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bldreamer · 4 years

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Can’t Fight This Feeling | FORTHBEAM

2moons2 : ForthBeam

Summary: Forth stumbles into Beam’s cafe at four in the morning and it’s love at first sight despite his swollen black eyes. OR, the MMA Fighter meets Barista meet cute no one asked for. Genre: Fluff. Hurt/Comfort. Stupid banter. Coffee Shop AU / MMA Fighter AU. Warnings: Tiny bit of swearing. Mentions of injuries. Author has NO idea what MMA fighting entails.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months. I fully intended on making this a multi chapter fic but then I remembered I can’t write long stories to save my life so here we are instead. I sincerely apologise for the title.

It’s 4:47 in the morning and Forth is walking aimlessly through the empty streets of Bangkok, expertly avoiding his own reflection in any store window he passes.

His adrenalin will soon bottom out, the fog of numbness will fade and he’ll feel every inch of his bruised and abused body. The cracked ribs, his busted lips and his battered eye socket that has doubled in size will all throb like a mother fucker come morning.

Until then, Forth is happy to entertain his ignorance. Anything to keep himself from having to face the reality nipping at his heels.

He’s been walking for over an hour, vaguely wandering in the direction of his apartment building with no real desire to actually go home. It’s not like there’s anything waiting for him besides musty bed sheets and his neighbours screaming cat out on the balcony.

With a sigh, Forth shoves his hands into his pockets when a flash of neon pink catches the corner of his eye from the opposite side of the street. He cranes his neck, squinting to make out the artsy sign in fluorescent fuchsia hanging above a brightly lit cafe. He imagines the warm scent of coffee under his nose if it wasn’t blocked with his own dried blood. His stomach grumbles in response regardless, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since lunch.

Curiously, Forth crosses the road and peers inside the hipster coffee shop. It takes a moment for his swollen eyes to adjust to the light.

The only person he can see through the glass front is a male barrister sat down behind the counter. Young, tanned skin, broad shoulders. He has a thick fringe of dark hair and he’s wearing a white sweater with a bright pink apron over the top that’s only marginally less offensive than the sign outside.

Caffeine is probably the worst idea Forth could have right now but he’s never been one to make smart choices so pushes open the door and heads inside towards the register. He looks up through his own messy fringe at the boy behind the counter, slowly looking up from his textbook.

“Hey, what can I get fo-”

The boy jumps to his feet with a gasp, eyes blown wide like a startled cartoon.

“Shit,” he murmurs without blinking.

“Did you forget to turn the stove off or am I just that good looking?” Forth chirps, voice gruff from disuse over the last hour or so.

“A-are you okay?”

Forth nods, clearing his throat. “Can I get an Americano?”

“Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?” the boy responds.

He’s about the same height as Forth. Thick eyebrows, dark eyes, golden skin. His cheeks are round and soft, there’s a faint hint of stubble on his chin and his lips are plump and rosey pink. The shade much kinder on the eye than his clashing neon apron.

“Just the coffee, thanks.”

The boy swallows. “Were you mugged? Should I call the police or something?”

Forth pulls out his wallet and waves it. “Nope. Wasn't mugged. How much for the drink?”

“200฿,” the barista replies robotically. Eyes darting over the bruises and lingering when Forth runs his other hand over his lip that’s bleeding again. “Are you...sure you’re okay?”

“Just another day at the office.”

That doesn’t help to ease the boys' nerves. He seems more than a little flustered, his cheeks are starting to match the rose of his lips. It’s cute.

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional,” Forth assures.

“You’re a professional punching bag?”

Cute, check. Funny, also check.

“Some days, it depends how much my boss pays me.”

The boy looks stricken and Forth chuckles.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “I’d never throw a fight, it’s illegal and I’d lose my license.”

“You’re a fighter?”

“MMA,” Forth replies proudly. “Are you a fan?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. I know I’d remember seeing you in the crowd.” Typically Forth would throw in a wink for good measure but something tells him its a terrible eye given the state of his face. Maybe next time.

“Staying in or taking out?” the barista asks with a frown.

“Sorry?”

“Your coffee, in or out?”

Forth shrugs. “In, I guess. If it's not too much trouble.”

“It’ll be a few minutes until the coffee machine starts up.”

It’s not clear whether the barista is being informative or he’s just trying to put Forth off to make him leave instead.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he says in any case and hands over the appropriate money.

“You should take a seat,” the boy offers, and Forth takes the opportunity to read his wonky name tag. Beam, it reads. It suits him.

“Thanks.”

Forth turns over his shoulder, looking around the bakery and taking in the decor. The mint green walls, the white marble tables, gold chairs and accents of bright pink. It’s all so jarring it’s only adding to his headache. He truges over to the closest table, sitting down gingerly with a hand over his sore ribs.

“Any cakes or pastries?”

Forth puts his feet up on the chair opposite. “What do you reccomend?” He isn’t much of a sweet tooth but why not while he’s here. He picks up one of the pink napkins and dabs his lip, wincing.

The cute barista tuts, flicking and clicking some things on the coffee machine.

“An ice pack and a check for concussion?” he answers with not a hint of irony.

“I’d prefer something with cinnamon.”

Forth closes his hand around the used napkin and sinks back in the chair. His left over adrenalin is starting to go stale and exhaustion is tugging at his weary bones. It won’t be long before the real pain rears its ugly head. He closes his eyes against the offensive decor of the bakery and lets out a slow breath.

The clink and clunk of the cute boy moving about behind the counter is almost enough background noise to block out the buzzing starting up in his left ear. He really should get that looked at one of these days before he goes deaf completely.

“Don’t they have medics where you work?” the barista asks behind his station.

“Sure,” Forth grunts. “But they’re sadists.” The three inch scar from the shoddy stitches he received on his forehead after one of his very first fights is proof enough.

He doesn’t know how much time passes but he must have drifted off for a few minutes because the next thing he knows is startling at the clink of something dropping on the table. He blinks away the fog and sits up to see the barista putting his steaming mug of coffee down next to a bowl of-

“I don’t remember ordering an ice bath,” Forth quips at the boy staring down at him.

“It’s a new deal we’re offering to customers who look like they lost a round with a wrecking ball.”

“Now you’re starting to hurt my feelings.” He takes his feet down from the chair. “Seriously, you should see the other guy.”

The barista frowns. “You’re telling me you’re the winner?”

The surprise in his tone does genuinely hurt Forth’s pride. He does his best to pretend otherwise.

“I’m the undefeated champion,” he boasts with a wink.

The barista doesn’t respond. Just blinks, eyes darting to Forth’s hand which is as cracked and bruised as his face.

“I’ll get you a cloth for the ice,” he mutters eventually, disappearing back behind the counter.

Forth wraps his sore fingers around his steaming mug and blows over the top, sipping gingerly so as not to burn his tongue.

The cute guy -Beam, Forth reminds himself- comes back and picks up a handful of ice from the bowl onto the cloth he brought over.

“Ah, shit,” Forth hisses, not expecting it to be pressed onto his battered face without warning and he almost spills his coffee. “That hurts.”

Beam rolls his eyes. “Now you’re complaining it hurts?” he asks without sympathy.

“Warn a guy,” Forth whines into his mug. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Relax, I’m a medical student.”

“You work at an all night cafe,” Forth comments after another sip, poking the inside of his mouth with his tongue as the string of bitter coffee hits his cut.

“Need to pay the tuition fees somehow.”

“Aren't you full of surprises?” Forth hums. “Cute, funny, makes decent coffee, and a doctor. I think I hit the jackpot.”

“Medical student,” the barista says slowly. “Not a doctor.”

Despite his blunt words, the ice presses more gently onto Forth’s throbbing cheek and he breaths out carefully, eye twitching from the cold seeping into his tender bruises.

His mind wanders as he sits silent and docile with his drink. He thinks about the weight inside his jacket, the thick rolls of cash hidden discreetly in his chest pocket. Tonight wasn’t the best he’s ever performed, and his wage is a reflection of that. But it's not a bad days pay for the meager hours he puts in. It’s not exactly the most honest way of earning a living but it's what he’s good at. He’s not built to be a doctor or lawyer or even a coffee boy.

He doesn’t know how long the cute barista stands over him, holding the ice to his face while he drinks from his cup. It’s odd and neither of them says anything, the only sounds coming from the grinding coffee machine.

The barista is the first to break the silence.

“How old are you?” Beam mutters.

“Twenty one. You?”

“Twenty.”

Forth suppresses a grin. “That means you’re my Nong,” he says cheerfully.

“I’m not calling you Phi.”

“Suit yourself, Nong Doc.” Forth’s breath hitches when the ice is pressed a little too firm into his cheek. “I’m Forth, by the way,” he mentions, voice a little tight.

“Beam,” comes the curt response.

“Because of your charming smile?”

The boy could cut glass with the look he gives Forth and a split second, he’s more intimidated than he was in the ring.

“I can kick you out,” the barista warns.

“Don’t they make doctors sign an oath to protect and serve all?”

“Protect and serve is the police,” Beam chirps. “Doctors swear to do no harm. And I’m not a doctor yet, like I keep saying.”

“Even so, I trust you.” It’s the most honest thing to come out of Forth’s mouth all night and it takes them both by surprise.

Their eyes meet and for a moment, Forth feels stuck, like the world hits pause. Not in a bad way. But so he can take in every golden fleck in the barista’s chocolate eyes staring back at him and count every freckle dotted over his nose. The boy isn’t just cute, he’s beautiful.

“So,” Forth clears his throat when things flood back to the present. “What’s your diagnosis, doc?” He hadn’t noticed he’d been white knuckling his coffee cup or that’s empty.

Beam purses his lips and pulls the ice away, narrowing his brow. “You’re probably lucky not to have a zygomatic fracture.”

“Cool.”

The barista looks doubtful he knows what that means. Forth doesn’t mention the fact that he gets hit in the face for a living, of course he knows what it means. And yes he knows he’s lucky to not need x-rays.

“Should I come see you in a week if the swelling doesn’t improve?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself, now.”

Forth licks his lips, the taste of copper on his tongue. His cut has opened again.

“Is Forth your actual name or your fighter name?”

“I can’t tell you my fighter name. I’m afraid you’ll want to come and watch me. And then how would I concentrate if I had such a pretty boy standing in the crowd cheering for me?”

“Who says I'll be cheering for you?”

Forth chuckles. It’s small and chesty but it's genuine and it feels right. “Ow,” he whines. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“Something tells me it serves you right.”

“Probably. I have a history of making bad decisions,” Forth admits. “Karma and all.”

Beam shrugs. “I don’t believe in karma.”

“So you’re a make your own luck kind of guy?”

“Isn’t luck just karma backwards?”

If Forth’s head didn’t already ache. “Are you a philosophy student too?”

“Like I have the time.”

“That’s a shame. I was going to ask you out on a date.”

Beam shakes his head and mutters something inaudible under his breath. No matter, Forth is nothing if not persistent.

“Do you want a refill? I never got you that cinnamon roll.”

Forth looks inside the cup, he’s not sure why exactly. What he expects to find there. Maybe it's like when you look inside the can after you take a dump. Everyone does it, but no one knows why.

“I better not. I’ll never sleep as it is.”

Beam shrugs and drops the melting ice into the bowl. “I gave you decaf,” he mentions as he stands and leaves the table.

“Damn. I fucking trusted you, doc.” Forth feels a little violated.

He watches Beam slip back behind the counter. Forth had never taken into account how hot the whole hipster barista thing was before now.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Forth grins.

“Can I thank you over dinner?” See, persistent.

Beam lets a long exasperated sigh.

“Between classes, exams, and working to cover my ever increasing student debt, I’ll be free for dinner seventy years next Saturday.”

Forth shrugs, suppressing another wince. “I can wait,” he says. “I’m a pretty patient guy.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Can I at least get your number?”

Beam looks suspicious.

“You know, in case I need any follow up medical advice,” Forth explains.

“Ice your face in intervals. Always read the recommended dose on painkillers. Seek medical attention if you throw up or you have a persistent headache.”

“I should also mention I’m forgetful, doc.”

“I’ll write it down.”

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to write down your cell?”

“Do you also not know how to take no for an answer?”

Forth smirks. “Except you haven’t said no.”

“I’m saying it now.”

“Saying what?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

Beam glares. “You’re insufferable.”

“Or adorable?”

Forth chews on the inside of his torn cheek, waiting with bated breath as the cogs of consideration tick behind the baristas eyes.

“If I give you my number, will you leave so I can actually start work?” Beam says.

Forth grins.

“Fighters honor, doc.”

Another cup of decaf later -to go this time- Forth pockets the napkin, dotted with his own blood and scribbled with black ink he hopes is Beam’s real number.

“I’ll call you.”

“Can’t wait,” Beam grumbles.

~Fin.

#forthbeam #forth x beam #2moons2 #2moons #beamforth #beam x forth #2moons fanfiction #coffee shop au #mma fighter au #my writing

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purge-that-urge-rhackathon · 4 years

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Acceptance

This was a commission for some sweet sweet mpreg omega!jack and Rhys’ own personal interest in how much he loves Jack regardless of how he looks or how his body has changed ♡ ♡ ♡ Jack can’t resist his leggy stringbean alpha no matter how he tries (●♡∀♡)

Also on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

“And just where. Are. The targets?!” Jack growled into his echo device, pausing with screwdriver in hand at the shock baton he had laid out in bits and pieces on his desk. His attention was divided between the delicate machinery and the call. Jack’s brow twitched as he set the screwdriver down, a snarl starting to lift his lip.

Rhys grinned as he watched the omega CEO’s demeanor shift as the older man’s attention was now completely focused on the voice of the head science officer reporting in from down on Pandora. Any second now, Jack was going to threaten to come down there himself, and Rhys waited for it with interest, grinning to himself in picturing the gravid omega CEO waddling down there with fury in his eyes and a gun in his hand. It shouldn’t be such an attractive idea, but Rhys loved it.

He liked watching Jack work, and just because they were mated and bonded now didn’t mean his hero-worship was any less diminished. The fact that the older man was pleasantly plump with the stringbean alpha’s pup was hardly a deterrent for his rage at the incompetence on the other end of the call, and the younger man knew the job would either get done correctly, or Jack would take matters into his own hands. And with the way the older man’s moods swung with whatever influx of hormones from the day, it would be a very messy affair indeed.

Rhys supposed that that should concern him-- that his violent mate wouldn’t let a little thing like pregnancy stop him from potentially strangling someone- but Jack was overprotective of his own belly more than even Rhys was, and the lithe alpha was only turned on by the omega CEO’s threats as Jack’s voice lost its patience.

“No, I don’t give a crap about the planet’s stupid ecosystem-- Do you have any idea what those genetically-enhanced skags cost?!”

Jack put the screwdriver down, took off the glasses he’d been wearing for the work he’d been doing, and leaned back in his big yellow chair to twirl the lenses by the temple tips a moment. He then abandoned them to the desk to rest his hand on his belly, petting it absentmindedly while he calmly spoke violence into the comm. No doubt soothing their pup that tended to be more active with Jack’s violent moods.

Rhys bit his lip from where he’d been observing Jack from the office couch, a desire rising in him to place his own hands on the omega CEO’s belly, feel their pup energized by Jack’s own mood; to scent his angry mate to calm him from what would soon be a personalized murder if things down on Pandora went any worse; to drag his nose up the older man’s throat to indulge in his altered scent: pregnant angry-omega. It was the best.

Rhys only felt a little bad to be so aroused over how dangerous his mate still was, Jack acting like nothing about him had changed, gun strapped to his thigh even if his gait was now more or less a waddle that Rhys loved but knew better than mentioning. Jack was… sensitive to the way his body was changing, and though Rhys was absolutely in love with the older man and all the ways he grew with their pup, he could feel how wound up Jack was.

Rhys swore the older man was going to give him whiplash with how fast his moods changed-- even before they had a pup on the way- and now the feelings from the omega CEO were only amplified. It was a balancing act Rhys was used to: enjoying the way the older man’s anatomy changed without specifically mentioning Jack’s endotype.

The younger man considered himself pretty observant of when Jack might be in a mood, but maybe he just picked up on it more as some sort of alpha-instinct to better serve his pregnant mate. He didn’t know for certain, and he supposed it didn’t matter in the end. Jack was… a lot more demonstrative in what he was feeling lately, anyways, bond or no bond. And the threat the older man growled into the comm was motivation enough for Rhys to go to the older man, imagining Jack would welcome his hands on him as much as Rhys was itching to touch his mate; maybe get him off to take the edge off.

Rhys stood from the couch, a grin he couldn’t entirely suppress as his movement momentarily caught Jack’s eye, but the omega CEO turned right back to business at hand, purposely ignoring him. “You’ve got loaders to deal with the acid, numb nuts. ...Just who is paying who here? ...Yeah look, that was funny, but--”

Jack looked up as Rhys was approaching his desk, the gorgeous young alpha spouting a smirk that Jack knew all too well. Instead of grinning though, the omega CEO frowned, but he didn’t deter Rhys as he gently touched Jack’s shoulder before drawing fingertips down the older man’s arm in what was a clear attempt at seduction. When Rhys got to his knees next to Jack’s chair, flesh hand on his thigh, the older man’s brows furrowed even if he’d gotten his attention. “I’m working, baby.”

“I know.” Rhys could hear the confusion of the voice on the comm as Jack returned his attention there, jealously pouting as Jack’s gaze on him was removed to yell at the idiot on the call again. Rhys insinuated himself between Jack’s legs, moving his big yellow chair just slightly back while Jack watched him but didn’t stop him. Rhys moved flesh and cybernetic hands both over his mate’s belly as he sat before him on his knees, something inside of him thrilling and spiking with an emotion he knew all too well as he pet over where their pup grew.

Rhys turned his gaze back up to Jack, noticing he’d gotten the older man’s attention once more, and smirked before nuzzling his belly and drawing his hands over his sides, down to his hips, and attempted to maneuver between the gravid omega’s form and his chair to squeeze his ass.

Jack raised a brow and smirked before speaking into the comm with a snarl, something about the idiot on the other end needing to do his job or he’d regret it, and then he ended the call before tossing the device back on his desk.

The grin on Rhys’ face was completely unrepentant as he’d succeeded in getting the omega CEO’s undivided attention, and Jack gave him a look like he wasn’t entirely interested, but appreciated the thought and the touches to his belly all the same.

“Really, Rhysie? I’m seven months in with your leggy-ass pup and at work makin’ dough for this family, and you wanna bang?”

The grin on Rhys’ face was something he would never apologize for, rubbing his face into Jack’s belly with pleasure for the words, half-groaning, half-murmuring a thick affirmative. He liked it when Jack talked like this; liked when he acknowledged he was carrying Rhys’ pup. Their family. Was it weird for it to be a turn-on? Rhys wasn’t sure, and he also didn’t care. Any alpha would be damn lucky to be in his place and he knew it. “Yes. Hell yes, Jack. I love watching you work.” He looked up at the older man then, mouth and nose pressed snug into the softness of the material stretched over their offspring as he kind of hugged and groped the omega CEO. Jack looked and smelled wonderful with their kid on him, as vicious as any Stalker with its brood, and it turned Rhys on like crazy. “What do you say to a blowjob, handsome?”

“Rhysie, what part about being bigger than Elpis didn’t you understand? I’m huge and busy.”

Rhys could hear the things Jack was saying beneath it all: he didn’t like the changes to his body, a constant reminder of his endotype. He felt unattractive-- him, Handsome Jack- successfully running an empire and growing a pup and not understanding just how attractive that really was to the alpha between his legs. His tone was testy, and Rhys could feel a sudden dip in Jack’s mood where there’d been the thrum of bloodlust bordering on arousal before. He might’ve been interested, but self-image was a hell of a thing. Jack’s large palm pat at his belly pointedly, as if the matter was closed.

Jack liked the idea of children, and he also liked the way Rhys would kiss over his belly in the privacy of their bedroom. But Rhys had noticed the way Jack’s admiring-looks at his own posters had taken on a scornful edge; how he made excuses not to see Tim when the double came for his post-mission reports; how his self-aggrandizing speeches tended to feel a bit forced lately, his hand resting absentmindedly on his swollen belly as if his thoughts were elsewhere during meetings.

Jack liked the idea of creating life as much as he did snuffing it out, but the hit his self-image took when he caught sight of himself in the mirror warred with the idea he’d cultivated through a heavy mix of self-denial and propaganda; Handsome Jack might be an omega, but he had more heart, spirit, and balls than any alpha out there, and he’d proven himself day-in and day-out that his endotype didn’t define him. He conducted himself the same way as any self-important alpha might, and it was easy to forget he wasn’t one when he was already Hyperion’s own king, stalking the halls with the self-appointed authority of a god. His ego knew no match.

But there was no denying his endotype even to his subconscious as he grew larger. And while the CEO already loved the pup they were both eager to meet, he hated the way his body reflected his nature, and sometimes that resulted in pushing the younger man away.

Like he was attempting to do right now.

Rhys raised his head a bit so his chin rested on the omega CEO’s belly, his own expression tempered into something softer as he looked up at the older man with endless affection. “You know I love you like this, right, Jack? Handsome and dangerous and smelling like us.”

Jack snorted but reached a large hand down to cup Rhys’ cheek affectionately, stroking down his jaw with his thumb. “You’re real cute pumpkin, but the king has a kingdom to run. Scoot.”

Rhys pouted at the clear brush-off, especially when Jack toed him out of the way to move closer to his desk. He could scent the interest on the older man-- Jack’s sexual appetite was ravenous and he wasn’t fooling anyone acting otherwise- but the omega CEO stubbornly set back to working on the machinery before him, glasses and screwdriver ready as he ignored his lanky mate.

Rhys stood up, but didn’t go anywhere, stubborn himself as he bent to touch his forehead just above Jack’s ear. “Jack… C’mon… You’ve been working hard all afternoon...” he purred into his ear as the older man resolutely ignored him, cocking his head the other way so Rhys lost contact. It was a dirty tactic the lithe alpha took advantage of, and Rhys stuck his face into the omega CEO’s neck, scenting him and drawing his nose along the skin there before pressing a licking kiss to Jack’s pulse that the older man hummed over. “An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away. Jack.”

Jack snorted and turned away from the wires to look at the younger man. Rhys grinned and quickly stole a kiss, his lips landing less than perfectly on the older man’s own, but it got a smirk out of the CEO anyways. “Persistent, huh?”

“When it comes to you? Yes,” Rhys practically purred, crowding his space properly as Jack brought an arm around the younger man with a sort of comfort Rhys thrilled to. Jack might not be able to pull him into his lap properly anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hold the younger man close. Rhys had a palm on Jack’s belly, the other at the back of the older man’s neck where Rhys’ teeth had left a mark that bonded them as mates. His touch there got a self-satisfied smirk from Jack. No matter how much he railed against his own nature, Jack loved it when Rhys touched him there. Right now was no different.

Rhys gently touched their foreheads together, properly this time so he could also touch Jack’s nose with his own. He gave the older man a smile. “You know I’m obsessed with you, right? You could never not be perfect.”

“Hell yeah I am, you creepy little fanboy.” The admonishment was said with warmth and love Rhys could feel through the bond, and Jack kissed him with renewed interest at the younger man’s offer. He hummed at the light moan Rhys gave as he slipped him a teasing amount of tongue, and grinned at the look of clear-arousal on the lithe alpha’s face. “I know that mouth of yours was made for suckin’ dick, buttercup, but I have a meeting in like, ten minutes.”

It might’ve been meant as a half-hearted deterrent, but Rhys was anything but. His hands were touching Jack everywhere he could get away with, taking advantage of the fact that he knew very-well how turned on the older man was, and that a meeting would have zero effect on that. Hell, it might amp things up, even, going by the scent of the omega CEO’s arousal. “Well it’s not like they’re gonna come around to this side of your desk, right Jack?”

Jack’s brows raised, inwardly pleased his pretty mate had a sexual appetite to match his own, and further pleased that he couldn’t be put-off no matter how Jack kept rebuffing him. It suddenly mattered very little how very large Jack was with their pup; Rhys wanted him for him, willing to get on his knees in more than one way for the older man, and it wasn’t like he could easily reach his own dick to do this anyway. That was probably Jack’s least favorite part of this whole omega-pregnancy. “Fuck, okay, under the desk, sugar. Better make it worth it,” he teased, already sporting the beginnings of a half-chub beneath the expanse of his middle.

Rhys scrambled with way less dignity than he cared, ignoring Jack’s amused chuckles as the lanky alpha urged him to stand up so Rhys could get his pants off. The younger man rubbed his face against his mate’s belly and curled his hands around the back of Jack’s thighs, words spilling from his lips about how good Jack smelled and how he was terrifying sometimes and how it all turned Rhys on, and the omega CEO ran his hand through Rhys’ hair a few times before telling him to get to work.

Rhys fondled the older man while pressing kisses to his belly while Jack would allow him to expose that part of himself in the office where there were no mirrors. He loved Jack like this: waiting to be serviced by his mate; praising the younger man’s mouth and entwining their fingers together on his thigh; the crass, pleased words that followed words of love as Jack praised Rhys’ skills, the lanky alpha having no trouble despite all Jack’s complaints about being larger than Helios itself.

The words might’ve stopped when the scientists he was expecting for the problem down on Pandora showed up, but the feelings through their bond kept pouring on through as loud and bold as ever as Rhys teased and pleased him.

Jack didn’t bother telling him the meeting was for a whole hour, and that Rhys would be stuck under there even after Jack finished; his own fault for pursuing the issue so hard. Rhys didn’t even act like he noticed, of course, using the hour to keep his mate satisfied in-between lavishing attention on the older man’s belly.

The warmth through their bond told him plenty about how that made Jack feel.

All of the scientists survived the meeting with Jack, and the shit-eating grin Rhys gave him once they were gone only disappeared from his face when Jack dragged him up for a leisurely kiss he heartily returned.

–

kofi | ao3

#poisonjack #rhack #omega!jack #alpha!rhys #omegaverse #mpreg #my fic #this was fun and i def got carried away with it xD #jack has issues but rhys has obsession so HEEEEY XD #i love when they're soft and sweet and rhys is determined to show jack how dedicated he is T_T <3 #....also how truly obsessed he is like let's be real here rhys would fuck jack in any form he took AHAHHAHA #ive missed omega jack aaaaaaagh <3 <3 <3 omega jack was my start in this fandom xD hehe

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coffeekaspbrak · 6 years

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Tires- Hanbrough fic (part 1/2)

Pairing: Mike Hanlon x Bill Denbrough (side reddie sorta)

Summary: Mike shows up late to the quarry with slashed tires and Bill can’t shake a funny feeling.

It’s a hot, sunny day at the Derry quarry and summer is going out with a bang. August is breathing it’s final breaths as the sun beams harshly on the faces of children anxiously preparing to go back to school. Six such children lay easily on their backs, causally awaiting their last friend to join them for one of their swims. Their sophomore year of high school is a measly nine days away. Well, five are casual, Bill Denbrough is the odd man out as he waits for the sound of Mike Hanlon’s bike.

Bill was always a little anxious when someone was late. After all that’s happened, he doesn’t take much to the idea of anyone being by them self. Still, he tries to swallow the lump in his throat and enjoy the sunshine and his company.

The sound of light footsteps on the trail leading to the rocks cause him to jolt him out of his thoughts. His eyes fall on a disheveled looking Mike Hanlon, sporting dirt on his denim overalls and exhaustion on his face. He’s holding his bike handles, basket empty and tires flat.

“Holy hell! What happened to you?” Bill hears Richie’s loud, distinctive shout as they all come to meet him.

He sees Eddie rush over to him, tiny legs carrying him furiously. He grabs Mike by the shoulders and ushers him over to the rock his fanny pack had been tossed aside on earlier that day. “Are you hurt?” Eddie blurts, sitting him down before digging around in the contents of his bag. He stops fumbling only to scan Mike for cuts and bruises with his sharply trained eyes. “I don’t think so Ed.” Mike says, gently. His smile only tugs at the right side of his face, absent from the rest of his features.

“Relax Eds.” Richie says, approaching them followed by the rest of the group. He wraps an arm around Eddie and ruffles his hair, “Kid uses band aides like it’s the end of the fucking world.”

Bill feels the words jumble in his mouth as he stares at Mike, “Wh-Wh-what h-ha-happened?”

Mike lets out a sigh, “Some assholes slashed my tires while I was doing a delivery.”

“Son of a bitch,” Bev says, sunglasses resting lower on her nose.

“Yeah,” Mike responds, it’s tired and weak and Bill feels that same drop in his heart.

“Maybe your meat gave someone something and this was revenge,” Stan theories with a finger to his chin. Richie lets out a cackle, “Oh my god... too good Stan the Man.”

Stan’s eyes sharpen and wrinkle, “you know that’s not what I meant you sick fu-.”

“Now is not the time for dick jokes or bickering you guys,” Ben states. Richie laughs again, “Oh my dear Ben, it’s always time for dick jokes. But enough with the cliff notes, give me the full scoop, Mikey.”

He looks at the ground, “There really isn’t much to tell. I just came out and my tires looked funny. I tried riding my bike anyway because it’s a long walk but I fell over. I just want to forget about it for now, guys.”

“But don’t you want to know who-“ Eddie starts. “L-Let’s just swim,” Bill blurts out with surprising clarity. Mike’s thankful expression isn’t lost on him as they share a short glance that causes inexplicable heat in Bill’s cheeks.

“You heard the man!” Richie shouts in his “British” accent, “jump in Eds!” He pushes Eddie towards the cliff side. “Don’t fucking don’t that!” He screeches, digging his feet in the ground. “Why? You wanna skinny dip instead? I’m down.” Eddie’s cheeks noticeably turn pink, “You’re so fucking weird.” And everyone erupts into laughter.

“Last one in is a loser!” Bev shouts, running to the cliff side. The four boys run after her, giggling and shouting.

“Give me a hand?” Mike asks. “Huh? Oh, s-sure,” Bill lends his hand to the sitting boy. Mike pulls himself up, “thanks,” he smiles. Bill is glued to the ground as Mike’s gaze remains on him. “Aren’t you going to go in?” Mike asks with shifting eyes.

“I-I c-can w-wait,” he stumbles out.

“Well I was going to get into my-“ Underwear. To swim. Jesus Christ. “Oh r-right, s-s-sorry.” Bill felt his tongue swell up in his mouth, lost on what to say. Why was he being awkward around Mike? Mike was his friend, he’d been nervous when they’d first met but there was no reason to be anymore. “I’ll see you down there.” Mike smiles again. Bill nods.

In the water, he finds his eyes resting on Mike more often than not. His peaceful smile and eyes look they hung the sun itself to him. His laugh fills Bill’s chest with something fluttery and warm. Almost like he needs to throw up. “You alright, Bill? You look pale.” Eddie asks, ripping away his stare. Richie swims over, “He’s always been a vampire, Eds. Quit being paranoid and get on my shoulders. We’re playing chicken.”

One by one the losers leave the quarry. Well, actually, in groups. For safety Bill insists. Ben jumps to accompany Bev when she says she should be getting home soon, Stan joins them. Richie and Eddie leave a little later, Richie covered in bandages and groaning in pain. “I told you not run up the trail, Rich, there’s rocks everywhere.” They leave with Richie’s arm slung around Eddie’s neck for support. Bill didn’t think the situation called for that, but who’s to say with those two. Now there’s only him and Mike, lying on rocks sunbathing. Bill was enjoying their comfortable silence. They could talk, they share a lot of the same interests and Bill certainly likes the sound of Mike’s voice drenched in passion for a topic, but it’s peaceful like this. A change of pace from their lovably loud friends. Bill finds that his eyes are drawn to his friend again, sprawled on his stomach. The unwavering sun shining on his smooth, bare skin and highlighting his slight muscles relaxed in his leisurely state. Bill can’t get himself tear his eyes away no matter how hard he tries. When Mike shifts to face him, Bill screws his eyes shut tightly.

“Bill, you asleep?”

“Y-yes,” he answers with eyes still closed. Mike lets out a laugh that Bill thinks could solve all of the world’s problems. “I should be getting back soon, supper is probably almost ready.” He says as his arms stretch over his head and he stands on his tip toes. Sleepy never looked so good. He shakes the thought out of his head and realizes he didn’t exactly hear what his friend had said. “W-what?” Mike gives him a puzzled stare, “You alright, Big Bill? You’ve been acting funny all day.”

“S-s-s-sor-r,” he sighs and curses himself, “s-s-o-r-r-“. “There’s no need to be, I just want to make sure you’re alright.” Mike mercifully cuts in. Bill smiles, “I’m f-fine. Now w-what where you saying?”

“I should get home.”

They dress in relative silence as Bill tries to keep his gaze to the ground. He changes quickly and waits for his friend to finish, averting his eyes. As if he has a vendetta against Bill’s sanity, Mike walks towards him with his shirt only covering his torso, pulling it down as he approaches him. “Ready?” Bill gulps, like he’s going to choke, and nods.

They approach the bikes and Bill feels a little more calm as Mike starts rambling about the book he’s reading at the moment,

“It’s on the reading list for my English class but I got a head start. It’s history and romance and it’s a little gory sometimes but it’s good.”

“W-what is it again?”

“A Tale of Two Cities. I know we all have to read it this year anyway, but I think you should read it before. It’s awesome, you’d love it.”’ Bill feels himself red again, the mention of him from Mike makes his mind buzz, like he has a headache. “W-what makes you s-say that?”

Mike kicks a rock out of his way gently, “I don’t know, it reminds of the way you write,” he looks back to Bill again, “when you let me read it, that is.”

The bikes come into their view and Mike’s face falls. “It’s okay to go ahead of me, I gotta walk it.”

“I sh-shouldn’t have even let you c-come here by yourself, nobody should be out alone. N-not in this t-town.”

“Bill-“

“I’m serious.”

Mike knew more than most, but he lets it go. There is silence for a beat and Bill fiddles with his lips, biting the top one swollen and pink as he thinks something over.

“H-here,” Bill says, gripping his bike handles, “W-we can ride double. Your dad can c-come back in his truck and g-get your bike r-right?”

The well loved rust and sheen of silver is still big for Bill despite his wiry teenage limbs. Seeing it fly down the street, Mike sometimes worries Bill will be jolted into the air, made weightless by the speed. Bill is unaware of that fact as Mike nods and climbs on behind him.

Mike’s arms, made strong by years of farm work find their way to Bill’s waist as he kicks up the kickstand. It makes a creek that cuts through the sound of the gentle wind that sways branches to dance. The leaves jostle like the flutter in Bill’s stomach upon Mike’s grasp. The sunlight twinkles between the emerald jewels of trees that have laid their roots here before Bill was born. A thought pops into his head then, light and profound somehow simultaneously, like the last days of summer,

All is green and all is good

With Mike’s arms around him.

He blushes at the realization, but holds himself the same,

“R-Ready?”

“As I will ever be, Denbrough.” And Bill can hear his smile in his words.

They zip down the dirt path surrounded by trees and into their home town. The burning pavement is made hotter by the Silver’s speeding tires and Bill feels a tighter grip around him as they fly down Main Street. It’s a while to his farm, but Bill doesn’t think it lasts long enough. The last bits of sun linger as the Bill pedals backwards. Mike untangles himself.

“Thank you,” he says.

“A-anytime,” with a side smile. They are still very much in one another’s space when Mike leans over. He does something then, he kisses Bill on the cheek. Soft and quick. “I’ll see you later,” he takes a step away towards his house.

“L-l-later,” he can barely breathe out. Mike walks into his house as the sun disappears. Bill rides home, stopping every couple of blocks to find the phantom mark on his cheek and smile.

#hanbrough #hanbrough fic #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie #this wont get any notes but it was a labor of love #my stuff #🌿💛💚#bill denbrough x mike hanlon #mine

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