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melohax · 4 years

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I’ve seen some people who finished Omori talking about how they don’t understand the game’s plot, what happens in the good ending or why the protagonist even decided to change his ways. So then, here’s my thoughts on Omori’s story.

Warning: SPOILERS AHOY. Only read this if you’ve already finished the game and seen the good or true ending. Or if you don’t plan on playing the game at all but still want to know the whole story.

I’ve seen some people around the internet talk about how Sunny’s character isn’t clear to them or how they feel Sunny doesn’t deserve a good ending. Here’s some thoughts I have on why I think Sunny’s growth was well depicted.

There’s two main routes you can go through in the game: the “Reality” route and the “Hikikomori” route.

In the “Hikikomori” route, Sunny stays in Headspace forever and we get to learn many additional details about him. Sunny’s parents are implied to have known what Sunny did to Mari all along. It’s also implied that Sunny’s mother covered the whole thing up and chose to present it as a suicide as well cus, in her own words, she can’t bear the thought of losing both of her kids.

Sunny’s mother insinuates her son isn’t a “good boy” even though she begs him to be good but she still sees him as her little boy (as seen by the overly-sweet and positive messages she leaves around the house and her voice mails) and needs him alive so she can survive her own grief. Sunny’s father is shown cutting down the hanging tree and telling Sunny he isn’t his son, presumably disowning Sunny. The father keeps being absent forever afterwards.

Fast forward to the present and the “Reality” route, Sunny’s moving in 3 days. He knows his time is up in the real world and the biggest catalyst for his personal growth is that he’s finally seeing his old friends in the REAL world after 4 years of only seeing their loving, idealized child version in dreams. For the first time, he gets to witness the collateral consequences of what he did to Mari in his now teenaged friends: Aubrey spirals into delinquency after feeling like she was thrown aside by everyone she loved. Hero is guilt ridden, can’t even go near Mari’s grave and gives up on his dreams of being a chef. Kel wants to make things better but feels powerless, useless and like a screwup. Basil lives in a miserable state of almost constant fear and psychosis.

Sunny finally gets to see the huge toll his lie took on his friends’ entire lives as they keep blaming themselves for not knowing about Mari’s supposed suicidal ideations. He’s finally forced to face reality and he still tries to hide in dreamworld but he can’t. The inhabitants of Headspace are all people or fictional characters he knows or likes in real life (that he changed in his dreams, like how Kim’s brother is a sweet gentle giant and Sweetheart looks just like the candy shop owner at the supermarket) and their quests end up leading him to events where he’s reminded over and over again his dreams will end soon (the end of the underwater highway, the tree near the whale, the shadows of Mari and Basil) and that he needs to delve into Blackspace.

This shows how his own subconscious mind knows well what needs to be done; he’s putting the mental and emotional effort of making himself face what he’s done, shown through the contrast between the whimsical nature of Headspace and the dark surrealism of Blackspace.

As this happens in Sunny’s psyche, in the real world he can try to “atone” a bit by doing good things for his little community like completing requests people around him have. He still has a lot of trouble being near Basil in the real world but considering his entire subconscious mainly revolves around finding and rescuing Basil, he wants and needs to face Basil sincerely before he runs out of time.

We’re shown through memories that Sunny’s personality was always quiet, wary, a bit distant and very bad at dealing with pressure. Some people even describe him as cowardly or mediocre but he was just a small kid who’s entire world ended when he was 12. Since then, he never left his house, spending most of his days asleep rather than awake. It’s no wonder his personality isn’t as developed as his friends. His friends, although they were also in immense pain, at least still continued to live beyond Mari’s death. Sunny didn’t. He only lived through sleep.

Subconsciously, it’s shown Sunny both loves and hates Basil. This is seen in Blackspace with the dialogue he has with the “strangers” walking in the void. They talk about how Sunny (as Omori) does horrible things to Basil in the darkness of Blackspace because he struggles with facing the truth of his own actions. It’s also revealed through datamine of Blackspace’s metaphorical photo album that Basil, in his attempts to save Sunny from the judgement of others and to get him to come out of catatonia, was the one who come up with the plan to hang Mari.

Sunny describes Mari as looking as if calmly asleep when he drags her up the stairs. Her eyes remained peacefully closed until Sunny and Basil hung her. Then, Sunny turned back to look at Mari’s corpse, her previously closed eyes were wide open. She might have even been still alive, might have opened her eyes during or after the noose was tied to her neck. Or the belief he saw her eyes open could have been a manifestation of Sunny’s guilt, instead.

Either way, the horrifying possibilities surrounding Mari’s death lead to Sunny handling his emotional pain by subconsciously taking it out on Basil. It’s why Basil in Blackspace is shown constantly suffering and dying in many different ways. It’s the only way Sunny has been able to deal with himself; by forcing Basil into the darkest corners of his mind, his perfect colorful dreamworld can’t be ruined by the ugly reality Basil’s mere presence represents. It’s less painful to try to forget Basil and to forever blame him for both of their sins.

Still, even with all these conflicted feelings, Sunny’s tried to come to terms with love he still feels for Basil many times before. The shadows point out how this isn’t the first time he’s tried to save the Flower Boy; how all the previous times before ended in Sunny failing to find redemption and so his mind turns back to torturing the Basil of his dreams instead.

However, one of the Blackspace shadows also mentions a very important detail that changes almost everything this time around: his time is almost up in the real world. Whether this means he’ll commit suicide or move away, it’s almost time for him to leave the friends he’s always loved so much behind.

Sunny is forced to do a lot of internal work and self-reflection in what little time he has left. It’s shown through his dream actions, the surreal imagery surrounding him and the characters with all the sub plots his subconscious makes up.

In the route to the good ending, he traverses Blackspace and manages to listen to every harsh truth Basil’s shadow has to tell him. His attempts to save Basil mean he’s fighting his own mind, forcing himself to accept the truth.

To achieve redemption for his greatest mistake, Sunny needs to start with accepting Basil entirely; he has to stop making Basil take the brunt of their combined regrets. It means being willing to finally face the REAL Basil instead of permanently burying him in the most painful place within Sunny’s mind.

So basically, it’s obvious to me that Sunny is forced out of his “comfortable” hikikomori misery the moment he opens the door to meet the REAL Kel.

Sunny and Basil have a confrontation in the real world. When Sunny entera Basil’s room, we see poor Basil suicidal and at his limit. He’s clearly in the throes of a psychotic episode and at the mercy of hallucinations and delusions he can’t escape from (“There’s no way out of this is there, Sunny?”). Basil attacks you in an attempt to save you by killing the “thing behind you” but as we know, there isn’t actually something behind you.

There was never any monster to take the blame for Basil’s regrets, nor yours. It’s always been just you.

Meanwhile, Sunny is trying his best not to completely lose his shit so he can save Basil and stop him from potentially killing the both of them. Sunny likely loses an eye in the fight, shown by the blood coming from your socket and the bandage over it in the hospital.

Incidentally, the eye you lose is on the same side as the eye that can be seen peeking through the hair of Mari’s face as she’s hanging from the tree.

In the good ending, the song at the end talks about how even after confessing the truth, Sunny is alone once again, so it’s not actually clear if Aubrey, Kel and Hero actually forgave him. I feel like this is deliberately left up to interpretation by the writers. The lyrics then continue on to say Sunny still finds it hard to wake up, still finds himself plagued some days with lingering regret, but that he still tries to take it all one step at a time to carry on living.

With the song’s lyrics in mind, the end scene that shows Basil and Sunny smiling at each other while Mari’s shadow leaves them doesn’t mean they’re completely fine all of a sudden. Whether their friends forgave them or not, they at least finally have the relief of honesty. The burden of their unbearable shared secret is now off their shoulders. It’s finally out in the open, which means they both can now start healing and working to find the redemption Sunny was looking for in Blackspace. It also means they can go back to loving each other again without the crushing pain they both felt in each other’s presence.

I agree that Aubrey and the gang get pretty left out in the good ending, though. I wish there was more of them and their reactions to the truth BUT I think it’s sadly a deliberate choice by the writers to leave their reaction up to the player’s interpretation. This can feel extremely unfulfilling to many people (me included, I hate when authors do that tbh) but also to many others that’s a good thing cus they get to apply their own personal meaning and feelings.

I personally feel like the friends forgiving Sunny and Basil right off the bat would be incredibly unrealistic. I think they would need a lot of time (especially Aubrey) for them to forgive the lie that wrecked their lives for years. Forgiveness isn’t impossible but it would probably come in the form of a slow, difficult, heartbreaking process. Bittersweet.

Redemption isn’t just about forgiveness, anyway.

Even if a person is never forgiven by the people they’ve hurt, they can still find redemption for their actions through doing good for the people around them and the world at large. An example of this is shown through what Sunny can do on his last days in his neighborhood. The gratitude and additional flowers he receives in the hospital from each person he’s helped are proof he can still do good for others even after something as horrible and unforgivable as accidental murder. In a way, it’s proof that his life is still worth living.

But ultimately that’s just my own interpretation of the ending and I understand other people would interpret it all differently. Some see forgiveness as a given in the story while there’s also others who think Sunny doesn’t deserve forgiveness or those who think Sunny is a sociopath/psychopath or that Basil is the true villain of the game. I think this is why the ending was left so open, to favor all the different interpretations people have of it.

ETA: Here’s a different take on Sunny’s parents. This post argues that, despite the initial implications, they actually didn’t know about the attempted coverup. It’s a really good writeup explaining the whys and hows and has me reconsidering that part of the story!

https://www.reddit.com/r/OMORI/comments/kr9nvx/major_spoilers_regarding_sunny_his_parents_and/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf

#omori #omori game #omori sunny #omori basil #omori spoilers #spoilers #i said id wait before doing a post like this lol #but here i am #omori meta

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Jim and Jody - Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary; it was one of the biggest decisions of your life, but will you change your mind before your future is sealed?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abortion (everyone is permitted to do what they want with their body, in this imagine the reader wants to keep the baby, but pro choice, as everyone deserves control over their bodies and all 🤍), brief mention of sex and threats

Masterlist Link

To see him so relaxed, so completely and utterly himself was a paradise all on its own. There was a heaviness aboard your shoulders, but as you watched him goof tirelessly about, you had no other concerns, not even as you subconsciously raised your hand over your stomach. You shook your head at the sentiment, the two of you had already made the decision to abort this child, it was unknown how the poor fellow would turn out to be; with the combination of your powers and his super everything, it was sure to be quite the complication, and not one that you supposed was to be an easy course.

A smile pried at your face, simply from viewing him with the pack of children, the wind from the docks swept your hair into your face, and in turn, you swept the locks out and away from your vision, so that you had further access to watch the man that you loved in his absolute element. Through the years, past and recent, he had lost so much, and this child was just to be another mantle on the wall of memorial in his mind, it was sad really. If the two of you were normal, with average and lives that had perceptions with no regards of being heroic, there’d be no query about it, you’d keep the baby.

That life though, to your grave misfortune, did not exist, it was merely a fantasy living painfully inside of your mind, haunting you whenever you closed your eyes, with the flashing images of a resolution and end to the errors in your lifestyle. There’d be a big house, yet nothing to prissy, just enough room for the pair of you and few children of your own, a grand garden with a swing set and sand pit, where the infants could grow up and play in once they were older. Then there’d also be a shed for Bucky to work on small projects, such as attaining some love and care to his motor bike, as well as storing the supplies that he’d need to do so.

All that is a universe away, muffled from possibility by the stars expediting through the gorgeous veil of the galaxy, corrupting the possibilities of ever gaining access to such... peace. That was the one thing that the pair of you wanted, however catching a break was rather rare within your predicament. A stifled laugh reeled from the conjunction of your lips as you simply and endearingly surveyed how the boys, specifically Sam’s nephews hung from the vibranium branch of his arm. It was all your attention was focused on, until an extra person took a seat on the picnic table beside you, his sweet yet musky scent detailing whom it was. “If your not going to eat that, I’m sure Barnes Junior might want an opinion on that.”

The underlining of the words caused an abstract grimace to forlorn your features, as you stared not at the speaker of whom you were close with, but instead the slather of cake that was planted on a paper plate before you, the icing beginning to become slightly sick from the beating of the viable son. “You’re glowing, you know? Motherhood is a good look on you y/n/n, I wouldn’t be so soon to let that go.” Your fingers pried at the dismantled crumbs off your section of desert as you looked to your new captain, a resonating conformation fo bridled suffering and hopelessness clouding your view of his attempt at making you atone before you made a sin that you’d forever regret.

He, like many others, knew that the family life was what you wanted; you wanted to be your child’s hero, tending to their each necessary (and unnecessary) need, them being your main focus and project and life. Instead, you had been handed your options on a short stick, and thus, your decision, albeit somewhat of a sensible one, didn’t make it hurt any less. “Sam.” You spoke his name, observing from the corner of your eye how Bucky paraded around the dock with Jim and Jody. It’d be nice to give him a slice of this kinda life, he was thriving as an adult around children, you could only imagine him in the case of this one being birthed into the world. “It’s not that easy.”

“No one said it was going to be easy.” Sam responded quickly, affirming your fears to your nerve wrecked face. “I get it, I do. People will be after this kid, and that is no way to live, but you two aren’t alone in any of this, nor will you be in that. You have me, along with many other old friends of ours, hell even the Wakandan’s. Do you really want to sacrifice this one life so you can continue living this one? You and Bucky have both lost so much, you don’t have to force yourself to willingly give away something else. The decision can be changed the last minute, it’s a lot to take in, I get that, but I see the way Buck is with my nephews, and how you watch them when you think nobody’s looking over at you. With your state pardon, you two can retire, and go far away, and abandon everything for this one little guy or gal, because I know that if you do, no matter what, they’ll be worth it.”

Bucky wailed a warrior’s shout as Jim and Jody playfully struck him down, his unsheathed metal hand grasping at the cloth that was tightly aboard his addictive chest. He rolled on the ground as the children ran to retrieve their toy lightsabers, leaving him to be expendable against their weapons. There was a giddy and fitting smile smouldering his usual stoic expression. It was no wander why he found calm in visiting Sam and his sister’s small, and accepting family. The kids brought out another side of him, which he had been tortured to refrain from showing, but you had seen, and were contemplating many things within your mind. You were lapping up the image, as though you were dehydrated and the sight of him appeased by the company of young ones was a source of water.

Sam was right, he always was and had been. “The decision was on both of our parts, you don’t think Buck’ll change his mind, or do you?” You were invested in getting a responsive answer, yet the man spluttered a laugh at your confused expense. He heaved for a moment, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. There was nothing stopping him from gaining it back, unlike Bucky whom had grabbed a saber of his own and lightly began to paddle against the one that was directed against him, other than another round of hysterics that abandoned him. A reasonable smile resonated a comfortable position upon the former falcon’s face, as he tentatively patted your knee, watching as you broke off a small rupture of cake and popped it in your mouth, feeding not only yourself but the inmate within your womb.

“There isn’t really much for me to say, it’s easy, look at him. He will be fine with whatever decision that the pair of you succumb to, after all, it’s your body, but it will pain him like nothing else ever has if you go through with the abortion, and if not, then trust me, we’ve both seen how hard he fights; think of that but ten times the mass in consideration of this baby, because I am certain that he’d do anything for them. He lost his entire family when he awoke from his mode of hydra assassin, this could be him getting it back. Different members, but a family all the same.” He stole a little of your cake, making you lightly elbow him as a smirk rendered a beauty upon his face.

“What’s that going to make you, the patriotic uncle who just can’t keep himself from flashing his shield?” Now it was his turn to retaliate, he lightly scuffed your ankle with a feather light tap of the toe of his shoe, causing you to promiscuously roll your eyes. “I’m joking, that was Steve’s aesthetic, this new version of cap is your baby, I have great faith in you to make this world a better and safer place. The funny thing is, when you finally accepted that shield was yours, that’s when my mind shifted to the possibility of keeping this kid. It was and has always been a sign of hope and protection to Bucky, maybe it could be the same for our little one. It was just a thought, I’m not meaning to put pressure on your or anything bu-“

“I get it, and I’m honoured. And if that is how it seems, then I want you to know that I’ll be there to protect them too. The main bump in the road for now is for you to talk to that grumpy ass boyfriend of yours and figure this sperm plus egg equation out, send Jim and Jody over here, I got somethin’ to show those two anyway.” With a nod and a grateful pat upon your friend’s head, you slowly plodded over to where Bucky was being cornered against the side of the truck by the boys. His blue orbs danced around their small and imaginative beings, until they landed on you, it was as though his pupils were calling out for help, begging for you to spare some mercy upon him.

“Jim, Jody, your uncle Sammy has something for you two to see.” They groaned lightly, having been pulled away from the narrative of their play time, but nevertheless their faces were clean slates as they expressed hyper smiles, and bolted their route towards their mother’s sibling, carrying their lightsaber replicas along with them. “Two kids beat an infamous, deadly badass with a metal arm. I think you might be getting too old for these kinda battles Buck, you were losing, and quite terribly if I say so myself.” Crossing your arms, as he came to an upright stand, hoisting himself off the ground, so that he could be more level with you.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Thought you were supposed to be supportive of me and all that, as you said to Zemo, you’d quite happily cut his dick off if he compared me to the shadow that I used to be.” His brow raised, as he reminisced on the thought of you threatening Zemo; it was hot, and certainly had gotten him going, which had shortly left you in this predicament, trying to save the world and execute the one last thing that exhumed hope to either one of you. The baby. It was almost a certain and solid fact that the little one inside of you had been procreated on the Baron’s private jet, more specifically, the small and clean bathroom that had became dirty with your primal sins.

“And I still regret not doing that, he’d have had much less leverage in any sense of the word of phallic if he had it sectioned off.” Silence emitted between the two of you, although a humoured smirk tantalised upon Bucky’s graceful face. For a change, he was not prompting the expression of a grumpy cat that was refused its nip, no, instead he could be compared to a future - actually, he already was a father to the bean held in the shield of your body, having been an ample ingredient in bringing the small person into being. “So, you having fun with Sarah’s kids, sure looks like you were quite in your element before I cut in.”

“I’m always in my element when you’re around doll.” He smiled, wrapping his uncoordinated hands around the oval of your waist, and tugging you sentimentally closer, your hips bumped with his, as your eyes ogled infatuatedly up at him. “They’re great kids, makes me realise exactly what we’re gonna be missing out on.” Bucky gulped, sparks of emotion taunted the behind of his eyes, like saucers of resentful fire. “You’d be the perfect mother, you know that right? After all you’ve done for me, you’ve nurtured me close to the man that I once was, the only difference is that I want to settle, but I don’t know how to go about dropping everything. This kid is killing me, he’s making me question everything.”

“That’s what kids are supposed to do, unborn, or very much avidly attacking grown men with false lightsabers.” Bucky deeply into your frustrated and corresponding eyes, your hands reaching up to play defiantly with the smooth dip in his chin that could be seen through the shading of his light stubble. “What if we did have a Jim and Jody of our own some day? We could keep him or her, they’d be our greatest concern, we don’t have to go down this painful and longing, rusted road. We could bring something good into this world, protect them against all forces that threaten to disrupt their life, I want this with you Bucky. We could move far far away, or go somewhere close to home.”

“Brooklyn.” He stated, causing a line to crease gently in the plain of his forehead. “I want to call them Brooklyn, if I am to fight the rest of my life for something, I want it to be my home. Last time I had to leave there, but it’s my amends to never leave this child of ours, if we’re going to do this, we need to put them in front of everything, and I mean everything.” He spoke, in reference to the other avengers and other aliases that you had stood by for so long. Bleakly you nodded, grasping his jaw down for an amorous kiss, humming against the palette of his lips, as your hands entwined behind his neck, pulling his face closer to your own, prompting his tongue to travel deeper within the realm of your mouth.

“Brooklyn is a nice name. How about Brooklyn Margaret Barnes? I think that has quite the ring to it.” You offered, and he hardly reacted, instead quickly appraising a pleasant smile onto the canvas of his work of art face, as he ducked his head down, conjoining the pair of you into a passionate and meaningful collide of your lips. Sam smiled as he watched the pair of you, pointing at you two from afar, as his nephews from afar. He was giving them a man to men talk, offering them advice that they would have valuable usage of in the future.

“Now that is love. You don’t give up for the one thing that connects you, and those two, well Bucky and y/n have been through a hell of a lot. They deserve this, and when you meet a woman when you’re older, and your mum is watching on towards the two of you, I want you to make her proud by treating your girl like a princess, willing to sacrifice everything simply to create the future that she wishes for you.” He emotionally wiped his eyes, rushing to stand before he grasped a lightsaber, leaving the other to spare for one of them. “Now Jim and Jody, which one of you will be my padawan?”

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ktheist · 4 years

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1 | play me like a toy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read the last part, all yours to enjoy, here.

muses. mafia heiress!reader x ex-mafia!director!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia family au. arranged marriage au. office au. modern au.

words. 5.8k

warnings. contains smut. mentions of gun use. mentions of cheating.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

sit still, look pretty.

such were the words your maid-turned-mistress of a mother has ever taught you. the mindless marionette mask worked for the most parts. but when you find yourself hanging by a thread - or is it the beeping line of your dying father’s heart rate monitor? - you decide it’s time to shed off that mask and seek han group’s infamous loyal dog that went off radar 17 years ago.

jung hoseok.

alternatively;

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

jung hoseok is in a dry spell.

there was no doubt as to whether he could score a date, get laid and maybe even have his nightstand to call him up again exactly the week after.

the issue was time.

with his boss and longtime friend getting married, he ends up coming to work with a different pile of papers on his desk every day. well, it was his idea to sign a promissory note that if kim namjoon ever found a woman he loved and married, hoseok would take half of the ceo-ly workload so his overbearing boss could enjoy his honeymoon and truly, as hoseok would put it, live.

the order went a little differently but namjoon found a hole in the way the sentences were worded that got him flying away to the caribbean and leaving hoseok to fend for himself in these trying times.

oh, and it’s almost hit the third month of the newly weds going mia.

in the first place, he didn’t think namjoon would hold the agreement over his head like he was flexing a few hundred thousand dollar’s worth of lawsuit.

but the man did just that and now hoseok is slaving over his nine-to-five which actually tend to drag on till ten or, if he’s lucky, even midnight. sure, he got promoted from head secretary to director but he’s wondering if this endless cycle of coming back home only pass out in the bed and wake up earlier than a parent with a toddler - is worth it.

hoseok groans, his hand grabbing around for his phone to put a stop on that obnoxious alarm even if it’s just for five minutes before he has to hear it again.

and grab something he did, but this so called phone feels too soft to be a phone and shapes like an cup but softer and - he puts more pressure to his grasp out of confusion -

“mhm, what the hell?”

- it complains in a groggy voice too.

almost as if pricked by a needle, hoseok leaps right out of bed, sending the duvet flying to the floor and revealing the naked woman - you - who’s stretching her limbs whilst her face scrunches in displeasure at the rude awakening.

“__-___?! wh-what the- what are you doing in my bed?”

“so you touched my boob,” you say, legs crossed and arms folded over said boob.

“i-i-” it’s the first time you’ve ever seen hoseok opened his eyes so wide - he has pretty eyes. especially when they’re brimming with fear and bashfulness, “i’m sorry, i have no excuse.”

he hangs his head low.

“why didn’t you touch the other one?”

it’s then, when hoseok’s eyes snap up to you, gaze searching for a sign - any sign, to confirm that he misheard that, does the man realize that you’re messing with him.

that, and you doubling over with laughter trickling out of your mouth should be affirmation enough.

“god, you should’ve seen your face, hobi!” you’re still holding your stomach when hoseok’s shoulders stiffen and his round eyes turn sharp.

“that’s not something you joke about, ___,” he says, it’s easy to mistake his sternness with anger if you didn’t know him your whole life, “are you gonna let it go every time someone disrespects you? mr. han would’ve snapped their neck in half-”

“hoseok, come on,” you cut him off with a dismissive hand, “none of those gory talks about snapping necks and pulling out nails. that’s the reason i end up here in the first place.”

it’s the way silence lulls into the room and hoseok looks at you with the hardest knitted brows and eyes that seem to have retracted his soul far back into his memories, as though searching for something - that makes your heart drop.

all sense of humor now gone.

“you don’t remember what happened last night... do you?” the last part is just an addition to ease your throbbing heart.

if you’d left it as a statement, it made it more real that he did forget.

just a man, sitting at a half empty bar, three shots of vodka in and hostility in his voice that could’ve killed but so very hoseok of him, “that seat’s taken.”

aloof. distant. and every word in the book that described a man who didn’t want to be bothered and he drowned himself in alcohol.

“i’ll leave once the owner comes back,” you’d slipped into the seat anyway, despite the heat of hoseok’s stare.

not paying any heed, you ordered yourself a margarita.

“it’s been awhile, hasn’t it, hobi?”

that’s when he turned to you. truly looked at you.

“do you perhaps have a little sister who,” his eyebrows began to knit as if the screws in his head started turning, “would be about your age by now... ____?”

you didn’t really catch up. all you could remember was hoseok’s calculative stare as he watched you down one drink after the other. the the chilliness of the margarita somewhat soothing the burning sensation as it went down your throat.

“that’s the fifth for you,” his large hand covered yours, stopping you from picking up the glass as he cautioned you.

“yeah? i’m only stopping if i have something else to occupy my mouth with.”

in his distracted state as he tried to make sense of what your words meant, you lifted the glass to your mouth and downed the last of your drink.

and then, you stood up, walked the tiniest distance between your seat and his, grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips on his.

you remembered your confidence dissipating like air with every second passing without hoseok so much as responding to your kiss.

maybe it was the shock.

because one that passed, you found his arm around your waist and his lips kissing you harder than you kissed him.

you stumbled into your car, not caring if yeojun had a front row view from the rearview mirror of the things that transpired at the back seat. you barely remember the walk from the parking lot to his apartment.

those sweet whispered promises. the hands that burned your skin with every touch. those eyes that pierced right into your eyes, as if invisible hands reached into your soul and grasped it in his palm.

“mine,” hoseok husked, voice sending ripples of pleasure dripping down your legs. he’d thrust himself balls deep inside you, like a beast who hadn’t had a drop of water since the drought, “you’re mine from head to toe.”

if that wasn’t enough, he fucked you raw until you were at your limit and he’d just... stop.

“hoseok, why-” you’d been breathless, skin glistening with sweat and knees trembling to give in but he’d banded an arm under your torso and held you to him so your bodies remained connected even if none of you moved.

“you think i’d just let you cum so easily?” he placed a hand on your ass, as if warning you what would happen if you’d pull away, “after all these years... you grew up fine as fuck.”

he’d languidly pulled out of you, as if knowing how torturous it felt for you with his fingers on your clit that sent electricity through your veins.

“what is it, hm? is it the kang’s or is it the seong’s? i guess the rumor about boss being hospitalized was true,” his words barely registered in your mind as his index finger touched your back and traced down your spine whilst he started thrusting in and out of you agonizingly slow.

“please, just fuck me,” you’d hissed, pain and pleasure and frustrations mixed in your voice.

“hm, still as tight-lipped as ever, huh?” he’d sounded completely relaxed as if the smacking sound that echoed in the air as his body slammed against your deliciously - didn’t affect him in the slightest.

as if he took no pleasure in fucking you. as if this was only for your poor little soul that came running back to him because you had no one to depend on.

“y-you have to- ah! s-swear your l-loyalty to- oh my god,” it was last night, while the citylights poured through hoseok’s window, his room was directly across another apartment building.

“loyalty, huh?” he tested the words on his mouth, as if it was a foreign candy gifted to him as present.

his body feels hot against your back as he lowered himself flush against you, his breath fanning your sweat-glistened skin, his voice brushing the shell of your ear, “you should know i’m yours as much as you’re mine. nothing i wouldn’t do for you, kiddo.”

he’d used that nickname he’d used to call you as he fucked you into his bed, and sent you moaning his name like you wouldn’t know any other name.

anyone could’ve seen.

neither of you cared though.

well-

you throw your gaze out at the twenty storey building, noticing a man vacuuming the living room three units to the left from the unit directly across from hoseok’s. above him, two kids, a boy and a girl are jumping around while holding an airplane in their hands.

-until now, that is.

hoseok had become an entirely different person last night. no - rather, he’d returned to you as the man you’d always kept in that special spot in your heart and locked it up so no one would be able to see past your steel schooled expression and the devil may care nature.

“i...”

your gaze snaps back to hoseok once again. he parts his lips for the briefest moment, as if to say something but clamps them shut again. the way his eyes gleam with guilt is enough to tell you the unspoken words that hang in the air.

and yet, your heart hardens like the steel mask you often wear on your face.

“and... to think i gave you my virginity too...”

the silence that lapses between you is tangible.

“sike, i’m kidding,” you grin, brows rising to the ceiling but when hoseok doesn’t so much as laugh or frown - he simply looked at you like a parent disappointed of his child who still didn’t see why what she did was wrong - you tilt your head to the side slightly, “or am i?”

“ugh, you’re no fun,” you throw your head back after failing to gouge a reaction from the man who screamed bloody murder as if you’re some street rat that he was so close to calling infestation control.

“i need to meet mr. han,” he announces after a whole solid minute of sitting on the edge of the bed with feet planted on the floor.

“what for? what are you gonna tell daddy? ‘i’m sorry i took your daughter’s virginity, sir, it won’t happen again?’“ you watch him get up, tongue unconsciously slipping out and sweeping over your bottom lip as you watch the curve of his ass as he walks to the closet and disappears into it.

“were you really a virgin?” he comes out dressed in fresh crisp button down tucked in a pair of black pants, a contrast to his rolled up sleeves, creased shirt and disheveled hair from last night.

“i don’t know, did it feel like i was?” you shoot him a coquettish smile.

the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple bobs up and down, his lingering gaze on your crossed, bare legs not going unnoticed by you. you’re donned in last night’s dinner dress that hugs your curves and stops mid thighs.

but his gaze is gone too soon.

“you’re not seriously going to daddy, are you?” you tug on his sleeve just before he steps out of the door, “hobi, i’m just kidding, i’ve been with multiple guys before you,” the way his brows threaten to knit into a frown doesn’t go pass you but it’s gone too soon, “and does daddy like the idea? he’s not fond of it, but he knows he can’t stop me from doing whatever i want with my own body.”

the beep of the door as he opens it rings in the air as he looks at you in the eye, “did any of those men work for mr han?”

only silence follows his reply as you bite your lower lip, hesitant.

“we can’t hide this- mr han might already know. he has eyes and ears-” hoseok steps out of the door only to stop dead in track when he sees at least half a dozen men lined up in front of his apartment in black suits.

“good morning, miss ____.” they bow at exactly 90 degrees angle like robots.

“-everywhere...” hoseok trails off, eyes scanning the area on high alert.

“don’t worry, they’re not daddy’s men. they’re my men,” you raise one hand, index finger pointing to the ceiling as you shoot them an expression void of any smile.

they seem to understand that as they dip into a bow again, the leader, yeojun, stops in front of the elevator when he and his men would have joined you in any other circumstances.

“it’s not about saving my own ass, ___,” hoseok begins.

the way his arms cross over his chest makes his sleeves wrap deliciously around his biceps.

his deep brown eyes appear like a hazel storm under the sunlight that pours from every crevice of the parking lot where the elevator stopped at. “mr. han asked me to protect you from everything and i’m sure he hired someone else after i left to keep trash men away from you... and to think i did exactly what he wanted me to protected you from-”

“hobi,” nimble hands hover over his chest before you gaze up at him through your lashes, making sure to give it a slow, innocent blink before speaking, “i didn’t regret what happened last night. and you trying to apologize for someone i’m not sorry kind of hurts.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t think of it that way...” he trails off, lips pressed in a straight line as though deep in thought.

“if it makes you that uncomfortable, i won’t talk about it but promise me this stays between us, please?” you hold up a pinky finger like you would when you were younger.

the smile that makes its way to hoseok lips causes your heart to palpitate just when it’s barely calmed down.

his pinky finger is much larger than yours as it hooks around yours in a promise, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. as if he’s still unsure if he should be making any promises. as if he’s unsure if he should be hooking his pinky with yours instead of pushing you as far away from him as he could. but before he can come to a conclusion, a voice reverberates into the air.

“miss ____.”

the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath rings in your ear as a dozen men in black suits bow at the sight of you.

before another word comes out from anyone else, you speak, voice echoing against the walls.

“listen up you sons of bitches, if i find out any of you snitched to daddy, i’ll make sure your wife, your husband, your kids, your grandparents, hell even your neighbors pay for it. got it?”

a round of rigorous “yes, miss!” follows after the splitting silence that hovered after you finished.

turning around, almost getting lost in those pretty, star entrapped eyes of his, you smile, “see, they’re loyal to me.”

“uh, i can see why.” it’s the humorous tone that finally wraps around hoseok’s words that makes your heart clench painfully.

he’s still the same hoseok you know.

some things never change.

“well, i’ll lend you one of my cars,” you say all of a sudden.

almost as if hit by a foul ball, hoseok’s eyes widen, “shi- what time is it?”

you don’t expect much when you check your phone, the digits on the screen staring back with a 9-something am - you don’t care to check the details, “late.”

“fuck, i was so focused on gathering enough balls to meet mr. han - i need to get the papers i was supposed to look over for today’s meeting,” a string of curses follow hoseok’s scampering retreat. and you simply watch in your spot - he’s always been such a klutz, forgetting the important details and scrambling to get what he’d forgotten and just remembered - done.

before the doors of the elevator close and swallow him in its belly, hoseok’s nimble fingers slip between the shutting gap, making the doors split open again, “oh,” he says, as if remembering something, “you don’t have to do that - i can drive, i got a driver’s license like, eons ago.”

right.

when he left, he was only 18 and had nothing more but a duffle bag filled with all his belongings and an acceptance letter of the university he applied to.

hoseok had been driving you around everywhere before that. he got pulled over by a cop once but your father easily handled that.

jung hoseok’s been with you for as long as you remember.

you recall bawling your eyes out and clinging onto his leg, begging him not to leave because your nanny left and you found out a few months later that her body was found washed up along the river bank near her hometown.

mr. kim, the gardener quit and said he wanted to visit his kids but the whole family ended up dying in a fire.

everyone who left ends up dead.

pushing the somber feeling that’s threatening to pull the muscles in your face into a frown, you shake your head, an amused smirk tugging on your lips as you mask away every other feeling.

“you really don’t remember anything, do you?” somewhere in that innocently clueless gaze of his, you search for a lie - it would’ve been better if he lied about forgetting for whatever reason.

but when the genuinity over pours from those pretty eyes, you push away the gnawing feeling in your heart, “we were both shit faced drunk last night so we came to your place with my driver and you left your car at the bar’s parking lot.”

“oh shit,” he begins punching the button on the inside of the elevator, “i won’t take long, i pro-”

the metal doors gradually shut, cutting off what he was about to say.

“p-please, i’m sorry, i’ll do anything...” the man’s words got blurred out as you stare out the window of his medium sized flat with a master bedroom, a room and a bathroom connected to the common area.

it’s been a week since you met hoseok. you want to be mad that he doesn’t call, especially after not seeing each other for so long and finally reuniting only for him to forget everything about that night.

but you didn’t even give him your number and you may or may not be mad that he didn’t think to ask.

a bloodcurdling scream drums against your eardrums, making you physically flinch as your head snaps towards the man lying on the ground with his mouth wide open and no longer any sound coming out.

his head is titled at the new guy who’s standing over him with a baton gripped in one hand. the sight itself makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“god fucking damn it, yeojun,” you shoot a glare at the head bodyguard, “didn’t you teach him rule number 1? make no sound, catch no attention?”

at that, yeojun snaps his fingers and two of the bodyguards closest to the new guy - soon? soobin? was his name? - approach him. one of them places a firm hand on his shoulder whilst he kicks soobin behind his knee, sending him kneeling with a thud.

“i’m sorry, miss ___, it seems soobin,” ah so you did get his name right, “needs to join mr. yoo here in learning a thing or two about obeying orders.”

yeojun doesn’t even flinch when one of your donned-in-black bodyguard strikes one of their own at the back of his head with that baton they usually carry around their waist.

soobin’s face scrunches up painfully as he breathes out through his nose, teeth gritting together.

“you boys, break some things and you, get the car ready,” with that, the bodyguards hovering over the middle-aged borrower and soobin begin scampering around, toppling shelves over, pushing vases to the ground and breaking plates in the kitchen.

“you were too nice,” yeojun murmurs underneath his breath once you’re in the hallway, the sound of glass shattering and furniture breaking still echo off the walls.

“i shouldn’t even be doing this shit anyway. who does he think i am? sending me to take care of small fries...” agitated, you shoot yeojun a glare.

to which he only responds with raised eyebrows, as if asking if you’d go against your brother’s orders just because you’ve never liked to see violence yet violence follows you everywhere.

“let’s see.... richest bachelor, heir to han group, one of the biggest conglomerate family that runs the underground ring...” the black haired man starts counting off with his finger until you swing your purse to his side.

“which side are you on? me or my chanyeol’s?!”

laughter trickles down his lips as he follows you into the elevator. somewhere in the distance, the hallway faintly rings with the fading sound of mr. yoo’s helpless pleas.

when you arrive at kimcorp, the secretary shoots up from your seat, her smile is gorgeous and welcoming but the knitted set of brows above her eyes do a poor job of hiding her anxiousness.

odd.

you didn’t use the han name to get past the receptionist, only mentioning “hoseok is expecting me, tell him i have something of his he’d really like back.”

was it the lavish dinner dress? was it the couture handbag?

“ah, it’s the fox fur, isn’t it?” you twirl on your heels, lips curling prettily as you narrow your eyes at the startled secretary.

she’s standing there like a thief caught red-handed. as if her worst nightmares came true the moment you started saying something besides the “i’m here to see jung hoseok.”

“i-i’m sorry, ma’am?” her shoulders tense up and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“nothing, it’s nothing,” you put on a billion dollar smile - one that she seems to be struggling to wear.

before the poor thing peed her pants, you turn around, your back on her and push on the double doors of the office with a white plate that spells out “head director jung.”

the syllables of your name roll off the mouth of the man behind the large desk that almost takes up half of the room, piles of documents stacked up on either sides while the middle section is cleared for a mac and a macbook perched directly in front of him.

“you sound surprised, didn’t the receptionist tell you i was coming?” you put on your best smile even as you watch him push a button on a smaller-than-a-palm-sized remote directed at the cctv and dash for the blinds and close them so that the secretaries facing his room won’t have any visual access to what goes on from now on.

“yeji didn’t specify who,” he says mindlessly, still peeking through the blinds - possibly to check if anyone noticed the sudden move.

somehow, hearing the name of another woman leaving hoseok’s lips doesn’t sit right with you.

“since you easily told her to send me right up, i assume you have an idea of who it was,” a devious smile tugs in the corners of your lips as the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath brushes your ears.

as he was in the middle of turning around and facing you, you managed to catch him off guard and trap him between the window and yourself. the ridges of his toned abs brushing against your front torso with only layers of clothing separating you.

the warning tone he uses to say your name with is music to your ears.

he sounded like the old him. the old hoseok who’d drive his fist into anyone’s face without batting an eye. the old hoseok who would turn to your crying frame with the sweetest smile and hand you back your backpack that fell on the ground amidst the struggle of trying to bite and kick your kidnappers in the shin.

“i missed you, you know?” your voice is tinged with playfulness but your heart skips a beat like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“i-i... we...”

the words get stuck in his throat the moment your lips brush his. what surprises you is the softest sigh that leaves his mouth before a large hand buries itself in your hair, pulling you close until he’s tasting you. licking your bottom lip as if asking for something he didn’t need to ask for in the first place.

his free hand grasps your ass as if he’s been dying to feel your soft cheeks in his palm. you part your lips for him, tasting the faintest sense of cigarette in his breath.

hoseok tends to smoke when something bothers.

you hope it’s you. you hope he lays in bed at night, staring at the ceiling. you hope you’re all he thinks about.

by the time you pull apart, you’re both heaving for air. a soft thud drums in your ears as hoseok leans his head against the blinds-covered-window. you press your cheek against his chest, face hot.

one of his hands sits on top of your ass as if paying his overdue respect for your body but yet unwilling to let you go. the other rests on the back of your head, his thumb mindlessly caressing your scalp.

“hoseok?” you’re the first to break the silence.

he simply hums in response, “hm?”

“i can’t give it back,” you turn your cheek to bury your face in his chest, your voice coming out muffled, “i can’t give back your freedom.”

“so you’re saying you can’t let me go...” hoseok echoes the words you say to him.

but the way his lips curl into a pleased smirk and his white shirt creasing at the front from having your bodies pressed together a moment ago, gives those words a different meaning than you intend them to.

somehow, the distance between you seems smaller.

“thanks miyeon,” hoseok’s smile switches to that of a kind, considerate superior.

miyeon, the woman who guided you to hoseok’s office returns his smile. but you don’t miss the cautious gaze she throws your way before slipping out of the room after setting down the tea cups.

he’s back to himself. the kind that jumps at every little sound and tends to wear a frightened puppy look almost too often.

“no, rather...” you trail off, chanyeol’s face burning at the back of your mind - your brother, the heir to han group and the man that will marry you off to the kang’s in order to mend the strain in the family ties as soon as your father breathes out his last breath.

you shake your head, a smile on your face, “it’s been awhile, how bout catching up over lunch?”

and so it goes, you visit hoseok every few days in a week. at times you tell the secretary to keep your visit a secret so you could surprise him, you’d end up catching him neck deep in work yet he still manages to pull off the rolled up sleeves, two buttons undone and slicked back hair with a single strand falling over his forehead, its tip grazing those set of strong eyebrows.

when you knock, he looks up and the tension in his brows seem to fade away. he shoots you a dimpled smile as if he’s been waiting for you to whisk him away from work.

and you do just that. arm looped around his, you both walk out of his office like lovers.

hoseok talks about his past - the one you’re not part of - fondly. as if looking through a lense of something he never dreamed he could have.

at first, he attracted the wrong kind of crowd with his permanently set furrowed brows. but then he finds things he enjoys doing outside of classes that he couldn’t get to enjoy when he was with han group.

dancing, tracks, boxing and more. he likes that rush of adrenaline that courses through his veins.

and you tell him about the meetings and gatherings and social events to maintain your relationships with the vassal families. they’re usually attended by the women of the han family which means you and han chohee would be smiling and laughing together in front of the wives and daughters of the vassal families before taking off that loving step-mother-and-step-daughter facade once you walk out of the vicinity.

your lunches and dinners are spent with trips down memory lane, filling the other in on the moments each of you miss in each other’s lives. and for a moment, the hoseok in front of you who flinches at the sight of bugs and little, random noises feel familiar.

that is, until you hit your one month reunion mark.

chanyeol’s been gathering support of the vassals by personally accepting their invitations.

his presence easily overshadowed yours and yeojun confirmed that your father’s condition isn’t getting any better.

“i need you to come back and work for me, half of the men would drop everything and follow you,” you stare at the girl staring back at you on the surface of the tea. she bites her lips and you feel the faintest taste of blood in your mouth.

eyes snapping to his calculative ones - as if he already knows what you’re going to say before the words even pass your lips, “i need you by my side so i can take over han group.”

the hoseok sitting in the single couch next to you with parted legs and feet planted on the dark carpeted ground fits the head director setting better than the inked skin, cigarette smoke and gun-in-waistline setting you’re about to drag him in.

“you’re willing to go against chanyeol to become the head of the family?” he asks, eyes clouded with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

hoseok’s always been an enigma. his mind, a maze you’ll never end up figuring out.

guess that part of him is still the same.

“it’s not a choice for me to make,” a clean click! resonates in the air as you place the gun you’d pulled from your garter, point facing him, index finger on the trigger, “you have two though.”

it’s the way his eyebrows rise whilst his eyes glint with amusement tells you that hoseok - your hoseok - is still somewhere in there.

throw a sane man into an asylum and he’ll start going insane. put a mad man back in society and he’ll trick you into believing he’s sane with his warm, dimpled smile.

“marry me or be killed,” you say simply.

that amused glint is still there, granted, it shines faintly compared to the caution that overflows from those sun-hit brown eyes as they fix themselves on the gun perched on the see-through coffee table before they travel to your knuckles, to your arm and meet your steel gaze.

his the softest protrusion of his adam’s apple drops and rises again as he swallows, “is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

the air is dense with tension. it fills up your lungs and almost causes your chest to cave. you’re not sure how long to stay there, stiff and still like a rock with your back straightened as if your etiquette teacher was hovering right behind you with a long, wooden ruler that’d be ready to strike your arm at a slump of your shoulders.

but liberation comes to you in the form of a phone call.

“___, we have to go, th-the boss- the doctor says he’s not gonna make it through the night.” it’s the first time you’ve heard yeojun stammer as if he hasn’t quite yet recovered from the shock of the news he’s relaying to you.

“are you sure?” you can almost hear the thump of the organ in your chest slowing down before it ceases to throb completely, “you know how bad chanyeol wanna fuck me up, he could’ve made the doctor tell you this because he knows you’ll tell me and if... if i rush there and daddy’s laughing that obnoxious laugh while trying to make pass on the nurse like he usually does...”

yeojun grunts, “yes, ___. i have men planted there as patients, nurses, janitors and they all say the same thing - that the doctors are rushing to the vip ward and they’re trying to make it look like your usual hourly check up but it’s not... look, this is the real thing. if we mess up, there won’t be another chance. now, did you convince hoseok to come back?”

almost as if reminded that you’re not the only person in the room, your eyes snap to hoseok whose eyes are already fixed on you with a concerned expression.

“he’ll come back.” with that, you hang up the call.

“i’d love for you to think it through for a few days, realize this isn’t really a life you want and come to me on your own to sign our prenups,” you say casually, placing down the teacup and slipping your phone back into your handbag as if you’re getting ready to leave the tea party, “but...”

but before you can lift the gun and fully point it at him, a large hand covers yours. his warmth seeps through your pores and makes your body feel warmer.

“the gun’s a bit excessive,” his breath fans your face as your eyes fix on the supple skin of his neck.

it’s as if invisible hands reached out and held your head in place, forbidding you from tilting it and gazing into his eyes. his fingers reach over the back of the gun, grazing your hands.

a click cuts through the silence.

“at the very least, unlock the safety,” his teasing tone doesn’t match his saddened eyes.

and just as you thought you’d closed the distance between you and him, the circumstance forces you to take five steps back.

#bts scenarios #bts smut #hoseok smut #hoseok fic #bts fic #bts x you #bts x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok scenarios

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wizkiddx · 4 years

Text

unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA.

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave.

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?”

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable.

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed.

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend.

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially.

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid; when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be.

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that.

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks.

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras.

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man.

“You good?” His answer was predictable.

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands.

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other.

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end.

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything.

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away.

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph.

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt.

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his.

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing.

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else.

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #fluff

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phantom-curve · 3 years

Text

For @panickosdisordr2, set in a high school AU where everyone is alive, I give you absolutely flustered Luke and poor, sweet, long-suffering Julie.

#38: stroking their leg & #41: sitting close and knees touching

Luke was still getting used to the fact that being Julie’s boyfriend meant he didn’t have to be so nervous about touching her anymore. For so long he had been forced to overthink every single interaction with her, needing to constantly toe the line of friendship even when he wanted so much more. Every touch, every lingering glance, had to be just this side of friendly. And no, he wasn’t always successful. Quite often his glances lingered a beat too long and his touches came close to being more proprietary than he had any right acting as a friend. Luke had made a list of rules to keep himself in check and he repeated them over and over before, during, and after he spent time with Julie.

Rule #1: No looking at Julie for longer than 30 60 seconds.

(30 seconds had been the goal, but who was he kidding? Julie was a freaking wrecking ball of musical talent and wickedly beautiful. 45 seconds was the absolute minimum he could handle, and even that was kind of pushing it.)

Rule #2: No writing blatantly obvious songs about Julie.

(Because really, every song was about Julie. But Julie didn’t need to know every song was about her. And Alex and Reggie really, really didn’t need to know, and no, just because they guessed didn’t mean they knew.)

Rule #3: No looking at Julie’s lips unless there was a microphone between them.

(He barely managed this one, which was why he kept sharing the mic with her more and more the longer they practiced and the more comfortable they became preforming together. It was the best kind of torture, and it wasn’t creepy, Alex, pay attention to drumming and not front people stuff!)

Rule #4: No touching Julie except for her shoulders and her arms and her waist (but only if they were hugging!)

(So what if Luke made sure to hug Julie a lot. He was a touchy-feely kind of guy, everyone knew that, and he only hugged someone after making sure they were okay with it. Julie never pushed him away, in fact she seemed to like the fact that he was so open with affection and comfort. It was fine.)

But dating Julie meant that all of those rules went right out the window. And Luke was still figuring out how to navigate that.

Julie didn’t seem to have any problems on her end. She slipped seamlessly from best friend to girlfriend without missing a beat. She would lean into him when they sat next to each other during lunch and move his hair out of his face without hesitation as she gazed into his eyes with a million stars dancing in her own. Her touch was casual but affectionate, her fingertips almost always finding some patch of skin to skim across whenever he was within arm’s reach. She kissed her way along his skin with an enviable ease, never holding back because she wasn’t sure he would like it, but instead blazing a path along his cheek or his collarbone or molding her lips against his as if she had always known that was what he so desperately desired most in the world.

Luke would never tell her, but part of his hesitation was because he felt wholly undeserving of her unwavering devotion. What had he ever done to earn someone as bright and beautiful as Julie Molina? He knew if he told her, she would have a million and one reasons why he was wrong, so he mostly kept it to himself and reveled in her easy affection every chance that he got. He should have known that eventually she would call him out on it.

“Luke...do you...not want me to touch you?”

He just hadn’t expected her to ask like that.

They were working on a new song out in the studio, a place Julie had chosen that he had assumed was because she didn’t want Carlos bothering them and because they had easier access to their instruments out there. They were sharing the couch, sitting across from each other with a shared notebook open between them, offering different lyric ideas back and forth as they tried to nail down the right lines. Luke hadn’t even realized that Julie had slowly been moving closer. He had only registered the feeling of their knees brushing occasionally, skin touching skin because his jeans were ripped, and she was wearing a pair of shorts to combat the stifling LA heat. Every time she had leaned in, he had leaned back, his years long set of rules so engrained he had forgotten that he didn’t have to follow them anymore. It was only when Julie quietly posed her question, teeth peeking out to bite down on her lower lip, cute little top gap flashing at him and reminding him that she was his girlfriend now, that he realized what he had been doing.

“Julie, no, of course I want you to touch me!”

Luke felt himself flush from head to toe as he realized how his words had sounded. He scrambled forwards, knocking their knees together painfully, although Julie, to her credit, didn’t even flinch. He took a deep, stuttering breath and tried again.

“I didn’t...I wasn’t trying to move away from you. I just...sometimes I forget I get to do that now.”

Julie quirked a brow and tilted her head slightly. Luke wanted to scratch his eyeballs out so he never had to see her looking so hurt and confused again. He groaned, reaching behind his head to give his hair a soft tug, recentering himself in the moment. He forced himself to meet Julie’s gaze and explain in a way that would actually make sense. He also made sure to scoot forward a bit so that their kneecaps were firmly pressed together, skin to skin.

“I just...for so long I wanted to be able to touch you in any way and have it be totally normal and okay.”

The words weren’t flowing perfectly, and Luke cursed the fact that Julie was able to scramble his brains and mess with the one thing he had always felt confident in. He pushed on though, because this was Julie, and if anyone was going to understand him, it was her.

“But I didn’t...I couldn’t...we weren’t like that, you know? We were friends and yeah, I love my friends, and I hug my friends, and I’m affectionate with them or whatever, but with you it was...different. I didn’t want to just be friends. But I also didn’t know what you wanted, and more than not wanting to just be friends, I didn’t want to not be a friend, so I made these rules. Rules about how I couldn’t say too much or do too much or touch you too much because it would mean more to me than it would to you and that wasn’t fair. And then everything changed, and you liked me too, and now we’re like a freaking dream, like I don’t always believe it kinda dream, and so I fall back on the rules. Because what if I say too much or do too much or touch you too much and I ruin everything?”

That...was a lot more than he had meant to say. But Julie wasn’t looking at him with judgement in her gaze. Her eyes were gentle and warm, her lips parting almost as if she was in awe, her features softening completely. She reached forward, slowly and deliberately, to place her hands along his thighs, just above where their knees were still touching. She leaned in, the pressure of her hands strong and steady, her scent invading his senses until everything in his world shrunk down to nothing more than JulieJulieJulie.

“You could never say or do too much. And you 100% could never touch me too much. Do you know how long I waited for you? Do you know how many rules I tried to come up with, how many nights I told myself over and over again that I needed to just get over you because it was never gonna happen? How many times I was so sure I was going to ruin the band and our friendship because I was so stupidly in love with you and nothing I did could stop it?”

Luke was having a hard time remembering how to breathe. He hadn’t ever thought about any of that. Because Julie had always seemed so confident and self-assured. She had been the one to make the first move that turned them from friends to more. She had been the one to confess how she felt first. She had always been his safety net, taking the plunge before he could, reassuring him so that when he stepped off the ledge, he knew she would be there to catch him.

“God, I love you so much,” his words were fierce and intense as he touched his forehead to hers and whispered them into the small space between their lips. “What the hell would I do without you?”

“Well, you’d probably still be trying to figure out the bridge and ending to Edge of Great without me.”

Luke growled and lunged forward, tackling Julie to the couch, and smothering her shriek beneath his lips. He felt her mouth curve into a smile, the kiss turning sloppy as she giggled uncontrollably. Her hands wound around his shoulders, twisting into the hair along the nape of his neck and threatening to turn him boneless against her. He broke away, propping himself up on his forearms so that his body remained stretched out along hers as he stared down at her.

“I can’t believe I get to be with you. You promise it’s not a dream?”

“If you’re dreaming, I’m dreaming. And I don’t think we can actually share dreams no matter how much we love each other. So, you’d better believe it, babe. I’m yours, forever.”

That did turn Luke boneless, every inch of his being melting down on top of hers, so they were connected from head to toe. Julie didn’t protest. She just pulled him closer, whispered you’ll always be mine against the skin of his neck, her breath hot and spellbinding against his skin. Luke didn’t argue. Who could argue with a goddess like Julie and expect to win? The best prize of all was knowing she loved him just as deeply as he loved her; he wasn’t about to try and convince her otherwise.

If Luke was able to love Julie for the rest of her life, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough for him to show her how much he cared. But that’s what ever afters were made for, right? A lifetime and then some. Luke knew with every fiber of his being that he would love Julie far past the time their respective stars burned out. That’s what destinies were all about. Loving forever and ever and ever. Even after you thought you were gone, the legacy lived on, timeless and unbreakable. That was them. Forever and a day, no end in sight for the rest of eternity.

#I'm on a soft Juke train tonight and I cannot be stopped #choo choo motherfuckers #THEY JUST LOVE EACH OTHER OKAY #will I ever write Luke without making him insecure in the face of Julie's incredibility? probably not #mads writes #jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #jukebox #jatp ficlet #juke ficlet #julie molina #luke patterson #send me prompts for my birthday!

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fettsvette · 3 years

Text

Never Worn White (Part Two)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 6.8k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

vaar’ika - little runt

nehutyc’ika - feisty one

cyar’tomade - fans

“Your boyfriend’s at the Atrium.”

The words were like a lightning strike through the very fiber of your being, your whole body vibrating, no matter how teasingly and sarcastically they were meant. Your head jerked up so fast from the holopad screen you’d been gazing at that you felt as if you had just given yourself whiplash, and your blood pressure instantly skyrocketed, leaving you feeling light-headed and dizzy. Your roommate grinned lecherously at you, their eyes glinting mischievously. They were one of the few people to know about your feelings for Boba Fett, and it was obvious now that they were torturing you, feeding you false information and getting your hopes up just to watch you fluster and squirm like a giddy schoolgirl. Of course, they didn’t know the extent of your infatuation, and what you were planning if you ever happened to cross paths with the infamous bounty hunter during his unprecedented stay in Cloud City. You didn’t intend to allow them to find out, either.

“...What are you talking about? Stop it...” You replied faintly, gazing up at them dumbly from your perch on the couch, uncrossing your legs and attempting to knead the life back into the prickling muscles. Your gaze drifted to your hands as you did so, trying futilely to get them to stop shaking just so your flatmate didn’t have something else to rib you over, and then skirted over to the wide window looking out over the city. Neat rows of transports crisscrossing in every direction lined the nighttime sky, carrying Cloud City’s citizens and tourists alike to where they needed to go. You couldn’t help but direct your vision towards the vicinity of the entertainment district, its bright lights plainly visible from your apartment. The Paradise Atrium was only a short distance away from your apartment on Figg Avenue, even closer than the landing bay where the Slave I was still docked. There was no way. It was too good to be true, simply meant to be. He was coming closer and closer to you.

“I’m not kidding. Boba Fett’s at the Paradise Atrium, right now . I had to stop there on my way home to drop off a couple containers of glitterstim my boss owed the slimeball that owns that place, y’know? I walked in and he was literally right there in the cantina, just sitting at one of the booths in the corner… the ones they always reserve for the really top-tier VIPs.” They explained seriously, and you envisioned the layout of the lounge in your mind, an establishment you had visited quite often. Your thoughts brought you to the very rear of the adjacent and aptly-named Paradise Cantina... into the recesses of a shadowy booth, where sat an imposing figure in a battle-worn suit of Mandalorian armor, reclined against the plush backing of the stall, legs spread almost obscenely wide. His codpiece was mysteriously absent, and you could see everything . He beckoned you closer with the twitch of a gloved finger ...and you shook yourself from your reverie, acutely aware that a cold sweat had started collecting on the back of your neck. You fought the urge to slap yourself across the face, the imagined mercenary still calling to you from your subconscious.

“Okay, okay… crik. Are you absolutely sure it was him?” You pleaded desperately, and your roommate openly rolled their eyes in your direction, shaking their head incredulously. You needed to be sure . You’d heard of the Fett imposter Jodo Kast, and even though the presence of the Slave I on-world was an immediate indication that the visitor was the real deal himself, there was still a niggling disbelief in your mind. This just could not be happening right now.

“Of course I’m sure! Kriff, how many Mandos do you think are just walking around Cloud City? Beefy-looking buckethead wearing green scrap metal, more weapons on him than stars in the sky. Poor kid they had serving him was terrified, the guy was shaking so bad he almost dropped a whole tray of brinebrew on the graysuits that were in the booth with him. And - okay, are we just going to ignore the fact that I called Boba kriffing Fett your boyfriend and you didn’t even blink? Honestly, I really can’t believe you sometimes…”

You didn’t even wait for them to finish. The fact that there were apparently high-ranking Imperial officers meeting with this mystery man was all the information you needed for any seed of doubt in your mind to be crushed. The holopad fell from your hands to land screen-down on the floor, entirely forgotten. Leaping up from the couch and power-walking towards your bedroom on tremulous legs, you flung the door closed behind you and hurriedly began rooting through your closet, looking for something halfway presentable to change into. You stripped yourself of your sweatpants and ripped t-shirt, having instantly settled on a glittering shimmersilk dress that you’d impulsively bought as a present to yourself after your last pay raise. You paused as you pulled the thin material over your head, debating whether or not to put on a bra before you dressed any further. With a curt sigh at yourself, you continued to slip your arms through the straps, smoothing the bunched fabric over the swell of your breasts. There was no point in bothering with one of those itchy, lacy garments you owned, that only you had ever laid eyes on - if all went according to plan tonight, your bra would just be coming off sooner rather than later anyway. You bent to slip your bare feet into a pair of plain black flats - you’d considered heels for a brief moment, but decided against them on the off-chance you had to make a quick getaway - when you were interrupted by the bedroom door colliding with the wall as it was unceremoniously flung open.

“...And just where the frozz do you think you’re going wearing that ?” A disbelieving voice intoned harshly from the doorway, and you looked up to see your roommate blocking the light flooding in from the living area, a panic-stricken expression written across their features. You paused, your arms hanging limply at your sides, staring determinedly back at your roommate, whose face was beginning to reflect a dawning sense of horror and understanding.

“ Out. ” You answered in a bland monotone, snatching your handbag off the bed and peeking inside of it, making sure that the keycard to your apartment door, as well as your credit chip and a healthy pouch of physical Imperial credit coins, were tucked away safely inside. Your roommate strode forward, grabbing your forearm and squeezing tightly, causing you to wince as they forced you to look them in the eye.

“Out where ?”

You didn’t reply, your plans already dangerously close to unraveling. Your roommate’s grip tightened to the point of pain, and you were stunned to see that their eyes had filled with tears of fright. You knew you should feel guilty for putting them through this sort of duress, for worrying them to the point of weeping over your safety, but the only thing you found yourself feeling was a sort of grim pleasure. The fact that someone you had grown so close to in your years of living in Cloud City, a creature you considered to be one of your closest friends, could be frightened to this level by the thought of you becoming somehow entangled with the notorious Boba Fett, did nothing but give you a sick sense of satisfaction deep in your gut. It heightened the swirling arousal that was already building deep in the pit of your belly, fantastical images of what this night’s adventure could possibly bring already brewing in your mind. Your roommate finally loosened their vice grip on your arm and shook their head unbelievingly, backing away from you as if you were tainted.

“Oh, stars … I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t do this. This isn’t some game of Droids and Guards, you fool, he’s dangerous .” They begged, seeming nearer and nearer to tears with every word.

“Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to get myself into a situation I can’t handle, I just… I just want to see him.” You adjusted the strap of your handbag on your shoulder and heard the childish, lovestruck pleading in your voice. You hated yourself for it, for letting yourself get this much in a tizzy over a mere man - but this truly wasn’t just a man, was it? You could very possibly wind up in bed with none other than Boba Fett by the end of the night, if the galaxy was kind to you. He was going to be the first to ever claim you - as you pushed past your roommate and headed for the door, you were certain of it. This was your darkest, deepest fantasy come true, something you had been pining for and secretly dreaming about since you were old enough to even fathom the concept of sex, of virginity. Boba Fett was the only man you’d ever thought about giving yourself to for years now, and this was quite possibly your only chance. There was no turning back now.

“Didn’t you hear me say that he was surrounded by Imps?! High-ranking Imps ! He kills people for money! He’s here working for the Emperor, I know it, and that big brute Vader’s still lurking around -” You held up one hand to silence them, and to your surprise, they immediately stopped, wild-eyed and staring at you imploriously, hands raised above their head. You had never seen your friend this keyed up, this stricken by concern for your wellbeing. It felt strange to say, but other than mynocks in your stomach from thinking about how the rest of the night could go, you didn’t understand just what this panic was all about. You weren’t stupid enough to interrupt important Imperial business, and it wasn’t like Lord Vader himself was going to be sitting at the bar, nursing a drink - right?

“Just… don’t wait up for me tonight. Okay?” You quietly begged your friend, your voice sweetly soft and as neutral as you could manage. A long moment passed between the two of you, no words spoken, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Several beats passed in silence, only the traffic outside interrupting the heavy tension that filled the room. Your roommate was the first to break, their shoulders sinking, defeated. You felt a new burst of energy and smug satisfaction, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat remorseful at your reaction towards their obvious distress. The feeling passed quickly, however, when your roommate bowed their head, the ghost of a smile on their lips as they clucked their tongue and shook their head at you.

“Dank farrik… you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that? ...But okay. You win.” They sighed. You kept your expression even, although you were screaming with joy on the inside, and were about to reach out to embrace them, when they took a step back and pointed in your face. You felt yourself going slightly cross-eyed, following their finger down the bridge of your nose, and had to stifle an ill-timed giggle. “But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m contacting the Wing Guard and reporting you missing, and I’m going to tell them who you were trying to meet up with. I’ll get Baron Calrissian and the Alliance involved. Don’t think I won’t.” They continued, and your heart skipped a beat. You certainly weren’t expecting that turn of events, but weren’t exactly surprised either. With how sympathetic your roommate was to the Rebel Alliance, especially concerning the events of the past week and the installation of what the locals were beginning to call the ‘Iron Blockade,’ it made sense that they would threaten you with action involving the Rebellion, even if it was just out of concern for your safe return. It wasn’t that you didn’t support the Rebels yourself - their crushing blow to the Empire in the form of the destruction of the Death Star had reinvigorated your hope in their cause, especially after the horrific obliteration of Alderaan - but the purely selfish, immature side of you wondered what would happen to Boba Fett if the Rebellion were to come out the victors of this current Galactic Civil War. He was one of Vader’s most loyal hunters, and you had a feeling that the Rebels wouldn’t smile kindly upon his transgressions against them. Especially since one of their most famous generals, Han Solo, currently had a bounty on his head large enough to buy an entire spice mine, and it had been speculated on the HoloNet that Fett was one of the many mercenaries attempting to cash in on this coveted prize.

You walked past your roommate without another word, slipping past them in the doorway of your bedroom, and padded easily across the living area carpet, knowing now that they’d had put their last word in and would no longer attempt to stop you. Settling your hand upon the doorknob leading into the hall, you were about to let yourself out into the night when you heard the Aruzan softly call your name, and you turned. They stood in the center of the room, smiling sadly, arms folded across their chest, a look of intense worry upon their face as they watched you exit, hoping they would find you back home in the morning. Their last words to you rang in your ears as you made your way across the night sky in the space taxi that would deposit you right on the steps of the Atrium.

“Good luck.”

You stepped into the main lounge of the Paradise Atrium and instantly felt incredibly out of place, and exorbitantly underdressed despite the expensive shimmersilk you had draped yourself in for this special occasion.

The room was filled with regal-looking creatures from all over the galaxy - a large group of Twi’leks sat on a couch in the far corner, smoking from a hookah and emitting large columns of purple and green smoke through their nostrils in between bouts of gay laughter, and a company of important-looking Nothoiin congregated around the elaborate carbonite sculpture placed in the center of the room. You’d attended gatherings at the Atrium many times before, but you’d never been in the presence of so many upper-class individuals. You wouldn’t be surprised if just one of these creatures was currently carrying more credits in their pockets than you would ever see in your entire lifetime. Not to mention, there were several armored stormtroopers, their white plastoid suits gleaming in the artificial light, holding sentinel near the staff entrance at the rear of the room, a sight you’d never seen here before. Something was definitely going down in Cloud City, and you had walked right into it. That realization alone made you want to sink into the floor, and what made it even worse was the fact that there was no sign of Boba Fett.

You had crept into the Atrium as discreetly as you could, almost on tiptoe, and in hindsight you weren’t exactly sure what you had been expecting. Had you thought that you’d walk in and Fett himself would have been standing there, awaiting your entrance like a prince from ancient myth, on call for his princess’s arrival at the ball? Heart hammering wildly, leaning against the wall for support, you had scanned the room twice, then thrice over, looking for a flash of green, a swirl of cape, any indication that he was present, only to come up empty. He simply wasn’t here; at least he wasn’t anymore, if he ever had been in the first place. As much as you loved your roommate, and despite their almost violent reaction they’d had to the knowledge that you were - at the very least - trying to meet Boba Fett, it wouldn’t terribly surprise you if they had been pulling your leg all along. You’d trudge back into your shared apartment, dejected, and your roommate would be there, grinning smugly, lecturing that the moral of this story was to never seek company with strange men.

Gazing around the room once more and seeing no sign of Fett, or at the very least, the Imperial graysuits that he’d apparently been here meeting with, you found yourself almost embarrassingly heartbroken. You’d banked so much on tonight, only for it to wind up being a missed chance, if not a complete fake-out. You refused to give your roommate the satisfaction of heading straight back home, though, so you figured now was as good a time as any to drink your sorrows away at the bar. The Paradise Cantina was adjacent to the Atrium and contained a half-moon bar as well as several comfortable private booths, and you sidled onto one of the stools at the center of the console, directly in front of the bartender, a distinguished-looking Bothan who eyed you dubiously.

“Anything I can get for you, kid?” He asked gruffly, polishing a glass and looking you up and down, feeling you out. Although you had lounged with friends at the Atrium, even attended a few workplace parties there, you’d never really been a patron of the bar, and you felt the clientele ogling you suspiciously. It obviously wasn’t an ordinary occurrence, to see a scantily clad young woman sitting alone at a high-class bar, and the various eyes on you made your skin crawl, although you did your best to ignore the unwanted attention.

“Just a Jedi Mind Trick, please. Make it a double” You replied softly, keeping your eyes down, tracing your fingernail against the wood grain of the bar. You heard the Bothan snort, probably amused at your choice of such a strong drink right off the bat, doubting you could hold your liquor. The way you saw it, though, you’d rather spend the rest of the evening getting shit-faced here than simply slinking off home alone, to wallow in bed self-despairingly.

The bartender had just set the triangular container full of bright blue liquid on the counter in front of you when a door you hadn’t noticed on the far side of the room slid open, and a figure stepped out. A hush immediately fell over the room, which had previously been filled with glasses clinking, quiet conversation and laughter, and a holographic jizz band being broadcast. You didn’t bother to look over at first, too absorbed in your own self-pity to care, picking up the glass and knocking the entire drink back in one gulp, leaving the edges of your mind slightly blurred.

That’s when you heard the spurs.

Kshnk. Kshnk. Kshnk.

At first you assumed it was solely a figment of your imagination, an effect of the alcohol being absorbed into your system, until you realized that the room had gone silent, that even the hologram of the band had ceased playing. You looked up at the bartender, but he was staring over the top of your head, paused in the act of refilling another guest’s stein. The jangling sound filled your ears until you could hear nothing else, not even the sound of your own breathing, and a chill went down your spine. You were clenching your empty cup so tight that you were surprised it didn’t shatter in your hand. Gingerly, you turned around to acknowledge the cantina’s newest arrival, your stomach rolling with anticipation, your blood singing in your veins, your heart pounding like a gigantic drum sitting in your chest cavity. You looked up.

And there he was.

Boba Fett.

He was shorter than you expected.

You felt a near-hysterical giggle rise in your throat as the realization crossed your mind, that this was your very first thought upon seeing the man you’d envisioned fucking you time and time again - in person, finally. The laughter died in your throat as he turned to cross the room, only several meters away from you, and you got your first real look at him.

Stars, he was beautiful .

Boba Fett walked slowly, methodically, with more purpose than you had ever seen another creature move, even though it seemed his only motive at the moment was to find a place to sit down. The dented helmet that concealed his features didn’t break its steady gaze straight ahead even once as Fett crossed the room, even though every eye in the cantina was locked to him. There was no way the man didn’t know that he was currently the center of attention, the reason for the palatable silence in the air, and it was quite obvious that he didn’t care one parsec. The green armor he wore was littered with scrapes and scars and dents, but still shone in the low light of the bar, as if it had only just been waxed, and you shivered at the thought of getting to press your bare chest against the battle-flecked breastplate. A ragged cape was tossed over one shoulder, and your eyes were drawn to the string of inexplicable numbers glowing out from an interface on the right-hand side of his armor, and to the strange symbol mirroring its position, a stalk of grain framed by a bright red drop of blood and what looked to be lettering in a language you didn’t recognize, directly above his heart. There were several long braids of multi-colored and variously textured hair thrown over the opposite side of his shoulder plate, the sight of which sent another delicious chill up your spine. You knew you should be repulsed by the sight of those trophies of war alone, but it served as a confirmation of something you already knew - this man was dangerous . There was debate on the HoloNet as to the origin of those braids - some who’d been following Fett’s career, as you did, were adamant that they were made of the scalps of Wookiees he’d killed; yet others claimed they were the braids of Jedi Padawans he’d hunted down at the request of Lord Vader himself. Your eyes flitted downwards to below his waist, heat flushing through your system. The greenish codpiece was just as battered as the rest of the armor - even more so, upon a closer look. Judging by the craggy yet shallow indentation located almost in the dead-center of it, some unfortunate soul had made a last ditch effort to save themselves by taking a shot at what they must have thought was the most vulnerable area on Fett’s body. They had obviously been wrong, and you were grateful for it.

Almost seeming to move in slow motion, the bounty hunter passed directly by the bar, and you could have sworn you could sense his body heat even from several meters away, could smell blaster smoke and blood on him. As repulsive as those scents should have been, reminiscent of battlefields and death and suffering, you felt almost soothed by the thought of being able to press your face to the rough cloth that held the Mandalorian armor together, breathe in those aromas as deeply as you wished, a smell that was so distinctly him . You focused your gaze on Boba Fett once more just in time to see him settle himself at a raised table in the corner, reclining back casually. He seemed to finally notice that all other movement and conversation in the cantina had ceased upon his arrival, and his helmet swiveled first to the left, then to the right, making direct eye contact with several goggling patrons, who uneasily turned away under his gaze. Fett’s visor then turned in your direction and your heart walloped frantically in your chest - ‘ has he noticed me?’ - but it became obvious quite quickly that he was looking past you, straight at the Bothan behind the bar, who regarded Fett for a long moment before offering him a grudging nod. Almost as if this were some sort of cue, the holographic band started up again with a lively rendition of ‘Sugaan Essena,’ and the muttered discussions, tinkling of glasses, and laughter resumed. The clients of the Paradise Atrium and Cantina seemed eager to forget that the deadliest bounty hunter in the known galaxy was seated in their midst. Fett, however, had cast his gaze to the city outside, watching the rows of traffic track across the nighttime sky, gloved hands resting firmly on his knees, deep in thought.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as three young Zabrak women wearing matching skin-tight baffleweave bodysuits made a beeline for Fett’s table as soon as the atmosphere had settled down, obviously over-eager for their chance to flirt with danger. You sniggered when the armored figure sent them away with a wave of his hand before they even had a chance to close in on him, watched them turn tail with their heads down almost as quickly as they had first come. You tried to ignore the coiling pit of unease in your belly as you considered moving forward with your plan, despite the fact that it seemed for all intents and purposes that Fett did not want to be bothered. You continued to watch the man as his attention was drawn back to the outside world. ‘ Oh, hell. You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen, he tells you to kark off?’

“Hey… would you send a drink over to that table in the corner? Whatever he usually orders when he comes here.” You waved the bartender over, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at Boba Fett, jerking your chin in his direction as well for emphasis. You were trying to play it cool, sending a drink to the table of one of the most bloodthirsty men in the galaxy, but you were sure that the bartender could see your hand shaking as you made the request. The tall Bothan looked at you as if you had asked him for a diamond-encrusted barrel of Coruscanti bitters, straight from the Emperor’s private reserve.

“...You sure about that, kid? You do know who that is, right? Boba Fett’s one tough customer. You’d be better off not messing around with that barve.” He leaned down towards you, warning you off as if you were a child, trying to play with the older kids who would only include you in their games if it meant beating you within an inch of your life. You nodded, looking back with what you hoped was a steely determination.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The Bothan looked at you for a moment with great pity, as if he were gazing upon a creature that had just consigned itself to its doom. Heaving a sigh that quivered the fur lining his muzzle, the bartender turned and started preparing another drink.

You couldn’t even look as the liquor was brought across the room by one of the ornate serving droids that wandered the cantina. You kept your head low, jiggling one leg on the stool beneath you, digging your fingernails into the glossy wood that encompassed the top of the bar. The minutes seemed to tick by excruciatingly, and you were overcome by the notion that maybe you should leave, get up and bolt when you still could, escape before Fett was aware of what fool had sent him the drink, go home to bed and forget any of this had ever happened. But too late - just as you were beginning to shift in your seat, to lean in the direction of the doorway and gather up the momentum to run, the bartender cleared his throat, causing your head to pop up at the sudden noise. The Bothan looked you in the eyes and did nothing but give you a subtle bob of his head, watching a point across the room. You followed his eyes, and stopped dead in your tracks.

Boba Fett was staring at you.

Openly leering at you was a better term for it, his entire body turned in your direction, lazily slumped in his seat, his legs spread comfortably wide. Kriff, this was just like your daydream. As soon as he was sure that he had your attention, and as if he had read your mind, one hand rose from its spot resting against the ample meat of his thigh, and two deft fingers hidden under an off-white glove of bantha leather beckoned you closer with a quick curling motion. It was an action that whispered, ‘ Come hither, my dear. Let’s play.’

Your stomach lurched and your vision suddenly filled with black spots, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, the quick pain bringing you back from the brink of passing out. Your eyes refocused, the dark points fading away, and there he still sat, his position unchanged. He was waiting for you to come over. You looked back at the bartender for guidance - by now you were sure he had seen this song and dance played out here many times before - and the Bothan gave you a roll of his deep-set dark eyes, and a noncommittal shrug. He’d already written you off as another casualty, the sad result of human naïveté in the face of the galaxy’s bloodthirstiness.

You rose from your stool on legs that felt as if they were made of bacta, your feet seeming to glide across the floor of the Atrium, bringing you ever closer to Boba Fett. The cantina patrons seemed to part like a sea for you, and you didn’t give a womp rat’s ass if they were staring, whispering about you. Your eyes and thoughts belonged only to the helmeted man who had beckoned you closer, and whose parted legs you were standing almost directly between when your long walk ended. You were so close that you could see yourself reflected in his blackened visor, dumbfounded. You were visibly trembling, and you could feel Fett’s body heat rolling off him, soaking into your own legs as you stood before him. It took you a moment to comprehend that he was waiting for you to speak, for you to make the first move.

“...You’re here for Han Solo, aren’t you? Everyone knows you two have a rivalry and that you’ve been after him for ages now, and he’s here, and you’re here, and that can’t be a coincidence, right? It’s like -” The words rushed from your mouth in an excited torrent, and you were fully aware that you were babbling at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. Every nerve-ending in your body felt sparked with the fire of a planet’s core, you were absolutely thrumming, and you didn’t care whether you sounded like an idiot in front of this man who you’d lusted after for ages, just as long as you were talking to him, that you had his attention. Mercifully, Fett’s palm came up, the same move he had used on the Zabraks earlier in the night. You stopped mid-sentence, your mouth still hanging upon, your eyes wide.

“I’m here on business. What exactly that pertains to is none of your concern.” The reply was smooth and unhurried, and he didn’t even look at you. Boba Fett seemed much more concerned with what was going on outside the Atrium’s walls, his line of sight falling past you, towards the lights of the Administrator's Palace. Where Han Solo probably was, if the rumors of him being Leia Organa’s consort were true. So you were right. Even if he wouldn’t admit it in words, it was almost like the bounty hunter was showing you. At least, that’s how you chose to take it.

“...Oh. Okay. ...Fair enough, I guess.” You cautiously replied, unsure of how to proceed when he offered no further conversation, and cringed inwardly. Stars , you were truly awful at small talk, especially with handsome men. No wonder you’d never gotten laid. Fett’s helmet snapped towards you like a sharp cut with a blade, his restraint with your dallying almost nonexistent, and you felt yourself flush hotly as you realized you’d just been staring blankly at him the entire time, drinking him up just as greedily as any Hutt would look upon a dancer. There was no way he couldn’t tell your intentions, and your confidence and excitability wavered.

“So what exactly is it that you want from me, girl? I don’t have the time nor the patience to be followed around and gifted tokens at bars by starry-eyed brats. Say what you will, or I’ll have you removed from my sight. Now .”

There was ice in his voice, and you found yourself slightly afraid for the first time. The idea of Boba Fett growing angry with you was not something you wanted to experience. You had to say your piece now, or risk losing what you wanted forever. You balled your fists so hard that you were sure your nails were cutting through the skin of your palms, but you stood your ground. You weren’t going to let Fett intimidate you away from what you wanted of him, not now. You were too close.

So you told him, blunt and straight to the point.

“I’ve never been fucked. I want you to be my first.”

Fett’s form stiffened in his seat, the gloved hand that had been nonchalantly resting on his thigh almost imperceptibly gripping the hard muscle beneath. You didn’t notice, nor were you able to sense the fact that he was holding his breath.

Despite the extraordinary self-control Boba Fett had cultivated over every aspect of his functions during his decades of bounty hunting, he felt his cock twitch involuntarily within the confines of his flight pants. He’d encountered plenty of cyar’tomade across the galaxy over the years, desperate creatures of all types looking to spend a night in his company just for the later bragging rights, others looking to fulfill some sort of bizarre erotic fantasy - he’d taken up plenty of those offers, and turned down even more. Boba Fett was a man who enjoyed sex, and he made no secret of the fact that he had been scoping the lounge for a prospective bedpartner after the meeting with Lieutenant Sheckil and his graysuits. That wretched smuggler Solo had a date with a carbonite chamber tomorrow evening after he and Vader’s planned ambush at the Administrator’s Palace in the morning, and Fett fully intended to vent some excess energy tonight before finally collecting on the barve’s hefty bounty. It was back to Jabba’s afterwards, and more bounties to collect on, and even less downtime. Fett enjoyed his life of solitude, practically thrived on it, but still… he was only human, and he had his needs.

What he hadn’t expected was being cornered and propositioned by a willing and eager virgin. And such a pretty thing, too. This was a first, and he had to admit he was already getting hard at the thought of teaching this naïf how to please a man, to be the one to take her like nobody had before, to show her just who exactly she was dealing with.

“ Well … aren’t you a bold one.” He finally exhaled, still avoiding any semblance of eye contact with you, his focus seeming to be on stirring the cubes around his drink. You swallowed thickly, watching Fett’s index finger push the straw back and forth. He hadn’t touched the drink at all, but you didn’t care. You wanted that finger in your mouth, down your throat, glove and all, but shook yourself from the daydream when it occurred to you that Fett was watching, waiting for a response.

“I’ve found that fortune favors the bold.” You pushed yourself into the chair opposite him, trying to conceal how badly your legs were wobbling. You had waded chest-deep into completely unknown territory, and you felt as if you were going to faint at any moment if you didn’t take a seat. To emphasize your point, you reached out and grasped the drink you had sent to his table just minutes ago, tipping your head back and draining half of it in one swig. Your head swimming from the sudden rush of hard liquor, you settled the container back on the polished wood and steadied your gaze on the bounty hunter. Fett cocked his helmet at you, an amused snort emanating from underneath, a static edge to it thanks to the vocoder that helped conceal his voice. He laid his forearms on the table, leaning his upper body forward towards you, the posture of a gossiping schoolboy, mocking and insolent.

“And what makes you think I’d want to be the one to break you in, vaar’ika ?”

He almost purred the question, sickly sweet. There was no outright malice there, no, but he was teasing you; you could hear the laughter in his voice. You could tell he thought you were nothing but a stupid little girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into, and it shamed you into silence. You felt your throat tightening, your eyes starting to burn, and you begged yourself, ‘ Don’t you dare start crying and prove him right. You know what you came here for. Don’t you dare. ’ But it was much easier said than done, and your attempt to coax yourself out of this panic only seemed to deepen it. You came this close to fulfilling your fantasy, you could have practically reached out and touched it, but it all had to fall to pieces because you were really nothing but a blubbering baby. You weren’t worthy of being with Boba Fett, and it had been a pipedream to think so even for a moment.

“I… I-I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking , coming here. I’ve made an ass of myself and I’ve completely wasted your time, I’m so sorry -”

Your eyes brimming with embarrassed tears, hot and heavy on your lashes and threatening to spill over at any moment, you ducked your head and pushed the chair out as quickly as you could, moving to brush past the still-seated bounty hunter and make a break for it out into the cool night air. With a harsh gasp, you felt yourself suddenly being jerked back by the elbow, almost stumbling with the force of the pull. Boba Fett’s gauntleted hand was gripping your arm in an iron hold, the black void of his visor locked onto your face. There was no way to tell, of course, and you couldn’t say how you knew, but you could have sworn he was smiling at you.

“ I didn’t say no , little one . Tell me again what you want of me.” Fett intoned evenly, but not unkindly, releasing his hold on you. To your shock, he ran his hand down your arm as he let you go, and it almost felt - of all things - reassuring . Arousal pooled to your core so quickly at Fett’s surprisingly soft touch and tone that it took you a few extra moments to even register what he had said.

‘He didn’t say no. It wasn’t possible. Does he actually want to? ...And he called me ‘little one.’

You could have died then and there, on the plush carpeted floor of the Paradise Atrium, but your words found you, every ounce of courage in your frame flooding through your veins at once.

“Take me back to your ship. Let me give myself to you. I want to be yours tonight… only yours. Please .” You laid a trembling hand on his wrist, still expecting to be violently brushed away, told to back off and go home if you knew what was good for you, threatened with disintegration or a blaster shot to the chest or something . But the harsh gesture or violent threat never came. The scarred green helmet tilted downwards to regard your fingers clutching at the armor, and after a quiet beat, Boba Fett’s gaze returned yours. Although you couldn’t see the eyes hidden behind that dark, T-shaped visor, you could feel them burrowing into your very soul, sweeping over you greedily, like a prize to be taken. Shivers rippled up your arms and your stomach rolled, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore. Silently, you withdrew your fingers, letting your hands fall limply to your sides, and Fett nodded, seemingly satisfied with your plea.

“As you wish, nehutyc’ika. Come, then.” With that, Boba Fett stood in one swift motion, and held one palm out for you to take, open and inviting.

You felt as if you’d been kicked in the chest. You were instantly sober, any trace of alcohol from the night’s earlier wallowing fully flushed from your system by the influx of adrenaline currently screaming through your body. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and for a brief moment you wondered if he was playing with you, if this were some sort of sick joke, but you knew in the deepest recess of your heart that it wasn’t. He was serious. He’d made a career out of not backing down on deals. Boba Fett was a man of his word.

So you took his hand and let yourself be spirited away into the night by a figure from your best daydreams, and from other creatures’ worst nightmares.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

32 notes · View notes

super-secret-sick-fics · 4 years

Note

hi! i loved your iwaoi fic so much!! if you’re still taking requests, i would love to see more iwaoi!! idc who’s sick but emeto is a yes :) no pressure and thank you! <33

Hi! I hope this is to your liking :)

I can’t promise that I’ll alway respond to requests this quickly or that they’ll always be 1000+ words. I’ve just been in the writing mood recently!!

Usually I hc Oikawa as super super overly-doting as a caretaker, but I think when it comes to Iwa’s migraines, he is so used to them (unfortunately) that he’s just like. “Okay this is what I gotta do.” If that makes sense?

Migraine: an IwaOi sick fic

Pair: sick Iwa, caretaker Oikawa

Word Count: 2,234

Warnings: vomit, swearing, slightly ooc Iwa

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Iwaizumi leaned against the wall of the elevator lethargically. He held the strap of his bag loosely as it leaned against his leg, suddenly too heavy to keep on across his shoulder. Why in the hell he and Oikawa chose to live on the 10th floor was beyond him. He was regretting the decision as each beep of the passing floors sent sharp, stabbing pains through his skull. The prospect of his bed called to him enticingly.

It had been a terrible day.

He woke up late and ran into someone on his way to class, spilling his coffee all over his notes. Then in each one of his classes, he found out that he did the homework for the next class instead of today’s, so when he was called on, he didn’t know any of the answers and each one of his teachers scolded him for not doing the readings.

During his lab, some dude passed out when they were practicing first aid assessment on a dummy who cut open his leg. (Apparently even fake blood was too much for the guy). Which wouldn’t bother Iwa usually, but when the kid fell, he knocked over the iodine and got it all over Iwa’s arm (which was now stained brown).

Then, during his clinicals, he was observing one of the trainers with rehab for a patient who only recently recovered from her shoulder surgery enough to start physical therapy. All he needed to do was watch so he could take notes on different types of treatment plans for shoulders. He was actually pretty relieved after such a rough day.

The universe was out to screw him apparently because the pain was a bit too much for the poor girl and she ended up throwing up down Iwa’s chest.

To top it all off, when he was writing notes for one of the certified trainers a little later, black spots started popping in and out of his vision and his upper arms started tingling. Anxiety immediately settled in his chest. Of course; the only way to end such a terrible day was with a migraine. He had at most thirty minutes from the start of the tingling to get home and take his meds before it became too late.

And of course that didn’t happen.

His notes took longer to finish because of the black spots interrupting his typing and the increasing difficulty he had starting at the blue light of his computer. Then his usual train route was under construction so they took a detour.

Now, here he was, an hour later, standing in the elevator, hating his very existence as the pulsing behind his eyes increased and nausea made his stomach churn.

Finally the doors to his floor opened and he stumbled forward, fighting his vertigo towards his apartment. The hall lights blinded him.

His fingers fumbled with the keys as he leaned against the door and when he finally got the door open, he all but fell inside. He dumped his stuff messily by the door (Oikawa would yell at him later for that) and made a beeline for his bedroom.

Iwaizumi could have cried when he finally got to his room. He didn’t bother with the lights and collapsed onto his bed. His head pounded relentlessly. He curled into a ball and whimpered.

“Iwa-chan? That you?” Oikawa’s bubbly voice from the hall cut through his brain like a knife and he brought his knees even closer.

“Iwa-chan, are you okay?” his voice was closer now. He was most likely standing in the doorway, a hand placed on his cocked hip.

“Migraine,” Iwaizumi moaned. Oikawa was quiet.

“Did you take your meds?” he whispered eventually. Iwaizumi was hella grateful for their life long friendship because Oikawa dealt with this before and knew exactly how to make Iwa more comfortable. Including toning down his usual obnoxious tone.

“Too late,” Iwa responded weakly.

“Tch. That’s not true and you know it,” Oikawa chided softly. Iwaizumi heard him moving around in the room before he felt the bed dip.

“Here. They might not prevent it from happening anymore, but you know as well as I do that it might lessen the symptoms,” he heard Oikawa much closer this time. He groaned in response but sat up.

He clenched in eyes shut to fight off the dizziness before prying them open again to look at Oikawa in front of him. He was holding the water bottle from Iwaizumi’s bedside table and his migraine meds. The look on his face resembled a chastising mother.

“I don’t know if they will,” Iwa said, “the aura started over an hour ago.” He took them anyway.

“You didn’t have anything with you?” He shook his head and winced at the motion.

“What’s on your arm?!” Oikawa screeched and Iwaizumi hissed when it sent sharp pains through his skull.

“Sorry, sorry I’m sorry,” the bastard whispered.

“Just iodine,” Iwa responded and looked down at the brown stains on his arm.

“Oh.”

It was quiet again then and Iwaizumi settled back in bed.

“Wait, do you want to change?” Oikawa asked and stood up. He moved towards the dresser before waiting for a response.

“I want to sleep,” Iwa grumbled, getting increasingly more annoyed. He knew Oikawa was trying to help, but he hasn’t had a migraine this bad in a hot minute and the swirling in his stomach was only getting worse. Throwing up always made it worse, so he wanted to try and avoid that if he could.

“Sit up,” Oikawa said and Iwa would smack him if he had the energy.

“Oikawa, please,” he moaned again. He sat up anyway, his legs dangling off the side of his bed.

Oikawa pulled his shirt gently over his head and replaced it with a soft sweatshirt. It smelled like Oikawa and Iwa felt comforted despite himself. Next his jeans were pulled off almost clinically, as if he would break if Oikawa went too fast or pulled too hard.

Oikawa helped him into a pair of basketball shorts and then finally allowed him to lie down.

Iwaizumi wouldn’t ever say it out loud because it would give Oikawa too big of a head if he knew changing out of his school clothes made him feel just the slightest bit better. His jeans had been adding to the sensory overload.

“We were supposed to meet up with the guys tonight. Want me to cancel?” Oikawa asked, scratching Iwa’s head gently with perfectly manicured nails. It gave him a temporary relief from the pulsing that threatened to crush his head.

“No. You go,” he slurred, falling asleep.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” Oikawa hummed and continued running his hand through Iwa’s hair. It didn’t stop the pain, but it diminished it enough that eventually, he fell asleep.

***

Iwaizumi woke up with a strangled breath when pain exploded through his skull and down the back of his neck. He blinked a few times, staring into the dark room trying to clear his blurry vision.

This wasn’t right. No, sleep was supposed to make him feel better, but an intense pain covered his entire head. It felt like someone was squishing his brain in between their hands. Why why why.

Suddenly he was nauseatingly dizzy and he realized he was panting, depriving his already struggling brain of precious oxygen. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried to calm down his breathing.

His body didn’t want to give him a break though because as soon as the world righted itself again, his stomach contents swirled sickeningly in his gut. He tried to ride out the nausea. He didn’t want to throw up. That would make the pounding worse. The more he thought about it, the more his stomach turned and he realized he was fighting a losing battle.

In a vain attempt to stay in bed, he thought to try and call Oikawa into the room only to put together that the roaring sound that was hammering nails into his skull was the shower. So he was on his own. He needed to make it to the bathroom. Needed to make it to Oikawa.

With heavy limbs, he forced himself to sit up and almost lost it. He gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth. It pounded in his skull. He swallowed it down and slowly made his way out of bed.

By the time he made it to the bathroom, he almost lost it three times and the pain in his head was unbearable. His eyes stung with tears and he pounded on the door before throwing it open and tumbling into the room. He collided with Oikawa who squawked loudly, painfully. Iwaizumi ignored him and collapsed in front of the toilet.

As soon as he moved his hand away from his mouth, he heaved once and vomit poured from his mouth. It burned the back of his throat and his chest. The torture stopped just long enough for him to catch his breath before he lurched forward with another gag and threw up again. His chest was on fire and the lights in the bathroom seared into his brain and he really just wanted everything to stop.

The sound of the lights clicking off registered through his haze somehow and he opened his eyes (when he closed them, he wasn’t sure). Then, a gentle hand was on his back.

“Oh, Iwa-chan. It’s a pretty bad one this time, huh?” Oikawa said tenderly from beside him. He turned his head slowly and found himself face to face with his best friend. He was wearing pajamas, so he must have gone to change at some point since Iwa entered the bathroom.

Oikawa smiled sympathetically and something in Iwaizumi cracked. Suddenly, the flood gates were open and he found himself launching himself into Oikawa’s chest. Thin arms wrapped around his back as he sobbed.

“It h-hurts s-so b-bad,” he weeped.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry, I wish it didn’t.” Oikawa buried his face in Iwa’s hair.

“You need to calm down though. It’s only going to make you feel worse.”

As if on cue, Iwaizumi’s stomach lurched again and he tore himself away from Oikawa’s arms to wretch once again.

The nausea and pain made him dizzy. He was having trouble keeping himself upright, but thankfully, Oikawa placed a hand on his forehead to keep him from banging it on the toilet seat.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Oikawa soothed as Iwa stared into the toilet. His stomach still turned dangerously but he was on the verge of collapse. The tightness in his head only got worse and he really wanted to cut his own head off. He cursed his brain for being messed up and causing him such pain.

He started heaving again, but nothing was coming up and it hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt. Make it stop make it stop make it stop.

“Hajime, breathe,” Oikawa commanded quietly, rubbing between his shoulder blades. It did nothing though. His stomach kept rolling and turning thanks to his stupid stupid head.

Finally, the back of his throat gurgled and a wet hiccup brought up bile and the rest of his lunch. He coughed and sputtered into the toilet and gasped for breath. Maybe it was over.

A minute or two after the episode ended, Oikawa spoke again.

“Ya think you’re done?” He spoke so softly and so tenderly it made Iwa’s heart soft. He nodded.

Oikawa helped him lean back against the wall and a second later, handed him some water and his toothbrush. He lazily rinsed his mouth and brushed the nastiness away before spitting in the toilet. Oikawa flushed it and turned to help him up.

Once he was standing, the pain magnified tenfold and his knees buckled.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” he mumbled and Oikawa caught him before he could fall.

“Hey, no. Not allowed,” he said and ran a wet wash rag over Iwa’s face (where did he get that?)

“Okay,” Iwa slurred, “not this time.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa chuckled. Together, they made it back to Iwa’s bedroom. Oikawa helped him under his covers and kissed his forehead.

“My poor Iwa-chan,” he sighed and scratched at Iwa’s head again.

“Stay here?” he asked pathetically. Oikawa blinked at him.

“Of course. I’ve already called the guys and told them we weren’t coming,” he said. He walked around the side of the bed and sat against the headboard, nestled beside Iwaizumi. Iwa turned and buried himself in the setter’s stomach and immediately, Oikawa’s hand was running through his hair. He sighed contentedly. This was by far one of his favorite positions.

“Go to sleep, Iwa-chan. Hopefully your migraine will be gone in the morning.”

These migraines really knocked him out. They stripped him of his usual personality and left him a sniveling, pathetic, clingy, mess. But he was a mess Oikawa was familiar with and Iwaizumi was eternally grateful for that. Oikawa knew what he meant when he couldn’t use as many words as he’d like. He knew how to make him comfortable, what foods he could tolerate and how to comfort him. There was no one else that Iwaizumi would ever want around when he got migraines. Hell, there was no one else Iwaizumi wanted around at all. As long as Oikawa was there, he’d be fine.

#sick iwa makes me weak #haikyuu sickfic #my fic #sick iwa #caretaker oikawa #iwaoi #tw vomit #request

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manicmarsupial · 4 years

Text

Tiny Arthur

Sorry for the crappy title. My brain did a dumb and couldn’t think of anything better.

I think both @tiny-james and I are equally responsible for the shenaniganary that made me write this. I’m not happy with the last sentence, but whatever. On with the story

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hosea Matthews has seen a lot of shit in his life, not to put too fine of a point on it. But this takes the cake. And he’s stone cold sober…this time.

His sharp eyes track what appears to be a miniature person dart across the floor of the grimy saloon. He keeps his eyes on it as it stays skirting along the walls.

When a group of people leave a table, the little person bolts under, grabbing crumbs from the floor and stashing them into a bag. Hosea leaves his untouched glass at the bar and puts on a drunkard act, making wobbling steps toward the table. With deft fingers, he fumbles through his pocket, spilling coins as he pays the bartender, ensuring some of the fallen change rolls under the table.

“Oh dear, I’m all thumbs, aren’t I?” he gives a drunken laugh as the bartender grunts in reply.

Hosea crouches down and grabs the coins he had dropped, making sure to scoop up the tiny being as well.

Using the well-practised dexterity of a lifelong pickpocket, he drops the coins into his pocket and keeps his new passenger securely within his hands.

He maintains the alcoholic fool act until he’s out of sight of the saloon, feeling tiny fists pummelling his palms the entire time.

Once he reaches a secluded area, he unfurls his hands, his own eyes meeting the frightened blue ones of a teenager no bigger than his thumb.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, Hosea thought he was dreaming. It would have been convincing but for the slight weight in his hands. For once in his life, the eloquent silver-tongued con man is speechless.

“My word…” is all he manages to whisper after a long pause.

He moves his hands slightly closer to his face to get a better look at the tiny teenager, who unfortunately appears even more terrified by the slight movement.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” Hosea attempts to calm the small person in his hands.

Based on the fact the poor teenager is taking panicked breaths, it’s not working. Gently tipping the tiny human into one hand, Hosea rummages through his satchel and pulls out a broken bar of chocolate. He snaps an even smaller piece off and offers it to the frightened person, who backs away shaking his head.

“Take it. You must be hungry,” Hosea holds his hand flat, the small piece of chocolate resting on his fingertips.

The tiny teenager shakes his head again, but his stomach betrays him with a grumble which Hosea actually hears. The teen pouts and takes the chocolate. Hosea gives a slight smile as a look of delight passes over the tiny features as the teen gorges the chocolate.

It doesn’t take much thought for Hosea to decide that he’s going to take care of this tiny, half starved street kid. All that remains is gaining his trust. He waits until the teen finishes the chocolate.

“I’m just going to put you in my pocket. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe,” without waiting for an answer, Hosea slips the miniature human into his shirt pocket, feeling the little hands scrabble for purchase on his palms.

Quickly righting himself after dropping into the pocket, he begins fighting, attempting to escape the confining material.

It nearly breaks Hosea’s heart how averse this teenager is to kindness yet makes him set in his determination to care for the young man. He calls for his horse, trying to ignore the tiny fists punching his ribs. Mounting up, he sets his horse to a gentle trot, trying not to jostle his tiny passenger too much.

Sometime during the trip, the fighting stopped, replaced by faint soft snoring. The tiny teen exhausted himself, Hosea restrains the urge to laugh lest the shake wakes up his passenger.

After setting up camp in a secluded area, Hosea gently takes the tiny human out of his pocket. The teen grumbles, beginning to stir. Hosea softly brushes the teen’s dark blond hair with his finger, lulling the small person back to sleep. Using a glove and his neckerchief as a makeshift bed, he places the sleeping figure down before settling in for the night himself.

Arthur sits bolt upright. The last thing he remembers is being captured and dropped into a human’s pocket. Part of him wished the human had outright killed him, get it done quickly. But why give him chocolate? Red flags go off in Arthur’s mind. Maybe giving him a false sense of security before torturing him. Humans aren’t as nice as all that.

That didn’t explain why the human gave him a glove and a scarf as a fairly comfortable bed. He whirls around at a soft noise, biting back a yelp upon seeing the human frighteningly close to him. Although the man is asleep, he still towers over Arthur. Choosing not to linger, Arthur wriggles out of the glove.

Only a few steps and he pauses in thought. He was at his most vulnerable. Not only asleep, but asleep in a human’s pocket. Yet here he was, unharmed and in comfort. Ever wary of humans, Arthur turns to leave.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a booming voice makes him jump and whirl around

The human is awake and sitting up.

“Why not?” Arthur demands with more bravery than he felt.

“You gonna hunt me down?”

“Me? Nah. I’d be more worried about coyotes,” the human sounds calm, almost friendly.

A chill goes through Arthur’s spine at the mention of those carnivores.

“I don’t much like coyotes…humans neither,” Arthur mumbles.

“Can’t say I blame you,” the human chuckles.

Arthur almost smiles. The human’s laugh seems so genuine.

“Ah, where are my manners?” the human exclaims.

“I’m Hosea Matthews. You got a name?”

“…Arthur”

“A good, strong name,” Hosea smiles.

Arthur stands still in confusion. This human, Hosea, is simply talking to him, making no attempt to harm him. Everything he’s heard about humans being cruel, soulless, Hosea is being anything but.

“You got family?” Hosea’s question interrupts Arthur’s thoughts.

Arthur shakes his head.

“Not anymore”

“I’m sorry,” Hosea replies softly.

“s’not your fault,” Arthur mutters.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Humans caught ‘em. I never saw them again,” Arthur trembles as he holds back a sob.

He stares at the ground avoiding looking at Hosea.

As Hosea studies the tiny form of Arthur, he wants nothing more than to embrace and tell him he’ll be okay. As Arthur trembles, Hosea slowly places his hand behind the tiny teenager and gently strokes his back, hesitating as Arthur flinches.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’ll be okay, Arthur,” Hosea croons.

Arthur leans into Hosea’s hand, then buries his face into the older man’s palm, quietly sobbing. He doesn’t flinch as huge fingers wrap carefully around him.

“If you want, you can come with me.”

Arthur wipes his eyes and looks up.

“Is it safe?” he asks.

“Well, no. I have the law constantly after me.”

Arthur looks worried.

“But you’ll be safer from animals and being trod on,” Hosea digs through his satchel, taking out the chocolate bar, breaking off a piece.

“You’ll be better fed too,” he holds out the tidbit.

“Unless you’d rather keep having stale saloon leftovers.” Hosea smiles.

Arthur thinks about this. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taken the food from Hosea, then clambers into the older man’s palm, munching the chocolate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s fair to say neither Hosea nor Arthur had planned their day to end up like this. It took a lot of negotiation for Hosea to think of a safe place for the much smaller Arthur that the teen was comfortable with. His pocket would’ve been too restrictive and riding on his hat would be too unsteady.

Arthur wakes up due to the noise Hosea was making packing up the camp.

“Good sleep, Arthur?” he smiles.

Arthur responds with a noncommittal grunt.

“We’ve got a long day’s ride ahead of us,” Hosea stands up, lifting the camp accessories onto his horse.

Arthur’s voice catches in his throat as the human stands to his full height. He knew humans were big, but to be so close to such a towering figure made Arthur’s stomach churn, terrifying him slightly. Seeing the human so casually lift up a bundle hundreds of times heavier and larger than he was. He shudders at the thought of what the human could do to him with strength like that.

Arthur flinches as Hosea turns around to face him, heart pounding as the human’s ground-shaking footfalls approach. He trembles a little as Hosea’s huge form crouches down.

“Ready to go, Arthur?” Hosea holds out his hand next to Arthur.

He nods and climbs onto the hand before him.

“Careful now. Hold on,” Hosea warns.

Arthur wraps his arms around Hosea’s thumb, the wind rushing through his hair as the human stands up. Awe fills his face as he looks around.

“You okay there?” Hosea asks softly.

“Y…yeah. Everything looks so different from here,” Arthur mutters.

“Hmm, I suppose it does. I haven’t given it much thought,” Hosea muses.

He moves his hand near his neck where there is a slight gap by his scarf.

“Go on, hop in, Arthur.”

Arthur slides off the hand, landing on Hosea’s shoulder. It’s not a bad spot. He can easily hide and see what’s going on. The scarf provides a nice wall against the chill breeze, and the human’s body heat is creating a nice warm area wrapped by the scarf.

Arthur’s slightly startled when he’s practically squashed against Hosea’s neck by the older man’s hand. He yelps as he feels a wide swinging motion, then a steady clopping. The pressure of the hand releases.

“You alright there, Arthur?” the closeness to Hosea’s booming voice, Arthur gives a frightened squeak.

“Sorry. I didn’t want you to fall while I mounted up,” Hosea apologises.

“’s alright. I’ll be fine,” Arthur mutters, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Why do you have the law after you?” Arthur pipes up.

He won’t admit that he likes this spot. He can still talk to Hosea without shouting, being seated below the man’s ear.

“My friend and I steal valuables from people who can afford to lose them.”

“Then what?”

“We give it to people who need it.”

“Why would the law chase you for that?”

“It’s complicated. Rich people don’t like having their stuff stolen, much less being given to the poor. The people who are supposed to keep the law…well…they like money. Whoever has the most money, has the law on their side,” Hosea explains.

“Humans are confusing,” Arthur replies.

‘My dear boy, you just said a cotton-pickin’ mouthful,” Hosea chuckles, the shaking of his chest jostling Arthur.

There hadn’t been much sound nor movement from the tiny person snuggled on Hosea’s shoulder. He was still there. Hosea could feel Arthur huddled under his scarf. Carefully turning his head, he sees the teen sound asleep, curled up under his shirt collar. He smiles and lightly brushes some stray locks away from Arthur’s eyes with his finger.

Arthur stretches with a groan. It only slightly shocks him that he’s right next to a human. If he were honest with himself, he should be worried at how quickly he got used to it.

“Comfortable there?” Hosea asks with a smile.

“No,” Arthur lies, yawning.

“You think we should stop for some food?” Hosea asks.

“I suppose,” Arthur mutters.

“Hold on then,” Hosea dismounts when he feels Arthur grab the scarf.

He takes his hat off and holds his hand up to his shoulder. Arthur clambers onto Hosea’s palm, holding on as the human places him on top of the hat.

“You will be safe there while I set up the fire,” Hosea gives Arthur a friendly smile.

Arthur had seen fire before, but never like this. Normally raging through a building, however in this case, slowly licking at some dry wood. The flickering was mesmerising and soothing.

“Arthur?” Hosea’s voice brings him back to reality.

“Hmm?”

‘I asked if you’ve ever tried rabbit.”

“Uh…no…”

“Now’s your chance.”

Arthur wouldn’t admit it to Hosea, but seeing the human rip apart the rabbit with his bare hands so easily honestly scared him, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as Hosea impales the chunk of meat with a knife. Continuing to remind Arthur of his insignificance alongside the towering human. He shudders despite the warmth of the fire. The sun has some bite to it, yet the chill seeps into his bones as he sits in Hosea’s looming shadow. Arthur quickly turns to face the fire, distracting himself from his terrifying thought processes,

“That should do it,” Hosea sits up, testing the meat tenderness with his fingers.

He slices off a sliver and hands it to Arthur. The tiny teen cautiously takes it, warily sinking his teeth into it. Admittedly it tastes quite nice, if a little weird.

“So, what do you think?” Arthur hadn’t realised Hosea was watching for his reaction.

“It’s alright, I suppose,” Arthur mutters.

He can’t help but look up as the human takes a bite of the rabbit meat. The chunk bitten off, he notices, is almost four times his size. His blood feels like it turned to ice seeing Hosea’s jaw move, his teeth probably bigger than Arthur’s head, no doubt mashing the meat into a pulp. He shudders at how easily this human could eat him, a mere snack, barely enough to fill his stomach.

Arthur feels the blood run from his face as he watches the mush descend as a lump down Hosea’s throat, disappearing under his collar, on its way to the digestive system.

“Arthur, you okay? You’ve gone pale,” Hosea looks concerned.

“I’m fine,” Arthur mumbles.

“We shall see,” Hosea says, reaching a finger toward Arthur.

‘Whoa, what are you doing?” Arthur protests.

“Relax, dear boy. I’m just seeing if you have a temperature.”

Arthur pouts as Hosea presses the pad of his finger to Arthur’s forehead.

“A bit low, but nothing to be alarmed about. Don’t want you to get sick,” Hosea scoops up the teen, gently depositing him between his neck and scarf.

Arthur holds on to the plush material as the huge form of Hosea packs up the camp and mounts onto the horse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now, my friend may be loud and scary looking, but he won’t hurt you,” Hosea explains.

“But what if he does?” Arthur hesitates.

Hosea turns to face the tiny figure of Arthur.

“You can stay with me if you feel safer that way,” Hosea suggests.

Arthur nods and snuggles against Hosea’s neck as he approaches a campsite. Dismounting and securing his horse to a hitching post, he puts his hand to his shoulder.

“Come on, Arthur,” he urges softly.

Reluctantly Arthur climbs onto the offered hand, holding on to Hosea’s thumb as the human walks to a tent in the middle of the campsite using one hand to shield Arthur.

“Hey, Dutch,” Hosea calls to the man sitting under the tent.

Looking through the gaps between Hosea’s fingers, Arthur can see another man sitting down reading.

“Welcome back ‘Sea. Anything good?” the man looks up.

“Well, I may have found a new gang member,” Hosea replies.

“Really? You only went to scope out targets. Where are they, then?”

Heaving a sigh, Hose opens his hands to reveal Arthur to his friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur thought he had mentally prepared himself enough to meet another human. He was wrong. This new man had an air of darkness surrounding him, whether due to his clothing choice, or the fact he was looking at Arthur like prey, just as a hawk or a snake studies a mouse. The smile Dutch suddenly makes doesn’t make Arthur feel any better. In fact, Arthur’s survival instincts kick in, and he goes to hide. The only place he can go is under Hosea’s shirt sleeve, causing a yelp from the older man as Arthur climbs up, stopping and hanging on for dear life near Hosea’s elbow.

‘I take it you didn’t expect that?” Dutch’s laugh thunders in Arthur’s ears.

“I didn’t expect him to be that scared of you, Dutch,” Hosea’s voice rumbles beside Arthur.

“You want to try saying ‘hello’ to Dutch again. You don’t have to go that close to him,” Hosea whispers.

Dutch smacks his friend’s arm.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to poke his head out from under Hosea’s sleeve, then crawling onto the human’s palm, clutching the shirt material like a security blanket.

“Arthur, this is Dutch. Dutch, Arthur,” Hosea introduces, gesturing with his free hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, young man. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dutch greets formally.

Arthur nods in acknowledgement, slightly tightening his grip on Hosea’s cuff. He can’t help but suspect that Dutch is a conniving sort.

#Red Dead Redemption 2 #RDR2 #RDR2 G/t #Arthur Morgan #but he's tiny #Hosea Matthews #totally would kidnap a tiny little malnourished street kid #only to take care of him #Dutch Van Der Linde #scares the poor little kid #The Curious Couple and their Unruly (tiny) Son #has a nice ring to it #Why do I make everything I touch G/t?#I can't help it #G/t #Giant/tiny #Giant #tiny

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ethanharli · 4 years

Text

Pairing(s): Legosi x Top Male Reader

Warning(s): Cursing, fluff, wounds, nothing much, slight nsfw.

_________________

Legosi grunted softly as I dragged my tongue against the open wound on his back before examining them closely, "Did you really have to lick it..?" He mumbled, obviously feeling a bit uneasy. I on the other hand couldn't help but sigh, even though my blood was boiling at the sight, "Just because I'm a hybrid doesn't mean my saliva still can't help" I exclaimed, now taking the antiseptic and pressing it carefully against his wounds. His body winced from the contact and I tried to suppress a whine of worry, "I'm sorry.." My eyes narrowed in slight annoyance at his apology, he's been apologizing ever since he and Bill got into that fight on stage, then again I'd like to punch in Bill face too.

"Legosi it's fine, how many times do I got to tell you to stop apologizing? I get why you did it, I'm not made nor disappointed, If I new what Bill had I would have punched him too" I growled out, feeling my nose twitch from the rising anger. Bill was stupid for having rabbits blood on him, and what he did to Legosi added fuel to the fire, hell I was so close to running up on stage to rip his throat out. "But I hope you know I will cut his dick off and shove it so far down his throat that it comes out his ass" I smiled, not really noticing Legosi's body stiffen from my words, I was to lost in my own world of torture and anger to really pay attention.

"Alright sit up puppy I gotta wrap you up" I spoke, using the nickname I had given to him back when we were kids. I held in a small chuckle when his tail started to wag slightly, but either way I took the bandages and slipped my arms under his, trying my hardest to make sure my chest made no contact with his back whatsoever. Once I was done I shifted around to where my fluffy [H/c] tail rested in his lap, he seemed grateful for the act and gently started playing with my tail, "Do you ever plan on trimming your fur?" He asked, combing his claws through my fur happily, but his question got me to think for a moment, since its been about a month or two since I last trimmed my fur. Reaching up I scratched at my poor excuse of antlers, they were basically little nubs honestly, like a deer finally growing them in.

"I don't know, I think I look handsome this way" I laughed, merely joking. Nevertheless Legosi's silence kind of cut me off guard, as if he were actually pondering about the thought of my fur, "I think you'd look handsome either way" It took him a moment to register what he had said, and by the way my small smile went to a teasing smirk. "Awe Legosi! Are you trying to flirt with me?" I joked, bringing my hand to his face, slowly letting my claws glide under his muzzle, the way his body shivered from the touch excited me, but the feeling was quickly blown off knowing that his heart belongs to someone else.

"N-no! I- I uh" He stuttered, desperately trying to figure out what to say. My smirk faded away as my eyes traveled to his face, taking in all the details, his fur was softer then it looks, and his eyes were so captivating that I got lost in them almost every time I look at them, and on the outside he might seem big and scary, but he's as delicate as a flower. It's definitely a shame that I can't have him for myself, Haru is one lucky girl huh. "Don't worry puppy I was only teasing, but I'll leave you alone now, you probably got something else you want to do then be cooped up in here with me yeah?" I forced a smile, not wanting him to know I was upset since I'd never hear the end of it if he found out. With a quick stretch and a weird glance from Legosi I got up, putting the medicine and such away before heading towards the door, "Wait" Ah, fuck.

Guess I'm easy to read huh? Dammit, "Are you okay?" His words dripped with concern, along with his eyes, which I avoided looking into, knowing I'd give in from just one glance. Don't do it [Y/n], you know better, "I'm fine, but you're the one with a clawed up back so you should try to rest" It was almost suffocating getting the words out, my body couldn't help but stiffen at the touch of his hand against my own. "Could you stay a little longer?" Well, there goes my restraint. A deep sigh slipped past my muzzle as I sat back down next to him, knowing this'll be bad for my heart but not caring if it mean't making him feel better, "Just a little longer."

However, I nearly choked when he climbed between my legs, looking up at me before wrapping his arms around my torso, and placing his head on my shoulder. "Thank you" He mumbled quietly, relaxing his body against mine, the feeling was almost foreign since we haven't cuddled up like this in so long, it hurts knowing how much I missed this, and knowing this couldn't be a regular thing. Wrapping my arms around his waist I quickly took advantage of this moment, knowing it would most likely be the last time it happens, taking in a deep inhale his scent merely intoxicated me, this feeling was something I didn't want to let go of, a warm but comforting feeling that sent me into a moment of bliss.

And I was feeling reckless, cause I've never been one to give up so easily.

"Legosi."

But was it a chance I was willing to take? The chance to express my feelings but possibly lose the only friend I have?

"Hm- Ah! Hey!" My body moved on it own, shifting to push Legosi forward, not exactly pinning him to the floor since I didn't want to put any pressure on his wound. My hand moved from his waist to his neck, looking from his eyes to his lips every now and then, the urge to kiss him was so overwhelming, so intriguing, but so scary all at the same time. "I'm sorry" Was all I could utter out before pulling him into a desperate kiss, that felt even better then anything I had imagined, my other hand immediately trailed to the small of his back, flushing his body against mine.

All common sense went out the window after that, and I just couldn't help but trail my lips to his neck, leaving short but soft kisses while proceeding to his collarbone, where I nipped carefully, loving the way his body practically squirmed under me. "[Y-Y/n]?" His voice cut me out of my trance, but my hands stayed in place, not wanting to pull away in the slightest, "I'm sorry Legosi, it's just so fucking hard to hide the fact I love you" My smile turned bitter for a short second, wondering how I could try and get out of this situation. "You love me..?" Was the only response I got, I could only reply with a slightly nod, letting the embarrassment consume me, this was not the way I wan't him to find out, but, if not this way then would I have ever done it? That was definitely a thought to ponder over.

I was pleasantly surprised when he turned my gaze back towards him, tracing his thumb over my muzzle softly before hesitantly pulling me back into the kiss. Legosi practically submitted under me, slowly moving his arms around my neck so he wouldn't strain his back to much while my heart soared in my chest, causing my tail to wag viciously. My hands traveled back down to his hips, letting my lips wander around his neck, giving a few occasional nips and licks every now and then, happily listening to his soft moans. Until I licked behind his ear, causing him to moan a little louder then the other times, a small chuckle escaped my lips as I abused that spot, trailing my hand over his abdomen.

Yet, my movement stopped when I finally realized how nervous he is, hell he's practically shaking. A small smile adored my features as I kissed him one last time before pulling him into a soothing hug, "I won't force you into anything Legosi I promise, I don't mind taking it slow" His body relaxed after that, and it wasn't until now that I noticed his tail was wagging almost as much as mine was.

"Hey Legosi?" I asked, eyes still watching his tail intently. "Yeah?"

"I love you" My smile grew when his tail started to practically thump against the floor.

"I..I love you too."

#legosi #beastars #beastarslegosi #x male reader #x seme male reader #x dom male reader #legosi x male reader #legosi x seme male reader

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insane-control-room · 3 years

Text

Poison

[check out the gif vers on twitter :)]

Ao3 Link

The moment after Spy put his cigarette to his lips, Engineer stepped forward and wrapped him into a hug, holding onto him as though his life depended on it.

"Never do that again."

tws: temp death, minor violence, broken bone

Scout’s hearing was a little messed up as he was trying to wake up. That was relatively normal for him. What was not normal was the fact that he could hear other voices that he did not recognize in the slightest. The first few weeks at Teufort had a similar effect, and negatively impacted his performance more than he would have liked, but that made for a colossal swingback once he was able to get some proper sleep.

So hearing new voices that he was certain should not be there set off alarm bells in his head.

“Kid’s still asleep, I guess.”

Part of Scout was indignant at being called a kid, but the other part agreed with that gruff, low voice. Pretending to be asleep in a hostile situation could be pretty beneficial to him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter too much,” another voice hissed. “Grab him and go. We’ve already got his y factor, and that’s what does matter. The brat doesn’t matter at all, really, but we need him to get to what we want.”

Scout stiffened, but tried not to let it show, as he had been picked up by someone who might have been just a little smaller than Heavy. They carried him out of the hall, and he squinted at his desk to catch a glimpse of the time from his golden baseball themed alarm clock. He had received it anonymously on his birthday, and while none of his teammates admitted it, Engineer did inform him that the compound was actual gold, and not just painted. He felt a warm glow every time he saw the time on it, and this time, though stressful, was no different as he beheld the yellowish 3:41.

Too damn early for this, in other words.

Scout knew he was taken outside when he felt the cool air on his face. He immediately recognized the buzzing, spaztic sounds of sapped sentries. That in turn made him wonder where Engineer was, questioning why he had not fixed the problem, and decided firmly that he did not want to think about that too much.

“Good, you brought him,” a high pitched voice that Scout very much disliked giggled. “Now the real fun can start.”

Scout was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor, and he popped right back up, folding his arms and giving a dissatisfied scowl.

“Ey, careful with the merchandise, Mann,” he snapped at Olivia. She only smiled wider, contrasted by the green uniforms of her miniature militia. “I don’t need any of this crap right now. What the hell do you want with me?”

“Oh, I don’t want anything with you,” she clarified, unnerving Scout all the more. Something was dead wrong with that kid. She did not act like a child in the slightest. “I want something from him, and he’s being very stubborn and not talking!”

As she spoke, Scout’s blue eyes followed the general motion of her hands and felt horror bubbling up in him at the sight of Spy. His suit was torn and bloodied, one of his eyes certainly swollen, and his arms were bound behind his back, his ankles added by another length of material that Scout did not recognize at all.

Olivia followed his gaze and smiled again.

“That’s a special type of rope I had made just for him,” she giggled again. “Frank was such a sweetheart to create it to my specifications. The more he struggles, the tighter it gets. He learned his lesson, now, didn’t you Mr. Spy?”

Spy spat some blood in her general direction instead of answering, but Scout winced nonetheless, knowing the truth behind the silent reply. Olivia snapped her fingers, and one of her grunts kicked Spy in the stomach.

“No, no,” Olivia shook her head. “Enough of torturing poor Mr. Spy. We’ve got a new playmate!”

Scout, who had been backing away to run for help, spun on his heel and booked it. A grapple grabbed his back, and at least five Gs of pressure exerted on his spine as he was snapped back. It made him scream out. Spy stared down at the ground in front of himself, not trusting himself to keep his resolve if he watched. They both were aware that Scout yelled about every minor injury, but neither wanted to see him hurt any more than that.

“Now, we all know that your precious respawn is down,” Olivia booped Scout on the nose. “And I really don’t want to kill you. Neither of you. But you, running man, have a lot less keeping your string going.”

“Merde, he’s just a child!” Spy struggled to speak with his cut lips. “He has a whole life ahead of him!”

“Will you talk, then?” Olivia challenged, stepping over towards Spy. Scout was firmly held between two of her cronies. “I would really appreciate knowing where that Austrailium is.”

Scout’s eyes went wide. Spy’s functional one met his, and Scout shook his head slightly, agreeing with the older man. If Olivia got access to any of that rare mineral, then they might as well kiss their lives goodbye regardless of killer robots or not.

Spy went quiet again.

“Break his wrist.” Olivia casually tossed the instructions over her shoulder, and Scout barely had a moment to think before the men grabbed his arm and hand, then twisted. He screamed the whole way through and peaked at the snap, yet could not even press his injured hand to his stomach as he had been grabbed again. Sure, he had broken his wrist before, what the hell did you think the guards were for, just punching? but this was deliberately slow and painful. “Talk, please. Tell me where the Australium is, and then I’ll leave you both alone. If you don’t… well, I wonder what kind of running career a man with broken femurs and spine could have.”

Spy howled in frustration, the tears that had been in his eyes from pain rising up with the torrent.

“This is not-” he struggled to compose himself, accidentally tightening the ropes on him as he tried to get into a more honorable position. “Leave him out of this.”

“Well, you, no matter how hard you hurt, aren’t talking!” Olivia barked, making both lanky men wince with the sheer adultness in her voice, yet at least the words she said were a little childish. “And I need my answers! So I’ll hurt the ones you love most! I know how much money and effort you spend and struggle with this one. A few DNA tests helped a bit too, but you practically admitted it yourself a couple of times.”

Scout tried his best not to listen to the treacherous words coming from the mouth of a child. He and Spy were… complicated. Spy did care about him, in his awkward way, and did dote on him compared to the other members of the team (well, they all doted on him in their own ways), but Scout, he knew that there was an iceberg between them that neither wanted to address, especially not in this way.

“Just leave him alone,” Spy begged. “His mother would kill me.”

Olivia shrugged.

“Then you’d both be dead.”

Spy swore under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. Scout gave him a look, telling him through a puffed chest and slight smirk that he could handle this, no matter what. If Spy could handle getting his ass handed to him on the dirt, then Scout could too. Hell, he even died before. This would be an easy game in comparison.

“I will not tell you where the Australium is.”

“That’s a pity,” Olivia sighed, pouting. “Well, then break the little runner’s leg.”

“Whoa, whoa, settle down there, little Miss Mann,” Spy and Scout almost cried out of relief, Engineer, coming in without a single weapon aside a fancy looking wrench. His overalls had been hastily pulled over his t-shirt pajamas, and the bit of grease on his face told of a man who had repaired his machines before going on out. “Let’s talk this out like civilized folk.”

“Hmph, hello Dr. Conagher,” Olivia nodded as politely as she could. “I guess I could try doing that.”

“Well, if you ask me, none of us would be in any of this mess had people just opened their hearts and mouths a bit more,” Engineer smiled, though it was impossible to see where he was looking. Olivia sat down at a solid looking table, and pointed to the chair beside her. Engineer cautiously made his way to sit down, running on a wish and a prayer. “Don’t you agree, ma’am?”

She blushed, clearly not used to southern charm nor being spoken to so sweetly, and she tampered down her confused emotions by drawing the knife from under the table and swiftly stabbing Engineer’s hand right through onto the table, and a sapper went just as neatly onto his Gunslinger.

“Engie!” Scout shouted at the same time Spy gasped, “Ingénieur!”

Said man had no reaction to their concern. Instead, he stared at the wound for a moment, then at his no longer functional prosthetic.

“Well, shucks.” he commented, as if the situation was as mundane as finding out your trashcan had been toppled in the night by Soldier’s raccoon. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she sniffed arrogantly. “And now, I can get back to the point.”

She punctuated the last word with a spin and slap to Spy’s already tender face.

“Hey, hey, don’t hurt ‘im,” Engineer protested. A bit of his blood started dripping down the table from his elbow. “He gave you his answer, he doesn’t want to talk. I dunno what you want, but it’s not worth killing two defenseless men.”

“Oh, you’d disagree if you knew what I was looking for,” Olivia sneered. “It’s only the most important thing in the world.”

“Love?” Engineer asked with absolute befuddlement. Spy, Scout, and Olivia all laughed at his bewilderment, making him flush with a touch of embarrassment. “Well, it was worth a shot….”

“It was cute,” Olivia smiled. “But no cigar. Just like that one’s wishes that you were his father.”

Spy’s eyes flicked to Scout and then down to the ground in shame. He knew that Engineer was a better father figure towards Scout than he ever had been; though with said man’s encouragement, he was doing a little better.

“Come now, it’s actually really funny!” Olivia insisted through giggles. “Scout doesn’t look anything like Dr. Conagher, and he’s not even a quarter as smart!”

“Miss, that’s just plain rude,” Dell scolded. “Scout’s brilliant in his own ways. If I was in a situation that needed quick thinkin’, I’d ask Scoot for help.”

Scout glowed at the praise. Spy smiled at the sight.

“Well, he’s also a quarter as ugly as you,” Olivia sputtered, confused by his parental nature. Engineer’s eyebrows shot up, and Spy felt a little bad for him as he noticed the slight tinge growing on his cheeks. “It’s a wonder that he’s got a fancy for you at all! After all, his tastes are much more… fabulous and expensive than you.”

It took a moment for all three of them to process what she was saying. The little blush that was on Engineer’s cheeks grew tenfold. Scout stared at Spy, who seemed so shocked that he lost the ability to close his mouth at all.

Then he closed it with a resolve so strong they heard it crack.

Or rather, his new cyanide tooth.

“Spah, no!” Engineer yelped, panic audible in his voice for the first time that night. “No, spit that out right now!”

Spy gave him a smile that struggled to hold in the froth that built in his mouth, and swallowed. Scout heard screaming that he did not know was his own until Engineer snapped him out of it with a hoarse shout of his own.

“Damnit Spy!”

Olivia was just as miffed, with all due honesty. With a viciously sharp scowl, she pressed hard onto Spy’s throat with the bottom of her dainty shoe, and when she was sure he was dead, spat on his body. Engineer muttered a curse, pale and with water building up on the inside of his goggles.

“He’s useless now. Let the others go, we’re leaving,” she huffed, getting into her limousine. She threw at Engineer his wrench, no longer caring.

“Damnit, damn, goddamnit,” he whispered, shaking. The two men holding Scout let him go on Olivia’s signal, and he ran over to Engineer, his own vision blurring from sheer emotion that he tuned right out of. Before he or Engineer even realized, the group of their assailants had left. “Pull out the knife, Scout, swift and smooth.”

Scout, not trusting his voice, nodded and did as he was asked. Engineer let out a shaky sigh as he flexed his sore blue fingers, wrapping them around his wrench.

“Grab onto me.”

Again, Scout listened. Engineer gave a last glance to Spy’s corpse and there was a bright flash of light, whisking them to home respawn. No one else was there to greet them.

“He’s dead, isn't he?” Scout asked quietly. The tears he had been holding in slowly started to drip down his face.

“He ain’t dead ‘til three coroners say he is,” Engineer tried his best not to snap, but those words scared him more than he ever wanted to admit. Respawn was a quick little trick to immortality, but only as long as it was working, and as long as the body was able to handle it. “I’m going ta try an overwrite. I need ya to spit on this.”

“Wh- spit? On that panel?” Scout’s sadness shifted suddenly to confusion. “Why?”

“Just do it, boy,” Engineer pleaded. “Do it and hope with all your might that I can get this ta work.”

Scout did.

Heaven help him, he hoped.

Engineer pressed buttons, shifted knobs, and slid the panel back into place.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Engineer slammed his fist onto the mainframe, yanking off his goggles, the tears that had accumulated splashing onto the floor.

“Damnit!” he sobbed. “No!”

Scout hesitantly patted his shoulder, and Engineer swooped around to hug him, crying into the young man’s chest.

“‘M so sorry, Jeremy,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

A warm glow hit them, and Spy groaned, rushing to rinse his mouth.

“Disgusting,” he huffed, and then Scout punched him, hugging him immediately after. Spy hugged him back gently. “Thank you for the warm reception.”

He stepped away to light a cigarette, and looked up to see Engineer’s stare.

The moment after Spy put his cigarette to his lips, Engineer stepped forward and wrapped him into a hug, holding onto him as though his life depended on it.

"Never do that again." Engineer whispered against his neck and shoulder. He was trembling badly, hands gripping tightly onto Spy’s suit.

Spy slowly hugged him back, ignoring the smoldering cigarette.

“I won’t.”

#engiespy #i suck at this game but i love it #team fortress 2 #tf2 #engineer #spy #scout #hurt/comfort #respawn #temporary death #minor violence #broken bone

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criticofallthings · 3 years

Text

Hi it’s 4:43 AM and I’m back with another t h i ng. AKA apparently I write Destiny 2 fan fics at at the pre ass crack of dawn now.

Presage mission + “another one for the trauma jar D2 meme” + a love for all things Drifter related bc this poor insufferable soft man is a total fucking gem and I will never, NEVER EVER forget about those tapes that he made for our guardian to find = this stuff below

no beta, so don’t come at me for grammar issues unless you’re gonna be nice about it.

WARMTH

Drifter saw the flashing notification before he heard it, the chime muted beneath the Gambit livestream. His ghost had marked it as a priority message, something important to get at. On screen a massive Taken ogre quivers into existence. Nice. Team A was doing great and unless Team B pulled off one Hell of an invade two times over he doubted they’d catch up in time to challenge Team A. His hand hovers over the message, but his eyes flick back up to the stream. Team A’s coordination has been top notch all match and now was no exception. Drifter watched as two of them casted their supers on the Primeval ogre and it’s envoys. Orbs of power litter the field. Moments later Team A’s titan flies from off-screen in one of the most electrifying thundercrashes he’s ever seen. Globs of exploded ogre cover his hidden cams, soon to dissolve into nothingness. Gambit sirens wail and Team B’s Taken are reigned back into their cages. “Alright alright alright, last match of the day and it was a good one for Team A. Team B? Not so much.” Drifter pauses speaking into the mic, a little drama, before continuing in his showman’s tone. “Ay, but that’s what tomorrow’s for! Come on back and queue right in. Drifter’s always hungry.” He ends with a chuckle that doesn’t rise to his eyes and as soon as the guardians transmat to their ships he closes everything down. A message alert pops up on his console again, marked red for priority and sent almost half an hour ago. Damn, he thinks to himself and runs a weary hand over his face. Drifter’s other hand is on the edge of the console, index finger tapping it anxiously. Fuck it, how bad can it be? Drifter opens the message, tension rising to his shoulders, but then he freezes and his shoulders drop. He traces a few words of the message, forlorn sadness easing the laugh lines and crinkles at his eyes away. A few taps and the console goes dark. Drifter turns away and stands for a moment at the door. He lets out a sigh before starting again, yanking off his gloves before trudging towards his cargo container room.

There’s a lantern hung on the hook outside of his cargo container, the interior dark. Across the snow that never seemed to leave the Derelict, he sees whispered hints of someone carefully walking or rather, half-gliding over it. Through the gloom he spies a small pile of stuff he doesn’t remember making and an obvious lump in his bed. As he draws closer Drifter sees that the pile is actually carefully stacked warlock armor and the sleeping lump in his bed, is The Guardian. Yet again. Drifter’s lost count how many times it has been since he first offered the Guardian refuge aboard the Derelict. The first time they took him up on his offer he found them later, sleeping in a corridor standing against a bulkhead. He let them be since it was an out of the way spot. Eventually he showed them his bed, the Derelict’s only functional bed and told them to make use of it. Until now they hadn’t and he would still find them sleeping in various places aboard his ship. Sometimes with or without some pieces of armor, but also never like this. In plain clothes, more or less, sleeping bag haphazardly pulled over them. So vulnerable. And so tortured.

In sleep, Drifter found that the Guardian was an almost entirely open book. Nightmares haunted them more often than not. Sometimes so strongly that the Guardian would thrash about while asleep, murmuring feverdly, occasionally coherently about what they relived in their dreams. Tonight seemed to be one of the Guardian’s more silent nightmares. No thrashing, no murmuring, but the tight grimace of their lips and furrowing of their brow betrayed the Guardian's silence, showed their distress. Drifter steps to the cot, gently pulling the sleeping bag over to cover them better. Task done, he sits at their side and tentatively brushes a few stray strands of hair from their face. As he does so, the Guardian visibly relaxes, some tension dispelled from their face. It pulls at him more than he thought, making his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Don’t take your armor off around me, kid...I’m not someone you oughta get comfortable around.” Drifter can’t help but let the whispered words fall from his lips at the sight before him. It was all too tragic. Too fucked up. So much pinned upon one guardian. One person. His hand moves before he realizes it and softly he cups their face, thumb tracing their jawline. Beneath his hand he can feel the muscles twitch and then slowly relax from the strained clenching of their jaw. Another measure of stress slips from their sleeping face. Drifter lets out a breath he was unconsciously holding. For a moment he thought the Guardian was going to wake up. Another trace over their jawline and Drifter takes his hand from their face. Quietly he murmurs, “why are you here…” as the tips of his fingertips trail over their cheek. He pauses, feeling impulsive and...something else...when he glances at their lips. Drifter lets his fingers ghost over their skin, tenderly coming to a rest below the Guardian’s cupid’s bow. He lightly traces the shape of their lips, feeling it out. Soft and a bit dry. There’s a thin crease of dried blood where they must’ve split their lip during combat. Or maybe bit it open themself on a previous restless night. He’s seen it happen before. Once even their tongue.

Drifter closes his eyes at that memory, a faint tremble visible only in his hands. He just about had a heart attack when he saw the Guardian slouched over with blood streaming from their mouth, sitting just outside the Gambit transmat room. He had shaken them awake, and his shock only grew when he saw them open bleary eyes and wipe the blood off of their chin as if it was normal and summon Ghost. The usually talkative bot didn’t say anything, but the way it healed them instantly and then bumped their forehead before leaving —he knew. Drifter knew that this must have happened several times before. “Mind if I...sleep s’more...here?” Their sleep-heavy voice caught his attention again and Drifter lifted his hands from their shoulders. “Nah, kid.” Drifter stood up and half turned, waiting for them to do the same. “C’mon, hurry up! I ain’t so mean to not lend you a spot to sleep.” The Guardian rose slowly to their feet, eyes unfocused and mind miles away from here. Something in him stabs at the sight and Drifter can’t face them looking so...worn. He turns away. Shoving hands deep into his pockets he starts walking, pausing only once to confirm the Guardian was shuffling along behind him. He shows them how to get to the sole cot on the Derelict.

A hand on his wrist snaps Drifter out of the memory. He looks down to see the Guardian awake, eyes somewhat clear. There’s confusion in their expression and he feels their lips move beneath his fingertips. Ah. Hastily, he pulls his hand away, clearing his throat. “ ‘m, sorry...about that.” Heat flushes his face as he turns to avoid eye contact. It’s silent for a while. Drifter stares at the rivets holding a seam of the cargo container together when he hears the crinkle of the sleeping bag being moved. He does his best to look discreetly out of the corner of his eye, but is caught. Drifter holds the Guardian’s gaze until they break off to shift towards the wall. Lifting the sleeping bag they look at him directly and motion for him to lie down. “It’s too cold.”

Drifter freezes. His mind hitting a brick wall too thick to just power through. He’s stunned into a very rare silence. Uncertainty and confusion write themselves out upon his face. Seeing him be so still, the Guardian drops the sleeping bag to place a hand on his knee. “You asked...why I come here.” They speak slowly, as if unsure about what they’re saying and are figuring it out as they say it. “You...you don’t use me like everyone else.” They look away from him, cheeks faintly pink. “Zavala, Ikora, the Vanguard...they mean well, but...they don’t get to treat everyone as people. They need a killer? I kill. Answers? I seek. Someone who might survive the impossible? I survive. Unconditionally. Righteous things and unspeakable things... Because I am a guardian. I don’t have a name. Many ghosts just go by Ghost...I’m the only guardian without a name. There was just...never time for one, and…always so much to do. Lives to save. Futures to fight for…” They trail off, eyes slightly unfocused, perhaps lost in nightmares they haven’t escaped yet. “You bring Gambit, but it’s never a real pressure to join.” Their hand slips from his knee, becoming a loose fist on the cot.

The coiling thing in Drifter’s chest squeezes painfully. He shifts, almost stands, but then changes his mind. To Hell with it all. Shucking off his pauldrons, he shrugs out of his duster and kicks off his boots. Awkwardly, Drifter lays down on the cot —it’s made only for one after all— but gives up on trying to leave space between him and the Guardian. Laying on his side, he shoves an arm under the pillow and motions for the Guardian to come closer. They move over slowly, a little unsure now. Drifter grabs the sleeping bag and covers them both with it. He’s left that arm out, unsure on how much contact would be wanted. When he feels the Guardian shivering, Drifter almost stops himself from draping that arm over them. But he doesn’t stop himself. Instead he gently pulls them close to him until their back presses against his chest. They feel oddly cold despite being recently asleep. Drifter summons a measure of solar light over his skin, just enough to let soothing heat roll off. He feels the Guardian relax, shoulders dropping the tension that had remained.

Minutes pass and just as Drifter thinks they’ve fallen asleep, the Guardian quietly speaks. “It was so cold there...and twisted…” His arm around them tightens protectively for a moment. “Where did you go? Recent mission?” The Guardian nods slowly, voice a little louder, but twice as worn out as before. “Presage...the Glykon.” Drifter hums a short acknowledgement, turning over their words in his head. He was aware of the Vanguard operation, already heard snippets of Osiris live on comms reporting tidbits back to the Vanguard. The Cabal ship was a house of horrors. Thinking on what he knew of it, Drifter came to a sudden, sinking thought. “Did you…?” He isn’t able to finish his question, half knowing what the answer would likely be. Again, the Guardian slowly nods. The tightness in his chest returned with a sting before the Guardian spoke their confirmation, a small tremor rolling through them at the memory. “...alone.” Drifter holds them close, knowing no words could ease the turmoil in the Guardian’s mind. He holds them and keeps his Light near and solar-filled to stave off the Derelict’s iciness. Eventually the Guardian’s breathing levels out and Drifter can tell they’re sleeping. Several hours later he drifts off to sleep as well. When he wakes in the early morning, Drifter opens his eyes to see the Guardian’s face next to his, still asleep. It’s the first time he’s seen them look so at peace.

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whumpingcrow · 3 years

Text

Pt. 22 "It Takes A Village"

CW: whump aftermath, discussion of past abuse, past noncon, panic attack, starvation/whumpee not being allowed to eat, dehumanization, tourrettes/ticcing, death mention, slightly clueless caretaker, whumpee mistaking friendliness for intimacy, drugs/alcohol (let me know if I missed anything!)

Tyson looked annoyed with Elias by the end of the meal. He sighed heavily when he saw that Elias hadn't touched his food, glanced over at him disdainfully as he took his plate away and brought it to the kitchen. Elias could've crumbled at that. He knew he wasn't supposed to eat, especially not at the table with others. August had gotten so mad at him for thinking he was worthy of that, made sure that when he ate it was only when August forced him to, and when he was on the cold basement floor, so hungry he thought he would die. Elias couldn't remember when or why that began, just like with all of the other twisted rules, he just knew that it was better to just obey, to do whatever August wanted so that there wouldn't be any added, unnecessary pain for being bad. He learned quickly that submitting to the torture at the beginning was so much easier than fighting against it and suffering through the originally planned pain plus whatever August saw as a just punishment for his disobedience.

So the entire dinner he thought he was doing good, being so quiet and only speaking when he was asked to and not touching the food that he wasn't deserving of and sitting pretty. It's not that he didn't know he was with Tyson, it had just become so normal to him that he really couldn't imagine doing anything else, even though it caused him tremendous turmoil. And then, after all that effort, Tyson still looked at him like he was pathetic and upsetting.

Allen must've picked up on his anxiety, because he stood up from the table and tapped Elias's shoulder in the least invasive way he could. "I'm going to have a cigarette, would you like to join me?"

Elias took a shaking breath of relief, nodding his head. He followed Allen outside to the porch, watched as he sank down into a chair. He wished so badly he was allowed to kneel here, it would give him some sense of normalcy. Instead he opted for standing a good distance away from Allen, only stepping forward a bit to grab the cigarette offered to him. His teeth were chattering, he wasn't sure if he was shivering because of the cold or his anxiety, but it made him fumble with the lighter for a few seconds. When his frail, trembling fingers wouldn't light it, he let out a hopeless, defeated whine.

"Here, let me help, love," Allen offered, standing up and taking the lighter from him. Elias couldn't help but stare wide eyed at him as he lit up for him, both of their faces glowing an orange hue from the small flame.

"Uh...thank you," he whispered after a drag. Allen was still standing up with him, smoking his own cigarette and looking past him, at the window. Elias was trying to figure out if he was standing so close because he wanted something, or if he just happened to be less than a foot away. He wondered if he was imagining the fond look on his face when he took the lighter from him, if Allen called him "love" in a friendly way or if it was affection. It made his chest fluttery to think about, and he was confused at the tears in his eyes.

"You alright, Elias?" Allen asked softly. "You're shaking. What's up, pal?"

Elias looked up at him, ticcing as he tried to hold eye contact. "C...can I ask you again?" He whimpered.

Allen seemed to know immediately what he was referring to, and he nodded at him with a pleased, possibly proud, grin.

"What do you want?" This time it came out a little more sure, less broken, than the first time, and Allen's face softened into a smile, one that Elias had seen on people right before they praised him. His lips curled up in the same way other's usually did before they would say "Good boy," or "tres bien". Elias felt a small weight lift from his shoulders, he'd finally done something right!

"I'm happy just smoking and hanging out with you. That's what I want."

Elias felt his face flush, an incredibly grateful, almost elated, smile on his face. Someone was happy just to hang out with him. Happy. "Ok. Thank you."

Allen debated asking if Elias wanted anything, but he was sure it would be just as bad as the first time, tears and trembling and the works. So instead he reached out and playfully ruffled Elias's hair just a little. Elias flinched at the movement initially, but then he was quick to correct himself and instead pressed against the hand in his hair eagerly. He was smiling softly at the touch, eyes fluttering closed.

Allen couldn't help but wonder if this was how he had been when he finally escaped August, if he was so broken he just went weak at simple, friendly touches. Surely not, Leo was adamant right from the beginning with giving him all the physical attention he needed, and Allen didn't feel so desperate for gentle touch once he was back in Leo's arms. Then again, he wasn't in August's claws for 10 months. He felt a horrible, gnawing sympathy in his chest when he thought of the toll that would take, 10 months of punishment, of being toyed with physically and mentally, treated like nothing, less than nothing.

He took a half step forward, dropping his hand from Elias's head to the nape of his neck. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that," he muttered, "I know h-how awful August can be, I'm sorry."

Elias tensed up at the name, pulling the cigarette close to his body, as if he thought the tiny cherry glowing orange at the end would warm him up. "I don't...I don't understand how you can be so normal now. I feel utterly ruined." As he spoke, he couldn't help but lean toward Allen more, the hand on his shoulder keeping him steady. "I feel like I don't even remember who I was before."

Allen shook his head, then, with a bit of hesitation, he pulled Elias close against his chest to comfort him. "I know it seems really hard right now, but it will heal. I promise."

Elias found himself sinking into his arms, melting completely against Allen's body, closing his eyes tightly. He was overwhelmed by the kindness Allen was showing him, how gentle and pleasant he was being. He couldn't get close enough to him, couldn't bury himself deep into his touch enough to really be satisfied, he needed more and more and more, he needed pressure and warmth and suffocating, constant touch, and he was slightly ashamed at the desperate whine that he let out when he realized he might never get that, might never be satisfied.

"You're ok," Allen said in response, "I've got you, Eli. It's ok." He stroked his hair back gently, felt the way he was trembling underneath him. So fragile, breakable, and yet his fingers were tightly grabbing his shirt, aching to be closer.

"It's s-so hard...I c...can't..."

"Shh, Elias. Just breathe, no one's gonna let anything happen to you." He held him close, rocking him side to side, refusing to be the first person to let go. Elias needed this, he could feel it in the way he pushed into him, hear it in his broken, watery voice.

The door opened behind them, and Elias flinched away from Allen like he knew he wasn't supposed to be that close. He looked up at Tyson, his hands shaking and his face pale. "I...we were just-"

"It's ok, love. I was just checking on you." He looked them both over, could see the obvious exhaustion on Allen's face. Tyson often felt bad for sticking them in the same room together, was worried that seeing Elias so familiarly damaged would set Allen off again, would make him lose all the progress he'd been working so hard on. "We were gonna settle down inside. Wanna come?"

Elias instantly agreed, of course, reaching forward to grab Tyson's wrist, like he was afraid he would get lost if he wasn't holding onto someone. Allen followed close behind, collapsing on the couch next to Leo as he came in. His body felt heavy with pity for Elias, especially when his tiny voice asked Tyson if it was ok for him to use the restroom. If it was ok. He had to bite back a groan at how pathetic that was.

"You alright?" Leo asked him, hand on his knee. It was times like this that reminded him how lucky he was to be with Leo; the psychiatrist in him always picked up on when something was wrong, when things were taking a toll on Allen, so he never had to mention it on his own.

"I'm worried about him," he admitted, "I mean, you saw him, the poor kid is...broken." He shook his head sadly, and Leo let out a soft sigh. He didn't protest though, because Allen was right. Tyson began to chew on his lip nervously. "I'm more worried August might come back." This time when he spoke, he dropped his voice to a low mumble. Both Leo and Tyson tensed incredibly at the idea, but no one objected.

"You don't really think that...?" Tyson finally said, shaking his head. His voice was on the edge of begging, pleading for Allen to take the words back.

"I-I mean, how many times did I end up back with him? How many times did we think it was over and he just kept coming back?" His voice was nervous, but he was able to cover it for the most part with his genuine concern. "And he was ballsy enough to come back after killing him, then took him out of the fucking country for almost a year-"

Elias couldn't hold himself up on his own, he had collapsed against the wall with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. August was coming back? Elias would be so easy to find, in the same place as last time. Suddenly he couldn't swallow, his throat felt constricted and dry. He could only think, as their conversation continued with how likely August was to return, was, oh god he's going to kill me! I ran away, I've been gone for so long, he's going to be so angry! Until he couldn't hear anything else, not even Tyson's voice as he stood in front of him, asking him if he was ok. He finally got his voice back, just as a whisper though.

"D...don't let him ta-take me.." he wheezed, pushing himself closer against the wall. "Please Tyson, I c-can't go back! I can't!"

"I'm not going to let anyone touch you, my love," Tyson assured him, hands hesitating over his arms, unsure if he was alright to touch in his panicked state, "no one's coming to take you. I won't let that happen." He wasn't sure if Elias had even heard him, he was still rigid where he stood, his breathing frenetic and labored. His eyes were darting around the room in a panic, like he was looking for something that could hurt him. Or probably someone, rather.

Allen was murmuring apologies, he didn't know Elias was listening in the hall! But no one was really listening to him too much, too concerned with Elias. Rightfully so, because now he was fighting Tyson's hands away from him, trying to escape the comforting touch that only seemed threatening when they were accompanied by Tyson's rushed voice and pressured movements.

"Please!" He shrieked, covering his face with his shaking hands, horrified beyond belief. "I-I'll be good! I swear! Ple-ease don't ma-make me go back!"

"Eli, you are good!" Tyson tried to convince him. "You're gonna be ok, I'm not gonna let you go anywhere. You're safe."

Allen watched the panic ensue, his chest heavy with guilt. He knew how he could calm Elias down (they all secretly did, but none of them wanted to say the words that he so desperately needed to hear), and he wanted to help all he could, but he didn't know if getting in between him and Tyson would change anything. He'd done enough anyways. But it became harder to listen to when Elias sunk to the floor in a mess of tears and hard sobbing, screaming for Tyson to please forgive him. With a huff, Allen pushed himself off of the couch and walked up to the messy scene slowly.

"Can...can I help?" He asked Tyson, voice feather soft and nervous that he was overstepping. Tyson threw him an exhausted look, then nodded his head at him. Allen sat down on the ground next to Elias, sighing heavily before he started speaking. "Hey, Eli. Listen, sweetheart," the nickname tasted bitter in his mouth, but Elias did perk up a little, looking up at him with tears pooling in his eyes. "There. There you go, hi."

Tyson was watching them with interest and vague hope, Elias was slowly inching his way away from the wall. Tyson had held off using that nickname, Allen had once told him that it was somewhat of a trademark for August, that it bothered him to be called it after what he'd been through. It was tainted, would never mean the same thing as it once did, would never be just an innocent pet name, ever again. Not when it was usually accompanied by a crazed, hungry look in August's eyes and Allen's blood on his hands. Tyson wondered if it bothered Allen to use it on Elias.

"Listen here, ok? Be nice and quiet so you can listen." He didn't like the sternness in his voice or the language he was using to try and sound as much like August as he could stomach, but Elias was nodding along mindlessly to the words, his sobs came to a slow stop until he was only sniffling and hiccuping. "Good. You're doing so well here, Eli. Behaving incredibly. We're not gonna send you away or let anyone hurt you because you've been very good. You have to calm down and believe us."

Elias took a tiny, shaky breath, leaning toward Allen with his lip caught in his teeth. He looked fairly fear dazed, like he wasn't completely sure who was speaking to him, but he had calmed down significantly. "I...August..?"

"No, Eli," Allen murmured, almost scolding, "no, sweetheart. Just Tyson, Leo, and me. Ok? No August."

"No August." He repeated, almost like he was reassuring himself. Allen nodded, grabbing his shoulder gently and stroking him with his thumb. "N-no August."

"That's right." He said this with a smile, nodding along with him. "Very good. See? Nothing to worry about."

Elias then looked up at Tyson, his face twitching into a small frown again, his bottom lip trembling as he tried not to cry. "I'm sorry." He choked out, voice breaking painfully.

"No, baby, you've got nothing to be sorry for. Are you ok now?" As a response, Elias crawled forward and buried himself into Tyson's arms, hiding his face against his chest as he did. "It's ok, I've got you. I'm here, angel."

"O...ok." he sniffled a few more times, then pushed himself off of Tyson and sat upright, looking up pitifully at the others. Tyson huffed at him, at the soft and frightened roundness to his eyes, his nose and cheeks a soft pink from being breathless and worked up, his pale hair falling in messy waves across his face. Tyson couldn't help but reach out and touch him again, his fingertips brushing against Elias's cheek.

When he flinched away, Tyson almost retracted his hand, apology already on his lips like a bullet in a loaded gun, but Elias quickly corrected himself and pressed his face longingly into Tyson's warm palm, looking up at him still. The look in his eyes said "I'm sorry, you can touch me! See, please keep touching me." And Tyson was frozen at the obvious desperation, at how vulnerable the look on his face made him seem. But then he couldn't help the fondness that overtook him the longer he looked at his Elias, melting against his touch the same way hard candy melts against a tongue. So he pulled him closer, holding his face tenderly as he rested his cheek against Elias's head.

"I've got you," he whispered one final time, but this time it was to tell himself, to reassure himself that Elias was back with him, safe and sound in his arms, not trapped a world away in pain and in danger and all alone. No, he was here, in shambles and hurting and scared, but here nonetheless.

After what Allen had said about August returning, though, Tyson was afraid that Elias wouldn't be here for long.

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Angel

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Johnny Seo (NCT)

Warnings: Language, some mentions of smut

Genre: Married AU; Family AU

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: Y/N has a good life. She’s married to her high school sweetheart and she has two amazing kids. However, even she has days where this whole quarantine thing really starts to take its toll.

A/N: Johnny said he’d be married with kids by now, so I made it happen fictitiously.

Angel

It was morning again, and I reluctantly opened my eyes to the familiar chime of my alarm. I released a groan, reaching over to silence my cellphone while ignoring the familiar sounds of footsteps in the hallways.

“Mommy!” My daughter’s screeching voice managed to somehow defy the barrier of my bedroom door, finding me through the drowsy haze that desperately wanted more sleep.

“Five more minutes,” I slurred, but my wish was never granted. Instead, I had my hopes dashed when my daughter and son abruptly slammed the bedroom door against its hinges, screaming at the top of their lungs as they threw themselves on top of me. The bedframe creaked from the additional weight, and my eyes shot open when my son crawled over my stomach, pressing down uncomfortably against my poor bladder. “Okay!” I grimaced, attempting to sit up straight. “I think we’ve had enough time to torture Mommy.”

My daughter was a mess of giggles, looking up at me with brown eyes that distinctly reminded me of Johnny. “Guess what?” she whispered as if protecting a secret of immense value.

“What?” I whispered in return.

“I made you a picture!” she squealed, reaching for my hand and using gravity to her advantage when she rolled off the mattress and landed in the floor. I winced at the pressure on my shoulder, complying with her demands by throwing my legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m coming.” I groaned, watching as she and her younger brother immediately took off in the direction of the living room.

It had become a tedious cycle at this point, waking up early in the morning to cook breakfast, only to spend most of the day figuring out creative ways to keep my children entertained. I sighed in exasperation, secretly cursing Johnny because he still had to work everyday at the office in spite of this enormously burdensome pandemic that forced the schools to close. Since I was an Elementary school teacher, I was also forced to stay at home everyday, which initially seemed advantageous because I wouldn’t need to inquire about a babysitter for our kids. However, the longer I spent locked inside the house all day, the more I was slowly starting to lose my mind and all sense of rationality.

My children were both young and energetic, demanding constant attention.

They were also notorious mischief makers.

Thus, I paused at the entrance to the living room, ignoring my son and daughter as they clapped along with the characters on their TV show. Because there was nothing to celebrate in regards to the mess that was waiting for me in the form of the dreaded Crayola Massacre. Lines of blue, black, and yellow decorating my walls in long stripes. “Do you like it, Mommy?” my daughter asked, and I closed my eyes in response, exhaling around a sigh instead of the scream that fought for release.

Despite scrubbing at the walls for over three hours, there was still evidence of my daughter’s artwork in faded colors that had successfully smeared themselves together in decidedly very unattractive ways. However, the arrival of my husband signaled a reprieve from my work, and I was lucky enough to intercept Johnny’s entrance without our children noticing. He smiled at me like a knight in shining armor, shrugging off his jacket and grunting when I ran into his arms.

“Y/N, what are you-” I cut him off with a kiss, pressing my lips fiercely against his in the hopes of using Johnny to drown out the rest of this disastrous day. I was a needy mess for my husband, and I wordlessly led him into our bedroom while keeping our mouths seared together.

“Holy shit, I missed you,” I whined, and Johnny kissed me feverishly while I wrapped my arms around his neck in desperation, grinding myself against his thigh in the hopes of chasing an orgasm that I had been denied for weeks while remaining at home.

“Daddy!”

“No,” I whimpered pathetically when I felt Johnny start to pull away, clutching tightly to his shirt sleeves while he chuckled and gently reached behind him for the door.

“We’ll talk later,” he said with a wink, turning around to greet his son who jumped gleefully into his father’s arms.

Meanwhile, I was left feeling increasingly desperate, studying my husband’s ass with a groan. Why did he have to look so ridiculously good in the suits that he was required to wear to the office? It was a tragedy for my condition because I wanted nothing more than to drag Johnny onto our bed while I spread my legs wide open for him.

But the moment was tragically gone. My children had my husband’s attention, so I trudged despondently into the kitchen to prepare another half-assed attempt at a meal.

After dinner, I decided to clean up in the kitchen, hearing my husband attempt to handle our demanding children in the living room. They were playing some kind of made-up game that Johnny had likely encouraged, claiming that it was good for them to use their imaginations. Whatever it was, I could tell that it had taken quite the number on my husband when he entered the kitchen while panting, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Are you having fun?” I asked with a smirk.

Johnny glared playfully in my direction. “What are you talking about? I love it when they wrestle me to the floor.”

“They can be a handful,” I said with a shaky sigh, closing my eyes for a moment as I finished the dishes.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Johnny asked, leaning against my side as he wrapped one arm around my waist.

I decided not to hold anything back since the possibility of losing my last hold on rational sanity was dying each day. “I can’t fucking take it anymore,” I said, groaning as I pressed myself even closer to his chest. “I love them so much, but I need time to myself, and I can’t even cook lunch without someone glued to my legs!”

Johnny chuckled, but he held me close as he planted a kiss on top of my head. “Y/N, you shouldn’t let yourself get this bad.”

“I’m their mother,” I said. “I should be able to handle anything.”

“Everyone needs some time away,” Johnny said, soothing his hand across my back in a much-needed gesture of comfort. “Hey, why don’t we go out tomorrow?”

I sniffled, looking up at him through blurry eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we can call Mark or something to come watch the kids while we go out for a drive. Grab takeout and park the car on the river.”

I snorted around a laugh. “Mark is basically a kid himself.”

“He can handle them for a few hours,” Johnny said, pulling away to press a gentle kiss to my lips. “What do you say?”

I managed a nod before allowing Johnny to engulf me in his strong embrace, blocking out the rest of the world for several long, glorious minutes.

Mark Lee was, in a sense, mostly reliable when it came to babysitting. The main problem was that he still possessed a childlike mentality himself, and I would worry constantly about my kids while they were left to his care. But Mark was the only one available at this hour, and he promised me a thousand times that he would actually obey the list I gave him. Including a detailed outline of all the foods that my kids couldn’t have after 8:00 PM.

“You two have fun,” Mark said with a knowing wink, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“We’ll be back before 10:00,” I said, grabbing Johnny’s hand as the two of us left Mark standing on the front porch, walking to Johnny’s car in relative silence.

However, as soon as I was situated in the front seat, I turned to look at Johnny as he messed with the ignition. “Well?” I asked him. “What do you want to do?”

Johnny laughed, easing the car onto the road as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Remember what we used to do in college?”

“You mean, drive somewhere isolated with our cheap takeout?”

Johnny nodded. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time,” I said, instantly onboard with such a seemingly innocuous suggestion, but it was the most thrilling plan I had been apart of in months.

It made me miss our college days, when our only responsibilities included turning in essays ten minutes before their due date while trying to balance the tricky combination of a social life and attaining a useful education. Johnny and I met during his Senior year of college at a frat party, and it seemed like our future together was solidified when he took me out on his drunken version of a first date in the parking lot behind Burger King. Regardless of how ridiculous it seemed in the present, I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything else in the entire world.

“I feel you thinking hard, babe,” Johnny remarked as we pulled into the parking lot of our favorite diner.

“It’s nothing,” I reassured him, watching as Johnny dialed the diner’s phone number to place a takeout order, and we talked for twenty minutes about how much of an asshole Johnny’s boss acted during quarantine.

It was raining when our order was finally ready, and I laughed when Johnny ran out of the car, holding one of our backseat towels over his head. It was a hilarious sight, and my smile was almost painfully wide when he returned with our bag, dripping from head to toe. “I hope the food isn’t ruined,” Johnny said, giving no further thought to his disheveled state.

Nevertheless, Johnny drove us to the abandoned parking lot at the beach downtown, overlooking the ocean at night as it reflected the full moon in all its glory. Meanwhile, I bit down into my hamburger, relishing the delicious taste, and moving my head in time to the music playing over the radio. “I heard someone tried to repaint the wall yesterday,” Johnny remarked.

“Oh, right,” I scoffed. “I was cleaning for hours.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Johnny said, handing me one of his french fries over the center console as an act of appeasement. “I feel bad. I should’ve known that the kids would drive you crazy.”

“I love them,” I pouted. “But they have too much energy.”

“Why don’t we all take a drive this weekend?” Johnny suggested. “I know we can’t do much, but the fresh air might be nice.”

I nodded eagerly while tossing the rest of my trash into our takeout bag. “The kids will love it.”

Johnny nodded, reaching for my hand which he held with a gentle touch. “You deserve something better than takeout in the car.”

I shook my head, leaning in closer to brush a kiss across his lips. “This is nice, Johnny. I can’t be that picky when the entire country is going to shit.”

“Really?” Johnny asked, reaching out to hold my head in place as he deepened the kiss. “Isn’t there something else that you want?”

My eyes widened at his implications, especially considering the frantic way he was kissing me as his hands smoothed across my thighs. “Are you serious?”

“What? You don’t think I can still do this?” Johnny asked breathlessly, kissing me with growing desperation.

“Are you seriously suggesting that we fuck in your car?”

“Why not?” he asked, pulling back with swollen lips and lust-filled eyes.

“Well, if you say it like that...” I trailed off, laughing when Johnny reached for me across the console, dragging me onto his lap with a series of clumsy movements.

“This isn’t romantic lovemaking,” Johnny said, ripping down the sleeves of my dress. “But I think we both need a quick fuck.”

I gasped at his crude language. “You haven’t talked to me like that in months!”

Johnny chuckled. “There’s been a few distractions.”

“But I really missed this,” I said, licking into his mouth while my hands grabbed fistfuls of his dark brown hair.

“I promise that I’ll make more time for us,” Johnny said, thumbing across the inviting swell of my breasts. “I love you so much.”

“Mhmm,” I hummed in agreement, reaching down for the zipper on his pants. “Will you show me how much you love me?”

Johnny smirked against my lips, reaching down to recline the seat further back, and his hands gathered the hem of my dress as he proceeded to make-up for weeks of neglected opportunities...

#nct #nct fanfic #nct johnny fanfic #johnny seo x y/n #johnny seo fanfic #nct johnny smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #quarantine woes

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nagia-pronounced-neijia · 3 years

Text

scream (until you’re satisfied)

It's a quiet night for once: peaceful, even. The sun sits low on the horizon, casting gloam over the usual summer mist; insects buzz in the trees, loud and soft and loud again. Ligiea smiles out her open kitchen window at the little copse that has taken over the edge of the complex parking lot, then slides her thumb over her phone for the last time before she starts on her dishes.

On the windowsill, a bluetooth speaker -- designed to look like an antique radio; it had delighted Nate for about four seconds before he realized he couldn't actually tune it -- begins to croon a soft jazz cover of an early 90's grunge song. She smiles, humming along, and gets to work rinsing tzatziki and chili sauce from her plates.

Something rustles in the copse. She doesn't hear it; she sees birds suddenly burst from the green, wings beating, out of the corner of her eye. She sets the pan she'd fried her flatbread in back down in the sink, watching with instincts sharpened by too much shit having tried to kill her.

She hasn't made it back to the dishes when the scream cuts through the night. It lasts so long and comes so deep from within someone's throat that she hears it gurgle for a beat before it pitches back up. When the voice finally gives out, there's only enough time for a sharp intake of breath before it starts again.

Ligeia ignores the chills that roll down her spine, the hot-cold rush of adrenaline through her veins. She picks up her holster and pepper spray, the Agency-issue Volt, and tucks her badge into her pocket. Detective Attano steps out the door, pacing in the direction of the scream.

First fun fact of the night: the scream didn't come from the damn woods. That would have made sense.

Second fun fact of the night: Bobby's standing at the entrance to the laundromat. This makes Ligeia instantly suspicious, and he apparently knows it. The red ambulance lights flash onto his face and then off again, lighting him up before they leave him in shadow, and it makes what he clearly wishes were a fetching smile look demented.

"Miss me, angel?"

Ligeia bites down on her first reply, because she can't think of their college years -- or make a crack about her annual fucking chlamydia infection when she'd dated him -- without wanting to hit something. She smiles like she doesn't want to punch her ex and says, instead, "What do I do with myself when I'm not watching your career circle the drain?"

That one hits the mark. He flinches and takes a reflexive step back, like she'd slapped him. And then he pours on the greasy smile, but there's an angry edge, a tightness, to his smile. "I see dinner didn't go down so well all alone."

She's not allowed to say, 'shut up and get out of my way,' but she can say, "This is a crime scene, Bobby. Just because the caution tape's not up doesn't mean you get to lurk." She makes a shooing motion with her fingers.

He's not dumb enough not to move, but she hears his feet on the concrete as he tries to peer through the windows into the darkened building.

Third fun fact: when the ambulance is sitting in the parking lot with its lights on, and the paramedics are sitting uselessly in the open back of the bus, there's no good news. Ligeia nods at Jeri and Ryan, and mouths three letters.

Ryan just nods dejectedly. Beside him, Jeri winces, shrugs, and mouths them back: DOA.

Ligeia doesn't let herself sigh, much though she wants to, and jerks the door open. She ignores the words "Spin Cycle 365" printed in white on the glass, focused as she is on finding the lightswitch. It takes a few useless, obnoxious moments of groping in the dark before her fingers touch plastic. She flips three switches in a row and the lights return with a click and a buzz.

She sees exactly how Jeri and Ryan had come to the conclusion of 'DOA.' It's rather hard not to, given that the poor girl had fallen onto the floor, eyes wide and staring, mouth still open in a scream. But there's no sound coming out of her throat anymore. No breath in those apparently very powerful lungs. Pale white marks dot the very corners of her mouth and jaw.

Ligeia kneels down next to the girl, considering, and pulls a pair of latex gloves from her blazer pocket. She skips looking for any kind of trauma -- there would be blood, probably -- and instead picks up the girl's hands. The victim's fingers are cool and soft, still flaccid rather than in rigor mortis, and it is the worst kind of intimacy.

She can't imagine how Verda does this every day. Maybe she just likes people and all their intricacies too much.

Not a single defensive wound. Not even a sign she'd thrown her arms out to catch herself as she fell. That's a reflex; she must have been unconscious or dead before she started to fall.

There's no new sound, but she feels something like a shift in the barometric pressure of the room. Adam and Morgan both have a quality to them, an intensity that seems to suck up all the air and interest, even when nobody's looking at them.

Ligeia straightens. "Looks like a heart attack, but I'll know more after Verda or the Agency pathologists take a look," she says. She doesn't need to look back to know they're watching. "Will we let Doctor Turner and Verda take the lead on this, or is the Agency going to take custody of her just in case?"

The words come out professional. Not cheery, certainly, but smooth, practiced. Like her heart isn't beating hard inside her chest, like she's not thinking about Murphy. Like there's something going on in her head other than an endless litany of a prayer she keeps hoping she'll get to stop praying: no more deaths, please, not in my town.

"This is a known phenomenon to the Agency," her mother's voice says. The tone is endlessly gentle. "We'll take custody."

It takes her a few more moments to look away from the girl and the blue puddle of laundry soap. It smells like fake tropical flowers and banana; it's probably called something like 'Bahama Breeze.'

Ligeia drives back to the warehouse, stopping only for fuel and a cup of petrol station coffee. It's thick and tarry as the stuff she puts in her car, smells about as astringent, but it wakes her up. Unit Bravo beat her back by at least fifteen minutes. That doesn't surprise her, given her slow car and pit stop.

What does surprise her is that Adam is waiting for her by the entry. He had been standing stiffly by the wall, like particularly handsome statuary, and as she passes him, he unbends.

"So what was I looking at in there?"

"A fae victim," is Adam's reply. He stops moving when she does.

Ligeia starts putting together 'fae,' 'screaming,' 'laundry,' and 'death,' and what she comes up with makes her groan. "You're kidding, right?" But this is Adam, and he wouldn't joke about this. Not even Farah would.

"They aren't what the folktales make of them," is his reply, steady and a little snide, like usual. He sounds a little softer when he adds, "So few of us are."

They've had the talk about his disapproval of humans romanticizing vampires. She even understood it, to an extent. She felt the same way about the slew of torture porn and serial killer movies that came out in the early 2000's. She still feels that way about the Purge movies and the way they glamorize surviving violence, the way they assume everyone's first thought is murder.

Point is, Ligeia sees where he's coming from. She doesn't push. She stays right where she is, just a little too close to him to be professional.

"I guess I should go inside and find out what they're really like," she says.

Adam holds the door for her. She turns her head just enough to look over her shoulder at him as she goes through. She offers him a smile and watches his jaw relax by a fraction.

Nate smiles up at her from where he's found an armchair -- she could swear he's always making himself smaller, and he's so big that the back of her neck thanks him, but she hates it, too. There's a haunted edge to the way half his jaw has tensed, and when the smile slips, she can see that his focus on her has wisped away. He's the same Nate as always, but he's somewhere else right now. Somewhen else.

Morgan's the one who says the word. She breathes it out around grey smoke, her tone heavy and dark not only from the cigarette but from her own closely guarded feelings. "Banshees," she says, and near her, Farah actually sighs.

#wayhaven #adam x detective #nate x detective #fucking around with irish myth #detective ligeia attano #fragment #do i know where this is going? no #mark my words this is not the final draft #i blame bunny

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