you soon for the next watch,” he muttered quietly, “but you looked so comfy over there, I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Dew growled lightly at the comment, but there was no venom behind it.

“Let Aeth sleep.” He agreed instead. The quintessence ghoul still looked dead to the world, drooling slightly in his sleep but otherwise unmoving.

“How’s Rain doing?” asked Swiss.

“He’s less cold now,” Dew replied, “but I don’t think any amount of sleep will be enough for him for a while.”

He twisted he head to look up at Swiss. There was a haunted look in his eyes, one that Dew recognised all too well.

“You saw him, down in the cells.” Dew stated. Swiss nodded, his stricken face giving away just how much it had affected him. “How are you feeling now?”

Swiss shrugged.

“Not great. Seeing him down there, especially after the guards attacked him…” he trailed off, pulling Dew closer to him and burying his nose in his tangle of platinum hair. “I was so scared.” He whispered into Dew’s hair, as though letting the words be spoken into the air could make them hurt more.

Dew hummed in understanding; the thought of Rain, quiet and sweet young ghoul he was, stuck all alone in the dark cell had haunted him all the time he’d been gone. Dew had endured hardship before, he was no stranger to suffering, but Rain had always seemed less aware of the evils in the world. He must have known pain at some point, Dew reasoned, or he would still be with his birth clan. Much like Dew himself though, Rain had always stayed relatively quiet about what brought him to run away.

“I couldn’t see anything, Dew. It was like someone had covered my eyes, everything after noon yesterday was just black.”

Dew let himself be pulled closer to Swiss, manhandled like a teddy bear – it wouldn’t be the first time that morning he reasoned, and Swiss clearly needed the comfort.

“I went to see him every day,” he shuddered, “I hated it. Even when he seemed to be getting stronger, just seeing him there but not being able to help…”

Swiss trailed off, his breathing shaky. Dew guessed he hadn’t told the others about these feelings – Swiss was never one to burden others, always putting on a brave face, but they wouldn’t have let him shoulder this alone if they had known. Dew was the only one who could begin to understand what he had seen, who could know the feeling of abject hopelessness at seeing Rain trapped by stone walls and iron bars first-hand.

“It’s alright, we’re all alright now.” Dew said, trying to be as soothing as possible and mask his discomfort. He attempted to make a joke, to deflect from their shared emotional vulnerability.

“At least you didn’t take one look at him and run for the hills, eh?”

Swiss chuckled weakly, the sound was wet and choked, and rang hollow in Dew’s ears.

“When they attacked him, it felt like was like I was the one being struck instead. After days of feeling nothing, it hurt so much.” A shiver of pain lanced through his body, making him twitch violently and squeeze Dew almost uncomfortable tight. “I was so worried we’d lost him.”

Neither of them liked to add that they were worried they still had: despite Rain being slightly more responsive by the time they went to bed and showing signs that he recognised them, he still had yet to speak a word.

“He’s a tough kid,” Dew admitted, “Satan knows I gave him enough trouble before all of this.”

“Marriage turned you soft already?” Swiss joked, mask slipping effortlessly back in place.

“Something like that.”

The pair sat in comfortable silence a little longer. Swiss might have been free with his affections, reflected Dew as he remained encircled in his strong arms, but he was more like him with his vulnerabilities.

“I can see why you left like you did.” Swiss said finally. “If I’d had any idea how to get Rain out, I’d have flown there as soon as possible too, explanations be damned.”

“It was never guaranteed,” Dew pointed out, “just in the moment it seemed like asking for help was the only idea, and there was no time to explain.”

“We’d never have let you go.” Swiss told him bluntly. “We’d have insisted we could get Rain out ourselves, and neither of us need my foresight to know how that would have turned out.”

Dew nodded grimly.

Around them, the birds began to wake up and sing their dawn chorus. On cue, Swiss yawned widely, his jaw audibly popping.

“You should get a bit more sleep,” suggested Dew with a sigh of his own, “we’ve got a long trip coming up. I promise I won’t leave again, you can trust me despite what Mountain seems to think.”

“I know.” Swiss said simply as he stood up and stretched out his legs. “Don’t take his words to heart, okay? He’s just a bit frustrated that he couldn’t take care of Rain alone.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, you know how he is, always thinking he’s the pack leader as the oldest and strongest.” Swiss’s tone implied that he did not fully agree but would happily humour his ego, if asked. “Mount knows what you did was best for the pack, just give him some time to sort out his bruised pride.”

Dew shrugged, but dropped the subject.

Soon after Swiss had wriggled back under his blanket, Dew could hear his light snores drifting towards him. He sat for a few hours more, loath to wake his exhausted pack. With the early sunrise of long summer days, they could rest a while longer before they would risk bumping into anyone from the village on the road.

As the sky grew lighter, he sat and contemplated how his life had changed over the last few days. He was married now for starters. Even though he didn’t believe in any of the humans’ customs, let alone in their God, he still believed in the sanctity of a promise made in front of his pack. He’d sworn in front of all of them that he would protect Rain, so protect Rain he must. For now, that meant taking him to the Abbey and it host of experienced quintessence ghouls, but damn, that journey was going to be frustrating. Dragging his pack of exhausted ghouls who were all prone to bickering northward was going to fray some nerves.

Part of him was anxious about their destination, too. Not only for their reaction to the Abbey and its inhabitants, he realised, but for the ghoulettes’ reaction to his pack. He wanted them to think he had made a good choice with his life, to be proud of him. Dew supposed this was what it felt like bringing home a potential mate to meet your family: the potential of acceptance, of joyfully blending families, but mixed with the fear of disapproval and rejection. He wouldn’t know anything of that relationship dynamic; his mother had made it quite clear to him how hated his father had been by everyone except for her. Instead of bringing home a mate however, Dew was bringing a brand new husband and three additional ghouls who were varying degrees of excited for the meeting themselves. He hoped they would make a good impression.

His thoughts drifted to Rain; to the catalyst of this whole situation. Rain had been the baby of the pack ever since he arrived, even though he was only slightly younger than Dew himself. The difference between them lay in how Dew prided himself in acting more world-wise than he really was, whereas Rain always seemed to be stuck in the past. Maybe neither one of them had the right attitude, reflected Dew. His insistence on self-reliance had led him to bully Rain into taking on tasks he wasn’t capable of, whereas Rain’s dependence on others had made him desperate to prove himself. Providing they got out of this, they’d both have learned a hard lesson.

Who was he kidding, thought Dew. He could try and blame Rain all he wanted, but he felt sure that he should shoulder most of the blame. If only he’d been more supportive when he had the opportunity, they wouldn’t be in this mess!

He felt himself descending into the all-too-familiar spiral of self-loathing. If he weren’t so hateful, he wouldn’t have felt the need to pick on Rain, and if he had been nicer to Rain they wouldn’t be in this situation now. Everything was his fault. He detested the ghoul who walked around in his imperfect skin.

Dew shook his head to dislodge the thoughts and turned to look at his pack: the time for should’ves had long passed, he had a new task ahead of him. Similarly, he couldn’t find it in himself to shift the blame for their situation onto Rain. Even if his inexperience was what pulled the trigger, Dew had loaded the gun. Looking at him now, sleeping peacefully, compared to seeing him in those dingy cells, Dew felt only a rush of protectiveness. Damn those pack instincts were strong.

They were his real purpose now; nothing that came before mattered apart from his pack. He couldn’t undo his actions any more than Rain could have pulled the raindrops back into their clouds, but he could make amends. That meant starting with an apology, and Dew was never very good at those. Staring back towards the village on the horizon, Dew contemplated what to say.

Eventually, the ghouls began to rise. By the time they had rubbed bleary eyes and blinked sleep away there was some activity in the distance, people scurrying around as tiny as ants. They would have to be careful to give the village a wide berth when they left.

“Wha- why didn’t you wake me for a watch?” yawned Aether, the last to wake.

Dew, Swiss and Mountain all levelled him with identical glares.

“What?”

“Aeth, you were exhausted,” Swiss sighed, “you used all your energy on Rain yesterday, you needed the sleep the most.”

Aether didn’t dare argue further.

After a slow start, all five ghouls and one horse had finally eaten and were all packed up ready to leave. They loaded Rain onto the mare, and some of their belongings into her saddlebags and set off. Cautiously, they skirted around the village, keeping several miles between them. Even with the distance, Swiss and Mountain kept a vigilant lookout as they hurried along the small back roads. They would need to stop to hunt and forage at some point, but that could wait until they were on neutral ground. They cautiously navigated their way forwards, taking a large detour to avoid all the small farms and dwellings that surrounded the town. They were especially careful to avoid the stables near the main road north: the townsfolk may not have recognised the horse from a distance, but up close her owners were sure to.

Only once the sun had reached its peak and begun its slow descent back towards the horizon, did they feel safe enough to pause for breath. The atmosphere as they walked had been somber, cut through in brief moments by flashes of tension during their escape. Rain still hadn’t spoken a word, although he seemed more lucid after his warm night's sleep. Ahead of them they could hear the gentle rushing of the river, the sound guiding them back towards the main path north. They kept walking until they reached its shores, the temptation of a cold drink pulling them onwards.

From here, the road forward was clear. Leading off the path was a small slope down towards the water, which partially shielded a small grassy patch from the view of any passing traveller. They picked their way down the gentle incline, collapsing to the soft undergrowth at the bottom.

“Well, that’s the hard part done.” Said Aether, as he helped Rain down from the saddle. He guided the water ghoul to sit on a rock next to the water, and scooped up some water in a small wooden bowl for him.

“Small sips, remember?”

Rain drained the bowl in one gulp and held it out for more.

“Be careful,” murmured Aether, “you’ll hurt your stomach.”

Rain ignored him in favour of unglamouring his tail and gently swishing it through the water beside him.

Aether watched, nodding in approval. The further they got from the village, the more alert Rain seemed. He’d been relieved so see Rain looking relatively human yesterday, no horns or tail in sight, the slight blue pallor to his skin easily explainable by his underground imprisonment. The first thing any young ghoul born topside learned about their magic was how to hide it. Rain had always struggled with that, reflected Aether, but then he had struggled with all aspects of his magic. Maybe some combination of the strengthening tinctures and herbs Swiss had brought to him, and whatever mysteriously unlocked his water connection so violently had helped him finally get it under control.

“We should forage a bit, whilst we're stopped here.” Mountain's low voice shook Aether from his thoughts, as he appeared beside him to collect water from his cupped hands, drinking it and splashing his face. His thick auburn hair was tied back with twine, but beneath it he was still sweating in the heat. “I think I saw some of the herbs you need for Rain's poultice back by the road.” Aether dipped his head in agreement and quickly drunk from the river himself.

“Are you good with Swiss and Dew for a bit, Rain?” he asked, passing another, smaller, bowl of water up to him. Rain nodded, content to continue basking in his element for as long as he could.

Swiss looked up from where he and Dew were sprawled on their backs on the warm grass, heads resting on their packs.

“We’ve got him Aeth, don’t worry.”

Looking like he would continue worrying regardless, Aether sorted through his knapsack taking out all but what he needed. Once Mountain had done the same, the pair headed back up the slope to the path and the wooded area beyond.

Their feet recovered temporarily, Dew and Swiss also migrated to Rain’s spot by the river to get a drink. He sat there, tail stirring the water as he watched the fish swim past. The longing to join them in his eyes was unmissable.

“You wanna paddle?” Dew asked him, thinking the cold water looked pretty refreshing himself. Rain nodded enthusiastically, so Dew helped him roll his borrowed trousers up before doing the same with his own. Carefully, he and Swiss balanced Rain as they waded out into the river. As they got deeper in, the water lapping at their knees, Rain seemed to gain in strength.

“Don’t get your clothes wet,” warned Swiss, “you’ll catch a chill, even in this weather.”

Rain acted like he hadn’t heard him, suddenly dropping into a crouch in the moving water and pulling the other two ghouls down with him. He grinned wickedly at their shouts and shrieks from the chilly shock of the water, before pausing and lunging towards a trout as it swam past his ankles. All three of them were completely soaked.

“I thought you were meant to be at death’s door!” spluttered Dew, pushing sodden blond hair out of his face and plucking at the uncomfortably wet clothes now clinging to his body. Rain snickered at them, and despite their protests, both Dew and Swiss were relieved to see him getting some life back. The water ghoul held the fish out towards Dew with a polite and slightly apologetic head-tilt, and Dew found himself unable to supress a smile.

“F-for you?” Rain spoke with a halting stutter, the first any of them had heard from him in over a week.

"Oh, you have it." Dew laughed, delighted at his progress out of his silent and withdrawn state. Rain licked his lips gleefully, before sinking his fangs deep into the still-wriggling fish. Dew sighed internally at the huge mess he was making; this was going to be his fault, somehow, wasn't it?

Once Rain had polished off the unlucky trout, making a tremendous mess of himself and his clothes in the process, Dew and Swiss tried their best to clean him off in the river still rushing around them.

“Right, let’s dry you off,” announced Swiss, “Mount and Aeth will decide we’re dinner if they see we let you get all wet!”

Ignoring his whine of protest, Swiss scooped up the squirming water ghoul and carried him back to dry land. In his weakened state there was no chance for him to fight back, but that didn’t stop him pouting petulantly the whole time. Dew plopped down between the two and heated his skin up like a space heater, the steam soon rising from his wet clothes and skin and beginning to dry the others.

“Thank you, Dew.” Whispered Rain, so quiet Dew almost missed it, but with a conviction that made the words reverberate around his skull like prayers in a cathedral.

The sun beat down on them from above and, led on the soft grass in the peaceful sunshine, the three ghouls could almost forget the problems they faced.

A while later, Mountain and Aether returned with a few bundles of herbs and some berries they found on their way back.

“Why are you all wet?” exclaimed Aether.

“You should be more careful, he'll get sick,” Mountain reprimanded them, “what were you thinking?”

Swiss rolled his eyes, ignoring the dig at them.

“Relax, he'll be fine. It was Rain's idea anyway!”

Dew however, took the criticism to heart: he'd failed his packmate again. Sure, it might have been Rain's idea, but he should have stepped in and stopped him; he should have been more responsible.

It soured his mood for the rest of the day. Mountain caught them a few more fish using a line and earthworms as bait, and after gutting and cleaning them, they packed up their haul to continue moving while it was still light. Several hours later, the sun was kissing its final farewell to the horizon, the sky fading through a kaleidoscope of colours. Rain hadn't spoken another word since earlier, and Dew began to think he had imagined it. They went to bed in silence, not even making eye contact as they settled on opposite sides of the bedroll.

Dew lay awake in the darkness, thinking to himself. He needed to apologise to Rain, that was clear. He'd missed his chance earlier, too caught up in the light-hearted mood to ruin it with a serious talk. The rest of his pack clearly thought he was to blame; Rain must do too.

Eventually, Dew must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Aether for his turn at a watch. Rain had again migrated to the centre of the bedroll, his gangly limbs taking up the limited space and claiming Dew's warmth for themselves. He sat sullenly at the edge of their camp, stewing in his thoughts until morning.

Throughout their second day on the road, the weather broke. The glorious sunshine vanished, giving way to never-ending clouds and cold, drizzling rain. This seemed to be helping a certain water ghoul, tipping his head back to catch droplets of his namesake on his tongue. Rain's strength was coming back in leaps and bounds, he'd finally attempted to speak again, holding a quiet and stuttered conversation with Swiss and Aether from his perch on the mare's back. The pair seemed to be trying their hardest to keep him entertained, Swiss leading a continuous stream of small talk to distract Rain from thinking about his recent ordeal.

Dew, however, was not doing so well. He was cold, his feet were wet, and he had exhausted himself early on trying to keep them dry with magic. He trudged behind the others, dragging his feet forward and moping to himself. After their conversation the previous morning, he had hoped that Swiss would see how much he needed support too, and maybe turn to Dew for support of his own. That didn't seem to be the case at all however: Swiss had his cheerful mask fixed firmly back in place and was laying one hundred percent of his attention on Rain.

Dew had wanted to have a word with Rain today, now he was able to speak again. The guilt that had wracked his mind last night had only intensified while he slept, and he knew there was only one realistic way to settle things. Getting Rain alone had proved almost impossible however: aside from the fact that his two companions never left his side, Rain himself seemed distant. Dew could understand – he would be distant with him too, were their roles reversed.

Mountain was clearly still upset as well, not speaking to Dew unless he couldn't avoid it. He was less bothered by the rain than Dew and was ploughing of ahead of the pack. Dew remembered what Swiss had said, and knew he was likely just stressed, trying to cope with the situation in his own way. He was worrying about where and when to make camp, where to find food, and trying to be the best provider for his pack as possible having felt like he failed to protect Rain before. As Dew trailed along behind his packmates, he thought bitterly that if Mountain paused for a second and thought, he could realise that Dew had made this journey twice over the last week, and remembered most of the locations he had camped in. Rather than offer his advice though, Dew stayed quiet: his input wouldn't be appreciated, so why bother? The rain became heavier as they exited from under a canopy of trees, and Dew resigned himself to several more hours of misery.

From atop the horse, Rain was enjoying the gentle drizzle. They'd been slowly moving forward all day, the monotony of the journey only broken up by Swiss leaping between conversation topics. Rain was grateful for the distraction. His mind still felt fuzzy, like it was lagging several metres behind him and walking alongside Dewdrop. Huh, though Rain to himself. He had seen a new side to Dew yesterday when he helped him wade around in the river: a more caring ghoul who didn't snap at him for wanting to indulge in childish things like paddling on a hot day. Everything had felt like it might be okay in that moment – the cool water and gentle support of his packmates had cleared the cobwebs that shrouded his brain away, and he'd finally managed to form words. This Dewdrop was an entirely different ghoul from the one who found any excuse to gripe at him: this Dew could be expected to pull off a risky stunt to save him from the hangman's noose; would let him cuddle up close at night for warmth.

Now though, that Dew had disappeared. He was back to his familiar and grouchy self, dragging his feet as he brought up the rear. Rain wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, if anything. As he dried off yesterday, the clouds had descended around him again and he had not been able to pay attention to his packmate's interactions, even if he had wanted to. They were only starting to lift now with the tiny sharp shocks of individual raindrops striking his exposed skin, making him alert enough to hear Swiss recounting the time he'd met a dog he thought was half ghoul, but wasn't. Rain appreciated him trying but really, he could have done with some silence in this precious moment of mental clarity. Still, he sensed Swiss was chattering about similarly banal topics more for his own benefit than anyone else's, so he helped him keep the conversation going, replying when he could and enjoying the encouraging smiles it would pull from the multi ghoul.

Rain wondered if he should try to speak to Dew. They would need to have a conversation about what had unfolded in the square at some point, that was clear. However, Dew didn’t seem in the mood for an emotionally vulnerable talk – if anything he seemed to want to be left alone, staying far away from the others. Whenever Rain sensed a chance to catch Dew by himself, the stony frown on his face made him anxious that it would make things between them worse, and all ability to form coherent thoughts vanished as swiftly as he had recovered it.

That night, Dew griped and grumbled all the while as they prepared for bed. Rain had thought he would be pleased: Mountain had declared that they were far enough away from people who would do them harm as to not need a watch anymore. His and Aether’s old senses from their travelling days had come right back to them, and they were convinced they would wake at anything suspicious. Combined with Dew’s fire, Mountain’s protective wards, and their location off the path, they had decided it was safe enough for them all to all get a full night’s sleep.

Now that they had stopped moving, Rain was beginning to get cold in the damp evening air. His affinity with his element only went so far, especially given that he already ran cold and was still severely malnourished. He shivered as he tried to settle on his side of the bedroll, keeping his distance from a frosty Dewdrop. He desperately wanted to shuffle closer to him, to hold the smaller ghoul tightly and absorb every scrap of warmth he radiated. However, stronger than the heat was the anger emanating from him, so Rain kept a cautious distance.

He curled into himself, his back to Dew who was mirroring his position and almost off the edge of the heavy canvas. Rain tried to suppress his frozen trembling long past the time the others had fallen asleep. Dew was still awake however; Rain could hear his breathing. With the clearest head he had had since his actions of the week prior, the enormity of his situation suddenly hit him and his shivering turning into the shaking of silent sobs.

Rain had been trying to put on a brave face since his rescue, not wanting to seem ungrateful in any way when he knew he owed his pack – especially Dew – his life. However, he had barely started processing what had happened, how close he had come to dying, how his actions had killed people. How Dew, the one ghoul who had never warmed to him, had saved his life. How they were married now? It all seemed like a crazy dream, like the ones he had experienced as a kit after eating a pretty, red-spotted frog he had found in the marsh.

Now though, the same ghoul who had apparently cared for him enough to agree to marry him hadn’t spoken to him since the river yesterday. Rain took a shuddering breath, trying to get his tears under control. What was his life coming to? Now, to top it all off, he and his pack were moving across the country to a place he had never heard of before, with none of his own belongings, and wearing a spare set of Swiss’s clothes. All because he couldn’t control his emotions, like he was failing at doing now, and let himself be goaded into attempting something he wasn’t ready for.

He hadn’t attempted any water magic since they left. He certainly hadn’t tried tapping into that alien electrical buzz either; he didn’t even know if he would still be able to now that he was out of direct danger. So much for practicing his skills. Maybe Dew was right, he really was a failure. He would have been better off sticking to his own slow pace, even if that meant being called the pack burden by Dew. His crying intensified, knowing what his mistake had done to his pack and their stable, happy life.

Dew rolled over to face him, a thunderous expression on his face.

“Can you shut up?” He snapped. “Go to sleep. It’s your fault we’re in this situation in the first place!”

Hearing his own worst thoughts out loud only made Rain sob harder. He tried to muffle his cries in the blanket: the last thing he needed now was for Dew to call him weak again or, Hell forbid, disrupt the others’ sleep to make them comfort him.

Rain drew in a shaky breath, and hissed back at Dew,

“No one asked you to rescue me. I don’t know why you bothered, since you clearly hate me so much!”

Dew seemed stunned into silence by Rain’s sudden acquisition of a backbone. He flopped back onto his side to glare into the darkness away from Rain, and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“If you hadn’t stupidly tried to prove yourself with something you knew you couldn’t handle, we would be in this mess.” He growled.

“Well if you didn’t spend every waking minute making me feel like I needed to prove myself, we wouldn’t be here either!” Rain shot back.

The air crackled with tension and the echoes of both of their deepest insecurities spoken aloud. The pair lay there, stewing in anger. Dew’s thoughts of apologising went out the window – Rain clearly wasn’t in a forgiving mood, what good would it do now?

They eventually fell asleep when their exhaustion won out, as separated as the narrow bedroll would allow them to be. When they woke, they were still on their opposite sides, the space between them cold for the first time since their journey began.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Fifteen.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,830

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

Twenty-three years old. In truth, Ella hadn’t really known where she’d be the year before, her denial and then acceptance of the need to recover herself at the forefront of her mind. Where she found herself was in a position few women would turn down.  

“Oh, fuck, yes, yes, ahhhh!” Her gritted statement was delivered on a bliss filled cry, highly enjoying having her insides rearranged as she was shagged ragged from behind by her boyfriend. Slowing, he grasped her shoulders, pulling her until her back pressed against his chest, mouth laying hot kisses at the side of her neck as his hands roamed over her. 

It shined golden through her, every wave of ecstasy elicited by the slow, deep punch of his cock, one hand squeezing her breasts and sliding to hold her throat, the other moving between her legs to begin stroking at her clit. With every roll of his fingertips, he pulled soft wails from her, teeth nipping her neck, sending little bolts skittering through her.   

“So, how’s your birthday going so far, darlin’?” he panted, Ella turning her head with a big smile, kissing him with smouldering sin. 

“Could be a lot worse than getting pounded by a gorgeous, thick cock.”  

He hummed a chuckle against her lips, rutting her a little harder. “Yeah, ain’t you a lucky girl?” After he’d finished bouncing her around the bed, she had that confirmed even further, too.  

“Baby! No! You didn’t!” she screamed, her mouth dropping open, James’s grin widening at seeing how thrilled she was with her gift. He’d bought her favourite album by The Prodigy on vinyl for her, signed by all four members of the band.  

“I did. Knew you’d die as soon as you saw it, innit. Oh, and you might wanna look inside the sleeve.”  

Curious, she opened it up, her mouth falling open again after pulling out two tickets to go and see them live at Kentish Town Forum in London the following month. The tour had sold out before she’d had chance to get any, so how he’d managed it she didn’t know.  

“My BFG!” she cooed, moving to straddle his lap and kiss him. “You’re the best! Thank you so, so much!” 

“You’re welcome, little,” he hummed, kissing her again and tightening his arms around her. “And yeah, I’m coming with you to suffer the noise. Got us a hotel booked down there for the weekend and all that, too.”  

With his money from album sales running quite low, it was truly more than he could afford, but she was worth it. Besides, he could easily go and pick up some work somewhere around recording their new album come nine days from then, Steve already returned to doing doorman work at various clubs and bars around Warwickshire. He’d done it himself in the past at The Gallows, so supposed he could ask Steve’s boss to hook him up with a few hours. It meant losing weekends around shifts, but it paid very well.  

It was The Gallows they were heading to that evening for Ella’s birthday night out, James half expecting her to want to go to a club that played pounding dance music until dawn. Her revealed plans had been very different, though. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t to his relief.  

After the incident when she’d been grabbed at while dancing on a podium, it had made her feel uncomfortable about returning to her beloved dance scene again, Ella beginning to find herself much more at home on the metal scene. Even the music was beginning to grow on her. Plus, it was well known now wherever she went, exactly who she was; War’s girlfriend, and if there was one woman you didn’t grab out of fear of having your arse handed to you, well. It was her.  

Also, she found that the blokes on the rock and metal scene were much more appropriate, too. Despite the common reputation of being uncouth hellions, she definitely noticed a difference in how she was treated.  

Take one night at The Gallows for instance, Ella walking back to her table from the toilets and suddenly finding herself halted by a man she didn’t know, rapidly removing his plaid shirt and tying it around her waist, whispering discreetly that her hotpants had split at the back. The man had introduced himself as Mark, he and his girlfriend Lizzie becoming fast friends with her and her little group.  

They’d be meeting with them that night, as well as her sister and Andrea, too, who they were collecting from the train station that afternoon after visiting James’s parents. Needless to say, the activities planned for afterwards were the ones he was looking forward to more that day. Apart from seeing his dad and sister, but he was dreading introducing Ella to his mother.  

“If she says anything thoughtless, just ignore her. Carole Kingston ain’t known for having a filter. I’d say she don’t mean it, like, but I’m not so sure any longer. Fucking shit stirrer,” he spoke as they alighted the car outside number forty-seven, Prescott Drive a few hours later.  

Halting him at the bottom of the drive, she grabbed his hands, giving his arms a little shake. “Come on, chill out a bit before you go in there.” 

“I’m fine, I’m chilled,” he spoke. 

Ella snorted softly. “That’s a load of bollocks, baby. You’re practically grinding your teeth. Come on, just breathe it out, relax.” Truly, she wanted it to go well for his sake more than hers, not wanting there to be any existing conflict for him to negotiate. It all depended on what mood his mother was in though, she supposed.  

He dropped a kiss to her forehead, grabbing her hand before walking up the drive past his dad’s car, the front door flying open. 

“Nah, Jimbo! What are you doing with such a pretty girl? Did she not bring her white stick and Labrador with her?”  

“Fuck off, dickhead,” he frowned, Sam throwing her head back with a squeaky laugh.  

“Hi, Ella. I’m Sam, or dickhead, pain in the arse or twat, as my brother often calls me. Nice to meet you!”  

Indeed, those were his preferred names. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” she spoke, James walking past her with a shoulder barge. 

“Out the way, skin!” he muttered, stopping to grin and then pull her into a hug. “What kind of mood is the duchess in?” 

“Not too bad, you know. Freaked out over cheese sauce. She’s made lasagne.” Immediately, his stomach tingled, wondering how Ella would cope with that, a food that was definitely placed on the scary category. It had to be said, though, she was getting better. She managed to eat rice a few times a week without issue, which was good since they had to make food money stretch.  

Moving through the house, they arrived in the large kitchen, the space extending around to a dining room as well. What had once been a modest council house had been turned into a much larger home, the extension built on by Ted, Alan’s brother giving a lot of space that hadn’t existed before, and a garden much easier to manage.  

“Alright, kidda! Ella, looking lovely as usual. Happy birthday, petal!” Alan spoke as he walked back in from the garden, handing her a card and giving her a kiss on the cheek. 

“Awww, thanks, Alan,” she spoke, opening it up, thanking him again after reading the message and finding a twenty-pound note kindly included, Carole turning from the sink. 

“Oh! You’re here! Hi!” Bustling over, she pulled James into a hug, turning then to Ella with a smile. “Well! You’re nothing like the last one, but that’s a good thing. Bright yellow hair, tattoos on her face and a flippin’ great big ring in the middle of her nose!” she exclaimed, the corner of her mouth twitching as she laughed.  

James supposed that was a compliment of sorts. Unless you happened to be Chrissie, his ex. His insides unclenched a little, seeing that his mum appeared to be in a good mood. It was what drove him up the wall about her most, the fact that Carole had the capacity to be a perfectly lovely woman, but all too often let her less favourable qualities get the better of her. 

Still, he knew how quickly she could find a fault and begin to pick at it. Like clockwork, it began over lunch, James noticing her eyes flitting to Ella at regular intervals, very observant over the smaller portion of food she ate.  

“Eh lad, I was out with a few of the fellas from work last night, saw Steve on the doors at that new club they’ve opened in what used to be the old Lloyds bank. When’d he go back to it?” Alan asked, placing his cutlery down and picking up his beer.  

“Not long ago,” he confirmed, crunching through a piece of cucumber. “He’s having a word with his boss tonight, seeing if he can get me back in it as well.”  

Carole’s eyes snapped to her son, pausing from chewing. “James, you aren’t seriously considering going back to being a bloody bouncer, are you?” 

“Yeah, I am. I’m good at it and it pays well. Only downside is losing my weekend nights, but it wouldn’t be every weekend. The shifts rotate,” he confirmed, reaching to tickle Ella’s cheek with his finger when she poked her bottom lip out. If there was one thing she loved, it was going out for a good time with her boyfriend.  

Her eyebrows rose. “Really? That’s the only downside? You getting glassed or worse by some pissed up idiot isn’t something you’re factoring in here?” 

“Ease up, love,” Alan spoke lightly, “he’s a big lad, he can handle himself. Then there’s the ole’ kickboxing, you’ve started that too now, right? How’s that going?” 

James thought it was commendable that his dad obviously wanted to move the conversation on from being something to gripe about. “Yeah, I really enjoy it. Only had two classes so far, go on Monday and Wednesday evenings.” 

“Learning kickboxing won’t stop you from being stabbed.” Oh, no. She wasn’t quite done yet. “Remind me how many times you had a knife pulled on you while you were working doors before?”  

“Three, and none ever got me,” he spoke, chewing the inside of his cheek with irritation.  

He watched her shrug, the corner of her mouth twisting. “I hope you’re not going back to it because underneath, you want them to. We’re not back there are we, James?”  

Ella’s eyes widened, gulping down her mouthful of food, reaching beneath the table to rest a hand on his thigh. God, he was right. No tact was to be found there.  

“I’d say I can’t believe you’ve just said that, but I can.” Fixing her with a hard look, he lifted his chin. “No. I’m not.” 

“Carole,” Alan warned, placing his glass down. “Don’t.”  

“Don’t what? Show concern with what ‘profession’ our son is seeking?” 

“I already have one of those,” the son himself stated, “but sadly ‘cos our corner of the metal world ain’t as lucrative as the more mainstream stuff, it don’t pay fortunes. I need quick cash until we get the next album done, get out on the road again and all that. Touring is where the main revenue is, innit.” 

“Then why in god’s name are you flippin’ doing it? Wasting your bloody time, you are!” 

“Because he loves it.” James hadn’t expected Ella to speak up, but there she was, her hand still squeezing his thigh supportively. “Because he wouldn’t be who he is without his music.” 

Carole wasn’t used to having her opinion challenged, no matter how politely. “What’s that then, Ella? A clinically depressed man who seems to be heading down all the wrong paths in his life? Choosing a career that doesn’t pay and sublimating it with a job fraught with dangers?” 

“Clinical depression is what he has. It isn’t who he is. Who he is, is a musician. A very talented one.”  

His heart bloomed, to hear those words. He’d known Ella for six and a half months and yet, she had a better understanding of him than his own mother. It spoke volumes. Carole, however, wasn’t to be defeated like that. Her words were delivered with the brand of cool snide the entire family were sadly becoming all too used to hearing.  

“So, where are you working at the moment, then? What’s your special talent, Ella?” 

James’s eyes fixed on her, his nostrils flaring. His girlfriend had hit her with something she couldn’t argue back against, so she’d changed track.  

“Currently, I’m not working. I start my new job next Monday, though. At the florist just off the high street.” 

“Oh, Bloomin’ Lovely?” Sam interjected, wanting to try and steer the conversation round. “I bought mum a bouquet from there for her birthday a few months back. The lady was so sweet, with all her bracelets and those crazy glasses and bright pink hair!”  

“Yeah, that’s it!” Ella confirmed. “And her hair is orange at the moment. She seems really cool.”  

“So, what have you been living off since you’ve been out, then, since you’ve only recently found yourself work?” Carole then questioned, the corner of her mouth upturning, thinking she had a win coming her way. 

Ella felt uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t be made to feel small. “I had some cash from my former job in the bank.” 

“Oh, I’m glad to hear you’ve been paying your way and not sponging off my son. I thought maybe the reason he could have been going back to high risk, but high pay work was to support you both. I’m glad that isn’t the case.” Her eyes toured her, picking up her wine glass with a little grin. “Not that you eat much, though. You can’t be expensive to keep. Just as well, really, since you probably vomit most of it back up.” 

How James didn’t throw the knife in his hand directly at her head, he didn’t know, placing his cutlery down and glaring. “That was low. In fucking fact, mum, that was spiteful. I ain’t having that, nah.”  

“Good bloody lord, Carole!” his dad remarked, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There was no need for that. Ella, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

She nodded, but inside felt her stomach turning over and over, unable to believe how unpleasant the afternoon had turned. All because Carole was wrong and couldn’t stand it. 

She shrugged, sipping her wine with nonchalance. “Don’t apologise for me. I’m not sorry for pointing out the truth.” 

“Mum, stop it. You’re only embarrassing yourself,” Sam groaned, combing her fingers through her short, bobbed hair. 

With those words, James made a decision, looking across the table to see nothing but smug glee from a woman who truly should have been nothing but ashamed for the way she’d just spoken. If only her ego would let her.  

“And that’s the last time I step foot in this house.” Standing up, he turned to Ella, reaching for her hand. “You can’t help yourself, mum, and deep down I don’t even think you want to. I think you enjoy provoking reactions. Alright so fine, I obviously didn’t grow up to be the son you wanted. I’m a basket case of a black metal musician and that pisses you off, but Ella ain’t done fuck all to you.” 

“James, that’s not...” Carole began, but her eldest had truly had enough. 

“Nah, tired of it, innit. You? You ain’t good for my recovery, you wind me the fuck up every time I have to share breathing space with you. Find someone else to pick at, because it ain’t me any longer and it sure as fuck ain’t my girlfriend either.” Walking around the table, he grasped his dad’s shoulder, telling him he’d see him soon, dropping a kiss to Sam’s head and pledging her the same.  

He was about to leave, turning back suddenly. “You know what? One thing I’ve learned in therapy is that with mental illness, sometimes people with a mentally ill parent are more predisposed to it, like. Maybe you might wanna go get whatever the fuck it is you’re suffering from checked out, save you losing any other members of your family, yeah?” 

“Oh, shut your mouth, James! How flippin’ dare you accuse me of that! You’re the crazy one here, not me!” 

Now she’d really done it, the bile in him rising sharply. “Drop dead, you vile old twat.” 

Leaving the house, the first thing he did was take Ella’s face in his hands and kiss her, wrapping her in a huge hug. “I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry she chose today of all day’s to be such a cunt to you. Gave me the push I’ve needed for a while, though, innit. She ain’t no good for me, so I don’t want nothing to do with her.” 

Her eyes widened, shaking her head. “You were right. I wondered, you know, could she truly be that bad? Bleedin’ hell. She’s worse. It’s so flip switch, too!” 

“Told you.” 

“And she’s so calculated! If you prove her wrong on one thing, she veers off and attacks you over something else!” 

“Told you.” 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry you had a mum like her to deal with, especially while you’ve been recovering!” Her jaw tightened, shaking her head. “I could smack her for calling you crazy! What a nasty woman.” 

He took her hand, kissing it before they walked away from the house, the muffled sounds of his parents yelling at each other fading as they moved down the drive. “Yeah, this is why I ain’t been around her much. Her having that attitude towards me is one thing, but you? Nah. Fuck that.” He smirked a little sadly, his nose crinkling. “I still feel like a cunt for telling her to drop dead though, innit. Didn’t mean that, I was just pissed off with her being like that all the shitting time.”  

“I think you were reserved for how blazing you can be when you’re angry!” she cried, James getting into the car and leaning over to open her door for her. “You didn’t even shout at her. You just like, told her it wasn’t on and then removed yourself. It’s pants, it really is, but if that’s how she chooses to behave then honestly, this has probably been a long time coming.” 

He started the engine, but sat and looked thoughtful for a few moments, reaching to grasp her hand. “I love that about you, babe. You’re so fucking wise, and you’re right. It has. Thanks for standing up for me in there, too. Just wish it hadn’t fucking happened. Proper fucking stressed now.” 

Looking at her watch, she saw that the disastrous lunch had left them with three hours to kill until Andrea’s train arrived, her fingers tickling her way up his arm through the thick, grey sweater he wore. “I can take your mind off the stress, if you like?” 

The suggestion in her voice and the way she looked out from under her lashes at him was undeniable. Half an hour later, and he was relaxing in the armchair, smoking a joint while Ella’s mouth bobbed up and down on his cock. There were much worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, he thought. He could have stayed at his mother’s house, for example.  

The tie had been severed now, though, and while he did feel shit about how it had all ended, there was a very real sense of peace he experienced at cutting her out of his life. If she brought him nothing but frustration then she couldn’t remain. Frustration was the last thing he felt in that moment, though, taking one last puff on the joint before placing it down, not wanting to be too high when he had to drive. Besides, Ella was doing wonderful things for him with her mouth all on her own. 

“Mmmmm, fuck, your cock is so hard,” she moaned, flicking her tongue over the head before taking him back deep again, feeling it twitch. “Makes me really want to get on it, but I’ll have enough of that later, and I don’t want a sore little pussy to take that kind of pounding.”  

Working him faster and faster, her hand massaged the base of him while her mouth gradually added more pressure, his hips twitching and abs locking as with a deep groan, he spilled into her throat. 

Swallowing, she carefully tucked him back into his jeans, licking her lip seductively as she reached for her can of Diet Coke and took a big gulp. “Less stressed now?” 

“Mm.” 

Chuckling at his blissed-out reaction, she moved astride him. “Did I fry your brain?” 

“Mm.”  

She kissed him, all slow heat, his hands grasping tight on her bum. “Cool beans. Can’t be having a stressed-out church burner on my hands.” He laughed, and she received a hard slap to her bum, Ella squeaking as she made herself comfortable on his lap. They had about twenty minutes of the flat to themselves before Steve and Snedders arrived back, the guys laden with bags.  

“Happy birthday, Greenhall!” Steve announced at high volume. “Sorry it ain’t wrapped, but I’m a bloke. I’m proper rubbish at all that!” 

She had her face grabbed and a huge smacker planted on her lips, James beginning to laugh filthily. “Ahh man. If only you knew where her mouth was twenty minutes ago.” 

Steve worked it out in two seconds, shuddering, his face so sour that the flat was filled with riotous laughter at his expense as he strode for the alcohol bottles in the kitchen and cleansed himself with four mouthfuls of Jack Daniels. “Oh man. No. Bleugh. Open your present!” 

Ella peered into the bag, her eyes lighting up. “I love you! You’ve been talking to Hester, haven’t you?” 

“I fucking have!” he announced proudly as she pulled out a wooden carved buddha statue she’d been eyeing in the local new age shop, plus a bottle of Absolut vodka. “Get it open! Let’s do shots!”  

Ella shared a look with James. “Only him. Only ole’ Berserker over there would have designs on drinking my birthday present with me.” 

“Oi! Who polished off my fucking tequila last Sunday and then kept me awake while she bounced all over my best friend’s cock? You and your sex screaming owe me, now get over here!”  

He had a point, Ella scrambling from James’s lap with her vodka as he laughed loudly, moving to Steve who was lining up shot glasses. She had the feeling it was about to be an awesome night, regardless of what had befallen it in the hours before.  

She’d be right to, too.  

[mandumandy]

Call Me Cutie - G.Uchinga

%Synopsis: After freshman, Aeri was sure that Sophomore year would be rough. But after her interaction with a cute girl, maybe not.

%Pairing !: nonidol!Giselle x nonidol!Reader

%Tags: fem!reader fluff, Giselle finds reader insanely hot, Giselle is the biggest loser known to mankind.

%Word count: 1.5K

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

Aeri’s entrance into the classroom was anything but graceful. The door swung open with a creak, and as she stumbled inside, her oversized bag threatening to pull her off balance. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the rows of desks and the students settling in. Sophomore year has just began, and she already knew her first lecture would be hell. She sighed, and struggled to turn around to face Mr.Kim's desk. The professor, a bespectacled man with unruly hair, greeted her with a nod.

“Ah, Giselle,” he said, rifling through a thick binder. “Your seat is…” His finger traced the pages, and he squinted in concentration. Finally, he snapped his fingers in triumph. “Over there, next to y/n.” He pointed to a desk in the middle-left, where a girl sat wearing a faded green beanie. Aeri nodded in acknowledgment, her annoyance not yet forgotten as she made her way to the designated spot.

As Aeri continued to drag her clunky bag up the stairs, she huffed and plopped down on the plastic seat in exhaustion. When she turned around, she grew a bit flustered and paused. There was an intriguing blend of softness and strength in y/n’s features. Her eyes held a quiet intensity, and the way she carried herself exuded confidence. Aeri noticed the subtle lines of muscle beneath y/n’s shirt, the way her jawline was sharp yet elegant. Y/n’s attire was equally intriguing. The green beanie sat low on her forehead, but didn't shadow the warm brown eyes that now were squinted in concentration. Her shirt, a simple black tee, clung to her frame, emphasizing the curve of her biceps. And yet, there was an androgynous quality to her—the way she wore her identity with ease, which only increased the blush on her face. And then, just as Aeri was lost in her thoughts, y/n turned toward her. Their eyes met, and y/n’s lips curved into a half-smile. “Um, hi,” she said, her voice a blend of uncertainty and warmth. Aeri’s heartbeat quickened. "hi," she responded breathlessly.

she's REALLY pretty.

"So." y/n cocked her head. "Mr. Kims class, huh?" Aeri nodded furiously, eager to continue speaking with her. "Yep! I'm majoring in Architecture, so I decided that this lecture would be….more suitable for me" Aeri grinned, anticipating the girl's response. Her breath hitched as y/n’s lips curved into a grin, slightly stuttering at the slight blush that covered the girls face.  It was a simple, genuine expression—one that held a touch of warmth. In that moment, y/n became more approachable, more real. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and Aeri noticed the faintest dimple on her cheek. "That's cool." y/n whispered, her hushed voice weakening Aeri's knees with it's sincerity. "I'm also doing an Architectural major."  

Before she could respond, Mr.Kim began talking.

"Time to take notes!" After what felt like three hours, the summary was beginning. (which meant Aeri could soon go home) Aeri’s fingers delved into the depths of her bag, revealing an assortment of items—a crumpled notebook, a half-empty granola bar wrapper, and a tangled earphone cord. But where was her pen? Pressing her tongue against her teeth, she furrowed her brows in confusion. Where was it? Looking up, she found y/n staring. "hello?" Aeri blinked. "Oh! Sorry." y/n scratched the back of her head, laughing sheepishly. "Do you…need a pen?" "Oh," Aeri giggled slightly, avoiding y/n's gaze as she slightly nodded. y/n chuckled, her raspy but husk-like voice melting Aeri. She handed Aeri a bright blue pen with star prints.

"Here you go," Y/N said, winking at the nervous girl. "Keep it. I've got plenty."

Aeri accepted the pen, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch sent a jolt through her, and she bit her lip to suppress a smile.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the professor's lecture.

Y/N’s smile widened, a silent acknowledgment of the moment they had shared

"Alright! Class dismissed." Leaving the class was the last thing Aeri wanted to do, now that she had to leave the gorgeous girl she just met. She sneaked a look at y/n, who began to neatly situate her notebook into her black bag, an opposite of Aeri's crumpled pages and messy tote bag. However, soon before she left, a thought jolted her awake and she turned around to meet the y/n's eyes. "do you want your pen back?" Aeri tapped the pen, reaching out to hand it back to her.

"Nah, keep it." Y/n shrugged, smiling in a lazy manner. "I do have something that comes with that pen." Y/n smiles as she slipped a folded piece of paper into Aeri's stretched out hand.

"Oh?" Aeri unfolded the paper, slightly jumping in surprise.

"###-###-### Call me cutie ★"

The last thing Aeri saw of yn was her cheesy wink and wave before her face grew red.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

y/n audibly gasped when a girl stumbled into the classroom. A slam and creak of the oak door drew her attention upwards, and there she was—a whirlwind of disheveled hair and oversized bag, like a character from a dorky film. y/n peeked at the girls eyes, which framed by a disleveled pair of glasses. While obviously annoyed, the small pout in her cheeks made y/n's chest tighten. Suddenly, when Mr. Kim, the professor, greeted her, Y/N snapped her attention back to her notes, determined to focus on her studies instead of getting distracted by a cute girl.

Suddenly, the so-called cute girl was directly beside y/n, and her breath hitched as she plunked her heavy bag beside her. And then start staring. Confused at the gaze that practically bore into her, y/n looked up for the second time to observe.

The girl's blush was adorable, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way her fists softly clenched at the green sweater she wore, which somehow made the girl more adorable than ever. Y/N’s pulse quickened. “Um, hi,” she managed, her voice betraying both curiosity and warmth. Aeri’s breathless response only intensified Y/N’s interest.

Before the two would fall into an awkward silence, y/n decided to speak up. "I'm…y/n." She rasped, waving slightly at the struck girl. She blinked, and slightly giggled, before whispering, "I'm Giselle, but you could call me Aeri."

Aeri.

Huh.

“So,” Y/N said, cocking her head. “Mr. Kim’s class, huh?” Aeri’s eager nod made Y/N’s heart melt. Could this girl be more cute? “Yep! I’m majoring in Architecture, so I thought this lecture would be…beneficial.” Aeri replied, her grin infectious. Y/N’s fingers itched to reach out and tuck a loose strand of Aeri’s hair behind her ear. “That’s cool,” Y/N murmured, her voice unintentionally soft. “I’m also doing an Architectural major.”

As Mr. Kim droned on, Y/N stole glances at Aeri. The way she fumbled for her pen was endearing—like a lost puppy searching for its favorite toy. Y/N’s own pen was within reach, but she couldn’t resist. But the only pen she had left was her favourite one, a sky blue mechanic pen with yellow stars, her favourite thing. "Hello?" Aeri blinked, and Y/N’s heart did a little flip. “Oh! Sorry,” Y/N chuckled, scratching her head. “Do you…need a pen?”

Aeri’s giggle was music to Y/N’s ears. She nodded, and Y/N’s fingers brushed against hers as she handed over the pen, despite its importance to her. “Here you go,” Y/N said, winking. “Keep it. I’ve got plenty.”

She did not :(

Their touch sent a delightful shiver through Y/N. Aeri’s whispered “Thanks” was barely audible over the lecture, but it echoed in Y/N’s mind. She couldn’t help but smile, silently acknowledging her gratitude.

"Class dismissed." Mr.Kim waved his hand. Y/N’s heart raced as Aeri turned around, her eyes locking onto Y/N’s.

Cute.

Aeri’s question caught Y/N off guard, and she blinked, momentarily flustered.

“Do you want your pen back?” Aeri’s voice was soft, her fingers tapping the bright blue pen. Y/N hesitated. Even though it was her favourite pen, she shook her head, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Nah, keep it,” Y/N replied, her gaze lingering on Aeri’s face.

But then, Y/N remembered the folded paper tucked into her pocket—the one she’d hastily scribbled during the lecture, after she watched Aeri swear under her breath when she hit her funny bone on the plastic chair. She slipped the paper into Aeri’s outstretched hand, their fingers brushing briefly.

Aeri’s surprised gasp was adorable. Y/N watched as she unfolded the note, her eyes widening at the digits scrawled across the paper. “###-###-### Call me cutie ★”

Waving goodbye with a wink, Y/N couldn't help but grin when she saw Aeri's face turn tomato-red in the reflection of the glass door.

Maybe sophomore won't be so bad.

CHECK OUT @jihyoruri ! they're the main inspo for everything i do online, and they're really good at writing :)

[moonstrider9904]

Flyin' Ace

Chapter 4 of Moonwalker: The Flame

{series masterlist} {next chapter} {previous chapter}

{crossposted to Wattpad} {crossposted to AO3}

Summary: The crew are led to Safa Toma, where a deal struck with the gangster Millegi results in a stunt to protect Sarah's honor.

Tags/Warnings: Mature. Allusions to gangs, some foul language, smoking, alcohol.

Word count: 7.2k

Songs:dirtmouth

If Sarah had known what they were getting themselves into, she at least would have insisted on leaving Omega on Ord Mantell. Letting her be by herself for a while, even if it was enclosed in the Y-Wing with Rigel on standby, would have struck her as safer. Echo and Hunter were bound to return soon, anyway.

Instead, there they were, the entire rest of the squad walking the even seedier streets around the Safa Toma race dome. Sarah thought back to her days as a pirate chilling in Hondo’s lair, and that seemed like a high-end dive bar compared to where they were now. Cid led the way at the front and center, with Sarah at her right side. Sarah kept Omega to her left, behind Cid, figuring that would at least be where the smallest of the group would be most protected. And, bringing up the rear, Tech and Wrecker towered over the three ladies like two bodyguards, fully armored and unafraid of whoever may have so much as hinted at a dirty look their way.

Cid looked over her right shoulder at Sarah and made a brief gesture at her. Sarah picked up her pace and, mindful of still being Omega’s cover in some way, she evened her position with the Trandoshan and leaned in, prompting hushed voices. No one else needed to be listening in.

“Glad ya came,” Cid said. “This pit of filth and scum should be a piece of cake for a former pirate like you.”

Sarah took it as a compliment. “I did see some things over at Hondo’s. Never a riot racing dome.”

“Ya ain’t here for the racing,” Cid pulled to a stop. “I am.”

The multiple speeders tailgating after the other down at the track raced by their area, the revving of their engines rising and then falling. When they were out of sight, Cid faced the crew behind her. “My new racer’s gonna make us enough for two months, at least!”

“Aw, look at you being generous,” Sarah walked up next to Cid, overlooking the racing track with a confident, arrogant little smile. “We’re getting a two month vacation with this pay? I kinda like that.”

Cid chuckled. “Ya know what I mean, Strider, don’t push it.”

As Sarah enjoyed the view and the memories of her scrappy past, Cid looked around the crowd, wary, though it didn’t seem there was anyone targeting her or her companions. There may have just been one face among the crowd with particularly unfriendly eyes looking her way… or perhaps not?

At the possibility, Cid scrambled past the clones and led the way again. “We should head down to meet Tay-0. We’re not ‘ere to spectate.”

Sarah picked up on the sudden change of pace as well as the way Cid suddenly became more tense, and she walked up to Wrecker first, grasping his forearm lightly.

“Whatever happens, prioritize Omega, will you?” Sarah whispered.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Wrecker nodded.

Sarah smiled softly, appreciative of Wrecker’s reassurance—he was a pillar of strength, and not just physically. She then hurried to the front next to Cid, and she leaned in again, more secretive than before.

“If we’re to keep hell from breaking loose, you need to tell us who to look out for,” Sarah told Cid.

“You got good instinct,” Cid muttered. “You call the shots.”

Sarah couldn’t help but pull back at Cid’s words, her eyebrows raised and eyes widened.

“What?” Cid questioned.

Sarah chuckled. “Nothing. Just that… well, you’ve got a damn good right hand in me.”

Cid’s shoulders relaxed, and her lizard-like features seemed to adopt a hint of a smile. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

Sarah smiled softly, oddly proud to be the one Cid recognized as in charge on the mission. But Sarah took such a responsibility seriously, and for the rest of the way, her gaze was ever-vigilant and aware of any pair of eyes that fell on them.

The squad made it down to the sidelines of the racing tracks without difficulty. The speeder that belonged to Cid’s infamous racer seemed prominent while it was parked on the sidelines, and Omega instantly ran towards it, eyes big with curiosity. Tech followed closely behind, already pulling out his datapad, no doubt wanting to check his own records to get a better grasp of what the vehicle was and, of course, how to improve it.

As Sarah watched Tech go about his business, she smiled softly at the sight of him so expertly making his way around the speeder.

“Many modifications have been made, that is for sure,” Tech was explaining. “A speeder of this caliber was not built for racing conditions, neither speed or weapon-wise.”

“Um, ahem!”

Every pair of eyes that had gathered around the speeder turned in the same direction when a male and slightly mechanized voice filled their ears. A tall, thin-looking droid was approaching them, its strut almost as confident as if it were human. When it was just in front of the crew, its hands flew to its metal hips and it leaned forward slightly, indignant.

“Who so disrespectfully criticizes my vehicle?” The droid bellowed.

“It is not criticism, it is an evaluation,” Tech said as he raised the visor of his helmet and looked at the droid, his expression clearly visible through his goggles. “Do you manage this vehicle for the racer?”

“I am the racer,” the droid said.

Everyone then looked at Cid, who walked up to the droid and slapped its back.

“This is Tay-0, my own little money-maker,” she introduced.

“At your service,” Tay-0 took a light bow.

Meanwhile, Tech looked over at Cid, skeptical. “Your runner is a droid?”

“Hey, human!” Tay-0 walked up to Tech and challenged him. “Do you think you have the mental capacity to make a split-second calculation required in the heat of a race?”

“He does, actually,” Sarah chimed in, smirking over at Tech.

Though his helmet covered most of his face, the way Tech’s eyes glistened as they hovered over to Sarah and lingered only for a second didn’t escape her. Regardless, his gaze was back on Tay-0, firm, yet sincere.

“I do not have the background or knowledge of the sport to provide an answer,” Tech said. “However, I have made split-second calculations in battle amidst blaster fire, which is not the same as racing, but similar in that there is an imminent threat that must be addressed swiftly to ensure victory. Perhaps my experience will enrich yours, and yours may enrich mine.”

“All I want to hear is praise, human boy,” Tay-0 dismissed. “So if it ain’t that, I don’t want to hear it.”

The droid waltzed off and retired into the garage, moving the speeder in towards it. Meanwhile, Sarah approached Tech from behind, her hand landing over his shoulder.

“Well, he seems delightful,” she scoffed.

“I am curious,” Tech said. “If machinery eliminates human error, does that mean the ideal racer is a droid? What is Tay-0’s margin of error, and how does it compare to that of the organic racers? If his win-rate is not 100%, does his droid nature influence who he loses to? In other words, does he only lose to droids who can perform similarly quick calculations? And this raises a different question—we are now adding a different factor to success in a race: the vehicle, the ability of the racer, their organic nature or lack thereof, and in the latter case, who has the better programming. This has potential to be truly fascinating to analyze.”

“Well, I don’t really like this place,” Sarah briefly squeezed the plastoid on Tech’s shoulder—she particularly enjoyed the sound of Tech’s voice modulated by his helmet and was grateful he’d given her such a speech in it, “but now I’m hoping we stick around long enough for you to answer all those questions.”

Tech faced her, his eyes softening over his goggles. “That was quite a compliment you gave me a moment ago.”

Sarah smiled at him. “And there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Look alive,” Wrecker called from behind, instantly drawing Tech and Sarah’s attention to the group of people who were approaching them.

The group was led by a large Dowutin male and followed by three other figures, of whom one was a Gamorrean guard, and the other one had a recognizable face since it was plastered on multiple posters around the racing dome—it was Jet Venim, another one of the racers.

“Cid,” the Dowutin called out. “You didn’t tell me you were back around. I resent you for not telling me.”

“Millegi,” Cid acknowledged. “That’s ‘cuz I wasn’t really plannin’ on seein’ ya.”

“Well, that’s on you, since you know this is my turf,” Millegi said as he got a quick glance at Sarah and the others. “Got a new crew there. Aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

“Their names are non’ya business,” Cid crossed her arms.

Towering over everyone else, Millegi scanned the crew standing guard behind Cid, and his gaze landed on Sarah, who stared back at him, unwavering.

“Nice tattoos,” he said to her.

Sarah tilted her head slightly and opted to use her charisma rather than anger a prominent gambling figure of Safa Toma.

“Thanks,” she smirked. “Made ‘em myself.”

“I once heard an old friend talk about someone who looked like you,” Millegi paced closer towards her—it didn’t escape him the way the two clones tensed as he did. “A pirate who graced her gang with her presence, but then left too soon, and all to be a heroic soldier, only to never be heard of again. You’re her, aren’t you?”

Sarah scoffed ever so softly.

“Hondo’s Sarah Adhara,” Millegi concluded and brought the large cigar up to his mouth, taking in a large inhale before lowering it once more, exhaling. “You’re a legend. What will the Ohnaka gang think when they hear their prized jewel played a part in losing a bet against Millegi?”

Sarah knew a signal of deference was in order, one that was just daring enough to also establish a certain territory, a relationship of mutual respect rather than to let Millegi know he stood before a doormat. Sarah paced forward slowly with a subtle sway of her hips, her back straight and features calm as she reached her hand out and took the cigar from Millegi. Without breaking eye contact even to blink, Sarah took a long inhale from the cigar and removed it from her lips, blowing the smoke out through her nose and letting it flow up in front of her face, and at last, her lips curved slightly when faint expressions of satisfactions were heard coming from Millegi’s crew. Towering over her, Millegi smirked at Sarah’s gesture.

“If my reputation precedes me, then you know I don’t want trouble,” Sarah said, handing him the cigar back. “Surely, you have bigger fish to fry than a mercenary and her new crew. We don’t deserve such attention.”

“I beg to differ,” Millegi spoke. “Your racer’s going up against mine, and Cid and I have some unfinished business. That’s enough of a premise to strike a deal.”

Millegi then looked over Sarah’s shoulder at Cid with an aura of confidence. “I was thinking of giving you more of a run for your money, but I won’t ignore such a warm introduction,” he glanced at Sarah briefly, then back at Cid. “Let’s leave it at our usual wager, how’s that? For old times’ sake?”

Though she tried, Cid couldn’t mirror Millegi’s confidence, and her chest shrank as she crossed her arms.

“Alright, deal,” Cid spoke.

Sarah briefly glanced at Cid, painfully aware that the stakes had just been raised.

“Well, this will be fun,” Millegi said as he began to turn around, his gaze lingering on Sarah for a moment before he left.

Sarah followed him with her eyes as he and his crew left, and when they were out of sight, Sarah rushed over to her own team.

“Knew you’d be great here,” Cid placed her hands on her hips, smirking at Sarah. “You actually got Millegi to soften up.”

“The point was to be off the hook,” Sarah said. “But you still accepted the bet.”

“You know as well as I do you don’t just say no to a bet with someone like Millegi,” Cid countered.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you have muscle too,” Sarah gestured at Tech and Wrecker.

“Will ya ease up?” Cid grinned. “I know what I’m doin’. Tay-0’s gonna win, and Millegi’ll respect the wage. Win-win.”

“This droid better be the best damn racer in the galaxy for what I just did,” Sarah crooned.

“Which you pulled off great, kid,” Cid congratulated. “Now come on, when have you not been able to trust me? I always come through for ya.”

Sarah found it in herself to chuckle. Cid did have a point, and there had been multiple times where she’d indeed come through for them, for her, from the Y-Wing and Rigel to those nights spent talking over a glass of aged Corellian whisky.

“For now, enjoy the race,” Cid said. “We got some money to win.”

Cid went over to the speeder with Wrecker and Omega following after her, and Omega stopped briefly in front of Sarah, looking up at her with stars in her eyes.

“You were so cool just now!” Omega beamed.

Sarah chuckled. “Yeah…” she kneeled down and crouched slightly to be just below Omega’s eye level. “Listen, as long as we’re in Safa Toma, do as I say, not as I do. Got it?”

“Yes, mom,” Omega winked, then followed after Wrecker.

Sarah felt a tingling in her marks. She’d never heard Omega call her that… but the words rang sweetly in her mind, and teasing as it was, she’d accept it.

As Sarah was standing up, Tech walked up behind her. He’d removed his helmet and was hugging it beside him, and when he made eye contact with Sarah, his eyes were slightly widened in pleasant surprise.

“That was… unexpected,” Tech said.

“Yeah,” Sarah’s voice was soft. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Your cigar stunt,” Tech answered.

“Oh! Right, that…” She turned a right angle to face Tech, gazing up at his goggled eyes. “Well? What do you really think about that?”

Tech shrugged. “That was very…”

“Yes?” Sarah prompted, smirking at the plethora of ways in which Tech could possibly admit his feelings at that very moment.

“Unhealthy,” Tech spoke.

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, fair. Yes, that’s why I don’t do it often. I picked up the habit for about a month while at Hondo’s, but that’s it.”

“Dangerous,” Tech added.

“I like to think of it as calculated,” Sarah challenged. “You have to take some sort of a risk to establish your presence in places like these, but it looks like it went well.”

Ignoring Sarah’s explanations, Tech finally looked her in the eyes, his lips parting just enough for his teeth to bare with silent hunger. “And… absolutely, exquisitely enticing.”

Sarah cooed with a little wiggle of her shoulders. “Well, well.”

“Yes, in fact,” Tech leaned in close and hushed his voice. “I’m beginning to think we should have brought your outfit from the Old Ord Mantell ruins.”

Sarah gasped in a fake scandal. “Egads, Tech!”

“The brasier and skirt perfectly accentuate your best assets,” Tech justified his thesis.

“Come now,” Sarah teased. “We both know that’s just for you and me.”

Time wore on and the racers made their way to their speeders, even the arrogant droid Tay-0, and while he was off racing, Sarah and the others gathered around to watch, and not an ounce of suspense was spared.

Why the sport's name included the word "riot" became obvious the moment the speeders dashed past the starting line. The revving of the engines piled, one after the other, until the speeders disappeared past the first curves and tunnels of the course, leaving only the roaring cheering from the stands going wild and the announcer narrating the juiciest highlights from the track. Cid held a datapad that projected Tay-0's speeder, and as much as it surprised Sarah, he seemed to be a decent racer and a decent pilot, unwaveringly moving his own speeder to the lead and having all the others tailgating him in a matter of seconds.

Cid's excitement for the race was contagious. The prospect of winning and earning a few easy credits wasn't lost on anyone, but the overall rush of racing was what felt more attractive to Sarah, so much that a part of her was curious what it would be like to be down there racing, moving as fast as the wind, pulling stunts in front of a crowd and being the first one at the finish line. Of course, a speeder that wasn't designed for such speeds paled in comparison to a starship, and Sarah'd had her fair share of excitement inside her own Y-Wing.

But the excitement felt towards that race was short-lived, and the team's hopes came crashing down when Tay-0's speeder barely made it to the finish line, and not in first place. The speeder tumbled and crashed loudly into the side of the track, prompting everyone to instantly head down there running as varied cheers were heard from the crowd, from painfully taunting "Ooooh!" cries to cheers rampaging with excitement and satisfaction, for the moment Tay-0 became the loser, it was Millegi's racer who had been declared winner.

When Wrecker and Tech pulled Tay-0 out of the wreckage, it seemed for a moment that hope was lost. Tech took a closer look at the droid and locked gazes with Cid, then with Sarah.

"There is a remedy for this," Tech affirmed. "However, I cannot change the already disfavorable result of the race."

"Are you sure you can fix him?" Sarah questioned. "He... he literally lost his legs."

"The core circuitry seems to have overloaded due to the impact, but judging by his current state, Tay-0 is on standby," Tech said. "He is not yet a lost cause, however much I may dislike him."

"You and me both," Sarah muttered, crossing her arms. She suddenly felt a warning rising inside her, and her instincts jumped to alert as she felt multiple people approaching them. Surely enough, they were already being hoarded by Millegi and his racing crew, who only had one thing on their mind after the result of the previous race.

"You lose, you pay," Millegi opened. "How about that, Cid? You sure your star racer's gonna be okay?"

"We have the best mechanic in the galaxy," Cid was nearly successful in hiding all of her nervousness. "Now, about the payment..."

"You do have it, do you not?" Millegi chuckled. "I just wish you were as quick to pay as you are to claim a payment."

Tech and Wrecker inevitably exchanged looks, and the multiple meanings behind that paired with Millegi's remark, but Sarah chose to ignore it for the time being. She instead focused on Cid and her lack of money to pay, which wouldn't foretell a happy ending.

"And if there isn't any money, we're gonna have to keep you," Millegi finished.

"Wait, keep Cid?" Omega spoke up, her tiny, childlike figure scattering in front of Cid. "But you can't do that!"

Millegi chuckled, amused at the rare sight of a child in such a cruel environment. "It's time you learn, kid. A deal is a deal, and when someone can't pay up, the stakes are higher. Either that or you make sure you actually have enough money."

"But you can't take Cid away from us, she's our friend," Omega's worry was evident in her voice, and her big, bright brown eyes looked over at Sarah, then at her two brothers, begging them to do something.

"The thing is," Sarah chose to intervene, "we aren't really counting on splitting up. It's not something we do well."

Millegi seemed to ease up the moment Sarah spoke up, and just as tensions were rising amongst his crewmates at Cid and her crew's resistance, Millegi gave one swat of his hand to calm it all down. He then looked at Sarah again, his gaze gleaming with intrigue.

"Alright then," Millegi looked straight at Sarah. "I'm giving you the chance to make a counter offer."

But Sarah was out of ideas, and normally when that happened, Omega was quick to intervene with a bright idea of her own.

"Let us fix Tay-0 and run the next race," Omega said. "Tomorrow morning."

"That's not a counter offer," Millegi said. "You need to offer up something that'll make this second round more intriguing, kid."

"We'll pay you double if you win," Omega said, decisive.

Sarah couldn't help the way her gaze shot over at Omega, but the child had a confident look in her eyes. Sarah felt a grim sense of foreboding flooding her body, its eerie cold spreading slowly through her marks.As much as Sarah had learned to trust Omega and her instincts, she couldn't find it in herself to feel at ease with the stakes being raised that drastically.

"But if we win, we leave here with Cid," Omega finished.

Millegi raised a brow. "You don't want money?"

Omega lightly shook her head. "We want our friend, and our freedom."

Millegi paused to ponder for a moment, but eventually, he nodded. "You got yourselves a deal. But for the night, we're keeping Cid as collateral. You understand - we have to make sure we're not sweet talked just to be fooled afterwards."

"Standard procedure, I suppose?" Tech inquired.

"Sure," Millegi agreed, and he gestured towards Cid to have her follow him and his crew.

Before Cid left, she took one last look at Sarah. Sarah gave a nod, appearing as confident as she could, but at the moment, Sarah wasn't sure how much that was. She then watched as Cid walked away with all the others, and when they were out of sight, Omega walked up next to Sarah, slightly hunched over her shoulders.

"Are you mad at me?" Omega asked her.

Sarah instantly looked at Omega, her facial features softening as she knelt down to be at Omega's height. "Darling, no."

"I know we're risking a lot," Omega said. "But I didn't want to leave Cid."

"And no one's holding that against you," Sarah said. "Yes, the deal is a little more risky than I would have made it, but you bought us time, and you bought us hope." Sarah then looked over at Wrecker and Tech as they held Tay-0's chassis, nodding briefly at them.

"We'll make do with what we have," Sarah finished.

"Yeah, we always do," Wrecker reassured.

"I will get to work on Tay-0 immediately," Tech said. "Wrecker, if you could bring the speeder into the shop, you'd be helping volumes."

"On it."

Cid

The night life outside was at its peak. Sitting on the couch and overlooking the elongated glass window before her, Cid could see the entire lowly festival that bloomed in the streets of Safa Toma. Laughter and racket could be heard coming from outside as the sun went down, and though those clones had proven to be resourceful before even in the worst of times, Cid couldn't shake the feeling she'd been pushed into a corner. She didn't have the credits to pay Millegi double - Tiny was adorable, but sometimes her bright ideas proved costly - and at that point, even Cid herself couldn't keep up blind hope that the heap of metal she'd chosen as her runner would succeed. It was up to Goggles to fix the droid, which Cid didn't doubt he could finish.

Winning the race was the problem.

Maybe if she sweet-talked Millegi into giving her some time after the loss to go and get the credits, Cid could head over to Ord Mantell and get some out of the reserves she had for herself and for the Batch. But wherever extra time was involved, so was collateral, and Cid couldn't stay as that and go to Ord Mantell for the credits. She also wasn't gonna ask one of the boys to go and empty the cases for her. The only one who Cid might have felt confident enough to ask for such a thing to was Strider, but Cid knew she wasn't gonna like the idea either.

Only a part of Cid felt guilty screwing over the batch, but it was either that or having Millegi come after them mercilessly, and that was assuming he even let them get off the planet, or that they were somehow able to get off planet without him noticing, which would open a whole other lot of gruesome possibilities waiting for each of the mercenaries.

"You look troubled," Millegi interrupted Cid's train of thought as he poured a glass of bourbon. "Ease up. Drink. Your loss will come until tomorrow anyway. For now, enjoy."

"I'd rather not," Cid dismissed.

"This is the most tense I've seen you since the last time you didn't have enough money to pay me," Millegi teased after downing his drink. "Surely that's not the case now, is it? 'Cause if it is, how are you gonna get out of that one?"

"You're gettin' ideas all up in your head," Cid challenged. "I won't lose."

"You're smarter than that," Millegi poured himself another glass and went to sit on the couch next to Cid. "You've said yourself, a blind confidence makes a dead fool. You'd be stupid not to consider all possibilities."

The feeling of being cornered returned to Cid.

"Better think fast," Millegi took a sip out of his drink, his tone friendly, even if the words were menacing.

With crossed arms and her body turned away from Millegi, Cid looked over her shoulder at him. "Whattaya mean, think fast? I'll get ya the money if it comes down to it."

"You'd be ruined after the wager the runt of your crew made," Millegi chuckled. "Double payment in exchange for you. It's so noble it almost has you believing you wouldn't turn your backs on each one of them in a second."

"I might surprise you," Cid crooned.

"No," Millegi said. "On the contrary, you're gonna pull a dirty stunt on them, and it'll be exactly what anyone expects."

"I've changed, Millegi."

"So you won't listen to my counteroffer?" Millegi prompted. "It'll be much easier than getting me all that money."

Cid angled her figure towards Millegi, intrigued.

"Adhara," Millegi finally stated.

"Strider?" Cid frowned. "What about 'er?"

"If your racer loses, you hand her over," Millegi proposed.

Cid's features crinkled in a grimace, but she didn't turn away from Millegi, nor did she dismiss his offer. She kept silent, and her eyes idly found different corners of the room as she examined the recently-raised stakes.

"Not a single ingot would wind up in my pocket," Millegi continued. "If you lose, give me Adhara and you're off the hook."

"Why do you even want her?" Cid asked.

"Have you seen the skillset she carries?" Millegi chuckled. "That woman is the deadly combination of a sorceress and a soldier, with enough of a gut to make it in this world. Ohnaka was a fool for letting her go."

Cid considered her options. She could blow a stream of hot air with reasons why Strider would never go with him, tell him she'd throw him off the nearest ledge using nothing but her hand and all his henchmen would follow, threaten with those two clones never being willing to let her go without a fight, convince Millegi he didn't know what he was getting into.

But Cid still didn't have the money, and if agreeing to the new terms would mean ending the conversation as well as not worrying about credits in either outcome, it became the safest of all options. It was a no-brainer. And with that, Cid made eye contact with Millegi, and she nodded.

"Deal," Cid concluded.

With a dark laugh, Millegi handed the spare glass of bourbon to Cid and sealed the offer. Cid took a sip of the bourbon and exhaled deeply as she forced away any remorse at the deal she'd just made.

Tay-0 was just gonna have to win.

Sarah

When the sun was out, Sarah found herself on the same chair she'd fallen asleep on in the middle of the trackside workshop with a makeshift blanket draped over her. She stood up and ignored the faint ache that plagued her neck, although she did resolve not to fall asleep on a chair again anytime soon. Instead of pondering on it, Sarah left the blanket over the chair and made her way towards the sunlight, and she took a deep breath in as she observed the scenery of the riot racing dome in front of her, its bleachers already filled with enthusiastic watchers and wagers.

That was one more thing amongst the many she hadn't thought she'd do since the war ended, but it wasn't the worst by any means.

Her gaze scanned the area and eventually found Wrecker and Omega overlooking the track with what appeared to be sticks of fried street food clenched in their hands, a breakfast worthy of the place they were in. When Sarah remembered the weight of their current situation, she lost all physical need to eat, and it was replaced by the plain longing for everything to be over. She'd learned not to be overly optimistic about anything a long time before that.

But the race was going to happen whether she wanted or not, and the moment she acknowledged that was also the moment her gaze landed on Tech in the distance. Also overlooking the racing track, his back was turned on her and he seemed to be holding his datapad in hand, and Sarah would have been far more pleased at the sight had it not been for Tay-0 hovering over Tech the entire time. Sarah could hear Tay-0 talking, unable to make out what exactly he was saying, though it wasn't necessary to. His circuits got to every last nerve of hers whether Tay-0 was near or far.

Sarah chuckled at a thought. With Tay-0 being so vocal that close to the start of his race, it was evident that Tech had fixed him up well. She never doubted Tech, of course. Tech could do anything, for better or for worse.

Sarah's mind pondered on Tech until the entire racing dome seemed to vanish around her, but her attention was robustly brought back to reality the moment a speeder flew past her eyesight, blocking her view of Tech for a split second only for her to realize that the vehicle had taken Tay-0 alongside it. The next thing she noticed was Tech beholding the crash site, astonished, and then he ran towards the scene of disaster where the racer walked out of his crashed vehicle without a scratch.

Tay-0 hadn't been as lucky.

Sarah, Wrecker, and Omega all ran after Tech towards the crash-site, and none of them were optimistic. It was Wrecker who reached into the ruined speeder and pulled Tay-0's limp chassis out, and they could all instantly realize this hit hadn't been like the one he'd suffered in his previous race. There was no light in Tay-0's specs, not even a flicker, and smoke was emerging from the inside of his head. The last sounds of his modulated voice could be heard as a drag of sound lowering in pitch, signaling the poor droid's futile end.

"What happened!?" Cid called as she approached the site.

But the others were still speechless and exchanging looks, as though doing that - or not doing something about what had just happened - would change the fact that they'd just lost their pilot. Cid finally caught up to them and reached towards Tay-0, and as she did, electricity crackled from the inside of Tay-0's metallic remains, which darkened the smoke that was already emerging from him. And, as if it wasn't bad enough already, the bewildered silence that clouded Sarah and the others was broken abruptly by a thunderous, mocking laughter.

"Looks like a forfeit," Millegi announced himself as he and his crew approached their opposing team.

His presence managed to put Sarah, Tech, and Wrecker on guard, while Cid walked up between the two teams holding her hands out.

"Now, now, this ain't a forfeit," Cid tried to persuade.

"You have no racer," Millegi gestured at Tay-0, limp and broken in Wrecker's grip. "No racer, no race, no victory. Those are the rules, and you know that better than anyone."

Cid's features hardened, and she didn't budge. The gesture of defiance riled Millegi, and suddenly he seemed to become taller as he glared down at Cid.

"I'm waiting for you to hold up your end of the deal," Millegi threatened.

"No," Sarah walked forward and positioned herself next to Cid. "Our deal stipulated a result after the race, not before it. We still have a right to run the race."

"That loophole never worked on me," Millegi told her. "Your buddy Cid here learned that the hard way. I'm surprised she was stupid enough to put her foot in her own grave a second time."

"Hey, there's no need for language like that," Sarah tried to moderate, but he was admittedly getting on her nerves. "We'll find a racer, we'll win, and then you'll let us be on our way."

Millegi chuckled. "You still have a lot to learn despite your reputation, little girl. You may as well just dump Cid now and make a better name for yourself, all of you," he gestured at the others behind her.

"Our loyalty is our business," Sarah replied.

“And where is your loyalty coming from?” Millegi turned to Sarah with a devious smile. “Even if I let Cid run free, you’re not going back to Ord Mantell, pretty girl.”

“What?” Sarah’s frown eased into concern.

“You’re coming with me,” Millegi looked her up and down. “Didn’t Cid tell you she offered you up instead of the money?”

Laughter emerged from Millegi’s henchmen, and Cid saw herself scrutinized by the batchers’ pairs of eyes. Omega looked at her in disbelief, Wrecker looked angry as he began stepping in front of Sarah, and Tech looked at Cid with disappointment.

Sarah’s gaze held sheer wrath.

“What the hell is he talking about?” Sarah pierced into Cid’s gaze.

“I knew what I was doin’!” Cid tried to persuade. “I knew Tay-0 was gonna win, I’d never make an offer to hurt ya, Strider.”

“Enough talk,” Millegi said, and one of his henchmen paced towards Sarah.

But Sarah intended to blast her way out of that one if that’s what it took, and she quickly unholstered her hand blaster, pointing it at the Gamorrean guard, and everyone around them pulled their weapons out in unison.

“Easy,” Millegi held his hands out, gesturing to his men to lower their weapons. “A deal is a deal, and as a former pirate, you should know it’s about the business. Your racer is down, and you cannot race, therefore you forfeit and the wage’s in our favor.”

“Oh, we are running that race,” Sarah nearly yelled. “I’m not going to give myself up just like that, you’d better be sure I’m—”

“I will be the racer,” Tech interrupted.

Sarah lowered her blaster as she turned to look at Tech, her nebulous eyes raided with fear and confusion.

“Well, this is interesting,” Millegi crooned.

“No way,” Sarah walked up to Tech. “No, I’m the one being offered, I’m—”

Tech looked directly at Millegi. “I will race.”

“Done,” Millegi accepted the wager.

Millegi left, followed by Cid and his henchmen, and Tech wasted no more time before the race. He directed himself towards the speeder, and once the confusion wore off, Wrecker went over to help him take it to the starting line. As much as Omega attempted to calm Sarah down, the latter felt she was incapable of such a thing. What the hell was Cid thinking, and why the hell would Tech make such a rash, uncalculated decision?!

Sarah ran after Tech when he was readying himself to get into the speeder, leaving Wrecker to look after Omega. Sarah ran as fast as she could, not giving a damn about the personnel repeating to her that she wasn’t allowed near the racers.

“Tech!” She yelled during those final steps, and when she reached him, Sarah clung to his forearm with desperation. “Tech, how could you do this to me?!”

“I am getting you out of harm’s way,” Tech faced Sarah, stern, yet comprehensive.

“By putting yourself in the line of fire!” Sarah was near crying. “Tech, this is my problem, my race to run!”

“I have analyzed the course and the mechanics of the sport,” Tech said. “You, on the other hand, are not thinking straight. Finding out that Cid would bring you into the wager is a shock, and thus, you are in no condition to race.”

“I can’t let you do this,” Sarah’s voice quivered as she made her last attempts to hold back tears.

“You have trusted me on dangerous endeavors before, and I have emerged victorious,” Tech said. “By my calculations and analyses, this will be the case again. I have the correct strategy.”

“Tech—”

“This is the best way, Sarah—”

“I can’t lose you!”” Sarah finally cried, thundering across the entire starting line. “I… I lost Crosshair… I can’t lose you too, Tech.”

Upon noticing her distress, Tech set his helmet down on the ground next to him and when he faced her again, he took his goggles off and looked at Sarah with his own eyes. And when he did, Sarah stopped crying—it was almost as if she’d stopped breathing for a moment, and without blinking, Sarah stared into Tech’s eyes in awe.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she whispered.

Tech paced closer to her and gently brushed the back of her palm with his gloved fingers.

“Trust me,” Tech began. “You will not lose me. Not today, not ever. For all purposes, Sarah Adhara, I am yours, and I have now chosen the duty of making sure you do not end up in Millegi’s hands. And I will not fail.”

Sarah sniffled as a wave of emotions coursed through her. Feeling both hot and cold on her marks from the confession she’d just heard Tech speak, as well as the fear of him not making it out of the race, she felt she would break if she didn’t do anything at the moment. Without thinking of it any further, Sarah cupped Tech’s face with her hands and perked herself up on her toes, and she pressed her lips to his. The way she pressed herself towards him seemed desperate, but the way her breath slowed down as she was with him spoke of true adoration and gratitude, and when she parted from the kiss, her eyes had pooled with tears again.

“Come back to me,” Sarah uttered.

Tech gave her a hint of a smile as he replaced his goggles over his eyes. “Do not doubt.”

“Racers, to your speeders!”

At the final announcement, Sarah knew it was time for her to let Tech do what he did best. She returned to the sidelines next to Wrecker and Omega, who each held onto one of Sarah’s shoulders as the racers’ names were being called, partly out of comfort, but mostly out of mutual nervousness. The danger of Tech’s current situation didn’t escape them either.

But the moment the starting bell blared, Tech seemed like a natural, at least, that was until he fell into the last place among the racers. The pronounced curves of the track and the high speed weren’t his problem, as he was a fantastic pilot, but none of that would matter if he lost.

Sarah became filled with dread, and her mind began to wander with the possibilities of what would happen. She would set fire to the racing dome herself if it guaranteed her and her family’s freedom—perhaps if everything went wrong, she could finally find an excuse to hide in a remote planet, or declare war on Millegi and his gang, as well as Cid. The dread returned to Sarah as she remembered she was capable of offering her.

But then, Sarah felt a warmth scattering itself over the blue of her marks. Her familiar hunches were never wrong, and at that moment, she could hear what the Force was telling her to trust in, and her instincts all pointed in the same direction. Tech was the best pilot down there, and he was the smartest, too, far more capable than any machine programmed by a mind inferior to his, and far more reckless than the racers from the low worlds.

Trust.

“He’s climbing!” Omega cheered as the screens projecting the race around the dome showed Tech’s speeder passing one racer after another.

The final lap was upon them, and he was already in third place, but that also attracted the attention of Jet Venim, who didn’t intend to go easy on Tech. The tunnels were approaching for the last time in the race, and through the comms, Tech announced his intent to cross the left tunnel, the one revered as a death trap.

And though none of the stunts were easy to watch, Tech was successful in all of them, just as Sarah’s instincts had told her. Finally, Tech was at the last leg of the race, and this was it. The three speeders in the lead were close together, two of them very clearly harassing Tech’s vehicle, and at times it really seemed Tech would end up in a crash and a subsequent loss. In the last tunnel, it became difficult to keep track of the speeders given how close they were, and emerging from the tunnel, everything seemed to collapse. Blasts were fired, metal could be heard crashing, and a large cloud of dust hid the speeders from view at the very moment when the tension was at such a high point that the dome fell silent in expectation.

From the cloud of dust, the small blue speeder sped through the finish line, and the announcer called Tech’s name, declaring him the winner.

Sarah let out a scream that blended surprise, relief, and admiration, and alongside her, Wrecker and Omega cheered like they hadn’t done in far too long. Around them, the crowd gathered in the racing dome went wild, with their cheers albeit carrying surprise, but an undeniable satisfaction at the result of the race they’d just witnessed.

Sarah ran down to the track with Wrecker and Omega following closely after her. As Tech got down from the speeder and removed his helmet, he seemed as neutral as he always was about anything, and it didn’t seem like he cared if there was an entire crowd around him chanting his name. His expression only shifted to astonishment when Sarah threw her arms around him and leapt into his arms, causing Tech to spin as he held her, feeling her fingertips tracing soft patterns around the back of his head.

“You did it!” Sarah panted as relief and adoration finally showered upon her. Tech had single handedly pulled her and the rest of the squad out of any trouble. He’d made sure she would be safe, that she would return home without anyone following her. He had raced for her, and he’d succeeded.

“Yes,” Tech answered matter-of-factly. “I told you I would.”

Sarah chuckled, and she didn’t undo the embrace even as Wrecker and Omega caught up to them. Despite not reveling in his own success even when his siblings brought it up, Tech then looked up at the racing dome filled with his newly acquired fans, all of them chanting and repeating his name in unison, their hands flailing in the air as they celebrated his victory.

Tech watched them and approached the scene with the same curiosity with which he approached anything that was new to him, and with one hand still holding Sarah’s silhouette to his side, the other one went up to his temple, and he offered the crowd a brief salute that made the cheering thunder around them.

Sarah grinned at the sight of him acknowledging his crowd, and the way his lips curved softly into a tiny smile didn’t escape her. She felt like she could have kissed him again, but she let him enjoy his glory undistracted for a few more moments.

He truly deserved that.

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NEXT CHAPTER -> 

[shares-a-vest]

He's Gonna Save Me, Call Me 'Baby'

wc: 1.1k | Rated: T for alcohol consumption (not excessive) | cw: post-breakup, angst with a hopeful ending

Tags: Future Fic (mid-90s), Post Stancy Breakup, Steve Harrington Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Platonic Stobin, Jeff (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, Implied Future Steddie (only bc the end is a little vague)

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project. I chose the song, 'Jackie and Wilson'. Thank you soooo much to @subbaculture for setting up this event and making the banner!

(Read on ao3)

“Look alive, Dingus.”

Robin turns around to Steve and pats him square in the chest. He perks up, even though his best friend turns straight back to the entryway of The Hideout to wave at Jeff. He thinks it would be easier if Robin’s head were on a literal swivel with the way she has been whipping back and forth for the past hour.

Steve grumbles into his beer, pushing through the burn in his throat that still lingers years later as he laments the lack of Eddie following behind his bandmate.

He knows they had arrived too early for Corroded Coffin’s show, but Robin’s summer break from teaching came just in time – sue him for needing to spend every possible moment with his best friend.

Though he’d decided as soon as Robin announced her return to Hawkins that he wouldn’t mention the flowers he ripped up in haste in the back garden last week.

He’d done so straight after arriving home from the real estate agent, head hung in shame as he fully accepted yet another hard thunk on the head courtesy of Nancy Wheeler.

Well, it wasn’t so much a thunk this time as it was what Steve might consider, ‘divine intervention’.

He was in the backyard, tending to his small and still very much intact flower garden when a piece of guttering fell clean from the house, smashing through the window of the spare bedroom Nancy was using as her office – a room they’d falsely promised each other would be used for an entirely different reason.

But, much like his childhood home (which endured a mighty crack right through that cursed goddamn pool during Spring Break of ‘86), Steve found himself existing in a not-so-perfect house. One that grew increasingly cold as years of Upside Down dust and fog and smoke cooled Hawkins’s atmosphere.

A house that, with a broken and rusted gutter pipe, decided to remind them that shouldn’t – couldn’t – be playing house.

That’s all it really was: a pretend white picket fence dream that isn’t what Steve had meant by his vision of vacationing with a brood of Harringtons, Nancy by his side.

A dream that Nancy never wanted and got dragged into until her office window smashed in.

A dream that Steve thought was dead and buried the day Nancy rightfully picked through shards of glass for her things and left.

Buried until Eddie called him, saying that he had been talking to Robin (because of course, they kept tabs on him). He said the band would be back in town and that Steve and Robin should meet them.

And so, with a few beers warming his belly, burning his throat and sending a prickling sensation up his scar-covered sides, Steve found that nagging hope bubble up again.

He shakes his head, scoffing at his hopeless self as the sound of rhythm and blues music over the bar’s jukebox almost drowns out Jeff’s and Robin’s chattering.

Maybe he should be talking himself out of it. Finally acknowledging that years-old fleeting something between him and Eddie.

But he wants it.

And Lord knows he acts on a mere fleeting feeling.

Maybe history won’t repeat itself this time. Maybe the rusted gutter was one last divine thunk.

Maybe it won’t just be a first date. Or meaningless sex. Or bullshit.

He should have known that love with Nancy – a love long sucked down his old pool drain along with Barb Holland’s life – couldn’t prosper in the aftermath of an almost apocalypse.

They thought they were supposed to try, is the thing.

Staying in Hawkins. Keeping things at bay. Watching. Perhaps waiting for it all to come back.

But then it didn’t.

It all just lingered.

And they were left to pick up the pieces.

Right mistakes.

Move on.

They just didn’t need to do it together.

Steve pivots on his barstool, leaning an elbow on the bar top to get a better (hopefully seemingly more casual) view of the entryway.

He has seen Eddie over the years. Every Christmas at the Hendersons, sporadic visits home, a phone call here and there. The band hadn’t exactly made it big – at all, really. But they made enough to move around. Tour. Always returning to The Hideout for a one-off Tuesday Night gig as if nothing changed.

Steve looks around, thinking there might be three more drunks than the last show –

And there he is.

Eddie enters the bar with Gareth and George in tow and Steve swears a summer breeze flows in with him.

He looks good. Leather-clad as always. Pants impossibly tight. Jacket chains jangling. His hair still a river of wild curls.

But Steve sinks back on his seat as the trio makes a beeline for the stage, Eddie’s bright eyes turning into a dark frown as he orders the boys about, barely carrying a thing himself.

He probably had some theatrical excuse about his outfit, punctuated by manic hand gestures and a pout or two.

Steve watches as they dump their equipment by the one-step platform, each maneuver creating cacophonous thuds that reverberate through the bar. Jeff grimaces at the sight before shooting an apologetic glance at the manager and barkeep. The boys always did saddle him with sweet-talking the staff.

“Someone’s eager,” Robin teases, catching Steve’s smirk.

Jeff quirks a brow and stifles a smile.

“Shut up,” Steve chuckles into his glass before he downs the last of his beer.

“Eddie is really excited to see you, man,” Jeff nods, offering a nonchalant shrug just as Eddie begins making his way towards them.

Steve’s heart quickens.

There’s that something.

A something that is reflected in the glint in Eddie’s eyes as he smiles wide and waves.

Steve wiggles his fingers in greeting, shaking his head at himself almost instantly causing a lock of his hair to flop out of place.

George not-at-all subtly drags Gareth in Jeff’s direction.

“Over here, Gare,” Robin commands loudly through gritted teeth.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie says, his voice low as he steps forward to stand just close enough that yeah, Steve decides to roll with that hope again.

He reaches up to comb a hand through his hair but Eddie gets there first.

“Sucks about Wheeler, babydoll,” Eddie continues, allowing his fingers to scrape his scalp, carefully looking him over as he does so.

Eddie always is too much.

Everything.

A lot. All at once.

Seeing him.

Steve hums and Eddie soon stops, an embarrassed set of dimples dotting his cheeks as he likely thinks better of it given their current location.

“It was... all a mistake,” Steve admits, taking Eddie’s retreating hand.

He intertwines ring-adorned fingers with his own, refusing to let go of the hope tethering them, ready to start again.

[purplevortexx]

Midnight Madness- Part One

read part two here

summary: with New Years fast approaching, Penny needs a band to play at the Hard Deck and Bob might just be able to help with that.

pairing: robert ‘bob’ floyd X female musician!reader

warnings: swearing, teasing, slight angst/reminiscing, bean picks the shittiest band name known to man

words: 2.3k

a/n: delayed new years fic for you all, enjoy part one! hoping to have part two out very soon. As always, feedback is very much appreciated

tag list: @call-sign-jinx @shrimping-for-all @ateliefloresdaprimavera

✨add yourself to my taglist(s) here✨

When Mav calls an urgent meeting, it’s pretty much an unspoken rule: drop what you’re doing and go. Which is why, when Bob receives a text message from the man himself in the uranium mission group chat one afternoon right before New Year’s, he makes his way to the Hard Deck, no questions asked.

He’s not the first to arrive; Hangman, Payback and Coyote are stood talking in the corner, their workout clothes suggesting they have just come from the gym. He nods at them in greeting and makes his way into the bar, closing the door behind him. Scanning the room, he visibly relaxes when he spies Phoenix sat on her own looking unimpressed and scrolling on her phone. Bob makes a beeline for the table and his front seater looks up with a smile when he pulls a chair out to sit down.

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Bob asks

Phoenix shrugs. “I have no idea, Mav isn’t even here yet.”

“Urgent my ass.” The bespectacled lieutenant mutters in reply, causing Phoenix to chuckle. Bob leans back against his chair, nervously pulling on the cap that covers his head. A few minutes later, Mav walks into the Hard Deck with Rooster in tow, causing all the pilots in attendance to sit up a little straighter. Fanboy slips in just after them and slides into the seat next to Bob. Rooster perches on a stool next to the bar whilst Mav stands in the middle of the room.

“Listen up. Penny has a problem which means I now have a problem.” Eyebrows raise in intrigue around the room as Mav addresses them. “And because I cannot solve that problem, I am making it your problem.” Bob catches Phoenix’s gaze as she rolls her eyes at Mav’s familiar words.

Rooster is the first to speak up, “Hey Mav, this isn’t gonna be like when we had to find that cactus for Penny’s birthday last month, right?” Bob nearly groans at the thought. The team had searched for a good couple of weeks for a rare cactus found only in very specific regions of Northern Africa. It turns out Amelia had told Mav that Penny wanted this impossible to find cactus purely to mess with him. None of the pilots had been impressed at all, particularly Coyote who had spent upwards of an hour on the phone with a Libyan cactus farmer.

A chorus of groans sound at Roosters question, with most of the pilots in the room standing or getting ready to leave. Mav cringes slightly at the outburst. “Guys, guys just wait a minute. I promise this time it actually came from Penny and not Amelia.”

“Well then what’s the problem? ‘Cause I don’t know about you guys but I’ve got things to do.” This comes from Hangman, causing Phoenix to let out a scoff. “I’m sure whatever mirror is calling your name can wait Bagman, let’s just hear what Mav has to say.”

The short captain sends a grateful look towards Phoenix and he continues. “The band who’s supposed to play here on New Years just cancelled last minute so your job is to find a replacement.”

Cue more groans from the pilots

“A replacement?”

“But Mav, New Years is two days away!”

“There’s no way we can pull that off.”

Everyone continues yelling and complaining until Rooster whistles loudly, cutting through all the noise. “Say we can do this?” Mav nods, motioning for his godson to continue. “What do we get in return?”

“The person or people that get someone lined up for New Years drink free that night.”

“All night?” Payback asks

“All night.” Mav confirms.

That sets off a chain reaction of everyone planning how to find a band for Penny. Most take out their phones and start frantically searching whilst others, namely Fanboy, try to set up a team in order to have more of a chance of winning those free drinks.

Phoenix goes to pull out her phone to start searching but then catches Bob’s eye who is smiling softly to himself. He looks up at her and gives her a quick nod then motions for her to follow him outside. She obliges, and the pair slip out unnoticed by the rest of the group who are still frantically squabbling over how to find the best band on such short notice.

“Okay what gives?” Phoenix asks when they’re out of earshot.

“We’re in this together right?” Bob confirms.

Phoenix nods excitedly. “Of course we are! Now come on, talk to me Bob. Do you know a band?”

“Yeah. I mean I might. A friend of mine fronts it. I can call and ask if they don’t have anything booked for New Years?”

“Do it!” Bob chuckles slightly at Phoenix’s elated state and pulls out his phone to call you.

He’s just typing in his passcode when Phoenix adds “and maybe you can actually ask that barista that keeps giving you free coffee to be your date,” Bob rolls his eyes at his friends antics. In the short time he’s known Phoenix, she’s become like a sister to him but with that sisterly relationship comes the inevitable desire for him to be happy. This desire manifests itself in the encouragement of Bob to find someone to settle down with, even if it is just a barista who insisted his coffee was on the house; Bob left a $5 bill on the counter on his way out anyway.

Bob just shakes his head and ignores Phoenix’s words, focusing on finding your number in his contacts.

-

Admittedly, Bob’s proposal for you to play at the Hard Deck on New Years is rather stuttered due to the stare from his front seater practically burning holes into the side of his head for the duration of the call. He wasn’t really expecting you to answer the phone as quickly as you did which further increases his anxiety whilst talking to you, the glare from next to him only heightening his discomfort. Phoenix’s harsh gaze is only broken upon the confirmation that Bob has secured the band for the whole night.

It turns out, by some form of sheer irony or dumb luck, the venue in LA your band were going to play at had been shut down by the health department two days earlier and couldn’t be opened again until the second week in January, meaning you had a band that were itching to play and were more than happy to take the open slot at the Hard Deck when Bob asked.

“So come on, show me this band then.” Bob sighs, having just put his phone back in his pocket.

Inching closer to the screen, Phoenix plucks Bob’s phone out of his hands and pauses the video before looking up wide-eyed at her back seater. “No. Freaking. Way!”

“What?”

“That’s Bad Decisions, right?”

“Uh huh, you know ‘em?” Bob asks, surprised that Phoenix has heard of the band.

She nods in reply, “Fanboy and I have been obsessing over them for like the last year! How did I not know that you know the lead singer?”

“I thought I told you I was in a band in high schoolI?” Bob’s almost certain he did, recalling how it took him showing his front seater evidence before she actually belived him.

“Yeah but-“ Phoenix trails off, gears turning in her head as she realises. “Wait a minute! You mean to tell me that you, Bob Floyd, were an original member of Bad Decisions?”

“Uh… yeah.” An uneasy feeling creeps up Bob’s spine as his front seater starts grinning like a certified maniac.

Phoenix grabs his hand in pure excitement and practically screeches in his ear. “Oh my god we need to tell the others.”

Protests start falling from Bob’s mouth as the dark haired pilot practically drags him back into the bar where the others are still squabbling over how to find a band for Penny.

Phoenix clears her throat to gain everyone’s attention. “Hey losers, game over. We win.” She announces triumphantly as she and a thoroughly concerned Bob re-enter the Hard Deck.

Everyone groans and looks up from their phones. Hangman is the first to speak. “I’m calling bullshit, there’s no way you found someone that fast.”

“Well we did.” Phoenix taunts, stepping closer to the blonde pilot.

“How?” Hangman challenges, not shying away from her stance.

Shrugging, Phoenix replies.“Bob knows people.”

With a chuckle a reply comes from Hangman “And pray tell Phoenix, what ‘people’ does Baby on Board know?” He probes further, sending a mocking glance in Bob’s direction.

“The lead singer of Bad Decisions?”

Hangman goes to retort, more than likely something he deems witty but he’s interrupted by a shout from Fanboy. “WHAT?!” The Latino pilot yells “no freaking way!” He turns to Phoenix, “Dude! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know until like five minutes ago. And get this, Bob was in a band in high school,” this raises a few eyebrows and earns a muffled chuckle from Coyote, who is trying to cover up his amusement at the revelation. “And guess what band he was in?”

A few eyes around the room widen and a few murmurs escape from those who have heard of the band. “NO WAY!” Fanboy yells. “Bob you’re officially the coolest person I know.”

“Ouch man,” is the response from Payback, feigning hurt but despite the demotion in the eyes of his best friend and back seater, he is thoroughly amused at the entire situation.

Mav, who has been listening to the entire conversation steps forward. “So your friend actually agreed to do it?” He questions Bob, who gives a small nod in reply. A smile breaks out on the older man’s face and he gives Bob a congratulatory slap on the back “well then Bob, looks like you and Phoenix are drinking free on New Years!”

-

When Penny is informed that Mav promised free drinks all night to the people who found her a band to play on new years, she’s pretty pissed off. Only the promise that they’ve actually managed to find someone softens the blow that Phoenix and Bob won’t pay for a drink all night.

Bob feels slightly uneasy when he finds out that Penny didn’t actually know that Mav asked them to find a replacement band so decides to go talk to Penny that afternoon ready to relinquish the free drinks for New Years. Well, his drinks at least, no one gets between Phoenix and free stuff no matter if it’s a free sachet of a new face cream or a night of free alcohol- he knows of a few people who’ve learnt that lesson the hard way.

If Bob were to describe Phoenix as his sister, the only way he could describe Penny’s relationship with him would be that of an aunt. Although Penny is much more subtle in her meddling of Bob’s personal life than Phoenix, she still makes an effort to help Bob along in the way an aunt married to the crazy uncle of the family would.

After sitting down with Penny and going over a few details, and Penny reassuring Bob that he and Phoenix can both drink for free on New Years -Penny tells him the reason is because “a bets a bet” but really Bob and Phoenix are probably her favourites out of all the young aviators- they get into more details of the band. More specifically, Bob’s relationship to you.

“So you know this girl well?”

Bob runs a nervous hand over the back of his neck. Admittedly, he should’ve guessed an interrogation of sorts was coming, especially from Penny. Lucky for him, Phoenix was so caught up in the fact he knew you that she didn’t actually ask him that many questions about the two of you. “I guess you could say that yeah,” he mutters, meeting the bartender’s eyes with a shy smile.

“Were you and her…” she trails off, trying to find the right words.

“Could’ve been something a long time ago, but I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed,” he informs Penny, who smiles sympathetically at him

“Sorry to hear that Bob,”

He shrugs, “nothin’ anyone could do… just bad timing is all,”

Penny raises her eyebrows in curiosity and slightly in shock too. It’s not often Bob opens up, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t want to find out more. “It was the same with me and Pete I guess, it wasn’t the right time,” Seeing she’s grabbed Bobs attention, Penny pushes just a little more, “until it was” she watches as Bob shies away from her gaze but continues on anyway. “D’you think it could be the right timing now?”

Despite the conversation and the memories it’s bringing up not being funny in the slightest, Bob chuckles. Maybe it’s out of anxiety or it could be the sheer incredulity of the entire situation. He thinks about his answer for a good few seconds. Lying to Penny isn’t something he wants to do for two reasons. One, he respects her and two, he’s pretty sure she would know straight away. He’s kidding himself if he says he doesn’t think about you like that anymore, he’s not sure he could stop thinking about you and the memories you share even if he wanted to. All these thoughts running round his head but he chooses to answer with a simple yet vague “guess we’ll find out.”

Penny just sips her home made lemonade in quiet acceptance of his answer.

-

It’s not until the next morning when you actually step out from your old battered Jeep and he feels 17 again, that Bob realises his feelings towards you haven’t completely gone away.

With a bright smile, you move towards him and sweep him up into a tight hug. Gosh he forgot how warm your hugs are . “Bob!” You exclaim, squeezing him tighter. “It’s so good to see you,” it takes Phoenix nudging his shoulder for him to realise he hasn’t said anything even after you pull away from the embrace.

Yep, he’s completely fucked.

[xtruss]

Image credit: Mariana Mikhailova/Getty Images

The Little-Known History of Champagne

While women were barred from owning businesses in 19th Century France, three widows, who were exempt from the rule, created some of Champagne's most lauded empires.

— By Lily Radziemski | 2nd March 2023

On the outskirts of the north-eastern French city of Reims, winding roads converge near a gated chateau. Cars line a roundabout enclosed by sprawling fields. The air is still, and it's calm. The real action is happening almost 20m underground.

Carving through this underworld are more than 200km of cellars, with millions of Champagne bottles lining chalky rock walls, unlabelled and marked with the words "I was here" by tourists in the dust covering them. Some are upside-down, in chains, glowing in the dim light of the cellars against the backdrop of tunnels that seemingly lead to nowhere. Others are stacked in small caves guarded by wrought iron gates. This is ground zero of the world's Champagne market.

And, historically in the caves, widows ruled.

Some of the biggest innovations of Champagne came down to the ingenuity of several women. In the 19th Century, the Napoleonic Code restricted women from owning businesses in France without permission from a husband or father. However, widows were exempt from the rule, creating a loophole for Barbe-Nicole Clicquot-Ponsardin, Louise Pommery and Lily Bollinger – among others – to turn vineyards into empires and ultimately transform the Champagne industry, permanently changing how it's made and marketed.

In 1798, Barbe-Nicole Ponsardin married François Clicquot, who then ran his family's small textile and wine business, originally called Clicquot-Muiron et Fils in Reims. It turned into a financial disaster. When Clicquot died in 1805, leaving her widowed at 27 years old, she made the unconventional choice to take over the company.

"It was a very unusual decision for a woman of her class," said Tilar Mazzeo, cultural historian and author of The Widow Clicquot. "It would have been extremely unusual for her to have a business, because she didn't need to… She could have spent her life in drawing rooms and as a society hostess."

In Reims, old Champagne bottles are stacked in an underworld of more than 200km of cellars (Credit: Lily Radziemski)

Desperately in need of money for the business, she asked her father-in-law for today's equivalent of about €835,000.

"Amazingly, her father-in-law said yes," Mazzeo explained, "which I always think must say something really important about who he thought she was, and what he thought she was capable of as a woman with no business background."

The 'Veuve' Suggested a Certain Kind of Respectability to the Beverage

From the beginning, Barbe-Nicole used her widowed status as a marketing tool, yielding positive results. The Champagne house became Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin – the French word veuve translates into "widow".

"The 'veuve' suggested a certain kind of respectability to the beverage… some of these beverages had gotten associated with the debauchery and wild parties of the royal courts of old," explained Kolleen M Guy, author of When Champagne Became French: Wine and the Making of a National Identity and chair, Division of Arts and Humanities at Duke Kunshan University in Jiansu, China.

Barbe-Nicole Ponsardin took over what became Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin when her husband passed (Credit: Interfoto/Alamy)

Tagging "veuve" onto a bottle brought clout, and other Champagne producers – such as Veuve Binet and Veuve Loche – soon followed suit.

"The companies that didn't have a widow at the head of the household would create kind of off-brands, like a veuve off-brand, so they could try to capture this trend," Guy said.

Despite Barbe-Nicole completing a four-year apprenticeship with a local winemaker to better learn how to make the business grow, it was once again on the brink of collapse in the early 19th Century. She secured another €835,000 from her father-in-law to salvage it. However, doing this during the Napoleonic Wars in continental Europe wouldn't be easy, as border closures made it difficult to move product around.

But by 1814, Barbe-Nicole knew that she was running out of options. Faced with bankruptcy, she turned to a new market: Russia. While Russia's border was still closed towards the end of the Napoleonic wars, she decided to run the blockade.

Adding "veuve" (meaning "widow") onto a Champagne bottle such as Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin brought clout (Credit: Lynne Sutherland/Alamy)

"She made this huge gamble, where she knew that if she could get her product into Russia before Jean-Remy Moët, who was her arch-rival, she would be able to capture some market share," Mazzeo said. "Otherwise, once the border was legally open, Moët's Champagne was going to arrive, and Moët would continue to be the dominant player in that very important Russian export market."

So, Barbe-Nicole smuggled thousands of bottles across the border. The risks were high as it was late in the season and the heat could ruin the Champagne. And if caught, the bottles would be confiscated, contributing to more financial ruin. Fortunately, the Champagne arrived in perfect condition and took the market by storm.

"In 90 days, she went from being an unknown player [in Russia] to being 'The Widow'," Mazzeo said.

With the demand came a need to increase production fast. The process of removing dead yeast cells from the bottom of bottles – a necessary step in Champagne-making following the aging and fermentation process – was tedious and damaging to the quality. But Barbe-Nicole had a better idea.

"She basically said to her winemakers, 'take my kitchen table down to the cellar – I want you to poke some holes in it and let's just turn these [bottles] upside-down. Don't you think that would be a better way of getting the yeast out? The yeast would settle in the neck of the bottle, we could pop it out, that would be faster, wouldn't it?'," Mazzeo recounted. "Everybody said 'no, no no, we can't do it that way'." But they acquiesced.

That technique known as "riddling" is still a critical part of the Champagne-making process today (Credit: David Freund/Getty Images)

It worked. That technique is became known as "riddling" (to make holes in something) and is still a critical part of the Champagne-making process today.

The second widow to revolutionise the industry was Louise Pommery. Born in 1819, Pommery entered into the Champagne scene towards the end of Clicquot's life. When she was young, her mother sent her to school in England – an unusual move that would later play to her advantage.

"She wasn't just taught how to sew," said Prince Alain de Polignac, the great-great-grandson of Louise Pommery. "[Her mother] gave her an education, which was unusual for a bourgeoise girl of that time."

After her studies, she married Alexandre Pommery, who partnered with Narcisse Greno in 1856 to build up his existing Champagne house, creating Pommery et Greno. In 1858, Alexandre died. For Louise Pommery, the next move was clear. Eight days after his death, she stepped in to take over.

"Destiny swooped in, and Madame Pommery was ready," said de Polignac. "She had a 15-year-old son and a baby in her arms, and instead of returning to her mother's home, she decided to take [the Champagne house] over."

Prince Alain de Polignac looks at a portrait of Louise Pommery (Credit: Lily Radziemski)

While Clicquot might have captured Russia, Pommery was determined to own the English market.

At the time, Champagne was painfully sweet – some bottles would have up to 300g of residual sugar compared to the more typical 12 or so grams today – and it was served over ice, sort of like a slushie. As such, the English, who typically had a drier palette, didn't have a taste for it. But Pommery felt that she could make a Champagne that would get them hooked.

Her brut Champagne hit markets in 1874. The style was distinctively dry, fresh and lively. It was perfectly balanced with a light-hearted nose, delicate but assertive.

"The idea was to make a wine that was a lot more fine, with assemblage a lot more subtle, a much longer time in cave…" de Polignac said. "This exploded on the English market, because that's what they were waiting for."

Champagne tourism arose under the guise of the widows. Whereas most Champagne-makers built chateaux after achieving success in business, Pommery did the opposite, building an estate as a means of attracting success.

In the mid-20th Century, Lily Bollinger emerged on the scene.

She took over the Bollinger Champagne house in 1941 when Jacques Bollinger, her husband and the owner of the brand, passed. At the time, women's rights to business ownership were still restricted (it wasn't until 1965 that women were granted full rights to employment, banking and asset management without permission) though widows were still able to circumvent the rules.

Champagne tourism arose under the guise of the widows (pictured: Champagne House of Veuve Clicquot) (Credit: Hemis/Alamy)

"She decided to take over the management – she could have sold the business," explained her great nephew, Etienne Bizot.

Bollinger brought her Champagne to the US. For three months, she travelled all over the country carting around her wines, alone. According to Bollinger's official history, she gained such popularity that she was named "the first lady of France" by the Chicago American newspaper in 1961.

A few years later, Bollinger released the R.D. (recently disgorged) vintage Champagne, a technique that she innovated by aging the bottle with its lees, the dead yeast and grape skins, for extended periods of time and then removing the sediment from the bottle by hand. The Champagne is still one of the brand's most coveted cuvees today.

"I think what's unusual about the widows is that they [don't] remarry," Guy explained. "In a way, I think they didn't do it because had they remarried, they would have had to turn over some of the business to their husbands… They'd lose their legal status, so in some ways, it was a way to keep their independence."

The independence and creativity of the three widows paved the way for generations of women to come, and their innovations are immortalised in glass bottles.

"This group of women really changed something – they were pioneers that were very engaged in the key moments [of Champagne-making], and that importance is still represented," said Mélanie Tarlant, a twelfth-generation winemaker and member of La Transmission, Femmes en Champagne, a women-led association for Champagne-makers. She makes non-dosé (low sugar-dosed) Champagne, noting that Pommery was the first to pioneer the technique that she still uses today.

"It could have been lost in time."

[brambonius]

WIP Word Search Tag Game

I wasn't tagged by @kiraofthewind, but I play along nonetheless! The snippets here are from 'A Nation of Distances II: Wifebot'. (I had to add one word that wasn't originally in there somewere, but I won't say which one)

The words were SOFT, TERROR, HOLLOW, BREEZE and FELT.

SOFT ‘This rotten country is really unbelievable. They took everything away from him, and they still provide him with a home and a fake wife. Even if he got deleted. Men…’ ‘It was only a soft deletion. He’s still a person officially, they didn’t take his identity, only his rating. They don’t want too much men to go feral if they can prevent it. That’d be dangerous. So they are stripped of their rating but their basic needs are still covered, more or less. They get a house and a replacement wife that can do household chores and eh, entertain them in other ways. And for they rest they’ll have to work to pay the rent, so they keep busy and won’t do to much stupid things. It’s a well-organised system and the Wifebot is a big factor in keeping them pacified. Works better than a real wife they say…’

TERROR The next day the girl formerly known as Shirley was practising the beer tap in the bar for the first time when Eliza came in late in the afternoon wearing a dirty orange overall. ‘Oh, hello Eliza, I hadn’t expected you here today. You’re really a regular here now?’ she said, looking at her friend’s weird outfit. ‘I’m working again, there’s still project international radio connection, and we have to change your doppelganger into Michael’s Wife again too. But now I need a beer, my deer Ghost Town outlaw Leya.’ The girl that remembered again that she was Leya now looked at her glass; ‘We’ll see how I manage with the tap here. I’ll probably screw up with the foam, getting a decent head on a beer is much harder than I thought.’

‘Screw the foam, just give me a pint.’ Eliza said, sitting herself down on a barstool. ‘So the robot is back? Everything went well yesterday?’ ‘Yes, Shirley two came back last night, Rebecca was on night watch and let her in. I’ve been watching live with Megan and Iris yesterday afternoon, another transmitter experiment, and he was indeed all the horrible things you said and more. Getting you out was completely justified. But the show was over soon when he passed out. No more Dave terror for you…’

HOLLOW At least he had the most important things home already, but he had felt completely hollow from the way in which his father had treated him. How could people do such things to their own children? He’d always thought that his father was a more or less decent man, but to experience this was beyond horror books. And then he’d also met Don on the way, who had also completely ignored him as if he wasn’t there, even though he had shown some dark smirk. So that was how it would be from now on? Everything he had known as his life was over now and no-one would even want to know him.

BREEZE ‘Come on, let me grab your hand at least, Loverboy. I’m not going to seduce you or ask your hand in marriage, but if we’re going to be stuck in a clean romance scene, I want at least to have that. You can’t say that I’m asking for too much. We don’t have any ferris wheel or tunnel of love here in this country, do we?’ ‘Eh, what exactly have you been reading recently.’ Michael asked when she took his hand without waiting for his response. ‘Clean romantic fiction like I said, from the late 20th century. And then in the end they kissed and were happy. It was insinuated that they would marry even, but I think they had another concept of marriage. One that was closer to those Love Ceremonies of the local outlaws here I think.’ ‘I don’t know, I’ve read other things about that era. Anyway, let’s look at those flowers and enjoy the early autumn breeze.’

FELT Michael sat on the unmade bed and stared at the wall, his heart full of shame and despair. The room was almost empty, except for an old bed and a tiny table, and like the building itself it was run-down and ancient. So this was how it felt to live in the lower end of a Zeroville neighbourhood? He’d better get used to it, because it was his new home now.

It wasn’t really his new apartment that was on his mind now, but the way how he had ended up here. In his head he endlessly replayed the same painful memories until his thoughts blurred away into a maelstrom of darkness and pain. Nothing made sense anymore in his life anyway, and he had lost everything he’d ever known in his eighteen years of being alive in The Nation.

I'm tagging everyone who reads this. The words are GOOD, DEFEAT, BEER, OVER and PLUS

WIP Word Search Tag Game

I was tagged by @rachaellawrites, and thank you for the tag! I love these kinds of games <3 My words were dark, rain, simmer, smoke, and frame

I will use words from GOOD THYME WITH BAD COMPANY, or whatever this book eventually gets titled. It was originally going to be a single book, but now this damn thing has turned into a trilogy siiigh. Oh, but I love it so much, I could write about these characters and their shenanigans forever. The current title works best for the third book, and I'm currently only on the first, so the snippets here will inevitably be in a book with a different title.

DARK

You fled into the sunrise, and I into the sunset. Have you been embraced by warmth and light yet? I have sentenced myself to writhe in the cold and dark.

RAIN

Immediately behind her chair was the great clock, its many gears forever buzzing. The evening was still early; the guests had plenty of time to be rowdy yet. The weather calendar hung on the wall next to the clock. It would rain tomorrow, bringing in more guests seeking to stay warm by the fire.

SIMMER

Dinner hours had just started and the common room was full of guests, merchants and townsfolk alike, bumping elbows, sharing laughs, enjoying their ale together. The scent of Parsnips’s Family Stew—filled with parsnips, shallots, onions, and turnips—wafted through the room, enticing all who were enveloped in its aroma. The guests had filled their bowls and taken their seats at the tables, so Shallot could take the boy to the hearth, where the pot simmered over the flames, without fear of being interrupted.

SMOKE

Onion and Beans came through the common room entrance. The bartender carried his pipe of azurhizome powder, blue smoke trailing in his wake. “Thought I heard you hollering out here,” Onion said, her eyes on the hand as it flailed about in its prison. “What in the dominion is that?”

FRAME

Shallot clutched the net, stepped onto the balcony, and looked down. There were two naked kids—boys from a quick glance—skin so pale they practically glowed in the ringslight. They had extinguished the flames on their wrists to stay hidden in the darkness, but Aloutia’s rings and moons shone enough light to illuminate their pallid, fragile frames. “Two boys,” Shallot said as she hefted herself upon the balustrade. “Get the other one!”

Anyone who wants to participate, feel free! I'm also going to tag @valeriestorm, @nightfoxproductions726, and @purviswrites if they want to play. Your words are SOFT, HOLLOW, TERROR, BREEZE, and FELT

[nymphbnny]

conference meeting

MINORS DNI // 18+

genre: nsfw

pairing: nanami kento x female reader

tags/warnings: degrading kink, praising kink, daddy kink, spanking, penetrative sex, quickie, swearing, oral receiving (male), dom nanami, breeding kink, office sex, possible slow burn in the end.

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: nanami is your boss. as you both attend a conference meeting together, your need to be stuffed by him makes you do something that will push him to put you back in your place.

This was my third meeting today and I was getting rather irritated. However, on the other hand, my boss, Nanami, didn’t seem to bother the successive conferences as he maintained a stoic expression on his face. Neither did he seem to bother that flirting woman who was desperately trying to catch his attention. Jealousy was never my thing, but the situation here was different.

Things between him and I started getting risky when I moved to his floor as his chief operations officer. Being his second hand in command, I began spending more time with him. When our team decided to head to a bar to blow off some steam, we had too many drinks and ended up fucking in the public restrooms.

Deciding to keep things professional, we agreed to only be partners with benefits, also known as fuck buddies. And I was really, really in the mood for his cock right now and this bitch was getting on my nerves from being so loud. However, he showed zero interest in her and focused on her partner. I knew I wasn’t allowed to get jealous, but my hormones were kicking in. He didn’t wear his usual tie to work today, instead, he substituted it with a blue handkerchief.

“Y/n will you please hand me the documents?” He interrupted my thoughts by handing out his hand across the table. “Sure.” Passing him the documents, I swiftly brushed my hand against his in hopes that he would get the hint but he kept his professional demeanor and proceeded with the conversation. I internally rolled my eyes before a good idea came into my mind.

I looked at my sides, finding the two seats empty. Nanami sat in front of me and the two other individuals sat at both ends of the table. Dropping my pen on the floor, I bent down to check if there was enough room for me to extend my pointy heel up to his lap without making any brutal move and blowing my cover.

“Excuse me,” I whispered, picking my pen back, and glanced at Nanami who seemed to have read my thoughts. I gently stretched out my leg and dragged my foot up his leg.

Still unbothered by my gesture, he kept the conversation going, not even trying to swap off my foot. I raised an eyebrow at him and moved my leg higher, brushing it against his thigh and slowly up his clothed cock.

He shifted in his seat, a sly grin forming on my lips. I focused the pressure on that same spot, moving up and down earning a cough from him as he tried to stay focused on his words.

“Sir if you’re not feeling well we can always reschedule. My partner and I wouldn’t mind discussing the details of this transaction another time since we are already running out of time and I think that we should elaborate more on its benefits and its impacts on our stock, don’t you think?” the older male proposed earning a nod from Nanami and I, before standing up to leave.

“It was a pleasure, looking forward to our next meeting.” he shook their hands, the woman clearly sad that the meeting had to be interrupted by her co-worker. Seconds later they left us alone in the empty room. As soon as the door closed, he turned to me and positioned himself between me, his knee standing between my legs with my jaw held harshly by his big hand.

“Mind explaining why you acted this way during the meeting?” he hissed, his other hand now grabbing my hip.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I looked away.

“Really?” He scoffed and freed my jaw from his grasp. “Maybe this will remind you.” Taking my hand in his, he guided it towards his growing erection, making me bite my lip. Knowing I have this sort of effect on Nanami made me feel good. I wasn’t going to lie, it even made me feel better knowing she wasn’t a match to me.

I smirked up at him, rubbing his bulge, his knee pushing further against my aching cunt. “I missed your fat cock. And I didn’t like how she was eying you.” I stated, my hand still palming him.

His lips formed into a cocky grin. “Such a needy slut. Afraid that someone else will be feeling this?” I nodded, making him chuckle dryly, taking off his glasses and tossing them on the table.

“Get on your knees for me.” He stepped back, allowing me to have enough space to get down on my knees and play with his belt. It didn’t take me a lot of time to unzip his pants and pull them because it has become a habit for me. “Come on darling we don’t have all day, shit-” he hissed as I licked his slit, my tongue moving in small circles around his pink tip. We didn’t have a lot of time, so I couldn’t tease him as much as I wanted.

Gathering as much spit as I could, I took him in my mouth, sucking on his tip before pushing him further in. I began bobbing my head and stroking what couldn’t fit in my hand. I hollow my cheeks making him cuss under his breath. I looked at him, our eyes locking.

“You look so pretty down there sweetheart.” My heart dropped at the unusual praise and boosted my self-esteem making me take him even deeper down my throat, his hand now tangled in my hair. He dropped his head back, his breaths getting heavier.

“Okay, now come here.” He pulled me off my knees and turned me around, shoving me down on the conference table. He raised my skirt up and pushed my panties to the side. Gliding two fingers up my folds, he groaned as he felt my slick dropping from my opening. “Already?” he scoffed and pulled my head closer to him, holding me by my throat. “Now you’re going to stay quiet, understand?”

“Yes…”

“Yes what?” he taunted, removing the handkerchief that was resting in his pocket and dragged it across my lips.

“Yes daddy.” he tapped the material against my bottom lip, motioning me to open my mouth then tucked it in.

“That’s my good girl.” I pushed my hips back, trying to angle him to my entrance. He muttered something under his breath before smacking my pussy and pushing himself in.

I bit down on the fabric as I tried not to moan, but he started moving his hips almost immediately, his cock stretching my insides. “I only want to feel your pussy, don’t ever forget that,” he confessed as if he wanted to reassure me that I didn’t need to worry about him sleeping around. It made me feel better that he only wanted me.

He fucked himself harder in me, casually smacking my ass, the adrenaline of getting caught enhancing the whole experience.

The feeling of ecstasy was instantly replaced by a wave of terror once I heard someone knock on the door. We couldn’t play that position off and even if we did, I’d still have to explain how his handkerchief ended up in my mouth. That was it. We were going to get suspended or worse, fired.

Fortunately, Nanami was very strict and straightforward with his employees. No coming in without any permission. This is why the man on the other side said through the door after knocking two times.

“Mr. Nanami, may I speak with you?” His voice was faint but still heard.

He pulled my hair up and instructed me to stay quiet.

“Occupied!” he answered, his hips relentlessly hitting against mine.

“But sir we need-“

“I’m occupied!” he scolded earning a simple ‘yes sir excuse me’ before he focused back on slapping my ass.

He chuckled at my current state, my head relaxing back on the table once his assistant left.

“You’re squeezing me so good fuck, daddy’s gonna fill you up so good,” he grunted, his thrusts getting rougher, his length almost hitting my cervix. I rolled my eyes at the pure feeling of bliss and pain.

No man was able to make me feel the things he makes me feel. The way he perfectly and rhythmically brought me to my climax as my legs shook uncontrollably beneath him. He was simply unmatchable and irreplaceable. I was his dirty little slut and I loved it.

His grunts turned into whimpers as he got sloppier, and emptied himself in me. I knew he can last longer than that, but a quickie is nothing but a quickie. He pulled out of me and watched his cum leak out of my cunt almost dripping down my leg.

“We don’t want it to go to waste now do we?” He brought his finger up my leg and pushed his cum back in me and adjusted my panties. “Keep it in until you reach the bathroom.” Nanami cleaned himself with some tissues and pulled his pants up. “Sure thing,” I assured him and started walking away once I adjusted my clothes. I was satisfied and ready to go back to work. No hard feelings, it’s not like we ever exchanged kisses and cuddles after sex.

Yet, I jolted at his next words when I went up to open the door.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

[milfgyuu]

Heart & Seoul | Chapter 11

❥ Pairing(s): Jeon Wonwoo x Fem!Reader

❥ Series Tags: Series, Exes to Lovers!AU, Fluff, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Humor, Romance, Smut.

❥ Chapter Warnings: [4k words] language, fight scene, physical violence, blood/injuries, weapon use, going into shock and passing out, (1) hospital stay, IV fluids/pain meds. that should sum it up!

❥ Check out the Series Master List here! (banners made by @beaniegyu​)

❥ Author Note: hello there! this chapter was initially supposed to be the end of the series but i’ve since decided to add a few more chapters! thank you for your continued support- xo

❥ Summary: Your first love hit hard & fast but it was all swept away in the blink of an eye when your boyfriend is sent away to a Korean University after your high school graduation. Seven years later, work lands you in the heart of Seoul and never in your wildest dreams did you imagine running into the one person who’d left with your heart years ago.

Suddenly there’s a shocking sound that echoes through the hollow space and heads turn to see Soonyoung standing near the wall next to a cart of cleaning supplies. The sound was that of him stomping on the bottom of a mop, effectively severing the mop head from the handle before he proceeds to crack the wood over his knee, breaking it in two. 

He nods in appreciation before tossing one half to Jun who catches it with striking ease, and addresses the room with a smile you’ve never seen before. He spins the wood in his hands with speed and agility you hadn’t even known him to possess and Jun’s grin matches his own as he tests the weight of his weapon, danger glinting in their eyes. 

Soonyoung is deadly serious when he utters the words, “You could fucking try,” just before all hell breaks loose. 

There is absolute chaos whirling around you. 

The sounds of shouting, grunting, wood cracking and splintering, bodies hitting the ground or being slammed into the wall echo throughout the empty space in the back of the venue as your friends are forced to fight your way out of the building. 

Wonwoo had made the first move, you think, shoving the guy from the bar and sending his fist flying into his jaw with a loud crack. The second it happened, his men lunged forward and your friends met them with equal ferocity. They clashed like titans, the sound rattling your very bones as you clung onto the back of Mingyu’s shirt. 

A slender looking guy flung himself at Soonyoung which quickly proved a fatal mistake when the soft blonde boy you adored brought his makeshift weapon down with alarming force, not once but twice with precision and control. The man hit the floor and didn’t get back up. 

Your eyes frantically dart around until they land on Wonwoo who was still trading blow for blow, considerably weakened from his earlier fight, and you watch in horror as someone runs at his back but at the last second, Chan covers him, taking the hit with a sharp groan before jabbing his elbow into the other man’s ribs.

You’re distracted when Mingyu suddenly steps back into you and your hands tremble with fear as you see someone lunging in your direction. 

The man throwing himself at Mingyu is stopped short by none other than Junhui and you cover your eyes as the broom handle loudly connects with the man’s face, blood immediately blooming from the wound as the man crumples to the ground screaming in pain. The sight turns your stomach but you choke down the nausea to stay alert.

You’d rather be less of a nuisance than you already are at the moment. You can’t stand against any of these guys alone and that makes you vulnerable…something for your friends to worry about which inevitably puts them at risk.

Mingyu catches sight of Seungkwan nearby and shouts over all the noise, “I need you to get her out of here! Out the southern exit, back alley. Go!” 

As soon as Seungkwan reaches you, a massive man plows into Mingyu’s side, huge fists swinging wildly and Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to put himself directly in front of you. The man’s fist connects with Mingyu’s stomach but he hardly bows over, immediately swinging and rocking the larger man backwards instead. 

Seungkwan reaches for your elbow but is separated when another assailant flies at him out of nowhere. The blood drains from your face as they hit the ground, torn between getting to safety as instructed and helping but Soonyoung is at his side in less than a second, hauling the man up and off his friend while shouting at you, “That way! Go, Daisy!”

You panic and run for the end of the hall toward a back exit, hoping it’s the one Mingyu meant because it’s the only one you can find. You just narrowly avoid being hit before Junhui hooks the rabid man around the throat, “Out the exit! Go, go! Hansol and Jeonghan went for the cars. They’ll meet you out there!” 

You fly over a downed body and find a place to hide behind a stack of pallets to map your way out but as soon as you move to crouch down a hand grabs the back of your hood and pulls with tremendous force. You go flying backwards, landing hard on the cement flooring. Your head knocks against the ground and dizziness immediately disorients your limbs. You can’t get back up and panic floods your veins.

A tall man with a greasy smile and a gold tooth smiles down at you sinisterly and you cower back into the corner. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Stay the fuck away from me!” You scream, kicking out at him as he reaches for your ankle. Unfortunately, he’s too fast and yanks you closer, drawing a slim pocket knife from his back pocket. 

You thrash and call for help but all sound dies on your lips when he roughly tugs down the collar of your jacket and digs the pointed tip into the skin over your collar bone. The burning sensation mingles with the amplified dizziness from hitting your head and your vision begins to blur, tears rolling down your face.

You think you might be screaming but you can hear nothing at all. All you do is feel. Feel the burn of steel tearing through flesh. The weight of your own body sinking into the floor. The fear of never feeling again.

Your body is jostled, the weight over your chest gone in an instant but you feel heavier than before. You can only hear fragments of sounds. Your name falls from quivering lips but you can’t respond and suddenly, you're floating, weightless, and everything disappears. 

You love this lake and how pretty it is underneath the summer sun. The trees sway in the breeze, the water sparkles and beckons you forth but the warm body at your side keeps you from leaving, from floating out to the middle of the lake and basking in the sunlight.

He smells like that coconut scented sunscreen you forced him to put on and tastes like the cherries he’s been hand feeding you all afternoon. No matter how pretty the lakes looks, you’re not leaving his side.

His eyes are full of life and mischief. His smile is playful and yet something about him seems distant. He’s right there, laying on the blanket next to you but he feels miles away. You wish to hear his voice but he hasn’t spoken a word since you got here, distracting you with his gentle hands and soft lips. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You ask once again, not really expecting an answer. 

He smiles, bringing your hand to his lips. “You weren’t ready.”

The sound of his voice startles you and you sit up, staring down at him in shock. 

“What do you mean?”

He moves to sit up and takes both your hands in his own. “I’ve been speaking to you this whole time, you just weren’t ready to listen. You needed to rest first but it looks to me like you’re ready to go back.”

“Go back?” You look at him wildly, “I don’t understand.”

His smile is gentle, as is the light laugh that falls from his lips. 

“Close your eyes and call my name,” He says, “When you open them, I’ll be there.”

“You’re right here though,” You shake his hands lightly as if to remind him but he just laughs once more.  

“Close your eyes…”

“W-Wonwoo…”

Gone is the warmth from the sunlight over the lake, replaced with artificial cold poking through crisp, thin linens. There are faint beeping and whirring noises near your head that you can’t place but you struggle to make much else out right away.

You flex your fingers and something tightens around them. Your eyes move beneath your lids, fighting to open them against the brightness and examine your surroundings. 

“...Wonwoo?”

The offending light disappears and you blink slowly, a dark image piecing together more clearly each time you open them again. Sounds become more distinguishable and you can hear a familiar voice chanting your name again and again. Something warm and wet hits your face and the jolt of surprise helps to wake you up a bit faster.

“I’m here...I’m right here...you’re okay…”

It’s Wonwoo. His touch, his warmth, the deep rough sound of his voice breathing life back into you as you stare up at him in wonder. “What’s going on?” You ask slowly, voice raspy with disuse. “Where are we?”

Wonwoo’s hand smoothes over your hair repeatedly, his other hand stroking your cheek delicately. “We’re at the hospital, baby. You’ve been out for two days.”

“Two...days? Why the hell didn’t anyone wake me up?” 

Wonwoo lets out a watery chuckle, quickly wiping away another tear. “Less than two minutes and you’re already being a smartass.”

You try to smile but the motion causes a shock of pain to shoot through your head and you crumple, gripping Wonwoo’s hand hard. “Your head…” He grimaces, “I’ll call Cheol.”

He hits a button on your hospital bed and stands up over you. It’s then that you see the neat line of sutures above his eye, the bruising on his face bright purple and still a little swollen. You reach up, cupping his cheek and he melts into your touch. “You’re a mess,” You pout, “How are you? How is everyone else?”

“It’s nothing,” He grabs your hand and kisses your fingers, “Everyone is fine...Cheol patched them all up and a few are still lingering in the waiting room even though I told them they could come see you at home.”

Suddenly, the door clicks open and Wonwoo sighs in relief. 

“Good morning,” The man grins, seeing that you’re awake. He comes over to the bed and pats your free hand, “Dr. Choi Seungcheol, but you’re family...so call me Cheol. I’m very glad to finally meet you, though I wish it was under different circumstances.”

You offer a weak smile, “Happy to meet you. I’d love to greet you properly but if I move again my head might split in half.”

Seungcheol hums and examines the fluid pump to your left. “Good news, pain meds pushed through just a few minutes ago so you should be feeling relief in less than five, okay?”

“Okay,” You sigh, “So... what’s the damage?”

Wonwoo’s thumb strokes over your skin quietly and Seungcheol fills in. “Well, you smacked your head pretty hard. There was a small laceration we closed with three sutures, so not a biggie but it’s definitely bruised and will hurt like hell for the next few days so we’ll keep you on pain meds to manage that.” He clears his throat, looking visibly uncomfortable before continuing. 

“You also had a rather large laceration over your left collarbone,” He grabs a small handheld mirror and holds it up for you to see what he’s talking about. You let out a surprised gasp that makes Wonwoo tighten his grip on you. “I flushed out the wound and tried to keep suturing to a minimum to lessen the chance of scarring but I'm afraid I can’t promise you that it won’t. It wasn’t pretty.”

You look away from the mirror and he sets it back down, waiting for you to form your next question. Your brows furrow, trying to draw out any details from that night but beyond hitting your head, you don’t recall ever getting out of the venue.

“How did I end up here then? I was trying to get to the exit but a guy caught me, threw me down, and that’s when I hit my head but after that... I don’t...I don’t remember.”

Wonwoo speaks and when you look over at him, you can see nothing but pain and despair in his face. “He had you hidden behind a stack of boxes so none of us could see you…we thought you were out and then…” He trails off, lip quivering as fresh, hot tears trail over his cheeks. He takes a moment to even his breathing and Seungcheol lays a hand on his shoulder. 

“...You started screaming. It was like something out of a horror movie and Hoshi found that piece of shit sitting on top of you, carving into your chest with a pocket knife. By the time I got to your side, you were silent and then you went limp in my arms…we rushed you straight here but you wouldn’t wake up.”

“It’s very likely that you passed out after going into shock and your body was just...exhausted,” Seungcheol explains, “You needed time to rest.”

You nod slowly, limbs a little heavier, more relaxed with the heavy duty pain medication kicking in. “What happened to the bad guys?”

Wonwoo grits his teeth, wiping his face. “Han was in contact with our lawyer, Seokmin, who has connections at the police department. They were all arrested outside the venue aside from that old bastard who has no doubt gone into hiding and the guy who hurt you…”

You cock your head and Seungcheol huffs in exasperation, “Unfortunately, we’re obligated to treat bad guys too. Not here though, he’s handcuffed to a bed being treated at another hospital and will be taken into custody the moment he’s cleared for discharge.”

You look over at Wonwoo for an explanation and he grimaces. “Hoshi almost beat the guy to death, not that he didn’t deserve it, but Mingyu had to drag him away before he was the one going to prison. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Holy shit,” You whisper, eyes popping open wide, “He’s okay right? He-”

Seungcheol laughs, “Physically, yes, not a scratch. Mentally, he’s been sleeping at the foot of your bed like a guard dog for the past two nights. He’ll want to see you as soon as you’re up for visitors.”

“When can I go home?” You ask quietly, hoping for sooner rather than later. The doctor’s face softens though and you know you’re not getting the answer you want. 

“You’ve been out for two days,” He reasons, “I’d like to keep you here one more night, at least, and if everything looks good tomorrow, I’ll discharge you after lunch. Deal?”

You sigh, making both men laugh, “I suppose that’s fair…”

The doctor leans in and ruffles your hair gently. “You’re obviously very precious to the people I care about most. I’m going to make sure we take good care of you, even if it means keeping you here one more day.”

You smile up at him as Wonwoo kisses your temple. “Thank you, Cheol.”

He dips his head, “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”

The second the door clicks closed it opens right back up and three familiar faces come into view, two of which are rushing toward you while the other trails behind at his usual leisurely pace. Wonwoo stands up to ward them off but you grab his wrist, tugging gently until he’s sitting back down with a huff. 

“Daisy,” Soonyoung is grinning ear to ear as he takes a seat on the bed closest to you, “You have no idea how happy we are to see you with your eyes open.”

Mingyu hovers near your head, hand cautiously placed near your shoulder as he looks you over carefully, while Jeonghan hands Wonwoo a coffee and perches on the arm of his chair per usual. 

“You,” Your eyes narrow, reaching out to poke Soonyoung in the ribs, “You have so much explaining to do. Where in the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

Soonyoung blushes and looks away from your direct eye contact, “Uhhh, twenty years of martial arts and video gaming, give or take…”

“Gave me a little bit of surprise, that’s all, you’re so soft and sweet, I wasn’t expecting all…that.”

Soonyoung shrugs, a small smile returning, “I don’t like when people fuck with my family.”

“Neither do I…I just lack the ultimate fighter skills you all seem to possess,” You smile softly, tugging at his shirt to make him look at you, “Thank you, Hoshi. For what you did for me and for staying by my side.”

That beaming grin is back along with his little crescent eyes and you look up at Mingyu, still awkwardly hovering as if he’s afraid to touch you. He looks exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept at all. You reach for his hand and tug it down to your shoulder, patting it a few times before covering it with your smaller one. 

“I’ve got some pretty solid pain meds on board, Gyu. You won’t hurt me.”

Your smile hardly reassures him but he sighs, “How are you feeling?”

You look around the room. 

Wonwoo at your side, Jeonghan at his, smiling down at you. Soonyoung practically curled up in your lap with Mingyu’s reassuring touch on your shoulder.

“I’m good, really. I’m grateful that everyone is okay and that you guys are here with me.”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Jeonghan smarts, “At least one of us is always hanging around whether you want us or not.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo nudged him with his shoulder, “I’ll be changing the door code at the house.”

Jeonghan pats Wonwoo’s head patronizingly, “No, you won’t.”

You look back up at Mingyu who’s busy hiding a yawn in his shoulder. “You should go home and get some rest,” you squeeze his hand and he looks back down at your soft smile, “Your pretty face is all bruised and puffy.”

Mingyu chuckles, “Not all of us got two solid days of rest, sleeping beauty.” His smile falls when you shift and your gown reveals the wound on your chest. “We were so worried about you. Sam almost jumped on a flight last night. Your brother and I had to talk her down but she’s a wreck.”

“Oh, shit. Call her for me, okay? Let her know I’m fine and I’ll call her when I’m back home...but seriously, go home, get some rest and take Hosh with yo-”

Passed out cold. Soonyoung is half dangling off the bed, head in your lap, snoring. 

“He can sleep anywhere, I swear,” Jeonghan snickers, reaching over to poke his cheek with a fond little grin. One he’d never show if the boy was awake. 

Mingyu leans down to kiss your forehead before dipping down to grab one of Soonyoung’s arms and hauling him over his back. The sleeping man-child simply lays his head over Mingyu’s shoulder and continues snoring. “Let us know when you get discharged, okay?”

“We’ll keep everyone up to date,” Wonwoo says, adjusting his glasses and running a hand through his hair tiredly. “Drive careful.”

With that, Mingyu is out the door and Jeonghan stands up, shaking out his long limbs before addressing you. “I brought you both a change of clothes and whatever bathroom essentials you may need once they let you out of this bed. The good shampoo and conditioner. Hospital shit will dry you out after a single wash.”

“Thank you, Hannie,” you grin up at him, enjoying his half-hearted eye roll. 

“Anything for you, my dear.” He eyes Wonwoo carefully, assessing his friend’s state.

“I’d tell you to go home and let me take over but I know you won’t listen,” he says and Wonwoo nods because he’s absolutely right. “I’ll have food delivered and make sure Channie hasn’t burnt down the house or broken his other ankle.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, hair flying as you try to sit up too quickly and fall back against the pillows with both men’s worried hands hovering over you. “Chan broke his ankle?!”

“Nice going, Han…”

“Oh, he’s fine, mom,” Jeonghan tuts, fussing over your blankets to tuck you back in properly, “He won’t be dancing anytime soon though and needs a place to stay until he can travel again, so congratulations on your new dependent...it’s a boy!” 

Wonwoo huffs in exasperation. “I know I wanted him to stick around longer this time, but this is not what I meant.”

Jeonghan mimics his grumbling. “Careful, Daisy over here looks a little too delighted,” He jokes and you scoff. Of course you’re not happy Chan is hurt but… “She might just try to keep him around for good.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed…”

“That’s what I thought,” he grins, fixing a corner of your blanket he missed, “I’ll be out. Text me if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you, Han,” you and Wonwoo both speak at the same time and Jeonghan grins, slipping out the door with a soft click. 

The room is quiet, settling down from the buzz of visitors and Wonwoo drops his glasses on the side table, scooting forward in his chair to lay his head over your stomach. You let your fingers weave through his dark hair. The soft strands tickling your skin. You’re happy to have a moment of peace with him. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he sighs, both arms settling atop your body protectively, “I don’t even know how to begin apologizing for everything I’ve put you through.”

“I don’t want you to apologize and I don’t want you to feel guilty,” you murmur and he turns his face toward you, nuzzling his cheek into your warmth.

“You were trying to protect me, your family, your business. I can’t imagine how much stress you’ve been under but I do want you to understand that you can lean on me. You’re my person and I will always be there for you, no matter how hard, or scary, or dangerous it may be. I love you and we will get through things together.”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, reaching for your hand in his hair, and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “When we go home tomorrow...I want you to stay with me.”

You open your mouth to respond but his eyes blink open and he picks his head up. “I mean I want you to stay. Move in with me. You can redecorate however you want, or if you hate it, we can buy something else, I don’t care...I don’t care where we live as long as you’re with me. I want to wake up next to you every morning with my traitorous bastard of a cat sleeping above your head. I want to come home and see you curled up on the couch watching that one sappy drama that always makes you cry. I want you. All day, every day. Come on, baby. Please.”

“...You’re going to hate the smell of glue guns and the glitter is literally never coming out of the rugs,” You tease, “Tis the life of a kindergarten teacher.”

“I will roll in a pile of glitter and never wash it off if you say yes,” He counters. 

You scrunch your nose, “You’re still obligated to bathe if I have to sleep next to you every night.”

“Is that a yes?”

“We’ll have to figure out what to do with my apartment…”

Wonwoo grins, moving closer until you’re just a breath away, “I think I know of someone who will take over the lease. It would be another good reason for him to stay put for a bit.”

Your face breaks into a smile and Wonwoo swoops in to capture your lips, sealing the deal with a kiss. It’s slow and tender, a kiss that speaks volumes in the quiet air around you. It’s a silent promise of love, of trust, of hopes and dreams of a future together. 

Wonwoo pulls back, looking the happiest you’ve ever seen him. “I’ve gotta go call Jeonghan so we can arrange your things being moved over. Oh! Chan, I should probably check on him too. I’ll grab something from the cafeteria too, okay?”

You chuckle at his excitement, “One thing at a time, babe.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do. I love you too.”

He kisses you again, grabbing his glasses and phone off the table before he goes. He still lingers by the door, glancing at you with a soft smile before you shoo him away. 

Once he’s gone, you settle back into the pillows, lingering exhaustion weighing heavily on your lids. Just before you close your eyes, the door clicks open and you look over to find Seungcheol popping his head in. “Hey, Wonwoo step out for a bit?”

You nod curiously and the doctor smiles, coming over to your bedside and plopping down in a chair. “How are you feeling? Any more discomfort?”

“No,” you stretch your neck, “No lightning bolts, just a little sleepy.”

He chuckles, “That’s normal and it’s totally ok to go for a nap. You won’t sleep the next forty-eight hours away, promise.”

Seungcheol shifts, laying a hand on your forearm. “I wanted to talk to you about something while we had a little privacy, I hope you don’t mind.”

You cock your head to the side, eyebrows furrowing, “Of course not, is everything okay?”

The corner of his lips lift, his voice lowering, “I actually wanted to go over your lab work. We ran a routine blood panel when you first arrived and some of your levels were out of whack so I had a nurse repeat the labs early this morning…”

Seungcheol keeps speaking in that same low, soothing tone but there are only two words floating around in your head.

Two words that change everything.

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[rehkkuma]

Hi there! I saw that requests were open! I was wondering if it's okay to request a one shot where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and when he wakes up, S/O comforts him?

hi anon! i wasn't sure how you wanted me to write giorno "turning" into diavolo, BUT I HOPE THIS WORKS

bad dreams | giorno x reader

words: 975.

disclaimers/tags: fem pronouns, part 5 ending spoilers, nightmares and PTSD.

also, here's a song i listened to while writing this oneshot.

Giorno Giovanna.

It was a name that everyone knew; a name that caused any criminal in Italy to shake in fear. Rumours would spread around him, how the proclaimed boss of Passione would torture traitors before selling each of their organs, the thousands of people he could kill with his stand alone, and even the rotten ways he asserted his power.

But as his girlfriend, you knew everything anyone said was false. You knew that Giorno liked having his tea with half a teaspoon of honey, you knew he always hummed while tying his hair, you knew he disliked live music at restaurants. He wasn't the corrupt, power-hungry murderer people described him as. He was a regular person, no more than anyone else. At night especially, you knew how human Giorno was. Yesterday was one of those nights.

* * *

The whistling of the wind was as loud as ever at 2 AM. You should've listened to Giorno and ordered a decaffeinated drink during dinner, but you argued anyways. Now, awake and feeling lively, you sat upright with a book in hand. You made to sure to not disturb Giorno and kept your nightlight dim while flipping each page with silence. Although you thought you were being quiet, Giorno tossed and turned in the bed. He flipped back forth from his side, muttering threats under his breath.

"G-Giorno?" you hesitated, not knowing whether you should wake him up or not.

He continued to twitch and move with agitation, his mumbling soon turning into full speech. Even if it was 2 AM, you knew you had to wake your boyfriend up.

You placed your book aside and gently shook Giorno. "Wake up," you whispered in his ear. Giorno remained asleep. You decided to shake him harder this time. "Wake up," you whispered again.

Suddenly, Giorno's body jolted up like he was being electrically shocked. His chest heaved up and down, letting out loud pants. He immediately shot his head to look at you, his eyes red and damp with tears. You were the closest person to Giorno, but you've never seen him act like this before. Even during the hunt for Diavolo, Giorno remained detached to most life-threatening situations. Right now, though, he was shaking. His thin hands were trembling and his body was in a defensive position. He had the strongest stand known to man, but he looked beyond terrified right now. What exactly could stun him to this point?

"Giorno?" You placed a hand on his back and stroked up and down. "Do you want me to get you something? You're sweating..."

Giorno took his right hand and touched his forehead before looking back at his finger. A sheen of sweat covered it.

"You're scaring me right now," you said with concern. "Do you want to talk about something?"

Your boyfriend closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Yes, I do," he said calmly. "Frankly, I've been having nightmares recently. Every day for the past week."

"What are they about?"

Giorno bit his lower lip. "Diavolo."

"Diavolo?" you asked. "You don't need to be scared of him. He's dead, remember?" You tried to reassure him.

"That's not the problem, cara mia." Giorno took his palms and rubbed his eyes before speaking again. "When we switched bodies at the colosseum, I keep having dreams where I was in Diavolo's body." He began to shake again at the thought. "I didn't have control over his body. I had to stand there and watch him butcher Narancia's body onto those steel bars. I wanted to save him, but I couldn't move. I had to watch him die all over again."

Several tears dropped onto the bedsheets, staining the white cloth with grey dots. Giorno's head dropped before mumbling. "In a way, it's similar to what really happened, isn't it? If I was more cautious, I could've prevented Narancia's death. He could've been alive right now."

You shifted your eyes away from Giorno's and tried not to remember Narancia's cruel murder. You sat in silence, continuing to listen to Giorno.

"We could've prevented his death," he said. "I could've prevented his death." He took another breath. "I don't care whether or not Diavolo is alive— I've already replaced him. What if me sitting here in bed, my inaction, is causing death for people just like Narancia? Would that make me no better than Diavolo?"

You bit your tongue to force your tears to not come out. It was difficult to take in everything Giorno was saying. You wanted to comfort your boyfriend, but you knew it would be hypocritical for you to say anything. You were basically in the same boat as him.

"Look, Giorno..." You wrapped your arms around him left a soft kiss on his neck. "Narancia, Abbacchio, and Bucciarati didn't die just for you to regret achieving your dream. Look down at the city— do you see the same drugged teenagers walking around the street, poor and helpless? I can't assure you that your inaction is causing death, but the greater things you've intentionally done mean so much more. Do you know how proud I am of us— of you?"

Giorno didn't say a word back, but the slight movement in his head made you know he was smiling.

"C'mon, it's 2AM. Let's get some sleep and go to your favourite breakfast place in the morning, alright?"

"Alright," Giorno quietly muttered as he rested his head back onto the pillow, ready to go to sleep.

Before you were going to do the same, you put your head up against Giorno's and gave him a kiss.

"Thank you," he mumbled. "I appreciate everything."

You were well aware that Giorno wasn't the most comfortable with saying, "I love you," but you knew that he was trying to show it a different way. Nonetheless, you smiled.

"Goodnight, Giorno."

[avintagekiss24]

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smidge of angst, smut, sex, breeding kink, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

→ request: chris beck + breeding kink + "babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that" + "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that"

→ author note: dr. space daddy is finally here! this is also the first of my 5k celebration fics! all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. thanks so much for the request @thedarkplume​! title from linkin park leave out all the rest (i loveeee this song); line divider by @firefly-graphics​; flashbacks are in italics. i also formatted this with the beta text post editor on desktop... so hopefully nothing looks weird and the italics/bold actually work... it is tumblr after all.

oh, hey, there’s a bit of a marvel crossover in this too!

Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel in this moment. Your stomach hasn’t been settled since you got the call two days ago. It’s been flipping and twisting ever since. Sleep hasn’t come easy either, but you’re used to that. Ever since Chris left, you haven’t slept well. It’s been almost seven hundred and thirty days— well, just three days short.

You follow the two tall military men, decked out in their dress blues, through the secure facility, your black leather combat boots thudding against the tile floors. Everything is white— the walls, the floors, the coats of all the scientists and doctors milling about— except for you and your flowery, thigh length sundress. Dark eyes wide, teeth nibbling on a sore, often bloody bottom lip from all the nibbling, small purse bouncing off one hip as a duffel bag bounces off the other.

Winding through corridor after corridor, pausing as the men lift their badges to keypads to get door after door to click open. An eerie quiet looms throughout the entire building, nothing but random beeps, your breathing, and footsteps.

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

The walk gives you too much time to think about the last seven hundred and twenty seven days. All of the crying. All of the anger— the screaming. Chris trying to calm you down, assure you that they were okay— that he had to do this.

"It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?" You sobbed into the phone, staring up into the stars, knowing that he couldn’t but secretly hoping that he could see you.

"This is not easy for me," he choked back tears, his tongue heavy, "Leaving you is never easy but I have to do this, baby. We have to go back for Mark. We have to."

You didn’t answer his calls for over a week. And when you did, your words were quick and harsh.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving in with my sister."

Chris was silent on the other end of the phone— too silent. He sighed after a while and just said, "Ok. I understand."

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

So you moved in with your sister. Got a job at the local bar, picked up every shift you could, sometimes working sixty, seventy hours a week— just so you didn’t have to think about him. It didn’t work. You’d still stare out the window at night, up into the big black sky and through the twinkling little stars, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about you.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris continued to call your sister. Just to check on you.

Day seven hundred was when two Air Force officers walked into the bar as you were cutting up lemons and oranges. Your stomach, in a perpetual state of tight and sour, dropped to your feet. It’s never good when the military comes knocking on your door.

“He’s dead,” you spit out, eyes watering, chest starting to heave, “He’s dead, isn’t he? They’re all dead.”

When they removed their hats, your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth to muffle the sobs. You just knew they were all dead. Humans can’t stay in space for this long. It’s not natural.

“No ma’am,” the taller, brown skinned man answered, a small smile breaking onto his face, showing off the distinctive gap between his two front teeth, “They’re back in our orbit. They’ll be landing within the next seventy two hours.”

It was a flurry after that. Phone calls, you moving back onto the base, protocol gatherings, interviews with local and national media. None of it mattered. You just wanted to see him— you needed to see him.

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

Day seven hundred and twenty five is when they called to let you know that he was ready to move onto the second phase of his integration back on earth. Two weeks cohabitating with another person of his choice, just to make sure that his body and cells can still tolerate, you know, earth— and that he doesn’t give off anything that could make earthlings sick.

They called to let you know that Chris chose you— if you wanted to, of course. If not, he could call his sister.

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

After two days of getting tested for everything known to man, it’s now day seven hundred and twenty seven and here you are, passing through the last set of doors and stepping into a large observatory room. One of the General’s starts talking, but you don’t hear a word. You just blink slow, lips falling open as you stare back at Chris as he stands at the little square window of his living quarters. He smiles soft, running his hand through his short, dark hair before waving and placing his palm on the window.

Tears cloud your vision. Your chin trembles as a sad smile spreads on your face. A sob chokes in your throat and a warm tear streaks down your cheeks. Despite the talking man, you step up to the window and press your much smaller hand on the glass, spreading your fingers to match his. Chris rests his forehead to it and you do the same as you really start to bawl— shoulders shaking, face breaking, breath rushing fast and hard.

"Baby, don’t cry. Come on pretty, don’t— don’t cry."

Chris’ voice is muffled by the thick glass, but just hearing it— so close, so familiar— after so longs it’s just… it’s almost too much. It is too much.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you in there like this. We need you to calm down.”

Dense thuds shake the glass as Chris pounds on it, "Open the door, Sam!"

Sam grabs your bicep, gently, guiding you towards the door— Chris following you both, still talking to you through the glass.

"It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m right here."

“We need you to calm down,” Sam starts again, “He hasn’t been around—”

"Sam! Goddamn it, leave her alone! Open the door!"

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

"Don’t be an asshole! Open the door! She’s scared!"

You hear a scoff, “Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.”

"I swear to God—"

“Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.” Sam is stern now, pointing his finger towards Chris. 

Sam pauses for a few long seconds, blinking slow but keeping his hand around your bicep— and thank God, because you honestly need it, “I’m going to badge you into the hallway, okay? You take this keycard,” he presses it into your palm, “And put it up to the keypad at the second door after I close this door behind you. It’s only good for one passthrough— once you’re in, you’re in until the medical staff clears you both. Understand?”

The second half of his speech is softer, his thumb rubbing the back of your arm. You like Chief Master Sergeant Sam Wilson. You nod quick, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand, sniffling hard and focusing a shaky breath out through your teeth as you step in front of the door. There’s a loud click and the metal pops, Sam reaching past you to push it open.

Your body, on autopilot, takes three steps to the second door, eyes staring at the keypad on the wall beside it. Chris is still talking to you through the windows, one hand pressed to the glass, the other on the door handle.

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

-

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth.  Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt—  touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.