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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

And I Will Still Be Here Stargazing

Batsis x Batfamily Story

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I shouldn't be allowed to make new stories when I've already got WIP's to do. Oh well, HERE'S ANOTHER STORY! -Thorne

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She glanced through the telescope once more, scanning the expanse of the night sky before her. Giddiness ran through her at the thought of seeing the supposed comet coming back around. Apparently, it was one that hadn’t been seen in two hundred years. It’d taken almost two whole days to convince her dad to let her go out on her own in the field three miles out of town.

Of course, that convincing came with a massive surprise—not—of taking a tracker with her just in case—being the only non-vigilante in her family did make her vulnerable to trouble, but most of their enemies wanted nothing to do with her, so she figured she was alright.

Pulling away from the scope, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket, and she sighed as she answered it, putting it to her ear. “Dad, I already told you, I’m fine.”

You weren’t answering your brothers’ texts. They were worried.

“Oh, for the love of—dad, I’m twenty-one. I shouldn’t have to check in every five freakin’ minutes.”

We worry about you, (Y/N).

“I know,” she griped. “C’mon, one night where I can actually be treated like I have a functioning brain inside my skull. Let me have it.” She glanced up again, seeing something streak across the sky. “Oh, there it is!” (Y/N) grinned. “I gotta go dad! I love you!”

Wait, (Y/N)—

Hanging up, she stowed the phone in her pocket before looking into the glass. “Oh wow,” she breathed. “It’s so beautiful…and big.” (Y/N) hummed and pulled back slightly. “Really, really big. Almost like it’s…coming to earth.”

She took a step back when she realized that was exactly what was happening. The comet, or whatever it was, was barreling towards the field near her and she gasped, taking another step back. Her foot slipped in the mud, and she fell, but the thought of being obliterated made her scramble to her feet and run as fast as she could away from it and while she wasn’t sure she’d outrun the devastation, she was going to try.

That being said, whatever it was, hit the ground with a thundering explosion, sending dirt and gravel flying, along with her and she screamed as she was thrown to the ground. (Y/N) covered her head, crying in pain as debris scraped her arms and legs, but she stayed still until the world calmed around her.

When it did, she peeked through her arms and gaped at the destruction around her. Trees had been blown from their roots and in the middle of where her telescope had once been, was something smoking inside a hollowed dip in the ground, dirt and rocks thrown away.

(Y/N) shakily got to her feet and crept closer, terrified that she was going to find some horror movie come alive. Alien and Predator stuck in the back of her mind and part of her wanted to flee. The other part—and curse her Wayne curiosity—wanted to know what it was.

“Hello?” she whispered as she neared the rim of the crater, peering in. A groan sounded and she gasped, pulling away before she took another glance and she saw a woman. At least it looked like a woman.

Her body was unlike anything familiar to (Y/N), in the form of an average woman, but she had no skin. Instead, her body looked like the night sky, swirling pools of stars and dark matter, and her hair was long and white, shimmering like glitter. Her hips and wrists were plated with some type of metal, gold and inlaid with what looked like diamonds.

(Y/N) slid down the side of the crater against her better judgement, nearing the woman carefully. “Hello?” she called again. “Are you alright?” The woman groaned and rolled onto her back, eyes opening at her. She gasped at the white eyes, like stars.

“Help,” she weakly moaned.

Hurrying over, she knelt beside the woman. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She reached out to touch the woman but stilled when she felt the warmth radiating off her body.

“Please…help me,” she begged. “They’re…coming.”

(Y/N) shook her head and took the woman’s hand; it made her skin tingle. “Who’s coming?”

“The Insentients,” the woman said. “They’re coming in a years’ time.”

“I…I don’t understand,” she replied. “What are Insentients?”

“Terrible creatures that destroy life.” The woman grasped her hand. “I am Astra, Queen of the Stars. And you must help me.” (Y/N) couldn’t believe a thing she was hearing, simply gaping at her. “I have battled the Insentients for billions of years, but I am at my end.” She squeezed tightly, reaching up to cup (Y/N)’s cheek, white eyes widening. “You must take my place as queen and protect the life of this galaxy.”

She couldn’t even form words, mouth opening and closing like a fish and all she could muster was, “I’m sorry? What?”

Astra coughed and something splattered on (Y/N)’s clothes before fading from sight. “Please, you must do this or life as you know it will cease in one year. Take my place.”

“But I’m—I’m not some alien queen! I’m a human!” She spluttered. “What do I even do?!”

The queen sighed tiredly. “Child, nothing will stop the Insentients unless you help. They will destroy all in their path.”

(Y/N) shook her head and happened to glance towards the sky. “The stars,” she breathed. “They’re so…dull.”

“My life is fading…so they are too.” Astra whispered. “They will die.”

“What?!” she shouted. “But the sun?! It’ll go out!”

“Yes.” The queen murmured.

Bewildered, she asked, “What can I do?”

Astra gazed at her. “Take my power. Be reborn as the Queen of the Stars.”

“How do I?” She questioned and Astra took (Y/N)’s hands, placing them on her chest.

“Grasp my heart.”

“Grasp your what?” she repeated.

“My heart.” The woman’s chest opened, and she stared in surprise as a small, but brilliant light came into view. “Bring it to your own.”

“I better not die,” (Y/N) deadpanned as she cupped the light carefully. Her fingers tingled like she was being shocked, and she swallowed thickly as she brought it up to her chest, just above her heart. “What now?” she asked, and Astra’s form began to fade, starting at her feet.

“Your body will absorb all that I am…all that I…have been.” She smiled. “Place it within your chest.”

“That’s not possible.” (Y/N) retorted, though she moved her hands against her chest. “My body can’t just absorb—holy shit it’s working,” she blurted, and she went still as her something jolted her spine, all the way up her spinal cord to her brain.

Her jaw went slack as he eyes widened, head tipping back to stare at the sky above her. Memories flashed across her vision, faster than she could keep track of and then her mind felt like it was imploding. She let out a strangled gasp and tipped backwards, fatigue overcoming her. The last thing she remembered was Astra’s eyes and her smile before she disappeared from sight and (Y/N) descended into darkness.

***

When she came to, all she could think about was the pounding headache in her skull and the lack of memory the night before. (Y/N) sat up and looked around. The sun was high in the sky and her telescope was sitting neatly where it had been. She blinked, feeling as though she’d forgotten something important. When she couldn’t remember, she shrugged and got to her feet, beginning to take the scope apart and put it away.

(Y/N) rolled the sleeping bag up and put it in the tote, carrying both back towards the side of the road. Her butler should’ve been around to pick her up but when she didn’t see him, she frowned. Huh…I thought Alfie was coming to pick me up? Blinking in confusion, she patted her pocket for her phone and pulled it out, though her eyes went wide when she saw the shattered screen and burnt phone.

“What the hell?” she questioned. “What happened to my phone?” It looked like it’d been blown up. Now she was really confused. What the hell happened last night? (Y/N) sighed heavily and shoved the phone in her pocket. “I guess I’m walking then.” She grunted and heaved the telescope and sleeping bag over her shoulders, starting back towards the city in the distance.

***

GCPD was the first important building she came upon and as tired as she was, she knew they’d let her use one of their phones to call home. (Y/N) lethargically wandered into the department, stopping near the counter.

“Excuse me, can I use your phone?”

The man at the counter looked up and suddenly shot to his feet. “(Y/N) Wayne!” he shouted, and she blinked.

“Uh…yeah, that’s me?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Holy shit, you’re here.” Gesturing to her, he added “Wait right there! Don’t move!”

“Wait, but I—” the man sprinted off and she sighed. “Great. Probably going to get everyone so we can do pictures.”

Next thing she knew, Commissioner Gordon was running into the entry way. “Miss Wayne!”

(Y/N) looked at him. “Yes sir. That’s me.” She pointed to the phone at the desk. “I was wondering if I could use the phone to call home? Mine’s…busted.”

He reached out, grasping her arms. “Are you hurt? We should get you checked out immediately.”

“I’m fine?” she answered confusedly. “What’s going on? Why is everyone panicking?”

Gordon gaped at her. “You don’t know what’s going on?” she shook her head. “(Y/N), you’ve been missing for an entire week.”

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edensrose · 3 years

Note

Could you do like a oneshot of kurama flying holding his s/o tightly and flying in the night sky with his wings

❝ 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬 — 𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Coming right up

genre: fluff

words: 1195

“How silly could she be? Your boyfriend leaves for like what, a month, and you start getting all smoochy with your best friend?’’

“He did break up with her, after all.’’

“But he obviously did it to protect her!’’

As you walk through the night, chilled breezes hit your face and urge you to press your cheek into the warmth of your boyfriend’s arm who proceeds on his tangent regarding the movie you sat through. Brunette strands waver, accompanied by glinting, chocolate eyes that hide behind shaded lenses - such was the life of an idol, having to conceal your identity as you trek down the street. Kurama Shinjirou was no stranger to this custom.

“Remind me why I brought you out for this again?’’ Your satire-filled deride prompts Kurama to roll his eyes to the stary sky. “All I’m saying is, if I were in his position I wouldn’t be too pleased about you getting all frisky with your werewolf best friend.’’ An impish air settles between you. “I don’t have a werewolf best friend. I have a fox, does that count?’’

Kurama’s eyes bulge, so much so that you have to hold back a bark of laughter. “Especially that!” The look of betrayal that takes over his defined features is priceless, as if you had committed the highest of treasons. “What? You did say; if you were in his shoes, so I’m putting myself in hers.’’ White flashes within the darkness of night as a grin overtakes your lips. “I didn’t expect you to mention that damn fox, though.’’

Kurama exhales through his nose, releasing a brief burst of condensation into the crisp atmosphere. It’s entertaining to witness how worked-up he becomes at the naming of the particular yokai.

‘Truly, how much of a drama king are you?’

Thoughts spiral around your mind. Kurama Shinjirou, idol and teen-heartthrob; here he was whisking you off to the cinema, walking you home with his lean, pale fingers intertwining yours. How did you do it, Y/N? How did you sate such a womanizer? Such a question is shrouded in mystery for even the likes of you, the one who conducted such a miracle. To this day you will never be able to fathom how the tengu fell head over heels for you. Were you some form of sorceress? Had you accidentally cast a spell over his heart? Whatever the case…

He was yours,

and you were his.

“Y/N?’’

The smooth, angelic voice rips you from your world of wonder. Wordlessly, your gaze shifts from the sidewalk and to his moonlit face. “Penny for your thoughts?’’ A curious grin curls onto Kurama’s lips, his long-nailed finger tapping against your temple. “It’s nothing,’’ you assure. Yet, the tengu’s brow raises, likely unconvinced. “Well, it obviously isn’t nothing.’’ An elbow prods at your side as if beckoning you to spill the beans. “Haven’t you heard that curiosity killed the cat?’’ “Good thing I’m a yokai then, hmm?” Now it is your turn to roll your eyes. You swore Kurama’s wit rivalled even the talent of his voice. Instead of answering him, you opt for turning your attention towards the brick-layered path. The last thing you wish to do is unnerve your boyfriend with your many woes.

Silence. A heavy sheet of hush sets amongst you, the short gusts of gale only adding to the sudden lack of warmth. It appears the yokai takes your hesitance into account and leaves you be.

That is until...

An arm hooks around your body and tugs you closer, the other dipping against the crux of your knees and scooping you with ease as if you were nothing but a feeble feather. The sound of wind snapping echo, prompting your eyes to mimic that of saucers and scramble to discover if your deduction was true.

“Kura-’’

Fingers curl into the viscose fabric of his white collared shirt as the feeling of numbness spreads throughout your legs. A burst of butterflies to your stomach, a breath of air battering from the depths of your lungs accompanied by the banging of your heart against your ribcage.

“Kurama!”

You make the mistake of glancing down at the ground that now waves goodbye as a distance grows from it, this only encourages you to cling onto the tengu further with the sharpest of gasps. “Wh-What are you doing!?’’ His features now blessed entirely by the moonlight, your breath is taken away once you face him. Sepia hues reflect the glimmering stars that dance around the both of you, accompanied by loose strands of brunette fluttering in the faint midnight breeze. His wings, widely spread, shimmer with a silvery gleam that compliments the ebony quills so stunningly.

“Mind telling me now?’’ An iconic grin presents itself and brings a flush to your cheeks. Have you a choice at this point? With the way his gaze falls upon you? The idol was tenacious, you’d give him that.

You lower your view. “I thought how of how a man like you fell for me.’’ The admittance leaves either of you stunned. “After all, there were vast choices. Your sea of fans, coworkers, classmates. Yet you went along with someone who you met behind a coffee shop counter?’’ A thin line presses between your lips for a second. “I suppose you could say I’m lucky, even so, the thought baffles me.’’

The increasing sea of silence sends your stomach into an anxious coil. Should you have held your tongue? Made something up, perhaps? After all, you had never before expressed such feelings to him. “Kurama,’’ you sigh. “Forget I said any-’’

Warmth cupping the back of your head takes you by surprise, however, nothing in comparison to the shock you experience when smooth, feverish lips meet yours. The exchange is that of burning passion and contrast of gentle tenderness. Kurama kisses you as if you’re leaving, holds you as if you’ll disappear into the starry sky. Any uncertainty washes away. Your lips mould so perfectly together as if you were made for one another.

No,

you were.

At that moment you are convinced the man of whose arms you lay, who embraces you so affectionately. You are convinced that Kurama Shinjirou is meant to be yours.

He parts from you, only an inch, as if you would shatter if he moves swiftly. You did not even realise when your arms snaked around his neck, yet they were there - ensuring he stays right there, foreheads touching and eyes locking. You do not mind how he dips you, allowing the moony glow to shine on your face, instead, you focus on him. “You ask how could this have happened…’’ he breaths.

“My only reason is you.’’

Such words have you taken aback. In one last sliver of speculation, you scan his face for any form of mendacity. What you find brings tears to your eyes.

Love.

Undeniable, inexplicable…

Love.

You trace your left hand to his cheek, thumb tracing over his pale skin. “I’m yours, Kurama…’’ The ends of his lips curl, displaying an affectionate smile. His head turns and allows him to place a peck upon your hand.

“As I am yours.’’

#kamisama hajimemashita #kamisama kiss #kamisama hajimemashita x reader #kamisama kiss x reader #kamisama hajimemashita reader insert #kamisama kiss reader insert #kamisama kiss oneshots #kamisama hajimemashita oneshots #kamisama kiss kurama #kamisama hajimemashita kurama #kurama x reader #kurama reader insert #kurama shinjirou x reader #kurama shinjirou insert #kurama fluff #kurama shinjirou fluff

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gojo-satoru-brainrot · 3 years

Text

I Don’t Want a World Without You. Eren Jaeger x Reader

Request from @shittypaperwork

A/N: This took me forever to write this. I wanted it to be perfect. I really hope it is. Also, my asks are open for AOT smut (Disclaimer I do prefer to write in Canon Au but not opposed to writing Modern AU if I like the idea.) , Jujustu Kaisen smut. But please enjoy!!!!!!

WARNINGS: SMUT!!!, slight breading kink ig, name calling, slight Dom!Eren. Unprotected sex, Canon AU,

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

Your friendship with Eren was unlike any relationship you had experienced before. You both joined the Scouts after the attack on Wall Maria. You both bonded over the losses you both endured that day. Eren sought out revenge on the Titans. His hatred and rage fueled his desire to become a better soldier. You wanted a better understanding of the outside world. Why all the memories came fooling back in the middle of a titan ambush you had no idea why. A giant hand came out from the shadows of the forest directly aiming for you. You didn't have much time to react before Eren swooped in and grabbed you.

"(Y/N) you need to pay more attention," Eren said right before the titan grabbed the wire to his ODM gear causing him to fall to the ground several hundred feet below.

"Eren," you screamed out. Your heart pounding in your chest as you locked eyes with the titan. Suddenly, a red hot burning sensation rushed through your chest and up your face. Tears started to form in your eyes as you maneuvered around the giant trees. Finally finding a vantage point, you zipped over the titan and your blades cutting deep into its nape. It fell to the ground dust and debris flying above its lifeless body. The feeling still stuck in your chest, but it was different something lingered beneath the surface. You located Eren, and you looked at him the feeling became stronger as you watched him lay there, blood dripping from his head on the ground under him.

You were irrevocably in love with him.

There was no time to confess to him your newfound feelings. He needed to get the infirmary. The more you realized your feelings for him, the more you realized it would never work. This world was unfair and unforgiving. There was no room in the world for love let alone a relationship, or that's what you told yourself. The pain you would feel if Eren didn't reciprocate your feelings would tear you apart inside.

Two weeks had passed since the ambush in the forest and your feelings had remained the same, in fact, they had gotten stronger. Your whole squad had made it back alive, which you were grateful for. Eren was rushed to the infirmary due to his extensive injuries. You didn't sleep most nights so you would sneak down to see Eren. You held his hand and changed out his bandages being very careful not to wake him.

"(y/n), you have to let him rest," quickly turning around you saw Armin standing in the doorway.

"It's my fault this happened," the tears started to swell up in your eyes. Armin grabs your hand leads you outside.

"B-but Eren," you stammer looking back at him.

"He's going to be fine while you're gone". You looked up at the night sky, gazing at the stars above you. It was late, you didn't realize until now. How long have you been sitting by Eren? An hour? Maybe five. A cool breeze hits your face as you sit down beside Armin on the bench just outside the infirmary.

"You're so concerned about Eren. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're acting like Mikasa," he laughs. You chuckle slightly. You had been so wrapped up in making sure that Eren was okay that you had forgotten what it feels like to relax. Memories of you and Eren flood your mind.

"Armin there's something I need to tell you. I can only trust you with this information," the blonde turns to look at you.

" I'm in love with Eren". Armin's face gets all red and he turns away.

"So why are you feeling me this? Shouldn't you be telling Eren?"

"Because it would never work out the way I want".

Eren was finally recovered enough to leave the infirmary, but he was strictly prohibited from any training, missions, and extraneous activities. You have been avoiding him for days, unable to come to terms with your feelings you thought it best to stay away.

"You're eventually going to have to tell him you can hide from your feelings forever," Armin said to you quietly.

"Shut up, Armin," you punched his shoulder just a little too rough. He winches in pain, and you touch his arm.

"Sorry." You start to blabber about how you're used to hitting Eren because he can take a hit. You didn't realize Armin was trying to tell you that Eren was right behind you. A slight punch suddenly hits the middle of your back causing you to fall forward into Armin's chest. You turn around quickly to see you hit you. Your eyes lock with Eren's, trying to speak, but nothing comes out of your mouth. His green eyes peer into yours. It feels like your entire being is melting into the palm of his hand.

"Shouldn't you be picking on someone your own size," Eren smirks at you.

"Uhhh," you fumble your words trying to form a comprehensible sentence but fail.

"I gotta go!" You said quickly as you darted off somewhere far away from Erin and Armin.

Finally catching your breath you stood in front of the shower house you are reminded of a prank you pulled on Eren just a few months ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long day of combat training and Eren was the first to use the shower, like always. Connie dared you to sneak into the men's showers and take Eren's clothes and hide them in a nearby bush.

"Easy! You should come up with a harder one next time," you smirked knowing this was going to be way simple. Quietly you snuck in being extremely careful not to slam any doors. You glanced around trying to find Eren's clothes, the steam from the showers making it hard to see. Stumbling into one of the benches close to the showers.

"Fuck that hurt."

"Hello? Who's there?" You heard Eren call out. Your heartbeat quickened as you heard the water turn off.

shit shit shit where are they?

Finally, you found the clothes tucked away under the bench. You guessed this isn't the first time this happened to him. You balled up his clothes and ran out. The steam made your hair stick to your forehead as you threw his clothes in a bush.

"Nice going (y/n)!" Connie gave you a high-five. Both of you waited for Eren to realize his clothes were missing, but to both of your surprises, Eren walked out of the showers butt-ass naked with only one of his hands covering his goods. Your jaw dropped at the sight of him the sunlight made his wet skin glisten. He shook out his hair causing water droplets to scatter around him. You followed the water as it dripped down his toned chest and pass his carefully carved abs. Your eyes followed the v line just below his abs.

"My eyes are up here! Now, where did you put my clothes, darling?" Eren steps closer to you feeling the heat radiate off him from his shower. Your mouth stayed agape and all you could do was point over to the bush. He made his way over not bothering to cover his ass.

"Well, that was fun," Eren chuckled as he pulled up his pants and let them sit on his hips unbuttoned.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Wetness started to pool in between your thighs, causing you to blush from the intrusive thoughts of Eren. You looked around to make sure no one would follow you. After stepping into the shower, you took your clothes off, and neatly folded them, and placed them on the bench. You pulled the curtain closed in hopes of having a sliver of privacy. The cold water rushed over your body and hair. Your nipples became hard as the cold water ran over them. Your mind began to imagine Eren behind you and what his hands would feel like as he rubbed your shoulders and softly caressing your breasts. Maybe he would snake one of his hands down your waist and tease your folds as the other would grip your neck pulling you back into his bare chest.

"Mmm. Eren," you moaned teasing yourself closer and closer to orgasm. Your finger moved faster in circles around your clit. A tightness started building up in your core and just about as you were going to come undone the door to showers swung open. FUCK! Disappointed in your attempt to relieve some stress you quickly got dressed.

"Hey (y/n)," Sasha greeted you, but you bolted past her "okay, bye!"

You didn't want to be rude to Sasha, but you had other things on your mind. All of them were Eren. Your body ached for his. You wondered want it would feel like on top of yours. Your mind kept racing all these thoughts about him and what he looked like under his clothes.

"(Y/N)! Instead of daydreaming why don't you help in the kitchen?" You were quickly drawn away from your thoughts as Levi approached you.

"Sorry Captain, I-" you tried to explain yourself before Levi shut you down.

"You're almost as bad as Eren." Eren? You clung to his name.

"What's wrong with Eren?" You ask.

"Well, since he's been released from the infirmary he's been zoning out. But enough chit-chat go help get dinner ready."

You made your way to the kitchen. Both Connie and Sasha were slacking off and having a baguette battle.

"Guys, let's do what needs to be done. I'm tired and want to go to sleep." You announce. It took about an hour to get prepped and cooked. By the time you were done cooking, you wanted to go to your room and finish what you couldn't in the showers.

After finally arriving at your room. You quickly shut your door. The rooms weren't big, but none the less you were grateful to have your own after spending a year in the barracks. The rooms were massive, but they were a decent size for one person. A desk with a wooden chair sat in the far corner and a closet just big enough to hold a few scout uniforms and a full-size bed. Still, a layer of dust covered everything although you didn't mind. It wasn't like you were going to be staying in your room all day.

You rubbed your eyes and sat at the edge of your bed, taking off your boots and jacket, neatly putting them away in the closet. You always hated taking off your harness there were so many buckles and straps, you got confused so easily. The only light to work with was an oil lamp fixed to the wall. You sighed heavily as you finished folding up your clothes and getting into your pajamas.

As you laid down in your bed thoughts of Eren came back to you. Softly you moaned as you pawed at your breast and teased your nipple. Woefully imagining it was Eren's instead of yours. You felt a wetness start to pool between your legs. Slipping your hands down your shorts your finger circled your clit. You were a virgin, but you still knew what happened you just never found anyone worthy enough. Expect for Eren.

You moaned as you came closer and closer to climax, but it was cut short again. "(Y/N)..." You had sworn you heard someone moan your name. Quickly you pulled your covers over your body as you listen to the room next to you and you heard it again. You were sure someone was moaning your name. In the room next to yours you heard the bed squeak as someone got up from it. Your heart beated faster as you heard footsteps approached your door. You closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep. The door to your room slowly creaked open. "(Y/N)... Are you awake?" It was Eren. You still didn't open your eyes as the door shut and Eren sat on the edge of your bed. He took your hand and held it and pressed it to his chest.

"I know you're asleep but I wanted to tell you, thank you for saving me, I know everyone told you to leave me but you didn't and I'm grateful. I don't know why you've been avoiding me, but I probably deserve it somehow." You heard his voice crack and you could tell he was about to cry.

"I just don't know how to tell you this but here does nothing, I love you (Y/N)." You opened your eyes and saw Eren crying.

"I love you too." You said sitting up in your bed. Your hands cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. His lips were soft and perfectly fit in between yours. It was sweet and soft but your core ached for him. He pulled you onto his lap and brushed your hair behind your ear.

"I can't tell you how many nights I wished for this, to be here with you." Eren buried his face into your chest.

"You don't have to wish anymore," you told him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again this time softly biting on his lower lips. He moaned into the kiss sending chills down your spine. He gripped your hips, his callused fingers dug into your sides almost as if he was scared you were fall through his hands if he didn't hold you tight enough.

Your hips ground into his causing a deep moan to escape from his lips. His erection grew quickly underneath you. Eren flipped you over on your back onto the mattress. He stood up and began removing his shirt. Your eyes followed the skin on his stomach as more of it was exposed. Moonlight peaked in through the window, shining on his torso. It was beautiful, hours and hours of training had paid off.

"My eyes are up here, darling" he chuckled as he climbed on top of you. You couldn't help but feel his chest and abs. His piercing green eyes looked into yours. His lips crashed into yours, it was sloppy and wet and hot. Your clothes limited his access to your perfect body. He slowly took off your shirt and kissed up your stomach and in between your breasts before he took one in each hand and massaged them. His thumb rubbing your nipples before he took it in his mouth and circled it with his tongue. Your fingers ran through his hair as you leaned your head back and moaned. He made his way up to your neck kissing and sucking on it. You knew for sure there was going to be a hickey tomorrow but you didn't care. You wanted everyone to know that you were Eren's and that he was yours too.

"Eren, I need you." You begged him to touch you. He leaned back on his calves and pulled your legs up to his chest, slowly removing your shorts.

"You're so wet for me already, have you been expecting me?" He chuckled and smirked as he pushed your legs apart. His hot breath hit your folds making you beg for him even more.

"Please please Eren!" Your cries for his touch were desperate. Him seeing how much you needed him turned him on. He was throbbing in his jeans. His finger slid up your folds and collected your wetness before he put it in his mouth and sucked on his finger.

"Open your mouth," he commanded and you did as he stuck his finger in your mouth. "Suck." His voice was deep and demanding making you want him even more. Your tongue danced around his finger you tasted yourself on his finger. His mouth attached itself to your clit and you threw your head back moaning. His tongue circling your clit making you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning too loud. Your hands found their way to his beautiful brawn locks, your fingers entangled themselves pulling slightly. Eren groaned and gripped your thighs tighter, maybe enough to leave bruises. The idea of having Eren's fingerprints lingering on your skin turned you on even more.

Eren's erection grew harder and slightly painful. He stood up from the bed and a whine came from your mouth in protest.

"Don't worry we aren't done yet. Do you know how much my hand hurts by now? I'm so glad you accepted my feelings so I can fuck you now."

"All you had to do was ask" you teased back at him "but you should know I'm a virgin." You weren't shy about it, it was just how you were.

"Well, I am too, if that makes you feel better." You sat up on your knees and began to undo Eren's pants. You could hear his moan that he held back. Your fingers slipped between his skin and underwear slowly teasing it down before releasing the waistband and having it snap back to his skin. A low hiss rolled out of his mouth as he smirked at you and his eye went darker with lust.

In a fit of lust Eren quickly removed his pants and pulled his cock out. Your eyes widen at the sight, you always thought Eren was big but never this big.

"Suck now." His tone cold and demanding. You took it in one hand and started to suck on the tip of his cock. You could taste the precum from the tip. His hand placed at the back of your head slowly pushing you further and further down. Your hands gripped his thighs as he drove his cock deeper into your face. You looked up at him, he looked so hot his eyes were rolled back and beautiful moans escaped his mouth.

"Ahhh fuck (Y/N) your so warm. I'm so close, will you be a good girl and swallow for me?" He looked down, locking his eyes with yours, you nod.

"Mmmm that's my girl." He continued to fuck your face, his hands cupping your checks. A warm salty liquid flowed into your mouth. You swallowed it and sucked the rest off his cock before opening your math to show him.

"Fuck... You're such a good slut for me." He crawled on top of you. "I'm gonna take such good care of you," he kissed your stomach right below your navel. He slowly slid two fingers inside of you making you arch your back and grip the sheets. He took his time moving his fingers in and out of you taking care to make sure you never felt any pain.

"More Eren, please..." you begged for him, bringing him closer for a kiss. He lined himself up at your entrance wetting his tip on your folds. He steadied himself by placing his hand next to your head. He looked into your eyes. "Ready, darling?" You nodded. He slowly pushed his tip in both of you letting out moans of each other's names. You momentarily adjusted to his size before he added another inch. You wrapped your legs around his hips allowing him to fully enter you.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight I could cum right now," Eren moaned into your chest. Your breath was heavy as you fully adjusted to his massive size. Eren pressed his forehead to yours as he thrust in and out of you at a good pace. You moaned and softly bit into his shoulder careful not to hurt him and activate his Titan.

His thrust because faster and faster. You moaned his name over and over again. Sweat started to drip from his forehead, you could tell he was holding back his orgasm. The tip of his cock hitting your cervix. Eren let out a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" You asked.

"I can it inside you. Look." You glanced at your stomach and saw the tip pressing the skin up. "Fuck I can't wait to fill you up with my seed." He pounded harder into you as your orgasm started to build.

"Eren I'm getting close," you mewled in his ear. His thrust becomes sloppy as his thumb played with clit and that sent you over the edge. Eren watched as your body twitched underneath him. It felt like your entire body was on ice and fire at the same time. Eren was not long after you as he slammed one last time into you and let out the most beautiful moan you ever heard.

"Ahhh fuckkkkk (Y/N). You were such a good girl for me." He pulled out and laid down next to you pulling you close to him.

"I love you. I always have. I don't care if this world is unfair and unforgiving. A world that doesn't have you isn't where I want to be." You pressed your face into his chest and slowly fell asleep.

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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years

Text

Continue - Part 3

Summary: You have been ripped away from your world and tossed into one that is supposed to be pure fiction. You know the stories, how they are supposed to go. Despite your knowledge, you are unable to change the fates of the Fellowship you had grown so close to.

Pairing: Legolas x Modern!Reader

Word Count: 1,957

Warnings/Disclaimers: Violence, mentions of blood.

A/N: So this one turned into a beast. I wanted to write in some of the Battle of Helm’s Deep to try something different. Hopefully, this worked out, and I didn’t jump all over the place too much.

Masterlist

“Please, reconsider,” Legolas pleaded with you. “What if the binding magic activates, again? If we are separated, you will be defenseless amongst the chaos.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. He had a point, but still...

Squeezing his fingers, you tried your case again. “Legolas, I understand. I truly do. But I want to help you all on the field, not hide away in the caves. In a battle like this... Every person counts.”

Thunder from the impending storm nearly overshadowed the elf’s sigh. He unlaced a hand and cupped your face, stroking the apple of you cheek with his thumb. “There is that endearing determination, again.” Pulling you forward, he laid his forehead on yours. The tenderness of the action made your heart flutter. “I will not be able to convince you, will I?”

“Not this time, no,” you breathed, a ghost of a smile adorning your face.

With a light huff, Legolas pulled away to help you secure chainmail and light armor. If he couldn’t coax you into staying safe inside the caves with the others who were unable to fight, then he would at least ensure you would have some protection. The goal would be for you to stay by him as much as possible in the upcoming battle, but both of you knew that most likely would not happen.

Just as you remembered from second movie, there was a commotion at the gate. With knitted brows, Legolas took your hand to head outside where you met with Aragorn and King Théoden. Before you stood an elven army, Haldir at the forefront looking as stoic and regal as ever. Relief and hope visibly flooded the Ranger’s body. So much so, that he pulled the elf into a hardy embrace.

Out of all the characters you knew of, the Marchwarden was the only one whose fate was up in the air. There was no mention of his death in the books. Then again, he had not led an army to Helm’s Deep. The second film added drama with his appearance and fall. But… Could that change?

This version of the world seemed to meld the two forms of media together. You had been able to meet Tom Bombadil and his wife Goldberry after leaving the Shire which definitely hadn’t happened in the movies. And then there was the time when Frodo had to be rushed to Rivendell after being stabbed with a Morgul blade. That played out like the film with Arwen cradling his weakened form and speeding away on her horse. You had only caught a glimpse of Glorfindel after meeting Elrond. So maybe… Just maybe…

It wasn’t long after Aragorn released Haldir from the awkward hug that orders to get into position were sent out. Squeezing your hand, Legolas motioned for you to join him with Gimli at the higher parapet where you all could use arrows until the enemy tried to clamber up the walls. Lightning cracked the sky as you reached your station, the accompanying thunder booming off the stone. Your elf had placed you in between Gimli and him. Despite the dwarf not knowing of the magic that tethered you, he cared for you like family. It was almost like you had your own bodyguards.

Checking your bow one last time, you noticed Gimli struggling to see over the wall.

“What’s happening out there?”

“Shall I describe it to you?” Legolas turned his head towards the dwarf who met his gaze with a hum and arched brow. “Or would you like me to find you a box?”

And there was that lopsided smirk that partly caused Gimli’s boisterous laugh. It wasn’t often you saw that kind of smile sneak its way onto Legolas’ face. You bit back a chortle just as the rain plummeted down on the battlefield.

Then the chaos began. An arrow was loosed early into the throng of Uruk-hai and orcs, sending them into a frenzy. Between firing attempts and dodging projectiles, you didn’t notice the ladders hitting the walls.

A sweaty, snarling orc head popped over the edge next to you. It was close enough to smell its rancid, putrid breath. Swallowing your shriek, you took the arrow you were about to notch and shoved it into the creature’s throat. A gurgled screech tore from its mouth as it feel backwards off the ladder. What moment of triumph you had was short lived as a new round of orcs quickly followed. You opted for your sword instead, strapping your bow on your back for later.

You weren’t sure when you ended up on the ground level. It was all a blur. You were fairly sure you had fallen from the stairs at some point, probably in the middle of defending yourself. You at least remembered laying the mud and scrambling to reach your feet to dodge the next blow before lodging your sword in the orc’s side. Another orc rushed towards you, leaving no time to gather your bearings or look for your companions. After barely managing to take down that opponent, an explosion rumbled from the other side of the keep.

Aragorn.

Adrenaline coursed through you, blood pounding in your ears, as you sprinted off in that direction. By the time you reached him, the ranger was mostly back on his feet. You had only been able to make sure he regained his balance just as an Uruk-hai bulldozed its way to you from the newly breached wall. Jumping away from each other to miss its crudely forged blade, Aragorn and you then lunged forward with your swords, the steel penetrating the thick flesh not hidden away by armor. The Uruk-hai fell into muddy water, its black blood nearly indistinguishable from the muck.

Now focused on containing the breach, a handful of soldiers joined you and the ranger. A mess of Uruk-hai and orc were pouring through the opening. It wasn’t going to be enough. Aragorn called for everyone to start falling back. Just as you were headed off, a flash of red caught your eye. Your breath caught in your throat. Haldir was still on the upper level, making sure his soldiers were able to escape, and he was being surrounded rapidly.

Ripping the bow from your back, you shot at some of the orcs rushing up the stairs. You at least nailed a few of them. Your throat constricted lightly as you fired, either from your exhaustion or the magic warning you about interfering again. You weren’t quite sure at this point. Then, Haldir was hit, his entire world thrown off kilter. He spun wildly to defend himself from the onslaught. An Uruk-hai was readying his blade for the Marchwarden.

Magic be damned. You couldn’t just stand there and watch. Not again.

Sucking in a breath, you closed your eyes and raised your bow. Your chest tingled as you pointed in what you thought was the general direction. Flinging your eyes open, you made a last second adjustment to your aim. Just a touch to the left…

You were able to let go of the arrow just enough to let it fly from your fingers when your lungs froze and muscles locked you in place, leaving you unable to do anything but watch the following events. Your arrow hit the Uruk-hai’s bicep - non-fatal, but enough to cause it to falter. It also recalled Haldir’s focus, enabling him to dispose of his attacker.

He turned to find his savior, his eyes widening upon seeing you. At first you thought he was just surprised, but then you noticed movement in your peripheral. The binding magic still had you rooted to the spot and had ramped up. Your breathing was thin and ragged, vision blurring at the edges. You couldn’t even adjust your gaze to see what was approaching you at such a speedy gait.

An arrow whizzed past your face. A squelch sounded as it pierced the flesh of your supposed attacker. As the orc dropped to its knees, the spell chaining you down released. Gasping and choking on a torrent of oxygen, your burning muscles loosened and you fell back on the tower behind you.

Your head was pounding, muffling out the sounds of the battle still taking place. Warm hands encased your face and lifted your gaze. Panicked blue eyes bore into yours.

Legolas breathed your name. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” you hoarsely replied while nodding, your throat feeling like coarse sandpaper.

The sound of more Uruk-hai and orcs stole your attentions. Legolas let go of your face and snatched up your hand instead, pulling you along with him. The Marchwarden had made it down the stairs and joined you in the retreat. With the three of you, you were able to brute force your way to the inside of the keep.

Cheers and laughs echoed through the Golden hall. The Battle of Helm’s Deep was over. Saruman had been defeated, locked away in his tower with his lackey Wormtongue. Merry and Pippin were safely back with the company, celebrating the victory with the rest of Rohan. You, however, had chosen to go outside near the beginning of the festivities. There had barely been a moment’s rest between everything. All you really wanted was to decompress.

The cool breeze caressed your skin as you breathed in the clean air, your lips tugged lightly into a smile. You had done it. You had managed to bypass the stupid binding magic that kept you from changing anything. Albeit barely and your muscles still ached from how tightly the curse had wound them, but you still did it.

Leaning on the railing, you looked up at trillions of stars in the night sky. This world was truly beautiful. You could get used to living here if you were never to return to your own. Maybe by then, the curse would ease or end completely.

“Meleth?”

You swung around, facing Legolas who had been standing almost directly behind you.

“Legolas!” you gasped, before sniggering. “You always manage to sneak up on me!”

The elf laughed along with you and joined you at the railing, resting his hand on yours. “Are you well?”

“Never better.” You rested your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, by the way.”

He hummed questioningly while nuzzling your hair.

“Back at the keep. You were right about the binding magic. It did almost get me killed. If it weren’t for you, I may not be here right now.”

Tiny tears began to sting your eyes. This was just as real as your world and you could die just as easily. Legolas and the others had been vital in keeping you breathing. And you just had to try. It was only a fraction of a second that stood between life and death for both Haldir and you. It could have all gone wrong within moments.

Lacing his fingers with yours, he spoke softly, “I will admit, I was terrified when you disappeared. Even Gimli was unable to say what happened. I managed to find you when the air changed again. Seeing you frozen with that orc so close… My heart nearly stopped.” His voice nearly broke at the end.

“I-”

“Just promise me,” he stopped you, turning to where you were facing each other. “Promise me, you will be more careful.”

Gingerly cupping your face with his free hand, his thumb stoked your cheek.

You nodded, “I promise.”

Legolas then kissed your forehead. “Now, you did save the Marchwarden’s life, did you not?” He pulled back, tugging you with him to head inside. “That is added cause for celebration.”

“I guess it is,” you laughed and allowed him to bring you back to the party.

Tag List: @thisbreakableheaven @beakami

#legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas #legolas imagine #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lotr #lotr imagine #aragorn #theoden #gimli #gandalf #merry #pippin #haldir

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deafeninggardenerpanda · 3 years

Text

... clink ...

The broken mask fell to the floor with an especially crisp sound.

" ... Ah ...! " Kirby was unable to move, in shock.

Meta Knight was a knight shrouded in mystery who never showed his true face. That mask, for it to break ...

Meta Knight immediately hid himself with his cape.

"Meta Knight ...! " Both King Dedede and Bandana Waddle Dee were overcome with surprise. King Dedede remembered what he had said to him by the campfire.

"You must have a really weird face."

Meta Knight turned curt without even trying to argue when he made fun of him. He probably didn't want to touch on the topic.

King Dedede didn’t know why. However, Meta Knight’s true face, to him, was a secret that he absolutely had to protect, even if he had to risk his life to do it.

" ... Damn ... it!" King Dedede felt around the inside of his robe. There, there were the two masks—ominous masks that seemed to be filled with the power of the shooting star.

Even though he felt the terrible power within them, he just couldn’t bring himself to let go and carried them along.

Meta Knight’s secret could be protected with these masks. But he didn't know what would happen.

"What to do ... " He hesitated for only a moment.

It didn't matter what happened. Meta Knight’s true face being exposed like that was absolutely unbearable for him.

"GET IT, META KNIGHT!" King Dedede shouted and threw the mask. Meta Knight grabbed it and put it on.

It was a beautiful mask with horns like the waxing crescent. However, it gave off a sinister air that caused all who saw it to tremble.

"Me ... Meta Knight ... " Kirby reflexively backed away from the overwhelming energy.

Meta Knight’s entire body seemed to be tainted by the evil aura flowing out. King Dedede held the other mask in his hand. This one, with horns like the waning crescent.

It was obvious what was happening to Meta Knight. These masks controlled the heart and completely took over, giving the wearer the immeasurable power of darkness in exchange.

" ... I won’t let you bear this darkness alone." King Dedede murmured in a low voice and resolutely put on the other mask himself.

Wild power filled his body, and at the same time, his heart was corrupted by the darkness. King Dedede roared like a beast. It was completely different from his usual voice.

"King Dedede ... what’s happened to him!?" Kirby was panicked.

"It's the power of the masks!" Bandana Waddle Dee shouted.

"Huh ... masks ...? "

"The Great King and Sir Meta Knight, the power of those masks are causing them to go on a rampage!"

"That’s ... "

King Dedede shouted out like a beast, approaching while swinging his hammer. Meta Knight swung his sword. It wasn't the treasured sword Galaxia.

Meta Knight’s sword was enveloped in darkness just as he was, transforming it into an evil weapon tinged with an ominous light. Kirby frantically dodged the sword being swung down at him at fierce speeds. It was not the beautiful technique that Meta Knight had so laboriously refined—instead, it had become a violent one full of murderous intent. Bandana Waddle Dee shook as he raised his voice.

"G-Great King! Please take off your mask! That mask is dangerous!" But his voice did not reach the Great King any longer. King Dedede, rampaging because of the power of the mask, threw himself at Bandana Waddle Dee while swinging his hammer senselessly.

"Watch out, Waddle Dee!" Kirby immediately jumped at Bandana Waddle Dee, protecting him, as Masked Dedede's hammer hit the floor, cracking it with the tremendous impact.

"He’s gotten an insane boost in power!" Bandana Waddle Dee shouted in despair. "What should we do ...!? "

"W-We have to get those masks off them, one way or another! Ei, SWORD SPIN!"

Kirby fired an attack at Masked Meta Knight, however, Meta Knight easily dodged and jumped up. King Dedede also kicked off the ground. They sent shock waves scattering when they held hands in the air while rotating at ultra high speeds.

"Uwaaaaaaah!" Kirby and Bandana Waddle Dee ran for cover.

"Waddle Dee, hide! It’ll be o-kay behind that statue!" Kirby pointed to the statue of King Dedede.

"I refuse, I'll fight too!" Bandana Waddle Dee said.

"You shouldn’t, those two aren’t themselves right now. I won’t let it end like this!"

"But ...! " The two masked opponents dropped while they were talking, plunging into the ground. The earth trembled, the impact sending a jolt so intense that it cracked the ground. However, King Dedede was swaying. His eyes spun dizzily, seemingly because of how fast he was spinning.

"O-kay, let’s get this done asap ...! "

Kirby and Bandana Waddle Dee ran over to King Dedede, but Meta Knight stopped them. He came at them with barrage after barrage of attacks with much greater speed and power than usual.

"Aaaaaah!" Kirby desperately protected the screaming Bandana Waddle Dee. Masked Dedede recomposed himself.

"Waddle Dee, get behind the statue, quickly ...! " Kirby shouted. Bandana Waddle Dee nodded, listening to him.

" ... Okay!"

Waddle Dee’s strength could help them no longer. It was best for him to protect himself instead so he wouldn’t trip Kirby up.

He rolled behind the statue of King Dedede. Kirby gripped his sword firmly. "Let’s go ...! "

Meta Knight slashed at him, then jumped up high when—an unexpected thing happened. He split into four while in the air.

"Huaah!? There’s more of him ...!? "

Even just one Waxing Crescent Masked Meta Knight was unmanageable, now he had multiplied. Then, King Dedede took a deep breath and inhaled. "Wawawawa!" Kirby hurriedly planted his feet so he wouldn't be sucked in, but the four Meta Knight’s that were hovering in the air were all sucked into King Dedede one after the other.

"Meta Knight is ...!? " Kirby’s eyes opened up wide. The next moment, Masked Dedede spit the Meta Knight’s out vigorously. Kirby toppled over, overcome with surprise. "Huuuh!? What is that attack ...!? " Meta Knight flew towards Kirby with his sword at the ready.

"Uhyooooo!"

Kirby was able to avoid the attacks by rolling as King Dedede spit out the four Meta Knight’s in quick succession.

"Wah! Yah! Hyah!" He rolled around on the floor. His eyes spun as he just barely dodged the attacks. "N—no good ... I'll be killed before I can do anything ...! "

Being at the brunt of the tag team’s attack was far too overwhelming, Kirby was stuck in a state of hopelessness. Bandana Waddle Dee watched from the shadows of the statue.

"Give it your all, Kirby! Give it your all, give it your all, give it your all!" But no matter how much he desperately yelled, he couldn’t help Kirby without the pompoms. In a fit of desperation, he thought about jumping out, but he knew that he would be defeated with a single blow. He would just get in Kirby’s way. "Of course ... I’m useless. Kirby would win this if he had a stronger buddy ... "

It was frustrating, so frustrating how powerless he was. Tears welled up in his eyes. Bandana Waddle Dee wiped them away and thought about it.

"This is no place to cry. Think, what I can do for Kirby. Kirby ... Kirby ...! "

No good ideas, nothing came to mind, however, fun memories of playing with his good friend, Kirby, came back one by one.

"Kirby ... Kirby ... Kirby ...! " Bandana Waddle Dee joined his hands in prayer and continued to call out Kirby's name.

Kirby was also thinking of Bandana Waddle Dee while fighting.

(If I lose now, that's the end. Even Waddle Dee will be killed!)

He also recalled the fun days of playing with his friend.

(All the times we went for a walk together, hide and seek, our races. Waddle Dee gave me a bunch of boxed lunches he made, and ... and he was gonna give me that pink and blue striped knitted hat!)

He couldn’t fail now. He had to fight.

For Waddle Dee.

Meta Knight JUMPED up high.

"Multiplying again ...!? " Kirby took a stance in preparation for the attack, however, it was a different move this time. Waxing Crescent Masked Meta Knight swung his sword, unleashing crescent-shaped shock waves.

Those Crescent Shots were Meta Knight’s specialty. Kirby slid, moving out of the way, and dodged the shock waves. However, King Dedede swung his hammer up and hit back the flying Crescent Shots coming at him one after the other. The Crescent Shots split into smaller splinters of themselves and rushed towards Kirby!

He couldn’t avoid being cut as the countless sharp, blade-like shock waves flew at him.

"Uwaaaaah ...! " Kirby screamed. Bandana Waddle Dee, forgetting the danger, jumped out from behind the statue.

"KIRBY—!"

—And at that moment.

A strange object tumbled out in front of Bandana Waddle Dee. It gave off a mysterious blue light, so strong and intense it was difficult to get near. Bandana Waddle Dee faltered for a moment, squinting, but that light was so beautiful it seemed suck him in.

He timidly extended a hand. "I wonder what this is ... No way, a piece of a star ...? " He slowly tried lifting it up.

Even though it was about the size of a person, it was very light. He felt warm light fill his entire body.

"Uh ... huh ...? What ...?" The light that overflowed from the strange piece filled his whole being with power. "This is ..... this piece is ...? "

A nearly identical piece had also appeared in front of Kirby. Kirby approached it, staggering.

"Wh ... at ...? This ... is ...? " It gave off a pink light. The piece that Bandana Waddle Dee had picked up was exactly the same shape, but flipped. "Wh ... at ...? "

Kirby had no power left to lift the fragment anymore. He put his hand on the piece limply, completely exhausted. Bandana Waddle Dee ran over to him, holding the strange piece with both hands.

"Kirby! With that piece ...! " The weakened, cut up Kirby closed his eyes with his hand still on it. Bandana Waddle Dee desperately raised his voice. "Give it your all, Kirby! Lift that piece up! Combine it with mine!"

"Huh ...? " Kirby cracked open his eyes. "Piece ... what ... is this ... piece ...? "

"I don't know. But I can feel something. Kirby, lift up the piece!"

"Y ... eah ... "

"Please, Kirby!"

"A ... alright ... "

Kirby mustered all of his strength and lifted the pink piece as he was told, and Bandana Waddle Dee’s blue piece and Kirby’s pink piece fit together perfectly and became one.

One glittering shooting star.

Suddenly, a bullet flew out of the center of that star. " ... Wawah! What!?" Kirby was surprised.

"With this, we can now fight back!" Bandana Waddle Dee shouted. "Kirby, aim and strike true!"

"Aim ...? "

"First, Sir Meta Knight!"

Meta Knight, again, tried to launch a Crescent Shot, but Kirby and Bandana Waddle Dee fired a star bullet at him.

"EIYAAA—!" The bullet struck Meta Knight straight-on, throwing him into the ground.

"Next, King Dedede!" They aimed the star at King Dedede, who raised his hammer.

"TAKE THIIIIIS—!" King Dedede also toppled over after receiving the bullet.

"Amazing power ...! " Kirby said.

"Be careful, Kirby. It's not over yet!"

Bandana Waddle Dee jumped on top of the star. Kirby also climbed atop it with pained breaths. It floated up softly when the two were on board, increasing in brightness more and more.

King Dedede and Meta Knight were held captive by intense rage after being hit by the bullets. They raised their voices in a roar and came rushing in, swiftly attacking.

Bandana Waddle Dee and Kirby quickly looked at each other and nodded in unison. The two shouted as one.

"GOOOOO—!"

The bullets fired by the pair became two beams that entwined and increased in power, hitting King Dedede and Meta Knight dead-on. Their weapons were sent flying and spun about in the air, and the two masks shattered into small fragments.

At the same time, the star Kirby and Bandana Waddle Dee were riding on disappeared into smoke, causing a dense cloud of dust to rise. They couldn't see anything.

"Kirby ... are you okay?" Bandana Waddle Dee said while coughing.

"Yeah, I’m ... o-kay ... You, Waddle Dee?"

"I'm also just fine ... "

When he said that, the floor shook dramatically. The pillars cracked and the ceiling crumbled, raining down.

"This is bad ... " Bandana Waddle Dee shouted. "The tower is starting to collapse!"

"Huhh ...!? " The two’s feet shook as they spoke. "Let’s get out of here, Waddle Dee!" Kirby took Bandana Waddle Dee's hand.

"But the Great King and Sir Meta Knight are still ...! "

Then, something appeared and quickly disappeared over the two’s heads.

What the pair saw when they looked up was Meta Knight’s form flying away from the window with King Dedede in his arms.

Meta Knight's true face was in shadow and could not be seen. King Dedede seemed to be unconscious.

"I'm glad! Both of them are safe!"

"Let's get out of here, quickly!"

Kirby and Bandana Waddle Dee ran down the stairs with held hands.

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#kirby #bandana waddle dee #king dedede #meta knight #kirby fighters 2 #Kirby: Kirby Fighters the Destined Rivals!!#kirby light novel #translations #longest chapter by a slim margin #also ty to maker for help with a line here! o/

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amiedala · 3 years

Text

Something More (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 3: TO TRUST

Rated: Explicit (not this chapter, but future chapters will be)

Warnings: descriptions of violence

Summary: “What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“Oh,” he sighs, and then he’s pushing himself off the floor despite literally every single warning you spurt at him, and finally, he’s up against the same wall you’re leaning against. The space is small, small enough that two people would be pushing it, and the fact that one of those people is much larger than the other and in giant beskar armor means that your forehead is almost flush against the visor when he turns his head into you. Your breath catches in your chest. It’s not lost on you that in the heat of the moment, you didn’t run. You ignored where you were, and you forged on to save him. That didn’t happen the last time you were on this planet and the fact that belonging to something—to someone—was enough to push past the fear and do it anyway sung inside you.

The baby is in your face. You startle awake to a sea of green. He babbles as you jolt up, clapping his tiny hands together in celebration. He’s all swaddled up in his own robes, but he’s so much warmer than you are, and you groan as he hops up against you, fingers beating around your arm as you bring him in closer to your chest, hoping to leech off his warmth. Slowly, painfully, you push yourself off the ground and push on your neck to make it crack, the pain shooting up behind your eyes like starfire. You don’t want to see what shape your belly’s in.

“Good morning,” you slur through sleep, as the baby giggles and pushes into you. You just stay there, half awake, slouched against the wall of the ship, when suddenly the baby is being plucked from your arms and you’re staring into beskar.

It’s not lost on you that you’re at eye level with the Mandalorian’s crotch, and while you try your hardest to not let your gaze linger there in an obvious way, your eyes stutter once or twice looking up to where the helmet is.

“You’re awake.”

“Barely.”

He kneels so that you’re almost at eye level, and he’s dangerously close to you again. You feel your cheeks flush, the rush low in your belly, deeper than your injury, deep down somewhere warm.

“I need to see you.”

“Huh?” You manage, and hope it’s not as croaky as it seems.

“Your stomach. I need to make sure you don’t need a shot or to get checked out by a professional.”

You nod as his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, going slow, giving you a chance to stop him if you want. You want to sit on your hands and just let him take it all the way off, but you try to focus your brain elsewhere. Literally anywhere else. You fail. His hands are just as large as last night.

“You’re telling me you’re not a professional?”

“I know how to take care of injuries. I mean… a nurse droid, or something.”

“Last time I checked, this was an injury,” you pressed, a smile breaking out of your face faster than you can control it. “And you hate droids.”

“The injuries I usually take care of are my own. I can gauge how bad the pain is, how deep the cut goes. I’m not inside you,” he says, and it’s so fast that you think you imagined it, “so I can’t tell how bad it is.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. Your heart is so loud and fast you’re terrified he can hear it. In the background, the baby is staring at you with his giant, magic eyes, and you know he can hear it, the little womp rat, the way he’s smiling at you. “Not bad.”

The Mandalorian taps your stomach, not enough to really hurt you, but enough to startle the bruise. You wince. “Bad,” he says, simply, point proven.

You let him check you out and argue about how it wasn’t that bruised, and it ached but you could move, and finally, very begrudgingly, he let you stand. You tried to gesture him up the ladder to the cockpit, but he shook his head, arms crossed.

“You first.”

You squint at him, shocked by his brazenness, shocked that he’s insinuating watching below you as you ascend the ladder, and your tummy does full back flips before you realize that he’s probably waiting to make sure you have enough working muscles in your abdomen to keep yourself upwards as you climb. You’re thankful you’re going up first, now, with the way you’re blushing again.

The ladder is a beast, but you’re up, and you’re not hurting that bad, so you make your way over to the chair where you usually hold the baby and fall into it. The ship is hurtling through hyperspace, smoother than the X-Wing did, but still shakily, and you have to avert your eyes from the rush of it because it’s starting to make you dizzy. Something brushes your leg, and you realize it’s the Mandalorian’s cape, worn and tattered, but fluttering past you even in the cockpit, and you bring a knee to your aching chest to hide your smile as he breezes past you to the pilot’s seat.

“Are you hungry?”

You can’t tell who he’s talking to until the baby looks at you, bug-eyed and questioning. “Not really.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I will. I can’t eat too soon after I wake up or I get sick. I don’t think vomiting would do my stomach any favors.”

He cocks his helmet back at you and you smile again, jutting your chin into your hand. He’s silent, but it isn’t an unsettling one. After sleeping a foot from him last night, you don’t think his silence will ever make you feel unsettled or uneasy again. It’s just there, permeating, surrounding both of you. You want to ask him a million things, and you don’t know which one to pick, but you also don’t want to force anything through the quiet.

It feels like hours have passed by the next time you open your mouth. You want to ask him where you’re headed again, but what falls out instead is, “Do you even know my name?”

He looks back at you, swings his helmet back to center, and then spins the entire chair around instead. “What?”

“I’ve been living here for almost a month,” you realize, counting the days on your fingers. “I babysit your kid. You trust me with your ship,” you say, looking up at the stars flying past the Crest. “Do you know my name?”

He stares at you. The helmet is obscuring his vision, but you know he’s staring at you. You can feel his eyes on your face, looking how your lips are parted, your hair still piled in a mess on your head.

“Of—” he starts, and then both of you are thrown sideways. Something on the dashboard is blaring, and before you can haul yourself off the floor, the Mandalorian is extending a hand to you as he navigates the ship out of hyperspace. You scramble back to the chair and buckle in, grabbing onto the baby’s floating cradle so that he won’t get knocked around either. You want to ask if the Mandalorian needs your help, but as quickly as the ship fell into disarray, the beeping stops. Your heart is hammering.

“What was that—?”

“I forgot about the shields,” he muttered under his breath, and then you look outside the window, and you realize where you are. You swallow, looking out at the planet in front of you, wide and purple and all-encompassing. You fold your legs up under yourself, not focused on anything except where you’re headed. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, hungry and roaring.

“Hey,” his voice filters back in, and it’s sharp, and you look over at him, trying to look neutral. You can tell it’s not working. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell again?”

“No,” you whisper, and then repeat it louder, “No, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to…be back here anytime soon.”

The Crest pulls through the planet’s atmosphere, and you breathe a sigh of relief that you aren’t anywhere close to the heart of Galactic City, that wherever the bounty’s new coordinates were, it was on the opposite side of where you had been the last time you were here. Besides, you were staying on the ship, and you didn’t have to breathe any of the air of the planet if you didn’t want to. You swallowed, and as he pulled into a landing bay, you realize the Mandalorian’s helmet is still trained on you.

“You’re not a fan,” he says. It’s not a question. “Of Coruscant.”

“No,” you say, and you don’t elaborate because you’re not sure if you can without your voice shaking.

He keeps his visor trained on you, and you try to smile, but you’re afraid it’ll come out looking more like fear. “I’ll be quick,” he says, and his voice is low, honest. It reminds you of the way he talks to the kid, not to you, but you’re too shaken by being thrown out of hyperspace and landing on the planet you almost died on to understand the significance of his cadence. “Come downstairs with me.”

You follow him, aware of his gaze on your body as you descend the ladder. In any other circumstance, you could feel it burning straight through you, but you were too focused on trying not to fall. Silently, you match his footsteps as he walks over to the armory. His body is so large, so present, that you focus on the beskar and try to keep moving. The Mandalorian pushes a lever and the armory opens, and you blink at all the metal as your eyes adjust.

“Pick one.”

Hazily, you remember he told you to pick a weapon last night, and you let your eyes survey all the glinting metal before you settle on a small blaster, one that looks like a cousin of the one you lost in your crash landing. Similar enough to be strapped to your thigh in the same belt you still have around your waist, and you fit it in there triumphantly. You give the Mandalorian a half smile, and he nods, shutting the case.

It’s dark in the Razor Crest, even in Coruscant’s glitz and glamour. You rest your head against the wall, suddenly exhausted.

“I’ll be quick,” the Mandalorian repeats after prolonged silence, after you’ve made it clear you aren’t going to say anything else. “You stay here, with the doors locked. Sleep more, if you need it.” He tosses you something, and you don’t catch it in time. You bend down to grab it, but his hand is already around it, glancing off your hand for a second too long as he presses it into your palm. “This is to be used for emergencies,” he says. You stare at it. It’s a commlink, a new, fancy one. You nod. “If… if something happens, or if…” he trails off, cocking his head at you, “if I need you to come get me, you just press this button, and you can talk to me.”

He lingers for a second longer and then descends the gangplank, and it isn’t until he’s gone that his words fully register.

If you have to come get him? That’s new.

“Hey!” you call, and you know he can’t hear you anymore, but you can’t help yourself, “what constitutes as an emergency?”

Hours pass. One, slowly, and then two, and then three. You finally eat, you make sure the baby has too. You think about showering, but you haven’t been able to lift your arms above your head since you got your stomach bruised yesterday, so you lay spread eagled on the floor babbling halves of songs and whatever random thought runs through your head. You do everything you can to not look outside at the planet around you, to ruminate on the sleek buildings. You haven’t been on Coruscant for years, not since you were first out on your own when you were still a teenager, and you’ve tried everything in you to forget what happened the last time you were on the planet’s surface.

The baby coos at your feet, and you prop yourself up on your forearms, still sore. It doesn’t ache as much as it did this morning, and your bruises have turned this ugly yellow color around the edges, but you can flex without agony, which definitely means you’re just banged up.

“Hi bug,” you say, and he giggles, climbing up onto your sore belly, and you groan. “Hi. What’s up?”

He makes a series of noises, and you can’t understand him like his father clearly can, but you can gather the gist of what he’s saying. He’s babbling away, now pointing his tiny finger up to the ceiling, and you pretend you know exactly what he means.

“You’re absolutely right. Mhm, yep, I know. Is that true?”

He claps his hands together.

“You’re right, again, you little womp rat. Excellent point.”

He giggles.

“You’re much cuter than a womp rat, you know.” You pause. “I gotta tell you though, buddy, I don’t know what a womp rat looks like.”

He gasps, all awe. You look at him. There’s something about the kid, something magical, something that feels…elevated. You look into his big eyes, and you see yourself. You know that it’s because the things are huge, but it’s that same gnawing intuition in your belly that you had when you first met the Mandalorian, the same one that told you to crash land on Nevarro instead of trying to make it somewhere else, the same one that got you out of Coruscant the last time—you shake your head, trying to clear it from your head. You softly touch the baby’s nose, just once, and he giggles and climbs into your arms.

It doesn’t take long until you start itching for something else to do, so you peel yourself off the cockpit’s floor and start cleaning, using part of your torn shirt to dust off the dashboard and the pilot’s seat, humming ancient lullabies under your breath. You stop short when you realize you’re singing, and you double check the air locks, making sure you’re safe in here. You don’t dare to put on the radio, and you don’t sing louder than under your breath, because even though you have the new blaster strapped to your hip, the memory of yesterday is still too recent in your head. It isn’t long until you find yourself in the tiny room where the fresher is, looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time in days.

Your eyes are wild, that’s the first thing you notice. Frazzled, on edge, the kind of gleam that you used to get flying in the Alliance, but without the pride and the adrenaline. Your hair is a hot mess. You touch the lock of hair the Mandalorian pushed behind your ear last night, reverently, softly. Your shirt is ripped and stained to hell, and your necklace is hanging at a strange angle, the chain link touching the insignia, totally off kilter. You see the small blaster on your hip catch the light, and you pull it out of its hold. It’s shiny, sturdy, and much newer than the one you lost in the fire. You’ve never been a perfect shot, but the gun fits in your hand as well as the old one did, and when you hold it, you feel confident enough to know how to cock it back and pull the trigger, and you think you probably hit the target.

You look forlornly at the shower, and before you can think about how sore you are, you strip the rest of your clothes off, leaving the gun and the commlink on the small counter beside the mirror. You’re planning to be quick, just a rinse and scrubbing soap off of the leftover blood and grime from the night before, but when the water hits, it’s warm and inviting and it envelops you. You let it unfurl your messy hair from your head, let it permeate into your sore shoulders and all the way down your spine, temporarily washing away the years of nights spent sleeping in uncomfortable positions on makeshift beds. You touch your fingers over your belly, following the scar straight down to where it drifts off on the left side of your stomach. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the bruises resist your fingers. You reach for the soap, and it’s blindly, and you don’t realize until you’ve been scrubbing for a minute that it’s very much not the subtle lavender scent you picked up a few bounties back, but the Mandalorian’s. It smells like clean wood and leather and strangely, cinnamon, that amalgamation of freshness that fades off skin slowly. You push the full bar up to your nose, and when you breathe in you can almost see it lathering into his skin, can almost feel your tongue licking clean up against it if he was in here with you—you catch yourself. Again. It’s there again, the arousal and want that had been long dormant before you ever met the Mandalorian. He’s infiltrated everything. You shake water out of your hair and think of anything else while your hands slip down the rest of your body, trying and failing to forget the way his voice got low when he found you hurt, how he touched you, how he held your throat with a singular hand—

Something is making noise, and you force yourself out of your fantasy to the sound. “Hey,” comes a disembodied voice, and your wet hand fumbles for the blaster before you realize it’s coming from the commlink. You sigh, turning off the water, tripping out of the fresher, scrambling to pick it up.

“Are you okay?”

“I need you to come get me.”

You stare at the commlink, then at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t have clothes on. Come to think of it, you don’t know if you have clothes to change into, and you’ve suddenly been promoted to getaway driver.

“Can you hear me?”

Even through the modulator, his voice is deep. You startle yourself out of your reverie.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I need a minute—”

“I’m going to give you coordinates,” the Mandalorian says, and then there’s a huge blast, and silence.

“Hey. Hey! Mando—”

“I’m here,” he says, but it’s gruff. “Dank ferrik. I’m hit. Here are the coordinates.”

You scramble out of the fresher, looking for clothes. You can’t find anything, and your bag must still be upstairs in the cockpit, so you shove open the alcove where the Mandalorian sleeps in a desperate attempt. There’s a shirt, just a shirt, but it falls to your knees and you make your compromise with the underwear you stepped out of before the shower. “I’m coming. Please hold on. Pleaaaaase hold on,” you whisper, low enough that you hope he can’t hear your wheedling, and then you’re up the ladder, your hair wet and wild, dripping on the cockpit floor.

“Do you have your blaster?”

“Um,” you say as you navigate the Crest out of the landing bay—hell, this ship doesn’t know how to move. “Yes?” You scramble down the ladder and back up again with your blaster in hand. You punch in the coordinates and let the ship go into autopilot as you scramble back down the ladder and grab the gun, wrapping your wet hair up in a towel.

“Grab the kid and put him in his cradle,” the Mandalorian says, and you do, and the wild look in the baby’s eyes makes you give him a quick kiss before you shut the crib and push him into the darkest corner.

“I’m almost here,” you say, and you can see what he was talking about. You’re still not near the hustle and bustle of Galactic City, but Coruscant has layers, each of them grittier than the last. The Mandalorian is attached to what you hope to the Maker is his quarry, lugging the conspicuous body up a hill, blasting at what looks like twenty other men. “I’m here. I’m gonna land—”

“You need to get out of sight,” he manages, and the commlink goes quiet. You do your best to land the ship—it’s not handling well at all—and then scamper down the ladder for the third time in wet feet. You grab the baby’s floating egg and your blaster, strapping the commlink to your wrist, and scrambling into the little alcove that holds the Mandalorian’s bed.

There’s a minute before he enters the ship, and everything is quiet. You huddle at the back of the chamber, the baby next to you with the blaster in your hand. Your towel has come loose and there are wet chunks of hair in your face, and you wait in the silence before he comes in. The cot is tiny, and not that comfortable, but this small space smells like his soap and the dirt he carries around, and despite it feeling lumpy in all the wrong place, you could absolutely fall asleep here, surrounded by him. It distracts you, and you hum lowly in your throat before you hear the hiss of the gangplank and you swallow all the air.

You’ve been seen by bounties before, they’ve made comments about you, and then they’ve been frozen in carbonite. A few looked dangerous, a few were just creepy, but the Mandalorian always let you handle yourself around them. This is the first time he’s ever told you to get out of sight, and you don’t know if it’s because the events of last night are still fresh in his mind, or because whoever he captured was dangerous. You wait with bated breath as you hear blows land, and when it’s been quiet for what you gauge is long enough before you peek out of the alcove. The Mandalorian is on the ground, and you can’t tell if he’s just resting after a fight until someone peeks back at you and you pull the trigger the second the alcove doors fly open. You rocket up on your knees, punching one arm out at a swaying body before he hits the ground, and the Mandalorian comes to. The man on the ground is livid, swinging at your bare feet, and you kick him backwards, not gracefully, but powerfully enough, and he collides with the carbonite gas, and before the Mandalorian can get to his feet, you press the button. The blue faced bounty is frozen, instantly, and you gasp in air as you sag back on the Mandalorian’s bed.

“What did I say about getting out of sight?”

“I did,” you manage, between gasps, “and then you got knocked out.”

He trains his visor on you, and you smile victoriously for a full second before you realize his hand is bloody. You follow it down to the slip in the beskar and see that there’s a nasty gash under where his hand is pressed.

“You’re hurt.” You scramble forward, grabbing the towel off your head. Your hair falls in your face, and it definitely smells like his soap, but you’re not sure if he’s conscious enough to notice. “Hey. Hey you. Mando. Stay awake.”

“’M fine,” he slurs, and you want to pull the helmet clean off his head and look into his eyes when you tell him to shut up.

“Definitely not fine,” you say, pulling him down to the ground with you. It’s messy, you know that much, and you know he has some bacta patches hidden around you, but you need the bleeding to stop. “Hey. Listen to me. I have to take this off,” you say, gesturing at the plate at his midriff. “You’re hit, I think it was a blast, but I need to make sure.”

“No,” he says, and you grab his visor and drop to your knees on his left side, pushing your palm flat against it.

“I’m not going to look at anything except the cut. You weren’t hit in the head, were you?”

“No,” he repeats, and you nod.

“Okay, then I’m not gonna see your face. I won’t look at anything else except the cut. But you’re losing blood, fast, and there’s definitely people shooting at the ship, and I need to make sure you’re okay before I get us the hell out of here.”

He nods. It’s small, but you catch it.

You inhale sharply when you lift the small piece of armor. He’s bleeding, but the wound is small, and you’re able to shove the towel on it to suffocate the blood while your hand flutters around in the small hold behind you until you can find ointment and the bacta patches. “Hey. Mando.” His hand finds your free wrist, and you stop investigating the ointment to look at him. “What?” you ask, your voice softer.

“Cauterize,” he manages, and you look back and forth between him and the wound, and you shake your head.

“It’s not that bad,” you promise, checking to see if the blood has started to clot around the wound. “Look, it’s gonna hurt for a few days, but the bleeding is slowing down, and I can give you this ointment and then put the bacta patch over it, and you’re going to be okay.”

He flails at your arm again, and before you can realize what you’re doing, you straddle him, one hand on his abdomen against the stifled wound, and one reaching up to touch his helmet, as lightly as you can, in some desperate attempt to soothe him, “I promise, I know when a wound needs cauterizing.” You point at your own stomach, hoping he’ll remember the scar. He nods again, and you exhale. “I swear, I’m going to fix it right now, okay?”

You pull the towel away and press the ointment into his skin. You can tell it stings, he hisses and groans through the modulator, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with trying to save his life, your brain would have fixated on the noises he was making as you straddled him. Once the bacta patch was secure and you were sure that it held, your fingers grazed over his bare skin. It was golden, soft to the touch, such a stark contrast to the shiny silver beskar exoskeleton that you stopped just for a moment to stare at it. You touched as lightly as you could, and once you were positive that he had stopped bleeding, you pulled his undershirt down and reattached the armor, sliding sideways off of him, resting against the same wall for the second time in two days.

It took a few minutes and lots of nervous babbling from the baby, but the Mandalorian finally eased himself back into consciousness, and when you heard him stir, you whipped around.

“What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“I know,” the Mandalorian says, and you inhale, hoping you didn’t just unintentionally say all of that out loud.

“What?”

He sighs, and it comes out through the modulator, but he’s not annoyed. You can tell that much through his filtered air—you know when he’s exasperated, and more and more lately, it hasn’t been directed towards you.

“Your name.”

You swallow. “Say it.”

He does. Perfectly. “It suits you. Names…Mine has only been shared once since I became a Mandalorian. I was on my deathbed, and that’s the only reason. I haven’t named the kid. He might already have one, but I don’t know it, so I don’t use it.”

You nod against the visor, your head touching his helmet. The beskar is surprisingly warm, and you pause there for a second, not wanting to move it away.

“Names don’t hold significance to me,” he whispers, and it cuts through the darkness of the hull of the ship. “I don’t need them to trust someone.”

You want to say you understand, even if you don’t entirely get it, but he sighs again and then you think he’s asleep, his helmet sliding down to the crook between your head and your shoulder. If you reached with your pinky, it could interlink with his gloved one, and you wait a few minutes to be sure he’s okay. When you hook his pinky with yours, he breathes, cinches it at the knuckle, and fades off into sleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin fanfiction #star wars #fanfiction #i hope y'all enjoy!!!!!#see you all next saturday for the next chapter update!!!

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

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Gifts

Read on AO3

Prompt

Summary: Wild tells of the gifts the past Champions have given him. All that's left is for the others to witness these gifts.

Warnings: Descriptions of injury, temporary character death.

Notes: Finally got a prompt done. Y'all proud of me? If you are, then know I wrote this instead of Chapter 2 of Succumb because I'm an awful creature who has a solid idea for the entire fic except Chapter 2 and I'm avoiding it. Stop being proud of me now.

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“How about you, Champ?”

Wild blinks from the daze he's fallen into and looks up to see eight pairs of eyes all looking right at him. The moon hangs lazily above them, nothing more than a C-shape tied to the stars to watch them all talk themselves to sleep. Wild’s zoned out of this one, for reasons he can’t really explain why. It’s not that what they’re talking about tonight is particularly dull or offensive. It’s just… well… they’re talking about magic and discussing the common theme that seems most sources of magic that they know has been given to them.

Time and Great Fairies. Hyrule and wise men in caves. Wild’s sure the others all have similar stories, he’s just decided to not listen to them tonight.

“About me?” He asks hopefully. Maybe they have changed topics while he was trying to decide what the woodchip by his boot resembles.

Four leans forward on his knees, wiggling his eyebrows. “Any magical gifts that you’ve been holding out on us?”

Wild tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. “Ah.” He curls his fingers around the hem of his tunic before they could nervously knit with each other on his lap. “Nothing that’s important.”

Besides him, Twilight scoffs. “Nothing that’s important? Cub, either you really are holding out on us or you’re being humble.”

“Wild? Humble?” Warriors snorts. “Perish the thought.”

Wild sighs. “Really, I don’t have any cool stories to tell tonight. I’d much rather listen to you all.”

“Listen, huh?” Four challenges, grinning like an imp. “Who taught Hyrule how to shoot fire from his sword?”

Wild rolls his eyes. “Some old guy in a cave.”

“Actually,” Hyrule says with a soft, apologetic smile, “it was an old man in a basement.”

“What is up with you and old men?”

“Anyway,” Twilight says, giving Wild a hard look, “you’re obviously not listening. Is something wrong? You’re usually more talkative.”

Does Twilight have to be a doting old mother in front of everyone? Wild can feel himself bristling. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking tonight. Vet isn’t talking and you’re not pestering him.”

“That’s because Vet never talks about himself,” Warriors says, foiling Wild’s entire argument. Legend has a smug look on his face. “Not unless he’s trying to heighten his own ego.” Legend’s smug look falls into a glare.

“Fine,” Legend says. “I’ll tell one. Then Champ can tell one, so that you all will get off both of our backs.”

“It has to be serious, Leg,” Wind butts in, completely oblivious to Wild’s dying hope of getting out of this conversation. “No ‘I got my magic from being super cooler than everyone else’ bull.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Legend snaps. “Besides, I don’t have magic. I have magical items. Which is just as useful.”

“Then what’s that one?” Sky points at the small clay ocarina in Legend’s hands. “You’ve been holding it all night.”

Legend stills and his face softens, and immediately the whole group can tell that whatever that ocarina is, Legend has feelings attached to it. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not very magic,” he says, his fingers rubbing over the holes reverently. “It used to be able to summon a gust of wind to take me wherever I needed to go. It could also awaken the dead under specific circumstances… now it’s nothing but clay. It doesn’t work anymore.”

“Where’d you get it?” Wind asked, and not unkindly. He, like the rest of the group, knows that Legend wouldn’t be holding an item so tenderly if it only didn’t work anymore.

Legend stays silent for a moment, allowing the crickets in the forests to sing uninterrupted. Then, his shoulders fall. “The most beautiful woman I ever met gave it to me. She had the most lovely voice. This… after… after I lost her, I woke up stranded at sea. It was around my neck on a string… it’s all the proof I have that she ever existed.”

Silence hangs over the group like a heavy blanket. Wild can’t help but feel a lob of guilt get stuck in his chest. All he can do is sit and watch Sky lean over and place a hand on Legend’s knee.

“Love is one of the most powerful magics an item can hold, even if it’s just a good memory.”

Legend brings a sleeve to his eye, holding the ocarina tightly with his other hand. “Oh shut it, you sap,” he says through a smile. Sky smiles back, and Wild curls his arms across his chest.

Besides him, Twilight looks at him. Not expectantly, though, but with understanding. Perhaps he knows now why sometimes someone would wish to stay silent during these kinds of nights. Not everyone got magical gifts from old men in caves. Or basements.

But the guilt sits, and no one is saying it’s Wild’s turn to spill some beans. Not even Legend. But how could he stay silent after Legend told something so personal and sad? It’s not fair, even if he’s the only one who thinks so.

He bites the arrow and takes a breath.

“I don’t have magic. I have… blessings. From friends I had before the Calamity.”

For the second time that night, eight pairs of eyes fall onto him.

“I don’t use them much anymore,” Wild continues; somehow his hands have made it to his lap anyways, knitting his fingers together like string on needles, “they gave me everything they had so I could defeat Calamity Ganon. Now that he’s gone, I don’t want to abuse their gifts any longer.”

“I don’t mean to pry…” Four says, “but maybe they gave you everything they had to help you. Maybe they didn’t consider it abuse.”

And somehow, Wild doesn’t feel like Four is prying at all. In fact, it startles a chuckle out of him. “Maybe. But not Revali, that’s for sure. He and I got along worse than Vet and Cap.”

“Not an easy feat,” Warriors says to the others while nudging Legend with his elbow. Legend rolls his eyes. “I’m impressed.”

“What blessing did he give you?” Wild asks. There’s stars in his eyes that always get there when he gets too interested in a story. Though, Wild supposes any story involving a rival-ship greater than their very own Legend and Warriors is something to be interested in.

“It was the power to call upon the gusts of wind he used to command with his powerful wings. He was a Rito, the best there ever was. He could fly into the air without having to jump off of ledges. The wind would carry him up itself, like it belonged to him.”

-o-o-o-o-

Agony is a poison pulsing through Hyrule’s leg. The fall had been great, and it’s a miracle Wild had been there to dive down and at least try to lesson the fall with his paraglider. The ground was weak in these desert-y canyons, and maybe Hyrule shouldn’t have gotten so close to the ledge to warrant his boot’s slipping, but at least Wild was there.

Hyrule’s ankle is broken, or at least badly sprained. Either way, it’s painful enough that he can’t even stand up as Wild paces the bottom of the crevasse they have found themselves in like a pair of cornered animals. The others… they’re close to an hour’s worth of time away. He and Wild were exploring and gathering whatever they could find that might be used as firewood as the sun began to set. It’s been a terribly awful day of traveling in the desert heat, and he and Wild were excited to experience the sunset’s breeze while the others set up camp.

They got too excited. Too far away. There’s no way anyone will hear them if they call. No one will come looking until the sky is black.

And who knows, maybe they won't consider that maybe they fell. Maybe, if they come looking, they won't look down the right scar in the land, and they will burn to death in tomorrow's sun.

“What do we do?” Hyrule asks through an embarrassingly choked voice. He’s been fighting tears since the moment his ankle bent wrongly in their crash landing. He knows Wild will not judge him for sobs, but it doesn’t make it any easier for him to allow any to escape.

Wild sighs and glares up at the lip of the cliff they’ve fallen from. “Any trinkets?” he asks back.

Hyrule bites his lip. He wishes he were like the others and had a trinket for every situation. Legend had promised to give him an old grappling hook he had hoarded away the next time they end up at his and Ravio’s place. “No.”

“Okay,” Wild says. Not angrily. “Okay.”

Determined?

“Champ?”

Wild takes a deep breath and looks down at Hyrule with… fire in his eyes. “I won’t be long. Will you be okay while I fetch the others?”

Hyrule licks his lips and looks down at his leg, already braced with brush twigs and the wrappings that usually decorate Wild’s arms. A cold breeze blows suddenly, making Hyrule shiver and remember the desert only takes what it’s given when it comes to heat. When the sun’s up, it thrives, and when it’s gone…

“Don’t take long,” he replies, even though he doesn’t really know what Wild’s about to do.

Wild nods, shrugging off the cloak he usually always wears and gives it to Hyrule. Hyrule nods his thanks and takes the warm accessory, placing it over his head and wrapping the caped section around his shoulders.

He watches as Wild walks towards the edge of the cliff facing where the others are with camp. Hyrule wonders what he’s about to do as he clings to the edge of the cloak. Wild unfolds his paraglider from his back, baffling Hyrule even more, and widens his stance.

A moment passes. Then another.

Then a gust of wind appears seemingly out from the floor, powerful enough to blow dust back and almost get in Hyrule’s eye if he hadn’t instinctively covered his eyes. There’s a flash of teal through his fingers… then an unfamiliar voice snorts.

“About time, runt.”

By the time Hyrule deems it safe enough to uncover his eyes without getting dust in them, Wild is already high in the air. The miracle gust of wind cyclones in the spot his friend used to be, growing weaker and weaker by the second before it’s gone completely. There’s no sign of whoever made that flash of teal… nor who spoke, but Hyrule doesn’t think too into it as Wild drops his paraglider and grabs onto the upper ledge of the cliff.

Far above him, Wild climbs to safety and looks over the edge. He waves, and Hyrule cannot help the giggle that climbs through his throat as he waves back.

Pain in his ankle be damned, whatever Wild just did was cool, and as Wild turns and runs towards the others he knows he won't be in pain for long.

Not much longer than an hour passes before the others come with their ropes and grappling hooks and worried voices. Wild glides down to him to help carry him up. There’s something about the way he stands that gives Hyrule the feeling that he… realized something today. He gives Hyrule a bottle of health, then helps tie a rope around his waist as his ankle begins to hurt a little less.

As he’s lifted off the ground towards the top of the cliff by his friends, he looks at Wild who is clinging tight to Hyrule’s body like a stronger lifeline than any rope or chain.

“Was that Revali?” He asks, without really thinking.

Wild looks at him with wide eyes, and then a wider smile. “Yeah.”

Hyrule smiles back. “He sounded like an asshole.”

A startled laugh bursts from Wild’s mouth as he throws his head back. “He is an asshole,” he agrees in good nature.

They reach the top. They reach the others. Twilight scolds their ears off the entire way back towards camp, and Hyrule can't stop grinning for his own safety… and for whatever mended in Wild’s heart tonight.

-o-o-o-o-

“What about the others?”

“Well… ah… there’s Daruk. He was one of my oldest friends. The strongest Goron there ever was, though he was a little fearful of dogs.” Wild laughs, as do the others politely; probably imagining the biggest Goron they could be scared of a small fluffy animal. “He had the strength to block anything, and he was always ready to take a blow for the team. Even after… even after… he still protected me. He gave me the ability to call upon even a fraction of that power, that way nothing could hurt me in case my own shield failed. Without him… I would not be here, I’m confident in that.”

-o-o-o-o-

They honestly should have expected an ambush before Warriors was the one to call it out. Four likes to consider himself lucky for coming from a comparatively peaceful time, relatively speaking, but even he should have expected the top of the hill to be lined with determined monsters with big rocks.

The first few moments of watching the boulders come down feels almost like Four is stuck in time. There’s nowhere to run, the expanse of the monsters at the top is too great. Left or right would bring more chances of being hit. They can’t run back down the hill and outrun the danger either. Their only option is to dodge through the rocks until they can get to the top and take out the danger.

Distantly, as time spreads up, Four is aware of Time and Wild each releasing arrows towards the top of the hill, igniting various monsters on fire, but soon it becomes pure chaos. He can only focus on himself as he does his best to jump out of the way of rocks that are much bigger than him. The colors in his brain scream as he tries to remain calm and collected. No Blue, he can’t just jump over the boulders because it will look cool. Red please calm down you’re screaming too loudly. He knows to go left, Green!

It’s a miracle he’s managed to last this long with the confusion. Which is why he’s not surprised when something finally hits its mark. He’s just glad that when the agony of a shattered bone shoots through his body, it’s only his right shoulder that took the brunt of the hit.

Not that he has time to be thankful for that. After the boulder hits into his side, his balance is knocked right out of him. He ends up crashing to the tilted floor in a jumble of limbs and dust. There’s tears in his eyes, and he can barely focus enough to lift himself back up. His entire arm feels like he’s stuck it into the mouth of a dragon—teeth and all. His chest feels tight and his hip all bruised. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s broken a few ribs as well.

He barely has enough time to look ahead of him from where he lies on the ground. There’s another boulder bouncing right towards him. If… if he doesn’t move now… he will surely die.

But he cannot move. He cannot move because his entire side hurts too badly for him to go at a speed that matters. He closes his eyes and tries to make himself smaller. Maybe, if the goddess decides she likes him today, she will allow the boulder to bounce over him… or something as unlikely.

Either way, he accepts whatever fate he’s about to meet, even as he hears Sky scream his name.

And maybe it’s because he’s a coward and he’s scared, but he opens his eyes to look at his approaching doom. Only… that’s not all that he sees. What he sees is Wild jump out right in front of him with a ball of orange energy surrounding his entire body. A surge of horror swells inside of his belly the moment he sees this. Is Wild serious?!

Then, a heartbeat passes, and the boulder rams right into Wild. What happens next, though, Four would never have guessed. The orange energy explodes in shatters around him. Standing over Wild, however, is a ghostly Goron that’s bigger than anything Four’s ever seen. He shouts as the boulder stops in its tracks, crumbling before his mighty fists.

“I got you, little buddy,” Daruk’s spirit says. Then, the teal spirit disappears with the orange energy, leaving Wild standing there with the shattered remains of the boulder at his feet. Up the hill, Warriors, Legend, Time, and Sky take out the remaining monsters before they can release any more rocks.

Wild turns towards Four with a crazed, adrenaline fueled gaze. There’s a grin on his face though, one that Four finds himself matching.

Next thing he knows, Twilight, Hyrule, and Wild are rushing to his form and shoving various medicine bottles into his face; of which he takes gratefully.

“Thank you, Wild,” Four makes sure to say once he’s finally back on his feet with a makeshift sling over his only slightly aching arm. Wild turns towards him to give a blushing smile. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

“I couldn’t just watch you die. It’s the least I could do.”

Four hums. “I’m still thankful. Though… your Goron friend looked big enough to squish me between his fingers.”

Wild grins. “Daruk wouldn’t do that. It’s his hugs you have to watch out for.”

Four’s sure that if Daruk’s hugs are anything like Wild’s, then those hugs would be very tight indeed.

“I will take your word for it, then.”

-o-o-o-o-

“And then there’s Urbosa. She… if you think you’ve met a scary Gerudo, then you haven’t met her.” Wild waves his hands in the air, only slightly aware that he’s getting too invested in this story now. He didn't mean to spill his guts on his past friends tonight, but here he is, living their memory. Passing on their stories to his new friends. He finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he did several minutes ago. He doesn’t know why he was afraid. “She was the leader of her people, and she could summon lightning onto anyone who's ever defied her. She fought armies of Yiga all on her own and came out without a scratch. She’s blessed me with the ability to summon lighting as well. It’s my most powerful attack, and it’s saved my ass more times than I can count.”

-o-o-o-o-

This is bad. Very bad. Time can’t even properly express how bad this is.

An ambush of monsters? That’s manageable. He has confidence in himself and his companions to be able to handle a meager ambush. However, this? This is a whole army of monsters. Lizalfos, apparently, like to group up in camps when they’re not scrambling around in ancient dungeons and temples.

There’s enough to outnumber the heroes five-to-one. It’s not impossible to take them down if they had stuck to the outer edges of the camp and took a good portion of them out with long ranged attacks… however what happened was much less graceful. They walked into the forest, intending to make a camp for the night, just to wander right into a community of Lizalfos armed to the tails.

So now? They’re running; the monsters in an excited chase. Like Time said: This. Is. Bad.

“We lead them to the river,” Warriors suggests, ever thinking of solutions. “We can push them in and weaken their numbers.”

“I say we turn and fight!” Wind shouts. He looks too excited. He pulls a bomb out from his satchel and before Time can say anything, the boy turns around and throws it at their pursuers. There’s a blast, a few screeches, but nothing significant happens. The numbers are too great. Wind is pulling out another bomb.

“The river,” Time says, nodding at Warriors. Wind cheers as another explosion erupts. He leaves the boy to it. As long as he keeps up. “It’s the best bet.”

Time turns his head to tell the others about the makeshift plan, but before he can say a thing Wild looks him straight in the eye. “Have everyone get as far as you can away, I know what to do.”

“What?” Time asks, baffled.

Wild doesn’t explain. He just turns heel and runs the other way towards the enemy.

“Cub?!” Twilight shouts, turning around as well to grab his wayward protégé, but Time grabs his shoulder and keeps him running in the opposite direction. Twilight gives him a panicked look.

“I don’t know what he plans,” Time explains, “but he seems confident. Trust him.”

Twilight swallows and nods. Time shouts at the others to pick up the pace.

Behind him, the Lizalfos screech in delight, a sign they and Wild have now met face-to-face.

Whatever you’re about to do, wild one, do it now.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The smell of ozone becomes intoxicating all within a heartbeat. The hairs at the back of his neck rise as the sky goes impossibly dark for the time of dusk that it is. Then, light flashes all around him in thunderous claps. He can barely hear the sound of screaming monsters over the bolts. Time can’t help but stop in his tracks and turn, lifting a hand above his brow to see green lighting like he’s never seen before attacking the earth through the trees.

As soon as it begins, it ends, and the sky brightens with silence.

Time doesn’t waste time running forward. What he finds when he runs towards the small clearing Wild had met the monsters in is something he will never forget. Static energy seems to curl around his hand, raised into the air and on the end of a snap. Beside him stands a tall Gerudo woman, cloaked in a ghostly aura, her back towards the others and her hand on Wild’s shoulder in triumph and fierce protection. There’s nothing but black, charred corpses of monsters around them.

Time watches, as do the others, transfixed as Urbosa looks down at Wild and smirks.

“You should have called earlier, my desert flower.”

-o-o-o-o-

Everyone looks so transfixed, that Wild almost moves on without really thinking about it. Only… the words catch in his throat. He finishes telling of Urbosa, and just… freezes. His hands are back in his lap, wringing each other out.

He was so engrossed with his own stories that he’s forgotten that while he loves each of his past friends equally… not all are so easy to talk about.

The others must sense his inner struggle, as none of them call out his sudden silence. He knows that if he decided to stop now and not tell them of his last blessing… they would not argue. They must know this pause is similar to when Twilight stops talking about his adventure when he reaches the point where he meets a mysterious companion. Similar to when Time pauses in his magical tales of his childhood. Similar to when Sky looks off in the distance with his voice trailing off as he tells of special places in the sky.

It’s a pause of loss. A pause of something cherished. A pause of something that you fought so hard for, but will never come back.

A hand falls on top of his own. He recognizes the shape of Twilight’s calluses without having to look up at him. “You do not have to force yourself to continue,” he says.

Wild shakes his head. “I’m alright. I can continue…”

A beat of silence. Wild takes a breath.

“Last is… Mipha. Not only was she the most beautiful Zora I’ve ever met, but also the most beautiful soul. She… would always be there for me… whenever I got hurt. She could heal my wounds better than any potion. I…” his throat bobs, the words are no longer coming. “I cannot bring myself to tell of her gift. It’s too special. I pray I never have to use it again, nor must any of you witness it.”

-o-o-o-o-

Twilight didn’t know what to think when the attack had begun. It didn’t start with a shout. It didn’t start with the enemy running screaming out from the shadows of the trees with swords raised. It didn’t start like any kind of monster attack that Twilight had grown so used to.

It’s probably why they were unprepared for an attack by something smarter than monsters. Something that has no problem sitting quietly in the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He’s heard that there’s a group of former Sheikah in Wild’s world who have it in for the hero’s life, he just never really expected to meet them.

That’s probably why the arrow met it’s mark too. They’ve all grown accustomed to the sloppy ambushes put together by monsters. It’s the only thing Twilight can think of to justify how none of them saw it coming until there was a thwip of a feathered arrow flying through the air… and landing with a thunk in Wild’s stomach.

Wild fell to the ground, and with a flash of cards and light appeared several Yiga Clan members. Nobody stopped to stare. It was pure rage from the heroes at that point, and as soon as it began the Clan members all put their hands together and retreated into seemingly thin air. It all ended about as soon as it began.

And the only thing he could think about now is Wild laying there on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. The arrow still sticks out of his midsection, undoubtedly having hit something important judging by the trail of red going down the corners of his mouth.

Twilight is the first to run up to his side, but thanks to the quick thinking of Warriors, he’s not the first to offer a way of healing.

However, by the time the bottle of the red potion reaches his life stained lips… it’s too late. Twilight can only stare in horror as the light leaves Wild’s eyes.

The Yiga Clan… they’ve succeeded… and everyone knows it when Warriors falls backwards in defeat to sit on his heels, looking down at the full bottle of healing in his hands. Sky falls to his knees. Hyrule chokes a cry. Twilight's sure the rest of them are feeling their own reactions of grief, but he can no longer pay attention to anything but his own.

He’s… he’s failed. The one person he swore he would protect… pass on his ways… his stories… his teachings… it’s all for nothing. All it is now is a gaping hole in his heart. His cheeks are wet with tears that came too quickly.

Suddenly, something happens. There’s a flash of teal, and somewhere behind him someone gasps. Twilight can only watch with wide, tear-drowned eyes, as the teal swirls around into the glowing form of a beautiful Zora.

All eyes are on her, but hers are on Wild. There’s a fondness to her face that could be mistaken for sadness. Her hand brushes his cheek, and to Twilight's surprise Wild blinks and breathes in a soft breath. The hole in his stomach glows bright blue… and the arrow dissipates in shining bubbles.

“I will always heal you when you need me, my love.”

Then, she’s gone before anyone, including Wild, can respond.

Wild slowly raises himself to his elbows, blinking and smiling sheepishly like he’s never gotten even a scratch.

“I’m sorry you all had to-” he begins, but Twilight cuts him off by launching himself forward and wrapping the idiot in his arms. Mipha’s gift, the one he wouldn’t tell them about because it was too special, the one he never wanted them to witness…

He’s such an idiot.

“Shut up,” Twilight says through a tight breath. “Thank the spirits… just let me hold you.”

Wild doesn’t say anything, he just returns the embrace and the hold just as tightly.

Thank Hylia and all of the goddesses for this miracle. Wild clearly has friends that care so much about him that they would protect him fiercely even after their deaths. Twilight knows that from now on, he will spend his nights praying thankfulness to them. Wild is a formidable hero, one of the best in fact, yet Twilight can only imagine where he would be without these gifts. Imagining it makes his gut twist, however, so he squeezes his hold just once before letting go.

He smiles at the younger boy, and Wild smiles back, everything that needs to be said being translated there alone. You scared me. I’m sorry. Don’t apologize, just be more careful. No promises… but I will try.

The wordless conversation passes between them in a moment, and the moment is broken by Wind pouncing onto Wild. Wild, the poor boy, is shoved straight onto his back from the force of the tackle, yet he’s laughing as Wind calls him an idiot over and over. Everyone else gathers as well, to tell him they’re glad he’s alive in their own ways. Time places a hand on Twilight’s shoulder and shares a knowing look.

“Let’s set up camp early tonight,” he says, and Twilight cannot help but agree.

As Time announces the plan to the others, separating the others and telling them to give Wild some space, Twilight lets his heart calm. Wild always says he was alone in his adventures, but now he knows that that wasn’t all true. He also knows now why Wild doesn’t abuse the abilities his friends gave him.

With a silent vow, he promises Revali, Daruk, Urbosa, and Mipha that he will work harder to protect their boy. For now, Wild has been barred from making dinner tonight, and Twilight has to be sure that Hyrule gets nowhere near the cooking pot.

#linked universe #hero of the wild #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #temporary character death #ficlet #blood tw

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givemethatgold · 3 years

Text

Fix’er Upper - Part Eleven

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: SMUT, fingering, oral (F receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, swearing Length: 2.1k Notes: Okay, I officially hate writing smut? Like, this took forever to write and I’ve never hated writing a chapter more. Don’t think I’ll do anything this detailed again it reads so awkwardly!? I’m not even going to read it through to make sure there aren’t any wonky mistakes so feel free to dm me if you see any glaring issues I’d love you forever (be kind)

Series Masterlist

You wanted him in you.

In your mouth, in your needy cunt, at this point, you'd just be happy with him in your hand, but Frankie had other plans. Once the shower water had run cold he had helped you out of the shower, back to being the complete gentleman he always was, acting like he hadn't just been holding you up against the tile wall finger fucking you to completion.

He'd barely let you touch him and the lack of contact was driving you crazy. Once you'd dried off you had planned on sinking to your knees and finally getting a proper taste of him. His cock was impossibly hard, slicked already with the pre-come that was leaking from his red, swollen tip. The sight of it making your mouth water and cunt clench.

Just as you dropped your towel into a convenient, cushiony pile right at his feet, however, Frankie grabbed you for a bruising kiss. Pressing his body flush up against you, he guided you back until you felt the press of the counter on your ass, not stopping until you were leaning against the mirror and your feet had come up off the floor.

Frankie pulled away from your mouth slowly, the hungry look in his eyes making you feel like his prey. He dragged his lips down your neck, stopping to sink his teeth into the tender flesh where your shoulders met your neck causing you to cry out his name in a broken voice you barely recognized as your own.

As his mouth moved to worship your chest, his hands found purchase in the supple flesh of your thighs. Running his fingers from your hips to your knees and back, thumbs digging in to massage the muscles tired from your day at the fair. Groans, whimpers, and panting breaths all fell from between your kiss-swollen lips despite your attempts to quiet yourself.

As if reading your mind, Frankie gently bit down on the nipple he had pulled into his mouth to get your attention then moved back just enough to murmur, "Let me hear you, honey. I want to hear how good I can make you feel."

You weren't used to the encouragement, the attentiveness, so you had a hard time allowing your cries their full volume feeling too self-conscious. When Frankie sank to his knees, threw your legs over his shoulders, and licked you from ass to clit? You all but screamed for him.

With one arm slung across your hips, holding you in place, Frankie used the other to continue teasing and pinching your nipples while his mouth devoured you.

If this had been happening with any other man, you would have probably stopped it by now. The counter was cold, your ass felt like it was constantly on the verge of slipping off the edge, your neck was going to have a crick in it tomorrow from where it was bent against the mirror.

None of it even registered in your mind, though, with the way Frankie was playing you like a flute. Both of your hands were tangled in his hair, gripping tight to both hold him in place and to keep you grounded. Feeling a familiar burn building in your body, drawing towards your core where it would compact and pulse before the explosive release, you tried to grind your hips up against his face.

"Please," you beg, "please, Frankie! I need you, oh! Yes! I need, I need..."

"D'you need to cum, baby girl?" Frankie asks, panting against your core.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, yes, Frankie please!"

"Then cum for me," he commanded before sucking your clit into his mouth and thrusting two fingers deep into you to strum against that sacred spot inside of you that made you see stars.

You came with a shout, legs clamping together and trapping his head where it continued to work you through your convulsions. Pulling away once your legs had become rubbery enough to weaken the cage they'd created, Frankie gives you a quick, dirty kiss before helping you walk to his bed area to dress. Watching him pull on a pair of faded, well-worn jeans caused your brain to short circuit.

Why was him going commando so fucking hot?!

"I don't know about you," his voice snapped you out of your lust-laden haze, calling from the kitchenette "but I'm famished!"

"Are you serious?!" You huffed out, half in exasperation and have in amusement.

"Frankie, you're-, you haven't-, I mean." There was no delicate way you could phrase this, "Don't you want to fuck me?"

You could feel the heat from his gaze even from the distance, see the way his eyes darkened again with lust. "Of course I do, you know I do," he practically growled, your thighs clenching and rubbing together in response. "But when I do, I don't want interruptions. I don't want to be able to get up again before tomorrow. So I'm trying very hard to ignore how fucking incredibly sexy you look, perched on my bed like that, and make us some food."

You'd never been good at accepting compliments, and Brad's habit of dishing them out only to expect something in return had made you uneasy from them. This time, though, you could see the truth in Frankie's eyes, the simplicity in the way he says them like a fact.

"If you don't put on some clothes though," he continues, voice more gravelly and strained than ever, "I'm either going to ruin dinner or scrap that plan entirely."

Taking pity on him, and what you could only assume was a terribly painful erection straining in his jeans, you picked through his closet and found a pair of boxers and a threadbare flannel shirt to wear.

"Hmm, look at you," he practically purred, gazing at you with heavy-lidded eyes, "you're stunning." Pulling you into his side and kissing your hairline he continues "I remember thinking how beautiful you were the first time I saw you."

You laughed, remembering your first interaction, "That was the least flattering introduction, oh my god! I had forgotten our little spat at the market!"

"I'd seen you earlier," he admits with the ghost of a smile like he was reliving the scene in his mind. "You had the happiest grin on your face, chatting so easily with everyone, and you were holding a big bunch of sunflowers." His eyes focus again and he sheepishly glances to the floor, rubbing the back of his neck, "Aw man, I wanted you to come and talk to me so badly. I wanted to see that smile directed at me."

"And then you insulted me instead," you finished for him, the mirth evident in your tone. "You know," you suddenly recalled a drunken conversation you'd had with a friend months ago "I just remembered I owe you a kiss and Jacquie's regards."

Turning from the cutting board, and the ingredients for what looked like a delicious stir-fry, Frankie gazed at you with a lazy smirk curling his lips. "Is that so?"

"Mmmm," you nodded, looking at him through your lashes. He didn't immediately turn back to prepping food and you took that as an invitation. Wrapping your arms around his neck you softly pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"That's for making great cider," then kissing his nose "and that's for being a great boss," his chin, "the greatest handyman," his lips, "and for trapping you on the Ferris wheel for nearly an hour."

Frankie huffed out a laugh then silenced you from further embarrassing him, he didn't do well with compliments, by kissing you back with fervor. Fuck dinner, he thought, having you couldn't wait any longer.

Sweeping you off your feet, swallowing your surprised shriek with a kiss, Frankie carried you back to his bed. He had restrained himself so well already, taking his time with you and pacing himself, but the way you looked in his clothes, on his bed, and under him was just too much.

"I need you," he gasped as he kneeled over you, gripping the lapels of his old work shirt you’d decided to wear, "I don't know if I can be gentle."

"I don't want you to be."

Something in him snapped, he was no longer controlled and methodological, his body was running on pure, animalistic instinct now. Ripping his shirt apart, sending buttons flying, Frankie crashed his mouth to yours again. A small sane voice in the back of his mind took note of the hunger in your kiss back, assuring him that you were more than okay with his pace.

Bracing himself on one arm, he used the other to help you rip the boxers off your legs then cupping your core, wet again for him already, while you made quick work of his jeans.

The minute they were down far enough for his cock to spring out he was shoving your hands away, gathering your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head, and he entered you with one swift pump of his hips.

He stalled out inside of you, needing a minute to steady himself as your wet heat engulfed him. The scrape of your nails on your shoulders and ragged gasps were driving him wild but it was your impossibly tight cunt that nearly made him finish before he'd even started.

Breathe, breathe, think about unsexy things. Apples, nothing sexy about those- a memory of you singing endearingly while picking apples invades his thoughts. Okay, uh trucks? Driving my truck- suddenly he's remembering how concerned you'd been for his farm and not your truck during that freak storm. Fuck! This isn't helping. Mom? Ew- he's picturing you, round and glowing, arms cradling his future child with a soft smile on your face.

Realizing that his efforts to distract himself weren't going to help, he began to plow into you in earnest. Giving your wrists a final squeeze he commands you to keep them there with a "Stay" and a dark glint in his eyes. Your pliant body and complete trust in him is making his head swim, it may have been close to two years since his last hook-up but he knows that abstinence isn't the only reason this is feeling so good.

He crushes his mouth to yours again in a needy kiss before kneeling back so he can watch himself disappear into your greedy cunt then reappear, covered in your slick.

He was getting close and, by the sound of your ragged cries, you were too. Hoisting your legs up until they're flush against his chest, ankles resting on his shoulder, he tilts your hips and thrusts up into you. Looking, for, the perfect, angle- you scream his name and he knows he's found it.

Holding that position and pistoning into you, Frankie is sure you're going to have bruises on your thighs from where his arm is keeping them trapped against him. He can't help it though and is pretty sure you'd swear at him if he decided to suddenly stop to switch positions.

He wants you to cum again, one more time, when he does.

"Frankie!"

Your voice sounded wrecked, words rasping through a throat unused to the moans and cries from the past hour. He noticed how your knuckles were white from where they grasped the pillow in a death grip, trying your absolute hardest to please him by keeping them where he commanded.

"You've been so good, honey" he crooned as his thumb found your little bundle of nerves and rubbed circles around it. "Come on baby, you can do it, cum for me."

Shaking your head back and forth, you cried out to him "I can't! I can't! I need to touch you, I need more!"

"Yes, you can," Frankie practically growled out and felt your cunt clench around him as a result. "Let go-" pinching your clit hard "-and cum."

Frankie slammed into you one last time before the pressure that had been building up at the back of his cock finally explodes. A white-hot explosion erupts down his shaft as his hot cum shoots out in a blinding wave of ecstasy. Simultaneously, your back had arched and Frankie could just make out, through the haze of his own release, the way you screamed his name as your orgasm hit.

His entire body was like rubber, it never ceased to amaze him how fast the come-down hit him, and he flopped down onto you for a minute to rest. Your hands finally moved from their imaginary bindings and smoothed the hair from his sweaty brow, huffing a laugh as the euphoria that only a good fucking can provide hit.

"Told you we'd be great," you whispered.

He could hear the smugness in your voice and it made him smile and wonder what else the two of you could be great at together.

Part Twelve

#Frankie Morales x F!reader #Frankie catfish Morales x F!reader #Francisco morales x F!reader #Frankie morales x Fem!reader #Frankie catfish morales x Fem!reader #catfish x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

Text

Paloma, Part II

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 8900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: “plot bloat” (trying to get Paloma where she needs to go); fully legal age gap; curse words; alcohol; Whiskey acting like a bastard; a little sprinkling of angst; open-mouth kissing; protected P/V sex; some extra-soft!Frankie

On your third Monday at Statesman New York you led a planning meeting that should have been easy. Jack Daniels made it anything but.

The worst part was that you hadn't even been properly introduced yet. Where Champ had rolled out the red carpet for you at Louisville HQ, Whiskey was a phantom, too busy to meet with you during your first couple of weeks. That made what happened in the meeting even more humiliating.

You started by outlining the research that your team had gathered, the analysis that they had carefully done, and presented the options and outcomes. When you were done, Whiskey threw his copy of your report down on the table and said, "That's horseshit."

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, but you tried to hold your ground. "Excuse me?"

Jack waved his fingers dismissively, "That's alright, I'll excuse you. This isn't the kind of work I expected from our new 'hotshot' team lead. Why isn't there information about the facilities we'll be targeting?"

"There are no 'facilities' at this location, Agent. It's a one-and-done for a drop and extract. There's nothing to raid, nothing to seize, and nothing to see."

"Really?" He arched one eyebrow at you and rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. The sheer cockiness of it made you burn with irritation. "So how come the information we got last Friday tells us that there's a production facility the next block over? You really gonna send our agents halfway around the world without botherin' to target the facility next door?"

You froze. Was he correct? That didn't seem possible. How had your team missed that? You held his gaze with as much assertiveness as you could muster, trying to match his attitude so that you wouldn't appear to be weak. "I don't have information about any facilities."

He cracked a smirk, "Well then, you're not very good at your job, are you darlin'?"

You swallowed hard and tried not to let tears rise. How dare he talk down to you? What the hell was his problem? Another agent spoke up, saying that if new information had come in recently, then you could review it and reconvene later to discuss its impact. The meeting disbanded.

You felt like you had been sucker-punched, and you weren't sure if you wanted to flee to your office, or sit gripping the edge of the table and glare Whiskey down. You opted to stay, waiting for everyone else to file out. Finally it was just you and Whiskey left, sitting at the big conference table and having some kind of a stubborn staring contest. This was not how you wanted to start your new job.

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You gritted the question out and held his gaze. You knew that cursing at a senior agent, not to mention the one who was the face of Statesman Whiskey and de facto head of the New York office, probably wasn't the wisest way to start your tenure... but neither was backing down and letting him roll right over you.

"Nothin' personal, darlin', but I can't let you give my agents incorrect or missing information. Your team should have known about the facilities at this location."

"It sure felt personal, Agent Whiskey. If you have a problem with my work, you take it up with me privately. I don't mind admitting when I've made a mistake, but it's shitty to treat people like that in front of others." You glared at him, trying to look as fierce as you could.

He finally looked away from you, and muttered something that might have been an apology.

"What's that, Agent Whiskey? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, 'I'm sorry.' You're right. That was unfair of me."

Before you could stop yourself, you found acid on your tongue. "Well, well, the great Agent Whiskey lowers himself to apologize. No wonder you flash that charm at everything on two legs. Your manners can't stand on their own, can they?"

If you hadn't been so focused on gathering up your paperwork, you would have seen a flicker of hurt cross his face. Instead you stomped out of the conference room and thanked the stars that you hadn't cried. By the time you got back to your office, a cold ball of regret was starting to form just below your ribs. You prided yourself on being able to work effectively with everyone, and you were extremely proud of your track record at Statesman so far. Why hadn't you been less confrontational, or tried to smooth things over? Why had you jumped straight to a pissing contest?

---

"God, what an asshole!"

"I told you, he's kind of a lot to take." Ginger's voice on the other end of the phone came through calm and sweet, as she always was.

You spun your chair to lean back and stare up at the ceiling of your office, trying to keep tears from forming. "Ugh, he's such a colossal jackass. I cannot believe he tried to undermine me like that in the meeting. I could have strangled him!"

"Just stay out of his way as much as you can. I'm sure he'll calm down once he sees what kind of work your team produces. You're doing great."

"Yeah, well... not so great actually. It turns out he was right. There was a report on a facility that came through very late on Friday, and one of my analysts went home sick, so I didn't get it in time for the meeting. That's the worst part: he was right, the bastard."

"Oh, Paloma. I'm so sorry. I'm sure that stung."

You let out a deep sigh. "I'll be okay. I just hope I get the chance to catch him making a mistake, and then I'll shove it in his stupid face. Make him lap it up with that ridiculous mustache of his."

Ginger giggled. "As much as I'd like to imagine that with you, I gotta run. Call me later? I miss you!"

"I miss you, too. 'Bye."

You hung up and spun your chair around, coming face to face with the sight of Agent Whiskey leaning in your office doorway. His arms were crossed casually, one foot propped over the other, looking like he could stand there all day. Your stomach leapt into your throat and then dropped down to your shoes. How much had he heard?

"Oh, kill me now," you breathed.

"Not just yet, darlin’. We have work to do." He popped up from his perch in the doorway and took a seat in one of your visitors chairs.

"How can I help you?" You kept your tone respectful, although it verged on frosty.

"Well, we need to revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence. Then we need to have a talk about civility."

You arched an eyebrow. "Oh, civility? I see. What kind of ‘civility’ did you have in mind, Agent Whiskey?"

"Well, for one, you can call me Jack. And for two, I was comin’ down here to apologize again, but apparently there's something you'd like to shove in my face and have me lap up with my ridiculous mustache?" He twitched one eyebrow up, looking smug and amused by the double entendre.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe this was a hallucination and you were still in bed at home. Or maybe you hadn't actually left Louisville. You cracked one eyelid open, finding Whiskey’s deep brown eyes still on you. You decided to try to be the bigger person and smooth things over.

"I'm sorry. I was venting to a friend, and obviously that wasn't intended for your ears."

"Well now, I’m a big boy. I've heard worse and survived."

"I apologize. I let myself get irritated by your behavior in the meeting. It wasn't professional, and it won't happen again."

"Well, for my part, if I think you've made an error, I'll be sure to talk with you privately instead of calling you out in front of the team. Deal?" He stuck one broad, well-manicured hand out to shake.

You reached your own out somewhat reluctantly, then warmed to it, feeling how large and soft his hand was when it wrapped around your fingers. "Deal."

He gave your hand one final squeeze. An involuntary tingle ran up your arm, and you found yourself wondering whether he was as talented with his hands as he was smart with his mouth. Oh god, what was wrong with you?

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, trying not to jerk it back like he’d burned you.

“I’ll, um, I’ll have my team revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine, darlin’.” He winked at you and you felt something flutter just below your navel.

---

Despite the conciliatory conversation with Whiskey, you still felt awkward and hurt, not to mention confused by some of the warmer feelings that had popped up uninvited. You spent the next six weeks trying to fly low and avoid Whiskey. You sent your senior analyst as your replacement for every meeting that you possibly could, and when you did have to attend them you timed your entrances and exits so that you wouldn't be in the conference room any longer than necessary. You transferred reports to Whiskey's office electronically, and when a hand-delivery was required you sent whoever happened to be closest to you. It worked great. You hadn't said more than "hello" and "goodbye" to Whiskey in so long, you were starting to feel like maybe you had escaped the awkwardness, the horrific start to your time in New York. It felt like a bad dream from another era.

One late Thursday afternoon, your plan fell apart. You got a request from Whiskey's assistant for a hard-copy file, and the entire office suite was empty. Each of your team members was off doing other things or had left early. You avoided it as long as you could, running to the ladies room to pee and then lingering in the hallway outside your office, just in case someone from your staff came back. After 10 long minutes you realized that you were "it" and that nobody was going to come save you. You sighed and trudged to the elevator. It seemed to move too quickly, depositing you at Whiskey's floor in no time flat.

As you rounded the corner you saw that Whiskey's assistant was gathering her things to leave for the day. After one too many disasters with "pretty young things," Champ had put his foot down and assigned someone to Whiskey who would keep him on the straight and narrow. Mary was what you called a "motherly hard-ass," while Ginger called her a “saint.” Mary had worked for Statesman almost as long as Champ, and she knew her stuff inside and out. Most importantly, she was completely immune to Whiskey's flirtations. He had tried once or twice to charm her, but after finding that her warm exterior concealed a brick wall of professionalism and a razor-sharp wit, he had relented.

"Hi Mary!" You kept your voice cheerful and light, trying to hide the twisting in your gut. "Here's the file he requested."

"Hi Paloma, you can go on in." Mary smiled wryly, "He actually asked to see you if you showed up. Sorry, kiddo, you're a lamb to the slaughter." She patted your back in sympathy.

Your shoulders slumped, "Ugh." Just as you were about to air your disgust in stronger words, Whiskey's door opened.

"Paloma! Glad to see you, darlin'. Come on in."

You shot Mary one last look, pleading for reprieve. She patted your shoulder and bid Whiskey a good night.

You forced your legs to move, and when you got inside Whiskey's office you perched on the edge of the sofa in the visitors area. Whiskey preferred to entertain visitors away from his desk, so he had a cozy corner of the office set up with two large chairs, a coffee table, and a black leather sofa that seemed to take up half the room.

You tossed the file on the table and spoke in a monotone that bordered on rude. "Brought you the file. Need anything else?"

Whiskey gestured to the bar cart. "Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"

"No." You shook your head. "But thank you."

Whiskey shrugged and poured himself something amber in a small glass. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands as they deftly maneuvered around the glassware and ice bucket. They reminded you a little of Frankie's hands: strong and thick, sure and precise in their movements. But where Frankie's hands were warm, work-worn and calloused, Whiskey's were primped and clean, just as manicured as his sharply tailored suits and slick mustache. You bit the inside of your lip to bring yourself back to reality before your brain could wander any farther down the path of what Whiskey's hands could do.

You focused your gaze on the file on the coffee table and waited. Whiskey settled himself into the big chair closest to your end of the couch.

"Paloma, darlin'. Thanks for coming up."

You cringed internally and tried to screw up the courage to ask him to just call you Paloma. The nickname of "darlin'" was starting to grate. For a moment you weren't sure if it was because you found it unprofessional or because you wanted to hear it more. Shit. What was wrong with you?

"What can I do for you, Agent Whiskey?"

"Please, call me Jack."

"What can I do for you?" You refused to give in, drawing your mental line in the sand. You could have a whole conversation with him without calling him Jack, couldn't you?

"Well now, I was hoping we could finally chat a bit - outside of a meeting, that is. You've been here almost two months and I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to get to know you better." He winked.

You suppressed an eye roll and pursed your lips. "What would you like to know?"

You weren't going to make this easy for him, you decided. If he wanted information beyond your resume, or even a friendly conversation, he would have to work for it. You weren't simply going to open up like a flower under the sunshine of his charm.

"Well, I understand you're from Louisville. Beautiful place." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to close the space between you.

"Yes." You scooted all the way to the back of the sofa and crossed your arms, somewhat amused at the difficulty you were giving him. He hadn't expressed any displeasure yet, but you were certain that he was going to get frustrated sooner or later.

"Well, darlin' I had no idea that we were growin' them so smart down there, not to mention so pretty. If I'd known, I would have lured you up here to the big city a lot sooner." He looked like he was about to wink again, or try to devour you.

"Is that so?" God, he was really buttering you up, wasn't he? You crossed one leg over the other, keeping your arms crossed over your chest for good measure.

"Yes, it is. I was awfully impressed by your analysis on the Rex Smith case ‘bout a year ago. I had no clue there were that many shell companies in the mix. I would've thought three, maybe four, tops. But you found thirteen!"

Your jaw dropped a little at that. Not only had he seen your work on your first case as Assistant Director in Louisville, but he had reviewed the case file thoroughly, remembered such a tiny detail, and was also giving you credit? You were starting to think that you had underestimated Agent Whiskey. His charm and sass were legendary, but you now realized that those traits didn’t indicate anything missing in the brains department.

He smirked at your reaction and teased you gently. "Better watch that mouth, darlin'. You're liable to catch a few flies if you don't close it."

Goddamn him. You closed your mouth and tried not to sulk. You didn't like making mistakes, especially not such idiotic ones. If you weren't careful, he was going to knock you on your ass.

"Can I get you that drink now, darlin'?"

"No, thank you. I need to get going." You uncrossed your legs and stood up. Whiskey stood at the same time, and you found yourself entirely too close to him, your bodies just inches apart as you tried to negotiate your exit from the seating area. Something warm that smelled like cedar and smoky bourbon was emanating off of him, and you were certain it was from the expensive side of the cologne department. His coffee-brown eyes held yours, and you caught yourself staring at him while your brain sent you panicky messages to, “Move! Speak! Leave!”

Whiskey let the moment hang, seeming to enjoy every second that passed like torture for you. His eyes were twinkling so hard you thought you saw sparks. You heard yourself exhale a breath that was far more shaky than you would have preferred. He put his hand out to shake yours, and you found yourself imagining what would happen if you bypassed the polite gesture and wrapped your arms and legs around him, knocked him to the floor and kissed that stupid mustache right off his face.

Instead, you reached out to shake his hand and accidentally brushed the front of his hip, just an inch from his crotch.

"Oh my GOD! That was an accident. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!" You scrunched your eyes closed and buried your face in your hands. Mortification consumed you as you heard Whiskey guffaw. You felt like you were going to die of embarrassment, and you were pissed off that it wasn't a real possibility. Death would have been extremely welcome.

Whiskey put his hands on your shoulders and squeezed. His laughter died down to a soft wheeze. "Hey, look at me."

You dared a glance through your fingers. His eyes twinkled and his white teeth still showed in a wide smile. "I'm sorry I laughed, I know it was an accident. You weren't trying to take advantage."

You moaned and Whiskey chuckled again. "It's alright, darlin'. You didn't break anything."

“Argh! I’m so sorry. That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it.” He pulled you gently toward him, and you did something you never imagined possible: you let him wrap you into a hug.

“I’ll forget it if you will, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbled against your body and you felt yourself melting a little. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

You sniffed and pulled back. Whiskey let you go, but kept one hand on your elbow. He looked at you warmly and smiled. “Really, darlin’. Don’t think anything of it.”

You found yourself staring into his dark brown eyes, warm and shiny with humor. The mood shifted almost imperceptibly, turning him magnetic. Something in you snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

Whiskey hummed a surprised noise against your lips for a moment, then opened his mouth to let you in. His mustache was softer than it looked, and hardly tickled at all as you wrestled each other for satisfaction. You found yourself tumbling down to the couch. Whiskey lay over you with one strong arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you pressed close against him. His lips and tongue were eager and searching, and you responded in kind, nibbling his plush lower lip and flicking your tongue across the back of his top teeth. The taste of his liquor intermingled with the scent of his cologne, and it sent your senses reeling. He tasted and smelled and felt so good, and you wanted to stay there and drink him in forever.

Your lips parted from Whiskey’s and you took a gulp of air, looking into his brown-black eyes above you. The inrush of oxygen kicked your brain into gear and you felt cold; both from the absence of Whiskey's mouth on yours and from the dose of harsh reality that washed over you. This was wrong... wasn't it? As good as it felt, it wasn't right to make out with the boss in his office, after hours, on a couch for God's sake. What the hell were you thinking?

"Oh, shit!" You shoved Whiskey's shoulders up and away, rolling him toward the back of the couch as you slithered out from underneath him. You landed on the floor, then crouched and stood up. Whiskey shifted on the sofa, turning to lay face up on the plush leather and folding his arms behind his head. His grin hovered somewhere between 'Cheshire cat' and 'kid let loose in a candy store.' You groaned at the sight while irritation and the desire to flop back down on top of him fought equally within you.

"Well now, darlin'. You need to be off somewhere?"

"Yes. This was not a good idea." You waved your hands in front of you as if you were trying to erase a blackboard. "I think I need to leave."

"Feel free to come back anytime, darlin'. I'll be right here."

You took three swift steps toward the door and then spun to face him. "I need you to stop calling me 'darlin''. My name here is Paloma."

He cocked one eyebrow at you as you continued. "And another thing, Agent Whiskey: this never happened."

Before he could respond you yanked his office door open and jogged to the elevator. What the hell was wrong with you?

---

"Ginger, you have got to help me. I don't know what's wrong with me." You shuddered out a breath as you kicked your shoes off and sat down at your kitchen table. At your elbow was the biggest drink you could pour without causing a hangover.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

You gulped. "I kissed him."

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know! I just... I was in his office and he was standing really close to me and then I went to go shake his hand but I accidentally touched his crotch and..." you trailed off as Ginger laughed. "It's not funny, it's embarrassing!"

She giggled at you. "That sounds kind of funny. You'll laugh about it later."

"I won't. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he was so nice about it and he was looking at me softly and I just- I kissed him! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Try not to worry too much. You're not the first lady to make that mistake and you won't be the last. He'll forget about you as soon as someone else catches his eye.”

"Yeah, I know." You weren't sure if being one in a long string of women made you feel better or worse.

"… although it does seem like you have a ‘type’ now.”

“What?!”

“Well he is tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t such a jackass I’d say he reminds me of Frankie.”

“Oh, hell no. That is not a fair comparison. They’re nothing alike.”

“You’re right, Frankie was a gem. Listen, just avoid Whiskey and keep your eyes on your work. He'll forget about you and it'll be like it never happened. And as irritating as he is, I know he's not a gossip. Don't worry, this won't get around."

You threw back your head and let out a long breath. "Okay. You're right. All I have to do is my job."

"That's right. And you're really good at your job, Pal. Don't let this derail you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Gin. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be coming to New York next week. I have to do some training with, uh, a consultant. And when I’m done we can have a girl’s dinner out, okay? Just try to have a good weekend."

"Thanks, I will. You too."

You sighed and finished your drink. The idea of calling in sick tomorrow floated up, and you seriously considered it. But you had already spent six weeks avoiding Whiskey, and your integrity wouldn’t let you call out without a good reason. You could make it one day until the weekend, right?

---

You awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache and a cotton-dry mouth. You were dreading going to work, but duty called. You showered and dressed as slow as you dared, and found yourself dragging into the office only 15 minutes late. Fortunately, there was enough work to keep you distracted, and at your 10:00 department heads meeting you found out that Whiskey was out of the office for the day. Relief washed over you, and you suddenly felt lighter. You could survive until the weekend without worrying.

The rest of your day was uneventful until around 4:00, when an assistant brought you a vase of fresh flowers that had been delivered to reception. You frowned and looked for a card. The arrangement was beautiful, featuring dark yellow daisy-shaped flowers with fuzzy chocolate brown centers, and pinky-purple blooms shaped like bottle brushes. Both types looked oddly familiar. You leaned closer to examine them as your brain twisted in confusion. Were those...? No way... orange coneflowers and dense blazing stars? Who the heck would send you an arrangement of Kentucky wildflowers? Mom? It wasn't your birthday yet.

You felt an icy ball of lead punch you in the stomach as you opened the notecard: "Even though nothing happened, I had a hell of a time. Hope to see you again. -Jack"

That motherfucker.

Just as you were about to sweep the flowers into the trash, there was a heavy knock on your doorway. You looked up, and your emotions spun from anger to elation so fast you almost threw up. Frankie stood in your doorway, looking soft and rumpled in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sweet curls escaping the same well-loved baseball cap he always wore.

"Frankie!?" You leapt out of your chair and practically ran to him. He swept you up in a bear hug and pulled you six inches off the ground. "Oh my God, Frankie, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hey, Paloma. I missed you. How's the big promotion? They make you head of the New York office yet?" His deep voice rumbled into your ear softly, and you laughed with joy. You never wanted to let go.

Frankie set you down and broke the embrace, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to one of your visitors chairs. You took a seat in the chair next to him, turning it to face him and get as close as you dared without looking too desperate.

"Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm doing a quick consulting job for Statesman, helping Ginger train a few folks for an extraction. I have to work on the project Monday and Tuesday, and then I'll be in town until Saturday as a tourist. I took the whole week off, so I don't need to be back in Florida until next Sunday." He smiled broadly at you.

You felt your own face split into a wide grin. "Do you need a tour guide? I've been here two whole months. I can show you my favorite coffee shop and we could go to a few museums."

He smiled warmly back at you, and you felt like you had been wrapped in the world's softest blanket. "I'd like that. Statesman gave me an apartment for the week. Should be close by, if you don't mind showing me where it is?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet and read the address.

You threw your head back and cackled.

"What's so funny?"

"That's my apartment! Statesman owns a few units in the same building." You grabbed the piece of paper from his hand to read the apartment number. "You're literally one floor below me for the week."

He grinned. "Well, shit. If I'd known that, I would’ve just told them to let me bunk with you."

You frowned and handed the paper back. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be upset with that?"

Frankie looked down at his shoes. "She's, uh, not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up."

"Oh, Catfish. I'm so sorry." You reached out to squeeze his forearm, and the feel of his warm skin over ropey muscles made you tingle. You vividly remembered how much you used to love grabbing those forearms as he pounded into you, how good they felt wrapped around you in the shower, how strong and safe Frankie felt at all times. You pulled your hand back and cleared your throat.

Frankie stood. "Listen, I gotta take care of a few things this afternoon, but can we go to dinner later? Nothing fancy, if you know anyplace I can go dressed like this," he gestured to his worn jeans and work boots.

"Unless, uh,” he pointed to the flowers on your desk. “Is there a boyfriend who would be mad if I took you out?"

You stood and smiled, biting your lip. "No. There’s no boyfriend, and I'd love to go to dinner. I'll come down to your apartment and pick you up at 7:00? 7:30?"

"Seven is perfect." He hugged you, and the smell of him spun you right back to Louisville. Frankie smelled like clean cotton and hard work, with a faint whiff of mechanic's grease just under the scent of his laundry soap and Old Spice deodorant. You used to tease Frankie about his habit of buying the same deodorant that he’d been using since junior high, but he always swatted you away with a, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Now the scent of it made you want to buy every package in the world and always have the smell around you.

When you broke the embrace it was so hard to let go, to not lean in for a kiss like you used to. He seemed to feel it, too, lingering just a moment longer with his arms wrapped around you and smiling wistfully as you finally pulled apart. You wanted to stay in his arms for hours, maybe even stow away on his flight back to Florida.

“I’ll see you at seven, Paloma.”

You felt your goofy grin reappear. “Okay. I’m so glad you’re here, Catfish.”

---

The hours until dinner crawled, and you spent more time than you thought wise trying to get ready. You showered and put on your nicest outfit, which was really just the all-black, most-recently-purchased version of your normal work clothes. Your job at Statesman didn’t call for anything very dressy, so you hadn’t expanded your wardrobe beyond work staples. Still, you spent entirely too long arranging your hair, sweeping it one way and then the other, trying to figure out what jewelry to wear, and then changing your hair again for the third time. You were contemplating another shoe change when your phone alarm went off, warning you that it was five minutes to 7:00. Oh, well, too late to change anything now. You brushed your teeth frantically and hoped Frankie wouldn’t care.

You floated down the stairwell and found yourself grinning idiotically as you rapped at Frankie’s door. He opened it looking exactly the same as he had at 4:00 that afternoon, and you chastised yourself internally for trying to dress up. Your irritation turned to pride, however, when Frankie looked you up and down with a low whistle.

“Jeez, Paloma, you look fantastic. Should I change?” He looked worried.

“No, you look fine! We’re not going anywhere fancy, I promise. I don’t know why I changed clothes, it was silly.”

“No, you look amazing.” He opened his arms for a hug. You felt warmth rush to your face as you leaned in. Frankie was always so eager to please and to compliment you, to make you feel good. You had missed him so much.

The walk to dinner was easy, conversation bouncing between the two of you as you made your way to the restaurant. Frankie filled you in on everything going on in Florida, about his friends and his parents and his job. You spoke enthusiastically about your new position and how much you loved New York. You decided not to share information about either one of your run-ins with Agent Whiskey.

Dinner passed in a swirl of giggles and wine and good food. Frankie made you laugh so hard you almost choked twice, and before you knew it, nearly three hours had passed.

“Frankie, I think the restaurant is going to kick us out if we don’t scoot soon. Do you want to go walk around a little bit?”

He drained his water glass and nodded. “Yeah, where to?”

“We can window shop down the street, and there’s a cute little park nearby.” You arched one eyebrow at him, “Wanna go play on the swings?”

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”

You fought Frankie for the bill before letting him win. “Okay, but the next one is on me, Catfish.”

When you emerged into the summer night, you both took a deep breath, trying to clear your heads of the alcohol haze. You weren’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little silly. Without thinking, you tucked your arm into Frankie’s and snuggled yourself against him as you wandered along. Store windows were lit up against the dark, and you stopped here and there to look and giggle at displays.

You paused in front of an antique store. The window behind the bars was lined in red velvet, and on each of the little red display pillows sat a piece of vintage jewelry.

You were quietly gazing at an enamel bracelet and a sparkly tiara when Frankie’s voice broke the silence.

“You ever want one of those?”

“A tiara? No. I mean, it might be fun for a hot bubble bath, but I can’t exactly wear it to work.”

“No,” he nudged your arm and tilted his chin toward the far left side of the store window. “An engagement ring.”

You froze and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shifted to a sparkly, square-cut sapphire ring sitting on the smallest pillow. You couldn’t form rational thoughts, and you weren’t sure exactly what kind of answer Frankie was expecting.

“I mean- uh, I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen anyone since we-” you swallowed hard. “I’ve been single since we broke up.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and when he didn’t respond right away you found yourself filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I mean, I tried dating but it never went past a second date, and I don’t know anyone who would propose that early, and anyway I just- I mean I didn’t think- and you left so I didn’t…” you trailed off, realizing that you weren’t making any sense.

Frankie’s voice was low and serious. “I thought about it.”

That broke the spell and you turned to face him. “You thought about it? About me?”

He looked at you, almost shy. “Yeah, I thought about it a couple of months after we started dating. But with your job and my work, and… Well, you know what happened. You were there, same as I was.” He reached out a hand to cup your chin. “I was sorry it didn’t work out for us.”

You sighed and melted into him, “Oh, Frankie.”

He wrapped both arms around your shoulders as you gripped his waist. Your mouths found each other in the dark as if your last kiss had been yesterday. Frankie was warm and solid and familiar, and you found yourself aching to hang on to him, to keep him there with you for as long as you could.

You stood on the sidewalk together for what seemed like hours, exploring each other and passing silent messages back and forth with your lips and tongues and teeth. Slow swirls of the tip of his tongue around yours told you he missed you, and the tiny nips you bit against his bottom lip conveyed an urgency, a need that you couldn't express in words. You found your fingers entwined in his belt loops, pulling him as close as you could, mimicking the kind of connection that really required nakedness and absolute vulnerability together.

You turned sideways to loop your arm around his waist and walk unsteadily back to your apartment building, stealing kisses again and again as you strolled, then paused, then continued on your way. The trip took twice as long as it should have, but neither you nor Frankie was willing to break apart for longer than it took to step down off a curb or glance at a walk signal. You just kept kissing, drunk on each other and wanting more and more; silently cursing the fact that the apartment was still so far away, but reveling in the moments that you could seize right now to embrace each other as you walked.

When you reached your block, you murmured against Frankie’s mouth. “Do you have anything? I don’t have any protection at home.”

He cursed softly, “Shit. No, I didn’t bring…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, that’s why I asked. There’s a drugstore right here.”

“I always knew-” he kissed you softly, “... that you were smarter than me.”

You giggled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the one who can fly helicopters. I just stare at data reports all day.”

You walked into the pharmacy holding hands and made it through the checkout line in record time, urgently kissing again when you reached the sidewalk, navigating the final dozen or so yards to your building.

The elevator ride consisted of one long kiss, broken only by Frankie’s urgent, “Mine or yours?” You murmured, “Mine,” and pressed the button for your floor, folding yourself back into his arms. You unlocked your front door while Frankie held you from behind and peppered kisses down your ear and cheek and jaw, distracting you as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got the door open, you tumbled inside together and slammed the door shut.

Now that you were someplace private, you could undress, fumbling against one another as you struggled to open buttons and zippers and bra clasps in between kisses; to continue your soft caresses while you kicked shoes and pants off and away. Finally you were both standing, wearing only underwear while you continued to embrace. You pulled away from Frankie and picked up the box of condoms where it had dropped, then you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

You tumbled onto the bed together and continued the makeout session that had started miles away and what seemed like an eternity ago in front of the antique store window. Frankie’s strokes along your ribcage and thighs were light and almost ticklish, so familiar that you wanted to cry. You had no expectations of getting back together and attempting a long-distance relationship, but he was here right now. And that was good, right? It was familiar and lovely and sweet.

Frankie hadn’t changed a bit since you parted 10 months ago, except for a few more grays in his beard and one or two more crinkles when he smiled. You ached and ached for him, even though he was right on top of you, kissing you and touching you and murmuring your name. Your brain kept raising the idea of what would happen in a week when he had to leave, or what might have happened a year ago if Statesman hadn’t demanded so much from both of you. The knowledge that you had missed becoming Frankie’s wife because of shitty circumstances, combined with the threat of losing him again in just a few days time punched you in the throat, and a sob escaped your lips as tears sprang to your eyes.

“What’s wrong, babe? Did I hurt you?” Frankie looked you over, rolling to one side to examine your face with a worried scowl. He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over you.

“No, I’m just-” You sniffed back another sob. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now; not if you don’t want to. I didn’t come here with the expectation that you would jump back into bed with me.”

Your heart leapt at that. Same old sweet Frankie, doing everything he could to treat you tenderly, to care for you. You knew that if you tried to explain everything you were feeling, he would probably take it personally. Frankie hated to see you hurting, and doubly so if he thought he was the one who had caused it.

“I might just need a minute. I’m okay, I promise. It’s just been a weird week.”

You decided to joke, to lighten the mood and try to ease Frankie’s worry. “My old boyfriend is back in town, and I just found out that I missed out on him being my husband, and I also kind of kissed my boss yesterday, so I’m not in a real ‘steady’ place right now.”

Frankie frowned at that. “You kissed Bill?”

“Oh, no! No, not my boss-boss.” You paused, unsure of whether or not Frankie would hate you for your next words. “I kissed Agent Whiskey.”

Frankie’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead, but he didn’t sit up or let go of you. He didn’t run out of the room screaming. “Is there something I should know?”

“It was a mistake. I was in his office and I accidentally touched his crotch-” Frankie’s eyebrows raised another impossible inch as you continued, “Truly an accident, a horrible, embarrassing accident. And then I think I just felt really vulnerable and lonely and I kissed him.”

Frankie nodded. “It happens, I guess.” He looked at you tenderly. “Although I’ve never kissed my boss. He always has food in his beard.” You erupted in giggles and tucked your face against Frankie’s chest. He stroked your arm and shoulder, laughing against your hair.

Your giggles subsided, and you rolled away from Frankie, laying on your stomach and folding your arms under your chin. You sighed and turned your face to him. “I am glad you’re here, though. I really missed you.” You paused, trying to formulate your next words.

“It took me a long time to get over you, and I’m honestly not sure I ever did. If we hadn’t both had so much work and conflicting schedules, if things had been different-” Frankie leaned over and cut you off with a soft kiss.

“You don’t have to tell me how things could have been different.” He stroked your temple. “After we broke up I just couldn’t handle working around you. I didn’t hate you, I just had to leave. It hurt too much to stay.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me, it was just life.” Frankie leaned over and kissed your cheek, stroking your back with feather-light touches, raising goosebumps as silence settled over the both of you.

His touch felt amazing, conjuring electricity where his fingers met your skin. Tingles started to form in your pelvis and you found your breath shuddering in time with Frankie’s caresses. You sat up and moved to straddle him, entwining your fingers with his and pinning his hands to the bed next to his ears.

Neither one of you spoke as you rolled your hips gently on his and stole kiss after kiss, feeling his erection grow and press harder against your vulva, still separated by the fabric of both your underwear and his. Finally you broke your grip on his hands and Frankie reached up to cup your breasts. You arched your back to press yourself into his palms, and your nipples stiffened with the friction and the heat of his touch. You grabbed the backs of his hands and pressed them harder against you, as if you could multiply the sensations that were zipping through your body.

You leaned down for another kiss and then swung your leg off and over him. You stood next to the bed and pulled your panties off, then reached over Frankie to grip his waistband. He lifted his hips to assist you, and when his cock sprung free you nearly gasped at how much you missed him and missed this, the intimacy and the raw electricity and the closeness. You reached out to stroke his length a few times, running the pad of your thumb gently up the underside and over his slit. He was damp there, but not leaking yet, and you let go only to grab the box of condoms and rip it open.

“Here,” you handed him a foil packet and let him put it on. When he was covered you gripped him again and gave him three firm, slow pumps, pulling a moan out of the deepest part of his chest. You straddled him again and hovered over him, making eye contact as you lined up to insert him, taking him into the most intimate part of you. He stroked one large hand from your knee to your ass, then cupped both cheeks and pulled you slightly apart to help guide him in. You closed your eyes and let out a soft hiss as he entered. Everything felt so good and familiar, like no time had passed at all, like he had never left.

When you were fully seated on him, you placed your palms on his shoulders for leverage, watching with delight as the tendons in his neck flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, veins throbbing on either side of his beautiful throat as you rode him. He reached one hand down to thumb your clit, pressing and petting it and drawing whimpers from you as the pleasure swelled within you. Neither one of you spoke as you gazed into each other, moving together in a practiced rhythm, increasing the pace and the tempo and the force until you were shaking the whole bed. Then your head spun and you found yourself crying out his name as you climaxed around him. You slumped over him and buried your face in his neck, that gorgeous soft crook between his throat and his shoulder. He braced his feet and thrust up into you. Chills wracked your body as you squeezed and fluttered around his cock. He grunted and clenched his jaw, “I’m coming.” And then he pulled you closer and froze, holding you there as he filled the condom. When he relaxed his thighs and arms, you reached down and gripped the base of the condom to keep it on him as you rolled sideways and off.

You both lay staring at the ceiling, recovering your breath, trying to remember where you were and why anything outside of your shared pleasure mattered.

---

Frankie stayed at your apartment all weekend. The two of you kissed and caressed, showered and fucked, made breakfasts and dinners, watched movies and slept curled together, until you almost forgot how much you had missed each other, almost forgot the fact that he would have to leave.

On Monday you and Frankie walked to the office together and kissed at the front desk, parting ways for the day. You ran into Ginger in the hallway and squealed and gave her a hug. She smiled at you and wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see who our consultant is for this project?”

“Yes! He came by my office on Friday and we went to dinner.” You leaned over to lower your voice and murmur, “And we spent all weekend together.”

Ginger laughed and you grinned and rolled your eyes. “It’s nice. I don’t know if we’re ‘back together’ or anything, but I’ll have fun hanging out with him while he’s here.”

Ginger bit her lip, “I’m glad. I know you guys really missed each other, but I’m happy you can see him while he’s here.”

“Me, too.”

You and Ginger made plans to have lunch together that afternoon, and your mood was light as you entered your office. It dampened a bit when you saw the flowers from Whiskey that were still sitting there. And it dropped further when you saw a note from one of your staff saying that Whiskey had requested that you come see him when you arrived this morning. You decided that you would just have to treat him like nothing had happened, and keep your head up. After all, you were on cloud nine with Frankie in town, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You found Mary’s desk empty, so you squared your shoulders and knocked on Whiskey’s door. He could try to irritate you all he wanted, but you were going to be cool as a cucumber.

When he opened the door, Whiskey grinned at you and motioned you in. You opted to stand next to his desk with your arms crossed. If this was business, you would keep it businesslike. He walked up to you and raised an eyebrow, still grinning like a fool.

You looked at him and frowned. What was his deal?

He started the conversation cryptically, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you get my flowers?”

You opted for the driest tone you could, “Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Good. Listen, darlin’-”

You interrupted him. “Paloma.”

“Right, Paloma. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and apologize again for behaving like a jackass in that meeting a few weeks back.” He placed both of his large, warm hands on your arms and squeezed. “If we could see our way clear to some kind of understanding, I think I’d like it very much if we could-” a knock on his door cut him off.

Mary opened it and stuck her head in. “Agent Whiskey? I have the consultant here for your 9:00 meeting.”

Whiskey hissed out a breath and sounded disappointed. “Right.”

You pounced on the opportunity to escape. “I’ll just get going.”

Mary opened the door all the way and Frankie walked halfway in, freezing at the sight of you and Whiskey standing so close together. Guilt creeped up, even though you had no reason to feel that way, and you fought the urge to apologize to Frankie.

You and Agent Whiskey spoke at the same time, words jumbling together as Frankie approached to shake hands with Whiskey.

“Hi, Agent Whiskey. You can call me Ja-”

“Frankie, hi. I was just-”

“Oh, do you two already know-”

“We used to-”

You found yourself standing next to them as they shook hands and sized each other up. Your own discomfort was so strong that you almost didn’t notice that they were jostling each other as if they were fighting for dominance. A strange energy settled over the three of you as they stared at each other. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it felt like they were fighting over you.

“Whiskey, this is Frankie Morales. He and I used to work-” Frankie cut you off, something he normally would never do, and his next words mortified you.

“Paloma and I used to date when we worked together in Louisville.”

You groaned. You weren’t embarrassed that you had dated Frankie, but the less information Whiskey had about your personal life, the better.

“Is that so? Well, I didn’t know that.” Whiskey’s voice was as smooth as the leather on his couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Instead of irritating you, it had the effect of sending a flutter to your crotch. You gulped, hard.

Whiskey turned back to Frankie. “Any big plans while you’re here in New York?”

“Paloma and I are going out.”

“We’re what?” Your voice was louder than you had meant it to be and both men turned to look at you. You felt stunned by the double gaze, the two pairs of dark brown eyes, the strong noses and lovely mouths; features so similar to one another now that you saw them together. Maybe Ginger was right, maybe you did have a “type.”

Your brain did a somersault, throwing up the most shocking and simultaneously wonderful idea, and you wished you could banish the thought back to whatever delicious hellhole it had sprung from. You almost burst into tears, thinking that the stress of your job had finally broken your brain. Under normal circumstances, the idea and all of its implications would have been curious, but under the current circumstances it was absolutely ridiculous. The absurd, impossible word had popped into your head entirely uninvited: “Threesome.”

Frankie and Whiskey stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds, then they both spoke the same word at the same time.

“WHAT?”

“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” ---

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