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hamsterclaw · 1 year ago

Text

Shiner

You've grown to love your emotionally unavailable husband, but part of you wonders if he feels the same about you. The final part of the Vows series, read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Genre: Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: Sex, swearing, Yoongi gets a black eye

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6k

You blink yourself awake and stare blankly at the ceiling, trying to orientate yourself.

Yoongi’s bed. You can tell by the smoothness of the white ceiling, and if you widen your senses, by the feel of the soft, crisp sheets under you.

His smell on the pillow under your head.

You gradually become aware of an ache in your jaw, like you’ve been grinding your teeth.

You turn your head to look at the other side of the bed.

The throbbing headache hits you like a sledgehammer to the temples. You moan a little and close your eyes again, but it doesn’t stop the room from swirling wavily around you.

Oh shit.

You’re going to be sick.

You leap up, stagger to the bathroom, curl your arm around the cool porcelain of the toilet and hurl.

The contents of your stomach splatter into the water, and you groan again, retching until there’s nothing left inside you but bile.

You look up frantically when you hear footsteps.

Yoongi?

He’s meant to be on a business trip.

You fumble for the flush and jump up to wash your face.

Your husband’s seen you in all forms of unattractive but he doesn’t need to see you with vomit on your face.

You splash water on your face, look around hurriedly for your toothbrush.

Just in time.

Yoongi appears around the corner of the bathroom door, nose wrinkled.

‘It smells like sick in here,’ he observes.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise. ‘I’ll get it cleaned up.’

Yoongi approaches you.

‘I’m not surprised you were sick, considering how drunk you were last night.’

You freeze with your toothbrush in your mouth and goggle at him.

Questions run through your head.

Why is Yoongi back early from his business trip?

How does he know you were out last night?

And finally, why the fuck does your husband have a black eye?

You rinse and spit, open your mouth to ask, but all that comes out is a whimper.

Yoongi looks at you unsympathetically as you press your fingers over your eyeballs.

‘Come on brat, Mrs Gye made us breakfast.’

***

You reach for the toast in the middle of the table and frown, confused, at your bruised knuckles.

The skin’s split over your index, and the rest of your hand is bruised.

Yoongi says, taking a sip of coffee, ‘you throw a mean left hook, wife.’

You gape at Yoongi.

‘I punched you?’

Yoongi looks at you thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you remember?’

You dredge through the haziness of the night before, trying to remember.

‘Why did I punch you, Yoongi?’

Yoongi gives you a level look.

‘Think hard, wife.’

You realise Yoongi’s skipped all the endearments he usually uses for you.

In fact, he’s been distant with you all morning.

‘I’m sorry, Yoongi, I can’t remember,’ you plead. ‘Can you tell me?’

Yoongi finishes his coffee, gets up.

‘I have an important meeting in a couple hours,’ he says. ‘I need to get ready.’

As he leaves the room you can’t help but feel you’ve done something terribly wrong.

***

A week earlier

You know Yoongi doesn’t like it when you fuss over him when he leaves for business trips, but you can’t help it this time, when he’ll be gone on the day of your wedding anniversary.

It’s not your first wedding anniversary, you’ve been married for years, but it’s the first one since you proposed to him.

Yoongi had laughed when you pointed it out.

‘You and your romantic heart, jagiya,’ he’d said, affectionately.

You’d laughed at his expression, but you’d felt a pang of disappointment in your chest just the same.

You’d changed the subject quickly, and he hadn’t brought it up again.

Now you’re standing on the front steps of your house in your pyjamas to say goodbye.

‘I might come see you in Bruges,’ you say hopefully, as Yoongi leans in to give you a hug.

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Yoongi says, practical as always. ‘I’ll be working flat out.’

He studies your expression, and his face softens.

‘I’ll be back soon enough,’ he promises you.

He lowers his lips to yours, wraps you in his arms.

‘Eat well when I’m gone, ok? Look after yourself.’

‘I will,’ you reply. You reach out for him again, but he’s already stepping away, getting into the car.

You wave him goodbye with your best smile.

***

Your phone lights up in your peripheral vision as you’re getting ready for bed.

You grab it so quickly it flips out of your hands onto the floor.

You swipe quickly.

Your husband’s beautiful face fills the screen. He’s got one hand loosening his tie as he sits back.

‘Hey,’ you say, teasing. ‘Do I know you?’

Yoongi smiles at you. ‘Forgotten me already? Don’t worry, I left you something to remember me by.’

You tilt your head at him quizzically.

‘Check the bedside drawer, jagiya.’

‘How’d you know where —-‘

‘You always sleep in our room when I go away,’ Yoongi replies briskly.

‘You don’t know me,’ you mutter, out of habit.

Yoongi just laughs. ‘Go on, check.’

You reach over and pull it open, pick up the gift box and card inside.

‘Open it,’ urges Yoongi.

You tear open the card.

It’s plain ivory cardstock, with a message in your husband’s familiar, barely legible scrawl.

Happy wedding anniversary. I’m sorry I can’t be there.

The rush of emotion you feel takes you by surprise.

You flip your screen so he can’t see you blinking away tears.

Yoongi’s voice sounds through your phone.

‘I can hear you sniffling,’ he says, dryly.

‘Allergies,’ you reply.

‘Are you allergic to me being a perfect husband?’ asks Yoongi, sounding completely serious.

You furrow your brow.

‘If the card makes you this emotional, wait until you see the present,’ Yoongi says.

‘I’m opening it now,’ you tell him as you unravel the silver bow and lift the lid.

You’re grateful Yoongi can’t see your face as you stare at the delicate bracelet in the box.

It’s beautiful, expensive, tasteful.

You have no idea why it makes you feel so flat.

You muster up as much enthusiasm as you can as you say, ‘It’s beautiful! Thank you, Yoongi.’

You flip the screen so he can see you.

He looks worried.

‘If it’s not to your taste, jagiya —-‘

‘It’s very beautiful, Yoongi,’ you assure him. You fiddle with the clasp, wrap it around your wrist. ‘I like it a lot.’

You lift your wrist to the camera so he can see.

‘I haven’t got you anything yet,’ you say, worriedly. ‘I was hoping to see you on our anniversary —-‘

Yoongi says, quietly, ‘I’d love to see you, but I can’t promise you much time.’

‘I don’t care if there’s not much time,’ you say. ‘I can take care of myself, Yoongi, I’d love to see you too.’

‘Let’s think about it, ok?’ Yoongi says. ‘We can decide tomorrow.’

Now he sounds tired too.

You feel guilty for pressing when you know he has a lot on his plate.

‘Sure,’ you say, trying to turn the mood of the conversation around.

You smile brightly. ‘Thank you for my gift, Yoongi.’

‘I’m glad you like it, jagi.’

‘I should let you get some sleep.’

He doesn’t protest.

‘Good night, Yoongi.’

‘Good night.’

***

You and Yoongi never actually agreed that you would fly in to see him, and you feel a twinge of nervousness as you step out of the airport in Ostend.

This close to Christmas, the weather’s chilly, and although it’s early evening, it’s already dark. You wrap your scarf around you as you wait for your car.

At the hotel, you realise you don’t know Yoongi’s suite number.

You bite your lip nervously as you wait for Yoongi to answer your call.

The dial tone rings out.

You’re trying to decide what to do next when he walks into the hotel.

Your beautiful, polished husband, skin glowing and flushed with cold, his dark hair and eyes in striking contrast, his perfectly fitted navy coat unbuttoned over his perfectly fitted suit, walks in with his media director Park Gyuri.

His stunning ex-model ex-girlfriend Park Gyuri.

Your stomach drops, and it’s at that exact moment that he looks over and sees you.

He blinks at you, open-mouthed, then he’s changed direction and is walking over to you.

‘Jagiya,’ he says, as soon as he’s close enough.

He wraps you in a hug, and you hold him tightly to give yourself time to gather your composure.

You’d known that Gyuri was going to be on his business trip, she and Yoongi travel together often, she’s a core part of his team.

It was one thing knowing it, and another to see them walk in together.

Belatedly you realise the rest of Yoongi’s team have arrived too.

Yoongi pulls back to plant a kiss on your lips, and you hope he can’t feel the hammering of your heart.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ Yoongi says.

You meet his gaze.

Your husband is stunning, of course, but he also looks tired.

‘I hope it’s ok that I came,’ you say.

You sound formal even to yourself, and Yoongi frowns a little.

‘Of course it’s ok, I’m happy you made it,’ Yoongi tells you.

‘I’m free this evening, we can have dinner together. I’ll get Sungho to make a reservation, ok?’

Yoongi glances around, looking for your bag. ‘Did you bring any luggage, jagiya?’

‘I have to leave tomorrow,’ you tell him. ‘I didn’t bring any pyjamas, is that ok?’

There’s a spark in your husband’s eye. ‘It’s ok, I’ll keep you warm.’

‘That’s what I hoped,’ you say.

Yoongi laughs, grips your hand firmly. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he says, dropping a kiss on your head, and the tightness in your chest finally starts to ease.

***

By the time you step out of the shower, Yoongi’s sprawled out on the huge sofa, so quiet and still you know he’s asleep.

You sit yourself next to him. Like this, his face is at ease, the frown line between his brows that you’ve seen more often lately smoothed out.

You rarely acknowledge to yourself how much you love him. You’re scared it might be too much.

You run a hand down his chest, and he grunts softly, shifts so he’s flat on his back.

Your hand catches on his belt.

You undo it deftly, because it must be uncomfortable sleeping with a belt on, right?

You don’t really have an excuse for why you undo his suit trousers, apart from that you know your husband wouldn’t mind.

The scritch of his zipper unzipping makes him crack an eye open.

‘Jagiya,’ he says, voice so deep it makes you shiver, ‘what are you up to?’

You look up at him through your lashes.

‘I’m taking care of you Yoongi,’ you tell him.

You press a kiss to his tummy, right above the waistband of his boxer briefs. ‘Can I?’

Yoongi’s looking at you, eyes darkening as you tug down his waistband, expose him.

‘I had plans for us,’ he says, as you curl your hand around his semi-hard cock.

You smile at him. ‘Me too.’

Yoongi lets out a long breath as you nudge your nose along his cock, breathing in deep.

You take him in your mouth, tongue against the underside of him, sucking a little, enjoying the way he swells up for you.

Yoongi’s got his head back against the back of the sofa, throat working as he reaches full erection. He moves his hips under you, grasps your shoulder.

You reach out to his hand, splayed on the sofa, and knit your fingers through it.

If you were looking at his face, you’d see Yoongi’s expression change, the tenderness in his expression as he squeezes your fingers gently.

You’re not, you’re looking at his cock, all your attention set on giving him as much pleasure as you can.

He’s hard, and you can feel the way he jerks as you undo the tie on your robe to reveal that you’re bare underneath it.

You tug your hand away from his so he can touch you, well you try to, but Yoongi holds on to you.

He murmurs ‘jagi’ on a sigh, his voice beautiful like this, deep, mellow, rich.

You glance up at him, and he’s watching you, his dark eyes so intense you don’t want to look away.

You pull away, and his hips rise, as if to follow.

‘Make me messy, oppa,’ you say.

Yoongi smiles, wolfish, a flash of teeth. ‘Come sit on me.’

He unbuttons his shirt because he knows you like it when he’s bare-chested, reaches to steady your hips as you climb on top of him, like you’ve done so many times before.

He tugs your robe off your shoulders, slides his hand under, his hand warm against your skin.

He hisses through his teeth as you start to move.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he tells you as he runs his hand over your front, making your nipples peak, pinching, kneading your flesh.

‘Yeah?’ you say.

There’s an unwanted flash in your mind, the image of him and Park Gyuri walking into the hotel.

You push it away.

‘I always miss you,’ Yoongi says.

‘Don’t be romantic, Yoongi, it’s not your style,’ you say, teasing.

If there’s a tug at your heart when you say it, you hope it doesn’t show on your face.

Yoongi says, quietly, ‘I’ll be as romantic as you want me to be, jagiya.’

You can’t look at him, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s been rubbing his thumb over your clit, doing something with his hips that’s pulling you out of your feelings and into a tide of pleasure.

You moan, deep, and Yoongi grunts, lifts his head to suck the tip of your breast into his mouth.

You come with a cry of his name, and Yoongi groans. ‘That’s my girl, fuck.’

He utters your name, stretched out, over stuttering breaths, and you realise he’s coming too.

When your breathing slows and your heartrate settles you realise that he’s still holding your hand.

***

You wake, with a start, to your alarm alerting you to the fact that you’ll miss your flight home if you don’t haul ass.

Yoongi, beside you, is turned away, his back to you.

The regularity of his breathing tells you he’s still asleep.

You get dressed, and sit on the edge of his side of the bed to say goodbye.

He’s always been beautiful, your husband, but he also looks so tired you haven’t the heart to wake him. He hasn’t stirred the entire time you’ve been getting ready.

You press a kiss to his cheek and make your way out of the hotel room.

***

Your best friend Nara’s always been on your side, supporting you in the best ways. When you and Yoongi were estranged in the early years of your marriage, she helped you plot some of your more elaborate stunts.

It’s always worked both ways, of course, you were the first to support her design house, wearing her creations to all the most high-profile society events, backing her financially when her family threatened to cut her off for not going into the family business.

Nara’s always been the practical one, the shrewd business mind to your impulsive nature, providing balance. You’re an effective combination, and before your reconciliation, Yoongi had borne the brunt of your antics.

You’ve always marvelled at the way he’s never tried to reciprocate.

Nara eyes you over your cocktail.

‘What did Yoongi do now?’ she asks. ‘I thought he’d be thrilled to see you in Bruges.’

‘He was happy to see me,’ you tell her. This much you know, that he had been pleased to see you. You wish you’d been able to spend more time with him, but he’d said from the beginning that he’d been busy.

‘Gyuri was with him.’

Nara blinks. ‘She’s part of his team.’

Her statement is blunt, factual, but there’s sympathy in her eyes.

You down the rest of your cocktail.

‘You can never trust chaebol sons,’ says Nara, gently, ‘we grew up with enough assholes that we know that.’

You signal the waiter for a refill.

‘But Yoongi is less of an asshole than the rest,’ Nara concedes. ‘Not like that fucking Kim Seokjin.’

You choke on the water you’ve just taken a sip of.

‘You never did say what happened after you and Seokjin went to see Lee Sangcheol,’ Nara says, raising an eyebrow.

‘We’re gonna need more drinks,’ you sigh.

Five cocktails in, you’re watching with drunken amusement as Nara takes apart a hapless would-be suitor with her razor sharp wit.

Unlike you, Nara’s tolerance for alcohol is legendary.

You?

The room’s dim and wavy around the edges, and you’re feeling maudlin about your trip to visit Yoongi.

You look up, blinking curiously, as a man approaches you.

He looks vaguely familiar, in fact he looks like your husband, but you’ve been seeing shades of Yoongi in almost everyone in this bar tonight.

God, you miss him so much.

***

Yoongi can tell by the way you’re holding yourself rigidly upright that you’re drunk.

You look up at him, no recognition in your eyes.

Yoongi nods to Nara and turns back to you.

‘Would you like some water?’ he offers, signalling to the waiter.

‘No thank you,’ you reply. ‘I’d like another cocktail.’

Yoongi orders you both a refill and some water.

Your wedding ring sparkles as you lift the glass to your lips.

Yoongi’s vaguely amused to see that you chose to drink water first.

‘Are you having a nice time?’ he asks.

You consider his question carefully.

‘Yes, my friend and I are having a great night,’ you reply, finally. ‘And yourself?’

‘I’m not usually out at this time,’ Yoongi replies, honestly. ‘This is a rarity for me.’

‘Ah,’ you say, looking at him with interest. ‘What’s the occasion?’

You still haven’t acknowledged him with anything other than politeness, and Yoongi realises, with a flash of clarity, that you’re so intoxicated you don’t recognise him.

‘I wanted to support a friend,’ he answers. He guesses it’s true, at least this way Nara won’t be responsible for getting you home tonight.

You glance fondly at Nara. ‘Friendship is important.’

You smile at him for the first time. ‘Where’s your friend?’

‘Ah, they’re busy.’

You’re steadily sipping your way through the rest of your cocktail.

‘You’re very beautiful,’ Yoongi says, neutral.

‘Thank you,’ you reply. ‘You’re very good looking yourself. I’m sure if you’re looking for company, you won’t be short of offers.’

Yoongi swallows a laugh at your encouragement.

‘Can you keep me company?’ he asks.

‘Ah sorry, it’s girl’s night,’ you say, still polite. ‘Also I’m married.’

‘He’s a lucky man,’ Yoongi says.

You smile. ‘I’m not sure he’d agree,’ you say, lightly. There’s a note of melancholy in your voice that makes Yoongi look at you carefully.

‘Oh, I just mean I’m a terrible wife,’ you clarify. ‘I’ve done some awful things to him.’

Yoongi pours you more water.

‘Whatever you’ve done, it can’t be that bad,’ he offers.

You scoff, and he bites back a smile as you look at him scornfully.

‘I’m capable of extremely terrible things,’ you insist.

Helplessly endeared by your solemn, drunken expression, Yoongi touches your face.

‘Do you really not recognise me, jagiya?’ he asks.

You jerk away from his hand, nearly lose your balance.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms to stop you from falling.

He hears your gasp of outrage, and a moment later, the crack of skin against skin.

Even through the flare of pain, Yoongi’s stunned at the realisation that you’ve just punched him in the face.

***

Present day

By the end of the day, Yoongi realises he hasn’t heard anything from you all afternoon.

He heads to your rooms, knocks on the door tentatively.

When there’s no response, he pushes the door open anyway.

You’re sitting curled up on the floor, leaning against your bed, facing the patio doors.

As he approaches you, you grimace. ‘Stay away, I’m probably contagious.’

Yoongi takes in the clamminess of your skin, the way your hair’s stuck to your forehead.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling ill? Have you been like this all day?’

He’s concerned, but he can see the way you flinch a little at the harshness of his voice.

‘I’m fine, Yoongi, I drank too much and my head hurts.’

‘Seems like more than a hangover,’ Yoongi says. He brushes your hair back from your face. ‘Have you taken any meds?’

You gesture sadly towards the dressing table, barely six feet away.

‘Everytime I move, the room spins,’ you tell him.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling so bad? Come on, get into bed.’

‘I can’t,’ you tell him. ‘I’ll be sick if I move.’

‘You can’t stay like this,’ Yoongi says, exasperated.

‘Stop scolding me,’ you mumble, closing your eyes. ‘Go away.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Yoongi says. He takes a breath. ‘You shouldn’t drink so much.’

‘It was you,’ you say, suddenly. ‘It was you who groped me at the bar last night.’

Yoongi’s outraged. ‘I didn’t grope you, I tried to stop you from falling!’

‘You touched my face!’ you complain. ‘I thought you were a stranger.’

‘At least I don’t have to worry about you looking after yourself,’ Yoongi muses. ‘You can beat up anyone who comes on to you.’

‘Damn right,’ you agree.

Yoongi sighs. ‘I’m going to get you some water and meds and then I’m going to put you to bed, ok? Can I do that, or are you going to punch me again?’

‘Just don’t grope me,’ you warn.

‘You recognise me now don’t you? You never complained about me groping you before,’ Yoongi points out.

‘Stop scolding me!’

‘I’m not —’

Yoongi huffs out a breath. ‘I promise I won’t grope you if you promise not to punch me.’

‘My hand hurts,’ you whine.

‘You want sympathy?’ asks Yoongi, unsympathetically.

He sighs. ‘Wait here. Let me get you a drink.’

‘Gin and tonic,’ you mutter.

Yoongi ignores you.

***

Yoongi’s trying to finish reading the specs his product development team has sent him, but it’s difficult to concentrate.

There’s something weighing on his mind.

It’s you, which isn’t unusual, but what is unusual is the way he feels.

Uneasy, like he’s missing something.

There’s a knock on his study door.

‘Dinner in fifteen?’ you ask, peering around the heavy oak.

You look very pretty today, Yoongi notes to himself.

You’re already closing the door when he calls, ‘Hey.’

You look at him enquiringly.

‘You look pretty.’

You smooth your hand over your hip self-consciously. ‘I feel better.’

‘I was worried about you,’ Yoongi tells you.

You gesture vaguely to his face. ‘Your eye looks better.’

‘Come kiss it,’ Yoongi says.

It always amuses him, the way you get a little flustered when he asks for affection.

Yoongi pushes away from his desk as you approach him.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, softly, as you cup his face and press a gentle kiss to his brow.

‘I deserved it,’ Yoongi replies. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around for our wedding anniversary. I know that it mattered to you.’

‘It was silly,’ you say, but he can tell by the way you drop your gaze that he’s touched a nerve.

‘It’s not silly, of course you want to celebrate being married to me,’ Yoongi says.

You scoff. ‘You want two black eyes instead of one?’

Yoongi reaches for your hand, presses a kiss to your still-bruised knuckles.

‘Don’t break your hand on my hard skull,’ he says, very gently.

‘I have a company dinner next week,’ you say, in an obvious attempt to hide how flustered you are.

Yoongi says, ‘Are you asking me to accompany you?’

You blink at him. ‘Would you like to?’

‘I’d love to,’ Yoongi tells you.

***

You fiddle with the clasp of the stunning bracelet Yoongi gave you for your anniversary.

Objectively, it’s perfect, the diamonds sparkling like stars even in the flattering low lighting of the ballroom at this wedding Yoongi and you have been invited to.

You’re trying not to think too much about why it leaves you feeling so empty.

He’d clearly spared no expense, you’ve seen this exact bracelet in the pages of a glossy magazine, and the workmanship is incomparable.

Yoongi’s voice makes you look up.

‘They’re cutting the cake,’ he murmurs to you. ‘We should head back to our table.’

‘I’ll meet you there,’ you tell him. ‘Save me some.’

You head for the ladies room to compose yourself and touch up your makeup.

You’re retouching your lipstick when one of the doors opens, and Park Gyuri walks out.

She smiles when she sees you, nods a greeting. She takes the sink next to yours, and as she unclasps her purse a fiery sparkle draws your attention.

On her left wrist, a bracelet identical to yours.

It’s beautiful, you think it suits her better than it does you.

Now you know why the bracelet’s been bothering you as much as it has.

It represents everything about the chaebol life both you and Yoongi were born into, but though your husband seems perfectly at home in this microcosm, you’ve never truly felt like you belonged.

It makes you feel like Yoongi sees you as someone you’re not, and by extrapolation, that he doesn’t know you as well as he should, despite all you’ve been through.

As well as you want him to.

You force a smile at Gyuri, make yourself walk on legs that feel oddly stiff to exit the bathroom.

Back at your table, Yoongi rises to pull your chair out as you approach. Something in your expression makes him lean closer, voice low and worried.

‘Jagi, are you feeling ok?’

You nod, the smile on your face so frozen it feels like a rictus, a caricature of happiness.

You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you, but you don’t think you can give him anything else right now, stricken as you are.

His hand finds yours under the table, and you draw comfort from his touch until the hurt and anger recedes and the tears retreat from behind your eyelids.

***

You’re not sure what’s changed, but Yoongi’s been so attentive lately it’s starting to make you feel uneasy.

You’re trying to zip up the back of your cocktail dress, and before you can even look in his direction, he’s behind you, hands warm on your bare back as he helps you with the zip.

You turn around, look him in the face.

‘What’s up, husband?’

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you. ‘You seemed like you couldn’t reach.’

‘Not the zip,’ you say, testy. ‘Why are you so —’

Yoongi waits, like he genuinely doesn’t know why you’re so tetchy.

‘Why are you paying me so much attention? I swear, I’m not plotting anything.’

Yoongi looks like he’s trying not to smile.

‘I don’t think you’re plotting anything.’

‘Then why?’

‘Why can’t I pay you attention?’ Yoongi asks. ‘We’re married.’

‘You never paid me this much attention before,’ you point out.

Yoongi’s brow furrows. ‘Do you want me to ignore you?’

‘Yeah.’ You wave a hand. ‘Go back to ignoring me.’

‘Do you really want that?’ Yoongi asks. He glances in the mirror, straightens his tie.

‘I like asshole Yoongi,’ you tell him.

Your eyes meet in the mirror.

‘I can be an asshole,’ Yoongi says, finally. ‘But I don’t want you to be unhappy because of me.’

‘Since when do you care?’ you say, teasing.

Yoongi sighs. ‘I’ve always cared. I don’t like it when you’re sick and you don’t tell me, and I sure as hell don’t like it when you’re unhappy and don’t tell me why.’

‘You make me happy,’ you tell him. There’s a fluttering in your chest at his words, your taciturn, coolly detached husband isn’t normally this expressive.

‘I’m glad, because you make me happy too.’

Yoongi glances at the bracelet he got you, that you’ve got ready to put on.

‘Don’t wear that,’ he says. ‘You won’t tell me why, but I know you hate it.’

You stare at him.

‘Don’t deny it,’ Yoongi says. He gives you a look, a challenge in his eyes.

‘You don’t know me,’ you mutter, out of habit.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘I do know you, wife, and that’s the problem. You’re a brat.’

You scowl at him. Yoongi looks supremely unmoved by your pique.

‘Come on, I don’t want us to be late for your company dinner.’

He takes the liberty of slapping his palm against your ass as he ushers you out of the door, and you don’t even have it in you to pretend to be mad about it.

***

Yoongi’s by the bar, waiting to be served, watching idly as you converse with your social media team.

He’s never been to one of your company events before, it’s rare that you invite him, and he likes seeing you with your colleagues.

You’re well-liked, everyone seems to want to talk to you.

He’s trying to suppress the urge to pull you into a corner and kiss you silly, because you look so pretty when you’re smiling and confident like this, when a conversation catches his ear.

‘I’m pretty surprised that Min Yoongi’s here – I thought they were estranged,’ says a woman by the bar.

‘Everyone knows he’s fucking Park Gyuri,’ says the man next to her, with a casual cruelty that makes Yoongi’s hand itch to slap him.

Yoongi steps out in front of them, levels them with a look.

‘I’m not fucking anyone apart from my wife,’ he says, mildly. ‘Although I fail to see how that’s anyone’s business but ours.’

There’s a stir, but Yoongi’s lost interest. He turns away from the bar, heads straight for where you are in the middle of the room.

The smile on your face when you see him does a lot to curb his irritation.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, hand on his arm. ‘They’re about to serve food.’

Your touch eases his annoyance, soothes him the way it always has.

‘Let’s get you something to eat, jagiya,’ Yoongi says.

He holds out his arm, feeling the familiar sense of connection thrumming through him as you slip your hand in the crook of it.

It’s everything.

***

Yoongi pulls out of the hotel, signals to turn towards home.

‘Did you have a nice time, Yoongi?’ you ask.

You’re leaning back against the seat, face tilted to his, half-shadowed in the darkness of the car.

‘I liked it,’ Yoongi replies. ‘You should invite me to more of these things.’

‘You’re welcome to come anytime,’ you say.

‘I will,’ Yoongi says.

‘I heard that you stood up for us at the bar,’ you begin, a little hesitant.

Yoongi glances at you in the rearview mirror.

‘You know about that?’ he asks, quietly.

‘People talk a lot of shit,’ you say. Yoongi doesn’t know if you’re consciously doing it, but your shoulders are squared, and there’s a stubborn tilt to your chin now.

He’s never loved you more.

‘They do,’ agrees Yoongi.

You’re both quiet as he drives.

It’s only when he parks up, at your home, that you speak again.

‘Thank you for coming with me,’ you say.

There’s a beat, two of searing eye contact.

Then Yoongi reaches out, cups the back of your head, and takes the kiss he’s wanted all night.

You melt into his arms like you’ve been waiting for exactly this.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ Yoongi murmurs, lips against your skin.

***

Yoongi’s different tonight, holding you with an urgency you haven’t felt from him before. He’s focused completely on you, and as much as you love it, love him, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something behind it.

You cup his face as he leans over you.

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘You know we have all night?’

Yoongi’s hand stills on your side.

‘Am I rushing?’

‘I’m just saying I’m here, Yoongi, I’m not going anywhere.’

Yoongi closes his eyes, leans into your hand, shudders out a breath.

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask. ‘Is there a game on you don’t want to miss?’

Yoongi doesn’t even crack a smile.

‘Do you love me?’

You blink at his question. ‘What?’

Yoongi waits.

‘I don’t hate you,’ you say, trying to inject some levity into the situation because his seriousness is scaring you.

Yoongi drops his head, groans into your neck.

‘I love you,’ you assure him. You roll your hips under his. ‘I don’t put out for just any chaebol asshole.’

Yoongi lifts his head, searches your face. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he says.

‘That’s true,’ you say airily as he kisses his way down your neck.

His mouth skims over the skin of your sternum, lips soft, reverent.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I love you?’ he asks, lips poised over the round of your breast.

His question pulls you out of your pleasured haze.

Again, the image of Yoongi and Park Gyuri flashes into your head.

The truth is, you’re too scared to ask. You know, in your heart, that you would love Yoongi no matter what, and you’re not ready to face that truth right now.

So you smile at your husband and say, ‘Just show me.’

He does.

***

You’re passing by Yoongi’s study when you notice the door is ajar.

Yoongi raises a brow at you. ‘Come in, I have something for you.’

You frown at him suspiciously. ‘Is it your dick?’

Yoongi says, ‘Always, but I have something else too.’

You take a seat next to him on the sofa you always sit together on when you visit him.

Yoongi reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, hands you a jewelry box.

You meet his gaze apprehensively.

‘Is it a matching necklace?’

Yoongi just shakes his head. ‘Open it.’

You lift the lid on the box, and stop.

It’s another bracelet, except this one is exquisitely carved jade, delicate and so perfect you’re afraid to touch it.

Yoongi says, quietly, ‘I got this and the other bracelet at the same time. I chose the other one to give to you, but this one’s always reminded me more of you.’

You blink up at him. ‘Yoongi, it’s perfect.’

‘I know you like jade,’ Yoongi says. He picks up the bracelet, and you hold out your wrist as he clasps the bracelet around it.

‘It reminds me of my mother,’ you say.

Yoongi’s hands are gentle on your wrist.

You catch sight of a sheet of note card under the silken lining of the box.

It’s a list, in your husband’s handwriting.

‘What’s this?’ you ask, skimming through it, curious.

‘Didn’t you make one like this, a couple years ago?’ Yoongi asks. He’s not looking at you now. ‘It’s all the things I have to make up to you.’

Your heart stops.

Thoughts race through your head, you can barely see the words on the card even though his handwriting is neat, beautiful.

You’ve never asked him the question in your heart, and your husband’s answered it anyway.

He knows you better than you ever thought he did.

You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears.

‘I didn’t write them down,’ you say, finally. ‘I just worked off the top of my head.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks. He’s leaning close now, so close that if you turned your face your lips would meet.

‘Yeah.’

Yoongi says, ‘I’m not sure what order to do them in. Can you help?’

You turn into his kiss, and it’s as lovely as it ever was.

God, you love him.

‘Yeah, I can help you with that,’ you tell him.

You can feel the curve of his lips against yours, the rumble of amusement in his chest.

‘Great. We should get started,’ he murmurs against your skin. ‘I need to win your heart, because I really don’t think any of this is worth it, without you.’

‘Goddamn it, Yoongi, looks like you’re a romantic after all,’ you tease.

Yoongi reaches out, thumbs the tears off your cheeks.

‘Looks like you’ve made me into one,’ he agrees.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fic #vows au

867 notes · View notes

pnfc · 2 months ago

Text

here is some unresolved(?) perryshmirtz whumpfic(?), rated T. i call it “doofenshmirtz talks on the phone a lot”. idk if i’ll put it on ao3, it depends on if i continue.

disclaimer: in this fic the owca agents are brain-modded, for purposes of juiciness. typically i prefer that pnf is just a goofy cartoon world with smart animals.

EDIT: i'll leave this post up but i finished this, on ao3 here

---

“It’s actually a net good for society if you climb the trees, Perry the Platypus,” Heinz is telling Perry as they stroll the orchard path. He’s sagging a little under the weight of a basket they’ve mostly filled.

“See I know there’s that rule, ‘no climbing’. But that’s for the 8 year olds who fall and crack their heads open -- the emotionally unbalanced teens out to break an arm. Not for you, Perry the Platypus. Treehopping is a cakewalk for you. You’re like a ninja up there.”

Perry flips his wool scarf and surveys the lowhanging branches, pointedly ignoring Heinz. He vaults up to snag a Golden Delicious, dunks it square into the basket from over his shoulder, not looking. Heinz whistles, even as the impact buckles his knees. “That’s what I mean.”

He catches up to Perry -- “What about the apples at the top of the trees, Perry the Platypus, do you think of them? Nobody can pick them, so they rot on the tree or rot on the ground. No one comes to an orchard to pick apples off the ground.”

Perry signs: Two-year olds.

“Besides them,” Heinz insists. “That’s like a third of all the apples just going to waste, so nobody can enjoy them.”

Birds and bugs, signs Perry. Can enjoy them.

Heinz ponders this. “Maybe. But I can tell you they’d enjoy my fresh-baked strudel a lot more.”

Perry makes a “yeah, yeah” wave to brush off Heinz’s winning point. Heinz can see the smile curving up his bill from behind, as he walks ahead. “Hold up, Perry the Platypus,” he says. “I think we have enough.”

Heinz sets the basket down, intensely grateful to rest his arms, and Perry skips back over to survey their haul. An even mix of Jonathan, Smeralda, and Goldens. “The best for baking out of the October set, in my experience,” Heinz explains to Perry. “These Goldens look a little young, but I think they’ll cook up okay. Could also use them for a syrup, I’ve been meaning to try that.”

The walk back to the exit is when it hits.

Perry reaches out a paw and pushes it against Heinz’s leg, tentative. Then he wrenches the fabric into both fists, hard, and chirps, frantic. This makes Heinz stop.

“Perry the Platypus? What’s up?”

It’s like a hypnic jerk, the sensation -- a dizziness cresting over him like an ocean wave, a loudening roar of foam. Perry looks up at Heinz, finds his blue-ringed eyes wide with alarm, like his own. And he holds Heinz’s leg like it’s the last stable thing, as the wave swallows him up in a gulp, then silence.

Perry thinks I’m having a stroke, before he can’t think it.

“...Perry? You okay?” Heinz has dropped the basket and is crouching down to Perry’s level. “What’s wrong, did I forget something? We have enough apples,” he says, knowing that’s not the problem. “If you want more, you’re carrying and paying.”

Perry’s still linking his gaze with Heinz’s, clutching his knee like he needs it for balance. He chitters out an anxious exhalation. Heinz taps him on the bill. “Hey. You gonna clue me in here?”

Perry shakes off the touch and backs away from Heinz, pinwheeling his arms and toppling onto the ground. The scarf gets trapped under his forepaw, pulls taut around his neck -- then he’s racing forward in a panic, growling at a high pitch, through the red leaf litter, scarf trailing after and under him.

“Perry!” Heinz exclaims, craning around to follow Perry’s tracks -- he bumbles into the basket, shooting apples out like poolballs. “Settle down -- tell me what’s wrong, okay? You’re scaring me.” He pushes himself up. “And that’s not how you treat that scarf. That’s Merino, Perry, it took me weeks to knit. You’re grinding dirt into it.”

Perry halts, at the tail of Heinz’s upbraiding, and looks at him with saucer eyes. Heinz approaches him slowly, like he’s an animal he might startle away. But Perry doesn’t run, when Heinz leans over him -- actually seems to settle, as Heinz clasps his hands around his shoulders.

“Perry the Platypus.” His brown eyes blink. “What is going on with you?”

Heinz picks him up. “You’re going to have to say something,” he says. “Or I’m going to assume this is an emergency. Are your arms malfunctioning? One blink yes, two blinks no.”

This gets no blinks.

Heinz drops Perry into the basket and runs out to the parking lot -- dropping a 20 on the checkout stall as he does, to cover the apples still in the bottom of the basket. They need to get home.

The OWCA watch beeps while Heinz is driving, Perry basket-bound in the passenger seat. Perry jolts and lifts his paw, looks at the glowing screen -- in the side of his vision Heinz sees Perry press his beak into the watchface. “God, not now, Francis...” he mutters.

Heinz parks right next to the elevators in the apartment garage. His phone buzzes right as he shuts the car door. “Perry the Platypus, we’re going upstairs, okay?” he says. “You want to stay in the basket?”

Perry’s just staring into him as he’s addressed, no reaction to the question. So Heinz exhales and walks to the elevator, basket steady in his arm, and checks his phone. It’s from Carl: Dr. D, this is urgent: is Perry okay?

He freezes in the elevator lobby, and dials.

“Carl, are you there?”

“Yes, Doofenshmirtz, hi. Listen, I need to --”

“Do you KNOW about this? What’s going on with him?”

“I -- oh dear,” says Carl, sounding sad. “I guess it worked. How is he? Can you describe his behavior?”

Heinz balks at that, staring at his phone -- Carl just confessed to screwing Perry up somehow and now he’s asking after him like a caring orderly, shameless.

“Are you kidding me? His behavior? He’s not himself, Carl,” Heinz shoots back. The metallic echo of the boxy room amplifies his voice, so he tries not to yell too loud -- Perry is out of the basket on the floor of the room, staring nervously up at him from a few paces away. “He doesn’t seem to get what I’m saying, he had a major panic attack out of the blue -- and he won’t talk to me. Like, no signs, no nods. He’s walking on all fours, Carl. What did you do?!”

“It wasn’t me,” Carl squeaks defensively. “I mean -- it’s this audit, Heinz, the agent program investigation. They didn’t even notify us they were sending people over today. It’s FBI people, they” -- his voice tightens to a whisper -- “they busted into every office, they found some of our server rooms and -- look, I can’t get into this right now, but I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Just ... just keep Perry safe, take him home. And for the love of god don’t let him escape.”

Carl hangs up in a hurry, before Heinz can yell a reply. He scowls at the red call-end sign.

“What the hell is wrong with that kid,” Heinz asks the room. “Maybe Francis knows. I have to give him a call. I hate when it comes to that, Perry the Platypus.”

Perry is doubling back to the apple basket, slinking close to the floor with visible nerves. He clambers back inside. Heinz pushes the elevator button.

Upstairs, Heinz drops the basket on the kitchen island and budges Perry’s hat aside to place a hand on his head. “First things first, Perry the Platypus. We’re going to give you a checkup. Okay?”

Perry still doesn’t react, but Heinz will keep treating this like a two-way conversation. It’s an old habit that he hasn’t slipped into in a long time. He didn’t miss it.

Heinz leads him to the bathroom -- Perry mostly sticks by his feet, but stops in place once or twice, swiveling his gaze around the spacious penthouse canopy, either like it’s new to him, or like he’s remembering it. He snaps back whenever Heinz calls his name -- there’s that, at least. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Phineas’s housewarming gift, one of them, had been a platypus first-aid kit. He’d presented it to Heinz back when Perry had just told his family about them and Heinz was hosting a “win Perry the Platypus’s family over” lunch (unofficial title that Perry had deleted off the invitation cards). Heinz had read a kind of parental judgment into the gift choice, at the time, like the kid wasn’t trusting him to take adequate care of Perry on his own, without being handheld. Maybe Heinz’s reading was unfair -- he has a chip on his shoulder, when it comes to mom behavior.

He unsnaps it. The case is overstuffed -- it pops open with decollapsing trays of portable disinfectant and numbing wipes, surgical sewing kits, cut-closing gel and fur-safe teal bandages to cover it in all sizes, claw trimmers and medicated toothpastes and endoscopes. An impressive degree of overkill -- he really likes that kid, past misgivings aside.

“I’m just checking a few basic things,” Heinz tells Perry as he rummages through and pulls out a stethoscope. “Fever, stress, blood oxygen. You never know what can affect the brain -- a lot of things, really. Including Carl. Well we already know it’s Carl,” he grumbles. Perry’s irises contract at the flashlight shine, and he blinks and squirms in Heinz’s hold. “I’ll just have to squeeze him for answers later. Knowing the brain geniuses at OWCA they activated some stolen villain tech without back-engineering it first -- a mind-control beam, some harebrained monotreme-dumbdowninizer. Are they still using my memory eraser?” He huffs -- pulse and blood pressure readings are normal. “Why’d I ever make that thing. I can never recall.

“Everything looks fine so far, Perry the Platypus. That’s... that’s good,” he says, not feeling it. Perry is poking his bill inquisitively into the trays of the first-aid kit. Heinz will need to break out the MRInator. Been a while, so he’ll need to tune it first, which could take hours. Better get started on it right away. He needs to be working right now, because if he stops he thinks he will gelatinize into a ball of terror. That wouldn’t help Perry.

He’s 15 minutes into his work, checking that the gradient coils are aligned, when the phone rings. His screwdriver hits the ground as he lunges for it, ready to yell the full story out of Carl. But it’s Peter calling. He stares at the profile photo, which is many years out of date.

“...Hello? Peter the Panda, since when do you call? What’s up?”

“Hi, hi -- Doofenshmirtz?” comes a voice on the other line. It’s pitchy, so he has trouble placing it at first.

“Mystery? Is that you?”

This is weird. Heinz never talks to this guy. He isn’t even up on whether Professor Mystery’s still practicing evil -- just gets the impression from Peter that they’re doing alright together, whenever the two of them cross paths.

“I’m calling because something’s wrong with Peter,” he says, a quaver in his voice that Heinz can hear he is trying to suppress. “And I wanted to ask if you know anything. Did you do something to him, Doofenshmirtz? Or, if you didn’t. Can... can you come over here? Can you help me talk to him? I thought maybe he’d respond if he saw a familiar face, or maybe you’d have one of your... weird machines that could help him.”

“Verdammt noch mal,” Heinz hisses through the hand raking down his face. “That agency. It’s all of them?”

“...What?”

“It’s OWCA, Mystery, they did something to all of the agents. Apparently, if it hit Peter. Perry’s the same way.”

“...Oh,” responds Mystery. He sounds lost. “So can you come up here? I’ll -- I’ll cover your tickets. Both of them.”

Like he’d fly there commercial. “Mystery, I’m getting details out of the OWCA guys right now. I need more information before I can make any plans. Sorry.”

And Mystery couldn’t pay him enough to take Perry out of the city right now. Perry’s been hopping between the sofa and the carpet, then walking over to Heinz and bumping into his side as he works, before cycling back to the sofa, a knot of agitation. Right now he’s digging his forepaws into a couch cushion, like he’s trying to find something that isn’t there.

On the end of the line Mystery sniffles -- oh, no. “What happened to him, Doofenshmirtz?” he says, voice cracking. “My parents were trying to figure it out, they were asking me how old he is -- but it was so sudden, like something hit all at once. My dad asked if I let him go near any black holes recently.”

“Did you?” Heinz asks, genuine. Mystery got up to some hardcore science in the old days.

There’s an ursine growl on the other end, angrier than Peter sounds. “No. That’s their baggage. But I was worried,” Mystery says, “about the age thing. Because. Well.”

Heinz knows Peter’s well into his 20s, by now.

“There’s only so many more years, for him,” Mystery says, faltering. “And so -- what if this is -- if this is how he is now,” he wavers, “then that means I didn’t even... have the time, have the time I thought.”

This precedes a total breakdown of his speech into wracking sobs, that don’t transmit prettily over the phone audio. Heinz pulls the phone away from his ear, frowning at it with no little sympathy. Mystery’s age, like so much about him, has never been clear to Heinz -- but he can tell the guy’s young, comparatively. Whatever their relationship passes for there’s a strained mentorship quality to it -- Mystery has turned to Heinz for answers, in the past, and has repaid him with petulant resentment every time. It’s very bratty. Like when Vanessa would ask him for help with science projects. Heinz can’t resist another opportunity to help each time he’s asked, even knowing the outcome.

But consoling this man wasn’t on Heinz’s docket for today. “Mystery,” he says, “You’ll get that time. You cannot have so little faith in Peter the Panda, so soon after something happens to him. You’re a scientist -- you’re a master of mystery. Give it a few days, before you have a breakdown, alright? That’s what Peter would want.”

Heinz thought that was pretty good, but Mystery just cries harder on the line. He feels shaken -- he doesn’t want to be hearing this right now. That’s selfish, he knows -- but Mystery has family. Mystery can handle himself, and he can handle Peter. Heinz cares deeply for Peter’s wellbeing, still, but part of caring has meant learning to trust his choice of partner, just like Peter trusts his.

“Look, Mystery, I have to go,” he says -- he looks up, and doesn’t see Perry. Suddenly he meant what he said, with an urgency. “Get your parents to help, and tell them all morbid speculation is banned. Give them a furbrush, tell them go to town on him. They’ll love it, he’ll love it. Bye.”

He snaps off the call and rushes through the house, looking for Perry. The kitchen, the balcony ledge, the pool. This place is too big, when he doesn’t want it to be.

He finds a puddle in the bathroom. Perry knew enough to go in there, apparently, but not how to use the toilet.

Perry is back in the sitting room hiding under the glass coffee table, tail curled under like he’s ashamed. “Oh, Perry the Platypus,” Heinz sighs, kneeling at the table and reaching under to stroke Perry’s head. “What are we going to do with you.”

Mr. Fluffypants’ old litterbox is in the storage room that used to belong to Norm. He sets it up next to the toilet. Their bathroom has ample room. He exits, knowing he has to keep the inertia rolling, has to work, can’t process that he just set out a litterbox for Perry. How is he supposed to process that.

Right across from the door, in the hallway, there’s an elongated picture frame with photos from a family beach trip, when Heinz had more color in his hair. The left side highlights Vanessa, who’d brought along a friend -- she’s laughing in some of them, more unrestrained happiness than she showed in her gradeschool years. There’s the massive sandcastle they’d constructed, Norm using his vacant head to scoop, Vanessa lifting Perry up to decorate the upper echelons with fine detail, the two of them focused on this process for a long time while they’d chatted. And then photos of Perry, the surf breaking over his feet as he poses with a notch-tailed surfboard, cool confidence in the line of his smile. Heinz loves that picture: he looks so handsome, his white beach shirt open and playing in the wind.

He finds himself staring at it. This was Perry an hour ago.

He calls out: “Do you know Vanessa, Perry the Platypus? Va-ne-ssa?”

No response, obviously -- Heinz is convinced he could jostle some kind of reaction out of Perry if Vanessa stopped by in person, like Mystery had been aiming at with him. But he has no intention of letting her see him in this state. Perry would hate that.

Heinz collapses into his folded arms on the kitchen island, amid the newly-purchased bags of flour and sugar, for the apple pie they will not be making tonight. He doesn’t want to eat.

But Perry should, he realizes after a minute, lifting his head. Perry seems less agitated now, has been wandering the floor. Right now he’s peering out at the balcony sky, seated. Heinz walks over to him. “You’re not going to try and run off of that, right?” Perry looks up. “Carl made it sound like you were gonna bolt if I so much as left a door open.” But Perry’s been keeping near to him, following him from room to room. The real Perry isn’t this clingy. “I don’t trust you to operate a parachute right now, Perry the Platypus. And don’t let me see you going in the jetpack closet.”

More empty eye contact. “Let’s get you dinner.”

It’s reheated lasagna they’d made a few nights ago, beef and zucchini. Heinz stares hopefully at Perry as he eats it off the plate, thinking the taste might stir a memory. He noses the fork off the table, jumps a little at its clatter, then starts nibbling bites off the edge of the lasagna block. Heinz is over there cutting it up with a butter knife when Carl’s return call finally buzzes in his pocket -- he puts it on the tabletop set to speaker mode. “Carl. I hope you’re ready to talk.”

“Yes Doofenshmirtz, hi,” returns the tinny nasal voice. “I had to get home -- Monogram’s getting grilled over there, and he wouldn’t stop yelling back at them, at the FBI agents, who were jumping at the bit to arrest him. I managed to broker a peace,” Carl ends, proudly.

“That’s fantastic, Carl,” says Heinz. “How about explaining what you did to Perry the Platypus’s brain? It hit Peter too, by the way, I know this is a bigger problem than you want me to think.”

“I don’t want you to think anything!” says Carl. “This wasn’t my choice, Heinz, or Monogram’s for that matter. They turned off the agent control switch. I kept telling them they didn’t need to do that, they should just leave the agents alone -- it’s more safe that way, honestly, we didn’t even know what would happen if they used it. But they just said if it’s part of the animal program, it needs to go.”

Heinz’s stomach sinks lower than he thought it could. “Agent control switch? You’re controlling them?”

“No!” says Carl. “It’s not a -- clear term. Nobody’s controlling the animals, Heinz. It’s like a remote control hub, with a binary state, on and off. They shut it off.’

“So that’s good,” Heinz falters, trying not to let the ominous weight of whatever this implies overwhelm his thought. “You can just switch it back on. It sounds like you can literally fix this with a button press, Carl, so do it.”

“Well, yes and no,” Carl dithers. “They shut it off. Then they confiscated all our equipment. They said ‘classified’, when I asked where it was going. so my guess is it’ll end up in some storage basement or the FBI dumpster, based on how badly they mishandled it. They split open the casing just getting it out of the room, it was hard to watch.”

That sounds about right for OWCA, 70s-era supercomputers filling up rooms they were never intended to leave. “So the switch controls something in Perry’s head?” Heinz asks, steadily. He’s thinking of the giant magnet he was about to put Perry inside. “Like a metal chip?”

“It’s a bioelectric material, I’m pretty sure,” Carl says. “Part of what makes it so hard to access, once it’s inside. The investigators were going to make us lobotomize all the agents, if I hadn’t told them about the switch, it was the only choice. They’re serious about stamping out this program, Heinz, like they’re trying to erase it from the public consciousness. Because if people see a dog in a hat they’ll mob up and burn the government down, apparently.”

Heinz feels on board with that plan at the moment. “Carl. Professor Mystery’s having a breakdown, I had to talk him off the cliff this afternoon. Neither of us knew about this. You didn’t tell any of us,” the heat is rising in his voice, “that Peter and Perry had something in them that you controlled, that this could happen at any minute. Did they know about this?”

Carl is quiet a second. “... I’m not sure,” he says. “I thought Perry knew. It’s not a major secret, it’s just what we do, to promising recruits. It’s had a less pronounced effect in the newer ones, since we stopped putting them in babies. But Perry’s always had it. That’s why he’s so intelligent. But he might not have known about the control switch -- it’s really a relic, we haven’t run power through it in decades, since we’ve had no reason to deactivate the agents.”

Perry’s nosing around the table, his lasagna half-eaten -- he makes a small noise of complaint. “Oh -- I didn’t give you water,” Heinz realizes. A cup seems too optimistic, so he fills up a bowl.

“Is that Perry?” asks Carl from the phone speaker -- Heinz rolls his eyes. “How is he? I’m really sorry, by the way, Heinz -- there’s a lot on our plates over here, I’m just trying to keep us afloat and Monogram on a leash. You know I care about him, too.”

“Then fix him,” says Heinz. Carl goes quiet, while Perry drinks from his bowl.

“...We’ll figure it out. Good night, Doofenshmirtz.”

Heinz looks out at the silent space of his apartment -- the living room lamp is taking on the brunt of lighting it, now the early autumn dark has fallen. With the phonecall battles over and done for the night, it seems quieter than usual.

This space is normally filled by just him and Perry, now that Norm and Vanessa are out on their own. Perry doesn’t talk, and employs his platypus noises judiciously, only making sound when he really wants Heinz’s attention, or is in a temper. But his presence fills the space, in a way that’s hard to explain, easy to feel.

Normal nights, Heinz gabs his way into the late hours with Perry as his receptive listener, and responder, accompanying Heinz on their end-of-day tidying chores, toweling dishes off for him to stack on high shelves, shooting him dry looks and signing quick sentences that make Heinz scoff. Perry believes Heinz is worth listening to, which makes Heinz want to keep chatting with him, more and more, a self-feeding loop that would overload the casual conversational partner. But Perry is no casual.

Normal afternoons, they work on parallel projects to the sound of old radio serials, to audiobooks of bestselling mystery novels, to the Landmarks in Evil podcast. Perry will grab Heinz’s attention to sign some withering remark on the spotlighted villain of the week, and Heinz will snort into his construction tools. Perry’s presence grants him undesired OWCA updates around the house, that they both groan at simultaneously. Perry grants him gift-laden drop-ins from Ferb and Phineas -- literal balcony visits, often, since those kids and their friends fly around the city in more novel contraptions than Perry once did. Perry gives him looks that say everything.

Now, Perry has hopped off the kitchen chair and is padding around Heinz into the living room space. He turns to look at Heinz, like he keeps on doing, but his face expresses only a primal distress. He chirps a high, querulous note, cry-like, foreign on Perry’s tongue. Heinz could step on Perry’s tail ten times -- he has -- and not hear a noise that heartrending.

“I know, Perry the Platypus.” Such a thing you say to pets. But he shares Perry’s sentiment.

A flash of guilt twinges his stomach, and he pulls out his phone to text Peter’s number: Got the intel - I’m fixing it. Take care of Peter the Panda tonight.

A quick reply: I AM. Heinz’s lip quirks.

Heinz raps on the shell of the MRInator -- its completion feels less urgent, now that he has a better concept of the problem. He’ll finish it after a night of sleep, so he doesn’t risk frying Perry’s neurons. He doesn’t want to sleep, knows it won’t be easy, with this mountainous weight hanging over him. But dire times call for proper rest, he’s learned to accept, after 50-some odd years. He downs a plastic cup of Nyquil.

“I’ll have to fix you tomorrow, Perry the Platypus,” he tells him. “Or else I’ll start owing everyone an explanation. Really don’t wanna give the ‘Carl Scrambled Perry’s Brain’ apology tour to your family. I don’t think they’d talk to me again, even though everything is Carl’s fault. As established by the name of the tour.”

Perry wails again, a haunting trill sent into the darkness of the penthouse.

“But don’t worry,” Heinz adds, hurrying over to Perry -- he bends to pet his head. “I will fix this for you. And for Peter the Panda too, and all the other agents. I promise.

Perry whines again, more quietly, in Heinz’s hold, looking up at him with sad brown eyes. Heinz rubs his old hands through the fur of his head -- Perry looks so different right now, hunched in a dog’s sitting posture. Whatever they did to him, whatever pathways are now shut off in his mind, must have enabled or encouraged more human postures, better standing balance -- who knows.

Heinz isn’t sure what to make of Perry now, this animal shell of him. He wonders if Perry feels the same about him -- what is he to Perry now? His partner, his mere protector? Is he less than he used to be?

Heinz takes his left paw, gently, lifting it in his hand. He thumbs the metal ring on his finger.

“For the MRI tomorrow,” he tells Perry. “In case I forget.” He removes it.

Perry pads after Heinz as he gets a glass of water from the sink, as he walks to the bedroom. He feels odd dressing down to his boxers, in front of him now. Perry doesn’t pay him any mind, though -- as soon as he walks in he jumps his way up to the bedspread, scrabbling at the blankets on the edge to barely avoid falling.

“Not letting you in any apple trees,” Heinz muses emptily.

He slumps back into the pillows, feeling the doxylamine fog roll in. “But I’ll need you back soon,” he says, “so we can do the Haunted Haymaze with the kids.”

Perry trods up to him on the blanket. He makes a quiet noise -- not scared or confused, but a regular krrr, like he used to make. A gentle declaration of presence, a little care-package growl. Heinz lifts his arm, and Perry crawls under it, pushing his head into his neck. This movement isn’t forgotten, to him.

Heinz hugs his other arm around Perry’s body, and he falls asleep.

---

#in a theoretical part 2 i think pnf show up #i like leaning into the fucked up side of this ship...i wanna twist a knife into them #fic

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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

Text

Resignation

Summary: 18+ 1.5k homelander x reader, established relationship, dirty talk, thigh riding, grinding.

After you have a particularly rough day at work, Homelander offers you some sound career advice, and a little stress relief.

spiritual successor to Customer Service, but stands alone. this is for everyone who's sick of this capitalist hellscape, and the crummy jobs we're forced to work to survive. not proofread, we die like men. 🖤

Another day, another dollar, another near meltdown.

You spend most of your commute home trying to pull yourself together. After the day you’ve had at work, the last thing you need to do is burst into tears before you even made it home. It’s taking everything in you to keep it at bay.

There’s just something about you that apparently screams Hey! Abuse me! in the workplace.

At least you’ve got something to look forward to when you get home.

Or rather, someone.

“I’m home,” you announce tiredly, stepping inside. You kick your shoes off, and despite your mood, you smile at the pair of tall red boots that sit next to them. It took some convincing to get him to take them off consistently, but ever since he’s started spending more and more time hiding out at your place, you’ve insisted on some ground rules

“Living room,” Homelander calls back.

Walking in, you find him crouched in the living room, staring at your cat with a level of intensity you’re not sure what to make of. “Uh, something going on here?”

“Yep,” he answers evenly. “Asserting dominance.”

You watch your cat blink slowly before lazily rising, stretching into a wide yawn, and hopping down to greet you. Homelander stands, scoffing triumphantly. “I won.”

“Uh-huh,” you give back distractedly, bending down to scritch your cat's ears.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, frowning as he approaches. “Your eyes are all red.”

“Hard day,” you tell him, readily accepting his encroaching embrace. You sink easily into his arms, noting that his gloves are off today. That’s new. You slip your arms around his neck, your body tired and heavy as you trust him with the full weight of it. He holds you up effortlessly.

He exhales a huff of hot air right by your ear that gives you goosebumps. “Quit,” he says, his voice set low.

“That’s what you always say.” “Because I mean it,” he shoots back fiercely, pulling away to meet your gaze. “Quit. Fuck those assholes already. You don’t need them. You have me,” he says, reiterating a conversation the two of you have had at least a dozen times now.

Money is nothing to him. He could buy you out for three times your salary for the rest of your life with his pocket change.

“I can’t just not work,” you say, pulling your hands down from his neck to lay flush on his chest. “I need my job.”

“The only thing you need is me,” he stresses again, kissing you. He always feels like he’s restraining himself when he touches you, holding himself back from moving too hard, too fast, from devouring. It’s thrilling to lose yourself in. “Why do you insist on tormenting yourself?

Stomach fluttering, you can’t help but laugh at the slight petulance that slips into his voice. “Because if I give up and let you take care of me, you might get bored, and then I’ll have nothing,” you say, and though you mean to make a joke of it, to fill your voice with playful whimsy, the confession lands harder than you expected it to. You’re tired, you’re stretched thin, and as your own words sink in, you realize just how bad it’s gotten.

Homelander withdraws, leveling you with a look that confirms it: that wasn’t a joke, and neither of you are amused.

You blink several times, suddenly speechless. “I…” You realize your eyes are burning again, and with every blink, your vision gets more bleary. “I just meant…”

“Do you really believe that?” He asks, his brows pinched.

“No,” you answer reflexively, voice too sharp even to your ears. “No, not that… I don’t know, I was trying to make a joke, but maybe… I don’t know. I get scared sometimes,” you say carefully, trying desperately not to spill the tears gathering in your eyes. “That someday I’m not going to be enough because y–”

His lips meet yours before you can continue, muffling the rest of your sentence. His hands are impossibly warm as they sweep up your back, eventually cupping either side of your neck. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he needs the taste of you to breathe, like he would die without you. He kisses you until your brain feels foggy and there’s a dull throb between your legs.

“You’re ridiculous,” he all but growls against your lips, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I’m not going to get bored. Good fucking luck getting out of this one,” he says, slipping a hand to the back of your neck and squeezing for emphasis. You shiver, your tears lost in the wake of the slow rolling heat moving through your body. “Besides, you know damn well you’re the one who’ll be taking care of me.”

You can feel his smirk against your lips, and you laugh unexpectedly, the sound of it bordering on the sob you had very nearly fallen to. “You need a babysitter now?”

“Why, are we roleplaying? That’s pretty naughty,” he purrs.

“Stop it,” you laugh, pushing his face away, but he doesn’t relent.

“What? Sexy babysitter could be fun,” he says, kissing a trail up your neck.

“Pervert,” you accuse, turning your face to kiss him. He accepts greedily, tongue slipping between your lips. You sigh a soft moan into his mouth, which only encourages his hands to wander even more, eventually settling on your ass. Without warning, he grabs tight and hauls you up, hitching your legs around his waist, swallowing up the startled gasp you give.

He settles down onto the couch, and maneuvers you until you’re straddling his thigh. You can feel the magnitude of his strength thrumming between your legs, pressed up tight against that same throbbing heat he ignited in you with those fervent kisses.

Cupping your face, he pulls you down for more of the same.

“Go ahead,” he says against your lips, his own curved into a gloating smile. “Grind. I can smell how bad you want it.” His voice is low, as coarse and sweet as raw sugar. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, worsening the pulse of your need.

Immediately, you start to rock your hips, grinding down against him. He rewards you with a hand on your thigh, squeezing as it slides slowly higher, his thumb skirting along your inner thigh. “No more stress,” he murmurs, the words warm on your lips. “No more tears. Just you… with me… mine.”

The way he rumbles that word against your ear sends a shiver trilling up and down your spine, the heat at the center of you spiraling up, up, up, blossoming throughout your entire body. He flexes his thigh and gives you one sharp little bounce on it, wringing a moan out of you. You roll your hips faster, tightly clenching your thighs on either side of his. You push both hands up into his hair and hold on tight, panting into the crook of his neck.

Homelander slips both hands back to your ass, gives a generous squeeze while he helps your body move, rolling it in time with the way he flexes and occasionally bucks his thigh against you. “Say it. Say you’ll quit, and you’ll be all mine,” he demands softly, grip flexing on you. There’s a neediness at the edges of his voice. “Give me that. Give me you.”

You screw your eyes shut, keening breathlessly. The grind of fabric against sensitive skin is almost too much, too dry, but it’s fucking good, too. You’re getting wetter and wetter, losing yourself to the relentless pace he sets for you, and the hungry way he kisses at your throat.

“C’mon. Give it up. Give me everything. M’never letting you go,” he pants, at which point you realize he’s also grinding against your leg. The arousal–the sheer animalistic need–in his voice makes your stomach flip, and with one last shuddering noise, you’re coming against his leg, moaning loud in his ear as the wave of pleasure slowly wrings out every last bit of tension that you had been holding onto.

You collapse against him, your arms hanging limply around his neck. He nuzzles at your jaw, kissing a trail to your lips. You reciprocate lazily, your eyes closed as you luxuriate in the aftershocks of the unexpected release.

“Quit,” he whispers persistently, lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. “We’ll take care of each other.”

“This is playing dirty,” you slur, feeling stupefied in your post-orgasm haze.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he says, taking your hand from around his neck, and slipping it between his legs. You bite your tongue. Christ, he runs fucking hot. Even through the fabric of his suit, you can feel the throb of his cock. “You’re gonna be writing your resignation letter in my cum by the end of the night.”

You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and an unsteady moan, clenching against his thigh. “Okay,” you say, lifting your head to kiss him. “Prove it.”

Much to Homelander’s delight, you submit your notice of resignation the very next day.

#i banged this out rly fast bc i notice lotta folks struggling at work lately and i just wanted to offer some support ;;#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #smut

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scribe-of-the-gods · 1 year ago

Text

Quickies

i'm back to feed you, babe. im enjoying my new format since i'll be doing different levels of smut. this isn't too detailed cuz i did it last night at like... 2am?

♢ fandom: honkai star rail ♢ spice level: spicy ♢ characters: dan heng, jing yuan, blade, luocha ♢ extra: minors dni, f!reader

》 Dan Heng

“I-I’ll be late,” Dan Heng gasped as he felt you press his back against the mattress. The conductor had asked everyone to meet in the parlor car in just ten or so minutes.

Of course, before he could fully change and leave… you took your chance.

“We can be quick.” You said as you discarded your shirt and began kissing his neck.

“Y-yeah but…” Dan Heng’s words got caught in his throat as your hand moved to his thigh. You let out a moan as you pressed yourself down on him, feeling that excitement rush through you.

“Come on, babe…” you whispered in his ear as you grinded against his half-hardened cock.

“Fine.” He replied with little hesitation as he flipped you over and pinned your hands above your head. “But I’m not going slow this time.”

》 Jing Yuan

“I don’t… have much t… time..” Jing Yuan said between kisses as you two quickly stripped out of your clothes.

“That’s fine. We’ll just be quick.” You said as you pressed yourself against him, your hand sliding down his chest and to his cock.

“Fuck…” he cursed as he felt you grip him. Your hand moved in slow motions, teasing him. “Is this r-really the time to go slow?” He asked as he picked you up and pushed you onto the bed, throwing your legs apart.

“Hey- gentle!” You said with a light pout.

“I can’t, I only have 10 minutes. So prepare yourself. ” He said as he roughly kissed you.

》 Blade

“Wh-what are you doi- hey!” Blade exclaimed as you pushed him against the wall.

“Sorry, I’m excited.” You moaned as you began to kiss his neck, your hand slowly moving down his thigh.

“I have things- fuck- I have things to do.” He said, trying to push your hands away.

“Come on, babe.” You said with a pout, “just a few minutes. I’m needy.”

Blade stared at you for a second before nodding. Yeah well after all that, he was excited too. He easily lifted you in his arms and walked over to your shared bed and dropped you onto it.

“Then spread your legs for me.” He said simply as his hands slid down your waist as he kissed you.

You wasted no time and obeyed him, shivering as his hand met your clothed core. His lips trailed down your neck and collarbone before he moved lower and lower.

》 Luocha

You giggled as Luocha’s lips moved down to your collarbone, nibbling slightly.

“Th-that tickles!” The blonde man couldn’t help but chuckle as he pulled away and looked down at you.

“I’m trying to seduce you and you’re laughing? Awfully rude of you.” He joked as he slid his hand down to your hip.

“I can’t help it!” You said as you met his emerald eyes. “Ok, I won’t laugh this time. I promise.” Luocha’s eyes shifted to the clock on the wall and he clicked his tongue.

“Sorry, lovely. But my time’s up. I need to be somewhere in 20 minutes.” He said as he picked your lips and backed away, instantly bringing a frown to your face.

“W-wait, what!? B-but I’m all excited!” You said with wide eyes.

“Should’ve been obedient earlier.” He teased, making you grab his arm. Your pout and big ol eyes were the best way to get what you wanted. “Oh, come on! Don’t make that face.”

“Please…”

“Oh fine, but stop making that face.” You stuck your tongue out at him with your little mischievous smile following suit.

“Or what?”

“You really wanna challenge me there? Especially when you’re begging me to fuck you?” He asked, placing a hand under your chin.

You just leaned in and kissed him, not wanting to waste any precious time.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr blade x reader #luocha x reader #smut #jing yuan smut #dan heng smut #blade smut #luocha smut #♤─ sins of ares

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bimrsadler · 2 years ago

Text

Goodnight and Goodmorning: Part Two

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Word count: 1,700

Warnings/tags: high honor Arthur, smut, wet dream, dry humping, hand stuff, first time together, unprotected piv, praise kink (what else is new), language, fluff

Notes: Smutty part two of a request for Arthur sneaking into readers tent after being away, fluffy part one is here

A soft morning sun peeked through the tent while birds chirped cheerfully and the horses huffed at the edge of camp. There was a chill that came with the early spring morning but it was hardly felt given how tightly Arthur was wrapped around you.

Sometime during the night he moved behind you, pressing his thighs against the back of yours and pulling your back to his warm chest. You couldn’t recall the last time you woke up so peacefully.

It was clear through Arthur’s deep, slow breaths that he was still asleep. He needed it and you didn’t want to disturb him, but it was hard to ignore the hard line in his union suit pressed against your lower back.

You knew it was possible he wasn’t dreaming of anything intimate and was just his body doing what it does naturally — but your mind certainly did wander.

Was he dreaming about your kiss the previous night, where it could have led? If you had asked him would he have taken you right then and there? Given what you felt of him behind you, it was all too easy to imagine how full he would make you feel, how deep it would go…

The wetness between your legs gathered and your hips instinctively rolled against Arthur; eliciting the smallest whimper and twitch of his manhood. Good God, now your mind wandered further.

Did he know on a subconscious level that your body was aching for his? Was he dreaming of burying his cock in your wet folds? His hand was tantalizingly close to your chest, thumb brushing lightly against your hardening nipple.

Arthur’s breaths quickened against your ear with another whimper, suddenly grinding against your backside. Well…maybe he was dreaming about that after all.

This had never happened before and Arthur surely would have been mortified if it had. It was difficult to tell if he knew what he was doing or was merely acting out his wet dream while still asleep. But the pleading “sweetheart” he let slip out against your ear was torture — you needed to know.

Testing the waters, your fingertips trailed along his forearm as you pushed your backside to meet his thrusts. With a shudder Arthur slowly woke, pushing himself away from you at the realization of what he was doing.

“Jesus…darlin’ m’so sorry, I didn’t mean — I… I’d never,” he stuttered apologetically.

“Arthur…”

“I’ll uh I’ll head back to my tent and,” he continued with a “dammit Morgan you fool,” muttered under his breath.

“Arthur please…” you gently stopped him as he began to sit up.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know what you were doing, but…” you paused nervously, hoping to sooth but also let him know you wanted more.

“…I liked it,” you admitted sheepishly. “Hope you don’t think less of me for saying so.”

Arthur took so long to reply you began to fear that he did, but eventually he whispered softly, “’course not.” He cautiously brought himself back to his original position behind you, “but I’d have a hard time believin’ ya.”

A pang of sadness hit your chest upon hearing that. He deserved to feel good, to feel wanted.

“Well you should, Arthur. I was just biding my time this morning thinking about all the things I want you to do to me…”

You felt his chest rise against your back, “that so?” You nodded silently with a smirk.

“Well maybe you should show me then…” His husky drawl was thick as honey and smooth as a good whiskey.

Reaching an arm behind you brought his face to yours, “oh I would love that Arthur,” pulling him in for a kiss far more heated than the night before.

You moved Arthur’s calloused hand along your stomach and between your thighs, warming him up slowly. He broke the joining of your lips to instead kiss your neck, covering every inch of skin tenderly. “Goddamn you feel so soft…”

“C’mere sweet girl, wanna see that pretty face.” He grabbed you by the hips and took control for the first time, moving you to face him. Gingerly running his knuckles down your cheek he cooed, “that’s better.”

The sunlight hit his bright eyes as they wandered along your body, taking in every inch with disbelief.

“Touch me Arthur,” you brought his hand to the swell of your breast — encouraging him to take over from there. He moved his thumb along the stiff peak showing through your thin chemise.

Your hips jolted forward, moaning timidly at Arthur’s touch and the feeling of the satin material rubbing against your sensitive nub.

Leaning down he planted kisses to your collar bone while massaging your breast in his shaking hand. Kneading gently, he let out soft groans into the crook of your neck.

Exploring further his hand traveled to your upper thigh, touching your ass in the same strong yet tender way. Clenching around nothing, Arthur took notice to your thighs squeezing together to relieve the ache between them.

He looked there where his gaze lingered, towing the line between lustful and proper. “Want me to touch you there?”

Smiling, you parted your legs ever so slightly with a shy smile, inviting him to feel what he did to you.

Positioning himself above, he kissed you slow and deep as his fingers gingerly slid down your folds, collecting the slick. “Jee-sus sweetheart,” he laughed in disbelief, “you tryna kill me?”

You felt your body flush with heat and let out an embarrassed laugh as you hid your face in the blanket, suddenly overwhelmed that Arthur was touching you there, when it was so obvious how aroused you were. The intimacy of his attention left you dizzy and buzzing.

“Hey — you don’t ever have to hide from me, beautiful.” Lifting your face to meet his, his lips pressed to yours while sliding a finger inside of you; swallowing your moans as he did.

If it weren’t for Arthur’s passionate kissing, the whole camp would have heard your ecstasy as he pushed another finger into your pussy, moving gently in and out with his thumb circling your clit. “Just like that baby…” you mewled.

It was for Arthur’s benefit too though, his raspy groans getting louder every time he stopped to breath. Somewhere between massaging your tongue with his and massaging your inner walls, he draped his leg over yours; desperately rutting against your thigh.

Feeling his hardness move against you was enough to finish the job. The waves of pleasure rolled through your clenching abdomen, breathy whines escaping as you pulsed around his fingers.

Arthur watched you come undone with murmured expletives and a hungry stare. “That’s it sweetheart, I gotchu.”

Not interested in waiting any longer, you urged him on top of you and pushed him up on his knees to unbutton his union suit — stroking the hard line straining against it as you did.

Arthur towering over you this way was something you never thought you’d see, masculinity and strength filling the air around him. Yet the quiet whines and softness of his touch brought together the best of both worlds.

Kissing his chest and stomach as more skin was revealed, you admired his form and the hair that nestled around it. The lower buttons practically undid themselves as his hardness broke through. Taking it firmly you rolled the velvet skin in your palm, thick and heavy.

Running your other hand along his muscular thigh you purred, “how’s this baby?”

Arthur’s head was thrown back atop his heaving chest. “So good, yer doin’ great sweetheart.”

Drunk on his praise you stroked him more fervently, Arthur shuddering and swearing as you did. “Dar — oh darlin’ I ain’t gonna last.”

Slowing your momentum you instead laid down, coyly pressing your legs together while rocking them back and forth. “Better take me then huh?”

Arthur parted your legs with a hand on each thigh, waiting at your entrance. Nodding gave him the permission needed to bury his cock in your heat, bottoming out as he did.

After the time spent teasing yourself while Arthur slept behind you — and his bringing you to orgasm, it was an exquisite relief to finally feel him inside of you.

Falling forward with an arm on either side of your head, Arthur whimpered your name. He stilled for a moment to let you adjust before finding his rhythm; fucking you gently into the cot with slow and sensual movements.

You gripped his arm with one hand and threaded your fingers through his hair with the other, tugging gently. White hot pleasure rippled through your core, still sensitive and swollen from Arthur’s handiwork.

“Y-you feel so good darlin’ everything boutcha feels, fuck — so good,” he rambled praises into your ear, unable to control his stream of consciousness.

His bicep flexed under your fingertips with each thrust, turning you on all that much more. Writhing beneath him you wrapped your legs around his waist and met his bucking with equal enthusiasm.

“Just like that Arthur,” you keened as your walls fluttered around his pumping cock, pushing him closer to the edge.

The small tent filled with the sounds of your stifled moans and amorous whispers. Arthur buried his face in the crook of your neck, hot puffs of breath hitting the skin he had gently marked, his full weight rocking your body as his bucking reached an erratic pace.

Without using his hands Arthur pulled out, thrusting his pulsing cock between your wet and swollen folds. Gruff groans disappeared into the pillow, Arthur’s body trembling on top of you with stiffening muscles, hot ropes coating the skin where your stomachs met.

Arthur took his time in leaving your embrace; drawing out languid kisses and quiet questions of if he did well and how you liked it. Blissful and satisfied, it was easy to reassure him.

When the time came to part, Arthur cleaned you thoughtfully with a bandanna — wondering how you got so lucky as he tended to you.

“It’s good to have you back, handsome.”

Arthur chuckled, “well it’s good to be back gorgeous. You have no idea.”

After moments passed tangled up together, you began to gather your clothes with a heavy sigh. It was — unfortunately, another day with more camp responsibilities.

“Where ya think yer headed to?” Arthur playfully grabbed your wrist and pulled you back down to the cot as you landed with a giggle.

“Told ya we were gonna take our time this mornin’.” He kissed your knuckles and pulled the blanket over your lower half. “Now get comfortable again and I’ll bring ya coffee.”

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #nsft #fluff #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 fanfiction

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apparitionism · 5 months ago

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Bonus 3

I so frequently have to start these intros with “where were we?”, because I so frequently confuse even myself with regard to where any given in-progress story left off... typically it’s a cliffhanger of some sort, but off of, or onto, which specific cliff were we hanging? Well. Here in this continuation of a Christmas tale, we—or rather, Myka and Helena—were suspended in a broken-down elevator in an accounting firm’s office building in Cleveland. Something might’ve been juuuuust about to happen (see part 2 for what that something probably was, and part 1 for the causal chain that got them there), but a voice interrupted, seemingly from on high.

Bonus 3

“Is everybody okay in there?” the voice from heavenward repeats.

Myka looks up, this time confronting not her own reflection but a dark emptiness, one that is partially filled by... a firefighter?

She is sorely tempted, in the moment, to proclaim that everybody in here is most certainly not okay, given that she herself is among that “everybody” and is ready to spit nails at the timing of this supposed rescue... she talks herself down, though, because the firefighter certain doesn’t need to be informed about the grinding frustration of unrealized near-certainty.

The firefighter, most likely concerned about the lack of response, goes on, “If you’re in distress, we can hoist you up through here, get you faster help. If you’re okay, you can wait till we let the car down to the next level and get the doors open. Then you’ll be able to walk out.”

Myka looks at Helena, and they are on the same page regarding being hoisted. “Walk,” they both say.

“Good choice,” the firefighter tells them. “Easier on everybody. Never know when you’ll run into injuries, though... or sometimes worse, claustrophobics, so we gotta check.”

“Among our many problems, claustrophobia is not,” Helena says. She smiles up at the firefighter.

Who smiles back. She’s good-looking, this firefighter.

Not jealousy, Myka admonishes herself. Not now.

“Good for you,” the firefighter tells Helena. Maybe a little jealousy. Then: “I’ll put the lid back on; you two sit tight.”

She disappears; the mirror reappears. Magic-esque.

“Well, this is overdetermined,” Myka mutters.

With a head-cock, Helena says, “I believe I know what that word means, but I’m not certain I know what it means. In context.”

Is she serious? Might as well assume so... “It’s kind of like if you actually had remarked on naughtiness,” Myka says. “But maybe all I really mean, in context, is ‘story of my life.’”

Now a squint. “I know what those words mean as well, but again I must ask—”

“Never mind. I had this wild hope that maybe one thing might go right. But here we are.”

“Being rescued doesn’t fall into the ‘go right’ category?” Helena asks. And now she blinks ostentatiously, combining innocence with a sparkle of eye.

You’ve been teasing me, Myka now suspects, and she wants to say it—to accuse it!—but the interruption stole her boldness. Instead she sighs out “of course it does” and resigns herself to contemplating the complications that have, over the span of time during which she and Helena have been hamhandedly dealing with their destiny, sat themselves down solid-awkward between possibility and realization.

And anyway, if Helena is teasing, does that mean she fails to feel the same urgency Myka does about what might, in the absence of intervention, have been... realized?

Myka has made so many miscalculations with regard to what Helena does, might, could feel. Could the tease, if that’s what it is, have a different significance? Maybe. But Myka is tired. Of miscalculating, yes, but also of hoping. Of wishing. Of hanging on a knife-edge of believing in something that fate keeps deciding should not happen...

Okay, deep breath. Maybe it isn’t fate this time. Maybe in this case it’s nothing more—or less?—than a disapproving elevator.

As they at last exit those hypercritical confines, Myka leans into that latter interpretation, saying back in the car’s direction, “You were pretending to be Jesus-birth-focused, whereas I think in actual fact you’re harking your way around the Old Testament, but as said testament gets cherry-picked by fundamentalist New-Testamenters who don’t know Hebrew. So congratulations on your historically insupportable theology.” She’s pretty sure the unnecessarily extended creak she hears from the mechanism is its version of a crude gesture.

Their firefighter, who had been the one to pry the doors open inch by inch and set them free, now says to Helena, “Did she maybe hit her head when the car stopped?”

“No, she’s merely imaginative,” Helena rejoins, cheerily.

“I’m imaginative?” Myka demands. “Says the father of something.”

The firefighter touches Myka’s arm as if it’s the next step toward physically restraining her, a clear indication of how unhinged her last statements must have sounded. Further indication: the firefighter says, “The whole elevator system’s shut down till they figure out what happened. Can you get down a lot of stairs okay, or do you need assistance?”

“Oh, I definitely need assistance, but not with stairs,” Myka tells her.

Helena steps smooth between the firefighter and Myka, taking Myka’s arm herself instead. “She’ll be fine, I believe. But thank you.”

She’s very gracious. The firefighter is very attractive. Did Helena move to break the firefighter’s hold on Myka... or to place herself closer to the firefighter?

Not jealousy, Myka reminds herself. Not now.

Particularly not now that they’re embarking on a stair-descent and leaving the firefighter behind, one step at a time. It’s an endless-seeming series—“a lot of stairs” indeed—on which they expend no small amount of time. And no small amount of energy.

As they near what seems, blessedly, to be the end, Myka huffs out, “If I ever start thinking I want to live in a high-rise, just say ‘elevator dealy-thingy’ to me to make sure I understand how much I’ll end up regretting it if there’s ever an emergency.” It’s the kind of thing she would say to Pete, so she backtracks: “Sorry. Never mind that. I’m tired.”

Helena’s breathing isn’t exactly unlabored as she says, “No, no. Object lessons. I might take one as well: feign injury so firefighters will convey us via stretcher down accursed emergency stairs.”

“Brilliant idea,” Myka says, though she does spare a “glad we didn’t put you through that” thought for their firefighter.

“Thank you. Coming from, as quite recently noted, such an imaginative individual, that’s a great compliment.”

“Sorry for that outburst too. I was just so ticked at the elevator for how it clearly intended to put a stop to—”

Fortunately/unfortunately, Myka doesn’t manage to finish the utterance, because fortunately/unfortunately, they’re at last pushing through the first-floor fire door.

In a perverse twist, which Myka suspects the elevator of somehow contriving, that door releases them into the cubicle farm. Very near Bob’s location. Where he is now enthusiastically, rather than resentfully, stationed.

“Ladies!” he greets them. Did the elevator text him to lie in wait? “I finally got paid! I’m flush!”

Helena nods in satirical approval. “And we were rescued from the elevator at an overdetermined moment. Such good news all around.” The verbal irony chokes Myka, for it confirms—entirely—that Helena had indeed been teasing.

“Good thing I was here to light a fire under you,” Bob swaggers, clearly oblivious to Helena’s sarcasm, and it’s for once a good thing that he’s paying most of his attention to Helena anyway, because Myka is utterly failing to keep her eyes from widening, her jaw from slackening, into the very dictionary illustration of incredulity. “So what are your plans, now that you’ve put the fear of god into Nancy and made her give me what I deserve?”

Fear of god... now Myka’s certain he and the elevator are in cahoots.

“We have business to attend to,” Helena tells him.

“IRS business?”

Helena smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “Not at all,” she says, and Myka recognizes that tone as “continue at your peril.”

So of course Bob continues. “Oh, that kind of business,” he smarms, like the two of them are speaking in some super-secret, super-specific, only-we-know-what-the-word-“business”- means code. Infuriating in itself, but he goes on, “If you’re not on the clock, maybe you’d enjoy an evening out.” The “enjoy” is slimy, and the “maybe” is smug, as if he has no doubt the answer will be yes.

“Oh yes,” Helena says, bringing Myka up short, and “very much so,” she continues. What performance is this? “But not with you.” Myka exhales in relief. Helena then turns to her and says, “I believe you promised me an evening that would make up for our having been trapped?”

Myka nearly chokes again, now at the way “an evening” and “make up for” absolutely roil with salacious intent.

Bob yelps, “I knew it!” which Helena skewers with a completely, and completely transparently, fake-dense, “Knew what?”

He is sufficiently cowed to refrain from responding with anything involving the word “naughty.”

When they finally escape the building, Myka fumes, “Nancy Sullivan did not in any way go far enough with that guy. I don’t know what this pen would let me smite him with, but I’m extremely tempted to take it out of the bag and make a list of my own.”

“Despite the downside?” Helena asks. She’s dialed back the punish-the-offender spice; now she sounds her baseline undercurrent-of-amusement self.

Myka envies her ability to change registers so seemingly effortlessly. “I’m already off the charts, judgment-wise,” she admits, “so I honestly wonder how much downside I’d really feel.” It’s more than she would have been inclined to say, pre-elevator. But something has surely shifted.

“Hm,” Helena noises, a not-quite-poke of an answer. But she then asks, “Would I be on this list?”

Whiplash: back to an unassimilable suggestiveness. That’s better, though, than Helena making and conveying a guilt-ridden assumption, as she most likely would have done in the past, that Myka would pass judgment on her for her misdeeds.

“And if so, in which column?” Helena muses on.

Again Myka would love to have panache, to be able to play into the overdetermined idea of “naughty” or at least counter it with a clever turn on “nice.” Instead she offers something in hope, which she hopes is most immediately legible as practical and not too hopeful: “Since you implied I’m taking you out, I think I’d better do that. Or some other mechanism might decide to get all... judgy. Disapprovey? Obviously from a different theological perspective than the elevator, but even so.”

“Such other mechanism sounds strangely chivalrous. Holding you to account on my behalf? I confess I’m curious as to the form that chivalry might take.”

It’s a perfect opening to probe Helena’s true interpretation of the overdetermined interruption. “But the consequence of said chivalry,” Myka says. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“Any such consequence would be, at this point, merely delay,” Helena says.

Delay... the interruption was merely delay... which means Helena thought that not-quite realization of all their pent-up possibility was—thinks it is!—as inevitable as Myka had. As Myka does. Does now again. Okay, the tenses may be hard to render sensically, but Myka knows what it all means.

Alas, despite the change in their together-weather, she can’t quite see her way clear to realizing that inevitability on a sidewalk... to move in that direction, though, she undertakes to demonstrate that she can be the chivalrous actor, no disapproving mechanism required. Object lessons. “I know you haven’t had any food since this morning,” she says. “Are you hungry?”

Helena’s eyebrows rise. “Oh,” she says, as if only just remembering that her body has physical requirements. Could her time as a hologram have affected—dampened—her awareness of such necessities? Even thinking the question jabs Myka with want, to be the one to bring her back to the body. Its needs. “Yes, I am.”

“What do you like? What’s a favorite?” Please don’t let her say tacos from a truck, Myka begs the universe, because she would really rather not have to explain her lingering shivers around taco trucks as yet another dealy-thingy.

“Preferences are still in process.”

It isn’t “tacos from a truck,” so hallelujah. But it’s inscrutable. “Are they?”

“I’ve traveled through America and elsewhere, over the weeks I’ve been away.” Helena pauses, giving Myka time to appreciate this window, however minimal, onto an answer to the “where were you” question... sadly, “America and elsewhere” gives precious little insight into the reason for all this travel. Helena continues, “What I’ve found is that contemporary cuisine bears little resemblance to what I knew. Some is strange and off-putting; some is strange but surpassingly delicious. Have you experienced a ‘blooming onion’?”

Is that intended to occupy the former or the latter category? “Pete loves those,” Myka says. That should fit as a response to either one.

“They represent what I cannot help but imagine is a foretaste of paradise,” Helena says.

She sounds rapturous.

Thus Myka has a new goal: to inspire a tone in Helena’s voice even approximating the one with which she’s just expressed this unexpected adoration.

However, Myka also has a new frustration: that not one but two of the people who occupy essential positions in her life venerate blooming onions. Which she herself cannot stomach. How to process this? Maybe she could do it by simply watching Helena eat one of the vile things... that really might be worth doing, if only as a stick against which to measure Pete’s gusto...

Sadly, that’s not going to happen today, for a frantic search on her phone yields zero restaurants in the vicinity offering even an approximation.

Onions aside, however, the number of restaurants near to them is, in positive news, nonzero. Myka reads her list of results to Helena as suggestions, and she is genuinely entertained, as well as informed, by the vehemence with which Helena vetoes every option that isn’t aggressively carnivorous.

Twenty minutes later they’re seated at Marble Room, which billed itself on its website as featuring “Steaks and Raw Bar”: Helena had turned up her nose at “raw bar” but landed with claws on “steaks.”

Watching Helena leaf through a menu—sitting across from her at an intimate table for two and doing the same—is even more astonishingly normal than any of the other normal things Myka has seen Helena do, and has done together with her, today. “Have we ever been to a restaurant? Just you and me, being seated? Getting menus and looking at them?” She would of course remember it, if they had, but she asks so as to press on the newness of it.

Bonus: Her asking the question prompts Helena to propose they conduct an inventory, limited though they both know it is, of shared non-B&B meals. It seems a gentle tiptoe through the past, one that might help rather than hurt, so Myka agrees.

“We didn’t share any table in Tamalpais,” Helena begins.

“Too busy saving Claudia from combusting,” Myka concurs.

“And removing you, vertically, from the path of marauding vehicles,” Helena concurs back. She smiles at Myka with a spark, one that is neither naughty nor nice, but rather alchemizes both into a gift of energetic attention that should be impossible.

Oh, this... this is what Myka has found irresistible from the start, for the full alchemy is in fact not only Helena’s impossibly true spark, but how Myka herself responds to it: with an internal melt, the “oh, this” that always hits new, each time she feels it. They say the body doesn’t remember pain; apparently it also doesn’t remember, from one moment of recognition to the next, how it greets its perfect match.

Another of those irresistible moments—actually a cascade of them—had occurred on a plane, as they traveled to Pittsburgh to probe what had happened to the students in Egypt, about which Helena was of course hiding her full knowledge. Myka tries not to push too hard on how significant that episode had been to her, given all the internecine baggage, as she says, “Sitting on a 737 in row 32, me in E and you in F, choosing between the market snack box or the chicken-salad-sandwich plate... that doesn’t count, I’m pretty sure.”

“Alas, no. I did, however, appreciate your willingness to share your sandwich with me.”

“You said it was one of the worst things you’d ever tasted in your life.” In the sandwich-share’s wake, Helena’s face had presented an astonishingly unnuanced canvas of disgust, and Myka had despaired at having caused such a reaction, even as she had reveled in having taken the unprecedented opportunity to do so: “Want a bite?” she’d asked, desperately casual, and Helena had accepted the invitation, biting, all teeth and lips and... and then, sadly, the reaction.

“It was,” Helena says. “Nevertheless I appreciated your willingness—but aha!” she pounces, “sandwiches! We ate ful sandwiches together from that cart in Alexandria.”

“No seating there,” Myka reminds her. “Also no menus.”

“Disqualifying,” Helena concedes. She falls quiet.

They both know Egypt is the end; what follows is adversarial. And then incorporeal.

But today—this collaborative, embodied day—is a beginning. “So we should mark this as a first,” Myka says.

“Celebrate this as a first,” Helena responds... corrects? She looks down at her menu and doesn’t look up as she says, “Of many. If I may dare to hope.”

Myka waits to answer until the look-back-up has occurred. “Only if I may too,” she says, meeting and holding Helena’s eyes.

Which roll, those eyes, and Myka panics. “You may and I may, but such mutual hope will likely have no earthly effect,” Helena says, providing relief: the scoff was directed not at Myka, but at... everything.

Hoping to unscoff her back to celebrating, Myka tries, “Can’t we mutually hope for it to have that effect though? In addition to that underlying mutual hope, for this being the first of many?”

“We can,” Helena says, her brow skeptical, “but would that be sufficient? I suspect the overall situation is likely to require several recursive applications of hope.”

“I can’t dispute your suspicion,” Myka concedes. Is hope a finite resource? That feels like a philosophical dead-ender, or at the very least the beginning of a descent, so she tamps down her impulse to voice the question. They’re here now, a circumstance on which Myka certainly, and Helen probably too, would never have thought to expend any hope at all.

She gives her own look at the menu and, without thinking, blurts, “This meal’s going to cost me several recursive applications of my credit card.” Immediately she wants to swallow back those words; they’re yet another instance of something she’d say to Pete, and anyway mentioning money is so picayune, here in the midst of an historic first. And yet... it never ends well when she tries to pretend to sophistication, moneyed or otherwise, that she doesn’t have, so she gives up and goes all in. “I don’t even know what a ‘duroc pork chop�� is, much less why it would cost more than a coffee-table book. And my dad’s brain would break at the thought of adding a lobster tail to a meal. At the price of it too, but the very idea.”

“I can’t dispute your father’s position,” Helena says, and Myka loves the echo—loves that Helena bothered with the echo. “My mother would most likely respond the same. She was a servant, you know.”

Myka could assure her that she does know; she’s done enough research on the historical H.G. Wells to produce a double-doorstop of a family biography. But she is over-the-top eager to know what Helena might be willing to say, so she goes with what she hopes is an appropriate please-inform-me prompt, sugared with just enough eagerness: “Was she?”

Helena nods. “It trained her to be exceptionally practical, but she became even more so after the failure of my father’s shop compelled her to return to service. That was difficult for her—for all of us. Charles and I were both desperate to rise above that station... insofar as one could, we did a reasonable job of it, and what I’ve learned of Charles’s later life suggests he went even further. A century later, I have as well. So I’ll pay for the meal.”

“But disapprovey mechanisms!” Myka protests, realizing she’s piled error on error: first, she’s supposed to be taking Helena out; second, she’s implying that she can’t pay; and—

“For good or ill, money is no longer my limiting factor,” Helena says, halting Myka’s thought-careering.

She seems genuinely indifferent to the financial consequences, so Myka sets herself to try, against every fiber of her frugal and responsible being, to pretend like that’s okay. Besides, there’s another issue to pursue. “If not that... what is your limiting factor?”

“Ironically, time,” Helena responds instantly. Acerbically.

“That’s everyone’s,” Myka says, but just as instantly she understands it’s another utterance she should have censored, because she knows what the response will be.

“Unless one is bronzed.”

Expectation fulfilled. And yet: “You aren’t bronzed anymore,” Myka says. To emphasize that—or rather, to emphasize its implications—she extends her right hand across the table. Maybe Helena will take it... she is more hopeful about such a possibility than she has ever been.

“Or unless one is a hologram. Or, now that I think of it, unless one is a vampire.” Helena says this musingly, but she offers her left hand, and now they are touching, and Myka is regretting her vamp somewhat less. “Does that support your earlier postulate?”

Myka can muster few words with their fingers atangle. “Doesn’t matter,” she manages. “You aren’t those either.” So as to put all time-suspending states away, as the past or impossibilities. Or both.

“You are correct. I am none of those.” Helena’s grip on Myka’s hand tightens.

They are holding hands. And if it’s overly adolescent of Myka to find this barely precedented joining significant? So be it.

Together they sit, not letting go. Accustoming themselves, even, to skin on skin. Learning it.

A throat-clear invades Myka’s ears from some unclear direction; she raises her eyes to regard a server.

But those joined hands, hers and Helena’s, don’t immediately disengage. Helena doesn’t let go, and Myka doesn’t either. This has meaning, here among the bonuses: the waiter seeing is okay, and that okay-ness is a continuation. Nancy Sullivan saw. Bob saw—differently, but still. This server, different yet again, but even so: seeing.

“I’m Frank,” that server says. “Really pleased to be here for you tonight. First I need to explain not checking in earlier: you were in conversation, and we try not to let service intrude on your privacy. If that’s an error, it’s on me.” His voice is sleek, as is his physical presentation: he wears a spectacularly well-fitted all-black uniform, as every server here does, but he’s also beautiful, with Roman-ideal bone structure and perfect raw-umber skin. His teeth are perfect too.

Gazing upon him makes Myka regret even more her jump to jealousy with the firefighter—for it now seems more likely that Cleveland has simply been doing its best to show its loveliest helpers to her and Helena.

Bonus.

“No error whatsoever, darling,” Helena says, her sincerity evident via the endearment. From anyone else, it might seem dismissive, even infantilizing, but from Helena, as Myka knows thanks to Claudia’s reactions to being on the receiving end, it’s a notice-signifying prize. If an occasionally unnerving one.

Frank, however, is not unnerved. He visibly warms, turning toward Helena, drawing his hands apart, opening his shoulders—expanding his physical presence, like a peacock, but one whose display is appreciation. When he speaks, however, he shifts to include Myka in his openness. “Like to start with drinks? And I can clarify anything on the menu, if you’ve had time to look.”

“I can clarify that she wants a steak,” Myka says, to speed the process along, given how long it’s been since they both ate.

“The Delmonico,” Helena clarifies further.

“That’s a standout cut. Preparation?” Frank asks.

“Bloody.”

Myka laughs. “Saw that coming. Rethinking the vampire thing a little by the way.”

This makes Helena smile—not naughty, but rather, again, with attention. As if she and Myka really do know things about each other... under a tragic knife, they’d said words about knowing, knowing better than anyone, but Myka is aware, and she presumes Helena is too, that those words weren’t true; they were nothing more (or less) than wishes, postulates about a better world than the too-real one that seemed inescapable.

But now they might be inching closer to that better world.

Helena says to Myka, “In deference to our parents’ sensibilities, I won’t add a lobster tail, but perhaps Crab Oscar? For the resonance?”

“I have to admit, that’s like the pork chop: I don’t know what it is,” Myka says. “Except for the resonance.”

“Is resonance like instagramming?” Frank asks. “Unless it’s just for that, I’d go elsewhere.”

Helena glances kitchenward, then looks back at Frank. “So. A specialty, but not of this house,” she says, voice lowered, almost-but-not-quite comically cloak-and-dagger.

“Few blocks west for cooked seafood. Blue star on the door; can’t miss it,” Frank says, lowering his voice too.

They are beautiful co-conspirators.

“Oh, Oscar would have liked you.” Helena now sounds silky. Fey and silky, and Myka wants to wrap herself in that magicky silk.

“The Grouch?” Frank tries, a little flippant—but only a little. He’s keying on Helena’s every word.

“He certainly was,” Helena says, with approval, as if Frank has passed an exceptionally exacting test.

“Okay,” Frank says. His I-don’t-know-what-just-happened-but-I-think-I-liked-it tone is painfully familiar. “And for you?” he asks Myka.

“The beets and blue cheese salad, please.”

“A salad?” Helena gasps, clutching at her chest.

Could that level of indignation possibly be real? Myka ignores the histrionics for the moment and tells Frank, “A couple of vegetable sides too: the blackened carrots and also the steamed asparagus.” She then says to Helena, “They sound subtle.” Real reaction or no, Myka might as well start defending her choices.

“You vegetarian?” Frank asks. “Vegan? Kitchen can modify whatever you—”

“Not as such. I’m just not as carnivorous as she is.”

“Mm,” Helena noises, and Myka can already hear the “Aren’t you?” that will follow... she tries to shape a riposte, and she is so preoccupied with that impossible task that she nearly misses what Helena actually says: “I’m sorry. You should of course have what you want.”

Her contrition seems genuine. But in the end it doesn’t matter, for the reason Myka now articulates. “I do. This minute, I do.”

Which... flusters Helena? She looks down at the menu again, down then up at Myka, blinking, then turns her attention to Frank, as if he might save her. From an overload of honesty? Of resultant expectation?

Frank doesn’t seem inclined to offer any lifeline. Instead, he says to Myka, “Listen. If you’re into subtle vegetables. It’s not on the menu, but chef’s serving a really special kabocha squash with some of the meat dishes. I could bring you some of that too? If it doesn’t hit you right, no harm no foul.”

“That would be great,” Myka says. She doesn’t know what kabocha squash is, but she’s copped to enough unsophistication already; she and her phone can figure this one out, and anyway, squash is pretty much squash. It’s not some coffee-table-book pork chop.

“Thinking about those drinks?” Frank then asks. “I’ll tell the kitchen to expedite that steak though.”

The idea of making yet another decision is too much pressure; Myka declines. Helena declines too, in a way that suggests she is deferring to Myka, conforming to her wishes. It’s another bonus: not only does Myka not have to defend her choices, but she can in fact shape choices for both of them.

It’s as intoxicating as any cocktail.

Frank adds, “But with the meal? Maybe? I can bring out the full wine list.”

More pressure, and Myka, despite the fact that the thought of drinking wine with Helena is lovely, opens her mouth to say no. But then: “Do you have a recommendation?” Helena asks Frank. It’s defusing. As if she knows that’s how it hit Myka, as pressure but also as potentially lovely. And as if she wants to resolve “pressure.” So as to reach “lovely.”

“To stand up to that Delmonico, it’s definitely a cab. Sommelier likes to pair the Hall Coeur 2013. Young, but deep. Takes that journey, you know? It’s a Napa, from St. Helena.”

Helena raises an eyebrow at Myka. “A signal of approval for once?” Her voice rises, up up and away from cynicism.

The last thing Myka would ever do is quash that rise. Hearing it—knowing it applies to the two of them together—is another bonus. “Saint Helena,” she agrees, without irony.

As the meal proceeds, the bonuses multiply: Helena’s face lights up when the steak arrives, and that is of course a gift, as is the voracity with which she attacks it. But watching her begin to cut and consume the stark slab has a further effect on Myka, in that it puts her in mind of Helena’s basic personhood. Or, no: her animalhood. An animal, here a human one, eats a piece of meat. Throughout prehistory, recorded history, all the history, this throughline. “Let me try a bite,” Myka says, and Helena obliges, slicing, transferring across the table, connecting each of them, as a consuming animal, to the other, the two of them, as animals, to all others. There’s both thrill and comfort in that.

The service, too, is a plus: Frank attends to them with delicate discretion, never interrupting conversation, yet always appearing when a dish should be cleared, when the wine should be poured. Sleek. Smooth. In addition, this serves for Myka, surprisingly, as a sotto voce contrast to Helena’s aspect, revealing her as a bit less sleek and smooth than Myka always ideates her as being... why does the difference, if that’s what it is, seem so striking? Well, Frank is clearly practiced at his tasks. Experienced. Does that mean Helena, here being with Myka in this way, sitting and sharing, is in fact doing something... new?

Myka knows her preferred answer to that.

Also rewarding, completely unexpectedly: the kabocha, presented as thick slices that are charred but not smoky, seasoned but not overspiced, sweet but not cloying, creamy but not clottingly so. It’s unlike any squash Myka has ever eaten... thus squash is not pretty much squash. “I could have this squash every meal,” Myka says as she finishes the not insubstantial portion, literally licking her lips. She suspects her voice is betraying something very like rapture, and could this possibly be how Helena and Pete feel about those execrable onions? “Every single meal. For a week. A month.”

“I could do the same with this steak,” Helena says.

She’s managed to down an impressive percentage of its sixteen ounces, which prompts Myka to say, not entirely jokingly, “We may need to talk about heart-healthiness at some point.”

Helena takes a moment. Then she says, “Healthiness of heart... mine? Yours? Or both?”

It’s a bit sardonic, involving an eyebrow, and Myka berates herself for not having preconsidered, and consequently rejected, bringing up hearts, because they could not possibly be ready to speak directly about—

—but then Helena is extending her left hand, and Myka is meeting it with her right, and just like that, they are rejoined.

With her right hand, Helena raises her glass. “How did we fail to toast when the wine first arrived?” she asks.

“You were too focused on the steak.” Myka says this with affection. With familiarity. She can imagine—and wishes she could confidently predict—saying these same words to Helena again at some future celebratory meal. She can imagine—and wishes she could confidently predict—their hearts being made healthy by such continued affection and familiarity.

“That was certainly an error, and as our charming Frank would say, it’s on me. So I’ll toast now as I should have done then: To you.” Helena’s salute is candid. Open. As warm as her hand on Myka’s.

“To you too.” Myka has to raise with her left hand—it feels a little weird, but isn’t that appropriate for a first toast with Helena? “And to us,” she adds, a dare that Helena reward by not withdrawing her warmth or her hand.

Their hands are still joined when Helena’s phone announces its presence. The intrusion breaks their hold. Myka’s heart, just now so high, sinks, for such interruptions—of chats, of meals, of anything consequential—are so rarely good.

She braces herself for an adverse outcome.

She tries to hide the bracing by directing her attention to her remaining stalks of asparagus, slicing them into bite-sized pieces, then slicing them again, halves halved, quarters quartered, sixteenths sixteenthed, practically baby-fooding them as she aggressively pretends to ignore the words Helena is saying.

Not that those words are revealing: “yes,” and “all right,” and “I understand.” Repeated with slight variations.

Upon disconnecting, Helena says to Myka, “Apparently my reprieve has come to an end. I’ve been instructed to go to the airport.” Her voice is calm but somewhere sharp, a blanket smoothed over blades.

“A reprieve? That’s what this was for you?” Bracing had been the right instinct, but Myka had not expected that to be the body blow. “For me, it’s been a bonus.”

Helena inclines her head. “A bonus, certainly. If you prefer.” Smoothing, smoothing.

Myka does prefer, but she pushes back. Back to punishment, hoping to expose the blades. “What you prefer—what you called it, even if you don’t prefer it—matters more. If this was a reprieve, what was the sentence?”

“It wasn’t pronounced in any court, but from my perspective? To keep my distance from the Warehouse,” Helena snaps, then winces. “And the obvious corollary.”

Myka has hit her mark. And now, saying it out loud... that will make it real. So: “From me,” Myka says.

“From you,” Helena says back. Her saying it, realing it too: it’s gratifying.

“You can’t even stay for dessert.” It’s an absurd heaviness to put on such a silly thing, and it’s not like Myka would have eaten any dessert herself. But she would avidly have watched Helena do so... “I’m questioning the Fredness of it all,” she laments.

Helena turns quizzical, but there’s no way Myka can explain. Well, no: there’s no way Myka can imagine wasting time by explaining.

“My flight isn’t till tomorrow,” she says instead, plaintive. She’s seized by an impulse to—what is it?—go with Helena to the airport? Yes, of course she wants to do that, but there’s more—again, what is it?—to figure out a way to fly with Helena wherever she’s being sent, damn the consequences? Yes, that’s closer. But Myka can’t gift herself such a wildness. Not even for Christmas. Not even if she put herself on her own “nice” list.

Should’ve taken this to a hotel room, her body berates. Should’ve skipped to that. All this time wasted in a restaurant. Sitting. Menus. Should have pursued the satisfaction of what you’ve always known, from the marrow of your bones all the way out to your skin, is a greater hunger.

But. Even as her body tries to persuade her of its primacy, she thinks back over their interactions of the past hours. Would she trade them for that satisfaction? Would she really? Perhaps, in a different world—a more desperate one. But in this hopefully better world, this time was not wasted. All these bonuses... they were, they are, important. Conversation has been essential to each incremental increase of their intimacy. She shouldn’t discount it. She should celebrate it.

“I went to a wrong place just now,” she tells Helena, whose face is on pause—she must have been waiting for Myka to make even the slightest bit of sense. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go with you? At least in the taxi?”

Helena’s post-pause expression is deeply indulgent. “I think you should stay and enjoy dessert. Let me imagine you seeing this unprecedented meal to a sweet completion.”

“I’m not really a dessert person,” Myka says, not wanting to be indulged quite like this, and additionally not wanting to misrepresent. “And anyway I don’t see how I could enjoy it with you gone. Could you maybe imagine something else?”

Helena softens; clearly, that was a good response. “What if I simply think of you. You eating your salad, your vegetables,” she says, then, “and one bite of bloody steak.” That’s another of those transcendent attentional gifts. One bite of bloody steak. Myka files that away for future comfort, even as Helena continues, “While I watched you do those things. Reveling in the fact that, as established, such a thing has never happened before.”

“I like that,” Myka says. “I know I’ll be thinking of you eating your steak, how I watched you. Which also, as established, never happened before.” She is compelled, however, to add, “But you’re leaving again. Which has.” She checks the time, and now it is Christmas Eve. She tries not to draw inferences from that.

“But I will come back.”

“When?”

“When I can.”

“Why did we get stuck in that elevator?” Myka asks.

“Because the mechanism malfunctioned. With intent?” Helena says that last playfully.

Myka doesn’t, here at the end, want to play. Play along. “I repeat, more existentially: why did we get stuck in that elevator? Bearing in mind that the elevator itself may not appreciate its role in the... grand design.”

Helena takes a moment. Then she says, “So that we might have this goodbye rather than, as before, none at all?” The words are a softness.

Myka wants to respond in kind. “Or—and?” Fighting against fearful reticence, trying to be truthful, she says, “So I could work my way up to saying this out loud: please come back. To me.”

Helena breathes. “And so I could say this to you: when I can, I will.”

They’re in public. How different might this have been if Myka had pushed them toward a hotel room? But she can’t help checking herself: it’s not like things couldn’t have gone spectacularly wrong in such a space. Plus an elevator would most likely have been involved, so...

In the space they are actually inhabiting, Helena now rises from the table. Myka does the same, moving to meet her.

They share a hug, one that terrifies Myka—because they’ve never touched like this before; because it feels awkward rather than natural as their bodies surge, press, warm; because if they can’t even hug right then what does that bode for anything else—but as they emerge from this confusion of arms and torsos, Helena says again, “I will.” Her assurance reshapes the ungraceful embrace into a profound affirmation.

The certainty heats into Myka: any goodbye, even a clumsy one, is a bonus compared to no goodbye at all.

But then Helena is gone.

And Myka is not at all surprised—yet still devastated—to be sitting alone at a table for two in a steakhouse in Cleveland on just-turned Christmas Eve.

“I’m sorry your lady had to leave.” Frank has materialized next to her, like he’s the Ghost of Christmas Bonus. Or, no: the Ghost of Christmas Bonus Rescinded.

“Story of my life,” Myka says, trying for a jest, fearing it’s a sob.

Frank juts his perfectly sharp chin like he’s considering a similarly perfectly sharp comment... but then his face gentles. “She paid the check and then some, so you can sit here forever if you need to.”

“I should probably go,” she says. Sad but true.

“Wait a second though. She said to bring you this, because she wants to make sure your heart stays healthy.” He places a small plate of kabocha squash before her. “She seems for real,” he concludes. But then, “Is she?” he asks.

Yet another gut-familiar reaction to the Helena of it all: not-quite-belief. “She is,” Myka testifies, again fighting that sob. Because before tonight, before today and tonight, her response would more likely have been “I hope so.”

As she eats an additional portion of absurdly delicious squash on Christmas Eve in Cleveland by herself, Myka considers calling Pete. He would at least rescue her from this sudden crush of loneliness...

... but on second thought, would he? Or would his presence make it worse, as it sometimes has before? Myka knows she’s at fault for that; she’s never really explained to him, out loud in words he would understand and accept, what Helena is to her. How entirely she matters.

Which in turn brings her to the keynote, which is that she should feel the loneliness. She owes it to Helena, for this is one of the visceral testaments to Helena’s significance: because her absence matters just as much as her presence.

****

When Myka gets back to the B&B the next day—after having been offered on both of her flights the opportunity to purchase a chicken salad sandwich, each time rendering her nostalgic and frustrated in equal measure—Steve is waiting for her.

“How was it?” he asks as he relieves her weary hands of the pen-bearing static bag.

“Really, really nice,” she says. For the resonance.

Steve smiles a smile Myka doesn’t understand.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #holiday (but not Gift Exchange)#Bonus #part 3 #what’s a bonus?#which mechanisms judge you negatively and which judge positively?#you never know #and speaking of elevators #I cannot recommend highly enough Colson Whitehead’s novel The Intuitionist #because it commits to the bit #to the nth degree #and it object-lessons you #also to the nth degree #about what a narrative can actually *do*#in terms of excavating and linking #and oh yeah resonating

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joelalorian · 1 year ago

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Tides of Desire - Chapter Three: The Cut of One's Jib

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, adventure, alcohol, injuries, fluff, angst, smut (eventual), slowish burn. Reader is a badass. Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). Additional warnings will be posted with each chapter as needed. No use of y/n.

Series masterlist

Chapter Three: The Cut of One's Jib

Daylight barely made it through the porthole to pierce your eyelids, aggravating the fucking epic hangover you were sporting. Every part of your body ached, but none more so than your head. There must have been several angry little men with jackhammers battering away at your brain, it was the only explanation for the level of pain being inflicted.

Dreading the very thought of getting out of bed, you slunk onto the floor, legs already unable to perform their function. You needed sustenance asap, and no light breakfast would suffice. You needed a full, greasy spread and about a gallon of diet coke to take off the edge of this wretched hangover.

What was it you said to Joel that first day aboard the yacht? You liked to make sure your hangovers were worth it?

Yeah, that was a fucking lie. You had lots of fun last night, but not enough to justify a Stage 5 Hangover like this – what the hell?

It had to be the fucking shots. They were always enough to ruin a fine night out.

Food. No more thinking, you needed food before your aching brain could process much of anything.

Stumbling out of the cabin in rumpled pajamas, hair a wild mess around your head, you headed straight for the fridge in the crew mess and grabbed two cans of Diet Coke, two eggs, bacon, and cheese. Next, you grabbed a large bagel from the bread box, and proceeded to fry up the eggs and bacon. In record time, you were seated at the table devouring your greasy breakfast sandwich – an American staple as far as you were concerned – with a heavy sigh.

Your mouth was full, a bit of grease dripping down your chin, when Joel entered, his eyes raking over you with a furrowed brow. Too hungover to feel embarrassed, you merely nodded your head at him and kept eating.

“Fun night, I take it?” His tone was more clipped than usual while he turned to get a pot of coffee going. He preferred the pot rather than the Keurig, you noticed early on. Something about freshly grinding his own beans and letting the coffee percolate, he told you during a prior conversation.

“Mmhmm,” you replied around another mouthful of food. You swallowed, followed by a large gulp of soda from the can. “Listen, about your offer to guide me – how and when would you like to do this?”

Turning back to you, Joel assessed the view before him, dark eyes cataloguing your current hot mess state. “Well, you’re clearly in no shape to start anythin’ today. I’ll talk to Tommy later – once we pull lines on the next charter, you’ll come up to the bridge to steer us out of the marina. Good?”

Eyes widening, you nodded. “Er, yeah, that sounds spectacular. Thanks, Joel.”

His eyes softened slightly though he remained a tad standoffish compared to prior interactions. You weren’t sure why he was acting that way, but you also did not have the mental capacity to worry about it too much. The food and soda merely took the edge off the massive headache. You needed a shit ton of water and several more hours of sleep.

“Well, I’m heading back to bed to sleep this shit off,” you informed Joel as you grabbed a couple bottles of water and shuffled back to your cabin. He watched you go, face shadowed with a frown.

…………………………….

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Tommy’s eyebrows shot upwards at his brother’s tone. It was almost accusatory and left him bewildered. The events of the night before flashed through his mind trying to recall whatever he’d supposedly done to annoy Joel. Aside from getting quite drunk and dancing, mostly with you, he couldn’t think of anything. Unless… wait, was that it?

It was a routine on the yacht for the Millers to gather for breakfast as a family on their off day prior to each new charter and the three of them sat on the flybridge while the rest of the crew relaxed elsewhere. That morning, breakfast was rife with abnormal tension from Joel and Tommy’s hangover had him in a mood. Sarah merely sat watching the two of them with curiosity.

“I did, actually. Not sure why that annoys you though, brother.”

“Hmph,” Joel grunted in return, turning his attention back to the eggs Tess was kind enough to make him.

“You really gonna take that tone with me and not even tell me why?” Tommy growled in annoyance, matching dark eyes clashing as they glared at each other across the table.

“Oh, for the love of…” Sarah sighed, her fork clattering against the empty plate before her. “You two are ridiculous. You know you’re supposed to be grown men yet you both act like sullen little boys fighting over the same toy.”

“’Xcuse you?” Joel muttered, matching Tommy’s sputtered utterance of, “Rude.”

Scooping her fork up, Sarah used it to point at her father, her eyes meeting those of her uncle. “He has a… thing… for England and you were practically all over her last night.”

The scowl returned to Joel’s face – fucking hell, was he really that obvious? – and Tommy’s eyebrows popped up to nearly meet his hairline. “Well, shit,” he sighed at the realization that Joel had the hots for someone, finally. Sucked that it was the same woman he, too, found extremely attractive.

“Yeah, so maybe the two of you could keep it in your pants until the season’s over? She doesn’t need you both perving over her while she’s trying to do her job.” Sarah was only half-serious, having already picked up on the way you react to her father, which was entirely different to how you reacted to Tommy. You clearly had the hots for Joel as well and she thought you would make a nice couple. Knowing her dad as she did, though, Sarah knew that he wouldn’t do anything about it while on the yacht.

“For fuck’s sake, can we put an end to this conversation?” Joel stood, the words coming out of his mouth with a hint of mortification mixed with his obvious annoyance. Before either Sarah or Tommy could respond, he was gone.

Turning back to her uncle, Sarah looked at him pleadingly. “Maybe just chill this season, yeah?” He knew at once that she wanted him to back off from flirting or making a move on you and Tommy agreed. He wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway – seasonal or otherwise – just a bit of fun that he could find elsewhere. Joel was the relationship guy, when he allowed himself the indulgence, and you deserved that kind of treatment.

……………………………………………

Joel’s voice was a deep rumble over the radio calling for Sarah, Tess, and Tommy to meet on the bridge for the preference sheet meeting the next day. It was time for the rundown on the next charter.

“Our next charter is a bachelorette party.” Joel passed out copies of the preference sheets, the announcement drawing groans from Sarah and Tess and a gleeful grin from Tommy. “Eight women in their thirties – I need you to be on your best behavior, Tommy.”

“Why you gotta call me out like that, Joel?” the younger Miller brother grumbled, feathers ruffled.

“Gimme a break, Tommy. We all know you’re a sucker for bachelorette parties and you know the rules on charter.” Joel’s voice was firm, not willing to budge on the rule against fraternization with guests, no matter how attractive and willing they might be.

“Yeah, well, fifty bucks says at least one of them tries to get in the captain’s pants,” Tommy fired back earning himself a piercing glare from his brother.

Focused back on discussing the preference sheets, the department heads reviewed the primary guest’s requests – beach excursion with a barbecue lunch, water activities, a tour of the historic streets of San Juan, and, on the final night, a male review featuring the male crew, including the captain.

The contrast between Tommy’s glee and Joel’s distaste at the final request was comical, Sarah and Tess easily gave in to laughter at their expense. The blazing burn of the glare aimed at them from Joel did little to temper their amusement.

“Zip it already,” Joel grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he sat back in his seat. “Tess, why don’t you run through their food preferences for us.”

The requests amounted to typical yachting delicacies, but Tess knew that a group like this would consume a fuck ton of alcohol and the culinary cravings would likely shift to requests for fried or comfort foods. After making a few notes, Joel called the meeting to an end. The crew spent the rest of the day readying the boat.

The following morning started out with an unexpected squall – high winds and rain battered the marina for a few hours, leaving Joel to stress over the weather radar, hoping for a break in the storm in time for the arrival of the charter guests. If it didn’t, they would be stuck in the marina far longer than he’d prefer and it would affect his ability to have you steer the boat out to sea.

Joel found himself waffling back and forth between excitement to work closer with you and fear of getting too close – he still thought the offer to help you was his dumbest idea yet, but the thought of calling it off left him feeling hollow.

The squall blew through just in time for the guests to unload from their taxi, the ground still wet beneath their high heels. The women were already boisterous, screeches and girlish laughter piercing Joel’s ears as he and the crew lined up to greet them on the aft deck. The co-primaries were the maid of honor, a stunning brunette with impossibly long legs and a touch too much makeup, and the bachelorette herself, a tanned blonde with the prettiest ringlet curls adorning her head.

The women’s attention was instantly piqued at the sight of Joel and Tommy as the two most attractive of the crew, their eyes raking over them with hunger.

“Welcome aboard the Radiance, ladies,” Joel greeted the group once they all had flutes of champagne in hand. “Sarah will give you a tour and take you to your cabins. Please let any of us know if you need anything.”

“Would you join us for dinner this evening, Captain?” the maid of honor, Jessica, questioned before following Sarah to the upper decks, her slender hand sliding down his tanned bicep and forearm. The action left a trail of gooseflesh in its wake and Joel’s lips thinned prior to forcing a closed-mouth smile.

“It would be my honor,” he rasped, subtly stepping back from the woman. Joel’s eyes caught yours in a wide-eyed gaze as he realized you witnessed the interaction. You were gone before he could assess your expression.

………………..

You and Ellie worked the lines on the stern, listening to Tommy call out instructions over the radio as the engines spurred to life. You loved the burn in your shoulders and arms from hauling the lines in, it was an excellent workout. Once they were secured, Ellie turned to you.

“So, this is gonna be an interesting charter.” You grunted in agreement, already uninterested in watching a group of women throw themselves at Joel and Tommy. Before you could add anything of substance to the conversation, Joel radioed, requesting your presence on the bridge.

It was time to have your first lesson with Joel. Ellie’s face lit up, teasing you as you left.

Hands trembling with nervous energy, you made your way up to the bridge. Joel stood at the controls, still clad in his dress whites, the material hugging his broad build, and feet bare. You noticed that Joel loved to walk around the yacht shoeless. You weren’t a foot person, often finding them gross, but even you had to admit that Joel had nice feet – they were large, with long toes, and he clearly took care of them.

Your name was breathed into the room, drawing your attention to the fact that you stood there just staring at the man for however long. “Hi Cap,” you greeted with a bashful smile gracing your lips.

“You ready for your first lesson in being a Captain?” Joel waved you over, stepping aside to allow you to stand in front of the wheel. Instructing you on where to place your hands, he began pointing out the sight lines and various meters and equipment to keep an eye on while the yacht traveled out of the marina.

His deep voice was like velvet washing over you as you absorbed everything like a sponge. Despite your clear attraction and nervous energy, working with Joel felt natural, like you’d done it for years. He was a knowledgeable and patient teacher, and you soaked up his instruction and praise. Once the yacht was out in the open water, the pair of you watched the horizon.

“Thank you for this,” you gestured with your left hand across the bridge, the underside of your wrist catching Joel’s attention. His large hand gently grasped your hand, turning it palm up, and a long, thick finger traced over the pattern of the beautiful compass rose tattoo on your wrist. A delightful chill swept over you leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“Beautiful,” Joel whispered, his dark gaze caught yours, his large hand still delicately grasping your smaller one. “I never noticed it before. Does it have meaning to you?”

You nodded dazedly, the warmth of his touch against your skin a distraction to clear thinking. “It’s an homage to my grandfather representing our combined love for the sea and it keeps me pointed in the right direction on my adventures.”

“Very fitting.” His voice rumbled from his chest and your hand fell from his grip. Clearing his throat, Joel made idle conversation, wanting you to linger on the bridge a little longer until you had to return to your duties. “Where do you call homebase when you’re not yachting?”

“It varies, I move around a lot, but right now I have an apartment on the gulf coast of Florida. How about you?”

“Sarah, Tommy, and I all live in Austin, Texas during our downtime. I’ve owned a house there since Sarah was born,” Joel explained.

“Is that near the water? Sorry, I don’t know Texas well.” You couldn’t imagine him living too far from sea.

“We have some rivers and lakes nearby, but it’s several hours away from the Gulf. We thought about moving to the coast, but there’s just something about Austin that I don’t want to leave.” Joel’s eyes softened further, likely recalling years of happy memories from back home.

You nodded, a tender smile on your lips. “It must be a nice feeling to have a connection to one place like that. I’ve never known that having shuffled around so much, even when my parents were alive. I guess the closest I’ve come was my grandfather’s cottage in England.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Joel asked suddenly and you shook your head. “No, I’m all alone in this world. I’m an only child and lost my parents about ten years ago, only a few years after my grandfather. They were both only children as well, our family was very small.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed, thick arms pulling you into a tight hug with your head tucked against his chest. Your arms slid around his waist of their own accord. The hug was warm with just the right amount of pressure – a niggling thought squirmed its way through your mind that hugs from Joel were the closest you’ve ever come to a feeling like ‘home’. The pair of you stood like that for interminable minutes, neither willing to let go, until Tommy called your name over the radio startling you from the peaceful moment.

Feeling vulnerable, you blurted a rushed goodbye and fled back to your duties. Your thoughts remained on Joel the rest of the day as the attraction grew the more time you spent with him.

Joel was in the same boat, pardon the pun, feeling the attraction grow as he learned more and more about you, each new bit of information making him curiouser still. His mind was pre-occupied with thoughts of you later that evening while dressing for dinner with the charter guests. It was something he was not the least bit looking forward to, but he could not turn down a dinner request.

The women were already seated at an elegantly decorated table on the flybridge – he made a mental note to commend Sarah and the other stews on their table décor – when he sidled up, dressed in his black uniform. Joel could feel all eyes on him, it felt like he was a piece of meat as he settled at the head of the table.

“Evening ladies,” he greeted, elbows perched on the table and hands clasped. Joel geared himself up as best he could, but these women were an unknown quantity having been drinking all day. He anticipated this dinner would be… annoying. Joel already sorted out a safe word with Sarah as a signal for her to call him away for some made up emergency if things got out of hand.

Almost immediately, the tipsy women began flirting, fluttering their eyelashes and staring with glassy doe eyes at him. The woman nearest him immediately squeezed his bicep without regard to his discomfort. “Do you work out, Captain?”

Joel grunted out a no, stating that yachting and staying active on the water was often a workout in itself.

“I bet it is,” Jessica, the maid of honor, chimed in from across the table, eyeing him with that hungry gaze again. Yep, he was definitely a piece of meat. “Tell me, Captain, are you single?”

Knowing that question was bound to pop up, Joel groaned internally. He briefly considered lying as thoughts of you flashed through his mind, but he settled for the truth in the end. “Yes. I don’t really have time for dating right now.”

“You’re still a man with needs that have to be satisfied,” Jessica purred, the rest of the table letting out collective sighs and giggles.

Good lord, Joel thought, this woman was downright predatory. “Sure, yeah.” The first course finally arrived, and Joel met his daughter’s eyes with a pleading look, silently begging her to get him out of this awkwardness.

The incorrigible maid of honor barely waited for the stews to place the plates down before continuing her pursuit of him. “Tell me, do you ever satisfy those needs with charter guests?”

You happened to step out on the flybridge at that moment, gasping with the impertinence of the question. Joel’s eyes shot to yours, wide and mortified. Your gazes remained locked as he replied with a sharp, “No. I don’t partake in nor tolerate that kind of impropriety on my boat.”

Sarah caught the safe word – impropriety – at once and stepped up to her dad’s side, bending to whisper in his ear. “Jesus Christ, dad. Let’s get you out of here before they rip off your uniform and have you for dinner.”

Joel’s face remained stoic as he nodded, gaze finally breaking from yours and turned to those seated at the table. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, there’s an urgent matter I must deal with on the bridge.”

Shot from his seat like a rocket, Joel stormed past you, waves of anger and embarrassment washing over him. What a fucking disaster.

……………………….

The charter got progressively worse for Joel – Tommy, too – as the women binged on alcohol all day and flirted outrageously with the handsome brothers. Tommy was more tolerant of it, dancing flirtatiously along the edge, giving just enough sass back to keep them entertained without ever crossing the line. On the other hand, Joel had more than enough of the harpies after that first night and did not respond to their efforts beyond valiant attempts at polite, tight-lipped smiles. He kept to himself as much as possible the entire week, trying his best to avoid further embarrassing interactions.

It was all for naught. The maid of honor was relentless, going so far as trying to bribe Ellie into showing her where the captain’s quarters were late one night while she was on anchor watch. You were horrified on Joel’s behalf when Ellie told you the following morning. You were surprised the lecherous woman hadn’t explored the whole ship to hunt him down.

Sarah and her team were running ragged, constantly ‘on’ trying to keep the women entertained enough to distract them from harassing her father further.

Somehow, you all made it to the final night of the charter – the night the guests requested the male review. In all her infinite wisdom – before she realized quite how horrid these guests would be – Sarah ordered special uniforms for the men to wear for the review. They were basically Speedos patterned in the flag of the state or country each man was from. The women on the crew were lost in hysterical laughter when you informed them that your Australian ex-boyfriend always called them ‘budgie smugglers’. That became the crew’s new name for the small strips of fabric and the look on the faces of Bill and Joel when they were shown what they’d have to wear was something you’d never forget.

“What the fuck is this?” Bill barked gruffly, the scrap of fabric dangling from his pointer finger. His bearded face was marred with clear disdain. “I am not wearing this in front of guests. Or at all, for that matter.”

“Oh, come on, Bill!” Frank chided; his handsome face lit up with glee. Along with Sammy and Tommy, he was far too entertained by the idea of parading around in the tiny swimwear. “It’s all in good fun and will get us a good tip.”

While Frank continued his efforts to persuade Bill to participate, Joel’s eyes were shooting daggers at his daughter. “Sarah, baby girl, you can’t be serious with this shit,” he murmured. “I can’t wear this and only this in front of these women. They’ll eat me alive!”

As much as you would love to see Joel in a budgie smuggler, you were inclined to agree with him that he could not possibly wear one in front of these women, especially when you all knew they would be several sheets to the wind at that point.

Tommy, however, disagreed. “If I have to wear one, then so do you, brother. Man up, Joel.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I promise, Dad, you will only be in front of them long enough for one song,” Sarah added, “then you can go back to hiding.”

Knowing he couldn’t make his crew do it if he wasn’t also willing – he was a collaborative leader, after all – Joel relented, grumbling under his breath the whole time. On the other hand, Bill adamantly refused to give in and even went so far as to tell Joel to fire him for insubordination. Of course, Joel would never, not for such a ridiculous cause, so he let the gruff man off the hook.

After a decadent dinner of pan-seared monkfish, sea scallops, and a bunch of other delicious-looking food you had no idea how to pronounce, the women were practically vibrating in their seats awaiting the show. The wine flowed along with the hooting and hollering for the male crew to come out once the table was cleared.

With Bill taking anchor watch, the rest of you were allowed to attend the show for the fun of it. You and Ellie stood off to the side with Emmy and Talia while Sarah played the MC. The men didn’t allow any of you to see them in their outfits before the show, so your mouth dropped open in authentic surprise when they each burst through the door to the flybridge, chests bare and bronzed, cocks secured in their budgie smugglers.

Tommy volunteered to be first, always willing to show off in front of the ladies. Your eyes widened at the size of him in the small bit of fabric. He was definitely above average, a thin happy trail leading down his toned stomach, and all of the guests noticed. Frank, Connor, and Sammy followed, each putting on a little show as they danced onto the deck. You were quite impressed with Frank’s moves.

To no one’s surprise, Joel emerged last, posture stiff and unyielding, bare feet practically stomping onto the flybridge. The sight of so much of him bare before your eyes caused your stomach to flip. Broad, tanned chest sparsely peppered with hair. Tummy slightly soft. Arms and legs thick with sinewy muscle. His budgie smuggler was patterned with the Texas state flag, just like Tommy’s, the lone star distorted with the sheer size of the bulge beneath the material. He was fucking huge, putting all of the other men on the boat to shame. Your eyes drank him in, pink tongue darting out to moisten your lips, your heartbeat staccato in your chest, your thighs clenched.

Joel’s scowl was etched in stone until his darting eyes met and held yours. Your reaction to him was visceral and he drank it in, using it to power through the awful experience. There was no doubt in his mind now, you were definitely attracted to him, and his confidence soared. The catcalls from the guests became background noise as he held your gaze, body moving without thought to the beat of the song playing through the speakers.

The song ended, the jeers of the guests the only sound left filling the night air.

“Take it off, Captain! Let us see that thing you’re working with!” the maid of honor exclaimed, practically salivating over the gorgeous man. Her body was already out of her seat trying to get to Joel, a desperate, feral gleam in her eyes.

You could read his lips as his heated gaze broke from yours, that sinful mouth forming the words ‘oh shit’ as the insane woman’s fingertips closed in on his bare chest. With panic in those soulful dark eyes, Joel turned sharply and fled to the safety of his quarters.

………………………………….

It was a relief to everyone when the bachelorette party charter finally departed for destination unknown. That was the strangest charter you ever experienced; the women were downright desperate for the Miller brothers, particularly Joel.

A mix of concern and lust for Joel plagued you all night, leaving you feeling dirty and no better than the women who objectified him the entirety of their charter. Your mind would not let go of the picture it snapped of him standing nervous yet proud in nothing but the budgie smugglers, looking like temptation incarnate. It flashed across your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. It played on repeat in your dreams. It haunted you in the shower in the morning and you caved to the unyielding throb in your core, fingers dipping to strum at your clit until the pressure snapped, teeth piercing your bottom lip nearly hard enough to break the skin in the effort to suppress your moans.

Flaming heat flooded your skin as the shame washed over you, the cold water flowing from the showerhead doing little to temper the burn. How could you face him after this? You really were no better than those desperate women.

You were quiet and atypically reserved as you joined Connor, Ellie, and Tommy in docking the boat, silently following Tommy’s callouts over the radio and nodding to Connor to respond when needed. You avoided gazes while hefting the guests’ luggage off the yacht. You hid at the tail end when the crew lined up, as far from Joel as you could possibly get on the aft deck. Forced smiles and false well wishes sounded down the line as the women thanked the crew, fawning over Tommy and Joel one last time, the maid of honor bold enough to slip her number into Joel’s pocket despite his scowl and complete rebuttal of her advances.

First to return to the deck crew duties, you missed seeing Joel discard the slip of paper in the nearest bin. The next couple of hours were spent sweating out your frustrations as you scrubbed and hosed down every inch of the decks. Once again, you were mentally and physically exhausted by the time Joel called for the tip meeting.

The crew was especially chatty when they gathered in the main salon, conversation about the outrageous charter guests flowing. You remained quiet, sunk down in the plush leather cushions in the corner of the sectional.

Ever observant, Sarah leant over from her spot next you, concern marring her smooth skin. “You okay? You seem… off.” Her voice was little more than breath in the air, not wanting to draw attention, though Tess’s observant eyes were surveying you from her spot. The older woman quirked a brow, silently asking the same question.

How could you explain to Sarah the thoughts you’ve had about her father? You couldn’t and guilt pulsed through you once more. You couldn’t even explain to yourself why this was affecting you so much, how could you even try to make it make sense to someone else?

“I’m alright, love. Just need to sleep for a week, I think.” That was the best you could offer in terms of a response. It was the truth anyway – a deep sleep without any dreams plaguing you was exactly what you needed.

Sarah looked like she wanted to pry, not entirely convinced that was all that bothered you, but Joel entered the salon and called the room to order.

Cheeks already flaming, Joel cleared his throat a few times. “This was obviously a challenging charter and I want to thank you all for the way you handled yourselves. You represented Radiance well despite the circumstances.” His right hand came up to rub at the back of his neck. “They, uh, left us a pretty good tip…”

He broke down the numbers and personally passed out everyone’s share, his deep brown eyes lingering on you when he stopped in front of you last. He longed to see your beautiful eyes meet his gaze now that it was clear to him you were equally attracted to him as he was to you, but you kept your chin tipped down, looking only at the pile of bills held out toward you.

“Thanks,” you muttered after too long a beat, eyes finally flashing upward to meet his for the briefest moment before looking away.

The resulting heavy sigh from Joel as he stepped away caught you off guard. Fuck, why were you making things so awkward?

“Provided your duties have been completed, you’re all free until Monday mid-day,” Joel called over his shoulder, departing for the bridge.

“Cocktails anyone?” Tommy asked, ready to blow off some steam. The rest of the crew seemed interested, even Bill and Frank, but you declined, opting for a shower and a long nap instead.

The afternoon hours passed in peaceful slumber, the soft tones of instrumental music playing through the earbuds you popped in before drifting off. You never budged when Tess came in to get ready that evening – the crew was going out for dinner and drinks to blow off steam.

“Hey, hun,” Tess murmured with a gentle nudge to your shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

You rolled over with a little grumble, the earbuds slipping from your ears. “No, thanks. I just need a night in to relax. I can’t take another hangover like last week. Have fun without me!”

Tess nodded, knowing that would be your answer. “Thought so. I left you some dinner in the fridge to heat up. Make sure you eat, okay?”

You could hear the crew down the hall, already ramped up from day drinking. You knew you made the right decision when you didn’t feel an ounce of FOMO as they left.

The nap having refreshed body and soul, your mood was lighter when you rose, changing into a bikini for a dip in the hot tub. Padding through the crew mess with a towel slung over your shoulder, you grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir and a glass before heading to the flybridge.

The boat was silent, gently swaying in its slip, and it felt like you had the entire thing to yourself. The sun dipped lower toward the horizon as you connected your phone to the sound system, selecting more instrumental music to play before you climbed into the bubbling water of the hot tub. A contented sigh slipped from your lips; head tilted back to rest against the padding with eyes closed. Stretching out, the jets soothed your aching muscles after five straight days of laborious work.

“May I join you?”

Your eyes shot open at the simple, soft request. Joel stood before you in just a pair of board shorts, bottle of wine and stemmed glass in hand – he clearly had the same idea as you.

Your eyes raked over his bare chest and arms before realizing you needed to respond. “Of course,” you breathed.

One corner of Joel’s mouth quirked up. “Do you want me to open this?” he asked holding up the bottle of wine.

“Y-yes, please,” you stuttered, quickly clearing your throat.

It was like a scene out of one of your dreams, watching Joel pour the wine and perch the glasses on the rim of the hot tub before climbing in. He sat a respectful distance from you, but he was just so broad and tall that it felt like he was everywhere. Your legs brushed against one another as they stretched out before you.

Joel’s gaze was heated as he stared at you, the burn of it like a laser on your skin. You sipped at the wine, wracking your mind for something to say. You were so overwhelmed with your attraction to the man, and you had no idea how or what to do about it.

“That was some charter, huh?” You immediately cringed internally. For fucks sake, that was the best you came up with. Pathetic.

The resulting chuckle that boomed from his chest soothed you. “It was certainly something, sweetheart. I’m glad to be done with those women.”

Your insides were melting, not from the heat of the hot tub, but from him calling you sweetheart. “Yeah, they were intense and, dare I say, rather… desperate and obnoxious.”

“Agreed,” Joel rumbled, the skin of his neck flushing. “I, uh, it was really embarrassin’ the way they were actin’. I never wanted to jump overboard in my life until this charter.”

The pair of you shared a few laughs at the charter guests’ expense before moving on to other topics. You talked about any- and everything under the sun, the flow of it easy and natural between you. The guilt and misgivings from earlier were long gone, easily explained away as being overtired and overwrought.

A second bottle of wine was opened after the sunset and the stars started to sparkle in the night sky. With each glass, you and Joel moved closer to each other until you were sitting right next to one another, bodies touching from shoulder to knee as the water bubbled around you.

“I shouldn’t say this, not while we still have more of the season left before us than behind us, but… I, uh, really like you… getting to know you, I mean… though I like how beautiful you are, too.” Joel seemed as surprised by his admission as you were, but you flashed him a dazzling smile.

“I feel the same way, Joel.” The words fell from your lush lips without effort or regret.

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel x female reader #yacht captain!joel miller #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #fanfic

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daisynik7 · 2 years ago

Text

Rush

Chapter 8: Do I Wanna Know?

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spitting, daddy kink, vaginal sex (mating press), heavy on the angst this chapter

Summary: After the events of Halloween, you finally start questioning your relationship with Eren. Meanwhile, he attempts to do some damage control to keep both you and his reputation in check, ultimately resulting in more damage.

Notes: Song is "Do I Wanna Know" by the Arctic Monkeys

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The Sunday night after Halloween, Alpha Tau gathers upstairs in the fraternity house for their weekly chapter meeting. Tonight, Levi makes a particularly interesting announcement.

“In about two weeks, Alpha Tau will be hosting its annual fall formal. For you pledges that aren’t familiar with this yet, formal is a special event that happens each semester. It’s essentially a dance. There will be a DJ, dancefloor, photo booth. In addition, dinner will be provided. Luckily, because of our clean record so far this semester, thanks to our partnership with Sigma Nu Kappa, the Student Affairs Committee has approved us having an overnight formal. Meaning we will be renting out a hotel for the night.”

Most of the seniors cheer loudly at the last part, especially Mike. Eren clenches his fist, the memory of the other night still fresh in his mind. He can’t stand the guy, especially knowing he had his fingers in that beautiful body he’s made claim to. He’s not one to be possessive, but with her, he can’t help it.

Levi continues. “The cost of formal is already included in your membership fees, so I highly encourage every brother to attend. Also, each of you is allowed one guest. This can be anyone: a friend, girlfriend, boyfriend, whoever. If you plan to bring a date, make sure you get their signature on the sign-up form. I’ll be handing these out at the end of chapter. Please get these to me by next Sunday.”

Reiner turns around to face Eren. “Got a girl in mind you want to ask?”

He shrugs. “Not really.”

It’s a bold face lie. As soon as Levi mentioned a guest, he immediately thought of her. Her all glammed up in a gorgeous dress, them grinding against each other on the dancefloor, making love in their hotel room when the night is over.

He allows himself to fantasize about it for a minute before coming back to reality.

As much as he’d like to ask her to be his date, he can’t. As easy as it would be to just be with her, he won’t. He justifies it to “not being ready”. Asking her to be his date is another level of commitment that he’s not willing to step into yet. He needs time. This is what he’s convinced himself of.

The more time he spends with her, he finds himself forgetting why this relationship has to be so goddamn difficult. It’s on him; he knows that. His reasons are selfish and immature. Not being ready for commitment. Caring too much about his reputation, which isn’t all that great anyways. It’s all bullshit excuses at the end of the day.

Eren doesn’t want to fall in love. He’s afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of getting hurt. Being in love complicates everything. He enjoys being free, unshackled, able to do what he pleases. Responsible only for himself and nobody else. Allowed to fuck up as many times as he can without repercussions. Because he will fuck up. He’s young, dumb, and selfish. Why burden anyone with his flaws?

But when he’s with her, he’s happy. In a way, he still feels free. Weightless, liberated, unbound. As if a whole new world has been opened up to him, as cliché as that sounds. She makes him feel worthy, makes him feel loved.

And that’s what scares him the most.

It’s not love. How can it be? Aside from the amazing sex, what do they really know about each other? Eren has done his best to avoid revealing anything about himself. She’s kept a similar guard, probably just as afraid as he is.

It’s lust. That’s all it is. That’s what he keeps telling himself.

He wishes he had met her in a different time in his life. Maybe after he’s gotten all this dumb, frat boy energy out of his system. It would be easier for them. It would be different. Better.

He knows what he needs to do eventually. He has to end it with her before it gets too serious. Their time together on Halloween night felt different. He exposed himself, revealed a little too much of his feelings.

She’ll never leave him; he’ll string her along until the time is right. He’ll continue to drag this out as much as he possibly can. Continue telling her what she wants to hear, getting away with his sins until he decides it’s time to move on.

He’s got it all under his control.

“You should bring that girl Pieck,” Reiner suggests, snapping Eren out of his thoughts. “Bertolt is thinking about asking another Delta Mu also.”

Eren shrugs again, unsure how else to respond. His big brother turns back around to face the front as Erwin makes his closing statements, ending chapter.

On the way out of the meeting, Armin nudges him. “Who are you really thinking of taking to formal?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just because Reiner is telling you who to bring, doesn’t mean you have to take them. Isn’t there anyone else you’d like to ask?”

He doesn’t answer right away, tempted to be honest with his best friend. However, Eren is still a coward that won’t admit to anything that shows off a sign of weakness.

“I think I will ask Pieck. I hung out with her on Halloween. She’s cool.” Wanting to take the focus off him, he asks, “Who are you going to take?”

“I’m going to ask Annie,” Armin states confidently.

“Annie? Really?”

“Yes, I like her. We have fun together,” he explains, smiling.

Eren can’t help being envious at how easy it is for Armin to confess his feelings. Again, he questions himself why he’s making his own relationship more difficult than it needs to be.

On their way to their dormitory, Eren gets a text message:

Mikasa is sleeping over at Jean’s tonight.

Without a second thought, Eren lies to his roommate. “I’m going to the library for a couple of hours. I forgot I have a paper due in a few days for Pyxis.”

“Oh, okay. Good luck. I’ll see you later.”

Eren turns to the direction of the library until he’s out of Armin’s line of sight. A few minutes later, he’s outside another familiar dorm building. There’s a mixture of excitement and anxiety as he waits for her to come down. They haven’t talked since that night. He abandoned her when they were caught by Hitch and Annie. In that moment, he panicked. Instead of explaining himself like any normal, mature person would, he fled the scene, hoping she would be able to fix whatever mess they created.

She’s in sweats when she opens the door, motioning him to come in. Even in this outfit, his heart flutters at the sight of her.

“Hey,” he greets her, a small grin on his lips.

“Hi.” She returns his smile with her own. Warm and bright as ever.

It would be so easy. So easy to be together, Eren repeats in his head, as he follows her upstairs.

~~~

Up in your room, as soon as the door is closed, he steps towards you with both hands on your cheeks, kissing you passionately. Your lips smack together, tongues sliding in and around each other’s mouths, hands pressed against his chest. You kiss like this for a minute, your pulse beating fast under your skin.

He breaks away, foreheads touching, noses nuzzling. “Hi,” he whispers.

You smile. “Hi.”

You get onto the bed and lie besides each other, his arms wrapped around your body. “How are you?” He gives you a smooch on your forehead.

“I’m fine. Chapter meeting was quick. How about you?”

“Same. Uneventful, as always.” He squeezes you tighter in his embrace. “I’m sorry about Friday night. For running off.”

You’ve had nearly two days to digest all that happened that night and how it plays into your current situation. The rollercoaster of emotions, beginning with denial, peaking at anger, and halting at shame, is causing you to spiral. You spent hours Saturday morning, lying in bed, refusing to accept that Annie is absolutely correct: you do deserve better. You are better than this. And when the realization finally hits you like a bag of bricks, the rest of your Saturday is wasted pacing around campus, letting off steam caused by this newfound contempt for Eren Jaeger. The blatant disrespect from him that you so fervently overlooked is impossible to deny any longer.

This leads you into Sunday, when the guilt of how you failed yourself starts to consume you. The burden of realizing that you got yourself into this mess weighs heavy on your chest; the burden to escape it weighs even heavier.

Yet, you lie here with him on Sunday night, wishing for a sign of redemption. Anything to prove that all this was worth it. That it still is worth it. Holding out hope for some type of forlorn act of love.

He clears his throat. “I freaked out when I saw them. I didn’t know what to do, so I just ran. I’m sorry.”

You stay silent, waiting for any additional explanation, maybe a more valid reason for ditching you. Nothing else comes out of it. Eventually, he clears his throat again, obviously uncomfortable, asking, “So, what did you end of telling them?”

You choose to leave out the details of what Annie said. It’s not the right time. You don’t want to confess to him that it’s been eating away at you for the past two days. Not yet. “I told them that we’re hooking up.”

“Did they have anything to say to that?”

“Not really. They were just surprised.”

He chuckles. “Annie isn’t necessarily the biggest fan of me, so I’m sure she’s secretly upset about it.”

She did not keep it a secret at all, you think to yourself, remembering her disgust very clearly.

“They’re not going to tell anybody, are they?”

“No. They’re my friends. They’re not going to say anything.”

“Good.” His relief doesn’t bring you comfort. Rather, it causes you more stress. He’s so desperate to keep you a secret, and for what? To save face? Protect a reputation that barely exists in the first place?

“Would it be so bad? If people know? What’s the big deal?” You’re already preparing yourself for a disappointing answer.

Before he replies, he reaches his fingers down to your chin to tilt your head up. “I want to be with you, okay? I just need time.”

“Time?”

“Yeah, to get used to this. I’m not really a relationship or commitment person. This is all new to me. Just give me time. I promise you. It’ll all be alright.” His eyes look earnest. Honest. Sweet.

The trouble with Eren Jaeger is that he is a master at his craft. Manipulating a situation to go his way is a skill that no one can compete with him in. And it’s taken you several weeks to recognize how easily you fall for it.

You leave it at that, tired of hearing excuses, exhausted of empty promises. You start kissing him, palming his cock until it’s hard beneath his pants. This is how it always ends up with you two. This is the only thing you’re good for.

A few minutes later, you’re both naked, you on your back, thighs spread open as he eats you out, pumping his fingers inside you. You’re the same obedient girl that gave your virginity to him. Allowed him to defile you, to ruin you. It’s what you wanted, what you fantasized about. And now you are dealing with the consequences. Picking up the pieces that you willingly let him destroy.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Such a good girl for daddy,” he hums, flicking his tongue over your clit, middle and ring finger working overtime in and out of your cunt.

You allow the ecstasy to smother you, because the only way to feel good with Eren is like this. He doesn’t have to know that your mind is filled with doubts, regret, insecurity. And, as he sends you into your first orgasm of the night, you temporarily forget about all the imperfections in this shady relationship. You let the lust and pleasure justify why you’re still here in bed with him.

When you come all over his fingers, he doesn’t stop. He keeps going until his digits are wet, shiny, and sticky with your slick. He sucks on your clit until it’s swollen and sensitive. Until you’re whimpering with tears rolling down the sides of your face. Until he’s had your fill of you, and you’ve given him all that you can offer.

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out of you and slides his hard cock up and down your arousal, spreading your cum over your clit. You hear the click of the lube bottle, the soft squelch of oil being rubbed on his shaft, the gravely moan resounding from his throat.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe out.

He kneels in front of you, positioned between your legs. His cock glides into your sleek pussy easily, eliciting a low moan from his mouth as he bottoms out. He thrusts into you slowly, spreading your thighs out wider for a better angle. He watches you swallow his entire length, a satisfied smile forming at his lips, as he continues to penetrate your sloppy cunt.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you. You’re beautiful.” His eyes drift up to meet your gaze. You try to suppress the flutter in your belly, reminding yourself that he only says this when you’re beneath him, surrounding his cock. Giving him what he wants.

“Take this cock, take this fucking cock. Good girl, good fucking girl,” he growls, sliding his hands under your thighs and pushing your knees closer to your chest. He has you in a fucking mating press, pounding your G-spot ruthlessly, determined to milk you dry.

“Fuck!” you cry out, fists clenching the sheets, eyes shut tight as he drills you into the bed, completely lost in the heat of passion. You hear him spit twice, his saliva trickling onto your puffy clit. Suddenly, his fingers are on you, stimulating your messy bud smeared in his drool. The sensation overtakes you. Soon, you’re coming once more all over his cock, pussy throbbing around him.

“I want to fill you up, baby. Fill you up with my fucking load,” he moans. Both his hands are holding onto your legs, pushing them towards your shoulders into a goddamn yoga pose. Your cunt is so wet, you’re worried he’ll slip out any second.

He orgasms inside you, groaning as he comes down from his high. “Fuck, baby. Wish I could take a picture of this.” He pulls out to marvel at your drenched pussy, biting his lower lip.

Turning your head to the side, you stare blankly at the wall of your bedroom, brought back to reality. Nothing has changed. He’s still the same Eren. Your body feels good, spent and satiated, as it usually does when he’s finished with you. Your mind, however, is focused on all the problems that remain.

He chuckles, crawling next to you, asking, “You okay?” Completely unaware of the turmoil taking over your mind.

You nod, staying silent as you sit up, ready to make your usual post-coital trip to the bathroom. His hand grips at your wrist. “Hey. Baby. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just have to pee,” you tell him. Not yet. It’s still not the right time.

“Okay,” he relents, loosening his hold on you.

You slide into your pajamas, avoiding his gaze. From the corner of your eye, you see him looking at you with a worried expression. Does he actually care?

As you exit your bedroom, anxiety creeps into your chest. It feels like the calm before the storm.

Sometime soon, you’re going to crack. The burden of it all is going to break you, cause you to snap. Unleash the hell that’s burning in your fragile soul.

Not tonight, not in this moment. But soon.

You’ll finally be free.

~~~

The days pass and Eren’s timeline for turning his sign-up form is dwindling. He’s been debating with himself all week about how he should proceed with this.

Thursday night, the brothers of Alpha Tau eat dinner together in the dining room. Those that live in the house are prepared food everyday by their house chef. Pledges are allowed two meals a week, free of charge, as long as an active brother signs them up as their guest. Tonight, Reiner invites him to eat with them.

“Have you asked Pieck to formal yet?” Reiner shoves a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, waiting for a response.

“I haven’t,” he replies, taking a bite out of the meatloaf on his plate. He knew this was going to come up eventually.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” In a hushed voice, he leans in closer and urges, “Just don’t take a Sigma Nu Kappa. Anyone but them. A lot of brothers are already taking them. We need to add some hot girls in there or else we’ll be the laughingstock to the rest of the frats.”

It’s a ridiculous statement. Truly. Reiner is an idiot. Apparently so is Eren for going along with everything he commands.

“I don’t even know how to get a hold of her. I only met her at the Halloween party.”

“Ask Bertolt to help you out. He’s taking another Delta Mu sister. She can let Pieck know you’re interested.”

Eren has been procrastinating doing this on purpose. Once he asks Pieck to the dance, he has no other choice but to break the news to her. He’s nervous for how she’ll react; she’ll probably come up with some smartass comment to make him feel guilty. She never stays mad at him, though. Never. He has her wrapped around his finger, and he shamelessly takes advantage of that.

“Fine. I’ll ask Bertolt to help me set it up.”

Reiner pats his back. “Don’t forget to sign up for a room with a single bed. I’m sure you’ll be using it.” He gives you a cocky smirk, going back to scarf down his meal.

Eren hangs out on the couch after dinner, digesting. He checks his phone frequently, waiting for any type of text inviting him over. He hasn’t talked to her since Monday morning, when he whispered a soft “good morning” as he crawled out of bed to get ready for the day. Even though they spent the night together, she didn’t say much. Usually, they chat with each other before drifting off to sleep. She was much quieter on Sunday, only nodding along and providing short responses as he babbled on and on. He attributes it to exhaustion from the amazing sex, Eren finally trying a position he’s been fantasizing about doing with her.

On his way out of the house to retreat to his dorm room for the night, he spots Annie walking out of the Sigma Nu Kappa house. “Jaeger,” she calls out, before he can avert her.

Reluctantly, he turns to face her. “Hey.”

“Come here for a second. I want to talk to you.” Her expression is the typical scowl she wears whenever she sees him. He wonders if she’s typically like this with others or if this frown is specifically reserved for him.

“What do you want?”

She sizes him up, eyes narrowed. “Geez, what’s with the attitude?”

“What do you want?” he repeats, already losing his patience.

She twirls a strand a hair between her fingers. “Armin asked me to formal.”

“Yeah, he told me he was going to ask you.” He still can’t fathom how his best friend, who is a gentle teddy bear, plans to attend a dance with someone as callous and deadpan as Annie. Then again, he hasn’t been spending much time with Armin to discuss this recent development.

“So, when are you going to ask her? I heard the deadline is on Sunday. It’s already Thursday.”

Eren plays dumb, placing his hands in his pockets and shrugging. He doesn’t owe anyone, especially Annie Leonhart, an explanation.

She glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “What are you doing? She’s a nice girl. Why are you messing around with her like this?”

The accusation irritates him. Defensively, he responds, “I’m not messing around with her, okay? And I know she’s a nice girl. Why do you think I keep her around?”

Her eyes get narrower, scrutinizing him. “She’s not a plaything, Jaeger. She’s a human being.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that.”

“Do you even know how she feels about you?”

There’s a growing guilt building in his chest as he tries to remain unbothered by this hostile confrontation. He keeps silent, unsure how to react. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to know. Knowing will only make it more difficult for him to let go. To move on.

She scoffs. “You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re nosy,” he spits out. “What the hell did you tell her anyways? She’s been really distant lately. Hasn’t been talking to me much.”

A small smirk forms on her face. “I told her the truth. Told her what she needed to hear.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you don’t know, then you really are hopeless.”

Eren rolls his eyes, having had enough of this conversation. This is typical Eren. When he’s put in a tough situation, he walks away. Sometimes runs. He turns away from her, not at all interested in being harassed any further.

Before he moves, she warns, “There are a lot of people who care about her. If you hurt her, you will be reminded every day of how badly you fucked up.”

It sounds like a threat. With Annie, it probably is.

Without facing her, he says, “I care about her too, Annie.” His voice is soft, maybe even a little vulnerable. Admitting it out loud is unusual; he’s surprised to hear his own mouth utter these words.

“Then act like it. I thought you didn’t let other people influence how you think or feel. Remember you told me that? Don’t let Reiner influence your decisions. Believe it or not, I at least have more respect for you than him. Don’t be a disappointment.”

With that, he makes his way back to his dorm room, Annie’s words sticking to his mind no matter how hard he tries to disregard them. She’s right; he knows what he’s doing is wrong.

Don’t be a disappointment.

It’s too late for that.

~~~

Friday night, Sigma Nu Kappa hosts their monthly pizza night. The sisters gather in the kitchen, assembling their personalized pies, handing them over to their chef who bakes them in a portable wood-fired oven. During these special nights, all sisters, whether they live in the house or not, are allowed to participate.

Hange, who always tries to make the smelliest pizza possible, topped with anchovies, olives, onions, and garlic, is regulated in the corner of the room, eating her meal alone with a twisted smile on her face. Petra, Nanabe, and the other seniors talk amongst themselves as they munch on their dinner, discussing upperclassmen topics unrelated to the rest of the sisters.

You eat with Mikasa, Annie, and Sasha on the couch, watching a comedy movie on TV. After some idle gossip, Sasha brings up a topic that catches you off guard.

“Who else is going to Alpha Tau’s formal, besides Mikasa and Hitch?”

“Hey, I haven’t been formally asked by Jean yet. He wants to do it after a nice dinner tomorrow, bless his heart,” Mikasa explains, a sweet smile on her face. “Who’s taking Hitch?”

“Connie!” Sasha answers, proudly. “I set it up. Just call me Cupid.”

“Armin asked me. And I said yes,” Annie mentions in a quiet voice, blushing.

“Armin?! Oooh la la, Annie!” Sasha teases, resulting in a firm punch to her arm.

You notice Annie glancing at you, imploring some sort of comment.

“I didn’t even know Alpha Tau is having a formal,” you say. Eren hasn’t mentioned it all week. In fact, he’s barely contacted you since Monday morning, when he kissed you goodbye before leaving for his morning class. In his defense, you haven’t made any effort to reach out to him either. You can’t help but wonder if he’s planning to ask you eventually. There’s still that glimmer of hope you’re holding out for him, despite how fast it’s dwindling.

Annie glares, clearly upset. However, she doesn’t say anything, still adhering to her vow of silence in regard to your secret.

“Mike is probably going to ask you,” Mikasa mentions, smirking. She found out about your little fling with Mike on Halloween and has been pestering you about it since.

You return her smile. “Maybe.”

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind going to formal with Mike. After that night, you still consider him a friend. The few times you’ve passed by him this week, he’s acted normally, greeting you with that handsome grin that he wears so confidently. If you weren’t so fucked up in the head by Eren, you could definitely see yourself falling for Mike, the way he deserves. The way both of you deserve.

Instead, here you are. Still wishing more than anything that Eren asks you to this formal. Setting your expectations so high, you can barely see the top. It’s laughable. It’s pathetic.

You spend the rest of the night at the house, watching another movie snuggled next to your sisters as you all share a big bowl of popcorn. Mikasa leaves before you, heading to Jean’s for the night. Instinctually, you reach for your phone, ready to text Eren. Before you can, Annie nudges you.

“Hey. Let’s walk back together. I want to talk to you.”

The two of you leave the house, slowly making your way towards the dorms. You’re concerned about what she wants to tell you, anticipating it has something to do with Eren. “What is it, Annie?”

She sighs, staring down at the ground as you both take your time walking. “I’m just going to say it, okay?”

You nod, eyebrows knit together with worry. Anxious for another truth bomb she’s sure to drop in this moment.

“I don’t think Eren is going to ask you to formal.”

It’s inevitable; your heart falls. The sinking sensation dwelling in the pit of your stomach slows down your steps, as if gravity is pulling you towards the ground. “How do you know?”

“I ran into him last night. I asked him and he didn’t give a straightforward answer.”

“Oh,” is all you can mutter as you process this information.

“Also, I overheard something.” She pauses, debating if she should continue.

“Annie,” you urge her, desperate for the truth.

She gulps loudly, admitting, “I heard he’s taking someone from Delta Mu.”

There’s a cluster of emotions rushing through your head. He’d rather take anyone else besides you, the girl he’s been fucking the past couple of weeks. He was on his goddamn knees just a week ago, begging to have you. Granting whatever wish you desired to nestle himself inside your body, the one you offered him on the fateful night that initiated it all.

You’re as much to blame as he is, falling for his tricks. For that low voice that can lull you into a trance and manipulate you into submission. Those compelling eyes that dazzle you, hiding the true nature of his cold, frigid heart.

While your feelings for him have always been true, there are far too many red flags now to ignore, to make excuses for. Time and time again, you’ve let the waves of pleasure purify the sins of your messy relationship, if only for a short while at a time. Not anymore. This is the final straw.

Now, you want revenge. To hurt him the same way he’s hurt you. Pull the rug out from under him like he’s done to you in the past. Make him feel something. It may sound cruel and petty, but you don’t care. For the first time since it started, you have clarity.

“Are you okay?” Annie asks.

“I don’t know. But I think I’m starting to see things more clearly now.”

She gives you a small smile. “That’s good to hear.”

After dropping her off to her building, you head to your room, alone. Repulsed by the idea of inviting Eren over with this new information swimming around in your head. Coincidentally, your phone rings, flashing his name across the screen.

“Hello?” you answer, attempting to keep your cool.

“Hey,” he greets, his gruff voice taking a different effect on you now. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” You keep your responses short. Not in the mood for the typical pleasantries of a phone conversation.

You hear a sense of trepidation in his voice, as he says, “So, not sure if you’ve heard already, but there’s this formal coming up for Alpha Tau.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

You hear him clear his throat, nervous. “I’m going to take Pieck. From Delta Mu.”

Gut punch. Annie prepared you for this, but to hear it from his own voice doesn’t soften the blow.

Before you can respond, he continues. “It doesn’t mean anything. Reiner told me to take her, so I am.”

He’s a coward. A fucking coward. Always abiding to what his big brother demands him to do, for no good reason. And you’re a fool for letting it go this far.

“Okay.”

“Are you mad? It’s just formal. It’s not like I’m dating her or anything. I won’t even dance with her if it makes you happy.” The audacity he has to justify it, to make it seem like what he’s doing is no big deal. It takes all your willpower not to scream into the phone.

“If you really want to make me happy, you’d ask me to go with you, instead of some other girl,” you state.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not supposed to be seen together yet. I’m not ready.” Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

“So, it’s okay to be seen with a Delta Mu, but not with me?” you challenge him, anger seeping through your voice.

“It’s not like that. Just give me some more time, okay? I just need more time.”

Officially fed up, you quickly say, “Yeah, okay. Got it. Have fun at formal.” You hang up, not waiting for a response.

Time. You’re sick of hearing this. He uses it as if it’s the magic word that erases all your problems, an excuse to prolong your suffering. You’re not even sure what he needs time for. Does he need it to get over his own insecurities? To grow up and make adult decisions? To realize he cares about you? Regardless, his time is running out. He didn’t even have the decency to tell you any of this in person. It was all through a fucking phone call.

Eren Jaeger truly is a coward. The biggest coward of them all.

Your limit has been reached. This is your breaking point.

You know what you have to do.

----------

End Notes: We’re nearing the end, folks! I have three more chapters planned, plus an epilogue. Thank you again for those who have read, commented, liked, and reblogged any or all parts of this so far!

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siriuslysatorusimping · 7 months ago

Text

Let Me Know You (Another Level - Installment 3)

Summary:

“Because I wanted someone who is tolerable for more than five minutes,” Nanami snapped, adjusting his tinted glasses. “And who will take this seriously instead of treating it like a game.” “I’m offended,” Gojo lamented, his hand going to his chest. Rinko pushed herself to her feet, fighting the slight smirk as she listened to them bicker. “I take our job very seriously-” “Alright, kids,” she interjected. She held her hand out for the car keys, which Yaga tossed to her without question. “You can fight when Dad isn’t watching later, but for now, behave. Nanami, let’s get going. It’s a bit of a drive, and I’d hate to have you working overtime.” - “You don’t even know me,” she finally whispered. It was the one thing that had been nagging her since he’d first offered hours before. “You know bits about my technique and that I’m a Zenin mistake. But technically, because of my sealed records, that could be a lie.” “Let me know you, then,” Gojo said, a small smile on his face as he spoke so calmly. It was almost as if he’d asked what she thought of the weather.

AN: Say 'hi' to Nanami, everyone 👀 I decided to combine Let Me Know You into one part instead of two, btw.

<- Prev - Teasing and Techniques: Part 2 | Another Level Masterlist | Kiko's Masterlist | Next - Semi-Grade ->

Let Me Know You 2010

“Kurisaki-chaaaan,” Gojo’s voice sang, causing her to turn slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Kuuurisaaaaki-chaaaan.”

“Gojo,” she replied easily, watching a grin appear on his face as she spoke. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I should be asking you that,” he stated, his long legs reaching her in a few strides. “You’re the one so far away from home. What are you doing in Tokyo?”

He leaned down so his face was level with hers, his bandages doing little to hide that he was assessing her shamelessly.

“Came all the way to see me?” he asked cheekily, his grin growing. “You shouldn’t have.”

This time, it had only been a few months since she’d last seen him, but she was genuinely surprised. While her knowledge of his activity was limited, she did know he was frequently out on exorcisms. Being the only active Special Grade - and quite literally the strongest in the world - meant he was in high demand.

Whatever their last encounter was, it had been interesting. He’d fulfilled his promise to ruin her thoroughly, barely allowing her any time to rest between rounds. She’d been sore for days afterward, but it had been a satisfying soreness that left her feeling warmer inside when she remembered the reason.

It seemed that rumors about Gojo Satoru were rarely wrong.

Before she’d left his hotel the following morning, he’d given her an absolutely sinful kiss - full of the promise of even more ruin - and told her that he’d see her again soon.

Pressing her against the wall beside the door, clearly reluctant to let her go. He took his time exploring her mouth with his tongue as if he hadn’t spent hours learning every inch of her inside and out.

“You sure you gotta go so soon?” he asked against her lips, smiling smugly when she moaned as he palmed her breast through her shirt. “You could stay here and-”

“I have to work,” she’d insisted, wrenching her lips away from his. “And so do you. I’m sure you need to get back.”

Feeling smug herself, she smirked up at him when he pouted at her.

“It was fun, though,” she said, still feeling breathless. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

His eyes darkened at her words, pressing his hips against hers and grinding. The hard line of his cock told her she needed to leave quickly before he held her up any longer.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s more than a maybe. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

She’d somehow been able to detangle herself shortly after, tossing him a wink as she’d closed his hotel door behind her and headed home to shower before work.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” she teased now as she turned to keep walking. “I’m actually here for work. On request from Yaga.”

“He didn’t tell me about that,” Gojo remarked, following behind her. “Strange.”

“Not surprising,” she said dismissively. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“Don’t be like that, Rinko-chan-”

“Kurisaki,” she corrected, giving him a hard look. She didn’t know what they were. Friends? They’d passed acquaintances at this point. Still, she didn’t feel comfortable with him acting so casual with her in public, especially not at work. “Gojo, don’t you have better things to do than to worry about a Grade 2 like me?”

That made him pull up short. He stopped following her, and she chose to keep walking until he grabbed her forearm.

“You’re still only a Grade 2?” he asked, his voice low. “You’re joking. You’re a Semi-Grade 1 at least.”

“Take a guess,” she stated flatly, ignoring how his hand tightened. “Take one single guess as to why-”

“Zenin,” he deduced, voice still quiet. “Huh. Guess I should have known.”

Nodding, she freed her arm, turning away to continue to Yaga’s office.

“I could help with that,” he offered, catching up again easily. “Put in a word. They don’t deny me very often-”

“No thanks,” she cut him off. “While I appreciate the offer, I’m fine with where I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late.”

She left him in the hallway, staring after her as she entered Yaga’s office.

Nanami Kento’s head turned to meet her gaze briefly. His frown shrank briefly before it grew to a scowl as his eyes shifted to glare at something over her shoulder. Without looking, she knew Gojo had followed her inside.

“Gojo-san,” Nanami greeted coldly. “I don’t recall you being invited to this meeting.”

“Nanamin,” Gojo’s loud voice was just next to her ear. “You wound me-”

“Don’t call me that,” Nanami snapped, his jaw clenching. Rinko couldn’t help but conceal a small smile. “Kurisaki-san and I have things to discuss with Yaga.”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” Gojo countered, plopping down into a chair and folding his hands in his lap.

“Ignore him,” Yaga said, sounding tired. “Focus on the task at hand.” He turned his attention to Rinko. “Kurisaki, thank you for coming all this way. I asked for you because I think you’re well-suited to assist Nanami. He’s still adjusting to being back in the swing of things.”

“Seems a bit overkill to have someone accompany a Grade 1,” she noted, raising her eyebrows. Nanami had been a Grade 1 since his last year in school. “On top of that, wouldn’t another Grade 1 be better suited to-”

“There was one other option,” Yaga said. Lifting one of his own eyebrows, he left her to discern what he meant. Nanami scowled at Gojo when he pouted dramatically. “I’ll be honest with you, Rinko. While you’re an excellent fit for this, you weren’t my first choice. Utahime was unavailable and suggested you.”

She knew. Hime had told her as soon as she’d gotten off the phone with Yaga.

“All the others are busy,” Rinko replied, smiling self-deprecatingly. “I understand. I don’t take it personally.”

Nodding, he let out a small sigh of relief.

“It should be textbook. Simple,” he continued, pulling the file out and handing it over. “An abandoned hospital on the outskirts of Asakusa. Three teenagers went missing last week while trespassing for a dare.”

“Are we assuming them dead or alive?” she asked, opening the file and flipping through it. “Is this retrieval or simple exorcism and move on?”

“Use your best judgment, both of you,” Yaga replied, watching her closely. “But the end decision should be Nanami’s since this is his job.”

As soon as she nodded her agreement, he dismissed them, his stern voice then turning to Gojo.

“Satoru,” he said, tone harsh. “Why are you here?”

Gojo only shrugged, lounging back in his chair.

“Just curious about Nanamin’s first assignment,” he said innocently, grinning. “Since he didn’t want me going with him-”

“Because I wanted someone who is tolerable for more than five minutes,” Nanami cut him off, adjusting his tinted glasses. “And who will take this seriously instead of treating it like a game.”

“I’m offended,” Gojo lamented, his hand going to his chest. “I take our job very seriously-”

Rinko pushed herself to her feet, fighting the slight smirk as she listened to them bicker.

“Alright, kids,” she interjected. She held her hand out for the car keys, which Yaga tossed to her without question. “You can fight when Dad isn’t watching later, but for now, behave. Nanami, let’s get going. It’s a bit of a drive, and I’d hate to have you working overtime.”

The drive had been quicker than Rinko anticipated since Nanami was more talkative than she had expected.

She’d only met Nanami Kento twice. The first was at the Goodwill Event during her third year when she’d briefly faced off with him and Haibara Yuu in the main event on the first day.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru had been absent, which she’d believed to be a blessing. It meant they’d had a better chance at winning.

But her short encounter with Nanami had told her he was strong. With Yoshinobu having ordered her to limit the use of her technique to help avoid an incident like the year prior, she’d been outmatched and forced to retreat from the fight before it could really begin.

The other time she’d met Nanami had been at Haibara’s funeral. It had been brief and solemn, and she’d stayed near the back with Utahime. She’d only spoken to Nanami to express her condolences and then spoken with Shoko briefly before she was on the train back to Kyoto.

But now, the conversation was mostly focused on his distaste for Gojo’s carefree attitude.

“He’s irritating,” Nanami stated, his monotone voice rising just slightly to convey his annoyance. “And has absolutely no sense of professionalism.”

“Coming from a former salaryman,” she teased, her voice light as she parked the car and climbed out.

He wasn’t wrong, though. In her limited experience, everything was a lighthearted joke to Gojo. With a few exceptions. The look of bloodlust that had overtaken his face when she’d first mentioned Toji came to mind when she thought about how serious he could be.

“He’s a child,” Nanami continued, loosening his tie as he followed her. “And that’s why I’m grateful you agreed to do this. Really.”

Giving a careless shrug, she grinned at him.

“I don’t mind,” she replied, extending her duplicates to their limit to scan the perimeter. Pausing, she created a veil, waiting until it was in place before continuing. “I know I wasn’t the first choice to accompany you, which I understand. But I won’t complain. Since this was a last-minute ask, Yaga agreed to pay me double.”

He rolled his eyes at her statement, retrieving his wrapped blade and rolling his shoulders.

“Still not sure why they think you needed to have a chaperone,” she muttered, focusing momentarily as her duplicate came across a curse. She recalled it immediately, seeing the cursed spirit’s energy spike at the sight of her. “But don’t worry, we’ll knock this out in no time. No overtime for you, mister salaryman.”

His heavy sigh made her want to tease him more, and she turned to meet him toe-to-toe. He was strong. She could tell from his nonchalance and her memory of knowing she needed to retreat during the Goodwill Event as a student.

But things had changed a lot. Her skill level had only continued to grow since she’d last encountered him. And he’d only just returned from a few years as a regular civilian.

“Come on, Kento,” Rinko pressed teasingly, “I know part of you likes the rush. Adrenaline coursing through you as you let loose? Have some fun. This will be an easy job, so we may as well enjoy it.”

Another heavy sigh was paired with him pushing his glasses up his nose.

“I’m beginning to regret this,” he said bluntly, causing her to laugh. “You’re just like the rest: insane and chasing a high.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. She knew that very well, especially after her last encounter with Gojo. But all the more reason to poke her overly stoic companion.

“Careful, Kento,” she said, a chuckle escaping when he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ll hurt my feelings.” Pausing when one of her duplicates spotted something, she focused momentarily to check on it. “I found our teens.”

Nanami looked taken aback before composing himself, stretching his shoulders more.

“Don’t worry, Nanami,” she said quietly, leaving her duplicate to keep sight of the victims. “I’ll take this seriously.”

A flick of her wrist withdrew her stiletto blades from their cursed sheath.

“They’re still alive,” she said. Two boys and a girl, the girl the only of the three awake and aware enough to scream. “Curse seems to be feeding off them slowly, draining their lives over time.” Her eyes closed, tensing when another duplicate came across more curses. “At least two of them are Grade 2. The rest are likely Grade 3 and below. Should still be a walk in the park.”

“How many total?” he asked, prepping his blade once again. “And where?”

“Hard to tell how many there are,” she replied, opening her eyes. Flipping her knives between her fingers easily, she grinned lazily at him now. “They’re waiting for us in the basement.”

“Best not to keep them any longer then.”

She’d been right. It was easy.

It had been hard to fight the scoff in the back of her throat when the first Grade 2 was felled easily. Retrieving the teenagers, she ensured they were safe before rejoining the fight.

The Grade 3’s were cut down effortlessly, her blades sinking into the concrete floor when she pierced the final one.

Turning, she yanked them from the quickly dissipating corpse of the curse. Flicking them, she cleaned the blood off and flipped them playfully, sheathing them again.

Nanami handled the other Grade 2 and most of the Grade 3s while she took care of the teenagers. He was breathing heavily from the exertion but otherwise was unphased.

“See?” she asked as he followed her from the basement. She picked up the girl while he heaved the other two over each shoulder. “Simple. Quick. I told you it’d be easy. I’ll even buy dinner to welcome you back and celebrate my doubled paycheck.”

“Wait to celebrate until we get these kids to safety,” he grunted, taking the stairs two at a time and leaving her struggling to keep up. “I’m surprised.” His voice was even as he turned to give her a calculating look over his shoulder. “Why aren’t you Grade 1 or Special Grade 1?”

She almost tripped, the tip of her foot catching on a stair in her surprise. Her body didn’t respond when she tried to get it to continue forward, frustration pooling in her chest as she grit her teeth.

It’s a compliment, she told herself, taking a deep breath through her nose.

The question caught her so entirely off guard, having not been prepared to be asked that question twice in one day.

Gojo was technically different because he now knew enough that he could understand why she’d be tight-lipped about it. And he understood just how damn spiteful they would be.

Special Grade 1? Seeing as only Zenin clan members held that rank, they would have hell freeze over before they let her even breathe in the direction of that promotion.

“That,” she began, forcing her legs to keep going as she shoved the anxiety down. “Is a very personal question.” She knew her voice still conveyed her annoyance and anxiety bundled into one. “One that - sorry to say - I don’t know you well enough to answer.”

He watched her closely as they piled the kids into the backseat of the car and she set off towards the nearest hospital.

His eyes bore into the side of her face. Suspicion and curiosity were on full display.

She couldn’t blame him, honestly. Few knew the exact reasons for her rank, most just assuming she was painfully average. The fact that there were specific holds on her ability to move up, holds meant to keep her at Grade 2 forever, was sensitive information. Even fewer knew why there were barriers keeping her from moving up. Her sealed records did their job well. And she was essentially the Zenin’s best-kept, dirty little secret.

As much as she’d love to embarrass them by letting the world know her father had had an affair with a non-sorcerer, she knew better. Revealing something like that was the best way for her to end up dead within a week. They weren’t afraid to get rid of her if they thought necessary.

He stayed silent as they arrived at the hospital, her checking the kids in and leaving Yaga’s name for them to contact if they had questions.

“Okay!” she said happily, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “Time for food! You like ramen? Or are you more of an oyoko-don kinda guy?”

Asakusa was one of her favorite places to get street food. The katsu sando felt like heaven on her nearly empty stomach as she devoured it.

Stopping briefly at a dango stall, she ordered three for herself and pressured Nanami into at least getting one.

“You can stare all you want,” she said flatly, ripping a dough ball from one of the skewers. “But I’m not gonna talk about it.”

She could feel him trying to read her expression to find some hint of information.

This wouldn’t be another instance like with Gojo where she would spill her guts about her family. She’d taken a big risk letting him know her affiliation, but she also couldn’t just tell anyone and everyone now that she’d told one person.

Nanami’s small eyes narrowed behind the tinted glasses as he raised his eyebrows.

“I’m surprised,” she continued, finally turning slightly to meet his gaze. “You don’t seem like the type to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“And you don’t seem like the type to have such deep, dark secrets,” he replied easily, discarding his own empty skewer in a trashcan as they approached the car. “If you’re not already a Grade 1, then you must have done something to prevent them from letting you promote.” Crossing his arms, a small smirk found its way onto his face. “Now, what could that be?”

Ah yes, she thought bitterly, being born was such a horrendous crime.

“You got me,” she drawled instead, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Seriously Nanami, drop it.” She made no effort to keep the ice from her tone. “Not only do I not know you well enough to talk about-”

“Yet.” His statement was sure as he cut her off. Her mouth fell open in surprise. “You don’t know me yet.”

What did they feed these Tokyo boys that made them so fucking forward?

Nanami’s eyes were shining ever-so-slightly behind his tinted glasses, his smirk having grown as well. He seemed proud to have rendered her speechless.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she huffed, a small laugh escaping. “I don’t think you can handle getting to know me, Kento.”

Holding her gaze as he leaned forward just slightly, still keeping a respectable distance between them.

“Try me.”

Her grin transformed into a smirk.

“You’re more fun than you let on.”

By the time they returned to the Tokyo Jujutsu Tech campus, the sun had set, and she bid Nanami farewell after they’d reported back to Yaga.

“Told ya we’d have fun,” she called, waving as Nanami walked away. “See you next time, Kento.”

His small smirk when he waved over his own shoulder told her all she needed to know.

“A fun time with Nanamin, hm?”

Tensing at the sudden voice at her ear, she couldn’t help the amused smirk that found its way onto her face.

“Gojo,” she said easily, turning her head to see him smiling down at her in return. “What’s it to you?”

“Seemed real cozy,” he replied, his hands in his pockets. “Have a good dinner with Nanamin, too?”

His smile faltered as he spoke, and her eyes narrowed at him.

“What makes you think we had dinner?” she asked, watching his grin transform into more of a baring of his teeth. “Don’t tell me that Gojo Satoru had nothing better to do than follow us?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he straightened so he towered over her.

“Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t more than you two could handle,” he replied easily, smirk sliding back into place. “You take every jujutsu sorcerer you meet to dinner after an exorcism?”

And there it was. She debated what to do and what to say. While she’d enjoyed poking fun at Nanami earlier, nothing compared to how quickly she knew she’d be able to provoke the soon-to-be not cheerful sorcerer in front of her.

“And if I do?”

So many buttons to press she almost couldn’t decide which to choose first.

Maybe the big, shiny button that her brain had labeled with very big letters ‘DO NOT TOUCH.’

“Last one bought me dinner, though,” she continued, watching his mouth twitch. That button was just begging to be pushed. And who was she to deny it? “Was nice enough to get my favorite. Almost made up for the subpar fuck I got afterward-”

His growl sent a spark to her core, and she dodged out of the way of his grasp just in time to swap places with her duplicate. Moving through the woods as quickly as she could, she sent another in a different direction, letting its cursed energy flow wildly.

A new trick she’d learned thanks to him.

Somehow, her decoy worked. Feeling the air shift around her, one glance through the eyes of the double told her he’d fallen for it.

“I know you can hear me,” he whispered in its ear, pulling a small smile to her face at how rough his voice sounded. “It’s a nice little trick you’ve got. But I’ll find you, just like last time. You know I will.”

“Promises promises,” she said through her decoy, grinning when he pulled back, eyes narrowing at her for just a moment. “Looking forward to it, Gojo-san.”

Releasing her hold on it, she recalled the duplicate and focused on moving farther away. Leading him around the trees, their game continued. Disappearing just when he got a glimpse of her and reappearing just long enough to smirk at him, she did her best to stay a step ahead. She knew she’d annoyed him enough when he removed his blindfold to stare around.

He was done playing games, it seemed.

The Six Eyes found her instantly, and she heard his dark laughter echoing in her mind from every duplicate that heard him. Just as predicted, he was on her in an instant. Shoving her against the closest tree, he gave her no chance to escape as he slammed his lips against hers.

“New surprises each time,” he breathed. “Impressive.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” she replied, whining when he bit her lip harshly.

He hummed, his hand moving to her hair to angle her mouth against his and deepen the kiss. Teasing her tongue with his, his other arm wrapped around her waist to hold her against him.

“Subpar fuck,” he stated, his voice low, threatening. His hips were grinding into hers, sending sparks of pleasure throughout her body. “That what you’d call making you cum so hard you begged me to stop?”

The question made her breath hitch, and she felt another spark move through her, straight to her core.

“Maybe I was begging you to stop because of how bad it-”

The hand in her hair moved to grasp her throat, the squeeze he gave serving as a promise.

He saw it, the spark in her eyes. A sadistic grin appeared as he leaned back, his bright blue eyes shining down at her.“That’s what I thought,” he growled, grinding against her. “Guess I just need to remind you what happens to brats.”

“I really could, you know.”

Gojo’s words were spoken gently as he watched her pull her shirt over her shoulders. Leaning against the wall by the door leading to his ensuite bathroom, his eyes were deceptively soft as they stared at her.

At his statement, she paused buttoning her shirt, looking up to meet his gaze with a quirked eyebrow. Ignoring the way his eyes darkened as they zeroed in on the unfinished buttons, she waited for him to elaborate.

“Grade 1,” he finally said, clearly struggling to force himself to meet her eyes as his gaze kept dropping back down to her partially concealed breasts. Smirking, he met her irritated gaze.

She hadn’t forgiven him for ruining her bra earlier that evening, and he could clearly tell.

“Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. “Why would you want to do that for someone you barely know?”

He only shrugged in response, almost as if he thought it all the way through.

“I could recommend your promotion,” he stated, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants casually. “They won’t turn down a rec from me. Yaga could be your second, and then you-”

“No.”

His brow furrowed at her firm refusal, his mouth parting in surprise. It was clear he wasn’t expecting her to give it a second thought before accepting.

“What do you mean, ‘no?’” he asked, a frown pulling at his lips. “I’m offering to help you.”

“I don’t need any favors,” she replied, her jaw set in determination. Her gut told her that it was a bad idea, and she was never one to ignore that feeling. “I meant what I said earlier: I’m fine with where I am now. If I’m gonna get Grade 1, I don’t want the help of people who will just hold it over me later.”

“I wouldn’t-”

She silenced him with a harsh stare, skepticism bleeding into her posture as well. When he said nothing else to contradict her, she resumed buttoning her shirt.

“I wouldn’t hold it over you,” he whispered, pushing away from the wall and walking over to where she stood at the foot of his bed. Pulling her towards him, he ignored her quiet protests about needing to get dressed. “It’s clear that you deserve to be Grade 1. I saw you tonight, saw how you handled the situation. Nanami doesn’t compliment people easily, either. He meant it when he asked why you aren’t a higher grade.”

“Tell me again why you followed us?” Rinko asked, absently swatting at his hands that were discreetly working their way beneath her shirt. “Did you really have nothing better to do?”

His sly smile made her roll her eyes, his hands still trying to sneak into her shirt. She leveled him with a sharp stare, her hands swatting his harder than before.

“I wanted to see you in action,” he replied, his smile shifting to a mischievous one as his eyes gleamed down at her. “The only times I’d seen you fight were against me. I thought it’d be fun to see you in a fight where you can win instead of just being annoying.”

Her eyes narrowed at him as he spoke, knowing he was trying to rile her up. Too bad he didn’t seem to realize she liked being annoying. To him. It was, in fact, one of her favorite pastimes.

Caressing her sides under her shirt, he squeezed her lightly, grinning when she yelped and flinched away.

“Don’t you dare try to distract me with that,” she warned, glaring up at his grin. “You are such a child.”

“Nice knives by the way,” he said, changing the subject. “You looked good using them.”

His hands were pushing her shirt up again, trying to subtly inch it up, but he was stopped when the few buttons she’d managed to fasten caught. She smacked his hands away, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Quit it,” she snapped, fighting the smile at his pout. “I need to go- Gojo, I mean it-”

“When did you learn to use your duplicates for scouting a location?” he asked, clearly still trying to distract her as his fingers dug into her sides.

“A while ago,” she answered vaguely, remembering how raw her ass had been after his little game the last time he asked her questions about her technique. She’d been sore for over a week. A good kind of sore, but still sore. “Did you like the decoy?”

She still felt smug about fooling him, even if it was only for a few moments. Taking his suggestion to mask the energy and flipping it around on him had definitely caught him by surprise.

His grin almost showed pride as he nodded, his fingers ceasing their wandering while he praised her.

“You had me,” he admitted, seeming amused. “I expected you to try to mask the energy, not max it out for a red herring. Way to think outside of the box. Can you control it just like your own body?”

“Not yet,” she admitted, pursing her lips to the side. “It can’t move freely yet, but I know it’s possible. My next goal is to create a perfect copy that I can control independently.”

“I ran into someone who could,” he said quietly, eyes watching her own. “Few years ago. He was weak, though.”

Releasing a scoff, she smirked up at him.

“Everyone is weak to you,” she retorted drily. “I’m a long way off from being able to control it, but I thought you’d like that decoy trick-” her voice cut off with a squawk when his hands swiftly released a few buttons on her shirt. “Stop!” she scolded, but she was unable to fight the giggles at his dramatic pout. “I’m serious. You’re gonna make me miss my train! I need to go home-”

“Ooorrr,” he drawled. One of his hands moved to cup her ass, pulling her so her hips were flush with his. “You can stay the night, have breakfast with me, and then accept my Grade 1 recommendation.” He leaned down so he could kiss her neck. “Come on, it’s the weekend and I know you don’t have work. Have some fun with me, Rinko-chan.”

“Oh, I think you’ve had plenty of fun,” she remarked, breathing a quiet, satisfied sigh when he sucked on the skin of her neck softly. “And I still don’t understand why you want to recommend me so badly if not to have something to hold over my head.”

Nothing in life was free. People, especially people like him, didn’t just do nice things for the sake of it.

“It’s as simple as that you deserve it,” he stated, leaning back to stare at her seriously. “You should be a Grade 1. And they’re holding back your potential on purpose. But they won’t deny my recommendation. I give primary rec, Yaga seconds it, and Nanami volunteers to have you shadow him and boom: Kurisaki Rinko is a Semi-Grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer well on her way to Grade 1.”

The way he said it made it sound so simple, which was exactly how she knew it had to be anything but.

“Gojo Satoru doesn’t do things out of the kindness of his heart or for the sake of fairness.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, moving his hand up to cup her cheek sweetly. “Do you trust me?”

She thought for a moment, the answer already finding its way out before she had time to process it.

“No. I don’t trust you,” she admitted, meeting his eyes hesitantly. “I’m no one, not to you. I annoyed you enough a few years ago to intrigue you. You’ve made me cum a few times- don’t start,” she held a hand up when he looked insulted. “None of that is enough to-”

“Because I want to.”

The simple statement took the breath from her lungs, suspicion once again taking root.

“But why?” she questioned, still not understanding. “What reason-”

“Think of it as a friend helping a friend,” he said, clearly growing tired of their back and forth. “Let me help my friend, Kurisaki, achieve her dream of being a Grade 1 sorcerer.”

“You don’t even know me,” she finally whispered. It was the one thing that had been nagging her since he’d first offered hours before. “You know bits about my technique and that I’m a Zenin mistake. But technically, because of my sealed records, that could be a lie. Why would you do anything to help me unless you want something in return?”

“Let me know you, then,” he said, a small smile on his face as he spoke so calmly. It was almost as if he’d asked what she thought of the weather. “When’s your birthday?”

She sputtered for a moment, her eyes widening in shock at the abrupt topic change.

There was no way in all hell that he just asked-

“I can be your friend, Rinko,” he said, arching his brow at her in challenge. “Here, I’ll start since you seem to have forgotten your own birthday. My birthday is December 7th.”

She blinked up at him, dumbfounded for another moment before sighing and shaking her head.

“October 18th,” she murmured.

What was he up to?

His lips ticked up into a small smile. A genuine, gentle smile, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand what was happening. If she knew anything at all about him, this wasn’t who Gojo Satoru was.

“Favorite color?” his voice held a teasing lilt. But his eyes remained serious as her lips parted once again in surprise. “Come on, Rinko-chan, it’s an easy question.”

Crystalline blue, her mind said in a haze before she realized it was only because she was looking into his eyes.

“Seafoam green,” she said quietly. “Light, pale green that’s somewhere between sage and jade.”

It was the color of her mother’s eyes. Growing up, it had been Rinko’s favorite sight to see those eyes light up when she did something for her.

He grinned now, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss felt different than any of their others, which were typically in the throes of passion. This kiss had no clear goal in mind, just existing, and she felt herself melt into it slowly.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Friends don’t typically do this,” she noted, her voice a whisper. A chuckle escaped when he pouted. “Unless you’re going to tell me this is how all of your friendships are? Because that’d be very interesting.”

That made him laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his hand moving to the back of her neck to pull her lips to meet his again. Pressing his tongue into her mouth, his other hand went back to her shirt.

“I’ll admit this might not be a conventional friendship,” he murmured, releasing the few buttons she’d managed to fasten earlier. “But that’s what makes it fun. We can have sleepovers-”

His excited tone made her pull away, unable to contain the snort of laughter. He was completely insufferable. And she needed to leave before he convinced her to stay longer.

Looking down, she sighed at her fully open shirt, shooting him a glare.

“No sleepover tonight,” she said, snickering when he reached for her. “Stop. I’ll tell you what, I’ll think about the recommendation-”

“You’ll accept the recommendation,” he corrected, pulling her with him as he backed to the bed. “And you’ll stay the night. You don’t have anything planned for tomorrow-”

“And how would you know if I have plans tomorrow?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. She didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. “Gojo-”

“Kurisaki,” he mimicked her tone, sitting on the bed now. “Stay.”

He made no effort to pull her down with him, just stared up at her expectantly. His thumbs massaged her bare hipbones soothingly, remaining silent when she didn’t immediately refuse him again.

Finally, she sighed, closing her eyes and lifting her head towards the ceiling.

“I’m going to regret this,” she muttered, looking down to see his hopeful smile beginning to transform into a grin. “I’m leaving right after breakfast, got it?”

The look in his eyes told her he disagreed as he yanked her down onto the bed beneath him before she could continue.

“First thing,” he agreed, nodding solemnly. He shoved her shirt from her shoulders and latched his mouth to her breast. “Absolutely.”

She already knew it was a damn lie.

Boarding the train two days later, flushed and desperately trying to make sure the numerous bruises on her neck were covered for the general public, she fought the stupid grin that appeared when she saw him happily waving goodbye from the platform. His other hand was in his pocket, a giant smirk on his face as he stared at her over his sunglasses.

‘See you soon,’ he mouthed, his smirk growing when she flushed further.

Next - Semi-Grade

#gojo satoru x original female character #gojo satoru fanfic #another level #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #nanami and rinko #nanami is literally so done with her #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento

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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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The Wisp Between Worlds

CHAPTER ONE: BLACK WATERS

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Warnings: None for this chapter that I can think of, but expect angst, death, and sadness in the future.

Masterlist

________________

She needed to get outside. Callahan Barge was too tall, too sweaty, and too business casual for the kind of night she wanted to be having. Makeup swam down her skin cutting brilliant blue rivers down the tan of her cheeks. When she’d last caught a look at herself in the dusty bathroom mirror she’d been shocked and intrigued at the wide, kohl-lined eyes that stared out from beneath the glitter and paint. Lauren had decked her out in a skimpy, shimmering black dress, fish-net stockings, and the accompanying makeup to “let her live out her party fairy fantasies.” After all, she deserved to dress the part for her first Halloween as a 21-year-old. But that well-deserved fantasy took a hit when Callahan, cosplaying as an aspiring accountant (as per usual), started flirting with her at the bar.

“Why don’t I buy you a drink?” his perfect white teeth gleamed in the UV light of the club glowing almost as brightly as the white button-down shirt he wore.

“I’ve got one already.” She stared directly in his eyes, taking a sip of the fruity mocktail the bartender had shaken up for her. He eyed the drink in her hands and she raised her eyebrow, daring him to make a comment. She was the designated driver for the night and the strongest liquid currently sloshing around in her cup was lemonade, but he didn’t need to know that.

“A second drink then?”

“No.”

He fiddled with his wrist watch, visibly flustered. “So about your thesis-” He began, desperately trying to spark a conversation.

“I have to go find my friends.”

“Oh right,” he pushed back his golden waves, “well hey, if you’re free after-”

Nora ducked behind the body of a passing security guard who’d been alerted to the sound of retching towards the right of the bar. Slipping nimbly through the crowd she tried to ignore the prodding of elbows and the occasional misplaced grinding of hips. Callahan was a nice guy, the kind that would have a position at Goldman Sachs by January and a 401k set up by May. The problem was he didn’t seem to understand why being randomly partnered with Nora for a creative writing assignment was enough grounds for a relationship.

Fuck this. Nora thought to herself after five minutes of circling the lower and upper levels of the club. It would be impossible to find Lauren and Garett in this crowd and calling was pointless. The music raged from the speakers so loudly she could feel the bass rattling her bones.

She made her way towards the back doors, pressing against the sticky handle and sighing when the rush of cold, autumn air whisked the moisture from her skin. The wind carried the scent of the sea across the boardwalk. She breathed it in, having forgotten what air smelled like when it hadn’t been circulated through hundreds of drunken, jerking bodies.

I’ll be outside for a bit. Let me know when you guys are ready to leave.

With a whoosh the message was sent and she tucked the phone back into her pocket, wrapped her arms around herself, and made her way down to the pier.

Aside from the handful of people smoking around the lamp post’s pool of light and the couple grappling at one another on a bench, the pier was empty. Nora kept her head down to give them all their privacy and walked to the edge, staring out at the inky black waters. She couldn’t see three feet past where the last lamp post feebly flickered, but she heard the licking of waves against the rocks, growling and slurping like some hungry creature.

Salt opened up her airways, leaving its distinct taste in her mouth and a faint burn in her lungs. It was in moments like this where she let herself wonder, truly wonder, about what would happen if she simply stepped over the edge and let herself get swallowed up.

You’d probably break your legs against the rocks you idiot.

The thought of flailing about in the cold waters waiting for someone like Callahan to fish her out like a wet rat made her cringe.

I’d never actually do it. Stupid Freudian death drive.

It was just something she wondered about. What if there was something that was waiting for her? What if she was just wasting time waiting for the big thing to come along?

And what would that big thing be?

Who knows.

And if it never comes?

Shut it.

Nora scolded her midnight thoughts. This was supposed to be a night of mindless fun and dancing and here she was standing alone in the cold being philosophical. But just as she turned away from the water a gust of wind brushed up against her back. No, not the wind… something else. A presence hovered over her shoulder, calming but unfamiliar as it traced down her spine.

She froze, too scared to scream and too curious to move. Squinting her eyes she couldn’t make out any figures on the boardwalk or along the pier. She was alone.

Before she could make the executive decision to start sprinting back to the club, she heard it. Faint whispers curled around her ears, wrapping her in phantom arms until she could no longer feel the chill. Through the dozens of voices that called out to her in a mess of sounds and unintelligible words, one stood out.

Low and silky and sensitive it asked, Where are you? Tell me where you are. Please.

Nora blinked.

The boardwalk faded away from her. She could still catch the faint outlines of the lamp post and railings, but more concretely she saw a room. Thick black curtains drifted along some invisible wind framing a brilliant city beyond that glowed like a thousand candles. The night sky was so crisp and clear she could make out every star.

She blinked again, readjusted her contacts, and it was gone. She was still on the pier alone and her vulnerability sent a shiver down her spine.

The presence remained with her, breathing down her neck. She still couldn’t decide if she was afraid or not.

Wait… Run. RUN! The voice commanded her, barely a whisper in her ear despite the urgency of its words.

Somewhere in the water far beyond where the light could reach, she felt a stirring, like the earth was rolling onto its side beneath her feet. A loud, low moan pulsed through the air and the pier’s wooden beams groaned in turn, protesting whatever force had begun to bend and snap them like toothpicks.

Nora turned on her heels and started to run.

Fifty meters later and she was cursing her body, feeling the warmth in her legs build as she forced them to go faster. Breathe along to your favorite song, Nora. Dad had said that to her before every cross country race in high school. She was a shit runner then and she was a shit runner now.

God I wish I kept running in college.

Another beam closer to her broke with a scream and Nora was thrown to the ground, landing awkwardly on stinging hands and knees as the water split open and began swallowing the pier. Like a beast it chomped at the wood, slurping the contents down into its throat. She dared a glance behind her and gasped as cracks formed along the surface of the ocean, blue-white light spilling outward.

Scrambling to her feet she continued to run feeling the ground beneath her tilt further and further backward. The cracks deepened, crashing against wood. With a final sigh the last of the beams beneath her feet gave away, sinking into the mouth of the blue chasm below.

Nora screamed, lunging to the side to avoid the spear of wood that erupted by her legs. Cold water drenched her clothes, weighing her down as she was plunged into the frothy, glowing water.

The pier had snapped in two.

What are you doing you fucking idiot? Scream. She thought to herself. But even though she screamed, first in fear and then in frustration, no one heard her.

Nora gasped as the blue light finally reached her, wrapping around her body. She wished she had the mind to appreciate its beauty, but all she could think about was the terror that fueled her muscles to keep swimming, even as the current dragged her further down.

“HELP!”

She begged anyone who might still be on the pier. She prayed to God, pleaded with the voice that had tried to warn her.

No one’s coming to help. No one could help even if they wanted to.

Nora looked back, helpless as the water consumed her.

When her body had sunk beneath the depths - deeper than anyone could fathom - the portal sealed itself and there was nothing left but the ruined pier and the silent lamp posts as witnesses.

________________

Author’s Note: Hi! As the summary already mentions, this is going to be an acotar rewrite with an OC that’s really just a cooler, more competent version of myself that I like to insert into every book I read. It’s been over a year since I finished reading the main trilogy so apologies if I don’t get the plot/plot elements exactly right (but also I might change the plot to better suit the story). I don’t know how many chapters this will be yet, but I have a small chunk of it already written and am hoping to get some regular posting schedule worked out. Thanks for reading this little blurb and I hope you enjoy!

#acotar #acotar rewrite #a court of thorns and roses #inner circle x oc #Azriel x OC #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger #basically writing myself into a book because why not #this is what fanfiction is for #I want to believe I would survive in the ACOTAR universe #azriel x human reader #azriel x reader

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kitmoas · 2 years ago

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Counterparts and Countermoves

Summary: A dynamic that lies upon a shaky foundation can only crumble, but it's the actions during an earthquake that matter most

Pairing: Wanda x Kate | Natasha x Reader | Wandanat x Reader x Kate

Word Count: 11.6k

Warnings: Angsty angst!, vague mentions/recalling of abuse (physical and sexual), mentions of death, Mommy/Daddy kink, dubious consent (plays with cnc vibes), strap on use (r and kate receiving) , cum filled strap, breeding kink, magic use/play, magical marks

*As usual, if I forgot anything let me know!*

A/N: OKAY so this took a long time, but we have come to probably one of the most important parts of this universe. I know it's been a while but if anyone remembers Comic Non who basically guessed a lot, THIS is the chapter that is going to talk about some of the things we discussed!

I JUST finished this, so if there are a lot of mistakes...im sorry please dont come for me

***MINORS DNI*** ***18+***

Training Grounds Masterlist

It wasn’t often that the sun rose before them, the two women almost always hours into their day by the time the rest of the world even began waking up. Today was different, soft music playing in the background while Wanda reads and Natasha writes in a journal. The warmth of sleep still lingers in the bed sheets that stretch across their legs.

A frustrated grunt breaks the serene atmosphere, shattering the naively happy scene. The ginger’s heavy handed scratches against the paper continued to drill against the witch’s ears, picking at her nerves. “If you no longer want to enjoy the silence, can you just get out?” The brunette’s voice was sharp, annoyance obvious.

The moment Natasha rips paper out of her journal, throwing the now crumbled up ball across the room, Wanda rolls her eyes. “Oh now we’re going to throw a tantrum? What are you? Three years old?” The witch calmly puts her bookmark into place, letting her magic settle the book across the room on the table.

Her eyebrow twitches when she hears her counterpart scoff, tilting her head waiting for her next complaint. “You’re the one who can’t control her damn emotions! I thought we got past the emotionally fragile chaos or do I need to train you again?” The normally calm, level headed demeanor of the widow is gone instead replaced with snark and sarcasm. “I thought you were over the emo teenage phase.”

“Oh please, you couldn’t train me if you even tried. Don’t forget who always ends up begging to be used.” The arrogant look on the brunette’s face ticks at Natasha’s nerves, cutting deeper than it should have. “You may be daddy but we both know Mommy is in control in this house. Isn’t that right, my little Natsy?” Wanda calmly leans back, clasping her hands in her lap as she waits for a response. A small polite smile painted on her face, scrunching her nose as she watches the ginger stumble for a retort.

Natasha’s jaw clenches, her teeth grinding as she just glares at the younger girl. She stands from the bed, crossing to the small dry bar in the corner of the room. Grabbing a bottle of beer the ginger just leans against the counter as she sips, “When everything falls apart, and you’re the cause, don’t expect me to be there. I am telling you, right now for the last time, do not let your emotions win. This has been your issue since you came here, since we met. I have been there for every single time, good or bad, but I will not be able to look past it if you don’t listen to me this time. This isn’t about you anymore Wanda, don’t make it about you.”

The younger Avenger’s face is completely blank as she stares across the room, her eyes unfocused and emotionless. “And when you lose it all, everything, it won’t be me who falls apart. It won’t be the world or the situation, no. Natalia, my love, it’s going to be you. You will fall apart and you won’t have anyone to pick you up, no one to go to. Maybe I’ll be the cause, but you’ll be the only one dealing with a negative effect.” Before the Russian can even react the witch dissipates into scarlet mist, her infamous head tilt sullen void of all viciousness.

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“We shouldn’t have split up! I told you!” The young boy’s voice cracks as he stands behind the couch, flailing his arms around.

Your focus doesn’t waver, even as he screams and panics, eyes stuck on your part of the screen. You knew that at least three of the last players were near you, the others scattered across the rest of the map. “You’re just mad that you died and can’t come back.”

Not a single sound has come from the blonde next to you, eyes focused and breath hitched as she waits. “Peter, how is it that you are an Avenger when you cannot handle a simple video game?” While you play up close, chaotic and all over the map; you know that Yelena has taken out at least one person that was on your tail from where she is hidden on the hillside. “Circle is closing in, three at six only one with a mask.”

It was your normal take down; you were in charge of taking the mask down by a surprise attack while your best friend would be sniping down the last players. Breath was baited across the three of you, knowing this was the end of a tournament and this would win it for you. The focus was so intense that even though none of you were making a single sound, no one noticed the elevator dinging and Natasha walking in swinging her car keys.

The ginger stands back, amusement filling her body as she watches the three of you jump up excitedly when the screen displays your victory. When your eyes catch her shiny leather jacket, your entire demeanor shifts. Jumping over the couch you just barely manage to stay on your feet as you fall into the widow’s arms. “Daddy! You’re here?” She was supposed to be spending the day with Wanda, and you had planned to spend the entire day playing in Call of Duty tournaments.

Yelena is shoving you to the side, shoving her face against her sister’s shoulder and curling into her side. “Please say you are not only here for your toy.” The white widow looks up at her sister, a small pout on her lips. “You’re gonna stay at least for a little, right?”

Peter hangs down from the ceiling, holding out a bowl of chips with a hopeful face. “Yeah Ms. Widow, please hang out with us for a little bit at least. We have an extra controller.” The three of you start tugging on her shirt, trying to get her to sit down on the couch. Pleading and prodding until she finally laughs and gives in.

Yelena and Peter are trying to argue over how to teach the older widow how to play, while she just pulls you closer to her. “Hello my девочка, have you been having a good day?” Before you can even answer, she’s pulling you into a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, but she’s pulling away before you can really enjoy it. A boop to your nose is her attempt to shush you as the youngest spider in the room finally screeches out in his victory.

He tosses your controller in your lap and quickly sets up a web above the three of you so that you and Yelena can cuddle into Nat while you all play. “Okay Ms. Widow, we’re going to be playing on my terms! We all stay together and protect each other.”

For the next few hours the four of them yell and scream, playing round after round of CoD, and letting the ginger’s mind be distracted a little while.

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The stairs up to your apartment are always brutal when the raven haired girl was so exhausted, sore and just entirely over the day. She had spent the entire day before on a mission that Clint gave her, one that was still following him even into his days of retirement. Excited to crawl into your bed, she knew that Lucky would be lounging there as well–warming the blankets for her.

The front door is heavy as the archer puts her entire weight into opening it, a relieved sigh as she finally leans against it as it clicks shut. When the lovable golden doesn’t come running, Kate’s eyes finally open. Flinching in her spot on the ground when she sees Wanda, sitting with her legs crossed staring at her. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were going to be here. I was just going to take a bit to relax somewhere that was quiet.”

The archer sees Lucky curled up next to the witch, completely passed out and snoring gently. Watching as the older woman curls in on herself, wrapping her arms around her body like armor, Kate wants to reach out but stops herself in a moment of doubt. “It’s alright I wasn’t really meant to be here either, I just didn’t know where to go.” The two sit there in silence for a while, awkward and heavy as they avoid eye contact as well.

Getting up from her spot on the floor shakes the atmosphere, waking up the retriever as well. Pointedly glaring at the floor as she crosses to the kitchen, Kate takes her time pouring a drink and taking small sips from the glass. Licking at her lips, the young girl tries to figure out what to say to break the tense atmosphere. “I could go for a snack, want to join?”

Wanda’s furrowed brows flinch, almost like she forgot the other girl was there while she got lost in thought. Stuttering, a moment of weakness that she lets slip through her normal stoic shield shocks her counterpart but the Sokovian is nodding and standing quickly. “I need to run a few errands anyways, would you join me?”

It’s obvious that the two don’t know how to spend time alone together, needing some sort of distraction the two quickly jump at the chance to fill their unexpected time together with stores and whatever random food they can find during their trip. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Curled up on the ginger’s lap, snacking on the bowl of popcorn you were incredibly happy to see the opening credits of Wall-E. The others left after being called to training, so you were just getting some lazy attention from your daddy. Groping at your body, it was just enough for you to feel squirmy but not enough to fully take your attention away from one of your favorite movies.

The two of you enjoyed the movie mostly in silence for almost thirty minutes, by that point in the movie Natasha had gotten bored of not having your focus so she seemingly was letting you enjoy the film. Your eyes are scanning the television in front of you, watching as M-O goes rolling by. You can’t help it as a little happy squeal leaves your mouth at seeing the little cleaning bot, your favorite.

You aren’t sure if it was the sound you made or the little wiggle but it breaks whatever self control the ginger had. The bowl of popcorn is set aside, just out of reach of your slightly shiny buttered fingers and a pout makes its way onto your face. You aren’t given any time to truly complain before the widow has her hand wrapped around your throat, the free one shoving its way down your pants. It’s fast and rough, and with all the popcorn and soda you have had you feel gross. This wasn’t what you thought the night would be like, and you weren’t sure that your self esteem was up for it either.

Squirming, you just barely plop off the side of the Russian’s lap and you try to roll away but her calloused hands grip your hips. “Daddy what are you doing, no we were watching the movie!” You try to sound stern but your voice is already too squeaky and whiny. There was a time and a place for this, and you were not in the mood for your movie time to be interrupted.

The loud tearing of your pants makes the tantrum that is brewing begin to rapidly boil over, your feet kicking and your arms flailing as you try to get away from your normally soft daddy. “Daddy no! My pants!” You stretch, a feeble attempt at grasping for the torn pieces of fabric slipping down your legs.

Despite your efforts and your reluctance, none of it matters against the infamous widow’s strength. She easily flips the two of you over, your face smooshing into the couch right next to your bowl of popcorn. You can feel her between your legs, her finger grazing your clit makes your hips jump. Your body is already betraying you as you feel wetness start to grow between your thighs, but you can’t help the anger fueling your actions.

Natasha has you spread out, kneeling between your legs as she forces two fingers into you. She knows it isn’t soft, and though you are wet she knows you aren’t necessarily in the mood. The knowledge that it doesn’t matter, that you are getting something out of this urges her to continue; to get what she needs so that the rest of the day isn’t horrible. Each aggressive shove into the couch makes her flinch, but at the same time the widow can feel her anger from earlier in the day melting away.

The pain of her fingers moving inside you is almost too much, just barely staying on the pleasure side. No matter how wet you are, how your body reacts, you miserably look up at your movie and popcorn. “Daddy please stop. The movie is still going and my snack is gonna spill! Please wait!” Shoving at the hand that’s between your thighs is a lot of work, trying to get her to pull out.

A hand in your hair yanks you up, teeth biting into the side of your neck. “What’s a slut like you caring about a stupid bowl of treats for? You should be grateful I even let you have a handful of it.” Her voice is sharp, anger seeping into your bones as she speaks against your ear. She lets her thumb swipe against your throbbing clit, a dark chuckle at how hard it is. “If you care so much about your beloved popcorn, have some.” Before you can even really react, the ginger is shoving your face into the bowl.

You had to be grateful that this was just a snack and not some sort of liquid, but it didn’t stop you from flailing around as if you were going to drown. The screaming claws at your throat were muffled, despite the rawness they were causing. Even when your fist finally collides with her arm, Natasha doesn’t stop. If anything it makes her slip a third finger inside you, stretching you more and spitting on your red puffy cunt.

The force that the widow is fucking you is brutal, all her strength and training coming in handy as she fucks into you. It’s something that you aren’t prepared for with the ginger, usually she is much softer and loving, but you couldn’t deny that this was a huge turnon even as your body struggled to take what she was giving you. “I don’t care how much you cry and beg me to stop, all you are is a slutty little hole for Daddy to use. Your tears are doing nothing but turning me on more and making your popcorn all soggy.”

Dangling from the edge was normal for you, it was something that each one of your partners always liked to do. They said you looked pretty when you were desperate, but this seemed different. You weren’t sure what it was about but you knew that you weren’t in for an easy time tonight.

Natasha’s hand tangles in your hair and you internally cheer, thinking that you’re going to get reprise from salt and butter filling your senses, but instead she uses her grip on you to shove your face deeper into the bowl. The plastic rim digs into your neck, almost like a mock collar and you wish you could say that it wasn’t helping you drip around the fingers that are forcing their way into you.

“Don’t worry, princess, Daddy won’t ruin you too much. We all know you would whine to your Mommy too much, and I would prefer if she would just keep her mouth shut.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The young brunette spins around, holding two smoothies, looking around a bit before spotting the witch leaning against a lamppost. She takes the moment to watch her, Wanda’s face morphing into an obfuscated guise as she watches a couple play with their two children. The older woman had been having dreams of two little boys for the past few weeks, her dream of starting a family with someone still very far off.

Silence is heavy between the two, their usual buffers aren’t around. Even as they sip their drinks and walk around the park, the two don’t speak. The birds and distant conversation as they pass others fill the air, but there’s a tenseness that even confuses the witch. The thoughts of everyone around her are strong and loud, making it difficult for her to casually hear whatever the archer is thinking. It isn’t until she catches a glimpse of Kate flinching as they pass a couple joggers that she steps up to take control, directing them down a small path to a more private area. Happy to see a bench in a far corner, shade leaking over it from a few trees.

Wanda pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, playing with the straw, after the two settle on the wooden seat. She knows that she needs to do something, soothe the anxiety that is radiating from the archer’s thoughts. It wasn’t something that she was used to, the two of them only having a few deeper moments but this one felt different—unknown. She can see the younger girl getting stuck in her head, the glossy unfocused look in her eyes is a dead giveaway as she mindlessly watches the clouds roll by.

“You know, the world used to be really small as a kid. School, archery practice, martial arts days, whatever sport I was playing at the time, and friends. My life barely left the city, and even then it only left the state for vacations and tournaments. I know my life has always come with privilege and ease especially when compared to others on the Avengers. I was a rich kid who just so happened to lose their father. I know a lot of the rest of the agents and everyone might look at me and think I’m stupid and reckless. I know you look at me like I’m stupid and reckless. My father was stupid and reckless, and I loved him for that. He was everything my mother couldn’t be throughout the rest of my childhood and teenage years.” It’s a slow story, long pauses at the end of each sentence as Kate gathers her thoughts. This isn’t something that the witch asked for, and it wasn’t anything she had been expecting but she wasn’t going to stop the younger girl if she was ready to open up.

“My father was a good man, he was, but he wanted to keep a lifestyle for me that apparently we couldn’t keep while his company was failing. Bishop Security wasn’t the first company in the family. It was some firm, dealing with technology but it was going under. He almost lost the entire family fortune, but then the battle happened.” Wanda tried her best to not truly focus on the archer as she spoke, only nodding and giving quiet hums as warranted throughout. She knew that the younger girl despised eye contact, and never truly wanted to be the center of attention when her walls were crumbling around her.

“I spent months thinking that there was no way things could get better. How could it? I lost my dad, the man that spent his entire life thinking about me and how to make me happy. How can things get better when your family loses the glue that held it together?” The New Yorker’s voice cracked with each word, emotions building and swirling in her stomach as she tries her best to just get through this part of her life. It wasn’t something that she loved to talk about, and she hates that it is such a big part of who she is. Each word, each thought, was like a small knife slowly digging into each healed scar and reopening them.

“They were his best friends. The closest thing to family that my father actually loved outside mome and me. He would rave about them at all times, and they would spend vacations with us. The two of them were practically my uncles. They would attend family functions with us, and half the time I saw them more than I saw my actual family. Everyone knew that my father would have wanted them to take care of my mother and I. Keeping an eye on us, making sure we got back on our feet.” Risking a moment to look up at the other girl when her voice trails off, Wanda can see the completely empty distant look in her eyes. It’s almost like Kate no longer exists, just a shell of herself, as she stares unblinking at a random building. The witch desperately wants to peek into her mind, fast forward and find a way to comfort her properly with each word she says, but the boundary that is always between the two still exists. Even as every other wall comes tumbling down, and the archer is being so vulnerable, she still keeps up the barrier she built between herself and Wanda.

“It was a beautifully tragic situation really, almost like something in a documentary. They were supposed to protect me, my father trusted them with me. Why would my mother even suspect anything is wrong, especially when I didn’t even realize what was happening at first.” It’s almost like Kate doesn’t believe it still, her own life and past proof of everything. The naivety of a stolen childhood sinking into the situation truly shows how hard the girl’s brain worked to mask the pain she went through.

“It was only one of them for a little bit, they would go back and forth. Their little game and for so long all I craved was love. They told me…. it was love, I believed them.” Kate laughs, it’s dry and pathetic, but she still refuses to meet the older woman’s gaze. Even with the heavy silence hanging between the two, birds chirping and the distant sounds of the city around them, Wanda can’t bring herself to say anything yet.

“When it was both of them, it felt…different. They were angry and less loving, and that’s when I realized I don’t think they knew what love was. If this game, this thing, was love then it scared me. I didn’t want love if that’s what it was. I wanted to tell someone, but I couldn’t. Every single time I opened my mouth I was frozen in fear because I realized if I told someone they would go away.” Wanda watches the longer Kate talks the more she curls in on herself, even lifting her feet from the ground to shield her body with her legs. Sinking into her own body gave a physical barrier, makeshift armor even against the thoughts inside her own head that attacked her daily.

“The two people who reminded me so much of my dad would be gone forever. They were my favorite people in every moment but those. How could it be bad if they were so amazing in every other second of my life? Maybe I was the issue? Maybe I needed to be better or more well behaved during those times? Maybe if I was less scared during our game then it wouldn’t hurt as much and I could keep our little secret?” The witch could feel her anger rising, the chaos shaking under her skin. This wasn’t something she ever wanted to hear, a story that she never wanted to learn. Control she fought to have, over herself and everyone in her life, stripped before she even had the chance to assert it over the archer. Her control was her protection wrapped around the ones she loves, a shield that keeps them from harm even when she cannot be there.

“For years I tried to convince myself that they loved me, I didn’t understand it because I was too young. Each time I felt unsafe, I threw myself farther into sports–martial arts, fencing, boxing, anything that made me feel powerful. I would become stronger physically and one day when they made me feel unsafe, maybe just maybe, I could fight them. I never could. I was too weak, too petrified as soon as they looked at me. It was their eyes, something about them was so cold. They were never like that during the day, gorgeous sparkling eyes that welcomed everyone but they were empty and lifeless when we were alone. They boiled over in almost mindless anger every time we played their game, and it made me feel so small and young.” It’s almost like you can see the way the archer’s twitch, muscles screaming to move. Memories of movements, of self preservation and protection, spreading down her body.

“I hadn’t realized my mother came home early. They had me in the middle of the living room playing that day. I didn’t even hear her walk in or walk out. She didn’t say a word but the next day they were gone. Years of fear and shame, hating myself for letting it happen, seemingly ending overnight. We never spoke of it, not until a year later when I was named the youngest multi-sport Olympian at sixteen. She looked at me as that confetti came down during the celebration with such pride, but something wasn’t right.” Kate pauses, her eyes unfocused as she stares determinedly at the walkway in front of her. Her throat bobs, swallowing down whatever was coming next as she mentally prepares herself for the next apex of her life.

“Did you want it to happen?” The younger brunette scoffs loudly, the first sign of anger since the beginning. “Somewhere in that head of hers she struggled to think that these two guys who were such big parts of our family could hurt me, and instead pushed it onto me. Why would I want that? Why?! Huh!? Tell me why in the hell a little kid would want someone to touch them that way? To even think of them that way?” Wanda flinches at the pure hatred dripping from the archer’s tongue, her emotions and thoughts like flying knives through the air that strike the witch’s heart.

“The start of our strained relationship really, she loved me still but something broke between us that day. I started getting more and more into archery and doing things that I guess she didn’t like, and she was…getting more involved in her things as well. She was never really an affectionate person but I think I was so aggressively growing into my father’s personality, and that scared her. I leaned into the one true love I knew and it ended up with me learning his confident, arrogant ways.” The young girl’s lips quirk up a bit, a sly smirk appearing momentarily on her face. The first flash of the daily shine in her eyes since the beginning of the conversation, and it sinks into Wanda’s mind that it wasn’t who the young girl was. That shine, the rebellious smirk, and playboy stance was all a nod to the father that left her all alone–a last ditch effort at grasping for even a resemblance of identity.

“I didn’t know who I was for so long. I was just hiding that part of me from the world.” Wanda watches as the glazed look in the young girl’s eyes comes back, jaw slack as she tries to find the words she’s looking for. “It felt like…I wasn’t damaged but hollow. In moments of silence I couldn’t stop thinking about them, their words and their hands on me. In moments of nothing, they were all I had and it was haunting. No one noticed, I mean how could they know? I was still doing what I do best, thriving in the public eye. I won competitions, rose in ranks, collected awards and medals. Under the entirely fake mask, I was drowning. I couldn’t understand what to be, who to be, or what the world was.” Her sentence trails off, her eyes fluttering around as they hop from each animal around. The hush settles around the archer’s shoulders, a subtle darkness pushing her into herself. Even though her face stays unreadable, it’s her eyes that give her away. Ocean eyes where the waves crash violently against one another, angry and desperately trying to drown any other emotions; but failing as tranquil tears blurs her vision.

“It….It’s so exhausting being in my mind.” Kate’s voice wavers, breaking under the emotion clawing up her throat. “ I get most people aren’t comfortable in their own skin, nor are they really happy with themselves but I just.. I want to feel content with at least being me. But I hate it. I despise who I am, or at least who I remember being. Imagine that, I hate a rich little kid. A happy go lucky girl that was crazy and ambitious is my worst enemy. Something that most people wish for, I wish she would have just died. I hate her because that’s the last time I remember knowing who I was fully. Now I’m stuck behind a facade because it’s less tiring than being a shattered version of a failed human.” The sounds of children laughing and playing, and dogs barking, interrupt as the CEO takes a shaky breath in–almost a cruel irony.

“The mask became protection, a way to forget all the issues but being me… I didn’t know how to do that easily even by the time I made it to college. I was this shining light in New York, and in the country, but… I don’t even think I.. I couldn’t even feel happiness. Inside I felt so small and I couldn’t stop hearing every single word they ever said to me, and I would get so confused and broken because it still didn’t make sense to me.” Shakily, Wanda reaches out to gently tangle her fingers together with Kate’s. Thumb rubbing against the back of her hand, the witch tries to give any ounce of comfort she can. She watches as a tear rolls down the archer’s cheek, and in that moment she realizes just how gorgeous her eyes are. Foggy ocean blue, filled with viscous waves, red rimmed and unfocused.

“Love still didn’t make sense to me. My mom loves me and maybe a few family members, but was that really love or was that obligation? Were those four years of my life, four years playing a nefarious game, really the type of love that I deserved? Is that the love that I was destined to carry with me for the rest of my life?” Nodding, a wet anger shakes the young CEO’s voice as she holds herself together seemingly by an invisible tattered string. “I let that be true, letting anyone use me. My body became my best friend, something that got me whatever I wanted whenever I slipped off my clothing. An empty shell of who I could’ve been stripped down, exposed, to whoever wanted me that way. It was easier than getting close because how can I get close to someone if I don’t even know the person that they would be getting close to?”

The next pause was long, the older woman wouldn’t even be able to tell you how much time passed as she waited for the younger girl to speak again. Distant traffic sounds the only true thing that she could focus on, the rest of the park mostly cleared out at the moment. Her voice, when it finally does come back, is strong and true. The most confident it has been the entire day, and she could even see the difference in how her body relaxes. “You know…they saved me. I thought I was destined to be just some random guy’s bored housewife that was only around for their body and money. Falling in love with them was the best thing ever, and I work every single day to be a better person so that I never hold them back. I want to make sure that they thrive, and do amazing things, and I just get to be there while it all happens. They are my home, where my heart finds the most comfort.” Wanda’s breath hitches, an ache in her chest as she sits back and listens to the way Kate speaks about you. It wasn’t necessarily the words she spoke, things the witch had heard before, but it was the tone and conviction that the archer had that stopped her heart in her chest.

“I know, Toy is yours. I do, but sometimes I have this horrible wish that I met them first. It isn’t because I don’t want you guys in the picture because I don’t think I can imagine Toy without you guys, or life really without this dynamic now. I just…if i met them first..maybe I would matter more..?” Kate’s voice cracks, trailing off as tears fall. “I know I don’t have many appealing qualities, and that I make life just that much more difficult but maybe if we met earlier…maybe you could have fixed me. I know I’m not enough by myself, but maybe if I had more time with Toy I could have matured enough that you guys would like me more. Maybe..I don’t know.. Maybe the dynamic would be better? Somehow? I’m just…I’m trying my hardest to just be someone…something you want. I want to be perfect or as close I can get to it for you, then maybe you’ll love me and want me even just a fraction of how much you care for Toy.” The insecurities bubbled up, spilling over as the archer rambled on.

Wanda waits, letting those last words hang in the air. The two were never good at the whole relationship side of the dynamic, something that always seemingly was left to their counterparts. It was dawning on the witch that maybe the two of them were more similar than she could have ever realized, the younger girl just a shell of who she could be covered in a well made coat of armor. “You know, Mongrel, maybe you really aren’t that bad. Maybe the dramatics that I’ve been told I’m famous for really shined through with you, and I let it take over too much. I’m pretty happy that Toy brought you home to us.”

Cloudy cobalt eyes snap up, heartbreakingly naive shock spreading across her face as she tries to gauge if Wanda is teasing her. “....I’m home…?”

“Yes..” Wanda hesitates, unsure of what to call the young archer. Her first name is almost foreign along her lips. “...Kate. I know things seem rocky and unnerving but you are more than enough for both Natasha and I. No matter our relationship with Toy, that doesn’t interfere with the foundation that we are trying to build with you. You don’t need fixing, maybe a little bit of training but it’s not because you’re broken or bring the dynamic down. We don’t want to take away who you are, маленький бродяга, because even if you don’t see who you are we can. Natasha and I are just working to help you shine, polish you up a bit, and help you focus so that you can continue to grow and thrive. We want you to be the you that you want in your dreams, but you’re enough now. You’re worth every moment of happiness, irritation, laughter, sorrow. I hear your thoughts, pretty girl, every day and I see the spark inside of you. It’s hidden behind walls and obstacles, and life hasn’t been nice to you, but I see it and at the end of the day I want that small flame to blaze. Set fire to the world because that’s what you remind me of. A strong roaring fire that truly could be an unstoppable force, and to be a part of that journey is an honor. To even be part of your life, even if it ends up being temporary is an honor. For as long as you’ll have us, have me, you are at home with us Kate.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were wiggling in your spot on the counter, watching Natasha cut up different veggies and fruits. Sipping on the juice box she handed you, the little flaps poking out to act as handles, you were excited for Wanda and Kate to get home. The events that caused the day to derail were still unknown to you, but hopefully your idea of a picnic would help everyone come back together and just feel happy. You knew that at the very least Mommy would be happy that you picked out healthy snacks, and at the very least you’ll watch your girlfriend adorably crunch on things.

It’s a quick tickle, fingers digging into your side, that pulls you from your thoughts. She’s handing you a carrot stick, raised eyebrow as she waits for you to complain but you surprise her by happily taking it. The sound of soft crunch accompanies the quiet chopping, your eyes glued to make sure the ginger cuts out all the correct shapes as she finally switches over to the fruit. Smiling you watch her tongue poke out, her forest green eyes focused on the small cuts she has to make. The widow for some reason was against just getting little cookie cutters, but you enjoyed watching her work.

The front door clicking closed catches your attention, and you’re happy that the blanket fort is already set up. As you snack on a heart shaped piece of watermelon you watch as the other half of your dynamic walks into the kitchen, fingers tangled together. Deciding to not mention it, in fear that they would shy away, you instead just wiggle in your spot. “Mommy! Katie!” Jumping off of the counter, you slip slightly on the tile flooring. Your girlfriend’s hand catches you, and you feel magic wrapping around your torso.

“Some things never change, do they little brat?” Flushing with embarrassment at Wanda’s tone you shove yourself into the archer’s side, hiding your face against her shoulder. Kate’s body wiggles as she laughs silently, letting you dig your way deeper into her arms. “It looks like you guys have been busy.” The witch takes note of the light bruises already forming on your arms and around your neck, but points to the living room and the tray of fruit the widow is preparing.

The oldest barely pay attention as they lock eyes, a silent conversation between the two. If you were to stop rambling, excited as you bounce on your toes, the intensity would be obvious but you were too eager to tell your girlfriend all about your day. Twin emerald souls fighting for dominance in a moment that only ends with the ginger rolling her eyes, a testy glare painted across her face as she yields to her more stubborn counterpart. The silent argument comes to an end when you finally catch on, a determined pout stretching across your face.

Reaching out you’re able to hook your fingers into the crook of Wanda’s elbow, pulling her attention to you. An attempt to mask the poked out bottom lip is made but you know by the glare you receive that you failed, but she lets it slide when you start tugging her towards the living room. “Daddy and I set up everything and I even asked for healthy snacks!” You can feel how tense the witch is, the tension in the room is building and even with your back turned it’s like a weight slamming against you.

Looking up at Kate, you can see her eyes are a bit unfocused and distant. Even though the shining glint is there something is dimming the light in her, you can tell a largely dramatic event happened earlier in the day. Completely unsure of what is happening, you can feel the insecurities starting to rise but the pressure to somehow fix it starts clawing at your throat. Swallowing down your own feelings, you let your eyes slam shut as you plop down onto the blankets laid out on the floor. Taking a deep breath in, you try to shake the worries from your body as you can feel the others settle around you.

It’s almost like clock work, barely registering in your mind as you let all your random thoughts that are in your mind drain out through your mouth. Rambling and allowing pent up energy to just mindlessly happen. When Nat finally interrupts you, shoving a fruit kabob into your hand, it shocks you. Hyperfocusing on the different shapes you zone out, even as you are being moved you just nibble at the star shaped apple piece.

Soft kisses along your shoulders, and a gentle hand rubbing up your side, shakes you. “There’s my gorgeous little one, where’d your mind go?” Her voice is gentle, lips moving against your ear. The other half of your group is wrestling over the biggest piece of watermelon, and you can’t help but half-hearted snort. Wrapping your fingers around the older woman’s wrist, you trace along her skin and just lightly shake your head.

Bumping your temple gently against Wanda’s, the two of you settle back as you watch Natasha and Kate roll around. It doesn’t take long for one of them to kiss the other, messy and harsh. It’s almost the exact opposite of the touches that are being left on your body, the witch letting her fingertips do all the work. You can’t quite tell if it’s magical or if it’s actually her, but it’s leaving you panting. “You like watching them, pretty girl?” It’s a question that needs no real answer, she knows the answer. It’s a distraction now, a thing for Wanda to focus on so that she can ignore the gnawing feel in her stomach.

Even as her teasing touch spreads across your body, and you begin wiggling at the sight of the other two, the older woman pushes the forgotten apple star to your mouth. “Don’t go wasting any food, little one.” Mindlessly you nibble on the piece of fruit, obedient even as your mind fixates on the dull throbbing between your thighs. You can see in the corner of your eyes a scarlet mist, floating through the air slowly. It feels warm against your skin and you try your hardest to not make the chaos controller angry, swallowing the last bite down at the first sound of Kate moaning across from you.

Her face is shoved into the pillows on the floor, hands behind her back and Natasha’s favorite strap filling her to the brim. You could see her torn pants thrown, and the bright red nail marks already raising along the porcelain skin. “She’s so pretty isn’t she, detka? All filled with your Daddy’s cock, though I bet your needy little pussy is aching to be full too.” Her thumb makes contact with your clit for the first time, and the chuckle she lets out against your temple makes you clench around nothing. “You’re so wet already, and no one has even touched you babygirl.”

You can already feel your thighs shaking, exerting as much effort as possible to try and keep your legs open without being reprimanded. The feeling of Wanda playing with you is amazing, and it’s pulling you under the thrashing waves in your brain. The space she adores you in, and you know your eyes are glazing over with each word she speaks and each swipe of her thumb. The tingly feeling over your body spreads quickly, and you can feel yourself falling into the trap that she always sets for you. “Not so fast Toy, go over to those two for me. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She’s pushing your body forward, urging the crawling before you can really register what is happening but Kate’s head is yanked up as you get closer. Her moans and whimpers loud now that they aren’t muffled, echoing in the small blanket fort. Oceans blue eyes are glazed over and for the first time there’s a different vibe to this half of the quad. “Look at the pretty Toy, lil mutt. Why don’t you ask if she wants you to play with her?”

The shock is hard to hide when you realize that Nat isn’t being rough with your girlfriend, her tone is light–almost playful as she ruts into her. You had never really seen the two of them be gentle, but you couldn’t help but admire it. You barely remember to answer when Kate finally does ask you, a muttered yes as she pulls you to lay in front of her. Legs falling apart, spread out in front of her face, Kate’s eyes clear momentarily as she wiggles happily.

Her first lick at you is hesitant, unsure without the permission of Natasha, but when no reprimanding comes about her tongue leaves more pressure. You so desperately want to keep your head up, watching as she struggles to focus between your thighs, but when she sucks your clit into her mouth your head slams back against the floor. “That’s such a good little mutt, wind up our precious toy.”

Kate’s moans vibrate through your body, each snap of the ginger’s hips push both of you to the edge. The sloppy tongue lapping at you slips into you, the hand in her hair forcing her forward until the tip of her nose rubs up against your clit. You want to make fun of her, tease her just a little that she’s getting fucked so good that she can’t even focus on you. All thoughts go out the window when you make eye contact with her, the dark cobalt almost black eyes staring you down screaming a silent plea.

The sight Wanda comes back to is something that she always finds magical, even more so than the type she controls. She loves watching her girls all in sync, desperate to get the other ones off. It’s messy and it makes her chuckle, knowing the three of them are always just slightly lost without her there. Slipping behind Natasha, the witch lets her hands smooth up her stomach as it flexes. “Come on Natsy, you’re barely fucking your mutt. Something wrong?”

The older Avenger grunts, trying to shake the hands off of her body to no avail. She knows she won’t be able to shove off the witch when she’s in this mood, so she just huffs and focuses on the way her hips snap into the archer. Watching her strap disappear into her wetness, a shiny gleam left behind. Seeing her cunt stretch around her cock is something that the Russian can never truly get over, a sight that not many get to see. Hearing the muffled whimpers as Kate tries her best to stay coherent enough to get you off is driving the older woman crazy, struggling to keep the atmosphere that is set for the scene.

She knows something happened during her counterparts’ day out, the two came back entirely different, and while she had no idea what occurred she didn’t want to break the light bubble they created. She knew that the other three were having a blast, but she was scared that if she allowed herself to fall into the soft side of the world with the mutt that she wouldn’t be able to climb out of it at the end of the day.

Wanda sighs, watching the ginger’s eyes glaze over as her movements go into autopilot. Knowing that the rest of the night can’t have Natasha in charge, she moves around the group. Pulling Kate’s face from your cunt with her magic, she chuckles when she sees the unfocused eyes and wet chin. “We’re moving this cute little nest upstairs, brace yourselves.” Reaching down to cradle your head, she winks at you before you all are magically transported up stairs. The lights floating above you now, and the blankets acting as curtains hiding you all from the rest of the world.

You’re sitting between the witch’s legs, and if you wiggle just right you can feel your favorite strap rubbing against your ass. Kate is still bouncing with the gentle thrusts, and you can see the widow who is staring down at her. Wanda’s arm wraps around you, pulling you up enough for her to swipe the tip of her strap through your folds. “You’re going to be a good girl and grind on Mommy’s cock, and you’re little stray is going to put her tongue to work on your aching clit. How does that sound? I know you’re just so desperate to get off, little one.” With a curl of her finger, scarlet mist wraps around the archer’s neck pulling her forward until she is just out of reach of your pussy.

Slowly, her hand on your hip guides you down the length of her cock. It’s always a bit of stretch no matter how many times she fucks you with it, and it makes you whine every single time. Pathetic and high pitched, your noises just makes Kate squirm; impatience setting in.

Eyes flutter as you finally bottom out, the feeling of being full settling in your stomach makes you already start to feel all fuzzy. “Mommy…so full” Your voice is already slurred, the arousal that burned in your stomach while your girlfriend ate you out came back with a blazing vengeance quickly. Clenching around her cock made you whimper, pushing yourself closer to the edge accidentally. “Wanna cum please.”

Wanda giggles, an almost too innocent sound right up against your ear. “Oh baby, I love how stupid you get when you’re filled with my cock. Just a mindless little toy anytime I fill you, and you wanna know the best part, my love?” You barely nod, head falling back against her shoulder. She moves your hips so that the head of her strap is rubbing against the soft spot inside of you. “Mommy is going to fill you with her cum, going to claim you and paint your walls with crimson so that no one else can ever touch you without my permission again.”

Wanda wasn’t quite sure where the sudden possessiveness came from, maybe it was the deep fear that someone could lay their hands on you without being allowed to or maybe it was just the need to remind you that she owns you. She lets her nails drag heavily against the glowing mark on your ribs, smiling to herself when she sees her hips jump. Regardless she watches your wetness drip around her cock, leaving Kate to lick her lips as she struggles to not surge forward. Letting her free hand lay along your stomach, pressing gently, she smiles against your neck as you let out a feral moan. “Free, Stray.”

Kate barely waits for the two words to fully leave Wanda’s mouth, rushing forward to lick around the strap. She moans against you, vibrations making your eyes roll back, as she gets another taste of you. Wrapping her lips around your clit, she looks up at your face as she sucks. Seeing you blissed out, eyes completely unfocused as you try to nod along with whatever the witch is whispering into your ear makes her own arousal skyrocket. With each snap of the ginger’s hips, she forces the young girl towards the edge and leaves her hanging. She knows that the witch probably wants the two of them to cum together so Natasha tries her hardest to not mess with the idea.

It’s almost embarrassing how close you are so quickly, but you try to remind yourself that you are still overly sensitive from earlier that day. Your cunt still red, raw, and puffy from the abuse that it withstood from your Daddy. You try to remind yourself of these things when Wanda’s hand wraps around your throat, rings digging into your pulse point. Vision blurring as your moans and whimpers become incoherent, the only you can really focus on is how each mumbled word spoken into your ear is cracking the tense coil in your stomach.

Your thighs are shaking and you can’t even tell if you’re actually moving anymore or if it’s the magic wrapped around you. Opening your mouth you try to beg for something, anything because you don’t want this night to end. Even if there is an underlying tenseness, you feel like something happened that changed the dynamic forever; something so amazing and you want to live in this moment forever. You know you can’t, your self control over your orgasm is long gone and you’re just holding on for dear life. Breathing is entirely too difficult, but that’s okay because you can feel every single thing.

Wanda’s lips, a subtle smile as she talks you through everything. Her strap rubbing against the most sensitive part inside of you, and the coil shattering. Kate’s lips wrapped around your clit, her teeth grazing it every so often making your hips jump. Natasha’s hips brutally rutting into your girlfriend, with each thrust shoving her face up against you. It’s too much and tears quickly spill down your cheeks as you sob. Overwhelmed and stuck on the edge until you’re given permission, your frustration bubbles over and you know that it’s exactly what the witch wanted when she takes over for you. Her hips thrusting up into you, as her magic pushes the archer’s face away from you. “That’s it baby, let it all out. You’re gonna cum for Mommy right after she cums in you. Understand? You don’t have to ask.”

Nodding aggressively, you aren’t even sure if she answers. Holding on for dear life, you can feel the older woman start to lose control and her hips are ramming into you with a force that makes your head flop around. The feeling of her cum shooting into you, flooding you with warmth, almost makes you lose control but it’s Kate reaching up and tangling your fingers together that shatters the coil in your stomach. Waves of blazing arousal searing their way throughout your body, and it’s almost too painful.

The kisses left along the nape of your neck are soothing as you attempt to control your breathing, your heart racing as your body deals with the aftershocks. Entirely too sleepy, and your brain can’t even comprehend the words that Wanda is whispering to you. The only thing that even makes sense is when she says Mommy. When you finally open your eyes, you see Natasha pinning Kate down, licking slowly at her face as it drips with wetness. It makes you whine and even though you’re entirely too overstimulated your hips mindlessly grind down on the strap still firmly inside you.

A tap along your temple, and a gentle kiss to your cheek, is the last thing you remember before your eyes flutter closed. “Playtime is over, detka.” Wanda’s hushed voice echoing through your head as your body relaxes completely into hers.

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The two are leaning against the bed frame, silent as they watch their two younger counterparts sleep. Though they just finished having fun, they know that their issues aren’t fixed. Their days were completely different, both coming out of the experiences with what feels like renewed energy is slightly throwing off their own personal relationship dynamic. The ginger can’t help how her gaze flickers over to her girlfriend, emotions threatening to bubble up her throat. Gnawing on her bottom lip, her eyebrows furrow as she tries to figure out what she wants to say.

“You know, the longer you stare at me the louder the little sighs you let out get.” Wanda’s winks teasingly at the older woman, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

The Russian pulls a pillow into her lap, careful to not disturb the heavy head leaning on her leg. She lets the silence blanket around the group as she gathers her thoughts. “I’m not proud of it, but I took my anger with you out on the little toy today. I know that they don’t care, and that it’s something that they in theory enjoy but I never wanted to do that. It was something that I told myself I wouldn’t do, no matter how much she likes it.” The widow shushes the young witch when she goes to speak, an attempt to calm her thoughts. “No, you know I wanted a different type of dynamic with them. I didn’t want that kind of roughness, and disconnect. It works for some relationships, and it’s beautiful between you two but it was never what we built ours around. Seeing you and Kate come home, from whatever you guys did, it sort of hit me how unfair it could be perceived. How I let my anger take over the power I have over them, she just wanted to eat popcorn and watch her little movie. Something happened when you two were out, something good, and on the opposite end I feel like I caused issues.” Nails scratching at her shins, a nervous tick that Wanda picks up on immediately and reaches out to lay a gentle hand on her.

It takes a moment but when Wanda finally talks, her voice cracks a few times. “I- this isn’t really the environment to talk about your issues, now is it Natalia?” The ginger’s head shoots up, shock and despair filling her body. Anger wasn’t what she was expecting from the witch right now, if anything she thought that she would be in tune with the emotions that she’s freely showing. Her younger girlfriend is always asking for her to express what she is thinking and feeling without the need for magic, and here she’s doing that but it’s being met with hostility.

Before either could make another snarky comment, Kate’s body jostles as she starts waking up. Rolling over, rubbing at her eyes, she’s surprised to see the older women staring down at her. Awkwardly waving at the two, the archer rolls around in an attempt to sit up without waking you. Even after the three settle comfortably on the bed, your head nestled against the youngest’s thigh, the silence lays heavy over them. Just as the Russian was going to speak up, she is interrupted by a shaky voice. “Wanda you don’t have to treat me like I’m going to break the moment you touch me.”

It’s blunt and even with the waver in her voice it still shocks the older women, neither really hearing her be so confident in a statement towards them before. The moment of conviction, even though brief, is already taking a toll on the youngest. Kate curling in on herself, slow as she still takes your sleeping form into consideration. Almost as if the archer is protecting not only herself but you, the only other person who had ever seen her so vulnerable. Even though you aren’t an active participant of the conversation, you lay there as a barrier between the three.

The relief that floods Kate’s body when Wanda finally picks up on her silent pleas, her quiet voice filling the air as she relays the words that are stuck clinging to the walls of the younger brunette’s throat. Focusing instead on the way you breathe in your sleep, chest rising slowly with each indication that you are safe and alive. Your eyes are moving about, dreaming of something, and for the moment the archer is able to focus on the fact that you are breathing.

Even as the words fall from her mouth, and she can see the emotions flooding the ginger’s eyes in her peripheral vision, Wanda can’t help but stare at the two of you. Something in her heart was telling her that she needed to listen to Natasha. She has what she needed, she loves the spy and knew that in her soul but she couldn’t help but want just a little more. When she met you, she knew she had to have you; but never in what capacity. It was something that was ever growing, never something stationary.

She never really thought that she would ever have to decide, a part of her always believed that you would be forever obsessed with her; and Natasha in extension. The year long mission was something that wrecked all of her plans, the downfall of her control. Control not only over you, but over herself. She knew that it wouldn’t be long until someone fell for you, and while she would have preferred for you to not find yourself infatuated with them she knew that it didn’t matter.

The mark that lays along your ribs, a moment of weakness and desperation, is a reminder of the devotion she has to you. A physical representation of her inner thoughts, even if you just thought it was her possession and ownership over you. Now, watching this moment between you and Kate, it’s different for Wanda. She sees something that could even break her magic, something that nothing can break and it’s starting to take a toll on her mind.

The Sokovian doesn’t realize that she’s whispering by the end of the story, stopping just at the archer’s feelings for you. Blinking, she tears her gaze from the two of you, pointedly avoiding the ginger’s curious look when the youngest speaks up. “I don’t..this isn’t something that I want to change the dynamic. If I thought I couldn’t handle it I wouldn’t be here, and anyways they help me a lot whenever they think it's overwhelming.” The ocean blue eyes are calm, void of waves crashing against one another, as she looks down at you. “I always thought love was this fight, something that if it was rocky and unstable then it wasn’t real. I thought that love was aggressive and mean, leaving you to trudge through this fog that never let up even after finally finding the other person.”

She doesn’t notice the other two, retracting into themselves as their thoughts begin to take over and leave them gasping for air as the waves that no longer find homage in the archer’s eyes start to drown them. “Until I met this nerdy quiet girl, who somehow saw straight through every single one of my normal games. It didn’t matter what I said or what stupid line I used, even though text, she had me wrapped around her finger the moment we started talking. I learned that love is a fight, but it isn’t violent or angry. You have to fight for each other.” Her voice hushes as you move around in your sleep, subconsciously gripping her shirt as you pull her closer.

Wanda’s eyes flicker when she gets a flash of strong emotion from Natasha, something that momentarily breaks her normal stoic mask before she is able to paste it back together. The witch wants to reach out, apologize for everything and comfort the widow but she knows that this isn’t the time nor place to do so. This isn’t about them and she can see the assassin slowly building even more walls then she originally had. “It isn’t about fighting each other, nor is it fighting to be that number one position in their lives. As their partner shouldn’t be their number one priority. You came into their lives, you know? They had an entire life before you, family and friends and responsibilities. Their life was filled with things pulling their attention and their focus, and as a partner I learned it isn’t about fighting for attention. It’s about fighting for your partner. There’s days where maybe they can’t do everything, so you do it for them. There will be days where maybe they can’t put everything into you because it isn’t fair to expect them to, and that’s when you fight for them. You fight to make their life easier and make it more enjoyable, to make sure that when everything else in life is finally slowed down that they can live in the moment with you. You aren’t there to take over their life but make it better, and make the time you have with them some of the best memories they could ever even imagine.”

Kate sighs, finally lifting her head to look at the other two. “I know this isn’t everything that love is about, and maybe I’m so wrong but for me that’s how I see it.” She looks so small as she starts to second guess everything she just said. The silence starts to make her anxious but when she makes eye contact with Wanda her muscles relax.

Shaking her head, the witch’s eyes flash red as she tries her hardest to settle the insecurities bubbling into the young brunette’s head. She knows that the conversation is over, and while this wasn’t exactly how she thought this would go she knows that there was no point. Natasha has already withdrawn into herself, the mask back as protection. Wanda watches as the ginger stands and begins her normal bedtime routine, footsteps not making a sound as she pads around the room.

Kate opens her mouth to say something but the older brunette just shushes her gently, leaning over and leaving a soft kiss on her cheek. “Lay down, malý zatúlaný. We’ll talk more later, okay?” It almost breaks her heart as Kate settles in bed, curling slowly around your body with a blank stare as she whispers out a confirmation that she heard the plans. “This isn’t about you, yes? I need you to know that. I meant what I said earlier, and us knowing what happened doesn’t change anything. Natasha just needs a moment to deal with things outside of this, and then she will come back.” It’s enough for the young CEO to relax a bit, color returning to her face as she lets the words sink into her heart.

Slowly walking out of the room, Wanda makes sure that the two wouldn’t wake up as she shuts the door before she briskly walks down the hall to where she knows the widow would be just sitting. Scoffing as she sees her making a cup of tea, the witch cracks her neck as she sets her hands on the counter. “You know, I never thought you would be such a heartless bitch but once an emotionless assassin always one apparently.”

Natasha takes her time, stirring the honey into her tea as she normally would and even taking a taste of it before finally turning around to face the witch. Her vibrant forest green eyes rimmed with red as she held back tears, a fake smile plastered on her face. “You think I don’t care about the life of Kate, don’t you? I’m just a soulless monster? Let’s talk about you and your dreams, about the things you know you’re destined to become.”

Wanda laughs, high pitched and delirious. “This wasn’t about you or your feelings Natalia. Tonight was the time to put everything about yourself to the side and be there for Kate, and you couldn’t even do that. You couldn’t be selfless for even a fucking hour and I think it’s ironic you bring up a stupid prophecy when you were literally born to be a killer. We both were fucked from the moment we took a breath on this stupid rock, Romanoff. You were the one who told me that, and guess what it’s coming back to haunt you.” The agent thought the witch would be angry, let her emotions get the best of her, but for the first time it’s almost like she’s numb.

The older woman sighs, taking a sip of her tea as she stares at the younger girl over the rim of the mug. Steam almost distorts the image of her counterpart as she lets her words sink in, thinking over what she wants to say. “You know, it’s really funny that you talk about putting our feelings to the side and being all altruistic. Aren’t you the one drooling over Kate’s girlfriend? You think I didn’t see your little heart eyes literally while you were talking about the traumatic experiences? What do you think she would think if she knew your true feelings, hm? She’s oh so protective over the little toy, you really think she would trust you with her heart? Especially because you can’t hide who you are going to become, it’s destiny that you fall into that madness; at least mine was always around.” Setting down her cup, she takes a seat on the bar stool so that she can comfortably lounge.

“Maybe Kate would be mad, maybe she would be hesitant but let me ask you a question. What will our little princess think when her precious Daddy doesn’t love her? That when you look at her, it isn’t who you want to see anymore? You don’t just call her anymore to see her, but to see if her girlfriend will show up too? I might be destined for madness but at the end of it I’ll still have my Toy, and in the end I believe I’ll have Kate too. What will you have? Your anger and regret?” Wanda spins around, deciding that she is done with this conversation. She has a pull, a need to be near both you and Kate.

“She’s OUR toy and Kate is MY mutt!” Natasha is leaning across the counter now, hands slapping down on the marble.

The echoing mocking laughter rings in her ears as she watches the witch walk away, “We’ll see about that.” It isn’t yelled, but placed in her mind as she watches the younger woman slip into the bedroom. The lock clicking into place is a sure sign that she would be sleeping on the couch tonight.

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