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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

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EXPLORATION ARC: PART 3 - CRASH LANDINGS

A/N: I think I’ve read and re-read this part so many times that I’m not sure I’m fully happy with it anymore. However! I do hope you can all enjoy the latest instalment, with our lovely Din (finally) getting some well earned attention.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 14.4k (I have no self control I’m sorry if it drags on)

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: language, (some) dirty talk, SMUT! - oral (m receiving including deepthroating and gagging), handjobs, fingering, Din being slightly awkward before embracing his dom side

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You could say with some confidence that most times in your life, you had smooth landings.

A small swell in your stomach as a ship glided down into atmosphere. The gentle, paced approach of land or sea, of mountains, forests and cities materializing as you descended. The gradual growth of buildings, speeders and individuals from pinpricks into distinguishable features of the landscape. A smooth landing was like sliding into a warm bath, where you only realized how good the water felt when it was lapping around your ears and soothing away the aches of a bad day; the touch down of a ship letting you bask in being on solid ground once more.

Sometimes, you admit, there were rough landings.

Your heart hammering in the back of your throat while you desperately tried to smother the creeping nervousness with every bump of turbulence or rattle of a ships’ engine. The rapidly approaching planet being anything but a welcome sight; the hollow, raw sensitivity to every noise both inside the ship and out suspending you in time before the worst passed. Rough landings to you, were like rolling down a hill as a child from a grassy knoll, the incline of which – to an adult – was nothing more than a slight slope. Chaotic in the movement as your head became dizzy from spinning, but once laying on your back and laughing breathlessly up at wispy clouds, you realized it wasn’t so very bad after all. The same could be said when a ships mechanical functions and sensors righted themselves through automation or a talented pilots guide to land… not so very bad in hindsight.

And then there were crash landings… rare but staggering in the impression they left.

Moments where you weren’t sure if you were hyperventilating or holding your breath, if up was down and if the ship you flew was evening functioning beyond alloying gravity to pull it mercilessly towards wreckage and death. Total clarity and yet, an inability to focus on any one thing as the rapid descent fogged any ability to see the ground coming hard and fast. The shrill alarms and warning lights ceaselessly reminding you of how fucked you really were. The adrenaline it inspired – having nowhere to go – could make you giddy and exhilarated despite the danger. In your life, the feeling of a crash landing couldn’t be compared to the physical; they were the sinking realization of someone falling out of love with you, of the betrayal from a loyal friend, the abandonment of a lifelong support. They were the serendipity of a chance meeting, the recognition of a hidden talent and the reciprocation of long held feelings. Crash landings were all the times you had ever been blindsided and helpless to prevent them: an embodied vulnerability.

The day you landed on Nevarro was a crash landing in more ways than one.

One being the literal – survived by the seat of your pants – landing that had you questioning Mando’s ethnicity beneath the helmet. Was he from Corellia? Or Maker-forbid, Pamarthe? Because there was simply no way, no way, that he managed to pull off that landing with one engine blown and a fleet of pirates on his tail. But he did, and you were all alive because of it. He guided the Razor Crest like it was an extension of himself, completely in control of every movement and never anything but calm as he did so.

For as long as you had known the Mandalorian, he had owned the fossil that was the Razor Crest, and now you could see why. You wanted to weep and apologise to her for every stray thought you had about how old and outdated she was. You knew a brand new gunship that people paid obscene amounts of credits for wouldn’t have survived the same strain the Razor Crest was just put under.

You had come to think of the two – Mando and the Razor Crest – as mirrors of each other; intimidating, ageless and well able to endure more than a ship – or a human body – was naturally capable of. It endeared you to both of them more than you already were.

The other proverbial crash landing you experienced that day, was the incident that preceded your less than desirable entry onto the Nevarro; the one that stripped away all pretense and ignorance that had strained your relationship with Mando in the weeks prior.

After hastily grabbing the child from his pod and staggering back up the ladder one handed as the ship shook violently to strap you both into the co-pilot chair, you didn’t have the presence of mind to notice the heavy scent still permeating the cockpit, or the slightly uncomfortable feeling of your release drying on your thighs. You couldn’t even begin to wrap your mind around the fact that Mando, that stubborn, stoic, recklessly unattainable man you had spent years patching up over and over again, had gotten you off with just his thigh and a few well placed rolls of his hips.

You were too busy trying not to panic at the prospect of dying or being captured which really, would just be your rotten luck after finally seeing the immovable control the Mandalorian exerted, waver. You were distracted from those thoughts right up to the point where the rough rasp of Mando’s voice as the pirates engaged with the Razor Crest’s commlink made your prior activities glaringly obvious. His voice, still thick and heavy with his unfulfilled released gradually morphed into a cold anger as he shut off the connection when the pirates’ demanded payment for your lives.

Of the things you came to realize about Mando since travelling with him, one of the few that surprised you was his refusal to negotiate with nearly everyone he encountered. It gave the small allowances he made when you treated him – and the many he gave the kid most days – a lot more weight. But you didn’t have time to think about that as he dodged shot after shot.

Your landing on Nevarro was a combination of whiplash, soot and precarious rocking before the Razor Crest skidded to a final, jarring stop a few meters away from the closest ship docked outside the main town entrance. Only when the ship stayed upright instead of bowling over from the momentum did you allow yourself to breathe again, grounding yourself back in the cockpit despite your stomach being left somewhere in space.

The return of your breathing and the realization that you had in fact survived, allowed the reality of what happened before to slam to the forefront of your mind.

You dry humped a Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Him. Mando.

Like a kitten in heat… the echo of his words had heat instantly returning to your face at the memory. You remained flushed even as you attempted to distract yourself by running an unnecessary mental check on your body for injury. Apart from a small ache growing in your head from the whiplash, you were good as new. Too good if you were being honest, and the reason for that was hardly a mystery.

You ran your eyes over the child, smoothing a hand soothingly over his wrinkled head and along one of his ears to make sure he wasn’t hurt, cooing at him gently as he nuzzled back against your chest with a string of sleepy babble. He was more concerned with being woken up than the manner of your landing apparently,

“I know darling, I’m sorry I woke you,” you muttered against his head, the sheer relief that he was out of danger roiling in your stomach and made you close your eyes as his familiar scent invaded your nose while he settled back down to sleep.

As he settled, the cockpit swelled with a heavy silence, reality catching up with you both now that the distraction of pirates and possible death was gone.

The red warning lights and occasional alarm were flicked off one by one with every resounding click of a button. When you first entered the cockpit earlier that day, you struggled to keep your eyes off him and now, now your eyes focused on anything but the man who had groaned your name so sinfully. Those clicks and snaps of levers and buttons – while quiet – were the only sounds that filled the air, enhancing the silence you sat in.

Mando was tenser than before, his shoulders stiff and movements more forceful than necessary as he geared the ship down. A malicious thought surfaced momentarily that he might be regretting what happened already.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, recognizing the ridiculousness of the notion immediately; you had just spent several heart-stopping minutes being chased and shot at and only landed mere moments ago. Of course he was tense. Stars, your muscles had yet to relax from the anxiety inducing minutes before Mando finally out maneuvered them with an unfazed countenance.

But heightened emotions and the insecurities they could bring with them weren’t uncommon after an orgasm. You merely tried to keep the more ridiculous ones at bay, a benefit of maturity and age you appreciated. It allowed you to have had your fair share of purely physical relationships; one night stands and friends with benefits over the years. It wasn’t in you to get overly attached to a sexual partner after the uncertainty of the war. You were certain Mando would be no different. You appreciated sex for what it was; a release, a coping mechanism or simply just something fun to do.

Mando’s arm reached across the small distance in front of you, one final switch and silence reigned once more. He hesitated as he withdrew his hand, resting it heavily on the dash and his helmet turned marginally to look at you, your eyes instantly lifting to the visor. You cursed the damn shiny thing silently; you had never felt the lack of expressions, or small facial tells that might have given you an indication of how he was feeling more than now. The feeling of his gaze didn’t however stop the pang of arousal reawakening after being doused so suddenly before; it simmered low in your stomach now as he watched you.

Your eyes searched his visor, hopefully conveying – if nothing else – that you didn’t regret anything. A soft quirk to your lips and he released a long breath, hanging his head slightly before pushing back up to his seat. Your smile increased subconsciously; he seemed exasperated, not ashamed and that would have to be good enough for you.

It didn’t take long for the silence to turn more comfortable after that, more familiar as he stood from his seat to make his way past you, cape brushing your arm as he did so. He hesitated at the door, considering something before he left. When he evidently came to a conclusion, he turned back to look down at you, forearm resting above his head on the doorframe as he did so,

“I’ll be gone a few hours. The Guild will be by to pick up the quarries so…” he trailed off and you waited expectantly for what he was trying to tell you, “get some fresh air. We’re leaving as soon as I pick up the next batch of pucks.”

You craned your neck to keep your eyes on him and the sudden déjà vu of looking up at him wasn’t lost on either of you as a sharp exhale left the warrior. You nodded a few times to his suggestion, mulling over anything that was low or might need restocking, mind running a klick a minute before an idea sparked in your mind, making you sit up straighter in excitement,

“Mando? Is there an automated banking center here?”

Your question seemed to throw him because he didn’t answer immediately, mind more pleasantly distracted by your appearance,

“Why?” was his only response in the end.

“I want credits, that’s why,” you rolled your eyes in playful exasperation as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which it was. Why else would you go to a bank?

“The New Republic pay a pension for anyone who served in the Rebellion. It gets fed into an account that can be accessed from most galactic banking centers,” you explained, excited by the possibility of actually having your own credits and being able to contribute rather than living off the credits Mando earned from his bounty hunting.

“Oh,” came the lackluster response, “I don’t know. I’ve never used one before,” he finished simply, dropping his arm from the doorframe and turning to make his way down into the hold without another word.

You deflated a bit in your seat before perking up. No. ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t a negative answer, just an unhelpful one. You chuckled quietly so as not to disturb the child sleeping again you, he was still no better at talking than when you first met him. Perhaps it was simply a case of not being able to teach an old Massiff new tricks. Funnily enough, you didn’t think he needed to. You were adapting well enough to his silence as it was.

You could find out for yourself. You were dying to get off the ship and it was the perfect excuse to explore a new town for the precious few hours you had planet-side, a chance to stretch your legs and get some much needed fresh air. It was also a much better alternative to sitting on the ship and replaying the last few hours in your head, working yourself up over a husky voice and a hard body.

No, that would just drive you mad.

Since he left the cockpit, some of the heat left with him and you were able to lean back and take a long, deep breath. Fuck… but he was still able to get to you without even trying, you admitted yourself as you closed your eyes. You didn’t even have the chance to touch him beyond that momentary glance against the smooth, burning length of him. You never believed in karma before, but you must have done something truly rotten to have been stopped from touching that man.

A warmth filled you at the thought of how good he felt under you; the promise of more taken away before either of you had a moment to think. You felt wrecked from the orgasm he gave you and that hadn’t even required the removal of clothing, let alone his hands or cock.

But he hadn’t finished.

Your brows furrowed at the thought, along with a small swell of guilt in your stomach. You considered yourself to be a generous lover and wouldn’t cheapen the sentiment of wanting him to feel satisfied by thinking you owed it to him. You wanted to make him feel good, knowing the bliss someone else could give you was infinitely better than one’s own hand. You wanted to preen with the knowledge that you could bring this man, this immovable force to his knees in ecstasy.

You wanted to make him feel that good now, not later.

Steeling your nerves, you gracelessly wrestled yourself out of your seatbelt, hindered by the loss of one arm that supported the child. Finally free, you followed the same path the Mandalorian took down the ladder (equally as inelegant but climbing a ladder was awkward with two hands let alone one so you forgave yourself). You hurried over to the child’s over-pram and, once he was tucked in and the pram itself closed, turned to where you had glanced Mando preparing to leave.

He was adjusting something on his vambraces’ control panel, so he hadn’t acknowledged your presence yet, but when he picked up the control that opened the ramp down, you opened your mouth,

“Mando!” you called just before he lowered the ramp onto the lava flats that made up the improvised spaceport on Nevarro.

Your voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned his head slightly to indicate you had his attention.

Your feet were moving before you knew it, rounding in front of the warrior and removing the push-button control that hung from the wall of the Razor Crest; obviously, a temporary fix that had become a permanent solution. The remote fell easily from his grip when your fingers caressed the back of the hand that held it, your gaze never leaving where you hoped his was behind the visor.

You kept your hand on his as he lowered it down to his side, enjoying the tactile sensation of the buttery leather of his gloved fingers as they netted across your own before you pulled your hand away just far enough to trace along the duraweave at his hip and across the softer, more flexible ribbed armor on his abdomen.

“I—need to check the damage to the ship,” he rasped quietly after the control clattered loudly back against the wall it was attached to, no bite in his words as you stepped into his personal space. As expected, he didn’t move, your eyes searching for any indication of discomfort in his body language and – finding none – drifted down his body appreciatively, a knowing smile dancing across your lips.

“Gotta… collect the payment for---” he trailed off when your fingers returned to where they had been before you had been interrupted in the cockpit. His words petered off on a low exhale and you hummed in approval when you felt he was still half-hard under his flight suit.

“I don’t just take, Mando,” you said quietly so as not to break the little bubble you found yourself in with the Mandalorian. You were almost gentle in your cadence, as if anything louder would spook the intimidating man. Something inside you told you that his acceptance of your touch was no insignificant thing, not to him. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason, whether it was his devotion to his Creed he mentioned or some other personal reasons. Whatever it was, you didn’t take the liberties he afforded you lightly.

You wanted to make him forget his reservations, completely.

Your fingers easily undid the fly at his crotch and fit inside to wrap around the thick girth of his rapidly hardening length. Your stomach flipped at the sheer size of him, making you swallow while Mando braced his forearm on the wall behind you, folding over you slightly from his greater height. The deep sigh he released, a shuddering sound of relief and pleasure spread electricity across you, your body instantly reacting to the guttural sound instinctively. You gave his cock an experimental squeeze as you pulled him out from his flight suit in the hopes of hearing that noise again.

But Maker, your mouth watered when you finally tore your eyes from his helmet to his exposed length.

Rich, tan skin stretched taut across the thick length of his cock as it sat heavy in your grip, a shade darker than the skin you had seen while treating him before. Pearly precum was already beading from the blunt, swollen tip and your thumb automatically swiped through it to spread over the head. You reveled in the low moan you heard in your ear as Mando’s head dropped forward to rest on your shoulder, a shaky inhale making his shoulders shudder.

“It’s okay?” you whispered, needing to be certain. The immediate nod against your shoulder settled the last of your reservations and you gave him a long stroke in return. You wondered briefly if the dryness of your hand was uncomfortable so, releasing his cock briefly, you spat on your palm before wrapping it back around the base and started stroking him steadily.

“Fuck…” his voice was barely above a whisper, his cock heavy and rigid in your fist that barely managed to close around him as you squeezed him firmly.

Stars, he felt divine. All hard ridges covered in velvet skin, a hot pulsing weight in your hand that made you chew on your lip as you imagined the size and weight of him on your tongue or the sweet sting of him stretching your cunt around him. He was bigger than you had had before, and you knew you would probably feel him for days afterwards.

He twitched under your grip, but apart from the occasional shiver and low groan in your ear, he allowed your hand to explore and learn this part of him at your own pace. Your free hand skirted down his side to gently draw his tight balls out too and when you massaged them in your palm, you received a gravelly moan in your ear. It was followed by a heady rasp in that language you still couldn’t place; the sound of it running down your spine pleasantly and making your body react viscerally, your nipples peaked and sensitive against the material of your chest band and wetness soaking your underwear again.

His shoulders sagged as the tension began to bleed from his body, his helmet turning on your shoulder to watch your hand stroking his cock rhythmically.

You were throbbing with renewed arousal from just the feel of velvety steel in your hand and from hearing those low, gravelly sounds you had been thinking about for weeks. Nothing you had fabricated in your mind came close to the reality; deep and rich, they rumbled through his whole body until you could feel their echoes in your own.

Twisting your wrist on an upward stroke, his hips snapped forward and a groan left him. His free hand unexpectedly lifted to grasp the side of your neck, his staunch control wavering. His fingers spread around easily to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck to anchor himself and you had to bite down on your lip hard to keep from moaning at the sound of him panting your name in your ear. Your eyes fluttered closed when he tightened his fingers, holding your head in pace as you increased your pace to match his hips, random twists of your wrist making him curse and groan your name desperately.

“Fuck… kitten, don’t--- fuck, don’t stop,” he panted against the side of your head, the words interspersed with quiet moans as his control continued to bend, his hips thrusting shallowly into your hand as he chased the release that he had been denied earlier. You tightened your grip and it made him practically shake with pleasure. You were only using the weeping precum leaking from his head to smooth your hand along his length but Mando didn’t seem to mind the dry friction that tethered on discomfort. He seemed to like the added sensation that made his cock throb and his mind cloud with a primal desire to fuck.

“You feel so good, Mando…” your own voice was nothing short of a moan itself, heat gathering at your core and reminding you of how empty your pussy was. But you wanted to finish him first, to bring him to the height of pleasure like he deserved before you considered your own release again. The next time you got off, you wanted to feel him completely overwhelm your body with his own, whether that was with his cock or his fingers or hell, even his thigh again. Whatever he would give you.

You massaged his sensitive head at the thought, your cunt clenching. His fingers flexed in your hair, tugging on the strands and pulling a soft gasp from your lips as he lifted his head enough for the cool beskar to press against your forehead. Your eyes flickered frantically across the visor, the strength of his fingers tangling in your hair making your lips part,

“Fuck, you want more already, don’t you?” he growled with a hitch in his labored breathing when your thumb circled the head of his cock again. You didn’t try to hide the way he was making you feel, there was no point with the desire written plainly on your face.

Drunk on the heady, heavy scent of arousal that filled the hold, you nodded desperately to his question and released his balls to run your hand along the perfectly polished beskar on his chest, the warrior shuddering as if he could actually feel you through the armor,

“I want you…” you purred against his helmet before sinking your teeth into your bottom lip when he groaned.

His hand loosened in your hair, fanning up over your cheek and across the edge of your jaw before he cupped it roughly. His thumb swiped across your bottom lip to release it from the hold your teeth had it in. He repeated the motion, slower this time to savor the pillowy softness of the flesh before pressing his thumb into your willing mouth, the fingers he had around your jaw tightening to encourage your mouth to open for him.

You accepted the supple leather eagerly, letting it rest on the flat of your tongue before you closed your lips around it, the stagger in his shallow thrusts and the sharp, distorted exhale through his modulator telling you just how affected he was.

You moaned around his thumb when he pushed it deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth, letting your tongue circle it before sucking on it hard, showing him exactly what you were imagining doing to his cock and eyes still trained on the black shine of his visor. Your mind was filled with the sounds of his raspy groans and the quick drag of your fingers of the soft skin of his cock. You matched the pace of your hand as you sucked on his thumb and when he pressed closer to you, caging you against the wall, you arched against him and keened under his movements.

“You’re fucking filthy, aren’t you?” he muttered breathlessly and slightly awed, as if he had come across something so unexpectedly amazing when he hadn’t even been looking, “you wan---”

He was cut off as his commlink came to life.

“Mando! You ever going to come out? What’s taking so long?” the crackled, disembodied voice sounded from his vambrace, your eyes widening slightly before you deviously picked up the speed with which you stroked him.

Mando hissed, his helmet falling back on his shoulders at the pleasure that set every nerve in his body alight. He pulled his thumb from your mouth but kept his grip on your jaw firm,

“Dangerous game you’re playing, kitten,” he panted, his voice strained as you felt him twitch and grow harder in your grip if it was possible, the thrill of danger you both felt at someone else’s presence turning you both on more than you anticipated.

You ignored his words and watched him from under heavy lashes with a cheeky glint in your eye, “Aren’t you going to answer that?” your question was saccharine sweet, as if you didn’t have your hand wrapped around his thick cock.

Playing Mando at his own game – challenging him – might have been a stupid move, but he had you riding his thigh that very day and now you wanted to even out the playing field. You ached a brow when he didn’t respond, your hand slowing to a stop on his cock even as his fingers dug into your jaw. With a vicious snarl in his own language, you knew you had him beat and started stroking him again as a reward.

“You’ll regret this,” he promised darkly when he released your face to press the connection link on his vambrace currently braced against the wall above your head,

“Looking after the kid, won’t be---” his head snapped down when you sank to your knees now that you were free from his hold, eyes sparking with mischief while you tried to smother the smile that turned your lips up when you looked up at him,

“Don’t you dare,” Mando hissed down at you, even as his head feel forward against his arm when your tongue flicked out to glance across the tip of his cock, a choked moan caught in his throat.

“Dare? Dare what?” Confusion was evident in the booming yet jovial voice on the other end of the link.

“N-nothing Karga. The kid…. The kid is just somewhere he shouldn’t be,” he directed the emphasis down at you as you lapped around his head teasingly, giving him a taste of the soft, wet heat of your tongue and only a taste.

“Ah! Bring him out! I’ve missed the little womprat.”

“Just give me----”

Mando cut the connection off on a loud moan as your lips suddenly engulfed the head of his cock, your own moan at the salty precum on your tongue making you salivate and lap up every drop. Maker, he was big. You circled the head with your tongue a few times and pulled your mouth off him after a few wet suckles so that you could lick a thick strip along the underside, eyes still shining with mischief despite the dark lust clouding them as he shook above you.

Fuck, he was so sensitive. A rush of arousal pooled low in your stomach and you moaned around him when you took him into your mouth again and sucked on the head while stroking the rest of his length. You would have to get used to his size before taking any more of him. But damn, if your eyes weren’t bigger than your belly and you let him sink deeper once, getting about half of him along your tongue before you felt yourself gagging.

“Stars, yes—” he groaned, the tight heat of your mouth making him want to sink his cock as deep as it could go before you pulled off him with a gasp, your saliva making his length glisten.

Neither of you had the time to dawdle; you could feel the coiling tension radiating from him as he dropped his hand to card his fingers through your hair. You could have spent hours kneeling there with his cock in your mouth, happily keeping him on the verge of pleasure, but he needed to go sooner rather than later. Reluctantly, you gave the tip one last lick before using your saliva as lubrication to stroke him quicker when you stood back up, his hand never leaving the back of your head.

“Tease--- fucking tease, always---” the staccato of his speech was dotted with more frequent rumbling moans and when he bit out a curse as your fingers massaged along the thick vein under his cock, he dropped his head back to your shoulder, the space between you reducing to only as much as your hand needed to jerk him off.

“You can get me back later, Mando,” you purred, squeezing the head lightly, “but right now I want you to cum.” Your free hand went back to palming his balls, rolling them between your fingers and you could feel them tightening in your hold. Your cunt clenched needily when the Mandalorian actually whimpered.

He had slipped back into his native language as he muttered darkly in your ear and even if you didn’t understand the words, the rasp and sinful promise in them as his tone became more and more desperate was enough to make another gush of wetness drench your pussy.

You knew it hit him the moment his spine went rigid, and he choked on a gasp, his hand tightening almost painfully in your hair reflexively. You slowed your pace with a whimper, lazily stroking him through his orgasm as several thick ropes of cum splattered against your jacket, the rest coating your hand as it dribbled down his cock.

His breathing returned in short, stagnant gasps, his arm taking most of his weight while his forehead rested heavily on your shoulder as he recovered. He hissed tiredly, pushing your hand away when the overstimulation made his spent cock twitch even as it softened. It gave you the perfect opportunity to lift your hand and delicately swipe your tongue along your finger to taste him. Slightly salty and a bit sharp, you sucked the finger into your mouth with a hum and let your eyes drift closed at the taste.

A long groan pulled your eyes open again to see Mando lifting his head lethargically from your shoulder, tilted down to watch you clean your fingers of his release,

“Don’t waste any, kitten,” he rumbled, his voice rougher than usual and you felt a swell of pride at the fatigue you heard in it. His hand wrapped back around your wrist to lead your other fingers to your mouth, as if to be part of this ritual of you eating his release. You were only too eager to lap each of them clean, eyes heavy-lidded as you sought his invisible gaze. His chest was still heaving from his release, breathing labored and he looked absolutely wrecked.

You moaned your approval at his taste, enjoying his eyes on you as you did so. You spread your fingers and turned them to rest against his chest and he hummed a “good girl” as he fingers released your wrist to trace up along your arm and across your collarbone lazily, curious in their exploration as though he had never thought to take the time to simply touch for the sake of touching. He probably hadn’t, you realized when you thought about it a little deeper.

His fingers roamed up along the column of your neck and settled there, flexing before they relaxed into a content hold that made you lean into the solid weight of his caress,

“Be here when I get back,” he rasped, fingers spreading to spear up through your hair at the base of your neck for a brief moment.

He only released you when you nodded, mesmerized by the lights that caught on his visor and the shine of his unpainted helmet.

And then his hand dropped and the overwhelming heat and presence of his body leaning over yours was gone. A single input into his vambrace and the child’s hover-pram followed him dutifully. You leaned back against the wall to gather your own breath that you seemed to have lost and pressed the forgotten control button to release the ramp for him and when it flattened on the lava fields below, he offered you a nod before wandering down to his… welcome party?

You snorted on a laugh to yourself, turning back into the bowels of the ship to shower and get changed before going out yourself.

That’s a first.

You wasted no time stripping out of your clothes, flushing slightly at the stains on your jacket and pants from Mando’s release. You showered without washing your hair to save time and pulled on a new pair of pants along with a cream, loose linen top. For warmer climates like Nevarro, you were glad you had picked up the piece despite not wearing it often. You liked the feeling of not having layers of fabric clinging to you, the wispy soft length of the fit caressing rather than constricting and the dip in the neckline was tastefully offset by a string tied across your collarbones that gave it a breath of femininity. You stretched your arms above your head and enjoyed the occasional brush of the material on your back before you grabbed a satchel to make use of the unexpected free time you had been afforded without the child.

You greeted the mechanics setting up by the Razor Crest. Mando had obviously sorted the repairs out, whatever they entailed when he left the ship. Poor old girl was in some state after that landing but her condition wasn’t enough to wipe the content grin off your face as you walked in through the main gates with a small spring in your step. Despite the slight hiccup, today hadn’t gone quite so bad as you thought.

Nevarro was an… interesting place, you came to realize after a short while walking through the ragtag streets and down dusty roads. It boasted the same clientele as most Outer Rim planets, but the place wasn’t nearly big enough or significant enough to garner the attention of anyone more dangerous than a petty thief. The presence of the Bounty Hunters Guild also had a hand in dissuading criminals from setting up on Nevarro. It was charming, in a way. But then, you always were drawn to… unconventional things.

The marketplace – when you arrived – was, in a word, chaotic. There was no clear system of stalls or shops, hardly any signage and people seemed to make do with the most uncharacteristic objects upon which to sell their wares. You had seen no less than four sabacc tables, what looked like the carcass of an old mining trolley and you were nearly certain the Jawas were using stacked stormtrooper helmets beneath a large cloth to make a very wobbly table. You hadn’t managed to confirm that one unfortunately, instead trying to garner what information you could about what each stall and shopfront sold to know where to come back to after doing a leisurely loop of the market.

People bustled here and there, chatter flowed freely, and it felt similar to when the Empire first fell; as though a great weight had been lifted from these people, excited to enjoy the liberties freedom gave them. It was infectious, and you were charmed by it; swindling Jawas and all.

You had been delighted to learn from a helpful human man tinkering with the wiring of a pit droid outside a non-descript repair shop that there was a banking center on Nevarro – a New Republic one at that – recently installed with all the changes happening on the planet.

You threw your silent thanks to the Maker that at least now you had access to your own funds and could stop feeling guilty about living off Mando’s hard earned credits. Noticing the stiffness in the man’s legs when he stood to point you in the right direction, you stalled your journey to the bank to enquire about it.

“Only age, love. Nothin’ to be done about that,” he had waved you off with a dismissive chuckle.

You smiled in return with a brief nod before you took your leave, filing through information in your head about age-related joint stiffness as you did. You simply couldn’t help yourself; you hadn’t had a patient in months and Mando was the worst possible one whenever he was injured so you indulged yourself on your way to the bank with a pain relief plan for someone who had been kind to you. Not just because he reminded you of an elderly Mirialan who complained of similar pains what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The banking center was thankfully, a straight-forward experience. A gatekeeper droid scanned your chain code and then all you had to do was select the service you required. Withdrawing the sum of your accumulated pension that had been deposited but untouched for the last few months left you with a satisfying weight to your satchel as you left and was hardly dented as you went about your errands.

After a few wrong turns and your insistence that no, you didn’t need whatever piece of junk the Jawas were trying to peddle, you managed to replenish the food supplies you felt had either been running low or knew the other two enjoyed along with a few much-needed additions to the medical kit you were building and maintaining. You even went so far as to purchase a few tools you had been without since leaving Mynock, medical and otherwise that would no doubt come in handy eventually. The medical supply store was quite well stocked on Nevarro and given the number of bounty hunters you had seen prowling; it really came as no surprise.

A few tubes of heating liniment added to your satchel along with the other bags you carried, and you returned to the repair shop to hand them to the elderly man there. Your hastily demonstrated number of gentle exercises had him chuckling at you good naturedly and an hour later, you were still chatting over tea and some sort of oat biscuits.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked conspiratorially when you had first sat down gingerly to accept the mug he slid over to you. The question had made you laugh,

“What makes you say that?”

He hummed in contemplation around a bite of his biscuit before pointing what remained of the biscuit at you, “Folk ‘round here are too caught up in their own lives, they don’t be worryin’ about others.”

“It could also be because I’m a medic, no?” you aired your thoughts aloud after a sip of the fragrant tea, a mix of what tasted like ginger and something floral.

“Ah, but you’da charged me if you were workin’ here,” he tapped his nose, a fond wink thrown in for good measure, “go on so, where are you comin’ from then?”

You weren’t able to stop the bubble of laughter that rose, “Pamarthe, for my sins,” you admitted.

“Ah!” he clapped a hand on his knee jovially, “A Pamarthan! Great pilots. Great drinkers!” he chortled, and you snorted into your cup on a laugh, nailed it. You chuckled as you took two biscuits off the table with a small explanation that they were for a child you were looking after. That led you to fielding questions about if the child was yours, but you were able to skirt away from that topic with a well-placed question,

“So, have you ever been to Pamarthe?”

“Me? No, no not with the Empire. Very hard to travel back in those days, very hard. Now, well. I’m not the lad I once was, love. Can’t be off planet hoppin’ anymore at my age. But a few of your people have been known to pass through here, like you.” he explained while you nodded along politely.

“Mores the pity, I can imagine you’d like it. It’s… very different to Nevarro,” you admitted with a glance around the bustling crowds kicking up ash and soot from the extrusive ground underneath. The temperate climate of Pamarthe brought grass and mud, not rock and ash.

“Is it true that all the islands are connected with rope bridges? And not something more modern?”

Your eyes widened pleasantly, the same rush of warmth anyone experienced when faced with the welcome surprise that someone knew about their homeland while not being native themselves,

“You do know your stuff!” a wistful smile broke out on your face at the thought, “and you’re right. It’s just always been that way,” you shrugged, “I’ve never really thought about why some of the old ways were kept; technology is used to prevent erosion of the islands themselves after all.”

“Remarkable, isn’t it? The things we miss that are right under our noses. Simply because that’s the way they’ve always been.” he hummed sagely, and you couldn’t help but agree.

And on your conversation went. It was refreshing, to have a conversation again. You had gotten so used to one-sided chattering on your part to the child and the simple answers from the Mandalorian that didn’t invite any more speaking than necessary.

This was nice, it was a change from the norm. But a part of you started to long for the quiet hum of the ship the longer you stayed away. Perhaps it was down to being unaccustomed to the prolonged sensory overload between the bustling crowds and loud bartering that had you eager to get back, and not just the thought of seeing a roguish warrior who seemed to embody the safety silence could provide. At least, that was what you tried to convince yourself of anyway.

So, bidding your new acquaintance a good evening along with a stern instruction to do his exercises that held no real bite, you left, your pace a little quicker than could be described as casually strolling, “be here when I get back” echoing in your mind and setting flurries of anticipation off in your stomach.

Life still seemed to go on even as the suns in the sky began to age and the shadows they cast on the low buildings and narrow streets shifted. There was still plenty of activity and you casually ruminated on where all these people went when the day was done as you reached the Razor Crest. The Guild had finished unloading the quarries in the time you had been away, and the engine seemed relatively repaired if your untrained eye was anything to go by. Lowering the ramp, you lugged the progressively heavier bags back up into the hold and unpacked them merrily; the outing and the fresh air had done wonders for you a world of good.

With the last of your supplies tucked away under the galley counter, you found yourself with nothing to do. Dismissing the thought of making something to eat after just eating biscuits, you found yourself climbing the ladder to the cockpit instead.

Chewing your lip contemplatively once there, you gingerly sat in the pilot’s chair before you could talk yourself out of it and took in the sweeping view of lava flats as far as the eye could see from this higher vantage point.

Honestly, you chided yourself internally, it’s a chair.

But in the same way you would never sit in your mother’s favorite seat at the table, where the view of the vast ocean framed by towering cliff edges of far off islands was best – even when empty – you still hesitated before you relaxed into the large seat.

Maker, was it always this big? It seemed much narrower when he sat in it… but with space on either side between you and the armrests, you were once again reminded of the size of his presence, unconsciously and perhaps foolishly dwarfed only by your familiarity with seeing him so frequently. You remembered how big he was on your examination table when he had been poisoned. The table had groaned under him and while you had seen taller, you had seen broader, his was the aura that told you he could put every inch of height, every pound of weight to better use than anyone larger or stronger than himself. Heck, even a Houk warlord hadn’t stood a chance against him.

Your fingers ran along the sturdy leather of the armrests, the dry fabric catching the pads in their exploration and reminding you vaguely of a tookas tongue, an abrasive yet gratifying sensation on your softer skin. Your muscles sagged as you relaxed further, the trepidation of being somewhere you shouldn’t be beginning to melt away and causing your head to rest back.

You enjoyed the tactility more with your eyes closed, the deprivation of sight transforming your awareness of the leather beneath your fingers; the shallow veins of aging cracks along the material, the dips where more pressure was repeatedly placed when the Mandalorian sat here and the small fraying of the stitching at the seams. It became a map under your fingers, with rivers and valleys and mountains and you lost yourself in the idle relaxation it brought to you.

So immersed in your tactile exploration, your ears didn’t pick up on the ramp lowering, nor the presence that paused in the doorway of the cockpit, startled at first before he relaxed against the side of the doorframe, admiring the sight before him where he could leisurely take you in while you were caught unawares.

“Planning on stealing my ship?” his voice came out rougher than either of you anticipated and your eyes immediately snapped open to look over your shoulder from where you sat, lips parted in a surprised ‘o’ and looking very much like you had been caught.

You took him in from your position and, after running your hand along the armrest to find the correct button, swung the chair around to face him. You were quite comfortable where you were and didn’t fancy getting up despite your prior hesitation. One leg crossed delicately across the other, you rested your chin on a propped-up hand with a grin,

“If I wanted to steal your ship, I’d have gotten it months ago,” you teased, the familiar ground you had somewhat lost with him over the last week making a welcome return, “you’d have never even known.” you finished confidently with a wink.

Mando said nothing for a moment, assessing your words and mannerisms, “You think you could steal a bounty hunters ship from right under his nose and not get caught?” he hummed, his disbelief evident in his dismissive tone, “Please.”

“No?” you tapped your fingers along your cheek where they rested, “You seemed pretty out of it after I had your cock in my mouth,” you threw at him casually, tone light as if you were merely discussing what you wanted for dinner, smirking at the surprised choke it pulled from him, “probably be pretty easy for me then, wouldn’t you say?”

His body stiffened as he collected himself at the abruptness of your words, fingers flexing on his arms where he had them crossed across his chest and head shifting to look away from you before his visor refocused itself on where you sat,

“I don’t think you were much better, kitten,” his husky voice was deeper than it had been, thicker.

Your stomach fluttered at that stupid fucking nickname, the rolling rasp of it on his tongue only enhanced by the natural lilt of his accent. Your flare of temper gave him the time to push off the wall and saunter over in that arrogant way you hated as much as loved and pressed a hand to the back of the seat by your head,

“I think sucking my cock got you wetter than riding my thigh, didn’t it?” he rumbled, as though his question was merely a token gesture, used to amplify the truth in the statement that came before it, “I don’t think you’d be able to do anything, let alone steal my ship.”

It was your turn to be flustered now, dammit. You had the high ground for all of two minutes before he effortlessly flipped the control. Your body thrummed with how close his was but not one part of him even brushed against you; not the coarse fabric on his arm where it was braced on the seat, not the solid beskar on his legs against yours, nor his helmet against your forehead as he leaned over you. Touch was not a language Mando knew well beyond violence, but he was well aware of how to use his body to intimidate… to dominate… to captivate.

Your eyes stayed on his visor, focusing your attention on breathing normally and to not let the effect he had on your body show. You could feel the heat of his gaze running down your face, over the exposed skin at your collarbones and down the light material of your shirt. The appreciative grunt slipping through his modulator had your thighs clenching together instinctively as the craving you had been distracting yourself from all day reignited with a soft gasp when gloved fingers traced over the bend of your knee that sat crossed over your leg.

“Take these off,” he muttered, patting your thigh once as his fingers traced up from your knee, running them along the outer seam of your pants before pulling his hand away as though it had never touched you and rested it on his belt expectantly as he looked down at you, “I want to see how wet sucking my cock makes you.”

His crass words, so unlike his usual stoic statements were characteristically blunt but filled with a vulgarity that simultaneously shocked you and turned you on. For such sinful words to fall from the mouth of a man who kept his thoughts and emotions in a chokehold, there was a thrilling sense of depravity that exceeded the fact that you had gotten each other off already today.

You leaned back languidly against the pilot’s chair, watching him leisurely as he stood over you and made no attempt to hide the way your eyes trailed down his body. You rode his thigh and sucked his cock already; was there really any point in trying to hide your attraction to him anymore? Life was too fucking short.

“Are you asking me to go down on you again, Mando?” you purred, loving the virility in his tone; there was nothing you loved more than an insatiable lover, it boded well for him being able to keep up with you.

“I’m telling you that if you don’t remove them now, you won’t be allowed to.”

There was a barely restrained thread of anger surfacing in his voice, possibly the residual effects of making him answer the commlink from his contact in the Guild while you had your hands and mouth on his cock, but instead of the spark of fear your instinct would usually alert you with, a trickle of desire kissed your senses instead.

“An interesting punishment,” you hummed, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants, “given that you’d be missing out as well.” Even as you said it, you were uncrossing your legs. He pushed back a pace or two from where he loomed over you to give you room or to get a better view, you didn’t know. Lifting your hips from the seat, you shimmied the form fitting material over your ass and down your legs, kicking the material off one foot before the other, panties staying on.

His helmet snapped up from the smooth skin of your legs to your face and, in a move that had a sense of déjà vu settling over you both, you reclined back comfortably against the chair again, your eyes dancing with the same challenge he had thrown to you on Klatooine.

The pants can come off, but the underwear stays on.

For now, you told yourself, but he didn’t need to know that right away.

The warning growl he emitted was the sweetest response you could have wished for. Revenge after all, was better served ice cold.

Your move. Your eyes dared him with a glimmer of amusement and a quirk of your brow even as a knot of anticipation began to curl in your stomach.

He surprised you by sitting in the co-pilots chair you usually occupied after a tense few seconds, leaning back into the leather, relaxed.

You frowned, breaking the nonchalant façade you tried to deceive him with as your mind scrabbled to figure out what he was planning. You hadn’t anticipated him sitting away from you and simply watching you. You were about to question him when your lips parted as the hand resting on his thigh lifted to palm himself through his flight suit slowly.

Your teeth dented your bottom lip, shifting yourself in the seat while your eyes immediately focused on the way his hand flexed and curled around the prominent bulge and your fingers itched at the memory of his cock filling your hand.

His game, obviously, was to drive you bantha-shit insane, because the moment he unzipped his fly to pull himself from the tight confines of the flight suit, already hard and leaking, you wanted him.

You’ll regret this…

The growl reverberated in your mind from hours before. He was using the very thing you had used against him, on you. Your eyes glazed over as they followed the steady path of the Mandalorians fist as he stroked himself, small grunts the only sounds he seemed willing to let you hear.

You swallowed, heat rose to your cheeks and your skin becoming uncomfortably hot. It made you increasingly aware of your own arousal as you remembered the weight of his cock in your hand, the pulsing length of him on your tongue… your tongue peaked out to taste your bottom lip, all traces of his earlier release unfortunately gone.

Your eyes darkened when a quiet groan was picked up by the modulator, his head dipping with a ragged breath as his thumb swiped over the swollen head. You had to stifle a moan of your own when you recognized that the movement of his hand was mimicking yours, twisting momentarily on the upward stroke and squeezing as it came back down to the base.

Your idle fingers itched to touch yourself and one hand began subconsciously moving between your thighs as they spread enough give you space. But the Mandalorians sharp eyes – even clouded with lust – didn’t miss a thing as his head rolled around to look at you,

“Hands by your sides, kitten.”

His voice was dangerously low, thick with lust as he slowed his strokes to a lazier pace, prolonging his desire and by default, prolonging your inability to touch yourself. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke, and it made you huff indignantly, but you fisted your hands on the leather beside your bare hips nonetheless. The ease with which he gave commands, the casual control he exuded, it sent tremors of need through you, a baser side of you eager to obey even if it conflicted with your stubborn nature.

“Good girl,” he rasped with an unmistakable tease lilting his voice when you settled, “keep behaving and I’ll let you taste it.”

You hated to admit it, but the promise of having him in your mouth again was almost worth the silent torture you were being made endure now, cunt throbbing in neglect and skin humming with sensitivity. You had always been able to succeed with a mind over matter approach, with the constant knowledge that the reward was worth the work it took to achieve it but Maker, was he making it difficult.

The minutes he sat away from you felt like hours despite your resolve and the temptation to touch yourself only grew as the air grew thick with tension. Your eyes drank their fill of the warrior getting himself off mere feet away from where you sat half-naked. The sound of his hand stroking himself and those breathy exhales were going to drive you mad.

Your panties felt uncomfortable against your sensitive skin and you cursed your stubbornness in keeping them on, shifting in your seat and making yourself whine quietly when they brushed against your clit, drawing Mando’s helmet down to look at you once more,

“Take them off,” he repeated breathlessly, and you wanted to weep in thanks, eagerly lifting your hips to push the offending piece of clothing down your legs. You didn’t have time for shyness or modesty when the cool air on your bare cunt was soothing for all of five seconds before the throbbing heat made you ache with a renewed need to touch your clit, to somehow relieve the pressure. The approving groan that rumbled from the Mandalorian was a stroke to your ego as you spread your legs for him, revealing your damp folds to him and tempting him to break the rules of his own game.

“Maker, I can see how wet you are from here,” he moaned and picked up the pace of his stroking momentarily, caught up in the vision you presented him with, half naked in his pilot’s chair; you were a veritable galactic pin up girl.

You made a small noise of impatience, your darkened eyes pleading with him as your body burned under his unseen gaze.

“Tell me what you want,” he grunted, squeezing the base of his cock to slow himself down from simply getting himself off as quickly as possible as he would normally.

“Your cock,” you answered shamelessly before tagging a quiet “please?” to the end which seemed to break him just like you hoped it would.

He stood not a moment later and made the few steps to stand beside you and you wasted no time in greedily wrapping your fingers around the thick base of his cock. You turned your head so your lips could instantly wrap around the head of his cock again, beyond teasing him and addicted from the brief taste you had of it earlier in the day and making you moan around him in both pleasure and relief.

The vibrations made Mando hiss as they ran through him before his head tipped back on a moan when you relaxed your jaw to take a bit more of his length into your waiting mouth, tongue massaging as much of the underside as it could reach. You began a steady rhythm moving up and down his cock, your muscles relaxing to let him move easier along your tongue.

Your hand stroked what you couldn’t take into your mouth, using your saliva to glide your hand down to his base with a firm squeeze. You knew it would take a little time to get familiar with taking him in fully, so you enjoyed each drag of his length over your tongue and lips, along with the occasional teasing scrape of your teeth that had his breath hitching.

He gripped the headrest behind you when you pulled off him to latch your lips wetly along the length, licking and kissing your way to the base nestled among dark, trimmed hair, your hand massaging the head as you did so. The sight made you hum and lick a long strip back up the underside to suckle on the head once more. You had deduced he was probably dark haired given the beautiful tan of his skin, but having it confirmed made your stomach clench giddily.

Your eyes lifted back to Mando’s helmet when he cupped your jaw, pressing his thumb slightly against your cheek for you to open your mouth so his cock could settle back on your tongue. You moaned, taking his none too subtle hint and started sucking him off again in earnest, your saliva and his precum leaving his cock messy and wet and the sounds it made as you sank your head down on it were profane and loud in the otherwise silent cockpit.

You keened when you felt a gloved hand trace down your front, ghosting under the swell of your breast before giving it a tentative squeeze that had you whimpering around him and relaxing your throat to ease more of him into your mouth. He grunted and kneaded the soft flesh of your breasts above the thin linen shirt at the perfect heat of your mouth, learning you as you were him.

You dug your nails into the backs of his thigh to stop yourself from gagging when his tip pushed against the back of your throat, the sudden sensation making him jerk his hips forward with a gasp of your name and a hard squeeze to your breast while tears formed in your eyes. The slight burn was delicious, and the sounds he made as you took as much of his cock into your mouth as possible were even more so.

“Fuck yes…” he groaned, your mouth molten around his cock while he rocked against you shallowly, his gaze roaming your entire body and when it fell on the thin ring of ink surrounding your left thigh, his cock twitched in your mouth and caused you to pull back enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive head before sinking back down on him to take in as much as you could.

The sound of him choking on a moan encouraged you to hollow your cheeks and swallow around him, your eyes glittering up at him with a mix of tears and teasing when he jerked his hips forward again, pushing his length that bit deeper.

“Such a… fucking filthy thing---” he moaned, releasing your breast to tangle his hand in your hair to slow your movements as you withdrew your head eagerly and sank back down on it, “but so… so fucking thorough in your examinations.”

You pulled off him, a breathless laugh leaving your mouth even as trails of saliva kept you connected to his cock and messed up your mouth and chin. You pumped him with your hand while you rested the head against your cheek,

“What did you call it again? Coercive medical attention?” your voice was hoarse, but it dripped with a lovely mix of amusement and desire.

“So long as it ends with my cock in this perfect fucking mouth, I’ll accept medical attention of any kind,” he bit out, the slight tremble in his voice when you gave him a long hard stroke was endearing in a way you hadn’t anticipated the warrior being.

“I’ll believe that when Mustafar freezes over,” you chuckled, giving his cock a squeeze for good measure before taking him back into your mouth.

“Maybe we’ll go there then---” he cursed when you let him hit the back of your throat again, “be—be the only way to shut you---” he never did get to finish that sentence, his head falling back on his shoulders with a sound that got caught in his throat when you took the remaining few inches into your mouth valiantly and swallowed hard around him, breathing deeply through your nose.

Feeling yourself start to gag, you pulled off his cock halfway, gasping around him before starting to lazily bob your head in order to get your breath back and do it again. His hand tightened in your hair but allowed you to move at your own pace. Your attention was pulled back up to him when he leaned over you slightly, a slap to your inner thigh making you moan and spread them for him eagerly.

“Fuck…” he groaned, and you felt the soft leather of a finger swipe through your folds, making you whimper. He growled something you couldn’t quite pick up with your blood pounding in your ears from that single jolt of pleasure he gave you but when you felt him again, it wasn’t the cool leather of his gloves, but the warm skin of his fingers instead.

The realization made you jump on contact with a mewl as he spread your wetness along your dripping cunt. You knew what he would find there without him having to say a word. Slick, swollen and burning with need as you keened, your sounds were muffled by his cock filling your mouth. You struggled to keep the lazy pace of bobbing up and down on his length when you forgot how to breathe from the slight calloused tips of two of his fingers spreading your slick lips and pulling a vicious growl from the Mandalorian.

“All this from sucking my cock?” his voice was labored, control razor thin as he struggled not to merely grip your head and fuck your mouth to chase the release dangling before him. It seemed every part of you was hot and wet and soft as his fingers spread through your folds and his cock buried in your mouth. Your bright, wide eyes, glassy with lust looking up at him made that struggle even harder as his hips rolled involuntarily, your cheeks hollowing and wet tongue massaging under the prominent vein pulsing on the underside of his cock.

You were addicted to the way he sounded, the ever-present discipline he exuded daily was being pulled taut as more primal urges overtook him. It was an intoxicating reminder of his humanity, of the man under the armor and the mere thought of his possible expressions beyond an impassive helmet as curses and moans and filth fell from his lips, had a wave of wetness slowly pulsing from your neglected pussy.

“Oh fuck--- fuck what, what was that--” he rasped, his fingers diving into the arousal that dripped down your open thighs and over your cheeks to the seat underneath you, making a mess. The sudden gush seemed to short circuit something in Mando, his mind struggling to focus on anything but the soaked cunt under his fingers.

When the pads of his fingers brushed over your aching clit, you cried around him, squeezing the base of his cock, and making him hiss your name; a surprised hitch that had him nearly doubled over you in pleasure. The next brush of his fingers was not as surprising, but no less intense before he began a stead rhythm of circling your clit, dipping his fingers down into your sopping folds before dragging that wetness back to soothe over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You tried to mumble something, your head foggy with the need to cum from being filled with something other than your own fingers, but his cock garbled your words, the two of you slipping into that tangled, desperate side of lust. You couldn’t bring yourself to take him out though, lamenting the loss even for a moment as you greedily tried to take more of him again, the choked gasp above the only reward you needed when your nose brushed the coarse hair at his base. It had to be a sin, to feel this good from giving someone else pleasure. Maker, you could get off just by sucking this man’s cock for hours and be satisfied.

Mando however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment and when he suddenly pushed a finger into your tight cunt, your eyes rolled closed as you both moaned in unison. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the thick, foreign digit and you felt your orgasm cresting at your sensitivity before it abated somewhat when his finger settled knuckle deep inside you.

“Stars, so tight for me, kitten--- tight and wet and fuck,” he spat as you clenched around him again at how wrecked he sounded, giving his cock a particularly hard pull into your mouth while you whimpered around him, “can just imagine, shit, imagine how tight you’ll be around my cock.” His words were almost slurring in their delirium and you knew that if you tried to speak, you wouldn’t sound much better. Especially not when he added a second finger into your pussy and started pumping them achingly slow and more controlled than he sounded.

“So big, you- your fingers--- more,” you whined after pulling his cock from your mouth to suck in a breath, the task suddenly becoming manual as you struggled to remember what came first, inhale or exhale? “I want more, always more,” you were babbling against his cock now, begging words interspersed with wet licks and kisses to the length as if you could convince him with affection to give you what you wanted.

“That’s it kitten, fuck, t-tell me what you want—” Mando was panting now, the quick jerks of your wrist along his cock, slippery from your drool and saliva making his own breathing an unbearable task as his fingers pumped inside you harder, the wet sounds filling the cockpit both mortifying and evocative, “such a greedy, hungry, smart-mouth medic I—shit.”

He almost sounded angry, the tempestuous rumble rolling from his voice like thunder, but paired with one hand roughly thrusting a third finger into you and the other carding his fingers reverently through your messy locks, you knew he was as unhinged as you were with the intensity of the pleasure you were somehow able to give each other. As if the tension that had been steadily growing from that first fateful night on Klatooine was suddenly boiling over, spilling, and hissing as it stoked the flames beneath; a closed circuit that could no longer be stopped or broken.

When his thumb began working tight, practiced circles around your clit as his fingers fucked you into the chair, you knew you wouldn’t last long. The looming pressure that had been building the moment he asked if you planned on stealing the Razor Crest was coming at you faster than a TIE fighter,

“Gonna cum, Mando--- Mando, feel so good, please---” you whimpered, grinding your hips down on his hand desperately as your orgasm drew near.

He slowed his fingers despite your protestations, and he gentled your frustration with a well-placed curl of his fingers inside you, “Shh, shh—fuck, not yet---” he started and you whined as you sucked the head of his cock back into your mouth ardently, as if somehow, that would change his mind, a mixture of saliva and precum drooling down the sides of your mouth as you messily lapped at him, “fuck… kitten--- wait.”

He pulled himself from your mouth and his fingers from your cunt, chuckling breathlessly at your frown as you glared up at him, “wait…” he purred, the sound running down your spine and across your overheated skin while he hooked one hand under your knee to drape your leg over the armrest, giving him a better view and greater access to your soaked pussy.

You shivered as he gathered some of your arousal to coat his fingers before your jaw slackened when he spread your juices along his cock – the shudder down his spine evidence of just how effected he was – until it glistened with a combination of your saliva and arousal. The visceral image of your arousal coating his cock had any last shred of control or shame disappearing, impatience taking its place.

It was filthy, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. You dragged your eyes up to his visor slowly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, lips parted and chin messy from your ministrations. The resounding growl he released had your cunt quivering, missing his fingers and it pulled an impatient whine from your lips as your nails raked down his covered hip.

“Mando…” you began, eyes dropping back to his cock with a silent plea.

He led his cock back into your waiting mouth, running the head along your plump bottom lip and smearing the mess already at your mouth and chin before pressing it back against your waiting tongue. His fingers immediately returned to push into you and began fucking you in earnest. The tangy taste of your own arousal mixing with his made you moan around him and your eyes flutter shut, your hips grinding down on his hand immediately once he found a rough, fast pace to bring you over the edge. You greedily engulfed the length of him, your hand stroking along the base as you hummed when you felt him get impossibly harder on your tongue.

His fingers curled against that small patch inside of you and made your hips jerk up to his rough chuckle, “there we go, good girl---” he panted, his thumb once again returning to your clit which had you practically sobbing around him with the need for release. You had orgasmed only earlier today and yet, it felt like you had been edged for weeks, months even. You were so desperate to come apart that when it did hit you, you were blindsided.

“Fuck, fuck! That’s it, kitten---” Mando pumped his fingers through your quivering walls, slower as they clamped down around him, trying to keep him inside while your cries bounced off the steel surrounding you in the cockpit and soaking his hand in your release. It kept going, for several long seconds and you were certain your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen with how you were unable to take in a full breath and all you had to ground you, was your hand working over the solid thick length in front of you.

“So good, it’s so good---” you heard yourself babble, moaning his name like a prayer as you latched your lips to his length to drag open-mouth kisses to the shaft, hips still rocking against his hand as the last convulses ran through you, “want your cum, Mando- “

He didn’t respond, his fingers running sloppily over your clit once more as you whined with the overstimulation and tried to pull away despite being trapped against the seat,

“Another. Give me another,” he groaned, his fingers leaving no room for negotiation as they began a renewed onslaught on your sensitive nerves, already raw and frayed from coming so hard already. You shook your head even as you lapped at his head, eyes teary and unfocused as you looked up at him, “I can’t, it’s too much—”

“’More’ you said…” he released your hair to grip under your chin, pulling your head up to be pressed against his helmet, “I’m gonna… shit, I’m gonna give you as much as you need.”

His voice was strained, and you could hear it wavering the closer he got to his own release. But even in your foggy mind, you could feel the steel determination rolling off him. He wasn’t going to cum until you did. The thought alone made you whimper and despite your earlier declaration, a fresh wave of arousal pooled around his fingers as he pressed them back into you.

“Do it…” you heard yourself whisper, lowering your head enough to nuzzle the head of his cock against your cheek while he still held your jaw and you hoped you were meeting his eyes behind the helmet, “give me everything, e-everything I’ve been missing.”

His answering growl and the press of his thumb into your mouth for you to bite down on was all you could remember clearly before he built up a brutal pace once more. Your head fell back against the seat once he released you at the overwhelming friction on your swollen cunt, but Mando wasted no time in guiding your head back to his cock and with a whimper, you took him back into your mouth easily, his tip brushing the back of your throat now without hesitation as you swallowed.

His fingers stuttered while he groaned before regaining their rhythm and curling up against that spot inside you, a flick of his thumb against your clit sending flames scorching over your skin again as your release approached embarrassingly quick,

“Better than I ever imagined… this mouth—” he moaned, “you’re so wet and fuck… I bet you taste—” he was cut off on a long moan as you let him sink down your throat, breathing heavily through your nose before pulling back and repeating the action, your hands reaching into his flight suit to fondle his heavy balls once more.

You were equally determined to make him cum, a small taste earlier hadn’t been enough to satiate your craving and with a second orgasm about to overtake you, you were ravenous with the need to have him cum down your throat before you were struck dumb with the pleasure his hands would give you.

His breathless chuckle, such a foreign sound to come from him, made you want to smile had you not been preoccupied, “trying to beat me, kitten?” he asked, slowing the thrusts of his fingers so they were longer and harder, the change in pace heating you up beyond boiling point and you gave his balls a gentle squeeze in retaliation.

He was breathing hard, trying to limit his hips from thrusting into your warm mouth but even you could tell the shallow thrusts highlighted how close he was. But given his stubbornness, he doubled down on his efforts and with a final hard press on your clit and a perfect curl to his fingers your release crashed over you, less intense than the first but more surprising as it washed over you and kept you quivering and shaking under him, trying to ride it out with a silent cry. He pulled you through it once again with lazy strokes of his fingers, but they were messy, sloppy as he finally allowed his head to drop back on his shoulders, the tight leash he had on his control finally snapping,

“Yes, fuck— you want my cum, kitten?” he snarled when you nodded around his cock, eagerly pumping him and the change in his breathing told you he was nearly there.

He braced the hand that had been inside you to the back of the chair while the other tangled in your hair to keep you in place, his hips movements uneven and erratic before he stilled, your mouth opening for his cock to rest on your tongue while you pumped him.

He growled your name when his cock pulsed, a rope of cum hitting your cheek before you closed your lips around the head for him to continue coming in your mouth, the thick fluid coating your tongue and making you moan at the taste of him before you swallowed it down. You sank your lips slowly down the length of him, coating him with any residual cum in your mouth while you languidly basked in both your orgasms with a fond lick to his tip.

His shoulders lifted and fell in great rolls as he struggled to catch his breath, the heat in his invisible gaze not lost on you as you held his cock up to lick it clean languidly, reveling in every twitch you could feel in his muscles as a result.

“Maker…” he whispered into the cockpit, now filled only with your combined breathing. He hadn’t stopped stroking your hair as you cleaned his cock up, and the gentle act belied the gruff exterior he presented. It wasn’t lost on you, even if it might have been unconsciously done on his part in his post-orgasmic haze. Your leg dropped from the armrest to fold closed, and you hummed at the pleasant ache you felt once they were together despite the stickiness of your release drying on your thighs.

Once your tongue had become too much for him, he pulled back from you slightly, just enough to push himself back into his flight suit and with a fleetingly soft caress to the side of your head, he dropped back down in the co-pilot seat where he had first begun. You swiped the warm cum from your face and licked your thumb clean while you both basked in the afterglow.

His helmet tipped back against the headrest but kept it turned towards you, his chest rising and falling in large swells. You probably should have grabbed your underwear to cover up, but you were still basking in the euphoria of two breath-taking orgasms that the most you could do was stretch an arm over your head with a soft moan to release any remaining tension in your muscles, your eyes blinking tiredly at Mando all the while.

“Keep that up, and I’ll fuck you right now,” he rasped; his voice lower from how much he had used it in the last while. He didn’t speak often, but you were tickled to find out how vocal he could be when aroused.

You hummed at the thought, relaxing your arms back by your sides as an amused laugh left you, “A tempting offer, but I think my bones have been liquified.” Your words inspired another unencumbered laugh from you, still high from your orgasm and his posture adjusted slightly as if proud of putting you in this state, “I wouldn’t be much use.”

“Until next time then,”

He sat up, the smooth words making you smile tiredly at the familiar phrase. He ran his bare hand behind his neck, a lethargic groan leaving him as he tried to wake himself up from a stupor and your eyes followed the movement. The flash of tan skin made you chew your lip on a smile, knowing exactly where those fingers had been not a few minutes earlier.

You finally pushed yourself to sit up properly, toeing your underwear closer to you so you could bend and shimmy them up your legs, feeling his eyes follow the movement silently. You decided against your pants, the length of your shirt covering your modesty somewhat and you released a long, satisfied breath before turning your gaze to inky darkness that had engulfed Nevarro while you were occupied.

“Did you finish up with your Guild contact?” you posed, and he nodded once,

“Five more pucks,” he explained simply, standing from the co-pilots seat, and you wrinkled your nose, you guys would be travelling for a while, so it seemed.

“Is the kid still asleep?” you hummed tiredly, “I have biscuits for him.”

“Still knocked out from earlier. We had come back to leave when---” he trailed off to your laughter, standing up once you felt your legs wouldn’t give out from under you and turned the pilot seat back to face the viewport,

“Are you saying I made us late, Mando?” you threw over your shoulder, startled when you found him standing directly behind you, his hand falling heavily to your hips and his chest against your back while he hummed in agreement,

“Exactly. You’re as troublesome as the kid,” he murmured against your temple with a squeeze to your thinly covered flesh while you rolled your eyes at him, no heat in the action as you were more pleasantly preoccupied with the comfortable weight of his hands and the warmth that flowed from them into your body.

“Please. Go on then, get us up in the air since we’re so far behind schedule.” You pressed back against him cheekily before his head leaned back to look down at you as he pondered something for a few moments,

“You do it,” he replied simply.

You blinked, he had never asked you to fly before, excluding the time he came back injured on Scipio, and even then, he hadn’t asked. You had taken it upon yourself to do. You couldn’t help but feel that this was a tentative move on his part, a small gesture of confidence he had in you that you didn’t want to refuse.

“I’ll… check on the kid,” he continued with one last caress to your side before he released you and disappeared out of the cockpit, leaving you floundering.

Orgasms put Mando in a much better mood, you determined with a chuckle, taking a seat again and beginning the routine procedures to take you up and off the planet, running your hands back over the dry leather of the armrests fondly.

Crash landing or not, today had been a pretty good day.

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@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @the-scandalorian @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off

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dokifluffs · 4 years

Text

Your Ex Wanting You Back | Ushijima, Bokuto, Kuroo

Pairing: Ushijima X Reader (gender neutral), Bokuto X Reader (gender neutral), Kuroo X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: angsty, love

Request: “can i request a hc to your ex wanting you back while you’re with them..? for bokuto, kuroo, ushijima? tysm i love your writing” -anon

Author’s Note: omg I loved writing this sm and I added an angsty, bad relationship past with Y/N and the ex teheh. Thanks for requesting, anon! Hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: implementations of manipulation of money (Ushijima), Black mailing (Bokuto), and verbal abuse (Kuroo) ((Also, their names is not THEM doing that to y/n, it’s what their y/n experienced with their ex))

Ushijima:

Arriving at the gym a bit early, you stood near the doors where the teams would be entering so you could wish Ushijima the best of luck

Though he didn’t really need it with his skill and raw strength but it was the thought that counts

The audience slowly began to take their seats, chatter filling up the spacious gym as the teams entered

You suddenly felt hands crawl up your sides, making a smile spread across your features

“Ush- you,” the smile faded when you turned around to find your ex instead of the loving boyfriend you were with

“Since you’re here, why don’t we catch up, hm?” He asked with his hands still on you, his fingers squeezing your side

This made you feel very uncomfortable since it brought up bitter memories you had with this guy

His lies came out as easy as breathing to him and it made you sick

The countless number of hours you wasted being with him, thinking he actually cared about you when all he cared about was using you for his own benefits

The cigarettes he was able to buy with the money he “borrowed”

All your emotions you thought you left behind you suddenly churned inside of you, making you feel sick seeing his face so close to your face once again

His Smokey breath right in your face

“Get off of me,” you demanded as you tried to pry his hands off of you but he was strong

It made you remember the grasp he had on you and how sour things ended between you two but it was for the best of course

“Don’t be like that, bab-“

“They said to stop.”

A strong latch was held onto his wrist forcing him to release you

“Hey, who do you-“ the words stopped from his lips as he turned around to look up, seeing the Ushijima

He looked down to him with his stoic eyes as well as his team looking from behind their captain with their piercing and intimidating eyes

Y/n protection squad has arrived

He knew exactly who this man before you was

Those nights he held you close in his arms to soothe you of your sadness and the pain he inflicted on you

Ushijima usually felt neutral to everyone but he was disgusted by him

“Don’t come near them again,” his voice low as his rumbled in his throat

With that said, the guy scrambled off and his team continued into the gym to follow their warm ups while Ushijima stayed behind

“Are you okay?” He asked placing a hand to your shoulder

“Yeah, thanks,” you gave him a relieved smile as you took his hand from your shoulder into yours

“Good luck today. Win another one,” you said as you pressed a kiss to the back of his hand

His lips pulled into a thin smile as he nodded before joining the rest of the team with their stretches

Bokuto (ft. Akaashi):

The sun was hot as it beamed down on you and a few of the other managers from other teams as you all took your turns to fill up the water bottles for the teams

The gym felt hotter on the inside since there was poor air circulation and it didn’t mix well with five high school volleyball teams playing for almost the entire day

But it was all for the better to help their skills as players and bonds as a team

You chatted with the other managers about the teams until it was finally your turn to fill up the water bottles for your team, Fukurodani

“You guys don’t have to wait for me,” you said as you waved off to them as they carried their water caddies, bringing them back to the sweltering gym

As you turned, back toward the faucet, you were met with a sudden chest that made you fall back, knocking some of your bottles to the ground

“Y/N, what a coincidence to see you here,” the silky voice of your ex made chills run up your spine as he squatted down to your level

“You looks so cute with that expression on your face,” his hand holding your jaw with his sinful eyes looking into your eyes, taking in the shaken look over your features

You shook out of his grasp, picking up the water bottles all around you so you could fill up your bottles and be on your way

You could hear your heart racing in your chest and the cold feel of fear spreading in your chest making goosebumps rise over your skin in the heat

“Do you want to model again for me?” He asked dangerously close to your ear

“Please go away,” you moved away, trying your best to fill up the bottles

“Oh come on, those pictures I took of you were beautiful,” his voice sensual in your ears, it brought up all the shameful memories

How were you so naive you didn’t realize how wrong things were before it got so bad

“What do you think you’re doing here,” the sound of Bokuto’s voice pulled you out of the dark as he grabbed the guy’s shoulder from behind, forcefully pushing him away from you

The guy was rendered useless seeing Bokuto with Akaashi behind him knowing he wouldn’t win if he got into a fight

“I strongly suggest you leave,” Akaashi spoke straightforwardly

“Tch, whatever” he spit as he carried on his way, away from the three of you

You let out a visibly relieving sigh as you looked up to the sky to blink away the tears you felt stinging at your eyes

“I’m here,” Bokuto’s voice was much softer with you along with his touch as he took you into his arms despite how sweaty he was

But you didn’t care

He was the one in your life, not that revolting excuse of a human

Akaashi and Bokuto helped you finish filling the bottles and carried them back to the team, cheering you up by telling you the weird dance the Karasuno team as they chanted about meat for some reason

Kuroo (ft. Kenma):

The sky was a beautiful mix of golds and rich oranges as the sun was on its journey to set beyond the horizon, making way for the early night

You walked with Kenma and Kuroo as the three of you walked to the convenience store for some drinks after their practice

You listened intently in the good atmosphere around with your best friends and your love, Kuroo as he told you about how funny Lev was when he failed syncing with Kenma’s sets

This got Kenma to sigh, going on a little tangent as he continued to walk and play on his device

Your bright laughter lifted their energy a bit more and Kuroo loved your laugh

It made it felt like nothing could go wrong in the world

You waited outside the store as the two went in to get drinks and you watched the horizon, taking a picture of the golden sunset, your eyes wide at the beauty of nature

“I see you’re still taking those stupid pictures,” the sound of scoffing was right in your ear

You flinched automatically away from the voice as you turned to see him again

And it suddenly felt like a wound was opening in your chest. A wound you thought closed when Kuroo helped mend it

How was he able to rip it open it easily

“Aw, don’t give me that look, Y/N. I’ve missed you,” he said as he slowly took steps toward you as you instinctively stepped backs the words you wanted to say to him stuck in your throat

But what did you want to say when he was always able to turn the words back to you, the venom rolling off his tongue

“Haven’t you missed me too?” He asked, his face dangerously close to yours as he backed you against a telephone pole on the side of the street, one arm over your head while his other tucked in his pocket

“I know you have,” he purred, smirking devilishly as the hand that was resting above your head cane down to stroke your face

“Don’t touch them,” Kuroo spoke with a sweet sound in his voice, a smile on his face but you could feel his anger

You had told him and called him countless times when you woke up at night cause of he words your ex had seared into your mind about you

All were false but words had a way with sticking

The hold he had on the guy’s hand was almost bone crushing as he controlled his temper around the guy who had hurt you so badly

He never wanted to see him and he never wanted to see you so sad

He wanted to see the smile you were able to show him after a long time

“Oh? And what’re you gonna do?” He mistakingly asked

“I’ll show you something to be scared of, you piece of trash,” Kuroo cursed as he squeezed the guy’s hand until his knuckles were white, his entire demeanor different as he sent a death glare at the guy

“Alright, alright,” he finally piped up, trying to hide the clear pain Kuroo was putting on his hand

Kuroo let him go and watched him go off, sending him a glare when he looked back, standing in front of you so he couldn’t even see you

“Let’s go home,” his aura lighter around you as he handed you a drink nonchalantly, holding you close with his arm wrapped around your shoulders protectively

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (send me an ask if you wanna be added): @yams046 @mazey-chan @sunboikyo00

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kayte-overmoon · 3 years

Text

"Slow Cherry" Chapter 4

(cross-posted on AO3)

Tags: Mild Depressive Episode, Drinking (everyone is of age; no alcohol abuse), drunk texting, accidental face reveal

Snippet: A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Read Chapter 1 Here

Read Chapter 2 Here

Read Chapter 3 Here

No sexual content in this chapter.

Dream spent the next few weeks losing himself in his schoolwork.

Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of George, heard his voice, saw his smile. It was wreaking havoc on his attention span. His feelings toward the older man were confusing to say the least. It was easier to hyperfixate on school than to try and sort out why he felt this way about a man he’d never even met face-to-face.

Knowing they were only a few short weeks away from living not only in the same country, but the same city made it very, very hard to think about anything else.

Luckily, he had a hardcore coding assignment coming up, so he locked himself in his bedroom with the lights off and drowned himself in Python.

Sapnap noticed something was off and made sure to text Dream whenever he got food (conveniently always with a little more than one person could eat alone). On the rare occasions Dream emerged from his cave, Sapnap looked at him with concern written in every corner of his face, but he didn’t ask what was wrong. He just pushed a bottle of water or a granola bar across the counter to him and told him he looked like shit.

Dream was sure he was right. It was winter, so he hadn’t properly been in the sun in months—for a Florida boy, that was too long. He’d skipped a few showers, and the only time he’d eaten was when Sapnap made sure he did. He shuffled into the bathroom to scrutinize himself under the fluorescents. He squinted in the bright light, so used to the darkness of his room. His hair was a mess, several days overdue for a wash and unbrushed for longer than Dream could remember. He also needed to shave, not liking the scratchy growth around his jaw. There were dark circles around his blood-shot eyes and his skin was paler than it had been in years. He scoffed at himself before stripping and jumping in the shower.

The hot water burned his skin, but it was a religious experience. He hadn’t realized how far he’d pushed himself and how deep he’d let himself fall until it was over. His last final was the next morning, so he was almost done. Thank God.

As it usually did when he had a free moment, his mind strayed to George.

They had still been snapping back and forth, which soothed some of the ache. But it felt like he was looking down the barrel of addiction: he knew that taking one more hit, one more drink, would land him far beyond his limit, pushing him past the fabled Point of No Return. He considered ghosting George, but just thinking about that made his stomach turn. Sex workers got enough shit as it was without their clients pushing boundaries, trying to make something real out of their arrangements, or dropping them outright without warning.

Dream was so fucking pathetic.

He emerged from his shower scrubbed raw, physically and emotionally. He didn’t feel great in his head still, but at least he didn’t stink. He brushed his teeth to cover all his hygienic basics, put on a clean pair of pajamas, and went to bed.

And just like that his semester was over. He did well on his final—not as well as he’d hoped, considering how much time he’d spent studying, but well enough to stay on track to graduation.

He emerged from his final to find a snap from George waiting for him on his phone.

The older man was sitting on his bed, throwing a peace sign to the camera with a huge, cheesy grin. There were boxes stacked around the bed, the only thing left in the room being his bed.

Good luck on your final! Getting ready to put my stuff in the shipping container. Only a few more days.

Despite himself, Dream smiled at the message.

Dream and Sapnap celebrated the end of the semester that night in the only way college kids knew how: by buying as much beer as they could afford and inviting over as many people as they could fit into their apartment. Someone connected their phone to the sound system in the living room, blasting hip hop music over the subwoofer. Dream knew they were going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors, but he was too excited—and drunk—to care.

He got a few drinks in him and danced when he was pulled from the couch. Faces blurred before him, but he knew almost everybody there, so he didn’t mind whenever someone pressed up against him. Someone else pressed another beer into his hands. He was sweating, the heat in the apartment still fighting the December cold even with a few dozen people packed into the cramped space. His jacket came off at some point, so he was only in his beer-stained t-shirt and jeans.

He could happily say he had nothing on his mind. He was just happy, done with school for the next month and surrounded by his favorite people in the world.

But not his favorite person in the world.

No, that person wasn’t here.

He stumbled to the bathroom at one point to piss, wobbling a little and struggling to aim. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked much different than he had the previous night: he was flushed from the alcohol and dancing, for one, but he also felt lighter. Maybe it was the beer talking, but he felt good. He always liked life better when he wasn’t in school. And that message from George made him so, so happy.

Only a few more days.

George.

Just thinking about him made Dream smile.

He pulled out his phone just to look at the photo, which he’d screenshotted. They’d agreed they could save anything they sent each other except for nudes, which they had to get permission to keep. But innocent little messages like that one were free game. Dream was thankful for that, since it let him get a fix whenever he needed it. He found himself pulling out his phone to look at pictures of his camboy whenever he had a free moment to twiddle his thumbs.

He wrote a message to George, not really paying attention to what he said. Mainly he just wanted George to think of him while Dream was thinking of George. He sent the message and pocketed his phone. The music became unmuffled as he opened the bathroom door and someone immediately grabbed him and pulled him back into the fray.

Dream had… many regrets come morning.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew how much of a doozy this hangover was. His head was pounding with the beat of his heart, his mouth felt packed with sand, and his stomach was turning. He felt like he needed to puke, but he was too numb to get up. Besides, he had a feeling he’d only end up dry heaving.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, debating going back to sleep. Something on the bed shifted next to him (much bigger than Patches), alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

After some coaxing, he squinted his eyes open and blinked against the scarce light peeking around the curtains—it wasn’t much light, but it was enough to make him want to die. He turned to see someone’s back facing him in the bed, a dude. Dream sent up a silent prayer of thanks that both the dude and Dream himself were fully clothed. He levered himself onto an elbow to see who was next to him. It was Skeppy, of all people, and he wasn't alone. Puffy was there too, curled up against Skeppy’s chest at the edge of the bed. Dream had no clue how neither of them had fallen off yet, so tightly wound together on the ledge. But they were there, snoozing happily.

Someone was snoring, but it wasn’t either of them. Dream sat up further and poked his head around to find Bad sprawled on the floor beside the bed. It seemed he’d wanted to get in with Skeppy and Puffy, but there hadn’t been enough room with Dream there as well. Skeppy’s hand was dangling off the side of the bed where Bad was; they must have fallen asleep holding hands. Despite his head and his stomach trying to remove themselves from his body, Dream smiled. They were all so sweet together.

He extracted himself from the bed slowly, not wanting to disturb them, and grabbed his phone charger from the power strip at his desk. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself carefully. His phone was dead in his pocket, so he plugged it in at the bathroom counter as he set about cleaning himself up. He contemplated trying to throw up but decided against it. It might only make him even more sick. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He definitely needed a shower and a change of clothes, but he didn’t have the energy for it yet.

A soft ding told him his phone was back on. He dried off his hands and picked it up. He had a couple of missed notifications. Karl left one saying he was taking Sapnap back to his place because someone had already taken Sapnap’s room. There was one from his next-door neighbor asking him to turn the music down or they would call the cops. Dream assumed that was a bluff, considering he didn’t remember the cops showing up at any point.

The last notification caught his eye.

It was a Snapchat message from George, received around 3 a.m.

Dream, call me when you get this. I don’t think you meant to send that. I need to talk to you.

Dream’s heart sunk.

What had he sent George? Had he drunk texted him? What had he said?

Oh God, he hadn't told him anything... incriminating, right? Had he said anything about wanting to be more than a sugar daddy, a friend with benefits, a casual observer?

There wasn’t anything saved in their chats above George’s most recent messages. The last message before that was Dream’s response to George’s “good luck with finals” message.

Wait. No it wasn’t.

The time stamp was wrong.

Dream had sent George a picture around 2:30 last night, when he was several drinks deep. He remembered going to the bathroom and texting George, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said no matter how hard he’d tried. He thought it had been a typed message in chat, not a picture.

Maybe he’d sent a dick pic? He hoped not. He had been too drunk to get it up at that point. If that’s what it was, it had to be horribly unflattering. And if not a dick pic, what had he taken a picture of?

His blood ran cold.

He was hitting the “call” button before he could overthink it.

George answered a few rings later. “Dream?”

“What did I send?” His voice was rough. He was trying to keep quiet so he didn’t bother his guests, and his mouth was dry even after brushing his teeth. He sounded like shit.

George sounded uncomfortable when he spoke. “Dream, I’m sorry. I don’t think you meant to—“

“What did I send, George?”

He knew the answer in the silence before George spoke. His stomach dropped when he said it anyway. “You—you sent me a picture of your face.”

Dream hung his head. Perfect. Of course. He’d had grand plans to pick George up from the airport and reveal his face then, or he’d at least make it sexy over their video calls or something. He wanted to make it a spectacle. Instead he’d drunk texted him a selfie.

“It wasn’t bad,” George tried to reassure him. “I couldn’t see it too clearly anyway. It was in the mirror, and you were very drunk. You were a little blurry.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were, like, leaning on the counter. You were smiling. You had a, uh…”

Dream frowned harder. “I had a what?”

“You had—have—a hickey on your neck.”

“What?” Dream stood up straight and pulled the collar of his shirt. Sure enough, there was a dark red mark on his neck, barely hidden by his shirt. “Huh. How the hell did that get there?”

George snorted. “Sounds like you had a fun night.” There was something bitter in his tone.

Dream scrambled for a response that wouldn't put him in the metaphorical dog house. “I don’t—I didn’t sleep with anyone. I would know. It just—my friends are super touchy. One of them probably did it while we were dancing.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dream,” George said softly. “I’m a big boy. I know I’m not the only person in your life.”

“I do have to explain myself, though.” Dream ran his hand through his hair. “I care what you think about me. I don’t want you to think I sleep around. I don’t. Not really. Not anymore, at least. And I wanted to surprise you when you saw my face. I wanted it to be a thing.”

“Dream, calm down.” There was something calming about the British man’s voice, especially when he used that tone, like he was soothing a spooked animal. Which, for all intents and purposes, Dream was. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. I was just worried about you. I know it’s a thing for you, people seeing your face.”

“Oh.” Dream’s heart was thundering in his chest. It was making his head throb harder, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment. “Thank you. That’s—you’re really considerate. And did you—I mean, did…”

“You’re very handsome, Dream.”

Dream was dumbfounded. That wasn’t what he was going to ask, but he’s glad George said it. He wasn’t really concerned about that particular aspect of this whole ordeal, but it was nice to know. “Oh. Thanks. That’s… you too. I mean, I think you’re—fuck.”

George’s laugh echoed across the line, settling Dream’s frazzled nerves. “I know, honey. You’ve told me before. But let's continue this conversation when you’re not so hungover, yeah?”

Dream hummed in agreement. “You can tell?”

“You were sloshed last night. I could tell just by looking at you. Partied hard, hmm?”

Dream snorted. “Just a little. I don't even want to see the state of my living room right now. And there’s, like, two-thirds of a thruple in my bed right now.”

“Oh?” Amusement and interest tinged the older man’s voice.

“No, not like that,” Dream laughed. “They passed out in there. Their third is on the floor. They’re good friends of mine. No clue when we all fell asleep though.”

“Sounds like you need to get started making coffee for everyone, then. Be a good host.”

“Probably. I thought about ordering pizza. I have no clue how many people stayed over though.”

“Celebrating the end of term, then?”

A yawn worked its way out of Dream. “Yeah,” he said. “We all finished up yesterday so we just bought a bunch of beer and invited folks over.”

“Sounds fun.”

“We’ll invite you next time,” Dream said, his tongue loose from his hangover. Oh well. “I think you’d like my friends. They’re all… absolutely insane. But they’re the coolest, nicest people you’ll ever meet.”

A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

#fanfic #dnf #dnf fanfic #dreamnotfound #dreamnotfound fanfic #camboy au #historians will say they were close friends #:)#very close friends #slow cherry #kayte overmoon

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jenomark · 4 years

Text

Part 2

➔Pairing: Idol!Haechan x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut ➔Warnings: Public sex + Vaginal penetration + Masturbation (F+ M) + Fingering ➔Word count: 4,170

➔Summary: He’s an idol, a friend, and you took his virginity. Beginning your friends-with-benefits relationship with Haechan wasn’t the best idea, but you just can’t help yourself when it comes to him.

↞ Part 1

They all feel how you feel when you watch him on stage, like he belongs to you. His smile just for you. Not for the camera, or the thousands viewing clips on social media, but just for you. His song performed for you, the words containing messages only you can decipher. His hips moving across the stage, the thing in his pants pointing in your direction, everything moving towards you, the girl in the crowd, the girl watching backstage, the girl sitting on her bed. No matter where you are in the world, the lights burn across your retinas, the heat in the seat of your pants making it hard for you to stay still. You move just a little bit and feel the throb below, a Venus flytrap waiting for its prey. You pretend he makes eye contact with only you, acknowledging the very existence you try to hide from everyone else. He sees you, he really does.

The song ends and the mirage vanishes. Six people go in different directions, smiles wiped from their faces as easily as make-up. They forget the crowd, forget what it means to be themselves when others are watching. He veers towards you just a moment before remembering where he is and who he is, and then he passes you like you’re invisible. You wonder what he was going to do if he reached you. Kissing in public is too dangerous, even talking together arouses suspicion. You wait a second and follow him, each step playing around with your heart. As you round a corner, you walk into him, your body bouncing off of his.

“I didn’t see you,” he said. He did. “I’m sorry.” He’s not.

His fingers are on your arm, his eyes gawking at your cleavage, his tongue licking the middle of his chin. Staff pass by and he lets you go. He steps back and leans against a wall, his body pressing against its blank canvas like a work of art. People cut between you two, but neither of you notice, or care. He smiles, raises an eyebrow, and purses his lips with the pride of a million men.

“Come with me.” he mouths.

As if you have a choice, you follow him through the people, past the place you had come from. A few staff turn to see the idol boy, his greetings charming, his stage outfit sticking out like a sore thumb. No one notices the girl trailing behind him, her eyes following him with determination, her legs clamped so tightly together, even as she walks. Haechan goes down a ramp until he’s underneath the stage. You hesitate a moment before following behind him. There is something about breaking the rules that has always scared you. Since you met Haechan, you had been doing a lot of that. Though you are terrified of being recognized, no one is paying attention to you. He hides behind large black cases on wheels, their metal clasps shiny when the strobe lights from above the stage hit them. Stacked on top of each other, no one can see what’s going on behind them. To reach him, you step over wires and broken lights that have been replaced. The moment the space swallows you up, Haechan takes your shoulders and pushes you up against the cases. He unbuttons your jeans and slides his palm in until his fingers are cupping you. The rough way he rubs his hand against you makes your knees threaten to buckle.

“This is dangerous.” you shout.

The sound from the music above drowns out your words. You’re afraid he can’t hear you, but then he leans in close to your ear and tells you that the danger is the best part. His tongue is on your neck for a second before his head is between your breasts. He’s greedy. His hands haven’t stopped rubbing you, your clit so sensitive and swollen that you can’t feel anything but a soft burn. When he pulls himself out from between your breasts, you can see that his make-up has worn off, and his lips are puffy from sucking and kissing your skin. The strobe lights from above the stage are peaking through the cracks, lighting up his face in brilliant hues of purple and blue.

“Hi,” Haechan says. “It’s been awhile since I last saw you.”

He removes his hand. He doesn’t pause to tell you to taste yourself, like he normally would. Haechan’s weakness is knowing how wet he makes you, and your weakness is giving in to him every single time. He hooks his fingers on either side of your jeans and pulls them down your thighs. They’re so tight that they won’t budge past your knees without a fight. Feeling frustrated, Haechan spins you around and bends you over one of the cases. Trying to get out of his buckled stage outfit also proves difficult, but the boy is determined. His cock is in you before you look behind to see if he’s free. The feeling of him never fails to flip your whole world upside down.

You say his name, and you say it loudly. The music vibrates your whole body, the heavy bass perfectly timed with his every thrust. The thrill of getting caught makes you want to scream every syllable of his name, each letter like a bread crumb leading to your hiding place. You think of how the music has to stop some time, how the lights have to turn on to reveal what is bent over in the darkness, and you wonder what it will be like when it happens.

Haechan: Are you thinking of me?

You: You wish.

Haechan: I’m hurt. Ah, it’s night time back home. Are you getting ready for bed? What are you doing?

You: Not you.

Haechan: You’ve been hanging around my friends too much. Seriously, none of you are funny.

You: Does the thought of me hanging out with your friends make you jealous?

Haechan: Yes. We both know I don’t share. I miss you. I’ve been away for too long. It feels like I’m going crazy.

You: Donghyuck, It’s been four days.

Haechan: That’s too long.😣 Do you miss me?

You: No.

Haechan: I’M HURT.

You: I have a hard time believing that. What are you doing? How was the performance?

Haechan: I think it went well. We almost dropped Mark during Cherry Bomb. Right now, I’m getting ready to eat. Taeil, Yuta and Johnny want local food. I’m really excited.

You: I hope you’re enjoying yourself. ☺️

Haechan: I am. I’ve been horny.

You: Is that all I’m good for?

The sound of the video call made you jump out of your skin. Like always, your volume was turned all the way up. You looked at your phone and saw Haechan’s picture staring back at you. At the beginning of your relationship, he had snapped a photo of himself and set it as the wallpaper for when he calls. “Don’t show this to anyone,” he had said. “They’ll never stop making fun of me.” In the picture he was acting cute, his finger poking his cheek. The way he looked was so far removed from how you saw him most days : sexy, naked, his face screwed up in orgasm. The word Devil was still a part of his name only you had added a little red heart next to it. You stared at his face a little longer before accepting the video call.

“What took you so long?” he asked. “I don’t have much time.”

You could see he was sitting in a hotel bathroom, most likely on the toilet with the lid down. When he saw you looking, he held the phone up to give you a short tour of the bathroom. He showed you the tub where he said he’d like to fuck you in, the toilet he was sitting on, and the sink. You weren’t as interested in his surroundings as much as you were in seeing his face.

“It’s nice.” you said.

“It’s nice until Mark comes in here,” he said. “Speaking of, he went out to grab something from Jaehyun’s room, so I don’t have a lot of time before he comes back. Let me see them.”

“Them?” you asked. You were playing dumb. You knew exactly what he wanted to see.

“Ahhh,” he groaned. “Why do you do this to me?”

In the darkness of your bedroom, you didn’t think he would be able to see you well. You lifted up your shirt, anyway, and showed him your breasts. Haechan was dramatic when you revealed them, his mouth hanging open, the sound from his throat sounding like a croak. You pulled your shirt down quickly, the disappointment showing clearly on his face.

“You can see more of them when you get back.” you told him.

“Six days,” he said. “I can wait six more days.”

It was the first time you were separated for more than three days. It had been almost two months since you started fooling around, but he came to your apartment nearly every day to spend time with you. Haechan being a staple in your life made it harder for you when he was absent.

During your short period of being together, you had grown too comfortable with him. You had exerted your time, patience and body far beyond what you thought it was capable of. There were days when your emotions completely took over, your happiness cradled in the palm of his hands. You were disappointed when you couldn’t see him, his fist closing tightly around any motivation you had for anything. In the physical aspect, there were days when your muscle aches were so bad after you finished fucking that you had to use muscle relaxing patches to get through your next work day. Fucking three times a night-sometimes four- was just as time consuming as it seemed. You were losing sleep, losing interest in doing anything but thinking of new ways to make him come.

You liked to wonder how it was from Haechan’s point of view. You didn’t know how he survived juggling his schedules, priorities, and you, all at the same time. He should have collapsed from exhaustion, or at least aroused suspicion from his members and the staff.

Even through all of the risks on both sides, neither of you wanted to stop when the reward felt so good. Stopping was never an option, not for you, or him. You were as addicted to him as he was to you, and you could not get enough of your drug. After you made him come, you wanted to get back on top of him, riding him until your pussy was raw, until your thighs hurt from being spread apart for so long. You didn’t know when each of you started wanting to break the other, but the obsession was seeping into every part of your life.

“Let me see your cock.” you said.

“What?” he asked. “My cock?”

The shyness in his voice made you smile. You tried to hide it off-camera, but he could see the way your cheeks were rising. Haechan smiled, too, his laughter directed towards the floor. In the camera, all you could see was his Balenciaga hat and the little tufts of hair curling around his ear. In between fucking, you would lay with him while he fell in and out of sleep, your fingers curling that very section of hair. In moments like that, you thought about how easy he was to love, and how hard it was to stop. He stood, turned around and placed his phone against what you thought might be the top of the sink.

“Are you sure you want to see it?” he asked. “You might not be able to control yourself.”

Haechan lifted up his shirt and tucked the end of the fabric underneath his chin. The belt he wore around his waist barely kept his pants up. He was losing weight lately, his body being worked in every direction. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his top button, brought his zipper all the way down until his briefs were revealed. When you saw his cock, it was soft. He rolled it around the tips of his fingers until it started growing to its full length. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. You sat up in bed, brought your knees to your chest and rested your phone against your thighs.

“How long do you think you have?” you asked.

“A few minutes.” he said.

You didn’t have to tell him to touch himself. Haechan was already jerking himself off, looking down at his cock in his hands before looking into the phone camera. He turned to the side so you could have another angle of his body. Though it was probably wiser to keep quiet, Haechan did as he wanted. The moans filled the hotel bathroom, along with the sound of his palm around his cock.

“Tell me you want me,” he said. “Tell me you want your mouth around me.”

You took your phone into your left hand. With your right hand, you dipped it into your pajama pants and started playing with your clit. Your eyes were on his cock, his fingers rhythmically moving to his deep sighs. There was something so torturous about seeing him and not being able to have him. You had to stop yourself from bringing the phone up to your face and trying to lick him through the screen.

“I want you,” you said. “I want my mouth around you.”

You closed your eyes and imagined his cock sliding past your lips. You loved holding onto his hips and controlling how fast he fucked your face. You imagined what it would feel like to grab a handful of his ass as he did that. You tried to taste his imaginary cum, and how it would spill out all at once, like you had bitten into a delicious fruit and the juice was gushing into your mouth.

“Tell me…,” he began to say, his words breathless. “Tell me I’m the only one.”

“You’re the only one.”

You were moaning with him, your voices rising in unison. Having sex via video call wasn’t what you had planned for the night, but you knew it was a vital part of your life.

“Tell me-”

“-Tell you what? Anything. I will tell you anything.” you said.

“Tell me goodbye, Mom, I’ll talk to you later.” he said.

Your eyes snapped open as the video call ended. His selfie flashed for a second before disappearing. You were nearing climax, but the confusion made you stop touching yourself. You took your hands away from your pussy and read the text coming through.

Haechan: Fuck. Sorry. Mark. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

You dropped your phone beside you and sunk back into your sheets, your pussy full of nothing but regret.

“Are you crazy?” you asked. “You shouldn’t be here.

“I wanted to see you.”

He stood in front of your apartment at midnight, his hat low over his eyes, a face mask over his mouth. The way he looked reminded you so much of the night you realized you wanted him in very compromising positions. You had grabbed the first jacket from your entryway, which just so happened to be one of his that he left. You hugged it tightly around your body, the smell of him wafting into your nostrils.

“Just see me?” you asked.

He laughed. “Yes. Now that I’ve seen you, I can go.”

“You and I both know that you can never just go.”

“Perhaps I am crazy,” he said. “But I am also tired. Jet lag. I should be resting.”

“Don’t let me stop you then.”

You stood with a lot of distance between you. The way you were feeling as you looked at him felt foreign to you. Normally, you would barely talk before you stumbled into your apartment, tearing off each others clothes, pushing things onto the floor to fuck on the hallway table. With your whole relationship about the benefits rather than the friendship, it was easier to direct. You didn’t know how to handle moments when you were both forced to act like two non-feral people.

You felt like you wanted to tell him everything you’d went through since he’d been gone. You wanted to grab a bite to eat where no one knew his name, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and watching him eat his fill. Wanting those things made you unsure about how you truly felt.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked. “This is a one-time offer.”

“Okay.” you answered.

You shut and locked the door to your apartment. When you turned back to him, his arm was extended. You looked down at his hand. Those hands had been all over your body. Sometimes you watched those hands touching other people and wondered what they would think if they knew they had been inside of you.

Losing his nerve, Haechan pulled it back before you could take it. Without saying anything, you moved beside him and took his hand back. If he wanted to hold hands, you would give him what he wanted. You both walked half a block before you spoke.

“How was travelling?” you asked.

“Fun, “ he said. “I feel lucky. I’m so grateful for the opportunities. I like it. How was your time while I was gone?”

You didn’t know how to answer truthfully so you just agreed that your time was equally as fun. Work days blended together when you had nothing to look forward to. You didn’t like to admit that you weren’t sure what day it was, or that so much of your life revolved around him. Luckily, he didn’t press you any further. It’s not that Haechan didn’t care what you were feeling inside, just that his outlook on life stayed blissfully positive, and you didn’t want to be the one to take that away from him.

“The clubs are still open,” Haechan pointed out. “I could use a drink right now.”

You knew that holding hands in public was the worst thing you could do that wasn’t behind closed doors. You never knew who could be watching, their phones clicking away like the ringing of a cash register. The people stumbling out of the clubs could be people you worked for, or worked with. All it took was for one person to recognize Haechan and the fun would be over. You thought about letting go of his hand, but you didn’t want to. He sensed your fear and directed you away from the crowds exiting the club.

“It will be okay,” he said. “As long as you’re with me, nothing will happen.”

You walked a few blocks before turning back to your apartment. The walking was aimless. After the club, you only came across a few people grabbing late night snacks at a convenience store. In the world the night had created, you both began to act more boldly. Haechan’s laugh was loud, his happiness contagious for people who passed you by. He brought you to him for back hugs, his arms squeezed tightly around you, his chin digging into your shoulder. Halfway back to your place, he got a message on his phone that stopped both of you in your tracks. You watched his face falter, his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“It will be okay,” he said, repeating his line from earlier. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s just be here together.”

You walked the rest of the way in a weird silence. You kept looking over at him to figure out was wrong. Worst case scenario: everyone found out about what you two were doing. Best case scenario? You didn’t know, but you were hoping to find out one day.

“This is where I leave you, my princess.” he said.

You stood in front of your door. Hearing him call you his Princess made you want to giggle. In the beginning of your relationship, it was Haechan who reacted in such a way. Taking his virginity made him a little dependent on you. He often giggled when you suggested new positions, or told him how pretty you thought he was. Now that you were far into knowing each other in the most intimate ways, it was you who couldn’t stop becoming so giddy every time he opened his mouth. He could see his affect very well. You wore it hugged closely around your body, just like his jacket.

“Be careful walking home.” you said.

Haechan took a step forward. His figure was sexy, his eyes mentally undressing you. You thought that he might stay a little longer and fuck you on your apartment steps. Instead, he kissed you, his lips petal soft. As he pulled away, you could barely open your eyes to look at him. He backed away from you, his trademark smirk faltering just a little.

He stopped to look at you after making every move. For anyone else, you would have faked your enjoyment, but for Haechan, everything was honest. If he touched you, your body quaked in response. You couldn’t stop your eyelids from fluttering, your body from moving up the bed to get away from his persistence. If he made you feel good, you let him know with your shortness of breath, your knuckles clenched around the sheets.

“You make the funniest faces when you orgasm.” he observed.

You resisted the urge to take the pillow from underneath your head and whack him with it. Haechan sat between your legs, your knees hooked over his thighs. Often, you sat like this when you both felt too lazy for much else. He would play with your pussy for what felt like hours, his fingers pushing into you to see how many you could take. He would trace your labia with his fingertips, draw love hearts on your clit. He loved the way you looked when you were wide open for him, loved you shaved and unshaven.

“It’s a compliment,” he said when he sensed your hostility. “I love everything about you, especially how ugly you look when you’re on top .”

You clamped your legs shut, trapping his arm. He laughed gleefully, pushing your legs back open before climbing up your body. He laid across you, his full body weight crushing yours.

“You’re heavy.” you said.

Haechan flopped his body around, like a fish, until you felt his weight even more. You wheezed dramatically. The way you both joked around always made your day better. Laughing with him eased a lot of stress from your daily life. You used your hands to squeeze his cheeks. When he made a fishy face, you kissed his lips.

“I could stay like this all day.” you said.

“Not me,” he said. “I don’t want you lying on your back the whole time.”

You rolled your eyes, and he jokingly got offended. You pulled his neck down so that you could kiss him again. You made out like that, your naked bodies on top of each other, for awhile. The concept of time didn’t matter when you were together. There were times when you were thankful that all you did was have sex with each other. There was no fighting, no expectations, and nothing that could be torn apart if it wasn’t together to begin with. When your phone lit up, both of you pulled away.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“How am I supposed to know?”

Haechan took one look at your phone lit up on your night stand and pushed it off. It clattered onto the floor, your protective case splitting in two. You started to get up to check on it, but he pushed you back down. He got onto his knees and pushed your legs up so that your ass was lifted off the bed. His distraction tactics were good, you had to give him that.

“I’ll buy you a new phone.” he said.

Haechan took your hands and interlocked his fingers with yours. When he entered you, your mind forgot the phone altogether. The way he moved wasn’t his normal fast pace. Haechan liked to fuck you hard, each orgasm strong and earth shattering. Passionate was not a word you often used to describe what you and him did in the bedroom. As he moved inside of you, he lowered his body down over yours until he was hugging you. He kissed you as deeply as he was thrusting.

10:02 a.m.

Haechan: You’re not answering your phone

10:03 a.m.

Haechan: Call me back

10:46 a.m.

Haechan: I’m sorry I left so many voicemails I don’t know what to do

11:00 a.m.

Haechan: Pick up your phone

11:16 a.m.

Haechan: Johnny knows. He’s on his way to your apartment. Don’t tell him anything.

#haechan #nct #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck smut #haechan smut #lee haechan #nct haechan smut #nct smut #nct fanfiction #haechan fanfiction #haechan smut fanfiction #nct smut fanfiction #I mean it's more than just smut tbh #there is a plot #it just has a lot of sex #anyway please forgive typos and stuff :D

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ahiddenpath · 3 years

Note

If you could give Daisuke, Miyako, and Iori their own crests, what would they be?

This is a really tough one! I do love that they “inherited” crests; the whole “these kids gets mentors” was so cute? A great way to bring back the older kids in a meaningful way. I personally think the 02 crew “had it together” in ways the original crew... kind of didn’t, lol! But they did have a lot of benefits (ability to go home, Koushiro as an advisor, mentors, two members who already knew what was going on, etc).

I also really love the observation that Adventure emphasized individual development (finding and earning and internalizing their crest traits, evolution is triggered by understanding yourself) and 02 emphasized team development (jogress/evolution triggered by strong bonds between teammates, inheriting wisdom from the ones who came before). So... I guess I hate to mess with that? But I do also see the appeal of giving them their own traits...

THIS GOT INCREDIBLY LONG, but it’s a really cool post, I think! So please read on beneath the cut!

Daisuke

Honestly, I think miracles works pretty well? I’ve heard people say that Daisuke just... Does whatever he wants/follows his gut, and it tends to work out; ie he’s more “lucky” than “an effective leader.”

Personally, I... Truly admire Daisuke’s faith and optimism and just... Just raw belief in everyone? I have anxiety, so sometimes my brain loves to tell me that a thing I’ve done a million times with no problems will somehow explode in my face. Can you imagine just... Choosing to always believe, and acting like everything will be okay? I don’t mean “sticking your head in the sand and going LALALA THIS IS FINE,” I mean taking action without hesitation, even when things are scary.

Like, yeah, maybe that’s not always valid IRL- you need to plan and be realistic and accept and reevaluate when your plan isn’t working- although I’d argue that Daisuke learned to do that over the course of the series (I remember him saying the team should rest at some point, and everyone was surprised that he didn’t want to press on, except Ken).

But I also maintain that Daisuke’s ability to believe in himself, his team, and just a general “things will be okay” is what creates success that almost seems... miraculous!

Also, I think he is suuuch a great meld of courage and friendship, because he pushes on when things are scary (courage) and is able to do so because he believes in everyone (friendship).

So, I’m thinking something like faith/confidence/trust. And having listed some similar-ish words...

I’m going with trust.

What incredible things you can do, when you believe in yourself, your team, and the future.

Miyako

I’ve seen other people assign her the crest of “passion,” which I think is great!

I think the thing about Miyako is that she’s, like... Always on, always 150%, so dynamic and vibrant and just... her cup overflows with energy and... Miyako-ness.

It’s clear to see how she relates to her “purity” side. It took me a long time to understand what I think the crest of purity means, thanks to a lot of... ickiness around the word “pure” in western tradition, which is also why I am loathe to throw the word “innocence” into my definition. Basically, I think the crest of purity means that Mimi and Miyako don’t dissemble/hide how they really feel. You’re always getting their raw, honest truth. And, because Mimi in particular is spoiled, she can come off as childish- which is where people like to throw in the word “innocent.”

[The general selfishness of children is related to them not knowing yet that they aren’t the center of the world- psychologically; Freud would call it “being ruled by the id.” It’s just a developmental stage, and doesn’t really indicate actual selfishness. You know how Winnie the Pooh is a sweetheart, but can make things miserable for other people by just assuming he can help himself to everything?]

But Mimi also displays a child’s heart in terms of being kind and sweet and sensitive and wanting to help... and then swinging back towards the id at the drop of a dime, lol!

Like Mimi, Miyako is very comfortable giving her opinion and drawing attention to herself, and she doesn’t seem to be holding herself back... But we do eventually see that things can weigh on her, and that she’s sometimes putting up a front when her energy actually isn’t at 150%.

I think the “love” part is a bit harder to pin down, but then... The word “love” is incredibly vague, and means a million different things to different people, which is why I kind of hate discussing the crest of love! I like to think of it as “the crest of compassion” to focus discussions; sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it.

It’s kind of funny to think of Miyako with the crest of love compared to Sora. Sora tends to show love by watching over people, being kind and supportive and brave even when she’s struggling and hiding the signs of her struggle/dismissing her own struggles, doing things for others, often without even letting people know she did anything.

In comparison, Miyako shows compassion by being present for people she loves, telling them bluntly when they need to shape up (which, frankly, a lot of Digimon characters really need. We need waaaaaay less staring into each other’s faces and never answering concerned questions and waaaaaaay more *slap* GET IT TOGETHER! God, ilu Miyako), and being honest and open about how much she cares for them.

So yeah, passion!

Iori

One of my favorite Chosen, this sweet good boy that I lovelovelovelove!

So one thing about Iori is that, while I can write big honkin’ analysis of how Daisuke and Miyako show their inherited crests... Um, I think Iori is his own thing. Like, I don’t... super get honesty and knowledge off of him. I mean, the honesty thing, sure. His Grandpa taught him not to lie, we had a whole ep based on that alone. As for knowledge, yes, he wants to know the truth and get to the bottom of things.

But... Neither crest ever felt like a slam dunk for him? Even though it’s easy to see how “honesty” and “knowledge” coalesce into “a desire for truth,” which is further illustrated in his career as a (presumably upright and truth-seeking) lawyer. Like, it’s right there in front of your face, Hidden!

BUT LEMME PULL UP A CHAIR, CAPTAIN AMERICA STYLE, AND HASH WITH YOU.

The thing that, to me, stands out about Iori most is that he’s grounded and centered. Have you seen that post recently that explains how Daisuke tried, just one time, to treat Iori like a little kid (he says, “shut up, little brat”)? And Iori- who is about three years younger than Daisuke, and much more withdrawn- politely but firmly replies, “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

AND YOU KNOW WHAT? DAISUKE APOLOGIZES AND NEEEEVER TALKS DOWN TO IORI AGAIN.

Iori is like... He’s like eight, my dudes! Rolling with a bunch of eleven-ish year olds! He’s personal friends with Miyako, a twelve year old, before Adventure 02 even opens! And we don’t often see him being doted on and protected like Takeru and Hikari were in the same situation.

YOU WANNA KNOW WHY? The simple answer is that he’s mature, but I wanna say that he’s grounded, the ultimate earth sign type (I think Digmon is a pretty clear metaphor). He doesn’t get flustered or swayed. He knows where he is, where he stands, what he must do. On the one hand, this makes him mature beyond his years, reliable, able to stand up for himself and be an equal team mate among kids who are older than him.

The downside is that “that which cannot bend must break.” I’m sure you’ve read a zillion metas about how Iori sees in black-and-white originally and has trouble changing his world views and learning to forgive... But he does all of those things, maturing further into possibly just... just... Can you even imagine him as an adult?! HE’S TOO POWERFUL.

So, if he were an Adventure character, I’d say that his crest is integrity, and he has to go through his adventure to learn what that really means for him- to develop from stubborn, black-and-white thinking to true integrity.

THANKS FOR THE ASK!

#02 crew #digimon meta #crests for daisuke miyako iori #faves #daisuke motomiya #miyako inoue #iori hida #Anonymous

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greenjacketwhitehatdocmui · 3 years

Text

Those Left Behind, Chapter 4

Well, here it is, chapter 4. This can also be found on FF.net here

or AO3 here.

Sorry about the delay, but I’ve had to deal with quite a bit in the last few months. Hope this was worth the wait!

--Doc

Elsa stood before her father's portrait. A lifetime ago, he'd held her hand and admitted that he'd been very nervous when posing. He thought that he looked stiff and uncomfortable.

She didn't see it that way. To Elsa, her father looked regal and in control, a far cry from her state now. She could only hope to be half as good a ruler as he had been, gates notwithstanding.

Would he have been proud of her? No, who could ever be proud of someone like her? She was a freak, her powers a curse. If only she had been born a normal girl like Anna, none of this would have happened.

For years, she had hoped that someone would tell her that her suffering was not in vain. No, it hadn't been just her suffering. Anna's warm, loving heart had been trampled on so many times with each refusal.

What would her parents think? For years, she'd hoped beyond hope that they were out there somewhere. But she knew that it was a lost cause. They could no longer offer her any advice or comfort. She only had their memories to guide her.

--------

Anna practically leapt from her bed and changed. Today was the only day that the gates would be open and she wasn't about to waste it!

Now dressed, she paused as she looked outside the window. She'd done so many times in the last three years. She knew that her parents were gone. She still dreamt about them every so often, hoping that they would have some advice to offer.

The moment passed. This wasn't a day to think about the past. This was a day to go out and bask in the sun.

She dashed out of her room without another look backwards. Today was going to be a good day.

--------

Iduna felt the sunlight on her eyes and groaned. She snuggled closer to Agnarr, who responded with a chuckle.

"And here I thought that you were the early riser," he joked, kissing her on the top of her head. He paused. "Something wrong?"

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The interior of their "cabin" certainly wasn't very fancy. It was a bit sturdier than the huts that her family favored. It had been built by everyone in the Arendellian contingent. Fortunately, Captain Hansen had been quite adept at woodworking before he joined the Navy. With his direction and the convenient abundance of fallen wood, the makeshift log cabin had been built fairly quickly. Doing so was more comforting than trying to salvage the remains of their yacht.

(They had tried to reach Ahtohallan after the first month. Before they reached the sea, they found the yacht, empty and wrecked. They scavenged the interior, coming away with a map and a few other items. Agnarr had then carved a marker to commemorate those who were lost.)

Outwardly, Yelana had feigned indifference to the construction effort. In private, however, she'd wondered why the Earth Giants had spared any effort towards anyone from Arendelle. It was a conflict that she couldn't quite reconcile. Her faith in the Spirits didn't mesh with her emotions towards Arendelle.

It had been three years since they'd been trapped in the forest. In that time, Iduna saw how much Agnarr had wanted peace between Arendelle and her family. He did his best to try to work things out. There had been trade agreements, general boundaries drawn out and a crash course in Northuldra etiquette and social norms.

Iduna wondered whether or not it was enough. In the last three years, she could count on one hand the times that the misty sky had almost cleared. One night had been particularly calm and she could have sworn she'd seen a star in a patch of midnight blue. Then the moment passed.

"I'm not sure what we're doing wrong," she admitted quietly. "The mist came because everyone started fighting. But now, nobody's fighting and the mist is still there."

Agnarr said nothing for a moment. He looked at the wall and sighed heavily.

"I know," he said softly. "I've tried everything I could think of. I just wish that the Spirits would say something."

"It doesn't work that way," she reminded him, frustration coloring her voice. "Father once told me that the closest he came to communicating with them was like trying to understand raw emotions. They don't really use words, more like sensations. Then he interpreted their desires as best as he could."

He sighed heavily. He'd pushed himself for what peace he could manage between the two groups. The soldiers and sailors still admired him, followed his orders with almost fanatical zeal. The Northuldra had been...resigned and somewhat accommodating, but hardly enthusiastic.

Oddly enough, it was because they were removed from the castle that they could focus on the main issue: Peace with the Northuldra. Had they been still in Arendelle, they would have been bombarded by servants, townspeople and demanding diplomats.

Then again, they would have been a family. There was never a day that they didn't think of their daughters and how things might have been.

"Do you think that Elsa's having her coronation?" she asked.

Agnarr hummed thoughtfully. "She came of age last December," he said. "This would be the most convenient time for diplomats to come in."

“Can you imagine Anna just going from person to person like a butterfly?” she asked. “She’d be having the time of her life.”

A somewhat wicked little smile made its way on his face. “Can you imagine your mother in that situation? I would feel very sorry for the diplomats.”

“Would you?” she asked. “She’d ruffle their feathers like the peacocks they are. They’d act all indignant until they found out who she was.”

“And then they’d fall all over themselves to apologize.” He chuckled. “That’s quite an image.”

For a long moment, they basked in the impossible dream. Then they sighed and got ready for the day.

--------

Yelana stepped out of her hut and surveyed the camp. Everyone was busy, the better to keep their minds off of their situation.

She had to admit that things were better now than they had been three years ago. Agnarr had done his best time and again to try to smooth things out between his people and the Northuldra. Iduna's visits were also a factor. Surprisingly, the Arendellian contingent had been behaving themselves.

It was the younger generation who seemed more curious than fearful, she noted. Ryder, Honeymaren and the other children had been raised on tales of how horrible Arendelle had been to their people. After Agnarr and his sailors arrived, however, there were murmurs that the king didn’t seem like a bad sort.

She frowned. She’d fallen in that trap once before with Runeard.

--------

“Erke, why can’t you be more like Runeard?” she asked her brother-in-law. “He’s a strong leader.”

“What makes him strong?” he gently countered. “Is it because he’s charismatic? Do you admire his ambition? Or is it because he appears `civilized’ compared to us?”

"I just think that there may be better ways to do things," she sighed. "And who knows? Our two nations may become closer in time. After all, Iduna seems quite taken with Prince Agnarr."

He smiled. "I've noticed. She's like Sunna, always following her heart." His smile faded, replaced by a furrowed brow. "Agnarr is a good person, but I'm not certain that Runeard has shown all of himself."

Yelana frowned. "If Runeard means any harm, wouldn't the Spirits intervene?"

"The Spirits trust our judgment. They could intervene in every little injustice, but where would that leave us?" He shook his head. "I think that they're waiting to see what happens. For good or ill, our choices are our own. I think that they'd only act if they had no other choice. And with the power they wield..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"I'm sure that it won't come to that," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "Look, I know that you're cautious of Runeard, but I think that this alliance will benefit all of us."

"Perhaps," Erke allowed. "I still think that the dam is a bit too...grand of a gesture. And when I mention the Spirits, Runeard has an odd look in his eyes.”

“Not everyone is as blessed as our people,” Yelana said. “To have the Spirits on our side, helping us whenever possible—that’s a rare thing.” She offered a reassuring smile. “At least he’s not charging in with an army.”

“I doubt that he’d be foolish enough to try,” he remarked. “Still, once the dam is complete, we can try for further negotiations. I’d like to show Runeard’s people that we aren’t the savages some think we are.”

“Perhaps over a toast?” she suggested. “I think it would be fitting.”

Erke hummed in approval. “A symbol of trust between equals? That sounds like a wonderful idea."

"We can celebrate once the dam is complete," she said. "And maybe in a few years, Iduna and Agnarr..."

He groaned theatrically. "I don't want to think about that now. He's 14 and she's 12, Yelana. I do not want to force them into anything."

"But they are cute together, aren't they?" she gently needled him. "The Wind Spirit likes them both."

"Well, then...Runeard can't be that bad if his son's turned out well," he reasoned.

--------

Yelana tightened her grip on her staff. She had been such a trusting, naive fool. She had talked her brother-in-law into that fateful toast, which led to Runeard's betrayal. And the Spirits had reacted accordingly.

Never again, she thought to herself. We have paid enough for our mistakes.

A gentle touch on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. There was only one person she would have allowed that contact.

"Good morning, Yelana," Sunna said brightly. "You're brooding again."

Yelana sighed. "I'm just...checking up on a few things."

She had to admit, Iduna's return had done wonders for Sunna's health. In the three years since the Arendellian contingent had arrived, mother and daughter had reconnected through stories and long walks in the forest. While Sunna wasn't the boundless font of energy she was in her youth, she could easily keep pace with everyone else when it came to the chores.

Technically, Sunna could have resumed leadership from Yelana. However, the former had demurred. After all, blood was not the main requirement for leading the tribe. Yelana had proven herself more than capable, even though she was the younger sister. The tribe supported them both. The most Sunna would interfere with Yelana's decisions would be to whisper a delicately-phrased suggestion.

Iduna gave Sunna a reason to live again, Yelana sighed. Another few years and I'd be alone. She gave me back my sister, not a hollow wreck.

"Iduna and I are going to be gathering herbs," Sunna said. "Is there anything that we should be looking out for?"

Yelana ran through her mental inventory. Thankfully, the tribe was pretty healthy, but there was always the possibility of accidents. Besides, the Arendellians were more than happy to take whatever herbal remedies were offered.

"We could use some more spruce resin," Yelana said. "You know how the boys can get." She smirked at her little nickname for the Arendellian sailors.

Sunna sighed. "Give someone a staff and they can walk with it. Give someone a sword and they feel the urge to stab." She shook her head. "I have never liked swords, even before..."

"I know," Yelana said gently. For a moment, they were transported back to simpler times. Both sisters in their prime had been fierce staff fighters, something that Erke had appreciated. The moment passed. "Iduna will be waiting outside. You should get going."

Sunna gently squeezed Yelana's shoulder. There was an odd hesitation in her eyes. "I dreamt of snow last night," she blurted out.

Yelana arched an eyebrow. "Snow? In July?" she asked dubiously.

"It's the strangest thing," Sunna admitted. "It's not like when the Spirits communed with--with Erke," she got out awkwardly. "I don't get visions, not like some of our ancestors. I'm just...ordinary."

Yelana rolled her eyes. "`Ordinary?'" she repeated. "You are anything but ordinary." She paused. "Go on, Iduna's waiting. She'll probably storm the camp soon."

--------

"A vision of snow?" Iduna asked. She'd knelt down to gather some herbs. Her royal clothing had proved to be impractical for the long run, so she and Agnarr had some Northuldra clothing for day-to-day business. Even Mattias reluctantly admitted the necessity of the change. His soldiers and the sailors still wore uniforms, of course.

They'd taken Honeymaren along for an extra pair of arms. She was a good distance behind, allowing mother and daughter some privacy.

Sunna nodded. "It's probably nothing. Maybe I was just hoping for a respite from the heat."

"It's not that hot in the forest," Iduna reminded her. "It's humid, but it doesn't get as warm as it would in...Arendelle..." She trailed off as a wave of homesickness threatened to engulf her. The irony that she was homesick while in the forest had not escaped her.

Iduna relaxed as she felt her mother's gentle hand on her shoulder. They'd certainly had their fair share of disagreements during their reconciliation, but it had only strengthened their bond in the end.

There was, of course, one subject that was never really discussed: Elsa's magic. She had kept that tidbit from everyone. There had been times when she had wanted to tell her mother, but it would have been futile. Elsa and Anna were beyond their reach.

"Calm down," Sunna urged her. "It's the oddest thing. Whenever I mention snow or ice, you have this distant look in your eyes. It's been that way ever since you came back to me." Her expression softened. "You weren't caught in an avalanche or something, were you?"

"No, I--" Iduna shook her head. She hated lying to her mother, even by omission. But she wasn't sure how Elsa's magic would be received. Magic was for the Spirits, after all. Revealing Elsa's magic would most likely lead to Elsa either being worshipped as a goddess or shunned for blasphemy. Neither outcome was terribly desirable.

"It's just that...the girls loved snow so much," she half-lied. "Some of the happiest times had to do with snow."

Sunna eyed her skeptically. She knew that something was being hidden, but she was kind enough not to pry.

Iduna's heart ached. She'd lost track of how many times she'd dreamed of being back in the castle. Countless tears had been shed in the cabin she and Agnarr shared. She just wanted to make things right again. And the worst part was, she couldn't even tell her own mother.

She barely registered her mother's gentle touch on her shoulder. Iduna didn't dare to look back.

"We have to believe," Sunna said gently.

Iduna took a ragged breath. "In what?"

"That you will see them again," Sunna said. "That one day, we'll all see the sun."

--------

Yelana sighed as she saw the glints of metal dancing in the sun. Once again, the troops and sailors were having their morning workout. And that meant...swords.

Inwardly, she scowled at the word. To her, a sword was a barbaric symbol of oppression. The Northuldra had never needed them. The staff was far less intimidating and no less deadly, if it came to that. A staff was also far more readily available in the forest than a sword.

Her scowl faded and she almost smiled. For some reason, the Arendellian contingent was never able to make any fire hot enough to forge new swords. All the swords they possessed were either already on their person or scavenged from their ship. She wondered if the Fire Spirit had some influence in that.

"Discipline and control," she heard Mattias call out to the assembled group. "Any idiot can hold a sword and swing it. It takes effort to use a sword properly."

Yelana's right eye twitched. Runeard had been excellent with a sword. Then again, with a sneak attack, you only had to strike once.

She remembered that Runeard had been proud of his Viking ancestors. He'd made them sound like bold explorers and fearless warriors. He'd conveniently left out the fact that they were raiders and despoilers, something he was most likely also proud of. Runeard, like his ancestors, took what he wanted--though at least he had a thin veneer of civility before striking.

She stood on a small hill that unofficially separated their two domains. She gripped her staff tight as she watched the remaining soldiers and the sailors going through sword exercises. They were using, she noted, wooden practice swords carved from fallen branches. Then she saw Agnarr consulting with Mattias and Captain Hansen, pausing only to look in her direction and nod.

Every day for three years, she and Agnarr would meet at this hill. Heated words were exchanged, but no blows...yet. She had to admit that he was an excellent negotiator, no doubt thanks to expensive tutors. He always came alone, though well within sight of Mattias or Captain Hansen.

She sighed as she saw him approaching. She waited until they were facing each other before she put her staff down and sat on the grass. Unarmed, he did likewise.

Even though he'd been fair with his negotiations, there was something that had always bothered Yelana. She knew that Agnarr was hiding something--something he refused to talk about even in the company of his own men. If Agnarr truly wanted her full trust, he would have put everything out in the open.

Agnarr sighed inwardly. It had been three years of constant negotiation and at best, they had a ceasefire. It was a fragile, tenuous thing, though younger members of the tribe had been less fearful of the sailors. Some of the children were almost on friendly terms with the sailors, though not with the older soldiers.

He wondered if Yelana could see the fear in his eyes whenever he thought about his daughters. He didn't love Anna any less than Elsa, but Elsa's...issues...were a far more pressing concern. Anna didn't have potentially destructive magic at her disposal. But then, in trying to work with Elsa's powers, he found himself giving Anna less time than she deserved.

He had so many regrets and no way to correct them. And he had to try to negotiate with someone who had mostly-good reasons to hate him. He just couldn't accept that his father was a murderer, though.

--------

Mattias eyed Yelana warily. He had a clear view of anything that might have happened on the hill.

"You still don't trust her?" Captain Hansen asked. He'd gained a few grey hairs in the last few years, but he was still in seafaring shape. He had to be; he had an example to set for his sailors.

Mattias shook his head. "Not entirely." He sighed heavily. "At times like this, I wish I knew what King Runeard had been thinking."

Captain Hansen nodded. "It's too bad there's nobody we can ask."

Mattias frowned. Those who had been close advisors to King Runeard had either run from the mist or been killed. He still remembered the almost fanatical zeal with which they tried to defend the king--but to no avail. As the remaining officer, it was up to him.

He ached to go home. He'd found out from Captain Hansen and his sailors that Halima was still alive at her little sweet shop. Oddly enough, she'd never married. It was something he'd always put off for duty, that one day he'd kneel before her and...

He shook his head. He wasn't the only one who was homesick. But until Agnarr had arrived, he'd had to serve as an example for his troops. He'd had to stay strong and resolute, holding back the pain and the resentment.

He had a better read on troop morale than Agnarr. Mattias knew that tensions were still high between the Arendellian contingent and the Northuldra tribe. All it would take was one spark, one incident that couldn't be smoothed over, to set them against each other again.

--------

The day had been long, and not without some results. As much as Yelana's loathing had been a sticking point, some progress was made. And yet, there was always an unspoken secret that hung in the air between them.

Agnarr noted with some satisfaction that a small group of Northuldra children were leaving the Arendellian camp. They were flanked by Ryder and Honeymaren, who looked amused that they'd been saddled with this duty.

"Did you have a good time?" Agnarr asked with no small amount of amusement."

"The little ones wanted to taste some Arendellian food," Honeymaren said. "Not that there's anything wrong with what we have; they were just curious."

"Little steps, Honeymaren," Agnarr reassured her. "Little steps."

She managed a small, crooked smile. Then she urged her brother and the children to follow her back home.

Mattias approached Agnarr and handed him a bowl of stew and a crudely carved spoon. He accepted it gratefully.

"How were the negotiations?" Mattias asked.

"Same as ever," Agnarr sighed. "I just can't figure out how to get past a certain point."

"She's stubborn, that one," Mattias agreed. "I have to give her that. She wouldn't have been able to lead, otherwise."

Agnarr said nothing. He'd used just about everything he had and Yelana had only conceded minor items. It was frustrating, but one day, there would be a tipping point.

"The Queen's in the cabin," Mattias said, breaking Agnarr out of his reverie. "You should get some rest."

Agnarr nodded. "Thank you, Mattias."

Mattias watched his king move towards the cabin. Then he set about assigning which of his troops and the sailors would have night watch. Not that he was expecting anything unusual, but odd things could happen on even the quietest of nights.

--------

The Spirits felt a disturbance in the air. It was a wave of power that was raw, uncontrolled and terrified.

The Fifth Spirit's power had rushed out towards the misty barrier. Snowflakes formed in the cool July night, seeping through the mist. The barrier only worked on animals and people, not natural phenomena.

Ahtohallan had intended Elsa to be the balance between the other Spirits. In time, she would gain control and focus, enough to subdue another Spirit if necessary.

The wave of magic that had created the snow looked deceptively gentle. Each of the Spirits felt it as a resounding slap, weakening them. It was by Ahtohallan's design, after all.

Most of their strength had gone into maintaining the barrier. None of them could venture outside the forest, weakened as they were. Still, they had to protect the people within--even if they hadn't learned their lesson quite yet.

The Water Spirit had managed to keep a few parts of the river from freezing, guaranteeing a fresh supply. The Fire and Earth Spirits offered warmth where they could with bonfires near each camp. The Wind Spirit mitigated the worst of the cutting, icy gusts.

The Spirits could tend to physical needs. The mental states of the people on both sides were beyond their ability to influence. They had always been happy to help people, but they had never asked for the worship that the Northuldra offered.

All they could do was hope that their efforts were enough. It was simply a matter of weathering the storm.

--------

Mattias and Captain Hansen looked aghast as the snow fell. It was impossible, but it was actually snowing in July. There was only one explanation: Magic.

Mattias felt a snowflake drift into his hand. It melted as he clenched it into a fist, his features twisting into a scowl.

"What have they done?" he growled.

--------

For a moment, Yelana and Sunna were at a loss. Most of the tribe hadn't seen snow for years. For most of them, the wonder and amazement gave way to chills and fear.

Yelana gripped her staff tightly. Obviously, the Spirits had been offended.

"What have they done?" she growled.

--------

Both Agnarr and Iduna had burst out of their cabin when they heard the shouting. They'd been getting ready for bed when they felt the chill in the air.

"What's going...on...?" He trailed off as his breath fogged. His jaw dropped as the snow fell. "No..." he whispered.

"No..." Iduna echoed, her blue eyes filling with tears. "Agnarr, it's--"

"I know," he whispered. It was the day that they'd dreaded for years:

Elsa had somehow lost control of her powers. Now, the world was going to pay the price.

--------

It was thanks to good planning and quick action that neither side had suffered any sickness from the sudden snowfall. Winter clothes were brought out from storage and extra firewood was gathered.

The tension between the groups was at an all-time high. Fingers were twitching for action and tempers were flaring. The men in the Arendelle camp were murmuring dangerous things.

"Can't believe that they'd do this."

"What are they thinking?"

"What did we do wrong?"

"Three years of living together and now this!"

"I trusted them!"

"Goes to show that you just can't trust magic!"

Captain Hansen and Mattias toured the camp. They frowned at the understandably low morale. They found Agnarr and Iduna urging the soldiers and sailors to stay warm, even if it meant condensing the perimeter.

Mattias could see the dread in Agnarr and Iduna's eyes. They knew something, but it wasn't his place to question his king and queen.

--------

The Northuldra camp wasn't in much better shape. They, too, had gathered their huts and campfires closer together to keep warm. The murmurs floated towards Yelana's ears.

"They obviously offended the Spirits somehow."

"You mean that this wasn't our fault?"

"Of course not! We follow the ways of nature! We are the chosen ones!"

"Then this is a sign from the Spirits? Are we finally done with Arendelle?"

The chatter stopped as soon as Sunna approached the group. Her normally kindly features were pinched in disapproval. More than one member of the tribe straightened up. She may have relinquished her leadership to Yelana, but she still carried herself as a leader.

"You would think of waging war against my daughter?" she asked in a low, dangerous tone. "Have we become so hardened that we would be willing to kill our own?"

"She's no longer--" a man spoke up, only to be cut off by Sunna's sharp blue eyes. He gulped and swallowed his words.

Sunna frowned and her gaze swept over the assembled tribe. Many of the men squirmed. The women found that they couldn't meet her gaze.

"The Spirits have never called us to war," Sunna said levelly. "Our way is to live in peace and defend ourselves when necessary, not to strike because we believe ourselves to be superior."

"This is obviously a sign from the Spirits!" a woman protested. "We must do something!"

Sunna fixed her with a solemn, almost chiding look. "Do you speak for the Spirits?"

The woman realized that, despite the cold, people had edged away from her. She looked away in shame.

"No," she croaked out.

Sunna's gaze softened as she gently laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. The woman flinched slightly at the contact.

"I understand that you are afraid," Sunna said, her voice gentle and warm. "But we cannot let fear twist what we are as a people: Peace-loving, understanding and kind."

There was a tap of wood on stone as Yelana made herself known. Her expression was stern, as if ready to scold a child.

"We should follow Sunna's example," Yelana declared. "She has lost the most, yet she still believes in the peaceful ways."

There was a murmur of agreement. The tension defused for the moment, the tribe went on to more important matters like campfires and the state of the reindeer herd.

Sunna and Yelana walked just out of sight, out of earshot. Judging by the older sister's look of disapproval, Sunna was not happy that Yelana had been absent until now.

"You should have been the one to calm them down." She was justifiably angry, but kept it under control. "Where were you?"

Yelana frowned deeply. "I was making sure that nobody was taking advantage of this...storm. We are vulnerable in this snow."

"I doubt that they could sneak up on us in an open field," Sunna remarked. She sighed deeply. "You've carried this anger for decades and I am to blame. It's like comfortable, worn leather. It's rough at first, but you grow used to it--until you can't imagine a day without that anger."

"What should I do, o wise leader?" Yelana snapped back. "You put this burden in my hands, remember? What advice could you offer me now, after years of mourning?"

"One day, I hope that you take this anger and let it go," Sunna said. "This has poisoned you, and with it, the tribe. What good is fighting if you lose sight of why?"

"Agnarr's responsible for this," Yelana muttered. "I can feel it. He's hiding something."

"And you are always upfront and honest?" That was Sunna's "older sister" voice, the one she used to drive home a lesson. "You never told him that you once believed Runeard."

"That is my shame to bear. He never has to know."

Sunna tilted her head slightly. "Is this for his sake, or your pride?"

Yelana found that she couldn't look her sister in the eye. Sunna had every reason to cry out for blood, yet still sought peace. Her older sister would have been a better leader, but she'd declined. Sunna trusted her.

Sunna sighed a frosty plume between them. She decided to change the subject. "In any case, I doubt that his people are in much better shape than ours. They haven't exactly been stockpiling on supplies."

"Are you suggesting that we share with them? Right now? When they could--"

"It was just an observation," Sunna said quietly. She turned back towards the camp. "What good is the bounty of the forest if it is hoarded?"

Yelana said nothing for a long moment. Then she nodded, admitting defeat.

"I will meet with him," Yelana said at last. "If getting through this together is what is required, then I...shall do whatever it takes."

Sunna smiled benignly. It was enough.

--------

It was midday when Yelana and Agnarr met at their usual place. They were both flanked by people close to them. Agnarr had Iduna, with Mattias and Captain Hansen at their side. Yelana had Honeymaren and Ryder while Sunna waited patiently. This in itself showed how tense things had become.

"Interesting weather we've been having," Yelana said acerbically. "I don't suppose that you know the reason for it?"

"I know that neither of our groups is responsible for this winter," Agnarr said carefully. "My people have done our best to abide by the rules and customs we've learned."

"And you don't think that the Northuldra are responsible?" Yelana offered. "We are, after all, savages who worship magic," she finished acidly. "We might have convinced the Spirits that everyone from Arendelle deserved to be frozen."

"I've explained it to everyone, Aunt Yelana," Iduna said, her breath forming a frosty plume. "They all know that we commune with nature and magic--but we don't control either. And we certainly don't control the Spirits. They do as they will."

Yelana's eyes flicked from Agnarr to Iduna. She felt Sunna's reassuring hand on her shoulder. Everything rode on her next few words.

"Oddly enough, I believe you," Yelana said. "If you were in control of this...odd winter...you would hardly freeze yourselves with us. Like it or not, we are trapped together."

"The best option is to pool our resources," Iduna suggested. "Firewood and food can be shared and we'll have a better chance of surviving together."

"Yes, that seems to be where we're headed," Yelana agreed reluctantly. "We have little choice, after all. Though it calls into question whether we had any choice at all."

"Of course we do," Sunna insisted. "Our choices always matter, whether we think so or not."

Agnarr nodded. "Whatever station we hold in life, it all matters."

"Such hopeful words in a seemingly hopeless situation," Yelana remarked. "Especially since the greater picture has not been addressed. Or were you planning to pray our way through the mist?"

"Sister..." Sunna frowned a warning, but it was too late.

Agnarr took a deep breath. Things were tense enough already without him adding to it. But there were several questions that had never been answered to his satisfaction.

“That's an interesting viewpoint," he began. "I have a question of my own: Why were your tribe and the men were trapped for so long?” Agnarr said. “If it were merely a matter of protection, the Spirits could have just forced the troops out.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, given their kind nature, they could have done it without harming a single person.”

“Only Ahtohallan knows,” Yelana said sagely. “If there were a better way, I am certain that the Spirits would have chosen that path. It is not for we humans to question the will of nature and the Spirits.”

Agnarr bit back a scathing response. His faith in religion and spirituality had diminished significantly since Elsa’s birth. After all, there were those who still subscribed to the old saying, “suffer not a witch to live.” And he would do anything to protect his family.

Furthermore, it almost seemed hypocritical of Yelana to imply that the Spirits could be convinced to harm people, then go back to a "who knows" sort of explanation. It honestly rankled him when people used faith as a way to dodge responsibility--or, at least, a straight answer.

"So, for the time being, can we agree to share resources?" Agnarr asked. He had to get things back on track. "It seems to be our best option."

"Of course," she agreed. "It's better to keep warm together than to freeze separately." She held up a finger. "But there is something I would ask of you...in private." She eyed her entourage.

Honeymaren, Ryder and Sunna reluctantly withdrew. Agnarr nodded and Iduna, Captain Hansen and Mattias did the same.

"There is something you are not telling me," Yelana said with a scowl. "You are hiding something from me."

Agnarr clenched his jaw. He forced himself to breathe, to try to keep calm. "This is not something I can tell anyone."

Yelana's scowl deepened. "It is not a matter of `cannot.' You simply will not. Even after three years of living together and trying to build bridges, you still do not trust me."

As if you have trusted me fully? the dangerous thought slipped into his mind, but not from his tongue. Voicing that would have only enflamed matters further.

"Even if I could tell you, it would do no good. Trapped within this forest, it is out of our control," he said flatly.

Yelana stared at him in disbelief. "You know exactly what is causing this winter."

Agnarr said nothing. That in itself confirmed her suspicions.

"It is someone or something in Arendelle that is causing this winter." Yelana's eyes sharpened. "Who or what is doing this? And why?"

Agnarr clenched his jaw. "I cannot answer that question. There are promises that I must keep."

"`Promises?'" Yelana almost spat out. "You honor promises to Arendelle, but not to my people." She kept her voice low, but it took on a dangerous tone. It was deliberate, so as not to draw attention to her entourage. "Arendelle has brought almost nothing but pain to the Northuldra," she declared. "Ever since your father had that dam built, there has only been misfortune."

"Well, if the dam is the issue, why haven't the Spirits done something about it?" Agnarr asked, trying to keep his voice from growing harsh. "They could have easily destroyed the dam. Why haven't they?"

"I am not one to question the will of the Spirits," Yelana said in a low, dangerous voice. "You do not know your place, boy." She paused. "Or are you more like your father than I thought? He thought that a crown gave him total authority."

"It didn't stop him from dying," he retorted.

"We have suffered more than you have."

He clenched his jaw. "Who suffers more if we keep this grudge going? This isn't a contest, Yelana. Both our people are suffering and we need to address it in the here and now."

"And we will," she promised. "But don't expect me to ever agree to things blindly, boy. You still haven't earned my full trust."

The discussion ended, she got up and called for her entourage. Sunna looked especially concerned, but nobody in the Northuldra group said anything.

Iduna was the first to reach him. She noted his drained expression and gestured for Mattias and Captain Hansen to wait.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought that it was going well."

"She knew that I knew the source of this winter," he replied. "I couldn't tell her, Iduna. I just--I just couldn't. If she knew--who knows what she would do?"

She tightened her grip on his gloved hand. She wished that she had an answer.

--------

The unnatural winter had vanished on the third day. Most of the tribe and the Arendellian contingent had cheered as the snow evaporated. The only thing missing was the sun to warm their bones.

In private, Agnarr and Iduna wondered what had happened to Elsa. They hoped that the end of the unnatural winter meant that she'd gained control of her powers. The only other option was that Elsa was forever lost to them. There was no way of knowing, and that had made it more painful.

The frost, however, had set in between Agnarr and Yelana. Their daily negotiations were short, only dealing with concrete and tangible issues. The time for philosophical exchange had passed.

Despite Sunna's and Iduna's best efforts, relations between the tribe and the Arendellian contingent had become stiff and formal. Even Iduna's visits to her mother were enough to cause tension.

Three years of reaching out had evaporated in three days. Three more years passed under this oppressively neutral atmosphere. There were hints of regret on both sides, but nobody knew how to breach the walls that had been built.

Then, the sun briefly showed itself. It was as if the misty barrier had parted, just for a moment. That hadn't gone unnoticed by either side.

--------

"I shall go with the scouting party," Yelana insisted. "It's probably nothing, but it's best that you stay here."

"All right," Sunna agreed reluctantly. "Be careful."

--------

"Mattias, take a small scouting party to see what's going on," Agnarr commanded. "Do not engage unless someone attacks you first. The important thing is to get the information back to us."

"Yes, my king," Mattias nodded.

--------

Anna was worried. She'd never seen Elsa so obsessed before. And the fact that Elsa had been keeping secrets from her hadn't been helping, either. She was still trying to catch her breath after the whirlwind that was the Wind Spirit nearly killed them.

(Well, all right, the Spirit--"Gale," Olaf had named it--seemed friendly enough now, dancing leaves and all. But she was keeping an eye on it.)

Right now, all the noise in the forest just seemed to be out to get her. She'd been camping with Kristoff before, but she'd never felt so overwhelmed at all the noise. As such, she was understandably on edge when she grabbed an ice sword and sliced through some branches.

The Northuldran scouting party had their staves at the ready. They were in no mood for intruders.

"Lower your weapon," Honeymaren said in a low voice. She brandished her staff, ready to disarm Anna if the situation called for it.

The situation was only exacerbated by the clang of swords on shields. The Arendellian scouting party had intervened--not so much to rescue the group as to get information.

"Identify yourselves!" Mattias shouted.

Yelana strode purposefully towards Mattias. "Are you threatening my people, Lieutenant?"

"Do you have a problem with the terms we've agreed to?" he countered.

Anna eyed the two sides warily. Her body was a coiled spring, ready to strike at anyone who got close. She wasn't sure if the ice sword she'd commandeered would actually hold up, but it was sharp, pointy and intimidating.

Yelana frowned. "So, you're here too?" she asked sourly. Her frown deepened as she saw Anna defending Elsa. Something about the two women reminded her of the stories that Iduna told them. After all, platinum-blonde hair was a rare shade on anyone. That bought them some leeway, but she would not tolerate a sword brandished at her.

"Girl, I don't know how you entered this forest, but I will not be held at sword point." Her tone became colder. "Put. It. Down."

That didn't disarm the situation. In fact, Anna was even more tense. "No."

"This isn't helping," Elsa whispered. "I appreciate this, but maybe I should talk--"

"I'd listen to her if I were you, girl," Mattias said grudgingly. "I hate to admit it, but that overgrown stick of hers isn't just for show."

Anna felt Kristoff take a step behind her. He didn't grab the sword from her hand, nor did he try to push her out of the way. He was just there, supporting her without saying a word.

Anna managed a little smile. There were times when those little gestures of his were worth more than any flowery words.

Then both groups charged, intent on taking Anna's sword. Anna prepared herself for a fight.

"ENOUGH!" Elsa exclaimed, a blast of her power coating the ground with ice. Both groups slipped and fell in awkward heaps.

Mattias struggled to pick himself up. He gaped at the assembled group.

"That was magic," he whispered, flabbergasted. "Did you see that?" he asked Yelana.

Yelana blinked. Then a ghost of a smirk appeared on her face.

"Well," she began. "That does explain a few things." She managed to right herself and turned her gaze to Elsa. "So you're the reason for that winter in July."

Elsa blinked. "Wait, you know about--"

Then Olaf decided to make his appearance. Both groups stared in awe as the little snowman dramatically recounted the sisters' story.

(Yelana found it darkly amusing that Mattias was such a softy at heart. She made a note to remind him of this at the most inconvenient time.)

With a gesture, Elsa melted the ice. She looked a bit aggrieved at Olaf's overly-simplified, yet oddly charming retelling. Anna looked mortified. Kristoff, for his part, just kept near Anna, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Thankfully, the introductions were less dramatic than the initial meeting. Curiosity had overcome wariness. That, and Olaf's presence had lightened things considerably.

"Queen Elsa and Princess Anna," Yelana said, a little smirk forming on her face. "I should have known; you have much of your mother in you--including her stubborn streak." She looked pointedly at the ice sword.

With a nervous chuckle, Anna gently put down the sword. "Yeah, I guess I don't need that anymore, do I?" She paused. "Wait, you knew our mother?"

Yelana was trying very hard not to laugh at Anna's use of the past tense. Even though her relationship with Iduna had more than a bit of friction, there were some moments that she just didn't want to spoil.

"My niece," Yelana said. "Which makes you two my grand nieces, I suppose." She looked at Mattias with undisguised, malicious glee. "But the good Lieutenant has something to show you."

Mattias didn't quite grimace at having been saddled with the responsibility. Still, the girls deserved to know. The best way was to show them.

Anna and Elsa were understandably curious as they made their way to the dam. They were amazed that the Arendellian camp was so populated--though they didn't know that most of them were from the royal yacht. Any murmurs were quickly silenced by a glare from Mattias, which promised swift retribution if the surprise was spoiled.

They reached the cabin and Mattias urged them to wait outside. The sisters could see figures inside, but they couldn't make out anything.

"Your Majesties?" Mattias asked softly.

"What is it?" Agnarr asked. "Did you find what was causing the disturbance in the forest?"

Iduna caught the light of mischief in the old Lieutenant's eyes. She wondered what he had found.

"I have," Mattias admitted. "You may want to sit down, though." He thought about it for a moment. "Or not. Maybe just come outside, please. We have...visitors. From outside the forest."

"How is that--?" Agnarr began, but Mattias held a finger to his lips.

"Please, Your Majesties," he urged them. "You've both waited a very long time for this."

Agnarr and Iduna shared a questioning look. Mattias wasn't usually this dramatic.

"Lieutenant?" Anna asked from outside. "Is everything all right?"

Both parents' jaws dropped. Iduna's eyes started tearing up as she trembled. Agnarr wasn't much better off.

Mattias smiled and stepped aside.

"King Agnarr? Queen Iduna? I believe that you know these two young ladies."

As one, the color drained out of every member of the royal family. They gaped at the impossible sight of each other.

"Mama?" Anna squeaked. Her voice cracked as her lips quivered, tears forming in her eyes.

"Father?" Elsa asked hesitantly. She, too, had tears in her eyes. "How--?"

"Elsa? Anna?" Those were the only shaky words that Agnarr could get out. His kingly demeanor had evaporated.

Iduna's hands flew to her mouth as the tears flowed. "My babies..." she whispered. "Oh, my girls, how did you--?" She stopped trying to talk and just opened her arms wide.

Anna dashed forward and hugged Iduna tight. After a moment's hesitation, Elsa joined her. Soon after that, Agnarr completed the group hug, kissing both daughters on their foreheads.

For moments, there was nothing but the quiet sobbing from all members of the royal family. Mattias had backed off a little to give them some room.

Slowly, reluctantly, the parents released their daughters. Agnarr took in a ragged breath as he realized something: Elsa had allowed him to hold her, something she hadn't done since she was 12.

"We thought we'd lost you three years ago," Iduna said. "We had three days of snow in July and then...it was gone."

"It's a very long story," Elsa told her. "I--"

"Ooh!" Olaf exclaimed, popping out from behind Kristoff and Sven. "Does this mean that I can tell the story again?"

Iduna squeaked and kicked off Olaf's head. Kristoff caught that part of the snowman and immediately had a sense of deja vu.

Olaf's head shook itself. "Yup, Anna, she's definitely your mother!"

Kristoff sighed and reunited Olaf's head with the rest of his body. "There you go," he said, straightening out Olaf so that he was facing forward.

Agnarr's jaw actually dropped. He turned towards Elsa to try to make sense of things.

"Did you...?" he began.

"I made him," Elsa confirmed.

"`Made' or were there...other circumstances?" His usually tactful vocabulary seemed to have been out of reach at the moment.

Elsa flushed at the implications. "Father--no, just...he's from my magic. There wasn't anybody--just no."

"I guess I'm kind of like your grandson," Olaf noted. Then he smiled. "Anyway, I am Olaf and I like warm hugs! So, can I call you grandma and grandpa?"

"Take it easy, Olaf," Anna said gently. "Remember what we said about people taking their time getting to know you?"

"But if they're your parents, then they're my family too, right?"

Both Anna and Elsa chuckled nervously. Iduna, however, seemed to find it endearing. She knelt down and offered him a quick embrace. Agnarr, for his part, knelt down and gently patted him on the back.

"Not exactly the grandson I was hoping for," he remarked. "But you seem like a decent sort." He stood up and noticed Kristoff and Sven. "And whom might you two be?"

Anna was quick to intervene; she recognized the "reindeer in the lamplight" look that Kristoff had whenever he had to introduce himself. Introducing himself to King Agnarr was especially intimidating.

"Papa, this is Kristoff Bjorgman, Ice Master and Deliverer," Anna said enthusiastically. "And this is his reindeer friend Sven. Three years ago, they helped save my life and, well...Elsa knighted him in gratitude. So, I guess I should have started off with `Sir' Kristoff Bjorgman."

"We're meeting your parents," he muttered. "I don't believe this."

Anna patted him on the shoulder. "It's going to be okay," she whispered.

Both parents noted the byplay. Silently they agreed to talk to the young man to find out what was going on.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sir Kristoff," Agnarr said, extending his hand. He was duly impressed by the honest, firm handshake that Kristoff gave him.

Anna was almost vibrating with enthusiasm. Her father and boyfriend were already getting along so well! She didn't seem to notice that Kristoff seemed prepared to be executed on the spot.

"I think we should go inside the cabin," Iduna said. "From the looks of it, we both have tales to tell."

Elsa and Anna nodded. Before they could go further, Anna raised her finger.

"Before we do, could we have another group hug?" Anna asked as she sniffled. "Because I really, really missed that."

Agnarr and Iduna were more than happy to oblige. For the moment, their stories could wait. Right now, however it had happened, all was found.

#frozen #frozen 2 #king agnarr #queen iduna #elsa #anna #agduna #northuldra

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smuttymess · 4 years

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bts astro soulmate reading | for brie

sign: aries sun | taurus moon | cancer rising

lover: Jung Hoseok | soulmate: Kim Seokjin

This reading is for Brie, a Jin bias with Namjoon as a wrecker. I can’t tell you how much Iove a woman that loves our fine ass hyungs. Thanks for waiting, and please enjoy <3

Those born under an Aries Sun and Taurus Moon are a truly powerful force and are considered one of the prized fighters of the zodiac. You are extremely independent and move through the world on your own terms, craving stability - both emotionally and financially - but also artistic and creative expression/freedom, traits which are often at odds with each other. Your Aries Sun is spontaneous, excitable, and determined while your Taurus Moon you patient, grounded, and rooted in reason. While you may have struggled with striking a balance between these two ideals throughout your life, over time it is likely that you've learned to harness your enthusiasm and focus, understanding how to both dream and do in a practical manner. Your watery Cancer rising brings softness and raw emotion to the tangible, grounded nature of your fire and earthy persona. While you are extremely driven towards your goals, Cancer makes you outwardly emotional, expressing your wide range of moods, making you inherently human and more endearing to everyone in your orbit. Highly charming, charismatic, and emotionally intelligent, you are a natural born leader amongst your friends, family and colleagues, likely finding ways to merge your need for artistry and creativity with something that draws a profit. You know how to speak simply about your many entrepreneurial ideas, but with an energy that makes people believe that your words hold authenticity and weight. And as a true caring and sensitive nature of your Cancer rising, that sincerity is your super power.

You, dear Aries, know how to get what you want in life without being overly pushy or manipulative, your passionate yet calm nature typically making people see things your way. This comes in handy in your work life where you lead teams and spearhead projects but also in any social setting. Your demeanor naturally attracts swaths of new fans and admirers in spaces where your communication prowess is able to shine. As a result, you are a bit spoiled - your Taurus moon is quite stubborn and occasionally inflexible when faced with opposing opinions while your Cancer rising makes you particularly sensitive to others viewpoints. While at a dinner party with some coworkers you can't help but feel your blood boiling as you sit across the table from Jung Hoseok, a mutual acquaintance and the life of the party whose sole purpose seems to be to toy with you, playfully pressing your buttons and watching you come undone. He is opinionated, unapologetic, smart, and not hanging off of every word you say - offering up valid retorts to your arguments and having fun doing it. Loving a challenge, you can't can't help but find yourself trying to bring him to see your side of things, resulting in an intellectual sparring match that everyone else can't help but observe. You can't help but be drawn to his striking features as he retorts: the sharpness of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, his clearly intelligent mind and charisma to match yours. Your Taurus Moon and Cancer rising generally makes you more of a romantic, valuing a long-term relationship over a short term fling with a handsome stranger. But there is something about Hoseok: you don't know much about him, but you definitely want to fuck his brains out sooner rather than later.

Luckily, that is exactly what this Aquarius has in mind as he calls for his car after leaving the second bar where you've ended your night, his hands moving steadily up your back and lets out hisses against your neck. You melt into his grip, your hard Cancer shell crumbling while he whispers into your ear. Show me more of that fire, won't you? And you do, shoving him against the leather interior of his backseat as his fingers move to roll up the partition. In mere seconds you are devouring each other, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck and down to your nipples, licking each one and making you shudder before slipping his fingers beneath the fabric of your skirt and your panties. You can feel his hardness pressed between your legs, and want nothing more than to feel him deeper as his fingers expertly work your clit before finding your center. Eyes locked, you fuck yourself against his fingers while he stares up at you with awe and pure, unadulterated lust. In this moment and the weeks that follow you two are in game of who can drive each other the craziest, your competitive egos more than happy to play. This is the first in a series of wild nights of you getting fucked in various public locations - bars, restaurant bathrooms, dressing rooms - his fingers in your mouth as he stifles your frenzied moans as he makes you cum back to back. Your inhibitions cease to exist when Hoseok is involved, igniting a certain energy in you that has you practically always craving his cock.

For Aquarius Hoseok, sex is a sport, a means of expressing energy and physicality and not necessarily love in the way that you would prefer. His Mars is in Aquarius, making him at times detached and impulsive in relationships. You are impatient, wanting more of a commitment after so much incredible sex and time spent while Hoseok only plays on his terms and no one else's. Ultimately, you can recognize are interested in a more traditional, solidified relationship which the airy, less emotional Aquarius can provide. While your emotional disconnect does not equip you for long-term love, the sex is something that you can't (and don't) give up easily, reuniting with him whenever you see his name pop across your phone. I land tomorrow, can I take you out? You never say no.

One of the main pleasure-seekers of the zodiac, your sign is often seeking out life's finest things from sex and food to travel and new experiences. Your refined taste lends itself to adventures including international jaunts (Aries kryptonite) and of course the most delicious food a city has to offer. It is no surprise when, on a trip of Seoul, that you find yourself booked at the restaurant owned by the infamous Kim Seokjin - its had nothing but rave reviews. Its on this particular night that the owner is making a surprise appearance as a maitre'd, a no-phones policy keeping the vibe intimate but still lively and high-spirited. You are drawn to his effortless Sagittarius confidence, the way that he so easily plays to the guests and the fans that occupy each table as the soju flows and the delicious scenes float around the room. As one of the last tables to dine, an adorably tipsy and flushed Seokjin slides into your booth, asks you how you enjoyed yourself. In the moment it is hard for for you to pretend that you were focusing on anything else that night but the breadth of his shoulders in his button up, the way sweat formed on his brow as he sauntered from table to table, or the generally perfect nature of his face. You are both sugar and spice, singing high praises of the meal and atmosphere while flashing him a fiery stare, suggesting you're interested in more than food. Seokjin bites, equally curious in getting to know what lies beneath that Capricorn exterior. I'm hosting a smaller gathering for my chef to present a new tasting menu - would love to have you.

Your Aries and Jin's Sagittarius Suns have multitudes of acquaintances but only few close friends, and are not ones to commit to anyone or anything too soon emotionally. Yes, you're both big softies beneath a cool exterior but you have been hurt before and therefore have incredibly high standards for the people you involve yourself with romantically. As a result, your dates are proper and curated and of course competitive - think go-carting or mini golf and a four-course dinner, and a chance to get to really know each other beyond the physical even if its just a few dates (you're both impatient). You can hardly wait when you find yourself backed against his front door after you return from that evening's date, a whimper escaping you as he pushes his body firmly against yours as he leans in to trace your lips with his. Stopping just short of a kiss, he smiles at your desperation. I'm going to show you how much I hate losing. You're happy to show him up more often if it means more nights like this: your legs pinned up by your shoulders as Jin thrusts into you softly and deeply until you're cumming mercilessly onto his cock, grabbing onto his thick hair and broad back to stabilize yourself. The hot sex launches you into a relationship that starts off very fun, light-hearted but over time moves into something more serious - something you both likely didn't expect but are happy to fall into.

Jin's Saturn in Aquarius makes him a very diligent, dedicated worker - its one contributor to his major career success - and he likes to enjoy the benefits of his hard work. He very much a provider in the traditional sense, in that he wants to take care of the ones he loves with no questions asked. Jin is happy to provide you with the financial stability you require, as long as it makes you free to pursue more creative, perhaps less lucrative endeavors. For the Sagittarius man in love, you can't put a price tag on joy - the limit does not exist, and this is only aided by his romantic Capricorn Venus which just wants to make you smile by any means necessary. It is not that he is your sugar daddy by any means, he just instinctively wants to anything to make you happy. He enjoys watching your face light up while talking about a new entrepreneurial endeavor and ways to boost your shared wealth, our mind working a mile a minute as you work through your many ideas that he thinks are both crazy and brilliant. You often struggle to recognize your greatness and unlock your potential, something Seokjin's Aries Moon sees and understands on a deep level. His Aries Moon can make him impatient with you and relentless in making you see what he sees.

It's worth mentioning that while Aries holds their own in any relationship, your Taurus Moon is innately turned on by his ability to take care of you financially. He has no issue showering you with affection, gifts, or whatever you need - his Capricorn Venus pairing well with your Cancer rising which is the embodiment of sensitivity, emotion and romance. For you, sex is a way in which you express your love, thinking of ways to satisfy and be satisfied in return. Even when you're the one dressed head to toe in an angelic impossibly gorgeous white lingerie set he bought you when he walks through the door, you hold the reigns. I want to take care of you, baby. Let me do that, please? Your dynamic in bed is naturally one where you are more dominant, with Seokjin happy to lean back against the couch cushions and submit while you lower your lips onto his cock, your tongue swirling around the tip just how he likes it. Nothing is hotter to you than looking up at him, his eyes fixated on your lips as you swallow him - his groans picking up in fervor as you work your way up and down his length. Only you know how to get him this incredibly hard, practically ready to lose it before you climb on top of him sliding the fabric of your stockings to the side so you can take him in. The sex here is sexy but sweet, his lips sucking on your sensitive nipples as his hands gently roam your body to heighten the sensation of your bodies together. I like to think that Jin has a bit of a breeding kink, one that you're happy to indulge, his strong hands frantically gripping your hips and sweet nothings pouring out of his lips as he finishes in you. I love you so much, baby, so fucking much. Jin is insatiable, so there will always be rounds.

Aries and Sagittarius are two of the most passionate signs in the zodiac and you both need someone who endlessly fuels their respective fires. While their interests and careers may take them around the globe and to great heights, you two never stop having fun together. Once these signs go for it, they truly commit to making the best of their partnership, keeping the spark alive by all means necessary: with silly dance parties and hot tub sex in your winter chalet after days of snowboarding in Aspen. You require your finances and relationships, both romantic and familial, to be solid before you can focus on other areas of life, often obsessing over making sure these pieces are in place (looking at you, Taurus moon!) Luckily, Sag Jin is able to take your mind off of the money and onto less serious matters so you can enjoy all of life's little pleasures, of which he knows there are many. With your inner Aries/Taurus worlds battling for stability and adventure, your home needs to reflect each of these proclivities. Luckily, this sense of excitement and responsibility is something that you and Jin share, and you can both take comfort in knowing you could easily spend your Monday night curled up with a favorite movie or jetting off to Jeju Island for a day trip. Together, you cultivate a warm and inviting home that reflects your many travels and adventures, alongside all of the creature comforts you both need (RJ plushes galore). This pairing is one of uniqueness and a learned ability to not care what anyone thinks, allowing you to live peacefully in your own perfectly quirky, fun and beautiful world. Together, the fire of Aries and spontaneous, highly adaptable nature of Sag makes for a strong duo that can achieve great things so long as they have a business manager handling all of their affairs - making sure they don't go too overboard along the way.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan astrology #astrology #astrology readings #horoscope #horoscope reading #aries #aquarius #sagittarius #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #bts smut #smut

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kunstpause-archive · 4 years

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From the scrap pile

Thanks to @elveny and @kittimau for tagging me ❤

This was surprisingly hard bc even though I scrapped easily over 100k words over the course of our big DA2 fic alone I keep reusing small bits and pieces in odd places and the stuff I totally throw out I don’t like enough to show to anyone really

But I did find something. This is from 2018, it was set pretty early on in our story Precipice of Change and was the original first meeting between Cullen and Cassia, before we heavily reworked the story.

I don’t know who did this already so feel free to ignore me but tagging @captainderyn @tishinada @curiousthimble @cornfedcryptid @faerieavalon @sharkapologists @fandomn00blr @serial-chillr @wardenari @ranawaytothedas @midnightprelude @charlatron @anchanted-one

Under a cut for length-reasons. :D

Cassia had underestimated the way towards the Gallows, it seemed. ‘They are really serious about this whole separation thing’ she mused while waiting for her boat to cross over. She had never been even near this place before and for good reason. The closer she got the more daunting the huge statues looked. All of a sudden, she could understand Adriene’s refusal to take any work that would require going here a little bit more. But on the other hand… they needed the money and the pay just seemed too good to not at least try. She only hoped she would get anywhere after her sister had already turned down the offer. Rather colourfully apparently, or so Cassia had heard.

When she stepped into the courtyard for the first time, she couldn’t suppress a small shiver. There were tranquil around, selling wares. Some mages walked briskly, not looking around much. And templars. So many templars… She wasn’t sure she had ever seen so many templars in one spot before, and there was an eerie feeling in the air for some reason.

Cassia was used to hiding among regular people. Non-mages. Even hiding in front of templars at the chantry. It usually involved looking either as unassuming or as disarmingly open as possible for her. Light clothes that made it obvious she wasn’t hiding anything underneath, a bright smile and most importantly: no staff. For the first time, the absence of the most trusted weapon was something she could almost physically feel, though, before she shook her head. It wasn’t as if it would do her any good even if she had her staff with her. Under this amount of vigilance and raw power, she wouldn’t even get one spell off before they took her down. She shook off the sense of doom that seemed to permeate the very air in this place, put on her brightest smile and went up to the next patrol, asking for the Knight-Captain who had made her sister the oh-so-well-paid offer earlier.

Cullen had been deeply immersed in the report on his desk when a knock on his door pulled him out of his concentration. “Yes?” he called out, trying not to lose track of where he was on the document.

“There is a Serah Hawke here to speak to you, Knight-Captain,” came the muffled voice of one of the recruits on guard duty from the outside. Irritation went through him at the reason for the disturbance.

“Tell her I don’t have time,” he called out again. He didn’t know what it had been exactly but something about her had made him slightly uneasy, even though she had been a great help at the coast.

“She is standing right next to me and insists,” the recruit called through the door again, and Cullen felt the irritation grow even stronger.

“Fine, send her in then.” What in the world did she want? She had made her disdain of templars in general quite clear only a few hours ago, and he had no desire for a repeat performance.

“What do you want?” he sighed impatiently. “Because if I remember correctly, you said something about never wanting to set foot in the Gallows ever again rather loudly not that long ago.” With an impatient glare, he looked up from his documents at the intruder in his office only to be met with a pair of raised eyebrows that definitely did not belong to the woman he had met earlier that day.

“I get the feeling I have to apologise on behalf of my sister, Knight-Captain,” the woman standing in his office said in a light and slightly amused voice. “I am Cassia Hawke, and I am here about a job you offered her.”

Sister? His first thought was that he had probably never seen siblings look less alike than the two of them. They looked like complete opposites of each other. And from his first impression, they sounded like it, too. The woman in front of him was nothing short of charming, not a trace of the hostility her sister had shown him.

“Knight-Captain Cullen,” he introduced himself even though he was certain she already knew that. “Forgive my reaction, but I am somewhat confused, Serah Hawke.”

The information she had gotten from Fenris had not been much. Adriene hadn’t been willing to listen for very long, it seemed, but she was certain he had said Knight-Captain Cullen had been the one offering said job. She gave him a careful once-over. He looked… younger than she had anticipated. In her head, the Knight-Captain of a city as big as Kirkwall had been someone more seasoned. More looking at home behind a desk. Knight-Captain Cullen looked like he was around her age, maybe even the slightest bit younger. Like he should be out there, on the frontlines instead of in here, doing paperwork. He must have had a steep career to end in such a prestigious position at this part of his life already.

“Confused about me asking for a job?” Cassia had put on her best, most pleasant smile for the occasion.

“Yes, given that not long ago your sister told me, rather colourfully, her stance on working for us or even considering it,” he said drily.

Cassia nodded in understanding. “Adriene has very strong opinions on several subjects,” she said, sounding as diplomatically as she could.

The way she phrased it made Cullen think that their differences definitely went beyond the physical appearance.

“And you don’t?” he asked skeptically. She laughed softly, and he was surprised at the thought that it was a rather pleasant sound.

“Oh, I do! They do not always coincide, however. Which is why I am here.”

“So you decided you want to help us, despite your sister feeling so strongly about the templars?” Cullen was still not quite convinced, too strong had the reaction of her sister been when he offered her the job.

“To be quite honest, Knight-Captain, helping you is more of a side benefit,” Cassia shrugged. “I heard the pay is good and that working with the templars is quite reliable here.”

When Cullen didn’t immediately say anything, she went on.

“You don’t believe me? Maker, what did Adriene say? No, don’t tell me, I can guess. But no matter.” She sighed. “Look, we came here from Ferelden, fleeing from the Blight. We had to leave behind everything, start over completely here. If we ever want to get somewhere, hard work is the only way. So, there you have my motivation.”

Cullen gave her a speculative look. She sounded honest, surprisingly open in her explanation. Another complete opposite from her very guarded sister it seemed. Her sister who seemed to have been in a constant state of battle ready. Cassia Hawke meanwhile looked… soft. Her braids had flowers in it and she was wearing a simple, but very becoming dress. At first glance, he could not imagine her taking on fights in back alleys if it came to it.

“I’m not sure this job is right for you, Serah,” he started carefully. “You look… Not like a mercenary if I have to be honest.”

Cassia smiled brightly. “I dress for the occasion,” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice. “I am here to get a job, not to pick fights with people after all.”

“A fair point,” Cullen relented. It wasn’t like everyone who could carry a weapon did so all the time after all. “I apologise for the assumption.”

“Oh I’m not offended, don’t worry,” she said almost immediately before she gave him a calculating look. A hint of playfulness appeared on her face. “On second thought, maybe I am,” she said slowly. “Terribly offended actually!”

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “Terribly offended?”

“Yes. It’s awful, really.” Cassia did her best, putting on her most practiced fake upset look. But she couldn’t quite quell her own amusement as she spoke. “I fear, only a job offer might be able to smooth this over…”

Her gamble seemed to pay off, the Knight-Captain definitely looked amused by now. “Would it now? And if I were to leave you in this offended state?”

“Then I would have to storm out of here in a huff and never talk to you again.” Cassia was delighted about his willingness to play along. She had expected someone stuffy. Someone she’d have to formally apologize to and who would probably give her a dry talk about appropriate behaviour towards authority in regards to her family. This was the opposite. This was something so much easier to work with. She gave him a coy look. “That would be such a shame really, you seem so fun to talk to.”

“I seem fun to talk to?” He gave her another skeptical look. It seemed he was almost thrown off by her more direct approach.

“Don’t let it flatter you too much,” Cassia assured him, “The last person I worked for was so incredibly drunk he could barely even sit upright. Second time I met him, he fell asleep while paying me.” She gave him a playful wink. “The bar for decent conversation is remarkably low these days.”

Cullen couldn’t help himself but laugh quietly. This conversation had been something he never would have expected. But to his surprise, he found it utterly delightful. “Glad to see I place above the inebriated and the unconscious,” he said dryly but not bothering to hide his amusement anymore. “But what would I lose out on really?”

There was a glint in her eyes that made them almost sparkle. “Why, my remarkable problem-solving skills of course. There is a reason there is much less work in Lowtown since I got here after all. And I’ll have you know that I am also fun to talk to.”

She was definitely right about that, but nonetheless, he gave her a most skeptical look, enjoying her small huff in obviously fake indignation.

“I am a delightful conversationalist!” she insisted. “And you have been smiling for the past few minutes when earlier you looked like you ate a shipload of citrus just before I got here.”

This time he had to laugh out loud. “Indeed you are,” he agreed. Cullen wasn’t sure when the last time he had had this much fun talking to someone even was. “Alright, we can give this a try.” He took a small pile of papers and letters he had put together for this job and handed it over to her. “Here is all the information you need, I expect you can find your way around the notes.” She was already flipping through the letters he gave her, looking a bit more serious. “There is a certain level of discretion advised,” Cullen added almost as an afterthought.

“I see, of course,” Cassia murmured as she went over the names and dates, starting to see why they would hire a mercenary for this. “None of these people would talk to a templar.”

“Or any authority even,” the Knight-Captain added. “That’s why we need outside help for this.”

Cassia folded the papers carefully, putting them away into her pockets. “Luckily I am as far away from being an authority as you can probably find in this city,” she gave him another bright smile. “I am definitely the woman you need. For this job, I mean. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

And with a good-natured but polite good-bye, she left the Gallows behind again, feeling considerably less anxious about the place than she had when first coming here. It still was a place she wouldn’t want to set foot in voluntarily, but she had gotten what she came for, and it had been easier and far more pleasant than anticipated. Now, she only had to get this thing done as quietly and as quickly as possible. And who knew, perhaps this could open a door for more well-paid work in the future.

The task was surprisingly simple for her. Cassia could see why a templar would have not gotten most of the relevant information from any of the people she talked to. After a while, she was almost glad that Adriene had turned the offer down. As much as she loved her sister, she could imagine that Adriene’s approach to this would have had the potential for more than one altercation. Cassia had always preferred to talk herself out of any situation if needed, and she knew she was good at getting people to see things her way, even the ones that needed a bit more convincing. ‘Why pull out a weapon when a well-placed compliment or a vague hint of a promise could do the trick’ had always been more her style.

Normally, she and Adriene complemented each other perfectly in that regard. Cassia managed to avoid them some fights while Adriene was always ready and never missed a beat in situations where that simply wasn’t possible. It felt almost wrong now for Cassia to do this on her own, fully aware that she didn’t have a very well thought-through backup plan if things didn’t work out the way she wanted them to. But it seemed she was lucky this day, managing to get everything she needed without any major incidents. Well, almost without.

It was dark already but still busy on the streets when she was done and made her way back to the Gallows, this time finding her way to the Knight-Captain’s office almost directly.

“Good evening, Knight-Captain,” she greeted politely after knocking. He seemed surprised to see her again.

“Serah Hawke, back already?” Cullen had not expected her back this day. Not even the next one if he was honest, not with the amount of information he had sent her out to find, yet here she was, in his office again.

“Please, call me Cassia,” she smiled. “Otherwise I’ll always think you’re talking to my mother. But yes, here is all the information I could find.” She handed him a staple of notes and he gave it a quick once over.

“Impressive. And you did all this in a day?” He flipped through the pages after pages she had filled with all the things she had found out. On first glance, it looked like she had done a very thorough job. He couldn’t help being impressed.

“One of the notes sounded rather urgent,” she said with a shrug.

“It was, I thank you,” Cullen agreed, putting the papers aside to work through their content later. He took in her appearance. She looked different. Her hair was in a bun, and while she was still wearing a dress, it seemed to be a different one than before. “And I see you even had time to dress for the occasion again.”

Cassia looked down, for a moment looking confused before she smiled at him. “Naturally.” She shrugged. “But that was more of a necessity this time. Two hours of walking around town and my clothes still hadn’t dried.”

Cullen felt his own eyebrows run up. “Dried? What happened?”

She held up a hand as she assured him, “Nothing relevant to the investigation, don’t worry.”

Cullen couldn’t help giving her a skeptical look. A look that sent her into a small bout of laughter.

“I’m telling the truth,” she said between laughs. “It’s… you’re gonna laugh, but there were some very angry ducks. And a pond.” He felt his eyes widen. “And perhaps a person you may or may not have hired for her skills who had a slight issue of paying attention.” She shook her head, giving him a pointed look. “It was not a very graceful event, let’s just keep it like that.”

Cullen hadn’t been certain what to expect from any of this, but her little story definitely hadn’t been it. He tried his best to not laugh out too loudly, but his efforts were in vain.

“And now you are laughing at me!” Cassia sighed. “I should have left it at the change of clothes. Kept some of the mystery.”

Cullen shook his head, forcing the laughter to calm down. “I have the feeling there is plenty of mystery left with you, Serah… Cassia,” he corrected himself.

“I have to disappoint you,” Cassia grinned, feeling pleased at his use of her first name. This was only their second time meeting, but she had a good feeling about this already. If she played her cards right, she might be well on her way to find an in with the templars here. Adriene would probably throw a fit if she heard about any of this, but Cassia could try to deal with that later, make her see the advantages. “No mystery at all,” she said, giving him her best ‘I have nothing to hide’ look. “I am an open book.”

Cullen still seemed amused, but there was a hint of something she couldn’t place in his voice as he answered. “In my experience people who say this usually aren’t. Not really.”

The conversation was still light-hearted, but there was something underneath that was almost intriguing to Cassia as she smiled. “I see I have to change tactics then.”

Cullen didn’t answer immediately, giving her a strange look. Was there tension in the air or was she imagining it? She was still deliberating when he broke the silence.

“I may have a follow-up job for you, depending on where this leads. Maybe come back in a couple of days?” he said, sounding a bit more formal again. His voice had lost some of the lightness from earlier but his eyes… His eyes seemed to look almost right through her. ‘Be careful Cassia’, her inner voice that sounded, not surprisingly, a lot like her sister said. ‘Don’t underestimate this one just because he has a nice smile.’

“I will. Thank you Knight-Captain,” she said simply.

He nodded, and it seemed like they were done when he suddenly added. “If you insist on me calling you by your name it is only fair I insist on you doing the same.”

“You want me to call you by my name?” The words had left Cassia’s mouth before she had even thought to think about how wise it would be to crack jokes right now.

Cullen gave her an almost unreadable look and Cassia grinned at him apologetically.

”I’m sorry. I have a sister who never stops joking around - it leaves a mark on you sometimes,” she explained before smiling again, making her way to the door. “But I appreciate the offer, Cullen. And I’ll see you in a few days then. Have a good night.”

#From the scrap pile #Da2 #Dragon Age 2 #Precipice of Change #cullen rutherford

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jonnmurphy · 4 years

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147 with murven, pretty please

Okay so I’m just going through my inbox to write some drabbles and try to get back into doing fan fic. I think I know which prompt lists most of these were from, but I might be wrong. All of these are several years old tho, so idk. All drabbles are unedited and prone to many typos, sorry my dudes

147: “ I can take care of myself just fine.”

Some days, everything is fine. Well, as fine as things get. Sure, society as a whole is on the brink of collapse and they’re constantly struggling to avert the latest disaster, but there are communal dinners and picking out rooms in the farmhouse, and sometimes Raven gets to sit in the sun for a few minutes and she can pretend nothing bad is happening. They make jokes, and Indra is way too intense, and Raven sasses at Murphy who gives as good as he gets, and Clarke gets to be a mom, and it’s just... Nice.

But some days Raven wakes up with phantom pain dancing a jig hand in hand with her actual, chronic pain, and she wants to vomit as she puts on her brace, fingers shaking and tears stinging her eyes. She wants to cut off her leg, and go run away into the woods and live in the underground caves and never have to look at the people around her and remember the heartbreak that never seems to end. She doesn’t want to solve problems, and she doesn’t want to play nice, and those days her sarcasm turns to aggression, and everyone leaves her alone to work on motorcycles, throwing wrenches and cursing loudly.

And then there are the days where she can’t turn all that pain into rage. The days where she just wants to be held, she wants someone to see through every wall she’s put up, and she just wants to cry. And those days scare her most of all, because she knows how dangerous that is. She knows how much worse it gets when someone does see you, and then they leave. Taken away by the whims of fate, and the hands of her friends.

On days like that, of which today is one, she grabs a little jar full of insects - just in case, Raven has had more than enough mind manipulation for one life time thank you very much - and she goes into the woods. Research, she says. Sometimes she does study things, sorrow held at bay temporarily by a new discovery. But, more often than not, she finds her way up a hill or a tree, straining against her own limitations to get somewhere with a view. Somewhere that reminds her of spacewalks. And when she gets there, she sits down, and she cries. The sort of crying she doesn’t do in front of the others, not anymore. The sort that tears at something inside of her, makes it raw and bloody, and is impossible to stop.

And everyone always leaves her alone.

Which is why, when Raven hear a very distinct pattern of footsteps approaching, she immediately goes on full alert. Sure, the Children of Gabriel no longer live in the woods ready to attack anyone they see, but that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily safe. There could be a new splinter cell of them, or one of the convicts deciding they’d rather not do hard labour, or some new and unknown threat. So Raven rubs the tears from her face quickly and clumsily, grabbing her gun and turning towards the noise.

“Really, Raven? I thought you and I had moved past pointing guns at each other.” Murphy’s unfortunately familiar form emerges from the tree line, hands held up in surrender.

Just great, the one person she really doesn’t have the energy to deal with today.

“Go away, Murphy.” Raven grumbles as she turns away from him, laying down her gun and staring out at the vista beyond the cliff she’s sitting just shy of.

“Now, when has that ever worked?” Murphy chuckles as he completely ignores her, walking over and sitting next to her as if invited.

“Why can’t you ever do what you’re told?” Raven asks, wishing that it would sound more snarky and less whiny. But her voice betrays how pathetic she feels, and she can only hope Murphy is as oblivious to human emotion as he says he is.

“Oh, like you’re such a good little soldier yourself.” Murphy quips back, which, fair point. But Raven doesn’t have to admit that, at least not to him.

“What do you want, Murphy?” Raven asks hollowly. She really doesn’t have it in her for their normal back and forth.

“Other than the pleasure of your stimulating company?” She can see him turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye, but Raven doesn’t turn her own head. She keeps staring ahead, knowing how she must look, all puffy eyes and barely restrained tears. “Ugh, I guess some people are worried about you.”

He sounds so put upon by the concept, and Raven can’t help the bitter scoff that escapes her. Where are they, then, all these people who are concerned about her? Not that she wants them, she reminds herself. She wants to be left alone, this pain is temporary, and it’s better this way.

Safer.

“So they sent you?” Raven asks the clouds, and Murphy sighs. Honestly, if it was Clarke and them, why would they send the least empathetic individual they all know to talk to her?

“Well, I-”

“Listen, Murphy, don’t bother. I can take care of myself just fine.” She cuts him off, because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want him here, she just wants him to leave her alone so she can go back to crying again.

“Well that’s clearly not true,” Murphy drawls, and Raven finally looks at him, if only to glare. But he’s looking at the sky now, tapping his fingers on his thigh, either nervous, or bored with the whole thing. Either way, he should just leave if he’s so uncomfortable.

“I’m fine,” Raven retorts, and Murphy looks over to level her with a look that clearly says he knows just as well as her how bullshit that statement is. Raven shakes her head, amending her words, “Well, I will be fine. I just- I just need to be alone for a bit.”

“No, you don’t,” Murphy says, probably just to be contrary. It sparks a little bit of anger in Raven, just enough to singe the heavy blanket of sadness clinging to her.

“Listen here, Murphy, you don’t even know what I’m going through, or what I need, so don’t pretend you have any say in this, and-” Raven rants with heat, and Murphy has the audacity to roll his eyes at her, “Seriously?!”

“Raven, for someone so smart, you’re so dumb sometimes. Of course I don’t know what you’re going through, because you never told me. Or anyone, actually, from what I can tell. But I don’t have to know what’s going on with you to know that you don’t have to be alone through it.” Murphy is oddly sincere, and Raven can feel her scrap of anger fading, and she’s afraid. Afraid of what might happen when it’s gone, if Murphy’s still here and her walls don’t hold.

“Murphy, just go back to whoever sent you and tell them I’m not in any danger, okay?” Raven tries, as a last ditch attempt, and Murphy groans in frustration.

“No one sent me, Raven. It’s me, I’m the “some people” who are worried. Because I get it, okay? I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know what it feels like, and it sucks. And being alone? That’s even worse. So you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, you can yell at me, or hit me, or whatever you need to do, but I’m not leaving you.”

The words aren’t kind or caring, and honestly Murphy kind of shouts them at her. But they’re real, she knows, because Murphy would never lie for anyone’s benefit but his own. Which means, for whatever reason, he actually cares, and that hits Raven like a tonne of bricks. All the air leaves her lungs, the fight leaves her body, and she doesn’t know what to do. Murphy, to his credit, doesn’t say anything else. He simply shrugs, leans back on his hands, and looks up at the sky again.

Raven is left with a choice. She can get up and leave, she can pretend she really is fine, or she can just... be. And it’s hard to stand, with the weight of the world crushing her, so she doesn’t leave. And honestly, she isn’t fine. She hasn’t been fine for a long time. Which means she takes the last option, and she’s not proud of it, but she’s not really ashamed either. She hugs her knees to her chest, and she cries, and Murphy just sits there. Eventually, when her sobs become sniffles, he rubs her back a little, without otherwise looking at her or saying anything. And it’s a little weird, yes, but the thing inside of her that is raw and bleeding feels like someone put a bandaid on it. It isn’t much, it certainly isn’t enough to fix it if the thing ever can be fixed, but it’s something.

And she isn’t alone.

#murven #john murphy #raven reyes #the 100 #drabble #fan fic #man i forgot how much i loved writing angst #also this feels really good to actually finish something #even if it's just tiny like this #Anonymous

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

Reflection, a Buddie fic, jealous!Eddie, 3.8k

Eddie Diaz knew a few things. His wife, Shannon, was no longer with them. While he will always love her, it was time for him to move on. Surprisingly, his heart already did without his notice. It set up camp in the hands of his best friend, Buck. And he was too late to do anything about it.

Because Buck has a personal trainer. Buck has a crush on his personal trainer.

If Eddie ever meets the man, he might dip back into his 'phase'. But knowing how that might hurt Buck, he hopes they never run into each other. At a party in Buck's apartment, there's a high chance their paths will cross. Only what happens when Eddie meets Buck's personal trainer?

Eddie stands in a corner, scanning the crowd for a particular face. Shoulders tense, expression smooth like the marble of Buck’s kitchen counters, he broadcasts a very clear message - stay away. Appropriate behavior if Eddie were back at his station overseas and not at a party. A party celebrating a very important person in his life.

He catches Buck’s eyes in the crowd, the other man in the middle of a conversation. Buck lights up, waving him over. Eddie declines, darting away to sip at his beer. Too slow to miss him deflate at the snub.

His heart stutters over itself. A low growl rumbles through his mind, sharp teeth chewing him out for causing Buck’s smile to dim by ten percent. Barks at him to push off from the wall and join him, even at the risk. Slide in close and interrupt Buck while he works through his fifth tangent. Because Eddie knows his friend loses the plot easier than a loose contact and everyone around him looks antsier than soldiers during a surprise mine sweep. Eddie would then reel him towards an ending, helping lighten the social traffic.

It’s exactly what he wants to do. But a phantom hold keeps him from following through on the fantasy. The fear that, if he were to go over and enjoy himself, the very person he wasted already too much time searching for would surprise him and ruin his fun.

If there’s no fun had there’s none to ruin.

“You doing okay there Eddie?”

Hen and Chimney double team him, fencing him in and blocking his view of the entire party from his post. Any chance of escape stolen by Hen bracing her arm against the wall and Chimney spreading his legs in an awkward way that he finds comfortable. “So I’m not shifting around all the time.”

“But it’s a tripping hazard!”

Chimney smirked, “Too bad.”

Eddie frowns, carefully constructed mask slipping to expose his raw nerves. It rights itself in the next moment. Only the damage was done.

“What’s wrong?” Hen asks, “This is supposed to be a party! Why are you the treating it like a funeral?”

“I’m not -”

“Eddie’s not imagining himself at a funeral, Hen,” Chim interrupts, “no, no, it’s like he’s surveying a fire for any stragglers.” They snicker into their drinks, Eddie rolling his eyes at their antics.

“Real funny, you two,” he sighs, “Look, sorry if I’m being a little bit of a buzzkill but I’m not in the mood to party.” “Then why’d you come?”

He answers with a soft gaze towards the apartment’s entertainment section, Christopher sitting wedged between Denny and Harry playing with Denny’s Switch. Two more controllers added since his birthday, so they can all play Mario Party. Christopher shakes the controller madly to win whatever mini-game randomly chosen, laughing when Harry knocks into him.

“Hurry up dad!” Christopher urged Eddie. He waited by the front door, bouncing with excitement. Eddie shrugged on his jacket, telling him to be patient. “But I want to see Buck!” he said, grinning, “Don’t… don’t you want to?”

Eddie did, but he wasn’t alone. There’s another person here that probably feels the same flutter in his stomach whenever Buck’s form crosses their gaze. Except they can act on it, whereas Eddie has to wait for his stomach acid to digest those damned butterflies.

“That’s sweet,” Hen says, cup over her heart. “But that’s not explaining the stiff upper lip thing your face is doing.”

Chimney nods, “You’re no Brad Pitt but you have a better poker face than this, man.”

His lips thin further, and Eddie wishes a tornado would sweep through the room and suck him out of the apartment. It’s the only natural disaster he feels his family aren’t equipped to handle, meaning they’re less likely to rescue him from death. Although Eddie believes, even if a tornado found a way to travel across the Midwest and to Los Angeles without dissipating, his Texan blood would keep him alive for the fallout. “Maybe I would perk up a little if people stopped harassing me about why I’m not the life of the party?”

“Hey, don’t make us out to be the bad guys,” Chimney says, “we’re first responders.”

“We’re just doing our jobs,” Hen adds. Her finger pokes his chest three times, on the fourth Eddie waving it away.

Chimney steps closer, voice lowering to a whisper. “Really though,” he says, Eddie straining to hear him over the background chatter, “are you okay? You can tell us?”

“Was it therapy?” Hen asks, “I saw you leaving in a huff. Completely ignored me by the way…”

Eddie winces, unaware Hen saw him storm out of their therapist’s office. “My bad,” he winces, scratching his neck, “I would’ve said ‘hi’ if I saw you.”

“I know,” she says, “I could tell you weren’t paying attention. You had this intense glare in your eye like you had before we showed up.”

“Is that what it is?” Chimney arches a brow, “Something your therapist said that rubbed you the wrong way? A breakthrough you weren’t ready to hear?”

Chimney throws darts blindly and lands one close to the bull’s-eye without thought. Eddie bristles at how closely his friend’s guesses were. Although there are a few facts he has wrong.

Like the breakthrough Chimney thinks Eddie wasn’t ready to hear? Not true. Eddie understood his newfound feelings for Buck almost immediately. Already experienced the blinding, gasping fear that came with the development. Scared how things might change, to be around Buck, and what would happen if his affection went unanswered. Especially since he couldn’t hide his heart as easily as he thought. Frank sniffed them out at their session after Eddie’s revelation.

“Why did you shut down just then?” he asked, leaning forward in his wheelchair, “When you were talking about Buck.”

“I didn’t shut down,” Eddie said, crossing his arms. “I finished with the story… not much else to talk about.” Frank chuckled, rubbing at his eye. “What’s so funny?”

“Usually when it comes to the topic of your… friend , Buck, I have trouble getting you to move off the topic.” Shifting, he brings his pen to the notepad and scribbles a few words. “Has there been another rough patch in your relationship?”

Eddie scowled. “I wouldn’t say that. We’re fine.”

“Fine?”

“ Dandy. ” If falling in love with your best friend and coworker could be boiled down to a word, it wouldn’t be that. But did Frank expect Eddie to tell him the truth?

He did. They spent half the session verbally sparring about Buck, Eddie drawing his line in the sand and making sure Frank wouldn’t wheel across it.

“I thought you didn’t like talking about Buck?” Eddie growled. Squeezed the arms of the chair in an effort to keep his cool. “Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“Because you’re making it one.” Frank lost any pretense of entertaining Eddie’s efforts then, laying into the other man. “You think I’m being annoying with this? Imagine what might happen after you leave this room. How are you going to react when your mood shifts when talking to friends or family - or Buck? When you spend time with Buck will you shut down like you did earlier? I assure you that will only draw more suspicion your way.”

Eddie sunk into his seat. “I can handle myself…”

“Or,” Frank continued, “why don’t you let me help you through whatever you’re working through in this safe space. Where, I promise, there is no judgement.”

He mulled it over for a minute, giving Frank the benefit of actually considering his offer. A scene played through his mind, Eddie in the same room with Buck. Neither doing anything important than existing next to each other. In the sequence Buck turned to him and grinned, little birthmark rising slightly and eyes squinting like he stared up at the sun.

Eddie hoped his cheeks didn’t burn like they were in his head, in that room with Buck.

“Okay,” he started, thumb brushing back and forth across his knee, “if you want the truth…” It spilled forth rapidly, Eddie accidentally twisting the knob on his faucet off and unable to stop it. Went over how, after Shannon, Eddie didn’t know if the hole in his chest would ever be filled. That the pain from losing her once hurt so long, and this time her exit was more permanent.

But, without his notice, someone grabbed a shovel and set to work. Slowly Buck stepped into a new role. Went above and beyond what a friend normally did. Especially given his own condition, dealing with the possibility that his career and life were forever over. At first Eddie thought Buck used his time with him and Christopher as a distraction. To numb the terror of not being able to return to the firehouse. Except the cast came off, and Buck stuck by their side. Became even bigger parts of their lives. Sometimes he picked up Christopher from friend’s houses when Eddie or Carla was busy. Or joined them in grocery shopping. Stayed late into the night, helping Christopher to bed and chatting with Eddie until it was one in the morning. No matter how hard Eddie begged, though, Buck would return to his apartment. Eddie watching him hop into his Uber and waiting until he received a text from Buck to go to sleep.

“God,” Eddie scrubbed his face, “I had it bad for him this whole time and I didn’t notice?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Frank comforted him, smiling, “When we go through trauma, it’s easy for things to fade into the background while you heal. Things change, around you and inside, that you might not notice for awhile because the immediate pain takes up all your attention.”

“I guess you’re right,” he sighed, “I spent so long being glad that I had Buck… I didn’t examine those feelings too closely because I was just happy that the pain from missing Shannon wasn’t there.”

“And when Buck abandoned you, as you mentioned in a previous session…” Eddie shifted in his seat at Frank’s choice of words. “How did you feel? Really feel? Looking back on it with the clarity you have now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Eddie said, “I guess it… pushed me over the edge. Two people I loved choosing to walk out on me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Felt like I was letting Christopher down because I couldn’t give him a stable home… was more like a hotel with one of those revolving doors. It made me mad. And I wanted to hurt people, because maybe then I wouldn’t be hurting inside... God,” he wiped his eyes, laughing, “Buck was right. He was part of the reason I had my… phase . If he found out… his ego was insufferable before.”

“Your confession is safe with me,” Frank told him, “I’m glad we could work through this in today’s time. If you held out a bit longer I was afraid we’d be cut off in the middle and it’d be forever to get you to where we’re ending today.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Eddie said, standing, “I… I needed this.”

He scheduled another session the following week, proactively dealing with his issues. While they covered many things in the hour there were still more to discuss. When his next appointment arrived Eddie wasted no time dumping the remaining worries at Frank’s feet. Like a man dangling off the edge of a skyscraper begging for someone to help him away from the edge.

Frank hauled him onto solid ground with sound logic. “If Buck is all that you say he is,” he explained, “than in the possibility where he didn’t return your feelings occurred, he wouldn’t call it quits like that. You need to have a little faith that things can turn out good.”

“It’s hard, though. When every time I have that faith it all goes sour on my end.”

“Well maybe this time things will turn out differently.”

Eddie took Frank’s advice, deciding that the next moment alone with Buck he would hand him his heart and pray he kept it.

However he could never be alone with Buck.

In the following weeks, any chance where they were the only two in the room was spoiled by a third party joining almost immediately. From fellow firefighters to random strangers. Christopher, when Eddie tried sneaking out to meet Buck. Caught and forced to bring him along since he cannot say no to his son. While at the park, watching his son play, he thought about telling him there. But then Athena walked in, apparently on patrol. So desperate Eddie considered faking an emergency so he could claim the ambulance for him and Buck and confessing on the way.

Eddie was desperate.

Instead of risking a felony, Eddie went with an even riskier option.

“Buck,” he sidled up to his friend, swinging an arm over his shoulders, “You good to join me in the gym for a little one-on-one?” Not the safest place given how accessible their gym was in the open floor plan. If he timed the barbell lifts right, Eddie could give them some protection.

Buck deflated, stepping away from Eddie’s hug. “Sorry, Eddie… no can do.”

“What? Why?”

He frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “Really? You know why…” At Eddie’s silence, Buck continued. “Ever since the accident I… I can’t work out like I used to. I had to switch up how I do things and… find new ways.”

“Oh,” Eddie mirrored his expression, “How, uh… how have you been exercising then? Because - I mean - you’re still looking fit and everything and you had to keep up your strength when going through training of course…”

Buck smiled, ducking his gaze to hide a blush. The sight of flushed skin sent chills racing down Eddie’s spine. “Been doing some classes, got a personal trainer… who I really like. He’s - uh, he’s cool. Derek, I… it’s been different, but uh - uh new. In a good way.”

A good way. Said to the floor yet Eddie still bears the brunt of the blow. Repeatedly suffering with each mention of ‘Derek’. Especially since, after first finding out about him, he becomes a recurrence in his life.

“There’s this really cool trick Derek showed me that’ll cut cramp recovery in half the time.”

“Derek, he had this really funny story he was telling in the middle of our planks…”

“I didn’t think yoga was that effective, but after one class with Derek I can see why people do it.”

Derek. Derek. Derek. He took his place in Buck’s life as his exercise partner without him knowing. The longer he waits the better chance he has of graduating from ‘trainer’ to ‘boyfriend’.

But Derek keeps him at bay. The specter of him shadows every conversation they have. Eddie imagining telling Buck his feelings only to be shot down because some random guy swooped in and struck the scalding iron while Eddie didn’t even know the metal was hot. As more time passed, Eddie sparingly saw his friend.

“It could be nothing,” Frank said. Eddie ignored him, pacing the room. “If you talked to him -”

“I mean it’s perfect,” Eddie spiraled, “being a trainer means that he can get close without there being any questions. Touch Buck’s muscles or - or press his chest to Buck’s back while showing him how to do a move or whatever.”

“If he does then that’s harassment, Eddie. Buck pays him to be his trainer and nothing more.”

“But it could be something,” Eddie turned to him, “The way he talks about Derek… there’s this stupid smile on his face that he gets when he has it bad for someone. Had it when he told me about Abby, when he was with Ally... “

“Did he ever have it when he was with you?” Eddie stayed firm in his silence, refusing to answer him. Frank continued, undeterred. “You’re jumping to conclusions without all the facts. If you talked to him -”

“It wouldn’t make a difference! He’s already gone on some other lucky jerk.”

“And is that so bad?”

He stiffened. “What do you mean? Of course it’s bad!”

“I don’t believe you think that,” Frank said, “To me, it sounds like you’re using this Derek as an excuse to back out of confessing your feelings to Buck. You’re afraid Buck might say no. Having Derek there is the perfect option because if he’s in Buck’s life than you don’t have to tell him.”

Eddie imploded. Glared at Frank, biting down every bit of bile he wanted to spew at his therapist. Swallowed it all and stormed from the room before he did something he regretted. Carried that dark cloud with him from the parking lot to Buck’s apartment where they surprised him with another party. Celebrating him being off blood thinners and hopefully not have it end like last time.

“What happens in therapy stays in therapy,” Eddie mumbles, pushing off the wall, “now if you’ll excuse me.” He escapes them, squeezing through the sewing needle loop between Hen and Chimney.

They follow, matching his hurried pace. Trying to carry the conversation even though Eddie keeps dropping it.

Luckily he sees a distraction by the mirror. Christopher stares at himself, smiling. Eddie walks over and crouches down next to him. “Hey, buddie, what are you looking at?”

“Denny said I had a piece of spinach stuck in my teeth,” Christopher says, “but I… can’t see it.”

Eddie studies his son’s teeth, aware of the figures standing behind him. “I don’t see it either.”

“Denny probably did that so he could cheat,” Hen sighs, “boy is the sorest of losers.”

“You should get back to your game, then, before you end up in last place.” Eddie squeezes Christopher’s shoulders, resigned to losing his shield against the circling vultures. He reaches forward and places a hand on the mirror’s frame, using it to steady his ascent.

At full height, Eddie notices his reflection fading somewhat. Suddenly a figure pops up, smiling and sweating, frozen in mid stretch.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Buck rushes over, smile twitching with nerves, “what, uh… what’s everybody doing?”

Chimney jerks his thumb at the scene. “Wondering why there’s a man trapped in your mirror?”

“There is?” Buck feigns surprise, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “I don’t - I don’t know how he got there?”

“What? Of course you do, Buck,” Maddie says, joining the conversation, “I helped you set him up and everything.”

“Maddie -”

“Maddie,” Chimney cuts Buck off, “you know what’s going on?”

She nods, pointing to the man in the mirror with her cup. “Being Buck’s sister I was the only one who was forced to listen to him complain about how he was going to lose everything he worked so hard for. Just because he couldn’t work out like he used to because of the accident. One day while listening to him go on and on about it this ad popped up for mirrors that double as personal trainers.” A string snaps in Eddie’s mind, the sound echoing madly. He looks over to Buck, the other man watching his feet while his ears burn. “Anyway I said I would personally buy this mirror for him if it would get him to shut up. He agreed, but only if he liked it. Day after it arrived Buck wasn’t complaining anymore. Best paycheck I ever spent…”

“Wait,” Hen glances between Maddie and the mirror, “so this is a personal trainer?”

“Yeah,” Maddie leans over to tap the glass, despite Buck’s attempts to stop her. The screen shifts and an array of faces smile at them. Derek’s larger than the rest, head enlarged and name clearly labeled below it.

There he was. Derek .

“You can pick from a whole array of trainers depending on what classes you want. It’s really interesting, and Buck seems to like it.”

“Maddie -”

“I figured you all knew about it since he’s replaced complaining with praising his trainer Derek,” she chuckles, elbowing her brother. “Little teacher’s pet.”

“ Maddie .”

Their small crowd thins after that. Christopher returns to his game, and Chimney leads Maddie towards the kitchen to steal some more food. Eddie stares at Derek, a mixture of confusion and relief churning in his stomach.

Hen sidles up to him. “You wanna know something?”

“What?”

“That Derek guy kind of looks like you.”

Eddie whips around in shock, ready to fire a denial. She dips before he can pull the trigger, safe by her wife’s side. Loaded and nowhere to go, Eddie looks at Derek. Sees how, in a certain light, they could be reflections of each other. However Derek’s hair is much longer than his, pulled tight in a bun, And there’s a mole under his nose that draws the eye to it without trying.

Derek disappears, the mirror returning to normal. It’s his face gazing back at him now, Eddie’s a few inches to his side.

“So,” he says, “you’ve met Derek.”

“Yeah. I did.” Eddie turns to him, “Why didn’t you tell me he was in your mirror? I’ve been here how many times, used this mirror, and it had a double life?”

“I… I guess I was embarrassed,” Buck tells him, wringing his hands, “of…”

He guesses, “Of him being in a mirror.”

“Well, that,” Buck says, eyes bouncing around the room, unable to meet Eddie’s stare, “and, because…” His words dissolve into dust.

Eddie understands. Finally sees what he needs. An emotion reflected in his own eyes, not distorted by doubt or fear.

“Y’know,” he starts, running a hand across the mirror’s surface, “this is pretty cool.”

“...It is.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, smiling at Buck’s face in the mirror, “think you could invite me over the next time you use this?”

Buck frowns, “Why? You already got a good routine going.”

“I’ve been in the mood to shake things up,” Eddie tells him, “and besides… I missed working out with you.”

“You did?” Mood shifting rapidly, Eddie swoons at the dizzying grin lighting up Buck’s face.

“Of course…” Eddie’s hand runs across Buck’s reflection, petting his chest, “there’s a lot of time I have to make up for. We can start with exercise and… go from there.”

Buck nods enthusiastically. “I’d like that.”

The party goes on without them, both men are lost in their own world. Eddie feels the darkness that ate at his heart fade, replaced by the warm embrace of understanding. In lieu of talking Eddie prepares for his exercise date. Stretches the words in his mind so they’ll be ready for the day. Imagines how it will go. And, when successful, Eddie kisses Buck. Derek long gone from the mirror. Only them captured inside it.

#9 1 1 fox #buddie #buddie fic #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Christopher Diaz #chimeny han #hen wilson #maddie buckley #buck x eddie #buck/eddie

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thewhiterabbit42 · 5 years

Text

Wicked Games

Pairing: Gabriel x reader

Series Summary: When a trickster seeks revenge on Gabriel, he traps the archangel in a sex dungeon with the person he despises the most: you.

Word Count: 3432

Chapter tags/warnings: swearing, people being dicks

Series tags/warnings (as it stands): dark fic, medium burn, kidnapping, sex dungeon, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, violence, graphic depictions of horror, dub con, non con, oral sex, it’s a sex dungeon so likely all the sex, confessed feelings, bondage, more tba

A/N: This is a dark fic. Please read all tags/warnings carefully. Big thanks to my beta and @starchaser-the-prophet for taking a peek at this!

Based off the following request by @inuhimesblog

Part 2

“Seriously? You’re going to leave me with her?” Gabriel’s disdain is palpable, overflowing from his features and spiraling out into the space surrounding him.

You try not to take it personally. You’d hate feeling leashed too, if you were an ancient being whose entire existence consisted of being top of the food chain, and you imagine it especially hits a nerve given how he’s spent the last seven years.

“If you didn’t want a chaperone, then maybe you should have stayed put for the five minutes we told you to, instead of inviting a bunch of your old friends over for tea and almost getting us all killed!” Dean insists.

“How was I supposed to know they were on Loki’s side?” Gabriel demands.

You can see the way betrayal sparks bright behind gold, another heavy blow to an ego that, by all accounts, should be shredded beyond recognition. Maybe it is, but even you have difficulty discerning when he insists on being such an ass about everything.

"Because all gods are a bunch of backstabbing assholes?" Dean guesses. He’s just as sardonic and pissy as the archangel is these days, so much so, you can’t stand being in the same room with them.

"They're not gods," Gabriel says flatly. "They're maenads."

"I don’t really care what they are," Dean retorts, gesturing to dismembered corpses strewn along the floor. "Demi-God, god, trickster, whatever. The name changes, the song stays the same. You can't trust any of them!"

If eye rolling were an Olympic event, the archangel would take home the gold. He folds his arms over his chest, his entire upper body getting into the movement. His head drops back and the look on his face suggests even Heaven can’t help him as his weight shifts between feet.

You can't blame him. The entire situation screams power move by Dean. As much as you don’t agree with it, you’re not really in a position to either challenge or refuse him, and you suspect the current predicament is as much a means to keep you in line as it is Gabriel.

"Look," Sam steps into the fray, trying to be the voice of reason in this whole mess. "We need you, and, like it or not, you need us."

Short, sweet, to the point, and more importantly, accurate.

"And if there are more of these things out there," he looks down at the bodies at his feet. "Then it sounds like you could use someone to help watch your back."

Gabriel's glare swings toward him, skepticism bubbling through the surface of his anger.

“And I don’t know what you’re complaining about, because she’s the one that dropped those things, not us,” Sam adds, a touch of attitude broaching his tone to drive his point home.

While you appreciate the reminder, it’s not as if the archangel wasn’t there, moving perfectly in tandem with you. Somehow, you make a great team, despite how roughly things go when there isn’t a common enemy you want to murder instead of each other.

As Gabriel’s scathing stare slides in your direction, you feel another layer of your patience peel away. You’re not thrilled with the situation anymore than he is, but then again, when has he ever been thrilled to see you?

That’s not entirely true. There was a time he was playful and cheeky, where he used to call you endearing nicknames that drove Dean insane. Even if they weren’t really for your benefit, it had been nice to pretend someone might want to call you those things.

Now, he calls you the littlest Winchester, despite the fact you are not related to the infamous brothers, and he treats you no differently than if you were one of them, which most days means you catch a whole lot of flak for things you’ve never done.

You recognize it’s a defense mechanism. He’s been through so much between his family, Loki, and Asmodeus, though it’s hard to remember that when you’re dragged into the latest pissing match, and he acts like the whole thing is your idea.

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly my idea of a good time either,” you mutter, your irritation getting the better of you.

You miss the way something shifts in his features, eating away at the hardness around the edge of gold as you glance back to the brothers and add, “And if I’m delegated to playing nursemaid to that one,” you jam your thumb toward the surly archangel, “Then you two are on cleanup duty.”

Dean makes a face, looking down at the collection of limbs on the floor. Surprisingly, he doesn't argue. "Sam, get some trash bags from the trunk. The industrial ones."

As if he has to specify you need the body-sized ones.

“And my bag please,” you ask.

Sam nods, slipping out the door without another word.

There’s an extra tension in the room whenever it’s just the three of you. You used to be the one to manage it, the one who could smooth things over whenever the two of them locked horns, but now you’re just as at odds with them as they are with each other.

It doesn’t feel right. None of it does. The bitterness. The constant fighting. Only you don’t know what to do about it anymore.

"C'mon, grumbles, let's get your mess cleaned up,” Dean orders, toeing what might be part of an arm with the edge of his boot.

Gabriel is not pleased to be on the receiving end of a nickname, face pulling into a sardonic smile that borders on murder. Before he can zing anything back in the hunter’s direction, the door swings back open and Sam walks in, supplies (which wisely includes a tarp and some heavy duty rubber gloves) in hand.

"Notice I said you two." You gesture between the brothers, murmuring a thanks to Sam as he hands you your bag.

"What do you plan to do? Supervise?" Dean’s in rare form, and there’s a thinly veiled accusation simmering beneath green that you can’t touch right now.

“You think those claw marks are going to stitch themselves?” You question, gesturing toward the Gabriel’s shredded leg. From the amount of blood and nearly black stain on his pants, you’re certain he’s only alive because he can’t technically die from bleeding out.

You reach into your satchel and pull out your modified first aid kit. It has the basic supplies, the biggest difference being the amount of gauze and bandaging included (for those archangel sized wounds) and some herbal components that stimulate grace regeneration.

You move a chair next to the dresser in front of what might be the only clean section of carpet left.

"Drop the jeans,” you order, patting the back of the chair with invitation as you begin to lay out what you’ll need.

There's a brief moment where the Gabriel you knew flits to the surface. "Here? In front of everyone? Kinky."

You almost smile. Almost. Because one light moment isn't even close to being a bandaid on your relationship. No matter how much you'd like it to be.

Especially when he follows it up with another blow.

"But I think I'll pass on being the guinea pig to your Dr. Doolittle and take care of myself, thanks." He holds out his hand expectantly, and it takes a concerted effort not to smack him upside the head with the supplies.

You settle for shoving them directly at his chest.

“Well if nobody needs me, I need some air.”

“They need you,” Dean gestures to the body’s on the floor. “Us, right here?” He swings his finger between himself and Sam. “We need you,” he says pointedly as you pass right by him. “Hey!”

Your instincts flare as he moves toward you, and there’s a visceral jolt through your chest that prepares you to react. Sam intervenes before you get the chance, tall frame stepping between you as he puts a hand on his brother’s chest.

“Dean.”

You don’t care what look is burning into your back right now. You’ve spent the last two days trapped in a car with a volatile version of Dean who reminds you of something you spend most of your time desperately trying to forget ever existed.

“Let her go.”

Dean doesn’t fight him, and the slam of the door is your final contribution to the conversation before you take off across the parking lot.

***

You should have kept walking. Doubled back to the highway. Hitched a ride in any direction, so long as it was away from there. Away from him.

Gabriel’s camped out on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed. Instead of watching TV or playing on his phone like any normal being would, he’s bouncing a baseball against the wall with a persistent ker-thunk.

It’s the same motion over and over: off the thin carpet, against the same dingy spot parallel to the dresser, pausing just long enough to make you wonder if he’s finally done, before starting all over again.

Good god it’s annoying. How did you ever put up with him?

Only you know how.

Before, he was smooth. He knew how to lay on the charm and flatter his way into good graces. He used to be like Cas; beneath that outer surface lay something soft and warm, though instead of a rough veneer, it was the guise of detached hedonism.

But now he’s all pointed barbs and caustic sarcasm, and it rubs you so raw that you have little patience left to weather the truly obnoxious moments anymore.

“Drama queen, much?” You finally snap. You’re young, but the reference isn’t lost on you, and as much as he wants to act like he’s imprisoned, he has far more ways to escape this hole in the wall than you ever will.

Ker-thunk. “Better than being a lap dog.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, and this remark hits harder than you expect. You’re not certain if it’s the connotation or the sheer acidity behind it, but he’s never this mean-spirited with you.

You breath in.

Ker-thunk.

Then out.

Ker-thunk.

And in.

Ker-thunk.

Reminding yourself - ker-thunk - of all - ker-thunk - the horrible things - ker-thunk - he’s been through - ker-thunk - and how they - ker-thunk - change a person - ker-thunk.

Ker-thunk.

Ker-

You grip the edges of your lorebook so hard you’re convinced you’re fingerprints are going to sear straight into the leather binding.

“Just because you’ve been dealt a shitty hand doesn’t give you the right to be a dick to the rest of us.”

Not exactly where you’d hoped to land, but between him and Dean, the well you maintain to stay diplomatic in these situations has run so dry it’s going to take some biblical sized relationship repairs raining down on you to fill that sucker back up.

Silence falls and you’re given a moment of reprieve.

Literally, one.

“I’m the dick in this situation?” His head whips around so fast it reminds you of the movie The Exorcist. “Tell me, which one of us is on a leash right now, and which one is holding it?”

Right. Because it’s your fault he goes into situations half-cocked, low on energy, without any backup, nearly gets himself killed, and pisses off the only allies he may have left.

“Door’s open, don’t let it hit your ass on the way out.”

There’s a window in the bathroom you’re happy to shove him out of as well, but you decide to keep that suggestion to yourself in an attempt to keep things marginally civil.

You get up from your chair and toss your book aside, in need of another way to decompress. Despite the fact it’s not even noon, you head toward the mini-fridge, which is stock full of your maladaptive coping mechanism of choice.

The moment Gabriel sees you pull out a beer, he lets out a scornful snort. "Have another one, Winchester."

His insult hits a target dead center, though it’s not the one he’s aiming for. Instead of slamming your integrity or moral turpitude, or whatever the shit he thinks he’s poking at, you feel cut off at the knees.

You’re not a Winchester, and it’s not that you want to be one so much as know you never can that makes this a particularly sore spot for you.

The reminder is draining, because it’s always there, hanging over your head, and you’re as sick of it as being caught in a game of Tug of War between two equally stubborn individuals.

“Can we do something other than argue for once?” Exasperation softens the sharpness in your tone as you sit on the edge of the dresser.

You hold the beer in your hands, focusing on the cold against your palms and the dampness that forms against the warmth of your skin.

He considers your question, absent-mindedly tossing the ball up in his hand. “We could always play a game.”

For a moment, he almost looks like himself again, mischief sparking, shaking off the varnish within gold. His lips twitch as if attempting to smile, but they're heavy, immobile, and another indication of just how much has changed.

Part of you wants to humor him for the sake of keeping this tenuous break, but the rest of you is pretty god damn tired of being someone else’s punching bag.

“I have a novel idea,” you begin, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your legs.

He deflates, dour demeanor returning. “Oh, this should be good…”

You regret saying anything, but as with most things in your life, it’s too late to go back. You run your thumb along the condensation of the bottle, tongue darting out across your lips as you prepare yourself for whatever comes next.

“Why don’t we do something productive like, I dunno, talk about the group of deities out for your blood?” You’re careful not to sound too concerned. Doing so gets you batted at faster than a feral cat who’s cornered.

“Yeah. Real fun topic to be revisiting.”

It’s still the least combative response you’ve received recently, and it gives you some hope you might be able to reason with him.

“Gabriel, if I’m going to be sitting next to someone with a giant target on their back, I’d like to know what it is my enemy might be firing so I can do something about it.”

That, and you’d really like to avoid becoming a smear on the wall.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, there’s nothing coming but a whole lotta blanks.”

You’re not sure what rankles you more: the insincere and wholly mocking term of endearment he throws at you that used to mean something, or how dismissive he is of the danger you’re both in.

“Why won’t you let anyone help you?”

In the few moments he isn’t forcing you to see a spectrum of red that exists only in his presence, there are startling shades of deep blue that squeeze around your heart because you already know why.

Some part of that must show, his mood worsening exponentially. "Maybe because I don’t need anyone’s help? Especially yours."

And back to square one you go.

"You are the most frustrating man I've ever met," you mutter, slamming the top of your beer down on the edge of the dresser and popping the cap off. You bring the bottle to your lips and the bulk of the drink bypasses your tastebuds, pouring straight down your throat.

“Seems unlikely, given your Winchester worshipping status, but you’re no walk in the park either, toots.”

You glare at him, wondering just how much trouble you’ll be in with said Winchesters if you decide to paint a banishing sigil on the other side of the bathroom door and blast the archangel’s insufferable ass into the next state.

As if sensing the brewing mutiny, both your phones buzz, Dean’s contact flashing across both screens.

Meet me at this address. Important.

Thank God, or the gods, or whatever was out there for small favors. You need something to do other than go another ten rounds with each other.

“C’mon," you tell him, hopping back to your feet without a second thought.

“Really?”

Here it comes.

You down the rest of your drink as he readies his next jab.

“What's up between you and the lumberjack?”

You’d ask which one, but the question is so ridiculous you can’t do anything except blink. “Excuse me?”

Is he implying… what the hell is he implying?

“Every time he says jump you ask how high without a second thought, but here you are, all up on my lamp post about not knowing what you’re walking into.”

There are differences between him and Dean. Big ones. Ones he should be able to grasp, but you don’t trust him to, and if there’s anything you’ve learned with either of them it’s that sometimes it’s just easier to deal with things on your own.

"There's nothing going on."

Your quick dismissal only has the archangel's stare narrowing.

"Does he have something on you?"

“Jesus christ, Gabriel, can we argue about this in the car?” You’d prefer not to argue at all, but getting him out the door is now your number one priority, and you have a feeling this is going to be worse than the time Dean left you with that toddler from Hell. Literally, a demon hiding in a three year old’s body that knew how to push every one of your buttons so you’d overlook the fact it couldn’t cross the line of salt in the doorway, rather than wouldn’t.

“I’m being serious,” he says grabbing you by the arm as you try to pass. The contact startles you, as does the admission that follows. “I know I've been kind of an douche lately --”

“Kind of?”

He ignores your knee-jerk response. “The point is, you can talk to me."

That might be the funniest thing he’s said all day.

You snort. "Good one."

“I’m serious.” He pins you beneath a sober stare, one noticeably lacking a scathing edge.

You’re not certain what to do with that.

“He doesn’t have anything on me, alright?” You sigh. “Now can we please go?”

He eyes you even more intently before his features abruptly harden again. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with him.”

You decide not to justify that with a response. Not a verbal one anyway. You hope the middle finger you raise in his direction as you try to head to the door is a clear enough indication of where you stand on the matter.

As usual, the idiot-savant in him has already made up his mind on the matter.

“Oh for shit’s sake, you are.” He grabs you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, and you’re too busy trying not to scream to notice the myriad of emotions that flash through his gaze. “Seriously? Since when did you become deaf, blind, and dumb?”

He's so far from the truth it should be laughable. Except it isn’t, because it’s him, and you’re over this conversation.

“Since when did it become any of your business who the fuck I’m interested in?” You yank out of his grip, shoving him out of your space. “Don't act like you care about me or anything other than playing Uma Thurman in your little Kill Bill revenge fantasy."

Gabriel freezes, surprised by the sudden burst of hostility from you.

"Now you can either get in the car, stay here, or fuck off to Fiji for all I care, but I am leaving," you snarl before storming out of the room.

You didn't sign up for this. He and Dean can sort it out between themselves if they're going to insist on being self-centered pricks the entire time. You just want to wake up one morning and feel like you’re worth something again, something no one else seems inclined to let you do.

Before you even make it to the vehicle, Gabriel’s there, waiting for you in the passenger seat. You’re relieved and annoyed. You need a break, but despite that, you know this is far, far better than facing an irate Dean.

Mostly. It really depends on how much trouble either of your mouths can get into.

The answer is potentially plenty once you plug the address into your phone’s GPS and realize you have a forty-five minute drive into the middle of nowhere ahead of you.

You take a deep breath, managing not to wrench open the car door. There are far worse things you’ve endured. How bad could one car ride turn out?

Part 2 >>

ALL the tags

@girl-next-door-writes @blondecoffeecake @room-with-a-cat @nobodys-baby-now @lucifer-in-leather @crashdevlin @idabbleincrazy @lovelyhexbag @megasimpleplan4ever @brokencasbutt67-writer @mrswhozeewhatsis @ourloveisforthelovely @copperseraphim @ladyofletters67 @azlinh @authoressskr @bofa-deans-nuts @phantomwarrior12 @karichanarts @archangelgabriellives @mizzezm @curious-trickster @tardis-is-mine @archangelashiah @katekvnes @datajana @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @marichromatic @falcatrecon @flufy07 @alisoncdariel @angelofwinchester17 @feelmyroarrrr

Gabe Squad (Gabriel)

@disneymarina @starchaser-the-prophet @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @the-kryomancer @supernaturalways @erisunderthemoon @hankypranky @fruitypieq @missihart23 @a-wing-and-a-pen @waywardspringchild @luciferseclipse @greeneyedtrickster @fand0maniac @gabegirrl86

#gabriel x reader #gabriel #gabriel fanfiction #gabriel fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #rabbit writes

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taetaespeaches · 5 years

Note

WE NEED AN IMAGINE ABOUT NAMJOON SHOWING YOU PERSONA FOR THE FIRST TIME PLEAse OMG

“You should have prepared me for that. That’s how you give a person a heart attack”

Namjoon x Reader (or oc)

Word count: 2K

a/n: Ugh YES!!!! Thank you for requesting this, holy hell I’m still not over Persona. I’m never going to be over Persona. This scenario is a little bit all over the place, but that’s because Persona fucks ya girl up and I would imagine it would totally fuck his s/o up too. Ok, so I figure Joon would probably show his s/o what he’s working on throughout the song writing process, so in this, the s/o has some knowledge of the song already, but they haven’t seen the video or heard the complete song all finalized. I hope you and everyone else enjoys. Thanks for reading!!! :))

As soon as you heard the knock on your door followed by the latch unlocking and a “Baby?” being called out, you shot up from your reclined position on your couch, crossing your legs underneath you, immediately grabbing the laptop on your coffee table. “Babe, hurry up,” you called over to your boyfriend as you pulled up the video on the laptop.

“Hang on,” he chuckled with a small shake of his head. “Let me get my shoes off.”

“No, no, no,” you peered over the back of your couch to look at him, reaching your hand out to gesture for him to ‘come here’. “Priorities, Joon.”

His close-mouthed grin turned into a stunning, bashful smile as he met your eyes. Walking towards you quickly, he kicked his shoes off along the journey from your front door to your sofa, stumbling over his feet along the way.

“Babe, be careful,” you giggled. “We have a video to watch, I don’t have time to take you to the emergency room right now,” you teased, making your boyfriend chuckle in response.

Plopping down next to you, he leaned over to kiss your cheek, to which you quickly turned your face to press three short consecutive kisses to his lips. “Ok, it’s ready to go,” you smiled happily. “You just gotta press play whenever you’re ready.” Bouncing your shoulders in excitement, Namjoon laughed at your lack of patience.

“Ok, ok,” he shook his head. “Calm yourself, I’m ready.” You squealed in anticipation as you bounced your shoulders up and down even more. “But are you ready?”

“Joon!” You whined in exasperation.

It was a bit of tradition for you and Namjoon to watch RM and BTS videos and listen through the albums together, you always seeing and hearing the final products for the first time. Even if he was in a different country than you, he liked to video call you as you watched and listened for the first time. He liked to see your raw and genuine reactions. Namjoon loved the way you bobbed your head through beats you liked, the way you would say “ooh” every time the beat switched up, and the soft smile that graced your features every time you could tell a lyric was about you.

He also loved how supportive you were of him and his music. You always made him feel good, and made him feel as though he should be as proud of himself as you were of him. Namjoon included you in the writing process, showing you developments as they happened, but he always held off on showing you them in their completion until they were released, finding way too much enjoyment in making you wait impatiently.

The creation of “Persona” had caused a good amount of stress for Namjoon. With several trials and errors, rewrites, discarding of rewrites, dissatisfaction, frustration, overthinking, and your talented and dedicated boyfriend almost giving up, the song was finally completed and you could not be more proud of him.

You had heard samples of the song throughout the writing process of course, always preferring the first and most natural version the most, which he eventually went with, but you had yet to hear the complete final version and you were beyond ready.

Smiling in amusement, Namjoon leaned forward to press play on the video. As your eyes were glued to the screen, the BigHit intro only increasing your anxiousness, Namjoon’s gaze was stuck on you.

As soon as the video started, you gasped. “Skool Luv Affair!”

“Baby, you knew we sampled it,” Joon laughed, to which you waved him off.

“Fuck,” you bit your lip as soon as Namjoon with his sexy blonde locks popped up with a simple “yo”. Joon’s dimples were on full display, along with a light red blush gracing his cheeks as he watched you.

You watched the video intently as Namjoon watched you, his eyes glancing at the screen every once in a while. When a hooded RM appeared on the screen for the first time, your eyes widened as you slapped his thigh in excitement. Your boyfriend grabbed your hand in his to hold it still, chuckling lightly at your reaction.

As the hook came in, you bobbed your head, smiling like an idiot at how fucking cool your boyfriend was. When hooded RM dropped the microphone, you yelled out, “Ooh mic drop bitch!” Which elicited a loud laugh from the man next to you.

When Namjoon stepped in front of an orange curtain in the video, dressed in all white, you shook your head in disbelief. “You’re so fucking hot,” you said quietly, a cocky grin and a bashful heat spreading on Namjoon’s face as a result. When the CGI Namjoon appeared, your eyes widened in surprise as you leaned towards the laptop screen.

You were so entranced that when Namjoon sang, “Per-so-na” you gasped, squeezing Namjoon’s hand, a wide grin sitting on your face. When the video ended, you looked at Namjoon to see him staring at you with a nervous expression, though he was wearing a small smile.

“What the fuck,” you slapped his thigh gently, squeezing his hand again. “God damn Joon, you should have prepared me for that. That’s how you give a person a heart attack. Am I ok? Do I look ok?” You ranted dramatically, making his smile widen, his dimples effectively deepening into his precious cheeks.

“You look beautiful,” he said sweetly, and sort of cockily.

“You’re beautiful,” you told him, reaching up to touch his face. “Oh my god, how are you real? That was amazing, no, amazing isn’t enough, it was, fuck, Joon that was spectacular, it was stunning, brilliant, exception–” Namjoon leaned forward, capturing your lips with his. You immediately grabbed his face between your hands and deepened the kiss, uncrossing your legs to sit on your knees, moving towards him all while never breaking the kiss. Namjoon’s hands gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you on to his lap as you straddled him. He moved his hands to your waist, squeezing at your flesh greedily.

Pulling your head back, he leaned forward trying to connect your lips again, his eyes shut, to which you let out a small giggle. When he opened his eyes in confusion, he was met with your adoring gaze.

“I admire you so much, Joon,” you spoke softly, eyes scanning over his features. “You are beyond talented, but what’s even more impressive is how much you care and how much you reveal of yourself. You give so much of yourself to others through your music.” Namjoon looked at you with a soft expression, feeling bashful because of the praise but also very thankful for your words. “This song is amazing, the beat is fucking fantastic, but your lyrics,” you pecked his lips as you moved one of your hands to the side of his neck, digging your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re so genuine,” you whispered against his mouth. He squeezed your sides and dragged your frame even closer against his own as he kissed you hard.

After a few minutes, and feeling a certain amount of heat rushing through your body, Namjoon moved from your mouth, pressing sweet kisses down your chin, along your jaw, and across your neck. Kissing your neck just below your earlobe, you could feel his lips spread into a smile against your skin. “So does this mean you liked it?” He asked teasingly before pressing another kiss to the sensitive spot.

Shoving against his chest, you scoffed. “Liked it?” You said with an amused grin. “You’re spitting fire, babe, holy shit.” You both laughed. “Really though, Joon, I think your fans will really benefit from hearing those lyrics. Hearing that it’s ok to not know who you are and that you may never figure it out, and that we’re all flawed but that’s who we are,” you bit your lip in thought. “I’m always amazed by your music, but this stunned me,” you smiled. “It hits deep. ARMY is going to love it,” you shook your head in disbelief of your man. Leaning forward, you planted a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love your mind.” Removing your hand from his face, you placed it against his chest. “I love your heart and your soul.” You smiled fondly at the blush that spread across Joon’s cheeks. “I just love you so much,” you said looking into his eyes. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled softly at you, his eyes scanning your face. “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary, babe. I’m just speaking the truth here,” you smiled, making him smile in return as he shook his head.

Suddenly, you rolled off of Namjoon’s lap, plopping down onto the sofa next to him and then slid onto the floor in front of the coffee table, all in some sort of weird somersault tumbling action. “Ok, I gotta watch it again,” you told him as you began to replay the video, not noticing the incredulous look he was giving you due to your random dive to the floor.

“Right now?” he chuckled.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Sorry, babe, you can’t drop something like this and then expect me not to watch it a million times in a row.” Namjoon chuckled at you. “Besides, did you even watch any of it before?” You flashed him a knowing glare. “Or were you a little distracted?”

“I saw everything I needed to see,” he told you with a shy smile. You reached for his hand, bringing it to your lips to kiss it.

“Watch this with me,” you told him, pulling on his hand to get him to slide over on the sofa behind you. He sighed, but he followed your lead. Nuzzling yourself in between his legs, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, clasping his hands in front of your chest, and rested his chin on the top of your head. “Once we’ve watched this a sufficient amount of times, we’ll look at what ARMY is saying,” you smiled as he giggled.

“Sounds good, Baby,” he kissed your temple before you settled into your position and began playing the video again.

After watching it two more times, Namjoon began describing different scenes, what it was like filming them, how happy he was when the boys showed up at the filming to support him. He even pulled up a photo of a rowdy Taehyung getting wild on set. He told you about writing the lyrics, despite the fact that you had joined him several times in the studio throughout the writing process. He spilled every memory and feeling he had, and these were some of your favorite moments. You loved getting inside Namjoon’s mind, hearing his perception of everything, listening to him replay his memories, and simply talking to him about his passion.

Much later, after several video views, Namjoon’s stomach growled against your shoulders. Giggling, you looked up at him. “I’m going to go make us some ramen really quick and then we’re going to search the fan accounts,” you smiled as you gently patted his cheek, making his amused smirk turn into a full blown toothy smile.

Namjoon threw his head back in pure giddiness, relieved to have your glowing approval of the song and video, despite knowing you had never disliked or even felt anything short of love for any of his or BTS’ songs and videos.

When your quiet voice rang through Namjoon’s ears from the kitchen as you sang, “Persona, who the hell am I? I just wanna go, I just wanna fly,” he immediately sat up straight.

“Are you singing my song, Baby?” He called to you.

“What about it?” You shot back with a mischievous smirk.

“Well,” he stood up quickly and began trekking across the apartment towards you. “You are absolutely adorable,” he smiled. “But you know what you do to me when you sing my songs,” he shook his head as he neared you.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You teased. “Per-so-na.”

When he reached you, he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he began to make his way to the bedroom. “Wait, Joon,” you giggled, “the stove is on,” you reminded him.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he walked backwards to allow you to reach the stove as you shut it off.

“Ok,” you told him with a smack on his ass. “Let’s go.” Namjoon chuckled at that as he carried you to the bedroom, both of you giddy and giggly.

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aesthetic-survivor-of-twd · 5 years

Note

You've mentioned you like Nick a lot. What are your thoughts on his character? Also, how would you change the shitty treatment he got after ep 2?

Nick to me, was a very important character because he represented what a character like Ben could have been if he was provided the time to own up to his faults and then worked towards improving and growing as a person (Ben admitted to his faults and accepted his determinant death, but didn’t get a chance to properly make up for them).

I grew to like Nick really early on because he was a very flawed but real character with raw emotion. I often feel like a lot of the characters in Twdg, though realistic - kind of have a bit of exaggeration to them that makes them stand out as very much “comic book characters”. Nick however, felt very much human.

In episode 1 when we first meet him, he nearly kills us and gets told off by his uncle. Now this is the part where you are supposed to think he is a total jackass and in most games this would be the “asshole character” constantly trying to undermine and screw with the main character.

But he isn’t. Later on he apologises to us then explains his (pretty valid) reasoning of why he is trigger happy. Does that mean he is justified in all that he does? No. But it does provide context and gives us insight into him as a person - being that he is actually a pretty kind and loyal person that doesn’t think before he acts and lets his emotions get the better of him.

We also see more of this when we go with him and Pete to the lake, where we also learn that Nick’s only male parental figure in his life is Pete - someone he respects but we also learn tends to feel pressure from and underestimated constantly which leads to him having a bit of an inferiority complex and need to prove himself to people (which in turn, leads to his screw ups because he doesn’t think and acts on those impulses).

All in all, episode 1 sets us up with a really solid concept for a character and one that promises a lot of growth. And it’s this build up that makes his ultimate fate in episode 4 leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

Episode 2 is very much Nick’s episode. Yes, even when Kenny showed up and took the spotlight at the beginning that episode was very much an entire development arc for Nick, so much so that in 2 episodes he became the most developed character in that entire season.

That scene in season 2 with him in the shack with Clem is one of my favourite moments in the entire series. So much emotion and deep dialogue came from that one scene and it was that exact moment that established to me just how amazing this season could have been, because that entire conversation is the embodiment of makes “The Walking Dead” special. Not the walkers or constant drama, but just two people sitting together and forming a bond despite the shitty situation they are in.

And Nick’s character only got better from there. He willingly puts himself at risk so Clem can run away (amusingly the opposite of Ben) and even thanks her for not giving up on him. It’s kind of interesting in a way, because a lot of people view Luke as the close companion or older brother figure of Clem, but you could honestly make the argument that Nick also fits that role given how much the two of them can bond in the season.

He has a lot of moments that make him flawed (killing the dude on the bridge, nearly shooting us, his anger, letting an 11 year old drink, ect) but is also written in away that stops him from being dislikable (owns up to his mistakes, is honest, caring, quite brave actually).

The thing that really made him stand out from Ben as character though is when he kills Matthew (I hope I got the name right) and actually WANTS to tell the truth and it’s Luke who doesn’t want him to. Nick takes responsibility over his actions and tries to make it right.

And I ADORE how that entire outcome played out with Walter and the fact that we can decide whether or not we actually view him as a good guy or not and our answer determines whether Walter sees him worth living.

Which is also the sad point because this is when his entire character takes a nose dive because Nick Breckon only wrote the first 2 episodes and the writers began changing each episode (and so did the character development). Which isn’t a bad thing per say since it happened with TFS. But I do think there was way less communication for this season than there is for TFS among the team.

In episode 3 Nick gets shoved to the side along with the rest of the cabin group in favour of Kenny, quite literally getting benched as he sleeps most of the episode. The only noteworthy thing being his sweet moment with Clem where he clearly sees her as part of their group and his moment of faith in Luke and the last we see of him is helping Luke chase down Sarah.

And then in Episode 4 he dies off screen...

And there lies one of the biggest problems with Season 2.

They build up so much character development with these characters and the start of arcs but never truly follow through with them to the end.

And I understand that not everyone gets a chance to improve as a person or get their “big moment” I get that, I do. It’s just not realistic. Some people die having never improved as a being or doing what they want to do, that’s the tragedy of life.

But from the context of the narrative that Season 2 set up - it makes NO sense.

Now, I didn’t expect Nick to become some insane walker killing machine and the MVP of survivors in the apocalypse - hell, he didn’t even HAVE to survive the season.

But he definitely should NOT have died the way he did in episode 4, and that’s the hill on which i’ll forever die on.

I don’t know how I would have handled Nick’s fate personally, but I do think he shouldn’t have died until episode 5 and that his death should have meant something.

Looking back on the season as someone who hasn’t played it in years, I think what I would have done was keep the Luke vs Kenny rivalry that was the original narrative and then maybe had Nick die similar to Luke (maybe protecting him - or Clem if you were loyal to him). Give him a death that’s fitting of someone trying to prove himself to people, who genuinely wants to protect his friends and let him do something for once that actually benefits the group instead of fucking up and putting them in danger, even if that still ends in his death.

Because it’s a hell of a lot more poetic and fitting than sticking his character model on a fence and being like “yeah he ran to get help, but I guess he got bit lol” especially when the other characters barely acknowledge it and it just ends up rubbing salt in the wound.

Because when you do lazy shit like that, you are then just conforming to the idea of which this Season proposes (in episode 4) that characters who aren’t “strong” or hardened survivors can’t survive or will die being the pathetic idiots that others view them as.

It happened to Nick and it also happened to Sarah (though Nick suffered the worst I think).

My biggest gripe with this season is honestly the lack of empathy and interest it has in it’s own characters. The season started off so hopeful and like it had passion behind it, only to then decline into...whatever that was.

And I know that there are issues that go on with the company, and I’m sure there were things beyond the writer’s control (such a time constraints, ect) which made it hard for them to give it 100%. I know.

But knowing how much potential Season 2 had if it were handled a little better will forever continue to annoy me a little bit.

#basically a Nick study sort of with some slight S2 criticism #twdg #twdg nick #nick twdg #twdg2 #twdgs2 #twdg s2 #character study

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Beauty and the Barnes (3)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - Bucky X Reader

WARNINGS - Lots of Smut, Light Hints of Non/Dub-Con, Prostitution, Swearing, Dark Bucky. (I can’t stress enough that this is kinda dark, Buckys an asshole and the kind of behavior that goes on in this fic is in no way acceptable in the real world)

When your father falls deathly ill you fall into a lifestyle you would have never predicted for yourself. Selling your body as a high-class escort isn’t ideal but it’s the only way to find the money you need to help your father, until your first client offers you another way.

Bucky’s mean, coarse and gets a kick out of watching you squirm but he is willing to help your father. All you have to do is sign yourself over to The Winter Soldier, body and soul.

Trapped in The Avengers compound, serving as a PA to a man who’s an absolute beast you find yourself wondering if there’s such a thing as a happy ending?

Masterlist

Chapter Three

“I’m Steve Rogers, ma’am. This is Sam Wilson.” The infamous Captain America said, offering you his hand.

You shook it, feeling a sense of calm from his friendly demeanour, opposed to Sam’s Wilsons none too subtle suspicious frowns.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, both of you.” You said, shooting Sam what you hoped was an open, friendly smile.

Sam looked almost horrified for a second after he’d made his assessment of you and he rounded on Steve with a desperate look.

“She’s nice.” He hissed.

“What he means is, it was nice to meet you Belle. We just wanted to say hello and we’re sure we’ll see you around. Let us know if you need anything!” Steve called as he physically dragged Sam out of the room.

“um, ok. Bye?” You said to the now empty room.

That was befuddling and disconcerting to say the least and now, you were alone with no idea what to do next.

“So you’re the one?” Someone behind you said and you whirled round to see the women huddled in the corner staring at you.

“I’m Claudia.”

“Paula.”

“Laura.”

They introduced themselves as if you had a hope in hell of remembering which one was which.

“Ok, and you’re… PA’s?” You guessed.

“General assistants. We help keep the place running for everyone. You’re the only A with a P.” One of them said.

It took you a minute to figure out what she’d said but when you did, your blood boiled over. Bucky had said all the Avengers had their own PA’s… But he’d lied. You were the only one assigned to a specific Avenger. Him, you were assigned to him. What you couldn’t figure out was why, or why he’d lied about it.

“Here’s your stuff. StarkPad, StarkPhone, Security Card and ID.” One of them said, dumping the affermentioned items into your arms.

“Here’s the code of conduct manuals, the map of the compound, company credit card and a copy of all the forms you’ll need to fill out for requests.” Another said, piling those on top of the growing pile of things you needed.

“Alright, please don’t hand me anything else.” You pleaded with the third one before she could talk.

You were starting to suspect that this job was going to be harder than you’d anticipated. You’d been so worried about the more intimate side of it, you’d actually forgotten you were supposed to be doing real work as well.

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

“She’s sweet Steve.”

“She is. That’s a good thing!” Steve insisted.

“He’ll break her!” Sam said.

“He will not! Bucky isn’t like that.”

“He’s an ass. This is all your fault, you had to convince him to hire his own assistant didn’t you?” Sam accused.

“He’s too suspicious of the one’s we use and he needs help adjusting to everything. I thought if he chose his own one, it would help. And he made a good choice, you said yourself she seems sweet.” Steve pointed out.

“Too sweet.” Sam grumbled as he turned the corner.

“There’s no such thing.” Steve scoffed.

“There is when she’s working for Barnes.”

“Sam.” Steve warned.

“This is going to end badly, mark my words. I know he’s your friend, I don’t really hate him too much myself but… he’s not good with people Steve. A sweet girl like that, working for a beast like him? It’s going to be a mess.” Sam sighed.

“Maybe she’s exactly what he needs. A gentle touch is something Bucky could benefit from. I think this is going to work out perfectly.” Steve said, hoping he was right.

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

It had been a long, strange day. The triplets as you had taken to calling them, had led you around the compound, pointing out every room to you. They had showed you the ropes so to speak, informing you of your list of duties.

It was basically your job to keep Bucky Barnes alive and functioning. You were to make sure he was fed, clothed and where he needed to be every day. You would fend of the reporters who always wanted an interview, keep his appointments, read over and file mission reports (you’d apparently already signed the contracts swearing you to secrecy), log all weapon and tact gear use, clean said weapons and tact gear, drive him wherever he wanted if he asked, shine his shoes if he wanted them shined.

It was already awful and you hadn’t started yet.

The man himself was apparently not even on the premises at the end of the day, so you just left. You had your Starkphone if he needed you and you weren’t supposed to start till tomorrow anyway.

The front door creaked open as you cautiously pushed it open and stood in the frame, the lights from the hallway illuminating you. Your shadow was the only company in the empty home and it was painfully obvious. The house was cold and empty, devoid of the love that usually permeated it. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the click of your heels against the floor before you kicked them off and wandered around your home. Your former home. Because without your father, this was just a building and one that you would be vacating tomorrow.

Your foot kicked something and sent it skidding along the floor, making you jump. You picked it up and turned it over in your hands, gazing at it wistfully. Cornflower blue. In his hurry to pack the essential, your father must have dropped this. It was too late at night to call the clinic and ask to speak to him now, it would have to wait until tomorrow.

With a heavy heart and a sinking feeling in you stomach you undressed, peeling off your underwear carefully and tossing them in the garbage. They had been uncomfortable to wear all dam day, a constant chafing reminder of who you belonged to. And shamefully, they had remained damp because every time you thought about him your body responded in a way that your brain disapproved off immensely.

You stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as you could stand and you scrubbed yourself raw. The almost pain from the scrubbing helped distract you from the aching emptiness between your thighs that had been there all day. You refused to deliberately seek out any kind of satisfaction or pleasure, you wouldn’t give in to him like that. He had forced you to cum once already, but you had been unprepared for it. You knew better now and you would not do it again. You most certainly would not touch yourself while he was on your mind.

Just no.

Wrapping a towel around yourself you made your way towards your room, almost creeped out by how silent the house was. You knew that there was no way you were going to manage to sleep tonight. You were going to toss and turn all night, thinking about you father and the life that awaited you tomorrow. You decided to just get on with it, your new life. There was no point in waiting.

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

It was late and the building was dark and calm, late enough that nearly everyone had gone home or to bed and Peter Parker should really be home himself by now. But as often happened when he was working with Mr Stark, they had gotten so distracted by the science and technology that mundane things like time and real life had slipped beyond their notice. It was only when the dryness in his throat made him cough that Peter managed to tear himself away from the contraption he was helping build and go to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He turned the corner and gaped at what he saw, half convinced the groaning shape stumbling towards him was some kind of terrible monster here to attack the avengers before it passed through a sliver of moonlight and he saw it was a girl, a beautiful girl, weighed down with bags and suitcases.

He walked backwards rapidly, falling back into the lab.

“Mr Stark! There's a girl in the compound!" he whispered frantically.

Tony popped his head up from behind the desk and flipped the spec goggles off.

“Alright kid, you’re tired. Time to get you home.” Tony decided.

"But really, Mr Stark, I saw her." Peter insisted.

“I’m sure you did, but…..” Tony trailed off as the girl in question walked past the glass walls of the lab.

"See, I told you!" Peter said happily.

“Friday, who is that and why is she in my building?” Tony demanded.

“That would be Miss Belle, Boss. Sergeant Barnes new PA.” The AI answered promptly.

“Belle? That’s a nice name, suits her. She’s really pretty.” Peter babbled.

“How can you tell? She has a suitcase for a head.” Tony joked.

“Oh! You’re right.” Peter said, internally facepalming as he rushed out of the lab before Tony could stop him.

“Hey, do you need help?” Peter yelled.

You’d been struggling along, through the dark halls, minding your own business so when a voice suddenly piped up from right behind you, you whirled around, forgetting you were balancing all your earthly possessions in your arms. The uneven distribution of weight finally proved to much for you and you topped over, heading face first for the floor. Peter reacted instinctively and dove forwards, grabbing you around the middle and holding you up.

“Oooft.” You wheezed as all you bags and suitcases crashed to the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” He stammered, pulling you to your feet.

“It’s ok, I should have just taken two trips. It’s not your fault.” You assured, smiling kindly at the young boy who was rapidly turning a worrying shade of red.

“I’m Parker. Peter. Peter Parker.”

“Close your mouth kid. Belle is it? Why exactly are you wandering about my halls with 10,000 tonnes of suitcases? You realise there’s a building of burly superhero’s to take advantage of right?” Tony asked, standing in the doorway of the lab with an amused look on his face.

“Mr Stark, hello.” You said, sticking your hand out politely.

Tony took in the way you were practically vibrating with nerves and blushing and the way you raised your chin and looked him in the eye anyway and decided he liked you.

“Hello.” He chirped teasingly, slapping your palm with his instead of shaking your hand.

“I was just… moving in?” You offered.

“I’ll help, where’s your room?” Peter asked and you turned your head to see him already balancing all your suitcases in his hands and walking down the corridor.

“Thank you!” You exclaimed, touched by his kindness.

“Where’s your room?” Tony prompted.

“Oh, I’m staying in Bucky’s rooms. Not his room, his spare room. In his suite. You probably shouldn’t go in?” You said nervously.

“I’ll leave them at the door.” Peter called, already halfway down the corridor.

“You’re staying in Barnes spare room? You can have your own you know, I can hook you up.” Tony offered nonchalantly, hiding genuine concern behind his casual attitude.

“That’s alright Mr Stark, I think it’s better to be close by in case I’m… needed. I’m not used to being alone anyway.” You assured.

“Listen, Barnes is… difficult. If you have any trouble with him, let me know.” He said kindly, almost fatherly.

Speaking of fatherly… Bucky was saving your fathers life. You would do whatever the Super Solider asked of you and do it with a damn smile, your pride be damned.

“He doesn’t seem so bad. I think I’m going to get along with him fine. But thank you.” You lied politely.

“I left them on the floor in the hall outside his door, are you sure you can manage them from there?” Peter asked, bounding towards you.

“I can, I’ve got it. Thank you Mr Parker.” You said, smiling fondly at the sweet kid who reminded you of a Springer Spaniel.

“Goodnight Miss Belle.” He called as you walked away and you spun around to wave at him.

“Told you she was pretty.” Peter whispered to Tony.

You made your way to your new home and saw that the door to Bucky’s suite was open and your bags were nowhere to be seen. You peered inside curiously, only to see Bucky walking out of the room he’d assigned you.

“Are you going to stand in the doorway all night?” He asked, without glancing at you.

You closed the door behind you as you made your way inside and to your room.

“Oh, wow.” You gasped.

The bedroom wasn’t at all what you expected. You figured it would be very basic but it wasn’t. The walls were a warm greyish blue, the floors were dark wood laminate flooring and there was a black fur rug covering the floor. It was all very cosy and inviting but hardly gasp worthy. It was the bed, the dark wooden four poster queensize bedframe that had been draped with mounds of fluffy, plump pillows and soft looking blankets that had caught your attention.

“What were you expecting, a damp dark cell?” Bucky scoffed, noticing the look on your face.

“I just wasn’t expecting quite so much… comfort.” You admitted.

“Starks big on things like that.” Bucky said, hurriedly picking up a discarded tag from the new pillows that he had missed earlier, before you spotted it.

You stifled a yawn that was building in your throat, seeing the ridiculously looking comfy bed was making you realise just how tired you were.

“Keep out of my room.” Bucky snapped, out of the blue.

“Hmm?”

“My room. It’s off limits to you. No matter what happens you never ever go in my room. Do you understand me?” He said seriously and you nodded.

“I’ll stay out of your room, I promise.” You said softly, a little frightened by the harsh expression on his face.

“You can go wherever you want in the compound. Use whatever, the gym or the theatre. I don’t care. As long as you get everything that I tell you to do done and you come running when I call, I don’t give a damn what you do when I’m not using you.” He snapped and you winced at the wording.

“I understand.”

His expression softened slightly when he saw you wince but you didn’t notice, you were busy looking at the bed again. It occurred to you that as comfy as it looked, it would be used for more than sleeping. You felt him move behind you and you were very quickly enclosed in his arms as he picked you up like you weighed nothing and threw you across the room. You yelped as you landed on the gigantic bed, sinking into the mattress.

“Sleep. You’re going to need your rest.” He warned, slamming your bedroom door closed behind himself and leaving you alone with one consuming terrifying thought bouncing around your skull.

You were disappointed that he had left.

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

So I guess I'm doing this story then, it's been greenlit! All the feedback made me realise that you guys wanted to read it and so I shall write it. Thank you :D

No smut, just the setting up of some plot points. Some Easter Eggs as well... ((The Bimbettes (Individual names Claudette, Laurette and Paulette) are identical blonde triplets who fawn over Gaston in Beauty and the Beast.))

@spnqueen02 @nogardsoahk @chipilerendi @youwerespared @jessieray98@nochampagnesocialist @scarlettswxtch @dropthepizza346

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ice-magician · 5 years

Text

With Your Conscience As Your Guide

I made another AU off of the amazing AU @spaceiplier! (Go check them out if you don’t know who they are). Last time I did one for Matt, so now I’m doing one for our bud Nate from NateWantsToBattle (and if you don’t know who he is. Youtube.Go.Now.) The first part takes place before the events of Icarus, but soon brings you to our current screaming state. Another possible title for this was ‘The Price of Living’, but I landed on this one since his look is based heavily on the Puppet (conscience, Pinnochio, get it? ;) I have thoughts for a part 2, but idk...) BTW- sentence italics are thoughts, in case someone’s unfamiliar with this writing style. Enough stalling, here it is.

Five years ago

A quarantine- that’s what everyone had been told. For the benefit of the people, Atria was under a strict quarantine. Every known Atrian had been required to return to their home planet. All known Atrian homes were swarming with GAAP agents.

The people were given masks, air secure pods, GAAP’s “deepest condolences for the inconveniences”, and were booted back to Atria. A quarantine bubble was created to cover the entire circumference of the planet, immediately muting the song she sent to off worlders. Atrians didn’t carry some unknown, deadly disease. Atrians weren’t a threat to anyone or anything more than other citizens. Atrians were musicians; they were doctors.

As long as beings could strike a tune, music has been related to the soul. Certain melodies affect how people feel and react. Ordinary musicians can give audiences highs and lows with simple beats, for Atrians even more so. An Atrian’s music flows through the very souls and minds of their audiences.

As scientists linked music to brain activity, many Atrians found their way into the field of medicine. Simple strikes of a guitar could eradicate a tumor, and a complete song rose the deathly ill out of their beds. Atrian music had enough power to heal many of the galaxy’s complex diseases, and it scared GAAP. So, they locked the musicians up, claiming their healing energy had begun to emit deadly radioactive material.

With Atrians gone, medical advancements came to an abrupt halt. Viruses evolved. People needing an Atrian’s precise hand could no longer go under with a 100% guarantee that they would awake in a stable state of mind. No matter what people tried, nothing matched an Atrian’s abilities. Through it all, GAAP never budged on lifting the “quarantine”.

No, there was no disease. Atria had been sealed up because GAAP was afraid. Afraid of what Atrians were capable of. They were afraid of what might happen should the planet ever find the skeletons in GAAP’s closet. They were right to be afraid.

Closing off Atria wasn’t just to keep everyone in, either. Atria’s core is one of a kind. Above ground, she sings and dances to the energy created by her people. The further down ventured, the richer, and older the layers’ energy becomes. The lifesongs of any who live, and lived, on Atria flow through her veins, giving all inhabitants the energy they need to make the music required to survive. Finally, the core of the planet. A beautiful crystal sphere with the power of ten blazing suns. Pulsating with life, the sphere once reached into her world, to her people amongst the stars with crystals of their own.

When GAAP closed off Atria, offworld Atrians began to lose their power, their very energy. Any Atrian who managed to avoid GAAP would be forced to scavenge for their own energy sources. They needed energy to make their music, and their music to live. Music is like sleep to Atrians. Take it away, and the consequences are devastating. Atrians refusing to return home found their calm nature turn into something twisted; mangled into beings beyond recognition as they fought to live.

Nate reclined in his cushioned chair. Red light from fake windows made his black velvet vest almost appear to shine, the red button up underneath the color of blood. Black hair slicked back, black eyeliner, porcelain makeup, and an ornate cane. He really was working the part. An anxious customer sat before his desk.

A kid, late teens, probably. Poor thing’s legs were bouncing up and down so fast Nate was sure one would spring off. The boy’s skin was completely white, almost to the point of glowing. The only color was his practically neon green eyes, and matching green hair. Stark white, with eyes and hair of the same color- a Danacan. He wrung his hands, eyes affixed to the floor.

“So, you’re saying,” the boy began, “if I give you some of my energy, you’ll help me?”

Four tumors, that was how many the boy had left in his body after five medical extractions. The things just wouldn’t stop growing. Over the last two months, the monsters had become more aggressive; all had begun to converge on his brain. Doctors had given up hope on saving the boy’s life, and no one else would see him. Everyone believed he was a lost cause. When sayings like “lost cause”, or “no hope” arise in situations, people find themselves in places never before imagined. For instance, the underground shop of a mysterious healer.

“Look, kid.”

“Dan, my name is Dan.” The boy, Dan, offered a sad smile, for once looking up from the floor.

Poor kid. Nate knew he was Dan’s last hope. The medical field had failed him, so he had turned to a shady (but effective) businessman. It was too bad that Nate couldn’t offer his work for credits.

“Okay, Dan.”

Nate twirled his cane in his hands. The ornate rod held a perfectly sculpted crystal ball- Atrian crystal. Energy swirled inside in mesmerizing summersaults. If songs didn’t entrance you, Atrian energy certainly would. Stare long enough, and the orb’s bottled energy would be the center of your attention, the outside world no longer a bother. It was no wonder people mistook Atrians for workers of dark arts in older times.

Nate silently stood from his chair. His shoes didn’t make a sound as Nate glided towards a wooden shelf full of mysterious objects. Vials, scales, clouded jars, a small wooden box that flowed as a semisolid. Quite an impressive collection of mysterious trinkets Nate had assembled.

Nate spoke to Dan, “Life energy removal is no small matter, Dan. Your condition is serious. Doctors, nurses, therapists, they have all failed you...”

Nate spun on his heels, dramatically half sitting on the bottom shelf while leaning on his cane. A smile curled on his lips, white teeth shining, his eyeliner making his eyes’ devilish twinkle more pronounced, “... which brought you to me.”

Dan nodded. He was trying to look brave, but the flicker in his form quickly erased his false bravado. Desperation, nervousness, and a small sliver of hope. Nate could practically see an aura of energy radiate from Dan.

“Well, my dear friend,” Nate plucked a blue vial from behind his back, “you’re in luck.”

Dan’s eyes widened, “What is it?”

Nate gazed at the sparkling liquid. He held it at his eye level, showing its worth. The room’s red light made the glass glimmer more than it already did.

“This, dear boy, is what you came here for.”

Nate strode back to his desk. He slipped Dan the liquid. Its light danced in the boy’s eyes, but there was something more there. Dan held the vial so carefully, as if moving might break it. Hope; Dan believed the mystery serum would help him. Perfect.

“How much do you need? E-energy, I mean.”

Nate idly sat on the corner of his desk. He tapped his cane to his chin, pretending to think.

“Hmm… four months? Yeah, four months sounds good. Four months of life energy for a cure.”

Nate smiled. He pointed his cane at Dan, “What do ya say?”

Dan looked from Nate to the vial, then back to Nate, “I- I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, kid! Four months in trade for a cure? It’s nothing! You won’t even need further medical hands for the formula to work. You take it, you go home, get rest, later you find that you’ve been cured. It’s a miracle!”

Nate threw his arms into the air, and winked for good measure.

Dan sighed, “Will it hurt?”

“Not one bit, kid.”

The boy nodded, “Okay. Okay, let’s do it.”

“Brilliant!” Nate patted Dan’s shoulder, causing him to flinch, “I knew you’d make the right choice. Just let me get everything set up.”

Nate quickly plucked the vial from Dan’s hand, “Here, hold my cane, will ya? I need both hands for this.” He patted Dan’s shoulder again, and turned to more equipment at the back of the shop.

The boy was still in the same position he had been in moments before, “Wait, what? How-?”

“Don’t worry, kid.” Nate pretended to fiddle with assorted props, “Just hold my cane. Mind checking if it needs polishing? I keep forgetting that.”

“But, I, what… about…”

Nate counted down in his head, Three, two, one.

Nate turned around to a familiar sight. His customer sat rigid at his desk, intently facing forward and holding the cane. From where he stood, Nate could see Dan’s expression trapped in his crystal, dead to the world. All was as it should be. Nate placed the fake liquid cure back on its shelf, along with the other props and knick-knacks he had accumulated over the years.

He tapped an obscure code into the wall. There was a click, and a part of the wall slid open, revealing a sleek blue electric guitar. A giddiness arose in Nate that only came with the excitement of performing. He hungrily plucked the instrument from its hideout.

Nate leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, relaxed his shoulders, and played. The words weren’t prepared, they never were in those situations, they just came to him like a calm breeze. The air in the room stilled. It was as if everything, possibly even the world itself, had stopped to listen.

When he opened his eyes the store was swimming with crackling white energy. The hair’s on Nate’s arms stood on end from the dancing white sparks. The guitar’s strings shined and vibrated from the force of his music. Everything was in a shimmering, twisting, beautifully chaotic state of raw energy. He took in a deep, satisfied breath.

Nate strode back toward the frozen Dan. Leaning down in front of him, he could see the boy’s eyes were glazed over, completely fixated on the Atrian orb. His mouth was still open mid sentence.

Nate quickly retrieved his cane from Dan’s grasp. Holding it high above his head, Nate focused on the exact amount of energy he needed. Being drawn in by some unseen force, clusters of Dan’s life energy swam into Nate’s crystal. Four months of energy, to be exact.

Most of the energy was stored into the orb, but a few crackling tendrils coursed down the cane and into Nate’s arm. Energy shot through his veins in twisting lanes. They rocketed upwards to his heart, vocal cords, and face. Finally, Nate felt the cracking parts in his being begin to mend. Lightning bolts of life restored what was crumbling in Nate’s mind. For a while, at least, the energy would keep him whole.

Rendezvous were almost always in public places. With plenty of people, a scene would cause many heads to turn. It gave the customers a sense of security. Of course, while large crowds can be an advantage, it’s easy to get lost in them. A whirlpool of chattering, towering skyscrapers with various programs, and news sprawling across their surfaces. A cry for help would be a soundless scream into a deaf void.

Nate drove Dan to meet his friends. After customers’... operations… they were disoriented, sluggish, their minds easily bent to believe, or forget, certain details. Nate played the role of the customer’s chauffeur; an employee of the mystery healer. With patrons never truly remembering his face upon recollection, he earned the street name of “Phantom”. It was cheesy, but in a good way.

Nate the Chauffeur always wore a mask to meet ups, his cane in the guise of an umbrella. It was a rusted-looking bronze, and covered his entire face. Anywhere else he would have drawn attention, but he was in the center of a bustling metropolis. A rainbow of different colored individuals, all with different shades of hair, numbers of limbs, and amounts of facial features clustered together in a flowing broom of passersby. No one batted an eye.

Only one customer was allowed in Phantom’s shop, but the customer could decide who took them home. Phantom Nate being the one to drive patrons home was too risky, for both him and his clients. A mystery man dropping you off at your doorstep was bound to raise neighbors’ eyebrows. No, instead he created the persona of Phantom’s masked driver. Pretending to be someone that he wasn’t had become disturbingly easy for Nate ever since he became a lone wolf.

Half the city’s skyscrapers were broadcasting on their windows’ holoscreens. Reruns of popular shows, advertisements, statistics on people’s income and more all flashed in erratic motions in the square. Behind him, Nate caught sight of a familiar face. He was on his independent news/theory show, cracking bad jokes at the camera. Nate’s heart sank. When was the last time he had even seen Matt and Steph, in person, of course? Too long, for sure. As long as they were on screen, though, Nate knew they were okay.

Behind his mask, Nate smiled.

Well, at least one of us is doing alright.

“You better not be bullshitting us.”

Dislodged from his thoughts, Nate sighed, “Phantom doesn’t “bullshit” his clients.”

Dan had two friends, both teen Danacans, pick him up. One was a timid, shorter boy with gray hair pulled into a ponytail. The other was rather vocal, with a purple mohawk. He stood before Nate with stubbornly crossed arms, and an irritated look.

Mohawk sneered, “Yeah? Well where is he?”

Ponytail, who was struggling to hold up Dan in his groggy state, shot Mohawk a warning look.

“Come on, we’ve got Dan. Let’s just go.”

So, you’re the voice of reason in the group? Nate thought.

“You should listen to your friend. Give him a few weeks of recuperation, and he’ll be alright.”

Mohawk stared at Nate, trying to pick any information he could off of Nate’s unreadable appearance. Good for him. Always question the motives of others, especially in Nate’s line of work. Mohawk opened his mouth to say something, when one voice rose above the others.

“As many of you know, I try my best to diverge from political topics....”

Nate, and half the street, turned to the nearest news- broadcasting skyscraper. Trillions of pixels made the image of a brown haired man in front of a holographic screen. The spokesman was facing the camera, eyes practically burning with anger.

Matt, what are you doing?...

“Moments ago the planet Atria’s quarantine bubble was rocked with a massive explosion.”

An image appeared behind him- Atria. A rock lodged itself in Nate’s throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually seen Atria; he had been off world when the quarantine was announced. The Atria on the screen he barely recognized. GAAP’s quarantine shield made seeing the planet’s surface hazy; what marked the planet that day wasn’t able to be covered up. A giant scorch mark blemished the quarantine’s western hemisphere. Smoke was traveling fast underneath where the explosion made contact. Someone on ground had nuked the sphere. Without thinking, Nate took a curious step forward.

Matt ran a hand through his hair- a tick, something he did while thinking, “Before the quarantine… good friends of mine were Atrian.”

Nate could practically feel Matt looking at him.

“I have overlooked many of GAAP’s actions, but Atria is my home’s twin planet. For five years now Atrians have been cast aside, out of view. What did we do? We didn’t question it. Atrians are not a violent race, but people are capable of anything in order to survive.”

Matt walked closer to the camera, so close that all you could see was from his shoulders up. An expression unlike any Nate had seen crossed Matt’s face. Anger? Determination? A bit of both? The wheels were visibly spinning in Matt’s eyes.

“I will be visiting Ahtret’s satellite station as soon as I can. If any GAAP agents wish to meet and offer a feasible explanation, that is where I will be, but I will not let this stand. That will be all for today.”

And just like that, the building’s screens went dark. Half of the formerly bustling street was staring up, mouths agape in disbelief.

What was he thinking? Maybe that was it- he wasn’t. Years of not knowing what had happened to his sister planet, subsequently his own, and his friends, had finally pushed the Theorist to defiance. Part of Nate was proud of him, another felt guilty, and the last mortified. Matt might have been doing it for Atria, but Nate could tell he was doing it for him. Nate hadn’t contacted him since the quarantine. Matt probably thought he was dead, or down the broken path for survival. Most likely the latter.

“Damn”, a voice from behind- Mohawk, “if it’s enough to get Theory guy to cover it…”

He stopped, a devious twinkle in his eye. Mohawk turned to his friend, who was losing his grip on the drowsy Dan.

“Do you think this is the start of a space war?”

The smaller boy’s eyes widen in fear, “What?”

“Yeah, I mean, he doesn’t cover it unless it’s serious, right?”

“Space War? But dat’s just a theeory. A space theory!” Drugged Dan booped his friend on the nose.

Nate awkwardly cleared his throat, “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be off.”

They weren’t listening.

“Oh, come on, Hosuh! Don’t you want a laser gun?”

“... Stephen, I don’t even trust you to use a butter knife!”

“Nah, nah, nah. Knives are too informal for war.”

“Space war, pew peeww….”

Nate left as quickly as possible.

Two left turns, one right, one left, in through a bakery shop, out the side door, and the twists continue. Nate had truly mastered the art of avoiding capture, but that night his mind was elsewhere. He took the beginning twists and sharp corners, however, somewhere in the mess of crowded concrete and a cluttered head, Nate found himself far off his beaten path.

The sun had nearly set. He was on alone, one way street, apartments hugging the road. With an exasperated sigh, Nate slid to sit on the sidewalk. The glow from his cane/umbrella’s orb beat like a steady heart. He willed the orb to diminish its shine. A sweaty mask would do him no good if his umbrella was glowing suspiciously through the dark.

Nate thought back to earlier, the drop off, a moment that was supposed to be like any other closing for a client. Returning the customer just a formality, an act of humanitarianism on his part. If he wanted, Nate could let his clients wander outside of his shop, confused, gullible, their minds easily influenced. No, instead he went out of his way to ensure he maintained a clean image for his business.

All had gone well. He had his music, his energy, and the customer was satisfied. Then, disaster struck. The screens broadcasted his friend’s face to everyone. Matt’s determined expression, of utter disdain. He was walking a dangerous line.

Matt had always been so guarded with his information. When they spoke so long ago, even Nate had been unsure of everything Matt knew. His team was brilliant, one of the best in the galaxy, but did they know enough? Were they ready for GAAP? Call him crazy, but Nate doubted their ability to take on an intergalactic entity.

“Um, excuse me?” a male voice called from behind.

Nate started to turn, then thought better of it. His mask, he was still wearing the mask. In a city crowd, no one would care, but he didn’t have the luxury of apathetic passersby. He was practically in the suburbs, the close-knit part of town where everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows everything.

Nate cleared his throat. He stood up, dusted off his clothes, and readjusted his mask.

“Sorry to disturb you. I’ll be on my way.”

“What are you doing out here? It’s completely dark.”

There was an edge to his voice. He suspected Nate of something, as he should. A stranger idling on your street is something to take note of.

“Oh, nothing. Just got lost. You know how easy it is.” Nate tried to offer a lighthearted chuckle. The man did not reciprocate.

Part of him itched to reach into his coat pocket for the holo-guitar. A small, square object that would instantly project a holographic electric guitar. A few strums would be all he needed to calmly send the man back inside, but no. Survival instincts overthrew his desire to play. All that was needed was a cool retreat into the night.

“Anyway, goodnight, si-.”

Suddenly, Nate felt the muscles in his back tense up like taught guitar strings. Then came the electricity. It felt like the culmination of his entire being was on fire. His muscles started spamming. Nate hit the ground hard as he was sent into seizing convolutions. His mask flew off his face, bouncing until it stopped face down on the concrete, just like its owner.

A cloth was wrapped too tightly around Nate’s mouth. He had lost all use of his limbs. Nate was a rag doll on a side street in the middle of nowhere. His cane. Where was his cane?!

“... mask and a cane. Can’t miss him!”

Wait, who was talking?

A hand reached forward, and pulled down his sleeve. He felt utterly exposed. His veins glowed white in the dark of night, the energy from before still being fully absorbed. It took time for foreign energy to adapt to its new host, sometimes hours, sometimes days.

The sudden reveal of his unique biology caused his attacker to pause, “What are you?” he whispered.

Someone who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t back the hell up!

Of course, rendered immobile, Nate couldn’t say these things. He was unable to protest as the attacker shrugged off his surprise, and inserted a needle into his arm. He was unable to object when the man examined his mask, then staggered back at the markings it had covered. He couldn’t call out for help as his mind went numb, and the world went dark.

The shop wasn’t as busy as usual. Nate was calmly fixing the newest guitar. He twisted the knobs on the once broken guitar. A simple job, really, but not to modern people. Sadly, Nate found that he was one of the few true music shops around in his town.

Nate struck a few chords. A soothing rhythm flowed forth. It was perfect, all fixed. Nate smiled to himself. Nothing was quite as satisfying as a perfect instrument. As he expertly polished the wooden surface, Nate glanced around. Guitars, electric and acoustic, hung for sale behind him. Various woodwinds remained silent on their stands across from him. The drums in the back waited for someone to strike a beat.

He bit his lip, and glanced down at the guitar. Its newly shining surface beamed back at him, almost in a mocking way. Nate gave the front door a sideways glance. The customer wasn’t supposed to return for another hour. Truly testing out the refurbished work would just be a part of the job, right? Ah, screw it. Nate slung the cleaning rag over his shoulder, and left the glass checkout counter. As he had left it, the “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign was still on the door.

Paranoid, he chided himself.

Nate lifted the beautiful instrument off the counter, and rested it on his leg. Outside, the setting sky of Atria wavered with spirals of blue and gray. Music glided through the streets, lifting up on the wind and flowing to all waiting ears. Such a tangible thing, Atrian music.

You didn’t need to see it to know that somewhere a celebration was underway. That was simply the way of Atria. Her energy met every soul, filling them to contentment. Nate closed his eyes, and smiled. He drifted into his music.

Nate wasn’t sure how long he had been entranced. When he opened his eyes the store was swimming with crackling white energy. The guitar’s strings shone and vibrated from the power of his music. Everything was shimmering, and twisting in beautiful chaotic swirls of Nate’s music.

He took in a deep, satisfied breath. Nate put the instrument down, and watched as Atria’s tangible energy danced across the store. It did tangos and ballets to the beat of whatever was playing outside. A large portion of the sparks concealed into a twisting mass. Without warning, the ball launched at Nate, sending him flying off his chair. He hit the wall, the guitar slid several feet away. Nate touched the tender spot, and recoiled from pain. The mass jerked from side to side, writhing, unsure of what form to take.

“What the hell?”

More and more energy was consumed by the mysterious bundle, each spark making its glow brighter. Nate shielded his eyes, and staggered to his feet. He felt the heap watching him as he hugged the wall, inching towards the door.

His hand was on the knob, ready to make a mad dash, when a massive weight knocked him in the gut. Glass and sparks flew in Nate’s vision. His body crashed into the concrete with a concerning “crack!”. Nate tried to get up, but he could no longer see; the orb had grown to completely swallow his vision. It felt like the light was absorbing Nate’s entire being. He let out a gut-wrenching scream.

His head hit the concrete again, but this time it was smooth and cold. Sparks danced behind his stone eyelids. Nate’s body burned with pain. Had someone reached into his body, pulled every muscle out, then sewed him back together? If so, they did a sloppy job. It didn’t feel like his hands moved when Nate called them to action.

Slowly, through the cotton in his ears, Nate began to make out human voices. They were all around him, fading in and out, whispering back and forth.

“Is he awake?”

Spoken in a normal voice, but it felt like the person shouted. Nate cringed from the growing migraine in his head.

“I believe so.”

“That guy really did a number on him, huh?”

Who was talking? What was going on? Curiosity won over pain in the end. Groaning with effort, Nate slowly lifted his head. At first, all he saw were a few blurry figures in a dark room. When his vision cleared all he wanted to do was run.

Nate was in a small room, handcuffed to a holotable, no cane to be found. Four people were in front of him. A man and a woman sat across from him, and behind them stood two very alert, very armed guards, GAAP guards.

Well, shit.

Sitting down, the woman was taller than the man by a few good inches. Her silver hair was pulled back into a neat bun, blouse immaculate and pressed. She had full brown eyes, so it was impossible to read her emotions. Her body posture was so rigid Nate was positive that it hurt. Her hands were clasped calmly on the blue, glowing table.

The man’s appearance was exactly the same- neat to the point of impurity. A button up green uniform, thick black mustache, and cold green eyes. His demeanor was more relaxed than the woman’s. The man sat a little more slouched backwards in his chair. The man knew exactly where he was and exactly what was about to happen.

A smug smile tugged at his lips. He held up a small device, “Shock collar. Jolted you pretty fast from dreamland. Hate to interrupt your slumber, princess.”

He twiddled the device, as if it weren’t something that could violently wreck Nate’s neck. Wherever Nate was, there was a good chance that the man was in charge. He was clearly sadistic, and didn’t look like he would be stopping soon; unease bound itself to Nate. He needed out.

The woman spoke up, “Hello, Mr. Sharp. It is Sharp, isn’t it?”

Nate didn’t move, and not just because every molecule hurt. He refused to give these people any kind of satisfaction from his response. GAAP didn’t own him, they didn’t own his people, even if they thought they did. Silence was a counterattack to their pretentious attitude.

A couple of words was all he needed. They had a shock collar, but he could deal. The last time hadn’t been too bad, in retrospect. Nate could subdue them, get his cane, and break out. Underground, deeper this time, maybe even another galaxy? Nihill was the opposite of desirable, but its streets were so crowded that one Atrian could surely make a little nook for themselves. His mind was already searching for the right words to the melody that would release him.

A spark of pain shot through his vocal chords, similar to the jolt from his dream, but stronger. Nate howled in pain. Tears rushed to his eyes while the pain spread up and around his entire neck. He instinctively reached for the injured area, but his hands were still cuffed. Across the table, the smirk hadn’t left the man’s face.

“The brace around your neck is restricting your vocal chords. You may talk, but a single hum will cause an electrical shock. Similarly, if you do not talk, there will be another shock. Each time you do not cooperate, the voltages will increase,” the woman explained.

A grin of deep satisfaction spread across the general’s face, “What she means is simple- you’re our little puppet.”

Nate hadn’t noticed before, but there was something looped around his neck. A metal, light, but a little heavier, and near his voice box.

Nate sighed, “Nice accessory. I didn’t know GAAP was into kinky stuff now.”

The man squinted his eyes. He looked about ready to shock Nate again.

“My name is Marxca. I am apart of the intergalactic crime division of GAAP.”

Marxca shot the man a look, pushing him to an introduction of his own. He sighed, and put down the remote.

“General Jobs. I am the overseer of illegal galactic crimes, and suspicious people.” He pointed a finger at Nate, “That means you.”

Marxca typed on the table. Images instantly sprung up. A birth certificate, his high school diploma, the names of family and friends. Nate’s entire life was being presented to him through an interrogation room hologram. Thankfully, they only had one recent photo- him in the metal mask, hiding the deep, purple Atrian markings that ran like thick tear trails from his eyes. No mentions of his clients, or workshops appeared anywhere on the screen.

“A few weeks ago, we received an anonymous caller informing us about a suspicious man in a mask,” General Jobs said, “but by the time we got there you were long gone. But thanks to that, we had a photo on you to go by. Of course, with a mask like that, we figured you were a criminal. We searched there, and the surrounding cities, until a certain civilian managed to trick you with a taser. Imagine our surprise to find that you weren’t just a crook- you were an illegal Atrian.”

Nate ground his teeth, “I haven’t committed any crime other than living!”

Jobs reached for the remote again, but Marxca stopped him. She typed again, and the images receded. Unlike before, Nate could see her clearly now. She was GAAP, they both were, and GAAP wanted him gone, but where? Back to Atria? No one could get in or out of the planet. Even if he could, with God knows what happening on the surface, Nate wasn’t sure he wanted to. So, where did that leave Nate?

“Exactly what charges are you holding me here for? Being Atrian, is that it? Because of your fake-.”

Time stopped. Nate felt his heart pounding in his ears. None of the people, no one in the room, was wearing radiation protection. Even basic GAAP soldiers wore some kind of protection, the minimum being masks. Everyone in the room- the agent, the general, the two guards, they weren’t protected by anything. Nate knew that the Atrian cover up was deep; it left only a few of the higher ups aware of the truth. If the people surrounding him weren’t basic GAAP agents and police, then who was he dealing with, and how afraid should he be?

“You cannot return to Atria, you know that, Mr. Sharp. However, this doesn’t have to mean jail time.”

Jail time. Oh, God, if someone found an Atrian in jail what would they do? Kill him out of fear? Would the guards muzzle him for the duration of his stay (life, presumably)? Nate wouldn’t just be a fish out of water- he would be a fish on the chopping block, ready to be made into old-fashioned sushi.

“What would be the other option?”

General Jobs grew a wide smirk.

“Then,” Marxca said, “you would work for General Jobs and his scientists. You would help them create new weapons.”

All the blood in Nate’s veins turned to ice, “New… weapons?”

“Yes.” Marxca reached below her seat, and retrieved an old friend. Nate’s one constant, the only thing keeping him alive was right in front of him, in a GAAP agent’s hands. A rag covered the orb, but just being within close proximity to it breathed life into Nate. His body involuntarily took in deep breaths of air. Energy from his previous client, and leftovers from others, sat within the beautiful crystal. The inside swirled as a storm, sometimes energy flashed like lightning in a bottle. Nate wanted it. He needed it. He needed to live. General Jobs chuckled, jolting Nate out of his daze. Only then did he realize that he had leaned so far forward, that he was out of his seat.

“What would you need me to do?”

“Sing for us.” her response was immediate.

Nate blinked in complete shock, “I’m sorry?”

Marxca examined his cane, the orb in particular, “The universe is expanding, Mr. Sharp. New dangers are arising, and we need people to be prepared. So, you can sing, play instruments, whatever you have to. You will create bombs imbedded with the energy that is held inside of this.” She pointed to his crystal.

Nate couldn’t believe his ears. Work for GAAP? Create weapons through his music? It was all so crazy, so beyond impossible, but that’s what made it a GAAP idea.

“You’re joking, right? You- you can’t just recreate Atrian energy! Our music is something we’re born with. It’s apart of our biology!”

Marxca nodded in sad understanding. She took back his cane.

“I see, Mr. Sharp. Atrian music is a part of you, yes? Well, I guess it’s Mr. Jobs’ turn to take over.”

Marxca stood from her seat, and with it a deep sinkhole in Nate’s chest.

“Wait, where are you going?”

She shrugged, “Isn’t it obvious? You say music is your biology. If that is the case, then I suggest that General Jobs’ scientists start working.”

No words, there were no words that came out of Nate. Plenty were locked inside, exploding, reemerging and creating in a mad cyclone of unbelief. Nothing in him could properly connect the dots into verbal communication. Nothing, no complex argument that was boiling. No screaming fit that he just about fell into.

“Why?” was all he could manage.

The GAAP agent smiled, “Because we need you. You may not realize it yet, but your contribution is invaluable.”

Through his inner turmoil, he hadn’t noticed Jobs’ absence, until a strong arm wrapped around his throat. Nate felt something penetrate his skin. His body went limp on the table, his entire life waiting to be shown just beneath its surface.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Sharp.”

Nate rammed against the black wall of his cell. His body burned from, what he assumed were, hours of hitting the wall.

He had been blindfolded for the entire trip to his prison, but the trip had seemed to drag on forever. Upon arrival, Nate had been carried out of the containment ship, a little more carefully than he would have preferred. The saying “Don’t damage the goods” arose, and continued to linger in his mind.

Finally, Nate was given his sight back. Two GAAP agents had dropped him in a room made entirely of black crystal, and left him alone with General Jobs.

“This is the most durable, and soundproof, material in the universe,” Jobs had smugly said over Nate.

“You should feel honored. Only a few of these cells exist. They were made just for your kind. You special little Pipers.”

Pipers. Nate had felt like spitting on the man. Paralysis had robbed him of the opportunity, and Jobs had sauntered out the door. Nate had been a crumpled heap, alone in a dimly lit room where no one could hear him. In that moment, Nate had sworn he would survive. He would survive if for no other reason than to see the look on that bastard’s face when he escaped.

As soon as the paralysis wore off, he was in action. First, he screamed at the guards through the small, one-way mirror/hatch in the door. When that didn’t work, he resorted to pounding his fists against the walls, then his shoulders, and at one point Nate used his entire body as a battering ram. Nothing worked.

Nate slumped painfully against a wall. The sad light overhead flickered. Crystalline walls made for a chilly interior. Nate hugged his body, rubbing up and down his arms in hopes of generating some sort of heat. So he was alone, no big deal. Nate had been alone for five years. He would get out.

This time isn’t like the others, though.

No, scrapes he had gotten into before had never involved direct GAAP contact. Dodging local police and curious eyes, sure, but nothing the size of an intergalactic superpower. No, the intergalactic superpower. Nate still had determination, hope that he would escape, but the severity of the situation was finally setting in. Determination aside, he knew, in some way, he wouldn’t leave the base without being royally screwed.

A clatter resounded through the crystal room like the echo of a deep base. Nate turned his head. A small cylinder sat on the floor in front of the door that seamlessly merged into the wall. Small and metal, it could have been anything. Of course, that was before the ends popped off.

White smoke erupted from both ends, spreading like a slick snake across the ground. Nate held his hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to hold his breath. He stumbled to the far end of the room, but it was no use. Within seconds, the vapor reached him. It was pooling around his feet, coiling up his legs like a living being. One breath was all it took for the chemicals to do their jobs. Nate’s eyelids grew heavy, and the world slipped away.

The smell of rubbing alcohol. White, everything was too white. Masked forms shuffled around, never staying in one position for too long. The world was cold; its air sterile. His back was frigid; whatever he was laying on was unforgiving to the cold. Metal, Nate was on a metal table. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get his bearings.

Hands swooped in and held open his right eyelid. A cotton swab stroked away fluid from inside his eye. Nate tried to pull away, only to find that his head was strapped to the table. He tried his wrists, his knees, his ankles, nothing. He was completely imobile.

“What… what’s going on?” Nate tried to ask, but he found a metal gag restraining him from speaking.

One of the people in full scrubs leaned over him, “Mr. Sharp? My name is Doctor Visca. We are going to run some tests to evaluate your anatomy. We haven’t had many Atrians, so if these sensations become too painful, let us know. I will be talking to you, describing what we are doing”

Nate’s eyes widened in horror. Painful? What?

Doctor Visca strode away, only to be replaced by another doctor. They attached a strange metal device over his voice box where the shock collar had been. Out of his view, Nate felt stabs of pain in his hands. He tried to squirm away, but his efforts were once again thwarted.

“The object around your neck is a vocal receiver.” Doctor Visca said, but it sounded like she was talking through a microphone. Was she in another room watching him? Were there other people there?

Doctor Visca continued, “The nurses have just inserted microtubes into a few pressure points on your hands. Most Atrians seem to… ingest... outward energy into their bodies through their hands. Of course, we cannot use music to create energy, but we have a few substitutes. Depending on the level of energy your body receives, you will hum softly or powerfully. The voice receiver will take your excess energy. The more you give us, the sooner this will be over.”

That’s not how this works! There are no “substitutes”, and I won’t help you!

Of course, Doctor Visca, nor the other doctors and nurses milling around, cared. Nate relaxed his body on the table. He closed his eyes, preparing for the pain. None of their tests would work, and Nate knew that there was no easy out for him. However, he would make it out. They wanted to play hard ball? Fine. They’d get hard ball.

Hit me with your best shot, motherfuckers.

A nurse administered the first energy surge.

The battery of a small communicator did nothing. So, they moved to a holoscreen’s- still nothing. The power required to move a cyborg arm, a hoverboard, a small transportation vehicle. After that, the doctors decided it was too dangerous to try higher levels of electricity. The only results they were getting were sudden spasms through Nate, and some subtle laughter that the voice receiver picked up.Nate would have laughed more, if the last one hadn’t hurt so much. GAAP had never had the true legal ability to test an Atrian, but Nate was practically a dead man on Atria, and GAAP didn’t know about his business as “Phantom”. No one would miss a dead man.

Over the weeks, frustration began to overflow. Doctors moved from electrical stimuli, to “biological exploration”. Through it all, Nate refused to sing. Whenever they allowed him to speak, they were met with creative intertwining of expletives, and the occasional bird.

However, despite his tough act, Nate felt himself wearing away. Each visit became more and more blurry. Every time he refused them he was a broken record. The number of people in his room dwindled, and their tests sloppy. Doctor Visca remained when others left. She was determined to find what made Nate tick.

Nate tried to explain, without giving away too much, the necessity of his cane. He maintained his resolve, but Nate felt his mind begin to trickle away. Nate could feel his veins try desperately to pump any kind of substantial energy to his body. Without his cane, he was barely running on fumes. Still, somehow, a little voice would always boost him up. He would get out. He was Nathan Sharp, the musician, the Atrian. He would beat GAAP.

Nate tried to hold onto his sanity, the good in him. He could feel the black hand of chaos, of utter destruction, try to claw its way into his psyche. He pushed his temple against the cool rock wall. He would escape he had to.

Nate had been locked away for weeks. He assumed, of course. Time didn’t pass for the imprisoned, but Nate felt every itching moment. Weeks were eternity for him. He hadn’t touched a guitar. Every sliver of energy a song might generate was absorbed by the traitorous crystalline black walls. Lord only knew where his cane was, the life of Atrian adorning its head.

He was sweating profusely, black hair covering his face. Nate could barely sleep at night because of violent tremors. Nightmares haunted his mind and sanity. The darkness of the night began leaking into his waking world.

Get the cane.

They’ll be sorry.

Insanity became an almost tangible being. It was a speck in the corner of his eye. He could see the outline, its shifting form, but if he focused too much it would fade away.

Nate slammed his hand against the wall. No. No, he would not give into the madness, no matter how much it beckoned him.

Fall into me, into blissful darkness. It’s much quieter here.

No.

It’s just a little ways. They won’t hurt you anymore.

Nate could practically feel the hand of insanity resting on his shoulder. He imagined the void as a humanoid, but made of utter darkness. Its body would sway without it even moving. It reached towards Nate’s mind.

“So, what do you think?”

Ash fiddled with her baton nervously, “You know we aren’t supposed to talk about it.”

Barry’s shoes squeaked on the pristine floors of the base, while his comrade floated anxiously. They made their way forward, but Ash’s mind was stuck in the past, to the… event. The video continued its replay over and over in her mind. It was a loop that Ash was confident would never cease.

He scoffed, “Oh, come on. It’s just me. All the doctors are prepping the examination room.”

Ash bit her lip, “I… I don’t… I don’t think it was right.”

Barry’s carefree strides halted outside the prisoner’s room. He gave her a questioning look, “And why’s that? I mean, he was a criminal, and what happened after… I have no doubt that… that monster was on his side.”

Ash’s tail shifted back and forth, and back and forth. She shouldn’t have shared her opinion. Barry could be so close minded and stubborn sometimes. Plus, she had no doubt that he was right. The horrified look on the doctors’ faces before the man lunged. The fact that he attacked after…

Ash sighed. She didn’t want to think about that day, about the carnage, about his death. What was done was done. Be that as it may, Ash knew deep in her soul that it had been wrong. She closed her eyes, thinking of the best way to make her friend understand. Best to dive in head first.

“Because I met him.”

“You what?”

“I met him, him and the entire crew.”

Ash opened her eyes, and turned to her friend. His skin was pale with shock. Would he believe her? They were friends, right? He should trust her judgement.

“Two months ago Iyton and I were sent to out for security. Nothing special, really. Jobs just wanted to ensure that the perimeter hadn’t been breached. So, Iyton and I took a stealth pod and set off.

We circled the area three times, just to be thorough. Of course, no one was there. We started to head back when we were hit. Those ships can be so slow, you know?...”

Ash shuddered at the memory. The ship had tilted so far sideways that Ash’s seatbelt was the only thing keeping her from falling onto Iyton. Alarms had bathed the room in red. Sirens screamed in their ears, as if to emphasize how bad the situation was. The force of the jolt had knocked Iyton sideways. Pink blood oozed from a sizable gash in his head.

They were soldiers; they were supposed to be the epitome of fearlessness. However, in that moment, she had seen the look of despair that flashed in her colleague’s eyes.

Damage to ships wasn’t uncommon in space. Debris and chunks of rock were bound to hit eventually, but that trip had been different. One of those one in a billion chances that crews end up talking about during down time.

“So sad,” they would say.

“I mean, what are the odds?”

Then they would go back to their daily routine.

“Our CO2 converter and left engine had been hit,” Ash continued. “This base isn’t exactly well known and we were in a stealth pod. Iyton and I were practically in dead space. Hours away from a true repair station.

I mean, we tried our best. Iyton checked on the damage while I sent out distress call after distress call, but no one came… GAAP wasn’t there, and, honestly,” Ash gave Barry a stern look, “I don’t think they would’ve risked a rescue even if they had heard us.”

Her friend was speechless. His skin was a shocked gray. She could see the wheels turning in his head. He knew what was coming.

“Then, then they showed up. A cyborg lady, an android, a weird robot, two dogs, a purple lady, a Graeldur, and… him.”

After all this time, I still remember their names: Amy, Ethan, Bing, Chica and Henry, Kathryn, Tyler, and Mark.

“They rescued us, even made us food afterwards. One of the dogs wouldn’t stop asking them how we were, and the other got so much goop on Iyton.” Ash chuckled a little at the memory.

“What happened next?” Barry asked.

Ash shrugged, “They fixed up the converter and engine. He… Mark, insisted on getting us back to base, but, of course, we couldn’t tell him. So, they repaired our ship, and left. They saved us… They’re good people, all of them. So, no, GAAP didn’t do the right thing.”

It was Barry’s turn to stare blankly at the floor. He was silent for a minute, absorbing everything. Recalling that day, yes, she did get a shiver of horror. Those blazing lights, the feeling of utter hopelessness. Then, thinking about the Barrel crew, their kindness, gentle natures, willingness to listen, that almost made the fear go away. Plus, there were the dogs. Ash had always wanted a dog.

“Kinda, kinda makes you think, doesn’t it?” Barry, finally speaking, pulled Ash out of her thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“... I mean, we’re here, guarding a man we’ve never truly met. Why? Because GAAP said he’s a monster. That his kind radiate some awful disease, but you know… in all my time here, I’ve never seen the doctors wear any kind of radiation protection. I don’t even think Jobs wears anything.”

Ash was taken aback by her friend’s words. He was right. Ash hadn’t noticed it before, but hardly anyone on base wore any kind of protection. She and Barry wore masks, which she had assumed was enough. Then again, they were the only two that hauled the prisoner in and out of his cell. They administered the gas. They dragged him out through the smoke.

Was it really to fight disease, as they had been told? Or could it be simply to protect them from smoke inhalation? How had the conversation veered so off track? She had barely expected Barry to believe her, let alone fuel her doubt.

Ash gazed through the small slot in the prisoner’s door. Looks can be deceiving, but Ash could feel that something had changed. He just sat there, head against the crystal wall. The wall made just for his kind.

“His”, “him”, “he”? Ash had guarded the Atrian for weeks, yet she hadn’t even bothered to learn his name. A deep pit of regret opened in her stomach. It was so powerful, painful even. She thought it might swallow her from the inside out.

“Ash,” the same regret in her veins was mirrored in Barry’s voice. “Ash, what if we’re wrong?”

The guard couldn’t take her eyes off the prisoner. His shaking form, the exhausted slump. When was the last time he had even fought them as he was dragged out? He was broken, and part of it was her fault.

“I’m- I’m going to the console room. I need to check on Masters.”

Barry was still talking, but Ash couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t make herself tear her eyes away from the shaking form in his cage. Barry’s words rang like a gong in her soul.

“What if we’re wrong?”

Nate was strapped onto the operating table, like every other day. The guard’s smoke sedative made his soul like it was floating out of his body. He knew it would only last for a few more moments, but he found his muddled mind wander to other things- the guards’ words. Something had happened, something big, but it seemed that only the two guards wanted to talk about it. Inside the operating room there was no sound but the shuffle of feet, and adjustment of equipment.

There were two doctors in the room. Nate had never learned their names, so he settled with calling the bald one “Spot”, and the small girl “Ditsy”. Perched in a viewing room overhead behind a one-way mirror, Nate knew Doctor Visca was there. A deep tug pulled at his gut whenever he looked at the glass. It wasn’t dread, nor fear, but something else. It was something Nate couldn’t describe.

“I wish I could’ve been there.” Spot grumbled as she took Nate’s vitals.

Ditsy sighed, “You would’ve been a red splat on the wall, thanks to that maniac.”

Spot adjusted the overhead lamp. He flicked it on, and the machine whirred on. A blue light spun out, taking a peek into Nate’s insides. If only they had known that the inside didn’t matter. Madness had followed him from his container. The humanoid void was a ghost on the edge of his vision. The more Nate tried to get a good look, the more it inched away, but it was there. Its thoughts itched to fully leak into Nate’s mind.

They’re going to kill you, just like they killed him.

There had been an execution, but who? Who was he, or more accurately, who had he been? Nate had never actually gotten a name through his eavesdropping.

“Who died?” his voice came out hoarse. Nate sounded like a rusted gear grinding noisily along its track. Lack of use, and electrocution had taken their toll on his vocal cords.

Spot and Ditsy froze. Their eyes were wide with shock and fear. The only times the doctors had heard his voice were muffled screams from Jobs’ at their hands. His speaking voice, as far as he could recall, had never been properly utilized between the three. Nate had always been too busy convulsing in pain to make conversation.

“Uh,” Spot glanced nervously at Ditsy, who showed no signs of moving. She started breathing heavily, her hands slightly shaking. Was she, was she afraid? Interesting.

Spot cleared his throat, “No one, um, no one of your concern.”

“Ah, so someone I should be completely concerned about. Things really are escalating, aren’t they?”

A smug smile tugged at Nate’s lips. What was he doing? Speaking still felt like he was gargling wet gravel, but there was something in the way they responded. They were afraid of him. He was weak, had no cane, and was barely running on fumes, but their fear… It sparked something deep inside him. An electric giddiness, like he was a child opening the first present on his birthday. He had nothing, but his very DNA still made them quiver. Nate hadn’t noticed, but his smirk had widened into a mad grin. Insanity was smiling back.

“Sir, if- if you keep talking, we’ll have to put the collar back on.”

Spot straightened his back, but his facade of strength was quite pathetic. Still, if that’s the game they wanted to play, so be it. Nate hadn’t had true entertainment in weeks.

“His name was Mark. Mark Fischbach.”

Ditsy’s words came out timidly. Her face was practically lodged in a holochart. She turned her back to twiddle with the vials on the counter, but her hands were shaking so bad she nearly dropped one. She was obviously doing everything she could to not look at Nate.

Mark, Mark Fischbach. Where have I heard that name before?

“It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, and we’re all the better for it. Hand me the-.”

A memory, so dusty it was like an ancient artifact, resurfaced. Nate had almost forgotten about it. A play, no, a musical, the Summer before everything went to Hell....

Nate was in a small workspace. A friend had contacted him about a short series he was doing. A horror musical based on some old Earth story he had dug up. Admittedly, the musical was odd, odd, but interesting. Interesting enough to make him say yes.

Nate gave a deep yawn, a small part of him regretting his decision.

Two in the morning. It was two in the morning. Nate had wrapped on his single scenes forty-five minutes ago, but they were still waiting for his absent co- actor to show.

Nate rested his head on an old computer prop, “You sure he’ll be here?”

The director, AJ, shouted from behind a fake wall, “Yeah. He’s done stuff like this before. Don’t worry about it!”

Nate fought to keep his eyes open. One more minute and AJ’s other actor would find himself working with a rag doll. He had been working all day on the project. His eyelids felt like two ton weights, his body weak from exhaustion. Would one nap really hurt?...

The door burst open. Nate jumped to attention far too quickly. His head swam around and around. Spots danced in his vision. Nate’s groggy haze did nothing to stop the newfound pounding in his head.

A newcomer stood in the doorway. His black hair was in a mad upheaval. He was panting, as if he’d made a mad dash onto set. Donning a snazzy gray wrinkled shirt, sweatpants, and tennis shoes it was clear that he was well prepared for a day of filming. Under his left arm was his wadded up costume.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m normally not like this. I’ve just been busy filling out GAAP papers all day, and I didn’t realize what time it was until…”

The frazzled man noticed Nate taking an assessment of him. Nate shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get these scenes done, and we’ll be good to go. Right, AJ?”

“Uh, yeah, but I will need you later for your full scenes.” AJ shouted from behind the wall.

He visibly relaxed, “Ok. That’s good. I can do that.”

Nate held out his hand, “I’m Nathan, well, Nate. Nate Sharp.”

He smiled and shook Nate’s hand, “Mark, Mark Fischbach.”

Nate’s memory froze. He felt his blood run cold as ice. There, in that moment, he couldn’t move. Lively brown eyes looked back at him. He had a crooked smile Nate could tell was used often. Mark, how could he forget Mark?

Mark had helped Nate on a few of his songs. He wasn’t Atrian, but Mark had a voice worth listening to. Up until his acceptance into GAAP’s school, they would collaborate. They weren’t close- knit family types, but Nate considered him a friend.

Nate knew someone who had worked for GAAP.

Nate knew a man who could fly almost any spaceship.

Nate knew a dead man.

He was back in the operating chair, but stuck in the past. How had it happened? Was it painful? Did his friends know? The doctors were talking, Mark was acting, and Nate was caught somewhere hopelessly in between.

AJ yelled, “Action!”

“You’ve got the new antiseptic, right?”

Mark stumbled over his line, “Uh, what exactly is this scene?”

A wetness slid down Nate’s arm. Something cool touched his skin, then a deep burning sensation. Nate was suffocating. He couldn’t get the lyrics right. The doctors were reaching for metal clamps. Mark had started his lines. Spinning round and round. A cane, a guitar, a martyr.

They’re going to kill you. You’re just a broken music box to them. They’re going to kill you just like they killed him, but they won’t stop. Oh, no, no, no, no. They will never stop. They won’t stop until every one of our kind is bleeding on their own tables.

No, Nate’s mind pleaded.

Yes, Insanity hissed.

“No.”

A screeching halt. Mark’s faces faded into memory. AJ’s set disappeared. Nate felt something in his mind, something dark, almost otherworldly, snap to attention.

The world was sharp, sharper than it had ever been before. White walls, aluminum floors, everything was far too… fake. Nate’s left arm flaunted a deep, precise cut. The skin was clamped open; the bloodied hand of a doctor still held on.

Cold darkness fell over the room. The type of cold when clouds are the color of ash, and the air makes lips numb. Horror, bone chilling, unfathomable horror had fallen over the operating room.

The world around shifted and swirled in consistently darkening colors. Nate felt his eyes go black. His cheeks ached; it felt as if someone had taken a molten rod to the purple lines down his face. Nate found himself enjoying it. Pain meant he was alive.

Dark smoke began a graceful cascade over his eyelashes. A beautiful waterfall of black vapor pooling at his lashes, then falling down his purple Atrian lines. Insanity no longer danced in his peripheral. No, the beast had won over a new home. Unadulterated rage burned inside of him.

Nate saw it in the man’s eyes- the solid panic he was bleeding into the room that was once a prison. The doctor’s soul- twisted, pathetic. A being that tortured and broke simply because he could. Nate felt dirty just looking at him. He turned to the woman.

Similar to her colleague- she hadn’t moved. She was a statue from the fear Nate was exuding. Terror personified, a ghost for the lack of color in her face. Mouth agape, horror racing through her eyes.

“Undo my cuffs.”

Despite the absence of his cane, and barely having proper energy, Ditsy moved towards his table. With quaking hands, she unfastened the wrist restraints, then the ankle ones, the knees, the head. She took several hasty steps back after finishing her work. Nate cautiously removed his right hand, flexed it, then the same with the left. He gave Ditsy an unnerving grin.

A crash, glass flew across Nate’s vision. He felt a dull throb in the back of his head. Whatever had happened, it was enough to push Ditsy over the edge. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed in a heap.

Nate turned towards his attacker. Spot held the broken end of a glass beaker in his hands. The doctor had assaulted him? Nate touched the back of his head, but was only mildly concerned when his fingertips came back a little red. In that moment, his only focus, his only rage, was centered at the doctor.

Nate stood from the table, rubbing and shaking the numbness out of his once bound hands. The doctor reeled back, only to hit a metal table. He was trapped.

“STOP!”

Doctor Vasca stood behind him at the stairs leading to her observation room. Seeing her, Nate’s heart stopped. It wasn’t because she snapped him out of his stalk towards the other doctor, or the fear in her eyes. Nate stopped because what stood before him was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Held high above her head, Doctor Vasca held Nate’s cane. She reminded him of an Earthen statue he had seen a picture of. Draped in a massive toga, chains broken at her feet, she had held a torch on a tiny island- a beacon of hope for travelers. Frozen in that moment, Nate supposed he felt what people seeing the statue from a forgeign boat had felt- hope. Nate had hope, pure hope, a hope that might was the darkness of his mind away.

Doctor Vasca was in terrible shape. Her hair was undone and in knots. Dark bags showed that she hadn’t slept for nights.

She had probably been up studying your anatomy. What she had done to you.

Nate felt the seething rage boil inside him again. His hands clenched tighter. The waterfall of darkness flowed steadily down his face.

“I-” she stumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what we’ve done to you, but please. He has a family- two daughters. They need him.”

A family. Nate glanced back at the cowering man. A family…

“Does your family know what you do, sir?” Nate spat.

“It- I… I’m under oath.”

“Ha! “Under oath”, that’s a “No”, then. What would your daughters say if they knew what you did today?” Nate held up his bleeding arm. “What if they knew what you have been doing? What would they say? Would they be shocked? Appalled? Too afraid to even touch the monster that had been their father?”

Scenes were visibly playing through the man’s head. Of course his family would see him as a monster. He had cut a man open with no remorse, for weeks. He had cut through skin, ignoring Nate’s squirming to get away. He was a sick, vile monster.

“Tie him up.” Nate told Doctor Visca.

“I- I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Tie him up, and nothing will happen to him.”

Doctor Visca gingerly set down Nate’s cane. She held up her hands as she made her way to the man. Nate watched as she tied him onto the table. He watched to ensure that every strap was as secure as they had been for him.

Without taking his eyes off the two, Nate walked sideways towards his cane. It took everything in him not to snatch it hungrily. He had to be alert; he had to make sure the doctors didn’t try anything. Nate slowly bent down sideways, and picked up his cane. The effect was immediate. Like water from a cool spring, energy ran from the orb, down the cane, and into Nate’s veins. His mind began to clear. The well of emptiness in his mind was being dried up.

“Where is Jobs?” Nate asked.

Brown eyes emerged through the darkness. The black vapors stopped rolling, and his face resumed its natural form. Nate wore his purple Atrian stripes and clear mind once more.

“Fascinating.”

Doctor Vasca’s words pulled him out of his serenity.

“I mean, I knew there was something to the Atrian crystal, but I never expected something so, so, vigorous. I mean, you look good as new!”

She took a step towards Nate, who took one step back.

“You’re right- you didn’t know. You didn’t know because you wouldn’t listen. Now, where’s Jobs?”

Vasca didn’t appear to even hear Nate, or she didn’t care. Still rambling on about the possibilities his cane could have, Nate didn’t pay attention until she mentioned him.

“... and of course, you’d be at the forefront!”

Nate blinked in confusion. “What?”

Doctor Vasca beamed, “This is a whole new level of potential to aid GAAP you have! One without the other is useless, but I didn’t understand the true purity of its power until now! Think of the possible advancements- faster communication, upgraded weapons-.”

“No.” Nate held out his cane as his own weapon. “I will not be used by GAAP anymore. You finally listened to me, great, but you won’t get a single Atrian to do your work. Now, tell me where Jobs is.”

“I’m so sorry, Nate…”

Doctor Vasca reached into her pocket, and retrieved a thin holoboard. With one press, the door leading to the observation room, and Nate’s freedom, closed. The click of it locking felt like someone had slapped Nate across the face. His back was to Doctor Vasca, it didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t escaping. That woman, that, beast…

“I wasn’t just going to give you the cane, Mr. Sharp. You were dying, and I was desperate. But it worked out for the better.”

Nate could feel her smiling, “You’re going to bring in a new age for GAAP. All the equipment you want... ”

Nate’s ears rang. Everything was buzzing. Little dots twinkled in his vision. He grasped his cane even tighter.

She lied to you. Darkness emerged once more, You were going to leave this place. You were going to forget everything, but look what she did! Think of what she’ll make you do! She made you dance like you were a puppet. The question is- what are you going to do now?

“... everything will be set right!” She exhaled, obviously proud of her speech, as if Nate had been listening. “What do you say, Mr. Sharp?”

Nate was on her in a moment. His hand was a vice grip around her throat. The pools of hatred were overflowing again, but he didn’t care. Hate, rage, power, that was how he was going to get out of GAAP’s Hell.

Doctor Vasca’s face and neck were red. Nate wasn’t holding on hard enough for her to suffocate, just enough to be uncomfortable. She gasped for air, and kicked at Nate in vain attempts to escape. Pathetic, just like her friend on the table. These people wouldn’t change. Their kind never do. So far in themselves, their “intelligence”, the belief that the odds justify every mean. All of it blinded them. Nate was going to let them see.

“Hmm,” Nate tapped his cane to his chin, as he had being a phantom healer what felt like decades ago. Phantom, maybe the street name had more weight than he had given it credit for. A shadowy figure, something you can almost see, but not quite. A being always in the edge of your view. He wasn’t Nate. He wasn’t “Mr. Sharp”. He was Phantom.

“You know what I say, Doctor Vasca? You want to know what I say? Well,” Phantom chuckled at her horrified face, “I say GAAP can kiss my ass. Also, I say…”

Phantom swung the top of his cane at the man on the table, knocking him out cold. Vasca’s eyes were wide with terror, “.... I say that was for Atria. Finally,” Phatom flipped his cane around in a quick circle. He dug the orb as hard as he could into the woman’s chest. It wouldn’t penetrate skin, but it would get close enough. Phantom began singing a bittersweet tune. He didn’t go so deep as to put the doctor under, just enough to do the job. He wanted to know what happened when you push an Atrian too far? He would show her.

A few sparks of white emerged from her lab coat, then a few more. The sparks condensed and merged until they formed three lines of raw energy- energy streaming from her heart.

Doctor Vasca tried to scream, but there was nothing anyone could have done. Phantom leaned in, “I say- this is for Mark.”

Her skin shrivelled and hung loose from the bones. Her eyes sunk into her head, the terrified expression in them never faded. Her hair turned gray and brittle. Parts began to fall in clumps onto the otherwise sterile floor. Phantom never looked away as the light, however tainted it had been, drain from her eyes. Doctor Vasca’s mouth hung open in a silent scream through everything, and it would stay that way.

Phantom dropped her mummified corpse onto the ground unceremoniously. He dug into her coat pocket for the holoboard. One click, and his escape route was restored. Phantom glanced at the unconscious man on the table. He wasn’t worth his time. The head restraint Doctor Vasca had secured prevented him from seeing Nate’s healing act. As for the good doctor- she was a smoking pile at his feet. The personnel and cameras? They were no concern. He would deal with the security footage on his way out.

Phantom looked into his crystal. Its once translucent interior swarmed with dark clouds. Gray energy surged off and on.

Stolen energy.

Phantom shook his head. He would have to deal with that annoying “still, small voice” later. Survival came first. Survival, and clothes. Phantom quickly wrapped up his bleeding arm, then turned to the still doctor on the operating table. He undid the straps holding down the unconscious doctor. He slipped on the man’s scrubs, fastened back the restraints, and covered the doctor with his old hospital gown. Might as well let him have some dignity when he woke up.

As Phantom strode out the door, he recalled an old story from Earth. A tale of a man with a magic pipe. It was actually where the derogatory term “Piper” had originated for Atrians. So the tale goes, a man was hired to extract all the rats from a village. When the people refused to pay him, he used his pipe to lure the children away. Some versions say the children were never seen again, others say they were led to their deaths, another that they were returned after the Piper had been paid his due several times the original amount.

Ascending the laboratory steps, Phantom finally understood why Atrians had been branded as Pipers. Not just because of their magical music, or that they used their gifts for work, it was something else. People thought they might end up like the rats, or the children. Racists referenced a potential murderer when they thought of Atrians. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps Atrians shouldn’t wear “Pipers” as a brand, but a badge of honor.

“Atrians are not a violent race.” Matt’s voice rang back in his head.

“... but people are capable of anything in order to survive.” Phantom verbally retaliated.

Saying it out loud made him feel a little better about his past. All his actions were justified. He was trying to survive. Adapting to a changing, well, universe, it would seem, was what he was doing. Surviving during war got gruesome. That was what he was surviving- the carnage of battle.

GAAP had called Phantom to war. They had sealed off his planet, killed a friend, and had torn him apart. No, they had torn Nate apart, but Nate wasn’t going to war. Nate had been left in a dark cell where no one could hear him scream. Phantom had risen as the poltergeist to nip at GAAP’s heels. Phantom was the avenger of his people, his friends, and who he had once been.

Phantom would make GAAP sorry for what they had done to all those before him. He would be the hand of justice for those GAAP had wronged. He idly twirled his cane, the smoke from his black eyes slid like ice down his Atrian markings. Fresh, dark energy spurred him onward. GAAP would regret the day they saw his face.

#spaceiplier #natewantstobattle #fan fiction

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