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ahgasegotarmy116 · 2 months

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The Art of Etiquette Part 7 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Going gown shopping is proving to be a bit more difficult than you had expected and Jungkook doesn't make it any easier Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 4.7k~ Warnings: I don't think there's any need for warnings but so much teasinggg a/n: Sorry this too so long to get out 😭 I've lost motivation to write these days so it's been taking a bit longer for me to get chapters out but I hope you guys like it! p.s. kinda sorta edited lol I just wanted to get it out already Start from the beginning

After talking to Jesse last night about everything that happened between Jungkook and I, I've been even more confused than I was to begin with.

"HE KISSED YOU?!?!" Jesse yells into the phone making me cringe as I pull it away to save my hearing but ultimately fail.

"I don't know, kind of but not really. He leaned in and kissed my cheek but his lips did brush up against the side of my mouth so I don't know. I'm just so confused because at the start I thought he hated me. He was rude and demanding and always tried to intimidate me. I will admit that it worked sometimes but I just never know what he actually wants from me" I complain while switching to my airpods so I can walk around my room and talk to him while looking for an outfit.

"I think you're over thinking things. I think it all comes down to the fact that he found you challenging at first so that might've been why you thought that he hated you" he explains.

"Challenging? What's that supposed to mean?" I question, flipping through the clothes in my closet, struggling to find something that's comfortable but not too casual, easy to take off so it makes trying on dresses a bit easier but doesn't make me look like I didn't put in any effort. You would think I was getting dressed for a first date or something based off the existential crisis I seem to be having.

"He probably thought you were some bratty rich kid that needed a real push to break out of that mold. I bet he's had to deal with a lot of divas in his time. Don't take it personally though, I'm sure that he just goes into those first few lessons with that mindset and then loosens up a bit as you go along. Or at least that's what I would think based off of what you've told me" he explains.

"You're probably right" I agree while trying to choose between two colors of what sweater to wear. "Pink or Blue?" I question and without hesitation he chooses pink. "What did you end up putting together?" he asks, eager to know what I've settled on.

"Pink sweater, white skirt with nude colored leggings and some white boots. Oh and I'm pairing it with the white pea coat James got for me last Christmas" I relay, going through the outfit in my head, leaving everything on their hangers so I won't have to worry about too many wrinkles tomorrow.

"Why are you dressing so...girly? I mean you're a girl obviously but I figured you would go with something a little more...black" he chuckles, thinking about my usual choice in attire.

"Jungkook would send me back upstairs to change before he would take me somewhere dressed in all black clothing. He wants me to remember to dress like a lady so I might as well go into it right off the bat so I can avoid another scolding. Plus I figured a skirt would be a lot easier to take off and put back on again since I'll be trying on a few dresses" I say while finally getting myself ready for bed.

"Fair enough. If I were you though I would tell him that the only way I'm taking these clothes off is if you take them off of me if he had a problem with your outfit" he teases, making me roll my eyes at him, amused but embarrassed by his nonsense. "Jesse he's my teacher" I point out for the millionth time, hoping to get him to back off but I know it's pointless.

"As much as you would like me to jump his bones I need to remember the purpose of our relationship. I don't want to cause James any trouble with messing around with him. I could just see the headlines, 'CEO's step daughter sleeps with her etiquette teacher', I do not want to have to deal with the backlash from my mother either. If something were to happen between us it could ruin his reputation, making people think that he sleeps with all of his students. Plus who knows, he could've slept with his past students based off of how forward he has been with me" I say while throwing myself onto my bed and staring up at the ceiling.

"He may be an adonis but I don't think he's the type of guy that would do that. Like he's an etiquette teacher girl, if he was to have had a scandal with a student in the past I'm sure it would've come out by now" he reasons with me and I hum in acknowledgement.

"I guess you're right" I mumble and soon wrap up our call so I can get some 'Proper beauty sleep' according to Jesse but for the life of me I can't sleep a wink. With all of these questions spinning round and round in my head I just can't seem to ease my mind until I'm jolted awake by my alarm.

'I guess I was able to sleep a bit' I think to myself before jumping into the shower and rushing to get ready. This'll be the first time Jungkook has seen me bright and early in the morning and not run down after a long day at school so I guess it's best if I make a good impression.

After putting on my lip gloss to complete the look I'm met with my mother barging into my room. "You do know that Mr. Jeon is going to be here soon and oh-!" she nags quickly spewing out her speech before finally taking a look at me.

"Look at you! I guess you really are my daughter!" she says while walking over to my mirror to stand behind me. "What's that supposed to mean?" I say crossing my arms and giving her an unamused look through the reflection.

"It means that you look very beautiful and you're showing off your femininity and assets very well" she says referring to the shorter skirt that she hasn't ever seen me wear before. "Very funny mom now can you please leave so I can finish getting ready?" I ask, shooing her away so I can get her out of my hair, literally since she had started running her fingers through it from the back.

"Okay okay I'm going. Would you like me to let you know when he's pulling up outside?" she asks and I nod my head and at that she's off to no doubt stand and wait for the first glimpse of him by the door. 'She's more obsessed with that man than Jesse is' I mumble to myself and quickly slip on my boots and take another look at myself before I hear my mother yelling for me to come downstairs.

I open my bedroom door and hear that Jungkook is already somehow inside the house and speaking to my mother when I had anticipated for him to just wait for me by his car. "Oh good you're here! Hurry along I heard you have a very long day ahead of you so behave yourself and do exactly as he says" she lists off and I don't bother giving her an answer.

"Don't worry Mrs. Hart, I know she's a good girl" Jungkook shamelessly responds for me. My eyes bug out and I watch the amused look spread across his face but it's gone in a flash when my mother turns her attention back to him. "Shouldn't we get going? I know how much you hate being late and I'm sure she's waiting for us already" I say in regards to the modiste that we have an appointment with.

"Oh yes, I'm sorry I'm holding you up. Have a good day both of you and I'll see you later tonight" she says with a smile while opening the door for us. "Oh I don't think it'll take that lo-" "I won't keep her out too late" Jungkook jumps in and I shut my mouth at his response, knowing I really have no say in the matter but also losing my wording when he places his hand on my waist to guide me over to the car.

Walking over towards it I realize that he's switched from a four seater car to a two seater and I can't help but wonder if his motives were to not give me any other choice but to sit next to him. "I didn't realize you had another car" I say while he opens the door for me and I sit down and almost squeak at the feeling of the seats sinking down a lot lower than expected and he smirks at my reaction.

"I have a few but I tend to take this one out every once in a while since it does best on longer trips" he informs before shutting the door for me. I nod my head while he walks around the car and gets in a lot more gracefully than I had which makes me roll my eyes and turn my face away from him.

"Here" he says handing me an iced coffee "Oh thank you but I don't drink coffee, it makes me anxious" I say politely rejecting. "I know, Matthew told me so I got you a chai latte since to his knowledge, tends to be your favorite" he says. I thank him and receive it with both hands, my cheeks showing a dusting of pink at the thought that again he bothered to make sure he got me something that I would like. He even got me an iced one since I like those better even when it's cold outside.

I take a couple of sips as he pulls out of the driveway and onto the street before taking notice that I had forgotten something. "Mr. Jeon I'm sorry but do you think we could turn back around? I forgot to grab my coat" I admit, cringing at the thought of inconveniencing him and messing up the schedule for today.

"It's alright, you can just borrow mine" he says with a slight smile, no hint of irritation or condescension. "But I don't want you to be cold I-" "Y/n it's fine, I don't mind. If anything we can get you another coat once we go looking for the shoes to match your dress" he says and relaxes into his seat.

His left hand on the wheel with his right placed on his lap where I notice that he's spreading his legs a bit further than I've seen him do before, making me gulp at the sight and turn my face away from him.

"Is that alright with you?" he questions, making me look back over at him. "What?" I ask, not sure if I had lost track of the conversation or not. "Do you feel comfortable borrowing my jacket or should we turn back around?" he questions glancing over at me.

"Only if you're sure" I say, wanting to give him the option to change his mind. "If I wasn't sure I wouldn't have offered. I'm asking if you're alright with it" he says and I reply simply saying yes but that's not good enough for him.

"Yes what y/n? I thought we had agreed upon using our words" he taunts and my breath hitches at the fist sign of his flirtatious attitude for the day. "Yes Mr. Jeon, I would feel comfortable borrowing your jacket" I say but he presses further. "I thought we had agreed on being more informal with each other as well" he teases and I look over at him with a confused face as to why it would make a difference for him.

"Say my name" he says darkly causing a fluttering sensation to bloom in my stomach. "I-, what?" I stutter, not expecting this sort of behavior from him this early in the morning.

"Say. My. Name. Or would you rather us go back to addressing each other formally?" he questions while he stops at a red light and cocks his brow at me. "Yes Jungkook, thank you for letting me borrow your jacket" I say quietly after a pause, my brain not being awake enough to come up with any smart remarks.

He smiles at that and focuses back on the road and offers me the aux to play some music since the drive is so far. "Try not to fall asleep on me again like last time. Wouldn't want to have to clean the drool off your face again" he teases while holding the chord up for me and making our hands touch since he doesn't seem to want to let go right away.

I bring my hand down to plug my phone in and he lets his follow mine, keeping them connected for a second, letting his warm hand rest on my thigh before bringing it back towards himself and placing it back on his lap. I clear my throat to get my bearings again and quickly plug it in and play some low fi music which gets him to glance over at me again.

"What? You don't like it?" I question feeling insecure about my choice since I don't really know what his taste in music is. Unless it's just the ballroom music that we've been dancing to for weeks now but I highly doubt that.

"No, I do. I'm just sure that a playlist like this one would be the exact thing that would put you to sleep" he says with a crooked smile. "Well I just wasn't sure what you would like and so I figured low fi would be a safe choice" I explain and see that he's still smiling.

"What?" I question and he glances over at me, making me suspicious of him and all of his reactions. "It's just cute that you put thought into choosing something that you thought I might like as well" he says with a lilt in his voice.

"I just wanted both of us to enjoy the music that's all" I say, crossing my arms over my chest as a defense mechanism to hide the fact that he's made my heart rate pick up with his simple words. "And that's what I found cute about it" he says, rubbing it in since he can clearly see that it's making me shy.

"You know, you can be quite irritating sometimes right?" I say as a way to defend myself and make him stop teasing me. "Who me? Am I not allowed to compliment a pretty girl for acting cute?" he plays coy and before I'm able to respond he corrects himself. "Excuse me, a beautiful woman from acting kindly towards me" he finishes and I can't seem to come up with any response to it so instead I choose to angle my body away from him and look out the window.

"You can put on something you like instead. I tend to enjoy all genres of music" he says, reeling in the teasing and giving me a break thankfully. I in spite, choose to go with one of my angsty playlists full of artists like Simple Plan, Blink 182 and Linkin Park, thinking that it would be something he wouldn't enjoy but to my surprise I catch him drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat.

As the playlist shuffles through the songs I catch him singing along to the opening of Bring Me to Life by Evanescence and it's then when I turn my body to face him again. "You know this song?" I question, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You didn't think that you were the only one who had their emo phase did you?" he laughs and again I'm given another reason to see him in another light.

As the song progresses we end up doing the call and response of it, with him settling on the guy's part and myself on the girl's and somehow it all just clicks. It's as if we were just two friends on a roadtrip together and it feels, nice? Right? I don't know but it's as if we'd known each other for our whole lives.

There's a comfortable silence once the song comes to a close and we both glance at each other a few moments later and laugh it off. "You weren't kidding when you said you had an emo phase" I tease and he laughs in response.

"We promised to be honest with each other have we not?" he chuckles after calming down a bit with me, wiping away the few tears that had fallen in the midst of my laughter. "You're right, we have" I respond and again we settle into a comfortable silence before he asks me a question to keep me talking.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he questions, glancing over at me before turning his attention back towards the road. "I mean there's not much to tell" I say, not having anything in particular stick out to me but he unsurprisingly presses nonetheless.

"There must be something going on in that pretty little head of yours" he teases I take in a sharp breath, his compliments always catching me off guard. "Why do you always compliment me and tease me like that?" I say quickly without giving my brain a second to stop me. "Tease you like what?" he asks with a huge smile, not expecting me to just come out and say it.

"Why do you do that Jungkook?" I ask, using his first name to show him I'm serious about this question. "Do you not like it when I compliment you?" he deflects. "Answer the question Jungkook" I reiterate since he doesn't have a care in the world at this point.

"Because you're beautiful" he admits as if it would have no effect on me. "I-" "What? You expect me to spend this much time with you and not come to notice how beautiful you are?" he asks, looking over at me as we reach a stop light. I sit there without an answer, not knowing whether I should acknowledge his words or just brush them off.

We had agreed to be less formal with each other but did he think that was a green light to trying to pursue me? I've gotta talk to Jesse about this.

"Looks like we made it just in time" he states a few minutes later as we pull up to the modiste, seeing that the kind woman that had helped us out before waving at us through the window.

"You ready?" he asks, scaring me at the sudden concern in his voice. "You're scaring me" I laugh off and watch as he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door for me.

"Let's just say it's going to be a long day" he explains, holding his hand out for me to take and I graciously do. Seeing how low these seats sink down I would probably make a fool out of myself if I were to try and get out on my own.

Once I stand up I stumble a bit and lose my footing leaving me bracing myself on his chest, my hands pressed firmly against his pectorals but I push off of them once I feel them flex under his incredibly tailored dress shirt and again lose my balance but he pulls me in close by the waist before I can manage to tumble back down into the car.

"You alright?" he smirks with his hand still firmly against my waist and his hand pressed against the car behind me, placing us in a similar position we had been in just last night. "I'm fine" I say after clearing my throat and placing my hand on top of the one he has on my waist as a way to request for him to let me go.

"Hey, are we okay?" He asks, tilting his head to meet my downward turned gaze. "Why wouldn't we be?" I question, felling on fire being this close to him. "I just hope I haven't made you feel uncomfortable. I really do think you're beautiful" he says, placing a hand on my cheek and bringing my chin up to face him.

"Can we talk about this later? She's watching" I ask, nodding toward the dressmaker inside who is clearly enjoying the show. "I don't mind, I just want to make sure that we're okay" he says, deepening his gaze if even possible and I just nod and utter a quick yes before slipping out of his grasp and speed walking to the door.

He braces both of his hands on the roof on the car I had just been leaning against and lets out a dry chuckle before pushing off and closing the door, catching the last glimpse of me scurrying into the shop. 'Cute' is the only word that comes to mind for him at our whole exchange and my reactions to it all and it would continue to be his reaction throughout the whole day as he watches me try to find the perfect dress.

~~~~

"Welcome back dearie" she greets me with a knowing smile, not even bothering to pretend she hadn't seen everything that transpired between Jungkook and I. "Good to see you again" I say, meeting her with a shy smile, hoping she won't address the topic, or at least with Jungkook right on my heels.

"I'm sorry ma'am in all of the excitement from the first time I had been here I never managed to catch your name" I say, scolding myself for forgetting to even ask. "You can call me Genevieve dear. And remember, I said you could lose the formality with me, especially since I would love to have some girl talk with you about Mr. Jeon" she teases with a wink and before I'm able to protest she's already greeting Jungkook right behind me.

"Mr. Jeon how lovely to see you again. I see you've both become better acquainted with each other since the last time you were here" she says, stopping Jungkook in his tracks and leaving me clearing my throat and awkwardly requesting that we get started.

I glance back at Jungkook and see how the tips of his ears have turned red, not having expected her to come right out with it but it makes me smile nonetheless, seeing once again that I'm not the only one that gets shy in this dynamic we have going.

~~~~

After trying on dress after dress after dress we can't seem to find the right one. "What about the dress you picked out when we first came here? That one won't work for this event?" I yell to Jungkook from behind the curtain as Genevieve helps me out of what feels like the hundredth dress.

"It doesn't fit the season nor the occasion. Just try on a few more and if we can't find one we can look through the catalogue and order one and come back for a fitting later on this week" he responds without a care.

"It'll be a bit of a tight squeeze in terms of time if we were to do it that way though" she warns me as she zips up the next dress and before I can even take ten steps out of the dressing room Jungkook has already disapproved of it.

"You don't like this one?" I question looking down at it, but then after having seen it in a different lighting realize that I hate it too. "You really want to ask me that question again?" he cocks a brow at me. I let out a sigh and my whole demeanor droops as I walk back into the dressing room.

"Hey" Jungkook says, walking up on me before I'm even able to close the curtain. "Don't scare me like that" I say, placing a hand over my chest as an automatic response. "Why don't we take a break? There's an Indian restaurant down the street from here so we can have lunch and then come back. That sound alright to you?" he asks and chuckles at seeing my face light up at the idea.

"I'll take that as a yes" he says with a smug smile. "Can you help me get out of this? Genevieve had a hard time with the zipper so I think her hands might be getting a little tired of doing this" I ask, turning my back to him and giving a perfectly innocent excuse as to why I'm seeking his help but I can see his amused smile in the small mirror that he doesn't seem to notice that's placed right in front of me.

"Of course Pretty" he smiles and he takes his time dragging the zipper down and his brows shoot up at the realization that I'm not wearing a bra with this dress and once he's finished he runs his finger along my spine, seeing a slight red mark from the constant rub of the zippers of multiple dresses and I see his brows draw together at the realization.

"Let's get you out of here. We can come back another day to continue but I think you've had enough" he says running his finger along the line once more, causing a shiver that I had been trying to hold back to run up my spine but at his concern for the slight marks the dresses had left on my skin he decides to ignore it.

"It's okay, let's go eat and once we're done I'll try on a few more. I feel like the both of us will be able to think a bit straighter on a full stomach. Don't you think?" I ask, turning around to face him with one arm placed over my chest to hold up the dress being the only space between him and my bare skin.

"If that's what you want" he says, his eyes tracing the slight bit of bare skin he's able to see on my chest and up to my eyes. "I'll just ask her to get a few more dresses ready for us while we're gone" he says and tells me through the curtain minutes later that he'll meet me outside.

"You're a sly one love" Genevieve says as I come out of the dressing room fully clothed. "What makes you say that?" I question, tilting my head in confusion. "You knew I was coming back in a few seconds but asked him to unzip the dress for you anyway" she says and I widen my eyes, surprised that she has seen that exchange. "Nothing goes on in this shop without me knowing love" she chuckles at my reaction and gives me a little jar of salve.

"What's this?" I question curiously, turning the jar over in my hands. "Mr. Jeon noticed the red marks the dresses left on your back and got worried so he asked me if I had anything that might with that" she says giving me a quick wink. "Now hurry along love and I'll see you soon" she says ushering me out and watching as I walk up to Jungkook leaning against my side of the car and looking up when he hears me coming.

"You sure you want to come back today? I can ask her to schedule another day for us to come back" he says, still leaning against the car with his arms now crossed over his chest and observing my form to see any signs of discomfort but the only thing that has me nervous are his wandering eyes.

"I'm fine Jungkook I promise" I say while looking down and pulling on the sleeve on my sweater in an effort to warm up my hands a bit and shield them from the cold. He hooks his finger under my chin and brings my eyes up to him and studies my features before making the decision that I'm still up for the task.

"Okay" he agrees, caressing my face for a second before using that same hand and places it on my waist and turns to open the car door and helps me in again. He places his coat over my lap, noticing that I'm shivering. I murmur a quick thank you before he closes the door, going around the car to get to the driver's side, waving at Genevieve before getting in the car as well.

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goosewriting · 5 months

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Across the Galaxy and Beyond

summary: some time after the Mantis crew split apart, Cal has an unexpected reunion with reader on Koboh

relationship: Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for Jedi Survivor, vague-ish mention of events from the Battle Scars book but i don't think it counts as a spoiler, hurt & comfort, flashbacks, kissing

word count: 8.9k 👀💧 ...i am unwell about this man what can i say

A/N: started writing this when i first started jedi survivor, and finally got around to finishing it now that i finished reading battle scars and the cal kestis brainworms are attacking me again. story doesn't follow the game exactly. also this could be read as a separate story from my wherever you go, i go trilogy, but i like to think it's the same reader and timeline lol so go read that if you haven't c:

Navigation: Part 1 (you’re here!) | Part 2 (wip)

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — — Part 1: Just like old times

After Cal's escape from Coruscant, the Mantis was pretty shredded. The main problem was the gyro, but upon entering Koboh's atmosphere, all systems started failing and the Jedi had to make an emergency landing somewhere on some cliffs.

It took a lot of climbing and wall-jumping and fighting the aggressive local fauna, but after a couple of hours, Cal and BD finally made it to the outpost where Greez' cantina was located. On the way there he also encountered bandits who called themselves the Bedlam Raiders, as well as old Separatists battleships and battle droids, of all things. Just what has Greez got himself into?, Cal thinks to himself after saving a local from Rayvis, the leader of the Raiders, and outing himself as a Jedi in the process.

When Cal and BD finally enter Pyloon's Saloon, they meet with Greez. Since the Raiders have just been at the saloon (and the place doesn't look all too inviting either), there are no customers, so Cal and Greez catch up at the bar. The Latero is extremely happy to see the boy and his droid in one piece after all this time. Over a drink, the redhead tells him about the last job on Coruscant gone wrong, how only two of them made it out. He expresses his frustration, how the Empire is only growing stronger and everything he does feels pointless. Things haven't been easy since the Mantis crew split up.

After catching up a little, Greez tells Cal that he has some spare parts and will take care of the ship. He'll send someone to bring the ship to the landing dock behind the saloon. In the meantime, he should take a breather and explore the outpost. Cal doesn't like feeling like he's wasting time, but with the state the Mantis is in, there really isn't much else he can do.

The Latero shows him the room in the basement, telling Cal he can stay as long as he needs. Greez wasn't kidding when he said he had a room just for Cal: there was a meditation area in the middle of the round room, and even his old clothes and some unfinished tech projects were all stashed away in a big chest.

They both sit down on the edge of the bed, and it doesn't take long for the conversation to take a direction Cal doesn't like. Not because what Greez is saying is wrong; on the contrary, he's probably right, but the redhead doesn't want to hear it. Not right now. Greez, in a genuinely concerned tone, goes on about how the game is rigged and Cal should walk away while he can, maybe even settle down somewhere. Cal lashes out for a moment, claiming someone has to keep fighting.

— — —

You approach the stable in the outpost riding on your nekko, humming a happy tune to yourself. You're lost in thought, letting your trusty mount walk the last stretch to the stalls by himself, as he knew the way. Once you reach the structure, you get off and start putting away your haul; you just came from a successful hunt. You'd skin and prepare everything later though, so you pack the preys away in special boxes where everything would be preserved for a couple of days.

“Hello master,” a robotic yet chirpy voice greets you.

You turn around with a smile, facing the Separatist battle droid you had found and reprogrammed to help you out at the stable.

“Hey there, Connor,” you greet back. You've told him several times not to call you that, but he insisted, saying you saved him and now his purpose was to serve you. You take a moment to inspect his blue and black markings that have started chipping more noticeably; maybe it's time for a new paint job.

“Did I miss anything while I was gone?” you ask, taking the saddle off your nekko and placing it onto the designated wooden beam.

“Yes, in fact,” Connor replies, placing new food and clean water in the trough. “There's a ship on the landing pad behind the saloon that I've never seen before.”

“Is that so? What kinda ship?”

“A modified S-161 Stinger, and it's pretty busted up. I'm surprised it even made it this far.”

You stop in your tracks, your grip tightening around the halter you just took off the nekko, which is now happily munching away on its fresh feed.

“Interesting,” you remark, putting the rest of the equipment away and turning around to face the droid. Since you spent most of the day down in some caves, you didn't see or hear anything. “Do you know who was on board?”

“I didn't see who came off the ship, but I overheard some prospectors talk about a newcomer that went one on one with Rayvis,” Connor comments, then leans in closer to you, looking around as if to make sure no one would be listening in on your conversations, when it's clearly just the two of you at the stable. “I also heard Turgle mentioning a Jedi being seen around here.”

“Huh,” is all you manage to say, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. There was no way he was here, right? After all this time? As far as you know, he doesn't even know you're here. So if it is him, he isn't here to see you, but Greez instead. It's probably because of the Mantis; Cal is in need of repairs. This thought immediately replaces the initial anticipation with a strange, cold feeling.

“Can you believe it?” Connor goes on. “I've never even seen a Jedi. I would love to meet them.”

You take a long look at the droid, remembering the state you had found him in. He had never been in the war, actually. He spent several years in an abandoned Separatist camp, never even getting to be activated. So he only knew his programming: serve the Separatists, fight the clones and kill the Jedi. Yet he had never lived any of it. Reprogramming him had been easy in that regard, as his memory banks were mostly blank. Back then you were looking for a droid companion to help you out at the stables, and even though you know what battle droids mean to the Jedi, you can't help but think that they are kinda cute. The B1 models, at least. The B2 series and commandos are pretty scary.

So you gave your new friend a name (you couldn't decide between Hank and Connor, but decided to go with the latter as it somehow suited his demeanour better) and a new purpose in life, and he seems content with that. The only fighting program you left in him is for defending the stable and nekkos. First and foremost it is his mission that they are not harmed. You also ordered him not to leave the outpost, for his own safety. You don't want the raiders to find him and get access to his memory bank. They would use the information against all of you at the outpost, and either scrap him or reprogram him to join the raiders. Once they were dealt with, however, you promised Connor you would take him around Koboh first, then show him the galaxy.

“I'm going to the saloon,” you announce. “Can you take care of the rest?”

“Roger roger!” Connor replies with a salute, getting to work.

You find yourself smoothing out your clothes and hair as you make the short trip to the saloon. When you reach the bar you're met with Monk, the witty bartender droid. He greets you with a happy tone and some strange phrase that you don't entirely understand, as he always does. You ask for Greez, and he points towards the door to the side, saying he's in the basement with some old friend of his that just dropped by.

With a gulp and a forced smile, you thank him and head down the stairs. The urge to turn on your heel and run away grows with every step. As you're about to reach the door, you hear voices coming from the other side.

“-to be something more than a lightsaber.” That's Greez, you think. He sounds… sad? “Think of yourself. Settle down, find a home.”

“What home, Greez?” You swear your heart actually stops beating and accelerates at the same time when you hear the voice, his voice. “There is no home. Home was the Order. It was my teacher.”

You've stopped a couple steps away from the door so it wouldn't open and have you interrupt the conversation, but you involuntarily lean forward to hear better what Cal says next.

“It was everyone I lost… Home was the Mantis with you, Cere, Merrin, and–”

The automatic door whooshes open and Cal and Greez turn their heads towards you as they stand up from the bed they were sitting on.

“I- I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you sheepishly state after a moment of uncomfortable silence from everyone, approaching him but staying at a distance. “Hey, Cal. It's been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” he retorts, and you can't really read the tone of his voice.

You look each other up and down, taking in how different you both look since… Since the last time you saw each other. Since you split up.

A thousand thoughts go through your head, and a thousand different feelings resurface, making your heart tighten in your chest, like there isn't enough space for everything it's trying to process.

Greez can't take the tension anymore, so he clears his throat loudly.

“Lemme show you something, Cal,” the Latero says as he walks towards a panel on the far side of the room. He presses a couple of buttons and a section of the wall slides open with a creak, revealing a path behind it. “This is an old smuggler's tunnel, you'll find spare parts in there. Just… be careful, I have a pest problem.”

With that, Greez walks by both of you, giving your arm an encouraging pat, before leaving the room. It's just you and Cal now.

“Spare parts?” you ask, trying to make some conversation. “For the Mantis, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Cal replies, looking at the tunnel entrance but not moving from where he stands. “Gyro's fried.”

You two stand there in silence, and you want to smack yourself in the face. You feel like an awkward 12-year-old all over again, not knowing how to talk to your cr– You stop your train of thought before you dare finish that sentence and potentially embarrass yourself further. The heat on your cheeks that refuses to leave your face since you've laid eyes on the Jedi can't possibly have gone unnoticed by him.

“You know, Greez has had this room set up for you for quite a while,” you tell Cal, shooting him a quick smile. “So I take it you'll be staying for a while, right? The Mantis isn't going anywhere.”

Cal shrugs and shoots you a quick, unsure glance, then casts his eyes back down, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was just about to head out,” you lie. Your plan for the evening was to have a drink at the bar and unwind, but him being here changes everything. “You could join me and I'll show you around if you'd like…”

Cal looks at the tunnel again, weighing the options in his mind. One is going down there to fix the Mantis as soon as possible, then taking off to who knows where. The other… you're not so sure. And if you're being honest with yourself, you're too scared to ask.

“Sure, why not,” he finally agrees with a sigh and starts walking towards the door that directly leads outside from the basement, but you feel like something, or rather someone, is missing. You look around the room, scanning your surroundings for a certain droid, then turn back to Cal.

“W-Where's BD?” you ask, fearing the worst. You'd really hate it if something happened to him.

“Oh, he wandered off somewhere earlier,” Cal says and you release a breath of relief. After calling for him, the little droid comes hopping down the stairs and into the room.

“BD!” you greet the little companion, and he excitedly beeps at your reunion. He comes running towards you and you pick him up in a hug.

“Oh, how I've missed you,” you spin him around a couple of times, then set him back down onto the floor. “I have a droid of my own now, but you're still the cutest. Don't tell him, though,” you add with a wink.

“You have a droid?” Cal asks as BD climbs onto his back and you all make your way out.

“Yeah, he helps me out at the stable,” you explain, pointing at the building as you reach the end of the stairs. The stable is practically behind the saloon. From these stairs it's a very short trek to reach the paddocks.

“Those are nekkos, right?” Cal questions, approaching the fence and looking at the two animals chilling in the sun. “I met Mosey earlier. She said she worked at the stable,” he turns around to look at you. “But she didn't mention you.”

You're about to retort by saying she couldn't have possibly known that you two knew each other, but you're interrupted by a chirpy voice.

“Master! You're back already?”

At the sound of the familiar robotic voice, Cal instinctively draws his lightsaber, and turns towards the side entrance to the stable. You hurry to get between your droid and the Jedi; you don't want to see Connor get sliced today. Not by him. Said droid peeks out from behind the archway, and BD beeps repeatedly, alarmed.

“Wait!” you exclaim, holding your hands up into the air defensively. “That's my droid!”

“Your- Your droid?” Cal repeats, clearly confused. He puts away his weapon nonetheless.

“He's reprogrammed, and he's never even been in the war,” you explain, walking backwards as Cal starts approaching the stable to inspect the battle droid further, with you still between them. “He was never even activated. He's good, I promise!”

“Master, who's this?” Connor asks, walking back into the stable to make room for Cal and you. “Is he bothering you?” The droid activates the blaster you had built into one of his arms, and Cal's hand goes to the hilt of his sabre again, while BD beeps in exasperation.

“No, stand down!” you order, and the blaster immediately turns off with a whirr. “Will everyone please calm down?”

Still standing between Cal and the battle droid, you let out a huff, looking from one to the other.

“Cal, BD; this is Connor, my droid,” you start introducing them. “My good and reprogrammed droid, whose mission is to protect the stable and the nekkos, nothing more.”

Cal seems unimpressed, still looking at Connor with narrowed eyes. You turn to the droid.

“Connor; these are Cal and BD,” you start. “And you know what? Cal here–” You look at Connor with raised brows and lower your voice. “–is a Jedi.”

Connor brings his hands up to where his mouth would be, gasping in surprise.

“You- You are?” he asks, quickly going around you to take Cal's hand and shaking it vigorously. “It's such an honour! I've always wanted to meet a Jedi!”

“So you could get up all close and stab me in the back?” Cal retorts, his voice laced with uncharacteristic venom, and pulls his hand from the droid's grasp.

“What? No, I–” Connor starts but you push him to the side a bit.

“It's okay, Connor. He'll warm up to you, eventually,” you comfort him. “Please go get the nekkos ready for us?”

You've never heard a sadder 'roger roger' in your life and it sends a sting of pain through your chest.

While the droid goes to prepare your mounts, you turn around to Cal and frown at him. He crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively.

“Why would you say something like that? He's genuinely excited to meet you,” you explain. “When was the last time someone was actually happy to see a Jedi, hm?”

“Not a battle droid, that's for sure,” Cal retorts with a huff.

You look up at him for a moment, holding his rather cold gaze. You wonder just what happened these past few years that had him like this. Sure, you understand why he isn't a fan of battle droids. Normally you aren't either. But there's just something about Cal that's… different. He looks older, but it might just be the beard. He also looks more tired, carries himself differently. With confidence like he always did, but also in a “don't mess with me” way that wasn't there before. Gone is the spark in his eyes, that glimmer of optimism and hope, replaced by the promise of not holding back if anyone were to cross him.

For several moments, you just look at each other, and you're sure he's analysing you just as you are him, and you wonder what is going through his head.

“The nekkos are ready,” Connor announces, leading both of them out of their respective stalls by the reins.

You allow the animals to sniff Cal and inspect him, while you give a short explanation on how to ride and guide them. Cal's mount is white with a dark face and legs, while yours is a dark purple and brown. After thanking Connor and waving him goodbye, you both hop onto the saddle and head out of the outpost. You know your way around, taking a route that would keep you hidden from the patrols, both the imperial ones as well as the raiders. You'd much rather deal with the local fauna. And you do come across a couple of rawkas at the river, and a pack of gorgers when heading further up the Southern Reach. But you two make quick work of them.

In fact, Cal has grown stronger, and not only that, but he also has a new array of weapons it seems; now he double-wields his lightsabers, and he also has a blaster, which completely takes you by surprise.

Once you reach the base of the big silo, you get off your nekkos and climb the rest by foot, getting on top of the structure and sitting at the edge. It's not a super well-hidden spot; if the patrols under you decide to look up they would definitely see you, but it's a good vantage point to show Cal the different places. You point towards the landmarks, explaining them to him so he can orient himself and navigate beyond the outpost. You tell him about the caverns, the mines, to look out for different patrols and what areas to avoid; be it because of the raiders, like fort Kha'lin, or because of bigger fauna like bilemaws, goroccos and mogus. Especially mogus. They are fierce.

Once you're done with your explanation, you lean back onto your hands with a sigh. Cal attentively listened to everything, but he doesn't seem interested in keeping the conversation going, as he hasn't said anything.

He's looking out, scanning this corner of Koboh as far as he could see from here, taking in the view and probably trying to commit to memory everything you've said. You look at him from the corner of your eyes, your gaze falling onto the holster on his hip.

“So,” you try starting the conversation again. “You now double-wield and you have a blaster. Which, by the way, is pretty uncharacteristic for a Jedi, no?”

“A lot has changed, I guess,” is all you get out of him.

“Do you have any other new tricks?” you ask, and the memory of him re-discovering his Master's lessons after his escape from Bracca comes back to you, making you smile fondly to yourself for a moment.

“Hmm,” Cal thinks aloud, also leaning back and finally tearing his eyes from the landscape to look at you. “There aren't any new Force-tricks, if that's what you mean. But I do have this.”

He brings one of his arms up, showing you the contraption on his brace.

“Grappling hook. Comes in pretty handy,” he explains, showing you some of the mechanisms. Your hands reach up to gently hold his wrist, so you can inspect the device better, and you could have sworn you heard his breath hitch at the contact. At that moment, you realise that's the first physical interaction you've had since he arrived, and you quickly let go.

“We should head back,” you say as you stand up, dusting off your legs. “It will get dark soon, plus you must be hungry. I know I am.”

“Yeah, I could eat,” Cal replies, getting up to his feet as well, and BD beeps in agreement.

Cal climbs down the silo first, while you scan the area one last time for any patrols. When it's your turn, just as you're almost at the base of the rather unstable ladder, your foot slips and you lose your balance. You hold onto the next best thing, which happens to be Cal. Seeing you're about to fall, his arm reaches around you and he pulls you towards him while with the other hand he tightly holds onto the railing that goes along the walls of the structure.

“You okay?” he asks, and when you look up at him this time, you're finally met with a pair of eyes that you recognise. There's concern in his gaze but also a certain warmth, amused at how you were a fierce warrior yet managed to be clumsy in small things like these. He found it cute, which you knew for a fact because he would tell you often, back then…

“Y-Yeah, thanks,” you mutter, separating yourself from him now that you're back safe on the ground. Feeling the heat spreading on your face, you can't help a sheepish smile. “Guess some things never change, heh.”

“Guess not,” Cal says with a small smile of his own, and your chest tightens at the sight.

The ride back to the Outpost is silent, and you wonder if his body is also reacting as strongly as yours; ever since slipping, your skin feels like it's tingling, and your heart hasn't calmed down in the slightest.

Once you're back at the stable and the nekkos have been taken care of, Connor mentions that Greez left some food for you, and hands you several small containers wrapped with a cloth.

“You wanna eat at my place?” you find yourself asking Cal, who's scratching behind the nekko's ear. He turns around to you with raised eyebrows in what you assume to be a surprised expression, but he's quick to relax his face back to normal.

“I have a room behind Doma's shop,” you explain, holding up the food in your hands and you gesture to it with your chin. “And Greez knows this is far too much food for myself.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Cal replies, calling BD back to him, who was scanning some stable equipment. “Let me help you with that.”

Cal takes the food off your hands, and you say your goodbyes to Connor, who stays at the stable. It's a quick trip past the saloon's entrance into Doma's shop. She's behind the counter organising some of her merchandise, and returns your “hello” from afar without looking. Only when she hears Cal's greeting does she turn around. She shoots you a look and you know exactly what she means, heat prickling again at your cheeks. You give a curt shake of your head, quickening the pace to evade Doma's questioning, heading for the door at the back that leads to the place you have been calling home for the last year.

It isn't much, but it makes do: one big room, that's both kitchen and a living space, with two doors at the far side that lead to a small bedroom and the refresher. The main room is decorated, you like to think it's warm, cosy and inviting. You even managed to thrift an old couch somewhere, refurbished it yourself, and it now essentially serves as the centrepiece of the room. There are several rugs on the floor, as well as piles of pelts and leather in the corner that you still have to finish working on so you could sell them. These days that's your main source of income.

Cal stands at the door for a moment, taking everything in, and you suddenly feel very self-conscious. The space is clean, but the fact that you can't read his face makes you a little nervous. To distract yourself, you take the food from him, bringing it to the kitchen counter.

“I think the food is still warm,” you say as you start opening the containers, the delicious smell filling both your noses. “Do you mind setting the table?”

Cal and you make quick work of getting everything plated and grabbing some drinks, then sitting down in front of each other at the wooden table to eat. You make some light conversation between bites, catching each other up on what has been going on in your lives recently. He tells you about some of the missions he's been on ever since the Mantis crew split up, and you tell him of your own solo adventures before you came to Koboh.

When the plates are empty, your bellies full, and the conversation is about to die down, you ask if you can check out Cal's lightsabre. He unclips it from his belt to hand it to you, and you catch yourself being relieved at the fact he still trusts you enough to just give his sacred weapon to you without further inquiry.

He's changed some parts and the materials, and you hold the device in your hands with the utmost care, admiring the beautiful design and intricate markings on the wooden accents. Rather suddenly, a feeling of regret and shame spreads out in your chest, thinking about how not only this sabre but also Cal himself went through so many changes, and you hadn't been there for any of it. There's so much you want to tell him, about how sad you are that you weren't there for him, about how sorry you are with the way you left, about how you've been thinking of and missing him every single day. But telling him that wouldn't be fair. You have no right to be selfish like that.

“So what exactly happened that got the Mantis in such a state?” you decide to ask instead, reaching the lightsabre over the table to give it back. Cal takes it with a deep sigh, putting it back to his belt, feeling immediately comforted by its familiar weight.

“A job on Coruscant that went… wrong,” he starts, telling you how his team was gathering intel for Saw Guerrera, and it had all worked out until the very last moment, where everything went wrong, and he lost his whole crew in an instant. Only him and another person made it out of there. In fact, one of his crew members saved his life by pushing him out of the way and taking the blaster shot herself instead.

You listen intently, and your heart grows heavier by the second; you can hear the frustration in his voice, the voice of a man who's this close to giving up entirely, because he's just so tired, but he can't. He won't. You know Cal took it upon himself to fight the Empire by himself if he has to. A trait you genuinely admire but also despise. After all, that was one of the reasons you left.

Then he mentions the Ninth Sister, and your attention is fully back to what he's saying.

“I tried to get through to her, I really did,” Cal says, his voice cracking for a second. “But she wouldn't let up. I had no choice.”

“Did you…?” you ask carefully.

“I killed her,” he says matter-of-factly, but you can tell it's been eating away at him.

“I'm so sorry, Cal,” you offer, reaching across the table and placing your hand on his. “That couldn't have been easy. I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

He doesn't meet your eyes, his gaze fixed on his half empty cup instead, watching the drops of condensation slowly fall along the outside of the glass onto the table, staining the wood. But he doesn't pull away either, so you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You look exhausted,” you finally tell him, and he lets out a breath through his nose, as if saying 'you have no idea'. You offer for him to take a shower here instead of at the saloon before heading back, telling him yours is nicer, to which he chuckles lightly, and he accepts.

He insists you take a shower first while he takes care of the dishes, so you do just that. Once you're out, it's his turn. You hand him a towel and a change of clean clothes, and you can tell he wonders why you have them in his size, until he realises that they're actually his. It's an old shirt and lounge pants that you would always steal from him and had apparently taken with you. He doesn't comment on it though, instead he simply stares at the clothes in his hand for maybe a second too long, deep in thought. Then he blinks a couple of times, as if he just came back from zoning out, gives you a short 'thanks' and gets into the shower.

While he cleans up, you take a seat on the couch, pulling up the novel you're currently reading on your holopad. Only now that you're sitting with your legs stretched out along the length of the cushions do you realise how tired you are, both physically and emotionally. Out of everything you could have thought would happen today, meeting Cal was certainly not on the list. Still, you can't deny that you're happy to see him. For starters, he's still alive. And you've missed him, much more than you care to admit to yourself.

After reading the same sentence of your book over and over, failing to focus, you sigh and look at BD instead, who hops onto the coffee table and tilts his head at you with an inquiring beep.

“Has he been taking care of himself?” you ask the droid, pointing over your shoulder in the direction of the refresher, where you can hear the water running.

BD lets out a sequence of beeps and boops, and you narrow your eyes at him for a moment. 'He keeps himself busy' he said. Is he dodging your question?

“Is that so,” you reply with a hum, and BD shoots the question right back at you. You're a bit surprised at his concern, and for a moment you consider opening up to the little droid, but you hear the water turn off, so you bring your attention back to your book again instead, trying your darndest to focus on what's happening in the story. The washroom door opens with a whoosh.

“Where should I put the towel?” Cal asks, still standing at the door frame.

“Just put it in the hamper underneath the sink,” you reply over your shoulder, and in the corner of your eye you can see BD still looking at you, waiting for an answer. Then he tilts his head with an amused boop; he's got you all figured out.

“Oh shush you,” you start scolding the little droid, but Cal appears, walking around the couch to sit down. Except that your legs are stretched across it, so you start lifting them off the cushions and intend to bend them at the knee to sit properly, but Cal gently grabs your ankles, lifting them off the couch to sit down, and places them over his lap instead. His hand comes to rest on your shin, and you can feel the warmth he irradiates seep through the fabric of your pants.

“You looked comfy,” he points out, his hand gently rubbing up and down below your knee, while with his other hand he props up his head against the back of the couch.

You swallow hard, unable to answer, and bring the datapad up to your face to hide behind it. Why is he being so nice suddenly? Is it because you aren't outside where others could see? Or is it because he realised he still has you wrapped around his finger so he's just teasing you? You're beyond confused at the sudden sign of affection after he's been so distant the whole day, like he hadn't planned on ever seeing you again. And to be quite honest, you deserve the cold treatment. After what you did, the way you left.

Feeling the sting behind your eyes, knowing what's coming, you shrink further into yourself, holding the holopad even closer to your face to hide it from Cal's view. He can't see your expression from where he's sitting, so he gives a light chuckle, thinking you're just flustered. The sound feels like a dagger in your gut, and you unsuccessfully choke back sob.

Now Cal's face changes completely to one of concern, and he pushes the pad out of the way only to be met with your crying face.

“Whoa, wait-“ Cal says, and he retrieves his hands, holding them both up in surrender. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I thought we-“

“I'm so sorry, Cal,” you croak, crying freely now, as you let go of the device and it falls onto the floor with a 'clunk'. “I'm so sorry for everything, for what I did. For leaving you alone.” Your hands wipe away at your cheeks in a vain attempt to dry off the tears, but they just keep coming.

After the crew split up, the Mantis felt unbearably empty. After the failed mission on Hosnian Prime, after saying goodbye to Fret and Irei, who had definitely changed the dynamics of the crew (you still weren't sure if it had been for better or worse), everything felt like it started falling apart.

The first to leave was Merrin, saying she needed to recentre her fire and find herself again, to be able to draw all the power she now knew she was able to use.

Then, it was Cere and Greez. The Latero trusted Cal and left his beloved ship in his hands, telling him to look after it until he'd be back. Except everyone knew that he didn't really intend to. The loss of his arm had hit him harder than he wanted to admit, and for Greez it had been the wake-up call needed to “leave the game while you can because it's been rigged since the start”, as he would often say. Cere on the other hand took off with new-found determination. Her and Cal's goals weren't all that different: the endgame was to defeat the Empire, one way or another. However, Cal believed in taking action now, while Cere had her sights set on the future, being able to help those who would come next, long after she and everyone else were gone. She wanted to build a legacy, as the 'Jedi's knowledge was far too valuable to be lost to time and circumstance.

After everyone was gone, it was just Cal, BD and you.

The Jedi had become irritable, like he had already convinced himself that you would leave him soon too, as did everyone, apparently. You reassured him to the best of your abilities that you believed in what he stood for and wanted to stay by his side. However, now that you didn't have a whole crew to count on, you had to be more careful than ever.

“We have to be smart about this!” you'd plead, seeing Cal running head-first into danger time and time again.

When the nightmares became too much, you'd hold him tightly, kissing his tears away as he'd cry out for his master, Tapal.

“You were just a kid!” you had yelled at Cal one time, when what was supposed to be a quick run-down of the plan had become a big argument. “You act as if the whole universe is counting on you and only you to defeat the beast that is the Empire. Do you think that that's your destiny? As dictated by the Force? We've had our share of big, successful missions as a group. Now it's time to back down, Cal. We're just two people, what do you expect we'll achieve here? It's time to move on.”

Needless to say, those words had not calmed Cal down in the slightest. Now he felt just as betrayed by you as he did by the rest. More words were thrown at each other like daggers finally let free after being pushed back for far too long in an attempt to keep some level of normalcy between you two. But there was no going back. So you did what you told him as well: you moved on. That same evening, you packed your things and left.

Your heart bled and tears kept streaking down your face with every heavy step you took away from the Mantis, but at the time, you didn't know what else to do. You'd never wanted to leave Cal, and you hated yourself for doing this to him and to yourself, but what you had going on was no way to live anymore. Maybe, hopefully, now that you were gone, he would understand that.

You know it had been a horrible thing to do, especially like that. After years of telling him how you'd follow him to the end of the world. After telling him every day how much you loved him. After promising you'd be there for him. The worst part was that being away from him was far more painful than it was with him. He left a void in your heart that only he could fill. You meant to go looking for him many times, but were too scared. You didn't deserve to have him back. Not after what you did.

But now he's here.

Between cries, you apologise over and over again, saying how what you did wasn't fair, that you wished you had never left and worked it out instead, that you missed him so much it was hard to breathe.

Cal doesn't answer immediately, and you force your somewhat blurry gaze up to meet his eyes, and you see he's starting to tear up himself. He leans forward, lifting you up and settling you sideways onto his lap, enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug. You hold him just as tightly, crying into his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” The more you say it, the emptier it feels, but it's all you can manage for now, and you mean it. “I really am.”

“I know,” Cal says, squeezing you a little tighter. “I felt it. When you gave me the clothes earlier.”

You remember the countless nights you've cried yourself to sleep in the very clothes he's now wearing, the times when you missed him so much you felt like your heart would rip its way right out of your chest, muttering your regrets into your pillow, as if it could carry your apology and bring it to Cal somehow. You groan in embarrassment; you always forget that your stuff also carries imprints he can feel.

“I'm so lame,” you mumble and pull back to look at Cal, giving him a weak smile that quickly turns into a grimace again as a new wave of tears come rolling down your cheeks.

“No, you're not,” Cal reassures you, one hand cupping your face and wiping over your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into his touch with a sniffle.

“I've missed you too,” he finally says, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “And I'm sorry—” He kisses your cheek. “—for making you feel like you were less important than the missions.” A kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You're the best thing that ever happened to me and I took you for granted.” His lips brush over yours. “Can we try again?”

You close the minimal gap and kiss him hard, like Cal was the air your lungs needed after being underwater for too long. He reciprocates just as intensely, pushing you down onto the couch and climbing on top of you. When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both panting. You run your fingers through his hair as he trails kisses along your jaw, and you giggle at how ticklish his beard feels against your skin; that's a new sensation you'd have to – no scratch that, want to – get used to. Your giggles turn into a low moan as he bites the spot over your collarbone, and when you turn your head to give him better access, you're met with BD still on the coffee table, now sitting comfortably, looking up at you two as if it was the most interesting spectacle in the world.

A strangled sound of surprise and embarrassment comes from your throat and you push Cal away a bit by his shoulders, to which he raises his head and grumbles in annoyance for interrupting him.

“We have an audience,” you whine, hiding your face behind your hands, and Cal lets out an amused laugh. BD beeps matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean 'don't mind me'?!” You turn to the droid and you swear that if he had a face, he'd be wearing the cockiest of grins right now.

“Some things really never change, huh,” Cal comments with an amused smile, thinking back to all the times you'd become flustered when you kissed in front of BD, saying it was inappropriate or something. If only you knew that Cal often did it on purpose because he loved seeing your cute, flustered face.

“Unlike this right here,” you point out and bring your hands to his face, stroking over his beard, enjoying the prickly sensation. “This is new.”

“Do you like it?” Cal asks genuinely.

“You know I like your scars,” you say, tracing over the one on his lower lip. “As long as they're not covered up, I think I can get used to it. It does look good on you.”

Cal smiles down at you tenderly and for a few moments, you simply enjoy each other's presence, taking each other in. Making sure that this is real and it's happening, that you're back again. Until you let out a hearty yawn.

“Let's get to bed before we fall asleep on the couch,” you say, rubbing your face, but stop to look up at Cal, who seems very content with his current position and hasn't moved yet. “You are staying here tonight, right? I mean, if you want to, you don't have to. Greez has the whole room thing for you, so I understand if—“

Cal interrupts your rambling with a quick peck.

“Yeah, I want to stay,” he assures you and finally stands up, helping you get off the couch.

“Let's go, BD,” you tell the droid to join you as you take Cal's hand and guide them to the bedroom.

You climb into bed, BD at your feet as he would always do on the Mantis, and Cal lifts the covers to get in as well but stops for a moment when he sees the holopicture on your night stand. In the small frame he recognises Greez, Cere, Merrin, Cal, BD and you in the cockpit, all grinning at the camera. Smiling to himself, he finally gets into bed, hugging you to him.

“I have the same picture of us on the Mantis,” he says after letting out a content sigh at finding a comfortable position. “Guess we still were connected somehow all this time.”

You hum in response, a bit surprised at the romantic implication, as if you were lovers who found comfort in looking at the same moon even though you were separated. But you like the idea nonetheless, and you agree.

The warmth both on your skin and spreading in your heart makes quick work of carrying you off to dreamland though, so before you can even give a proper reply, you're fast asleep in Cal's arms.

— — —

The next morning, you wake up to BD's beeping. You groan, turning over to cuddle a little longer, except that the other side of your bed is empty. You blink away the sleepiness in your eyes, and pout at the lack of Jedi in your sheets. Your nose is quick to pick up the scent of freshly brewed caf however, and the grogginess is quickly forgotten as you get out of bed and make your way to the kitchen, where Cal is preparing breakfast.

After a quick meal and lots of stolen kisses, Cal announces it's time to go check out Greez's smuggler tunnel to find that gyro.

“Be careful,” is the last thing you tell him before he leaves.

“Always,” he shoots back at you with a wink and takes off. You playfully roll your eyes at that, thinking back to the countless times on the Mantis you've had to patch him up after a mission inevitably went astray from the original plan.

While Cal is looking for parts for the Mantis, you go back to your own things, checking in on Connor and the nekkos at the stable, as well as preparing some pelts and sewing up your most recent leather project.

Time goes by fast as you skilfully work the needle and thread through the thick material, finishing the piece after a couple of hours. Setting it aside, you stretch your arms and back with a satisfied grunt. You check to see if your comms are working; they are, but there's no new messages. Strange, you think, Cal sure is taking his time to find that gyro. Is he not back yet?

Suddenly feeling uneasy by your own thoughts of how he might have got lost in the tunnels, or how he may have encountered trouble down there, you decide to go check with Greez yourself.

You quickly make your way to the Saloon, going down the stairs that lead to the bar with such speed that when you reach the end and see someone standing there, you bump into them before you can stop yourself.

“Whoa,” a deep voice exclaims at the impact, and you push yourself away from the man's back you just ran into. He turns around slightly towards you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, didn't see you there” you reply, regaining your composure and walking around him to get a better look.

He's not super tall, but he has a strong and broad build. Although you already felt that when you bumped into him and it was like walking into a wall. You give him a quick up-and-down, trying to gauge if he's friend or foe, but you can't quite read him. He narrows his eyes at you ever so slightly, probably doing the same.

“A new face, how rare,” you start, walking over to the bar and leaning on it with one arm. Your other hand finds its way to your hip, where you realise there is no holster or weapon; you mentally reprimand yourself for leaving your staff at the stable.

“Care for a drink?” asks Monk from behind you.

“No, I'm looking for someone,” the man says.

“Of course you are,” Monk replies with sarcasm. You give the bartender droid a nod; you'll take care of this. As he wheels back into the kitchen, you hear him mutter something about how his bar isn't a lost and found counter. Before the stranger can go on however, the doors at the back of the saloon whoosh open.

“Who's this?” asks Greez as he enters the main room.

“I was just about to ask him,” you reply, your eyes still trained on the man.

“I'm looking for Cal Kestis,” the man in question says instead, and your hand on the bar involuntarily curls into a fist.

“Who? Kal Restis?” Greez asks as he approaches him. “We don't know any Kales. Listen, if you're not gonna order something, get out of my saloon.”

“No, not Kale”, the man says, getting slightly exasperated as he repeats the name slower, and Greez keeps getting it wrong on purpose.

Just as you're about to intervene and send the man away, the entrance doors open and in comes Cal, a soft smile of self-satisfaction on his face.

“Cal!” The man greets the Jedi. You hear Greez mutter “Oh, this Cal Kestis” under his breath as they clearly recognise each other.

“I found the gyro,” Cal announces first, throwing a small mechanical part to Greez, who's taken by surprise but still catches it. Then he turns to the intruder with a smile. “You made it!”

“Good to see you, Cal,” he replies, and the two share a friendly handshake.

“Greez Dritus, this is Bode Akuna,” Call starts introductions, telling this Bode your name as well. You merely give him a short nod in acknowledgment as Cal continues. “He was on Coruscant. Wouldn't have made it out alive without his help.”

Oh, that changes things.

You leave your spot at the bar and drop your rather cold gaze to join the group. Coming to stand next to Cal, you take his hand, and try your best to give Bode a thankful smile. He returns it, quickly catching on.

“Wait a minute. Another one?” Greez quips, looking behind Cal. You were so focused on Bode, that you hadn't even noticed the strange looking droid that came in with the redhead. “Cal, you have a very bad habit of picking up strays.”

“I am ZN-A4,” the droid introduces herself with an exaggerated bow. The design and material she’s made of is something you’ve never seen before. “Humble servant of the Jedi Order.”

What.

“Oh, I take it you haven't broken the news yet,” Bode says to Cal, who sheepishly shrugs his shoulders.

Cal then brings everyone up to speed, telling you how when he was in the tunnels with BD, they stumbled upon this old chamber where the droid was stuck, so they freed her. Turns out she's a droid that belonged to a Jedi from the High Republic, of all things. Her master, Sandari, had sent her to activate the so-called forest array (that strange building the other side of the river that doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the scenery; you've always wondered what it was but never found a way to get in). However, Zee, as everyone started calling the droid, is in really bad shape, and she'll never make it that far. She looks dejected as she says that if she fails her mission, then the key to Tanalorr may be lost forever.

At the mention of the name, Greez chimes in, telling the group that there's an old prospector legend about Tanalorr being a world filled with treasure. But treasure or not, the important part is that it seems to be a real place, one potentially beyond where the Empire can reach: a safe haven.

Zee is delighted and very thankful that everyone seems on board with her mission, and the group is quick to formulate a plan: while Monk gets her up to speed regarding the state of, well, everything, and she gets some much-needed repairs, Bode and Greez will take care of the Mantis. Meanwhile, Cal, BD and you will go to the forest array to check it out.

As you're making your way to the stables, you nudge into Cal's side with your elbow.

“You didn't get hurt down there or anything, right? You sure took your time,” you ask him. It did not go unnoticed by you how in Cal's retelling of events, he skilfully left out how he happened to find that mysterious chamber in the first place.

“The tunnels were pretty old and unstable, but we're okay,” Cal deflects, shooting the droid a quick look. “Right BD?”

BD beeps in response, and you shoot Cal a glare accompanied by a muted gasp, stopping in your tracks.

“You fell through a hole the equivalent of several stories?!” You can't believe this guy.

“It's fine!” Cal tries to reassure you, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. “I promise, it's nothing a stim didn't already fix. So there’s no need to worry, okay? We have a job to do.”

You sigh in defeat as he places a soft kiss on your forehead. You first cup his face softly, then pinch both his cheeks.

“Just what am I going to do with you, Cal Kestis?” you ask rhetorically, taking his hand into yours and resuming the short trek to where Connor is already waiting and waving at you both.

Once you're all geared up and hop into the saddle, you tighten the strap of your staff, adjusting its position on your back.

“Just like old times, huh?” you ask at no one in particular, scanning your surroundings and taking in the scenery; it just never gets old. Cal's nekko trots up next to you.

“Just like old times,” he repeats, with that boyish smile you can't get enough of, and the glint of adventure in his eyes.

Your nekkos take off, and the freckles on his face seem to shine in the sunlight. They form the ever familiar star map that you'd follow time and time again, finding your way back to him. Because from the first time you looked at him, you knew: you'd follow this man across the galaxy and beyond.

— — —

A/N 2: if you understand the droid name reference you get a cookie 🍪

A/N 3: in the book Battle Scars there’s a part where BD tells Cal, and i quote, “Where you go, I go”, and when i tell you that i screamed omg (the first part of my “wherever you go, i go” fic was actually called ‘where’ but i changed it to ‘wherever’ when i added more chapters because to me it sounded better asdsdf) BD-1 and me sharing one brain cell obsessed with Cal fr😌

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover

#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi survivor x reader #star wars x reader

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dirtytransmasc · 1 year

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What’s a Spider au you have that you feel is underrated and always wanted to talk about more?

my tsu'tey adopts spider au, it didn't take to my page as well as I would have liked it to. (I'm just gonna jot down whatever I think about, with little to no organization, just thoughts)

I just love it so much cause its the unlikely, grumpy, human-hating dad and his very human, ball of sunshine, son. plus, I'm disabled, I made tsu'tey disabled, and its just satisfying writing him, this man consumed by his own grief and self hatred coming around to the fact that the world is still turning, the suns still glowing, life isn't pointless, all because of this little child he can't get rid of. I see tsu'tey, had he survived, becoming a cruel recluse, not wanting to interact with anyone, wanting to hole up somewhere with his self pity as he wished he had just died, but instead he was stripped of everything and allowed to live. but now he has this little kid who loves him and couldn't live without him, who drags him out of his shell with his tiny little hands, forcing him to live after years of just barely surviving.

first tsu'tey just barely allows him around, not having the energy to push him away, but then he realizes he's one of the few people who gives the child any attention, and even in his prick state, can't cast the child aside to be alone. then he becomes a sort of mentor, teaching spider to be one with his spirit, his na'vi spirit bottled up in a human body. he was the one who taught spider the ways of eywa and The People, how to shoot a bow, how to hunt, how to sing and partake in the village's customs, how to fight. spider becomes a little tsu'tey, and tsu'tey becomes a whole new version of himself. tsu'tey himself finds he is much less burdened by hate and anger once he truly takes to spider, he's happier, he has a purpose again.

both are able to act almost in unison, knowing each other's habits, spider practically copying his dad, tsu'tey leaning into spider's personal spins on said copying. both are creatures of spontaneous habit, they do just about the same thing every day, might mix it up here and there, but not by much. they end up spending more time quietly enjoying one another's company, finishing each other's tasks, sentences when they do talk. its almost uncanny how similar they are, throwing other's off around them.

its not like they don't talk, its just that basic things go unsaid, tsu'tey doesn't need to ask for spider to pass his bow when they go out hunting or to stand behind him during conflict around the village. spider doesn't need tsu'tey to praise him, the look in his eyes is more than enough (though he always does), he doesn't need to ask his dad for a hug, he just knows, he doesn't need to tell him which way to go when he's tracking, they just read each other's bodies and went with the flow. that's truly what makes them so odd to be around, the perfect ebb and flow of either person, especially one na'vi and one human.

their lack of need to communicate basic things, leaves room for all sorts of conversation. stories, philosophy, songs, random info dumping from spider, lessons from tsu'tey. they love to debate the meaning of eywa's stories, the intention she has for the people, the state of the village and its leaders. not only are they warriors, but they are shit talkers, ex-olo'eyktan and ex-'son' of the now-chief, its a potent mix. spider picks up tsu'tey's love/hate relationship with just about everything that has to do with the village; he loves its dearly, would die for it, for jake and neytiri and the kids, but their is this shield of animosity, of deserved distaste, if only ever so mild. he has his qualms, but they never outweigh the love in his heart. in short, they are both a massive pain in the ass for jake, always yelling at him or critiquing how he does things, generally just being annoying. (jake needs them to go on a hunting trip or something, cause the level of criticism he gets is ridiculous, and he needs a break)

spider is still friends with the sully kids, but he is much more deeply ingrained in the village, as the unofficial son of the unofficial right-hand man of the chief. kiri is still his person, lo'ak is still his best friend, tuk is his partner in crime and unofficial little sister, neteyam is still like an older brother figure watching over him when he is with the sully kids. but spider is friends with most of the village kids, particularly tarsem, tsu'tey's younger brother.

the two grew up next to one another, tsu'tey introduced them shortly after spider wormed his way into the older mans heart, as he needed someone to tire the little one out when he couldn't keep. tarsem took to the little thing quickly, dubbing him his little brother, that is until he saw how tsu'tey looked at the boy with pride, then he started calling him his nephew.

within a year or two of taking spider under his wing he started taking the kid up to the lab himself, instead of meeting the scientist halfway. he would tuck the kid in, tell him stories, make sure he was soundly asleep and even then he would sit and watch, running big blue fingers through his whispy blonde hair, finding a smile on his face when the kid latches to his hand. norm has had to make sure he's wearing his mask on more than one occasion because the warrior has fallen asleep with the boy curled up in his side. he basically takes up all care of the boy, managing his curfew, meals, training, most of his education, and whatever else norm and max squabble to him about. its not hard, spider eats anything you put in front of him, takes pride in his lessons and training (cause who wouldn't want to be trained by tsu'tey, he holds it above all his friends heads), he loves when just about anyone messes with his hair, and overall he just likes being with his dad, so he never has much of an argument to anything he says. so spider is almost completely independent from the other humans at hellsgate or even the sully family.

spider is still blessed (by eywa, basically, pandora snow white), child of eywa (she nags him, like a mom, constantly), and hella fucking strong (cause boys gotta keep up). so tsu'tey is always caught marveling at the boy; watching him pull back a bow the size of himself, watching him romp and play with the most ferocious of creatures, have close-knit bonds with the giants of the forest, so divinely connected to eywa, speaking of her as if she was truly his mother, connecting to her in ways he had never seen before. spider was his special boy through and through, and he thanked eywa for him each and every day; that boy is the reason he lived, the reason he kept waking up each day, the reason he smiled again, the reason he continued in believing in the goodwill of the Great Mother again.

spider worries for tsu'tey a lot, despite how strong he is, he's still forever scarred by the injuries he sustained in battle. his dad is almost always in some amount of pain, his lungs are forever weak, his ability to bond and connect with his pali and ikran greatly diminished by the pain and fog that plagued him. the first few years, especially before he started to truly take care of himself, he would often collapse, coughing up blood, as his body protested being pushed past its limit. even as tsu'tey accepted his limits, doing his best to stay in good shape for spider's well-being, he still worried. he always tries to support his dad, taking up lots of village chores and insisting on cutting back on hunts or training when he's having a bad day, making up poor excuses when tsu'tey asks why. as he got older he accepted that this was just how life was going to be for his dad, how it would most likely not get any better, but as a young child he softened feared he was going to lose him. he would sleep with his ear to his dads chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart, assuring himself he was still there. he would beg him through tears not to leave him too, making tsu'tey's heart ache. now that he's older he is far less worried about him dying, much more worried about losing him to his own mind, again. tsu'tey isn't unaware of his child worry, but no matter how hard he tries, what he says or does, spider won't let him lift that burden from his shoulders. they're both stubborn, sometimes he loves that about his boys, and other times it's quite the opposite.

when tsu'tey is having a bad night, particularly with his lungs, spider will drag him up to hells gate, so he's forced to use his respirator, and have movie nights with him. its just an excused to pile all the blankets and pillows he can find onto the shitty matress in the media room and sleep in his dads arms, knowing that if anything happens, norm and max are only a shout away. plus, its kinda funny watching tsu'tey get all teary-eyed over earth films.

tsu'tey visits sylwanin a lot, and he always dresses spider as if he is their son, the son they never got to have. once spider finds a way to connect with The Great Mother, through her roots, he visits her as well. spider begins to treat her as his mom and she treats him like her son. they're a little family, even if separated by the veil between life and death.

I can't think of anything else about them, at the moment, but i would totally take asks for this au if anyone wants to know anything else.

#spider te rongloa tsu'tey'itan #miles spider socorro #miles socorro #spider socorro #tsu'tey #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water

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damianbugs · 1 year

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please share your dick and bruce fic recs, both sad and fun stuff

–someone who thinks about them a normal amount

OHHH my friend my dearest friend i will totally share the best most crazy brainworm inducing bruce and dick fics i have ever read. i wish i was exaggerating when i say this dynamic changed me as a person, but it is the truth i fear. THE troubled father and son blueprint.

DICK AND BRUCE FIC RECS ON AO3

a pointless resistance by emavee

It starts with a news report running in the background of a greasy little diner, but it ends with Dick dead. Except, it doesn't stop there. It keeps on ending, over and over. Bruce's son keeps dying, and nothing he does seems to make any sort of difference.

MY NOTES: whenever i stumble upon an emotionally repressed individual i imagine a little cartoon person in my head shouting SEND HIM TO THE TIME LOOP because it truly does fix all problems. wonderful bruce and dick writing and the dialogue was so real to me i have tears in my eyes just thinking about it. it is also set during the robin jason era!

Making Time by CaptainOzone

Bruce does not remember anything leading up to this moment. He does not remember teaming up with Superman recently, nor does he remember being anywhere but Gotham proper. He does remember having Robin at his side. Robin, it turns out, is not there any longer. God does he hate magic.

MY NOTES: you'll notice a common theme with these recs and that is bruce needs to be having a horrible time and then is forced to confront his emotions and express them accordingly to dick. there is something very bittersweet about this yet it was handled so wonderfully. again, tears in my eyes.

Catch and Release by snackbaskets

There's a tradition among the family: when in danger, you grab the smallest Robin and hang on tight. But like all traditions, this one had to start somewhere, right? Alternately: three times Dick bodily attacks his father (with love)

MY NOTES: ohhh i think about the last part of this fic like all the time. something so sweet and precious about it to me. such a fun and comforting read.

Afraid of the Dark by WrongLeverKronk

The wind whispered outside his window and the dim moon failed to provide comfort. He was embarrassed. Richard Grayson sat on his bed, above the covers, with his arms wrapped firmly around his knees that were tucked against his chest. He thought everything would be fine when he parted from his friends for the evening, that his confidence would follow him in solitary. He regretted parting as soon as he turned out the lights in his bedroom and became enclosed by the eerie atmosphere. (Or: the aftermath of the episode in which Robin hallucinates Slade. He calls Batman)

MY NOTES: can u hear the sounds of me screaming crying sobbing. one of my first ever dick and bruce fics. fun fact i have never watched teen titans but watched this episode specifically just for fun and then read this and now it is seared permanently into my mind forever. anyways read this.

in the dark of the night by fanfictiongreenirises

“I already have a dad, y’know? So you don’t have to be my new dad. I don’t really want you to be my dad, anyway. We can be friends. Partners.” Bruce seems to sigh in relief, having stiffened up halfway through Dick’s speech. “Friends and partners, then.” And they were in agreement. Bruce and Dick and a series of steps and leaps and jumps.

MY NOTES: sometimes im okay and then i remember how many times dc COULD have made bruce adopt dick and DIDNT because they SUCK and so this fic is here to warm the hearts of all those who need it. so lovely.

After the Wake by nighhtwing (divineauthor)

Fathers should not bury their children. —•— When Jason dies, Dick comes home, and Bruce muses on being a parent.

MY NOTES: a shorter one, but man does it pack a real punch to the heart. i find bruce and dicks dynamic immediately after jasons death the most fascinating and this was a wonderful spin on it!

You Are My Reflection (As I Am Yours) by Fairy527

A rope snaps. A collective scream echoes in the tent. (A threatening low voice. A sinister metallic click.) The Flying Graysons fall, and Bruce is sent back to that fateful night in Crime Alley

MY NOTES: clutches my heart screaming OHH. OH THE PARALLELS. there is just something so personal about the night the graysons fell and the night the waynes died being referenced with one another AND THIS GOT IT SOOO WELL. tears. tears forever.

i can't promise (it's not written in the stars) by konan_konan

Batman is following him, surely, but he’s smaller and faster and he’s not going to let someone take him and lock him up again. Wayne Manor, he’s learned, is just another kind of prison. It may be big and fancy but it is also empty and cold and he’s not going back. Tony Zucco dies tonight, he tells himself. It is the only thing that matters. or: dick loses two soulmates, and gains three.

MY NOTES: oh this fic. i need a moment. soulmate aus can be a real hit or miss sometimes but the way it was portrayed in this literally surpasses all expectation it was just SO GOOD. the dick introspection is honestly one of my favourites like. ever.

In This or Any Other Universe by wildsofmarch

There was a new vigilante in his city: a man who smiled too much and talked too loud and knew his way around a fight a little too well. Bruce wasn't bothered by his antics. Except the man also seemed to know a little too much about him. Who was this Nightwing, anyway? ------ OR: Dick Grayson (DCU) accidentally lands himself in Battinson’s Gotham.

MY NOTES: here it is. my favourite bruce and dick fic of all time forever and ever. im so serious. the tears are not in my eyes because they are streaming down my face. the idea of battinson with a robin was lovely and now that this gives us battinson with NIGHTWING i am just inconsolable. MUST READ.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #batfamily fic recs #saki batfam fic recs #batfam

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the-marsh-harrier · 5 months

Text

Who was Orion Black? (Pt 9) Orion Black x Female!Reader

A/N: I wanted to explore Sirius’s childhood more in a non-traditional sense and give Orion and Walburga some interesting character development. This takes place after Sirius has broken out of Azkaban. Although this is a reader insert in parts, it is not the main focus and some chapters will have little or no mention of the reader. I have also altered the year Walburga was born to be 1940 instead of 1925 as it states in cannon (this is my fanfic and I’ll do what I want with the characters that are in it). Similarly, remember everyone is entitled to portray fictional characters as they want in their fanfics and if you disagree, please write your own. JKR's bigotry and opinions are not welcome here nor supported.

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 (Part 9)

The Portrait

When Sirius found himself in the study, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming emotions that hit him. He wasn’t ready to feel that. He needed a distraction… and right now, that distraction took the form of that forsaken pointless empty chair portrait. There was something behind that. Even if there wasn’t, Sirius needed to think there was to not have to think about Y/N and how different his life could’ve been if she hadn’t died. Sirius spent hours staring at that portrait of the chair in his father’s office. He’d tried revealing charms, but it didn’t work. Anything he tried to get whatever secret it was holding out into the open, didn’t work. Nothing worked!

So here he was, sat in the same place Orion had spent most of his days – at that piano. His legs bounced with frustration, his forearms rested on the lid of the piano and his lips pursed in thought – Sirius knew there was more to this painting than it appeared. Orion was a clever wizard, any magic he placed on this painting was going to be difficult to break. With all the mysteries in this house, it reminded Sirius of his work as an Auror; tracking down clues, trying to find a lead and maybe… just maybe, managing to crack the case.

Sirius rested his head on of his hands. There had to be a clue somewhere! It took a few seconds, but Sirius’s breath slowly began to cause condensation to form on the ebony exterior of the piano and what he saw in that small cloud startled him. The word ‘keys’ formed inside the condensated patch with a small arrow pointing down as if someone had drawn it with their finger. The message disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, but Sirius was thankful for any information he found. So, he started to study the keys more intently, just where was the clue he was looking for amongst them all.

Sirius was so distracted staring at the keys that he didn’t hear the gentle clinking coming from the shelves behind the real chair in the corner. He was so engrossed with the piano that he didn’t realise until one of the bottles on the shelf flew off and rolled across the floor before gently bumping his foot.

“What the…” Sirius picked up the bottle, studying it closely. It was a dark green bottle with a skull impression on it, presumably it held absinthe at one time but… it was… empty. The closer Sirius looked, he realised that the whole bottle wasn’t green – it was as if the glass had been dyed or dipped to make it look as if the bottle was full. This made even less sense than it being an empty bottle! The shelves had replenishing charms on all of them so this bottle couldn’t be empty… unless it was charmed to never refill but why would it be made to look as if it was full.

Sirius eyes suddenly flitted up to the portrait and to his shock; the bottle he was holding was no longer in the painting. He got up to test if this happened to any other bottles on that shelf but all of them were full and when removed, they stayed in the painting. What was even stranger though was when Sirius tried to pour the contents of one of the full bottles into the empty one, all the liquid simply disappeared. This bottle was charmed to never be filled! Or was it?

Sirius and his empty bottle moved back to the piano. “Okay so the bottle and the keys… I have an empty bottle and a piano full of keys… this is hopeless.” Sirius muttered to himself. “How will this get me anywhere?”

Sirius placed the bottle down on the piano's lid and the moment it connected with the dark polished surface – the whole room turned pitch black. For a while the solitary sound of Sirius breath was all that could be heard but it was soon joined by a slight cracking sound emanating from the piano where the bottle sat. When Sirius leaned closer, he could make out small dull green embers leaking from under the bottle and swirling their way to the top; almost like watching snow fall in reverse. They began to collect near the bottle top, creating a small clump of light which was slowly pushing the cork in the bottle up. When the cork finally broke free with a loud pop, the brightest light he had ever seen burst from the bottle.

When he could finally look back, that was when he noticed the luminescent green music bars that were on the ceiling.

“Merlin’s beard.” Sirius whispered to no one as his eyes trailed down to the portrait. “The keys, you want me to play it, don’t you?”

He had to play the music suspended in the air in front of him. It had been over twenty years since Sirius had played the piano, but it would come back to him, right? After a few rough attempts and some heated words, he managed to play it. A laugh of triumph pushed its way passed Sirius’s lips as he stared at the keys.

“I finally f*cking did it.” Sirius muttered to himself, but his moment of joy was short lived because when he looked back at that painting, it wasn’t there anymore. In fact, what he saw made his heart skip a beat and his gut drop; all he could do was stare in disbelief.

In place of that piece of art, was a mirror – the eery green glow of the room reflected across its surface. As he stood up from the piano, a translucent version of himself stared back; he wasn’t whole but not ghostly either. He looked younger, much younger; he couldn’t have been more than twenty. The reflection began to move on its own, it offered him a lop-sided smile and winked at him. Then a cloud began to form just behind him on the left; swirling and whirling until it imploded on itself and took the form of James Potter at around the same age. It happened again on the right and there was Regulus. Sirius started to hyperventilate by the time a third one appeared and revealed Orion Black. Orion looked older, he was older than the memories that Sirius had seen and older than what he remembered him.

Slowly, Orion extended his hand toward Sirius and it protruded from the mirror, his hand looked like moving water confined into one shape. Sirius stared in horror at this. He hadn’t seen this magic before. Then Sirius heard a voice he thought he’d never hear again in this lifetime.

“Come on, mate! We don’t have all day.” James laughed.

“What is this?” Sirius could barely utter the words.

“Don’t worry, Pads. You’ll be fine. Just take his hand. He has something to show you.” James smiled at Sirius. “Don’t be a mooncalf. Hurry up!” He teased.

“Okay.” Sirius whispered. Before Sirius could even move, he noticed small droplets of water started flying away from him and toward the mirror. When he looked down, his hands where nothing but clear running water streaming toward the mirrors surface. He screamed for Kreacher but before the elf could appear Sirius was propelled forward towards his father’s hand.

***

He felt like he was drowning, he couldn’t breathe, only the sensation of water surrounded him. Sirius forced his eyes open and found himself in dark, murky water – he imagined this is what swimming through the Black Lake must feel like. He caught sight of his hands and realised he was much younger. He brought his hands to his face about all he felt was stubble instead of his trimmed beard, he was the version of himself he had seen earlier!

The need for oxygen soon drew Sirius into the cold reality of his predicament. He started to swim up, but something was stopping him. He felt like there were hands all over him, but he couldn’t see them. He was trying to crawl his way to the surface, but he couldn’t move an inch! That’s when a pair of distinctive hands grasped his ankles, forcing him to look down in alarm. It was Regulus! Regulus was holding his ankles, but he looked so calm… it was like he could breathe under there or maybe he wasn’t breathing at all. The longer Regulus held him; the less Sirius could fight. He was weakening, he was fading… dying.

Regulus began to climb up Sirius’s legs until he was eye level with him. He put his hands either side of Sirius’s face so he could only look at his brother. There was a fierceness, a fire that Sirius had never seen before in Regulus’s eyes and without opening his mouth, Sirius heard Regulus clear as day screaming, “Go! Take him and the locket! Kreacher! Go now! I don’t care, take him back – they’ll kill him if he stays here! Kreacher, you must destroy it. He’s too weak. It’ll have to be you.”

The strength in his brother’s voice was just as foreign as the look in his eyes. Then it wasn’t just Regulus’s hands that Sirius felt, there were more hands clawing at his legs, the weight of it was pulling him down further into the abyss. Regulus’s voice continued to echo spells into Sirius’s mind, all while his mouth not opening once – both brothers fell into darkness.

***

Sirius sat up bolt upright taking the biggest breath he could. He was panting, like he been holding his breath for hours.

Surveying his surroundings, he was in someone’s living room on the sofa. He hadn’t been in this room before; he didn’t recognise it in the slightest, but he recognised some of the artifacts in it. He recognised the children’s toys in the corner, the jumper laid out on the armchair and the small bowl containing a goldfish. Tears sprung into Sirius’s eyes when he saw the photo frame on the small table next to him… it was Lily and James.

“Pads, what are you doing just sitting there? He’s here!” James’s voice called out from the hallway.

Sirius tried to respond but his mouth wouldn’t open either.

“Pads!” James’s voice was more urgent which caused Sirius to rush to the source.

He saw James fully braced staring at the front door and Lily on the stairs. “Go upstairs, get Harry and go!” James’s called out to Lily. “We’ll hold him off for as long as we can.”

Sirius could see Lily nod and run up the stairs leaving him and James on the downstairs landing waiting. “Right, we’re gonna run at him. As hard and fast as you can. With everything you got, Pads! You hear me! Everything! We must do this together! We can’t kill him alone, there’s too many! It must be together! Until the very end.”

“Yes!” Sirius thought but he sounded like he spoke it aloud. “Together, until the very end.”

“Together.” James echoed before the door flew open and a cloaked figure swooped in. The two men ran as fast as they could but neither reached it before a bright green light flew at them. The force sent them falling back into the staircase. Sirius felt his head collide with one of the steps and everything went blank.

***

When Sirius woke up his whole body hurt. It was like he had been hit by a train or dropped from fifty feet in the air. The sensation of something wet under him made him jolt up despite the pain; dread shot through him in he was dragged down into the water again. The wet surface didn’t feel like just water, it was solid, it felt like concrete after it had rained. Looking around, Sirius saw streetlights and a row of all too familiar terrace houses. Grimmauld place.

Number 12 had the door wide open, welcoming anyone into its hold. The orange glow of hall pushing its way out to illuminate the steps making them glisten. Sirius just sat there for a moment, watching the doorway – so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the gentle rolling of tyres on tarmac behind him until a loud horn sounded behind him.

“Get out of the road, idiot.” A male voice called out for behind him.

“Sorry… Sorry.” Sirius stuttered as he stood up and for the first time so far, his mouth moved when he spoke. He stammered to his feet before making his way onto the pavement.

“F*cking idiot!” The voice called out after him.

Sirius continued to stare up at the doorway. What was behind that opening? What horrible fate was there for him to endure up those stairs? Sirius swallowed thickly before drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils, he shut his eyes for a moment – taking a moment to ready himself until… the distant panicked voice of Walburga emitted from the house.

“What have you gone and done now, you daft b*astard? What do you mean he's not coming back? What inferi? How can you say Regulus isn’t coming back? Stop saying that! Just stop it!” Walburga’s sobs ripped through the doorway drawing Sirius up the stairs… one painful step at a time.

When he entered the house, there wasn’t a soul near the doorway.

“In here, son. I’m here.” Orion’s deep voice carried its way softly through the house and washed Sirius in a sense of comfort after everything he had endured.

Sirius followed the voice into the study. Everything was crisp except the image of a women dressed in purple – presumably Walburga – rushing about the room and looking in different cabinets. She appeared a complete blur of movement, like a kaleidoscope of a woman. She was mummering but Sirius couldn’t make out what she was saying, it was like trying to listen to her with earmuffs on.

“You came.” Orion’s voice croaked out. “I knew you’d come back if I did this. I knew you’d come back to me, son.”

Orion was sprawled out over one of the sofas. One arm tucked into his jacket, a leg on the arm rest, and his other two limbs hanging loosely to his side touching the floor. He was so pale, too white, you would think it possible to see through him, but he had black streaks over his hands and face as if his blood had turned to ink. His suit was soaked through, clinging to his thinning frame – it was like the man was shrinking before your eyes. He moved his hand closest to the floor out to Sirius.

Instinctively, Sirius moved forward to sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa next to his father and reached for his hand. “I’m here. What did you do?”

Orion was coughing a spluttering as he strained to speak. The pain on his face was immeasurable as the scars on his face slowly began to come undone. “We’re going to kill him. We’re going to kill him and end it all. Your brother should be here soon and then we can destroy it.” He moved his hand from his jacket pocket to reveal a locket. “We worked out his secret. We’re going to make him mortal.” Orion coughed up a load of black liquid that trailed down his chin. “I drank the poison so your brother can destroy it. He’ll be here soon. He’ll be here and we can do this together. Together.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sure he’ll be here soon. We can all be together then.” Sirius tried to reassure his father the best he could, but Orion looked like he had aged thirty years in this small time.

“I’m so happy you’re here. I’m going to die but I’m glad you could be here. I’m glad I can die knowing you don’t hate me, Sirius. I love you so much.” Orion’s voice was getting quieter and more horse. “I did it for you. I didn’t want to let you down again – no more hiding from the war, I had to choose a side. I will choose you, Sirius. You and Regulus.” Orion began to choke on the black liquid he had been coughing up moments earlier. The man looked almost triple his age at this point.

Sirius felt his mouth go dry and a lump form in his throat; tears started to sting his eyes. “I’m here. No more talking.” Sirius used his spare hand to stroke his father’s hair. “I’m here. I’m so proud of you.” Sirius didn’t fully know what he was proud of but that’s not what mattered right now. “You can be with Y/N now.”

“It will be good to see her. I miss her so much. I’ll miss you, son. I’ll keep helping, I’ll find a way. I’ll find a-…” Orion looked up at Sirius as fought for his breath. The black substance continued to spit its way out of Orion’s mouth. Soon the liquid was pouring from his nose, ears, and eyes but Orion refused to look away from his son, Sirius would be the last thing he would see. It was truly horrific to see someone dying like this. The splits in his skin that were once scarred were now fully opened gashes to the bone. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt never-ending to Sirius – what had Orion drank?

Orion was no longer able to breathe as black fluid overwhelmed his system. Every part of him felt like he was on fire or submerged in acid. He let out one finally splutter before his eyes glazed over – that was the last time Sirius would look into his father’s eyes and it broke him. He fell forward onto his knees and let his head fall onto his father’s chest as sobs ripped through him. Sirius found himself screaming through his tears. He could let go of his father; he wouldn’t let go of the python grip he had on his hand.

“No. No, no, no, no…” Sirius sobbed into his father’s chest. Sirius used the hand that had stroked his father’s hair to shake his shoulder. “No. Wake up.” Sirius began to shake Orion more vigorously. “Dad!” but nothing worked. Orion was gone. Sirius continued to cry as the blurred purple woman came over and began to express her own muffled grief. Eventually, Sirius couldn’t open his eyes anymore and the world went dark as night.

***

Sirius was startled awake on the same settee in his father’s study by Kreacher splashing him in the face with glass of ice-cold water. Sirius felt like he was choking.

“Master, are you alright?” Kreacher enquired.

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futureplayboibunnie · 1 year

Text

‘Jealousy’

Dr Strange x fem! reader!

I LOVE THIS ONE but its super long <3

SMUT 18+

‘’Where the fuck is it?’’ You groaned into the air surrounding your room, the reality of your diary going missing hitting you like a speeding truck at a red light. You weren't even out of your dress yet.

Your mind was running rampant with the sly idea of someone in the Compound taking it and scanning over your inner most thoughts dwelling in the deep dark lagoonless cave of your mind. You left it at the Compound a few weeks ago but you specifically remembered bringing it home to your apartment. But there was no sign of it anywhere. As you toppled over your cabinets and drawers, you attempted to soothe your nerves with the idea that you had just misplaced it somewhere around here and it made you look at the clock. It was 1:43 am. You had been rummaging around for two hours. Life was starting to blur into something pointless. You accepted your fate with a sigh, the fact that you couldn't journal tonight made you uneasy. You just had so much to say, tonight was so... eventful.

—

Believe it or not, you were actually excited for this night. Stark always threw the most extravagant of parties and now you were regretting it all. Shame and embarrassment was brewing on your face, the red flushing against your cheeks illiciting a cold sweat appear upon your brow.

Everyone was gathering and conversing aand it only added to your nerves. Stephen Strange had absolutely nothing to do with it. At all. Your toes curled into your heels as you glanced at Stephen, it was impossible not to rip your eyes away from him as he was literally standing across from you. He was intensely handsome and was oozing with sex appeal.

However, you couldn't really look at him the same as you accidentally overheard something that you shouldn't have. It was Stephen on the phone- on the phone with a woman. He had scurried away from the party as if no one would ever notice if he was gone- you always noticed.

‘’I just want to see you right now, but I can't. I'm stuck at am Stark party.’’ He huffed against his phone. You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his disheartening response. Stephen wanted to leave? Leave you? You heard the woman giggle across the line and it made a certain sort of jealousy bubble inside of your gut. You couldn't hear what she said in response though.

‘’You gonna fuck yourself and pretend it's me?’’ Stephen rasped huskily against the phone and it made you scramble to stop listening and go back downstairs. You were blushing like a flustered idiot; you hated admitting that you were jealous of whatever young, bouncy, brainless woman he was fucking next- you were everything that they didn't have.

As you made your way down the hall, carrying your blush with you, your body was met with Sam's broad torso and your nerves were anything but pacified- this was it, you were caught in the act.

‘’Y/N? What are you doing up here?’’ Sam questioned.

‘’Oh, nothing...Just went to the bathroom.’’ You gave him a sweet, awkward smile hoping he wouldn't interrogate you and would let you off the hook instead.

‘’Oh, so you weren't chasing Strange down?’’ It was obvious he saw right through you and your instant psyche mechanism was to be defensive.

‘’What? Hell no. I just needed a piss Sam. Are you seriously questioning my piss right now?’’ You laughed condescendingly.

‘’No I'm questioning how much 'you want Stephen to defile you' but I don't know I think I might just be pulling that out of my ass.’’ Sam chuckled at you knowingly as he took his laugh with him as he walkedaway from you. What the fuck? He knew your secret. Fuck this.

‘’What?’’

‘’I'm actually kind of jealous of him, the guy gets so much pussy. I wonder how he does it.’’ His voice trailed off as he finally left your view.

He just had to rub salt into the wound

What made you worry was you remember writing something extremely similar in your diary about Stephen defiling you. Wait. Has Sam read your diary?

No. Impossible. No one has seen your diary, no one has read your dirty and dark desires which mostly included Stephen. You were just reading into things and being paranoid.

No one knows anything. Everything is fine.

—

Your paranoia was poisoning you. You couldn't find it anywhere and now all your thoughts were on Stephen. Just him and your impossible jealousy for the women that have had the luxury of being bedded by him. You still haven't made it out of your dress and it was making you increasingly uncomfortable.

You grovelled to your bathroom to get ready for bed and put this ugly night behind you. You winced at the sight of yourself in the mirror. You thought your mind was playing a sick trick on you when you felt a shadow to the right of you, you glanced up again into the reflection and jumped when you saw Stephen behind you; stood with a crooked smile on his face. You jumped and gasped as you registered the fact that he was here.

He was right here. In your house. In your fucking bathroom. You whipped yourself around to fully face him, you regained your usual cynical defensive composure.

‘’You're so...jumpy.’’He remarked and it made you all the more self conscious. He was still in his tux.

‘’What's your issue? What are you doing here?’’ You responded, too tired by your jealousy.

‘’What, so I can't see you?’’

‘’I just don't appreciate you portalling into my shitter.’’ You smiled sarcastically. ‘’And besides, don't you have another bimbo you need to fuck?’’ You walked out of the bathroom and Stephen couldn't help but follow you like a lost puppy.

‘’No I've actually spent most of my nights reading this.’’ You turned around and you observed that he was holding up your fucking diary.

Your whole world was tipping on its side.

‘’Sam stole it for me. He was also on the phone with me tonight as one of my said ‘bimbos.’’’ He explained with a stupid cocky smirk on his face. It was a fucking ploy?

‘’What are you guys, 12!? Give it back now!’’ You tumbled your way to him and tried prying it from his skilled marred hands, but he was edging it away from you as a means of torturing you. As if you needed any more of that. Stephen thought you were adorable.

‘’Relax, you're fine.’’ He said way too casually as if he hasn't read your innermost thoughts.

‘’You know what, I give up. Fuck it and fuck you.’’ You raised your hands up as a means of surrender, your seething tongue piercing through the shame and embarrassment. You sat yourself at the edge of your bed and crossed your arms and legs in a huff, your whole body was tense.

‘’I want Stephen to fuck and ruin me into a different dimension, I don't like wanting someone this bad but he just makes me lose my mind. I hate him though, hate the way all he notices are one trick fucks. I think that's my favourite.’’ He bit his lip and stared right at you reading it and you have never felt so seen, his gaze darked with every utterance.

Stephen had been obsessing over you for a while now, it didn't take him long to understand how jealous you get. Quite frankly it was all thanks to Sam doing the morally devious thing of stealing your diary. But Stephen couldn't help himself, he wanted you to make the first move so that he knew fully that you wanted him back. Stephen was rarely ever nervous when it came to women but you. God, you were his dream. All those other women were to fill the void of you, he pretended that it was you he was fucking but it was all just in his head. He saw you through all of them. You were becoming difficult to supress and extremely hard to read, he just had to make sure is all.

‘’You don't own the name Stephen. Maybe I was talking about another Stephen. Preferably a Stephen who doesn't fuck half the women he sees.’’ Your smile was venomous, you rolled your eyes at him as he made his way over to you.

‘’You are really specific in what you want, aren't you?’ He stared down at you and you felt very challenged under his gaze. You were entirely pissed off. His ego was soaring.

'’And I think you're compensating for something.'’ Your eyes darted to his dick and that made his face harden.

‘’Why is it always you that has to be in denial?’’ It wasn't really a question or a statement and it made confusion plague your features.

Stephen leaned down and pressed his lips to yours as he softly cradled your chin. The action made you shake at the sheer reality of it all, as he pulled himself away to make sure all of this was okay, he gazed into your stunning eyes and found that they were wild and brazen, and also quite surprised. He didn't understand why, he thought he made it excessively clear. The only way to tease it out of you was to make you jealous.

‘’Do it again.’’ You breathed against his lips sensually and he did exactly what you said. Stephen kissed you again, but you were against his lips harder. Opening your mouth to allow his tongue to taste at you, Stephen thought you were immensely sweet. You pulled him in by his tie to get his body heat closer to yours.

You yanked him as you layed down on the bed so he could position himself ontop of you. He shook his blazer off as your hands tugged at his hair. Beautiful bastard. Your mouths were glued together, the scratch of his beard only added to the sensation. You moaned as your tongues intertwined and were perpetually locked in an endless battle.

‘’May I?’’ He asked after ripping his lips away from yours, his fingers toyed with the straps of your dress. Stephen's politeness was another form of torture for you: you just wanted him to destroy you.

‘’Get me naked Stephen. Please.’’ You whispered against his lips and he had never heard anything as erotic as that. His lips tugged into a seductive smile.

He peeled it off you instantly, skin bare and soft and eyes impossibly wide in anticipation. Your tits were drawing his attention first, he paused before he could sink his teeth into them.

Stephen just gawked at you, dumbfouded by the reality of how someone could be that effortlessly beautiful, smart and funny. It was driving him mad.

‘’What?’’ You giggled bashfully as you began undoing his buttons on his dress shirt before ultimately discarding of it on your bedroom floor.

‘’I know you want me to fuck and ruin you into another dimension but...’’ Stephen cut himself off as you began suckling and biting at his neck and ruffling his hair with your hands.

'I want to savour every bit of you, I don't care how long it takes.' Stephen confessed breathlessly and it made you halt in your tracks and blink up at him in his lust clouded eyes.

You guided his hands to toy with the thin string of your underwear and it made Stephen's eyes widen.

‘’Feel how much I want you, feel how wet I am for you. Take whatever you want from me, stretch it out for me. Please.’’ Your kiss was intoxicating and as honeyed as your voice. His fingers ripped away at your panties before he shimmied them down your legs and kicked his pants off.

‘’You're such a good girl. My good girl.’’ Stephen pushed his hard aching cock into you at such an impossible depth. You were so tight it was like you were vacuum sealed to his dick. The use of the pet name made you screw your eyes shut in pure pleasure.

As he began setting a slow yet deep rhythm, his fingers were playing with your already swollen clit. It was all so stimulating- his hands and teeth were taking turns on your tits and it made you throw your head back in pleasure. Your body melted into his perfectly as your back arched off the bed and into him.

‘’Mine. You're mine. Understand?’’ Stephen growled, his eyes locked onto yours as he was making such slow, deep and intimate love to you. Sex has never felt this personal and hot before and it was all his fault and doing.

"Yours.’’ You sighed as he kissed at your neck tenderly. He kept repeating his ministrations were becoming impossible to bear. You felt like you were about to explode.

You found your undoing at that. Being his? Fucking hell. You came hard onto him as his fingers intertwined with your and he held them firmly. Eyes gazing desperately into eyes, he let himself lose it at how you bore your entire soul through them.

That silence when he was just holding you was his favourite part. Stephen finally felt the warmth of you in his arms, tracing little shapes on the soft suppleness of your skin.

Everything just felt so personal tonight, you let him in and he wanted to stay there until he had nothing left to lose but you.

——

wait now that i’m re-reading its hella short fml

#dr stephen strange #dr strange angst #dr strange fluff #dr strange x fem!reader #dr strange x y/n #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #stephen strange

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lochblocknroll · 2 months

Text

"𝚃𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜." - 𝖣𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝖩𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗇 𝖥𝗈𝗅𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗌, 𝖫𝗈𝖼𝗁'𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗎𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋

Introductions were not what Loch would list as one of his strengths. Communication in general was perhaps not on that list at all. He certainly wasn't in the habit of throwing 'able to talk to sentient bags of meat' onto his resume, not when his ability to talk to the incomprehensible vastness of cyberspace was there instead.

Of course, putting off the introduction was not going to make it go away, much to Loch's chagrin. He let anyone go before him that seemed eager enough to get their name out and their foot into whatever doors they were trying to force open. It was like sitting in the middle of The Thing, waiting to see which test might drag the impossible creature forward. Though, if any of these people were a cryptid, Loch knew, it would make this entire horse and pony show mean something. He had had his hopes set on that particularly sour-faced man being some kind of Roswell Grey, but that hope was dashed the longer this took and the other remained exactly as stone-faced as he had when they had gotten there.

That woman, Loch thought with a glance, could be a Flatwoods Monster, though she certainly was lacking that impressive collar that so defined her kind. He'd have to see if it was misplaced or, as one of his friends had claimed, it was actually a biological defense mechanism, like the frills of Dilophosaurus. It didn't seem practical, but neither did a horse with bat-wings and that certainly seemed common enough... Gods he was bored. Perhaps—

The sudden tug of all eyes on him pulled Loch from his thoughts and he cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling in his seat and crossing one leg before uncrossing them and crossing it the other way. Why, in the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster did he decide to sit in what amounted to the center of the room? He hadn't felt the urge to stand and brood in a corner like some of the others, but now Loch swore every hair on his body was standing upright as an unpleasantly large number of eyeballs fixed themselves upon him.

"Well, going off of this very unpleasant attention," Loch starts, going to stand before aborting the motion halfway through and sitting back down, "it's probably my turn. My name's Loch, Doctor Loch if you want to be an ass. If you're my abuelita, I'm Doctor Matias Rojas, but I don't see her here so I'm just going to stick with Loch. I really wasn't listening to the format here, so fuck it! I'll freeball it."

He paused, taking a breath and holding it for a few seconds before letting it out. This was already a disaster, but the only way out was through and he wasn't about to end up a red shirt this early in his job. "Like I said, I'm Loch. I got hired by the Foundation and their Sincere Comrades and Partners probably... A month ago? Time's been weird lately, which I blame completely on those interdimensional Bigfoots that have to be around here somewhere. I work predominantly in tech, mainly computers and software, but given the state of this place, the details will probably go over your heads, so I'll stick to that."

He paused, thinking for a moment as his hands tapped out a one-two rhythm on his legs. "I've got a cannibalistic fish named Hannibal the muscle heads made me leave behind and a severe tech withdrawal. If anyone ends up needing me, I'll be handwriting the most pointless codes I can. But, I'm sure we're all going to get along great! Oh, also, cryptid stories. Please regale me with your best ones. I might end up writing a book or some shit about them one day when I run out of code ideas."

#loched.intro #loched.actone #loched.(dis)orientation

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pokelolmc · 4 months

Text

The Ultimate Enemy is a Disappointment (and How I'd Fix it) (Part 4)

Clockwork is one of the biggest problems with TUE. Change my mind. (Third biggest, specifically, behind Dan and the CAT).

I feel a little guilty, trash-talking fan-favourite Time Dad, but that’s okay—his character concept is really interesting, and I like him in fanon. But canon Clockwork, on the other hand...the writers fucked him up.

Writing a wise, all-knowing (or extensively foreknowing) character is challenging, and they put none of the thought required into it. They try to portray him as sympathetic in the ending--but everything that came before it accidentally implies he's negligent, morally unsympathetic and/or incompetent. And I don’t see ANYONE talking about it.

I still have some say about the Observants at the end, but there's just not as much on them. They appear less, and seem to be deliberately portrayed as incompetent, so their faults are bit more excusable.

(Like section 2, this'll be the criticisms and the fixes will be their own post. I have some very interesting ideas for Clockwork/Observant lore).

(Part 3), Part 4, (Part 4.5)

Part 4--A Wrench in the (Clock)works--The Ultimate Enemy’s failure at writing foreknowing/near-omniscient characters.

Clockwork behaves inconsistently with an all-knowing character. Rather than actively preventing Dan’s existence, he only pushes the events of Dan’s timeline along. And he makes statements/assertions in the episode that are factually wrong.

Given the quote above, and his ability to see the alternate future as he pleased, it’s openly possible that he had access to everything in both timelines, at any time he wanted in the episode, from the time window. So he could know of all the major events of The Ultimate Enemy itself in advance.

While I won’t say this with absolute certainty, I will criticise the writers for establishing this idea in the first place without putting any limitations on his character (to eliminate the possibility of complete foreknowledge). So assume that as just the upper limit. The actuality might be somewhere in the middle.

And this leaves some MASSIVE holes in the writing.

For an apparently wise/all-knowing “Master of Time”, Clockwork makes some terrible decisions.

He wants to demonstrate to the Observants that Danny “won’t grow up evil because he cheated on a test”. So he decides…to give Danny the answers (by orchestrating an “accident”), and see whether he’d cheat or not. This makes no sense and is entirely pointless (if he's as all-knowing as the episode treats him).

He should should already KNOW how his "test" will turn out. If it he didn't need it for himself, but was just trying to prove a point to the Observants, it’s still redundant. There's no reason to tempt Danny to cheat, when the response he already knows is coming won’t prove his point.

If Danny was going to come to the idea of cheating on his own, all Clockwork had to do was sit back and wait. All he ends up doing is make Danny “cheating” happen faster.

He also indirectly leads everyone at the Nasty Burger to their would-be deaths by enabling/facilitating all of the episode's time travel in the first place. The only reason everyone ends up at the Nasty Burger for the explosion in canon is because of the trio and Dan’s time travel (see part 3). Clockwork is the one who obliged the Observants' request to attack Danny. He sent back Skulktech, which gave the trio access to his tower--and to the alternate future, which prompted Dan to go back to the past to railroad his timeline into happening.

Which is something Clockwork should’ve been able to see coming, and did nothing to prevent—not even when he explicitly saw Dan meddling with the past in front of him.

How was the trio able to get behind the back of someone as knowing and powerful as Clockwork (to get the time medallions and hop into the future)? Why did he get so carelessly distracted by Danny? The only explanation is either Clockwork is actually incompetent enough to get outwitted by three (two and a half) human teenagers, or he allowed them to go.

Perhaps everyone still could’ve gone on their own, without future knowledge (not that the episode gives us any options for how that would happen—again, see part 3) but he still made everything worse.

And there’s no reason Clockwork couldn’t check Dan’s timeline ten years back and see the fusion. But he still spends the entire episode acting as if Danny and Dan are the same person. Which is factually incorrect.

We could assume he secretly knows, but just pretends not to--except his actions otherwise are still highly questionable.

He could’ve been cooperative and transparent—just used the ghosts he sent after Danny to get the trio to his tower to talk (foreseeing them hitching a ride with Skulktech), while still complying with the Observants on paper. There, he could’ve explained, “There’s an alternate future where you and the other halfa fuse into a powerful monster; he’s brought the world to ruin and the Observants put a hit on you because overkill…”

(Yeah, remember this? If he's acting, he's sure as hell getting into it for no good reason...)

But instead he tells Danny “I’ve been tasked with eliminating your future, so [Dan] doesn't happen” and acts like a threat to the trio when it would’ve been much more efficient to talk things out!

Claiming that "Danny's future is sealed" because he chose to keep the answers is just blatantly wrong, and he should know better as a guardian of time himself. And cheating on a test is too petty for someone of his scale to consider so morally significant.

2. The episode doesn’t establish/justify why Clockwork didn’t just deal with Dan himself, and spare everyone else the unnecessary strife/trauma. The entire episode can only be possible because of his negligence.

For all the ominous hype about Dan being “inevitable” and “Danny’s going to turn into him”, he really…really isn’t. He’s more so the opposite, given the circumstances are so hyperspecific. The domino effect that leads to his birth is so causally fragile that one small change could completely wipe him off the map.

(like...literally fucking ANYTHING?! It's your call, dude! I'm not the Master of Time!)

Clockwork didn’t even need to be powerful enough to win against Dan one-on-one. He could’ve interfered in Dan’s past by giving information to other characters to change their decisions (steer Lancer and the Fenton’s away from the Nasty Burger via Jazz, keep Danny away from Vlad, etc). If Dan was really that big a threat to both worlds, then he has all the moral justification (for the sake of efficiency) to do so to prevent harm!

And yet, he doesn’t. There's no explained character reason he doesn't interfere--either why he can't or why he thinks he shouldn't. To use a dominantly time-travel series as an example--Doctor Who created lore on time having special "fixed points" that can't be altered without damaging the fabric of time itself. It also had moral/character conflicts exploring the Doctor choosing not to interfere with historical disasters.

But with Clockwork, we don't even get a line. Whether it's a throwaway line on not having the power to interact with regular time directly, or about how he's already tried to prevent Dan's birth and failed (and now thing are in the last stretch). The closest we get are lines such as "things are how they're supposed be" (implying he has a standard of how events should happen), but that's just window-dressing to make him sound mysterious and impressive. There's never an explanation of what does or doesn't count.

If he really couldn’t stop The Ultimate Enemy from happening in the first place, then see point one: Openly allying with/fully informing the trio from the start is more efficient and helpful than letting them treat you like an adversary and stumble in blind. Why did Danny have to go to Vlad to learn about Dan’s origin when Clockwork was right there?!

Tons of people experience trauma (or even die) because of Clockwork’s allowance or inaction. The trio, Jazz, Danny's parents and Mr Lancer (though technically they never remember), future!Valerie and her dad. Even everyone who died because of Dan in the alternate future (because Clockwork could’ve stopped it from ever reaching that point if he tried. If I can come up with ways to prevent Dan's birth, the all-knowing Master of Time can!).

And if he had the power to undo ALL of the damage to the timeline all along (rewinding time to save Danny’s loved ones) …why does anything that happens in this episode matter, at all (outside of the memories of three people)?!

Why couldn’t he have done that when the alternate timeline went awry in the first place?!

Sure, it could be said that Danny learned something from the experience...but I doubt any lesson he could've been "taught" is morally worth the apocalyptic destruction of another timeline and forcing Danny to fight as powerful a threat as Dan unassisted.

Lessons like moral honesty had already been taught in far lower-stakes ways than TUE. Since he didn’t really “become Dan” or do anything actually evil, there was nothing specific he could’ve only learned from Dan’s existence other than "don't create a fusion with Vlad". Dan's wide-scale harm was unnecessary.

3. After sidling all of this bullshit on a fourteen year old kid, Clockwork doesn’t even make up for it properly.

If he wanted to give Danny fair “second chance”, he could’ve sent him back to before any of the time travel happened—the moment in the kitchen before Boxed Lunch attacked. This would’ve undone all the alterations to the timeline and given Danny time to study—especially since he was responsible for the ghost attacks that robbed Danny of his last study days. The boy just had several massive fights and watched his loved ones blow up!

But no. His idea of a “second chance” is dropping Danny off RIGHT before the CAT! To take the blame for Dan opening the answers! All for the purpose of a little triumphant “Danny’s learned his lesson” moment for a half-assed anti-cheating message, when Danny never even cheated! In canon, he couldn't just tell Lancer “a ghost from another timeline opened the answers”—but that wouldn’t have been necessary if Clockwork just sent him further back in time! He basically ripped Danny off.

4. Why does Clockwork even listen to the Observants? What power do they have over him? Why did he oblige their request to go after Danny in the first place?

Clockwork seems to suggest that they see time in a more limited fashion than he does—perhaps with causality in a stricter order, or one-way with less alternate possibilities (based on his parade analogy)…but we see them observing Clockwork at the time window. He essentially shares access to it, so why couldn’t Clockwork just show the Observants Dan’s origin story? That’d raise the same problem with ill-informed decision-making that I already discussed.

And the episode doesn't make it clear what power the Observants have over Clockwork, and why he has any reason to listen to them. If he was right and had the better way of doing things all along, why not just outright refuse the Observants and prove himself right to them with his results? Why entertain their irrational backseating?

#danny phantom #the ultimate enemy #danny fenton #danny phantom clockwork #tue analysis #dp rewrite #10 dp episodes with missed potential #clockwork was one of the worse characters in this episode change my mind

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those-late-night-feels · 1 year

Text

Letters

Part 1

Summary: Writing everything down should help you process your feelings. Somehow it always turns into letters to him.

Warnings: Grief, angst, eventual smut.

Jan. 29

I sat at the edge of the shore today and thought of you when the mist blew up and kissed my skin. It reminded me of all those times you gave me chills, causing my skin to prickle and an uncontrollable shiver to run through. The wind caused havoc to my hair while staring out into the vastness of the ocean, remembering how lucky I was to have you in my life, even if our time together was brief.

You would like it here–the mercurial sea, the grassy hillsides, the endless seaside caverns to get lost in.

I've dreamt about you plenty, even when ignoring those thoughts in the daylight. I know you'd tell me to move on, to find happiness, to live my life to the fullest, and oh I am trying, but your imprint on me runs deep and even if I get through my day without a thought of you, the night remembers.

Wherever you are, Valhalla or somewhere else, I hope you found peace. I know that you did what you felt you had to do (gods, you were stubborn), but I miss you madly. I'd give anything

You set the pen down and stared out the kitchen window, a tear hitting the page and causing black ink to smear. This was supposed to be therapeutic, writing thoughts and feelings down, but somehow it always turned into letters to him. Were you pathetic? Maybe. After all, he hadn't been your partner, he'd barely been a lover, but you'd given him everything and he'd hold onto that forever.

His intrusion into your life hadn't been expected, not when he came to earth the first time unannounced with a vengeance, or the second time when he slowly became an ally to an apprehensive team. He reluctantly joined the team in a few battles at Thor's insistence, and if that was all it had been, you would have slipped by him without a second glance. But your years of combat experience weren't for nothing and when your katana blew past his cheek to slice a common foe in two, he turned his eyes for a split second to the goddess wielding the sword.

You hadn't given his glance a second thought, assuming he'd only been stunned by a female "Midgardian" being able to handle her own in battle. Twisting to the right, you continued on like the warrior you were, slaughtering anyone who stood in your way.

In the back of the Quinjet after the bloody battle, you stood at a mirror applying a butterfly bandage to the gash on your cheek with a grimace. Your eyes averted from the wound to a pair of green eyes reflected in the mirror behind you. His stare was unbreaking and you abruptly turned to the front of the jet. You didn't like being alone with this calculated, twisted god.

The Quinjet landed late that night (or was it considered now early morning?) and you yawned while shouldering the sword, craving a hot shower and the comfort of your bed. But arguing with the Captain was pointless–he was by the book: after any mission there was to be a debriefing, followed by a physical assessment.

The debriefing was easy, the normal run through of the last two days, followed by a series of questions from a desk agent.

"Alright doc," you sighed after the interview. "Let's get this over with."

You slipped off the leather ensemble for the doc to get a better assessment and sat on the edge of the cold bed. Dr. Pham pulled the curtain around the bed and proceeded with the medical evaluation–blood pressure, concussion protocol, checking for any fractures or needed stitches.

"Looks like you got hit pretty good here," she said, referencing the wound on your cheek.

"You should see the other guy."

She smirked, grabbing some antibiotic cream. "I don't doubt it."

A few beds over you heard an annoyed Loki berating the other medical staff on duty. "I don't care what training you have, you aren't poking and prodding me like cattle."

You smiled at Dr. Pham. "Sounds like you need to save your staff."

She rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "Everything looks good. Call me if you need anything."

Dr. Pham's steps echoed down the hall as you pulled your suit back on, the argument continuing while you drew back the curtain and proceeded toward the door. Loki emerged with a huff, striding in your direction. "I am a god, Ms. Pham. This protocol may be well and good for you mortals but I'll have none of it."

You shrugged your shoulders at the medical staff and followed him out the door.

"Unbelievable," he mumbled under his breath. "Don't they know who I am?"

"Who are you?" He turned as if he'd just noticed another person in his vicinity. Looking down, he gave a quizzical look, his mouth open in confusion. "From what I could hear, those people were doing their job and trying to help you, and you treated them like they were trash. So, who do you think you are?"

He looked to the door behind you and shook his head with a sigh. "Mortals," he mumbled under his breath and turned, proceeding out of the building.

Feb. 1

Remember that day I came back from the mission in Istanbul? It was supposed to be an easy in-and-out intel grab with Sam while Clint sat in his perch to play lookout. We hadn't expected more than the normal security around the perimeter, but the information we were fed was faulty and we barely escaped with our lives.

Clint called for backup and Tony blasted over, always the hero. They easily found Sam, unconscious in the hallway, but I was more difficult to find, lying in a pool of my own blood in a holding cell.

I don't remember much from the next few days, but I do remember you. We weren't friends by any means, but we had become friendly since that day in the hall outside the med bay. You wouldn't admit that you saw me as anything more than an annoying mortal, and I would have denied it wholeheartedly if someone had mentioned our bond, but silently something was there.

In the operating room, they'd given me a blood transfusion and set a fractured wrist. Three ribs were broken and a bruised lung. Highly sedated, I heard you there, pissing off the medical staff with your continuous questions and assumption of their inadequacy.

When I finally awoke from the sedated haze, the room was dark, the only sound a pulsing beep from the heart monitor. You weren't there–not in the room, not in the tower, not even in the country. I didn't learn until much much later that you and Thor had gone to Istanbul and destroyed everyone and everything in that compound.

You should have told me back then how you felt, what you thought, what you wanted (did you even know back then?). I know you were only trying to protect me, but we could have had so much more time together if you had.

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the-ninja-legacy-whip · 9 months

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how did you come up with the ideas for the guardians and the devourer/genesis both representing an uroboros and their connection to lloyd

I dunno if this is really all that coherent cuz I don't entirely remember the order of my process, just the general trains of thought I was on at some points in time. And boy are they a ride regardless!

I do know that the Ouroboros thing was definitely last, and definitely the best part <3

Buckle up, this one's good, I promise!

As may not be common knowledge, the upcoming Book 3 (based on Season 2) was originally the one and only story I was planning to write for the 10th Anniversary. But as we've well seen by now, there was so much worldbuilding and lore rewriting and character work that had to be built up first, hence two entire stories that had to come before it.

And of course, in the meantime, a lot of stuff got worked around and changed and added. There wasn't even an "Elemental Compass" until after I started work on Chapter 1 for Book 2, when it occurred to me that I needed a concise foundation for how these freaking elements work, especially if I was gonna jack things up when it came to Lloyd and how to factor in the Golden Power (and, y'know, toss in a Master of Surprise).

But, what was at the heart of everything from the very beginning was the idea that the Core Four's Animal Symbols had much more significance than what the show demonstrated, and that they followed a very specific order: Zane and the Wolf represented North and Winter, Jay and the Octopus represented East and Fall, Kai and the Lion represented South and Summer, and Cole and the Gorilla represented West and Spring (hence why I made such a big deal about their birthdays in the beginning times; it's not as important now, just a fun fact snksnksn).

And the first inspiration for that came from this:

The arrangements of symbols within the Temple of Light (called the 'Temple of Life' in Legacyverse) was the one and only time the Animal Symbols were ever significantly acknowledged, and while many things about it bugged me (Jay and Cole visibly going to the wrong symbols, the fact that it wasn't the opposites lined up with each other, etc.) it was still the coolest thing to my young mind and I really wish they could've done more with the concept. But then it never got mentioned again!

So, that's basically how the "Base Compass" got started, before it was even called that.

Then I got to thinking "Well, those symbols would have had come from somewhere", and I played around with the idea of those beasts actually being out in the world or realms somewhere. The only issue was slotting them somewhere in the story proper that would make sense and wouldn't be overly intrusive.

...combine this with the issue of the dragons: having them around would make the movie!mechs be pointless, and then if they were just going to leave, fuse together, and die anyway then what would be the point of having them around at all? So I reworked the role of the dragons for s9 if we ever get there and replaced them with the Guardians instead -> still powerful otherwordly beasts that help from time to time, but not to the point that they're a quick-fix for everything.

And then when I started legitimately developing the Compass as a whole, I got the idea that, while the FSM possessed the Essences of Creation and Destruction (unified as one in the for of Neutralization, the Golden Essence), he wouldn't have had an element to his name, and that these creatures could have been the ones to tech him how to harness the Core Elements (and then into the Golden Weapons). They became his friends, and he held them in such high regard that the symbols are one way he showed his gratitude towards them, especially after convincing them to help protect his realm after the Overlord first manifested. Putting them at the four extremes of the world is how I got the idea to divide the island into Provinces as well (matched up literally like a compass).

Now, onto Lloyd.

His Guardian was initially just going to be the Dragon, big whoop, and the Dragon (Genesis, though I was calling them Epsilon back then) was just going to be related to all things Green Element, end of story close the book one and done, nothing complicated. But then the Book of Elemental Powers releases, and do you know what they had as the symbol for the Green Element?

...A SNAKE?!!?!?!? (whiiiiiiiiich is actually on the back of Lloyd's Elemental Robe prior to him becoming the Ultimate Spinijtzu Master in the show. I didn't even spot it for years, but, y'know)

Anyway, so, do you know what they then had for the Golden Power????

Oh, there's the dragon.

But it gets BETTER

Before Lloyd even taps into any kind of power at all, do you know what his very first symbol was?

Another Snake? No, even better...an Ouroboros

And when we look up the base definition of an Ouroboros?

"A circular symbol depicting a snake, or less commonly a dragon, swallowing its tail as an emblem of wholeness or infinity"

Key words here being: SNAKE OR DRAGON

Leading to my conclusion of, as I had Pythor so nicely phrase it:

"…but the Ouroboros is the insignia of a serpent devouring its own tail. The symbol exists as a representation that endings are beginnings and beginnings are endings. For some, it’s a symbol of hope, proving the determination that persists within all life. But it could also be a hopeless symbol, as it represents no escape from the cycle either… A new loop is always created, just as one is always destroyed in the same breath. It is life and death, both at once, at the same time…it's infinite, and yet, what makes it infinite also sabotages its own existence…"

(Infinity, you say? Something...infinite? Like....something that cannot be created or destroyed? Something unparalleled? Something...like energy???)

But also–

"The symbol for the Green Element is an Ouroboros, no matter how you look at it. And that's the kicker, isn't it: an Ouroboros is just a serpent…and a serpent can be a snake or a dragon."

Pythor stares at his crude scribble of the compass with a frown.

"…or for our purposes, perhaps it could be both. Two sides…of a single coin. Two sides of a single element."

Thusly, in conclusion— Lloyd's overall symbol, and overall Guardian, is an Ouroboros. When divided into the two aspects of his Element, a green snake represents the Green Element, and a gold dragon represents the Golden Essence. Of course, his Guardians would exist to parallel these concepts.

Conveniently, there was a Golden Dragon within the Temple of Light that Lloyd's actions led to the release of.

(it's moreso a metaphorical release but roll with me here)

Also conveniently, there was a Green Snake that Lloyd's actions led to the release of.

So, it wasn't really too hard to pinpoint how to work Lloyd's Guardian(s) into the picture, ahahaha.

They represent the two side of Life Itself—the side that Creates, the side that Destroys, and when put together, it Neutralizes...

“To create is to destroy; to destroy is to create. To do both, is to be human.”

But everything just fit so insanely well: the Ouroboros symbol itself, the snake/dragon/serpent thing, endings being new beginnings, the whole philosophy of the Green Element matching that of symbolism of an Ouroboros, the fact that all these things were just sitting there in plain sight, unnoticed by the untrained eye?!?! Do you now see why I am obsessed with the untapped potential of this green-gold child?!

ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?!?

Aaaaaaaand tying it aaaall back into Movie!verse -> small spoilers, but I've mentioned already, Lloyd's Element is an element of connection. His strength is derived from being surrounded by others, by being surrounded by life, and supported by others connections with him. It's why he requires a connection with the Core Four to unlock his True Potential (whatever that may mean <3).

"Green is the color of life. It flows through all living things... connecting them all. The way I connect the ninjas."

AND THE WAY YOU CONNECT THE ELEMENTS, KID.

#ninjago #the lego ninjago movie #tlnm #lloyd garmadon #legacyverse #the ninja legacy whip #legacy spoilers #info tag #long post #elemental compendium

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sparrow-orion-writes · 1 day

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9- Write about your ship getting dressed up in fancy outfits together.

Listen, AriEdwardTune, maybe they gotta infiltrate somewhere and gotta go undercover, maybe it's just someone else hosting a party (my brain supplied AnaLucia wedding as an example 👀) but either way

Hot

~ M <3

"It's a party, you have to dress nicely," Neptune had insisted, much to Ari's affront as he looked down at his oil-stained hands and worse-for-wear waistcoat.

"And I don't dress nicely?"

"Well...it's not the style, so much the..." Neptune gestures loosely, before glancing over at Edward, who only slips away from the conversation as though he were never there in the first place.

But an argument was always pointless, because Neptune always won, and he always let her.

Which is how he found himself wearing the deep tones of crimson red amongst his familiar and comfortable black. It was the most he would allow. The waistcoat, embellished in these floral swirls, standing firmly against the charcoal black of his shirt and trousers.

He still misses his monochromatic style; the comfortable grey wasn't a broken feat of his wardrobe - and thus did not need fixing.

The jacket was that same deep red, startling to look at. He felt almost foolish as he slid it on. This was a suit for a younger man, he felt, and someone twice as attractive as himself.

Ari greased his curls back, pinning them neatly to some semblance of control, but allowing some strays to fall forward of his forehead. He considered faking an illness, his red cheeks redder and body tense with unfamiliar anxiety. He was not the social butterfly that his partners were. It's largely why he had the two of them - so they could entertain each other whilst he locked himself in a dark room, neither speaking nor moving.

Neptune's demanding knock tore his gaze away from his petrified expression, just in time for her to step into the room. Suddenly it really didn't matter much. No-one would be looking at him, because she was absolutely beautiful. She was always beautiful, of course, but for a moment his mind turned over and his heart stuttered, and air became a scarcity far removed from his lungs.

She looked like a drawing of the sea he'd seen once - or at least that's his approximation. Her blue curls soft, the cobalt dress flowing the same way air might. She sparkled in the light of the room from the jewellery.

To him, she may as well as been as rare and precious as that untainted water, frozen in time, beautiful enough for an artist to sketch. If he had the hands for it, he might've entertained the thought himself.

"We're waiting for you," she smiled, pretending not to notice his dazed expression, though her chin raised a little higher - and that smirk was undeniable.

Edward was just as much of a sight to behold. He'd spent the better half of the day putting his braids in, claiming both excitement and exhaustion at different phases.

He'd made an effort, in some way, to match Ari's style, but the darkened red was replaced with a shining, brilliant gold. Which much matched Edward's personality, Ari thought to himself, enraptured by the way his lover almost seemed to radiate light.

He'd been reminded of the two of them, sat on the windowsill smoking and drinking, looking up at a shooting star expectantly, discussing the old world tradition of wishes. What he would wish for. But in truth the wish had already been granted and the only star he needed was right there.

A little winded by it all, he leaned his head against the doorway and exhaled. "You both look amazing," he uttered, feeling as though he meant to shrink away from them both.

"As do you," Edward whispered, hand suddenly on Ari's chest, "...I love this colour on you," the words hold an edge he rarely hears in Edward's voice, something that returns the blush to his cheeks in full force.

"You look good enough to eat," Neptune presses a warm, lingering kiss on his hot cheek, her fingers intertwining gently in his own "...but for now, sadly, we do have a party to attend."

"That we do," Ari whispered, more than a little flustered. He clears his throat, "...but I'm glad you like it."

Prompt Fill Taglist:

@rickie-the-storyteller @mayarab @gabe-killed-me-with-ace-cream @kaylinalexanderbooks @sender-paulson

#nothing fancy just trying to get my brain to work at This Point

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earlgreytea68 · 7 months

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If I may present some more lyrics related thoughts: The line "Last night I dreamt I still knew you" probably haunts me more than any other on SMFS, and I can't help but wonder if Pete had the hiatus in mind when writing them. He and Patrick went from being basically inseparable, to Patrick not knowing his kid, and performing his own music with so much more confidence than the boy who hid his face under a hat onstage all those years ago. Pete must have felt like a ghost in his own life without his musical other half by his side, but now here they are together on the other side, and they're stronger than ever!

okay, okay, so to me Flu Game is SUCH a hiatus-y song that i wonder sometimes if it's not a song with old lyrics stuck in it, or if Pete sent old lyrics to Patrick, Idk, did it finally seem like time to write through the hiatus in this particular way? But the lyrics seem more depressed than the rest of the album. Even given things like "I used to be a real go-getter," there's a brutality to "Oh, God, kinda please would you kill me now?" (I know Genius says this is "kindly please" but I stand firm that I think it's "kinda please.")

Anyway, everything about this song feels like it could come from the hiatus, because it's all about someone you knew so desperately well, someone you carved out space for in the world, just you and him against the world, and now you're so distant that you're just a face in the crowd he's up there performing to, and there you are, left with all this love and no one to give it to, trying to pretend you're getting through each day when it's exhausting, and what are you dreaming about? That you still knew each other (all of my wildest dreams ended up with you and me). That's your wildest dream (I will never ask you for anything except to dream sweet of me).

I can't be who you need me to be is so very what Pete Wentz thought at the beginning of the hiatus, and all he's doing is working flat-out to keep everything going and it's totally not appreciated and he can't even figure out anymore what's real or fake and he worked so hard to carve out that space and you're just going to leave it.

And he knows none of this really matters and nobody will care and it's all pointless but he can't seem to stop wanting to catch all of your ears, he can't stop seeking that attention, none of it is healthy or good but he's stuck in it, what else is he going to, he's got all this love and an empty space next to him.

There are also a lot of themes in these lyrics that strike me as being more common in his pre-hiatus stuff: The idea of faking how hard everything is so that you make it look easy shows up in Alpha Dog (we must make it hard to look so easy doing something so hard) and I'm pretty sure it shows up somewhere else, too, but I'm blanking on it now. The idea of Pete writing as Fall Out Boy the band and its unhealthy relationship with its fans also feels more pre-hiatus than post- (that's in Hum Hallelujah and Our Lawyers...). I might just be forgetting the post-hiatus occurrences of these themes, but they feel older to me. I have long wondered if this song is an old-lyric song. In interviews about the album, it seems clear that Patrick likes this song a lot and that Pete is less enthusiastic about it and considers it one of those "Patrick-y" songs that comes out of his head and his head alone. Which to me also slots into "he pulled these lyrics from God knows where." But, again, I could also see it that maybe Pete found them and finally thought it was time to share them. Who knows?

I haven't even talked yet about my absolute favorite lyric in this song: "Late at night in my room, lie awake and think of you and all your little dooms." First of all, this is another one of Patrick's odd-rhythm specialties, and I love it so much because it highlights so nicely my favorite part of the line: you and all your little dooms. Ugh, I just love that. Genius tells me it's probably a reference to orgasms and I just think that Pete Wentz never talks about sex as much or as straightforwardly as Genius thinks he does lololol. Which isn't to say he doesn't talk about sex, just that this lyric is about so much more than orgasms. It's so brilliantly evocative of that kind of relationship where a million little things seem to condemn it and drag it down. And given how hiatus-y the song feels to me, I think of the way Pete must have felt as it was all falling apart, that talking to Patrick was just an endless series of "little dooms" that Patrick kept flinging at him. What a perfect, beautiful little turn of phrase for the way things can succumb to the quicksand of problems.

Idk, I just love Flu Game.

And it is perhaps important to note that it leads into "Baby Annihilation," Pete's return to the poetry of the pre-hiatus time, but this time polished up to be JUST POETRY, no song it's being tacked to the end of, this standalone moment of Pete Wentz (with Patrick backing orchestration, the truest representation of their partnership we've really ever had, tbh), with it's closing musing of "what is there between us if not a little annihilation?" AND THEN we get "Kintsugi Kid," a song EXPLICITLY about that period of Pete's life where he was self-destructive but titled for how he came out so much better in the end, AND THEN the Patrick Stump special of "What a Time to Be Alive," the song Pete has very fondly called "pure Patrick," and it just seems so fitting to me that at the end, Patrick comes roaring back into this hiatus-y stretch, and we come back into the present.

#peterick #fall out boy #fob

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celestial-grls · 2 years

Text

Paper Purposes / Robin Buckley x Reader

Summary: You’re the managing editor of the school newspaper. Robin joins as a fill-in photographer for the newspaper. As a result, there are a lot of bad jokes, a newfound fear of darkrooms, the possibility of some fairy photography, and cheesy fries. [6.0k]

Warnings: School newspaper editor!reader, photographer!Robin, a slow burn from strangers to acquaintances to friends to lovers (eventually? Maybe in the future?), r and robin are both a little shy but show it in different ways, fluff, mutual pining, etc. Also a tiny bit is written in Robin’s POV

A/N: I hope you guys like this! I also turned on anons now, so feel free to send me any requests, your thoughts etc. There’s a 'That 70s Show' reference in here, PLEASE let me know if you catch it

Nancy Wheeler runs the Hawkins High school newspaper with an iron fist. Some of the sophomores who she assigns to write puff pieces call her ‘Queen Stalin’ when she isn’t around to hear them. The school paper only gets one room in the entire school to do all of the typing, printing, arranging of the spread, and holding meetings. You’ve known Nancy since last summer when you met at an internship for The Hawkins Post. You two quickly became friends over the ancient Mr. Coffee machine and sweated in your only pair of stockings while doing sandwich runs together. Once she had a lead for the Mrs. Driscoll story, she needed someone to cover for her to lessen any suspicion. The rest is history.

It’s the first of the month, so everyone waits for her to delegate assignments for the next issue. They’re all sitting at the long table with Nancy at the head, you in the seat next to her. She starts, “Okay. We have a big month ahead and a lot to cover. Y/N, you’ll cover the student council elections and the upcoming pep rally.” She looks down at her notebook and lists off who’s covering what. You start writing the dates of your assigned topics when the door opens and someone shoves through.

“...Hi. Sorry,” Robin Buckley apologetically moves through and searches for somewhere to sit.

“It’s fine, Robin. Just going through this month’s assignments.” Nancy’s a little ruffled but after Robin finds a seat she picks up where she left off. You know Robin. Well, ‘know’ is generous. You’re aware she’s in your grade and in band and that somehow she and Nancy know each other, but she’s never been a part of the paper. She’s doing her best to quietly take out something to write with, but it’s pointless because Nancy hasn’t assigned her anything yet.

“Alright, that leaves the cover story for me and…uh Robin, just stay for a minute with me and Y/N. That’s it for today’s meeting.” There’s the sound of papers shuffling, backpacks being picked up, and some sophomores huffing about their assignments until the room is cleared. You look at Robin and wonder what she’s doing here if Nancy hasn’t assigned her anything to write.

“Any updates on Fred?” You ask Nancy. He hasn’t been able to pick up anything heavier than a fork after breaking his arm photographing a football game. It’s safe to say he will no longer cover the sports section.

“Um, he’ll be gone for a little while,” Nancy sighs, “But the doctors say once the bone is set he’ll be back in about a month.”

“Yikes,” Robin grimaces.

“Yeah. Yikes,” Nancy looks between you and Robin, “Robin’s filling in for Fred until then. I don’t have as much time as I wish I did to introduce her to everything so she’ll be with you while you write.”

“As my writing partner?” You ask for clarification, looking at Robin and examining her face for any displeasure with being paired with you. She’s biting the inside of her cheek and tugging on her jacket sleeve. Maybe she’s nervous, but hopefully not upset about being paired with you.

“As a photographer. You’re the only other person with access to the darkroom and I’m swamped with college apps…” Nancy glances at her watch “Speaking of which, I have to take Mike home and start on my Emerson application but I’ll check in with you guys in a week.” That leaves just you and Robin. The room feels so much bigger without anyone in there, and you get to really look at Robin. She’s tall, taller than most of the girls in your grade. She’s also un-permed and un-hairsprayed, with dark blonde hair that comes to her chin. Even if she did make more of an effort to look like the other girls, it would fail. She sticks out a little regardless. When she clears her throat, it snaps you out of your assessment of her.

“So…I-I’m not sure how this works. I was sort of expecting a very detailed instruction manual written by Nancy herself,” She quickly realizes it might’ve come off like she didn’t want to work with you so she backtracks, “Not that I’m upset or, um annoyed or anything. With working with you, I mean. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

There’s this look on her face like she can’t get enough air in her lungs and you know she didn’t mean anything by it so you stop her before she talks herself into a deeper hole, “Robin, it’s okay. I know what you meant.” She still doesn’t look convinced. “Nancy actually made sure I wrote the instruction manual on my arm so you could read off of it. We’re trying to use less paper.” Maybe if I tell a joke she’ll be able to take a full breath. Even if it isn’t a funny one.

Something loosens in her face, a tiny deflating in her shoulders. She even breathes out a laugh. “Even the best journalists have to cut costs somehow.” She actually replied to your joke with her own, a small victory. You rip a piece of paper from your notebook and write ‘Room 122. Wear sneakers’ and hand it to her. “That’s the darkroom number. The camera’ll be in there and anything else we might need…”

She takes it from you. Your fingertips brush hers for half a second, hardly noticeable if you weren't so hyperaware of everything right now. “Wear sneakers?” She questions.

“We’ll be doing a lot of walking.” You answer. “We can get started tomorrow after school. If that’s fine with you, of course.”

“Uh, yeah,” She bites the inside of her cheek again, “I’ll see you then.”

Robin's POV

The uncertainty doesn’t even let her bike all the way home before it creeps in. Did I have to do the paper? Should I have just joined chess club? The questions bounce around her brain like a broken pinball machine. God, what if I break my arm taking pictures like Fred did? Or worse, take photos and not realize my thumb was taking up half the frame? It’s junior year and may be too late for trying anything new. But the fast-approaching future of life outside of Hawkins is demanding and if she had something other than three years of marching band and one summer job scooping ice cream under her belt, she’d feel better about her college applications. Except that the thought of spending the next month on the school paper (which she knew next to nothing about), seems to be having the opposite effect. Even when she flops down on her bed, face buried as far into the pillow as she can get, that feeling she got in the newsroom comes back. Like she can’t get enough air into her lungs. She’s trying to distract herself from the feeling that she’s in over her head. She thinks back to the joke you made earlier ‘We’re trying to use less paper.’ Robin did know you. Well, ‘know’ would be generous. She knew you were in the same grade, that you’ve always written for the school paper, and that you know Nancy from the summer internship you both did. But she’s only spent five minutes alone with you. There’s a whole month left before anything goes to print. From what she can tell, there’s an obvious reason why you’re Nancy’s second in command. Where Nancy is detail-oriented and hands-on, you seem more laissez-faire in your approach. Where Nancy is more focused to the point of tunnel vision, you seem more scatterbrained. The little piece of paper you handed her is shoved between a used copy of Making Movies by Sidney Lumet. She pulls it out to examine your handwriting. Room 122. Wear sneakers. Your handwriting is loopy and girlish, but the note is audacious. It’s a request, one you expect to be followed. If she reads between the lines the note would say ‘Meet me. Wear sneakers. Don’t be late’. Robin sticks it back into the book, carefully this time, and retreats further into her pillow. It could be worse. I could have to do it alone. The promise of your company isn’t completely reassuring, though. You’re still a trusted editor, one that could judge her and nitpick and get annoyed if Robin doesn’t get things right away. You’re still someone Robin hardly knows. But the thought of you being mean to her stirs a bit of cognitive dissonance. Y/N is probably nice. She joked with me. Why would she do that if she thought I was totally incompetent? She decides that it doesn’t even seem in your nature to be cruel to someone you hardly know, but there’s an aloofness that’s still impenetrable about you that tells Robin to proceed with caution. An ease about you that probably comes from years on the paper. Undoubtedly, it’s just as much your domain as it is Nancy’s. The self-doubt cycles back, signaling she’s broken the pinball machine in her brain again and now it dings incessantly. I just have to get through tomorrow. Meet Y/N. Wear sneakers. Don’t be late.

Entering the darkroom feels like stepping into an eerie, evil cabin in the woods. It’s something out of a horror movie, glowing red and otherwise dark. The smell is pungent and distinctly metallic, so chemically that it feels dangerous to spend more than five minutes in it. There are long metal tables with plastic bins filled with a clear solution. What looks like wet photographs hang from clothespins strung up on the ceiling. Robin’s early. She’s shifting from foot to foot waiting for your arrival and too scared to walk around the room and do any exploring. She’s tugging at her jacket sleeve and adjusting her hair in the reflection of something clear and reflective to her right. She’s nervous enough to only hear the squeaking of her shoes, the fast thump of her heart. Something touches her shoulder and she’s so startled that she yelps.

“Shit, sorry! I’m sorry! I thought you heard me come in.” It’s only Y/N.

“No, it’s okay! I should’ve been paying attention,” Robin sounds nervous and the same thought you had in the newsroom comes back. Make her laugh. Even if it’s not a good joke.

“Does this place give you the creeps?” There’s a concerned lilt in your voice while you’re asking her.

Robin nods, “It looks like an evil lair.”

You deadpan, “I come here to drain the souls of sophomore editors.” Thankfully, she laughs at that. You move past Robin to reach for the camera bag. It’s big and bulky with a Hawkins tiger patch on it.

“That explains why it smells like gas. Are we going to start liquifying if we stand here too long?” Even if Robin’s joking she’s still nervous. She eyes you pulling out a camera and 3 rolls of film and then putting them all back into the bag neatly.

You turn to her, looking at her even if it’s hard to discern the details of her features under the red light. “We’re safe. I spend hours here at a time. Fred used to spend more.” Both of you seem to remember that Fred’s in the hospital at the same time, so you quickly follow up “But he’s y’know, not liquefied. He’s a lot safer in here than anywhere near the football field.” The bag is all packed, you sling it over your shoulder and step towards the door. “Follow me.”

There are a million questions going through Robin’s mind right now, but her mouth is a little dry so she won’t ask any of them. It also doesn’t help that she’s a tiny bit intimidated by you. Not because you seem mean or cruel, but because it just looks like you know what you’re doing. There’s a self-assurance about you that not many people Robin knows possess. Maybe she just thinks that because she doesn’t know you much yet. It’s not like you’re cold to her, but she can’t shake this need to make you like her. Okay, maybe ‘like’ is farfetched. She’s decidedly shooting for you to find her tolerable. It’s not like Robin to be so quiet around people. She’s usually talkative, bordering verbose, and a little sarcastic in a way she hopes people find charming. She can talk a million words a minute when she’s around Steve. She has no issue rolling her eyes and loudly firing back at some idiot in band who’s using his clarinet as a pretend dick. This entire time she’s so focused on sifting through why she wants you to not hate her, she didn’t realize where you were taking her. She didn’t even think to question it. It’s only a ten-minute walk from the school’s east exit but it may as well have been Jupiter. It’s a big wooded area with patches of wild mint growing and a loud hum of insects. It’s how secluded it is that worries Robin. The question leaps out of her mouth before her brain even registers what she’s saying.

“Are you going to murder me, Y/N?” If she didn’t sound so squirrely she could’ve played it off as a joke.

You look a little surprised, mouth forming a little oh shape. But then you decide to poke fun at her. “With what? A roll of film?” To be fair, you did lead her to a wooded area with no signs indicating people have inhabited this space. It’s a trail you know that’s only about 2 miles long. There are thick maple trees and several rings of mushrooms scattered around the forest floor. Robin is taking it all in. You couldn’t see much of her in the darkroom, but now in plain daylight, you could observe. The jacket sleeve she tugs on every now and then has a blue patch with yellow writing that says ‘handle with care’. You’re…interested. Something in you twitches because you realize that her jacket is telling you more about her than she is.

“What is this place?” Robin questions.

“It’s a fairy trail,” You put your hands on your hips, “Or, I call it that. It’s really just a normal trail but, you see those rings of mushrooms? Those are called fairy rings.”

“Okay. I guess…it sounds like the last place you’d murder anyone. 'Murder in fairy trail' would make for a weird headline”

Robin wears all of her questions on her face. It’s like reading a billboard. You try to fill in as many gaps as you can. “This is praxis. Umm…your first lesson for the newspaper,” Robin looks like she’s starting to get it. “Since you’re taking pictures you need to know all the things that go into taking a picture. I know it sounds sort of obvious but there’s a surprising amount of things to think about when you take a picture. The subject, the light, the color, the composition. And I know it’s the school paper so who cares what the pictures look like but still, I think it’s worth trying to get right.” She’s taking in what you’re telling her. Then you realize you never answered the biggest question practically bulging out of her forehead right now. “Oh! Sorry, I forgot. The trail is so we can capture subjects that don’t move. Y’know, before we get to any game-winning action shots or…I don’t know, moody portraits of whoever doesn’t win the student council election. I promise it’s not so I can murder you.” Robin relaxes a little bit, glances up at the way the sunlight is coming through the gaps in the leaves, and settles into how pretty of a place this is for Hawkins. Like she didn’t really think Hawkins could look like this.

“It’s so pretty here. But how the hell did you find it?”

“In the summer, when my grandparents would come to visit they would take me ‘fairy hunting’. According to all of the stories fairies like hanging out where it’s lush and there’s lots of plants.”

“I’d say this fits the criteria. Have you ever seen one?” Robin’s still taking it all in. She seems more comfortable around you now that she's not in the darkroom.

“I thought I did once. It was too quick, though and the wings could’ve been a big dragonfly. But my grandma sort of believes all the Pagan stuff about them being wise and spiritual beings and that when you come across them, it’s because you’re meant to.”

“Oh my god, my mom too! Well, my mom and dad. They’re more like domesticated hippies though. My mom is always shoving a crystal in my face whenever I get a headache or have like a big test to study for.”

“Do you believe in any of it?” You ask her, only because her being a reformed hippie didn’t really make sense with your perception of her until she said it. All of the things Robin reveals molds the perception until it matches with the person in front of you, who’s kicking a pinecone with the toe of her converse.

“I guess I don’t have any reason not to,” Robin shrugs, “I don’t know if I’d believe in fairies unless I saw one, though.”

“You didn’t believe in the tooth fairy?”

“My parents never told me about the tooth fairy, actually. Whenever I lost a tooth, I’d give it to them and they’d put it in this hollowed out coconut they brought home from their honeymoon in Florida.” Her face is breaking out in a grin because she’s never really revealed the inherent silliness of her parents. No one her age has ever asked her this much about herself. It's a little disorienting.

You’re grinning yourself because the thought of all of Robin’s baby teeth being kept safe in a coconut is so precious, you almost forget the purpose of your trip to the trail. “If only we had some coconuts or baby teeth here to take pictures of. It’d be much more interesting subject.” You pipe up to add, “I also brought you here for another reason. We need to get to know each other.” Shit, that probably sounds weird. Your hands itch for something to do so you take out the camera and load a roll of film into it before continuing. “Uh, everything with the paper works better when you know each other better. I mean, like it shows in the paper. We rely on each other, kind of. We also have a whole month together. So I don’t want you to feel lorded over by me or anything.”

It feels so weird that Robin isn’t the one rambling. This is the most she’s heard you say at once. The confident austere she’s come to associate you with slips a little. She feels better knowing it isn’t just her who’s nervous. “So do we…start now?”

“Yeah, uh,” You hand her the camera and notice her hands. There are some silver rings on a few of her fingers and dark red nail polish on all of them, “we can start now.”

You both walk the entire trail, it takes you each a slow hour. The first walk-through is mostly filled with commentary about your surroundings. You point out more fairy rings, the beginnings of some ivy growing on a tree, and the exoskeleton of a dead dragonfly. Robin dutifully takes photos of each thing you point out. Eventually, you stop pointing anything out, hoping she’ll trust her own ability to capture something. Robin holds the camera up to her eye, squints the other, and takes a picture of a little carving on a tree of a heart with some indiscernible initials. You’re both stil talking, but it’s never forced. There’s enough gaps in conversation for you each to enjoy the sounds of little chipmunks chasing each other and the distant rush of a creek on the far side of the trail. Robin tells you more about her parents, Melissa and Keith. The image of them starts to form, mixes with what you know about Robin. You wonder idly who she gets her voice from. It doesn’t sound anything like how someone your age would sound. She rasps like someone who’s been singing on stage for 30 years and had too much fun to bother about the health of their vocal chords. You sprinkle in a tip or two about taking pictures, everything you know was taught to you by Fred. His absence meant you had to shoulder writing articles and taking some pictures for a bit. A wash of gratefulness falls over you, At least now Robin can take the pictures. On the walk back Robin steps forward, leaves crunching under her converse, and holds the camera up to her eye again to take another photo. There’s the sound of an empty click.

“Think this roll is finished,” Robin tells you.

“We’ve taken enough for today. It’s gonna get dark soon, we can start heading back.” You adjust the camera bag over your shoulder and Robin hands you the camera to put back inside.

Robin’s lip curls into a half smile, “No little pixies photographed today.”

“Says who? We won’t know until we get it developed.” You reply like it’s obvious. “I’m starving. What about you?”

“Definitely hungry. The sneakers were a good call.”

“Okay,” You wrap the jacket you’re wearing around you a little tighter, the chill in the air starting to blow in. “let’s eat.”

It takes more effort than either of you want to expend to fit Robin’s bike in the trunk of your car. Your boxy beige Ford has seen better days but a run-down used car is exponentially better than no car. You climb into the driver’s seat while Robin fastens her seatbelt. You make quick work of turning the heater on. After a beat, you ask, “Could you open the glove compartment for me? My tapes are all in there.” It’s so stuffed with tapes that about four fall out onto the floor beneath Robin’s feet. Most of them are regular cassettes, but some look to be made by you with their own special names written in your loopy handwriting.

“Jesus, have you recently robbed a record store?” Robin’s joking as she looks through the ones that fell.

“I like having options,” You shrug and point to the tape in the very corner “Oh! Put that one in.”

Robin’s sliding the tape in and you both hear the big, energetic drums kick in. She shyly admits, “I haven’t listened to this album yet.”

“What!?” You’re giving Robin a face that says it’s impossible to have not listened to Blondie’s Eat to the Beat album. There’s just no way Robin hasn’t heard it. You start, “Take the tape home, then. I don’t want it back until you’ve listened to it once all the way through. Consider it homework.”

Robin doesn’t protest. “I have listened to Parallel Lines, though. Pretty Baby is one of my favorite songs of all time.”

“That’s because you haven’t heard the best four minutes of music in Blondie’s entire discography, yet. ‘Shayla’ is such a good song, I almost named my cat after it.”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“He’s a boy. So I named him Bowie instead.” You’re not floundering the way Robin still is. Definitely not as intense as when you first met, but things aren’t coming as easy to her. Here, in your car, she’s wringing her hands and worrying the inside of her lip. Robin’s thinking, she’s being nice because she has to be. Because Fred’ll be back in a month anyways. It shouldn’t really matter what Y/N thinks of me. It’s still continuing as you step into the only diner in Hawkins, only a few patrons sit inside. The seats are dark green and worn, and the smell of coffee and the powdery notes of your waitress’s perfume hit you as you slide into a booth in the corner. You order a coke, Robin orders a shirley temple, and you both share a plate of cheese fries. You’re talking more about music, you both differ in opinion on who has better movie hair (Robin thinks Molly Ringwald reigns supreme, you argue Slone from Ferris Bueller’s day off has more volume), and of course about school. Robin’s waiting for you to bring up what is almost always discussed when she’s alone with any girl her age: crushes. She doesn’t blame anyone, it’s what’s on everyone’s mind and that’s fine. She’s used to it. So used to in fact that she’s already picked out some ordinary boy in her history class to use as a fill in crush for when you inevitably ask. She waits for you to. And then she waits some more, but you don’t ask about who she has a crush on. You’re still going on about Sloane Peterson.

Robin’s looking at you over her Shirley temple, “Okay, is there any other vital information I should know?”

You chew on the end of a cheese fry, “About the paper? We don’t have to do any more lessons for today.”

“No, no. I-I meant about each other. Y’know, other than your cat being named after David Bowie.”

“Oh.” You recall telling her that you both should get to know each other. For paper purposes, of course. “Well, what do you wanna know?”

“Hmm,” Robin’s mouth twitches in the corner while she’s thinking, “Why the paper?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked you first.”

“Okay, fair. Short answer–I didn’t really consider doing anything else. I’ve been with the paper since freshman year.”

“And the long answer?” Robin’s genuinely curious. It’s refreshing to talk to someone that you haven’t known since you were a kid, there’s no shared history to compete with–only the present. It feels good to be sitting across from her. To watch little bubbles of condensation sweat off her glass and see the plate of fries slowly disappear. It’s late, both of your feet hurt a little from the walking you did, and you’re no longer complete strangers to one another.

You shrug a little, “I like to write. It comes naturally, I guess. I’ve kept a notebook since I was 5. I think when I was 7 I interviewed everyone in my family about their favorite ice cream flavor and wrote it in a little notepad and everything.”

Robin’s eyes soften at that, “Little reporter Y/N.”

“Exactly. Now your turn.”

“Hmm. I’ve never been great at short answers so I’ll give you an ‘answer’ answer.”

“‘Answer’ answer is fine with me.”

“I knew the paper needed a fill-in for Fred. I figured maybe it was time to try something new and as much as my mom would love it if I learned how to sew and bake apple strudel in the home ec room, photography seemed more interesting.”

You nod at her, “What about band? Do you still play an instrument?”

“I do. But I don’t know how far I’d get in college by playing the trumpet.”

“Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. Is the paper for college then?”

“Sort of.” You can tell she needs a little encouragement, a signal to know you’re just as curious about her.

“C’mon Robin! That was hardly an ‘answer’ answer. I gave you a peek at a childhood dream. A little embarrassing one, at that.”

“Wait, no! I thought it was cute, not at all embarrassing.” You hang onto that one word, despite all logical reasoning not to. She’s means 7 year old you. It’s normal to say anything a kid does is cute. But still, the word cute is echoing in your very tired brain. While you’re lost in thought, Robin’s spurred on by you, so she reaches into her backpack and pulls out the book she’s been reading.

You take the book into your hands and eye the cover and read it aloud, “‘Making Movies by Sidney Lumet’?”

It’s actually unnerving to say aloud, seeing as she hasn’t even verbalized it to anyone. Even if this little corner booth and cold night somehow feel like a little universe in which it’s just you two and some ice slinking in your cups, Robin is still waiting for something to go astray. In all likelihood, it would come from her saying something wrong, and then she’d have to quit the paper and lose a new acquaintance all in one fell swoop. It wouldn’t be fair. It’s her first day on the paper, she hasn’t even gotten to see how the pictures she took today came out. The ugly nervous edge in her brain starts to go away with more time she spends talking to you, it’d be a crime if she was the one to stop something before it started. She tries not to feel the weight of your question, and fails, but takes one look at you and changes her mind. You’re looking back at her with pure interest, maybe Robin is being naive but her intuition is telling her there’s no ulterior motive here. You just look like you want to know about her, and that’s already scary in its own right. So Robin answers you, “I picked it up at the used bookstore when I was a freshman. I don’t even remember if I thought much about it other than that it was only $2…but I really like movies. Not just enough to work at Family Video, but more than that, I guess. And, I don’t know, I’ve always wondered what’d it be like to be behind the camera and when school started this year I kind of freaked out about the future. Even now, I still freak out. But I felt like if I spent enough time behind a camera this year… eventually a video camera wouldn’t feel so far off.” Immediately after she feels like she’s having a bad dream where she’s in her underwear on stage and the audience is fully dressed. Maybe I said too much? Did any of that make sense? Was I babbling? I was definitely babbling. But then you look at her nicer than anyone who isn’t her mom has looked at her in a long, long time. You’re looking at her like you get it, and that she wasn’t being incomprehensible and babbling. You open the book and find your note stuffed in between a chapter on the basics of directing. Room 122. Wear sneakers. It’s such a little thing. Robin probably just shoved it into whatever was closest to her so she wouldn’t lose it. But still, it makes something in your stomach flip to know she kept it.

“Is that the plan? Film school somewhere on the West Coast…getting to sit in that uncomfortable-looking chair and direct everybody around?” There is no meanness in your asking, it’s just fun to tease her a little.

“Something like that.” She does this crooked half smile, and it mildly annoys you because you don’t know why but you want to say something to make her smile fully. You like Robin. You like her enough to consider asking for the second marachino cherry in her shirley temple, but decide against it. It’d be too much. You’d scare Robin into politely saying yes and probably regretting it. It’s something a closer friend would ask, and you aren’t that to her. Robin’s felt like the conversation has stayed about her for a bit too long. She teases you back, “But your plans must not be far off either. Writing at a big paper on the East Coast…draining the souls of more people but this time they’re college students wearing loafers?”

You secretly hate how witty she can be, but decide to deadpan instead. “Ha-ha. If directing doesn’t work out you might have a spot on Saturday Night Live waiting for you.”

“We’d both be on the East Coast, then.”

“Yeah, I guess we would be.” It’s fun to talk about the future like this. Like it isn’t hiding around the corner waiting to kidnap you, but rather something light and fanciful. Robin is twisting at a ring on her finger and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks a little tired, but so do you. The diner is going to close soon and since it’s a school night you both should head out. That still seems like the last thing you want to do, because it’ll disrupt this little space in time you and Robin spent carving out with each other today. When was the last time you made a new friend? “Can I ask you something, Robin?”

She doesn’t look nervous like you were expecting her to. She just chews on the fry and replies, “Shoot.”

“Do you ever feel like…stuck? I mean, here, in Hawkins.”

She doesn’t have to think about it before answering you, “Yeah. A lot, actually.” There’s a pause, you glance at your waitress wiping the counter, and refilling someone’s coffee.

Your tiredness is probably doing more of the talking than it should be. “I just hope college is…different I guess. I hate that feeling like…the walls are closing in or something.” You worry you sound too serious or sad. You’re thinking of a joke to make to give yourself an out. But then Robin interjects your thoughts.

“I know what you mean. Sometimes, I’d rather die than think about still being here after high school.” There’s only empathy in her tone. You’re not sure what you expected from Robin, but under different circumstances, it feels like you two would’ve never crossed paths. Okay, never, is an exaggeration. Maybe you guys would’ve exchanged ‘hi’s’ at Nancy’s graduation party, or she would’ve rung up your rentals at Family Video, or you would’ve seen her playing the trumpet for two seconds at a pep rally before sticking your head down into your notepad and continuing to take your notes of the event. But over a plate of cheesy fries that are long gone by now, you two are something resembling friends.

“You don’t have to die to get to a better place,” You tell her, “just drive 50 miles in any direction.” She’s laughing into her jacket sleeve, because she knows you’re right. You’re laughing with her. There’s a whole month left before you guys go to print for the next issue. It’s nice to know that Robin’s your partner for the next month, nice to know you have time together. For paper purposes, of course.

#robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x reader #robin fanfic #robin headcanon #robin stranger things #robin buckley #my writing

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neutron-stars-collision · 2 years

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Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 13 - Forbidden bliss

Masterlist; Chapter 12 Summary: Unable to make peace with the recent events, you make your way back to Wayne Tower to check up on Bruce. What follows makes it extremely difficult to stay unattached... Warnings: 18+ (I mean it, that's it, your only warning, just in case you've missed my not-so-subtle hints); swearing; tiny bit of angst because it's them. Author's Notes: I'm sorry, both for how long this is (hello, 10k, I've missed you 🥲) and how long it took me to write it. I do hope it fulfils some expectations though. It's a scene that had been in my outline from day one, the scene that I had been daydreaming about from mid-March roughly. Writing it down wasn't all too easy for those same reasons but I did try... And I don't hate it, that's for sure. With that said, I hope you won't hate it either 🙈 Enjoy this whole spectrum of human emotions, and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella

(gif credit @casian)

You never made it home, choosing to wander the streets washed with rain and allowing the downpour to soak your clothes. It hardly mattered when it seemed impossible to escape the thoughts that plagued your mind, rousing anxiety and forcing you to question every decision. At least in the rain, shivering and tired, you had other things to worry about than Bruce, Alfred, and how come you had found yourself stuck somewhere you never wanted to be. Where did you make a mistake? When did you fuck it up?

So, you walked onwards past the trains that could take you home and past the cafes, which could serve as a haven. A couple of times, you had contemplated calling Bruce, if only to check whether he returned home and got the needed rest. But then you always managed to talk yourself out of it, unable to shake off the doubts about whether he would even want to talk to you. Because who were you for him? A nuisance, quite likely.

It was five in the morning when you finally managed to follow the logic and entered an all-night diner to order a cup of coffee and dry off. One glance at the television screen still reporting on the chase downtown was enough to trigger the decision-making process. It was not a process anymore, for when the newscaster switched the topic to the explosion at the Wayne Tower, you asked for the tab. It was pointless. You could never sit by idly and pretend everything was fine when it was not. Even if the price for admission of the truth could be your sanity. Even if, perhaps, you were giving in to the feeling which would be best ignored.

By the time you made it to the tower, the dawn was creeping on the horizon, bathing everything in a chilly glow which could be easily mistaken for hope. That is if one could still believe in it. Letting out a sigh, you quickly climbed the steps and followed the familiar routine, checking half a dozen times whether there were no witnesses. Bruce had enough attention for the day, if not for the month. Luckily, there was no one watching as you slipped in through the door and closed them behind your back.

The darkness of the foyer was no longer that intimidating as you easily navigated through the space to the lift. The smokey undertone of the air made you frown as you pressed the button taking you to the study and leaned on the cabin wall. It all could have been a mistake. Major one. The knot in your chest tightened, making it harder to breathe and pretend like you did not know the odds. Odds such as Bruce being asleep or simply unwilling to see you. The encounter at the hospital did not go down too well either. You could not ignore or forget it, blissfully visiting him as if he asked you to. But now that you were close enough, you could check on him, you could not talk yourself out of it. No matter the price or the embarrassment that would likely follow.

All thoughts were wiped clean as the lift stopped, and you opened the crate, immediately noticing the darkness of the study, interrupted only by the dancing flames in the fireplace. Yet it was not quiet, the faint noises drawing you into the room and behind the pillars. Your gaze fell upon Bruce, kneeling on the wooden floor in the centre of what appeared to be a spray-painted mind map. He was shirtless, facing the other side of the room and unaware of the company. The mind map was lit by a series of mismatched lamps, gathered around the perimeter and complete with a series of photos and documents. You quickly understood that you were looking at the case, pieces of the puzzle spread out on the hardwood floors with a nearly maniacal level of detail. As if he did not care that the spray had damaged the wood or that it was too late for him to figure things out. As if he could not stop thinking about it, driven close to the edge of madness. If not already past it. Damn it.

Your shuddering exhale was a giveaway even before you found the words to say. Bruce whipped around to face you as if burned, his mouth agape in shock.

“What are you doing here?” the harsh edge to his voice made you wince as Bruce glanced at the mind map and then back at you, evidently feeling guilty.

Nothing made any sense, but now you could no longer run, so you strode forwards, inching that little bit closer to where he was standing. Checking twice whether you had not crossed the lines on the floor, you allowed yourself a bite back:

“I could ask you the same thing” upon your incredulous look, Bruce visibly shrunk, dropping his gaze to stare at the ground “Thought I’ll check up on you… Now I’m glad I did” that was enough taunting for the occasion, quickly replaced with a slight frown “Alfred is going to be pissed about the floors, you know,”

Unable to stand still for much longer, you knelt on the floor, reaching out towards the markings. They seemed permanent enough to withstand mild pressure. Yep, Alfred is going to be very annoyed. The next time you looked up from the map, Bruce was staring at you, his gaze indecipherable. Feeling the heat of his eyes take you apart, you glanced down again, involuntarily letting your gaze skim over his bare chest. The muscles and the bruises all drew you like a magnet.

“I… I’m trying to understand him,” Bruce spoke suddenly, throwing you out of the strange ruminations into the darkness of your situation.

You partially welcomed the change, the opportunity to breathe a little deeper and focus on something else.

“Riddler?” sliding onto your backside, you sat on the floor and regarded him curiously.

It was as if your question had opened the metaphorical “floodgates”, for once Bruce started speaking the stream of words would not stop. Chaotic and frantic, yet raw and painful at the same time:

“Yes, he made us visit the old orphanage my father established under the Wayne Foundation and it… There was this movie, a clip from the day he announced he was going to run for mayor and on the wall, it said… It said something about the sins of the father and that I’ll have to pay, but how can I pay when I don’t even understand it?” he finished out of breath, panting as the outpour of emotions had left him nearly empty.

That was enough. You were up even before you knew you had moved, the heart pounding hard in your chest. Careful not to destroy his work, you crept closer and placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Bruce, breathe” lowering the voice to a soothing whisper, you zeroed in on the sofa near the fireplace and tugged on his hand to show the intent, “Come, sit with me,” the gentle tone was surprising, even to your ears.

You had no idea where it came from but somehow knew that trying to understand it would hurt even more. Instead, you waited for Bruce to acknowledge your plea and offered him a smile, fingers curling around his in what was becoming a familiar motion. He followed you after a second of hesitation, glancing with surprise at the daylight streaming through the windows:

“It’s dawning,” the matter-of-fact tone soon broken by a distressed ramble, “You should be sleeping or… Or-” shutting him up with your fingers against his lips, you pulled him onto the couch.

Perhaps surprisingly, Bruce did not fight you, instead settling onto the cushions with a defeated sigh. His eyes still fixed on your face as if hoping to commit it to memory. It was too easy to offer him a smile, tracing the shape of his lips with your fingertips and then over the curve of his jaw.

“I’m exactly where I should be” once you whispered the words, you knew they were true, “What happened?”

You could tell Bruce wanted to argue. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, never uttering more than a syllable. And then he slumped lower, his head dropping on the backrest. Once he started speaking, you had to creep closer to hear him:

“I was with Gordon. We were trying to catch Penguin, to somehow prove he’s the rat” the dark tone made you frown as you folded your legs and waited patiently for him to continue, “But then it all went to shit,” Bruce chuckled lowly, the sound devoid of joy.

You could not help but join him in the expression, leaning back as well. Close enough he could rest his head against your shoulder should he want to. Why would he? It was stupid. You were stupid. Ignoring the desire to groan with frustration, you filled in with a question:

“The chase? I saw it on tv” you never got to tell him off for it.

It did not matter anymore, but still, you made sure to convey the warning in your glare as Bruce gave you a cautious glance and nodded.

“Yeah, I… And you were right; it’s not Penguin. Turns out I’m an idiot” as if acting on impulse, he reached out to squeeze your knee before retreating, evidently sure it was not the right thing to do.

The distraction worked if that was what he was aiming for, making you blink twice, eager to clear your head and understand what he was saying. Once it clicked, you could not hold back the sigh:

“Sometimes definitely, but those riddles are confusing. Anyone could get it wrong” your fingers twitched in your lap, having a mind of their own, so you folded your arms across the chest to stop yourself from making mistakes.

Bruce was still staring at the ceiling, taking long pauses between the answers as if the whole act of speaking took too much energy.

“Not me. I should be smarter than him” the defiance in his voice at any other moment would have irked you.

This time, it only increased the ache in your chest and made you shiver. The anxious thoughts were not going anywhere, promising to drive you insane should this stretch on for a little longer. You pushed it away, any time but now.

“You’re not superhuman, Bruce,” whispering the words you could have predicted they would not do.

That he would argue. Yet nothing prepared you for the vacant look he gave you next, the ice cold of his blue eyes piercing right through your withering hope and turning it to dust.

“I should be better than this,” emphasizing to berate himself, even more, the emptiness in his gaze gave way to the same pain you saw hours ago in the hospital, “It’s clearly all my fault” as if punctuating the sentence, Bruce lurched forward, resting elbows on his knees.

Staring at the floor. Anywhere but at you. Closing off, raising the walls you secretly hoped had been long past you. But, as long as Bruce did not tell you to leave, you would stay. You would keep on trying. Slowly, you mirrored his position, all the while letting your feelings into the argument:

“I beg to differ. You’re already doing more than enough. No one expects the son of Thomas Wayne to hunt criminals after hours, and yet here you are. Bruising and bleeding for this city,” Bruce did not move, so he decided for you.

Ignoring the alarms blaring in your head, you reached toward him, coaxing him to meet your gaze as you pressed your palm against the blooming bruise on his ribcage. One of the many you tended to only days before. His skin was warm beneath your hand, raising with each shuddering exhale. It was almost grounding. If you were to ignore the heart hammering in your chest and how Bruce stared at you. He seemed grateful, but at the same time, the heat in his gaze was impossible to name. And terrifying, too. He pulled you in with every beat that went by without either of you moving, making it so much easier to caress his skin slowly. Aiming for reassurance while driving yourself mad.

Whatever it was, it passed the moment Bruce spoke up again, too lost within his pain to listen to a word you said:

“But it should’ve been me tonight. Not Alfred” you could feel his muscles tense underneath your touch as Bruce tightened the fists, his face once again closed off from anything but self-directed spite, “He’s never done anything wrong but still had to pay for my mistakes,”

It was hard to find something to say. Anything that could make him feel better when it seemed like Bruce was too deep in misery to care about anything else. The ache in your chest threatened to overcome your logic soon should you stay, but there was no alternative. You could not leave him. Your heart would not let you.

You did not notice when Bruce moved, so once he placed his head on your shoulder, you almost jumped out of your skin. Swallowing down the gasp, you slowly soaked in the feeling of the pleasant weight. Before you could get too comfortable, his whisper threw you right out of it:

“I’m so fucking tired of it all” it was not even what he said, but rather how he said it.

Utterly defeated and unwilling to fight the darkness within him.

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap as you asked:

“Of what?” the small voice sounded almost foreign in your ears.

Everything felt out of your depths. As if you tried swimming with the sharks and were about to meet your demise. Yet there was nowhere else you would rather be but with Bruce, feeling his soft hair brush against your neck and the warmth of his breath against your skin. Bruce swallowed hard.

“Losing everyone I care about. I used to think I’m over it all, but I’m not. I can’t- Loneliness terrifies me, but I can’t keep letting people in, only for them to get hurt or… or worse” with each word, his breath grew shallower, tinting the words with pain and lacing them with tears.

Once he finished speaking, Bruce was stifling sobs. You did not need more than that to find another buried spark of courage. Reaching out for his hand, you relaxed his fist and whispered:

“Hey, look at me,” gently tilting his chin so that he had to meet your gaze; your heart breaking over the tears shining in his eyes and falling down his cheeks “For whatever it’s worth, you’re not alone. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere” your voice broke at the end of the sentiment, betraying the truths you masked with the simple reassurance “I know I’m not anyone important, but I’m here” not trusting yourself to keep on speaking, you squeezed his palm and offered him a smile.

Ignoring the heart hammering in your chest and the tightness around the ribs. Pretending not to feel the warmth spreading across your body upon one, simple look at Bruce. Denying what you told him was a substitute for something else, something you were scared to think about.

Your crisis did not matter now. Especially not when faced with the heartbreak painting across Bruce’s face. He shuddered, the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. And then he broke, letting out a whimper which was soon swallowed by a sob, wrecking over his body as Bruce crumbled in on himself. You could only push yourself closer and gather him into your arms, allowing him to lean on you.

His crying must have drowned out the sound of your heart cracking in two, for you sure felt it break. But you held on, running your hands over his back, whispering nonsense into the crown of his head. You did not count the minutes passing by as you sat with Bruce, opting to keep your eyes closed and your mind focused on him. It was too late anyway. You have already moved past the point of turning back. He was too important, and you would have to pay for letting yourself care.

After a while, Bruce’s sobs have subsided, allowing him to deepen his breaths and relax in your embrace. With his arms wrapped loosely around your waist and the head nestled in the crook of your neck, you did not want to move. Instead, you shuffled a little closer still, choosing to pay no mind to the fact that your folded knees were partially in Bruce’s lap and let go of his hand to trail your fingertips up his forearm. The gentle touch made him sigh and tremble, somehow burying further into you. You allowed him to do just that, content to sit there and cradle him for as long as Bruce would let you. Nothing else mattered, not really. Not when you felt like you had already lost.

It took him another half hour or so to break the heavy silence. He raised his head from where it rested on your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your cheek so suddenly that you might have missed it. You did not, staring like a frightened animal straight into Bruce’s reddened eyes as he seemed to take you in, arrested by an invisible force. As if sensing your growing panic, he cupped your face cautiously, letting his fingers skim over your cheek in a simple caress. It took a lot of resilience to hold back the gasp building in your throat.

“You’re more important than you know” Bruce’s sudden admission was the one to break you out of the stupor.

Rather harshly at that. Your mouth opened agape as you processed what Bruce said and compared it with the depth of fondness you could see in his gaze. Both did nothing to slow the blood rushing through your veins or ease the worries. Because what if you were about to fuck it all up? What if he was only saying it because it sounded good? What if it wasn’t true?

It was the fear fueling your reply when you spoke:

“Bruce, I’d rather you didn’t say things you don’t mean” desperate to hide the vulnerability of the moment, you ended the eye contact and chose to stare at your lap, “Not right now,”

The addition came out strained with the weight of another realization. It was only now that the proximity of your bodies caught up with you, making your face heat up. With your legs folded, you were just a mere step away from what would constitute sitting in Bruce’s lap. His face was inches away, too reachable and tempting to do things that could not be undone. And it was beginning to seem like Bruce was no longer terrified of the closeness. No longer scared of you.

“Why?” his questioning whisper created another crack in the wall of defences you tried to enforce.

You were slowly running out of those, unable to fight the rebellion taking place within your heart. The heart wants what it wants, right? Fuck.

It was almost terrifying to raise your head and look at Bruce, never anticipating what you would find in his eyes. The way he stared back seemed impossible to name or mirror, showing you utmost affection and warmth. As if he did not hold any inhibitions anymore, accepting the pull between you for what it was. And for what it could be. Taking a deep breath, you chose to face it head-on:

“Because I feel like breaking all the rules I ever had”

Between the last syllable and the next heartbeat, Bruce crashed his mouth into yours, forcing a gasp out of your throat. For a quarter of a second, you considered letting the fear and doubts win this one and push him away. But the heart was victorious as you shifted onto your knees and buried your fingers in his hair to bring him closer. As if eager to contradict everything you thought you knew about him, Bruce was the one to deepen the kiss and run his tongue along your bottom lip, increasing the hunger coursing through your veins. There was none of the previous shyness in his actions as Bruce placed his hands on your hips and pulled you down to straddle his lap. None of the previous uncertainty in the teeth nipping at your lips, tearing whimpers out of your mouth, and breaking through the anxieties.

The selfishness woke up next, helping you admit that this was what you wanted. Why shouldn’t you reach out for it? Accepting his subtle guidance, you broke the kiss to take another deep breath and settle on Bruce’s lap, looping your hands around his neck. Before you could reach out to capture his lips again, he tilted your chin, the searching look in his eyes asking a silent question. It was a way out, an opportunity to back off. Maybe even pretend it did not happen or blame it on the recent week. Only you found that you did not want to. Not when Bruce was so close and looking at you like no one ever did. Your lips twisted into a smirk as you nodded and pulled him in for another kiss.

This time it was much slower, your tongue exploring the inside of his mouth and drawing out soft noises from Bruce. With his hands firmly planted on your hips and the thumbs tentatively brushing over the skin underneath your shirt, you felt the storm in your head quieten. As if the chaos was easing, and all that was left was a pleasant hum. As if it was meant to be, almost. Choosing to follow the rare, hopeful thought, you slid your hands down his neck and the broad shoulders to rest over his chest. Taking each kiss for what it could be – a chance to be with him, even if for this one moment.

Soon it became a familiar game, the silence interwoven with broken gasps and desperate whimpers. Your hands wandering over his skin, caressing each bruise and scar, and inching down his chest to feel the firm muscles underneath your palms. Bruce was not far behind, taking his time to take whatever he could from the kisses you gladly gave him, occasionally brave enough to toy with the hem of your shirt, earning your grin. You were happy to follow it with a precise peck on the corner of his mouth and then trail your lips to the edge of his sharp jaw, following the path you had trodden before. If only to distract yourself from the warmth incessantly pooling between your thighs and pulsing with the need, that would soon become unbearable.

It was too easy to lose yourself in the process, finding the perfect spots to make Bruce breathless and trembling. His hesitant fingers wandered further beneath your shirt, creating goosebumps in their wake. Until all you could think of was getting rid of the excess clothing and feeling his skin on yours. Learn how he sounds when he begs. That thought made you grind on his thigh, biting the skin over Bruce’s pulse point until he was gasping and digging his fingers into your sides. In the morning, you would be both bruised. But it did not matter. Once you allowed yourself to have this, the needs have been awakened for good.

Pulling back a fraction to finally look at Bruce, you were welcomed with a fascinating sight. His hair was in disarray, falling over his eyes; pupils blown wide and consumed by lust; the lips swollen and red, still tasting like you. He was beautiful. It was a thought and a sentence you smothered with effort, unwilling to taint the mood with what could be too profound. So, instead, you met his gaze with a smirk and allowed your fingers to toy with the band of his trousers and scratch down the thin line of hair covering his abdomen above it.

That is until you saw Bruce’s eyes widen, his hands suddenly reaching out to rest on your wrists, stopping all the intents you could have had. A question bloomed on your lips, but before you could say it, Bruce spoke, his voice wavering and raspy:

“I- I’m not sure- I’ve never…” faltering with frustration etched onto his face, he tried again, looking down upon his lap as if embarrassed to say it, “I’m not sure what to do…”

The resignation rang loud and clear as if Bruce was beyond convinced that his revelation would change your mind. That it was the last straw, and with it out in the open, you would leave. Despite the seriousness of the moment, you could not help but smile, shaking your head lightly at the idea. Idiot. It was nothing you did not expect, and even if – so what? You wanted Bruce, exactly as he is, not a seasoned lover. You just had to make sure he understood as much. Hooking your fingers over his chin, you tilted his head up to force him to meet your gaze:

“Hey, that’s alright” pouring the reassurance into your voice, you sent him a smile and added, “I don’t mind. Do you want to?” there, the most important of questions.

The one you had to ask and the same that could break you. Yet when staring right back into his blue eyes, you knew it would not. There was nothing but gratitude and desire there, written out for you to see for yourself. Bruce smiled bashfully, the pink tint on his cheeks close to a fixture by now. He swallowed hard, gathering courage, and replied:

“Yes, I… I want you” it was nothing more than a whisper, but it felt like a heartfelt confession.

You knew that it was one, too. Ignoring the chaos within your head, you leaned forward to press a kiss on his forehead and offered a wicked grin, giving into the feelings. There was only one answer you could give him.

“I’ll show you then” a quick look at your surroundings helped to take another decision as you stood up from Bruce’s lap and instantly tugged his hand to join you, “Just not here. Come on,” upon his questioning glance, you added with the mischievous glint in your eyes “I’d rather Dory didn’t walk in on… that”

You did not need to turn around to know what his sharp gasp meant. Bruce’s grip around your hand never loosened as you led him up the staircase and down the corridor. He did not protest when you entered his bedroom and closed the doors behind you quietly. It was challenging to remember that it was already morning, and soon the halls could be alive with the sounds of Dory’s bustling around. But it did not matter. Nothing but Bruce did. Once inside his room, you switched on the bedside lamp to provide a warm glow and turned to face him.

As if slightly frozen by nerves, Bruce was motionless, standing by the door, eyes darting between you and the bed, cheeks blushing red. That would not do. Closing the distance, you took hold of both of his hands and smiled lightly:

“Alright?” the simple question lightened up his face and made you beam.

Bruce reached out to brush the stray strands of hair behind your ear, caressing your temple in the process. The affection in his gaze had the potential to drive you mad with fondness.

“Yes, just… Just nervous” nodding once with a shy smile, Bruce leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead.

And adding to the issues piling up in your heart. Those had to be ignored for now. There was one last thing you had to tell Bruce before you would let the emotions and needs take the lead.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you” choosing to gaze up at him with the feelings present in your eyes, you lowered the voice to serious timbre, making sure he was listening “If at any point you want to stop, tell me. Just because you said yes once, doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind” and then, if only to hear another verbal consent, you added, “Understand, gorgeous?”

Where once there were eye rolls whenever you used nicknames, Bruce was now smiling, cupping your face tenderly, unable to look away from you if only for a second.

“Yeah, I… Thank you” it was the whisper that did it, sealing the deal in the best way.

Though there was no need for his gratitude. Not now, not ever. It was not why you were there, why you were doing everything for him. But it also had to wait for later.

“You’ll thank me later if I do everything well,” breaking through the seriousness with a wink and a hidden innuendo.

Bruce did not miss it, somehow enforcing the blush covering his cheeks. Before you could comment on it, he pulled you close, winding his arms around your waist and making you huff out a happy giggle. One shared look was enough for him to lean down and capture your lips in a drawn-out kiss, tasting and learning which of his moves earned your reaction. His teeth nibbling on your bottom lip did it. As did the careful way Bruce held you against his chest with his hands splayed over your hips possessively, yet not inflicting any pressure. But instead of moving away, you clung closer to him, looping your arms around his neck and burying your fingers in his hair. If only to pull at the strands lightly whenever Bruce hit the right spot. Or just as a way of spicing up the moment. Soon enough, you were both panting and gasping, utterly drunk on kisses and each other.

Without waiting for Bruce to lose his cool again, you gently steered him towards the edge of the bed, pushing until he was seated and gazing up at you with surprise and awe. It was impossible not to beam at him, running your fingertips over his sharp features and brushing the hair away from his eyes. A sudden strike of inspiration made you lean down to press a quick peck on his forehead before taking half a step back and throwing Bruce a wink. You did not have to ask to know that it was best to take things slow, and so, that is what you planned to do. Firstly, by assuring you no longer had the upper hand by being more dressed.

Keeping your eyes fixed on Bruce, you slowly unbuttoned your shirt, allowing the material to slide down your arms to pile up on the floor. Now you were even. Well almost. You wanted to leave the bra for a little longer, not quite ready to give him everything just yet. Without missing a beat, you grinned wickedly at Bruce’s widening eyes and spoke up:

“Do you like what you see, buttercup?” winking at him again, you strode forward, closing the distance to raise his chin with your finger.

Forcing Bruce to face you, no matter the pink hue spreading along his cheeks or the pupils dilating as he took in the sight. You could almost feel his eyes wandering down your torso, drinking in what was revealed and slipping over the skin as if he was aching to touch you. Darting back to look at your face, Bruce swallowed hard and reached out to place his hands on your hips, still below the band of the trousers. He met your gaze before whispering:

“You’re beautiful” the words left his mouth in a rush, tumbling over each other as if he was holding on to them for too long.

All witty comments disappeared from your head when you processed what he said. Only the affection was left in their place, making your face warm up and eyes glaze over. The emotions seemed impossible to name, so instead of finding a response, you straddled Bruce’s lap and kissed him gently. Letting him take the gratitude and fondness directly from your tongue and swallow them whole. He did not need further encouragement, immediately letting his hands wander over the curves and valleys of your body, caressing your skin. The feeling of his warm palms over your back made you gasp into his mouth, hungrily clinging to his body, craving the warmth and the safety he provided.

No one has ever said it like that. Sure, offhand comments and sweet compliments were building up your confidence. But it has never been this simple, this straightforward. As if Bruce believed it and was willing to show you by any means possible. As if he meant it. It changed pretty much everything.

Before you could process the emotions, Bruce broke the kiss with a sigh and started trailing kisses down to the edge of your jaw and then towards the spot underneath your ear. The same one that made you moan and clench your thighs days before in his bed. This time it was not any different. Your mouth fell open in a shallow gasp as he sucked on your skin, letting his teeth catch on it and inflict a bruise. The pain making you choke back another sound and latch onto his shoulders, digging the fingernails into his skin. So you had something to hold on to as Bruce followed the first bite with many more, tracing the path of your veins down your neck. Edging your sanity towards a fall from which it would never be recovered.

With his hands holding you close and the pleasure of his mouth ravishing your neck as if you were his work of art, needing completion even if it was the last thing he ever did, you could feel the steady pulse building between your thighs and in your veins. Once Bruce had reached your collarbone and licked over the faint red mark he inflicted, his hands continued their tentative exploration, grazing over your stomach and up over the ribs. Stopping at the edge of your bra to skim over the fabric, showing slight shyness in his movement. You did not mind it, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensations, in the firmness of his warm body acting like a lifeline. Even without any words spoken, the act felt like a confession. Like an admission of vulnerability and willingness to give him everything you had. Just this once.

As if reading your mind, Bruce raised his head and met your dazed look with a bashful smile before slightly changing his grip on your body to lay you on the covers beside him, switching the position. A surprise noise escaped your throat as you relaxed on the mattress, taking him in as Bruce knelt above you, so stunning in the warm glow. On its own accord, your hand reached out to touch him, your fingertips running along his abdomen, eliciting a change in his breathing. It was simple. Bruce grabbed your wrist gently, leaning down to press a kiss to your knuckles as he shifted to hover over you, curious fingers tracing the outline of your bra yet again. You grinned.

“You can take it off, you know” it was easy to take pleasure in his embarrassed expression.

It was an invitation as much as you could muster, taking hold of his hand to guide it to the clasp on your back.

“Can I?” Bruce whispered the question with a breathy voice, caught somewhere between fascination and uncertainty.

You did not waste time shooting down any qualms he could have had.

“I want you to” squeezing his palm you let go, beaming at him as he fumbled with the fastener before managing to open it.

The shyness in his eyes was endearing, making it hard for you to look away from his face as he gently pulled down the straps from your shoulders and removed the bra, tossing it on the floor next to your shirt. Never the one to shy away from showing your body, you could feel the slight tinge of hesitation rise in your heart as Bruce’s gaze roamed over your naked torso. Actually looking and seeing rather than consuming and judging for what you could never be. Ignoring the desire to close your eyes and make the discomfort disappear, you waited with bated breath for his next move. Entirely at his mercy.

A shiver ran over your spine at the thought, shaking hands searching for something to hold. Bruce noticed the tremor, immediately offering you his free hand while his other palm began tracing invisible pathways over your skin. Starting at the hollowness between your collarbones and running down the length of your sternum, creating goosebumps in his wake and making you tighten the grip over your joint hands. There was something almost mesmerizing in how Bruce looked and touched you, tenderly and without any sense of possessiveness yet entranced. As if with every passing moment, he was falling harder- No.

Shaking off the dangerous thread of thoughts, you guided Bruce to veer away from safety, positioning his hand to cup your breast. Upon his silent question, you only nodded, your head falling back on the mattress as he swept his thumb over your hardening nipple. The slight chill in the air and the pressure of his calloused fingertips were enough to make you writhe. Your mouth opened in a quiet moan, the arousal seeping into the fabric of the panties. Soon you would need him to touch you elsewhere. But for now, you were willing to get lost in this. The teasing brush of his fingers over your breasts and stomach making you squirm. The steady look in his blue eyes slowly consumed by the blackness of his pupils. The promise of satisfaction laying just around the corner.

You tugged on his hand, urging Bruce to lean over you again and raised your chin to crash your mouth into his. Letting the hunger and feelings lead the way as you prodded his lips to open before slipping your tongue in. Slowly curling it around his and sighing at the way Bruce leaned into you, his hands never stopping to caress your body, putting your skin aflame. Without breaking the kiss, you slid your hands down his stomach, once again grazing the edge of his trousers and then lower. Only to find Bruce already hard. The corner of your lips twisted in a smirk against his mouth. Careful not to pressure him in any way, you broke the contact with your teeth tugging at his full lower lip, bruised from kissing, and met the delirious gaze with a confident look:

“Bruce, I need you to touch me” the husky tone of your voice made you huff out a dry chuckle, aware that there would be no pretending about the effect he had on you.

His eyes widened, the familiar worry resurfacing as if Bruce was still doubting whether he was enough. The idea alone sounded like a joke, yet you stifled the desire to laugh. Taking hold of his hand, you slid it from where it was palming your breast down to the band of your trousers and below. Bruce swallowed hard, sucking in the air sharply as if unable to breathe, but still followed your guidance.

“Here,” stopping just over the edge of your underwear, you whispered the word.

His fingers traced the material as Bruce seemed to consider something before admitting sheepishly:

“I don’t know how to…” there was that same anxious glimmer in his eyes.

The one that told you he was half expecting you to back off at any given point. The one that suggested despite his beauty, Bruce was not used to being wanted. Not used to being the one people desired. You had to prove him wrong.

“I’ll show you” offering him a gentle smile, you guided his hand underneath the panties.

Inadvertently gasping, once you felt the warmth of his hand over your skin, slowly diving between your thighs as you spread your legs. The darkness of his pupils nearly swallowed Bruce’s irises; his lips parted as his fingers dipped between your folds. Making you bite your lip to stifle the noises and focus on him. On how he gasped as he felt the wetness coating your slit, his eyes widening, only for Bruce to stutter out:

“God, you’re-” grinning wide, you pressed your fingers against his mouth to shut him up, already preparing the reply.

“Mhmm. Soaking wet, for you,” once Bruce held your gaze you offered another mischievous smirk.

The pink tint on his cheeks was back with vengeance. Bruce’s breath hitched as he allowed his fingers to delve in, spreading the arousal over your throbbing parts. It already felt good, even as you patiently steered his touch to brush over your clit and then down to your entrance. Nodding upon his unspoken question, you released his hand to let Bruce take over and relaxed into the mattress. As much as that was possible with the fire raging inside your body.

A plethora of curses rose in your throat as Bruce started circling your clit, finding the rhythm that had you bucking your hips into his hand. Despite his shyness, he did not hold back, quickly meeting your parted mouth with a hungry kiss, taking over the words and praises. You circled his bicep with your hand, holding tight, bruising his skin, while your other palm found solace on the nape of his neck. Holding him close enough that you could chase his lips and whisper appraisal into his ear. Just like when Bruce finally delved his finger inside you, making you bite back a sharp moan and pull him close to huff out:

“Just- Yeah, like this” the breathy response was all you could manage as he continued the tempo, taking your cues to heart.

Later, once you could speak again coherently, you would have to tell him how he might be the most attentive man you had ever been with. If only to make him blush like that again. For now, it was enough to grab a fistful of his hair and give them a slight tug, pulling Bruce in for another fervent kiss. Gasping into his mouth and curling your tongue around his to give him a fraction of the feeling back.

The coil in your lower stomach kept tightening with every minute Bruce spent coaxing the shivers and moans out of your body. Upon adding the second finger and curling them inside you, he broke the silence with a simple question:

“Does this feel good?” he met your gaze, blue eyes now so dark that you felt like you could drown in them if you kept staring at him.

Yet it was impossible to look away. At his slightly furrowed brow and how he was focused only on you. At his bruised lips and the beauty chiselled into his sharp cheekbones.

“Fuck- Yes, it does” the curse wove itself into your answer as you dug your fingers into his bicep and closed your eyes upon the darkness gathering around the edges of your sight.

The last thing you noticed were the hints of a cocky smile building in the corners of his lips. He knew what he was doing, even if it was a first. As if sensing your incoming ending, Bruce intensified the moves, leaning in to plant kisses on the crook of your neck while his thumb kept stroking through your folds. Fingers so close to the spot inside you that would make you scream, perfectly spreading the arousal and intensifying the need flowing in your veins. Your body tensed like a bowstring, overwhelmed with Bruce. You came with his name on your lips and your fingers buried in his hair. Whispering nonsense until you could no longer form words and focused on breathing him in. Letting the high he gave you wash over your body like the ebb tide.

If he was caught aback by your reaction, Bruce never showed it. He placed a final kiss underneath your ear and raised his head, slowly meeting your gaze as you opened your eyes. The curious glimmer was there, eager to ask but not knowing how. Luckily for him, you had it covered.

“You’re a natural, darling” grinning you took hold of the hand he withdrew from your pants, “You’ve just made me come” without waiting for Bruce to react, you raised his fingers to your mouth, sweeping out your tongue to lick off the remains of your demise.

Never breaking the eye contact either, in time to see them widen as Bruce gasped sharply. He seemed frozen for a beat, unable to move or breathe, dark irises consuming you whole with the zeal of a starved man. By now, you knew he would be capable of it. It was time. But before you could tell him as much, Bruce covered your mouth with his, kissing you with familiar devotion and dedication. A broken whimper planted itself on your tongue as he licked over your lower lip and buried his fingers into your hair, grazing your cheekbone and temple. Making you feel wanted, maybe even loved. Not that you had much experience on that topic.

One painful thought was the more reasons to break the kiss and use his body as the perfect leverage to switch the position so you could be on top. A smirk was only the natural reaction upon seeing Bruce speechless yet again. Rising on your knees to look down upon him, you asked:

“Do you still want to continue?” not wanting to pressure him with your touch, you let your hands rest by your sides.

So he knew there was time to back away if he wanted. But he did not seem keen to change your plans as Bruce reached out to grab both your palms and squeezed them gently.

“Yes, I… I want you” the softness in his eyes had the power to kickstart your heart as he added, voice wavering with feelings, “I want to feel you everywhere” trailing off sheepishly, Bruce seemed to lose the momentum as if worrying that he took it too far.

You had to prove him wrong without any time wasted. Squeezing his hands back, you leaned in again, low enough to brush the shell of his ear with your mouth and whisper:

“Perfect, because I want you inside me” dropping your tone to a seductive timbre, you kissed his ear and straightened back up to add, “Soon, if that’s okay,”

Bruce nodded eagerly. That was all you needed. Sending him another bright grin, you slid off his lap and onto your feet, slipping off the trousers and inviting him to do the same with your palm outstretched. He took it without hesitation, only showing the tell-tale signs of nervousness when he pulled down his sweatpants, letting them join the discarded clothing on the floor. You quickly tuned in to what could be bothering him, your gaze wandering over his body with curiosity. Noticing the toned thighs and fitting black briefs. Now you were truly even, hiding behind nothing but the fabric of your underwear. And it was terrifying. It seemed like he, too, had insecurities, turning away from your taxing gaze, his cheeks dusted pink.

Confirming your earlier deductions, you could tell that, one – Bruce was already aroused. And, two, he had no room for doubts in that area as far as you could see. Soon enough, your face was burning as well, desperate for any means of ending the awkwardness. You found it in the slight shake of his fingers, the trembling hand begging for your attention. Taking a step forward, you took it between your palms and met the familiar blue eyes, now clouded with unease:

“Is it alright if I touch you?” the nervous timbre found its way into your voice as you asked.

As much as you still were filled with the need for him, eager to find a way past the sudden obstacle, you had to make sure Bruce was happy with it. That he really wanted you to continue.

“Yeah…” nodding stiffly, Bruce seemed to maul over his thoughts before admitting, “I’m just… I’m not used to people looking at me like that” he met your gaze with a crestfallen sigh, quickly adding an apology, “Sorry, I’ll get over myself now,”

Using the permission he offered, you closed the gap between you to a minimum and placed your hand over his heart, feeling the beat speed up in response. The compassion flooded your chest as you looked at Bruce, eyes roaming over the brilliant blue eyes and handsome features. You entangled your fingers with his, keeping the grip loose yet still present and gave him a warm smile:

“There’s nothing to get over” rising on your toes, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, already knowing what to tell him and how to (hopefully) soothe his insecurities, “Trust me, I know what you mean, but… Christ, Bruce, you’re so beautiful I don’t even have to words to express it” faced with his sceptical look, verging on willingness to believe you and being unable to, you just shrugged, offering an alternative with your hand still placed neatly over his heart “So let me show you instead,”

“Okay” this time, he did not hesitate, squeezing your hand within his grasp before releasing it.

A grateful grin you sent him made Bruce smile shyly, which you had to count as a win. Even if a small one, for a start. With both hands to aid your needs, you allowed them to caress his torso, skimming over the scars and the bruises. Gently brushing along the muscles on his stomach and testing the territory as your fingers traced the faint hair trail leading down to the briefs. Bruce shuddered upon your teasing but did not move away, deepening his breath with eyes half closed. It was not difficult to let the emotions back into your voice and actions, letting your hand travel lower as you met his dark gaze and whispered:

“Because I haven’t wanted a man this much for a long time. You’re all I can think about, Mr Wayne,” leaning close to press your lips to the corner of his mouth as your hand palmed him through his underwear.

Bruce gasped sharply, moving his head to chase after your lips and kiss you earnestly, proving your suspicions yet again. It was, without a doubt, going to be fun. Especially when knowing what you did about his… likes. The list was growing, even if only in your mind. It was easy enough to let him ravish your mouth as if his life depended upon it, all the while tentatively letting your hand explore him through the material. Simultaneously making Bruce bite hard into your lip, eliciting a whimper and making you press your palm a little harder against him in response. Breaking the kiss, Bruce met your gaze, the darkness of his blown pupils assuring you of what you already expected. He wanted to continue. You were happy to give him just that.

“How- How do you want…?” his tongue caught on the words, but Bruce got them out and glanced at the bed if you needed clarification.

The thoughtfulness made you smile as you quickly went through the options in your head before replying:

“Sit down, just like before” you nodded towards the mattress and gave him a final peck on the lips, “I’ll take care of you,” letting the whisper fill in the spaces between your bodies.

You waited for Bruce to cross the space, hesitantly settling on the bed with his back against the headboard before you slipped off the underwear and grinned at his dumbfounded look. Once again, he was rendered speechless, his cheeks burning from excitement and shyness you hoped to eradicate soon. But for now, it was enough to have Bruce watch you with that hunger in his eyes, staring as you crawled upon the bed and straddled his lap, immediately diving in for a kiss. Your own way of expressing what you saw in his gaze. You kissed him feverishly until he had been reduced to gasps, and his fingers were digging into your waist. Until Bruce had to be the one to lean back, desperate for oxygen yet unwilling to let go of you. That is when you met his gaze and wordlessly asked for permission to get rid of his briefs before taking them off and sealing the deal by taking hold of his hand and placing a kiss on his knuckles.

Only then did you allow yourself a shameless look, your gaze drifting from his burning cheeks to the bruised, kissed mouth and down the chest, marked with pain and history. He did not disappoint, making you swallow hard upon the sight of his member. Definitely, undoubtedly ready for you. Fuck. Ignoring the desire to stare, you dragged your eyes to his face again, willing to get rid of his doubts with a beaming smile and a lingering kiss on his cheek. Bruce chased after your mouth, catching your lower lip between his teeth and nibbling upon the tender skin. Adding on to the steady fire in the pit of your stomach and making the desire wet the slit between your thighs. Unable to hold back the frustrated groan, you broke the kiss to pant out a one-worded question:

“Yes?” you half-expected him not to understand it, considering coherence was nowhere to be found.

But Bruce knew what you meant, leaning close to rest his forehead against yours, his arms coming around your body to cradle you flush against his chest. The lust in his eyes made the breath catch in your throat, the butterflies in your stomach wreaking havoc.

“Please,” his husky voice was the metaphorical nail in the coffin.

Once you heard the desperation and need in his voice, you knew it was over. There would be no more pretending, no chance of playing it all off under the guise of ‘no strings attached’. There were strings, too many of them to count. Ignoring the desire to say three words too much right there and then, you leaned to an inch of space between your lips and spoke:

“Anything for you,” you meant it.

When you met Bruce’s gaze, you knew he understood it too, effortlessly closing the gap between your faces and kissing the confessions off your tongue. Lost in the kiss, he never noticed when you raised your hips and used your free hand to guide him inside you. Lowering down onto his length with a hiss that Bruce soon mirrored, gasping as he ended the contact and opened his eyes. A brief look of surprise flashed across his face as he seemed to take in the sensation, giving you a moment to settle with your arms on his shoulders, gazing down upon him. It was for the best you could not see what your eyes showed. Otherwise, you risked panic and worried Bruce would see that, which you did not dare acknowledge. That there was so much more to it than a release of pent-up sexual tension and a moment of comfort. That you already wanted more.

Because it felt right, good, as you allowed his length to fill you in, satisfying the need you stifled for much too long. His arms tightened around your waist as Bruce held you close, his eyes never leaving your face. Mouth parted and the shallow breaths sparse as if they needed too much effort on his side. The wave of affection rose in your chest as you cupped his cheek and grinned.

“Alright?” simply asking because you could, and he was there.

Smiling back at you even through the daze. Filling you in better than anyone before. That sanity and pretending were long out through the window.

“Yes, yeah,” especially as Bruce gave you a breathy chuckle after the reply and started trailing kisses down the curve of your throat, making it harder to speak, let alone think.

So, you did what you knew best, throwing your head back to expose more skin for his use and started moving. Slowly rising on your knees to create pleasant friction and then falling back down, accompanied by Bruce’s panting. His hot breath fanned your skin, flushing the warmth over your torso. Guided by his wordless cues, you build up a rhythm, rocking into him with a languid pace, willing to extend the bliss for the both of you. With his lips kissing a pathway down your sternum, the brave tongue sweeping across your sweaty skin and the euphoric bliss of the shared moment, you could no longer escape it. The feelings kept pouring into your heart, taking apart the act and the pretending, till it was just you and Bruce, joined in the most intimate of embraces.

Desperate to keep the anxiety at bay, you tilted his chin to meet his lips, giving him the scattered words and sounds the best you knew how. Without confessions and promises, that would destroy everything sooner or later. As if sensing your change of heart, Bruce did not allow the kiss to transform into another make-out and met your gaze. The blue depths pulled you in as always, making you lose the rhythm. Bruce was the one to surprise you by taking the initiative and thrusting inside you, eliciting a sharp moan out of your throat and making you dig your fingers into his shoulders, marking the skin.

You could see it in his eyes and feel the tension in his body soon after as Bruce whimpered and tried to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You did not let him, sensing the shame coming off in waves as you forced him to meet your gaze again and breathed out the encouragement:

“It’s alright. I’ve got you” sealing the words with a gentle kiss, you made sure to rock forwards again, letting Bruce inch closer to release he was approaching, “Let it go,” the dilemma ebbed away as the familiar darkness took its place in his eyes.

That was exactly why you chose to do two things at once. Or three, perhaps. Your lips quirked into a cheeky smirk that Bruce never noticed. Without a preamble, you pushed him with your hands firmly pressed to his chest, grinning as his back hit the mattress and made him gasp. With him lying down you could easily find a deeper angle, his length hitting that sweet spot at your core. Another moan broke through the quiet. Bruce’s eyes squeezed shut as his mouth opened in a breathless groan. Just as you could feel him giving in to the orgasm, you whispered:

“Good boy”

He shuddered, your name on his tongue as he came inside you, making you inch closer to your release. Fighting the trembling body and using your hand to stimulate the clit, riding him faster to chase your selfish pleasure. Bruce did not seem to mind it, his hands caressing your breasts. His eyes acted like a lifeline to pull you through whatever came next and back to safety, back to his arms.

You did not know what the trigger was, only that one moment you were grinding into him and the next you were collapsing onto his chest with his name like a mantra on your lips. Having already recovered, Bruce wrapped you in his arms and held you close, helping to ride the high till it eased and your bones turned into putty. Not wanting to let go just yet, you only raised your head to find his eyes and asked:

“Are you okay?” brushing the sticking strands away from his forehead and letting your fingers gently caress his cheek.

Feeling the faint stubble, and the sharp bones, his gaze still hazed over, drawing you like a moth to a flame. But it was wrong. You had already burned to ash minutes before and now could only stare, making peace with the fact that nothing would ever be the same. Never again.

Blind to your struggle, Bruce gave you a beaming smile, his hand steadily running down the curve of your spine.

“Yeah, it’s… It’s been amazing” it seemed like Bruce was not getting rid of the blush anytime soon.

Still, it was impossible not to share the slightly bashful grin and crawl up a few inches to steal a kiss from his lips before replying:

“Brilliant,” and you meant it, even if already feeling the repercussions of what you did not regret.

No, it wasn’t shame, either. More like the inability to shut up the part of your brain that was increasingly convinced admitting you felt something more towards Bruce would be like signing your death warrant. That nothing good could come of it, no matter how hard you tried. People like you did not deserve it. Just that.

Unable to ignore the unease, you shot him another smile and slowly untangled from the embrace, rolling off his body to rest on your side next to Bruce. Desperate for a distraction, you were raking your brain for something to say when he broke the silence:

“Is it- Was it… good for you?” finally getting out the words, Bruce turned a darker shade of scarlet yet still tentatively reached out to pull you closer.

You could not hold back a smile, feeling your chest warm up at his thoughtfulness, especially with the awkwardness that must have been nagging at his brain. Drawing into his side, you settled your head against his chest and snuggled, already knowing the response:

“More than that” there was no point pretending as the words poured right from your heart and into your mouth, “You were really good to me,”

Better than anyone ever before.

“Because I couldn’t last long and-” hearing the uncertainty rise in his tone, you raised your head again and interrupted him with your fingers pressed to his mouth.

There was no place for this here, with you. Not from Bruce, who already proved to be so much more than he dared believe. So much better. Once you had him quiet, you placed your head back on his chest and spoke:

“If this was your first, then I’m jealous of anyone who’s going to be with you next,” absentmindedly tracing the scars on his abdomen and letting the realization sink in.

The realization that it was true. You could do nothing about it without risking too much.

“That’s assuming there will be anyone else” Bruce’s quiet voice over your head was enough to make the breath catch in your throat, unwilling to believe you understood him correctly.

Could he mean it? You could not dare face his gaze again, so you stayed frozen in your spot, stopping the caress and choosing to stare at the wall instead. Mulling over the responses before settling for something that seemed good enough.

“Bruce…” the hint of a warning you did not mean yet chose to give anyway, “If you’re thinking what I assume you’re thinking, then don’t. I don’t want to have this conversation now” the tiredness seeped into your tone as you finished the sentence on a sigh.

Cuddling closer to what felt like safety. Closer to him.

“Why not?” even if, currently, Bruce was asking inconvenient questions.

Stifling the groan and biting hard into your lip to let the pain hide the ache of your cracking heart, you buried your head in the crook of his neck. Pressed your lips into his collarbone as Bruce’s arm tightened around your waist. Only when you felt like you could breathe again you opened your mouth:

“Because we could make promises we cannot keep” squeezing your eyes shut, you felt a stray tear trickle down your cheek.

When the morning light began falling through the crack between the curtains, you were both asleep. Denying the beginning of a new day and the traitorous passage of time.

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