#part ten

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part ten: three's a crowd

word count: 2.6k (yikes!)

warnings: none - lmk if i missed any!

nine | ten | eleven

The coffee was bitter today.

Maybe they were trying a new roast, or it was a bad batch of beans, but whatever it was left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He was at his same corner spot, observing the scene around him.

Y/N stood at the till in the front, where she flitted back and forth between her stations, a whir of seamless movement as she worked to complete orders. The customers of the day were scattered about – engaged in lively conversation, skimming potential reads, or working on laptops in various nooks and crannies.

But all of that was only background noise. Even with his phone in his hand, Lando’s focus wasn’t on his screen.

Up at the counter, Y/N was talking to someone—a customer, a guy who looked vaguely familiar but not someone he’d paid much attention to before. He had dark hair and smooth features. Tall, but not intimidatingly so. 

Hirsute Space Truckers, Part Ten.

The amber hum of the Pulaski’s galley felt heavy and grounded, a stark contrast to the cold vacuum pressing against the hull. Miles didn't pull his arm away. He let it stay there, anchored by the solid warmth of Will’s hand against his skin. He took another slow swallow of the Guinness, the liquid courage doing its job, but his eyes stayed fixed on the condensation rings marking the tabletop.

"So," Miles started, his voice a thick, vulnerable murmur that caught on his Irish lilt. "What do ye think about my attraction to men, Will? Be honest with me. We're a long way from a starbase, and I’ve spent too many years keeping that part of me under a Level 5 forcefield."

Will didn't flinch or blink. Instead, he slid his hand down Miles’s forearm until his large fingers brushed against the Irishman's calloused knuckles. He leaned in, his broad chest nearly touching the edge of the table. His blue eyes locked onto Miles’s with a clarity that was both calming and predatory. In their retirement, the classic Riker beard had been traded for a thick, grey chevron mustache that dominated his rugged features, while Miles had let his own beard grow out into a sturdy, silver-white thicket. They were two old lions who had known each other for a lifetime, yet a new, unspoken heat had begun to simmer between them.

"What do I think?" Will’s voice was a velvety, resonant bass that seemed to vibrate in Miles’s very bones. "I think Starfleet spends a lot of time teaching us how to colonize planets and negotiate treaties, but they never quite teach us what to do when the person standing next to you in the trenches becomes the only thing making the air worth breathing."

He gave a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that had seen a thousand poker bluffs and called every one of them.

"I think you’re a man who’s been carrying a heavy load for a long time, Miles. And if you’re asking if I’m bothered by it," Will let his thumb trace a slow, deliberate line over the back of Miles’s hand. "I’ve spent half my life surrounded by 'perfect' officers and regulation-standard beauty. Give me a sturdy, honest man with grease under his fingernails and a heart he’s brave enough to show any day of the week."

Will paused, the "no secrets" pact hanging in the air like an ionization trail. "As for me? I’ve never been one for labels. I like the person, Miles. I like the heat. And right now, in this galley, the heat is the only thing I’m interested in."

Miles finally looked up, his face flushed not just from the stout, but from the raw, unvarnished acceptance in Will’s gaze. The steel resolve he usually wore like armor was officially a puddle on the floor.

"Well," Miles breathed, a small, genuine smile breaking through the tension. "I suppose that makes the next thirty-five hours a lot more interesting, doesn't it?"

---

Will took a long, slow pull from his Guinness, his eyes never leaving Miles's. He let the silence hang for a beat, the weight of the moment heavy but comfortable, like an old flight jacket.

"I'm open, Miles," Will said, his voice dropping into a velvety, cautious rumble. "Honestly? I’m more than open. But I think we should take it verrrrry slow. We’ve both got a lot of miles behind us and even more ahead. Let’s worry about the Pulaski and getting our first few jobs under our belts before we let ourselves get carried away. I’d hate to lose the best engineer in the quadrant because we jumped to Warp 9 in a shuttle bay."

Miles nodded, a sharp, sudden jerk of his chin. "Aye," he breathed, his voice a bit thick. "You're right, of course. Professionalism first. The ship comes first."

But even as the words left his mouth, Miles felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the galley stove. He looked at Will, the broad, sloping shoulders that seemed to fill the entire booth, the grey mustache framing a mouth capable of both command and a devastating smirk. In the dim, amber light of the Pulaski, Riker didn't look like a Starfleet legend anymore. He looked like an Alaskan grizzly bear—powerful, wild, and incredibly grounded. The restraint in Will’s voice only made him more attractive. It wasn't a rejection; it was a promise of something built to last, like the reinforced hull plating Miles had bolted onto the ship's frame.

"Steady as she goes, then," Miles added, his Irish lilt regaining its playful edge despite the thrum in his pulse. He stood up, his sturdy frame brushing against the table as he cleared the empty bottles. "But don't expect me to stop looking, William. I’ve always had a keen eye for high-performance machinery."

Will let out a short, bark-like laugh, standing up and stretching his massive arms until they nearly brushed the low ceiling.

"Fair enough, Captain. Just keep your hands on the console for now."

He clapped a heavy hand on Miles’s shoulder, a brief, electric contact that lingered just a second too long to be strictly professional, before heading toward the cockpit. "I’ll take the first watch. Go get some of that sleep you were talking about. I want you sharp when we hit the Archanis border."

Miles watched him go, his gaze fixed on the way the blue jumpsuit moved over Will's powerful backside. Steel resolve, he reminded himself, though his heart was hammering a rhythm that was anything but disciplined.

---

The cockpit was bathed in the low, rhythmic pulse of the amber standby lights, the stars streaking past the viewport in a hypnotic, blurred tunnel of white. Will sat in the pilot’s chair, his large frame silhouetted against the void, his hands resting lightly on the controls. The pneumatic hiss of the door startled him. He turned his head, and the breath hitched in his massive chest.

Miles stood there, framed by the dim light of the corridor. He was wearing nothing but a thin, ribbed white tank top and a pair of dark boxers that did very little to hide his impressive physical presence or the powerful, tree-trunk thighs beneath. But it was the sheer amount of hair that caught the light. Miles was a force of nature; a dense, silver-blonde thicket covered his chest, spilling out from the neck and armholes of the shirt, matting thick across his stomach and down his sturdy legs.

"Couldn't sleep, Captain?" Will rumbled, his voice a deep, vibrating bass in the quiet cockpit. He didn't look away; his blue eyes tracked the rugged, unvarnished masculinity of the man standing before him.

Miles leaned against the co-pilot’s chair, scratching at the dense pelt on his belly with a calloused hand. "Ach, the big bed feels like a desert tonight, William. Too much quiet." He let out a self-deprecating chuckle, his Irish lilt soft and intimate in the dark. "I was just thinkin' about how much of myself I used to trim away. When I married Keiko, I used to shave it all down—chest, back, the lot. She liked things neat, she said. On the station, I let a bit of it out, just on the chest to feel like myself again. But after the divorce? I just gave up entirely. This is the real Miles O'Brien, for better or worse."

He looked over at Will, his gaze traveling over the chevron mustache and the broad, powerful shoulders of the man in the pilot’s seat.

"You know," Miles murmured, his voice dropping into a vulnerable register. "Your hairiness, it was always a bit of an iconic ideal for me, Will. Back on the Enterprise, seeing you walk through the halls with that swagger and that beard... I used to think, there’s a man who isn't apologizing for what he is."

Miles shifted his weight, his boxers stretching tight over his sturdy frame. "My older brother Colm and my Da back in Killarney, they were quite the hairy beasts, just like me. It’s in the blood, I suppose. I spent too many years trying to be a civilized Starfleet officer. It feels good to finally just be a beast in the black."

Will let out a low, appreciative hum that seemed to vibrate through the deck plates. He reached out, his large, hairy hand resting on the arm of the co-pilot’s chair, just inches from Miles’s hip.

"I never liked civilized, Miles," Will said, his blue eyes dark and hooded in the amber glow. "And for what it's worth? I think the real Miles O'Brien is the most impressive thing I've seen in this quadrant for a long, long time."

---

The cockpit felt smaller, the air thicker with the smell of ozone and the raw, unwashed musk of a man who had finally stopped apologizing for his nature. Miles sank into the co-pilot’s chair, the leather creaking under his weight. As he settled in, leaning back with a heavy sigh, the loose fabric of his boxers shifted. Through the open fly, his heavy, pale anatomy slid forward, peeking out from the dense, blonde thicket of his groin. It was a blunt, powerful sight—completely unstudied and devastatingly masculine.

Will’s breath hitched. He tried to maintain his first mate composure, his hands still resting on the flight controls, but his gaze was pulled like a tractor beam to the exposed weight resting against the dark fabric of the seat. He had seen a lot of things in his time in the service, but the sheer, casual honesty of Miles O'Brien—hairy, exposed, and utterly indifferent to the civilized rules of a starship—was hitting him harder than a phaser bank on overload.

"My Da always said," Miles continued, seemingly oblivious to the view he was providing, his Irish lilt low and rhythmic, "that a man's coat is his pride. Colm used to joke that we didn't need environmental controls in the winter back in Killarney. We just huddle up like a pack of wolves."

Will didn't answer. He couldn't. His blue eyes were fixed on the sight, tracking the slight, rhythmic pulse of the Irishman’s heartbeat visible in the exposed flesh. The "no secrets" pact had moved from theory to a very physical, very urgent reality. Miles finally noticed the direction of Will’s gaze. He didn't jump. He didn't even reach down to tuck himself back in. He just looked at Will, a slow, knowing heat creeping into his expression that matched the amber glow of the console.

"See somethin' you like, William?" Miles murmured, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly register that made the deck plates vibrate. "Or is the former Admiral shocked to find a bit of unregulated hardware in his cockpit?"

Will finally looked up, his face flushed, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. He let out a low, shaky exhale, his large, hairy hand tightening on the armrest.

"I’m not shocked, Miles," Will rumbled, his voice thick with a hunger he wasn't even trying to hide anymore. "I’m just calculating the structural integrity of this slow plan of mine. And right now, the math isn't looking good."

---

Miles let out a short, huffed laugh, his calloused fingers reaching down with a casual, practiced familiarity to tuck himself back into the dark fabric of his boxers. He didn't look embarrassed; if anything, there was a glimmer of old-fashioned mischief in his eyes as he smoothed the cotton flat against his sturdy, woolly thigh.

"He's a bit restless too, I guess," Miles murmured, his Irish lilt thick with the shared humor of the moment.

Will chuckled, a deep, vibrating sound that seemed to rumble up from his boots. He finally let his gaze travel back up to Miles’s face, though the image of that heavy, unvarnished strength was now permanently burned into his tactical brain.

"Restless is one word for it," Will rumbled, his large, hairy hand finally relaxing its grip on the armrest. "But I think impatient might be more accurate. It’s hard to keep a high-output engine idling for thirty-six hours, Captain. Eventually, the pressure starts to vent."

Miles leaned back, his dense, silver-blonde chest hair catching the amber glow of the navigation array. He looked at Will—the sheer mass of the man, the sharp grey mustache, and the way the blue jumpsuit strained against his powerful frame. The slow plan was still technically in effect, but the cockpit felt like it was pressurized with pure, masculine heat.

"Aye," Miles said softly, his voice dropping into a low, resonant hum. "But a good engineer knows how to manage the pressure. We keep our eyes on the stars, we keep the Pulaski on her vector, and we wait for the right moment to open the valves." He looked back at the viewport, the streaks of warp-light reflecting in his eyes. "Tell me, William. In all those years on the Enterprise, did you ever just sit in the dark and listen to the ship breathe? Without a bridge crew, without a mission... just the sound of the vacuum and the man next to you?"

---

Will threw his head back and let out a booming, unbridled laugh that echoed off the cramped metallic bulkheads of the cockpit. The sound was rich and infectious, the kind of laugh that only comes from a man who has truly left the Admiralty’s stiff collar behind.

"Oh, I’ve listened to them breathe, Miles," Will chuckled, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he leaned toward the Irishman. "But I’ve done more than listen. I once climbed through the Jefferies tubes—completely stark bollock naked—from the very bottom of the Enterprise all the way to the bridge deck."

Miles’s jaw dropped, his hand pausing mid-scratch on his woolly chest. "Ye didn't. On a dare?"

"On a dare from Worf, of all people," Will rumbled, his blue eyes dancing with the memory. "He told me a true warrior should be able to navigate the intestines of the beast without the protection of a uniform. So, there I was, six-foot-four of Alaskan pelt, sweating and crawling through those narrow conduits for three hours. I finally reached the topmost hatch, thinking I’d won... only to pop the seal and find Worf standing there with a perfectly timed, deadpan expression."

Will paused for dramatic effect, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "And right next to him? Captain Picard. The Captain was mid-sentence about a diplomatic brief when I emerged like some sort of hairy subterranean monster right at his feet."

Miles let out a loud, wheezing cackle, slapping his sturdy, bare thigh with a resounding thwack. "And what did the Great Man say? Did he court-martial ye on the spot?"

"He didn't say a word for ten seconds," Will grinned, the grey of his mustache catching the amber light. "He just adjusted his tunic, looked at Worf, and said, 'Number One, I believe you’ve dropped your communicator.' Then he turned and walked away without looking back. Worf just stood there, looking as smug as a Klingon can look without actually smiling."

Miles was doubled over now, his thick, silver-blonde chest hair shaking with his laughter. "Ach, that’s the Will Riker I heard stories about! A naked beast in the tubes! I suppose that makes the Pulaski feel like a walk in the park, eh?"

The laughter died down into a warm, comfortable hum, leaving the air between them even more charged than before. Will’s gaze drifted back down to Miles’s sturdy legs, the "no secrets" pact feeling less like a rule and more like an invitation.

"It does," Will murmured, his voice returning to that velvety, resonant bass. "But I have to say, I think I prefer the company in this cockpit to a confused Captain on the bridge."

---

The cockpit was thick with the scent of unwashed musk and the sound of two veterans finally letting the Starfleet mask slip. Miles leaned back, his hairy chest heaving with laughter as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"... Reggie? Oh, don't get me started on Barclay," Miles wheezed, his Irish lilt thick and conspiratorial. "The man was a genius with a diagnostic tool, but in the gym? I walked into the locker room once, just the two of us, and I saw him trying to adjust himself in the mirror. He had this look of sheer panic, like he’d found a Romulan spy in his shorts. I just told him, 'Reg, it’s a standard-issue piece of equipment, no need for a level-three diagnostic!'"

Will barked a laugh, his large hands resting on his powerful, jumpsuit-clad thighs. "Standard issue? Not for Data, it wasn't. You remember the rumors about his fully functional programming? I once caught a glimpse of the blueprints during a maintenance overhaul with Geordi. Let’s just say Dr. Soong didn't skimp on the hardware. It was all polished chrome and precision-engineered for, well, efficiency. I think half the ensigns on the ship were secretly trying to get a private tutorial in his quarters."

"Ach, Data!" Miles chuckled, shaking his head so his silver-blonde pelt shimmered in the amber light. "The man—the machine—was a marvel. But what about the Great Man himself? Picard? I always suspected he was a bit of a closeted beast under that pressed tunic."

Will’s eyes sparked with a wicked, predatory glint. "Picard? Miles, the man was a legend in the Academy for a reason. I heard a story from a retired Admiral—off the record, of course—that during his days on the Stargazer, Jean-Luc had a bit of a reputation in the Rigel system. Apparently, he had a diplomatic encounter with a pair of Orion twins that required a three-day medical leave and a very creative explanation in the ship’s log."

Miles doubled over, his sturdy frame shaking. "A pair of Orions! And here I was, worrying about a bit of chest hair! I suppose that’s why he was always so stiff on the bridge, he was still recovering from the diplomacy!"

"And then there was Worf," Will added, his voice dropping into a low, resonant rumble. "You think you're woolly, Miles? I’ve seen the Klingon in the steam room. It’s like a forest in there. And the redundancies? The rumors are true. Everything a Klingon has, they have two of. It makes for a very crowded encounter, or so I’ve heard from a very adventurous Lieutenant in Sciences."

Miles let out a long, appreciative whistle, his gaze drifting down to Will’s broad shoulders, then back to his own exposed, silver-blonde chest. The locker room talk was doing more than just passing the time; it was stripping away the last of the Commander and Chief titles, leaving only two hairy, vigorous men in the dark quiet of the Pulaski.

"Well," Miles murmured, his voice returning to that deep, gravelly hum. "I suppose we’re just a couple of beasts ourselves now, aren't we, William? No Orions, no androids, just the two of us and the long-haul run."

---

The ribald laughter died away, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence that felt as thick as the nebula gases they were cutting through. Will didn’t pull back this time. Instead, he reached across the narrow gap between the pilot and co-pilot seats, his large, powerful hand moving with the slow, predatory grace of a man who had finally decided to stop calculating the risks.

His fingers, thick and calloused, sank into the dense, amber field of fur covering Miles’s forearm. It wasn't just a touch; it was a long, deliberate graze. Will’s fingertips tracked through the silver-blonde curls, feeling the sturdy muscle and the heat of the skin beneath that Killarney-bred pelt. The texture was coarse, wild, and incredibly grounded—exactly what Will had been imagining since they’d first stepped onto the Pulaski.

Miles didn’t flinch. He didn’t even breathe. He just sat there, his sturdy frame vibrating with the hum of the ship, letting Will’s hand explore the territory. Their eyes met in the dim, golden glow of the cockpit monitors. Will’s blue gaze was dark, hooded, and stripped of every ounce of formality. He looked like an Alaskan grizzly—hungry, focused, and entirely unburdened by the Federation's civilized expectations. Miles felt the steel resolve snap once and for all. The heat from Will’s hand radiated up his arm and settled deep in his gut, making him stir restlessly beneath the thin fabric of his boxers once again.

"You weren't exaggerating, Miles," Will rumbled, his voice a velvety, low-frequency bass that seemed to bypass the ears and go straight to the bone. "There's a lot of power in this coat. It’s honest. Like the rest of you."

Miles leaned into the touch, his own hand coming up to rest on the arm of the chair, just inches from Will’s wrist. "And what does the logistical assessment say, William? Is the Captain's hardware up to your standards?"

Will’s smirk was slow and dangerous, his thumb tracing a slow circle through the fur on Miles’s wrist. "The assessment says the slow plan was a noble effort, but I think we’ve reached the limits of our structural integrity."

---

The moment of clarity hit Miles like a sudden decompression alarm. The heat in the cockpit was redlining, and he knew if he didn't move now, the slow plan wouldn't just be modified—it would be vaporized. Miles stood abruptly, the sudden movement highlighting his physical reaction behind the fly of his boxers. He didn't look at Will’s hand, which was still warm from the graze through his fur.

"G'night Will," Miles blurted out, his Irish lilt cracking slightly with the effort of re-engaging his internal dampeners. "Better catch some shut-eye. Thirty-four hours is a long time to stare at streaks of light."

He didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel, his sturdy, woolly legs carrying him down the tight, dimly lit corridor. The pneumatic hiss of the door behind him felt like a physical barrier, sealing away the musk and the amber glow of the cockpit. He reached his bunk, the big bed that suddenly felt far too small for the energy humming in his veins, and collapsed onto the mattress, staring up at the utilitarian plating of the ceiling.

Back in the pilot’s chair, Will sat frozen, his hand still suspended in the empty air where Miles’s arm had been seconds before. The scent of the man—salt, Guinness, and that deep, earthy pelt—lingered in the recycled oxygen, mocking him. Will let out a long, ragged exhale that sounded like a venting plasma manifold. He slumped back into the leather, rubbing a large, hairy hand over his face and through the silver-and-charcoal thickness of his mustache.

"Fuck, Will, you dipshit," he whispered to the empty cockpit.

He looked out at the stars, the vigorous man in him screaming at the professional mate. He had the poppers and the lube in the galley, he had the most capable, rugged man he’d ever met just twenty feet down the hall, and he’d just let the slow plan walk right out the door. He adjusted his seat, the blue jumpsuit feeling tighter than ever across his lap. It was going to be a very long, very quiet watch.

---

The alarm chirped, a sharp, insistent Starfleet-standard tone that Miles had never bothered to reprogram. It cut through the thick silence of the cabin like a hull breach. Miles groaned, rolling over on the narrow mattress, his sturdy, silver-blonde limbs tangled in the thin thermal sheet. The big bed was a mess of rumpled fabric and the lingering scent of restless sleep. As Miles sat up, swinging his heavy, woolly legs over the side of the bunk, the sheet slipped. The morning light caught the full, unvarnished reality of his situation. He was sporting a rigid, pulsing morning erection that strained against the waistband of his dark boxers with blunt, insistent force, peeking out from the fly and glistening slightly in the cool morning air.

Right then, the door hissed open.

Will was stepping back from the cockpit, his large frame filling the corridor. He was heading for the head, his blue jumpsuit unzipped halfway down his chest to reveal the salt-and-pepper forest of his own torso. He stopped dead in his tracks. The Alaskan grizzly didn't look away. His blue eyes dropped instantly to the sight of Miles on the edge of the bed—the sheer mass of the man, the wild, sleep-mussed pelt, and the raging hardware front and center.

Will’s throat cleared with a sound like grinding gravel. He stayed rooted to the spot, his large, hairy hand resting on the doorframe, his pupils blowing wide in the dim light. The "take it slow" mantra from the night before was currently screaming in a vacuum. Miles looked up, his face flushing a deep, healthy crimson that spread all the way down his woolly chest. He didn't cover himself. He couldn't. He just sat there, his breath hitching as he felt the weight of Will’s gaze.

"Timing was never your strong suit, was it, Number One?" Miles rasped, his Irish lilt thick and husky with sleep.

Will let out a low, shaky exhale, his gaze tracking the slight, rhythmic twitch of Miles’s arousal. "On the contrary, Captain," Will rumbled, his voice a velvety, vibrating bass. "I’d say my timing is exactly where it needs to be."

---

The sound of the stream hitting the basin was loud, rhythmic, and unapologetically masculine, echoing off the metallic walls of the tiny head. It was the sound of a large man with a full tank, and it vibrated through the thin partition right into the sleeping quarters. Miles let out a genuine, gravelly chuckle, his hand finally reaching down to give himself a quick, grounding squeeze before he stood up. The morning light caught the dense, silver-blonde pelt of his thighs as he padded toward the open door, his boxers straining against his frame.

"I’m not sure our plumbing can handle both of us, Alaska," Miles called out, his Irish lilt thick with sleep-mussed amusement.

Will didn't stop. He stood there, his large frame nearly filling the entire lavatory, his back to the door as he finished his business. His blue jumpsuit was peeled down to his waist now, tied by the sleeves around his hips, revealing the massive, salt-and-pepper expanse of his back—a rug of dark, swirling hair that met the waistband of his own dark briefs.

"The Pulaski is over-engineered, Captain," Will rumbled over his shoulder, his voice a deep, vibrating bass that seemed to harmonize with the plumbing. "She can handle a little extra pressure. Besides, I thought we agreed on 'no secrets' on this boat."

He finished with a heavy, rhythmic shiver, his large shoulders bunching under the dark pelt as he zipped himself up. He turned around in the cramped space, his blue eyes locking onto Miles, who was standing in the doorway in nothing but his own stretched-thin boxers. The proximity was devastating. The smell of the small room—soap, recycled water, and the raw, heavy musk of two grown men—was thick enough to taste. Will leaned his hip against the small sink, his arms crossing over his broad, hairy chest, his gaze dropping to the blunt, insistent shape of Miles’s morning wood.

"You’re right about one thing, though," Will murmured, his voice dropping into a velvety, predatory register. "It’s a tight fit in here. We’re going to have to get very comfortable with 'sharing' the hardware if we’re going to make it to Archanis in one piece."

Miles stepped a fraction closer, his own woolly chest nearly brushing against Will’s salt-and-pepper forest. The heat coming off the Alaskan was like a physical weight.

What the Emperor Wants

Part Ten

Summary: Out in the country, feelings are revealed.

Notes/Warnings: 18+ mentions of arousal, dated beliefs in god/s, dated beliefs between men & women. Art/photos of sculptures used in collage are to display & give an example of some possible moments that take place in the chapter.

❤️s, comments, feedback, reblogs are all welcome and appreciated. It’s a longer chapter, but didn’t want to interrupt some of its flow. Thank you for reading! ❤️

There were so many people at the Villa, you were taken aback. So you were grateful for Aelia, at least you knew her. She showed you around while Geta tended to some matters.

Feeling terribly flustered, you found yourself outside. You smiled, spotting a small pond. Gathering your clothes, you sat down beside it. The sun was warm and the grass was soft. Seeing little fish swimming made you smile.

Leaning closer to get a better look at them, you saw your own reflection. You gasped. You had not realized how much of a lady you had become. You wondered, if your mother would recognize you. Did being around the emperor truly do this to you?

“There is the sweetest blossom of Rome. She is near fresh water. Neptune, I pray does not see you and fall in love.”

Tritannus: Stella sent me to get coffee.

Tressa: …And you didn’t…think to escape, or something?

Tritannus: *shrugs* I don’t really care what happens at this point. I’m kinda emotionally dead inside.

Tressa: …I can call a therapist-

Tritannus: Also this is an underwater Starbucks, and I really need to see how that works.

Tressa: …

Tressa: …How the heck are they pouring the coffee?

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Living in the same building, across from each other shouldn't be much of a problem, right? But how come you and Joe tend to always push each other's buttons every day? Is it because you both truly just hated each other or is it because there was something more to it?

Author's Note: Well, look who finally decided to open up the last chapter and finish it. I'm so sorry for the delay! Anyways, I just want to thank you all for supporting this series. This one had been a lot of fun! Please let me know if you'd like to get tagged on my next one. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 2.9K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

“Oh, shit!” You cursed under your breath as you ran from the bathroom and towards the kitchen.

Wes and Sara, who were sitting on the sofa, turned their heads, their eyes following your tracks. You have left the mixer on for too long while you have occupied yourself in the bathroom, trying to calm yourself and hold in the tears that were welling up in your eyes. You have been trying to distract yourself by baking a cake but for some reason, your mind had wandered somewhere else and ended up at the thought of Joe. 

You tried your best to look strong in front of Wes and Sara because you didn’t want to worry them, so you left the mixer on for a while, thinking it was going to be okay while you go and collect yourself. However, you have taken too long and totally forgot about the fact that you were whipping some whipped cream. Now, here it was. 

Turned into butter. 

Part 10 | Part 11+

18+ | PTSD |

Part one

When Peeta did locate Haymitch it was rather quickly, thank God because he didn't want to leave you alone at all on this damned bullet train. To know that it held so many hijacked memories for you, made him antsy and irritable that you even were on it. It was supposed to be a reward for having to have always been on it against your will and now have full control of it, but they all hated the thing. Not a smart gift to give to Victors.

Haymitch picked up the glass bottle and waved him away, having found his pacifier for the next few hours before he passed out. Peeta turned on heel, headed down the hall and strode back into the room. You'd been running your hands over the sheets, fingers trembling before the sound of the door closing made you whip around to face him with wide eyes. Your pupils were pinpricks and you were panting loudly.

Oh no. No. No. No.

Before Peeta could open his mouth to calm you, a lamp came hurtling towards him by your hand. He managed to dodge it out of pure reflex, hearing it crash into a million pieces behind him. You scream with rage and terror, your fingers hooking, as you bared your teeth and nails at him.

"How did you get in here? Where's Peeta?" you hiss at him, circling away towards another

"It's me love. It's Peeta" he answers gently, sliding forward

"No", you snarl sliding your feet onto the bed as you continue to circle him, refusing to turn your back on him "Don't you dare touch me!"

Peeta raises his arms so that you can see his hands, palms flat and facing towards you.

"Sweetness, look at me"

His timbre has fallen to that hypnotic, sweet honey drop baritone that always rattled your senses enough to get you to listen. You stop moving, eyes darting all over his face as your pupils widen a little. Peeta tilts his head up to be able to look squarely into your eyes as he continues to step closer, moving with deliberate slowness, which makes you relax your tense muscles.

"Look into my eyes. It's me"

Your head tilts with confusion, eyes blinking rapidly as you tried to sort through the real and unreal visions swimming in front of you. When Peeta's knee slides onto the bed, your hands cup his cheeks, fingers trembling, eyes locked onto his.

"Sweet Peeta" you whisper sliding to straddle his thigh

"It's me baby" he nods, smiling against your lips

When your eyes begin to fill with tears, bottom lip trembling, Peeta feels that alarm he always did after you had an episode, but had to mash it down and remain calm.

"Hey, hey, shhhh. Don't you do that sweet girl" he hums pecking your lips as his thumbs stroke at your cheeks, his eyes warming you from the outside in with their security.

"I wanted to hurt you Peeta. So bad. I thought you were him", you whimper against his lips

"Talk to me"

Peeta slides so that he's sitting with you in his lap, straddling his wide hips, tiny hands resting on his cheeks, refusing to break contact.

"It's selfish" you whisper after a few minutes

"So am I" Peeta chuckles "This is the first time I've allowed anyone outside of 12 to see you"

This makes you laugh and it takes a weight off of his chest.

"You" you stop and clear your throat "You always come running to me. No matter what. When I call for you, when I need you. If it's within your power, nothing stops you from running to me. It's one of my favorite things about you. It makes me happy. The happiest girl in the world. To be so safe. Loved. Protected"

Peeta knew that you took comfort in the fact that he was there whenever you needed him but had never thought about it to this extent before. You weren't very open about yourself, finding it hard to emote and communicate your feelings, some things those few close to you just understood. You kept a lot guarded. Vulnerability didn't come easy to you. So to know that his need to reach you as quickly as his feet could carry him, brought you such happiness and security, warmed him from his toes to the tips of his ears.

"Mean Peeta never came when I called. He was slow, callous and always so angry with me for needing him"

Peeta's arms tighten around your back and feels the shudder that rips down your spine.

"But I've always needed you Peeta. So much. And it's only gotten worse. I can't breathe without you. They took my breath away when they took you from me" you gasp burying your nose in his neck

His hands rub soothingly up and down your back as he lets you continue. It was best to let you get these dark memories out whenever you could, it was not often, no matter how mad they drove him. If Mean Peeta was a real person...Peeta would obliterate him. Marvel got off light compared to what he wanted to do to Mean Peeta.

"All I wanted was for you to hold me. To feel safe again. To feel this"

Your arms tighten around his ribs, as if you were afraid that he would evaporate into thin air and the torture would be real all over again.

"Taking you away from me was like stealing my life. I meant it when I said that you are everything to me Peeta" you sigh against his collar bone "I love you. So, so much. All I ever needed. For them to take you from me", you whimper as your voice cracks

"No one is taking me from you ever again. Do you hear me?" Peeta asserted squeezing you tight

"I don't want to sleep here" you admit softly

"Well shit. In here five minutes and you've already broken the furniture" Haymitch burps from the door watching Peeta scoop you up into his arms, stepping over to him

"Can we swap rooms? This one is...she can't..." Peeta trails off

"Yeah. I actually don't want to stay in mine either"

"I'll be back to clean up in a minute"

"Don't bother. I've got it. Get settled in. I'll see you two tomorrow" Haymitch shrugs waving Peeta off as he places the bag you'd been carrying into his free hand

Peeta loved the fact that you were quite literally glued to his side throughout the entirety of your trip on the train. There weren't half as many staff as there used to be during the Hunger Days, so it afforded much more privacy, which allowed you to be as openly affectionate as you wanted.

Whenever he sat, you were on, or in his lap, even during meals. He enjoyed it very much that you did this while you ate. The deep arch in your back, ass planted firmly against his pelvis, calves locked around his, against the chair as you leaned forward to eat from your plate with your fingers.

To have you situated this way on his lap while you ate at the same time, was enough to make him want to make love to you all over this table. Something that happened quite a few times since the first night. His dick pushing against the front of his thin pajama pants, up against the seat of your shorts only spurred you into more wanton movements.

It'd become a game between you. A test of the wills. A very welcome distraction. He always waited until he was sure you were full before he claimed his prize.

When you'd polished off a few cheese buns or a sweet dessert, licking your fingers, then and only then was when he'd capture your lips in his. His hands on your waist, flipping you around so that you were now facing him, Peeta tasting every tangy sauce from your lips and sweet treat on your tongue with your thighs on the outer of his. Watching you eat always erupted a dark carnal desire within him. Feeding you, watching you indulge shamelessly, until your belly was pulled taut from fullness, made everything in Peeta aflame with pleasure.

"You're so beautiful love" Peeta moans against your soft lips

The pretty blush that started at your neck went up to your ears. Always so embarrassed by how easily words of endearment fell from his lips, showering you with genuine praise and affection.

"You're quite handsome yourself" you grin, lips placing chaste kisses across his jaw

"I want you. Right now" he moaned loudly

"I'm all yours Peeta" you smile coyly up at him as your hands push his pajamas down his legs "Always"

"Damn right you are" he groans as your hand grips him firmly, trailing his tip up and down your slit

Peeta cursed under his breath when you slip his tip into your eagerly dripping core, his body trembling with the effort to keep still, allowing you full control.

"Yes" you moan against his throat, hips rolling slowly down taking gum in inch by inch

"Baby please" Peeta pleads in a low moan

"What?" you purr against his neck, a hickey forming under your insistent lips

"I want all of you love. Please?" He pleads again, his hips shifting with his begging

You don't answer him with words, your hips slamming down against his, swallowing him down to the hilt. Peeta curses loudly, head thrown back in pleasure, so elated to feel you fully wrap around him like a slick glove. He could spend all day between your thighs if you let him. He quickly pushes the empty tray at your back to the floor before he pushes you to lie flat onto the table. Peeta revels in the way your hips roll, pulling him so deep he can feel himself hitting that wall deep within that drove you insane. Watching every rise and fall of your full breasts beneath his t-shirt, the sun kissed olive skin of your stomach peeking from beneath where it had ridden up, with pleasure.

"Peeta" you sigh blissfully when he thrusts up into you slowly, in time with your languid rolls "More. Make me yours"

"Gladly" he grits through his teeth, his body aflame at your breathy plea

The fingers of his left-hand thread through your right and his hips begin to slam harder, driving into you with fervor. Your moans tumble out of your mouth unrestrained, fingers squeezing his as he brought you closer to your first orgasm, your tightening walls alerting him to your release. It makes his hips move faster, needing to see you cum as you screamed his name. When he leaned forward to capture your cries in his mouth, the sound of glass breaking makes you both freeze.

"Jeezuz! You two are like fuckin rabbits! Can a man get a bagel in peace! Fuck!" Haymitch's cry of despair pierces the air

Peeta looks over his shoulder, as you quickly sit up, to spot Haymitch with his hand over his eyes by the door, feeling blindly in front of him until he reached the table. Peeta gives you a sympathetic smile as he slowly withdraws himself from your walls, albeit begrudgingly, but he would finish what he started in your room. You're biting your lip, cheeks flushed prettily, eyes glowing silver, practically screaming that you didn't want him to stop. He makes sure you're both presentable before stepping back. He kisses your plump lips gently before helping you down from the table and onto your feet. Your hands enclose on his forearm instantly, bringing a smile to his lips. Peeta sits back into his seat and pulls you with him, waiting until you were comfortably situated sideways on his lap.

"You can open your eyes old man" You snicker lowly

"You sure? Last thing I wanna see is your ass sweetheart"

"I'm sure you jerk" You laugh tossing a bagel at his head, which makes him lower his hand as he shoots you a smirk.

"Good. We need to talk" he nods picking up the sesame bagel and slathering it in strawberry jam, not bothering to pull any of the stray seeds from his hair

"About?" Peeta cuts in

"We'll be at the Capitol in about 16 hours. When we get to the Justice Hall-"

"The what?" you ask quickly

"The President's mansion. They've renamed and redesigned a lot of it. It's now the Justice Hall. Where dignitaries meet and stay during these new diplomatic times"

"Oh...that's nice. Does Paylor stay there?"

"No. She prefers the simpler things. She has a home in the city. Now listen up, we'll get to the Justice Hall and drop off the rest of your stuff. A few of the other Victors are already, there since their trips were much shorter, being closer and all. Afterwards Peeta has meetings all day. We won't be back until around 2 am, there's a Victors welcoming celebration afterwards.

Peeta feels you stiffen in his arms and he kisses your temple gently, nuzzling his lips in your hair, grateful this eases the tension in some of your muscles. At least you'd get to be together in the morning and you'd, more than likely, not be able to sleep until he got in anyway.

"Don't stress it. I doubt everyone will be at all the meetings and events. You're not the only one who doesn't want to be in the limelight any more than necessary"

"I can't wait to see them" you beam before turning your glowing smile to Peeta "It's been hard just talking to Jo on the phone"

"Believe me, she's ready to show her ass. She's just as excited to see you" Haymitch snorts

This makes you brighten visibly and it brings Peeta some much needed comfort to know that Johanna would be by your side most of the times he couldn't be. There was no one he trusted more with your sanity and he knew you felt the same. Others were still terrified of Johanna but you never had been, seeing her as the mean but loving older sister you've always wanted.

"Will...will I be able to see Cinna?" you ask in a small voice avoiding Peeta's gaze

He wasn't sure why. He knew that you didn't have feelings like that towards Cinna, but maybe you thought he did? He was the only other man you allowed to see and touch your naked body without a fight after all. Peeta was possessive but there was no reason to feel any jealousy towards Cinna. Cinna acted more like an eldest sibling to the youngest when it came to you. There was never anything illicit about it. It was the same way Peeta felt for Portia. Some bonds formed during the Hunger Days didn't require explanation. You were all just trying to survive and find people you could trust during those days, which wasn't easy.

"He's a hot commodity because of the work he's done with you. He doesn't know you're coming. I'll reach out. Once he finds out you're there, I doubt he won't make his way over, despite how busy he may be. He's been trying to get out to 12 to check on you for over 2 years. Paylor wanted you fully cleared by Aurelius before anyone from the Games was allowed to see you again"

"I hadn't known. I thought...since the games have been over, he just..."

"You had every bone in your hands broken so he could use his to keep living his dream. He wouldn't be able to just toss you away even if he tried. He misses you too. You'll see it in his work when you get there, trust me" Haymitch explains with a soft smile

"And Portia?" Peeta asks unable to contain his own excitement

"Who do you is in charge of your wardrobe for these events?" Haymitch snorts "She absolutely refused to let anyone else work with you"

"Good"

"Well kids, you'd better get your bunny activities out now. Because you won't have much time for it once we get there. Capitol residents, even without the extra opulent flair added anymore, are still an exhausting bunch"

"We're aware" You mutter darkly before slipping to your feet and pulling Peeta with you heading towards your room. "We'll see you tomorrow morning when we get there"

"It's 11 am!"

"I'm storing up" You smirk wickedly at him as the door closes behind the two of you

When Haymitch comes to get you two the next morning around 7 his face in twisted in a pissy grimace that has us watching him warily. We'd both gotten up early, the anxiety of being back in the Capitol forcing sleep to allude us for more than a few hours. He'd found us in the nose of the car, curled up on the couch together, watching the scenery as the train flew towards the Capitol. I sit up immediately, feeling my heart constrict, every hair on your body standing up in warning.

"What happened?"

"We'll have to meet you at the Justice Hall tomorrow. Our escorts didn't get the memo and they're waiting at the station for us to take us to Peeta's first meeting"

"W-what?" I stutter trying hard to stop the thundering of my heart as fear starts to seize my throat

"I'm sorry" Haymitch sighs cupping my cheeks, his arctic blue eyes reflecting his intense distaste with this unforeseen situation "I really don't want to take him from you so soon. You'll be alright. You're strong. Never forget that. You'll have all of us at your fingertips. When we get there, they'll have communication devices for us to use. We'll be able to call one another on video whenever we need to"

"And I'll come running when you call" Peeta affirms when my eyes dart to him

"I'll be ok. Jo will be at the Hall when I get there right?"

"Right" Haymitch nods

"I can make it through a trip through the city" I assert with a sure nod of the head, not wanting the men in my life feel any guiltier than they already did. This wasn't their fault.

"Are you sure? We can just beat them off with a stick until we get there" Haymitch smirks

"I'm fine old man" I chuckle, though the trembling of my fingers give me away to Peeta's sharp eyes

Peeta sighs and spins me around so that I'm in his arms, face buried in his broad chest.

"I swear, I'll come running. Do you hear me?"

I don't answer, only nod against his chest, arms enclosing around his waist to try my best to commit this secure feeling to memory. Just as he nuzzles his nose in my hair, we hear the sound. The same ones that scared him shitless at 16. Screams. Deafening cheers begin to surround the train as it slows. My arms around him tighten, nails digging into his back over his shirt as the memories of our first games slam into me too.

"What the hell is this!" Peeta hisses

"Some bullshit. I said no God damn fanfare!" Haymitch snarls

I release Peeta and turn to Haymitch, giving him a tight squeeze that he instantly returns, his anger dissipated at the sudden moment of vulnerability.

"I'm ok. I'll be ok. You two go. I'll see you later. Right?"

Haymitch's eyes survey my face quickly, knowing this was a lie, before looking into Peeta's for a sense of direction. This was not the agreement and he was clearly seething and ready to cut down whoever had made this horrible blunder. It wasn't even supposed to be known that Peeta would be coming, but we could hear his voice being chanted and it clearly pissed him off. Peeta could see that Haymitch had all intentions on skewering the person who'd leaked this information.

"Yeah. Don't forget to get your communicator. If anything upsets you, we can leave. They're already on my shit list for this bullshit"

"Good. Then go. I don't want them to know I'm here too. I'll see you both in the morning"

When Peeta and Haymitch leave I slide to the floor and take deep gulps of air. It's like I'm trapped in the arena again. Hearing the cheers of the sociopathic residents of the Capitol, celebrating children murdering one another scraping for a mere sliver of a chance of survival. To be treated like a show pony afterward. A steed to mate with whoever had the funds to do so. The bombs were starting to go off again. I could feel myself falling.

Deeper.

Darker.

Mutts everywhere.

"Aht! I knew your hijacked ass would be cowering in here! Get your ass up! I've gotta suffer through these idiots, so do you. And you aint doing it hijacked bitch!" Johanna snarks yanking me to my feet so I'm staring up into her bright emerald eyes, teeming with excitement and mischief.

"Jojo" I breath trying to make sense of my surroundings

"There she is! Let's go bitch. I scared off the lingerers that didn't follow Peeta and your old man outta here. And put this on. I don't want to have to fight to get to the Hall without my axe" she grins pulling a red baseball cap over my head before I yank her to me and bury my face in her chest

"Hey now, I know they're better than Peeta's but don't get lost in there" she snickers

"Shut up" I laugh feeling the haze lifting as she pulls me forward, my bag slung over her shoulder

I give her a once over and see she's positively marvelous. Her skin is toasted from being in the sun, her hair is cut in layers that whip around her, stopping just below her shoulders, the tips a fire red. Her slim body is toned and tight so her curves stand out against her slender frame in her black V-neck t-shirt, tight red jeans with calf-high black steel toed boots on her feet.

When we step off the train, the platform is practically deserted. Everyone that catches a glimpse of Johanna makes sure to move as far out of her line of sight as possible. I keep my head down, my hair down around my face in loose curls, as we make our way over to a hovercar. Once we're inside she pulls the hat off, the tints on the windows shielding us from prying eyes. Johanna is explaining every street and building of importance to me that we pass. Pointing out a few sex shops she wants to visit. More than likely to keep my brain busy so I didn't dwell on the last time I was here.

After about 10 minutes she shoves my head between my knees.

"Keep it down until I say so" she hisses

"Why?"

"You don't want to see where we are now. We're almost there I swear"

"It's....it's the training center, isn't it?" I whisper, happy she hasn't taken her hand from the back of my head

"Shut up" she snaps

So it is. This can't be easy for her either. I wonder how she's keeping calm. Then again. She's been in the Capitol quite a few times over the years, so she probably has coping mechanisms to help ease the painful memories. I listen and wait until the tight grip she has in my hair begins to relax. She hadn't let go until we got past the Halls gates. I realize it's because the last time I'd seen them, I'd been horribly burned ripping Primrose away from them, knowing those bombs on sight, shoving her into a Humvee mere seconds before the explosion blew me into the side of it with enough force to knock me unconscious.

"Thanks Jo" I exhale deeply

"I want some of that damn rabbit stew as compensation" she sighs, her own breath short pants

"You're bad ass" I smirk knocking my forehead to her temple

"Damn right. Look, Annie's here!" she grins pointing at the stairs in front of the large doors where Annie's waiting patiently for Johanna to come back

She looks positively radiant too. Her long hair is now waist length and pulled up into a ponytail, a bang swooped over her left eye that curls beneath her chin. She's in a floor length bright chartreuse sleeveless, flowing summer dress, that makes her lime-colored eyes that much brighter in her face. She's definitely been spending time in the sun, probably on their boat with Finnick, because she's tanned a pretty bronze just like her husband. She smiles as we step out of the car and I hurtle myself up the stairs towards her, throwing my arms around her neck.

"Hey lil red!"

"Hey you" she giggles sounding of wind chimes as she hugs me close

"You look so pretty! I see Finnick is treating you very well" I smirk at her when she pulls back and holds me at arm's length to examine me too.

"It would seem that Peeta has done the same for you. You look breathtaking"

"Stop" I blush

"If we're gonna gay it out, we should do it inside" Johanna laughs pushing us inside

Yeah, this should be easy with the girls here with me. I could do this.

Right?