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wordsnwhiskey · 3 years

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As It Should Be | Chapter 5: Breaking In The Newbies

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: After a rough and emotional night, Frankie makes a decision on Jack’s offer. Before they can get to that though, the morning debrief with Champ brings back a familiar face and Jack has you and Frankie teach the junior agents a lesson during combat training.

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon typical violence, guns, swearing, discussions about safewords.

A/N: Alright, a lot of stuff needed to happen here and we’re going to have a little action and see Frankie show off a bit. It was important to me that the discussion of safe words and Jack checking again for consent happened in a chapter separate from the actual smut. For me, it further emphasizes that Jack doesn’t want Frankie to feel pressured to accept or do anything he doesn’t want to because it’s “in the moment”. Consent is sexy, friends.

I have to give my love and thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the beta reads, the fantastic constructive criticism and encouragement!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 4: Company | AO3 | Art

The morning sun stirred Frankie. Even with his eyes still closed, he could tell the room was alight, but the warmth that surrounded him had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the body next to him. He opened his eyes and realized he was definitely not in Whiskey’s guest bedroom. Instead, he was very much curled into Whiskey’s lightly rising chest. Frankie blushed, very unused to being the little spoon, and moreover, not used to someone’s morning wood poking at him. Whiskey was gently roused from sleep by Frankie’s small movements. He lifted his arm from around Frankie’s waist and stretched.

“G’morning Flyboy. You were having nightmares, so I brought you in here.

“Oh, sorry for waking you up and… thank you.” Frankie felt guilt sting at his throat.

Whiskey grunted and rolled out of bed to go shower.

“Nothing to worry about, partner. I’m no stranger to those kinds of nightmares.”

Frankie was grateful Whiskey understood and made no effort to pry. With a grunt of his own, Frankie got up from the bed and made his way to the kitchen, intent on trying to get coffee going while Whiskey showered.

Whiskey finished his shower and stepped out to dry off, then wrapped his towel around his waist. He was drawn to the kitchen by the smell of coffee, Frankie’s initiative quirking the corners of his mouth into a small smile. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as Frankie poured their coffee, handing Whiskey’s to him black. Jack hummed his approval, a sound which he noted made Frankie preen a bit.

“Good boy.” Jack gestured to the coffee with a small wink as the air seemed to be pushed from Frankie’s lungs. “Now, as much as I enjoy the view of you in just my shorts, let's get you into something you can wear at the office.”

Frankie was rooted to the spot, Jack’s “good boy” ringing in his ears and sending a wave of warmth throughout his entire body. Jack didn’t comment, just let his smirk speak for itself as he took his coffee back to his room and opened the doors to his closet. His fingers tabbed at a few of the hanging suits as he looked back to see that Frankie had finally uprooted himself and joined him.

“We’re similar in build, so you ought to be able to pull off one of my suits…”

Frankie winced.

“Right, well then, let’s go with something a touch more casual.

Jack grabbed a pair of jeans, a blue button down, white t-shirt, belt, and socks, handing each article of clothing over to Frankie as he moved around his closet.

“There, that should do you. Comfortable, but still presentable for Statesman.”

Jack gave him a smile only to notice Frankie shifting his weight.

“Thanks,” came Frankie’s reply as he turned to get dressed. He didn’t mind going without boxers, but the sudden realization that he needed more clothes of his own hit Frankie as he dressed in the clothes Jack had given him.

“Hey Jack?”

Whiskey hummed in acknowledgement as he finished getting dressed himself: jeans, suspenders, white button down shirt, and a navy wool blazer.

“I was thinking about your offer last night, and… I’d like that.”

Whiskey turned to look at Frankie, giving him a once over, distantly thinking about how good Frankie looked in his clothes, and a mischievous smile lit up Whiskey’s face.

“I’m looking forward to it, Flyboy. We’ll discuss things a bit more at the end of the day in my office. It’s about as close to neutral territory as we’re gonna get for that conversation. For today though, I want you to be a good boy and stick to me like a shadow. We’re meeting with Champ first thing. Then, we’re gonna have some fun.”

Frankie nodded, rocking back on his heels for a moment, then fell in step with Whiskey as they headed out, both of them grabbing their respective hats as they went. The ride in Whiskey’s Bronco was quiet, and soon enough they were riding the elevator up to their floor in the Statesman tower.

You were seated at the conference table facing the double doors with Pope to your right.

“You sleep alright, Pope? Hope Ginger didn’t keep you too late.”

“She’s something, that’s for sure, Hawk, but she did let me go, eventually.”

He gave you a good natured laugh that slowly lost its shine.

“You hear from Fish, Hawk? Ginger told me where she put him up and I went to check on him last night, but he never answered.”

Worry bloomed in your chest, not that it had really gone away after seeing Frankie leave yesterday. You figured if he wanted or needed to talk, he would have reached out to you. Honestly, you had hoped he would have checked in with Pope at some point since he probably felt more comfortable with him. Just then, the conference double doors opened, giving way as Jack strode in, greeting you with a smile and tilt of his head. Relief eased the tension in your chest and shoulders when Frankie followed closely behind Jack. Your eyes darted over to Whiskey, fixing him with a questioning gaze as you realized the clothes Frankie was wearing belonged to Jack.

“Fish!” Pope practically jumped out of his chair, rushing over to Frankie with a duffle bag in tow. “I was worried about you, hermano. I went to the hotel, but you didn’t answer.”

To Frankie’s credit, his face didn’t betray much, but both you and Pope knew that Frankie didn’t have any other clothes aside from what he had left with.

“Uh, yeah, must’ve just missed you.”

You could tell Pope was filing the information away for later. Your eyes wandered to Jack’s again and you raised an eyebrow. At least you now had an idea why he had cancelled on you last night.

“Here, Fish. I figured you’d want your go bag.”

“Gracias, hermano.”

They clasped arms, then took their seats. Frankie grabbed the orange tinted glasses he had left the day before and put them on, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose. His gaze fell to yours and he gave you a small smile, but before you could say anything, Champ’s holo image flickered to life.

“Catfish! You’re looking mighty fine! Much better than yesterday.”

“Yes sir, thanks.”

Champ nodded. He’d been worried about how the man would fare, especially considering the news yesterday.

“Right, down to the business at hand. It does appear that a new cartel is making their play at center stage, picking up where Poppy left off. They’re not following Poppy’s business model, though. From what we understand, the group is headed by four individuals: Isabella Gómez, Duke Hernández, Steven Weisel and Emily Weisel. They’ve taken to calling themselves La Linda Rosa, likely after the Red Agent flowers. Up until now, they’ve been your run of the mill cartel, but it’s our belief that the Weisels have been instrumental in their production and processing of Agent Red. Recently, the Weisels purchased land in Colombia, and from our drone coverage, they may have set up processing plants there. We don’t know why the sudden shift to Agent Red, though. The plants themselves go for $500k per plant, and they take time to mature. We don’t think the Weisels are responsible for acquiring the plants, so that leaves either Isabella or Duke.”

Frankie’s attention drifted from Champ to the pictures on the screen and swore.

“Fuck. Pope, you know who that is, right? I thought they were in Australia?”

Pope did a double take, recognizing his old informant’s brother. The Statesman stared at the two men, waiting for them to elaborate. Frankie sighed and settled into his seat a bit more, knee bouncing anxiously.

“Four years ago, Pope came to me and the rest of our old team to take out Gabriel Martín Lorea and make out with the money he had stockpiled. Pope’s CI, Yovanna, and her brother, Duke, both worked for Lorea. In exchange for helping us, Pope got the brother out of jail and we dropped them off in Peru with papers to Australia and $3M. Looks like Duke wasn’t satisfied with life in Australia.”

Ginger frowned and pulled up Duke’s known associates, Yovanna’s picture following the others on screen.

“Yovanna appears to still be living in Australia, but it’s possible Duke grabbed the money and ran.”

Frankie closed his eyes, lifting his cap and carding his fingers through his hair before placing the hat back on his head and sighing.

“What’s the plan? Sounds like the plants and processing facilities need to be taken out, and then there’s the compound, too.”

Pope nodded, then sighed as well. This was bringing back memories for the both of them.

“We’ll also need to be wary of the local agencies. They’ll be on the lookout for anyone suspicious, especially if it’s anything like how it was with Lorea.”

Champ nodded and tilted his head to Ginger.

“We’re doing our own recon and then we’ll break out teams. Pope, Catfish, we’d like you to at least help with intel, and given your experience in taking down Lorea, if you’re up for it, I’d like you both on the compound assault team.”

You saw Pope and Frankie share a look, Frankie’s jaw clenched and then he nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Great, not to worry boys, Statesman has the best resources, stateside or otherwise. For now, I’m sure we can keep you plenty busy. Whiskey, don’t forget, today is your day for combat training with the new recruits. Bourbon, Cranberry needs you to test equipment in the lab later today.”

“Pope, could you actually stick around again for a bit? I’ve got some more intel I want to run through with you.” Ginger chimed in, and you were surprised he didn’t grimace at the idea of being locked in a room for hours again.

With that, the meeting was over, Champ’s holo image disappeared and they took their glasses off. Jack stood up and Frankie was quick to follow him, much to your intrigue. You stood up as well. You were eager to watch Jack have his way with the new agents. It was always fun. Whiskey seemed to know you would be following and beckoned for you to enter his office first, followed by Frankie, and Jack closed the door behind him.

“Go ahead and set your bag down wherever you’d like, Flyboy.”

Frankie dropped his bag in a corner then promptly started to rifle through it, pulling his shoes out and quickly swapping his dress shoes for them. He let out a sigh of relief as he rolled up on the balls of his feet and rocked back on his heels. He hated dress shoes.

You took a short minute to admire Frankie in the blue button down while he rolled up his sleeves. Jack’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you into him.

“Missed you, darlin’.”

Smiling, you took his face in your hands and tugged him down for a kiss.

“Missed you too, Jack.”

You murmured against his lips, and you resolved not to ask about last night. Whatever happened, Frankie must have reached out to Jack, not you or Santi, and you’d leave it at that. Jack hummed contentedly for a moment before he pulled back and winked at you.

“Are you coming to watch us break in the newbies, darlin’? I was thinking you and Flyboy could do the first demo.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but there was a playfulness in them as well.

“Us?” You questioned Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“First demo?” Came Frankie’s question as he whirled around to face you and Whiskey.

Jack’s smile broadened and he started out of his office and towards the elevator, expecting you and Frankie to follow.

“What are we demoing, Whiskey?”Frankie asked, more pointedly this time.

“Well, our newbies are scheduled to learn about disarms and what happens when the enemy goes for their gun. I thought it’d be good to have them start out seeing Bourbon disarm you.”

Frankie huffed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall. You smiled as you leaned against the wall opposite Frankie.

“It’ll be just like old times, Fish.”

He groaned and shook his head.

“Why have me do the demo though? I’m not a Statesman agent.”

Before you could respond to reassure Frankie, Jack chimed in, eyeing him with nothing short of gleeful mischief. Jack enjoyed breaking the new agents in almost a little too much sometimes, but it was good for them, and he was good at it.

“No, you’re not, you’re ex-Delta Force, Frankie. These agents have had plenty of training, but they don’t have your experience, Flyboy. They’re gonna learn the difference today.”

Jack shared a similar philosophy with you when it came to combat training and sparring. You had been a terror in hand-to-hand, still were, you were proud to say. You knew there was often a size disadvantage, but you had learned to use your opponent’s momentum against them, and more importantly, you didn’t follow convention. In sparring matches, most people fought like they were sparring, which was fine for beginning, but there was a big difference between practicing and being in an actual fight. You never advocated for an all out brawl, but you refused to follow the typical learned pattern that people naturally gravitated towards. Tom had been predictable and a sore loser. Will was predictable but sweet. Benny, well, there was a reason he was semi-pro, which left Santi and Frankie. Santiago was fun, and you had lost your fair share of matches to both him and Benny. Frankie had a spark in his eyes when he sparred, but no matter how hard you had tried to get him to let go, he refused. It had nothing to do with anything silly like you being a woman, more to do with the fact that Frankie never seemed to just let himself go in that way. You had only seen him let go a bit twice, both times in the field and well worn down by the day.

The elevator dinging startled you out of your reverie, and you followed right behind Jack towards the training room. Frankie assumed they would be entering a gym of sorts, but he was sorely mistaken, and he realized the ‘floor’ they were on must have been composed of several. The ‘room’ was really more of a training complex housed in the unassuming tower. To the right, a group of 20 people stood, waiting. He gave them a cursory glance, and then his eyes were pulled to the range. He’d definitely have to visit to let off some stress. He followed as you and Whiskey led the way to the group of agents and hung back slightly as the group stood to attention.

“Well, look at this promising group of newbies, Bourbon. D’you think they’re up for today’s lesson?”

You let the smirk on your lips turn into a full crooked smile, you had more than a small idea as to what Jack was going to do. Looking over your shoulder, you caught Frankie’s eye and nodded for him to join you.

“I don’t know, Whiskey, simple concept, but we’ll see what their execution is like. My money is on our guy.”

The agents before you bristled, full of young pride that was well-earned. Whiskey’s hand clasped over Frankie’s shoulder as he introduced him to the new agents.

“Y’all are in for a treat. Our friend, Catfish, here, has generously volunteered to help train you on close quarters combat and disarms. Bourbon will demo the defense first. Catfish,” Whiskey took a pistol from the long table off to the side and handed it to Frankie. “Your objective is simple: shoot a blank at Bourbon.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his eyes sought yours to make sure you were comfortable. An answering smile was good enough for him, and he checked the pistol, confirming there were no live rounds, before looking back up at you. The two of you easily slid into a ready position, and Jack gestured for the new agents to give you some room.

“Halcón, when you go for the takedown, ten cuidado con mi espalda. Ya no soy joven.” [be careful with my back. I’m not young anymore.]

It only mildly annoyed you that he already knew you were going to go for the takedown, after priding yourself on your spontaneity earlier, but you pushed that out of your mind as you both stood a few steps apart. There would be a split second when Frankie pulled his pistol and took a readying step. That would be where you would have an opening and make your move. A tense handful of seconds that seemed to stretch on filled the air. Jack watched the new agents, the tension between you and Frankie seemed to embed itself in the junior agents’ lungs as they all waited with bated breath.

Nothing telegraphed Frankie’s quick movements as he drew his pistol, but on instinct, your body was moving. He saw your left hand fly out to redirect his momentum and push his gun hand away, quickly shifting to plant his weight, keeping you from landing the takedown this early. The training you and Frankie had received taught you to be efficient and end things quickly. That was easier said when you had spent years training together. The junior agents seemed to still be holding their breath while you traded blows. Your moment of opportunity came, and you took it. Frankie seemed to understand what was happening but his balance was off. You stepped into him, your hip bumping his as your hand came to grip over the top of his pistol. The next thing everyone knew, you were both on the ground, the gun skittering harmlessly away, and Frankie’s arm in an arm bar. He grunted and quickly tapped at your leg to surrender, and you let him go. The class was quiet until Whiskey broke the silence as you helped Frankie to his feet.

“I hope you lot were paying attention to Catfish here, he did a great job demonstrating what to do when facing a difficult opponent like Bourbon. For this exercise, the rest of you will attempt to take a shot at Catfish and he will disarm you by whatever means he deems necessary.”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, knowing Whiskey was being intentional with his wording.The laugh died quickly, however, at the words of one of the junior agents.

“How was that a good example? He lost, he was disarmed. We should be practicing against someone better, who would last longer.”

At your side, you saw Frankie stand up straighter, his feet moving shoulder width apart as his hands clasped behind his back and he fixed the younger agent with a steely gaze. Even as his breathing remained calm, it was obvious the words had gotten to him. Whiskey’s good natured grin turned into a smug smirk.

“Davis,” Whiskey began, calling the man out by his last name and emphasizing he hadn’t earned a Statesman moniker. “Since you’re so eager, by all means, approach Catfish when you’re ready and show us how your Statesman training fares.”

Frankie kept his gaze leveled at the cocky junior agent, noticing in his periphery that you had moved away to give them plenty of room. Davis moved to be a few steps in front of him. Frankie continued to hold the stare as he questioned Whiskey.

“Are you sure about this, Whiskey?”

Whiskey nodded, Frankie’s gaze flickering over to him for the briefest of seconds, then he brought his hands to a loose ready position at his sides. Davis drew his pistol, but Frankie grabbed the barrel with his left hand, stepped forward and hooked his right foot behind Davis’ lead leg and pushed on the agent’s chest with his right hand. Davis went down, but found himself suspended by Frankie’s hold on his shirt. The class was filled with littered gasps and snickers. The ‘fight’ was over before it had really begun. Frankie helped right the agent and stepped aside to let him retrieve his firearm.

“Attaboy, Catfish! Davis, looks like you’ve got some work to do. Here’s another lesson, agents: Statesman agents aren’t your only competition out there. We’ve got some fancy gear and trainin’ here, but there’s a world of intelligence agents and mercs out there. Catfish served with Bourbon, and that should tell you all you need to know.” He paused a moment to let the information sink in as Davis returned to the line to lick his wounds. Then Whiskey called the next agent.

Frankie breathed in, then out through his nose, and got ready. As they went, the junior agents in waiting began to pick up on a few of his techniques, and he had to adjust, but time spent practicing and training at Benny’s gym had prepared him well for this.

You watched as Jack’s eyes danced while he followed Frankie’s movements. The circumstances earlier had prevented him from truly appreciating how efficient and capable the quiet man was. The last of the junior agents had made their attempt and consequently failed. Frankie’s breath was coming more unevenly now, and rightly so. What he had gone through would be exhausting for anyone.

“Well done, everyone, a round of applause to Catfish for taking the time to demonstrate y’all have a lot to learn before getting approved for field work. Now go on and line up at the range and get warmed up. We’ll be running sims next.”

The junior agents dispersed to the range towards the back of the room. Frankie let out a breath and rolled his shoulders to let out some of the tension he had been carrying, then started heading for the range, eager to let off some more steam.

“Where do you think you’re going, partner?”

Frankie frowned, his eyes darting between you and Whiskey in confusion.

“I thought we were going to go shoot?”

Jack smiled then winked at Frankie.

“They’re warming up, you still have one more person to disarm, Flyboy.”

Frankie’s fingers twitched, and you could see that the exercise earlier had worn at his usual restraint.

“No lasso.”

Whiskey handed you his lasso, then unloaded his revolvers and passed you the ammo. He holstered his revolvers again and stepped into position in front of Frankie. You watched as a new kind of energy seemed to crackle between them, and some of the junior agents seemed to sense it, stopping to watch as well.

Whiskey was fast, but training at the boxing gym had helped Frankie with his speed. As Whiskey drew his revolver, Frankie sprung forward. He didn’t bother to grab the gun. Instead, he brought his fist down on the barrel, sending it skittering away. Whiskey’s fist connected with Frankie’s side, and you heard, rather than saw, Frankie’s reservations fall away with a snarl. He took hold of the inside of Jack’s blazer, grabbing the grip of the other revolver holstered there and made to pull it out and take the ‘shot’. Jack’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Frankie to go on the offensive, but he found he was impressed. He liked a challenge. Before Frankie could draw the revolver from the holster, Jack grabbed his wrists and wrenched them down, then back up quickly to break Frankie’s hold, and then Jack threw them both to the ground. Both men recovered quickly, but in the chaos, the revolver had fallen to the ground and Frankie scrambled for it. Just as his fingertips touched cold metal, Whiskey’s whip flicked the revolver further away, and they closed the distance to grapple with each other again.

Your match with Frankie had been a well practiced dance, and this was too, in its own right. However, where yours had been fluid, Whiskey and Frankie were bordering on feral. For a moment, it appeared that Frankie had gotten the upper hand. Whiskey staggered backwards, about to fall, but as he went, he flicked his whip, the corded length wrapping around Frankie’s throat. He tugged, sending them both to the ground. Frankie grunted and struggled against the snare he was in. Whiskey wasted no time in scrambling up and pinning Frankie, his knee to the pilot’s back. Frankie continued to struggle until Whiskey leaned down so that only the other man could hear.

“Easy now, Tiger, save your strength for tonight. You did good.”

Frankie relaxed under Jack’s weight and nodded. Whiskey got off of him with a grunt and unwound the corded length of the whip from Frankie’s neck, then pressed a button on the handle to recall it. He helped Frankie up and dusted him off a bit.

A few of the junior agents were still watching in awe. It was rare to see a senior agent like you or Whiskey truly need to put some effort in, and to see it twice in one day was something else entirely. You walked over to the two men and put your hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“You did great, Fish, nice to see you let loose for once.”

He scoffed good naturedly and swooped to pick his hat up from off the ground.

“You guys had quite the audience while you were at it, too.” Your smile was barely contained as you raised an eyebrow at Jack.

This time it was Whiskey’s turn to scoff.

“Well, I hope they’ve been practicing. They’ll be running the sim after Frankie does.”

Whiskey patted Frankie on his shoulder then gestured for him to follow. He led him to an enclosed area that occupied the majority of the left side of the training complex. A small structure that looked like a house sat inside the enclosure, and you knew it was furnished to match whatever simulation scenario had been determined. Whiskey stopped at a table just outside of the enclosure and gestured to the rifle, combat knife, folder, and headset.

“Alright, Flyboy, I know you’ve done this sort of exercise before. Your brief is on the table there. Good luck.”

You and Whiskey walked a bit further along the enclosure to two screens. One cycled through a variety of camera angles while the other would connect to the headset once Frankie turned it on.

“You’re really having Frankie run the simulation?”

Whiskey nodded, “I didn’t have him help with the demo just to teach those newbies a lesson, darlin’. He’s been through hell, and I figured getting him to work through some of that in sparring and the sim would help. That, and, well… you can’t blame me for bein’ curious, Bourbon. Last time I got to see what he could do, we were a bit busy trying not to get shot.”

You can’t help but to chuckle and shake your head, your attention going back to Frankie as he geared up.

“Frankie turns into a different person on missions sometimes, used to scare the hell out of people on base who saw it. No one ever suspected it because he was always the quiet one, but he’s just as competitive as the rest of the guys on the team. He was just always scary good at keeping a level head and focusing on the mission. You’ll see.”

Frankie put on the kit provided for him then flipped through the brief before lowering the headset and advancing. The brief had been fairly simple: infiltrate the compound, rescue the target, and escort the target to the exfil location. They even provided a decent description of the target. The virtual course populated guards patrolling the 3 entrances. He opted for the path of least resistance with only 2 guards posted.

From the screen, you and Jack could see Frankie take a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing even as he crept towards the two guards. You knew it was because he was willing himself to let go, to let his instincts and muscle memory take over. He was lightning fast as his knife came out and he landed brutal and precise fatal blows to the targets on the screen. In a normal situation, he would hide the bodies but the miracle of technology meant he didn’t have to. It was beautiful in a devastating way to watch Frankie move with such confidence, stealth, and precision. He peered around a hallway, noting the sudden influx of guards and catching a glimpse of red at the end of the hall. The brief had indicated the target would be in red, and it made sense that there would be more guards to ensure the target didn’t run off. He counted five hostiles in the hallway.

Five guards, five bullets.

Once he had downed the hostiles, Frankie stepped through the hallway, catching a glimpse of the target and swore at how cliché the scenario was. The brief had just said the target had last been seen wearing red.

“¡Me están jodiendo! ¿En serio? ¿Una mujer en un vestido rojo?” [They’re fucking with me. Really? A woman in a red dress?]

You could both hear Frankie through the mic link in his headset, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It quickly died as you and Whiskey tensed. The woman in red was a decoy, one that statistically caught the majority of users by surprise.

“Ma’am, are you-” She moved just barely and he saw the glint of where a gun was holstered. Frankie didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he fired a shot to her chest and grumbled to himself before moving on. Normally, it wouldn’t have taken him that long to figure it out.

Whiskey whistled, thoroughly impressed. It wasn’t long after that Frankie found the real target and reached the ‘exfil location’.

“Damn, sweetheart, you sure picked a good one.”

He winked at you, and you grinned back as Frankie pulled off the headset and his kit, then walked over to you.

“Alright, agents! Catfish successfully completed the sim in 15 minutes, that’s your time to beat!”

A chorus of groans echoed in the training room. Whiskey ignored them and clapped Frankie on his shoulder.

“You did good, Flyboy, really set the bar high. Most people get caught up by the decoy.”

Frankie’s chest puffed out a little at the praise, but he was soon shaking his head. Before he could deflect the compliment, Whiskey squeezed his shoulder.

“Feeling hungry, Flyboy? Figured the three of us could grab a quick lunch before Cran steals Bourbon here away from us.”

“Yeah, I’m starving. Didn’t expect you to keep me busy like that.”

Vermouth entered the training room, and you waved him down.

“Hey, Vermouth! Watch the junior agents for us. Whiskey’s just got them running the sim. We’re going to go grab lunch!”

Without waiting for Vermouth’s answer, you grabbed Whiskey and Frankie’s hands, dragging them out of the training room and to the elevator.

“There’s a deli not far from the office we can walk to, and it’s late enough that we should miss the rush.”

Walking arm in arm with both of your boys, you could think of very few things better than right now. You didn’t care that you were in the middle of downtown New York. All that mattered was Whiskey on your right, and Frankie on your left.

Frankie did his best to relax and not let his anxiety and internal struggles get the best of him. Whiskey’s words echoed in his mind: “When it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it.” That was a lot easier said than done, but he was working on it.

You were right, the timing made it so that you had missed the lunch rush. You all ordered your food, Whiskey stepping in to pay with a look that silenced both you and Frankie, then you all went to sit down.

Whiskey practically sprawled in his chair, his legs encroaching your space under the table and Frankie’s space next to him. Frankie sat somewhat stiffly but the more he ate, the more he seemed to relax. You nudge his foot with yours playfully to grab his attention.

“How’s your back? Mr. Ya-no-soy-joven.”

The three of you laughed, and Frankie shook his head with a wide grin on his face.

“I’m not! Gotta leave that shit for the young guys who think they’re invincible.”

“Young guys like Davis?” You shot back, smug on Frankie’s behalf.

“Cocky kid had it coming.”

There was no anger in Frankie’s eyes, only the slightest lilt of mirth in his voice as his gaze met yours, then Whiskey’s. Whiskey leaned forward and barked a laugh while patting Frankie on the back.

“He sure did. The lot of them were in need of a reality check. That’s why Champ specifically likes to have me or Bourbon take at least one pass at our junior agents. After all those hours spent training, they tend to forget that there are much bigger fish out there.”

Conversation flowed easily between them for the rest of their lunch. It reminded Frankie of the prior morning, when they were enjoying breakfast and everything just felt right. It felt as if all of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and this time, this time, it didn’t feel fleeting.

Walking to the office was much more comfortable than the walk to the deli had been. You noticed that Frankie was far less stiff under your touch on his arm, even leaning into you occasionally. You parted ways in the elevator. You were heading to the lab to play guinea pig for Cranberry, and your boys were headed upstairs to Whiskey’s office. Frankie seemed hesitant to let you go, and you did your best not to spook him, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Given everything that had happened, things needed to be almost wholly in Frankie’s court, at least until he was more comfortable around you. You had certainly noticed, however, how easily Frankie and Whiskey seemed to allow each other into their respective spaces. The elevator doors closed behind you as you strode down the hall. You were glad that they were comfortable together, though. It had definitely been a concern of yours, considering their respective pasts, but you also thought that there was the potential for them to relate and understand each other better than most.

The rest of the day passed by slowly, and as directed, Frankie remained Jack’s shadow. Jack did his best to keep from laughing when 5pm rolled around and Frankie began to subconsciously bounce his knee. He was scrolling on his phone, lower lip pulled between his teeth and brow furrowed as he tried to focus on whatever was on the screen.

You knocked on Jack’s open office door, raising an eyebrow when you saw Frankie startle at the sound. He wasn’t usually this jumpy. Jack’s gaze met yours, and you could see the amusement and mischief that bubbled in his eyes.

“Hey there, darlin’, you getting ready to head out for the night?”

“Just about, wanted to come see my boys before I do.”

Frankie’s knee stopped bouncing at your words, his phone falling into his lap as he looked up at you. You motion for him to scoot over a bit as you sit down on the couch next to him and rest your chin on your hand.

“We’re still on for dinner tomorrow, right?”

You posed the question to the room in general, even though the three of you knew that it was really directed towards Frankie.

“Uh yeah, I’m-I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow,” Frankie says after clearing his throat and gives you both a shy smile. Leaning over, you take his large hand in your own and give it a squeeze.

“Great!” Standing up from the couch, you smooth your clothes, give Frankie a kiss on his cheek, and then kiss Jack. “I’ll find us a place, and we’ll figure it out more tomorrow. Night, Frankie. Night, Jack.”

A minute later, you’re gone, and suddenly there’s nothing keeping Frankie’s mind off of the time, which is painfully close to 6pm, when Jack said he’d be done with work. The moment the clock turned that final, eternal minute, Frankie sat up straight, attentive, and alert as his eyes watched Whiskey.

Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching, then relocated next to Frankie on the couch.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything tonight, Flyboy. If you feel like you’re not up for it, we’ll just grab dinner and head home.”

Frankie shook his head and took a steadying breath.

“No, I want this. I-I could really use it, Jack.”

Whiskey nodded, eyes wandering over Frankie as he adjusted on the couch.

“Alright, I use the green, yellow, red system. You need me to stop for whatever reason, call red, and that’s it, no questions, no hard feelings or fuss. I’ll get you cleaned up and help you come down. Sound good?”

Frankie nodded, his tongue suddenly thick and his mouth dry in anticipation. Jack tutted.

“I need you to use your words, Flyboy.”

Frankie swallowed, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“I understand, s-sounds good.”

“Good. Now…” Jack pulled a small pad of stationary paper and a pen from the side table. “I want you to write out what you’re ok with and any hard or soft limits you have.”

Frankie nodded, then took the pen and paper and began writing.

[click for better quality]

A blush took hold of Frankie as he handed it back.

“It’s what I can come up with off the top of my head, for tonight at least. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up though.”

Jack’s eyes were dark as he perused the list, looking up from the paper to Frankie, he stood up with a smile.

“C’mon Flyboy… we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

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babbushka · 3 years

Text

Beyond Reasonable Doubt (ch.3)

– A Lawyer AU –

You and Kylo Ren have hated one another for as long as you can remember. He, a criminal prosecutor, and you, a defense attorney should be natural-born enemies, and you are. But when Kylo comes to you seeking representation after being charged for a murder he didn’t commit, you both learn a thing or two about life, the law, and love…

[5k, cw: mentions of murder, rivals/enemies-to-lovers, adult language/name calling; NSFW: PIV, shower sex, oral sex, biting/marking]

Tumblr Masterlist || Available on AO3

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The sun hasn’t risen, when the alarm goes off. Much like every other day, you wake up too early, with too little sleep. One would think you’d be used to it by now, it’s the same routine you’ve had for years and years, but something about letting the pull of sleep drift away always makes you a little annoyed, especially when you’ve had such good dreams.

And oh, were the dreams good! Stretching awake, your hand absentmindedly shuts off the alarm, and in the dark of your bedroom, you shuck the covers off of your legs, letting your feet slide into the slippers you keep in the perfect spot so that your toes don’t have to touch the cold floor. Cracking your joints and shaking away the lingering desire to crawl back into bed, you let out a little sigh.

What an overactive imagination you had, you chuckle a little to yourself as you scrub a hand over your face, eyes blinking into the nothingness. You can see the lights in the distance, the city that never sleeps waiting to greet you as your cheeks heat from the visions of Kylo’s body that float behind your eyelids. The way he had moved around you, over you, made your mouth water, and you shook the thought from your head, because you had to actually be productive today. You couldn’t think about Kylo’s body when you had to worry about his case.

Which is why you nearly scream when a strong hand wraps around your wrist, and deep voice rumbles out a stubborn, “No.”

You’re stunned, and confused, to say the least. Blinking a little more rapidly, in the dark you see the shape of a figure in your bed, nestled against the pillow and tucked under the covers. Or well, he was tucked under the covers, until you threw them off, waking him up. He’s not happy about that, if the way he’s tugging you back down onto the mattress with a little too rough of a pull is anything to go by.

“What..?” You start, not really knowing what exactly you’re asking.

What are you doing here? is a good bet, but this early, it could really be any number of things. Kylo rarely slept over at your apartment after he fucked you hard, much preferring his own penthouse to that of your one-bedroom.

“Go back to bed.” His voice is thick, he’s not even awake himself, halfway between dreams of his own. You briefly wonder what he’s dreaming about, and then all you can think of it how strong this massive bear of a man must be, for him to have such a strong grip when he’s not even conscious.

“I can’t, I have work.” You try to get out of said grip, eyeing your clock.

Kylo doesn’t play nicely, but then again, when does he ever?

“Call out.” He manhandles you a little, waking up enough to get his other arm around you, pulling you closer closer closer to him, until you’re back in bed fully, your face tucked under his chin. His breath smells bad and you crinkle your nose at him when he mumbles, “Tell them you’re busy.”

“No, Kylo, I can’t – ” Protesting, you swat at his shoulder a little, but it doesn’t do anything other than make a dull thudding sound. He’s too solid, the bastard.

“Here I’ll do it for you.” Kylo reaches over for your phone on the nightstand, and is dialing before you can even threaten him about it. “Ms. Heart? (Y/N) won’t be coming in today. Something’s come up, she’ll be in tomorrow. Uh huh. Mhm. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

You’re positive that he’s not going to tell you whatever it was that Neisha told him, and you’re also positive that you’re pissed at him, illustrating that anger with a snappish, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Someone who just got you a day off.” Kylo replies tiredly, locking your phone and setting it back on the nightstand.

“I don’t want a day off, Kylo, I have – oh shit, the meeting!” You accidentally smack his face with yours as you sit upright in bed, the cold rush of realization crashing through you. At once, you’re groaning, your head falling into your hands.

“What meeting is more important than – ”

“My promotion, Kylo. That’s what’s more important.” You snap, “They’re never going to make me a junior partner if I keep blowing them off like this.”

Kylo’s quiet about that for a blissful three seconds, before he’s settling back down against your mattress, rubbing his hand over your bare arm to coax you back under the sheets. You hate him so fucking much, as you shove yourself against his chest, his arms automatically curling around you.

“You say it as though you make a habit of ignoring work, which we both know is the opposite of the truth. When’s the last time you actually called out of work?” Kylo mumbles into your hair, still somehow asleep, his eyes not having opened once this entire time.

“That’s not the point – ”

“When?” He urges, and you bite him sharply on the shoulder for being right.

“Six years ago.” You admit, even though you’re not happy about it.

“Exactly.” Kylo sounds entirely too pleased with himself for it not even being five in the morning, “Now, back to bed.”

It is absolutely not snuggling, the way that you press your body against his. He’s a space-heater and nothing more, that’s all. Even with the heat turned on in your apartment, Kylo radiates warmth and you’re comfortable under the covers with him, as the winter rolls on outside your windows.

But as comfortable as you are, your routine has your eyes open, and you start to get antsy just lying there.

“I’m too awake now, I’m hungry. What do you want for breakfast?” You nudge him with your palm, making him groan as if you’re the one who is insufferable here. You quickly amend your question with a disgruntled, “And don’t you dare say pussy, because that’s not happening.”

“What? Why not?” That wakes Kylo up, has him sitting up against your headboard with a scowl as he turns on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room with a gentle orange glow.

“Because you’re an asshole, that’s why.” You explain with a scoff, and Kylo only rolls his eyes and grumbles something unintelligible under his breath. You want to kiss him, so instead you stretch and ask, “Why don’t you go make yourself useful and run to the deli?”

“I’ll have my assistant do it, what do you want?” He’s reaching for your phone again, and you don’t care enough to stop him this time.

“The usual. You want money?” You offer, but he only frowns at you with a shake of his head, as if the offer is insulting.

With a deep sigh, you throw the covers off your legs once again, your eyes trailing up and down Kylo’s naked body as the movement reveals him. He really is fucking sexy, you think. Too bad he’s the biggest pain in your ass to exist.

“I’m going to shower, are you coming?” You already know the answer, but Kylo likes to hear you ask anyway, so you do, and he does.

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

Your moans echo and bounce off the shower walls, as he presses your face against the warmed tile. His body covers yours, he’s touching you all over, his hands broad and wide and searing hot. Hotter even than the water that runs over your shoulders, soaking your hair, pooling into your mouth where your jaw is dropped open as he fucks you hard.

It took all of two seconds for him to get hard, and you weren’t in the mood to waste a perfectly good opportunity to come first thing. In the shower, it felt so secretive, so secluded, just the two of you in this little rectangle of space, curtains drawn, no one around to see the way your body begs for his.

He’s got you pressed against the tile so you have something to brace yourself on as he hikes your leg up and plows his cock into you. Soapy sudsy water slicked up your bodies and the two of you groan and gasp and moan moan moan as he fills you completely, his mouth latched to your throat, pressing his teeth into the muscle there.

“Goddamn – ow, shit – ” You wince when he thrusts a little too hard a little too fast, and he stills at once, kissing your shoulder and your throat, the spot behind your ear, your jaw and your cheek to soothe you.

“You okay?” His voice is deep, it sends a shiver down your spine despite the steam that fogs up the room, crystal clear above the noise of the water cascading around you.

“Yeah just, just a little sore from last night.” You admit with a sigh as he continues his pace for a few more thrusts, going slower, deeper. You squeak out a moan as he drops one of his hands to massage at your clit, your nipples rubbing against the tile wall as he grinds his cock into you.

“C’mon let me eat your cunt, I’ll make it feel better.” He licks across your jaw, broad thick strokes of his tongue, a preview for how he wants to lick into your pussy.

“Yes, okay yes – Kylo!” You moan with a nod, and you can feel his grin on your throat when he manhandles you carefully, making sure you don’t slip. He almost landed you in the fucking emergency room that way once, and you still haven’t let him live it down.

Kylo turns you around so that your back is against the wall, and he drops to his knees in front of you. Carefully, he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, your hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself as he nuzzles his face right between your thighs.

“Attagirl, I know I’m a lot to take but you do a damn good job, don’t you?” Kylo praises you with that deep rumbling baritone of his as he bites and kisses dark marks into the flesh of your inner thigh, and the way it travels up your body has you dizzy, has you breathing in deep lavender scented breaths from the shampoo he’s stolen off your shower caddy.

“You fuckin’ bet, I’m the only one who can.” You groan, fisting his hair and pushing him closer, until you can hear him chuckling at how eager you are for his nose to prod against your clit.

He doesn’t respond, only spreads your folds with his big thumbs and gets to work, making out with your pussy in a way that has you moaning from deep in your chest. Your eyes shut as his tongue wriggles and thrusts inside of you, teeth lightly scraping enough against your clit to make your body jolt from the barely-there friction.

You could do with a finger or two shoved up your cunt, and you’re about to ask him if he would, when you feel the steady rhythmic shaking of him jerking off. He grunts and groans into your pussy as he kisses and licks and sucks sucks sucks, drinks down all your slick in a way that has your eyes rolling back into your head, the hot puffing panting breaths he ghosts over your walls have your knees shaking. He laps you up like he’s desperate for it, and with the way he keeps bucking into his own fist, you know that he is.

You grind your hips against his mouth, the hand in his hair tight tight tight, holding him there, suffocating him almost. His nose is too big for that to really happen, but it’s right where you want it to be, and he moans and grunts as he breathes the heady scent of your arousal in, your body undulating above him until you’re coming down his throat.

“I’m gonna come.” He mumbles into your body as he sucks and slurps it down, a messy sloppy sound that makes your chest tighten with mild embarrassment. Kylo doesn’t seem to care about the noise, he’s so lost in his own pleasure as he speeds up his fist on his cock, the head leaking and dripping pre-come down his shaft only to be swept away by the water from the shower.

“Where?” You pant, “Want to come in me?”

“I – shit.” He spills over his fist at the very thought of it, and grunts out small groans in rapid succession as he milks it for what it’s worth, wringing out every drop that he can.

It’s almost bittersweet, you think, watching his load swirl around and around down the drain. But then you’re shaking your head, and you take back your leg, planting your foot firmly on the floor. Kylo is still on his knees, and he’s panting, his cock softening, his hair inky black as it covers his face.

Spent, he leans against your body, shoulders rising as he gulps down lungfuls of air. You push the hair away from his eyes, and in a moment of tenderness, he rests his head against your stomach, turning to press a chaste kiss to your belly-button.

“Maybe next time.” He finally musters up the strength to say, and you don’t let him see you smile as you reach for the conditioner and begin working it through his locks.

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

Nearly an hour later, you and Kylo are drying yourselves off on the padded rug that covers the heated tiles of your bathroom floor. You tie the sash of a terry-cloth robe around your waist, and he secures a towel around his hips, and you almost want to say something about how he’s so annoying for taking your favorite towel, but you let the comment go.

Instead, you have an altogether different comment, when you exit the bathroom and smell the familiar savory scent of your deli order wafting in from the dining room. It only takes a moment to recognize that Dopheld must have picked up the order that Kylo placed, and brought it to you before leaving, making you scowl and ask, “Since when does your assistant have a key to my apartment?”

“I made a copy when you gave me one, figured you wouldn’t mind.” He’s quick to reply, which has you sighing in exasperation.

“Maybe I do mind.”

“Do you?”

The two of you stare are one another, and when Kylo raises his eyebrow, he knows he’s won.

“No.” You admit, more annoyed on behalf of the principle of the thing than the thing itself, but, “I’m too hungry to really care.”

And you don’t really care, you’re just slightly embarrassed again at the idea that Dopheld heard you calling out Kylo’s name, in the brief moments that he was in the apartment. You knew your walls weren’t that thick.

“Want breakfast in bed?” Kylo doesn’t seem to be phased at all by the idea that you’ve been overheard, so much like the towel, you let that go too. There were too many battles to pick with Kylo, the key didn’t need to be one of them.

“No we are going to sit at the table like civilized people so that someone doesn’t get crumbs in my sheets like a messy college boy.” What you won’t compromise on though, was sitting at the dining table, shooting him a dirty look.

“I resent that.” He jabs a finger in your direction, the intensity of the gesture undercut by the towel that is barely hanging onto his wide hips.

“Good.” You snort out a chuckle, before he chases you into the dining room where your breakfast awaits.

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

Sitting in your robe and towel, you and Kylo dig in to the deli takeout while it’s still nice and hot. You got your usual order, and Kylo got his, and the two of you even indulge in hot steaming cups of coffee that Dopheld must have picked up on his way back to your apartment.

Eating in companionable silence, you get nearly halfway your food before letting out a sigh. Kylo wasn’t just here to be annoying, he was here because he is your client. The trial is a month away, and that seems both like the most time in the world, and tomorrow at the same time.

“You’re going to have to tell me everything you know, you know.” You bring it up finally, now that it’s after eight-o’clock in the morning and you should really be in the office dealing with this very thing.

“Can it wait until after breakfast at least? I don’t want to spoil our appetite.” Kylo waves it off, not too keen on getting down to business yet. You can’t really blame him, the man isn’t even dressed after all.

“Fine.” You amend to after breakfast, “I’m going to arrange a meeting with the prosecutor in the next couple of days to figure out what their angle is, and if you’re being framed like you say you are, I’m going to need every single scrap of proof you can give me before I go digging.”

“I’ll tell you everything, including my suspects for who actually did it.” He sips his coffee.

“This isn’t about who actually did it, this is about convincing the jury that it wasn’t you.” You remind him, and he chews carefully, thoughtfully.

“I’ve seen you, on the stand. I know that we could get them to confess.” The way he so easily switches from charming to serious gives you whiplash, the smoldering of his eyes boring into yours has you reminded of the way he moves through the courtroom.

The implications of that wording have you internally wincing, and you have to be sure you know what he means, so you clarify, “Plural?”

He nods, and you sigh.

“Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay?” You can already feel a headache coming on, and you’d like to preserve the good mood that he put you in from the shower for a little longer. “Eat your breakfast, tell me exactly what you were doing, and we’ll go from there.”

You dig back into your breakfast, mind already reeling about the facts of the case. You don’t really know anything yet, the paperwork for the case is sitting on your desk and you haven’t gone into the office to read through it. You’re curious who the prosecutor assigned is going to be, you wonder which judge you’ll have. You’re already thinking about juries and evidence and alibis and and and, that you almost miss the way Kylo seems to be staring at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You have to ask, unable to place the expression he wears.

He seems to debate his answer in his head, you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes and it only makes you more curious when he eventually blinks and shrugs, wiping at his chin with a gentle, “You have schmutz on your face.”

Frowning, you wipe at your own chin with the back of your hand, and lo and behold he’s right. You wonder how long that’s been there, before a sound from the street calls your attention.

“Do you hear that?” You turn your head towards the window, training your ear to try and figure out what going be going on.

“Hear what?” Kylo doesn’t seem to notice, and because he’s never any help, you get up and go to the window yourself.

“…Oh for fuck’s sake.” You groan, quickly ducking away from the window the second you realize what’s going on.

“What is it?” Now curious for himself, Kylo does the exact same thing, leaving the both of you on the floor, crouched underneath the window of the dining room.

Down the several stories below, standing outside your apartment building is what can only be described as a swarm of paparazzi. It looked like dozens of photographers, at least four news trucks, reporters and journalists all clamoring to try and catch a glimpse of someone. And you seriously doubted that the someone was anyone other than your own Mr. Ren.

“Guess the news is out.” You sigh, aggravation bubbling up in your chest.

“Good thing we’re up here and they’re down there, huh?” He doesn’t seem too ruffled, which only aggravates you further, since he’s the reason they’re all there.

“No, it’s not a good thing! We aren’t going to be able to leave now unless we want to get fucking swamped.” You groan, shuffling away from the window with Kylo close behind, the two of you crawling around like idiots so that the photographers don’t see you, “Someone must have followed us from the restaurant last night. Next time we go out we’re using aliases.”

“Yes ma’am.” He replies, and you give him a glare over your shoulder.

“Now’s not the time to be cheeky.” You stand up when you know that you’re out of sight, and immediately make a beeline for your closet.

Kylo follows suit, and begins to put on the clothes that he wore last night. They’re slightly rumpled from being thrown on the floor, and you know how much he hates that sort of thing. You briefly entertain the thought of keeping a stash of clothing here for him, but then dismiss the idea. That’s far too domestic for the no-strings-attached arrangement that you have both agreed on.

“It’s early, I’m sure in an hour they’ll get bored of crowding the streets or the cops will shoo them away.” He shakes his head, pausing as he does up the zipper and button on his trousers, “Or…”

“Or what, Kylo?” You’re almost afraid to ask, with the way he trails off like that. It’s usually never a good idea, when that happens.

“Want to sneak out and go to my apartment? I can show you documents and whatever else I have, things that will help our case.” He offers, confirming your fears.

“The building is surrounded by photographers and news trucks, how do you propose we slip past them?” You continue to dress yourself, putting on something smart yet comfortable. There was no reason to be in a suit today, a rare opportunity that you’re only secretly excited to indulge in.

“Dopheld can pick us up by the service exit in one of the cars I don’t use often.”

“And what makes you think that there aren’t vultures waiting at your apartment either?”

“Oh I’m sure there are, but my building is way fucking nicer, and I figure if we have to be stuck somewhere, why not there?” Kylo snorts, and you scowl at him.

“You’re such a dick, don’t insult my apartment.” You put your hands on your hips, halfway wanting to send him out into the public by himself, to brave the paparazzi and reporters on his own.

“You didn’t build it, did you?” Kylo only retorts sarcastically, quickly adding, “Besides, you won’t let me smoke here.”

He got you there, Kylo did. In all honesty, you’re surprised he’s managed to go this long without a cigarette, and you’ve seen how crabby he gets when he hasn’t had one. If you’re going to be stuck with him for the day and need him to be cooperative in giving you information, you’re going to want nicotine in his system.

“…Fair enough.” You acquiesce, and try to ignore how smug he must look as you grab your purse.

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

Your apartment building is nice, far nicer than most. You had a doorman and elevators and that was more than most people could dare to dream of having in New York City. It was a pre-war building, one of those big beautiful testaments to architecture, filled with details that you just couldn’t find in the cookie-cutter-pre-fabricated high-rises that they keep building. One of those features, was an absolutely huge service elevator, that you were told was used to move big pieces of furniture like grand pianos, in and out units.

Despite it being a nice apartment, you didn’t quite have the space in your particular unit for a piano, but still, you took advantage of the service elevator and tried to ignore the anxiety of the possibility that the entire building was surrounded with people wanting to catch a glimpse of the accused.

“Your phone is blowing up.” You’re concentrating so hard on ignoring that possibility, that you don’t realize how many notifications you’re getting until Kylo points it out.

“Yeah it’s probably my fucking boss wondering why I’m ignoring her for the second day in a row.” Muttering under your breath, you pull your phone out of your purse and turn it on do not disturb, hoping that it’ll be out of sight and therefore out of mind.

“You’re busy.” Kylo shrugs.

“She’s not going to care.” You keep your eyes trained on the numbers of the elevator as they ding one by one, a steady descent to the ground floor.

“She’ll understand when you tell her what’s going on, if she hasn’t figured it out by now.” Kylo says in a strange attempt to keep you calm, but you can only chuckle dryly.

“Oh I’m sure everyone in the office has figured it out; gossip travels fast.” You sigh.

You got lucky that no one else needed to use the elevator for anything, but why should they? It was still too early for deliveries, and for that you’re grateful. You almost feel bad for anyone trying to get to work, leaving through the front doors.

The elevator finally slows to a stop, and Kylo nudges your elbow with his.

“You ready to make a run for it?” He asks, and you hate feeling like you’re sneaking around, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing. You simply nod, and when the elevator doors open, Kylo practically lights up, point out, “Look, there’s the car right there. No paparazzi in sight, just like I said.”

Not wanting to waste any more time, you make a beeline for the car. Kylo’s a gentleman enough to open the door for you, and the second that it’s closed, his assistant pulls onto a backstreet, away from the commotion entirely.

“Hello again Dopheld.” You greet the young man, wanting to at the very least be civil despite your mood.

“Morning Ms. (L/N), I’m sorry, I feel like this is all my fault – ”

“What? Don’t be silly, you aren’t the one accused of murder.” You interrupt him, shooting Kylo a glare.

“There’s no need to be a bitch about it.” Kylo lights up a cigarette and sucks down a few drags, cracking the window to blow the smoke out as he mutters, “I didn’t even do it.”

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

Kylo’s penthouse apartment isn’t that far away from you, but the traffic always makes driving around Manhattan insufferable. Eventually though, you do arrive at his building, and are relieved to see that no one is out front crowding the block in the same way that they crowd yours. You were right, someone must have seen and told their peers that Kylo was at your place.

Still, to take every precaution, Dopheld drops you off around the side service entrance of his own building, bypassing his doorman and luxurious art-deco lobby. It takes two minutes in the elevator to get all the way up to the top floor that only Kylo’s key can unlock, but you don’t release the breath that you’ve been holding until you’re safely and securely in the foyer of his place, the door closed behind you.

You could spend time marveling at the penthouse, admiring all the windows. You could, but you have more important things to do, and Kylo knows it. So, without a word, he leads you through the penthouse, down a hallway and around a corner and then down another hallway, into his home office.

It’s dark in there, and kept nice and cool to preserve all his books in the antique bookshelves that line the walls, and when Kylo sits behind his desk, you can’t help but be impressed. He looks like a right and proper lawyer, a powerful lawyer – and that’s because he is.

He also, happens to be, for the first time in his life, a client.

“Alright, where do you want to start?” You sit down on the couch that’s in the room, another antique piece of furniture that’s nestled next to a coffee table, where you settle your purse and pull out a tape recorder.

“I think it only makes sense to start at the beginning.” Kylo shrugs, and you nod, turning the recorder on so that you can focus on simply listening now, and taking notes later. He clears his throat, and cracks his knuckles, and begins with: “It was a dark and stormy night…”

“Kylo.” You warn, and he chuckles to himself just a little, making you shake your head in mild exasperation.

“Okay okay, fine.” He combs a hand through his hair, and sighs himself.

Whatever this was, however this was going to go, if you were to win you needed him to be frank with you. No jokes, no teasing, just the facts. This was going to be a gnarly and nasty case, and you aren’t so sure how much help you’ll have to win it – if you’ll have any help at all.

He knows this, and after his initial little joke, a familiar scowl settles deep into the features of his face, reminding him of the formidable opponent and rival that you knew him to be – the unstoppable force to your immovable object.

Kylo takes another drag of his cigarette, holds the tar in his lungs for a moment or two before exhaling a big cloudy puff of blue-grey smoke, and runs his hand through his hair again, a nervous habit.

“It starts, with my grandfather, Anakin.”

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

Tagging some Kylo lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @angstywhore @theinfinitenerd @whateveryousay-dude

#kylo ren #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/you #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #adam driver character #adcu #lawyer au #lawyer!kylo ren #modern kylo ren #my writing #beyond reasonable doubt #kylo ren smut

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angelsfalling16 · 3 years

Text

The Way You Wear That Dress

Inspired by the song Dress by Charlotte Sands

Part of the 20 First Kisses Series

Summary: It's the beginning of eighth year, and Simon can't find Baz at the Welcome Back Picnic, so he goes in search of him. What he finds is unexpected and makes him rethink everything he has ever felt for Baz.

Word Count: 2150

If you want to know what I imagined Baz’s outfit looking like, here are the links to the dress and the boots! (I love the idea of Baz in these boots and have used them in a couple of fics now.)

Read it on ao3

***

Simon

It’s the beginning of eighth year, and I’m pretty sure Baz is already up to something. He isn’t at the Welcome Back picnic with everyone else, so I decide to go in search of him and stop whatever scheme he’s about to put into motion.

I start with our room, wondering if maybe he decided to go back up there, but the room looks the same as it always is at the beginning of term. My side is devoid of any personal items since I didn’t have anything I felt like bringing back from the care homes (not that I really had anything there). Baz’s side is immaculate, all of his things neatly put away in their respective places, filled but not cluttered.

I move over to the window to look out at the school. It seems empty right now with everyone else out at the picnic. My eyes skate over the courtyard where, not long ago, the first years’ fates were sealed by the Crucible. I only hope none of them were given as evil a roommate I was.

My gaze continues over the grounds for anyone who isn’t out on the lawn, and after a minute of searching I catch movement on the ramparts.

It could be anyone, but I know it’s him.

I turn away from the window and head back down the stairs and away from Mummers House. I quickly but quietly make my way to where Baz is, not wanting to scare him off before I can figure out what he’s up to but also wanting to get to him before he disappears again.

I come to a stop several feet away from where he stands on the ramparts. It isn’t what he’s doing that causes me to freeze, though. It’s what he’s wearing.

At first, I wonder if he has decided to don the Watford-issued cape for his final year, but then I realize that the swishing of cloth around him isn’t a cape. It’s a dress.

The dark green material falls to just above his knee in the front, giving just a glimpse of his thighs, but in the back, it nearly grazes the ground. At the top, around Baz’s shoulders and chest and around to his back, the material is sheer with interwoven lace, allowing his pale, grey skin to show through. He wears the dress like it’s nothing, like it was made specifically for him. (Knowing Baz, it probably was).

My eyes follow the line of his dress down to his things and knees, but where I expect to see the rest of his legs – his muscular football calves – I’m met with the sight of knee-high boots that are laced up the back and have a heel that adds at least two inches to two inches Baz already has over me.

I can’t seem to stop staring at his outfit, but I finally manage to force my eyes back up, and that’s when I notice Baz’s hair.

For the first time since I’ve met him, Baz is wearing his hair down with no products slicking it back away from his face. Instead, it’s being pushed back by a thin headband, silver like his eyes, that still allows his hair to fall in natural waves around his face.

Suddenly, my mouth is dry and my throat feels tight. I try to form words in my head, but my mind is blank. All I can think is, legs. And that’s when I know that I’m fucked.

How is it that Baz looks so good in a dress? He should look ridiculous. I should want to ridicule him for it. Instead, all I can do is stare and hope that he doesn’t turn and find me staring at him.

For a full minute, my eyes slowly drag up and down his body, taking it all in, before I force myself to look away, not wanting to get caught staring at him. Inevitably, though, my eyes are drawn back to him.

It’s hard to believe that it’s really him. I just can’t reconcile this version of Baz with the version I’ve known for seven years. He looks so different, but he also looks very much like himself. Possibly even more like himself than he ever has. (If that makes sense.)

I wonder what happened to him this summer. It’s like there was a shift somewhere within him that made him act and dress differently. I just don’t know what it is.

He is dressed so femininely, but he still holds this masculinity about him, and the whole thing is driving me crazy. He pulls it off so effortlessly.

He’s dripping with confidence as he leans his arms on the ramparts, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers.

I know the smart thing to do would be to turn away and leave him be, but doing what’s smart has never really been my strong suit.

I take a few steps towards him even though I haven’t consciously made the decision to do so. I feel drawn to him like a string is pulling me towards him, and as I draw nearer, I notice a glossiness to his lips, as if he’s spread lip gloss or something over them.

I want to hit him. Why does he always look so good? It’s annoying.

My eyes fall back to the dress he’s wearing, and I can only imagine what other people might think if they saw him like this. For starters, he’s out of uniform, and also, he looks bloody well perfect, like nothing he wears will ever make him look bad.

I briefly consider going to find the mage and telling him what Baz is wearing, but breaking dress code isn’t enough to get him kicked out of school. Plus, I’m not sure I want to share this side of Baz with anyone else.

I’m not sure why but it probably has a lot to do with the fact that Baz has obviously chosen a place away from everyone else, maybe so they won’t see him like this and judge him for it. But it could be something else holding me back. Something like this desperate need I’m feeling to put my hands on him.

I want to push him up against the wall and…and…. That’s where my thoughts cut off because usually when I push Baz against the wall, I want to punch him, but today, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to fight him. I want to…

I shake my head. I can’t finish that thought, can’t think about what it means.

And yet…

An image pops into my head of my hands on his hips, rubbing against the luxurious material of the dress he’s wearing. Of my hands in his hair, tangling in it. Of his breath on my cheek. Of the feeling of his glossed lips on mine. Of the moment he starts to kiss me back and--.

And I shake my head again.

I won’t lie and say that I don’t want any of that, but I can’t be foolish enough to allow myself to hope for it. Nothing has changed. Baz still hates me, and he’d laugh in my face if he found out that I want to kiss him.

Because I do. Want to kiss him, that is. And it’s not just because of the dress. I think that was just the thing that pushed me to finally admit how I feel. How I’ve felt for a long time.

But Baz will never feel the same way about me.

I should go. I can’t let him catch me practically drooling at the sight of him in that dress.

I turn away from him, but I turn too quickly and trip on my own feet, cursing loudly as I try to catch myself.

“Simon?” Baz says behind me.

“Uh…” I say stupidly, picking myself up off the ground and slowly turning to face him. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?”

“You, uh, you w-weren’t at the picnic. I came looking for y-you,” I stutter out as my face flushes red.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” he says, and his voice sounds strangled.

He drops the cigarette to ground and grounds it out with the toe of a boot that probably costs more than everything I have ever owned. That sight shouldn’t make me even more attracted to him, but it does.

He turns one of his usual sneers on me and snaps something snarky at me, probably the beginning of chewing me out for following him, but I barely hear a word he says because I’m so mesmerized by the way he looks. Also, the sound of his voice is somewhat soothing, even with the biting words that no doubt spill from his glossy lips. I missed hearing it while we were away for the summer.

He’s looking at me expectantly now, like he’s waiting for me to answer a question I didn’t hear, and I feel myself blush even deeper.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is Baz. He’s just wearing a dress. I shouldn’t be acting this weird around him.

That’s when I see his nails, colored all black, a glossy sheen to them, and that’s the last straw.

I can’t possibly think straight anymore, so I push all thoughts from my mind and move to close the distance between us. Careful not to mess up the dress, I shove him up against the wall but stop just before our lips meet.

The heels of his boots cause him to tower over me even more than usual, but I’m not bothered by it. I actually kind of love it.

His mouth is parted as if I stopped him mid-word, and the tips of his ears are turning pink. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, though. I’ve never been very good at reading people, especially not when it’s Baz.

“If you’re going to punch me, get it over with already, Snow,” he sneers.

“You called me Simon before,” I say.

“No, I didn’t.”

I shrug. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is, “I don’t want to punch you. Far from it actually.”

He hasn’t pushed me away yet, and my confidence starts to build. Maybe Baz would be more receptive to this than I originally thought.

I keep one hand on his hip to keep him pinned to the wall and move the other one up to cup the side of his face.

“Is this okay?” I whisper, hesitantly. He nods, so I move my hand up higher, into his hair. My hand slides over the headband and combs through his hair. “What about this?” I ask, my voice breathy and barely audibly.

He nods again.

My eyes drop down to his mouth, and I want to try one more thing, but I don’t want to push my luck. I don’t want to risk trying too much and losing it all.

“Just do it,” Baz whispers as though he read my mind.

I cock my head at him in a question, uncertain whether he actually means what I think he does. Then he says “kiss me” so I quietly I almost don’t hear him. But I do hear him, and it only takes me a beat to lean forward and press my lips firmly to his.

The kiss is everything I imagined and more. His lips taste like cherry cola, and I feel drunk on the taste of him. Like I’ve lost all sense. (And maybe I have since I’m kissing Baz of all people.)

It only takes a moment for Baz to begin kissing me back, his arms coming up to wrap around me and pull me closer. I can feel the dress move along his body as he moves under my hand, and I feel lucky that I get to experience this. It’s a shame that he’ll only be wearing the uniform after this.

I wonder if he would even want to wear this dress in front of other people if he could.

I like the way he looks in it, but I obviously wasn’t meant to see him like this. Does he like wearing the dress? Is he afraid of what other people might think? Has he worn it before?

I have a million questions, but now is not the time to ask. If Baz wants to talk to me about his choice to wear the dress, I’ll be there to listen. But I won’t pressure him into talking about it.

So, for now, I’m going to enjoy it while I can.

I’m going to enjoy this while I can. Having Baz in my hands and not fighting with him. This is so much better than fighting, I think, and I continue to kiss him, thinking about how this may be the best year at Watford yet.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow trilogy #rainbow rowell #my writing #the way you wear that dress #20fk

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 3 years

Text

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Six

Ao3, Masterpost, C.1 C.2 C.3 C.4 C.5

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality. platonic dukeceit, creativitwins, and dlampr.

Yet again there are no italics. its new years eve sue me. oh also happy 2021 nobody question my priorities thanks <3

Warnings: so much softness, implications of self-isolation, swearing, Lots of Feelings, sympathetic everybody, descriptions of the sides having non-human features.

Word Count: 3,962

Something Remus came to realize was that he, a bit paradoxically, was not used to people being in his space.

It was weird. Not weird in the way that people usually felt when he was the one interrupting- he wasn’t scared by it, or disgusted, or even really annoyed. It was just… surprising, to have somebody else hanging around him, unprompted by anything.

Remus wasn’t known for having boundaries- or respecting them, for that matter- but he’d at least been attempting to restrain himself just a bit after being accepted by the others. Out of courtesy, if nothing else.

And apparently he didn’t need to. Not after what happened with Patton, anyway. Now that Patton had deemed the two of them ‘close’- something he was absolutely happy to agree with, for the record- Remus’ world had flipped sort of around. Back to no boundaries, only he wasn’t the one crossing those lines, and nobody was running screaming. Least of all Patton!

Remus ran the thoughts over in his head, feeling like that day was shaping up to be a great example of the change:

He and Patton were sitting side-by-side in the living room, content, with the rest of the sides spread around in different seats and configurations just the same. The unlikely pair were at the fringe of the circle, close enough to be part of things but far enough to zone in and out at will (as both were prone to do). It was nice, amiable.

But minutes before- forty of them at most- Remus had been up in his own room, happily dissecting some gooish creations and only vaguely aware that there was a meeting that day. His attendance to group meetings varied from week to week- sometimes he was bored and could use an argument, and other times he was having fun on his own and knew that it wouldn’t be all that important if he ditched. He joined more often than he used to, sometimes he was even asked for, but he was optional still. A favored option, suggestions taken now, sure- but still not mandatory.

He was going to stay upstairs for that one, but Patton had come to get him. Had dragged him down in that sweet, puppy-dog way of convincing that worked so well and, knowing him, was totally unintentional. And even if Remus didn’t care about arguing his way through content production right then, Patton had promised that it was important for him to be there.

That was the word he’d used for Remus. Important.

How the hell could Remus say no to that?

At least the meeting was going by without a hitch, for once. He assumed it was- Remus was honestly paying very little attention- but the lack of anger or tension was practically palpable. These things were usually so spiteful that even Remus, renowned lover of chaos, could almost taste his headache when everybody started shouting and hissing and fighting. It just got sad.

But not that time, apparently.

As Logan went on his third ramble of the evening, smiling widely at a surprising lack of interruption, Remus turned to Patton. He whispered:

“Okay, when are they gonna snap? Did they all finally get lobotomized?”

Patton frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean where’s all the screaming and crying? Specs and Prince Priss haven’t had a single one of their horny yelling matches, what gives?”

Patton smiled in a way that said he was trying very hard not to laugh, rolling his eyes.

“These meetings have calmed down a bit, I guess,” he shrugged.

Remus glanced around the room with narrowed eyes. While that certainly seemed like the truth, he couldn’t buy it.

“Yeah, I give it until one of them vaguely insults the others, and then everybody’s gonna shut down for the next week. That kinda tension doesn’t just go.”

Patton didn’t say anything. Half-gazing at the carpet, he didn’t look like he’d even heard. He was smiling, but it was one of those jumbled up expressions, the type that tried to span a hundred different feelings. He had so many expressions like that, that seemed bottomless and swirling and so intricate on a humanoid face that, in reality, wasn’t built to display something like that. It was uncanny- not like an eerie doll, but like something with unearthly beauty. This face, though, had tones of upset.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been around everybody,” Patton said.

It wasn’t a question and it didn’t need to be. While Remus wasn’t exactly known for keeping to himself, he couldn't be called sociable either. He dropped in to say something, usually random, and then he was gone as soon as he’d visited. Even before the first Patton incident, fuck, it had been weeks since he’d actually stuck around through something.

Since The Acceptance, now that Remus thought of it, he’d been spending more time alone than ever. Not all of his time- he remembered being surprised at Logan talking to him, willingly, like friends, and after that had even come Virgil and Roman. He saw people, talked to them, yeah. The time spent was friendlier, more welcoming, but it was so much less.

Well, it was obvious why: they visited him, but- like he’d mentioned, he’d been trying to give them some space.

“Sure, it's been awhile,” Remus admitted, “But I never expected shit to change so much around here, still.”

The haze on Patton’s face thickened like fog on the moors, a soft and sympathetic mist over his eyes that Remus knew was aimed at him (even if it was pointed more to a sort of middle distance).

“I don’t think I did, either,” Patton’s mouth barely moved, his voice less of a whisper and moreso a fragile breath. “I was hoping for it, but… I’m still trying to get used to stuff being allowed to change, you know?” He picked at a loose thread along the seam of the couch. “I haven’t done this stuff in a while, either.”

Remus’ head shot up, and he almost forgot that they weren’t the only two in the room. Somehow, he stopped himself from shouting:

“You- it has?”

A tiny smile. Something built up behind Patton’s eyes; a wave, dark and lonely and filling his bright blues with cloudy gray. “I just needed some alone time, after everything changed so much so fast. I still feel, I dunno, weird. I don’t know what’s wrong with me- but…” he swallowed, his head lifting. “I’m really happy for them,” he was staring- so very loving- first at Logan, then Roman, then Virgil and Janus. It was a wonder none of them felt his gaze on them, Remus thought, because he was sure if anyone looked at him that way, he’d burn up like a fae upon iron. “They deserve it so much. I know that not everything is perfect still, but, I’m just so proud of us anyways. I- I think maybe-”

He cut himself off, blinking rapidly. Remus gave the room a quick once over to make sure nobody was looking their way- and nobody was: Virgil was very resolutely trying to get everyone to stay on topic despite Janus and Logan’s continued tangenting, and Roman was scribing furiously on several different pieces of paper- before he inched close enough to curve his arm around Patton. Touching like that had steadily become familiar to both of them, and it didn’t take long for Patton to fall untense against his side. He leaned into him, muttering: “I mean, they’re all doing a lot better than me, that’s for sure. I- I don’t even know what I’m for anymore. Maybe that’s why I’ve been… ditching, really.”

Remus squeezed his shoulder. There were so many things he could’ve said and done, but all of them loud and fervent and definitely not subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone. So, for the sake of Patton’s privacy, he settled on this:

“That makes two of us, Morey.”

The meeting that was planned to take two or three hours took the entire day, just as always. Hours and hours were spent in a room filled with excited conversation, of which the subject oscillated wildly between relevant topics and complete nonsense- which Remus and Patton did, eventually, tune back into (and contribute to as well, mainly in the nonsense department). Eventually, even Virgil gave up on trying to keep anything in order.

But the meeting ended on a good note anyway. Lots of good notes, actually, if the stacks upon stacks of paper they’d scribbled up were any indication. Mess, the sides had come to believe, was usually a measure of their productivity: if crumpled pages were strayed across the room, if forgotten pens and pencils balanced on every surface from coffee table to TV stand, and if- in the process of snacking- they’d accumulated enough dishes to fill the sink for days on end? Shit. Got. Done.

Remus stared over the chaos with unfocused eyes. He felt distantly proud of the stormish state the living room was in. Draped over the back of the sectional, he gnawed idly on a wood pencil, stripping its yellow into beige. The paint fell off in bitter chunks, and the taste made him think of grabbing some non-acrylic dinner before closing the night off. Maybe he’d steal some of whatever saccharine sweet Patton usually made in the late evenings, and then spend the rest of the night with him, anyway. Remus debated what would be the most fun (or if he was tired enough to sleep yet), partially aware as he did so that he’d chewed and swallowed the metal-eraser end of his pencil.

“Ugh,” a drawn out groan broke his thoughts, petulant and whiny. “Do you have any intention of helping us clean up this, the common area?”

Roman was kneeling beside Janus on the carpet, the pair surrounded by papers and binders and trashbags, the former of which they were sorting into either of the latter two, depending on how useful each page was. Roman had stopped working, however, to stare up at Remus indignantly. Remus glared right back.

“I’ve never had an intention in my life,” he answered.

Janus shrugged, smiling in that I-told-you-so way at Roman. But Roman, ever the nuisance, wasn’t letting it go.

“Come on! It’s not like you’re even doing anything!”

“I’m doing something,” Remus’ words were wide and wobbly as he stripped another line of paint off the pencil, breaking some splinters off into his teeth.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” another chunk of wood, down the hatch. “I’m flaying all these leftover pencils until they’re lead-sticks.”

Roman hopped up from the floor and dropped himself onto the couch, shoving himself into the way so jarringly that it reminded Remus of himself.

“Well, now you’re going to help us clean.”

Janus rolled his eyes, not even glancing up. “Roman, just leave it alone, we-”

“We are all parts of this whole now, including him! Remus-” Roman rounded on him again, “If you’re going to come down here and help us make all this mess, with all of your numerous contributions that we have to write down, you’ll help clean it like anybody else. Do you think that I like any of- of-” he gestured, flamboyantly, at the room, “This? Ugh, please, I’m a prince! But, fair is fair, and fair means everybody.”

And that was the point of the conversation in which Remus would cackle, push Roman backwards off the couch, and proclaim how much it’d go against his very being to clean a mess instead of cause it. He’d tell Roman how funny it was that he thought he could boss him around, because it always had been- that full-of-it Older Brother kind of attitude that had never worked. The Prince had never once managed to get him to do anything, and each attempt only got funnier than the last.

He didn’t say any of that, though.

Roman was bitching at him, not to go away this time, but to stay. Stay and help the group, because he was a part of said group. So he was asked to help them, the group that he was a part of, because he was part of it. That group.

“Okay,” he blurted, “Okay, I’ll- alright.”

Roman blinked at him, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “You- oh!” he smiled, utterly baffled. “That was- very easy?”

Janus, too, was looking up at Remus with bewilderment, his task of paper-sorting all but forgotten. Remus couldn’t blame either of them, but he still huffed, trying very hard not to be embarrassed by that whole… moment.

He shook it off, rolling off the couch and standing up, jittery.

“Whatever, just- tell me what to pick up, okay?”

They seemed not to hear him, the gawking continuing on until he started working unprompted, and longer than that still. Each time he (begrudgingly) shoved something into a trashbag, it earned him another Exchange of Glances from the pair.

They got over it eventually, though, because there was a fuck-load more to clean than there was room to stare. So they cleaned.

Remus thought it would get old after a minute, and he’d finally gather up the guts to bail on them, but it just… never happened. It felt unnatural to be getting rid of a mess- like an animal having its fur brushed the wrong way, continuously- but by some point the sensation was distant. The rest of him was still busy processing, experiencing, maybe possibly overthinking this kind of recognition he’d never gotten before. It was handed to him now like it was something normal. The three of them worked together, and it was normal.

Acceptance, as it turned out, wasn’t synonymous with ‘soulless assimilation’. In fact, it was pretty fucking great, getting to watch his brother and best friend find documents from the floor with his ideas on them, then tucking them into a binder marked important, instead of a trashcan marked to burn. It was… surreal.

But the tidying was over in just an hour and a half- oh wow, never in a million years would Remus have thought an hour and a half of cleaning would be too little for him. He made a note to absolutely destroy something big and important later, to balance the universe out again.

Roman sank through the floor as soon as they were done, complaining loudly about how very exhausted he was. Remus teased him on his way out, but it was just for the habit- he was way too mushy to think of anything properly mean at the moment.

Janus watched him go, silent. He sat beside Remus on the couch, and despite his obvious tiredness, he waited a good few minutes before saying anything.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Remus shivered. Janus pulled him up into a hug (one that maybe dragged on for a little too long, but who was counting?), and it spelled out all the pride and care that he’d never been good at verbalizing. With that, he gave Remus a short nod, and then was gone as well.

Which made everyone else upstairs, probably in their rooms and halfway asleep. Then there was Remus, antsy in the living room, itchy with feelings.

Everyone but Patton, of course, who could still be heard humming in the kitchen; who never went up until he knew everyone else was in their rooms, true to the protective parent persona. Remus suddenly didn’t think he wanted anything else but to see Patton after what had happened, to talk to him, to…

He walked to the kitchen.

“Pat.”

Patton looked over his shoulder at Remus, up to his elbow in sudsy sink water. A smile fell naturally across his face.

“Hi,” his voice was low, delicate. “You about to head up?”

Remus watched his friend work, trailing into the room slowly. He grinned, “Are you kidding? I could stay up all night, if I wanted.”

“Do you want to?” Patton asked him.

Remus thought on it for a moment. He shrugged, iunno, leaned against the counter by the sink. Patton turned away again.

It was so quiet. No wind. No footsteps. Not a muffled voice upstairs, even- just the sound of water and ceramic hitting ceramic. Everything was still.

Remus hated it. Silence was fragile, and he crawled with the need to break it. He felt it get tense as it stretched out, and he just wanted to tear the air apart with sound. It felt like nothing mattered anymore, when peace was so easily able to drown it all out. Cold and alone. He hated it.

Sometimes, Remus imagined that if the silence went too long, he’d never be able to make a noise again. There were few things that made him so unhappy, but the quiet…

“What’s on your mind?” Patton asked.

Remus jolted. Patton was staring, concern gathering in his eyes the longer he did. Remus took a deep breath- he remembered something, something small and unimportant that Janus had told him once.

When one is so intensely happy, they can fall to agonizing upset even quicker than if they’d been mildly perturbed in the first place, because of the ferocity of the feelings. Something like that.

“A lot more than I’m willing to throw on your shoulders, Pops.”

Patton pouted. Actually. Fucken. Pouted. The worst part was, his puppy-face was actually working.

“Ugh,” Remus rolled his eyes, “Just- could I- I dunno, have a hug, or some shit?”

If Patton was surprised, he hid it well. God knew, that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Remus would ask for. He almost never asked to get attention- taking it was much easier, and much more entertaining. Besides, if he’d ever asked before that point… well, he already knew what answer he would’ve gotten.

Patton’s smile only widened, until it was positively melting. “Of course you can,” he shut the sink off. “Of course.”

He reached haphazardly for a hand towel, to dry his arms. Remus, riding the high of that enthusiastic permission, absolutely could not wait that long. He latched his arms around Patton’s middle before the side had even finished talking, burying his face between his shoulder blades and hugging tight.

Patton went still, like he didn’t know what to do. After it became clear that Remus had no intention to move, Patton laughed, dreamy and soft, and shook his hands as dry as he could. He patted Remus’ forearm; bead-bracelets clattered under the Duke’s sleeves.

“Hey,” Patton said.

“Mmh?”

“Not that this isn’t lovely,” he laced his fingers with Remus’, squeezed them, “But I’d like it better if I could hug you back, ya know?”

Remus let go, reluctantly. In the true fashion of intrusive thoughts, there was a second he was so convinced Patton would run, now that he was freed. Make an escape from him, an escape from his claws.

He didn’t. He spun right around and pulled Remus against his chest- one arm linked around his torso, the other winding into his tangled hair. Anyone, at a glance, could see that Patton was huge- but up close the difference was dizzying: his wide chest, encircling arms that seemed to be made of nothing but muscle and padding, and that height, all made him so… comforting. Big and strong, a body that disguised power in soft edges and fat. If he squeezed just a little too tight, in fact, Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Patton could make splinters out of his bones. Which Remus definitely, definitely wouldn’t mind, but the knowledge that Patton not only could do that but also wouldn’t ever do that- that was what really did him in.

And he’d hugged Patton before- months ago, and somehow Patton had seemed so small then, when everything had started- but being hugged? Properly, too, not underwater while one of them was drowning- it was a world of difference. No panic, no breakdowns, just a real, solid hug.

He could just ask for this and then have it. He could smell sugar cookies and candle wax, and feel somebody- a willing body- pressing in. It was weird. He thought that someday, he might get used to it. He wanted a chance to get used to it.

“Do you wanna talk now?” Patton prompted, forcibly reminding Remus that he had a bloodhound’s nose for emotional distress.

“I don’t know.”

Patton hummed, his fingers scratching through Remus’ hair. “Today went better than I thought it would.”

“You didn’t have to bring me, if you thought it was gonna be bad.”

“I wasn’t worried because of you! I was worried because of me. Things have been… a lot for me, lately.”

“Oh,” Remus angled his head to the side, looking up at him. “Yeah. I feel ya.”

“But they were all so much more patient, weren’t they,” Patton’s eyes went a little misty, the way they always did when he talked about his family. “Everything’s different now, and I guess that scared me, but I think that now… it’s a good different, you know?”

“Like us, right?” Remus laughed, “This is the craziest difference, if ya think about it.”

Patton chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest so that Remus felt it more than heard it.

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten through with today without you, you know that?”

It was deeply honest. There was a beat.

“I-” Oh fuck, Remus was choked up, when did that happen? “I wouldn’t have even had a day like today, without you, so. Do with that what you want.”

Remus buried his face in Patton’s sternum, just to avoid the sad understanding in his eyes.

He- he wasn’t exactly made for the care he was getting, not the kind of softness in that face. Not when Patton was still patiently untangling his matt of hair while they hovered in the stillness of the dark, empty kitchen, and Remus desperately didn’t want to cry.

Patton gave him a minute to breathe, at the very least, before:

“They like you, though. Janus loves you.”

“Yeah, okay, but it’s not-”

“I know how you feel,” said Patton, and did. “Like they couldn’t actually care about us, even though it doesn’t make sense for them not to. It’s one of those things that’s easy to forget,” Remus could hear the smile in his voice. “So it’s good we have each other, when we need to get out of our own heads. At least, it’s like that for me, I don’t know if you even-”

“No,” Remus curled his claws in the back of Patton’s shirt, something dark and emotional flooding like tar through his chest. “Nah, you’re right, Morey. This is good for us.”

Remus shook his head at nothing in particular. He forced his hands unballed, pulled back, and wormed his way out of Patton’s hug after way too long.

His skin felt like paper from the affection, like he’d been electrocuted, and while that was fun- was amazing- for a while, he didn’t think he could handle much more in one sitting.

Patton let him go, smiling warmly, leaning back against the counter. His eyes were shiny and wet, but he was content.

“Thanks,” Remus said.

“What for? The hug?”

“No- I mean, that too, but I was saying ‘thanks, for caring’. For giving enough of a shit about me to try and help.”

Patton smiled, solemnly.

“I told you so,” he breathed, “I promised I would like you when I got to know you, and then I did. I do!”

Remus felt a grin returning to his face, sliding across his lips more naturally than anything else he’d had to deal with that night.

“Yeah. You aren’t too bad yourself, Pat.”

Chapter Seven

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #intruality #qpr intruality #platonic intruality #remus #patton

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pianomanblaine · 4 years

Text

Killing Me Softly

He could have spent an eternity envisioning his own death and it still would not have prepared him for this.

Written for @timebird84 ‘s Spooky Phantober, day 2. I know it says SPOOKY phantober, but I don’t really do spooky, so this turned into something else, I hope that’s okay.

AO3 FFN

In the course of his existence, Erik had come close to death many times. He’d been attacked, beaten, poisoned more times than he cared to remember. He had imagined and anticipated his own demise in more than a hundred different ways. On a few occasions, he had even longed for it, relished the idea of someone putting an end to his miserable life, but the human instinct for survival is a strange thing, the body always doing everything in its power to stay alive no matter how hard the brain yearns for it to stop.

Nevertheless, he could have spent an eternity envisioning his own death and it still would not have prepared him for this. He had always thought it would be painful. Whether it was sharp and quick or slow and drawn out, in his mind there was always physical suffering involved. This was something else entirely.

This type of dying was… soft. Every smile she gave him, every touch and every kind word she bestowed upon him made him feel warm. Hearing her sing for him and only him during their lessons lit up his entire being from the inside, made his spirit soar to heights he had never known existed. Her mere presence was like a drug, a powerful painkiller taking away the hurt caused by the knowledge that she would never be his.

Even if Christine could feel even a fraction of the love he felt for her, he could never bring himself to kill her light by dragging her down to his world of darkness, and her realm of colour and brightness would always be out of reach for the monster that he was. So he would bask in her glow as long as possible, and when she finally left, she would take his heart with her, if he ever had a heart to begin with.

He had been slowly dying like this for about a month now, while he watched her live as she never had before. After her successful debut as Elissa in Hannibal, Christine had been given more prominent roles and had managed to shine in every single one of them (not that Erik had expected anything else). Her angel’s voice along with his tutelage made her into the rising star of the Opera Populaire. Soon the whole world would be at her feet. It would not be long now before she would spread her wings and fly, leaving him behind to rot in hell like he deserved. It wouldn’t be painful, he expected. Once she had gone and he had no more reason to live, he would simply cease to be.

But he had some time left before all of that was to happen. Tonight, his angel had given what could arguably be called the best performance of her career thus far as Marguerite in the new production of Faust, and he was waiting behind the mirror of her dressing room to congratulate her in person. Soon she came bustling into the room, a most becoming blush colouring her cheeks, no doubt as a result of the praise bestowed upon her by her adoring audience. As soon as the door had closed behind her, her gaze went straight to the mirror.

‘Erik? Are you there?’ she called out.

‘Of course, my dear,’ he replied, ‘where else would I be?’

Indeed, where else would he be? Every minute he spent in her presence brought him closer to his inevitable demise, but that would not stop him from basking in her light for however long she would allow him to.

The lock on the door clicked shut. ‘Won’t you come in, please? You know I prefer to talk to you face to face,’ Christine said.

‘Yes, I do know that, although for the life of me, I cannot fathom why,’ he murmured to himself as he swung open the mirror and stepped into her dressing room.

‘Brava, my angel, you were magnificent tonight, as I knew you would be.’

She thanked him quietly, looking away from him, her cheeks turning an even brighter shade of red. Would she ever stop being so shy and modest in the face of his compliments, even though he must have given her thousands already? And would he ever stop feeling this fluttering in his chest when he saw that breathtakingly beautiful smile on her face? He hoped the answer was no.

‘We should start preparing you for your next role. I’m sure the new production will be announced soon.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

Although Christine usually threw herself into preparing for a new role with enthusiasm, she seemed rather reluctant to address the topic tonight.

‘Is something the matter, my dear?’

Finally, for the first time that evening, she looked him in the eye, although her reply was still rather hesitant.

‘As a matter of fact, there is something I wish to discuss with you concerning the next production.’

‘Oh? And what would that be?’

‘I… I don’t think… Oh please, don’t be upset with me, Erik!’ she cried out, hiding her face in her hands.

‘Christine, whatever is going on?’ he asked, hastening over to her and gently wrapping an arm around her slender frame. ‘Why do you think I would be upset with you? My dear, your reaction has me quite concerned. Speak, child. Tell me what is wrong.’

She sniffled, slowly moving her hands away, allowing him to see her face, but her eyes remained fixed on the floor as she spoke.

‘I don’t want the leading role in the next production. In fact, I would prefer not to have any part in it at all, but I know that would not be conducive to my career, and you have been working so hard to get me where I am today, for which I am ever so grateful, so I thought I could maybe request a smaller role as a compromise.’

Whatever he had thought she would say, this was certainly not it. For a moment, he was stunned into silence.

‘Erik? Please say you’re not upset with me.’

If she had been anyone else, he would have yelled at her that of course, he was upset, how could she willingly throw away all that they had been tirelessly working towards these past few months? But this was Christine, his angel. He had to be more careful and considerate with her. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. So he took a deep breath and tried his best to remain calm.

‘You are the star of this Opera, Christine. This is everything you’ve wanted, everything you deserve. I simply do not understand why you would want a smaller role now. Please explain it to me.’

‘It’s not that I don’t enjoy it or want it anymore, Erik, because I do, I promise, but I have been spending so much time in rehearsals and on stage lately that I barely got to see you anymore. I was only hoping that if I took on a less significant role in the next opera, you and I could spend more time together again, like we used to.’

For a moment, Erik thought he had misheard her. Did she mean she actually enjoyed his company? That she even preferred it over being on stage? Maybe he was dreaming. No, hallucinating, that was more likely. The idea of an angel like her willingly spending more time with a demon like him was preposterous. Only he could have dreamt that up.

‘Let me see if I understood you correctly. You want to give up a leading role because you want to spend more time with me? Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. I thought you would have figured out by now that my dreary little place five stories beneath the earth is no place for an angel like you. Your rightful place is up here, on that stage, playing the lead. You will not settle for anything less, Christine, I won’t have it and that is final.’

Clearly, that was not the reaction Christine was hoping for. She drew away from him, taking several paces back, her small, delicate hands balling into fists.

‘And why should you get to decide that? It’s my life, my career, surely I should have a say in this as well.’

‘If you were capable of making choices that would be beneficial to your career, then yes,’ he retorted. ‘In this case, however, I think you should leave the decision making up to me, since you don’t seem to know what is good for you.’

‘How dare you!’ Christine gasped, her face now red with indignation, the look in her eyes suddenly more fierce and passionate than he had ever seen from her. ‘Is that what you want? To make all my decisions for me? Well, I suppose I should not be surprised. After all, that is exactly what you have been doing since we’ve met, is it not?’

Is that what she truly thought of him? That all he wanted was to control her?

‘Christine, listen –‘

‘No, you listen!’ she yelled. ‘These past few months, you have been telling me what to do. Not only how to improve my singing, but what to eat, when to come and when to go, how to behave towards Carlotta and the managers. And I have listened to you, let you guide me in whatever direction you liked like a puppet on a string, because I believed you knew what was best for me where my singing career was concerned. But you do not know what is best for me when it comes to my heart, Erik.’

When Erik didn’t reply – how could he, he didn’t even know where to start, didn’t understand what was happening at all – she slowly walked up to him, taking his right hand in both of hers and bringing it up to her chest, right over her heart.

‘I care for you, Erik. So much.’

He wanted to stop her right there, because that could not possibly be the truth, but she held up a hand to halt his protests. She continued, her voice softer now, looking up at him with pleading eyes, pleading for what he did not know.

‘When I am up on that stage, I’m not singing for the audience. I am singing for you. You are the one who gave me my voice, and so every time I sing, I am laying my soul at your feet. I could not care less who else is listening to me, as long as you are there. And I know you are there every single time, I can always feel your presence even when I cannot see you, but sometimes it feels like it is not enough. I want to be near you. I love to sing for you, but I want to sing with you as well. Please let me.’

If it had been physically possible, Erik’s jaw would have dropped to the floor. She could not possibly mean any of this, could she? She was right, he had controlled and manipulated her, even if he did not think of it as such at the time, and still she was here, standing right in front of him, telling him she cared for him?

When the ability to from words finally returned to him, her name was the first sound that crossed his lips.

‘Christine,’ he whispered, his usually confident and commanding voice now trembling with bewilderment, ‘I do not understand. How? Why?’

‘You silly man,’ Christine said, a soft smile playing on her lips. ‘Such a genius, and yet understanding human emotions has always been beyond your grasp, has it not?’

Suddenly he felt her soft little hand caressing the unmasked side of his face. He gasped, trembling under her touch, and before he could say anything her lips were on his.

If she had been softly killing him before, it now felt like she was breathing life back into him with a single kiss. If he had been slowly descending into the darkness of hell, she was now pulling him back up towards her own blinding light. He let out a soft whimper when she pulled back a little, but then she kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, and he finally managed to wrap his left arm around her waist, his right hand still resting over her heart where she had placed it. His whole body was buzzing with an energy he had not felt in a long time, every nerve screaming at him that he was most definitely alive.

Death would have to wait a little longer after all, it seemed.

#phantom of the opera #poto fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #timebird84 #spooky phantober #eline writes #my fic #e/c

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hozier-mp3 · 3 years

Note

destiel au fic recs?

Oh yes.

Once upon a time I made a post of every single one of my Fic Recs, and I’m especially fond of AUs, so I give you a list of just, solely, AU fics.

Let me start with my shameless self promotions. (They’re actually full of shame I’m sorry but those are my three AU fics I’ve written.

Alright, time for the real ones. *cracks knuckles* A Million Ways To Go by ChasingRabbits on AO3 - Castiel Novak is a preacher's son living in a world of black and white. Pragmatic and dutiful, he doesn't understand why anybody would want to make waves.Then the Winchesters move in down the street. Soon many of the skeletons in the Novak family's closet are exposed, and as the family faces them, Castiel begins to understand that there are many ways to see the world and so many more ways to live than what he's been told. - This is one of the few fics I’ve reread. The summary pretty much covers it, though, so I’ll let that one speak for itself.

Word Count: 91,079

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086183/chapters/2185029

Smiling Out Of Fear by thepinupchemist on AO3- Castiel Novak is a product of the system, having gone through too many foster homes since the age of seven. At fourteen, he lands himself in Sugar Lane Mobile Home Community under the care of Missouri Moseley. There, he meets one Dean Winchester. A story about teenage hooligans, growing up, and finding a home. - Okay, I’m not going to say anything other than the fact that thinking about this fic literally makes me almost start crying happy tears. I adore it. (I pretty much recommend everything thepinupchemist has written, but I haven’t gotten through it all yet.)

Word Count: 117,494

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007755/chapters/1998660 25¢ Pocket Guardian Angels by hopelessheathen on AO3- Dean walks into his local bank one day and notices that someone has filled the old gumball machine with these tiny, wiggling, sentient angels in individual plastic packaging. Deeply concerned about their air supply and the fact that they're trapped there in the sun, he starts pumping in quarters to rescue them. This is worse than leaving a dog in an overheating car. Now he's got forty of the little guys running all over his house, and god knows how many others might be trapped and dying all over the city. - I love this. I could read it three times a day and still get a smile on my face. It’s just a little one shot, but it’s worth the time it takes. Word Count: 13,325

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359713

Burden by riseofthefallenone on AO3 - Mutants are considered second class citizens, or worse. Discriminated against at every turn, mutants are marked and monitored by The Registry and any deemed too dangerous are taken away to The Facility. It’s no surprise that many try to hide or choose a more permanent way out if a mutation develops. Castiel’s parents hid his mutation and hid him away from the world. He’s grown up with the knowledge that the world will hate him, no matter what he does. If he leaves the house, he can only do it with a long, heavy coat that covers the most beautiful part of him. It takes a pair of brothers to help him really spread his wings and live. - Yet another I adore. If you’ll keep a secret for me, I’m actually not caught up, but I oh so desperately want to be. I’m kind of a sucker for wings in general, though, so that helps.

Word Count: 317,582

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613731/chapters/48945302

Out Of The Deep by riseofthefallenone on AO3 - Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep. It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep. Castiel should have listened better. - Okay, but holy shit. This was one of the first Destiel fics I read, and it heightened my standards to unbelievable places. I adore it. I could write essays.

Word Count: 488,608

https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878/chapters/977676 True As It Can Be by whelvenwings - Growing up in a small town in Kansas, Dean learned from a young age that there was only one rule that couldn’t be broken, one place he couldn’t go - through the forest, to the long-abandoned Angel’s Hollow. But when Sam disappears, Dean’s left with no choice but to follow his brother's tracks through the dangers of the wood; little does he know that the most dangerous creature of all lurks not among the trees, but in the Hollow itself. Dean sets Sam free, at the cost of his own liberty - and, bound by magic, resigns himself to living out the rest of his days in the Hollow, at the mercy of the being within. The angel of Angel’s Hollow, however, has a story - is a prisoner, too, as much as Dean is. Only one thing can free them both - but it is impossible. For, after all: who could ever learn to love a beast? - This was the first, and last, Beauty and the Beast AU I ever read, but for good reason. I’m scared if I read another, that this one will absolutely shit on it and I won’t be able to enjoy it. I loved this fic very much.

Word Count: 71,952

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048568/chapters/24631101

Okay, before I even mention the next one, please read the tags. There are quite a few possible triggers and the tags, luckily, have accurate trigger warnings. And, of course, archive warnings. (And, of course, be sure to read tags on the others.) If you have issues with that, just scroll past this one, because the others are fine. (I think/hope so. At least. If you have any issues, please, let me know. I’ll put warnings above those too)

Defiant by thestorygirl on AO3 - Dean Winchester has devoted his career as a police officer to helping angel slaves in any way that he can. He even formed and heads the "Angel Welfare Task Force," which involved him being called to consult on any case involving slaves. This passion stemmed from an incident that happened twenty years previously, when a thirteen year old Dean failed to help his friend Castiel escape being sold to a sadistic owner. Dean had never really harbored any hope of finding his friend. He saw his work as something he did in memory of Castiel, to prevent others from suffering the same fate. But, when called out on a routine case one day, Dean was startled to find that he recognized the victim. - So, usually I avoid the Non-Con archive warning at all. But with this one, honestly, I’m lucky I didn’t. I could seriously write essays on this fic. I’m gonna shut up about it, just because I don’t want to talk too much about it. It’s seriously perfect.

Word Count: 133,352

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180202/chapters/4771569

Alright back to the ones that don’t quite need trigger warnings.

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster - Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?- I love Cas in this fic, his agoraphobia fits his usual outsider-ness and it’s just all beautifully characterized. I very much enjoy “the only exception” tropes as well, so....

Word Count: 94,054

https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455/chapters/1011747?view_adult=true Four Letter Word For Intercourse by Bendingsignpost on AO3 - As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties. What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.) - Holy shit. That’s... that’s really all I can say. Holy shit. Easily made my top five.

Word Count: 194,739

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839/chapters/37568591 Now, onto the one I haven’t finished, but like... so far.

Beck and Call by Soupernabturel on AO3 - 1922: Dean Winchester, eldest heir to the Winchester Estate, has a less than orthodox relationship with his servant, Castiel Novak. - Like I said, I haven’t finished it yet, but I’m vastly enjoying it at the moment.

Wow, it was really hard not to include canon ones lol. Anyways, I hope this helps Anon, and I hope you enjoy! I love all these authors, and you should give them all the love!

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andorwhore · 4 years

Text

Saudade - I of VII

Chapter I of VII: Disdain

summary: A year in the life of a rebel with a cause and a rebel in search of one… chapter one: Of all the days for a slicer to break into the wrong ship, today was by far the worst.

author’s note: Here we go, chapter one! This story has been my baby the past few weeks as I’ve worked on it, and I can’t wait to share the finished product with everyone! I’ll mention it again here since I’m sure most readers haven’t seen my preview post -- the name Jai that’s featured in the fic is pronounced Ji (like pi), rather than as Jay.

pairing: Cassian Andor x OC word count: 10,610 (i would say i’m sorry but i’m not) rating: T, eventual R warnings: none (yet)

chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four

[ff.net] [ao3]

Setting foot on the Ring of Kafrene always posed a risk for Cassian Andor. The Ring, being an Empire territory, was always crawling with stormtroopers just waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey, whether that prey be a rebel or a petty street thief. The trading post was home to Maker knows how many people and races, dense with the traffic of travelers and traders alike no matter the time or day. Cassian was lucky, having not yet encountered any problems with the resentful soldiers, but, then again, he was well-versed in how to keep a low profile, how to evade the Empire forces on each street and lingering outside every shop, how to simply blend into the crowd as if he were any other visiting trader; many of the other rebels he knew through the years weren't quite so lucky.

Cassian had arrived at the Ring of Kafrene not but an hour ago to meet with Tivik, the Rebellion's informant stationed in the colony who, although endlessly trepidatious, was almost always reliable. For months now Cassian had been making routine visits to the Ring to collect intel, each visit bringing the Rebellion small steps closer to being able to take on the Galactic Empire. Many times, Tivik had information that really served little use to Cassian, however, he could never know when a meeting would be a hit or miss.

This particular visit was a miss; all Tivik could provide was information the Rebellion had already known, and though he made no show of chiding Tivik for wasting his time, Cassian was nevertheless miffed about the wasted trip.

Cassian maneuvered through the crowded streets focused and in silence, avoiding any of the usual Kafrene distractions he'd grown accustomed to encountering. The colony was disgustingly overpopulated and became temporary residence for far too many travelers on any given day, drawing the attentions of thieves from every walk of life, whether they be petty pickpockets just looking to grab a few tradables or accomplished slicers intent on draining someone's account of all their credits. Whatever the case, Cassian was careful to avoid everyone on the Ring, both merchants, pedestrians, and thieves alike.

Cassian was so focused on returning to his U-Wing that he hadn't taken immediate notice of the KX security droid walking down the intersecting street ahead of him, though it didn't take the captain very long to spot the robotic eyesore amongst the crowd. It could have been any other KX droid, which there were a small number of in Kafrene, but the slight alteration to it's gait would clue to anyone in the know that this particular model was in fact the reprogrammed K-2SO.

Cassian's brow furrowed as his jaw set, approaching the droid - he was supposed to be waiting back at the ship, but, in true fashion, the droid elected to ignore that particular direction. Trips to Kafrene were always easier when the captain went on his own, but on occasion the droid insisted on tagging along despite Cassian telling him each and every time to just stay on the ship.

K-2SO had already noticed Cassian's approach, and once the man was close and readying to scold the droid as if he were a disobedient child, Kay spoke up first, "There seems to be a particularly high count of stormtroopers today, Cassian."

The captain hadn't made the same observation as the droid, but he didn't allow the statement to distract him from his intent, "I told you not to leave the ship."

"Yes, well, I have a bad feeling about this increased Empire presence, you're better off with me nearby if conflict were to arise." Cassian stared hard up into the eyes of the droid for a few long moments before peeling away his gaze, looking around to assess the number of stormtroopers currently in their proximity. At the moment, he could only spot a pair far down the street that he'd just walked up - he figured that wherever Kay may have noticed the excess stormtroopers had to be nearer to the colony's starport.

"Do you not think your presence might draw their attention to me?" Cassian questioned while turning back to Kay. If a droid could make an expression, Cassian was sure K-2SO was looking down at him with something akin to ridicule. Even the way the droid raised his arm, hand pointed in the direction they'd have to walk to return to their ship, seemed somehow mocking.

"Go, walk ahead, I'll keep my distance." Kay spoke with attitude, to which Cassian side-eyed as he passed by the droid to lead them back to the ship.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The starport on the Ring of Kafrene was every thief's dream. Ships of traders, merchants, and everything in between were left relatively unattended, any security could be bought off if one had the right connections, and, if one was smart, they could make off with thousands of credits worth of goods. As ships improved and as droid security began to take over, it became more and more challenging for the average thief to get out of the port without being caught, but that meant less competition for the slicers amongst the Ring's residents.

Slicers weren't all that easy to come by on the trading colony. Actually, good ones weren't easy to come by - any amateur that somehow managed to get their hands on scramble keys suddenly started calling themselves slicers. And those were the same amateurs that got themselves thrown into a cell within hours of proclaiming, with severe overconfidence, that they had the skill to hack anyone's computer. No, the thieves drawn to the Ring of Kafrene very rarely had the aptitude for hacking, but then again, the colony wasn't exactly a prime destination for codebreakers to begin with. Slicers were far better suited for the Outer Rim Territories, on planets like Cantonica or Nevarro, where their skills could be put toward big jobs, where they were less likely to be harassed by any kind of authority. To be a slicer in the Expansion Territory was practically asking for trouble, asking for stormtroopers and the Empire to toss one behind bars without mercy.

However, there were a rare few slicers that could get by particularly well on the Ring of Kafrene. One of those infamous slicers, who managed to somehow be renowned in the slums of the colony and yet never encounter any trouble from the Empire, was named Tillian.

Tillian was a man known only by that one name, and very few had the pleasure of learning anything about him beyond that. As far as slicers went, he was arguably one of the best throughout the entirety of the Expansion Territory; and despite his criminal activity, Tillian had the consideration to share his skills with a select few that he saw potential in through the years. And one of those few was Jai'ren Tillian.

Jai was a young woman of unknown origin, but of well-known talent among the underbelly residents of the Ring of Kafrene. She may not have been a strong thief in comparison to all the competition that loitered around the colony, but where she lacked in pickpocketing, she excelled in hacking. Of the half dozen or so that Tillian had trained through the years, Jai proved to be the most apt for the talent of slicing, even from an early age.

Currently, Jai was taking the risk of breaking into multiple ships crammed into Kafrene's overcrowded starport. This wasn't her first, nor did she intend for it to be her last, visit to the port, slicing her way onto ships of all classes and sizes; Jai found that, for her, it was far easier to focus and get a job done when she wasn't distracted by the hustle and bustle of the cramped trading streets, and the risk of sneaking into the parking port was well worth the quiet she needed to get her task done.

Jai had just unlocked a third ship, stuffing her scramble key into the inner pocket of her coat while pushing a stray strand of ashy brown hair back up into her cap, careful to avoid shifting the goggles situated atop it. She threw a cautious glance back over her shoulder, bird-like eyes searching and ears listening to ensure no one had taken notice of her. With a satisfied expression she quickly ducked into the U-Wing and closed the door behind her to avoid any unwanted attention.

Jai stood in the hull, realizing that, despite the appearance from the outside that the ship was large, it's interior was actually a rather cramped space. Nibbling the inside of her lip, she eyed the hull left then right; she realized within a few moments that it didn't look like there was all that much lying around that would be worth anything to her. There were hardly any compartments or cubbies for storing goods, and it looked like the only serious computer aboard the ship wasn't used for much more than tracking whereabouts and sending messages. She let out a derided sigh while sliding her hands into the pockets of her worn pants, fingers toying with a small box she'd grabbed from the last ship she broke into just minutes prior.

'What a waste,' she thought, her eyes scanning the ship again in slow consideration. It looks as if she put in a lot of effort for a whole lot of nothing. But she might as well search for something, anything, to at least deem said effort reasonable - maybe, despite appearances, she could get her hands on something good.

"Right," Jai spoke aloud to herself, extracting her hands and lazily cracking her fingers down in front of her hips. She climbed up the couple of steps into the cockpit, eyeing the equipment briefly before checking every crack and crevice for some kind of valuables. After a minute, she stepped back down into the main hull of the U-Wing, eyes scanning more astutely to make sure she hadn't missed anything obvious. This ship's interior was so small, there was hardly space for much of anything; Jai noted that it would probably have felt cramped if there were any more than four or five people aboard.

As Jai considered the size of the ship, she looked down at her feet, studying the metal floor for a few long moments before her lower lip pushed out appraisingly - unless her eyes were deceiving her, it looked as if some of the floor panels lifted. Jai dropped to one knee to test her theory, finding that there was, in fact, a handle that she twisted to unlock. But she was all too quickly disappointed, finding that what was hidden under the floor was nothing more than a row of collapsible seats. With another frustrated huff, Jai pushed back down and locked the handle back in its place.

And at that same moment, the door to the U-Wing suddenly slid open.

Jai's head shot up so quickly that her cap and goggles nearly fell from her head, her coal eyes wide as they locked onto a man a few years her senior. He was frazzled as his harsh stare burned into her, panting deeply to catch his breath as if he'd been running at top speed. The surprise in his expression upon seeing the unexpected intruder quickly gave way to a look of vexation, brow knotting as he quickly stepped up into the ship, causing Jai to jump to her feet in panic. Her eyes briefly darted past the young man with alarm as she heard the sound of blasters, spotting a KX security droid not far behind. Blindly, Jai's hands fumbled along the wall behind her in hopes that she could somehow find the button to open the second hull door.

With surprising speed, the man jumped forward, slamming Jai against the wall and knocking the wind out of her, one hand putting pressure on the base of her neck and the other roughly gripping her at the elbow of one arm. His voice came out in a loud, rough growl, "Who the hell are you!?"

Jai's hands flew up, one gripping at the hand on her neck, the other to his chest, roughly trying to shove him away. Her black eyes shined with the same intensity as his own as she glared.

"Get off me." She hissed as she heard the droid clamber into the ship, heard the sound of blasters multiplying and growing closer. Tightening his grip on Jai, the man spun them around and shoved her back, Jai stumbling on her heels a few steps until she bumped into the KX droid, expecting it to immediately apprehend them both.

"We have to get out of here." The man spoke urgently to the droid, ignoring Jai as he took a defensive stance up against the wall and out of the line of fire, which had come to a momentary pause, "Get her the hell off my ship!"

Confusion pulled at Jai's expression - this man, who certainly wasn't with the Empire, just gave an Imperial droid orders? The droid interrupted her train of thought as it's large hand dropped onto Jai's shoulder, fingers roughly digging into her skin and causing her to let out a nearly feral hiss. Once more, she was momentarily disoriented as the droid spun her around on her heel, Jai tripping forward from the motion. Her wide eyes stared ahead of her with dread, eyeing the wall of rapidly approaching stormtroopers as they started taking aim once more, assuming her to be a part of whatever kind of trouble this man had stirred up. Jai sharply inhaled as she realized just how deeply she was in over her head.

Panicked instinct took over as Jai attempted to rip away from the KX droid, managing to roughly yank herself away from it's one-handed hold; but she wasn't fast enough to avoid the blast from one of the more trigger-happy troopers, who had misread her quick movement and assumed she was preparing to take action against them.

Jai's abdomen was suddenly searing with pain, as if someone had doused her insides with gasoline and set them on fire. A ragged scream ripped from her throat as Jai collapsed backwards from the impact into the droid before falling to her knees, grasping desperately at her stomach as she dropped.

Though the moment had only lasted a second, to Cassian it was as if it all moved in slow motion. He saw how rapidly this woman's eyes went from anger to panic to pain, how roughly she was shoved back from the power of the shot, and heard how heavily her knees collided with the floor. In that split second he had to make a decision. Did he shove her out onto the port to be left to the stormtroopers' mercy, or did he close the ship door with her still inside? She could have been just a small-time thief… but what if she was a spy? She needed medical attention - maybe he should help her. But if she was a spy… he could always bring her back to Yavin 4 and throw her in a cell for a little while.

In that second of thought, which weighed on Cassian as if it had lasted minutes, he thrust his hand onto the button to close the door before clambering up to the cockpit at top speed. Just as quickly as the door hand closed, the stormtroopers outside started to take fire, their shots ringing out against the U-Wing's metal exterior.

"We need to get out of here now, Kay!" He called authoritatively to the droid that still lingered over the woman, "We'll deal with her later."

Jai cursed under her breath as K-2SO moved to join Cassian in the cockpit. From where she knelt on the floor, curled into herself as she tried to ignore her pain, Jai turned her tear-stricken eyes up in the direction of the pair, her anger bubbling - she got shot because these two assholes did something to piss off the troopers. The fact that they were flying out of the Ring of Kafrene wasn't even a thought in her head as Jai tried to push herself up off the floor, resulting in another agonized shout to leap from between her lips. The sound called Cassian's attention, and he turned in his seat to stare sharply at the woman as she tried to fight against the pain racing through her. He met her eyes, momentarily perturbed by just how pitch black they appeared; the darkness of her eyes made the intensity of her glare all the more fiery and challenging.

Once the ship was a safe distance from the Ring of Kafrene and Cassian was certain Kay could handle the flight back to Yavin 4, he grabbed the medical pack from behind his seat and jumped down to assist the woman, particularly uninterested in having her bleed out on the floor of his U-Wing. Jai had managed to get herself propped up against the wall, slouched with the pained glare never wavering from her features as she watched Cassian approach. He held eye contact sternly, unphased by the harshness being sent his way. For a long moment, he simply stood above her, assessing Jai with a careful eye.

"Who are you?" He finally questioned, remaining firmly where he stood as Jai's gaze briefly flicked down to the medical kit in his hand.

"None of your business." She answered through clenched teeth as she tried to hold back another groan of discomfort.

"If you'd like me to help you, it is my business." He saw the woman peer at the medical bag again, obviously battling with herself over whether or not she should answer his question, "Why the hell were you on my ship?"

Jai clenched her lips tightly together as she studied the man before her - who the hell was this guy and what sort of trouble did she unintentionally get wrapped into? He had to be someone far worse than her if he had attracted the attention of every damn stormtrooper on Kafrene, which eliminated him from being any old thief or cheat. Jai assumed his ship was another obvious clue as to his affiliations, however, she knew very little about ships aside from how to break in and out of them so she could deduce nothing from it. Chances were he was a murderer or a rebel or some kind of conspirator against the Empire. Maybe even all three.

Jai gave a sudden, sharp inhale as her pain seemed to peak yet again, clenching her arms tighter around herself as she clamped her eyes shut. Cassian gauged her reaction with apathy, having decided that, until proven otherwise, he had to assume her an affiliate of the Empire to err on the side of caution. What other explanation was there for her presence aboard the U-Wing at the same moment that the stormtroopers attempted to apprehend him?

"Unless you start talking, I'll let you bleed until you pass out, and then we're dumping you on the nearest moon whether it's breathable or not." He spoke assertively, jaw tense and eyes authoritative. Jai's eyes opened a little weaker than before, agony beginning to wash away her defiant expression, "Did the Empire send you to my ship?"

Despite her discomfort, Jai gave a mocking and surprised huff, the corner of her mouth tugging into an offended grin, "The Empire? You think they'd hire some street rat to break into your ship?"

"Maybe you're just undercover." Cassian crossed his arms as he studied the way Jai's body began to react to her injury, how her breathing came out in shudders, how her skin began to pale, how her forehead glistened with sweat - she probably wasn't going to remain conscious all that much longer, "Look, you're not likely to make it either way, so you may as well admit the truth."

"What?" Genuine concern took Jai's expression at the prospect of possibly dying from this injury; she jolted from the fear, causing pain to course through her abdomen again. Cassian's brow quirked at the reaction - maybe she was just a run-of-the-mill Kafrene thief.

Jai's hand started fumbling in her coat for a moment, to which Cassian cautiously stiffened, loosening his crossed arms just enough for his free hand to linger a little closer to his blaster. She extracted what appeared to be some kind of small electronic chip, holding it in his direction a moment before dropping it into her lap, going back to pull a jewelry box from another pocket.

"I promise you, I'm just a thief," Her voice had begun to sound a little rough as she let her head drop back against the cool metal wall, "Just a thief who was looking to get some good steals; I'm not with the Empire."

Cassian stared into her worried face for a few moments longer, his brow furrowed as he watched for any nervous ticks or odd behaviors. But he spotted none, simply recognizing the desperate plea in her eyes, "… Okay."

He unfolded his arms and crossed the last few feet between them, taking a knee while opening the medical kit. A relieved inhale slipped past Jai's lips as she closed her eyes, attempting to even out her rocky breathing. After a few moments of rummaging, Cassian gave a curse under his breath - they were out of bacta spray. They must have forgotten to restock the kit after their last mission, and now he couldn't properly assist this woman.

His eyes swung back up to stare at Jai, resting his hands atop his knees as he thought - he had no choice but to bring her back to headquarters medical, because he surely couldn't turn around and try to drop her off with some doctor back on Kafrene. If he didn't bring her back with them to Yavin 4, there was no guarantee she'd get the proper help she needed, and Cassian wasn't interested in letting an innocent woman die because of him, even if she is a thief.

Jai realized Cassian had come to a pause and she opened her eyes, tiredly looking over at him expectantly, "… I don't have the supplies I need to fix this. I might have enough to hold you over until I can get you medical attention, though."

"Might?" Her voice was weaker, but her fear was no less obvious.

Cassian nodded, "I think I have painkillers and antiseptic, but that's not enough to fix this."

"You're saying I might fucking die because your med kit is inadequate?" Jai's voice was breathy, but her words still managed to carry some bite to them as her eyes darkened again.

"If we make it back to base on time, no." Cassian answered simply while reaching into the pack for what little supplies he did have to offer. He turned his head toward the cockpit slightly while calling out, "Kay, get us back as fast as you can."

"Is it really wise to bring her to headquarters?" The droid questioned as Cassian moved closer to Jai, holding the painkillers out to her.

"Where and what the hell is headquarters?" She questioned while taking the medication; her expression looked as if it were stuck in one of twisted discomfort.

Another hiss from Cassian as he dug around in the bag - no disinfectant either. This wasn't looking good. Despite that, he still dug out the bandages, though he knew they wouldn't do as much good as they could if he had antiseptic.

"Headquarters is none of your business." Cassian echoed Jai's earlier words back to her; though her energy was progressively growing weaker and weaker, Jai still managed to narrow her eyes suspiciously at the man. She prayed that she wasn't about to be dragged off somewhere awful and alarming by this stranger and his damned droid.

"Hm, that's not very reassuring…" Jai's voice came out far quieter than she had intended. Cassian watched Jai closely as her head started to loll a little, and instinctively he reached for her, knowing that, although her falling asleep could be no problem, it could more likely lead to her body caving to the injury. He rested a hand firmly on the back of Jai's head and lifted it, meeting her lidded eyes.

"You stay awake as long as you can, you hear me?" Jai gave him a tired nod, "Tell me your name."

Silence lingered between them for a few long moments as they stared at one another, "… Jai."

Cassian gave a single, slight nod, "Jai, we're going to Yavin 4."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Jai wasn't sure if she had passed out or if she had simply become too delirious with pain, because she came to realize she was lying in a hospital bed without any recollection as to how she got there. She awoke groggy and confused, though nonetheless she felt well and without pain despite knowing she had been shot in the stomach. For a long while, she simply lied on the cot, eyeing the room around here, listening to others moving around and chattering softly. She was in a hall that was obviously converted to be some kind of medical wing, with cots lining the wall on both her left and her right. The only other people in the room were, what Jai assumed to be, a medic and a patient at the far end of the room, the patient sitting on the furthest cot while in discussion with the medic.

After spending a few minutes observing the room and recalling the events that led her here, Jai sat up slowly, groaning slightly, though for the time being she was in far less pain than she had anticipated. The supposed doctor spotted her right away, and excused herself from the patient after a moment, approaching Jai who was rotating her head left and right to work out her neck muscles, hearing a chorus of satisfied pops go up her bones. Her eyes watched the medic's approach casually as the patient rose from his seat and slowly left the room.

"It's Jai, isn't it?" The second woman started once she came to a pause at the foot of the cot, the corner of her mouth pulling into a practiced, cordial smile, receiving a nod from Jai, who was now carefully stretching her body to test out the feeling in her abdomen, "I'm Miona. You remember why you're here?"

The question was asked as if Miona already knew the answer, as if she could tell Jai had a relatively clear memory of everything that went down on Cassian's ship. Despite that knowing tone, Jai gave a second nod anyway.

"Some guy and a robot got me shot, and they brought me back here." Jai's voice was scratchy from disuse. Miona accepted the response, hearing the attitude in Jai's tone and knowing it meant the other woman could remember a lot despite saying very little, "So, where I am, and what the hell is this place?"

Miona was, however, surprised by Jai's bluntness, not expecting the woman to jump into questions so quickly. Miona could still see in Jai's dark eyes and hear in her tone that she was tired, but she had enough sense about her to get to the important matters.

"Are you sure you don't want another few minutes?" the medic asked, though she already anticipated the response she was going to get - after working as the head medic for the Rebellion, she had become accustomed to patients waking, rising, and questioning quickly without regard for their condition. The pilots and spies Miona had dealt with through the years quite often sprang back quickly from treatment and didn't like to waste time. It looked as if this woman was going to do the same.

Another shake of Jai's head, "I don't need another few minutes."

Miona gave an accepting nod, taking a seat on the cot next to Jai's, "You bounce back like someone who's been in this position before."

"Well, I've never been shot," Jai turned to face Miona, moving her legs so they could hang over the edge of the bed. She felt the first noticeable jilt of pain in her abdomen, but it was nothing compared to what she felt aboard the U-Wing, "but a couple broken bones through the years toughen you up a little. How long was I out?"

"Nearly two days," Miona began to explain, "Captain Andor got you here as fast as he could. You're lucky, if it had been much longer the injury might have gotten too severe."

Captain Andor. So, now Jai had a name for the face, though the face in her memory was already a touch fuzzy.

"Lucky me." Jai muttered as her eyes scanned the room again curiously, "And where is here?"

Miona paused and considered - she spoke with Cassian when he dropped off the injured woman, and he hadn't given her any warnings about what she should or shouldn't say to Jai. All he asked was that the woman be supervised once she awoke, and that they return her to the Ring of Kafrene as soon as possible. He also mentioned that she was a thief and that they should be watchful of that habit, but he said nothing to suggest that Miona keep their whereabouts a secret from her.

"Yavin's fourth moon." Jai shook her head with raised brows, obviously unfamiliar with the planet, "You're in the Outer Rim."

Jai mouthed the word 'oh' in understanding, eyes becoming a little lighter with both interest and concern - she'd never been this far from home. In fact, she could count the number of times she'd left the Ring of Kafrene on one hand. To say she felt nervous was an understatement. The realization that Jai was on some far off moon surrounded by strangers that she didn't know if she could trust suddenly hit her full force, and her heartbeat picked up an unevenly anxious pace.

Jai's eyes widened with her worry, and her fingers clenched into nervous fists. Miona quickly spoke up, trying to ease the anxiety, "Jai, you're with the Rebellion."

Miona hoped that was the right thing to say. Neither she nor Cassian knew anything about this woman, and for all she knew her statement could potentially worry her patient even more.

Jai's brows knit together curiously, and lucky for them both her unease calmed a little. So, this Andor guy was a rebel - that was certainly better than some of the other ideas Jai had been speculating.

The Rebellion wasn't something Jai had ever paid much mind to, not when she was a kid and not much now. Growing up on the Ring of Kafrene, one became used to the presence of the Empire monitoring the trading post and it's connecting routes, and Jai was raised to worry about herself before worrying about the concerns and needs of a whole. Sure, she knew to be there for her siblings should they ever need, and she knew to help others if she saw that they deserved it, but Jai never thought about the concerns of the entire galaxy. The rest of the galaxy just wasn't on the minds of those from Kafrene, who had learned life wasn't so black and white, had learned to coexist with both the Empire presence and with the rebels that crossed their paths.

Jai was certainly not for the Empire, though she wasn't necessarily sided with the Rebellion either. Being someone that grew up learning the ways of crime made her relatively impartial to the conflict - either way, whether under Empire control or Rebellion restoration, she would still be a criminal.

However, she could appreciate the sentiment of the Rebellion. To Jai, though it sounded as if their cause was rather idealistic, it was something good nonetheless. Sometimes she had caught herself wondering what her life could have been if the Ring of Kafrene wasn't Empire controlled, if the Alliance had knocked them down years ago and rebuilt the galaxy. Would Jai still be a criminal today, perhaps locked behind bars? Or would her life have taken a different route? Jai liked to think that she was supposed to become a slicer no matter who was running the galaxy, but she did believe life wouldn't have been so damn hard on her if the Empire weren't around.

So maybe she was a little more partial to the Rebel Alliance after all.

Jai let out a low sigh, realizing she had a string of questions she wanted to ask, but knew she couldn't bombard Miona with them all at once, "I assume someone's gonna drag me back to Kafrene as soon as you give them the go-ahead?"

Miona nodded, "Captain Andor asked that we get you back as soon as possible."

Jai's lower lip jutted out as she slightly nodded, having expected the answer she was given. Her eyes drifted away from the medic and looked about the room thoughtfully, feeling some kind of tug-of-war going on in her mind. She was far from home and amidst something she couldn't have prepared herself for and yet… she didn't want to leave too soon. Perhaps she could blame it on her curiosity, that irrepressible desire to pull apart and understand every new thing that was presented to her, just as she always did with computers and scramble keys and every other electronic she'd encountered through the years. Here she was with an opportunity to see a rebel base, she couldn't just leave and go back to Kafrene without anything new in her slicing arsenal.

Jai licked her dry lips while turning her keen eyes back to Miona, "Can I look around before I have to go?"

The hesitation was immediately obvious in Miona's expression, "I don't think that's wise…"

"Because you don't know me and can't trust me." Jai said knowingly; after all, if she were a part of a resistance movement, she'd hesitate to let a thief snoop around as well. She gave another sigh through her nose, staring at Miona as she thought for a couple moments, "… My name's Jai'ren Tillian, I was raised in Kafrene for the last eighteen years, and I don't know where I came from before that. I'm one of the only good slicers from the colony… And I like a good glass of Merenzane Gold when I can afford it."

Her attempted humor seemed to work - Jai could see the way the corners of Miona's eyes crinkled in amusement, but she refrained from smiling any larger than a small, cordial smirk.

Jai briefly felt naked with how closely Miona was staring into her eyes, and she could tell that this medic was well-versed in studying people to determine their credibility. Jai stared back, being the type that didn't like to waver her attention whenever she was being watched so closely.

"I thought you were a thief?" Miona finally said, tilting her head curiously. Jai wasn't surprised by the question, though she hadn't expected it to be the first thing brought up.

The corner of her mouth pulled into a lazy grin, "Slicers are just glorified thieves - I've never had the knack for pickpocketing or stealing from shops, but I can transfer credits from anyone's accounts or get into their ships without them ever knowing."

Perhaps that wasn't something to brag about. Jai could see the uncertainty in Miona's eyes, and realized quickly that her statement could lead to a train of thought that involved speculation of what she could do if she got her hands on rebel information.

"Don't assume the worst of me." Jai defended, "I'm not concerned with your information or data, it doesn't serve me any good."

Miona crossed her arms, though not in some kind of authoritative or reprimanding way - unless Jai was mistaken, it looked as if there was almost something chaff and curious to the look the medic was giving her, "So, why slicer? Aren't there other kinds of job opportunities on Kafrene that aren't all criminal?"

Jai smiled, cocking her head while mirroring Miona's posture - she liked this woman. And it looked as if Miona maybe was beginning to like her, as well, "Why the Rebellion? That's technically criminal, too, last time I checked."

Miona could see that there was nothing accusatory in Jai's statement, that Jai wasn't actually expecting her to answer or defend herself. This slicer was sharp.

Jai's eyes continued to shine with levity as she uncrossed her arms and curled her hands around the edge of her cot, leaning forward slightly, "If you want any more of this life story, you'll have to buy me a drink first."

The slight smile pulled at Miona's lips again. Though she most certainly couldn't say she trusted Jai, given that she knew the woman a whole of ten minutes, she could at the very least say she saw the good in her. In all her years of serving the Rebellion and, prior to that, treating medical patients on her home planet, Miona learned how to hone her ability to read people's energy. And Jai's energy in this moment was genuine and without ill-intent.

"Look, Jai, I can't let you go wandering around this place," She started while rising to her feet, "But if I call someone up here to escort you, I need you to promise you won't touch a thing and you won't cause any problems."

"You'd trust the promise of a stranger?" Jai quipped, and after Miona stared at her for another moment the medic turned to begin walking toward her desk.

"I like to give people the benefit of the doubt." Miona answered simply, retrieving a commlink from her desk while shooting Jai another kind look. She then opened a cabinet behind her, revealing Jai's belongings that had been taken off of her upon her arrival, "So?"

Jai continued in good humor, "I don't tend to make promises, but for you I'll be on my best behavior."

Miona nearly laughed as she pulled out Jai's things, "I guess that's the best I'll get."

Jai slowly rose, assessing each movement carefully to ensure she'd be good on her feet - aside from some cramping pain in her abdomen, she felt relatively unharmed. Though, she did realize in that moment that she was a little hungry, but she suspected they'd given her some kind of nourishment while she was out cold - if she had been asleep for nearly two days, Jai knew her body would have demanded food immediately if they had simply left her without nourishment that entire time.

Miona and Jai met each other halfway, the medic watching Jai's movements carefully. She knew the other woman would be fine, after all she received proper attention from the medical team, but Miona's doctoral instinct and worry could never be completely turned off. Many people, after even a day of rest following bacta treatment, were up on their feet again quickly; Jai was fortunate to be one of those types and not someone that awoke feeling groggy or drained from the medical treatment. In all her years, Miona still could never predict who would wake up feeling spry and who would wake up feelings worse.

In one hand, Miona carried Jai's folded coat and all the odds-and-ends that had been stuffed in her pockets, which she held out for Jai to grab, and in the other she had the slicer's old clunky boots, which she set atop the nearest cot. Jai noticed her cap and goggles were missing, but she reckoned they had been forgotten back on Captain Andor's U-Wing.

As Jai went through her belongings carefully to ensure nothing was missing (she let out a nearly pathetically pleased sigh when she saw neither Andor nor Miona had confiscated her scramble key), Miona started speaking to someone over the commlink.

Within minutes, the women were joined by a young Twi'lek male who looked rather confused to have been called down to the medical wing. He introduced himself and told Jai to simply call him 'Abe,' receiving an agreeing nod from the woman, who replied by telling him to simply call her 'Jai.' When Miona explained that she wanted Abe to escort Jai around the base, his expression was questioning and unprepared - he wasn't exactly a babysitter, after all. But, he nonetheless agreed, always happy to do Miona a favor and thankful for the reprieve from sitting at a computer for hours on end.

As Jai and Abe stepped out of the medical wing, he began to explain where it was in relation to everything else on the level - just next door was the briefing room, and down at the opposite end of the hall was access to the barracks and the mess hall. None of that was of any particular interest to Jai, though she didn't immediately say so out loud. No, if she was going to get a tour of a rebel base, she wanted to see their ships and flight deck, wanted to see what kind of technology they had in their command room. But she let Abe take his time showing her around - he had a nearly unsure quality to the way he spoke, as if he wasn't used to talking as much as he was doing. Or maybe it was just odd for him to be giving a stranger a tour of Yavin 4. Whatever the case, Jai refrained from pressing about the things she really wanted to see, at least for now.

"So, Abe, what brought you to the Rebellion?" Jai decided to attempt some conversation as they exited the turbolift after spending about twenty minutes or so on another level; her eyes widened eagerly at the sight of computers and tech stations spread out in front of her.

Abe looked hesitant to answer as Jai turned her excited eyes toward him, and for a short while they were both silent as he considered his answer.

"I was raised in it," he started carefully, his gaze trailing over toward Jai, "My parents were both rebels; they died for the cause a couple years ago. I've stuck around to finish their fight."

'That's noble.' Jai thought. She wondered if she would have done the same if she lost her guardian to a cause like this.

"What do you do here?" She asked and Abe finally started leading her through the crowd of computers, the other rebels giving them nothing more than mere glances as they passed. Abe looked down at her with curiosity in his eyes, wondering if she actually cared or if she was simply filling the silence; he couldn't tell.

Abe came to a pause at an empty workstation, lifting his arm toward it, "I'm a technician, I help manage our communications."

Jai gave a slight smile - briefly, she suspected that maybe Miona had called up Abe because he had a similar skill to Jai and hoped that would be something they could connect over.

"Must be demanding - you do encryption and data recovery?" Jai suspected those were areas he had to be skilled in if he was taking care of rebel communications - she was sure their channels were heavily protected and monitored at all hours of the day.

Abe nodded, "Some Imperial decryption as well when it's brought to me." Though he was still unsure of Jai, he liked the opportunity to talk to someone else about what he did. Abe wasn't usually the guy that got much attention, no one in Signal Intelligence did. Despite the appreciation all the departments and organizations in the Rebellion got, sometimes he felt as if his particular area of expertise was occasionally overlooked. Or maybe it was just everyone overlooking Abe specifically.

"I do decryption, too, among other things." Jai shared with another grin, "Bet I could give some of you a run for your money."

The corners of Abe's eyes wrinkled, though not necessarily in amusement, but rather in curiosity - did he not recognize the humor in Jai's delivery? Just as she began to wonder if she should elaborate and explain herself, Abe spoke inquisitively.

"You think so?"

Was that challenge in his tone that Jai heard? As she gave a rascally smile, Abe allowed some amusement to cross his expression.

"Miona said you were a slicer." His tone suggested that he was suspicious of the woman, which was a fair judgment. Jai was used to codebreakers having a bad reputation, though she'd done nothing with her line of work to counter said prejudice.

"And a damn good one." She replied confidently, seeing the way Abe's eyes narrowed with intrigue and perhaps even eagerness, and the expression made Jai realize just how young he was. If she had to guess, he was even younger than her twenty-three years, barely an adult and already an accomplished technician. For a brief moment, Jai recognized her own brother's curiosity in this young twi'lek's eyes.

"Do you think you're better with computers than some of us?" Abe sounded mildly challenging, to which Jai continued to grin.

"I don't want to assume, but…" Did Abe just smile back at her? He was too quick to straighten out his expression for Jai to say for sure, but his eyes still looked on with intrigue.

Abe looked away as a thought struck him, his stare washing over the room full of rebels in consideration of whatever just crossed his mind. Jai watched him patiently until he finally looked back down at her.

"Why exactly are you here?" His question wasn't what Jai expected.

"It's a little… complicated, but I was shot, and brought here for medical attention." Abe studied Jai's face while digesting the answer.

"But why did you want to see the base? Miona didn't mention you were a part of the Rebellion."

"I'm not."

"Then why so curious?" Jai would hand it to Abe, he was intelligent, though she should have expected no less of a rebel technician.

"I'm not trying to collect information, if that's what you're assuming." Jai defended, though there was no malice in her tone.

Abe shook his head, "I didn't assume that."

Without any further elaboration, he walked around the workstation and rested his palms atop the back of it's chair, eyes looking down at the computer before turning back up to Jai, something mildly akin to mischief flashing in his eyes.

"Show me what you can do." Though some of his seriousness lingered, Abe's expression once again showed that youthful curiosity, the youthful desire for friendly rivalry.

Jai's brows rose, "Really? You think you can handle being beat by some slicer from a shitty colony?"

Again, Jai saw Abe nearly smile, though this time it was more obvious, "It's not a competition, I just want to see what this slicer can do."

Jai hummed curiously, but nonetheless rounded the desk, Abe pulling out the chair before stepping back. As Jai took a seat, she dug her scramble key out of one of her pockets.

This scramble key was her baby. Jai had slaved over perfecting it, customizing the device with various parts and equipment that she'd acquired through the years. The key had started out as a rather standard scrambler, but as Jai learned more and more about the art of slicing and the equipment involved, she was able to build up her key to not only open door locks, but to bypass alarms, unlock computers, and decipher encrypted data. Jai would willingly give up everything else she owned (which wasn't all that much) so long as it meant her scramble key was always safely tucked into her pocket.

Abe gave an appraising look to the scramble key, not immediately recognizing what it was, though once Jai slid the screen to the side away from the handle portion of the tool, giving the device the vague silhouette of a gun, he realized it was slicer equipment.

"I'm not trying to get into any trouble here," Jai started, spinning the chair around to look up at Abe, "so gimme something that won't turn the entire Rebellion against me."

Abe paused and considered - he didn't want to give her any basic tasks to test her skills, he wanted to see her struggle. He settled on telling Jai to find a classified file. He only gave her one bit of information to use at a starting point - the file had his name somewhere in it. He hadn't told Jai his full name, nor did he give any important dates or other information to go off of. He wasn't just testing her slicer abilities, he wanted to see how she would rationalize which file was the one he was looking for.

Jai managed that task with impressive speed. So, Abe gave her another one.

And then another.

And one more. Each increasing in difficulty. By the last two tasks Abe could see how Jai was struggling, yet she nonetheless eventually managed to complete what was asked of her.

Abe was impressed - she was certainly on par with many of the other techs here, and undeniably better than some as well. So, the Ring of Kafrene didn't only produce underwhelming and laughable criminals after all.

Despite the fact that Abe hadn't given Jai another task, she started tapping on her scramble key again, and yet, Abe had begun to let his guard down, not evening thinking to question what she was doing now. During the challenges he had given her, Abe had pulled over a second chair, sitting back in it comfortably as he watched her work.

"So, who's that Endor guy? Or was it Anders?" Jai questioned, not looking up from her key.

"Captain Andor, the one that brought you here?" Jai smirked mischievously at the reply.

"Yeah, that one." She replied, though it was noncommittal, as if she were already disengaging from the topic of the captain, continuing to work on her scramble key.

Abe paused at her expression, suspicious of it. And as he opened his mouth to question her, Jai glanced over with a satisfied look, tapping one last time on her scramble key before something changing on the screen of Abe's computer caught his eye.

They both looked at the screen, Jai pulling her seat closer and leaning in to look at the computer studiously, meanwhile Abe's eyes widened with worry. She pulled up files about Cassian Andor. Abe looked between Jai and the screen, momentarily too flabbergasted to say anything.

Cassian. Jai mulled over the name for a moment before she continued reading the profile and records the Rebellion had on him. He'd been one of the fastest to rise through the ranks, the youngest captain in the Alliance's Intelligence branch. Jai's expression furrowed in shock upon reading that he became a child soldier at six-years-old, engaging in his first combat during the Clone Wars. As she recalled what years the Clone Wars happened, she realized he had to be younger than he looked when they met aboard his U-Wing - Jai easily mistook him for a man in his thirties, but as she did the math now, she realized he was only about twenty-five. It must have been the way he carried himself or the knowing, mature sharpness of his eyes that made the man seem older beyond his years - who knew what he'd done and what he'd seen in his youth to age him so. He had the mind of someone who had to learn things the hard way, the attitude of a man that knew what he wanted and knew what he believed in. And Jai wasn't too proud to admit his rap sheet was impressive.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Since his return to Yavin 4 nearly two days ago, Cassian had been far too preoccupied to even think about the woman he brought back with him; in fact, he had quickly forgotten about her as he got caught up in other tasks and duties. Aside from himself, another intelligence captain had returned from a mission about the same time that Cassian had, and they were both a part of a meeting with the various higher-ups to go over all the new intel that had been recently acquired. Another officer had questioned Cassian regarding his unexpected cargo, but once he gave everyone a brief explanation of what happened, the subject was dropped and forgotten.

Cassian and the other captain had gone to work trying to plan the next mission based off of new intel regarding a potential Empire database complex in the Mid Rim - they wanted to assemble a team to go check it out as soon as possible. The mission was to be headed by the second captain, Cassian already having another assignment lined up for himself that he had to prioritize. The team for the Mid Rim investigation had left on the second day of Cassian being back from his trip to the Ring of Kafrene.

Cassian hadn't thought to go to the medical wing to discuss Jai with Miona, hadn't thought to check in and see if she was still hanging around or if someone had already brought her back to the Ring. He was too caught up in his work to even spare a thought for the unplanned passenger from aboard his U-Wing.

Cassian was on his way from the hangar, where he had been checking up on repairs to his ship, to the command room in search of General Draven to go over some last minute data. He stepped out of the turbolift among the various control center technicians, inattentively excusing himself from an unimportant conversation with one of the techs as he started heading for the command room. Just as they usually did, the technicians scattered about barely spared Cassian a glance, too caught up in their own work. That was one thing Cassian always appreciated about the techs - they had laser focus that couldn't be rivaled. Where pilots and spies liked to strike up conversation and allowed their attention to be diverted far more easily when they weren't away on missions, those in Signal Intelligence and the other high-tech jobs rarely became distracted while they were at their desks.

Typically, Cassian was just as focused as the technicians once he was on this floor, as being up here in Command and Control meant business, and yet today Cassian allowed his gaze to roam the room as he walked through it. Maybe it was the noise, as everyone seemed to be louder than usual, or maybe it was some instinctive feeling, as if there was something to be seen that was out of place. Whatever the case, Cassian's gait slowed a little to allow his eyes to search the room, observing the various techs for seconds longer than he normally would.

Cassian suddenly felt as if a weight had dropped in his stomach when his eyes fell on a pair a few rows away from where he walked, the two hunched over a computer screen. He was shocked he had cared enough to even recognize the woman's face, but it was a good thing he did, because Jai had no business wandering the headquarters control room.

Cassian's eyes darkened as his brow furrowed, turning to begin marching in their direction. Jai had a mischievous smile on her face, one he wanted to wipe right off; beside her, the Twi'lek tech, whose name was escaping Cassian at this moment, looked at her with caution, saying something that appeared to be ignored by Jai. Cassian couldn't believe Miona had let down her guard and allowed Jai to leave the medical wing - he'd have to discuss this with the doctor later.

As Cassian approached, Abe finally took notice of him, inhaling sharply and jumping up from his seat quickly upon spotting the irate look on the captain's face. Jai sensed the distress in Abe's reaction, finally peeling her gaze away from the computer and up to her new company, before following his line of sight. She, too, inhaled through her nose as her eyes widened, feeling her posture stiffen, but she tried as best she could to hide her anxious surprise at seeing Cassian.

"What is she doing here?" Cassian's voice was sharp as he halted on the opposite side of the desk, clenched fist pressing down on it as he leaned forward. Despite Abe being the tallest of the three, somehow Cassian seemed like the largest person in the room, "Do you know that she is a thief and she was supposed to be brought back to her colony? What the hell is she doing on your computer?"

"Captain Andor, Doctor Tif asked me to show her around," Abe quickly defended under the intensity of Cassian's stare.

"Why?" his eyes rotated over to Jai, whose jaw was clenched tightly, doing her best to mask the concern in her black eyes.

"I couldn't leave without getting a tour." Jai quipped with defensive humor, also standing. Though Cassian still had a number of inches of height on her, Jai felt better to be facing him on her feet. Cassian dipped his head to inspect the computer, causing another wave of vexation to wash through him upon seeing his own named repeated multiple times on the display. His dark eyes met Jai's again.

"Are you trying to spy on me?" He spoke lowly, to which the corner of Jai's mouth pulled up despite the hostility between them.

"I just wanted to know more about my savior." Her tone was jeering, an obvious defense against stress and confrontation.

"Or you're a spy collecting intel." Cassian countered, sharply turning his head back to Abe, "And you're just sitting here letting her go through classified files like this? What kind of a fool are you?"

As Abe opened his mouth nervously to reply, Jai took a step in front of him, resting her fists atop the desk in a stance that mirrored the captain's, "Watch your tone."

Cassian was taken aback by her audacity to confront him that way and by her willingly to defend this rebel that she barely knew. His anger grew even hotter from her counter.

"I'd watch yours if I were you." He replied slowly.

"Captain Andor," Abe's tone was nervous, but he gulped loudly and pushed through it, "she's a slicer, I just wanted to see what she could do, I didn't mean for her to pull up any information on you. It was just in fun."

A slicer. Jai had neglected to mention that when she claimed herself to be a thief. Cassian's glare locked onto Abe with appalled shock.

"You let a slicer onto one of our computers?" His voice rose an octave, and by now a couple of the other technicians had taken notice of the confrontation going on, trying to slyly eavesdrop on it.

"Captain, she's talented." Abe seemed to grow a little braver, upset by the aggression aimed his way, "She's even better than some of us."

"That means nothing." Cassian hissed, whipping his harsh eyes back over to Jai. She met the glare head on, though Cassian could see that there was still a stressed uncertainty in her eyes; if he were someone else, he very well could have been fooled by this bluff, by this show of aggression and authority. But he wasn't someone else, and he could see right through her, could see that she had to muster up so much strength just to be glaring back into his eyes.

As Abe looked between the two, his nerves spiked high, he wasn't sure what came over him - maybe he was trying to diffuse the situation, maybe he had come to like Jai, maybe he was just desperate. Whatever the case, none of them were prepared for what he said next.

"I think she could be a good asset to us." Cassian and Jai's heads turned toward him at nearly the exact same time, Cassian prepared to argue while Jai looked with surprised curiosity, "Captain, we could use another slicer on the team, they bring a different skill set than the rest of the techs."

"Absolutely not." Cassian bit back.

"That's not up to you, though, is it?" Jai questioned harshly, eyeing the man again, drawing his attention back to her. Cassian inhaled deeply through his nose as his jaw tightened, his glare unblinking.

"You don't just join the Rebellion as some kind of cop out, we don't need people that don't care about the cause." He huffed with unamused mockery, "If this cause was important to you, you would have already said so. You don't get to use it as some means of surviving another day."

"And how do you know it's not important to me?" Jai questioned, though even she was asking herself that exact question. She didn't care about the Rebellion, did she? She had been content, albeit a little bored, back on the Ring of Kafrene, barely spared more than a thought to either the Empire or the rebels. Why now did she suddenly feel the need to argue, why now did she seem to convince herself that suddenly she cared about the matters of the galaxy at large?

Jai didn't like being challenged. Despite the fact that confrontations such as this one made her anxious, and she did her best to avoid them, a stubborn part of her couldn't help but try to stand her ground. Whether or not Cassian was right in his judgment of her didn't matter - what mattered was that he doubted her worth. And in this moment she wasn't going to simply back down and tolerate it.

"I do what I have to to survive, that's what you learn living on Kafrene. Just because I'm a slicer doesn't mean I lack morality. If anything, I value it more than the average person because of how I grew up. Don't think yourself better than me, Cassian Andor."

Cassian couldn't help but pause despite his instinct to keep arguing with her. He wouldn't say she made any valid point, nor would he admit she was right in any way, yet he nonetheless had a brief, brief moment of consideration toward her argument.

A part of Cassian knew he was being unreasonable. Perhaps it was his exhaustion or his pride or his stubbornness. The Rebellion had accepted people from all walks of life so long as they were willing to fight for the cause; Cassian had no reason to think Jai was any different from so many of the others among him.

It must have been personal, given that he had found her aboard his ship and attempting to steal; finding her here in the control room rifling through information on him didn't help her case either. Cassian was latched onto his upset from their first meeting, and that frustration combined with his current state of stress, giving way to an unnecessary level of anger in him.

Abe suggested that the discussion be brought before the council, before the Chancellor and the other heads of the Alliance. And Cassian knew Abe was right, knew that it was pointless to argue with this woman in the middle of the control center, knew that he just needed to step back and relax. He had far more important things to worry about than this woman.

As the trio came down from the high of their dispute, Cassian vowed that he wouldn't let himself trust the thieving slicer.

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Disdain [dis-deyn, dih-steyn]

verb

to look upon or treat with contempt; despise; scorn

to think unworthy of notice, response, etc.; consider beneath oneself

noun

a feeling of contempt for anything regarded as unworthy; haughty contempt; scorn

#cassian andor #cassian andor x original character #cassian andor x oc #cassian andor x reader #diego luna #rogue one #star wars #star wars fic #rogue one fic #rogue one fanfiction #pls let the tags work this time tumblr or i stg #ca #fics #fics*#saudade

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blissedoutphil · 4 years

Text

Dan the Personal Assistant Part 10

Dan has to submit an application video to be an assistant for a company President, Mr. Lester. But what happens when he accidentally sends a wrong video?

4209 words of Dom!Phil, sub!dan, blowjob, riding, bath sex

I really meant to be more productive with writing in lockdown but all I got was writer’s block and suddenly 2 months have passed?? sigh. Finally the new chapter’s here after rewriting it countless times omg I’m just as happy as you are.

~Part 9~

~Part 11~

or read on ao3!

Since then, they started having sex more often, until it became something normal for them. Natural even. Dan still initiated more than Phil, and he understood whenever Phil had to turn him down to actually do work.

Dan dared to feel happy. He was content with this arrangement, even if he was technically still just a personal whore. It was definitely better than when Phil was adamant about having a fine line drawn between them. Nothing wrong had happened yet, which Dan was relieved about and he was confident that nothing bad could happen with this arrangement. Phil had probably been paranoid about nothing.

It went on for weeks, but Dan never got bored or tired of being pounded by Phil on any random surface in the office, quick fucks that were rough and hard and left him feeling like his insides were rearranged. He loved even more the lesser moments where Phil would go sweet and slow, take care of him in a way that he can pretend that they’re more than just in a “professional” relationship. But he was careful not to dwell too much and let his mind overthink any of Phil’s actions, especially the ones that seemed more loving than usual. Repress those feelings and all will go well.

But no matter what Dan told himself, of course he still felt like there was something missing. He started longing for more. Leaving the office to an empty home always felt lonely, falling asleep alone in bed wasn’t as good as falling asleep in the office with Phil tucking him into the couch. He actually felt sad whenever work ended and looked forward to weekdays instead of weekends, which would’ve sounded crazy to him just a year ago.

He knew one way to stop feeling lonely on Sundays; the idea had always been on the back of his mind. He’d been resilient enough not to follow through though as he felt like it wasn’t a good idea. But one particular weekend felt rough, and even though he knew he was going to meet his boss the next day, he felt like he really couldn’t go through that Sunday without him.

So against better judgement, he found himself standing outside the snug coffee shop. He could already see Phil at his usual corner busy with his laptop, from peering into the window.

What are you trying to do, Dan? he sighed.

But his feet dragged him into the shop anyway. He pretended that he really was there for another coffee, after all it was always a place he had wished to frequent before he had the means to do so.

He ordered the caramel macchiato again, and intentionally walked near Phil’s table.

“Oh, hey boss,” he said as he bumped into the empty chair at Phil’s table, feigning surprise.

“Dan!” Phil was certainly caught off guard to see his boy there.

“Working again?” Dan tried to make small talk, stalling his time there without seeming too obvious or desperate to stay.

“Yeah. Caramel macchiato again?” Phil chuckled.

“Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence, with Dan wanting to ask if he could stay but not sure how to.

“You can join me if you’d like, no need to be shy y’know,” Phil smiled knowingly.

Dan didn’t know if he liked or hated how readable he was, but he accepted the offer. It was like Phil knew just how bad he needed to see him today. And maybe Phil wanted to see him just as much too, he mused.

“You should try their latte next time,” Phil suggested.

--------

So there was a next time. And a next time after that. And as weeks passed, Dan found himself falling into yet another routine. Throwing caution to the wind, he always ended up at the cafe, staring into the window for about ten minutes debating in his head whether it’d be a good idea before eventually giving in and going in anyway. Phil never seemed to mind, he seemed excited almost whenever Dan appeared. And Dan only took that as a sign to return again the next week.

Dan was still going through the menu as recommended by Phil. He took his cup of cold brew and headed to his seat. He didn’t really know what time Phil always arrived, he didn’t even ask beforehand if Phil would be coming or if he could spend the day with him, he just shows up. Looking back, it was funny how he used to be worried if Phil would want him there or not, now he just knew without Phil needing to say anything.

He never followed Phil home for dinner again like the first time, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome. They were both content to spend their Sunday afternoons in companionable silence and do nothing more that could potentially disrupt their current arrangement. Or perhaps neither of them dared to take the next step. But they seemed comfortable for now.

That was until.

“Dan.”

Dan looked up from his cup.

“I have to go on a business trip on Tuesday.”

“Oh,” Dan said, not really sure how to answer.

“Yeah, it’s quite a last minute thing. The new partner needed me over at their headquarters. I’ll be gone for a week.”

Hearing that made Dan already start to miss Phil, which didn’t make sense since he was still sitting right in front of him.

“Where you headed to?”

“New York.”

“So... I won’t be going to work next week?”

“Oh don’t think you’re off the hook from work that easily,” Phil said cheekily, and Dan quirked his eyebrow in curiosity. Was he supposed to serve the other staff in the office or something?

“You’re coming with me, mister.”

Dan gaped, “Really?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Phil shrugged nonchalantly.

“You’re letting me choose?” Dan asked, still somewhat in shock.

“Of course, why would I force you into things,” Phil looked a little offended.

“I mean- I’m just. I’ve never even been out of the UK, why would I choose to stay here?!”

Phil laughed, the corners of his eyes scrunching up in the way that was downright adorable.

“I gotta warn you, some of the other staff would also be there. I’ll arrange a different flight for us, we can get there before the rest. You might have to hide in the hotel room like you do in our office if you don’t wanna see them.”

Dan was fine with that, he still would rather not cross paths with anyone else in the office. Over time, Dan realised that Phil had become more possessive over him and felt the same way too. Unlike Phil’s previous assistant, Dan did not want to get acquainted with anyone else, and Phil did not have any interest in sharing anymore either.

Dan couldn’t stop grinning the rest of the day. What is his life.

-------

The flight was long but comfortable as Phil had booked them business seats, and Dan spent a lot of time like a little child looking out the aeroplane window in amazement.

He squashed all thoughts about how this could be anything more than a business trip with his boss. Who most probably brought him along just for the sexual relief. But when Phil slept with his head leaned on his shoulder, he couldn’t help but entertain thoughts about how maybe Phil wanted more than that too.

They settled into their hotel room quickly, both tired from the long flight. Phil didn’t skimp on the room either, getting one on a high floor overlooking Central Park, with a living room in the suite. Dan thought it was too much for a week’s stay, he’d be fine lounging on the king sized bed all day, but Phil insisted to have a room as comfortable as possible for Dan while he’d be out working.

Dan was feeling like he was harbouring on being a sugar baby, but he didn’t voice that out. He’d planned on giving Phil a blowjob or something as a form of thanks for this trip, but they were both so tired that they fell asleep instead.

------

Dan woke up a couple of hours later, stretching out his long limbs. He’d never slept in such a comfortable bed before. He froze when his foot brushed against another, then he turned to see that Phil was asleep next to him. His heart pounded a bit faster, realising that this was the first time they’d slept together. They’d been too tired to even think properly, they’d even fallen asleep without changing or at least washing up a little.

He quietly got out of bed and to the bathroom to have a quick shower. The bathroom was lavish, with an inviting tub that he couldn’t wait to use. When he was done, he walked out to see that Phil was already up and waiting his turn to use the shower.

Dan was quite surprised at how comfortable it all felt. He didn’t feel awkward at all sharing the room with his boss, but he guessed that it was probably because he’d spent so long sharing the office room with him anyway. He found it funny almost; the man who was so adamant in setting up boundaries between them months ago was almost gone.

He explored the room a bit more properly now that he wasn’t tired. The first thing he realised was that there was only one bed. He didn’t know if it was excitement or nerves that he felt as he thought about sharing the bed with Phil for a week. And did Phil get a room with just one bed on purpose?

“Had a good rest?” Phil asked as he stepped out of the shower.

“Mhmm,” Dan smiled from where he was knelt unpacking his luggage. Not that he brought many clothes, if the rules in office were to apply here as well. Already he was just in his boxers, feeling comfortable enough.

It was already dark out, but jetlag caused them both to be wide awake. Phil made a quick order for room service, and they both lounged in the living room sofa in front of the tv while waiting for their food.

Except Dan had no intention of watching tv.

“Thank you for bringing me along on this trip, Sir,” he said, voice sultry.

He slid off the sofa and sank to his knees between Phil’s legs, not caring about subtleties.

Phil chuckled and spread his legs, “I mean I gotta admit it was for selfish reasons but I guess it is a win-win.”

Dan’s fingers traced along the waistline of Phil’s sweatpants, which Dan thought he looked absolutely hot in, even when compared to the usual business attire he was used to seeing his boss in. There was a dent forming in Phil’s pants where it was obvious he was growing hard already. He tugged Phil’s pants down, surprised to find that Phil was going commando.

He got Phil’s cock in his mouth in no time. They’d done this enough times that it felt like second nature to Dan already. He was so used to the feel of Phil in his mouth, the taste of him and his scent flooding his nose. He was used to the sounds Phil makes, knowing what each meant for Phil. He prided himself in his job, no matter how unusual it may be to outsiders.

He was so used to it that it didn’t even feel like a job anymore.

Phil’s hand had snaked through his curls, tugging gently as a sign for him to speed up. He hollowed his cheeks as he sucked on Phil’s cock, moving off only to suck on his balls before moving back to get Phil’s whole length in his mouth.

Phil moaned. He was so glad that Dan agreed to follow him on this trip. He was certain that he’d have a lot of pent up energy, not to mention feeling lonely, if he was here alone and away from Dan for a whole week.

He canted his hips up a little, pushing himself into Dan more. It was a quickie, a little sloppy but he could feel and see how much Dan was putting himself into it. He loves that about Dan, he never half-asses the things he does. He always made sure to put in extra effort to give him pleasure, and Phil appreciated that.

Phil held Dan’s head in place as he felt himself getting closer, even though he knew Dan wouldn’t move away anyway. Soon, he was coming in Dan’s mouth, shivering in pleasure as he felt Dan swallow around him.

He looked down to see Dan finally pop off his dick, lips swollen red and pupils dilated. He could see that Dan was also aroused, his own boxers looking way too tight now.

Just as he was about to suggest returning the favour, their doorbell rang. Dan scrambled to get up while Phil did so too. Phil quickly redressed and went to the door, letting room service in.

“Well I was about to get you off too but... now that the food is here, let’s dig in first,” Phil smirked, trying not to laugh at Dan's adorable pout.

Dan stifled a grumble as he tried to eat while still horny. At least the denial reminded him that nothing’s really changed except their location.

-----------

Phil was even busier with work than usual, leaving their room really early the next day and fighting off his jetlag to attend countless meetings throughout the day. He even had to attend a business dinner with his partners and staff, and felt guilty for leaving Dan all alone til the late hours of the night.

Of course he didn’t confine Dan to their room like Rapunzel’s stepmom. As he unlocked their door and stepped inside after a long day, he found that he was rather looking forward to hearing about Dan’s day than anything else Dan could do with his mouth.

Dan had had a really relaxing day, having gone for a swim in the hotel pool before heading out to explore Central Park.

“I found a cafe that might possibly be better than our coffee shop back home,” Dan was gleaming as he told Phil about his day.

“No way,” Phil said in mock offence, “you dare say that our cafe is defeated?”

Dan giggled, nodding his head.

“Well you’d better bring me there on my off day. I won’t believe it til I see it for myself, boy. If I even get an off day, that is,” Phil sighed, feeling tired.

It was already past 1am, and he had another early start tomorrow. Business trips aren’t as fun as people make them out to be, and he was so glad that he had company this time.

-------

The next few days went by the same, with Phil leaving early and coming back late to listen to Dan’s day before hitting the sack. Dan felt bad for not doing what he was there to do, but Phil seemed way too busy to even think about sex. One night, he was still writing emails past midnight, and had even told Dan to go to bed first.

On Saturday, Dan came back earlier after doing a bit of shopping. Phil still had meetings to attend, but he’d said that he was able to finish work before dinner.

So Dan had a plan to help his boss relax after a tiring few days. He’d bought some bath bombs and scented candles on his shopping spree. He lit candles all around the room, and prepared a bath.

Phil opened the door and was immediately greeted with a soothing scent. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the sunset glow and leaving the room to be lit only by the several scented candles scattered around.

He could feel tension slowly leave his shoulders as he walked further into the room. He found Dan on their bed, in nothing but a bathrobe.

“What’s all this?” he asked softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

After Dan set up everything, he was afraid that it all looked a tad too romantic and his boss might get the wrong idea. But his worries melted away as Phil stood before him looking really appreciative of his work.

“My job is to help you relax, isn’t it, Sir?” Dan said as he stood up and closed the space between them, “and I’ve been quite shit at that recently. Gotta make up for it somehow.”

“Nonsense, Dan,” Phil argued, his hands landing on Dan’s waist, “you help me relax every night with stories of your day. But this sure is a treat.”

Phil leaned in and kissed Dan, feeling Dan practically melt into his touch. Dan broke the kiss sooner than Phil would’ve liked to, to loosen Phil’s tie. Once the tie was off, he tugged at Phil’s blazer til it was off too.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, Sir,” Dan murmured as he unbuttoned Phil’s shirt.

“I like the sound of that,” Phil replied as he was practically pushed towards the bathroom.

The lavender aroma hit Phil the moment he opened the bathroom door. He turned around when he realised Dan had stepped back.

“Aren’t you gonna join me?” he raised an eyebrow.

Dan looked like he hadn’t expected that request.

“Oh, I thought you’d like some alone time,” he spoke timidly.

“I’m pretty sure your company would help me relax more,” Phil stated as he walked into the bathroom, not bothering to see if Dan would follow him in.

Because of course Dan would follow him in.

Phil was already stepping into the tub when Dan shut the door behind him. Candles were also scattered around the bathroom, giving a soft glow.

“Tub’s big enough for both of us,” Phil stated, looking at Dan expectantly.

Dan felt nervous suddenly, but in the good way where the butterflies in his tummy were drunk. Was that a good way? He wasn’t sure. He felt Phil practically undress him with his eyes before he even got to shrug his robe off.

“I-I brought wine,” he announced shyly, taking the bottle and glasses that he’d hidden in one of the cabinets.

He poured two glasses for them and placed them at the corner of the tub before quickly slipping in opposite Phil, letting the lavender aroma fill his senses.

“So how was your day?” Phil asked as he took his glass.

Dan relaxed into the tub as he went on about his adventures trying to find the perfect bath bomb, how he got mistaken for being one of the salesperson at Yankee Candle and almost got yelled at by a customer even though they were the one mistaking him for a worker.

Much like the previous days, they both enjoyed just sitting in each other’s company listening to stories about their day. Dan loved how everything was feeling so natural between them.

Phil could feel his stress float away with every sip of wine and every funny anecdote his boy told animatedly. The water was still warm and smelled so calming. He stretched his legs, grazing against Dan’s thighs as he did so.

He didn’t miss the tiny pause from Dan when his foot touched his thigh.

“Thank you for your effort, I appreciate all this,” Phil sighed happily.

Dan smiled, glad that his surprise worked.

“I only have one problem.”

Dan’s smile faded, immediately wracking his brain for all possibilities of what could be wrong.

“You are sat way too far away right now,” Phil stated matter-of-factly.

Dan chuckled, shaking his head slightly in relief. He turned around in the tub carefully to move into Phil’s waiting arms. Phil hummed happily as he pulled Dan closer to him, til Dan’s back was pressed against his chest.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Dan leaning against Phil and Phil tracing little circles on Dan’s chest and tummy as they let the scented bubbly water soak them. Dan closed his eyes and in this quiet moment, he dared to pretend that they were more than what they really were. It was a dangerous game to play, but he’d found himself playing pretend more and more these days.

Soon, Phil’s mouth found his way to Dan’s damp neck. Dan tilted his head to give him more access. Phil left sloppy open mouthed kisses, tasting soap on his lips. His hands had settled on Dan’s nipples, beginning to tug on them.

Dan whimpered, feeling himself get hard. He rested his hands on Phil’s knees so that he wouldn’t lose control and touch himself.

“I believe I still owe you an orgasm from our first day here,” Phil whispered hotly against Dan’s neck.

Dan had almost forgotten that he still hadn’t gotten relief, but his cock twitched at the reminder. He moaned as Phil bit on his neck and began sucking a hickey.

One hand snaked away from Dan’s nipple and slid further down til it was ghosting around Dan’s hard cock resting against his lower stomach. Dan let out a strangled whine and gripped Phil’s knees harder.

Phil began stroking Dan slowly, touch ever so light, while still playing with Dan’s nipple and decorating his neck with more hickeys. Dan moaned, his head tilting back to rest against Phil’s shoulder. Phil took the opportunity to kiss along Dan’s jaw.

Dan could feel Phil’s erection against his ass.

“H-hold on,” he stuttered, struggling to stop Phil’s ministrations.

Phil stopped, confused, his hand still loosely wrapped around Dan’s dick. Dan held onto the edge of the tub to give himself leverage. He sat up for a moment and reached below to grab Phil’s cock.

Phil moaned at Dan’s touch, and his eyes widened at the realisation of what Dan was about to do. Before he could say anything, Dan had sunk down onto his dick.

“God,” Phil moaned heavily.

Dan began riding him slowly, careful not to move too much lest water spills out of the tub.

“Did you even stretch?” Phil asked.

“Candles and wine and this bath weren’t the only things I prepared,” Dan admitted sheepishly.

“God,” Phil repeated, and regained his grip on Dan’s cock.

Dan was moving too slow for Phil’s liking, so he urged his boy to speed up. His strokes on Dan’s cock matched Dan’s speed, which encouraged Dan to move faster.

Some water eventually did splash out of the tub, but Dan didn’t care anymore. He could feel himself breaking out a sweat despite being in a bath. He clenched around Phil every time Phil squeezed his shaft.

They moved in a rhythm for a bit, the purple water swirling and foam floating around them. Dan could feel his orgasm building up soon enough, and he rocked his hips faster, lifting up with more urgency and sinking onto Phil’s lap harder.

Phil was also jerking him off quicker. His lips were glued to Dan’s neck, his other hand still playing with Dan’s nipples. Dan was overwhelmed with sensations from all over his body, and he loved how Phil could reduce him to a moaning mess just like that.

“Close, Sir,” Dan uttered, hanging his head as he continued riding Phil.

“After me,” Phil grunted and sped up his movement’s on Dan’s throbbing cock.

Water splashed around them as Dan rode Phil with earnest, helping Phil chase his orgasm. Within a few more moments, Dan felt Phil shudder behind him, groaning as he came.

As Dan felt himself get filled with warm fluid, he also finally let go. Phil pumped him throughout his orgasm, and he clenched around Phil as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he was finally done coming, he slumped against Phil.

Phil was kissing the bruises he’d formed on Dan’s neck, not bothered to lift Dan off of him.

“Coming underwater feels the same as peeing underwater,” Dan uttered, brain too fuzzy to think before speaking.

He could feel his boss’s laugh vibrate through his body as much as he heard it.

“Up you get,” Phil hit Dan’s ass, “the water’s gross now that you’ve come in it.”

They got out of the tub and drained it, and Phil pulled Dan into the shower to quickly rinse both of them off.

Dan felt about ready to sleep, but they had not eaten, so he called room service for them. They ate on the bed together, making plans for the next day as it was Sunday so Phil had the day off.

After eating, they got comfortable under the blankets, and Dan didn’t want to think about how easily Phil pulled him closer, how easily he snuggled into Phil’s chest, how easily they spooned each other until their breaths evened out and they dozed into peaceful slumber.

Dan didn’t want to think about how easy it was to get used to yet another routine. He did not want to think about how this routine would get snatched away from him once this trip ends, and things at home would feel like a step back. He didn’t want to think about any of it, so for now he just pretended that it will always be this way.

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

~Part 9~

~Part 11~

I’ve gotten stuck and rewritten new ideas so many times that idek if I like this anymore, it’s been so long since the fic started that idek if it even flows smoothly but I hope it does, and what matters is that you like the updates, so thank you for still being here for this fic <3

#dan the personal assistant #My fic #phan #Phanfic #Smut #phan smut

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kurowrites · 4 years

Text

Snow - Chapter 3

Entire fic. AO3.

---

When Wei Ying wakes up, it’s dark outside. He checks his phone, wondering if he somehow slept away the entire night, but it’s still evening. He slept for maybe two hours. The nap has worked wonders though; he definitely feels better now. Reaching for his new dressing gown, he slips out of bed and follows the light coming through the crack of his bedroom door. He finds Lan Zhan seated at his rickety kitchen table that also doubles as Wei Ying’s work desk, reading a book about… art history, it seems.

Lan Zhan looks up when Wei Ying enters the kitchen, and puts the book aside when Wei Ying comes closer. He doesn’t say anything, but Wei Ying can feel him take in Wei Ying’s appearance, checking his current condition. He smiles at Lan Zhan, assuring him that he feels much better now.

“If you are hungry, I will make dinner,” Lan Zhan offers.

Wei Ying unashamedly loves being fed, so he accepts the offer without a second thought. He doesn’t even care what Lan Zhan will make; it’s food. Delicious, delicious food. He watches as Lan Zhan prepares all the ingredients and begins to cook, and it’s clear after only a few minutes that Lan Zhan definitely knows his way around a kitchen. In fact, after only two days, he probably knows his way better around Wei Ying’s kitchen than Wei Ying himself. Wei Ying has never been a good cook, and people generally tend to react to his attempts at cooking with horror.

Lan Zhan, on the other hand, moves as smoothly as a professional cook, clearly following a set sequence of steps that he has memorized, no need to look it up on the internet as Wei Ying would have to. When the pot of what might or might not be some kind of beef stew is happily bubbling on the stove and all cutting boards and other tools have been cleaned away, Lan Zhan turns towards Wei Ying with an invariably serious expression on his face.

“You shouldn’t let strangers into your apartment,” he says.

It’s a complete non-sequitur that makes Wei Ying laugh.

Did he really wait to say this until the pot of food is almost ready to be eaten?

“That’s rich, coming from you of all people,” Wei Ying tells him, but not in a mean way.

Lan Zhan is right, obviously. You never really know what people are, and some of them are very good at hiding the ugly parts inside. Some people will show you a gentle smile and then beat you mercilessly once you put yourself in their power. It’s always a gamble, unpredictable and dangerous. But Wei Ying wouldn’t be here if he didn’t know how to trust. He would’ve never made it to this place if he hadn’t taken Jiang Fengmian’s hand that day and believed him when he said he was going to make Wei Ying a part of his family.

There’s something about Lan Zhan that makes him want to trust, just like he trusted Jiang Fengmian. There’s a solidity, a steadiness to Lan Zhan that makes him seem implicitly trustworthy. At the same time, even here in this kitchen, in a setting as domestic as cooking a meal, he looks somehow removed from the mundane, from earthly concerns and malevolent scheming. Wei Ying feels that if he can’t trust this man, there is little hope left in humanity.

Sure, the beautiful face doesn’t hurt. But Wei Ying is absolutely sure he could pick Lan Zhan out of a line-up of identical people blindfolded simply through his presence. He doesn’t think he’s ever been drawn to another person more. It’s hard not to reach out and touch him when he’s standing right there, looking at Wei Ying with an intent that gives him pleasant shivers.

He then remembers that Lan Zhan already let Wei Ying touch him once, without complaint. So, he decides it’s silly to repress his desire and just touch. He steps forward until he’s right in Lan Zhan’s space, until he can lean against Lan Zhan’s tall figure and sink his fingers into the softness of Lan Zhan’s white jumper again. He rises onto his toes, his lips nearly touching Lan Zhan’s ear.

Oh god, Lan Zhan smells really good, he notices.

“But you wanted me to let you in so very, very badly,” he whispers in Lan Zhan’s ear and laughs quietly when his impertinence isn’t answered by a scolding, but by a slight shiver.

“If I had met you at a bar or a club, I might have taken you home, regardless,” he continues his tease.

It has the desired effect. Lan Zhan’s eyes flash, and there’s suddenly a hand squeezing his hip, possessive. The next moment, Lan Zhan relaxes, and the mask of impenetrability slips back on his face. But the slip of control was enough for Wei Ying to understand. He leans in closer, placing a soothing kiss on Lan Zhan’s cheek.

Ah, so soft.

Lan Zhan doesn’t need to know that Wei Ying has never taken any person home from a bar or club, or that his love life mostly consists of playful flirting that he can never bring himself to turn into more. A little jealousy might be just what Wei Ying wants right now.

“Is that what you want, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying asks with a mischievous little grin. “Do you want me?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, but the grip on Wei Ying’s hip gets tighter.

“I can be yours if you want to,” Wei Ying whispers against Lan Zhan’s lips. Feeling courageous, he lets his tongue flicker across Lan Zhan’s lips; a tiny lick.

The next thing he knows, he’s being kissed within an inch of his life. Lan Zan presses him against the countertop and devours him, and wow. That’s really, really hot. Wei Ying wasn’t actually hoping for such an enthusiastic response, but it’s not like he’s complaining. On the contrary, he’s quite happy that he read Lan Zhan right. That carefully calm and collected exterior apparently hides a brightly burning fire. Wei Ying is delighted.

Lan Zhan eventually draws back, and he fixes Wei Ying’s dishevelled appearance with a frown.

“Do not tease,” he says. “You are still recuperating.”

Then he turns back towards the pot still simmering on the stove, and Wei Ying remembers belatedly that they’re in the kitchen and are preparing dinner. He was so immersed in Lan Zhan that he completely forgot about that part. Luckily for him, Lan Zhan seems to have his rational brain still turned on, and there will be no emergency calls for a kitchen fire made tonight.

Lan Zhan finishes the preparations for the meal, and before long, they both sit down for dinner at Wei Ying’s rickety kitchen table. The table has been cleared of the usual mountains of papers Wei Ying tends to let accumulate, and Wei Ying spots them, neatly ordered, on an empty spot on the kitchen counter. Lan Zhan is really good at cleaning up his messes, he thinks to himself. He wished were half as good.

During the meal, Lan Zhan is as taciturn as he’s been so far, concentrating on eating rather than conversing with Wei Ying. Wei Ying watches him eat and lets his mind wander for a little. Mostly in the direction of how he managed to reel in an ideal man like Lan Zhan with barely any effort. He coughed on him, for heaven’s sake. Wei Ying would get upset if Jiang Cheng coughed in his face, and he would die for Jiang Cheng.

Once they have both finished eating, Lan Zhan raises from his chair and starts cleaning up. When Wei Ying tries to get up as well to help, he finds himself gently pushed back into his seat. Lan Zhan tucks a loose lock of Wei Ying’s hair behind his ear and shakes his head.

“You still need to rest.”

With that, he turns towards the sink and starts washing the dishes, putting everything away, and even cleans the kitchen itself until everything is absolutely spotless. Wei Ying marvels at it. He doesn’t think his kitchen has looked this good ever since he moved in here. Everything is in its place, and all the counters are spotless.

When Lan Zhan is finally done, he shows a hint of insecurity for the first time. He stands in the middle of the kitchen, his gaze flickering over to Wei Ying for a moment

“I should go home,” he says quietly.

Wei Ying pouts at him. He doesn’t even have to pretend. He knows he should be more careful, but he enjoys Lan Zhan’s presence, the way Lan Zhan pays attention to him. He wants Lan Zhan to stay.

He might be getting spoiled already. But he’s still a little sick, a little tender from the fever; that will have to be his excuse.

“You’re going to leave me alone?” he whines.

Lan Zhan hesitates, looking towards the kitchen door that leads into the narrow hallway of his apartment that only consists of three room: the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom.

“There is only one bed.”

“It’s a large one,” Wei Ying suggests slyly.

Come on, he thinks at Lan Zhan desperately. I know you want to.

That makes Lan Zhan frown. “I told you not to let strangers into your home.”

“And I told you I might have taken you home with me anyway,” Wei Ying reminds him. “So you would have ended up in my bed one way or another. Unless you would’ve preferred me in your bed, of course.”

There’s that flash of Lan Zhan’s eyes again, the way his gaze zeroes in on Wei YIng. Wei Ying glories in the expression. It feels exhilarating, somehow, to know that this beautiful, rigid man wants him.

It feels too good to be true. He doesn’t want to let go. Not yet.

“Is that a no?” Wei Ying asks, but he knows that he’s won. For now.

Lan Zhan sighs deeply, as if he’s asking himself how he got himself into this ridiculous, impossible situation.

But he pushes Wei Ying towards the bathroom to brush his teeth and picks up his own pretty leather briefcase to fish a small travel set out it, containing a toothbrush and some other products. When Wei Ying eyes it suspiciously, he tells him that he always carries it with him. Wei Ying sticks his nose into it curiously, and finds hand disinfectant, antiseptic, band-aids, and other useful things. This man is prepared for everything. It’s a little impressive, and also a little hot.

And this hot man ends up in Wei Ying’s bed. He borrows one of Wei Ying’s usual sleep shirts he generally wears in lieu of an actual pyjama. The t-shirt with the logo of a metal mand looks both hilariously out of place and offensively good on Lan Zhan. A very prim and proper rebel, with a figure that’s nothing to sneeze at. No, these shoulders alone are dangerous to Wei Ying’s health.

As Lan Zhan finally lays down next to Wei Ying, Wei Ying can’t help but feel a shiver of delicious excitement. He actually got this man into his bed.

Wei Ying wriggles closer, unable to stop smiling. He loots for Lan Zhan’s arm and wraps it around himself when he finds it. Lan Zhan lets it happen without comment, and even adjusts his hold on Wei Ying, pulling him closer until his nose is almost pressed to Lan Zhan’s clavicle. Wei Ying doesn’t complain. After all, Lan Zhan smells amazing.

Lan Zhan buries his own nose in Wei Ying’s hair and stays like that. After a few minutes, his breath evens out, his hold on Wei Ying’s middle growing slack. Wei Ying is impressed. He fell asleep just like that, a strange person in his arms. Wei Ying could do anything to him right now, he thinks with glee. He pokes Lan Zhan once, experimentally. Lan Zhan shifts, and snuffles in Wei Ying’s hair, but doesn’t wake.

It’s cute.

Fuck.

Wei Ying would feel bad waking Lan Zhan up again, so he leaves him be.

Wei Ying is usually more of a night owl, but he’s still not entirely recovered from his fever, and Lan Zhan’s smell and warmth are better sleeping pills than anything he’s ever tried.

He follows Lan Zhan only a short while later.

#kuro writes #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs #snow fic

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new-endings · 4 years

Text

The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting

Chapter Summary: In which Crowley tries his hand in poetry and Aziraphale is swept off his feet (literally)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3; ao3

It wasn’t that Aziraphale disliked his former mentor. It wasn’t that at all. He respected Gabriel as a trainer, a warrior, and to an extent, a leader. The Archangel had taken his less-than-adequate swordsmanship as a young trainee and with…questionable methods, primed him to become a Principality with his own platoon.

“Aziraphale!” a voiced boomed out from the lobby, causing the rest of the patrons to scurry to the auditorium.

That being said, he still found the Archangel all sorts of terrifying.

Aziraphale stilled and felt an oncoming dread creep into the very marrow of his bones. “Oh bugger,” he almost whimpered, preparing to cake on a delighted façade. He turned, facing the handsome, immaculately dressed Archangel with a tentative grin. “Gabriel! How nice to see you again—” only to be drawn into a rough handshake and given a rougher clap on the back.

It wasn’t that Aziraphale disliked his former mentor.

It was just that Gabriel had always been too much.

“It certainly has been a while, hasn’t it? Good thing too—Sandalphon couldn’t make it and though I definitely have no qualms about seeing the musical myself, I’m glad to have run into you!” He beamed cordially, a stark contrast to the iron grip he currently had on Aziraphale’s aching shoulder. Violet eyes widened as he took in his former subordinate. “By the Queen herself—look at you!” A frown marred his face and Gabriel shook his head in displeasure. “Our time apart has not been kind to you, sunshine.”

Aziraphale let out a nervous laugh, hands drawing together behind him in a practiced, self-soothing manner. “I-is that so? Things have been all right on my end,” he offered hesitantly before his peripheral view caught sight of a redhead with a deep-set scowl. “Oh, err—where are my manners…” He stepped aside, hoping, wishing, praying that Crowley would at least make a single effort to mingle this time. “Prince Crowley has been—ah, looking forward to this…” He stumbled for the words, “…fine production.”

“Our theater’s best!” Gabriel boasted with pride, extending an arm. “And my personal favorite.” He gave a tight handshake as the prince reluctantly reached back, making Crowley wince with more annoyance than pain. “Good to formally meet you, Prince Crow, I’m sure our Kingdom’s been treating you well.”

“That’s Crowley,” the prince corrected with narrowed eyes, lips tugged downwards. “And sure. No complaints so far.” Somehow, his scowl deepened. “Gabe.”

Aziraphale felt his dread multiply malignantly.

Oh dear…this would not do. This would not do at all.

Thankfully, Gabriel was unruffled by the retort. “Excellent!” He turned, placing his hand back on Aziraphale and startling the Principality out of his anxieties, “Say, Azi—why don’t you and your friend join me this evening! Catch up on good times!” while making room for new ones.

(Meanwhile Crowley absolutely bristled at the unbidden contact between the two. Also, “Azi—?!”)

“We’d be happy to join you Gabriel,” Aziraphale replied brightly, with a nervous energy and wide, pleading eyes that begged the prince, Please. Play nice. “Isn’t that right, Prince Crowley?”

Begrudgingly, Crowley would.

“Good! You rarely disappoint, sunshine.”

If this damned chicken would let go of his mate.

As if sensing Crowley’s mounting irritation, those violet eyes landed on the prince with faux civility. “Oh, where are my manners—Azi and I used to go way back!” And yes, Crowley did know, and Crowley also knew that he didn’t like the slimy look in the Archangel’s eyes. “He used to be my Principality, you know.”

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Crowley replied evenly, though he was seconds away from grinding his teeth.

But then that look was gone, making Crowley wonder if that eerie gleam was actually there to begin with. “My little passion-project,” Gabriel declared with an infuriating tone of arrogance. “Turned this powderpuff into a lean, mean fighting machine!”

The Angel beside him nodded hesitantly. “Erm, uh, yes. Good times.” Crowley frowned at the evident unease Aziraphale was exhibiting.

But then Gabriel started opening his blasted mouth again and Crowley swore he’d rip the Archangel’s arm off if he kept pulling at his mate like that. “And you know, Azi, it breaks my heart to see you getting all—soft,” he said, pouting as he gestured to the Angel’s entirety. “All our training, all that blood, sweat, and tears— gone to waste!”

There was a wounded look on Aziraphale’s face. “Well, I…” And Crowley immediately wanted to take that look away, whatever it took.

Including disposing of the damned chicken continuing to cluck about. “I know it’s a time of peace and prosperity for our Kingdom now, a time of indulgence in life’s simpler pleasures…” He gave pause, sending a pointed look to Aziraphale’s rounded middle. “But that’s no excuse to overdo it, right?”

“There’s hardly anything wrong with enjoying oneself,” Crowley defended, stepping in between the two. Like hell he was letting that smarmy prick trail his disgusting eyes over his Angel’s perfectly plump form.

And had Crowley not been distracted with fuming rage, he might have noticed the flash of malevolent delight glinting in the Archangel’s smile. “Quite right, Prince,” he amended, yet made no further attempts at apology. “I suppose I just have a hard time letting go. Decades of fighting in the frontlines will do that to you, isn’t that right, Azi?” But before the Principality could reply, the Archangel gave a hapless shrug and a casual glance at Crowley. “But of course, when one’s born with a silver spoon in his mouth—”

Crowley could practically feel the desperation behind his placating voice as the Principality spoke, stepping out from behind him. “But we’re here now, out on this—lovely night to enjoy ourselves! So, why don’t we carry on and do just that?” He gave a pleading look to the both of them and Crowley could barely keep himself from calling the night off altogether, Aziraphale’s hard work and planning be damned.

Because even if Crowley didn’t find himself stupidly head-over-ass for his Angel, there was no way in all the Kingdoms of Heaven and Hell he’d be tying the knot with this disgrace of a chicken.

Especially not with how said chicken drew his mate into a discomfiting half-embrace. “Hah! That’s what I like about you, Azi. Forever an optimist.” Crowley was nearly hissing at the way Aziraphale flinched under the Archangel’s attention. It was still unclear whether the Archangel took any notice or if he simply chose to ignore it all. “And I do see your point. Never thought I’d be here, enjoying one of my favorite productions with one of Hell’s royalty.” And then that jovial demeanor was gone, snuffed out like a light. “And one of my own, currently…servicing him.”

This time, Crowley didn’t miss the implication. “Assigned to me by the Queen herself, by my stroke of fortune.” He held his gaze steadily to the Archangel’s, daring him to comment any further. “No doubt She gave me her very best.”

Gabriel’s smile widened but it held no warmth. “Is that so?” He gave a cold chuckle, slipping on the mask of pleasantries once more. “Excellent to hear!” Another rough clap to Aziraphale’s back and the tension dissipated for at a moment as the Archangel drew away and walked towards the auditorium. “Keep up the good work, Azi—you’re doing your Kingdom proud. Now let’s get to our seats, shall we?”

Crowley had half a mind (okay, perhaps almost 9/10ths of a mind) to take the by the Angel arm and leave dear old Gabe there alone with his showtunes, but from one, imploring look on Aziraphale’s face for him to Please, please at least give it a chance, the prince relented in his escape.

Crowley, decidedly, did not torch the whole place down, Archangel and all, while leaving off into the night with his Angel in tow.

Damn.

It went…

No bad. But not good.

Crowley never particularly understood why box seats were among the favorites of the rich and elite when it offered such a poor view, but if he had to garner a guess, it probably had more to do with the social aspect rather than the practical one. It was just his luck he had little interest in the show, otherwise he would have ended up with a crick in his neck by the end of it. No, instead Crowley was preoccupied with his thoughts—something he’d spent many an hour ruminating upon as of late.

Thoughts of how to wriggle out of this inconvenient marriage business, thoughts on how to get his bloody Angel to recognize damn, fine courting when he sees one, and after tonight, thoughts on how to seek petty vengeance on a loudmouthed chicken.

And sure, he might have spent the majority (all) of the time present (like hell he was leaving Aziraphale alone with the likes of him), but he’d be damned if he made any efforts to be attentive to anything Gabriel had to say. Thankfully, Gabriel was too focused on the production, the earworm-inducing music, and—though he’d deny it and rain Holy Water and Sacred Fire on those who would vouch on it—singing along to the scores.

Aziraphale was, unfortunately and quite literally, trapped between the two. A glance to his right found his former mentor in rapt attention to the stage below, unearthing…rather unsavory memories of many nights similar he spent under the Archangel’s tutelage. A look to his left found Crowley, quiet and emphatically not enjoying himself.

The Principality gave a sigh at the tense and brooding look on Crowley’s face and a twang of sympathy reverberated in his heart. Poor dear. He must be losing hope… First Uriel, and now Gabriel? Slim pickings indeed… Still, they can’t give up hope now! ...Even if it does all seem so hopeless.

At the very least, he can offer Crowley some comfort.

Tentatively, he reached over to where the prince’s hand gripped the armrest and covered it with his own. He gave a reassuring squeeze and a small smile as Crowley turned to his side questioningly.

And unbeknownst to him, making Cowley damn-near combust on the spot.

There was perhaps one, awkward moment where it completely slipped Aziraphale’s mind that he could have and very well should have removed his hand at any second now, and one, tense moment where Crowley almost felt brave enough to turn over his palm so he could entwine his fingers with his Angel’s—

But then Gabriel started bawling in pure joy at the scene below and the moment slipped from Crowley’s grasp as Aziraphale withdrew and turned away, his eyes suddenly trained to the dancing and swell of the orchestra below.

And Crowley remained, silently cursing and fuming in silence.

Maybe the place will go down in flames after all.

“Now wasn’t that just the finest piece of art you’ve ever feasted your eyes on!”

Aziraphale gave another practiced smile, absentminded and pacifying. “I suppose it was quite enjoyable, yes. Just like every other time I’ve seen it.”

And for once in Gabriel’s long history with Aziraphale, he finally commented on the doubt in his ex-subordinate’s tone. “Yes, well…you’ve always had different taste, eh?” That gave Aziraphale pause as Gabriel chattered on. “Still sticking your nose in those tomes? Getting lost in fairytales and the like?” He gave another booming laugh. “You and your quirky little hobbies! I’ve always told you they’d go straight to your head—and now they’ve gone straight to your stomach!”

He gave a self-satisfied chuckle at his wordplay while Aziraphale had to physically restrain Crowley from getting himself eviscerated by an Archangel.

Then, as though sudden inspiration struck down from the higher heavens themselves, “Say, instead of just lazing about, why don’t you two join me for a little training session some time? That ought to get your blood pumping!”

“Oh, there will be blood—” Crowley growled out while Aziraphale sank his manicured nails into the prince’s arm in warning.

Crowley did not yelp. Such a reaction was absolutely beneath him. Even if his Angel left marks.

Aziraphale gave a wide, harried smile. “Ah! You know, that’s a good idea—always good to try something new, a break from the old routine! But I, err, certainly don’t want intrude upon your time with Prince Crowley—”

The Angel thoroughly ignored the noise of immediate protest from said prince. Sorry, Crowley. You’re on your own with this one.

Hopefully he’d forgive Aziraphale of his imminent betrayal.

Gabriel was undeterred, a charming, intimidating grin breaking across his face. “It’s not a problem on my end, sunshine! In fact, I’d love it if you’d join in. Besides,” he leaned in, smile somehow more hostile than before. “You really ought to lose the gut,” And then the smile was gone, wiped clean off along with the bright, jovial veneer. There was nothing but with sheer displeasure in those cold, violet eyes. “It’s unbecoming of a warrior trained by my hand.”

Aziraphale gave a hard swallow, an echo of a different time burning in his memory. This was not guilt. Guilt was the acrid bite one tasted at the back of their tongues when they did something wrong. This hit like the nausea of shame. He was what was wrong.1

Gabriel, content to disregard the split-second slip in his spirited, genial mask, continued with blithe encouragement. “Aw, come on! It’ll be just like old times! What d’ya say, sunshine?” And with that, he gave a painful playful punch to Aziraphale’s shoulder, drawing a pained whine from him—

And at that, Crowley snapped.

He was quick to pull Aziraphale away, putting distance and himself between his Angel and Gabriel. His blood boiled in his veins, judgment quickly clouding with fury. A part of him knew that he wouldn’t fare well in an actual clash against an Archangel, but he’ll be damned if he allowed anyone to treat Aziraphale like that. If he had been a lesser Demon, he would have gone for the Archangel’s throat for touching his mate alone.

But the snarl he let out was already enough to get the Archangel to back down.

Infuriatingly unruffled as always, Gabriel just grinned, an eerie glow of self-satisfaction in his eyes as he made a gesture of surrender. “Alrighty then. Maybe I’ll catch you two some other time.”

Aziraphale was—rightly—furious. “What was that?!”

“That was me being pissed right off, that’s what.” But for all Aziraphale’s ire, he still made no efforts of removing the Demon attached to his arm.

The Angel took a deep, calming breathing; it wouldn’t do him any good to raise his voice. Not when the coachmen were already sending them strange looks as they exited the theater, the prince looking ready to murder and clutching onto Aziraphale tightly. “Crowley, you had no right to—”

“He had no right to speak to you that way—” Crowley stifled a growl, tightening his hold. “Angel, was that what you had to put up with all this time?!”

Aziraphale hesitated and that was enough of an answer for Crowley. “Gabriel can be—abrasive and a bit boorish—”

“He’s a bleeding wanker is what he is—”

“And my former superior! An Archangel—Crowley, we can’t forget what we’re here for!” He felt the prince beside him stiffen, but that did little to appease Aziraphale’s panic and frustration. “You have to get along with at least one of them and we’re running out of options!”

Crowley stared him down in outrage. “I WOULDN’T CHOOSE THAT OBNOXIOUS CHICKEN IF THEY HAD ROASTED HIM IN HELLFIRE AND SERVED HIM WITH A SIDE OF CHIPS!”

“Bah!” Aziraphale had half a mind to shake the Demon off and cross his arms. Instead, he heaved a deep, bone-weary sigh. “You’re being impossible.” The other half was simply too exhausted to do anything but bicker.

Fortunately, Crowley didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue any longer on that matter. “He shouldn’t have touched you,” he murmured, head resting on the curve of Aziraphale’s shoulder, wisps of red locks tickling the Angel’s chin. “You didn’t like it and he knew.”

“He’s…” Always like that didn’t sound like a very good excuse. “Really not that bad,” Aziraphale ended mildly.

Crowley snorted. “Really not that good, either.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale started, but looking at the debilitated Demon beside him, felt a reluctant warmth starting to bloom. Right. Crowley nearly attacked an Archangel on his behalf. And here Aziraphale was, berating him. “I do thank you for trying to get me out of that…situation,” he said, softly, gently. “It was very…kind of you.”

“Ngk.” Well. Aziraphale held back a snort of laughter. That was an interesting noise. “Keep it to yourself. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

A rueful grin made its way to Aziraphale’s lips. “Right. Of being a nuisance?”

“The very best out there,” the prince crowed, grip loosening on Aziraphale’s arm. Oh good; he can almost feel the circulation returning. “Can’t have the rest of the Birds letting their guard down around me.”

“Oh, I can assure you. After tonight, that won’t be a problem,” Aziraphale muttered, rolling his eyes at the gleeful little chuckle that got out of Crowley. Word would likely spread of his actions tonight and while humor wasn’t Aziraphale’s preferred coping mechanism for the onslaught of disaster, if it made Crowley feel better, then he’d go along with it.

Aziraphale nodded patiently, needing to remind himself of Crowley’s position. While Crowley didn’t have the luxury of marrying out of love, it didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t fall in love with one of his set suitors. The process might be far more arduous given…certain personality differences, but there was still a fighting chance! And if the thought of tying his life to Gabriel was out of the question—

It was up to Michael, then.

Or Uriel if she was feeling particularly forgiving. Which was highly unlikely. So, Michael it was.

My, what a headache.

“You know, it’s been a rather long few weeks, hasn’t it?” Crowley gave a sleepy noise of assent, relaxing himself comfortably against the Angel. “The night might not have gone as…planned.” That earned him a snort from the prince beside him. “But I think things will be much better in the morning.”

Crowley made another soft noise of skepticism and Aziraphale decided to ignore it.

Instead, the Angel gave a hum of contentment, already picturing his cozy little reading nook and picking up where he left off from that small collection of novellas Crowley had gifted him earlier. “It’s good to get away from it all every once in a while, right? You know, a little rest and relaxation does the body an immense amount of good. Gabriel never saw the benefits of course, but—”

And unbeknownst to Aziraphale, that’s where Crowley stopped listening.

Crowley was usually more than content to let his Angel prattle on, his sweet voice lulling the prince’s frazzled senses and melting the day’s stresses away. While his Angel had his books and flickering firelight to settle down for during the night, Crowley preferred down-stuffed pillows, silk sheets, and pleasant dreams about cherubic cheeks and sea-storm eyes.

But, oh. That’s quite the idea.

A vacation?

That he can do.

It had become a regular occurrence to find something amiss in his room after Crowley was shortly introduced to his quarters. Even more so after Aziraphale regrettably acquiesced the prince to Come whenever you’d like.

Usually they were small, delightful surprises: fresh fruits and pastries, first editions of his most cherished poems and prose, and bouquets of his favorite flowers. Being a Guide to royalty certainly had their perks and Aziraphale could hardly let such lovely gifts of gratitude go unused and underappreciated.

Sometimes, they were more of Crowley’s clutter that the forgetful Demon had left behind after a nightcap, to which Aziraphale dutifully stowed away for safekeeping. That, or more of his feathers that Aziraphale outfitted to quills.

But this was the first time he’d found a letter, sitting innocuously by his desk.

“Oh? What’s this…” Aziraphale inspected the bruise-red of the wax seal, immediately recognizing the outlines of the royal serpent and its winged adversary locked into battle.

Crowley. Hardly surprising.

“How in Heaven does he manage to sneak in here every night…” he murmured, perhaps a bit more unconcerned than he ought to be at the thought of his nightly intruder. He turned the note over, finding Angel penned at the back. Obviously for him, then. Aziraphale broke the seal cleanly down the middle and unfurled the message inside.

It was written in Crowley’s elegant script and, to Aziraphale’s delight, appeared to contain a poem.

To the Angel I hold so dear

Where our two horizons begin,

My heart lays in wait for you here

A kiss in rose, pleasure in white

A crown, a ring, a mark within

To the Angel I hold so dear

Stars scatter athwart my night—

A heart’s fall, a lover’s flight,

My heart lays in wait for you here

I lay in worship at your light

That psalms and hymns can only sing

To the Angel I hold so dear

My soul rests at our haven’s height

Where lines of skies and earth shall thin,

My heart lays in wait for you here

Detest not my grievous plight

That I should love with tender sin

To the Angel I hold so dear

My heart lays in wait for you here

Aziraphale brought a hand to his lips, finding a smitten smile forming there against himself. “Ohhh…” It was…lovely. Aziraphale couldn’t help the quiver in his heart at the villanelle, the longing and ardor painted so beseechingly in its words. The pure exaltation for his dearest Angel Crowley was able to put into words was enough to make any Angel swoon—

Was this all part of Crowley’s practice in courting? Perhaps he wanted Aziraphale’s opinion on the matter? Sure, the stresses were off, a few syllables were miscounted and don’t quite line up, but it was honestly a rather sweet attempt.

Perhaps Crowley wanted to send this to assuage Aziraphale’s fears and anxieties—to let the Angel know that he was still taking his duties seriously. Still…why a villanelle? Sonnets were preferred by most Angels, though Aziraphale could hardly fault Crowley for his choice. The incentives to write in villanelle were to draw attention to a certain theme through its refrains. The repetition to enforce and enhance an idea, to highlight and emphasize an important…

Hm? Stormy eyes read through the stanzas again. “My heart lays in wait for you here…He’s waiting for his lover…he’s—waiting somewhere?” Aziraphale pulled out his chair and studied the note. “Oh, of course! Why else would he choose that refrain!” Aziraphale let out a pleased laugh. He’s disguising a designated meeting time and place in a love letter! How clever!

The Prince was an imaginative one, indeed!

A grin stole across Aziraphale’s face. He did love a good puzzle. “Let’s see…the first has the imagery of horizons… perhaps the sky? Is this referring to time? Where two horizons begin—oh! Sunset! And here again, the reference night and stars!”

Aziraphale was feeling quite giddy now. Brilliant! He had a time…now all he needed was a location.

“Let’s see…Where lines of skies and earth shall thin…” Aziraphale hummed. He couldn’t think of any place he took Crowley that contained anything like that. But… “Could he mean the cliffsides?” It certainly fit the description of where the sky and earth meet. The Angel scratched his head. “But where? A fall, a flight…it certainly would make sense. Perhaps the peak of the bluffs?”

A memory suddenly sparked in his mind.

A heart’s fall, a lover’s flight—the falls! Over at one of the cliff’s faces! Of course!

Aziraphale felt his insides flutter with anticipation. “This is rather exciting!” A code written in poem; a covert scheme designed for lovers—

It was all very romantic.

But one thought niggled at the back of his mind. What could Crowley need a fifth secret rendezvous point for? A recent memory of Crowley’s footmen bubbled in his mind and Aziraphale could only hope their other locations haven’t been compromised. He also hoped this lovely poem wasn’t just another step-down for Crowley and his paranoia. He’d been really worrying Aziraphale as of late…

Aziraphale still hadn’t worked out the entirety of the poem either. Especially the second, fourth, and final stanza, the one made out to Crowley’s Angel. Those seem entirely devoted to…well displaying devotion. In such a lovely way too…

The second stanza seemed to depict methods of ownership; the fourth, a statement of adoration; the final, an…apology. But for what? What aggrieved Crowley that he’d think his affections wouldn’t be accepted by the future Archangel he has his heart set on?

His chest tightened and a sliver of sadness snaked its way down his gut.

Maybe he can ask Crowley about its meaning later.

Turning the page over, a few verses written on the back gave Aziraphale pause before he broke out into another smile. “Oh, a limerick? How delightful!”

Or, at least it was. Until Aziraphale took a good, long gander at it.

While your coy conduct enchants and enthralls me

I dream of revering and ruining your entirety—

To the Angel of my doomed desire

My body hungers in salacious fire

While I lay frustrated and unfulfilled in plea

Aziraphale dropped the letter as if it burned. Well. It might as well have with the way the apple of each cheek flushed a lovely red, a hot rush of blood tingling underneath his skin. What in Hell—

Just who did Crowley intend to send this to?!

The Angel brought his hands to his face. That’s right. It was his moniker on the page, wasn’t it? Of course. This was Crowley, after all. Exasperation extraordinaire. Annoyance Aficionado. Prince of perturbance.

“That little—” He can imagine it now—Crowley throwing his head back in peals of laughter at the thought of Aziraphale blustering and blushing at the read of such lascivious imagery—

Oh no. Aziraphale will not be played for a sucker this time!

It had taken him an embarrassingly long amount of time to come up with that blasted poem and Crowley could only hope that—at the very least—Aziraphale enjoyed it. But if all were to go according to plan, Aziraphale would get the intended message of their now official, fifth rendezvous point.

The falls roared loudly in the distance, and Crowley drew himself up tighter. He had debated all into the earliest hours of dusk whether or not it had been a good idea to send the poem rather than a more… overt invitation to meet him at the borders of the capital, but something told Crowley that the fastest way to Aziraphale’s heart would be through some fanciful, written word.

Not through his stomach, apparently. He already tried that.

And if all were to go according to plan, not only would Aziraphale find this place, but he…might not even mind the fact that Crowley had essentially and humiliatingly bared his heart and soul to the blasted Bird that had captured both so effortlessly and entirely.

Even if the villanelle didn’t paint a vivid enough imagery, he was sure the limerick got his point across.

And if all were to go according to plan and Aziraphale didn’t run for the hills at the very thought of his charge professing his undying love and searing lust for him, then perhaps this little vacation had means of becoming so much more than just a proposal for rest and relaxation.

In fact, if Crowley got his way and if Aziraphale was enthusiastically amendable to it, there wouldn’t be a whole lot of resting to be had…

In his pleasant reverie, Crowley almost missed the flurry of white at the periphery of his vision. “Oh?” He turned, just as Aziraphale tucked away those lovely, snowy wings. A shy smile greeted him, and Crowley felt his heart and hopes soar. At the very least—Aziraphale wasn’t running for the hills. “Clever Bird—you made it!”

“Yes, well,” Gracious, his Angel looked lovely painted in streaks of setting suns. “It was quite clever of you to hide the coordinates in the guise of a poem.” He looked to Crowley with an air of admiration and— a crippling lack of adulation (or even abhorrence, Crowley could take that) and Crowley knew then and there the double entendre of his poem probably flew right over those cloud-fluff curls. “Well done,” he chirped, plopping down beside the prince.

Crowley, rather valiantly, tried not to be too stung by the crushing defeat. “Haha…yeah. In the guise of a—right.” There goes two hours of honest work.

Maybe next time I should just stick with I LOVE YOU, YOU DAFT, BLOODY BIRD.

“So why was it that you wanted to meet here of all places?” The Angel peered over at the falls, admiring the shimmer of droplets absorbing the melding colors of fire and settling dusk. Crowley, in turn, couldn’t help but admire the romantic glow that basked the Angel in colors of eventide. Still, Crowley couldn’t just go ahead and say something positively stupid like I always imagined taking your hand and asking you to run away with me by the setting of the sun, now could he? “And how did you know about this place to begin with?”

But that question, Crowley can safely answer. “Oh, just listening on strategy meetings and all. May not have participated, but the king loved his planning.” He gestured to beyond the edge. “This was regarded as one of the least-defended sectors of your capital. Not that I blame your lot— you’ve always had the advantage of the skies, whereas we had to make do with slithering on our bellies on the ground, furthest from God’s light.” He gave a bitter smile. “No, this place wouldn’t have been a good strategic point of invasion at all, not with the unforgiving seas below; the jagged rocks jutting out beneath the waves are a good deterrent, and the faces are too slippery after being molded by the waves for as long as they have.”

A tilt of his head and a question in his Angel’s voice: “What of it, Crowley?”

And Crowley, ever a flair for the dramatics, merely gave his darling, dearest Angel a smirk, “Well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing the war didn’t progress any more than it did. Because your lot definitely wouldn’t have seen this coming,” and a snap of his fingers.

Several things happened at once.

There was a sharp splash of something monstrously big cresting over the waves, a bellow of a mighty beast muting the rush of the falls. Then, a flood of winds suddenly halted as a mass of midnight-black scales, leathery wings, and razor-sharp claws blocked the stunning view of the sunset. And finally, golden, slitted eyes greeted Aziraphale’s vision, sending a none-too-friendly bolt of primordial fear racing down his spine.

Oh bugger.

But Aziraphale was first and foremost a warrior and, much to his chagrin, Gabriel did train him well. “CROWLEY!” He grabbed the prince, putting himself between him and the beast. “Get behind me—” And then the creature roared.

It was the stuff of horror and magic and after seeing all the individual pieces assembled neatly into the picture before him, Aziraphale couldn’t help but shudder at the beast gazing down at him. The beast being a bloody dragon with oh-so-sharp teeth and plumes of smoke ebbing from its nostrils, and ohhh Aziraphale did not like the low rumble it emitted from the back of its throat.

It sure beat the prospect of fire razing the lands from its gaping maw, however.

“Angel, Angel, wait!” But then panic truly flared when Crowley approached the beast with frantic cry of, “Woah, steady, steady!” before Aziraphale could grab him by the scruff of the neck and fly them far, far away from here.

But then the other pieces started to fall into place as well as he stood, frozen as Crowley ran up to the creature.

One particularly helpful piece of evidence being how the bloody dragon lowered its massive snout to receive a few pets and strokes from the prince as he spewed soothing croons and praises with practiced ease. “There, there…calm down.”

There was a thunderclap of realization and Aziraphale felt the oncoming of a very large, very painful headache. “Crowley, you idiot—!”

“She’s just—excited, that’s all!” he defended.

“She—”

Crowley gave a nervous laugh, arms ready to gesticulate a grand old introduction. “Angel, this is—”

May the Queen herself help him— “YOU HAVE A PET DRAGON?!”

The little bastard had the gall to grin at him. “Cute, innit? Her name’s Bentley!” In true, tamed fashion, the bloody dragon nosed the side of Crowley’s fire-red hair with a soft, affectionate snort. “Oh, don’t worry, she’s harmle—”

And in true untrained fashion, roared, mightily and proud, right at Aziraphale’s face.

Dragon breath and dragon spittle aside, Aziraphale was tired and teetering between sheer terror and exhaustion and somehow met in the middle with “decidedly unimpressed”; if he were to die by this idiot prince’s frivolity, then so be it. It would make for an interesting epitaph, after all. “My dear, that’s quite rude,” he chided; he deftly ignored the grumble of disbelief from the reptile. His ire was instead trained on the grinning serpent before him anyways. “Crowley, you can’t just bring a dragon to Heaven, we—”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, that’s why we’re not staying here.” He rounded to the dragon’s back where—oh dear Lord is that a saddle?! The prince gave an expectant look at him as he patted the leather. “C’mon—up you get!”

What.

Aziraphale blinked.

Then Aziraphale sputtered. “W-what?!”

“Yeah! Don’t worry, I trained her myself!” Which meant that this bloody dragon was little more than a glorified deathtrap. Crowley frowned, sensing Aziraphale’s lingering unease. “I said don’t worry.”

Aziraphale shot him a pointed look. “Your previous statement makes that quite impossible.”

Crowley gave a dramatic sigh, irritation ticking at his brow. “Fine. You can fly yourself to Old-End, then.”

For all Aziraphale’s intellect and vast vocabulary borne of collecting his books, poring over literature, and a lifelong dedication to the written word, one of his favorite playwrights did say that Brevity is the soul of wit. So, to sum Aziraphale’s current feelings with a hearty and shrill “What?!” seemed only appropriate. “Why are you going to Old-End?”

That was a cause for concern—even more than the bloody dragon.

The island sat at the very edge of their current maps, the furthest point where any Angel—or Demon for that matter—ever dared travel. Well…traveled and returned home to tell the tale, anyways. Beyond its shores, the seemingly infinite rest of the word was left unexplored behind a veil of endless seas and dense fogs. And, if legends were to be believed, if one was to venture far enough, they’d reach The Other Side, where sky meets the sea, the two becoming intertwined and inseparable.

To tack onto that, there were also innumerous tales of terrible monsters lurking in the depths of the skies and seas as well.

But Crowley didn’t seem deterred at all. “We,” he corrected and Aziraphale startled. Crowley sighed. “It was your suggestion!”

Aziraphale balked at the insinuation—since when did he opt into this?!

God help him, the Demon was pouting. “Didn’t you say you wanted a vacation?”

“I never said that!” he blurted. Sure…it might have been implied last night—and oh bugger— was this what it was all about? “Besides, it’s been abandoned for decades!" he countered. It was hardly a luxury resort fit for a prince and Aziraphale had every reason to be concerned. Old-End had small post before, but it’s been abandoned since the wars between Heaven and Hell began. After all, it was hardly wise to expend resources for exploration while the rest of the kingdom went up in flames.

“Not in those exact words,” Crowley admitted and, right, Aziraphale should really watch what he says in front of the prince from now on. “And that’s exactly why! C’mon, it’ll be great! No need to pack, I have everything we need.” Lest he pull another stunt like this one. “Just get on and we’ll—"

And Bentley let out an ear-splitting shriek.

It wasn’t the worst of Aziraphale’s fears being actualized. No, what occurred next was merely the penultimate of those horrors: of the massive, bloody dragon shaking the prince off her before propelling herself into the air, swooping down, and snatching the Angel before he could decide between ducking for cover or taking Crowley by the hand to safety.

In all honesty, he probably should have let Crowley fend for himself this time.

But then that would have been the worst of Aziraphale’s horrors coming to light.

Just like that—in a blink of an eye, a bat of a lash, a beat of a wing, and a howl into the winds, the dragon made off into the clouds, a shrieking Angel between her claws.

For Crowley, it took him a moment to fully realize that one second ago, he was bickering with the love of his life (who was currently berating him on his choice of exotic pets and his choice of exotic vacation spots), and then the very next, said love of his life was being stolen away from him with a panicked cry of, “CROWLEEEEEEY!” echoing through the skies.

And it took perhaps a few more seconds for the sheer terror to set in at the very uncomfortable realization that there was really no way for him to ensure Aziraphale’s safe return from the hands of his rather spoilt and rather unruly dragon.

“BENTLEY,” he screamed off into the distance, the flapping figure growing smaller and smaller as they sped off into the horizon. “GET BACK HERE YOU USELESS REPTILE!”2

=-=-=-=

My Bonnie lies over the ocean

My Bonnie lies over the sea

My Bonnie lies over the ocean

Oh bring back my Bonnie to me

-=-=-=-=-

1 Atul Gawande’s Complications: A Surgeon’s Notes on an Imperfect Science: “This was not guilt: guilt is what you feel when you have done something wrong. What I felt was shame: I was what was wrong.”

2 This chapter was heavily inspired by How to Train Your Dragon, can you tell? Also, a smidge of Kingdom Hearts.

Also, that monstrosity of a villanelle was written by yours truly. And a special thank you to @valnine (on tumblr and ao3) for making sure it was sappy enough. And in my defense (even though I’m technically the one roasting it), villanelles have no set meter or syllable count. I’m looking at you Aziraphale—not everything has to be in a structured form!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #top crowley #bottom aziraphale

19 notes · View notes

chouetteffraie · 4 years

Text

table for two (or three)

Atsushi and Kyouka are on a secret mission to uncover the sketchy back alley deals of the resturaunt owner. Dazais on the mission too, but he finds it more important to capture Atsushi's heart when he least suspects it.

ao3 link here!

“Ah- Don’t rub at your chin, Atsushi-kun, or you can say goodbye to that handsome 5 o’clock shadow of yours.”

“I’m sorry, I just have an itch- wait, handsome?!”

“We’re up next,” Kyouka added, the first thing she had said in a while due to Dazai and Atsushi’s back and forth. “Try not to blow our cover before we even get seated.”

Atsushi nodded and gulped, turning red at the thought of being caught while Dazai reached out and patted Kyouka’s hair. As soon as he removed his hand it all fell back into place, yet she reached up to make sure it was setted anyway.

“Of course, Kyouka-chan,” Dazai said as they took a small step forward. “By the way, you look very nice tonight.”

“Thank you,” she responded, turning around while fidgeting with the cardigan around her shoulders. Just then, the host, after giving the trio a once-over, picked up a pen and asked,

“Can I help you?”

Dazai took the lead, giving the fake names they decided on days prior at the agency. For emphasis on the familial bond he insisted on the three of them having, he rested a hand on Atsushi’s shoulders and rubbed with his thumb idly. Atsushi did his best not to flinch, though Dazai squeezed his shoulder when he felt his muscles tense. While they were led to their table, Dazai let his hand slip away and only then could Atsushi relax. Dazai sighed to himself.

They shuffled in their seats, Atsushi making room for Kyouka to slide in next to him as Dazai sat across from him. He pouted as they were given menus. “I see you really do have a favorite parent, don’t you?”

Kyouka only looked at Dazai blankly, picking up a menu and passing it to Atsushi before flipping through her own idly. “Or maybe I’m just less of an eyesore~”

“So, what’s the occasion, Kyouka-chan?” Atsushi asked once the waiter worked, making sure to keep his voice down.

“Yes, which of your outstanding achievements are we rewarding today? Could it be your stellar grades? A lead role in an upcoming dance production?”

Kyouka’s stoic face dropped for a moment, relaxing as she tapped her chin, thinking up a story. They had been told these details didn’t matter much since nobody would ask, but if it meant a more complete disguise, what would be the harm in making something up? She hummed in thought, gripping her chin before finally deciding. “I won a prestigious essay contest.”

Dazai’s face brightened up. “That you did! Congratulations! I can’t wait until the trophy is mailed to us!”

“And I’m competing in a…..reputable violin competition.”

Beside her, Atsushi opened his mouth to say something, interrupted by Dazai who reached over the table to poke him. “Isn’t our daughter incredible, Atsushi?” Dazai asked.

Atsushi nodded. “Of course. It’s just nice the rest of the world is starting to see what we always did.”

“Softie,” Dazai accused while the compliment went in one of Kyouka’s ears and out the other. Her relaxed expression had furrowed into something intense, a fire burning behind her eyes that brought Dazai away from his antics for a moment.

“Hey, Kyouka-chan...are you worried about the mission?” Atsushi asked, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t so much as flinch at the contact.

“No. I was just remembering how you guys told me we were getting a pet rabbit after dinner.”

Atsushi and Dazai blinked owlishly before turning to each other. Atsushi mouthed to Dazai, did we really promise her that? and Dazai shrugged in return. After a moment, Kyouka relaxed again and asked, “So, what are you planning on ordering?”

They spent a few minutes going over their menus, debating appetizers and pausing every now and then to listen in on the conversations around them. Murmurs of work happenings, school reports and gossip drifted around the table, all snippets of the patrons’ everyday lives. Yet nothing they heard related to the seedy underbelly they were trying to find: no mentions of any sort of smuggling or trafficking, anything that would relate to their job. Soon enough, they had given their orders and watched the waiter leave before Dazai leaned over the table to whisper something. Atsushi and Kyouka followed suit.

“Well, we aren’t going to figure anything out here,” Dazai started, narrowing his eyes and looking out of the corner of his eyes.

Kyouka nodded, “Right. If you’ll excuse me.”

She slid out from the booth and carefully made her way between tables, flowered dress swishing as she darted behind a corner in the direction of the bathroom. Atsushi turned to watch her leave, furrowing his eyebrows as he wondered what she was looking for. He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to listen for- yet when he turned around, Dazai was watching her leave with an assured and careless expression.

Atsushi turned, straightening his suit jacket as he leaned back. “Did the two of you talk things over without me?” He asked, reaching a hand out to drum on the table.

“Partially. She’s got a good intuition, too,” he replied with a shrug. Instead of relaxing into the booth behind him, he leaned further across the table, gripping his elbows. “And now we’re alone.”

“I see that,” Atsushi replied, eyes drifting elsewhere. He tipped his head, trying to hear a snippet of a conversation that would help them in their mission- and he was being super obvious about it too. Dazai tried to keep the chuckle to himself, but it slipped past him anyway.

“What?” Atsushi asked, suddenly cautious.

“Nothing, nothing,” Dazai answered, waving his hand flippantly. With a suspicious look, Atsush sank back in his seat and craned his head again. As much as Dazai didn’t want to miss out on the sight, he did have a mission to save. “Y’know, without Kyouka here, it kind of looks like we’re on a date.”

A pretty red blossomed on Atsushi’s cheeks in response. “Dazai-san, don’t say stuff like that…”

Dazai hummed, keeping his gaze on Atsushi as he turned his head further away. With the drawn-on facial hair, a touch Kenji had insisted on to make it “seem like a real undercover mission,” Atsushi looked much more mature than he normally did. The kid was still trying to grow out his baby face, something that the now steady income of food might be able to help. Now, despite the choppy haircut, he looked slightly more like a man. Dazai wondered when he would get to that point in reality and if Atsushi would still need him anymore- hell, would he still even be around at that point? Part of him hoped so, if only to see if this was what Atsushi would really turn out to be.

If Atsushi turned out to be anything even remotely close to this, Dazai hoped he was a part of it.

The smile stuck on Dazai’s face as he reached out, gently placing a hand over Atsushi’s drumming fingers. “Hey, you nervous or something?”

“Hm? Oh,” Atsushi responded, finally leaning over the table like Dazai was. “I mean, a little. I hope Kyouka’s ok, and what if we get found out? I’m not exactly the best eavesdropper, you know?”

“Really?” Dazai asked in a voice fake enough to make Atsushi shoot him a glare. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Ha, ha. Thanks for the support.”

Dazai rubbed Atsushi’s knuckles gently, reminding Atsushi of his grip on his hands and prompting another blush. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We probably won’t find anything out here anyway. Our main goal is to get a scope of the place so we can investigate later, or so we know any faces that might become familiar. If we don’t get information, we have other plans,” Dazai reasoned, stooping his head to look Atsushi in the eyes.

“But...the Kyouka’s doing all the work! It feels like I’m not helping at all, so...what’s the point of me even being here?” He asked, casting his eyes further downward. Dazai caught on to his words- he wasn’t just talking about today.

“The point is, Kyouka would raise suspicion by herself. The point is, you have tiger sense that can listen further than I can. The point is for me to see you in a suit,” Dazai reassured, squeezing Atsushi’s hand before slowly pulling it away. He smiled at Atsushi when he looked up again. “Hey, if we can raise a kid like Kyouka, we can do anything.”

“But we didn’t actually raise her.”

“Actually, I’m glad she’s not here. How do you feel about another one?” Dazai asked, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. “I’m thinking about another kid.”

Atsushi sighed in irritation. “I really wish you would take this seri-”

Before Atsushi could finish his sentence, Kyouka was thrown into their table, sending their glasses and cutlery scattering to the floor. She twisted and landed on her feet, glaring at two hulking men stalking towards her before darting her gaze between Dazai and Atsushi.

“We’ve been compromised,” She said simply before running towards the nearest exit. Atsushi and Dazai looked at each other, bewildered, before scrambling out of the booth and following after her.

#dazatsu #dazushi #bsd #bungo stray dogs #my stuff #my stuff dazatsu #dazai x atsushi #dazai #atsushi #my stuff bsd

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erintoknow · 4 years

Text

this is nothing new

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

[Read here on AO3!]

Chapter: this is nothing new tw: death

[Same Old Blues]

You wake with a scream, tumbling off the couch, cracking your head against the edge of the coffee table with a ‘Thump!’ on your way down. Flashes of green before your eyes. Distantly aware of your heart pounding in your chest.

“Alex? Lord , Alex, are you okay?” The light flickers on as woman steps out of the bedroom, one hand shading her eyes as she winces against the light. Brushing back dirty blond hair, Chelsea tsks as she navigates the pile of clothes and library books that mark the corner of the apartment you’ve taken over.

Clutching your head, you pull yourself in. Try to make yourself as small as you can. Something… remembered something but what? It’s already gone. Doesn’t feel real, none of this does – already slipping out of your grasp, faster as you try to take hold. Why is Chelsea in Ortega’s apartment? Red and silver threads, something at your throat.

Hands find you and you strike out. Someone yells, “Ow!” the noise unheeded as panic renews; why did you do that? What are you thinking? You’re really in for it now – should know better. How many times do the same lessons need to be learned?

“Alex, Alex, it’s okay.” You tense, can feel the intention to touch incoming but it doesn’t – no hands come near you. “You’re safe. I promise you.” Notes of worry, directed towards – not you, can’t be you, has to be something else.

It’s a lie. One they love to tell. You’ll never be safe.

Have to… have to get out of here. Have to do something. Have to move. Get out. Escape. But there are hands, holding you down under white fluorescent lights, burning spots into your vision that cast of the crowd of onlookers in silhouette. Something is strapped over your head, while she looks down at you. Disappointment naked on her face, speaking with another woman’s voice. “Next time, I expect results forty-two.”

It’s the strobing flashes of red and blue that pull you out of it – a shot of adrenaline sets your hands shaking as you pull yourself out of the position you’d fallen into, laying half out of your bed.

You’re not back there , and you aren’t anywhere but here. Not Ortega’s, not Chelsea’s, not – not there. You’re in your own place. You have one of those now. An apartment. Remember?

Maybe not for long. Police lights? You clutch a hand to your aching head as you stretch out your awareness, take stock of the local minds, pick up the interlopers. Police. And… EMTs? Why? Dig deeper and your hands twist the bed sheet. Death. Someone’s dead. Footsteps in the hallway and nausea washes over you. It takes the sheer desperation of not wanting to spend a day cleaning out bedsheets, yet again , to tamper it down. Clothes stick to your skin in a cold sweat.

The apartment next door. On the left. Young man, lived with his girlfriend – her thoughts stand out, a barbed wire coil of grief. Was paying child support. Managed a convenience store. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t drink. Now he’s dead.

How? Why?

Try to press harder for the details only to immediately snap back. Shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have wondered. You’ve never been good at learning that lesson, no matter how many times, you come to regret it.

Holding into the bedside table for balance, you push yourself up, vision briefly blacking out before filling back in as you stand. Give yourself a moment to adjust. To think.

The door. Check the door.

Navigating the gloom you step around the traps and check the door lock, the chain, bolt, and bar. Everything is in place. You’re still safe. Moving to the window you check that next. Shatter-resistant glass, threaded with a steel wire reinforcement. Not much for looking, but no one’s getting through it any time soon. Not without making a lot of noise.

You brush your mind against the police again. No thoughts to you. Or your apartment.

You’re not in any immediate danger.

Stomach prods you with pangs of pain. What time is it? Too early to be awake. It’s – it’s absurd, right? To think it’s your fault. His death. You weren’t even awake to do anything .

Wait–

Shit!

Jane! You were Jane and you were doing something – what? What were you doing?

“Are you sure you are alright to be out today, mon amie?” Dr. Mortum eyes Jane worriedly from the other end of the booth, fiddling with the glass of sherry in her hands. New glasses? The gold of her frames stands out against the dark tone of her skin.

“Doc, please.” Jane sighs, slumping back in her chair. No fancy looks today. Whatever is going on between Jane and Dr. Mortum now, that particular game is over. Your puppet, your mirror image, is wearing slacks and a cardigan. Plain and unfashionable. But you don’t need her to perform today. Not like that. Faded bruises still peeking out from under her shirt collar. Memory of stiffness. “It’s been weeks, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” The good doctor takes a sip of her drink, one hand on the table between them. Her expression grows darker, and Jane leans in too. Nerves on edge. “So it looks like your employer made quite the splash.”

“All thanks to your hard work.”

Mortum’s expression only darkens. Her eyes darting towards the side, down at Jane’s wrist. Eyes tracing something. Jane shifts her hand away, under the table. “I suppose there is a truth to that.” She sighs, looks up again to catch Jane’s eyes. “Have you… thought any more, about what I said?”

Oh. This again. Dr. Mortum’s always been happy to just take the money without questions before. Where is this sudden attack of conscience coming from?

“I can handle myself.” Jane’s smile gains an edge. “As I’m sure you remember.”

Mortum’s smile is polite, but her eyes betray amusement. “In vivid technicolor, mon amie.”

“Hah.” Jane snickers, “Don’t be such a nerd.”

Mortum keeps smiling. “Ah, but you recognized the reference. So who is the bigger nerd here?”

“Smart-ass.”

Can’t remember past that. But you just woke up so… you fell asleep, clearly. Did you fall asleep as Jane? Biting your lip you force yourself to lay down in bed, sheets still hanging half off. Close your eyes. Have to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

Finding Jane is getting easier and easier these days. Like there’s a cord strung between you – follow the thread and you’ll find her at the end of it.

Sink in, and it’s always touch that comes first, after that everything else fills from the outside in. As if you’re water pouring into an empty vessel. Jane sits up, blinking with bleary eyes. Only the briefest sense of vertigo before her stomach settles.

The dull soreness of healing bruises floats into awareness. It’s dark, with warm fabric drawn over her lower body… She’s home at her apartment. Safe. Everything’s fine. You worried for nothing. Jane glances at the alarm clock. 4 AM. Now that the possibility of danger is brushed aside, you’re free to be frustrated at this whole situation.

Nothing for it now. You’re not going back to sleep if you can help it. Jane’s hand finds her cellphone, checking for any messages. Nothing new; just her last exchange with Ortega, asking about when they can meet up again.

Just thinking about it is enough to make Jane smile, a lightness in her chest, even as it leaves a bitter sting in your heart. Jane is dating Ortega. Not you. That’s the way things have to be. It’s for the best. For everyone.

Ortega…

She hasn’t even been released from the hospital yet and already she’s raring to get back into the thick of things. The fool idiot never knows when to slow down. Or when to quit. She’s taking the Ranger’s defeat at your debut more personally than you had anticipated.

Honestly, you went into that night fully expecting Ortega to kill you, instead she just… slowed you down at best. A wave breaking itself against a boulder, shattering to pieces. She’s losing her touch in her middle age. She’s only to get herself hurt even worse next time. Maybe you can get Jane to talk some sense into her? Just… at least slow down for a little bit? Take better care of herself.

Somehow has to do it.

It sure isn’t going to be you.

Can still see it in your head… standing in the floodlights, a bruised and bleeding Ortega laying prone below you…

Fuck.

fucking hell

piss

Jane staggers, fighting down the wave of revulsion, swallows the bile in the back of her throat. Shit. She’s usually better insulated from your attacks then that.

Well… don’t think you’re getting back to bed any time soon. If you’re going to be up this early you might as well do something productive with all that time.

“So now, I’m the one stuck sorting out this mess.” Spinning stories about how terrible your villain alter ego is as a boss has fast become your favorite way to bond with people as Jane. There’s something liberating in being able to just go to town on her and have people actually nod in agreement.

Jane sighs, staring down at the water bottle in her hand, sloshing the contents in a slow circle. “Honestly, it’s not my fault the last deal fell through like that.” She tugs at her jacket. Should enjoy the chill while you can. Once the sun’s up, the summer heat will be back in full force.

Jane’s companion, a latina woman who has clearly never skipped leg or arm day, takes a long drag from her cigarette, her back to Jane, against the tree. The two of them have stepped off the park path for privacy.

Honestly didn’t expect Rosie to answer Jane’s call. There’s been less and less time to be able to shoot the shit with her lately. A trend you expect to continue.

Even now Jane is technically doing business. Managing your villain career, building loyalty. But Rosie has been Jane’s oldest friend – or as close to it as she can have, and you’re finding it harder for Jane to let go of her than you’d expected.

“Sounds like a capital-class serving of BS to me, yeah.” Rosie stares off into the open field, chewing on thoughts your puppet isn’t privy to. “You tried looking into some of those old buildings up in the industrial park?”

Jane blinks, staring up at the tree branches above them both. “The… industrial park, huh. Hrm.”

“Yeah, like, I know you’re hoping to get somewhere more, like, central and shit, but there’s a lot of places that cleared out when the smog started getting bad. Bet you two-to-one you can find somewhere real cheap up that way.” She goes quiet then suddenly breaks into laughter. “And hey! That boss of yours is so paranoid anyway, right? Should be happy he gets somewhere no one in their right mind is going to go.”

Jane doesn’t respond right away. It could work. A cheaper asking price means more money free to invest back into gadgets, supplies, bribes. “Yeah, okay.” Jane “I’ll give it a look around. Thanks for the tip.”

Rosie winks, thumbs up. “Hey Janey, what are friends for?”

Jane finds herself returning the thumbs up. “Nothing legal, apparently.” That gets the barking laugh you were hoping for. Rosie slaps her leg. Jane clears her throat, gives Rosie a chance to compose herself. “Speaking of friends… You ready for another job yet?”

“You know me, I can always use more sin money.” She shuffles out another cigarette from her pack, eyes shifting between Jane and the lighter. “So… suppose I am. What'd ya got?”

Jane smiles. “I think you’ll find this one interesting.”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne #tw: death

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purge-that-urge-rhackathon · 5 years

Note

Prompt 53 from the list; if you dont want to you dont but I'd love Vasquez saying it to Rhys just b4 Jack comes in and saves the day Afterwards sexytime Rhack is always great too ;D

This was like, the best goddamn prompt anon, both in terms of substance and ooey-gooey tropes BLESS YOU. Also, Vasquez doesn’t survive this one folks LOLOL Nothing too horrible happens to Rhys here; ya’ll know my content and I’m not ready to get into total non-con area juuuust yet xD You can check the tags on ao3 if worried tho ^___^

From this prompt list :) 53 was “Do you think you can keep quiet for me?” This labeled as The Executive Treatment. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here. Also found on my ao3 here.

–

“I know how much you’ve wanted this, Rhys.”

He didn’t want it, though. Maybe that was the whole point. And maybe Vasquez knew that, too.

The blackmail he had over Rhys could destroy him. And it’s what currently had him bound by the wrists over the bigger man’s wide desk in Hyperion-made tech with his pants around his ankles. He couldn’t back out even if he wanted to; both from the manacles and fear of a fate far worse than letting Vasquez do whatever he wanted to him.

“Y’know, men like us shouldn’t have to put up a front for what they want,” he continued on, not at all perturbed by Rhys’ silence or red-faced glares, and why should he be? He was fully clothed after all and not bent over a desk, after all. “You gotta just reach out and take it without shame. That’s what power really is, Rhys. I can appreciate the theater of it, of course; all bark and no bite,” Vasquez said as he stroked down Rhys’ lower back to caress the bare cheeks of his ass. “Never took you for the dramatic type. Though, I’ve gotta say, you’ve got bigger balls than I thought.”

Figuratively, of course, though it was courage bought from fear that had him bent over against his will. Rhys would never be here and never offering up his ass to his hated rival if not for the very real threat of a live-flaying. This was hardly about sex and everything about power. And Vasquez knew that, of course; peppering in reminders of why Rhys was here in case he thought to give Vasquez trouble.

“…Or is it just the circumstances that made you brave? Either way, I win.”

Rhys didn’t answer, and he was pretty sure the other man didn’t expect a response, either.

It didn’t stop him from bringing his hand down on Rhys’ ass, though, wrenching out a surprised yelp that echoed in the large office and brought further shame-red to Rhys’ face. Vasquez did it again, harder this time, that damn golden pinky cutting through the sting of the smack to almost make Rhys jump at the firmer pain as he bit his lip to stay quiet.

His legs he could’ve closed but for the foot Vasquez kicked them apart with, but he couldn’t move much more than that, prone over the desk with Vasquez’ other hand lazily pushing him down. The restraints were well-made by the company after all, and the hard steel didn’t even protest against Rhys’ cybernetic arm as he tried to curl in on himself even the smallest bit. He wondered if this would actually be worth his life, and if just the once would do it. Vasquez had implied that this was his price, after all, but there were no explicitly-stated terms between them; just the threat that the bearded man’s silence came at a high-price, and right now, that price would be paid or else.

“You’re being rude,” Vasquez’ deep voice almost sounded pouty, the hand coming to rest gently above one of Rhys’ asscheeks not lulling the bound man in the slightest. “It’s almost like you don’t want to be here…”

Rhys snorted and turned his head what little he could manage. It was enough to catch the smirk on Vasquez’s face, and the glint in his eye that said he thought he was far better than Rhys even now. Though Rhys was full of shame at the corporate secrets he’d passed along, he still had personal pride, and he was ready with a sarcastic response. “Shouldn’t you be used to this? I’m pretty sure this is the only way you ever get laid.”

Vasquez huffed, the pout on his face turning into a thinking frown. He glared down at the other man, but that confident gleam to his eye remained. “Well, if you don’t like it, Rhys, I can let Handsome Jack know he’s got a spy in his midst…” He chuckled at the genuinely-terrified gasp that Rhys let loose, and the easy smirk on Vasquez’ face came back. “How do you think Handsome Jack would feel to know his personal assistant has been feeding Maliwan information, hmmmm? I’m pretty sure that would be professional suicide. Or at least, that’s how they make it look. Or so I’ve heard.”

Rhys’ whole body went tense at the reminder of how much Vasquez actually knew. The files he’d accidentally sent to an incorrect echo frequency were enough by themselves for him to be airlocked. That the files had been intercepted by Maliwan, however, was a guaranteed painful death if Jack ever found out.

Yeah, Jack liked him as far as bosses liked their personal assistants, but the information had ultimately resulted in a lost negotiation for Hyperion– a direct correlation, Rhys knew, as Maliwan had contacted him to mockingly thank him for the heads’ up on what was to come, and expected continued insights if he didn’t want their CEO getting wind of it.

Jack was still irked by it, enough to mention it even months later, whenever the rival company came up in conversation. Maliwan’s price hadn’t been too steep, actually. Rhys was good with numbers and chose his losses carefully, and so far his paltry offerings of tidbits of information here and there had kept a sort of stalemate going for a miniscule advantage. He hadn’t wanted to get drawn in deeper, but by now he’d handed over multiple pieces of information and had no idea how to get himself out of this mess.

That it had to be Vasquez of all people who picked up on the fact only added insult to injury. Small mining deals he knew he could reassign Jack’s soldiers to enforce for him shouldn’t have taken much notice. And sending a few ‘bonus’ products in trade deals with weapons not yet released to the public gave Malian a heads-up, perhaps, but truly didn’t impact Hyperion’s bottom line. It was little, potentially-harmless things like that that he’d hoped no one would notice, but somehow, Vasquez had.

Rhys had been controlling the situation the best he could, and was managing a happy stalemate while he still tried to figure out his exit-strategy and hide what he’d been doing from Jack.

Vasquez though… As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, Vasquez was not someone he could control. Not since he’d beaten the other man out of the very position he now held as Jack’s right hand man; something Vasquez had taken as a mortal offense and personal theft. After all, Jack was the most powerful man in the universe. It was a power that extended to those who worked directly under Jack, making them normally untouchable out of a fearful respect for the CEO.

And it was a power that Rhys was terrified of being turned against him. Maybe he hadn’t been thinking straight when he agreed to this little ‘meeting’, but the bluntly-stated proposition that Vasquez wanted Rhys crying on the end of his cock– or he could cry from the torture Jack would subject him to- had Rhys indignantly dropping his pants and leaning over the desk with as much furious poise as he could muster.

Vasquez demanded he submit to being bound for this exercise in humility; he knew what Hyperion cybernetics were capable of, and he wasn’t going to allow Rhys to fight him on this matter when he was balls-deep inside of him. Rhys would take exactly what Vasquez would give him until he was totally satisfied that Handsome Jack wouldn’t be needing any anonymous info packets the following morning.

“You know, Rhys, I’ve always been fond of your voice, but this office isn’t entirely sound-proof, I’m sure. Do you think you can keep quiet for me? Wouldn’t want anyone walking around at this hour to know why you’re here, would you?”

Rhys refused to dignify that with a response, his whole body tensed while he kept telling himself– begging himself- to relax. For his own good.

Vasquez ironically huffed at being ignored, and his hand came down across Rhys’ ass again, hard, and Rhys’ legs kicked out on reflex. He caught Vasquez across a shin as the bigger man cursed and stepped back, rubbing the area and muttering in pain.

The quick steps towards him told Rhys that Vasquez wouldn’t take that for the accident it was, and he backhanded him across the face. It made Rhys bite his own lip, his tongue immediately searching out the sting to soothe it. He tasted copper and tried to focus on that; remind himself that the alternative to this was being tortured before his body eventually gave out. This was nothing to being experimented on by R&D. Being a traitor was almost worse than embezzling from Handsome Jack himself; he could endure this to save himself from that.

“I was gonna go easy on you at first,” the bigger man said as he grabbed a handful of Rhys’ hair to look at him properly. They glared at one another with open hate. “Regardless of what you might think, I’m actually a considerate lover. But I Get the feeling you wouldn’t much appreciate that, would you?”

“Fuck you,” Rhys muttered pathetically, embarrassed at the strength of his own voice; the helplessness he was definitely feeling in both situation and action.

“That’s the whole point, but still, rude.” Vasquez dropped his hold on Rhys’ hair unexpectedly and Rhys dropped a bit faster than he’d have liked back to the cold of the desk. Vasquez’ hand found its way back to his lower back, and he kicked Rhys’ legs aside again so they were spread enough that he wouldn’t get inadvertently kicked.

Though he was still fully clothed, Vasquez grabbed the smaller man by his naked hips and ground himself against his ass, and Rhys valiantly stayed absolutely silent, not making a nose to the cloth erection being ground against him. Vasquez groaned appreciatively and cocked his head to try and look at Rhys’ face during this particular humiliation. “You know, I’m less inclined to share your secrets if you act a little more enthusiastic, Rhys.”

Rhys felt a lump form in his throat at the combination of fear and the indignity of what Vasquez wanted. As if being fucked by him wasn’t already bad enough, he wanted Rhys to show appreciation for being dry-humped? Rhys wasn’t sure he could pretend that, and he realized as his cybernetic arm tugged in vain on the metal holding his wrists to the desk, that it must’ve been a reinforced alloy of some kind and not steel. He was truly and utterly at Vasquez’ mercy, and furthermore, he had no guarantee that Vasquez wouldn’t just leave him here to go and report him even after he was done.

There were some muted sounds from outside the office doors as Vasquez was really working himself up against dry-humping Rhys’ ass, followed by a kick that was loud enough not to just be passing janitors. Vasquez was mid-stride to see what the hell that was when the locking mechanism was shot out, electric-sizzling and the smell of ozone in the air before the security system was totally disabled, and in strode Rhys’ savior and terror all wrapped up into one gun-toting CEO.

Rhys laid prone where he was, not moving and knowing any attempt at hiding himself was entirely in vain. Vasquez stood where he was halfway between the office doors and the desk, hard-on still protruding from the front of the pants he wore. Jack took one quick sweep of the situation he’d just walked into, lingering on Rhys’ terrified face a moment, and twirled his gun in his hand playfully.

“I have been calling and calling my hot little PA’s number for over an hour now and I just had to track down his comm and see what was so goddamn important he’d ignore me over. And I really gotta say– what’s happening here?- Not super impressed right now.”

“S-sir I can explain… Rhys-” Vasquez started expectantly, looking down at the half-clothed man forcibly bound to his desk with slapped-red asscheeks and his chin stained with a fine line of crimson from his bitten lip.

Rhys knew an opportunity when he saw it, and didn’t speak or come to Vasquez’ defense. Instead, he locked eyes with Jack– very aware of his own defeated body language- and the look in the CEO’s eyes made his heart speed up all the more. He looked away quickly, biting his lip and wincing as the movement made the cut there bleed anew.

Whatever Jack saw in Rhys’ own eyes had worked, because as Vasquez’ stuttered denials turned into pleading and bare accusations, there was a second shot of Jack’s gun, and a shocked inhalation followed by a muted thud some steps away from the desk where the bearded man had tried to quickly flee.

Jack whistled lowly, moving towards Vasquez as the man was in the throes of death, and quickly searched his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He left the still body as he approached the desk once more, and Rhys was still laying there, silent, barely registering the fact that Jack was uncharacteristically silent as well, and he was still strapped down.

Did Jack already know? Was this a coincidence? …were the dirty fantasies on the echonet fanboards actually true?

No, this wasn’t some fantasy. Jack had just killed Rhys’ longtime rival, and he himself had committed base corporate treason and was strapped down half naked at the mercy of the most powerful man in the universe. Any arousal he had at the idea was suddenly drowned in anxious fear.

Rhys felt his heart pounding in multiple areas; the side of his neck that Jack could break so easily; against the desk from within his chest that a bullet could easily pierce.

The rush of blood in his ears, and his vision going in and out, completely distracted from the older man’s approach, and only the smell of the gun discharge in his nostrils finally drew Rhys back enough to his senses to realize that Vasquez was most certainly dead on the floor, and he could very well be next.

Rhys turned his head dumbly towards Jack, dazed and confused and frozen with fear. The frown on Jack’s face wasn’t indicative of anything good. Rhys feared for his life.

“Y’know,” Jack said as he reached into his pocket and leaned against the desk, shooting Rhys’ ass a pointed look the younger man could see, “I’ve had an awful lot of fantasies that have started this way…”

Rhys found his voice, licking his split lip with a wince. “Jack I–” He was struck mute as the restraints binding him clicked with a mechanical whirr, and everything recessed back into the desk without a trace. Jack tossed the unlock mechanism back towards Vasquez’ body but otherwise stayed leaning on the desk right next to Rhys.

Rhys rose up just a little– slowly, as if to test how free he really was- and exhaled shakily as he curled his palms into fists, fighting his renewed fear of the man at his side. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. Just because he’d been freed from Vasquez did not mean he was safe. He was scared to lift himself further, but slowly, slowly stood.

“Buttercup… Not that I don’t think it’s kinky as fuck, but just what the hell do you mean by bending over for that asshole? Ever? I mean, I’m all about hate-sex, but Wallethead himself?”

Rhys could feel his heartbeat pick right back up into a terrified tatoo against his ribs. Could it be possible Jack didn’t know the things he’d done? Was there a way out of this? Jack didn’t suffer traitors easily. He’d seen people dropped down the hatch in Jack’s office for way less.

“Hey…” Jack’s voice turned serious. “Rhysie… Talk to me here, baby.”

If he could just play it cool long enough to get his ass off this space station, maybe he could disappear somewhere… Somewhere beyond the reach of the companies. Though that idea was hardly realistic, unless–

“Fuck. Hey, you freakin’ out in there or what?”

–he could fake his own death? He was good at programming… if he survived this encounter here, then maybe hacking security footage and using an O2 mask–

“Rhys.” Jack’s hands found their way to his shoulders, and Rhys’ eyes finally snapped to his own, widening a bit as if he just remembered where he was, who he was with, and that his pants were still around his ankles. Jack cupped the younger man’s cheek in his hand, stroking with his thumb as he studied the pallor on his face. He gave Rhys’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze with his other hand. “It’s okay, pumpkin. I was just teasing. What the hell did he do to you? I thought I got here in time but maybe I killed him too quickly now,” Jack said with a disappointed look at the still-warm body.

“I-I’m alright,” Rhys stuttered, lifting a shaking hand to Jack’s wrist and holding it there. He couldn’t help it; even terrified of what might be his last few moments, he still wanted Jack; craved the comfort he was offering. Rhys genuinely liked Jack, and they usually got along so well, too. Jack often complained after meetings that Rhys was the only one on this space station he could stand. It was only going to cut that much deeper when Jack found out.

It’s not like it was his choice to betray Hyperion, but he knew the CEO well enough by now to know it didn’t matter. But he wanted what few moments of comfort were given before the final shoe dropped, and relished in the warmth of Jack’s thumb stroking his cheek. “I’m okay.”

Jack huffed a little, lips twitching into an uncertain smile. “How’d he ever get you here, kiddo?” the older man asked with real concern, his question obviously referring to being trapped against a desk. “Why didn’t you call me on your echoeye? …that wasn’t consensual right, Rhysie?”

“He was blackmailing me,” Rhys stated simply, an answer to all Jack’s questions.

“Yeah, yeah I gathered that when he was calling you a traitor moments before I blew his brains out.” Rhys wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Jack correctly guessed the source of his distress. “This about that Maliwan shit, ain’t it, princess? Unless your sordid little life is more interesting than I ever thought.”

Rhys’ jaw dropped and all the blood fled his face. “How did you–”

“First of all, I’m all-knowing,” Jack bragged with a haughty smirk. “And second– you sent those messages from my desk that day, remember? When I took a nap on the couch?”

Rhys would remember that day for the rest of his life as it had ultimately gotten him in the exact situation he was in right now. It had been a Friday, and Jack had taken apart Rhys’ monitor as it kept having compatibility issues with his echoeye and the personal patches Jack had done to help him be more efficient.

Jack had had Rhys do his work from his desk while he customized the younger man’s workspace to better suit him, and Rhys had handled multiple communications that day. It had been in a moment of distraction at a lame ‘data-size’ joke Jack had made that Rhys had sent the detailed plans to the incorrect address, and had only noticed it the next day because that address had contacted him and told him exactly what he’d done and what he’d continue doing to buy their silence.

“We got lunch that day, remember? I sent you home early and I didn’t go back to the office until Monday morning. You left your mail open at my desk, buttercup. I’ve known what’s going on the whole time. You’ve been handling it like a pro, so I’ve only been keeping an eye on things from a distance.”

Rhys was close to hyperventilating, but Jack still stood there as nonchalant as he had, as Rhys tried to meet his eyes. “A-Are you going to kill me?”

“Hey, I saved you, if you don’t recall,” Jack grumbled with a dismissive look at the still-warm body. “Why would I kill you? For fucking that asshole? I mean, I won’t lie, I am jealous as hell, but talk about unne–”

“I never slept with Vasquez….” Rhys trailed off weakly, realizing how stupid he felt saying so as he was still standing there with his whole dick and balls out for anyone to see; though he didn’t want to draw further attention to that fact by pulling his pants back up. It wasn’t like Jack was looking anyways, though that might’ve been because the CEO was preoccupied with the obviously-spooked expression on the younger man’s face, and giving his shoulders reassuring squeezes.

Rhys looked up a moment from his pondering as his brain suddenly processed the fact that Jack said he was jealous over the idea of Vasquez fucking him…. Even with the idea Rhys thought he’d been selling Hyperion out.

The look Jack was giving him was somewhere between the pout the older man liked to pull when asking Rhys to cancel meetings for him, and the playful smirk he usually reserved for poking fun. He clearly wasn’t teasing right now with the way he occupied Rhys’ space. Rhys dumbly repeated his denial of involvement with Vasquez, any other words currently escaping him.

“Then what’s the problem?” Jack’s hands were gentle on him, but Rhys knew what the older man was capable of. Jack’s eyes kept jumping all about him, as if he could see what was making Rhys so cagey if he only looked hard enough.

“I don’t understand… Not that– Don’t take that to mean I want to die,” Rhys quickly got out, afraid to accept that he was possibly going to get out of this alive. “But why aren’t you, like, shooting me? You bring up that deal we lost all the time…”

“Seriously, kiddo? One, I’m brilliant, and that would be a huge waste. And yeah, I like to win so I’m still annoyed at those assholes thinking they won that time, but you’ve given me an opportunity I haven’t gotten anyone to pull in a long time.”

Rhys looked at him blankly, and Jack just smirked and gave him a gentle pat. “You’ve got those idiots to trust you. They think they’ve got you by the balls. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you cherry-pick what intel to give them.” Jack grinned as if all the information and access Rhys had been giving to business rivals was somehow a good thing. The CEO rolled his eyes as Rhys clearly wasn’t getting it; as if anything about this conversation was normal. “What I’m saying here, princess, is that they know your information’s been good, and they know you haven’t compromised them by telling me. Otherwise ‘Big Bad Handsome Jack’ would have blown you out an airlock already.”

Rhys was still confused how any of this was good news, but Jack still didn’t seem upset with him. If anything, he seemed pleased. Rhys really wanted to pull his pants back up right now, but he didn’t want to break the spell of whatever this benevolent mood was.

He also didn’t want to have Jack let go of him to make such a movement, drawing strength from the hands on his shoulders.

“What I’m sayin’ is, you’ve opened up the perfect opportunity to sabotage them from the inside. Once I’m ready to give the word, we’re going to feed them bad intel and really take ‘em apart. Hoooo that almost gives me a stiffy, I can’t wait for those dickbags to realize what we did.” Jack chuckled to himself with a grin for the younger man.

“You’re… really okay with all of that?” Rhys asked seriously, watching Jack with a hanging hope as the older man smiled at him.

“Not only okay with it, but I want you to keep it up. If you have trouble deciding what info you wanna give those losers, we’ll make something up, okay? I’ve got enough money lying around to throw those idiots a bone if they still think you’re working for them. It’s an investment I’ll collect on when the iron is hot, or however that shit goes.”

It was strike when the iron is hot, Rhys knew, but didn’t want to give Jack any ideas about striking anything while he was still pantsless. “I seriously cannot believe you’re okay with this,” Rhys muttered with something of relieved shock. “The last person who sold company secrets got sent down to R&D, and they still haven’t come back.”

“Yeah, put ‘em in the hybrid breeding program or something, I don’t know. Anyways, pumpkin, even if that wasn’t the case, I still wouldn’t kill you. You are way too damn cute and that would put a huge damper in my chances of someday getting laid,” Jack said with a half-joking tone, though the look in his eyes smoldered a bit as he smiled in implication.

Rhys couldn’t believe things were going completely his way. Jack wanted to… to fuck him? Even after all of this? Jack found him attractive? Like, yeah, he wanted Jack, but who on Helios didn’t? That Jack was genuinely interested… Well.

“I’m just… I am so relieved you found out, actually,” Rhys laughed a little, unhinged at just how perfect everything had gone. His rival was dead, his attractive boss didn’t want to kill him, and apparently, all his jerk-off fantasies were going to come true if Jack was to be believed.

“What, kitten? You think I don’t keep regular tabs on anyone close to me?” Jack purred dangerously into his ear. “What’s that saying? ‘Keep your friends close but hop into bed with your enemies’?”

That made Rhys’ heart give a little fearful lurch, but he couldn’t help the snort it got out of him, either, as he decided he believed the older man. “I don’t think that’s the phrase, Jack,” he said softly with a little smile growing on his face as Jack grinned shamelessly. “And I’m hardly your enemy.”

“Hardly, huh?” the older man teased as he somewhat crowded against him in correctly reading the signals. “Heh, get it Rhysie? ‘Cuz your pants are down, and it’s making me hard.”

It had to be one of the stupidest things to have ever gotten a laugh out of Rhys, but he could blame that on the adrenaline still running through him, and the sheer relief that he wasn’t about to be murdered.

“There’s my little princess,” Jack said with a grin, boxing him in with hands on either side of the desk. Rhys was still chuckling, cheeks red, as Jack wasn’t through. “Or maybe I shouldn’t say little anymore, hm? …Grower, not a show-er, sweetheart? This guy finally getting in the game? What did it? The talk of screwing over Maliwan, or the part where Jack got to play the big hero?” he teased.

“It’s adrenaline,” Rhys discounted quickly with a smile, though he supposed Jack about had it right; who in their right mind would get a boner for their boss when moments before he thought said man would murder him? Let alone get aroused with a body in the room? He wasn’t even ashamed of it to be honest. Chalk it up to the thrill of still being alive. “And my dick size is– Why are we talking about that right now?” Rhys genuinely laughed, about ready to reach down and pull his pants over the semi he had going anyways, but loathe to break the proximity of Jack’s nearness.

Warm puffs of breath went over Rhys as Jack lightly chuckled and moved in just a tad closer; either teasing or testing, Rhys wasn’t sure, but the hand the younger man wrapped about the outside of Jack’s shoulder gave an encouraging squeeze, and Jack’s smile widened.

“You’ve got two choices here, buttercup,” the older man said with a smirk that did nothing to quell the plumping of Rhys’ cock, “And I’ll respect whatever you choose. We can cover that up,” he said with a quick glance down between them so Rhys knew his meaning, “cover that up,” he said with another look in the direction of Vasquez’ useless shell, “and you can go back to being the best damn PA I’ve had in a long, long line of unprofessional idiots, and I won’t press it any further, or,” Jack said with an edge of uncertainty Rhys wouldn’t have caught if he didn’t know the older man so well, “you can let me show you just how irreplaceable you are on a less than professional level, and how very much I don’t wanna kill ya. Whaddya say?”

Rhys’ heart rate picked right back up from where it had been finally calming, but this time he wasn’t afraid. The exact opposite, actually. “You mean–”

“I guess I did cockblock you, right?” Jack joked with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Technically, I mean,” he mocked a little, then smirked, emboldened by the squeeze Rhys’ hand gave his arm. “And here you are all… pantless with no dick-being-sucked. It’s a travesty is what I’m saying, kitten; dicks being out, left un-sucked. It’s un-Hyperion. Goes against everything my brand stands for.”

Rhys couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, and it was a small movement to lean the top of his head on Jack’s shoulder, shaking with laughter and relief and holding tight to the older man to try to reign it in. Jack himself couldn’t have been more delighted by that, and Rhys could feel the smile against his skin as Jack turned and spoke, lips just barely kissing his jaw.

“Whaddya say, pumpkin? How would you like a little executive treatment, hmm?”

Jack’s lips pressed chastely against Rhys’ jaw as the younger man pressed into the gesture, and Rhys stood back up to smile, allowing Jack to take his chin in his hand and press their lips together. The action stung where he’d bit himself, and Jack licked his own lips as he pulled away, wrapping both large hands around Rhys’ hips and smirking expectantly.

“…Please?” Rhys asked, wanting the comfort, the ironic safety the older man represented, and everything else he had to offer.

Though he’d alluded to it already, Jack still surprised him by dropping to his knees in front of Rhys, hands on the younger man’s thighs as he came face to face with his cock, and wasted no time getting himself quite acquainted.

Rhys was learning a lot about himself today. Namely, that he probably wasn’t as good a person as he thought he was if he was able to get fully hard and enjoy one hell of a blowjob with a body in the room, but also that he’d been willing to go a great distance to protect his own interests– which he was a little proud of- and that his little crush on Jack, along with his hero-worship of the man, was definitely not going to change any time soon… even when potentially fearing for his life.

None of that mattered right now though, because as great and as varied the skills that Jack was rumored to have were, it didn’t prepare Rhys for the reality of the CEO on his knees completely taking him apart with his mouth alone.

That was okay though. He had a feeling that Jack was going to be there to put him back together again, too.

–

kofi | ao3

#rhack #borderlands fanfic #handsome jack #rhys the company man #tftbl #there's rhysquez if ya squint i guess? not NICE rhysquez tho LOLOL but goddamn i really love vasquez xD #i almost wish this was a rhysquez prompt because i was having a lot of fun xD Vasquez going to town on rhys' ass aaag THE THIRST #LOLOL i might continue this in the future when i have more time. I had a LOT of fun writing it anon :D #literally started it right after opening your ask yesterday morning hehehhe GOOD SHIT thank you!! :D

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