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violettelueur · 3 years

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GOJO SATORU || BECOME A REAL COUPLE

| featuring : gojo satoru from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors other than that n/a

| form : imagine (with she/her pronouns)

| word count : 2700

| published : 05 december

| request : Hi hiiii!! I saw that your requests were open again :) I would like to order a black coffee please! a fake dating → feelings realisation where (fem) reader is from one of the big 3 clans and is pressured into finding a SO by her clan. So Gojo offers to fake date her; meeting her parents etc. Only for them both to realise that they ended up falling for each other. Would love to see how you determine the way they handle it and confess for real. Thank you!! Love all your work so far x

| barista’s notes : can i be completely honest with you? this little piece isn’t really my best ʕ ﾟ ● ﾟʔ even though it’s only been 2 days but i already feel like my writing skills have disappeared ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ but other than that, thank you so much for loving all my work ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ i really hope you enjoy your cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and please come again soon!

“You have to get married soon Y/N! You’re 27 and we have no heir for the Kamo clan!”

“Didn’t I leave the clan 10 years ago? There is no way I’m going to listen to someone like you nor my child is forced to become a jujutsu sorcerer, and what makes this more irritating is that you came all the way to my workplace to tell me this,” you snapped back at the man in front of you, before turning around trying to walk away from the situation. However, it seemed like the old man wasn’t going to give in to the situation or to the rejection of your answer, he was stubborn - just like you were, after all, that was the only thing you inherited from that man.

“Y/N! I am your father and I demand you to listen to me!”

“Shut up!” you shouted before turning to look over your shoulder. The man that stood there pride and arrogance running through his veins - something that you didn’t inherit, fortunately. There was no way you could call this man your father. The same ‘father’ that criticized you for not having the same blood manipulation like the rest of the family - well that’s what he gets for being with a woman from a different clan that had a different curse technique that you inherited - an outcast, that was what you were within the Kamo clan, yet they still demanded you to get married and have a child to keep the lineage going. There was no way in hell you were going to follow their rules.

“What a disgusting father you are, no wonder mother left you,” you commented with a smirk before continuing to walk away to go back to where you were heading. On the other hand, it seemed like someone else wanted to disturb your plans.

“Y/N~”

ꕥ

At this current moment in time, you were standing in front of one of the very few vending machines that were located within Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College wondering what you were going to choose since you were still undecided. Cold Water? Milk tea? Coffee? Maybe a carbonated fruit drink to satisfy your sweet tooth? You weren’t so sure.

“Have you put money in the machine yet honey~?” someone asked you from behind, causing you to quickly turn around to see a tall white-haired figure standing before you with a teasing smile painted upon his face.

“Satoru? Ah...no I haven’t” you muttered as you scratched your cheek with your finger, trying to occupy yourself with something to not look at him. “Let me pay for you then,” Gojo then offered as he reached over to the side, accidentally brushing his arm - causing you to tense up - before he placed some of his coins within the slot to add some currency into the machine before you could even deny his offer.

“I could pay for myself you know, and we’re alone, you don’t have to act,” you stated before sighing in defeat, as you turned back around to decide what you were going to choose once again. “I know,” Gojo commented back to you before gently placing his chin upon your shoulder, leading you to tense up once again from the physical contact before slowing relaxing, “but what type of boyfriend would be I if I didn’t treat you a little?”.

‘Well fake boyfriend Satoru’

ꕥ

“Your family pressuring you again?” Satoru cheerfully asked as he walked beside you, trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere from the conversation that you had with your ‘father’ just a few seconds ago.

“More like the Kamo clan than the L/N clan, get married this, get married that. Is that all I am good for? Marriage? Augh, I just need them to leave me alone, I left for a damn reason,” you ranted as you put your hands in your pockets, restraining yourself from punching something to let out some steam.

“How about I date you then?” Gojo suddenly asked, leading you to look at him with the most wide-eyed expression like he had just said something completely stupid - to which he did - but before you could even augre what he just stated, Gojo quickly began to explain what he meant by his little statement. “What I mean is let’s fake that we’re dating, we deceive everyone that we’re together and the Kamo clan will finally leave you alone once they realise that you are in a relationship with someone from the Gojo clan aka me, they can’t augre with that,”.

Still looking at your colleague with a dumbfounded expression, you turned your head to look in front of you before thinking about what he had just suggested. What Gojo stated to you was somewhat a clever idea. The Kamos family was obsessed with bloodlines and for you to be with Gojo means that they would foolishly believe they can become more powerful. Even though you didn’t physically inherit the blood manipulation curse technique, you still had in somewhere in your veins due to your father meaning they would believe they still have a chance for a powerful heir. However, that would mean you have to announce this to the clan as well as your mother’s clan - which wasn’t much of an issue for her side - it was just too much effort for a fake relationship.

“Satoru that is so much effort, you’re going to have to meet the Kamo clan then,” you commented, after realising the pros and cons of this little ordeal. “I know, but once we end this little fakery of a relationship, they don’t have to know, you don’t have to report your every move to them, remember you left,” Gojo explained back, leading to any worries that you had manifesting to instantly fade away with the wind.

Taking one last sigh, you turned back to him and nodded. “Fine, let’s fake date Satoru,” you finally declared before taking your hand out in front of him for a handshake, leading to the powerful shaman to take hold of your hand before firmly shaking it, “okay fake-girlfriend! Leave it to me,”

ꕥ

Sitting in front of your dad across a table was something you never wished on your worst enemy, you hated that you were back in the four walls that you had escaped from many years ago. However, for some odd reason, when Gojo was by your side, you felt completely safe.

“Since when did this little association between the both of you come to play?” your father asked in a suspicious tone as he eyed both you and Gojo - yet, knowing how greedy your father was for power, you could tell he was delighted at the fact you were ‘together’ with the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer.

“Ah~ We have been together since our last year at Jujutsu Tech,” Gojo explained as he turned to look at you with a cheeky smile on his face to which you smiled back at him, trying to keep up with the facade of being a fake couple. “And you didn’t inform me this Y/N?” your father then asked to which then you explained, “well, I did leave the clan a year after that, so I had the right to no inform you. After all, I’m not your daughter like you stated beforehand,”

Angered by your sudden statement, your father immediately slammed his hand on the desk as if the statement wasn’t true at all. “I demanded you to come back, I demanded you to respect the name of the Kamo Clan and this is how you taint it,” you father roared in fury, causing Gojo to put an arm out in front of you as if he was protecting you from anything that could happen to cause you to look at him in shock.

“Technically, Y/N didn’t even taint your name, she took their mother’s, so you’re in the wrong here, don’t do something that you will regret,” Gojo sinisterly threatened the man that was in front of both on you, before taking your hand in his as a way to comfort you - surprising you once again from his actions, yet for some reason, you gripped on his hand somewhat conveying him that you were thankful for him standing up for you.

ꕥ

“Ah Miss Y/N, did you come to see your mother?” a maid asked in a surprised tone, once she noticed that you came out of your designated room with you adjusting your red obi sash around your waist as your wore your family’s kimono, white was light in colour embroidered with the minimalist design of flowers and butterflies - giving you a somewhat soft feminine look, contrasting the portrayal of your character somewhat.

“You know you don’t have to put the ‘Miss’ in front of my name, and I do apologise for the sudden visit, I forgot to inform you all,” you told the maid with a gentle smile, leading to the maid to smile at you back before you then continued with, “Ah, I did come to meet my mother, but have you seen Satoru? Like a tall man with white hair, who is also wearing sunglasses,”. However, before the maid could answer your question.

“Y/N~”

Turning around, you found Gojo walking towards you with your mother by his side, causing you to freeze in shock as you didn’t expect him to go to your mother without you. “I thought we agreed to greet my mother together Satoru,” you commented as you pointed your index finger at him to emphasise your point, only for him to smile at you cheekily before scanning his eyes up and down at your new outfit. “You do look beautiful in your kimono though, is this what you wear when you come back home?” Gojo then asked, to which you nodded at his question - trying to ignore your pending blush being slowly painted in your cheeks - before you quickly greeted your mother, who was watching from the sideline.

“Good Afternoon mom, I apologise for coming to visit you so suddenly,” you said to her, to which your mother softly smiled at you before cupping your cheeks in her hands. “There is no need to apologise, I’m happy that you came back home since you are so busy back at the school, but also I’m happy that your boyfriend introduced himself to me, he is quite a different character must I say,” she commented with a light laugh, causing you to turn to him wondering what he had said to her, only for him to put up a peace sign as if that would answer your wondering thoughts. Although, before you could even vocalise your confusion, your mother linked her arms with yours before guiding you down the corridor to welcome you home.

“I can tell he really cares about you Y/N,” your mother stated, causing you to look at her with a perplexed expression to which she then smiled back at you before beckoning Gojo to follow the both of you to invite him for some sweets and tea that were being prepared.

‘If only you knew mom, if you only knew how much I care about him as well even though this isn’t real’

ꕥ

“You’ve been staring at the canned latte for some time, do you want that one?”

Suddenly, you instantly snapped out of your thoughts - not realising that you were in a daze - causing you to then immediately click on the button indicating on the mentioned drink. “Ah, sorry I was just wondering if I should go with the strong or light one,” you then answered, trying to hide the fact you were looking back on the moments that you had with Gojo.

“Are you okay?” Gojo then asked as he removed his chin from your shoulder, letting you crouch down to grab the coffee from the dispenser before collecting the coins from the other dispenser to give back to Gojo, only for him to shake his hand and say, “if you need another drink, you can use it,”

‘Is that why he put extra in?’

“Are you sure?” you quietly ask, only for the cheeky shaman to nod his head before he deciding to walk with you to wherever you were heading off too. “Like I said before, what type of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t spoil you a bit?” Gojo then asked once again, causing you to tilt your head in confusion.

“You know we’re not really dating right? We are a fake couple,” you mentioned, as you opened the can of coffee to take a sip after reminding him about the little plan that the both of you came up with to avoid the whole ‘marriage’ drama from the Kamo clan.

However, you didn’t hear an answer from your friend. Only pure silence surrounded the both of you, causing you to be perplexed on why you didn’t instantly hear a sassy comment back from the shaman, leading you to pause and turn your head to the side, only to see the man look at you dead in the eyes with his crystal blue ones.

‘Since when did he?’

“What if I don’t wanna be a fake boyfriend anymore?” Gojo questioned you with an uncharacteristic serious tone, causing you to look at him in bewilderment before quickly coming to the conclusion that he was probably teasing you.

“You mean you want to end this facade? If you want we can, there is kind of no point in continuing this little act,” you replied, as you took a sip of the caffeinated drink causing you to gain a little bit of energy in a short amount of time.

“Y/N, I’m being serious, I don’t want to be your fake-boyfriend anymore, I want this to be real,” Gojo then declared, causing you to suddenly choke on the liquid in shock before letting out a coughing fit as you tried to clear your throat leading to Gojo patting your back to help you out.

“Ha?” you then expressed, not sure on how to react to his declaration as you tried to look for any deception in his eyes. “Oh you are being serious Satoru,” you then commented to which then he nodded as if he didn’t already convince you that he hadn’t already.

Quickly looking away from the man, you were trying to hide the rose hues that slowly was coming upon your face. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. You thought you were alone on this. Ever since that moment when you and Gojo met your father, you always wanted to stay by his side, you felt like you were important, you felt safe, you felt warm.

It was like what your mother explained to you when you were young, ‘don’t make the same mistake as me Y/N, when you find someone you want to be with, make sure they make you feel safe and protect and not just the ‘butterflies in your stomach feeling’, I want you to feel loved and important, I’m so sorry for putting you through this’

“Y/N, come on say something, I’m not a nervous guy but this is something else you know,” Gojo pleaded as he wasn’t really enjoying the long silence that was going on around both you and him, only for you to suddenly grip his dark blue jacket before pulling him closer to press your face upon his chest as if you were still trying to hide but somewhat trying to express some confidence in what you were planning to do.

“Are you absolutely being serious ?” you then asked, once again asking how serious he was being.

“Absolutely serious,” Gojo then replied as he placed his large hand on the top of your head before caressing your hair, trying to comfort you from your embarrassment.

“Then I don’t wanna be your fake girlfriend anymore….please,” you then murmured as you gripped his jacket more tightly as you confessed your long time thoughts, only to suddenly feel a peck being placed on the crown of your head.

“Of course honey~ let’s become a real couple”

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

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@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #reverse robins #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #injuries tw #death mention tw

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nikki-writes-stuff · 3 years

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Beauty In the Blood - Part 5

Summary: One day your friend convinces you to join a dating website that matches people based on their search histories, and when you match with Loki Odinson, a handsome, intelligent coroner who’s a fan of your murder mysteries, you’re absolutely thrilled. But there’s something off about Loki, and as your relationship progresses, you discover that his dark side is even darker than you could ever have imagined…

Pairing: Serial Killer!Loki x Writer!Reader

Read part four here!

A/N: This story is based off of this post! I hope you guys enjoy; this is my first time writing Loki, and this will probably be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please let me know what you think as the story progresses!

*Please read to the end for another author’s note!*

A/N: Warning, folks! Here be smut! Nothing too dark in this chapter as far as gore or violence goes, though. Which... I suppose is a plus, considering this story. I hope you guys enjoy!

Too good to be true.

That was the thought that kept plaguing you, even four months later. He’s too good to be true. This relationship is too good to be true. What happens when I figure out that this is too good to possibly be true?

And yet, day after day, Loki continued to prove you wrong. It wasn’t all just the big romantic overtures that you found out he loved to make. (Like the time he had a dozen red roses delivered to your door on your one-months anniversary. Or the brand new matching wireless keyboard and mouse he got to make writing easier for you. Or the time he took you to a quaint, tucked away speak-easy to treat you to a night of drinks and slow dancing.)

It was in the little things, too. How he would come over on days where you felt less-than-good to hold you and watch your favorite movies. Or how he would send you texts throughout the day to tell you about an interesting case at work, or to ask you what you wanted for dinner on date night, or just to tell you that he was thinking about you.

In fact, some would even say that he was too attentive, too perfect, and were it anyone else, alarm bells would be going off in your head. But there was something about him that made you keep coming back for more, and even with months now behind you, you still couldn’t get enough.

And maybe that was why you were so nervous right now. Pacing back and forth across the length of your bedroom, you stared down at your stocking-clad feet as you tried frantically to tamp down the butterflies batting around your rib cage. You knew, consciously, that even if tonight were a disaster, Loki would still care about you. He wouldn’t just up and leave, even if Thor ended up despising you.

But you still really hoped he wouldn’t.

A gasp parted your lips when the tell-tale sound of your doorbell echoed throughout your home, and after one more deep breath, you pulled your heels on and made your way down the stairs. With one last glance in the mirror and a quick, silent prayer to whoever might be listening, you threw your purse over your shoulder and opened your front door.

His smile still caught you off guard sometimes. As you stepped out into the darkness of the evening, you felt heat flood your cheeks as Loki grinned up at you. He was dressed impeccably as always, sporting a dark green suit with a crisp white shirt, and if the way his eyes raked over you was anything to go by, he was more than pleased with how you looked, as well.

“And you must be the woman I’ve heard so much about!”

A loud, booming voice took you off guard, and you watched as annoyance flashed over your boyfriend’s face at the outburst. As he turned to shoot a glare over his shoulder, you caught a flash of the other man waiting at the base of your front steps, and though you already knew that Loki was adopted, you were still briefly taken aback by just how different the two brothers were.

Thor was just as large as Loki had described, and although the two stood at about the same height, his shoulders and build were so broad that he would have been quite intimidating, were it not for the large grin on his face. His long hair was pulled up into a loose bun, showing off a pair of blue eyes that seemed to radiate genuine happiness, and despite your still-present nerves, you couldn’t help but let a matching smile come over your features.

“Hi, Thor. Loki’s told me so much about you.”

“And I’m sure all of it is incredibly flattering, right?” He sent a conspiratorial glance back to Loki, who only raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever could I tell her about you that wouldn’t be flattering, brother?”

“Nothing comes to mind, seeing whereas I’ve never done anything wrong or questionable.”

“Thor Odinson? Perish the thought.”

The man in question let out a bark of laughter before turning back to you and extending his arm for a handshake.

“Well, my brother has nothing but glowing remarks about you,” he remarked, all but crushing your hand in his grip. “And I couldn’t be more thrilled to finally meet the woman who’s stolen Loki’s heart.”

Once more, you felt heat rising in your face, and you let out a nervous chuckle as Thor dropped your hand. From your right, you felt an arm slither around your waist, and you leaned into Loki’s warmth.

“Thank you so much! It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“You don’t need to lie for his sake, love,” Loki stage-whispered into your ear. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a nudge with your elbow, though Thor seemed to be used to his brother’s sass. Without a glance in his direction, Thor reached into his pocket and withdrew a set of keys, clicking a button on them until you heard a car beep close by.

“Shall we be off, then?” he asked. “We have about twenty minutes until our reservation.”

“That is if his driving doesn’t kill us along the way,” Loki snarked, guiding you towards the car with a hand on your lower back.

“I didn’t hear you offering to drive earlier, Loki,” Thor commented, sending his brother a look that elicited a scowl in response.

“Only because my car is in the shop. Remember?”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You giggled at the pained look your boyfriend sent you, pecking his cheek as Thor made his way around to the driver’s seat. Loki offered to sit in the back, but after a few moments of deliberation, you ended up sitting in the back with Loki on the passenger side next to Thor. Your seating arrangements ended up working out perfectly, though, because you had the perfect vantage point to watch the two brothers bicker over how to get to the restaurant. Loki was doing his best to navigate, but… Well. You quickly learned that it was of no use with Thor behind the wheel.

“I said take a left at Sycamore, Thor.”

“I heard you. But there’s a shortcut between Sycamore and Highland Street.”

“No, there’s not. Have you even driven through this part of New York before?”

“You forget I used to live here, too, brother. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh, just like you did when we were driving through London, yes?”

“That was your fault. If you hadn’t had tried to-“

“WATCH FOR PEDESTRIANS, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!”

Needless to say, the twenty minute drive was eventful to say the least, and you were only mildly traumatized by the way Thor was bobbing and weaving through the thick New York traffic. Even Loki looked a bit green from it, and you’d never seen your boyfriend shaken by anything. When both of you had your feet once again on solid ground, he wrapped an arm around you once again and whispered against your hair.

“I really do apologize for all of that, darling.”

“No, please don’t. It was funny,” you assured him, pecking his cheek as Thor rounded the vehicle towards you. “Usually you’re so…unperturbed. It was nice to see you a little ruffled.”

He sent you a bemused smile, but it vanished as Thor clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward a few steps.

“Well, nothing ruffles Loki’s feathers like me. It took an entire month of convincing for him to even agree to me visiting.”

“A decision I’m regretting more and more as the minutes tick by…”

Soon enough, the three of you were sat at a table in one of the nicest restaurants you’d ever been to. Surprisingly enough, Thor had recommended the place, and after your waiter came by to take your drink orders, you rested your hand on top of Loki’s and turned towards the blonde.

“Thank you for the restaurant suggestion, Thor. How’d you hear about this place?”

“My girlfriend actually told me about it. Usually when I’m in New York on business, I just go to local food trucks or pizza parlors. But Jane said that I should take you two somewhere nice. She apologizes for not being able to make the trip, by the way. She was just as curious about you as I was, but she had an important conference to give a lecture at.”

“That sounds amazing! And no worries; I’d love to meet her next time you’re in town. What do the two of you do for a living?”

“Well, Jane is an astronomer – one of the best in the entire world, actually,” he started, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his partner. “She’s lecturing on a new design she’s invented, some sort of spectrometer. Honestly, it all goes way over my head, but that’s why she’s the genius.”

“To be fair, most things go over your head, brother.”

Thor rolled his eyes at Loki’s quip, and when you turned towards your boyfriend, you saw that he had a small smile on his face to match the mischievous glint in his eyes. You knew better than to take him seriously; anyone would be able to see how close the two were, despite their back-and-forth.

“And what about you, Thor? Loki’s never told me what you do for a living.”

“I work for Stark Industries,” he replied, taking a sip of the large pint of beer he’d ordered. “It’s not much, but it keeps me busy.”

“Not much, indeed,” Loki interjected. “You’re only in charge of the entire marketing department, after all.”

Your eyes widened at that; Stark Industries was one of the biggest, most well-known brand names in the world. From appliances to electronics to clean energy, it was right up there with Google and Disney as far as most were concerned, and to think that Thor was in such a high-ranking position, well… From the things Loki had told you about Thor, you hadn’t expected such a career for him.

“Wow. That’s…incredible. So you know Tony Stark?”

“Oh, me and Tony are great friends. But I don’t ‘run’ the marketing department by any means. Just the UK faction of it.”

“’Just’?”

After that, the waiter stopped by to take your respective orders, after which Thor settled his attention on you once more.

“So, Loki has already told me about your writing. It’s funny to think of him dating the author responsible for those books he’s obsessed over for years.”

“I’m not obse-“

“Has he asked you to sign any of his copies yet?”

He had, jokingly, at one point. But you didn’t tell Thor that.

The rest of the evening passed by without incident, and your nerves quickly evaporated as the three of you laughed and talked through the rest of the meal. Loki liked to joke at Thor’s expense, but it was clear that he held his older brother in high regard, and Thor clearly loved Loki very much. More than a few times, you caught him watching you and Loki closely, a discerning, considering look in his eyes that belayed an intelligence you hadn’t expected. He might not be as book smart or as well-spoken as his younger sibling, but Thor obviously was good when it came to reading people. Whatever he was looking at, though, it didn’t disappoint, because any time your eyes met, he would send you a small, encouraging smile that would immediately dissipate any worries you might have had.

In what felt like no time at all, the three of you were piling out of the car at your house again, and you didn’t hesitate to return Thor’s hug as he said his goodbyes.

“It was wonderful to meet you,” he assured you. “Loki’s never let me meet any of his girlfriends before, but I see now that he was just waiting for the right one to come along first.”

Taken off guard by his genuine compliment, you could only blink up at him for a few moments in surprise before your brain kicked back in.

“That’s…so kind of you to say, Thor. Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

After clapping you on the shoulder, Thor said his goodbye and got back into his car, giving you and Loki some privacy. As soon as his blonde head disappeared into the vehicle, you felt two cold hands cup your cheeks, and before you knew it, you were being pulled into a deep, toe-curling kiss, and you let yourself melt into your boyfriend’s embrace as he held you against him.

“That went well, I would say,” he murmured as the two of you finally parted. “He likes you, if that wasn’t already obvious.”

“I like him, too,” you smiled. “Thank you for letting me meet him.”

“I should be the one thanking you, love.”

He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but you watched as uncertainty began to creep along his features, and after a few moments of considering, his mouth snapped shut once again.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “I forgot what I was going to say, is all. I think driving with Thor still has my brains slightly scrambled.”

“Hm.” You didn’t believe him, not for a second, but whatever it was left your mind as soon as his lips came down onto yours once more. This kiss was slower than before, and lingering; his hands slid up over your hips to settle on your waist, and he let out a soft sigh through his nose before pulling away to set his forehead on yours.

“I should probably head home,” he whispered. “But Thor leaves out tomorrow morning. Would you like to come over tomorrow?”

“For dinner?”

“And dessert.”

You grinned, pressing one last kiss to his lips before taking a step towards your door.

“I love you, Loki. Have a good rest of your evening.”

“I will, darling. But only because I’ll be thinking of you.”

_______________

The two men drove in silence back to Loki’s house, leaving him to think back over the evening. It couldn’t have gone better, in his opinion. Thor liked you, but Thor was a bit like a golden retriever in that way. He loved most of the people he met, whereas Loki had always been more comparable to a cat; he needed to trust someone before deciding whether or not he liked them, typically, and his trust was not easily gained. In fact, there were only two people in the world he truly trusted, and now, they’d both finally made the other’s acquaintance.

The silence was finally broken when Thor parked in front of Loki’s home. As they both sat there, illuminated by the dashboard and streetlights, his elder brother turned to face him fully.

“I like her,” he announced, as though Loki couldn’t already tell that. “Does she know?”

Loki arched an eyebrow before getting out of the car and fishing his keys out of his pocket, striding up to his door as his brother scrambled to catch up with him.

“I have no idea what you could be alluding to,” he replied, opening his front door and bending down to scoop up Lovecraft, who had a habit of swiping at Thor anytime he tried to enter the house.

“Oh, I wonder,” Thor countered, shutting the door behind him before peeling off his winter coat. “I suppose I could be talking about your allergy to dogs. Or perhaps your aversion to the color orange. Or, oh, I don’t know, your habit of murdering innocents. Who knows?”

With a roll of his eyes, Loki hung his coat up beside Thor’s and started striding towards his basement stairs, trusting Thor to follow him.

“How many times must I tell you – there’s no such thing as ‘innocent’. Not in today’s world, at least.”

“Try telling that to a jury.”

“Hopefully it’ll never come to that point,” Loki sighed. He bypassed the first room of his basement, not giving a second glance to the old, miscellaneous pieces of furniture and the stacked boxes of keepsakes from childhood. No, instead he focused on the large, dusty bookshelf that covered the far wall of the room, reaching for the thick compendium of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets that hid the keyhole.

“I’ll never get used to being down here…” Thor’s voice was uncharacteristically small in here; usually, his baritone could be heard from several rooms away, but his mood always took a dark turn when he was reminded of Loki’s…’proclivities’.

“You can always wait upstairs, you know,” Loki uttered without a backwards glance, fitting the small key into the lock and twisting until he heard a click.

“I know,” his brother assured him. “But I promised I’d help you, so let’s just get this over with.”

Smirking, Loki pocketed his keys and pulled the hidden door open, watching a section of the bookcase separate from the rest and turn on the hinges he’d installed so long ago. The creaking shriek they elicited made him wince, and he made a mental note to grease them before his next houseguest.

Luckily for Thor, the only beings alive or dead in Loki’s house were the two of them and Lovecraft, who pattered in after them before jumping up onto the chair in the corner. He typically didn’t allow his cat entry to this room, for obvious reasons, but he decided to leave her be as he knelt next to the detached backseat from his car that was sitting in the middle of the room.

“I’ve already replaced the stuffing; you just need to help me reupholster, and then I can do the rest.”

Thor knelt beside him with a grumble, grabbing a staplegun from his wall of power tools and torture instruments as he kept his eyes stubbornly focused on the seat.

“You know, if you used plastic tarps like any self-respecting serial killer would, you wouldn’t have to reupholster anything in the first place,” he groused. Loki knew that he had a point, and he usually did use plastic when transporting his victims.

“…This one was a bit of a last minute decision,” he finally conceded. “But I’m handling it, as you can see.”

Thor’s lips turned white as he pressed them together, pausing in his struggle to roll out more fabric.

“Loki, you can’t afford to make many last minute decisions with this sort of thing,” he muttered, all joking gone from his voice. “You promised me you’d be careful if and when you get these…urges.”

“And I am,” Loki assured his brother. “Truthfully. No one has ever suspected me of anything. Not once, and you know that.”

With a huff, Thor nodded and continued his work, his movements echoing in the concrete chamber. In the back of his mind, Loki knew that his brother was right, though. Five months ago, he never would have been so careless as to get a victim’s blood on his suede car seats. But, now that he had you in his life, all of his passions seemed to be reigniting. For one, he’d never had as much sex in his previous relationships as he was having with you. He also never felt the need to talk to someone as much as he spoke with you; he hadn’t had many girlfriends or boyfriends in the past, but the ones he’d had always complained about him being too distant, too aloof, too ‘unfeeling’. Now, though, he found himself craving you and your company at all times during the day, and his alone time was less and less precious to him as he considered how much better it would be having you by his side.

However, as those passions rose, others did as well. You and your newest novel were a constant source of inspiration to him, and his lust for blood had grown considerably. If he kept up the pace that he was at right now, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he slipped up. But he pushed that thought aside, as he always had. That was a bridge he would cross when he came upon it.

“…Will you ever tell (Y/N)?”

Thor’s question was sudden, and it made his hands still as he reached for the staple gun.

“…Are you suggesting that I do?”

“Of course not.” Thor shook his head, biting back a curse as he tried stretching a length of suede over the car seat’s frame. “At least, not right now. I think both of us know that it wouldn’t end well. But this is a…mammoth secret to keep from a significant other, Loki. And if you weren’t able to hide it from me, there will come a day when you won’t be able to hide it from her, either. Not if you’re going to keep her in your life.”

“You didn’t find out until I was twenty,” he countered. “And you only found out because I got sloppy.”

“I still knew that there was something off. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I suspected the truth for years before I caught you in the act.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose, and he didn’t know what was more surprising to him – the truth, or the fact that his brother was still able to take him off guard, even after all of the years spent together.

“…Truthfully?”

“Of course, Loki. I knew you weren’t sneaking out at night to go clubbing.” He chuckled a bit at the thought, though his laughter died the second he saw the look Loki shot him. “I saw you burning your clothes once, in the field behind our house. We were 17 at the time, I think. And I knew you wouldn’t burn them unless it were to hide…well. Bloodstains. It was the only explanation for why you decided to burn them in the middle of the night, at least.

“But I told myself that I was wrong. People do that, you know; when someone you love hurts you, or when they do something wrong, you know it. But you lie to yourself anyways.”

There was a long, heavy silence before the two brothers got back to work, one that was only broken several minutes later, when they were mostly finished.

“Loki?”

“Mm?”

Loki looked up, catching a solemn expression on Thor’s face that immediately didn’t sit right with him. For all of his sociopathic tendencies towards most people, he didn’t like to see his typically jovial sibling so serious.

“I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be you,” Thor sighed. “I’ve never fully understood how your mind works, but I know that it’s hard for you to let people in. So I’m happy for you and (Y/N). I am. But I also know that, someday, she’s going to find out. It can either be from you slipping up, or from you telling her outright. But, someday, she’s going to find out.

“I meant what I said – when you find out that someone you love is bad, and that they’ve done bad things, you lie to yourself before accepting the truth. Just…promise me that you’ll look out for when she starts lying to herself about you. Alright?”

Loki swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as he thought about you, about how your face would twist into an expression of fear, of disgust, of hatred, when you finally found out about him. And his heart sank as he pictured the fragile reality you two had been living in all of a sudden crumpling into ash. He couldn’t even bear the thought of losing you, but what other choice would he have if you found him out?

“What are you suggesting I do when she finds out?” he asked, a slight waver making its way through the syllables despite his best interest.

“I’m asking what you’re prepared to do, brother. Think it over, and please, just be careful.”

____________

You woke up the next day to find a text waiting for you from an unknown number, but as soon as you opened it, a wide smile came over your face.

Loki wouldn’t give me your number, so I had to get it out of his phone while he slept. But I wanted to tell you before I fly back to London that it was lovely meeting you, and I’m very happy my brother finally found someone he loves. -Thor

The text was sent at 6:14am, so you knew that Thor was likely already on his plane, but you still tapped out a message before getting up and starting your day.

It was great to meet you, too! Have a safe trip back.

With that, you finally dragged yourself out of bed and went about your morning routine, sending Loki a quick good morning text as you ate breakfast. You were planning on finishing up the last chapter of your coroner story, and you were excited to let him read it that evening when it was done. He’d been so supportive throughout the entire writing process that you were making record time on it; even your editor was surprised at how productive you’d been lately, and you were anxious for his thoughts on the ending.

As you sat down at your computer to type it up, though, you saw that you had an email from your publisher, and your heartrate skyrocketed as you opened it up. You’d sent them the first five edited chapters a few weeks back, and even though you already had several published books, you still got excited anytime you heard back from them.

Your heart only beat faster as you read through their email, and though you’d only just sat down, you were soon leaping out of your chair once you were done. They were going to publish it! At least, they were going to as soon as you had all of the chapters. You’d been concerned that your main character wouldn’t have as much appeal as others of yours had in the past, but as it turned out, they loved Olivia.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your phone was out of your pocket and you were dialing Loki’s number, your fingers trembling in excitement. You tapped your foot anxiously as you waited for him to pick up, and when he finally did, he barely had time to say hello before you were telling him the good news.

“Hello, darling-“

“LOKI I HEARD BACK FROM MY PUBLISHER!” you cried, grinning from ear to ear. “Also hello! Good morning, my love.”

Loki’s velvety laugh only added to your elation, and you quickly ran up to your bedroom to start getting dressed.

“Good morning to you, too. I take it the news was good?”

“It was amazing news! Fantastic news, actually. I was going to finish the final chapter today, but now I’m too excited to focus!”

“Well, love, I’m sure that if you want to just take today to celebrate, it won’t put you too far behind schedule.”

“Speaking of celebrating, can I bring lunch by today on your break? If work isn’t too busy for you, that is.”

“That should be fine, darling; work is actually quite slow.”

“Perfect! I’m going to start getting dressed, but text me which restaurant you’d like, and I’ll pick it up. My treat!”

“Alright, love,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you around noon, then.”

After you two said your goodbyes, you flew through getting ready and ran a few errands before lunch time came around. Loki, as usually, had told you that he was fine with anything and that you should pick the restaurant, so you swung by your favorite bistro before taking a cab to Bellevue Hospital, waving at the front desk staff as you passed by. They all recognized you at this point from your previous visits to see Loki on his break, and they all smiled and waved back as you made your way to the elevators.

“(Y/N)!”

You turned to see one of the receptionists calling you over, and so you shifted the food boxes in your hands and approached the desk.

“Dr. Odinson asked me to tell you that he’s in his office – it’s on the same floor as the morgue, but take a left instead of a right when you get out of the elevators. His is the third office on the left.”

After thanking her for letting you know, you headed down that way, shivering as you stepped out into the cold basement floor. His office had a bronze name placard on it that had Loki’s name on it, and so, after a quiet knock, you walked in to find him sitting behind a tidy desk, tapping away at his laptop furiously.

“I come bearing gifts!” you announced, causing his head to pop up from staring at his screen.

“Come in, love,” he smiled, standing up to help you with the food. “Thank you so much for lunch.”

“Don’t mention it! I wanted to celebrate the latest book, and I can think of no way I’d like to celebrate more than to spend time with the man I love. …And that was incredibly cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Loki laughed, pulling the chair in front of his desk out for you. “But it was also very sweet, and I appreciate it more than you realize.”

After setting your food down on the desk, you sat down, not realizing that Loki wasn’t going back to his side of the desk until you heard the click of a lock sliding shut behind you. Turning around, you watched as Loki stepped away from the door, approaching you with a conniving glint in his eyes.

“Did…you just lock the door?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“I did,” he confirmed. He didn’t elaborate further before sinking down onto his knees in front of you, and you only caught on to his intent after he gently took the to-go cup out of your hands to rest it on his desk.

“…Am I stuck in here with you, or are you stuck in here with me?” you joked, starting to squirm in your chair as Loki’s hands came down onto your knees.

The only answer you got was a wink before his lips were on yours, and all other thoughts fizzled out as his palms started creeping up your thighs, getting closer and closer to the waistband of your jeans. His tongue tasted like coffee as it glided over your own, and a small moan escaped your lips when his teeth gently nipped at your bottom lip.

“Are you sure about this?” you whispered as he started unbuttoning your pants. “I mean… What if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught, love,” he assured you, slowly dragging your zipper down before beginning to slide your jeans off. “No one can stop us from having a little celebration. As long as you can keep quiet, that is.”

You lifted your hips as he tugged your trousers down your legs, taking your panties with them, and you shivered when you felt the cold leather chair against your exposed skin. Biting your lip, you slowly nodded your head, spreading your legs wider as Loki stooped down to place open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh. It was wrong; you knew that there were other doctors in the offices right next to his, and you had no idea how thick or thin the walls were. Could they hear how hard you were suddenly breathing? Would someone passing by be able to hear the low, muffled groans Loki was making as he nipped and sucked hickeys into your skin?

As if sensing your thoughts, Loki glanced upwards as he spread your thighs even further apart, his lips twitching up into a smirk before he suddenly grabbed your hips and pulled, forcing your ass closer to the edge of the chair. In the same instance, he leaned down and buried his face between your legs, his nose just barely brushing against your clit as his tongue started lapping at your entrance. Your eyes rolled back he slipped it inside of you, the vibrations from his voice like bolts of lightning as he let out a guttural growl. He’d commented before on how much he loved eating you out, and you had no reason to doubt him as he thrust his tongue deeper and deeper inside of you.

“Loki…” You kept your voice at a soft whisper, gripping his hair as his tongue started alternating between thrusting into you and tracing patterns into your clit. Your hips jolted every time he swirled his tongue over your swollen bud, and it wasn’t long until they started rocking up against his face of their own accord. If you were at home, you’d already be begging for more or moaning his name over and over again, but now you were acutely conscious of every sound the two of you were making.

The panting of your breath and the obscene, slick noise of his tongue moving against you seemed to echo in the small room. With every shift of your hips, the chair you were in creaked, and you were soon fighting not to move too much for fear that it would be too loud. You were biting your lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you suddenly tasted blood, but the pleasure Loki was bringing you overshadowed any pain or discomfort.

Just as you felt the edge of your orgasm starting to approach, though, he was pulling away, licking his lips and watching your pussy clench around nothing as you tried to guide him back with the hands you had locked in his hair.

“Please,” you whimpered, “fuck, I was getting close-“

“Don’t worry, love,” he interrupted, leaning up to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m far from through with you.”

And that was all the warning you got before he scooped you up, setting you down onto his desk before you could do anything but let out a surprised gasp. At some point while he was eating you out, he must have taken his cock out of his pants, and now he was pushing you to lay on your back as he lined up with your entrance.

You gripped the edge of his desk so hard that your knuckles turned pale, but you still weren’t fully prepared for him to abruptly shove his cock inside of you, so hard that it pushed the air out of your lungs and pried a sharp moan from your lips. His hand came down over your mouth at its sound, and he leaned over you until your face was only inches from his.

“You have to stay quiet,” he panted, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting back into you. “You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

You hurriedly shook your head no, and he nodded before pulling his hand away and sliding it between your bodies. You nearly moaned again once his fingertips found your clit, though, and you pressed your own hand to your mouth as he began playing with it in time with his thrusts.

“Good girl,” he purred, his own voice fighting back a moan as he started a fast rhythm. “Of course… Maybe you do want us to get caught.”

He punctuated his statement with a hard buck of his hips, and you pressed the back of your hand even harder to your lips as it startled another cry out you. The desk was beginning to creak in time with his movements, and you knew that anyone who walked by outside would be able to hear it. You just hoped that they couldn’t also hear Loki’s raspy breathing, or the way his balls were smacking against your ass with every thrust forward.

“Maybe you do want someone to hear me fucking you. Is that it?” he continued, his voice not once rising above a low growl. “Do you want them all to know that you’re mine? That you’re letting me use you, fuck you, right here in my office? Anyone with a key could get in, love. A janitor, another doctor… Anyone could come in and see what a good little slut you’re being for me. And you love that, don’t you?”

His thumb was moving faster and faster against your clit, and you were rapidly approaching your orgasm; you couldn’t remember the last time a partner had brought you so close so quickly. This was so different from how Loki usually was; typically, he was gentle with you, treating you like you would shatter if he were to grip you too tightly or kiss you too hard. But there were times, you’d found, when something else would peak through the cracks; some nights, his hand found its way around your throat, or his voice dropped into something predatory, threatening.

This was one of those times, evidently. And it always made something else rise up within you – the desire to submit, to bend to him completely, to let him have you and use you however he wanted. And so you did.

With a long, loud moan, you felt yourself cumming around his cock, so hard that it made your eyes roll back and your back arch up off of the desk, bending at an almost unnatural angle as your cunt clenched around him. Through the ringing in your ears, you heard him let out a muffled curse, and his thrusts began getting even harder, even faster, and through it all you laid back and took it. Your body was limp and pliable from your orgasm, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he took what he wanted from it.

It wasn’t long, though, until he pulled out, stroking his cock a few more times before you felt his cum against your thighs and belly, staining your shirt with his release as he leaned heavily over you, catching his breath. After letting out a deep, heavy sigh, he leaned over, kissing you gently before resting his head on your chest.

“…Wow,” you breathed, settling one of your hands on the back of his head as your other arm drew him closer.

“I agree with that assessment,” he murmured, pressing a kiss over your heart before lazily turning towards you. “You did say you wanted to celebrate, though.”

A giggle escaped your lips at that, and he smiled softly before kissing you once again and slowly drawing himself up to full height.

“I’m…sorry, if I was too rough,” he began, but you sat up and pressed a finger to his lips, shaking your head.

“I liked it. Loki, I know you’d never hurt me,” you assured him. “And I know you don’t really mean it when you do things like call me a slut.”

“Good,” he nodded, his eyes skating over your face. “Because I don’t. And I would never, ever, hurt you.”

“Then don’t apologize for getting a little rough,” you countered, pecking his cheek before starting to stand on wobbly legs. “Because you better believe I enjoyed it.”

“Mm. I could tell.”

You swatted playfully at his arm before straightening your jeans and grabbing a tissue from his desk, dabbing at the cum he’d left on your shirt before giving up on the task entirely and deciding to just keep your coat buttoned up on the ride home.

“…(Y/N)?”

You turned to find Loki staring at you, having already smoothed his appearance back to its usual unrumpled state. The look in his eyes gave you pause, though – it was the same look that he’d had the night before, when he’d looked like he had something to tell you before deciding against it. Unbidden, fear suddenly swept over you, and you had the worst feeling that he was going to break things off, that he was going to tell you that he’d rushed into things and that he didn’t feel the same way as you.

Gulping, you stepped closer, fighting against the trembling in your hands as he took them between his, pressing a kiss to each of your palms before looking up at you once more.

“I’ve…been doing a lot of thinking, and Thor’s visit yesterday made me realize something,” he began.

“I haven’t ever felt this way about anyone before. And, if I’m being honest, sometimes it terrifies me. There are… There are things about me that I haven’t told anyone besides Thor, and even then, there are things he still doesn’t know.

“I came to the realization last night, though, that I want you to know everything about me. I want you to accept me, fully, as I’ve accepted you. And even if I’m not ready to share it all with you, I know that I want us to grow to that point together. I want you to be mine, yes, but I want to be yours, too. Wholly and completely.”

He took a deep breath, then, and your eyes grew wide as he reached into his pocket, taking out a small box and handing it to you.

“I had this made earlier today, after I dropped Thor off at the airport. And I realize that, yes, this is rushing things a bit, and I want you to know that it’s alright if you need to say no or if you need to think it over. But I’m ready to take the next step, whenever you are.”

Feeling as if time was suddenly moving in slow motion, you opened the box, tearing your eyes away from Loki just long enough to look down…

…and see a key waiting for you.

Immediately, your heart soared, and you looked up to see a tiny, hopeful smile on his lips.

“Will you move in with me, my love?”

And even though, yes, it was probably too soon, even though you’d only known Loki for four months, even though all of the logic inside of you was screaming against it, you didn’t hesitate before answering him.

“Yes!”

____________

A/N: WOW it took forever to write this. I am so sorry! 2020 has really had its way with me, as it has with all of us, and I can’t apologize enough for letting my writing get so far behind. THANK YOU to anyone and everyone reading this, though. I hope you all are having a safe holiday season, and please don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever wanna talk! You guys are the best readers in the world, and I appreciate every single one of you!

#beauty in the blood #loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #dark!loki #dark!loki x reader #loki imagine #loki fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #serial killer #serial killer!loki #serial killer au #reader insert

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Office Surprise [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Authors note: Credit goes to one of my besties for coming up with this idea— I hope I executed it alright. Also I wrote this all in one sitting so apologies if it’s a bit muddled, I think it should be okay though. Maxwell and the reader have a pre-existing relationship and it’s inferred that they’ve dated for quite a long while.

Rating: 18+ only.

Warnings: SMUT | oral (f receiving), use of toys, unprotected p in v, slight praise k!nk/degradation, a little rough, slight dom/sub dynamic if you squint, choking.

Word count: 5k

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal

Masterlist

Being the girlfriend of Maxwell Lord certainly wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, but as you swiped his platinum black Amex card at the Victoria Secret cashier, you recognised it had its privileges. What did he expect you to do? Sit at home all day reading interior design magazines and baking desserts? No. You were bored. Maxwell had come home every night and complained about his long hard week at work but you knew it couldn’t be as boring as sitting alone in his enormous DC house. It got so incredibly lonely.

You planned on travelling to the city anyways today; to get some final Christmas presents for your friends. And Maxwell’s office just so happened to be located in the city centre and so you figured it would only be polite to pay him a little visit. After all, he surely couldn’t be too busy to see you. You had his driver drop you off and pick you up from the different shops. You had been dating Maxwell long enough to understand the way his mind worked. If you wanted to visit him during one of his busiest work weeks, you’d have to give him a reason to make you want to stay.

You had visited his office plenty of times before. He’d greet you with the same surprised smile and elation in his eyes, but it wouldn’t be long until he put his head back down and ignored you for his work, humming whenever you tried speaking to him and only ever vaguely listening. As Maxwell’s driver took you to your next store of choice, you let your mind ponder ways you could really grab his full attention.

You wanted to have fun. The more your mind raced, the more you wanted to make your visit unforgettable. And that’s when your idea to visit Victoria Secret came to you. You hadn’t been to the store in a while, smiling pleasantly when you were greeted with a happy employee wearing a santa hat. Pulling down your sunglasses in hope she didn’t recognise you, you offered her a smile. “We have our new Christmas range in stock.” she grinned cheerily.

“Take me to it, please,” you replied and the employee nodded excitedly, guiding you through the aisles.

“A lot of red lingerie sets this year.” She held her arms out, showing you the variety. One pieces, two pieces, full blown costumes. One set in particular caught your eye… a lacy number with a small silk ribbon. It was like nothing you owned before and you knew how much Maxwell liked the colour red on you. You took it from the rack. “An excellent choice!” the store assistant beamed. You were ready to pay and leave but then she opened her mouth again. “We have a new range of toys too!”

Toys? That could be interesting.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of the black limousine, frantically changing out of your clothes and into your newly purchased lingerie. It only took a few minutes for the driver to pull up outside Black Gold Cooperative. You fastened your heels and tied the belt around your knee length crimson coloured coat before stepping out of the car.

You practically yelped as the cold winter air stung your skin. You weren’t sure how great of an idea it was, to visit Maxwell wearing nothing but lingerie and his favourite coat, but it was too late to have any regrets now. With a confident smile, you pulled off your sunglasses and entered the building through the rotating glass doors.

Maxwell’s assistant and receptionist, both intern age blonde girls, greeted you with a snarl. “You- you aren’t supposed to be here!” His assistant pointed an accusing finger at you. “Mr Lord is fully booked up today and you haven’t made an appointment!”

“Give me a break,” you rolled your eyes, storming over to the elevator, your heels clicking against the marble floor. You knew they envied you for being the girlfriend of the richest man in America but you didn’t care enough to give them the time of day.

You entered the elevator and let it take you to the very top floor; where Maxwell’s office was.

"Oh hey, look who it is." Bradley Huntington, acting sales manager of Black Gold Cooperative smiled as you stepped out the elevator. Two men who were standing alongside him turned to face you, their jaw dropping slightly as they drunk in your appearance. You refrained from shooting them an eye roll— the men here had absolutely no shame. They wanted you to know that they were watching you.

"Hi boys." you replied with a faux politeness, your ruby red lips curling into a returning smile. "What are you doing out here, chatting by the coffee machine?" you raised a curious eyebrow. "Maxwell going easy on your workload?" You didn't care, you didn't snoop your nose in your boyfriend's business, but you did enjoy pretending like you had some kind of authority as his partner. It was fun to see these slimy grown men panic at your words.

"On a break," Bradley replied plainly, his smirk only growing as he took a step closer to you, breaking any distance. "I don't see you around here much anyway. Was beginning to wonder if you had gotten sick of that old grump and made a run for it." he chuckled, dropping a hand to his hip and pointing his finger at the double doors behind him that lead into Maxwell Lord's office.

You shot him a sweet little giggle, as if to trick him into thinking his flirtations were working. "Leave Maxie?" you laughed. "That cutie wouldn't have a clue what to do without me!" you exclaimed, the wicked smile not leaving your lips for one second. "Now if you excuse me…" you went to enter Maxwell's office but a comment made by Bradley made you pause in your tracks.

"Sweetheart," he laughed. "You belong on MTV, not in an office building or cooped up in Maxwell's bedroom."

"Isn't he Mr Lord to you?" you shot back with a snarl, the smile slipping from his face only momentarily. You grinned when you saw the panic wash over him, his face turning pale with nerves.

"Uh actually- me and Mr Lord- me and Maxwell, are good friends. We're on first name basis." Bradley fumbled out. You wanted to laugh at his lame attempt of a smooth recovery. You knew that wasn't true at all.

"Good friends huh?" you folded your arms across your chest.

"Mm," Bradley mumbled, stepping closer to you and placing his hand over your coat. "Take your coat off, you must be hot." You felt your heart jump and a sickness bubble up in your stomach. Bradley really was slimy.

"I'm good." you shot back. Bradley shrugged and reached down to the belt that was holding your coat together. He slowly leaned into you and you quickly pushed him off you. Bradley stumbled back into an abundance of chairs, knocking a few over in the process.

"Darling?" You felt your heart rate increase speed when you heard your boyfriend's voice. Your head turned to face Maxwell who was standing by his office door, scowling. You looked back at Bradley who's colour had completely drained out of his face and you beamed.

"Maxie!" you smiled, walking over to your boyfriend and protectively placing a hand under his suit jacket and setting place on his chest. His scowl didn't move from Bradley as he slid an arm around your waist, holding you tight.

"Thought I could hear your voice," Maxwell whispered in your ear causing a frenzy of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to catch up with your friends." you teased. Maxwell lifted a curious eyebrow.

"Is that so?" he quizzed, beginning to feel irritated by the presence of his employees, and even more annoyed by the lilt in your voice that suggested you wanted to play with him. "I hope Bradley wasn't causing any fuss." Maxwell raised his voice and Bradley shook his head furiously.

"N-no sir, not at all." Bradley said quickly, offering the CEO a nervous smile. You bit your lip and gently tugged on Maxwell's tie.

"Baby," you whined out, looking up at him through your fluttering eyelashes. "Can we go into your office?" you asked sweetly. Maxwell finally tore his eyes from an anxious Bradley and smiled down at you.

"Of course darling." he replied, ushering you through the door.

"Bye boys! Behave!" you called, shooting them one last smirk.

"Alright come on now." Maxwell sighed, placing his hand into the small of your back and pushing you into his office.

You padded into his huge office, placing your purse and shopping bags down on one of the chairs. Before Maxwell entered, he made sure to shoot Bradley one final death glare. Maxwell locked the double doors and turned around. He grabbed you by the collar of your red coat and pinned you to the door, pressing his lips against yours passionately. In fact, so passionately, you wondered if his harshness would leave a bruise. He bit down on your lower lip, his hand snapping ahold of your neck causing a small gasp escape your lips. Maxwell pulled away, his breathing heavy against your skin. "What happened?" he gritted out, looking up at you with lust-blown eyes.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him off you, walking away from where he had pinned you against the door. "Nothing, just your sleazy coworkers not knowing when to give up." you rolled your eyes, checking your appearance in the mirror and fixing your lipstick as it had smudged from the kiss.

"Bradley," Maxwell exhaled, his eye contact not breaking from you once. "Did he touch you?"

"Enough to make me uncomfortable? Yes. But I got him off me. I can handle myself, Maxie." you sighed, fixing your hair and turning back to your boyfriend.

"I know you can," Maxwell said lowly, slowly approaching you. You recognised that primal glint lighting up in his eyes and you smiled. "What did he say to you?"

"Said I shouldn't spend all day cooped up at home, or here, in your office. He said I was pretty enough to be on MTV." you beamed proudly and Maxwell grunted, nodding slowly. He placed a hand, cupping your face and rubbed his thumb along the high of your cheekbones.

"He must've been feeling bold, hitting on you like that." Maxwell tutted. You nuzzled your face into his hand, the coolness of his gold rings making you wince only slightly.

"What do you think Maxie?" you asked, your voice as sweet as honey. "Am I pretty enough to be on television?" you let your hands pull off his suit jacket and roam over his white button down shirt, tugging teasingly at his suspenders as you waited for a response.

But Maxwell didn't stay a word. He looked down at you with his lust-blown eyes and ran his thumb over the plumpless of your lower lip. You parted your mouth, taking his finger and sucking on the digit. Maxwell mewled as he watched you intently, admiring the work of your mouth. You pulled your lips away from his finger with a pop and beamed proudly when you saw the slight blush that crossed his face.

"I think you show up at my work uninvited, dressed like that, flirting with my employees…" he scowled, his gaze not lifting from you once. You wanted to fight him for accusing you of flirting with other men, but you knew him. And he knew you. He knew you would always be faithful; he was just playing a game. Another one of Maxwell Lord's twisted games that you had grown accustomed too. He had that look in his eye— the one you were all too familiar with. It was almost predatory. He tsked, shaking his head and letting out a small chuckle. "Look at you, here, in my office, thinking you can call the shots. I'm busy darling, go home."

"Oh," you hummed, biting your lip and twiddling with your hair. "Because if you're too busy... Bradley offered me-" Your lilt was teasing and you could tell it was making him feel defensive. You knew how protective he got over you.

"What?" Maxwell sneered, his hand dropping to the belt that held your coat together.

You gulped, knowing that if he just tugged a little harder on the belt, your little surprise for him would be revealed. "He- uhm, he-"

"C'mon honey, spit it out." Maxwell smirked, loving the jumbled reaction he was getting out of you, although he was unsure why you were suddenly so nervous when you had walked into his office so confidently. His hands didn't leave your belt and you took a deep breath, looking up at him and into his eyes.

"Said that if I ever get bored of you, I know where to find him." You pursed your lips together and shot him a devilish smile.

"Tell me darling," Maxwell hummed, his hand once again reaching up to your face, his finger brushing over your lips. "What urged you to come to my office in the middle of the day when you know I'm swarmed with work?" he narrowed his eyes.

"I got bored." you admitted sheepishly, swaying your hips from side to side.

"So you come to my work… act like a brat and…" Maxwell paused when he saw you pout. "What?"

"I didn't do anything wrong Maxie." you whined. "Was all them. Was all Bradley."

"You have everything at home. Everything you need to keep you occupied." Maxwell glanced over at your shopping bags that were on his chair. "Spending my money?" Maxwell asked and you nodded shyly.

"But I think you'll like it." you told him, biting your lip.

"Show me."

You placed his hands back on the belt of your coat. "See for yourself." you whispered with a smirk.

Taking the hint, Maxwell slowly tugged on your belt that was tying your coat together. Coming loose, your coat opened up, revealing the lace red lingerie set you were doting, and nothing else. Maxwell's gaze fell from your face to your body as he revelled in the gorgeous sight that stood before him. You stood there in silence for a few seconds, as he drunk in every inch of your body.

"You've been wearing that this whole time?" Maxwell swallowed, staring at your tits. Finally he brought himself to look up at your face, taking a deep breath and straightening his posture. "While you were talking to Brad-"

"Max please," you rolled your eyes, shuffling out of the coat and letting it drop to the floor.

"I've never seen it before." Maxwell admitted.

"It's new," you told him, taking a step closer and pulling off his suit jacket, letting it pool on the floor alongside your winter coat. "Got it for you. You like it?" you smiled, twirling around and giving him a little dance. Your heels clicked against the marble floor as you spun around for him. Maxwell didn't say anything, but if the bulge in his tailored pants was anything to go off… you giggled. "Oh Maxie, you do like it."

Maxwell cleared his throat. "Whilst you do look ravishing, I am busy so-"

"But I wasn't finished showing you what I bought." you poured, blinking your doe-like eyes and folding your arms over your chest, the lace grazing your skin.

Maxwell shook his head and walked back over to his desk, sinking into his office chair. He cursed under his breath as he began to palm himself under his desk knowing you wouldn't be able to see. He looked down at the abundance of papers, trying to concentrate, but it wasn't working. Giving in, he looked back over to you.

You were bent over, rummaging through one of your shopping bags in search of something. Your legs were spaced apart so perfectly, Maxwell knew you must've been doing it on purpose— to tease him. His eyes felt heavy as he watched you, his fingers grazing over his throbbing length. He felt so restricted, so confined… but he didn't want to give you the liberty of knowing what you had done to him. When he saw you straighten yourself back up, he looked back down at the stack of papers on his desk.

You picked out a long black box with no markings, and placed it before Maxwell on his desk. Maxwell looked up at you, waiting for an explanation. "What is it?" he asked and you shrugged nonchalantly.

"Open it." you urged with a smile. Maxwell hesitated, his gaze wandering to the locked door, back to you, and then down at the matte box. He carefully undone the ribbon that wrapped it and opened the lid. Rummaging amongst the tissue, his eyes glinted with desire and wicked delight upon finding what you had bought. He couldn't help but smirk. "Well?" you cooed, perching yourself on the corner of your desk.

Maxwell nodded, not saying a word. He took the purple vibrator out of the box and put it down on the desk next to his stationary. "This couldn't have waited until I got home?" he quizzed, his voice breaking slightly. You grinned and shook your head. "I see."

"Am I in trouble?" you pouted and Maxwell's smirk grew. He pushed the papers and the stationary from his desk, clearing it of room.

"Lie down." he demanded and you squealed excitedly. You reached down to your feet to unclip your heels when Maxwell brought his hand to your neck. "No. Keep them on." he ordered sternly. You bit your lip and nodded, obeying his request. His large hand still wrapped around your neck, he carefully pushed you into the table.

The coolness of the expensive oak made you squirm. Maxwell walked around his desk, grabbing your legs and dragging your body further down closer to him. He spread them apart and began to kiss along your thighs. "I do love this colour on you." he mumbled into your skin, his fingers gracing your soaked core through the red lace. You shivered under his touch and you swore you could feel his smirk press into your skin.

"I know." you admitted with a shaky exhale. He wasted no time teasing. He thought it was only fair he got a little payback. The curve of his nose nudged against your clit as he pressed soft kisses into your cunt.

You brought your hands down to your panties in attempt to wriggle them off and free yourself but Maxwell's large ring clad hands stopped you. "Patience." he muttered and you let out a whine as he licked you through the material.

"Please," you begged, your toes curling with pleasure as he kisses around your entrance.

"I thought you bought this lingerie for me, baby," Maxwell chuckled, his warm breath going straight through your core.

"I did." you muttered, your eyes fluttering shut as he continued to kiss and lick.

"So let me enjoy it," he growled, lifting his head up from between your legs and fumbling with the little red bow at the top of your panties. "It's cute." Maxwell smiled and you felt your cheeks heat up. He pulled your legs further down and you wrapped them around his waist as he leaned over your body.

Hovering over you, he pressed a soft kiss into your neck and began to palm at your breast, running his thumb over your hardening nipple as he slid his tongue into your mouth. You brought your hands up to his hair and laced your fingers in his dark blonde locks, tugging on it just the way you knew he liked. You wondered if he was going to even take your bra off; heck— you wondered if he was going to take his own clothes off. He was standing over you in his suit pants and white work shirt, although the tie and the suspenders had been ditched.

You were breathless when Maxwell pulled away from your lips and his hand wrapped around your throat again, squeezing gently. The pressure made you gasp out a soft moan as he brought his kisses down your neck and along your collarbones, down the valley of your breasts and your stomach until his head was positioned back in between your legs.

"You're exquisite." Maxwell sighed, raking in his view. He pressed his middle finger and index finger into your core, feeling how damp your panties already were. "All for me?" he cooed, his brown eyes sparkling with delight. He switched over to his thumb where he began to rub your clit. "Such a good girl." he praised, beginning to tear away your new underwear from your body.

Pretty soon, your red panties were thrown aimlessly on the floor along with Maxwell's suit jacket and your winter coat and Maxwell wasted no time into latching his mouth onto your pussy. You practically screamed at the way his tongue worked within you, lapping up all your arousal like he hadn't had a decent meal in his life. "Hungry?" you joked breathlessly. Not in the mood, Maxwell didn't unattach his lips from you but he did insert two of his fingers without warning. You found yourself arching your back, moaning wantonly as he worked through your core. His groans as he sucked on your clit left vibrations rifle through your body as his fingers pounded inside of you. Obscene wet sounds echoed through his office as a result from his actions.

You dug your heels into his back and felt your legs start to shake uncontrollably as his movements became faster and more intense. His hands grabbed your thighs as he tried to steady you but it was barely any use. Seeing that you were close, he kept up his stamina until your climax ripped through your body, soaking his lips dripping down his chin. When he pulled away, you felt yourself blush at the state he was in. His hair had fallen out of place and his face was glistening with a mixture of his sweat and your juices.

Maxwell unclipped his gold cufflinks, tossing them on the floor and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. Just as you were about to thank him, his hand reached over to the vibrator. "M-Max," you tried to protest as he flicked the switch. It began to buzz erratically and he spent a few moments accustoming himself to the different speeds and pressures. "Max." you wriggled, trying to sit up, but he pushed you back down, hushing you. The least he could do was wait until you had recovered from your first orgasm, but no. He pressed the vibrator to your clit casually and another gasp tore through you. "Max!" you yelled and he chuckled.

"I like this one." he grinned, adjusting the speed and watching you toss and turn on his desk.

"Fuck, Max," you yelped, your fingers curling into a fist as you began to feel that familiar warmth in your stomach signifying that you were close.

"Aw, you going to cum again?" Maxwell chuckled, turning up the speed to the highest setting. "Look at you, all spread out on my desk screaming my name."

Your vision became hazy and your eyes snapped shut as your orgasm hit you leaving you dizzy and panting. Maxwell shut off the vibrator and tossed it to one side. You groaned, holding your face in your hands as you came down your high. Maxwell stared at you, all messed up on his desk, and he couldn't rid himself of his smile.

You looked down to see his damage. "Oh Maxie," you whimpered, reaching your hands out when you saw the bulge stretching out his tailored pants. You sat upright and Maxwell gave you a small kiss on the head. "Let me help you." you whispered, moving your hands to his zipper but he swatted them away. You looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows as he tsked you. "Maxwell Lord denying head?" you scoffed, reaching back out to his pants. Your fingers only slightly brushed over his length but it was enough to make him shudder. He pushed you back into the oak desk for a third time.

"Stay." he commanded, his voice gruff as he ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his locks out of his face. His eyes were practically black as he examined you, pushing apart your legs and running his fingers along your dripping folds.

"Stop- teasing-" you growled, tossing your head back. "You- you've already got two orgasms out of me."

"And I know I can get one more." Maxwell snarled, unzipping his pants and pulling out his rock hard length. He collected the beads of his precum and rubbed it over his throbbing cock, just the gentlest of strokes almost pushing him over the edge.

You were too busy staring at the pretty gold pattern in the ceiling, a feeling of pure blissed out euphoria washed over your spent body, when you felt your boyfriend's cock push between your entrance. "How's this?" Maxwell grunted as he snapped his hips deep inside of you. "Could Bradley do this?"

You curled your hands into a fist as he thrust deep inside of you, repeating his movements hard and fast with no mercy. "Sh- shut upppp." you whined, grabbing onto his biceps as he pushed his body over yours to hit at a deeper angle. He laughed and pressed his hand into your throat once more.

"Ngh- so pretty," he cursed under his breath. You closed your eyes. "Look at me," he hissed, and you obliged as he proceeded to fuck the life out of you. "So good to me." he praised.

"Max," you wailed as his cock pressed into your sweet spot.

"Is that good for you?" he bit his lip, his fingers digging into your skin so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

"Mhmmm," You agreed. "Maxxxxx."

"Yeah baby?" the use of his little names for you only riled you on more and eventually he felt your walls squeeze around his cock as you came undone.

"I want you to cum in me," you begged, your eyes glossy and pleading as your final orgasm washed over you.

"Will you promise to me a good girl?" he asked you and you squirmed under his praise.

"I'm always a good girl," you breathed out. "Always good for you Maxie."

"Yeah," Maxwell moaned, and you felt his cock twitch inside of you. He pressed a sloppy kiss into your neck and pushed deep into you, biting his teeth into the skin of your jaw. With one final hard thrust he was spilling inside of you.

Maxwell steadied himself, his cock softening inside of you until eventually it slipped out. You moaned at the loss of the fullness and he shuddered, quickly tucking himself back into his pants and zipping himself up. It only took a few seconds for him to notice his cum leaking from your pussy. With shaky legs, he padded to the drawer under his desk, unlocking it and taking out some silk handkerchiefs. He opened your legs gently and began to clean you up with the utmost care and affection.

"How do you feel?" he whispered into the shell of your ear, discarding the handkerchief when he was finished. He helped you sit upright and pulled you onto his lap, smoothing out your hair.

"Tired," you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest. He kissed your forehead and wrapped his arms around your practically naked body, his strong arms holding you still and steady.

"I get off in three hours, why don't you take a nap on my sofa and then we can go home together?" Maxwell suggested.

"Mmm," you smiled, closing your eyes. "Or I could just stay here. Like this? But oh- you have that meeting…" you sighed. You went to stand up but Maxwell's grip around you tightened.

"Darling, stay here," you cooed. "I can cancel the meeting. It is my company after all. Besides, I'd rather be here with you."

You felt yourself blush. "You know Maxie, I do love you. So much."

"I know," Maxwell answered, his voice unrecognisably soft. "I love you too." He didn't say those three words often, but you knew that deep down he meant it. He loved you. "Oh, and thanks for the surprise."

#maxwell lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal smut #max lord

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eveningstar1516 · 3 years

Text

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 11

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A/N: I gotta Discord server guys! It's primarily Obey Me but other fandoms are welcome as well. It's kinda baby and dead so me and the other members are looking to revive it and we'd love for you to come join us. A roleplay area is included :) https://discord.gg/F3YEmDZCPS Please remember to read and accept the rules once you join for access to all the channels. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously:

After that day, Beel would take responsibility for waking the youngest whenever he slept for too long and Belphie took responsibility for making sure Beel ate whenever he was awake. From that day forward, you’d never find one twin without the other close by. Their relationship strengthened, one relying on the other. Always being there when needed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CHAPTER 11 - 2 Realms, 2 Families (2003 words)

Making my way up the palace steps, I took notice of the lack of angels tending the gardens or palace. Oh well, I thought to myself. It is still too early for any of them to get to work. Michael led me through the castle towards the throne room. It was the same route we took on my first day here, only this time, I had a sneaking suspicion that it was about to be my last. Stopping in front of the door, Michael announced our presence and waited for the angels inside to open the doors for us. I’ve been in the throne room a small handful of times since my first day. Today, however, the atmosphere felt a little off. Normally, one would feel a sense of dread walking into this room, as it usually meant punishment. All ceremonies took place in the garden, the throne room being deemed as an unofficial courtroom. Today the atmosphere felt almost, denser than usual. Michael and I made our way towards the throne and kneeled before Father.

“Rise”

Both of us responded with a “Thank you Father” as we stood. God turned to face me.

“I apologize for calling for you this late. I do hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not to worry Father, I was actually up finishing this week's work when Michael came to get me. If I may ask, why did you want to see me?”

“I called you to make an offer. I have observed how you ran the council this past millennium. I’ve seen your leadership and your dedication to your job. I’d like to offer you a permanent spot on the council.”

“Father, I’m sure-”

“I’m well aware of our initial deal. Bear in mind that this will not impede on your ability to see the Sins again. As head of the council, it will be your job to oversee business in the Devildom as Michael had been while you were here. You will be able to travel between the realms for business and visit the brothers while you’re there.”

“But I’d have to return and continue serving you, won’t I?”

“That is correct. You are a unique individual Y/N. You are a human with the blood of a fallen, you accepted the demons and was still elevated to the Celestial realm. As such, you have experience from all three realms. This is a powerful tool to have.”

“For you. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am not interested in staying, nor am I interested in allowing you access to this “tool” as you so crudely labelled my experience. I made it abundantly clear that I serve you under the condition that I return once Lord Diavolo has been crowned. As the Father of the Celestials, I expect that your promises would be kept. Unless that is your telling me I’d have more luck trusting a demon if I wanted promises kept?”

“Y/N! While you’re here, you still serve Father. You cannot speak to him like that!”

“I’m not wrong though am I? If that is all, I’d like to get some rest before reporting in. Good evening, or should I say morning?” I didn’t wait for a response as I bowed to Father and walked out of the throne room without so much of a glance back.

“I apologize Father. I will see that they don’t speak that way to you again.”

“That’s quite alright Michael.”

“Father?”

“I find it to be one of their more enduring qualities. They don’t take anything from anyone, regardless of their position. It’s a valuable trait to have, if used correctly.”

“Father, you weren’t really going to cement their position as the leader of the council, were you?”

“No, I knew they wouldn’t have agreed anyway. I wanted to test them. By offering the position permanently, they would have gained an abundance of power and authority.”

“Instead they turned it down to be with Samael and his brothers. I still don’t understand what they see in them.”

“It would be wise to re-think your opinion on Lucifer and his family. Contrary to what you think, they haven’t changed much. If you looked at it from an outsider's perspective, perhaps you’ll find that they’re still very much angelic.”

“Are you seriously telling me that with a straight face? I appreciate your suggestion Father, however, I highly doubt my opinion on them could change.”

“I am not telling you to change your thoughts about them overnight.” Standing up God stepped down and put a firm hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“I’m just reminding you that Pride is a sin.” God exited the throne room towards his personal chambers leaving a perplexed Michael standing in the throne room.

“I’m not prideful.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was wrong.

~3 Months Later~

“That is all for today. Does anyone else have anything that needs to be brought to attention before we leave?” I looked around the council table and took note of Azrael's continued absence. The angel of death was called for a quick meeting with God before the start of this meeting and had yet to return.

“Alright then. This meeting is adjourned. If anyone has anything they’d like to drop off, I’ll be working by the fountain." The council of 7 stood and started chatting amongst themselves as I packed up and left. A few weeks into leading the council, I found that much like the Devildom, I couldn’t find much peace anywhere indoors. As such, I turned to the gardens, in particular, the stone fountain. It reminded me of the one in my old village square back on earth and found a sense of peace here. I’m guessing the other angels got the hint of me needing some peace and quiet to complete my work as I’ve never been disturbed while I worked here. Anywhere else though, and it’s anyone’s game.

About halfway through my work, I decided it was a good time to take a break and get something to eat. Making my way to the makeshift kitchen area in the council building, I passed by Azrael and Michael conversing with each other. We exchanged some polite hello’s when something Azrael said caught my attention.

“I apologize for not making the meeting. There was an issue with a soul’s candle that was fluctuating that I had to deal with.”

“Fluctuating? I was under the impression that a soul’s candle can only slowly burn until the soul’s time runs out and the candle burns out or someone snuffs them out. How can a candle fluctuate?”

“It’s more like the candle was shifting, evolving. The flame itself is fine but the stick itself was changing. You see, the flame is just that, a flame that will never burn out until its designated time, or if as you put it, someone snuffs it out. It’s the stick that holds most of the magic. The type of wax used identifies the soul, its nature, and where it’s destined. Only angels of death, or reapers, can tamper with the stick and alter it, however, it seems this stick is changing itself without outside interference from myself or another reaper.”

“The stick is evolving on its own and this is a cause for concern because this type of thing shouldn’t be possible and has never happened before?”

“Essentially.”

“What did you do about it?”

“For now, nothing. We’ve tried manually altering it ourselves but it keeps rejecting the change. I have a junior reaper watching it now. He’ll update me if anything changes. That is all I can tell you for now.”

“That understandable, thank you for sharing anyway. Good luck with the candle.” At that, my stomach rumbled.

“Go enjoy your lunch” Azrael replied, walking away with Michael.

“Why did you tell them all of that?” Michael demanded of Azrael.

“They have a right to know. Besides nothing would be gained by hiding it from them. It’s best they are aware of the situation.”

“That’s not your call to make Az.” Michael responded angrily as he stopped. Azrael turned to face him, a calm mask slipped on.

“Yes, it is Michael. It’s my call as the leader of the reapers and the overseer of their candle. What isn’t right is how you keep insisting that they be left in the dark, blissfully ignorant. Despite what you may think, they are a bright soul and have brought much light with them, even to the brothers. I understand why you feel about them the way you do, but times have changed. They have changed, and so have the rest of us. Everyone but you. It’s time you change too before you do something you’ll regret.” With that, Azrael left, leaving Michael standing there thinking about what the reaper had said and thought back to what their Father had said 3 months ago. Threading his fingers in his hair, he made his way to his office, hoping to distract himself from these thoughts with some extra work.

~7 Years later~

“Y/N'' I woke up realizing that I fell asleep at my desk again. Looking up, I saw Uriel looking down at me. His hand on my right shoulder shaking me awake.

“Father would like to see you. Go get dressed please. I’ll be waiting outside.” Uriel left, closing the door behind him. I leaned back thinking about why God would want to see me, especially this early in the morning.

Not wanting to Uriel waiting for too long, I tidied up the papers at my desk, and sleepily made my way to the bathroom to take a quick shower and get ready. Once I finished, Uriel and I set out except this time, instead of heading to the palace, we headed for the gates.

When we arrived, I found that the rest of the council including Azreal and Simeon were already there and waiting for us. We landed and bowed our respects towards Father. Uriel joined the council in a semi-circle behind God.

“Y/N, as I’m sure you realized, the time has come for you to return to the Devildom. I offer you one last chance to stay here. You should know that once an angel falls, they’re not allowed back. Y/N, if you through with this, you will be cast out from the Celestial realm. Are you ready to make that sacrifice?” Looking to the council standing behind God. I recalled the past millennia I spent with them. While I tried to keep a professional relationship with them, they ended up growing on me and we became a little family of our own. I realized that I was going to end up missing them. None of that matters though, not anymore. I’m finally going home, to my real family. To the brothers. Ignoring God, I addressed the angels gathered behind him.

“Thank you, all of you. Despite our differences, you all still accepted me and let me into this little family of yours. I’ll be sure to remember all you’ve done for me and I hope we could meet again someday. Oh and Mike.” Michael looked at me, surprised that I singled him out. “You don’t belong down there. Don’t forget that.” I turned back to God giving him my answer.

“Yes, I am willing.” Giving me a nod of affirmation, God addressed me for the last time.

“Y/N, Virtue of Loyalty and former leader of the virtues. I hereby strip you of your angelic status and cast you out into the Devildom for the sin of misplaced loyalty.” I faced the edge, ready to jump when I realized I had forgotten something. Turning around, I looked God straight in the eyes and threw the strongest right hook I had ever thrown in my life before jumping backwards, tucking in my wings and closing my eyes. A content sigh leaving my lips as I let the darkness engulf me whole.

I’m coming guys. Wait up for me

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

Text

I Am Alive (chapter 11/?)

Chapter 11: Interface

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

It didn't go unnoticed by you in the following days how distant Connor was, always a hairline away, like he was suddenly no longer allowed to touch you.

On the night of the second day, when you caught him doing it again, you confronted him, trapping him against the counter in his kitchen. He had turned around and noticed you standing there, right behind him.

He could have easily pushed you out of the way; but, Connor was far too polite for that. If you were being honest, in that moment, you were taking advantage of his politeness.

"Please, tell me what's wrong?" you asked, trying not to be too demanding.

"You left dirty dishes in the sink," Connor deflected smoothly.

You crossed your arms and gave him a look, the kind that said you wouldn't fall for that. His hands were resting on the edge of the counter in an odd manner, further proving your concerns. Connor's eyes shifted nervously between your gaze and the sink before deciding to let go of that attempt.

"I had lied to you about what I was," he replied quietly.

"You never lied to me about anything," you quickly retorted, voice gentle. You grabbed at his inner elbows, trying to pull his arms away from the counter and towards you. At first, he didn't nudge at all against your insisting touch.

Eventually, he gave in and let you pull his arms towards yourself. He followed and curled his arms around your lower back, leaning into your body until you were embracing loosely.

As an android, could withstand much greater temperatures than most humans. There were very few natural occurring temperatures in the world that could set off his temperature warnings. However, when he pushed against the fabric of your clothes so he could reach bare skin, and felt how warm you were, Connor suddenly felt very cold.

You shuddered a little, likely because his fingers were a little cold compared to the skin at your lower back. Some selfish part of himself didn't mind, wanting to steal your warmth, even though he didn't need it.

"-because you were designed to hunt deviants?" you asked. "Is that what's wrong?"

Connor tore his eyes away from yours and stared blindly over your shoulder. "I should have told you. I was keeping something from you that I thought would-... would jeopardize our relationship. It was self-serving."

You smiled up at him, feeling oddly enamored at the thought of Connor being selfish, because he had proved to be anything but. Or, maybe, you were feeling pride in knowing that he felt that way about you - felt a little possessive over you.

"It's normal to want to keep some things about yourself a secret, Connor," you offered, nudging his nose with your own. "It's not just about relationships, but, just, wanting a little bit of privacy."

It took him a second, but he eventually reciprocated to your nudging, pressing his nose into your temple for a moment before lowering his head so that his forehead was nuzzled against the side of your skull.

"I'm not upset with you, or afraid of you, or anything like that," you offered. "You don't have to tell me everything."

The thought of him standing on stage with Markus, the leader of the deviants, felt different with your new found knowledge of Connor's original purpose. He had chosen to stand with the man he was supposed to take down. He had chosen to defy his creators, to become the very thing he was supposed to stop.

"You have the right to know things that could potentially make me an unsuitable partner," he said lowly, sounding a little frustrated.

"You don't owe me every little thing about yourself, Connor," you replied, breath warm on his cheeks. "All these things should come when you're ready. Besides, I found out unfairly. If anything, you should be mad at me."

Connor shook his head a little, immediately disregarding the suggestion that he should be upset with you. You had come into his life so unexpectedly and changed his perception of himself, changed what he thought he knew about himself, changed what he thought he was capable of.

There were things he had never disclosed with another soul that he wanted to pour all over you.

"Why would your designed purpose make you unsuitable?" you asked, a little insistent. If there was anything you didn't want Connor to feel, it was unsuitable - for you, for love, for anything good in this world.

"I-" he began, finding himself simultaneously restless and stiff.

You leaned back enough to look up into his brown eyes with patience and longing. Connor caught your gaze and stared back, getting lost in the look you were giving him.

"When I was a machine, there was software in my operating system that connected me to Cyberlife," he explained hoarsely and you listened carefully, hanging off his every word.

"The interface was named Amanda. She was my owner, in a way: gave me missions, praised me when I did well..." Connor's eyes flickered away for a moment. "-threatened me when I didn't."

His eyes returned to yours and he continued. It was clear to you that this was therapy for Connor, even if he didn't understand why he wanted to share all this.

"At the android march, Cyberlife tried to take control of my body. I almost - I was afraid I couldn't stop it. I nearly shot Markus before I took back control," he confessed, whispering harshly. "I wasn't aware they could do that until that moment. Escaping this-... prison inside me was the hardest thing I've ever done."

Connor paused when he felt your hands running up and down his biceps, trying to soothe the stammer in his voice. He could almost feel the chill again. It was the only time he had never known what it was like to be cold, to feel the wind biting at his skin, to feel so utterly exhausted in a place that existed inside himself.

"I am the most advanced android designed by Cyberlife." It wasn't spoken with confidence, but with regret. "Sometimes I still-... feel it: factory defaults." He uttered the last two words harshly, like he was growling out a curse.

"Remnants of the deviant hunter will always remain," you whispered, dominant hand rising to cup his cheek. Connor leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. You startled a little when the skin on his cheek faded away to interface with you. You smiled and nudged your thumb affectionally against his cheek bone.

"There's nothing wrong with that part of you," you continued. "You turned it into something beautiful, detective."

Detective - someone who tried to right the wrongs, who protected people, who saved people, who gave a voice to those who could not speak for themselves. Maybe, the correct answer would have been to become the exact opposite of what he was made to do. But, Connor truly liked this part of himself.

"When I told you I loved the android parts of you, I meant it," you insisted, hands shimmying down so you could wrap your arms around his lower back. Connor's eyes opened and he looked at you softly. "Deviant hunter, too, Connor. All your software, all your bio-components..."

"While I do not anticipate that I am a danger to you, or anyone else-" Connor explained stiffly. "-and my diagnostics no longer show remnants of Cyberlife's infiltration and remote programs, you have every right to be concerned. I check regularly, in case I am... incorrect..."

Connor trailed off when he saw the wicked smile on your face. "You are a danger to me," you teased softly. The android's LED briefly flickered to scarlet red before immediately shifting back to blue.

"I don't know what I would do without you," you explained.

Well, you knew what you would do. You would work lots of overtime to make up for the fact that all your friends were your coworkers and you went home to an empty, lonely shack in a less than favorable neighborhood.

Without Connor, you would be so utterly lonely.

He was an android. You couldn't possibly understand what he had to endure, what kind of internal struggles he continued with, the constant abuse from humans. From what you had seen, Connor powered through it with a brave face.

You had not shared much about your own life with him, unless it pertained to androids. Connor had lived a much shorter time than you; yet, his life was so much more accomplished, held so much more meaning and purpose.

You were just a simple girl from a big city and Connor was one of a kind both in his design and of his own making, by his own choices.

Despite all that, you had never felt this close to another person before.

"You would be with someone else," Connor stated, sounding almost offended. You gawked up at him, startled by the determined look he was giving you.

In his eyes, you were wonderful, beautiful, selfless, and brave. If he hadn't been so insistent, practically demanding of your attention, surely someone else would have. He couldn't imagine others not seeking your affections.

"I doubt that," you said bashfully. "I don't really put myself out there. I came onto you really strong... -like a dumb, horny teenager." You laughed a little, nervous beneath his scrutinizing eyes. You didn't regret it for a second: not Connor, nor what you had done. But, sometimes, you feared you had pushed him too strongly.

"I haven't been chaste, either," Connor offered softly. "We are not a... conventional couple." He didn't seem unsettled by that information, but more worried that you would think poorly of yourself for being forthcoming with your desires.

You giggled, brief and soft. "None of my relationships have been like this."

"They weren't androids," Connor stated.

"It's not that," you said sharply, almost scoldingly, shaking your head a little. "They weren't like this, like you, like-..."

You had loved before, in a way; but, you weren't ever in love, not like this. Nothing had ever come close to being this strong or feeling this real.

With Connor, you felt a sort of peace you never thought possible in your life. You felt like there was nothing you couldn't trust him with. He made you feel so small and so mighty at the same time.

You felt like he had given you a part of yourself that was missing; but, you felt conflicted in telling him that. You didn't want him to feel trapped or caged by you.

You had no doubt that Connor cared for you; but, there was no denying the reality that he would live much longer than you. You would grow old while he would remain young and strong and beautiful forever.

Eventually, it would come to an end-

"I've never been this close to someone before," you admitted quietly. "I - I just feel like-... You understand me better than anyone else and I feel so - I - maybe I'm projecting here-" you trailed off, feeling suddenly breathless.

Connor reached around to take hold of your dominant hand and remove it from his back. He lined up your hands, palm to palm, fingers and thumbs mirrored. For a moment, he forgot himself, forgot that you were human and couldn't interface with him. Still, he tried, the skin of his hand fading away and his joints and knuckles glowing blue.

You stared, awestruck, even though you had seen him do this dozens of times.

"You're not projecting," he whispered harshly. "We can't interface; but, I feel like we do, all the time."

You looked up at him. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed, and LED yellow, like he was trying to think, really, really hard. He wanted to interface with you, more than he could put to words, to show you how much you meant to him, to show you things that language was incapable of, to show you how he felt.

"I'm sorry," you choked out.

His eyes opened and he looked at you.

"Androids are so beautiful," you breathed. "-that you can connect like this and - all humans can do is-"

Connor leaned down and pressed his mouth against yours to silence what he knew was going to follow, the disdain you were going to put on yourself. He knew the limitations of humans very well. None of that mattered when it came to you.

"Connor-" you breathed against his lips.

He breathed your name back, like a hush.

"I'm - I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not the other way around," you whispered defiantly.

"I do," he replied, nudging his forehead against your temple. "You always make me feel better."

He felt like he had the world cradled against him, and he didn't want to let go. You continued to embrace until Connor felt you starting to sag against him. Through your touch, he could sense your breathing pattern had started to change, and realized you were dozing off.

"Come on. It's late," he said quietly. However, instead of letting you respond, Connor took initiative and picked you up, scooping you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

"W-woah," you stammered. "Geez, Connor."

"Were you falling asleep?" he asked teasingly as he carried you to the bedroom.

"N-no," you retorted sharply. You felt his chuckle more so than heard it. He tucked you into bed, helped you change - or, undress, more actually - before stripping down to the same state and nuzzling in close behind you.

That night, while you slept, Connor laid next to you and rolled through his memories.

"What I want is not important," is what he had said to Kamski, his creator, when the man had asked him what he wanted. The mission was more important, what his creators expected of him was more important; or, at least, that was what he had told himself at the time.

Even back then, he wanted to enforce the law, to bring justice, to give a voice to those who didn't have one. He wanted to prevent a civil war that would bring about the death of thousands, potentially millions, of humans.

When he accepted his deviancy, those things didn't go away. His wants evolved. He wanted freedom for his people - for androids, so they could live with the kind of freedom he was fortunate enough to have in this moment.

Now... now, he wanted so much more.

Selfish things-

Human things-

He wanted to live a life that involved choices undictated by orders. He wanted to experience the world in all its vastness, waiting for him. He wanted to go to places he had only seen through the HUD in his processor, in videos and photos. He wanted to be there - to feel, to smell, to learn with his own hands.

-and he wanted you by his side every step of the way.

He wanted to create memories with you, to share the world with you.

Connor's arm was resting over your abdomen, his hand caressing yours. You had returned his gentle grip until you fell asleep and your touch slackened. His thumb brushed against your knuckles and lowered, sliding along your ring finger just past the knuckle, and he thought about what could fit there.

It was a strange feeling. He found himself constantly longing for these things that felt so humanlike, so beyond what he was designed to do, things he once thought were all that he was capable of.

"What do you really want?" he could still hear Kamski's voice in his head.

To be free. To be wild and untamed and live life without fear of what he was and how the world might perceive him. To see the world as more than analytical data. To not see every step as a branching path, where one wrong move could ruin everything. To live life as if there was a chance he could die tomorrow.

He wanted you-

-to be his forever.

#connor x reader #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 smut #rk800 x reader #connor smut #connor fanfic

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jjba-hell · 3 years

Text

Respite

Day 1 of LaSquadraweek2021 and the prompt was Fantasy AU.

No trigger warnings: maybe a mentioning of nudity and the awkward moments that come from that. Maybe some suggestive actions but not going into it.

Content-wise: you’re looking at Fantasy AU, you and Risotto know one another, both being Dark Elven-ish creatures. It’s essentially an OOC Risotto x reader

I just wanted to have some fun with it. Enjoy. @lasquadraweek2021

“Quite the team you have assembled, Mr Nero.”

Risotto, knelt down at a hot spring half naked, paused his actions- hand remaining in the warm water as he gazed ahead at the mossy stone before him. It was an enclosed area- a little private spot he’d only considered his own until you came invading it.

“Didn’t think I’d hear from you again- not after what had happened in Graizia.”

He pushed off of his knee, standing up straight and surveying where exactly you were. It was him that taught you how to cloak yourself in shadows to disappear from sight- to you, this was a case of student needing to outwit teacher. You were silent enough to fool most people but Risotto knew what to look for.

The moss under your feet was slippery as you crawled up one of the stones he was gazing at not long ago. He gave a low laugh as he searched his surroundings regardless.

“Should I take your silence as anger.”

You sat down on your haunches as you reached a high enough point on the rocks to confuse him. “Oh please, Graizia was tame in comparison to Crallutha.”

Risotto’s ears wanted to lead his gaze to where you were but you weren’t planning on playing this game too long. So you removed your coat- and the spell- from your shoulders.

“Ahh of course- how much was the witch’s bill for taking care of that nasty burn?”

You threw your balled up overcoat at him, reappearing just in time for your gazes to meet. “Too much for your little adventures to afford.”

He took hold of the neck of your coat to unfurl it. “Touchy.” He commented as he laid your coat on top of his and then shamelessly ridding himself of his trousers before slipping into the hot water with a heavy sigh. His head dipped under so he could wet the long silver strands and wipe them out of his face with a groan.

You and Risotto have known each other for a very long time- you both have vague memories of the fall of the kingdom you hail from and for a long time you returned to the same abandoned cabin after working odd jobs to get by until you both turned about 100- just out of juvenile for your species.

You went your separate ways after one of your plots worked too well and you became a diplomat for the kingdom you’d been refugees in. Didn’t quite seem like he ever forgave you after you altered away the tell-tale tear streaks of your species under your eyes for the sake of human relations. Not that it was permanent anyway.

He still sported them proudly of course- his ink black eyes and the black streaks over his face melding together quite well- in your mind it made him handsome (perhaps that was the remnants of your memories of the Old Kingdom) but to most he was a terrifying sight. Not that his excessive height helped either.

“Now either you’re here for revenge or you have information to sell.”

“Revenge against you?” You mused, laughing at the thought. “Just because I nipped that slit in your eyebrow a few months ago doesn’t mean I want to see you dead.”

“Just maimed.”

“Exactly.”

Your feet had carried you back down from the rocks and at the lip of the spring where the warm water was lapping gently at your toes. Eyes followed naturally toward the sky to bask in the bright beauty of the moon until you were abruptly pulled onto your ass in the water by a firm hand around your ankle.

“Nero!” You screeched as you propped yourself up- gesturing at all the leather he had now fully soaked. “Do you know how long this is going to take to dry?”

“You’ll dry as you ride.” He said so nonchalantly you could feel those streaks under your eyes reappear. You never were good at controlling your magic when you were angry.

“There you are.” He hummed contently. “I so tire of that ghastly mask you put on for the humans.” To emphasize your point his arms came to rest on a half submerged mossy stone.

“And what would you do with me this way? Soaking wet and bare of magic?”

“Well... much comes to mind.”

That was it. You stripped out of your soaked clothes, leaping after the bastard who had already sunk underneath the water’s surface and was making quick work of gliding through the water into the caverns you knew the mermaids once used to get around this arduous stretch of land.

He was quick- always had been. You supposed all of that muscle had to be built somewhere but you weren’t that far behind him- the inky black lines that lined his body and darkened at the tips of his fingers and feet were all you could focus on as the two of you kicked off the walls in rush to who knows where.

The slight burn in your lungs only fueled you to catch up to him even more and you had only thought his abrupt loss of speed was the end of his game until you saw fiery tones dance above the water.

Breaking the surface, you both gasped for air- one strong breath in followed by little gasps to even out your breathing.

“Determined, aren’t we?” He chuckled.

Not so reluctantly you latched onto his nearest arm and dunked his head under before using him to push off and find a ledge to sit on.

A part of you wanted to continue the banter but the exhaustion was starting to set into your bones- both from chasing him on land and in water.

Perhaps he was dissatisfied but your silence only beckoned him closer to lean his folded arms on the ledge you were seated on- his brow knit together in concern. “They weigh heavy on you. All those strings tied around your hands.”

You looked over at him, gaze locking with the reds of his eyes that held a type of softness you suppose only you could read. “Maybe.”

Around you the little cavern had only two torches alight- a trick you wondered if he had any hand in. You didn’t want to speak much on the subject- you were too far gone in your own games wit the humans to realize you could simply disappear from it. Your skin cooled slightly as you stared at the flames wrapped around the torches- cooled enough for the warmth of Risotto’s hand to make you flinch when he touched your thigh.

“The cold will settle into your bones.”

Whether he meant figuratively or literally you’d probably never know but you took him up on both.

He moved back enough for you to slide back into the water- feeling pleasantly enveloped by the feeling. Underneath you, you could feel your feet barely graze on some stones that Risotto stood on easily.

“Surely, my touch doesn’t repel you as much as much as you’d have me believe.”

It had been so painfully long since you let him this close, your arms finding their way around his offering shoulders. You let yourself tangle around him- the added heat off his skin lulling you to prop your chin onto his shoulder.

Risotto reciprocated with his big arms wrapping around your back, soothing the knots out with a flat palm rubbing up and down your spine.

Complicated was the cliché word that came to mind when you thought of Risotto. You’d helped him along many steps to slip away from any trouble his bounties and adventures brought him, you were also the source of all the information he could need about new political decrees or wars that might affect his plans but much like before you were separated- you were far too close to simply forget one another as your paths diverged.

“I’ve missed you.” You sigh into his neck, raking your nails over his back to see if you could still get a reaction out of him.

He groaned out your name as his whole body seemed to tense under your ministrations. It sounded foreign on his tongue but welcome nonetheless.

It didn’t take too long for him have your back pressed against stone and his teeth worrying into your neck hungrily.

“Stay with me.” He groaned, pressing you tighter to him. “Please. They’ll welcome you with open arms.”

Hearing him plead truly had your resolve weak but you couldn’t. You needed to have your heart on the pulse of information if you were to protect him- but would he need to be protected if you two weren’t separated?

He didn’t even need to argue you into contemplating it, the soft thrum of his body luring you to turn your head onto his shoulder and just say yes. But that’s not what you said.

“I can’t.”

The words stuck like sap onto your tongue.

“Three days then.”

“Three days what?”

“Three days you stay with us, surely you could manage that. After that, you’re free to do as you wish.”

He wasn’t lying- it would be easy enough to simply lie about a sudden illness or delay in travel plans. Perhaps you should see it as designated time off- wrapping yourself up in the warm embrace of an old lover.

“Fine.” You whisper against the lobe of his ear before kissing the side of his face.

Risotto on the other hand separated with you a little so he could hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger to give you a kiss so tender you could melt.

“It’s almost dawn.” He muttered against your lips after you separated, resting your forehead against his.

“How can you tell?”

He gestured to a small stained glass oval inlaid between the jagged edged of the cave’s wall. You must have missed it while it was still dark. “Best to head back then.”

You wish you were a person without regrets- that you didn’t ponder how things could have been different but you were and few mistakes felt as dire as when you resurfaced back at the spring near Risotto’s camp.

Hoping for a dignified entrance was out of the question as you resurfaced behind Risotto’s large form to be greeted with quiet talk and snickers from a team of men you’d only been acquainted with from afar.

Often cases modesty was a virtue but not when dealing with outcasts like them. So before Risotto could order them to turn around, you were moving towards the place where your coat lay on top of Risotto’s- gods they must have had a field day with that innuendo.

“I see we’ve never seen a naked body before.” You commented tiredly at the stares you could feel heating your neck.

“More like we haven’t seen two Khallini’s this close in proximity of one another. You’re a dying breed, you know.”

You disregard the comment somewhat as you pick up your coat- the one dry thing you still have to your name and sling it over your shoulders against the cold.

“Might also be the insinuation.” The long-haired brunette was the one to throw that comment- enough to lock gazes with him across the clearing.

“Is that jealousy, I hear?” You ask with a tilt of your head and the sneer you got in return was enough to satisfy you and earn a chuckle from the rest of the team.

Risotto was behind you not long after- throwing his shirt over his head. “We’ll meet up at the tavern in Cranad.”

Which of course was your queue to find your horse to reintroduce yourself to the bunch at the tavern.

But as you stood at your saddle to slip on an emergency pair of clothes you couldn’t help but think.

What did you get yourself into?

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #la squadra #jojo part 5 #fantasy AU #risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #lasquadraweek2021

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nonbinaryeye · 3 years

Text

Of course I can keep a secret, Mr. Smirke

Written for @jonahmagnusweek

Day 2 - Community

Jonah Magnus is very interested in joining a community formed around Robert Smirke. He isn't accepting any new members but that's just a minor inconvenience Jonah can work with.

Read on AO3

...

“Barnabas are you certain it is alright for me just come like that? Without a proper invitation? Have you discussed with at least someone that it won’t be an issue?”

“You worry yourself way too much, Jonah. It is fine, trust me. How many times do I need to say it?”

Jonah sighs as his dear friend pushes his concerns aside yet again. But how could he not be a bit worried? He has been in a London for just a few months and even though he feels like he learnt in that time more about manners and society than in his whole life before he is still somewhat uncertain by his own place within said society. Unlike Barnabas, he doesn’t have years of practice to act so nonchalantly, demanding things as if he was somehow entitled to them.

Things like becoming member of one more or less secret gentlemen gathering. As unofficial the community around promising young architect Robert Smirke tries to be there is many rumors everywhere trying to determine what is the purpose of it and what are they discussing there?

Fortunately for Jonah his dearest friend was a member of it. Unfortunately said friend could not be less interested in anything happening during any of their meetings. Whenever Jonah asks him about what they were talking about Barnabas only shrugs because he never pays attention. He is member just because it seemed to be appropriate for man of his position and possession. That is also most likely why he was even invited to participate in the first place because – with all respects for his friend – it certainly could not be because of his wits. And if he was not losing so much money gambling there with other members he would be probably already kicked out.

“It will be delightful having you there, Jonah. You wouldn’t believe how boring the talks of most of the members are,” Barnabas says and Jonah only politely smiles. He cannot wait to engage in exactly those discussions that his friend describes as boring.

His dear friend Barnabas Bennett is – well – quite interesting person. He usually manages to be quite entertaining company for he seems to know everyone’s secrets and loves nothing more than sharing them with him. Also he is very fond of Jonah and very kindly offered him to stay at his place for unspecified amount of time. Unfortunately he can also be incredibly ignorant sometimes. There is only so much time Jonah can stand talking about art, poetry and music – which are the only subjects of any substance Barnabas has any knowledge about.

They arrive to a reasonably large house. Reasonably for this part of city; anywhere else it would be considered quite big. Jonah’s nervousness grows every second and he adjusts his collar even though there is not anything wrong with it. He would love to ask Barnabas for a hundredth time how exactly he looks but he is already raising his hand to a knocker. Upon knocking young gentleman opens with a frown on his face.

“Mr. Bennett, you are late. As always.”

“What can I say I am a busy man,” Barnabas waves his hand even though only thing he has been busy with today was interrupting Jonah’s reading by complaining about how this morning his eggs were a bit overcooked and by trying to get him to help planning his next travel abroad.

“And this is?” the man glances towards Jonah who has a bit of a hard time to hold smile on his face. He glances to Barnabas who for once remembers there is some etiquette to be followed.

“Mr. Smirke let me introduce you to my dear friend, Jonah Magnus. I brought him here today with me for he has expressed an interest to join our little gatherings.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Jonah offers his hand. Smirke hesitates before shaking it for the shortest amount of time which politeness requires.

“I would like to say likewise but I am sorry for I am about to disappoint you,” Despite his words there is no sign of regret in his words; only annoyance which is at least much more than on Jonah aimed at Barnabas towards whom Smirke turns. “As you should know Mr. Bennett we are currently neither looking for nor even considering accepting any new members.”

Jonah should have immediately known that as always by: ‘it is fine Jonah no need to worry,’ Barnabas meant: ‘I have no idea that if it is really all right but I intent to argue until it is.’

“I don’t see what the problem is Mr. Smirke, it is just a one person.”

“The problem Mr. Bennett, and if you bothered to pay attention for once you would know, is that matter we are discussing is too delicate and sensitive to just present them to anyone. Not to mention that their nature is also quite complex and complicated. Last thing we need is to trying explain it all to someone new and risk one more tongue to getting lose.” Jonah hangs desperately on every word painfully aware how close yet so far he is. There is million questions in his head and he would love nothing more than to start asking. However there is no point; it’s not as if he had the power to force people to answer him.

“But I can guarantee that there won’t be any issues with that. I give you my word that Jonah is one of the best educated and intelligent gentlemen I know. You do not need to worry about his ability to comprehend nor doubt his ability to be discreet.”

“Yes, well, apologies Mr. Bennett but I would have to hold some value to your word first so I could take it as an assurance for anything.”

“I do not like what you are suggesting. Also as I said before-…” Jonah puts a hand on his friend shoulder. Last thing he needs is for that fool to start a proposing duels or something similarly unreasonable. Besides he has learnt to have certain amount of distrust in his friend’s promises and so he has been doing a bit of research and preparation in case something like this happened.

“It is alright Barnabas[m1] I would hate to intrude. Please trust that was never my intention and I will leave immediately since my presence is not welcomed,” he turns towards Smirke who seems to be grateful enough just for holding Barnabas back. He has at least a polite smile on his face now. It is a good start. “Though I must admit it is really shame for I have wished to make an acquaintance with you for some time as I admire your work greatly Mr. Smirke.”

“You do?” there is mixture of curiosity and distrust in architect’s voice. Probably because Barnabas asks with surprise the same question. Jonah puts on his best excited expression.

“Of course! I have seen your work in Brightling Park, great use of classical style indeed. But of course the most impressive design of yours is at least in my humble opinion the Covent Garden Opera House. It is so unique I do not think I have seen any other Greek Doric building in London. I would love to learn more about your work! I have heard you have been commissioned to do a design for Castle for Earl Somers. Is it true or just rumors? Have you started planning yet?”

“Yes I indeed am about to start working on Eastnor Castle. You really seem to know a lot about my career.”

“Yes as I said I am a fan of your work but… oh apologies I’ve probably gotten way too excited. You are surely busy man Mr. Smirke and you have better things to do than discuss all your great accomplishments with me. Plus you have your club meeting right now. I would hate to be keeping you.”

“But Jonah…” Barnabas whines and Jonah smiles at him apologetically though he pays him almost no attention. By corner of his eye he catches glimpse of Smirke carefully measuring him with a thoughtful expression. There is hesitation. But there is also a great deal of interest.

“I will see you later Barnabas.” Jonah turns around but he does not make more than one step before he is stopped.

“Wait… Mr. Magnus, right? Perhaps I might have been a bit too abrupt with the rejection. I am trying to keep the number low but I think that our… let us say community of gentlemen could use more men like you. I cannot promise you anything but I think there is no harm letting you participate at least this once.”

“I am very honored. It would be my utmost pleasure”

Robert Smirke opens him the door and leads Jonah in walking by his side leaving Barnabas one step behind. Jonah has hard time to keep only moderately enough excited face because he cannot believe that few well prepared compliments and charming smile is really all he needed to turn the situation in his favor.

“Also… I suppose you can keep a secret? As I said certain things we discuss might be quite delicate.”

“Of course, any secret is safe with me.”

...

Special thanks to @infinity-and-luck for sharing their architecture knowledge with me.

#It was supposed to be focused mostly on Jonah's and Robert's relantionship and their first meeting #but of course I couln't help myslef and include a bit of Jonahbas #this time featuring a bit of *Barnabas is actually very much bastard who just happens to have soft spot for Jonah*#jonahmagnusweek #jonah magnus week 2021 #jonah magnus #barnabas bennett #robert smirke #jonahbas #tma #tma fanfic #magnus archives fanfic #my dear jonah #jonah week #mEye fanfic #mEye post #reblogs or comments and kudos on ao3 are appreciated

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zet-sway · 3 years

Text

Spiritual Shrios Summer Fill: Godless

PROMPT WORD: GODLESS | WORDS: ~1800

Rated: "G" - General Audiences AO3 Link: "The Frozen Sea" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: The ocean licks at her knees - not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shepard looks forward to being the first one up and awake.

Her cabin is suffocating. There are nights when she appreciates the privacy, but the silence of her isolated quarters makes her insides itch in an uncomfortable way. Just before the common area lighting begins to grow from the dim cadence of the night cycle, she leaves her room and greets the morning, intangible as only time on a starship can be. First she checks on the night crew, then starts coffee for Gardener. Finally, she makes her way down to the shuttle bay for PT. Alone.

It's unexpected when she has a visitor one quiet morning.

"Sere Krios," she says, rising from a deep stretch on the mat.

He smiles warmly, equally as surprised to see another soul at this hour. "Commander, good morning. And please, just Thane if you wouldn't mind."

Thane is the newest member of her crew and they've only spoken twice before. Maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise that he has his daily rituals as well, given his condition. He's dressed simply. Black pants, a sleeveless shirt, his defined, green chest exposed for all the world. Drell and humans share some attractive qualities. He's easy on the eyes.

She's staring, she realizes, and looks away. Thane takes his place on the mat and begins his own warm-up.

Day after day, he joins her, and they build a routine. Together, they begin with stiff, groggy stretches; then there's cardio, sweat, and strength training. Their conversations are light and technical. He respects her silence. She respects his discipline. On leg day, they limp back into the elevator in tandem. If she's lucky, she has time to join him and the crew for breakfast after her shower.

When she's alone, she quietly recalls how the light bends around the contours of his body.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He's there as usual when she steps off the elevator and into the shuttle bay. Fully armored, helmet under one arm, weapons holstered, but ready.

"Shepard. No training today?" He rises from his place on the mat where he's been exploring the human practice of yoga, per her suggestion. It suits him. Yoga is all about breathing.

"I was beginning to think you tired of my company."

She gives him a weary smile and shakes her head.

There's a new, abnormal tension between them and by his gaze she knows he feels it too. She likes Thane. She knows hardly a damn thing about him, but he's a comfortable presence, follows orders... doesn't ask intrusive questions. However, she's breaking their routine unexpectedly, and in the moment, his gaze is almost painful.

"Is there something I should know about Alchera?"

Okay, maybe he does ask intrusive questions.

His voice is a hot knife through her muddy thoughts. The detour to Alchera hadn't been on their flight plan, but somehow, he knows. Times like this, his eidetic memory puts her on edge. She asks herself how many other kernels of obscure knowledge are locked away in his mind.

Stepping up to prep the shuttle, she weighs the consequences of lying to his face. Only six people on the ship know where she's going and why, and she doesn't want to talk about it with any of them. The words are too hard to say out loud. This is where I died.

"Alliance HR," she says finally. A partial truth.

His brows rise and his posture straightens just a bit. "Human remains." Fuck if he isn't perceptive, but if he has questions, he keeps them to himself.

She nods once, happy to have stopped this conversation in its tracks. Then she changes the subject.

"PT tomorrow," she offers with a smile. "I can't be lifting without my spotter."

"Of course, Shepard. The pleasure is mine," he responds with an acknowledging nod. She feels bad for interrupting his training as he leaves on the elevator, but she doesn't want to face her team until her task is done.

Let's just get this over with.

Alone with her thoughts, she exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding and starts her pre-flight checklist.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It's well past dinner when she comes to him. The doors at his back swish open and she stands quietly inside the threshold. A fistful of clinking metal dangles from her hand and he knows she's come to have the conversation she avoided earlier.

"Did I catch you at a good time?"

"You did," he says smoothly. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

She sits across from him and the metal spills from her fist. Dog tags. Twenty of them. Her gaze is fixed on them and she appears shrouded in a fog of thoughts.

"Did you know them?" The question is gentle, he's almost afraid to know the answer.

Shepard takes a deep breath and blinks slowly. "Yeah. They were my crew."

Thane can feel a chill, as though the icy surface of the planet is still clinging to her long after she's left it. "Your ship went down on Alchera?"

She nods.

"...and you were among them."

"Yes."

He realizes now why she brushed off his words earlier. It strikes him as odd that she would bring this to him instead of Garrus, Tali, Joker, or Chakwas. All of them served on that ship with her, although he isn't sure if they were on board during the attack. She chose him for this, maybe because he'd asked, unknowingly, down in the shuttle bay. Regardless, she's here now and he struggles to understand her needs.

Thane refocuses. There's a pile of dog tags before him and each one represents a human life, now in the arms of Kalahira.

"May I read them?"

She glances up at him then, surprised. "Won't you remember them forever?"

"I'd like to."

Her lips twitch just slightly in the most cautious of smiles, and she nods. "Knock yourself out," a quietly uttered and somehow charming human expression.

Thane picks up each tag one by one and passes his eyes over them. Every name, a life extinguished. Stories unfinished. Loved ones mourning for years without closure or a body to bury. Memories percolate in his mind and he pushes them back because now is not the time. For each name, he offers a silent prayer to the goddess for their eternal peace. When he finishes, the tags are a neat horizontal stack before them.

Hands folded, he looks at her. "I don't see your name."

It's less of a question and more of an observation, but she dips one hand into her shirt collar and produces a pair of clinking metal tags. They dangle from a new chain but the metal scorched and scuffed almost to a state of illegibility. One from the Alliance, the other from the Spectres. Her name is heavily embossed into each one.

SHEPARD DECEMBER HUMAN SYSTEMS ALLIANCE

His expression lifts and he smiles, hopeful. "You survived."

Shepard shakes her head. "I was spaced."

"But you must have-"

"No, Thane." Her tone is firm, unwavering. "I was spaced."

Her intense green eyes pierce through him. There's a twinge in her voice that makes his insides clench. "I read the data on Project Lazarus. I died."

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Thane tries to control his features but her assertion shakes the very foundations of his faith. Many had said she died, but he'd always understood it as a metaphor - a near death experience.

He reaches into himself for calm and a memory rises, unbidden. "Jesus and Lazarus, from the Christian bible. '...I am the resurrection and the life.'"

"Kalahira..." he breathes. "Shepard, I didn't know."

She grunts out an ugly, short laugh and tears her eyes from his. "I can't believe you read the bible."

Her words fly past him without acknowledgement. He sees her as though through fogged glass, thoughts spinning. "Kalahira released you from the sea." When the words leave his mouth, they sound like irrefutable truth.

There's silence while she fidgets across from him, and then she asks, "Do humans go to the sea too?"

"We believe all life does."

He has a thought, then. "What do you believe, Shepard?

Her expression is mildly uncomfortable. "Before or after I died?" But then she shakes her head, reconsidering. "The universe is grand enough that maybe it is god's design. But I don't think god gives a damn about us. Agnostic, I guess." Shepard pauses and looks at him, but her eyes are distant. "Maybe I'd like to believe in your sea. Right now it feels easier to accept."

"To bring comfort in dark places is the purpose of spirituality. It does not matter what you believe as long as it brings you peace."

"Some humans would disagree with you."

Aware of the myriad of human religions and their conflicts, he brushes off her statement. "This is my truth. Their opinions don't concern me."

Shepard's gaze is searching, revealing the cracks in her armor, slivers of well-hidden vulnerability. "So I went to the sea. And now I'm back."

"If I am to accept what you say, I can offer no other conclusion." He doesn't ask what she remembers, he knows he might not like the answer.

"Then what am I now? Besides a soggy, undead cyborg?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm but Thane thinks over her question carefully, aware he will be turning it over in his mind for days to come. Kalahira, Irikah, Siha, the gods and their angels, his lover and confidant, memories and oaths... regrets and comforts.

A heavy veil of epiphany descends on him, awestruck, painfully aware of his mortality, and prickling with a primal, deeply buried fear. Once human and now something in between, she is Commander Shepard, avatar of the Sea, chosen of Kalahira. The ocean licks at her knees not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

The fist of tension in his gut calls to mind the image of Irikah's eyes in his scope all those years ago. I thought she was the goddess Arashu. But it's not Arashu who sits before him now, but Kalahira. Her icy breath howls across the inhospitable surface of Alchera, her unfathomable currents gathering those courageous enough to follow her into the abyss. How appropriate that she appeared just as he sought his demise in the Dantius Towers. She will be the one to ferry him into the unknown when they finally breach the relay. He prays she will be merciful.

Placing one hand over hers, Thane squeezes reassuringly. He doesn't linger, the gesture is as much for him as it is for her; he wants to know that she is real, as he finally answers her question.

'Then what am I now?'

"A woman with a purpose so great, the goddess herself answered the galaxy's cry for your return."

#spiritualshriossummer #thane krios #shrios #fshrios #zet writes things #december shepard #for now i'm calling the series 'approaching lightspeed' after a song i really like #spiritual shrios summer #this is one of several tricky conversations i need to write #and its probably the easiest one too so i have my work cut out for me x-x #TLDR shepard is a soggy undead cyborg

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crystxlclear · 3 years

Text

sudden desire

chapter six: previously on: chaotic stupid

part seven of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / three / four / five / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character (coraline meyer)

word count: 8.2k (oh yikes)

warnings: no beta read, brief mentions of pregnancy i guess?

author’s note: this took me weeks to write oh my god

Coraline hasn’t told anyone about Marcus’ offer. Not even Loren, when they’d met for the first time in months, when her boyfriend finally got a night off work to look after Maisie. Not even when they’d drunk too much wine and her head was so fuzzy that she probably would have told anyone anything, if they’d asked. She’s not even sure where she’d start.

Coraline has never been the best at keeping secrets. At least, not her own, and definitely not when she was younger, and she’s always wondering whether that’s why the media seem to think she’s easy prey for their rumours. It never seemed to bother Scott; he was the same, so open and willing to talk about anything and everything with anyone who asked. But it’s different with Marcus. He’s private by necessity but he’s also private by choice, too. She wonders if he’s always been like that, if before the heartbreak he’d told her about occurred, if he’d opened up to people. If what had happened to him had made him closed off. He’s never seemed like a closed book before (and, hell, maybe he isn’t, maybe he just doesn’t want to relive those times; and he doesn’t have to tell her anything, anyway) but he’d opened up to her after he’d made his ‘baby suggestion’. And all she can think of now, since he’d recounted the stories, was that those women - the ex-wife who’d claimed he was too ‘nice’, who’d claimed he was too ‘clingy’ and ‘needy’, and all that utter bullshit, and the one who’d left him for another man, left him alone in D.C. without a single person to lean on - must be completely insane to think that he isn’t good enough for them. Marcus Pike is too good for anyone, she thinks. He’s the best person she knows. Marcus Pike makes Coraline want to be a better person. They didn’t end up ordering takeout that night, like they always did. Coraline had found herself reaching to the back of her cupboards, searching blindly for some ingredients she wasn’t even sure she had, just for him. Marcus loves breakfast. Like, he really loves it, she’s come to find. And at any time of the day, really. And there’s a diner he frequents; it’s near his office, on the other side of town, tucked away just out of Cora’s reach. Though, he has taken her there once before - just after they first met, when she’d tagged along with her older brother to the FBI debriefing, to check his gallery was secure; she’d thought it was a date, until he’d prefaced his offer with an insistence that it was ‘just as friends’; Marcus had spent the whole time raving about the pancakes he ate every Friday — a treat for a long week’s worth and a change from his usual burger and fries — how he’d found the place by accident and it was part of his daily routine, now, until Coraline had given in and let him order for her, since he knew the place better than she did - most of the time, they see each other when it’s late, when he’s already been for his almost daily pancake-fix and she’s collapsed to the sofa with her legs draped over the armrest. They haven’t been back since, though she’d jump at the chance if he ever asked again. Coraline may be a pretty awful cook, and she may not be able to make pancakes as good as the ones he likes, but surely it’s just the sentiment that counts. He’s spent far too many evenings eating greasy Chinese food at her behest, insisting that he’s fine with it, because it makes her feel better. It’s the least she could do. She’d spent an hour making perhaps the world’s worst pancakes - even as Marcus insisted that she didn’t have to cook for him, that they could just order pizza or something if they wanted a change - pancakes so bad that she’d had to drench the damn things in syrup just to disguise the odd sour taste that somehow tinged every mouthful. Marcus had eaten it without issue, even as she’d apologised endlessly for her dreadful culinary skills and insisted that he didn’t have to eat them if he didn’t like them. They’d made him smile, though. And it melted away the last dregs of awkwardness between them. That was the pancakes’ purpose. It didn’t matter that they were utterly terrible, borderline inedible and a little lumpy.

But, when Monday rolls around and her older brother, Daniel, comes to her with his regular insistence that she brings that ‘nice FBI agent she’d made friends with’ to their weekly dinner at his house, she took him up on the offer, for a change. She’s never asked because she’s always assumed he would say no; they weren’t dating and it was a little weird. Surely an invite to weekly family dinners was something couples did.

She always ignores Daniel, used to the persistent insistence to ask him. Relenting — finally — comes with the sense that she feels as if she owes him now, though. To make it up for her dreadful pancakes with Daniel’s wife’s cooking, which was always amazing. To make up for the week of unforgivable ignorance. To help them move past the ill-thought-out offer of a baby. She’s sure he’ll still say no, when she calls him on his lunch break, when she knows he’ll be sat at the counter in that same diner, enjoying that brief moment of time away from paperwork. Their lunch breaks line up, those rare and all-too-rare moments when they have time to relax, the tension in their shoulders owed entirely to their morning workloads melting away at the soft sounds of the other’s voice.

His voice is pleasant, like it always is; Marcus Pike’s voice is like serenity to her, all gentle and familiar, and, this time, he sounds amused when he answers the phone. “Well, this is a nice surprise.” His voice crackles through the phone. The reception in the diner is terrible - it’s the only thing he ever seems to complain about - but she can still make out the sound of the smile in his voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Marcus.” Coraline hums, shoving the last of her laundry into the washing machine, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. “I’m calling with an invitation.”

“An invitation?” He ponders, musing over the idea. “To one of those glamorous celebrity parties you’re always telling me about?”

She scoffs. “Oh, you wish, Pike. It’s an invite to my brother’s for dinner. Incredibly glamorous, I know.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments. She almost regrets asking. She does when he replies. “Are you sure?” He questions. “I’m not sure-”

Coraline nods as if he can somehow see her through the phone. “I’m sure,” she insists, “Besides, Daniel and Kimmy want you to come.”

“Coraline, I don’t know-”

“Marcus, don’t make me beg.” She chuckles, but it’s a nervous chuckle. She knew he would say no; that’s why she hasn’t asked him, to avoid this awkward conversation between them when he was uncomfortable and looking for a subtle way to turn her down without hurting her feelings. “Please.”

There’s another pause as he lets out another muffled laugh. His tone is teasing when he speaks again; she can practically see the smirk as he sips his coffee. “And what’s in it for me?”

She bites the inside of her cheek, stifling a giggle.

She could think of a lot of ways to repay the favour.

Cora pushes through the onslaught of entirely… inappropriate thoughts, especially to have about your best friend and offers up the most innocent of offerings, though her voice slips to find that low, rumbling register reserved only for the discrete. Mundane words tipped in something intriguing. “I’ll never make you pancakes again.”

“Deal.” He snaps far too quickly through the phone.

Her mouth falls open. “Marcus,” she gasps, mock offence in her voice.

There’s silence for a moment. “Sunshine,” Marcus calls out through the static, like he’s sure he’s actually offended her. Like he could ever do that. “I thought your pancakes were great.”

Even a lie sounds like the truth coming from his lips.

“Damn right they were,” she insists.

When she lies, even when it’s laced with laughter, it sounds like one. She’s glaringly aware that’s a complete contradiction, given her job.

“Pancakes- real pancakes, diner pancakes- on me for a month.”

“Tempting.”

“...Two months?”

“Fine, fine. If you insist.”

The rush of breath that escapes her in relief is so embarrassingly loud, she’s sure he can hear her. She’s glad he’s not there, watching her, so he can’t see the wide, uncontrollable, entirely tooth-filled grin that splits across her face; she’s sure she looks maniacal, sat in her trailer on set, covered in thick dustings of fake mud from that morning’s scenes.

She’s never been more thankful for the solitude of a phone call before.

“I do insist. I’ll pick you up at five.”

Amusement, again, peeks through in his tone. She’s sure he’s eating pancakes — those blueberry pancakes with mountains of ice cream — because they’re the only thing that makes him happy like this, especially on a heavy workday. “In that super-fancy car of yours?”

She’s had her car for twelve-years. But it’s even older than that, fixed up by her father in his garage for what seemed like years. It’s an old run-down black Camaro from the seventies that she’s had since she was sixteen; far too trusty and sentimental to let go of, driving her cross-country from LA to DC without a hitch those six-months ago. It lives in the private parking lot down the street from her apartment complex, tucked away, out of use most days, because the traffic of DC is far too heavy in the mornings and it’s easier to walk or take the Metro instead. Weekly nights spent at Daniel’s on the opposite end of the city gave her an excuse to pull her car from its designated parking space and navigate the busy streets to the comforting hum of the engine.

Coraline knows Marcus loves her car, as much as he jokes about it. It’s evident in the way his face lights up when he sees her sat there, parked down the street outside the FBI headquarters; his smile illuminated by the harsh street lamps overhead, cutting through the darkness alongside the bright nearby office lights and flickering neon signs that cast stained glass shadows on the sidewalk. He’s watching her as she taps her fingers in time to a song she doesn’t recognise on the radio.

Marcus ducks into the car with a ‘hello’ lingering on his lips and ducks to kiss Coraline’s cheek; it’s a friendly gesture that lingers, not unfamiliar as a display of friendly affection between them, but still swelling that giddy sense of happiness in her chest like it’s the first time.

“I brought the beer.”

Coraline glances over at him warmly as she starts up the car. The engine rumbles to life, almost sounding unhealthy. She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder a little, fingers falling down his arms.

Marcus had insisted he bring something; a repayment for dinner, for Daniel and Kimmy inviting him over. She’d insisted he didn’t need to — neither of them would mind; they just wanted to meet the lead in so many of Coraline’s stories, for real this time — but then he’d insisted that he had to, that his mother would never let him live it down if she found out he forgot his manners and turned up without a thank you gift. So she’d told him to bring beer (not wine, definitely not wine, for Daniel’s sanity’s sake). And he’d obliged.

Not just that cheap beer, either. But the expensive kind, the kind you could only find in certain places if you were looking for it. He’s spared no expense.

He doesn’t need to impress them, though. They already like him well enough, on the basis of Coraline’s endless stories.

“Is what I’m wearing okay?” He questions as he smooths his hands over the front of his suit jacket. “I didn’t have time to change.”

He’s still wearing his work clothes — somehow still relatively undisturbed even after hours of the paperwork he’d been half-complaining about to her the night before — yet he still looks great. He’d probably look great in just about anything. Coraline looks entirely underdressed next to him; just blue jeans and a white shirt, and the thin golden pendant her mom had given her the night before her wedding hangs against her chest. She doesn’t wear it much anymore, not since the divorce. But Marcus had seen it the other day, while he was waiting for her to finish getting ready, perusing the expanse of her drawers, intrigued by the jewellery that hung from a stand. He’d said it was beautiful - with the delicately carved bird in the middle, surrounded by flowers - and she found herself reaching for it every morning since.

She’s not sure why. She just likes to wear it, now.

“You look great.” As always.

He scans what she’s wearing, casual and, as the wheels being their customary groan when she sets the car in reverse. “It’s not too much?” He’s shuffling awkwardly, hands tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket. Is he nervous?

She watches as he moves, shifting slightly in his seat; she’s watching from the corner of her eyes, half her focus on Marcus, the other on pulling out onto the busy road. He’s staring straight ahead, out at the car ahead of them, like the license plate is somehow the most interesting thing in the world right now. His brows are furrowed. The air between them is thick with anticipation and it’s like something has changed; for good or bad, she’s never sure with them anymore, not these past few months, but his hand is gripping his knee and somehow everything seems heavy again.

He’s met Daniel before, it’s not that. Briefly, sure. But that couldn’t be it. He’s usually so relaxed and laid back, especially around her, never worried about making a joke or goofing off. She doesn’t like seeing him like this.

She reaches over and squeezes his hand; he steadies himself and tilts his head towards her. Her smile is warm and bright and comforting, and the gentle brush of her fingers over the hand that grips his knee relieves the inexplicable anxiety that has strangled him from the moment she’d invited him to dinner. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what it means, what any of it means. Why things are suddenly so different between them after six months of being nothing but friends.

Why he, for some godforsaken reason, thought suggesting they have a baby together was a good idea.

Did he really want that?

Either way, he’s pretty sure Coraline doesn’t. Not with him, at least.

Cora hums, eyes dropping to herself and the wrinkled jeans she’d fished out from the back of her wardrobe. “Least you made an effort.”

…

Daniel Meyer is seven years older than Coraline. He’d always been fiercely protective of his younger sister when they were growing up; not in that abrasive, overbearing and destructive way, the way when your life is governed strict and rigid, but Daniel Meyer didn’t take kindly to people hurting his sister. Growing up, he helped her deal with things - the bullying in high school, the heartbreak of her first breakup - so it only seemed fitting that, when she’d moved to D.C., the same place he’d called home with his family for eight years, that he would do the same. That’s how their weekly family dinners were born, from his insistence to help his younger sister settle into her new home, in a new city she barely knew.

For the longest time, Scott Meyer was public enemy number one to him. Sometimes she wonders, now that it’s all over, the divorce is final - now that he’s out of her life for good - if he still is. Or if they’ve really all moved on like she thinks they have.

The second they arrive at his front door, greeted warmly by the smell of pie and a grinning Kimmy, wearing an apron and slightly flustered, looking just as welcoming as always. Her blonde waves - the waves Coraline has always been so jealous of - are pinned up haphazardly out of her face, half-spilling down her back from the clip that tries to hold it in place.

“Good evening.” Her voice sounds like a song, light and sweet, and her smile is even wider than usual as she glances between her sister-in-law and Marcus, who stands a little behind her, radiating that familiar confidence that Coraline is used to. The half-hour drive had relaxed him enough that, now he’s met with Kimmy’s friendly face, he’s the one that’s comforting her, with a gentle hand on her back and the silent reassurance that things will be okay.

Coraline is mostly worried about him. She's still not entirely sure he wants to be here. She doesn’t blame him.

Kimmy leans forward and kisses Coraline’s cheek in greeting, the usual gesture.

“This- well, you know Marcus.” Cora ushers towards her best friend beside her when she pulls back.

“Marcus, of course!” Her face lights up even more. “I’ve heard a lot about you since we last met.” Kimmy’s tone is amused. Her eyes waver towards Coraline, a knowing look in her eyes.

“It’s great to finally meet you, for real this time.”

Kimmy’s eyebrow quirks up at Coraline for a moment, the hint of a smirk as Marcus introduces himself, that same FBI Agent-trained surety tipping the edges of his voice, before she finally ushers them inside. It’s starting to get cold; the evening chill is creeping in from the river beside the house, reaching out towards them. Coraline is glad she’d tossed a coat onto the backseat of her car before she’d left and Marcus tugs his suit jacket tighter around himself. “Come in before you both freeze to death.”

The house is alive with the joyous yet shrill screams of children. Coraline’s nephews, to be exact. It always is. Every night. Every week she turns up and they’re running around, playing whatever game they deem fit that evening. Half the time, Coraline gets pulled into their games, whenever she’s not helping Kimmy in the kitchen (which isn’t often, because she’s hopeless at it). Of course, today’s no different.

The two of them are darting around the living room, screaming bloody murder as they wear themselves out; Finley, the oldest, is chasing Elliot, his curls falling haphazardly over his eyes. She can’t tell what they’re yelling about - she never can; it’s just a tangled mess of screamed words - but Elliot is giggling so much that he has to stop every couple of minutes to catch his breath. Finley stops with him, pulling himself from their games for a second to wait as they both regain their composure and carry on. They wear themselves out before dinner and then everything seems to go off without a hitch.

Cora hangs her coat on the hooks by the door and kicks off her sneakers, and Marcus follows suit with his jacket and dress shoes. He looks to her for guidance, that immediately understandable hesitation of being in an unfamiliar house, and this silent agreement settles between them as she sweeps her way into the living room. Her footsteps were light; so light, in fact, that she reached her nephews without disturbing them, startling Elliot when she scooped him up in her arms and spun him around. He complains at first, ducking his head away as she tries to kiss his cheek, letting out the most dramatic and exaggerated noises. Eventually, he gives in and curls his arms around her neck, pulling her close for a second, before he starts to kick again, restless in her arms.

Finley takes to wrapping himself around her right leg and suddenly the three of them end up sprawled out and giggling brightly on the carpet.

Marcus watches from the doorway. He thinks she’ll be a great mom someday. It’s the little things she takes in her stride.

“Hello to you too, Cora.” The low, amused voice of Coraline’s brother, Daniel, comes from inside the living room.

“Hey there.” She’s still giggling. She can’t help it. Finley and Elliot unhook themselves from her and each other and resume their endless laps of the couch.

Daniel stands over her with raised eyebrows. His tie has long-since been discarded and he cuts a casual figure as he cradles the youngest of the Meyers, Piper. She’s only six months and the smiliest baby Cora has ever seen. Usually, she’s asleep by the time Coraline arrives, either cradled in her father’s arms or tucked away in the crib upstairs; today, her legs are kicking back and forth and her hands are fisting into his dress shirt. She’s restless - she knows sometimes that she is, that when they finally cradle her to sleep, it’s best that they leave her or risk jolting her awake for the rest of the night - but she’ll let her wriggle around in her arms for hours if it means catching up on the time she’s missed with her niece all those nights she’s been asleep.

“I brought Marcus.” Cora points towards Marcus as he leans against the doorframe, watching her with fond eyes. She tilts her head back to look at him; he’s smiling and she wants to reach for him. She reaches for Daniel’s extended hand instead, pulling herself up from the floor. She groans uncomfortably, her back aching a little. “Marcus, you’ve met my brother, Daniel.”

Coraline reaches out for her niece; that brooding feeling swells bright and burning again when she takes her, cradling her close into her chest, and she can’t help but glance up at Marcus as Daniel moves to greet him - just barely acquaintances but familiar enough to avoid those awkward initial introductions. He’s watching her, still, as she says ‘hello’ to her niece and gently rests her cheek against the top of Piper’s head. It’s like they’re both wrapped up in that moment where it’s just the two of them - all too fleeting, cut short by Daniel’s greeting and the persistent shouting of children - but it feels lovely. Even if this moment is all they’ll ever get.

Coraline savours the moment with her niece because it’s rare and often fleeting; her, Daniel and Kimmy’s schedules are crammed tight with work and unavoidable commitments and that weekly dinner is the only time each week they can spare to see each other. If Piper is asleep, then Coraline won’t get to say ‘hi’ to her niece. It’s an unfortunate consequence of their careers.

“That’s Elliot-” She points her finger at her smallest nephew. “-and that’s Finley-” Then to the tallest of the two. “-and this… this is Piper.” She bounces the tiny baby lightly in her arms, turning her body so Marcus could get a glimpse at the small smile that pulled at Piper’s lips as her small fist grabbed at Coraline’s shirt.

She’s already told him about them all before. He knows their names. But this is the first time he’s ever met the kids. And it’s somehow maybe the most terrifying thing he’s done in a long time, including that one warehouse shootout his team found themselves in a few weeks earlier.

He feels overdressed and a little ridiculous, just stood there, looking like a lost puppy in the entryway, in his suit and tie. Unsure what to do with his hands or his eyes, or what the hell to say to cut through his quiet. He usually brought a change of clothes to the office if he knows he has somewhere to be but, somehow, in his blind panic at the idea of meeting the family, he’d forgotten to grab anything to change into. And that ease in meeting new people, that effortless skill he’d built up over years of practice, the perks of the job, just seems to have melted away the second he stepped into the house behind Coraline, under the well-meaning scrutiny of Kimmy. This is all normal for her - this weekly routine she’s fallen into - but it’s unfamiliar territory for him.

It almost feels like something it isn’t. Meeting the family. That point in a relationship when you first realise things are serious. Only this isn’t a relationship. And he’s already met Daniel and Kimmy before, even if it was briefly, and while he was working and distracted with planning a stakeout. And Coraline. Always Coraline. But something about her smile just commanded attention, back then - it still does - even when she tries to blend into the background. Once he noticed her. Sat alone at an empty conference table, comically-oversized name badge pinned to the front of her dress, her lips curling up a little as she sipped the sour FBI coffee.

Everyone else had passed the glass-walled room without even a second glance.

He, on the other hand, was convinced he’d just seen a ghost. She’d almost startled him, breath leaving his chest. An utter cliche.

Marcus had recognised her face from TV - though, admittedly, he wasn’t really up-to-date on pop culture, definitely lingering a couple of decades behind, age and time catching up on him, spare time buried beneath a mountain of paperwork to distract himself from Teresa and the unfamiliarity of D.C. - but he always remembers thinking she was pretty. Really pretty. But he always finds it a little embarrassing how much she a hold over him that day, how he’d had to take a second to psych himself up, talk himself down from that nervous ledge he was staring over, before he even thought about entering the room.

It’s weird, looking back, thinking how much has changed. But the changes keep coming, thick and fast, and sometimes it becomes less and less obvious what they are anymore.

“Marcus.” Daniel reaches out a hand for him to shake. He shakes it graciously and says his hellos. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That’s the second time he’s heard that today. Coraline rolls her eyes a little. It’s not the first time she’s heard it, either. It almost makes Marcus laugh but then she smiles again, half-concealing a grin, and he forgets what he’s thinking about for a moment.

But then he wonders what she tells them about. Whether those stories are good or bad, whether they paint him in colour or in black and white.

With Coraline, he figures it’s probably the brightest landscape of technicolour, regardless of who she’s talking about.

“I’m glad Cora finally asked you to come.”

“Well, you talk too much. I didn’t want to bore him.” Cora shrugs, her full attention on Piper.

“More like scare him away.”

He’s not sure she could ever scare him away.

“Finley is terrifying,” she admits with a giggle but she seems distant. She looks up to raise an eyebrow at him again. Her words are slow, almost drawn out. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get out while you still can.” It’s meant to be light and joking, and Daniel laughs at her words. Given the way she’s looking at him, he’s not sure.

She just keeps looking at him like there’s no one else around.

She can’t help it. She keeps trying. It isn’t working.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Daniel insists as the boys rush past Marcus; he has to step out of the way to avoid them, smiling as they manoeuvre around him and race out of sight into the back of the house. He smiles fondly as they pass. “They’ll calm down in a second.”

“You hope they’ll calm down.” Coraline jabs her older brother in the ribs playfully. He chuckles as lightly as he can but it's obvious he’s tired; his shoulders slump and his eyes linger closed a little longer than normal, Coraline notices. He’s been working flat-out at his gallery every day, then running home to help with the kids. And Piper is a restless baby - difficult to get to sleep which means that, if she’s asleep when she arrives, she can’t say hello for risk of waking her up - so, unless Daniel or Kimmy are holding her while the house is still alive and humming around her, she refuses to fall asleep. “I think-” She looks towards Marcus. He’s inched closer into the room, now, but he’s still lingering like he needs to be invited in. “-you’ll just have to get used to it.” She hums.

“I’m still not used to it and they’re my kids,” Daniel grumbles, almost to himself.

“Piper seems okay with it.” Marcus points out. He watches as his best friend cuddles the tiny baby close to her chest.

Piper’s looking up at Cora with the brightest eyes. They’re Coraline’s eyes - Daniel’s too, he assumes - that light emerald green that sparkles beneath the warm living room light. Her mouth is in an ‘o’ shape, fascinated, as she stares. She looks utterly transfixed by her aunt’s face as she carries on their idle, gentle conversation, lightly bobbing her up and down, cradling her softly to sleep. Her eyelids were drooping, sleep gently pulling her in. She’s humming gently, whenever she’s not speaking; Marcus isn’t even sure she realises she’s doing it. That it’s just some subconscious instinct inside her, telling her to sing to the baby so she can sleep. She’s drawing gentle circles on her back through her onesie. Slow, idle circles that slow the wriggles and the kicking of his legs, lulling her off to sleep ever-so-slowly.

It’s like she’s a natural. She knows exactly what to do every time; with Piper, with Maisie. It’s like second nature and there’s this even brighter glow, brighter than usual, when she settles into the role. She takes it all in her stride and seems to forget the world around her just for a moment.

“How do you do that every time? Can you come and do that every night?” He jokes. But he doesn’t seem to be entirely joking.

She hums. “Perhaps-” She rests her cheek against the top of her head as lightly as she dares without disturbing her. “Perhaps I’m just a superhero.”

The yells of kids echo through the house, the hammering of feet pounding against the wood floor. Kimmy’s muffled exasperated calls for quiet come from the kitchen, falling on deaf ears as the boys continue to charge through the back of the house.

Coraline catches her brother’s gaze. “Go and help.” She’s noticed the way he’s been watching his daughter anxiously, worried that she won’t fall asleep through all the noise and excitement and the gentle hum of Coraline’s made-up song. “I’ve got her,” she insists.

“Are you sure?”

Piper is slowly drifting off to sleep, even despite the noise. Just at the warmth of her aunt cradling her and the gentle hum of her sweet voice lulling her asleep. “I’ve got her,” she repeats. “Go and help Kimmy.”

Daniel’s shoulders slump in relaxation. He mouths a ‘thank you’ as he jogs from the room, calling out to his sons to stop them from charging around, insisting that they wash their hands and settle down for the sake of their sister.

Now, it’s just Coraline, Marcus and a half-asleep Piper left alone in the living room.

The tension in the air is thick and heavy for a moment.

“Marcus, you’re staring,” she points out. She’s not even looking at him, just can just feel the weight of his kind gaze and it sets her heart racing at a hundred miles an hour. “I’d let you hold her-“ She says as he steps a little closer; now Daniel is out of the room, he’s relaxed. It’s like, without him there, he can pretend it’s just the two of them and Piper curled up content against Cora’s chest, even despite the yell of children’s voices and the unfamiliar surroundings. “-but, if I did that, we’d never get her off to sleep.”

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “I think she’s happier with you.” He settles beside her.

Coraline’s thumb brushes over Piper’s cheek and the baby smiles a tiny smile, eyes still close and fisting her hands tighter into the white material of her shirt. There’s a blissful silence that settles between the three of them — just for a moment — when she looks up at him beside her, watching the pair of them sway gently to a seemingly silent song. The weight of the moment engulfs them like a tidal wave.

“Marcus-“ she breathes out, barely loud enough for him to hear. But he does, in the relative silence, and the way she says his name rips the air from his lungs, like the first time she’d surprised him the day they’d met. Her green eyes are wide and wild and she’s looking between him and Piper like they’re the only things left in the world.

They could do it.

He knows what she’s going to say, if she had the chance. If Daniel hadn’t returned, calling out to them that dinner was ready.

They could do it. He knows they could, she knows they could. They could have this fleeting moment for as long as they both live. Their own little version of paradise, together. No matter how terrible the idea seems to be, they could. But Coraline knows she can’t stay in that world forever. It’s temporary and, as much as she wants that, all day, every day, for herself and not through someone else, she knows she can’t let herself get too in over her head.

Still, Marcus really does think she’ll be an amazing mom.

...

After much persuasion — and the promise of candy after dinner — Finley and Elliot finally settled down long enough for them to eat. Coraline had set Piper down to sleep in her crib upstairs, lingering perhaps a little too long to marvel down at her only niece, wondering what it would be like if she was looking down at her own daughter.

She knows it’s a hopelessly bad idea. That the feelings will catch up with her and pull her under again. Sometimes she just can’t help it.

She returns with that fake smile Marcus has become a pro at noticing. She looks wistful, longing in her eyes, disguised by the small smile that takes over her face when she slides into the seat at the dinner table beside him. She smooths out her shirt and jeans, wrinkled from the baby. Another smile, an assurance that Piper is okay and sleeping soundly upstairs, and the conversation moves on to mostly idle chatter, and Daniel asking Marcus questions about himself. Coraline keeps shooting her brother glances whenever he asks a new question that almost seems too personal. He doesn’t mind one bit, though.

Marcus finds Coraline’s free hand under the table and squeezes at some point. She doesn’t want him to let go.

“Auntie Cora?” Finley asks, leaning his chin on his hand to stretch across the table. His questioning call of her name breaks through the idle conversation they’re all having, like he’s demanding all their attention, and not just Coraline’s.

It steals a moment of quiet between them all.

“Nephew Finley?” She replies, mimicking his stance and the curious, furrowed-browed expression on his face.

“When are you going to have a baby, like Piper?”

It’s a loaded yet completely innocent question on his behalf. He’s merely a curious five-year-old with no ill intentions, and no reason to believe it’s anything other than a normal question; Coraline doesn’t even flinch, even when Kimmy scolds her son sharply and insists he eats the rest of his dinner. Though, Marcus still sees the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Instead, she just smiles and laughs that brightly enchanting laugh, tilting her head to the side in response to her nephew as he sinks back into his chair and pokes at his potatoes.

“Well, I don’t know,” she replies truthfully, “Soon, maybe.”

Marcus almost thinks her eyes waver towards him but it’s so quick that he reasons that, perhaps, he’s seeing things.

“Soon?” Daniel catches up with her words. “You seeing someone?”

“Oh-“ Coraline swallows thickly. She shakes her head. “No, no, not at all. I’m just- optimistic, I guess.”

“I’m sure there’s someone out there for you,” Kimmy poses.

Coraline hums. Marcus doesn’t see the way her gaze trails towards him. “I’m sure there is.”

...

The rest of dinner passed without any more questions on the matter, Finley’s attention switching towards Marcus instead. He was persistent, firing questions at him across the dinner table like he was leading an interrogation, but Marcus kept answering just as enthusiastically as the first time. He’d skirted around the facts a little - it wasn’t exactly a great idea to tell a child, seemingly without a filter, that you were an FBI agent - but the whole exchange had been wonderful. Coraline was sad to see it finish when Kimmy announced the boys could have dessert and they'd leapt from their seats to race towards the cookie jar.

Marcus had offered to help Kimmy wash up as a thank you but she’d brushed him off, and, eventually, he’d resigned to the living room with Daniel. It had taken Coraline months to convince Kimmy that she should let her help clean up, there was no way she would have accepted Marcus’ offer immediately.

Instead, it’s just Coraline and Kimmy, working in tandem to clean the dishes, while Daniel spends time with the kids after a long day at work, and pulls Marcus into their conversation like an old friend.

“I’m sorry about Finn. He’s-” Kimmy shakes her head as she sets another plate down in the drying rack. “He’s been going through one of those... phases lately.”

“It’s fine, Kim, truly.” Coraline sets a couple of dry plates down on the counter and turns to smile at her, before carrying on her job. Sometimes Kimmy jokes about how ridiculous it is that they use so many plates since Piper was born. “He’s just curious,” she insists. “And he makes everything a little more colourful.”

Kimmy chuckles. “That he does.” She washes down another plate. “So, Marcus is great.” She hums, changing the subject towards her with a quirk of an eyebrow and a small, knowing smirk on her face.

Coraline smiles. Though, it’s more to herself than Kimmy. “He really is, isn’t he?”

“Are you two… y’know… is there anything there or-?”

“Oh, no! No, no. We’re just-” Friends. “Just friends.”

“Well-“ She quirks an eyebrow at her sister-in-law. “-maybe you should? Just see how it goes. One date at a time.” Kimmy’s suggestion is as innocent as Finley’s question over dinner. She doesn’t understand the weight it holds. And she doesn’t expect her to, anyway. They’re close but just barely close enough. “Things might surprise you and it’ll do you good to get back out there again after, y’know-“

“No, we-” She shakes her head and turns to finish putting away the plates in the cabinet. In the quiet, she hears Marcus laugh from the living room. It’s one of those whole-hearted laughs, when his head lulls back and his eyes screw shut and crinkle at the corner. She wonders which one of them made him laugh like that, or what made him laugh like that. She hopes Daniel hasn’t pulled out the picture albums; he’s worse for that then their parents. But, since Daniel had made his fortune as an art buyer, eventually to the point he’d made enough to buy his own art gallery, a year ago, Coraline should have known that he and Marcus would get on. They had a lot in common. She’s so glad he likes him, though she can’t imagine a reason why he wouldn’t. “Friends. Friends.”

There’s another silence and she can feel Kimmy’s eyes burning into the back of her head. She turns to see the tail-end of a raised eyebrowed glare, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, you never know unless you try, Cora.”

“There will be no trying,” Coraline insists, jabbing Kimmy in the side with her nail. She grins and lets her blonde tresses fall over her shoulder. “Of any kind. He doesn’t see me that way.” She finishes.

“Do you see him that way?”

Another pause.

“No.”

Maybe that’s a lie.

Maybe Kimmy knows that.

Maybe Marcus knows that.

Coraline isn’t sure whether she knows that, though.

“Sure about that?”

Coraline scoffs and turns to continue packing dried, clean plates into the cupboards. “You’re worse than Dan, sometimes.”

“Oh, I take offence to that.”

“Shut up and finish the dishes.” Coraline chuckles, crossing her arms and scowling at the lack of crockery left to dry.

“Just don’t write things off so quickly,” she insists, “It might surprise you.”

...

Daniel and Kimmy had tried to persuade them to stay for drinks late into the evening. The boys were shipped off to bed at the usual time, complaining that they wanted to stay up instead, as usual. But Marcus has work in the morning and Coraline has a long string of interviews; the idea of a late-night sounds less than ideal, her eyes already stinging at the idea of staying up any later than they had it.

Instead, they’d make their excuses and leave, ducking away into Coraline’s car with an exhausted groan. The boys had run wild right up until they went to sleep, nagging Coraline and Marcus to play with them every five minutes, even as Kimmy and Daniel insisted that they settle down and get ready for bed. It’s still late when they leave, though. D.C is eerily quiet as they weave through the roads, small crowds of people scattered through the repeating streets of suburbia.

The car ride home is silent of their voices. Not that uncomfortable silence, from before, when things had been awkward between them and neither of them were sure where the other stood. But that kind of satiated, happy and, admittedly exhausted, silence that pools over them. The low hum of the car engine and the radio is persistent in the space between them. Marcus keeps stealing glances over at her as she drives; he can’t help it, but he doesn’t think she notices, her eyes far too focused on the road ahead of her. And, if she does, she doesn’t mention it. Just keeps letting him glance over at her as the street lights illuminate the gentle angles of her face.

He’s glad she never mentions anything. He’d be too embarrassed if she did.

Instead, she’s lost in the music. That blissful flicker of emotion that crosses her face when she hears a song she likes, when her eyes light up at the sound of one of her favourite songs. Her radio is always tuned into some old rock station - he has no idea what it’s called, it’s usually just a continuous loop of different songs cut with the low gravelly voice of a man who sounded like he’d smoked one too many cigars - and most of the songs are the same songs she’s playing on her record player when he arrives at her apartment and she’s dancing around the kitchen while she cooks. He recognises a lot of them from his college days, songs he used to play with his band. It makes him feel old, sometimes, when she tells him they’re songs she spent her teen years with, even though there aren’t too many years between them.

It’s I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing that plays now; she’s a sucker for those objectively-cheesy rock ballads. They’re her mom’s favourites, too. And, maybe he won’t admit it, but Marcus has heard her favourites enough to count them amongst his, now. Maybe he just likes the way they make her smile. Coraline is humming along, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the top of the steering wheel idly as her eyes follow the road ahead. Every so often, a flicker of neon tints her in colour when they pass a takeout, the only things still open and busy. The curve of her profile and each curl of her hair is highlighted in red.

It’s these moments of distracted bliss, when everything seems to exist without a care in the world, that he likes the most.

It never lasts long enough.

He insists she just parks in the garage she usually uses, by her apartment building, and he’ll walk her home. She protests - because of course she does - offering to drive him all the way home instead, but it’s dark and even in this quiet, well-off part of town where the streets should be safe, you never know who might be lurking. Maybe it’s the things he’s seen and heard of in the FBI - everything he’s seen during his training, heard through whispers and stories in the office - but sometimes he can’t shake the simple action of making sure someone is safe.

It’s still silent between them as they near Coraline’s apartment complex. That short two minute walk down the quiet, tree-lined street that sparkles with chains of fairy lights. It’s lethargic and lingering, each step heavy with the weight of something that echoes through the quiet neighbourhood.

“Cora, I’m sorry.”

It comes out of nowhere and it worries her. And Coraline has absolutely no idea why Marcus is apologising to her. As far as she’s concerned, he hasn’t done anything wrong. At least, not that she knows of.

“For what?” She questions, brow furrowing up at him as they walk. Their hands keep brushing but she doesn’t have it in her to move her hand away.

“I had no right to drop the baby bomb on you like that,” he admits. He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck uncomfortably. When his hand drops, his fingers brush against her knuckles. “I’m sorry if I made you feel trapped. It was a terrible idea. I should have thought-“

“Yes,” she blurts it out before she can stop herself. She’s not entirely sure she’s thought this through. But she can’t help it.

“Yes, what?”

“The offer.” Her whisper is loud in the suddenly-stifling silence of the street. “If it’s still on the table- yes. I’ll have a baby with you.”

“Coraline-” He gulps and stops dead in his tracks. They’re outside her gate, now. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you won’t.” Coraline insists. She steps closer to him, sea-green eyes staring up at him with heavy expectation. He’s the one that suggested it. He’s the one that had laid in bed until the early hours of the morning, losing precious moments of sleep as his brain swam with questions, wondering whether he should suggest this to her in the first place, or if it was an awful idea. But, somehow, he can’t seem to convince himself that this is a bad idea, that he should just let her down easy, now. It’s seeing her with Piper, seeing her with Maisie, seeing how she lights up around them.

If he can make her that happy, every single day, why the hell would he turn that opportunity down?

Besides, he’s pretty sure it would make him equally as happy. He’s thought about having kids since he was just a kid himself. And god knows the world seemed to have it out for him when it came to love, things aren’t happening any time soon; he can’t really think of anyone better than Coraline to have a baby with.

And, as much as Coraline knows how recklessly stupid the whole idea is, she can’t bring herself to want anything more or less than this. Than him. “It is a terrible idea, y’know?” She finds herself insisting, blinking up at him with those beautifully-wide eyes.

“Truly awful.”

“And there are a hundred different things that could go wrong.”

“Hundreds.”

“But-“

“Maybe we should… try? Maybe just for a little while. See what happens.”

“Maybe we should.” He exhales long and deep out of his nose. “Maybe…” He tilts her chin up towards his with one finger and suddenly he’s kissing her. His fingers brush her jaw, curving up towards her ear and brushing into her hairline at the nape of her neck. Even the soft touch of his hand against hers as they walked was driving her insane but this, this is on another level.

It’s more than the first time they kissed. Less of a brief touch of lips, more of a wave of relief flooding through them both, unfamiliar feelings surging up inside them. This kiss is full of urging anticipation. She’s pulling him closer to her before she can stop herself, their chests flush, lips and hands strong and insistent against each other.

The fumble to her front door seems like the most practised thing they’ve ever done. Familiar when it shouldn’t be, even as they bump into things on their way.

taglist: @wheresthewater

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike #sudden desire #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x oc #the mentalist #original character #oc

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snowdice · 3 years

Text

Having a Ball (Dice Roll 14)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, Remus/Virgil

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Virgil, Remus, Roman

Summary:

Yet, he was not to be alone for much longer, as just as he turned his head back to the crowd, the doors to the ballroom opened, admitting another guest. Logan found himself unable to look away as the man entered the room with no fanfare. Most of the other guests did not even notice him, but Logan did. He was pushing through the crowds a moment later.

Logan dances with a man at a ball.

Universe: Royalty

Genre: Fluff

Notes: Cinderella AUish, Sexual innuendo

This is part of my Roll the Dice Event which is where I do random ships, universes, and genres for the Sanders Sides fandom. For more details see this post. I posted a few days ago my results from this dice roll here. You can read the last one of these fics here.

Balls had always been the bane of Logan’s existence. His father had once told him that he’d grow to enjoy them, but even at the age of 50, he still thought the things were nonsense. At least, for the most part. He could barely tolerate the drivel that passed for conversation with most of the guests, and just attempting to cross the room was often hindered by bodies dancing and moving about. Unlike his younger brothers, Roman and Remus, he did not have the ability to flow with the crowds. The fact that he’d never even thought to attempt to learn was inconsequential. Just like this event itself. He didn’t even know the occasion for this one.

Roman was already off and about enjoying the attention he garnered from the crowds. Truly, he was the main reason Logan still permitted these balls. He would approve them every time with the condition that Roman would be the one to plan everything, and Logan would only consent to show up on the actual day. Roman was more than pleased by this arrangement and Logan couldn’t say he resented the younger man’s enjoyment of the task.

Remus also enjoyed the balls, but for a different reason. He was currently off doing… lord knew what, but it was probably something Logan should care to prevent. He did not care to prevent it, however, as he knew the moment Remus was done sowing mischief, he’d sweep away the only other sane person currently at this event, leaving Logan alone.

“What even is the theme of this one supposed to be?” Virgil asked from beside him. Logan’s brother-in-law was the only person in the room not wearing a mask, though he had one in his hand.

Logan squinted out at the crowds. “Green?”

Virgil snorted. “I doubt Princey would be so uncreative. It’s probably something like Woodland Fairy Summer Solstice in a Meadow After a Rainstorm.”

“No, no,” Logan said, suppressing a smile. “I do believe that was three times ago.”

“Ugh. No offence to you, but I’m divorcing your brother, so I don’t have to deal with your bloodline’s antics anymore.”

There was a faux wounded gasp from behind Virgil. “What is this I hear?” Remus asked, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s waist from behind. Despite Remus’s feigned discontent, he pressed his lips to his husband’s neck. “Am I being betrayed by my love?” he breathed into his ear.

“No, stop,” Virgil hissed, trying to squirm away. “We are in public and in front of your brother!”

“Oh,” Remus said. “If only there was a way to keep you anonymous so you wouldn’t have to be embarrassed.” He plucked the mask out of Virgil’s hand and basically slapped his face with it.

“Everyone knows who I am anyway,” Virgil groused, but he did reach up to secure it to his face. “I’m the only one Roman can never force to wear his outfit designs. I stick out.”

“And whose fault is that?” Logan asked amused.

“Roman’s for having such shitty taste.”

“Well, no argument’s here,” Remus replied with a chuckle. Then he hummed, releasing Virgil briefly, only to grab both of his hands. “I guess the only avenue open to us it to go make out in a dark corner.”

Virgil sputtered, face turning crimson behind his mask as he glanced nervously at Logan. Logan just raised an eyebrow. It was ridiculous that he still grew embarrassed about Remus saying such things even after over two decades of marriage. Logan himself had long ago grown numb to it. Remus shot Logan a wink and Logan return it with a droll look. The next moment, Virgil was being pulled away, leaving Logan well and truly alone. Logan mourned his loss.

He bumped shoulders with a few of his guests but could not muster any regret. He mumbled a few courtesy apologies without even glancing at the recipient. No one dared protest as, even with the mask, they could almost certainly identify him as the king.

The man had just made it to the bottom of the staircase by the time Logan shoved past the last of the crowd. He looked up at Logan as he approached and though Logan could only see his eyes through the mask he wore, he could still without a doubt say he was stunning.

He’d obeyed Roman’s theme for the most part but tweaked the color scheme just enough to stand out from the crowd. The outfit was somewhere between a suit and a dress, the top being a suit jacket over a waistcoat, but the bottom flaring out into a long skirt. Logan could not tell if it was one or two pieces. It was green as instructed by the invitations Roman had sent out, but with a touch of blue here and there and the accents edged further toward gold than the suggested brown. Logan could not see his mouth as it was covered by the bluish-green mask, but he could tell by his eyes that he smiled when Logan stopped in front of him. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Logan said.

“Hi,” he replied.

Without missing a beat, Logan offered his arm. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Amusement pooled in his eyes. “That’s rather forward of you, Mr. Stranger,” he said, yet he still took the offered arm, “but, yes.”

With his permission, Logan pulled him towards the dance floor just as another song began. Something about the man made the movements of the dance easier for Logan. He was always pinpoint accurate with his steps, but he’d been criticized as too stiff his entire life. Yet, Logan could feel himself loosen up with the man in his arms. His mind drifted from the order of the steps to focus almost completely on him, on the way his eyes sparkled with glee and the way his hand gripped at Logan’s shoulder. They were inappropriately close, but Logan didn’t care at all. In fact, he leaned his head in closer to listen to him speak and speak they did. They spoke about everything and nothing until Logan couldn’t even recall how many songs they’d danced too. Eventually, the conversation stalled to a comfortable silence.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” the man asked after a few minutes of them just dancing.

“I wasn’t,” Logan said simply.

The hand on Logan’s shoulder squeezed a bit at that. “But you are now?” he asked.

“Well, most of my discontent was due to the fact that I’d been lacking good company.”

Logan could imagine the smile under the mask with perfect clarity. “Well…” he said. “If the event itself isn’t fun for you, perhaps we could go somewhere else.”

Logan could love no idea more. He leaned in so his lips were near the man’s ear. “We will have to sneak away so my brother does not see.”

“Hmm,” the man contemplated, looking around. “We can pretend we are going to the balcony for some air and sneak off to the garden,” he suggested.

Logan glanced around the ballroom, locating Roman who was currently chatting with a small group of guests on the opposite side from the balcony. “That seems to be an adequate plan,” he agreed. His partner shifted the dance slightly putting them on a trajectory that led them towards the balcony. Logan kept his eyes on Roman every time they turned to make sure he wasn’t watching them. Eventually they made it to the balcony doors and stepped off the dancefloor together. They walked casually towards the balcony and then with one last glance back at Roman, they dashed out of sight towards the door that would lead down to the garden.

It was guarded as guests were not allowed in the garden, but the guards stepped aside for Logan easily, and the two of them slipped out into the night air. The man giggled when the door closed behind them, assuring their freedom, and Logan could not help but laugh as well.

Then, they were off to walk into the garden. Of course, they had been dancing for so long that they were starting to get tired, so after only a few minutes, they found a bench hidden from any castle windows by a long row of bushes.

They settled onto it and sat there for a few minutes, just soaking in each other’s company. They did not need to speak but for a few words. Every so often the man would giggle breathlessly, probably still in reaction to their daring escape.

Finally, Logan turned to him with a tender smile on his face. “May I take off your mask?”

“You may,” he agreed easily. Logan reached up as soon as the words left his mouth to carefully remove the mask and reveal a very familiar face.

“Hello,” Logan said.

“Hi,” Patton replied, his face flushed, but happy. Logan leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, and he giggled. “You always find me, huh?”

“Always,” Logan promised. “Even when I have no idea who you are or what your face looks like. Even if all I have to go on is a stupid magic shoe made out of glass.”

“Aw honey, I love you too!” He leaned forward to kiss Logan, but before their lips could meet, a voice spoke up.

“Nope!” Virgil’s voice said. “Nope, they’re kissing. I can’t keep quiet anymore.”

Logan frowned and looked back to see Virgil’s head had popped out of the bush behind them. As unhappy as he had been when the man had left him earlier, he was even more unhappy to see him now. Logan glared down at him.

“Hello, Virgil,” Patton giggled.

“Do the two of you have to do this every goddammed time?” Virgil groused. “We get it. You broke a curse with a magic shoe and stubbornness.”

“And love,” Patton reminded.

“Ugh.”

“Aw, let them have their kinky roll play,” Remus’s voice said from within the bushes.

Virgil grimaced. “Ew.”

“Says the man currently hiding in the bushes,” Logan shot back.

“I’ll have you know this was a completely nonsexual romp through the bushes,” Virgil claimed, but then his eyes widened as he jumped and yelped. “Remus!”

“Tell them to go away. We were here first,” Remus whined.

“I was born first,” Logan groused.

“Well, I already have my pants off.”

Virgil looked down quickly, face going red at what he saw. “When did you take your pants off?!”

“You’re lucky you still have your pants on,” Remus said.

“We are not screwing in a bush, Remus,” Virgil said. Then, “Hey!”

Remus laughed lowly and Logan looked back at Patton. “Perhaps we should just leave them to it.”

“That’s probably for the best, knowing them” he agreed, standing up. “We’ll be in the gazebo, boys,” Patton told them. He grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled, and well, Logan would never not follow him.

#sander sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #dukexiety #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #adriana writes #not pieces fic #roll the dice #roll the dice 14 #cinderella au #royalty au #fluff

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dweetwise · 3 years

Text

i can’t remember the last time i wrote a proper date, this was a joy to work on and i hope you enjoy <3

ship: felix x ace warnings: none word count: 3740

[previous] [next]

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 5)

Felix despises meeting clients.

They're entitled, they're whiny, and in this particular case, they're obnoxious and unwilling to compromise.

It takes half an hour of their appointment to even get to its point, the client and his associates preferring to engage in pointless small talk, as if this small talk was worth Felix’s 18-hour flight. Still, he puts on his business face and laughs his polite fake laugh to humor them, since the project is important to Lauren.

When Felix finally gets to presenting his studio’s offer to the group, there's an influx of stupid questions that he hadn't prepared for. He improvises the best he can and ignores the rude comments about Lauren's design style, trying not to let the annoyance show on his face.

The hours tick by and his clients don’t seem to be in any sort of hurry, content to keep bullshitting and dragging out the appointment. Felix’s pulse is racing and he almost feels like he’s about to be sick, nerves mixing with dread as he realizes he’s going to be late for his date with Ace.

When he's finally allowed to leave, five excruciating hours and way too many fake laughs and handshakes later, Felix is almost ready to kill someone.

Instead, he calls Ace as soon as the office building’s doors close behind him.

“Hello?” Ace's voice sounds annoyed, and Felix doesn't blame him in the slightest.

“I'm sorry, my meeting ran late,” Felix apologizes hurriedly, checking his watch to notice it’s already six o’clock. “Do you still want to meet?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” Ace's voice perks up, his words difficult to make out through some strange background noise. “Don't worry about it, I kinda lost track of time too.”

“I can come straight from the office, I'll just get a cab,” Felix says, looking around the street for signs of a taxi.

“Uh, alright!” Ace’s voice sounds surprised. “There's this Italian place just a few blocks from the hotel. I can be there in twenty, I'll text you the address.”

“Sounds good,” Felix sighs, already feeling calmer now that he knows he didn't mess up his chance with the man.

Somehow, despite the taxi getting stuck in traffic for minutes on end, Felix arrives at the restaurant before Ace does. He hovers near the entrance awkwardly, not sure whether he should go inside to wait.

He decides to stay outside on the sidewalk, hoping the fresh air will soothe some of his overwhelming nerves. Standing there in his work clothes, clutching his briefcase and repeatedly glancing at his watch, Felix feels utterly ridiculous and is already starting to regret the entire thing.

Ace is either ten minutes late or is standing him up. Is it revenge for Felix neglecting to contact him earlier? Was Felix imagining the connection between them? Felix really shouldn’t have come; he's completely drained after the meeting and would much rather curl up in his hotel bed—

And then he spots Ace making his way over, and as soon as their eyes meet the doubts fizzle out and disappear.

“Hey, handsome!” Ace greets with a radiant smile, and Felix is instantly ready to forgive him. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” Felix lies, not wanting to sour the other's permanent good mood.

“I'm glad!" Ace says. “Hope you're hungry, because I'm starving,” he smiles, reaching for the restaurant door and holding it open for Felix.

Almost as soon as they step inside, Felix’s anxiety decides to flare up. The place looks more casual than he'd pictured, and he feels way too overdressed, his stiff suit and tie surely standing out among the crowd.

“Sorry I didn't have time to get changed,” Ace apologizes, coming up beside him. “I was planning to wear something nicer for you.”

Felix realizes Ace is in the same clothes as earlier today, apart from a blazer he's slung casually over his shoulder. It's reassuring to know Felix isn't the only one worrying about his outfit, even if Ace's patterned button-up seems much more fitting for the occasion.

“It's fine, I also would have preferred not to wear my work clothes,” Felix says, discreetly starting to tug off his tie to attempt to make the look more casual.

“Well, I do love a man in a suit,” Ace says and shoots him a wink, and Felix decides he definitely needs to remove some layers if he's going to survive the dinner without sweating buckets from the flirty attention.

While Felix is shrugging out of his suit jacket, a waiter comes to greet them and Ace effortlessly takes over, making small talk while they're shown to a table and given their menus.

"You got any wine recommendations?” Ace asks the waiter.

“Our house wine is a light chardonnay that goes well with most of our dishes.”

“Perfect,” Ace says, before turning to Felix. “You wanna share a bottle?”

“Yes, please,” Felix says, relieved at the chance to get some alcohol in his system. Maybe it’ll finally make him stop fretting so he can focus on their date.

As the waiter leaves to get their drinks, Felix follows Ace’s example and familiarizes himself with the menu. They make some small talk about the dishes, most of them unfamiliar to Felix, prompting Ace to make a few gentle suggestions. Following the advice, Felix settles on chicken risotto while Ace goes with some sort of seafood pasta that sounds way too adventurous for Felix’s taste.

The waiter returns to pour their drinks and take their orders, and Felix tries not to cringe in embarrassment as he butchers his dish’s pronunciation after Ace fluently orders his own.

“So, um…” Felix starts once the waiter leaves with their orders. “What do you do? For a living?”

The question feels clunky on his tongue, but isn't that what people ask on first dates? Felix takes a bigger gulp of wine than is appropriate to wash down his embarrassment.

“Straight to business, huh?” Ace says, his voice teasing, before taking a sip of his own wine. “You could say I'm a professional poker player.”

The surprise must be clear on Felix's face, because Ace chuckles.

“Not the most conventional gig, I know,” Ace offers good-naturedly.

“That sounds… interesting,” Felix says, realizing that somehow, the job makes sense. He should have guessed the strange man would have an unconventional occupation. “What is it like?”

“Unpredictable, risky and infuriating,” Ace huffs, before grinning. “But I love it.”

Felix nods in acknowledgement and stays silent, wordlessly encouraging Ace to go on.

“It’s just…” Ace eagerly continues. “The feeling of winning a high-stakes game? The anticipation and nerves when you don’t really have a good hand but have to keep going anyway, and finally manage the card you need at the very last round? Nothing else even comes close!”

Felix happily listens to Ace talk, enraptured by his ever-growing smile and eyes shining with pure, childlike excitement. He always enjoyed hearing people share their passions in life, and it sounds like cards are to Ace like architecture is to Felix.

“So I might be known to take a few more risks than most players,” Ace adds with an impish smile. “But it mostly works out—I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been told I’m quite lucky,” he says, shooting Felix a wink.

Felix chuckles against the rim of his wine glass, enjoying the attention even if it makes his cheeks feel warm. He can’t deny Ace took a gamble by approaching him, though he wouldn’t necessarily attribute the success of that gamble to luck.

Speaking of gambling...

“Is your name a coincidence, or…?” Felix asks.

“Oh, funny story, that!” Ace chuckles. “I actually had it changed because of a bet.”

“I—excuse me?” Felix says.

“I was on this insane blackjack win streak in Vegas,” Ace says. “Got to play at the high rollers’ table; big bets, even bigger wins. It got to a point where people were crowding around the table, the other players dropping out just to make wagers on when I’d finally lose.”

Felix leans closer, listening raptly as Ace tells his story. He’s never been one for gambling, but he can almost see the scene play out in front of him; others looking on in awe and horror as risky bets were made, Ace reveling in the attention in the middle of it all.

“So, eventually, I bet everything on a single round,” Ace grins. “Crowd gasps and cheers, guy next to me says I’m a complete dumbass for pushing my luck.”

Felix can’t help but agree with the nameless player, but he bites his tongue.

“And wouldn’t you know it, I get a hard ten and the dealer gets a twenty,” Ace says. “Crowd’s cringing, guy’s laughing, saying there’s no way I’m getting a blackjack. So, I announce that if I get an ace, I’m legally changing my name to that.”

“And?” Felix asks, sounding more eager than he means to when Ace pauses for dramatic effect.

“Dealer hits me with an ace, jaws drop to the floor, I make a dent in the casino’s profit that night,” Ace smirks victoriously. “Got my name changed within the hour—good thing paperwork’s easy in Vegas.”

“That’s… wow,” Felix chuckles, taking a sip of his wine while he lets the incredulous tale sink in.

“Told you I’m lucky,” Ace says. “The money might not have lasted long, but I got a kick-ass name and good story out of it! Actually, there was this other time…” Ace suddenly trails off and glances to his right.

When Felix follows suit, having been completely immersed in looking at Ace, he notices the waiter approaching with their food.

Felix gives a polite nod as his order is placed in front of him. The appearance of the dish isn’t the most appetizing, even if the chef has clearly tried to pretty up the chicken and rice with some garnish. However, the smell is absolutely delicious, making Felix eager for a taste.

“Thank you,” Ace smiles up at the waiter as he receives his own serving.

The waiter is off with a polite “enjoy your meals” and Felix’s stomach rumbles in return.

“Well, bon appetit!” Ace offers, thankfully not seeming to have heard the sound.

“How do you say it in Italian?” Felix asks, wanting to acknowledge Ace’s roots.

When Ace looks up in surprise at the question before smiling brightly, Felix gives himself a mental pat on the back for accidentally being smooth.

“Buon appetito,” Ace says, looking at him warmly.

“Buon… apetito?” Felix tries his best to repeat the sentence.

“That’s it,” Ace encourages, happy with his attempt. “Now dig in, before it gets cold!”

Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. He scoops a small bit of the mushy rice and some chicken onto his fork, careful to avoid a piece of mushroom sitting on top as a garnish.

As suspected, the food tastes just as good as it smells. The rice is creamy and the chicken is tender, a strong flavor of cheese and herbs accompanying the taste.

“What’s the verdict?” Ace asks playfully, having apparently paused his eating to watch Felix slowly chew through his food.

“It’s very good,” Felix praises, going to scoop a bigger piece onto his utensils. “And yours?”

“Really nice!” Ace says, returning to his meal. “It’s been a while since I had this dish. Can’t really go wrong with it.”

Felix nods in acknowledgement and takes another bite of his food, this time accompanying it with a sip of wine. Ace seems happy to follow suit, and there’s a beat of comfortable silence as they enjoy their meals.

“So…” Ace speaks up, turning his attention back to Felix. “I realize I kinda went off earlier, only talking about myself.”

“I don’t mind,” Felix reassures. “It was a good story.”

“One of my favorites,” Ace grins. “But what about you? What do you do?”

“Me?”

“I mean, I only heard you bitch about your clients last night,” Ace says, and Felix is embarrassed to realize that he's right.

How on earth Ace not only dealt with his awkwardness, but also listened to him whine about his work and still decided to approach him is beyond Felix’s understanding.

“Which sounds totally justified, by the way,” Ace reassures with a grin when Felix internally panics instead of replying. “I just never caught what it actually is that you do. I've been guessing between law and marketing.”

“Sorry," Felix says, giving an apologetic smile for talking Ace's ear off the other night. “I'm actually an architect.”

“Oh, neat!” Ace exclaims. “I should've known you weren't just a pretty face,” he offers with a wink over the rim of his wine glass.

“It's not nearly as complicated as you seem to think,” Felix says, fidgeting from the praise.

“Modest, too,” Ace grins.

Felix doesn’t know how to reply to the compliment, so he opts to take a big bite of his food instead.

“Anyway, I promised to take your mind off work, huh?” Ace says. “What do you do for fun?”

Felix falters. He always dreads the hobby question, since his job pretty much is his entire life. Obsessively checking work emails or drinking until he passes out surely don't count as hobbies.

“I usually read architecture magazines or go jogging,” Felix lies.

Ace doesn’t reply, only quirks a skeptical eyebrow through a mouthful of pasta.

“Ehm… what?” Felix asks, suddenly self-conscious.

“This isn't a job interview,” Ace snorts in amusement. “I asked what you do for fun.”

“Ähm, sorry,” Felix apologizes, looking at the tablecloth in embarrassment.

“I'll start!” Ace decides. “I like to laze around and watch shitty 3PM telenovelas.”

“Telenovelas?”

“Oh. Latin American soaps,” Ace explains with a smile. “They're tacky and predictable but remind me of home.”

Felix returns a small smile, finding the thought of Ace watching cheesy afternoon TV oddly endearing.

“I guess I enjoy quiz programs,” Felix says. “And… maybe get a little frustrated when the participants get the obvious ones wrong,” he confesses.

“I bet you’d do great in one of those,” Ace says. “You’re so smart.”

“I’d probably swallow my own tongue from the nerves,” Felix mumbles, poking at his food.

“Oh, right,” Ace hums in thought, followed by another smile. “God, it’s so funny that a gorgeous guy like you is so shy,” he chuckles.

“It’s embarrassing, I know—” Felix starts.

“It’s endearing,” Ace corrects, and Felix swears his heart skips a beat.

“Do you have any other hobbies?” Felix asks, feeling like he needs to contribute to the conversation.

“Do lame card tricks count?” Ace grins. “If not, I sometimes play guitar—badly, I might add.”

“Both of those sound like a lot of fun,” Felix says. “I’ve never played an instrument.”

“It’s fun if you don’t take it seriously! You should try it, if you ever get the time,” Ace encourages.

They finish the rest of their meals while chatting pleasantly. Felix finds it easy to open up, Ace’s warm smile and relaxed demeanor putting him at ease. At the same time, he’s eager to learn more about Ace, every small detail he hears only serving to make him even more fond of the man.

When Felix eventually finishes his dish, save for the mushrooms and some questionable greens he doesn’t recognize, Ace has the audacity to look at his plate with a knowing smirk.

“What?” Felix says, although suspecting he already knows the answer.

“Nothing!” Ace says. “I’m just happy I got a picky eater to… almost finish his plate.”

“For the record, I liked the food,” Felix argues, bantering along. “It’s much better than the idiot sandwiches I had for lunch.”

“Uh… idiot sandwiches?” Ace asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh, eh…” Felix falters, feeling stupid for resorting to an inside joke the other obviously wouldn’t understand. “That’s what my business partner calls the stale snacks that are served in meetings. Like sandwiches and quiche and the like.”

“I… see?” Ace says, obviously still confused.

“You know… like in the joke?” Felix explains, but Ace looks even more lost, cocking his head in curiosity. “With the bread,” Felix says, placing his hands on the side of his head in a poor imitation of the video Lauren showed him once.

“I've gotta confess, I'm not great with tech,” Ace finally admits in defeat.

“Well, at least you know how to use a smartphone,” Felix says, recalling Ace effortlessly texting and exchanging their numbers.

“Okay, I'm not that old,” Ace jokes and kicks him playfully under the table.

While they’re sharing a chuckle, the waiter comes by to collect their plates.

“Did you enjoy your meals?” he asks.

“Absolutely!” Ace says.

“It was very good,” Felix agrees.

“I’m glad,” the waiter says with a smile.

And as he leaves with their plates without further blabbering, Felix makes a mental note to tip him well for making the evening such a pleasant experience.

“So,” Felix says, eager to return to the conversation with his date. “How old are you?”

It’s only when Ace quirks an amused eyebrow that Felix realizes his mistake.

“Sorry, you don't have to say,” Felix says, nervously wringing his hands under the table for being so rude.

“Naw, I don't mind,” Ace says with a smile. “I'm forty-eight.”

“Oh,” Felix says, not sure how to respond to the predictable answer. “I’m thirty-seven. You, um. You look very good,” he settles on, feeling his neck heating up from the awkward compliment.

“Not so bad for an old coot, huh?” Ace jokes, but something about it doesn’t sit right with Felix.

“What do you mean?” Felix asks.

“I mean…” Ace says, his smile finally faltering. “'You look good' doesn't really have the same ring to it when it's always followed by 'for your age',” Ace admits, staring into his wine glass thoughtfully.

The earnest confession takes Felix off guard; so far, he hasn't seen Ace display any signs of insecurity.

“But hey, that's life!” Ace immediately perks back up, offering a smile that doesn’t seem entirely genuine.

“I didn’t mean for your age,” Felix feels the need to clarify. “I think you’re, ehm. Very handsome,” he mumbles, and by now his face must be bright red.

But it’s worth it, because Ace’s smile softens into one that finally reaches his eyes.

“Thanks,” Ace says, before clearing his throat. “I mean, I don’t really let stuff like that bring me down, but… it’s still nice to hear, you know?”

“I do,” Felix says, deciding he should try to take a page from Ace’s book and be freer with his compliments, awkwardness be damned.

The waiter chooses that time to return to their table, not an entirely unwelcome distraction from the sudden feelings blooming in Felix’s chest.

“Would you like to order dessert? Coffee?” the waiter asks.

Ace only smirks and looks at Felix mischievously.

“I had something else in mind,” Ace says, his voice sounding deeper than before. “What about you, babe?”

Felix flushes both at the nickname and the reminder that for all intents and purposes, he is the dessert.

“I'm good as well, thank you,” he manages with a surprisingly steady voice, gulping down some more wine.

“We'll probably just finish up the wine and take the check,” Ace offers to the waiter with another pleasant smile.

“Of course,” the waiter says and is off with a polite nod.

“Wow, I didn't even realize the time,” Ace says, glancing at the clock over the bar counter.

Felix's gaze follows suit, and he sees that they've apparently been in the restaurant for over an hour.

“Time flies, huh?” Ace grins.

“Indeed,” Felix agrees.

He feels much more relaxed than when they arrived; the wine, good food and cozy atmosphere surely all have played a part in making him feel comfortable.

But not nearly as much as the company.

“Here you go, gorgeous,” Ace says, smiling as he refills both of their glasses with the remaining wine.

“Thank you,” Felix says, the cheesy compliment no longer making him fluster.

Instead, there’s a warm fluttering in his gut, fondness for his date mixing with anticipation of what’s to come.

It’s only when the waiter returns to drop their check on the table and Ace immediately reaches for it that Felix wipes the lovestruck smile off his face.

“You’re not paying,” Felix protests, reaching his hand over the table towards the bill.

“Oh, I think I am,” Ace says, lifting the small folder out of Felix’s reach. “I was the one who asked you out.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Felix argues. “It’s my treat.”

“Hmm, let me think about it,” Ace says, pretending to mull over the suggestion. “Nope!” he grins.

“Ace,” Felix says, exasperated but not able to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up.

“Felix,” Ace counters with a shit-eating grin, and Felix snorts an ugly chuckle at the other’s ridiculousness.

After a few minutes of playful arguing, Ace begrudgingly agrees to split the bill.

But Felix adds the tip money before Ace has a chance to, much to the other’s annoyance.

“It’s not splitting if you pay twenty bucks on top of half,” Ace argues when they’re making to leave.

“You didn’t mention the tip, so it’s only fair,” Felix points out, smiling smugly as he rebuttons his suit jacket.

“Where’s this sudden sass coming from?” Ace exclaims in mock shock, a hand over his heart. “I’m starting to think the shyness is an elaborate act,” he teases.

And then he, once again, holds the door open for Felix as they exit the restaurant.

“You got me,” Felix says sarcastically. “I’m actually a stand-up comedian, not an architect.”

Ace laughs warmly at his joke, and something in Felix’s heart clenches.

He doesn’t know what comes over him. In one instant, Felix is watching Ace’s smile as he keeps playing off of the joke, and in the next, Ace is freezing mid-sentence, eyes momentarily widening in surprise as Felix has grabbed his hand with his own.

Felix already has an apology ready on his tongue for his embarrassing lapse in judgement, but Ace apparently has other ideas. His hand returns the hold on Felix’s as he resumes the conversation right where they left off, taking Felix’s clingy gesture in stride.

And Felix doesn’t remember when he’s last felt as happy as when they walk the few blocks to their hotel making stupid jokes and holding hands.

#felix richter #ace visconti #riconti #dbd fanfic #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #felix x ace

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ofcartographers · 3 years

Text

on weathered shore

pairing: Johnny Silverhand x Female V

warnings: implied/referenced child pornography, implied/referenced sexual assault — to avoid, skip the paragraphs denoted by 「」

spoilers: The Hunt, They Won’t Go When I Go, Sweet Dreams, Dirty Biz

summary: Johnny Silverhand was many things — washed-up rockstar, former terrorist, womanizer extraordinaire, and occasional dickhead — but one thing he wasn’t was a heartless bastard. Sure, he and V weren’t exactly best chooms and exchanged heated barbs most of the time, but Johnny would never undeservedly give her shit. Especially not for something like this.

read on ao3 or ↴

Johnny Silverhand’s interest was piqued when the familiar lilt of “Welcome to Clouds” reached his ears. Oh ho! Interesting, he sneered into existence, nestling himself into the worn leather chair at the end of the hallway. His little merc was too preoccupied with the blue-haired receptionist to notice him making an appearance.

Materializing a lit cigarette in hand, he took a few drags and waited for his ‘brain-dead host’ to finally take notice of him. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised V was here to “get her bean flicked” given how much of a raging bitch she had been lately. Chick was wound tighter than the stick up that one ‘Saka scum’s ass. She needed to get laid. Badly.

Thanking the receptionist, said woman was near giddy with excitement as she made her way down the hallway towards Johnny — until she spotted him. “What?” She ground out through grit teeth, wrenching open the nearby locker with more force than necessary, her mood now soured.

Johnny almost felt offended that a mere glimpse of his ruggedly handsome face would sour her mood just so — keyword: almost. “Nothin’,” he drawled innocently, to which V let out a sharp bark of laughter — she didn’t believe him and he couldn’t blame her. “‘M just surprised,” he began nonchalantly, reveling in how tense V’s back had suddenly become in anticipation of his jab at her. “Sweet lil’ V visitin’ this kinda place?”

V’s gaze dropped to him, a saccharine smile spreading across her lips, “How ‘bout you go an’ fuck yourself?” She suggested sweetly, flipping him off for good measure.

Unperturbed, Johnny adjusted his aviators to perch on the tip of his nose so he could meet V’s gaze. “Don’t need ‘ta, princess. ‘Specially with you doin’ it for the both of us,” he leered, rivaling her saccharine smile with his own.

Slamming the locker shut, V whipped around to face him, pointing a manicured finger in his face. “Fuck off, Johnny,” she seethed, jamming her unoccupied hand into her jacket pocket, only to retrieve a telltale blue pill.

Johnny balked. Shit. “Oh, come on—” he began to grumble, as V waggled the Omega blocker in his face before popping it into her mouth and dry swallowing with a grimace. Within a few seconds he could feel his conscience beginning to fade as his body began to fizzle in and out of existence. “Cunt!” He managed to yell out, before feeling himself fade into nothingness.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he awoke to the darkness of V’s apartment, her small form curled up in that ridiculous position of hers on the edge of the bed, sound asleep. Peering over her sleeping form, Johnny couldn’t discern whether or not she had gotten her needs satisfied , so to speak. Her body felt heavy with exhaustion and she was sleeping soundly. And well, Johnny wasn’t sure about her, but he always slept like a baby after a good fuck.

---

Not two weeks later did Johnny find himself blinded by the neon pink signage of Clouds.

V let out an annoyed groan when she spotted his reclined form in what was sure to become his usual seat. “You gonna behave?” She asked pointedly, sparing him a glance as she placed her belongings in the nearby locker.

“Scout’s honor,” Johnny beamed, holding his organic hand up in a three figured salute.

“Bullshit!” V snorted, immediately calling his bluff, “You were never a boy scout, ya gonk.”

“Ah. Got me there,” he smiled sheepishly, feigning innocence.

There was a pause as V casted a cursory glance at Johnny, the Omega blockers in hand. With a weary sigh, she hesitantly placed the bottle in the locker before closing its door with a gentle click. Spinning on her heel, she stared down at him with crossed arms. “Don’t make me regret this,” she hissed; Please, begged her mind.

Johnny scoffed, “Relax, princess. Ain’t nothin’ I seen before.” This earned him a withering glare from the now-seething woman. Reflexively, he raised his palms in a yielding manner, hoping to mollify her. “I ain’t gonna peek!” He bellowed, running an exasperated hand through his dark locks. “Christ, V! Why the fuck would I watch you when there’s a bunch’a whores here?”

A brief look of hurt flashed across her face before she grimaced and sniffed indignantly. Turning on her heel, V stomped away from him. “Asshole!” She hissed under her breath, retreating to her designated room.

Rolling his eyes, Johnny scoffed. “Cunt!” He retorted immaturely, knowing full well V couldn’t hear him. Whatever! He thought with a huff, jumping to his feet. He wasn’t going to let that bitch ruin his fun — especially not when he had front-row seats to best free show Night City had to offer: depraved sex.

---

It wasn’t until her third trip to Clouds that Johnny began to notice a pattern.

Since he was true to his word for not making an unwelcome appearance during her last romp, V decided to forgo the Omega blockers completely; though the threat of still taking them loomed in the air.

Johnny wasn’t planning to peep on her, but after being subjected to 15-minutes of God-awful lazrpop that was blaring mind-numbingly loud in the lobby, Johnny was desperate to be anywhere but there. Sure, he could’ve simply retreated back into her headspace where he would’ve remained unaware of both his and her surroundings, but where was the fun in that? Besides, curiosity was beginning to get the better of him the more he thought about what V was like in the sack.

He could feel his imagination beginning to run wild as he tried to paste a scene together with bits and pieces of her previous sexual encounters he’d seen from her fleeting memories. Materializing in her designated room, he wasn’t quite prepared for this. What he saw instead made him feel something awful deep in his chest.

In the center of the bed was V, curled up into a tiny ball, her shoulders wracking with heavy sobs as the doll rubbed soothing circles into her heaving back. “I-I-I-I n-n-nailed him t-to it a-an’ an’—” V tried to gasp out between hiccupping breaths, being too overwrought with shuddering sobs to continue. The doll — Skye, he vaguely remembers — held the trembling woman in her arms, murmuring soothing words and kisses into the crown of her head.

Fuck, Johnny nearly uttered aloud, realization dawning on him. She was talking about Joshua Stephenson and his fucked up “last request” of having V play the role of his executioner in his crucifixion. That shit was grim, even for Johnny.

And then it clicked.

「 The first time she went to Clouds — for pleasure, not business — was not long after V had taken care of the father and son XBD duo whose specialty was children. Johnny could remember the white knuckled grip she held on her pistol as she dug barrel harder into the son’s temple as he began to babble incessantly — much to his father’s chagrin — about the other XBDs they had and that he wasn’t sure which victim V was talking about. 」

It was then he could feel something snap in her as she pulled the trigger and was left staring coldly into the lifeless eyes of the son, blood slowly seeping from his bullet wound as his father’s wails permeated the air. He too shared the same fate not long after, too far gone in his hysteria to even put up a fight.

V had remained eerily collected as she silently rifled through their XBD collection, searching for the raws that Regina Jones had requested. Johnny hadn’t dared to make an appearance or say a word — it was unsettling how mechanically she went about the rest of the studio and how oddly calm she was reporting to the Watson fixer of what had gone down; almost as if she was in a fugue of some sort.

「 The second time was immediately after her massive fuckup of landing herself in a scav haunt, stripped bare of her weapons and clothes. Johnny would never admit it, but at the time he was scared out of his goddamn mind — helpless to watch as the scavs perversely divested her of her clothes with both vulgar hands and eyes lasciviously roving over her form, before tossing her into the icy bath like she was already a fucking corpse. 」

And what had he done? Retreated to his old ways and acted like a dick when she awoke — called her “Night City’s dumbest merc” despite the look of abject fear, which quickly faded to hurt, in her eyes.

Armed with nothing but her mantis blades and Johnny at her six, they somehow managed to make it out alive, despite their stacked odds of 12 armed scavs to one naked, agitated merc. They were on such an adrenaline high that Johnny didn’t even blink at her declaration of going to Clouds. After all, what better way to feel alive than a good near-death-experience fuck?

A choked sob broke him out of his reverie. Sparing one last glance at his distraught merc, Johnny glitched himself out of the room, reappearing on the leather armchair from earlier. The awful feeling was back in his chest and he could almost put a name to it. Shame? He fleetingly thought, before grimacing and pulling out a much-needed cigarette.

Taking a long drag, he exhaled through grit teeth. “Fuck!” He let out a frustrated growl, slamming his fist into the arm of the chair. Johnny Silverhand was many things — washed-up rockstar, former terrorist, womanizer extraordinaire, and occasional dickhead — but one thing he wasn’t was a heartless bastard. Sure, he and V weren’t exactly best chooms and exchanged heated barbs most of the time, but Johnny would never undeservedly give her shit. Especially not for something like this.

It hurt to know that V didn’t think she could trust him on intimate matters such as this. That she thought so lowly of him that he would mock her for being human. After seeing how small and fragile she had looked earlier, he wanted nothing more than to scoop her into his arms in a tight embrace, with a fierce promise of zeroing the fucker that hurt her. “Shit,” he groaned, scrubbing his face with a worrying palm. She was growing on him — he actually cared about her.

He was chain smoking by the time V exited the room; a habit of his whenever he was overwrought with nerves — or in this case: guilt. Plucking her things from the nearby locker, V sighed suddenly, turning to shoot him a quirked brow. What is it? Her expression read.

Johnny glanced up at her, pretending not to notice her reddened nose or the puffy state of her eyes. “S’nothin’,” he mumbled, tossing the remains of his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the sole of his boot.

Before V could open her mouth to retort, Johnny was up out of his seat and glitching down the hallway, desperate for fresh air — all these newfound emotions were stifling. Slightly winded, she caught up with him in the elevator, though it wasn’t like he could operate it anyways. “What’s up with you?” She asked, her tone void of aggression for once — a hint of genuine concern in her voice.

Luckily, her ringing holo saved him from having to fumble for a reply. “River,” she answered hesitantly, casting a furtive glance at Johnny, knowing the mere mention of the cop’s name put her cohabitant in a foul mood.

“V, hey. I need your help.”

---

As soon as the Trauma Team’s AV was up and out of sight, Johnny could feel a wave of exhaustion wash over V — though he knew she wouldn’t let it show and instead put on her brave façade, like she always did. Not here, he could hear her repeating to herself, like a mantra.

The drive back to V’s apartment was uncomfortably silent, despite the blare of the radio and the buzzing of Night City nightlife. Johnny was grateful that V had decided to take Jackie’s ARCH this time, giving the ex-rocker an excuse not to make an appearance. Though he doubted she wanted any company or interaction right now, with how white-knuckled her grip was on the handlebars and how tightly her jaw was clenched.

Upon crossing the threshold of her apartment, V hastily began to divest herself of her clothing and gear, eager for a shower — eager to clean herself of the filth of Edgewood Farm. Johnny gave her privacy and made himself scarce during her undressing and shower, only to reappear when she looked ready to head out the door.

“‘M goin’ to Clouds,” she mumbled dazedly, grabbing a jacket from the closet and slipping it on with trembling fingers. As she turned and made her way to the door, Johnny suddenly appeared, blocking her path.

Without his trademark aviators, his face appeared more severe than usual. “V…” He began softly, his tone serious.

“What?” She looked up at his face, refusing to meet his gaze directly. Her eyes were wide and glossy, the slightest tremble in her lip.

“It’s okay.”

“W-What?” She chuckled nervously, hysterical laughter beginning to bubble in her throat.

“It’s okay,” Johnny repeated firmly, his earnest eyes boring into panicked ones. Gripping her by the shoulders, he pulled her into an embrace; his cold, metallic hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back.

Immediately he could feel the levee break as she crumpled bonelessly into his arms, her back beginning to wrack with sobs. Carefully, Johnny lowered their entangled forms gently to the floor, moving her small frame to cradle her protectively in his lap.

She was crying uncontrollably now, desperately clutching at the front of his shirt as if it were her lifeline, her small fingers tangling in his dog tags. Her face, wet with hot tears, burrowed further into his neck as he murmured soothing words into her hair, his lips occasionally pressing a sweet kiss into her crown.

“I got you.”

#I FINALLY FINISHED A THING #gimme all the hurt/comfort #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #female v #v #(v)ivienne #vivienne wojcik

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