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kallie-den · 29 days ago

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Rescue Hound Chapter Three

Kione grapples with the consequences of what she's done to Sartha - and faces up to what Sartha needs

This is a Warhound story! The preceding stories can be found at this tag

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I’ll save you, Sartha. I promise

Those words, drawn out of Kione by a poisoned, unnatural faith, curdle in her heart as she passes the night in Sartha Thrace’s arms. At first, they felt like a blessing. Not for Sartha. For Kione. There’s an inimitable sense of power to promising salvation to someone—to Sartha Thrace, of all people—and feeling her trust you. Feeling her melt into your own body, sobs subsiding and fear falling away as she believes. That’s intoxicating. That’s divine.

But it doesn’t last. Once Sartha settles into a heavy, peaceful sleep, Kione is left awake and alone with her thoughts, which increasingly circle around the terrible repercussions of what she has done.

They both wanted it. Didn’t they? It was hardly out of character for Sartha. And she’d certainly seemed passionate enough. Desperate, even. Like she had pent-up urges to vent. It was probably good for her to get it all out of her system. Has Sartha ever once complained about getting a chance to fuck Kione? Is it really such a big deal?

Yes, Kione knows. Of course it is. Because she did it by using the words that imperial handler has put in Sartha’s head.

Restful sleep isn’t coming. And Kione is realizing she’s the scum of the earth.

Even basking in Sartha’s body heat strikes her as a sin. Before long, Kione can’t take it. She needs to be somewhere else. She needs to be back in her quarters so she can beat herself up in private. As Kione extracts herself from Sartha’s arms and prepares to leave, she casts a glance at the muzzle she put on Sartha’s head.

It’s truly awful. A symbol of every violation that was inflicted on her friend. It would be a mistake to leave it with Sartha. A crime to let her wake with it on. Kione should slip it off, take it with her, and throw it away.

But after the way she just wielded it, she can’t even bring herself to touch the cursed thing.

Kione puts on her jumpsuit and slips out of Sartha’s quarters empty-handed. Maybe she’ll find a bottle to swipe before she retreats into her own. She needs that, right now. Oblivion. But she can’t face going to the bar. She can’t face being witnessed by another living soul. She just has to hope that at this time of night, the only people awake on the rebel base are the lookouts posted outside.

No such luck. Just as she’s closing the door to Sartha’s room, a rebel soldier comes around the corner and catches her. Her eyes go wide, and for a brief instant, Kione feels transparent, like all her sins are visible to the eye. She goes still. She doesn’t know what to do.

It’s even worse than that, it turns out. Kione quickly sees that from the rebel soldier’s perspective, all she’s done is caught Kione making the walk of shame. Her suspicion is confirmed when, a moment later, the rebel does the worst thing she could possibly do. Calculated, seemingly, to bring Kione the maximum conceivable level of gut-wrenching guilt.

She flashes her a roguish, knowing wink.

***

It’s an entire day before Kione leaves her quarters. Isolation does nothing to quell the froth of shame writhing in her gut, but that’s nothing compared to knowing that she’s out there, somewhere.

Sartha.

How can Kione face her? How can Kione ever face her again? More than once, she makes up her mind to run to the hangar, climb in Theaboros, and fly a thousand miles away just so she doesn’t have to. But each time, as soon as her hand touches the door, what freezes her in her tracks is the simple fear that as soon as she opens it, she might find her friend standing right there.

What kind of look will she have on her face, when Kione sees her? Kione’s dark dreams answer that question a hundred different ways when she finally makes herself settle down to try and sleep.

When she’s awake, there’s little for Kione to do but ask herself an endless stream of questions: how could she have done that to Sartha? Why did she get so angry after their sparring session? Why hadn’t she been able to stop herself?

And why had it all felt so fucking good?

She thinks about the imperial handler, too. The one she saw on Ancyor’s comms log. She’s the one who brainwashed Sartha. Has to be. What kind of person do you have to be to do something like that? To rip open someone’s mind and brand those three words into their thoughts to serve as a collar they can never slip? Kione already knew it had happened, of course. But until last night, she hadn’t even begun to grasp the sick artistry of the brainwasher’s craft. It haunts her, now; the memory of the handler’s eyes, as sharp as scalpels as they seemed to stare through the screen and through time, into Kione’s soul.

The handler is a monster. One look at her and Kione’s certain of that. But after what she did, is she really any different?

All her many questions are nothing more than a spiral. They lead Kione inward and downward, inexorably, through fits of crying, of self-punishment, of vicious ideation. The weight of her actions hangs on her, a heavy, cold sweat, and everything she’s ever felt about Sartha Thrace tastes like poison.

In the end, hunger is what drives her from her self-imposed, self-pitying isolation. The gnawing in Kione’s belly overtakes the gnawing in her head and, as despicably unearned as any act of self-preservation feels, she makes up her mind to slip out of her quarters, steal down to the canteen, and swipe something to eat. If nothing else, she’ll need food in her belly if she decides to run.

Head down, long jacket covering her jumpsuit, it all goes just fine until Kione reaches the canteen and finds Sartha’s already there.

Waiting for her.

There’s no use trying to duck beneath her notice. She’s keeping an eye out and as soon as Kione enters the room, Sartha’s on her feet and headed her way. Kione is a deer in headlights. Her blood is ice. This is how it’s gonna be, huh? Sartha wants to expose her. Have it out in front of a crowd. It makes sense. It’s safer, Kione figures, and guarantees that everyone will know exactly what she’s done. Kione will be lucky not to get executed on the spot.

She doesn’t try to flee. Kione accepts her fate. She deserves it, right?

When Sartha reaches her, the expression on her face is unreadable. But when she speaks, the distinct, earnest adoration in her voice is as stark and shocking as a thunderbolt.

“Hey, Kione,” Sartha says, a touch breathily. “You need to eat, right? I already got us a table.”

After a long moment, Kione replies with an awkward, jerky nod. Her hunger is instantly forgotten, so she simply follows Sartha over to where the hero is sitting. She can’t help but notice that Sartha doesn’t have a tray of her own. Just waiting then, not eating. For a moment, Kione resists the implications staring her in the face. The stay of execution she’s received isn’t comforting. It’s horrifying. But as they sit down, Kione’s forced to acknowledge that the expression on Sartha’s face isn’t unreadable at all. It’s the expression Kione’s put on the faces of dozens of girls by rocking their world after feeding them some stupid pickup line about feeling a connection. The blush. The parted lips. The eager, awe-filled hope in their eyes. She’d know it anywhere.

But on Sartha? It’s so wrong.

“You OK?” Sartha asks. “I got worried. Wasn’t sure where you’d gone when I woke up.”

“You got… worried?” Kione repeats dumbly.

Sartha just smiles at her. “Of course.”

Kione can’t stop staring at her. She doesn’t know what to say, and she’s too busy grappling with her feelings to try and figure that out. A moment ago, her veins were full of ice. Now they’re hot, and flooded with something sticky and intoxicating.

Sartha was worried about her.

It’s not that she didn’t care, before. Sartha was never a bad friend. Not exactly. But she was under a thousand pressures and had a million people vying for her attention. She was the hero of rebellion, and her eyes were always set on the far horizon. Not the kind of friend to count on for if you’re a little quiet and sad and need somebody to take notice.

Until now, apparently.

“Um…” Sartha begins, after the awkward silence has dragged on for a little while. Her visible anxiety is a wonder. “About last night… I’m sorry.”

Kione thought she’d already found the limit of her own capacity for surprise. She was wrong.

“You’re sorry?” she splutters.

Sartha nods. She looks ashamed.

“Why?” Kione asks in a hushed, incredulous voice.

“When we sparred,” Sartha begins. That’s what she wants to talk about? “I disappointed you. I completely fucked up. You were right. You were absolutely right. I need to try harder. Gotta get my head back in the game.” She looks across the table at Kione hopefully. Hoping for forgiveness. “I’ll do better next time.”

It’s everything Kione thought she wanted to hear—and it makes her sick to her stomach. Numbly, she shakes her head.

“No, but…” she stutters. “That’s not… I was…”

Her clear discomfort only seems to fuel Sartha’s penitence. She leans in, voice infused with fresh eagerness.

“I’m sorry,” she insists. “You were right, Kione. I needed to hear it. All of it. I really did.”

“N-no,” Kione groans. “I should be…”

She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want how this makes her feel. She doesn’t want this Sartha.

“Please, Ki,” Sartha presses. Why does she look so damn happy? “I’ll do better. I can do better. I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop!” Kione snaps. Sartha flinches. The wounded look on her face doesn’t make it any easier.

“But-“

“Don’t!” Kione hisses. If she hears one more ‘sorry’ from Sartha’s lips, her head is going to split open. “Understand? Just… don’t. Do not apologize, Sartha.”

Appallingly, a strange light appears in Sartha’s eyes. She sits up very straight and nods.

“Yes, Kione,” she pants.

A fresh wave of nausea passes through the mercenary. No. No, no, no. She has to fix whatever she broke.

“Last night,” Kione attempts. “Uh… after we sparred, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Sartha nods. Gods, she’s hanging on Kione’s every word.

Kione looks down. Something in Sartha’s manner makes it damn near impossible to bring it up, but she has to try.

“I came to your quarters,” Kione forces out through gritted teeth. “I said�� some things. No, I mean, I said… something in particular. Some words.”

“Ah.” Sartha hangs her head. Kione senses that she’d be apologizing for something right about now, if not for her instruction. “I guess I’m still a little messed up, from when they… took me. I’m afraid I don’t remember that much about what happened.”

Kione blinks. “You don’t?”

Sartha shakes her head. Pink stains her cheeks and she speaks in a very quiet, secretive voice.

“I mean, I remember a little. Memories kind of bleed over, you might say. From the other me.”

After all that heat, Kione goes cold again. She feels feverish. She feels insane.

“So you do remember?” she presses, even though it pains her.

“We hooked up, right?” Sartha grins sheepishly.

“No,” Kione replies. “Or, well, yeah, sure, I guess. But what I mean is-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Sartha interrupts. Kione realizes she looks a little pained too.

“I kinda have to, Sartha,” Kione presses on. “Especially after I used-“

“Look, um,” Sartha interrupts again. “I wanted it. Let me just say that much, Ki. I wanted it. And it was really, really good.”

Now Kione’s the one blushing like a rookie with a crush. “You did?”

“Of course,” Sartha tells her. As much of a ghost as she’s been these past weeks, in moments like this, her smile still has some of its former radiance. “We’ve hooked up plenty of times, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

It’s so tempting to just agree with her. To simply bask in Sartha Thrace’s favor. To wonder if, perhaps, all the yearning Kione felt the night before wasn’t just one-sided.

Kione Monax has never been very good at resisting temptation.

“I guess so,” she concedes.

She wanted it. Sartha wanted it. They both went a little too far, and clearly the details are a little mutually embarrassing. In that sense, is it really that different from some of Kione’s other misguided conquests?

“So there’s no problem?” Sartha asks hopefully.

Kione wouldn’t go quite that far. There’s one important boundary to set before they can dispense with this.

“Let’s just agree,” she says, blushing. “Not to let that happen again. I mean, maybe sometime, we can… y’know. Again. If we both truly want to. But not like that. With you, Sartha, I don’t want it to be-“

Once again, Kione is interrupted. Not by Sartha. By her own growling stomach. Now that her anxiety is settling, the hunger is coming back. It’s making her just as light-headed.

“Gods, Ki,” Sartha says, face a mask of concern. “Haven’t you eaten?”

“I guess not,” Kione admits. “But seriously, let’s-“

“No, wait,” Sartha stands up out of her chair. “You need some grub. You stay right here, Ki. Let me get you something.”

She hurries off before Kione can mount a protest. Once again, it’s her concern that proves intoxicating. Nobody else in the canteen is sitting close enough to listen in on their hushed conversation, but a couple of rebels quickly pick up on the fact that Sartha is fetching a meal on Kione’s behalf. Some of the jealous looks Kione gets are truly filthy. As usual, looks like that scratch her pride and demand in reply a big, smug, shit-eating grin.

Maybe that’s why she can’t quite find it in herself to broach the subject again once Sartha trots back with a laden tray, looking every bit as proud as a dog with a stick.

***

After that, Kione promises herself that she’ll force the issue. That she’ll have a real conversation with Sartha about the way she took advantage of that imperial trigger phrase. She really means it, too. It’s important. She has too much respect for Sartha to leave her apology unsaid.

But in the end, it’s easy to just… not.

Sartha obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. She breezes past all of Kione’s feeble attempts to touch on the subject. Plus, it’s not like Kione is thrilled at the prospect of explaining to Sartha that she feels like an abusive piece of shit for what she did, and that it’s disturbing how Sartha doesn’t seem to view it in the same light.

Why force that talk when, instead, Kione can simply stay quiet and enjoy the new bond she shares with Sartha?

That’s exactly what she ends up doing. In the wake of her silence, everything returns to normal. Not normal-normal, of course. Sartha’s still damaged goods, and most of her rebel comrades are still plainly, hopelessly unable to cope with that. But it’s closer than ever before, weirdly. Contrary to Sartha’s fears, what Kione did to her doesn’t send her back to the infirmary. If her betrayal is a fresh, deep wound in Sartha’s psyche, a reminder of how her imperial brainwasher opened up her soul and hollowed it out, it doesn’t show. Quite the opposite.

Now, Sartha is better.

Not all the way. But there’s a fresh brightness to her smiles. They seem less forced. Everybody senses it. Her comrades start waving to her again, and she waves back. When they let their hero-worship show, she accepts it with a gracious nod and an easy, modest comment. The rebel doctors closely monitoring her psychological health are all smiles. According to them, she must be healing. Bouncing back. Soon enough, they reckon, she’ll be back to her old self.

And if she’s always at Kione’s side, hanging on the mercenary’s every word? Why, clearly all she needed was a good friend to lean on.

Hearing that puts one hell of a vicious knot in Kione’s stomach.

But not for long. With Sartha at her side, there’s only so much time she can spend wringing her hands. It feels like a waste. Sartha is doing well, isn’t she? Even the doctors think so, and they’d know, right? Besides, doesn’t Kione deserve this? She's been a good friend to Sartha, despite a couple of lapses. She stuck with her when nobody else did. Sartha’s affection starts to feel, more than anything else, like simple recognition.

She still has reservations. Kione can’t quite shake the worry that all of this points to a nameless sickness within the rescued hero. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t push Sartha to try piloting Ancyor again, even though it seems like she would if Kione asked. It’s growing difficult to tell what Sartha genuinely wants, and what she simply thinks Kione wants. But perhaps, after everything she’s been through, putting her in the cockpit of a peerless, hundred-ton war machine isn’t actually the wisest move.

Once or twice, her reservations build to the point she’s tempted to tell someone. The doctors, maybe. About Sartha’s trigger phrase, if not the way she used it. That seems like something they should know, doesn’t it? It seems like it might be important. Really, extremely important.

But then Kione will mention—off-handedly and thoughtlessly, of course��that she needs something and Sartha will bounce up and race off to find her exactly what she’s looking for. When she gets back, she’ll flash Kione this eager, hopeful look until Kione says ‘thank you, Sartha’, and then Sartha will show her the brightest, most contented smile Kione has ever seen on the hero’s face.

The temptation fades. The gods are in their heaven. All is right with the world.

Until the night there’s a knock at Kione’s door.

Kione is just bedding down to sleep when she hears it. She sits up and frowns. That’s weird. Nobody ever comes knocking, and the base is all quiet tonight. Everybody else shipped out on some mission. Apparently not one worth paying Kione for. Given everything that’s been happening, she probably shouldn’t be surprised when she opens the door to her quarters and sees Sartha standing there. But she is.

Sartha never comes to knock on her door. It’s always the other way around.

“Hey, Ki,” Sartha says. The look on her face is fathomless. Sad and eager and ashamed and gleeful all at the same time. “Can I, uh, come in?”

“Sure.”

Kione steps back and lets her in. Once she gets over her surprise, she can’t keep herself from grinning. It’s perfect. It’s what she always wanted. Sartha Thrace, here to climb into her bed. Kione’s turned on already.

“What’s up, Sartha?” Kione asks, playing it as casual as she possibly can. A bit of a fool's errand, given that she probably looks like the cat that got the cream. But she really, really wants to get Sartha to say it.

“Not much.” Sartha sounds decidedly flustered as she steps inside and closes the door. That’s good. That’s great. “You busy?”

It’s funny; Kione hasn’t seen as much of her today as she’s become used to. When they had lunch, she seemed a touch listless. But now, Sartha’s all over the place. Frenetic. Manic. Practically vibrating, and she keeps looking all over everywhere like she’s afraid to let her gaze settle.

As far as Kione’s concerned, it’s perfect.

“Not really, I guess.” Kione stretches lazily. “So, uh, what brings you here?”

Getting to watch Sartha squirm for a moment before she answers is better than Kione could have hoped. “Um…” she replies slowly, voice fraying from the sheer, bubbling tension. “Actually, I… was hoping we could, maybe, do something together. Like before.”

It’s a little mean, but Kione can’t quite bring herself to not smirk and laugh. Gods, Sartha! She sounds like a schoolgirl with a crush. It’s flattering, really. Kione knows she’s a great top. She doesn’t get as much feedback about being a bottom. Sartha’s the only woman in a position to give it. Clearly, Kione’s ass is quite the prize.

It’s desperately tempting to throw herself at Sartha already. To savor her warmth once more. As tarnished as she is, Kione knows she’d still taste like the sun. But Kione reckons she can go for just one more tease. One more bout of squirming.

“Oh, like what, exactly?” she asks, feigning confusion as best she can with this dumb, horny grin on her face. “Not sure what kind of stuff you mean.”

Sartha wraps her arms around herself and squeezes tight. She glances away in desperate embarrassment, and it’s everything Kione could have hoped.

“You know… this?”

Every bit of Kione’s glee turns sour when Sartha sticks a hand into one of the big pockets in her bomber jacket and fishes out the muzzle.

"What the…” The ghost of Kione’s smile remains etched onto her face, and she lets out an inadvertent, nervous titter as hairs rise on her spine. “Y-you’re joking, right?”

“No.” Sartha shakes her head. She’s blushing and embarrassed, but something else is moving through her too, compelling her to hold the muzzle out reverently toward Kione like an offering. “I-I need it.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sartha.”

Kione’s stomach is churning. Why did it have to be this? Why couldn’t it have just been sex?

“Why not?” Sartha pleads. Her eyes are wide, and a jagged, needy light shines from within them. Kione has seen this before, or something like it. She knows it for what it is: addiction.

“Because….” Kione can’t figure out how to explain it; it’s so blindingly obvious that the fact Sartha can’t see it is damning. But it’s so hard to just say ‘no’ to her. That’s one skill Kione has never got the hang of. Instead, she tries bargaining. “OK, um, you want me to… put the muzzle on you? And then we fuck? Shit, if that’s what does it for you then sure. Seems a little dark, but who am I to blame a girl for developing a few kinks after going through it?”

The forced lightness in her voice is a feeble attempt at manifesting. Kione is hoping Sartha won’t say the thing she was always, inevitably going to say.

“N-no. I mean, yes, um. We can fuck if you want to. Yes. Absolutely. But that’s not…” For a moment, Sartha squeezes her eyes closed. Shame and need are fighting a battle within her. Need wins. It was always going to win, and it leaves her leaning in ever closer to Kione and visibly salivating when she opens her mouth to speak. “I need you to use the words.”

Kione lets out a whimper.

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, no, no. No way, Sartha.”

Sartha takes another step toward her, but the muzzle is between them. Kione steps back. That thing terrifies her.

“Why not?” Sartha protests.

“Holy shit, Sartha!” Kione splutters. “That’s so many different kinds of fucked-up I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Why?” Sartha asks again.

Kione is about to deride her for her childishness until she realizes: it’s a real question. On some level, Sartha simply doesn’t get it.

“Gods,” Kione says quietly. “Don’t you see? Those words are what they did to you. A way to control you. It’s not right. People just… they just aren’t supposed to have something like that.”

Sartha goes quiet for a long moment. She looks down—then up again, and Kione sees that her plea for sanity skated off Sartha like a pebble across ice.

“But,” she says eventually. “I need it.”

Kione is on the verge of tearing up. “No,” she begs. “You don’t.”

She's still in there somewhere, isn’t she? The Sartha Thrace that Kione remembers. The ace that pushed her to her limits. The hero that made her want to be better. The woman who never needed anything. Not even Kione.

“It makes me feel whole again,” Sartha explains miserably. It’s like she’s half-aware of how abjectly awful what she’s saying is—but only half. “That’s all I want. To feel good. To be… to be free. That’s what I get from my… other half. Without that, it’s just me. And I feel everything, all the time, weighing me down. Whenever anybody around here looks at me. I can’t do it, Kione.”

The pain in her voice makes it so damn hard. Kione wants so badly to be the one who makes her stop hurting. But it’s too awful. She’s forgiven herself once, just about. No more second chances.

“No, Sartha,” she says, with all the firmness she can find. “You can do it. You really can. I believe in you. Or, you… you can at least try, yeah? If it sucks, if it hurts, I’m there for you. But anything’s better than pulling on the levers they stuck in your head. Hells, there’s so much we don’t know about what they did to you, or how. We don’t know what they were using you for. We don’t know why you were traveling in Ancyor like that, on your own, when we intercepted you. So… you need to stay clear of all of it, OK? You need to get those words out of your head and forget about them. That’s what you need to heal from. Right?”

That’s as heartfelt as Kione gets. She looks long and deep into Sartha’s eyes. Praying to see clarity. Praying to see hate. Hatred might mean she understands, at least, the extent of the violations committed against her. Mostly, though, Kione hopes that they can embrace and fall into bed together, shed tears together, find comfort together. As friends and equals. As more, perhaps.

It’s a stupid dream, of course. Kione should know better. Now she gets what’s coming to all stupid dreamers.

Sartha blinks, and when her eyes open again, she’s gone. Just as gone as when Kione put her off the leash. This time, though, it’s not Hound. Not Sartha’s other self. It’s just the part of Sartha Thrace that is nothing but need.

And need can fight dirty.

“It’s funny,” Sartha says. The way she smiles at Kione, crooked and bleak, is more unnerving than anything. “How you’re saying all this now. Where were all these reservations the other night, Ki?”

“Wha-“ Kione’s guts churn so violently she almost gags. She’s never seen this Sartha before, not once.

“You keep pretending you don’t want it.” Sartha’s eyes are vast and dark. Empty. There’s nothing inside them. Kione feels swallowed up by their gaze. “But you do. Why not just do what you want with me? That’s all I’m offering you.”

“Gods!” Kione gasps. “N-no I don’t.”

“You do,” Sartha insists. She’s unsteady. It’s like she’s drunk. “Be serious, Ki. You’ve been on cloud nine ever since it happened. Just do what you want.”

Another gut punch. The truth itches at Kione’s skin. She can’t deny it, and she can’t stop feeling devastated by the sudden realization that if she keeps saying ‘no’, all of Sartha’s doting adoration will be over.

“You want me to be all yours, right?” Sartha whispers, and it’s all poison. “Always have. All you have to do is say the words.”

“S-shut up,” Kione snaps violently. She can’t handle this Sartha. Not even for a moment.

Sartha’s smile widens still further, but there is absolutely no joy in it. “You know how you could make me shut up?”

“Fuck!” Kione flinches away from her, aghast.

She was right the first time. This is addiction. But still, she hadn’t been prepared for this: for the withdrawal, for the addict who’ll say anything. It’s even more pitiable than the forlorn depression, but that doesn’t stop it getting under Kione’s skin.

Gods, Sartha. That handler. What did she do to you? How did she crawl this deep into your heart?

“Just give me what I need,” Sartha wheedles, advancing on her, not giving her an inch of space. “One more time, at least. Can’t you do that for me, Kione? Don’t you owe me that? Come on. Make it up to me.”

“No!”

“Why not? Why not just do it again?”

“B-because it was rape!” Kione’s been nursing that bitter truth for days. Saying it out loud is a perverse kind of release.

Until Sartha licks her lips to make them wet, then parts them as she looks up at Kione, eyes shining, breath coming in wet pants of deranged craving.

“Don’t you wanna rape me again?”

Kione lets out a wet grunt of pain. It sounds a little too much like a moan for her liking. She’s dizzy. She needs to get out of here. All the ultra-honed merc alarm bells in her head are ringing. This is dangerous. This is her own personal hell.

“You could.” Sartha seizes her advantage. “Any way you want. I made you feel good, right? You want me to fuck you again, Ki?”

Kione’s back is against the wall, and there’s nowhere else to go. Sartha is pressed all the way up against her. The broken hero’s body heat is another vector of attack. This close, Kione can see the burning fever in Sartha’s face. She looks crazed. Like she barely knows what she’s saying.

Only that it’s working.

“Or,” Sartha whispers. “You could fuck me instead. How about that, huh? You could finally have my body. All of it.”

Her voice is so breathy. Feminine, melodic, seductive. It’s so wrong for Sartha Thrace. But who could ever resist it? Not Kione, that’s for sure. It’s more than just dizziness that’s making her light-headed. She’s sick to her stomach, but there’s more to her appetite than just her stomach. To her utter horror, Kione realizes that she’s hard.

A moment later, Sartha notices too. That��s even more horrifying.

“It’s n-n-not…” Kione stammers pathetically. “I’m n-n-not…”

It’s not that she wants to fuck Sartha. That’s what Kione’s trying to say. It’s not about sex. It’s about attention. It’s the way that, right now, she is the focal point of Sartha Thrace’s existence. She has eyes for nobody else. It’s not Kione’s fault she’s completely, hopelessly intoxicated by the experience. How long has she admired Sartha? How often has she wished she could be that good? That strong? That principled and hopeful? All those good, earnest, honest yearnings are crucifying her now. That’s what Kione wants to say.

It’s kind of a lie, unfortunately. Cause she also really does want to fuck Sartha.

“Just say those three words for me,” Sartha promises, “and I’ll be all yours. You can make me anything you want. Anything you need.”

“N-n-nooo,” Kione whines.

“C’mon.” Sartha wheedles. She nestles her leg between Kione’s thighs and raises it so that it presses against her cock. That has Kione seeing stars. “Don’t you want me?”

“Yyyyes!” Kione cries. “Or… I m-m-mean…”

Now she’s admitted it, is there really any point pretending?

Yes. She wants it. Kione wants it so bad. Of course she does. She wants the dependence. She wants that moment when she felt herself reaching into Sartha’s broken head and playing with the pieces. She wants to be Sartha’s everything. She wants to be her god.

And Sartha wants it too. So what’s the problem?

All of a sudden, it’s on the tip of her tongue. Kione wants to say it. It would be so easy to say it. Everything after that would be so easy too. Maybe she could order Sartha to back off. Maybe she could use the words just to get some space to clear her head. Or maybe she and her hound would be swept up in each other until the morning, and morning is so far away. Not having to think and be strong until morning would feel amazing.

“O-Off… The…”

“Yes,” Sartha pants. “Gods, yes, Kione.”

She can sense Kione’s will breaking. In the face of her impending victory, her seductiveness evaporates. Once again, there’s nothing in her eyes but gnawing, bitter need. It makes Sartha look like a black hole into which you could pour everything, forever, without filling it. She starts tearing up, and they are the tears of someone finally approaching the end of their pain.

They reveal that, in the end, Sartha never actually wanted Kione. She just wanted to be nothing at all.

Kione brings both her hands to Sartha’s chest—and shoves her off. Sartha doesn’t resist. She seems stunned that Kione found the strength. In that instant she’s like a lost child, as she looks at the merc.

“Not like this,” Kione says. Her voice is ragged, but it's firm. It’s not that she doesn’t want Sartha. It’s just that if she says ‘yes’ to her now, she’ll never get from her what she truly wants. “Not like this.”

Then, all over the rebel base, alarms start blaring. And everything goes to shit.

***

It feels like it’s been an eternity, even though it’s just twenty minutes later that Kione is standing in the hangar bay on the boarding pier next to Theaboros, making the last few essential pre-launch checks—and watching, from a short distance away, as Sartha does the same with Ancyor.

To most people—to all the mechanics watching from the sidelines and saluting with stars in their eyes—it probably looks like she’s her old self again. Sartha Thrace, getting back in the saddle. Just where she always belonged. Kione can see different. She can see how Sartha’s hands are shaking. She can see the fear—the abject terror—in the hero’s eyes. After their sorry spectacle of a duel a few days before, she can see the painful truth.

Sartha can’t do this.

But she’s going to try, because they asked her to. Her comrades. The people she’s been fighting for all these years. Damn her, she always lets them ask too much of her.

Admittedly, it would have been hard to say ‘no’ to this one. As soon as the alarms started sounding, Kione went for her radio and found they were already calling for her—her and Sartha both. She was preposterously grateful for the interruption until she heard the sitrep:

An imperial recon force is sweeping the sector, and heading straight for the rebel base.

It’s far from unprecedented. Rebels and imperials play a constant cat-and-mouse game with one another, as the empire tries to ferret out rebel positions while the rebels try to keep them hidden. It’s the only way to wage an asymmetric war. Battles and fronts have to be chosen with care; the rest of the time, strength must be conserved and secret.

To that end, rebel fighters are skilled in the art of misdirection. They know just how to put together an ambush in a way that throws imperial hunters off the scent and leads them somewhere else entirely. This time, there’s just one problem.

Everybody is already sortied and out of range, lending assistance to a fight in a neighboring sector.

Plus, the imperial patrol is a lot beefier than usual. The scant few rebel pilots that remain to be deployed aren’t enough to head them off. Not without Sartha.

“I’ll do it,” Kione offered, when they asked. “Send me out. You know my fees. You know I’ll get it done.”

Put the money front and center. Can’t let them know how off-kilter she is. Can’t let them know how much she cares about keeping Sartha Thrace out of combat.

Unfortunately, they already had their wallets out. They want Kione out there. But they want Sartha too. Even then, they said, they’ll be outnumbered. Without Sartha to even the odds, there’s no way.

Kione grimaced when she heard that, and again when she checked the reports for herself and saw that it was probably true. All the same, when they turned to Sartha and told her that they were sorry it was so soon, but that they had no choice, Kione was shaking her head and mouthing ‘please’ behind their backs.

Sartha locked eyes with her, then turned to the base commander, saluted, and said: “You can count on me.”

So here they are, mounting up. Everyone in the hangar has eyes for Sartha Thrace. All the rebels are betting their hopes and dreams on her glorious return to the battlefield. Meanwhile, Kione is looking past the heroism, past even the shaking, fearful hands, and searching for a sign of the broken, needy, hollowed thing she encountered in her quarters just minutes before.

Fuck. This is going to be a disaster.

But since she can’t just say that out loud and expect anybody to listen, Kione remains miserably silent as Theaboros, Ancyor, and just two ramshackle rebel mechs shudder to life and file out of the hangar to march across the blasted landscape to war.

Single file, they follow the bed of a long-dried river that crests several nearby hills as it leads away from the rebel position. It’s the kind of thing few imperial map-makers take notice of; with luck, the scouts will be in the valley below and easy to take by surprise. Kione would love to take the skies and find them herself; Theaboros’s wings are back online, although she’s been warned to be careful with them. Smarter to simply follow the rebels, though. This is their terrain. They know it, and it knows them. Unlike Theaboros, all of their mechs are painted the exact color of the dust their feet are kicking up. They might look like heaps of junk, but they’re built smart.

All machines, someone familiar. says over the radio, head’s up. We’re closing on their last known position. I’m running command and comms, so keep it clean and listen to me.

It shouldn’t make much difference given all the different kinds of hell Kione’s wading through, but for some reason, the little light-bulb moment of recognition she gets at the voice is enough to pierce through it all and, just for a moment, bring her actual, heartfelt joy.

“Radio girl!” she calls out, delighted.

There’s a derisive snort. Radio girl is trying to sound scornful but even over the crackling comm link, Kione can tell she’s smiling.

I have a name, you know, she retorts.

“Yeah?” Kione is smiling too. “Get us back to base in one piece, maybe I’ll think about learning it.”

That gets a laugh out of the rebel. That’s a win, in Kione’s book.

Is this where I tell you to buy me a drink instead? radio girl says. I guess at that point we could just call it even.

“No, no, no,” Kione tuts. “No drinks? Where’s the fun in that? Let’s get twice as drunk instead.”

She hears more laughter over the radio—then another voice. One Kione’s not familiar with. Another rebel pilot.

Merc, stop flirting! the other pilot snaps. Focus.

Not one who’s been introduced to Kione’s unique charms, then.

It’s one hell of a request. Where’s the fun in a scrap if you’re not flirting? Might as well join the empire, and have nothing to say besides ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’. But Kione’s willing to play nice and keep her mouth shut, given the circumstances. Maybe she can have her pleasure later, instead, if she wows miss wet blanket in combat and then tracks her down once they’re back at base.

Kione blinks. It’s been weeks since she’s had a thought like that. Piloting Theaboros against the imperials is starting to make her feel like her usual self again. She can’t believe how good the idea of spending a night all wrapped up in someone who isn’t Sartha sounds.

I see them!

Radio girl’s not flirting now. She’s all business, and so is Kione. A few more steps and Kione sees them too. Almost two dozen black shapes passing in several columns, no more than two hundred feet down the hillside. The rebels are in perfect ambush position, but even so—four perfect shots and four perfect kills would still leave them outnumbered more than two to one.

And that’s assuming Sartha does her part. Kione casts a glance back at Ancyor. During their march, she hasn’t said a single word.

Everybody get in cover and pick your targets. Before they leave our kill zone. Get ready. On my mark.

Kione obeys silently. This is no time for her smart mouth. She unholsters Theaboros’s rifle and levels it carefully at her chosen target. A short distance away, Sartha does the same. That’s good. At least she’s present enough for that. Maybe they’re not totally doomed.

They wait, and the wait is murder. The imperials inch closer and closer at a lazy pace until they’re passing the closest point their path will take them to the rebel ambush. Their reactor signatures should be well-shielded by the terrain, but at this distance all it would take is for one of those idiots to look up. It occurs to Kione to quickly pray that each member of their impromptu squad is aiming at a different hostile. It’s always truly, comically grim when that part of an ambush goes wrong.

Now! Fire!

At radio girl’s word, the rebel squad opens up. The ripping roar of two large autocannons tears open the air and fills the valley beneath with smoke and, a moment later, the crack of Ancyor’s jezzail is punctuated by the crash of its victim collapsing to the ground, disabled. That gun might be Sartha’s sole concession to long-range combat, but it would be a mistake to assume she doesn’t know how to use it. Even now, it seems.

Kione is the only one who isn’t shooting yet. Oh, she’s pulled the trigger. Her weapon just takes a moment to actuate. In the cockpit, Kione feels her entire mech thrum as Theaboros’s reactor spins up, juicing the long, unwieldy rifle in its hands with antimatter. Turns out, that stuff is good for more than just floating. Turns out, controlled micro-annihilations play ungodly havoc with magnetic fields, and with enough charge and the right design—concentric rings firing in sequence around the barrel—you can accelerate a heavy, solid, ferrous slug to sanity-defying speeds until it pierces straight through the core of the first target it hits, comes out the other side, and lodges in the cockpit of the second.

A railgun.

While Theaboros opens all its external vents and literally lets off steam, Kione smirks. Two-in-one. Now that’s a shot. Maybe she should raise her fees again.

Her smirk fades when even as five of them fall, the rest of the imperial patrol pulls together and begins to return fire with alarming alacrity.

Imperial pilots are invariably unimaginative, but they sometimes prove annoyingly professional. These ones have been drilled well. They shift rapidly into a defensive formation and take what cover they can, and soon enough the sounds of their guns utterly drowns out all of the rebel weaponry combined. Most of them are Dorus, and Kione’s never had trouble putting those down, but there’s a newer model with them too. A Xiphos, according to Theaboros’s targeting data. It opens up with more than just gunfire; a large, shoulder-mounted mortar fills the air with deadly hail that threatens to blast the rebel cover apart, leaving them all exposed.

Uh-oh.

It’s not the lethality of their firepower that keeps Kione and the others hopelessly pinned down. It’s certainly not the accuracy either. It’s the sheer volume. Kione is forced to huddle against the bank of the dried river, and the constant whipping and screaming of shells above her head leave her no opportunities to line up a shot. Trying to withstand it for even a moment would be a death sentence.

When you boil it right down, a mech is a giant tin can with a little squishy grape inside. Kione knows you don’t need to punch holes in the can to pop the grape. Rattle it around enough, and you’ll be left with nothing but pulp. Keep whaling on it, and little shards will shear off and start flying around the inside like bullets. Spalling. Bad way to go. Whale on it with something that goes bang, and you can propagate an internal pressure wave that makes the grape implode. Worse way to go.

Kione doesn’t fuck with small arms fire. Armor is a last resort.

That’s why—as usual, when things get rough—Kione is thinking about bolting. It would be so easy this time. All she has to do is turn around and fly away. They’d never catch her.

Giving radio girl mixed signals really would suck, though. And Kione can’t leave Sartha behind, of course. Especially not now.

While she’s fighting to formulate some kind of plan, the rebel who snapped at Kione for flirting gets impatient. Bad move, but easy to do when you’re sitting in a ditch getting shot at. She stands up, ready to shoot, ready to lead the charge, roaring defiance over the radio. Moments later, her mech’s torso is simply gone. The legs are left to topple over like dominoes.

Well, shit.

Kione grits her teeth. The odds are awful and getting worse. Sitting tight isn’t going to help. But the thing is, Kione knows she and Sartha have been through worse. As bad as it is, they can do this.

All they need is a hero.

Kione looks over at Ancyor. Oh no. Sartha isn’t even trying to shoot back.

But she wouldn’t leave Kione out to dry. Would she? When Kione truly needs her, she’ll rise to the occasion. The mercenary is sure of it. Which means all she has to do is force the issue.

“Sartha!” Kione yells down the radio. “Remember Pathyris? Let’s go!”

Before Sartha can tell her not to, Kione guns Theaboros’s flight system and rockets up into the sky.

It’s one of those dumb moves that anybody would tell any rookie pilot to never ever do, no matter how much of a hot-shot they think they are. Never. Be. The. Distraction. The thing is, though, Kione’s beloved Theaboros makes for a truly excellent distraction. The sight of it floating into the sky, all six wings extended and shimmering with anti-matter, will catch anybody’s attention. It makes her target number one, but it always takes Kione’s enemies a moment to adjust their aim. Even once they start shooting in the right direction, Theaboros is maneuverable enough that, if she really needs to, Kione can spend a little time dancing with bullets.

All in all, you couldn’t ask for a better ploy to let Ancyor break cover, charge straight at the imperial lines, and get stuck in right where it belongs.

It works—but only because they’re both really that good, and only because they both really, truly trust each other. Kione trusts Sartha not to keep her waiting, and to put the bad guys down before they can land a solid hit. Sartha trusts Kione to take the flak and be her eyes in the sky, and to use her railgun to blow apart anyone who threatens to put holes in Ancyor.

It’s the kind of tactic nobody would ever teach. Kione and Sartha have honed it over and over, fighting back-to-back against long odds. It’s something only they can do. It is their bond made manifest.

And Sartha isn’t moving.

Kione spares a precious millisecond to switch over to a private comms line. “Thrace!” she cries. “I’ve got you covered. Get in there. We need you.”

All she hears coming over the radio is sobbing.

I can’t do it, Kione.

Sartha’s letting her down. Again. And now they’re all gonna die.

“Sartha!” Kione screams. The shots are getting real close now. She doesn’t have much longer. “Yes, you can! You can do this! Please!”

Even now, even after everything, Kione can’t shake the deep-seated conviction that, at any moment, her hero is going to spring into life and save her. But it’s beginning to dawn on her that she won’t. She really won’t. Sartha isn’t a hero. Not anymore. She’s just scared and helpless, and nothing Kione sobs or begs or yells will change that.

Except one thing.

Kione doesn’t want to say it. She really doesn’t, even now. But she’s realizing that all her guilt and reservations, all that effort spent saying ‘no’ to Sartha, in her quarters—it was all for nothing. All her pleas were wasted breath. It’s a little embarrassing it took her this long to figure it out. Sartha would never come begging to Kione’s quarters and Sartha would never let Kione die like this, and so Sartha is gone. Dead. All Kione rescued on that bridge was a husk. A shell. Nothing more.

But Kione still cares about the husk. And more to the point, a husk has its uses. That imperial handler clearly knew as much. Now Kione’s learning the same lesson. And she will make use of the husk of Sartha Thrace, oh yes. With the right leverage, she’ll be everybody’s hero once more. She’ll be the shining star all those rebel mechanics need to see. And she’ll get Kione and radio girl out of this mess in one piece. Kione will make sure that happens.

Whatever it takes.

“Sartha,” she says into the radio, and the certain knowledge that this will work makes her voice calm and firm. “Off The Leash.”

The sound of growling and slavering is what lets her know that she’s going to be OK. Isn’t that funny? It’s not the dashing, cool, brave Sartha Thrace that saves her.

It’s the faithful, brainwashed, obedient Hound.

She doesn’t need to be told what to do. She’s a good dog. Already, she’s breaking cover and sprinting at the enemy. All Sartha’s hesitation is gone, replaced by a fathomless rage that these prey-things dare to try and hurt Kione. Kione can sense the current of her thoughts. They’re seductive. Kione feels herself pulled into that same feral, violent mindset.

And why fight it? Now that they have Ancyor barreling toward them, the imperial mechs are starting to step back and split their fire. The pressure is receding. In its wake, in the sky, Kione is supreme. Beneath her, the imperials look like ants. Ancyor takes enough pressure off that Kione can take aim with her railgun and turn another one of them into a cored, melting heap.

It’s that Xiphos. Kione starts laughing. New model? It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t they know? Kione has Sartha Thrace in the palm of her hand. She can do anything. She’s a goddess.

All it took was using those three little words.

Why did she waste so much time fighting it?

It feels amazing. The ego trip is unbelievable. Wielding Sartha like the greatest weapon ever forged feels so good. Even the dependency feels good. Kione loves that Sartha needed her to do this. That’s real power. It’s more power than all her merc money ever earned her. Now all she wants to do is ride it out. She wants more.

Is this how the imperial handler who brainwashed Sartha gets to feel all the time? She’s been in Kione’s dreams ever since she saw the recording, in her black leathers and with her sharp, icy gaze. She seemed, even in that brief glimpse, more than human. Perhaps Kione is starting to understand why.

And she yearns to revel in this moment of apotheosis.

“Sartha,” Kione laughs into her radio. “Kill for me.”

Hound whooping with glee and snapping her jaws is all the answer Kione needs.

Split, disorganized fire isn’t even close to enough to put a beast like Ancyor down. Once Hound makes it into melee combat, the fight doesn’t last long. She has all of Sartha’s skill, and Sartha is a legend for a reason. Dorus have basic CQC capabilities, but those do nothing at all to keep them from being ripped apart by Ancyor’s hulking limbs as the hellhound of a mech ducks, weaves and leaps through their fields of fire without taking a scratch. A predatory spider amongst the ants. It’s only moments before their squad cohesion collapses, and after that, it’s just a matter of picking off stragglers. Hound gets most of them. Kione takes out a few, as the mood takes her. Even radio girl manages a couple. She’s still alive, and a better pilot than Kione has been giving her credit for.

And then the imperials are all dead. It’s over.

All it took was letting Sartha off the leash.

The elation of turning defeat into victory washes away the regrets Kione might have had. This is good, she sees. This feels too good to be wrong. It’s saved them, and isn’t that a message? Now Kione is sure. The Sartha Thrace that was cowering uselessly in that ditch doesn’t deserve Kione’s anguished scruples. The Sartha Thrace that was begging for oblivion back in her quarters doesn’t want them, and will never appreciate them. It was all pointless.

Kione gets it now. Sartha Thrace needs a handler.

It’s time for her to step up. Duh.

—

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violettaskies · 1 year ago

Text

Not Just a Dream

Prompt: sex toys

Pairing: bodyguard!eddie munson x f!reader

Notes: wc 9.5k // kinktober story two of five // hope everyone enjoys this one, the love for the first story was so crazy omgggg and it’s so heartwarming to see all the support. so thank you for everything // this is my first au sorta thing so i hope everything makes sense // eddie is a perv as always lol

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // peeping, pillow humping, sex toys, vibrator, masturbation, mutual masturbation // smut // reader’s first time is mentioned, not the most mind blowing experience, but not gone into heavy detail // please let me know if there are any more that need to be added!

ao3 // kinktober masterlist // full masterlist // lazy ghoul’s kinktober prompts

-:-:-:-:-

To say that this was probably the easiest job in the world would be an understatement. For years, of doing newspaper routes in the rain, having near-misses with the Hawkins’ police department due to being Reefer Rick’s little dealer — being a bodyguard was pretty sweet. Especially since he is always standing next to an angelic beauty as the person he needs to protect on a daily basis. It was truly a miracle that this job fell into Eddie’s lap, literally.

As he was rummaging through shelves to look for something to do whilst hiding away from the hypothetical pitchforks of the townspeople several days ago, there was one item in Rick’s home that stood out from the rest. It was a copy of The Silmarillion, which could be deemed as relatively normal in homes with a bookworm or two. However, it being the only novel in the entirety of the building, was strange. Within the pages, there was a piece of paper with a note that contained a phone number and address. Truthfully, Eddie felt like this was all meant for him, so he decided to follow it. When he did, he found himself at a large apartment complex in Chicago with a huge penthouse at the very top.

This didn’t feel right, everyone walking in and out of the lobby was dressed in the finest clothes. Even if they were going out on an afternoon jog, Eddie noted how they were still wearing a gold watch so casually. As he stood there, with the same outfit he had washed and re-wore a thousand times, the former Dealer’s heart dropped.

This was a mistake.

All he was able to do was walk backwards, almost as if he wanted to see if the beautiful architecture was bound to get smaller if he kept his gaze on it. Eddie wanted to go home — well, he wanted to find a new home. At the very least, it probably wasn’t here; the little note gave him too much hope in a time of despair. Maybe he should just —

“Are you lost?” a sweet voice nearly whispered from behind him. As Eddie was walking without looking, he had accidentally bumped into a young woman with a few books in hand.

“No, just passing through. Maybe I would have better luck if I wasn't walking backwards,” the man chuckled as he looked at you fully now, noting that you were about the same age as him; only you were definitely in a different tax bracket than him.

“Well, hopefully you can walk in the right direction to wherever you need to go.” The sound of your voice was so soft in comparison to the sounds of the city. Eddie couldn’t help that he was hypnotized the instant he took you all in.

“Y-yeah, have a good day,” although he wished to bask in your beauty for a moment longer, this city was not for him.

And so, like strangers on the street on a regular day, the two of you nodded politely before walking in opposite directions. Only Eddie stopped himself after taking three steps, just to see where you were — something in him told him to check if you were safe, like his conscience thinking straight for the first time in his life. However, he noticed how you walked into the building he was just admiring, confirming that you two really were from different worlds. Well, at least he got to see some beautiful things before leaving the city.

Or so he thought. Just as he was about to look away, he noticed two tall men dressed in long black coats following her; and then one walking his way. The man had a chiseled jaw, as if it were cut by the gods themselves. The dark sunglasses made him so much more ominous and scary to Eddie who was shorter than the man in black by at least half a foot. In a flash, Eddie was looking up at the man with the building towering above both of them.

“Come with me.” The command fell from the man’s lips in a deep tone, Eddie could nearly hear the bass in it.

“Nope,” Eddie looked around awkwardly before spinning around, only to be stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder that pulled him backwards.

If one thing was for certain, the young Munson truly knew how to get away from situations he didn’t want to be in. There were countless moments like this one where he was stopped by a manager at a store, or maybe even Chief Hopper. Sometimes they would grasp him by the shoulder, but he was always able to find a way out of the hold. This time, however, Eddie found himself surrounded by other men wearing similar-looking black suits, who all looked at him in a slightly threatening manner. It was more than enough to halt him in his tracks and take on whatever was going to happen next.

“You’ll want to come with me,” the scary man whispered in the younger man’s ear before dragging him to the alleyway and into an entrance on the side of the beautiful building that just turned into a sinister figure in his life as he was being pulled further and further into it.

-:-:-:-:-

Over the course of two weeks, way too much has happened to Eddie’s heart. He swears that it has felt like it has beaten out of his chest at least once a day due to all of the series of unfortunate events that started at home and ended up here: in a dark room with one lamp lighting it and large men dressed in suits surrounding him. Eddie knew that his life decisions would probably end up costing him a lot. But, he never knew that he would probably be paying the price now. He really should have ran when he had the chance. He has always been good at anyways. But, if he did, then he wouldn’t be able to have really seen you. Again, he’s happy he was able to see one beautiful thing in this week full of terror.

The fear within him only multiplied a thousand times as he heard footsteps walking towards the room. No one could hear a thing except for the slow patter of expensive shoes hitting the wooden floors. The noise was nearly a countdown for Eddie, each step bringing in a new question into his mind. Is someone going to kill him? What did he even do? Was the news from Hawkins spreading this fast and someone wanted the bounty? Is Rick the one walking behind him?

It wasn’t.

Instead, it was a handsome older man, probably a bit younger than his Uncle Wayne — only dressed in clothes that probably were worth more than anything everyone in this room was wearing, combined. Plus, the smell of the man’s cologne was nicer than all of the ones Eddie stole from Starcourt last year. As Eddie looked around him whilst sitting in the chair in the middle of the room, he prayed that whatever these people wanted from him, it would at least be something he had.

“Are you Rick’s kid?” the expensive-looking man’s voice echoed as he stood above Eddie.

“Rick?” He tried to sound a little dumb to make sure that they weren’t people who hated his acquaintance.

“Yeah, from Indiana. The little shit is in jail but he called us the other day. You his kid?” The man said, who Eddie figures is most likely the boss of this entire scene. “You look exactly like he said you would.”

“Looks like he set your expectations really low then,” He genuinely hasn't showered properly in days — so goodness knows how his appearance looks to people who are meeting him for the first time. Eddie chuckled as he thought about the possibility of his crazy hair being crazier right now, trying to liven up his own spirits.

Luckily, the boss did smile with him. He did seem like a nice man surrounded by scary men. Maybe it just helped whatever image he was trying to portray. Eddie remembers the times Rick would drunkenly tell stories about his boss in Chicago who was the real supplier of everything, and how he was actually a very nice and forgiving man in comparison to the other leaders in the game.

He was so nice in fact, that he snapped his fingers and someone was able to bring a chair over, so that he and Eddie were able to look at one another eye-to-eye.

“You look like shit, Rick said you’re running from something in your town,” he said in a concerned voice.

“Y-yeah, a few things,” Eddie paused. “I went over to Rick’s place and found a book—”

“Tolkien?”

“Yes, sir. There was an address in it and something in me told me to follow it.” Eddie could feel his breaths getting heavier as he knew that everyone was listening to every small detail.

The boss leaned in closer and placed a soft and comforting grasp to Eddie’s shoulder, making the younger man look at him with slightly nervous eyes. Yet, he felt like he didn’t need to feel that way anymore.

“Well, you listened to your gut, son. You listened well, I promise you’re safe now.” The boss coughed a bit in his pause. “Rick knew you’d probably head to his place and snoop around while you were hiding. Thank god he picked such an obvious book, huh?”

“I swear I’ve never seen that man read in my life,” Eddie chuckled as he saw the smile lines on the boss’ face become more prominent.

“Exactly, he’s had that in there since he got his ass in the slammer. After hearing about your little wanted poster, he called us right away.”

“You don’t need to help me, really. I can get on my way somewhere else—”

Eddie was rambling. His guilt was taking over now. There were so many people here who wanted to help him; whilst he only thought the worst when the men in black suits dragged him in here. They were probably keeping an eye out to see if he would show up. Eddie genuinely believed that he was about to die again, but he was strangely welcomed to a boss who was a lot nicer than the ones portrayed in The Godfather movies.

“We’ll help you, son,” Eddie’s heart felt warm at the nickname. “Everyone in here is wanted in a state or two, maybe even a country,” the boss laughed which made everyone else in the room follow suit.

“Help me?”

“Listen, I trust Rick. If he says you’re a good kid, then you’re a good kid. Anyways, we need another hand on deck and you’ll be the perfect person for it. You help me, and we keep you safe from the feds. Sound good?” The boss sat back in his chair with a smile waiting for a response from the younger man in front of him.

“Yes,” Eddie exclaimed rather louder than intended. “Sorry, uhm, that would be great, sir.”

“Look at you, already getting the hang of things,” the boss chuckled at the usage of the formal name. “Isn’t that right, boys?”

Echoes of agreement bounced off the walls before another snap was heard and the lights went on and blinds opened up to reveal that about two dozen people were in a grand ballroom of sorts. There were beautiful paintings and crown moulding surrounding the walls. Eddie truly wasn’t sure where he was now. However, when he looked out a window, he saw that no other building was in its way. Meaning only one thing: this was the top floor — this was the penthouse he admired from sixty stories down.

Oh God, what did he get himself into now?

-:-:-:-:-

The main job description was just to watch the security cameras, scope the halls every hour, and follow his boss’ daughter around whenever she was going to university classes or going out into the city. It sounded easy enough. The head security guard explained it all to Eddie as they were walking towards the workers’ quarters which held everyone’s uniform. Every person had a different style of black and gray clothing. Although the boss really wanted everyone to coordinate, he still wanted his people to look good — and most importantly, normal as they walked around in the city. So quickly, they gave the newest employee a dark gray suit and a black button-down shirt to wear, as well as a spacious room he could clean himself up in. It was the most dapper Eddie has looked in his entire life. He truly couldn’t comprehend the way his heart was so conflicted with how amazing and weird everything is.

After an hour, he got a knock on the door. It was the man who grabbed him by the shoulder earlier today. “So the Princess’ bodyguard, huh? Alotta pressure for the new kid,” the bleach blond man teased as he nodded his head to urge Eddie to follow him.

“I thought I would be doing all the shitty jobs or something,” Eddie laughed. “And to think I thought I was gonna need bodyguards with my dream job.”

“Did you wanna be a rockstar, Munson?” the man nudged his shoulder as he walked down the hall towards the stairs with Eddie. “Your hair sure gives it away.”

“Come on, man. I can tell you listen to freak rock music too. You have more piercings than me,” the younger man noted as he looked up to see nearly four piercings on the taller man’s ear.

It amazed Eddie how laid back everyone seemed to be when it was the house of such a powerful man. He has relationships with people all over the world: suppliers, other dealers, bankers, politicians. The Boss probably had enough connections to rival the President — maybe even the President was on his contact list too. Regardless, everything seemed to be so easy. Even talking to his peers was so much easier than talking to people at school.

“The boss gets tickets all the time to concerts all over the world. If you mention your birthday to him, he’ll probably fly you out to whoever is playing that night.”

“You’re shitting me,” Eddie gasped in disbelief as he walked down a large grand staircase.

“Not at all, he does it like every other year for people, helps the morale.” The man stopped in the middle of the foyer where the front door was. “The name’s Garcia, by the way. I used to be the Princess’ bodyguard when she was a kid. But, now we all just take on different shifts.”

“Oh, so it’ll just be now?” Eddie wondered.

Garcia began to fix the folds of Eddie’s jacket, and ensured that no lint could be seen. For some reason, the former Hawkins resident felt like he gained two father figures today. “Yes, the boss wants one person to be head of her security detail. He was looking for someone her age too to make things less awkward if she had a man trailing next to her, or behind her in public.”

“Cool, cool. Do I get a weapon or something? Like a stick or taser?” Eddie asked with focus and concern in his eyes.

“You’ll get a taser, and we’ll teach you how to fight. But, honestly, you probably won’t need it,” Garcia smiled as he began to walk towards the library.

“Why not? I feel like the Boss is Batman or something and has cool weapons,” Eddie followed behind with quick steps. “Oh—”

For a moment, Garcia stopped in front of the library doors. He looked at Eddie’s appearance one last time before knocking on the wood. Just like the rest of the house, even the mahogany door was grand, with gold decals of a family crest and door handles bigger than a regular person’s thigh.

Everything is so beautiful, so nice, so calm. As he heard footsteps from the other side of the door, Eddie genuinely had high hopes that this was going to be one of the most easy-going jobs he has ever had. There would be no more running away from the police or sneaking around to get five dollars. However, he spoke a little too early, because everything was just the calm before the storm that ignited in his heart. As the library doors opened, Eddie’s heart raced at a million miles a minute; something it had not done in about an hour or so.

There you were, the girl in front of the building who he bumped into. The girl he thought about as the most beautiful thing he has seen today — and it was only confirmed as he saw your eyes reflect the gold on the door. You are the reason behind his whole job. You are the princess.

You’re his princess.

“Mr. Garcia, you didn’t need to knock,” you quietly chuckled. “Would you like to — it’s you.”

Eddie and you stared at one another for a few moments before Garcia spoke up to break the silent tension. “This is your new bodyguard, Eddie Munson. He’ll be escorting you to and from your university classes, as well as any time you need to go out of the house.”

“All of the time?” you asked, inviting the two people into the library.

“Yes, your father is going to need a larger security personnel for the next little while so we believe that one person to watch over you would be good,” Garcia smiled at you, before elbowing Eddie.

“It’s an honour to serve you, m-miss.” The brunette wasn’t sure what to call you. Especially as you were surrounded by the beautiful books that he could only dream of reading, he wasn’t able to just call you the love of his life so prematurely.

You giggled politely as you sat at the large table. Truthfully, you had to regain a bit of balance after having a slight shock of getting such a handsome person to join your father’s employees. Not that anyone was ugly; however, most of the people hired were older than you by many years. This was the first person you’ve met in any situation in your life who has made your heart feel so warm for so long. Earlier, you came to the library to hide away and try to subside your feelings with some studying. But, it looks like that’s not going to happen for a while.

Maybe after this little meeting, you need to take a shower to scream into the abyss for a bit.

For now, you would have to keep up appearances.

“Mr. Munson, you don’t need to call me such a formal name. If you can think of a nickname, then I would prefer that,” you smiled.

“Then, how about you call me Eddie?” The man thought for a second before speaking aloud again. “And I can call you Princess.”

The lines between your eyebrows became more prominent as you gasped in slight disbelief. “Mr. Garcia, have you already called me that in front of him?” you pouted, making Eddie blush at the soft sound of your voice.

“It suits you,” the older man chuckled. “Anyways, I should get going. How about you two mingle and get to know each other?”

And with that, you and Eddie were left alone in the library. It’ll be the first of countless moments alone together; however, this one will be the one of the most memorable. As you didn’t realize that your hearts were beating as one in this vast library full of stories of love, friendship, and adventures beyond compare. Just like the one you were about to start with a few words. “Would you like to sit and read with me?” you asked quietly, looking up at him with a small smile.

“As long as you have some good books, then I’ll be quiet for at least an hour,” he said with a slightly teasing tone that resonated through your body.

“The wall closest to the globe contains all the science fiction, fantasy, and adventure book genres,” you replied, as if you already knew him.

Eddie was really going to love it here. It was the peace he needed after this Hell adjacent week.

-:-:-:-:-

Over the next few weeks, the on-boarding process began for Eddie. In the early morning he would need to wake up before the sun even rose, in order to go through hours of training in case of emergencies. Being one to skip gym class because it felt pointless, Eddie felt like he was about to pass out at the end of each session with the various trainers. However, when it came to the moment you would greet him a good morning during breakfast — he swears that all of the body aches would go away in only a few syllables.

A routine was set for the two of you: breakfast, drive to campus for any lectures, run any errands that were necessary, then head home to study some more and relax. If you were cooped up in one area of the house for the night, Eddie would be dismissed to train some more. For some reason, it felt like he was being trained to protect a royal. So he often wondered just how powerful your family is. He notices that everyday, you were always dressed in the finest fabrics, whilst your other classmates would be dressed in regular clothing. Or even the food served in the house to all workers and the family, was nicer than anything he had back home — there was a time you ate an apple and it looked right out of a magazine. But, the craziest thing was that whenever you walked into a store to buy something small for yourself, or a gift for someone else; the entire store would be shut down even if you gave no warning in advance. If this was the influence you had, Eddie could barely imagine what it would be like if you were shopping alongside your father.

So maybe the training on how to swim better, fight at least three guys at once, first aid, and tricks to ensure that the car was never followed, was not exactly unnecessary at all. Not like gym class was, at least. Going from Hawkins to here was such a huge hurdle to get past physically.

But, every day would end off with you smiling at him before you fell asleep, and the former Dealer swears that it’s all worth it for that sweet moment.

“I’m going to head to bed now, Eddie. Hope your training went well,” you said as he was leaving the fitness area your father built.

“Right, u-uhm, let me know if you need anything then,” he breathed out.

“Everything should be fine. As long as you don’t accidentally blast Black Sabbath like you did the other night,” you giggled sweetly.

Three nights ago, when he hit the gym and thought everyone was asleep, Eddie started playing music on the stereo; however, the play button is right next to the button that is attached to every speaker in the house. Well, let’s just say that not everyone wants to wake up at two in the morning to Ozzy’s voice like a clock alarm that didn’t stop ringing. Luckily, the boss wasn’t home to stomp around the house to turn off the music, or else Eddie probably would not have a job at this very moment.

“No music tonight, I gotta be on high alert with everyone away,” Eddie chuckled as he started to walk you to your bedroom.

“Only in your first month and you’re already head security for the house tonight,” you nudged his shoulder lightly.

“That’s only because they’re all at that meeting with your father’s associates. I’m kinda freaking out over here, Princess.”

In truth, there were times your father would make you go to another state during these meetings. He always feared that someone would target the house while he was away. But, after years of secretive missions and being on the good side of the majority of the competitors, the fear went away. Regardless, Eddie was still on edge right now. “You’ll be just fine. I promise not to do anything drastic for the next twelve hours,” you offered the man next to you a sweet smile which he treasured.

“No jumping from balcony to balcony, or reaching high shelves, or using scissors that are too sharp.” Eddie sarcastically said as the two of you reached your bedroom door.

“I’ll try my best not to do that,” you giggled as you opened the door to your room slowly. The handle was held tightly in your hand, almost like you were anxious to do something. Your bodyguard noticed it, but brushed it off as nerves regarding an exam you’ve been studying for. “Good night, Mr. Mu—Eddie.”

“Sweet dreams, Princess.”

With that, you closed the door behind you and Eddie was left on his lonesome to walk towards the security footage room to watch over the cameras for the night. Even during regular days, not much would happen in the first place. You were always one to stay in your room to study and spend most of the evening, maybe head to the library to use the new computer and printer down there, or sit in the terrace to paint. In truth, the most dangerous situation you could possibly put yourself in is a really bad paper cut, or whenever you cut up fruit in the kitchen — even then, you would use a regular dinner knife so the chance of injury was minimal. Overall, Eddie thought his job was pretty easy. Although, a part of him misses chasing the rockstar dream; but, this is more than enough thrill whilst he kept a low profile.

Tonight, he was even told to just sit in the security room and just make rounds every hour to see if you and the other workers in the house were alright. But, it was when he heard a weird cry echoing from the window, the man looked outside to see what could be happening. It sounded like a pattern of cries and groans coming from above: your room to be exact.

Fuck.

Of course, the one time he’s left in charge, you got yourself hurt. Eddie was already preparing himself for the berating from the head security guards for letting the precious daughter of the Boss to be wounded in her own room. And so, with a slight panic, he began to run up the stairs and head to your room at the end of the hall. The door was closed and there wasn’t any glow of a light being on from behind the door. But, the sounds were getting louder, there was even a repetitive creaking noise. Could you be in so much agony that you were trembling on the bed? The worst thoughts ran through Eddie’s head as he reached for the door handle and twisted it open.

It was dark, only the soft glow of a lava lamp barely lighting the room and reflecting on your soft skin. For a moment, Eddie had to squint to see the whole visual. When he did, he swore his heart dropped.

There you were, like a glowing goddess, straddling a pillow, naked, and rocking against it harshly. Your hands were on the headboard for more leverage, causing it to hit the wall furthest away from the door. Just seeing your back was already enough for Eddie to feel weak at his knees. If he moved his head slightly, he could see your reflection in the mirror next to your bed, which showed a very focused face. Combine that with the sound of soft moans and whimpers echoing through the air. It was a sight for sore eyes.

What made the image a thousand times more pornographic was the slight hum coming from your bed. It was a bit mechanical and had a slight pattern to it too that sounded familiar to Eddie.

He really wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. There was one side of him that told him to walk away and forget about it. It’s not like he was an angel every other night before bed too. But, God, he knows that you have never been on a date or had a boyfriend before — you admitted it once when he joked around with you in the car, asking if he needed to third wheel any date that you are asked out on. But, you profusely said no and that he doesn’t need to prepare for that since it has never happened yet and may not happen for a while. The dirtiest of thoughts ran through Eddie’s mind as he thought about how sweet you were, and how you were absolutely losing your calm demeanor as you continued to hump and moan atop your bed. He began to wonder what it would be like to help you out with your little workout. You seemed to be a bit frustrated; whispering ‘it’s not working’ over and over.

Eddie would definitely help you make it work, there was no doubt about that. However, that would cross more lines than an HR department could even think of. So, he moved away slowly; however, the sound of the floorboards creaking echoed so loudly that it made you and him freeze every muscle in your bodies.

Something in you said to grab your blanket and put it over your shoulders; whilst Eddie’s body seemed to think for itself. Instead of running away and pretending that nothing happened, he walked into your room, making sure to close the door quietly afterwards.

“Does daddy know about your little toy?” he said, walking towards the bed.

“E-Eddie—” you gasped, turning your body around to catch his eye before freezing in place. The pillow between your legs was being squished so much that it caused the little piece of vibrating plastic to press firmly on your clit beautifully.

You didn’t know whether to cry out of embarrassment or scream from the pure ecstasy of the moment.

“And here I thought you were hurt. Your cries could be heard all the way downstairs. But they don’t seem like bad ones,” the chuckle that escaped his throat was deep and resonated throughout your entire body.

“You heard?” it was barely a whisper that fell from your lips. Your eyes followed his figure as he came to kneel next to your bed. Although you were covering yourself with a blanket; you still felt so exposed, yet excited simultaneously.

The man looked up at you as he placed a gentle hand on your exposed left thigh. “Next time, don’t open your window when you wanna be a naughty girl.”

It was all Eddie's fault in your opinion. Honestly, ever since he began working for your father, things have been the opposite of normal. The other bodyguards would drive you to college to attend whatever class was on the schedule, then drive you home so that you didn’t need to take a taxi. Maybe they would bring you to the store if you needed to buy school supplies or a gift for someone’s birthday. But, other than that, you were content with the schedule that you had gotten used to. All of them were old, close to your father’s age, and boring — to be completely frank. However, when you were eating breakfast one day and your father mentioned the news of wanting a new bodyguard on the roster, there was no inkling in your mind that he was going to be hiring someone who was your age. No need to get started on the way all the heat in your body rushed to your face when you first saw him. Anyways, the way you always choked on your cereal whenever Eddie would walk into the dining room everyday to greet you with a good morning before telling you it was time to leave, was more than enough of a reaction to prove that you had a tiny crush on the man.

Eddie just had to call you ‘Princess’ jokingly, brush his hand on your waist whenever he needed to guide you around, whisper quietly in your ear when you two were walking to the car — as if he couldn’t say it out loud like a normal person. Every single one of those actions were so sweet, something you had never experienced before. He was so different than your sheltered-self, and you easily fell for the care-free man who acted as mature as possible when the other security guards were around.

For countless nights you wondered what it would be like if his hands brushed a little lower than your waist, or if he could call you sweet pet names in different scenarios. Mostly, you dreamt about him being your ride home in more ways than one.

It was so perverted to even think of someone like that, let alone a man who worked for your father. But, you wanted to feel good, needed it even. So many of your friends talked about hooking up with different guys across campus and how it helped with stress-relief during exams. A part of you wished you had the courage to call Eddie over to help you during your study breaks. Instead, you chose to fill your free time with a romance book and the toy a friend gave you last week.

Guilt started to build within you now. Your thoughts were so impure, your actions even more so. But, what made you feel guiltiest of all was that you were caught in the act the very first time you decided to commit the act in the first place.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you whispered, noticing that he moved to sit on the bed facing you.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said sweetly. Eddie put a soft hand on your chin to try and get you to look him in the eye. But, truly, he wanted to see how beautiful they could be with the moonlight in them.

Pushing yourself back, you moved from his touch. “This is so embarrassing.”

It became more embarrassing when the sound of vibrations suddenly became louder and stronger because of the change in angle. You felt the impact right on your sensitive clit. It became a lot more painful to keep down just how good you were starting to truly feel. Eddie’s touch only helped you reach your end goal faster.

The man in front of you had the same thought, but decided to tease you sweetly. “Why so? Is it because I caught you? No, I think you like that, sweet girl,” he said whilst inching his face closer to yours, a calloused hand massaging your left thigh simultaneously. “Or is it because you’ve been trying to make yourself cum all night with no avail?”

“How did you—”

“Oh, I would know. There was no scream, no muffled noises of you moaning into your pillow, no heavy breaths that went silent for a moment. Look at you now, you didn’t even take your pretty pussy off this toy the second you saw me,” he said. His hand found its way to your inner thigh, barely touching your dripping heat. However, Eddie did feel the cotton of the pillow and how soaked it was from all your actions earlier tonight.

In truth, most of it was because of him. Not only the imaginary version in your perverted dreams; but also the continuous touches through the conversation that electrocuted all your senses and went straight to your pussy. Then, there was the fact that Eddie spoke with his lips so close to yours. Every syllable caused the lightest pressure on your glossy lips. Trying not to give in to both of your desires to lean in was the most difficult task of the night.

“Help me,” you whimpered, the vibrations from the toy getting stronger now.

“What was that?” he teased, a hand massaging further up your left thigh.

“Help me, Eddie. I need you to help me so badly.” The words fell from your lips desperately, sounding as if you were about to cry.

However, the man in front of you kissed your cheek sweetly before leaning back against the headboard. He noticed the way you shivered slightly at the cold air — your blanket only covering your chest and stomach mainly, as it fell from your shoulders a bit. Knowing that you were in such a naughty state in comparison to what you normally portrayed yourself as, was absolutely arousing to Eddie. He didn’t even hide his growing hardness beneath his black dress pants.

You have never thanked the tailor your father hired more in your entire life.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said in a deep tone.

“Well, I opened this toy today and read all the instructions,” you answered truthfully whilst clutching the blanket closer to your body. “After following everything to a tee, I still don’t think I’m doing this right.”

“You seemed to be having fun along the way,” he teased as he heard you whimper between some of your words.

“I suppose so,” you nodded along, moving your hips slightly as he spoke to you.

“So what’s stopping you?”

In truth, you were on the edge of three things: annoyance, an orgasm, and annoyance due to not having an orgasm. So your body tensed up a bit, causing the toy to be pressed up against your clit even more — it made you whine a bit as you said, “more like who.”

“Well, if it’s my fault I guess I have to help you now. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Eddie teased, bringing up both hands to cup your face.

“Please,” you whispered.

Then, both of you leaned forward at once, capturing each other’s lips in a beautiful kiss that could hardly be seen as chaste. It was a kiss that had been waiting to happen for weeks. To say that this is what dreams were made of would be an understatement. For countless nights, Eddie has woken up in a sweat as he pictured your soft lips on his own, and other parts of his body too.

“You look like an angel, holy fuck,” Eddie whispered his thoughts aloud as he brought his right hand down to push the blanket away, whilst his right hand involuntarily started to move on its own to grasp your waist and urge it to move atop the vibrator.

“Feels nice when you do that,” you sweetly giggled and moaned.

“How do you like this?” He asked, squeezing your nipple between two fingers. “Such pretty tits, they’re begging to be sucked on. You’d like that, wouldn't you?”

“Y-yes, please.”

They’ve been hard all evening from a mixture of the cold and your intimate thoughts. However, just thinking about Eddie sucking on them was making you clench between your legs. Even these few moments with your bodyguard were much more successful in your pursuit of a climax than what you’ve experienced on your own.

“Always so polite,” he teased in a voice that vibrated through your body alongside the piece of plastic on your clit. Your hands were on his neck even as he moved down towards your breasts, noting how Eddie really enjoyed it when you lightly tugged on his hair.

“O-off, take this off,” you tugged on the back of his shirt this time.

“You know what you want, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you said shyly as he sweetly teased you.

You had always admired Eddie’s tattoos and muscles. But that was something you saw under the flourescent lights of the gym. This time, as he sat in front of you with the glow of your lamp next to him — he was genuinely glowing. Plus, the fact that he was wearing extremely well-fitted pants made him look like he was right out of those fashion magazines where they tried to showcase the pants and abs of the model. Only, Eddie looked so much more god-like than them.

“Move your hips, doll. Come on, you can take it, I know you want that too,” the man whispered upon your lips after taking off his shirt and then moved his way down to kiss your hardened nipples.

“It’s so strong, you’re so strong,” referring to the toy’s strengthening vibrations and him. But, you let your body move on its own to whatever felt right.

The toy was doing a little pattern beneath you, so you moved forwards and backwards in order to see if you could match the intensity of it. Eddie got closer to you, his knee going on top of the pillow and right in between your legs. If he moved it an inch closer to your body, he would be able to move the toy slightly and see your reactions. And so, he did, in between kisses — wanting to drink up your moans of ecstasy, then massaging your tongue with his every time you gasped in pleasure.

This was the most intense moment you’ve ever experienced with another man. When you lost your virginity a few years ago, it was a one and done type of situation for the guy. While you laid there wanting to crave more, he told you how good you were, then left for the night. So later, even all of the times you’ve tried to use a shower head or your fingers, nothing has ever made you feel this way. You could nearly cry as the amount of vibrations going through your body increased.

Once Eddie began to kiss down your neck and you tugged the back of his hair without realizing it, he said, “feisty girl.”

“Can you please touch me there—ah,” you moaned as Eddie bit your neck

“I can’t do that, sweetheart. You have to do this for yourself. Give into all your needs and desires, self-pleasure is one of the greatest things in the world,” Eddie continued to tease you as his hands roamed your body.

When his hands landed on your hips, he started to help rock them for you. The vibrations felt so good that you started to tremble; however, something within you wanted so badly to see him shiver as well. So, you moved your own hands slowly — from his shoulders to his stomach, then brushed over his obvious hardness, all before landing on his thigh that was between your legs. “B-but, please —”

“So needy, huh?” Eddie could see the desperation in your nearly tear-filled eyes. “You’re soaking the pillow too.”

“Too strong,” you nearly screamed out as the man before you moved the pillow slightly to angle the toy on another part of your clit.

“Go on, you can do it, Princess.”

“Keep touching me, I need you to, please.” This time, you kissed his neck and began to suck on his pulse point; copying what he was doing to you earlier.

Fuck — you were going to kill him tonight. If not you, then the way he’s about to cum in his pants would surely knock him out.

“Will do, just keep going,” Eddie grunted before gently pulling you off of his neck in order to look you in the eyes. “Do what feels right. Tell me what you were doing before I came here,” he kissed you gently as you moaned into his mouth again since a wave of pleasure took over.

“I-I thought you were busy, then, I started reading this book. It talks about the couple h-having relations.”

“Sex?” he chuckled as you got shy now of all times.

“Yes, uh-uhm, and then I started to feel warm right here,” you grabbed his wrist and dragged it towards your core. Eddie knew exactly what you were doing.

“Oh, my naughty girl. This spot?”

With his ringed-fingers he brushed them over your clit quickly because you deserved a little treat. But, he went further down to touch the toy and move it close and away from your clit at a massaging pattern. He adored how wet you were, and it took every ounce of strength within the man not to lay you down and have a taste until you could orgasm in his mouth instead. Alas, that was for another time. For now, he would memorize the feeling of your slick pussy for when he took care of his problem later. For now, he would treasure every time you whimpered through swollen lips because it was his mouth that helped ruin your lipstick.

“Yes,” you whispered as you grasped his arm for balance. “And then I just put my toy on top of the pillow because my friends say they love using their pillow to r-ride.”

“Look at you, already a pro,” he teasingly smiled.

“Eddie,” you moaned louder as you grounded your hips against the toy and pillow. “I wanna ride you so bad. I’ve always wanted to try this position when I had sex for the first time, but the guy never let me,” you continued your little pillow humping confessional.

“He’s an asshole, I would let you ride me until your thighs gave in,” Eddie said with a jealous tone. He really shouldn’t have been because you weren’t his partner. You were also the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, the fact shouldn’t have surprised him so much. However, knowing that another man only wanted to focus on his own pleasure, made Eddie want to scoff.

Now, you can’t say the first guy was bad at all — he was just never able to get you to where you really needed to go. You never arched your back towards the ceiling because you couldn’t handle the throbbing between your legs; you never had to bite your lip to suppress a moan that would echo through the halls because he didn’t do much to make you be loud; you never scratched his back with your perfectly manicured nails because you needed to let out your waves of pleasure. Not with Eddie though, if anything, he was going to have a scratch or five on different parts of his skin for the next little while. You prayed that no one would notice it if they were training together; however, that was a worry for another time. All you wanted to think about now were the upcoming vibrations and how it would feel when you orgasm for the first time.

“Will you cum with me, Eddie? I’m so lonely,” you pouted, wanting him to feel pleasure just as much as you were.

“Keep going, just like that,” Eddie nodded, then leaned back onto the headboard to admire you in the final minutes before your climax.

The whine from your throat hurt the man as you didn’t feel the warmth of his skin anymore. You leaned your hands on the pillow for leverage, moving your hips harshly to feel an immense level of pleasure in front of him. But, you craved Eddie’s touch so badly that you bit your lip and rested a hand on his knee and squeezed it every time the vibrations became too much.

“Help,” you whispered.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” Eddie groaned as he massaged his hand over his clothed-hardness. “Is your pussy throbbing while you ride your pretty little toy?”

“So much,” the whimper fell from your lips as you continued to slowly thrust against the toy imagining what it would be like if it was Eddie beneath you and not a small piece of plastic.

“I can't wait until I stretch you out. You’d take me like a champ.”

Right then, Eddie unbuckled his pants just enough for you to see that he hadn’t been wearing any boxers beneath. The trail of hair leading towards his hardness was tantalizing, nearly a guide along with his muscles to point to the place you were so curious about.

Once he noticed that you were hypnotized at the thought of what was going to happen next, the man in front of you stopped his movements to look you in the eyes then roam them down to your core. You got the message and wanted to give your bodyguard a little show. With confidence taking over your body, you sat back up and put both hands on your thighs. Eddie swears that this was a pose right out of his favourite porn magazine — only you looked a thousand times better with swollen lips and sweat glistening your skin in the dimly-lit room.

“I’d like that a lot,” you whispered in between bounces.

“Prove it for me, squeeze your tits for me,” Eddie urged you to do so, moving his hands to push his dress pants further down. Just the short glimpse of his cock was enough motivation for you to touch your hardened nipples in front of him.

“Oh, oh,” you giggled at how good it felt.

“Feels nice, right?” the man in front of you finally put his hands around his cock and you swear your mouth started to water at the sight.

Throughout your life, you always giggled alongside any friends at a party who mentioned hookups or flings — all you could ever do was imagine how things looked and felt though, since most of what you did with your previous partner was in the dark and done quickly in the middle of the night. Never once did you think that they were being honest when they talked about the length and girth of the different members they’ve seen.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Now, as you stared at Eddie in awe of the size of him, you were so wrong to think that they could be exaggerating. Some guys really did have the cock that dirty dreams were made of. As Eddie massaged himself in front of you, you noticed the small details about him. From the colour, to the vein, to the way his balls looked so squishy and large as they laid on his thighs. Fuck, you really did feel like a pervert staring at it for so long and imagining how it would feel like if he was stretching you out right now. Instead, your pussy throbbed at the thought, making you knead your breasts harder and push yourself further upon the vibrator beneath you.

“I think I like your mouth more,” you said in your trance, knowing your fingers weren’t as soft as his tongue.

“Fuck,” Eddie whimpered as he marched his hands’ movements with your bounces on the pillow. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, I think so—ah,” you reached one hand to lay on his knee for leverage as he moved closer to you so that he could massage your thigh with his free hand.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Come all over your pillow and you’ll get a kiss,” Eddie’s breath tingled on your lips as he teased you, his mouth so close to yours whilst his hand got closer to your core.

You pouted as he began to kiss your cheek and neck but never your needy lips. But, you didn’t have time to be slightly sad, as you felt Eddie’s fingers reach your centre and push the toy onto you. Moans and whines fell from your throat simultaneously as everything began to work in tandem to make you climax — one that you’ve been craving for so long.

“It’s too much,” you whispered as you felt yourself clench harder and harder, as if your body was getting ready for something.

“Almost there,” Eddie said in a deep voice into your ear. “I got you,” he said as he pushed it again and again, trying to match it with the hand on his cock.

The man was so close to orgasming right now, his imagination allowing him to feel your slickness on him. Eddie was chanting a prayer in his head that he could hold on until you came first. In truth, he wanted the image of you finding the climax of your pleasure to be burned into his brain forever. And so, he did everything he could to help you get there — you so desperately needed it. With kisses to your neck, his hand now on your hip to help you ride out your incoming orgasm; you came. Hard.

Moans of ecstasy filled the room as you found your bliss next to him. Eddie made the fist around his cock harder to imagine it was you who was clenching around him right now. Then, your voice whispered above him.

“Kiss me, please—”

“So good, so beautiful,” Eddie obliged happily. “Fuck, how are you glowing right now?”

“Eddie, more,” you begged into his lips.

“I-I, fuck , you’re—” it was Eddie’s turn to become incoherent as he could feel his climax coming.

You smiled on his lips, slowing your own movements now to watch him. “Are you gonna cum for me too, Eddie?”

That was it.

One look in your eyes and those words falling from your lips was more than enough for him to cum in his hand. You both stayed there, sitting up and kissing each other’s lips sweetly as you both basked in the post-climax bliss.

Eddie thanked God that you had a pretty tissue box on your bedside table, which he was able to use to clean himself up a bit, before holding your face as he kissed you. He noticed that you kept on whimpering and moaning into the kiss still; however, you tried to lift your body up from the pillow. You were so sensitive down there now, that although the vibrations felt so nice, you were getting a bit tired from the previous experience.

So, with one hand, Eddie took out the toy from underneath you and turned it off whilst still kissing you.

“I’ve dreamed about this a million times before and it’s better than I ever could have imagined,” he said into your lips, and then looked down to see the little pink piece of plastic that brought you to orgasm. It was soaked with all your juices, and Eddie’s intrusive thoughts told him to have a taste. But your soft voice brought him out of a haze.

“You dream about me?”

“Every night,” he smiled before laying the toy on the bedside table and involuntarily licking one of his fingers.

“Am I dreaming now?” you lightly gasped at his actions.

The man savoured the taste quickly before kissing you again and laying you down on the fluffy pillows. “Not at all.”

As you lay on the bed on top of light grey sheets, Eddie swears that you are officially the closest to an angel he has ever stood near. The soft light reflecting on your sheets and skin made you look like you were glowing, with a halo on your head as you basked in the post-orgasmic bliss. The moment you looked up at him with soft eyes, he promised himself that he would do anything to experience this moment over and over.

With a touch to the side of his face, you smiled at the way his eyes focused on everything about you, just as you did the same. “Would what we did tonight happen in a wet dream? Because it sure does feel that way,” you giggled as you got comfortable with him laying slightly on top of you.

“Well, then let me help clean you up,” Eddie kissed you deeply again, adoring the way this angle allowed him to hold your body, and feel every time you arched your back up slightly to feel each other’s skin again. When you moaned into his mouth after he squeezed your ass gently, Eddie smiled against your lips.

“I can grab a towel from the washroom,” you whispered as he moved down to kiss your neck, a move he found you loved so much that it made your hips meet up to massage your heat against his thigh for some semblance of extra relief.

“No, no, we don’t need that just yet,” he mentioned as his voice vibrated through your entire body. The second the words were said, Eddie began to allow his lips to roam down your body, kissing your stomach before looking up at you. “Because I’ve dreamed about kissing you in one other place, only if you would want me to, of course.”

It was in that moment that you both realized that dreams had their own way of coming true, and it was all part of fate's plan. If someone were to tell the former Dealer that after years of living in a town he wanted to run away from, he was able to do so and find a high-job, he would never believe you. If the reason he was able to find someone he found peace with, was all because of a slip of paper with an address, he would never believe you. That although, right now, as you lay in bed with him, he thought he was going to wake up from one of the greatest dreams he has ever had. Yet, he wasn't dreaming in the slightest. This was his real life, a life he was able to treasure all thanks to a book he found in a cabin on the lake.

-:-:-:-:-

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tonberry-yoda · 2 years ago

Note

I would like to request something, More like a comedy/fun/silly request :3

So... Have you ever thought about how would Alastor, Husk, Angel Dust and Lucifer would react to their female s/o calling for them in a visibly mad tone for their complete name from the kitchen?? Maybe them knowing that they didn't thawed the chicken they try and run away from her but she teleports in front of them and tuggs them from the ear (motherly behaviors entered the chat) while saying something like

"Oh, honey, you're not gonna escape from me, and NOW you're gonna clean the house for ONE WEEK"

(in headcanon format please 😌) (also I rode on one of your posts that you got many HH and HB requests so if you wanna ignore this, go ahead I don't really mind, It's your decision ^^)

notes: OMG ANON THIS IS SO FUNNY! sorry this took so long btw, ive had so many requests to get through lol and this is a pretty difficult idea to actually turn into a writing piece, but that's what makes it more fun lol. and dont worry about the too many requests about HH! I just thought it was interesting that i had a lot of fans of the show lol. thanks for the request anon and I really hope you enjoy!! WARNINGS: I left out Lucifer because I don't know too much about him and kept the reader gn because Angel Dust is gay, so I didn't want to make it a female s/o. thanks for the request <333

ALASTOR

this man isnt easily intimidated by anyone

i mean he is the radio demon frrrr

but you?

oh this man is TERRIFIED OF YOU

not when you're lovey dovey, just when you're mad

which to be fair isnt often

but you went to leave the house and pressed a huge kiss onto Alastor's cheek before leaving. You told him that you wanted him to do the dishes while you were away and he gave you a thumbs up telling you that it would get done

but then you get home

and find out that not a single plate was clean

Alastor was relaxing upstairs and you were on the verge of losing

not helpful that you had an awful day on top of it

you called him by his full and complete name from when he was alive and while he was upstairs, he felt chills down his spine

he quickly ran downstairs and realized the mistake he had made a little too late

"do you expect me to do these, Al? you've been sitting on your ass ALL DAY, I am not doing any of this!" You pointed to the huge pile of dished and Alastor felt defeated

he apologized a thousand times and ended up getting them done both clean and fast in record time

and he bought you flowers to apologize

HUSK

you were at work when you remembered you needed the chicken pulled out of the freezer to thaw

you quickly texted husk and asked him to do it and all he sent was a thumbs up emoji

you prayed that he did what he needed to do

you got home in a very chipper mood from your day at work to find no chicken on the counter

you tilted your head and checked all over the kitchen

in the pantry, on the counter, in the cabinets, in the fridge

and finally

in the freezer

you almost lost your shit right then and there

you called Husk down to the kitchen and he walked in, picking at his fingernail before noticing you there

"hey babe, welcome home."

you crossed your arms and he noticed how pissed you look

shit

the chicken

mans went to run off, but you quickly teleported in front of him and grabbed him by the ear

"oh no you dont, mister. where do you think you're going?"

"to my room?" he tried, shrugging

"not on my watch. it looks like you're not only getting me dinner out tonight, but you'll be doing the dishes for three weeks now."

husk sighed, but agreed to your terms. he hated it when you were upset

ANGEL DUST

omg mans is a brat

let me tell you

you wake up in the morning smiling

like so happy that you had the best sleep cuddled against this softie

and then you remember that you have a super important meeting that day

and then you ask angel in the NICEST voice "do you mind getting the dishes out of the way today, love? I have a meeting today."

he shoots you the DIRTIEST look and has the AUDACITY to say "no. im not up for that. Im tired"

and turns away from you

you poke him so hard in the back

"ANGEL!"

"what?!" but he turns to you and recognizes that expression

mans effed up

he apologizes immediately and then tells you that he'll do them

he doesnt end up doing them btw

~~~~~

hazbin hotel masterlist | pinned post @tonberry-yoda

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bi-bard · 2 years ago

Text

You'll Be the Oxygen I Need - Jay Halstead Imagine [Chicago PD]

Title: You'll Be the Oxygen I Need

Pairing: Jay Halstead X Reader

Based On: Tethered

Word Count: 1,050 words

Warning(s): nightmares, mention of kidnapping

Summary: After a case takes a bad turn, Jay is taken hostage by the very person that the team had been chasing. The peace of getting him back only lasts for a few hours before the aftereffects start to rear their ugly head.

Author's Note: I don't really have anything to say... hi!

Part One of "April" [Release Date: 5/3/2023]

Part Three of "April" [Release Date: 5/7/2023]

YEARBOOK - SLEEPING AT LAST WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

-----------------

I could remember so much of the case so clearly.

I could remember every choice I made. Every word spoken and path taken and mistake made.

I could remember the fear that consumed my entire body when no one could find Jay. I remember shaking and feeling like my entire body had frozen over.

I couldn't move for a little while. I just went completely numb as my mind raced through a thousand nightmares, all of them ending with me losing Jay forever.

I was snapped out of it in a matter of minutes. My freezing was of no use to anyone.

I didn't rest for a moment. I barely ate and when I did, I was still working. I didn't sit down at all. I didn't sleep at all. My defense was that he didn't get the chance to sleep, so I couldn't either.

Jay spent a few days in the hospital after we found him.

I spent my few hours away from his side cleaning our place and making some food and treats so he had something nice when he got back.

Driving him home was a strange experience. Just a matter of days ago, I was scared that I'd never see him again. Now, I was glancing over at him in my passenger seat. He was sitting there and grinning at me like nothing had ever happened.

"You alright," Jay asked after a few minutes.

I blinked a few times. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"Really?" he pushed.

"You just got out of the hospital and you're worrying about me?"

He nodded. "Yup."

"Well, stop it."

"Nope," he replied. "Worrying about you is kind of my thing. And you just spent days worrying about me."

I reached over and laid my hand over his. "I am perfectly fine. I understand that you like taking care of me, but it's my turn to take care of you, got it? Let me do the checking in for a while."

"Okay."

I pulled his hand over and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

We got home a few minutes later. Jay went to change and go to bed, grumbling about how hard it was to sleep in that hospital bed. I grabbed some water and a little bit of food and put them on the bedside table.

Once I knew that he was settled and that his phone was nearby, I was ready to walk away.

He grabbed my hand. "Where are you going?"

"I was gonna call Voight and let him know what's going on," I explained. "Probably go try to finish up some work. I kinda abandoned it for a few days."

"Can that wait," he asked. "Lay down with me."

I grinned. "Let me at least call Voight. Then, I'm all yours."

He nodded, letting my hand go.

When I came back, Jay was half-asleep. He blinked a few extra times, trying to look a little more awake than he was.

"You can go to sleep," I chuckled as I crawled under the covers with him.

"Wanted to wait for you," he pulled me closer to him, resting his head on my chest with his arms tight around my torso. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I mumbled, running my finger along the hair on the back of his neck.

I wasn't sure that I would ever be able to doze off. I was still just so worried. Worried that I would open my eyes and he would be missing again. Still gone or taken again or that we found him and he had already been killed. The thought made it hard for me to feel safe enough to close my eyes.

I spent most of that time checking on him. Watching his breathing and waiting for the moment that I needed to jump up and help with something.

I had barely let my mind drift away from me when I was pushed awake. I jumped a bit, not fully comprehending what was happening at first. I shoved myself up.

Jay was pushed against the headboard, breathing frantic and eyes wide.

"Jay..."

He looked over at me. I moved to sit next to him, facing him properly. It took a few seconds for him to react to my presence, but when he did, he dragged himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around me. He hid his face in my shoulder, trying to hide that he had started crying.

"It's alright," I mumbled. "I've got you. I promise. I'm here."

I didn't stop whispering my quiet, comforting messages until I heard him trying to speak.

"Hey," I leaned back, cupping the sides of his face so he would look at me. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Hey, hey," I ran my thumbs along his cheekbones. "You don't need to apologize. You have no reason to apologize for any of this. I promise. You have nothing to feel sorry about. I am here to help you and take care of you. That's not a one-way thing."

I saw his shoulders fall.

I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. His hands moved up to hold mine in place. I kept my lips pressed to his forehead for a few more seconds before leaning back.

"Do you wanna talk about it," I asked.

Jay shook his head.

"Do you need anything at all?"

"I just... I want to go back to sleep," he mumbled.

I glanced at the window. We had gotten home sometime in the afternoon, but it was completely dark now.

"Okay," I nodded.

I let my hands fall from his face so he could lie down. He laid on his back, eyes trained on bouncing around different spots along the ceiling.

I laid next to him. I grabbed one of his hands and brought it up so I could kiss the back of it. He turned to me. I grinned at him.

"I love you," I said as I moved closer to him.

"I love you too."

My other arm wrapped around his torso. His free hand touched my forearm, gently tracing a line back and forth along my skin.

All I wanted to do was bring him some peace. The same peace that he had offered me so many times.

Maybe one day I would finally feel like I had.

-----------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

#imagine #x reader #fanfiction #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd x reader #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #one chicago x reader #one chicago fanfiction #one chicago imagine

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 7 months ago

Text

So, we need to go back and talk to Joyce.

The reason I missed this before is that this topic only opens up after Joyce moves her boat to the village...

But it's *about* something we found out long before that.

🎵 Disco Elysium, Pt. 2

JOYCE MESSIER - "You're back. Good." She takes a sip from her silvery thermal cup. "What can I help you with?"

2. "So I've been dealing with Evrart again..."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Oh," she raises her brow as to say -- *and*?

"Ma'am, this whole thing is a takeover."

"That money you gave me -- would that make things... *weird*? If I shared information, I mean?"

"Mr. Evrart helped me find my gun."

"I helped him turn up the heat on the borscht."

"He asked me to open a door."

"He asked me to deliver an envelope."

"I'd rather talk about something else for now, if you don't mind." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Stupendous!" She nods, more than a bit surprised. "I didn't think he'd pull through."

"Check it out!" (Pull out your gun.)

"No need to flash my gun around. Let's just say I have it now. Thank god." (Pat your gun.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "That's beautiful..." She inspects it.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Keeping her calm, perfect posture. Her eyes move across the muzzle keenly.

JOYCE MESSIER - "A Villiers 9mm, front loaded? Two or three barrelled..."

"Three. It was not easy to get this gun back, I'll tell you that."

Say nothing.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Mhm," she nods. "Villiers & La Salle was one of the original 14 indotribes of Revachol, did you know? Artillery and ballistics. Before the Revolution of course, they belong to some Gottwalders now."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - She phrases it as if it's a pity. She *also* phrases it as a transition out of you waving your gun around.

JOYCE MESSIER - "What else? It helps to sometimes hold inventory of the things you've achieved, you know." A smile. "Clears the soul."

+5 XP

"Ma'am, this whole thing is a takeover."

JOYCE MESSIER - "A takeover?"

"Yes. It's not a strike. You aren't being let in because there's nothing to negotiate. The Union is taking the terminal."

"He has told me so in his own words -- he's taking it. He'll also use the drug trade to finance the harbour."

JOYCE MESSIER - "If they're *taking* it..." She look toward the colourful mountain of crates, like toy blocks rising above Martinaise.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - Green livery changing into red, blot by blot.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Like a cancer of the blood, metastasising...

Level up!

JOYCE MESSIER - "Then we're talking about a *war*. Evrart needs to let me into the harbour at once. We need to talk about this."

"He's ready for a war. They all are."

"The war *is* their goal. I told you before -- Evrart has always wanted this to escalate."

"I can ask him to let you in."

JOYCE MESSIER - "No," her eyes return to you. "It's naive of me. He sent you -- this *is* the negotiation now."

"And if he does not avert his course it will be a war negotiation, detectives."

2. "The war *is* their goal. I told you before -- Evrart has always wanted this to escalate."

JOYCE MESSIER - "An insane goal." Her eyes return to you. "Krenel has a thousand men on their payroll. The next batch will be a platoon of twenty men and a gunship, the one after that, a hundred."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I've seen the Union's forces. They're better organized than these mercenaries. They also have the support of the people of Revachol West."

"It will take more than Krenel to wipe them out. Wild Pines will need to send more and better-equipped men. Make no mistake, ma'am…"

"I am sure you have the money. The question is how many years and how many lives are you willing to sacrifice?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "What do you suggest I do?"

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] - Does it matter? Her mind's made up. It has been for some time. The choice was whether to *tell* her this. And you've already made it.

"First, will this affect your decision making process?"

"It's not the RCM's job to make these decisions."

"The workers should have the harbour."

"Cut off the snake's head. Evrart's pushing all this."

"It's a bluff. Call it. Have them open fire and see how long they last."

"Bring in everything you have and wipe them from the face of the earth."

(Look at your wrist.) "It's apocalypse o' clock. Time to commence the Gloaming."

"I wish there was a *disco* option."

"You've already made up your mind, ma'am. What is it?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Everything affects the decision making process, detective."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Officer..." The look on the lieutenant's face conveys uncertainty. He doesn't even sound angry.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - For once, I don't seem to know what the right thing to do is.

8. "I wish there was a *disco* option."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'm afraid we won't disco our way out of this one..." she says, with considerable regret.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #joyce messier #harrier du bois

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years ago

Text

~ MLB Curious Gazes ~

prompt: four different situations where people have run into or hung out with MLB!H - told from their perspective.

word: 6k +

warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

If you enjoyed this please - reblog, like, recommend, comment, and inbox me to chat about it!

please consider donating to my kofi - my work is FREE and it is a great way to show support!

enjoy!

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Doctor’s Office

Aubrey couldn’t believe her eyes as she sat in her uncomfortable, too small chair in the empty waiting room at the OBGYN office in the early hours of the morning.

She was sitting alone with her baby boy sitting in his carrier on the floor - it was his nine month checkup and it was taking forever to be seen.

The woman was sitting, scrolling on her phone when out of her peripheral she saw an extremely - like extremely handsome man step into the area with a carrier.

Aubrey was a married woman but holy shit this guy was hot- without even trying is the thing.

He had on a New York Yankees Nike hoodie and a pair of Nike athletic shorts with some calf length Blake Nike socks and trainers.

In the carrier was a fresh little baby, couldn’t be older than three months who was bundled up with a sunflower headband on.

The man was multitasking with a curly haired toddler on his other hip as he finds a seat a little bit down from Aubrey on the opposite side.

His wife was standing up at the check-in and of course it made sense that she was absolutely beautiful as well even though Aubrey could relate to how tired she looked.

The woman still had a small bit of her pregnancy bump left signifying that the baby was indeed very very new to the world.

She keeps glancing over at the man, he looks so familiar but she would remember if she had even met someone that handsome.

Then the context clues hit her, his hoodie, his toddler son was also in a little Yankees hoodie that matched his fathers and Aubrey googled quickly.

Her eyes flitted throughout the recent articles.

Styles’ Alleged $65 Million Dollar Bonus

Hot Head Harry Styles - how he managed to start three bench clearing brawls in one game!

Breaking Records and Bats - Styles manages to break his own record in the same season followed by breaking a bat in celebration

Holy shit.

She could help but watch them - this was much more interesting than reading a magazine.

Aubrey didn’t follow baseball but Harry had turned celebrity status and was this well known cocky dickhead to the media - women and men loved and drooled over him for his looks and his skills.

Right now, he sat down with his two babies - the boy looked exactly like Harry, it was quite unbelievable from the curly locks to mossy green eyes that was copy and paste.

Harry was currently tucking an applesauce pouch between his lips and guiding the boy's small hands to hold it for himself.

“Good job, ,” He murmurs in the dead quiet waiting room as he tucks him further into the crook of his arm.

Harry looks up to his wife who joins them, she is a bit in awe when Aubrey sees him palm a bit at her bloated belly and whisper, “Y’look gorgeous today, mama.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but frown, she wished her husband did that.

YN sits down, leaning her head on his shoulder - Aubrey didn’t know her but she seems tired - of course she was a new mother.

The silence is broken when a nurse comes out and with an apologetic face says, “I’m sorry, we are running really behind today. It might be another thirty minutes,” before shutting the door again.

Harry kisses his wife’s forehead before wrapping his unoccupied arm around her shoulder, a flashing gold band on his ring finger.

Aubrey zones off for a little when her son wakes up, rocking the carrier a few times before he settles again.

She’s brought back to the couple when she hears a sniffle comes from Harry’s wife and his face turned towards hers, hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Mama, she’s so healthy. There’s nothin’ to worry about, did a perfect job growing her in y’belly. I know these check-ups make you anxious but nothin’ is gonna be wrong,” He soothes, a near whisper because of how quiet the room is and he didn’t want to disrupt.

“I just don’t know if she’s been getting enough milk, it’s so hard to tell,” YN replies sadly, like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Y’kidding me? She’s our chunkiest baby - look at those little rolls. She’s on y’tits more than any of the boys including me,” He jokes softly, obviously trying to make her feel better.

It seems to work a little bit because she lets out a light giggle with a roll of her eyes, “No one is on them more than you.”

Harry shrugs unashamed before replying seriously, “Everything will be okay. She’s perfect and healthy.”

The curly haired little boy gets a bit squirmy with the wait after he finished his pouch, asking to be set down which his father does.

Harry is watching him carefully, his nervous but still adventurous little two and a half year old, as he toddles around the waiting room.

When he spots Aubrey and her carrier, he wanders over looking up her with wide curious eyes, he points at her son and squeaks, “Baby?”

Ever the diligent father, Harry is up and next to his son, Aubrey is a bit starstruck if she’s honest when he talks to her.

“M’sorry, he’s a curious little one,” Harry smiles at her, going to pick Ezra back up to guide him away from bothering her.

Aubrey waves her hand though, lifting the visor to show the sleeping baby, “Yeah, he’s a baby. That’s Dominic.”

The boy gazes at the baby before lisping, “Bry!”

Aubrey isn’t sure what he means but his father clarifies, “You’re right, Dominic is a baby just like your little sister Briar.”

“Okay,” Ezra shrugs and goes back to his mom to inform him of what he just discovered before crawling up and cuddling into her chest.

Harry nods, “Thanks for indulging him.”

“No pro-problem,” She stutters like an idiot and Harry smiles a bit like he knows but doesn’t say anything else before going back to his family.

A few minutes later when a high-pitched cry resounds through the room, Harry is carefully cradling his daughter who Aubrey notes looks nothing like him but like her mother even though her features were still so little.

“Shush, darlin’,” Harry coos with a soft drawl, leaning in to kiss at the newborn’s button nose.

Briar roots at her father’s chest, smacking her plump lips, and squeaking in frustration when she doesn’t find a nipple. It makes Harry chuckle before he glances at his wife and his smile falters a bit, “Sweetheart, did y’bring a bottle?”

Aubrey watches his wife shake her head, she is facing away from her so she can’t see her expression but gauging Harry’s it seems that she may be upset, “No, I completely forgot. I didn’t bring my nursing blanket either - I’m going to have to go the bathroom. M’being such a bad mom.”

The observer feels a pang in her chest, she can definitely relate to not always feeling like she is a good mother because of little mistakes she makes like forgetting diapers, buying the wrong formula, forgetting to bring a pacifier.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is firm, “Y’not going to talk like that when s’the farthest thing from the truth. S’okay, we have four babies, we’re both goin’ t’forget things sometimes, okay? Here, let me help you.”

Aubrey wishes she had a husband who was as empowering, supportive of his wife.

He hands the whimpering baby over to his wife, he’s then tugging off his hoodie. Aubrey tries but fails to divert her eyes when his shirt rides up revealing a glimpse of his taut abdomen and a light dusting of hair leading into his shorts, obscene tattoos covering his hipbones .

Harry maneuvers the hoodie over his wife’s shoulder, helping her tug down her loose shirt and nursing bra, and guiding his newborn to his wife’s breast until she latches and starts suckling hungrily.

“There y’go mama,” He whispers encouragingly before tugging Ezra back onto his lap to rock him a bit as he’s getting whiny - ready for a nap soon and not liking being in an unfamiliar place for too long.

Aubrey is buckling Dominic into his carseat when she spots the other family exiting the office.

Harry’s wife looks much more relaxed, a smile on her face, and her arm tucked around her husband’s narrow hip, they’re parked close to each other, and Aubrey climbs into her small sedan - blasting the aircon.

She watches the parents strapp their kids into a massive, tinted and brand new cadillac escalade that was no doubt over a hundred thousand dollar car but who could expect them to be driving around a mid-level minivan?

After the kids are secured and they close the doors, Harry presses his wife up against it with his arm resting over her shoulder against the window. He is whispering to her, their mouths close before he ducks down to connect their lips.

His hand comes back to her deflating baby bump like he did in the doctor’s office, hand massaging the skin with adoration that was visible even to Aubrey as she sat in her car watching them.

Later on in the week, as she sits on her couch, a video pops up on her timeline. It’s a sports report she was about to skip until the name caught her attention.

The sports reporter stated, “Harry Styles was fined an alleged sixty thousand dollars at last night’s game after getting into a verbal altercation when the second base man purposely tripped him.”

It flashes to the man she just saw in the doctor’s office in a form-fitting Yankee’s blue and white striped uniform with a helmet on as he ran at an impressive speed from first to second, stumbling when the baseman put out his foot.

Harry recovers quickly enough to touch the base to be considered safe.

After that though, he’s pushing himself up and brushing off the dirt, then he’s charging towards the man who fucked up the play.

He has no fear as he gets in the man’s face, veins on his neck standing out as he shouts. They don’t play the audio but you could tell Harry was cussing this man up and down.

It flashed back to the reporter speaking to another, “Nearly every team in the league reports that Styles is an absolute nightmare to play against from his skill to his downright arrogant and cocky attitude. He’s not someone I’d find myself wanting to hang around.”

“I agree with you there, Tucker. He has a right to be proud with all of his broken records and achievements but being a bit humble would do this man so good. I feel sorry for his wife and kids. He probably just spends all day bragging about himself.”

Aubrey clicks off the video, if only everyone in the world just saw the Harry Styles she saw just a few days ago - well they’d all change their minds on what kind of person he is. Especially what kind of husband and father.

The Charity Event

It was a charity event at Madison Square Garden in Time Square.

It was for all Major League Baseball teams who had qualified for the playoffs and of course, The New York Yankees were there.

There were tables filling the whole stadium, extravagant in white linen tablecloths, multiple bars, and it was black tie dress code.

It was a private event and it was not open to the public but after the dinner there would be awards given out and that would be broadcasted.

Nicole was there with her husband, Trent, the left outfielder with an average batting score. He wasn’t the most popular on the team by far - well everyone got outshined by Styles.

She couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Harry had gotten a $60 million dollar bonus (the biggest bonus ever gifted but also the Yankees were not taking any chances at losing their star and their ultimate money-maker). Trent got a measly bonus of $100,000 which was nothing in baseball terms.

The wives and girlfriends of the Yankees players did not like YN one bit. It really wasn’t fair because she was always lovely, kind, and friendly. It didn’t matter because they were all spurred on by jealousy of what she had.

Nicole couldn’t help by gaze at Harry as they sat at the same circle table towards the podium where the awards would be presented after dinner. He was in a sharp all black suit with a small team logo pin of the lapel.

She couldn’t deny how stunning YN looked in an absolutely stunning dress. It was a one-shoulder with sparkling black stripes against a tan background, it fit like a glove and accentuated her stunning legs with a high slit. ***

It blew Nicole’s basic black Gucci dress out of the water which made her even more infuriated at the woman. She knew she was being irrational and if she hated her so much, why couldn’t see stop staring at the couple?

Nicole could get away with it by looking past them at other tables but to be quite honest, the two were much too wrapped up in each other to be aware of any of their surroundings or people watching them.

Trent was off bullshitting with all the other players while the Styles’ sat at the table and Harry waited for people to approach him - like the cocky asshole that he was. He would give them a minute of his time before becoming visibly bored and returning his attention back to his wife.

As the appetizers arrived, Trent finally sat down with a grunt, giving his wife literally no attention as he dug into the salad like a slob.

Across the table, Harry looked down at his plate, picked out all the tomatoes and stabbed them with his fork. He then brought his hand over to his wife who giggled and let him feed her the three little tomatoes for his salad.

“Don’t like tomatoes, Styles?” Henry, third-baseman, jokes as he watches him feed his wife without any shame.

“I love ‘em, m’missus just really like the little grape ones,” Harry shrugs casually - like that didn’t just sound like the most whipped thing that he could say.

Trent probably couldn’t even guess Nicole’s favorite color - let alone know something so minuscule like YN like the little tomatoes that come on house salads.

Throughout the whole dinner, it was quite disgusting how infatuated these two were with each other - Harry had at least one hand on her body at one time - her thigh, shoulder, even cupping her neck in a way that was almost too intimate for the setting.

At one point, Harry notices that YN is a bit quiet - sipping on her glass of water and he pulls back from the conversation, murmuring, “Y’alright, mama?”

Nicole bites her lip hard at the cute pet name, feeling even more dislike towards YN - why couldn’t she have had someone like Harry?

“D’you think the babies are okay? Ezra’s been so anxious lately,” YN replies quietly, there were no phones allowed at the event and had to be left at home or at the door.

Harry kisses her temple, “Y’know Ezzie is good with m’mum, doesn’t get as anxious as he used to at sleepovers. Y’know East and Cash are probably on a sugar high.”

YN nods, agreeing and Harry jumps right back into the conversation but she notices that he keeps looking over at his wife to check on her.

Trent accidentally knocks her elbow hard and just grunts out a bland, “Sorry.”

The topic changed to traveling for games. Ellie, another wife of a player who was nice to YN were chatting about how stressful it is.

“I know, loading all three boys up is rough when we do decide to travel to games with H,” YN says to Ellie, a small smile on her face.

“Ugh, I know. Lily and Parker are the worst flyers! They usually end up throwing up or not being able to nap at all,” Ellie groans about her two little ones she has back at home.

YN let’s out a laugh that just irked Nicole to not end.

“It's going to be even harder when we have more kids,” YN laments like she’s bothered.

“Oh? More kids?” Ellie squeaks with excitement, clapping her hands together.

Nicole reaches a breaking point, jumping into the chat,“Really? More kids? Don’t you think you should focus on the ones you have? Or do you think because your husband makes an unfair amount of money, you can just have as many as you want? Hire nannies and act like you take care of them?”

Before YN frowns, about to respond when Harry interjects with a booming, displeased voice, “First off, why don’t y’mind your own fuckin’ business. My wife and I can ‘ave any many kids as we want, last time I checked.”

He continues with tense posture, all of his previous calmness disappears, “Second off, don’t take it out on my wife tha’ your husband got a shit bonus, we all know tha’ why y’pissy. And don’t act like y’dont have a nanny for your one kid while we don’t nor ever will have one.”

Nicole sneers, “You’re a cocky bastard.”

Harry smiles in faux charm, “Of course I am, dear. I’ve got a fucking beautiful wife, three healthy babies, the most records broken in history, and the fattest bank account in this room.”

“Alright, alright,” Trent interrupts and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t defend his wife. Instead he shoots Harry an apologetic look for his wife’s behaviors.

Harry just scoffs at the couple, rudely rolling his eyes, and tugging his wife in for a kiss that’s a bit too intense but he can’t help himself, smiles against her lips when his wife pinches his thigh playfully.

He says (not quietly at all), “All these women are jealous of you, hm? S’cause you’re so beautiful and such a fuckin’ catch.”

Nicole feel a sharp pang in her chest at the indirect comment - fucking asshole.

Deep down, Nicole is unfavorably realizing that somehow YN has it all - a loving husband, who is seemingly head over heels four her, three well-behaved children, and everything she could ever want - sitting on Harry’s $600 million dollar net worth, on top of being gorgeous.

She didn’t have that. Trent and her were on the rocks constantly, has definitely cheated on her, their kid is a literal nightmare, and they’re both so reckless with money they have no savings.

It made her jealous to see Harry whispering in YN ear to make her giggle- lips brushing her ear, his hand splayed across her bumcheek while they waited for drinks at the bar, she even hears them murmur ‘I love yous’ at least twice.

Then the lights dim, spotlight on a podium in the front of the room, an older man in a crisp navy suit taking the stage.

“It is an honor for me to announce ‘Player of the Year.’ The decision by the board of Major League Baseball wasn’t a hard one. The statistics and records broke continuously by the man has led us to only one option.”

Everyone watches all the other players in room deflate a bit because they realize the award is going to Harry yet again.

“He is again breaking a record tonight, he is the first player to earn this achievement four years in a row. The duality of this man when it comes to pitching a curveball or hitting a homer is truly remarkable.”

It makes all the players even more irritated than they already are when they look over at Harry who’s sitting back, manspreading, hand on the back of his wife’s neck gently, and a cocky, unbothered grin.

Like this award wasn’t the biggest accomplishment he could earn.

One of the players from an opposing team at a different table mutters to one of his teammates, “Fucking arrogant asshole. The only thing this award does is feed his gigantic ego.”

“Such a douchebag,” The other agrees, jealousy tinges his voice.

“I’ve most likely made it obvious who the the recipient is this year. The New York Yankees pitcher with the most strikeouts to date and top-scoring hitter - Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupts in applause, whistles, and a standing ovation because despite his unsavory demeanor - no one could deny he was a legend.

Before he gets up, Nicole watches as he cups his wife’s cheek - locking her lips in a kiss before she has to give him a playful shove when he tries to slip some tongue.

When Harry gets up to the stage, he shakes the hand of the announcer and takes the award from him, setting it on the podium.

“Fourth year in a row has a nice ring to it,” Harry gives the crowd a dazzling white smile that have his dimples digging into his cheek.

The crowd whistles and coos.

Nicole notices YN getting teary-eyed as she watches her husband accept the award.

“I want t’thank a few people tonight. I want t’thank m’wife and the mama of my babies - YN. She’s supported me from when I was in college with no other career path but baseball, unsure of if I’d fail or not, she stuck through it.”

She can sense everyone’s eyes dart over to YN who is still staring up at her husband - who is giving her a gleaming smile right back.

“We’ve been through some really hard obstacles in our first years as a couple but she’s the reason for all this - the fact that she always believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The audience is respectful, quiet as he publicly tells a story of his deep love for his wife.

“I want t’thank m’three babies. Easton, Cash, and Ezra. They inspire me to be a better better man and a good role model - even though I think y’all agree they won’t be if they watch too much how I play when I’m out in the field.”

The crowd erupts in laughter at Harry poking fun at his own antics that he’s most famous for. He goes on to thank the team, coaches, Nike, everyone on the professional side of career.

When he’s done, everyone stands back up to congratulate him, patting him on the back as he returns to his seat.

Nicole watches as Harry sits back down, chuckling as he swipes a tear off his wife’s cheek, “Why y’crying, mama?”

“I’m just so proud of you. Everything you do for me and our babies. The best husband, best daddy. My heart is just full,” She murmurs, clearly not meant for others to hear but Nicole was eavesdropping.

Harry’s eyes darken with something Nicole can’t identify but does notice his hand creeping a bit further up her thigh.

He leans into whisper something into her ear before she sees his lightly nip at her lobe before pulling back to join into the conversation.

After the lights come back up, Trent abandons her to go shoot the shit with other guys.

When she trails off to the bathroom, down a long hallway from the main area - she hears a rustling from behind a door labeled with a plaque that says ‘executive meeting room’.

Nicole pauses confused, all these offices and other rooms were strictly off limits during events obviously. She was confused to hear someone in a room that was not supposed to be in use.

Then she realizes it’s not just someone - it’s two people.

“S’good, sweetheart. Give it t’me so good.”

And she knows right then and there all she needs to know about who’s in that conference room and what they were doing.

“Be quiet, you’re being too loud,” YN scolds back, the walls were clearly thin because she could hear the exchange.

“Make y’cunt not feel like heaven then,” He remarks back, his voice slower and more soft than it would be in front of people.

God, Trent and her haven’t slept together in ages - let alone has spontaneous hookups or dirty talk like that ever.

When they all end up back at the table before the closing speech for the night, Nicole spots a nicely sized mark under Harry’s jaw that he’s wearing with pride.

YN had her lipstick wiped off and was much more clingy as the night rolled on which Harry seemed to thrive on.

As she and Trent are on their way home, Nicole speaks into their silence, “I don’t think our relationship is working.”

Not after she saw love and happiness at that event table tonight - she wanted that kind of love not settling for some cheating asshole.

The Little League Game

It was a cool autumn evening, it was an important game - if you could call it that for the little league team that Kayla had her son on.

The goal was to determine which team would move onto the playoffs, even though most of this was all in good fun because it was for eight-year-olds and it wasn’t serious.

Kayla couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t spend some of the time curiously gazing at the New York Yankees player who would come to watch his son play.

He wasn’t at every game due to his schedule but it seemed like he came to whatever ones he could with his wife and other three kids.

They had taken the bench on the bleachers right below her so she had an up close and personal view of the family when they’ve never sat this close before.

As the kids warmed up, Harry had his youngest son who looked to be about four sit next to him, squished between his dad and mom happily.

Their middle son was next to his mom on the other side, looking to be about six, and he was wriggling impatiently in his seat - eager to join the other kids in the jungle gym.

The baby girl who looked about a year and a half old didn’t look anything like her brothers - it was obvious that she was a spitting image of her mother (who was stunning).

She was curled up in her mom’s lap, asleep with her face squished against her mother’s chest - a pacifier suckling fiercely between her puffy lips.

“Mama, please,” The curly haired boy begs with greedy puppy dog eyes as he keeps glancing back to look at the other kids.

“You stay right where daddy and I can see you, yes?” YN murmurs, brushing back his unruly curls that where getting long, “And what are our rules?”

“Stay where you can see, don’t talk to strangers, and be nice to others,” He recites perfectly, Kayla was a bit blown away by his manners.

She watches baseball. It was hard to believe their children were so mild mannered when their father was the exact opposite - at least on the field.

Harry was rustling in the diaper bag for something as his son looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, “My baby, daddy.”

“I know, Ezzie. M’lookin’ f’your baby,” His father replies softly, the polar extreme of his normal brash, crude language that had a nasty tone like he couldn’t bother giving people the time of day.

“Daddy, please,” The youngest whines, his little hand grasping at his father’s tattooed wrist as he gets to his knees to help his dad look.

“Left inner pocket,” YN murmurs offhandedly as she makes sure Cash gets to the playground safely with his friends.

“Say ‘thanks mama’,” Harry coos to his son as he manages to tug out the baby doll and hand it to the awaiting little boy.

“Thanks mama,” He replies instantly with a gapped smile as he nuzzles right back into his father’s side as if he can’t get close enough.

“How are you feeling, Ezra?” His mother leans over to ask, keeping the baby close to her chest.

“M’happy, mama,” Ezra replies simply before starting to babble to himself as he plays with the babydoll.

Kayla watches Harry and YN swap a fond look at their son but she couldn’t help but wonder why they asked him that? He seemed fine so why did they feel the need to do that?

The game is going okay, Harry stands up to cheer and whistle when Easton hits a two-base hit but YN smacks his thigh and motions to their sleeping baby.

He looks at her sheepishly before sitting back down, kissing her cheek in apology, and peeking down into the fleece blanket to watch his daughter sleep for a moment.

Then it seems like Easton starts to lose momentum after he pitches two home-runs, his face pinched in disappointment as the other team scores but Harry is attempting to keep him motivated with encouraging shouts.

Easton struggles from then on, he strikes out for his final three turns, doesn’t catch two pop-ups, and his pitches start to get a little shaky. It’s obvious in his facial expression he’s getting upset because he’s breathing heavier like he’s trying not to cry.

Kayla feels a sense of dread for the little boy, his father who’s the best baseball player in modern day history is watching his son not do well during an important game.

Because of what she knows of him from his temper and attitude on the field - she worries that he’s one of those father’s who will hound their kid for doing poorly.

“Oh, c’mon East,” Harry murmurs softly when his son stumbles over a ground ball before another kid picks it up and throws it in - their son smacking his glove down against the ground in frustration.

“He’s getting himself worked up,” YN notes as she watches her oldest kick his cleats in the dirt with a quivering bottom lip.

“I know,” Harry replies to his wife, “Wish he wouldn’t, he’s gettin’ upset out there, I can tell.”

“Sad?” Ezra squeaks, clambering onto his father’s lap and stating, “Hold me, daddy.”

Harry obliges easily, gathering up his small son before his attention is directed back onto the game - it was down to the last few minutes and unfortunately Easton pitched a ball that resulted in a home run for the other team.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, running a hand through his messy locks before he’s setting Ezra back down on the bleachers, “I’m going to go talk to him. Do you want to meet back home?”

YN nods, leaning down to tuck the baby into the double stroller before buckling Ezra in as well, “I’m going to go get Cash and head out. Why don’t you take him out for some ice cream? I love you.”

“I love you too, mama,” He replies, kissing her softly before kissing both of his kids foreheads and stepping down the bleachers - ignoring all the adults who are staring at him with a starstruck expression as he heads to the dugout.

It cleared out fast, nobody sticking around after the loss that ended with them not continuing on to the championship, and Easton was sat on the bench - he was stoic and there was a hard, angry expression on his face that reminded Kayla of what she saw Harry look like when he played.

As she gathers up her son and makes sure he’s got all of his equipment, Kayla stands and chats to a few of the moms before she’s heading to her car - which happened to be parked next to a sleek Masserati crossover, who would let their muddy kid go in there? Rich people, she guesses.***

Kayla pops the trunk to her van with her key as they get closer, she notices that Harry also has his up and Easton is sitting on the tailgate with his eyes looking down at the pavement. She tries not to appear as nosey or eavesdropping as she tucks her items into the back.

“Sweetheart, s’okay. Y’did so so good tonight,” Harry assures his pouty son, he squats down to start to untie his son’s nike cleats but continues to make eye contact with him.

“No, I didn’t, Daddy!” Easton whines, tears finally starting to bubble over the surface as he begins to sob with a shuddering chest, “I gave up home runs and then I missed ground balls!”

“Whoa, bubby,” Harry simpers after he tugs off the shoes and throws them carelessly into the back before standing up, “Y’did amazing, are you kiddin’? You did three innings of strikeouts, hit two of y’own homeruns. Y’played like a professional, way better than daddy.”

Kayla’s heart aches a bit when she sees Harry sit down next to him before hugging him harshly into his side, thumbing at the tears that are running down his son’s sweaty cheeks with soft reassurances.

“Daddy, are you mad I didn’t win?” Easton asks shakily, keeping his head buried into his father’s side and his small hand clutching into the fabric of his hoodie.

Harry chuckles lowly, “Daddy would never be mad at you f’anythin’, definitely not a baseball game. Remember what mama and I said? If at any point y’want to stop playin’, just let us know and we can find something else, yeah? Just like how Ezzie does art classes.”

Easton seems to calm down after a few moments of Harry rocking him and reassuring him of what an amazing son he is.

As Kayla drove away that night, her perspective on the all-star baseball player definitely changed. It was refreshing to see someone to not hold their child to an unreasonable expectation just like she thought Harry would.

The Campfire

Austin was the shortstop on the baseball team, he’d brought along his girlfriend, Chelsea, to the frat party to celebrate another win.

Everyone was in whispers that Harry was bringing his new girlfriend but nobody knew who she actually was because it was just a rumor.

It was surprising because Harry wasn’t a relationship kind-of man. He wasn’t into hookups much - always said he needed to focus on baseball.

Many of his teammates were envious of how many girls were constantly coming up to Harry at parties to flirt and try to get a dance in but he had always rejected them.

Harry had never showed interest in any of these girls at the parties, never seen him disappear upstairs with one or really entertain a conversation over a beer like they’d expect.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder and nods towards the entrance when Harry walks in with his arm around YN’s shoulder.

Most were in a little shock because they seemed like such an unlikely couple - YN had written some scathing articles about him and it was no secret he hadn’t been a fan of her.

“Holy shit, Harry’s dating YN?” Chelsea whispers to Austin as the group of party-goers cheer and whistle at the allstars appearance.

“Guess so,” Austin replies with a shrug, tugging Chelsea into the kitchen for a drink.

Later on that night, there’s a bonfire on one side of the backyard and a volleyball net on the other where a group was gathering to play.

Austin and Chelsea are on the opposing team of Harry and YN - she can’t help but watch them with curiosity because of what a surprise it is that they’re dating.

Even Austin has been watching because Harry’s acting in a way that he’s never seen throughout his time on the team with him.

Harry is just all over YN which was confusing how he went from not being remotely interested in the college girls to being a lovestruck puppy.

When she throws the ball up to serve, Harry reaches over and pinches her bum which makes her squeak and accidentally drop the ball which has him cackling as she glares at him.

As they change positions, he crowds up behind her, and massages her hips, leaning down to murmuring something in her ear.

She blushes wildly before smacking him off which has him laughing hard and kissing the back of her head before taking his position.

After Harry jumps and spikes the ball hard, earning them the winning point, YN turns around and wraps her arms around him to hug him tightly.

Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, returning the hug before pulling back to kiss her lips in a soft peck.

Chelsea elbows Austin, “Who’s that and what did they do with Harry?”

Austin shakes his head, “I really don’t fucking know.”

The group migrates over to the fire as they might become cooler and the stars are high up in the sky, the fire flickering orange and yellow crackles of sparks.

Harry plops into a chair, pulling YN right onto his lap, and she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Chelsea notices him tap her thigh as if telling her to cut it out, too much motion right on his crotch.

Jake, one of his teammates, says in a teasing tone, “YN, I’m surprised to see you around these parts . I clearly remember a strongly worded article about how stupid frat parties are.”

YN takes it in stride, smiling as she replies, “And this party just proves my point.”

The group laughs easily, they enjoy YN’s sharp wit and comebacks as they get to know her. Austin can’t help but to notice how quiet Harry is.

Normally, he’s the life of the party, loud and making his presence known to everyone but not tonight. He has his chin propped on her shoulder and she’s cuddled back into his chest.

Austin can’t make out what Harry is saying but he’s constantly whispering in her ear and accentuating each time with a squeeze to her thighs.

“Are you guys official?” One of the teammates asked bluntly, a few beers deep by this point in the night.

Harry replies instantly, a possessive squeeze, “She’s mine and off the market, s’don’t even think about it.”

“Well I don’t think it matters because she’s turned down the whole baseball team by this point. I think everyone tried to ask her out at least once,” Steve jokes as the others agree.

“Tha’s m’girl,” Harry murmurs to her before teasing his friends,“Who’d want to go out with any you? You’re all dickheads.”

Everyone continues to joke around, it’s nearing midnight and that’s right about when Harry gets in his prime - like the party just started.

But not tonight.

YN’s eyes start to flutter shut as everyone banters and drinks around the fire, obviously not used to these late night parties.

“I better get this one t’bed,” Harry states after a few minutes, thumbing at YN’s cheekbone as she tries to stay awake.

“I’m okay,” She mumbles weakly, head still heavy against his shoulder.

“You’re coming back though, right?” Kyle asks expectantly, brows furrowed.

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, m’in for the night when she is.”

All the players look at him with a bit of a dumbfounded look, Steve shooting out, “Who knew you’d be so pussy whipped, Styles?”

Chelsea’s eyebrows raise at the crude comment, waiting with bated breath as Harry’s jaw clenches as it seems like he’s biting his tongue.

“Goodnight,” Harry says in a tone Austin has never heard before - agitated and almost…offended.

When Austin and Chelsea are sneaking up to his room for a late night hook-up, she overhears Harry and YN in his bedroom.

At first, she thinks they’re in an actual argument but as she listens to them - it’s not the kind of arguement she thought it was.

“You’re always the little spoon,” YN groans from behind the closed door.

Harry squawks, affronted before huffing back at her, “S’my favorite, please spoon me, darling?”

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” YN giggles as Chelsea assumes they move into a position where Harry’s the little spoon.

“Mm, I like feelin’ y’tits against my back, s’nice,” Harry hums with a boyish tone.

Chelsea doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Austin drags her from her stupor.

All she knew was that Harry Styles really really fancied that school reporter.

-=-=-=-=-=-

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alans-maladaptive-daydreams · 3 years ago

Text

Solomon and MC can be considered human?

Today I read a fic about MC facing the brothers after their death, and the author mentioned something about MC's "humanity" that gave me thousands of ideas. This is mostly just to get it out of my head and of course it's completely open for debate.

WARNINGS: Overthinking of an otome game lol, spoilers and remember that English is not my mother tongue so sorry for any mistakes. [Grammar and pronouns, I tried to check it well, but if you find an error, let me know]

Basically we will start by describing what a human being is in the most traditional sense of the word.

Whether created by god or through evolution, the human being is characterized by their reasoning and symbolic behavior. In addition to their short life cycle compared to other characters in OM.

Basically the human being is a mortal individual who is not at all related to magical realities but can believe in them.

But we have MC, a human whose life was normal until they stepped on the Devildom. Who finds out that they are a descendant of an angel, that they have pacts with the most powerful demons, is a friend of the prince of hell and of different angels. That, don't forget, died and came back to life in a relatively short time and, ALSO, it is believed that the stability of the human world and the rest of the realms is in the MC. Yes, quite normal for a human, right?

On the other hand we have Solomon who is a literally immortal guy, a very powerful sorcerer who has pacts with 72 demons.

AND THEN, presumably, we have Simeon, a former angel who lost his powers and has therefore become human.

So... we have three VERY different definitions of what a human being is. And let's remember that in fact, we can't rely on a human being an individual who was born in the human realm because there are magical creatures that exist there and they are not considered human.

So could Solomon and especially MC be considered human? I believe that they were human but at this point in the game and in the personal stories they could not be considered as such.

That is to say, the characteristics such as symbolic behavior and reasoning, among other things can be found in the characters, however there is a characteristic that is different. The mortality.

Suppose that for the world of Obey Me the key factor of humanity is mortality but Solomon no longer fulfills this characteristic but MC does. So, Solomon could not be considered a human due to his immortality but he is still presented as such.

So my question is what would be considered a human being in Obey me? Bearing in mind that both Solomon and MC are the only ones who were born in the human realm and that Simeon supposedly becomes human after losing his powers.

Could Solomon and MC really consider themselves human?

Because by having contact with other magical realities they lose the only thing that probably makes them human, the complete ignorance of the existence of these realities.

So, are they really human?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me theory #obey me rant #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me mc #Obey me Human Realm

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blzzrdstryr · 4 years ago

Text

Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

#yandere albedo x reader #Yandere Albedo #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #Yandere genshin #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Male yandere #Yandere x reader #Yandere #male yandere #my writing

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griffintail · 4 years ago

Note

I love all the parental stuff you write, it’s all so amazing!! And I may have been thinkin about it a lot while at work, and I originally wrote this idea/prompt thing down on some receipt paper, but anyway!!

Y’know how Dream manipulated Tommy during Exile? Well, how would Dream react if a similar thing happened to his own child? If his child had been taken from him somehow, and is made to believe that no one loved or cared about them, that they had to behave a certain way if they wanted any smidge of affection, etc.? Like the kid, when Dream’s gotten them back that is, is obviously touch starved and sleep deprived and so many other things, but they don’t mention any of it because they’d been explicitly told doing so wasn’t allowed?

About how many pieces would Dream’s heart shatter into? I must know.

-Signed Angsty Anon from a Fast Food Joint🍔🍟

That’s a mood, I have an actual notebook I have at work to write work stuff...I write more in it about my prompts than my work stuff. I hope it’s to your satisfaction!

Little Terror

Pairings: Parental Dream x F! Reader

Part 2

WARNINGS! : TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, IMPLIED ABUSED, MANIPULATION, BLOOD, IMPLIED VIOLENCE

DO NOT READ IF THESE MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE AND/OR CAUSE A TRIGGER!

(Y/N) was Dream’s kid. Dream didn’t have to worry, that’s what he told himself.

When she wanted to go with that…boy…he knew she’d beat the shit out of him if he got out of line. He taught her how to do that. She assured him though, there would be no need for that. They were in love and they’d be ok.

He should have listened to his fucking instincts. He knew he should have.

He found out by accident what was going on.

Dream trusted his little girl, she’d be ok, she was strong…but she was still his little girl and George and Sapnap were about to break Dream’s neck if they heard one more time how Dream was worried.

So.

The three of them went to where the pair had moved out. Dream remembered letting his little princess move away.

“I’ll be fine daddy.” She gave her sweet laugh as she slung her inventory bag on her shoulder. “Trent’s a good guy.”

“I just wish you’d let me meet the boy.” Dream huffed, his mask on top of his head.

“He lives so far away; I don’t want to force him to come all the way here and you need to keep everyone in check.” She grinned, a sparkle in her eye. “I’ll write, I promise. I know if I don’t Uncle George will cry.”

Dream laughed quietly as he nodded. “Yeah, he would. Just, be careful out there, alright sweetheart?”

(Y/N) put a hand on her sword. “I’m not the little terror for nothing.”

It had been so sudden but she wanted to be close to this boy she had started dating. She hadn’t written though as of late and he had begun to worry when for a few months, it just didn’t come. That’s what sent them out with Eret in charge.

“Come on, she’ll be fine.” Sapnap nudged him, hands in his pockets. “She’s your little terror.”

Dream smiled lightly behind his mask. “Yeah. We’ll see there’s nothing…I just worry and I have been missing her.”

Three-day travel on foot, they made it to the village where (Y/N) said this guy lived on the outskirts of. It wasn’t hard to find the larger house outside the village and they came up, Dream knocking on the door. It took a moment but the door opened, (Y/N) looking at him, but…it didn’t look like his little girl. Her eyes were dull, with no spark to them as bags were collected under them. She had no smile on her face either but everything looked perfect and trim about her.

Her eyes went wide seeing Dream’s eyes as his mask was on the side of his face, sputtering.

“You…I—You don’t trust me?” She questioned.

Thousands of alarm bells were going off in his head and a thousand more went off after her words.

“What? Of course, I do (Y/N).” He gave her a light smile. “I just missed my princess, so did Sapnap and George.” He motioned to the men behind him. “So, we came to surprise you, surprise.”

She didn’t hold any sort of excitement in her eyes. Trent’s words echoed in her head as she watched the man in front of her.

If he really loved you, he’d trust you to be ok with me. Right? Because I love you and I trust you.

“I…I think it’s best if you guys leave.” She muttered.

Dream stood there as Sapnap and George were looking at each other in shock.

“Why? We came out here to see—” As he spoke Dream reach a hand over to put it on her shoulder but she flinched back from him and all movement and thought stopped.

She flinched from him. Why would she flinch from him?

Dream had seen men flinch from him before; Tommy, Wilbur, most of the L’Manberg people did after the war. But that was because he hurt them…

“What happened?” Dream asked carefully.

“I-I-I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sputtered, her mind running rapidly.

She couldn’t tell him, that was the number one rule!

“(Y/N), it’s me. Dream, dad. I’m here.” He spoke carefully. “What, happened?”

“What’s going on here?” Dream heard from behind him and (Y/N) shrank back behind the door slightly.

Dream didn’t not like the picture he was making and the tall, lanky man appearing did not help matters. The man was slightly taller than Dream but Dream slipped on his mask as he was anything but intimidated.

“You Trent?” Dreamed asked, stepping forward.

Trent looked to (Y/N) and then back to the man coming towards him.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“I’m her father and I want to know what the hell you’ve been doing with her?”

Sapnap stood a few steps behind Dream as George stood by the door.

“I have no idea what you’re talking—”

Dream simply shoved the man and he fell over. The masked man stood over him, his hands on his hips.

“What, did you do, to my little girl?”

Trent tried to kick Dream’s leg but Dream was quick to react, sidestepping his foot and instead stepping on the other man’s chest and putting his sword point to his throat.

“(Y/N).” Dream looked over at her, lifting his mask up enough to smile at her. “Go get your stuff, George will help you.”

She hesitated by the door as George stepped towards her carefully.

“Come on kid,” George said quietly to her and she nodded slowly.

She walked inside, Dream sliding his mask on as he grinned sinisterly behind it as he tilted his head as he looked at the man under his foot.

“Now, why don’t we have a little chat?” Dream laughed.

George was very careful not to make too fast of movements after seeing her flinch at Dream. He helped her pack the few things she had; George was concerned as he felt like she had less than what she actually left with. As he gathered everything up, he also saw how little she had in the way of personal belonging, such as pictures. The most significate thing he didn’t see was her old mask and that concerned him greatly. The color-blind man was worried about what Dream would do.

The pair came out, George carrying her bags to see Dream without his mask on, his hands in his hoodie pockets as Sapnap smirked next to him with no Trent in sight. George could spot the small bit of blood under the cuff of Dream’s sleeve. There was no blood on his weapons, so it was safe to assume he had used his actual hands and the other man was probably alive but he was never going to be the same.

“Hey sweetheart, let’s go home.” Dream smiled gently as he nodded his head.

Her hands twitched but she walked beside the three of her family members. Dream was on her right as George was on her left and Sapnap behind the group. The group of them walked in silence towards the Dream SMP land. As night started to drop, Sapnap and George made camp, and Dream and (Y/N) sat by the campfire.

When the two other men were going for firewood, Dream looked as (Y/N), who was playing with the end of her shirt.

“I don’t know what he did.” Dream said and she jumped slightly, making him frown deeply. “And you don’t have to tell me right away, but I’m here sweetheart. I’m never going to leave you alone again.”

She hugged herself as she looked around at their surroundings, expecting Trent to come out of anywhere.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She whispered. “But did you come because you loved me?”

“Of course, I did.” He assured her and she hugged herself tighter. “Can I hug you, kiddo?”

“I-I-I-” She stuttered.

He carefully scooted over and first put a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened and Dream waited before he pulled her into a hug. With the hug, her entire body relaxed, having missed such a loving feeling. She started to sob and he pulled her into his lap and hugged her as tight as he could.

His little girl, she was so broken. He didn’t know how that lanky, bitch boy managed to break her but he did. Dream ran a hand through her hair as he rocked the both of them as his heart was broken seeing his little girl like this.

“It’s ok princess, I’ll make all this right.” He muttered. “I’m so sorry this happened, I’ll make it right.”

He hated himself. He should have gone with her the first day she left. He should have done anything! He had to make this right now and he’d do everything in his power to bring her back. To make everything right.

....

George and Sapnap came back seeing Dream holding a now sleeping (Y/N) as close as he could. Their friend looked so heartbroken as he held her.

“I should have killed him.” Dream said. “No one else will ever get away with doing this to her. Are we clear?”

The two other men shared a look before nodding to Dream.

“Crystal.”

Dream wouldn’t let this happen again and it was going to be a long time till he managed to fix his mistake.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #dream x reader #dreamsmp

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cjsinkythoughts · 4 years ago

Text

FATWS One Shot #6 - No One Said Anything About a Metal Arm

Word Count: 2011

Warnings: Explosions, Gunshots, The Winter Soldier, Implied Death, Stevie Almost Crying

Setting/Characters: Towards the End of Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Bucky Barnes; Mentions of Alexander Pierce, Arnim Zola

A/N: This one took me a while to write and I’ll tell you why. Rewatching this movie made me want to do a complete rewrite of it. I had so many ideas of where the reader could be and why and what she was doing then and all that. But…I told myself this is a One Shot of her unofficially meeting Bucky for the first time. Which is why it seems incomplete - because it kinda is - it’s just that scene picked from the movie. Am I happy with it? Eh. Am I holding back from writing more parts and just saying “forget this piece, it never happened”? Maybe. But, I can’t. I wish I could. But if I were to rewrite this movie, I’d rewrite the next one. And the next one. And it would take me months to finish these. So…this is what you’re getting.

Also, NO ONE MENTION WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN IN A COUPLE HOURS! I’M THIS CLOSE TO FREAKING OUT!

Thanks! As always, it’s not beta’d, so please excuse mistakes! Enjoy reading, be kind to yourselves and others, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

********

Sitting on the edge of the old dam was calming. Peaceful, even. The constant sound of the flowing water, the trees swaying in the slight breeze. It was nice to take a breath after everything that had gone down the past week.

To say you were worried was an understatement. The last time you saw Steve was the evening after you met Sam. He dropped you off at your place, refusing your invitation to stay saying that he should probably check on his apartment since he hadn’t been there in a while.

A lot had changed since then.

Steve was wanted by SHIELD, along with Natasha. Fury was considered dead, but was actually still kicking in the structure beneath your feet with the help of you and Hill. You had tried to go after Steve, but it was too risky. Pierce - who you were almost 100% certain was behind this whole thing - had been keeping a close eye on you since Steve ran away, knowing you’d be behind him. You tried to catch the blonde at the hospital, but you were seconds too late, meeting up with Natasha who told you STRIKE already took him away for questioning.

You had been called by Hill and she told you what had happened. Fury had asked for your help specifically, considering the amount of times you’d had to fake your own death while being undercover. And you’d been dealing with that ever since.

You had wanted to go get the three of them - you learned Sam joined Steve and Natasha, which somehow didn’t surprise you - but Hill refused, saying you needed to stay there just in case.

But Fury was fine, no one was coming, which is how you found yourself swinging your legs above a hundred feet of rushing water.

It didn’t last long. A car pulling up to the side entrance caught your eye and you immediately swung your legs around to rush towards the stairs. It’s not like you haven’t gone longer without seeing Steve before. You’d gone months without seeing him. It was your job. But this was different. Whether it was because for the first time he was the one who left or because he was on the run from the organization you worked for, you didn’t know and didn’t care. All you knew was you needed to see him. Make sure he was okay.

It took you a while to get there, all the stairs and corners and twist and turns. You got there just as Fury ended his explanation, hearing him tell the trio, “can’t kill you if you’re already dead. Besides…I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Your footsteps were echoing and you were sure Steve heard you but when you entered the room, his eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening. “Honey?”

“Oh thank fucking God.” You breathed out, jogging over to squeeze him tightly.

“Y/N…” He murmured in your hair, hugging you tightly back. “What happened? Why are you here?”

Pulling back, you jerked your thumb over your shoulder to the director. “I’m saving his ass.” Your finger then jabbed into his firm chest, your lips falling into a frown. “And worrying about yours. Are you okay?”

“I am. Natasha got shot, but she’ll live.”

You looked over at Natasha, who nodded in confirmation, before looking back into those azure eyes of Steve’s. “What happened? Pierce is keeping a tight lid on everything. I was gonna come find you, but I couldn’t because he was watching me. It’s a miracle I got away from them to help Nicky boy. I haven’t gone out since. But, honest, I was gonna-”

“Honey, honey. You’re rambling again.” Steve chuckled, hand resting on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’ve been safe here. Pierce is behind this whole thing-”

“Yeah, I figured that-”

“-It’s HYDRA, Y/N.”

You froze. “What? HYDRA? Whaddya mean?”

Steve nodded. “HYDRA’s what’s been infiltrating SHIELD. It’s a long story, but Zola continued it when he was hired for-”

“Operation Paperclip. Yeah, I remember learning about that.” You ran a hand over your face. “Okay…” You hummed, looking at the three of them. “Let’s…talk about it more in a little bit. I know we gotta act soon, but Natasha and Fury need to heal a little bit longer and you should get some rest. You look tired.”

Everyone seemed to agree with your statement, starting to disperse from the room. You started walking out, too, when Steve grabbed your bicep and pulled you aside, down the hall a ways away. You opened your mouth, only for him to pull you into his chest.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.”

You nodded, lightly scratching his back, your arms around his slim waist. “I’m glad you are too.” You could feel how tense he was, which was understandable considering what he’d gone through the past couple days. But there was something else. Something in the grip he had on your shirt. The way his heart was hammering against your chest. His erratic breathing and his ducked head. You pulled away to catch his jaw between your fingers, eyes scanning the anguish in his own. “Bubba? What’s wrong?”

It took a moment for him to answer, his eyes growing sadder with every second that passed. “It was Bucky.”

“What?” You felt like the air was knocked out of you. “What do you mean?”

“The Winter Soldier. The assassin who shot Fury. The one who tried killing us on the bridge. It was Bucky. It is Bucky. I saw him, Y/N. I saw his face. It’s him. He survived. When they experimented on him, it must’ve…God, I’m so…I didn’t even notice…I didn’t even check…I left him…” he shook his head, which fell to your shoulder. “Stupid. I’m so stupid.”

“No, no.” You shook your head quickly, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you twisted to kiss the hinge of his tense jaw. “It wasn’t your fault, Steve.” You mumbled softly, lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. He fell thousands of feet, Stevie. You wouldn’t have found him even if you did.”

HIs grip on your hips tightened. “But I didn’t even try.” His voice broke on that last word. “And how could I not notice something going on with him? There were two years between being experimented on and falling. How-?” Voice catching in his throat, he stopped talking to stop himself from crying. You knew he hated crying.

“You can’t do anything about past Bucky.” You reminded him gently. “But you can help him now.”

“He didn’t even remember me.”

“Then make him.”

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

To say you were pissed was an understatement. “I’ve been doing undercover stuff for years! This is a piece of cake!”

Steve shook his head. “You’ll be more helpful with Hill. You know more about Project Insight than me, Sam, and Natasha.”

“Bullshit, Steven! You just don’t want-”

“Honey, please.”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him as he gave you those fucking puppy eyes, his dumb pink lips stuck in a pout. Letting out a rather aggressive puff of air, you looked away. “Fine. But I hate you.”

He beamed and nodded. “I can live with that.”

“Okay.” You glanced at the others. “You all ready?”

“Let’s get these sons of bitches.” Sam stated, making the final adjustments to the wings.

Natasha gave a smirk. “As long as you are.”

Turning back to Steve, you raised an eyebrow, waiting for the captain’s orders. He nodded. “Let’s head out.”

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

“There’s a problem on the flight deck.” Hill informed you, looking at the alert.

“Alright. I’ll-”

“Stay with Hill!”

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s voice through the comms. “Sorry, Cap. You’re breaking up.”

“I know I’m not, Y/N! I’m serious! Stay there!”

But you were already moving towards the flight deck. “I’m not gonna sit on my ass here, Rogers! Hill’s got it covered! I’m just gonna go check it out!”

“Honey-!”

“Bubba!”

The line went quiet and for a moment you thought you lost connection. “Please stay safe.”

You let out a sigh at his quiet pleads, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “That goes for you, too, Steve.”

By the time you got out there, most of the jets were in flames, pilots and crew members scattered around the deck. You scanned the wreckage, trying to find the source-

A gunshot made your head whip to the side. Found it. Or, more accurately, him.

He was standing on top of one of the jets, gun pointed down at the pilot that was sitting in it. Before he could slip in the cockpit, though, you took out your gun and fired at him. Even though you knew who he was, when he looked at you it made your blood run cold. It was confirmation - not that you didn’t trust Steve - but still. Seeing is believing. yet seeing the same eyes you’d seen sparkling up at you from pictures now staring you down, void of any emotion? It was hard to believe it was the same person.

“Oh shit. Bubs?”

“What?! What’s wrong?! Are you okay?!”

You took a couple steps back as the Winter Soldier, no. Bucky - Steve’s Bucky - strode towards you. “Uh…nothing, nothing. I just I, uh, found your Bucky.”

“Y/N, get outta there now! I told you to stay with Hill!”

“Fuck!” You dove out of the way as the assassin started shooting at you. “Now’s not the time for reprimanding, Steven!”

You tuned out his cursings so as to not get distracted when you became engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the fucking Winter Soldier.

“Hi.” You grunted, ducking under his arm and throwing a kick at him, faking it at the last second. Except, he’d already grabbed your ankle. But you did kick him with your other foot. But…he didn’t really move and it made you fall back, so…fail. You let out a grimace when the wind was knocked out of you, but you couldn’t lay there for long as he moved to slam his foot down. You rolled out of the way, swinging your legs up to hit him in the back of the knee. “Nice to finally meet you.”

He growled as Sam exclaimed, “are you seriously chatting with him?”

“It’s mostly one sided - dammit!” The both of you had gotten on your feet again, and you tried hooking your left knee around his left shoulder to tug him down, but he had slammed you against a jet, your leg stretched in a very uncomfortable position as your free foot stood on your toes. He had his metal arm - which no one had informed you about and you were kinda salty about it - against your throat, his other hand coming up in a fist.

Bouncing on your toes a bit, you finally lifted your free leg up to knee him in the side of his face, making you wince slightly at the stretch and the burn in your left thigh, which was the only thing besides his metallic limb holding you up against the jet.

He stumbled to the side, throwing you by the leg on his shoulder. You went sprawling against the pavement, a hiss leaving your lips at the serious roadburn you no doubt just got. Sitting up quickly, not wanting him to get the upper hand, you let out a breath seeing him swiftly moving into the cockpit of the jet he just had you pinned against.

“Guys…he’s…heading your way…just a…heads up. Also…thank you. It was nice…to fucking know…about the metal arm…beforehand. I’m just gonna…rest here for a minute…”

“You’re not hurt too bad, are you?”

“No, Cap. No, just…gonna be aching for a while. Ugh…” Begrudgingly, you got up to your feet. “I think I’m gonna…go back and chill with Maria.”

“Told you so.”

“Shut up, finish your job, and don’t die, Rogers! And next time, please, for the love of God, mention the metal arm!”

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

All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading @bibliophilewednesday @breadqueen95 @marvelettesassemble @w-wolfhxrd

#cjswriting #fatws series oneshots #fatws series oneshot 6 #fatws series #falcon and the winter soldier series oneshots #no one said anything about a metal arm oneshot #steve rogers x reader #kinda #💛🧭#❤🐦💙🦾⏪

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parkers-gal · 4 years ago

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would you be willing to write a taylor!reader? just thinking how cute it would be to see tom and the rest of the world react to london boy 🥺 (sorry for the mistakes, english is not my first language 🥲)

that’s okay !!! your english is great bb :) i got multiple requests for this so here we go <3

(i streamed this song so fucking much… bye)

—

This is the first album you complete own — just you, with all the rights and the master recordings. So, best believe Tom’s throwing a big fucking celebration for the release night.

You’re all gathered in the living with glasses of alcohol in your hands and snacks on the coffee table for self-serving. With the album over an hour long, you’ve decided to skip around the tracks a little bit, letting everyone pick and choose so they can listen to it fully on their own time.

Tom has claimed which track will be the first to play when the clock strikes midnight: London Boy. When you announced the tracklist on social media, there was quite a lot of hype around track eleven, and god almighty you were certain you’d be outed for your complete infatuation for your boyfriend.

“Your secrecy remains no more in just a few minutes, love,” Tom comes up behind you, hand finding a comfortable place on the small of your back while he whispers into your ear, beer in his left hand. You know what he’s talking about before he even utters the words — he just wants to hear this project. You’ve been talking about it for so long, so much that Tom came to the studio a few times.

“Less than a minute!” Harrison shouts with a toothy grin, readjusting himself on the armchair.

“C’mon,” Tom links your hands and drags you over to the couches. You share a loveseat with him, and just as he places his glass on the coffee table, you check the time.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, hand clutching your heart. “It’s out. Oh my-”

“Quick!” Tom interrupts excitedly. “Somebody play London Boy through the speakers!”

“Tom-”

“Shush, love. I’m your fan before anything else.”

You chuckle but give in, clicking the track and letting the intro play. Tom furrows his brows and looks at you for confirmation on who he thinks is speaking.

“James Corden…?”

“Yep,” You smile almost shyly, and it makes Tom coo. “Remember when I had that interview and you were waiting for me backstage?”

Tom nods in understanding before his eyes turn soft. “That’s a cute tribute-y reference.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You wave him off in a state of flux and bashfulness.

The track continues to play, and you gauge Tom’s reaction the entire time. When the first verse mentions an accent, Tom’s reverted back into his memories when you’d first obsessed over how hot his voice and accent is. His eyes turn to you, and he blushes when he realizes your face is scrunched up so you can avoid talking about how mushy you’re being in the song.

“This entire song is just a lyrical Tom Holland obsession,” Harrison pouts. “Gross. You two are gross. Give the world a break.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen, you div!” Tom flicks Harrison’s knee and the blonde feigns a dramatic gasp while you chuckle to yourself.

The end of the chorus makes Tom’s eyes widen, realizing how knee deep you are in this song — it’s the entirety of your feelings for Tom summarized in one song. He doesn’t know if he should kiss you, scream in excitement, or sing along. He decides that at some point tonight he’ll end up doing all three.

At the end of the second verse, when the music is narrowed down to merely your voice, Tom loses his cool. You hide your face in your hands, pushed over the edge in shyness.

“Love,” Tom coos, pulling your hands away from your face and intertwining your fingers. “That is my favorite song in the entire fucking world. You are literally the cutest person I have ever met- and you wrote a song about me?” His entire expression softens and he looks like a human puppy. He’s like a teddy bear, and as he pulls you into his embrace, you hum in content and decide that he is a teddy bear.

“Okay, I’d hate to break up whatever mushy grossness this is,” Harrison pipes up, face in his phone, “But twitter is freaking out. Like a lot. If I were you I’d-” “Oh shit, I forgot about the babes,” You pull away from Tom, hand reaching for your phone that’s charging on the small table beside the arm of the couch. Your fingers work faster than your mind, and before you know it, your eyes are flooded with messages from both yours and Tom’s fans.

“anyone peeping london boy??? 👀”

“wait but y/n totally wrote this abt tom… 😩”

“NO BUT THE PUB AND RUGBY LINE… THIS IS SO TOM”

Not only was your timeline full of hype about the track, but it was trending number two in the United States alone, with over 30 thousand tweets in less than an hour.

You glance up after a few quiet moments, eyes locking with Tom’s. Your jaw drops in surprise, something that causes Tom to chuckle breathily.

“Love,” He clicks the off button of his cell phone. “You’re trending on twitter.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s trending too!”

“I’m not the one who wrote the song!”

You scrunch your face with a small whine, head falling into Tom’s chest in a huffy hug. He laughs again, and he can tell how flustered you’re getting.

“Just love you a lot, ‘s all,” You mumble into his shirt, stumbled hands gripping his. Tom’s movements falter as a blush coats his cheeks. He glances down into his lap, where your head lays in embarrassment.

“Yeah?” His hand smoothes over your hair sweetly. “I love being your London boy.”

want more? my masterlist.

taglist tingz :) 🏷️ want to join? fill out this form.

pp + th taglist: @spideyspeaches @mayrapreciado20 @tomhollandlol @supremethunda @sinisterspidey @turtletaylor98 @parkerpeterparker2004 @peterbenjiparker @pixiedustsupplyco @kelieah @selfcarecap @turtletaylor98

th franchise: @roseke @wonderfulfluffer @farfromtommy @pxxerfect (-sf) @seutarose @itssmadelyn @woopwoopwoop222 @white-wolf1940 @uh-just-ice @butterf1yaurora @hunnybunimdun @mggsluvbug @chrisosterfield @mamaparker28

permanent: @lunalovegoodsgirlfriend @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

th taglist: @lmaotshollandd

a strikeout means i could not tag you! pls message me for support <3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x ts!reader #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fluff #tom holland fluffy

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Note

Hey babe <3 Here's a soulmate concept for you: soulmates share a braincell and all of the same kinks. (It's us. This is a callout post for us)

Soooo this is going undercut from the get go... I wasn’t sure how I was going to write this but once I started I kinda fell in love with it. It’s also late so I’m not sure how effective proof reading was....

Geraskier modern AU - Soulmates but kinky? 1.4k.

Warning: 18+, no actual sex but this is very horny...., mentions of sex toys, masturbation, handcuffs... and more? Seriously... 18+ Only.

Now with a sequel by @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

Part Three now up

Also on AO3

Geralt was having a shit day, shit week really. Ciri had been sent home from school the day before for fighting with one her classmates, despite the fact that she had been defending herself from a bully. Work at the fire station had been especially draining too, non-stop calls all week. He was irrationally angry at the world, not helped by the burning itch under his skin. He’d been unbelievably frustrated all week and no matter how much he jerked off in the shower, he just couldn’t get rid of that ache at his core. His dreams this week had been pure filth, dreams of bursting through a window into a burning building to rescue the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, gorgeous cornflower blue eyes that haunted him even during his waking hours.

Dandelion’s eyes.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. His infatuation with the OnlyFans star was getting out of hand. He’d discovered Dandelion just over a year ago, his dating life was non-existent and he had been getting unbearably horny. He’d stumbled upon Dandelion on a desperate bid to sate his growing urges. It had worked for a few months, but lately it had only been getting worse again. Every Monday evening he’d spend in frustrated torment, dreaming of Dandelion in lingerie, or watching him as he brought himself to the edge of an orgasm before letting out a pitiful whine as he gripped the base of his cock before he could come. This week he’d been plagued with the thought of Dandelion going about his day with a plug up his arse so that, by the time he was ready to record his video, he could get straight to fucking himself on his favourite bright pink vibrator.

The thought of the lube sliding down Dandelion’s thick thighs as he pulled out the plug had been enough to send Geralt over the edge as he bit down on his hand, come painting the bathroom tiles white before being washed away.

The weirdest part about Geralt’s fantasies was that no matter what he thought, or dreamt during the week, Dandelion’s videos would match when they were released on Wednesday. So Geralt was taking bets on either a role-play where Dandelion needed rescuing or the butt plug, he was secretly hoping butt plug, the fireman rescue scenario would be too close to home. He was already struggling to put distance between his life and Dandelion’s online one. He sighed and pulled out his phone to check the time. The video wouldn’t be released for another couple of hours at least, which was fine. He wouldn’t be able to watch it until Ciri was safely tucked up in bed, the unenviable life of a single parent. First he needed to finish the grocery shopping, pick up Ciri from school, cook dinner, help Ciri with her homework and then maybe watch some TV with her before he could bundle her upstairs to bed. It felt like an awful lot of work for his day off.

He groaned again, thinking about Dandelion in public had been a mistake, and one he’d made countless times before. If he were the superstitious type, he might have said that Dandelion was his soulmate. There were all sorts of papers and articles that suggested that soulmates existed, that your soulmate was one that understood you on a level that no one else did, that you in some way were telepathically linked. On one hand it would explain how a random OnlyFans porn star knew exactly what Geralt had been dreaming of all week despite the fact he never mentioned it in his comments, on the other hand it was bullshit.

Utter bullshit.

He grumbled under his breath and went in search of the snack aisle. He’d been craving white chocolate covered pretzels all day and Ciri had finished his supply off without telling him. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the other man standing by his favourite snacks until it was too late. He crashed into him, putting his arms around the other man to stop him from falling.

And suddenly bright cornflower blue eyes were staring up at him.

“Fuck!”

Geralt stared back into the eyes of Dandelion… the man he’d been infatuated with for months.

“Umm… hi?” Dandelion gave a little wave, biting his lip and running his hand through his soft brunet hair. Geralt swallowed as Dandelion released his lip, a move he’d done thousands of times in his videos.

“Sorry,” Geralt grumbled. “Wasn’t thinking straight.”

Dandelion laughed, a beautiful musical laugh that was even more captivating in person. “Oh darling, I never think straight. I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

Dandelion, no Jaskier, extended his hand and Geralt took it, surprised by his firm grip.

“Geralt.”

“White chocolate covered pretzel?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head and passing Geralt a box.

Geralt blinked and took the box without thinking. “Thanks.”

Geralt’s thoughts were going a hundred miles an hour and yet he could only manage single syllable words whilst Jaskier smiled at him, brighter than the fucking sun. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so smitten.

Shit.

Jaskier just laughed again, his hand gripping Geralt’s arm. “Forgive me for being bold, but you sir, are fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt licked his lips, barely resisting the urge to push the brunet up against the shelves and kiss him senseless, but he knew he needed to tell Jaskier the truth before anything else was said. “You’re Dandelion.”

Jaskier blushed very prettily and scratched the back of his neck. “Ah. Yes. Hello.”

“Sorry, I thought you should know,” Geralt frowned, he hadn’t meant to make Jaskier uncomfortable. “I umm… I like your videos.”

Fuck, why had he said that?

Jaskier laughed, the sounding easing the tension in Geralt’s shoulders, and winked. “Oh so do I, they’re a pleasure to make.”

Geralt smiled at the joke. “What’s the video this week?”

“That would be telling. What would you like it to be, Geralt?” Geralt name fell from his lips like fucking prayer.

Geralt’s mouth went dry as he thought about his fantasies from Monday night, and the dreams of rescuing Dandelion that had he rutting against his bedsheets in his sleep. “Had a couple of ideas.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well how about you give me your number, and we can discuss this somewhere more… private?”

Geralt nodded and they exchanged numbers. Geralt felt like he’d stepped into a fever dream, why Jaskier hadn’t been put off when he’d admitted he was a fan, he had no idea, but he wasn’t complaining. They’d only just met but Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that Jaskier was going to change his life. He felt lighter already, the day seemed brighter. He was just saying goodbye to Jaskier when the man shuffled awkwardly, letting out a soft moan, his face flushing deep crimson.

“Jaskier?”

“Fuck, sorry. I umm, I’m filming a bonus video later tonight. Once I’ve posted Monday’s. It needed a little prep work,” Jaskier admitted with a sheepish smile. “If you catch my drift.”

Geralt blinked at Jaskier. “The fuck?” He muttered mostly to himself. “You didn’t happen to record a role-play on Monday did you?”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

“It’s gonna sound stupid.”

“Tell me.”

Geralt took a deep breath and then closed his eyes, not wanting to see Jaskier’s face when he admitted it. “Been dreaming about it. Your videos always seem to align with my dreams, or umm… thoughts when I’m alone.”

“Like… soulmates?” Jaskier’s hand was on his cheek, the contact burning his skin and he felt a swell of arousal, heat prickling his skin.

“Never believed in that,” Geralt admitted, opening his eyes to find Jaskier gazing back at him with wide hopeful eyes that made Geralt feel strangely warm inside. “Starting to wonder though.”

Jaskier leaned in, brushing his lips against Geralt’s cheek. “Call me, Geralt, who knows maybe I’ll even make a video specially for you? Or…” Jaskier smirked, winking in a way that should have been illegal “you could always join me. There’s some things I’ve been dying to film that simply require a partner.”

“I’ll bring the handcuffs,” Geralt murmured so that only Jaskier could hear.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh we are going to get along splendidly, Geralt.”

Geralt chuckled as Jaskier sauntered away down the aisle, filling his basket with Geralt’s favourite foods. “Soulmates,” he scoffed.

Maybe it wasn’t bullshit after all.

#the witcher #geraskier #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #nsft #mind the rating #it gets spicy #wolfie's witcher writing #geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

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jakeyp · 3 years ago

Note

“I don’t know why I’m crying I-I’m sorry” // angst and fluff ♥︎

hi... i kind of wrote a small fic with that prompt. you can read it here or on ao3! thanks for this i really needed the motivation. i decided to write something about what happened after 8x06! <3

—

Amy arrives home a little later than usual that night, overwhelmed with the events of the last few days. There are so many things to process, though the only thing she can focus on at the moment, is her husband’s suspension. She knows Jake very well, and most likely he’ll try to hide his sadness and pretend he’s fine, not because he thinks he’s weak but because he doesn’t want Amy to worry about him. Yet, she can’t help to wonder how he’s taking it.

Not knowing what to expect as she enters their apartment, Amy tosses her keys onto the couch sadly, too distracted to place them on the key hook. Jake is nowhere to be seen, so she figures he must be putting Mac to sleep, since it’s past ten already, and there are no toys scattered around the floor.

Indeed, she finds Jake whispering to his son, who lies in his crib, babbling and very, very awake, even though the lights are dimmed and it��s quiet in there.

“Hey,” Amy says softly.

Despite her tone, Jake startles, turning around, but immediately relaxes when he sees it’s just her. “Ames,” he breathes, looking down at Mac and then back at his wife, guilt taking over his features. “I kind of let him take a nap earlier and now he can’t sleep…”

“It’s okay,” Amy says, shrugging. She wants to add something else to reassure him, but her mind’s entirely blank, so she settles for a casual question. “What did you two have for dinner?”

Jake smiles. “He tried scrambled eggs for the first time. I know it’s technically breakfast food, but I read he can eat them now, plus it’s what I cook best.”

“And?”

“He loved them, duh.”

Amy chuckles. “Of course. Did you have some too?”

“I… wasn’t really hungry.”

“Oh. Well, I haven’t eaten either. We can heat some leftovers if you want.”

Jake nods with a weak smile, which widens as he turns to check on Mac. “Hey, he’s asleep! Maybe he just needed to make sure mama arrived home safe.”

Amy leans over to look at her sleeping son. Mac looks so much like his dad, when he laughs or smiles—which he’s been doing recently a lot—but especially when he’s asleep and completely peaceful.

She turns to see Jake staring at their baby with a proud smile and it warms her heart. Perhaps he’s forgotten about the suspension.

“Leftovers, then?” she whispers after a while, grabbing him by the wrist to pull him a little closer to her.

“Sure,” he says, throwing a last glance at Mac before following Amy out of their room and closing the door behind him. They’ve learned to make as little noise as possible in the last ten months, so their voices are barely above a whisper by default whenever Mac is asleep.

As it’s routine, Jake turns on the TV, not choosing a channel, and mutes it before joining Amy in the kitchen, while she gets the food from the fridge and puts it in the microwave.

From the corner of her eye, she can see Jake leaning against the counter in an awkward pose, staring at her almost anxiously.

Amy has no idea how to ask the question she’s been wanting to ask him since she got there, so she takes a deep breath and turns to him. “Babe, are you… okay with it?”

His expression tells her he’s been dreading her to ask. Yet, he plays dumb. “With what?”

“With everything that happened. Your suspension…”

“Oh,” Jake spats after what seems like hours, as if every emotion he was supposed to be feeling before was just settling in. Amy’s stomach drops. These subjects might not be her thing. “It’s fine. I suppose I can talk about it, but is it necessary?”

She shrugs. “Just tell me.” Her voice is as soft as it can be. “How do you feel about it?”

Jake puts on a poker face now. She’s usually good at reading him, but she can’t tell what he’s thinking. Amy knows how much he enjoys his job. Everything had happened so fast, though, at some point she’d lost track of it all. One second he was very excited about his ‘Speed’ situation and then, suddenly, he was in too deep.

To sum it up, it hadn’t gone well.

“I feel weird,” Jake finally admits, looking down. “It feels weird to know I won’t be going back tomorrow. But I’ll… adapt, I guess.”

“I’m sure you will,” she automatically replies, hesitating a little before placing a hand on his chest.

He seems to attempt a smile, but it vanishes right away. “I feel stupid too. Why can’t I listen? Holt told me to stay out of it and I screwed up. I screw up a lot.”

Amy frowns. “Of course you don’t. Sometimes you can be silly, yes, but there’s nothing wrong with it. This time it just… it got out of my hands too. I was really drunk.”

Jake chuckles. “Yeah,” he says shortly, and then swallows. “So five months, huh? It isn’t that much, is it? There are like thirty days in a month so it would be like a hundred days which have twenty-four hours each, so it would be like twenty-four thousand hours.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. Math is decidedly not Jake’s strength. “It’s only like… three thousand and seven hundred hours.”

“Oh. That’s… still a lot.”

Amy sighs. His eyes are red, probably with exhaustion, and she can’t recognize the emotion behind them. It might be just deep, deep sadness.

“Ames,” he says huskily before she can talk. “What am I gonna do?”

Her eyebrows shot up, but before she can even think of an answer, Jake cuts her off again. “Things were so well yesterday. It makes me think… I can mess everything up so quickly. And it’s always my fault. What am I gonna mess up next?”

“Don’t say that,” she says, her throat knotting. “It’s okay to make mistakes, babe. And you are great at dealing with the consequences. You learn from your mistakes, you’ve always done.”

“Yeah, I keep pushing things until something goes wrong,” he argues in a trembling voice, “and until then I stop, I—” and suddenly that trembling voice breaks.

Amy’s stomach drops again as his eyes tear up, becoming redder. He immediately looks away when he realizes himself.

“Hey,” she says soothingly, cupping his face to make him look at her. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I know it’s a dumb thing to cry over, I just—” once more he’s unable to finish his sentence, pinching his lips shut before his voice can get any louder or high-pitched.

A single tear streams down his cheek.

“It’s not dumb,” Amy says. “If it makes you feel like this, it’s not dumb.”

“Well, I got myself into it—”

“And as I said, you will learn from it. That’s what matters.”

“I’ve been suspended like a thousand times already,” he counters, his tone bitter. "What makes you think it won’t happen again? What makes you think I couldn’t get fired?”

She shrugs, trying to stay calm even though she wants to cry as well. “I wouldn’t be less proud of you than I am today,” she says. “You’ve grown up so much and whatever you have to deal with, I have to deal with too, because I love you and I’m willing to. So please, don’t beat yourself up over this because it’s going to be fine.”

He sniffs. “How can you know that?”

“Because I’ll make sure everything’s fine. You’re not alone, babe. You have me.”

Jake stays in silence for a few seconds, and she thinks he’s going to start sobbing, but his lips curl instead. “I love you so much,” is all he says.

“I love you too,” she mouths back, afraid she’ll begin crying if she talks, and then pulls him into a hug.

They stay like that for a while, maybe five seconds or ten minutes, sinking in a silence that they don’t really mind. She pulls away from his embrace only to wipe his tears away. Jake looks so tired. Exhausted, even. She feels the same way, when minutes ago they were going to watch some TV and have dinner, though now she’s not sure she’s up for it.

Jake must have been thinking the same thing because a small laugh comes from his lips all of a sudden.

“What?” Amy asks, amused.

“I just realized we never even heated the food.”

Amy chuckles, and it only causes him to laugh a little harder. She wonders if it’s the exhaustion making such a simple detail seem so funny, and rests her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s calmer now, it could be matching hers.

“Babe,” she says softly.

“Yes?” Jake hums.

“It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and Amy separates, afraid she said the wrong thing, but Jake’s only bowing his head like she said the cheesiest thing in the world.

“I know. Thanks, Ames,” he says, and then adds, “I love you.” Even though she hears those words coming from him at least ten times a day, he manages to make them sound like it’s the first every time.

“I love you too,” Amy whispers, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Jake is about to return a much longer kiss on the lips when Mac interrupts the moment. Amy squeezes her eyes shut with a knowing smile—this has happened many times before. However, Jake immediately becomes alert and rushes to attend to his son.

Amy chuckles to herself, finally heating the food which is still inside the microwave and turns off the TV, because they are definitely not watching anything before they fall asleep, worn off with the events.

Like Jake would say, they’re sort of an old couple now, but she couldn’t care less. To her, so far, it’s meant that things can be so easy now.

Her husband doesn’t join her back in the kitchen so she goes and checks on him and Mac. The room feels so warm and quiet still, as Jake rocks his son softly, lulling him, again not realizing Amy’s watching. It always seems like he drifts away from reality when he’s trying to make Mac stop crying—and he’s good at it. She doesn’t know what it is, but Jake is great at it.

“I have to admit,” Amy says, startling him of course, “I’m a little jealous of you. You get to spend five months with him, all by yourself.”

Jake gives her what looks like an automatic smile, and then realization hits him. “I hadn’t thought about that before,” he huffs, stroking Mac’s soft curls and looking down at him. “Did you hear that, bud? Five months for only the two of us.”

Mac babbles, and Amy tries to ignore how awake he still sounds. “Careful, Ames,” Jake tells her. “That sounded a lot like ‘dada’, and with these five months? It’s definitely going to be his first word.”

Amy rolls her eyes with a playful smile. “Not if I train him every night.”

“Challenge accepted.”

An hour later they’re both in bed after eating dinner and Amy has already changed into her pajamas. Jake hasn’t stopped rocking Mac, who woke up once more, but his father doesn’t seem to mind, and Amy has the feeling that his suspension doesn’t sound so bad to him anymore.

—

#this is the first time i post a fic!!#i let myself go #it's 1.9 k words i think #anyway i'm excited to know what you think!#i enjoyed writing this a lot #it had been ages since i wrote anything like this #so THANK YOU anon #ilysm #jake peralta #amy santiago #mac peralta #b99 fanfic #fluff #angst #comfort

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solomonish · 4 years ago

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How To Keep Your Demon Entertained At A Walmart

Congratulations! You've earned yourself a few demon date days up in the human world! But what's this? You have errands to run? Well, we all know these demons can't function without you for more than five minutes....but an entity that's thousands of years old gets a little bored and restless in the hyper-market wasteland of a Walmart...

Nowdateables: coming soon!

Lucifer

if you don't want him getting passive-aggressive about how you should've done this before he got here (yeesh Lucifer some of us have jobs or responsibilities that we can't shove onto our siblings for a day to see our precious mc) then you better be ready to make conversation

definitely not the type to allow you to even think about sending him off so you can get stuff done. he's not even that bothersome, so he'll get offended if you even think about it, but also wouldn't you rather keep him around to reach the top shelves?

basically if you don’t want to keep Lucifer entertained, you have to be the one he needs to keep entertained

do that thing where you roll around on the cart like a skateboard and he’ll be trying to put a stop to it immediately

put random things in your cart that he knows you don’t need and let him take it out and put it back where it belongs

stare him in the eyes as you put that party size brownie mix in your cart then speed walk away. he will come up from an aisle in front of you and silently pluck the box out and take it back. he will come back to see seven boxes of corn dogs and momentarily considers breaking up with you

does not need a treat as a bribe, but will definitely forgive your antics if you bought something from the bakery to snack on as you go home (especially if you did it without him noticing, considering the eagle eye he’s had to have on your cart the whole time)

just don’t have the nerve to complain about the crumbs in your car after that

Mammon

I would say to ask him to scan the area looking for dropped coins on the floor but he'd probably knock down shelves trying to look beneath them so....maybe don't?

also please keep an eye on him or he WILL be shoplifting. human jail is (probably?) a step up from demon jail but like. let's aim for no jail, ok mammon?

instead, give him a pre-portioned off list and tell him it's like a scavenger hunt. he'll scamper off to explore the walmart and his duty to keeping you happy has like a 70% chance of preventing him from stealing anything too important

make sure the stuff you put on the list is kind of hard to find but not too hard. you wanna keep him occupied without risking him freaking out because he can't find this super specific spice you want

either that or only make a really vague list like. tell him you need bread and he'll stand in the bread aisle trying to remember if you like white bread or whole wheat bread until you come to retrieve him

bring money for a treat. if it's near st patrick's day go in the seasonal aisle and hope they have chocolate gold coins

he's not too hard to deal with, but figuring out what's sneaky enough to put on the list is a chore of its own so going by yourself is less work anyway

Leviathan

taking him to walmart was your final fatal mistake

seriously? he has to go in? you could have just left him in the car!!

you take him intending to have him pick out some normie snacks (since you don't have any limited edition whatever-the-fucks in your house right now) but he looks so uncomfortable you make a detour towards the games

just leave him to play on the trial device and go pick out a few things for him to choose from when you circle back to him

arguable the least stressful trip for you until you have to wade through the pool of kids surrounding him and watching him play when it's time to pay and leave

you won't have to buy him anything but you will have to wait for him to finish the level he's on before he lets you drag him away. and he'll probably complain a little bit in the car about how terrible it was to go in in the first place, which a treat would help minimize.

so i guess just pick your battles with this one?

Satan

satan is a refined individual with startling amounts of self control. he does not need pointed in the direction of the books. he can entertain himself on a grocery run.

point him in the direction of the books anyway

their selection is always small (because it’s a walmart not a bookstore) and half of it is children’s anyway so he’ll probably wander off real quick

satan doesn’t need to be entertained, no, he’s past that. he needs to be kept on a leash

you have no way of knowing where he’ll end up. sometimes he’ll be somewhere that makes sense like in the stationary but sometimes you’ll find him staring at the paint samples like it’s a masterpiece in a museum or over by the fishing hooks reading up about local fish populations and how to get a fishing license and you’re just like “???? i’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes???? don’t give me facts about salmon???”

will ask you why you need to buy tires in the same place you get your food. isn’t that suspicious? what do they specialize in?

answer him only with the word “bargains” and he’ll stop asking once he understands or gets annoyed

you don’t need to buy him a treat unless he finds a book he wants. then come on mc, you dragged him out here and you’re NOT gonna let him get this one thing??

Asmodeus

he's fine with making an errand run with you actually!

he's up on the human world for you baby, just make sure to hold his hand so he feels appreciated

asmo is far too entertained with the concept of a walmart for his own good. don't go with him if you want it to be a quick trip because he'll want to go around the whole store

thinks at first that it's kind of nifty that humans just dump all the things they need in one store but is quickly turned off from the novelty when he realizes how short the distance is between the clothes and the nearest package of raw chicken

even if the selection is small, he will want to spend time in the makeup department. probably goes on rants about how he can’t imagine this quality of product is good for your skin

will still buy nail polish though if you let him

overall? not terrible to have around, but make sure you don’t have anywhere to be in the next hour when you take him

Beelzebub

pack a gallon bag of cheerios like he's a toddler and get ready to fucking book it in and out of there

you know how you should never go grocery shopping when you’re hungry? what were you thinking bringing Beel around??

another brother who’s good for reaching tall shelves if you need it

Beel also has this talent where he can just list off the ingredients you need if you happen to forget your list

if you want, you can distract him momentarily by just throwing out random dishes and he’ll get the ingredients right every time (even though they’re human dishes!!) but you’ll end up giving him like five different cravings by the time you leave

only take him if you want to speedrun grocery shopping, because he will start eating food you haven’t paid for if you take too long

bring extra money for that too, just in case he gets caught :(

Belphegor

bringing belphie to walmart isn't a matter of keeping him entertained moreso than keeping him awake

which you will inevitably fail to do

so even if you only need like three things, get him a cart and let him fall into the basket

he’ll try to stay awake (and he’ll give very self-satisfied grins to the people who stare at him ((and especially the ones who say “wow i wanna do that”))) but he can only fight off his sin for so long

stop by the blankets so he can stuff a few soft things in (bc he’s gotta be uncomfortable cramped in the little basket) and he’ll make himself a tiny nest

the good news is you can put anything on top of him and he won’t complain. just don’t drop any gallons of milk on him or anything that’ll wake him up

go to a self check-out so the employees don’t yell at you

after you put your groceries in your car, just dump his ass on the pavement. he’ll forgive you if you bought him the blankets.

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somedrunkpirate · 3 years ago

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learn the dead | Arthur/Eames

Read here on ao3 or continue below Tags: Presumed Dead, First Time, Angst with a happy ending, pining Rating: T Wordcount: 5,4k

------------------------------

Everything checks out.

The hospital records, the police report, even the fucking local news because, to quote scruffy looking anchor, with a stutter no less, “There has— sn’t been an lethal acc—sident for over ten years on this s—street.”

The information is bare-bones, but that isn’t remarkable for an open and shut case like this: drunk driver meets tree trunk. Happens a thousand times a year, and will continue to happen whether you make a fuss out of it or not. Write down the licence plate, try (and fail) to inform relatives, do the paperwork and get home on time for dinner for once. Simple as pie.

Except. Except Arthur wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have driven drunk. His stick reaches too far up his ass to do something so utterly reckless in reality.

That thought is what had spurred Eames to begin his search— there had to be something, anything, that could explain the whole bullshit situation. Even if that something is a hit, covered up like an accident. Then at least Eames would have some to blame— Someone to kill.

But everything checks out.

Even that initial discrepancy. Arthur couldn’t have been drunk, but after many phone calls and bribes, Eames had learned what Arthur could have been.

He could have been high.

His last job had been an experimental trial. Not with a chemist Eames knew. An academic who had shit his pants when Eames barged in with a smile as sharp as a knife— and a knife in his hand, of course. Wouldn’t do to be less than intimidating in this case. The chemist had spluttered into a rant Eames had understood half of, so he’d called Yusuf and held the phone up without responding to the cursing at being awoken in the middle of the night. But he’d caught on quickly, started to ask questions Eames wouldn’t have thought to ask. Then more, sharper. With a hiss.

“What is he saying?” Eames had asked, after the chemist had run out of breath.

“Eames—“

The way Yusuf sounded, a sigh more than an utterance. The tone of his voice as it tried to fold in pity— badly. Yusuf was never quite made for compassion. Though the attempt had been enough to haunt Eames’ nightmares since.

“Eames. He’s dead.”

The confirmation had come without fanfare in the end. Eames didn’t even kill the chemist, after. It hadn’t been his fault that the mix Arthur had taken voluntarily turned out to suppress reflexes when tired. Not tired as they would call it— after a rush job, when exhaustion nipped at your heels. Just tired; about to drink a cup of coffee tired. Arthur probably hadn’t even felt any different until it was too late. But it had been raining, and he’d been driving for more than six hours. It was no one’s fault that Arthur had lost control over the vehicle just in front of the only tree in a three mile radius.There had been a rabbit flattened between the car and the bark. He’d probably been trying to save it.

A fucking rabbit.

Eames had hung up on Yusuf without a word. It had been the last time he’d spoken to anyone for a long time.

Except that isn’t quite true.

“Well, darling, you’ve gotten me in quite a pickle.”

The grave doesn’t respond. It never does.

— — — — —

If someone had told him that his reaction to Arthur’s death would be to stand before his grave every day for a month straight, he'd have laughed his lungs out of his chest.

It would’ve been sad, of course, to see such a talented colleague go. He might even have gone on a bender for a week— drinking away the sorrows that come with a lost acquaintance— maybe a friend. But he’d have better things to do than indulge himself for longer than that. He’d been indulging himself with Arthur for far too long, and death should have been the end to it.

Because he had been thinking about it, sometimes, when he was feeling fanciful. You would have had to be blind not to see the chemistry. The push and pull that led to delicious flirtation — as much as Arthur wanted to deny it — and even more delicious dreamsharing. They made each other better and that was honestly the only thing Eames ever looked for, when, if ever, he thought about that nebulous concept of ‘settling down’.

So yes, there would be something more to losing Arthur. Eames had known even then. It was losing that slight hint of potential. Though that is always a treacherous word.

Because he never truly believed he’d make it that far— not just with Arthur, who would’ve laughed even harder if Eames were ever to confess his vague future plans for them — but with life in general. Why plan for something that would be cut short anyway? Even if Arthur could be persuaded to make something out of the spark between them, it would’ve been cruel to do so. Eames knew himself well. He wouldn’t have stopped taking risks, stop wanting more-- craving freedom like a drug. The idea to set Arthur up for inevitable heartbreak had been enough to avoid thinking about practical steps. A fantasy was fine. Eames got paid to live in them. He didn’t get paid for reality.

So, Arthur’s death would of course be sad. But it shouldn’t have been more than another scar on his back— the punishment of the trade he chose, along with a whisper of nostalgia at losing a construct of his imagination. Even he wouldn’t have had the heart to keep the fantasy of a dead man alive for his own entertainment. A week, a few drinks, and it should’ve been over.

It shouldn’t have destroyed him.

“I just never thought I’d be the one left behind, darling,” Eames says to the wet dirt below him. It feels off to tell the headstone itself— the name is fake. Aaron Fister. Arthur had thrown a knife past his head when Eames had shown him the forged papers. To say he regrets the joke now is an understatement.

“In all fairness, it should’ve been you here, it would make more sense for you to fall in love with me, once I’m not there to bother you anymore. Absentia makes the heart go fonder, hmm?”

The dirt seems to be judging him. It’s good that some things never change.

“I know— I know it's hypocritical. I didn’t even— I didn’t even love you. It was just a game. A fun thing to theorise about when the goings got tough. Would you be as snappish if we lived together? Would you forgive me faster if I sucked you off? Would you kiss me goodbye in the airport?” Eames stops himself, and rubs a hand over his face, groaning. “It’s humiliating, darling. I should’ve just gotten off at the thought of you like half of the dreamshare community was doing. Hand on or in their whatever and imagine you moaning next to them. But I had to be pathetic about it. Though this is reaching new heights, I must say.”

He leaves, abruptly sick of himself. He comes back the next day, as always.

Some days, though, Eames doesn’t devolve into confessions that make the little old ladies passing by their lost friend’s grave raise their eyebrows and linger by a random grave to listen anyway.

Some days, Eames is angry.

The first time, he breaks his toe in the process.

“You bloody cunt!” He’s aware that he’s shouting, but he doesn’t stop. “Never experiment alone! Isn’t that what you fucking say to the newbies? You need someone to be a baseline. Someone who can bring you home safe. You fuck. Why didn’t you call me. Why didn’t you fucking—“

Kicking the gravestone had not been his best idea, but the pain of it brings a rush of satisfaction. There is— so much, inside of him. Eames is drowning in it, and the throb in his feet cuts right through it. Clarity. He kicks again.

“You fucking bastard.”

The old ladies have gone from curious to concerned now. Eames hobbles away, hissing, before he gets a restraining order on a grave.

The next day he’s back, a bottle of whiskey in hand, and finds himself apologising.

“I know— I never made it quite clear that you could call me, for stuff like that. That I would pick up. Maybe I wouldn’t have. Or no, I would have, but I might not have bothered for that. The jobs— I knew how to handle you on the job. But outside of that. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage. I wouldn’t think that way then, of course. Convince myself that I’m above errand runs like that. Throw you a bone recommending some up and coming kid I knew or something— intern type, for all that we have those here. But I don’t think I would’ve come. So it isn’t your fault. You made a mistake, not getting back-up, but it isn’t your fault. You didn’t know you had any. And I didn’t dare to believe I could be yours. That you would let me. That it wouldn’t end in disaster.”

Eames leans against the cold stone and sighs. “’Suppose it has, already. Would’ve been too good to have it end any other way.”

— — — — —

When Eames isn’t in a graveyard, or in a bar, he’s in the warehouse.

It had felt too… personal, to get a hotel room for this. To do his research in a living room, as opposed to the dreary, dusty and echoey spaces where most of their professional relationship had flourished. It’s too big for a one-man job, but Eames had managed to fill it up anyway. Boxes upon boxes of information, any trace of Arthur he could find. Every email, record, police report, college paper— printed and archived. Eames can find his way through the documents blind and drunk. Arthur has taken over every nook and cranny of the warehouse— and every nook and cranny of Eames’ mind. Eames has read everything, twice over.

If Arthur had been alive to know, he would’ve killed him.

Because Arthur had always been a private person, for all that he pries in the lives of clients and collaborators both. He was the one who asked the questions and rarely answered them. It had always been a luxury— a rare reward, to be thrown a scrap of information. He’d always said something with that slight subtle smile, like he knew the power his breadcrumbs of personal life held over others. Everyone ravenous for more intel on one of the greatest pointmen of their generation.

How horrible is it then to revel in the mountains of information that Eames had been able to gather after his death. He’d always known he’d had enough pull to find something, and after the inception job he’d had more than enough cash to buy the rest. But he’d never done it; at first because of the wrath that would quickly follow. Then because he’d known it would tarnish Arthur’s trust in him— something he’d wanted to protect at all costs. And then lastly — but maybe from the start — because it was so much more thrilling to learn bit by bit, piece by piece. To earn his knowledge of Arthur, and to ensure that his curiosity would never run out. He’d become slightly addicted to the feeling.

But now, with no one left to tell, it had only taken the excuse of the suspicious circumstances of his death for Eames to turn into the hoarder he’d always known he could be. It had gotten to a point where new packages arrived every so often— criminals even beyond dreamshare having caught wind of an individual willing to invest heavily on any information. Someone had even hacked the pentagon to get classified documents. From the message on the box, the hacker thought they were helping a spy of some kind. Eames had sent him enough bitcoin to blow wind in the direction of that particular fire hearth of urban legend. He’d rather have people think there is a whole network of people digging into this, than anyone realising it’s in truth only one pathetic man.

So Eames drinks. Eames talks to a grave. And Eames reads. It only takes him two boxes until Arthur makes him laugh for the first time since the car crash. It was due to a spirited essay on the importance of open source information that was clearly written to spite the professor leading the course, who’d been forced to give it an A+ regardless. Eames had chuckled, imagining the self-righteous satisfaction of this young Arthur as he got his grade back, and then began crying. Not to grieve the loss of a future he hadn’t realised how much he wanted, as is his wont, these days. But from the unfairness of it all. That a person like this, who had so much to say in this world, should’ve been taken so early, and in such a meaningless way.

Arthur would’ve denied it, but Eames knows he’d only be content with a death from sacrifice . He’d shown that side of him clearly when he jumped into Cobb’s mess headfirst and without hesitation. If Arthur had died from a bullet taken for Cobb, Ariadne, or maybe even Eames, he would’ve been at peace— or as much as you can while bleeding out.

Eames had known that, but as he learns more and more of Arthur, he realises how true it is. How, despite everything, Arthur cannot stop himself from being a silent hero. There are so many instances where Arthur, behind the screens, helps someone. Whether it was connecting the right people to each other under the mum of a potential project, or taking jobs way below his pay grade because he sympathised with the client, Arthur did not let their line of work destroy the possibility to be kind, every once in a while.

It’s not like he advertised it. He didn’t do it in a way people would recognize his actions— which was smart, as it could be seen as a weakness in their circles. But whenever the chance came along, even if it was to his own detriment, Arthur chose the rough road home if it would ease someone else’s way.

And this, Eames realises, is the secret to his competency. All other pointmen are expert researchers through and through, but no one had the reach Arthur had. Arthur knew everything, and if he didn’t know, he knew someone who knew— and most importantly, someone who would tell him. Eames doesn’t even know if Arthur ever realised that it was his kindesses, in and out the community, which led him into such a position of power. His actions are too random and inconsistent to be a strategic scheme to build an empire. Some of his biggest successes are results of a nicety five or ten years ago, something that he might have forgotten doing, but the people receiving it definitely haven’t.

On the surface Arthur had been known as cool and effective— someone with a distance to the rest of the world that resulted in a highly detailed overview of any situation, even if it brought a side of professionalism to even the most informal of interactions. The people who witnessed a more casual side of him were few and far in between, but even those came away with the impression that to Arthur, doing the job in the best way possible was the only drive to his actions.

No one had seen every little thing he did that had no other reason at all besides that he could do them for someone.

Eames maps out everything on the walls of the warehouse. And when he stands back to take it all in, he realises that more than anyone, the person Arthur had silently helped was him.

Everything he’d done for Cobb had been grand and obvious, but more out of loyalty to Mal and her children than kindness without any other motivation. And Ariadne’s training had been as much for the inception job than for herself— maybe introducing her to the life hadn’t been a kindness at all. Continuing after could be seen as one, even if you could argue that her honing her raw talent would directly result in better and more stable dreams in later jobs.

But Eames— what Arthur had done for Eames—

Eames can’t think of a single reason besides just being plain nice.

Because it hadn’t been like he needed to. Eames had made him very clear that he’d be down for almost any job Arthur put in front of him. Just him being himself had always been enough, he didn’t need to do him any favours to persuade him like everyone else did.

And maybe Arthur had gotten the memo, because he’d done Eames favours without ever telling him, and those you can’t pay back. Eames had no idea the reason he got out of that trouble in Chicago was because Arthur bailed him out— it was presented to him as a procedure mistake. And then there was the Telula job, with an extractor-architect team Eames had wanted to work with for ages, but the chemist they’d been looking to hire was someone from Eames’ not so smooth first years of dream-share and he’d almost cut out of the job to not be forced to confront that past. That was until the chemist suddenly dropped out with an offer he couldn’t refuse— an offer Arthur had been behind.

There were so many things like that. Little things, small things— warehouses next to Eames’ favourite restaurants; nuggets of information given anonymously through the channels of dreamshare gossip to hit Eames’ ears right on time before a betrayal; a job a week delayed because of Eames’ mother’s funeral.

It’s not like Eames had been the only one, but he was by far the most frequent of all of them. More and more so over the years, like Arthur had been finding more reasons to be nice to him, while Eames had still been stuck in his pathetic imaginations, blind to what was already in front of him.

A friendship.

He’d been so preoccupied with his own flights of fancy, that he only realises how close they had been all this time until it was too late to experience it. Too late to thank Arthur for everything he’s done.

The agony of it— the longing. His heart thundering with the sudden need to have Arthur in his arms, alive and real and—

“Oh god. I love him.”

Eames drinks until he can’t remember. He manages to avoid the grave for a little while, but he doesn’t last long. Inevitably he’s pulled back to the grave yard, whiskey in hand, ready to talk to the love he lost again.

— — — — —

His cemetery routine— because he has one of those now — is usually to be at the grave around noon. Late enough to roll out of bed reasonably comfortably after a long night of drinking and/or reading, but early enough for there to be time left to check the new documents coming along and pay the right people before they send thugs to his hideout.

But this time the afternoon light shines golden over the rows and rows of headstones and Eames shivers in the Autumn breeze. The old ladies are all dressed in fur coats. He recognizes some of them, and wonders if they noticed he was gone. None of them greet him as he passes, so he assumes not.

Eames takes another sip of his bottle, allowing his feet to lead him over the familiar path up the hill, and then he drops his bottle all together.

A man is standing before the grave.

Tall, hunched a little in the wind. Long coat and thick black beanie. Nondescript. Anonymous.

He does not turn as Eames nears.

“You’re late.”

Eames’ hand is on his gun at the first syllable, but before he can put it on his temple a leather gloved hand snatches it from his fingers. The clip ejects with a decisive click.

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t be dramatic. We don’t need a scene.”

His face— a little gaunt. His eyes— tense, intent, darker than they should be. Eames doesn’t recognize the coat. But he’s there, pressed in close to hide the gun between their bodies. His breath— warm, hits Eames’ cheek. It isn’t— It can’t. He can’t be breathing because he’s—

Eames squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of metal against the palm of his hand, the smell of gunpowder.

A sigh falls between them. “It won’t work. This isn’t a dream, Eames.”

The hell it isn’t. “Experimental somacin, three levels.”

Raised eyebrows shouldn’t be audible only through speech. “Do you remember how you got here?”

Eames opens his eyes and says, “Deep immersion dream.”

Arthur huffs at that. “Do you really think they’ve been keeping you under for years? Fine. When have you last lost memories?”

Oh, that’s easy. “Two days ago.”

There is a pause, and Eames hates the fact that he can see the exact moment of tension in Arthur’s jaw that signals him suppressing a question. It’s too detailed, too precise, too re—

“Later,” Arthur murmurs under his breath, almost to himself. Like later is a given between them. He seems frustrated. His eyes keep flicking to the side and his hand hovers near Eames’ arm, like he’s trying to keep himself from hurrying Eames along and is annoyed that Eames is stalling them.

“I’m sorry darling,’” Eames drawls, “but in case it has escaped your notice: we are having this discussion on your fucking grave, so forgive me for being reasonably sceptical about the reality of this situation.”

Arthur breathes out a deep sigh, clenched teeth. “Eames, think about it, is there any forger you know capable of forging me in a way you can’t see through it? Or for that matter, is there anyone who would dare to try steal from the fucking person who invented the craft?”

No. The answer is no. It hits Eames with a muffled weight. He wonders what his face is doing, but whatever it is, Arthur responds to it with a curt nod. It suddenly strikes Eames as absurdly hilarious, in the way only the most traumatic experiences can.

“You know, complimenting me really doesn’t help with the reality argument. Never mind doing it twice. Death changed you, darling.”

Arthur stills in the middle of putting the clip back in Eames’ gun. There is the slightest flicker of his lips, and he huffs. “Maybe it did— can I trust you not to shoot yourself the moment I hand this back?”

“Come on now Arthur,” Eames says, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

And there— there it is. Arthur rolls his eyes as he presses the gun into Eames’ waiting hands, and a part of Eames’ breaks with it. Still muffled, still numb, but something is lumbering closer. He can almost hear its laboured breaths.

“There you are,” Eames says, smiling. “You don’t know how much I missed that.”

It is a miracle he doesn’t choke on the words.

“Glad to be remembered for something,” Arthur is saying, and now he’s pushing Eames— gently but with intent, away from the grave. “And I’d like to keep it that way, so we need to talk before your insatiable curiosity ruins everything I worked for.”

Eames doesn’t know if it's the words, or the press of Arthur’s hand against his back— barely sensable beneath all the layers but even the slightest hint of pressure sets him alight— but all at once everything falls into place.

“You faked your death.”

“Have you always been this slow on the uptake?”

Eames barely hears him. Reality is roaring and there is space for nothing else. Arthur isn’t dead. Arthur isn’t dead. They’re standing on Arthur’s grave— an empty grave. A lie. A trick. He’s been fooled because Arthur isn’t dead, he’s right here. He’s touching him because he isn’t—

Arthur isn’t. He isn’t.

He’s alive.

Eames doesn’t say anything the rest of the way to wherever. If Arthur speaks, he doesn’t strain to listen. Because Arthur isn’t dead and if he hears anything at all he’s either going to scream or kick the shit out of him just like he did on that stupid fucking grave— just to check that this one isn’t made of stone but flesh and blood and he is alive.

His fists hurt from clenching by the time they enter a hotel room. Something of the turmoil must have reached Arthur because he’s gone quiet. The roar lets off the very moment the door clicks closed and Arthur stands before it, uncertain, almost as if he regrets closing off his only exit. His expression is one Eames knows very well— preparing himself for a fight he saw coming too late. But he isn’t reaching for his gun. He just stands there.

He’s just waiting to take it.

Eames kisses him.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s—

A heartbeat feels more real when it’s underneath your lips. A pulse against a jaw— up, up to feel breath against breath. To hear the rush of it— a hitch of— of surprise.

Strength— dead people don’t have strength and Arthur is pushing him so he can’t be dead.

“Eames—“

Alive, alive, alive.

“Eames! Wait!”

Eames pushes closer. He places his forehead against Arthur’s, presses them both against the door. Arthur isn’t pushing him away anymore but his hands are still on his chest. Eames wonders if he can feel the beat of his heart. He hopes, quietly insane for a moment, that Arthur will never forget to make his heart beat as long as he is feeling one. As long as he’s given an example on how to live.

“Eames,” Arthur says. A word, a question, a name. All in one. His eyes are wide. Breathing heavy— breathing, breathing, breathing— and he’s flushed. Sharp cheekbones stained red. Lips wet.

Eames’ hands move of their own accord and cradle each side of Arthur’s face.

“Let me, darling. Just let me.”

Arthur breathes again.

Eames trembles, trying to hold himself back. Trying to breathe. But one more moment and he will collapse and he can’t— he can’t risk it. He can’t risk losing another chance. He needs this as much as he needs Arthur to be alive. He needs to stop regretting not having done this when he could and now he can again and how can he let this undeserved second chance slip through his fingers. He has to. Please. He has to.

Arthur’s mouth falls open. “Eames. Eames, it’s okay. You don’t have to— You don’t have to beg. It’s okay.”

“Let me, Arthur,” Eames repeats, “Let me.”

Arthur lets him.

Arthur lets him do everything.

— — — — —

It’s after when Arthur whispers, “I didn’t know.”

His head is on Eames chest, moving ever so slightly when he breathes. In and out. Eames has his fingers tangled in his hair. The strands slip away when Arthur turns around to look up at him.

“I didn’t know,” he says again. There is a rasp in his voice and his eyes are wet. Eames has never been apologised to like this before. Arthur sounds as if he believes sorry would be an insult, the word too small to encompass his regret. There is guilt there, in the flush of his cheeks, and the way he can’t seem to hold eye contact. His pupils flickering, microscopic twitches of shame.

Sometimes he’d dream of this. Arthur’s return. A fantasy, a different one, yet still addictive like a drug. He’d expected to be angry, to want to spill his pain onto Arthur’s feet and watch him try and walk through it; burn in it. A stimulation of the magmatic life Eames has been living since his death.

But now, face to face with an Arthur who is alive, Eames doesn’t want any of it.

So he leans down, and kisses Arthur on the forehead, like a benediction, trying to extract the regret from his face. And he tells him, honest in a way he’s learned to be in the last scant weeks, “I didn’t either, darling.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but there is something about his misery that is easily pushed to the side for curiosity.

Eames smiles at him and continues. “You were— you were a fantasy. A what if. Something amusing to think of when I was bored, or something life saving to dive into when reality drew a knife and stabbed me with it— literally, sometimes. But it was always a fantasy. An escape. It— it couldn’t have become real, if you’d given it a chance back then.” Eames takes a breath, shakes his head.

Arthur reaches up with a hand, frowning, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“But the trouble is, darling, it is incredibly hard not to fall in love with you the more I learn about you.” Eames smiles under his finger tips. “That is what changed. You never let me learn you. But who is to stop anyone from learning the dead?”

Something flickers over Arthur’s face— guilt, again, but different. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn about me— I thought you only gave a fuck about what I could be for you.”

Eames lays his hand over Arthur’s. “You’re right. I was blind— too blinded by the possibilities and too selfish to do anything about it. Maybe I needed to lose you in order to learn how to see .”

“No— No I should’ve,” Arthur shakes his head sharply. “I should have told you. There would’ve been another way without— How long have you been drinking?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to darling.”

“Eames.”

Arthur takes his hand off and moves off of Eames’ chest, sitting up straight. Eames follows him, struck by a sudden vision of Arthur slipping out of bed— out of his life, dogged by misplaced guilt and regret. He curls his hands around Arthur’s wrists, as gently as he can. Don’t trap him. Don’t chase him away.

“No. It’s fine. We’re fine,” Eames hurries to say. “Why would you tell me? I was a colleague at best, bane of your existence at worst. I had— I have no right—“

“I should have told you because I did know you,” Arthur interrupts him. “I was supposed to know. You said possibilities? I am supposed to be the one who sees them— all of them. I’m the one who has to prepare for all scenarios, know the players, do the research and put the pieces together. That is what I do, Eames. And I missed something.” Arthur takes a shuddering breath, looking forlorn and tired. “I’m so sorry for missing the most important part.”

“You can’t apologise for missing something that wasn’t even really there yet.”

“Yes, I can. I’m sorry for missing our potential. For underestimating us. Underestimating you.” Arthur laughs. “I’m so fucking stupid. I thought you kept searching for me out of— curiosity. Or that I fucked up, left a trail somewhere and you wanted to prove to me that you found it, you figured it out. Fuck. I never thought it was because you missed me.”

“I did,” Eames says, and it almost chokes him. “Every day.”

Arthur looks at him then, eyes flicking to the side, his hair covering half of his face, but his smile is visible. “You know, I did too. That’s why I knew you were looking for me. Kept tabs on you, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.”

Eames swallows at the sight— at the hope it instills in him. Arthur let him, yes. It could have been a kindness. But this smile, shy and bashful, and the words that follow it. Maybe potential comes in twos. “I didn’t keep looking because I missed you,” Eames tells him, because he has no time for secrets anymore, no time for regret, for either of them. “I kept looking because I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t bear it. Darling.” Eames slips his hands from Arthur’s wrists and puts them on either side of Arthur’s face instead, bracketing the smile. “You’re my future. You couldn’t be dead.”

“I’m not,” Arthur tells him, like a confession of his own. “I’m not dead, Eames.”

“Good.” Eames pulls him in closer, and Arthur lets him. He lets him trace the smile with his thumbs, lets him breathe close against his mouth and whisper, “Next time darling, when decide to you kill yourself. Kill me too.”

The grin that blooms doesn’t fit between Eames’ fingers, so he kisses Arthur instead. Deep, possessive. Loving. Arthur lets him, and he never stops.

#arthur/eames #fanfiction #fanfic #inception #inception fic #inception fic rec #arthur/eames fic #dreamhusbands #dreamhusbands fic #im back to writing?#honestly from all the wips and ideas that i have #no clue why this one ended up being the first #but i like how it turned out

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