#and then its followed by the faintest sound of ocean waves

[ladysqueakinpip]

not me lying wide awake at 5:30am on a sunday on my day off bc after almost a full year I finally FINALLY realized the implication of the end of remember them from the cyclops saga

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

🐚

Horror widened his eyes as billows of smoke rose to blanket the sky, unhearing of the many people and emergency response sirens, the heart that had been hammering away within its cage falling oddly still. Flames were devouring the earth with ravenous vigor as they crawled with purpose towards where the city limit began. For a moment sounds threatened to deafen him when the call of a name came from chapped lips attempting to fight off quivers. The heels of his shoes dug into the ground in preparation to move forward.

“Wait! You can’t go out there!”

Pro Hero status came with its advantages. They could go places that the average civilian couldn’t hope to, for starters, but today it would bring him the privilege necessary to satisfy the swirling emotions threatening to burst forth.

“Red Riot!”

And then he was sprinting across the blackened earth, uncaring of the chorus following him.

Familiar trees and large stones marked a passage that his feet knew without conscious thought. They traversed over or under obstacles that would cause any unawares by surprise. The Pro Hero clothed in black and red paused just for a moment when after a near minute of sprinting, almost too faint for him to see, came the glisten of something reflective. Clouds of smoke prevented the moon from guiding his path, no stars to give direction, nor was there a breeze to ease burning lungs quickly filling with the burning ashes falling like snow. Blisters were threatening to form across his unprotected skin as he began running once more. Embers singed cloth, skin, and hair alike as he vaulted over a fallen tree to land heavily beside a crevice made between two rocks.

There wasn’t supposed to be one here.

The name rose from his lips again, this time in a hope of hearing an answer, as garnet eyes searched the surrounding area. The tree line ends just a little farther ahead of where he stood, meaning the shoreline wasn’t too far, which also went to reason that a specific residence was near. Silence rang loudly across the once beautiful shoreline in between the fire’s roars as he caught sight of a gut wrenching scene.

Underfoot the crunching of twigs gave way to hair rising crackling of fragile glass before it gave way to the grind of sand. Where trees met shore was blackened sea glass beach. Salt saturated waves cascaded over the usually breathtaking and colorful only to currently be wetting lackluster rocks. Flickering of lingering flames were just enough to illuminate a secret path that led towards a cluster of rocks to his right. Garnet followed the trail, as did their owner’s feet, until they came to a stop after rounding the imposing craggy coif side belonging to the upper hill that overlooked the area.

Nothing was left of the once bright two-story house filled with laughter and games. Even the ocean itself seemed sad of its demise as its frothy waves appeared to reach for the wooden path that had once led to a porches front stoop. All that was left was ruined piles of wood, broken tile, shattered glass, and various ruined belongings scattered about.

“Help!” Oxygen caught within his lungs as the faintest of echos tickled his ear, drawing his attention away from the completely destroyed residence that lay hidden between the rocks.

Not too far from where the pathway disappeared into the ocean was a flat rock that had often been used as a stage in childish games. How many times had the two of you played upon it? Surely it was impossible to count them. Though his family only visited here during the summers since a relative lived along the coast, meeting you had been purely by chance. He’d gotten lost along the beach in search of seashells to show family and friends once returning back to Japan when the tide had risen without his knowing, rendering him stranded upon that very same rock. Waves made it difficult for any to swim, including him. Unsureness filled him the sun had begun to set, the faint calls of his name belonging to that of his parents coming from the distance. Would he be stuck there all night?

Until from the bubbling waters rose a person whose gaze offered comfort.

“Are you stuck?”

So startled he’d been that initially the boy had been rendered stiff with shock as you extended your hand farther.

This didn’t deter you though. Instead, you came closer to him with great effort until your upper body was splayed across the stone. “I’ll tell you a secret if you let me help.” Curiosity shone so brightly within his gaze, though it was tainted with caution, but eased the shadow from those garnet gems by raising your lower half.

His eyes widened with wonderment as iridescent scales glittered in the fading sunlight over the horizon. Even in this minimal lighting it was clear for all to see the beautiful appendage now swaying thanks to the tide’s flow. “Wow!”

A smile lifted your lips when he shuffled closer, just within reach for the tip of your fin to tickle his cheek and earn a laugh. “Will you let me help now?”

Hesitation shone brightly within his gaze as it flitted down to the water lapping at his bare feet. “But I’ll be swept away.”

“I promise to get you back to the human world in one piece. You have my word!” You proudly waved your fin. “My pride as a mermaid it at stake!”

“So you really are one?!” Eijiro’s eyes were nearly popping out of his skull as you laughed.

The droplet that had gathered within the corner of your eye was wiped away courtesy of a fingertip. “Of course not, silly, its just my quirk that makes me look like one.”

All excitement dwindled as you confessed that it seemed to have a mind of its own. “So you can’t control it?”

Your fingertip appeared inches from his face. “Talk later, rescue now. Are you going to let me or not?” When it still seemed as though he was hesitating, you winked and offered him your hand again. “I know it’s scary but it’s better to be manly than dead. Trust me.”

Before he’d realized it himself, his hand had found yours and the two of you were back on shore in the blink of an eye. Though he’d been soaking wet there had been no mistaking the firm ground beneath as he crab crawled away from the ocean’s reach. That was when he saw it, or specifically saw you, reach for something that seemed so out of place: a wheelchair. He had watched with wide eyes as you hoisted yourself up into the seat then went about situating the fish fin attached at your waist.

“(Y/n)!” Red Riot shouted, his gaze combing over every inch of the scorched beach in hopes of seeing familiar tire tracks.

He was embarrassed when you offered a bright smile; clearly you’d felt his stare. “Sorry—”

“No, it’s fine!” You waved away his apology before it could be fully voiced. “I don’t let it get me down! It’s actually super helpful for my family. Since it likes to act on its own, especially when its least convenient, it easier to get around like this than just flopping around uselessly or crawling everywhere. Trust me when I say that the ground is much dirtier than one thinks. Mom was nearly at her wits end when I had to drag myself through a carnival. That funnel cake and chili dog doomed that outfit real quick.”

“What are those?”

Judging from the expression of understanding that crossed your face, it must’ve clicked that he was no local. Still you smiled and cooed. “Stick around long enough and I can show you. They’re the greatest foods in the whole entire world!”

His gaze drifted back down to your lower body. “How long until you turn back?”

“Dunno.” You shrugged, though he could see the briefest appearance of disdain within your gaze despite it being focused upon the ground. One of your hands absentmindedly stroked the metal. “Can’t use my legs very well anyway so this chair is pretty much how I get around. My family moved here just so that I could have some form of freedom to go where I want. Land is kinda hard for me but the water is my whole world.” A blush tinged your cheeks pink as his gaze met yours. “I mean who can say they turn into a freakin’ mermaid thanks to their quirk? I love the ocean so it’s no loss for me! I get to spend as much time in it as I like…or at least until my quirk decides enough’s enough.”

“(Y/n)!”

All summer the two of you had spent time together. True to your words a carnival had appeared just close enough for you to show him the wonderment you’d spoken about. And, of course, he was over the moon with how amazing everything was down to the smallest popcorn kernel that nearly toppled your wheelchair. For nearly two whole months he watched you go beyond Plus Ultra by overcoming your physical disability. More importantly, doing so allowed his eyes to be opened farther in understanding of just what it meant to be a hero. You would be the first to offer help to other lost tourists, assist children who’d strayed too far from their family’s umbrella or too scared to enter the ocean’s playful surf. Nearly every day that he came to the beach there you were wearing a smile.

Desperation was beginning to fill him as despite his careful search there was no sign of your presence. No tire tracks, no telltale signs that someone had crawled from one point to another, and there was no indication that anyone had lingered behind after the evacuation sirens sounded.

How had he been assigned to California, USA in the first place? The answer was simple: All Might recommended him to a hero agency that happened to be close by to where you lived. Accepting the offer to train beneath the American heroes was easily made.

Calamity though had a wicked sense of humor.

No sooner had his feet met the concrete and asphalt covered soil did villains strike the coastline.

Which led him to the current situation.

“I found your family, (Y/n), they’re waiting for you at the rendezvous point!” Red Riot’s focused exterior faltered for just a moment, allowing Eijiro’s worry and concern show through, until it was smoothed over when spotting something clatter across the ground to lightly tap against his boot. It was the sign he needed and he immediately shed any unnecessary clothing before diving into the salty ocean.

It was the shell you always left on the beach to let your family know that you’d gone into the water.

His head broke through the surface with a gasp before your own joined, gasping and sputtering while leaning heavily against the man who supported you. A wave sent you both tumbling onto the beach until the two of you were flat on your backs. Despite being tossed around like rag dolls, his hand had never relinquished its hold upon yours. It was when he tilted his head to get a better look at you that he saw your tears. “I gotcha,” he soothed while enclosing you within a tight embrace, “it was my turn to rescue you this time.” The broad, heaving muscles of his chest did little to stem your quivering as you explained that the fires had scared you into the ocean despite your family still being in town. A tendon within his jaw grew taunt when you confessed that your quirk had deactivated itself just when high tide was ebbing, meaning you’d been nearly stranded upon the rock platform not too far away, leaving you alone to watch as the fire consumed your home. His hold on you grew more when, while sobbing, you’d been driven back into the water during the villain’s retreat so as not to be taken as a hostage or worse. “You were amazing, (Y/n)! So freaking manly I’m almost jealous!”

Your wide eyes still filled with tears rose to meet his own as he sat up with you cradled within his lap. “W-what?”

The mask obscuring his face was torn away with a sharp toothed grin. “Guess who!”

All of the fear that had been threatening to choke you instantly vanished when seeing his smile and hearing him call your name. Somehow, someway, that cautious little Japanese boy had returned just in time to fulfill his promise to one day save you as you had him. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean once your quirk had deactivated itself left you regretting not asking for him to stay in touch. Who would’ve guessed that your heart had developed feelings for him or that you realized what they meant the hour you found out he’d returned home? Your arms wrapped around his neck until his forehead met yours, the tears streaming down your face no longer belonging to fear but to happiness as he returned the embrace by wrapping an arm around your waist and the other your shoulders.

[collecting-stories]

Could I request Cowboy Like Me with Tom Davidson please? So excited to see someone writing for Walker Independence!

Cowboy Like Me - Tom Davidson

Summary: Reader and Tom spend the duster together.

A/N: Finally finished the season! Does anyone know if it's been renewed?

TS Anthology Series

...now you hang from my lips, like the gardens of babylon...

The duster felt like it had come up out of nowhere. You were standing on the front porch of the dry goods shop, debating the cost of fabric for a new dress, when someone warned of it’s presence. And like a tidal wave at the ocean, the dust rose up out of the ground and floated its way toward Independence like a cloud of bad fortune. You’d abandoned the fabric and headed for the nearest place you knew to be safe from the storm: Hagan’s. If you were lucky Kate would be there, or one of the other dancers. Someone to ride out the storm with at least.  

The hotel and bar looked absolutely deserted when you finally managed to make your way inside. With the whole place closed up tight like this it almost felt eerie and there was a small part of you that was beginning to regret not finding a better place to ride out the storm. At least a more populated place so that you didn’t have to sit here alone.  

“I thought I heard someone down here,” a familiar voice called down the stairs and you realized that you had been so engrossed with the duster out the window that you’d missed the sound of footsteps on the staircase.  

“Just taking shelter from the storm sheriff,” you replied, turning to smile at him over your shoulder. You’d been hoping for Kate but you seemed to be having far better luck.  

None of your friends knew about your relationship with Tom, although you had your suspicion that Kai knew. He seemed to know about everything that went on in Independence. He hadn’t said anything outright to you about it, or to anyone else to your relief. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of seeing Tom just that you knew how your friends would feel about it, especially Kate and Abby. 

“Did you come in alone?” He asked, hesitating at the last step, taking a sweeping inventory of the room in case someone else had followed you into Hagan’s. He’d been relieved to find that no one was in the bar and hotel when he arrived though he had come looking for you. It was luck that he stayed and you had decided to come here.  

“I did.” You nodded. “Is anyone else here?” 

“Just me...disappointed?” He asked, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing on his face as he took his hat off and laid it on one of the tables. He walked passed you to the bar and you followed after, standing on the other side of the counter and watching as he fixed two drinks.  

“Not disappointed at all,” you replied, leaning against the counter to bring yourself closer to Tom as he passed a whiskey on ice to you. “Fancy,” you mused, taking it and sipping. “Say, you planning on keeping your distance the whole afternoon?”  

“Is that what I’m doing?” He joked.  

You regularly looked forward to moments alone with Tom. It was tricky, considering he was the sheriff of Independence and you were dancing on stage at Hagan’s. Not quite the pair that people would match up if they were asked to but something about the two of you worked. Maybe because you understood each other better than anyone else ever had. Both from families back east, both running from something and ending up out here in Texas, both falling into roles that you didn’t really want. When you were with other people in Independence, you felt like you were always putting on a show. Even with Abby or Kate. But with Tom, when you could find a moment to steal away together, or like today when the moment found you, it felt like you could truly be yourself.  

“Well I’m all the way over here and you’re all the way over there,” you teased, leaning forward again. Tom leaned forward as though he might meet you in the middle for a kiss, stealing a sip of his whiskey at the last moment instead.  

“Guess I’ll have to do something about that,” he mused.  

You nodded, backing away from the counter with your whiskey in hand, walking your way backward until you reached the table he’d left his hat on. You picked up the black hat he wore everyday and slipped it on your head, “You know what I was thinking?” 

“What’s that?” He asked, coming around the counter and following your movements as you slowly backed yourself to the stairs. You had a destination in mind, his office and room, and you could tell by the smirk on his face that he knew exactly where you were headed.  

“After this duster blows through, you should take a couple days off, let Gus take care of things here in town.” You said, “you been looking tired lately.” 

“Have I?” He asked, placing a hand on the banister as he reached the staircase. “And what about you? You takin’ off too?” 

“Why not? My feet are crying every night, might as well.”  

“And if we’re both hiding out? You think people won’t notice?” He asked, the light tone to his voice betraying the very serious question he was asking.  

“Let them,” you shrugged, turning to walk up the last few steps, “now come over and give me a proper hello.” 

“Whatever you say,” he downed the end of his whiskey, leaving the empty glass on a hall table as he followed you into his room, closing the distance between you and the office doors.  

[charlizekkelly]

bikes & blood; chapter VI

{poly!lost boys x oc}

word count: 3400 rating: explicit chapter warnings: an unintentional mixture of timelines, and NOSTALGIA (I'm so desensitized that I don't know whats bad and whats not) bikes & blood masterlist

tag list(feel free to leave a comment if you want to be added to the list <3) : @henhouse-horrors

"𝐀 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐚, 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬."

--

Marko, Paul and Dwayne's howlers of delight echoed across the shoreline of Santa Carla. Despite the two having left before them, they'd slowed their pace and continued to weave from one side of the beach to the other. Paul's cheeky grin etched across his face as he pulled ahead of Dwayne and disappeared into the tree line. Amara's hair whipped around behind her, tangling itself as Marko followed Dwayne into the tree line ghosting the beach.

A soft, adrenaline-filled smile upturned the corners of Amara's mouth. The moonlight above and the headlights mounted on the front of the bikes—the only sense of guidance as they weaved their way through the trees. Amara's grip on Marko's waist tightened as he swerved to avoid a fallen tree branch, righting himself as smoothly as if he knew it'd been there all along. The air growing colder the deeper they drove into the forest, the smell of salt filling the air and their lungs.

The faintest brush of sea spray across Amara's skin paired with the sound of waves rumbling nearby filled the starless sky; the ash-grey clouds coating the sky in a never-ending blanket of darkness. Dwayne and Paul's lights flickered from sight as they maneuvered their way through the trees with ease; missing rocks, bushes and fallen trees with an air of practised calm. Paul glanced back over his shoulder at Amara before he disappeared over the crest of a small sloping hill, his eyes dancing with delight.

Panic seized Amara's heart as the boy she'd only known for a day vanished. Worry nipping at her gut as the smell of the ocean grew stronger. The crashing of waves louder and thundering as Marko chuckled to himself; the vibrations rippling from his chest and into her own. Amara watched from behind Marko's shoulder as Dwayne disappeared over the crest of the hill, his ebony-brown locks billowing in the wind. Marko sped up with a quick twist of his hand as he cleared the crested hill with a small, easy jump, Paul's amused grin etched into his face as he and Dwayne waited for the pair.

Amara's stomach rolled with unease, the crashing of waves thunderous to her ears as the earth several metres away from Dwayne and Paul disappeared with an abrupt drop. Marko stopped beside them and quickly killed the engine of his bike, his Cheshire-like grin plastered across his face as he watched Amara stare down at the impassable drop. Amara tore her eyes from the edge of the cliff face and frowned as a lone bike sat vacant of its rider. Paul all but pranced to where Amara sat behind Marko, helping her off of the back of Marko's bike and towards a set of old, beaten-down stairs that clung to the cliff face.

Amara clutched onto Paul's hand as he led her down the rickety stairs. The wooden staircase groaned and creaked beneath her feet, the faintest sway to the steps enticing her heart to pound within her chest. Paul's hand squeezed Amara's gently as he glanced down at her with a sense of surety in his eyes. Dwayne and Marko followed behind them, talking amongst themselves in voices too low for Amara to hear over the crashing of the waves.

Anxiety crept into her veins as Paul let go of her hand and disappeared into a gap in the rock face. Amara's senses kicked into overdrive; one half of her mind screaming at her to run while the other urged her to stay. A frown marred Amara's face as she hesitated, eyes narrowed at the gap in the rock face. Dwayne brushed past her shoulder with mirth in his umber-brown eyes, sparing Amara an encouraging look over his shoulder before he disappeared into the entrance of the rock face.

Marko's patchwork jacket brushed past Amara's shoulder as he walked past her and stopped beside the coarse, creamy rock face. He leant against the rocks, a gentle smile across his face as he waited. "You coming?" He asked, gesturing with his head towards the gap within the rocks.

Amara paused, eyeing the gap within the rocks with unease as she contemplated turning around and walking back through the forest to the boardwalk. Marko waited for her answer, patiently leaning against the rock face as though he had all the time in the world. Amara threw a glance back up the wooden stairs behind her, the crashing of the waves against the cliff face filled her ears as she breathed in a deep breath of air and turned back to face Marko.

"Lead the way." She breathed out with as much courage as she could muster.

Marko's eyebrows rose, doubt seeping into his hazel irises. "You sure? Because I can take you back to the boardwalk if you're uncomfortable."

"You'd take me back to the boardwalk? Just like that?" Amara asked, clicking her fingers together as though to emphasise how he'd take her back to the boardwalk.

"You've only got to say the words, Amara. I'll be more than happy to walk you back up those stairs and take you back to the boardwalk."

"Just like that?"

He nodded his head as a soft smile spread across his boyish features. "Just like that." He paused, lifting his fingers to his mouth as his eyes studied Amara intently. "I promise you that we'll never hurt you, not now or even in the future."

Amara's brows furrowed at his choice of words, dismissing it with a swift shake of her head as though it'd rid her of her thoughts. Amara breathed in a deep breath of air to calm the nerves that'd begun to build. She knew, despite having only known Marko for a short amount of time, that he meant what he said, and that soothed the anxiety that had crept in. Foolish or not, Amara followed him into the gap of the rock face when he turned away from her and slipped through the sizeable gap.

Small stones skittered across the dank, dimly lit tunnel of the rock face as Amara's shoes sent them tumbling across the sandy floor. She squinted her eyes as she cautiously inched closer to the faint light emitting from the end of the tunnel. Voices and laughter echoed off the rough walls of the tunnel, her eyes widening in pleasant surprise as the dank tunnel opened up into a large, spaciously lit cave.

As Amara's fawn-brown eyes wandered the room in awe, she soaked in the Victorian styled ruins before her with wonder filled eyes. An askew chandelier hung from the ceiling. Its ornately designed crystals chipped or broken upon the cave floor. The base of which hung dislodged from the roof by a thick power cable. A broken fountain sat within the middle of the room, its once intricately designed tiers crumbled beneath that of a second chandelier that had fallen from the ceiling—pieces of shattered crystals filling the base of the fountain. Barrels filled with fire illuminated the cave, reddish-orange flames licking at the metal as though eager to escape its confines.

A large painting of a man hung up on the rocky wall, varying trinkets scattered around the cave floor and surrounding crevices. Shell wind-chimes hung from the ceiling nearest to three beaten-down couches placed beneath the fraying portrait. Paul and Dwayne lounging comfortably within the worn couches beside that of an old, ancient-looking wheelchair. David sat perched within the uncomfortable-looking chair, sparing Amara a fleeting glance before continuing on with his conversation with Dwayne. Marko sat off to the side further back in the cave, a messily arranged bookshelf and book stacks scattered around him. An old stereo left beside him on a small jutting out ledge, the sheerest of curtains brushing against the boombox as the faintest breeze blew across the cave.

Amara peered over Marko's shoulder to the unused and seemingly forgotten bed, her eyebrows coming together as Amara wondered why the mattress looked so vacant and unused. Amara sat down beside Marko, who held a small white bird within his hands, running his fingers ever so gently across the sleekness of the pigeon's feathers with care. His hazel eyes tracking the movement of his fingers as though memorising every stroke of his hand down the bird's back.

David's voice rang out across the spacious cave, both Amara and Marko's heads raising from the small bird in unison. "This used to be one of the hottest resorts in Santa Carla about eighty-five years ago." David paused as he scrutinised the cave. "Shame they built it on a fault line. Because, when the big one hit San Francisco in nineteen oh six. This place took a header straight into the crack."

Paul, Dwayne and Marko each wore grins of bemusement as though they'd heard the same explanation time and time again. A sense of déjà vu creeping through the group of bikers as Amara looked around the Victorian styled room with interest. Her gaze coming to rest on that same empty room, left forgotten at the back of the cave to collect dust.

"You live here?" Amara asked.

David nodded his head in response, glacier-blue eyes filled with a sense of cool calm. "We do."

"What about your parents? Wouldn't they be worried that you live here?"

The biker's laughter filled the cave as they all shared a knowing look with the other; Dwayne's lips twitching as though he was fighting the urge to smile. Marko peered down at Amara with a soft smile, chuckling lightly to himself as her eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

"Our parents couldn't care less, Amara. Then again, they never were too concerned about us in the first place." David explains calmly.

Amara nodded her head slowly as she let that piece of information sink in. "So, it's just you four?"

Paul nodded his head, sky-blue eyes alight with happiness as he rose from his seat and came to stand in front of her. Taking Amara's hand in his own, he led her over to the worn couches beside the fountain.

"Now it is," Paul uttered as they sat down on the soft couches.

Amara frowned. "Now it is?"

"We used to live here with two others but that didn't work out." Marko piped up from his spot in front of the bookshelf.

Amara hummed in acknowledgement, letting Marko's words hang in the air before Paul broke the silence with his muttered explanation. "Because of some guy."

"A guy?"

David glared at Paul, shaking his head in exasperation as he rubbed his face with his gloved hand. Amara watched, mildly amused as the platinum-blonde peered up at the ceiling as though praying for some semblance of patience. Marko's lips upturned into a cheeky grin as he noticed the way Amara bit her lip to suppress her smile, shaking his head as he let the small white pigeon go and crossed the room to sit down beside her.

"And what a mistake that was," David uttered lowly, tearing his icy stare away from the cave ceiling.

Amara's brows came together as Paul muttered something about a dog beneath his breath. Marko's eyes narrowing into a glared as he leaned across the back of the couch and smacked Paul upon the shoulder. A soft chuckle slipped past her lips as Amara watched the two interact—every little thing they did reminding her more and more of siblings fighting amongst themselves. Marko's hazel eyes hardened as Amara caught the ending of Dwayne's muttered response.

The small, curly blonde-haired biker leant down and picked up a small pebble as Amara blinked in mute shock; trying and failing to hide the amusement across her face with their antics. Amara's lips parted in shock as Marko tossed the small greying pebble at Dwayne's chest. A triumphant grin etched across his face as the brunette levelled him with a deathly glare. Paul chuckled as Marko leant back into the couch, resting his arm across the back of the seat while throwing Dwayne a mocking smirk from over the top of Amara's head.

David shook his head as a disappointingly fed up sigh spilled from his mouth. Icy-blue eyes watching the entire interaction as though he'd seen it many times before. David's eyes met Amara's, his eyebrows lifting as a smirk lifted the edges of his mouth.

"Marko, food." He ordered smoothly, blue eyes never straying from Amara's as he held her stare.

Marko huffed, glancing down at Amara quickly before he stood from the couch and disappeared down the dimly lit tunnel. His footsteps echoed throughout the cave, the sound of the waves crashing against the rock face barely decipherable from within the cavernous home. Paul fidgeted for several moments, searching through the pockets of his pants before a sound of triumph bubbled from the excitable blonde. Amara turned her head toward him, fawn-brown eyes alight with regale as his Atlantic-blue eyes met her own.

Paul twirled the pre-rolled joint between his fingers, dirty-blonde eyebrows wiggling as he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the pasty-white joint. Tipping his head back with a delighted smile across his face as the smoke filled his lungs with one inhale and left them in another cloud of smoke.

"Tell me, Amara. How long have you been in Santa Carla?" David asked from his position in the ancient wheelchair.

"Not long. I've been here for three days now."

"What brings you to Santa Carla, of all places? Not a lot of people have heard of the famous 'Murder Capital of the World'." He drawls, toying with the cigarette that was tucked behind his ear.

Amara's nose scrunched up with displeasure, the disdain she held towards her parent's divorce clear within her expression. "My parents divorced. Mum stayed in Phoenix with my older brother. Dad and I moved to Santa Carla."

Paul nodded his head, inhaling another lungful of smoke as he rested his head upon the back of the couch, his arm slung across the back of the chair while his eyes darted from rock crevice to rock crevice of the ceiling.

Amara's eyes flitted over to Dwayne as he sat up on the couch across from her, elbows coming to rest upon his thighs while his umber-brown eyes locked with her own; interest swirling within his dark irises.

"How old are you, Amara?" Dwayne asked softly, the deep timbre of his voice calming and pleasant to hear.

"Eighteen."

"And, your father lets you wander the boardwalk alone?"

"Why shouldn't he?"

"It's dangerous after dark in Santa Carla."

Amara arched an eyebrow doubtfully as his words sent a sense of déjà vu through her—reminding Amara of what her mother had said before they'd left for Santa Carla. And, just like her father, Amara plastered a carefree smile across her face and spoke. "There's nothing to be afraid of in Santa Carla."

David's disdainful laugh filled the cave, his glacier-blue eyes dancing with amusement as Paul lifted his head from the back of the couch to look down at Amara in surprise.

"Nothing to be afraid of? Oh, sweetheart. There's always something to be afraid of after dark." David drawled as Amara turned her head to face him.

Amara shrugged dismissively. David's expression turning to stone as he bristled from her dismissal. Amara's head turned in the direction of the cave entrance as footsteps echoed to meet her ears, Marko's beaming face emerging from the shadow's seconds later—a large brown box held within his hands as he maneuvered his way through the cave with ease.

"Who's hungry?" Marko questioned in a sing-song type of voice, hazel eyes flickering over towards David briefly as a small frown marred his face.

"Me!" Paul exclaimed. Jolting up from the couch in a rush to get to the food, his shoulder knocking into Amara's as he scrambled off the chair and snatched the box from Marko's hands.

Marko merely shook his head without a single trace of surprise in his eyes, shrugging his shoulders as he followed the taller blonde back to the couch. Paul released a sound from the back of his throat akin to that of a whine, pouting as he pulled a carton of Chinese food from the box.

"Chinese? Again?"

Marko ruffled the pouting blonde's hair, sitting down beside Amara on the couch as he leant over and pulled the cardboard box from Paul's lap into his own. "Quit your whining, Paul. You know it's the only place open after dark." Marko scolded, pulling two cartons of Chinese from the box before tossing a box of Chinese towards Dwayne, who caught it with ease.

Marko passed Amara one of the unopened boxes of food. The mouth-watering smell of Chinese spices and sauces greeting her senses as Amara opened the medium-sized white box. A hushed laugh fell from Amara's lips as her mind drifted to a story her father had told her about a carton of rice he'd once believed had been real live maggots. The harmless, unmoving special fried rice eliciting a soft rumble from Amara's stomach.

Marko and Paul chuckled lightly at the sound. The two blondes digging into their cartons of food like it was their last meal on earth, nudging the other playfully as they ate. Amara shook her head as her eyes lifted to meet David's, his brows furrowed as he watched Amara closely—his icy-blue eyes trying to decipher Amara from across the room.

"What'd you think of Santa Carla so far, Amara?" Paul questioned with a half-finished mouthful of food.

Amara shook her head as she deadpanned the blonde who sat beside her. "It's been a refreshing difference to Phoenix."

"So, you didn't like Phoenix?" Marko asked.

"It was okay, but something about Santa Carla is... inviting. It seems to appeal to everyone that comes down to the boardwalk."

"Like you're supposed to be there, right?" Paul pipes up, lifting another spoonful of rice to his mouth as he waited for Amara to respond.

Amara nodded her head as she chewed her mouthful of rice, swallowing before she spoke again. "Oddly enough, yes. The boardwalk has a type of allure for everyone. Something captures someone's attention and there's always something to feed that curiosity."

"Sounds like a siren's call to me," David uttered from the wheelchair, chopsticks in hand as he lifted a mouthful of noodles to his mouth.

Amara chuffed with amusement, musing over the platinum-blonde's words as she ate another spoonful of rice. "Maybe you're right, but something tells me that Santa Carla is the city for the lost."

"City of the lost. Murder Capital of the World. It's all the same thing, different but still alike." David spoke with surety.

"I think people come to Santa Carla in search of a place to belong. Either they find what they're looking for within the boardwalk or they become one of the many missing persons of Santa Carla." Amara paused as she mulled over her own words. "And maybe that's why it's the Murder Capital of the World."

David lifted his eyebrows, fascination seeping into his chilling irises. "What do you mean?"

Amara sighed, raking her hand through her hair as she tried to find another way to describe the way she thought Santa Carla worked and what made it the feared 'Murder Capital of the World'. "You come to Santa Carla in hopes of something new. Something better, right?"

David nodded his head, interest well and truly peaked as he leant forward in the ancient wheelchair. "Right."

"And, you either find what you were looking for or a piece of you dies when you realise that nothing within this world can bring you happiness, surety or a sense of calm."

David hummed, glacier-blue eyes filling with a look that Amara couldn't decipher as a satisfied smile spread across his face. The intimidating aura that surrounded him easing slightly as he seemed to see Amara in a new light.

"A piece of you dies when you enter Santa Carla, Amara. It's just if they can save you in time that counts."

-

<previous chapter next chapter>

[pale-fairytales]

Self Indulgent OC Fic Sneak Peak

The thing that follows lives in her dreams, and as far as she knows, that is the only place that it can hurt her.

Well, maybe not literally, she thinks to herself, spindly legs trudging wet sand, bare feet so heavy that there may as well be weights tied to her ankles. Maybe it’s just a stupid illusion, a stupid Dreamscape Monster Come to Half-Life. This is a dream, she reassures herself. And Hinoka knows it's just a dream because of the feeling in the air. Like she's living on the static channel on the TV. And the thing that follows sounds the most staticky of all things that follow in her dreams. 

It's always the same thing when it shows up to stalk her—it's the long hallway. The doors parallel to one another, unable to be opened no matter how she tugs or twists the knobs. The long walk in search of a soft place to fall, hopping creaks and cracks, clearing any and all targets on her back. Clearing targets even though it never fully washes off. The Thing That Follows seems always to see it no matter what. 

It’s tall, whatever it is, and walks on two legs, based on the rhythm. It moves at a snail’s pace, but never far behind. She’s sure she could see its face if she bothered to look back. She never dares to turn around to look it in the eyes. 

It smells like smoke in the dreamworld. Smoke and flames and her childhood, of sweet melon and honey, in the faintest of ways. Maybe other people's dreams smell different, Hinoka thinks to herself as she trudges, no longer with the energy to run. Maybe they smell like their childhoods and less like smoke. 

She walks fast in her dream instead, as fast as she can, away from the following creature, listening to her own steps, her bare feet leaving behind footprints in the hallway, only to fade quickly, like ocean waves have come to wipe them away. 

The hand belonging to The Thing That Follows reaches for her.

Sometimes she swears she hears the ocean. 

The Thing That Follows breathes softly on the back of her neck.

Sometimes she swears she hears sweet voices long unheard, unsettled, calling her name—

Hinoka.

Hinoka.

Hinoka.

“Hinoka.” 

The voice that calls her name is like the rush of waves as they draw from shore for an impending tsunami.

"Wake up." 

With a gasp, the black haired girl’s eyes fly open, her breath caught in her throat. Her vision is blurry, as with every other very early morning. But when it clears, she's greeted with the wood ceiling, the spindle-thread thin sliver of light of sunrise painting her room less black and more very dark purple. She shifts, turning, only to see…

Oh.

"U-Uncle Kagero?" She asks, slowly sitting up. He glowers down at her.

HI HELLO This is a sneak peak of a new project that I've been wanting to do for years. Essentially, I created my main My Hero Academia oc when I was about 15 or 16 and since MHA has been one of my main hyperfixations for the last ~2-3 years (maybe 4 idk) I decided to finally just. Write some self indulgent oc fanfic

When will this project be posted? No clue. Will it be posted soon? Probably not. Is it canon divergent? Indeed.

I am trying to unravel years worth of self-consciousness and stepping out of my comfort zone so when this fic goes live, I will post it here. Maybe I'll even have a poll to decide on a title idk

SO YEAH i guess this is my way of introducing one of my ocs gxgdkhfkhdy

[nemeseos-noctua]

Kazuha with an adeptus reader from Liyue,, like reader appears when the crux was stuck in the middle of a storm or something and helps them out 🙇‍♀️ sorry I'm bad at coming up with scenarios tysm

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: kazuha x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: storms??, mentions of death

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: my final post on this blog!! thanks for the journey :D

“A storm is coming,” Kazuha whispers. The moon has long disappeared, replaced by the grim clouds and a dangerous scent on the wind.

“Shall we lower the sails?” Beidou comes up behind the male, hands on her waist as dark brown locks are flowing with the wind.

“Perhaps…” The samurai pauses, letting go of a stray leaf that had managed to work its way into his clothes. “But we must be careful, this is a particularly strong typhoon.”

Beidou’s eyes widened at the look on the Inazuman’s face.

“If one mistake were to be made, it could cost us a hefty price of our lives.”

He jumped off the ledge that he was sitting on, beginning to assist the crew in lowering the sails. In the far horizon, a bright flash of white erupted, followed by a crackle of thunder.

The once dormant ocean arose. Like Osial had somehow resurfaced, waves crashed onto the wooden boards of the Alcor, the upcoming hints of a current already rushing the ship deeper into the eye of the storm.

Today will be a loud day, Kazuha thinks without any worry. He trusts the Crux and Captain Beidou, he was sure that even though this storm was dangerous, it would be nothing for the ship.

Liyue Harbor was close. Only a couple hundred meters until land would be there, so it was safe. It’s going to be safe.

Rain pattered onto the floorboards. It seeped through to the lower decks, wetting the sails and the top part of the ship. Before, the wandering samurai would worry about whether he’d get a roof over his head in time— but now, he could merely go to his cabin and call it a night.

So he did. He crept down the stairs and opened the door to his humble room. It had some calligraphy from Inazuma and trinkets from foreign lands. Soon, Kazuha would add more to his collection. He wondered whether a Rex Lapis sculptor would be fitting, or a geo symbol…?

Thunder boomed again, shaking the ship.

Thunderstorms were especially harsh to Kazuha’s sensitive ears. He could feel and see all of nature, and the residing impact of thunder was tough.

However, another sound accompanied the rush of the storm and the crackles of the sky.

Leaks. It was leaking. The Alcor must have been damaged somehow in the lower deck—, there was an unwelcome sound of water trespassing.

Immediately, Kazuha darted up and left his room. He followed the smell of the sea and the sound of the artificial waterfall.

Water. It trickled through the walls and the floor. Already, Kazuha was standing in a puddle of seawater.

“Captain Beidou.” Somehow, the samurai retains his calmness. “There’s been a leak in the lower decks.”

The Crux piles down to the cabin area. There, they are met with the sight of rising water and wet shoes. A storm is coming. Kazuha said just moments ago, and here, it seemed that there was much more than just a storm.

“Barricade it! Don’t let any more water in!” Beidou yells, commanding orders as people are fast to work. Children are stuck in limbo on the stairs, wondering what to do. Stay in a rising lake or succumb to the rain above? The world is always in limbo, humans are always stuck between right or wrong.

It’s not enough. The samurai tries helping the fleet place some wooden planks onto the widening holes of the wall boards. Will this be the end?

He rushes up to the top, uncaring of the rain that was staining his hair and clothes. Out afar, there are the faintest glints of light. Liyue Harbor. His breath hitches, he wonders if the remains of the ship will wash up to shore there.

He wonders what those three kids that are always waiting for Captain Beidou will think. They have always looked up and wanted to be pirates as well— but was it a good example of a dream involving death?

And then his mind flourishes back to Inazuma, the land he left. He wonders if the masterless vision he carries will be lost forever. He wonders if the Raiden Shogun’s adamancy on eternity will one day be lifted— which he knows is more unlikely than him surviving this mess.

He wonders because this is death. This is limbo, this is the moment where he stands in front of the doorway. Will there be a miraculous save today? Will he somehow come out unscathed like he has always been?

The light grows closer and closer. Is Liyue Harbor coming closer?

He looks down, watching the fleet leave the steps and up to the top, where he was standing.

“What’s going on?” He blinks, shutting his daydreams and imaginations about the nearing harbor.

“The water! It’s flooding! We might not be able to make it!” A member of the fleet yells, and for a split second, vermilion eyes widen.

Yes, this is death. This is limbo in between land and the sea, life and death. This is the moment his vision also becomes masterless.

Something flashes, but this time, it is not lightning.

Kazuha winces at the sudden brightness. It was dark and gloomy before, so what’s going on? Has he already died? Is this Celestia?

And then, someone appears. They seem to have vibrant eyes and Liyue-originated clothes— yet surprisingly, they were floating. Floating on nothing, on the water and the crashing waves.

They were silent, but their scent carried over to the samurai’s keen senses. Immortality, he realizes. Liyue.

They had the aura of the stars, and Kazuha wonders if they are perhaps a deity.

“An Adeptus…” Beidou breathed, unafraid once the strange person stood upon the deck. They were dry even in the rain, bright even under the shaded moon.

“[Name]. Remember it,” they say before turning around. Flicking their wrist, the ship stops moving. Suddenly, the waves fell silent and the clouds lightened up.

“Hold on tight.” The person ushers the children down to the stairs, and Kazuha grips the wooden boards that served as railing.

The ship suddenly starts moving at an inhuman pace. It speeds closer and closer to the Liyue Harbor that the samurai was just pondering about.

The docks came closer, and his grip grew tighter on the railing. Will this boat crash onto Liyue?

Just before the tip of the ship could collide with the wooden docks, it stops. To Kazuha, he thinks time has stopped as well.

“I am assuming you were trying to go here?” The Adeptus— [Name], walks forward. Jumping casually off the ship’s head, the immortal landed flawlessly on the land.

“Yes… thank you…” A pirate prays thankfully, chanting ‘[Name], [Name], [Name]’ over and over again.

Unintentionally, Kazuha reaches forward. He stops before the immortal, dipping his head out of respect.

And then they disappeared.

Somehow, the samurai still manages to smile.

He questions if there are sculptors of you at the Liyue markets. If so, he’d be sure to take one as a souvenir— an ageless reminder of his savior that day.

[Name].

Will fate allow you to meet with him again?

- constellations! ✨

this will be the last time u'll see a cute little '- constellations!' at the end of a post... sheeeesh... time flies by

[luna-the-moth]

OM Character Aesthetics (SFW)

Hello hello lovelies! Just dropping a few aesthetics for all the chars. Requests are still closed, and any requests will be deleted, although my ask box is open to chat! (Luke’s Aesthetic will be platonic)

Reblogs, likes, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Lucifer:

The sound of quills scratching over parchment. Ink, blooming and spreading across its canvas, forming a story of its own. Whispered murmurs of love at midnight. Blood red eyes piercing through the dim moonlight. A familiar melody, yet you can’t seem to find a name for it. Hauntingly empty notes, mourning for a lost one. A vice that can’t be removed, no matter how much one claws at it, yearning for it to disappear. Pride, a double-edged sword.

The welcoming scent of coffee, pitch black. Bitter, yet warming and comforting. Rose petals making their descent, wilting. Red wine swirling in a glass. Tears, dripping down and staining an old letter, weathered by time. An ornate mask, perfected and polished over time. Yet a small crack makes its way to the surface.

Mammon:

Glittering coins, cascading onto the floor, sparkling in the dim light. Brash denial, shielding a tender, starved heart. A thinly veiled mask, waiting to be removed. Yearning and infatuation, unvoiced feelings. Reaching out a hand, but being restricted by chains of fearing for the unknown. Shining trinkets, a token of affection. The assurance of a protector.

Angelic eyes, a taste of ambrosia. The swipe of a credit card. The sound of tokens, sliding across a poker table. A subtle glance, hiding your hand. Experienced, calculating eyes, watching for the slightest giveaway. Practiced movements, revealing a complex strategy. But there’s a small opening, a chance to strike, unraveling a soft hesitance.

Leviathan:

The noise of a PC starting up. Winning a battle royal. Ocean waves, lapping against the shore. Diving into crystal clear waters, the water welcoming you.  Nostalgic video game soundtracks, bringing memories of joyous accomplishments. Hesitant, tentative touches. Frustration at oneself for not taking enough chances.

Vivid coral structures, housing various marine life; a hidden kingdom. Feeling the water pull you in, beckoning for your company. Anime OSTs, bringing a sense of life, or death. Watching your favorite character earn their happy ending, a sense of redemption. A brief spark, fingers brushing against each other. A glimmer of hope, in the vast, dark sea.

Satan:

Old parchment, soft, weathered corners pliant in your touch. Crackling fires, the comforting scent of smoke enveloping you. Herbal tea, spreading warmth and healing, felt through your bones. Feline eyes, playful and charming, drawing you closer. The soft mewl of a kitten. Soft paws grasping your hand in their own. A wish to be free from one’s family, one’s heritage. Resentment.

Soft ambience in a forest, welcoming you. Innocent games of footsie under a table. Poetry written in the depths of the night, hidden away from prying eyes. The faintest hint of a fang, a reminder. A steeled mask, refined and elegant. The search for a sense of self. Layers of deception, hiding an unsure soul. A path to acceptance.

Asmodeus:

The sweet, light floral scent of roses. Fabrics rustling, being selected and judged. A steady hand, moving brushes with precision. Poised, sculpted appearances, invisible cracks of insecurity, hidden from harsh judgement. Flirtatious touches, yearning for something meaningful, perhaps even moreso, than romance. Friendship. Platonic affection, friendly hugs.

The clean scent of skincare, the cooling sensation of a cucumber mask across your skin. Shimmering jewels, delicate chains lacing around your neck. A chance encounter, meeting charming stranger, yet to be seen again. Acceptance, assurance that you’re enough. Loving someone as is.

Beelzebub:

Warmth, safety in another’s arms. Comfort food, memories of a happier, nostalgic past. Tasting the batter before it’s baked. The scent of fresh baked bread, permeating your senses, filling your home. Making double batches, yet still needing more. Indulgence in your deepest desires. The sizzling of a grill, promises of food.

Repressed grief, unresolved guilt. Mourning for a loved one. Reconciliation, finding healing. A silent promise of loyalty and protection. Warm encouragement, eyes devoid of judgement. Twilight eyes, filling with love and happiness. Loving wholeheartedly, devoted so long as you both shall live.

Belphegor:

Grief-fueled rage, blind hatred. Helplessness, being bound by your own kin. A flash of hope. Human. A skillful puppeteer, pulling strings to his will, letting a story of loss and anguish unravel. A cruel act of murder, dragged out for his own sick delight. Witnessing rebirth. Realization. Regret. Watching as you heal, afraid to approach you once more. Aching for forgiveness.

A final offer, an olive branch. Whether to take it or not, is your decision. The lull of sleep, pulling you deeper into a different reality altogether. Lazy mornings, the comforter and promise of sleep, tempts you. Comforting scents of lilac and chamomile, blanketing you in a drowsy embrace. A dreamweaver.

Diavolo:

Learning. Developing empathy. Emotional development, struggling to grasp emotions and relationships. Loneliness, yearning for company and friendship. A wish to be free, to embrace life without care. Diving in head first into life, treasuring the journey and experiences. The luxury of being free of responsibility, and having boundless energy to do so. Chained to responsibilities, a kingdom.

Childlike joy, curiosity in your surroundings. Rapturous laughter, echoing throughout a castle’s ancient foundation. Golden, piercing eyes, holding adoration and fascination. A chance at peace for all three realms, a treaty. Regal and powerful. Delight in the simple things. A boyish smile, followed by fleeting kisses.

Barbatos:

Shrouded with mystery. Never quite close enough to decipher. Being held at arms length, a protective measure. Burdened with visions of the future. Servitude, loyalty to one’s master, a butler. Practiced movements, wiping over surfaces, serving a meal. Hidden feelings, masked professionalism, perfected over centuries.

Lingering touches, gloved hands touching your bare ones a second longer. Steaming tea, easing your stance and providing welcoming warmth. Pressing a stamp into melted wax, marking a letter. Polished china. Ancient grimoires, holding power and secrets beyond measure. A charming smile, an offered hand, promising more than one could wish for.

Simeon:

Prophecies of the future, albeit limited. Elegant writing of a script, painting a story of the ages. Carefully orchestrating a plot, extreme irritation at a single mistake. Having one’s own will. Unknown loyalties. Standing alone, with no clear master. Boundless wisdom, freedom to choose one’s own fate.

Soft healing, guidance. Words of honey, soothing and ever so sweet. Doe-like eyes, welcoming and open. Heavenly ties, an angelic gaze, wishing for your well-being. Blindingly white wings, powerful and protective. An angel, bound by not even the heavens themselves, devoted to you.

Solomon:

Unknown intentions, a loyalty to one’s own kind. Unlabelled potions, bubbling and frothing, almost with their own wills. Strange concoctions, inedible to most, except for the being who made them. Mysterious alliances, a lust for power and control. Friendly and teasing, yet distant at the same time. Cautious, weary from time’s hold on humankind.

Teasing smirks, playful winks. The scent of incense, and something else you can’t quite identify. Whispers deep into the night, ancient tongues being revived once more. Ancient glyphs, glowing and encompassing the room in a protective spell. A kiss on the corner of your lips, a taste of what’s yet to come.

Luke

Child-like innocence. Biased views of light and dark, evil and good. Gradual understanding, smoke-tinted glasses clearing anew. Seeing life for what it is, being able to laugh freely. Black and white, swirling to paint the world in strokes of grey. Learning how to choose your own path, to grab destiny by the reigns.

Sunshine, reflecting on and drawing in sunflowers. Flour, dusting footprints. Sugary confections, on display for all to marvel at. Fresh-baked pastries, reminders of childhood. Sweet frosting, artfully spun and woven onto a cake. Pure white lilies, a vow of protection and future guidance.

[sp00kworm]

SIREN (AMMB): Zadok’s Ending

Chapter 1: Meeting the Band

Pairing: Deep Sea Merman (Zadok) x Gender Neutral Reader

Adult Content below the cut. Dom Reader and collar use.

---

---

A lithe looking figure was draped in oversized clothing. Loose cuffed cargo trousers were covered in chains and topped with a large hoodie and a coat which made your own look positively thin. You frowned before you caught sight of the pale, micro-scaled skin underneath. The white scales shimmered with pearlescence as Zadok glanced around behind himself and touched the water pumps attached to his neck, which were then coupled to a small tank fastened like a backpack to him. There was a sense of worry in his posture as he reached for his wallet to order.

“A chai tea please. And an anchovy sandwich to go.” He ordered quietly as the barista noted it down and carefully took his money, trying to avoid staring to badly at the suction cups and tank attached to him. Zadok ignored her look and stood to the side, pulling his hood further over his fins to avoid any more unwanted attention from the customers and staff. It was weird seeing the confident lead singer to upset and shy about being seen in public. Your staring, however, got you caught firmly in the act. With a rush you turned back to your phone, and pretended not to be looking as his white eyes caught you. A huff sounded but he didn’t move to come and say anything. He turned back to the counter and opened his phone, clawed webbed fingers typing across the keyboard.

 Sadly, and awkwardly, you turned back to your table and waited for your food, trying to put Zadok out of you mind. He didn’t owe you anything after all, you were just a fan of the band. The barista was quick to make his drink before she packaged and wrapped his sandwich for him in the red and white plaid paper.

“Thank you.” He rumbled as he took the food and paper cup, “Have a nice day.” Zadok’s webbed fingers adjusted the wrapped sandwich before he tucked it into his satchel and placed his wallet firmly back inside. The singer reached upwards, his pale skin flashing with purple light, to adjust the cups over his gills. They didn’t budge, and so he walked away from the line, his hood up and his head ducked as he headed towards the door, leaving with a soft ring of the bell. You ducked over your food as he turned to walk left, past the glass window you were sat next to. He stopped just outside of the door and pulled something out of his pocket as he sipped at the tea in his hand. You realised it was his phone and as he raised it closer to his eyes you ducked back down to avoid being seen, sipping your own drink before your phone vibrated on the table again.

 Thinking it was just another text from Tom, you opened the screen with a disappointed sigh, upset that Zadok had ignored you. The screen lit up again and you clicked your tongue at the incessant buzzing. A message, but not from an account that you knew, nor did you follow them. It was a picture of a figure huddled by a cliff as the profile icon, decked in all black and shielding themselves from the wind. The water looked choppy and you saw the faintest hint of waves in the background. With a confused look, you opened the message.

‘Sorry for ignoring you.’

The second message was not twenty seconds after the first.

‘This is Zadok by the way. Don’t start gawking out of the window at me please.’

Slightly rude, you thought as you looked closer at the obscure profile icon, wondering just how the weird, huddled mass of black could be the singer. Your phone buzzed again before you could give it much thought.

‘Meet me by the Elf fountain.’

 You looked up from your phone as the Merman tugged his hood a little higher and tucked his hands into his pockets again. You didn’t see him then as he disappeared into the mid-morning crowds beyond your sight. With a rush you finished up your food and took your coffee to go before you made your escape out of the café and into the street. The Elven fountains weren’t too far from the café and you were eager to know just why Zadok had even spoken to you at all. The fountains were fresh water and housed a few species of pond fish, usually Koi kept for decorative appeal in the gardens. A car slammed its horn at you as you dashed across the crossing at the last moment heading towards the park where the fountains were.

 It didn’t take you long to weave your way through the streets and it took even less time for you to manage to find Zadok. He was perched on the edge of the fountain, his feet beneath the cool water. You were sure it wasn’t allowed but none of the busy workers seem to be bothered by the man as he trailed them back and forth. His heavy work boots were shoved by the side of the stone, his socks tucked into each boot. You stood by the gate to the little fountain area for a moment before white eyes turned and found you staring. Zadok pulled a hand free from his pocket to give you a small wave, claws flashing a silvery colour in the light.

“Good morning.” he offered as you approached, his voice soft and calm despite your obvious staring from the gateway.

“Good morning.” You replied, feeling awkward and caught out by his kind greeting, “So…”

Zadok chuckled at you as he pulled his feet up onto the stone, perching his head on top of his knees, “So…” he replied.

“Why did you invite me here?” You asked quietly as Zadok brushed water from his webbed feet, avoiding his other filed claws on each of his toes, “You seemed well, pretty gloomy when you walked in.”

 Zadok just watched you for a moment, his ghostly eyes staring at you before his mouth stretched to reveal a wide smile full of thin, sharp teeth, “I tend to look like that when Duncan spends his night crushed against me instead of in his own bed.”

Suddenly, it was like the tension dissipated, like a lightning bolt and smashed right through it. Your tension seemed to evaporate, and you returned his smile, “I can see why that would make you upset.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe.” he chuckled, “I’m sorry for seeming like an utter creep, but I don’t…well I don’t much like public places. I get recognised and its just never much fun after that.”

“No, I understand, I’m just confused about how you uh…found my socials.” You asked as Zadok’s eyes widened in realisation.

“Ah. I see now.” he lowered his head and awkwardly played with the tops of his shoes, “I found the pictures. It wasn’t too hard to find considering the show was last night.” he confessed, “That’s my private account for family and friends.” Zadok reached for his phone and showed you the screen of his page, “I wanted to talk, if that’s alright with you?”

You stepped closer and sat down on the side of the fountain with the singer, “What do you want to talk about?” You smiled as you sat down, folding your hands in your lap as you tried to get comfortable against the stone.

 “It seems weird now that I think about it.” Zadok confessed as you sat next to him, your drink clutched between your two hands, “I just wanted to thank you for what you said yesterday. It really does mean a lot to have someone feel so strongly about our music.” You watched as he tucked his clawed, webbed hands away in his pockets before looking him in the eyes.

His white eyes were striking, and you struggled to reply immediately, “You don’t have to thank me for being honest. Your music is amazing, just like you’re an amazing singer.”

“It means more than you think.” He insisted as he reached for his own drink, and pushed aside a small plastic bag, “I’ve spoken to a lot of fans, and, trust me, not one of them has spoken like that. Not with such passion about it all.” he laughed softly as he leaned back to take a drink, revealing the water pumps over his gills. He caught you staring, “They’re more to stop me drying out and hacking on everyone. I find I really need them after shows. So much singing hurts my lungs, so I have to revert back a little.”

“I had no idea you had to breathe water too.” You marvelled at the gills again before turning your gaze back to his pale scale-skin face, “Wait…” You held up your hands, “You sing so much it actually hurts?”

“Now don’t worry yourself!” Zadok bumped your shoulder gently, “Its not bad. Just like human singers need rests from growling, I need my own rest and recuperation.” He chuckled again, “But it is much easier to sing with water, but its not something anyone but a Mer can understand well.”

 “Is that why you looked like you enjoyed the beginning solo so much? Because its easier to sing in the water?” You asked, curious and eager to pick Zadok’s brain.

He laughed at you before nodding, his hood sliding to reveal the pointed tip of one of his fins, “I’m surprised you noticed.” he held his drink in his lap, wiggling his wet toes in the cool air, “Its not just that its easier to sing, really…I was born in the ocean, even though my parents have long lived with humans. We still spend our early years in the deep black waters before integrating into society. I’ve always just loved the water. Its always brought me peace. Its like a veil on the audience so I can just be myself.”

“That seems like an odd way to start life, but the more I think about it the more I think it must be nice, to be just you and the water.” You sat back, your palms pressed into the rough stone as you looked at the water, “And I bet it made you an amazing swimmer.”

Zadok paused before laughing again, the noise gentle and soothing, like the sound of water in a stream full of pebbles, “It did make me a good swimmer, yes, but it also taught me a lot about our culture. It made me who I am.” he looked at his feet and the water in the tank gurgled quietly.

 Silence fell between you both again, and you sat looking at the little goldfish in the fountain as they swam around Zadok’s ankles and disappeared under the lily pads. It was serene. You looked up and soaked in the weak sun.

“I have one more question for you.” Zadok said.

You looked over to him, “What’s that?” You asked.

He looked around and leaned over, “Is there somewhere more, private than this?” he sighed, “I just…I’m sick of being recognised. I ran into a group of fans on my way here and had to sign a few things. I just…”

“Want a day away from it all?” You asked gently, “I think I have a place in mind.”

Zadok smiled at you, “You’re not planning to kidnap me, are you?” he joked as he took another drink of coffee.

“Me? Kidnap you?” You exaggerated, “I think I would have more luck catching one of these goldfish, and that’s a pretty slim chance!”

 Zadok laughed gently, like the sound of water over stone, and you stood from the fountain, holding your coffee as you waited for him to shake his feet dry and put his shoes back on. He looked at his socks and huffed before pushing them into his pockets, opting to instead carry his boots and walk barefoot through the grass.

“So, where do you have in mind?” he asked as he followed you, “Will I need my shoes on?”

You nodded at him, “You’ll need your shoes for now. The city might be okay but I’m pretty sure you’ll get glass in your feet if you don’t wear something.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s too fun. I can’t be having a day in the minor injuries unit.” Zadok followed you to the gate before he took his napkin from his coffee and wiped off his feet. He hopped on each foot as he put his sock on and then his boots. Quickly, he tied the laces up before he checked his wrist. A silver watch flashed, and he hummed at the time.

“Have you got somewhere to be?” You asked.

Zadok shook his head as he clicked the sound off his phone, “Nope. Let’s get going.” he pulled his hood back up and hid his face as you exited the park and headed out towards the city’s edge.

 “I suggest you keep your stuff close.” You suggested as you both entered into a small, abandoned area of the city. It was overgrown and the small homes here were derelict, with ivy and bushes sprouting out of the windows and collapsed roofs.

Zadok looked up through the trees, “What kind of place is this?” he asked quietly as you both stepped around a couple of mushroom circles.

“It’s a fae pool. A spirit pool of sorts.” You pointed past the houses towards a large clearing where a natural pond glittered with the light pouring through the centre hole of the canopy, “Its protected by the city for small fae and creatures to use and live in. Some species can’t integrate with humans, so these are the result.” You pointed to the rocks where a nymph combed her hair. She turned and saw you both, smiling before she blended into the air and disappeared into a small creek that trickled away from the large pond with a chime of laughter.

 “This is amazing.” Zadok breathed as he ran his claws over a rotten wooden fence, touching the ivy which wrapped around them gently, “I’ve never seen something like this before, not unless it was in the actual countryside.”

You smiled brightly as you reached the edge of the water, “Well, its something a lot of people don’t know about. I only know because of the guy I work with. He comes out here sometimes during shifts.”

“Is that the one that was with you last night, the werewolf?” Zadok asked curiously as he laid his bag down by the edge and undid his coat.

“Oh yeah, that’s Tom. He comes with me to a lot of stuff. We’ve been friends for years now.” You answered him, “I saved him a spot at the front since he was just as excited as me to see you guys.”

“He’s a nice guy then.” Zadok smiled, his needle like teeth parted slightly as he turned to sniff the air, “Sounds like a keeper.” he teased.

You shook your head, “Nah. We’re just friends. Tom is like a brother to me. We’ve both been through this before.” You shrugged, “I’m sure I’ll find someone like that though.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will.” Zadok awkwardly added before he changed the subject, “Are we allowed in the water?”

 The water was clear enough to see the heavy, dark stones that covered the bottom and you shrugged at Zadok.

“So long as you don’t kiss any Nymphs, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You joked as you sat yourself next to the water and sipped the last remnants of your drink.

“Oh, I don’t plan on kissing any of them.” Zadok chuckled as he shrugged his coat off and reached for his tanks, “Would you mind…”

“Oh, gosh, sure, sorry.” You rambled before turning around, “Are those tanks hard to get off.

In reply you heard the hiss and click before water glugged and the tank thumped to the floor, “No. It’s not too hard, just a lot of suction cups and water glugging.” Zadok hummed and you made sure to keep turned around as fabric fluttered to the floor, “You can turn back now.” He announced quietly.

 You turned back around, clutching your drink between your hands, and looked at the man as he laid on his back and floated out into the middle of the clear water. He was bare of clothes, but nothing was exposed, and you remembered your anatomy lessons enough to know that most Mer’s had slits which hid everything away. Zadok flipped himself backwards and plunged himself deep into the pool. The water swirling was the only sign he was moving, and you walked back to the edge and sat down. Much like he had earlier, you took your shoes and socks off, and plunged your feet carefully into the water. It was quite cool, and you shuddered at the sensation before you wiggled your toes back and forth and swung your feet in the water. A hand grabbed your ankle and you jumped with a squeak until Zadok’s white head appeared. His head emerged and you marvelled at the glittering silver and purple of his bioluminescence. His eyes blinked back their protective eyelids, the third lids sliding to the sides of his eyes as he peered up at you with a grin of needle like teeth.

 “Boo.” He whispered before submerging his gills again, his eyes poking out above the water while the slits on his neck and ribcage flared and moved water.

“You’re an ass.” You commented before splashing water at his head.

Zadok flared the fins on his head, the sails on top of his head and one each side shaking in a ripple before they shone with purple light, “You stuck your feet into a pool with unknown creatures in it.” he shot back at you as he laid himself on the incline of the pool, his stomach resting against the stones, keeping his gills submerged.

“Is the water okay for you? Don’t you need salt water since you’re from the deep ocean?” You asked curiously, “You won’t get any infections from it will you?”

Zadok gave you a withering look, “I’ll be fine. If this is a fae pool it will be perfectly clean. They don’t like dirty water.” he wiggled back into the water, “I can breathe fresh water just fine, since this is pure, its even better.”

“That’s great then. I didn’t want to be responsible for making you ill or anything! Considering you have a few more months of touring it would be pretty disastrous.” You smiled with relief.

 For a while, you watched Zadok swim and dive. He dipped beneath the surface seamlessly and you marvelled at the glow to his fins and scales as he dove to the bottom of the pond. You could make out the colour of his bioluminescence beneath the surface, glowing through the water as he swam in large circles. As you sat, quiet and still, the sprites seemed to return to the water, and you smiled as a few smaller sprites sat by you in the reeds and grass. A couple of small looking mushrooms rattled together before their small arms and legs appeared and they opened their eyes, trundling over to pick at Zadok’s clothes and shoes before they hopped into his shoe and made happy noises. You laughed at them before a small, hummingbird like fae zipped in front of your face and giggled before settling herself on top of your head to play with whatever she could reach. Zadok surfaced and opened his eyelids as a couple of kelp looking creatures clung to his fins. They flopped back into the water before he could complain but he only smiled beneath the surface, snapping at them with his sharp teeth to scare them away from his fins. He reached and tugged a few of them free of his dorsal sail, the sharp needles tearing a few of them a little, but they didn’t seem to complain as they floated back into the depths of the pond.

 “They seem to like you.” Zadok commented as he swam close to the edge, his body bending before he laid his webbed hands in the grass, claws plucking at the strands and snapping them.

“If you come here long enough, they take a liking to you. They just like people who can sit quietly, and who don’t litter.” You replied as you placed your cup into his plastic bag. You hummed as you reached inside and plucked the bottle out, “Did you plan on doing a little more than swimming?” You teased as you shook the bottle of whiskey in front of him.

Zadok plucked it out of your hands and scoffed, “A little more than relaxing…” he muttered, “Something like that. It’s been a rough few weeks, being on tour and all.”

You didn’t know Zadok well, but you found yourself replying before you could stop yourself, “Is it something you want to talk about?”

“No.” he replied brusquely, “Its something at home. Nothing you can really help with.” Zadok hummed, “But some company might be nice?” he asked as he held the whiskey a little higher out of the water.

 It was only just past midday, but you smiled at him, remembering that you had the day off work anyway. You checked your phone and nodded.

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind sharing some of that. Its expensive.” You commented as Zadok undid the lid and tossed it into the grass.

He held the drink up before taking a few sips and hissing, “Definitely decent stuff.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You joked, “As a bartender, I have a keen sense for what makes a good whiskey.” You laughed before taking a mouthful and humming at the burn as you swallowed, “Oh yeah, definitely decent.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Zadok chuckled as he leaned back and floated out into the middle of the pond, his eyes closed as the sun shone through the leaves and hit the skin of his belly. His stomach glittered with blue and purple light from the natural sunlight and you watched the light show in awe before you took another sip of whiskey to dampen the feeling swirling in your gut.

 Zadok floated for a while before he dipped below the water and dove to the bottom, the water swirling in his wake. His fins popped back out of the water as he swam to the edge and surfaced, smiling at you before he held out his fist.

“Open your hand.” he insisted, “I have something for you.”

You did as you were told and placed the whiskey down to open your hands for what he had to give you. He opened his claws and dropped a large looking rock. You frowned but span it over to reveal the inside of a geode. It was split some time ago but Zadok’s swimming had cleaned most of the silt from inside of it, revealing a shiny gathering of blue and clear crystals. The sprite in your hair chirped happily before a magpie squawked and landed nearby, eyeing the shiny object up with one beady eye.

 “Wow.” You whispered, “Was this at the bottom of the pond?” You asked as you turned the crystals away from the sunlight, so the magpie didn’t decide to dive at you for the object.

“There’s a small cave at the bottom. It probably leads to some fae lair, but the inside was full of rocks and geodes. Its obviously a lair which has been abandoned though, there’s silt all over it.” Zadok commented, “They probably moved along a while ago.”

“That’s amazing.” You replied, “Thank you. Its very pretty.”

Zadok failed to stop his fins from flaring as he puffed with pride, “Sorry.” he grunted, “It’s a natural thing. I can’t stop myself.”

You only laughed at him, “Its fine, don’t worry about it.” You took hold of the whiskey again and held it out for him, “Want some more.”

Embarrassed, Zadok nodded, “Yep.” And took the whiskey as he swam back out into the pond, treading water easily as he sipped whiskey, back and forth across the length of the body of water.

 The whiskey was strong, and it quickly got to your head, making you smile as you laid near the edge of the water, talking as you watched the clouds roll overhead. You grinned as Zadok started to cloud watch with you. It was childish almost, but peaceful as you both laid back and watched the day roll past, sipping whiskey before you started on the bread and meat he had shoved into the bag as well, chewing slowly as you listened to the trees rustle and fae giggle. The sun started to dip below the horizon as you both finished off the bottle of whiskey, giggling and slapping water at each other before you flopped back against the bank with your feet swirling back and forth in the water. Zadok dipped below the surface and resurfaced happily, stretching his lithe figure out before he swam back towards you. One of his hands wrapped around your ankle, the black, tapered claws grazing over your skin before he pulled himself out of the water, and grazed them up over your calf, to the point where your bottoms were rolled up your legs. His white eyes continued up your legs, following their own path over your chest before your gazes locked.

 His fingers pressed against your skin, softly mapping the expanse of your calf before he trailed his other hand up your other leg, touching the back of your leg in a slow stroke before he heaved his body up and out of the water, resting between your legs as he dripped water over your stomach. Intensity burned in his white eyes as his nose holes flared and his mouth opened, scenting the air. You looked up at him and felt your body go hot. After a moment looking at his perfect, pearl coloured skin, you dared to stroke your hands over his stomach, following the deep purple colours as they zipped up over his shoulders and down his back. A croaking purr escaped Zadok as he pushed his skin against your hands, enjoying the petting as his lips pursed. His gills flared with a sigh before he leaned over and pressed his lips to your own. His second eyelids closed over his eyes, like he was snatching a fish from the water, and he watched you melt against the grass, one of your hands cupping his cheek, stroking at the fin on the side of his head, while your other hand dared to trail down his stomach, stroking the soft, scaled skin before you reached the mound between his legs.

 Another soft rumble ran up Zadok’s check before he croaked, the sound accompanied by the soft fluttering of his gills. His eyes were closed as your fingers grazed over the flushed flesh of his slit. You stroked along the centre where the rough scales parted to reveal a peak of his soft, blue coloured flesh.

“Fuck.” Zadok whispered as his arms shook, “Please.” he whimpered in your ear.

“Please, what?” You gasped as your finger dipped into the slit as it grew slippery with a natural lubricant before you kissed him again, stroking the flushed flesh gently as you felt his tongue prod at your lips. The two of you kissed a little deeper, tongues touching before Zadok tilted his head and pulled himself out of the water completely, pressing his wet skin and scales to your front.

The mer shifted against you as your fingers came away from his slit, covered in a thin slime, “Let me…” he croaked again with a purr, “Let me have you.”

 You grinned as he pressed his slit to your hips, rubbing the scales against you, “Do you have a room somewhere?” you asked, no louder than a whisper.

Zadok nodded his head as you dragged your nails down his back, shivering before he managed to speak, “The Rouge Bard. We have our own rooms. Everyone is out today.” he added as he blinked and leaned to nip at your lips, his gills fluttering again before he leaned back.

“We best continue this there then.” You stated as Zadok kissed you once more and pulled away, shaking water from his body as he hissed and pulled his clothes back on. The cotton dragged at the swollen flesh of his slit and you drunkenly hummed, looking at his angular ribcage, structured with thin bones and heavy scales. You were admiring him. Zadok smiled as he zipped up his cargo pants, moving the chains out of the way as they linked together and jangled.

“Yes. Let’s.” Zadok shuddered as the wind blew, but quickly covered up before stealing another heated kiss from your lips, his fins flaring as you clicked the water tank breathers to the gills on his neck.

 The two of you stumbled from the abandoned homes, stealing kisses and dragging your hands over each other’s skin as darkness settled over the city. You stumbled and laughed with one another as you reached the hotel and he dragged you into the elevator, purring his croaking noise again as he pressed you to his front and stole another kiss, his lips demanding more from you. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you gasped against his teeth as they nipped at you. The elevator pinged the floor and you both collapsed out of it, dragging each other down the hall until you reached his door. You pressed his back against it as he fumbled for the keycard to get in.

A whistle sounded behind you as Zadok opened the door, “Golden boys getting some ass tonight I see.” Senoz purred from across the hall.

“I think I might be the one getting the ass.” You purred as the demon’s tails swung upwards, curled curiously.

“Well, when he’s a disappointment, you know where to find me, sweet thing.” Senoz swiped at your neck and licked the skin before leaving you both to tumble into Zadok’s room.

“Fucking demon.” the merman growled, “I’ll…”

“You better not be all talk. I might get bored and head over to see how good Senoz is in bed.” You countered as his coat fell to the floor.

 Zadok was quick to pull the suction cups of his water tank free, wheezing for a moment before he pealed his shirt off, revealing his angular chest and plated ribs again. You leaned back to admire the sight before he grabbed at your own clothes. You let him wrangle your coat and shirt off before you pushed him back towards the double bed. He went with a soft rumble, laying back against the cushions as he undid his trousers. You stood and slid them down over his hips to reveal his underwear. They were wet with lubricant. Pulling them down, you tried not to lick your lips as his slit sat before you, puffy and glistening, the head of his cock already peeking out from the blue flesh. Zadok threw his head back as you pushed your fingers against the soft scaled skin, revealing the v-shaped head of his cock.

“Fuck, please.” he whined again, “Please.” he reached for your neck and leaned up for a kiss, only to be denied as you spotted the jewellery collars on top of his dresser. They were probably from the show the night before. Before he could steal a kiss, you retrieved one of the studded black leather collars and grinned.

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you have what you want.” You promised as you slid back into his lap, holding the studs of the spiked collar open.

 The merman looked from the collar to your face. His white eyes widened before he nodded, licking at his lips with a blue, pointed tongue. You reached around his neck to click the collar closed before leaning back in his lap to admire the black leather and silver spikes against his pearlescent skin. Bioluminescence trails ran up his arms as you trailed your hands over his scaled skin. It was rough over the tops of his arms and you dug your fingers into the meat of his tricep to enjoy the feeling of the rough skin against your palms. Sitting back on his thighs, you turned your gaze downwards as you looped a finger through the ring hanging from the leather. Zadok moaned quietly as you gave it a soft tug and teased the tip of his cock. It bobbed, stirring between the blue fleshy lips before it extended out of its hole, shining wet with lubricant. His dick was long and curved upwards, with a head that tapered into a v shape. Beneath the head was bulbous, in the shape of an oval, and the bottom was flared with ribs. It was entirely new, and you felt your mouth water slightly at the sight of the blue gradient of the organ. The bottom glittered with silver light at your staring and his cock bobbed upwards sharply as your fingers trailed over his shoulders and down his ribs. Zadok let out another purring croak as you finally reached his pelvis and ran your fingertips along the top of his dick.

 “Please, master, please.” he croaked as he flopped back into the cushions, easily falling into a more submissive role as you dragged him up a little by the ring of his collar, “Please touch me.”

You shuddered at his tone of voice, enjoying the soft pleading from a voice which was usually so confident and demanding of attention on stage.

“Are you going to be a good boy and do as you’re told?” You asked as you sat on his thighs, running your fingers over his hips, towards the base of his cock, before you trailed back again, letting the head of his dick leak precum and his slit drip with more lubricant. The clear fluid leaked down over his buttocks and you watched as his face lit up with a blue blush.

Zadok swallowed thickly, “I’ll be g-good.” he promised quietly as you let go of the ring of his collar and stroked the length of his dick.

“Good boy.” You cooed as you stroked him, “We can stop anytime, just pat my thigh twice.” You told him before leaning down to steal a kiss from his lips as you pressed your finger to the sensitive head of his cock.

 “Ah!” Zadok cried sharply as your fingers twisted underneath the bulbous part of his cock, “That’s…sensitive.” he whined as you grasped the oval shape again and stroked around it, watching his clawed feet curl into the sheets, cutting slits into the sheets.

“Its sensitive is it?” You asked as you trailed over the bump again.

“Yes.” he cried, “Please, master, I can’t…I’ll cum before…”

Abruptly, you let go, watching his cock bob and throb with a hum. Zadok whined and croaked again before leaning up to kiss you, demanding your attention.

“I think I need a little help before I can fit that in baby boy.” You uttered against his lips, “How about you open me up a little?”

Zadok nodded as you took hold of his hand and looked at his claws, assessing them for a moment before you decided they were clipped enough to not shred your insides.

 Zadok croaked before purring again as you sat on your knees, resting above his lap as his hand encompassed your sex, the rough scales on the outside of his fingers grazing against your sensitive skin before they ran back and pushed at your hole. He met with resistance and the mer quickly gathered the natural lubricant from his slit, smearing it over his fingers before he pushed back against your hole. Carefully, he slid one finger inside to the second knuckle, letting you rest for a moment before he eased the rest in. Your inside were warm, and Zadok shuddered at the temperature difference before he crooked his finger and began gently thrusting it in and out. His other hand occupied itself at your chest before his mouth took to teasing your nipples, sucking on the buds until they were pert and sore, his sharp teeth nipping at the skin as he croaked again in happiness.

“You’re such a good boy.” You moaned between the attention of his mouth and hands, enjoying the pleasurable stretch as he pushed another finger into you and scissored the two apart, pressing against your plush insides.

“Anything for you, master.” Zadok purred drunkenly, his pale face flushed with blue blood. You watched his cock bob and weep a pearl of light blue precum, following the fluid as it dripped back down the length and mixed with the lubricant seeping from his slit.

 “Zadok, you’re dripping all over yourself. Is this turning you on that much?” You asked breathily as his fingers pressed into a sensitive spot, keeping your composure as he sucked on your nipples again, leaving cool spit over the skin with his blue tongue.

“Mmm. It is.” Zadok hissed as you wrapped your hand around the head of his cock, “Please, can I be inside you?”

“Hmm? What was that? Where are your manners, baby?” You asked as you pulled his fingers from you looking at them before you leaned back in his lap and pinned his hands to the bed. His dick bobbed as you stretched his arms up over his head and you admired the shape of his lithe figure, all bone and sleek muscle. His luminescence burned bright in striped over his entire body, shooting like currents as you nudged your hips against his own, “What’s the magic word?”

“Please, master, I can’t stand it. I need to be inside you.” Zadok moaned as you tugged him up by the collar for a kiss, mashing your tongues and teeth together messily before you reached back and lined his dick up against your hole, “Thank you, thank you…” He uttered incoherently as you sank down on his cock.

 A moan tore from you as the bulbous part under his head sank into you, stretching you wide before the ribs along the bottom scraped gently at your insides. A sharp bolt of pleasure ran up your spine as you took him to the base. He was unique, slippery, and textured in ways you had never taken, and you took a moment to admire his face as his second eyelids flicked and blinked back and forth. His hips shifted, jolting you on top of him, and you felt the cool seep of lubricant from where your hips were pressed together.

“You’re just gushing for me, aren’t you?” You teased as you slid up his cock and slid back down, enjoying the wet squelch that sounded as your hips collided. Zadok nodded and croaked again, reaching for his collar as his other hand wrapped around a bed post, anchoring himself as your rhythm took over, rocking his dick in and out of yourself. He struggled to say anything as the bulbous protrusion expanded, squirting something unfamiliar inside of you.

 “Did you just….” You paused as he shook his head, and your insides turned into jelly, numb to the swell but tingling with extra pleasure. It was a thin stream of jelly and you sat up on your knees to see it drip out of you thickly, numbing wherever it touched.

“Its for…eggs…” he moaned, “I couldn’t stop myself…”

You moaned as your legs shook, “It’s fine…Fuck its.” You pushed your fingers to your sex and shuddered again.

“It’s an…aphrodisiac and its…” Zadok moaned sharply his hand flying to the bed post again as you dropped on his cock, picking up the pace in a frenzy as your insides throbbed with the need to cum.

“I need to cum, baby, can you do it with me?” You asked as you leaned for another kiss and to tug at his collar, tightening the hold of your hand around his neck slightly as you thrust onto him. The ribs of his cock brushed your insides and you quivered before you came, white hot pleasure burning behind your eyes before Zadok croaked and shot his load. You shuddered at the feeling as you slowly brought yourself off his dick. Light blue cum dripped from you and you flopped against his chest with a sigh, thumbing at the collar around his neck happily in the afterglow of it all.

 Tiredly, you roused from your sleepy state as Zadok placed you back against the cushions and tugged the sheets over your body. You hummed against the cushions before the sheets slid back down over your skin.

“You’re not already up for more are you?” You cooed as you peeled open your eyes.

“If only. I’m not that young anymore.” Zadok chuckled as he eased you over onto your back and revealed a warm wash cloth. He hummed as he slid it over your skin, wiping away the cum and jelly like substance which had made your insides tingle.

“I might be able to go for another.” You hummed as he wiped between your legs and tapped at your thigh.

“Well, this one hasn’t got it in him, I’m afraid.” Zadok flopped next to you, clean and relaxed as he laid back against the cushions and reached around the back of his neck.

You reached for the collar for him, “Here. Let me do it.” You kissed the skin of his shoulder and squeezed his shoulder softly before you unclipped the press studs and pulled it away from his neck. You kissed his neck where the leather had bitten into his skin a little and placed the collar on the bedside table before snuggling back against his chest.

 Zadok croaked a little before he ran his fingers over your back, running his claws up and down your spine as he laid back and enjoyed the warmth of your skin against his own. He was cool to the touch, and you slid your fingers down over his plated chest, swooping to the side to feel the odd angle of his ribcage before you stopped above his pelvis, remembering that his dick had probably long retracted into his slit.

“Wait you don’t have anything do you?” You asked sleepily.

Zadok thumbed at the bottom of your chin, “Unless you count drug laced jello as having something, then no.” he let out a raspy breath of air before sitting up, easing you off his body, “Sorry. I need to just go and soak a while. Come and join me?”

With a smile, you leaned up on the edge of the bed and kissed him, enjoying the scrape of his scales, “Sure. Give me a minute though, my legs are still a little like jelly.”

Zadok chuckled again before he purred softly and walked to the bathroom.

 You watched his backside go before you sat back against the headboard and massaged at your thighs, hoping that the numb, tingling feeling would wear off. It felt like a residual tingling pleasure, and you felt your insides burn with the idea of another round in the posh hotel bathtub. A rumbling sounded from the floor. You perked up at the noise before looking at Zadok’s bottoms on the floor. His pocket lit up with the screen of his phone. Someone was ringing him. It wasn’t polite, and you knew that as you curiously leaned down and plucked the phone from his pocket.

‘Misty Conrad’ it read, and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. Miss Conch. The words rang in your head from the band meet and greet. Senoz had implied that they were together. Suddenly, the mild buzz from the alcohol wasn’t there, and you sobered up as the ringing stopped and the screen went black. You clicked the screen back on and looked at the notifications. Three messages. Ten missed calls. The phone buzzed again with a new message and you clicked it to reveal the short message.

‘I know you’re with that fan. Answer my calls Zadok or it’s over.’

 Your eyes burned with tears of humiliation. He was with her. What they had was more than a song recorded together, and you were a fool for not seeing the signs earlier. You let out a small noise as you sniffed and grew angry, the tears siding down your cheeks as you grabbed for your clothes on wobbly legs.

“Was that my phone?” Zadok asked and you turned to face him as he poked his head around the bathroom door. He was dripping with water but his eyes widened as he saw you crying and grabbing for your clothes, “Are you…”

You threw his phone on the bedside table as you tugged your underwear and bottoms on, “You’re a cheating fuck!” You accused, “And you used me! I should have known that this was stupid but… Miss Conch. She’s been ringing you all say and now she knows.” Your brain couldn’t seem to quite catch up with you as you pulled your shirt on and grabbed your bag. Zadok wrapped his waist with a towel, his mouth open as he grabbed his phone from the table and looked. He cringed at the messages and turned.

“Look, its not what you think!” he insisted as he caught your arm, “We’ve not been together seriously for ages and…”

“And nothing!” You threw back at him, “You used me to console your feelings because you can’t bare to deal with her, and you’ve made me into some kind of…”

“I’m not…” Zadok took a breath, croaking as he pulled at his fins, “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll sort this…”

“I…I don’t care.” You tugged your arm free, feeling the tears beginning to burn into your anger again, “You’re a bastard, Zadok, I want you to know that. A selfish bastard.”

 Zadok let your arm go as you opened the door and stood with his phone clenched in his claws as you slammed the door behind you. You wiped at your eyes furiously in the hall and took a shaky breath before you turned on your heels.

“Hmm, leaving so soon, sugar?” Senoz purred as he peered out into the hall, “Or did you want a piece of this instead of the fishy boy?” he sniffed and tilted his head, his horns scratching at the frame, “Wait, why are you crying? Are you alright?”

You held out your hand to him, motioning for him to stop as you wiped the tears away, “I’m fine. Leave it. I’ll be going.”

The demon turned his head to Zadok’s door as you left him stood in the hall. As you rounded the corner you heard him knock on the door.

“You know that’s real bad fucking PR to make fans cry after fucking them, Zadok!”

 You didn’t hear from Zadok after that. The band continued their tour globally, and you watched the highlights happily, listening to the songs with your usual interest. You smiled at Duncan’s solos and watched the crowd go berserk. It was energy you lived for. Zadok’s performances were stunning. He draped himself over a piano and sang a ballad before he did more singing in his ancient mer language. It was lovely, but it stung a little. It wasn’t long after their tour finished that you turned on the alternative radio station. The ends of a metal song chugged along as you made a sandwich. It was your day off from the bar and you had been cleaning most of the day, enjoying cleansing yourself of clutter and dust. You hummed as you placed two slices of bread on the plate.

 “Although we have drama in the metal scene, we’re all used to the usual knucklehead fights between rival bands, or better yet, accusations of plagiarism, but we’ve never quite had some news like this. The frontman of the band SIREN has been caught, if you mind the pun, in a fishing net of accusations. Miss Conch, the mans supposed former partner, has been blowing the lid off his life outside of his band. The accusations range from ritual sacrifice to cheating, and its not something we usually endorse. But, to answer these claims, we have the very man, or mer, with us in the studio right now.”

 You dashed for the volume dial and turned it up a little before you moved your plate closer and began to cut up your filling for the lunch.

 “So, Zadok, what do you have to say about these claims by Pop Star, Miss Conch?”

“Some are right, but most are wrong. The ritual sacrifice, for starters, is a ceremony done by my people to appease the currents of the ocean. We take a fish and its bones and lay them in art decorations as an offering. Its an old and sacred tradition. The cheating accusations are, in part true, but our relationship was never official, and I had already broken things off by the beginning of this tour. Her more serious allegations…well my manager and lawyer are already dealing with those. They are untrue and slanderous.”

“Are you calling Miss Conch a liar?”

“For the most part, yes, I am. She invaded my private life and failed to see when our relationship was over. I want to be transparent and come out to speak for my side of the story. I’m not calling her obsessed or anything derogatory, I am just justifying what is fact from fiction.”

“That’s understandable and I’m sure your fans appreciate your honesty.”

 “Unfounded and untrue.” You scoffed as you slapped your sandwich together, “Next he’ll be telling everyone that he-”

 “This drama has gone on long enough and it has hurt people close to me, not just mine and the band’s reputation. I hurt someone I now know I shouldn’t have with this mess and this is my start to fixing that mistake.”

 “That he didn’t know where his dick was going…” You whispered as you looked at the radio like it was a person staring back at you. You wondered if he was talking about you as you moved around the island of your kitchen and headed towards your couch to sit and eat your sandwich. The host thanked him before announcing the next song as Burn by SIREN. You listened to the thunderous drums as you chewed, mulling over the words in your head before the guitars wailed and you thumped at the cushions.

“Why do I even think that? He’s the one who just failed to tell me he has a girlfriend!” You grumbled to yourself before pulling your phone out. You sighed as you opened MonstGram. In your inbox, there sat one message.

 ‘Can we talk? I need to speak to you. I know I’m a selfish bastard but I want the chance to apologise.’

 The same image of the figure by the sea. You took a deep breath as you looked at the vague image of Zadok and placed your phone down, the screen black as you finished off the last bits of your sandwich. Contemplation lasted only a moment as the screen lit up and the notification registered. Another message. You looked at the icon and opened it again.

 ‘I know I’m the last person you want to see but I’m sorry things ended up how they did. I hope my stupid actions didn’t ruin your love of our music. I’ll leave you alone. That’s all I wanted to say.’

 It stank of desperation. You looked from the message and back to your empty plate. It wasn’t manipulative. It was honest, and that made you hate how you were feeling even more. You opened the conversation again and stared at the picture of the sea and cliffs. Your fingers danced over the keyboard before you started to type.

 ‘One chance. Meet me at Full Moon Bar. Friday. I’ll be on shift but I’ll talk to you.’

 ‘I’ll see you then.’

 With a great sigh, you closed your screen and looked up at the ceiling, your head resting on the back of the sofa cushions. It was a leap of faith, you knew that. You were trusting him with your good faith again.

“If he doesn’t show up, Miss Conch will be the least of his problems. I’ll slice him up like sushi and mail him back to his manager.” You spat, and the poisonous words made you feel a little better and hate him a little less. With a smile, you ran a hand over your face and got up to go and put your plate away in the sink for washing later. For now, you had a living area to deep clean, and you headed for the vacuum to try and clean Zadok from your mind for a while.

 The bar was quiet on Friday. Thankfully, there was a small group who had a lot of orders to keep you entertained. It distracted you from the nerves brewing in your gut.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you today?” Tom asked as he leaned over the bar, his nose perked as he sniffed at the air, “You smell off as all hell.”

“Get your werewolf nose away from me, Tom. I mean it.” You threatened as you turned to place some clean glasses under the bar, “I’m not in the mood for your meddling.”

“Meddling? Me? Never.” Tom teased gently, “Its like you’re worried though. Talk to me.”

With a great sigh, you turned back to face him, “Someone I’ve not seen in a long time is coming…I just need you to be there in case. Not with me or anything, just around.”

 “Of course.” Tom consoled, “I hope this isn’t some abusive asshole, because I swear on the moon I’ll…”

“Don’t worry. Its not. Its just something I need to sort out.” You assured him.

“Okay. What time do you need a minute?” he asked as he opened the bar door and stood next to you. You peered at the clock as the bell on the door rang, and Tom turned to greet them with a smile.

“Evening.” he said before he turned back to you, his eyes wide and his nose flared, “Tell me I’m not dreaming, and that Zadok from SIREN did actually just walk into the bar.”

You stiffened as you peered around him, “You’re not dreaming big guy.” You headed to the door, “So keep your cool. This is the one I need to talk to.”

Tom’s mouth opened like a large fish but he didn’t ask you any questions as you headed over to Zadok.

 Zadok ducked into a booth near the entrance, his head low and covered by a large black hood. His water respirator was on and he was wearing a mouth piece over his face. You watched him before finally taking the last couple of steps and sliding into the seat. You slid him a shot of whiskey. Zadok caught the shot glass and looked up, his white eyes locking with your own before he reached for his face and clicked a few buttons. The water drained from the mask and he pulled it free, smiling with needle sharp teeth. He was dressed in his usual baggy combats and a large, long sleeve shirt. The shirt was torn and had a few chains linked across his chest. He tugged off his hood and looked at the shot glass for a moment.

“Look I know that…That I fucked up. What I did was selfish, and I took advantage of you.” he started as he clutched the glass between his hands, “I shouldn’t have I shouldn’t have let you do what you wanted but it happened and I’m sorry.”

 You looked at his face and the wetness of his eyes, “You still did it, and that hasn’t changed. I was…I was hurt and upset. I had her message me, Zadok. Spiteful, horrible things. None of that hurt will go away but its fading.”

Zadok cringed over his drink, “We weren’t even properly together. We had sex and a few dates but with the tour, it wasn’t going any further. She messaged me constantly. Harrassed me with phone calls and I was just…I should have told her.” he looked you dead in the eyes, “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess.”

“It’s a mess, but I appreciate you being so honest with me.” You confessed as he thumbed at his drink before downing the whiskey. His hands looked a little steadier after the strong liquor.

“It’s the least I could do. She’s in the past. She’s tried to file a lot of shit against me. It wasn’t worth it, and I’m…I’m tired. She can have the song rights and royalties. I just want her out of my life”

 You didn’t comment but nodded as he ranted a little. You knew about the allegations. It was widely known news to the fans now. Still, his interview weighed on your mind.

“What you said in the interview you did on Metal Talks.” You started, “Is this what you were talking about? You wanted to make this right with me?”

“Yes. I knew…Look I was a fucking idiot, I know that, but I ruined something that I thought was going to be…”

“More?” You added with a small smile.

“Call it stupidity, but…You were just stunning, and I got carried away. The alcohol didn’t help matters but I still think you’re amazing. Your love for the music, for life, it just spoke to me and… Look I can’t change anything, but I can try and sort this out.” He pushed the glass over to you on the table, “We don’t know each other, not really, but would you be willing to know me, in a better way?”

You gut churned as you looked at his pearlescent skin and his beautiful white eyes, chewing the inside of your cheek, “Maybe I would. I thought you were moving, in everything, from the moment I started to follow you all, but that doesn’t change what you did. I need time and space, but I would like to know you, the real you.”

 Zadok carefully reached for your hand and squeezed at your fingers carefully as he smiled and ducked his head. The door opened and Tom greeted the next customer. You sat, letting him hold your hand, before you blushed and got up.

“You still have to pay for the drink, but you can stay, if you like? I know Tom is dying for an autograph and a picture. He’s probably your second biggest fan.”

Zadok chuckled and looked up at you, “Who’s my first?”

“Well, you just might have to find that out.”

[unholyhelbig]

Artifice | Chapter 10: The Escape

For previous chapters, click here | To Read on A03, Click here

The leather was cool under Beca’s fingertips. It smelled of oil paints, and clove, and the faintest bit of smoke. There was salt and sun all at once. She had carried the bag everywhere with her, strung against her shoulder. There were only ever a few cotton shirts, and pants that were worth well with dirt and blood.

She kept her sketchbook, bound in the equally fine leather, close to her heart. A small section of charcoal was folded into a cloth. It was hard to come by, nearly impossible, but Beca knew the right people. Emily Junk knew the right people. She pulled strings for fine clay and even finer parchment.

They were simple gifts, but intricate. When Beca’s stomach was rolling and the ship rocked steadily against black waves, she would sit and sketch Emily, focused so fully on the maps, the charting, and the stars that they followed. Moonlight would dance across her features in pale magnificence.

She kept the sketchbook, the one that reminded her of the ocean before she met Christian and felt the sting of his open palm against her cheek, at the bottom of the bag, away from Chloe, and Aubrey, and Garrett, and the rest of the prying eyes of the world. It was her solace. It made her sick to her stomach.

Beca peeled the bag open. She didn’t’ care much for folding the clothes that she had strewn across the room in her time at the Beale Estate. They had fit just fine when they were pressed and smelling of fresh linen, they would fit just fine now.

Sadness pricked at the back of her eyes. She thought of betraying her own unspoken rules as an artist and tearing the cleanest page from her sketchbook out. She would scrawl a note in charcoal on the back, dirtying the pads of her fingertips and forgetting herself fully.

Unlike her first night here, she could navigate the hallways that were meant for staff with her eyes closed. Stacie had pressed the lanterns hours before Beca returned from the pub. The wax had hardened and the scent of ash hung stubbornly in the air.

Moonlight flitted through the kitchen. She figured she could slip through the back doors into the warmth of the night without anyone missing her too much. Her throat stung with two mugs of brew she had downed to quell her emotions at the pub. It spurred her on, told her to press forward.

Forget the commission, forget the billionaire that had wronged the seven seas, forget his siren wife with hot copper ringlets, and fair lambskin.

“You’re leaving without saying goodbye.”

The statement had no infliction behind it. Beca felt her heart in her throat and her fingers numb against the strap of her leather bag. She hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t gotten past the threshold of the patio door. She hadn’t estimated how long she stood there, counting the blades of grass, but the voice startled her.

“I have to go,” Beca said.

She turned to face Aubrey Posen. A tin mug with water rested at her side, half consumed. The blonde may have watched her as she watched the world, those cold apple-green eyes. They gave her away as human instead of an animal, focused instead of sure.

A silk robe covered her shoulders, the lavender material rich, and rarely seen by someone of her caliber. The whole estate was like that, fancy vases and sculptures, and iron workings that Beca had seen from the outside, looking in, but never the other way around.

“You’re a coward.”

She scoffed “A coward? No soy un cobarde.”

Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. Someone who didn’t’ shy away from confrontation would have kneeled in front of the woman in the house by now- they would have told her about the band of looters, and pirates that intended on storming her personal palace.

Her face must have softened and given her away. Aubrey quirked an eyebrow, raising the mug to her lips before humming in satisfaction. It made Beca’s skin burn and her heart prickle.

“Leave, then. Making Chloe suffer by contemplating your own actions is doing more harm than good.”

Beca hated to swallow her words twice in one sitting but found herself taking the remaining three steps towards the kitchens island. Aubrey seemed to tense at the movement, dry-mouthed and thick with contempt.

“It’s for the better.”

“For you, or for her?” Aubrey lowered the mug and let out a sigh “Listen, you being here… has been good for Chloe. I thought you would be like them all, the artists. They waltz into the estate with their oils, and charcoals, and parchment, and think that they have the world at their fingertips. Instead of painting her, they use her. And she lets them.”

“I understand your hand over her, Aubrey,” Beca said.

“Hand over who?”

The two women glanced towards the opening to the kitchen. Chloe stood under the archway, her hair caught the moonlight like the rest of the kitchen, but in a deeper, cherry-colored way. She looked sleep-worn and content. That soon shifted against her features as she took in the leather satchel, the swept way Beca stared, and the fingerprints on the glass sliding door.

“You’re going,” She murmured.

The shatter of her words cut deep against Beca’s skin. She felt as if she might bleed there, bite her tongue until she swallowed mouthfuls of red. Her shoulders slumped, her resolve nearly broke. “I don’t have a choice.”

“A choice… Beca you’re here to paint. Have I scorned you that horribly with my antics that you’ve given up the fight?” She scoffed “I’ll ease on the chase. We can start tomorrow>”

She turned and glanced towards the backyard. The moonlit the path beautifully towards the ocean, and the docks, and the fire-filled lights that reflected off the waves. If she searched hard enough, she could see Emily’s ship, its red sails, and drafting architecture.

Aubrey scooped her mug up and was halfway out of the kitchen by the time Beca mustered up the courage to turn back to the woman. She hated the weight of the two of them this close to one another, standing off with nothing but a few inches between them.

“Garrett has wronged a very dangerous group of people,” Beca meant to sound powerful, strong, and sure of herself, but she wasn’t.  There was a meekness to her words. “They’re planning to storm this place, to take back what is rightfully theirs.”

Chloe pursed her lips, frowning as she stared at the terracotta tiling. She had her own silk robe wrapped tersely around her, her blue eyes hard and unreadable. “My husband does not speak about his business and I am kind enough not to ask.”

“He’s robbing people, Chloe. Good innocent people.”

“Pirates.” She snapped back “the last I checked they’re the ones that pillage, and murder, and go entirely feral at the sight of a pint of ale. Garrett is doing this world well.”

“They do what they can to survive. I don’t expect you to understand.”

It came out harsher than intended. Chloe snapped her gaze up to the woman with such ferocity that it chilled her to her bones. She steadied her hand against the island, fingers white as they pressed into the countertop. “Excuse me?”

“Rich, and stubborn enough not to go with me if I asked you to.” Beca whispered, this time sure of herself “I know these people, grew up with them, love them. And they are more merciless than many. Yet you would stay to defend your home, your possessions. Your paintings.”

The words felt bitter against Beca’s tongue. As if her saliva had turned to acid. She would never speak out against the lady of a house, much less one that had offered to pay for her services. But Chloe’s world was sheltered, and it was close to crumbling.

“You never asked.” She snarled, taking another step forward, closing the gap between them. Beca could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. “You packed your things and were going to escape into the night.”

Her breath came out in a shudder, it pressed against Chloe’s collarbone, making goosebumps rise against her skin. Blue eyes flicked to her lips, to her jawline, and to her own chest heaving up and down. It would take nearly nothing to push forward and escape the space left between them.

She swallowed the hot taste in her mouth “Would you have gone?”

Chloe met her question with silence. Maybe the words were stuck in her throat, or maybe they had no place where they were to begin with. Beca frowned, fretted, and took a step back. Chloe could have held her there, tethered her to one spot. She had enough power to convince her to stand against Emily and her intent. But nothing was said. The silence dripped heavily between them.

“Give Garrett my apologies.” She said, “I pray he can find an artist to capture your likeness one day.”

Before the tears that were welling up in Chloe’s eyes could escape, Beca had turned, opened the patio door, and began to walk across the moonlit grass. There were clouds in the sky, prominent against the dark backdrop, covering the ball of light enough for her to slip through the trees that turned to swamp and swamp that stretched into an alcove.

Garrett had spared no expense, the jutting cliffs that dropped straight to the docs and choppy waves had a staircase carved into it. Metal for the same lanterns that lined the Beale estate was set up in sporadic intervals. Beca had trusted only her instinct and anger to get her down to the docks.

Emily’s ship sprouted with blue and amber lights. A man grizzled and half-drunk with the swells of the sea stood as Beca approached. He drew his sword with a slick sound of metal upon metal. The tip of the weapon found its home under her chin, close enough to slice the hair from her head.

“State your business.” He purred, lilting his head at his prize.

“Jasper,” Emily’s voice came from the deck of the ship. She leaned over the railing, having shed her leather coat, and her captain’s hat, simple and beautiful in the moonlight. The man never hesitated. “She’s fine. Come up,”

She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, running her finger over the raw spot against her throat. He could have easily sliced through the skin, could have made a meal of her before the night had even begun.

Beca scaled the rope ladder leading to the main deck of the ship. By the time she had reached the top Emily had a grin on her face, nothing short of pride and warmth. There was a subtle rocking beneath her feet that reminded her so fully of home.

“Do my eyes deceive me delicately?”

“They don’t,”

Emily furrowed her brow and lilted the woman’s head up with the curl of her finger, the opposite of the blade with her softness, and tender stare. “You’re sure about this? I can get you off the island.”

“I’ve already turned my back once tonight. No puedo hacerlo de nuevo. I wish to join you.”

The captain withdrew her touch, worry etched into her features, catching every spare light that the night sea had to offer. Her eyes flitted to the last remaining glow in the kitchen of the Beale Manor, entirely visible from the docks. Past the trees, and the hedges, and the swamps, she could have sworn she saw a woman, backed by a lantern, and forlorn with fear.

[stygianflood]

Pua Melia (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary: When Ethan reveals his feelings, Aparna’s response is far from what he expects. Continuation of the diamond scene in 3.11. Words, rating, genre- 1.2k, general, fluff with the tiniest dollop of angst.  Tropes- And they were in love.

A/N: I hope everyone is well. Supposed to be on hiatus, but that’s a lie. This came to me as I awaited (and still do) the covid test results for the family. I hope it’s nothing.  A/N 2: gandharaj: Bengali for gardenia (just discovered all the similarities between Indian and Hawaiian flora);  pua melia: Hawaiian for plumeria (garlands of it or just the flowers are presented to tourists)

Aparna pours herself a glass of water and sips the sight before her.

Shards of a midwinter moon drizzle across the vast expanse of water underneath. Impeded ever so slightly by the bay windows, they spill over the rugged expanse of Ethan’s chest. The ripple of his arm. One glorious thigh.

He’s beautiful. And strong, she thinks with a flutter in her core. And so calm he could almost be asleep. Almost oblivious of the chaos he courted only last week. 

Almost. But then he stirs, a wandering hand searching the space beside him. 

She leaves the empty glass on the counter before joining him. Looping his arm around herself, she lays her head on his chest. His other hand finds the duvet.

It’s quiet. Too quiet, but for the gentle whooshing of waves lapping at the shores. And the breeze. Sweet and brimming with the occasional gardenia. Or gandharaj as grandma called it back in India in what seemed a whole other decade.

Aparna isn’t sure if it’s middle school geography or sixteenth century anecdotes from a Ferdinand Magellan. (Or just champagne). But there’s a certain tranquility about the Pacific. Daunting in its vastness of course. But here in her sea view suite, the thrum of Ethan’s heart pressed to her ears, she settles for just tranquil. 

It is certainly calmer than the Atlantic from two winters ago. Either that, or everything Ethan had claimed and renounced that evening in Miami had muddled her senses. In her mind, Miami is exquisite. Ethereal almost. Even life altering. But almost too surreal to be true.

And yet two years later he is engraving circles on the expanse of her arm, her bare shoulder, her back. At a friend’s wedding, too. Snipping away, little by little, at the millenary drill of his life before her. 

As for the rest, Ethan never says. Never in so many words. And she never asks.

But it’s enough. 

She half wishes they could linger. Hold on to her little fistful of warm sand. There’s more to Hawaii than the whiff of gardenia. Or rows of coconut palms. Or the plumeria blossom Ines tucked behind Aparna’s left ear.  

There’s all of that, and Ethan Ramsey tossing his head with full throated laughter. Or mumbling sweet nothings into her hair as sleep overtakes her.

And it’s enough. 

Until-

-Apu...

Somewhere above her, he sounds awake as she strains to open her eyes. 

She has an arm around his middle. It’s warm. The bed. Or is it him. So warm. Her breathing softens against his chest.

-I've never felt this way about anyone.

Seconds trickle. It’s the sweetness of macadamia and their own scents. It hangs about them in a glorious mist. 

He really is talking.

-And I don’t know, he says. I don't know if I ever will again.

Her eyes snap open. 

There’s no meteor shower in the skies, or the sudden gust of wind in her hair. This is it. Ethan Ramsey is leaping with her. And all she feels is peace. An overwhelming sort of it. The sort that lulls you into sweet, sweet sleep.

Does he tense under her? 

For a second, and then he chuckles, the deep rumble tugging at something inside her.

-And as always, he surmises, my timing is perfect.

She can talk now. She must.

And so she doesn’t. 

-But... it’s probably for the best, he concludes. Kisses her goodnight. 

She smiles and holds on to her little fistful of warm sand.

***

The boarding queue is at the gates when she stumbles in, looking around wildly.

Five more seconds and I would've boarded already.

Her smile is radiant as her eyes find him and she tells him he’s all talk.

Cheeky little minx.

And in a blur of time and shapes, she asks for his help. A case of misdiagnosis. They’d most definitely miss the flight. 

He asks no more as he follows her out of the airport.

Not again, he groans, suddenly awake as sunlight assails him from what he assumes is a window shade she left open on their flight.

His attempt to rise is thwarted, his arm stuck under a sleepy tumble of dark hair. And it’s the bay window in her suite, the one he had pressed her up against last night. 

Her breath hitches for a moment and her fingers quiver for the slightest spell of a dream. Slowly, slower than the fall of her breath, he draws it and presses soft, lingering kisses on her knuckles. The softest of sighs escapes her and she releases his arm to curl up to him.

All at once he’s reminded of last night. And he feels… not regret. None of that. Sheepish perhaps.

-Morning, she grumbles from under half open eyes.

-Coffee? He kisses her hair, a little glad her eyes are closed.

He didn’t botch it. She’d fallen asleep. 

-’time is it?

-Little after six.

She snorts. As though she isn’t the one that forgot to draw the blinds. But again, he barely manages to rise.

-Stay.

She did fall asleep, right?

Ethan reclines against the headboard and picks up his copy of Sea People: The Puzzle of Polynesia. The one he didn’t make much progress with, thanks to her. And thanks to her, he doesn’t make much progress even now.

And what if she were awake all along. She wouldn’t do that to him, would she.

He exhales long and hard.

Perhaps it was too little too late. Inadequate even.

Beside him, she laces her hand with his own larger one. Traces the veins with her fingers.

He’d be there if time is all she needs. 

He cups her face in his hand as she looks up. Twists a stray lock around his finger.

Hell, he’d always be there for her.

She props herself on her elbows and plants moist, open mouthed kisses on his palm.

-I feel the same way about you, Ethan.

He gulps, suddenly delirious. Then she kisses the length of his arm. Presses her mouth against his chest. His collarbone. And it’s maddening.

He needs to ask her now. Stop her first.

And he shudders as she bites and sucks the column of his neck. Despite himself, he presses one rough palm against the expanse of her back. Draws her closer.

She takes his bottom lip between her teeth with an unfamiliar zeal, and he finds his voice at last.

-Why now? He asks bewildered. It’s been what, five hours?

Incredulity etches her face. She might have withdrawn if not for the persuasive hand on her back.

-Gee, I don’t know Ethan, she says. Took you two years. Your five hours really put that into perspective.

It’s his turn to be dumbfounded as the faintest of smiles adorns her face. 

It’s his turn to trace her lips with his own, grateful that she doesn’t withdraw. She kisses him softly this time. Tender and unhurried. And he winds a languid hand in her hair just as a soft whimper escapes her.

-Are you all right?

This is raw. Unfamiliar.

-Better than all right, she murmurs. She nestles under his chin, averting her eyes.

-I’m glad. Forgive me, I’m not the best at putting feelings into-

-Shh. Don’t, she pleads, eyes glimmering with the thousand little hopes of his own. Just stay.

And he does. Cradling her in his arms, his chin on her head, as the first honeycreeper of the day warbles its song to the ocean.

Forgotten, Ethan’s book had slid out of his hand and opened with a soft thud on the wooden floor. A single plumeria blossom pressed between its pages flutters to land beside it.

This is unfamiliar. But not unsettling. Not anymore.

This is happiness too. Untrammelled and wild.

Thank you for reading this. Love you all. Google says, a plumeria blossom over your left ear means you are taken and over your right ear means you are available ❤

Tagging separately. Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

[mego42]

Hii, for the Intimacy Prompts:

51. slow dancing

Thank you!

hi!!! ty for playing!!! between your prompt and ch 9 of @joeyjoeylee's law school au, i def had an inspiring amount of dancing on my mind.

“‘Ey, mind if I cut in?”

Beth knew Rio was there a second before she even heard the low rasping question.

She doesn’t know when exactly it happened, maybe it was so gradual there isn’t a single moment on their timeline to point to, but somewhere in the past year and a half, she’s become attuned to his presence. It's unconscious, involuntary; his magnetic field sweeps over her, and her cells can’t help but stand at attention.

It’s infuriating, more than anything else, especially because it doesn’t stop her from jolting like a live wire at the sound of his voice.

He wasn’t supposed to be here—black-tie society galas don’t really seem like his thing, even after taking all of his contradictions into account—and that’s the whole reason she’d accepted Nick’s invitation to the fundraiser in the first place.

Well, no. That’s not true. When Nick asked her to attend, he’d made sure to mention the power players that would be in attendance. Not just city government but county and maybe even some state.

“Few things bring out the elite like the auto show charity preview,” he’d said using that suggestive tone he doesn’t seem to think Beth can read for the hook it is beneath whatever bait he's offering. “Every…small business owner—”

Nick paused, giving Beth ample opportunity to correct him, but she’d only smiled serenely, wondering how all of these unwanted men kept finding their way into her kitchen.

“Let’s just say, I thought you could use some friends in high places,” he’d finally finished when he realized Beth had no intention of affirming or denying his assumption.

Beth isn’t naive enough—not anymore—that she doesn’t recognize that he’s working some kind of angle with her, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has a point. It’s been months and she still cringes remembering how caught off guard she’d been by Terry’s appearance at Boland Bubbles. It was an amateur mistake, one she has no intention of making ever again and she could save herself god knows how much time and money with some kind of in at a municipal level. And anyway, if Nick’s determined to play her, there’s no reason she shouldn’t play him right back.

Besides, he’s obviously curious to know more about her and Rio, and that’s just another game she can flip right back around on him.

But that doesn’t work if Rio’s actually here.

“Brother!” Nick cries, his smile wide and eyes crinkling, like nothing about Rio’s appearance could bring him more joy.

Except Beth can feel the sudden stiffness in his hand as he stops steering her around the dance floor, and they both turn to face their...whatever Rio is to either of them.

“Cousin.” Rio nods, his hands shoved in the pockets of his slim-cut pants.

Even though he’s addressing Nick, his eyes are locked on Beth’s, and she stares back, her lips parting before she can stop them.

It’s just...she’s never seen him in anything so formal before. The suit’s black, of course, paired with a black shirt and a black tie, and it’s not like that’s a new color for him, but something about it and the way it’s obviously been tailored to accent the sharp, elegant lines of his body has her mouth going dry.

She wasn’t expecting it. Him. This situation. That’s all.

And there’s no reason for her to step away from Nick, it’s ridiculous that she does. There’s nothing wrong with her being here with him in the first place, and the fact that she feels oddly guilty about it has her tipping her chin up, defiantly refusing to break Rio’s gaze.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” Nick says. His voice sounds bizarrely muffled and far away, almost like he’s underwater.

There’s nothing about the way Rio’s dressed or holding himself—casually confident like he’s absorbed all of the loose, unconcerned ease that drained out of Nick with his arrival—that should set him apart from the crowd around him. Sure, he’s probably the only person in attendance with a neck tattoo, but that doesn’t explain why everyone else seems to have gone blurry and indistinct, leaving his angles and edges the only thing in focus.

“—an invitation?”

Beth shakes herself—internally, like hell she’s going to let Rio see her looking anything remotely close to rattled—tuning back into the conversation.

“You act like you the only friend I got,” Rio laughs, finally breaking away from her to look at Nick, punctuating his statement with a smile that has the hair on the back of Beth’s neck standing on end even when it’s directed at someone else.

She knows that smile; knows the violent promise of it.

Interesting.

“Gretch says hi, by the way,” Rio continues. “Said you been dodgin’ her calls.”

“What can I say?” Nick adjusts the cuffs of his jacket, rolling his shoulders and darting a glance at the crowd around them. “Servant of the people, my time isn’t my own.”

They’re attracting more than a few curious looks, the three of them facing off in the middle of the dance floor, and Nick’s smile grows visibly strained as he nods back at a few different people.

“No time like the present,” Rio says easily, jerking a shoulder towards the corner of the room. “She’s at the bar.”

Beth follows the motion past him to the bar set up just off the dance floor, finding the slender brunette in a simple black shift dress leaned back against it. Her cheekbones stand out in sharp relief as she sips her drink. She lifts a hand, wiggling her fingers in a wave when she sees Beth looking.

She’s pretty, Beth thinks, smoothing the navy satin of her own dress down over her hips. Polished and sleek in a way that matches this new version of Rio.

She wonders how many versions there are.

Beth clears her throat, returning her attention to Rio and Nick. A shadow’s fallen over the latter’s face, and something about the set of his jaw makes him look the most related to Rio of everything Beth’s seen so far.

“Don’t worry ‘bout your date,” Rio says. “I’ll keep her company.”

For the first time since he appeared, there’s a trace of tension, the faintest hint of steel underlying the lazy drawl.

They’re standing close enough together that Beth can hear Nick’s deep inhale before his beam is back, brighter than before. Close enough that Beth can see the force of impact when he clasps Rio on the shoulder—a gesture that looks like it should be friendly but seems to have an ocean of meaning behind it that she doesn’t have the faintest clue how to chart.

Interesting.

“Take good care of her, cousin,” Nick says, projecting enough that everyone around them will pick up the amiable bounce of his voice if the wide smile wasn’t clear enough.

Then he’s gone, slipping through the crush around them as the last notes of the song they’d been dancing to fall away. The dull hum of indistinct conversation takes its place as Beth and Rio watch each other.

Somewhere in the distance, a glass shatters. A woman laughs. The violinist swipes his bow across the strings, adjusting the tuning.

There’s a pause like a held breath, and then the cellist lets out a long, deep note. The rest of the quartet joins in with a slow, soft melody Beth doesn’t recognize, but the romance of it’s almost enough to make her heart swell and ache.

Or maybe it does as she looks to Rio, her eyes wide, disbelieving, but that’s only because of the irony. He feels it, too; she’s pretty sure. She can tell from the wry twist to the smile that curls up the corner of his mouth.

But even still, when he extends a hand to her, something in Beth flutters and takes flight.

Stupid. She’s so stupid.

read the rest on ao3

[seijorhi]

How about a lil overhaul? Maybe his s/o is just someone from america on a trip and cant speak japanese. But he is like. Mine. She was quirkless and was coming to visit Japan to see a family member. Maybe that family member sold her to overhaul to pay off a debt? She is just so confused and cant understand most of the people here, she wants to go back to America.

So I kinda went a little off track with this request, but I hope you like it!

Overhaul x Reader

TW kidnapping, murder, minor blood/gore

Collateral

It’s a bit of a surprise the day that you get your ticket in the mail. You’ve never been particularly close with your uncle. It’s not that you don’t like him or anything, it’s just… you don’t really know him. He’s lived on the other side of the Pacific Ocean since long before you were born, and you’ve only met him face to face a handful of times. 

And now he wants you - just you - to come stay with him for a little while. As long as you want, the return ticket’s flexible, the email says.

Your family’s just as flummoxed as you, he and your dad have never exactly been close - something about a big fallout when they were younger, but he’s the one to convince you to go. 

“Your uncle hasn’t exactly had the easiest life, sweetheart. He’s all alone over there, has been for a long, long time and he’s made a lot of bad decisions in the past but… you’re his only niece,” he sighs, cupping your cheek with a sad smile. “Maybe he wants a fresh start, to build a relationship with you - he’s missed so much of your life.”

It’s not so much his words that get to you, but the wistful look in his eyes as he says them. Your heart aches for him, for them both, and you find yourself nodding along.

A trip to Japan sounds nice. 

Getting to know your uncle sounds even nicer.

A week later, you’re on the plane flying over the Pacific, the nerves in your stomach growing with each mile that passes beneath you. 

It’ll be fine, you reason, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from your skirt as the plane starts its descent into Tokyo. Things might be a little awkward at first, but your uncle wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want to make a genuine effort, and your parents were only a phone call away if anything went wrong. 

Not that anything would. He’s family - that means something.

“If it gets too much, you can always come home,” your dad had whispered as you bid him farewell at the gate. 

But when you get off the plane, grab your luggage and make your way out through the gate, there’s no sign of your uncle standing in the crowd. You frown, scanning the arrivals hall again - he called your parents yesterday to tell them he’d be picking you up from the airport.

A flutter of uneasiness teases at your gut, but you force yourself to keep the smile on your face as you continue to scour the throng of waiting friends and family. You did land a little ahead of schedule, and getting through customs had taken less time than you thought, maybe he was just running late, or trying to find a park. Your uncle had given you a phone number to call if anything went wrong but… you don’t want to come across as panicky. It’s only been a few minutes, after all.

You’re so focused on trying to find him that you almost miss the crisply dressed driver holding a sign with your name just by the sliding doors. He doesn’t say anything when you approach cautiously, eyes still darting around like you’re expecting to see your uncle behind him. He doesn’t look like what you expected - not that you were expecting a driver at all - but the clearly expensive black suit and blank stare as he regards you are a little… off putting, to say the least. From your understanding your uncle wasn’t exactly made of money, so why send a driver at all?

“Um, hi… I’m Y/N, did my uncle send you? I-is he not coming?” you say, praying that the man understands English and you’re not making an idiot out of yourself.

The driver nods sharply, “He was unable to collect you himself.”

Oh. 

Your smile falters just a touch, but you find yourself nodding out of politeness. It’s fine. You have all the time in the world to spend with your uncle. “Oh, alright. Um-”

The driver grabs the suitcase from your side before you can stop him, turning abruptly on his heel and walking away, leaving you to rush after him, cheeks dusting pink.

Except the driver doesn’t take you to the small apartment on the outskirts of the city your uncle had told you about. 

***

You’ve never been more terrified in your life. 

It’s been a week, you think - it’s hard to tell when the room they keep you in doesn’t have any windows and the food they deliver doesn’t come at regular intervals.

A week since the driver pulled you shaking from the back seat of the black and manhandled you inside a dark warehouse. A week since you met him.

You still don’t know his name. 

He’s the boss - you’ve figured that much out at least. He was the one whose feet you were tossed at when you arrived - shaking, crying and pleading.

You can still remember the chill that crept up your spine as those impassive gold eyes stared at you, his mouth hidden behind that ridiculous plague mask. Sitting on an old, worn leather couch, dressed in all black save for the grey tie around his neck and the white surgical gloves on his hands, what startled you the most (aside from the mask) was how young he was - he couldn’t have been more than a year or so older than you at the most, and yet every single person in the warehouse was staring at him with the utmost respect.

He’d ignored your tears and the trembling questions that had fallen from your lips as he’d stood and walked a slow circle around you, eyes running you up and down like a vulture eyeing off its prey. He hadn’t touched you, only gesturing once for his subordinates to wrestle you back up into a standing position before he finished his apparent appraisal. 

When he’d spoken it was an order barked coldly in Japanese, but his eyes had flickered back to you as hands had gripped your arms, and in the split second before you were tugged from the room, you could have sworn that there was the faintest hint of dark pleasure shining through.

He’s come to visit you a few times since. He always keeps his distance, sitting on the sole chair in your sterile room as you huddled up on the bed like a frightened kitten, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. 

He seems to enjoy that; your fear. 

It’s the second time he comes to visit that he starts to talk to you - not in English, no, despite you making it abundantly clear you had absolutely no understanding of the language beyond a few conversational phrases, he only ever speaks Japanese.

He seems to enjoy that too - the blank, nervous look in your eyes whenever he starts to speak with you. His tone could be considered light and friendly, conversational almost, if not for the cruel edge to his words that transcends the language barrier - with every word he’s mocking you, and he wants you to know it.

The first time you leave your sterile room it’s when two of his masked entourage come to take you up into what looks like a surgical suite. There’s a man strapped to a gurney under a bright operating light sobbing, thrashing fruitlessly against his binds and immediately there’s a wave of dread that floods your stomach. The two men who took you hold you firmly in place by your shoulders, but you can’t help but jump a little when that familiar voice starts to speak.

He comes out of the shadows, golden eyes fixed solely on you. It’s a speech of some sort, though whether it’s for your benefit, his followers’ or the now screaming man’s before him you honestly don’t know. Sweat builds at your temple as the masked leader lifts his hands and slowly tugs off the white surgical gloves.

You don’t know what’s about to happen, only that you desperately want to stop it. One of the men behind you chuckles and you bite your lip to stifle a cry - there’s no point, you can’t move, you can’t escape this - whatever it is that’s about to happen.

The screams reach fever pitch, the man thrashing hard enough to make the gurney shake, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Your heart skips a beat as the auburn haired leader stares dispassionately down at him and with a sigh - places his bare palm against his flesh.

The result is instantaneous. 

The scream cuts off. Blood splatters over the walls, over you, as the man is simply, brutally, torn apart by the Quirk.

And all the while, the monster simply watches you.

You understand him perfectly this time. It’s a demonstration, a reminder of why one so young sits at the head of an illicit organisation and what exactly the punishment might be should you fail to remember that.

They take you for a shower afterwards, and you’ve never been more grateful for it. You scrub at your skin until it's raw, desperately trying to wash the taint of blood from your skin. It doesn’t seem to make a difference, it stays with you every time you close your eyes.

You cry yourself to sleep that night, clutching tightly at the thin, blanket you’d been given and thinking desperately of home and your family.

He’s sitting in the same plastic chair when you wake up, except this time it’s been pulled up right beside the bed. He regards you silently for a moment, watching as your eyes widen and fear slowly creeps across your features, but you don’t flinch, you don’t try and scamper away. You only pull the blanket up slightly, as if to protect what last vestiges of modesty you have from him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks in flawless English.

You jerk back in surprise. He-

What?!

Of course he speaks English. Of course his continued insistence on speaking a language you didn’t understand was nothing more than a ploy to make you feel vulnerable and inferior. 

Utterly isolated.

A spark of anger flashes through you, but you quickly tamp it down, the memory of blood and disassembled body parts all too fresh in your mind.

He seems to be waiting for an answer to his question, so you give a minute nod. You’ve been here long enough to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Your uncle managed to rack up quite the impressive debt from us - a debt he couldn’t pay when it came due. He offered us you, his niece, instead. A pretty, young American girl, Quirkless… pure,” he sighs.

Each word hits you like a slap in the face and you can feel the unshed tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. It’s nothing you haven’t already figured out, but to be confronted with the truth, that your own flesh and blood (however estranged) had sold you out to save his skin, hurts more than you care to admit. 

Oblivious to your internal suffering, or maybe just indifferent to it, your captor continues. “I had planned on selling you. You’d be surprised what some of the degenerate filth in this city would be willing to pay for some beautiful, defenceless, foreign doll for them to stick their cocks into.”

Something close to amusement flickers in his eyes and he laughs as your face blanches in mute horror. He leans forward, gloved hands reaching for your face and you freeze with a choked gasp-

But he merely brushes at your cheek with the back of his knuckles, collecting a single stray tear that had slipped from your eyes without you even realising. “You don’t need to look so worried, Y/N. I thought you would have realised by now - you’re not going anywhere, you’re mine, and I’ve figured out a much better use for you.” It’s hard to tell with the gaudy mask obscuring half his face, but you could swear that beneath it all, your captor’s grinning. “My pretty little pet.”

[selfwriting-sugarquills]

Say yes. (George Weasley x reader)

Description: George Weasley had asked you to marry him exactly 465 times since he and you started dating in your fifth year. He’d said it half-jokingly at first, then because you kept turning him down with a smirk as you insisted “someday, but not yet.” and then it had evolved to be a way of saying “I love you” and you’d established that it wasn’t the real one yet as long as you were in school, and that when he finally decided to ask you for real, you’d know: Champagne, fireworks and other romantic gestures were promised but when George loses his ear he decides to spend that final proposal a little differently than initially planned. 

requested: nope 

warnings: descriptions of blood, injuries, a little angst but mostly fluff. 

word count: 3.7K 

taglist: @schlongbottom​ @cardboardbenmazzello​ @unseensilver​ @mochamiilk​ 

(gif isn’t mine) 

“Marry me?” 

“Oh, Merlin,” you facepalm, “It’s too early for this, George,” 

“Come on!” he persists, 

“You always ask me and the answer’s always going to be the same!” you’ve taken on an irritated tone but you’re grinning at him from across the breakfast table, 

“But I don’t know that! What if you change your mind?” he asks and takes a bite of toast, 

“Yeah ‘cause I’m likely to decide to get married in the middle of my sixth year, am I?” you steal the other piece of toast from his plate and bite into it. He lets you, 

“Maybe? It could be kind of romantic: eloping and doing it in secret?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you earning a playful eye roll from you, 

“No way. Your mother would murder you if she found out you’d eloped at sixteen, and I’m pretty sure my mum would be standing in line to get to me next,” you chuckle.

George Weasley had developed a habit of asking you to marry him since you first started dating. He’d first asked you when you were fifteen in Hogsmeade. You, in turn, had choked on your butterbeer and spluttered a panicked: 

“WHAT?!” 

George had laughed and answered: “You heard me,” and you hadn’t had the faintest idea if your relatively new boyfriend was being serious at all. He’d later admitted that no, he didn’t really think marrying you at the tender age of fifteen was a good idea but in his defence:

“I can still ask you now, and then wait to actually marry you!” 

Which was true, but you sort of took the whole marriage thing seriously and so you’d developed a term for The Real One as an understanding that all his questions were not serious proposals and moreso a replacement for “I love you” or another set of endearing words, and that he’d let you know if he did ask The Real One. As the years pass by you’d become used to proposals being randomly thrown at you from the redhead you adored so much. In fact, you’d kept a tally and noted the most noteworthy ones in a small notebook: 

#26 George asked me to marry him on a trip to the beach with my family and immediately got hit by a giant wave, suffice to say, I agreed to do it on the condition that he didn’t drown himself in an attempt to impress me.

#168 George learned yesterday that asking me to marry him while I’m hungover with my head in a toilet results in whatever I can grab nearest to me being tossed at him, possibly accompanied by a certain finger being presented to him. 

#340 George successfully asked me to marry him during a quidditch match and because of his dashing looks and undeniable charm, not to mention his impressive sportsmanship and talent in the sheets, I said yes!

#341 George needs to learn that if he steals my notebook and forges me saying yes then I’ll never marry the git. ---> Oi, you promised not to say no :( - G Get over it, liar >:/ - Y/n

Now, at age 20, George had asked you a whopping 416 times to marry him, and you had yet to accept nor decline any of those proposals: you couldn’t say yes, because it wasn’t T.R.O (as you’d named it) and you couldn’t get yourself to say no because truth be told: you did want to marry him. A lot. But you figured it was better to wait, you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, so you’d let yourself be amused by your boyfriend’s antics for years, though now as you grew older, there was an air of anticipation behind each time he asked, not to mention that he’d stopped asking you as frequently. He liked throwing you off by asking you unexpectedly, 

“You know, if you’re gonna ask me, for real that is,” You ask one night while your head is resting on his chest. You’re in his bed above the shop, the light from the moon illuminating your shapes, 

“Yeah?” his chest vibrates when he speaks and you can’t stop the small, content smile that forms on your lips, 

“Just so you know, I want a ring-” he cuts you off with a soft laugh, 

“- and champagne! lots of it! no ring pops or asking me while we’re in the ocean; I want it to feel real,” 

“Got it,” he chuckles, your head bobbing with his chest as it rises and falls, “anything else I can do for you, madam?”

“...Fireworks would be appreciated too, please.” 

“Noted,” there’s a moment of domestic, blissful silence, “Y/n?” 

“mhm?” 

“I love you,” 

“I love you too.” 

You don’t discuss the proposal anymore for the time being. Things at the order pick up its pace as Harry’s seventeenth birthday approaches and suddenly, 

“What’s going on?” You’re standing in the kitchen with a puzzled look on your face as the two identical young men hurriedly come into the apartment and disappear into their respective bedrooms where you follow George to see him change out of his work suit and into a different, purple one at a fast pace, 

“Something’s come up with the order, we have to leave tonight,” Fred’s voice explains from his room, you give George a questioning look, he doesn’t meet your eyes,

“I’m also in the order, why wasn’t I told about this?” you ask, as George passes by you into the living room, his eyes fixated on his buttons on his sleeves. In your chest, your heartbeat anxiously speeds up while you wish George would just slow down for once and explain what is going on, though you know that slowing down isn’t exactly the twins’ expertise, 

“You know Moody; always so secretive. He probably figured that telling everyone in the order the details would lead to the info leaking or something, don’t worry about it, love,” George flashes a quick reassuring smile at you but you’re already worried about it. In fact, you feel nothing but anxious about this whole situation. 

“But what am I supposed to do? just sit here and wait while you go on some secret mission I know nothing about?” you ask while the twins find coats and begin putting them on. Finally, George faces you and quickly approaches you but you’re not calmed by this. A small flicker of anger ignites inside you as you realise that your boyfriend clearly doesn’t take this as seriously as you do, and then again why would he? he knows what’s happening you think to yourself. George gently cups your face in his hands. He presses a kiss to your forehead, 

“It’s all going to be fine, I promise,” he says, caressing your cheeks, “tell you what: apparate to the burrow and I’ll meet you there, we’re supposed to go there anyway, alright?”

No, it’s not alright, what part of this is alright?!

“Yeah, alright then,” you say in defeat. 

“That’s my girl!” George says and presses his lips to your forehead once more before walking over to his brother, 

“Ready, Fred?” He says and Fred nods at him, 

“Ready, George,” Fred replies with a grin, 

“I’ll see you at the burrow, ok?” George turns to you and when you don’t reply with more than a solemn look, he adds, “Don’t worry.” 

And then he’s gone. And you stand in the empty apartment, trying to process everything that just happened in the past ten minutes. Then you apparate to the burrow, landing outside the building. Molly must’ve seen you because the door opens before you’ve even reached the house and you’re more than happy to see her. You let yourself be swept into her embrace as she greets you with the same motherly fashion as she always did, 

“I hope it’s not a problem. George sent me here,” you say as you tread inside, Molly closes the door behind you, 

“Not at all, dear, I expected he would,” she says with a smile, “I was just about to make some tea, it always calms me on nights like these,” she says, already heading toward the kitchen, 

“What do you mean?” You ask, your nerves beginning to gnaw at your insides again, 

“Haven’t the boys told you anything?” Molly asks from the stove, you stand in the doorframe and shake your head, “something about the order and Moody but besides that, not much else,” you say, 

“Just typical,” Molly tuts, “Oh well, I suppose there’s no reason not to tell you now,” she say and begins explaining the plan of moving Harry to the burrow, of disguising members of the order to look like Harry, the risks of the plan she doesn’t leave out and you don’t feel any better knowing that there’s a real danger of the plan going wrong. 

Time passes. Ginny joins you in waiting, you small talk for a little but soon find yourselves too anxious to say anything other than worrying out loud if the order will arrive soon. 

After an hour and a half, you’re pacing the living room, unable to sit still. According to Molly, they were supposed to have started showing up some forty minutes ago but when you look out over the dark landscape surrounding the burrow there’s nothing but softly swaying grass and a vast cloudy sky. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom though you don’t do anything other than stare at yourself in the mirror and try to calm yourself down. But you can’t stop thinking about the worst-case scenarios: George coming home hurt, or worse, not coming home at all. You splash water in your face in an attempt to drown out the voice of George telling you not to worry in your head. The words have been echoing in your head since you arrived at the burrow, and each time you find yourself trying to cling to the sound of his voice, remember exactly how it sounded, how his fingers felt on your face as he caressed it, the feeling on his lips on your forehead right before he left, you try to feel the warmth they’d left just in case- 

“I think I see someone!” Ginny says and by the sound of the door being flung open you exit the bathroom and follow her and Molly out into the night where one giant figure and one smaller one appear from the tall grass, who you immediately recognise as Harry and Hagrid, both of whom are soaked and clearly shaken up, 

“Where are the others?” Harry asks while Hagrid explains to Molly how they hadn’t stood a chance, the death eaters had been awaiting them, 

“You’re the first ones back,” Ginny says with a grim expression, she doesn’t get any further though, as the unmistakable pop of apparition brings your attention further down the field, 

“Quick!” you hear Lupin yell and when you see the bleeding person he’s carrying you speed up to meet them, Harry beats you to it though, which is good, because when the polyjuice potion wears off and George’s features become clearer you feel as if all the air has been punched out of you, your knees buckling under you for a moment in shock, before you hurriedly follow them inside the house, where Lupin and Harry lay George on the couch. You and Molly sit down beside him and while Lupin grabs Harry and questions him you don’t tear your eyes away from George. You can’t. 

“Hi there, darling,” he croaks, his eyes half-open. You place your hand on his chest and wince when you find it’s sticky with blood, 

“Hey there,” you say, your voice unsteady. You try not to look at the blood that’s trailing from his ear but against George’s pale skin, it’s difficult not to. You bunch up his shirt in your hand as you try to steady yourself. You feel sick, and it doesn’t take long for tears to find your eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, “it’s okay, Y/n,” his hand finds your cheek, as the first tear of many trickles down your face and you struggle to keep composed. You clench your jaw trying not to sob but you still let out a small broken one escape through your lips as you breathe out, as you place your hand on his, squeezing it tightly, you’re afraid. Afraid of him letting go. His eyes close and another sob burst through you. You only look up when you feel a hand on your back, and you find Fred’s concerned face, his hand moves to your shoulder, he gives it a quick squeeze, 

“How’re you feeling, Georgie?” he asks, George swallows and for a moment you hold your breath, thinking he’s unconscious, but then his eyes open, just a little, 

“Saint-like,” he says, to your surprise, a small smirk tugs at his mouth, you and Fred share a look, 

“Come again?” Fred asks, looking pale with worry, the smile on George’s lips broadens, 

“Saint-like,” he says, “I’m holey, Fred, I’m holey. Get it?” Georges’s hand leaves yours to gesture to his ear, 

Fred’s cheeks gain a little colour as he shakes his head, 

“Of all ear-related humour, you go for ‘I’m holey’? that’s pathetic,” Fred says, his smile mirroring his twin. 

After a few moments Molly disappears to find some things to help mend George’s ear, and the order agrees to give him some privacy by moving into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the twins, Fred gets comfortable next to the couch, and you stay put, stroking George’s hair with a still-shaky hand. 

“Don’t worry,” George says, 

“You do realise that saying that over and over isn’t going to work, right?” You answer, brushing tufts of ginger hair away from his forehead, 

“worth a try,” he replies, closing his eyes again a pained expression forming on his face and you know that he’ll most likely pull through but you can’t seem to let go of the ‘what if?’ resting in the back of your mind. Molly reappears with a bag of various remedies and ingredients, she picks out a sample of bottles, and then goes to find a cloth and some water, 

“I would use magic,” She says, “but I think this is easier to control,” she wrings the cloth and both you and Fred eye it nervously, 

“You gonna be ok?” You ask George when he opens his eyes at the sound of the water from the cloth dripping into the bowl beneath it. He swallows hard, 

“Yeah, I think so,” he says, “It’s a bit of water, how bad could it be?” you try giving him an encouraging smile but you know that beneath it all you’re both aware that this isn’t going to be pleasant, 

Molly gingerly touches the cloth to George’s ear and he winces, letting out a sharp hiss and his hold on your hand tightens, reminding you that your boyfriend, the former beater, is a lot stronger than you but you don’t ask him to let go, or say anything at all, your lips form a thin line as you watch him grimace and whimper with every stroke of the cloth against the cut. Molly apologies profusely and promises that she’s doing it as fast as she can, her eyes lined with tears as well. Fred grows pale when Molly wrings the cloth again, turning the water a bright vermillion and excuses himself, 

the cut looks better after it’s rinsed and Molly gently applies some of the remedies she’s picked out, before asking your help in holding George, who’s close to unconscious again, while she bandages him, 

“It’s not much,” she says in a shaky voice, “but it’ll do till tomorrow,” 

“Do you think it’ll heal?” you ask, your voice is grainy and you now realise how dry your mouth is. Molly runs a hand over her son’s forehead, 

“you can never know with dark magic, if it was cursed off we can’t know if there’ll be side effects,” she says, “we’ll just have to wait,” she sighs, watching George with glossy eyes. Then she picks up the water and turns to go, 

“I’ll go clean up,” she says with a sniffle, leaving you alone in the living room with George. He looks a lot less frightening without the blood covering his neck and face, and with the bandage covering the ear, he looks almost normal, though he’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. You overhear Fred talk to Molly, who orders him to go upstairs and rest, you reckon he’s not doing well either, after a lot of arguing from Fred he complies. Molly comes in with a tearstained face and some blankets. Together you rearrange pillows and blankets, so you can lay next to George on the floor, 

“We’ll have to leave the clothes on until tomorrow, as much as I’d like to change them,” Molly says, eyeing the bloody stains on the jacket and t-shirt he’s wearing, “oh well,” she says, “I think it’s best if we all get some sleep. You’ll be alright here, dear?” she asks, 

“Yes, I think so,” you say, not sure you’ll be getting much sleep. You try to get comfortable next to George, holding his hand and laying down, staring at the ceiling. You quickly accept that sleep isn’t coming to you, and you sit up again, resting your head on your arm so that you’re almost laying next to George. It’s easier to relax when you can see him. See his chest rise and fall slowly. Hear his breathing. Feel it. Warm and soft, reminding you that he’s still here. Your eyes grow heavy and you’re nearly asleep when, 

“Y/n?” your eyes open at the sound of his voice, you blink at him. His eyes are staring intently at you in the dim light, 

“What?” you ask, 

“Can I ask you something?”

you sit up, 

“It’s just,” he begins, taking breaks in between his words, you wonder if anything Molly has given him has made him loopy, “I’ve been thinking about everything, and since I suppose I can say I’ve had a near death experience, it wouldn’t be right if it didn’t put some things into perspective,” he says, smiling at your puzzled expression, 

“where are you going with-” 

“will you marry me?” 

“...what?” you stare at him,

“I had a whole thing planned but I think I’d rather do it now so I’ll never have to almost lose the opportunity to ask you for real again,” he says, 

“George,” you say, awestruck “are you sure?” 

“More sure than I’ve ever been,” he says in an almost unrecognisably serious tone, his eyes locked into yours, 

You take a shaky breath, “ask me again.” 

The same cheeky grin he’d always wear when he’d ask you appears on his face and you could cry because for the first time that night he looks like himself again, 

“Y/n L/n, will you marry me?” he asks, taking both your hands in his, you don’t move to stop the warm tears that spill down your face, tasting them as you smile, nodding at him, 

“yes, George Weasley, of course I’ll marry you,” you say, diving in to kiss him gently, his hand finds your face, his thumb wiping your tears away, 

“Please don’t cry over me, Y/n,” he says, your faces still close, earning a half-sob half-chortle from you, 

“I’m your bloody fiance now, I’ll cry however much I want over you,” you say, kissing him again. 

“How many times did I ask?” he asks, 

“I think that was the 417th time,” you reply, he pouts, 

“Damn, my goal was a thousand,” he says with a smirk, “wait,” his eyes widen, “what am I supposed to ask you now?” he says. You allow yourself to laugh,

“you don’t have to ask me anything, thank you very much,” 

“...Want to renew our vows?” he tries, 

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind: I’m divorcing you,” you say, laying down beside him, 

“hey! we’re not married yet,” he says, 

“Then I’m divorcing you prematurely,” you say, “now get some sleep!” 

*** 

Bill and Fleur’s wedding was wonderfully different from the way the rest of your lives were going. The war was pressing on with more and more shops in Diagon Alley closed down for an indefinite amount of time. Everywhere you went, people seemed anxious, awaiting something unknown, a sort of resolution to all the dread. In the middle of it all, a wedding had seemed misplaced but standing in the tent behind the burrow, seeing people actually laugh, dance and enjoy themselves, you felt more at ease than you had in months. 

“Hey,” George appears next to you, handing you a glass of champagne, 

“Hi,” you say, looking at Luna dancing with her father for a moment, you turn to George, “how’s the ear?” you ask, George didn’t talk about it much, insisting it was fine which didn’t stop you and Molly from fussing over him still, 

“It’s okay,” He says, “If I’m honest, I hardly notice it anymore. Now I just want the bandages off,” he chuckles. You stand together, watching the crowd for a moment, 

“Can I show you something?” he asks after sipping his drink, 

“Right now?” your eyebrow lifts, 

“Right now. Come on,” he nods towards the exit of the tent, extending his hand for you to take, 

*

“What are we doing in your room?” you ask, a little winded the alcohol and from climbing the stairs, 

“Sit down,” he gestures to his bed and heads to his dresser, rummaging through the third drawer down, “Where is it, I could’ve sworn- Oh! here it is!” he picks up a small object. He turns to you with a grin, “Now, I know that The Real One didn’t exactly go as planned, but I did have a whole thing planned, so,” he walks over to you and kneels down, opening the small object to reveal a stunning engagement ring, “I figured I owe you this,” he says, 

“you got me a ring?” you say a little breathlessly, feeling ridicoulus when tears rim your eyes for what feels like the millionth time since George lost his ear, 

“bought it with my first salary from the shop,” he replies with a sheepish smirk, “do you like it?” 

“I love it, George,” you say, “really, it’s beautiful,” 

“Want me to put it on you?” 

“Duh!” you laugh,

George slips the ring onto your finger with ease and presses a kiss to your hand, then places soft kisses up your arm to your shoulder, your neck and finally your lips, his tongue swiping across your lips, deepening the kiss for a moment before you both break away with breathless laughter. He rests his forehead on yours, taking your hands in his, looking at the light shifting in the jewels in the ring, 

“About bloody time we made it official, too,” he says with a sense of content finality, his hand cups your cheek, kissing you again, this time hungrier and you let him lower you onto his bed to celebrate your final engagement properly. 

[certifiedceraunophile]

So summer in Mumbai is almost over, technically I only have 15 days or so before monsoon rolls in and everything becomes poetically gross and sticky outside and languid and homey inside, basically meaning I missed my chance at summer...again.

Now that left me a bit miffed, that this summer I did not get to make ANY new memories that were largely pleasant, that my wanderlust was not even acknowledged let alone indulged, and that I spent most of it locked up, isolated, scared -and with the risk of sounding woeful- utterly helpless and hopeless. 

I’ve been told summers are supposed to signify new beginnings, each new gust of the summer breeze is supposed to slowly ease the frigid hands of winter away from us.....but I felt none of that, I still feel like I’m being squeezed from all four sides, flattened and twisted by everything that is raging on in my country, in my home, in my life.

And no this caption is not gonna end with a light and hopeful easing message, because I don’t feel any of those things, fleetingly when I’m with my friends and my family yes, I can almost forget the utter *shit* I’m going through but it’s always looming in some god forsaken corner of the scenery, some part of it blurring or blotting my vision.

But then a few days ago I was going through pictures of my travels from the summers before this Pandemic started and the only thing I noticed was how no part of this scenery, of these pictures was even faintly tainted by anything that happened in the following two years, I noticed that I remember, that I remember everything, from my summers before the pandemic. I cried for a bit, not out of wistfulness or bitterness, but simply because I remembered the sheer beauty of the world and how all of it was laid bare for me. 

I cried because I was so so goddamn thankful I remembered….and that my soul remembers.

I still remember thinking that the tumbling shades of the sky reflected in the ocean, the blues and whites of Andaman was the single most beautiful colour I had ever laid eyes on, and that if all the Gods and powers of the universe were all just colours and beams of light, the one who created our Earth would be this exact shade of blue.

I remember how the gathered scents of a thousand flowers from the Gardens of Singapore mixing and twirling almost conspicuously in front of my eye, invading my senses and leaving me so jarringly human could be the only experience I could truly ever come close to describing as ethereal.

I remember how each wave of the Mediterranean sea looked like a beckoning hand welcoming me into its depth, wily and whispering, taunted me with each secret it was willing to unveil with just one more step until I didnt even notice I was chest deep, swaying and so so alive.

I remember how I saw the sun daintily blanket itself beneath the boundless Arabian seas, where each passing minute as it slipped beneath it’s tiding veil was just another artist’s brush stroke across the sky, a splash of red here a hint of pink there and a stroke of glowing glorious orange, and all I could think was: was it not enough? was it not enough to shine down such seraphic beauty on me just once, was it not enough that the world had to turn around and reflect it’s swirling colours of a flaming sky on the ocean beneath, and shimmer twice as bright? was it only enough when the sky set the ocean on fire with flames that danced.

And I remember how each smoking, sweltering breath in the deserts of India, each glare of the sun and the shyness of a cloud to even slightly dare disturb the perfect sky was just the world clearing its lenses so I could see unfettered beyond it’s shrouded shadows and know the inescapable expanse of it, to know how incredibly infinitesimal I was in that moment, to know that the world only ever glowed its colors and stirred it’s wind and pulled it’s water for something so infinitesimal and transient as me. To know that all of it was for me.

So yeah...I cried, because the world was mine to breathe in, to eat in small bites and drink with each gasp of air, and I was thankful for that. However, soon my tears did turn wistful and bitter, because now I’ve been robbed of it.  No, nothing, nothing less than the World was stolen from me, and I cant see an end to it’s absence, all I hear about each day is death, and all I see each day in my family, in my home, in myself is the fear of death, if you could you’d smell the stench of fear on us, and no I don’t bloody care if this is pretentious or overly romanticized or utterly way too symbolic and flowery to be truly woeful because this is how I’ve always expressed myself and this is how I’ve always seen the world, but now all I see is the four walls of my home, each morning the air outside decays with this virus, each day the smoke from the bodies being burnt on the street is just another fixture of life, each death just another tally, each positive test just another prayer, each grieving soul probably the next death.

And I hate it, and you see no, I don’t hate my current state.

I hate the world, the world I was so enamoured with, the world I had submitted all my secrets and desires and hopes to, the world I prayed to and prayed for, the world that I thought would always dance with me, that I thought was immutable in it’s beauty and never ending in it’s immensity, the same world I thought that had claimed me back as sure as I had claimed it, I hate it so much 

Because it’s all gone, because I feel abandoned, because I feel so fucking alone.

So that’s why I am here, showing you these pictures of me, trying my hardest to make you feel what I felt when the world engulfed me, to show you how breathless it truly leaves you, because all you ever do is drown in this world, because I can’t bring myself to hope to feel it again, it hurts every time. So here I am a lost little girl who was promised the world, was cruelly fed a piece of it, and then left to starve with only the faintest taste to remember, to linger on my tongue, so here I am showing you my pretty pictures because all I can do now is remember....and I can’t lose that too.

[vulturhythm]

until the blue ocean turns green - part two

part one

- - - - -

It's been years since Geralt left the merman alone by the shore.

Two, three?

He doesn't know.

Nearly six months since he left Yennefer behind.

She was too much, too soon... too intense.

They were doomed from the start.

Maybe... maybe, he admits, late at night when it's just him alone in his head, he should have stayed by the sea.

Maybe he should have stayed with Jaskier.

--

He travels.

He goes north.

He goes north, and he goes east, and he goes west.

Anywhere but south to the seas.

--

He takes contract after contract, kills creatures for peasants and nobility alike... never lays a hand upon a human, not again.

Every drop of blood he spills, he remembers the glistening silver of Jaskier's. He remembers how it laid upon the surface like liquid moonlight, how it soaked into the bandages and turned them a murky platinum...

Every time he meets the gaze of a monster, he thanks the gods that it isn't Jaskier's, that his merman isn't at the point of his sword.

Every time he makes camp near the river, he watches the water flow, and he wishes it were deep and rolling, capped with foam.

--

Five years pass, and then ten.

Time is kind to his type, his only claim to age an addition smattering of scars across his body, torn into his flesh by blades or teeth or claws.

There is one blessing time continues to withhold, however...

He has not yet managed to forget.

--

He sleeps with countless women, and yet, never with a man.

He tries, once - lets a young, pretty-eyed thing woo him with his words, gets as far as setting his teeth to the side of his throat, hands beneath his shirt and thigh between his legs...

... and the image of deep blue eyes and deeper scales flashes through his head, and bright, bright silver blood.

He draws away, steps back... leaves the man behind the tavern, mounts up on Roach, leaves the town he's only barely gotten to know and leaves it all behind.

That night, he doesn't sleep.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Jaskier floating in the sea.

--

It's when he sees the scales of sea things at a market that fear clogs his throat.

Harpy scales, selkie scales, merfolk scales... blacks and grays and greens and golds, and blues - bright blues, dark blues, ocean blues, sky blues...

He confronts the man running the stall, demands to know where - and why.

"They're quite coveted for jewelry nowadays," is the simple response, and there's fear in the man's eyes when Geralt looms closer. "I'm not the, ah, the collector, I don't hunt the things - I just sell them and split the profit - "

"Split it with who?" he growls, and he knows, almost before the answer comes...

"Why, the witcher, of course."

--

Months pass.

Slowly, he wanders south, along mountain trails and through little villages he hasn't seen in years, along the outskirts of kingdoms and through valleys and forests...

He sees the scales in nearly every market, and in the richer regions, he sees them around the necks of women, at the fastenings of men.

As time goes on, he realizes it's not just scales - there's teeth and claws, too, and feathers, and as Geralt rides on through or walks on by, he realizes the witcher is killing not for contracts, but for sport.

It sickens him to imagine.

Worse, however, is the nagging voice at the back of his head, the one that urges him to try and remember the exact shade of...

No.

--

Geralt loses track of time again, as he often does now. With more than a century of his life beneath his belt, the years feel more like months sometimes.

Cycles, as Jaskier would have said.

He's begun to think like that with increasing frequency, evaluating things from the merman's eyes... he wonders what Jaskier knew of the human realm before he met the witcher.

Wonders if he's found another human to tell him of tavern songs.

--

The air grows salty as he draws further south.

It feels... it feels like returning to a home he never truly had.

To a love he never allowed.

--

He awakens from a dream one night, a nightmare... awakens from the vision of Jaskier, split and flayed open on the shore, his beautiful, beautiful tail sawed off and skinned bare, his scales shorn off and cleaned and sent to be draped about the neck of a queen.

He's barely been asleep for an hour, yet if it weren't for Roach's weariness, he would have taken to the road again immediately.

--

Things begin to look familiar, though changed with the passage of time.

He remembers this tree, that stone... remembers when that husk of a farmhouse was once active and lively, remembers when this town was small, little more than houses.

He stops at the new tavern, buys himself some ale.

It's here that he learns the witcher has all but set up camp along the shore, where the rivers feed into the sea.

Geralt's stomach churns at the thought.

He pushes Roach hard the next day, urges her on, on, on...

--

It's nightfall when he reaches the edge of the sea.

The water is dark and calm, but there's clouds upon the horizon, clouds that roil with lightning and threaten to mask the crescent moon overhead.

Geralt leaves Roach tied to the fallen tree. It's splintered with age, no longer sturdy enough to support his weight. She shies from the wood, and it's no wonder - it's splashed with platinum blood, dried into the bark.

The air reeks of death. Coppery blood blends with salt and fish and sand, and Geralt snarls beneath his breath as he paces along the water's edge.

He comes to the tide pool before long.

Much the same as always, full of life, of clear and gentle water that sloshes when the tide eases in. Standing at its edge, Geralt remembers the deer hide he'd spread across the stones, the cloths he'd draped upon Jaskier's back.

His gaze wanders back to the sea.

As clear as ever, he can see Jaskier floating just past the shallows, testing the strength of his newly-healed tail, calling the songs of the sea to Geralt and laughing aloud at his bewildered stare.

The faintest of smiles tugs at Geralt's lips, but it's dashed away an instant later by the memory of that silver cloud of blood, drifting upon the surface, calling his attention to the body out in the water that night long ago.

He thanks the gods above that he wasn't greeted by the same tableau tonight.

That doesn't mean he won't encounter it soon.

Geralt heaves a quiet sigh, turns to look back at Roach, who's watching him with those soft, wise eyes. "Hopeless?" he half-asks, his voice low.

She whickers in response, and he turns his gaze back to the water.

--

Two weeks pass.

He comes across no other signs of the witcher, but, as he learned long ago, invisible demons are no less a threat than those that you can see, hear, feel.

Then again, he supposes he can see, sense, touch the evidence of the other witcher... he sees the blood splashed across the driftwood and stones. He hears the way the shore is all but silent except for the lapping of the waves, even the gulls overhead scarce. He feels the way every living thing seems to have drawn back in fear.

He hates it in a way that he cannot describe.

He's seen horrific things - battlefields sprayed with blood and brains, homes torn apart by violence, corpses left hanging half-eaten from trees or mountain ledges, bits of rotting flesh on the teeth of the creatures he's meant to kill - and yet, not in his century-odd of living has he ever encountered such a dreadful aura, such an air of gloom.

Distantly, he knows that it's because of the fear roiling deep within his chest, a constant ache that refuses to ease away. He sets up camp less than a half-mile from the sea, where the wind will waft the scent of blood in his direction, should anything... go awry.

For a while, nothing happens.

The days pass without event, and the nights, much the same.

--

It's about three days later that he begins to notice the gulls are returning.

At first, it's just a couple, cruising along overhead, their calls rare and quiet, as though they know better than to speak too loudly.

Later in the afternoon, as Geralt paces along the shoreline where he'd met Jaskier all those years ago, he notices more of them, perched upon a rock that crests above the sea a short distance out. The sight is oddly familiar, enough to jog Geralt's memory. He goes still, frowning toward the stone.

He doesn't think he's imagining the way the gulls are staring at him, tilting their heads, cawing between themselves.

It's unusual, to be frank, but...

... nothing comes of it that day.

--

The next day, there are more. A lot more.

One awakens him in the late evening by lighting upon a branch near his camp and squawking loud enough to wake the goddamn dead.

Geralt jerks upright with haste, staring at the bird in the sort of confusion he usually reserves for sorceresses and their type.

Realization strikes him a moment later, and he scrambles to his feet. Roach is already snorting her protest before he even approaches her. She seems far, far less than impressed to be saddled up and nudged into a trot all thanks to the appearance of a single gull, but Geralt pays her disgruntled sounds no mind, for a memory has risen to the surface...

... the memory of his merman, rambling on and on about the stories the gulls told him.

As soon as it sees Geralt is in motion, the gull springs into flight, rising up through the trees into the open air above. Geralt catches enough of a glimpse to track it westward; he's quick to spur Roach along, heart caught in his throat.

It's easier to follow the gull once they're beyond the trees, once it leads them out to the shoreline. It's now that the gull is joined by two - three - more, all circling impatiently then flying on ahead while Roach finds steady footing in the sand.

Geralt imagines they've gone nearly a mile before, suddenly, the wind shifts, and he's hit with -

with -

with the stench of blood, hot and wet and not... not red, no, silver, unicorn silver, a cloyingly sweet scent that bites the roof of Geralt's mouth when it settles there, horrific in its familiarity.

No longer minding the gulls above, he kicks his mare into a canter, praying to the whole damn pantheon that he isn't too late.

--

The moon is high overhead when he finally catches sight of the bleeding thing.

There's a fishing net halfway submerged in the shallows, one end tangled and tethered amongst the mess of rocks and logs on the sand. It's clear that the net was hauled ashore once it was full... hauled ashore so its contents would dehydrate and rot away in the heat of the day.

As Geralt draws near, he slows Roach to a walk, and then to a halt, his heart rising and catching in his throat.

Through the strands of the net, he can see pale skin and deep, deep blue scales.

He's out of the saddle and in motion almost before he realizes it, calling Jaskier's name, and the creature tangled in the net - they stir, they thrash, they try to pull away -

Geralt drops to his knees beside the mess of rope and blood and flaked-off scales, fumbling to pull his dagger from its home at his belt. "Jaskier," he says, and then, louder, when dazed blue eyes meet his own, "it's me, I'm here, you're - don't try to move, I don't want you hurt - "

"You came," croaks a familiar voice, weakened with illness, laden with relief. "You - I thought you were gone..."

"The gulls led me to you," was Geralt's simple response; he was frozen now, staring at - at all of it, trying to find the weak points in the rope, the points where he could cut through without hurting his siren any more than he already had. "I'm - I'm sorry, Jaskier, I should have come back before."

His merman shakes his head, or tries to, and fuck, the rope is digging into his face, and Geralt's heart fucking aches with the sight. "Don't blame yourself," he mumbles. "Don't."

All Geralt can do is look at him, look at him and try to fucking breathe.

It's been years since he's let himself cry, but he thinks he might now.

He shakes himself into motion with a muffled curse, grabs for the loosest part of the rope that he can see and - and tries to cut through, he fucking tries, but there's more resistance than he expects, and it's then that he realizes the rope is glinting with silver - silver for monsters - and the anger that rises in his chest gives him the strength to slice through the metal strands.

Jaskier, to his credit, lays still as Geralt reaches, grabs, pulls, cuts - shows no sign of fear - and Geralt breathes in, forces himself to listen, feels dread settle in his stomach when he realizes the merman's pulse is weak, so weak... when he realizes his merman is dying.

"Stay awake," Geralt grits out, and he knows he sounds harsh, he sounds cruel, but - but he doesn't know how else to sound, not when he thinks he may have to scare death off his own goddamn self, just to keep his mermaid safe. "Stay awake, Jaskier..."

It becomes a fucking mantra, one he repeats over and over again as he cuts the net apart, as he slices through what feels like fucking miles of silver thread, careful - so careful - not to cut into lacerated skin or shaved-off scales. It feels like a fucking eternity before the last of the net falls away and Geralt can breathe again, can sheathe his dagger in a hurry and look Jaskier over.

His anger returns tenfold as he takes him in.

The merman is badly sunburnt, bright and horrific red, a salmon shade joined by deep silver and deeper gray where he's bleeding and has bled. A closer look tells Geralt that the silver has done a fine job of eating into his skin in some places. As for his tail, well... it's easy to tell that it'll be marred by quite a few new scars, and the fan at the end is bordering on ruined.

"I'm sorry," says Geralt at last.

He's met with silence, and fear clogs his throat as he looks up to Jaskier's face.

Jaskier is merely... he's just watching him, those deep blue eyes glazed and unfocused.

He looks half-dead already, and yet, despite that - despite the blood on his skin - he looks... trusting.

Geralt can't quite wrap his head around that.

"Stay awake," he says again, reaching beneath the merman - just like years before - and lifting him with arms that want to shake despite his best efforts to the contrary. "Let me get you to the water..."

Jaskier gives a quiet sound in reply, and he tips his head to the side, resting against Geralt entirely even though he whines with pain. "They told me a witcher was nearby," he says, hoarse. "I thought... I thought it was you."

Anger wells up yet again - anger, and hate, and malice, and... and remorse.

Guilt.

He heaves a sigh as he carries his merman to the water's edge, wading into the shallows. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm going to set you down for a minute so you can cool off... I have potions in my saddlebag."

The other man doesn't respond, and Geralt fights the fear clenched tight about his heart. He kneels down, easing Jaskier into the water, and he can't help but grimace at the pitiful little sound of pain the sting of salt earns. "I'm sorry," says the witcher again.

He's as gentle as he's ever been as he sets the merman down in the shallows, eyes on Jaskier's tail as it rests limply upon the shifting sands. Jaskier, of course, offers no resistance, merely tenses and huffs when Geralt slips his arms out from beneath him. He dips his head back to submerge his face, and Geralt watches the subtle gills along his throat flex as he readjusts. It brings relief, almost, knowing that maybe he'll survive.

Geralt kneels there in the sands for... gods, he isn't sure how many minutes pass before Jaskier finally stirs again, opening his eyes and blinking up at Geralt from where he's only barely floating above the seafloor. He's almost limp, laying on his side, less-lacerated shoulder supporting him, tail motionless and arms halfheartedly folded.

It... hurts to see.

"I'm going to go get the potions," Geralt says, voice a bit louder than normal; he knows Jaskier can hear him. "Focus on resting."

The merman, once again, doesn't react, and Geralt tries to ignore the stab of pain that goes through his gut. He stands with a sigh, returning to Roach, who has been observing everything in telling silence. She stands patiently as he rummages through her saddlebags; he keeps the potions safe for humans and other non-witcher beings here, not wanting to clog up his own belts and pockets with things he can't grab and down in a heartbeat.

He picks out a vial full of a deep green liquid, one that glistens in the sunlight as he walks back into the gently-rolling water. Jaskier twists over onto his front when Geralt nears, and it's obvious the motion causes him pain; his tail convulses briefly, and his face contorts, but he rests his elbows on the sand to lift his head from the water regardless. "Can you drink?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier merely nods, watching him with an unreadable expression in those glossed-over eyes as Geralt kneels at his side once more. Deciding that's answer enough when Jaskier could well die before the sun rises, Geralt uncorks the vial, setting a gentle hand beneath Jaskier's chin to steady him as he tips the potion to his lips.

His eyes rake over the merman's body once more as he drinks, taking in the way his throat works, the deep and angry burns across his skin, the lacerations here and there...

He won't survive, not like this.

Suddenly lost within that train of thought, Geralt goes still.

It isn't until Jaskier begins to cough and choke that he jolts himself back into the present, pulling the half-empty vial away from the merman's mouth and waiting until he's steadied out some before he says, "Jaskier, you... is there any safe spot nearby? Like the tide pool?"

Something like pain flashes through the merman's eyes, but it's not physical pain.

Geralt recognizes it all too well.

"I'm not going to leave you," he breaks in, before Jaskier can get a word out. "Not again. I need to get you somewhere safe so I can treat the wounds and so you can rest. That's all."

Jaskier hesitates, looks away; finally, he nods, saying quietly, "Further south along the shore, there should - there's a little lagoon..."

"How far away?"

"Around the next bend," he mumbles, and he sounds tired, so tired...

Geralt curses under his breath, saying as he reaches for him yet again, "Stay awake... just a little longer."

--

It's maybe a ten, fifteen minute ride along the shore and around the curve.

Geralt keeps Jaskier cradled in his arms, clucking to Roach and nudging her with his heels to keep her straight, but the mare knows what to do; she moves slowly, head steady and pace even, as if she knows just how important the extra weight on her back is.

The lagoon is small, barely any wider across than your average tavern, shut off from the ocean by bits of shore that stretched too far into the waters and refused to draw away. The inland forest has crept up close, heavy trees fading into palms near the water's edge, and it's...

Well, it's beautiful.

Even Geralt, halfway blinded by the panic that rises in his chest with the merman's every labored breath, has to admit it.

"We're here," he says aloud, soft, and Jaskier jumps, his eyes blinking open. "I'm going to set you in the water, okay?"

He isn't surprised when Jaskier doesn't react.

That doesn't make it any easier to bear.

Heaving a sigh, he adjusts his grip on the merman, swinging his leg over Roach's back and sliding to the ground in as smooth a movement as he can manage, bearing a couple hundred extra pounds in his arms.

Jaskier stays quiet as Geralt carries him to the lagoon, stays quiet as he's laid down in the clear and shallow water. He rests his body on the sands without being told, deep enough that he's submerged except for his head and shoulders when he props himself up once again. Geralt's hand brushes over one of the worst cuts when he draws back, and Jaskier winces, nearly whines -

"I'm sorry," Geralt says, low, and turns back to Roach. He comes back with another potion and a small vial of salve, one he's opening as he kneels at Jaskier's side. "I'll set up camp here, just inside the trees..."

"Don't stay for me," Jaskier interrupts, and it's the first thing he's said in quite a while, and it's so soft, so uncertain...

Geralt feels his heart break.

He shakes his head, dipping his hand into the salve and reaching beneath the water's surface to smooth it along Jaskier's sun-raw back. It's waterproof, or at least waterproof enough, so he has few qualms with this. "I'm staying," he says, just as soft. "I won't leave you again. I shouldn't have left to begin with."

The merman says nothing.

Geralt didn't expect him to.

--

It's difficult, those first few days.

Jaskier lacks the strength to move much on his own - to do anything beyond sinking below the surface and raising back up to drink whatever potion or plant concoction Geralt is offering.

Food, he says, nauseates him to even contemplate.

Geralt tries to hide how badly that thought scares him.

--

The fourth day, Jaskier begins to decline.

Despite Geralt's best efforts - despite countless fucking hours of sitting at the shore, of kneeling beside him in the water, of pouring every potion he thinks could possibly be safe down his throat - the merman is weak.

He is weak, and he is dying, and, well...

Geralt sees only one option.

It's a day's ride to the nearest town, but it's less than a half day to the mouth of the river the other witcher is said to be stationed alongside.

Leaving Jaskier with a quiet whisper of, "I swear to you, I'll return," and a kiss upon his forehead, he mounts up on Roach, and turns for the trees.

He prays to the whole fucking pantheon that things will be okay.

- - - - -

@xdandelionxbloomx @w-s-kibela @justjessiehere @wrenbug @golden-aire-girl @the-little-red-queen @littleredhotsridinghood @ladyaulis @flootzavut @g-e-r-a-s-k-i-e-r @insert-cleverurl @animaniac1017 @brothers-of-the-heart @jaskierisanangel @gray-coal @weakforjaskier @xpixelle @teddylacroix @flustratedcas @1stbonesfan

i hope i didn’t miss anyone! thank you all. third part on the horizon!

[gagmebucky]

[bad boy!bucky. teasing. kitten.]

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no one’s treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

in which you’re supposed to tutor bucky but he has other plans. (includes bad boy!bucky x shy!reader, bucky’s pov, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, fingering, mild exhibitionism and voyeurism.)

do not repost.

—

“Shouldn’t you be closer?” Bucky quirks a quizzical eyebrow from across the library table, lips slanted in the faintest of smirks, resisting a full blown show of teeth lest he intimidate you further. 

Stacked shelf to shelf, the book-laden expanse is desolate on an eight o’clock evening. The maze of literature has a plethora of tables and chairs on in-house reading; of which, the both of you are stationed at one. At the farthest corner of the room, he’s moored you in a coven of privacy: obscured from the front desk by towers of wood and bound paper. 

At the opposing head of the rectangular surface, you look up; the first glance in ten minutes since arriving for the studying session as you procrastinated under the guise of arranging the work space. Your wide eyes connect with his, and you swallow. “I. . . I,” you stammer before clearing your throat and nodding. “Yes. I - I suppose I should.” 

His fingers flex subconsciously at the anticipation of having you within reach. “Okay, c’mon,” he encourages, settling forward as he pats the open seat beside him. “I won’t bite, kitten.” Before he can control himself, a smirk upturns his naturally redden lips, words drawling out like gravel, “Unless, of course, you want me to.” 

Your pretty face darkens a bashful shade, and your mouth opens then shuts. You diligently gather your materials, fumbling some underneath the intensity of his carnivorously blue gaze. Once you’ve packed up your textbook and writing utensils, you grapple them to your chest. “I am just your tutor, James, and all we’ll be doing is studying,” you state, hushed and insistent, almost as if to convince yourself. 

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, his teeth following to nibble on them before releasing. “Whatever you say, kitten,” he claims, but there’s a covetous glint in his dilated pupils that says otherwise.

Albeit with hesitation, you pad down to the chair directly diagonal from him and sit. A unique lull of vanilla and cinnamon greet his senses, another intoxicating whiff when you flip your physics book open to a chapter about electromagnetic waves. 

After skimming it with your eyes, you straighten. “Okay, um,” you say without looking at him. “Are you sure you want me to tutor you? Because it’s not my major, and I’m only getting a B—”

“I’m sure.” 

Unbeknownst to you—and to anyone who looks at him—he’s getting an A in Introduction to Cosmology. The thing is, he heard you’re one of the volunteer tutors; what’s a better way to get to know you than through deceiving you into being alone with him in a nearly empty library. 

A part of him feels guilty for that but it’s a necessary evil. Utilizing your predilection for helping others, he’s finally gotten you on your own. With your generally skittish personality, amplified when it comes to a roguish reputation like his, it was his only course of action. And he’s wanted this, wanted you for awhile now. 

Ever since he’s seen you in the front row of class, jotting down line and line of lecture, catching glimpses of your face buried in a book underneath the campus tree, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. But upon approaching you, you were all stuttering and clumsily running away. 

Turns out, his capable temper and brazenly illicit activities are more infamous than he initially thought. Which he should feel proud about, not annoyed by. But given its fault in thwarting his courting of you, there’s a flicker of agitation. 

That particular emotion is simmering with every second he inhales your bewitching aroma and eyes your beauty up-close. Warmly dimmed lights cast down a glow on your face, the shadow of your cheekbones, the length of your fluttering lashes. Your eyebrows are pinched cutely in concentration as you scan over his error-ridden homework, pink tongue peeking against your upper lip. 

God. You’re so cute. But in a way that makes him want to sheathe himself inside you as deep as possible and watch you writhe around on his cock beneath him. 

His jaw locks briefly as desire pits in his stomach. And, he knows he’s staring, an intensity of hunger display within his shark-like eyes. Undoubtedly, you see through his storming oceanic pools and know that there’s a gluttony of dastardly impulses flashing through his mind; carnal movies starring you and him in the leading roles. 

For the millionth time, you clear your throat. “S - so, I think we should go over the easy ones first. Then we - we. . .” you fumble over your instruction when his hand finds its way on your thigh, squeezing lightly through your skirt. You gulp and spare a nervous glance around then whisper, “What are you d - doing?” 

“Trying to learn,” he answers casually, moving his hand to slip underneath the fabric. He withholds a sound at the soft smoothness contrasting against his rough palm. Gauging your reaction, the shiver that slithers down your spine but the alarm widening your big eyes, he stills in place, tracing lazy circles with his thumb. “Aren’t you gonna help me, kitten?” 

You nod quickly. “Y - yes, of course.” You shuffle in your chair but he keeps a steady hold on you. “What I was saying is that, we’ll go slow then when you understand the basics, we’ll go f - faster with some harder problems.” 

“You know, I’m the type of person who prefers to go fast. I like to go in all at once, no preparation. . .” He licks his bottom lip. “Fast and hard. You think you can handle that, kitten?” On cue with the pet name, he glides his palm up your sensitive inner thighs, inching to where you’re radiating heat. 

Immediately, you gasp. “J - James!” you admonish a little too loudly and drop your pen to seize his wrist as it fixes between the cradle of your hips. “I - I’m trying to tutor you; what are you d - doing?” Despite the appalledness of your voice, your hips are instinctively bucking into the stimulation. 

“I’m listening,” he insists innocently, tilting his head as if perplexed by your fidgeting. “Is there something wrong? D’you need to use the bathroom?” 

You gnaw on your bottom lip, clearly crossed between calling him out and brushing it off. To his lucky surprise, you chose the latter. “L - let’s begin, then.” You relinquish his wrist and focus on the work splayed out on the table. “The test is coming up, and you’ll need to memorize the equations so - so—” When his hand reaches your panties and his index finger draws lines up and down your slit with the faintest of touches, you jolt, gasping, “James, we’re supposed to be studying!” 

The look on your face, he can't get enough of it: embarrassment attempting to cover the need shining in your sparkling eyes. “I am.” He chuckles huskily as he undulates his fingertips along your cloth-clad slit. “I’m studying your little pussy. And you wanna know what I notice right off the bat?” he questions like you can respond but you’re too busy shoving a fist in your mouth and smothering sounds as he goes to work. 

He kneads your sex crudely, manipulating the weeping flesh through soaked cotton between his fingers. He hasn’t touched you for more than a minute, and you’re already a puddle against the chair—slicked up and primed for something to fill up that tight hollowness inside you. 

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no ones treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

As you nod with fluttering lashes, he bypasses your underwear and palms your hot, soft mound. A moan vibrates through his throat at the same time you squeal. He beelines for your clit, swollen and just begging for abuse—which he’s more than happy to provide, to wear the tiny bundle of nerves out until you just can’t stop shaking. 

The mere image of your cute self undone like that in the public has all the blood rushing to his cock and straining for release; for you to give him that release but that’s not his aim right here and now. Right here and now, it’s about corrupting someone as sweet and good as you—to be the blackguard that unravels you like candy bar and eats you whole. 

“G - god. That’s good,” you whimper, raking your nails down his muscular forearms, and he’ll wear the red marks with pride in the future. You survey the surroundings but he can’t care less about whether someone’s watching. “James. H - hold on—” 

He pauses and lifts a brow because you’re still rutting into his caress like a dog in heat. “You really want me to stop, kitten? ‘Cause your sexy body is telling me otherwise.” If you want him to stop, he has zero qualms about doing it; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get you in your entirety. 

You shake your head. “N - no. I - I like it,” you whisper shyly, blinking those hypnotizing orbs at him. “But—”

Cutting you off, a familiar voice rings out, “Hey!” Deep and annoyingly authoritative, he identifies the blond librarian’s baritone pitch. Heavy footsteps on hardwood became louder as a build rivaling Bucky intevenes. “I heard someone yell—” 

Bucky grunts. “We’re just fine, Rogers.” He punctuates the word by parting a finger past your tumescented folds, sliding in with a curved angle until he hears your muffled but telltale choke that he's about to stroke your g-spot. A smirk curls into his lips as you slump in your seat, arms braced around your head to hide your face. “Oh, yeah. We’re doing great.” 

Steve narrows his eyes and folds his arms, nonverbally saying he won’t be brushed off that easily. “Am I seriously supposed to trust someone like you, Barnes?” he retorts with a scoff and takes a step closer to examine you. 

Which, if it were anyone else, he’d tell them to fuck off before he makes them. In this case, however, he’s knuckle deep inside you, and he sorta wants Steve to know that. In Bucky’s failed attempts to pursue you, he noticed that his childhood frenemy had also developed feelings for you, but is too daft to act on them. So, there’s some satisfaction in showing him you’re literally wrapped around his finger.

Your channel possesses him like a vice, practically gushing with every slow thrust, fevered like the contents of a volcano, and soft like silk; he knows you’ve been made to be seated around his cock. And with that conviction in his head, he’s going to show you off proudly.

“Kitten, why don’t you tell Stevie here that I’m taking good care of you?” Bucky purrs in your ear, gaze connected with the fiery depths of Steve’s. “Just reassure him that I’m handling my perfect little kitty just like she needs.” 

It takes you a minute to gather yourself—not that it helps—then you raise your head. Your face is dazed in unmistakable desire, a shimmering sheen of sweat around your forehead, pupils blown wide. “I - I’m fine,” you croak, a tone away from being a moan. “James is h - helping me.”

Satisfaction fills him, and he has to share how pleased he is with you. Keeping the heel of his palm flushed against your clit, the texturized pad of his finger rasps over that soft spot inside you over and over, speed quickening every time, making you sporadically spasm around him. 

The sensations hit you at once because you coil yourself into his embrace, trembling with your nose pressed into his chest, and his other arm huddles you close while his fingers play you like a fiddle. His black t-shirt does a decent job of suppressing your pleasure-heavy cries, but in a library setting, the noises are unmistakable. 

In shock—jealousy or arousal, both probably—Steve takes a step back, eyes like moons and lips parted as he watches the girl he has a crush on shudder and sob in the throes of orgasm within the arms of his frenemy. All the time, Bucky’s remain on his, an infuriating smirk upturned on his lips. 

Because he’s an asshole, he ducks down to stage-whisper in your ear, “That’s it, kitten. Squeeze my fingers, show me how tight you’ll feel bouncing on my cock. Be a good girl for me, and do exactly what I say.” Your cries crescendo, and your channel twitches warningly. “There she goes. You’ve got the softest, littlest, wettest pussy, don’t you, kitten? And I’m the only one who gets to have you, right?” 

Along with a nod, there’s a distinct bleat of, “Y - yes!” And that snaps Steve out of his perverse trance, blinking back into reality, and spinning on his heels to storm off, probably to jerk off or punch something. Either way, Bucky’s having the best time he’s had in awhile, and it’s all thanks to you. 

You bite into his pectoral through the blend of polyester and cotton when you cum, a sting that he absolutely loves. Your velvet walls pulsate and throb as you flood his hand, your whole body vibrating with the force that upheaves you. 

He rocks you through it: repeatedly cooes of “Good, kitten,” and waning strokes of his fingers, holding you snugly. Once the convulsions have stopped, he pops his finger free and sucks it clean. At the taste, a groan wrenches through his throat, and the urge to get on his knees and lap at the source dominates him. 

Blearily, you look up at him, all timid and such. And he feels his heart melt. “I don’t want you to fail,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry!” 

He cracks a grin. “It’s fine. I’m doing good in that class, anyway.” He cups your cheek. “I just wanted to hang out with you. Why don’t we get something to eat, and then later, I’ll eat you?” 

Although flustered, you nod with a small smile. “O - okay.”

[masterlist / feedback]