#this is very rough and subject to change but it’s been rattling around in my head all day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohtobeleah · 1 year ago

Note

Eeep!! Yes! So excited for an Iris update! We’ve been waiting!

Let’s call this the mid season kick starter shall we? It’s been a hot minute but let’s get back into this series.

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Jake Seresin x Younger F!reader. High tensions. Self doubting reader.

-> Read the rest of I.R.I.S here

There’s a lot of things that rattle around in Mickey Garcia's head during the day. He sometimes catches himself thinking about if he checked the expiration date on his milk before he made his morning coffee. Sometimes he catches himself thinking that he should call his Abuela on his lunch hour just to check in. There’s times where he finds himself daydreaming about being off on vacation and not teaching a class on weapons systems malfunctions, specifically deadeyes and how to combat them in a mid air raid.

He can usually reel in his mind when it starts to wander off. But the thought of Jake and you being a couple had him so distracted that it’s Bob's voice that’s breaking through the haze of incredibly concerning R rated imagery that’s been clogging Fanboys imagination for the better half of ten minutes. Nothing else seems to break the trance.

“You okay Mick? You’ve been grading the same paper for like ten minutes.” Bob asked quietly as they sat in the rec room. Grading the last of the papers they’d been assigned to go over. “You look a little green around the grills.” Mickey doesn’t hesitate to ask his best friend if he knew what was going on. Fanboy didn’t ask to be subjected to this kind of abuse. He didn’t wanna fucking know about Jake Seresins latest conquest and he surely didn’t want to know it was Pete Mitchell’s only daughter.

“Did you know that Hangman was seeing someone?” Two fucking days. “Y/n.” That’s how long Mickey Garcia kept the secret that Rooster had accidentally let slip. Bob's eyes lit up like he’d just been told the world's most unbelievable story. “Like, that’s not supposed to happen right? Jake doesn’t do commitment.” Bob felt like he’d entered a paradox where Jake Seresin was capable of love, but then he remained that you were who you were.

“Fuck!” Bob didn’t want to intrude, he really didn’t. “Jake!” But he needed to change his undershirt something chronic. It was the hottest day on record by far and Bob had been up flying with the new recruits all morning. The ones who flew with back seaters that was. Turns out? The closer you get to the sun in a multimillion dollar tin bird the hotter it gets and Bob was not dealing with it. At all.

“Oh my god you feel so fucking good—“ Bob couldn’t see it, which was probably a good thing, but Jake had your legs wrapped around his very naked, very wet hips as he fucked you against the rules of one of the few showers in the men’s line clears room. “So fucking good for me aren’t you?”

“I’m gonna be sick—“ Bob mumbled to himself as he shook his head and took his shirt off. He peeled the black cotton T up over his head and threw it into his locker with a huff. Here he was, slaving away in the damn heat all the while Hangman was getting his dick wet with some unknown tail. “Hey! Hangman! Get the hell out here before I report you for misconduct!”

Jake stilled himself inside you, god he was so close. But as you looked at him with lustful, seductive eyes that had a chokehold on his ability to think rationally—he cupped a large slightly rough palm over your mouth so he knew for sure you couldn’t try anything.

“You wouldn’t?” Jake countered Bob's threat as he slowly but surely rocked himself deep inside you.

“Try me—“ Bob hissed as he changed out his undershirt. “I’ve been busted my ass all morning and you're in here with some girl busting a nut?” Silence fell in the men’s locker room as Bob and Jake fell into a standoff. All that could be heard was the running water gushing from the shower head. Bob broke the silence with another threat. “I’m about five seconds away from peering over the top of the door to see who’s decided you’re worth catching a venereal disease from.”

Again, silence fell in the locker room as Hake slipped out of you and placed you down. He made sure your feet were steady on the ground before he let you go, before he took his hand away from your mouth and pinched your hardened nipples.

“I’m clean!” Jake shouted as you let out a small audible moan that made Jake's cock twitch with need and desire. “And that’s a little perverted of you Floyd.”

“Shocking.” Bob couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. “Hurry up, before I change my mind!” Jake planted one final kiss upon your lips before he was leaving you in the shower stall with a towel wrapped low on his hips.

“Jake doesn’t do love Mick.” Bob wanted to throw up at the thought of it being you in the shower. “But apparently does Captains daughters just for the thrill of it.”

“Who does captain's daughters?” Phoenix made her presence known as she flopped down on the nearby couch. Her and Rooster were just coming in from a hop. The look on Bradleys face told her everything she needed to know, there was gossip and gossip would be shared because she didn’t know about it. “Oh my god, spill the beans—“ Fanboy and Bob are tight lipped as they go back to grading papers. Rooster chooses to look anywhere but a Phoenix as she begins her investigation. “Who’s doing Mavs daughter?”

“No one!” Bradley tries to steer Phoenix away from Jake’s trail. He’s in too deep to watch this all collapse now.

“Is it Rebound?” When Phoenix started throwing callsigns up and into the wind it had Mickey bursting at the seams. He can’t keep a secret to save his soul. It was actually quite shocking he hasn’t been pulled for a disciplinary hearing this far along in his career. His Abuela definitely knew about a handful of highly classified documents. “Krod?”

“It’s Hangman—“ Silence had never been so loud before as Phoenix turned to Fanboy with a glare so full of concern it made his stomach ache. Bradley had, in that very moment, already begun planning his funeral. This couldn’t get any worse. “It’s Jake, he’s apparently dating Iris.”

“Says who!” Natasha’s eyes were wide and full of an inability to believe this wasn’t some kind of cheese nightmare. “Who would start such a ridiculous rumour Mickey?” Rooster tried to hightail it out of the rec room before Mickey could throw him under the bus, but it was to no avail. Fanboy was saying his name faster than Phoenix could turn around and grab at his flight suit. Which she aultimanty did.

“Rooster—“

“It’s not a rumour!” That was all Bradley’s defense relied upon. The fact that none of this was a rumour. That you and Jake were actually grounded in facts. “They’ve been messing around since the weekend before the new recruits started!” If there was one person Bradley Bradshaw was scared of besides Maverick when he found out just who’d been doing his daughter, it was Natasha Trance. She was a no bullshit type. And this? This was all a bunch of bullshit, wasn’t it. “I swear!”

“Bradshaw, Hangmans a hell of a lot of things but he wouldn’t do that?” The rec room fell silent, who was Phoenix trying to kid? She’d known Jake Seresin for as long as she’d been in the Navy and his moral code fluctuated between semi realistic to none existent any given day of the week. “Would he?”

“He would and he is and they’re together Nix.” Bradley ran the palms of his hands down his exhausted face. “But I’m glad you have to share this burdening secret too.”

“Where is he?” Bradley knew exactly where Jake was. He was off with you, in secret, because that’s all Jake did these days—he just hid away with his burdening secret as the hands of inevitability slowly wrapped around his neck. “Bradshaw where, is, he?”

“He’s with Iris—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

All the while Natasha was losing her mind of the new revelations that had come to light about Hangman's newest conquest, you and Jake could be found in the back seat of Jake F-150. Eating your lunch in the peaceful tranquillity of your small little bubble.

“What’s your favourite movie?” Jakes asking through a mouthful of his sandwich he brought from home. Turkey and Swiss, simple with a little mayonnaise for moisture. He watches the way you mull his question over carefully from beside him.

“Dodgeball—“ Something about this feels so different than what the two of you normally get up to. “With Ben Stiller and Vince Vaughn.” Usually by now you and Jake would have torn off articles of each other’s clothing and been sucking on each other tongues. “Or maybe it’s a tie with Benchwarmers.” But this felt more intimate than anything the two of you had ever done. “David Spade is my dad’s favourite actor so I grew up watching a lot of his stuff.” Right now there was no one else on earth, it was just you and Jake and your lunches.

“Huh—“ Jake chuckled softly to himself as he took in your honest answers. “I thought you would have been more of a mission impossible type of person.” Jake never would have picked you for a comedy lover all things considered. You were a force to be reckoned with.

“What about you?” You and Jake had gone exclusive, you weren’t fucking anyone else and he sure as hell wasn’t entertaining anyone who wasn’t Pete Mitchell’s incredibly seductive daughter—who, quiet frankly, would be the death of him. “What’s your favourite movie? Lieutenant Commander Seresin.” Jake's cock twitched in his boxer briefs at the way you said his name. You knew you had a power over him. “What’s wrong?” It was your favourite game to play, to see how hard you could get Jake before he broke.

“Rain Man—“ Jake shook his head as he tried his best to will away the x-rated images of you naked in his bed as you looked at him with lustful eyes. “That’s my favourite movie.” He tried to not give into the temptation that was you and all your temptress ways.

“And what about your favourite colour?” You asked innocently enough as you moved a little closer to where Jake sat, nudging his knee with yours. “Blue? Green?”

“Whatever colour your eyes are at any time of the day.” Jake saw black and blue that your eyes changed with emotion. That they changed in any given light, under the stars, in the sky behind your visor, underneath him when he had you quivering. He loved your eyes. Your eyes were the windows that guarded your soul. A misguided and misunderstood soul that was forever living in the shadow of her father.

“Friday night in or out?” You tried to hide the way Jake's unashamed flirting affected you but it was all too hard to keep under wraps when he had you grinning ear to ear with a heart that was pounding against your chest.

“I’m inclined to say in—“ Jake's eyes scanned you up and down as he watched you move up onto his lap. You’d gone from sitting casually beside him enjoying your lunch together to straddling his waist. “More specifically in you, but I do enjoy a Friday night out.” You could feel how hard Jake was, his slacks didn’t do much to hide the fact. “When’s it’s my turn to ask a question again?” Jake asked as you raked your fingers through his hair. Scratching softly at his scalp the way you already knew he liked.

“Ask away Lieutenant Commander—“ You near moaned as you rocked your hips down against Jake's hardened length. His hands flew to your flight suit clad hips. Stilling you before you could be anymore of a fucking tease.

“Have you ever lost an hour of sleep in your life?” Jake's eyes darkened as lust bubbled away inside his chest. Your answer was nearly too quick for even him. It took his breath away for a second.

“Many baby—and I’m prepared to lose a few more with you—“ You teased as you leaned in to take Jake's lips hostage with your own in a feverish kiss. “Fuck I want you.”

“Stay over tonight?” Jake spoke with intent into your mouth as his tongue danced with yours. Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his tan service shirt, slowly but surely undoing them one by one to expose his chest. Littered with chest hair that made you feral.

“I want you now, can’t wait—“ Oh no. This was risky. Jake turned his head to the left to look out the window. His car was parked at the back of staff parking. There wasn’t a soul in sight. His windows were tinted just slightly but not enough to hide an identity. “Jake—“

“We shouldn’t—“ It barely came out as you kissed up and down the juncture of Jake's exposed neck. He was still looking around the car park to see if anyone was nearby. “Iris.”

“I have a hop after lunch with dad.” You began to explain as you sucked very noticeable, very sexual marking into Jake's supple neck. “Wouldn’t it be so hot if I was dripping your cum out of my freshly fucked pussy all the while Mav tries his best to keep me in check?”

“Ohh fuck—“ You we’re going to be the death of Jake Seresin. “You’re gonna send me straight to hell, aren’t you baby?” Jake finally gave in as he turned to take your lips hostage again in a lustful needy kiss. “Gotta be quick though.”

“I only need a few minutes.” You teased through a giddy smirk that told Jake he was in for it. You worked quickly to rid yourself of your flight suit, balling it up before you haphazardly threw it into the passenger seat of Jake truck. “And yeah, the minute you spilled that drink on me your ticket to hell was signed, sealed and delivered.”

It didn’t take long before you were sinking low onto Jake's thick, throbbing cock. His hands were working to guide you up and down his length as you rode him the best you could in the backseat of his truck.

“Oh fuck you feel so good—“ Pure ecstasy, that’s what Jake felt whenever he was inside you. So tight, so warm, so wet, so perfect. “Ahhh—fuck Iris.”

It was true, your callsign had been given to you because you were just one of those people who needed supervision at all times. But the more Jake hung around with you, the more he snuck around with you behind everyone’s backs, behind your fathers back? It was beginning to look like you’d become an expert at evading that ever so important supervision. Because here you were, fucking Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin like he was your personal play thing in the backseat of his truck like there wasn’t a single consequence to your actions.

“Want you to cum inside me.” You moaned as you leaned forward to rest your forehead on Jake’s broad shoulder. “Fill me up so I can make a mess, walk around for the rest of the day full of you.”

“You’ve got daddy issues—“ Jake groaned as he wrapped his arms around you and planted his feet firmly on the floor. Complying with your request. “You know that right?”

“You’re gonna have daddy issues when he finds out your fucking his little girl, filling her with your cum, treating her like a little fuck toy.” You battered your eyes and sent Jake an oh so innocent look as he fucked up deep inside you. It didn’t take long at all for you to crack and change the expression on your face to more appropriately convey the utter euphoria you were experiencing. “Ahhhhh fuck yes you feel so fucking good!”

“Do I?” Jake asked through a groan. “Do I feel good fucking you?”

“So good! I need to cum, make me cum! Please—“ In the heat of the moment, neither of you saw an irate Phoenix bounding over towards Jake's slightly rocking F-180 series with a soon to be skinned alive Bradley Bradshaw trailing behind her.

“Nix! Just—slow down for a minute!” Bradley tried to get Natasha off Jake's back but his efforts had been to no avail. She wasn’t okay with this. This wasn’t morally correct, wasn’t remotely right. You were Mavs' daughter. His only daughter.

“He’s in there with her isn’t he?” Phoenix asked as she approached Jake's car close enough to see the outline of two people clearly getting it on. The sun was beaming in at just the right angle to blind her from seeing you clearly. “He’s got to be fucking insane!”

“It’s Hangman Tash! Why does any of this surprise you in any way!” Rooster tried to once again aid in Jake's defence. “He’s never had a moral code.” Just as Bradley finished his sentence Phoenix was reaching out to pull open the door. “No! No, don't do that!—“ It was too late.

There you were, exposed and just about to reach your peak when all of a sudden the door was being torn off its hinges. There she stood, Natasha Phoenix Trance, staring at you like you were some sort of succubus.

“Lieutenant Mitchell I’m going to give you to the count of five to get out of the truck and change back into your uniform.”

“Phoenix!” Jake gasped as you scurried off of Jake's lap. He worked just as quickly to tuck himself back into his slacks as Rooster looked up to the sky above, he didn’t need to see this. “What the hell are you doing!?”

“What the hell am I doing?” Phoenix replied. “What the hell are you doing Jake, Jesus fucking Christ she’s half you’d god damn age!”

“I actually don’t think it’s that big of an age gap.” Rooster was trying his best to keep this whole situation from imploding before his very eyes. He wasn’t doing a very good job.

“She’s Mavs daughter!” Phoenix squared her shoulders as Jake got out of his truck and shut the door behind him, leaving you since to get dressed in some privacy. “Are you insane!?”

“She's not just Mavs daughter to me!” Jake explained as rage bubbled to the surface, he was so pissed. “She’s Iris, she’s her own person.”

“Jake—“ Phoenix sighed in utter disbelief. “You have done a hell of a lot of stupid shit in the time I’ve known you, but this? Messing around with Pete’s daughter has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” You couldn't deny that Phoenix wasn’t right as you zipped up your flight suit and sat just to listen to the fight happening outside the door. “She’s your student! You can’t take advantage of her like this! Have you ever stopped to think about what would happen if Mav found out?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.” Jake replied sternly as he looked at Rooster who tried to not look so guilty. “Who the fuck else knows Bradshaw?”

“Bob and Fanboy.”

“The WSO’s!” Jake sighed as he held the bridge of his nose and placed a hand on his hip. “Jesus Christ—“ You couldn’t help but to feel like this was your fault, the tension between Jake and his colleagues and friends.

“You need to pull your head out of your own ass and stop whatever you think this is Jake.” Phoenix sighed. “You could lose everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve because of her.” Phoenix was right, you knew she was. There was a pain in your chest you’d never experienced before as you held back tears. The same eyes that had just been looking at Jake with lust and want were now murky with guilt and heartbreak.

It’s always just fun and games until someone gets hurt.

“You don’t know that.” Jake tried to defend his actions. “Look, I’m not just messing around with her.” It was time to fess up. “I actually really like—“

“Don’t.” Phoenix interrupted. “Don’t say you’re in love with her because that would make me sick, she’s a kid!”

“She’s not.” Bradley cringed. “She’s not a kid Tash, she's an adult, come on, this isn’t that big of a deal when you look at it from all the angels.”

“You’re just trying to save yourself from the blowout of what Mavs gonna do when he finds out!” Phoenix snapped at Rooster. He didn’t have anything else to say as he pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“I’m serious about her.” Jake ended his argument at that. “You don’t understand that? That’s not my problem Natasha.” Jake turned on his heels as he opened the door of his truck. “C’mon Iris, let’s—Iris?”

You’d snuck out the other side around the part of the argument where Phoenix, well within her own right as a concerned friend, brought up the fact you were Mavs daughter. Around the time she had asked if Jake had stopped to think about the repercussions of his actions.

“Y/n?” Jake looked around the cap and saw the slightly ajar door. You were gone. “For fuck sake.” This was all your fault. You weren’t good enough for Jake and you knew that. You knew that the two of you would never really work and yet here you were, rushing back to the locker room before anyone could see you burn in.

But you just couldn’t catch a break.

“Holy shit what happened to you?” Rebound asked as he saw you making your way through the corridor.

“Just finished fucking your mother, she said to tell you that you’re gonna have to change your diaper soon—“ You were immediately on the defense as he walked beside you. Doing his best to keep up as you fixed your hair and wiped your face clean of the few tears you’d begun to shed. “Seriously, it's been three days.”

“Are you gonna be good for our flight course?” He asked as you pushed the doors open to the female change room. Gender was an artificial construct apparently because Rebound pained no mind to the little back symbol on the door. “Because I’m stuck with you and your shitty attitude so you better not cost me any seconds on that timer.”

“The only thing that’s gonna cost you time, Coen, is the fact you can’t fly for shit.”

“Guess we’ll just have to see about that huh?” Rebound pressed his tongue inside the side of his cheek and he crossed his arms across his chest and stood tall, watching as you fixed yourself up over the sink. Splashing water in your face. “Don’t think I don’t know how you wheeled your way back into the program.” He scoffed, you tried your best to ignore the trajectory this was going. But if history were to repeat itself it would be right about now. “Must be nice having dear old dad around to boost your ego and blow smoke up that pretty little ass of yours.”

“Is that really all you think of me?” You snapped. “That I’m just some Nepo baby that’s never worked hard a day in her life?” You asked as you stalked over to where Rebound stood. He was about to cop what you couldn’t say to Phoenix without being reported to the admirals. “Or do I just intimidate you so much that that’s what you have to tell yourself I am so that fact I’m ten times better than you at everything I do? strings a little fucking less?”

“Don’t fuck with me Iris because it’ll be the last thing you do.” Coen Rebound Rhodes was built like a shit brick house. He was rugged and broad and six foot something. Yet his structure didn’t scare you. Not for a second.

“I only fuck with people I envy—“ You snarled. “And there isn’t an ounce of you or your pathetic fucking waist of military funding ass that I envy.” Rebound could still see the hurt in your eyes, the tears that threatened to spill. He’d never seen you so angry before, so hurt. This wasn’t even about him. “So get off my dick and focus on how you’re gonna have my back up there so we can get this TopGun bullshit over and done with.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

By the time Jake had finally managed to find you after you’d snuck out of his truck, a full hour had already passed. He was back in his office—pacing back and forth putting tracks in his carpet because he was so out of his mind worrying about you.

“They have a hop in forty five—“ Bradley reminded Jake as he sat in one of the chairs near Jake's Desk. “She’ll turn up eventually.”

“I’m worried about her—“

“It’s Iris we’re talking about here, not much seems to phase her.” What Bradley didn’t know was that something did phase you, something big. Jake knew you hated being compared to your dad. He knew it really got in your head when people made it abundantly clear who they thought you were.

Just Mavs daughter wasn’t good enough for you, but it sure as hell played on your mind.

“Phoenix was a little outta line, but she’s only looking out for you man.” Bradley sighed, he didn’t know what his role in all of this was supposed to be. “Someone has to, because I’m starting to think you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re doing.” Jake was too busy looking out the little window in his door to be listening to whatever Rooster was saying. And it was a good thing he was too because there you were, walking down the corridor with your helmet in hand.

Jake opened his door without a second of hesitation and stepped out into the hall. He noticed the way you froze like you weren’t sure if he was going to yell at you or barrel you over in a hug so forceful it would send you to the ground.

“Iris, can I see you for a minute?” It sounded more professional than personal and you knew it was because Mayhem was just rounding the corner.

“Sure can, Lieutenant Commander.” You smiled as you entered the room and rolled your eyes as soon as you saw Bradley. The second the door was closed you let him have it. “You been running your fucking mouth to everyone about us or?”

“Hey! Don’t get snarky with me. I've been putting out fires on your behalf since you got here!”

“Enough—“ Jake sighed as he came to stand before you. He placed his hands on your shoulders and watched as you looked up at him. “You okay?”

“Just peachy.” You forced a smile. “I have a hop with Rebound, need to get to pre-flight checks.” It was obvious you were trying to run, so Jake kept you still with his hands on your shoulders. “I’m fine.” You wanted to wait until after work to do it, but Jake wouldn’t let up.

“I don’t believe you.” Jake countered as he tried to read your face, something was brewing behind those eyes he loved so dearly. “I’m sorry about what happened before, I’ll talk to Phoenix and—“ So you just ripped the Band-Aid off as quickly and as efficiently as you could.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea if we keep doing whatever this is.” You interrupted and Bradley’s jaw hit the ground. That was the most sense he’d heard all day. “Phoenix was right, I’m not good for you or your career Jake.”

“Y/n—?” Jake thought he was going into cardiac arrest with the amount his heart hurt inside his chest. “Don’t say that, come on I know we’ve joke about it but—“

“No, no, listen to me.” You shook yourself from Jake’s hold and stepped back against the doorframe. “It was fun while it lasted, right? No harm no foul? You had your fun and I had mine and we both get to walk away with your careers intact and dad doesn’t find out.”

“Iris, we can sort through this—Phoenix just needs time to process us.”

“I don’t want to be with you Jake what are you fucking getting right now?” The switch up was night and day between what you were saying now to what you had been like in the car now an hour prior. “I’m not good for you!” Usually it was Jake hearing that he wasn’t good enough for others. “I’m not going to fuck you’re life up for a good root either, so just—let’s just cut our losses before shit hits the fan.”

“No stop—we’re not doing this okay.” Jake held the bridge of his nose as tears fell from your eyes. Bradley had never seen you so distraught before. Holy shit, maybe you actually really like Jake? “Let me figure this out.”

“I have a hop.” Was all you said as you shook your head. “Lieutenant Commander.” Before Jake knew what had hit him you were gone. You’d opened and closed the door to his office and that was it. You were just gone.

Had the love of Jake's life just walked out after breaking up with him? Is that what just happened?

“I feel like I’m living in an episode of the twilight zone—“ Bradley sighed out as he flung his head back. “Please don’t tell me you’re gonna try and fight her decision to end whatever the two of you are?”

Jake still stood where you’d left him, if he closed his eyes he could still smell the notes of your favourite perfume encompassing him.

“I have to.” Was all Jake said. Rooster groaned in defeat. This was an internal fucking hell.

“Why man? To me this seems like a pretty good get out of jail free card.” But Bradley didn’t understand, no one understood. For the first time in Jake Seresins life he actually cared about someone. He actually cared about wanting to be with someone every day, every time of day. You were on his mind all the time for all the wrong reasons at first but now? You were just on his mind.

“Because I think I love her Rooster.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

#iris // jake seresin #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fan fic #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin series #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun hangman #too gun maverick #top gun fanfiction

383 notes · View notes

tacoma-narrows · 6 months ago

Text

Dorney Park! - 5/19/21

Decided to not let this trip report have a two week long gap like my Great America post did, so I'll write it out now!

Made my first trip of the year to Dorney Park this past weekend! I went by myself for about 5 hours or so and got on everything I had wanted to ride. Lines were very minimal, with the longest (not accounting for a short maintenance delay) being maybe 20 mins. Got a bunch of re-rides on the park's major coasters and I'm sure I'll be able to get more later in the summer, since Dorney is my home park lol. But here are some pics I got, and then like for my Great America post, thoughts about my individual rides will be below them!

Here's my breakdown of what I rode!

Iron Menace - Coaster Credit #169! (Rode twice) I am so glad Dorney finally got a brand new coaster after so long! Their last new coaster was Stinger in 2012 (which was a relocation, and closed in 2018), and their last custom built coaster was Hydra way back in 2005 (Possessed, opened in 2008, was also a relocation). I really liked Iron Menace for what it was though! It looks absolutely FANTASTIC for it's plot of land, and it's directly in front of you as you drive into the park. Makes for a fantastic first impression! The ride itself was pretty much what I expected (in a good way), it's definitely the weakest of the three dive coasters I've ridden, since it doesn't have the scale of Valravn and Sheikra, but I thought it had some fun elements and some surprisingly strong positive forces. The main downside is that it's a short ride, at only maybe 40 seconds or so after the drop. But all things considered, I think it's a great fit for Dorney and I LOVE it's theme! The Steelyard area around it looks pretty good as well! Currently, I have Iron Menace at 56th in my rankings between Flight Deck at California's Great America, and Medusa at Six Flags Great Adventure, but that could be subject to change once I decide if I like this or Hydra more lol.

Steel Force - (Rode twice) I'd heard during the park's Winter Chill Out event back in March that they we're speeding up the chain lift on Steel Force this year since (I believe) they had gotten a new lift motor or something to that effect, so I was excited to see how it rode this year. I didn't really notice a significant difference in the speed or airtime, but that wasn't a huge deal to me since I really enjoy Steel Force. A lot of people give it and the other Morgan hypers flack for not having any airtime, and I just don't see that. I always get tons of air over this hills, especially on the return trip. Then the double helix turnaround acts as a good change of pace with some good positives. So Steel Force still retains it's place as my favorite at the park.

Thunderhawk - (Rode once) Thunderhawk is a ride that's had my opinions on it change a lot over the years. When I first rode it the first time I went to Dorney in 2012, I did not like it. I remember it being really rough and uncomfortable. Over the last few years though, the park has been doing a really good job taking care of it and it's running really well now. My ride this time had surprisingly strong airtime, which I was not expecting. The main problem I had this time, and why I only rode it once, was because I got stapled BAD and the surprisingly strong airtime made for a rather uncomfortable experience lol. But for a ride that's celebrating it's 100th birthday this year, it's still really solid I'd say.

Hydra the Revenge - (Rode twice) Hydra is such a weird little ride but I love it. Lots of funky inversions, especially for a floorless coaster, and you gotta love the hangtime on the jojo roll out of the station. It's running a little shaky this year but not too bad as long as you keep your head forward, as is the case with a lot of B&M loopers. That's nothing new for Hydra as well, since in my experience it's always had a bit of a rattle. I love how dynamic its forces are though between hangtime, airtime, positives and a little bit of whip coming down the first drop in the back row. At the moment, I'm not sure if I'd take it over Iron Menace as my third fav in the park, so that's something I'll have to think about next time I'm back there lol

Talon - (Rode once) I really enjoy Talon as well, which finds itself as my second fav in the park after Steel Force. Very snappy and forceful inversions and it still runs pretty smooth. I especially love the super intense high banked turn right up against the ground towards the end of the ride. The one thing that's a little disappointing is that the park took out the signs underneath you as you go up the lift hill. They were spaced out and said thing like "Going up" "No turning back!" "Getting closer..." as you went up the lift hill, with the last one at the crest saying "Goodbye!" as you go over the drop. They didn't affect the actual ride at all, but I thought they were a funny little thing the park decided to put in. They may have removed them prior to this year, since I didn't go to Dorney a lot between 2020 and now, but this is the first time I noticed it at least. Anways, gotta love Talon, real solid invert all around. I would've rode it more than once, but it got a bit of a longer line towards the end of my visit that I didn't feel like waiting in lol

Possessed - (Rode once) I've never been a huge fan of Intamin's Impulse coasters, and I've always thought Possessed was just kind of okay. It's got a fun launch, and since I was sitting towards the back row, the feeling of height looking straight down on the vertical back spike was pretty cool, but other than that, the ride doesn't do a whole lot for me. I wished the holding break on the vertical spike still worked like it used to, that would make the ride a bit more unique at least, but it's still fine enough without it.

Other than the coasters, I rode two other rides, both of them being drop towers lol. One was Dominator, the park's 200 foot S&S drop tower. I rode the shot side that blasts you up to free fall down and I thought it was way more tame than I remembered, which was unfortunate. Then the other drop tower I rode was Demon Drop, which is one of the very few rides out there that still kinda wigs me out lmao. Something about the moving forward from the lift shaft to the drop track and the fact that the ride looks, sounds, and feels like it's made of sheet metal still kinda gets to me lol. I love it though, and for as rare of a ride that it is, being the last of it's kind in the country, if it's running, you gotta give it a ride.

So overall, I had a fun time at Dorney! It's not the biggest or best park in the world by any means, but it serves its purpose as a regional theme park well and offers things that are fairly unique from other area parks like Hersheypark, Knoebels and Great Adventure. Once the waterpark opens for the season (they were having their season passholder preview day when I was there), then it becomes more of a full day park, since their waterpark is really solid. So I'm sure I'll get back later this summer and you'll get another post full of my ramblings lmao.

#TacTalks #Tac's Photos #coasterposting #long post #Dorney Park #Cedar Fair #roller coaster #roller coasters #coasters #Iron Menace #Steel Force #Hydra the Revenge #Thunderhawk #Possessed #Intamin #B&M #PTC #Morgan #amusement parks

12 notes · View notes

bunbunlittleone · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! It's Stepnovember Anon again (it's a fun moniker so I'm keeping it :-3) with a compliment followed by a weird question. First: AAAAA THE NEW VIDEO??!? the concept of being a *consensual* subject of something as complete as dollification, and the idea of being so obviously changed by the end, is particularly engaging to me as a trans gal-it's like a sexy version of some of the kink-focused conversations around transition I've seen. Secondly, is there an alternative host point for the Spellbound OF? I finally got my affairs in order to subscribe and it got tanked T-T. Also, I've really been loving the gender-neutral nature of so much of your content-it really makes me feel represented in the NB/queer adult audience; even more so the few times there's been an explict femme POV. And of course, I'm looking forward to whatever Stepford-inclined stuff eventually rattles its way down the pipe: i'm still amazed you're the only creator who's made anything close to non-cishet/anti-patriarchy/no more "ooooh you're gonna serve men" Stepford content that I've been able to find!

thanks so much for being you, and sharing your unique work with the world!

Heya Stepnovember Anon!! Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm so glad you enjoyed the new video! As a big ol' transformation fetishist myself, I'm always delighted when my work connects with others who share the kink, especially fellow queer folks. There's more to come!!

I also very much appreciate the recognition of the gender neutral nature of my content, I try hard to keep it that way whenever possible!

Katana and I have decided to not make a new fan platform (it was pretty rough to see the OF we poured into nearly daily for years be taken away) and are focusing on producing clips as Spellbound instead (there's some fun ones in the pipe!!). My fansly is still up and active, but there won't be a direct alternative for the SB OF any time soon unfortunately.

I appreciate your positivity and support, have an amazing week! ✨🌻✨☀

#thank you for the ask!

8 notes · View notes

allegra-writes · 4 years ago

Text

"Bad Together"

Part I: Contact

Peter Parker x Reader

Teen and up

Warnings: language, UST.

"Baby, I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down, eat you alive

Just like animals"

Animals - Maroon 5

“Hey kid! Rough night? You look like shit…”

You sighed, turning away from your door to face your neighbour. Had it been anyone else, you would just have given them the finger and gotten inside your apartment. But not her. Not when she could have information for you.

“Gee, thanks Jess! You do know how to sweet talk a girl.”

The seemingly -deceptively- fragile brunette’s eyeroll could have rivaled your own signature one, as she kicked away from the wall and crossed the hallway in your direction.

“As if sweet talking would work on you…”

Despite your exhaustion and bad mood, you managed to munster a small sad smile as your mind wandered unbidden to another time, to what felt like another life.

And to a boy with warm brown eyes and even warmer skin.

"You'd be surprised…"

Jessica raised a questioning eyebrow, but you just shook your head.

"I have your payment, if that's what you're looking for…"

You said, changing the subject. Her face fell, causing your heart to drop to your stomach. You knew that look. The regret in her green eyes, the pity. You knew what she was going to say even before she opened her mouth. It wasn't really surprising after all: fourteen months without any clues, without any new developments or witnesses? She wanted to drop the case.

"Listen, kid-"

"No" you cut her off, your voice breaking no arguments, "whatever you're going to say, I won't accept it. I pay you, and you keep on looking for my sister. That's how this works. Let's not fuck this beautiful friendship of ours up."

You added, only partly sarcastic. You were perfectly aware that, as closed off and damaged as you both were, you were probably the closest thing to a friend either of you had.

And, for her part, Jessica knew that, if she didn't do the dirty work for you, you would be the one crawling up vents and climbing up balconies, sliding your way into seedy bars and even seedier alleys. You were stubborn like that. And truth be told, she had grown a little protective of you.

She pursed her lips, the wheels turning inside her head.

"Well then," she finally proposed, "What about you pay me when I actually find something worth paying for?"

It took your drowsy brain a moment to process her words. You were ashamed of the moisture that found its way to your eyes, the knot in your throat that didn't allow you to let out anything more than a weak "Jessica" as a reply. But you were too worn out to be able to keep the emotions at bay. It had been too long since anyone had shown you that type of kindness, gratefulness was not something you were used to feeling.

"I'm not giving up on the case," she promised, "but I'm not taking your money anymore. At least not until I deserve it."

She was telling the truth, you knew her enough to be able to tell that. If anything, she was going to work even harder to try and get the investigation moving.

"Thank you."

You really meant it.

"Don't mention it” she shrugged, downplaying it, like every good deed she made. "Now get inside and get some sleep. You look dead."

You did roll your eyes at that, missing her affectionate smirk as you disappeared through the door, muttering a laconic. "Yes, mom."

The darkness and quiet that greeted you inside your apartment felt like a soothing balm to your over stimulated mind, a much needed respite after your long, adrenaline filled evening. That was why you didn't even bother to turn the lights on as you let your backpack fall anywhere on the tile floor, stepping out of your sneakers and pulling your shirt over your head.

The cold early morning breeze sent goosebumps along your skin, bringing your attention to the open window.

You froze. You were always very careful not to let any windows open, Hell's Kitchen was a tough neighbourhood for a spoiled cat like your Selina to be out and about.

A flash of movement at the corner of your eye was all you needed before your senses went haywire again, instinct kicking in as you jumped high in the air to twirl and land a kick to the back of whoever was in your apartment. But the intruder was expecting it, dodging just in time and turning around to block your punch. Getting a hold of your wrist, the dark figure twisted and pulled you forwards until you fell, back flushed against his chest as he wrapped his arms around yours in a vice-like grip, effectively immobilizing you.

"Easy there, Smokey." A way too familiar voice breathed against your ear, "you're going to hurt yourself."

You stopped struggling against his grasp. Right. Of course it was him.

"Peter?"

His grip grew tighter for a moment, before letting go.

"Hello, Y/N."

Just like that, it all came back to you: The memories you had tried to repress, the feelings you had tried so hard to bury, washing over you like a flood, a tsunami hitting you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs once again. As you took an unsteady step away from him, you prayed that Peter hadn't noticed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice place," Peter ignored your question, choosing to casually pace your living room instead. "Bit of a downgrade from the upper west side, though…"

"Fine," you scoffed, turning to him, "you wanna do small talk? Let's do small talk: what’s with the edgelord look?" You pointed at his tar-black suit.

"Biotech," the suit retracted from his face and head, reminding you of the nanobots suit he used to wear before Dr. Octopus destroyed it. "Do you like it?"

You shrugged,

"Stark industries?"

He shook his head.

"Horizon Lab."

Well, that was interesting. You knew the little, independent company owned by one of his ex-girlfriends had helped him manufacture a couple of special suits developed from his very own webs, after his emancipation from the Starks. But you had no idea they had reached such level of refinement, and you had a feeling neither did Fury.

"You like it?"

"You look… taller," You noted. That wasn't the only difference; his hair was longer, wilder, his shoulders wider, his arms far bigger than you recalled.

"You look exactly the same," he countered, as open as he had always been. "Just as beautiful as I remembered…"

You sighed, tiredly. You didn't have the energy for that — for his charm, his candidness. What was more, you weren't prepared at all.

No, you weren't prepared for this Peter. Your Peter. Not after what all that Fury had told you…

"What do you want, Peter?"

He leveled you with a look, his whole demeanor changing in the blink of an eye.

"I could ask you the exact same thing…"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Y/N. Don't play dumb with me, it doesn't suit you." His sudden bluntness surprised you, but it was more along the lines of what Fury had warned you to expect so it didn't completely manage to throw you off.

You crossed your arms, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really, now?" Peter took a step forward, towering over you. "You don't? Hanging out at my spots, patrolling my neighbourhood, taking down my thugs?" He enumerated.

"Your thugs?"

"The kingpin is mine," he growled.

"Since when?"

"You fucking know since when!" You tried to hide your flinch at his rising tone, but he must have noticed because a moment later, he was closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to get a hold of himself.

"I thought Queens was your neighbourhood…" You spoke, trying to diffuse the tension after a couple beats had passed without him moving.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, opening his eyes, "I relocated."

"So did I…"

"You did," he smiled. And just like that, he was back at being your Peter. "And you mean to tell me all of this." He pressed a button in his wrist, "isn't to get my attention?"

A hologram version of Jade's video started to play in front of your impassive eyes. And you might have thought your carefully constructed mask of indifference gave away nothing, but Peter could see right through it. You didn't seem surprised to see the video and that alone was enough proof for him to confirm his theory.

"Please, Smokey, security footage?" He smirked, "this isn't like you. You aren't this sloppy."

Another click and the video was gone.

"Well, this might come as a surprise to you, but everything isn't always about you."

"Then what's going on?"

"None of your fucking business!"

Before you could react, the floor disappeared from under your feet, and your back hitted the wall with enough force to rattle the windows.

"Like hell it isn't," Peter hissed, his weight pinning you upright. "Now tell me, what the fuck did you get yourself into this time?"

As you stared into his stormy eyes, heart racing inside your chest, unsure if the adrenaline coursing through your veins was because of the obvious threat in front of you, or for another reason entirely, you wondered exactly the same.

Your tongue came out to moist your lips, Peter's dark pupils following the movement.

"It's been over a year," you breathed out, all the fight leaving you. It was too much, his sweet breath fanning over your face, every inch of his hard body pressed up against yours, overpowering you, the slick texture of his new suit against your bare chest… it was intoxicating. You had overestimated yourself. "Why do you even care?"

"I will always care about you," he confessed softly, just as affected by the closeness as you. "I will always want you…"

You closed your eyes, trying to get your erratic heart under control.

"Maybe I don't want you anymore, Peter."

He pushed you harder against the wall, his forearm against your collarbone to prevent you from moving.

"Don't do that," he whispered, lips ghosting over yours. "Don't torture me."

"Peter…"

BAM.

You fell to your knees, hard, Peter's body suddenly no longer supporting your weight.

"Touch her again, and I'll kill you!"

"J-Jess?"

"Hey, kid. You alright?" Your neighbour barely even spared you a glance over her shoulder as she placed herself between you and a newly irate looking Peter, slowly getting up from the rumble of splinters of wood and shards of glass that used to be your coffee table.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in confusion.

"I heard a noise," she deadpanned, eyes never leaving the dark cladded vigilante. But to your surprise Peter merely raised his hands in surrender, the bulk of his rage vanishing the moment he understood the woman in front of him was only trying to protect you.

"This isn't what it looks like…" He tried to explain, but Jessica would have none of it.

"Yeah, sure" she scoffed. "Big guy, totally dressed, pinning a half naked girl to the wall in the dark... totally not rapey."

Peter flinched. She was right, he wouldn't believe himself either.

"Listen, you're Jessica Jones, right?" Recognizing the woman in front of him, suddenly your choice in real state made a lot more sense. "I am- I was," he quickly corrected himself, "Peter Parker. Your friend, Matt Murdock, he knows me… look, I'm not- I'm not a bad guy."

Even to his ears, he sounded unconvincing.

"Really?" Jess pointed at his black costume, "Cause you definitely look like a bad guy."

"I… Y/n, help me out here," he threw you a pleading look but Jess moved to the side, blocking you from view.

"Hey, fuckface!" She snapped, drawing Peter's attention back to her, "the only reason I'm not kicking your ass right now is because of Matt. But if I ever see you next to Y/N ever again, I'll break every single bone of your body. Twice. Now get the fuck out of here, before I run out of fucking patience."

"Y/N?"

You sighed, getting up. Away from him, and with Jess there as a boofer between the both of you, you were no longer under the influence and could clearly see exactly how fucked up the situation was.

"I think you should leave, Peter."

There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a mask of indolence as he squared his jaw and turned away, letting the bio-suit close over his head again.

"I looked for her too, you know?" He admitted, before making his exit through the same window he had come in from.

You had no time to dwell on his words or anything of what had just happened, before Jess was on your face.

"That was Peter? Your sister's boyfriend, the one you told me I didn't need to investigate?"

You resisted the urge to shrink under her look,

"Yeah…"

"You told me he was harmless. That did not look harmless!"

You couldn't really argue with that, so you didn't. Instead you gestured at her to be quiet, as you reached past her to pick up your phone, your landline phone, the one you had never bothered connecting.

The one you knew was bugged.

With voice as clear and steady as you were able to manage, you spoke into the mic,

"Contact made. Awaiting further instructions."

To be continued...

350 notes · View notes

hrina · 4 years ago

Text

In The Ring, Pt. II - Cross

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: highly lol!

hi again! here’s PART 2 of boxer!harry :) thank u all for such a wonderful response on the first part, i can’t explain how much it means to me. i worked really hard on this chapter, so i hope u guys love it! if u do, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated, and i’ll probably ask for ur hand in marriage in return.

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

u can find the rest of this series on my masterlist, which is linked in my bio! my inbox is also there if you wanna spare a few thoughts about this part. love u guys sm, stay safe out there 💛💛💛

~*~

January 19, 2021

It’s ten at night, and you’re curled up in bed, scrolling through social media. You should be doing the assigned readings for your anatomy class, but you’re procrastinating. Besides, watching video after video of cute kittens peeking their furry little heads out of cardboard boxes is a much better way to pass the time.

Your relaxation period is interrupted when a notification banner descends from the top of your screen. It’s an unknown number, but the content of the message makes your eyes widen in surprise.

Hi. It’s Harry. I’m at the gym.

You tap on the text immediately, waiting with bated breath as you’re taken to a different app. You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, thumbs hovering over the screen before they begin to type.

Hey! I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Harry’s reply is short, concise, to-the-point—just like him. Oddly enough, it makes you smile.

Okay. See you soon.

~*~

The first thing that Harry notices when you walk through the door is that you’re slightly out of breath. He’s standing in the middle of the ring, his eyes fixated on the opposite side of the room as you enter. Your hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and you’re wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top under your jacket. Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you stride over to him, fingers wiggling in a friendly wave.

“Hi!” you call out, shooting him a kind smile.

Harry leans against the ropes circling the ring, careful not to put too much of his weight on the barriers lest he flip over and fall to the floor. It’s happened once or twice, and each time, he ended up with a bruised tailbone afterward.

“Hi,” he replies.

You shrug your coat from your shoulders as you draw nearer. “How are you?” you ask, peering up at him curiously.

“Good, thanks,” he says. His fingers toy absentmindedly with the silver cross pendant dangling from his neck. “Er…did you run here?”

“What? Oh, no,” you answer with a breathless laugh. “I drove. But I was hurrying—I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

You’re so fucking sweet. He’s going to throw up.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Still,” you say, tightening your ponytail with both hands. “You’re going out of your way to do this for me. And while we’re on the subject of that—thank you, again. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry says. He slips between the ropes and hops down from the platform. “Shall we start?”

“We shall,” you agree, biting back a teasing smile. “Am I going up against you?”

Despite himself, Harry chuckles. He shakes his head. “Not yet. First, you need to learn the basics.”

“Basics,” you echo, nodding once. “Right.”

He leads you over to the side of the ring, where a pair of punching bags have been strung up near the wall. The arrangement is nothing special—twin leather bags, one brown and one black, filled with sand and stitched together with strong, coarse thread. Reflexively, you reach out, running your fingertips along the black bag and giving it a gentle push. It swings outward before returning back to you. Harry watches you closely, examining the gentle crease between your brows and the slight glaze that smooths over your pupils. He clears his throat quietly, and you seem to snap out of your trance.

“Do you know how to punch?” he asks.

You purse your lips, looking unsure of yourself. “Um…I think so.”

He nods. “Show me, then.”

The blow that you deliver to the bag is weak at best. Harry immediately notices a handful of things that you’re doing wrong. When you pull your arm back and peer up at him, he’s trying his hardest to hold back a smirk.

“What?” You frown.

“Nothing.” He snickers softly, shaking his head again. “It’s just…that was cute.”

“‘Cute’?” you parrot, narrowing your eyes. You scoff good-naturedly, stepping back and holding your arm out in invitation. “You do it, then.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Gladly.”

The chain hanging from the ceiling rattles when his fist makes contact with the leather. The punching bag itself swings forward in an extraordinary arc before hurtling back in your direction. You gasp when Harry stops it with his palms. He grunts quietly, stilling it before turning around to face you. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, and he’s sure that his eyes are gleaming with a smug sparkle. You just cross your arms over your chest, gazing at him evenly with your chin held high.

“Fine,” you say. “Tell me what to do.”

Harry gets you situated back in front of the bag, standing beside you and studying your posture.

“First of all,” he starts, “you need to make sure that the position of your feet matches the position of your arms.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, shooting him a confused pout.

“Like this—,” Harry reaches for your shoulders before pausing, his fingers only inches away from your skin. “Er,” he clears his throat, fixing you with inquisitive eyes, “is it alright if I touch you?”

You nod wordlessly. Harry swallows down the lump in his throat as his hands close the distance between your bodies. He slants your torso to the side before reaching for your arms, bending them at the elbow so that your fingers—now curled into loose fists—are suspended in front of your face.

“If you’re angling yourself this way,” Harry starts, mimicking your stance, “you need to make sure that your right foot is leading you. But if you stand in the opposite direction—,” he changes sides, adopting a mirror image of his previous position, “—then it has to be your left foot. Got it?”

“Got it,” you say confidently. That same crease is digging into the space between your eyebrows; Harry aches to reach out and flatten it with the pad of his thumb.

“Also,” he says, delicately wrapping his fingers around your wrists, “when you punch, you can’t drop your other hand. Keep it up at all times—you need to guard your face.”

“Guard my face,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Okay, cool.”

You throw an experimental punch at the bag, and Harry doesn’t miss the shadow of pain that flashes across your features. His eyes trail down the length of your arm, lingering on your fist. Before you can deliver another blow, he stops you, catching your knuckles in the calloused valley of his palm and halting your movements.

“Keep your thumb on the outside,” he says, peeling your fingers open and freeing your thumb from beneath them. “You’ll break it, otherwise.”

He curls the digits back up, this time so that your hand is settled in the proper arrangement. He then steps back, jerking his head toward the bag and encouraging you to take another swing. “Try it, now.”

The third blow is better than the past two. You beam up at Harry when a promising smack! echoes through the air. He smiles reassuringly at you, nodding his head and tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Good. That’s a start.”

“Put me in, Coach,” you tease, bringing your fists up to your face and bouncing playfully on the balls of your feet. Your eyes shimmer as you peek at him from behind your knuckles. Harry presses his lips together to keep himself composed, but he can’t stop the faint snort that slips out of his nose. You laugh cheerfully, dropping your arms back to your sides.

“Okay, so I know how to punch,” you say. “What’s next?”

“There’s four main punches in boxing,” Harry replies. He steadies himself in front of the bag, his left foot extended to provide balance.

“The jab—”

He punches with his left fist, pointed and forceful.

“—the cross—”

He strikes with his right hand, driving the weight of his body into the blow.

“—the hook—”

He curves his arm, angling it accordingly so that he can deliver a hit to the side of the bag.

“—and finally, the uppercut.”

He bends his elbow, scooping upward so that his fist makes contact with the bottom half of the bag. The sand inside shifts audibly as it rattles around, looping in every direction and gathering momentum. Harry turns back to you as it continues to swing in circles, cracking his knuckles loudly and seeking you out.

Your eyes are wide. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you look a bit…enthralled. His brow furrows in confusion.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, and he’s taken aback by the breathless quality of your voice. You clear your throat quickly, scratching at your hairline and looking away. “You’re just very…dedicated. That’s all.”

“I’ve got to be,” Harry hums. He turns back to the punching bag and ceases its movements. “This is how I make a living.” His lips quirk up with the hint of a smile. “We can’t all go to medical school and become doctors.”

A weak laugh tumbles from your mouth. “I haven’t even gotten in yet,” you say from behind him.

“But you will,” he murmurs, the reply slipping out before he can weigh it on his tongue. “Without a doubt.”

He pauses when the words finally sink in, his shoulders stiffening and his eyes stamping shut. If you weren’t standing so close, he would have leaned forward and crushed his forehead into the rough leather of the punching bag. His lips mould around unspoken curses as a heavy silence descends upon the two of you.

At last, you finally choke out, “I—thank you, Harry. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“No problem,” he grunts. He steps back, spinning on his heel but refusing to meet your gaze. You’re probably looking at him like that—with soft, glimmering irises and earnestness woven through every cell in your body. If your eyes lock, he knows that he’ll be overrun with the urge to kiss you.

And he knows that if that happens, he might not be able to hold himself back.

“What time do you have to be home?” Harry asks, subtly trying to change the topic.

You lift one eyebrow challengingly, like you know exactly what he’s doing. Still, though, you humour him.

“I told my dad I was going to a friend’s house,” you say, shrugging lightly. “We have time, don’t worry.” You smile as a thought crosses your mind. “Just make sure you don’t get me too sweaty by the end of the night, okay? I can’t go home looking like I’ve just run a marathon.”

Harry’s cock twitches in his shorts at the thought of rendering you sticky and speechless. Of watching you walk away from him with wobbly knees and messy hair. Of dropping you off at home and nibbling on your neck one last time for good measure. He quickly shoos the temptations away, clearing his throat and nodding in accord.

“Minimal sweating,” he concedes. “I’ll try my best.”

Deep down, he knows that you’ll most likely be drenched with perspiration once he’s through with you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, though.

Harry makes his way over to the ring, snatching up a pair of gloves lying on the platform. He turns back around, tossing them to you and fighting a smile when you yelp in surprise. With an awkward flail, you manage to catch them in your arms. You shoot him a questioning look, lifting your eyebrows and waiting for an explanation.

“Put those on,” he orders, clapping his hands together once. “We’re gonna try to perfect your stance, tonight.”

“Why do I need to wear them, then?” you ask, gazing down blankly at the gloves nestled against your chest.

“You don’t need to, I suppose,” Harry says, shrugging. “But your knuckles will probably be destroyed by the end of the night.”

“Oh.” You make a face, wrinkling your nose up in distaste. “Okay, yeah—I’ll use them.”

He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. “We want to be careful, don’t we? Those are the steady hands of a future surgeon.”

You scoff, laughing gently at his quip. “Hopefully,” you say, a sweet smile playing on your lips. “Let’s just pray that I get the right grades.”

You will, Harry thinks, but this time, he bites his tongue to keep the sentiment contained. You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and you’re kind. You’re perfect. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to kiss you. I want to fuck you. I want to sleep next to you at night and prepare you breakfast in the morning. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you smile. I want to—

“Harry?”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You fix him with a benevolent look. “Zoning out on me?”

“No.” He shakes his head, approaching you as you struggle to tug on one of the boxing gloves. His eyes fall to your hands and he reaches out, halting your movements with a gentle, “Let me.”

You peek up at him shyly as he guides your fingers into the glove. He keeps his gaze trained downward, avoiding your eyes. One of his rough palms grasps your elbow as he tugs the Velcro strip tight around your wrist. Once he’s done the same with the other one, he releases you and steps back.

“Thank you,” you say softly. He just nods in response.

“Make sure your feet are shoulder-width apart,” he says, and you spread your legs according to his command.

For a brief moment, the image of you separating your thighs to accommodate his hips flashes through his mind, but he squeezes his eyes shut and wills it away.

The rest of the night is painful—his cock grows stiffer and stiffer by the hour, spurred on by each sweet smile that you send his way. By the time you’re through with the session and bidding him goodnight as he locks up, he’s half-hard beneath his black shorts. He hopes that you don’t notice.

You shoot him a cheerful wave and drive away, and he watches before toddling over to his own vehicle. As soon as he slides into the driver’s seat, he releases a heavy, guttural groan, slouching forward and pressing his forehead to the crest of the steering wheel. Blindly, he sticks his key into the ignition and turns it, and the truck rumbles to life. A quick glance at the dashboard reveals that it’s well past midnight. Only then does he realise the extent of his exhaustion.

He backs out of the parking lot, pulling onto the main street and training his eyes on the road ahead. If he squints, he can still make out the red taillights of your car.

The journey back to his apartment passes in no time. Harry climbs sluggishly up four flights of stairs, tumbling into his home and pressing the door shut with one hand. He drags his feet down the hall and past the threshold of his bedroom, pausing only to rip his t-shirt from his torso before collapsing onto his mattress. Obscure silhouettes dance across his eyelids as they drift shut.

The last thing on his mind before sleep overtakes him is the gentle slope of your smile.

February 21, 2021

One month and a handful of late-night sessions later, Harry finds himself inundated with guilt. He’s constantly plagued by memories of your virtual conversations—short, brief little interactions consisting primarily of him letting you know that he’s free to train that evening. Your responses, ripe with exclamation marks and prattles of gratitude. You’ve taken up the habit of texting him after each lesson, too, composing a quick thank-you message before shutting your phone for the night.

And Harry regrets everything—agreeing to teach you how to box, letting you know when he’s available to meet, encouraging you as your technique progresses. On several occasions, he’s considered breaking things off, telling you that he’s too busy, that you should be focussing exclusively on school instead of on how to throw a right hook.

But then you look at him like that. With bright, trusting eyes and open features and that easy, dazzling smile. And the wall that he’s been trying so hard to build back up—not that it was particularly robust to begin with—comes crashing down.

His match is set to start in fifteen minutes, and you’re not here. You have a midterm tomorrow—your father had mentioned it in passing. You��ve been holed up in your room all weekend, he said, permanently absorbed in the pages of your textbook.

And Harry’s nervous, because you’re his lucky charm. What the fuck is he supposed to do, now?

The minutes seem to fly by—before he knows it, he’s stepping out into the ring with the crowd’s thundering screams echoing in his ears. His opponent isn’t the biggest man he’s ever gone up against, but he’s definitely not scrawny. Harry’s maybe two inches shorter than him—under normal circumstances, the height difference wouldn’t have fazed him. But he’s already on edge due to your absence, so even the smallest observations are proving to be exceedingly disconcerting.

Looking back, he supposes that he should’ve known.

Doomed from the start, destined to fail—whatever you want to call it.

Point being, he loses. Horrendously.

And he’s not quite sure when they bring the stretcher out and peel him off of the floor of the ring, but he knows that it’s sometime after the second round. He blinks rapidly, fading in and out of consciousness as moisture trickles down the side of his face. Somewhere beneath the wooziness, he’s well aware that the match is over. Your father is standing over him, walking at a brisk pace to keep up with the two men carrying him out of the arena.

“What do you mean, he called in sick?” your father spits, his eyes alight with anger. “You couldn’t find anybody else?”

The man behind Harry’s head says something that he can’t quite discern. His response makes your father grit his teeth and pinch the bridge of his nose. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, punching in a number and bringing the device up to his ear.

A few moments later, his expression lights up, relief flooding his features. “Gioia? Yeah, hi…”

Harry’s vision fades to black.

~*~

“…going to have some strong words with the bastard that did this—”

“Gioia, please. That’s how the sport works.”

An outraged scoff. “Who the hell kicks a man while he’s down?”

No reply.

Harry drifts off once more.

~*~

When his eyelids flutter open, it takes a moment for him to regain his bearings. Through the blurriness of his vision, he sees a dim light hanging from the ceiling, bathing his surroundings in a pale white glow. He blinks rapidly, hoping that his sight will sharpen with each flutter of his lashes. There’s a dull pain throbbing against the right side of his torso, battering against his ribcage and pulling an agonized groan from his lips.

The low sound is met with a high gasp. Seconds later, a face is looming over his own. Harry forces himself to concentrate on the person’s features—kind, worried eyes, raised brows, and pretty, parted lips. His heart begins to gallop in his chest.

“Harry,” you breathe. A few gentle fingers card through his hair. The sensation of your nails against his scalp makes him shiver. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” he croaks, his voice hoarse.

Despite the worry swimming around in your irises, you emit a shy laugh.

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask, pulling your hand out of his hair. He nearly whines at the loss.

“Think so,” he mutters. He places his palms flat against the surface beneath him—a bed, perhaps?—and pushes himself onto his elbows. The muted pain in his side flares fiercely, making him choke on his own breath. You reach out for him, setting one hand down on his shoulder while the other wraps delicately around his bicep.

“Easy, easy,” you soothe, tutting disapprovingly. “Be careful.”

“’M always careful,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” you reply sarcastically, nodding your head. “And that’s how you ended up like this, right?”

A short, wheezing laugh punches its way out of his lungs. “Touché.”

Once he’s sitting up, he takes note of the room—well, it’s not really a room. The only thing separating the two of you from whatever lies outside is a thin curtain drawn over what he presumes to be the exit. To his left, a single cabinet with multiple drawers stands only a few feet away. You’re both tucked into a little alcove in the wall, no bigger than a standard bedroom. Harry glances around, his gaze landing on a single plastic chair facing the bed. Everything is set up like a hospital room (but far less comfortable, and severely lacking in terms of medical equipment).

“Where’s Coach?” he asks, creases forming along his forehead.

“He went to go grab us some coffee,” you explain, your eyes scanning his face. “It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Nearly two.”

“Fuck.” His head snaps toward you. “Don’t you have a midterm tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You chew nervously on your bottom lip. “But it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he says, gritting his teeth and glaring at you sharply. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You recoil a bit at his harsh tone. “Your stupid medic took a sick day,” you tell him, your voice hard. “And my dad asked me to come in and have a look at you. Who knows where you’d be if I hadn’t shown up.”

Regret washes over him. He slouches back against the bed—it’s more of a cot, really—and blows out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.” You wave his apology away with a quick flick of your fingers. “Just…be quiet for a second, alright? I need to examine you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch as the words sink in.

“Can you move to the edge of the bed?” you ask, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I need to see you properly, but I don’t want to make you stand just yet.”

“Sure.”

He shifts his body to the right, slowly dragging his legs off of the cot with a distressed wince. The floor is cold when his feet make contact with the ground, but he pays it no attention. He’s shirtless, clad only in the shorts he’d been wearing when he first stepped into the ring. He purses his lips and feels something stiff realign against his cheek. When he brings his hand up to his face, he finds a cottony piece of fabric taped onto his skin.

“What—?” He looks up at you in confusion.

“It was bleeding pretty badly,” you tell him. “I had to stop it, somehow.”

For the first time that night, he takes you in properly. You’re wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants—it looks like the type of outfit that one would shrug on if they were in a rush to leave the house. Another pang of guilt jolts through his chest.

“What happened?” Harry croaks, pulling his hand away from his cheek.

“My dad told me that the other guy was wearing a bracelet,” you say; frustration drips from your words. “He didn’t take it off before the match started. It’s not a big cut, but it’s deep. You’ll probably need a few stitches.”

“And you know how to do that?” he asks, watching as you circle around the bed and approach the cabinet on the opposite side. He twists in an attempt to keep his eyes on you, but then grunts lowly at the ache that thrums against his side. When he looks down at his torso, he discovers a large splotch of blue and purple decorating the skin covering his ribs.

“I watched my mom do it back when my dad used to coach Artie,” you say absentmindedly, rifling through a few drawers and collecting the supplies that you need. You pause, your eyes clouding over with something forlorn. “Now that I think about it, that’s probably why I want to go into medicine. I think…it would’ve made her proud.”

“It would’ve,” Harry agrees.

He watches you carefully as you make your way back over to him, afraid of prying or saying the wrong thing. Your mother’s death had hit your family hard; he rarely hears you or your father mention her. But maybe that’s for the best—wounds can’t heal if they’re being ripped open time after time again. He would know.

You dump a handful of materials down onto the bed—disinfectant, cotton swabs, tissues, gauze, a needle, thread, and a pack of medical sutures. Harry swallows heavily.

“Do you mind if I…?” you trail off, pursing your lips timidly. Somehow, he understands exactly what you’re referring to.

“No, not at all,” he says. The words fall from his mouth a bit too quickly.

With no further preamble, he spreads his legs, and you step into the space made available between his knees. You lean to the side, reaching for the disinfectant and cotton swabs on the bed, but then nearly lose your balance in the process. Harry’s hand flies upward reflexively, settling on your hip to keep you steady.

You glance down at him with wide eyes, and he hastily removes his palm from your body. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, and is it just his imagination, or do you sound a bit…breathless?

“You’ve got a couple of scrapes on your face,” you continue. You clear your throat, uncapping the antiseptic and dipping a cotton swab into the bottle. “This’ll hurt a little.”

“It’s alright—fuck!” he swears, scowling deeply at the sting that blooms across his chin. You chew on your bottom lip, dragging the swab over his injuries with practiced, nimble fingers. His toes curl against the cold, concrete floor.

Once you’ve finished sterilising his minor wounds, you turn your attention to the massive bruise on his torso.

“Can I?” you ask softly, extending your arm but pausing only inches away from his skin.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

He fights back against a shudder when your fingertips ghost over his ribs. You hesitate, applying a bit more pressure and cringing when he groans. “Sorry,” you whisper, making a move to pull away.

“No,” Harry breathes quickly. He catches your hand in his, trapping your palm back against his side. Briefly, he notes the unmistakable softness of your knuckles, so different from his own. “’S okay. Do what you need to do.”

You nod tautly, pressing your fingers against the bruise once more. Harry grinds his teeth together, trying his best to withstand the pain. You prod around for a few seconds, your brow furrowed in concentration. When you don’t appear to find anything worrisome, you sigh in relief and drop your arm so that it rests limply at your side.

“No broken ribs,” you announce quietly. “At least, not as far as I can tell.”

“That’s reassuring,” he jokes.

A weak laugh falls from your mouth. “I haven’t gotten into med school yet, remember?”

He chuckles. Your eyes suddenly darken, and an angry scowl curls along your lips.

“He kicked you while you were knocked out,” you murmur, shaking your head in disbelief. “Fucking asshole.”

Harry’s eyebrows fly upward, his mouth twitching at your vulgar words. You catch sight of his amused expression, but instead of mirroring it, your frown only deepens.

“It’s not funny,” you say. “He fought dirty.”

“This whole setup is illegal, baby,” he says. Neither of you comment on the pet name that slips out of his mouth. He hopes that you view it as part of an expression, and not a proclamation of his affection. “Fighting dirty—they don’t care about that. If anything, it just gives them one hell of a show.”

“Still,” you mutter, gluing your eyes to the discoloured skin covering his ribs. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry smiles softly, reaching out and tucking two fingers beneath your chin. Your lips part in surprise, and he tilts your face up so that he can look at you properly.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone entirely sincere, “for taking care of me.”

Your throat bobs with a hefty swallow—he can feel it against his knuckles. You lift your hand up to his face, and for a moment, he thinks that you mean to stroke his cheek lovingly. But then you scrape your thumb over the bandage covering his cut, and he’s reminded that this doesn’t mean anything.

You’re here to stitch him back up—nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“I’m not done yet,” you say.

The two of your drop your fingers at the same time. Harry clears his throat, trying to absolve the tension in the air. You seize some of the other supplies still strewn across the bed, laying them out properly before getting to work.

You’re diligent, removing the bandage on his cheek and using a few tissues to mop up the blood that immediately begins to drip downward, rolling over the jut of his jaw. He curses when you pass another cotton swab over his injury, screwing his face up at the smarting prickle of the antiseptic.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur absentmindedly, keeping your eyes trained on the wound. “We definitely don’t want this one to get infected.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, because he can’t exactly nod with your fingers probing around.

“This is going to be the worst part,” you warn, pulling back and opening the pack of stitches.

You unwind a piece of thread from its spool, taking the string between your lips and severing it with your teeth. Harry watches you closely, anxiety frothing in the pit of his stomach. In all of his years spent boxing, he’s only needed stitches once—the procedure hurt like a bitch, especially since there had been no anaesthetic available. He remembers the pain like it was yesterday, and he’s not looking forward to having to endure it again.

When you guide the first stitch through his skin, he balls his hands into tight fists. His lips tuck themselves into a thin line, and an agonized moan bubbles up in his chest. You squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment; upon reopening, they glisten with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice shakes.

“It’s okay,” Harry grits out. His blunt nails dig into his palms. “Keep…keep going.”

“A few more,” you babble; he’s not sure whether you’re trying to comfort him or yourself. “Just a few more.”

It takes you roughly fifteen minutes (you haven’t really had much practice, after all) to sew his wound closed with five stitches. It is by no means the cleanest application, but it’s not bad. You retrieve another cotton swab and dip it into the bottle of disinfectant, running it along the seam of his injury one last time. After that, you finally blow out the stale air that has accumulated in your lungs.

“Thank you,” Harry mutters. “Truly.”

“No problem,” you breathe. You busy yourself with gathering up all of the supplies, cradling them to your chest and making your way around the bed. As you dump everything back into the top drawer of the cabinet, you say, “Harry. Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he hums. He’s nervous about speaking too animatedly, afraid to disrupt the work you’ve just done on his cheek.

“How long have you been boxing?”

He peers at you from over his shoulder, eyes following your movements as you return to his side of the cot and sit down next to him. “Er…,” he pauses, thinking, “…about ten years, now.”

“You started at sixteen?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

He smiles softly before remembering the sutures sewn into his skin. A beat of silence passes.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions.

You nod. “Of course.”

“Why did you want me to teach you how to box?” he says. You open your mouth—to feed him another lie, surely—but he carries on before you get the chance to speak. “And don’t say it’s because you were just curious, or some bullshit like that. I want the truth.”

“Harry…,” you begin softly, looking at him with pleading eyes. He shakes his head, adamant and unmoved.

“The truth.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. Instinctively, you reach for your throat, tugging at the rose-gold chain hanging there and fiddling nervously with the pendant nestled between your collarbones. It looks like you’re trying to figure out what to say, how to approach the situation without revealing something that could potentially make it any worse.

“Do you remember that guy I was seeing a few months ago?” you say, your voice small. “James?”

And oh, Harry remembers. He remembers watching the two of you swap spit on top of the bleachers at one of his matches. He remembers imagining James in the place of his opponent, and then making sure to aim all of his punches directly for the face (he won, that night.) He remembers seeing the sparkle in your eyes slowly start to dim the longer you stayed with him. He remembers the aftermath of your breakup, when James had shown up at the gym and screamed at you to come outside, deterred only after Portia threatened to call the police.

He fucking remembers.

“Yeah,” he spits. The affirmation is coated in a thick layer of venom. “What about him?”

His eyes widen a touch when it all clicks, then, like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

“What did he do?” he demands immediately, fixing you with a stern glare. “Did he fucking touch you?”

“No!” you exclaim, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s just…I’ve been seeing him around. A lot. And I’m not sure if I’m just being paranoid, maybe, but—,” you inhale deeply, “—it feels like he’s following me.”

Your name slips past Harry’s lips in a hard, firm tenor. When you look up at him warily, he stares straight into your eyes, leaving no room for you to break away.

“You need to tell someone about this,” he says steadfastly. “You need to go to the police.”

“I don’t even know if I’m right,” you tell him. Your mouth curls down into an apprehensive frown. “I don’t want to cause a fuss, especially if it all just turns out to be one big coincidence.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Harry asks. A bitter taste settles on his tongue. “How often has this been happening?”

You tilt your head to the side, lost in thought. “Two days ago,” you finally say, shrugging helplessly. “And…I don’t know. I’ve seen him, like, nine or ten times in total.”

“Ten times,” he hisses, “in a few months? That’s not normal, and you know it.”

“Harry,” you plead, tugging nervously at the hem of your t-shirt. “Please. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“How can you—?” he starts, but then you lurch forward, putting a dainty hand on his thigh.

“Please,” you repeat, shaking your head softly. “Just…keep this between us, okay? The last thing I want is for my dad to find out.”

And maybe it’s the tenderness brewing in your eyes when you meet his gaze. Maybe it’s the wilt in your voice, the feeblest he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s the feeling of your fingers on his leg, burning a hole through his shorts and searing a mark—a brand—into his skin. Harry sighs, looking away from you and running his fingers anxiously through his curly hair.

“You’re bloody stupid, you know that?” he asks, scoffing quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply, the corners of your mouth kinking up into a half-hearted smile. “I know.”

“Got you a latte, gioia—”

The dinky curtain in front of you is pulled back by none other than your father, who is holding a tray of coffee in his right hand. He blinks at the scene laid out before him—you and Harry on the small cot, sitting a bit too close for comfort. Your hand on his thigh. You both jump, breaking away from each other and inhaling sharply. Harry clears his throat as you cough into your elbow, standing up and reaching for one of the drinks nestled in the tray.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your father’s cheek.

His eyes bounce between the two of you, forehead wrinkling in curiosity as he asks, “What’d I miss?”

You peer down at Harry from over the rim of your cup, panicked and beseeching. He just shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly; the tattoos inked into his skin ripple with the act. His tone is steady when he meets your father’s gaze.

“I’ve got some bruised ribs and a wicked headache, but aside from that—,” he lies, “—nothing at all.”

~*~

Your father ends up driving him home.

He parks the car just in front of Harry’s apartment complex, watching with worried eyes as he slips out of the passenger door.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” he asks.

Harry just nods, waving away his concerns. “I’m fine, Coach, really. Thanks for the ride.”

Your father nods—still looking a little unsure—before speeding off.

Climbing up four flights of stairs with bruised ribs is hell, Harry soon learns. By the time he reaches his floor, he’s panting and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He pulls his keys out of his coat pocket, unlocking the front door and staggering into his apartment. A pained whimper slips out of his mouth as he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders.

He slowly makes his way into the bathroom, cupping his battered side over the material of his t-shirt. The water is cold when he first turns the shower on. He grits his teeth, fiddling with the temperature and meticulously removing his clothes as it warms.

The moment the first droplet hits his skin, he lets out a deep, guttural groan. He hadn’t realised just how tense he was until now. He stands under the spray of the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash away every trace of dirt and grime on his body. His hair grows heavy with moisture, sticking to his scalp and his forehead. He leans against the wall of the shower, inhaling deeply. His eyelids flutter shut, and your smiling face appears amidst the darkness.

Almost subconsciously, his hand finds its way to his cock.

Part of him is disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be—

He moans.

In the realm of his perverse imagination, you’re straddling him, your arms looped leisurely around his neck and your whimpers echoing into the cavern of his mouth. Your hips roll against his, unhurried and languid and deep. So fucking deep. Harry reaches down with one hand, squeezing greedily at the curve of your ass, and you whine in response, encouraging him to do it again.

He pumps his length in the shower, panting quietly.

Your fronts are pressed together as you rut into his lap, your nipples brushing against the ebony birds on his chest and your silky walls wrapped around him like a vice. He grunts; you swallow the sound down, your hot, heavy breaths wafting out onto his chin. His fingers dig into your thighs when you steady yourself on your knees, doing your best to bounce up and down on him properly. It’s frantic, it’s uncoordinated, it’s sloppy, but…it’s perfect.

Your nails scrape down his back as the two of you move together, a steady series of push and pull, like water under a bridge. If you’re the moon, then he’s the tides, bending and swirling under your gentle light. Every time you rock forward, he meets you there, your bodies connecting with faint slaps of skin on skin. You gaze at him with hooded eyes, lust simmering beneath your lashes. Electricity tingles across his shoulders.

The noises that you emit are music to his ears. Delicate sighs when he nips at your breasts, earthy groans when he hits that special spot inside of you. And woven between them, imploring pleas, murmurs of right there and oh, yes and so good.

It’s embarrassing, how quickly he finishes.

He stands there, leaning against the tiles with his cock in his hand and his release dripping from his fingertips. He has the decency to feel appalled by his actions, at the very least. If you were aware of what he had just done, he knows for a fact that you would never speak to him again.

He cleans himself up, shampooing his hair and scrubbing down every inch of his body. When he steps out of the shower and shuts the water, a wave of exhaustion washes over him, making him sway on his feet. His lips vibrate with a soft sigh.

His phone chimes from where it’s perched on the bathroom counter. When he taps on it, he finds a message from you.

Feel better soon, it reads. The guilt festering in his chest increases tenfold.

Thank you, he says back, shoving the remorse down. Good luck on your midterm tomorrow.

A moment later, your reply comes through.

Thanks! Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, he types. He pauses for a moment, debating over whether he should include a little red heart after the word. But then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own insolence and sending the text without a second thought.

He doesn’t even bother drying himself off before padding across the hall and into his bedroom. He collapses onto his mattress, still covered in tiny droplets that bead along his shoulders and trail downward, wetting the duvet. He doesn’t care. It’ll dry, and so will he.

He falls asleep moments later, the repaired skin of his cheek tingling in the dark.

~*~

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #eeeeeee okay here it is!!! i love this part a LOT so i hope u guys do too 💘#harry writing #boxrry

2K notes · View notes

bird-in-a-cage · 4 years ago

Text

Frenulum

Apparently, according to Suzie Carmichel, Billy Hargrove had a dick piercing.

Steve had overheard it at a party, when he was busy in the kitchen making up a drink concoction that was mostly hard liquor and very little mixer. Usually he just ignored gossip, especially at parties where everyone is in a constant state of being somewhat drunk and because he had been the subject of a lot of gossip himself in the past, but that one. That one small line, half slurred over the kitchen sink and a now empty bottle of malibu, made Steve’s ears burn. Made his mind run a million miles an hour, self control long gone a few cups ago with whatever drink Tommy had given him when he’d first arrived.

Tommy’s jungle juice was lethal but it got the job done. Fast.

With his own strange mixture Steve wandered through the party, brushing past bodies in different stages of sweat and sobriety, all bumping to the music that was loud enough to rattle the family photos on the walls, until he found the man in question outside in the yard. Sucking on a cigarette and nodding his head from side to side at the echo of the music. He had his own cup filled with god knows what, the leather jacket he came in long lost somewhere inside. Someone else was probably wearing it like a trophy.

Lucky them.

Steve stood on the back porch, a little higher up from where Billy was stood in the grass nearby by himself, and pointed a finger with the hand that was holding his cup at the back of that dirty blonde mullet.

“You! I’ve heard a rumor about you.”

Billy just turned his head, eyebrow cocked, eyes glassy like blue marbles. They were both as gone as each other. Maybe Tommy had given them the same warm welcome even though it wasn’t his party. At least Steve didn’t think it was. He’d lost track of who’s house this was and on what street about an hour ago. Billy hummed around the cigarette between his lips as Steve made his way down so they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

“Suzie Carmichel knows your secret...”

Billy blinked heavily and stared at Steve. A curious expressional mix of confusion and I don’t care crossed his face at the same time.

“Who the fuck is Suzie Carmichel?” he spoke around a nearly burnt filter.

“You know. Suzie Carmichel. Big hair. Has that bag. Horses.” Steve explained with his hands, mimicking her blown out perm she always had. It was huge. Like a blonde cloud made of hairspray and hope. He couldn’t believe Billy didn’t know who she was. Everyone knew who Suzie Carmichel was. It was Suzie Carmichel. Billy just continued to stare blankly, took a swig of his drink in the silence before Steve waved his hands again to move onto the next subject, the more important one in his mind. “Did it hurt?”

“Wha’? This conversation? Yeah it’s pretty painful, pretty boy,” Billy grinned, flicking the spent filter towards a covered up trampoline pushed up next to the flowerbed. Probably to stop drunk party guests trying to bounce on it and hurting themselves.

“No! It. Did IT hurt?” Steve didn’t imagine it was a pleasant thing to get done. In the half hour it had taken to find Billy in kind of a small house it was pretty much all he could think about the entire time. A whole barrage of questions. What did it look like? Did it hurt? Why?

Billy blinked again and sighed, glanced a look down at his cup as he rolled the dark liquid around inside, clearly contemplating a top up. “One last chance amigo and I’m headin’ back inside...”

Steve sighed frustrated. He didn’t want to actually have to say it in case it wasn’t true and then he looked insane, thinking about Billy Hargrove’s dick. Not that it would be the first time he’d thought about it but still, Steve didn’t need to admit it out loud if he didn’t need too. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the drink warm in his veins talk for him.

“Did it hurt getting your dick pierced?”

Billy’s grin was wild and hot when Steve opened his eyes again. The same look he got during a particularly rough basketball game, where everyone else playing was just prey waiting to be caught. It made Steve’s blood feel impossibly tropical, especially when Billy leaned closer, muttered into the shell of his ear deep and sultry.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Yes. Steve would like to know, that was the point in asking. But Billy was gone before Steve could follow up, disappeared back inside the house alive with the whole senior year. Steve felt abandoned in the backyard, answerless and alone. That had neither been a confirmation or denial and it just made the thoughts in Steve’s head worse and harder to hold onto. Especially in his inebriated state. No. He was finding out the real answer to this tonight even if it killed him.

Which if he was wrong, probably would.

The music changed from one synth track to another. Eurythmics making themselves known. Making the walls shake. Making bodies bump and grind. Making it harder for Steve to get through. A riptide of hormones. But Billy was nowhere to be found. Wasn’t downstairs anywhere either in the kitchen, or the makeshift dance floor of the living room that had spilled over into the dining room adjacent. Wasn’t in the basement getting high with whatever terrible weed was getting passed around the few stoner kids. And as far as Steve knew he wasn’t upstairs occupying one of the few bedrooms that seemed to be permanently engaged. Someone probably would have bragged by now. He tended to hear that type of gossip now he wasn’t in the highest levels of Hawinks hierarchy anymore. There may as well have been a ticket system in the hall with couples waiting to find one to use, so he might have at least seen.

Whomever's house this was had better air the place out in the morning.

Steve didn’t want to seem desperate. But he was. He was also several cups of whatever was going deep and needed to piss pretty badly.

In his own defence, the bathroom door wasn’t locked when he pushed it open and saw Billy standing over the bowl finishing up, shaking out the last few drops. Steve would have been pretty mortified usually but Billy just glanced back and laughed before looking down at himself again.

“Didn’t realise you wanted to know that bad Harrin’ton,” he chuckled. “Should’a been clearer in askin'.”

“I’m not,” Steve lied. He couldn’t help but stare a little at Billy holding himself. Holding the answer to a million new questions. “You didn’t lock the door.”

“Maybe that was on purpose...” Billy rolled his head on his shoulder and smirked something wicked. Steve felt warmth pool in his gut that had nothing to do with the alcohol but had everything to do with those lips and darkening eyes. “You wanna see then? Since ya’ found me.”

Steve made sure to lock the door behind him when Billy cocked his head, beaconing him over. He leant back against the smooth tiled wall, still holding his cock and okay it was bigger somehow than Steve remembered. He’d only seen it in the showers though. And he wasn’t really looking. More a haphazard glance in the wrong direction than anything else when temporarily blinded by shampoo. Steve stepped closer in the small bathroom, eyes dragged down as Billy just lifted his cock up like it was no big deal to show off like this. To show off a three rung ladder of small black balls, clearly attached to bars, living either side of his shaft just under the head.

Seeing it made all common sense leave Steve’s head immediately. He’d never seen anything like it before. At least Suzie Carmichel wasn’t lying.

“Did-did it…?” Steve couldn’t get the end of his sentence out, just mesmerized by what was in front of him. Unable to take his eyes off it. Maybe sober it would have been a lot more awkward but here, in the cramped bathroom, there was nowhere else Steve wanted to be. Even if it did smell like piss and too much cologne and some weird floral perfume from coming from somewhere.

“Hurt? Yeah,” Billy chuckled, moving his hand so his thick fingers caught a little on the piercings, rolling them with his knuckles. It was impossible to ignore the way his cock twitched in his hand. It was impossible to ignore how Steve felt his mouth water. He blinked, trying to shake that thought away somehow but impulse was in control, no longer burdened by sense and a public filter. “Worth it though. Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

Billy nodded in that self satisfied way, just stroking himself now in a drunken haze. And Steve couldn’t stop watching as he got hard, somehow got thicker. It was nice to know Hargrove didn’t suffer from whiskey dick. Steve set his half empty cup on the edge of the sink and let curiosity take over, reaching across the short gap to brush his knuckles over one set of metal. They felt cool against his skin. Billy muttered out a shit at the small touch, so Steve did it again with his fingertips this time, rolling the smooth metal and brushing against the hot velvet of Billy’s cock, now completely hard as he let go and let Steve take over. He wrapped his hand around and gave a few tentative strokes, noting how the piercings felt against his palm, how he could feel the connecting bars if he squeezed a little, being careful not to drag or twist too hard. Whatever Steve was doing was clearly working, Billy’s eyes were hooded and heavy, his head rolled back against the white tile of the wall.

"Knew you had pretty hands for a reason," he muttered breathless, filled with lust, starting to rock his hips into Steve’s fist.

Steve couldn't help but chuckle a little, changing his grip again to roll his palm over the head that was quickly getting slick, spreading it back down to Billy’s thick base to make everything go easier. He made a point to really press his thumb between where the balls were connected to each other, rolling over the bars that lived under his skin. That had Billy practically purring, gripping Steve's shoulder with one strong hand, moans echoing throughout the room.

"You been starin' at my hands Hargrove?" Steve spoke with a grin. It felt good to have both the upper hand and to have the other boy so pliant for once. All bark and bite completely dissolved. Like he had found a secret ‘off’ switch in those tight jeans. In return Steve’s own jeans had become incredibly tight, his hard dick pressing up painfully against his button fly, almost threatening to pop the buttons free.

"Fuck-ah-h-hard not too. You talk with 'em a lot."

Billy practically melted when Steve swept his thumb through the weeping slit, gripping the opposite shoulder harder so there would be a bruise under Steve’s shirt in the morning without a doubt, letting out a noise that would surely be heard through the door by someone. Not that Steve cared anymore. Or really cared to begin with. He'd never admit it, but he thought about this a lot. Not just having Billy in his hand and falling apart so easily, but being able to shut that smart mouth up for once. But now with the piercing discovery he had something new to add to the little fantasy, well, memory now. They were hard not to play with every stroke up or down. Just there to apply pressure too, to see what new noise he could get out of Billy’s pink mouth.

But there was still one question left, bubbling up in Steve's mind and popping out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Anyone ever blow you with 'em?"

Billy chuckled around a moan, both noises getting confused in this throat, but it sounded amazing. Made Steve’s dick kick harder. "You wanna try suga’?"

Not an answer. But Steve would take this one. Even as drunk as he was, he doubted any of this would leave the bathroom. The same way things never left the locker room. His knees hit the floor with a heavy thud as he settled between Billy's legs. Another set of bruises for the morning. He rolled the tip of his tongue around the little metal balls first, to see how they would taste. Musty. Like Billy’s smell. But not unpleasant. Like licking over a ring. A fist was heavy and tight in his hair in an instant. Not pushing or pulling. More bracing. Holding something that wasn't smooth so could be held.

Hargrove was a tight fit. Or Steve was out of practice since Carol came along and took up all Tommy’s time. Probably both really in all honesty. Steve's lips stretched something obscene taking down as much as he could, using plenty of spit cause Billy looked like he was into anything but clean and neat, pressing his tongue wide and flat over the piercings, rolling them with a little swallow that had Billy barely able to stand. Steve could taste his tongue getting more and more coated.

Billy didn't taste half bad, surprisingly. Not good, but not bad.

Duran Duran started coming through the floor. Hungry Like the Wolf. It seemed appropriate. Steve pushed Billy's hips back flat against the wall to stop him from moving, he was rolling on the balls of his feet within his boots and it was threatening to become an issue.

Not that he would mind Billy's thick monster destroying his throat, but breathing was still important. Maybe another time. If that would ever be a possibility.

It was less than a minute before Billy's fist got tighter, pushed Steve back so just the head of his cock throbbed on the taller boy's tongue as he came in ropes. Painted the inside of Steve’s mouth, threatening to bite through his own lip to contain some of the guttural noise that erupted from his throat just watching it happen with laser focus. Steve swallowed most of it, but there was a lot, some dripped down his chin and into the collar of his polo, leaving a strange stain. He nearly popped being used in such a way. His briefs felt damp.

It had been a while.

Billy panted as Steve got back to his feet, took a swig of his drink to wash the bitter taste out of his mouth, getting his hand batted away when he reached out to keep playing with the piercings like he was magnetized.

"God, give a guy five would ya?" Billy tucked himself away, zipped up his jeans loudly, but didn't sound annoyed. It sounded more like a proposal.

Steve shrugged with a grin, biting the rim of his plastic cup and leaning up on the sink. He still needed to piss after all, just now it would be a lot harder. Billy patted his shoulder and went to leave, just unlocking the door before saying something over his shoulder that was definitely a proposal.

"If you’re still hard in twenty you can find out how they feel gettin' fucked."

#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #dirt #my writings

215 notes · View notes

classysmashy · 4 years ago

Text

Easy Living, This Ain’t

#1/??? of Nuclear Winter

ZoNa Holiday 2020 Entry Prompt 1 (Snow Angel / All Wrapped Up)

@zonamievents

One Piece in Fallout Universe (kinda~)

AN: I’ve been playing Fallout 4 a lot and couldn’t help but think about what it would be like for One Piece in the universe, so please enjoy this snippet. Also, I haven’t done any creative writing in nearly three years and I ask for forgiveness if its rough. This piece isn’t heavily on about them being together just yet, though I plan to write more for the prompts and expand this better. Worked on this for about five to six hours straight to try and get it done in time, but it’s late. I’m still gonna squeeze my entry in though, hopefully! :)

Rate T for Blood, Violence, Suggestive moments

Word Count: 5,788

*****

I never regret The years that I’m giving They’re easy to give When you’re in love I’m happy to do whatever I do for you

There’s something about being within inches of death that suddenly makes blood rush faster and for all the words that hadn’t formed to break through the flood gates. Maybe it had just been the adrenaline talking, a need to achieve certain feelings before dying off and becoming one with the scattered waste of the world.

But, Nami would have only been lying to herself to try and pass that off as the reason as to why her lips shook out a hasty “I’m in love with you” towards Zoro’s direction before the last swing from the Deathclaw rattled the right side of her skull, sending her in the air through a concrete pillar and hot blood dripping into her eyes preventing her from seeing Zoro’s reaction to the words.

Because there was truth in the statement, though she was unsure of when during the six years of traveling with Luffy that the feelings had started. Had it been so early as to their first meeting? Seeing him face off Arlong along side their friends? Or maybe the time apart had built an unknown longing for two years that was finally becoming clear to her in the past few months?

Thoughts race like blood when you think you’re going to die. Nami had seen that in the time Bellemere died, how she had pushed to voice courage towards little Nojiko and Nami. This time was different than Bellemere, she had died being a protector to the end, and Nami would die because of her own rookie mistake.

As her eyes slipped closed from the world, it seemed Zoro had finally gotten serious and she could just barely make out his voice over her busted eardrums, but she did.

“Don’t die on me.”

*****

Living for you Is easy living It’s easy to live When you’re in love And I’m so in love There’s nothing in life but you

Nearly twenty hours earlier, Nami had very different plans for the day.

There was plenty of work to go around at the Strawhats main settlement; crops to be harvested, buildings to be constructed, purified water to be gathered, defenses to be fixed... And that was only here!

She had awoken just before four am had hit, the sun still hidden deep in the clouds, and Nami had decided that the weather would be alright for the day and that the impeding snowstorm would hold off for another day or two. The first thing on her agenda had been to check on the mikan trees and see if they were well.

Franky had created plenty of special greenhouses throughout their compound for Nami to keep her mikan trees safe, along with Robin’s flowers and Usopp’s pop greens to grow safely. She didn’t necessarily mind the thought of the mikan trees being among the other garden beds around the settlement, but she did worry about if people would only go to them for food rather treating the trees with upmost respect that Bellemere would approve of, let alone take care of them properly.

After three pulls on the door handle, Nami’s bedroom door finally gave way for her to exit it —Franky said that was the downside of working with rusty wasteland materials, maybe she could hire someone to look for newer, untouched supplies to get an upgrade. Though, by the head of swaying green before her, it wasn’t even her strength or the willingness of the door to give up, but rather Zoro who had forced the wood into action.

“Yo,” casual as ever, Zoro leaned on the wall opposite of Nami as she slammed the door back into place, not in anger, but the damn thing was too much trouble!

“I didn’t know you were back yet,” Nami rested her hands in her hair, combing it into a tangled ponytail, she could only manage to place her eyes at his nose, looking too closely into Zoro’s eyes lately brought on a heat she couldn’t control. If she kept her hands busy, they wouldn’t give away the noticeable shake and she could hold back the need to run away. “The way Brook talked, it seemed as if the raid would take longer.”

Zoro gave a curious peer towards her, tilting his head down as if that was the way to suddenly unearth what was different in the moment, “Well, it was supposed to, but Brook really wanted to add those instruments to his collection and threw any caution out the window.” A sly smirk stretched his lips and if Nami knew any better, she would say that was the truth, but a half-truth at that.

“And you also got lost, heading dead-center into their manpower?” Nami gathered her own smirk as his slipped to a scowl, the fire snapping to life in him and gearing up for their usually banter.

“Shut up! I wasn’t lost, the hallways kept changing their direction, I can make my way around fine without anyone else!” Zoro chewed out at her with more venom than necessary for her small comment.

Nami’s left eyebrow lifted, as she crossed her arms across her chest and cocked her hip out towards him, “Besides being here to tell me your prevarication, you came to see me for something, right? Your room is on the floor below this one. AND, whatever it is, is going to cost you, surely you don’t mind me raising your debt, hm?” She gave a cheshire grin that didn’t match with the sweetness her tone was tinted with, giving way to her true feelings as her brown eyes glinted gold.

The threat of a higher debt seemed to sour Zoro’s mood even more, “Don’t even think about it.” The reverb of his voice in his throat caused a twinge at the base of her spine and the gathering heat pulled Nami’s eyes to look into his finally, a pair of steel that seemed set on unraveling her. “You can take up your charges with Chopper, since he’s the one that wants the two of us to head out and gather something for him.”

His hand rested beside her head and the small height gap between the two was noticeable now, though she was unsure of the moment he had made his way so close to her own body, trapping Nami against her bedroom door.

That heat that wouldn’t go away was flooding her, she could barely keep her breathe together and she definitely wanted to run as she dug her nails into her palms to gain the last of her control to keep from sprinting.

The air hung tense for a moment, like Zoro had been sizing her up for some reason, his only good eye tracking the nervous jitter Nami’s body gave off. While his observation’s of her was making things worse, she found that by standing her ground she could regather herself and ducked beneath his arm, leading the way towards the greenhouse garden where her mikan trees resided.

He followed beside her, watching the way she smoothed her hands along her jeans with a hawk’s stare. Yes, she very much wanted to run away right now.

Yet, she couldn’t run. There was few people that Nami would deny if they asked her of something and that few included Chopper. “So, what is it exactly? It must be something quite important if Chopper wanted to hound on you right after getting back and pretty far if he’s wanting me to guide you there.”

“I’ve been back for two days, maybe you would have noticed if you didn’t avoid any area that we could overlap in,” Zoro had noticed more about her lately than she was hoping he would, and the pinched ire he held back somewhat showed he wasn’t pleased.

“I’m not avoiding anything!” Nami frowned as she balled up her fists at her side with a huff, “I’m a busy woman around here. It can’t be helped that when I get pulled into ten million directions that I don’t end up in the ones that you were lost in!”

Distracted by the jab at his sense of directions, Zoro seemed to drop the subject of her actions with the need to yell some more about how the world was just switching itself around as he walked, not that he could possibly be lost.

By the time the two had stopped bickering over it, Nami was punching in a button and the refurbished garage door was squeaking up to reveal her mikan trees in their full beauty. She inhaled a deep whiff of the scent that hit, and her mind seemed to relax completely as she took it in. There was no arguing, or someone needing her, or a world probably crushed beyond repair that was needing fixing. No worries, no overwhelming heat or tingles in her spine, just the moment of a far away home she couldn’t return to, a mother that was beautiful and gone, a sister that was picking at her.

It was nice to get lost for a second. But the sound of a sharp inhale beside her knocked her slightly out of it, turning towards the one who had made the noise to see Zoro... nervous? His hand clutched at his swords and his eyes were caught on her lips, her neck, her blissed out eyes. Nami could tell he was holding back, what that was she had no clue about, but her trance was completely broken, even as the heat reared its head again.

Zoro seemed to be stuck in the moment with her, the world around them having dropped far away. “Don’t avoid me,” his voice broke through the silence, his calloused hand coming to clutch her cheek and stray his thumb across her lips.

So close, too close.

His thumb dipped between her lips and she hummed a noise of commitment to him as her tongue slithered to give a drowsy lick to the digit. Nami’s mind raced yet was empty all at the same time, the intensity of Zoro’s gaze burned into her, and there seemed to be only one way this encounter could possibly end.

And it probably would have, with the way Zoro leaned closer, his other hand popping the button of her jeans.

Alas, there was still a world around them though that kept moving even when they were lost in daze.

The tiny pitter patter along the concrete gave away the incoming target and Zoro had half a mind to veer back the words he wanted to use as the reindeer grew closer.

“Another time,” Zoro had whispered to Nami, fixing the button and creating a healthy, normal distance between the two as if what happened didn’t occur at all.

Nami had to admit that she was in a bit of stupor as Chopper finally gave way under the closest lights of the hall to them, a jolly smile breaking out across his face as to seem he’d been searching for a bit for the two.

“Oiii!” Chopper shouted in delight, fastening his pace towards the two and inhaling the nice scent of the mikan’s. Chopper was too cute to allow something so indecent to happen in the presence of, “I checked for Zoro in his room and then tried to find you at yours Nami, but both of you were gone. I figured Zoro was lost somewhere, so I came to check here. What good luck I have!”

Though Zoro protested at the prospect of him being lost, the two still gave warm smiles to Chopper, Nami offering a soft scratch to the top of his head, partly to ease her shivering, but also as a small congratulations to the animal doctor.

“So, why were you looking for us, Chopper? Could it be about this thing you wanted us to go out and find for you that Zoro mentioned to me?” She peered down at him and his expression grew serious, it seemed today really wouldn’t be focused on getting work done around the place after all.

“Yeah, I wanted to catch you before you left. As I told Zoro, I’ve been doing a lot of different experiments and part of those experiments is using the blood from feral ghouls and I’m starting to run low on stock. Law told me about this group of scientists that had taken shelter in a factory on the other side of the state who were also doing some experimentation, but got killed by a pack of Deathclaws that have been living in there since. He’s sure that they made up nearly a hundred packs of feral ghoul blood.” Chopper had shrunk back down to his small size while talking and Nami had a frown on her face that deepened more and more as he told her the scoop of what he believed just the two of them could take on.

“He’s also wanting us to bring back the claws of the Deathclaws there, if possible,” Zoro interjected, his arms crossed over his chest now and leaning against the edge of the open door.

“Chopper, that’s nearly insane! Sure, Zoro could take on such a feat, but it would be a death sentence for me!” she was frazzled at the thought of getting stuck in a pack of Deathclaws who could easily tear her to shreds in an instance if they so pleased.

“That’s why Zoro should go with you! I believe that you could sneak in and steal the blood packs before the Deathclaws know you’re there, but if anything were to happen, Zoro could fight them off to protect you,” Chopper’s idea was rock solid and there was the chance she could do it, she had done it before a few years back, but that was sneaking around only one of them, not a bunch that most likely contained their children.

“Well, I guess it could possibly work out-” the gears seemed to finally scratch together in her head and she whipped down at Chopper with her hands on her hips and teeth sharpening with her words, “WAIT! Don’t tell me that you were planning for ME to go ALONE if Zoro or someone else wasn't available to go as well?!”

Chopper cried and jumped to hide behind Zoro’s legs, though he hid the wrong way to have part of him sticking out. “Like I said, I believe in you being able to easily sneak around without alerting them, but Zoro was the one who said that somebody should go with you, so I asked him and then he tried to say he could find it on his own, but there’s no way. He would definitely get lost and end up on the other side of the globe! Don’t you understand my predicament, Nami?”

He was giving her those big, watery eyes and her heart started to crack for him. Of course Chopper couldn’t leave as one of the main doctors around and on top that everyone was either gone or too busy with dealing with all the settlements they helped out to gather supplies for Chopper’s side project. That really did leave Nami, Zoro, and Brook, and he probably made the plan while the two guys were gone, leaving the task as something Nami would have to carry out.

A hefty sigh left her chest and that heat and tingles caused by Zoro seemed to completely disappear as her mind already began to gather ideas of the best and fastest routes to take across the state.

Nami straightened her back and closed her eyes to contain the last of her angry, “Alright, I guess it can’t be helped then, huh, Chopper?” She gave a small, tight smile to the tiny reindeer and made a mental note to try and trick Sanji to check in with Chopper in the future so he would be sent out on his suicide missions rather than her.

Chopper’s ecstatic shout echoed along the hallway, pulling the bag off his back to shove plenty of Stimpaks in Nami’s palms and then Zoro’s. “I made up a lot just in case you guys get in tight situations. These things can heal in a punch, but don’t forget that the best for the body is proper rest, diet, and caution.” The last part was directed at Zoro, by the way she had seen Chopper give a sharp doctors gaze at the man who was putting away the healing items with a bored look.

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. Don’t worry Chopper, we’ll be back by tomorrow night and without using any of these,” Zoro smirked proudly at the reindeer whose eyes were the ones to be glinting this time, the shining stars nearly bursting out to show his high thoughts of Zoro.

With a whimper, Nami rang her hand across her face. Just what had she gotten herself into?

...

And did he say Zoro was the one to volunteer to go with her?

*****

For you Maybe I’m a fool but it’s fun People say you rule me with one Wave of your hand Darling, it’s grand They just don’t understand

It was nearly eighteen hours since they left the compound, her mikan trees all nicely taken care of, and an awkward air of silence created between the two. Well, it wasn’t necessarily awkward, but more of an overwhelming tension that was making her feel awkward as it dragged on more with nothing happening between the two of them.

At this point, Nami’s lips were worn away in all the wrong ways. She had been biting on them out of nervousness and she had also slide down a hill and smashed her face into a rock. If there was one thing to pick out from that accident just than Zoro’s laughing being the only time she had seen him show emotion since leaving, it would be the prospect of bad luck could be looming after the first incident.

The factory that Chopper had told them of seemed to be an old food packing plant, she gazed up the rusted back garage doors and to the very few windows the looming structure seemed to have. Zoro beside her did the same, since getting within half a mile of the place, his hand had been firmly planted and unmoving atop of the hilts of his swords.

The closest window to the ground that Zoro could possibly boost her to was near the left side and she waved her hand for him to follow over to it. He positioned himself to be right under it and readied his arms to toss her up enough that she would get through the window.

“If something goes wrong, yell,” there was a joking smile on his face, as if the thought of the signal being her scream rather than the obvious racked of Deathclaws going crazy would be what it would take for him to know she was in danger.

Nami rolled her eyes and shifted the weight of her bag to even out on her back, giving a few rolling huffs of air to prepare herself, “Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with,” she grumbled and pushed her body into his waiting grip.

Zoro’s right hand taking hold of her thigh and his left hand pushing into the belt of her jeans, sliding his thumb beneath the fabric for just a moment pop her panties on her hip, tossing her upwards as she gasped. The idiot was confusing her with each of his whims today.

Her hands gripped onto the creaking window frame and let herself drop through, positioning her body in the air to fall safely. As Nami’s feet had hit the ground, she kept a still stance and held her breathe, taking in the surroundings around her, finding that she was nicely alone in the space she landed in.

Feeling that the coast was clear at the moment, she kept a crouched stance, taking steps over the destroyed conveyor belts that was missing teeth mark shaped bits that were strewn across the room. If Chopper wanted Deathclaw claws, that could wait until another day after she found out how many were here and they could properly plan a strike, rather than race in and sustain more injuries than necessary.

As she shifted through the plant, trying to figure out where the lower stairs would be —Deathclaws liked being below the ground after all and that would be the most likely place that they would be and where these past scientists hid the blood from any prying hands— her mind drifted to Zoro.

Today had been confusing and all because of Zoro. She wasn’t used to his outward reactions towards her, let alone the thought of a mutual lust between the two. What exactly had changed so quickly during the past week for him to put himself out there and ready to jump Nami?

After working through four different room, picking up some canned food that could be put to use back home, the stairs finally appeared before her. And just beside them was a slim wall holder that contained a worn map, a big score for stumbling around in an abandoned place like this.

“Bingo,” she whispered to herself, fingering through the pages as quietly as the paper crinkles would allow, finding that there seemed to be two higher levels, the main floor she was on, and three basement floors beneath her.

That meant there was three floors she would have to crawl through in the hopes of finding these feral ghoul blood packs for Chopper and three floors of potential Deathclaws with however many that she didn’t know about. Nami’s skin broke out in bumps, worried sweat sliding down her chin, down her neck, and hitting the bare skin of her breasts. She was starting to regret the bra and tank top, but anything more and the sound would have given her away.

She pushed down the stairs, heading to the first basement floor to check through it.

Zoro had been so confident to undo her pants and take her right in the hallway where any of their friends could easily walk through and find them. The idea of such an occurrence brought the tingles back to her spine, Nami’s mind swirling around with just what he might do if he had seen that sweat, how his lips would fiercely attack the space of her breasts.

Half of this floor seemed to be clear so far, she dimly noted, nicking some metal scraps that were resting in a shipment of boxes. They were probably waiting to be unloaded and used to fix something in the plant before the nukes dropped.

The next set of stairs wouldn’t be too far and Nami knew that she should probably keep her senses in check, but Zoro just had to reignite that heat once again before she came in here.

It should have been gross, licking on his thumb like a kitten, but it was hot and the little bit of salty sweat residue tasted nice on her tongue. She wanted more of that, more of Zoro, but it was risky to think of anything past a nice romp in the bed. Though she didn’t take him as the type to hit and that be it, yet the thought of him having those same confusing feelings that laid past friendship or family or lust was odd.

Love.

The hints of feeling in love had been creeping through Nami’s mind for over seven months now and on top of that, Zoro caught on to the fact that she had been trying to distance herself from him to keep out any of those kinds of feelings taking a hold of her and rendering her a victim.

There was nothing wrong with being in love. She was so happy for Usopp and Kaya every time she saw the two of them in that special bubble of theirs.

But, the thoughts of how much harsher it would be to lose that person after taking that step into a different boundary, the pain of losing the only one who got to see you so intimately, that would be much worse than just losing close friends and family. She didn’t want to go through another death like Bellemere’s ever again.

So caught up in her head, Nami hadn’t even realized she found herself on the second basement floor until the smell hit her nose and she dived behind a desk decked with a busted up computer terminal.

Her breathe got stuck in her throat, a tiny whimper slipping out of her hands she covered over mouth.

She had been right about the Deathclaw children.

There had to be a dozen adult Deathclaws alone and over half a dozen of the children on this floor. In the past, the Strawhat crew had met a few friendly Deathclaws, but that was a different case than now. The way they growled, slinking around the room and sniffing, there was no doubt in her mind of the hunger that was in these Deathclaws. But, there was another stench of a smell she had recognized as well.

Peaking beneath the sliver of the desk, across the room there was stacks on stacks of labeled feral ghoul blood packs, just as Chopper had heard from Law, but it seemed that a few had gotten busted open and the smell of irradiated blood was mixing with the Deathclaw’s and creating something foul that made her stomach twist in sickening flops.

No matter where she seemed to look, there would be no way that Nami could reach the blood by sneaking around Deathclaw’s there was just no space to hide behind to reach the blood packs and any direction she went and the time spent grabbing them would only lead to her being noticed and most definitely killed.

Maybe if she could get back out and to Zoro, she could lead him into here to clear the place for her to gather the blood packs, or at least distract them long enough. But, there was no telling if there was more in the last basement floor and how many compared to the amount that was around her now.

With each second passing of her being on the floor like this, it was becoming apparent to Nami the predicament she was in.

Especially so when a throaty growl was too close to her ear and she could feel drool drooping along her leg.

Screwed, so screwed.

She had half a mind to actually turn and look to the predator, it’s mouth hanging open before her and the fangs glistening with saliva from the swinging lights above.

Her lungs burned from the scream she let out, the Deathclaw’s arm swinging down to crush the desk, Nami narrowly escaping the bloody death with a quick roll of her body. Hopefully the idiot Zoro had heard her, though she was uncertain if it would reach so far above compared to where she was in the basement.

All of the Deathclaw’s on the floor now had a nice eyeful of her spread out along the floor, like a snack before dinner for them, and below she could hear the rumble of more feet and claws racing to tear into her and make her bits.

The Clima Baton she had grown so used was being worked on by Usopp and so he had given her an overly upgraded laser pistol, but there was no way a laser pistol could get her out of this mess. Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, they were the types to be able to get themselves out of this situation without worries, but Nami wasn’t them.

That was why the moment she raised the pistol, a Deathclaw rushed from behind and sent her flying into a wall. The wall of blood packs she needed to get. No doubt was her left leg broken and the pumping blood was driving the Deathclaws insane with thirst. There was a slight distraction though, as Zoro finally burst forth, bringing out all three of his swords and slicing right through the first one to attack her.

Nami knew that she should probably get somewhere safer, but the reason they were here for Chopper came first. Zoro could take care of the Deathclaws and she could get the blood.

She whipped around her bag, throwing the flap open, and pushing the blood packs in by the arm full. There was a Deathclaw rearing itself up for an attack at her, but she almost had them all in her possession and Zoro would take care of it, right?

But, it’s claws still came racing for her, tearing away the tattered tank top in the first swipe and cutting open her stomach with the second.

“Nami!” She could make out Zoro calling out to her, but she couldn’t see him beyond the rush of the lower floor Deathclaws surrounding him, the space of the whole floor seemed to be taken up by the creatures.

Hope was growing dark for her.

And that was how Nami had gotten into this moment.

She sent her secured bag to Zoro through the Deathclaws, and prepared herself for this to be it. It was one of those moments that her brain just wasn’t thinking properly and death seemed inevitable now.

Even though she was scared of loving someone, scared of dying, scared of ruining that person she loved, Nami broke out into one more smile.

“I’m in love with you.” Zoro’s face peaked through the wall of Deathclaws and her words reached him, she hoped, as the arm of the nearest one swung into her, giving her a final look of its stretching skin tinged pink, the bent horns of a devil, and the foot long claws that hurt like a bitch.

The concrete pillar it launched her into could have been nice, save for the fact of her head not being wrapped around it.

Zoro’s voice echoed out to her as her eyes slid shut.

“Don’t die on me.”

*****

Living for you Is easy living It’s easy to live When you’re in love And I’m so in love There’s nothing in life but you

It was with a harsh thumping in her head, that Nami had awoken to a delicious warmth enveloping all over her. Such a nice warmth that she couldn’t resist nuzzling herself deeper into it, the feeling of her ear brushing over prickled skin like a scar.

A scar...

“Oi, you finally came to,” Zoro’s voice was low, even, though she didn’t miss the way his chest shook with a relieved sigh he seemed to have been holding in.

“Mmm, everything hurts,” Nami whined and cracked her eyes open, noticing first that Zoro was missing the top clothes he had on earlier then realizing that she was now wearing his jacket along with fabric wrapped around her head, waist, and leg. “Isn’t this a bit much?” she mumbled, shifting her body to get a better view of his face.

“What’s a bit much is you forgetting that Chopper gave you stimpaks to use and then proceeding to throw your bag at me,” he glared down at her and she sighed, that was right, she did have medical supplies that would have helped her, but she instead made the decision to be an idiot.

“Sorry... I was.. too caught up in my head,” Nami had tilted her gaze away from his as it was piercing her too much and she needed a relief and when she looked around them, the bodies of all the Deathclaws that had been crawling among the basement was dead now and their hands and feet were missing the claws. “At least you got the other part of why we were here, huh? Chopper will be happy.”

“He won’t be happy to see you in this state knowing he was the one to send you out here,” Zoro’s hand cautiously came to rest on the top of her head, stroking her orange locks at a steady pace. “Love, huh?”

She could hear the way his lips curled around the words and a blush crawled over her cheeks at the thought of her hasty confession. Nami raised her fist, slamming into the side of his head with a screeching “shut up” accompanying it.

But, the hit did nothing to rid Zoro of the teasing smile. “I guess trying to take pages out of Brook’s philosophy was all wrong,” he whispered thoughtfully, laying his lips to hers for a brief moment of fireworks, but he pulled away too quickly for her to enjoy it.

“Eh? Brook?” She let her head fall into a tilt as Zoro gathered her up into his arms in a bridal style, lifting her up and throwing both of their bags into her lap. Nami guessed that now she was awake and he knew she was going to live, he was fine with getting out of this place.

“Yeah, he was saying that when you try to go after a woman, you have to be over the top and come on strong,” a smirk strung across his face and a chuckle echoed around, “and then you will definitely get into their panties.”

Her eyes nearly rolled out her head, “Oh my god, seriously?! That’s why you were suddenly coming onto me? Cause you wanted to get me out of my panties? I didn’t realize that you and Sanji actually were so similar,” she poked at his buttons to tease him. Of course she should have known he was going by what someone else said.

“Oi! Don’t compare me to the shitty cook!” His foot rose to slam through the rest of the garage door that hadn’t been cut up and as the shanty metal clattered on the ground, piles of snow could be seen rising along the hills before them as more fell down from the sky.

Her smile drooped a bit, “I’ve been out for a whole day?”

Zoro sighed behind her, pulling her in closer to keep the cold away from her body, “Yeah, but it doesn’t seem you’re too bad off.”

“I guess we have plenty to talk about later on...” Nami’s voice drifted off as she wrapped his jacket tighter. There was something nice in this moment, a relief to know that her time hadn’t come, that Zoro was trying to work towards something with her, and being all wrapped in Zoro’s clothes and body.

Yes, it was wonderful, the warmth coming back, and that she wasn’t alone in those tingles that tickled her spine.

#zonaholiday2020 #fanfic #one piece #zona #zonami #zoronami #zoro x nami #ronoroa zoro #op nami #op zoro #tony tony chopper #op chopper

35 notes · View notes

wordynerdygurl · 4 years ago

Text

Skin Deep ~ Part 4

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! As @that-one-person reminded me, we were overdue the next chapter of Skin Deep! I hope this has been worth the wait. As always, if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know! Also, requests are open and I love when you re-blog and like my work! Thanks for all your kindness!!

This is the 4th Part of our Story with links below to the previous chapters! ENJOY!

Skin Deep Part 1

Skin Deep Part 2 Skin Deep Part 3

Pairing; Loki x Reader, Steve x Reader, Bucky, Natasha, Nick Fury, Thor and Valkyrie round out of cast! Summary: Picking up where Part 3 ended: You’re on the run with Loki, who wants answers. Steve comes clean to an old friend, Natasha and Fury make a plan. Warnings: References to violence, smut, intergalactic travel, and some kissing!

From his vantage point at Steve’s grill Bucky noticed the almost frantic vibration coming off his oldest friend from all the way across the lawn. And Steve wasn't carrying any champagne. In fact, he was whispering furiously to Natasha, shaking his head.

Looking to the skies, Bucky smelled the electricity in the air. It made the hairs on his human arm rise, antenna to trouble, tuning into the wrecked wavelength his friend was putting out. It was about you, of that Bucky was certain, and with your own strange behavior tonight, he knew trouble was en route. He had let you sneak away, sensing your breaking point, knowing your need for a minute alone. It was the reason you were such great drinking buddies. You let Bucky be himself and he returned the favor. Besides, something in Steve was different these days, something Bucky didn't exactly like. His friend, Captain America, hero to the weak, was pushy. Aggressive. Angry.

And when Steve looked at you, there was a gleam, a spark of possessiveness that gave Bucky pause. Sure, you were amazing. Funny, smart, undeniably sexy in a way all your own. Bucky understood wanting you, he even got the need to have you, hold you, lock you down with a ring. If only Steve could see how unhappy you were. Each time Bucky saw you, the strain had pulled more of your joy away. Sure, you baked pies, smiling the whole way, chirping platitudes and teasing Steve. That happiness, though, it never reached your eyes. Telling Steve that an engagement ring was too much, too soon, Bucky had tried in his very stoic way to prove that you weren't ready. Never fully able to give his buddy his blessing, Bucky had opted instead to provide you a shoulder to lean on. And lean you did. Slugging back vodka shots at all these parties, in the quiet and seldom used spaces of kitchens and dining rooms, you had talked easily with Bucky. No topic was too wild or off limits, with the exception of Steve. Anytime the name of your new love came up, the subject would change. You'd deflect and Bucky let you. Maybe he should have pushed harder, he thought as Steve stomped his way. Maybe Bucky should have forced you to talk about whatever issues you and Steve faced, tried his hand at advice, or offered excuses for his best friend’s erratic behavior. If Bucky had done that, then perhaps the stifling stench of trouble wouldn't be pooling around the party, pulsing through all the high energy people gathered together. “Buck… come here, would ya?” Sure, Steve sounded like himself. Jovial, a little concerned in that serious way he had, but not mad. For some reason, it reminded Bucky of the way Steve’s father would talk, just before he’d beat the ever loving hell out of Sarah… or Steve. It soured the stomach of battle tested Sergeant Barnes. War was coming. “Sure thing, punk.” Cocking his head, Steve couldn’t quite look his friend in the face, opting instead to focus on the open back door of his farm house. Would you come strutting out of it, unaware and un-phased? Steve prayed for that, even if his gut told him otherwise, “Bucky, you said my girl was in the ladies’ room?” Tucking his hands in his pockets, nodding solemnly, “Yea, Stevie. Yea. She had to piss. It happens.” Waiting for the battle was exhausting and Bucky just didn’t have the patience to stew in the slow burn of Steve’s anger. Clapping a broad hand along the neck of the Winter Soldier, Steve pulled his friend close. To anyone looking, the embrace would seem brotherly, kind. What they couldn’t see was the tight grip used to keep Bucky contained, or hear Steve’s heated harsh whisper, “Where the fuck is she, Buck? I know you know. So tell me.” Reacting instinctively, pulling against the restraining hook of Steve’s palm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about… she went to the bathroom, I came out here.” “Well she’s gone now and so is Loki-” Stepping back out of Steve’s reach, “Wait. Loki was here? I thought you said he left. Opened the Bi-Frost or whatever. Disappeared.” Almost growling, Steve ran desperate hands through his blonde hair, ignoring Bucky and turning to Natasha, “We need to let Fury know. Set a perimeter. Loki won’t be able to get off the planet, not without help anyway.” “Fury’s involved? Steve, what is going on?” Jabbing a finger into the chest of his best friend, Steve spun, spitting, “You let Loki kidnap my fiance, that’s what’s going on! And now I have to find her and rescue her before that greasy alien asshole does something else to the woman I love!” Rearing back, Bucky inhaled, lifting his shoulders. If you have to fight a friend, fight fair, he thought. Already Bucky could read violence in Steve’s muscle movement. The graceful way Steve bounced on his toes to build momentum into his fierce throw was minute but effective. Dropping his right arm, just a touch before stepping into his swing, Steve's eyes screamed murder and they were locked onto James Buchanan Barnes. A swish of air brushed at Buck's dark hair as the blow missed. Bucky easily blocked the punch, grabbing his pal at the wrist and twisting until his chest was pressed into Steve’s back. It was as fluid as the ballet you had forced them to attend a few months back, quick and clean movements, executed flawlessly. Bucky felt Steve spin in his grasp, planting his feet, preparing to toss the Winter Soldier on his ass. His counter maneuver was a leg sweep, one Bucky was ready to use, when Steve went limp in his grip. Natasha had sucker punched her mission partner in order to get his attention, “Steve. You gotta relax. Bucky didn’t know and you’re drawing attention. Too many eyes around here, ya know?” Natasha waved to Tony, a gesture that said, no worries, everything is ok over here. It was enough to satisfy the playboy, who turned back to his cocktail and conversation with Rhodes. “I'm fine. It's fine. I’m just…” unable to find the right word, spiraling, Steve sagged towards the ground. Catching him at the waist Bucky steadied his woozy friend as Natasha brushed off help from the other guests. Returning to the pair of soldiers out of time, The Black Widow, barely containing her disgust, “Bucky, get him inside. Steve, I'm sending everyone home, then I’m going to make a call.” True to her word, Natasha whispered something to Tony and Pepper, Bucky clocking their reaction of concern for both you and Steve. It was very clear to the Sergeant that The Avengers were not in on this mission. None of them were permitted to hang around the farm house with Nat going so far as to walk out with Clint and Rhodes. Bustling Steve into the kitchen, Bucky kicked a chair free from the table, dropping his buddy on his ass. Still a little amped up from the almost altercation outside, Bucky decided to put a bit of distance between him and his childhood friend, resting his hip against the counter, "What the hell was that, Steve?" "Stay out of it, Bucky." "It's too late for that, punk. Either you start talking or we take this back outside." Side eyeing the super soldier with a metal arm, Steve tugged at the corner of a pretty place mat sullenly, "Fuck you." "Language!" "You think I give a shit about bad words? Now? No… things are too far gone." Waving his hand, begging for more, "Care to elaborate, Cap?" Steve had a second to consider his options. He could let Bucky in, tell him what was going on, hear his opinions on the situation at hand. Or… not. "You don't need to be involved. Once Nat gets back, it's best if you go." Thunking into the opposite seat, Bucky leveled his grey gaze on his pal, "And if I say no?" "Look, it's an off the record thing. Tony, the rest of them? They know nothing. I don’t need you sticking your nose in-" That was all it took for the dam of Bucky’s own outrage to burst. With a wood rattling slap to the custom built dining table, open palm connecting enough to make Steve jump, "Damn it, Rogers! My nose is in this already. Hell, you were ready to half kill me over this… over her, not fifteen minutes ago!" Sighing, hard and heavy, Captain America pressed back in the wooden chair. He saw the questions in Bucky's look, the need to unravel this mystery, the desire to find a way out for his friends. And Steve realized that to accept his buddy's help, Bucky would need the full story. The truth hurts and Buck's words stung Steve. Bucky was right and in the end, he reasoned, they might need him to help bring down Loki. After a second of consideration, a rough hand sliding through his blonde locks, "Fine. FUCK! Fine. What do you know?" Crossing his arms over his chest, stern voiced but curious, Bucky started, "Just you and Nat reporting to Fury? Small team." "Small mission. At least, at first." Trying not to give anything away, making Bucky work for it felt good, almost like a return to his life before Loki, before you. Tapping his metallic finger on the table, Bucky resumed his questions, "So, how does Loki figure into this?" Leaning forward, Steve lowered his voice, “Weapons tech. Power. More than when he attacked New York. He’s been off world gaining followers, an army, and a throne.” “So the plan was to keep Loki away, right?” Nodding, Steve’s inflection solemn, “By any means necessary.” Rocking his head back, as if slapped, Bucky’s eyes widened. Just the implication of those words, by any means necessary, used by Nick Fury meant that this mission was crossing a line from mundane into murderous. "And she was your way in." It started to take shape, the whole sorted plan, Natasha’s involvement and Steve’s role in it all. Bucky felt that prickly sensation again. Bowing his golden head, Steve shook it yes, "Only… I wasn't brought in… I… volunteered." "Ok, but why?" Inching closer to the truth, waiting out the Captain, Bucky nodded for him to continue. When Steve wasn't forthcoming, Bucky nudged his foot with a sharp kick, eager to accelerate the story. For a second that frantic, frenzied energy flashed through the room again, pulling on Bucky's sixth sense, "Because I wanted what Loki had… who Loki had. I wanted her, so bad Bucky. So bad." “Steve… come on, man. There are other girls out there-” Cutting his friend off with a shout, “Why should that asshole have her? He doesn’t deserve her. Before he left, she was always so sweet, so cute… then he… abandoned her! Left her! Man, that was… just so hard to see.” “Yea… I know. I mean, I remember when she and Loki were together. And I know his leaving was hard on her.” “Hard on her? She… she stopped eating, stopped sleeping. God, I could hear her crying all night. Know how hard it was to keep away? To know that Loki had forgotten her?” Steve kept talking, about you, about loving you, and the lengths he went to in an effort to court you. He followed up with all the ways you denied him, over and over, until Natasha intervened. That all of it played into Fury’s plan was a convenient cross-point, coincidence, until things had gone wrong this afternoon. Bucky let him tell his story, knowing full well it was merely a version, a fairy tale wrapped around the rotten apple of truth. In Steve’s world he was the hero, wronged by fate, Fury and Loki Odinson. His path had been paved with good intentions and pure hearted motives. It was everyone else who misunderstood, miscalculated and mistook his actions. Could Steve be blamed for that? Of course, this edition of Steve’s tale didn't include beating up a cuffed prisoner. It also omitted the fact that Steve had been pursuing you while actively lying about Loki's whereabouts. Glossing over the details allowed Steve to paint a picture highlighting the best of him, but Bucky had known the little punk a long time. During a long pause that found Steve with his head in his hands, Bucky took a deep breath and asked, “And how did you and Fury know what Loki was up to?” “He was sending mission reports weekly. Loki had been tasked with helping promote peace across the Nine Realms. That he gained so much was the tipping point. Fury felt like a return to Earth would be 2012 all over again, only this time… total annihilation.” Something was still nagging at Bucky, “Had Loki made any threats?” A guilty look passed over the face of Captain America and his normally solid voice wavered, “Not that I was told about.” “So, Fury...?” “Fury needed… no, that’s not right. He wanted to keep close tabs on Loki, monitor his return, his mood, his movements, if he ever came back.” “And since she was his lover, she was a potential point of contact… the entry point?” “A possible one.” “If you were dating her and Nat was posing as her friend, then you’d know if Loki reached out, spilling the details on his plans, and be able to head him off at the pass.” “Exactly!” Oddly proud, Steve was almost happy that he no longer carried the burden by himself. Sure, Natasha knew, had even engineered some of it, but having a friend on his side made Steve feel better. “But Loki didn’t do that? He surprised you today?” Blowing out a frustrated snort, “Natasha went to meet him at the base. Apparently, the high and mighty Prince expected to be greeted by Fury and his forgotten lover.” “That didn’t sit well with the God of Mischief?” “Nope. Somehow he froze Nat. Confined her, I don’t know… Anyway, he came here and…” Trailing off, Steve could still picture his lady’s body, your body bent under his own, your eyes pressed shut in ecstasy. How you ground against what looked like his own sculpted skin, moaning through an orgasm that appeared amazing, and left you with shaky legs. Going silent, Bucky didn’t push, not this time, but he did feel the moment Steve surrendered fully. His shoulders let go with a deep inhale, his voice sounding like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn after a bad scrape, "She loves him, man. And I fucked up. Loki’s got my girl and I don't have any way to find her or fight him." Tears? Sighs? This wasn't Steve. No, Captain America was an unstoppable, unflappable hero. Spinning out was Bucky's move, not Steve’s. Putting his fleshy hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to console the broken man in front of him, "Come on, kid. There's always a way to win. It's what you and I have been doing for over a century." “Not this time, man.” "Why not? Did you come clean? That’s why she left, isn’t it? You told her what was going on and she went after Loki." Shame filled Steve’s heart, his cheeks burning, "I… I didn’t get the chance. She left here, but not alone." "She'll be back." Words, pathetic platitudes, were all Bucky could offer. He had seen you tonight, skittish and jumpy. He saw Steve’s reaction to your disappearance, angry and hurt. Bucky thought that a snowball in hell stood a better chance than you're returning. "Not happening. I lost it on her, Buck. Smashed up mom's dresser, yelled… It was like being outside myself, watching myself do and say these terrible things. And it wasn't her fault. Not really. I mean, yea, she fucked him but he was me, so-" "Whoa. Stop. Say that again?" Steeling himself to relieve this afternoon’s nightmare again, Steve swallowed hard, "Loki, you know how he can… shape shift? Well, he came here as me and I walked in on myself screwing my girl!" Bucky's eyebrows lifted, his full lips curling into a cockeyed grin, "Wait. You're telling me that you came home and saw yourself banging your future fiancé?" Pausing, catching Bucky barely holding back a smirk, "Yea… why?" And for some reason, after all the incredible things Steve had shared tonight, it was the idea of Steve catching himself balls deep in your naughty bits that made Bucky laugh. Once he started, Bucky couldn't control the mad giggles from overtaking him, much to Steve’s astonishment. But then Steve laughed, too, "I guess it is pretty funny, when you think about it." "I mean, your face must have been priceless!" Clutching his stomach as the laughter grew stronger, Bucky had tears running down his cheeks at the image Steve described. Sure, it was a horrible thing, but who could say that they watched themselves having sex like that without being in porno? It took them both a minute to calm down, with Steve settling enough to counter, "Shit, Buck! I was pissed! I probably looked crazy." "That I do believe. What did you say to her? Them?" Now his face flushed scarlet, burning with embarrassment. The lie was just easier to get out, "Um… I don't really remember. I know I surprised Loki and well, my girl fainted from being used by him. The shock of it not being me, ya know?" Bucky didn't buy it, but he let his friend sell the story anyway, "Must have been scary for her. And that's when you secured Loki in the locked shed? And set Nat as your watchdog?" "Yup." Unable to meet his friend’s stormy stare, knowing that it would undo him completely, Steve focused on the edge of the table, running his fingers back and forth along the rough wood. If this were an interrogation and Bucky were sitting across from a suspect and not his best friend, he’d have no problem beating the guilty man into submission. But Steve was his strongest connection to this world, this time, and it was hard to walk away from family, even if they didn’t deserve the benefit of your doubt. To that end, one thing still bothered Bucky, "Why not cancel the party, man?" "Because I still want to marry her." Pulling the small black box from his front pocket, Steve toyed with the thing, his vision of a future with you still so close to realized. Whistling at the size of the sparkly rock enshrined in white gold, "Fancy. What do you think your chances are? Think she'll say yes?" "My chances went down to zero the second Loki dropped down to Earth. As for her answer… Dunno. I… I hope so, but now…", Steve faded off, knowing there was little hope for your romantic reunion if he didn’t have a clear idea of where you were at the moment. "Now Loki’s back." "Right." “And they’re gone, together.” “Right.” “And Fury’s on his way.” Striding in on impossibly high heels, Natasha folded her arms over her chest, eyeing the two gossiping men in front of her. It was going to be a long night. --- Somehow you had made it to the treeline undetected, using the orchard as a shield, ducking behind trunks as you and Loki scrambled toward the edge of the property. You couldn't help looking over your shoulder, checking for pursuit, worrying that Steve or Natasha were going to find the pair of you. There was no possible way they would let you get away, not after today, not with Loki. It was a bit treacherous, though. There was only natural light to guide you through twisted branches and raised roots, so your progress was slower than you wanted, but Loki was with you. Even beaten and bruised, he radiated calm, a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. Something about that made this whole situation seem better, manageable. You were no longer alone, Loki was here, holding your hand, not directing you but consulting. "Pet… the roadway is up ahead. Stay here, tucked out of sight." Pulling your long lost lover close, a small kiss passed between you, a passionate promise to sit still. Stepping tentatively out onto the gravel filled shoulder, Loki surveyed the highway quickly. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, Loki waved at you, motioning you forward. Striding confidently at your side, Loki stopped in the dead center of the yellow lines, his grounding arm around your waist. A car, low, black, expensive, came racing round the bend, barreling towards you. Tucking your chin to Loki's chest, you gripped him tight, readying for the car's impact. A roar of wind swirled around you, grabbing at your skirt, whipping around your legs. For a second you thought you'd been struck. Breathless, your lungs emptied. There was nothing solid under you, just the feeling of Loki and a current of warm air. Next, you felt the impact of hard earth under your feet, vibrating through your shins, then Loki's grip loosening a touch, "Ok, darling?" Peeking from under his arm you saw lights everywhere. A bar was to your left, filled with noisy drinkers, barely discernible from the traffic around you. Honking horns made you jump, "Where the hell are we?" "Cleveland. I can't yet take us off world. I'm still a bit weak, I'm afraid… but at least we have a bit of a head start on Rogers and Fury." People pushed past you on their way to dinner, chirping happily, not seeing you in their tunnel vision. Being anonymous was a nice change, welcome even, as your personal life had been lost to Steve's intergalactic presence. On the busy streets of Ohio no one took notice of the two well dressed people standing on the damp sidewalk. "Um, you changed?", no longer sporting his battle gear, Loki was dapper in a black suit with an ebony tie. Leaning closer you straightened it, not because it was crooked, but because you needed to feel it… him. The whole look was just shy of too much, but that was the space Loki filled best and honestly, looking at him made your heart swell. Loki was back, and yours. After more than two years, having him close again felt natural, easy. In so many ways, the opposite of your life with Steve. As if somehow sensing your tug into nostalgia, Loki knuckled your chin up, "Just keeping up with you, love." His nose brushed against your own, so weirdly intimate and innocent for a man who had slapped your ass red only hours ago. Resting his forehead to yours, you inhaled that magical combination of burning sparklers, broken in leather with just a hint of honeyed citrus, "God, I forgot how great you smell." "Hmm… dove, there is nothing on Asgard that smells or tastes as wonderful as you. Believe me. I looked." "Careful Loki… people will say we're in love." At your cheekiness, Loki claimed your lips, his hands sliding over the soft fabric of your dress. Clinging to him, unwilling to let go now that he had returned, you puffed out a pouty sigh as Loki withdrew. “Norns. You know how badly I want you again? I can barely think straight for wanting you.” Oblivious to everything around you, lost in the sweeping pools of Loki’s desire filled expression, you toyed with his collar, “We have a lot of catching up to do, for sure.” “I’d love to get reacquainted-” here he paused to lick over his full lower lip, hunger for you dripping from every word, “-but we are on the run from the Earth’s mightiest heroes.” Snickering, you rolled your eyes at the thought of the Avengers, hours away eating charcuterie in Steve’s backyard. Stepping back, you sighed, “You’re right. So, have you got a plan?” Hanging in the air, your sentence had just left your mouth, your tongue still savoring the syllables when a sizzling crack snapped next to your ear. Swinging you away, forcing you to the sidewalk, Loki spun in a blaze of green. Crouched over you, snarling, “Fury! Always a pleasure to see you.” Stepping from the blazing golden circle supplied by Dr. Strange, Fury crossed onto the Cleveland sidewalk from your now empty garden party, weapon trained on Loki’s broad chest. “Wish I could say the same, Loki. You know it’s time to end this. Let’s take our… deliberations back to the office. Talk about this man to man.” A barking laugh left your lover, “Man to man? I am a GOD! And you… you are pathetic. Your attempts to keep me off Earth, imprisoned, away from my woman have all failed.” “Where are you going to go? You can’t get off the planet without help. My help. And it’s yours, Loki, if-” “If I come quietly? Tail between my legs, submissive and compliant?” As the words left his mouth, you watched, focused on the way Loki was shifting closer to you. The long fingers of his right hand were visible, reaching back for you, a silent signal of his escape plan. Fed up and furious, Nick Fury’s voice was flat with frustration, “Loki. Enough. Let’s do this somewhere people aren’t.” “Oh, I don’t know, this seems as good a place as any!” Circling Loki, edging nearer, Fury tried reasoning, “Endangering civilians isn’t going to make things easier. You know that.” “You know, I’d love to talk about how you betrayed me. How you stonewalled my lady… how you put Captain America in my place, as if he could ever be worthy of her. But, I’m a little busy at the moment.” Snapping his fingers, you jumped to your feet, grabbing for Loki’s outstretched hand. The second your palm connected that feeling of floating overcame you once more. This time you were ready for the roar of traveling through space by Loki’s magic, the push of meeting the ground, the curl of Loki’s body against yours. Blinking, you opened your eyes on new scenery, the chill of a beautiful sea soaked morning breaking around you. Straightening the coat of his pristine suit, Loki smiled at you as his fingers wove between your own, “New Asgard. My brother’s realm, now ruled by Valkyrie, by his abdication. We need to find him. He has a lot to answer for.” --- "Just what in the hell happened? I thought I was very clear about avoiding this exact problem." Pacing, hands firmly on his leather belted waist, Nick Fury growled at the bent head of Steve Rogers. "Now Loki’s on the run, dragging your… Well, what is she exactly Captain? Girlfriend? Fiancé? Mark? along for the ride." At those harsh words, Steve started, ready to focus his own anguish somewhere, anywhere. Fury was as good a target as any, as far as Steve was concerned. Pushing off the paving stones, he was stalled from rising by Natasha's firm hand and quiet words, "We have an idea-" "I don't want ideas. Not from you two. What I want are answers, Romanoff, and I want them now." Sitting on the emptied bench of the picnic table, still covered with your pretty tablecloth and jars of peonies, Natasha sighed, "I didn't have time to alert Steve. Loki made it here first and… reconnected-" "Is that what we're calling it?" Snapping, Nick glared from his good eye, his last name never more appropriate. Exhaling deeply, Natasha Romanoff squared her shoulders, "Sir, Loki… manipulated the circumstances." "Just what in the hell does that mean?" All three available eyes locked onto Steve, “What it means, Fury-” lifting his golden head with a jaw clenched tight, “- what it means, is that the son of a bitch showed up here and had his way with my woman. “After Loki… took advantage of her, I had him. He was contained, here, in my shed. It was modified with the restraints Tony provided with Thor’s direction.” “And still, he got away?” Disbelief clouded every syllable from Fury. That his two top agents had failed and so badly, had the normally stoic director steaming. Standing now, Steve was almost chest to chest with the man who’d been pulling the strings of this entire operation. Natasha, watching closely, knowing that she would only be able to subdue one of them if it came to it, gently palmed the dagger concealed in her waist band. Steve thrust forward, brushing past Fury before facing him once more, “Yea, Nick. He did. He got away.” “Do you know how?” Fury’s fingers were curled around his pocket taser, just in case Captain America needed a jolt, reminding him of who was calling the shots here. It wouldn’t do much except give Nick a head start, but with the Captain looking so rough and so raw, the SHIELD director would take any advantage available. “We believe that… he was set free.” Natasha didn’t want to say the words. You had let Loki go, that much she knew to be true, and she supposed that it made some sort of sense. Steve had been right all along. You and Loki did have some cosmic connection that even time and distance couldn’t eliminate. Intervening for the sake of Fury’s mission and Steve’s pining heart, Natasha had no qualms about why she’d guided you into a relationship, in fact, she still believed that he was a better man for you than Loki. But no. No matter what Rogers did, you had never let go with him like you had with the younger son of Odin. Not that you complained. You had taken all of Natasha’s words of praise, her seemingly well intentioned advice, her flat out advocating for Steve in stride. Sure, your friendship suffered for it. Natasha, never having been one for close ties to anyone, had enjoyed the talking and gossiping. It was nice to have a girl around the tower. One who understood period cramps and cravings. A person who would put on high heels and makeup for a night of dancing then suggest hoodies and shorts for watching Pride and Prejudice. That was over now. When she had been, well, frankly, overpowered by Loki and his new paralyzing weaponry, Natasha knew the plan for a peaceful capture of the prince was over. Having seen the aftermath of your reunion with the space god, having seen Steve’s seething anger, the Black Widow felt her own ire spike. Didn’t you know how hard she had worked? How tireless her efforts had been to keep you and Loki apart? Just how invested she was in joining you and Steve together? It was like you wanted to throw all of that away, squandering those bonding moments where you had become something more than a mission, those times when you were Natasha’s only real friend. Couldn’t you just go along with the plan, unknowing, quietly? She knew you couldn’t, wouldn’t. It wasn’t in your nature. So, channeling that frustration into the cold facade that so many had seen just before they met their end, Natasha had to compartmentalize the “you” she cared about away from the “you” she was responsible for trailing. Both had pissed her off. Now, hearing the gruff grumble of Director Fury bearing down on her, Natasha could only accept the berating tone of his hard words. He wasn’t wrong. She and Steve had fucked up royally, the whole mission was blown, and while Bucky had certainly aided in your escape, he was blameless collateral damage. The consequences fell to you and the Captain. Killing you was going to be hard for them both, but if it had to be done, so be it. Shrugging, Natasha started again, “Nick, we have a tracker on her. We know that she and Loki made it to Cleveland, but he can’t get away from Earth without some aid.” “Well, that’s good to know, if only it was some new intelligence. You’re tracking her? Great! Where is she now? Don't know huh? Well, she and Loki tele-ported from a city sidewalk, in front of me and hundreds of civilians, with no word on their next destination. “And make no mistake. Loki will find a way off of this planet and when that happens, there’ll be nothing else we can do.” “So what? Let him go! He’s won, Nick. It’s over.” Throwing himself down onto the bench, Steve’s dejected voice breaking, he slumped over his feet. “That’s not an option Cap. Loki is more powerful now than he’s ever been. You both read the reports. He wasn’t just hanging around on Asgard. No, Loki was negotiating peace between his native realm of Jotunheim and his adoptive home. He was gifted with tools and technology that no human could hope to wield. Earth ending stuff, Captain.” “Whatever plans you had of making peace are over now. There’s no way Loki gives us any help… and why would he after all this?” “Rogers, I’ll do whatever I must to keep this planet and the creatures on it safe. Loki is a threat to that, just by existing. With his new powers, high placed connections and intergalactic royal title, he had the potential to be unstoppable.” Seething breath puffed out the chests of the two men standing toe to toe. Machismo made Natasha want to vomit. Men. “Look, I’ll go after them. Steve, stay here, in case she reaches out. I’ll take the quinjet and trace their path.” Standing now herself, Natasha turned to the depressed super soldier, patting his arm, “Bucky’s still here. I’ll let you know when I’ve found anything.” “No. Nat, I can’t let you go alone. It’s my fault, too.” “You’re no good to me like this, Rogers.” “But, She’s-” Cutting him off, Natasha stepped closer to Nick, “I know, but you’re too involved. If tough choices need to be made, can you?” Gulping hard, passing a rough hand over his face, Steve frowned, “I can do my duty, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Steve.” Her tone said it all the words she wouldn't vocalize. I don’t trust you, not now, not like this. I don’t believe you will have my back at the cost of the woman you claim to love. I don’t think you can do the job. Fury didn't allow her the chance to elaborate, jumping in with his definitive voice, “Natasha’s right, Rogers. You’re staying right where you are, on the bench. Romanoff and I are going to resolve this issue without any further problems.” Half hearted, strength sapped, Steve raised his eyes to the leather clad figures before him, “Please. Please, Nick… Nat. Don’t hurt her.” “I promise, Steve. I won’t.” And in the second, all three knew she was lying.

--- Finding Thor’s shanty was easier than you expected. A friendly fisherman was only too happy to point you in the right direction. What you saw upon arrival was not entirely what you had expected when visiting Loki’s brother. It was a beat up looking cottage, surrounded by empty cases of cheap Midgardian beer, crumpled take out containers, and a collection of well fed seagulls situated near the edge of the village, “Ugh. What a pig.” “Loki! It’s… charming?” Your admonishing whisper turned the statement into a question at the sight of Loki’s disgusted face. For a second you just stood at Loki’s side, staring at the weather beaten front door, your hand clasped in his strong one. “It’s disgusting.” Agreeing with a small nod, “Um, yes. Yes, it is. But, this is your brother’s house and you said we needed to talk to him. Step one is ringing his bell.” “No. I won’t do it.” You had forgotten about this side of Loki. Fastidious, precise and obstinate, Loki could cop an attitude that had the ability to drive someone crazy. Someone like you. Over the last two years it had been easy to forget all the little things that made Loki prickly. It was even easier to forgive him. Since he’d left, you had looked at your life together through rose glasses, through a gentle fog of missing him, and those elements of your relationship that were less than perfect had been abandoned. Now, standing outside the hovel that Thor called a home, as a fresh day dawned over New Asgard, you were reminded of all those imperfect things that came with loving Loki. A wave of need, love, and longing for him rolled over you. All of those imperfections made you perfect for each other. Rising up on your toes you pressed a small kiss to Loki’s pout, taking the tall God by surprise, “What was that for?” Shyly grinning, you bit into your bottom lip, “I missed you… missed kissing you.” “Then perhaps you should come over here again?” That was all the invitation you needed. Stepping into Loki’s space, your chest resting against his own, you savored the nearness of him, as himself. He wasn’t playing at being Steve. Loki was here, he was with you, and if you weren’t mistaken his hands were drifting down your backside. The rush of it, well, it was familiar and new at the same time. How Loki seemed to inhale your breath, inhale you, as his mouth opened to accept your lips. His gentle exhale, a moan, as his tongue licked over your own. It was overwhelming. It was wonderful. Stepping back, you started to pull away, only for Loki to wrap his arms around your waist, “Not so fast, darling.” Losing yourself, you focused solely on the firmness of his body, the weight of his hands on your hips, the intensity of Loki’s desire. Intoxicating, heady, you leaned into those feelings. Kissing Loki back, you tangled his hair in your hand, earning another one of those sultry sounds that made your legs weak. How had you lived without the passion and pleasure he provided for so long? A smashing crash broke the quiet morning causing you to jump in Loki’s embrace, “What the hell was that?” Immediately on the defense, Loki pushed you behind him, crouching into a protective stance. From over his broad shoulder you watched, worried about the new danger coming your way, unsure how to help your reactive lover. Another rattle had Loki palming his dagger, anticipating an attack. That’s when a raccoon, bigger than your childhood terrier, scuttled from under an overturned trash can carrying what looked like a half eaten slice of pizza in its mouth. “Appalling! Mother would be modified!” Loki cursed as he offered you his hand, kicking away an empty glass bottle, "Why is he living like a dirty animal, surrounded by trash? One would think they were back on Sakaar!" “I don’t know what’s going on with Thor, but we came here for a reason. Let’s get it over with, ok?” Loki shook his head, refusing to step any closer, “He’ll have to come out here. I won’t go inside this… dilapidated shit box.” Sighing, “Fine. Fine, I’ll do it.” Stepping around a pile of broken electronics, you carefully picked your way to the front door, gracefully knocking on the splintering wood. After an answerless few seconds, you tried again, rapping lightly with your knuckles before turning to flash Loki a small smile. That’s when you noticed the striking woman striding towards you and your returned lover. “My, my… is that pretty Prince Loki I see?” Even her voice was sexy, you thought, as the sarcastic words dripped from her full lips. The swaggering stranger radiated cool, calm, sensual energy. Otherworldly energy that made you feel mortal and boring. You couldn’t help tugging your skirt straight and fluffing your hair as she got closer. “Ah… Valkyrie! How are you?” Hugging her tightly when she opened her arms, Loki found that he was genuinely happy to see the fierce, battle tested warrior. Smirking at your man, she countered, “That’s King Valkyrie to you. Your brother crowned me, or have you forgotten?” “On the contrary. It seems like he finally realized what I’ve known all our lives.” “Which is what, exactly?” “He’s not fit to be the ruler of Asgard, obviously.” Drawing right up to Loki, hands on her hips, Valkyrie leveled her dark eyes at his, “What would you know about ruling, Mischief?” “Enough to know that you’re good at it. Enough to know that I no longer want to be the King of Asgard.” “Is that so? And what’s changed your mind?” At those skeptical words, Loki wound an arm around your waist, tugging you close, “I’ve got more… important concerns these days.” Looking you over with her shrewd, searching gaze, but speaking to Loki, “And she likes you? Are you sure?” Laughing, the sound deep and rich, “As much as you like fighting and drinking.” “I hardly drink anymore. As King I have mead only on important occasions, I have to keep my wits about me the rest of the time.” Sharing a laugh, the two shared another small hug before Valkyrie turned to you directly, “Alright. Who’s this then?” Loki started to respond but you cut him off, extending a hard towards the newly crowned King of Asgard, “Uh, I can answer for myself, thank you, Loki. Valkyrie is it? Nice to meet you. And, yes, I love Loki.” Making a face that was part disgust, part pride, Valkyrie smirked, “Love? Oh no. Hasn’t anyone told you yet? Loving the Odinson boys is hard on a girl.” Pulling Loki in for a small kiss, taking him by surprise, “I’ll take my chances.” Shrugging nonchalantly, “Suit yourself.” Focusing on Loki once more, Valkyrie shifted on her feet, “Listen, if you’re looking for Thor, he’s not here.” “Oh? And where exactly is the lovable oaf?” Hitching a thumb over her shoulder, pointing up the hill, “At the palace… the new palace, that is. You can come and, please, don’t forget your girlfriend.” Falling in line behind the King, Loki couldn’t help but add, “You know Val, I think I liked you better when you were drunk.” Snorting in response, “And I know I liked you better when I was drunk, weird right?” Bringing up the rear, your own sarcastic comment dying on your throat when the Palace of New Asgard came into view. Banners of gold shimmered in the light of the rising sun, flapping in the breeze of the young morning, beckoning you closer. You hugged Loki’s arm tighter, excited and exhilarated by the sight before you. “Home is a people, not a place. Those were some of my father’s last words to Thor and I… and while I can never take you to the place where I grew up, this… this is the home of my people.” “Loki… it’s beautiful!” Valkyrie, stopping so you could both catch up, “It’s getting there. Thor’s been a huge help. Come on, let's show you around the palace and let your brother know you’re here.” ---To Be Continued!

My minxes: @sammy-jo1977 @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki multipart #MCU fanfiction #mcu x reader #mcu x you #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes #valkyrie #thor

105 notes · View notes

charlettebffxiv · 3 years ago

Text

Prompt #25 Silver Lining

“Oh come on!” Maxim was rarely upset by anything, the man had a relentless kind of optimism after all. The worst situations can be turned around into the best once filtered through whatever rose-tinted filters wrapped his mind. Charlette rarely had patience for it these suns, it was hard to not see the shadow in every corner, no matter how bright the room. So, seeing frustration finally take the Wildwood was a surprisingly entertaining experience for her. “What do you mean five suns time? It’s been more than a moon since we were promised the damn delivery of our order! How are we supposed to tend to anything without new tools? We’ve not a sharp edge between nearly twelve pairs of shears!” The man he was attempting to stare down across the counter had his arms crossed, stoic as ever. “Come back in five suns and you’ll have your tool sets. I’m not going to tell you again, it’s not finished and it’s ‘cause the iron shipments were delayed. You wanna press it, take it up with the suppliers. Longer you keep me here, explainin’ this again and again, the less time I’m spending at my workbench.” Maxim threw his hands in the air, a loud and long growl of frustration escaping as he turned and walked back to Charlette. “Bobocufu’s going to be disappointed. Worse, we’re going to have to come back again.”

Willow’s Heart was on the very edge of Gridanian territory. Likely set there on purpose, to make it easier on the Order to go about their business. Or perhaps it’s the reason Willow’s Heart was chosen as the Order’s base of operations, the history at this point is a little muddied. Still, this meant that anyone living there had a long journey ahead of them, if they wished to visit the Shroud capitol. And now she and Maxim were just starting out the long, three-bell cart ride back to Willow’s Heart empty handed. “Bloody ridiculous.” Maxim fumed, a true grumpiness having taken hold of him. “My arse is already complaining, why in the hells do carts just have planks of wood for a seat? Do drivers not deserve to be comfortable?” Charlette shrugged, not feeling any more comfortable than he, but she didn’t need to vocalize it quite as much. “I could not say, there are not many histories on the development of the cart in the library. It is a rather specific subject after all, and not one many are quite as passionate about as you.” Maxim purposefully deepend his frown to the point he looked two decades older. He looked ridiculous and he knew it, so at least his humour was still shining through the little storm he had wafting about. “Do not let this break you, Maxim. Try to see the bright side of it, we get to see Gridania again in five suns. Plum beer and skewers for lunch, maybe a slice of pie at the Carline Canopy?” He brightened, just a little. “I don’t hate Gridania or anything, frankly it’s a wonderful change from being in Willow’s Heart. I’m just, ugh, I hate disappointing Bobocufu. She’s desperate for these tools, you’ve seen the rust on our current set, gods Dylan nearly stabbed himself in the face when the handle of his scythe up and snapped mid-swing.” The young apprentice to Bobocufu, the leader of Willow’s Heart’s botanist troupe, was the smallest and weakest of them. If he could achieve something like that, well, it made everyone else rather reticent to even swing one of the old axes anymore. “It is quite frustrating to work with. I think those old shears cost me a few extra bells in pruning time for the Greenhouse.” Maxim’s agreement came across in a loud groan, his dramatics playing up quite the show. “I know! Gods be good, it takes ages to do anything.” Dropping his head into his hands, Charlette almost believed he was actually weeping at the thought of it. “Five whole suns, and I don’t even believe that man will have it done by then! It will be another excuse, you wait and see. No amount of Carline Canopy pie will make-up for it either!” he snapped the reins he held, the chocobo leading it responded with a hard kick to the hearth and a loud “KWEH!”, making Maxim jump. “Sorry! Sorry… don’t kick me.” Two bells rolled by very, very slowly. Only the trundle of the cart against the rough path below, and the consistent crunch of the chocobo’s steps left to fill the air. Charlette’s whole body was complaining, the shaking of the cart rattling her down to her very bones. Maxim, however, had maintained his little cloud of worry. The closer they got to Willow’s Heart, the more intense it became. “Bobocufu will understand, Maxim. There is not much any of us can do about this, but wait. Maybe she should come with us next time, she is quite good at chewing people out, given the opportunity.” The snort of laughter that escaped her companion blew that cloud aside, just a bit. “I’d love to see that. Heck, I’d hold her up to face-height so she can do it right into the man’s smug expression.” Charlette placed a hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “And I will get you a cushion to sit on for the trip. I will not have your precious bottom being bruised further, it has a lot of sitting to do.” Hand to heart, Maxim gasped and bowed as low as he could in his seat. “You’re truly a savior of posteriors Charlette. My buns will be eternally grateful!” There he was again, edge with tension but coming back. Who would have thought she’d be the one providing an optimistic outlook for once. Well, here’s the true silver lining of the trip coming up anyway. Charlette tapped Maxim on the shoulder, just as the cart pulled to the highest point of the pathway. Maxim pulled the cart to a stop with a firm “Whoa!” and they both stopped and turned, looking through a gap in the canopy above. The sun was just starting to fall below the horizon, a brilliant red starting to burn across everything. It was beautiful, and the greatest reason that Charlette, despite the small truths that held-up Maxim’s irritation, was quite looking forward to the next trip back. “Well, I suppose that’s one nice thing about the trip.” Maxim wrapped an arm around Charlette’s shoulders, hers snaking around his waist and they pulled in tight, watching as the sun left them over the edge of the world. “He better have my bloody tools ready…”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv writing #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv rp #ffxiv #elezen #duskwight

3 notes · View notes

freckledfangs · 4 years ago

Text

hesitations

pairing: mason x f!detective (amihan marasigan) rating: T (no smut, mostly because of subject matter) warnings: mentions of body image issues (nothing too detailed/explicit but it is mentioned)

summary: alternate rooftop scene where amihan reveals one of the reasons she’s keeping back from sleeping with mason (soft!m is present)

(tagging @oxjenayxo you said you wanted to be notified when it was up! ty!) ___ The rough stone of the roof is cold under Amihan’s palms. She wonders how this wasn’t too much for Mason - the biting frost of the night air. But then again, as he said the rooftop was quiet. And she too, can feel a comforting wave of peace fall upon her. Even if it were just that moment.

And also there was that, the comfortable silence she can have with him. One she found was hard to find with anyone else besides Tina. She can barely see anything past the hazy shadow of the trees (she should really wear her glasses more often), but the unknown of the dark doesn’t scare her. She glances at the proximity of her hands next to Mason’s. The temptation to move it closer is there. It’s always there, the want to be closer to him.

“So you can’t sleep?” Mason asks. It’s earnest with a hint of teasing. He wraps his arms around himself, pulling his leather coat tighter against him.

“Nope,” Amihan replies. It’s not till then she realizes that the panicked thudding in chest has slowed. The remnants of the nightmare are slowly, but surely leaving her mind.

“I can think of a few ways to tire you out,” he says, smirk audible.

Ahh there he is. Amihan chuckles. She pulls her knees against her chest, daring not to look at Mason or his gleaming eyes right now.

“Of course you do,” she returns in jest. She can feel the heat of his gaze and every time, it’s almost enough to make her give in.

“The offer is always there, sweetheart.”

The way he purrs “sweetheart” churns undeniable desire in her belly. She wonders how it’d sound against her ear while his hands are on her skin. She dares to look at him, not attempting to hide the flush on her cheeks. Even if she tried, he could always tell.

His gaze is intense, moonlight tracing the sharp angles of his gorgeous face. Sometimes it’s too much looking at him, Amihan thinks.

“Hm,” she says, pressing her cheek against her knee, “I bet you’ll take that offer right back once you really see me.”

Mason raises a brow, genuine confusion falling onto his face.

“What do you mean?”

His tone is surprisingly serious.

Amihan picks at the hem of her sweatpants. She assumed he would lead this into some joke, or another opportunity to flirt.

She wonders if he’s playing along or if he really means it. Surely he knows what she means, and she hopes he does, because the thought of having to say it out loud makes her skin crawl.

“You know what I mean,” she says as lightheartedly as possible, though she knows Mason is aware of how serious she is. She shifts in her position and turns back to look at the dark, seemingly never-ending shadows of the woods.

“I don’t,” Mason replies, without a hint of sarcasm or snark in his words.

Amihan sucks in her cheeks, sitting straight up. The raw edges of the skin by her fingernails look tempting now. She moves a hand to pick at it, before pulling her hoodie sleeve over her hand. No, not now. You’ve been doing well.

“Here’s the truth. Mason, I really want you,” Amihan begins, instead fiddling with the loose thread on her hoodie sleeve, “I really, really want you and it’s frightening to me. Because you’ve made it clear that you do too. But part of me believes you’re doing it as a joke or for a laugh. And another part believes that if I do give in you’ll change your mind.”

“Sweetheart,” he replies, “If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t be dragging it out this long. I wouldn’t have flirted with you to begin with.”

Amihan lets out a long exhale. Mason has never lied, has never been false about his intentions. Everything that’s happened has been proof of that - but why this, the fact that he wants her in that way was so hard to believe?

“That’s good to know,” she manages to say. She can’t look at him now. “But what if you don’t like what you see?”

Mason furrows his brows, once again, genuine confusion falling onto his face.

“I obviously like what I see-”

“Once we get intimate. What if you don’t like how I look then,” she quickly interjects, biting the inside of her cheek. She’s thought of those words forever, but saying them out loud feels like unearthing something deep and awful.

For once Mason is stunned silent.

“Why wouldn’t I like-”

“Because I’m ugly,” she interjects again, fearing a frustrated response from him. She’s relieved when it doesn’t come.

He pauses to say something, but not before Amihan can continue.

“And no, I’m not fishing for sympathy or whatever. It’s why I never bring this up.”

A torrent of tears trickles down her cheeks. Embarrassing.

She begind to stand up and leave. That was enough of that. That was not where she was hoping it’d go.

“Amihan.”

Mason has never said her name before - or at least, never from what she can remember. It’s enough to make her freeze in her steps.

“Embarrassing, I know,” she says, her back turned.

“No,” Mason says. She hears him get up.

“Well,” Amihan sniffs, wiping her face with her sleeve, “Tell me now if you no longer want anything to do with me.”

She feels his footsteps close in, the warmth of his presence coming nearer.

“It might sound disingenuous,” he says, “But I do, still want you. But if it’s something that makes you uncomfortable, I won’t push it anymore.”

Amihan sighs, pang stinging in her chest.

“But that’s just the thing, it doesn’t. I want nothing more than to…,” she trails off, “I just. I hate how I look. I hate how my body looks and I am so scared you will too.”

She finally turns to face him, blinking away tears. There’s a certain softness in his eyes she doesn’t think she’s ever seen. He shoves his hands in his pocket and looks at her.

“I have no idea if it means anything coming from me, but I won’t,” he assures, “You’re stunning.”

There’s a gentleness in his final words that make Amihan’s stomach leap. It frightens her too.

“I don’t believe it, but...thank you,” she replies.

“I’d like to make you believe it,” he smirks, “Even if it doesn’t involve...that.”

Amihan can’t help the smile it coaxes.

“So tell me now,” he says, more serious this time, “Would you like me to stop?”

Amihan rocks back and forth on her heels. She looks at his eyes, gleaming as always.

“No,” she answers, “But...it might take. A while.”

He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling.

“I have forever, sweetheart.”

The weight of his reply is heavier than she expected.

_____________

As Amihan walks away, the sound of her heartbeat grows faint, as does the feeling of peace that had enveloped Mason.

Suddenly, the crickets are too loud, the breeze too frosty, and the stone roof too rough beneath his skin. He pulls his jacket tighter against him. When he can no longer hear Amihan’s heartbeat, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, dampening the sensory overload.

He takes a long drag and exhales. He thinks about Amihan - something he finds himself doing often, almost all the time. He ignores the desire to just have her close.

What bothers him even more than the rattling of tree branches, was that Amihan had meant everything she said earlier. He knows what lies feel like, even half truths, but very few people have ever laid anything so raw and bare before him. His brows knot at the notion that Amihan finds herself ugly.

It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t understand why it bothers him.

Had anyone else said that about Amihan, a quick fist to the jaw would fix it. But what now that it’s Amihan herself? There’s a want in him to prove to her that what she believes is wrong. Because it’s wrong.

Amihan is beautiful.

And for a moment there, the fear of Amihan telling him to back off was too real. And the fear, maybe wasn’t from not being able to get intimate with her. Maybe the fear was from the idea of no longer being able to be around her.

The idea makes his head spin.

He takes another drag from the cigarette. He can see the sun peeking from the horizon. It’s almost time to crawl back to his room.

#twc #twc mason #agent mason #mason x detective #agent m #my fic #amihan marasigan #amihan x mason

25 notes · View notes

pipermca · 3 years ago

Text

Rough Draft: The King and the Bounty Hunter (part 3)

I figured I'd throw down another part here, since I have it done. :)

Again: rough draft, subject to change, yada yada.

Part 1 Part 2

**************************************************

"It was like nothing I've ever experienced before," Prowl said. His optics were unfocused, a confused frown on his face. "Through the whole drive back home, I kept trying to think of how to explain what I saw. What I felt. What I... What I learned. But..." Prowl shook his helm. "I simply haven't found the words."

Jazz pulled Prowl tighter against his side, almost protectively. "Ya don't have to say anything if ya don't want to, Prowler," Jazz murmured. Jazz tilted his helm forward as if trying to get Prowl to focus on him instead of whatever it was Prowl saw in his memories. "Don't force yourself to tell the story if it's too hard for ya."

Finally, Prowl blinked and turned to look at Jazz. "But I need to tell it, Jazz," he said firmly, his wings finally lifting from the downward slant they'd had ever since he'd transformed in the palace's courtyard. "It was... I believe that it was the most profound thing I've ever witnessed, or ever will."

Lord Caelum leaned forward in his chair and put his hand on his creation's knee. "You've been on the road for a long time, Prowl. I know you must be tired. If it's too much, you can tell us about it later, after you've rested." He gave Prowl an encouraging smile. "Maybe then you'll have found the words you're looking for."

Prowl shook his helm firmly, his expression and the set of his wings showing his resolve. "No, I want to tell you everything now," he said. "It might sound disjointed, but speaking it out loud now will help me organize my thoughts for later. I want the account I write down for the Temple's archives to be as complete and as understandable as possible." He drew in a vent of air, sitting up on the couch, and looked around the small group with determination. "I am the first Praxian to be in attendance of the Primal ceremony since before the Vosian War. It's important that I tell the story, in the best way I possibly can."

Prowl had returned home in Praxus a few groons earlier, his arrival heralded by a messenger from the western border of Praxus. He'd been gone for two full orbital cycles, long enough that Smokescreen had begun to keenly feel Prowl's absence in the Court. Fortunately, Smokescreen had been so busy with all of the tasks that Prowl usually handled that he'd barely had time to worry about whether he was going to lose another brother to Primus. Yes, Smokescreen knew that the chances of Prowl being selected as the next Prime were slim, but there was still that nagging worry that somehow the Matrix would choose Prowl.

That worry, at least, had been assuaged by the message sent around Cybertron by heralds after the Primal Ceremony had concluded. The announcement stated that Acting Chancellor Hot Rod of Nyon was the new Prime, henceforth to be called Rodimus Prime, and that the Church of Primus would be relocated to his homeland.

For Smokescreen, that meant that his other brother, Ranger Bluestreak, would be moving to Nyon along with the new Prime. But it also meant that – thankfully – Prowl would be coming back to Praxus.

However, when Prowl arrived at the steps of the palace, Smokescreen's plans to welcome Prowl home on the garden terrace with a small celebratory reception for their family and staff were swept aside. The haunted look in Prowl's optics put any thoughts of a party out of Smokescreen's mind, and he'd immediately ushered Prowl into the privacy and quiet of his office, with only Jazz and their carrier, Lord Caelum, in attendance.

Smokescreen poured a glass of the mid-grade fuel he'd had the servants bring them, and set it in front of Prowl pointedly. "If you feel you're all right to continue, then go ahead," Smokescreen said, trying to sound encouraging. When Prowl looked at him, Smokescreen tipped his wings upwards and gestured at the fuel he'd just poured. After Prowl picked up the glass, Smokescreen sat back in his chair. "You'd just gotten to the part where the Matrix floated into the air." Smokescreen did his best to keep his incredulity out of his voice; who knew what sort of magic was used during the Primal Ceremony. "You said you felt something?"

Prowl took a deep drink of the fuel before seeming to gather himself. "Do you remember what you felt – what we all felt – when Bluestreak and the other Rangers detonated the old Matrix?"

Jazz nodded. "Yeah. It was the weirdest thing: it felt like I was gettin' hit with a bunch of feelings that weren't mine, almost like someone had sprayed me with someone else's thoughts." Jazz frowned. "I gotta say, I didn't like it."

Smokescreen nodded, recalling the moment that Bluestreak's shot destroyed the Matrix. After seeing a flash of bright light over the horizon, Smokescreen and everyone around him were suddenly engulfed in a tumult of foreign emotions: happiness and sadness, fear and courage. The emotions had swept over Smokescreen and the retinue of the First Praxian Cavalry who were guarding him, far back from the front lines of the battle with Shockwave's forces. "Based on what you both told me later, I think what I felt was less intense than what you felt, being closer to the explosion," Smokescreen said.

Prowl was nodding and staring at his glass. "What I felt in Iacon during the Primal Ceremony was similar, but instead of just emotions, there was a... a consciousness behind it. There was intent." He looked up, and the haunted look was back in his optics. "I felt when it looked at me. I felt when it judged me.

"Judged?" Jazz asked, his voice sharpening.

"Yes. Judged. I felt it weigh everything that I'd done, and everything I was. And..." Prowl paused to take another drink from his glass, almost draining in. When he lowered it, Smokescreen noticed that his hand shook slightly. "It considered who I was, and who I should be. And I felt it reach the conclusion that I was not worthy... Not meant to be a Prime."

Jazz pulled Prowl against him again and pressed a kiss to the side of his helm. "Whatever that thing was, it obviously didn't see you the way I do," Jazz said.

"No, you don't understand," Prowl said, sitting up again and the focus coming back to his gaze. He looked at Jazz. "In that moment I understood what it means to be a Prime. All the weight and responsibility and duty... I understood it all." He looked at Smokescreen, then at their carrier. "I am proud – and content – to be a prince, and to be Seneschal of Praxus and Marshall of the High Court. But I also know now, with certainty, that I am not meant to be a Prime. I do not want to be a Prime." He closed his optics for a moment and sagged into Jazz's arms. "It was a relief when the Matrix's attention passed over me."

Smokescreen grabbed the carafe from the table and leaned forward to fill Prowl's glass again. "Then what happened?" he asked, feeling his own relief anew that Prowl was apparently not meant to be a Prime... Whatever that meant to Primus, and to Cybertron. But to Smokescreen, it meant he thankfully got to keep his other brother at his side.

After taking another drink, Prowl visibly pulled himself together once more. Instead of the rattled shadow of his brother that had sat there a moment before, Smokescreen saw the competent and organized brother he'd known since they were younglings. "By the time I'd gathered my wits again, the Matrix opened. A beam of the purest light I've ever seen shone out from it, onto Hot Rod. He reached out to take the Matrix in his hands, and... the light was suddenly too intense. I had to look away." Prowl's wings flicked up and down once. "There was a voice – I couldn't make out the words, but it almost sounded like Optimus Prime speaking."

Jazz tipped his helm to the side. "I thought the old Prime died before the ceremony."

"He did. The funeral was held a decacycle before the Primal Ceremony." Prowl drained the rest of the fuel in his glass. "By the time the light faded and I was able to look again, the Matrix had closed, and... Hot Rod had changed. Instead of Hot Rod, there was another mech standing before us in the cathedral. He was taller and broader. He looked... older. Wiser? More tired." Prowl glanced at Smokescreen, as if expecting his brother to challenge his account. "He had become Rodimus Prime."

Lord Caelum had leaned forward as Prowl spoke, his attention rapt. "The Matrix changed his frame?" When Prowl nodded, their carrier looked thoughtful. "I'd heard stories from the priests, passed down since the Vosian War, that the Matrix could change a mech. But I always assumed it was metaphorical, something about the responsibilities required of the Prime... Not that the Matrix could physically change someone."

"And what about the Rangers?" Smokescreen asked, still thinking of their third brother. "They swore their allegiance to the old Prime."

Prowl nodded again. "As soon as the light faded, all of the Rangers stepped forward and knelt before the new Prime. Their vow remains unchanged: to protect Cybertron with their very sparks, and to serve both Primus and the Prime." His wings dipped a bit as he added, "Bluestreak was among them. He intends to remain a Ranger, and a Paladin of Primus."

Caelum closed his optics for a moment, then vented softly. "I had hoped, but... I honestly didn't expect Bluestreak to come home," he said. When he opened his optics again, he looked every single vorn of his advancing age. "He's taken a new road for his life, and he is happy. That's all any creator can want for their creation."

"Oh! That reminds me." Prowl reached into his compartments and pulled out a sheaf of letters. "Bluestreak wrote to you both. And Smokescreen, you received a letter from Governor Hightop of Altihex. I also received a copy; it's an invitation for a trade summit in Altihex." He hummed as he handed the letters to Smokescreen. "Yours feels a bit thicker than mine did, so there may be something else included."

Caelum exclaimed in delight as he took his letter. "Oh, wonderful! I'd hoped Bluestreak would write. Had he gotten the letter I wrote to him?"

"Yes, but it arrived only a few cycles before I got to Iacon," Prowl said with a huff. "You sent that two full orbital cycles ago! We could have had someone walkthere in that time." He sagged against Jazz and pressed his digits into his temples. "That is something else I must prioritize: getting Praxus integrated into the Cybertronian courier system. Depending on traders who might be headed in the general direction as your letter is an inefficient method of sending messages... Not to mention terribly insecure."

"You can do that later, Prowler," Jazz said firmly, and stood up, pulling Prowl up beside him. "You've had a long journey, and you're tired. Let's get you up to your apartments and into a nice hot oil bath, all right?"

"Yes... Yes. That sounds wonderful." Prowl sketched a bow to his brother and carrier. "Until tomorrow?"

"Go," Smokescreen said with a smile. "Make sure he gets some recharge before he tries to do anymore work, Jazz."

"Will do," Jazz said over Prowl's weak protests, and escorted the prince out of Smokescreen's office.

Smokescreen glanced down at the letters in his hand before setting aside the one from Governor Hightop. Across from him, Caelum was making delighted noises, already reading Bluestreak's letter to him. Smokescreen slid a digit under the seal and opened his own letter from his brother.

He could immediately see why Caelum was smiling. Bluestreak's bubbly enthusiasm for everything practically poured out of every glyph he'd written. In his familiar hand, Bluestreak wrote about how good it was to see Prowl and how much he missed Smokescreen and their carrier. He also explained how much relief he felt now that the Matrix was safely in the possession of the new Prime, and how excited Hound was at the prospect of moving back to Nyon.

"Did he mention the Prime is relocating the Church of Primus to Nyon?" Caelum asked, obviously having reached the same part of his letter that Smokescreen had just read. When Smokescreen nodded, Caelum made a satisfied noise. "That's slightly closer than Iacon is to Praxus, at least. Perhaps I'll get to see Bluestreak again soon."

"That would be nice," Smokescreen said. As Caelum started reading his letter over from the beginning, apparently wanting to pore over every glyph from his youngest creation, Smokescreen opened the letter from Governor Hightop.

Inside were three sheets of velum, each done in a different hand. The first was an invitation to the trade summit Prowl had mentioned, and Smokescreen set that aside. When he began to read the second page, his optics widened in surprise. He skimmed the letter, then read it again, more thoroughly.

Your Majesty,

I hope this letter finds you well. I think often of our conversation over that wonderful Northern engex, and I thank you again for your hospitality.

Your tale of the plight of the citizens of Emerald Lake has remained on my mind. To that end, and as I previously mentioned, I have enquired into methods for assisting them, the rightful owners of the shanix kept in the protected accounts you mentioned.

Enclosed in my letter is information from one of the accountants employed by the Mercantile Bank of Altihex, who specializes in protected accounts. If you follow the instructions he provided, it may be possible to release some of the funds in the protected account, provided you have all of the information required. It seems some intricate charmwork may be needed to breach the protection surrounding an account in question, but I trust you have access to a sorcerer or alchemist who can assist you.

I hope find this information useful.

Humbly,

Devcon of Altihex

The third page of the letter was written in a completely different hand, the gylphwork dense and precise. Smokescreen skimmed the page to find that it was instructions for targeting an account in the Bank with a precisely worded request for access to the funds.

"You look utterly baffled, Smokescreen," Caelum said. When Smokescreen glanced up at his carrier, Caelum was smiling. He gestured at the letter in Smokescreen's hand. "Is an invitation to a summit so bemusing?"

"It's not the invitation. It's what came with it." He handed Devcon's letter and the instruction sheet to Caelum and waited as he skimmed them. "It seems we may be able to get access to the shanix Crossflare took with her, after all."

Caelum's wings tipped upwards, and he looked up at Smokescreen in surprise. "This is wonderful news, if it works," he said. "And this bounty hunter did this on his own?" Caelum smiled again as he handed the letter back to Smokescreen. "You must have made quite an impression on him with your story."

"I guess I did," Smokescreen replied, and looked down at Devcon's blocky glyphwork. "I wish I knew exactly what I said that made the impression."

#my writing #fanfic #tf smokescreen #tf prowl #serial fiction #alt modes and alchemy au

5 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 4 years ago

Text

A Game Of Numbers. (Part Five)

Marion "Cobra" Cobretti x reader

Warnings: swearing (in German and English), mention of death, mention of injury, mention of homophobia, gun use

Context: When a string of seemingly connected murders and kidnappings break out in LA, Cobretti is called in to figure out what is going on. He is, however, not alone in his investigation. Lieutenant "Hawk" (Y/l/n) is deployed to help him, though it quickly becomes clear that the crimes taking place are not as random as they first thought, but rather a little more personal than either of them would hope.

A/n: somehow, I'm starting to think this is gonna fail massively

Masterlist

Once again, Hawk jerks awake, body covered in a thin layer of sweat, each breath rattling painfully out of her chest, her eyes wide as they instinctively scan the interior of her bedroom, looking for the danger her body is expecting. Upon finding nothing out of place, she sighs, slumping over from her upright position, cupping her face in her hand to steady herself, trying to regain control of her racing thoughts. A dull light filters in through the thin blinds, casting the room in a cold light that throws harsh shadows against the walls.

Trembling a little, Hawk glances over at her bedside clock, glad to see the time is near enough her usual get-up. Rubbing her eyes briefly, she pulls back the tangled sheets as swings her legs out of the bed, placing her hands on her knees to gain some form of stability as her head reels, flashes of her plaguing past coming unbidden to her head, each memory vivid thanks to the disturbing nightmares hounding her sleep. Shaking them away, she climbs to her feet, stretching out her back until it cracks, before she shuffles into the hallway, to the bathroom, where she quickly gets changed.

Having splashed cold water on her face, she feels a little better, the brisk temperature helping to clear any remaining haze from her mind, allowing her to think more clearly. Staring at herself in the mirror, she steels herself against her memories, knowing that what has happened is in the past, and shouldn't be dwelt on for too long.

Leaving the bathroom, Hawk gets dressed, donning her usual long coat as she grabs an apple, taking it for her breakfast before she drops an orange into her pocket for later. Taking her keys, the lieutenant goes to exit the apartment, having made sure everything she needs for the day is present, until her eyes land on a dresser, a little way away. She swallows as she catches sight of the photograph pinned to the stained wood, the case file tucked in between the books behind it instilling a sense of dread in her she's come to recognise in the past few days. Everything she does seems to come back to the battered grey folder, though she has not touched it since she was given it, a year or so ago.

Sighing, she leaves the apartment, locking it firmly behind her.

Moving swiftly down the corridor, she turns the corner, only to feel an odd chill go up her spine, making her stop in her tracks. Slowly, she looks round, back the way she came, eyes narrowed in unease. There is nothing there, and nothing ahead of her as she turns back, though the sensation doesn't leave her, her skin prickling uncomfortably as she hurriedly goes to leave, her survival instinct screaming at her to do so as quickly as possible.

The feeling doesn't leave even as she steps out onto the street, her eyes flicking around the deserted space nervously, her hand staying to her waist, ready to creep round and take hold of her handgun, should the need for it arise. Tucked into her belt, the weapon's familiar weight is almost comforting, though it does little to soothe her nerves as she edges along the street, body tense. Around this time of the day, there is little traffic, both road or sidewalk, meaning the stretch is left feeling eerie and strangely empty - usually, it doesn't feel so odd, but this morning it instills a cool sensation into her chest. In the distance, she can hear some cars driving past, the lieutenant hoping that one of them is her partner come to pick her up, the presence of the rough cop somehow having proved itself a measure of safety for her, after some time of feeling outcast and at risk.

Over the last week since the last body had been found, Cobretti and Hawk had grown a little closer, settling into a routine as they worked to solve the murders and locate the next two victims, utilising each other's different interrogation tactics and contacts efficiently. Very little progress has been made, with the killer's movements totally unpredictable and painstakingly difficult to track, and with none of the information gathered from interviews actually helping at all. There had been one lead, which they intend to follow up on in the coming days, hoping it will actually take them somewhere, given its promising nature; an apparent witness had come forward, requesting to speak with Cobra and Hawk in person, seemingly willing to give up any knowledge they have. Despite all this, however, Hawk still feels unsettled by the last murder, that one sprig of heather not sitting right with her, stirring up memories she'd rather forget.

Startled from her thoughts by the sudden sound of a door slamming, Hawk instinctively spins on her heel, hand grabbing for the grip of the handgun, though she doesn't pull it out yet, eyes wide. A brief shot of adrenaline goes through her, her gaze instantly landing on a figure at the end of the street, the silhouette average in height but somehow incredibly intimidating in build, despite the slender set to them.

They appear to be staring at her, face obscured by the distance, hands resting loosely in their pockets, head tilted to the side curiously. Frowning, Hawk faces them properly, waiting for a reaction, glancing around her in case there's someone else there, noticing no one at all. Tense, she gazes at the man, I'm moving but alert, until he suddenly looks round to the end of the road closest to him, where a familiar car has pulled in.

As usual, Cobra does not take the road at a slower pace, going relatively quickly towards Hawk as the figure at the end of the street ducks out of sight, leaving her tense and uncomfortable. She stays stock still, waiting for Cobretti to reach her; hand still on her pistol, eyes fixed on the spot where the figure was.

He pulls the car up alongside her, turning to look at her out the window as she waits a few more seconds, before slowly moving to the vehicle. Quietly, she climbs in, closing the door softly behind her. They are silent for a moment, Cobra watching Hawk closely as she composes herself again.

"Morgen." She says, good-naturedly, reverting back to her own language momentarily, a habit Cobretti has noticed she does quite often.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He replies jokingly, knowing full well what she means.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she gives him a look as he pulls out from the kerb, heading towards the station, where the witness is set to meet them. He chuckles, but can't help noticing the tense set to her face, her unease still evident in her body.

"What happened back there? You had your hand on your gun." He probes, turning onto a busier road.

Hawk glances at him for a second, before turning back to the window.

"I think someone was following me." She says evenly, sounding sure of herself, "I got a bad feeling when I left my apartment, and then I saw the guy at the end of the road just now."

"Guy? What guy?"

"There was a guy standing at the end of the road. You must've seen him, you drove right past him!" Hawk clarifies, lifting an eyebrow.

Cobra only shrugs, rolling the matchstick between his lips.

Hawk remains quiet, rubbing her eyes tiredly, stifling a yawn as she leans back in the seat, hoping she won't fall asleep right there.

"Tired?" Cobretti asks, trying to fill the silence.

Startled, Hawk sits straighter, trying to sort herself out, only to realise he's already noticed and won't let it go no matter what she does.

"A bit, yeah." She admits, embarrassment flushing her face as she looks down, drawing a hand through her hair.

"Why?"

She shrugs, hesitant to answer, though she feels he should know, given that he's her partner for now.

"Haven't been sleeping well." She responds eventually, looking over at him.

"Yeah, I noticed." Cobretti confesses, shooting her an apologetic look, "You don't look so good."

"That bad? Scheiße." She curses, kicking herself for not realising that her lack of sleep has become apparent.

"What the hell does that mean?" He asks, changing the subject, clearly noticing how it's making her a little uncomfortable.

"Scheiße? Means shit." Hawk states, watching out the window as Cobra pulls up outside the police station.

"Ah. Good to know." He tries to fight back a smirk - her little words and phrases had grown on him, their meanings generally lost on him but still amusing.

Laughing, Hawk waits for him to pull into a parking space before she climbs out, standing to the side as he follows suit.

"So when are we talking to this witness?" She asks him, pulling her apple from her pocket, as well as the pocket knife she always has on her. Deftly, she uses the knife to slice pieces of the fruit off, eating them off the blade as she walks.

"At eight." Cobra replies after shooting her his usual exasperated glance.

"That's an hour off, which gives us some time to reconvene, I guess."

"Yeah. Might go to the firing range."

"The firing range? Wirklich? It's seven in the morning, isn't that too early for you?" Hawk questions, lifting an eyebrow.

"Nah. Got nothing better to do." He shrugs, leading the way into the building, heading for their shared office for the moment.

"Apart from solving the case?" His partner grins, following him in.

"Oh, yeah, of course. I'll be thinking about it whilst I shoot." He explains, dropping off his coat as he heads over the corridor to the shooting range, leaving Hawk alone in the office.

Shaking her head, she settles down at the large table, taking the case files in front of her and opening them, laying out all the necessary sheets of paper, before she finds her eyes wandering upwards. They swiftly find the lean figure of Cobra standing at the end of a range, his arms outstretched, Colt held in hand, face set in concentration. With each shot, his muscles tense and contract, the movements fluid and holding her attention, sweat beading on his bare arms from the heat in the building. Even from this distance, however, with or without the distraction of his well-built physique, it's obvious that his thoughts are elsewhere, his brow furrowed slightly as he thinks over the case notes in his head.

Keeping that in mind, Hawk starts to toil over the words in front of her, frowning at the information she's read over and over again, still unable to find a connection between the two victims, apart from their relationship with each other. They'd been through all the possible explanations: homophobia (the newest victims aren't openly homosexual, so the theory doesn't hold up), preference over women (one of the newest victims is male), ease of abduction (none of the victim's have been seen together with the suspect that's been described), with many other reasons appearing. None of them fit.

The hour goes by slowly, by which time Cobra has rejoined Hawk, sitting back in his seat as he thinks through possible motives, patterns and killers. Once it is time to go to the interview room, the two are relieved to leave the office, having made no progress at all.

Walking on to the interview room, neither of them say much, not expecting too much from this lead except a hopeful civilian looking to get involved in something "interesting". Upon reaching the door, they stop, waiting for their interviewee to be brought to them. It doesn't take long, a younger officer leading a confident woman along the corridor towards them, his face saying it all as she struts along behind him. Hawk has to suppress a sigh, knowing this won't be easy.

"Lieutenants, this is Hailey Lloyd. Ms Lloyd, this is lieutenant Cobretti and Lieutenant (Y/l/n). They will be taking the interview." The officer informs the witness, sounding tired.

"Nice to meet you." Hawk forces a smile, putting out a hand to shake, though Ms Lloyd already has her eyes fixed on Cobra.

"And you, and you." She replies, tone sharp as she ignores the outstretched hand in favour of shaking Cobretti's.

"Shall we go in?" He says, keeping his voice flat as he gestures to the room.

"Yes, yes, let's do that." Ms Lloyd nods, moving to go into the room as Cobra opens the door for her.

Over her shoulder, the two lieutenants exchange a glance.

Part Six

#cobra #cobra 1986 #marion cobretti #Marion cobretti x reader #sylvester stallone #sly stallone

14 notes · View notes

sweetwritertanya · 5 years ago

Text

Getting Bigger

Summary: You are eating less than you probably should during your pregnancy because you’re afraid of gaining even more weight. Your husband, Jin, discovers this and is incredibly angry at you.

Warnings: SMUT. With a bit of angst and fluff in the mix, I guess, but mostly is smut. So, there will be: fingering, rough sex, is it unprotected sex if the female is pregnant?

REQUESTED: YES. A very cute anon asked me to write this scenario and I hope I didn’t disappoint. Last request of 2019!

Word Count: 2841

You look through the menu with a salivating mouth, your eyes shifting to the delicious pasta and the sweet deserts, but quickly close it down and smile at the boys sitting across from you.

“Have you decided what you want to eat already, Y/N?” Taehyung asks with a big smile across his precious face.

“There’s so many yummy things, I’m struggling” Jimin, sitting next to him, shares from behind his still raised menu.

Just as you were about to answer, the waiter came to your table and you all had to decide what to order. Taehyung went for seafood, while Jimin chose the pasta dish that caught your eye. Sticking to your decision, you asked for a simple Cesar salad for yourself.

When the waiter left, Taehyung and Jimin were glancing at you with concern written all over their face. You frowned and asked them why the long faces.

“Y/N, Jin-hyung asked me to take you out for a nice lunch since he couldn’t today. He’ll be mad at me if he knows all you had was a salad!” Tae explained.

“Yeah, and shouldn’t you be eating more, Y/N? For the baby?” Jimin added, worried.

At the mention of the baby, your hands automatically encircled your protruding stomach, as if guarding it. Their words tugged at your heartstrings painfully, but you knew what you were doing.

“The baby is fine. I’m eating healthy food, which is good for him. So don’t stress over it, alright? If you’re worried about Jin, just don’t tell him about what I ate.”

The boys shared a look, but drooped the subject. They didn’t seem convinced, though.

If you were honest, the reason you’ve been eating less and focusing on healthier options wasn’t only for the baby’s own good. Even before getting pregnant, you were a voluptuous woman. You had it all – the chunky arms, a bulging tummy, squishy hips, ample butt and thick legs. It was something that bothered you for many of the years of your existence, but had recently become a subdue concern thanks to your lovely husband, Kim SeokJin.

That man loved all of you and made you feel more comfortable in your own body. After all, if someone as good-looking as Jin could show even the slightest interest in you, much less actually marry you, you couldn’t be that bad. He certainly had seen some beauty in you.

However, after getting pregnant, those pesky dark thoughts that had almost dissolved in the back of your mind came back full force, especially after the fourth month, when the belly really started to show. The bump was rounding your stomach even more than it already was, the once almost imperceptible stretch marks you had changing into a dark colour around your low abdomen. Afraid, you made the decision to cut back on your diet.

You’ve been doing it for two weeks now, and it hadn’t been easy. Jin always made sure to cook for you whenever he had the chance, although he was very busy lately, trying to finish all his projects with the group in order to be able to take at least three months off after you had the baby. Still, he prepared what he knew were your favorite meals, which were not healthy at all. It broke your heart a bit, but you threw a lot away without him knowing, even as your stomach and cravings begged you not to.

After a light dinner that same day, you were just finishing washing the plate and fork you used when you heard the door of your home open. You smiled but only for a moment, as the harsh closing of the door made you frown. Jin was usually more careful than that.

As you dried your hands with a cloth you had in the kitchen counter, Jin rounded the corner and came into view, moving slowly in you direction.

Oh, he was mad for sure. Glaring fiery almond eyes, deeply furrowed eyebrows, almost covered by the dark hairs of his thick fringe, full pink lips with the corners tugging down, a tense sharp jawline and flaring nostrils on his perfect straight nose. Even like this, he looked so damn hot that you wept inside.

“Welcome back, Jinnie! I just finished my dinner. Have you eaten yet?” You tried to cheer up his mood. It didn’t work.

Seeing the container he left in the fridge with what was supposed to be your dinner cleaned and drying in the dish rack, Jin did something he never did before. He went straight for the door were you kept the trash can and looked inside. Finding most of the meal thrown out.

He slammed the cabinet’s door shut, making you jump slightly at the loud sound, and turned his back to you, crossing his arms and bringing two fingers to pinch between his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. Your heart was slamming against your chest, never having seen him this angry before. You could see how tense his broad shoulders were underneath the almost sheer white t-shirt he had on. He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter, his foot tapping against the wooden floor to show how agitated he truly was.

“Jin…” you start whispering, but he moves away from your reaching hand.

You hear him breathe in slowly, trying to calm himself, as he leans against the back of the couch of your living/dining room. Pressing your lips together and casting your eyes down, you move sluggishly to stand in front of him, your back against the wooden corner of your dining table. You were just three feet apart, but with his body language, you felt like he was miles away. It brought tears to your eyes.

“Just… why? Why haven’t you been eating?” Jin finally spoke, from behind closed teeth.

You try to inhale in order to respond, but comes out as ragged breathing, because you were forcing yourself not to cry even with tears already filling your eyes.

“Because… Because I’m getting bigger, Jin” you confess finally, knowing he would see through your excuses of healthy eating for the baby. This was the real reason behind it all, something you were very ashamed of. “Not just cause I’m pregnant. My legs, my arms… Even my double chin is getting more noticeable and I’m scared I won’t lose the weight after the baby! I’m scared I’ll stay this size and that you won’t want me anymore! My stretch marks are getting worse and I’m positive I’ll have hanging skin after birth and-”

You were basically sobbing now, big fat tears rolling down your face as you felt the hormones rile up your insecurities. But Jin wasn’t having it.

In one harried steep, he was crashing your bodies together – the most they could with your bump in between – and claiming your lips forcefully. Soft plump lips crashed into yours passionately, in a bruising and possessive manner, warm tongue slipping past your gasping lips and exploring the crevices of your mouth with plundering strokes. He had a hand at the back of your neck, angling it so he could deepen the kiss, and another on your plushy hip, squeezing it harshly.

There was nothing you could do except melt into the feverish kiss, hands steading yourself against his large shoulders for your knees were rattling beneath you and you didn’t know if they would give out. With every stroke of his tongue against yours, the hairs at the nape of your neck rose up and send tingling sensations down your spine.

When he brakes the kiss, swollen lips on both of you and eyes clouded, he swirls the hand that was holding your neck back, reaching for one of the cushions on the couch behind him. He throws the cushion on the table behind you and gets a hold on both sides of your wide hips.

“Lay down!” he orders with intensity.

“W-What?” you question, a bit dazed.

“Now” he persists.

Complying, you lay down on the dining table, his hands helping you up, thankful for the soft fabric beneath you that made you feel a bit more comfortable. As soon as your back hits the cushion, Jin bends down and starts nipping and biting at your neck, full of knowledge of exactly where to touch in order to make you moan and squirm underneath him.

“Ah!... Jin…” you whimper at his ministrations.

He shuts you with another searing kiss, expert hands pulling down the straps of your maternity dress and unclasping your bra right after. You whimper against his lips and your body shudders at the first soft squeeze of your boobs with his big warm hand. His thumb circles around your darker nipples before flicking them delicately, knowing how sensitive your breasts have been lately.

Descending from your mouth, he resumes the attacks on your neck and shoulders as your skin catches afire under him. His hands slide down your fluffy sides, squeezing every lump aggressively enough for you to cry out, but he is very careful around your hard round stomach, fingers only brushing it tenderly before continuing their path.

When he forces you to open your legs, which were clasping around his slender hips, you realize this was not like other times. Jin as always been very loving and gentle when making love to you, even more so after you found out you were pregnant. Always careful, with slow movements and whispered caresses in your ears. But that didn’t seem to be the case today. Today he was angry at you and you could tell.

He roughly grasps your plushy thighs and opens them, one hand already finding your wet center above your panties. Your gasp at the harsh rubbing of his fingers up and down your slit at the same time he is sucking on the hollow of your neck, sending electric jolts straight to your core. When he pushes the fabric aside and directly presses against the aching pearl in between your folds, you squeal to high heavens.

Your hands are clawing at his shoulders as he swirls his fingers roughly against your bundle of nerves which is making your breath labored and your skin glowing with drops of sweat. You feel a burning tension forming on your lower tummy and you clasp the back of Jin’s neck to push him for a heavy kiss as his fingers continue.

Then he pushes one finger easily inside your aching cavern, groaning against your lips at how you feel around his digits. And then he joins another finger, starting to rub your impossibly hot and moist walls inside.

“Oh!... Jin…!” you mewl against his ear when the kiss gives in for the need to breath. In response, he adds another finger, stretching you more than he ever did with just his fingers before. “Ah! T-Too much!” you complain.

But he bites your earlobe and you hiss at the sting it leaves, only for him to lick it away. His breath his hot against your skin when he speaks, voice dark with want.

“You can take it. You’re about to have my baby, you can take it.”

And so his assault with his fingers escalates, plunging them in and out of you at a brute force, eliciting guttural and lewd sounds from you. When the fingers curl against a special spot, you almost feel the walls give in, but, much to your absolute frustration and confusion, Jin withdraws his fingers.

You look downwards to him through your half-lidded eyes, about to yell at him for stopping, but are silenced when you see him unzip his pants and lowering his boxers just enough to take out his erect member. Thickly swollen and red crown leaking a bit, he pumps himself a few times before pushing you by your plushy calves so that you are right at the edge of the table. He licks his lips as he grinds against your glistening center for a moment, before locking eyes with you and, with no warnings, impales you with his length.

Your hands turn to balls on each side of you, as you close your eyes at the feeling of the sudden invasion of his throbbing shaft inside. Usually, Jin would give you some time to get comfortable, but not this time. Both hands gripping with extreme force your hips, he pulls out almost all the way only to slam right back in, repeating the motion again and again.

The room is filled with Jin’s breathy grunts, your loud wailings and moans and the sound of skin against skin. Drilling himself against you with as much speed as his angry state can muster, the harsh friction his rapidly kindling the fire in your womb, moisture sliding down your legs more and more. You dare open your eyes to look at him, flushed-faced standing in between your legs with sweat accumulating on his forehead, clinging hair against it, one vein popping particularly hard on his neck, hips thrusting more and more rapidly as his groin pulses inside of you hotly.

“Ahh!… Don’t stop…. Don’t stop, Jin” you beg of him in moans, his image only fueling your desire.

The table is shaking at the same tempo of his erratic plunges, your toes are curling, mind going blank and skin catching fire. One particularly deep thrust hits exactly where it needed and you finally give out. A wave of pleasure uncurled from your center and erupted through your body, making your muscles twitch, eyes seeing fireworks behind your lids as hoarse cries come out your open mouth. Feeling your walls clench and squeeze him impossibly tight inside of you, his moves grow more frenzied as every nerve inside him screams for consummation. Two more plunges and his stomach sinks brutally as he feels himself releasing his warm seed, shuddering with the sheer pleasure before stilling completely.

Spent, he pulls out from you and catches his breath before dropping a kiss on your burning cheek and then on your covered baby bump. He rearranges your bra and dress before he zips himself back up and addresses you.

“Don’t move” he orders, although his tone is no longer fueled by the anger he had before.

You wonder where he went when he returns with baby wipes and, in the most tender and sweet of gestures, starts cleaning the fluids spilling from your folds, as well as the sweat on your inner thighs. Your heart melts at how delicate he is, leaving small pecks on your skin after he cleans it with the wipe.

When he is done, he helps you down from the table, guiding you to sit on a chair as he cleans the wooden surface thoroughly. He hasn’t spoken to you yet, but you decide to wait for him to say something. He goes back to the kitchen and returns with a plate and silverware, on the plate one of the servings he had made for you to eat during the week. He places it in front of you, sits beside you and picks up the fork, filling it with food before bringing it to your lips.

Opening your mouth, you taste and then swallow the delicious bite.

“I will love you, no matter what size you are” Jin starts saying, as he fills the fork back up and brings it back to your lips. “I will look at your beautiful stretch marks, your hanging skin, and feel incredibly lucky that you blessed me with our child. They’ll be cute reminders of what you did for us, for our family. I will never, ever, resent them. I wish you wouldn’t either, Y/N.”

He cleans with his thumb the tear escaping the corner of your eye.

“Don’t deny yourself food because of such a foolish fear. It’s completely unfounded, darling” he guaranteed you, smiling at you for the first time since he arrived home.

“Okay, Jin. I’m sorry” you finally concede, your hand cleaning the tears from the other eye staining your cheek as you smile at your loving husband.

Jin leans in for a kiss, but you jump at the soft movement on your belly that surprised you. Your hands cover your belly as you stare at it for a second, bugged-eyed. Then you share a look with Jin when he reaches his hand as well to your stomach, and another movement happens.

Giggling enthusiastically, Jin pecks your lips before leaning down to kiss your bump.

“Is it the first time?” he asks you.

“Yeah… I’m so glad you’re here to feel him too” you whisper to him, one of your hands covering his on your belly.

“He must be appreciating my cooking skills” Jin muses, the brightest beam on his beautiful face.

“He better. His father’s cooking is the best” you compliment, unable to stop smiling as well. Jin giggles and brings you down for a slow kiss.

“Love you, Y/N” he whispers leaning his head to yours.

“I love you too, Jin” you murmur back, lighter hearted than you have ever felt.

#bts #bts chubby reader #bts chubby!reader #bts jin #bts seokjin #jin #jin x reader #seokjin fanfic #pregnant #pregnancy #chubbyreader #btsxchubby reader #bts fluff #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts smut #kpop fluff #kpop smut #request

718 notes · View notes

sablelab · 4 years ago

Text

Covert Operations - Chapter 127

SYNOPSIS: While Jamie and Claire travel to their downtime destination, Murtagh Fitzgibbons is summoned to the White Room and Madeline questions him about the breach and Colum Mackenzie. He asks if his girlfriend Bóinne is under suspicion and defends her. He also suggests that perhaps Colum planted some devices in Section without their knowledge. This plants a seed in Madeline’s mind.

Chapter 126 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU all so much for the feedback on the last chapter. Your comments were wonderful and I am humbled by the response Chapter 126 had. Things have been tough for Jamie and Claire and hopefully they have now found a haven in which to recuperate. Things at Section One are heating up as well as Madeline and Operations come to grips with the interference from Colum Mackenzie. The question is why? And if there is a mole, who could it be? All will be revealed in due course.

CHAPTER 127

Fergus Claudel looked at his friend Murtagh with concern on his face. He adjusted the glasses on his nose in nervous tension dying to know what had just happened, who had called and most importantly … why.

“What’s the matter?” Replacing the handset back into its cradle on the wall, Murtagh took a breath to compose his thoughts knowing that the techie would have a million questions, then he turned around to face his buddy. He looked up at Fergus and told him the news. “They want to see me in the White Room.” “What! Both of them? That can’t be good.” “No just Madeline as far as I know. But who knows? Operations may be there too.” “You okay?” “Yeah. Knowing that Madeline wants to see me in the White Room sort of reshuffled my deck just a little bit there for a while.” “Did they say why? What do they want with you?” “What do you think? I guess I just pushed the envelope once too often again,” he joked as the colour returned to his face. Fergus’s apprehension returned once more. “This is my fault. It’s because I told them a lie about the breach. They’ve found out it was not true. You can’t beat Section.” “No, you did the right thing.” Fergus was thankful for Murtagh’s comment but nevertheless he felt for his friend. “Will you be all right?” “I’ll be fine … it could be about something else altogether.” Fergus suddenly felt a glimmer of hope although it was very slim. “Do you think so?” Replying confidently he stated categorically. “I know so. Operations was completely satisfied with the outcome, so it can’t be about the breach. Maybe it’s about something altogether different. We’ll just have to wait and see. I don't think it's going to go too badly. They seem to be in a forgiving mood.” “You think so? Madeline and Operations are seldom in a good mood. Why would they be this time?’ “I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about. It is probably just routine.” However, Fergus was not so sure. “Murtagh… listen … is there anything I can do to get you out of this?” “Nah. They might be calling everyone in including you too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Taken aback, Fergus was a little petrified having never been in the White Room before and being a little squeamish too he knew what tactics were employed to make people talk. He hadn’t even been able to watch interrogations on his monitor so how could he cope in such a situation?

“Murtagh I’m worried. What if they torture me for Intel?” “I’ve already told you there’s nothing to worry about. They won’t torture you Fergus.”

Fitzgibbons screwed his face up. As he did so, the laughter lines were prominent on his craggy face. The young techie was gradually going a whiter shade of pale and unable to stop himself from teasing his friend a little more Murtagh replied candidly.

“They’ll just scare the living daylights out of you and maybe rough you up a little.” This time Fergus was really petrified. “Really?” “Relax amigo. I was only joking.” “That’s not funny Murtagh,” he replied horrified. “I’ll be a blithering mess. I won’t be able to cope.” “Yes you will … remember what I said about knowing when to lie, and when to tell the truth … well this is one of those times.” “Are you telling me, to lie?” “No, I'm telling you to survive. But how you do it is up to you.” Fergus heard what Murtagh had said but he didn’t really listen to him. He continued to prattle on about his thoughts spinning all kinds of horrible scenarios in his head. He felt a panic attack coming on.

“They'll use invasive testing. What should I do?” The older operative could see that his friend was scared stiff. He had not diffused the situation enough to make his worry go away. There was only one thing he could think of... but it was a little drastic. He gave Fergus a solemn look.

“If you’re really worried this is what you can do …” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Murtagh Fitzgibbons made his way to the White Room somewhat apprehensive as to what might await him once he entered the interrogation chamber. It was unusual to say the least as to why he’d been summoned to an inquisition in there of all places. Unfortunately, his conversation with Fergus had raised some doubts in his own mind despite his replies otherwise to appease his friend’s concerns. Perhaps Operations and Madeline had indeed had a change of mind about the events in Section that he and Fergus had in fact caused. But Operations rarely went back on any decisions he’d made and Fergus had provided unequivocal evidence to support his theory, so that should have been the end to it. So why had he been summoned to the White Room? What was the reasoning behind his orders? Something else must have rattled their cage. But … what was it? Was it to find out if he was able to contact Jamie and Claire or was it about Oversight and Colum? There was known animosity between the leaders and perhaps he was too knowing about the happenings at Section One for Operations and Madeline’s liking. Whatever the reason he and Fergus knew nothing about Colum Mackenzie and any interference he may have caused at Section. Hence, he was reassured that they really did have nothing to worry about. He soon rounded the corner and the imposing door to the White Room loomed in front of him. Standing on the threshold Murtagh took a deep breath and reaching out his hands pushed the door open. The noise of the creaking hinges echoed loudly in the corridor. The sound also reverberated in his head as it opened to reveal who and what was in the White Room. Murtagh studied the place where terrorists had been interrogated and tortured a tad reluctant to enter. The only items occupying the round room were an imposing metal chair, a table and a small computer standing next to it. His eyes surreptitiously cased the surroundings and the rigid back of the sole person waiting for his arrival. “Come in Murtagh,” Madeline cajoled. Entering the stark white room warily, he walked over towards Section One’s head strategist and inquisitor extraordinaire.

“Killing me I can understand. But ... torture?” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline turned around to face Section’s weapons expert and watched as he entered the White Room and walked over to her. Ignoring his remarks, she said, “Please sit down.” He took a seat in the chair occupying the sparse room while somewhat cynically looking around the area and waited his fate. Madeline was alone and she didn’t strap him into the chair as was the usual procedure for interrogations. There was also little paraphernalia on the table and the computer was not switched on so that was a good sign also. However, any thought of reprieve was short lived as the twins entered and strapped him into the chair as protocol directed. Once that was done, they looked at Madeline for further instructions before leaving the room on her tacit command. Murtagh Fitzgibbons waited for his fate. Madeline started circling the chair in an off-putting manner as if to gather her thoughts and he was none the wiser as to her intentions. She finally stopped walking around after a few times and stood in front of him. Her stance was stoic and her eyes looked right through him. He braced himself for whatever was to come, but her words were not what he’d expected to hear.

“You're not going to be tortured.” “Well that’s a relief.” But she hadn’t finished speaking. “And you're not going to be killed …” “Even better.” Her sentence trailed off and Murtagh knew that there was some kind of proviso. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity at what Madeline had said, he decided to ask what his fate may be. “Then why am I here?” “Some questioning.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Section’s head strategist couldn’t have been more enigmatic. Initially Murtagh thought he was here in the White Room to be asked about the breach, but Madeline had given no inclination that he or Fergus were implicated in any way. He was sure she would have used a different tack rather than just questioning him if she suspected they had been responsible. But on noticing a syringe on the table, he wasn’t so sure about her motives after all. He gave her an indifferent glance and brazenly asked, “What’s that stuff?” Madeline pulled her hands out from behind her back. “It’s a sedative,” she responded nonchalantly. “Any particular reason why I might need that?” He asked questioningly before giving a tongue in cheek reply. “Why don't you just give me a couple of aspirins and I'll call myself in the morning?” “A bio probe requires the subject to be relaxed.” That certainly got Murtagh’s attention as her reply was somewhat disconcerting. “Bio probe? Is this some type of truth serum?” Was Madeline playing mind games with him after all? That was her forte after all. “You may feel light headed; may even hallucinate,” Madeline said quietly as she read the alarmed emotions skimming across his face. However, trying to diffuse the situation he gave another flippant comeback in return. “Haven’t done that in years.” Madeline gave a wry smile at his typical retort but brushed it aside as there were pressing issues that needed to be addressed. Her steely manner indicated that she meant business. “If I’m not satisfied with the answers you give, that’s your only option.” It was then that she surprised him and came right to the crux of the reason he was here in the White Room. Madeline didn’t even bat an eyelid as she asked with conviction, “Don't you want to tell me about your part in the breach?” Looking his superior straight in the face and without flinching he stated, “There’s nothing to tell.” She was not convinced. “Are you sure?” “Positive. I had nothing to do with the breach and besides didn’t Fergus find that the cause was a malfunction.” Madeline stood her ground and glared at Murtagh. She continued her questions as if he hadn’t answered her at all. “Did you really think you could get away with this? You and Fergus were in a restricted area without authorization. How do you explain that?” “We did explain that to your satisfaction and besides we were in Systems when all the hullabaloo went down so how could we be responsible when we were nowhere in the vicinity. I think you are chasing rainbows Madeline. There is nothing more to add.” See gave him a steely look telling Murtagh that she was not finished yet. “Oh ... there is one thing ...” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Satisfied that his answers were unwavering Madeline decided to pursue a new line of questioning about the other pressing matter. She took something from her pocket and showed him a small CD. “I'd like you to take a look at something.” Even more curious, Murtagh took the CD and studied it, completely at sea as to what it might contain. “What's on this?” He inquired with interest. “Let’s play it shall we ... and you'll see,” was her enigmatic reply. Madeline gave Murtagh one of her Mona Lisa smiles which, but far from putting his mind at ease, only exacerbated his curiosity as to what it may contain. He was at a loss to think of anything that it might be.

Was there actually evidence on the CD that had placed them in the restricted area which had been captured on a hidden camera? He quickly dismissed that idea as he’d been responsible for setting up the security in that area and knew exactly where to be cautious.

Perhaps she was trying to trip him up on his answers to her questions? However, he dismissed that idea as well. Madeline would have used the sedative by now if she hadn’t been satisfied with his initial answers as she’d indicated she would. He racked his brain to think of other scenarios but came up empty handed. He briefly looked around the room, as if searching for anything that would provide some light on whatever it was that Madeline had in mind before she loaded the CD into the computer and showed him the download. The picture that appeared before him was quite confronting and he was taken by surprise by what he saw. Murtagh gasped as he watched several images of Bóinne and himself in Medical when he’d gone to check up on Jamie and Claire. However, he was more amazed when images from the covert area where they would meet within Section also appeared. He was shocked that surveillance he was unaware of, had caught the two of them together in intimate moments when they thought they were away from prying eyes. Little did they know that they were indeed being observed but what bothered him most was that Operations and Madeline had proof of their intimate relationship and clandestine meetings. He wondered what else they had on him and Bóinne. He soon found out. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The room lights dimmed and a vision of light appeared on the floor in front of him … but it was not as Murtagh expected. As he watched, a circle of light rose from the floor; two figures began to take shape in its centre which miraculously morphed into himself and his paramour. The holograph had all of their mannerisms and captured their every word when he’d returned from the retrieval mission and was heading for his quarters when Bóinne had appeared out of nowhere. He watched and listened to the recording of their conversation. "Not here Murtagh!" "Why not?" "Oh it's … it's just too dangerous, that's all. Someone may see us." "That's what makes you so exciting. I like it ... dangerous!" "Murtagh, you're playing with fire." "Grrr … I know. Right now, I could self-combust." "Look Murtagh … I've got to go ... I'll see you when I finish my shift." "Yes … I'll ... see you later. I'll be waiting." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Would you care to explain this?” Madeline’s words cut through the air like a knife. He was still gobsmacked that they had evidence of their private meeting. Suddenly, he had vivid memories of what had taken place later that evening after he’d returned from the retrieval mission. Murtagh swallowed a deep breath before answering. “I think it pretty self-explanatory myself,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “Did you really think you could get away with this?” Her tone was cool but Murtagh took it all with a grain of salt. “Get away with what?” He asked surprised at her question. “Fraternization between operatives for one thing.” He was quick with a rejoinder barb. “A bond between two agents isn't always such a bad thing.” Madeline however, left no doubt about what her thoughts were. “Is that so?” In reply he stated the obvious. “You always knew that we had a thing going. You can’t deny it. You always seem to know everything that goes on in Section.” A wry smile skimmed her lips. “Yes, that is true.” “Well what Bóinne and I have … it’s called living.” “Living?” “Look it up, it’s in the dictionary.” Madeline was gradually losing patience with him and his glib answers. “Murtagh Fitzgibbons, you’re a 60-year-old teenager. Ever since your return from the retrieval mission you have changed.” “I'm really not interested in just surviving anymore. I am interested in living that's where the real difference is.” “I see …” He interrupted Madeline before she could continue. “In fact, we're getting married … I asked Bóinne last night. She accepted right away,” he added for extra emphasis. This information got her attention. “We were aware that Bóinne was on familiar terms with you but we didn’t realise it had progressed that far.” “Facing death can make you re-evaluate your life.” “I guess congratulations are in order then.” “Thanks but don’t knock yourself out saying it Madeline.” She ignored his statement and continued her agenda. “Regardless of Bóinne’s new status, what we need to know is this … is she loyal to the Section?” Taken aback by Madeline’s line of questioning Murtagh replied emphatically. “Of course, she is … one hundred percent. Why?” “Can you be sure?” “What does that mean?” “We believe that there is a mole in Section who is passing on Intel to Colum at Oversight.” “Is Bóinne under suspicion?” He wanted to know now realising the motive behind Madeline’s statement. “Everyone is under suspicion … including you.” “She works in medical. Bóinne is a nurse not an operative.” “Precisely ... but she is still an operative first.” “What Intel could she possibly pass on to Colum?” “Medical Intel about Jamie and Claire.” “Why would Colum want with Intel on them? He can ask you and Operations for all he needs to know.” Madeline repeated her question ignoring the truth of this fact. “Is Bóinne responsible for passing Intel on to Colum?” In defending her, Murtagh’s hackles began to rise as each question probed deeper into his fiancée’s character. “No! Of course not! You can’t be serious and believe that she is a mole.” “Well how did Colum get prior information? He seems very well informed on their progress.” “How should I know? … Perhaps he’s planted some devices in Section without your knowledge. That would be a first …,” he added under his breath. However, Madeline heard his remark. “Perhaps you are the one responsible. You’ve had access to Medical on numerous occasions. Did you hand the Intel to Colum? Or are you going to deny it?” “Yes, of course I deny it. I gave him nothing. Why would I do that? I have nothing to gain. I've been doing this job since before you came to Section, and I can probably do your job too … but I am not a mole.” “Really?” “Really.” Becoming frustrated by his answers, Madeline seemed to be making little headway. “This level of betrayal from you would be unacceptable. Answer me Murtagh.” She leaned in closer until her face was parallel to his. “Or we can inject the sedative, and start this procedure right from the top. Is that what you want?” “I did answer you. I’m not the mole and I’d bet my life on Bóinne not being one also. If you want something from me, just come out and say it or else you can go straight to …” “One of these days you're going to carry this cranky old man act a little too far Fitzgibbons.” “Okay, spare me the excerpts from the owner's manual do whatever you're going to do and just get on with it! Call in the twins.” “That won’t be necessary. Murtagh, did you do it?” Shaking his head in denial his reply was categorical. “No! What is happening to this place Madeline? This would never have happened back then when Letitia was heading Section. We all had our jobs, we did them, we were a team, we respected each other.” “We didn't change Murtagh, the world did.” “That’s the pity especially when you interrogate people because of their loyalty to the Section. I would have thought that my past record stands on its own and would not be questioned. I am not the mole and Bóinne is not the mole. We’re just doing our jobs as best we can.” Madeline looked at Murtagh Fitzgibbons and knew he was telling the truth. He was not the infiltrator but he had given her some food for thought about Colum that she would need to follow up. Dismissing him she stated.

“That will be all … you can go.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ After Murtagh had been summoned to the White Room, Fergus stayed behind in the back room of Munitions. He was a little spooked about his friend being called in for interrogation and hoped that his fate would not be too painful. Whenever Madeline or Operations was on the warpath, heads rolled and he certainly didn’t want to be placed in abeyance because of some prank that had gone horribly wrong. He’d told him not to worry, but that never stopped the demons in his mind raising their ugly head. He wouldn’t have been in this situation if Murtagh had not initiated their clandestine search for Jamie’s files in the first place. Although at the time it seemed like a good idea that was not the case now. Because of what they’d done, all of Section had to undergo interrogation so that Madeline could get to the bottom of the breach, when there really wasn’t one in the first place. The more he thought about the results of their actions the more Fergus was worried that he would suffer the wrath of Section’s leaders. In his mind his fate was already sealed. He seemed to be destined for abeyance after all. That was unless he could carry out Murtagh’s plan. However, it was his friend’s novel idea that he was having second thoughts about. Fergus just didn’t know if he was brave enough to follow through with his buddy’s suggestion, but what options did he have? He decided to bite the bullet and give it a try. Taking one more glance outside he carefully looked to see who was around and if the coast was clear. Seeing that it was he proceeded back into Murtagh’s workstation area and removed the facing of the differential calibrator on the wall in a corner of his main work room. He’d told him what to do but Fergus stared at the calibrator summoning up enough courage to actually touch it as he’d been instructed to do. Although he was reticent, he really had few options. Trustingly Fergus placed his hand in, but whipped it back out quick smart, when he was shocked with an electrical charge. “Whoa! It's a live current!” He blurted out surprised that Murtagh hadn’t warned him that he would experience an electric shock. Fergus turned and looked at the calibrator's inner workings hoping there was another way to avoid the pain he’d just felt. However, he knew he needed to place his hand back as Murtagh had said he was to put it inside and keep it there, however, he was reluctant to have a repeat of what had just happened to him. The last thing that he wanted to do was put his hand back inside knowing that to do so would result in a painful electric shock. He stared at the calibrator and wondered about the sense of this experiment just to avoid his fate in the White Room. Meanwhile, his hand seemed to hover just outside the calibrator almost as if his appendage had a mind of its own and had no intention of going back inside. Uncertain thoughts lingered in Fergus’s mind of the validity of this endeavour… “Keep it there? For how long?” However, while he was being reticent, Murtagh’s words suddenly echoed in his head in answer to his questions.” You’ll need to keep your hand in there as long as you can bear it. The longer the better... It's the only way you'll pass the test.” Fergus took a deep breath, then gritted his teeth and stuck his hand back inside. As the electric force ran through his body, he reached out with his other hand and held on to a nearby railing as the current shocked the hell out of him. Clenching his teeth tightly, he trembled uncontrollably for the pain was unbearable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Once Murtagh had left the White Room, Madeline contacted Operations in his office via a video link up to discuss what had happened during his questioning. They had already discussed the possibility of Murtagh and Fergus being the source passing Intel to Colum, but Operations had quickly dismissed that notion. He was convinced that they were opportunists not traitors. Nonetheless, she had needed to check this out and now after Murtagh’s interrogation she was of the same opinion. Still waters ran deep with Fitzgibbons but his loyalty to the Section seemed steadfast. Madeline was interested in Operations’ take on proceedings and wanted to know if they were on the same page concerning Murtagh’s mindset. She waited for the linkup to become activated. When it did so, she asked her question. “Dougal? Did you follow the interrogation?” In his office, Operations sat back thoughtfully in his chair pondering what he had just witnessed in the White Room. His image appeared on screen and Madeline heard his reply. “Yes.” “What are your thoughts? I'd appreciate them.” “What about? Murtagh’s denial? His impending marriage? Or what he said about Colum?” Madeline heard the growing scepticism in Operations’ voice. “All three of course. I’d be thankful for your feedback and point of view.” He gave her a wry smile. “Do you think Murtagh is telling the truth?” Madeline watched him, her mind already turning over possible scenarios about the answers he’d given in her own mind. “I've studied his file very carefully. Reviewed his evaluations; assessed his psychological profile in great detail in the past.” “And?” Smiling, she shook her head, as perplexed as Operations. “I don't know. I can only go on what I saw and heard in the White Room … and I’m sure he is.” “I agree.” “He denied that Bóinne is the mole. What do you think?” “Could be his hormones have clouded his judgement. But … It’s possible. She does have unlimited access to Med Lab.” “We need to follow that up.” “Does Murtagh know that she will be put into abeyance regardless if she is the mole? She has been earmarked for the Somalia mission.” “No. Besides … nobody asked him to marry someone with a weak performance record.” “How do you think he’ll react if he does?” Ever cold and calculating she replied. “He'll put it behind him, in time.” “We don't have time Madeline.” The urgency in Operations voice was evident and it gave her cause to think. Section’s head strategist’s thought processes were churning in how to deal with the situation about Bóinne and Murtagh. “Perhaps we should postpone any talk of her abeyance for a while until we sort out this mess with Colum then.” “I’ll consider it … but if she’s the mole I won’t hesitate to follow through.” After a moment Madeline offered another solution to their dilemma although it was farfetched. “We could cancel Murtagh too. If Bóinne is the plant surely he would know about it.” However, Operations quickly dismissed that idea. “I don't want to do that ... He was adamant that she had no involvement.” Madeline unemotionally voiced another reason … one that would impact on Section. If they indeed acted on her previous suggestion, it could have greater ramifications in the long run. “And if a ... key member … of the Tactical Team dies just after he's been questioned ... it will only complicate things further.” Operations nodded his head briefly, his expression affirming Madeline's insinuation. “That, too. Mr Lambert would certainly be breathing down our necks wanting to know the reasons why. Murtagh has been here as long as I can remember.” “Colum would take great delight in that happening,” she added in clarification. “Too true. We can’t let that come about Madeline. We need to find the culprit who is feeding Intel to him A.S.A.P. We also can’t afford for Colum to know we may suspect him of treachery.” Madeline wondered if the same could be said of Fergus when his turn came to be interrogated. “Perhaps Mr Claudel can shed some light on the matter.” “We have a small window of opportunity while Jamie and Claire are away to get to the bottom of this.” “Let me work on it.” Operations sighed and nodded his head, just relieved that Madeline would find who was responsible once and for all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued FRIDAY 19th JUNE when we find out how Jamie and Claire are settling in after their long trip.

#Jamieandclairefanfic #jamieandclairecrossover #the lallybroch library #outlander fanfic #covert operations #LFNoutlander

47 notes · View notes

cloudcover23 · 4 years ago

Text

A super rough-draft excerpt from my angsty Percy Jr/Rupert wip

(Background: Percy and Rupert are both 13 years old)

(This is rated G but the final story will be rated T)

(This whole undertaking was inspired by @callmefitz‘s post about Rupert and Percy being in love before Rupert ran off to the forest.)

He cautiously crept into the Library through a back door.

Percy was mad at his dad and wanted to do something reckless, something he knew was against the rules. He knew his dad would be snide and condescending if he knew his son was going to the library, evidently to read. Knew he would be downright angry if he knew Percy was actually going to see Rupert. And just what WAS he doing here anyway? Why did Rupert haunt him? What was it about him that made Percy want to know more, to get closer?

The library was warm and comforting, despite the storm raging outside. He crept around the stacks of books and quickly found Rupert sitting at a table as usual. Percy hid himself behind a bookshelf. This was stupid. Why had he come here?

There was a bright flash of lightning and thunder boomed outside. The noise was so loud and intense that it rattled the windows. Percy let out a shriek and fell to the floor, protecting his head with his arms. As he lay there in a heap, breathing hard, waiting for another strike or at the very least harsh words, he felt something cold and wet nudge the back of his hand. He looked up to see the face of Rupert’s lanky puppy. As soon as it was exposed, the dog promptly proceeded to lick Percy’s face eagerly.

“Uhg! Get off!” Percy sat up, wiping away the slobber and trying to push the dog away.

However, undeterred by Percy’s disapproval the dog sat itself down in Percy’s lap and panted happily.

Percy tentatively pet his furry back. He was soft and warm and heavy against him. He felt good. Percy sighed and started to relax.

“He’s good at that isn’t he?”

Percy startled and looked up to find Rupert himself sitting on the floor across from him, smiling gently. Percy panicked; this was not how he wanted Rupert to find him! This was not how he wanted anyone to see him!“

He’s good at helping when you’re feeling scared.” Rupert added kindly.“

Oh, scared? Me? Haha! Oh, no I wasn’t scared.” Percy tried feebly to sound strong and sure of himself, but his voice squeaked. “I am a future knight, after all. And everyone knows that knights are brave.”

Rupert hummed in dubious agreement and looked out the window pensively. “Doesn’t being brave mean that you do something even when you’re feeling afraid?”

“Well, yah. Duh.”

“Then being brave doesn’t mean you don’t feel scared! It just means that you keep going even when you are scared.”

Percy shook the panic-cobwebs out of his head. “No no, that can’t be right. Being brave means that you’re… strong and… and fearless!”

Rupert turned back to Percy, a glint in his eye. “Fearless? Like not having any fear?”

“Uh, yah, that’s what I said.” Percy rolled his eyes.

“But if you were truly fearless, then I think you would also be a bit of an idiot.”

Percy gasped. “How dare you suggest--”

“No, hear me out! Say you’re a knight facing down a ferocious dragon.”

“Well, dragons don’t exist.” Maybe the other boys were right and the prince really was crazy.

“And the dragon is breathing fire everywhere,” Rupert continued undeterred, “and your fellow knights are being turned into ash around you.”

“Ooookay?”

“What does the knight who feels no fear do? Probably run head on towards the dragon. Right?”

“Yah, that sounds like what a brave, fearless knight should do.” Percy quipped.

“But what does it get him? He runs in, sword held high, probably yelling like a dunderhead. And the dragon immediately turns him into a puff of smoke.” Rupert blew on his fingers for added effect.

“Well, I’m sure that--”

“But what does the afraid knight do? He looks around at his fellow men-at-arms and sees what’s happening and says, ‘I don’t want that to be me!’”

“Sounds like a sissy who would run away and leave his kingdom at the mercy of a fire-breathing beast. Not very knightly if you ask me.” Percy sniffed.

“Ah, but that’s where the bravery comes in right? The afraid but BRAVE knight says ‘I don’t want that to be me, I’ll find another way’ and he doesn’t go screaming into the flame, he sees the failings of the others that went before him and comes up with a new solution.”

“Which is?”

“Well, I don’t know – dragons don’t exist.” Rupert smiled playfully. Percy huffed out a laugh despite himself. “Hmm.” He leaned back to think about it. “I bet he would sneak around the dragon and chop its tail off.

”Rupert relaxed back against the bookshelf behind him as well. “Hah! And then what? Wait for it to bleed to death before it turns around flames you?”

“No way! It would be so distracted by the pain in its behind that I would have time to run around to the front and stab it in the heart of course! I’d like to hear how YOU would handle it Mr. Knows-Everything-About-Fighting-Imaginary-Dragons.”

“Well I bet while you were standing there laughing at me it was getting ready to chomp you!”

“No way! I already would have distracted the dragon with a giant tree branch, and then uhhh… climbed onto it’s back!”

“Ooh yes! And then stabbed it in the head?”

“No way! I would have ridden on the back of the beast! Off into the sunset!” Rupert gestured widely with his hands.

Percy erupted into laughter. “I can see it now! The brave knight riding on the back of the dragon that he has no control over at all, while it torches all the villages on it’s way to the castle.”

Rupert giggled. “Well, at least I would be having some fun before the entire kingdom went up in flames!”

Percy wiped a tear from his eye and sighed, still chuckling. “You would go down in history as the worst knight ever.”

Rupert’s laughter died and he looked off to the side. “Yah well. Probably would anyway.”

That’s right. Rupert had wanted to train as a knight but for whatever reason wasn’t allowed. It seemed to be a sore subject.

Rupert’s dog got up from where he had been resting in Percy’s lap and went to nudge his head into Rupert’s leg.

“Hey Fitzroy. Rupert smiled and pulled the dog close.”

“So… uh…” Percy felt awkward. He had killed the vibe on the most interesting and entertaining conversation he had ever had with another person. He knew they were both thinking of that day at the training yard. Percy longed to ask more about it, but felt that it would probably make things even more awkward. “So… your dog is named Fitzroy?”

Percy kicked himself. He had just told himself that he wasn’t going to mention it, and here he was bringing up the fake name that Rupert had used for himself that morning.

“Oh yah. Haha.” Rupert rubbed Fitzroy’s head making his ears flop around. He seemed somewhat cheered as he looked into the dog’s face. “I kind of froze out there you know! Didn’t know what else to tell him! I had thought as far as the disguise,” Rupert looked back over to Percy and tapped his eye, “but forgot that I would have to give them some sort of name! Although, I thought I didn’t do half bad under pressure – he let me in didn’t he?”

Percy snorted out a laugh. “Yah, I guess so.” He had no idea what he was doing. He wanted to know so much more about this boy. The Prince. He didn’t seem like a prince really, he seemed like a normal kid. A normal kid that sat here with him on the floor of the library telling him it was okay to be afraid and making him laugh in a way that no one else had done before. Rupert seemed to be regarding him too. “You’re not like the other boys.” Rupert’s odd declaration seemed to be half question half statement. Percy suddenly realized how vulnerable he had allowed himself to be with this other boy. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He put his defenses back up. “Hah! Well I should think not! I am a Percy and far better than all of them, just like my father of course.”

“Hmm.” Rupert’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment before he looked back down at Fitzroy. Percy squirmed, the air seemed suddenly chilly.

Rupert’s head snapped back up and he smiled strangely. “Can I tell you a secret?” Rupert whispered conspiratorially. “Uh. Yah. Sure?”

Rupert looked around them to see if there were any eavesdroppers around. “I’m sneaking out. Next week.”

Percy didn’t know what to do with this information. It seemed very random that Rupert would suddenly change the subject to this. “You… are?” He replied, confused.

“Mmmhmm. I lost something along the edge of the forest, I’m going to go find it.”

“Why do you have to sneak out? Why not just go look for it?”

Rupert scrunched his face in frustration. “My mother would have a fit if she heard I had gone so close to the forest in the first place – no telling what she would do if she knew I wanted to go back.”

“I mean, everyone knows the forest is dangerous. Maybe she’s just trying to keep you safe? Seems reasonable to me. Just ask a guard or something to go find whatever it is.”

“Uhg! I knew you would…” Rupert grumbled for a moment. “Listen, I’m going okay? Midnight. In exactly one week. Do you want to come?”

If Percy had wondered if Rupert was crazy before, he knew it for certain now. The passionate gleam in his eye that he had worn that day in the training ground was back, but Percy had no idea why this boy with no skill in weaponry would want to go so close to the dangerous forest in the middle of the night, or why he would suggest that Percy, a boy who he had only known for an hour or so, go with him. But what better quest for a future knight than to protect his prince on a dangerous mission? He made up his mind. “Okay.”

“Yah?” Rupert grinned. “Yah.” Percy confirmed, feeling more confident about it now.

“Okay then.” Rupert got serious. “Meet me in seven days at midnight by the greenhouses. Wear black. Bring your sword.”

A thrill ran through Percy’s body. He was excited and a little scared. He would be breaking the rules, and helping Rupert defy the queen, but he was feeling reckless. “Yah, okay. Yah! I’ll be there.”

Rupert beamed then held out his hand across the aisle toward Percy. Percy regarded it for a moment before clasping it firmly. They both schooled their faces as they shook hands stoically. This was a serious agreement and required a serious moment. It didn’t last. They both erupted into giggles as soon as they let go. It felt good to just laugh and be silly and not worry about anyone thinking he was weird or not tough enough or… whatever! It felt good just to be himself.

Percy sighed, wiping happy tears from his eyes for a second time that evening. He looked over to the window to see that the storm had stopped raging outside. “I should probably get going. My father’s expecting me home.” Percy rose and dusted himself off.

Rupert uncoiled himself and stood up too. “You doing castle guard duty again this week?”

“Yah.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yah, see you around. Bye Rupert.”

“Bye Percy.”

#the two princes podcast #prince rupert #Percy Jr #Peru #Fanfic #wip

22 notes · View notes