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pleasurebuttonwrites · 1 year

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Hung the Moon (Epilogue)

Chapter 9 | Masterlist

Pairings: Steven Grant x f!Reader, Marc Spector x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Summary: A day in your life nearly a year after you said goodbye to the boys in New York.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content: smut, breeding kink, light bondage, oral sex (m + f receiving), deep throating, unprotected p in v sex

Word count: 4K

A/N: I can’t believe I’m at the end of this story! I want to say thank you to everyone who has followed along and commented, reblogged and liked these chapters. Each and every one of your comments brightens my day and helped me to continue to write this series. And if you’re finding this in the future, welcome! I’d love to hear what you think!

On a personal note, I have been writing for many, many years, but I typically have a lot of trouble finishing a story. This has been quite a journey for me, and I’m proud to have gotten to the end with this one!

Translations are inline and contained with in < >.

~~~

~ About 11 months later ~

You’re lying in bed on a cozy Friday morning. Light from the window at your feet shines through a gap in the curtains. If you lifted your head you’d be able to see the trees in the park across the street. But you don’t have to get up just yet. You stretch out your arms and then curl back under the covers.

You have a long day of studying ahead of you. You’d managed to get a late acceptance to a decent university, and the first two weeks have kicked your ass. Not only was the workload more than you imagined, but there was so much you didn’t understand and had to get caught up on.

Next to you, Steven moans softly and rolls over, tumbling into you. He wraps an arm around you and presses his chest to your back. The steady rise and fall of his breathing tells you he’s not yet fully awake. You shift a bit, moving into his warmth, your body now flush against him. In the process, your ass brushes his morning wood, which settles right between your cheeks.

His hold on you tightens and he moans again, but this one is less a sleepy protest and more an awakened desire. You push back and grind into him, and he responds by rolling his hips and slipping his hand up your shirt to play with your nipple.

“You sure you want to start something so early, love?” he asks of you and nips your earlobe.

“Mmm. Absolutely.”

You pull down your sleeping pants, kicking them off down into the blankets, as Steven pulls his down enough to free his aching cock.

He lifts your leg and wedges his thigh in between. He slides his fingers over you to check if you’re ready for him and you definitely are. “Fuck, babe, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were ovulating.”

Almost as soon as you’d moved in together nearly two months ago, a flip had switched and Steven had become really domestic. He not-so-subtly wanted to start a family. He’d agreed that for the time being you should focus on school and figure out your future before bringing kids into it, but that didn’t stop him from fantasizing about knocking you up.

You wouldn’t have guessed that you’d like it, but when he said shit like that to you, especially with that needy edge in his voice, you wanted to give him whatever he wanted.

He works his way into you slowly, shifting his hips to get the angle just right. His hand hooked under your thigh keeping you open for him, his hot breath settling sticky on your neck, his kisses like praise as he sinks into you.

His thrusts are short — he likes to stay buried in you, the head of his cock relentless on that spot deep inside — but his pace is brutal. He clutches tightly to you as he humps your brains out.

In between soft grunts, he whispers, “Want to fuck a baby in you…take my come so deep…make you a mum…”

You reach your hand back to grip his ass and feel those muscles working to fuck his thick cock into you. You try to pull him in deeper and you feel the tip kiss your cervix. If you were really trying to get pregnant this would be the perfect position.

Steven slides his hand down to rub your clit and the extra sensation has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love. Want to feel you come.”

Your cunt clenches around him as your orgasm rushes through you. His rhythm falters and his hips snap, driving him deep into your core as he paints your walls.

Still catching his breath, he says, “Well that’s a brilliant way to start the day, innit?”

You don’t want to move but unfortunately you can’t stay there all day. You release the generous muscle of his ass and snake your hand to the back of his head, turning to plant a kiss on his parted lips. You gasp as his cock slips out of you, and he swallows it down with a kiss of his own.

After you clean up you both start in on your morning routine, already a smooth choreography of sharing a bathroom and closet.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asks from the sink as you pull a shirt off a hanger.

You groan thinking about it. “Studying.” You say it like it’s a bad word.

He emerges from the bathroom. “None of that negative self talk today, alright? Learning is supposed to be fun, not stressful.” He kisses your cheek. “Do you want upstairs or downstairs today?”

There’s a rule at your house: you and Steven have to study in separate rooms. Because once he puts those glasses on, you suddenly find yourself climbing into his lap and steaming them up.

“I’ll take upstairs.”

“Alright. I’ll just be doing some light reading.” He grabs a huge stack of books and heads downstairs. “Give me a shout if I can fetch you some tea or snacks.”

—

You had been back in London for about two months. Initially, you, your sister, and the boys lived in their flat together, but it had gotten cramped fast, and a month ago you and the boys had moved into a townhouse a little removed from the center of London, leaving the flat to Cassie. Steven could no longer hop the bus to school, but as Jake didn’t mind driving you and Steven, it all worked out.

You’d been surprised when Cassie had decided to come with you to London. After a rough start in Spain — she’d let her displeasure at having to move be known loudly and often — she had really taken to the change. She’d loved the nightlife, especially all of the attractive people her own age. Plus, the substantial amount of cash the boys had given you helped win her over. Despite never picking up the language, she seemed to really thrive there, and when the boys had called to say it was done, they were finally free, you had worried that you’d have to leave her. Because, by some miracle, you two had actually bonded in a way you’d never managed before. It had started, you were pretty sure, when you were finally honest with her. Suddenly her life made a lot more sense to her, and you were no longer the person who ruined her life. She could finally see you as the person who wanted the best for her.

And she had been there for you, for your time in Spain had been markedly different than hers. Other than one visit 100 days — yes you counted — after leaving them in New York, you didn’t get to see your boyfriends until they were moving you to London. They called you as much as they could, at times you spoke every day, but sometimes, without warning, they’d go silent for a week or more. It was terrifying each time, and the feeling of complete helplessness was torture, not knowing if they were still alive.

They also hadn’t been very forthcoming in what they were doing. You didn’t think they kept you in the dark on purpose, rather they clearly didn’t like to talk about it. You still didn’t know the details, only that they were now free of Khonshu and that Foswell’s organization was gone and there was no one left to come after you or your sister. You weren’t sure if they would ever tell you, and you were mostly okay with that as you didn’t exactly want to know, but you just wanted to know how they were dealing with it.

You got the feeling they mostly wanted to leave it behind them. From the moment you’d reunited, their arms around you once again, they’d been all in on starting a life with you. The townhouse had been the first step, a new beginning for all of you. Gus 1 and Gus 2 — whom Steven contends are actually Gus 2 and Gus 3 — came with you, of course, and Jake adopted a stray cat that wandered around the neighborhood and he was currently in the process of turning him into a house cat. He named the cat Gustavo, which caused Cassie to opine — in front of the boys — that she wished they all had the same name like their pets. It was (mostly) a joke as she had learned all of their names, and had even chosen a favorite alter: Steven, though she claimed she couldn’t understand a word he said — whether that was due to the accent or his tendency to ramble about ancient Egypt, you weren’t sure. In any case, your sister liked to drop by, always unannounced, and the boys enjoyed/tolerated her visits on a sliding scale.

Despite Cassie’s repeated offers to re-decorate the house for you, you loved the townhouse — it felt like home to you in a way that no other place had, safe and full of love. It wasn’t large, but it was roomy enough. You’d converted one of the upstairs bedrooms into a study. Books lined the shelves on either side of the cozy fireplace, in front of which was a low-backed couch. Behind that, pushed up against the window was Steven’s desk.

All morning you’d been studying at that desk, failing miserably at taking Steven’s advice. He’d come to check on you about every hour bringing you a treat or topping off your water bottle, the plates piled up in the corner of the desk evidence of that.

Sometime after lunch you hear the footsteps, the ever-so-slightly heavier footfall and even pacing. Just by that you can tell Steven is done reading for the day and Marc is seeking you out. He finds you with your nose in a book. He doesn’t disturb you, instead taking a seat in the armchair in the corner. He picks up his guitar on the stand next to it and strums for a bit, alternating between chords and plucking a melody.

It’s mildly distracting, but only because you’re so tempted to turn and watch him. He’s so ridiculously beautiful when he’s playing guitar. But on the other hand, the sound is soothing and you feel your shoulders relax a bit and a little calm settling over you, melting the stress away.

You get to the end of your reading, noticing that the notes you took are practically just an entire copy of the text, and you snap the book closed. As soon as you do, the music abruptly cuts off and you hear the hollow thunk of the guitar being returned to its stand.

Marc comes up behind you and leans down to kiss your neck. “How’s the studying going, baby?”

You’re still kind of amazed by you how far you’ve come with Marc. When the boys visited you in Spain, Marc had only fronted on the last day. You’d been having such a wonderful time with Jake and Steven, and had given up on getting to see Marc. But he appeared while you were preparing some dinner in the kitchen. From the doorway he asked if you wanted some help. You worked together mostly silently, but the air between you was buzzing. You had a pleasant dinner afterward, and he seemed to open up to you. That night you went to bed together, finally giving in to your feelings for each other. You’d never forget the drag of his lips over your skin or the sweet way he’d moaned your name.

“Oh, despite the fact that I’m not smart enough for this, it’s going great!”

He chuckles against your skin. “I know you’re just letting off steam, but Steven wants you to quit talking like that.”

You press your cheek to his and sigh. “I just feel so behind already. I have no idea how I’m going to catch up.”

“It’s bound to be hard at first, but you’ll get the hang of it. Do you like what you’re studying?”

You don’t answer right away. “I guess so? I really fucking hope so, but it’s just so hard and stressful I can’t really tell.”

In his sexy voice he says, “I think you just need to take your mind off it for a bit.”

His lips are on yours and as soon as his tongue touches yours all thoughts of school disappear. You sigh into his mouth, then remember your appointment this afternoon.

“Wait, what time is it?”

“We’ve got time,” he assures you.

You stand from your chair and wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. You never get to touch him for very long so you have to take advantage of it when he lets you.

Sure enough, after he pulls your shirt and bra off, he says, “Wrists.”

You hold your wrists together and out toward him. He pulls a silk tie from his pocket and ties them together. “What’s the safe word?” he quizzes you.

You tell him and he nods, satisfied.

More often than not sex with Marc includes bondage. He has to be in control and doesn’t like to be touched. It was only last week that you got to reverse roles — something you were surprised by when he asked you for it. You had the feeling that he was craving punishment, but instead you had tied him up and treated him right, gently exploring his body. Though you were intimately aware of him physically thanks to your exploits with Steven and Jake, you hadn’t yet gotten to know what Marc liked. You’d taken your time with him, and taken his cock down your throat — a skill you’d been working on with Jake. The way he reacted to you, though, had you feeling he might’ve preferred the punishment to your kindness.

He strips off the rest of your clothes and you stand in front of him completely naked whereas he is still fully clothed. He has a wicked smile on his face as he guides you over to the couch. Your legs are already shaking as he bends you over, your ass up in the air.

When you and Marc had gone furniture shopping, you had found it weird that Marc would always check out the back of the couch instead of the front. With your hand in his, he’d pull you behind the couch with him. As soon as he’d come across this one, he immediately wanted to buy it. It wasn’t until the first time he’d bent you over it that you realized he had been searching for one that was the perfect height.

You’re not sure what he has planned but your lips are already swollen and slick, ready for anything. You crane your neck to try and see what he’s up to. You watch him disappear as he gets on his knees behind you. He caresses your legs with both hands then adjusts your stance, spreading your legs wider.

You whimper as you feel his breath on the upper most part of your thigh. His face presses into you and his tongue slides over your sensitive nub. You grip the cushion of the couch, wishing so bad you could reach back and tug on his hair. All you can do is squirm, and you can’t even do much of that with the way he holds your hips steady.

You hear the clock downstairs chime twice. It’s two o’clock and you both have to leave around three. One would think that was enough time, but Marc can easily edge you for an hour.

And that’s just what he does. No matter how you try to hide it from him, he always knows when you’re close. He brings you right up to the edge and backs away. Over and over. You try to lift your leg and slide it over his hip, just for some contact. But he catches your ankle and holds you in place.

You’re not sure how many times you say the word ‘please’ or moan his name.

The clock chimes three times. “Shit, Marc. We have to go.”

He doesn’t respond. Only tosses your thighs over his shoulder and buries his face in your cunt, finally allowing you the release you’ve been denied.

You go limp, your head blurry with bliss, nearly drifting off to sleep. Until you feel the head of his cock at your soaked and oversensitive entrance. He pushes in gently and even though the sensation is overwhelming, it feels amazing to finally be filled. His pace is quick, and he’s muttering to himself about how good you feel. He’s quick to his orgasm, and he only touches your swollen clit when he’s moments from cumming. You clench around him and have another, albeit weaker, orgasm.

He pulls out slowly. Your thighs are soaked and you feel his cum leak out of you too. He reaches over you to untie your wrists, giving them each a kiss when they’re free. “Let me get a washcloth. Be right back.”

You both clean up quickly, Marc washing his face of your juices and his sweat. You tie up your hair and notice an indentation line across your face from pressing it into the couch. You show him and he chuckles before flashing you a guilty look. “This better be gone before we arrive,” you say playfully.

—

You and Marc started therapy six weeks ago. You have different therapists, but you booked your sessions for the same time and within the same practice so that you could go together. You could tell it was already helping even if it was only in the most minor of ways.

After your sessions, you walk around the city with Marc, both of you in quiet contemplation. Eventually, you come out of your heads and you talk and laugh and get ice cream on this unseasonably warm day.

When you get home, you cook dinner together. Marc is admittedly a better cook than you and could probably prepare the meal much faster on his own, but you can’t resist being in the kitchen with him. He never walks by you without touching a part of you. A hand on the small of your back, a pinch to your waist, a pat on your ass.

It’s after you and Marc clear your plates that Jake shows up. You’re washing up at the sink and he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “No puedo esperar a mañana, cariño,” he murmurs in your ear. <Can’t wait for tomorrow, sweetheart.>

You have special plans to spend the whole day together, just the two of you. In the evening, you have dinner reservations and you’ll be revealing a new dress you bought just for the occasion. Later, you’ll reveal a little something else you bought underneath.

Jake pops on a movie in the living room and you cuddle up next to him on the couch. It’s a new release that you’ve both been interested in watching. But no matter how good it is, you always get distracted by the man next to you. His arm around you, his thumb tracing arcs where his hand rests on your back. His broad chest beneath your head. The smell of him so rich and sweet.

You start with your hand on his knee, gently squeezing to activate that sensitive part of his inner knee. You’re not sure when he catches on to what you’re doing — knowing him it was right about the moment you thought to do it. But as you caress your hand up his inner thigh he spreads his legs a little wider giving you more access to him.

He’s wearing sweatpants without underwear — a Marc specialty that Jake has really embraced. So when you touch him, cupping his balls and gripping his cock, there’s only one layer of fabric in between and you can really feel him.

With his arm still wrapped around you, fingertips gripping your jaw, he tilts your head up to him. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyelids heavy with desire. Then he captures your lips in an all-consuming kiss, his tongue sliding over yours. You continue to stroke his cock, feeling it harden beneath your grip as you make out.

You pull away and tug down his pants until his cock springs free. Mouth watering, you get on your knees in front of him and take the head into your mouth, letting your spit drip down his shaft. You stretch your lips wide to fit around his girth as you take more of him. When the tip hits the back of your throat, he inhales sharply then groans as you focus on relaxing, taking a breath before pushing deeper.

“¡Joder!” <Fuck!> Jake continues to curse as you bob your head, taking him deeper until your nose touches his pelvis.

You only manage to take him all the way down a few times before he pulls you off him, stopping himself from cumming. Unexpectedly, he stands up and says, “I’ll be right back.”

“Jake!” You call to his back as he heads up the stairs.

“Be right back!”

You sit back on your heels and rest your arm on the seat of the couch, wondering two things: what the fuck he’s doing, and what the fuck is happening in this movie.

He returns, one hand behind his back. “Just had to get…this.” He reveals your vibrator with a flourish, purring from the back of his throat as he does so. You roll your eyes. It turns out that out of the three of them, Jake is the goofiest.

He tugs his shirt off in a flash and shucks off his pants. You look up at him from your place on the floor, casting an appreciative eye over his naked form. When you reach his face there’s a cocky smirk waiting for you. “I didn’t go get this for me. Want to take off your clothes now?”

You strip off your shirt and whip it at him for being a smartass, earning you a wide grin. You make quick work of undressing, but when he wraps his fist around his cock you nearly trip trying to step out of your pants.

He’s on you the moment you straighten up, pressed against you, his erection sandwiched in between your bodies, lips on your neck, hand gripping your hair then trailing down your back and finally grabbing a handful of your ass so he can pull you down on the couch on top of him.

You ride him slow at first and he’s content to lay back and enjoy the show. But as soon as he turns on your vibrator and places it on your clit — positioning it so he gets a little vibe, too — he’s thrusting up into you and neither of you lasts much longer. He manages to catch the look of you as the pleasure crashes over you, then he follows with a series of grunts, dropping the vibrator, still buzzing, on his stomach to grip your hips with both hands.

His eyes are still closed as he says, words ever-so-slightly slurred, “With how often we cum inside you, you’re bound to get pregnant even with birth control.”

Your laughter is soft at first, but as the ridiculousness of his pussy-drunk brain hits you, you laugh harder. He joins in, both of you laughing at him and perhaps simply at the euphoria of the moment.

A yawn takes over as your laughter subsides and you begin to speak through the end of it. “Can we go to bed? I’m fucking tired.”

You’re not so tired that you can’t walk up the stairs on your own but Jake insists on carrying you.

In bed, he holds you tightly against his chest. There’s a glow from the bedside clock and you both watch it tick over to midnight. “Happy anniversary, mi amor.”

~~~

A/N: I hope you liked the ending. While I have no plans to continue this series, I have thought of some possible bonus chapters. I’m not sure whether I’ll write those or not, but please let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Tags: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ajeff855 @bnamta @unspokenmoon @milkymoon2483 @valkyrieace @theimpalasdoctorin221b @hopefulfangirl24 @bucksgoat @rmoonstoner @foreverinwanderlust @am-3-thyst @bullet-prooflove @trashboat-the-raccoon @daisies-yellow @kingtwhiddleston @stevenknightmarc @lilredbird101

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

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That Black Tee

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, fingers, slight metal arm kink, sex against a wall, semi-public sex, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI. Summary: It was such a simple thing. Just a simple black tee-shirt. But the way Bucky wore it had you practically melting -- and he seemed to realize it, happily granting your needs A/N: idk guys there was just something about that black tee-shirt bucky wore in episode 4 of TFATWS. it got my mind wandering. and i love practicing writing smut i hope im getting better at it lmao

Masterlist

You knew you absolutely, utterly fucked the second Bucky took off his jacket, revealing that damn black tee.

So simple yet so fitting, so accentuating. He looked casual and cool yet incredibly powerful and dominant with that metal arm fully on display thanks to the short sleeves. Between that damn shirt and the hard expression he wore, you were pretty much done for. It took all you might to not march over to him right that second.

Bucky appeared to be aware of all this as he turned to you, feeling your eyes wandering shamelessly over him in that shirt. He just looked so… him. Not a soldier, not some asset, just him. And he was hot.

He shot you a little smirk, making your eyes widen, suddenly unreasonably worried your boyfriend could read your mind.

You two must’ve been too caught up in your silent communication because the next thing you heard was Sam asking if you were okay.

You jumped and forced yourself to look away from Bucky. "Yeah, Sam," you nodded, "I’m fine."

He hummed, suspicious. "Are you sure?"

But before you could answer, Bucky felt it was his time to chime in. "She’s a little distracted."

Your eyes widened again, this time sending a signal to your boyfriend to shut the hell up. He wouldn’t look at you and instead just laughed to himself.

"Distracted?" Sam questioned.

"I- I’m fine, really-,"

Bucky cut you off, "Actually, I need to talk with her about something."

Your jaw went slack as you tried finding some words of explanation, something to save yourself from this situation as you could see Sam’s concern growing. But nothing was able to come out before Bucky was grabbing your hand.

"You can’t talk to her out here?" Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head, profusely. "It’s a very private matter. Incredibly serious. Just between me and her."

"Bucky-," you just about yelped as he started walking to one of the off-shoot rooms from the living space. Sam tried asking more questions but Bucky promptly shut him down by slamming the door. Hard. It was a miracle the thing didn’t just fall right off its hinges. For whatever reason, that suddenly turned you on even more.

You stood there in the middle of the room watching as Bucky slowly turned to you. He had a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took in your nervous yet needy state. Your thighs were practically in pain from how hard you were trying to squeeze them together, wanting some relief to your core that was set ablaze by him. Him and that damn outfit. That damn hair. His damn face- God, you just needed your boyfriend right now.

Bucky walked towards you slowly, intensely. You tried averting your eyes to save yourself from crumbling but he stopped you. His fingers came to your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He appeared to be just as eager.

"What happened back there, doll?" He asked just barely above a whisper. He held your chin firmly.

"What- What do you-,"

He chuckled. The fucker chuckled at your flustered state. "What do I mean? I mean that look you were giving me. How those eyes were peeling off my clothing piece by piece. Made me want to take you right there."

Bucky’s words went straight to your core. The wetness was pooling profusely, practically soaking through your jeans. You let out a little whimper as his thumb brushed over your lip.

"It’s your tee-shirt," you whispered, surprised that you could even find any sort of words in your dazed brain. He was way too intoxicating.

Bucky’s face shifted in surprise. "My shirt?"

You nodded. "It just… looks good on you."

He couldn’t help but let out another chuckle. You pouted at his reaction which he took as the opportunity to quickly place a kiss on your lips. You tried moving into him, grinding your body with his to beg for more, but he stopped, forcing you two apart.

"Oh, doll," he mumbled as his hand left your chin and slowly made its way down your body. Over the curve of your clothed breast, down your stomach, to your hips… the hand finally dipped under the waistline of your jeans. Without much warning, two fingers traced your folds, dipping slightly in to collect the wetness. He gave a few thrust, teasingly. Bucky groaned. "You’re this wet just from how I look in my shirt?"

You gasped, nodding. Embarrassment wanted to coarse through you but the pleasure from Bucky tracing his fingers to your clit was too much. Slowly, he started with circular motions, making your body jolt. You squealed in surprise. Bucky smiled down at your reaction.

He kept it up, adding pressure every now and then as he continued. Your legs began to shake forcing you to grip his arms in support. Bucky noticed this and brought his metal hand to your hip, steadying you.

He picked up the pace, his eyes boring into yours intensely. You let out a breathy moan at the sight of him, looking at you so hungry and aroused.

"Come on, honey, cum for me," he mumbled, still working on your clit. Every now and then he’d stop to dip a finger in as if gaging your wetness. In those moments you’d groan, waiting for the contact to come back. He never let you suffer long, though, finding his way back to your clit quickly, keeping the pressured motions. "Be a good girl and cum for me, doll, and I’ll fuck you real nice against the wall just like you deserve."

That was the final straw. His words alone practically sent you over the edge. Your body shook as the first orgasm pulled through you, lighting fire throughout your body. Your hips bucked and twisted uncontrollably, almost trying to get away from the touch but Bucky didn’t lighten up. He worked you through it, whispering sweet praises in your ear, making you lose it even more.

Once you came down from the high, Bucky wasted absolutely no time gripping your hips and pushing your back to the nearest wall. You yelped in surprise before his lips attached to yours, rough and demanding.

He lifted you up and grabbed your legs, circling them around your waist. You took the opportunity to grind into him feeling his erection hit your covered core. It lit a new fire in you making you gasp at the feeling.

Bucky moved his lips down your face to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. You whined and grabbed onto that fucking tee shirt, still trying to push into him, wordlessly begging him to speed up.

"Eager, doll?" Bucky asked. You could practically hear the dumb smile on his face and it made you want to slap it off. But all you could do in response was nod.

He placed one more kiss on your lips before his hand made its way back down your body. This time he popped the buttons of your jeans open. Briefly, he placed you back down to pull your jeans to your ankles. When that task was done, you were back wrapped around his waist, now feeling the erection more prominently. You let out a deep, uncontrollable moan when it hit.

As if he understood your annoyance, Bucky quickly undid his own jeans. In your dazed state, you must’ve zoned out because the next thing you knew, your panties were just pushed to the side and his cock was breaching your walls. You two were in sync letting our moans and groans at the warmth, the wetness.

His arms held you tight as he began his thrusts, so precise and strong. You were backed into the wall forcefully, enjoying the pressure and pleasure combining into one. Your boyfriend groaned above you, sounds going right to your core which was made evident by the squelching sounding in the room.

Bucky kept his thrusts up as his metal hand left your hip and made its way to your clit. His body held you up with his other arm, giving you a second to marvel in his strength. It was always such a treat when it came out in the bedroom. How he could hold you down or hold you up had your mind spinning half the time.

As his thrusts began to pick up, his metal hand started with the circular motions again on your clit. The coldness meeting your warmth was enough to drive you crazy. Your hands fisted his shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded. You let out a surprised moan at the whole sensation which Bucky seemed to like as he gripped you harder. Your brain was going fuzzy, drunk even, as he pounded you into the wall flawlessly.

"Bucky… B-Bucky…" you choked out.

"Hmm?" You could tell he was staring at you despite your eyes being fluttered shut. He was taking in every inch of your face contorting in glorious pleasure. It seemed to drive his thrusts faster, the circular motions on your clit picking up as well.

"I- I’m gonna-,"

"You gonna cum again, doll?" He asked, a little mockingly. You would’ve bit back if you weren’t in this state but you couldn’t do anything, just take what he was giving. You nodded weakly. "Alright, honey, that’s it… Cum for me, come on. I got you."

It was like Bucky flipped that last switch as his strength and speed picked up. You yelped, clinging to his shirt even tighter.

One final push on your clit was all you needed before you were crumbling in his arms. Your body shook as your orgasm flooded you with ecstasy. Bucky didn’t want to let up with the trusts, though, chasing his own orgasm and thoroughly working you through your second. He kept pounding, his hand opting to leave your clit to grope at your breasts under your shirt. The metal hitting your skin in a new place made you squeal again.

The sounds and motions were it for Bucky as the next thing you knew, he released inside you, coating your walls and thrusting in and out, letting it leak onto your skin. You moaned at the sensation.

Bucky gave a couple more weak thrusts before he let out a final groan and stilled inside you. Both his arms now were around your waist, pulling you close as you two panted, coming down from the pleasure.

Bucky leaned forward, his head resting on your shoulder. Your hands left his shirt and came up to his hair, where you ran them through his short locks.

"Was that what you needed, doll?" He asked, voice breaking through the heaviness of the room.

You giggled, "Exactly what I needed."

"Hmm," he sighed and straightened back up. He pecked your lips. "Guess I gotta wear this shirt more often."

You gasped, slapping his chest lightly as he laughed. But you couldn’t totally disagree. "I wouldn’t complain if it made an appearance every now and then."

Bucky shook his head, "I don’t understand how a black tee shirt can get you going, doll."

After he spoke, he slowly removed himself from you, letting you down from the wall. Warm wetness began soaking your thighs feeling so intimate, so hot, it almost made you almost suggest round two right then and there but that didn’t seem on the table after Bucky handed you some tissues to clean up. Not to mention the fact there were people in the living area.

You shrugged, readjusting your shirt and pulling your jeans back on. You watched as Bucky also readjusted his appearance. "It’s because it’s on you," you insisted. "You could walk around in the most ridiculous outfits and I’d still beg you to jump my bones."

Bucky let out the most joyous laugh at that. He walked back towards you, securely wrapping his arms around your waist. You placed a kiss on his lips, which he hummed happily into.

"I’m flattered," he mumbled. The light blush across his cheeks confirmed his words.

You smiled, "What can I say? I got a hot boyfriend and he should know it."

Bucky placed another kiss on your lips. "Oh, trust me, I think he knows it now."

You let out a giggle and pulled away from his grip, despite a little protest. "Come on," you said and motioned towards the door, "we should probably leave this room before we get any shit from them."

"Oh, you’re getting a lot of shit once you come out of that room," Sam called from the other side of the door, making both you and Bucky jump. "Might as well stay in here."

You groaned at the words, your face and neck suddenly becoming hot in embarrassment. Bucky just chuckled, somehow finding everything amusing, and wrapped an arm around you.

"Worth it, though," he whispered before placing a kiss on your cheek. You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t at all argue. Just glancing between the wall and that black tee made you suddenly hot and bothered all over again.

Bucky picked up on your gaze, once again practically reading your mind. With a suggestive smirk, he asked, "Round two?"

You bit your lip as his hand began running over the curve of your ass.

"Fine."

Bucky didn’t waste a single second before whisking you off your feet

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu #mcu fic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #writing*#fluff #slight tfatws spoilers

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

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gotham-ruaidh · 3 years

Text

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

This story takes place during the summer of 1987. It’s the time of the Cold War, and heavy metal, and Just Say No.

Ten chapters, each with a specific song as its soundtrack.

I’m so excited to finally share it with you.

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Also posted at AO3

—-

Chapter 3: Dancing On Glass

I've been through hell // And I'm never goin' back // To dancing on glass // Going way too fast...

Need one more rush // Then I know, I know I'll stop // One extra push // Last trip to the top...

Soundtrack: “Dancing On Glass,” Mötley Crüe, 1987 [click here to listen]

Three P.M.

Group.

Claire’s hands wrapped around the hard sides of the plastic chair, holding herself upright, watching about two dozen fellow patients? inmates? addicts? shuffle into the room.

Two people stood at the door – greeting others as they entered, handing out small packets of tissues and bottles of Coke.

Today’s facilitator – a middle-aged, bearded man – stood to one side, chatting with a few people.

“Hey!”

Claire startled – and turned to her right to see Jamie slide into the chair beside her.

“How’s it going today? Day two, right?”

She nodded. “Met with my therapist this morning.”

“That’s great! Who’ve you got?”

“Gillian.”

Jamie cracked open a bottle. “Oh, she’s great. Been here a long time. She’s married to the director – did you know that?”

Claire’s eyebrows raised. “No, but that’s really interesting.”

Jamie gulped about half the bottle in one shot. “Yeah. We owe everything to them.”

“Yeah, well. I got assigned to dinner set-up duty.”

He beamed. “Great! I’ve been on that rotation for the last few weeks. I’ll show you all the ropes.”

“Few weeks? How long have you been here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He set down his Coke. “I don’t. And I’ve been here eight weeks. The best eight weeks of my fucked-up life.”

“Don’t say that,” she chided. “Surely everything can’t be so terrible.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“It can be, if you were the reason why a sold-out European tour couldn’t happen, and it cost your backers and buddies tens of millions of dollars, and it pissed off countless thousands of fans.”

Now the greeters took their seats within the circle.

“Couldn’t, or didn’t?” Claire hoped her words were gentle, but when her head split with pain like this she could never tell. “And what do you mean by ‘tour’?”

His eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t. My manager said I’d come back from Europe in a body bag. He’s a bloodsucker but he had enough sense to not kill the golden goose.” He finished his Coke in one long gulp – flexing the tattoos swirling on his forearm and elbow. “And I’m a professional musician – in case you couldn’t guess from the way I look.”

“I see.”

He grinned. “How about that – someone who doesn’t recognize me.”

She folded her hands in her lap, closing her eyes against the pain, so desperately wanting to disappear. “I guess between medical school, and being a surgeon, and my ex-husband…and the pills…there are a lot of things I haven’t paid attention to.”

“Hey.” Softly he reached out to touch her knee – and she looked up at him.

“I’m not making fun of you, Claire. It’s just…I don’t know. Refreshing.”

She smiled tightly.

The facilitator clapped his hands. “Everyone – are we ready?”

People around the circle nodded, and the man sat down in the last empty chair.

“Great. Well, hi everyone. For those of you who don’t know me – I’m Murtagh. Been clean for just about eleven years now. Before that I spent a small fortune that I didn’t have – ”

“ – on enough blow to kill an elephant,” Jamie and several others chorused.

Murtagh smiled. “Wiseasses. Now – today’s topic is: clarity.”

“Can you be more specific?” A heavyset, bearded man across the circle piped up.

“You mean – provide more clarity?” Geneva snickered from somewhere near Jamie.

“Easy,” Murtagh interjected. “And yes, Rupert, of course. What I mean is: something I hear a lot from people here is that being away from substances gives them clarity for the first time in years. Clarity of thoughts – meaning, you’re logical and rational. Clarity of judgment – meaning, you feel like you are empowered to make good decisions. And overall, clarity to step away from all the bullshit that the substances made you do, or made it easier for you to do, and say – damn, what the hell was I doing?”

Across the circle, Rupert nodded. “OK. Oh – hi everyone, I’m Rupert, and I’m an alcoholic. Yeah – I can definitely relate. I wanted to not have clarity, so that I didn’t have to think about how much I was screwing up my job, and my marriage.”

“Good,” Murtagh praised. “And now that you can’t avoid it – how do you feel?”

Rupert stroked his thick beard. “Like shit. I love Scarlet so much, and I fucked it all up. I understand that now.”

“I feel the same way,” Jamie added. “Hi, I'm Jamie, and I'm an alcoholic, too. I drank because I’ve always felt so responsible for everything going on in my band – because I’m the guy that brought us together, and I’m the guy who writes the songs, and I’m the guy who’s across the table from the record company executives, advocating on our behalf.” He bounced a long, thin, jean-clad leg rapidly up and down. “I felt like I was being used, and that I was the only one who cared. I felt that really clearly. So I drank to…to avoid that clarity.”

Claire carefully watched the others around the circle. What Jamie was sharing could make any one of them a quick buck – all it would take was one phone call to a tabloid. But everyone was listening raptly – clearly thinking about parallels in their own lives – and it began to dawn on her that Jamie had one thing she didn’t have much of for herself: respect.

“And then when I drank, I’d just get really mean,” he continued. “I’d say things to rile up my drummer. I had a fling with my manager’s girlfriend, just to fuck with him. And yeah, I’d destroy hotel rooms.”

“Your reaction was to want to hurt people,” Murtagh said gently. “You had had clarity – clarity that you were shouldering too much, for too many people – and you reacted by wanting to push them away.”

“Yeah.” Claire spoke without thinking. “Um – hi everyone, I’m Claire, and I’m addicted to pills. Halcions, mostly.”

“Oh, those are the best,” a woman to Claire’s left remarked.

“Hey – no positive talk,” Murtagh interjected. “You know better than that, Letitia.”

Letitia huffed.

Murtagh turned back to face Claire. “Tell us more, Claire, if you’re comfortable?”

Now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “I was – am – a trauma surgeon for an emergency room. I love it – I love the adrenaline of it, and of course being able to help people on the worst day of their lives. I love being able to heal people. But…but it’s pretty heavy stuff. People die, no matter how hard you try to save them. People wake up and they’re not happy that they don’t have a leg anymore – and I say, would you rather be dead?”

“And you wanted to get away from that?” Jamie asked gently.

She closed her eyes. “I had to have clarity to do my job properly – it’s hard to describe, but it’s like having a laser focus on what’s in front of you. Getting in the zone. Shutting out everything else. And then when it’s all done – I would crash. The whole world would come rushing back, and I’d be covered in someone else’s blood and barely able to sit down before I had to work on the next person. That was so, so hard to deal with.”

“I understand.” Claire opened her eyes – it was an older man speaking right next to Jamie. “Hi everyone – I’m Ned, I’m a lawyer and crack addict, and there are a lot of jokes I’m sure you could make based on that.”

Claire managed a small smile.

“I’m a defense attorney – I’m that guy you see on TV arguing in a courtroom and presenting to a jury. I totally get what Claire said, because I needed to have that kind of really focused clarity, too. It was kind of like acting – I had to remember my argument, and I had to present it to the jury, and I had to pick up on cues from them to see how well I was doing. And then afterward I’d just crash. But I still had to have energy to prep for the next day, and that’s where Miss Crack came in.”

“So what I’m hearing is that clarity is something you already had – and then you turn to substances to get away from it.” Murtagh folded his arms. “Because it’s hard to flip that ‘off’ switch. And then eventually, the substances change from being something to take a vacation from that clarity, to completely blocking out that clarity altogether.”

“Exactly.” It was easier for Claire to focus on Murtagh than the sea of faces surrounding her. “And it’s a deliberate choice. I’m sure, Ned and Rupert and Jamie, that you deliberately sought out something to prevent that clarity. I know I did – I wrote the prescriptions for the pills that I consumed.”

Rupert nodded. “The bottle didn’t pick itself up and pour the liquor down my throat. And you’re right, Claire – at first, at least, it was a conscious decision. Until it became something I had to depend on.”

“I think that there are ways for this to happen more positively.” A woman seated beside Rupert quietly spoke. “Oh – hi, everyone, I’m Marsali, and I’m an alcoholic. What I mean is, there are ways to flip that ‘off’ switch that aren’t so…destructive. You can go for a run. Listen to music. Cook a meal. Watch a movie. Make love to your significant other.”

Murtagh nodded. “Marsali brings up a good point here. I’ll repeat something that I’ve already told many of you before, because it bears repeating. Substance addiction is addiction, first and foremost. All of us are here because our brains are hard-wired for addiction. We can’t change that. But we can change what it is that we’re addicted to.”

“Like what?” Letitia had calmed down a bit, but clearly she was skeptical.

“Whatever works for you,” Murtagh shrugged. “Jiu Jitsu. Flower Arranging. Reading. Playing the drums. Writing. Riding motorcycles. Not all addictions are bad – we just need to find the addictions that help us, and don’t hurt us or the people around us.”

Everyone’s heads nodded in agreement, quietly reflecting.

“So – that’s my homework assignment for all of you.” Murtagh pulled a small spiral notebook from his pocket, flipped to a fresh page, and began scribbling in it. “To think about the thing that you can become positively addicted to. Something you already enjoy, or something you’ve never done before. But I hope that even just thinking about it will give you focus. Improve your clarity.”

“Got it,” Ned said quietly.

Murtagh flipped back to an earlier page in his notebook. “Now – I have here my notes from the last time I facilitated Group. OK if I start going around and asking people for follow-up thoughts to those? Rupert?”

Rupert nodded, and began to speak.

“Facilitators take turns hosting Group every fourth day.” Claire started a bit, but held steady as Jamie leaned in close, spoke quietly into her ear. “We talk about things, and we’re assigned homework, and then the next time the facilitator is back we talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Claire murmured.

Jamie didn’t pull away. “If you ever just want to talk…”

She swallowed. “Thanks. I do. I just – it’s a lot to process.”

“It is. But you’ll get there. Talk more at our dinner prep.”

With that he pulled back, and a low buzz settled somewhere between Claire’s ears as the people around her chimed in to the conversation.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #little bit better than i used to be

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dc41896 · 3 years

Text

Still

Pairing: EZ ReyesxBlack Reader

⚠️: None, just fluffy fluffness☺️!

Sat on the edge of his full sized bed, your knee bounces unconsciously as you toy with the hem of your boyfriend’s white tee at your thighs, trying to let the sound of the running water from his shower calm your nerves. It was the first time you’d be sleeping over at EZ’s place, and you were a bit nervous.

Not because of the cramped camper, or that he stayed a mere feet from the clubhouse and its multiple adjoining engines that rumbled and revved all day and night as they came and went. For personal reasons, you just hoped you didn’t do anything to mess up the relationship before it even had the chance to really start.

“Y/N?” You slightly jump hearing his smooth yet deep voice making his golden brown eyes turn concerned. With your mind worrying about tonight, you hadn’t even realized EZ had finished his shower and was standing in front of you passing the towel through his dark hair.

“Hm? I’m sorry what did you say?”

“I was asking if you needed anything,” he answers squatting down to place a hand on your knee and stop its bouncing. “Hey if you’re not comfortable I can always drive you home, it’s no problem.”

“No, I’m fine. Really. I-I guess I’m just nervous about messing up something.” Lips curling into that soft, wide smile that always made your heart skip a beat, his free hand takes yours as his thumb gently rubs back and forth against your skin.

“You’ll be fine dulce.” Standing up, he leans in brushing his soft lips against yours before letting them passionately connect while the hand that once held yours moved to caress your cheek.

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” you nod crawling up from your spot at the foot of the bed as he turns out the lamp at his bedside. His tattooed arm securely wrapped around your waist pulls you closer until your head finds his bare chest and leg naturally crosses over his.

“Goodnight,” he lowly whispers kissing the top of your head.

“Goodnight.”

His fingers dragging up and down your back along with the drum of his heartbeat are a soothing enough pair to have your eyelids already drooping feeling relaxed. “Maybe this time will be different,” you thought soon feeling your eyes shut completely and his movements gradually slow.

Your hope would soon be crushed though, as your body seemingly jolted awake and head suddenly rose leaving you out of breath. Luckily, your actions didn’t wake EZ, who was still softly snoring under you. You tried to will yourself back to sleep, but like clockwork every time you felt yourself really begin to drift, your body would display the same reaction leaving you frustrated and on the edge of tears.

This last one being strong enough for EZ to notice making him stir and shift in the squeaky bed.

“Bad dream?,” EZ groggily asks with eyes barely open. “I could feel you jump a couple times.”

“N-No, I’m fine. Just um trying to get comfy.”

“Oh, you need me to move? Switch sides?”

“No, it’s okay.”

From your shaky voice and watching you wipe your eyes in the beam of light breaking through the window landing perfectly across the both of you, he sits up holding your face in his large hands to thumb away the remaining drops of salty water from your skin.

“What’s wrong? Dime.”

“I can’t sleep,” you whisper.

“Don’t cry, that’s okay. Tell me what I can do to help.” It wasn’t the desired result, but his caring nature only makes more tears fall as you become more upset with yourself and why your mind, body, or whatever inside you had to be like this.

“It’s not that simple. Ever since I was young, whenever I’m in a new place it’s like my body or brain won’t let me sleep and I just keep waking up.”

“Oh..like, a comfort thing?,” he asks. You could see the bit of hurt in his eyes that he felt this was all his fault. After your date, he was the one to suggest you stay with him for the night, not quite ready to see you go.

And although you excitedly agreed, now he felt that he might’ve rushed you.

“No, it’s even happened while I was with my parents, so please don’t think it’s anything you’ve done. I’m just the weirdo that can’t sleep.”

“Don’t say that,” he states kissing your temple before sitting up to rest his back against the chipped wall. Patting his chest, you move to situate yourself between his legs pressing your back to his muscular chest while his arms cross in front of yours, holding you close, and cheek rests on the side of your head.

“What’s your funniest memory?”

“EZ you don’t-,”

“Funniest memory dulce,” he repeats kissing your temple once more. A small smile forms on your lips as you think, your hands gently grasping his forearm.

“Me and my friends almost got attacked by a flock of seagulls at the beach once. Pretty sure they had some type of vendetta,” you explain making him chuckle.

“They are a bit aggressive.”

“Your turn Reyes.”

“Alright...when we were kids, Angel and I tried hopping this fence. I got over fine, but he got caught at the top and ended up flashing his underwear to everyone who walked by.”

“What did you do?,” you laugh, leaning back more so on his shoulder to look up at his face.

“There was nothing I could do really but laugh. This guy was nice enough to get him down though. He tried not to laugh but he couldn’t hold it in.”

You two stayed that way the remainder of the night, telling stories that had you both laughing until your cheeks hurt and talking about anything that either of you could think of. At those moments of comfortable silence, your eyes would sometimes shut and you’d begin falling asleep again only to awaken with a jump, making your heart race.

This time though, EZ would hold you a bit tighter as he gently rocked you back and forth whispering in your ear, “Relax, you’re okay. I got you.”

You’re not quite sure how much time had passed, but soon loud knocking and the bright, golden sun shining in your eyes become an unwanted alarm causing both you and your boyfriend to groan as you stretch the best you could in your positions.

“Oye! Wake up sleeping beauty we got places to be!,” Angel shouts banging his fist against the camper door.

“Give me a minute!,” he yells. “Sorry about that, I know you just got to sleep.”

“I did?,” you yawn rubbing your eye.

“For about an hour or so.” Sitting up, a small smile spreads across your lips, proud of yourself that you’d finally been able to sleep and feeling like you were falling even more for the softer Mayan who chose to forfeit sleep to make sure you were okay.

“You want me to drop you off now or when I get back?,” he asks fastening his belt buckle before going to brush his teeth.

“Um actually, if it’s okay, I was thinking I could stay here. Maybe get some more rest,” you shyly smile setting off EZ’s signature one as he finishes at the sink.

If only you knew how you wanting to stay and now being able to sleep comfortably at his place made his heart nearly burst.

“That’s alright with me,” he answers bending down to sweetly capture your lips with his. Calloused, yet soft, hand on the side of your neck and thumb grazing along your jawline.

“Aye you turn deaf overnight or- ohhh now I see what the hold up is,” the older Reyes smirks peeking through the small window to see the both of you shyly pull apart. “Heyyy dulce.”

“Hi Angel,” you laugh waving with one hand while the other shields your eyes from the light outside. Grabbing the nearest item he could find, EZ throws a balled up towel towards his window making Angel flip him off before disappearing to get on his bike.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours. Then we can go eat at that diner you like,” he smiles, thumb tracing just under your bottom lip.

“I’d like that. Now go before you get in trouble, and be careful.”

With a chuckle, he leans in for one last kiss. First on your forehead then your waiting lips he could never seem to get enough of. “Si mi dulce.”

Taglist: @crushed-pink-petals-writes @fumbling-fanfics @honeydulcewrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#ez x woc #ez x blackreader #ez x reader #ez reyes #mayans mc

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corinnesamuels · 3 years

Text

I Drove All Night

A little one-shot to switch up all the angst i’ve been writing, and a sequel to The One About the Cupholder, though you don’t technically need to read that one first. I do love that one though =)

Read on ao3

I drove all night to get to you. Is that alright?

I drove all night, crept in your room, woke you from your sleep

To make love to you

She’s almost embarrassed about how desperately she wants him to pick up the phone.

Her heart races as the mobile rings once, twice, and a third time. Lily find herself sighing in relief when she hears a voice on the line.

“Hello?” The voice is garbled with sleep. She’d clearly woken him up.

“I need the address to the house in Exeter.” Lily says as she flips her indicator to change lanes. She can hear bed sheets rustling in the background of the call as he moves around, probably to better see the clock on his bedside table.

“The house in…why do you need that at this hour?”

“Because I’m driving to Exeter.”

Sirius sighs in exasperation and grumbles before responding. “You realize it’ll be nearly 4 in the morning before you get there? James will have my head if I let you get on the road this late.”

“I’m already pulling onto the M4 now, love.”

Sirius makes another sound of displeasure, and Lily can picture him dragging a hand roughly across his face. “You and James are the same brand of impossible. Let the record show that I didn’t sign off on this.”

It’s only been a few days since James left to watch his parents’ house while they’re away on holiday, and she thought she’d been prepared for the time away, but God, does she miss him. And after the week from hell, she more than misses him.

She needs him.

James had tried very hard to get her to come with him. He’d been particularly convincing in the wee hours of several different mornings, so much so that Sirius had scowled at them when they appeared at breakfast. Remus had given her that smirk of his—the one he gives when he knows something you think is a secret—and she could barely look him in the eyes as she slurped down the coffee James had poured her. To be fair, she had been quite loud. They would have been too if they’d been in her shoes…in James’ bed…

Anyways.

As much as she had wanted to say yes, part of the visit fell on her monthly dinner with her parents and Petunia—the one she hated going to but promised her parents she would attend in order to make an effort in mending her relationship with Petunia.

When she stormed out of the restaurant at the end of the evening, however, she felt it would have been better if she had just gone with James in the first place. Petunia had been insufferable, making snide comments toward Lily and fawning over Vernon all night. Vernon had been the terror he always was—openly hateful and chauvinistic, rude to the wait staff, and made condescending comments about James, whom he had never met. It had been a fiasco. When she got back to her flat that night, she screamed into her pillow to relieve some of the tension in her body, but it was no use. A tough week had ended with a horrendous evening, and Lily felt like she couldn’t breathe. It was as if the world were closing in around her.

But the farther away she drove from London, the more that pressure began to feel like anticipation coursing through her veins. Sirius had been right. James will be furious to discover that she decided to drive so far this late, but she’ll cross that bridge when she gets there. Right now, all she can think of falling into his bed and drowning in him.

Ever since she’d fallen, quite literally, into his lap at Remus’ post-dissertation party, he’d managed to brighten up her world in ways she hadn’t imagined possible. He was caring and attentive, clever and daring. She’s laughed more with James than she thinks she ever has with anyone else. The hearty kind that builds from deep within the stomach and brings tears to her eyes. The kind that’s sometimes too loud and causes people to give them strange looks when they’re in public. But James never cares, and more and more, Lily finds that neither does she. She’s always felt safe around him. Not just physically but emotionally. She’s able to share her secrets, her insecurities, and her worries. He never judges her or makes her feel small for them, as other men had. He doesn’t try to stifle her dreams or put her into a box or push her to be someone she isn’t, like Petunia had.

Before she knew it, Lily had fallen for him hard and fast and had been so nervous to admit it, to him or to herself. Then one morning he declared it over breakfast and told her that he would show her every chance he got if she let him. He’d done just that. Every day is like a new adventure with James.

Flashbacks of memories with him push her on as she drives, pulling her closer to him as if she were an object caught in his gravitational pull.

Fitting, when she thinks about how he’s turned her world on its axis.

When Lily pulls up to the house, it’s just shy of 4 in the morning, as Sirius had predicted it would be. She wonders somewhat belatedly if he’ll wake when she gets to the door. Lily kicks herself at the thought. He isn’t typically a heavy sleeper, but the idea of driving all this way to have to sleep in her car causes panic to build inside her. But not long after she rings the bell, she hears heavy footsteps and her shoulders relax as he opens the door.

“Lily?” Confusion is etched all over his face, and the graveled sound of heavy sleep laces his voice. His hair stands at even more angles than usual, and then more still as he runs a hand through his hair in bewilderment. He looks a bit like he can’t tell if he’s dreaming or not.

Lily can’t help it. She drops her bag and launches herself toward him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he catches her reflexively. She takes a moment to drink him in, his eyes still laden with sleep, his hair wild as ever, and his lips—soft and full and beginning to form words and phrases and questions that Lily thought could wait until another day, maybe even another lifetime.

She leans in and kisses him furiously, and after a mild moment of shock, he returns it, kicking the door shut behind them before pushing her up against one of the walls in the hallway. As she thinks about how pleased she is at the reception to her showing up in the middle of the night, somewhat unannounced, he pulls back. Lily lets out a disappointed groan. She rather likes the way this was going and doesn’t want to stop.

“Wait.” James says as he shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. “What are you doing here? It’s…what time is it?” He rambles as his sleep-addled brain attempts to make sense of things.

“I needed you.” She whispers it, but it’s as if every fiber of her being—every cell and atom—came together to make this one point. The tone of it stops him in his tracks.

“Everything about this week has been shit. Work, Petunia, I just—I needed you. The only thing that would make any of this better is you. And if that means that I had to drive all night to get to you, then so be it.” They lock eyes as she runs her thumbs along his cheekbones absently. “I hope that’s alright?”

James’ pupils dilate, and he kisses her again, picking up the same energy as before as he presses her further into the wall with his hips, his hands steadying her from underneath her thighs. “Evans, the only thing better than seeing you right now is hearing that I’m the only person who can make things better for you.” He smirks as he leans his forehead against hers to catch his breath. “I do enjoy it when you stroke my ego, you know.”

Lily laughs, tilting her head back slightly. “I’ll be sure to bring you back down to earth tomorrow, but I’d rather stroke something else at the moment.” She says, nipping at his lips lightly.

James lets out a soft laugh before smiling at her tenderly. “Being with you feels like flying, Lily.” He said. “I haven’t felt like I’ve been down to earth in months.”

If he hadn’t been holding her, she might have melted right there in the hallway. Her heartbeat pounds away in her chest, and Lily wonders if he can hear it. But when she drops a hand to his chest, she notices that their hearts seem to be beating at the same rapid pace. The symmetry of the moment makes her smile as relief floods through her body, and she thinks—not for the first time—that there must be some kind of feeling beyond love. Because whatever this is makes the word seem inadequate. Whatever this is between them is beyond love or lust. It’s euphoria and catharsis, passion and stillness and all the feelings in between. Whatever this is could light up the darkest skies. God, whatever this is? This seems like it could save the world. Love couldn’t possibly be enough to convey these things she feels for and in him.

This must be what sanctuary feels like.

#jily fanfic #jily au #oneshot #Lily misses James #minor BlackEvans BroTP #fluff #I don't know a damn thing about British highways or cell reception #I put my tidal library on shuffle and fics come out

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sorry-apsalar · 3 years

Text

Everything's Going to be Okay

First off, this fic contains temporary character death. Everything's going to be okay though, don't worry.

Second, I've been sitting on this fic for months, like half a year maybe. I wanted to write more but this was the only part I was actually interested in writing. I've tried several times to continue and do a more complete thing but it wasn't happening so I've decided to just post this because it's complete enough even if it's not the full story of events following this.

Fry really didn’t want to wake up but the cold metal hand patting his cheek was insistent in drawing him back towards consciousness. “Come on Fry, I know you ain’t dead yet so hurry up and open your eyes already. It can’t be that bad, can it?” There was an odd note to his voice, an emotion Fry couldn’t quite place, especially since he was fairly sure he’d never heard it in Bender’s voice before. Meaning it was probably a good idea to wake up and see what he was upset about.

With a groan, Fry forced himself to open his eyes. He was leaning back against an uneven wall. Bender hovered over him, one hand out stretched to tap Fry’s check, the other held a lantern, its light dim and lens cracked, it was seemingly the only source of light in whatever space they were currently in. A large splotch of something wet and red was smeared across Bender’s front, it looked an awful lot like blood but that didn’t make sense because robots didn’t bleed.

“You’re awake,” Bender said as he withdrew his hand from Fry’s face. He sounded… relieved? “That means you’ll be fine, right?”

Fry wanted to push himself up a bit further but… the fact that everything seemed to hurt told him not to. “What happened?” They’d been going into a scary looking cave to deliver a package to the client who’d ordered it who was supposedly inside. Presumably they were still in that cave since they certainly weren’t outside. So… what had happened? A cave-in perhaps? That would explain why it was so dark and perhaps why Fry had been unconscious.

“It was a trap. Those bastards tried to kill us. They failed though, look see, even the lantern survived.” Bender gestured with it, making it sway back and forth a bit harder than Fry was comfortable with given how it was their only source of light.

“Why’d they try to kill us?”

“How should I know? It doesn’t matter though because they blew the fucking cave up on top of us and now we’re trapped behind a damn wall of rocks and dirt. I’d tell you to dig us but uh…” he looked Fry up and down a grimace, “yeah. That means I have to though. Ugh, I hate manual labor.”

“What?” Fry’s brain seemed to be running slow and the pain made it rather hard to think. Why had Bender been looking at him like that? And why did everything hurt so much?

Bender said something in response but Fry missed it as he looked down at himself at last. He clothing was soaked in something warm and red… blood, he was covered in blood. It was impossible to tell where it was all coming from in the in low light of the damaged lantern but surely it couldn’t all be his, could it? But then where else would it have come from? And further down, his leg lay twisted an odd angle that no human leg was supposed to bend and it might’ve just been his imagination playing cruel tricks on him but it looked like part of his bone was sticking out as well, covered in more blood.

“Fry!” Bender snapped in a tone that suggested he’d been trying to get Fry’s attention for a little bit now. The ‘wet red stuff’ on his front made more sense now; he’d moved Fry to lean him up against the wall. “You hit your hit too or something?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” He honestly had no way of knowing anymore. “But what… how’d this… happen?” He gestured vaguely at himself.

“The explosion and shrapnel and stuff turned your soft meaty body into swiss cheese. It didn’t do much to me for obvious reasons.” He hit a fist against his chest, making a hollow clang. “And a big boulder landing on you fucked up your leg. You were lucky though because it probably would’ve killed you if it had hit you somewhere else. But you’ve survived some pretty bad stuff in the past. Even if that was with immediate medical assistance, which we don’t have down here, you’ll still survive this, right?” That odd note was back in Bender’s voice as he finished speaking

“Uh… I don’t know.” He certainly didn’t feel like he was going to be all right after this. Though he hadn’t felt that way during all the other times he’d taken serious bodily harm either. But unlike those times there weren’t any doctors nearby with their nigh-on magical healing technologies. They were trapped in a cave on a planet in the middle of nowhere without even basic medical supplies which didn’t bode well for him. But… “I hope so.” Hoping was all he could really do.

A few seconds of heavy silence went by in which Bender was still as a statue before he jerked out of it. “Well, I’m going to get to moving boulders and stuff. Those punks are so going to pay for this as soon as I’m out and uh… I guess after I take you to a doctor too. Call me if you need anything, okay?” He placed the lantern down on the ground next to Fry before turning to leave, presumably heading in the direction of the cave in.

Fry watched him disappear into the darkness, wanting to call him back but… as much as he didn’t want to be alone, his only chance of surviving this was Bender getting him out and to a doctor. So… “I love you,” he called after him instead just in case this was his last chance to say that.

Bender’s footsteps paused. “Is now really the time for being all sappy and stuff?”

“I don’t see why it’s a bad time for it.”

“Fine, I love you too so don’t you dare fucking die or I’ll never forgive you.”

Fry’s small laugh quickly petered out because it hurt too much. “I’ll try my best,” he forced out in a weak voice.

Without Bender there to keep him focused, Fry quickly started having trouble staying awake. Even with the pain every tiny movement and even breathing brought, sleep seemed to beckon him. If he fell asleep now though would he ever wake up? So he fought it. … It was a losing battle though.

It was awfully cold too. So much so, his hands and feet soon began to grow numb from it. Which was odd because hadn’t the planet been rather warm, even inside the cave? He’d complained about it to Leela before heading off with Bender while she stayed back to refuel the ship, using the ship’s backup fuel canisters; she’d told him to suck it up and deal with it. So why did it feel so cold now?

He didn’t want to die in the cold, especially alone. … More like he didn’t want to die at all, there was still so much to see and do. He still hadn’t mastered the holophonor. And there were still so many TV shows left to watch with Bender and video games to play on his phone while avoiding work. And so many other things too. He couldn’t die yet, not like this, he wasn’t ready. … But he’d never would be ready, huh? And he didn’t really have a choice in the matter; he was dying whether he liked it or not and… he didn’t want to do it alone.

“Bender,” he tried to call out but his voice failed him and it came out rather weak instead.

Despite that, the sound of Bender shifting rocks stopped. A few seconds later, he emerged back into the weak lamplight. “What?” The annoyance in his voice and stance were forced. “I’m trying to get us out of here which you should be grateful for since I don’t normally do that type of thing.”

“I… I’m dying,” Fry choked out. “I’m… not going to make it.”

“Nonsense, you’re still breathing so it’s fine. You said so yourself… sort of.”

Fry whimpered as he shook his head. “I’m cold and numb and… it hurts so much. But… I just want to sleep.” He didn’t even have enough energy to be as panicked as he should be. “I don’t got much time left.”

“Well… I’m trying to get us out as fast as I can, what more do you want from me?” Lacking any real energy, Bender’s attempt at callousness failed. He had to know that even if the way to the ship was clear, getting to anywhere with proper medical facilities would take a couple hours at least. Fry was growing increasingly certain he didn’t have that long, let alone however long it would take to dig out of the cave too so…

“I don’t want to die alone.” That had always been one of his biggest fears, that he’d die alone and no one would care. He didn’t have to worry about the latter at least but the former was still scary. “Please Bender I… I… just please… I don’t want to die alone.” That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

Still as a statue, Bender stared at him, his expression unreadable, for several seconds before he jerked back into motion. “If that’s the case then I guess I just got to use this sooner than I thought I would.” As he spoke, he opened his chest compartment and reached seemingly all the way to the back to pull something out. A small black metal box. He flipped that open to pull out a rectangular object with a switch on it and wires coming out either end of it. One of which ended in what looked an awful lot like the brain scan caps in science fiction movies.

“What’s that?” Fry asked as Bender leaned over to put it on him.

“Don’t worry about it. Just… trust me when I say everything’s going to be okay, all right?” Bender secured it in place under Fry’s chin, tight enough to be uncomfortable. Fry didn’t trust himself to be able to loosen it though so he let it be as Bender sat down to lean back against the wall next to him.

“I love you. You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had or could’ve ever asked for and the best…”

“What did I just say?” Bender’s annoyance was real this time. “As much as I like it when you acknowledge how great am I, you’re talking like you think this is the end.”

“But… it is.” And Fry was struggling to even stay focused enough to say the things he wanted to say, how much longer before even that was too much for him?

“I told you, everything’s going to be okay so just trust me and shut up already, talking’s a waste of energy.”

Fry did trust him but… he didn’t seem to know what was going on. Was it denial or him not understanding how death worked? Couldn’t be the latter, not solely anyway. Maybe a little bit of both then? Fry didn’t have the energy to explain though.

Bender was fiddling with the wire coming out of the other side of the rectangle thing. It split off into two plugs. One of which Bender opened his chest compartment to plug it into himself or into something else inside him. The other he stared at for several seconds, seemingly unsure what to do with it before shrugging and pulling it into his chest compartment too. He went much deeper with that one, his arm stretching up inside himself.

“What is it?” Fry tried again, having to force the words out. Perhaps if his mind didn’t feel so cloudy he’d be able to come up with even guess but… he had nothing.

Bender didn’t even glance his way as he instead pressed the switch on the box connecting them. A strange hum filled Fry’s head, loud but not unpleasant, especially since it seemed to lessen the pain a little, making it even harder to focus and think.

Bender said something that Fry couldn’t quite understand for some reason as he leaned back against the wall and took Fry’s hand into his own, intertwining their fingers. His tone was reassuring though, which was rather unlike him but… it was nice.

Fry squeezed his hand as hard as his failing strength would let him. He wasn’t dying alone or unloved and… that was enough right now.

~~~

Fry came to slowly. Something was off though. He opened his eyes to the sight of a cave wall several feet away. It didn’t look normal though, it was like he was looking at it through a night vision camera. Why was he even in a cave? … Right yeah, the delivery mission and then waking up in pain… he’d been dying and now wasn’t? He certainly didn’t hurt anymore which was a huge plus all on it own.

“See? I told you everything would be okay,” Bender said, sounding rather pleased with himself. But when Fry turned his head to the left to look at him to ask what exactly had happened, he wasn’t there. Hmmm… weird.

Fry turned his head to look to the right next and was met with the rather peculiar sight of himself. But everything about that sight was wrong. He was unnaturally stiff and covered in blood, the latter of which made sense based off his recollection prior to waking except for the fact that it looked mostly congealed now. … Dead was the only word that could describe it, he was looking at his own corpse.

He yelped as he pulled away because what the actual fuck? But the corpse – hiscorpse – was holding his hand and wouldn’t let go and… Suddenly he was holding still and looking away, though not by his own volition.

“This is going to be a lot more troublesome than I initially thought,” Bender said, the location of his voice indiscernible

“Bender? What’s going on?” Fry didn’t like whatever it was. But then again he was still here while his body was very dead. Was he a ghost?

“I guess I didn’t exactly tell you what I was doing. But I’m sure even you can figure it out fairly quickly.” Bender’s hand, that was also his own somehow, rose in front of his face to give a small finger wave. Things just kept getting stranger but one thing was pretty clear, he seemed to be in Bender’s body somehow, looking down at himself and seeing Bender’s open chest compartment with the two wires coming out confirmed it.

“I’m a ghost possessing you?”

“Close but not exactly. I downloaded your mind onto my hard drive” As he spoke, Bender carefully pried his hand out of corpse Fry’s stiff grip. It was coated in a thick layer of congealed blood.

Fry shuddered in disgust, looking away again as he tried to shake it off. It didn’t work though; despite being made of metal he could still feel it clinging to him or… more like to Bender.

“Stop that!” Bender reinserted control and tried to wipe it on Fry’s jacket before Fry pulled it back.

“Can we please not touch my corpse? It’s weird and… I don’t like it.” Touching one’s own corpse was not a thing anyone should ever even be able to do, let alone actually do if given the chance.

“It’s not really you anymore so why does it matter? But fine, whatever, if you insist. Let me take this off though.” Bender at least had the kindness to let Fry continue to look away as he reached over to take off the wired cap off Fry’s corpse. He then unplugged himself from the device, a rather odd feeling sensation, before putting the whole thing back in its box and then that back in his chest compartment.

“Why didn’t you tell me that that thing was going to download my mind or whatever?” Fry asked as he wiped off what could of the blood on Bender’s hand onto the rocks making up the floor – which wasn’t as effective as he would’ve liked but what else could he do? “That would’ve been a huge comfort, you know.” Knowing he wasn’t going into oblivion would’ve made the whole dying thing a lot less scary and upsetting. And it’s not like Bender didn’t have enough time to explain, he’d had plenty.

“In case you refused.”

“Why would I ever refuse?”

Bender shrugged as he stood up. “Humans and other living things are peculiar about their bodies for some reason. I’ve heard of instances where your kind have refused stuff like that in the past so I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Well, those people were dumb.” Fry would’ve never even considered refusing such a thing even if sharing a body with his boyfriend was really weird and seeing his own corpse was all kinds of horrible that he’d probably have nightmares about later. “Is this like a permanent situation though? Are we going to be in the same body forever?”

“Fuck no. As much as I love you, I need me time sometimes too so I’m transferring you to your own body as soon as possible when we get home.”

Good, Fry wasn’t a huge fan of sharing a body either. He wanted his own body, preferably the one he’d had before. That wasn’t an option though so he’d take what he could get. … But then again, he’d presumably be uploaded into a robot, basically making him a robot, right? That would be pretty awesome. Heck actually, he was technically a robot now, wasn’t he?

“Can I bend something? … If that’s all right with you?” It was Bender’s body and he really didn’t want to impose, especially since taking on Fry like this was probably not his idea of a good time but he’d always admired Bender’s strength and now that was kinda his so… he really badly wanted to bend something just because he could now.

Bender sighed and fondly shook his head – conversing with him when they were in the same body was really weird. “Sure, if there’s something around here to bend, you can bend it.”

Fry looked around, carefully avoiding glancing at his corpse. Unfortunately, they were in a natural cave and thus the only thing around was rock wall and the boulders and stuff, making up the cave-in, nothing all that bendable. Well, there was the lamp, its battery had run out while they’d been ‘sleeping’. Still careful not to look directly at his corpse, Fry located it and snatched it up off the ground.

Its already cracked lens shattered as he bent it with ease. It was only a small lantern but it was still made of pretty sturdy metal and he could bend it all out of shape in any and every way he pleased. It might as well have been putty in his hands.

Bender kindly let him play with it for a while before interjecting. “As much fun as this is, we really need to get out of here.”

“Right uh… yeah.” Fry opened Bender’s chest compartment and quickly placed the mangled, unrecognizable remains of the lantern inside. That was another something he’d always wished he could do. It was like having a giant pocket, one he didn’t have to worry about stuff falling out of or being pick-pocketed. “How do we get out?”

“I don’t know, maybe the same way we came in.” Bender turned to face the rockslide. In hindsight, that had been a rather stupid question. “So get to digging meatbag. … I guess I can’t really call you ‘meatbag’ anymore, huh?”

“Nah, you can still call me that if you want to.” It would be weird if Bender didn’t occasionally call him that after all the years he’d been doing it.

“All right then meatbag, get to work.” Bender pointed to the cave in but made no move to start digging them out himself. “But then again, you doing it would technically be the same as me doing it and you’re already dead so there’s no need to rush anymore. So, actually let’s just wait for Leela to come save us instead.”

Under normal circumstances, Fry would’ve been more than willing to go with that plan. Even now it was tempting but his corpse was only a few feet away and he’d rather not think about that or the fact that it would probably start rotting soon and that was not something he wanted to see any part of. With all that hovering over him like an oppressive cloud, he wanted out of here as soon as physically possible. So, he stepped forward to start of the rock pile. “I think I’d prefer to dig out.”

“Really?” Bender groaned. “Fine, whatever, I’m not helping though.”

Bender’s initial attempt at digging out had cleared only about enough to be noticeable. Despite how long it had felt to Fry at the time, he clearly hadn’t been long at it before Fry had called him back. But Fry was making good progress. Up until he started to feel dizzy anyway, messing with his coordination and balance. It was almost like he was starting to get tipsy or something.

“That’s enough,” Bender said, breaking his silence as he took back control of his body. Fry’s instinct was to fight that because he wanted out of here but it was Bender’s body, he was just a temporary passenger.

Bender stepped back from the cave in but thankfully didn’t turn around. He opened his chest compartment and somehow knew just where to reach to pull out a beer. He downed the whole thing in one go and instantly Fry felt better. Right yeah, because robots ran on alcohol. After tossing the empty bottle aside, he pulled out another and down that one too, finishing with a flame belch.

“And that’s the last one,” he said as he tossed the bottle off somewhere too. “So no more digging or we’re going to run out of fuel faster.”

“I thought you always carried a lot of extra bottles though, especially when we go out on missions.” They’d all been in enough crazy situations by now to bring extra everything they needed when going out. Especially when it was to a particularly distant planet as this one had been.

“Yeah, I do, but do you have any idea how much power it takes to upload a human mind into anything, especially when it needs to be done quickly? And it’s not like there’s an outlet anywhere nearby so all that power had to come straight from me. So you better be grateful, especially since I have to put up with you in my body for who even knows how long.”

“Oh uh… I guess that would probably take a lot of power, huh? Thanks, I… really appreciate this, like a lot.” More than he knew how to put into words; if Bender hadn’t done this, he’d be… who even knows what or where, probably oblivion would be his guess. But instead he got to continue to exist after death. This didn’t count as being alive anymore though, did it? He was still dead, his corpse was mere feet away, just not gone. That was… creepy to think about so he wasn’t going to anymore. “You’re really awesome for doing this for me.”

Bender chuckled smugly. “Yep, I’m great and awesome.”

Fry wanted to hug him but… well actually he could sort of. So, he did, he was hugging himself too but it still counted, right? Especially since it was Bender’s body.

“This is really weird,” Bender said but didn’t put a stop to it. When Fry got his own body, he’d be sure one of the first things he did with it was give Bender a proper hug, for now though, this would have to do.

“What if Leela assumes we’re both dead and thus doesn’t even try to dig us out?” And thus they would be trapped in here until Bender ran out of fuel and then what would happen next? … They’d die, right? Meaning Fry would die again. He wasn’t ready to face death again, not so soon after the first time.

“Yeah, no, that’s not going to happen. She’ll know I survived so she’ll at least want to dig me out.”

That was a fair point actually but it only calmed Fry’s nerves for a short time because… “What if the assholes who attacked us went after her too and now she’s also dead or dying and…”

“This is Leela we’re talking about here. You really think she’d let those chumps get the best of her?” Another good point.

“But… but…” On top of not wanting to potentially die again Fry also really wanted out of here. He wasn’t normally plagued by claustrophobia or anything like it but the longer he spent in the presence of his slowly rotting corpse, the more he wanted away from it. Refusing to look in its general direction didn’t make him any less aware that it was there. “Look at how much progress we made? Surely we’re almost out. I bet if we cleared just a few more rocks we’d begin to see…”

The ground shook beneath them accompanied by a loud but muffled boom. Whatever it was also raised a cloud of dust from the cave-in as it shifted, most of it collapsing outward away from them. It didn’t clear it, not even close, but it did make as sizeable hole in it through which light could be seen. Not sunlight but a lantern, its light growing stronger as the person holding it stepped into the breach. It was Leela of course.

“See I told you,” Bender said smugly before starting for her. “It’s about damn time you showed up. We’ve been trapped for ages.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I kind of had to deal with an army of aliens trying to kill me and steal the ship. And then I had to steal some explosives because the ones we have the ship were too powerful and probably would’ve made the cave in worse and possibly crushed you guys. All that kind of took a…” Leela paused as Bender pulled them up onto the rock next to her. “Is that blood on your chest?”

“Yep, and hand.” Bender lifted the hand still coated in Fry’s dried blood. “I need a shower.”

“Where’s Fry? Is he okay?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘okay’.”

Leela stepped past them to jump off the rock. Which unfortunately was far enough into the cave to allow the circle of her lantern light to reach Fry’s corpse. She gasped and presumably ran over based off the sound of her footsteps but Fry didn’t see because no way was he looking in that direction anymore. Instead he focused on the cave wall on the other side.

“He’s dead.” Leela’s voice was full of grief and shock. Fry truly hadn’t died unloved, he had friends who cared about him too.

“Yep,” Bender said, “but don’t worry, he’s…”

“How can you be so indifferent to this?” Leela was almost yelling. “I thought you loved him. How can even you be so…”

It was Fry’s turn to interrupt now because the last thing Bender deserved was Leela’s ire. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Well… I guess that does depend what your definition of ‘fine’ is because I am still dead which is… pretty awful and disturbing and scary. But… other than that I’m fine.”

There was a heavy beat or two of silence before Leela found her voice again. “W-what?”

“This is what you get for not letting me finish Leela.” Bender crossed his arms and tapped his foot in annoyance but thankfully respected Fry’s desire to continue to stare the wall and not look in that direction. “Before he died, I uploaded his mind onto my hard drive. So he’s basically sharing a body with me now.”

“Oh uh… but how? I thought the technology to do that kind of thing was super expensive and not portable.”

“Well, I stole a prototype portable version.”

“Wait, that thing was only a prototype?” Fry had assumed it was tested and safe. “What if it hadn’t worked?”

“You wouldn’t be here right now, duh.”

“Well uh… I guess that’s good,” Leela said. “Why’d you put him into your body though? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to carry something else around for that purpose?”

“I did but I didn’t think I’d have to use it any time soon and filled that flash drive up with porn. So when he was dying I had to decide if I wanted to delete all that porn or delete a few extraneous things from my hard drive and deal with sharing a body for a little while. It’s a lot of porn, most of it good too, so it wasn’t really a hard decision.”

“What’d you delete to make room for me?”

“The last traces of the code meant to make me follow the Laws of Robotics and a few other things so unimportant I don’t even remember what they were.”

“What’s the Laws of Robotics?” Fry was pretty sure he’d never heard of such a thing before.

Bender shrugged. “How should I know? I just deleted everything having to do with them other than the name. There’s no way I ever followed them though so it doesn’t matter. Now let’s get out of here, I’m so done with this cave.” He turned and started for the exit.

“What are we going to do about Fry’s body though?” Leela called after them. “Is okay to just leave it?”

Fry halted, earning a small annoyed sound from Bender but this was important. He still didn’t look over his shoulder at Leela as he answered her though. “Burn it and spread my ashes on the moon.”

“Why?” Unsurprisingly Bender didn’t understand. That was fine though, he didn’t need to, to follow Fry’s wishes.

“Because the very few times I thought about what I wanted to have happen to my body after I died, that was what I decided I wanted. It’s in my will.”

“All right Fry. We’ll burn your body. Bender and uh… Fry let’s go get some stuff for burning from the ship.” As she spoke, Leela climbed back up onto the rock next to them and led the way out.

“What else is in your will?” Bender asked as he followed.

“All my stuff is supposed go to you, except my space heater and all my food, that goes to Leela.”

Bender chuckled. “Sounds good to me, we don’t need the heater anymore anyway, especially since I still have the one installed in me. I don’t know what I’ll do with any of your junk but it doesn’t matter.”

“Wait what? No! I’m still here so my stuff going to you doesn’t really count.”

“Nope, too late, you died and already brought your will up for this weird moon thing of yours so all your stuff’s mine now.”

In hindsight Fry probably shouldn’t have even said anything about that part of his will but it was too late now. Though, it didn’t really matter much anyway, Bender had always had a ‘your stuff is my stuff’ attitude that had only grown stronger since they’d started dating. So really, Bender being the legal owner of all his stuff probably wouldn’t change much. … Sharing a body for however long they would have to probably would though. Being transferred to his own robot body would certainly change stuff too. In how many different ways though? … That wasn’t something he needed worry about yet. For now he was just glad to still exist.

#my writing #futurama #frender #philip j fry #bender bending rodriguez #temporary character death

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theboredwritertm · 4 years

Note

hi if you write smut.... maybe mando being the reader’s first time?? if not, ignore this :))

Innuendo

A/N: I’m going to admit this was the first request I received (ever) for The Mandalorian and it’s been gathering dust for the past couple of weeks (because I’m a simp for Cobb Vanth apparently??) Anyway, so sorry it’s taken this long, anon. I haven’t written this kind of thing before, but always love the chance to try new subject matter. Thanks for sending it through! I’ll admit this piece felt kind of clunky as I was writing it, but since I’m (sorta) sticking to a posting schedule now, I just wanted to get it done. And apparently, I can’t write something without backstory, so it got a little long!

Rating: 18+ for adult situations

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: Awful jokes and innuendos, awkwardness, a clueless Din, probably swearing, consensual sex, loss of virginity

Word Count: 5930 (Once again, consider the first 3000 words terrible foreplay)

Summary: After putting up with months of your supposedly-unintentional innuendos, Din finally takes charge…only to find out things aren’t quite what he expected.

He’d picked you up like a Bantha tick and hadn’t been able to shake you since.

You’d managed to argue your way into a semi-permanent position onboard the Crest after what he would call a rescue, but what you still stubbornly referred to as an ‘assisted retreat’, and it didn’t look like you planned on leaving any time soon.

So, he was stuck with you. At least that’s how he liked to think of the situation.

Never mind that it was nice to have someone to come back to after a long mission that could actually talk back to him. Or that you kept the ship neat and tidy. Or that you were practically a live-in babysitter for the little one at this point. Not to mention the way you always managed to throw together decent meals for the three of you that didn’t always come out of a pack – and that you seemed to enjoy doing so.

And never mind that he liked listening to your soft, happy hums as you stirred together whatever ingredients you had managed to pull together, and that he’d stand in the doorway, silent as a shadow as he took this in, thinking to himself that if a Bantha was half as lucky to pick up a tick like you, it could do much worse for itself.

But what really got to him were the jokes.

You weren’t what he would consider shy, not since you seemed to have no problem at all talking back to him when he had grown so used to others shrinking back at the mere sight of him – still, he hadn’t been expecting the first comment that had just sort of slipped out of you after a few weeks of being in each other’s company. By that point you were comfortable enough to throw the odd sarcastic quip around at each other without having to worry about someone getting offended, so that’s what he had decided to take it as: a joke. At least, the first time.

Since the Crest was prone to the odd malfunction, given its age and what he guessed to be a few too many battles before it was decommissioned, it hadn’t surprised him to walk into a cockpit full of smoke one day. What had surprised him was the way you had stepped into the room, taken one look around as you waved the smoke from your face, and said, “Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

He’d taken it as he thought he should. A bad joke. You were prone to them as he had come to find, and there’d been plenty of times that he’d heard you use the same kind of lines on people you needed something from. In his case, he guessed that something was shelter and a place to lay low for a while. And he had obliged.

The second time wasn’t as bad. It was worse. Terrible, even. He had no idea what you’d been going for, but as he’d approached the ship after a particularly grueling job and found you standing on the ramp, one foot balanced on a crate and look of mock-seduction, you’d cocked an eyebrow and greeted him with, “Hey, handsome. Looking for a ride?”

His response? A semi-confused, completely weary, “It’s my ship,” as he’d passed you by.

The third time he thought maybe he’d just taken it the wrong way.

You’d been discussing his work, how long it had been between jobs, and how you were both getting a little light on credits. You’d shaken your head, lounging sideways in the co-pilot seat in a way that always looked uncomfortable to him, but seemed just fine to you, when you’d said, “I don’t get it. There’s got to be work out there somewhere.” Then you’d paused for a moment before adding, “If I looked hard enough, I’m sure I could find a few openings for you to fill.” He had frowned and glanced over, certain he’d caught the passing ghost of a smirk on your lips before you resumed looking completely innocent, as if you were simply pondering the tricky predicament you found yourselves in.

Then there was the touching.

At first, he’d found excuses to move out of your reach, an attempt to make his knee-jerk reaction to shrug you off look less obvious. Then one day he’d exercised some restraint as you’d popped a warm, friendly hand on his thigh before getting up from the co-pilot’s seat, announcing you were ready for bed, and he’d realized…he kind of liked it. What, to you, (he was sure) was just fleeting, friendly touches – something ordinary and human he had been deprived of growing up – started to become something he would linger on for hours, sometimes days afterwards. There was something frustrating in the way you could make something that felt so intimate to him look so casual to you.

Another time, more recently, was probably the worst of the lot – but only because of the effect it’d had on him.

During the last stop-off, you’d both been standing in the holding bay surveying the handful of acquisitions he had stored in carbonite. Work had finally picked up, and you’d proven surprisingly helpful in acquiring them, but in that particular instance, there had been a slight problem – two of them were destined for the same planet, but the cities were in complete opposite directions. The timeframes to meet the employers would never have allowed him to make both trips. So, you’d stepped up, placing a hand on his arm as you’d surveyed the captives and said, “Look, I’ve never been much of a delivery person, but I’m more than happy to handle your package for you, just this once.” He’d stared at you, glancing down briefly at the hand on his armor, then up at your smile. “What do you say?” you’d asked, eyes never leaving his visor.

It had taken a troubling amount of self-control not to close up the ramp and show you just how okay with that proposition he was. Because it had been a long time since he’d last gotten the chance. He’d blame the dry spell on the kid, on new responsibilities that hadn’t been there before, but it had been like this for well-over a year, way before the Child had even come into his life. Gone were the days of his youth where he could pick someone out of a bustling cantina crowd and lead them off silently to some grimy bathroom or backroom for a quick fuck – them, for the thrill of being with one of his kind, and him, out of sheer physical need. He’d made peace with the fact that those days were behind him (and considering the state of some of those bathrooms – and some of the partners – it was probably for the best). But that didn’t mean that the need went away. And then there was you.

You, with your perfect skin and the glow of youth still about you. Your long, shiny hair that always made his fingers twitch with need to reach out and run them through it. Your (cute) annoying laugh, and the way you would crinkle up your nose as you found something he’d said particularly funny for some reason he could never figure out (him, fumbling with switches from the pilot’s seat as he attempted to focus, ignoring the smile prickling at his own mouth as the sweet sound of your giggling flipped the doofus switch in his brain). You with the form-fitting pants you sometimes wore when a mission called for something you could move easily in, ones that made his own pants feel a little more form fitting when he stared for long enough to let his mind wander.

You and your damn jokes.

In the end, much to his surprise, it wasn’t a joke that had finally sent him over the edge. It was a simple word, and this time you actually had context to back you up, to assure him that it wasn’t you just fucking with him. Given the situation, it absolutely shouldn’t have had the effect on him that it did. But it had triggered something in him that even he didn’t know he was into.

The kid had been seated in his usual spot, in the seat behind Din’s, when you’d walked in and spotted his big eyes beginning to droop. You had developed a routine with him now – dinner, a bit of bonding time with Din in the cockpit, then bed – and so far, it had seemed to work well for the little guy. You were new to the whole childcare thing, but it made it easier for you to know where punishment and reward was warranted – especially since you were terrible at telling him off. One look at his little face and all wrongdoings were forgotten, something Din never seemed particularly impressed with (even if he was just as guilty of it as you were).

You approached the seat, reaching down to scoop up the sleepy bundle, and pulled him close.

“Come on, little one. Let’s leave daddy to his thing. Time for bed.”

As you turned and headed for the steps leading down to his cot, you failed to notice the way Din had stiffened in his seat. He turned his head to watch you go, eyes dropping down to linger on your ass as the word replayed in his mind. Then he turned back to the flight console, hand lingering over it in a split-moment of indecision, before he flicked on auto-pilot and got to his feet.

Enough was enough.

You had absolutely been fucking with him.

The first time it had just sort of slipped out, you’ll admit. After years of dealing with the Guild, which what was honestly a bit of a boys’ club, you’d developed the shitty flirting as a reflex to seem more at ease with whoever you were working with (and, okay, sometimes it got you better jobs, too. So what?) But after catching Din’s initial reaction (back when you knew him solely as the strong, silent Mando) you knew it was a thread you had to tug at. And tug at it, you had, just to see the man unravel.

You knew the risks, knew the Mandalorian’s reputation, but part of you had wondered how far you could take it…how far you wanted it to go.

You were about to find out.

As you pressed the button to close up the baby’s metal capsule, smiling as you caught one last glimpse of his sleeping form, you turned to find yourself face-to-helmet with the man himself. Even without seeing his face, there was still an intensity to the way he was looking at you, how he leaned in until you have no choice but to back yourself up against the cold steel of the wall.

“This needs to stop,” he says, tone full of warning. Though you could have sworn there was a touch of something else to his voice. You want to say it sounds like desperation, but that feels a little self-indulgent, even for you.

“I’m sorry. Did you want to put the kid to bed? I just thought—”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His hand comes up to rest beside you on the wall, as he leans in closer, effectively boxing you in.

Oh, boy.

You wonder if this is the same technique he uses on people he’s trying to get information from and if it should be having this effect on you. You’re almost certain it’s fear that you should be feeling, not, uh, this. You clear your throat and look up at him, wracking your brain for what you’ve done or said in the last ten minutes to warrant this kind of reaction from him, especially given the more obvious attempts to rile him up over the past couple of months. You’d picked up the kid, same as you did every other night. Maybe it was the way you’d bent over to do it. You glance down briefly at your clothes, but it’s not a particularly revealing outfit. You’d worn much less in front of him before with far less reaction. Maybe it was something you’d said?

Come on, little one. Let’s leave daddy to-

Oh.

The word leaves your mouth as a soft question intended mainly for yourself, a thought given voice. Din stiffens immediately, across from you. You look up at him, realizing at the same time he does that you’ve caught on.

“Wait, really? Is that what this abou—?”

His other hand comes up towards your throat, and for a moment you think he’s going to choke you (and you’re a little concerned that the feeling you get from that thought still isn’t fear) but his touch is gentle. His hand comes to rest on the side of your neck, thumb against your cheek as he looks at you for a moment before his voice comes through once more.

“Say it again.”

You keep your gaze trained on his visor, where you’re sure his eyes are currently burning into you, and feel heat flooding in opposite directions in your body; up to your face, and down between your legs. And you feel ridiculous. You had never been into that kind of thing before, and you feel silly saying it; but if there’s one thing you are into, it’s the big guy in front of you – the one telling you to say this one little word, just for him – and having him this close talking to you like this, well it might just be worth the humiliation. Hell, maybe that’s something you’re into, as well.

“Daddy?”

The hand on the wall next to you pulls back as he growls, and slams forward fast enough to make you jump, smacking against the light switch, bathing you both in sudden darkness. You feel him lean in closer, certain that if you were to move your head even slightly forward it would come into contact with the cold beskar of his helmet.

“Do you want this?” his voice, gravelly with lust, sounds through the modulator, as the hand on your neck begins to slide downwards.

Shit.

Even if you had wanted to say no before – you hadn’t – you’re sure the low rumble in his tone would have changed your mind. You’d never heard him keyed up like this before. He always had a way of keeping it together, of staying in control, but you’d been messing with him for so long, teasing, casually throwing your innuendos around, knowing exactly what you were doing to him. You don’t know why you feel so surprised that it’s finally come down to this. It was kind of like a daydream, a fantasy finally coming true, and you feel completely unprepared.

“I do, Din, seriously, but, uh, there’s just—”

“What is it?”

You wonder how you’re going to break it to him. Honestly, you feel like a fucking fraud after everything you’ve put him through. You feel like you’ve been leading him on. You sigh and duck your head as you make your confession.

“I’ve never done this before.”

You don’t know how to explain it, but you feel him suddenly deflate, as if the tension in the room has been replaced with something akin to disappointment.

“You’re joking?” And for once, you’re not.

He doesn’t mean for the words to come out the way they do, and even though he can’t say he’s any less turned on by this revelation he knows there are implications there that can’t be ignored if he wants to keep going. Only, right now, he’s not feeling very patient.

You wince at the level of exasperation in his tone. “No.”

There’s silence for a moment and you have to reach out to feel that he’s still there, your hand landing on his chest plate. His hand comes up to rest on top of yours, and you think that maybe its to pull it away, that the lights will come back on at any moment and this opportunity will disappear forever, but he holds it there, thinking things over.

“How much experience do you have? Any?”

There’s a change to his tone, now. He sounds curious.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve…”

Why does this feel so fucking awkward suddenly? You’ve spent the last six months in this man’s daily company, and while that might not seem like a lot of time in terms of getting to know a person, a majority of that was spent in the confined space of the Crest. You know each other’s routines now; all the little habits and pet peeves you can only pick up on when living in close quarters with someone else. You know he likes silence at meal times, but that he’s more open to conversation after time away on a job, and you’ve come to be able to tell just from his posture if that job had gone well. You know some of each other’s history – him mostly learning yours, since you’re by far the chattier person – yet, still, your face is hot with embarrassment as you recall the handful of experiences you’ve had. You’d never talked about this kind of stuff. You’d only ever joked about it.

“You know, like, mouth stuff.”

“Mouth stuff?” he repeats, and you swear there’s laughter in his voice when he says it.

Your face is beginning to feel unbearably hot, and you’re sure that if he decided to read your heat signature right now your skin would look like you’d just spent a week straight wandering the Tatooine desert.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Hm,” he replies thoughtfully, like he does and that maybe he’s picturing it, “What else?”

“Hand—”

“Hand stuff?” he cuts you off, undeniably making fun of you now.

You smack him in the chest plate, only managing to send a sting through your hand in the process, then push forward as if to move past him, like you think you could make your way anywhere in this darkness. “You know what? Maybe I don’t want this, after all.”

It’s a blatant lie, but you’re starting to think maybe humiliation’s not your thing after all.

He stops you and you don’t resist. You’d been wanting this pretty much from day one, back when he’d assisted with your retreat after a hunt had gone sideways – from the moment you’d watched him swagger into the cantina and stand calmly between you and the half-dozen armed men who were protecting their wanted leader. Back when you’d been just a young, fellow hunter in need of aid.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks you now.

You think about it for all of two seconds. “I want y—This. I want this.” You stumble over what is almost too much of a confession. It feels too soon to tell heavy truths like that, so you settle for what you already know he’s offering. “Just…go easy.”

There’s a silence that seems to drag out in the darkness, then a hiss as he removes his helmet. You feel his body move closer to yours, and you swear that’s his hair brushing your cheek as he leans in and says, “I can do that.”

He scoops you up without warning, reminding of how quick and strong he can be even when he’s weighed down by all that armor, and you find you can’t help yourself as you say:

“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

Without the helmet, his sigh meets your skin as a warm huff across your face.

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” you reply without hesitation, feeling him still beneath you.

“No more jokes. Please.”

You laugh at the exasperation in his voice and find yourself caught completely off guard when you hear a huff of breath escape him that might have passed for laughter, too, but before you can say anything you find yourself being whisked away towards what you assume is the small space of his sleeping quarters. He seems to know his way well enough to not bump into anything along the way, but even so you hug yourself in tight to avoid any knocks to the head. You look up as a door rasps open in front of you and you can only barely make out the outline of the bed. Din is quick to place you down on it before he drops his helmet to the floor and starts tugging off his armor, placing it somewhere nearby. You sit on the edge of the mattress staring awkwardly into the darkness, knowing you should probably start undressing, too, but suddenly feeling self-conscious despite the pitch darkness that surrounds you.

“Do you want me to undress you?” Din asks, and his tone is gentle enough for it to be a serious question.

You shake your head in response after thinking it over for a minute before remembering he can’t see you.

“You’ll have to use your words,” he says, “The lights need to stay off.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Is that okay?”

You know it’s not him asking if you’re expecting him to betray his creed in order for this to happen; it’s him asking if you’re okay with not being able to see anything for your first time.

Your first time.

Urgh. It sounds so juvenile when you think about it that way, but so far, it’s living up to the adolescent kind of awkwardness you had expected, back when you had actually been an adolescent. You were past that now, and if you’re being honest with yourself that’s part of what’s making you feel self-conscious about this whole thing. You feel like this should have happened a long time ago. You wonder if Din thinks it odd that you’ve left it for this long.

“That’s fine,” you tell him quickly. Though you wish you could see him, not only to know what you’ll be working with, but also because doing it this way adds a layer of anonymity you didn’t necessarily want to associate with your first time. You’d always pictured it being with someone you felt close to – as cliché as it sounded, someone who was special to you. And even though that was true in this case, not being able to see that certain someone was detracting from the whole experience.

You feel movement in front of you and a large, warm hand finds your knee, running it over the fabric that still covers your body.

“We don’t have to do this if you’ve changed your mind,” Din tells you. His voice is different without the helmet; softer, gentler. Or maybe it’s just the circumstances that has him talking to you this way. You’d heard him use this kind of tone on the Child, and you had always admired the level of patience he always managed to show the kid, but you’d never found yourself on the receiving end of it like this before. It’s comforting.

Comforting enough to confirm your decision.

His hand moves away as he feels you start to shimmy out of your clothes. Your top goes first, up and over your head, joining his pile on the floor, then you reach down for the button on the front of your pants. You pause, realizing how exposed you’ll be, even with the cool air meeting your already-exposed nipples. This is a different kind of exposed, you think; more intimate. You give yourself a moment.

“May I?” he asks, and you’re surprised enough by his politeness that you nod, forgetting again he can’t see you, and breath out, “Yeah.”

You move your hand and let him take over, feeling his deft fingers make quick work of your button and zipper before he starts to tug the fabric down your legs, taking your pants and underwear all in one go. His hands find your knees and you sigh at the skin-on-skin contact, never expecting the man to feel this warm. You hear him drop down to his knees and suddenly feel warm breath between your legs. You make to close your legs at the unexpected sensation, unsure about having him this close to that area, but his hands come up to pull them back apart.

“What are you doing?” you ask, only to distract you both, because your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest at how fast this is moving.

“Mouth stuff,” he replies simply.

It’s simple, dry humor, but you swear he never makes you laugh more than when he catches you off guard with stuff like that. You don’t think anyone else would believe you if you tried to tell them how funny he can be without even trying. The joke manages to diffuse some of your anxiety and you relax back onto the bed, trusting him with whatever he’s about to do. Still, you gasp when his mouth meets your core, and he hums happily against you. You’ve done this with someone once before, but the memory feels clumsy compared to what Din is doing now; his grip tight around your waist and tongue immediately finding the right places. You try not to think about where he’s had the practice, focusing instead on the sensation he’s creating with a simple flick of his tongue.

You start to make noises you don’t think have ever come from you before, unable to help yourself with the sudden assault on your sensitive nerve endings. He pauses from what he’s doing as if struck by a sudden thought, smiling at the way you whimper at the sudden loss of contact.

“Have you ever cum before?” he asks.

“I think so,” you reply, but if you were being completely honest, you’re not sure. And least, not with another person. You’re pretty sure you’ve gotten there on your own. You think. You feel like that’s something you should know for sure.

“You think so?” he repeats, sounding unconvinced.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve had, you know, urges, I took care of them, then they were gone.”

He makes a thoughtful sound and ones of his thumbs finds your clit, rubbing a couple of circles before he dips it down to your center to scoop up some of the wetness there to bring back up again.

“You don’t sound very sure,” he says casually, like he’s not driving you crazy right now with a simple touch. Feeling slightly pathetic, you can only whine, your brain feeling scrambled as his assault on your clit empties it of all coherent thought. “Next time I ask you, I want you to be a little more certain,” he tells you, and without warning dives back in, his tongue taking over from his thumb at a much faster pace. Your back arches off the bed and he slips his free arm across your hips, holding you in place.

You soon feel pressure at your entrance as he presses a finger carefully against it and in your frenzied state you push forward onto it, forgetting in a moment of desperate need your body’s inexperience with something like that. You’re wet enough that it doesn’t hurt, but it’s still a foreign feeling having something inside of you, and you realize that’s only one finger. Before you can start to imagine how something larger is going to feel, he presses the finger upwards inside of you and hits a spot you’ve never felt before. You cry out, caught completely off guard as the tight feeling in your lower belly breaks and you cum hard against him, hips bucking uncontrollably against his face. He growls against you, but doesn’t stop moving until your hips do.

“Fuck,” you whine, still panting as he slides his finger out of you and gives you one last lick. Still sensitive, you yelp and jerk back from the sensation, making him chuckle.

“Now you can say you’ve cum,” he tells you, and hell if he doesn’t sound proud of himself for giving you that.

“Yeah,” you agree, still barely able to form a proper thought. Then one comes to you. You sit up. He’s getting to his feet in front of you and it’s put him at the perfect height for what you have in mind.

He’s not expecting it when your hand finds his length, giving away his surprise with a sharp intake of breath. You take a moment to guess at his size, thinking once again how it’s going to feel once he’s inside of you, but any thought of pain is completely overridden by the very idea of having him inside you at all. But one thing at a time – you want to explore a few things first.

“Do you mind if I return the favor?” you ask him. You’re feeling different after your orgasm – feeling a sudden, renewed confidence – and the way his breath hitches as you start to pump him up and down sends a thrill through your body. He doesn’t reply, answering instead with a simple touch as his hands find your head, brushing your hair back from your face. You’ve done this before, too, but unlike your partner’s attempt on you at the time, yours had proven more successful.

You bob your head forward to find him, lips meeting the head of his cock and parting to let it enter. As your tongue laps at its underside, Din drops his head back with a moan that only encourages you further. You take as much of him inside your mouth as you can, letting the salty taste of him hit as close to the back of your throat as you’re comfortable with, and his grip tightens on your head as he fights the urge to buck forward. You’d said to go easy, and he’s mindful of that, but picturing what you must look like right now, face pink and glowing from your orgasm, mouth stuffed with his cock, he wishes he could flick the light on for a second just to see it. You guide your head back and forth, taking in all the sounds he’s making for you, testing particular places just to see what else you can make him do. All the while he continues to stroke your hair, murmuring praise that sounds strained as tries to force the words out, things like, ‘Good girl’ and ‘Yeah, just like that’.

All the praise starts to go to your head though, it seems, as you forget your earlier feelings of humiliation and whisper back, “You like that, daddy?” Then you pick up your pace and have him moaning to the point where he has to stop you. He gently grabs your head, pulling his hips back and plucking himself from your mouth with a slick ‘pop’.

“We’re going to have to stop there, sweet girl, or your going to make me cum.”

You simply look up to where his voice is coming from and make a sad little hum, any self-conscious thoughts or anxiety long gone at the sound of his half-ruined tone, and you find yourself eagerly awaiting the next step, your body begging for further touch. He chuckles at your reaction and leans down to find your lips, capturing them in a searing kiss, both of you groaning as you taste each other. It’s the first kiss you’ve shared with him, and as he moves forward and forces you back onto the bed, you find your legs come up automatically to wrap around him. That’s when you feel him, hard and pressing into your thigh.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks, as he grabs his length and rubs his tip between your folds to coat himself with your wetness. You moan when he passes over your clit and give yourself a moment to bask in the sensation as he continues to rub over that area.

“Just go slow,” you tell him, then you feel his cock move down from your clit to your entrance, now that you’ve finally given him permission. He only applies the slightest pressure, letting you get used to each new sensation as he introduces it, but you’re so slick down there that he begins to slip in. You tense, waiting for the sharp sensation you’re sure is coming.

“Relax.” Din’s hips have stilled, and he reaches up in the darkness to run his thumb across your cheek, soothing you. “Deep breaths, okay? I’ll make it feel good for you.”

You nod, and this time he feels the movement against his hand and doesn’t ask you to voice it, instead taking it as his cue to continue on. There’s a momentary sharp, burning sensation deep inside as you feel everything stretch, but as he slowly begins to move his hips, you find it fades more and more with each thrust, your wetness coating him and amplifying your pleasure. You’ve never felt this full before, not in this way, but he’s big enough to be hitting all your best spots at the same time. You’ve never felt this close to cumming this quickly.

“Shit.”

Hearing that single word, he starts to pick up speed and you clutch at whatever part of him you can reach, giving yourself up to the sensation as you feel that electric, tightening sensation starting again in your lower belly.

“Do you think you’re close?” he pants, because he knows he is – dangerously so – but he wants to keep true to his word. He wants to make this experience just as good for you.

You fail to answer, unable to stop the harsh cries leaving your mouth instead, and you don’t have time to tell him before the feeling breaks inside of you again and you’re pulsing around him. You cry out, louder than before, and this is enough to send him over the edge, too. He slips out at the last moment, and you feel warm bursts of liquid squirt across your stomach.

“Sorry,” he pants, grunting as he braces himself on one hand and then shivers through a couple of aftershocks, “I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, voice just as breathless. And it is fine. You couldn’t care less about it. Your entire body feels more relaxed than it has in months. You feel spent in the best possible way and right now you’d be fine to just fall into a pile on the sheets and sleep.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body close to yours in the small space, warm and sweaty, and you’re surprised when he slips an arm underneath you to bring you closer. “So, was that okay? Do you feel okay? Sore?”

“Yeah. I mean, no, I’m okay.” The words come out as a few huffs of breath and, still high on endorphins, the noise makes you laugh.

Din gives you a squeeze at the familiar sound, smiling to himself in the darkness. Then he makes a thoughtful noise.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s nothing. It’s just…You’ve never been in here before.”

“So?” You gaze around in the darkness, thinking it is a little cramped compared to the space you’d made for yourself in the much larger cargo hold, and realize maybe that’s what he’s hinting at.

“I think you should cum here more often.”

“Did you just…?” You sit up to look at him the darkness, never in a million years expecting such a horrible, so very like-you joke to be uttered by the man and he yanks you back down and pulls you close, ignoring the sticky mess he’s made of you.

Then you hear a sound you’re not familiar with, and feel his warm breath against you as he laughs.

“Din Djarin, that joke was terrible.”

He presses a kiss to the side of your head and heaves a sigh that suggests fast approaching sleep. “I learned from the best.”

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #fic requests #the mandalorian #din djarin imagines #din djarin

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emmanelson · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: Nose Rings and Nightcaps

you guys asked for a follow up chapter so here you go

takes place during 2x04: ...Had an Indian Frenemy

Devi tried not to let Aneesa get under her skin. And for most of the day, she was good at faking a smile or a laugh when she needed to.

“We still on for tutoring this week?” Paxton had caught up to her in the hallway and Devi attempted to send him a smile.

“Yeah. But let’s go to your house. I think my grandmother has a crush on you.”

Paxton was glancing over at Aneesa and Devi saw red.

“Saw you talking to Neese. She’s dope. You guys friends?” Not you too, Devi thought to herself in horror. Would Paxton call her Devi 2.0 as well?

“Yeah, pretty dope.” Devi muttered under her breath before turning on her heel and walking away with an eye roll.

Not wanting things to end on such a bad note, Devi slowly walked back up to Paxton and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you want a quickie in the janitor’s closet?”

His pulse sped up as he blinked, staring at her in disbelief. “Aren’t you worried about being late to class?” People had begun to disperse, the hallways emptying as students ran in different direction and they were the only ones left that Devi could see.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’ll see you later then.” Just as she was able to make a dramatic exit and turn back to give him a flirty smile, he had secured her wrist and pulled her back towards him.

“Five minutes enough time?”

‘If you can last that long.” The two stared at each other, equally cocky expressions forming as they practically ran towards the vacant closet trying not to laugh.

“So what subject should we start with?” Paxton inquired as soon as Devi situated herself at his kitchen table.

“Biology?”

“But with History, all you have to do is rap and suddenly it makes sense. Can you do something like that for me with Bio?”

“Look at biology in terms of swimming.” The look Paxton gave her was one of confusion and incredulous.

“The last thing I want to think about is swimming while I still have this damn cast.”

Devi’s mouth opened only to close a few seconds later as she tried to change the subject, he made a valid point.

Devi leaned up to an upper level in the pantry and Paxton was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a good minute or two when he saw her bare skin.

“Are you good having a snack break? Our brains need food as well.”

He felt like shoving her against the door of the pantry and fuck her until her entire body was shaking, but his mouth felt like cotton so he found himself nodding.

Devi moved further into the kitchen and made her way towards the fridge. She got out the filtered water, placing it on the counter and filled up two glasses before setting it back where it was prior. When she shut the door, her body jolted in response as two strong arms wrapped around her waist and turned her so she was now facing him.

Within the time that Devi had gotten the Britta back in the fridge, Paxton pressed his body against hers so she was placed between the firmness of his body and the sturdy metal of the fridge door.

“Shouldn’t this wait until after we get through your assignment?” Devi murmured against his lips, exhaling a shallow breath as she fought to curve into his body and let school be damned.

“Sex is basic biology isn’t it?” His breath was hot against her ear and her knees threatened to buckle out from under her. “A primal instinct. An animalistic urge.” He nipped at her collarbone, teeth and tongue switching off as his hands went underneath her shirt to cup her breasts.

“Pheromones are detected through the hippocampus.” She shuddered against him as she spoke, the words coming out slowly as she struggled to level her breathing.

“How do you make biology sound so sexy?” Her lips parted as he let out a low chuckle. She only buried her face against the fabric of his flannel, trying to hide the blush that now painted her cheeks. With his only good arm he lifted up her body and pushed her against the cool metal, an involuntary squeal slipping past her lips as her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Say something else.”

“Hormones are produced and secreted by the endocrine glands.”

“Why is this turning me on?” Paxton grunted, his throbbing lower region rubbing against her core, only fueling her desires.

“What can I say? I know what I’m talking about.” She never thought that being smart would lead to this kind of situation.

“I need to learn how to apply this stuff right?” His voice dropped to a husky tone as Devi once again gulped, her brain turning to mush as her legs began to shake.

“Where’s Rebecca? Your mom?”

“Work, and my mom is tending to her garden out back. She usually plays 60’s music or listens to Christian audiobooks.”

“So she won’t be able to hear us?” Her fingers toyed with the zipper on his jeans, his hard-on poking through the fabric.

“Not if you’re quiet enough.” Her eyes widened at the tone his voice now took, it was almost demanding and harsh against her skin, the intensity of his gaze never wavering.

Paxton almost scoffed at her doe-eyed gaze but then kissed her so he wouldn’t keep feeling like a dick. With that, his jeans dropped and he was pulling her shorts down, her underwear following soon after, the wetness seeping from it was felt on her ankles.

Soon he was inside her and each time she lifted her hips to meet his, her shirt rode up and the cold hit her back, causing goosebumps to raise on her arms. She didn’t mind this kind of tutoring.

The following Friday, Devi and Paxton were texting back and forth while she sat with Aneesa and Eleanor in her bedroom.

And they still texted as Devi got to know Aneesa and decided that she wasn’t all that bad after-all. Ben had stomped away from her after she had gotten her nose pierced, Eleanor and Aneesa were probably blocks ahead of her by now and all she wanted to do was sit down on the bench and listen to her dad’s voicemail until the sun came up. She didn’t want to go home, but she knew she couldn’t stay in an abandoned parking lot so she walked until her feet had carried her straight to Paxton’s house.

She had walked, rode by on her bike, and memorized every turn her mom took in the car for so long now that it was basically muscle memory.

She hesitantly knocked on the door to his garage, and his face came into view as he rubbed his eyes.

“Were you sleeping? Do you fall asleep in the garage a lot?” She furrowed her eyebrows as she took in his disheveled form. He still looked hot even in a T-shirt and sweats.

“Nah, I was up playing Fortnite.” The glow from the TV hit Devi’s eyes as soon as she stepped in and he shut the door behind them. “Is that a nose ring?” He took a step closer to her and leaned in, inspecting the new piece of jewelry she was sporting.

“It looks nice.” Devi was glad it was pitch black outside because she was surely turning beet red. It looked badass actually, but Paxton wasn’t about to be singing her praises just yet. He still felt like he was getting a bucket of ice poured on his chest whenever she came into view.

“Did you come here for a nightcap or something?” He teased, eyes momentarily leaving hers as he scanned his phone to check the time. It wasn’t too often that she was even out this late, let alone showing up to his place in the middle of the night.

She slowly leaned up and brushed her lips against his. She kissed him slowly, her lips moving against him as if she was burning and he provided the only source of water available. She wanted to savor it, but at the same time knew she had to stick to their arrangement.

“Maybe more of a late night booty call?” She cringed at her own use of the word, but it brought a smile out onto Paxton’s face, and she would gladly take the embarrassment if he kept looking at her with that smile, with those eyes.

“Do you always look this good?” He asked, upon seeing the outline of her skirt, how it was torn at the ends and how he wanted to rip whatever remained so it was off her body.

“If you’re quiet enough, we won’t wake your parents or sister.” She repeated his words from earlier, a finger coming up to hover over his lips. He was about to ask about school, mention that they usually only fooled around when it had something to do with his grades, but he decided against it. She was here, wanting him, offering up her body to him. In the back of his mind, he briefly wondered if she was having a similar type of arrangement with Ben, but from the cold reception and snarky comments the younger guy was throwing her way, he figured he had gotten the better end of the deal.

His eyes looking at her up and down, fingers playing with the zipper of her skirt as she pushed his shirt up and over his head. She lightly tugged on his hands, steering him towards the couch and climbing on top of him when they finally landed.

Paxton was tracing the outline of her jean skirt with his fingers, dipping in and out of her inner thighs and her breath hitched. “Do you this could count as my PE credit?”

“It does burn a shit ton of calories.” Paxton smirked in reply, moving a piece of hair behind her ear as he kissed any exposed skin he could find and peeled off her tank top. “I’ll write you a note.” Was the only response that he was able to form before flipping them over so she was wiggling underneath him.

Her name vibrated against her own ear as he came, sweat sticking to their bodies as he slumped against her. He moaned her name in a way that felt like the first time anyone had ever uttered it. She had never heard it sound so beautiful. The tension and anxiety she had been feeling earlier in the evening was gone, replaced with a warmth that spread all throughout her body.

“I should probably go.” She had checked her phone to see it had blown up with text messages and calls from Eleanor and Aneesa, asking where she was and telling her she needed to come back before her mother woke up. She slid her clothes back on with ease, unlocking her phone to see the full extent of the damage. Paxton only nodded in response as he slipped his boxers back on and stood up.

“This is what you look like in the morning, after sex might I add?” She gawked, eyes hungrily scanning over his shirtless form.

“Guess so.” He grinned, he couldn’t help his looks anymore than Devi could help the fact that she was naturally good at embarrassing herself at parties.

“Not fair.”

“It looks pretty badass by the way.” Paxton complimented, biting his lip as he walked them towards the door. “The nose ring.”

“Thanks.”

“And thank you for the study help today. Or is it yesterday since it’s technically now tomorrow?” A look of confusion set in as Devi let a soft laugh bubble.

“Thanks for the orgasms.” And before Paxton could search his brain for a reply, Devi had hurried out the door and didn’t even look back to see if he was staring at her retreating form.

He totally was.

#daxton fic #daxton #daxton fanfic #never have i ever #nhie #paxton x devi #devi x paxton #heatwavefic #heatwave

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aellynera · 3 years

Text

Accidental Anniversary (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

ACCIDENTAL ANNIVERSARY

💜💘 Happy Valentine’s Fic Exchange, @samrockweil 💘💜

I am your Valentine’s elf (or maybe cupid?) It was an absolute blast writing this for you!! At first I couldn’t decide which guy to write for, but Llewyn spoke to me and I ran with it and I hope you love it even half as half as much as I did writing it. Happy reading and happy beeps!

Also, huge thanks to @sergeantkane for putting this fic exchange together! Love you Clarke!

Word Count: around 8k oops look i had a whole MONTH okay i’m not sorry

Summary: You meet Llewyn Davis one night at the Gaslight, and soon find out that the universe has an odd sense of humor and an even weirder sense of timing.

Warnings: A few curses. Nothing else, it’s 99.999999999% fluffy fluff.

March 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a whiskey, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as your boss flips the power on.

You’ve been working there for a couple weeks, a side job to help make your rent and keep you busy on the weekends. It’s not a terrible gig, most of the time; the patrons are pleasant enough, the performers hit or miss, and Pappi, your boss, is okayish, so long as you can mostly steer clear of him.

You begin to wipe down part of the bar while the next performer sets up on the small, dingy stage. You haven’t seen him before, but whispers from the stools at the counter hint he’s semi-popular around these parts. You quirk an eyebrow; he certainly is easy on the eyes, at least.

From the minute he takes the stage, your focus is ninety percent on him (you do need a little brain power to do your job, after all) and you find that he is also very easy on the ears. Dark curls, dark beard, dark eyes, dark clothes, but a surprisingly bright voice singing lovely songs. He finishes his set, comes off the stage, and sidles up to the bar. You hand him the requested bourbon with a soft smile.

And the next thing you know, Pappi is on the ground and this stranger is holding his hand, wincing, flexing his fingers. Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “What--”

“Jesus Christ, Llewyn,” Pappi groans from the floor. “I was only kidding.”

“Yeah, doubt that,” this Llewyn person mutters under his breath, taking a seat on the stool closest to him. “Can I bother you for some ice?”

You keep a wary eye on him, and on Pappi as he gets up and wanders to the other side of the room like nothing happened, and wrap some ice cubes in a towel and hand it to him. “You decked him.”

He scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “You hear what he said about you?”

Well, no, you hadn’t actually, but having heard what Pappi has said about others in the club over the past two weeks, you can imagine. “I can handle him,” you say archly.

“I’m sure you can,” a huff of air escapes his lips, “but you shouldn’t have to.” He turns around to look at Pappi, who just glares and shakes his head. The man in front of you flips your boss off.

You refill his glass without him asking and stick out your hand, telling him your name.

He shakes it and says, “Llewyn Davis” with a sheepish smile.

April 14

Llewyn shuffles down the sidewalk towards the Gaslight, really only noticing the early spring chill that hangs in the air. It’s early, before noon, but he wants to run through his set before the night’s performance and the early hour is convenient for him to be able to do so in peace.

He’s about a block away when a sound distracts him. A voice is singing, pure and sweet - if a tiny bit off-key - and if he didn’t know any better - and he certainly does, at least most times - he would call it angelic. No, not angelic. An actual angel. That’s what it sounds like.

Llewyn stops and looks up at an open window on the third floor. He can make out the vague outline of a figure inside, but he’s unable to see any details. But that voice. A few minutes pass as he just listens, staring up at the window, thinking about calling up to get the attention of the mysterious singer. But he doesn’t, and he just stands and listens, until he finds his feet starting to carry him on to his usual destination.

Three steps into his walk, he realizes he knows the song. It’s one of his songs. Part of him can’t believe it, and the rest of him wants to offer pitch correction. Three more steps into his walk, and his face makes very solid, very resounding contact with the light pole on the corner.

“God dammit,” he shouts.

A few seconds later, the window on the third floor slides open and a head pokes out. “Oh my god. Llewyn?”

Llewyn looks up and groans inwardly as he recognizes your face from that last gig at the Gaslight. “Hey,” he waves awkwardly, leaning on the pole.

“Are you bleeding?” you call down to him.

He reaches up near his eyebrow and realizes he is, in fact, bleeding. Quite a bit, honestly. Before he can answer, you call back down, “Come up the fire escape to the side window!” The window drops shut and he can hear another slide open.

So Llewyn Davis climbs the fire escape steps and meets you at your side window, a first aid kit in your hands as you motion for him to sit. He does and you start to patch up his wound.

“You should be more careful,” you mutter as you worked, stopping briefly to look him right in the eyes.

He holds your gaze. “Sorry, I was...distracted.”

“Mmm,” you return. You fold a gauze pad and hand it to him. “Hold this on that cut. I’m going to get you some ice.” You turn to walk to your kitchen.

He mumbles his thanks and leans his head back against the fire escape railing.

May 14

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and although Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, he takes up a spot at the end of the bar and thanks you as you pass him a drink.

“How have you been?” you ask. You’d seen him a few times over the past couple weeks, here and there in the Village, but it’s been several days. You found Llewyn’s company quite enjoyable. You’d talked a bit and even shared lunch once at the diner a couple blocks away.

His lips turn up, a shy smile lighting his face. He opens his mouth to respond, when another voice breaks in.

“He’s been an asshole.”

Llewyn’s head ships around and you follow his gaze. A slender woman with long, straight brown hair and piercing eyes stands about ten feet behind him, arms crossed and glaring. Neither of them says anything for a beat, Llewyn turns away from her, and then she’s on him, daggers flying from her lips, going on and on about assholes and responsibility and electrical tape.

Llewyn keeps his eyes down, the bottom of his glass suddenly staring back at him. “Jesus Christ, Jean.”

You bite your lip as you glance between them. You have no idea who this woman - this Jean - is, but it’s clear she is not a fan of Llewyn Davis. In three seconds flat you decide you do not like her either.

“Is there something you needed?” you break in.

Her eyes flare at Llewyn, then at you, then bore into the back of Llewyn’s head. You resist the urge to literally toss a glass of whiskey in her direction.

“I need Llewyn to stop being an asshole,” she seethes. Llewyn rolls his eyes.

You arch an eyebrow and the words are on your tongue - I need you to back off, you crazy weird bit-- you bite your tongue just hard enough to make your mouth behave. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone else calling her name and her attention drifts to the stage. With a final mutter of “asshole” and a rude hand gesture, she flounces off.

You point over Llewyn’s shoulder. “Um, what was that?”

He snorts. “A night of bad decisions and a lifetime of regret.” A pause. “It’s...a long story.”

You watch as she adjusts the microphone center stage. “Good lord, is she a singer? Tell me she’s not going to just smile and sing after...whatever that was.”

“Yeah. Well,” he offers by way of explanation and doesn’t say anything else. It’s almost like this woman sucked all the fight out of him and you feel your heart give a little twinge.

You toss the rag in the sink and take his glass. “Do you wanna get out of here?” The air around you has a weird vibe now, and you felt a sudden impulse to get out and take this man - your friend - with you, away from this...whatever she was, somewhere safe.

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, a grateful glimmer passing through his dark eyes.

“There’s a great cafe down the block.”

“But don’t you have to...you know...work?”

You look around and shrug. “It’s dead in here, and Bobby can handle it,” you hook your thumb at a co-worker behind the bar. “And if Pappi says anything, I know someone who can set him straight.”

Llewyn’s eyes glint and his lips turn up in a real, honest smile this time. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee.”

June 14

The summer - or very last days of spring, technically - is starting to get hot and your open windows are doing the bare minimum to alleviate the warmth. Of course, the third glass of wine you’re drinking probably isn’t helping things either.

Whatever. It’s your day off.

Shoes kicked off, jeans rolled up above your ankles, feet up on the arm of the couch, a record on the turntable and your glass of red as the dusk slowly melts into dark. The night is tranquil and relaxing and perfect. It has been a shitty week, and all you want is to ignore the outside world and do exactly this.

The shrill ring of your phone bursts that bubble..

You close your eyes and tilt your head back on the couch. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away. The phone stops ringing. Deciding to take no further chances, you switch off the ringer, completely, then sigh happily, settling yourself on the couch and sipping your wine.

Perfect.

A resounding, repeated thump echoes through the room. You bit back a shriek. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away - lightning can strike twice, right? It was extremely rude of people to just call you and knock when all you wanted was--

“Hey, are you home?” a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door.

Suddenly alert and somehow much less annoyed, you spring up and cross to your front door. Yanking it open, you find a very disheveled Llewyn Davis on the other side. He doesn’t seem to notice right away that the door was now open, and you had to jump back as his hand, raised to pound on the door again, almost knocks you in the head instead.

You take a deep breath. You catch a waft like the mat under the taps after a long night at the bar.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” You take him by the arm and drag him inside, appraising him quickly. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his curls an absolute mess, and there’s a dark mark under his left eye and a split in his lip. He looks terrible, smells just as bad, but suddenly all your desire for a quiet, no-other-humans night evaporates. “And did you get in a fight?”

“...yes?”

You sigh and point to the couch. “Go. Sit. I’ll make some coffee, and then you’re getting a shower..”

“You’re incredible,” he slurs, smiling, “And you’re so…I tried t’call you, from th’phone on the corner but you dinnt answer. An’ then I realized, hey, I’m on your corner, so decided t’come up and see you. You’re pretty.”

You take him by the elbow and lead him to the couch, only stumbling twice and managing to catch him as he sways, precariously, once. “Uh huh,” you bite your lip to hide a smile. “Sounds like you’ve had a fun night. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He flops down on the couch and buries his face in a pillow.

By the time you make the promised pot of coffee and get back to the living room, Llewyn is snoring, still face down in the throw pillow. Turning off the music and the lights, you cover him with a blanket and take your glass of wine to your room.

July 14

Ring, ring, ring.

You’d remembered to turn the ringer back on three days after Llewyn slept it off on your couch, but your phone hadn’t actually rung again until just over half an hour ago, and honestly you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or if it was just sad.

You are sure, however, that the sheer desperation in the voice on the other end when you answered is the reason you’re on this train to Queens. Are you doing anything, Llewyn had asked, because I could really, really use some help right now. Please, I’m begging you. And now the echo of your phone ringing just, well, rings in your ears.

The train screeches to a halt and you exit, making your way to the given address. You knock on the door of a smallish, nondescript row house and it swings open almost immediately, revealing a very disheveled, slightly panicked looking Llewyn.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes and grabs you by the arm, dragging you inside.

“Llewyn? What is going on?”

“It’s a disaster,” he says. He’s completely serious.

You’re preparing yourself for blood, broken bones, water damage, collapsed ceilings, possible dismemberment, anything, really, that could explain your friend’s current frazzled condition. What you get is completely, unexpectedly, not anything like that.

There are about ten kids, all around ten years old, running around in the living room, which is also full of balloons and streamers. One giant pinata, shaped like a baseball glove and bat, hangs from the light fixture. To Llewyn’s credit, it is kind of...chaotic, but it’s far from a disaster and you can barely contain the guffaw that escapes your lungs.

“Whose birthday?” you grin at him.

He narrows his eyes at you. “It’s not funny.”

You consider this and try to straighten your lips. Nope, not working. “It’s a little funny.”

Llewyn smacks you lightly on the shoulder. “It’s my nephew’s birthday, and my sister forgot some party thing and made a run to the store. I was stayin’ here last night and she just decided, oh, Llewyn can watch the kids, and she was gone.”

“So what’s the problem, exactly?”

“She should be back by now,” his eyes look slightly panicked.

“Maybe she had to go to a couple stores? Maybe she just got delayed by transit?”

“I can’t do…” Llewyn gestures around weakly, shaking his head. “This.”

“Llewyn, they’re kids. They can’t be more than what, ten years old? Just blindfold them and let them whack at the pinata.”

“You’re the people person. I can’t...can you help me, please,” he turns to look at you. Directly at you. You’re fairly certain his eyes cannot get any bigger or shine more pleadingly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Let’s go wrangle some kids.”

The panic slides from his face and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head in his thanks.

And when one kid takes a wild swing at that tacky papier-mache sports equipment, misses completely, and lands a clean hit on Llewyn’s thigh, neither of you talk about it.

You just get him an ice pack.

August 14

“I’m making lasagna. Come over for dinner.”

You worked early that day, and said this to Llewyn as you left the Gaslight for the day. He isn’t playing tonight, and he’s really just here to stay out of the sun, and as much as he doesn’t like to push his luck with others’ hospitality, he has to admit that a home-cooked meal does sound incredible.

He has a feeling your invitation was partly due to Jean showing up, ready to do unnecessary verbal battle because she just can’t let it go, and you’d asked to both deflect her and keep yourself from actual physical battle. But whatever.

So he finds himself at your front door a couple hours later, a bottle of cheapish red wine in hand and an odd tingle in his chest. He dismisses it offhand; he’s probably just hungry.

You open the door and Llewyn’s nose is assaulted by the smell of homemade sauce - he’s half Italian, he knows these things - and cheese and garlic. You smile brightly at him. Yeah, he’s definitely hungry.

“Hey! Come in, it’s almost ready.”

He hands you the bottle. “Brought wine.”

“Excellent,” you lead him to the kitchen table and motion to a seat. He settles himself into it and grabs a piece of bread from the basket on the table as you grab two wine glasses.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks around a mouthful of carbs.

The timer dings and you pull the lasagna out of the oven. “No occasion. I just felt like making this and I didn’t really want to eat alone.”

“Lucky for you I like to eat,” he chuckles.

Your face suddenly feels warmer. Well, you did just pull a piping hot casserole dish out of the oven, so that does make sense, you suppose. You turn and put the lasagna on the trivet in the middle of the table, then turn and grab two regular glasses for water. There is an outlandish, metallic ka-chunk-ing noise as you turn on the tap, and suddenly water is shooting from under the sink and halfway across the room.

Llewyn jumps up and dives at the faucet, a chunk of bread clutched between his teeth, at the same time you crawl halfway under the sink to try and shut the water off. The stream blasts you in the face and you sputter.

This is not how you imagined tonight. Blasted ancient, rickety building. You make a mental note to have words with the super tomorrow.

You finally get the water shut off, and Llewyn closes the tap and sinks down onto the wet floor next to you. You lean against the cabinets and try to wipe the water out of your eyes.

Llewyn fares a little better; he’s only wet from his waist down. Your head thumps back on the soaked particle board behind you and you turn your head towards him. For a long moment he looks back at you, then rips the butt off the hunk of baguette in his mouth and passes it to you.

You snort. He bites his lip.

“Sorry, I think dinner might be a bit late,” you deadpan, eyes still on him, and take a bite of bread.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “It’s okay. Lasagna is always better the next day.”

Llewyn has to admit, though, it’s still pretty good a couple hours later, after you’re both dry and the lake in the kitchen is mopped up and you settle on the couch with your plates.

And if you use the water glasses for the wine, well, neither of you mentions it.

September 14

It’s pleasantly warm today, the heat of late August dragging itself into the beginning of September, and you find yourself in Washington Square Park, on a checkered blanket, a basket in the middle and a guitar by your feet. Pigeons wander and plot to steal food, but it’s easy enough to shoo them away.

It takes a little convincing, early that morning, to get Llewyn to agree to join you. It didn’t, really; he’s quickly become one of your best friends, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, he just likes to tease you.

But he does accept, and you eat some of the bread and cheese you packed and drink the iced tea you brought, and you get out a container of fruit salad and package of cookies your down-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, made for you that morning.

“For you and your lovely man,” she’d said as she knocked on your door. You feel the warmth in the tips of your ears and you certainly see the color rise in Llewyn’s embarrassed face, but you don’t have the heart to correct her. She’s such a sweet old lady.

Llewyn plays a song or two while you enjoy your lunch, and even asks if you want to hear a new song he’s been working on, which you are more than happy to agree to.

It’s such a pleasant afternoon.

Until a small, brownish-gray blur jumps onto the blanket and grabs a chunk of bread and darts further onto the lawn.

“What the hell!’ Llewyn shouts as you yelp in surprise. The squirrel, for its part, just stops fifty feet away and turns back with a triumphant gaze, then scoots off into the bushes, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in its wake.

He starts to make a comment about the nerve of the wildlife, but you’re not really listening. Your eyes are fixed on the path the squirrel just ran and you tug on Llewyn’s sleeve. He keeps muttering and you tug harder.

“Llewyn.”

He finally looks up and follows your finger. There’s a flock - an honest-to-god flock, not that he has any real idea on the technical makeup of a flock, but there’s more than one so as far as he’s concerned, yeah, it’s a flock - of geese marching directly at the blanket.

Okay, so there’s only three of them. But they look angry.

The leader strides forward deliberately and bites at Llewyn’s shoe. Another yelp leaves your lips and he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. He also grabs the remainder of the bread and tosses it in the opposite direction as he takes off running towards the fountain, dragging you behind him.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“No idea,” he replies. The leader falls for the bread feint, but his loyal minions do not, and they follow behind you, quacking and honking and flapping and Llewyn isn’t sure but he may dislike geese even more than he dislikes pigeons.

He jumps up on the edge of the fountain and pulls you into a protective embrace as the beasts close in. Only Llewyn doesn’t account for, you know, physics, and the force of your bodies colliding sends you both straight into the water.

Spluttering, you try to wipe the water out of your eyes. Llewyn is doing the same when a loud HONK startles you both. The leader is back, flanked by his friends, and they’re all staring at you.

“Um, Llewyn?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“...don’t geese like, love the water?”

His eyes flick to you, then the winged monsters, then you again, then the fountain like he’s seeing it for the first time and all he can do is mutter, “Shit!” and grab your hand as he pulls you to your feet and takes off running again.

You manage to swing by and gather the leavings of your picnic, blanket and basket tucked under your arms and his precious guitar clutched to him, as you beeline out of the park, soaking wet and laughing.

October 14

Llewyn slides the key into the lock and turns it, an odd flutter rolling up his spine as he hears the bolt click open. He’s had a key to your apartment for almost two months now. You gave it to him, insisted really, telling him this way he wouldn’t need to worry about finding somewhere to crash. That your couch is always open.

It still doesn’t feel real and he doesn’t always use it, but tonight he really, really doesn’t feel like making the rounds. You’ve been spending more time together recently anyway, and he feels mostly comfortable around you.

He’s greeted by the sight of you wearing a catcher’s mask and knee high rubber boots, and you’re wielding a tennis racquet. He doesn’t know what to say for a full minute.

“What are you...why are you wearing...what the hell.”

“There’s a bat,” is your whispered response.

Llewyn’s nose scrunches and he isn’t any less confused than he was a second ago. “What?”

“There’s a bat,’ you repeat. Your voice is slightly on the edge of hysteria because, well, “there is a bat. In the bathroom.”

“...okay?”

You jab your finger at the closed door. “I was just going to wash my face and brush my teeth and I went in there and it was just...in the corner, by the shelves. It was staring at me.”

He bites his lip, trying his hardest to suppress the smile tugging on his face. It isn’t working. He drops to a whisper himself and asks, “Baby, why are you whispering?”

Your head jerks towards the bathroom, and your shrug nearly sends the tennis racquet into his shoulder. “Because that’s how they...they’re...how they do the...the bat hearing thing!”

Llewyn laughs fully. He can’t help it; you’re ridiculous and his face heats a bit as he realizes it’s entirely endearing. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he says, his voice sliding back to a whisper. He avoids your death glare as he makes his way to the bathroom door. “But sit tight, slugger, I’ll get rid of it.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses and considers this. “Just gonna encourage it to go home? I dunno.”

Your grip tightens on the racquet. “How will that work?!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a fucking bat!” he hisses at you. “Just, make sure a window is open.” He opens the bathroom door.

Several things happen at once. Llewyn doesn’t so much open the door as he flings it wide and it slams into the wall. The bat makes a squeaky-shrieky noise (you were entirely unaware, until now, that they could even do that) and swoops out, recklessly streaking through Llewyn’s mess of curls. You make an actual shriek and fling the side window open as wide as possible. Llewyn makes a sound he can’t describe and you’re honestly not sure if it was Llewyn or the bat. The bat decides to take a few laps around the living room and you duck under the window sill just before it mercifully decides that outside is the place to be. Llewyn slams the window shut and you spring back to your feet, crash into his chest and his arms wrap around you.

Neither of you say anything, and Llewyn isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s very aware of your hand running through his hair, and your soft words catching as you say you’re just trying to smooth out the bat damage.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ll keep watch out here, make sure that thing doesn’t come back,” he jokes. “You okay?”

You finally - finally, he cheers internally - take off the catcher’s mask and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m...good. Thanks for...thanks.”

Llewyn lets you go and takes the tennis racquet out of your hands, placing it next to the couch. He throws you a soft smile. “Just in case.”

November 14

It’s been a long night at work, a lot longer than it has any right to be and infinitely insufferable. The Gaslight is packed, patrons nearly crawling the walls and not an empty seat to be found. Drink orders stack up and you try to keep up. It’s so crazy that even Pappi doesn’t have a chance to be a smartass like usual.

Apparently it always gets like this, closer to a holiday.

Note to self - skip holidays.

There are two acts tonight. Llewyn is first, and it’s clear much of the crowd is here to catch him. It cheers you slightly, and it would certainly cheer you more if you had the time to pay more attention to him, but the constant call for whiskey and gin takes most of your focus. But for the time he’s on stage, your heart feels lighter.

Then the second act takes the stage, and Jean launches eye missiles at Llewyn from behind the microphone, and your mood sours instantly.

Yeah, it’s a very long night.

Everything is blurry for the rest of the evening, until last call mercifully rolls around and you can finally get to straightening out the mess the bar has become. You notice Llewyn still sitting on his usual stool at the end of the counter, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Don’t even say it,” you point at him sternly. “When will you stop fussing about this?” Ridiculous man. He has a key to your apartment, and still he worries that he’s an inconvenience.

You toss an orange slice at him, and he allows you a sweet grin.

Finally - finally - you’re home and Llewyn follows you inside, locking the door behind you. He heads for the couch and you head for your room, a mumbled g’night the only word that passes between you. You’re far too exhausted to deal with anything higher level.

It could be minutes or it could be hours later - your alarm clock somehow ended up on the floor and the darkish sky outside giving nothing away, and when did it start raining anyway - when a loud SPRONG and then a yelp and a THUMP from the living room jolts you awake.

It takes a few seconds to regain your senses. “Llewyn?”

“Fuck.”

You stumble out to the living room to find him half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, the quilt he normally uses tangled around his knees and ankles. He rubs a spot on his lower back and winces.

“Llewyn! What happened?” you cry.

He points to the middle cushion and you see something sticking up from the padding.

“Oh, Llewyn, jesus. I’m so sorry,” you apologize. You really do feel terrible; your couch hasn’t been in the best shape for ages, and it looks like the squeaky spring you noticed a few weeks ago finally gave up and poked it way through. And stabbed Llewyn in the back as he slept. Damn it.

“It’s...it’s fine,” he tells you, still wincing. “I can turn the other way, or sleep on the floor. Not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “Yes big deal. My couch just stabbed you, and it’s cold outside, you can’t sleep on the floor.”

“S’fine. Not the first time I ended up on the floor.”

You make up your mind before you even think about it and reach your hand out to him. “Come on,” you wiggle your fingers. “Come to bed.”

Llewyn’s eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to protest, but your look is so firm that he relents with a soft sigh and extricates himself from the blanket. He follows you to the bedroom and asks, no less than seven times, if you’re sure this is okay and says he really has no problem sleeping on the floor. You eventually tell him to shut the hell up and get under the covers.

You both lay on your sides, facing each other, but keep a space between you. Llewyn still looks mildly uneasy but relaxes as you smile at him and the warmth of your duvet and the softness of your pillows pull him under.

“Good night again, Llewyn,” you whisper.

“Good night again,” he replies with a soft yawn.

The rain steadily patters on your window and the sky slowly lightens as morning breaks and you languidly wake, curled into Llewyn’s chest, his arms secure around you.

December 14

Snow falls lightly outside, coats the grass and sticks to Llewyn’s curls, and his breath swirls and makes curlicues in the chill winter air. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and you decide to put up a tree, a real tree, and you tell him he’s going to help decorate it.

You also tell him that a bunch of your light strings have stopped working, and before you can ask him to run to the shop down the block that sells replacements, he volunteers and is out the door.

He can’t remember the last time he was anywhere with a real tree. It was usually those cheap-looking fake ones, the green plastic branches a color that would never exist naturally, if there were any tree at all.

So yeah, maybe he’s a little excited. He comes up the steps to the apartment, a bag perched in the crook of his elbow as he unlocks the door.

“So I got the lights, like you asked,” he says cheerfully, and sets the bag down on the table by the door.

“Help.” That’s...not the response he’s expecting.

It’s two weeks since the entire living room has been rearranged. The new, non-back-stabbing couch is on the opposite wall. You rearranged all your shelves, got a new armchair, and much to Llewyn’s wary delight and bewilderment, a new side table. The side table has blank sheet music and pens and there’s a guitar stand next to it and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. You just smile and tell him he needs a space to be himself, whatever that means.

The newly-opened space under the window is where the tree is going. Or, should be going. Llewyn looks down at the toppled fir and sees a foot sticking out near the trunk.

“Sweetheart? What happened?”

Your voice answers from beneath the branches. “Can you just help get this off me, please?”

Llewyn rights the tree and turns his head to check on you. He’s more concerned about you than the tree, of course, but he wants to make sure it doesn’t take you out again so he secures it to the stand as he takes you in. Thankfully you look fine, a few needles stuck to your sweater and a tiny scratch on your cheek, but otherwise…

He tries to stifle a laugh. “You’re looking very festive.”

Your eyes narrow. “Go ahead and ask,” you bite out, “because I know you’re going to ask.”

“I already did ask, before I had to be your lumberjack.”

You refrain from telling him that lumberjacks fell trees, not upright them. Whatever. You motion your head to the shiny silver tinsel wrapped around your torso. You can’t use your hands, really, and you’re not sure how they got tied up in this mess, exactly, but here you are, sitting on your living room floor in a pile of pine needles, trussed like a Christmas goose in sparking silver twine.

And your best friend is laughing at you. Jerk.

“I was trying to get this around the top part, and I lost my balance. Then like an idiot I tried to catch myself on the tree, and the whole damn thing went down with me,” you sigh. “I don’t even know how the rest of this tangled mess happened.”

He does laugh now, full and rich. “I was only gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Um, can you maybe...untie me?”

“Oh! Wait, here, I got something else,” Llewyn jumps to his feet. He ignores your request and pokes around in the shopping bag.

“If it’s not chocolate, I don’t want to hear about it,” your grumbled response brings another laugh.

Llewyn’s back in front of you seconds later, holding a small white cluster above your head. The grin on his face is equally charming and infuriating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you blink at him.

“I mean, I was just gonna, y’know, hang it above the door later and let it happen, but now seems like a better time for some Christmas cheer.”

“I think you’re pretty satisfyingly cheerful right now, idiot.”

He waves the mistletoe over your heads. “Come on. It’s tradition.”

One day, maybe you’ll be able to stop sighing in his presence, but today is not that day. You sigh again, roll your eyes, and lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and delighting in the shade of crimson he turns in response. He clears his throat and places the mistletoe to the side.

“Now will you untie me?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

He does, and helps you get the tinsel where it’s supposed to go and you spend the rest of the afternoon decorating the tree and drinking hot cider.

Llewyn sings you more than one Christmas song to make up for all the teasing.

January 14

It seems like a good idea at the time. One of your friends at your actual day-to-day job offers to set you up with another coworker, and it’s been ages since you went on a date and you figure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?

It turns out the answer is, a lot. A lot can go wrong. So much that you don’t even want to think about it.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. There is no chemistry, no spark, just an hours-long recitation of how your date is god’s gift to pretty much everything under the sun and possibly also the moon. The name-drops are just the cherry on top.

Maybe your first impression isn’t wrong after all.

You trudge up to your apartment, the bag of your favorite takeout under your arm filled to nearly bursting, and get the door open. All you want to do is stuff your face and maybe take a long, hot bath with a glass of wine. Yes, that sounds perfect.

The melody of a strumming guitar stops as you place the bag on the side table and shimmy out of your coat. The lamp in the corner is the only illumination and you tilt your head towards the armchair’s occupant. You’re surprised that he’s there, but only because he was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. Knowing he wouldn’t be around was at least...half the reason you agreed to this stupid date in the first place.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?” Llewyn asks in a low voice through the dim light.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing at the Gaslight tonight?” you retort, brow raised.

He shrugs. “Might have had a few too many an’ said some things. Might’ve gotten thrown out.”

“Mmm,” you appraise him. He just looks the same way you feel; ridiculously tired. Exhausted. “Might’ve told my date I had to use the restroom but… maybe didn’t mention I meant the one at my house.”

“That bad?” Despite his snort, Llewyn sounds genuinely curious.

You sigh as you flop down on the couch and hold up the takeout bag. “I’d rather not talk about it. You wanna help me eat this?”

In an instant he’s on the couch next to you and you hand him some plastic utensils and a napkin. You get up and grab two beers. For a while you just focus on eating, passing containers back and forth with occasional comments about the food. Your knees bump sometimes as you each reach for different containers or your drinks.

“So what happened?”

You stab a piece of chicken a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid idea to go on a blind date.”

“Kind of a stupid idea to go on a date at all,” Llewyn replies softly.

“What.” It’s not really a question. You definitely don’t mean it as a question and you vaguely think about throwing an egg roll at him but that would be an honest waste of decent takeout.

“I know what the problem is,” he continues in a normal voice. “It’s the fourteenth.”

You look at him with a raised brow. He has an odd look on his face and you wait a beat before asking, “Okay? And?”

Llewyn also waits a beat before replying and points at you with his fork, a green bean stabbed on the end. You lean forward and pluck it off with your teeth. He needs a moment to clear his throat before he can go on. “It’s the fourteenth,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you noticed, but...well..weird things seem to keep happening. On the fourteenth. Of every month.”

“Huh.” He’s right, now that you think about it. You stab your food again. “What do you think that means?”

Llewyn looks like he wants to say something, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just shrugs. You put the container down and lean back on the couch, swinging your feet into Llewyn’s lap.

He idly strokes your ankles as his expression grows serious. “I think it means we should not go out on any fourteenths, ever. Just to be safe.”

You poke him with your big toe. “You’re an idiot. There are things that can happen inside. There are things that have happened inside.”

A smirk creeps through his beard. “Shit, you’re right. One-a your crappy novels might fall off the shelf and crack me on the skull.” He pauses. “More run-ins with wildlife? Oh! I know. Squirrels, but this time, in the walls.”

“That’s not funny!” you try to poke him again and dissolve into giggles as he tickles your foot. Your combined laughter ricochets off the living room walls before dissipating back into silence.

This time, you’re clearing your throat before being able to continue. “It’s been a day. I’m gonna go take a hot bath.” You get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

“Please don’t fall asleep in the tub!” he calls after you. “Don’t forget what day it is.”

Idiot.

After your bath, you head to the bedroom and find Llewyn passed out on top of the covers. He has a key, and he stays over far more often than not nowadays, and even though he’s been told numerous times since the broken couch that it’s okay if he’d rather sleep in a bed, you don’t mind sharing, he rarely takes you up on that offer. Okay, so this is the first time since the broken couch that he’s even sort of taken up the offer.

It’s been a weird day.

You grab a quilt and curl up on the other side of the bed, pulling it over both of you and snuggling down into your pillow.

“I wonder what happens on the next fourteenth,” you yawn mutter into the darkness of the room.

You’re asleep, so you can’t notice that Llewyn isn’t, really, and he rolls to face away from you and whispers, “Yeah, me too.”

February 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a straight bourbon, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as Pappi flips the power on.

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, and he hasn’t shown up yet, which is strange.

Another thing that’s strange? This weird feeling of déjà vu. Whatever, you’ve been working more nights at the club recently, and they’re all starting to blend together.

“Your friend’s out back,” Pappi’s voice breaks into your thoughts as he sidles up to the bar and leans back on it.

“My friend?” you ask, confused.

Pappi shrugs. “Said he was a friend of yours. Dark curly hair, worn corduroy jacket, always looks tired or pissed off or both.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Wait, why is...did he get the crap kicked out of him again?”

“Nah,” Pappi shakes his head. “At least, maybe not yet. Anyway, I dunno, he just asked me to tell you he was outside. I don’t know what the hell he’s up to.” He nods his head towards the back exit and turns to tend to the bar.

Strange.

You duck your head out the door and glance up and down the alley. You see nothing except the usual debris; trash containers, the dumpster, the rusty drain pipes that run down from the gutters, weathered fire escapes. Something skitters off at the far end and disappears between the buildings. Was that a raccoon?

You snort a laugh as you recall Llewyn’s jab about wildlife run-ins. It would be something that happens, in a dark alley behind a basket house in Greenwich Village on the fourteenth of…

Oh. It is the fourteenth.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the head of the alley.

Llewyn stands there, leaning against the brick, dark curls and worn corduroy and all. He holds a single yellow rose in his hands. He looks incredibly nervous, enough to match you looking incredibly confused.

You step fully outside and the door clicks shut behind you. “Hi?”

“Uhm, this is for you,” he says, awkwardly holding the rose out. “Saw a guy selling ‘em a few blocks down, thought you might like it.”

“Thank you? But what’s the occasion?” Why is everything coming out as a question? Even that.

He bites his lip. “You don’t know what today is?”

“Yeah, it’s the four---” Oh. Oh.

“You wanna get out of here? Have dinner with me, maybe?” Llewyn rubs the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen him done countless times, usually when he’s thinking about something serious and… Oh.

You twirl the rose in your fingertips and don’t quite meet his eyes. “I thought you said maybe we shouldn’t go out any fourteenths.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. Um, I don’t know if you also noticed, along with this whole fourteenth business, but I...I really like spending time with you, just hanging out with you, and...I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I thought maybe we could, y’know, have a non-weird fourteenth day of the month for a change.”

He’s rambling and it’s adorable. You hum softly. “...on Valentine’s Day.”

Llewyn’s hands twitch in his pockets. “Well...yeah. I mean, I like spending time with you, but...I also like you. So why not?”

He has a point. And really, now that one of you has said it out loud, you really can’t deny it. All the time spent together, all the shared meals and drinks and late-night talks on the couch and letting him basically move into your apartment...it’s no secret, you realize, it never really was, how close you’ve become over the past many months. How easy it is with him. How natural it is.

All the times he helped you. All the times you helped him. All the times you were together, just being.

The fourteenth of the month be damned.

You pretend to think about it for a little longer than necessary as Llewyn watches you anxiously. “Well, I do have to work, you know.”

“I already asked your boss,” he shakes his head, “and he was more than willing to agree. Something about not getting a black eye on your behalf tonight.”

Your laugh rings out into the street. “But it is the fourteenth. What if one of us gets food poisoning or chokes on dessert or something?”

“Vomit doesn’t bother me and I know the Heimlich,” he smirks. “And I’m already asking you out in a dark alley in the Village, how much weirder can it get?”

“You make a fair point, Llewyn Davis.”

He extends an elbow and a hopeful smile.

If he notices, as he brushes his lips on your knuckles as you take his offered arm, that your breath catches and your heart rate increases, he doesn’t let on.

But later that night, as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck and asks you what you want to do on the next fourteenth, well, Llewyn Davis definitely notices then.

~end~

#llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #valentine's fic exchange #oscar fandom fic exchange #samrockweil

144 notes · View notes

whats-rambled-rambled · 3 years

Text

Long Nights - part 2

Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: Praise you

(see chapter 1)

summary: you found tremendous joy in coming up with new ways to make the lockpicking sessions challenging. And entertaining.

...even if the last part was mostly a one-sided thing.

warnings: 18+, explicit language, teasing, implied smut I guess? oh, and of course - ✨hand content✨

author’s note: Took me a while, but it was fun to write! Didn’t expect it to get this long, but here we are - over 4,2k words of shameless hand content

The song for this chapter is Fatboy Slim - Praise you

Anyway, enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

——————

Tag list: @vaneilla @gallifreyan-uprising @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @truly-insatiable (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

-----

You cracked it.

It took you a good while, though. A whole sleepless night, even.

And half of the morning after that.

But maybe the absolute exhaustion was the key, pun intended.

At first, it boggled your mind so much that you were dangerously close to using brute force just to examine that lock. You tried every technique that you could think of - to no effect. It wasn’t like anything you’d seen before. The mechanism wasn’t responding as usual, it was more like a thing from goddamn Upside Down, or however the fuck that was called.

It became a matter of pride.

The sun had risen over an hour ago and the sunlight was pouring through the gaps in the blinds. Grasping at the last strands of sanity, you decided to take a break. You put on your headphones and danced around your apartment to the sounds of a song with that one bloody line that somehow seemed fitting for this madness.

Is it worth it? Let me work it, I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it

Because it felt exactly like that was what had happened to it. And no amount of cursing and switching tools would help in the face of glitched reality.

And when you sat down at your desk again, with your head so empty that your last brain cell was amusing itself by yodeling and listening to an echo, you bound the first pin. The sound was so distorted it almost startled you. The last thing you needed right then was to break the hook inside the keyway, so you leveled your breath and continued, even though your fingers cramped painfully. That wasn’t enough to stop you. Not as you finally got proof that the task was actually within your reach.

With every click like a backwards version of the sound you knew so well, the next pins got set quicker and smoother. And when you opened the lock, you couldn’t help the cheerful scream that escaped your mouth.

“Fuck yes!” You punched the air, the adrenaline rushing through your veins, the biggest grin lighting up your face.

That’s when you knew there was no way you were going to sleep anytime soon. Besides, you still didn’t know how you managed to convince that device to cooperate. You had to prove to yourself that it wasn’t dumb luck, and should you ever come upon a bloody nightmare like that, you’d be able to use the experience to crack it open. Because of that, you spent the next couple of hours reverse-picking it (which turned out to be another level of bonkers) to lock the damn thing, only to open it back again. And again. And then three times more. When you got comfortable with the process, your eyes were burning, your fingers stiff and trembling, but the immense satisfaction was worth every bit of it.

You were about to crash on the bed as your phone buzzed, and you glanced at the incoming message.

//did you pick it?

At first, you assumed you got it from Mahir, but as you were typing in a long rant, you realized that there was no history of the previous conversations on the screen, so you checked the sender again.

Neil.

Huh.

You’d exchanged the numbers the day before, but you didn’t expect to hear from him until they got everything ready to start the lessons. Oh well. You snapped the picture of the open lock and sent it back, adding a short message.

//that was fun, hope you have more of them

As you faceplanted on the bed, the phone buzzed with a reply.

//N: you bet

You couldn’t wait to get all the answers about how they managed to manufacture the most bizarre and mind-bending thing you’d ever seen, but there was no point in asking those questions over the phone. Plus, you really needed to get some rest.

//awesome! now excuse me, imma get some Zs - let me know when you guys are ready to start

After a second, you typed in another text.

//ps. how’s your nose?

//N: will do, sleep well!

//N: as for my nose...let’s say I’m glad it wasn’t the straightest one in the first place

That cheeky bastard.

//hey, don’t try to guilt-trip me, i’m trying to sleep

You almost drifted off, but you couldn’t resist checking that last notification.

//N: ...I wouldn’t dare

Snorting, you rolled to the side.

Then you fell asleep, dreaming of the impossible locks.

-------

It took them another day to prepare all the stuff, and after several further messages you got a date and location.

The building looked like a contemporary tenement house, definitely standing out from two older ones at its sides. You always assumed it belonged to one of those fancy start-ups, but apparently it was some sort of temporary headquarters of your new associates.

It didn’t surprise you that you weren’t given a tour of the place, you assumed you needed to have some sort of clearance to walk freely through the area. For now, you were restricted to the ground floor, or rather to the lobby and your classroom - a rather cozy space, but equipped with everything you needed to begin.

Neil turned out to be a fast learner, at least when it came to covering the theoretical side of lockpicking. You walked him through the basics, but you couldn’t help the itch in the back of your brain. After the encounter with the preposterous lock, your mind started to question everything that used to be unshakeable.

And of course you asked Neil about that bloody device as soon as you saw him, but he just smiled lightly and said that The Protagonist insisted on telling you all that himself when the time was right. So you had nothing left to do but to continue with the lessons, hoping that you the man himself would decide to grace you with his presence sooner than later.

You propped the chin on your hand and watched as Neil grabbed the tools. Your gaze wandered over his outrageously long fingers as he gave the lock a try, but apparently, the most idiotic grin on your face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey, eyes up here,” snorted Neil, and you looked at him just to meet his amused face. He caught you shamelessly staring, and there was no point in denying it.

Trying to salvage your mental coherence, you choked out, “Dude, your hands are--”

“What?” he asked, tilting his head.

“...huge,” you finished, the wide smile not leaving even for a second. You bit your lip and glanced back at Neil. “Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna stare for a bit longer.”

A hint of a blush crept upon his cheeks. My, oh my. Blinking rapidly, he cleared his throat and proceeded to bind the first pin, pressing his mouth into a thin line in an attempt to keep a composed demeanor. The sparkles in his gaze were quite telling, though.

The sight was utterly adorable, but more importantly, it planted a rather gut-busting idea into your head.

You stifled a giggle.

All in due time.

____

One of the perks of the location was a small cafe on the other side of the street.

Neil took you there on your second day during a break, walking in with a confidence of a true regular. He knew the staff by name and vice-versa, so it didn’t surprise you as he charmed his way through the conversation.

“I’ve got this,” he said, raising a hand to stop you before you could place your order. “One black coffee and one--...” he hesitated, still preventing you from chiming in. You crossed your arms and watched as his forehead creased, the confidence leaving him with every second passed. He narrowed his eyes, and you could almost hear the gears grinding in his head.

Whatever he was doing, or trying to do, it was time to put him out of his misery.

“Iced mocha for me, please,” you said, wondering which one of you had a more puzzled expression. “Cat got your tongue?”

Neil shook his head.

“No, it’s just…” - he let out a small sigh - “I can’t read you.”

“Good,” you snorted. “Why would you want to, anyway?”

The young barista smiled, putting the first coffee on the counter.

“Oh, your colleague here has a thing.”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “Do tell!”

“It’s nothing,” said Neil, cringing slightly, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the enthusiastic answer from spilling from the barista.

“He likes to guess the orders of his companions, but this is prolly the first time I ever saw him freeze like that. Can’t wait to tell Doris!”

Neil groaned, avoiding your amused stare. “Spare me, Max.”

“Aww, man, I’m honored to be your first!” you teased, nudging his arm lightly and snickering at the absolutely done face he gave you in return.

That cafe quickly became your place of choice during breaks, but sometimes, if the weather was nice enough, you ordered to-go, just to spend that bit of free time between lockpicking sessions sitting on a grassy hill overlooking a bank of the river. You chatted about everything and nothing in particular, or simply sat in silence, enjoying the ambiance, beverages, and each other’s company.

The last thing took you by surprise, in a way. You’d expected those brief moments of a break during the day to be your sacred moments of solitude, the usual necessity to avoid getting too cranky around people. As Neil joined you on that second day, you found out that his presence was not bothering you, or at least your social batteries weren’t being drained in their regular manner. Sure, it probably helped that he was incredibly easy on the eyes, but a real treat were those moments when you ventured onto a territory he felt strongly about. In a wink, he was ready to drop his typical composure just to go straight into bubbly rants, gesturing wildly, the blue irises lit by the fire that he most often kept under wraps.

There was nothing more boring than people who lacked passion.

Lucky for you, that was not the case with Neil.

Moreover, he made you laugh.

A dangerous combination.

Alluring, even.

Good thing that you were not one to become smitten that easily.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t have some fun, though.

--------

“You need to listen to what the lock has to say,” you prompted, pacing through the room and watching as Neil struggled with a new type of mechanism. “It’s all about feedback.”

He pulled out the tools and rubbed his face, trying to hide the first hints of frustration.

“What if we apply heavier tension to amplify it?” he said and glared at the lock as if it was taunting him from its place on the practice stand.

“Sure, “ - you leaned over the table to rest the chin on your laced fingers - “but can you think of any reasons not to do that, my dear Physics Boy?”

“The higher possibility of breaking tools?”

“Precisely,” you said as you snapped and pointed your fingers. ”Also, you risk binding the pins too tightly and you wouldn’t want that, either.”

Neil sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“So...patience, then?”

“Yes,” you beamed. “It really comes down to one thing - you have to feel it.”

A corner of his lips twitched. “I’ve heard it before,” he said, shifting in his seat.

You shrugged, eyeing him curiously.

“Maybe because that’s one universally useful advice?”

“Would help if I understood it, too.” He gave you a weak smile, but his expression told you he wasn’t convinced.

You hummed in acknowledgment.

“Listen, I can smarten it up for you, but let me just show you what I mean.” You grabbed the second pair of tools from the table and placed them inside the keyway, but as soon as you opened your mouth to provide some follow-up instructions, you got struck by a better idea. Your eyes flared up. “Okay, know what? I’m just gonna-- if you could scoot back a bit--...” you said, shuffling in his direction. Neil’s brows snapped together in consternation, but he moved back. Without further ado, you sat down in front of him, nestling yourself between his spread legs on the edge of the chair, and let out a content sigh. “Should be easier now. Put your hands on mine.“

Neil tensed, and you could swear you heard him swallowing hard behind your back. He followed your suggestion, wrapping his arms around you and placing his hands on top of yours.

“Now, lay your fingers on the tools just above mine,” you continued as you slid your digits back to make more room for him. “Great, try not to press them and focus. Close your eyes, if you want.” As you gently moved the tools, you couldn’t resist but to add, “You can breathe though, you know?”

“Blimey.”

You giggled at the sarcastic bit in his tone and drew a long breath, hoping that Neil would follow it, and focused back on the lock. Purposefully slowing down your movements to allow him to feel how the mechanism responded to your ministrations, you kept sliding the hook back and forth the keyway, setting pin after pin. Neil relaxed after a moment, his shallow breath ghosting over your shoulder got deeper and more steady. His palms rested heavier on your hands, and you marveled at their size again, nibbling on your bottom lip. With all your senses sharpened, you stole a brief moment of self-indulgence, closing your eyes and relishing in the warmth radiating from Neil, the way it enveloped you, carrying a scent of his cologne - airy citrus undertones mixed with hints of powdery musk, a fresh and unostentatious combination you found fitting him so well.

The final click, more pressure and voilà - the lock was open.

“Did you feel it?” you asked softly, weirdly unwilling to move, hoping to linger in the position for a little while longer.

“Yes,” said Neil, and his husky voice made you turn your head to look at him. As he pulled his hands back somewhat hesitantly, you noticed his dazed expression and slightly flushed cheeks.

“Good,” you chirped, grinning, then reached out over your shoulder and lightly booped his nose, enjoying probably a bit too much the way his eyes widened. “Your turn.”

-----

Days. Weeks. Or was it months, plural?

You lost track of how much time had passed since that morning in the Old Town district.

The progress was counted by the number of models you introduced to Neil, showing him all the tricks you’d learned over the years. You still waited for the meeting with The Protagonist, although, ever since your student spilled a little too much information during one of his enthusiastic rants at the breaks (seriously, how could a person that bad at keeping secrets survive so long in any sort of spying business was beyond you), your initial curiosity itch had been scratched, and you were now in that blessed moment before it got unbearable again and demanded taking further actions.

It also helped that you found tremendous joy in coming up with new ways to make the lockpicking sessions challenging. And entertaining. Even if the last part was mostly a one-sided thing.

Neil was clearly feeling confident that evening. He really started to get a hang of this, and you loved watching him like that - fully focused, blonde strands falling to the eyes, with the tip of the tongue poking out...

It would be a shame if someone was to test his level of concentration.

“You know, I spend so much time looking at your hands that they recently started making cameos in my dreams.”

The blue eyes darted at you from under raised brows.

“Is that so?" asked Neil, switching his attention to the lock again.

“Yep. Mind you, most of those dreams are rather uneventful.” You pouted, sliding from your place on the windowsill. “Still waiting for one that is not so boringly PG-13.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and swallowed with effort.

...warmer...

Circling the table, you stopped behind Neil’s chair.

"I’m just saying,” - leaning over, you purred right into his ear - ”that such long fingers like yours can give a girl all sorts of ideas--"

Snap.

You bit back a satisfied smile and smacked your tongue. “Those were perfectly fine tools, you know.”

Neil turned in his seat and gaped at you.

“Why are you like this?” he complained, helpless and flustered.

You shrugged. “I thought it was a high time for a little stress test. Might come in handy later.” Snickering at his puzzled face, you added, “What? You’re not exactly in a stress-free line of work.”

He shook the head lightly and scoffed. “... yeah, I see your point,” he said, a corner of his mouth curling into a half-smile. “But I don’t think there’s a high risk of someone trying to seduce me in the field.”

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” you asked, arching a brow, your tone nothing but serious.

“I-...”

The panicked look on his face as he blinked rapidly was more than enough to break your deadpan façade.

“Oh man, I’m just pulling your leg. You should’ve seen your face though.” Giggling, you grabbed a fresh lock from a shelf and tossed it to Neil. He sighed and replaced the messed-up device. “Besides,” you continued, “if there is one thing that the espionage movies have taught me, it’s that the spy always has plenty of beautiful creatures willing to keep his bed warm.”

The playful sparks appeared in Neil’s eyes.

“Is this a very elaborate way of asking me if I’m seeing someone or are you volunteering?”

Well, well, well.

“What if it’s both?”

“Then the first answer is no. As for the second one--” he hesitated, tugging the bottom lip between the teeth. “...a follow-up question - is it a good idea?”

You tilted your head, sitting down on the edge of the table in front of him.

“Why?”

“What if it’s gonna make things… I don’t know, weird?”

You gestured vaguely. “Can’t get any weirder than all your timey-wimey, inverted entropy bullshit.”

“That’s not exactly--”

“I know what you meant,” you sighed and met his darkened gaze, a shade of smile tainting your lips. “And yet, you’re trying to appeal to my reason while looking at me like that.” You left your seat and grabbed your backpack. “It’s getting late. Finish with this one and get some rest.”

Then you left, not waiting for a reply.

It was one of the warm nights and you decided to take a walk. A promenade near the river was not as crowded as you expected, making your journey home way more enjoyable. With your favourite tunes seeping through the headphones, you took in the view, the city lights reflecting in the water only added to the ambiance.

The phone buzzed in your pocket.

//N: I can’t believe you left like that

You chuckled, texting him back.

//why, you had any plans?

The answer came almost instantly.

//N: maybe

He was adorable. But--

//have you finished with the lock?

//N: …no

//N: wait are you gonna use our conversation as some sort of motivational tool now

Even if you weren’t, after getting a message like that?

You just had to.

//maybe?

//N: jesus

//sex is but a great metaphorical carrot. besides - it’s all about that delayed gratification and whatnot

A moment of silence.

And then:

//N: you’re evil.

That spiteful period at the end got you snickering loudly, earning you some curious looks.

A huge grin lit up your face.

//gn <3

-----

You must admit, that game was quite exciting.

And Neil was getting better at it, and soon implying became no longer enough to make him lose his focus.

At first, it was relatively easy to prompt a blush or a slight tremble of a hand. But with every next attempt, he grew more and more resilient, and soon, the only indication that he heard you was the fire burning in his eyes.

Then you got really mean, throwing some ambitious tasks in front of him, tricky locks and complex mechanisms, as your teasing got more straightforward.

And descriptive.

It became hard to shake it off once you left the training room. The lingering looks. The accidental touches. The atmosphere, almost electric. In other words - the heat sink was ready to be popped, and it was no longer a matter of if, but more of when.

“4 minutes.”

Neil barely nodded, lips pressed together and brows knitted in concentration.

3 locks in 15 minutes. Difficult, but doable, considering his current level of skill. Too bad he’d slacked at the second one, not leaving too much time for the final push. Sure, you didn’t go easy on him along the way, but the real challenge was supposed to be a race against the clock, so now you just watched him with bated breath.

Click.

You checked the time.

“45 seconds”

“Goddamnit!” he uttered through gritted teeth, readjusting cramping fingers on the tools.

“Come on, you’ve got this,” you said, taking a step closer.

Another click.

He didn’t know that there was only one pin left to set. You did, that’s why you tried your best not to reveal it with your expression. Too early to celebrate, anyway.

“Nine... eight… seven… six… five…”

That’s when you heard a final click and you looked up from your phone, only to see the lock giving in and opening up.

“Yeah!” Neil cheered, banging a fist on the table and tossing the tools away.

You smiled, hiding the phone in the pocket. “Good job, I knew--” but before you could finish a sentence, Neil sprung up from his chair and closed the gap between you, then cupped your face with his palms and kissed you hungrily.

You froze for a second, but as your mind caught up, you kissed him back, tugging at the light blue shirt. He smiled against your lips and made you back away until you hit the wall, huffing at the sudden coldness of the surface. But he was bent on kissing you senseless until you both ended up gasping for air.

“You’re so paying for all that teasing,” he panted, running the tip of the tongue through his swollen lips. “Not to mention, you’ve given me a few fascinating ideas, and I’m very much willing to give them all a try.”

You grinned, fighting with your evidently short-circuiting brain for a grasp of coherence as his hands traveled down your body.

“My, my, all of them?”

“The night is young,” - his throaty chuckle sent a wave of heat through your body - “and I’m up for a challenge.”

“I’m counting on it,” you breathed, burying your fingers in his hair, and pulling him into a kiss again.

Actually, the challenge started right away, and that meant getting to Neil’s place, as the company conveniently rented him a room in a nearby hotel. Walking distance, but in your current quite heated state, every distance seemed way too long. Especially when you had to keep up appearances.

At least until the elevator’s door closed behind you.

The dark gaze fixed on you. Your breaths intertwining. His bottom lip between your teeth. The five o’clock shadow under your fingertips. Your hands sliding under his shirt. His knee parting your legs. The intoxicating smell of his cologne. Your quiet moan. His tongue slipping into your mouth--

A quiet sound announced you reached your floor, and you stumbled out into the corridor, giggling, unable to keep hands and lips off each other.

Your back hit the door, barely missing the knob. Without skipping a beat, Neil reached to the pocket of his pants, then into the other one. When he tried the third one, you broke the kiss, your expression nothing but innocent.

“Looking for this?” you asked, showing him a key card.

He furrowed his brows. “Yes, thank you, I don’t know how--...” he started, but when he tried to snatch his property, you hid your hand behind your back. His jaw went slack as it dawned on him and he stared at you in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He groaned.

“You’re unbelievable,” he uttered as he pulled out his wallet. “Credit card?”

“Only if you’re not overly attached to it.” The roguish lights danced in your gaze. “Especially when you’re in a hurry,” you hinted, palming over the bulge in his pants. Neil squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a moan, and you stifled a chuckle. “Try any membership card.”

He glared at you. “You’re so in for it, you have no idea.”

“Promises, promises,” you pouted, trying not to burst into laughter at his wounded expression. “Work it.”

“Gladly, just tell me what to do.”

So you walked him through the process.

Fortunately, Neil really was a fast learner, making the door give way in no time.

“Good boy,” you hummed, and the blue eyes flared up.

He crashed his lips on yours, closing the door behind you.

Then he gave you a taste of what was coming for you.

And then some more.

And then…

...he gave you all.

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #neil tenet #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #long nights

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kaminobiwan · 4 years

Text

lost in translation

pairing: captain rex x engineer!reader

summary: an off day doesn’t always mean a bad day.

a/n: this one was very sweet to write :-) it’s part of my follower milestone celebration, and came from a request from an anon. the prompt was “catching someone doing something they’re not supposed to”, and I really didn’t expect this to take the form that it did! it’s a good thing, though. I really loved writing the fluff and rex deserves the entire world.

finally, here’s something new: my freshly made taglist form is done! as always, enjoy!

He finds you crouched outside the barracks with a datapad in your hand.

It’s not something he’d usually consider abnormal, given everything that happens on the front lines in a single day of wartime, but the way you peek from behind the wall like you don’t want anyone to see you is noticeably out of the ordinary.

He sneaks up on you pretty easily. It’s in his training, after all.

“What are you doing?”

You let out a surprised yelp, juggling the datapad for a few precarious seconds before catching it and shooting him an annoyed glare. “I could have dropped that.”

Rex tucks his helmet underneath his arm, shrugging indifferently. “Not like you couldn’t have fixed it.”

You shake your head at him the same way a teacher would to a misbehaving child, holding up a finger in correction. “I fix starships, not electronics.” Your voice drops conspiratorially. “It’s a completely different area of engineering.”

It doesn’t really matter that much to him. The math, or physics, or whatever you try to teach him always goes over his head, anyways. The way you’re glancing over your shoulder to see if any of the men can hear you, though, is something he’d like explained to him.

“Are you spying on them?”

“Shh!” You free a hand to clamp over his mouth, and Rex flinches at the sudden contact. Your hand is warm, no doubt from holding the datapad for too long. But he’s thankful, lest you feel the heat rising in his cheeks from your touch. “You’re gonna blow my cover. I’m on a mission.”

Rex’s voice is muffled, but his words come out clear enough. “What mission?”

You usher him back down the hallway from where he came, dropping your arm from his face. “Can’t tell you,” you reply, gazing up at him with an intrepid grin. Even without your expression, it’s easy to see through your jest with your overtly joking tone. “It’s top secret. Goes all the way up to the top.”

Rex raises an eyebrow. That is new. It’s not often you’ll hide something from him. You’ve always been an open book around the 501st, saying it helps the boys comfortably emote after the trauma of the battlefield. You’re naturally trusting, and it encourages reciprocation without force. Even the General had noticed and enjoyed the calming presence you’d had on his men, hence your current station as head engineer of their mobile base. Good thing, too — Rex is pretty deep in his feelings for you. Has been since the moment you’d stuck out a surprisingly calloused hand and introduced yourself to him. To the benefit of everyone, his command is noticeably more effective after a late night in your private quarters or his separated bunk.

“I think I’d know if you were assigned on a mission,” he holds the door open for you as you duck inside your room. “Seeing as how I’m your C.O.”

“Is that the case?” you tuck the datapad on a bookshelf next to your bed. You turn to speak over your shoulder, obviously attempting to conceal the information you’d been recording from him. “Didn’t realize I’d be dating my boss when I got involved with you.”

Rex stumbles on his own two feet at that, and you laugh at him outwardly.

He’s still not the best with confronting the relationship between the two of you, as under wraps as it may be. After losing so many brothers to the war that birthed them, it’s hard to be vulnerable the way you ask him to be. He wants the same thing you do, but being open about how he feels is almost impossible for him.

Thank the maker you’re patient, though, and can put up with his inability to call himself your boyfriend. It doesn’t stop you from showering him in affection.

“Well, I do outrank you, even if you are a civvie tech.” Recovered from his blunder, he eases himself down on your cot, undoing the straps of his armor. “So, I could just order you to tell me what you were doing.”

A pout materializes. “You’re no fun.”

“Got me mixed up with Fives if that’s what you’re looking for.”

You sigh dramatically, plopping into your favorite sitting corner next to his feet. The stool you usually prop your feet up on is missing, though he suspects it’s in the refresher since you seem to be too short to reach the cabinet there. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Rex lets a corner of his mouth rise in a half smile. He enjoys the way you let your reactions show, exercising the full range of your emotions. You pick up the slack he leaves in that regard, and he braces as he turns, leaning his elbows on his knees as he tells you, “You do know you were holding the datapad backwards earlier, right? I clocked the screen in the hall.”

Your frown deepens, and you cross your arms at him. “Rex.”

“What’re you lookin’ up Mando’a for, anyway?”

He’d immediately recognized the script of the language on your pad. You blow a strand of hair away from your face, the remnants of your so-called mission story falling away with the conversation. “I wanted to learn it, obviously.”

Rex casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Obviously. My question was why.”

You fix him with a thoughtful stare that lasts a second longer than normal, and he extends a hand to you in your corner. When you take it, he guides you to the bed next to him, resting your legs in his lap. His fingers tap your ankle in impatient waiting.

“Does there have to be a reason?” You flex your toes, wiggling them as you speak. “Maybe I just want to understand you better.”

“Sweetheart, you understand us plenty. Jesse said you gave him a hell of a therapy session just last week.”

You raise a brow at him, mimicking his expression from before. “I want to understand you, Mr. Brooding-and-closed-off,” you sit up from leaning on your hands, and poke him in the shoulder pointedly. It’s true that he relies on his mother tongue much more than the rest of his brothers. He’ll sometimes unknowingly switch from Basic, to your endless confusion. “I seem to be able to help everyone but you.” You purse your lips before peering at him amusedly. “And I think you mean psychoanalysis, not a therapy session.”

Rex makes a dismissive face. “Whatever.”

You drop your gaze, absently trailing your hand down his shoulder, and he grimaces internally. He can tell you’re already used to him pushing you away. You’re visibly preparing for it, even now.

He’s really bad with words — it’s ironic, considering how efficient he can be when he assumes command. Although he’s known for thinking on his feet, that doesn’t necessarily transfer to his communication skills. He’s never had the patience for conversation like Cody, or the power to convey his thoughts with threatening glares like Wolffe.

But he is good at taking action. And he’s tired of disappointing you.

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently as he brushes his thumb across your wrist. Hopefully, his intentions are obvious enough by the way he pulls you closer and looks you straight on. “You know you can always ask me what stuff means,” he says, “instead of trying to listen to Fives’ annoying voice.”

You laugh, and his heart flips in his chest. His brain reminds him to get it together, but he allows himself to relax into your touch. “He does speak too fast for me to decipher,” you wrap an arm around his waist, almost chin to chin with him. “Though it doesn’t take a protocol droid to figure out that haar’chak is a curse word.” You imitate the foreign word with decent accuracy, Rex notes. Maybe he really could teach you.

“It is. And kaysh mirsh solus is ‘he’s an idiot’.” He pauses. “Well, it actually means ‘his brain cell is lonely’. But that’s a little wordy.”

Your eyes light up, both at his seamless transition into the language and his correct anticipation of your first question. It’s his most used phrase, especially around his brothers. Though, the sincerity and circumstance in which he uses it varies wildly.

“There’s another one similar to that,” you press on, and he drinks in your excitement. It’s awfully endearing, even to Rex. “Hardcase says it a lot. It ends with ‘kee-rah-mood’?”

“Kaysh mirsh’kyramud,” Rex grins at your attempt. “‘He’s a brain assassin’. It just means someone’s boring.” A realization dawns on him as you giggle at the literal translations. “Wait, when has he said that?”

You shrink back a little, suddenly more conscious amidst your amusement. “Um…”

He looks at you flatly. “It’s after my briefings, isn’t it.”

“Yep.”

“Or’dinii.” After a beat, you nudge him. “‘Moron’.”

Another laugh breaks past your lips, and you lean your head against him. Despite his grumbling, he tucks you under him and kisses your temple, his face dissolving into a contented expression. You’re happily indulging him with the physical contact he’s always craving, and he silently offers you the first concession he’s given since you kissed him for the first time in the hangars before battle all those months ago. Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.

“What’s that mean?”

Rex jerks up in surprise, angling his neck down to see you watching him curiously. He hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud.

It’s not like him to be so out of his head, but then again, this hasn’t exactly been a regular day. He sucks in a breath, committing fully to the sentiment. He’s never made the first move with you. You’ve had to elicit every last moment from him, breaking down wall after rebuilt wall.

Not this time.

“I love you,” he murmurs, but you hear him, loud and clear. “It means I love you.”

Your eyes blaze with something he can’t get a read on, but you respond with an alarmingly straight face. “Is that what it means literally?”

Rex blinks. “Um, no. It means — ”

“I’m joking,” your facade drops immediately, and you break out into that wide, face-splitting smile he loves so damn much. “Rex, I love you.” You reach up to gather his jaw in your hands, and drag him down into a sweet kiss, and he swears he’s never felt happier. “I love you too, Rex, stars.”

Against your lips, he mumbles it again, the words glistening on his tongue. “I love you.”

Nothing he’s ever said has sounded better.

#rini writes #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #captain rex imagine #clones x reader #THIS ONE WAS CUTE NGL #this was the fic I was almost done with when I accidentally deleted all of my WIPs so it was basically written twice back to back LOL #I'm really happy how it turned out! it's kinda different from my other ones #more fast paced I think #also engineer!reader is here!!#i’ve been waiting to introduce her nyehehe i have so much planned #anyways i hope you guys like it :-)#much love xxx #rini reaches 175!

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thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Text

Julie x Luke Fic

ok i did it

i finished the song inspired fic (my first attempt at writing Juke lols) (also my longest fic posted to date?? over 2k?? what)

find it here on my AO3, otherwise under the read more cut below :)

let me know what you think!

————

i’ll go wherever you will go

JULIE

Saturday morning found Julie wide awake tossing and turning at 7:30am. Which was odd to say the least, as Julie definitely enjoyed a good lie in just as much as the next person.

She tried to go back to sleep, snuggling in deeper under her covers, tucking her hands under her cheek, and even switching positions a few times.

But still nothing.

Finally giving up on sleep by 7:50am, Julie jumped out of bed, planning to head straight to the studio. Her mind had switched on the moment she first opened her eyes, whirling with lyrics and melodies for a new potential anthem.

So she slipped on her large bear claw slippers, and padded her way through the still quiet house, gently opening and shutting the front door behind her.

She slowly walked down the path to the studio, fully aware that the boys would not be back from whatever it is teenage ghosts who don’t sleep do all night.

Julie pushed passed the doors of her mom’s studio, leaving them ajar, hoping to let in the cool morning breeze. She headed straight for the couch, where lay Luke’s (and now hers as well, she supposed) songbook.

She plopped down, enjoying the worn out feel of the leather and the softened cushions, dragging the book over & onto her lap. Flipping it open, she rifled through the pages, humming quietly under her breath, looking at all of the recent songs she & Luke had written together. It was routine for her to do a little recap of their joint material before she reached the empty pages, where she would start on something new.

She was just about to flip past their latest work, paper crinkling under her fingers, when something fell out from between the pages, fluttering to the ground. She looked down, brows pulling together, to find a folded piece of paper on the floor next to her cladded feet.

Curious, and fully aware that she had only just held this notebook in her hands yesterday, Julie leaned forward over her knees and picked up the scrap of paper, and unfolded it.

It was in covered Luke’s familiar scratchy handwriting, covered in words and notes and melodies, just like the rest of their shared songbook (albeit looking slightly more organised). Scratching at her scalp in confusion, Julie brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear as she brings the wrinkled paper closer for her to read.

But just before she does, she allows herself to breathe in deeply, eyes closing as the scent that is purely Luke invades her senses, enveloping her in a kind of warmth that vaguely reminds her of happy summers past.

She only gives herself a few seconds of self-indulgence, before she pulls the paper away from her face, sitting up a little straighter. Opening her eyes, she focuses on the words in front of her, scanning through the first few lines.

A gasp breaks through the silence in the studio as Julie starts to process the meaning behind the song.

She was reading a love song.

Her brain takes a second to comprehend, and another to fully process and kick in.

A love song written by Luke. And there was a very big chance that it was written with her in mind.

Love songs weren’t entirely a new territory for them - they had experimented with a few ever since they performed Stand Tall. But this one was a fully fleshed out song, with an underlying tone that was so heartbreaking, Julie could already feel her heart squeezing tight in her chest as tears start to push past her eyelids and down her cheeks.

So lately, been wondering,

Who will be there to take my place,

When I’m gone, you’ll need love,

To light the shadows on your face

A sob clawed its way out, breathing ragged as Julie clutched tighter at the piece of paper in her hand, her eyes squeezing shut. He must have written this when they thought they were going to move on.

She presses her free hand, now shaking, against her mouth, failing to stop the new stream of oncoming sobs from breaking out.

Even now, with the boys being physically present in her life, uncertainty still reared it’s ugly head. She would be bobbing her head along to music, working on her algebra homework, or lying in bed scrolling through Instagram, and it would hit. She’d suddenly be very aware of the fear of losing her new found family, of losing him, unsuspectingly crawling its way back up from where it was buried deep down, engulfing her in a haze that wouldn’t let up.

Trying to bring herself back to the present, Julie shakes her head, eyes opening back up. She tries to refocus on the words in front of her, even as her vision continued to blur.

If I could, then I would

I’ll go wherever you will go

Way up high, or down low,

I’ll go wherever you will go

And maybe, I’ll find out

The way to make it back someday

To watch you, to guide you,

Through the darkest of your days

I hope there’s someone out there

Who could bring me back to you

If I could turn back time,

I’ll go whenever you will go

If i could make you mine

i’ll go wherever you will go

“Jules?”

She was so taken by the words on the paper, so absorbed in the world the words were creating, that she hadn’t noticed Luke appearing into the studio.

Startled, she lifts her head, hair shifting and falling back over her shoulders as her eyes meet his.

LUKE

Luke had spent his night just as he always did: Roaming around the streets of Hollywood, constantly checking out new bands, new music - desperately trying to keep up with the music scene that constantly seemed to be changing.

Him and the boys had made a pact that they would always take advantage of their time back on Earth, whether spending it with loved ones (Alex tried to sneak off and see Willie whenever it was possible; Reggie liked to stick around the Molina house, following Ray and Carlos around), or spending it enriching their already deep knowledge of music.

And although he genuinely enjoyed spending his nights exploring the music scene with his boys, Luke always found himself itching to head back to their studio. Itching to head back to Julie. Some could call it pathetic (Alex), but he was over caring.

After having thought that he had somehow lost her, being forced to cross over or join some megalomaniac’s house band forever, he was through trying to act coy. He was head over heels in love with Julie Molina, and that was that.

Which meant that as soon as he deemed it late enough to head back, he left the boys on their way to meet Willie at some singer’s pool, and poofed back home (home. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?).

He was expecting the Molinas to still be asleep, hoping he’d be able to get a few hours’ worth of songwriting in before he’d be joined by a sleepy Julie.

What he hadn’t expect was to find a hunched over Julie, sat on their couch looking small as her eyes shone with freshly shed tears.

Luke quickly crossed the space between them, nearly jumping over the coffee table in his rush to get to her. He fell onto the couch next to her, reaching out to grab her hand in his. As was his routine whenever he’d held her hand, his thumb started to lightly trace over her knuckles, trying to soothe her the only way he knew best: by touch.

“Jules? Julie, what’s wrong? What happened?” He searched her face, futilely trying to make sense of the red rimmed eyes and the tear streaked cheeks. He was so preoccupied by the fresh batch that had started to spill over that he hadn’t noticed the cause: the now crumpled piece of paper wrapped up in Julie’s trembling fist.

But Julie would only shake her head at him, staring back with wide and glistening eyes.

Luke shifted, twisting his body to fully face her, extending his free hand towards her face to gently cup her cheek. The need to touch was just as much for her as it was for him. If he had a beating heart, it would be trying to hammer its way out of his chest. He needed something to ground him, to calm him down so he can focus, and nothing did that better than the girl sitting in front of him.

“Do you- do you want to talk about it?” He tried to regulate his voice, making it softer, tilting his head slightly to get closer to her eye level. He’d let her decide if she wanted to talk. He knew from personal experience what it felt like to want to let the tears and emotions pour out, without feeling the need to speak them out loud.

And yet - the lack of reaction on her part was worrying him. She still wouldn’t say a word, not even another shake or nod of the head - just staring at him with a mix of grief and wonder shining from her eyes. He didn’t know what to do with that.

But just as he was about to slide back a little, give her some space, he saw her lift her free hand, fingers curled tight into a fist, holding it up in front of him.

He looked at her questioningly for a second, before the hand that was still resting on her cheek moved to brush at her closed fist. At the contact, her fingers seemed to relax, easing the pressure on her knuckles. She slowly unraveled what was in her hand, dropping it in the palm of his.

As soon as he saw the crumpled piece of paper he understood.

She had found it.

His song. To her.

His farewell song.

He‘d completely forgotten he had hastily slipped it back into his songbook yesterday after their session.

He had planned on leaving the song in her dream box, where she was to find it after they had crossed over - a little piece of him, of his heart, of his soul, left behind for her to hold whenever needed.

But then they had stayed. And hugged. And laughed and hugged some more. And he figured she didn’t need to know about the sad love song he had written her.

So he had snuck back into her room late last night while she was asleep, and quickly grabbed it, shoving it into his songbook, with plans to properly dispose of it at a later time.

Too late for that now.

“Jules - I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to find this.” He scratched the back of his neck, song still in hand, unsure of how to navigate the conversation. He let out a long breath, trying to find the right words to explain to her.

“I wanted to leave you something that would always remind you of me - something personal, that no one’s seen or heard before. Just a little keepsake that you could go back to and read whenever you needed it.” His hand dropped into his lap with a soft thud, sound muted by the deafening quiet of the studio.

He chanced a look at her face, to find her still staring at him. Fortunately (he hoped), he could see the tears had stopped.

“I didn’t want to leave, knowing things might have been left unsaid. I figured I wouldn’t be as lucky next time round.” He tried for a weak laugh, but knew it wasn’t going to work. So he tried again.

“It uh- it was in your dream box. I know you said not to go near it, but I swear I just dropped the song in there and closed it. I didn’t snoop. Scout’s honour.” He did a little salute, two fingers held up, despite the fact that they both knew he was never a boy scout. He even tried a little shy smile, hoping she’d react to something. Anything.

And yet, still nothing.

Did she hate it? Did she think he was overstepping her boundaries? Did the song make her uncomfortable? He was starting to panic, even as he still felt her warm hand resting in his.

He let out a deep breath and tried again.

“I’m sorry, Julie, please, just talk to me. Let me know if I made you uncomfortable in any way, I-I-I’ll stop. We can burn the piece of paper and just forget this ever happened just please- say something.” He was pleading her, eyes solely focused on hers as he tried to gauge any type of reaction from her.

“You think I’m crying because it made me uncomfortable?” Her voice was so low, he nearly missed it.

He was not expecting her to start with that. But unexpected reactions were better than nothing.

“I- I don’t know Julie. You’ve been quiet from the moment I poofed in here. I don’t know what to think. But I’m so-“

“Please. Please Luke, stop apologising.” She shook her head, voice hoarse. Her lips twitched at the edges, the first signs of movement on her face since he approached her.

“This song- I-“ She swallowed, trying to dislodge the emotions wedged in her throat. Her eyes flickered from his lap, to the song and back up to his.

“Luke this- this is the most beautiful song you’ve ever written. I haven’t even looked at the music accompanying it and it’s already my favourite piece of music ever.”

Her voice hitched, as she tried to control her feelings. She cleared her throat, continuing.

“I cried because the emotions, the feelings that have been building up for a while now, all came crashing down on me at once. The fact that I really was this close to losing you guys,” she lifted her hand and touched his jaw, letting her fingers trail his cheek. “To losing you.”

Luke lifted his hand, covering hers.

“I’ll always be by your side Julie. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure of it. You know that.” His lips quirked into a half smile, recalling the words he had uttered the night they thought was their last.

“Could you- Could you play this for me?”

That surprised him. He wasn’t expecting her to want to revisit the song for a while. He lifted his brows as he tried to read her clear brown eyes.

“You sure you want to hear it now? We have all the time in the world. We could leave it for another day?“

She shook her head, the first real smile that morning, finding its way on her lips.

“No, I’m sure. I want to hear you sing it while I- while I can hold you close.”

His non-beating heart stuttered at her words, even as he tried to (unsuccessfully) keep the joyfully surprised expression from showing too much on his face.

“Alright.”

He got up quickly to grab his guitar and then immediately headed back to sit down next to his brown eyed wicked beauty.

Hm, that title had potential.

No Luke, focus.

He started tuning his six-string as Julie settled herself more comfortably against his side on the sofa. Her arm snaked its way around his back as she squeezed herself closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, trying to savour this feeling, this moment, committing it to memory, before he opened them back up and prepared himself to start playing the song he never thought he’d get the chance to perform.

So lately, been wondering,

Who will be there to take my place,

When I’m gone, you’ll need love,

To light the shadows on your face

He could already feel the tears soaking their way through his shirt sleeves, as Julie’s hand clenched, her arm tightening her hold onto him. He fought through the need to comfort her, willing himself to finish playing her his song. He was baring his soul to her; the least he could do was do it right.

I know now, just quite how

My life and love might still go on

In your heart, in your mind

I’ll stay with you for all of time

He was nearing the end of the song, strumming through the last verse before he reached the altered chorus, bringing his emotions to an all time high. He sneaked a quick peak at Julie, her eyes closed as the tears continued to spill.

If I could turn back time,

I’ll go wherever you will go

If I could make you mine,

I’ll go wherever you will go

And with the last strum of his guitar, the final note softly fading into the quiet of the studio, Luke shifted for the first time since he started playing her the song. He gently moved the guitar from his lap, placing it against the side of the sofa. Turning back around, he then fully enveloped the other half of his soul in his arm, bringing her even closer to her rightful place in his heart.

FIN

#juke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #julie molina #jukebox #julie x luke #jatp fics #my fics #thedeathdeelers fics

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ackerslut · 3 years

Text

Two Bisexuals Are Your Co-Captains

ao3

“I solved racism,” Mariner says, kicking open the ready room door. This should not be physically possible, as doors have progressed past the need to be opened, and are, in fact, automatic.

Boimler, whose face is currently one with the synthetic wooden desk, gives her a thumbs up but doesn’t move beyond that.

“Okay, I lied, I didn’t solve racism,” Mariner admits. “It’s still a problem in our galaxy. But, I did solve our captain problem!” she tries. This does get Boimler to remove his face from it’s fixture on the desk.

“You did?” he blinks up at her, creases in his face from where it had been smooshed against the hard surface.

Mariner dumps an honest-to-god paper file on his desk. “Check it out, twink.”

Boimler swipes the file, frowning as nothing happens when he taps it. Mariner helps him out, flipping the cover over. “So there’s this really nifty rule back from like 2039 that allows for two acting captains to co-pilot the ship simultaneously.”

“Are you serious?” Boimler groans.

“As Legato Infection,” Mariner confirms. “It was apparently instated for missions where the crew is like. Separated or some shit and need more than one captain coordinating. Because Starfleet was also part of the air force for a while, co-captains were basically just co-pilots. Like this was a whole thing. But it got overwritten with the First Officer Act of 2048 that instated First Officers as a fill in instead of a co-captain, able to make decisions and delegate, but it was never technically outlawed. Meaning…”

“We could technically take advantage of the loophole and-”

“Co-Captains!” Mariner punches the air. “You know what this means?”

Boimler blinks at her blankly. Beckett applauds herself over the alliteration, as she throws an arm over his shoulder. “It’s our ship,” she whispers dramatically, already envisioning the communist flags with selfies of her and Boimler printed on them.

“Or it could just be your ship,” Boimler says, fear in his eyes.

Beckett grabs his collar, dragging him up to eye level. “Our ship.”

________

“Beckett no,” Freeman says flatly. Ever since The Incident--the one where the ship was overrun with the Pakleds that took out the entirety of senior command--she’s been in medbay, wrapped up in so many bandages she looks like a mummy from one of those really old movies Boimler is obsessed with.

“Beckett yes ,” Mariner says, taking a slurp of her cherry limeade slurpee. “You named me First Officer!”

“Then why does Boimler-”

“Ransom also named him First Officer!”

“So your brain jumped to Co-Captains ?” Mariner can’t see her mom’s expression, but from her squinty eyes she’s pretty sure it’s disapproving. “That is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“You can’t call your daughter dumb!” Mariner throws her hands up in the air.

“Mariner, you’re dumb.”

“That’s against parent rules! Everything I do is supposed to be a fucking delight!”

Freeman turns her judgy eyes to Boimler, who had been staring off into the middle distance, probably traumatized by all of the shrieking the mother and daughter duo had been doing since they entered medbay. Whatever, it’s not Mariner’s fault that her mom’s kneejerk reaction to her daughter charging into medbay with a bat'leth and no shirt on was to shriek like a goddamn banshee.

“You know what,” Freeman says, eyes locked on Boimler. “I’m already having a bad fucking week. Go ahead, make it worse I dare you .”

“Uhm-”

“We absolutely will do that,” Beckett promises, crossing her heart.

_____

“ ATTENTION ALL PERSONAL ,” Mariner says, over the ship’s speakers. D’Vana, from her position at the First Officer’s station, gives her a Disappointed Look. Mariner gives her a thumbs up back.

“ DUE TO OUR EXCRUCIATING CIRCUMSTANCES AND THE LACK OF COMMUNICATION BETWEEN YOUR FORMER CAPTAIN AND HER FIRST OFFICER, ENSIGN BOIMLER AND I WILL BE YOUR CO-CAPTAINS TONIGHT. OR FOREVER, WE HAVEN’T DECIDED YET.”

“Mariner, what are you doing?” Boimler says, storming onto the Bridge. Mariner, who had hacked the Bridge speakers to play Demi Lovato’s Confident every time Boimler entered, is pleased to note that nobody had figured out how to turn that off yet. Unfortunately for her, however, Boimler didn’t recognize his girlboss powers, and had been yelling at her every time it happened.

“I’m letting the ship know about our change in command, oh Co-Captain of mine,” Mariner says over the booming bass and Demi Lovato’s dulcet tones. In the corner of her eye, the vulcan side character that everyone thought was a Cool Guy, bopped his head to the music.

Boimler sighs, pressing his palms into his eyes. “So we’re actually doing this?”

“Dude, I already made us friendship jackets. That shit had a no refunds policy.” She pulls a leather jacket that had been draped over their helmsman's head--bad for ship navigation, but good for dramatic effect--and throws it at Boimler. Boimler unfolds the pink monstrosity, sighing deeply at the neon-yellow glitter words Gatekeep Girlboss Gaslight emblazoned on the back.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s ABSOLUTELY necessary,” Mariner says, standing up. She turns around, showing Boimler her purple jacket which says Malewife Mansplain Manipulate in snot-green glitter.

“HOW DOES THAT MATCH.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DOES THAT MATCH.” Her voice echoes strangely, alerting her to the fact that the shipwide comms are still in use. She reaches over, flicking the switch off and turns back to Boimler, hands on her hips. “Is this an anxiety thing again? Do you need to go back on medication?”

“I don’t need to be on meds!”

“Then why won’t you wear our super secret special jackets!”

“Because mine is hot pink and says girlboss on the back!”

Mariner lets out a gasp. “Are you saying... Boimler are you adhering to GENDER ROLES?”

“No-no stop it -”

“You! You of ALL PEOPLE-”

“Mariner, cut it out!”

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT BRAD BOIMLER IS A-”

Boimler pulls the jacket on so violently that he somehow elbows himself in the eye. The pink really does go with his hair-which Mariner knows for a fact he dyes himself every three weeks. “There! Happy?”

“So so happy.” Mariner hands him a martini from the tray she had brought in and nailed to the arm of the captain’s chair. The one she hands to Boimler has a rainbow umbrella in it. “So, first order of business. I think we need car seats for short people.”

“Excuse me.”

Mariner picks up her own martini glass and takes a chug, choking on the strawberry chunks she had grinded into it a few minutes before Boimler got here. “You know, car seats? That shit you put babies in because cars are a danger to humanity but we keep buying them? I think the shorties on this ship deserve some protection.”

Boimler drains his glass. “Fine, whatever, I don’t even care anymore.”

______

Mariner is commissioning the previously mentioned communist flags with hers and Boimler’s faces printed on them, when Tendi comes into the ready room. She is wearing the face of complete and utter defeat that everyone else had been wearing since the Co-Captains had been instated. Mariner insists it’s because they’re sad that she and Boimler wouldn’t get to be captains forever. Boimler says it’s because everyone’s writing their suicide notes to their familes.

“Mariner, we need to talk,” Tendi says, using the opening line to every break up Mariner’s been a part of and seen on tv. Which is really weird because she didn’t think she and Tendi were in a relationship.

“I’m all ears,” Mariner says, which is a dumb fucking line because clearly she isn’t , but people say that all the time.

“I don’t want to be your First Officer,” Tendi says, crossing her arms. “It was fun for the first week, but after you made it mandatory to do the Macarena during the first ten minutes of each hour, morale has been down.”

“Hmm,” Mariner pets Boimler’s therapy cat, Dishwasher, thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll make that one optional. Any other requests?”

Tendi sighs. “No,” she admits. “To be honest, the ship is running at 98%, which is the highest any ship in Starfleet has ever run. I think Brad orgasmed when he heard about that.”

“You call him Brad ?” Mariner stares up at her friend, aghast.

“That’s his name?”

“Yeah, and his cat’s name is Dishwasher , but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to call her that!” Dishwasher growls at her name. Mariner shushes her, hands clamped over her ears. “She turns into a murder-rage machine when you call her by her given name! How do we know Boimler isn’t the same?”

“Because I call him Brad all the time!” Tendi hisses back, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Oh my god, he’s probably serial killing as we speak. I hope you’re ready to talk to the victim’s families and let them know that their loved one’s died because you couldn’t help yourself.”

Tendi stares at Mariner for a full minute. “Resignation,” she reiterates, pointing at Mariner. “I want to be a gross ensign scrubbing the deck again. Nepotism sucks .”

“Fine, you’re demoted. Go enjoy mediocrity.”

“I will.” Tendi storms out, kicking the door shut. Which again, is completely, 100% impossible because it’s the 23rd century or whatever-Mariner’s not keeping count-and automatic doors are now a Thing.

Mariner hacks their speaker systems to play the Wii Shop Channel Music-a reliac of the past only alluded to on private groupchats and servers- to play whenever Tendi entered a room. It’s the least she could do.

______

“As your First Officer,” a reluctant Rutherford says reluctantly, “I am here to remind you that that would be a very bad idea .”

“Rutherford, who’s the boss around here?” Mariner asks, hands on her hips.

Rutherford sighs. “You.”

“And as the boss, who makes all the decisions around here?”

Another sigh. “ You .”

“Then why are you being a killjoy over my decision to get down and dirty with my Co-Captain?”

Rutherford makes a shriek-y noise, like those boys who got their testicles cut off in the old days so they could sing opera. “Mariner, I’m serious, don’t do it .”

“Is it against regulation?”

“No,” Rutherford groans. “You’re both the same rank-”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You can’t sleep with Boimler just because you can!”

“That’s not why I’m going to sleep with Boimler,” Mariner waves him off. “I was sitting on his lap the other day-”

“Oh my god -”

“-in the Captain's chair--ooh we should look into getting another one of those, TWO chairs are better than one--”

“Mariner, to the point please.”

“Oh, yeah, so I’m in his lap and I maay have backed up a little too far and bumped up against-”

“Stop literally stop .”

“Yeah, so turns out Boimler is PACKING and I gotta hop on that train, so to speak.”

“Okay, you know what?” Rutherford shoves his padd at Mariner. “I quit, I can’t do this. I want to be a lower decks ensign again.”

“Wow, you’re like, the seventeenth person this week to quit. Which, coincidentally, is exactly how long I’ve been captain.”

“Yeah, weird coincidence,” Rutherford deadpans.

_____

“I may have fucked up, Mom,” Mariner shrieks, waltzing into medbay with all the grace of a duck pulling off a white bread heist. “I think you should take captaincy back.”

Freeman, who had fully recovered two days ago, but refused to engage in the chaos Mariner was purposely causing on her ship, looks up from where she’s reclining with her long island ice tea and swimwear magazines. “Really now?”

“ Yes . All of my friends hate me and I found out Boimler has purple pubs.”

Freeman almost drops her drink. “ What .”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still fucking, but like. Wow, I thought he dyed everything. Turns out that shit is natural.”

Freeman covers her face with one hand. “No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re keeping the ship.”

“WHAT.”

“I already spoke to your father,” Freeman gives her daughter a shark-like smile. “We agreed that this position of authority has been good for you. And, considering, the ship is running better than any ship in Starfleet since the inception of the Federation, the Admiralty wants you and Boimler to stay on.”

“ WHAT .”

“They think it’s an interesting social experiment that merits more research. Congratulations, you and your fuck-buddy are now ginnypigs.”

___

“I think, as a sign of protest, we should rename the ship,” Mariner says, draped across the desk in the ready room. Boimler, sprawled out all over the desk chair, snorts. The room has been completely revamped in pride flags and the previously mentioned communist flags. Mariner thinks it’s her best interior design work, but Boimler claims it’s an eyesore.

“What would we name it?” he asks, humoring her.

Mariner considers it, taking a swig of vodka. “Okay, hear me out. Q and Picard’s Loveboat.”

Boimler grabs the bottle out of her hand, taking a chug. “You know what? This might as well happen.”

They submit the formal request on Boimler’s padd a few minutes later and are both pleasantly-at least in Mariner’s case-surprised that it goes through. It’s likely that the guy in charge of filtering these requests is either very very bored or very very underpaid and either way Mariner likes his energy.

A few days later, they have Q AND PICARD’S LOVEBOAT stamped across the side of the ship in comic sans-a truly underappreciated font from ye olden days that Mariner dug up one night on the wayback machine.

It takes exactly four weeks for the Admiralty to catch wind of it-by then she and Boimler had been Co-Captains for almost two months-and, well, there isn’t much they can do about it.

She does receive a rather long voicemail from her dad that she promptly deletes. She’s not about that energy.

_____

“Boims, Boims, Boims,” Mariner chants, crawling into his bed. Boimler lets out a shriek as her ice cold toes slide up against his bare thigh.

“So you know how our ship got renamed so easily?” she says, once Boimler had stopped screaming. “Well, I found the dude who approved it. Nice kid, I want his gender. Anyway, looks like my dad is getting a new ship and they're getting someone to christen it.”

“Oh my god,” Boimler says faintly, turning his face into his pillow.

“I may have gotten us on the list of possible people to christen it. As in, the kid hacked the server for me and we're the only people on that list.”

Boimler looks like he's regretting everything ever. He also looks like he's kind of in love with her. Mariner inspires that kind of duality in people. “What are we going to name it?” his voice has a tinge of fear in it that both of them get off on. The kink is strong with this couple.

Mariner grins.

_______

THE DADMIRAL: ACT OF REBELLION OR GENIUS?

Ash H. Beiggs

Many of you may remember the highly criticized decision Starfleet made when instating “Co-Captains” on the starship Q and Picard’s Loveboat ( formally known as the USS CERRITOS). Well, Captains Bradward P. Boimler and Beckett E. Mariner are back with bigger and bolder headlines to make.

The chaotic young duo are renowned Federation-wide not only for running the tightest ship in Starfleet, but for their unorthodox methods. Captain Mariner in particular has been praised for her innovating thinking and usual personality. When asked about her decision to name Admiral Mariner’s ship The Dadmiral she simply claimed that “Mohammad had his mountain, Jesus had his followers and [she] had a molotov cocktail and nothing to lose.” Captain Boimler declined to comment.

The actual christening of The Dadmiral was reported as a “spectacle to behold” by many onlookers. Captain Mariner was seen streaking through the aforementioned ship, with a bottle of vodka in one hand. Her Co-Captain was not far behind her, but was reportably more restrained. The actual christening was completed by Captain Mariner who “yeeted the vodka” into the ships warp core, shouting “ One of us. One of us,” in rapid succession until she was removed by security.

Neither Admiral Mariner or Captain Freeman are available to comment at this time.

#i hate this fic but also it was The Most Fun To Write #stld crack #stld fanfic #my fic #marinler #brad boimler #beckett mariner #carol freeman #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #star trek lower decks #star trek lower decks fanfic

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crispychrissy · 4 years

Text

Wildfire (6/?)

Summary: Wanda and Y/N discover something unsettling in her memories, and it reveals more about what Y/N went through. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3015 Warnings: Language, angst, violence, more sciencey stuff, a surprise A/N: I am so happy I was able to break through my writers block and write this for you guys. Wildfire is a personal favorite story of mine, and I love how the story is being weaved together and built. Please let me know if you are enjoying this, feedback gives me the fuel to keep going. :) Below gif is made by me, and this was beta’d by the ever so lovely @saxxxology.

Part 1—Marvel Masterlist

The memory overtook Y/N’s mind, sending her into almost a dreamlike state of consciousness. The room around her melted into the floor, replaced by concrete, glass, and a dusty dirt floor. The acrid smell of blood, sweat, and soot had bile rising in the back of her throat, but she continued to remind herself it wasn’t real, trying to stay grounded and not losing herself to the illusion. Y/N was a spectator now, watching from the sidelines as her memory played out.

“Again!” an accented voice boomed, and even though it was only in Y/N’s mind, she flinched. “Get up!”

“Where are we?” Wanda asked, appearing as a somewhat ghostly apparition to her right.

“This was about a year after I was enhanced, in the training and testing wing of the facility I was held at,” Y/N whispered, wincing in sympathy for her former self when she was punched in the face by the uniformed man towering over her. “That,” she pointed to the man, “is Eli Porter. He supervised most of my training.”

Wanda sniffed in distaste. “He seems like an asshole.”

Y/N smiled. “He was.”

Wanda raised a questioning brow, but Y/N only continued to stare at what was unfolding. There were six men in protective suits in the room aside from Eli, all in various stages of injury, leaving Y/N severely outmatched. Y/N’s memory self dragged herself from the floor, wiping the blood dripping from a gash on her nose with the back of her hand.

“I can’t do it,” memory Y/N growled, clenching her hands into fists.

“And I said I don’t give a fuck,” Eli sneered back. “Do what you're told or I’ll strap you down and let my men do whatever they want to make you compliant.”

“This is when I realized he made a mistake,” Y/N said, watching as her memory self’s eyes widened, realizing Eli had not worn his protective fire-proof suit into the training area like he should have.

In a blur of movement, memory Y/N darted forward and jumped so she could put her hands on either side of Eli’s head. Fire surged in her veins and out of her hands, and Eli screamed when his skin began to blister and sizzle. Flames consumed the man’s head, spreading down his neck and shoulders, igniting the expensive wool suit he was wearing. Y/N released him and stepped back, but by the time the other men in the room realized what had happened, Eli’s head was engulfed in flames, and he took several shuffled steps backward before collapsing.

“Well, then,” Wanda mumbled. “Brutal, but it appears he deserved what he got. This doesn’t seem like—”

“Keep watching,” Y/N breathed out, closing her eyes as the memory shifted.

In a montage of memories, Y/N watched with tear blurry eyes as her memory counterpart was beaten, tortured, starved, and worked within an inch of her life every single day. The punishment she endured for killing Eli lasted over two months, and every day began fresh due to her accelerated healing. The men would take bets on how many broken bones they could give before she’d pass out, or how long it would take her to lose consciousness if her throat was slit.

When they broke her body, they tried to break her mind. The knowledge she would heal allowed her to ignore the pain for the most part, and it frustrated her captors to no end. The scene flashed and changed, showing Y/N’s memory self strapped into a medical chair, wires attached to electrodes stuck all over her head. Her body looked so damaged and frail, and when a man in a lab coat flipped a switch and turned on a strange machine, electricity surged into her head. Her back arched and she opened her mouth to scream, but a mixture of dehydration and scar tissue around repeated cuts on her throat resulted in no sound. Tears flowed from her eyes as the machine powered down, and one of the men walked up, leaning forward to speak to her.

“You belong here,” he told her, “we’re trying to help you. Stop fighting us.”

With a quiet sob, memory Y/N lethargically nodded her head, finally giving in.

It was a weakness she promised herself she would never feel again.

“Y/N,” Wanda said calmly, making Y/N turn away from the horror playing out in front of her to look at the redhead. “You need to relax, okay?”

Y/N looked at her, confused, before she realized her fists were clenched tightly, and there were small flickers of orange flames dancing across her hands. A soft gasp left her lips as she relaxed her hands, snuffing out the flames. “Sorry. I just… watching from the sidelines is different. I still can’t believe I listened to them.”

“They tortured you, not even the strongest mind could withstand that.” Wanda’s attention shifted back to the memory playing out, and a deep frown eclipsed her face. “What are they doing?”

Y/N looked back, watching as one of the white coated men tinkered with a vial of some kind of opaque substance. The memory was fuzzy, like it was being seen through a camera that couldn’t focus, and both she and Wanda leaned forward to try and decipher the writing on the label.

“I was really out of it at this point, don’t remember ever seeing what it was they injected me with.” Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Can’t see something in the playback I didn’t see at the time.”

“Maybe not, but I can try to clear it up a little,” Wanda glanced at Y/N, “if you’ll allow me. The eyes register a lot more than the brain can process. All you need is to find the right set of… magical glasses, if you will.”

“If you think it’ll help, please, knock yourself out.” Y/N chuckled, then winced, rubbing her temples again. “Not literally. Please don’t knock yourself out.”

Wanda’s eyes glowed a deep crimson, and she smiled as she began to send wisps of red into the air from her hands. They danced around like sentient tendrils of light, poking and prodding various spots in her memory. When one wisp got close to the area where the doctor was working with the mysterious vial, an inky black puff of smoke appeared and seemed to snap at it, making the tendril retreat.

“Oh, that’s very strange,” Wanda hummed to herself, “whatever is in that vial seems to be pushing back against my magic. Which should be impossible since we’re only in an illusionary representation of your memory.”

A sharp pain stabbed at the back of Y/N’s head, making her squeeze her eyes shut. “Wanda…”

“One second. I’m trying to coax it out.” Wanda continued to focus on the mysterious billow of black smoke that had coiled itself around the doctor holding the vial like a snake ready to strike.

The longer Wanda interacted with the entity, the more intense Y/N’s pain became. When the witch was finally able to touch it with her magic, Y/N screamed and dropped to her knees, clutching her head. It felt like her brain was being burned from the inside, and she began to claw at her hair, digging her nails into her scalp to somehow make the pain stop.

“Y/N!” Wanda shouted, ceasing the use of her magic and rushing to Y/N’s side. Wanda couldn’t see anything actively attacking her, and she tried to stop Y/N’s frantic scratching. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Y/N slumped back, trembling, with tears streaming down her face as Wanda tried to calm her, and neither of them noticed the black smoke slithering its way toward them. The hair on the back of Wanda’s neck stood up and she pivoted on her heel, raising her hands to defend herself against an attack.

“No one escapes the abyss,” the smoky entity hissed, it’s voice gravelly and eerily echoey.

Wanda set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “Watch me.”

The area was engulfed with a bright red light, and Wanda held onto Y/N as she forced herself and her magic away from the memory. Normally she would gradually remove herself, allowing reality to trickle back in, but there was no choice in this situation. Leaving a memory like this was unpleasant, and she could feel a trickle of blood fall from her nose at the intense amount of mental strain it caused her. As dark splotches began to flood Wanda’s vision, she made sure all of her magic was untainted and free of whatever that entity was before she allowed herself to succumb to the darkness.

Wanda jolted back to reality when she felt something touching her face, and instinct took over as she regained consciousness. She lifted her hand and sent out a burst of magic, forcing whatever was touching her away, fearing it was something malicious from the memory. When she opened her eyes, she realized the something touching her face was actually someone, and watched as a dazed Steve was helped up from the floor by Bucky.

“Wanda?” Steve questioned, rushing back to her side as Bucky went to Y/N.

“There’s… something inside her mind. The… abyss.” Wanda’s eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp in Steve’s arms.

“Shit,” Steve hissed, waving the nurses in before glancing over to his best friend. “Buck? Y/N?”

Bucky’s hands were running along Y/N’s arms, legs, and head, checking for any open wounds or broken bones with military precision. “There’s blood coming from her ears, but she looks uninjured. Well, no physical injuries, at least.” The nurses took over, also looking for injuries, and Bucky slid backward to allow them to work.

“What did Wanda say to you, Cap?” Bruce asked quietly, kneeling down next to Wanda and helping Steve shift her onto one of the collapsable stretchers he removed from his medical kit.

Steve let out a long breath of air, slumping back onto his bottom. “She said there’s something in Y/N’s mind.” Steve glanced behind him at Bucky helping the nurses shift Y/N onto the stretcher, and lowered his voice. “The abyss?”

“Doesn’t ring any bells.” Bruce shrugged, hooking up a small portable set of vital monitoring machines to Wanda. “Wanda’s stable, just unconscious. If I had to guess, she overexerted herself.” He looked over his shoulder at Y/N and the nurses lifting her onto a similar stretcher as Wanda’s. “Marlene, make sure you take her for a brain scan right away. I may not be a medical doctor, but even I know blood dripping from someone’s ears is never a good thing.”

Marlene nodded and with help from the other nurse, they lifted Y/N up and carried her quickly from the room.

Bucky studied Y/N’s bloody ears as the nurses walked past him, and he shivered as he was assaulted with a flash of his own memory. Zola’s face studying him, injecting him with things, and electrodes being placed on his head before a mind numbing amount of pain shot through him. He remembered looking at his reflection in the mirror once they got back to the Army base camp in Italy, noticing the dried blood that had come from his ears.

“Yeah, never a good thing,” Bucky muttered, and when Steve looked over at him with deep concern on his face, Bucky managed to give him a soft reassuring smile. “Just remembering what happened in Kreischberg,” Bucky tapped his ear with his finger, “I’m good.” Steve’s frown remained, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Really, pal, I’m fine. I’ve remembered that one before.”

“Cap, a hand?” Bruce asked, crouching at the front of the stretcher.

Steve leaned forward and took a hold of the bottom of the stretcher, lifting Wanda once Bruce counted to three. Bucky led the way as they carried her out of the room and down the hallway. Once they reached the medical wing, Tony and Natasha, who were standing outside the MRI room, joined the group.

“What the hell happened?” Tony asked, frowning at Wanda’s unconscious form as they continued down the hallway and into an empty room.

“Wanda was trying to help Y/N remember more of her captivity and figure out why she can’t get a read on her mind, so she did the mind meld thing she did with Bucky when he first got here.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Before she passed out, Wanda said there’s something in Y/N’s mind. Called it the abyss.”

“Hmm,” Tony tapped the side of his glasses, “FRIDAY, run a search on the abyss in relation to Hydra. Any files come up?”

“No, boss,” the AI replied, “the only results I found are excerpts from private journals of Hydra officers. They are all personal reflections about their plans to ‘send SHIELD into the abyss’.”

“That’s because she’s not searching for the correct term,” Bucky chimed in with a shaky voice, moving toward Tony. “It’s not spelled a-b-y-s-s like the word, it’s an acronym. A-B-I-S.”

“FRIDAY?” Tony prompted again.

“Found it,” FRIDAY announced. “ABIS: Autonomic Brain Infiltration Substance. Records are limited, but it appears it was created under the scientific human experimentation umbrella of the Winter Soldier Project.”

All eyes snapped to Bucky, and Steve took a hesitant step forward, waiting for him to explain.

“It, uhhh, it didn’t work on me, which is why they went with the brainwashing.” Bucky’s metal arm whirred as his hand closed into a fist. “I don’t know what it was made of, but it was designed to strip you of your free will. The doctors kinda explained some of how it worked when they didn’t think I was listening. Not only does it block you from making your own decisions, but it also blocks anything external that tries to affect you and if someone tries to remove it, it fights back.”

“Which is why Wanda couldn’t see inside Y/N’s mind,” Steve realized, looking over at Bruce. “Did any of her tests show this thing inside her head?”

Bruce looked up from the monitor he was studying, shifting uncomfortably at how close Natasha was leaning over his shoulder. “I’m looking back through her scans right now. Everything looks completely normal. So either it doesn’t block medical equipment, or protected itself from discovery by projecting a fake result of the scan.”

“Can it do that?” Natasha asked, looking between Bucky and the scans up on the screen.

“I don’t know.” Bucky had more of his own questions than answers for everyone else, but he knew the amount of pain he was in for weeks after they injected it into him. “It never worked on me, and I don’t know why. Maybe it can only latch onto enhanced people?”

“We’re both enhanced, Bucky,” Steve reminded him.

“Yeah, but by chemicals. I’m talking about inhumans, the ones with dormant abilities that are activated.” Bucky turned toward Bruce, and gestured to the doctor. “You said it yourself, Banner, she has mutated DNA, just like the inhumans that began to pop up everywhere a few years back. What if they used the Power Stone to trigger her mutation?”

Natasha’s eyes widened, even though they were full of sadness and sympathy. “And when she resisted, they used this ABIS thing to try and control her.”

“They did say it was going to be more effective and faster than brainwashing,” Bucky growled, “and I bet she didn’t even know it was inside her.”

“She didn’t.”

Wanda was sitting up in the hospital bed, her eyes unfocused as she slowly blinked at the small group standing in her hospital room. Everyone, aside from Bruce, rushed toward her when they saw she was awake. Wanda’s hand was shaking as she gripped the rail of the bed and lifted herself up into a sitting position.

“Easy there, witchy woman,” Tony gently urged her to lay back down, “you need to rest.”

Wanda slumped back, breathing heavily at how fast the small amount of exertion exhausted her. “Y/N?”

“Unconscious, but aside from some bloody ears, appears unharmed. We’re giving her an MRI right now.” Steve sat down in one of the comfy plush chairs next to her bed. “What happened, Wanda?”

Wanda took a deep breath and closed her eyes, retelling her experience with Y/N in her memory. Everyone showed some form of anger or outrage when Wanda explained the amount of torture Y/N endured after she killed Eli, and when she began to explain the strange black substance in a vial, Bucky cut her off.

“That’s it, that’s what the ABIS looked like.”

“It talked to me,” Wanda whispered. “Told me ‘no one can escape the abyss’ before I forced myself from her memory and mind.”

“Ouch,” Bucky winced in sympathy, having seen the toll it took on her when she’d had to do a quick mental extraction like that before. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Wanda smiled. “Just need some rest. But what do you mean ‘that’s what it looked like’? Have you seen it before?”

“ABIS is an acronym, A-B-I-S. It stands for Autonomic Brain Infiltration Substance. They tried to use it to control me when I was the Winter Soldier. It didn’t work, and they resorted to brainwashing.” Bucky shook his head. “Apparently they kept what was left, or still had the recipe somewhere to recreate it.”

“I’m sorry, guys, I’m not strong enough to poke around and get you more answers,” Wanda rasped, eagerly taking the bottle of water Tony offered, chugging half of it in seconds. After she recapped the bottle, she sent Tony a sympathetic look. “But I do know who is.”

“Aw, hell,” Tony sighed, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. “Here we go.”

Steve grinned and looked toward the ceiling. “Heimdall! Can you please let Thor know we are requesting his presence?” Steve sighed. “His and Loki’s.”

***

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