#demanding ransom caught

[not-neverland06]

forgotten promises

pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)

bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader

a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask.  Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.

“What are you doing?”

You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. 

“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket. 

Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes. 

“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”

“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”

You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”

Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both. 

“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less. 

“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid. 

LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING

Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6

Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention. 

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front. 

That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants. 

Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance. 

You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat. 

“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving. 

It hadn’t gone over well for him. 

He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom. 

He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly. 

When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door. 

“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target. 

“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving. 

The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling. 

He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end. 

He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer. 

But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit. 

He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you. 

“All good?” You ask. 

He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer. 

Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down. 

There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work. 

It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him. 

His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long. 

It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you. 

You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.

“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore. 

You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”

Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently.  “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning. 

“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much. 

Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it. 

You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this. 

The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut. 

Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place. 

He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded. 

“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”

Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”

He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”

You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?

He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in. 

You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here. 

You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long. 

It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough. 

As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him. 

Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night. 

A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here. 

The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty. 

Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby. 

“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting. 

The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair. 

“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars. 

He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before. 

You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air. 

You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you. 

It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand. 

For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with. 

You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump. 

A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!” 

“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves. 

“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you.  You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage. 

Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for. 

You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face. 

The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel. 

You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy. 

Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking. 

You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you. 

You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself. 

He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though. 

He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs. 

The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him. 

You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard. 

You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one. 

You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you. 

You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”

He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”

You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it. 

In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands. 

“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”

He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. 

It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish. 

Are you angry?

Are you leaving?

Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?

Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore. 

Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so. 

You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you. 

You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty. 

It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar. 

Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you. 

You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth. 

The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you. 

You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety. 

You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up. 

You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence. 

You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer. 

You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light. 

He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.

Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would. 

You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt. 

His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering. 

He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks. 

He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”

You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly. 

His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips. 

His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you. 

His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk. 

“Logan,” you scold. 

He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him. 

He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours. 

It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”

“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”

You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again. 

“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.

You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime. 

You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you. 

“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze. 

You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips. 

Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another. 

It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either. 

He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan. 

There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried. 

Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt. 

He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”

He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him. 

It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. 

But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him. 

“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be. 

His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again. 

You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back. 

Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good. 

This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy. 

You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped. 

You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want. 

He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out. 

“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.” 

“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”

He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs. 

He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up. 

Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.

You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin. 

Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other. 

One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat. 

But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further. 

You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them. 

You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling. 

The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck. 

He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly. 

But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say. 

“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”

“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him. 

Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”

You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life. 

“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks. 

A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. 

“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt. 

“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow. 

He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you. 

You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh. 

When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him. 

“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth. 

For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead. 

Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy. 

You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes. 

You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings. 

He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?” 

You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner. 

You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago. 

Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both. 

You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you. 

You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”

You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”

He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice. 

You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right. 

Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh. 

He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window. 

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.” 

You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”

He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”  

“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”

His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart. 

It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”

He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again. 

The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes. 

Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes. 

As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different. 

You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan. 

This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out. 

But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street. 

You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left. 

You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all. 

By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark. 

You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine. 

When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable. 

There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down. 

He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep. 

Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning. 

You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something. 

He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive. 

You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste. 

“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him. 

Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night. 

By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road. 

You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight. 

“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower. 

The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is. 

You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about. 

“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest. 

“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him. 

He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”

He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”

Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”

You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now. 

“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”

You’re not gonna like it. 

I don’t want you tagging along. 

You should just stay here and read or some shit.

You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him. 

“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”

He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.

“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”

You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it. 

He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries. 

You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck. 

The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd. 

The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool. 

The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender. 

She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her. 

“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix. 

“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do. 

Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life. 

Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”

The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?

“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl. 

And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched. 

Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.

“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure. 

There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off. 

It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?

“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on. 

“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it. 

The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand. 

You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”

Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore. 

Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you. 

“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly. 

“What?”

He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him. 

He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle. 

She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through. 

“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror. 

You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps. 

You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes. 

“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you. 

“You’re such a softie,” you tease him. 

“Shut the hell up.”

Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags. 

He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment. 

You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything. 

You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing. 

You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement. 

The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on. 

Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here. 

The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it. 

You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab. 

Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you. 

But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?

“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now. 

It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”

You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator. 

When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over. 

You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time. 

You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”

Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing. 

Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again. 

“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap. 

You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you.  You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here. 

It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long. 

“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open. 

Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”

You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”

The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it. 

Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own. 

You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look. 

“What was that about?”

“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging. 

“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured. 

You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”

You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.” 

There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox  ♡ 

Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo

@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns

@likeficsinthewnd ♡ 

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 11: Exhibitionism/Voyeurism - Winter Soldier

Summary: Home alone, you think it's safe to have some 'special time', but unbeknown to you, he's there, always watching and admiring.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content, stalker!winter soldier, masturbation, sex toys, loneliness, exhibitionism, voyeurism

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

Being the adoptive daughter of the infamous Alexander Pierce wasn’t always as exciting and full of potential danger as you’d expect. For the most part, you are confined to your heavily guarded home 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Despite being an adult and wanting to live your own life, your father deemed it too dangerous that you could be captured and used for ransom.

Throughout your life, you’d never even seen one second of action or risk, and some would say that just means your father has protected you to the best of his abilities. There is a point, however, where you need something exciting in your life even though there are only limited ways to get any thrill.

This usually occurred when you were home alone, like tonight. Bored out of your mind whilst watching the TV attached to the wall in the living room, your dad walked past, clicking a button on his phone before tying his show lace. Glancing at the time on your phone, you assumed he was going to work, considering it was so late; you knew better than to ask him what was wrong to demand his time.

Walking over, your dad briefly paused to lean down and kiss your forehead, pretending he cared, but there was nothing Alexander Pierce truly loved more than Hydra. He didn’t even need to say that he was leaving as your dad prepared to leave, assuming you had caught on to his gathering of stuff that he would be going, but before he could step out of the door, you shouted in his direction, “Am I expecting company tonight?”

Your Dad knew who you were referring to. The Winter Soldier. The assassin whom you’d met on numerous occasions tended to turn up unannounced to your home in search of your father to debrief or receive new orders, so you made sure to ask regarding his whereabouts so that you could be prepared for a midnight visit.

“No, he’s a couple of states away on a mission and not due to be back for another few days. I’ll lock up on my way out; don’t wait up for me”. Without another look or even an ‘I love you’, Alexander Pierce left out of the front door, and the sound of the shutters around the windows started to descend, and the thick locks on all doors clicked into place.

You were locked in, and as soon as the metal stopped creaking and you knew your dad’s car had driven off, you sighed in sweet relief at finally being home alone. It was almost like an automatic reaction for your body to become horny as soon as you were locked in, knowing that no one would interrupt and you had free reign to do whatever you pleased, which would always be masturbation.

Turning up the TV loud so you could hear it from your bedroom and not feel as alone, you changed your clothing to just an oversized shirt and nothing more, selecting which vibrator you wanted from the box beneath your bed. Today was going to be the purple bullet vibrator and then returned to the living room.

This was one of the only places where you could feel any sort of rebellion or thrill. Yes, you could and do masturbate in your bedroom just like anyone else would, but being able to do it in technically a public space gave you little bursts of adrenaline. If your father returned home, you’d be able to hear the security system unlocking, but it was also an area that was supposed to be where everyone gathered and had family time. This didn’t refer to your home, though, as you were the only person to use the living area as your father was either in his office, the gym or not home at all.

Lying down on the soft couch, your head nestling into the decorative pillow, you tried to focus your mind into the horny zone. The excitement you anticipated hit you in your gut as you lifted your shirt until it rested over your collarbones to reveal your nude body.

As the chilled breeze ghosted over your skin, it caused a ripple effect of goosebumps to shiver over you, nipples hardening, which sparked pleasure to build in your abdomen and moisture to slick at your entrance. Closing your eyes, your fingers teased over your breasts, imagining they were someone else's hands, exploring the fresh and finding where you were most sensitive.

Pinching your nipples gently, you released a soft sigh as another hand drifted down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Biting your lip, your knees separated to allow your fingers to collect some of the juices that had leaked from your hole and then spread it over your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in circles.

You were entirely in the zone, feeling increasingly more aroused with breathy moans and whimpers escaping your open mouth each second. This was your favourite place to be, hot and bothered, getting yourself off to feel your cunt pulsing around two of your fingers.

Then you were pressing the vibrator against your clit with two fingers delved into your warmth, curling and pressing on the spot that had your back arching and breaths hitching.

Everything was building, like an orchestra reaching its crescendo, approaching the peak of no return and complete euphoria. Then, the sensation rushed over you. Not the pleasant orgasmic blissful shiver but a haunting, the hairs standing on end over your arms and the back of your neck with unease. It felt like someone was watching you, but that wasn’t the case; the building was locked down, and the security cameras didn't point in this direction.

Your eyes opened on instinct, and fear, horror and dread pulsed through your stomach as you screamed, closing your legs and rushing to stand and cover your body with your shirt. Your knees buckled from the lasting effects of getting yourself off, but you clung to the arm of the couch whilst trying to turn off the vibrator.

It felt like your heart had moved to your throat, with the fear of throwing up and passing out at the same time taking over as you stared unblinking at the man currently sitting in the armchair next to the couch you’d been masturbating on. He was sitting as still as a statute, head to toe, in his tactical gear, even the mask.

“Soldier?” your voice reverberates off the walls you’ve shouted that loud. All it earned you was a tilt of his head to the side, but he didn’t say a single word, so you continued to shout, even though you knew you should have remained calm around someone as dangerous as him. “What the fuck are you doing here? You should have knocked or- something! How did you even get in here?!”

He simply sat there, staring at you with deep blue eyes, his long hair framing his face, his deadly hands resting on the arms of the chair, acting casually like he hadn’t just been sitting there as you feverishly masturbated naked in front of him. The more time passed, the worse your tremors became, almost like you were vibrating with anxiety.

It wasn’t uncommon for the Winter Soldier to not knock when he came to the house however usually your father was present or he’d been anticipated but for him to somehow get in when the house was on lockdown and not be expected, it had you on edge.

“Why didn’t you announce yourself, Soldier?” you tried to sound confident and not fearful, but your voice cracked on the last word, which gave away your anxiety. Your thoughts were going around and around in your head; how long had he been there? How did you not even hear him walking into the room?

The Assets head tilted to the other right, his eyes remaining focused only on your face as he finally began to talk in his low, drawled voice, “Why did you stop?”

Your eyes widened in shock briefly before trying to regain control, “What did you say?”

“You don’t usually stop. Why did you stop now?”

Your heart seemed to stop at this question. Swallowing the thick glob of spit in your mouth, you asked, “What do you mean usually? Have... have you seen me doing this before?”

He nods slowly, and you want to vomit immediately. Closing your eyes briefly, you tried to take a deep breath, hoping it would give you some composure. Maybe this was karma working her evil magic on you, you had decided, for having a kink with being caught, which is why you masturbated in the living room. Why on earth were you now upset when you’d actually been caught?

Sighing and rubbing both hands over your face, ignoring that they were still slightly wet from earlier, you tried to explain to the assassin, “You know, it’s not normal to watch people during intimate times like this. You’re supposed to announce yourself or something”.

“But you look at peace when you do it”, he says in the same emotionless voice. His words catch you off guard, but he continues, “You didn’t finish today like you usually do”.

The way he spoke about what you were doing, you weren’t even sure he knew what it was or the consequences of your actions. You knew his history, who he was and how they controlled him. Did he even know what sex was with all the times his mind had been wiped? He wasn’t acting like a creep, even if he had snuck in to watch you masturbate and clearly had watched it several times before. If he was going to hurt you, he would have done so by now, so tentatively, you sat back onto the couch, still pulling the bottom of your shirt lower over your legs and hiding the vibrator beneath your thigh.

“I didn’t finish like the other times because I didn’t know you were watching; it can make people uncomfortable knowing someone is watching them”.

“Does it make you uncomfortable that you know I’m watching?” his tone lowered with the question he was asking.

“Yes! I don’t want people to watch me do this, and what if my Dad finds out? What if you tell him what I’ve been doing?”

Bucky finally showed some emotion as he frowned in confusion, “Why would I tell your father about this? It has nothing to do with the mission? I like watching you because you seem to enjoy it; isn’t that a good thing?”

He seemed so innocent in his questioning. “Just so I’m getting this right, are you expecting me to continue?” The soldier nods yes in an answer as you release a long breath. “If I say no, will you kill me?” This time, he shakes his head, giving you the answer no, which did little to alleviate the nerves catapulting through you.

Standing up from the couch whilst clutching the vibrator, you rushed towards your bedroom, intending to hide the sex toy and lock yourself in so that you didn’t have to sit looking at the soldier anymore. However, as you stood before the door, you thought it over more. If he’d been watching you all of this time, then what’s the difference with him being here now? He could overpower you any time he wanted, and he didn't want any pleasure back; otherwise, he would have made advances before.

This whole situation came about because you liked the thought of being watched or caught, so why were you running away from that scenario? Having made up your mind, you returned to the living room, where the Soldier hadn’t moved even a strand of hair since you’d left in a hurry.

Sitting back on the couch, your eyes remained everywhere but on him. In fact, as you led back down, you closed your eyes with the hopes that not being able to see him would help to calm the pounding of your nervous heart.

Your nipples were still hard, so you pressed on them through your shirt with trembling fingers, not quite believing you were in this situation. The wetness from your earlier escapades was still evident over your thighs, which you sept firmly closed. Biting your lower lip until it hurt, you kept stimulating your nipples by rubbing the peaks around in circles before pinching them to elicit more of a reaction between your legs.

It worked after a couple of minutes as your muscles lost the tension and melted into the cushions further. Eventually, your thighs were spreading as you tried to only think about that orgasm that had been so very close to pleasuring your body but had quickly disappeared from the soldier's appearance.

With your legs now parted and cunt on full displaying, facing the Asset at the end of the couch, you turned the vibrator on, deciding to go straight for the toy this time rather than playing around first. Pressing the device just above your clit, you released a breathy moan, thighs shaking with the increased delight.

This time, your body heated to the point of sweat, and your face hot to the touch because no matter how much you tried to think of anything else, it always came back to the man sitting near you. With your hips jolting and rolling to push against the vibrator, your fingers moved the shirt further up your stomach, revealing your navel and breasts so you could rub and play with them without restriction.

Then, to both your horror and delight, the Winter Solider flashed into your mind, but this time, it was him hovering above you, using his gloved hands to press against your nipples. Your moans increased in volume, back arching with this thought as you begged your mind to continue this naughty thought.

Releasing your breast, your hand trailed down your body, tickling the delicate skin before dipping past your clit and two fingers into your drenched cunt. You were sure he had thicker fingers than you, but the thought of him between your legs, curling them right into that beautiful spot, his other hand holding the vibrator to your clit, had you whithering around on the couch.

Your pussy clenched harshly around your fingers, trying to draw them deeper, needing their fullness. You weren’t sure when it was, but at some point, your eyes opened so that you could look directly at the man in question, who still had failed to move from his seat in the armchair. You weren’t looking at his body thought; you were looking at those sparking blue eyes partially hidden beneath his hair as they continued to look at just your face like he only wanted to see the pleasure you displayed rather than just touching yourself.

“Oh god”, you groan aloud to these thoughts, legs spreading further open and half-flopping off the couch as you curl your fingers faster and harder. You wished it was his fingers touching you, getting you off and bringing you close to the point of orgasming. The vibrator stroked back and forth against your throbbing clit, and that was all the additional stimulation you needed to reach your peak.

Your eyes finally closed once more as you came hard, body shaking and curling in on yourself with each pulse of your pussy around your fingers. You hadn’t orgasmed that hard in months, so it took you a couple of minutes to try and catch your breath and come out of the buzzing created by the euphoria. 

Now what? You thought whilst turning off the vibrator entirely and leaving the two of you in complete silence. The assassins still hadn’t moved, and for a brief second, you thought of his arousal. Could he even be turned on? Was that a function the scientists allowed him to keep while brainwashed? Was he watching you enough to turn him on?

The thought was swiftly pushed out of your mind as you realised he was the fucking Winter Soldier, the highest-trained assassin who was also 70+ years old; this was probably last on his list of things to be worried about. Sitting up whilst covering your body with your t-shirt once more, you struggled to think what to say or do.

“Do you want me to call my Dad to tell him you’re here for a debrief?” From the corner of your eye, the Asset nodded. You stood to take the call in your bedroom, but as you stood, your eyes briefly looked at him more clearly and noticed that he very evidently had an erection with the way his tactical gear was tented at the crotch. For some reason, this made you feel relieved that he had been turned on by what you saw, and it wasn’t just a one-way situation.

Standing and walking into your bedroom, you collapsed onto the bed with your phone raised to your ear.

Your dad answered immediately with a stern tone, “Yes?”

“Uh hey, Dad, just to let you know, the Soldier’s here”.

“What?” came Alexander Pierces’ concerned voice through the mobile.

“Yeah, he just turned up a couple of minutes ago in the living room”.

“Well, tell him to get back to the compound. I won’t be home tonight, so he needs to come here”.

Finishing the conversation with him, you stood to tell the Soldier his orders but found him nowhere in the building, not in the living room, kitchen or even by the front door. He had simply vanished, and what's more, the alarm was still in place, which meant he had a way of getting in and out of your home without triggering the alarm, which you were sure if it terrified or excited you.

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans One Shot Rec List

here you will find all of my favourite chris evans + characters fanfiction recommendations, i have many more to add and will continue to update this list. Please don’t forget to reblog these amazing writers fics as they deserve so much love!💘💘

Walk On The Wild Side - @hansensgirl

you just wanted to go for a stroll down the road—but he wants you to take a walk on the wild side. (Dark!Chris Evans)

You Better Not Pout, Better Not Cry - @hansensgirl

they know if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake. (Dark!Multi character) - i would add every single one of her fics to this list if i could💘

Sinful Devotion - @evansbby

Lloyd promises to let you go, but he demands a depraved repayment. (In other words, Lloyd pops your cherry)- my favourite writer in the whole universe💘

Smothered With Bliss - @whereireid

Is it hard being married to the most influential man in America? You most certainly think it is. — Steve Rogers: Captain America, the heart of his nation, the soul of his country. After returning home from a particularly bad day at work, Steve finally snaps, deciding you need re-educating on how to be the perfect housewife.

The Night - @misshoneybee

Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Little Miss Red - @anika-ann

Ransom’s looking for a good time tonight, when you walk through the door, he knows he’ll get it. And you? Oh you’ll get it too. He's going to make sure of it.

Unholy Errand - @buckets-and-trees

You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss. (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark! God The Bounty Hunter + Ransom Drysdale)

What A Shirt Can Tell - @justalonelyslytherin

5+2 times Colin asked 'Is that my shirt?' plus the one time he got asked it. Aka a look through the journey of Colin and his girl, each in which his shirts play an important role.

Start Again - @wkemeup

A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath (Steve Rogers)

Daddy’s Little Pet - @sinner-as-saint

You and Steve are the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. He is the American hero, a super soldier who is known for his bravery, and righteousness and for being the one leading the Avengers. You, on the other hand, are a well-known fashion designer in the city. Creator and owner of your own brand, and elite boutique. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like you and Steve would be compatible. But you surprisingly are. And behind closed doors, in secrecy – you two are each other’s solace, each other’s definition of home. He’s your strong, loving and caring man. And you, his lovely, little pet whom he adores more than life itself.

Good Girls And Skype Calls - @youre-deadangel

chris gives you a treat for behaving.

Afternoon Delight - @christowhore

you're steve's live-in housekeeper and find your boss and his friends having a bbq on a heatwave stricken afternoon. they invite you to join them and show you all the pleasurable ways to cool down from the sun. (SoftDark!Steve Rogers + Sam Wilson + Bucky Barnes)

Got You - @hispeculiartreasure

The two of you had grown close over the last year; first as teammates, then as friends. You had been distant at the start, just as he had. Slowly, agonizingly - blood, sweat, and tears were definitely involved - walls were dismantled. A current of trust ran between you, one which caught Steve by surprise. As dense as he could be about matters of the heart, suspicions of his blossoming romantic feelings being mutual had proven true with a simple kiss. (Sex Pollen, Steve Rogers)

Golden Boy - @bucksfucks

you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but. (Roommate!Steve Rogers)

It Must Be That Old Evil Spirit - @vonalyn

There’s something unsettling about his demeanor but you can’t quite put your finger on it. As if there’s something hiding beneath the surface just waiting to pry its way out of the tight shirt across his broad frame and tear your throat out. Maybe it’s your general unease around others when you’re traveling alone, or maybe it’s just him.  (Jack-O-Lantern!Ari Levinson)

Stupid Kitty - @onsunnyside

Your father wrongfully entrusted Lloyd to care for you—it’s too bad he’ll never get you back. (Lloyd Hansen x Cat-Hybrid!Reader)

Manners- Or Lack Of Them - @rogerswifesblog

Ransom wants you, the sweet girl at the bar…but you’re not what he expected you to be. (Sub!Ransom Drysdale + Mommy!Reader)

Shadow Boxer - @mypoisonedvine

you’re stuck in the same destructive cycle with ransom, but maybe you don’t want to get out of it. (Angst + Smut, Ransom Drysdale)

It’s Not A Challenge - @gagmebucky

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. (Boxer!Steve Rogers)

Pretty Princess - @frostironfudge

Andy Barber gets jealous when he presumes you shared a room with one of his associates.

Over And Over - @frostironfudge

Ari Levinson is a possessive man, he'll punish you till you apologise.

Such A Good Boy - @lilacevans

You and Ari attend a business meeting, and at the beginning the other boss you're meeting with just assumes that Ari is the one in charge; however, that's not the case. While you look dainty, angelic, like you couldn't even hurt a fly, you're the one who runs the family and will not hesitate to fuck up anyone who stands in your way. (Puppy!Ari Levinson) - one of my favourite fics EVER.💘

Breathe - @buckyownsmylife

The one where the new co-star is obsessed with the idea of making Chris hers, but he makes sure to show her you’re the only one for him.

Justified - @dbnightingale24

Ransom has always been the center of your world you’ve always been the center of his. However, when he can’t change his ways and you’re tired of the heartbreak, is it really so bad if you think it’s best to walk away? Ransom thinks so. - one of the sweetest most talented writers i have ever met💘

My, My, My - @1800jjbarnes

Stevie couldn't help it. Every time he saw you, he felt himself grow heavy in his slacks. You were everything he needed. And he needed you now.

All The Time - @geminixevans-stan

He is one of the most powerful men on earth but there’s more worse than him (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark!Nick Fowler)

Snack - @katherineswritingsblog

he just wants his snack- which is you.

Watchful Eyes - @espinosaurusrexex

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself. (CEO!Steve Rogers)

Cherry On Top - @dcllbows

you’ve found your favorite way to help your daddy with his grownup work. (Ddlg, Daddy!Andy Barber)

Voracious - @arilevinsons

The first time he set eyes on you; you were his sudden infatuation. (DarkProfessor!Ari Levinson)

Best Friend’s Dad - @imyourbratzdoll

you've been pining over your best friend's dad and decide to take your chance, knowing he's out and your best friend is asleep, you be a little bit naughty and touch yourself on his bed, not knowing he's coming home early.

The Breeding Ground - @fl0werfae

To others, Ari’s house was a breeding ground for him and his omega, but to him it was just fulfilling her purpose of carrying his pups. (Alpha!Ari Levinson)

My Sweet Pea - @mavsstar

Mr. Levinson lives right next door to you, the sweet, innocent college girl. Little do you know that you're Mr. Levinson's favorite neighbor. He's there every chance you need the slightest of help, maybe a little too much. (Trailer Park Au)

Like A Movie Scene In The Sweetest Dream - @worksby-d

Johnny’s always been on your “no” list, but you've finally agreed to work with him. (Pornstar!Johnny Storm)

Easy As Pie - @navybrat817

You bake pies for Andy, but you're still his favorite treat.

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

Random Plot Points

A little about me as a writer, I love daydreaming about adventure stories. I usually know the general set up and larger plot points but oftentimes struggle with the how, how do characters get from point A to point B. 

So, I made a list of random challenges for my characters that I look at when I'm stuck.

Sharing in case helpful to others! (intended for adventure, sci-fi, fantasy stories) 

characters are delayed/blocked/experience a natural disaster (storm, fire, flood, avalanche, earthquake, epidemic, etc) (BONUS and forced to take a detour from the original path)

character(s) is trapped (quick sand, fall through ice, in room filling with poison, on sinking ship, in a trash compactor on the Death Star, etc) (BONUS- fall into hidden room and discover something) 

characters go to a festival/ball/party/political summit (where inevitably it all goes wrong)

character(s) overhears a secret (at bar, at party, from a whispered conversation below them in a stairway, etc) 

characters are attacked by an animal or mysterious force 

characters(s) caught in a mob/riot

character wins/loses something in a bet

character is brainwashed or possessed 

character is stranded/lost

character is poisoned 

character succumbs to injury or illness 

characters are chased/ attacked by antagonists 

character is captured or arrested (and needs to be rescued)

character is kidnapped and kidnappers make a demand for their release (financial ransom, exchange of information, prisoner exchange, etc) 

character(s) go undercover to retrieve information

characters decide to steal something they need for their quest (weapon, magical object, money, information, etc). (BONUS- time for a well-planned heist!) 

characters need to protect/ retrieve/ destroy something 

characters uncover a network of spies (up to you if they're unexpected allies or antagonists)  

characters discover hidden passageway, room, ruins etc that leads to an important clue

characters forced to hide from someone/something

characters need to escape 

characters lured into trap set by villain (BONUS if the villain doesn't even care who wins but only goaded them to learn how a magical object works, the extent of heroes powers, emergency response system of a government, etc) 

characters set trap for villain (BONUS- use someone or something important as bait) (if in Act 2, they fail) 

characters reveal critical information to villain in disguise 

a character is mistaken for someone else (and then is wrongfully arrested, receives information not intended for them, etc) 

characters receive help (hitch a ride, get help hiding from captors, get help escaping somewhere, etc) from an unlikely new ally 

characters forced to team up with an unlikely ally/ morally grey character, etc

characters learn something from simple library research (an oldie but a goodie)

characters just literally just stumble upon or witness something important (secret weapon, secret society etc) 

characters uncover a secret map/ coded message on the back of an old unassuming document (time for a classic treasure hunt!) 

someone escapes from prison (an old villain or an old ally) that changes the quest 

someone is being blackmailed (or otherwise forced to act against the protagonists)

someone is discredited (rumor, disinformation campaign etc) 

something stolen from your characters 

something (document, magical object, money) turns out to be fake

OR, something unassuming turns out to have special powers or meaning  

something is hacked (defense system, infrastructure, bank, private records, etc)

something critical is attacked (important bridge, port, bank/ financial system, safehouse, capitol building, character's familial home, etc.)

a computer virus is unleashed 

a biological weapon is unleashed 

a piece of information the characters believed was true, is false 

an ancient myth turns out to be true 

a secret is made public 

A law is changed or a vote on a critical piece of legislation loses/wins 

a political opponent wins an election/ a political ally loses an election 

character(s) help a passerby (from raiders, local tyrant, beast, mystical force, etc) 

characters "follow the money" and realize someone who was thought to be their ally is actually working for... (crime syndicate, villain, local tyrant etc) 

[green-eyedfirework]

Ra's al Ghul was a fool, and there was only one way Dick was surviving this.

Dick adjusted the scarf covering his face, hitched Damian higher in his grip, and pressed against the stone wall, waiting anxiously for guards to pass him on their rotation.  The one benefit of a siege was that Ra's was more concerned with stopping people from coming in than letting people leave, and the guards usually posted outside Dick's door had been reassigned.

Finding Damian had been the hard part, Dick had no idea where Ra's had taken him after ripping him from Dick's weak arms after his birth four months ago, but he'd assumed—correctly—that Ra's wouldn't want a crying infant anywhere near him, heir or not.  Luckily, Dick knew where the nursery was.  He felt slightly sorry about knocking out the maids, but not enough to avoid it.

Ra's al Ghul was going to lose, and Dick wanted to be nowhere in the crossfire.

Dick had managed to make friends in the castle despite Ra's' best efforts, and it wasn't hard to notice that they were in a siege when Dick could see the fires from the tower window.  General Wilson had clearly come a lot further a lot faster than anyone had expected.  Judging by the size of the army, the castle would fall in the fortnight.

And Dick knew his likely fate.

Slade Wilson hated Ra's al Ghul for murdering his son.  It wasn't a stretch that that hatred would extend to Dick and Damian as well.  Even if Dick could somehow persuade the man to spare his life and ransom him back to Gotham, there was no way Wilson would pass up the chance to murder Ra's' heir in front of the decrepit old alpha.

"It's okay, Dami," Dick whispered to his son's hair.  It'd been the longest that Dick had held his son since he was born.  "We'll be okay."

The guards finally passed out of sight and Dick quickly crossed the yard.  There was a secret tunnel in the stonework that led out into the woods behind the castle and Dick's primary plan was to get out and make for Gotham.

Dick wasn't stupid.  Without horses, without weapons or supplies, without a place to sleep or money to buy food, they weren't going to get very far.  Dick had once been a capable fighter, but that was before he'd been locked in a tower.  Now, with an infant in tow—even if Damian was silent, sleepily content with the rare smell of his mother—he'd be lucky to make it to the mountain passes out of the Cradle, much less all the way to the border with Gotham.

"Halt!" a voice called out in the woods and Dick froze.

The far more likely outcome was that Dick would be caught by one of the innumerable soldiers combing through the woods.  Avoiding the main camp wouldn't do much, when Wilson had an entire army at their gates.  Dick took a deep breath as the squad of soldiers neared and took up positions to surround him.

"State your name and purpose," the lead soldier demanded.

Dick swallowed.  "My—my name is Dick," he said quietly, fingers tightening on Damian.  "I'm not—I'm just trying to get to the pass."

"You're awfully close to the castle."

Dick darted a glance back at the massive walls rising in the distance.  "I'm—" Dick took a deep breath, "I'm running from the castle.  I—please.  I have a baby.  I don't—I just want to go home."

The soldier stepped closer, until the torchlight illuminated Damian's face as well.  The hard lines of his face softened as Dick tried to keep his posture as that of a scared, hunted omega.  It didn't require that much acting.

"Where's home?" the soldier asked, voice softer.

"Gotham," Dick responded.  Just enough of the truth to keep it real, not enough to rouse suspicion.

"You're a long way from home."  Do you think I haven't realized?  "Okay, Dick, we'll help you get to the mountain pass—" Dick raised his head up, hope rising—"as long as you come to our camp to tell us how you got out of the castle."

Hope flickered.

"Of course," Dick said, dread pooling in his gut.

Dick knew there was a high probability of being caught by Wilson's men.  Dick knew that there was a high probability of meeting Wilson himself.  Dick knew that a scarf and some bruises were not an adequate disguise, not when he carried Ra's al Ghul's heir in his arms.

Dick knew he needed a plan for the confrontation.

It had been the sticking point of his preparations to leave.  If he was going to be executed anyway, why put in the effort of running away?  He needed something to convince Slade Wilson not to kill him, and somehow he figured knowledge of the castle wasn't going to be enough.  And even if he could convince Wilson that Ra's al Ghul cared nothing for him and thus killing Dick was no revenge at all, he couldn't save Damian like that.

Damian was Dick's son, his precious little baby, his adorable pup that he saw once a week for a half-hour if he begged Ra's long enough, but Wilson wouldn't care.  Not after what Ra's had done to him.  He'd kill Damian in his arms so that Dick could watch his son die like Wilson had watched his own son die.  And Dick would do anything, anything to avoid that.

There was really only one solution left to him.  Bargaining was useless, Dick had no power in Nanda Parbat.  Bringing up Gotham was a coin toss, Dick was an al Ghul now, and his family had written him off for dead when he'd first went to Ra's.  The only appeal Dick could make that had a chance of succeeding was a plea for Wilson's mercy.

He'd heard that Wilson was an honorable man.  A ruthless general, yes, but fair to his own men.  There was a reason half the country had risen in support of him.  Wilson commanded loyalty in a way Ra's al Ghul did not, and the old alpha had learnt that fear was an ineffective motivator.

Dick's last, diminishing hope that Dick would just be led to a captain to explain his escape and then be on his way died an ignoble death when he was ushered into the command tent.

The murmur of conversation died out with alacrity as Dick halted in front of the entrance.  The soldier who led him there stepped forward, "Apologies, sirs, but I found an omega claiming they escaped from a secret tunnel in the castle."

The weight of gazes on him intensified.  Dick lifted his gaze just slightly, scanning past faces and halting on a silver-haired alpha with an eyepatch and an icy blue eye, powerful presence evident even in a room full of commanders.

"A secret tunnel in the castle," Slade Wilson said, tone low and neutral.  His gaze was piercing.  "What's your name, omega?  And why were you trying to leave the castle in the first place?"

Dick swallowed.  There was a prayer that he could pass unnoticed, that Wilson didn't remember his face from the wedding, that no one else would recognize him, that Dick would be long gone by the time anyone connected a lone omega with a child to Ra's al Ghul's fled mate and heir.

Unfortunately, it wasn't practical.  And for all of Dick's calculations, they always ended up here.

Dick knelt, curling a hand behind Damian's head and keeping him pressed close as he bowed his head.  "My name is Richard al Ghul, General.  And I surrender to you."

Silence.  No one was breathing.  Dick certainly wasn't, heart pounding in his ears as footsteps crunched towards him.  "Get up," Wilson demanded, voice colder and darker, and Dick struggled back up to his feet.

Wilson was right in front of him now and Dick held perfectly still as the alpha tore off his scarf, baring his face.  He couldn't hide the protective flinch when Wilson's icy gaze dropped down to Damian and thankfully it moved back up to Dick.  "You surrender," Wilson said flatly.

"Yes, alpha," Dick said, tilting his head enough to bare his neck.  His heart was beating loud enough he was sure Wilson could hear it.

Surrender was an old way for people to ask for protection from packs.  It was considered dishonorable to turn away anyone who surrendered, as they had to give up any previous pack bonds to throw themselves at another pack's mercy.  It would be the height of disrepute to kill someone who'd offered their surrender.

Judging by the scent of fury coming from Slade Wilson, Dick wasn't sure if that would stop him.

Surrender wasn't used much anymore, and Dick was the enemy.  Dick doubted anyone in the tent would stop Wilson from murdering him.  But if Wilson portrayed himself as a stable, sane alternative to the homicidal Ra's al Ghul—

"Very well," Wilson snarled in a deeply displeased tone of voice, "I accept your surrender."  He grabbed Dick's arm, and before Dick could even brace himself, there were teeth sinking into his collarbone, biting down hard and deep and vicious.

Dick yelped, and lost his balance when his knees went weak, but Wilson's grip held him up until the alpha was satisfied.  He let go almost as soon as he disengaged the bite, and Dick ended up crumpling, curling over Damian in the instinctive urge to make himself a smaller target.

The newly formed pack bond throbbed down his collarbone and Dick felt sick.  It felt like less of a violation than his previous one but it was just as one-sided.

Ra's had tortured Dick to extract his revenge for the trick that sent Dick to marry Ra's in Tim's place.  Dick had no doubt that Wilson could be just as inventive, if not more.

But Wilson couldn't kill him, the same way Ra's couldn't kill him.  Pack slaying was the gravest of sins.  Dick was safe.  More importantly, Damian was safe.  And for that, Dick would endure Wilson's rage.

"You know," the low voice hummed, a hand drifting across Dick's shoulder, "I had a lot of plans for Ra's al Ghul's pack."  Fingers skimmed across the bite and up.  "I didn't know I'd be lucky enough to have them fall into my lap." The hand squeezed at the back of his neck.

The scruffing was enough to finish the job the bite had started and Dick made a startled sound as he went fully pliant, held upright by nothing more than the hand on his neck.  Damian made a low, upset sound, likely from Dick's growing distress and the new pack bonds, and began to wail.

Dick tried to shush him but he couldn't move and his voice was barely a whisper.  Wilson didn't let go, though, and pitched his voice to the rest of the tent.  "You're all dismissed.  Review the plans and come back tomorrow with revised ideas.  And double the guards—I don't want anyone sneaking in or out of camp."

A flurry of movement erupted, but Dick couldn't see it.  He could only see Wilson, crouched in front of him, glaring.

"Leaves us some time to get acquainted, hm, Richard?" Wilson said lowly.  "So we can figure out exactly why you're here."

Dick felt his stomach twist.

"If this is Ra's al Ghul's idea of a clever plan," Wilson said softly, "I will make sure you spend every day from now until you die regretting it."

~#~

Dick was stripped of his pack as soon as he was dragged to another tent—which he was expecting—and Damian—which caused something to clench in his chest, tight with panic.  Wilson's grip didn't let him go after his pup, though, and attacking would've hurt Damian, and the silver-haired girl that neatly stole Damian from his arms vibrated with the same hum of pack he could feel so he could at least trust that she wouldn't murder him.

"So you're our new little baby," the girl cooed, holding the crying pup with ease and tapping him lightly on the nose.  "Shh, it's okay, baby, no need to cry—look!  I got your nose!"

Damian was unimpressed with the trick and only cried harder.

"Rose," Wilson said flatly, "that's Ra's al Ghul's son."

Dick tensed but Rose just shrugged, still working at distracting Damian from his tears.  "Well, he's ours now, right?"  Dick swallowed, but Wilson didn't visibly disagree.

Instead, Wilson was looking at him, ignoring the shrieking baby with the calm of years of practice.  Dick was not quite so sanguine and kept twitching in Rose's direction as he tried to keep his attention on Wilson.

"Strip," Wilson ordered finally and Dick went still.

Well.  Not like it was the first time.  Dick removed his clothes carefully and folded them to the side before straightening up, entirely naked, hands at his side.  He didn't look in Rose's direction.  Ra's liked to have other people in the room too, another way to add to Dick's punishment.  He never really got over the fact that he didn't get the Wayne omega that he wanted.

Damian's crying picked up a notch and Dick winced.  "Dad," Rose said, sounding mildly irritated, she was rocking Damian back and forth, "I think he's hungry."

Wilson blew out a sharp breath.  "Feed him," he said sharply, “and then we'll get back to our conversation."

Dick took a step toward Damian before halting, throat thick.  "I—I can't—I can't feed him."

"Excuse me?"

"He had a wet nurse," Dick admitted haltingly.  Ra's had kept Dick from Damian for the entire first month of Damian's birth, no matter how desperately Dick begged, and his milk had eventually stopped.  He'd tried to feed Damian when he next got to see him, but it was an exercise in futility.

Yet another thing Ra's had taken away from him.

Wilson's judgmental expression clearly showed what he thought of Dick's inability to feed his own pup.

"Go find Wintergreen," Wilson waved irritably at Rose.  "He'll know where to find someone."  Rose looked at Dick, looked at her father, and shrugged, walking out of the tent with Damian in her arms.

Dick felt like half his heart had yanked out of his rib cage and followed her.

He didn't notice that Wilson was right in front of him until the alpha growled, "Now, back to our discussion.  Why is Ra's al Ghul's mate wandering around the woods with his heir?"

"I was—I was trying to leave.  To get to Gotham."

"Abandoning your pack?" Wilson arched an eyebrow.

"He's not my pack," Dick said stiffly.  Wilson had started to circle him and Dick resisted the urge to cross his arms.

"Your mate.  Your kingdom.  And you expect me to believe that you came here to surrender with no ulterior motive?"

"You're winning," Dick said hollowly.

"How coldly practical of you."

"You're going to breach the castle," Dick said, looking up to meet Wilson's gaze.  "You're going to defeat Ra's.  And you would've come after Damian and me.  So yes, I surrendered to you, because it was the only way to keep my pup alive."

Wilson had finished his circle and stopped in front of Dick, staring.  "Do you know what Ra's al Ghul did to my son?" he asked finally.

Dick swallowed thickly.  "I'm sorry," he tried quietly.

"Do you know what I want to do to his son?"

Dick's breath caught in his throat.  "Please," he whispered, "please, he's just a baby, please don't—I'll do anything—please don't hurt him—"

"Anything," Wilson cut him off, eyes glittering.

Dick dropped to his knees, eyes already blurry.  "Anything," he promised.  "He's a baby, please, he didn't know, he wasn't even born then."  The first tear dripped hot and wet down his cheek.  "If you want revenge, take it out on me, but not Damian, please—"

A hand wrapped around his throat cut off his pleading.  Dick choked for a moment, before realizing that the hand wasn't actually cutting off his air and he could take shallow breaths.  The tears were falling faster and Wilson was nothing more than a blurry blob crouched in front of him.

"Take it out on you?" Wilson said quietly, voice razor sharp.  "Judging by the looks of you, I'd say Ra's al Ghul cares next to nothing for you.  What good would hurting you do?"  Terror rose in Dick's stomach, climbing up his chest, choking him as Wilson continued, "But his precious heir?  Ra's cares about him.  And I will have my revenge."

No, Dick wanted to shout, to scream, to shriek desperately as he groveled at Wilson's feet, but the alpha scruffed him again, and the sudden relaxation was too much of a shock to his over-stressed system.  The world went dizzy and grayness swirled around him, and Dick didn't even remember hitting the ground.

[simpleeindulge]

It's A Work in Progress.

Context: This takes place after a few months of Law setting sail for the first time with Shachi, Bepo, and Penguin. They are a new pirate crew finding their way to the Grand Line. Desperate for funds, Law’s crew resort to kidnapping.

Info: fem/readerxLaw, kidnapping, 1st time meeting, slow-burn romance, multiple parts, cursing, mild threats of violence.

Chapter 1. The Kidnapping

Law paced his office as he waited for his crew to get back. Those fools! What are they thinking? Law fumed as he thought of the dressing down he would give to Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo.

The ship needed repairs from their recent escape from the Marines. Bepo had safely navigated the crew to an island where Shachi and Penguin could repair the ship.

The problem was that the parts needed to repair the ship took much of their savings and left the crew scheming for ways to make money fast. Someone mentioned kidnapping as a joke, which Law did not find amusing.

He thought he had made it clear that kidnapping and ransoming was a stupid way to get funds and the perfect way to get caught.

I am going to kill them after I torture them!

Law thought violently in his head as he paced his office. He couldn't leave the ship because he didn't fully trust the two newest members of his crew just yet. They had only been sailing with him for a month and a half.

The only thing the trio thought about was not to stage a kidnapping till they had successfully made most of the repairs on the ship and were in a different location. Still, it wouldn't be enough to keep their heads from rolling!

"Five more minutes." He muttered to himself. Law would give the trio five more minutes, and if they weren't back yet...

"Captain! Hey, Captain!"

Law took a deep breath as he heard both Penguin and Shachi's voices calling for him in unison. He didn't bother replying as he sat on his desk with his arms crossed. The pair entered the room with wide grins on their faces. They were so wrapped up in their success that they didn't notice the glare on Law's face.

"We did it! We actually pulled it off, and it was easier than we thought it would be!" Shachi said with pride.

"Yeah! I thought kidnapping a nobleman's daughter would be hard, but kidnapping a princess-"

"What."

Law didn't need to yell or raise his voice. As much as he despised Don Flamingo, he had learned habits from him that he found useful. One of them being tone of voice. Law didn't need to yell or raise his voice because that "what" was enough to show his displeasure.

Shachi and Penguin froze instantly and then noticed the glare Law was giving them. Law stared at them as they sweated and rethought their "great idea".

"Please tell me that you two did not just kidnap a princess just three days after we managed to escape the Marines and made repairs to the ship."

Shachi and Penguin both paled as they stayed quiet. Law sighed and thought quickly about how to make the situation work. If they already have the spoiled brat, then maybe they could try demanding money, or they could just dump her somewhere for her father to retrieve her.

"Where is she?" Law asked as he dropped the glare.

Shachi and Penguin instantly unfroze and realize that Bepo had not yet entered the room. Penguin ran to poke his head out the door and waved from Bepo to come in. Law sighed and rubbed his forehead. Obviously, they had planned to make a show of kidnapping a princess.

Penguin moved aside as Bepo hurried in with a woman kicking and making muffled screaming. If there was another reason why Law disliked kidnappings it would be the noise and dramatics of the victims. He watched patiently as Bepo set the woman on her feet and turned her to face him.

She was certainly dressed like a noblewoman, but something in her eyes and demeanor told him that he wasn't dealing with royalty. Okay, I might be able to work with this, Law thought to himself.

“Look, we're both not in an ideal situation here so I am giving you a chance to behave and cooperate with me. If you do, you might see your family again.”

The woman glared at him and internally Law rolled his eyes.

“Our polar bear will ungag you so you can answer my questions. If you scream, I will have you held underwater till you pass out. Don't test me on this.” Law’s eyes hardened as he said his threat.

Penguin and Shachi looked at each other uncomfortably but didn't say a word. The woman held her glare but seemed to understand the threat given to her. Law nodded to Bepo and the woman didn't scream (to Law’s relief) but she did express herself in a colorful way.

“You mother fuckers messed with the wrong noble family.” She said in a calm and eloquent voice.

Law’s skepticism seems to be correct. Most definitely not a princess.

Chapter 2

[smolvenger]

The Boat in the Water: A Beauty and the Beast Story Part Five (Loki x Stella Ransome, An MCU and The Essex Serpent Crossover multipart)

Fic Summary: in a nutshell, Beauty and the Beast with Stella Ransome from The Essex Serpent as the Beauty/Belle and Loki Laufeyson as the Beast. Having lost her health and her husband's fidelity and love, Stella has nothing more to lose than her life. Then...she is swept away to another realm, to an enchanted castle. A castle whose master is a god...a god with a striking resemblance to her husband.

Chapter Summary: Stella steps in to save her husband as she and Loki make amends.

One// Two//Three//Four//Five//Six

Word Count: 6K (have a drink on standby)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, sickness, blood, injury- fluff and angst. I portray the affair between Will and Cora in The Essex Serpent in a negative light and Stella exploring her negative feelings about being cheated on. If you take issue with that, then there are LOTS of fics out there for you, this isn't one of them. Stella is attracted to Loki and develops feelings internally for him while still married, but you know our girl Stella would never act on them- so kind of emotional cheating, I guess? Please let me know if I missed one, I am not a professional author and I am not making a cent off of this, but I take full accountability for anything that isn't tagged and how I portray dark subject matter.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @anukulee @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson @steasstuff

Stella let out a horrified scream as the dagger pierced into her husband’s flesh. 

Will had backed away, trying to escape. But he was too late. In that split second, the dagger landed onto the lower half of his stomach. The Aesir crowd gasped. Many were frozen in terrified, numb passivity. 

She began to bolt forward, picking up her skirts that swished with her so her feet could easily race across the floor. She heard Loki’s threat and heard the smirk in his voice.

“She’s your wife. And I’m about to make her your widow,” said Loki.

Loki conjured a second dagger. Will staggered, a hand over his bleeding stomach. The first dagger still inside. He fell backward and tried to move away with his legs pushing against the floor. Loki only easily caught up to him in two slow, graceful steps,like a cat toying with an injured mouse. And he was going to savor this moment and devour every morsel of it.

Loki raised his arm to commit a final blow.

Stella ran forward and placed both her hands on the god’s arm.

“Loki! Stop! I command you- stop this instant!” she demanded. Not begged- demanded. 

When the god turned, he saw a fire in her eyes. His dark eyebrows shot up seeing her. Something in him paled and his lips turned thin. Stella held her glare.

“Do. Not. kill him.” she commanded.

 The dagger vanished into the air. 

She ran over to Will, who stopped to look at her in awe. As if she was something far more divine than of flesh and blood. 

She got down and held his hand. She then looked at the gawking crowd.

“Someone fetch him a healer! Get them! Now! Hurry- he’s a mortal!” she insisted.

A few guests hurried and found a room. Two men lifted Will’s arms onto their shoulders as they dragged him there. One used some of his napkins as a bandage for the blood. A small party was going to leave to fetch the healers on their fastest horses.

He was laid on the bed, the dagger remaining inside. But yet, even with that, Stella stayed beside amidst the flurry of people. Will reached out a hand and touched her face and she held it.

“Stella is that…”

She nodded. Tears in her eyes despite the smile on her face.

“Yes, it’s me…” she assured me.

The Vicar smiled, despite the wince of pain.

“You look so well…and you..you were dancing…you didn’t have any strength to dance the last time I looked at you…”

“They helped me here…and they’re going to help you…” she promised him. 

Loki was watching them. Pouting from a distance. He swallowed back the urge to gag at the picture. He had to turn around so he could not look at them. He knew it would make him do something else.

Perhaps he should be the one stabbed instead. Perhaps he should have been the one to be bleeding so Stella would warp her soft arms around him and speak soft, sweet words to him.

But no, instead he was the one who brought about her pain. And he could only force his eyes away.

Stella hated him. Loki felt that in his soul.

The healers arrived with the party on horses not long after. With their bags and magic, they crowded into the room. Though they were all women. They were delighted to heal Will. To help such a handsome man with muscled arms and hair on his chest. Stella saw a few greedy smiles on the younger ones as they lifted up his shirt to look at the wound. Not that she could privately blame them. She could only anxiously watch in the corner.

They caught the blood and were working on spells to repatch the area he was hit in. The ball was only half-heartedly continuing outside. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Stella found Loki pacing about. His face was severe. Until he looked out at a door where the party was continuing. Guests were chatting and even dancing without a worry in the world. He leaned against the wall with one arm to watch them but with crossed eyebrows and a stubborn frown.

Stella approached him quietly, her eyes angry. She knew how to mother naughty children when they did something they should not have. She had that gleam in her eyes before a scolding that is universal to any mother.

“Loki, you did something horrible,” she began sternly.

The god turned to look at her. But his face had the same sour expression.

“You’re right. I stabbed him in the wrong place. I should have aimed for his cock, it would’ve save us all the trouble,” he replied.

He looked back at the party.

Stella took in a breath to slow her heart, to cool the heat building up in her face. Using Christian virtues of forgiving one’s enemy would not work with a Norse god, she figured. There was no use debating if Will was good or bad, no use debating what he did. They already had this conversation before. Things would only become worse between them than they were. 

There was the shameful twinge of herself that felt like he was right yet…it shouldn’t have happened like this…how could she speak to him?

She crossed her arms and looked at him. With another slow inhale, she figured out how.

“Go inside, help the healers, and use your magic to make him stable, please, Loki,” she requested.

He turned around and squinted at her as if she spoke a foreign language.

“I beg your pardon? Why? He deserves it. For the pain he inflicted. For the pain he inflicted on you, might I add. He can bleed his way to this ‘heaven’ plade for all I care,” he argued.

She met his eyes resolutely. 

“Loki…if not for his sake, then think of this…”

Touching his arm with a strong grasp, Stella’s eyes never lowered from his.

“ There are three children who need their father alive. They are staying with a couple who use Will’s tithes to take care of them. If he is gone, those children have nothing to support them. They will all be declared orphans and never see their father again, and I could lose them if another claims them. You must heal him. For James’s sake. For Jo’s sake. For Johns…and mine…” she added.

Loki got up from the wall. He looked at her- strong, angry, and as beautiful as ever. Inches close to her face, his voice quiet.

“For your sake. And the children’s sake. Not his,” he replied.

The god turned inside. He magicked away the bucket that had a cloth full of blood and conjured new bandages. He made sure the healers had whatever they needed. Medicinal magic was not his realm of expertise, but it was what he could do. That and back away and lean against the wall to take in the healing of this infamous man.

A healer walked into the hallway with Stella.

“He is stable. There shall be a scar, but there isn’t any bleeding. He will have some pain, but he will live,” she reported.

“Oh, thank you!” Stella replied.

She scurried in and saw the women checking in on Will. His middle was bandaged and clean. The dagger removed with magic. He was drinking a potion that was going to patch up his innards in a golden cup. He was frustratingly handsome as ever with his curls draped against the pillow. He looked up at the room, his face to the side to show his profile.

But her head turned…Loki was speaking to a few healers. Conversing with them. He had done what she asked.

She approached him slowly and smiled.

“Thank you, Loki,” she replied.

She then went over to Will. He handed his cup to the healer beside him. She gave Stella a silent, jealous glare.

“Stella…Stella, dear…” he rasped, his arms open.

 She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. He embraced her back, feeling the rich material of her gown. 

The healers trickled out with satisfied smiles painted on their faces. Loki turned and gazed on the wife and husband. 

He hesitated, and then he left the room.

He knew he should not overhear the private conversations of a couple, one who had been married for over a decade. Considering Jo’s age, if the girl was conceived on the wedding night, then it meant they were married at least for fourteen years. Fourteen years to know a person, be tied to them, have them at the hip, always with you, around you, called on when needed…what was that like? 

Despite himself, he heard bits of their conversation. His adoptive parents were together for centuries. Yet the murmurs that trickled out between the mortals in that room didn’t seem too entirely different. 

But if Stella was his…fourteen years did not feel like enough to have her with him.

There were a few words he did pick up on.

“How long until you are better?” asked the husband.

“Only a week or two, they say. There are some symptoms but…I’m not dying. It feels so odd, but…I’m not dying. I’m going to be normal in a fortnight,” Stella answered.

“Normal in a fortnight…why, what does one even say at this!”

“Only that this is a very good place that helps so many people…” she replied. “Wait, Will, wait here…”

Her footsteps, light as dancers, pattered out the door. Loki jumped and turned back to his spot in the hallway. He saw her approach him.

“Could you send him home, please?” she asked.

He complied. After a few happy tears and hugs and promises to write, Will was transported with Loki’s magic from the guest bedroom to his own. 

‘Leave it to him to try and explain to his malicious misteress in the seven hels happened to him last night. And good luck making anyone believe him,’ Loki thought.

The party was already coming to a close. An entire one was thrown, yet the hosts were gone and now guests were getting tired and leaving. Even the music was softer, slower.

One by one, they left. Leaving Stella and Loki alone in the ballroom which was littered with flower petals and crumbs of food on the floor. The night was dark and starry. The crackling torches on the wall were dim.

Loki lumbered over and sat on some stone steps on the floor. It would lead out to the circle where musicians would play. But now there was no music, only the guilt burning inside him.

“Thank you, again, for healing him, and taking him home” Stella said.

The god was stiff. His face pale and he held his hands as he surveyed everything, but avoided looking at her.

“Loki, what is it?” she asked.

He looked about the remains of the party. The magic had yet to clean it up, but he still wanted to look.

“I ruined it. I ruined your party. Your party. I...I…I hurt him…that is what I do…I ruin things…no wonder I was left behind as a child. I ruin everything by touching it..” he mourned.

Stella walked forward.

“Don’t say that about yourself. It is not your fault what your parents did.”

She leaned down and touched his arm. He relaxed as her fingers brushed his fine leathers. He then looked at her.

“Loki…everyone does something they regret when their emotions get the better of them But you listened to me. You stopped it. And you took action to fix it…Loki…I forgive you.”

He looked down again at the ground.

“Is this what I always do? Do nice things and then ruin them? Give you even more things you must forgive me for?”

“You’re a god. Not an angel.” she reminded him.

She sat down next to him.

“Let me tell you something. I once became so frustrated at John when he was little. I was so tired- James was just born and he was crying all night and I barely slept a wink for months. John ran in getting mud everywhere one day. It bothered me so that I raised my voice and scolded him for getting mud in the house. He burst into tears and wouldn’t speak to me all night. He wanted to go hide in wardrobes... I never felt such shame. I found myself crying because I was a bad mother…but I told him I was sorry. And he forgave me. Now he always keeps track of his shoes and helps me clean them.”

She reached over and touched his chin so that he turned to her. There was a gentle smile on her face and part of Loki melted on the inside.

“We will always fail. All of our lives. But we learn from them…and try and do better…that is only the way the world works. In Midgard. Or in Asgard.” she replied. 

Part of her shivered when she thought of the fact that her husband almost died- and that if she didn’t act, he would have.

 “Loki, Promise me you won’t try to end his life, please?” she asked.

He reached his hand up and touched hers. She felt something in her body tighten as he did. He then placed a second large, gentle hand over hers. Pale and smooth compared to the rough, hairy hands of her husband.

“I promise, I won’t try to end his life, Stella…”

“I know why you did it. You were thinking of…of him and Cora, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, I was…”

She paused and lowered her head. Her eyes went down to a discarded flower that fell from the wall and lay trampled.

“I must be honest…”

Something about the long night, her tiredness from the events, was bringing about a candor in her. But she could trust Loki. She could tell him anything.

“Sometimes I think…There are times I think of that dance. They were centimeters away from kissing. I should feel happy. I tell myself I brought this to them. To myself. I should feel happy. I know I should…but I don’t feel happy. I feel so…so sad, so angry. I tell everyone all the time I am happy. But I couldn’t be less happy than those days... Loki…I feel as if  could have flown into a rage and taken that knife and stabbed him myself-”

She covered her mouth, shocked at the words that came out of her. Loki looked at her, her figure hunching more.

“It’s horrid! So, horrid! I…I felt so bad about such thoughts I…I made myself push them away. Keep them in a box. I never…never told anyone…”

Loki shifted closer to her. Her shoulders tightened. Her blue skirt like a collapsed tent around her as it seemed to deflate around her legs.

“Him and Cora I…I find, when I’m alone, when it’s only my mind- I bewail it, and I blame myself, I blame him and yet…I keep it away, I tell myself it’s for the best. He loves her. And she him. My family won’t be  alone, I tell myself I don’t feel bad yet I…I’m gonig to be healed…and this means, this was for nothing. I’m going to have my health. I’m going to live but…he’s still…”

Her breathing was fast.

“He write to her. Every night. I would crawl up, before I was sick, and see his office. The light was still on. His sleeves were still up like it was some great labor. And he would be writing furiously, focused by his lamp. He would barely glance at me behind him. So I would turn and leave…but I was well…even when I was well, I knew he was writing to her…And he would lay awake at night. Reading his Bible…not because he was dealing with God. He was…was thinking of her…all that time, all he could think about was her, and not me anymore-and I wasn’t sick then!”

Tears welled up, her face red and getting scrunched and hot. Finally, the water broke and she began to cry. 

She went up to Loki and clutched him.

“No one is here but me…you can cry as much as you want…” he assured her.

She wrang out the tears. Her shame, Her guilt. Her secrets. Her pain. Let it ebb and flow. For once, unhappiness did not disturb Stella. It did not feel like she was going to ruin something or hurt someone. The grief itching in the back of her brain could be scratched.

Her crying paused. After that, beneath the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Even as she was broken, melting down into a blank slate of herself. 

She cried. Cried in front of someone. And she ruined nothing and hurt no one. No one thought her a weak, foolish person. Loki would never think that about her. But an invisible weight had drifted off her shoulders. She felt…at peace.

Loki put a hand on her face, his long thumb wiping away one of the tear stains. She felt her heart suddenly race against her chest.

“You have done nothing to be ashamed of…you have thought such things yet never acted on them…you’re stronger than I could ever dream. You’ve had such fury, such grief….and you hurt no one…”

He froze for only a moment and then continued.

“You have so much love, so much compassion Stella…but one day you will realize not everyone deserves it…or you…”

She blinked.

“How…how can I…even do that?” she asked.

“Well, I for one, advise on preferably not stabbing someone in the middle of a party in front of his wife.” Loki quipped.

She grinned, a weak laugh escaping her thick, pretty lips. 

He escorted her through the hallways and up the stairs to her room. She paused.

“Loki I…please I…” she muttered. 

She was blushing, as she held out a hand for him.

“What is it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her hands went to her sides, bunching up into fists.

“Loki, I am a decent woman. And I want to be a decent woman but…tonight could you-could you-”

The god felt every sense in him strike alight, he tensed, not believing this was happening.

Stella wrung her hands on her side, her eyes lowering and darting about.

“You just…you resemble him, in face and form and…I don’t…I don’t want to feel like I go to bed alone for once. I’ve slept beside someone for years and to feel your bed empty for the first time. I…I…could you just…just hold me as a I go to sleep?”

Loki found he was blinking. His chest seemed still and then rose and fall with breaths he needed to be slow.

“You want me…to hold you…as you sleep?”

“You don’t know what it’s like…to sleep in the arms and next to someone you adore. Feel their warmth and touch and then it..it vanishes…I feel…oh, heavens, I feel like some child needing her doll at night. I just- I haven’t been held when I slept for months, but Loki…I don’t want you to…to…”

She turned red as her eyes went up to his, the confession bursting from her.

“Do anything less than gentlemanly, but I just want to be held. Please!”

Loki stepped forward.

“Yes. I’ll stay here, and hold you as you go to sleep.

She went behind a screen. Loki tried not to let blood rush to his system, his body, knowing she was bare just behind that one layer. But he knew to control himself.

Out Stella emerged. Her soft, silk, white nightgown. Her hair in her favorite braid that draped down her side. 

He tilted his head, and his magic turned his clothes from leather to the plain white shirt and soft brown pants.

“Is this how the men of Asgard sleep?”she asks.

“We prefer the…natural form, if you say,” Loki replied with a wink.

“Oh…” Stella replied demurely.

“But I won’t make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s only…he…it’s almost funny, your sleep shirts almost look like his.”

She sat on the bed.

“Would you like me to change to his form?” Loki asked.

Stella shook her head.

“No…just your own, please,” she replied.

Always with manners. It was as if she grew up in a palace like him. He couldn’t help but like her.

They laid down on the bed next to each other. She turned to one side and he wrapped his arms around her from behind. A hug. A reminder that she was cared for, touched. Warm beneath blankets, she fell asleep. Loki drifted off not long after.

When morning arrived, she awoke first. She could feel his arms, but settled into him. Listening to his soft breathing.

When she turned into him, he insintincively held her close.

When he woke up, he was slow in his greetings. And then making sure she was alright, he left the room to give her privacy to dress for the day. His curls were tussled and his cheeks had a slight pinkness to them. He seemed so real, so unfiltered…so human.

“I’ll…I’ll…I’ll see you at dinner, Little Star,” he said.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The healer in the back room of the cottage had Stella sit up. She was a pretty young woman with dark brown hair and soft brown eyes who held a white bowl in front of Stella's mouth.

“Now, spit,” she instructed.

There was one thing Stella was always advised to do. Every single doctor’s visit, be mortal or Aesir-Spit, Mrs, Ransome, please. Spit. Spit to study the contents. It was unladylike. It was crude. It was something she saw every one of her children do since they were babies. Spittle gurgling down each little chin in a soft bundle. 

She was realms away and yet it felt like nothing changed.

She obeyed and spat into the dish. The pretty healer smiled at her and then went to meet her superiors.

Three more women in their long, white dresses came over to examine her. They listened to her lungs. Waved their hands to have magic images float in the sky- and somehow they were able to read what was happening in her body. But there were more smiles this time, a flitter of excitement in the air.

“Have you felt tired?” asked one.

“No…come to think of it, I’ve not felt tired in the day at all.” Stella answered.

“Do you have any pains in your chest lately?” she asked next.

“I…I think it’s been last week since my chest had any pain…” Stella replied.

“Any blood coughed out?” 

“I haven’t been coughing and there was no blood.”

The younger one who took the spit returned. She whispered something into the ear of the others. They all turned and smiled kindly at her.

“Lady Stella, we have good news. It seems everything in you shows that between the medicine doses, the rest, and the air here…you have no symptoms of the illness and it is not anywhere in your lungs.” one announced.

The world almost fell out. A sound came out of Stella like a gasp, and she covered her mouth. Hardly believing the words, although the feeling in her body told her otherwise. She had been feeling strong. She wasn’t sweating at night. She had her appetite. She was…normal. Normal and healthy.

“We studied everything, and there is only just a little bit of hte disease. Do not fear, for it will inoculate it. Your body shall likely not catch it again…” continued the healer, the leader of the group.

“I…I…I’m healed?” asked Stella, her hands shaking.

“Yes, you’re healed.”

She smiled wide, tears in her eyes, and hugged them. Thanking all of them.

As she got into the carriage, she was beaming. She couldn’t wait to go home and…

Oh, home. The home wasn’t the white house on the marsh. Home was the enchanted palace. The place of refuge…

Stella walked through the entrance to see if there was a nice spot to have some tea and a sandwich. She was feeling peckish.

But as she walked down, she did not expect Loki there, strolling up with a spring in his step. Handsome and winning as a fairy story.

“Ah, I wanted to find you,” he announced.

“Why, what is this?” she asked.

“We aren’t just going to eat dinner today,” he announced. He stopped before her, a proud grin on his face. “We’re doing what you mortals call luncheon- it’s quite a charming little idea. I found a spot in Asgard. And I want to take you there…I think you’d like it..”

He held his hand opened to her, bowing gallantly.

“Would you accept, my dear lady?” he asked.

Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach, Stella accepted and took his hand.

In a flash of light, they were under the sun. Not a harsh sun, but a gentle one. And there was a cool breeze. The birds singing weren’t distant, but could be heard nearby.

Stella gasped in delight.

She was in a whole field full of blue flowers. Roaming over the long grass. They decked throughout and bent with the wind. She could see where the ground sloped down a hill and made a new one- decorated with the flowers. There was the odd tree, but it seemed it went on for miles. 

“Why, this…this place…I…” Stella gasped. The color of peace, of heaven, of beauty all around her.

“The whole place just screams you.” Loki quipped. When she looked at him, his smile had softened.

“I’ve never seen a field full of flowers, much less blue ones! Thank you!” she cried.

“Here…let me show you more of it,” he offered.

He took her hand and led her through. They walked as eagerly and excited and free as children. Loki led her one place and pointed eagerly. She saw a lake and high mountains topped with snow. So high, the clouds above kissed them. How tiny she felt compared to it from a distance. As she breathed in deep to take it all in, her lungs strong again, she could tell the air was cooler, crisper.

“I…I’ve never seen a mountain before!” she exclaimed.

“And now you have, my dear! I accept glasses of wine and time with you and not with my brother as a thank you,” he replied.

She only made a light laugh. Loki had his magic  conjure a picnic blanket and a basket. But Stella was too eagerly picking flowers to eat yet. She bent their green stems to form a necklace and wore it over her.

“Hmm, why do you wear those little beads?” Loki asked as he got out plates and steaming bowls of food.

“Oh, out of habit. For protection!” she answered. 

She took it off hers and leaned to Loki. Though he flinched , he let her put the necklace over his head.

“Here, so you can have protection too.” she offered.

Loki let out a sigh, but relaxed, letting himself wear the flowers. It wasn’t befitting and could seem silly for a god and prince to have them, but Stella’s smile when she saw him wearing them was….well, exquisite. Her small giggles at them stirred something inside him.

And they did smell nice, he silently admitted.

They enjoyed their picnic, which consisted of sandwiches with salted meat, soft fruit in delicate little bowls. There was even a small almond cake offered inside which Loki found himself struggling not to shove entirely in his mouth.

Stella eagerly picked up a few flowers and held it up to him.

“I…I think it’s like your Frost Giant skin- could we check?” she asked.

Loki turned his hand blue and his eyebrows shot up in astonishment as he compared.

“It…it is..” he confirmed.

‘Now help me pick which ones to press!” she offered.

They looked around, gathering some in their arms. All full of bouquets of the blue flowers. Stella was planning to put them in vases around the castle to add a bit of her touch to them. But Stella brought out just a few from one bunch.

“Here, have these,” she offered.

Loki tilted his head at them.

“Little star, it’s usually the gentleman who gives the lady flowers,” he commented.

“No- keep them! I want you to press them into a book or anything you wish. So you remember, so you reflect on how beautiful they are, and how beautiful your true form is!” she replied.

Loki accepted the flowers. Looking into her eyes and smiling. He made them float in the air where they drifted into the baskets.

Loki began twitching his hands. Here it was- his chance. Now or never. He was going to say the reason he brought her here, to this field.

“Well…” he began. He wasn’t good at saying it. But hhe wanted to say it. He needed to say it and yet the words couldn’t come up to him. He knew it was futile, but he had to say it, he had to say-

“Loki, I have good news: I’m healed now…” she announced.

He froze. It was a clear, sunny day but it seemed as if a bit of his brother’s thunder had rumbled through and brought lightning down onto him.

“You’re healed?” he asked.

“I am recovered. I am not weak, I cough no blood…”

Loki looked on the ground for a few seconds, then back up. He took both of her hands and placed them in his. 

“There’s something you’re thinking of, isn’t there?” he asked.

“It’s only…I miss…I miss my family, my children…if only…I could tell them, see them again, let them know I am better…” she confessed.

A second passed between them. A deep breath came through Loki

“Stella, you should go,” he said.

She blinked.

“You will…let me go, just like that?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Yes…you are the mistress of the palace, not its prisoner. And your children need you- and you are healed. You can go. I will do everything to make sure you are safely returned.”

A smile broke wider on Stella’s face, even a few happy tears. She eagerly embraced Loki and he embraced back. He held her, taking her in, burying himself in her. Trying to memorize how she felt to his touch. Trying to remember her embrace, the feel of her pulse, her scent, the brush of her yellow hair against his skin. 

It was going to be one of their last for a long time.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hurrying to the library, Stella got out paper and pen and scribbled down the letters in excitement. The first to the Ambroses and to Will, to share the good news. To share in her joy, her miracle. She asked that the Ambroses have the children return home at their earliest convenience to be reunited with them.

That made her tear up. Her three little dears, getting about in London in the big city. When they were taken away for fear of their catching it, she sobbed. It was going to be the last time she ever saw her darlings…and she was going to live. She was going to see them again. She was going to see Will again. And the dog, and the church, and the sea, and everyone in that town. The Bates, Martha, Cora, even that old curmudgeon Cracknell still made her laugh in her memories and there was going to be more of him to make her laugh. And that was to name a mere few of the people there!

 She was going to have her health back, her family back, her life back…

The pen stopped. She looked over the two letters, the handwriting scribbing from her fast writing in her urgent joy. There was a window that looked about the gardens where the birds sang, flowers bloomed, and now and again, little creatures walked about without fear.

And Loki…Loki who danced with her, spoke with her, looked at her- no, not only looked, who saw her, understood her, listened to her. Loki, Loki, Loki who made her feel…feel…

She was going to miss it…and she was going to miss him if she had to be honest with herself…but…she was here to be healed. And it had happened. Her task was done. 

She went over to her room with the chest.

“Send this first one to the Ambroses’ in London, and send this one on the right to my house in Aldwinter.” she requested.

The letters vanished.

In the meantime of the children’s travel, Stella was busy as a bee. She kitted little blue dishcloths from the parlor. She gave one to each healer and to the friends she made in Asgard. She wished she could have seen Thor once again, but there was no time now. And the palace would not let her in as a mortal and a peasant. But she did leave him a note should he come back.

In just a few days, she received word that the children had arrived. And she could return.

Stella was given the dresses and trinkets she wanted to keep. Another brown box with the pebbles and flowers she found would be there. She was allowed to use the chests to write to her Asgardian friends. 

The carriage was going to take her back. This time, Loki’s horses would carry it. She stepped out as the god helped her get her new belongings packed safely.  She was bedecked in a traveling gown of a blue jacket and skirt. She was given a small purse and a smart hat with a tiny veil to complete the outfit.

Loki held out his hand, studying the difference in size, her warmth, and her bare skin on his bare skin. But the door was left open. 

“Loki…I want to speak to you, please. You have shown me so much. You made me better in every way.  My body…and my spirit. I don’t feel as if I am the same since I met yout…thank you.”

He smiled at her. Though he was a little sad. His hands then conjured something in the air.

From his pocket, he got out a dagger in a small sheath. Stella foudn her eyes got big. He pulled it out to show it had a blue hilt and ancient norse on the blade.

“I would be surprised if you had any practical use for it…but I wanted you to have this gift. So you could use it to remember me.” he offered.

She accepted it preciously. “It’s beautiful…thank you” she marveled, tucking it into a safe corner where it wouldn’t leave its hilt. 

“And Stella…”

He paused. She turned her head to him.

The words laid heavy on him. They called him “silvertongue” and yet his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. 

“Stella I…I have to tell you…tell you that…”

Her eyes went a little wide, her plump lips barely parted. He got closer. But everything froze. No- it was too much. He knew where and to who she was returning to. It would ruin all things good between them.

He couldn’t …no, he never could tell her.

“Stella, I hope…when you return…that you are happy.” Loki finished.

She relaxed and smiled at him.

“I will be. And I hope you see your family again too…and that you are the happiest god in all the realms.”

She cupped his cheek with her lovely smile. Then she released and settled in.

With a deep breath, Loki lifted his hand and twirled one finger. A portal appeared at the end of the path. The driver from the palace nodded- a stout, somber man who said nothing and minded his business. He clicked the reigns.

The carriage went through the glowing, golden portal. Once it vanished through, it closed. Gradual and sudden as a dying firework. 

Loki stood there. Half hoping it would return any second…

It did not.

He found himself blinking, a quiet tear going down his face.

He wanted her to stay. If he had his way with all things, she’d stay with him in that palace for…for as much time would let them. Haunting him in every corner. Hearing her footsteps, her voice, a flick of blue that he knew for sure was her. Only this time it wouldn’t be her.

But internally, he would never forget Stella. And she would always be there, at least in his mind.

He loved her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Aldwinter was astonished when on its muddy streets, there emerged a grand carriage. They all gasped and huddled out of doors or smashed their faces into windows to see it. Such finery down here in this humble place! They could practically see the mud sticking to the wheels already.

When they caught who was inside, there was even more tittering about them.

“Why…is that…Mrs. Ransome? Alive! And looking quite well if I dare say! Going through the towns paraded like a princess! What is she doing?”

The carriage arrived before the white house on the field. 

Jo was outside, swinging about a stick, imagining it a sword. Her little kerchief on her head slipped and she pulled it up. Then she turned and dropped her stick as it headed right to her. 

Inside the window, she saw a blonde head and a kind smile. 

Jo opened the door and the dog began to bark from inside. Her brown braid flipping in the air as she was running about. 

“Mama! Mama is home! Everyone! Hurry!” 

The three children darted out first. The grand carriage stopped and out from the door was a fine lady in a blue travel suit.

She lifted her veil and they gasped.

She smiled, tears in her eyes.

“Darlings- my beautiful darlings!” she said.

“Mama!” they all gasped,.

They all ran forward and she knelt down to embrace them and ksis their heads, their joy glowring. The dog was barking and there were heavy, masculine footsteps from a study hurrying down the stairs to follow them. 

All in that house beaming with the light of joy.

 And the lonely god realms away knew it was happening, as he stood in his castle and smiled with tears in his eyes.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 28: Fitz's Capture

Masterlist

June 1905

TW: mind control, captivity, restraints

"And wake." Snap.

Fitz's eyes popped open, as though he'd just closed them for a second -- but that clearly wasn't the case, because he was no longer backstage. Nor was he in his bedroom, on his couch, in someone else's bedroom, on someone else's couch, or in prison, which covered all the places he was likely to wake up unexpectedly.

No, instead he was in a sterile looking room, almost like a doctor or dentist office, perched on top of a table. His arms were restrained behind his back, a pair of handcuffs that he was sure he could easily get himself out of. Lily was standing in front of him, serene and confident.

He'd been a bad judge of character many, many times in his life, but he had a sinking feeling that this would turn out to be one of his more spectacular mistakes. He crushed down the little voice telling him about how he'd been stupid, so stupid, and tried to plaster an unflappable smile on his face.

"Did you have a nice rest? It seemed like you could use it," said Lily.

Fitz's eyebrow twitched with the amount of questions flooding his brain. He hadn't really even believed in mesmerism, and yet somehow she'd put him to sleep and taken him to a location that was clearly not anywhere in the theater. It didn't seem possible, and yet, here he was, trying to remain calm, act like he belonged here and that he knew exactly what he was doing.

"It seems I lost the bet," he said. "Good trick. Mind telling me where we are now?"

"Care to guess?"

He frowned, looking around the room. There wasn't much to go on, just a few chairs and tables. There was an odd post in the center of the room, and the table nearest him had what looked like medical tools on it. He hoped those were just decorative.

"Oh, it's beyond obvious that you've kidnapped me for ransom," he said, picking the most likely option and bluffing his way with the rest. He just needed to keep her talking while he worked his hands free of the cuffs, quietly so she would not hear. "A terrible decision on your part, really. I realize that it's hard to believe, but my family has no appreciation for my talents. They're not going to part with a single dime on my behalf. If anything, they'd pay you to keep me. Not that I expect you to listen to my sage wisdom, but you'd really be better off releasing me before this business gets any uglier."

"Don't worry, I know that your family has left you for dead. I wouldn't have taken you if I thought anyone was going to look."

Now that was actually worrying. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked, mostly to stall for time since he didn't think he'd get a real answer from her. 

The door was right there, slightly ajar. Lily was smaller than him and didn't look particularly strong. He could overpower her if needed, especially if he caught her by surprise. And the sooner he got out of here, the better, before he found out firsthand why she didn't want anyone to come looking for him. One of his hands twisted free.

"I mean that I'm not interested in ransom. I'm going to make money from you in a much more surefire way." She grinned, and Fitz was sure he saw fangs there. That couldn't be right -- he had to be imagining things.

Still, she had somehow mesmerized him entirely. And she was very, very pale...

"And how do you intend to make this money?"

"I'll be selling you in an auction. An auction where you're going to be in very high demand. You see, your family's blood is extremely high quality, but it's too risky for us to take anyone whose disappearance might be investigated. That is, until you did the courtesy of divesting yourself of your pesky family. Really, I should thank you."

Fitz's mouth was going dry. "Did you say my blood? You mean my lineage? Because that --"

"No, I mean your literal blood." She was way too close to him now, and when she grinned, her fangs were very sharp and very obvious. How had he not noticed? "Haven't you figured out that I'm a vampire, yet? I thought you might be sharper than that."

"A vampire?" A chill gripped his heart. The evidence -- but no, there was no way. He forced himself to arrogantly laugh in her face. "You do realize I spend most of my time in the company of performers, magicians, occultists, fortunetellers, carnival freaks, and circus acts, don't you? I've rapped on the table during seances. I've been to a dozen rituals to trick rubes. Your vampire act is good, no doubt, but it falls a little short of believable."

She leaned back, and Fitz could see the door again. He slipped his other hand just free of the cuff. "You don't have to believe if you don't want," she said. "What you think hardly matters, especially when I'll be changing your mind. Now let's --"

He took his chance, leaping off the table, pushing her aside and bolting for the door. Fake vampire or no, he wasn't about to let himself be sold at any sort of auction. Thankfully, she clearly wasn't expecting him to slip the cuffs, so his escape should be --

His blood rushed to his ears as he was grabbed and slammed into a wall, with enough force to hurt but not enough to seriously injure him. Lily, the mousey woman a head shorter than him, with arms like fragile twigs, was effortlessly pinning him.

"You get one free attempt," she said. "Mostly because I like you, and you're far too valuable to harm."

Fitz kicked his legs uselessly, his struggles not even seeming to register with her. His panic was growing as he tried to think of an angle behind her apparently supernatural strength and reflexes and came up short. He'd never seen anything like this.

An actual vampire.

Yes, this was one of the worst of his mistakes.

With how effortlessly she'd stopped his dash for the door, escape probably wasn't an option as long as she had him in her sights. That meant his efforts had to go towards survival. Bluff and charm and stall and hope a better opportunity presented itself.

"Can you truly blame me?" he said, hoping his terror wasn't too obvious. Could a vampire smell fear? "I'm a magician. It's my instinct to try and escape. But I've learned my lesson, now."

"Have you?" she said, cocking her head. "You don't strike me as the type of man to learn his lessons easily."

"Perhaps not, but I am the type of man who would rather not be thrown into the wall again."

"That, I can believe," she said, releasing her grip. She walked over to a nearby cupboard, keeping her eye on him all the while. She pulled out a white linen shirt and slacks, tossing them at him. "Now, little magician, be nice and obedient and put these on without a fuss, and your body and mind can remain intact for now. How about it?"

"You want me to change in front of you?" Fitz asked, earning him an impatient glare. "Yes, yes, no fuss, lesson learned. I hope you enjoy what you see." He began unbuttoning his shirt, never breaking eye contact with Lily. He didn't like the sound of "intact for now." Nor did he like the implication that his mind would be harmed. She had him completely over a barrel, and all because he thought he could easily outwit a mesmerist. Stupid, stupid, he'd been so stupid.

He tried in vain to crush down his thoughts by making a great, dramatic show of whipping off his shirt, which gained no reaction whatsoever from Lily. "You know, you were quite good at being part of my magic show," he said as he stripped off the rest of his clothing. "And you have impressive talent as a mesmerist, not to mention your surprising strength. You could make a lot of money in vaudeville."

"I can make a lot of money selling humans."

"Vaudeville's a much easier paycheck, I would think."

"I wouldn't say that. It was awfully easy capturing you, wasn't it?"

Fitz couldn't help but scowl. There had to be some angle here. "Don't you feel a twinge of remorse, doing this? Kidnapping innocent people? Not me, of course, I'm hardly innocent, but surely others..."

"Oh, I do, at times. But my remorse pales compared to the size of my paycheck, not to mention my hunger for blood like yours."

"So that's it, then? Some vampire is going to drain me dry and leave me for dead?"

"Oh, not at all. With how valuable your blood is, it'd be extremely irresponsible to leave you for dead," she said. "No, more likely they'll leave you in a half-lucid state for years while they feed from you whenever the mood strikes them. If you're lucky, you'll get to keep enough of your mind to be a servant."

Stupid. Stupid. He'd been so stupid. "Well, doesn't that sound..." His composure broke, unable to think of a retort. Trapped by vampires, having his mind taken, being forced into servitude -- he always knew his life would lead him to some kind of bad end, but he didn't expect this sort of fate worse than death to be waiting for him. "Doesn't that just sound charming," he finished pathetically. 

The uniform was uncomfortably itchy and ill-made, and he was glad he had no mirror. "Well? Do I look the part of your prisoner?" he said, striking a pose before Lily.

"It'll do. You'll get a more thorough physical examination later," she said. "But it's almost sunrise, so for now I'll get you to your cell. Any funny business and I'll put you back to sleep."

"I think I've had enough charmed sleep for one night," he said, offering no resistance as Lily gripped his wrist and pulled him out of the room. They walked down a sterile corridor and through a set of metal double doors, the guard glaring at him as he passed through. The doors opened to a long row of prison cells, most filled with people in various states of misery. Some curled up, some sat on cots and stared vacantly at the wall, one woman was pacing and muttering to herself.

The reality of it all began to sink in. This wasn't a nightmare, or a trick, or a joke. He was actually a prisoner here, and he had no way out. It was all he could do to keep from fruitlessly struggling against Lily's grasp, knowing it could only make his situation worse.

She led him to an empty cell and motioned him inside, and he took a long look at the doors before reluctantly entering, the door closing behind him with a definitive clang.

"Meals are three times a night. The faucet water is for drinking and bathing. Use the bell if you need the chamber pot cleaned or if there is an emergency. Lights out means quiet. Noise during lights out, abusing the bell, or harming yourself will all be punished."

"What's the punishment?"

"Anything we like, so I wouldn't recommend testing it," she said. "Oh, and you should know that I am planning to keep your mind intact. I have an old friend who I think would appreciate your antics. But if you attempt to escape, that plan will change. Is that clear?"

Perhaps he had indeed learned a lesson, because he didn't doubt that she could do that. He had to do whatever it took to stay alive here. "Crystal clear."

"Good, I'm glad we can understand each other. I can tell we're going to get along well, Phantom Fitz."

"Like a house on fire," he said bitterly.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to stew in your many regrets. See you next evening."

As Lily walked away, Fitz flopped down on the meager cot with the rough mattress. Even his bed in the tiny room he'd rented was better than this. He couldn't help but think of his old family home -- the luxurious bed, the sumptuous food, the gorgeous clothing. He'd run away from it all to pursue his freedom, to live a life away from constant criticism and expectation. He'd been broke, slept in the nastiest of flophouses, gone hungry, begged, bartered, and stole. 

It had all been worth it when he was up on the stage, in his element. It was all going to be worth it when he made it big, when he basked in the applause of adoring crowds and rolled in riches every night. Approval he didn't need to wring out of his parents like blood from a stone, money that wasn't doled out with withering glares.

And now, that dream could all go up in smoke. A servant to a vampire. So much for freedom, fortune, and fame. If he had known...

He was stupid. So stupid.

Part 27 >> Masterlist >> Part 29

Thanks for reading this story of a down on his luck stage magician. Back to Oliver next.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs

[blackautmedia]

Per the Tweet:

In today’s episode we follow the journey of Abdul Bakhit which exemplifies the unique struggles and aspirations of each migrant and refugee, individuality amidst inhumane circumstances only invites us to humanize their stories, honor their struggles, and recognize the inherent worth in each life affected by displacement as today in Sudan. Victim of the shipwreck off Tunisia 7.2.2024.

🧵 6/40

Abdul Bakhit Khamis Muhammad, born on December 6, 2000, in Central Darfur, Wadi Saleh Garsila locality, was the fourth child in his family, with two elder sisters and an elder brother. His father, a retired wounded veteran soldier, and his mother, an ordinary farmer, still reside in Garsila. He attended Soba East Secondary School for Boys.

Due to tribal conflicts in the region, he and his family faced instability and financial difficulties which forced him to leave Sudan on December 15, 2021, for Libya. In Tazerbo, Kufra, he was held captive by human traffickers demanding 2000 Libyan dinars in ransoms. After his release, he moved to Benghazi, then Tripoli, Qarabulli in March 2022.

He registered with the UNHCR in Libya as an asylum seeker and worked in farming to sustain his livelihood. By August 2023, he departed Libya for Tunisia, where he sought refuge in Zarzis with limited success. He then went to Sfax, where he for three times attempted to cross the sea.

In early October he paid 1500 Tunisian dinars for the sea crossings but was caught up at sea by the Tunisian National Guard. In late October he tried again and was intercepted. The third attempt was in mid November only to be intercepted and returned. His final attempt came along the other 42 others among whom 40 died with him included.

While browsing on his Facebook account, we saw that his last publication dating back to 17 April 2022 talks about dignity, success, fatigue , failure and despair: “First, maintain your dignity, even if it costs you, you will not become friends with the walls of your cell. You will not reach the pinnacle of success without going through stations of fatigue, failure and despair. Stay at ease with the details.”

Image ID: Abdul Bakhit looking down toward the camera. He is wearing a white shirt standing before a bright, blue sky.

[phantom-z0ne]

Chapter 2: Impressions and Investigations

CW: Minor Character Deaths, Corpses, Disfigured bodies, Cults, Blood

Damian was missing and Dick was going crazy.

Damian hasn't responded to any inquiries of his location since he missed his scheduled check in time. It had already been two hours past that and they still didn't have any clue where he was. Last they knew, he was heading towards Chinatown. Damian knew a couple of the locals and regularly visited some animals, mostly cats and dogs but occasionally a bird or two.

They would have been able to track him with his comm, but Damian had modified it so that it was untrackable unless it was being used. Unfortunately, they hadn't learned of it before today. If they were to track him through his comm, they would only have a short time to triangulate his position. Damian stated that he wanted his privacy, likely so he could disobey orders without them realizing. They had allowed it because they trusted his judgment, not to mention they all had their rebellious phase, but now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.

It was unfortunate they didn’t have Barbara helping, she was off on her own mission with the Birds of Prey and not in Gotham. Finding Damian would have been way easier with her help, she was an expert in navigating the surveillance systems around Gotham.

Dick could tell he wasn't the only one concerned about their youngest, the others were worried in their own ways. Jason fidgeted with his gun, which Bruce was just barely tolerating, as he paced the rooftop while Tim ran the diagnostics multiple times, his fingers flying on his wrist hologram.

Cass and Bruce’s unease was less noticeable, the only reason he caught it was that he knew them for such a long time. Bruce double checked his trackers and flew across the roofs in search of Damian. Cass was tense and alternated standing near each of them, subtly clenching her hands into fists as she did.

“Robin, come in.” Bruce demanded, Dick felt the desperation in his voice although it was hidden well. He didn't want to lose another son while Dick didn't want to lose another brother. 

There wasn’t a reply, only the sound of static filled their ears.

Dick sighed, running his hands through his hair. They needed to find Damian quickly. The longer they didn't locate him, the longer his captures had to smuggle him out of the city. If Damian was taken out of the city, it would be infinitely harder to find him. 

He couldn’t let that happen, especially to Damian. He’s already had a tough life, what with how he grew up. His integration into the family was difficult on everyone, B was gone and Tim had chosen to pursue a theory he had thought of at the time insane. Jason wasn’t on talking terms with them at that time and Cass had her own responsibilities across the world. Steph was also busy with juggling her hero and civilian lives, though her attitude towards Damian did turn around in the end.

The comm crackled, faint sounds coming through. Dick jolted, jarred out of his thoughts from the abrupt opening of the comm. Both Cass and Tim’s hands went to their comms as Jason stilled. The shuffling of cloth was most prominent, though he could hear a quiet voice.

“Robin, report. What is your location?” Bruce asked, hope underlying his words.

There was the sound of shuffling before a young, unfamiliar voice sounded, “Is this comm trackable?”

That was not Damian. Did he kidnap Damian and was going to ask for a ransom or gloat? Another also kidnapped alongside Damian? Or perhaps a concerned civilian who had nothing to do with Damian’s disappearance?

“Who are you?” Bruce demanded, treating the unknown as a hostile. It was understandable, this was a stranger who possibly abducted his son.

“You can call me Polka. I'm not sure of the location but Robin is unconscious. We are in a warehouse.” The voice responded. ‘You can call me Polka?’ Was he implying that Polka wasn’t his name or the only one he goes by? Dick’s siblings crowded closer to Bruce as if they couldn’t hear out of their own comms.

The good news was that they now knew where to search. Most warehouses were either near the docks or the Warehouse District. That meant they had two areas to search if Tim didn't triangulate where Damian’s comm was during the short conversation. He could see Tim hunched over, one hand typing swiftly in his wrist hologram. 

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly.” Bruce said curtly, his cape snapping as he turned to Tim and asked if he captured the location of the comm. Tim gave him a thumbs up and sent the coordinates. 

They piled into their own vehicles and sped their way across the city, heading towards the warehouse Damian was held in. 

They surrounded the warehouse once they arrived, Bruce entering first before they snuck in from different entrance points. Dick shivered slightly as he situated himself behind the boy who Damian was laid out on. His siblings spread out and surrounded the boy from all sides.

The warehouse was a mess, blood pooling from the disfigured bodies laying every which way. Dick could faintly spot a chalk circle underneath a pool of blood. Another cult, he surmised grimly. There have been too many cults running around lately for his liking, though it looked like this one had fallen victim to their own summoning. 

There wasn't much he could tell about the boy from behind, his baggy clothes hiding his frame. His hair was what stood out the most, cropped silver hair. It seemed to almost glow in the dark warehouse. Dick’s attention went back to Bruce who stepped out from the shadows and addressed the boy after taking Damian back into his custody, though he kept an eye out on the boy.

“None, I just happened to find him. Who are you?” The boy asked, standing. That was interesting. Everyone from Gotham knew who Batman was, and even if you weren't, Batman was still a famous figure.

Bruce answered in his signature low voice, obviously gearing up to interrogate the boy. That was his cue to step in. They’ve done this routine before, good cop and bad cop. It was surprisingly successful.

“Happened to find him?” Dick questioned, rolling down from the support beam he was perched on and revealed himself. The boy turned to him, his hair fanning across his face. A black stripe cut into his silvery hair. It was the inverse of Jason’s hair, Dick thought absently. 

The boy’s face was blank, unsurprised to see another vigilante popping up behind him. Dick’s eyes were drawn to the scar on his neck. It spanned most of the neck and would be most definitely fatal if it was deep enough. The boy was 15, 16 years max. Where would he have gotten a scar like that? Not to mention, he was too calm in this situation. Blood and viscera surrounded him and all he seemed was bored. 

Slight motion to the right made Dick’s eyes snap to the plush on the boy’s shoulder, almost certain that it moved on its own. “How exactly did you find him? We can't be sure you weren’t the one who abducted him, after all.”

The boy took his time to answer, his face slightly scrunched in thought. Faint sound of movement emerged from his comm but he showed no signs of hearing it.

He pointed to the body of the cultest then to the mound that Dick hadn’t paid much attention to as he answered, “They kidnapped Robin, me, and a couple other kids. They killed the others. Who are you?

Dick heard a sharp inhale, likely in reaction to the dead children. It looked like they were thrown there uncaringly, Dick thought angrily. They were piled on top of each other, some of their limbs bent unnaturally. Most of the injuries were from a slit neck, but there were signs of other injuries. These poor kids were likely tortured first then slaughtered. 

He could see Bruce soften after the boy answered, likely thinking the same things as Dick.

Dick sighed silently, sheathing his escrima sticks as he walked to stand closer to Bruce and Damian. “I’m called Nightwing. Can you tell us why you and Robin are unharmed?”

“They already summoned the God of the Dead, or Corpse God, by then. It wasn't needed.” Jason cursed. They were too late, for both the kids and the summoning. Not to mention the ominous name of the being that was summoned. Just what were these cultists planning for summoning such a being? Probably to ‘rid the world of impurities’ like every other cult he came across.

Bruce asked for confirmation of the being, pulling out his ‘victim voice’. It was significantly softer than what he usually spoke as Batman. The boy nodded, affirming their suspicions on the being. Though, where was it? Usually, summoned being raged and caused destruction in their wake, especially ones with such ominous names. There was no sign of this one.

Dick pasted on a smile and bent closer to the boy, “Did you see where the God of the Dead went?” 

The boy nodded as he bit his lips, visibly nervous. It was a bit strange to see such an expression on the child when he was blase for most of the conversation. He leaned forward as the boy cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, “He’s still here.” 

Dick felt a shiver race down his spine, one of his siblings sucked in a breath. That was… not good. Was this a trap? Had the God of the Dead been lying in wait and observing them since they had arrived?

The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Everyone was tense and ready for battle. Of course, that was when Damian began to stir, calling out to Bruce once he opened his eyes. Bruce adjusted his hold on Damian, beginning to answer Damian before he was cut off by the boy.

“Can I go now? I was with my friends before this. They’re probably worried.” Dick most certainly couldn't let a key witness, and a most definitely traumatized child, wander off without supervision. 

“Sorry, you’re coming with us.” Dick said apologetically. 

The boy did not like that. He crossed his arms and gave them an annoyed look. “Why?”

Jason, Tim, and Cass took this as the perfect time to reveal themselves. They hopped down from their respective posts and gathered near Bruce. Tim, however, aimed for the cultists as he responded, “We need more information and to verify your story. And for your protection.” 

The boy's eyes lingered over Cass and Jason before focusing on the latter, his expression curious. Jason obviously noticed but didn't pay it any mind, more interested in fussing over Damian who wasn’t having it, swatting Jason’s hovering hands away. 

“Won't that be kidnapping? Since I don't want to go to a secondary location with strangers? Kidnapping is illegal, you know.”

Jason answered as he finally relented from teasing Damian, “Well, it's a good thing the law is more like suggestions to us.” This did nothing to stop the boy from looking apprehensive. Good job, Jason, Dick thought tiredly.

Tim interrupted the boy when he stated that the cultists were, in fact, not dead. It blindsided Dick. Many of the cultists were in pieces as others had bled enough to be six feet under.

Damian looked mildly curious as Bruce and Tim questioned the survival of the cultists, likely thinking over the logistics of how they still lived. Eventually, Bruce asked Tim to alert the hospital and GCPD. They wouldn't be arriving in a long while, it was still Gotham after all.

Dick walked over to them as they discussed the boy and the cultist, hearing the tail end of Tim’s suspicions. 

“—clearly up with him. Despite the situation he’s in, he is unusually calm.”

That was true, not many kids were so nonchalant about almost being ritually sacrificed. Or seeing mangled bodies and pools of blood laying around.

Dick glanced at the boy—he really should be calling him Polka by now, since it was the only name he was given—seeing him grow red-faced as he spoke with Jason. 

The almost silent crackle of a radio signaled their time was up, they needed to leave before the police arrived. 

Herding Polka out of the building and out of sight was easy, all they needed to do was avoid cameras and stick to the shadowed side of the alley. Those who saw the group were quick to run away.

Losing Polka, however, was not something Dick expected to happen. They all were hyper aware of their surroundings, and in turn, the kid. How he managed to disappear under the scrutiny of six highly trained vigilantes, Dick didn't know. 

They had to admit defeat after searching the area and beyond for an hour and a half, Damian being sent back for an examination despite his objections early into their search, and trudge back to the cave unsuccessful. 

Dick watched Jason walk into the infirmary—jokingly nicknamed the “batfirmary” by Steph— and remove his helmet from his seat next to Damian’s cot. Steph walked in after him, plopping down on the end of the mattress next to Jason and ignored Damian’s hissed demands for them to get off. 

Cass slunk in a moment later, Tim behind her. He was still typing on his wrist computer as he sat on the opposite side of Damian. Cass leaned on the arm of his chair, gazing curiously at the screen.

Off to the right, through a sliver of the thick cloth that blocked the med bay, sat Bruce. The light from the Batcomputer illuminated his bent figure. 

Dick pursed his lips, not liking the expression that crossed his father’s face. Whenever there were children involved, Bruce always got into a mood. It wasn’t that the rest of them didn’t, but Bruce’s mood was always the worst. He wouldn't accept any food or comfort until he solved the case and got justice for the innocent children. 

As his child and fellow vigilante, Dick couldn't let Bruce neglect himself like that, least of all when it wasn’t his fault the children died. He stood, walking over to Bruce and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gently squeezed, offering all the comfort that was allowed. Bruce gave him a weary smile.

“You should join us.” Dick said, retracting his hand to cross his arms. “It does you no good just sitting here. Damian needs you right now.” 

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… I need to give those children justice.”

“Bruce, they aren’t going anywhere. You need to focus on the child in front of you.” Dick winced at how that came out. “I mean, Damian should be your priority right now. He’s recovering from being kidnapped!”

“You're right.” Bruce sighed, straightening his back slightly. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

Dick walked back to his seat, pleased with the sound of Bruce’s footsteps behind him. He watched as Damian’s face brightened when he spotted his father, and the subsequent haughty look he made to cover it up. 

“How are you doing, Damian?” Bruce asked, sitting on the cot. 

“I am fine, Father. It was just a scratch.” Damian answered, lifting his chin then frowning. “I didn't need to be hauled to the infirmary. I could have helped track down the boy.”

“We had to check if the cultist had done anything else to you. Would you rather not know if they had? And how did they manage to even snatch you anyways?” Tim intervened, crossing his legs as he looked up from his wrist computer. 

“They used defenseless animals against me.” Dick almost cooed at Damian’s pout. He was always glad to see Damian act his age. 

“What kinds of animals?” Steph leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. 

“… Kittens.” Damian admitted quietly.

“They lured you in with kittens?!” Jason said hysterically. Muffled snorts came from all around, Dick himself wasn't exempt from laughing either. Everyone but Jason quickly pasted on an innocent face when Damian furiously glared at them, he didn't bother covering up his laughter. Even Bruce seemed amused, his eyes darting between them with a fond look on his face.

“Do you remember what happened?” Cass signed. Dick could tell she was still worried about Damian, the sides of her eyes were creased and her lips held together tightly.

“I passed out after I was hit over the head.” Damian began, the bedding clenched in his fists. “I remember waking up a couple of times but it wasn't for long. The last time I awoke, the boy was there.”

Bruce put his hand over Damian, his lips pursed. He clearly didn't like how his son was treated, and looking around, none of them were. “Did he do anything?”  

“He told me to rest.” Damian said simply, brows furrowed.

“And you did?” Tim asked, dumbfounded. Dick was just as confused, Damian barely took orders from them that he deemed unnecessary, so him listening to a random civilian? It was unheard of.

“That was the strange thing. The moment he told me to, I was overwhelmed with drowsiness. I couldn't help falling asleep.”

A magic user? Dick thought speculatively. Or perhaps a meta? There were many abilities that could cause someone to fall unconscious with just a word, and just as many with aftereffects. Dick prayed that there weren’t any lasting effects on Damian, he wasn't sure what he would do if there were.

“I knew there was something up with him!” Tim announced, jumping up from his seat. “The fact that he was so calm in such a bloody environment was the first clue. Why would he be calm, let alone stay in that warehouse, when he was abducted and watched others be sacrificed? Plus, despite telling us the Corpse God—or God of the Dead, whatever— there was no sign of the being other than the cultist’s dismangled bodies. Why did he lie?” He paced back and forth, letting his theories flow like water.

Cass knocked on the wall, gathering their attention. She signed, “He didn’t lie.”

“He didn’t?” Dick questioned, understandably confused.

She shook her head, “He was truthful the whole time, but was he hiding something.” 

“He could have been misleading you.” Steph crossed her arms. “He was being pretty vague in the recordings I watched. Plus, some of his words could have been taken in a different way.”

“That's true. The way he slipped away from us wasn’t something a civilian could do. Even a meta would be hard pressed to disappear from right under our noses.” Jason spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“I’ll call Zatanna.” Bruce sighed, getting up from his seat. “Get some rest, we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“He’s right. We need to conserve our energy for interrogating Polka tomorrow.” Dick ushered his disgruntled sibling towards the staircase leading to the manor.

Once he was sure they were in their rooms, Jason deciding it was too late to go to his own safehouse, he returned to the cave. Damian was unsurprisingly still awake, his stubbornness fighting against his weariness. 

Dick dimmed the lights of the cave and headed towards the infirmary. Giving his brother a quick peck on the forehead and tucking him in, much to Damian’s displeasure, he grabbed a tablet and wrote up a report next to the cot. He made sure to include his sibling’s theories in the notes margin.

Soft muttering sounded off to the side, behind the infirmary’s curtain. After making sure Damian was asleep, Dick crept towards the sound. Around the corner, Bruce’s frustrated voice spoke. He ended the call a minute after he spotted Dick leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

“Constantine?”

“Zatanna was busy.” Bruce ran his hands through his hair. He was clearly tired after the eventful day, but Bruce would continue working despite his complaints, Dick bitterly thought. He shook his head, now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts. 

Dick hummed and walked towards the Batcomputer. He sat down, Bruce a couple feet away typing away on another monitor. He transferred his half finished report to the computer in front of him, finding a keyboard easier to write with than a tablet. 

He let out a yawn. He had been up for more than twenty four hours, most of that time spent patrolling and studying cases in the Batcave. He laid his head on his arms, a quick nap wouldn't hurt, would it?

Distantly, he felt a heavy weight cover him. He let out a murmur of thanks for the blanket and fell asleep, not hearing the whispered response. 

The insistent buzzing of the tablet woke him. He stretched, his back popping, before unlocking the tablet. A gasp escaped him once he laid eyes on the screen.

“Uh, B? You’ll need to see this.” Bruce looked at him in question before rolling closer, eyes widening slightly once he read the article.

In strikingly bold letters, the headline was “JOKER MAULED BY THE UNDEAD”.

Wrote a large chunk of this months ago and just sat on it since I didn't know how to write batfam interactions. I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out :)

<< Chapter 1 | Masterpost | Chapter 3 >>

[exorcisticlute-archive]

{closed thread with @lettherebemonsters }

Lute was finishing up in Hell's embassy as she was setting up for the next meeting with Charlie. This time Sera had demanded that the meeting was in person instead of Adam doing it through a hologram. Lute would peer over at Melody who was sitting on the table playing with her own toys. She smiled straighten up the last stack of papers where Adam will be sitting at.

She grabbed a hold of Melody getting ready to head back to heaven when all of a sudden she was caught off guard by someone grabbing her from behind. She couldn't react fast enough due to a towel being placed over her nose as her vision went blurry. The last thing she heard was Melody cry out for her.

A demon had breached into the embassy and held them both at ransom. "Take them both away" The hound instructed his backup writing a letter for whoever came in contact first along with one of Lute's feather plucked. '

The note read

Come to 354 Heyward street if you want to see your two angels alive'

[yandere-sins]

Happy new year! 🎉💞 Can I kindly request a Itto x sickly femreader? (Or gn whichever you're comfortable with 🌻) Reader's been taken care by the gang for a really long time and treated as a family but Itto secretly likes them. One day the reader's been abducted by treasure hoarders or nobushi (again, whichever you're comfortable with please 💓) because they wanted to get revenge to Itto by using the sick reader.

I'm in my Itto simping phase right now and this scene was running in my head for a while 😫 Thank you! 🫶🫶

Thanks for your request ♥

Warning: Yandere, Violence (Blood, Biting, Death/Fighting, Bruising)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««  

You had never seen Itto like this.

He was more of a laid-back, idiotic kind of guy, cracking jokes even in the worst situations. He was easy to talk to, a little childish, but kind. Itto would stay by your side when your fever spiked, and take you down to the river in his arms even when you couldn't walk from the exhaustion but needed the change of scenery. But even when he stood taller and broader than most other men you knew, he never quite struck you as dangerous. Strong and capable of doing manual labor with ease, but the oni never really struck you as the prevalent gene in Itto.

At least, until you saw him through the gaps from your hiding spot, rabid like a dog, only missing the foam around his mouth as he tore down the door of the shack the treasure hoarders had brought you to.

It never crossed your mind to be scared of Itto when he seemed to laugh all day long, but with the fury edged into his features, it was almost like you didn't know who he was. With what you could only describe as a furious battle cry, he tore through the treasure hoarders, their weapons breaking in his claws and scraping only the surface of his muscles. Regardless, blood splattered everywhere, your captors', Itto's, and whoever else dared to stand in the oni's way.

You wanted to look away, but without a warning, you had to witness it all. By the time you turned your gaze away from the happenings and sank your throbbing head into your hands, the massacre was already over. However, you were still shivering like crazy, long after the last scream lapsed into silence.

“[Name]!”

Whimpering, you flinched when you heard your name being screamed into the uncomfortable silence. You felt like you were going to throw up as the smell of blood reached your nose, your gut already sensitive from you being chronically sick all the time. "H-Here...!" you croaked weakly, heavy footsteps shaking the cold ground.

The wooden crates and barrels were mere annoyances in Itto's path. They had no chance of survival as he burst through them in the maniacal search for you. All you could do was shield your face, your strength already dwindling from your body's exhaustion and the time spent out of bed and away from the fire. Your captors had hidden you from plain sight out of precaution, but now you suddenly weren't so sure if you wanted to be found, Itto's fury burned into your mind.

A part of you had always hoped that the hoarders would just move on from their insane plan of using you for ransom. You had witnessed them speaking about being mad at Itto for some reason. Still, neither you nor they could have known the lengths Itto would go to get you back before it even came to a letter demanding money. When his head finally craned out from behind the boxes you cowered behind, he was nothing like the Itto you knew. He was sniffing the air like an animal, and you held your breath, almost too scared to be rescued by this unfamiliar man in front of you.

But all of him snapped in your direction the second he caught your scent, and so did the wood, cracking pitifully as he pushed it out of the way, freeing some space to get to you. Fury burned in his wide-open eyes, blood staining his cheeks, chest, and arms, and there was nothing left of the Itto you knew. He merely looked like an oni now, a real one. A gruesome monster of old tales, red and big and angry.

Yet, when he slumped to his knees before you, squeezing himself between a crate and the wall, it was like a switch turned all of this off instantly. Worry clouded his gaze, his expression softening as did his voice as he started to coo your name.

"It's okay, I'm here. Everything will be alright. You're okay now," Itto mumbled, his voice stricken with that childish, kind undertone. It almost made you feel like a child, getting reassured by a brotherly figure. More tears dripped from your eyes as you were caught between being happy to be rescued by him and scared shitless after what you witnessed through the gaps in boxes you had hidden behind. Which one was real? Why did it seem so easy for him to eradicate the Horders' existence? And if he changes so fast... could he switch again?

"Itto..." you sobbed, feeling like you had to share these questions with him and get the answers. But you were scared. So scared of these hands reaching out, stained red with human blood, able to snap necks with one squeeze if he wanted to.

"Yes, yes! It's me! The one and oni! Come here, come... come to me," he encouraged you, his voice cracking into a plead. "I'll take you home. Let's get you warm and cozy, and I'll make some soup for you! I'll carry you, come."

Squeezing himself further and further into the small space between wall and box, all you could do was crawl backwards, trying to hide in the corner and watch as his expression turned from worried to confused and even... hurt. "Let's go home, okay?" he whispered, sounding desperate as he watched you hurdle away from him.

"Why won't you come to me?"

Suddenly, his voice changed to monotonous, a hand wrapping around the ankle closest to him even though he couldn't quite fit into the space with his whole body. Yanking at you, you let out a squeak and another as he began pulling you out. "Stop!" you yelled, your lungs burning up as a sudden cough ripped through you. "You're hurting me! Itto, stop!"

Undeterred, his expression undefinable, he kept pulling you towards him, his other hand gripping your knee until he could tug you out of hiding by your waist. And then he... hugged you. Tightly and breathtakingly. Uncomfortable only for you. "I thought I lost you," he whispered, and the rancid smell of blood intensified as you were pressed to his chest, vomit collecting in your mouth.

"L-Let go," you protested, almost sure you were going to throw up. But his embrace only tightened, pressing you further into him as he refused to let go.

"Why?" he asked, and you felt his body tense underneath your touch. "Why didn't you come to me? Why can't I hold you? Why didn't you scream for me when they came to your house? I would have come, ya know? I could have prevented all of this... Why do you never rely on me? Why am I...."

Itto choked on his words, his body shaking as you could hear the anger rise in his voice. However, the next time he spoke, his voice was almost non-existent, a pained whisper in the wind.

"Why am I never good enough for you?"

You felt his shoulders slump, as did his head, buried in the space between your shoulder and neck. Taking a deep breath, Itto seemed to calm himself with his nose buried in your body, your simple nighttime garment dropping off your shoulder, baring your skin.

"What's this?" he asked, finally holding you a bit farther away from him, enough so you could turn your head and take a deep breath of fresh air before covering your nose in your sleeve. "W-What?" you asked, hazy from the blood smell and unable to see what he saw, staring at your shoulder.

You felt one of his claw-like nails rake over your skin, drawing the shape of something you didn't know was there. "You're bruised... did these bastards... what did they do? Don't tell me they..." Itto gulped, his body growing tense. "Don't tell me they did something...?"

Desperation vibrated in his voice as he grew louder and louder, pushing you away to be able to see into your eyes. You avoided his gaze, not out of shame, but because you simply couldn't bring yourself to see him in the same light as before. And if you knew anything about nature, you didn't look a predator into his large, concerned eyes, in fear of aggravating him.

"Nothing... I just... maybe I hit something, I don't know..."

"It's really big," Itto whispered, his voice sending an ice-cold shudder down your spine. "They marked you..."

"What? No, they didn't, they..."

You didn't get to finish your sentence, your eyes darting back to him just in time to see him opening his jaw wide, baring his fangs. The pain wasn't immediate, shock masking it so well you thought it was almost non-existent. But the blood immediately pouring out of you began to throb as your body panicked to close the wounds inflicted by his teeth sunken deep into your shoulder.

Ideally, there would have been a reaction from you. Screaming, crying, fighting, or even just fainting. But you merely stared at Itto's hair, feeling his jaw loosening around your shoulder, teeth pulling out, his face now stained anew. This time, it was your blood dripping from his lips, the sight as disgusting as it was captivating.

"Delicious," he mumbled, his tongue parting his lips to lick off the excess red in a mesmerizing display. "Aren't I a genius? Now, no one will dare to put their hands on you when they see your mark of an oni! If they do, I will come and find you again. I will find you wherever you are. This time I'll be able to follow the scent of your blood everywhere. So from now on, you can rely on me-- [Name]?! Hey!"

You faintly noticed him shaking your body before lifting you into his arms and rushing into the cool night air. But losing blood on top of your already frail disposition was too much for your body to take. That and the shock were finally knocking you out—perhaps for good. His voice made him almost seem like the childish dumbo you knew. The same kind soul that snuck you candy to help eat your medicine and brought you flowers when you couldn't even get up from your bed.

But that face... the rage and mindless slaughter of whatever stood in his way. That wasn't him. It just couldn't. Him sinking his fangs, which you rarely ever noticed, even in his big smiles, into your body because he thought it was a good idea to mark you without consulting you. That wasn't the Itto you knew. It was some kind of monster you had never even suspected to slumber inside him. The sight of your blood dripping from his lips wouldn't leave your thoughts until the last one disappeared in the darkness. The dreams awaiting you would be dark and lonely, but by the archons... at least, there would be no more blood.

And until you opened your eyes again, no more monsters would be waiting for you either.

[haha--lorge]

Pst. Consider: Bratty mpreg.

oh beleive me I'm considering it <3

a cocky asshole of a man who's always had such high standards for sexual partners winds up pregnant, and he knows EXACTLY which one of his hookups is to blame. after cornering the poor sap who got too caught up to pull out, and explaining to them that they'll be responsible for the pregnancy they've caused, he starts making demands.

things start out reasonable of course, 24/7 catering, tailor-made maternity wear, a larger bed. simple and easy things, surely they can afford that, if they could afford to keep thrusting carelessly that night. we're lucky he only goes for the rich ones, if nothing else for the sake of the babies.

once the ultrasound reveals he's carrying 8 babies, things really get going. our father-to-be starts holding that number over his lover's head like it's a ransom. the hookup has to be in attendance constantly to tend to not only his growing hunger and body but also to his intensifying libido. no matter where they are, if the preggo wants it he WILL get it. after all, look at all this weight he has to carry around. it's only reasonable for his partner to carry a few dozen clothes, take-out containers, sex toys, and anything else their beloved needs. even if it's never enough and the demands never stop

by the time 9 months have rolled around our enormous preggo is breaking records in so many books, but the most impressive remains his neediness, which his partner continues to fullfill. they even secretly hope their beloved brat goes a bit more overdue

considering it always 😋👌

[callalillywrites]

Absolutely inspired by @stargazingfangirl18's pop quiz post. Just didn't want to hijack the thread.

Okay, so I have two that come to mind. Actually, I'm working on these scenarios as we speak. (Maybe by talking about them, I can actually get moving on them again.)

First is Ransom.

Harlan hires a dog trainer to play personal assistant to Ransom in the hopes of not only turning his grandson around (personality and professionally) and to repay a debt owed between the families.

Ransom isn't told this beforehand, so he's livid to find this woman coming into his home and just making herself (and her two cats) comfortable in his home. As much as he wants to intimidate her and get her out of his home and life because of the audacity, she's not someone who backs down or allows herself to get pushed around, especially by the likes of Ransom and his ilk. This especially includes Harlan and the rest of the Thrombey clan.

The tension will be thick between them and so antagonistic at the outset, but they have to learn to live with each other. Over time Ransom actually comes to even like the fights that break out between them because he sees the fire in her and has a special nickname for her. He doesn't call her Honey (short for Honey Badger) for nothing.

Really need to write their part 2 soon but yeah, there ya go.

The other is Frank Adler.

In the story I'm getting closer to building, Frank's story follows quite a bit like it does in the movie, but he has one thing in this AU that he didn't have in the movie. That's Savannah Metcalf (my OC and granddaughter of "Viper" Metcalf from Top Gun).

Savannah, aka Savvy, is a mafia boss/queen and has no problem using her talents as a lawyer and as a mafia queen to benefit herself and others (mostly others). That includes Frank when she learns his mother is trying to take Mary away from him.

Her methods and influence turns their acquaintance-ship into adversaries. He wants nothing to do with her manhandling his situation even if it directly benefits him or helps keep Mary from his mother's overly ambitious hands.

Every time he learns something new she's done for him (or rather them), he's storming into her office and demanding she quit even when she's actually innocent of doing anything. He's absolutely adamant that he's not going to fall in line like the others around her or become one of her 'goons'. She doesn't even try to correct him most times, finding the fire each one of these incidents inspire within him is incredibly hot. She even wonders if she'll get caught up in his flame one day, possibly even hoping to as he's had her under his spell since he first stumbled into town with six-month-old Mary.

I'm hoping to have their first part out before the month is out. Just need the muse to be a bit nicer to me on this one.

*Really hope I hit it with the way I described it above. I'm so tired and heat-weary that I'm not sure I did. Gonna post it anyway.

[much-obliged-timothy]

June of Doom #30

The Old Guard - #30 - Buried Alive

*

“I’m just saying, he should’ve been back by now,” Joe said, pacing by the door of the safehouse. “I’m going to look for him. I don’t like this.”

Andy caught his arm. “Joe-”

“Quynh is free and she’s angry, Andy!” he said. “What if she…what if she found him?”

“She wouldn’t hurt Nicky,” Andy said firmly.

“No, the old Quynh wouldn’t hurt Nicky. The Quynh who’s been suffering underwater for hundreds of years? We don’t know her. You heard Nile; she’s free and she’s furious.” Joe yanked the door open. “He shouldn’t have gone out on his own. I knew it was a bad idea.”

Nile ran into the room so fast that she tripped over the coffee table and Joe just barely managed to catch her before she fell. She was covered in cold sweat, her eyes wide and frantic, hair messy from sleep.

“She has him,” she said, gripping Joe’s arms. “Oh, god, she has him.”

The color drained from Joe’s face. “Where?”

“I don’t know. She tricked him.” Nile pulled away and put her face in her hands. “Pretended to run to him for help. He was comforting her when she killed him.”

“How did she know where he-” Joe froze. Andy subtly pushed Nile behind herself. “Fuck! Nile! You drove us to the safehouse! You led her right to him!”

“Stop,” Andy snapped. “Nile is new to this. You and I should’ve been the ones to know better, Joe. Focus. We can use Nile to track Quynh, just like Quynh used her to track us.” 

Andy fought down the feelings rising rapidly inside of her. Quynh, her Quynh, back after all these years. 

But what was she going to do with Nicky? Surely she’d never hurt Nicky. The two had been close friends. Quynh had always admired Nicky’s kindness and bravery. Nicky didn’t laugh often, but Quynh got him to laugh almost as much as Joe sometimes. 

She must be using Nicky to lure Andy in. Andy was the one she was angry at, surely. It was ultimately Andy who had failed her, not Nicky or Joe. 

“She’ll trade him for me,” Andy said, because she couldn’t have Joe losing his composure now. “That has to be her plan. What else would she want with Nicky? She’s probably been waiting for one of us to be alone, and Nicky just happened to be the first one.”

“Where did she take him? What did you see?” Joe demanded, ignoring Andy.

But Nile just shook her head. “She had him in the back of a van. She wasn’t driving and there were no windows. She…she had a gun pointed at him. He was dead and bound.” She looked at Andy with that mix of desperation and fierce resolve that made her such a good addition to the team. “We have to find him, Andy. That rage she feels isn’t just directed at you. She blames all of you, even Nicky.” 

“Nile, call Copley. We’ll go see what we can find. And I am calling Booker. He can’t be on his own out there right now, not if she’s going after us,” Andy said, kicking the door all the way open and grabbing the car keys. 

Joe and Nile hurried to follow her out. She didn’t need to ask to know they were armed. 

She was heartbroken over Quynh’s fate. But it was no fault of Nicky’s, and Andy would do anything to get him back safely and take the consequences herself. 

***

Booker met up with them the next day, drunk enough that they smelled the booze on him before he even entered the safehouse. Joe had roughly taken him to sober up, yelling at Booker about how they all needed to be ready for anything and on guard. Booker did not drink again.

Copley tried to track down Quynh. When he showed no signs of success, Booker joined in the search. They debated moving safehouses, but decided to stay in case Quynh sent a ransom or anything of the sort for Nicky. They set up a strict watch rotation and ensured everyone was armed at all times. 

It was three days before the letter arrived.

Andy unfolded it. Joe reached for it, but Andy held it away as her eyes scanned over the words and her heart shriveled in her chest at them.

“Andy!” Joe said, pleading. “What does it say?”

She swallowed down bile and read it aloud, her voice monotonous despite the horror threatening to choke her. “You will not find Nicolo. I thought of the perfect way to hurt all three of you at once. You and Yusuf will suffer, knowing you can never save him. He will suffer as I did. I can think of no more perfect revenge than this. He will cry out for Yusuf with every dying breath, and Yusuf will sob for him with every passing minute, and you will live with the knowledge that you were responsible to protect them both. As you read this, Nicolo is dying yet another death, buried alive deep beneath the earth, waiting for help that will not come just as I did. Every time you think of his agony, know you caused it by abandoning me.”

Joe sat down heavily. Nile put a hand over her mouth. Booker pushed a shaking hand through his hair.

“No,” Joe whispered. “She wouldn’t. Not Nicolo. Not him.”

“Get up,” Nile whispered. “Joe, get up. He needs us. I don’t give a fuck what she says. We’re going to find him. We’re going to save Nicky. Get up!” 

Andy felt numb inside. Nicky, her kind, caring Nicky, was buried alive somewhere right now, waiting for them to find him and save him. Trusting them to save him. Just like Quynh.

She felt like she was spiraling. This couldn’t be happening again. Not again.

“Andy!” Nile shook her and ripped the letter from her hands, crumpling it up and tossing it off to the side. “Andy, he needs us. We cannot fall to pieces right now.”

“She could have buried him anywhere,” Booker said, shaking his head helplessly. “Where do we even start?”

“Nicolo,” Joe whispered, and began muttering to himself, clasping his hands together and pressing his face to them. 

Nile placed a firm, comforting hand on his back. “Andy, think. You knew her best. Where would she take him?”

Andy honestly had no idea. She thought and thought, but they had traveled so many places that she couldn’t pinpoint one. The world had changed too much in the centuries that Quynh had been trapped in the ocean; she had no idea what Quynh would do or where she would go. 

Nile waited only another moment before nodding to herself. “Then we focus on surveillance videos. We try to find the van they took Nicky in. It’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

“Andy,” Joe said, picking his head up. Tears were already dragging tracks down his cheeks. “We can’t fail him. He’s alone. He must be so scared.” 

And who wouldn’t be, buried alive by your own friend, knowing you would never truly die? Forced to suffocate in the cold, lonely dark again and again for eternity. 

So they got to work, even if the weight of the letter threatened to drag them all down into despair. They searched and searched, abandoning sleep whenever possible to keep going. Nile and Booker took over care for Joe, who would not eat or sleep or stop for a moment unless forced to. Andy was barely keeping herself together, but she managed to cling to her fractured pieces for the sake of her team.

Nine days after getting the letter, they found him.

It was Booker who got the idea when he saw Nile on her phone with Copley. Nicky had been carrying a cell phone with him when he left the safehouse that day.

The phone was no doubt long dead, but Booker managed to track it using something which Andy did not understand but which gave them a general location.

It was just outside a nearly abandoned town, with miles and miles of ground that no longer bore crops. Condemned land left to the wildlife to roam.

They forced themselves to be methodical, mapping the area and breaking it into a grid pattern, each of them assigned grids to dig up. They checked for signs of recently turned over ground, but found none as snow had recently fallen over the area. So they dug and dug, for two days. 

And on that second day, nine days after the letter, Andy cried out with relief as her shovel struck a tarp.

She cried for the others, who rushed over and helped her dig it up. Wrapped in the tarp was the lifeless body of Nicky.

“Nicolo!” Joe cried, holding his love to him and sobbing into his motionless chest. He rocked with Nicky as Booker, Nile, and Andy dropped to their knees around them. 

He held Nicky until Nicky took a frightened gasp of breath, hands already coming up to try and claw away a tarp that was no longer there.

“Nicolo,” Joe said, cupping the back of his head. “It’s alright. It’s alright now. We’ve got you.”

“Are you real?” Nicky croaked out.

Joe made a pained noise. “Yes, my heart. I’m real. We all are. I’ve got you, Nicolo.”

Andy pulled her jacket off and draped it over Nicky’s shoulders carefully. She reached out and stroked his filthy hair.

“Nicky,” she said quietly. “Oh, Nicky. I’m so sorry.”

Andy could think of no words to describe the trauma Nicky had been through. Buried alive, wrapped in a tarp, dying over and over again for nine days.

The trauma made itself apparent as Nicky began to cry silently, pressing his face forcefully into Joe’s neck and grabbing onto Joe until his knuckles turned white. His whole body shook, shoulders heaving with silent sobs. 

“Nicolo, Nicolo,” Joe whispered, crying again himself, stroking Nicky’s hair, holding him as tightly as he could. 

Andy finally felt her own tears come as she touched Nicky’s back and felt him flinch beneath her hand. They had saved his body, but Quynh had gotten her revenge by damaging his mind.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa’s story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

~*~

An attempt to reinsert the cut lines from the subtitle file. Ch2 has a ton of cut content, and a lot of the lost dialogue is grand, but currently the only way to read it is in a contextless, barely legible slurry in the game files. I’m reconstituting it and fluffing it up and out to make it more accessible.

(3/?)

“Oooh, it has been a while since we went adventuring together!” Whisper said, delighted. “What was the last one we did, do you remember? Was it fetching the rare and miraculous golden fleece of Llewdor?”

“That wasn’t actually gold,” Graham said. “The paint flaked off when you touched it.”

“Yes, but the daring deed, that’s what was important! Those acrobatic leaps through those crumbling sun cult ruins, remember? You got all tangled up in those vines.”

“Acorn had to carry me out; I was so stuck,” Graham said.

“You were shooting arrows over his shoulder!”

“Oh, yeah! That was fun.” He paused. “Well, except for the almost getting caught by cultists and dying in a horrible sacrificial ritual part. But other than that!”

“So, what’s this adventure about?”

“Honestly, it doesn’t feel like an adventure,” Graham said. “We’ve all been kidnapped by goblins, and I can’t seem to figure out why.”

“Whisper thinks that’s pretty obvious.” Whisper flicked an armored finger at the crown, which made it ring like a bell.

“Yeah, maybe,” Graham said, grabbing the crown to muffle it, “but I don’t think it’s just a ransom. Why take everyone else, then? This hat’s what’s important, but I can’t figure out why Wente would get dragged into it, or Amaya, or even you.”

“Whisper is incredibly valuable.”

“Okay, sure, but have you ever heard of a goblin wanting money? Maybe if you tell me what you were doing, it’ll help.”

“Doing? Nothing much. Acorn and Whisper were seeking flowers!”

“Knights? Gathering flowers?” Graham smiled.

“Well, someone has to do it!” Whisper agreed. “Here, these!” He fished in his armor and withdrew a little handful of delicate petals. “They’re lovely, aren’t they, nearly as lovely as the lovely Miss Amaya,” he said, handing them to Graham to inspect. “But that’s all we were doing, gathering flowers in the forest. We walked into an ambush, like they were waiting for us, but Whisper is sorry to say he has no additional information than that.”

“Hmm. Nothing else?”

“Nothing.”

 Graham sighed. “Well. Doesn’t matter anyway, not yet. I need a plan to get us out of here first.”

“This might be the only time Whisper’ll say this…but don’t look at me. You’ll have to figure it out.”

“Thanks, Whisper.”

“Oh, whatever happened to your silly squirrel pig?”

“You mean Triumph? He’s in the castle stables, of course.” And wouldn’t Graham love to be up there with him, with his whole face pressed into Triumph’s belly fluff, warm and soft and sweet.

“You never did answer Whisper’s message about a rematch.”

From above, a disapproving voice echoed around the caves: “Whisper.”

“Oh. Acorn.”

The two knights eyed each other, a little coolly, Acorn clinging to the edge of his Jack and the Beanstalk ledge, Whisper leaning so far back he staggered a bit.

“Kidnapped by goblins?” Whisper asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Also."

“We’re not very good knights, are we,” Acorn said, sighing heavily.

“Speak for yourself!” Whisper said, posing.

“What if I got on your shoulders, Whisper?” Graham said. “Like Kyle and Larry. Maybe I could reach that ledge, then, and pull myself up.”

“What good would that do me?” Acorn demanded. “You just want a ride.”

“No! …well, maybe a little bit.”

“You keep looking for something else, Your Majesty,” Acorn grumbled. “Oh, duck.” The duck with the golden paint pecked hard at his helmet. He flapped a hand at it. It fluttered up, then perched back in place on his head.

*~*~*

Graham and Whisper explored the caves together, ducking out of sight when they saw goblins. They were fairly certain that, even though Graham had vague permission to be out so long as he was doing chores, no one else had been granted such freedoms. Once, he kicked Whisper behind a rock and stood in front of him, frantically sweeping with his little broom and dustpan. Whisper started sneezing as soon as the goblins were past, but they managed to avoid capture.

They came across the main prison doors. Graham remembered being pushed through them upon his arrival here, doors that should lead out into the crooked lines of the goblin city, to the weird river and the weirder raft and the sweet fresh air of Daventry beyond. But while they both pushed hard against the levers and shoved at the doors with their combined strength, they couldn’t shift it.

“I need another key,” Graham muttered, tracing the lock. “Every door is locked here.”

“It is a prison, Graham.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” That key had better be accessible somewhere in the prison, or this would be one short escape attempt.

They walked back, fully intending to keep exploring, when they were startled by a goblin with a spear. Graham panicked, springing backward, slamming into Whisper. On some ridiculous instinct, without even thinking, Graham grabbed his cloak and swirled it down over the knight, like he was going to hide him under a tarp—and popped Whisper into his pocket.

The goblin wandered on, apparently not having noticed, while Graham staggered back against the wall, without Whisper in the way to stop him.

“What—I didn’t know it could do that!” He stared at his own cloak. He could sense the weight, could feel the pockets straining, but—

He tipped his cloak, and Whisper poured out, sprawled on the floor. “What?”

“I mean. My mother designed my cloak with extra pockets,” Graham babbled.

“And an extra pocket dimension, too, apparently.”

“She’s a really good seamstress?”

“Magically talented, one might say. Does she order her fabric from the Hobblepots?” Whisper sat up. “Would she take commissions? Imagine the portraits Whisper could fit in there! No, the entourage! My fans could always be with me in person, not just in spirit! Imagine! The fan club will be so excited!”

“What was it like in there?”

“Red.”

“And I’ve just been using it as a blanket,” Graham said, swirling it. “That’s way safer than us walking around in the open! You could totally come with me and not be seen!” He paused. “Oh, but wait, at night. Uh. You can’t stay with me at night.”

“Why not?”

Graham hesitated. “So, I’m probably not supposed to be out here, even to do chores. At night, the goblins do a shakedown to make sure I’m not carrying anything I’m not supposed to be. I think you’d be something I’m not supposed to be carrying.”

“Oh, just a shakedown, Whisper’s sure they wouldn’t notice—”

“No, literally. They grab me and flip me upside down and shake ‘til everything’s fallen out of my pockets.” Graham loosened his bracer and pushed back his sleeve to show off fingerprint shaped bruises. “It’s. Not actually avoidable.”

“…oh.” For once, Graham wished Whisper wasn’t wearing his helmet—he wanted to see the knight’s expression, to see what he was thinking, but this time the mask was properly a mask, keeping Whisper’s thoughts to himself. “Not a long term solution, then.” His voice had that sort of forced cheeriness that made Graham wince.

“We’ll find somewhere safe for you to hide before the day ends,” Graham promised. “But for now. Back in there.” This had potential, this pocket thing, but he had to be careful not to rush in situations and make mistakes that would end up with everyone in a lot worse danger than they’d started in. Especially with the forced shakedowns threatening him every night. For now, he’d take it just as slow and carefully as he’d been. For now.

~*~*~

Graham explored the space by himself for a while, Whisper a comforting weight in his pocket. The knight didn’t seem able to speak to him while he was in there, and Graham thought probably he had fallen asleep. Graham found goblins reenacting old fairytales—the frog prince, the princess and the pea. He was able to procure a little pile of things, from frogs to flies, and managed to get his hands on what was supposed to be weed killer, but was more like weed grower, which he used on Acorn’s broken ladder, though it wouldn’t do much good til the next day.

And then, a familiar face. A face that probably belonged behind bars at the best of times, but which probably didn’t deserve to be down here, nevertheless. “Heeeeey, boy!”

“Merchant?”

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!” He reached between the bars and grabbed Graham’s cloak, dragging him closer, squeezing his cheeks with unabashed delight. “Yep, that’s one lanky adventurer, here in the flesh! And with a sparkly new hat! It ain’t a patch on my turban, but hey, still looks nice!” He snatched at the crown and examined the gems inset in it with a practiced eye, picking at them with his thumb to see how loose they were. When they proved solidly placed, he slammed the crown back on Graham’s head. “Can’t hardly believe it, wait til I tell Mr. Fancycakes I’ve got a king shopping my wares. If I ever see him again, ‘course. Either way, Merchant of Miracles can definitely put royal patronage on the front sign now! That’ll be good for business. What business I can get these days, anyway.”

“What are you doing here?” Graham looked around. It was a fairly large cell, well lit and fairly comfortable. But still a cell, with the same heavy wooden bars blocking him from the rest of the villagers. The merchant’s cart was somehow smashed into the same space he was, though even from here Graham could see most of the boxes in it were now rumpled and empty and torn. No goats—unicorns—anywhere to be seen.

“I decided to expand my business ventures, see what new untapped markets there were out there. I mean, holy majeezus, have you seen the addendums and paperwork needed to start a business in Daventry? Ooh, you could build your shop out of ‘em! Down here, restrictions are much less restrictive, you can just set up a pop up stand anywhere!” He knit his fingers together and leaned forward conspiratorially, in a low whisper so no guards could hear. “No, actually, they're super restrictive. I got jumped by goblins ages ago and I’ve been down here ever since. Which has been a real dark mark on my bottom line, let me tell ya. And my bottom, if you know what I mean, since I’ve just been sitting here for ages.

“But!” He brightened, at full volume again: “I’ve got a business to run, even if we never get out of this place. Check the current goods list, m’boy, I’m sure you with your newfound fancy hat can afford my pricing scale.”

“Your pricing scale, right,” Graham scoffed. “Last time, you just flat out stole my money.”

“True, true, and I’m so sorry for all the bad things I did.” He clapped his hands together, with a pleading, innocent expression. “From here on in, I’m going to be an honest merchant, not a swindle in sight. Yep! Once I’m outta here, totally honest.” He leaned back again, casual and unchanged. “Learned my lesson behind bars, all that.”

“Sure.”

“Though,” and he said this totally offhand, nearly under his breath, “maybe I should partner up with one of these goblins. Imagine the roadside pilfering we could doooo—” his voice trailed off at Graham’s glare. “We could start a wheel repair shop! Nothing wrong with that! Daventry sorely needs one of those, to stop people being so sore when their wheels fall off in your potholey roads!”

Graham rolled his eyes. “Can I just see the goods?”

The merchant swept his hand across the countertop before him. “Of course! But it’ll cost ya! I’m here to help you, lad. But I’m not running a charity. Tariff code issues, y’know.”

He had a cure-all potion, chopsticks, and porridge. Graham figured he’d need all of it at one point or another, especially that cure-all potion. Poor Bramble downstairs couldn’t even keep to her feet in her cell, and Wente was running himself ragged pacing with nerves worrying over her. His fingers itched to grab it. “Is this all?”

“My finest! At least, my finest down here, there ain’t much refreshing going on here these days. Let me tell you, when I get out of here, I’m going to procure all the procurables in this place and Mr. Fancycakes will run the test lab. We’re gonna get a whole lot more interesting product. But for now, this is it. Mmmostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Yeah, all right,” the Merchant said in a low voice, “I do have a few more things in the back, but they’re not exactly the sort of things a goblin would approve of, if you get my drift.”

“It wouldn’t be you without a black market,” Graham agreed.

“Keep yer voice down, kid. I’ll show you the good stuff, but you gotta be careful.” He rummaged in his cart, and with a flourish, set a box in front of Graham. He whisked the top off, and, nestled inside…

A bow.

Graham’s heart leapt in his throat. A bow. He glanced hastily behind them, but no one was nearby. A bow, a bow! It didn’t look like it was in great shape, not at all like Achaka’s bow—left at home, he’d never go anywhere without a bow again, not after this—but he thought he could still make something of it. He’d practiced long and hard enough to make just about anything work for him. There was a single arrow with it. Splintery looking, not particularly straight.

Not great craftsmanship at all, but it would be something. Especially with a decent archer behind it. But it was only one shot, and not a very straight one at that. Still. It was something.

He reached out. The merchant slapped his hand away. “Six shiny gold coins.”

“I haven’t got six,” Graham said, shaking his stung hand with surprise.

“Then you haven’t got a bow.”

“But it’ll help us escape!”

“Anything could help you escape, technically, but I need to escape poverty on top of escaping from this cell, kid, and the only way I’m going to do that is by collecting your coins.”

Graham rummaged helplessly in his pockets. “I have this signed portrait from Whisper. Collector’s edition!” He also had Whisper himself, but it was probably best to not start treating his friends like trading cards.

The Merchant leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Oooh, such fancy printing, the stroke work is clearly from a master! Almost certainly that’s blue dye ink drawn from the swamp in Tamir. Numbered edition, even! And is that Serenian Goatshear Parchment, so glossy, so fine! Exquisite, really!” He sat back again.

“Don’t you...want it?”

“I ain’t into the bartering system, boy. Unless you’re bartering gold. Get outta here with that, and come back when you’ve found more cash.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Nothing doing. Six for me, or an empty hand for you.” He swept the box back under his counter, hidden away from prying eyes, and changed the subject easily in case of eavesdroppers: “Did you know that unicorns have teleportation abilities? That’s what makes them so majestic…and so mischievous. They’re mischievestic. Shame you don’t have a unicorn to teleport back to your fancy new house with all them fancy flags on it to get you six shiny gold coins. Meantime, can I interest you in anything else down here?”

There were more immediately pressing issues than a bow, or throttling a merchant, Graham knew, and with a sigh, he shook out a single coin, the only one he’d managed to find so far, tucked out of the way in the shadows, for the cure-all potion to deliver to Bramble downstairs.

“Excellent. And, you know, if you’re ever ready to sell that cape, let me know. I want to make it into a pair of red, illustrious shorts!”

Graham flinched back, disgusted. “I think I’ll keep it for now.”

“Eh, fine, fine. Anyway. As much as I like seeing your face, you might want to see who else is looking for a hero. Lanky heroes are a thing now.”