#- the sound of him sleeping well when you return and he calls the Hunter ''my dear'' HELLO!?!

[acridid-s]

Bloodborne's cut dialogue altered my brain chemistry

[starmocha]

fly to you like birds do Sylus/Reader | 2642 words | AO3 Sylus can't sleep A/N: I have no idea what happened. It was supposed to be just smut, but I guess we’re sandwiching the smut between some fluff instead. ¯_(ツ)_/¯ MDNI

It was well past two in the morning when Sylus stepped out of the shower, water droplets still clinging to his hair. He dried himself and slipped on just a pair of simple burgundy pajamas bottom. There was a heat wave outside, and though the air conditioner was running inside his home, Sylus still felt restless. He returned to his room, still tensed, knowing sleep was not going to be in his favor tonight.

He stopped in his track when he heard his phone ringing. How peculiar, he thought, considering the time. Stepping closer to his bed, he saw your picture and name flashed up on the screen. Smiling, he answered, turning on the speaker:

“Is this my pretty little hunter calling me?”

There was a brief moment of awkward silence before he heard your voice: “I dialed by mistake.”

“I’m sure you did,” he responded cordially, humoring you in spite of seeing through the thinly-veiled fib. He placed the phone on the nightstand and climbed into bed under satin cover. The sound of your voice instantly calmed him, and he continued, “It’s two in the morning. Why are you still up?”

Silence followed his question again. Sylus frowned. “Hello?”

“I’m hanging up,” you declared, tone a pitch higher than intended, clearly embarrassed by this whole situation.

“Wait,” Sylus interrupted before you could end the call. He continued, “Don’t. Chat with me.”

“It’s two in the morning,” you echoed his earlier words back to him, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted, and then with a sly grin, he continued, “Maybe you could help me.”

There were slight shuffling noises on your end before you answered, confused, “How?”

“We can chat until we’re tired,” he said, turning to his side to face the phone. “We can start with why you called me in the first place, and don’t bother trying to lie to me again.”

You sighed, knowing you were never good at hiding things, especially from him. You admitted softly, “I can’t sleep either.”

“And your first thought was to call me? I’m touched.” He laughed when he heard your flustered voice on the other end. “Alright, alright, calm down, I was only teasing.”

“I don’t appreciate it,” you grumbled.

“My apologies then. Won’t you forgive me, Miss Hunter?”

“I think not.”

He hummed softly in amusement at your defiance. “Perhaps you would feel better if you punish me then.”

“Eh?”

“I have clearly wronged you,” he said, voice tinged with humor, “it is only right that I should be punished for my misdeed.”

Sylus could hear you talking quietly to yourself, clearly contemplating his words. He laughed softly to himself as he stared at his phone, picturing you in your apartment flabbergasted by the direction of this phone call. “Alright, time’s up,” he spoke up to your shocked gasp, “I gave you plenty of time to think, so unless…”

“Meow for me.”

“Pardon?”

“Meow for me and I’ll forgive you.”

Sylus chuckled, confused. “Are you serious?” he shook his head and questioned you again, “You are asking the leader of Onychinus to…meow?”

“Uh huh,” you answered, this time pleased with yourself for reducing this powerful man to a state of utter bewilderment. “Please?”

He sighed. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he paused, and then he cleared his throat, “Meow.”

There was a pause. Sylus couldn’t hear anything other than the air conditioner running in his home, and just as he was about to check in on you, you spoke up with a squeal:

“You purred.”

“Is that not what cats do?”

“Well, yes. But. You purred.”

“We’ve established that already,” he said evenly, unsure of why this was making you so delighted. “Have I been forgiven?”

He smiled when he heard your giggle on the other end: “Yes, I’ve forgiven you.”

Sylus lay back down in bed, his eyes darting to the clock on his nightstand. He sighed. “It’s 2:35. Are you still restless?”

“Mm, yes,” you responded. “Are you tired? Do you want to go to sleep now?”

“I can’t sleep,” he reminded you again. “Then let’s continue. How was your day?”

Sylus lay there, listening to you describe your day, unbothered when you took too many tangents to get to a very anticlimactic ending of a very mundane story. He occasionally chimed in, but for the most part, he was more interested in just hearing your voice, listening to the subtle changes in tone and picturing your expression as you retold your day. He barely noticed you were done speaking until you called out to him, asking him about his own day.

“My day? Normal,” he answered vaguely.

“That’s cryptic.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, and you knew that was all you were going to get out of him.

“Sylus?”

“What is it?”

“What are you wearing?”

Sylus once again paused, surprised by the question that came out of left field. Once he composed himself, he smirked and answered, “Pajamas bottom. Should I also describe the color and material as well?”

“Please do.”

Sylus laughed and shook his head. “Burgundy and cotton.”

“Ah.”

Sylus raised a brow. “Not that I am complaining about this change in topic, but care to explain yourself, sweetheart?”

“I was curious,” you admitted in half-truth, “If I can picture what you are wearing, it would be like you are next to me right now.”

“How cute,” he cooed, unaware that he was making you blush with his voice, “Then may I ask what you are wearing, my dear?”

“An oversized shirt.”

“How unsexy,” he answered, disappointed.

“It’s yours.”

Oh. Well, that certainly changed everything, Sylus decided, intrigued now.

“My shirt?” The mental image of you in his shirt was definitely having an effect he didn’t realize it could. All wrapped up in his shirt, much too big for you, the sleeves too long, the length going down to your thighs—he was definitely appreciating the picture being painted in his mind. Sylus stifled back a groan, and continued in as even a voice as he could, “And how did you manage to obtain one of my shirts without my knowledge?”

“I took it from your place,” you confessed, “It was the one that I had accidentally spilled wine on, so I felt bad and tried to wash it out for you.”

“I appreciate the gesture, though I do have other shirts and it can easily be replaced.” He sensed your immediate quietness as a sign of embarrassment. He knew you did this as a sign of apology, and he quickly surmised his dismissive tone must have hurt your feelings, so he changed his phrasing: “Why haven’t you returned it to me then?”

“I haven’t had an opportunity,” you answered, tone dropping, a hint of sadness creeping through, “We haven’t seen each other lately.”

Ah. Sylus was catching on to the reason for this sudden late-night call. “And why are you wearing it now?”

Silence again.

“Sweetheart?”

That one word seemed to have broken a dam, and Sylus was surprised by the sudden quiet admission: “It feels like you.”

“You missed me,” he stated, and when he didn’t hear you respond, he wondered if his tone might have hurt you in some way again. He continued with a sigh, “I miss you, too.”

“Sylus…”

“I miss seeing you,” he added, knowing he was sounding a little more vulnerable than normal. “The sound of your voice…your smiles…the way…”

He paused, realizing the reason for his own restlessness. It wasn’t because of the heat wave happening throughout the city. Rather, it was the lack of a different kind of heat that was making him agitated.

“Sylus?”

“The way you feel in my arms,” he finished.

You didn’t respond, and Sylus laughed. “You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“N-No!”

“Liar.”

He could hear you huffing in annoyance. Just as he was about to continue in his teasing, you hit him with another piece of information about your sleepwear:

“I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

“I-I see…” He paused, contemplating, before he questioned you, “Nothing? No—”

“No shorts. No panties.”

Well, that picture had unquestionably gotten even more interesting for Sylus. He held back another groan, as he pictured now just your bare body, caressed by nothing but just his shirt.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” you teased him, feeling triumphant for finally having the upper-hand in this phone conversation.

“Such arrogance,” he mumbled low, smirking, “Maybe you should take responsibility for making me so hard then.”

There was a surprised squeak.

He laughed low. “Come now, it’s only fair.”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Don’t know?”

“I…I don’t know how…I mean we’re just talking…”

Sylus leaned back against his pillows and laughed. “It’s because we’re talking that I am feeling this way now,” he answered low, his hands already tugging his bottoms down to discard to the side. He groaned softly at the sight of his erect penis. He continued, “Aren’t you feeling something from our conversation?”

“Y-yeah…” you admitted, “I…I think I am…”

He hummed softly, closing his eyes, the image of you in his shirt was once again before him.

“Need my pretty little cock-warmer,” he murmured, his hand wrapped around his hard member, a clear soft hiss escaped his lips. He lazily stroked himself as he continued to speak to you on the phone, his tone carrying shades of sensualness, “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You flustered. “I-I have been…”

“No,” he interrupted you firmly, “Talk to me.”

“I…”

“Touch yourself,” he commanded.

You trembled at the sound of his firm voice, the dominating tone made you hesitantly slipped your hand inside the shirt you were wearing, your hand finding your breast. You toyed with your nipple, whimpering as it became firm.

“Where are you touching yourself?”

“M-my breast…”

Sylus hummed again, eyes still closed, but now he was picturing his large hand on your breast, massaging it gently, pinching your nipple until they were firm as you moan softly underneath him. He wanted to take that nipple in his mouth and sucked on it as he massaged your other breast, wanted to feel you squirm against him, your hands running through his hair as he ravaged you and keep you held down by the heavy weight of his body on yours.

“Sweetheart…”

“Sylus…”

“Take off my shirt.”

You immediately obeyed him. “It’s…it’s off.”

“Good girl,” he purred. “Lay back in bed, picture me with you.”

His voice sounded like it was an octave lower, soft pants escaped his lips as he continued to leisurely stroke himself. “Need you spread out beneath me.”

You felt a heat building up inside you as you listened to him speak, that devilishly deep voice always stirring something sinful within you. With each erotic word spoken by him, you parted your legs slightly and your hand moved lower to touch yourself somewhere much more intimate.

“Want to feel just how wet you can get for me.”

You let out a whimper, picturing his sharp ruby red eyes staring you down, his own fingers touching you. You rubbed your clit, tossing your head to the side with a moan, wishing it was his hand instead touching you, needing his lips on you, the feel of him against you.

“Want to taste you, sweetheart, eat you out until you come.”

You gasped at the picture, your legs trembling as you started to touch yourself more urgently. It wasn’t enough. You needed something more, something bigger…thicker—Sylus.

“Ohh, Sylus…”

“F-fuck…” he groaned at the sound of your moan. “Sweetheart, a man could get intoxicated hearing such sweet moaning…”

“Sylus…”

“Speak to me…what do you want?”

“You…”

Sylus let out a low moan, his pace increasing. “Sweetheart,” he gasped, feeling his arousal getting stronger at the sound of your voice growing needier, “need my cock buried inside you. Need my sweet little cock-warmer in my bed under me.”

He continued to mumble, “You always take me so well, always feel so good having you wrapped around my cock.”

That did something to you. You started to gasp into the phone as you writhed in bed, fingers sliding into your slick entrance as you so badly wished it really was his cock pounding into you. You curled up in bed face buried into your pillow, as you chased after the climax that was starting to build up inside. You couldn’t help the whines that came out of your mouth, knowing he was hearing every single incoherent word and noise you were making alone in your room through the phone. “Sy-Sylus…more…tell me more…please…”

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he was panting, sounding like, he, too, was losing himself in the image he was painting, “Want to hear more of your sweet moans, ah, want to see your face all flushed, all teary-eyed, as I fuck you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Want to feel my cock inside you?”

“Oh, god, yes!” Your hips buck against your hand. You were close, the way he described everything with that deep, rich, and sultry voice was having you clench around your own fingers. You rubbed your sensitive clit, but the mental image that it was him touching you instead had you crying out louder than expected.

“Need you now, sweetheart,” he gasped, “Need you so fucking bad, need you to cum on my cock, need to fill you up with my seed—such a good girl, such a pretty girl you are all flushed up as you take all of me—cum, cum for me, sweetheart—”

Sylus let out a groan at the same time he heard you screamed through the phone, the sound of your climax had him spilling into his hand. He lay panting hard in bed, his eyes shut, reliving the moment he heard you scream. The knowledge that he was able to bring you to orgasm through a mere phone call was a source of pride, especially when the two of you were so far away.

Still, he ached, wanting to feel your skin against his. He wanted to pull you into his embrace and let you relax in his arms as you both bask in the afterglow together. He wanted to feel your head resting on his chest, your soft hair brushing against his cheek, his lips on yours.

He sighed.

Several minutes passed as the two of you tried to even your breathing again. Sylus was the first to speak up, his voice soft and gentler than normal, “It’s late. You should get some rest.”

“No,” you protested this time in spite of your exhaustion.

“No?” There was amusement in his voice upon hearing your objection. “Why not?”

You were grateful he couldn’t see your blush. At his gentle coaxing, you admitted softly, “I don’t want to hang up.”

“It’s late,” he reminded you again.

Hearing silence, Sylus could sense your disappointment and he softened. “Alright,” he conceded, “Do you want to keep talking? Normally this time.”

He heard an indignant yelp for the latter comment before it was followed by weak mumbling: “I don’t know what to talk about…”

“What do you want then? Tell me.”

After a few beats, you confessed softly, “I just want to hear your voice.”

Sylus was both surprised and pleased. “My voice?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, then,” he started, a hint of mischievousness laced his voice, “If that is what my dear little hunter wants, then who am I to deny her this sweet request? Shall I lull you to sleep with my voice then?”

Your felt butterflies fluttering in your belly as he spoke. You knew he was relishing in this moment, but as embarrassing as it was for you, you were happy that he was so compliant.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said warmly, and you obediently followed his command, setting your phone close to you as you relaxed in bed. “And just listen to the sound of my voice…”

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Five - The oldest game

☆☆☆

The demons of Hell were all excited as they cheered. It probably wasn't too often the game got played, which made it all the more exciting you supposed.

Morpheus and Lucifer stood facing one another. You remained sitting on the floor wrapped up in Dream's warm coat. It was all that was protecting you from the eyes of others. You kept your eyes on Morpheus.

He had to win. There was more than his helm on the line now.

Choronzon stood on the balcony with the helmet in his hand. Lucifer and Morpheus stood on either side of him.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Today, for your entertainment and delectation, a formal challenge."

The demons cheer.

"The challenger is Dream. Once the master pf the Realm of Sleep."

The demons boo.

Morpheus turns slowly and looks at you. You look back at him. He steps away from the balcony and makes his way toward you while Choronzon announces Lucifer as the other player. The demons cheer for their ruler.

Morpheus kneels down in front of you.

"Are you alright?" He asks softly.

"Yes. You don't need to worry about me." You tell him.

"I always worry about you." He admits. "I will not let Hell have you."

Your gaze on him softens. "You don't need to worry, really. You should have accepted the trade... you'd have had your helmet back by now."

"I would not trade you in this life or any other. You are not a bargaining chip. You are my raven, my companion, my friend." His voice turns so soft as he speaks. You wished you could read the expression in his eyes.

"If anything happens to me, flee. Return to the Dreaming. If you stay there, Lucifer can not have you."

"No. I will not leave you." You sound determined. His lips twitch into a little smile.

"Always so loyal."

"You know it, Dream King. Now, kick some Devil ass and win. The sooner you do, the sooner we can go."

Morpheus smiles softly at you. He lifts his hand slowly, about to reach out and caress your cheek, but Lucifer's voice breaks the moment and he lowers his hand.

"Morpheus, am I interrupting a premlinary of some kind?" Lucifer asks.

"Just a little pre-game pep talk." You say. "Your majesty." You bow your head. "We came for the helm, and we're not leaving without it," you talk more to Morpheus now.

He looks at you again softly.

"We shall see," Lucifer says, amused.

Morpheus stands, and you sit up. You have your hands through the sleeves now, so you don't have to keep holding the coat together. You fasten a few buttons to hide your body.

Morpheus likes how you look in his coat, but he doesn't have time to admire your human form now.

He needs to secure your safety first.

"As the challenged, I set the meter and take the first move." Lucifer says.

"Very well. Make your move."

You sit with baited breath as you watch the pair of them. Your eyes linger on the Devil.

"I am... a dire wolf. Prey-stalking, lethal prowler."

You turn your eyes to Morpheus.

"I am a hunter. Horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing."

Lucifer grunts as they receive a wound through their body. That's the first hit. Morpheus drew blood from Lucifer. You watch carefully for the next move.

"I am a serpent. Horse-biting... poison-toothed."

Your eyes are drawn to Morpheus as the poison floods his veins. You bite the inside of your cheek, a new and unfamiliar sensation to you. His breaths come out in short, ragged puffs.

"I am a bird of prey. Snake-devouring, talons ripping."

The poison leaves his body. Lucifer receives three long slashes across the face. More blood is drawn.

"I am a butcher bacterium. Warm-life destroying."

Morpheus falls to his knees as his flesh appears to be eaten away. You gasp and slide across the floor, placing a hand on his back. He looks up.

"I am a world." He says slowly. "Space-floating, life-nurturing."

His body heals. You look up at him in awe.

"I am a nova." Lucifer says. "All-exploding, planet-cremating."

Morpheus lays on the ground, his flesh scorched. That was a big hit. You kneel beside him, hands placed on him gently. He tries to get up, but falls back down again.

"I am a universe." He whispers weakly. "All things encompassing, all life embracing."

"I am anti-life. The Beast of Judgement. The dark at the end of everything."

Morpheus goes cold. He lays there, unable to lift his head. His breathing is shallow, and it worries you.

"What will you be then, Dream Lord?"

He tries to move, but he can't. You shield his body with your own and take his face in your hands gently.

"Come on," you say softly. "Say something. Anything. You have to win, remember? You have to win for me." You look at him so gently. Your touch is soft against his cold face. He can feel your thumb brush along his cheekbone.

"Still with us, Dream?" Lucifer asks, amused by this display.

"He is! And it's his move, Your Majesty." You say, glancing up at Lucifer. You turn back to Dream, who looks up at you. "Come on. You can do this. I believe in you." You whisper to him.

"There are no more moves." Lucifer states. "What can survive the anti-life?"

You continue to caress his face gently. He stares at you through dark eyes. He sees the look in your eyes.

"You can survive the anti-life," you whisper. "Dreams don't die. Not if you believe in them, and I believe Dream of the Endless would never leave me here alone with Lucifer. He would never leave me. Not when we just found each other again..."

He sees the way you look at him. That look sets something alight in him. He wants you to keep looking at him like that.

"I... am..." Morpheus gets up on his knees. You keep a hand on his back as you watch him. He looks up at Lucifer. "Hope."

Morpheus rises to his feet.

"Hope." Lucifer speaks softly.

You smile softly as you look up at him.

"Well, Lightbringer?" Morpheus asks. "It's your move. What is it that kills hope?"

Lucifer knows they have lost. They turn to the demon. "Choronzon. Give him his helm."

"No. I won't. It's mine. Please."

Mazikeen throws Choronzon off the balcony after taking the helmet from him. Morpheus approaches the demon and takes the helmet from her, thanking her in the process. He returns to you. You stand on wobbly legs, still wrapped up in his coat.

"Thank you, Lightbringer. The Ruler of Hell is honourable, indeed. I will not forget this."

"Honourable? You joke, surely." Lucifer walks closer to where you two stand. "Look out there, Morpheus. The billion Lords of Hell stand arrayed about you. Tell us. Why should we let you leave? Helmet or no, you have no power here. After all... What power have dreams in Hell?"

Morpheus smirks slightly. "You say I have no power here. Perhaps you speak truly. But to say dreams have no power in Hell... Tell me, Lucifer Morningstar, what power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream... of Heaven?"

Lucifer is clearly seething under that calm exterior. You can see it in their eyes.

"One day, Morpheus... we shall destroy you."

Morpheus leans in close, seemingly bowing, and looks Lucifer in the eye. "Until that day, Lightbringer."

With his helm in hand, Morpheus walks away, grabbing your hand as he goes. You walk with him out of the castle, not daring to look back.

You knew Lucifer was beyond pissed off after today.

Far from the castle, you stand with Morpheus. He was still in his battle gear. You still had his coat wrapped around you. He looked at you and then at his helm.

He puts his helmet on.

"Can you actually see in that thing?" You ask. You had obviously seen him wear it before, but it had been do long ago.

"I can. I can see the ruby."

You stand a little closer. Morpheus reaches out for you gently.

"Come here." He speaks softly.

You reach for his hand, but find yourself swept off your feet. Literally. Morpheus picks you up in his arm and holds you close to his chest. You look up at the helmet on his head.

"The sand, it's in my pocket. Get it for me."

You reach into the coat pocket and take the pouch out. He says nothing, but you understand what he wants. Carefully, you tip the pouch out into your other palm. Morpheus uses the sand to transport you out of Hell.

All the while keeping you in his arms.

You arrive at a storage house. Morpheus keeps you in his arms.

"Remove my helm."

You reach up and take his helmet off him, holding onto it carefully. He carries you to the door, refusing to put you down just yet. He takes you inside.

"I can sense it. My ruby. It's here."

He puts you down on a closed box nearby and finds the glow of his ruby emitting from a crate on the shelf. He reaches out and smiles as he takes the ruby from within. He holds it up and looks at it.

"Something is wrong."

You frown and are about to ask what was wrong, but as he touches the ruby, it explodes with power in his hand and sends him flying backwards.

"Dream!" You hop off the box and hurry to his side. "Dream?" You scoop him up in your arms. He's unconscious. "Wake up. Please wake up..."

The door to the storage unit opens, and you hear someone enter. A man in a long coat and slippers kneels down and picks up the ruby. It doesn't seem to affect him.

You watch him walk away with it.

You turn your attention to the man in your arms. In your current form, you can't fly back to the Dreaming, and you wouldn't dare use his sand without permission.

"Please get up." You whisper, holding head close to your chest. "Wake up, Morpheus..." You feel tears in your eyes.

"Please."

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @sitkafay - @snowsatsu - @ladyofdreaming - @thoughtsfromlayla - @modest-irish-goddess -

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 4

Part (4) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: decent bit of cursing, blood, needles, minor body horror, some ptsd/ minor flashbacks, dislocated knee

WC: 4,068

Echo was shouting into the coms. I wasn’t paying attention to what he said, focusing instead on hauling Hunter back up against me as torturous silence loomed between the arc’s orders and pleas. He muted his mic, but I could still hear the string of curses as he darted toward me to return to his place at Hunter’s other side, and we ran.

“We’re nearly to our shuttle, then we’ll come to you! If you can hear me, we’ll be there soon!” He continued, and I could picture the scowl pulling at his lips.

“Can you fly?!” He asked sharply as he sprinted through the trees, and I had to fight back the rush of nausea and panic at the very thought… I hadn’t flown in years… not since…

“Not well!” I called back. “I’ll extract if you can cover me!” He nodded, but I could tell he balked at the idea, at the mere thought of me being on the ground amidst the torrent of droids while he flew overhead. There was little in the way of options, however, so he bit back his objections as we finally approached our ship.

“I’ll get Hunter secured! Go!” I shouted, already pulling away from him the instant we reached the ramp. He didn’t question me, instantly racing toward the cockpit. I’d only just managed to wrestle Hunter into a crash couch, straining with the effort to hold him upright while pulling at the harness, when the ship jerked to life. Movements rushed, I quickly latched the straps about his limp form before the ship leapt up so sharply, I couldn’t stop myself from dropping to a knee, hands desperately locked around the seat before me.

I’d hoped we might have just a few moments for me to place a chest tube, but, with the ship lurching about so violently, that would have to wait…

The sound of the shuttle’s sluggish guns boomed through the small cabin, and I shuddered at the memory of how many droids I’d seen littering the fields. How many had the others been able to take out? How many could Echo hope to destroy in the few seconds before we’d reach the crash-site? Would there be anything left to find among the wreckage?

I had to shake the thoughts from my head lest the tears gathering in my throat choked me.

“Touchdown in T minus 30!” Echo’s voice sounded thin through the shuttle intercom, but his words were clear enough. With one hand locked onto the strap of my medbag, I forced myself to move back toward the door, my other hand tightening briefly around Hunter’s for just a moment, just to reassure myself that he was still there.

“Opening the side hatch!”

I jumped before the door stopped moving, registering only that the ground was a short drop below.

“I’m clear!” I shouted, body still rolling to a stop. Outside, the boom of the shuttle’s cannons was far more deafening, the percussion hitting me with a dull thud to mark every burst of plasma Echo launched into the oncoming army as he quickly flew toward the still smoking craters.

I granted only seconds to scan the surrounding hills – Tech had managed to put some small bit of distance between themselves and the main army as they fell – before turning toward the shuttle itself.

And then I smelled the fuel saturating the air. I heard the roar of flames and felt the wrongness of numb flesh where there should have been agony from nerves destroyed by deep burns. Some distant memory screamed at me for the weight held by my ankle, and my chest wanted to cough to free myself of smoke that had once left me sputtering and choking. The distant trees blurred into those native to my homeland, and I couldn’t ignore the ghost-image of the sleeping tooka we’d painted below the red medic symbol.

My body shied back as something erupted with a small burst of neon blue near the cockpit, and I realized just how quickly I was breathing; how frantically my heart slammed against my chest. Maker, I felt like I was going to be sick… but my men were in there… Tech… Wrecker… Cross…

My leg nearly collapsed beneath that first, shaky step forward, but then I was running. I didn’t try to fight off the way my memories bled over into reality; refused to acknowledge the flicker of fire through holes that didn’t exist, the sound of metal warping and skin crackling as I reached forward. My hands shook, but I made them find purchase on the narrow opening between the rear doors, unsure if the heat scalding my fingers was real.

The right door was already partially open, but it was bent so violently I doubted anyone but Wrecker could make it budge. Even the left hung oddly, the metal too warped to slide smoothly on tracks left askew from the collision. Nearly screaming beneath the strain, I threw my entire body into dragging it down, foot hiked up to press against the hull as the slab reluctantly began to move.

Don’t stop. Don’t think. Emergency lights flickered within. Metal panels that once lined the roof and walls hung bent and ruined from what few bolts still held them up while others littered the floor, leaving the bare skeleton of steel and insulation exposed. I knew this ship – knew every hidden recess and faulty latch. The rear door must have already been partially open before the crash... Crosshair… He must have been shooting from here…

Attention turning back to the debris strewn across the floor, I began sifting through the wreckage, hoisting aside tattered panels in search of even a trace of that familiar armor.

“Crosshair! Crosshair, say something, dammit!” I barely noticed myself screaming for him, tried not to yield beneath the need to scream Emmy’s name alongside his as I twisted fear into anger if only for the façade of strength it granted. “Crossha- Cross!” I nearly tripped from how quickly I darted forward, eyes locked on the rounded corner of a boot, hands already reaching out to pull away the slab of durasteel and fallen insulation concealing him.

“Cross?! Crosshair, come on, baby, say something.” I pleaded, dropping to my knees beside him. He offered no response as my fingers slid up his neck in search of the steady dance of his pulse, and I nearly sobbed with relief upon finding it. Movements rapid, I ripped the scanner from my bag, cursing every eternity that passed in the few seconds before results began populating across the small screen. Minor laceration, minor abrasion, moderate contusion, minor concussion… Something akin to a sob shuttered passed my lips as the scan finished without listing anything life-threatening.

Shoving the device back into my bag, I quickly pulled him against me, grunting beneath the effort to haul his lanky form over my shoulder. Just as I began to push myself back to my feet, I paused, eyes catching on another familiar shape nearly hidden amongst the rubble. With a scoff, I reached out to snatch the elegant weapon before treading quickly back to the partially opened door, pausing to scan the nightscape before me.

The trees that surrounded us were wrong, and I had to shake my head to make sense of the battlefield, reminding myself that we were far from Agamar. Echo had flown back toward where he and I surfaced with Hunter, littering the ground and enemy forces alike with cannon fire as though he was still attempting to grant an escape route to someone within, a pretense that appeared to be working, though I could only guess for how long.

Movements quick but steady, I eased Crosshair and his rifle down in the short ditch carved into the earth from the crash, hopeful that it might grant him some meager bit of cover while I was gone. Turning back toward the ship was no easier the second time. I could feel my body trembling and knew it wasn’t from exhaustion, could feel some primal instinct dragging against my movements as I started back toward that ramp, jaw snapping shut to keep my teeth from clattering.

The flames were real now, glowing and hot and spreading far too quickly throughout the fore of that accursed ship. That’s where Wrecker and Tech were… My stomach lurched as I stepped back onto the ramp, and I had to brace my hand against the hull to keep my head from spinning, silently cursing myself for how quickly my heart raced, for the relentless phantom pains of wounds that had healed long ago… There wasn’t time for this… Lips pulling into a scowl, I tread quickly into the cabin once more.

The ship had crashed at a harsh angle, landing gear jutting uselessly above the scarred earth, rendering the walkway nearly unpassable without leaning heavily against the wall. I could feel the heat bleeding through my glove and tried not to obsess over the faint scent of burnt flesh lingering on the very edge of awareness.

These transports weren’t large – barely half the size of the Marauder, but each step felt near impossible from the daunting weight pulling me back toward the rear door. The heart of the ship was dark – the lights clearly having failed either from the initial impact or from the fire just peeking through rivetted sheets of durasteel, forcing me to rely on the night vision of my HUD. It almost helped – granted a layer of distance between myself and reality; as though I was watching a movie rather than having to traverse through another ruined transport rapidly being overtaken by burning fuel and the shoddy craftsmanship innate to the overworked Separatist shipyards. But then a groan would rise from somewhere beyond the internal paneling, reminding me how little time I had before the entire vessel would be engulfed, and that panic would arise anew.

“Wrecker!” I shouted as soon as the walkway opened slightly, “Tech!” but the cockpit before me was frozen in utter disarray; computer arrays lay strewn across the deck, shards of broken transparasteel catching the occasional flicker of flame roaring from the central hub. I knew that the heat drawing beads of sweat across my brow was no longer imagined, nor was the faint taste of burning fuel and electronics that even my bucket’s filters couldn’t cleanse from air growing heavy with smoke. It looked like interference on the HUD – static distorting the edges of broken interfaces and dangling display monitors.

“Wrecker!” Listening to the sound my own breath whistling through my coms had become a meditation in itself – forcing me to slow my breathing when it grew too quick as I moved rapidly through the ruined cockpit, “Tech!” pushing aside fallen panels and debris in search of either of my squadmates.

A groan instantly caught my attention, voice deep but weaker than I’d ever heard him, and, in the same heartbeat, I was racing forward.

“Wrecker?! Wreck, keep talking to me!” I pleaded even as I finally made out his form crumbled in the back corner of the room.

“…ow…” He grumbled, drawing a huff of laughter from me, but the breathless coughs that followed robbed even the glimmer of that precious taste of humor, curse catching on my tongue. He wasn’t wearing his helmet.

“Alright, we need to get you out of here.” I said, voice a careful blend of gentle yet firm as I finally reached him. “Think you can hold on to me?” His brows were drawn weakly together above eyes still clenched tightly against the pain and the smoke. His arm shifted toward me, but he made no effort to look, the movement clumsy and listless. I quickly pressed myself against his side, practically draping his entire torso over my upper back in an effort to carry enough of his weight to drag him out of here.

“Did… did we crash?” He asked, voice hoarse and slurred.

“Yeah.” I said with a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, you crashed. But I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” He responded only with a weary hum, but, when I tried to pull him upright, a sharp cry tore through the air before raising him even an inch, instantly turning my blood to ice as my stomach flipped.

“Wreck?! Wreck, where’s it hurt?” I was already setting him back down as the question left me in a rush, movements no less careful for how quickly I moved. He couldn’t answer at first, lips curled in a taut snarl.

“Kn… knee.” He finally grunted, voice thick with pain. Additional curses begged to drip from my tongue, but I forced myself silent if only to ensure the kind-hearted man beside me felt no guilt for the delay as I quickly retrieved my scanner once more. His chest bucked beneath a violent series of coughs, and I felt myself cringe at the raspiness of his strained breathing.

“Kriff…” I couldn’t hold it back any longer as I read the results, hands already tearing through my bag as I began explaining what I was doing to Wrecker. “Wrecker, honey, a couple things are going to happen pretty quickly, okay?” I didn’t wait for him to respond before continuing. “I’m going to give you something for the pain, and then I need to get that knee in a brace.” He tried briefly to open his eyes but closed them just as quickly against the ever-thickening smoke. “It’s not broken,” I assured him, autoinjector already in hand, “Just dislocated, but I can’t set it in here.” In truth, I didn’t think I was strong enough to set the joint alone even with him doped up on enough muscle relaxers to knock him out for days, but that was a problem we’d deal with later.

“Okay, quick pinch.” I warned, giving him barely a second to prepare before laying the device against his neck. His lips bunched tightly together in an almost petulant whine, and, even in the midst of the adrenaline flooding my veins, the urgency pushing me faster, I couldn’t dismiss the surge of affection that warmed my chest as the sight. “I know, sweetheart, I know; but it’ll help.” I murmured quietly, brace already set beside his injured leg. “Alright – if you can, take a deep breath and slowly let it out.” I instructed with an air of nonchalance that felt almost like a betrayal. As soon as his chest expanded, I slid my hands beneath his thigh and calf, and carefully lifted his leg onto the brace, wrenching that breath from him in a choked groan.

“Almost done.” I promised, allowing no hesitation before I began tightening the straps along the full length of the limb. His hand shook against the need to reach out and stop me before curling into a tight fist, head slamming against the wall behind him with a thud. “You’re doing so well, hon, last one.” He showed no sign of relief as I tightened that final strap, but I couldn’t let that stop me.

“All done. Now we need to get out of here.” I said, again pressing myself firmly against his side. His torso jerked with choppy breaths, each exhale a barely restrained cough. “Lean on me and try not to put any weight on that leg.” I didn’t need to say it, but I hoped hearing the confidence in my voice granted him some measure of reassurance as he struggled to shift his good leg beneath him.

Standard troopers tend to weigh around 180 pounds, with their armor adding an additional 80. Wrecker was not a standard trooper. I was already exhausted from hauling Hunter to safety. What fleeting reserves of strength garnered through dwindling bursts of adrenaline and a pure desperation that made my mouth dry and heart racing left me trembling, teeth ground beneath the effort, but proved just enough to lift him from the quickly warming floor. Had to hurry… Tech was still in here somewhere.

“I’ve got you, Wreck.” I had to whisper to hide the strain from my voice, carefully pulling him forward for that first, tentative step. “Just hold onto me, okay?” He finally seemed to be coming out of that initial shock of pain and confusion, eyes squinting but cracked just enough to glimpse the path ahead. “It’s not far – just need to get out of here.” He tried to speak, but the words broke into another coughing fit. Part of me wanted to tell him that this was why it was so important to keep his damn helmet on during missions, that flare of irritation driven solely by how worried I was for him, but that was also something that would have to wait.

I could hear his already choppy breaths catch with every jilted stride, watched as his head steadily dipped lower as the tension coiling through his massive form worsened beneath his vain efforts to bite back the torrent of coughs clawing up his throat and constricting his chest, but the closer we got to the exit, the quicker he moved.

He nearly collapsed the instant the cool night air hit him, finally yielding to lungs screaming from the heat and debris of the smoke. A sharp grunt escaped me as I hauled him forward, nearly dragging him toward the shallow ditch in which Crosshair still lay.

“…Cr…” His brother’s name caught between violent coughs.

“He’s alright – just got knocked out.” I nearly gasped, easing him down. As soon as he was settled, I reached into my bag once more. “Here; this will help.” I could barely speak from how quickly I was panting, again giving him barely a few seconds before pressing the autoinjector to his neck. By the time I returned the device to my bag, he was able to draw a slow, deep breath with only an occasional hitch.

After sparing a brief glance to confirm his blaster was still attached to his hip, I threw my pack back on and pushed myself back to my feet.

“D… Doc…” Wrecker mumbled.

“I have to go get Tech – I’ll be right back.” I was moving before I’d even finished speaking, ignoring the vertigo that wanted to drag me back to the ground. He said something else, but I was already too far away to hear him without the coms in his helmet to carry his voice.

The lights in the cabin barely flickered anymore, but sections of the far wall had begun to glow; wisps of flame dancing between bent paneling. The air was so thick with smoke, it felt like I was fighting against a current to reach the cockpit.

“Tech!” I knew it was foolish; still, as I searched through the carnage for Tech, I couldn’t help but keep an eye out for Wrecker’s helmet. “Tech!” The pilot’s seat was empty; one of the straps clearly torn from the force of the crash.

I was already mentally preparing myself for when I found him, because the alternative simply wasn’t an option: get whatever was veiling him from sight off of him, scan him for possible spinal damage, a step I’d tried to skip with Wrecker solely because of the smoke inhalation, and, barring any serious injuries, cart him to safety as well… then I could signal Echo to retrieve us… then I could treat Hunter, maybe get Echo’s help setting Wrecker’s knee… deal with whatever injuries Tech may have and ensure Crosshair was still okay… then… then I could breathe.

But when my initial search revealed nothing, that dread began to return.

“Tech!” Again, I screamed his name, no longer passively glancing through the wreckage as I, instead, began sifting through it at random; piling fallen panels together and kicking what debris remained aside as though my intent was to clean the useless ship rather than flee it, but the room was too big, and the fire was growing.

Curses flowing unrestrained from lips pulled into a scowl, I snatched my datapad, certain this, too, would be a waste of time… but I had to try something. Ear tuned for that familiar chime, I sent Tech a senseless message – whatever keys my fingers happened to strike at random before hitting send. Nothing. I moved to a different section and sent another. Nothing. I moved once again, and again heard nothing.

“Damn it! Come on!” I don’t know who I was shouting at; myself for my inability to find him; Tech for getting too hurt to answer me; the damn datapad for being too quite…

There! The entirety of my focus tuned in to the faint note, unsure if it had been my imagination; a futile flare of hope in the face of growing despair, but there was no doubting the sound that came once more mere seconds after sending yet another message.

The nav computer was nearly beyond recognition. Something had slammed into it hard enough to render half of it into jagged durasteel and cables that would surely have been sparking if power could still reach them. Movements more careful now, I set aside an overturned chair and what appeared to be the control board to the gunner’s station, and my teeth clicked from how tightly my jaw ground shut, air hissing in a sharp inhale as I finally set eyes on him.

His left arm had been caught on the torn metal, limb still twisted painfully above him as crimson dripped down the off-white plastoid of his rerebrace and shoulder pauldron. My body moved on instinct; retreating from any emotion into the simple knowledge of what I had to do. One hand slipped beneath the bottom edge of his bucket to find his pulse as the other retrieved my scanner, ignoring the flush of relief upon finding that strong, albeit rapid dance of his lifeforce beneath my fingers.

While the scanner slowly began listing off various bruises and abrasions beyond the gash carved into his arm, I wrenched a tourniquet from the quick-release pouch at my thigh. I was already clumsily easing the loop of braided nylon up toward his shoulder with one hand when the scan finished. Another minor concussion, but nothing that might grant me pause before moving him.

Something erupted behind us, just enough to buffet me with a tiny shockwave before showering me with a handful of what must have been nuts and bolts, wrenching a barked grunt from me as one burned a small hole through my blacks to scald my hip before clattering loudly to the ground. Ignoring the inconvenience, I finished lining up the tourniquet a few inches about the wound and began tightening it harshly until the bleeding stopped and he began to squirm weakly in pain.

“Hey, hey; you back with me?” The words fluttered thoughtlessly from my lips in some automatic attempt to garner a response from him as I ripped open a wad of gauze. A stifled grunt caught in his throat until I began wrapping the limb in a hasty bandage – something rushed and crude but just enough to offer some protection until I could replace it with something better.

“Ah!” The cry left him in an almost affronted gasp, head jerking up to find the source of his pain before his eyes darkened with understanding.

“Everyone’s okay!” I reassured him quickly, and the rush of relief that washed over him was palpable. “Can you stand?” He glanced down for just a moment, as though needing to confirm his legs were still there before forcing himself to move, but I could see the weakness in the attempt, hear the effort it took. I didn’t bother asking, body already moving to press against his uninjured side as my arm locked around his waist.

“I want you to hold on to me, okay?” There was a gentleness in the order, but it was an order nonetheless, and he wasted no breath in arguing, legs shaking violently beneath him as I pulled us both to our feet. His body leaned shamelessly against me, head hanging to his chest as he blindly allowed me to guide him through the ruined ship. As we reached the cabin, however, I paused.

“Wrecker?! What are-” Before I could finish the nearly shouted question, he turned just enough to reveal the limp form of a small child draped over his shoulder.

“Who the kriff is that?!”

Next Chapter

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[iamleesi]

THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: Bucky’s being an idiot once again and you meet someone… quite interesting? Or creepy? You decide. Also a surprise in the end simply because I can.

Warnings: Alcohol, bit of angst (?), gun, annoying lady, allusion to s3x if you squint, mention of Hydra and being watched/ followed -> 18+!!

Other: Forgive me for eventual mistakes but I wrote this in 3 days and I changed my mind about 60 times

-> Masterlist

-> Part twelve ; part fourteen

-> Devil On Your Shoulder (13)

The ticking of the living room clock was the only sound filling the space around you, each second’s click made you lose your hope about Bucky’s return. Hours had passed since Cassandra had knocked at your door and Bucky had stormed out of the house. Sam and Dean had completely disappeared as well - not that you made any efforts in contacting those two, you anger towards them was still very much present - leaving you all alone with the girl.

You hadn’t spoken much to her due to the fear of stressing her out more than she already was; instead, you opted to let her rest in your bedroom for the night, saving the questions for tomorrow.

You had searched the whole neighborhood for Bucky, checking nearby parks or public places he could be at but there was no sign of him, not even his shadow. It was as if he had vanished. In moments like these, you hated to admit how worried sick you were for his safety, knowing Hydra had their eyes on him. If he were to fall into their hands once again because you couldn’t find him, you’d never forgive yourself.

Hours later, that fear consumed your thoughts. You hadn’t eaten anything all day - the scrambled eggs Bucky had made for breakfast were given to Cassandra since she needed it more than you. But you, honestly, weren’t hungry anyway, especially not when Bucky’s phone went straight to voicemail every time you called.

Your attention was caught by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and you turned your head slightly around to see Cassandra coming your way. She was now dressed with some new, clean clothes you had given her, and she seemed to be feeling way better than before.

“Hey.” You tiredly said, as she sat beside you. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Couldn’t find sleep.” She made a small smile your way, resting her feet on the couch to wrap her arms around her knees. “I’m sorry for earlier.” She mumbled. “I’m sure he’ll be back.”

You looked at her and shook your head at her apologetic tone of voice. “It’s okay, it’s a sensitive topic for him. It’s… I don’t know why he doesn’t pick up the phone.”

Your nervousness intensified once you spoke, voicing your thoughts was like confirming your worries. You began to play with the golden ring on your finger trying to get your mind off of it, but unlike other times it did nothing to ease the growing anxiety gnawing at you. He had specifically told you to call him once Cassie had calmed down, and you did, but he ignored you.

And, to be completely honest here, being ignored was the best case scenario your brain could think of.

Cassandra’s voice brought you back to the present. “Do you want me to help search for him? I’m sure he’s not far away, and I know the city.” She offered kindly, worry evident in her tone. Her guilt over what she said was as clear as a day.

“No, no.” You waved her off gently. “You need to rest, so feel free to go to bed. I think I’ll go for a walk to clear my head.” The last thing you wanted was to drag her into your tunnel of worries - not just for Bucky, but for the entire situation. She was still a missing girl and she needed to stay inside in order for no one to find her, so letting her out of the house was out of the equation.

Also, she was the goddamn key to solve the case and she was sitting right beside you while three out of four people working on the case were men (as if that was unfortunate enough) that couldn’t set their priorities straight. There were people that needed to be found, like Fury and Maria, others who needed to be captured - and yet, there you were, all alone.

“Are you sure?” She pressed, her brow furrowing with worry. “I don’t mind staying up with you if it’s going to help. I mean… you’re here because of me. It’s the least I can do.”

You managed to give her a small, grateful smile. “I appreciate it, Cassie, but none of this is your fault. There’s no need for you to worry or stress over it. Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.” You hoped the assurance in your voice was convincing.

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between wanting to help and follow your advice. Eventually, much to your relief, she nodded. “Alright, but if you need anything don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

“I won’t.” You promised, knowing you’d never wake her up in any case. “Also the house is secure. No one can get in without a key, so you’ll be fine.” You reassured her, watching as she stood up, nodded at you, and headed back back towards the stairs.

Once she was out of sight, you finally let out a deep sigh and looked around the dimly lit room. You forced yourself to get up, knowing that sitting around doing nothing only worsened your mood. Especially seeing your phone screen remain dark without a single message back from Bucky added fuel to the fire.

Grabbing your coat from the armchair, your slipped it on and headed towards the door, locking it securely behind you as you stepped onto the street.

It was probably all the emotions you were feeling at the moment, but for some reason you couldn’t quite understand why the atmosphere felt different that night. It was as if the air stood still, and you sensed presences that weren’t even there.

The streets were empty so you must have had imagined it, the only sound being your footsteps on the wet crosswalk. You double checked behind you to ensure your were alone and, in fact, there was absolutely no soul around. Even the neighbor’s dog was oddly quiet since the animal seemed to be possessed at each hour of the fucking night, but the owners left the poor creature outside alone the whole time so it wasn’t really the dog’s fault.

However, feeling watched or not, you needed to have a proper walk and get your mind off of those three stupid ass men for one night. You could almost excuse Bucky’s behavior initially; seeing the hurt on his face was enough to understand what had come over him. Even if you weren’t close to him, living in the same building for so long meant you knew that being seen as a murder was a trigger for him. You didn’t want to hold him accountable for how he reacted to those accusations, it was his own way to deal with it.

What you couldn’t tolerate was that, if he was still out there somewhere, he hadn’t bothered to let you know he was okay or to check how things ended with Sam and Dean. Especially after hearing how they had kept Cassie locked up for a whole day.

Lost in thought, you almost collided with a stranger who stood directly in your path, making no effort to move even as you took a few steps back.

Your already sour mood darkened further, aggravated by his presence and the small, annoying grin on his face. He appeared to be in his late forties, dressed entirely in black. The streetlight above his head flickered intermittently, unlike the others that worked perfectly.

“I need to go that way.” You said, pointing to the street behind him, as he blocked your path.

He stared into your eyes for what seemed like an eternity before finally stepping aside, extending a hand in the direction you were headed. “Forgive me, kid, didn’t mean to startle you.”

His voice was smooth, but carried an unsettling undertone that you couldn’t ignore. You shot him a glare as you reluctantly walked past him, your eyes not leaving his for the slightest second - you didn’t like this man. He gave off weird vibes, way too familiar vibes, and you didn’t like that.

“You didn’t startle me.” You mumbled. “Maybe just don’t stand in the middle of the crosswalk.”

“I’ll make sure to follow your advice from now on.” The man answered with a sarcastic tone, giving you one last glance before turning around to walk away. “Have the sweetest night, kid.”

You stood there for a moment, watching his short figure disappear around a corner. The nickname he used left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, but you didn’t think much of it as you turned back around to continue your night walk.

You didn’t have a place in mind, the cold air hitting your skin was just a way to cool you off - it was a nice, relaxing feeling for you. Even with that, your mind immediately drifted back to Bucky, Sam and Dean; if you survived this, you’d fight to be paired up with women in the future missions because you had had enough. And it had barely been a week.

You tried to focus on the rhythm of your steps and the crisp night air, which gradually started to finally calm you down. You didn’t know how long you had been walking when, at some point, you arrived near the center of the city, which was far more crowded than the area where you lived. Deciding it was about time to get back, you turned around - or almost.

“I don’t think that’s the right direction.”

A voice made you stop dead in your tacks, and you looked ahead only to see the same man from earlier, throwing something heavy into a nearby dumpster. He smacked his hands together to remove some dirt before slipping them into his pockets, walking towards you with that same small grin you had seen before.

He stopped right in front of you, and all your efforts to dissolve the anger you had built up during the day vanished in a mere instant. Great.

Why this mad had such an effect on you, you didn’t know.

“Excuse me?” You raised an eyebrow, which only made his grin wider.

“I said, you were going in the wrong direction.” He repeated, his voice tinged with mockery. He pointed behind his shoulders, as he spoke again. “You need to go that way, he’s having fun over there. You don’t want him to blew the mission, do you?”

“I have dealt with crazy fuckers like you before, alright? Leave me alone.” You shoved him off, turning your back to head back home. Or, at least, that was your intention.

“I see your attitude hasn’t changed in these last ten years. I thought you’d get nicer with age, but I’m glad to know I was wrong.” He called after you, making your freeze for a second. “Has no one ever taught you that it’s best to be nice to strangers?”

You turned back around, studying his expression because he sure as hell got your attention with that. He seemed to be lucid and collected, making you reconsider in an instant your initial thoughts of him as just another street creep. After all, you had encountered way too many in your life.

“What did you just say?” You said, your voice laced with suspicion.

He took a step closer, still grinning. “Ten whole years. I must admit, I never thought you’d get paired up with the Winchesters. But they go wherever trouble is, so I had to see it coming at some point; my bad.” He raised his hands in surrender before continuing. “But as I was saying, I’m happy to see you haven’t changed. Still so quick to judge, so quick to dismiss and so, so slow when it comes to understand who you can trust and who you can’t. You even got a name now, don’t you, my dear Emma?”

Your mind started to race the second you heard your name fall from his mouth with such normalcy. You were transported back to ten years ago, back to the time you were still with Hydra, to try and remember who he was. But everything was blank, you were sure you had never seen this man before; and there he was, talking to you as if you were his long-lost something.

“How do you know my name?” You demanded, keeping your voice steady. You were an Avenger, sure, but due to your request your face was not allowed to be published - therefore, nobody outside of your friends or some of the people you worked with knew who you were.

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, I know a lot more about you than just your name, dear. I’ve been watching you for a long time, not that you could have known. It’s fascinating how you’ve grown, how you’ve changed… yet some things remained the same.”

“What do you want?”

“Me? Oh, nothing.” He shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side. All this… trying to solve creepy mysteries with your gang like some sort of Scooby Doo in real life is quite exciting, but I need you to solve this case quickly because I’m getting tired of you all dancing around it.”

“Do I even know you?!” You asked, as this man was making less sense each passing second.

“No, silly.” His tone was condescending. “So don’t strain your little brain.” He waved a hand in front of your face. “I never bothered to meet you personally, I had more important things to do like…” He trailer off, trying to find the words. “Nothing really, but I’ve been watching you. And let me tell you, that little stunt you pulled when you let that friend of yours escape… what was her name? You used to call her something like Naomi or something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lied, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Nonie.” He smirked, knowing he had your full attention. “Yes, that’s right, because she was anonymous. Brave of you, really, but also quite foolish. She stayed for you, you know? Even after you freed her; she stayed around in the woods and brought John Winchester straight to you, so that he could save you. And what did she get in the end? She was burned alive.”

Your breath caught in your lungs at his words, confirming that the man in front of you wasn’t just some crazy idiot on the streets harassing women. He knew about Nonie, a secret you always kept for yourself (one of the many) and that meant he knew far more than what you were comfortable with. And you still had no idea of who he was or where he came from.

The pain of his revelation hit you like a punch to the gut. Not that you had ever held out much hope for Nonie, considering she had been turned into a Wendigo, but you had convinced yourself to believe that perhaps, somehow, she found some form of peace. Hearing that she was dead, though, was like a knife to the heart. She had been your first and only friend, or the closest thing you had to one, for most of your life.

“What do you want from me?“

“Your loyalty.” He answered, the serious you had seen him all night.

You let out an honest chuckled at that, which only made him roll his eyes. “You want me to be loyal to you? I only just met you and, frankly, you’re not exactly making a great first impression.”

He smirked, unfazed by your sarcasm. “I don’t need to make a good impression, my dear, I just need you to understand that we can help each other. We can make a deal, right here and right now, and I’ll explain everything to you. Starting with the truth about Ella White.”

You hated to admit that you took a moment to consider his offer, truly, the second he mentioned that woman. He did seem to know a lot of things, but you didn’t know him and you didn’t trust him. “Listen, not trying to sound rude here, but get lost.” You finally said him, even if a part of you was burning to know what he was talking about. “You’ve been creepy this whole time saying that you watched me when I was younger and now you want to be buddies?” You raised a brow at his nonsense.

“Not buddies, partners. You know, work together, be a team.” He clarified. “You don’t even know how many things we can accomplish together, we’d have everyone at our feet - do you not want that? Imagine, just imagine, how it could be like to rule the living and the dead.” His green eyes were locked into you as he talked, getting close to you.

“You sound like a dictator. I hate dictators.” You answered. “And if you don’t leave me alone I’ll put a bullet right between your eyebrows.”

He laughed at what you said, and your crossed your arms under your chest quite offended. “You’re funny, girl, I’ll give you that. But if you want to kill me, I think a simple gun won’t do it. It’s not your lucky day.” He said, faking an apologetic tone.

“You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“It’s not important.” He replied dismissively. “I’ll give you time to think about my offer, kid.” With a casual shrug, he began to walk past you.

Your eyes refused to leave his figure, and you were conflicted whether to follow him or not. Not because you wanted to accept his weird offer, but because he was clearly involved somehow and letting him go didn’t seem like the smartest choice. But you had a feeling that your paths would cross again.

“I already said no.” You called after him, raising your voice slightly.

He paused, turning his head slightly to glance back at you. “Go ask Dean Winchester why he agreed to work on this case.” He said cryptically. “And then you might change your mind, I’ll make sure to be there when you do.”

You furrowed your brows, puzzled by his words - but even what he said earlier didn’t make more sense than that. What did Dean have anything to do with this? And why was this stranger so confident that you would eventually change your mind? Sure, Dean hadn’t been exactly the most cooperative person in the last couple of days, but he was making it look as if you couldn’t trust him.

“And before I forget,” He added suddenly. “You might want to go take a look at the bar down the road, see if you can find something interesting, take it as a little help from me.” With that, he turned and walked away. You swore that he vanished as soon as you blinked, but that was impossible… wasn’t it?

Your feet moved before your brain could properly process his words, and you started to head towards the place he told you to go to. It’s true you didn’t have positive vibes regarding that man whose name you didn’t know, but so far he only said things you knew were real, more or less, so you thought it wasn’t a bad idea to go see for yourself what he was referring to.

You hurried down the streets, the sounds of laughter and clicking glasses growing louder as you approached. Hesitating at the entrance, you took a deep breath before pushing the wooden door open, the little bell above it chiming softly. The noise went unnoticed by most of the people in there, except two men who glanced your way and left the second you entered.

The smell of alcohol and smoke was thick, but you ignored it as you scanned the room. No familiar faces met your gaze, and some doubts began to creep in. Perhaps the most logical reason was that the stranger had been toying with you all along. You shook your head, feeling foolish for trusting him even for a moment. Turning to leave, you prepared to step back into the street hoping to not meet any other idiot that was going to mess with your ideas.

Except that then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar face sitting alone in the farthest corner of the room.

Bucky Barnes. He was hunched over a drink, his eyes low as he watched the liquid twirl before taking a sip of it. Relief washed over you upon seeing that he was unharmed, but it was quickly replaced by that very same anger you had for the whole day. He had left you worried this whole time while he was there, drinking his problems away - and he didn’t have the excuse of being drunk because you knew it was physically impossible for him to be.

You weaved your way through the crowded bar, your eyes firm on him. With each step closer he seemed to feel your presence, as he looked up from his glass his eyes found yours in no time. His posture visibly stiffened and a flicker of surprise crossed his face as you dropped into the chair across from him, not so kindly.

“Nice to see you too.” He muttered, barely glancing up.

“You left me worried sick.” You snapped, your voice low but intense in order not to have people overhear the conversation. “I called and texted thinking the worst had happened and you were here drinking? What the fuck is your problem?”

“I needed some time alone, alright?” He said dismissively, taking another sip.

“Time alone?” You scoffed. “You could have at least let me know you were okay, for fuck’s sake. Cassandra said some hurtful things while, mind you, she was scared for her life and you disappeared for hours? We have a damn case to solve, Bucky, people are counting on us.”

He shrugged, still not meeting your eyes. “Believe it or not, I have been working. Didn’t think it mattered whether you knew or not.”

“Didn’t think it-” You cut yourself off, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We’re a team, Bucky. When one of us bails, if affects everyone. We lost a day because apparently I’m paired up with people that run away when things aren’t convenient anymore.”

“How did you even find me?” He tilted his head, ignoring your outburst. “You have the worst sense of orientation I’ve ever seen. Didn’t know you knew the city.”

“I don’t, a man told me where you were.”

“A man?” He raised a brow, his skepticism evident. “You made new friends already? That’s great, honey. Socializing is good for you.”

You blinked a few times, taken aback at his nonchalance. You had just told him that a stranger had essentially been following him, and that was his reaction? His dismissive attitude left your dumbfounded to say the least.

“You’re getting on my nerves.” You said, your patience wearing thin. Not that it was great before.

“Do you know how to get back home?” He asked, not even being fazed by what you said.

“Yes.” You responded, barely masking your irritation.

“Then go.” He said, waving you off. “I’ll get back later.”

He glanced to his left, and your eyes followed his gaze. You immediately understood the reason behind his attitude, and you were not happy in the slightest about it. Dalia emerged from the bathroom, heading straight to your table.

Now that you looked down, you noticed two glasses of whiskey instead of one, and one of them had lipstick mark on it. Of course, that made sense.

“Harry.” She said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t know your wife was going to join us tonight.” Her fake smile grated on your nerves.

“She was just about to leave, actually.” Bucky said, giving you a look that clearly said, ‘do as I say.’ “Isn’t that right, honey?”

You felt a surge of anger at his blatant disregard, clenching your jaw at the way he was acting and at the way she was smirking. “Sure.” You replied sarcastically, standing up. “After all, I wouldn’t want to ruin the night.”

Dalia’s smirk widened as she slid into your seat not even a second after you moved, not hiding the fact she was happy you would leave. “So nice of you, Jade. You know, me and your husband have a lot in common, I might steal him from you.” She chuckled at her own words.

You narrowed your eyes at Dalia’s taunting remark, her words grating on your last nerve. “Ah, good luck with that.” You retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure you’ll have a blast with his mood changes.”

Bucky shot you a glare, but you ignored it. “Sweetheart.” He said, the nickname anything but sweet. “Get home safe, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, I promise I’ll be nice to him.” Dalia chimed in, leaning back on the chair. “Or not.” She added, winking at him.

You gritted your teeth, struggling to maintain your composure at her clearly flirting with your fake husband. “Have fun.” You simply muttered out, noticing how Bucky stopped meeting your gaze a while ago - instead, he was looking at his empty glass of whiskey.

“We will.” She said, waving at you with that annoying smile on her face.

You turned on your heel and headed towards the door, ignoring the tension in the air behind you. As you stepped out, into the cool night air, a mixture of frustration and hurt made their way in your stomach. You didn’t know why you were feeling so pissed at her being there with him, but you imagined it was because he had been doing God knows what all day with the neighbor’s daughter when you had a fucking case to solve.

Pushing aside your emotions, you finally walked back home hoping to remember the way to go there, walking quickly to put as much distance as you could between yourself and the scene inside the bar.

To think you were actually starting to like the guy now that your issues were kind of solved, but maybe Bucky wasn’t really the right person you wanted as a friend if he was willing to jeopardize the mission for a woman he met a few days ago.

You finally arrived home, the exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulder as you shut close the door behind you. Tossing your coat onto the couch still completely in the dark, since you were too drained to bother with the lights, all you craved was a shower and some sleep due to the late hour and the events of the day. However, it seemed that fate had other plans.

As you made your way towards the stairs, the doorbell pierced the silence. With a scoff, you retraced your steps and swung the the door open, only to be met with the sight of the infuriating man in black, his grin widening at the sight of your irritation.

“I told you he was having fun.” He remarked, relishing in your obvious displeasure. “Did I not?”

“More than me for sure.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well… men are weak. Give them a beautiful woman and they’ll forget about their duties. If you need help, real help with this case, I’m offering it. You just need to say yes.”

“No.” You said again, firmly.

“You’re as stubborn as your mother.”

Your heart stopped at that. “My- my what?”

“Mother.” He repeated casually as if dropping that bombshell on you was just another walk in the park for him. “What? Did you think you popped out of nowhere?” He grinned, using the knowledge he had about your past - past you didn’t even know - to manipulate you into joining him.

You struggled to find the right words to respond, but your brain couldn’t process anything concrete.

“Oh, I’ve got your attention for real now, don’t I? Little Emma wants to know about her mother more than you want help for this case. Selfish, I love it.”

You met his gaze with steely silence, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging he was right. He had been right the whole time, if we want to be honest, and in the back of your mind you kept thinking about his words as if there was a little devil on your shoulder that was telling you to listen to him. It was clear now that he knew how to find you, who you were and what you wanted… which wasn’t really great news.

You simply shut the door on his face, and you hoped for a moment of peace - but even that was short lived. The doorbell chimed once more, prompting you to hurry back, only this time you had your gun in hand, ready to get rid of the stranger once and for all.

As you opened the door again with your finger firmly on the trigger, you quickly realized that there was no need to use violence that time. Instead, you lowered your hand with clear surprise and relief on your face, your expression softening as you took the unexpected sight before you.

“Woah, calm down.” A familiar voice remarked, her eyebrows raised at your defensive stance. “A bit on edge, are we? Let me in and explain everything, I’m here to help.”

“Natasha.” You greeted, moving aside to let her in.

Finally someone who didn’t get on your nerves.

[absentcigarettes]

Whiskey Through Anger

Relationship: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith

Word Count: 6751

Summary: Arthur near pitied the women who'd slept with Charles. He confused pity for envy. charles is mad bcs of the poachers who killed the bison, Arthur cheers him up by lending him his ass

Note: was my first time writing smut so it may be cringe. also it's completely un-beta'd so it might have mistakes

read on ao3

I need a drink.

That was the first thing Charles had thought after leaving the hunter bastards' camp. It was likely the only thing that would take his mind off of the merciless cruelty imposed upon those poor bison. It would also distract him from the unneglectable urge within him to hunt down the man who'd paid those poachers himself. That- and a quick fuck. Preferably with one of the saloon girls. The prostitutes would work, but most of them weren't as appealing to Charles; most looking for rich men rather than a good time. And it did well for Charles's ego whenever he successfully wooed the women into sleeping with him. On the way to Valentine, he'd suddenly remembered Taima's need to be brushed and fed. So with the most miniscule amount of sense left in his mind that had thankfully not been overtaken by the rumbling rage travelling through his veins, he turned back and rode towards camp.

He leaned against a tree, beside the horse's hitching posts, awaiting Taima's return from the lakeside. Earlier, he'd decided to settle for a quick shave. If he was gonna fuck, may as well be presentable. He shaved frequently but not daily; he wasn't into the scraggly, unkempt beards most men in the gang had. Except Arthur. That man could make anything Charles found revolting to be absolutely alluring.

Taima had returned, as he knew she would. "Here, girl.." He reached his hand out, to which she happily nestled her head in the palm of his hand. He felt his fury dissipate.

Until Micah came.

"Darkie!" The rough shrill of his voice called, "Where's your boyfriend?" Boyfriend. A nickname begun by Dutch to tease Arthur as he'd been seen frequently hanging around Charles more often. It ain't helped that they'd barely ever spoken up 'til Colter and that Charles rarely hung out with people. At best, he drank with Javier and John. Any other interaction with the gang members weren't personal. He didn't mind the nickname. But Arthur sure did, and that stung somehow.

"Excuse me?" His fury returned.

Micah leaned nearer, "You deaf, redskin?" He snarled, shoving him back. Charles could smell the nauseating toxins released from his mouth; Micah's breath was worse than a pile of rotting corpses.

Charles shoved Micah back. Harder. Micah fell back, knocking over the wooden crates behind him, as well as everything on them. The sound of the gang's belongings clattering on the dirt caused heads to turn in their direction. With the tip of his boot, he'd kicked Micah hard in the stomach, "Fuck." Another kick, "You." One final blow.

He considered spitting on him, but decided against it. He wouldn't resort to such feeble means to take his anger out.

"Let's go, girl," He said to Taima, jumping on his horse, who neighed in agreement before galloping away.

"Gimme a whiskey." He'd barged into the saloon and sat at the counter. The bartender was often friendly with Charles; despite the short time they'd been there, Charles had frequented going there to drink with Javier and at times, uninvited imbeciles such as Bill and when really unlucky- Uncle. Instead of striking up a conversation, as Charles usually would to pass the time, he stared at the bartender with dark eyes, expectantly awaiting his drink. It was evident that he was in a sour mood, so a glass was poured and served swiftly and without a word.

He took the sip, taking pleasure in how the burn in his throat so effectively distracted him from the seething wrath consuming him. Stirring the clear bronze liquid with his finger, he couldn't help but remember how he'd confronted those poachers. The anger that had overtaken him in that moment. The loud blast of the gunshot he'd heard after subconsciously shooting a dent in the man's face. He didn't regret it.

Suddenly, he remembered the cowardly pleas of the second poacher. How much he took pleasure in watching the man squirm. And suddenly- Arthur stepped in.

Arthur.

Oh, how his heart softened for that man.

He'd regretted yelling at him for letting the pathetic bastard go. He was always much more of a better man than Charles could ever be. Through his blind hatred, he couldn't think right, but there Arthur was. Returning to him his sight and helping him retrieve his mind- though, simultaneously overtaking his heart. After having first laid eyes on him back in Blackwater, the snarky cowboy with wits as well as beauty- he could never stop looking at him. For him. Whenever he'd leave Charles's line of sight, his eyes would instinctually begin to search for the man once more. He remembered wandering around the area for no particular reason but to catch a glimpse of him. At the time, he wasn't the kind to drink often, but whenever he was asked to tag along and told that Arthur would follow, he accepted immediately.

Pathetic. He thought. How delusional.

The man would never love him. He knew this. If by some miracle Arthur Morgan, the Van der Linde gang's best shot and toughest member, somehow held interest for the male sex, there was absolutely no way in hell he'd choose Charles.

It was enough for him that he could be considered a friend to Arthur. He was satisfied.

His solution to escape from his anger led him to wallowing in self-pitiful sorrow. Far worse than anger.

When the whiskey reduced to drops, he requested a second glass. Feeling his temper cooling, he sighed. Maybe time for that fuck.

A rough voice came, one he'd recognise anywhere: "I knew I'd find you here!" A slap on the back.

"Arthur." He near smiled.

The cowboy took a seat beside him and requested a beer. Charles took a sip, placing the glass down with a thud, "What are you doing here?"

His drink was served and Arthur took a sip. A smile played on his lips, "Heard a friend of mine were here. Unfortunately, it was you."

Though he knew Arthur joked often, he couldn't help the thought that lingered telling him it wasn't a joke. "Come on. Really."

"Well," Another sip, "I'd been searchin' for you."

"Hm?" He felt his cheeks heat up.

"Yeah, after I'd looted them bastards' camp, I rode back home. Thought you'd be there but all I'd seen were a very mad Micah." Arthur grinned, knowing damn well who caused Micah's well-deserved fury, "Second place I'd thought you'd be was here. Drownin' your anger in whiskey."

"You know me well." Charles smiled, taking a sip of whiskey.

"'Course i do."

Arthur accompanied him throughout the evening, 'til the sun had set and the customers increased. He provided a very welcome distraction for Charles from his foul mind and Charles was grateful.

The words they spoke became slurred and he couldn't help but notice how Arthur's lips turned more pink and how visible the flush on his cheeks were. They were both drunk. He knew that.

He hadn't drunken enough to puke his guts out or haze his vision 'til all he saw were distorting waves. But he was drunk enough for his lust to take over. Something that always happened when he drank and it certainly didn't help that right beside him was the man he oh so desperately craved for. They sat close. Too close. Charles could smell the wooden scent of his soap as well as the smell of cigarette smoke that lingered within his clothes. The whiff of whiskey on his breath, as he'd purchased a bottle for both him and Charles.

It didn't help the erection growing in his pants that their knees kept touching. And it certainly didn't help that Arthur was one touchy fella. Every few minutes a hand was placed on his thigh, shoulder or knee. It lingered a few seconds longer than natural that Charles nearly would've thought it was intentional if he didn't know any better.

When intoxicated he spoke his mind. It took a mighty amount of effort with the little composure he had left to prevent himself from yelling out his desire to fuck his closest friend. Instead he said, "I need a fuck."

Arthur stopped, "Don't wanna drink no more?"

"Mm.. not really."

"Really. Not enjoying my company?" He teased. God, of course he was.

"I always enjoy your company, Arthur," He said, slurring slightly. "But unless I can fuck you, I don't think I can sit here much longer. I'm still mad about this afternoon. Can't be sittin' here anymore- shit- I'd probably fuck you if I did." Fuck. Why would he say that. Why did he say that. Fuck fuck fuck.

The words Charles had uttered sent a spark down the pit of Arthur's stomach. Surely he didn't mean it like that. He was drunk. But then- so was Arthur. So he swallowed, "I wouldn't mind." The words come out before Arthur can stop them.

That had to be the alcohol talking, right? There would be no way in hell, that Arthur Morgan would ever say such a thing. Even if Charles was lucky enough to be blessed with the chance of even touching Arthur's bare torso- he wouldn't even dare to in fear of causing Arthur even the slightest bit of discomfort.

But.. Then again, he may never get such an opportunity again. Was Arthur bluffing? Or was it the whiskey. God, he couldn't think straight.

Finally he spoke, "What.." A pause, "What do you mean?"

He didn't dare look at Arthur.

Despite the bustle and laughter of the drunkards behind them and the sound of drinks being poured into glasses continuously, all that surrounded them was the awkward noise of silence. He looked at Arthur, surprised to find a prominent flush painted upon his cheeks, intentionally avoiding Charles's gaze, "I-" He cleared his throat, "A..As long as it'll help you."

Silence.

"Help me?"

A nod.

"You know what that means, Arthur?"

He swallowed. Another nod.

They sat in silence for a bit before Charles spoke, "Okay."

"..." Arthur chugged down his whiskey, "Okay."

Suddenly they were upstairs. In a room they'd rented, with Charles's large frame pressed up against Arthur's, pinning him against the door. With their mouths pressed together, moving messily in terrible synergy. Wet and sloppy as saliva ran down their chins. Their hands running across eachothers' bodice in desperation, eager for the most meager amount of contact. Charles's hands running down Arthur's sides and Arthur intertwining his own hands into Charles's hair, tangling the once straight strands and tugging at the scalp.

Immediately after renting a room they'd headed upstair, uncaring of the eyes that may have followed them nor the whispers that could've trailed behind. Once in said room, the door slammed and Arthur was shoved up against the door, Charles's lips crashing into his with drunken desire. Catching Arthur by surprise, taken aback by his aggressive passion. He didn't know what to do except melt into the sensation and oh. Oh, how good it felt. The way Charles kissed him was- he'd never been kissed like that before. Charles kissed him with hunger. With need. As if he were a man who'd starved for so very long and it was only Arthur who could satiate that hunger.

Charles placed a knee in between Arthur's thigh causing the man to break the kiss, eliciting a moan from him, "F-Fuc...k," He whispered. God, the sound was heaven. He couldn't believe this moment was real. That Arthur Morgan himself was so near. Pressed up against him in such a vulnerable position. He connected their lips once more, pushing his tongue into the man's open mouth causing Arthur to groan into the kiss. God, he was perfect.

Charles broke the kiss and stared at Arthur. His lips reddened and lustrous, slightly parted as Arthur panted heavily. Beautiful.

Leaning in once more, Charles pressed his lips upon his jaw. Trailing his jawline with kisses a small nips, down to his neck and collarbone. Arthur whimpered from receiving Charles's not so gentle bites and sucks. He wanted more.

"Arthur.." He hummed, leaving marks upon his collarbone.

"Y-yeah?"

"You're doing this to help me.. right?" He sucked another mark onto his terribly sunkissed skin.

He swallowed, "Y..es.

"Good.." He whispered, his voice low and sweet, dripping of luscious, sweetened syrup, it made Arthur feel something he hadn't felt before and he absolutely loved it. "Get on your knees."

"What?"

Charles caught a hint of doubt hidden among his words. He kissed his jaw, "You sure about this.. right?" He whispered, "You can still back out.." It was the last sober part of himself that spoke. He knew once they'd gone farther he would've been far too intoxicated by Arthur to stop.

"Yes." Arthur whispered, low and breathy.

"Good.. On your knees, Arthur." Arthur did as told.

He ran a hand through Arthur's hair in admiration, taking in every bit of the man. His eyes peering up to stare at Charles, his cheeks so very flushed and his lips. God. His lips. "Good boy.." He spoke. The praise sent a terribly satisfying warmth down the pit of Arthur's stomach.

Charles could feel his erection hardening at the sight of the man. Arthur watched as the man undid his belt, unbuttoning his pants, his eyes widening when they caught sight of the beast of Charles's cock. The length was slightly over average, nothing special but fuck, the girth. He near pitied the women who'd slept with Charles. He confused pity for envy.

He flushed. Beginning to understand what Charles wanted. "Charles.."

"Yes, Arthur?" Charles traced his jaw, tilting his head further upwards.

"I.. I ain't ever done this before.."

A force tugged upon Charles's lips. He smiled, "Don't worry, I'll guide you.."

A nod from Arthur.

"Use your mouth, love. Hands too. Just lick it, suck it.. yeah.. like that." Love. He'd never called him that before.

Arthur placed a hand at the base of the cock. Fuck, it was huge. He could barely wrap his hand around it. He swirled his tongue around the tip, flicking at it once in a while, simultaneously pumping at the base. He mouthed the sides of the prick before enclosing his lips around the head of his cock. A groan escaped Charles's lips, encouraging Arthur to continue. He tried hard to remember how women he'd been with in his past did it to him but it was so long ago he'd forgotten.

Pushing his head down further he felt the tip of the cock hit the back of his throat, he fought hard not to gag, pushing the cock down his throat 'till his nose was buried in the man's pubes.

"God, you're so beautiful.." Charles whispered. Arthur felt his own erection growing as he pulled his head back and forth, gagging on his cock each time. It felt so good. He never would've thought he could get off on choking on another man's cock but Charles made it feel so good. The hand tangled in his hair began to grip harder, taking control of Arthur's motions as it forced Arthur's head up and and down. The cock hitting the back of his throat repeatedly made him gag. Arthur choked. Tried to pull back but Charles wouldn't let him, thrusting into his mouth as if he was nothing but a hole to relieve himself in.

Fuck, the thought made him harder.

His eyes rolled back as he choked on the cock, allowing Charles to take complete control as he relished in the his groans. "Fuck, fuck.. fuck, You're so good Arthur, so good for me. I'm gonna cum Arthur. Stay put for me, sweet thing.." Charles pushed his head down hard on his cock, not releasing the vigorous grip he had on Arthur. The man moaned, sending vibrations across his cock as he felt the hot, sticky liquid spill down his throat. Finally Charles let go, Arthur pulling back, panting hard as Charles's spend dripped down his chin. His lips reddened from the friction and his tongue stuck out with drool hanging off of it. His eyes glassy and face flushed. The sight was obscene. It nearly made Charles hard again.

"Arthur.." Charles sighed, his heart near implosion from the bliss of this moment. He pulled him up, pressing their lips together as they moved messily in poor attempts of synchronised rhythm. Through sloppily sensuous movements, Arthur panting in-between each slow motion. They stumbled towards the bed, Charles pushing Arthur not so gently down on the thin, old mattress. Finally he pulled away. Arthur panted, "D.. Did I do well?" His voice rasped.

God.. How adorable, "Yes, Arthur," He smiled, pressing a kiss upon his nose, "You were so good Arthur.. So good for me.."

The words unleashed a whine from Arthur, his cock pressing so hard against the fabric of his pants he feared the cloth would tear. Suddenly a palm rubbed at his groin. The moan Arthur let out was more than shameful. He covered his mouth with both hands, embarrassed of the volume of the sound.

"Don't cover your mouth," Charles whispered, palming harder between his thighs, "C'mon.. you made me feel so good, Arthur.. Tell me what I can do for you."

Arthur flushed, he didn't expect to receive any pleasure from this- though, in truth being this intimate with Charles was already far more pleasuring than anything he could ever have in his sad life. But he'd expected to help Charles release stress, doing anything Charles wanted, and once done he'd shamefully jerk off in silence with the thought of Charles's body above his (however far they'd go,) to help him relieve himself.

"I-It's fine Charles. I'm helpin' you get off, you don't gotta worry 'bout me."

"Yeah, but what if getting you off is what gets me off?" He spoke, pressing kisses across his clothed thighs.

"Then.. go ahead."

"Take off your clothes, sweetheart." Fuck, these pet names were getting out of hand. Arthur was enjoying them far too much.

He did as Charles said. With the cold air hitting his freckled skin, he couldn't help but feel so ashamed. Of his body and how turned off Charles might be. He felt too exposed. Charles just stared at him, his eyes never leaving, his gaze never faltering. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did he just fuck it up? Was Charles so disgusted by his body he couldn't even utter a measly syllable out of his soft, soft lips? Fuck. Of course. He's such an ugly fuckin' bastard, no wonder-

"You're beautiful, Arthur."

"Huh?" He must've misheard him.

"God, Arthur.." He spoke as if breathless, "You're so perfect." He kissed him. Slow and steady, as if trying to take in all of Arthur. As if this moment was going to end if he didnt do so. God, he hoped it'd never end. "You're so beautiful." He whispered, leaving a trail of kisses down to his throbbing, weeping cock as he whispered bits of praise and words of affections. Arthur nearly believed it.

"Have you ever done before, Arthur?" He spoke lowly against his unclothed thighs, sending scalding reverberations across his lightly haired skin.

"Not.. Not with a man, no." He slurred, the effects of the whiskey still weighing heavily upon him, stirring his mind into a hazed blur as it rushed all the blood from there to his cock.

"You do this frequently, then? With women?"

"No, not- not in a long while now."

Arthur gazed blearily at the man whose face had been positioned between his thighs, aware of how vulnerable this position was for himself- as well as how it was so terribly tantalising.

"You," He broke the silence, "You done this before? With men?"

"Yeah. Not too often but it isn't anything too rare."

"I ain't thought you were the kind."

"What kind?"

"Y'know, the-"

"Cocksucking kind?"

Arthur flushed at his bluntness, "Well.. Yeah."

"I don't mind sucking cock. Don't mind fucking anyone with one too. As long as the holes attached to a warm body, I don't mind."

"So I'm just another warm body to you?" Arthur teased, though his heart near cracked open at the thought.

You're so much more than that, Arthur. Charles thought to himself. And his drunk self said exactly that as he pressed more kisses along his jawline, Arthur flushing at the words.

"So- how does this work? Sex with two men."

"One of 'em takes it up the ass."

Arthur's eyes went so wide, Charles feared it'd remain that way.

"And you.." Arthur muttered, "You took it up the ass before?" He asked in hopes of there being a chance he wouldn't have to take Charles's horse cock up his ass.

"Never. The other guys always just happened to want me to do them."

"Oh.." He didn't really like thinking of Charles and other men. Other people.

He opened his mouth to speak before Charles did so, "You don't have to take it up the ass. You already made me feel good, I just want to do the same, Arthur."

In truth he did want to take Arthur in the ass. He wanted to fuck the man so hard he begged for more. He wanted to fuck him into the bed. Hard enough that the rusted springs of the lumpy mattress no longer worked. He wanted the man to forget his own name and for the only thing left, engraved in his mind would be how good Charles made him feel. Oh, how he wanted to ruin the man.

The last sober part of himself had fought every other terribly, drunkenly lusted part of his body saying those few words. Though in truth he did want to pleasure Arthur. It was just that he wanted to fuck him while doing so.

"Will it hurt?" Arthur's raspy voice came.

"What?"

"If I.. took it.. there. Would it hurt?"

"Not if I do it right."

"Okay."

"Okay..?"

"Lord, Charles- Are y'gon'make me say it?"

A smile drew upon his lips, "I wasn't. But now I am."

"You're a bastard, Mr. Smith."

"Bold choice of words for the man who holds your precious orgasm in the palm of his hand."

"You make it sound like a threat. I don't need you to get me off." He spat.

"Really.." Charles leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of Arthur's ear, "You really think I can't just tie you up? Leave you here, splayed out on the bed for whoever comes next. Your lassos right on the ground, at my disposal." The words sent all the blood to his cock, it cried for release as it leaked precum upon Arthur's belly. Charles reached a hand down, rubbing a calloused thumb over the head of the cock, "You like that, Arthur? If I tied you up with your own lasso. While your cock's begging to be touched. Weeping for release. You like that? If I left you here for someone else to find. Someone else to fuck." Charles was bluffing, anyone else who tried to fuck Arthur- let alone touch him wouldn't still be alive to try anything.

"Christ, Charles." He breathed. Each word had sent a shiver that travelled down to his cock, "I want you to fuck me."

"Really. Where are your manners?"

"Please." He gritted out, "Please fuck me, Charles."

"So sweet, aren't you, Arthur?"

Arthur merely rolled his eyes in response.

Charles travelled downwards. Trailing kisses down his neck. Down his torso and up to his ass. Purposefully avoiding the man's terribly hardened cock as he whined for friction. He pressed kisses around the man's puckered hole, earning sweet, sweet moans that'd leaked out of the man's sweet, sweet lips.

Suddenly, his tongue begun to stretch the man's tight ring of muscle, earning a sharp gasp from Arthur. He was invading uncharted territory, savouring the sounds Arthur made and how beautifully his body reacted each time his tongue moved around within him.

Finally he'd pulled away, earning a loud whine from the man writhing beneath him. Grabbing the back of his knees, spreading them further open, he spat on his hole, making a mess as he coated the spit around the hole with his fingers. A finger doused in spit pressed up against his hole, "I'm putting a finger in, Arthur."

Arthur nodded before feeling something stretch him out. The burning sensation was not enough for the man to tell him to stop. It didn't hurt, but it sure as hell hadn't felt good. Why any man would willingly want this was completely unfathomable. But then- if the man was doing it with Charles Smith, he wouldn't mind.

"Does it hurt?" He whispered, pushing the digit in and out of the hole in slow, unhurried motions, taking care not to hurt the man.

Arthur hated being treated so- kindly. So properly taken care of, as if he were something fragile- something worthy of care. It made him feel so pathetic. "No. Put another finger in."

Charles merely hummed in response, slipping out the digit before swiftly pushing two fingers deep within him. Thrusting inwards and out, he kept wondering whether the men who enjoyed taking it up the ass were delusional. No way in hell could this have felt good-

Oh. Oh.

This was good.

"A-Ah.. More- there, Charles." He whined, it felt too good for him to be ashamed of the near ludicrous sounds he let out. Curling his thick fingers upwards, Charles massaged the man's sweet spot, splitting both fingers apart, scissoring him from within as he stretched him apart.

Briskly, he pulled out both fingers and pushed them back in, along with an additional digit as he spread them all out, stretching him out so well the uncomfortably pleasurable burn had morphed into a terribly intensified pleasure. He wasn't aware of the sounds he'd made, all he could focus on was how much Charles's perfect fingers stretched him out.

It wasn't enough. He wanted more.

"Fuck me Charles. P-Please, I need you."

"So polite now, Arthur.." He could hear the smile in Charles's tone as he felt him press more kisses around his collarbone.

"Please, Charles.."

"Since you asked so nicely."

He pulled his fingers out, soaked and wet with his own fluids. Swiftly, he pulled off his shirt and spat on his own cock, aligning its length in-between Arthur's flawlessly imperfect ass cheeks. It rubbed against his hole, he couldn't wait anymore- he felt so empty. So- So-

Full.

Fuck..

Charles had pushed all the way in, from the head to base, he took it all in. He forgot the girth of the man's cock, how thick and heavy it'd laid on his tongue earlier. Fuck. It stretched him out. His cock rubbed at the walls of his ass, just grazing upon his prostate. "Fuck, you're tight.." Charles groaned, placing a hand under his knee, rubbing circles upon the skin with the pad of his thumb in attempts of comfort, "Relax, love.. Just tell me to stop and I will." Arthur nodded.

Despite feeling Arthur relax around his cock, the warmth enveloping him still felt as if it was clenching around him. Threatening him to stay, restraining him from pulling out.

"I'm going to move now, Arthur." Another nod.

Slowly, he pulled out and slowly, he pushed in. Repeating these motions 'till he felt the man completely relax around him. He picked up the pace, thrusting in faster. Harder. Arthur began to whine loudly. Too loud.

Charles moved his legs which had previously wrapped loosely around his hips, upwards. His shoulders just beneath Arthur's knees. The position allowed Charles to hit deeper within him. Every brutal thrust inwards inflicted such terrible abuse upon Arthur's bruised prostate. Arthur loved every bit of it.

Pushing Arthur's knees against his chest, near folding him half, he whispered to the man, "Quiet down, Arthur. We can't have people hearing your sweet noises, now can we?"

Arthur merely babbled incoherent syllables before clamping his hands over his mouth. Adorable.

He hadn't assumed Arthur to take him so literally.

"You're so beautiful, Arthur.." He repeated for likely the millionth time during their encounter. Taking in Arthur's beautifully flushed and freckled face along with his beautifully glassy eyes as tears spilled out of them. He pressed kisses along those tears, tasting the salt on his lips, "So, so beautiful.." He whispered, burying his face in the crook of the man's neck, sucking and biting at his neck, leaving bruises and marks, that he was sure wouldn't leave for at least a week.

Arthur unclasped his hands from his mouth, "Ch-Charles, I-I'm- I'm gonna-"

"Go ahead, sweetheart.." He mumbled into his skin.

Arthur's moans grew louder and far more risqué as he wrapped his arms around the back of Charles's neck. "A-Ah! More, more, Charles! Pl..ease- There! Right there!"

As his pleas grew needier, his whines grew more lubricious. His intensifying grip around his neck reminding Charles of his strength. Despite how strong the man was, he submitted so willingly to Charles. Oh, how he loves the man.

Nearing his release, he let out louder cries that practically flooded the enclosed space, he didn't bother to silence Arthur, now uncaring of the possibility of them both being hanged if someone were to discover the intimacy of the position the were in. Instead, he revelled in the sweet symphony of his whines, his cries and his moans. He relished in the scent of sweat coating Arthur's olive skin and the sweet scent of sex as he fucked faster and harder into Arthur.

Hot, white cum spurted in-between their bodies. Onto Arthur's abdomen and Charles's toned belly. Dazing through Arthur's post-orgasm haze, he didn't feel Charles stop. Instead he fucked him harder. Faster. Arthur felt like he was going to burst from such overstimulation, "C-Charles, a-ahh, stop! Stop, stop, stop please- it's, it's too much!" But he didn't stop. Instead, a hand wrapped around his worn out cock, pumping it hard as his erection reformed.

"You can take it, Arthur.. You promised to make me feel good, didn't you?" He continued fucking him, rubbing hard on the terribly sensitive crown of his cock.

"Yes- Yes, Charles.." He moaned, "A-Ahh- I can't cum no more, Charles! Please-"

"You can, love.. C'mon.."

Arthur merely whined in response, squirming powerlessly beneath him. It was all too much. Everything felt like too much. Arthur soon felt his orgasm bubbling up as Charles fisted his once-again hardened cock. Feeling Charles pounding harshly within him whilst pumping his cock was too much- He was gonna- gonna-

"I-I'm gonna cum, Arthur.." He heard the low pitch of Charles's voice.

"M-Me too." He forced out, lacking the mundane ability to string together proper sentences due to having his brains fucked out by the man above him.

He let out the loudest moan known to man. It near shook the entire saloon but he was far too fucked out to be embarrassed of the noise. The man was utterly debauched.

The warmth of Charles nearly depleted as he felt the man about to pull out before he wrapped his legs tighter around him, "Cum- inside.."

The sight of Arthur was enough to make Charles heed his plea without a thought. He hummed, fucking him harder as he chased his release.

Finally- through his own orgasm, he felt a warm, viscous liquid released inside him. It felt so good. His load felt never ending, it continued to spurt out all over his ass after Charles pulled out. Such a position should've made him feel degraded, pathetic, instead- he felt completely raptured. The feeling of Charles's semen all over him nearly made him hard again.

Staring at his own thick cum spilling out of Arthur's so very reddened and swollened asshole, the white droplets sliding the bruised skin of both his inner and outer thighs that pressed so tightly together. He couldn't help but admire the work he'd done.

His eyes trailed upwards from Arthur's terribly abused hole to his wonderfully rubescent face; taking in how his eyes brimmed with saltwater as they so gracefully fell down his rosy, freckled cheeks. As if he'd lost himself in the mere sight on Arthur. In his red, swollened lips; glistening and nitid, wet from their shared , sloppy kisses. They parted slightly, taking in shallow breaths, panting from the sex mere moments before.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" Arthur spoke, his voice raspy, never-changing.

"Like what?" Charles responded breathlessly.

"Like you wanna goddam' eat me." A chuckle from Charles.

"Maybe I do." He pushed apart Arthur's bruised thighs and leaned into him, pressing more kisses at his already purpling jaw. "Charles Smith." He whispered, his tone meaning to be teasing but coming out broken and breathy.

"Arthur Morgan." He said in response at the shell of the man's ear.

Charles rolled off of Arthur, laying at his side. "I can't believe that just happened." Charles sighed ever-so blissfully, as if all his troubles had just been washed away and the sex they just had had granted him the secrets of eternal life.

"Y'mean- the fuckin'? Or the fact that it was with a man."

"The fact that it was with you."

"Oh." Arthur's eyes began to avoid his gaze, his cheeks beginning to redden as he muttered several minor words, "I can't believe it too well either."

"Y'know.." Charles turned to him, a hand reaching out to trace his cheekbone with his knuckles, "I've been wantin' this for so long now."

"You're kiddin'"

"Not at all." He swallowed, the alcohol that continued to coarse through his veins gave him courage to utter these pathetically buried feelings. Feelings he'd never admit to if well and sober. It was now or never. "I.. I've been interested in you for a while now."

"Since Colter?"

"Since Blackwater."

"You- Charles.." He stammered, unable to find the words to say, Charles merely chuckled at his bashfulness.

"It's alright Arthur. I knew those feelings would go nowhere," He'd uttered, Arthur missed the hint of sadness within his words, "The moment I heard you speak- your quick wit as well as your sarcastic quips, they immediately charmed me. You were just so oddly charismatic, and your beauty- Arthur. Your beauty. You were breathtaking. You are breathtaking."

Arthur couldn't utter a single word, his face merely continued to overheat as his mouth stood agape. "In Colter, when Mr. Pearson asked you to go hunting with me- My heart absolutely flipped. I jumped at the chance."

"Yeah, it was weird that you wanted to help me out. Y'know 'cause o' your hand an' whatnot."

"You wanna know how I injured my hand, Arthur?"

"Been wonderin' for a while now."

"In Blackwater, durin' the heist- when you came to the boat, I saw a fella'. Probably a Pinkerton, wasn't sure. But he aimed his gun at you, I didn't think- I just put my hand at the barrel then knocked 'im out after."

A pause. His eyes traced the apple at Arthur's throat, watching how it bobbed as he swallowed. Watching how he took Charles's hand off his face and held it so very gently. Arthur Morgan. The Van der Linde gang's toughest, most intimidating member. The man he'd just fucked. That same man held him so, so softly. Tracing the grooves and bumps of his dark knuckles as well as the veins behind his terribly calloused hand. Then he spoke, looking up to reach his eyes, "Shoulda let me get shot."

Charles merely smiled, "I know. I'm a fool."

They laid beside each other, bathing it the afterglow of their previous activities. The only thing on both of their minds being the unknown mutual hope that it wouldn't be the last time they were so intimate. So Arthur broke the silence. "You tired, Charles?"

"Not.. in particular."

"Think you can go another round?"

An imperceptible smile, quirked upon Charles's lips, "I could go for several more rounds."

With those words, Arthur got up and straddled the man all in one swift motion. He leaned downwards, pressing their lips together for the millionth time.

His hands reached down to Charles's pants, "You gotta get these off though."

"No rush. We have all night.

The thought of Charles's fucking him into the mattress all the way 'till morning made his dick twitch. He kissed Charles once more, whispering through the kiss, "I wanna have our whole life."

He took a breath. "Let's have that then."

When the sun rose, casting it's amber hues across the rented lodging of their room and bathing the town with its slight warmth, Arthur's eyes fluttered open, wandering blearily around the foreign room before landing on the sleeping face of Charles.

Charles.

Charles?

He stared at the man beside him, the strong, sculpted arms wrapped around him. He couldn't move if he tried. The memories of the night before blurred through his mind, a flush crawling up his neck. Untrusting of his own intoxicated mind, he looked beneath the thin, cream blanket that barely covered them as it was clearly meant for merely a single person. As if their naked bodies pressed together and the near dried cum spilling out of his ass wasn't enough proof, the sight of Charles's bare cock underneath the blanket surely was.

Attempting to shuffle within Charles's death gripping bear hug, still processing the knowledge of getting fucked by the man the night before. Multiple times. The memory of Charles's cum in his mouth still lingered. The taste of salt and texture of slime that would've made him puke if it was anyone else but last night- was absolutely intoxicating.

With curious eyes he looked at Charles, taking in every curve and crevice on his face. Seeing things he'd never seen before. Every pore was visible, as was every spot of hair that trailed from his chin to his jaw. The memory of Charles's words to him as he laid beside him upon the white, dirtied mattress sheets made Arthur's heart absolutely dance. In truth, he'd felt the same. Ever since speaking to him at Colter, all that lingered within his mind was the faint thought of Charles. If the night before hadn't happened he'd never admit the fact he felt this way about another man. He didn't even know how he felt.

Suddenly Charles's eyes opened, blinking a few times as he looked at Arthur with half-lidded eyes. A lopsided smile bloomed upon his face, "G'morning, Arthur." He leaned nearer, pressing a kiss on his lips. The action made his heart thud so hard upon his ribcage he feared it'd explode. "Mornin'.." He forced out.

He didn't know how to act, considering the fact that they'd fucked continuously throughout dusk, passing out just before dawn. He hadn't had sex in years. Not since Eliza's death.

Charles merely continued to run a hand through Arthur's sandy, uncut locks, long overdue for a haircut. "I still can't believe last night." He heard Charles murmur.

"Neither can I."

A smile from Charles. "Thank you, Arthur." He looked at Charles, into his eyes, noticing the slightest bit a sorrow within them. As if unwillingly acceptant of the fact that last night was and inevitably would be nothing more than a one night stand. Charles parted his lips, as if wanting to say more. But the words never left those soft lips.

"What for?"

"Last night. Helping me blow off steam."

Oh.

Was that all it was to Charles? Were all the sweet nothings said the night before just a result of too much whiskey?

"Arthur?" Charles's voice, "You alright?"

Before he could stop it, the words ran out of his mouth, "I don't want last night to be the last."

"What?"

"I-" Fuck. He'd already said all that. Might as well. "I wanna do it again. With you. "

"Right now?"

"No- Charles. I mean-" He was never one for words. He wasn't even that good at English himself. "Arthur."

He looked up. Charles smiled.

He spoke.

"I'd like that."

"Yeah?" Arthur had never been the emotional kind but fuck. The knowledge that it wouldn't be the end made him near tear up. Or maybe getting fucked in the ass had shredded up his masculinity.

Nah.

"Yeah." Charles couldn't stop smiling. Fuck, the man was handsome.

"But- ignoring what I just said, you ain't too tired for another fuck, are you?"

Charles only laughed, crawling on top of Arthur and smashing their lips together through the laughter that bubbled throughout.

[snippychicke]

Hi, according to one of your posts you are open to suggestions concerning Kuro to teach you to understand the character a little better, so I propose this idea :

In the manga, Kuro can no longer stand being a pirate because of the altercations constants of the Marine and organizes his own death to be peaceful. So I propose a Kuro/Reader fanfiction where Kuro wants to organize his death but faced with the reader's dismay he realizes that the reader loves him and a story is created in them (why not a story with a little NSFW).

Thank you very much for your work, I really like it! 🖤

Thank you so much! I really hope what I ended up writing. Not too especially spicy, however.

Being the cook of the Bezan Black meant you heard everything. Even though you were usually cooped up in the kitchen, making food for all of the crew as well as your captain, the crew would wander in for food and drink and usually felt comfortable talking to one of the few women on the ship, especially since you weren't seen as one of the dangerous ones. 

Little did they know, you reported right back to the captain anything you heard, happy to be his little mouse. 

You were actually one of the few in his trusted inner circle besides his First Mate Jango and the 'Nyaban twins' Buchi and Sham. Well, truthfully, you felt as if you were possibly the most trusted by the captain. 

You knew Kuro trusted no one. How could he, when he was one of the most feared pirates in the East Blue, as well as the most targeted by bounty hunters and marines alike. 

But… he trusted you enough to cook for him, which was a high honor. 

"Mouse!" Jango called as he entered, closing the kitchen door behind him that you usually kept open. You watched rather confused as he checked every inch of the galley as if looking for someone. 

Or something. 

"Is… something wrong?" You asked once Jango seemed satisfied with his search. 

"You and the Cap'n are close," he said softly as he slinked backwards towards you, only pausing when his back was pressed against your shoulder. (Such a drama king, Jango. But you were used to his eccentricities.) 

"You could say that," you answered hesitantly, returning back to the roast you were cubing.

 Jango was Kuro's right-hand man, but Kuro's paranoia had rubbed off on you enough that if anyone started asking vague open-ended questions, you were wary. 

"...have you heard about his latest plot?" 

You scoffed out of habit. "Jango, we both know the Cap'n has a dozen plans going at once. You're going to have to be a little more specific, and even then I probably won't know." 

If anything, the blond hypnotist tensed further. "What about the plan to die?"

You missed the meat and sliced your own finger. 

~*~

Kuro leaned in his chair, his distant gaze looking out the port window as he thought. So many variables to consider.

His last great plan. 

No more looking over his shoulder. No more  worrying of someone burying a knife in his back. Or killing in his sleep. 

It sounded better than any treasure he had seen on through his career. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a timid knock at his door. A glance at the clock confirmed his suspicions. His little mouse, right on time.

"Enter," he called out, moving enough to watch you carefully opening the door, one hand carefully holding a dinner tray. 

"Evening, cap'n," you greeted as softly as usual, closing the door behind you before setting the tray on the table. 

"Good evening, my little mouse." He smiled to himself as he watched you blush. You were such an adorable thing, so unsuited for a pirate's life, yet you survived. Flourished. 

Something twisted in his stomach as a new idea crossed his mind. 

His plan would involve leaving you. The one he was able to keep close without fear, because you were so meek and loyal. 

His crew would slaughter you once he was gone. His protection kept you safe. Without that threat…

He pushed that thought away to deal with later as he noticed how nervous you were--more so than normal. Then he noticed the bandages on your fingers, red with blood. 

You went to try and hide,but he quickly grabbed your hand, yanking you closer. "What happened." 

"I-I just cut my fingers cutting a roast." 

Kuro wanted to call a lie, especially consider knew your had more skill and finesse with your knives than he had with his claws. You had full conversations with him before, your eyes rarely looking while you finely minced and diced. 

"Why?" He asked instead. 

You shifted guilty, "Jango came to talk with me and said-and told me about your plan."

Of course. Jango had been startled, and while he wouldn't talk to anyone, he would talk to you. "Of course. What did he say?" 

He let you go and turned to the meal you had prepared. Amazing, as usual. What you had been doing in the dingy little port bar, he had no idea. You deserved to be in some five-star restuant as head chef. 

"You-you want to… die?" 

You sounded so stricken, tears in your eyes when he looked up at you again. Your knuckles were white as you clenched your fists at your side, your head was to the side as if avoiding his gaze. "I-I… sir, please…I don't know if… if I could stand that." 

Kuro was stunned for a moment as you silently cried. Jango had only told you half the plan? And you were affected this much? 

He didn't think. Kuro stood and cupped your chin to make you look at him. "Dear little mouse, you have it wrong." 

Oh. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. He had been aware of his attraction to you, but seeing you like this, looking up at him like this… your eyes wide and watery, your expression pleading. He could see where you been biting your own lips, causing them to be a little more swollen.

"I'm going to fake my death," he said softly, trying to ignore the feelings tumbling in his chest. "I don't actually plan on dying." 

The relief in your expression in your eyes, was enough to make his breath hitch. Or maybe it was because you overcame your usual shyness and impulsively wrapped your arms around him in a hug. 

"Oh thank god!" You swore into his chest. "I was so worried, so scared!" 

Kuro slowly relaxed into your embrace, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you even closer. Do you really care for him that much? You were his most loyal, most devoted crew member, but didn't imagine you had this much emotion dedicated to him. 

Leaving you behind would be unacceptable. there was absolutely no way he could abandon you. 

"You have a choice," he spoke. "You can stay as part of the Black Cat crew, or you can come with me." 

You had no idea what the plan was. None at all, yet there eas no hesitancy as you looked up at him. "I want to be with you, sir." 

Kuro's lips captured your before he could allow himself to second-guess. Yet you instantly melted against him, fingers reaching up to tease the hair at the nape of his neck as you returned his kiss. You parted your lips for him, allowing him whatever he wanted. 

His perfect little mouse. 

He had been aching for you for such a long time it felt like all control was lost as he picked you up and placed you on the table, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist, his hips flushed with yours. He didn't care for his meal still waiting for him, not when he was able to taste you. 

He'd steal you away once more. He'd abandon the rest of the crew, leave this life of uncertainty behind him, but you he would keep. 

[ghostofskywalker]

Hello!

I was wondering if I could request the prompts "you're an idiot" and "shut up and kiss me already" with echo???

Thank you so much and I hope you have a good day/night!

hi! sorry this is like light years late but thank you for requesting!

words: 607

summary: You spend a quiet morning with the love of your life. 

Time Together

clone troopers masterlist || request a winter ficlet!

You never thought you would miss working for the GAR, but right now you were. You certainly weren’t nostalgic about the abysmal pay, the long hours, or the difficult tasks, but the routine was definitely something you wished could return. Now, running away with your lover and his brothers meant that you no longer had to sit and toil away at a datapad for a cause you were told to believe in, but you also really never got time away from everything else. If something attacked in the middle of the night, there was nothing you could do but get up and fight.

And even though nighttime ambushes didn’t actually happen all that often, morning like this were still incredibly rare. If you didn’t have the night shift, Echo did, and vice versa. You either went to sleep together and then woke up alone, or you were joined in the middle of the night and had to pull yourself away from warmth of his body when it was time for you to watch over the ship.

Now though, you were pleasantly surprised to still feel Echo’s presence beside you as you opened your eyes. The Marauder didn’t exactly let too much natural light into the sleeping chamber, but you could just tell that it was morning, and you found yourself snuggling closer to your boyfriend, inadvertently waking him up as well.

“Hmmmffff cyare,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep. “What’s going on?”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“What?”

“I want to stay here for a while.”

“And what if I don’t?” He was joking, you could tell that from the air of humor in his voice and the smile on his face. But it would be fun to mess with him a little.

“Then I guess you’re being kidnapped.”

“You think you could kidnap me in my own bed?”

All you did was snuggle closer. “Yeah, and it looks like so far I’ve been successful.”

You tilted your head up so you could see Echo’s face, and he rolled his eyes playfully at your comment. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

You just smiled. Considering just last night you had called him the same thing for not liking the fruit you considered your favorite, it was a fair tease. “Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

That was a request Echo was never going to refuse, and soon his lips had landed on yours. Your bodies were close and your hearts were closer, making this moment a serious contender for the most perfect one of all time.

Or, you did until a voice interrupted you. “You two couldn’t keep it under control until you were alone?”

Okay, maybe you had forgotten that some of the others were also sleeping in the other bunks at the time. It was Hunter who had spoken, and you turned around to see him staring down at you and Echo. He must have been coming back from watching the cockpit at night.

You looked apologetic. “Oops.”

Hunter snorted before shaking his head. You knew he was full of osik, so you weren’t too worried about anything past a little teasing. “Just go eat breakfast you two,” he said. “I’m too tired for this.”

Echo leaned closer to you and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

You smiled as you kissed him quickly. “No it certainly doesn’t.”

You may not have gotten to spend all day in bed like you wanted to, but at least you get to spend more time with your cyare. 

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[l-lend]

A/N: yeah so this was a fun one to tackle. Inspiration for this one involved Hunter mentioning Tech's "hobby". Another fic for @clonexreaderbingo <3

It was barely dawn when he returned. Another successful job for his squad, and a well needed break for repairs and rest. His lover was still curled up in her bed as he climbed in to join her. His armor left in the living room to be cleaned after rest. As soon as his back hit the mattress, she was there, coiling around his side. The scent of her shampoo began to coax his eyes to slipped closed. After a mental struggle, he surrendered to unconsciousness.

A soft noise slipped past her lips as she rolled over. Her hands met cooled sheets before she cracked open an eye. The comforting warmth that had joined her in the early hours was gone, but his location was given away as she registered that the shower was on. Her feet soon met the floor as she eased herself up. He was always a creature of habit when he was planet side: shower, tinker with a project, fix the ship, and maybe eat and sleep in between.

As she pondered what to badger him into eating this morning, a soft noise caught her attention.

“Tech, you need to get up.”

It took a few moments to focus on the noise when it sounded again.

“Tech, your caf's getting cold.”

Her brow furrowed as she scouted the room for the source. The culprit soon discovered on the opposite side of the bed. The noise sounded again from the datapad, and her heart sank. The voice was hers.

Snatching up the device, she stopped the sound with a few button presses. As she stared down at the screen, curiosity swirled behind her eyes. When did she record her voice for him? Her fingers began pressing buttons until she viewed his files. Another press shifted the files into the order of most recent. The worry planted in her chest sprouted to full bloom as her eyes skimmed over some files:

Sleeping_With_Cyare.mp4

Shower_Cyare.mp4

The datapad was still clenched in her hand as she barged into the refresher. The towel clad clone turned towards the opened door. His hair clinging to his scalp in damp tendrils. His goggles still rested on the counter.

“Everything alright?”

“Tech, h...have you been recording me?”

His lips formed a line.

“I record a wide variety of subjects.” He replied, matter-of-factly.

His fuzzy gaze failed to catch the subtle twitch of muscles that morphed from confusion to disgust. It was her scowl that greeted him as the world came into focus once more. Chances were favorable that a clash was imminent.

“Is there something wrong with my interests?”

“You interests? You sneaking recordings of me is an interest?!” She fumed. shoving his datapad against his bare chest.

His deft hands kept the device from tumbling to the ground. His gaze lifted as she began her escape. She laid her fingers on the handle when he spoke.

“Your voice is soothing.”

She froze before glancing over her shoulder, “What?”

He pressed a few buttons before turning the datapad to her. Portions of the screen were marked off with color coded bars. The date at the top correlated with him and his brothers being away. She glanced back up to him.

“This is...a morning routine?”

He tapped on one of the events with an alarm. Her voice poured through the datapad's speaker again. He played another from a different barred off section of his schedule.

“It's common for people to crave structure and routine.” He explained after his most recent selection called for him to take a break and stretch his legs.

His free hand cradled her chin tilting her to meet his spectacles.

“One such example of structure would be your voice as it has become a welcomed presence.”

She shook her head, “So it's not a kink but a comfort.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

She was silent for a few moments. Her shoulders silently shaking before laughter bubbled up from her throat.

“Alright, this way.”

She grabbed his free hand pulling him out of the refresher and to the bed.

“Lay back.” She offered gently before joining him.

She curled up against his side as he laid on his back. The smile she flashed him touched her eyes.

“Now,” She began, “how about you tell me what things you want me to say.”

@locitapurplepink @rain-on-kamino @writing-positivelyexisting @burningfieldof-clover @padawancat97 @ahsokastechie @techs-stitches

[yhwhsdaughter]

kishibe x fem reader + quanxi

content: angst, frenemies, mentions of sex, depression

“Why’d you join?”

Kishibe was less than warm, watching with a keen eye as the young woman moved with grace—fist under chin as she contemplated on his question “Hmm..” a few seconds passed before she snapped her fingers, as if the thought had just occurred to her, answering with faux sincerity,

“I want to help humanity!”

Kishibe had been a Devil Hunter long enough for him to know that most people weren’t noble enough to risk their life for the benefit of others. The majority that passed through had a chip on their shoulders - revenge seeking individuals that after facing the horrors of dealing with devils, if they survived, would quit immediately, realizing that it just wasn’t worth it.

“Liar.”

One of the things Kishibe liked about Quanxi was her brutal honesty and mighty fist. Unlike her, their newest addition to the team, a pretty thing called [Name], seemed to mask her intentions behind a wall of innocence, not that he particularly cared.

Unfazed, she responded with an enigmatic grin, “I look forward to working with you, Mad Dog Kishibe.”

.

.

.

Despite reeking of mistrust, the three of them worked well. Quanxi and Kishibe outranked [Name] in skill, though she possessed a nearly unbreakable will. Even when she was on the brink of death, the young woman would force herself up.

“Quanxi-sama!”

Kishibe’s eye twitched. “Unfair treatment, don’t you think?” Everytime he confessed his feelings, Kishibe was at the receiving end of Quanxi’s fist. Yet, the latter’s semblance softened just slightly whenever [Name] got close.

Though he was ignored by Quanxi, his other teammate had no qualms in teasing him, sticking her tongue out, childishly asking as she hung on the woman’s arm, “Jealous?”

For a few months that was their dynamic. [Name] would do her best to piss him off, flirting with Quanxi who would allow such ministrations. “Ah, Quanxi, I don’t mind if you punch me~”

To their surprised, she looked down, “Mn” before planting a soft kiss on [Name]’s lips. It brought a tiny bit of rouge to her cheeks, her battered body suddenly bridled with excitement,

“Kiss me more!”

Truly, to survive as a Devil Hunter, you had to be a little bit crazy.

The frustrated male was often left out of conversations when the two women spoke in Chinese, always initiated by [Name]. She would then glance at Kishibe with a mischievous glint, blowing him kisses. During one of their breaks, he made it a point to ask, purposely blowing smoke in [Name]’s face, which she hated.

“Where’d you learn Chinese?”

Her hand waved through the air, coughing, “Put that out—! And I learnt it from my mother. Her work took us to many places.” One thing he found interesting about [Name] was that she’d always mention her mother, enough for Kishibe to know that the older woman was a renowned doctor. “Father?” the first and last time he asked, she just shrugged, “I don’t know him. Mother only slept with him to have me. He loved her but she didn’t return his feelings.”

Huh, why does that sound familiar?

Extending an arm, Kishibe offered a drag from his stick but [Name] merely shook her head, somehow always conscious of her health.

“Cigarettes kill.”

“So do devils.”

She leaned against the railing, peering at the sky. “Yeah but I don’t want to die yet. Not before I accomplish my goal..” the last part wasn’t meant for his ears. Before he could question it, [Name] turned to him, “Hey Kishibe..”

“Hm?”

“Will you have sex with me?”

.

.

.

They did it a couple of times, mostly to get their frustrations out. Even as [Name] rode him with inexperienced hips, she managed to top him every single time.

As much as he loved women, his weakness was the strong ones. “Annghh.. are you this desperate for Quanxi~? It’s okay, I want to sleep with her too.” She grinned, seeing the conflicted expression on his face - a mix of pleasure and annoyance. Of course she’d take the opportunity to be a little shit, especially when he was more focused on coming than returning her insults.

They laid side by side, bodies slick with sweat. “Don’t think you’re my woman now.” His blunt words did nothing to [Name], who only bit his earlobe, “You’re so cold Kishibe~” she was quick to get up from the bed, her nude back exposed, “I don’t want to be no man’s woman. I want to be Quanxi’s only.”

Love rivals sleeping with each other…

When [Name] made a contract with the Time Devil, she had no need for it. For a month, the young woman worked with a solemn face, the willingness to live now lost. It was the only instance Kishibe saw her cry and the first time he jumped in front.

Her hands felt soft as she stitched up the large wound that ran from lip to ear. “You’re an idiot. Who would want to be comforted by you? I want Quanxi..” is what she said, but the tears pricking her eyes showed otherwise.

Sniffing, [Name] continued her actions. “My mother… is the one who taught me how to..” she blubbered. Though the expression on her face—puffy eyes and snot running down her nose—was an ugly one, it was perhaps the most pleasant moment Kishibe had seen her in.

Finally, her mask had finally come down.

“I did it for her. I wanted to elongate her life but they only gave her a year.” The left side of his face felt numb but he sat through it. “She spent her entire life saving others from their illness but no one could save her in the end…not even me…”

.

.

.

It was unintentional that [Name] became a hybrid, fusing with the Time Devil. He made a contract after she offered her remaining lifespan.

Usually, she only had to make an equivalent exchange to use him. If she wanted time stopped for a minute, [Name] needed to forfeit a minute of her life. However, with her objective gone, the young woman saw no point in living any longer. Thus, she gave herself up.

It’s unknown why the devil would do that, but upon the completion of their contract, [Name] did not age. At the same time, when Kishibe told Quanxi that he liked her, nine years later, the woman admitted to liking their now-hybrid teammate.

“I know.”

Shortly after, he was approached by her. Time passed and though [Name] looked the same, her impish behavior remained but she’d matured a little.

“I’m going with Quanxi to China.”

That was perhaps the last time they would ever see each other. [Name], the rock on the bottom of his shoe, would soon leave his side. Was it pathetic of Kishibe to think that he’d grown accustomed to the feeling of the same stone pressing on his sole and that he did not want her to leave?

She closed in, serious demeanor, pressing a delicate kiss on his mouth, “Take care, Kishibe.”

Yes, a silly thought indeed.

[necros-writing-stuff]

Coming from discord!! Would you write something all fluffy cute w Eden for my bday?🥺 Have a v nice day Necro ILY 🌺

You mentioned breeding, soooo, Eden being nice and soft with pregnant PC before going down on her? And then some soft sex? Yeah, let's indulge in something sweet.

Happy birthday btw!

You sigh as you lay down, the weight of your body sinking into the furs of the bed. The fire rages on, keeping you cosy inside the small cabin as rain poors outside. You can smell both, your nose sensitive in your pregnant state. You can also smell yours and your husband's scents, cocooning you in a blanket of warmth.

Eden pokes the logs a few times before turning to you. His old worn boots carry him across the creaky old floor to your side, his large hand gently stroking your belly as he leans in for a kiss. You're at the point where your pants aren't fitting anymore, Eden's shirts keeping you covered. He doesn't seem to mind sharing - if anything he's been even more touchy.

"How's your back?" He grunts out as he pulls off a boot, the other soon following. His clothes are next.

Eden wasn't always this good with checking up on you. It's been a learning curve, one he's struggled with. But he's smarter than he thinks he is, and he has most of the script memorised by now.

"Better, now that I'm lying down. Still, could you pass that pillow, please?"

You reach your hand out, making a grabbing motion as the hunter turns and leans to get you your pillow from the bottom of the bed. It's plush, long and perfect for helping your comfort.

Eden climbs over you, careful with his limbs so that he doesn't knock against your tummy. He hates sleeping on the wall side, but you need to be able to rush to the toilet easier these days.

He grunts and makes a few other sounds as he gets comfortable himself, a smile breaking out on your face as you hear them.

"What?" He raises a brow, shifting onto his side.

"You're already making dad noises," you giggle, your nose scrunching.

Eden raises a brow, his mouth forming an O. "Well that's a good thing, because I'm about to be in a few months. I'm prepared."

His hand returns to your stomach, fingers deftly working to undo the buttons and expose your skin. There's a dark line in the skin from your belly button down to your pubic area that gets more prominent as your belly extends. Like a little tiger stripe or something. Eden loves tracing it, up and down, up and down with his finger.

"Any kicking yet?"

"One tiny one yesterday, but it didn't show."

He knows you'd call him over to feel if the little one did noticeably kick.

Silence takes over the cabin. A comfortable one, accompanied once more by the crackling fire and pattering of the rain. Eden's breath fans over your shoulder as he continues to circle his finger over your skin.

You shiver, not from the cold or because it tickles, but because it sets off a familiar longing at your core. As Eden's fingers trace lower, you know he knows too.

"Still need help relaxing?" Eden's voice sounds deeper, muffled by your shoulder as he kisses the skin there.

Letting your eyes flutter shut, you nod, swallowing hard as a low heat spreads through your abdomen. It's all he needs before he's shuffling between your thighs, gently placing your legs over his shoulders.

His lips follow the same pattern as his fingers, kissing around your belly button before following that line down.

Eden can be a very patient man. He'll hunt for days if he needs to. He'll work all day for the tiniest pay off, should it make life easier. He'll sit content as you do the same.

Eden is not patient when it comes to tasting, touching, or taking care of you.

He laps at your clit, tongue stroking the little bud as you run a hand over your forehead. Said hand soon finds its way to Eden's head, fingers threading through the locks of his hair. It's been getting longer, due a cut, but he keeps putting it off. Probably because you keep tugging on it like this.

Fluids mix, yours and the drool from Eden's wanton mouth. That wondrous tongue continues to play with you, circling your clit before he draws it into his mouth and sucks. He's so warm, so gentle but intense at the same time.

It doesn't seem like he's getting enough though, not until he is able to use his thumb to pull back on the hood of your clit. Then he's right back to it, suckling away as you play hairstylist for him.

"Think you can take me, love?" Eden sighs, still refusing to pull away from your sopping wet cunt.

"Please," you whine, pulling him up by his hair until he's crawling up your body with a chuckle.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming."

Your husband pays attention to where he puts himself, sitting up and keeping your legs leant against his shoulders. You can't see his cock over your bump, but you can picture what it looks like right now. The tip leaking, how it twitches and begs for your attention.

The fire reflects in his eyes as he slowly sinks in, but not all of the way. Not anymore, as much as he may love to. He gets so scared to hurt the baby.

"I can't wait to have you fuck me properly again." Your voice is strained: it is full of longing.

"I will, but not for now."

Your eyes hold his as he begins, rocking his hips back and forth, stroking your insides as gently as he stroked your clit with his tongue. The backdrop fades, no more flames in the hearth, no more rain bouncing off of the windows. Just you and him, joined together in your own small piece of the world.

Grabbing at him again, you slip your legs free from Eden's shoulders. He needs to be closer, to cover you fully. There is no protest from the hunter as he hunches over to kiss you, and your taste on his lips doesn't inspire protests in you, either.

Still his hips rock, drawing his length in and out as far as he dares go. Even if you're able to push on his back with your now free feet, he only mumbles out for you to behave. Another smile adorns your lips. He's still your Eden, still in charge even if he's learned some self control. And learned to be much more thorough.

Evidence of Eden's thoroughness grows in you right now, with more to come if he has any say in the matter. A gaggle of Edenspawns, wrecking havoc around the clearing. Maybe while you sew them clothes, and he carves them toys.

You leave your own evidence, nails scratching down his biceps before reaching around to his back. The muscles flex, each thrust making them ripple beneath his sun-kissed skin.

It's hard to keep kissing now, both of you breaking away to seek the air you need. The air is hot and cloying, but far from a deterrent.

Orgasms are different depending on the day. But you can tell which type you'll have as it builds, by how your muscles tingle or clench. By how that tingle can spread up your spine and make your legs quiver.

This one is sweet, long and drawn out. Not full-bodied but satisfying and tiring. Your toes curl, Eden still going as his face scrunches up in that adorable way.

He lets out a groan, his spine straightening as he fills you up. Sweat gleams on his forehead, almost making him glow.

The world takes its while to seep back into your notice, like it doesn't want to intrude on this private moment. You dare to think that nothing could possibly ruin it.

Even though you have your pillow, Eden insists on wrapping himself around you as he returns to his side of the bed. He provides, and he comforts. He brings a peace you couldn't find elsewhere.

Sleep comes easily. The darkness wraps its arms around you, welcoming you into its domain for the night. When you wake into the day, Eden's arms will still be guarding you.

[hunterscabin]

I Don’t Feel Anything Part II

Pairings: Sam x Reader; Dean x Reader

Summary: Sam and Dean cope with the guilt of your injuries, and Sam comforts you. 

Warnings: Injured reader; vulnerable Sam and Dean; angst; fluff; hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1k

Author’s Note: The sequel focuses on Sam's relationships with Dean and Y/N. In the spirit of my initial drabble, I tried to keep the word count under 1k, and the writing Gods shined upon me. Thank you for reading! 

I Don’t Feel Anything Part I

Sam returned just as Dean was laying you back down. He was about to ask if everything was all right when he saw his brother’s face. He'd never seen Dean that wrecked from crying. His eyes and nose were swollen and red, and his brow was tightly furrowed with an expression Sam had grown to know well in the days since they had found you; a relentless combination of anger and worry.

They each pulled a chair to either side of your bed. Dean sat down, arms crossed, and propped his feet on the bedside table. Sam could sense the feeling of powerlessness surging through his brother, but Dean’s defensive stance told him not to press the issue. Instead, Sam took up your hand and pulled it to his face, resting his cheek on your soft skin. He held you there for a moment before pressing his lips to your knuckles. Bringing your hand down, he leaned his forearms on the edge of your bed and began delicately, if not absentmindedly, playing with your fingers.

Sam and Dean sat like this for some time, the slow, constant beep of your heart monitor lulling them into a trance.   

"This is killing me." Dean shifted, bringing his feet to the floor.

Sam was pulled from his thoughts by his brother's unexpected confession, which was so quiet Sam wasn't sure if Dean knew he'd said it out loud.

"Look at her," he breathed. "She looks so small, so helpless."

Dean was right. You were a powerful hunter, and your typically strong and courageous presence made your weak and fragile state even more impossible to bear. 

"God, Sammy.” Dean ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow. “Four broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a sprained ankle, countless cuts and bruises. Who knows what else they did to her." Both men shivered at the thought.

"Dean." Sam cautioned, anticipating his brother’s train of thought.

"It's my job to protect her, Sammy. I failed."

"It's my job too, Dean." The eldest Winchester looked up to see Sam discretely wiping the wetness from his eyes. "You're not the only one who failed her."

Dean let out a weary sigh. He dropped his legs from the nightstand and turned to his little brother. "This isn't your fault, Sammy."

"Then it's not yours either." Dean held Sam’s gaze before looking back to you and eventually hanging his head in defeat.

Sam was right. The three of you had split up countless times on hunts. You were beyond capable, not to mention extremely smart and resourceful. Everything had been routine up until the ambush. There was no way they could have anticipated, let alone prevented, your kidnapping.

"You should really go back to the bunker and get some sleep." Sam suggested.

"I don't think I can leave her, right now." Knowing he usually avoided his feelings, Sam welcomed Dean’s honesty. 

"I’ll be here,” Sam assured, "Plus, you stink."

Dean's mouth curled with the faintest smile. After considering his brother’s advice, Dean slowly and hesitantly stood to put on his coat.  

"Call me if she so much as moves." he demanded sternly.

"I will." Sam promised.

Sam had been watching you sleep for nearly an hour, and every so often, your dreams became fitful. As your face tensed, Sam would lean forward and take your hand in both of his. When that didn’t calm you, he’d run his fingers up and down your arm, cautiously avoiding your injured shoulder. If the sound of your whimpers rose above the whirring machines, he would lean in and whisper words of comfort in your ear.

Sam was leaned back in his chair when another nightmare took you, this one more violent and vivid than the others. Before he could reach your side, a loud yelp escaped your lips, jarring you awake.

You were still rooted in the dream when you felt two hands on your face.

“Please,” you pleaded in confusion, “Don’t hurt me.”

“Y/N.” Sam’s voice was steady and warm. “Y/N/N, it’s me. It’s Sam.”

Your eyes flit about the middle space searching for the familiar voice. The moment they found Sam, he leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“I’m right here, baby girl.” he soothed, brushing the hair away from your face and helping you to sit upright. “I’m not going anywhere.”  

Sam reached for the small, plastic pitcher your nurse had left that morning and poured a cup of water. He placed his hand behind your head for support and angled the straw toward your lips. After just one sip, you pulled back and grimaced, your throat still dry and swollen from the breathing tube that had been removed the day before. A frustrated tear fell from the corner of your eye.

"Y/N/N, what’s wrong?" Sam set down the water and moved his hand to your cheek, lightly stroking his thumb back and forth. "Are you in pain? I can call a nurse."

You shook your head "No" and rolled down from your pillows. You curled into Sam until you were laying sideways on the bed, your head resting in his lap. Your once silent tears now had a voice, and Sam’s already breaking heart shattered completely at your anguished sobs. He knew your suffering was beyond consolation, but that didn’t stop him from rubbing your back and softly stroking your hair.

You cried until there was nothing left. No tears. No emotion. No pain. When your breathing settled into a hiccuping staccato, Sam gently lifted you into his arms.

Those monsters had broken you, in every sense of the word, but as he held you close, Sam resolved to do whatever it took to make you whole again.

Masterlist

[zenrobbins0021]

Across the Galaxy: Chapter 6

Hunter x OC 18+ (Warnings given before certain chapters)

My eyes snapped open for what felt like the fifth time, my feet in autopilot as I walked down the winding stone pathways of Upper Pabu. Hunter was holding me by the elbow, gently guiding me and occasionally shaking me whenever he sensed my eyelids begin to droop.

“Just let me go to sleep.” I groaned, my foot catching on a loose stone before I stumbled. Hunter stopped, swiftly grabbing my shoulders and catching me before I was about to faceplant. I rested my forehead against his chest, smushing my cheek against his right breastplate, “This feels good.”

“We’re in the middle of the street, Iona.” Hunter’s voice chided gently, “We’ve got a little way to go.”

“Can’t you carry me?” I mumbled, halfway kidding. Hunter paused before he moved, making me protest as I felt myself sliding away from his warm chest. Then the world spun as I felt strong arms slip underneath my knees and the dark-haired clone grunted slightly, adjusting me in his arms as he carried me bridal-style. His footsteps never wavered as he walked the rest of the way, boots crunching on the rocks as he made his way to my house. I put my arms around his neck, nestling my face into the convenient space between his shoulder and his neck. I felt his breathing stutter when he felt my cheek against his throat but he said nothing, letting the sound of the waves hitting the beach fill the silence. 

One of Hunter’s hands slipped out from underneath me and I heard the sound of my front door activating. Warmth from the lamp I had left on the table flooded the room and I let my head lull back to the rhythm of his footsteps.

“I’ll be right outside the door.” Hunter said softly, letting me down slowly until my feet hit the floor. I grabbed his shoulders as I regained my balance and he looked down at me, something indiscernible in his gaze. 

“Can you cover your ears so you can’t hear me pee?” I heard myself asking and he chuckled, making me wish he would laugh more and bless me with that rich sound. 

“Call out if you need help.” Hunter stepped outside my bathroom door, closing it but leaving a sliver of space in case he needed to return. I wrestled myself out of the crimson dress, nearly tripping as I kicked out of it. I made my way to the toilet and relieved myself, resting my head on my hands before pushing my shorts back up. 

As I was washing my hands, I looked up at my reflection and winced. The hair that had been pulled back had escaped, my curls encircling my jawline and around my ears. My face was flushed pink and my lips were red, eyes bright from alcohol. I dried my hands and opened the door the rest of the way, searching for the leader of the Bad Batch. Hunter’s back was to me facing the kitchen, his hands slipped into his pockets casually with his right leg bent slightly at the knee. He turned at the sound of the door opening and I couldn’t help but notice the quick flick of his eyes trailing down my body before he looked at me, 

“Feeling better?” 

I nodded, stumbling forward before his hands held my shoulders gently, guiding me upstairs to my room. I fell into my bed, sitting up and swinging my legs on the edge of the bed as I watched him slide his hands back into his pockets, taking a brief look around my room as he took a step back from me.

“How come you’re not drunk?” I blurted out, “I was keeping up with you and Tech pretty well.” “Years of practice.” Hunter chuckled, looking down at me as the moonlight highlighted his prominent, tattooed cheekbones, “I was a pretty wild cadet, if you can believe that.” 

A sudden vision of a teenage Hunter in the white and gray suit of a clone trainee flashed before my eyes and I crossed my legs under me, peering up at the sergeant. 

“You know, when I pictured you in my bedroom, it wasn’t you babysitting my drunk ass.” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them. Hunter’s eyebrows shot up, his hazel eyes wide in surprise at my comment before a neutral expression crossed over his face. 

“I should probably go.” He leaned over, pushing me back slightly so I was lying down and reaching to pull my blankets to cover me, “Omega is most likely bouncing off the walls right now.” “Alright.” I settled into the cool sheets, tucking the blankets under my chin as I looked up at the clone. “Thank you for carrying me home.” Hunter’s lips tilted in a small smile, his eyes softened as he straightened, “Well, considering that you could barely walk, I didn’t really have a choice now did I?” Even through his teasing tone, I could see the seriousness in his expression. Almost as if Hunter couldn’t help himself, he reached his hand and brushed it gently against my cheek, his thumb whispering over the skin in a touch that I didn’t know his war-built hands were capable of. “Sleep well, Iona.”

As quickly as it had happened, his hand was gone and the sergeant was turning towards the stairs, his boots scarcely making a noise against the stone. Before I could stop myself, I was sliding out of bed, wincing at the cold of the floor against my bare feet as I ran down the stairs. 

“Hunter!” 

At the sound of my voice, he turned swiftly, arms automatically raising to halt me as I hurtled towards him in a near tumble. 

“Get back in bed, you’ll freeze-” “Please don’t leave tomorrow.” I interrupted him, looking up and meeting his gentle eyes, “You don’t have to keep working for Cid.” “Iona-”

“You could stay here with your brothers and Omega in Pabu,” My voice lowered to a whisper, pleading with him to listen to me, “You could be safe here.”

Hunter’s hands were encircling my wrists but he let me reach up, hands cupping his cheeks as I took a tentative step forward, scarcely daring to breathe, 

“I-I’m falling in love with you, Hunter.” I said so quietly that I knew even he had to concentrate to hear with his enhanced senses. His chest stuttered as he inhaled sharply, his brow furrowing as conflict, relief, then a heated fire lit in the depths of his amber eyes. Hunter let his left hand drop from my wrist to my waist, pulling me gently towards him as his head tilted down, gaze dropping to my lips briefly. My eyes fluttered closed, I could feel the warmth of his face close to mine and the tip of his strong nose bumping my own ever so slightly. Then, he moved and I felt him press his lips against my forehead in a steady, slow kiss. I looked up at him, confused, and saw the torture in his expression as he whispered roughly back, 

“You’re drunk, Iona. I can’t let our first kiss be while you’re drunk.” 

Damn Hunter and his sparkling character. 

“I don’t care.” I whispered back, resting my hands on his shoulders as Hunter kept me close in his embrace. “You will in the morning.” He pressed his cheek against mine, cradling me close to his chest in a hug that I knew came from the depths of his heart. The slight roughness of his stubble against my skin made me shiver, wanting to feel it more and all over. As if he sensed my thoughts, Hunter withdrew and lifted me in his arms, carrying me back upstairs as I melted into him. Once again, he tucked me in and picked up my hand, kissing each of my fingers tenderly. 

“Sleep, Iona.” He murmured, “You have our comm channel if you need anything.”

I watched him disappear into the night before flopping back onto my pillow, the movement making my head swim and I groaned. The last thing I saw before I drifted off into sleep was the memory of how Hunter had looked at me when I tried to kiss him. 

[lampmanliveblogs]

The end credits showcase some beautiful drawings. Originally, I wasn’t gonna include all of them… but then I realized that if I’ve already taken 137 screenshots (give or take), then 9 more aren't gonna make that huge of a difference.

We’ve got some nice, sorta slice-of-life scenes, you know, things we could have gotten to see properly if season three had actually been a full season and not three double length ”specials.”

Sorry, I don’t want to be bitter.

I really like that Luz is showing Camila how to draw some glyphs. Who knows, maybe Mama Noceda will bust out some fire glyphs during her adventures into edgy Narnia.

Oh, this is DEFINITELY a ship. ”Ett skepp kommer lastat!” as we say where I’m from.

This picture is so chaotic, I kinda love it. Willow and Hunter both scared, Gus screaming at the top of his lungs and throwing popcorn everywhere (which goes to explain why the room is empty…). Amity’s scared too and clinging to Luz, who in turn looks like she’s thinking ”Gee willikers, I get to hold Amity’s hand!”

Vee’s just chilling in the background. You love to see it.

A snapshot of Hunter sleeping, safe and sound, with his new favorite book and best friend to watch over him… but the past still intrudes upon his happy present, represented by the book on witch hunters and photograph of the brothers Wittebane.

…then we have these two drawings. Call them Doktor Sadness, because they’re here to bring down the mood.

I’d insult Philip some more, but honestly… I’ve kinda used up all my material. Maybe I could think of some more, but I need to have some stuff for when he inevitably makes his return in either or both of the coming two episodes.

And then Luz crying at the abandoned house… Just stab me in the chest too while you’re at it.

But fortunately, we end on a good note; the Exiles ready to return home, Luz ready to return to her second home, and Camila ready to venture into a brand new world.

Also, Vee in the background like Õ_Õ 

So yeah, that was Thanks to Them! Suffice it to say that I loved it. Is it everything I’ve ever dreamed of? Pretty much, yeah. I think that everything I realistically expected to happen in this episode did happen. Going into the next one, I expect to find out what happened to Eda, King and the others, as well as what The Collector is up to. There’s also the question of what Philip’s plan is going back to the Demon Realm, as well as how Luz will overcome her crushing feelings of guilt.

This has taken me a really long time and it’s getting late, so this is where I’m gonna have to say farewell for now. Hopefully the next two episodes will not take as long as this one. We’ll see. Until next time… take care of the planet Earth and remember that anything can happen in space!

[liangxinn]

untitled fantasy/royalty AU

For someone who supposedly doesn't care much for writing royalty AUs, I sure have a lot of them in my WIPs... including a King's Maker AU which I really really want to see through to the end ><

Anyway, I found this abandoned draft for a different fandom from 2019. Looking back at my writing from 4 years ago sure was an Experience, but I didn't want to immediately throw up at least, so I consulted the oracle (Twitter) and decided to tidy up a little excerpt as a SVT/Minwon fic. Here's the basic gist:

Elven princes Mingyu and Seungcheol are shocked to discover that their late father has named Mingyu his heir instead of Seungcheol, the eldest

Newly appointed captain of the royal guard Wonwoo is assigned to protect Mingyu (spoiler: they do not like each other lol)

To avoid taking the throne, Mingyu pledges himself to the god of the hunt, joins a band of hunters (I'm thinking performance unit), and leaves for six years

He returns to the kingdom when a mysterious affliction sweeps the land, turning the people into demon-like monsters, and has to work with Wonwoo to investigate...

I actually have the entire story plotted out, and I am more than happy to answer any questions if anyone's curious to know more! You can find 3.2k of one of the early chapters, mostly unchanged from the original draft, below the cut ^^

//

Mingyu's sleep is fitful, leaving him tossing and turning and tormented with snippets of strange dreams.

He walks for an age along the secret corridor, only for it to lead him to his father's room when he exits through the trapdoor. Just the sight of it, unopened since the king's death, stirs up a sick feeling in Mingyu's stomach. He doesn't know what possesses him to press his palm against the wood, only that it feels like fire trying to burn the skin from his hand. Of its own volition, his other hand drifts up as well, and he watches, entranced.

Mingyu pushes lightly against the door, hears the snap of splintering wood. A voice escapes through the cracks like scalding steam, and he pushes harder. His father's sharp words rush back to him from weeks, months, years long past. A heavy ache settles over his body, throbbing dully in the places where he could not be forced into the mould they made for Seungcheol. Pain lances across his cheek, but whether it's from the flames or a blow meant for his brother, he can't tell. The door collapses beneath the pressure, and he disappears into the flames.

He wakes, gasping, and sleep claims him again.

At a coronation, a crown is placed upon Mingyu's head, so heavy that it threatens to crush him. Hundreds of eyes bore into his flesh, picking like crows at every part of him they can reach, ripping him apart with their scrutiny. His own eyes dart around frantically and land upon Queen Consort Hyeyoung only to find a cold, insincere smile. Seungcheol is somewhere among them, flashing in and out of sight.

Mingyu tears the crown away in repulsion. When he hurls it to the ground at his feet, it shatters as if it were made of glass instead of precious metals. A moment passes, then the crowd erupts into raucous sound. He has displeased them. They surge upwards from their seats in a writhing, screaming mass. They call for his head. They call for his blood to be spilled.

He wakes, feels the prickle of those eyes on him, and shudders.

By now, the sun has begun to rise, throwing weak light into the room. Mingyu had gotten just a couple hours of sleep at the most. His body struggles against him, forcing his eyelids to droop and demanding more time to rest. Just as he's about to succumb, a sharp rap on the door seizes his attention.

Mingyu knows exactly who it is when the person enters before he even has the chance to respond. His brother slips into the room with those distinctive footsteps of his, dark eyes alight with excitement and the corner of his mouth curled upwards in amusement. He perches on the edge of the bed, yanking the covers away when Mingyu tries to bury himself underneath.

"You got caught last night," Seungcheol says, mirth laced in his tone. Mingyu rolls over to throw a glare in his direction.

"Good morning to you, too."

"Was it him? That Captain Jeon?"

Mingyu scowls at the mention of Wonwoo, having forgotten his existence momentarily. Seungcheol takes his stubborn silence as confirmation. In a more serious voice, he asks if Wonwoo found out about the passageway. Mingyu mulls it over for a moment before deciding that Wonwoo shouldn't have been able to figure out how he left castle grounds. He must've traced his path by some other means.

"I have a guard, too," Seungcheol sighs, flopping back onto the bed and across Mingyu's legs, ignoring his squawk of protest. "His name is Vernon. He's quiet, but he seems like a good kid. Must be capable if he became a guard at his age. He thinks quite highly of Captain Jeon."

"Good for them," Mingyu remarks sarcastically before he can bite it back. He shoves his face into a pillow to avoid the intrigued look Seungcheol sends his way.

"What, don't you like him? He was pleasant enough when I met him. Surely you've heard that he's the youngest captain in the history of the royal guard."

Mingyu refuses to answer. There is silence for a long moment, which borders on suspicious, then Seungcheol says in a sage-like, all-knowing tone, "Oh, I see. You fucked him."

Mingyu's expression cycles between outrage and disbelief before deciding to settle on embarrassment, to his dismay.

"Hyung!" he hisses, springing upright to hurl a pillow at his brother's head and shoot a look at the door as if Wonwoo could hear them from outside. Seungcheol blocks the pillow with ease, the sound of his delighted cackling quelling Mingyu's outburst. There hasn't been very much to laugh at as of late.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Gyu-yah. Come to think of it, he's exactly your type-"

"I did nothing of the sort and I have no desire to!" Mingyu fumes, even as a giggle of his own threatens to escape him. He's painfully aware of the incriminating heat rising to his cheeks and ears, but he can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth. The roguish grin he receives in return is more than worth it.

Seungcheol has been run so thin lately, what with the burden of kingship dumped upon him in such an abrupt manner. And now, it may turn out that all of his efforts over the years were for naught. Mingyu reflects on what the queen consort told him last night, and dread fills his stomach at the very thought of having to take the crown. The vision of the coronation from his dreams flits to the front of his mind.

"How have you been, Mingyu?" Seungcheol asks softly as he pulls the pillow onto his lap and rests his hands atop it.

"Hyung," Mingyu begins with a heavy sigh, "did you know about the will?"

Seungcheol's gaze slides away. "Yes. I saw it the day before it was posted in the city centre."

"I don't blame you for keeping it from me, but how are you... alright with this?"

"The king's will is law, Mingyu-yah. I know this, and so do you."

"It doesn't make sense! Why would he name me his successor over you? He barely acknowledged my existence for twenty years and yet he left the entire kingdom to me? I don't believe it. I cannot believe it."

"Father took his reasons with him to the grave," Seungcheol says with grim resignation. "The only thing that we can do is follow his wishes."

"It should be you, hyung. It was always meant to be you. I'm not worthy," Mingyu finishes with a miserable sigh.

"I thought you would say something like that. But honestly speaking, I think you're just as capable of being a leader. Don't be so quick to undermine your skills."

Though Mingyu knows that Seungcheol is trying to be reassuring, he can't help but think that his brother sounds just like Queen Consort Hyeyoung. A product of her teachings, he supposes.

At Mingyu's skeptical raised eyebrow, Seungcheol gives his shoulder a light squeeze as a comforting gesture. "We'll figure something out. I'll still be here to help as much as I can."

Regardless of Mingyu's faith in his ability to lead the entirety of the kingdom, it simply isn't right for him to take the crown. Not when Seungcheol is the eldest, not when he has spent much of his life preparing for the inevitable day of their father's death. Despite having no choice but to take up the role of heir, Seungcheol has a true interest in the responsibilities of kingship. The life of a king has never appealed to Mingyu in the same way.

Seungcheol rises to his feet, tossing his pillow lightly at Mingyu's face and startling him from his thoughts. "Get dressed. Let's go to breakfast."

"Don't want to," Mingyu whines in response. "Can't we stay in here?"

It's definitely not because he doesn't want to face Wonwoo and be reminded of his wounded pride. Not at all. He's simply too tired to go all the way down to the dining hall and he'd much rather have breakfast in his room without having to take a single step outside, where Wonwoo is standing right now-

Mingyu yelps as the pillow makes contact with his face for a second time, more forcefully than the last. In his serious, all-business voice, Seungcheol insists that he comes down to have breakfast with Queen Consort Hyeyoung, so Mingyu acquiesces with a grumble.

"Choi Seungcheol, you are the rudest elf I have ever had the misfortune of meeting." 

"I know you love me, dearest brother."

Mingyu's exaggerated eye roll threatens to earn him a third smack with the pillow, so he leaps out of bed under the pretence of getting dressed and shoos Seungcheol out of his room. After he's cleaned himself up and made an attempt at taming the bird's nest that is his hair, Mingyu scrutinises his reflection with a critical eye.

He's visibly tired, his under eyes stamped with dark half-moons. His mouth is set in a displeased line, his shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are too full of worries. The image staring back at him doesn't look at all like a king, not even when he tries to picture a crown on his head. Its phantom weight pushes his head down, forcing him to break his gaze from his tired reflection.

Seungcheol always resembled their father more, anyway.

//

Breakfast is doomed to be a sombre affair as soon as Mingyu and Seungcheol enter the hall, followed closely by Wonwoo and Vernon. They slide into their seats across from Queen Consort Hyeyoung under the sympathetic eyes of the staff present, and Mingyu resists the urge to steal a sideways glance at his father's empty place at the head of the table. He almost prefers it this way.

The last time they all had breakfast together must've been at least four years ago, when Mingyu and Seungcheol were only sixteen. He barely remembers what it was like, though it isn't a particularly fond memory to begin with. It was around that time Mingyu took to having his morning meal alone in his room or the gardens. Immersed in his studies, Seungcheol wouldn't even come to eat sometimes either.

When Queen Consort Hyeyoung greets them, her slight smile doesn't quite reach her tired eyes. Mingyu meets her gaze, and the knowing look he finds there is enough to make him break eye contact to stare at his plate. A welcome distraction comes in the form of food brought out by the kitchen staff, who he thanks courteously.

Queen Consort Hyeyoung and Seungcheol begin to discuss an upcoming trade meeting with one of the western nations, so Mingyu helps himself to a roll still warm from the oven. After a liberal application of butter and honey scented like the local flowers, he bites into the soft bread, relishing the satisfying sweetness. Honey spills over his fingers and threatens to turn into a sticky mess. Perhaps he was a little too generous.

"Prince Mingyu," Queen Consort Hyeyoung calls to him. "What do you plan to do today?"

Before he even has the chance to open his mouth to respond, Mingyu feels a shift in the air, something odd that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And before he even has the chance to even furrow his brow in suspicion, it happens.

The sound of shattering glass pierces the air, followed by a soft thud. The razor sharp tip of an arrow impales an orange perched precariously at the top of the fruit bowl, sending it flying off the edge of the table. Mingyu tracks it with his eyes as it rolls in a wobbly line to stop at Wonwoo's feet. A note written in black ink is tied to the shaft of the arrow like a mockery of a white flag.

A violent chill races down Mingyu's spine when he realises that the arrow had flown straight through the space between his and Seungcheol's heads. There had barely been a beat between the moment that he'd felt it twist the palace magic and the point of impact. He would've been dead before his mind even processed the window shattering.

After the last shards of glass have settled, the dining hall is silent. No one dares to move an inch, all eyes glued to the arrow which interrupted their morning meal. Slowly, carefully, with tension lining his body, Wonwoo leans down to pluck the arrow free and straighten out the message. Mingyu can see that his jaw is clenched, his knuckles pale with the intensity of his grip.

"I will come for what I am owed," Wonwoo reads out in a grim tone. His eyes flicker to Mingyu, then Seungcheol.

A murmur erupts throughout the room, pulsing in waves of concern. To their credit, none of the staff panic or dissolve into hysterics, though the palpable tension sits heavily on Mingyu's shoulders. He shares a sideways glance with Seungcheol as Queen Consort Hyeyoung says in a dangerously calm and even tone, "A perimeter search, if you will, Captain Jeon."

Wonwoo strides out of the room with a curt nod, still clutching the arrow in his hand. The remaining guards band closer towards the three of them left sitting frozen at the table. It makes Mingyu's chest constrict with snake-like fear, the kind that suffocates hope. Such a blatant threat, a direct attack. Mingyu and Seungcheol aren't the only ones left of the royal bloodline but they're certainly aware now of the bright red targets stamped upon their backs.

Queen Consort Hyeyoung clears her throat pointedly, and the maids, startled into action, bustle about using spells to gather the broken glass shards and dispose of them safely. A shield is put up across the empty frame in the meantime. The arrow must've been enchanted to break the protection on the window, powerful magic to counter the intensive safety measures woven into every single brick of the palace. It will take some time before a replacement is ready.

"Who would dare do something as bold as this?" Seungcheol asks in a low voice as Queen Consort Hyeyoung speaks to the guards. There's something almost like incredulity in his tone.

"I don't think they were acting alone," Mingyu murmurs back.

"Sounds like it has something to do with Father."

All this talk of an assassination plot has sapped Mingyu of his good mood, filling him with anxiety instead. But still he wonders, why? Whoever it was had both the resources and the opportunity to kill either of them in that moment, perhaps even both. So why go to the trouble of revealing themselves and their intentions in such a brazen manner?

Mingyu casts his gaze down at his half-eaten roll, regretful now that his appetite has entirely vanished. The honey has soaked into the bread and formed a golden sheen, but not even that enticing colour is enough to assuage the sick feeling in his stomach. He nudges the plate away with some reluctance.

"As I was saying," Queen Consort Hyeyoung begins in a slightly tense tone. "Prince Mingyu, what are your plans for the day?"

"I was... actually hoping to visit the city centre."

"Absolutely not."

Mingyu cannot say he wasn't expecting to get shot down immediately, but it does nothing to quell his disappointment. His dismay only deepens when Queen Consort Hyeyoung contemplates a total lockdown of the palace until the threat has been eliminated. If there's one thing he hates, it's being confined. The urge to protest is too compelling to push aside.

"My lady, we're playing right into their hands. Whoever was behind his, they want to create fear-"

"Prince Mingyu. Your safety is no trivial matter."

"I refuse to be afraid," Mingyu insists, all too aware of how stubborn he sounds, how he's playing a dangerous game with the line that marks defiance. "I will not stay shut up in the palace and wait for someone to kill me."

The warning Seungcheol gives him in the form of a kick under the table reminds him to keep his tongue in check, though he doesn't pay it much mind after that. He's not ready to back down on this just yet. Queen Consort Hyeyoung shows no indication of her thoughts except for a slight, almost imperceptible, flaring of her nostrils.

"Very well," she begins in a steely tone. "I don't doubt that you can take care of yourself, Prince Mingyu. But Captain Jeon will accompany you at all times, and I want a tracking spell bound to you."

Dissatisfied with these conditions, Mingyu clenches his jaw. He loathes the thought of being monitored at every step, but he recognises the immense leniency Queen Consort Hyeyoung is showing in allowing him out of the palace in the first place.

"Of course, my lady," Mingyu concedes quietly as he bows his head in respect. He's given a sunset curfew which he agrees to without any resistance; the idea of being out at night with a potential assassin in their midst is none too appealing. At that moment, Wonwoo returns with a steely expression.

"We weren't able to find anyone, Your Majesty," he reports, his deep voice tinged with frustration. "But we did catch a faint trace of magic. I've got someone looking into it."

"Thank you, Captain Jeon. I trust you will keep me informed. In the meantime, please accompany Prince Mingyu during his visit to the city centre."

The incredulous look that crosses over Wonwoo's face would be amusing if not for the tension still throttling the room.

//

"I'm beginning to get the impression that you are quite stubborn, Prince Mingyu," Wonwoo remarks dryly, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "Foolishly so, one might even say."

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, but otherwise remains unaffected by the obvious bait.

"Think what you like about me, Captain Jeon," he shrugs even as the urge to retort does a tantalising dance at the forefront of his thoughts. He shoulders his satchel and sets off down the corridor without waiting for Wonwoo. The way that Wonwoo falls smoothly into step right beside him is something Mingyu will have to get used to.

"All I'm saying is that I don't think it's very wise for future King Mingyu to be so insistent on leaving the palace, especially when someone wants you dead."

"There won't be a problem as long as you do your job," Mingyu replies airily, shooting a sly sideways glance at Wonwoo. "Are you implying that you're incompetent, Captain Jeon?"

The sight of Wonwoo's face scrunching into a scowl might be the most satisfying thing Mingyu's seen all morning.

"Let me make this clear, I am your guard, not your mother-" Wonwoo begins in an irritated tone, but Mingyu stops walking and effectively cuts him off.

With narrowed eyes, Mingyu says, "I'd watch my tongue if I were you, Captain Jeon. I may tolerate the less than appropriate way you speak to me, but others certainly will not."

There is a moment in which Wonwoo holds his gaze firmly, expression unreadable. It's rather tense, and Mingyu finds himself unable to look away from those sharp eyes. Then, Wonwoo seems to relax a little.

"My apologies, Your Highness. I misspoke," he murmurs, and though Mingyu doubts its sincerity, it's better than nothing.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Enemies to Lovers (10) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine

A Stolen Ring (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?

He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.

a theism in evolution (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: The sungod, Phil, sends letters to Mother Gaia. He puts all his worries into words… even when he himself can't see right through them

Back To Zero (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: One weekend, one house, five people, a recent breakup; Dan wasn't exactly thrilled, but he was going to show up for his friend, even if it meant having to share a bed with a stupid guy that sided with the even stupider guy that broke his friend's heart.

it comes in waves (ao3) - sadlybunny

Summary: Dan trembles in his seat. “And- and what shall I call you?”

He moves his thumb to grip at Dan’s chin roughly. “Captain.” His face inches closer. “Or on very special occasions, Captain Lester, sir.”

It’s 1728 in Port Royal, Jamaica. Daniel Howell, the son of Governor Howell, is engaged to be married to a woman he has never met. The night of their betrothal, Daniel is kidnapped by swashbuckling pirate captain, Philip Lester. As Dan learns about pirate life on the Liberty Galley, he discovers things about himself that he never knew before. Maybe he doesn’t want to return to his father, after all.

Kick Me While I'm Down (ao3) - jerseker

Summary: Dan and Phil meet in an adult kickball league. Phil is just there to make friends. Dan is - not.

Lonely in Conflict, Cast as a Convict (ao3) - andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)

Summary: Dan is a vampire who can’t remember how it feels not to be lonely. Phil is a vampire hunter living in his brother’s shadow.

When they meet, they find acceptance in each other that they don’t find anywhere else, but there are secrets and other forces at play trying to keep them apart.

Oswald (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: Dan is an asshole, Phil goes through a tragic accident, and this somehow brings them together.

Also Phil owns a pancake restaurant.

Our House (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Enemy is a harsh word. Rival sounds so immature, like Dan’s the star of some teen drama on Netflix. Competition is close, but not quite there.

In simple terms, Dan has a distaste for Phil Lester. Otherwise known as AmazingPhil in their line of business, for some reason that’s beyond Dan. What makes him so amazing anyway?

There’s a reason the network wanted Daniel Howell and Phil Lester for this specific series, and Dan guesses there’s really only one way to find out that answer.

or

And they were co-hosts. Oh my god they were co-hosts.

Redemption Arc (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summaries: classic, slightly dramatic rags to riches au

santa pally (santa baby) (ao3) - huphilpuffs

Summary: Phil grabs the first name off the top and hands the pot over. His hands are shaking when he unfolds it and– well fuck.

There, in Mr. Fowler’s familiar print, is written: Dan Howell.

scratch bark bite (oh, love me, i lied) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Music & Drama teacher Dan Howell has a well-known rivalry with his coworker, English teacher Phil Lester.

An unforeseen event flips everything Dan thought he knew about Phil and himself on its head. Slowly but surely, the grudge withers, and the two of them cross the line between enemy and friend. But what will happen when their true intents and feelings get revealed? And was what they had ever really a rivalry? Was it even mutual?

"Seriously?" (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Dan and Phil meet while candle shopping and one of them can't help but comment on how obnoxious/boring/etc the scents the other one is picking out are

-

the time Phil met a totally-not-handsome stranger and only sort-of wished they'd never meet again. Tough luck?

Servus Sanesco Sanctimonia (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: After Phil casts an unknown spell, he finds himself unable to stay away from his sworn enemy - quite literally.

snowdrops and second chances (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: A tale of the prince who set out to rid his kingdom of magic and the healing witch who found him.

strike a deal, kiss my lips (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Witches were the only magical beings capable of binding and controlling demons. It required a complicated ritual and crazy amounts of magic.

It happening on accident was practically unheard of until Phil came along and got tangled up with a snarky and dangerous demon named Dan. Suddenly bound together, Phil must grapple with control over a chaotic demon that wants to strip the skin from his bones.

And maybe strip the clothes off of his body as well.

The Problem With Travelling During The Holidays (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan is in a tricky situation, running to catch his connecting flight with no other than his annoying enemy right on his heels. If he could just get on the plane and be away from Lester that would save Christmas.

Luckily for Dan, things don't tend to go his way.

To Dwell on Dreams (ao3) - carltzmann

Summary: "Taking in the whole image, though, it hardly hurt. Watching this perfect version of himself smile and wave and talk to his friends, bathing in success and appreciation, Dan suddenly started to believe that maybe all that was possible, even with the confirmation of a terrifying secret."

Dan and Phil meet at the Mirror of Erised.

you say go fast, i say hold on tight (ao3) - parentaladvisorybullshitcontent

Summary: He's Phil Lester, small independent bookshop owner, who wears graphic t-shirts and drinks too much coffee. That's it.

Except when it isn't.

In which Phil is sometimes a bookshop owner and sometimes a superhero, and Dan is a villain, of sorts.

Your Crowning Glory (ao3) - pasteldanhowells, rainbowchristy

Summary: Dan is 18 years old when the news is suddenly sprung upon him that he is next line to be the next king of Genovia, but things don’t go as smoothly as he thought, between having a suddenly busy schedule, a new lifestyle, an arranged marriage that Dan has no control over, and worst of all, Philip Lester trying to steal his crown.