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Of Honeysuckle and Haiku [Tech x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: This is my submission for an event hosted by the wonderful @cloneficgiftexchange, written for @apocalyp-tech-a. I hope you enjoy my first Tech x Reader! 2nd Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader who works as an analyst/researcher for the GAR. Minor AU changes (no missing and/or dead Clones here (but Echo is still part of CF99)!). Prompt sentence/s will be orange to keep in line with the color scheme of the graphics. Tech has a “secret” crush on Reader that she knows about. Flirting is stored in the info-dumping/poetry. Star Wars and real-world swearing is as naughty as it gets. Some Mando’a. Brief references and allusions to injury and other canon-typical violence, and a small flashback where Reader’s senior colleagues are (implied to be) behaving like jerks to Tech, but nothing explicit. Use of stylistic and narrative italics. Fictional flowers.

Prompt: Can't we ever go to a nice place? | Oh, that's what that button does.

Word-count: 8,270

Another Primeday, another pile of notes in your locker.

That's how the weeks always started.

You worked closely with the Grand Army of the Republic as something of an analyst and unofficial bookkeeper, going on for two years now. Colleagues and work-friends would slip scraps of flimsiplast in the ventilation grooves of your locker as a way of non-electronic communication.

The old fashioned way, older department heads joked.

The flimsi stacks contained a mishmash of written comms. Inside jokes. Recipe trades. Reminders to get CT-6922’s helmet serviced for the video feed you needed for Jais in the Reverse-Engineering Department if they're ever going to find out how that new Separatist spider droid worked.

And a poem, written in spidery Aurebesh lettering from your “secret admirer”. Always the top of the pile that collected at the bottom of your locker.

You knew full well who it was after a while, piecing together all the clues he'd strung along for you. Game recognizes game, as they say. It took cracking a complicated cipher in order to-

Nah, who are you kidding?

You got impatient and asked Jais in R.E.D. to help you with scrubbing the security footage for the last person to stop by your locker one morning, finding a haiku waiting for you. A haiku regarding subject matter you had just been discussing with a colleague the other day who had a grueling day of carefully dissecting a Flame Beetle from Kashyyyk ahead of them, and you were slated to assist them.

The shimmering shell That conceals a beetle’s wing Is called elytra - I wish I was a beetle

Mild alarm that someone was messing with you turned to curiosity soon after; it had been Tech of Clone Force 99 who dropped the poem into your locker some weeks ago.

He'd been helping the analysts while he got his leg in working order, having broken both the tibia and fibula of his left leg in a skirmish. (That's about as much as you knew at the time.) Tech would be returning to fieldwork sooner than later; between check-ups and some physical therapy work, the genius and navigator of CF99 kept himself busy here, so he would still feel useful to the GAR while recovering.

Of all the analysts Tech assisted, you seemed to be his favorite given that you actually liked letting him help you, and didn't saddle him with a dull day of deskwork like some of the senior analysts who wanted him out of their hair.

You felt it was incredibly unfair to Tech, but there was nothing you could say to change their minds. You'd tried.

Instead of reading this week's new stack of flimsi notes from your weekend off at your locker, you decide you'll read them at your desk for a change. The smell of Tech’s typical caf blend is particularly inviting this morning. It’s been raining since last week, this morning the hardest yet. Thank the Maker you had a rain repeller in proper working order for the walk to the research center from the speeder cabs.

“Good morning, Tech.”

Sitting down, from around the other side of the desk, you can see he's in a walking boot now. An improvement from when you last saw him just two short days ago.

“Hey, that's a good sign! Think you'll be back with the rest of the Bad Batch soon?”

You take no offense when his eyes do not lift from the screen of his datapad. “Good morning. I suppose, yes…” He doesn't sound entirely enthusiastic like one might've expected, but you have enough of a grasp on his mannerisms by now to know that Tech is eager to return to his brothers in due time.

You've met the rest of his squad on a handful of occasions as they've come to check on him, making sure he's not missing all the action by keeping him up to speed on their exploits.

Smiling, you slide a cup of caf you believe to be Tech’s closer to him as you leaf through the notes from your locker.

“Don't let your caf get cold.”

The datapad drops away. “That is for you,” he explains, “if you desire to try it, that is. I recalled you expressing interest in the last blend of caf I brought in, saying that it smelled good last Taungsday.”

You blink, surprised he remembered those details. Well, not that surprised; you understood Tech had a remarkable memory that allowed him to recall obscure details. It’s saved you from a few headaches, like that same Taungsday when a visiting representative from Glee Anslem insisted upon having the innocuous bouquet of Nabooian Honeysuckles sent off for allergen testing. Whatever it was that provoked the Nautolan’s (thankfully minor) allergic reaction, it was not the flowers, though they were refused return.

Shame… the delicate white, orange and cream blossoms were such a thoughtful gift from Senator Amidala to the visiting representative and now they look so out of place on your desk, still in the elaborate ceramic vase they came in. You’re going to need to find a way to return it to Ms. Amidala once the flowers have shriveled and lost all their silky petals.

Thanking Tech for the thoughtfulness behind brewing you a cup of caf, you give it a careful taste and find the flavor far more robust than the instant mix the breakroom keeps on hand while you read the first of the notes. (Looked to be a heads-up that a commando had some grisly footage to be analyzed because Trandoshan pirates were involved and the credits were on Delta Squad being responsible.)

“Mmm… That’s nice. Thank you again, Tech.”

“You are welcome.” he replies, half-ducking his head back down into the datapad, though his eyes remain on you.

Framed by the yellow lenses of the black-strapped goggles he wears, there is an observative nature to those brown eyes. The phenotypic eye color for all Clones is brown, he explained to you once. Though yes, there were a few aberrations in physical traits among his brothers in the GAR, just not quite to the same scale as the experimental squadron that Echo from the 501st Legion (once thought to be dead) joined not long ago. Echo still keeps in contact with the 501st, Captain Rex and a brother named Fives the closest of all. You figure what he must have been reading off his tablet before he came in this morning were more messages from his brothers.

Setting aside notes as you read them, you’re careful to keep the scrap of poetry for last as always. Wonder what it’ll be today. A sonnet? Free-verse? Acrostic or maybe a limerick? Another haiku? Tech seemed to love leaving you haikus most of all.

Still finding his eyes upon you, you lay aside the last note about keeping an eye out for a missing label-maker and delicately clear your throat. “Yes, Tech?” You’re careful to offer him a friendly smile, a quiet measure of assurance that you’re not annoyed or disturbed by his watchfulness.

“Senator Amidala sent a letter of apology to the center regarding the honeysuckles and vase,” he begins, explaining the letter was forwarded to everyone who worked in the analysis department, “and since she feels terrible about the situation inadvertently caused for both her guest and the center, she suggested someone is welcome to keep both, if they wish.”

“Well that’s very kind of the senator.” you reply, giving the flowers on your desk a look of consideration, one that prompts a strange expression out of the genius you generously share your desk with.

You ask what the matter is with another swig of caf.

“I hope you don’t mind too terribly that I… accepted on your behalf.” Tech confesses, aware he’s more than likely crossed a line by doing so. You and Tech do not know each other all that well, but he’s strung together enough clues to have some idea of what you like. He’s noticed what you give the most attention to, and you had secretly been admiring the Nabooian bouquet for some time on Taungsday…

Cautiously, Tech adds, “You could always give them to a friend.”

Casting a third glance over the tri-colored flowers, Tech is assured that won’t be necessary, and he’d been correct in his assessment all along. “I don’t mind at all; thanks for saving me the trouble. I was secretly hoping to take these home, I’ve been obsessed with Naboo for a while now…” you admit, dropping your voice into a near-conspiratorial whisper.

There was an often sunny windowsill back home with plenty of space for the vase and flowers that would make for the perfect spot to show both off. Maybe it’d inspire you to finally take that trip to Naboo you always wanted. Naboo sounded like a nice place, nestled in the Chrommell system of the Outer Rim Territories.

Idyllic, picturesque, it was often described.

All this analyst-work had you in a position to see the glorious, the gory, and everything in-between in the adventures of the Grand Army day in and day out. Compiling reports near and far was beginning to instill a sense of longing for adventure in you; nothing grand was necessary, just something different. Something beyond the walls of the GAR research center here among the Core Worlds.

I’ll be satisfied with a taste of adventure. Just one bite. Just one, I promise.

The yellow-lensed goggles are adjusted. “What fascinates you so much about Naboo?” Tech asks, curiosity burning at him.

“Oh… I dunno,” you say with a shrug, smiling, “it’s hard to put it all into words.” And you wouldn’t exactly have the time, either, with your shift due to start soon. While you’ve still got the time, you should finish as much of the caf as you can before it grows cold, and finally get around to this new poem Tech’s left for you. Maybe he can already guess that you know these are from him, but a part of you finds it fun in some way to pretend you don’t.

Fixing an errant strand of hair back in place, you unfold the note and read. Another haiku, today, lamenting the dreary weather.

To simpler splendors Like summer's gentle breezes and honey most sweet - When will the rain stop?

You find it curious and strange - this possible complaint - given you know Clones come from the storm-cloaked world of Kamino. Surely this weather feels just like home for him; familiar, maybe even comforting. But maybe it’s not his complaint, it could have been your own off-handed remark from some time ago that he’s echoing back to you now.

Tech’s level of observation was truly incredible, sometimes. You already felt yourself missing his knowledgeable presence once he was healed up and returned to the Bad Batch. That wouldn’t happen until he was rid of the walking boot and cleared for active duty, which was mildly comforting to you, selfishly speaking. Logically you know this arrangement is temporary, and you will not always have your willing assistant.

A willing assistant who has given his attention to closing off communications with Wrecker, from the sound of things as CF99’s genius reads the messages under his breath. Tech is trying very hard to appear like he’s not taken notice that you’ve read his latest haiku.

You set the poetry aside along with the other locker notes, and pick up your clipboard full of the day’s tasks. “Take your time, Tech.” you promise, chuckling warmly as he flashes the famous pointer finger in your direction, requesting just an extra moment. “I know Wrecker misses having his big brother around.”

Tech says nothing in response to your teasing quip, only offering an appreciative if distracted smile before he’s ready to help you with your tasks for the day.

On Primedays, the first item of business on the list is often the most nerve-wracking of all your assignments, today no exception.

“Dammit, I grabbed the wrong screwdriver… Would you mind handing me the… the, uh…?” Tech takes the incorrect screwdriver from your fingers and replaces it with what you need while you struggle to think of the name for the correct type, much to your relief. “Oh, thank you Tech. Will you need this back when I’m done?”

Tech nods, a silent promise it was no trouble. “I will not. I’m finished with what I needed it for. Feel free to use it as long as you need.” He does not need to remind you to go slowly.

Your first research assignment of the morning involves dismantled bombs, and the additional Clone tucked in one corner of the room clad in the bright orange of ordnance specialists serves as an eye-catching distraction rather than a precautionary measure. Nicknamed Reddy, this Clone trooper is only doing his job, of course; he’s supposed to be here as part of the protocol. This facility has gone one thousand and twenty-seven days without an explosive incident, which is a comforting number, but there is no room for complacency. In the unlikely event a bomb somehow reactivates, Red Wire is here to snuff it out for good.

(Or tell everyone to evacuate and seek shelter if he somehow can’t.)

Helmet clipped to his utility belt, Reddy is reading the printed report, bobbing his head in time to some jaunty tune he’s got stuck in his head. “Disarmed and partially dismantled by… CT-9903. That’s your squadmate Wrecker, right?”

“Correct.” Tech replies tersely, hoping not to prove himself distracting to you. He’s only standing as close as he is to give or take tools as you need them.

Reddy nods his head in approval of the work scattered over the examination table. “He did a good job. Definitely has the gentle touch needed for bomb disposal.” Yes… Wrecker certainly had steadier nerves than yourself right now. You would prefer not to have shaking hands, no matter how incapable this bomb is… should be… of going off.

“Reddy…”

He catches the warning. “Sorry, ma’am.”

You just need to pull off a particular durasteel plate, and take detailed pictures of a unique section of wiring to enter it into the GAR database of known bomb constructs and find close or exact matches. Then Reddy has the pleasure of disposing of the remnants for you. Fewer distractions while you remove notoriously fiddly screws, the better.

So why are your hands still shaking now that you should be able to focus again?

“... dammit…” You’ve worked yourself up about the unsteady nature of your hands now. Stress will only worsen it, prolonging the tremble. Setting the screwdriver aside is the best course of action until you can find your nerve.

Rational thoughts, you remind yourself, everyone has had this happen to them at one time or another.

“May I?” Tech offers, voice softer than you ever remember it being before now.

He is careful in offering to help without immediately trying to take over your work. Tech recognizes you are capable in all the various aspects of your job, and he does not wish to undermine or blow off your expertise. He understands from experience how that can be frustrating, even disrespectful.

And Tech aims to be very respectful of you. He's been very careful in how he's hinted his interest in you thus far. (Maybe too careful.) The haikus in your locker had been because he heard you liked poetry, and he proactively accepted the honeysuckles Senator Amidala offered for the trouble because he thought you might like them. Sharing his favorite blend of caf was a decision more premeditated than the other two.

You step to the side, accepting the offer.

“Thank you, Tech...” you say, gesturing to the tools in an unspoken measure of please, by all means. Tech takes position where you previously stood, and begins to work on the dismantled explosive. Long, dexterous fingers make the process of loosening and extracting the remaining screws look deceptively easy.

“You’ll want your datapad soon,” Tech suggests helpfully, soon down to just two more corner screws to remove.

“Oh, yes…!”

Scooping the tablet off of the examination table, you habitually skip your fingers across the reactive transparisteel and pull up the camera function, priming everything to capture the colorful chaos of wiring and circuitry inside once Tech has removed the panel. Once it is lifted out of the way, Tech side-steps to allow you in front of the bomb once more so that you can capture records for the GAR database.

However, the camera will not focus.

“Strange…” You tap the center of the screen, hoping perhaps the datapad will behave like your modern comlink and auto-focus, but it does not give you the result you hoped for. You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “Sorry, it’s… been a while since I’ve used this old datapad for taking pictures.”

“Press the red, center button on the top row twice.”

Taking the advice of the bespectacled Clone beside you, the image on the screen comes into crisp focus, not a detail lost. “Oh, that’s what that button does.” This tablet is an older generation, but the facility keeps it because it's sturdy and reliable. No sense in replacing perfectly good technology so long as it continues to work.

“Been using these tablets for ages and I never knew that. How'd you know that?” Reddy asks from the corner, safely voicing his curiosity now that the hard part is behind you. “Just real tech-savvy, I take it. That how you get your name?”

Tech smiles knowingly. “Learning the ins and outs of each machine I use is crucial to my effectiveness in service of the Republic. Much in the same way you're here to assist the researchers, analysts and reverse engineers in bomb identification, in some cases.” The second question goes unanswered, you notice, but Reddy seems to let it go.

“Hah, can't argue with that comparison!” he says agreeably, his smile sunny. You’ve always liked that about this particular member of the bomb squad; Red Wire has an optimistic disposition and general attitude despite the nerve-rattling nature of his job. He’s not terribly jaded or gruff like some of the other Clones on rotation at this facility.

Once you've collected all your necessary pictures, you are promised that he'll take it from here. “Good work as ever ma'am. I'll clean up while you get started on the search.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the help as always from both you and Tech.” you say, patting him on the shoulder before you follow after Tech, who’s already making his way back to your desk, neck craned over his datapad. Stepping past the blast doors to catch up to Tech, you breathe a sigh of relief while Red Wire begins the disposal process, the hardest task of the morning behind you.

“Glad that’s over,” you say, finally feeling your quickened pulse slowing at last, “Thank you for the help once again, Tech.” You’re certain he heard the first thank you, but extra gratitude never killed anyone.

Tech’s deliberate stride slows to match with yours. “It was no trouble. I thought you might want the help.” A polite smile breaks the veneer of the usual expression of thoughtfulness and concentration you’ve become accustomed to in the time Tech’s been here.

You’re very familiar with how he appears when he’s concentrated: the furrowed brow, his shoulders rolled forward, the subconscious setting and unsetting of his jaw as he mulls over a million thoughts. Wowing your colleagues with how he could extrapolate info from separate, complex datasets within multiple windows on the screen of his datapad without error.

The way his brown eyes, deep and dark, looked like honey when framed behind his goggles…

Sitting down at your desk where you fire up the database you’ll be working with, already you see the slight furrow of his brow as Tech takes his seat on the other side, trading messages with his squadmates while he elevates his leg to alleviate the pressure of the walking boot. Tech misses being out there in the field more and more with every passing day.

“Tell ‘em I said hi.” you request with a soft chuckle before allowing him to concentrate on keeping himself in the loop. You just have to hope his handsome face painted in deep concentration doesn’t prove too distracting for you as you cross-reference your wire samples. The squad leader of the Bad Batch, Sergeant Hunter, had teased Tech once a few weeks ago, when he dropped by with Echo, on the depths of Tech’s concentration. That’s when you’d truly taken notice of it for the first time.

Tech, utterly embroiled in some “little” project he’d created for himself here at the research center, was staying long after your scheduled hours, repeatedly promising that you really don’t have to stay here.

You turn another page in your holomag. “I’ll be fine staying here a little longer. I want to make sure none of the senior analysts bother you. Again.” It was a slow Zhellday afternoon you had no other plans for, and a couple of people a little further up the chain of command really had a bug up their ass about Tech’s presence here today in particular, continually complaining about an incident with his crutches.

Someone hadn’t been looking where they were going and bumped into the mobility aids propped against a wall, knocking them over this morning. Unfortunately, there had been a tray of glass instruments set aside nearby that did not survive the crutches’ sudden descent. The senior analysts, most of them much older than you, wanted him thrown out of the facility and have the agreement with the GAR that Tech would be here until his broken leg healed nullified.

“He’s got a broken leg! Is he supposed to just hobble around the lab without his crutches? It was an accident, but I’m starting to suspect you’re looking for excuses to get rid of him because you’re feeling threatened by his intellect!”

Clone Force 99’s second-in-command hums shortly in delayed response, a frown marring his otherwise concentrated expression. Tech adjusts his goggles as he pours over some reference. The man with partial skull iconography inked across his similarly tanned face next to Tech carefully nudges him with his elbow.

“Tech, this is when you’re supposed to tell the nice lady thank you.” Hunter warns him, teasingly of course. He’s gotten back from a long deployment, and rather than going to the nearest mess hall with Wrecker and Crosshair, he’s come to check up on Tech, finding that he’s still at the GAR research center. He’s too tired to give any kind of reprimand just for the sake of appearances.

“Especially after this morning… Don’t make me do the nat-born thing, vod.”

Tech sort of scoffs, the threat of referring to him by his CT number, like a misbehaving natural-born child hearing the use of their middle name, by his brother having little effect.

“No thanks necessary, honestly.” You turn the page to your holomag, skimming the article to see if it’s worth an in-depth read, then meet Hunter’s eye. “It was honestly a bit cathartic to have a go at those jerks.” Decrying them as jerks to the squad leader of the Bad Batch was putting it real mildly given your true thoughts of them right about now.

Echo gives you a knowing nod. The sergeant smirks, and this is what gets Tech to break his silence.

“Don’t, Hunter.”

“Glad you made a friend, Tech.” Hunter says it with complete sincerity, so far as you can tell. Leaning back in the borrowed lab chair, Hunter kicks his feet up for a moment on a corner of the desk to adjust some parts of his armor. “Wrecker might get jealous.”

“I think we all would.” Echo says with a kind chuckle.

“Plenty of me to go around,” you promised the three of them, “I love making friends with the GAR.”

A few hours later, now four items deep into your checklist for the day with the wire cross-referencing behind you, you lean back in your chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling something pop with great satisfaction. “Mmm! That felt good. Hey, Tech?” He nods to show he hears you, at which point you continue. “I’m thinking of running home real quick during lunch to take the honeysuckles home so I’m not wrestling with those on top of everything else I’ll have to take with me tonight. You gonna be okay on your own for a bit?”

“I will be fine.” he assures you, sliding the clipboard from “your” side of the desk over to his. “I may need the password to your desk-mounted computer terminal, however.”

“It’s ‘naboofields’. All one word, no capitals, special characters or letters.”

You root around your desk for one of the seemingly innumerable sticky-flim pads you possess, scribbling down the password - just in case - as neatly as you can before removing the top flimsi-note and hand it over to him. Honeyed eyes blink once in mild surprise after he inspects your handwriting.

“Not very secure, I know.” you laugh bashfully, straightening a few sheafs of flimsiplast before gathering up the stack of locker notes to tuck them in your pocket. Busywork to avoid any kind of lecturing look. But when you meet his eyes for the moment before wondering how best to pick up the ceramic vase full of beautiful tri-colored honeysuckle, you find no disappointment. Only more curiosity.

“Have you ever been to Naboo?” Tech asks. He’s noticed this particular topic has been cropping up a lot between the idle doodles on flimsi scraps of the bulbous Shaak grazing through lush emerald fields and little reminders you’ve written to yourself scattered across your desk lately. Ticket prices. Best time of year to go. Popular festivals. Fashion. You were weaving a curious pattern.

Tech doesn’t do this very often, but he hazards a guess. Could you perhaps be… homesick?

“Were you born there?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t born there, and I’ve never visited before. Naboo’s just some… silly dream of mine lately.”

“Why do you say ‘silly’?” The question is earnest and sincere, and Tech sits forward off the backrest of the lab chair, posture straightening out. “Has someone said something unkind about your desire to see Naboo?” He couldn’t imagine why someone would disparage this; many galactic citizens express some level of desire to visit this planet in the Chrommell sector at least once in their lifespan.

He’s assured there’s no one being unkind to you when you wave him off, sliding the vase across your desk carefully. “No one other than me, I guess. I dunno when I’d ever have a chance to go visit between the work I do for the GAR, plus being in the middle of the Clone Wars for stars’ sake…” You’re considering if it would be worth telling him about your developing case of wanderlust, your craving for a taste of adventure. (Just a taste… just a taste!)

What Tech was supposed to do with that revelation, you weren’t sure. Did you want his help planning this whimsical trip? Or did you just need to confide in him with this harmless little secret?

“Would it be impolite to presume you don’t have many vacation days accrued in order to enjoy a short holiday?” Tech assumes you’re well aware of labor laws the GAR has to comply with for civilian staffing, like yourself, but he has no means of knowing how much PTO you have stored up without rooting into the system.

“Karabast, I- I hadn’t even thought of…” Your thoughts trail off as you look out one of the rain-spattered panes of transparisteel and determine you need to stop by your locker to gather your weather wear and rain repeller. When was the last time you had some extended leave from work that wasn’t a sick day, anyways? “I have some PTO I’m owed, but I try to be smart and save it for emergencies… I, uh, think I have more than two week’s worth.” Truthfully it’s been some time you looked at the amount of PTO you’ve accrued. It very well could be less than you remember, or more than you imagine.

Tech makes a quiet murmur of agreement that saving the time off for emergencies is rather smart, shrugging after a stretch of clearly contemplative silence. “I was merely curious.” The statement makes it tempting to tease him in return, say something like aren’t you always? but he has something more to say before you work up the nerve, gesturing to the clipboard. “May I watch the helmet footage for you while you take the Nabooian Honeysuckles home?”

“I was warned it was grisly.” you caution him out of kindness, thinking back to one of the locker notes. “So, as long as you don’t mind or won’t be bothered, I suppose you can look at the footage for me… Credits are on it being sent from Delta Squad.”

Scrutinizing the datadisc, Tech finds RC-1207 etched into it. Commando Sev, he tells you, went missing on Kashyyyk for a month early in the war… (Thank the Maker, his pod brothers had been fortunate in finding him.) Sev has never spoken of the experience.

“This should prove to be fascinating, in some regard.” Tech speculates, slotting the disc into an external inspection device to set everything up to complete this in your absence. Goggles are adjusted every so slightly, changing the way they are seated on his face. “I’ll leave the notes for you on your desk by the time you return.” he promises.

You make sure you’ve gathered the last of your things, saying that you better get going now that everything’s agreed upon. Carefully cradling the vase in the crook of your arm, you arrange the bouquet slightly with your free hand to avoid bruising any of the velveteen petals as you carry it.

Turning on your heel, you head for your locker to collect your rain repeller. “Appreciate it, Tech, thank you. I’ll catch you later.”

“Watch out for the deeper puddles, don’t slip.” Tech calls after you.

He’s overheard many of your colleagues using this phrase the last couple of days to warn one another; the longer the rain’s gone on, the deeper the areas of rain retention have become since the water table is oversaturated. There has been no break in the weather, but the end is in sight.

‘When will the rain stop?’ Soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

Habitually, you call back that you’ll be careful and another farewell, flashing him a sunny smile as you head out the door for the speeder cabs, the honeysuckles in one hand, repeller in the other. You don’t expect to be gone long.

Taking the vase full of honeysuckle home is your highest priority, right along with making sure the flimsiplast scraps in your pocket remain dry. Flimsi, while conveniently reusable, was hair-thin, had a slight transparency to it, and dissolved in water. (Why some disposable gowns for med centers were made out of the acrylic material when it was kriffing semi-transparent you had yet to figure out.) If you were careful of the shifting winds before you got to a speeder cab, Tech’s poems would stay safe and dry in your pockets, joining the others in a box of precious keepsakes at home.

Maybe you could put them all in a scrapbook one day, able to read and admire them all at leisure, or whenever you miss having new haikus show up in your locker once Tech’s broken leg is fully healed and he rejoins his brothers. Tech’s been careful not to voice how much he’s come to miss his brothers - else he risks sounding ungrateful for the research center agreeing to let him assist there after much back and forth - but you know he’s getting somewhat impatient.

“If I had known a second BX droid was around the boulder, I wouldn’t have tried to kick the first over the precipice…”

“That’s how you broke your leg?”

“Had it broken for me when the commando droid grabbed me, more accurately. Better me than Echo…”

He’d return to his brothers in time with the whole of hyperspace at his fingertips. Hunter would get his second-in-command back. The Havoc Marauder will have both of her pilots and it won’t be Echo spending time alone in the cockpit. Wrecker and Crosshair will once again have their brother to parse through factitious scenarios and the complicated mathematics necessary to pull it off relating to their enhancements to help one another in staving off hyperspace hypnosis.

And you’d go back to dreading Primedays and dreaming of clover covered plains on Naboo between every string of data you analyze for the GAR once Tech left. You’d miss the extra pair of capable hands and his talented, dare you say exceptional, mind. You’d miss the presence of yellow-lensed goggles and the steady, red light of the cylindrical camera attached to them that sometimes followed you around the analyst lab, that were as much a part of Tech’s face as the rest of his features.

You’d miss him and the harmless little crush Jais teases you over since helping you find out who your secret admirer was.

“Swing by your locker lately?”

“You have better eyesight than a Mynock but all the subtlety of a Reek, Jais. Yes I saw he left me another haiku.”

“What do they say?”

So much by using so little.

Tech has just seventeen syllables to work with, but boy does he make them work.

They will last far longer than any tender blossom, tucked carefully on the windowsill and lovingly arranged to fill in the gaps in the bouquet during transport. Home only for a short time, you settle for tucking the new haikus and other notes on the low table in the living room to sort through later tonight while eating dinner.

Come to think of it, maybe you should invite Tech over for dinner sometime, while he’s still here. (While there’s still time to leave things behind in order to remember him by.) He’s been staying in temporary accommodations in the unofficial research district since the nearest GAR barracks are an hour away, and the district isn’t too far from your place. You’re not sure what the protocol on this is (or if there’s any), and he’s more than welcome to turn you down, but-

This harmless crush has gone beyond only going one way.

You’re going to miss Tech when he leaves, not just because it means you'll lose an eager assistant who shares what he learns while you work. You've grown to like him in ways you haven't devoted proper time to exploring why with the nature of your work, but you like Tech too. And you don’t want just a vase full of honeysuckle that will one day wither and a smattering of haikus to remember him by.

You want something more. Something meaningful before he goes back to making mayhem for the Separatists.

And maybe it can start today, if you're clever enough.

It's time to stop daydreaming.

When you return to the research center, you first put your rain repeller away in your locker and collect the few notes that appeared while you were out. No new poems, only warnings that one of the senior analysts had a bug up their ass the size of a mynock (scratch that, a bantha) again over something minor, and it's best to stay out of their way until they cooled off.

“Hey, Tech, I'm back.” You announce your return from the lockers to avoid potentially startling him, finding him fiddling with a part of his vambrace. “Got some cryptic notes in my locker. Feel like I missed some excitement while I was away.”

“Yes… You certainly did.” One of the analysts lost their temper with the ‘newfangled’ caf-pot in the break room, Tech explains. Nothing newfangled about it in truth, it just wasn't working because it had been unplugged for cleaning and someone just forgot to leave a note.

“Speaking of notes,” he says as an aside, procuring a printed message from Lieutenant Waxer of Ghost Company in the 212th, “This came in just before you arrived while I was at the copier.”

Giving the lieutenant’s request a once-over, you find a general greeting after the Grand Army of the Republic’s letterhead, asking if someone would mind helping him locate the origin of a particular word in the language of the Twi’leks. Printed requests are deemed non-urgent, but it’s simple enough that you don’t mind adding his query to the bottom of your daily checklist, on which you find only the helmet footage crossed off.

“Thought you’d have gotten more done than this.” you say, chuckling as you take a seat at your desk.

Tech adjusts his goggles and meets your eye. “Felt it would be impolite to take your work from you when we had an agreement for just the footage.” He returns to fiddling around with his vambrace and his datapad, perhaps trying to sync something up.

His concern of taking further work from you without asking is very kind, and rather touching. You feel warmth in your face disproportionate to the heating system warming the labs on this rainy day. “Oh. Well, I wouldn’t have minded too much, but thank you. What’d you do instead until I got back?” You figure it didn’t take all too long to study the commando’s footage, finding the notes Tech’s took for you pinned underneath the datadisc the feed was stored on. Lifting the high-tech paperweight, you give the notes a glance.

It’s the same thin lettering as the haikus.

Tech tuts in thought while snapping a part of his vambrace back where it belongs. “General research. Nothing important.” He does not immediately elaborate on what he had researched, thinking you may want to take a moment to mentally prep yourself for returning to work and start on the next task at hand.

They were not concerns he (often) had to keep in mind with Hunter, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair because he knew them so well compared to other people, compared to you. They spent the most time together and could give him a playful ribbing for overstepping boundaries, or starting detailed explanations when it wasn’t the best time. No one cares! was often said in-the-moment, and apologized for in ways that did not involve the words I’m sorry - and that was normal with his brothers.

So when you break into a big, friendly smile and draw out the word “Liiiike…?” while you continue to settle in, Tech knows it’s okay to elaborate. That you seem interested in what he has to say.

“It was the origin of halliksets. I became distracted when I learned they were quite popular on Naboo, and spent some time looking into that instead.” As he expected, you perk up with the mention of Naboo, interest piqued. “They’re made with seven strings, and the ore commonly used to make them comes from Kreeling, a mining planet also within the Chrommell sector.” The ore seems to be used to decorate the rounded body of the instrument, from what he had been reading. Ornamentation rather than function.

“Huh,” you say politely with a smile to match, “I had no idea. That’s really neat.”

You thank him for sharing before agreeing that perhaps you should get started on some of your work when he warns you that he can hear someone from another department coming, and it may be wise to appear busy.

For the next fifteen or so minutes, you and Tech are careful to appear focused on tasks from the clipboard. Something about figuring out why a standard caustic compound utilized by the GAR didn’t work. Tech casts a subtle glance over his shoulder while you muse over the specs, wondering just like you why someone from another department is taking their sweet time to leaf through all the disposable pipettes in the storage cabinet of all things. Trying to eavesdrop? Just really particular about their lab supplies? Who karking knows.

While looking into the humidity record on Felucia the day of the recorded equipment failure, you take a moment to open the system you submit your time-off requests to and look at the amount of paid time off accrued. Two and a half weeks. That’s not bad.

“Good to know….”

“What is it?” Tech asks.

“Oh, just poking into weather records,” you hum, hiding the portal, “Seems the caustic compound failed because of higher than average humidity that day. It was under six months old, so I don’t think it was a product age failure.” From the flashpoint of the Clone Wars on Geonosis, much of the equipment utilized barely sits on a shelf any longer than six standard months after its production and purchase for the Grand Army.

Clones were clever. Well trained. They knew how to account for things like planetary climate, weather conditions and equipment age out in the field, but you’ll always have the occasional fluke. Things beyond your control, beyond what you trained for. (Some things you could never train for.) But the Grand Army of the Republic could be trusted to give it their all, no matter the occasion, no matter the challenge.

You trusted men like Red Wire with your life here in the labs when you had to work with disarmed bombs, never doubting his ordnance training for a second. The same goes for the man sitting on the other side of your desk from you now, the injured leg in the walking boot propped up in a spare chair. You trust Tech too.

When the personnel from another department finally leaves, they’re grumbling something venomously about the missing label-maker under their breath, the word “di’kut!” loudest of all.

You recognize the Mando’a. Pronunciation DEE-koot. Multiple meanings. Idiot. Useless. Waste of space. (More accurately a waste of their time… Pretty sure someone already said the label-maker wasn’t in there.) You wonder where they know the word from.

Speaking for yourself, you’ve picked up a smidgen of the language from working as a researcher and analyst, and you’ve added a few more words to your repertoire from Tech’s uninterrupted correspondence with the Bad Batch that he’s allowed you to see some of.

And speaking of them… Now that you and Tech are alone, this might be a good time to try putting your plan in motion knowing how much PTO you have to work with now. You want to go to Naboo, and you want to see if there’s any way you can convince Tech to go with you. Maybe even meet you there with the rest of Clone Force 99. Make bumping into them look like a coincidence.

“Hey Tech, when you return to your brothers, any plans or ideas on where you’ll go first?”

A pad of sticky flimsi-notes is pulled from one of the many drawers of your desk, and you root around for a working pen while you wait on an answer. Calling upon courage from the very heart of the cosmos, you hope you can pull this off.

Tech answers the break in relative silence with a quirk of his eyebrow. “None that I’m aware of, but I suspect we’ll be going wherever we are needed.” There is a long contemplative pause, eyes flicking to his trusty tablet more than once as a few new messages from Wrecker come in.

“Is there some reason you’re asking?” He pushes the datapad aside now, giving you more of his attention, which is appreciated.

Shoulders bounce. “What if I said I was just curious?” You don’t expect him to buy that, he’s too clever. But you need a moment of quiet contemplation on his part to count out the syllables without messing up. Once you’re certain you have five, then seven syllables, you flash him an easygoing smile. “Being curious isn’t a crime, is it?”

“On some planets it is. Some rather… ridgid, often self-isolated cultures across the galaxy view curiosity as a sign of an idle mind and fear it will inspire mischief. Free thinking. Rebellion.”

The question had been rhetorical, and you don’t mind that he answered, but you find the fact quite sad. You also don’t want to begin to imagine how that sort of “crime” is punished. Curiosity is a natural part of life to all, to criminalize it is… frankly ridiculous.

“Well good thing we’re not in one of those isolated cultures.” you say, now thinking how you’ll finish penning this poem. Should you add your reasoning for why you wrote this at the bottom? (Would you even have room?) Maybe you should just tell him after he’s read your poem instead.

“Agreed.” Another message comes in from Echo this time, but Tech ignores it, continuing to hold eye contact with you; almost like he’s performing an inspection. “So I hope it does not feel like an accusation when I say I don’t believe you are ‘just curious’.”

“I did have an idea…” you admit, fiddling with the pen in your hand for the moment, “Since I heard Clone Force 99 isn’t keen on following every little order…” This is when you choose to slide the haiku you were working on over to “his” side of the desk, waiting in nervous silence as brown eyes scrutinize every Aurebesh letter laid bare before them.

Can't we ever go to a nice place, verdant fields of spring eternal? - Feel like breaking a few rules?

Tech’s eyes lift from the flimsiplast note, looking surprised. He didn’t take you for the sort of person who’d encourage breaking certain GAR protocols, let alone… Your name falls from his lips, asking what this is about in the same tender tone.

“I thought about what you asked regarding how much time off I have, and I found out I have two and a half weeks…” You explain, fiddling with the pen some more to occupy your nervous hands while he continues to monitor you. “I thought… Maybe once your leg heals up, and you’re cleared to return to active duty, you could find an excuse to spend some time on Naboo. Get to know each other better, perhaps?” He clearly has some kind of feelings for you that are in the earlier stages of reciprocation, and if you’re away from the lab, and he finds the time or the excuse to nip down to the Chrommell sector and meet up with you on Naboo, then neither one of you have to worry about behaving quite so professionally.

Looking down at the haiku once again, Tech takes in your explanation, your invitation, and offers a mild chuckle at long last.

“You know what my brothers will say if I tell them about this?”

You swallow nervously. “W-what?”

“That it almost sounds like you’re asking me on a date.”

You do what you can to keep your jaw from dropping, but there’s little to be done about the fiery feeling building in the apple of your cheeks that suggests there may be color blooming there. If you’re blushing, Tech certainly does a splendid job of politely pretending he sees no such thing while he gives your poem another look.

You do the same in kind when additional color builds in his own face and crawls up his neck from under the top of the body suit. “I take it you figured out who was secretly leaving you the haikus.” His smile is timid, but not quite as nervous as your own.

“I did. A while ago, actually.” you confess, confirming his suspicions. “I had help checking the cameras to see where the first one came from. I didn’t see a reason to say anything, or stop you.” You add that you’ve kept every single one, too, to some surprise of the computer and weapons specialist sitting across from you.

He sits forward now, carefully easing the walking boot to the floor. “You really want to spend time with me on Naboo?” Your earnest nod surprises him further. You do. Out of millions of Clones in the galaxy, you’re asking Tech (and his brothers by proxy) to join you in visiting the idyllic planet.

You carefully carve out a little portion of your PTO and submit the request as the very first step in the planning process, and while you await approval you and Tech will continue to work together as normal. You still have to behave professionally in the meantime.

Well, as professionally as possible when Tech decides he can now confess he has a backlog of haikus for you, enough so you could have one waiting for you in your locker every day until he’s cleared to return to fieldwork in a few weeks, in theory.

“Poetry every Primeday, honeysuckles today, and now you’re offering daily haikus? Maybe I will be asking you out on a date if you continue to spoil me like that.” you warn him, chuckling. Of course now you get the feeling Tech will make sure the weeks leading up to your time-off would consist of honeysuckle and haiku to ensure that you would.

And those were going to become some of your best weeks working as a researcher and analyst for the GAR, whether you got that time off or not, because it would be spent making precious memories with Tech.

That was what mattered most.

First time I've ever participated in one of these events, and I don't think I did too badly, considering I completely restarted this at one point! (Apologies for how long this ended up being, too, haha.) I hope you liked it, Tech-a! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: Open]

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gloomwitchwrites · 11 days

Text

High Stakes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: canon-typical swearing, mando’a lanaguge, yearning, denial of feelings, placing bets, light dom/sub (with bratty behavior), possessive behavior, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 7k

When your employer loses a bet to Jabba the Hutt's favorite contract killer, Boba Fett, you are suddenly placed in his control. But you and Boba are not enemies. The two of you have known each other for a while now, and this only pushes the two of you closer together.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart mesh’ika – little beauty mesh’la – beautiful

The artificial air kicks in and its refreshing coldness brushes against your neck. You sigh heavily, appreciating the luxury that few establishments have in Mos Espa. Not even Jabba’s Palace can boast to having such a feature.

Glancing over your shoulder, the rest of the room begins to melt into smoky shadow. The large shutters over the windows start to shift downward to ward off the light and heat from Tatooine’s twin suns. They stop two-thirds of the way, allowing for natural light but shrouding Tranquil Sands in shadow. The small lamps at each of the tables turn on, giving the place an intimate glow. In the far corner, the band changes up their song, and spice smoke from hookah pipes fills the air.

It might be the middle of the day, but Tranquil Sands is full. It always is.

Need a drink? Tranquil Sands has a full-service bar.

Want to spend all your money gambling? Tranquil Sands has all the best tables.

Do you desire more carnal pleasures? Tranquil Sands can provide.

Or are you simply wanting a place to rest your head? At Tranquil Sands, there are plenty of beds.

Tranquil Sands has it all.

And you are its bookkeeper.

Lady Sheku, a beautiful Twi’lek female with peachy skin, is the owner of Tranquil Sands. You’ve been keeping her books for several years. The two of you have grown close over time, forming a subtle friendship built on mutual respect.

Trust is important for something like this. You work closely tracking every credit and form of currency that enters or exits this establishment. It’s not just to ensure that proper dues are paid out to Jabba, but to be as transparent as possible for when—not if—the Empire comes knocking.

“Is everything in order?” asks a sultry voice.

You spin around just as Lady Sheku approaches. The Twi’lek is gorgeous, and she doesn’t even try. Many with money on Tatooine show it off, but Lady Sheku is all gentle elegance.

“As it always is,” you reply, knowing exactly what she’s referring to.

Today is payment day. Today is the day that Jabba the Hutt receives the protection dues from Tranquil Sands. But it isn’t Jabba who fetches it, nor is it his loathsome second Bib Fortuna. It’s Jabba the Hutt’s favorite bounty hunter, Boba Fett, that comes calling.

He is always on time. Never misses a single payment.

“You look lovely today,” murmurs Lady Sheku, her brow rising slightly as she admires your outfit.

When out on the floor, you have to look like you belong, not like you sit in a backroom all day hunched over ledgers. Yet you also cannot look like any of the workers. That might give some guests the wrong impression, and the last thing you need is a misunderstanding out in the open. You’ve opted for black, a color none of the workers wear. They prefer brighter colors, and the ones for pleasure purchases are even brighter with golden bangles and necklaces. You’ve gone completely bare other than the thin black fabric that hangs on your body.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Lady Sheku leans in, her voice dropping even lower. “It can’t be because a certain bounty hunter is coming today?”

“No,” you answer automatically, but it’s not entirely a lie.

Boba Fett is sweet on you, and everyone knows it. You are the one who interacts with him, who hands over the credits, who makes sure Jabba is paid and satisfied. Boba Fett is the man between, and yet he is enticing. A flavor of spice you cannot seem to shake.

But no matter how much attention he gives you; it simply isn’t possible. The two of you cannot be together. Boba Fett is a bounty hunter. He wears Mandalorian armor. He works for Jabba the Hutt. Everyone knows how deadly Boba is, that he’d rather vaporize his bounties than bring them in alive. A man like that makes enemies, and you’d be first on the list if they plan on targeting him.

“Liar,” teases Lady Sheku, waving her hand dismissively.

As if speaking his name summons him, Boba Fett enters through the front doors. For a moment, all conversation ceases, even the music seems distant. His helmeted head swivels, scanning the room. When it lands on you, everything stutters before hurtling forward. He takes one step, then another, and then he’s moving toward you with purpose embedded into every slap of his boots against the marble.

“Boba Fett,” greets Lady Sheku, her head dipping slightly with acknowledgement. You do the same, knowing it’s better to show respect to one of Jabba’s favorite contract killers.

When your gaze returns to him, the T-shaped visor is aimed at you. Though you cannot see his eyes, you feel his stare. It brands your skin, peeling back the flesh to reveal your deepest secrets.

“Everything is in order,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “The credits are in the back if you’ll follow me.” You shift and raise an arm, indicating the backroom you and Boba always meet in to make the exchange.

Boba shifts in your direction but Lady Sheku raises a hand. “A moment. Please.”

He pauses, and you drop your hand back to your side slowly, unsure of why Lady Sheku is delaying the proceedings.

“I have a proposal for you. An offer, if you will.” Lady Sheku’s shoulders shake a bit as she straightens her spine. Boba says nothing but inclines his head. “You never partake in anything we offer here at Tranquil Sands. As the proprietor of this fine establishment, I’d like to know what I can do to make you a loyal customer.”

You keep your face completely blank even as your mind races. Why is Lady Sheku asking this now? There isn’t any reason to delay. All the credits are there. In fact, there is plenty, so why make him wait? Why make you wait?

Boba Fett considers Lady Sheku’s question for a moment before he answers. “What I want isn’t on the menu.”

What I want isn’t on the menu.

When Boba says this, his helmet is turned in your direction, the T-shaped visor pinning you to the spot. Lady Sheku grins, her gaze subtly shifting between you and Boba.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” shrugs Lady Sheku. “For a price.”

Is she really selling you to him? You’re not a slave. You’re an employee.

You’re about to protest, the words forming on the tip of your tongue, but Lady Sheku gives you a look that silences you completely.

Trust me, it says.

Boba inclines his head. “I’m listening.”

“Wonderful!” Lady Sheku claps her hands together. “Let’s make a game of it. Shall we?” Placing one hand on Boba Fett’s upper arm, she guides him over to the gambling corner. Boba allows himself to be led and you follow right behind him, tension tight in your stomach.

“A wager,” says Lady Sheku. “If I win, you pay a portion of the protection money. If you win, you can have the woman you want for the evening. She will be…yours. Completely.”

“Lady—” you begin but Boba cuts in.

“What game?” he asks.

“Cards.” Lady Sheku gestures toward one of the tables.

“Sabacc?”

“Afraid, Boba?” teases Lady Sheku.

“Hardly. Let’s play.”

The two of them sit down at the nearest table. You stand there in shock, your feet unable to move. A droid dealer approaches, shuffling the cards, and still, you do not move. Others begin to press in, watching on as cards are dealt.

You want to rage, to curse everyone and everything, and yet, at your core, you’re not entirely angry. Lady Sheku has stepped over the line, crossed into territory that is blurry and wrong, but she’s not doing it for her own gain.

Everyone knows how sweet Boba is on you, how he always stands close whenever he’s near you, or how he compliments you at every visit. Even when he goes to the backroom with you, Boba is a complete gentleman. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t disrespect your boundaries. None of that accounts for all the gifts that arrive at Tranquil Sands’ doors. The ones for you never have a name on them, but it’s easy to guess who they’re from.

Something solidifies in your soul, and you take a step forward. A crowd has gathered, eager eyes watching on as the owner of Tranquil Sands and Jabba’s favorite bounty hunter face off over a few rounds of Sabacc.

The air is stagnant, and your gaze is glued to the floor.

Should you look? Should you watch on? Or should you let it be?

Even if Boba wins, you know he’d never hurt you. He has it in him to be cruel and sadistic, but he’s never raised a hand to you. He’s never taken what you haven’t freely offered. In this, if he wins, will Boba remain the same? Do you even want to know?

Kriff it, you think, shoving through the crowd, coming up behind Boba. Just as you squeeze between a Zabrak and Weequay, the crowd gasps. Boba leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread wide. Lady Sheku appears disappointed but you know her tells.

She glances up, winks, and then stands, sighing loudly. Your gaze falls to the table. Boba’s winning hand stares back at you tauntingly.

“You’ve won, Boba.” Lady Sheku inclines her head, hands spreading wide before her. The crowd around the table begins to disperse, their interest disappearing quickly. “My assistant will make sure you receive Jabba’s payment and then she’s all yours.”

Boba starts to stand and you shoot Lady Sheku a look. The Twi’lek shrugs casually. You’re welcome, she silently mouths before greeting a new wave of customers.

With Boba Fett looming over you, it’s hard not to notice his height and broad shoulders. The Mandalorian armor he wears is worn and dented, the paint chipped and peeling in some places. Yet it only adds to his aura, his sense of strength and power. His helmeted head dips as if he can kiss you through it. For a moment, your face rises as if to meet him, but you back out at the last second.

“This way,” you choke out, taking a step back, gesturing toward the other end of the room.

Boba leans away but he doesn’t create any distance other than that. It isn’t until you start walking that Boba moves, keeping pace with you. At the doors to Lady Sheku’s office, you scan your card and enter with Boba following behind.

“I’d offer you something to drink but this will only take a minute,” you say over your shoulder.

At the massive safe, you enter the code, retrieving the credits in their locked box. Turning around, you set the box down on the table, opening the lid to reveal the credits inside.

“Everything appear satisfactory?” you ask.

Boba doesn’t say anything. It’s infuriating because you don’t know if he’s looking at you or the credits behind that bucket.

“It’s all there. You can count if you—”

“You’re mine,” says Boba, like it’s an indisputable fact.

You take a deep breath, hands balling into fists at your sides. “For the evening,” you amend.

Boba glances down at the credits. He shuts the lid, reengaging the lock. His head tilts and his hand ascends, one finger pressing to the side of his helmet.

“I’ll need a pick up,” he says to someone that clearly isn’t you.

Boba does not pick up the credit case. Instead, he steps around the desk until he’s standing next to you. Reaching out, the back of his gloved hand brushes over bare skin. You feel the ridge of knuckles through the leather.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod because you don’t trust yourself to form proper words. Boba’s touch is like a stun wand. Electric but lethal. You are struck, ripped apart, and pieced together. It hurts, not because he’s touching you but because this will end, and the two of you will return to your lives. He is not meant for you. This cannot be more than just the evening.

Lady Sheku meant well by losing, but this might be too much.

Boba drops his hand and plucks the credit case from the desk. “When we return, you’ll sit with me. In my lap.”

His tone is assertive. Boba isn’t asking, and that stirs something inside you. While you like this, you also want to push back. But you’re not quick enough in your response. Boba points in your direction, chastising before you even get a word out.

The two of you stare each other down before Boba curls his finger in and presents his open palm. It’s an invitation instead of an order. While Lady Sheku needs to mind her business, Boba is the man that haunts your dreams. Every interaction with him is a memory that sticks to you like syrup.

Slowly, you extend your own hand, slipping it into his offered palm.

Boba’s hold is gentle as his fingers encase your hand. You allow yourself to be led from the room, to be escorted to a large booth tucked into a private corner. From here, Boba can see the rest of Tranquil Sands. It’s private yet strategic, a habit of any good bounty hunter.

Placing the container of credits on the table, Boba takes a seat in the booth. The cushions are soft and wide. The table in front of it is low to the ground. Boba never let’s go of your hand. He keeps you close, drawing you into his lap.

You fit perfectly there, and the naturalness is startling.

Boba keeps one arm around your lower back for support, his broad hand planted firmly on the curve where your hip and upper thigh meet. You’re tucked against him, leaning into the crook of his arm, one hand resting on his armored chest. With his other hand, Boba guides your legs over his thighs.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, that same hand running up your thigh, parting fabric until he’s touching bare skin.

“Yes,” you reply softly, a shiver running through you from the contact.

Boba’s answer is a gentle grunt as his hand on your thigh tightens. It’s a possessive hold, and you don’t entirely mind. Around you, patrons move about. Many don’t even glance your way, entirely preoccupied with their own endeavors.

It isn’t long before two Gamorreans enter Tranquil Sands. Between them is a woman in an all-black body suit with cape and cowl. The only visible part of her are her eyes which glow a subtle shade of purple.

“Boba,” she says on her approach.

Boba Fett only nods toward the container of credits. She is swift, fetching the credits and leaving without another glance at you or Boba.

After a few moments of silence, Boba adjusts, and it only draws you closer to him. “Are you upset with me, cyar’ika?”

The question surprises you. “Why would I be upset?”

“Why would you not be? Didn’t ask what you wanted.”

You snort. “Did you even consider what I wanted?”

The answer comes automatically. “No. I want you. And I saw an opportunity,” he says. “But you know that.”

You do know. You’ve known for over a year now and so does everyone else. Whenever Boba walks in, Lady Sheku and all the workers immediately look at you with amusement on their faces. Boba might not be overt in his attentions, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t gone unnoticed.

“What’s your plan, Boba? To lure me in? To convince me I should be yours?” You’re pushing him, feeling bold, but how could you not be? You’re in his lap, almost straddling him, and Boba’s hands are everywhere even though they’ve hardly moved at all.

Boba inclines his head. “You’re already mine. Always have been.”

“You don’t own me,” you murmur.

Boba’s silence is deafening, and you have no idea what it means. You desperately wish you could see his face, to look into his eyes and glimpse even a semblance of understanding. That silence is all there is because the matter is done the moment the doors of Tranquil Sands open.

Boba is all business after. He shifts you out of his lap, having you sit beside him instead like a pretty thing on display. But Boba keeps one hand on your inner thigh as he conversers, never removing it even when you adjust against the cushions.

Strangely, Boba never removes his helmet. Whenever he comes to retrieve Jabba’s payment, Boba almost always removes his helmet in front of you. But that has always been in a private setting behind closed doors. This is out in the open.

He orders food and drink, offering it to his guests as much as he offers it to you, and yet taking none for himself. You remain quiet, listening attentively but mostly staying out of it. Boba doesn’t ask for your input, and the various individuals seem to understand that you are off limits.

It isn’t until Tatooine’s suns begin to descend that Boba shifts gears.

“We’re going upstairs.”

Upstairs. The only thing upstairs are rooms. Rooms to sleep. To rest. To—

Your heart thunders in your chest. Excitement rushes in along with an underlying nervousness you can’t entirely place. It’s not geared toward Boba. He’d never hurt you, never push himself on you. No. This nervousness is a questioning of whether or not he’ll accept your advances if you give them.

It's a silly thing to question. Boba likes you. He’s smitten, willing to pay an entire month’s worth of protection money just to have the chance to be with you.

Boba stands and presents his hand. You take it, and he helps you to your feet, but he doesn’t drag you to the lift. He stays right there, towering over you, his free hand grasping your waist.

“What is it?” you ask, gaze roaming over the room in one quick sweep before returning to Boba.

“Do you want this?”

You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Boba?”

“Do you want this?” he repeats. “With me?”

When you don’t answer right away, Boba gently squeezes your waist. “Give the word and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Boba—”

“If you wish to leave, tell me now.”

You swallow. “Does this mean I can’t go if I change my mind?”

Boba’s chest heaves. “No. You can always go. You can always walk away. I won’t stop you.”

Even though Boba played Sabacc with Lady Sheku in order to possess you, he is still giving you a choice. This is up to you. Boba has already made it clear what he wants. All you need to do is accept him, or walk away.

“I don’t want to go,” you breathe, knowing with these words you’ve changed your future forever.

There is no going back. No reversal. You are confirming what you already know and what he’s suspected. You want him.

Boba’s hand slips away from your waist only to travel downward to grasp the back of your thigh. This one touch makes you inhale sharply, and the soft chuckle Boba makes sends heat straight to your core.

“My mesh’ika,” he croons.

Boba keeps using these words you don’t know. You can take a guess as to their meaning. He’s used them before but only in private. Only when you’ve allowed him a passing touch before you depart.

Now, with his hand massaging the back of your thigh, the meaning is clear to you. And this place is far too public for such affection.

“Upstairs,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you’re surprised the voice receiver in the helmet even picks it up.

Boba’s hand disappears from your thigh, leaving an emptiness behind. You long to draw him back to you and indulge in his touch.

The ascent to the room is sluggish, and yet with a blink, you’re at the door. You cling to Boba’s armor-clad arm as the door slides open, and Boba guides you into the dark. The moment the two of you cross the threshold, a lamp near the window clicks on.

This is one of Tranquil Sands’ suites.

You enter into a small sitting area with a lounge sofa and low table. The curtains are closed, keeping out the light of Tatooine’s suns. To the right are sliding double doors. They stand open, revealing a large bed. The door to the bathroom is through there but you cannot see it from where you’re standing.

Boba releases your hand, and you are reluctant to let him go. He presses a few buttons on the control panel near the door. More lights turn on. It is dim—almost intimate—and all you want to do is reach out to him.

This is just for the evening. Only for the night. Then it’ll be over. You will return to your books, and Boba will be the vicious bounty hunter he has always been. He will come for Jabba’s payment, and you will hand it over, never meeting until the time to return rolls around again.

Hesitantly, you stride forward into the middle of the room. With hands clasped in front of you, you turn in Boba’s direction, only to find him within arm’s reach.

The two of you stare at each other, not speaking, hardly breathing.

With an aching slowness, Boba reaches up with both hands, clasping the sides of his helmet. You hear the hiss of the seal releasing, and then it’s gone, revealing his face. This is not a surprise. It’s no gut-punch. Boba’s face is one you’ve seen before, but this is not a business exchange. This is personal.

Boba moves past you and gently sets his helmet down on the table. He is right there, and when he straightens to undo his leather gloves, your hand finds his bicep, resting where there is no armor. His dark eyes swivel towards you, and you have the urge to run your fingers through his hair. It looks so soft and inviting—just long enough to give it a little tug.

He removes one glove and then the other, tossing them onto the table next to his helmet. Your eyes track every movement, the casualness of Boba’s undressing a mesmerizing dance. You cannot look away.

“You’re staring, cyar’ika,” muses Boba, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You cough, and discreetly check for drool. “Want me to stop?” you shrug. “I can do that?”

“No.” Boba’s tone startles you, but it is his hand on the back of your neck that truly makes your stomach flip. He drags you against him, and your hands instinctually rise, pressing against his chestplate.

His dark gaze is sharp. Piercing. “Draw me a bath, cyar’ika.” Your lips part and Boba’s gaze drops momentarily before returning to your eyes. His grip on the back of your neck tightens a bit before releasing.

“Go,” he says, voice husky and rough. “Before I get dirt on that pretty dress.”

Heat rushes up your spine and flares hot in your cheeks. Pressing a hand to your burning face, you quickly enter the bathroom. Built into the wall is a massive tub. It’s all smooth, clean lines and easily fits two.

“Kriffing hell,” you murmur at the ceiling. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart.

Shaking your hands out at your sides to release some of the giddy nervousness, you reach for the small panel in the wall. Hot water begins to emerge from the faucet. Pressing a few more buttons bring forth an aromatic aroma, and the water starts to turn sudsy.

It looks inviting. Entirely heavenly.

Water is a heavily sought-after resource on Tatooine, but Lady Sheku has connections, often transporting water in from off world. It’s expensive but it supplements what can be purchased on Tatooine.

You pause, hearing soft footsteps. Turning, your eyes widen, and the heat that you banished from your cheeks returns. You quickly look away as Boba’s nude body brushes past you and steps over the edge of the tub to slide into the water.

Boba sighs heavily, and the sound goes straight to your sex. It’s contentment and satisfaction, and you want to know if that’s what he sounds like when he’s buried deep.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you say, keeping your gaze averted. But as you turn to leave, Boba reaches out, his wet hand grasping your wrist.

“You’ll stay,” he commands, releasing your wrist to tap the side of the tub. “Right here. Where I can look at you.”

Slowly, you ease down on the edge of the tub. It’s not entirely uncomfortable. It is wide and flat, large enough for you to sit without sliding onto the floor and into Boba’s lap. You place one hand behind you, and one on your knee to keep balance. Boba submerges himself a bit more, the water coming up to the middle of his chest.

“You look lovely today,” he murmurs, gaze roaming up and down your body in appreciation.

“Thank you,” you reply. “Am I not lovely to you every time you see me?”

Boba smirks. “You are. And even when I don’t see you.”

“Oh,” you whisper, fingers playing with one of the gauzy, black strands of fabric.

It’s loose enough that the material spreads out and hangs toward the floor, revealing plenty of bare leg. Boba’s hand is nearby but not touching. Yet his fingers flex like he wants to touch you but is resisting the urge to do so.

“Join me,” he rasps, those fidgeting fingers forming a fist.

“Is it a command or an ask?” It doesn’t really matter if he’s asking or demanding. Sliding into that warm water with him is a desire you don’t want to resist. Will you straddle his lap, sitting face to face? Or will Boba want you to recline against him, back pressed against his chest?

Boba’s dark gaze is unmoving when he speaks. “It’s what you wish it to be.”

You swallow and sit up straighter. “Look away.”

Boba laughs, and runs his hands through his hair. It sticks up at an odd angle and you giggle.

“Fine,” he agrees, glancing at the wall, whistling to himself.

Slowly, you stand. You partially give Boba your back as you slip one strap over your shoulder and then the other. You loosen the band at your waist, and then the dress is on the ground, a dark pool of fabric at your feet.

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Boba still turned away, but he’s stiff, almost rigid. That is when you notice your reflection. It is blurry, mostly an outline, but it’s clear that you’re nude.

Turning quickly, you cover your breasts and step into the tub at an odd angle to hide yourself. It’s silly, since you’re already taking this leap, but it’s natural to want to hide yourself. This is new. Different. While you’ve always liked him, this is beyond anything the two of you have engaged in.

A few stolen kisses in a backroom means nothing compared to this.

As you start to sink down, Boba’s head turns. Your gazes lock, and then he’s reaching for you, bringing you against him. He does bring you to a straddling position. Boba guides you around until you’re sitting in his lap, back pressed against his chest and head resting on his shoulder.

The water hardly covers your breasts.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmurs in your ear even as his hands run up and down your thighs, waist, and hips under the water.

The motion stirs the water, revealing your breasts to him. Boba groans against your throat as one of your hands reaches back to rub the back of his neck. While keeping one hand on your thigh, Boba gently cups one breast, lightly pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Your breasts have never been overly sensitive, but Boba’s touch is immense. All-consuming. You’ve never reacted to anyone’s touch like this.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. Boba’s hand beneath the water grasps the inside of your thigh and squeezes. “All mine.”

Boba’s lips trail over your neck and then the curve of your jaw near your ear. You turn your head just enough to look at him, and all trepidation you might have held vanishes. This man is enamored. In rapture.

“Let me kiss you, cyar’ika.”

But you do not let him. Instead of saying yes, instead of agreeing, you’re the one who responds with action. Your lips connect with Boba’s, and it seems to surprise him. At first his lips do not react, but then he’s answering back, kissing deeper. Seeking. Wanting to taste.

You open for him, and Boba moans, his hand upon your breast sliding upward to grasp the front of your throat in a possessive hold.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, cyar’ika?” murmurs Boba against your lips. “Do you know how much I’ve craved you?”

“I thought we were bathing,” you reply, and he smiles. It’s so sweet. Soft. Something you’ve never seen on his face.

“You’re right,” he croons. “We are.”

You’ve never been cleaner. Boba keeps you reclined against him as he scrubs and strokes every inch of your body. He is gentle the entire time, pebbling your throat and lips with soft kisses that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

When you’re refreshed, Boba hands over control, and you are just as thorough. You adjust positions, straddling him. Boba wiggles further into the water, leaning back entirely, one arm splayed across the back of the tub while the other rests under the water where it rests on your thigh.

Boba never looks away. His gaze is always on you. There is a dreamy, happy quality to it, like he can’t believe you are truly here with him.

“You’re clean,” you say, twisting out the excess water from the handcloth. You set it aside just as Boba releases the valve for the water to drain.

You start to stand but Boba grabs your waist, drawing you back into his lap. Words begin to form on your lips, but Boba is quick, silencing whatever you wanted to say with a kiss.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, drawing back enough to stare into your face.

The water is quickly disappearing, and the sudden rush of air prickles your skin.

“You can have whatever you want,” you answer, and Boba’s grip on your waist tightens.

“And what if I want you on your back, hm?” he prompts. “Would you spread you legs for me?” He leans in for another kiss. This one is chaste. Quick. “Would you let me in, cyar’ika?”

Would you let me in, cyar’ika?

You have to bite back a moan. You’ll give this man anything.

“Dry me off and find out.”

With a swiftness that has you grabbing on to the back of Boba’s neck, he manages to lift you and step onto the bathroom floor in open fluid movement. He holds you in the air like that, and you pretend not to notice his hard as it presses against your inner thigh.

Slowly, Boba eases you to the ground, but he doesn’t let go. Keeping one arm around your waist, Boba snags a towel from the shelf. It is clean and white. Freshly laundered. He drapes it over your shoulders and you find the edges, bringing it in. Boba grabs another for himself.

You start with your ears and throat, then the rest of your body before drying your hair enough that it’s slightly damp. Boba is much faster than you, and he does nothing to help, only watches. Admires. It’s far too intimate, and you keep glancing away, smiling like a kriffing idiot.

“What?” you laugh, and Boba returns the smile.

He gently grabs hold of the towel and you release it to him, leaving you completely bare. The towel falls from his hands, and then Boba is grasping your hips, walking you backward into the dimly lit bedroom.

Boba comes to a halt when the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. Keeping one hand on your hip, his other hand grasps the side of your throat, titling your head back a bit as his mouth meets yours in a searing kiss.

Heat is everywhere. It burns beneath your skin, soaring outward until you’re pushing up onto your toes in an attempt to draw closer. Boba is all eagerness. All hunger. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause for air. He is devouring and you want to be consumed by him.

“I want to taste you,” he says between kisses.

When he leans in for more, you pull back, giggling. “You are.”

“No,” he replies, voice growing husky. “I want to taste you here.”

On here, Boba slips his hand between your legs, fingers gently parting your sex to revealing your slickness. The moment his fingers make contact, Boba growls, and it is a needy sound.

“That is what I want,” he reiterates, and you will not tell him no.

“I told you, Boba. You can have whatever you want.”

Boba withdraws his hand from between your legs. “On your back, love.”

You ease down onto the bed and then lean back on your elbows as you scoot away from the edge. Boba’s fingers brush against the tops of your knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide so that he can move between them.

His rough, calloused hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide upward toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach.

Boba adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.

He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Boba worships it all, leaving nothing untouched.

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod.

Boba’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws some up to your clit. Presses. Swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst.

You gasp, back arching slightly as Boba continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Boba grins against your thigh.

“Good. That’s it, cyar’ika,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your wetness.

He finally adds a finger, begins pumping. Your hips buck, and Boba meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.

That is when Boba descends. That is when he finally takes his taste.

Boba parts your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. He swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed. Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face.

Boba sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. You hear yourself but it seems so distant, like you’re falling into a deep hole. Your thighs clench like you’re trying to trap his head between them, but Boba is strong. Insistent. He keeps spread, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.

You say his name until your voice grows hoarse and you skin is tingling in the afterglow of pleasure.

Around you, the bed sinks as Boba shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves as you gaze up at the man you’ve always held at a distance. Boba’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of light, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.

You reach up and run your thumb across that mess only for Boba to suck that digit into his mouth, wiping you clean of yourself.

Boba is so close, and you arch your neck, seeking his mouth. He gives you what you’re seeking, and everything in you melts, becoming one with his warmth. Your hands slide up his chest and then back down, nails grazing over his skin.

He breaks the kiss, panting. “I need you.”

“You can have me.” It’s a wonder that you’re even able to speak.

Pushing up onto one elbow, Boba grasps your wrists, and then you’re rolling on to your stomach, Boba’s weight heavy at your back. Your arms are above your head, pinned there. With a quick adjustment, Boba shifts your wrists to one hand while the other runs up and down your back in a gentle caress.

“Mesh’la,” he murmurs, and you shiver.

Slowly, Boba releases your wrists, but you do not move them. You hold them above your head, awaiting Boba’s next move. Both hands join, moving lower and lower until his hands are full of you. He squeezes your ass and mutters something under his breath that you’re unable to hear.

Boba’s hands fall to your hips. They adjust, bringing them up off the bed a bit. But Boba does not part your legs. Instead, he tests your entrance with a single finger.

Grunting, he withdraws, and then reaches up, snagging one of the pillows.

“Lift your hips,” he commands. You comply, and Boba slips the pillow beneath your lower abdomen. “Better,” he growls, hands returning to your ass.

The bed sinks as he shifts, and again, Boba does not part your legs. He adjusts the pillow some more, arching your hips a bit higher. His hands slide down to the backs of your thighs, pausing near your pussy. With a little pressure, Boba spreads you a bit, but it’s not nearly as much as you expected.

You push up onto your forearm, twisting a bit to look over your shoulder.

Boba’s gaze meets yours just as the head of his cock finds your entrance. He holds himself there, and then thrusts forward.

You cry out, not from pain but from pure pleasure. The stretch is intolerable but so kriffing good you nearly come undone right then.

Boba retreats, and then returns, each roll of his hips giving you more and more of his cock.

“You’re so kriffing tight, cyar’ika,” he groans, feeding you more until your toes curl from the intrusion.

Boba pauses when he bottoms out, holding himself there as his hands slide up and down your back in a soothing caress.

“How do you feel?” The question is one of genuine concern.

You’re no longer leaning on your forearm. You’ve collapsed, cheek pressed against the bed. “Good, Boba. I’m good.”

Boba rolls his hips again, and the slow drag has you clenching. The whimper that accompanies it arrives unbidden, but it is only one of many.

His thrusts begin slow before becoming steady, each one a claiming. Boba drapes himself over you, his forehead resting against the back of your head, and his hands planted on either side of you. Boba uses that as leverage to drive into you over and over.

You are pinned beneath him, taking everything, and it is delicious. You don’t want him to stop. You want to be claimed. To be possessed. To be known by him.

Boba’s breath is hot against your neck, and the words he mutters are of a language you don’t know. He might be cursing you, praising you, or praying to gods you know nothing about.

It isn’t until Boba’s thrusts become quick and erratic that his mind seems to return to you. Keeping one hand anchored to the bed, Boba uses his other hand to tangle his fingers in your hair. Without hurting you, he turns your head just enough to look into your eyes.

“Let me come inside you, cyar’ika.”

“Boba,” you groan as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” he begs.

Boba slows his thrusts, awaiting your answer.

You start nodding, but Boba shakes his head like it isn’t enough. “I need words. I need to hear you say it.”

He lightly tugs on your hair and you moan your answer loudly. “Yes.”

Boba’s grip on your hair releases, and your head drops back to the bed. In his end, Boba is relentless, a pounding pace that drives you into the bed. Your fingers claw at the bedding, everything in your clenching and unclenching, your clip rubbing against the pillow until your own release bursts like stardust.

Boba groans against your throat, and then he stills, pressing down with all his weight, burying himself to the hilt. You don’t even care how messy this will be. You only care about how his arms start to go around you. How he completely drapes himself across you like a blanket. How he whispers your name between kisses to the space between your shoulder blades.

Adjusting some of his weight off of you, Boba grasps the front of your throat, and then you’re looking at each other.

“How many more times can I have you tonight?” he muses, lips curling into a smile.

“We should take what we can. Before we depart. Return to our lives,” you answer.

“You think I’m letting you go, cyar’ika?” counters Boba.

You shift to see him better. “Isn’t that what has to happen?”

Boba’s mouth forms in a wide grin. “No. You might return to your books, but when I come calling, I expect to be treated like this.” He lightly thrusts, and you whimper. He’s growing hard again. Needy.

“Boba,” you groan, arching into him.

He kisses your shoulder. Kisses the dip and then your throat. “I’m never letting you go, cyar’ika.”

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet

@singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppuff @ninman82

@no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos @tulipsun-flower @nomercyforthewarrior @hantheconqueror

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smallraindrops-blog · 2 months

Note

hi! requests are open, yes? may i ask for a poly tsc!reader x wmftd!y/n x hypno? idk how this’d work but it seemed fun and v self indulgent which is the Best kind of fun hehe. have a nice day!

Constellations of Us

(Part One)

Pairing: TSC!Reader X Hypnos X WMFTD!Y/N

Word count: 7.5

Warnings: Angst, post-breakup for TSC!R x Y/N, jealousy, AU, mentions of infidelity ( none that occurs between the main ship), multiple POVs, no beta.

Summary:

‘Nothing is more unintelligible than the human heart.’ - Homer, The Odyssey.

Brokenhearted and the new resident of the House of Hades, you are left to pick up the shattered pieces of yourself.

Funny enough, your hands aren’t the only ones in the pile.

Notes:

Requests are not open.

I am simply working on a very overdue request.

For sake of readability, TSC!Reader will be in second person aka ‘you’, Hypnos and Y/N will be in third person’s. I will also attach who POV is.

This will likely be two parts.

Thank you for waiting. I hope this first part is worth the wait.

(Reader’s Pov)

The administration chamber had quieten down as the last few shades hurried out, done with their duties for the day. Their happy chatter faded with each step they took. The room was dimmer with just a few candles, the warm light smothered by the dark. Walls of scrolls seem to go up and up into an endless height.

You paused on the paper you were working on, your quill left in the ink pot as you reread it. You were mildly impressed that the Master’s son had managed to find new ways to break apart the underworld.

Who knew fire could be used as a surfboard?

You gave a quiet chuckle at the mere thought but slowly, your smile faded.

This wasn’t what you thought it would be.

A skilled healer turned into a bookkeeper. What would Patroclus say?

You weren’t sure how you felt about it but it was an undeniable fact that the dead didn’t need healers. At least, this way you were getting paid. Not that money meant much to you.

It was just proof that you were doing something and not wasting away.

The bureaucracy was mind numbing and exhausting. It was also what you wanted.

You didn’t have to think about anything that wasn’t the work on your desk. You didn't think about your shattered heart. That the love of your life was just a few steps away, unable to meet your eyes.

Or think about the god that had taken your place.

Only if there was paperwork you could use to sign away your own useless heart.

You rubbed your forehead, hating that the moment you stopped working was when you thought about him.

About them.

With a sigh, you picked up your quill and signed the paperwork, verifying that the money will be needed to fix the damage.

“Oh! You’re still here.”

With a muffled gasp, you looked up. Did you somehow summon the god of sleep by a mere thought?

Lord Hypnos blinked at you slowly, drifting closer to your desk like he wasn’t a intruder. His red cloak floated around his shoulders, so heavy it looked like a blanket. He didn’t have the regal appearance of Queen Persephone, or the terrifying aura of Lady Nyx but it was undeniable that he was a god.

The god of sleep smiled at you hesitantly, staring down at you. If the god stood on his own feet, he would be taller than you. Another insult even if unintentional.

You hated that you couldn’t deny how beautiful he was. Heavy lidded golden eyes, full lips and perfectly messy curls. His form was mostly hidden under his modest clothes but the glimpses of his arms revealed a slender masculine shape.

“I am, Lord Hypnos.” You kept your voice quiet, respectful as you stood. You bowed your head, your hands curled by your side. “How may I be of service to you?”

“Just Hypnos.” The god corrected with a hand wave. “I think we both passed that point, hm?”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Hypnos lifted up the thick stack of paperwork in his hands, giving you a rueful grin, “Master Hades had loudly informed me and everyone else in the hall that I had messed up my paperwork once more. Form ZEY -1 to ZEY-213 and um…Form S-3 to Form S-111. I think.”

“I will be happy to make you new copies.” You said in a rush, glad to be given a task. The sooner you can get this god away from you, the better. With a speed you didn’t know you had, you hurried to get him new paperwork.

You wondered how he could mess up simple paperwork but didn’t ask. One, you didn't want to even look at him. Two. It wasn’t your problem.

The god had shamelessly picked up your quill and studied it with his head tilt when you returned. Soft white curls spilled over his ridiculous sleep mask. Another thing you didn’t understand, how a god could be so... ungodly.

It was an ugly thing to think of and you hated that small, petty side of yourself. Afterall, the god did nothing wrong.

This whole mess was yours and Y/N’s fault. You were grown enough to admit that at least.

Lord Hypnos’ face lit up when he spied you. His graceful hands took the fresh stack of paperwork, and your quill floated back to its ink pot with a wave of his finger. You winced when you noticed how ratty your writing quill was getting. You just didn’t care enough to replace it when it was still working perfectly fine.

His old forms were on your desk. There were doodles of random animals, flowers - and maybe a person? There were a few of them, each one different.- everywhere on the paper and you saw many, many blank lines with missing information.

Well then.

“This is horribly awkward, isn’t it?” Lord Hypnos chuckled, drumming his fingers along the papers. You bit the inside of your cheek. Lord Hypnos lifted an white eyebrow, and you realized that he was waiting for a response.

Gods were supposed to know when morals lied, or so you were warned by your mother growing up.

“Very much so, Lord Hypnos.” You sighed. No point in denying it. It was horrible. It was right down painful. You didn’t know loving someone and knowing they belonged to someone else could hurt so much.

“Hypnos. Please. Just Hypnos. I have rank over you so you have to obey. Or at least pretend to.” Hypnos said with a wink. The joke came effortlessly to Hypnos or so it seemed. It was a talent you couldn’t help but admire.

“Hypnos.” You admened with a jerky nod.

A thick pause filled the space between you and the god. All your life, you were taught to respect and worship the gods. Now you were handing one of the infinite beings paperwork.

It was surreal.

“Well, I guess I will go and try not to mess this up again.” Hypnos laughed again, like it was another joke. You tried to smile but you weren’t sure you had succeeded.

It wasn't until Hypnos vanished that you allowed yourself to slump against your desk. You covered your eyes with your hand and let out a shaky breath.

You survived a lot. This was nothing compared to the brutal war that stole so much away, your heart shattering into millions pieces or even your death.

With an inhale, you made yourself straightened up. This was nothing and you will get over it.

You had to.

A moment later, you realized that his paperwork had been left on your desk. Unsure what to do, you just shoved the pile into one of your empty drawers.

You will deal with it later.

There were many things you missed about living. What surprised you that one of the things you missed the most was the ability to tell time. There were no sundials in the underworld nor calendars.

The closest thing you and every other shade had was the coming and going of Queen Persephone, her gentle smile was nothing more than a fading memory.

Sometimes the Prince would let something slip when he came in for paperwork.

His very appearance was enough to terrorize every administration shade, yourself included.

“Please don’t touch that, your highness.” You begged as Prince Zagrues began flipping through files, tossing them aside or worse, putting it back in the cabinet but out of order when he didn’t find what he was looking for.

You thought you heard one of the shades begin to weep.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” Prince Zagreus assured you cheerfully then he picked up a box too quickly, the scrolls rolled out onto the floor.

Several of the scrolls unfurled, hitting your foot. You bit on the inside of your cheek, so hard that if you were still alive, you would taste blood.

Then Prince Zagreus dropped the armfuls of scrolls he was holding.

The weeping turned to full on sobs and horrified stares. You couldn’t quite stop the strangled noise of anger that spilled from your lips.

“Sir please just tell me what-“ you tried to speak but Zagreus was already going back to the next box of scrolls.

“Why are they crying?” The prince asked you with a frown, like he didn’t realize that he had single handedly ruined everyone’s hard work. “I know spring has ended since I last came in but I just need this one record. I still remember where it is. I think.”

Your ears perked at that.

It had been a while since Queen Persephone returned, and if Spring had ended with Zagreus’ last visit, along with the rumors she will be returning in due time. It must be close to the end of summer then.

Gods, what wouldn’t you give for a sundial and calendar?

“Hey! Didn’t your Father ban you? Or had he unbanned you again?” Hypnos swept through the crowd of shades, his cloak bellowed behind him as he came closer. He lifted an eyebrow at the mess that Prince Zagreus created then slowly he glanced toward the crying shade.

“Wowie.” Hypnos murmured. “You already made one of them cry. Good job, your highness. Just like your father.”

Prince Zagrues had the grace to look guilty. “I just need this one thing, Hypnos.”

Hypnos gave Zagreus an unimpressed look, a hand on his hip. “What? Do you need to know how many times you've been run over? Or stabbed? Or nibbled on? Or how many times you annoyed me?”

“Fish.” Zagreus admitted with a shrug. “I wanted to see my fishing records.”

You slapped a hand on your forehead, prompting both gods to look at you. You flushed when you realized how disrespectful it was and murmured an apology. You immediately went three spaces over and pulled the box labeled with Zagreus’ name and quickly found what he was looking for.

“Oh thank you, my good shade.” Zagreus said, reading the scroll. “Huh, I haven’t been fishing as much as I thought.”

“Are you done terrorizing everyone?” Hypnos’ question was honey-coated, his smile fake.

“Oh come on now, I am not that bad.” Zagreus replied then he looked at you, flashing you a gorgeous smile. One that told you that Zagreus knew he was a troublemaker. “Am I?”

Hypnos grabbed a random scroll and began smacking Zagreus with it. “Out. Out, you foul thing. Shoo!”

“Ow! Stop it, Hypnos. You are going to give me a papercut.” Zagreus batted at the air as he left, Hypnos was still hitting him.

Exhaustion hit you like a wall. Suddenly, you just wanted a bottle of wine to drink and maybe a small nap. However Prince Zagreus’ mess was calling to you. With a sigh, you kneeled and began gathering the scrolls.

You were going to have to stay late. Again.

“Hey, I am sorry about him. You should see his room, I mean really.” Hypnos had returned like a ghost, hovering near you. You nearly dropped the scrolls when you heard his voice.

“No, thank you.” You muttered. You had no intention of ever seeing or stepping into Prince Zagreus’ chambers.

“Wise decision.” Hypnos said with a nod, grabbing some of the scrolls himself only to immediately give it to some unfortunate shade.

You dropped the scrolls on your desk, and turned to face Hypnos. You wanted to shoo him out much like he just did to Zagreus but you didn’t. You bit your tongue.

The god gave you a grin but you saw the tension around the corner of his smile. He was nervous.

Why would a god be uneasy around a nobody moral like you? There was that certain someone you and the god had in common however one look at you then at Hypnos would make it clear that you were outclassed in every sense of the word.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Lo- I mean Hypnos?” You asked when he still didn’t speak up. You could feel the weight of eyes on your back, no doubt you were going to the main conversation for post-work drinks.

Lovely. Just lovely.

Hypnos bit on his bottom lip, his long fingers drumming on your desk. “Well, yes. I seem to be missing some forms. Like could you see if you have any for me? Um. Please?”

“Of course.” You murmured as you went to check for him. There was a nagging suspicion that Hypnos didn’t have any missing paperwork, one that was confirmed when Hypnos’ paper tray was empty.

When you went back, the god was gone.

You glanced down the scrolls and frowned. On top of the pile was a brand new quill and a note.

‘A thank you gift! - Hypnos.’ There were little smiley faces and flowers surrounding the words.

You took a sharp inhale. The quill was nice, far nicer than what a normal shade should have. But you weren’t glad for it.

It felt like he was mocking you. There was no point in him giving you this. It felt like a slap, one more taunting gesture toward your worthless heart.

You didn’t hesitate to grab the quill along with the note and dump the stuff into the drawer, the one that was still filled with Hypnos’ forgotten paperwork.

The loud slam of the drawer closing echoed out though the administrative chamber. With a huff, you returned to work, glaring at anyone brave enough to glance your way.

When everyone else left for the night, you pulled the quill out. You twirled it between your fingers, resting your chin on your hand as you studied it.

The quill was high quality, the orange color shone like fire in the candlelight. If you remembered correctly, it was the same type that Hypnos used.

Maybe Y/N use the same one as well.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, the heartache settling in like an old friend. Perhaps taking this job was a mistake. Not that you had much choice. When one is summoned by Master Hades, it is usually in their best interest to obey.

Regardless, it would be best to thank the god of sleep. You highly doubt that Hypnos took time out of his day to mock you. Besides you saw how he bullied Zagreus. He wasn’t the type to hide his teasing.

Nor will you be ruled by your own heartache. You had seen the ugly paths a soul could take doing so.

You closed your eyes against the memories. Maybe someday you won't be haunted by your own ghosts.

It shouldn’t have been surprising when you found Hypnos by your desk when you came in yet it still caught you off guard.

The god flashed a toothy grin, waving with far too much enthusiasm for the start of a workday. His curls looked messier, his sleep mask loose around his neck and his right cheek were marked by lines. It looked like he just woke up from a pleasant nap.

Yet that only seems to add to his beauty and you tried not to think about how unfair that it was.

“There you are, my favorite administrative shade- worker-?” He paused, tapping his chin with a finger, then with a nod. “Shade.”

“Hypnos.” You greeted in a more relaxed manner, “I take it you need something from me?”

His smile turned sheepish. “Well. It seemed I messed up my papers once more. I am surprised the house is standing after all the Master's screaming.”

“Oh that must be why the house was shaking earlier.” You teased him, surprising yourself and him. Mostly yourself.

Hypnos looked delighted, his hands fluttered in the air. “See, I knew you were my favorite for a reason. The others just roll their eyes at me.”

You cleared your throat, stuffling the papers on your desk. “So what forms do you need?”

Hypnos opened his mouth then closed it with a clink. “Um-well-”

Pity bloomed in your chest the longer Hypnos struggled. It must have been obvious on your face because Hypnos crossed his arms. He was actually scowling. At you.

You blinked in surprise. Not even Master Hades could break Hypnos’ smiles, it was a fact everyone in the house knew.

“I don’t know how you- or anyone for that matter- can keep up with the forms! Everytime I think I know which ones, I turn around and there are a billion more.” Hypnos ran a hand through his curls, frustration clear in the furrow of his brow.

“There are a lot of forms.” You agreed, your eyes darting over to the walls of scrolls. Only problem was, those forms were necessary. There was so much that needed to be documented for Master Hades to fully understand everything that happens in his domain.

Or you hoped so. Otherwise you and everyone else are doing busy work for nothing.

Then an idea came to you. You immediately began to pull out your drawers, ignoring Hypnos’ curious glance as he floated closer.

Where was it-

“Ah! Found it!” You grinned as you revealed the small notebook. It was a blank one that you haven’t gotten around to using yet. It wasn’t as nice as the ones you saw Master Hades used but it will suit.

Hypnos lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yay?”

“Lists.” You told him with a smile. “Whenever I have a lot of work, or stuff I need to remember, I write down everything in a to-do list.”

You offered the notebook to Hypnos. You held your breath, sure that the god was going to reject it.

Hypnos reached out, his slender fingers brushing against you. You resisted the urge to jerk, shocked at the sheer amount of warmth that came from the god of sleep.

The god flipped through the pages. He was obvious, thankfully. “Do you really think this will help me?”

“Yes.” You said, giving him a sure nod. “I still remember when Patroclus was first teaching me. There was always so much information I needed to know. Once I could write and read, those lists were a lifesaver.”

Hypnos nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah, you know what? I’ll try it. I mean, there is a reason Y/N calls you a genius, right?”

Those unassuming words caused you to flinch like you were slapped. You didn’t realize that Y/N still called you by your old nickname especially to Hypnos. Or that he told Hypnos that much about you.

The god caught on immediately. His heavy lidded eyes going wide, his golden irises gleamed with shame.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.” Hypnos grimaced. “I am quite talented at sticking my foot in my mouth.”

“It’s fine.” Your smile was brittle.

Hypnos bit down on his full bottom lip, the silence filling the hollowed space. Then the door opened, then a flood of shades came. Some brightly chattering as others tried desperately to wake up.

Some of the office busybodies caught sight of you and Hypnos with wide eyes. They stared shamelessly, even slowing down as they walked passed. You rolled your eyes.

As the newcomer who hasn't had a breakdown yet, you were a novelty among the gossipy office workers. It didn’t help that you also had a certain god who wouldn’t leave you alone. Hypnos closed the notebook with a nod and offered up a smile. One that you returned.

“Find out what forms you need and I will make sure to have a fresh batch ready for you.” You told him.

It wasn’t until he left that you slumped into your not so comfortable chair. Immediately, it was Lydia who came up to you. Her blue eyes staring a hole into you.

“What was that about?” She asked, placing her hands on your desk and you thought she might be attempting a friendly smile.

“Our favorite type of paperwork. You know how crazy I go over forms for TA.” You replied blandly. It was petty but the look of pure indignation she shot at you was totally worth the uncomfortable moment with Hypnos.

Don’t leave me! Don’t- don’t! please!

You jerked awake, gasping for breath, limps tangled in your blanket. You stared up at the dark ceiling with wide eyes, the candle in your room was so dim it was almost nonexistent.

Hating yourself, you pressed your palms against your damp eyes, willing the tears to stop. Only more came, running down your cheeks. You let out a quiet sob.

You hated that dream.

It came over and over again. Never letting you get true rest.

Eventually, you curled under the blanket like you could hide from it, your hands clinging to it, all alone in the dark.

You weren’t embarrassed to admit that your knees still shook whenever you were called forward by Master Hades. It was the most perfectly respectable response a moral could have.

His size was impressive, beastly in comparison to a moral. He flipped through the report you gave him, his scowl deepened as the silence grew. You resisted the urge to shift on your feet.

You felt like if you just twitched, it would attract the god’s attention, like a cat to a very dumb rat, and that was the last thing you wanted.

“On form TA11 to TA13 regarding Tartarus’s last chamber, it looks like you corrected the previous shade’s work. Why was that necessary?” Master Hades said. His tone was polite - for him anyway.- but there was an undercurrent of danger.

“Yes, Master Hades. If you please refer to the file on your desk, you will see what the contractor shades had noted down for repairs versus what was listed on the forms. The document will show with the corrected information along with the new knowledge that we can reuse the materials and save a decent amount.”

The words came out quickly, your fingers shaky as the god did as you requested. Hades studied the forms and the documents, his red eyes darted between the paperwork.

“Very well.” Master Hades signed the paperwork and you felt your soul resume in a dizzying rush.

As you began your return to your overflowing desk, Hypnos waved at you. When he saw he had your attention, he gave you a double thumbs up with a wide grin. It made him look utterly ridiculous.

Not wanting to be rude, you gave the world’s most awkward thumbs up back. You didn’t know why he wanted to be friendly with you of all people.

Pity, maybe.

You kept your head down as you hurried down the hallway, eyes skimming over Master Hades’ notes. It was better not to look, to not see him.

“Genius, slow down.”

You paused in mid step, your body going on autopilot at the mere sound of his deep voice. With a sharp inhale and a silent prayer for strength, you faced him.

It didn't stop the devastating knife from twisting in your heart. He was just as you remembered, his eyes intense as he studied your expression. You jutted your chin out, your nails digging into the paperwork.

Unlike you, he looked like he belonged here among the gods. His strength was undeniable even as a shade, his presence commanded respect. You hated that you still wanted to reach out, to wipe away that brooding expression to reveal his smile.

“That isn’t something you get to call me anymore, Sir Y/N.” Your tone came out abrupt, harsh among the gentle light of the hallway.

His eyes flashed and it was obvious that he wanted to say something back. You straighten your back, ready to counter. It was comforting in a horrible sort of way since disagreements were normal for you and him even before the war. It would feel good to blow off some steam.

Then he only nodded. His voice low as he took a step back. “Of course, reader. Forgive me for overstepping.”

And just like that the wind went out your sails. Were you really going to have a full on argument with Y/N in the middle of your workplace? You closed your eyes for a single moment then adjusted the papers in your hands.

“Was there a reason you wanted to speak with me?” You didn’t look at him again. You don’t think you could bear it.

“I heard that you and Hypnos had been...working together.” He said after a pause. His voice was a lower octave and you shivered at the sound of it. “That notebook you gave him, it is actually helping him. A lot.”

“Good.” You said. You actually meant that. Even if you weren’t sure about Hypnos, you hated the idea of anyone struggling. Then you heard him repeat your name, his voice lower.

It took everything in you to not look up at him. To reach for him. “I’m glad to hear that. Was there anything else you wanted?”

“I wanted to say thank you.” He murmured. “So thank you. For helping Hypnos when I couldn’t.”

His quiet gratitude hit a new soreness in your heart - one that you didn't know even existed- but you forced yourself to take a breath. With strength you didn’t really feel, you made yourself look.

There was an unexpected softness in his expression, one that you recognized. You had seen it countless times, during long nights after battles, whenever he pulled you close or the quiet moments of just you and him with the sunshine warm on your skin.

Your breath hitched, and you wanted to tell him that you missed him, that you were sorry about how everything went down, that you just wanted to hold him one more time.

You wanted to ask if he missed you just as much.

Then you caught a glimpse of white curls, Hypnos’ curious expression shifted to one of guilt and he darted away as Y/N turned his head toward the noise.

“I’m more than happy to help anytime. Tell him I said thanks for the writing quill.” You said, your cheeks flushed hot from pure shame. You were already hurrying away like the guilt was nipping at your heels.

His presence was the reminder you needed to snap you back to reality.

You thought you heard Y/N began to call you back only for his voice to fade as you pushed past the doors.

(Hypnos’ pov)

“A writing quill?” His voice was low, only for Hypnos’ ears even though they were alone. With a quiet hum, Hypnos gave an indulgent stretch, too stated to actually get up. His arms flopped down around his head and grinned when he caught the flash of hunger in Y/N’s expression.

He met Y/N’s cool stare with an innocent blink.The shade had somehow still had energy, sitting up in the bed. Blankets were pooled around them, with countless soft as cloud pillows spilling onto the floor. The firelight was golden and peaceful.

His mortal looked gorgeous, the light casting shadows over his muscular form, tempting Hypnos to move closer and use his tongue to trace the lines of his powerful body.

For some reason, his mind flashed back to Reader, or Genius as Y/N called him. The guilt in the Reader’s face was a mirror to Hypnos’ own. Hypnos didn't mean to eavesdrop on a private moment, really.

He just wanted... he didn’t know, not yet.

Hypnos gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “He needed a new one. The one the house gave him was falling apart.”

Y/n said nothing. He didn't need to, his silence was enough.

Hypnos sighed, closing his eyes. “You will have to accept his presence here eventually.”

“I have.” Y/N said, his calloused fingers caressing Hypnos’ bare hip. Hypnos let out a soft gasp, goosebumps forming on his skin but he didn't move.

Y/N moved downward, pressing open mouth kisses against Hypnos' neck. “What I don't understand is why you are so determined to befriend him.”

Hypnos gripped Y/N's broad shoulders, torn between wanting more or making him stop so they could talk. His eyes traced the stars that gleamed above them. If he was completely honest, Hypnos still didn’t completely know why he cared.

But he did.

There was something about Reader...

“I like him. Hades still hasn't found anything wrong with their work. And I know he tried. Many times.” Hypnos said, not even attempting to hide his jealousy. He never knew someone who could stand toe to toe with Master Hades with paperwork.

not even his Mother could say such things. Certainly not Hypnos nor the Queen herself.

Hypnos huffed. “ And he actually wants to help people, do you know how rare that is? I think anyone else would have refused to help me, considering the situation.”

Y/N pressed a lingering kiss against Hypnos' collarbone before rolling off on him. His voice was quiet. “I do.”

Hypnos bit his lip, his thoughts whirling. Maybe he should confess to maybe taking quite a few peaks of Y/N’s nightmares and of his gentle dreams. That Hypnos had seen moments shared between lovers. Ones that weren't him and Y/N.

That Hypnos knew Reader still dreamt of y/n.

Jealousy had definitely been there but not as much as Hypnos thought there would be. If anything, he wanted to keep watching. He didn’t but now, he was curious about this other person.

This other person that his dearest had loved once. Maybe he still did.

Hypnos wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally met Reader. There was nothing unique about him. He could have easily been lost among the crowd, even if he was pretty for a moral.

Then Hypnos saw it. The spark in those eyes that spoke of an unnatural intellect. Then Reader kept helping Hypnos, again and again.

Reader had been someone Y/N had loved. Surely that meant something. Especially if Hypnos was right, that he saw the same longing in Reader's eyes.

Hypnos stared up at the canopy, turning the moments over and over in his mind like a puzzle to be solved. Then you reached for him and Hypnos went obediently, sighing when he found a comfortable position, his leg over y/n’s thick quads, his hand on Hypnos’ hip.

”Love you.” He murmured, kissing Hypnos’ forehead gently. Hypnos returned a kiss against Y/n’s bare skin.

“Love you too.” Hypnos murmured, his fingers trailing over familiar scars.

It felt odd, like something was shifting into a new shape but it wasn’t quite sure what shape it wanted to be yet. Hypnos knew all he could do was wait and see.

(Reader’s Pov)

Shades were rushing past your desk, their arms overflowing with scrolls, orders yelled overhead as the chaos grew. One of the more experienced shade were already passing around a flask, muttering about how it was going to be a long night.

You skimmed over the scroll once more. You were obvious to the chaos around you. It was almost like being back in the war, only this time you didn’t have your hands inside a pulsing body, rushing against time and the fates themselves to save lives.

This time, it was just your -and everyone else’s- livelihood.

Queen Persephone was due back any day now and Master Hades’ list of demands had only grown.

New flowers needed to be ordered, fresh wood for the hearth, there was a rare type of soil mix from Olympus that Queen Persephone had requested months ago and it still hasn't arrived. Fancy food and types of wines that you have never heard of, fine fabric and so on and so on.

Your fingers danced along the abacus as you went over the numbers of Hades' orders and the cost of everything. It was already more money then you would have earned in a thousand lifetimes but the numbers were easy and mind numbing.

Which may be why you didn't notice him at first.

“Reader.” His low voice was enough to jolt you out the trance you were in, your fingers lingering on the wooden beads.

Y/n stared down at you, his arms gripping a huge stack of scrolls. You blinked once then once more as you registered just how many he was holding. His strong jaw clenched, the glint in his eyes hard as stone.

It was a familiar expression, one that told you just how close he was to losing it. Once you had been the one to reach over and smooth away the anger. But that wasn’t your place anymore.

Not that your body didn’t seem to get the memo. Your fingers twitched.

“What is this?” You gestured toward the pile of work, trying to keep your voice cool.

He exhaled, “Master Hades had decided in his infinite wisdom to increase security for the house. Again. I have the paperwork for the new routines for myself to be filed, along with new procedures for the administration staff.”

With that, he dumped the scrolls in the ‘IN’ box.

“You’re kidding me.” You breathed, plucking the top scroll and unfurling it. You skimmed over the words, a pounding headache forming behind your eyes.

This was just more work, not even necessary with all the last minute preparations for the Queen. No one was going home until the Queen arrived, that was for sure. Maybe you should have taken that offer for a drink after all.

“Here.”

He placed a wrapped parcel on your desk, the rich scent of spiced meat and herbs hitting your nose immediately. Your mouth watered.

With a head shake, you pushed it back to him. “I don’t-“

But he was already walking away, “You need something, gen- Reader.” He scoffed. “You get cranky without food.”

That made your mouth snap close and you let him go without another word. The parcel was still warm when you picked it up. As a shade, food wasn’t a need. But it was a gift from Y/N.

And he wasn’t wrong to be honest.

You unwrapped the parcel, inhaling the scent of the gemista. A simple food, a large tomato stuffed with herbs, meat and vegetables. It took you back to long nights over bonfires, of your thigh pressed against Y/N’s, of Achilles’ lyra playing sweet melodies, Patroclus’ dark eyes watching over with pride.

When you took the first bite, you let yourself savor the meal like chaos wasn’t surrounding you. Then you devoured the rest in a single bite and got back to work. The gods wait for no one.

The fates must still keep an eye out for the shades because Queen Persephone’s reunification with the house went off without a hitch. Laughter from the celebrations reached even as far as the administration chamber.

No doubt that wine was free flowing and the tables were stuffed with delicious food. Your stomach growled even if you didn’t actually feel hungry. The thought over an overfilled cup of wine sounded heavenly.

But the thought of possibly running into a certain couple made your gut turn sour. So you looked down at your desk, biting down on your lip.

Numbers were nothing but blurry ink to you now and the lights felt like a thousand sun. You forced yourself to blink your painfully dry eyes. Others were celebrating, some already packing up to return home. It must have been many days since the start of this whole madness.

As you listened in, you wished that you could have done something. But you were dead and so was the child. At least, their many grandparents were more than happy to fuss and spoil the little one.

One of the older men was telling the others about the young grandchild that had recently made their journey to the underworld.

An short and brutal illness was the cause.

You began to clean up your desk, sighing at the chaos. Ink bottles and papers were scattered everywhere and you cursed yourself for getting so messy.

“Hey, you should come join us.” One of your coworkers, you had forgotten his name, said quietly. He nodded toward the mess on your desk. “I promise it will be more fun than cleaning up.”

The shade was good-looking, his eyes were a charming, gentle brown and his smile was perfect. It made you smile in return but nothing stirred, no breathless sparks in you.

”No. I can't come along but thank you for the invite.” You told him.

“I insist, let me buy you a drink. Gods knows, you were the only reason none of us lost our jobs today.” He pushed a little more, his smile was still there but it looked a little more colder.

You parted your lips but before you could say anything else, a voice piped up.

”He can’t, because he already promised to join me.” Hypnos beamed at your coworker, blatantly lying. “Early birdie get the worm as they say.”

The shade narrowed his eyes at Hypnos as if doubtful of Hypnos’ words.

”Soooo.” Hypnos waved him off, like he was a bothersome and pushy merchant. A beat and the shade ducked his head, “Of course, Lord Hypnos. See you around, Reader.”

“Yeah.” You murmured, noting that Hypnos didn’t bother to correct the shade on the title. Far as you knew from rumors and your own handful of interactions, Hypnos didn’t let coworkers call him by any titles, or even strangers if Hypnos liked them on sight.

Once the group left, it was like the air in the room went with them.

Suddenly, you were aware that you were alone with Hypnos. You have been before but it was different this time. One that you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Thanks but I had it under control.” You told him, stacking the last bits of paper and sitting it aside.

”I don’t doubt that for a moment but I never get to play the hero.” Hypnos grinned at you. It was so boyishly sweet that you actually were a little charmed by it. “Beside, you and I are going to go get a drink, I need to thank you for saving my behind from Master Hades.”

You shook your head but Hypnos held up his hands. His fingers were spread out a little, each one was slender and long. Hands that artists would craft into marble. Unlike your rough hands, ruined by years of creating herbal medicine and cleaning them with harsh soaps.

”I won’t push.” Hypnos said quietly. “I would like to thank you. I usually get yelled so much, my ears would ring for hours but the making a list thing, it really did help. But I understand if you don’t want to.”

His words struck you as sincere. You bit down on your lip, torn. Did you really want to share a drink with Y/n’s lover, to act like you and him were friends? It would be the adult thing to do, but you might only be sitting youself up for a world of hurt.

“Why are you trying to be so nice to me?” The words spilled out before you could stop them. You slapped a hand over your mouth as if that would help take them back.

Hypnos cocked his head. “I’m curious about you.”

You blinked, surprised at his honesty. “You are?”

”Aren’t you curious about me?” Hypnos asked, his golden eyes watchful.

You considered his words then slowly nodded. “I am actually.”

At those words, Hypnos reached into his cloak and pulled out two bottles of nectar. He wiggled one of the round bottles at you, the liquid appeared like melted gold in the lighting. “So how about those drinks?”

(Y/N’s Pov)

Hypnos had vanished.

Among the partygoers, he saw Zagreus along with Thanatos and Megarea, sitting on one of the temporary chaise, set out just for the parties. They looked cozy, with their heads close together as they talked in low voices. One of Zagreus’ hands was in Thanatos’, and his thigh pressed against Megarea’s

Y/N didn’t want to interrupt, besides they probably didn’t know where Hypnos disappeared off too.

After making a quick loop, he still didn’t find Hypnos. Unfortunately, he had to work during the celebration, leaving Hypnos by himself. If Hypnos decided to call it an early night, he would usually let Y/N know.

With a frown, he scanned the great hall one last time. He pretended that he also wasn’t looking for another face among the crowd.

Guilt settled deep in his chest. He didn't like this side of himself. He always thought of himself loyal, he didn’t have a problem keeping his dick to himself unlike many others he knew.

Yet, he found himself wanting to talk, to make sure that Genuis- no- No. Reader. He had lost the right to call Reader by the little pet name Y/N gave him so long ago. That had hurt like a knife to the guts. It hurt far more than it should have considering everything.

Sighing in annoyance at himself, he turned to go to Hypnos' chambers when he caught the cast of lights coming from the administration chamber.

No one was supposed to be there right now.

He began walking toward the doors, just one more thing to deal with before getting to see Hypnos. He didn’t know what he would say if he saw it was just you.

It was until he was a few steps away that the sound of laughter reached his ears. Two distinct ones, both of them were so different but wonderful to hear together. He froze in place.

For a moment, he considered being a coward and turning around. He didn’t, his own need to know was far more powerful. He needed to be sure.

Quietly, he pushed the door open just a crack.

Hypnos sitting on your desk, you in your chair, giggling like children. Hypnos’ sleepmask resting on your head, your fingers brushing on the cloth.

“I don’t think I can pull this look off.” You told Hypnos as you returned it. Hypnos placed it back on, resting his cheek on his palm as he leaned closer to you. You began telling Hypnos something but your voice was too low.

The sight of Hypnos and you sitting together, smiling and laughing warmly, was like lightning bolts shooting down his back. The contrast between you and the god was beautiful, the dimness in the room softening the difference, bringing two separate pieces together.

He swallowed.

Hypnos saw him first. His smile grew, bright and cheerful. He also looked quite tipsy. “There you are! All done with work for tonight?”

Reader jolted upward, blinking at him in surprise. You swayed a bit, cheeks flushed red. It was then he saw the four bottles of nectar sitting on the desk. That would explain a lot then.

“I thought I was but then I found two troublemakers.” He teased, trying to hide the shock to his system.

That caused you to scoff and you pointed at him. “Hypnos, did he tell you about the time he nearly got killed by a bull because he kept sneaking out at night?”

Hypnos whipped back to you with a dramatic gasp. “Are you serious right now?”

”Wait- don’t tell him-“ he tried to speak over but you went off, telling Hypnos all the sordid details.

“So after killing the bull, they had to pay the owner for lost income and Y/N had to stay in his parents’ tent for three weeks.” You finished the tale. Both pairs of eyes rested on him.

It caused his guts to twist, a heat clawing up the back of his neck and he scowled at them.

Hypnos shared a pointed glance with Reader, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So him being bull headed isn’t a new thing, then?”

That got a genuine laugh from you. Gods, he had missed it. He shifted, trying to shove the unwelcome thoughts away. He was a grown man, he wasn’t going to play these games.

“Nope.” You replied, giving the ‘p’ a loud pop.

”I don’t like this.” He grumbled, crossing his arms. “Why are you ganging up on me?”

Another shared glance between you and Hypnos and the pair broke down in loud, drunken laughter.

Despite him being the butt of their jokes right now, it warmed something in his stomach to see them getting along. Even if it did take alcohol to help smooth the process.

It didn’t take much coaxing to get Hypnos and You to call it a night. He walked behind them, readying to grab one or both everytime they swayed a little too far. Both of them were chatting over office gossip - One of the shade was leaving to work as a blacksmith, there was a rumor of an affair between two of the HR workers and so on.

It wasn’t until they stopped in front of the Reader’s dorms that they went quiet.

Hypnos shamelessly pulled you into a tight embrace, his cloak enveloped you and him in soft red. You gave Y/N a surprise glance, silently asking and he nodded. If anyone understood the unusual process of becoming friends with Hypnos, it was him.

After a beat of hesitation, you returned it.

A knot formed in his throat. He should have looked away but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. There was something beautiful in this moment, two halves of his soul embracing under the warm candlelights.

He knew that he would be returning to this memory again and again, saved between quiet heartbeats, admiring a sight that only he got to see.

Hypnos broke the hug, his hands on your shoulders and beamed at you. “Friends?”

Returning Hypnos’ smile, you nodded, carefully not looking at Y/N.

“Friends.”

#wake me from this dreaming #hypnos x male!reader

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lamemaster · 6 months

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The Tale of Leren and Buthien

Pairing: Rog x GN Reader

Genre: Romance

Summary: The general makes dreams come to life with the play of ink and paper. The catch- the dreams are wet.

AN: No actual smut in a story about a smut writer this is what you call a true lazy ass. I am a proud woman. I mean look at this amazing title.

"What is it this time?" The hall full of elves buzzed with unfathomable tension. It wasn't a blinding gem, a delicate harp, or even a well-forged sword.

Instead, it was nothing more than a couple sheets of paper crudely sewn together.

"Oh my it comes with illustrations," an elleth fanned her flushing face as others around her peaked into the papers. "By Varda," another exclaimed breathing deeply but none looked away.

What was it that left the residents of Gondolin, millennia-old elves, gasping like teens undergoing puberty?

"It's the neighbor this time," someone added in an uncanny awe. "A peeking neighbor and a married couple who can't keep their hands off each other." Century-old elders in the room giggled childishly.

"The general never disappoints."

"The true pioneer of Edain must I say," everyone broke out into laughter.

All but one. Rog, the lord of the house of the warth of the hammer. As if glued to his seat, he sat with a tense back as the rest of the room cackled over the saucy novella.

Lord Rog had just been assigned his next assignment.

The general, the source of new weekly entertainment in Gondolin. You came with the host of Hurin and Huor. A warrior known for your might, you were respected, welcomed even by many. However, slighted by your appearance not once did the Gondolians expect you to carry another side with you.

Not until the first of your writings ended up in the hands of a flustered bookkeeper. A writing you proudly presented. Handwritten and bound by you.

Perhaps the bookkeeper had expected a mundane poem or war strategies, even something about the lives of Edain but never had the 658-year-old Ailya expected the raunchiest filth of a story of a night of pleasure shared between a king and their knight.

Let's just say that after a few years of peace and calm your story brought chaos to the streets of Gondolin. In the blink of an eye, every knight in the service possessed a copy of your creation. Even the whispers of your lewd tale were loud enough for the rest of the lords to find out. Some even gossiped about a copy in the king's office...

Surrounded by a babbling Glorfindel and an intrigued Penlod, Rog held it for the first time. Even as he wrapped his hands around the cool paper, written in the clean handwriting of an elven scribe, your original piece was an artifact at this point, Rog felt his fingers tremble with the weight of the mere sheets of paper that carried your words.

The general was an existence whose presence was announced by Ulmo, the Vala of water. Accompanied by Huor and Hurin came their close companion and the leader of their forces, you.

A mere human who challenged the wrath of his hammer with every breath of their existence.

"Did you hear Lord Rog moved his room?" someone whispered in the group huddled by the hearth.

"What? That's so random..."

Looking around they exchanged exasperated looks before continuing "You're as dense as him."

"What do you mean? We're not here decoding our Lord's every move."

The Vanya sighed trying not to beat up his clueless companion."Okay listen, the general wrote a piece about knights and the next day Lord Rog drilled all his knights until the general saw them, then the general wrote about a misfit rebel and the next day Lord was seen wearing an all-black armor with a very mannish braid. And now with the new neighbor piece, he moves into the room that faces the room general lives in."

The room fell silent. Everyone stared at the paper in their hands. Was their lord truly...with the general...

"Do you think our Lord would be able to keep up with the general...he might fade of pleasure," the dark-haired ellon groaned as a metal vase hit him square in the face.

Late at night when the stars in the sky dictate the sleep of men, Rog watches you write away hunched over your desk. A clear view from his window. Unhindered by curtains or your own trinkets lying around.

And when late at night your eyes accidentally seem to meet his, Rog finds himself flinching away from the smirk on your face before you go back to wreaking havoc on the paper.

A week later the streets of Gondolin fill with hustle and excitement. A new volume clutched in every hand.

However, this time around the whispers seem to be shuddering with a different energy. Thrumming with a pulsing tension carried in quivering lips.

To sate his curiosity, Lord of the House of the Wrath of Hammer grabs the volume.

Rushing back to his room, he allows his eyes to gloss over the title.

Hidden behind the curtain, you watch Rog glare holes into the volume clutched in his hands. A warm red settles on his cheeks as his ears twitch with his shaking pupil.

Perhaps the mannish retelling of the Lay of Lethian was not such a bad idea as Ailya had made it to be. Especially given the faces your elf was making reading it.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #noldor elves #silmarillion #rog x reader #rog #the general is the coolest fucking reader #this title is elite

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shewhoworshipscarlin · 4 months

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Laphonza Romanique Butler

On October 1, 2023, California Governor Gavin Newsom chose well-known labor organizer and political strategist Laphonza Butler to be the next US Senator from California, following the death of long-serving Senator Dianne Feinstein on September 29, 2023. Butler, who was sworn in by Vice President Kamala Harris at the US Capitol on October 3, 2023, is the first openly LGBT Senator from California, the first Black lesbian in the US Senate, and the second Black woman to represent California in the Senate, following Vice President Kamala Harris. California must hold two concurrent Senate elections in March 2024: a special election to fill out the rest of Feinstein’s term in spite of there being an appointed Senator, and another election for the full six-year term beginning in January 2025.

Senator Butler’s career path includes labor, corporate, academic, and political engagement. Social justice has been her focus within these varied endeavors. Born in Magnolia, Mississippi, in 1979, Butler comes from a working-class family. Her father was a small business owner who died of a terminal illness when Butler was in high school. She saw her mother become the household’s sole provider for three children, working as a classroom aide, a home care provider, a security guard, and a bookkeeper.

Butler earned a bachelor’s degree in Political Science at Jackson State University in 2001. After graduation she began a career as a labor organizer in several states, working with nurses, custodians, and hospital workers. In accepting her appointment, Butler said that she would strive to honor Feinstein’s legacy by “committing to work for women and girls, workers and unions, struggling parents, and all of California.” Her previous job as President of Emily’s List, which helps elect Democratic women who support abortion rights, means it is likely abortion rights will be an important part of the Democrats’ election strategy in 2024.

In 2009 Butler moved to California where she organized nurses as well as in-home caregivers, and became President of SEIU (Service Employees International Union) Local 2015 of United Long Term Care Workers; she also served as President of the SEIU State Council. Butler has served on the board of the Children’s Defense Fund, the political action committee BlackPAC, and the Bay Area Economic Council Institute think tank. In addition, she is the former director of the Board of Governors of the Los Angeles branch of the Federal Reserve System, and a former Regent of the University of California.

Butler is married to Neneki Lee. The couple has an 8-year-old daughter. Lee is the National Division Director for Public Services at SEIU. When she became President of Emily’s list in 2021, Butler and her family moved to Maryland while maintaining their home in Los Angeles. As of October, 2023, they have re-domiciled to Los Angeles and Butler has re-registered to vote in California.

https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/people-african-american-history/laphonza-romanique-butler-1979/

#historical #black history month #government

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thebookkeepersrus-blogs · 7 months

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If you want business success and gain edge against your competitors? Visit us and get consultation!

#topbookkeepers #affordablebookkeeping #smallbusinesssolutionsca #healthcarebookkeeping #fullservicebookkeeping #recordkeepers #healthcarebookkeepers #full service bookkeeping

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thebookkeepersrus · 11 months

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Read the best business blog of The Bookkeepers R Us. Affordable services for small businesses and startups. Call us for affordable services!

#recordkeepers #smallbusinesssolutions #recordkeeping #bookkeeping #full service bookkeeping #losangeles #california #cost-effective bookkeeping #top bookkeeping services #business tips #best business blog

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elekid · 3 months

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AHEM ATTENTION I HAVE NEWS BREAKING NEWS HERE FROM DIRK

>be me walking back to my tent after bookkeeping

>business as snusual

>see guy i dont recognize in front of me walking slower, this happens so i enjoy the nice view of his back of neck tattoo

>stop and pet my fav dog

>see guy around the corner

>loves my tattoo (an upside down cross)

>"thanks i did it myself" compliment his, say im thinking of doing my back of neck as well

>convo flowth

>reveal im putting "MR. FAGGOT" to him, kind of nervous bc of tumblr nerds reactions

>his face is somber and soft suddenly

>bows to me full waist face down

>thanks me for my service

>walks away

this happened. 100% real. it made my day

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

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don quixote and the classics // bucky barnes bookstore! au

pairing: bucky barnes x bookkeeper! reader

summary: bucky develops a sudden affinity for secondhand books from one specific store, and coincidentally, that store just so happens to employ a pretty, intriguing bookkeeper. from don quixote to the history of Hun empire archery techniques, bucky just wants to see you again.

warnings: swearing, mutual pining, the avengers are meddling assholes but i love it, couple references to my favorite books, and oblivious reader

w/c: 6.5k

prompt 6 by @juicywritinghoard

“librarian desperate to understand what wild phase the other character is going thru rn”

＊✿❀　❀✿＊

when you dreamed of moving to new york, you had hoped your days would be spent glamourously lounging in high-end bars, frequenting gentrified hip indie cafés (because let’s be honest, you can’t escape them these days), and/or getting yourself a sugar daddy.

what you didn’t plan for was working six days a week at a shitty bookstore where you tripped over the loose floorboard behind the counter even after three months. granted, the “shittiness” of it all was quite charming, and the old man who owned the place was probably the sweetest person you’d ever met—which said a lot because you hated old people.

the business had been slaw. as aforementioned, the gentrified millennial-catered cat-café-bookshop-cabaret-bars blew whatever “run-down charm” your store could try to advertise itself as. you spent most of your time abandoning the counter, since it wasn’t like there were customers who needed to purchase things anyway. instead, you’d found yourself lost in shelves of haphazardly organized books (fuck the dewey decimal system), trying to squeeze in new finds (and by new, you meant the battered up copies that the owner’s friends had no more use for) but eventually settling for stacking them horizontally on top of the rows and rows of dusty books.

you’d never admit it, but this place had become your home. sure, it was probably decomposing. and you swore that you saw a squirrel in there once. but you and your single coworker were always treated with baked goods from the owner and paid a reasonable salary. the owner had done so much for you back when you were a naive, freshly moved-in new yorker. he’d fed you when your bills were becoming too much, he offered you a job and made sure you were paid enough, and once, he even let you crash on the cushy chairs in the back when the subway was down and a thunderstorm was raging.

today was like any average day, so essentially a day full of nothing. stevie nicks crooned through the old radio—the owner insisted on CDs—and you hummed along, occasionally singing some of the lyrics you knew. when the bell chimed and you heard the hinges of the door squeak, you yourself let out a squeak.

“uh, hello?” a raspy male voice called from the front of the store. he cleared his throat. “is there anyone- are you guys open? i didn’t see a closed sign or anything and the lights were on so…” he was speaking to nobody in particular, trailing off after he heard no response.

“okay, um, no worries! have a good day,” he called to no one, turning to leave.

“wait! wait, come back!” you huffed as you ran to the front of the store, clutching your stomach to catch your breath. “sorry, i thought i was hallucinating. we haven’t had a customer in a long time.” you winced. “that’s really bad advertising, isn’t it,” you muttered to yourself.

the man laughed. “no worries, i’m enjoying our introduction, actually.” he hesitantly held his flesh hand out for you to shake. “bucky. bucky barnes?” he waited for some sort of recognition to flash in your eyes, or maybe a recoil, or maybe for you to ask him to leave. instead, you took his hand in yours and gave him two firm shakes. he smiled at your confident grip.

“as much as i’m glad you’re enjoying this introduction at my expense—sorry about that, by the way; customer service is not my thing—how can i help you?”

“i’m looking for a book,” he said, eyes flickering around the crowded bookshelves as if he were a little intimidated.

“then you’re in the right place,” you snorted. “sorry, that was rude of me. sorry. do you know what you’re looking for? our organization system is a bit… unique, so i can show you to our different sections if you need.”

“that’d be great, actually,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. “do you have anything on… gardening? botanicals? specifically flowers? ones that are native to the east coast would be preferable.”

you smiled, picturing the burly man in front of you curled up on an armchair, scanning pages and pages about delicate, colorful petals and local flora. “we do, actually! come with me.”

the man—no, bucky—trailed behind you, mesmerized by the way you navigated seemingly random stacks of books with such familiarity. you stopped abruptly and he nearly walked into you—and thank god for that, because he probably would’ve run you over.

“here ‘ya go!” you chirped, running your hand over the spines of botanical books fondly. “if it’s not too invasive to ask, but why are you looking for books on flowers? no offense, but you don’t really seem like,” you waved your hands around, “a flower kind of guy.”

bucky chuckled, already immersed in his hunt for the perfect book. “you’re right, i’m not. my friend wanda’s been wanted to start a garden, but she’s always been a city girl. we have a place further out from the city with a good amount of land, so i’m hoping to get her started.”

“that’s so sweet!” you swooned, smiling widely. “you’re such a wonderful boyfriend. god, those are rare.”

“oh no- uh, we’re not dating,” bucky stammered, cheeks flushing slightly as he refused to meet your eyes. his hands froze midair, fingers dancing across the spine of a book. “we just live… together. there’s a lot of us there.”

“ah, so you guys are like fancy outskirts-of-new-york co-inhabitants, huh?” you gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully. “never met anyone like that.”

“well, normal is not a word i’d use to describe myself,” he said with a hint of bitterness. was that right? he was bitter?

you leaned against one of the shelves as you watched him search. when he found what he was looking for, he turned with the book clutched against his chest, giving you a triumphant grin.

“you found one! c’mon, i’ll get you all checked out.”

bucky couldn’t help but watch as your fingers danced across the old register whose numbers on the keys had begun to fade. you flipped the book to the back to check the price. “hey, you got a good deal! five dollars, please.”

he fished for his wallet and handed you a crumpled bill. you smiled and handed him his book. perhaps it was intentional or maybe it was simply an accident, but bucky shivered when your fingertips brushed against his own. “it was nice to meet you, bucky,” you waved cheerfully as he left, a bit reluctant to say goodbye. he held his hand up in parting, walking out the door backward to keep you in his sight for as long as possible, almost bumping into a passing pedestrian who shot him a glare. you giggled.

as he began the walk back to the subway, he flipped through his new book. he smiled to himself. right in the center of the pages was a delicate bookmark, stained with dancing hues of a painter’s watercolor touch.

wanda was overjoyed at bucky’s gift. she seemed to love the secondhand nature of it, claiming “that’s what gives it personality!” bucky agreed that the book had personality, but he didn’t think it was because of its age. it was because it reminded him of the sweet bookkeeper’s smile. unbeknownst to wanda, he’d taken the bookmark out and kept it for himself.

steve’s birthday was coming up, and seeing as wanda couldn’t stop gushing over her plants, the rest of the team had taken an interest to where the book had come from. when living in a hundred-million-dollar complex, something as simple as the concept of paying for a battered-up, used item was a bit foreign.

“you’re back!” you’d exclaimed at the sight of bucky’s smiling face. it was late june, and between his first meeting with you and today’s mission of retrieving a birthday present for steve, he’d stopped by three times already.

“your favorite regular has arrived,” he grinned, draping himself over the counter teasingly to admire your face. you swatted him away.

“you’re my only regular and you know it.” you tapped his nose. “so what are you looking for today?” you came out from behind the counter, taking extra care to skip over the loose floorboard. after tripping over it twice in front of bucky, you were determined to take extra caution.

“something on art, actually.” he looked down at you adoringly as you stood in front of him, head tilted up to meet his eyes as you rocked back and forth excitedly on the balls of your feet.

“ooooh, you’re versatile!” you wrapped your small hand around his wrist, catching bucky off guard, but by some miracle, a wave of courage swept over him and he slipped his wrist out of your grasp and interlocked your fingers with his. if you were caught off guard, you made no indication, but bucky could swear your heart jumped a little.

you weaved the two of you through the shelves once more. the two of you were fully aware that bucky could probably navigate just fine on his own after his multiple visits here, but neither of you would complain about the extra few minutes you’d get to spend together.

as he browsed, you settled into your usual routine of chatting as he searched and you leaned casually against a shelf. “... so first you come in with gardening, and then the next week it’s archery during the Hun empire, and then last week you get two books—which were great picks, by the way; you were very tasteful with the don quixote and thinking of you reading alice in wonderland absolutely made my day-”

bucky blushed. you had been thinking of him?

“-and now you’re here for art? i’ve got to say, i’m extremely impressed, buck.”

he stood up from his crouch, where he had been examining the lower shelves for the perfect book, and held it up to you for approval. this was also part of the routine—he’d pick out a book, you’d inspect it, and if you deemed it a good fit, he’d buy it.

“i love it! mainstreamers of modern art? i never pegged you for a modern art guy, but i see it now. you’re adventurous.” as the two of you made your way through the checkout process, he couldn’t help the thought that’d been running through his mind the past few weeks.

“do you make the bookmarks yourself?

this time, it was your turn to blush. “um, yeah, actually.” you hesitated before handing him his book and meeting his eye. “i’m no picasso,” you tapped on the cover of the book where his art was featured, “but before you started coming, i had a lot of free time. so i started making little bookmarks.”

the loveliest smile you’d ever seen on bucky’s face, or anybody’s face, for that matter, spread ear-to-ear like the flowers you assumed that wanda had successfully been nurturing.

“what is it?” you laughed nervously, tilting your head away from him shyly.

he reached out and took hold of your jaw with a gentle touch. he wasn’t sure where all this courage was coming from. perhaps it was the spirit of capitan america running through his bloodstream. “don’t… don’t look away. don’t be embarrassed. i think it’s beautiful,” he confessed, eyes never leaving yours just as his hand refused to pull away from where it had reached up to caress your face. the two of you were trying to contain your bashful smiles.

“thank… thank you,” you whispered, finding your faces a bit too close for this to be platonic. at this point, you weren’t sure if the “beautiful” bucky had been talking about was referring to the bookmarks or to you. you hoped it was the latter.

the clanging of the bell broke your spell. the both of you jumped back; you pretended to be busying yourself with papers that didn’t exist and bucky’s arms snapped to his side like a soldier in position. a young woman appeared at the door.

“wanda?” bucky revelled, eyebrows furrowing as he took in the figure of a curious customer scanning the store.

“no, bucky. vision decided to emulate me and come all the way down here to terrorize you. yes, it’s me, wanda,” she deadpanned.

“wanda!” you abandoned your nonexistent busywork. “you’re bucky’s roommate? i’ve heard so much about you? how’s the garden coming along? what’d you think of the book? i’m not sure if- i put bookmarks in all the purchased books, i hope yours didn’t fall out! i put a flowery patterned one in there for you,” you gushed, overjoyed to meet a friend of bucky’s and get a glimpse of his personal life which he was incredibly guarded about. oh, and because you had a new customer, obviously.

“bucky’s told me all about you as well! it’s so nice to finally meet you!” you hesitated for a second as wanda wrapped you into a big hug before reciprocating with equal enthusiasm. bucky didn’t care about wanda’s comment as much as he was thrilled to see you get along with his friends.

“and yes, i loved the bookmark,” wanda said, shooting bucky a questioning glance, eyebrows raised. bucky wilted under her knowing look.

“how did you even find me, wanda?” bucky chewed his lip nervously at wanda’s mischievous smirk.

“oh, it was totally an accident. i found this darling store online and i knew i just had to come get steve’s birthday present here. it just so happens that this is the place you’ve been running off to all these weeks! i can’t believe you’d keep this gem to yourself,” she simpered, taking hold of your hand.

“you know, bucky can’t stop talking about this place,” she smiled. “and you,” she whispered connivingly into your ear. you felt your face heat up and hoped wanda couldn’t tell. she could.

“r-really? that’s so sweet of you,” you stammered, eyes flickering between wanda and bucky. bucky looked like he was going to sink into the floor.

you cleared your throat. “so, you said you’re looking for a birthday present? would you like some assistance or are you good to wander on your own?” you deflected, letting go of wanda’s hand when you felt yours begin to clam up.

“well, i see bucky’s already beat me to the art book. i think steve might like a classic though. he’s been trying to catch up on everything he missed when he was under the ice, and i know he’s always had a soft spot for the paperbacks with the pretty colors. you should stop by and check out his collection!”

you narrowed your eyes. “under… under the ice?” you questioned, not sure where this was going and wondering if you needed to call an ambulance and/or schedule a psychological examination for wanda.

“yeah, you- oh, has bucky not told you?” the both of you turned back to look at bucky, who was still frozen in place by the counter with his eyes wide. wanda turned back to you smugly. “we’re here for steve rogers. you know, captain america.”

your mouth dropped as you stared at wanda blankly. you weren’t sure if you were drooling or not, but you wouldn’t be surprised if you were.

“c-capitan america? the real one? a-and are you wanda, as in the scarlet witch? holy shit. and- oh my god,” you panted, eyes wild. “bucky?”

bucky met your eye, apprehensive. “bucky? i’m so fucking stupid. bucky barnes. james barnes. the- the winter soldier?”

bucky flinched, steeling himself for the inevitable. you sounded so afraid, tripping over your words as you tried to say his name. the secret was out now, and he’d have to stop coming to your bookshop—no longer could he tease you, or buy books he didn’t really need, or spend all his spare cash, or help you dust the shelves, or add to his collection of your bookmarks, or-

“bucky, i can’t believe you didn’t tell me, you little sneak!” you ran up to him and slapped his arm playfully. you tugged at your hair. “i’m so blind, aren’t i? you’re wearing a jacket in the summertime. your name is literally barnes. you told me you lived in a fucking compound on the outskirts of new york and i was so caught up in your pretty face to even-”

you slapped your hand over your mouth, eyes widening enough to rival bucky’s own wide eyed stare.

“uh, wanda! you wanted a book?” you rushed over to her side, grabbing her hand and tugging her deeper into the shelves as wanda snuck a look back at bucky, whose face was buried in his hands as he leaned against the counter.

wanda ended up buying 1984. you were a fidgety mess as you checked her out, tucking another one of your bookmarks between the pages. you and bucky didn’t look at each other once. well, that was a lie. your eyes were burning holes into the first edition paperback while bucky snuck glances at the side of your face, watching your concentrated brows and small huff at the sticky keys of the register with a stupid, infatuated smile on his face. wanda elbowed him hard.

“what was that for?” he hissed, lowering his voice and hoping you couldn’t hear him. wanda rolled her eyes.

“thank you so much,” she simpered as you handed her the book with a polite smile. “you know, you’ve done so much for us. bucky’s never been big on reading before,” wanda patted the super soldier’s arm. your eyebrows raised as if to say, oh really?

“hard to believe, right?” she laughed. “he comes here so much i could be fooled. anyways, i was thinking you should come and celebrate steve’s birthday with us! it’s the fourth of july, which is cliché, i know, but if you don’t have any plans you’d be more than welcome! we’d all love to meet the woman that’s gotten bucky all intellectual recently. your books have more of an impact around the compound than you think.”

you looked terrified. “i- what? the compound, as in the avengers compound? wait, captain america’s birthday? a birthday party? you want me to come to america’s party for his birthday?” you gasped, blinking furiously to try and comprehend the insanity of it all.

wanda giggled. “yes! you’re so cute; i can see why bucky likes you so much.” once again, you and bucky blushed and looked at the floor. wanda either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“i mean, i’ll have to- i might have to work but- yes! i’d love to, i just have to check with the owner, uh, thank you? for inviting me to your party? um, are there going to be avengers there?”

wanda shook her head, enamored by your antics. “yes, there will definitely be avengers there. it’ll probably just be the team and their families, but you can be bucky’s plus one. here, let me write down the details for you!”

you slid wanda a piece of scrap paper silently, subtly pinching yourself to check if you were dreaming. you were not.

“here ‘ya go! bucky and i can’t wait to see you there!” she chirped before dragging a dazed bucky out of the store and leaving you breathless. bucky can’t wait to see me there.

“stop being such a sourpuss, bucky.” wanda complained, smacking his arm with a trail of red energy.

“yeah, bucky. if your girlfriend is half as obsessed with you as you are for her, she’ll show up here with a trumpet fanfare and a horse-drawn carriage. you’re down bad, my man, and it’s getting kinda sad.” sam had his arms crossed in front of bucky, who had decided to tag team with natasha to bully bucky all day.

“it’s steve’s birthday, can we just… ugh,” bucky groaned, tugging at his hair. “i don’t even care if she comes or not. it’s not a big deal. i’ve only seen her like, five times. i’m just a customer. so it doesn’t even matter.”

natasha rolled her eyes. “i’m this close,” she demonstrated with her fingers pinched together, “to beating the stupidity out of you, buchanan.” bucky glared at her.

“can you not-”

“shut the fuck up, idiot,” sam interrupted.

natasha elbowed him “okay, the goal is to piss him off, not rip his fragile, lovesick heart into shreds,” she chastised. bucky pursed his lips in frustration and took a deep, calming breath.

“i am going to remove myself from the situation,” he spoke mostly to himself, closing his eyes and remembering with dr. raynor had taught him. as much as he hated his shrink, he had to admit, therapy was coming in handy when it came to dealing with his asshole teammates. de-escalate, bucky. remove yourself from the aggressive environment. good job, bucky. deep, calming breaths. imagine you’re on a quiet beach…

“bucky!” the sound of your honeyed call broke his trance. his heart raced once more. well, shit. that ruined the whole meditative process. but it was worth it if it meant he got to hear his name roll off your tongue, all sugary and pure.

natasha and sam smirked at each other as you ran over to bucky with a gift in hand and bucky took speedy steps over to you with his long legs. he wrapped you into his arms and you squealed as your feet left the ground as you returned his hug with just as much passion.

“hi!” you whispered as you caught your breath, smiling up at him with such joy that he thought he might melt under your gaze before he’d even get a chance to wish steve a happy birthday.

“so you’re the girl that’s turned that frown upside down?” sam joked, taking your hand delicately and planting a charming kiss on the back of it. you laughed breathlessly, unaware of bucky’s pointed look at the back of sam’s head. it didn’t slip natasha’s perceptive gaze, however, and she took note of it.

“i’m natasha,” the spy shook her hand and raised her eyebrows approvingly at your firm handshake. you introduced yourself eagerly. “wow, you’re the black window! i- wow. i love you so much. my coworker and i are such big fans,” you raved, fanning yourself with your hands.

natasha chuckled, taking your hand in hers and lowering it for you. “well, i’m a big fan of you too.” you looked like you were going to pass out. “it’s an honor to meet the woman who’s turned the most petulant, ancient asshole into a cutesy, sappy little boy.”

you gasped dramatically, eyes jumping up to bucky. “bucky’s not an asshole! or a little boy, for that matter. he’s a cultured reader and classics aficionado. one of my best customers, actually,” you said proudly. natasha and sam looked at each other once more, but you and bucky were too immersed in each other’s smiles to notice their smug looks.

“wait, can you fly?” you whipped your head around to sam. “you’re the falcon! of couse you can fly! sam—can i call you sam?—can you take me flying?”

sam opened his mouth presumably to say yes, as he would take any excuse to zip around the compound and annoy his team, but bucky cut him off.

“nope, we’re not doing that. don’t do that, doll,” he looked down at you. you smiled, confused, at the pet name that slipped out of his mouth. “there’s a 70% chance that sam will kill you and a 10% chance that he’ll land roughly and you’ll both fall, and you look too beau- nice for grass stains. plus i’d really like to spend at least a couple hours with you outside of your work before you die.”

you gaped at him, not sure whether to interpret this as him making jabs at sam or him trying to flirt with you. maybe it was both. you were too stunned to analyze any of it anyway.

“buck? hey, you brought your friend!” steve jogged over eagerly with a glint in his eye that bucky did not like one bit.

“i- oh my gosh- hello? i’m sorry, it’s just that you’re capitan america and that’s pretty cool and stuff and bucky and wanda got books from my store—oh shit, did i just ruin the surprise?” you gasped.

bucky was prepared for steve to scold you for your language, but instead, he burst into a full-bellied laugh that neither of you were expecting. “i may be turning 105, but i’m not blind yet! we can never usually get bucky to talk, but ever since he got wanda her book, it’s all been ‘this girl at the bookstore,’ and ‘did you know that she paints?’ and ‘i wonder what her work schedule’s like because i never see her outside of the store,” steve ranted.

“it’s kind of really annoying, actually,” tony piped in, sauntering over with a half-eaten chocolate covered strawberry in hand. “the gramp won’t shut up about you. it’s nice to know that your favorite vegetable is cauliflower and that you’ve promised to take the tinman to a vegan restaurant. y’know, he hates vegetables. he’s practically a carnivore.”

tony pushed his sunglasses down to give bucky a judging look unobstructed. normally, bucky would’ve retaliated, but all he could do was blush. (from the heat of the sun, obviously. he did forget to put on sunscreen today.)

you looked up at bucky, taking his metal hand and shaking it without hesitation. your fearlessness surprised him—not only had you touched his prosthetic so nonchalantly, but you hadn’t run away screaming after hearing all the embarrassing things his teammates had divulged within the first half hour of your arrival.

“bucky, is it all true?” you teased, licking your lips and tilting your head ever so slightly. bucky knew it was because you were questioning him, but all he could think about was how you were perfectly positioned for him to kiss; all he needed to do was bend down a bit and maybe then he could finally see if you tasted as homely as your books smelled or if you had just eaten cauliflower—somehow, the idea of vegetable breath was appealing if it was on you.

“bucky? you still here?” you poked him in the stomach, which didn’t do much seeing as he was a buff avenger with enhanced strength. he blinked himself into the present.

“yeah, yeah! sorry, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, a habit you’d come to recognize as something he did when he was uncomfortable.

“hey, are you okay?” immediately, the interrogation you were planning on giving him disappeared from your lips and was replaced with eyes of concern. you placed your other hand on top of his metal one and tugged on it to catch his attention. “bucky, c’mon. let’s go somewhere quieter.”

you weren’t really sure had no clue where you were going, but once the bubbling of voices from the party began to fade, you stopped and turned to face him fully. his flesh hand, which had continued to run across his face, paused and slowly sank to his side as you watched him solemnly.

“i know that friends sometimes push things to far,” you laughed quietly, eyes darting to the ground, “and it can hurt a little bit. and sometimes for me it’s hard to tell them that i’m hurt.” you looked back up at him, but his face was expressionless.

you sighed. “i guess you’re right; we don’t know each other that well apart from our interactions at the store. but… if what your friends were saying were true, i’d- well, i’d like to know you better. outside the store, i mean.” your eyes darted between bucky’s intense, blue stare. your gaze never left his, even as he swallowed hard and refused to let any emotion cross his face. by the bob of his adam’s apple, though, you could tell that he was affected somehow.

“i wasn’t joking when i said i’d take you to that restaurant, you know. ‘cuz i really like you and i don’t understand you and your reading choices but i’d really like to because… you intrigue me. i don’t care if your team thinks you’re broody or whatever, ‘cuz i think you’re enigmatic and thoughtful.”

you dropped his hands. “ha, sorry. i don’t wanna push it; i know you’re probably really overwhelmed right now, it being your friend’s birthday and hosting a stranger and all your friends probably made you really uncomfortable just now so i don’t want to add to your stress-”

“can i kiss you?” bucky murmmured, the tiniest bit of nervousness flashing across his eyes as he pursed his lips in anticipation for your answer.

you needed no words. instead, you raised your arms and jumped, flinging them around his neck and bucky was quick to understand. he caught you, holding you up by your thighs and being careful to keep things respectful (he was a 40s gentleman, after all). bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as his lips met yours cautiously. god, he’d been dreaming about this for so long, and it always felt a bit vouyeristic knowing that you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. how wrong he was about that.

you hadn’t expected bucky’s lips to be so soft and you adored it when you leaned into the kiss. your noses brushed and your hands, after fidgeting with themselves for a bit, climbed up his neck and into his hair, where you tangled your fingers in his locks and gently rubbed over his scalp. he groaned, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.

you had to break off, though, as you were not nearly as capable of holding your breath as long as a super soldier was. you were reluctant to do so, of course, and you pulled away just as much as necessary, making sure to remain as close to him as possible. your foreheads and noses were still touching as your lips remained just an few inches away where you were trying to catch your breath. your eyes were closed blissfully, and bucky dared to flutter his open.

there you were, the subject of all of his daydreams in the past few months, so close to him. he could feel your warm breath on his face. when you leaned in to kiss him again, you did so with even more fervor. you gasped into his mouth so wonderfully that he stumbled backwards a couple steps, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip so that your mouth would stay open and he could continue kissing you even deeper.

“bucky,” you whispered hoarsely as you pulled away for a second time. “bucky, i-”

“keep it in your pants, barnes!” tony’s voice bellowed from the party, and bucky burned red. you wiggled a bit in his hold and he took it as a sign to set you back on the ground. once you were standing, you shook your hands fiercely, letting out all the tension.

“wow,” you breathed, a satisfied, wonderstruck smile blooming on the lips buky had just kissed.

“wow is pretty accurate,” bucky agreed equally as breathless.

when you two captured each other’s eyes again, bucky reached down to cup your jaw and run his thumb over your cheek.

“you’re so beautiful, you know that?” he muttered, smiling fondly as you leaned into his touch and covered your hand with his own.

“i could say the same about you.” you turned your head so that your lips were in the palm of your hand and pressed a chaste kiss to his skin. he was glad he hadn’t reached out with his metal hand. he didn’t want to miss out on feeling every kiss you blessed him with.

“we should go back.” you watched as clint’s kids and tony’s daughter began pleading to cut the cake whilst steve insisted that they wait for the two of you to return.

“we should,” bucky nodded.

neither of you spoke or made any effort to move. instead, you stood on your toes to press one final kiss to the corner of bucky’s mouth and whispered “you don’t even have my phone number.”

he laughed. “doesn’t matter. i’ll just come bother you at the bookstore.”

you bit your lip to stop the beam that was sure to explode across your face and agitate your sore cheeks, so you tilted your head towards the party.

“we should definitely go back. the cake, and stuff. and maybe if i decide that i really like you, i’ll give you my number at the end of the party. so don’t get too comfortable.”

“it’s a deal, doll.”

you were perched on one of bucky’s thighs, horizontal to his chest, as the two of you dug into new reads. just like steve, bucky had decided to catch up on the classics (mostly because it meant he could watch your face light up as you chattered on about your favorites and what they meant and tried to convince him to read them, even though he knew he’d read anything you gave him anyway). thus began your sunday ritual of domesticity. bucky knew sunday was your only day off, so the first sunday after steve’s birthday, he had planned to make the most of it.

he took the train to brooklyn (he loved liked you even more for that) and picked you up at 10. he’d brought you to one of the coffee shops that’d been running since the 40s, which you doted on; “it’s so classic! i love mrs. basque—she gets me, you know? hates the gentrification too; she’s so progressive.” he teased you when he found out you (used to) hate “old people.”

“what a change of heart, huh? first your boss wins you over, then you fall for an 106 year old, and now you seem to like mrs. basque more than me.”

“well, if you keep making fun of me, maybe i will start liking mrs. basque more than you.”

bucky had dropped to his knees right outside of the store, begging you to forgive him as the two of you struggled to hold in obnoxiously loud laughs for the sakes of the people around you.

bucky had taken you up to the compound and cooked you a plant based meal and even ate it himself, which was when you realized how deeply you felt for him. he showed you wanda’s garden, helped you safely fly with sam, and then brought you to see steve’s book collection. but the best thing he’d done was present you with a book. it was a limited edition copy of herland, the book you’d been raving about ever since you’d convinced bucky to read the yellow wallpaper. he’d devoured your collection of feminist literature soon after and you fell a little more.

and now, curled up against the chest of the man you loved adored, you were struck by your second revelation of just how far you’d fallen. you watched as his blue eyes, almost as blindingly bright as his smile, danced across the pages of the newest novel you’d given to him. you watched as the sunlight streaming from the window made his eyelashes glow golden, and how his fingers tapped on the cover of the book absentmindedly. you knew he truly cared about the book when he let you be mesmerized by him instead of looking away, embarrassed. and he knew you truly cared about him when he took the time to read through your little annotations and add some of his own.

you shifted, wrapping your arms around his broad chest and nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. he hummed contetedly, using two fingers to hold the book open so that he could free up one of his hands to rub your back with.

from within the blanket of security his body provided you, you allowed yourself to confront your feelings. he’d confessed to you two weeks ago that the only reason he’d kept coming back for books was because he wanted to see you again. technically, he had a “reason” to, but he was the one coming up with them. the book on Hun empire archery was for clint, who didn’t really want the book in the first place, and when he came back the third time, he did so with the intention to ask you on a date. when he chickened out, he thought that’d be the last time he’d see you. instead, he ended up buying two more books—not because he was particularly interested in the classics, but because he’d asked you for your recommendations and you had said don quixote. he picked up alice in wonderland mainly as a joke, but ended up reading it (and loving it) just because it was you who sold him the book.

and then you learned he’d been keeping each one of your bookmarks, treasuring them as if they truly were picasso-level art, and you’d planted the biggest kiss on his cheek. and then you’d learned he never learned how to cook and taught himself just so he could make food for you, and you threw yourself into his arms. and then you had met alpine, and discovered that bucky would read aloud to his cat every night.

and then—well, just now, you cursed yourself out in your head. holy fucking shit i’m such a dumbass, aren’t i? i’m in love with this man. i’m in love with bucky. i. love. bucky.

you didn’t even hesitate when you lifted your head from his shoulder and pecked his cheek to catch his attention. when he closed his book, making sure your bookmark was properly secured before closing it, your breath was shaky.

“i love you, bucky. i’m so in love with you it’s stupid. i love you.”

bucky was silent for just a second before pulling you into the tightest hug. “i love you too,” he whispered into your hair, voice wet with emotion. “i’ve loved you for so long,” he confessed, pulling away and keeping his hands on your shoulders as if he wanted to be assured that you’d never leave.

“i hated everything you loved, at first. reading. vegetables. being so happy, all the time. but you made me love it all. and i must be the biggest fool for taking so long to figure this out, but the reason i’ve changed isn’t because i’ve learned to love all those things. it’s because i learned to love you. and i’d stop eating beef for you, sweetheard. i’d eat cauliflower burgers for the rest of my life if it means i get to love you.”

you backhanded his cheek softly. “you stupid, stupid boy,” you sniffed. “i hate you. god, i hate that you do this to me.” you were blinking back tears. “you’re making me fucking cry. i hate the power you have over me.” you didn’t. the both of you knew that you didn’t.

leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. it was a shitty kiss where your big smiles stopped you from actually doing much kissing, but the “shittiness” of it all was what made it charming. and no amount of bad customer service of ineffective advertisting could convince you or bucky otherwise.

＊✿❀　❀✿＊

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