#i love how the undershirts have that slit in the side. its so??????

[skitskatdacat63]

God, there's this tiktoker who only dresses in ~pre-20th century clothing, and he does dress up videos that are literally ye olde thirst traps. So I gifed part of his one vid to send to Cofi, as like a "haha imagine boy king Seb doing this," but now it's cursed me and I can't stop thinking about it 🫠

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Turns of Phrase

Prompt: I'd like you to consider: all the sides in the mindscape have the "way too literal" problem, like for example, Virgil actually grows taller when his anxiety is heightened, Patton actually grows wings when Thomas has a 'heart aflutter', e.c.t. But Roman just has a huge stack of negative ones. Creative block, bruised ego, shackled creativity, e.c.t. And then there's h/c when somebody (Logan) sees 👀👀

Thanks for the prompt babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, Roman whump

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count:  5722

 This is Roman’s fault. Really. It is. He’s the one who works the closest with the Imagination, which means he’s got control over how Thomas interacts with his own imagination, which means that he’s got control over how Thomas sees the Sides.

 So yeah. This is his fault.

‘Heart all aflutter.’ ‘Heightened anxiety.’ ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’ All the little innocuous phrases that are just turns of phrase, not supposed to be literal, well…they got into Thomas’s head when he was younger, and since, the Imagination has never quite gotten rid of them. Shouldn’t be too bad, right, this should be something they can deal with.

 And for the most part, they do.

Patton wears the hoodie tied around his shoulders to block the chill from the slits sewn in the back of all of his shirts in case the wings decide to pop out again. When they do, everyone crowds around to make sure he doesn’t fly off into the sky or accidentally twist one. The feathers are the softest things you can imagine and work great for stuffing pillows or plushies.

 Virgil’s clothes are made of stretchy, baggy material and the doorways are much, much higher than they need to be. There’s a special cupboard tucked high up in the pantry that just has Virgil’s comfort foods in them so he can reach comfortably when he’s tall.

 And, well…there’s a reason Janus wears such a long cloak.

 For the most part, these are just minor inconveniences. Listen, when you live in a completely imaginary world where you can summon anything you need and change anything you don’t like with a snap of your fingers, things like new clothes or snacks are easy.

 Then there’s Roman.

 Roman, who is tied most closely to the Imagination.

 Roman, who represents not just Creativity, but romance, motivation, desire.

 Roman. The Ego.

 The problem with throwing around these types of phrases is how easy it becomes to dismiss them. And for Thomas, who has a creative profession, that’s good. For Thomas.

 Not so good for Roman.

 “Hey, you’ve been having some trouble getting ideas out lately, you doing okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m just going through a bit of a creative block at the moment.”

 Roman’s fists ache as he pounds on the door, heaving sobs trailing off into hitched gasps as he slumps against the unyielding wood. As a desperate last resort, he throws himself at the door, barely making it shudder in its frame. It’s as if he weighs nothing, not an ounce, unable to make so much as a goddamn dent in the world around him.

 “Let me—let me out, please, let me out, I gotta—I want out,” he sobs, over and over, as his room grows smaller and smaller, the walls pressing in around him, blank, sterile, cold, “I wanna—out, let me out, let me out, let me out please—“

 He’s not even in his room anymore. He’s in a pure white cage, on the wrong side of a door that will not open.

 “Dude, like…reign it in a little bit.”

 “You sure?”

 “Yeah. That’s…like, way too much.”

 “I dunno, I think it feels weird if we weren’t doing this.”

 “C’mon, it won’t kill you to shackle your creativity a little.”

 Roman wakes up to the quiet clinking of metal against metal. He goes to wipe his face and a bolt of pain shoots through his arm. The shackles spread him so far his chest aches, wincing as he tries to turn just a little to avoid the rush of agony that would come from having his arm trapped in the wrong position. At least he was lying down this time, and he’s on his bed. He isn’t being forced to stand the whole time, strung up on the ceiling.

 They’re so cold.

 The shackles sap the warmth from his body bit by bit, draining it until the weight of the cold pressing down onto his chest is enough to make him gasp. On instinct, he pulls, trying to get a little more of himself wrapped up, warm, safe, but the chains barely make a groan as they wrench him back apart. He grits his teeth and holds still.

 He learned not to try and break these. He used to rage and slam against them like a brute, trying to pull their fastenings out of some mystical holder, embodied in his wall, only to come away with bleeding and scraped wrists from his pains, rubbed raw and chafed horribly by the cruel shackles.

 For the most part, he’s able to keep the others from noticing. They can’t hear a thing when he’s trapped in the creative block. He’s careful to always wear long sleeves to hide the scrapes and burns from the shackles. They don’t know the true extent of what happens to him when Thomas decides he doesn’t want his creativity.

 But he can’t hide all of them.

 ‘Bruised ego.’

 Patton knows. Patton somehow always figures things out and doesn’t tell anyone, least of all Roman. But sure enough, after the audition, Patton showed up outside of Roman’s door and knocked, quietly asking to be let in.

 Roman had let him, splattered as he was with blues and purples and greens and yellows, all the colors that didn’t belong to him, and yet here they were, painted on him. He’d kept his undershirt on, letting Patton feed him the soup that was sure to end with Roman lying on his back in the bathroom, panting, until the bowl had run dry and Roman’s smile had come back.

 After Patton had gone, the smile had slid off, the paint cracked and chipped. Roman had stood, leaning against the bed for stability, and made his way slowly, oh, so, slowly, to the bathroom.

 Getting his shirt off had been agony. Every time he moved skin had stretched, bruises had protested, even his muscles cried out. The undershirt was soaked in sweat and a light sheen had clung to Roman’s body as he stood there, panting, wincing in the mirror. He couldn’t look.

 That had been the last time it had gotten very bad. Very bad.

 They only ever seemed to notice when it was very bad.

 His prince costume hides the shackle marks. His undershirt hid the bruises. No one cared to look for him when he was trapped in the creative block. No one could see. No one wanted to see.

 No one knew.

 Roman’s been lucky lately.

 They’ve all been happening one at a time. The block never has shackles strapped to the wall. The shackles are never clasped around bruises spilling beneath his skin. The bruises are never from both beating on a door and from the outside world. He can deal with them if they’re like this. One at a time.

 He’s had a few close calls, though. He almost missed a meeting with Logan because the block had him trapped. It squeezed him so tight it felt as if he hadn’t any room to breathe, not until the door and opened a crack and he’d hurled himself out, panting harshly, rushing to Logan’s. He was caught at his desk recently too. The shackles had formed and dragged him over to the corner where he’d bitten his lip to try and stay quiet as he desperately tried to draw himself away. He’d accidentally made too grand a gesture and his sleeve had ridden up, exposing the edge of a mark or bruise and he’d have to pull it back down quick enough so that no one would notice. And so far, it’s worked.

 No one has noticed.

 And what would he say? That this is just some dumb stupid thing he has to deal with? The others know about this whole ‘taking things too literally problem,’ look at Patton, look at Virgil, look at Janus. They all understand and they receive the same amount of attention Roman does. Honestly, they’ve been receiving what they’re entitled to. Their stuff actually runs the risk of harming Thomas. Fire, wings, banging your head, sure, that’s fine, but they—look.

 Having your heart flutter signifies great emotions, the potential for love, you should pay attention to your emotions!

 Heightened anxiety? It’s not great! It means we should be listening to Virgil and what’s going on, what’s upsetting Thomas, how to help.

 And everyone should always be worried about spontaneously combusting pants.

And even if they did find out, what is Roman supposed to say? That it’s his fault they all have these issues? That Thomas’s psyche takes certain liberties with the hard-and-fast rules of what happens to metaphysical people? It’s his fault, after all, he’s the conduit. It’s fine. He can handle this stuff. It’s all fine.

 He should’ve known his luck would run out.

 Roman blinks awake to feel the walls pressing in on him, tighter, tighter, tighter. His breath catches in his throat.

 No.

 No, no, no, he’d been doing so well, so well, they’d just had a conversation about how he’d been so good, the ideas had been good, he’d had—he’d had so many he was ready to work on, he just needed to—

 Roman squeezes his eyes shut, racking his brain. He knows he has ideas. He had them a little while ago. It wasn’t that long. They can’t have vanished so quickly. Wait, what time is it? How did they—how long has he been here? What is—how long has it been? Have the others realized he’s here yet?

 What if they look for him and they think he won’t come out? What if they start to hate him because they can’t find him? What if he can never get out again? What if they realized they never needed him in the first place?

 He—he’s not wrong, he can’t be wrong, he has to be right, he has to—he has to find a way out of here.

 Quickly, Roman squeezes his eyes even tighter, mouth making random shapes as he tries to think. If he can just think of a really good idea, he’ll get out. If he just thinks, if he just does his job, if he’s really good he’ll get out. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this. He can—

  Clink, clink, clink.

 No.

 No!

 Roman snarls as the shackles encase his wrists, forcing to his knees, still crouched in this room that is too small, too pale, too awful. He lunges for the door as he hears the chains slowly start to tighten, their long lengths slipping over and over each other in coils.

 The chains pull taut and he’s suspended there, in the dank air, snarling like a mad dog at a door that is just out of his reach.

 For the first time in a long time, he slams against the chains, raging and bloody as he thrashes back and forth trying to just get to the door—

  Roman, you’re on thin fucking ice.

  Look I don’t wanna just hate a side but roman you royally fucked up bud

  Yeah I’m definitely mad at Roman

 Roman barely suppresses a whine when he realizes where the comments are coming from.

 His nose breaks open and blood pours down his face. His eyes swell and darken until he can only squint through it. One of his fingers breaks and the shackle pinches.

  Roman I have revoked your rights.

  Roman shut the FUCK UP challenge please

  After one line making fun of janus is enough to be cancelled, Roman

 Even without looking down, he knows red and purple are blooming across his ribs. Roman winces pain as he howls again, trying frantically to get to the door, he’ll wrench his arms out of their sockets if he needs to—

  I just hate roman!!! i don’t need a deep reason to hate roman, or anyone else

  oh boi did Princey drop to least favorite side REAL FUCKING QUICK

  It’s not that I don’t despise Roman he’s just never been my favourite. He’s too prideful, rude and while he does have his insecurities the way he hides them makes me uncomfortable since it’s at the expense of other characters. His treatment of the other sides is so awful.

 …is he really that awful? Is…does he…is this…

 Is this how it’s supposed to be?

  I'm gonna spread my anti-roman doctrine. Fuck Roman. Hate that man

  I genuinely hate Roman so. Fucking. Much. Like, can't stand him. Fuck him, I hate him

  It’s always roman-hating hours.

 A dry sob chokes its way out of Roman’s throat as he curls in on himself, another bruise leaving him gasping on the floor like a gutted fish. The chains let him fall to his knees, chest bared to the merciless door. He coughs. Blood flies out of his mouth and spittle drips down his chin. He coughs again. And again. And again. It hurts. Everything hurts.

 He coughs.

 The room presses in on him.

 The shackles trap him.

 Bruises bloom over his body.

 He coughs.

 This is all his fault, isn’t it? He’s the one in charge of the Imagination. He’s the one who makes sure the sides exist and can interact with Thomas. He’s the one who controls how they respond to turns of phrase.

 He’s the one who’s awful to the others. He’s the one who didn’t tell them the truth. He’s the one stuck in this room, in these chains, taking a beating from words and thoughts that he can’t see.

 This is his fault.

 And he doesn’t know if he can fix it.

 Roman gives up.

———————————————————

“Has anyone seen Roman?”

 Patton looks up from the floor as Virgil rolls over. “No, I haven’t. Virgil?”

 Virgil sniffs and shakes his head. “You asked Remus?”

 Logan frowns. “I can’t find them anywhere. Do you know if—“

 “Where the fuck is my brother?”

 “Nevermind, I found him,” Logan mumbles as he turns just fast enough to avoid Remus barreling into him. “I was just coming to ask you.”

 “He was supposed to meet me by the Imagination,” Remus says, bouncing up and down, “we were gonna go exploring. He hasn’t been by all day. Where are you hiding him?”

 “I’m not hiding him,” Virgil yawns, “and neither’s Pat.”

 “Nope! No princes here!”

 “Pocket Protector?”

 “No, I need to ask him about tomorrow.”

 “Ugh.” Remus throws himself down on the couch. “Where’s Snakey? Maybe he knows.”

 “What do I know?”

 “Ah.” Logan turns to see Janus striding out from the shadows near the staircase. “We seem to be unable to locate Roman.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow and flicks a speck of dust from his gloves. “What an unfortunate situation. My deepest apologies.”

 “So you don’t know where he is.”

 “Of course I don’t, why would I?” Janus rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve checked everywhere for him.”

 Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Janus…please.”

 “Have any of you even tried his room?”

 “Of course we have, that’s where I looked first.”

 Janus shrugs. “Then I guess our little prince has wandered away. What a shame.”

 Virgil rolls his eyes. “Maybe he just stepped out for a minute. Why don’t you go look again, L, we’ll check down here.”

 “Oh, will we?”

 “J, I swear—“

 Logan quickly heads back up the stairs as Virgil and Janus start bickering. He turns the corner and is soon faced with Roman’s big red door. He reaches out to knock.

 “Roman? Are you in here?”

 Silence. Logan sighs and goes to turn away when he hears it.

 He stops.

 Goes back.

 “Roman?”

 He puts his ear to the door.

 A soft gasp.

“Roman, can you open the door please?”

 “L-L—Lo—“

 Logan swallows heavily. “Roman, I’m coming inside.”

 “L-Logan…”

 Logan pushes open the door.

 He can feel his face go sickly pale.

 Roman is lying on the ground, collapsed in a pool of what looks like blood. His face is swollen, his nose broken, his mouth barely forming the shapes to say Logan’s name. His prince costume is mangled. His wrists are rubbed raw. Even from this far away Logan can see the bruises forming all over his body.

 “Roman!”

 There are shouts from downstairs. The others are worried. Good. Logan’s going to need all the help he can get. He just has to move first.

 Oh, Roman…

 “L? L, what’s going on up there?”

 “First aid,” Logan gasps, then clears his throat, “we need the first aid kit! Roman’s hurt!”

 “What? How’d he—he hasn’t even been in the Imagination yet today!”

 “We can figure that out when we’re up there, Remus, go go go!”

 By the time the others are already rushing up the stairs, Logan has already crouched down next to Roman’s head, trying to figure out the best way to get him up, off the floor, or at the very least figure out what happened.

 “Stay with me, Roman,” he murmurs, petting Roman’s head as his other hand starts to carefully test where it might be hurting, “stay with me, come on…”

 “Lo? Lo, are you in here?”

 “No, wait, don’t—“

 Patton’s cry of dismay quickly followed by Virgil’s curse means he’s too late to warn them. Logan looks up to see their faces drop in absolute shock.

 “Where are the others?”

 “Uh…” Virgil tears his gaze away from Roman’s crumpled figure. “Remus said he…he has some stuff that would help.”

 “And I am of course more than eager to see what our favorite little prince has gotten himself into this time,” Janus drawls, still out of sight, “I’m positively brimming with anticipation.”

 Patton still hasn’t recovered. Virgil carefully takes the first aid kit from his hands and rushes it to Logan. An instant later, Janus appears in the doorway.

 “My, my, Patton, you look so startled, what could possibly…”

 Janus trails off as he finally spots Roman. His eyes widen as he takes in the bruises, the blood, the marks of what look like prison cuffs?

 “Oh, god…” Logan blinks and Janus is crouched beside them, his hands hovering over Roman’s broken form as he starts crooning to the prince.

 “Oh, honey, what happened to you,” he murmurs, his hands starting to pull away the fabric cutting into Roman’s throat, “you poor, poor thing…”

 “Got it.”

 Remus appears in a flash, crouching down as well as Janus and Logan start to help Roman unwind from the bloody mess he’s in. Logan glances over; it���s a kit that has more medical supplies than the first aid kit. Bandages, he can see antiseptic, surgical towels…

 He catches Remus’s eye and they exchange a nod.

 “Where does he need to go,” Janus asks as they start to get Roman upright, “you want him downstairs?”

 “Let’s get him to our bathroom, J,” Virgil suggests, carefully getting his arms around the prince’s shoulders.

 “Do you think it’s safe to sink with him?”

 “Presumably he had to sink out to get back to his room, but I’m not sure it would be wise.”

 “So we’ll carry him,” Virgil says firmly, “all of us.”

 As it turns out, Remus and Janus can help Virgil just fine. Logan snatches up Remus’s kit as Patton grabs the first aid kit, hustling down the corridor to keep up with the others.

 “Lo, what happened?”

 “I don’t know,” Logan mutters back, “but I…I don’t think it was…the Imagination’s been closed all day, hasn’t it?”

 “That’s what I thought too. You don’t think—“

 “I don’t know, Patton, I…”

 Patton’s firm grip on his arm speaks volumes as they finally get to the bathroom.

 The tile is already warm as the others carefully lay Roman down in the big place near the edge of the shower. Logan takes a moment to check what they might need.

 The bathroom is one big open space with a tub in one corner, a large walk-in shower area at the other, and two sinks with a wide counter. Patton and Remus have already started setting up the first aid kit as Janus pulls on a different pair of gloves. Virgil still has Roman’s head in his hands, murmuring softly to him.

 “Is he awake?”

 Virgil shakes his head as Logan sits down. “I can’t tell. He’s looking around but I—he’s not saying anything.”

 “That is not completely unexpected,” Logan murmurs, “we have to get him out of his clothes. They’re making it harder for him to breathe.”

 “Someone needs to stay by his head,” Remus calls, “in case he wakes up and starts freaking out.”

 “I’ve got him.” Sure enough, Janus slips two of his hands gently under Roman’s head as he unclips the back of his collar. “Shh, shh, easy, sweetie, you’re safe now.”

 Virgil scoots back and starts tugging on his hoodie strings. Patton, still hovering by the medical supplies, catches it.

 “Hey, Virge,” he says, shooting a quick nod at Logan, “why don’t we go make something to eat? Something small, and something to drink.”

 “Yeah…yeah that’s a good idea.”

 As the two of them leave, Remus kneels by Roman’s feet and curses. “We’re gonna have to cut them off.”

 “You mean cut the rest of them off,” Janus mutters, “what happened?”

 “You think I’m not beating myself up asking that same thing?”

 “We have to get Roman stable,” Logan says quickly, “and that means we have to see what—“

 “The damage is,” Remus growls.

 “Quite.”

 “Alright. Be careful by his wrists.”

 “We will.”

 “Jan if you drop his head I swear to—“

 “I won’t, I promise.”

 “…I know.”

 “You’re worried about your brother,” Logan whispers as they start peeling the clothes away, “we understand.”

 Janus keeps his promise, cradling Roman’s head as the work to get the rest of his prince costume off. Under any other circumstance, Logan admits this might actually be read as amusing. Peeling Roman out of his clothes, however, has never been less devastating.

 Every inch they pull back reveals more bruises. Roman’s torso is warm, throbbing, carpeted with horrible wounds. Every so often a piece will stick and Roman winces, prompting Janus to stroke his face carefully, murmuring reassurances that they’re here, everything’s okay, Roman’s safe now.

 Remus chucks bruise cream at Logan and they start, methodically applying the cream and bandages. Janus gives them an extra hand where they need it, while keeping up the constant litany of reassurances. Logan comes away confident that nothing is broken, just very badly bruised.

 “So what now?”

 “He has to rest.” Logan pulls off the gloves, running his hand over the ground to make sure they haven’t spilled anything. “I…I don’t know how long that will be.”

 “I don’t want to leave him.”

 They look around, eyes wide at the strangled whisper coming out of Remus. Remus stares down at Roman’s bruised form, thankfully clear of blood now, his hands trembling as they rest on his knees. Remus looks up at them, his eyes glistening.

 “The last time I left him like this it was bad.” He swallows and looks back down. “I’m not leaving my brother.”

 Logan looks at Roman. Brave, strong, sweet, kind Roman. Bruised, scared, exhausted, broken Roman. His hand tightens and without thinking he tucks a stray hair behind Roman’s ear.

 “He hates it when his hair is out of place,” he murmurs as Janus raises an eyebrow at him.

 “We’re not leaving our prince,” Janus says firmly, glancing back at Remus. “Would you like to come sit up here with us?”

 Remus shakes his head. “If something comes through that door trying to get him,” he says in a low voice that Logan has never heard before, “it’s going to have to get through me first.”

 Logan nods. They take up their watch. Remus’s hands twitch every so often, and Logan sees him lay his hand on an unbruised part of Roman’s ankle when they do with a tenderness that takes him a little aback. Janus can’t seem to stop running his hands through Roman’s hair, making comforting noises every time Roman winces as he breathes.

 Logan, well…Logan is trying desperately to figure out what happened.

  Roman hasn’t been in the Imagination today. Remus was waiting and he hadn’t seen him.

Roman hasn’t been seen by anyone else all day.

The last place Roman was seen was in his room.

No one else has been in Roman’s room today.

 “Logan,” Janus calls softly, “Logan, you’re shaking.”

 Logan looks down. Oh. So he is. He takes a deep breath and takes Janus’s offered hand. “I’m…thinking.”

 “About…?” Janus indicates Roman.

 He nods sharply. “I’m having trouble coming to anything but a most troubling conclusion.”

 “What?”

 Logan explains. Janus goes pale.

 “You don’t think…”

 “I don’t want to think that, no.”

 “R-ro-Bro,” Remus whispers, “oh, Ro-Bro, you gotta tell us something when you wake up.”

 He sniffles.

 “Please wake up, Ro-Bro. I gotta…I gotta kick your ass for blowing me off and getting into a fight without me, I gotta—you gotta tell me what kicked your ass so I can go put it in the fucking ground…” He sniffs again, his whole body tense, even as his hand remains gently on Roman. “You just gotta wake up, Ro.”

 After a little while longer, Virgil and Patton return carrying snacks and drinks. Remus doesn’t even look as Virgil sets his octopus water bottle at his elbow. Janus murmurs a thanks and eats a little. Logan eats and drains about half of his bottle. Virgil sits at Remus’s side, Patton at his other.

 “Has he woken up yet?”

 Remus shakes his head.

 “He’s probably just sleeping, Remus, he needs to rest.”

 “I know.”

 “Do we know what happened,” Virgil asks quietly, “at all?”

 Logan winces. “Well…”

 “…don’t like the way you said that.” Judging by Virgil’s expression, he likes it even less after Logan’s finished explaining.

 “Oh, shit.”

 Everyone’s gaze instantly snaps to Patton. Listen. Patton doesn’t curse. It’s a thing. When Patton curses it’s bad.

 “Patton?”

 “Roman…Roman has a thing,” Patton explains, “you know like…like my wings? Or how Virgil gets taller?”

 Virgil nods. “Yeah, okay, but those don’t…hurt us, why would Roman’s…”

 Janus is the next one to curse. “Of course…the bruised ego.”

 Patton nods sadly. “Roman takes, well, it’s not really his choice, Roman is forced to take the brunt of the negative reactions Thomas has. That’s part of his thing.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Wait, but if this has been happening since…well, since Thomas has had an ego, and we didn’t know about this, then…”

  How many times has this happened?

 Remus growls. “New rule: no one is allowed to fuck with Roman.”

 No one dares disagree. Logan scans over the injuries again. He frowns.

 “Hold on…some of these seem…consistent with that judgment, but then why…”

 A faint groaning sound snaps him out of his musings. A tense silence falls in the bathroom as Roman starts to stir in Janus’s hands.

 “Roman,” Logan calls softly, “Roman, can you hear me?”

 “L’gan?”

 “Yes, Roman, I’m right here. Don’t try and move too much right now, you’re very hurt.”

 Roman blinks up at them, his eyes focusing glassily on Janus, who smiles. He tucks another piece of hair away from Roman’s face.

 “Shh, shh, my prince, hold still,” he coos, “you’re awfully banged up, sweetie, just hold still…shh…”

 “J’nus? What’s…where is…” Roman’s face swivels back to Logan. “Where am I?”

 “You’re on the bathroom floor, Roman, we had to see to your injuries.”

 Roman’s eyes go wide and immediately all of them reach out to hold him still as he tries to move.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus shushes, “none of that now, sweetie, you’re hurt, calm down…”

 “I’m—I have to—“

 “You’re not going anywhere,” comes Remus’s voice from behind them.

 “Remus!”

 “What? He’s not!”

 “Yeah, but there’s no reason to scare the shit out of him.”

 “I can’t see,” Logan hears Roman’s frantic whisper as he turns to glance at the others, “I can’t—let me—“

 “Logan, is it safe for him to sit up?”

 Logan nods. “Just take it slow, nothing too fast. It will probably be the best if he can lean against someone.”

 “Jan—“

 “I’ve got you, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere.”

 When Roman is upright, his back against Janus’s chest, only then do Virgil and Patton relax the slightest bit. Remus doesn’t. Logan’s gaze switches anxiously between the two.

 “Remus—“ Roman swallows— “Re, are you—are you mad at me?”

 “A little.”

 Roman shrinks under Remus’s glare. “I’m sorry.”

 “Jeez, Ro, it’s not—I’m not mad at you like that,” Remus mumbles, “it’s mainly just—well, our thing is…you know, cat pile.”

 “You’re—you’re mad because you can’t lie on top of me right now?”

 “Yeah! It always makes you feel better! And now I can’t help you feel better!”

 “R-Re—“

 Remus lets out a wounded noise and surges forward, careful to avoid barreling into any of the others as he wraps his brother in a protective hug. Janus huffs lightly but stays upright. Roman’s eyes close and his head drops to rest against Remus’s.

 “I’m the only one allowed to fuck with you,” comes Remus’s muffled voice, “no one else.”

 “I know,” Roman whispers, “I know.”

 Logan swallows heavily. “Roman,” he prompts softly, “we aren’t mad at you. We won’t get angry with you.”

 “...promise?”

 “I promise.”

 “I promise.”

 “I promise.”

 “Promise.

Janus just squeezes Roman’s shoulder gently. “I promise too, sweetie. Now, will you tell us what happened?”

 “I, um…” Roman’s gaze flickers over to Patton. “Have you—um…”

 “I’ve told them a little, sweetheart,” Patton says when Roman can’t finish his sentence, “we’ve figured out the ‘bruised ego,’ is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

 Roman nods. He turns his head back towards Remus, his face contorted. Logan carefully reaches out to ruffle his hair.

 “Take your time,” he whispers, “we’re not going anywhere.”

 “I have three,” Roman blurts out after a moment.

 “…three, honey?”

 “Patton has…the wings, Virgil has the height, Janus…Janus…”

 “Has the pants.”

 Janus lightly flicks Remus’s head, shaking his head fondly.

 “Are you saying you’ve got three turns of phrase, Princey?” Roman nods. “Okay. Is one of them ‘bruised ego?’”

 “Mhmm.”

 “Okay. Are you comfortable telling us the other two?”

 Goosebumps rise on Roman’s arms and Janus carefully positions them so Logan can help rub them away. Remus growls protectively and huddles closer.

 “…creative block,” Roman murmurs, only for Remus to tense. Remus raises his head slowly.

 “Ro-Bro?”

 “I, um, my room—my room shrinks and I—I can’t get out the door, I can’t move anything, I can’t breathe, I—“

 “Shh-shh-shh,” Janus soothes instantly, “you’re safe, my prince, you’re in the bathroom with us, you’re not there, you’re not there.”

 There are a few tense seconds of deep breaths.

 “…what’s the third one, Roman?”

 Roman looks at his wrists, turning them over as if he doesn’t recognize them. “…shackled creativity.”

 Patton clenches his fists as Virgil muffles another curse. Remus follows Roman’s gaze, the line of his shoulders growing tenser by the second. Janus carefully laces his fingers through one of Roman’s hands, Logan lacing his through the other.

 “Thank you for telling us, Roman,” he murmurs, “and…I do not know how much this is worth to you, but…we are so sorry this happens and that we could not do anything about it.”

 “It’s okay,” Roman murmurs, “it’s my own fault.”

 The bathroom falls silent.

 “…Roman, it’s not your fault.” Virgil scoots closer. “How—this isn’t your fault.”

 “Isn’t it? I’m the one that’s the closest to the Imagination,” Roman says softly, completely convinced of what he’s saying, “I’m the one that makes it possible for Thomas to see us…the Sides, the Imagination…isn’t that my job?”

 “Not like that,” Logan says firmly, “never like this.”

 “Logan’s right,” Virgil says when it looks like Roman’s about to argue, “you’re the conduit for the Imagination, but you’re not responsible for everything that this place does, let alone how Thomas interprets and internalizes stuff.”

 “None of this is you, Roman.” Janus rests his cheek against the top of Roman’s head. “None of it. It’s not Patton’s fault he grows wings, it’s not Virgil’s fault he grows taller, and it’s not your fault that this happens to you.”

 “You’re missing someone off the list there, Jan-Jan.”

 “Remus, I swear to god—“

 Remus cackles, throwing his head back as Janus swats at him. Of course, the problem is that they all try and look mildly annoyed at Remus, and yet the instant it makes Roman giggle, even a little, they all have to break character because Roman’s smiling again.

 “Seriously, Ro-Bro,” Remus says after a moment, “this isn’t on you. You don’t deserve this or some other fucked-up shit. This is fucked up all on its own. You’re not responsible for this.”

 “We’ll talk to Thomas,” Logan says, “about…negative feedback and internalizing things, alright? This isn’t healthy, Roman, it’s not—it’s not supposed to be like this, and it’s definitely not your fault.”

 “…okay.”

 “Can you say that for me, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, reaching around to cup Roman’s face, “that it’s not your fault?”

 “I-it’s not—“

 Roman stops. Swallows heavily.

 “Go on, my prince, you can do it.”

 “…I-it’s not my fault.”

 “Good.”

 “It isn’t my fault.” Roman’s eyes go wide and something hitches in his throat. “It is—isn’t—I—oh, god—“

 They catch Roman as he starts to cry.

 “You did so well, sweetheart, so well, I’m so proud of you.”

 “It’s okay, Princey, it’s gonna be okay.”

 “I’ve got you, my prince, I have you.”

 “You’re gonna be fine, Ro-Bro, I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

 “You don’t have to do this alone, Roman.”

 Roman rests there, in the arms of his family, bruised and exhausted, but not broken.

 Not anymore.

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[that-damn-girl]

(10) Bucky and The Bed

Completed

Chapter 9

Bucky and The Bed Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (cis)fem!reader

Words: 4800+

Summary: You and Bucky are stranded in the middle of a snowy nowhere when there is an ‘electronic blackout’ during your mission. With no back ups or any way to contact your team, you take refuge from the worsening weather in the only cabin you find  in miles. Not to mention, with no power, Bucky has become your personal heater and there’s only one bed.

Chapter type: Fluff. Pure smut. soft!smut. soft!Bucky.

Chapter/Trigger warning: Smut. 18+ only please. Language. Unprotected sex (this is fanfiction. Please be safe in reality). Slight breeding kink if you squint like really really hard.

A/N: This is supposedly the final chapter with the ending I had in mind. The epilogue will be up in a couple of days max. Hope you like it!

"You sure, Bucky?" You asked, fingers scratching the nape of his neck. "We can wait for as long as you need."

Bucky encircled his metal hand around your palm and brought it to his lips, kissing it. "I'm ready Y/N."

You nodded. "If you need to slow down or simply stop at any moment, just say so, alright?"

Bucky smiled. He didn't doubt for a moment that you wouldn't slow down or stop if he asked too. "Of course. You too, Y/N."

Leaning forward, Bucky captured your lips with his. Kissing softly but insistently, he curved his arms around you once again. One hand stroked your back while the other caressed your thighs. He desperately hoped that it wasn't a dream. That this wasn't a figment of his imagination which only felt real. Bucky pulled back but kept your foreheads touching.

"Say it again. Please," 

His eyes were closed. All of his attention was solely focused on his hearing, wishing to only listen to those words in your voice, directed only to him.

"I love you." You pulled back only enough to kiss Bucky on his forehead. 

"Again."

"I love you." You kissed both of his closed eyes one by one. The creases on his forehead were gone. His eyes were still closed, not from anticipation but in comfort.

"Again."

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes." You pressed kisses all over his cheek unhurriedly. Bucky further relaxed into your touch. His lips slowly widened into a grin as he opened his eyes. You could see his mind registering the words for a second time, confirming that none of it was a measly dream. That all of it was now his reality.

"You do?" He titled his head as he softly asked.

His contagious enthusiasm took you in its hold too, you face breaking into a grin as wide as his. "Mhmm. A lot."

Bucky touched your noses and sighed in content, "I love you too, Y/N."

Your heart gave a flutter. You were sure no matter how much time passed, you would always have the same reaction to him saying those words to you. You didn't get much time to dwell on that thought though. Drawing your lips in a luscious kiss, Bucky tightened his arms around you, securing you in his hold.

A tentative lick on your bottom lip and you opened your mouth. The strong wet muscle of his tongue played with yours. Sliding over, stroking, circling the tip of your tongue, tempting it to dance to the song of love and pleasure with him. His metal hand kneaded the cheek of your butt, guiding the salacious grind of your hips on his. 

Keeping you tight and close to himself, he slowly lowered you on your back, adjusting until a pillow was secured under your head. Your body was trapped in between his broad form and the bed. There was no place else you'd rather be. One of his muscular arms was balancing his body mass beside your head; he was careful not to put all of his weight on you. You loved feeling him on top of you, craved feeling his body covering yours, shielding it from everything and everyone except himself.

The warm amber from the fireplace casted a honey-suckle glow in the atmosphere, covering everything it touched in its golden glaze. The conflagrant flames shimmied inside the brick structure with the same tranquility which had settled over the pair of souls lost in each other's love. Unforgiving, biting cold winds roared outside the huge windows, whizzing past the cabin and leaving rattling sounds in the background in its wake. But it couldn't penetrate the bubble the lovers had wrapped themselves in. As far as they were concerned, it was only them, their hands, their kisses, their love, the bed and the warmth surrounding them that mattered.

It felt nothing short of lovely, his hands gliding up and down your sides as he kissed you lovingly. Your arms were curled around his shoulders, keeping the sweet super soldier close to you. Every time your fingers scratched the short hair at the nape of his neck, the burly man would almost purr in your mouth in ecstasy. His love and warmth seeped deep into your bones, warming you up from the inside.

One of his hands caught the hem of your thick sweater, lazily pulling it up and off your body. You helped him get rid of his layers too, mentally drooling as his sexy body was revealed to you bit by bit. 

As Bucky made to push the oversized undershirt off you, the last of the clothing which hid your top half from his gaze, he slid down your body until his face rested on the round of your stomach. His lips pressed long warm kisses on every inch of your unveiled skin as he pushed the flimsy material up your body with a slow drag of his hands.

His eyes connected with yours confidently as kissed your middle and proceeded upwards. Your eyes followed his movements with a heated gaze, your chest rising and falling with the deep breaths you had to intake so as to not lose yourself completely into temptation. 

After a few long moments he finally reached your breasts, his hands pushing the cloth over the sexy swell of them. His lips pressed similar long kisses all over them, purposefully avoiding giving attention to the one specific place you needed it the most. There was a teasing glint in his eyes. He sucked the delicate skin as his lips roamed over it, but never once did he pay any heed to your hardened peaks.

His kisses trailed to the valley of your breasts and soon his face was burried in between them. He kissed your sternum before resting his head sideways on your swells. His large palms cupped your breasts, gently fondling and squeezing them. He loved the softness and the weight of your breasts in his palms. He started kissing around your cleavage, his lips still teasing in their stride. 

Clutching his hair you tugged at it, trying to direct his head towards your peaks. With a low moan lost on your skin, Bucky finally took a nipple in the moist heat of his mouth. Ecstasy filled your veins when his tongue made contact with it, the cool wetness of his tongue soothing the painfully hard nipple. 

His tongue went round and round around the bud, coating it in its wetness. Bucky lightly sucked on it, making you arch your back to push yourself further into his mouth. The tip of his tongue played skillfully with it. He loved your taste on his tongue. The other half of your body wasn't forgotten. Bucky gently rolled your other peak with his fingers, tenderly pressing it only enough to make you feel good. You shut your eyes tight at the feel, basking in the pleasure his simple touches sent through you.

Not much later, the undershirt was soon lifted off your form. Bucky and you proceeded to get you out of your respective sweats. It only resulted in a huge mess of entangled blankets and legs and bottoms which refused to let go of your ankles. Chuckles fleeted in the quiet room as you and Bucky overcame the few seconds of inconvenience. Bucky didn’t waste anymore time and picked up right where he had left off.

Trailing slow, affectionate kisses from your chest to your abdomen, Bucky gave a quick peck to your tummy and settled himself in between your legs. He couldn't not rain down small kisses on the insides of your thighs as he hooked your legs on his shoulders, all the while keeping a sensuous eye contact with you. 

His broad tongue lapped a long trail from your slit to your clit until it caught your bundle of nerves. His tongue rolled around the sensitive pearl, sending blazing sensations down your nerves.

The taste of your arousal was something forever delicious to Bucky. He couldn't get enough of it. His tongue toyed with your clit while his fingers collected some of your slick and gathered in front of your entrance. The rough pad of his finger massaged your entrance in short strokes but never entered you.

It took you a while to realize that Bucky loved teasing. He loved watching you keening for his touch, hearing your whimpers, knowing that you needed him to satiate your desires, to exploit you the way you needed to be. You didn't know if that turned you on more or frustrated you.

He sucked on your clit, but still didn't relent, his fingers still teasing your entrance. You needed him inside you. Bucky knew that too, but he wanted to tease you some more.

"Bucky…" you mewled, tugging at his hair to signal that you needed him to move. That seemed to do the trick, because with a hearty groan Bucky plunged one finger inside your core. Perhaps tugging at his hair was his weak point, you concluded from then and previous experiences.

Bucky was careful to start slow, wanting to make you wet enough to enjoy it. His finger pummeled into you leisurely, giving your insides a taste of what was to come. Not sooner than later he carefully inserted a second digit when he thought you were wet enough.

You keened at the stretch, liking how his large fingers filled you. His pace increased as he continued to bring pleasure to you. His warm tongue pressed against your clit, swirling it this way and that. He paused every so often to lap your arousal from your drenched pussy greedily.

Bucky loved the moans that fell out of your mouth. It boosted his ego to know that he was the one to make you mewl needily. They were a melody to his ears in the truest fashion. The thought of drawing out those moans from you when he would impale you on his cock sent a rush of blood to his hardening member constrained painfully in his pants.

Hungry to taste more, feel more, Bucky doubled his efforts. His fingers inside you curled in the angle that he knew would make you see stars. His tongue, strong and wet, worked your bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure and pace you needed to come undone. He moaned along with you, his vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your moans growing in volume. Fingers grasped his hair tightly as you pushed his head closer to you, grinding your core against his face shamelessly. Your release was near and you were eager to claim it. 

With eyes tightly shut and a lewd groan of his name, you were finally pushed over the edge. Your orgasm came crashing down, rolling through you in waves. Your legs on Bucky's shoulder tightened, heels digging into his back and thighs nearly clenching his head. Bucky wouldn't have had it any other way. He didn't stop, letting the sensations he gave you prolong your pleasure as much as he could. 

When the waves rolling through you seemed to subside, Bucky let go of your legs and sat back on his knees, smiling gleefully. Your wetness shone on his lips and around his mouth, but he didn't give a damn. He climbed on the bed and over your form, admiring the blissed out expression on your face.

You opened your eyes when his fingers tucked the stray strands of hair behind your ear. "It was lovely, Bucky," you said breathlessly.

He licked his lips, his smile widening, "I'm glad you enjoyed it, doll."

Pushing his chest you rolled him over, making him lay on his back. You said with a smirk. "It's your turn to have some fun." 

With a quick peck to his lips, you slid down the bed and between his spread legs. Your palms rubbed his thighs as you balanced yourself on your knees.

Bucky groaned with need when you pulled down his pants and his cock bobbed in front of your face. It was thick and heavy and leaked a few drops of precum. 

You licked your lips at the sight, thirsty only for him. A sharp breath left him when you took his thick base in your hand. Adding a little wetness to your palms, you stroked him slowly at first. It was enough to itch the desire, but not enough to satisfy. It was evident on his face.

You wanted to tease him as he had teased you. You kept the pace slow with both your hands stimulating him, adding a bit more wetness every now and then. Bits of his precum dribbled down his head and fell on your fingers that were curled around him. Oh, he was excited alright.

Raising on your knees, you didn't give him the time to anticipate your move when you pressed a long wet kiss to the little slit on his head. His hand shot forward to your head instinctively, grasping your hair tightly. He applied the littlest amount of pressure, but you relented, the need to taste him far greater than watching him suffer a little longer.

Bucky let out a loud moan as the heat of your mouth enveloped his painfully hard length. Your tongue came to his aid, soothing the pain away as you licked him. He didn't know whether to push your head or pull it when your tongue swirled around his sensitive head, paying special attention to his slit. You liked feeling him withering as you rained down overwhelming sensations on his bulbous head. 

"Y/N, fuck-" Bucky groaned, his eyes shutting tight in bliss. You inwardly grinned. 

Leaving his head for the moment, you let his cock out of your mouth with a pop. Your tongue traced the veins protruding on his length, tilting your head this way and that to get all the angles. Bucky sighed in ecstasy. 

Few moments later you took him back inside your mouth, bobbing your head up and down his cock. You took him as far as you could, your palm stroking the rest of him. His cock was heavy on your tongue and you absolutely loved it.

You hollowed in your cheeks soon. Judging by the breathy moan that left Bucky, he enjoyed it a lot. You flicked your wrist as you stroked him, gripping his length a tad more tightly.

His cock hit the back of your throat every now and then as you tried to take him deeper than the last time, small gagging noises escaping your throat. You moaned when his hold tightened on your hair. The vibrations sent Bucky afloat. You fondled his balls with your hand, rolling them in your palm and tugging them slightly. He moaned deliciously. 

Bucky wondered that if the heat of your mouth felt so wonderful, how good would the heat of your pussy feel wrapped around his cock? He couldn't help but groan at the imagination, his member growing somewhat harder inside your mouth. 

Your ministrations brought him to the brink of an orgasm. It wasn't long before he was tipped over the edge with the sinful play of your hands and mouth. He tried to warn you that he was about to cum. You took him out of your mouth but kept his head inside, your lips sealing around it. He groaned hoarsely as he released on your tongue, his bittersweet taste filling overtaking your tastebuds.

When his orgasm had passed, you gently let him go. Climbing the bed, you laid beside him.  Turning his head, he panted heavily as he said, "That was - breathtaking, doll,"

You grinned at the appreciation, your hands automatically finding their place in the crook of his neck, "And you were delicious." You made a show of licking your lips with hooded eyes.

Chuckling, Bucky rolled over you, instantly taking your lips in a heated kiss. He didn't need to ask for permission this time as your tongue chased his instead and played with it. It was an enticing mess of dancing lips and clashing teeth and playful tongues. Bucky's length hadn't gone completely soft yet, laying half hard against your thigh. Though it didn't take long before he was fully hard again. 

When you broke away, you found his ocean grey eyes looking into you. "Are you ready?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything else but nod. "I am, Bucky. Are you?" You asked without any hint of judgement in your voice. Your hand stroked his cheek, "We can stop anytime you want. Anytime. I stand by it. I won't be mad at all, I promise. We have all the time in the world for you to be comfortable, Bucky."

Bucky's heart thumped hard in the confines of his ribcage at the thought of what was to come. It made him equal parts nervous and excited. He was ready, he didn't doubt that. But that didn't mean it wasn't an important step in your relationship. It had also been so long for him, he worried about not disappointing you. 

He tried not to think anymore and only concentrate on the moment he was in. It was only him and you on the bed, in the same place he and you had confessed to each other, about to make love for the first time. It made him completely vulnerable in a wholly different manner, but he trusted you and you trusted him. You loved him and he loved you. It was all that mattered.

Bucky nodded, giving you a sweet kiss. "I'm ready." 

Gripping his base, Bucky stroked his cock a handful of times before lining it up with your center. He rubbed his cock through your folds, collecting your slick and coating himself in it. Foreheads touching, Bucky breathed hard in anticipation before taking the final step.

With a shuddering breath, he directed himself inside you. The blunt head of his cock entered you slowly. Hands tightening around his shoulders, you burried your head in the crook of his neck with a gasp, your eyes shut tight.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked, worried about your reaction.

Despite the nakedness and your past actions, your cheeks flushed for a different reason. "It's been a while for me too, Bucky. I just wasn't expecting you to be...so thick. But I'm good, I promise. Please, please continue."

Oh lord, was he thick in the truest sense. You had known he was girthy, but you never thought he'd stretch you so good and make you feel so full, that too only with his head. You keened thinking about what all of him would feel inside you. You unknowingly clenched around him.

Bucky buried his head in your neck too, your tightness overwhelming him. Hot puffs of air hit your ear. His hands stayed by your head. One of his palms tenderly stroked your hair in a comforting manner, in a way calming himself too.

Inch by inch he gradually worked himself in. "Fuck- feels so good," He let out a broken moan as your heat enveloped him, involuntarily clenching him from time to time. Being inside you felt heavenly. 

Gradually Bucky was seated fully inside you, your pussy engulfing his cock wholly. "Ah, Bucky, fuck," The feel of his thick cock stretching your walls and filling you to the hilt was glorious.

"Relax baby," Bucky soothingly whispered in your ear. He slowly rolled his hips to get you accustomed to his girth. Listening to his advice, you took in deep breaths to calm yourself mentally. Automatically your body followed suit, your walls relaxing around him. Bucky was thankful for it, or else he knew he would have come much sooner than he initially thought he would.

"Move, Bucky," you pleaded. 

Bucky drew back, slowly entering your again and then repeating. The pace was set slow as he simply enjoyed the feeling of you surrounding him.

Soft moans and whimpers left you and him in the quiet of the cabin. It felt nothing short of amazing, the drag of his hard cock against your sensitive spots. The throbbing of the veins on his cock could be felt against your walls, the combination of it all sending your senses dancing.

It was lovely to say the least, his body covering yours, his bare skin brushing against your own as he rocked into you leisurely. He laid in between your spread legs, balanced on his forearms by your head. A part of his body was leaning on you, his weight on your form grounding you to him. 

Bucky pressed a long, loving kiss to your forehead. The moment was nothing short of magical to say the least. He was the closest he could get to you, both mentally and physically. Your bodies were conjoined as he made sweet love to you. 

With the eager desperation satiated with your first orgasms, reaching the end was lost in the back of your minds. You and Bucky only wanted to focus on the journey instead, simply feeling each other and the love you shared. 

He was in love with the entirety of your existence.

He rocked into you with the same leisurely pace as before, relishing in the feels as he felt one and the same with you. His lips littered kisses down your face, starting with your closed eyelids, down your cheeks and to your lips. 

The kiss was slow and soft, filled to the brim with love and affection. Bucky smiled into the kiss, his heart immensely happy to be totally and completely free and open with you. He didn't need to downplay or hide his true feelings any longer. He could kiss your pretty lips when he wanted, he could love you when he wanted, shower you with affection when he wanted. Along with all that, he would also receive your love without any limitations. What was not to love about this change in your relationship?

You smiled along with him, loving that softness he treated you with. You knew he could be rough when you needed him to be, and it was the best part, that you and him could adjust somewhat easily to each other's needs as and when required. 

His plump lips kissed you just like his thrusts, slow but immensely passionate. It was sensual and sensational. You knew you would remember this moment forever. It would be framed in your brain just as it was, beautiful and irreplaceable, being replayed again and again, touching all the soft corners of your heart.

His lips moved down to your neck, littering soft kisses all over your skin. You craned your neck to give him more space. Seeking the sensitive spot below your ear, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin, he left his mark all over you. His lips travelled down to your clavicle, giving it the same affectionate treatment. You moaned at the sensations rolling through you.

While his lips adorned your neck with kisses and hickeys, his hands roamed every nook and cranny of your body lovingly, caressing you. Occasionally, his palms would cup your breasts, fondling the round swells and squeezing them delicately. It felt exquisite. His touch ignited you from the inside, leaving a warmth in its wake, brandishing your skin with his deep love, leaving only his name to be moaned on your lips.

Your fingers were entangled in the mess of short hair at the back of his head, raking through the strands. Bucky purred into your skin, feeling elated. 

His hands sought yours, wanting every inch of his skin to be flush with yours. In the manner of a passionate lover, his fingers intertwined with yours, your hands fitting into each other as if they were meant to be from the beginning. He brought your conjoined hands up, beside your head. A little more of his weight was leaning onto you now, and you loved every second of it. 

Nothing could have been more perfect in that moment. The two of you were drunk on each other. The atmosphere smelled of sex and tasted of adoration. His naked body moved along with yours in harmony brushing every inch of bare skin. A bubble of love and trust, of peace and bliss wrapped the pair of you in it's lush, protective hold. Bucky thrust into you passionately, not just to attain the sweet release of the end but to enjoy the journey along with you, to sear the moment in your memories, to cherish and treasure you as you deserved to be. It was a perfect combination of love and lust.

You didn't know for how long you continued like that. All that mattered was you had enjoyed it with him. 

His thrusts gradually gained some speed. Soon he was pummeling into you harder than before, touching all those spots inside you which made your nerves sing. He didn't go as hard or fast as he could have, but enough to itch the desire within you.

"Just like that, Bucky…" you moaned.

Bucky complied by grinding his hips into yours, his pubic bone providing the perfect stimulation for your bundle of nerves. Moans left him as well when he felt you clenching his cock. It only made him rock into you harder.

"You're - ah - make me gonna cum, doll." He said. He was sure his precum was already leaking inside you.

"Then let go, Bucky. Cum inside me."

You might as well have given him a heart stroke then and there.

With choked moans, Bucky focused on holding out, determined to make you come before him. He increased his efforts until he had brought you to the brink of your orgasm. Your pussy was clenching his cock so tightly, he understood you were close to your edge. He made himself keep going until he tipped you over the edge.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you in powerful waves. Jagged breaths left you along with sinful moans of Bucky's name.

As your walls pulsated around Bucky, he couldn't hold back any longer. With a hoarse cry of your name, Bucky came inside you.

He wasn't yet done with you though. 

One of his hands coursed down your body until he found your clit. He massaged your bundle of nerves to pleasure you while not letting the desire die down. Rolling the pearl between his fingers, he never let his pace falter but only increased it substantially.

His cock was still hard inside you. Not as hard as before, but enough to make it work. Balancing himself on his knees, Bucky wrapped your legs around his waist before pummeling into you with abandon. 

"Bucky, yes!" You moaned, your blood rushing inside your veins with pleasure.

A carnal desire overtook him, invoking a similar response in you. Your hips lifted of their own accord to meet his hips thrust for thrust, the craving for a second release growing inside you too.

He rocked into you much harder and faster than before, so much so that the bed thudded hard against the wall. A distinct thumping sound along with the creaking of the bed could be heard beside your moans - which were already quite loud. You loved the transition Bucky made from soft to rough in the blink of an eye.

You thanked the lord that there were no neighbours around you, or else they would have had a very good idea of how good you and Bucky were doing each other. 

He leaned down to capture your lips in a heated, open mouthed kiss. Your noses bumped into each other as you kissed wetly and noisily. You breathed the same air, the common goal of reaching the end blaring in your minds. Squelching sounds filled the room as Bucky fucked your cum drenched pussy.

All the sensations flowing through your body overwhelmed you. It didn't take long for another orgasm to claim you. This one was much more powerful than the last time. You came with a shuddering breath, your legs shaking from the sheer force of it, pleasure blazing through your veins.

Bucky was not far behind, cuming in short bursts inside the heat of your pussy, his thick cum adding on to the load already inside you. Hoarse moans left him, his eyes contorting in pleasure. 

Panting heavily, his body sagged over yours, but he was careful not to crush you with his weight. He carefully pulled himself out of you. His forehead was leaning against yours. Both your eyes were still shut from bliss and exhaustion. Your hands were resting on his shoulders and around his neck. Giddy, satisfied smiles played on both your lips as you calmed down from the high. 

Bucky would have lazed about for longer if it wasn't for the horrified gasp that left your throat a few moments later. Preparing for the worst, Bucky opened his eyes and followed your gaze to the bedside table. The torch projected a divergent beam of white light on the opposing wall. It meant only one thing.

FRIDAY had solved the blackout problem!

If that was true, then-

Shit!

Bucky scrambled for the comms kept beside the torch in a hurry. Handing you one of them, Bucky quickly put the other in his ear and rushed breathlessly, "This is Sergeant Barnes. Does anyone copy?"

The divider is made by @writeyourmindaway

Epilogue

{Extra scenes #1 (right after ch. 10) ~ just for fun which I hadn’t intended on adding. You can skip to the epilogue and come back to it later if you wish}

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Thank you for reading!

[doublekrecs]

chris completely railing reader after some guys flirt with them at a movie premiere, he may have a choking kink🙈

i like the way you think nonnie

it was the night of the endgame premiere, you and chris had shown up in matching blue outfits

your dress being tight fitting with a slit up the left leg, the diamond ring on your 4th finger flashing for all to see

he was looking very dapper that night, blue suit with the mint undershirt and adorning the fluffy beard you loved so much

walking the carpet was always fun as you got to see him interact with his loving fans and joke around during interviews 

this one was a bittersweet moment as you knew it would be his last time appearing as the captain you fell in love with 

watching the movie was heart-wrenching experience, you swear you could’ve broken his hand with how hard you were squeezing it

but after the event came your favorite part- the after party, where you were able to spend time with some of your favorite super heroes acting like a bunch of rowdy teens at a house party 

the first person you saw was hemsworth, you and his wife were good friends making you like an aunt to their kids

he gave chris a hug patting his back, the two becoming brothers over the past decade 

you had greeted him with a kiss to the cheek and he returned one with his classic smirk 

“god y/n its been a while now hasn’t it”

“too long now hemmy, looking as dashing as ever” you said adding a wink

you felt chris’s grip on your waist tighten a little, his subtle way of saying to knock it off

as the night went on drinks kept flowing, and while you weren’t completely wasted the few you had didn’t help conceal your flirtatious nature  

you had already given downey the flirty eyes which of course he played along, joining the fun after seeing the unamused look on chris’s face 

and the frown continued as you saw brie and gushed over her look in the movie 

“might have to hang around the new captain in town” you said raising your eyebrows suggestively 

he kept on giving you warnings but being the tease you were you threw all caution out the window when you saw your favorite boys, seb and anthony 

you guys had gotten close during the filming of civil war, becoming your go to men, the prankster trio they called you three on set

“BOYS” you said excitedly bringing them into a group hug

“uh oh” said seb after letting go, huge grin on his face “looks someone met captain rum”

“captain morgan for your information, sergeant” you winked and giggled

that was the last straw for chris as he instantly excused you guys to search for the nearest restroom 

“looks like someones having an interesting night” you heard anthony say causing him and sebastian to let out boisterous laughs 

he made sure it was empty before swiftly locking it and pressing your back to the wall, gripping your throat with his large hand

“you just never know when to stop do you angel?” he questioned gruffly 

“i know you love it captain, or can i not call you that anymore” you said teasingly grinning up at him

he tightened his hold on you adding more pressure to your throat and pressing his knee to your core 

“you know what you can call me pretty girl. but after acting like such a little whore for everyone tonight you’re not allowed to speak anymore”

you moaned as you rocked your hips to gain more friction on his thigh before he let go leaving you a mess of ragged breathes 

he started to unbuckle his pants, looking up you could see nothing but lust in his stormy eyes

“do something right for once tonight and get up on the counter”

you moved as quickly as you could not wanting to anger him further, pulling your dress up, the slit making it easier for you to spread your legs

he moved to he was standing in between them, his pretty pink cock standing at attention 

he wasted no time in moving your pretty lacy blue thong to the side and slipping in your drenched hole inch by inch

his hand took its place back on your throat as he started to ram into you without any warning

you gasped and whimpered at the brutal pace he set, the pressure on your throat making your head cloudy

“i told you i didn’t want to hear anything out of your slutty mouth”

you could tell he was nearing his end as you felt him throbbing inside your pulsing walls

“chris.. please” you mewled out

“go on and rub that puffy little clit for me and make yourself cum” he said into your ear not stopping even as his thrusts became erratic

“fuck chris!” you yelled out feeling your orgasm wash over you

“scream for me baby, let them know who fucks you like this”

he continued until you felt him paint your walls with his seed, slowing down for you to both ride your highs

he pulled out and went over to get paper towels, cleaning you both up

you took time to help each other readjust trying not to look completely fucked out but clearly all your friends knew when you stepped out out the bathroom and heard samuel say 

“all you motherfuckers owe me $50″

[anonniemousefics]

Stars In The Darkness

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 9,042

****Rating: NSFW (aged up characters)****

This is the conclusion to The Trouble With Wanting series, companion piece to Wildfire

TW for PTSD, heavy angst. An obligatory quarantine fic cuz I was in quarantine when I wrote this, lol.

KAZ

No mourners. No funerals.

Kaz Brekker leaned over the new porcelain sink in the bathroom attached to The Slat. He clutched both sides, sweat pouring from his forehead.

No mourners. No funerals.

He’d been saying the phrase so long, it had started to lose its meaning. For that he hated himself. Did anyone at all even understand what it meant? Had he ever even told anyone?

No mourners. No funerals.

Jordie had died alone, forgotten. No funeral. Not a single mourner. And he’d loved Jordie. His big brother had been his hero, his whole world, and no one else knew what the world had lost.

This alone should have crushed him. It would have. Instead, he made it his calling card. Jordie Rietveld, the original Crow. He didn’t need mourners. He didn’t need a funeral. No one did.

Because if the world hadn’t mourned Jordie, why should it mourn anyone else?

His stomach was threatening to heave again, and he white-knuckled the sink, breathing hard. Fuck. It had been years since it had been this bad. He stared at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror, demanding he get a fucking grip on himself.

No mourners. No funerals.

He thought he had been free. He’d spent well over a year on the puzzle of Inej Ghafa, and he thought that could have been enough. She loved him, she’d said so. And, gods, he loved her.

He’d been a fool to think that would be enough.

Now reality was sinking in with every toll of the plague alarm. He hadn’t banished any ghosts. He hadn’t buried any bodies. All he’d managed was to condition himself like a dumb lap dog, performing a trick so he could get a treat. And all the while, the dead had waited. And all the while, Jordie had watched.

And now Ketterdam would have its pound of flesh. Because he could blame Pekka Rollins until he was old and grey, but what had killed Jordie Rietveld had always been the plague. And there was no fighting the plague.

No mourners... No funerals…

It sounded insane now, because what the fuck was he supposed to do when the plague took Inej, too? Was he really going to stand there, stoic and unmoving, while the bodymen took her away? Was he really going to go on living, knowing her final resting place was a mass grave?

He’d been a fool. Such a damn, stupid fool.

And now he really couldn’t breathe. He was a fish out of water, his vision blurring as his throat closed around every inhale.

“Kaz!” Someone was pounding on the bathroom door. “Kaz, let me in.”

How many days until the bodies started piling up? How long did he have? Was there any way to get them out of the city? They all needed to get out. Inej, Jesper, Wylan. Anika, Pim, Rotty, Roeder. It was the only way. The only way to keep from losing everything again.

“Kaz, I will break down this door. Answer me, damnit.”

The king of Ravka owed him favors. Maybe it wasn’t too late to call them in—

INEJ

Fuck it.

Inej threw all of her weight into a massive kick, just above the bathroom doorknob. The door rattled and bowed, and the flimsy lock ripped through the doorframe as the door swung open.

Inside, Kaz staggered back from the sink, pale and perspiring. She’d never seen him looking so sloppy in her life. He hadn’t changed out of his dark sleeping trousers from the morning, but had managed to throw on a white undershirt that was now sweat-stained. And if he was startled, it lasted only a moment before he glared at the broken doorframe.

“Did you forget how to pick a lock?” he growled.

“Did you forget how to unlock a door?” Inej retorted. “I’ve been here almost an hour – how long have you been in here?”

But when she took a step towards him, he flinched back, holding a hand out to keep her away, and it was like they were nothing but street trash teenagers all over again. A knife twisted in Inej’s chest as she saw how his breathing labored, his gaze wouldn’t meet hers. For nearly a year, he’d made slow, steady progress with touch – so much so, she’d almost forgotten what his suffering looked like.

Now, it was worse than ever. He was pressing himself back against the far wall, clamping a hand over his mouth like he was trying not to be sick.

“Breathe,” she told him, calmly. “Just breathe, Kaz. We’re here, together, safe in The Slat. Breathe.”

Kaz clenched his fists at his sides and drew in a stubborn, fighting breath through his nose. Outside, the plague alarms tolled.

“Those goddamn bells,” he rasped.

“I know, they’re awful,” Inej agreed. “When you’re feeling better, I’ll climb up and dismantle them.”

He opened his eyes long enough to shoot her an irritated glance.

“They serve a crucial function, Wraith.”

“Ok. I’ll leave them alone.”

“They’re preventing the spread of disease.”

“I said I’d leave them alone! Take a breath.”

And Kaz slid his back against the wall until he came to sit on the floor, defeated and spent.

KAZ

He was equal parts relieved she was back and terrified she was here with him. When he’d told her to get as far away as she could, he’d meant it. If she could get away from the necrotic infection that was his Ketterdam, she could live, and he could live knowing at least she was safe.

And now he was angry because why couldn’t she just listen to him? What did she know about firepox? What did she know about surviving a mindless, faceless killer?

He tried to heave a deep breath, but his throat felt like it was closing in. Bloated, dead flesh crowded against his ribs, his arms, his face, dragging him deeper toward the cold, unyielding darkness. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“I went to the docks,” came Inej’s calm voice. He was aware that she’d sat on the tile floor across from him, and he wasn’t sure yet if it made it better or worse. Just that morning, he’d had her bare and in his bed, writhing in his sheets and calling his name, and now he could hardly look at her without imagining her dead.

“You went to the docks,” he echoed, trying to find the present.

“Made sure the crew could find safe lodging for the foreseeable future,” Inej went on. “They’re saying it started in West Stave. Twelve new cases since yesterday. But I think our chances are pretty slim at this point. You’ve been chained to your desk for weeks, and I only docked yesterday. And we spent the evening arguing and pouting instead of going out.”

“I don’t pout.”

“It was me. I was pouting.”

“This is helping. Keep talking.”

“Bad news is they’ve shut down all businesses, so The Crow Club’s empty.”

“Fuuuck.”

“Good news is you and I now have unlimited liquor for the duration of this quarantine. And you look like you could use some. I’ve wanted to learn to mix drinks anyway. I could make you that fruity pink thing Sturmhond got sloshed on.”

“Dirtyhands doesn’t get sloshed on fruity pink things.”

“No one needs to know.”

His throat had opened up, and Kaz drew in a long, deep, shaking breath. The darkness had stopped its impending approach, and he was suddenly exhausted. His eyelids felt swollen when he opened his eyes again and looked over at Inej. His brave, brilliant girl. She was cross-legged in front of him, still dressed for the sea: tight olive-green trousers and a loose white blouse, her hands in her fingerless gloves and her long, oil-black braid resting over one shoulder. She was beautiful and commanding and alive, and it made his heart ache.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked. Her voice was softer now; she’d exchanged her light-hearted ribbing now that Kaz was no longer a gasping mess.

Kaz rubbed at his eyes. His mind was a fog, every thought spread out in disarray. He could only say the first thing that bubbled to the surface.

“You deserve so much more than this.”

“An admirable deflection, but that’s not it.” Inej slit her eyes at him, reading him like a book. Annoying. This wasn’t something he’d considered when she’d told him to take off the armor. He’d wanted to get laid; he didn’t want a damn mind reader.

That wasn’t exactly true, though, was it? But maybe it was a necessary lie. He was too attached, and this loss would not be one he could survive.

“You’re being a fool, Wraith,” Dirtyhands rasped.

INEJ

“Am I?” Well, well, well. So, this is how it was going to be, was it? Inej knew Dirtyhands when she saw him. She could tussle with this bastard all day. Sometimes she even liked it. “How so?”

Kaz’s pale face was set in a glare; he wanted a fight. And if he hadn’t tried this before, it may have even rattled Inej.

If anyone had seen their first kisses, they might have mistaken Kaz and Inej for an old married couple. The only kind of kiss either of them could handle was merely a brief peck on the cheek or the lips, as chaste as a greeting between relatives. Their bodies wouldn’t even brush. It had to look ridiculous, but Inej told herself it was good practice. Someday, they could have something like a real kiss, she told herself. For now, this was enough.

The last night before Inej was to set sail again, they sat opposite each other on the windowsill of The Slat, propped up against the frame, while Inej coaxed crows with breadcrumbs and made sure Kaz didn’t fall out the window. He’d had a couple drinks too many with Jesper and was more than a little amusing.

“I have a secret,” he slurred. He leaned his head back against the open window frame, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.  

“Just one?” Inej quirked an eyebrow. Kaz gave a drunken chortle.  

“Good point.” He pointed at her. “Clever, clever Wraith.”

“What’s your secret?” Inej asked, with an amused smirk. Kaz gave a sloppy nod.

“It is terrifying to me that you live on a boat,” he confessed with a slow blink. Inej frowned.

“You bought me the boat,” she said. Kaz kept nodding, wide-eyed.

“I did,” he said. “A whole damn boat. And it looks so good on you, Inej. So good.”

“Thank you.” Inej tried to hide a laugh.  

“But I spend every day trying to convince myself that you’re not drowning. It’s – it’s not fun, Inej. It’s the opposite of fun – what’s the word?”  

“There are many to choose from,” Inej shrugged. “Is this fear because of…?” She wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject. The night he’d told her about nearly drowning, of using his brother’s body to swim to shore from Reaper’s Barge, had been the first time she’d ever seen tears in his eyes. She wasn’t proud of it, but it had startled her. It had thrown the balance of her world off so harshly that she’d tracked down Pekka Rollins that very night and carved his skin until she felt the scales tip again.  

“Probably,” was all Kaz would admit, and he rested one cheek against a gloved fist.

Inej considered this while she threw crumbs to the crows. She cared for him, so very much. And any time she thought of him as that abandoned little boy in the harbor, her insides crumbled.

“You should come out on the water with me,” she told him. “Let me show you it’s not what you remember.”

“Pass,” Kaz announced, a little too loudly.

“We could start small,” Inej persisted. “Take a little skiff on the canals.”

“The canals are disgusting.” Kaz practically looked petulant, like she was forcing vegetables on him. “Do you have any idea how many drunks piss in those canals? I’ve taken a piss in those canals.”  

Inej grimaced with a groan, but she wasn’t giving up on this idea now that it had seized her.

“I’m a sea captain, Kaz,” she said. “I’ve got you. You will not fall into the canals unless I decide you’re going to fall into the canals. And I haven’t decided yet; it depends on how nice you are to me.” She gave a prim little tilt of her chin as she shot him a coy glance. He was smiling like a silly fool.

“I want to kiss you,” he declared, and even though she knew he was drunk, her face still burned.

“Maybe you should,” she dared.

And for a moment, he sat still and stiff against the window frame, and she thought he would change the subject. But then, he swung his legs back inside the room and limped to where she sat. He towered over her, leaning against the window frame as he gazed over her face, and Inej watched the darkness in his eyes, holding her breath, praying that this time it could go differently.  

Then, slowly, he lifted one gloved hand to her chin, tilting her face up just slightly. She shivered at the brush of leather, missing the warmth of his hands but conceding this for now. And it hardly mattered considering the way he looked at her, his eyes like languid pools of chocolate, melting her.

He cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing her bottom lip, and she drew in a breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a nervous swallow, and she hardly dared to move as he slowly bent down, the tip of his nose brushing hers for a brief moment, before he brought his lips to touch hers.

And Inej wanted to pull him closer, to taste his mouth, to know that he burned for her just as she burned for him, but instead she waited, terrified this time that she could spook him with any sudden movements. And for a moment, it seemed to work.

For a moment, his eyes slid closed. For a moment, he held her there, brushing his lips over hers, dipping in to meet her mouth completely. Thank the Saints, she thought, her eyes closing, giving in. Thank you, thank you.

But only for a moment.

Because a moment later, his whole body went rigid, and he startled the crows away when he wrenched away with a gasp. Inej had to grab the window frame to keep from falling and really destroying the evening. And Kaz staggered backwards, crushing his eyes closed tight with a hand clamped over his mouth. Inej leapt after him before he could tip backwards, as unsteady as he was with drink.  

“Don’t,” he growled, pushing her back instead as he swayed and regained his balance. “Stay back.”

And as harsh as it sounded, it was still improvement. It was more than they’d ever had before, and he wasn’t vomiting or fainting, even with a fair amount of kvas in him. The kiss, as small as it was, left Inej dazzled. She stepped back from him, holding her hands out so he knew he had his space.

But Kaz wasn’t as satisfied. Far from it. In fact, he gave a frustrated roar and then turned and put his fist through the wall.

Inej barely had time to give a startled yelp. If he hadn’t have been wearing his gloves, Kaz surely would have torn his hand to shreds. As it was, he was holding it gingerly in the other hand, and Inej couldn’t be sure if he’d broken fingers or not.  

“Why do you come back here?” Kaz shouted when he whirled back at her, his teeth bared in fury. Inej clenched her fists.

“We have a deal,” she said, coldly. It was the language Dirtyhands understood.  

Kaz scoffed as he tried to move his injured fingers.

“To what end?” he spat, and ground his teeth in pain. “How long will it take you to realize there is nothing here for you to save?”  

“If you weren’t interested in being saved, you wouldn’t have struck the deal in the first place,” Inej shot back. If he was trying to push her away to save face, she wasn’t going quietly.  

“I have nothing to offer you,” Kaz gritted. “I can’t even--” but he couldn’t look at her.

Inej held out her hands toward him, offering to take his injured fingers in hers. He hesitated, the muscle in his jaw ticking.  

“All I have ever asked of you was your honesty and your time,” Inej said. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to try.”  

And slowly Kaz turned, shuffling his weight off his bad leg, and put his wounded hand in hers, the leather dusted in plaster. She slowly started to pull back the leather to inspect the damage, and Kaz sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.  

“I’m very drunk,” he complained.  

“I know you are.”

“This hurts.”  

“Don’t punch walls next time.”  

His knuckles were already swollen and bruised, but nothing looked broken. Nothing ice and a good bandage couldn’t fix.  

“Mati en sheva yelu,” he slurred in Suli. This action will have no echo. And the sincere, painful look he was giving her when she looked up at him in surprise made her want to kiss him all over again. “You know—you say it,” he tried to wave off her adoration.

“I do. I didn’t know you were listening.”  

“I’m always listening, Inej. Inej.” He sighed hard, looking longing at her lips. “It’s going to hurt so much worse than this when this is over.”

Inej looked up at him in surprise.

“Why would you say that?” she frowned.

“You wanted honesty.” Kaz swayed a little on his feet. “I’m giving you honesty. Nothing survives the Barrel. Not even me. Not even you. And now look at me--” He squared his wide shoulders, taking a shuffling step closer, close enough that she could feel his body warmth, smell the tang of wine on his breath. She found herself staring up at the painful depths of his dark eyes, the ache he let her see. “No armor now,” he said, his voice low.

For a moment, Inej’s knees felt weak beneath him, but it was that smell of the red wine that brought her back.

“You’re drunk,” she reminded him. He gave a petulant frown, and maybe that was the reason she found the courage to say the rest. “And if you’re trying to blame me for some unforeseen pain that may or may not even happen, in some misguided attempt to protect yourself from actually feeling something, well, then you’re far crueler than I took you for. And I will not tolerate your cruelty, Kaz Brekker.”  

And so she knew this strategy Kaz Brekker’s demons employed. And she stared him down on the bathroom floor, daring him to go on.

“How so?” she said again.

KAZ

Jordie would have been twenty-five. Jordie never got to dream, to build a name for himself, to live comfortably. Jordie never got to have a girl, to know what it was like to be adored, to wake up next to the same face you dreamt of.

Because of the firepox.

Why did I live? Why did I live?

Kaz was pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Jordie was there, bloated, covered in sores, his vacant eyes glassy.

“How so?”

“The ship was your ticket out,” he rasped, finally, looking up at her. “I gave you the ship. I gave you your family. You were supposed to get far away from here before this happened again. You were supposed to leave.”

“I don’t believe you.” Inej shook her head.

“What do you want from me?” his voice strained, savagely. “Is it not enough to know that I love you and want you to live? You have to keep coming around here, endangering yourself and my crew--”

“Your crew?” Inej raised an angry, skeptical eyebrow.

“Look at me.” Somewhere under the fog of paranoia and haunted memory, Kaz knew he was nearing hysterics. “You are my weakness, a liability--”

But at that, Inej shot to her feet, and the very real threat of actually losing her was enough to shut even Dirtyhands up. She stared down at him, a glare laced with ice and pain and empathy all at once.

“I know you are hurting,” she said, “and I know this isn’t the reason. I know how impossible it can feel to find the source when the pain is all-encompassing. But that gives you no right speak to me this way. We have fought too long and come too far for this.”

The wash of guilt that followed crushed his chest, and Kaz sunk into the heels of his palms once again. She asked only for honesty, came a reminder from somewhere in his frenetic thoughts. Find the source, find the source. She was turning to leave the bathroom, and the dread of not having her voice, pulling him out of the dark, was far worse than any other horror his imagination could conjure up.

“Inej,” he said in a harsh scratch. His throat felt thick. She turned at the broken bathroom door, leaning her head against the frame. Waiting. Expecting.

He had to try.

“I can’t,” he started, and there it was. The source. His mind been twisting it all around in the fog, fumbling with it like a lock in the dark, when it was simple, really. “I can’t do this again,” he said at last, his voice breaking.

“Do what again,” said Inej, though she seemed to understand. She was going to make him say it.

He swallowed hard, his throat constricting.

“I can’t,” he pushed again, “I can’t lose everything to this again. I can’t do it.”

“You are not going to lose everything, Kaz,” Inej said, firmly, and she began to cross the tile back to him again.

“I can’t lose you to this.” He dared to look at her as she sat next to him, their backs against the wall. “Any of you. Jesper. Wylan. I can’t. I have so much more to lose this time.”

“You are not going to lose us.” Inej remained adamant, but Kaz gave a bitter, crooked smile even as he felt hot tears like pinpricks in his eyes. Jordie had made similar promises once. Jordie would have liked Inej.

“You can’t promise that.” His rasp was becoming a whisper. “You can’t promise any of that.”

And to her credit, Inej didn’t try to fight. It was firepox. It wasn’t a rival gang. There was no strategy. There was only the gamble. Outlast. Outlive. That’s all you could do.

Inej set her hand on his knee. He knew she would have liked to have done more, but he was grateful she didn’t try. This was enough.

“Then for tonight,” she said, “we’ll be scared. And we’ll be sad. And then tomorrow, we’ll pick up the pistols and the knives again. We’ll fight again another day.”

We. He didn’t deserve to be a We, but he feared the loss far more. And with a deep breath to summon his courage, he put his hand over hers. He had to wait a moment to allow the shudder to pass through him, but then he gave her fingers a squeeze in agreement. When he looked over at her, her big, brown eyes were glassy with tears.

“Kaz,” she said, softly, “tell me about Jordie.”

Kaz rested his head against the bathroom wall. There was so much to say about Jordie. He could have told her about the games he made up or the jokes he liked to tell or the useless toys he bought Kaz, just to see his little brother grin. He could have told her about his dangerous optimism or his blind ambition or his stupid hubris. He wanted to tell her how riding on Jordie’s shoulders had made him feel like an invincible giant, and what good were gods or Saints or Grisha if they couldn’t even protect a boy as deserving of life as Jordie?

Instead, Kaz Rietveld broke down and wept.

INEJ  

It was a long night, the first of many long nights. Inej wasn’t sure when Kaz finally fell asleep, but she awoke first and shuffled out of the attic in Kaz’s nightshirt, down to the empty kitchen of The Slat to percolate a kettle of strong black coffee. When she brought up cups, she found him sitting on the edge of the bed, bleary-eyed and disheveled. He couldn’t have slept more than two or three hours.

She handed him a cup of coffee without a word and noticed he avoided touching her fingers when he took the mug. She understood all too well how the tide of war against the demons of memory could shift dramatically with so little warning, and she was ready to tell him so when he let out a small, defeated sigh and leaned to rest his head against her stomach.

Had anyone ever seen the Bastard of the Barrel so broken? No one would ever know, the Wraith determined. She ran her fingers through the thick, soft hair at the top of his head, avoiding his scalp, and held him there against her. He gave no protest.

“I thought I had defeated this,” he said, after a long silence.

“The past can be tricky like that,” Inej replied. The dawn was golden over the tile rooftops of Ketterdam. “It has teeth, and sometimes it demands attention.”

“Suli proverb?”

“No.” Inej sighed. “Just the story of my life.”

Kaz was silent a moment as they both sat with their demons at the door. He lifted a hand like he wanted to hold her closer, but ended up tugging absentmindedly on the rolled-up sleeve of her nightshirt instead.

“You were ready.” The self-loathing in Kaz’s voice was palpable and twisted in Inej’s gut. “Yesterday, you wanted me to--”

“Kaz.” Inej stopped him and gave the back of his head a little tug so he’d look up at her. “Are you forgetting the terms of our deal? I want you. Mind, body, and soul. Those were your exact words. This,” she brushed back his sleep-disheveled hair with tender fingers and he closed his eyes, “this is all part of the deal. Your past, your memories, your fears – they are all a part of the man I love. I wouldn’t have you without them.”

Kaz was still beneath her fingers in his hair, but after a moment, his chest rose and fell with a sigh and he gave a little nod.

With the streets outside silent and abandoned, they spent the rest of the day in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes talking, always a safe distance from each other. When night fell, however, Inej woke up briefly to find Kaz’s bare hand fitted to her the slope of her waist as he slept, curled on his side. She smiled to herself in the dark.

KAZ

The plague bells continued to toll every day, a regular reminder of the reaper that spread like wildfire through the streets. The first three days were near-constant torment. Inej did her best to try to distract him with card games and books. She even got desperate and showed him knife tricks that made even him feel uneasy that she was going to hurt herself.

“Seriously, that’s enough,” he finally told her at one point. “I can’t go out and bring back a Tailor for you if you lose a finger today.”

“I am not going to lose a finger.” But she stopped anyway. He was grateful. Every moment of the day, his heart was pounding and his mind was racing while he watched for telltale signs. She’d grow tired first, then lose her appetite when the fever began to rise, and then would come the sores that would erupt all across her perfect body. It would rot her beautiful face. Sometimes, lying in bed, eyes closed, was all he could manage to do to keep himself from losing it completely.

But as the end of the first week drew near, they were both still healthy, and Kaz found he could go an hour without imagining her death. Each day grew a little more normal, and each day brought a little more freedom. He could show her card tricks and live entirely in the moment her face lit up in delighted wonder, no fear of the future. Each night, Inej would flit across the rooftops of Ketterdam to the Van Eck mansion, returning to The Slat with news that Jesper and Wylan were well and bored and sent their regards, and Kaz’s unease settled a bit more. By the second week, he could lie across from Inej at night, and his mind would fill with tender memories instead of horrors. Instead of her dying face, he thought of the sun shimmering on her golden brown skin, the harbor winds in her black hair, the rose petal-softness of her lips against his cheek.

How she convinced him to let her paddle him through the canals of Ketterdam, he’ll never know. Maybe it was partially his own fault. He was growing desperate to make progress, to hold her how he wanted to hold her, and it was becoming apparent to him that he had to confront what the waters brought up in him.

She’d stashed away her own money and bought herself a skiff, the first boat she’d purchased on her own, and her eyes dazzled when she spoke of it, and Kaz knew he wanted to see her captain it. He’d walked the decks of The Wraith with her, his heart soaring with pride as he watched her in her element. Kaz loved to see Inej happy. He loved nothing more.

But all of that couldn’t prevent him from sitting in the exact center of the skiff with his arms crossed in defense – against what? – and his body so rigid, the first harsh jostle of the skiff could snap him in two.

“You hate this,” Inej observed. She’d stopped rowing and came to sit next to him, facing the opposite direction. The canal waters were still as the skiff drifted forward. They were in a quiet part of town where the narrow streets were largely ignored. A shopkeeper swept the cobblestones in front of their shop; an old man smoked a pipe on the steps of a pub.  

“I never said that,” but Kaz didn’t look at her.  

“You didn’t have to.” Inej raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take us home.”

“No--”

“I’m glad you tried. That means a lot--”

“Inej.” He touched her wrist, his hands bare, and looked up at her face as she was about to move back to steer the boat. Her skin shone in the sunlight as the breeze swept strands of her hair across her face. Her eyes in the sunshine were like caramels. Kaz didn’t want to go back. That was the last thing he wanted.  

“I need new memories of the water,” he rasped. “That’s all.”

“Better memories,” Inej agreed, and she turned her hand, fitting her fingers through his. He closed his eyes while he took in the warmth of her palm against his, alive and perfect.  

And then it happened. His eyes still closed, he felt the soft brush of her lips against his cheek. His heart stuttered and warmed. It hadn’t felt revolting at all. It had surprised him, and he’d liked it. He’d actually liked it. He opened his eyes to her sweet smile, and he wanted more.

This was what he would always consider their first real kiss. He turned his body and wrapped one hand at her waist, holding her close. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shrink back. No, she leaned in. She wanted. He tilted his head to meet the slant of her lips and lost himself in her sweetness, with the sun bright overhead and the lazy lapping of canal water against the sides of the skiff.  

INEJ

“They’re lifting some quarantine measures,” Kaz told her over coffee one morning. Inej looked up at him, eager, as he scanned the headlines of the Ketterdam Ledger. The days had become routine in the microcosm of their world, and she desperately needed to tend to The Wraith.

“The harbors?” she asked.

“They’re not opening the harbors yet,” Kaz shook his head, then shot a glance at her, catching her frustration. “Not that that should stop us,” he said, folding up the paper.

A smile began to creep along Inej’s lips.

“Are you sure?” she questioned. In the first days of the quarantine, Kaz didn’t even want to leave the room. He’d laid rest to many demons since then, but his exhaustion was still fresh in her mind.

But the smile he gave back to her was a Dirtyhands smirk, and her stomach fluttered pleasantly.

“Figure out the quarantine guard shift change at the harbor,” he told her. “We’ll go tonight.”

The Wraith threw back the last of her coffee and made a mad dash for the rooftops, like a bat out of hell.

That night, they dressed the part. It was a little silly, Inej realized, strapping on her knives over her leggings, when this wasn’t anything like a real job. But a forbidden midnight dash into the cordoned harbor was far more entertaining than the same old card games, and Inej was mad for some excitement. As she watched Kaz suit up out of the corner of her eye, she suspected he felt much the same way. They were both ready for some semblance of normality.

They tied makeshift masks over their faces before slipping into the abandoned shadows of Ketterdam’s alleys. Kaz’s limp was more pronounced after weeks of being holed up in The Slat, and while Inej didn’t point it out, she still kept to the darkness so he didn’t have to rush. After a few blocks, his muscles loosened, and their pace quickened, and when they neared the harbor, Inej stopped them, her back against the brick wall of a building, and held out a hand for Kaz’s pocket watch. The chain clinked as he handed it to her, and she checked the time.

She pulled the mask down to her neck as she handed the watch back.

“We’re early,” she whispered up at him. “Few minutes still.”

Kaz nodded beneath his mask as he pocketed the watch. Suddenly, Inej’s heart thudded as she looked him over. It had been weeks since he’d worn one of his tailored black suits, and the thrill of seeing him looking like himselfagain overtook her.

When her eyes traveled up to his face, she saw that he’d noticed her staring, and he lifted his dark eyebrows.

“See something you like?” he asked, his rasping voice muffled behind mask. Inej pressed back a smirk.

“Cheeky bastard,” she shot back.

“You’re the one who likes cheeky bastards,” said Kaz, and took two shuffling steps closer, leaning on his crow’s head cane, so close their bodies were nearly touching.

“Just this one,” Inej replied, and gave a little tug on his mask to reveal his crooked half smile.

Inej drew in a breath as Kaz took one more step and she felt the brace of his body against her. She’d never say it, but she had ached for him all these weeks – so close to her, and yet so out of reach. To her delight, he leaned his cane against the wall and wrapped both gloved hands around her waist. She held on to his shoulders as he pressed against her, taking her lips, softly at first, and then with insistence.

Thank the Saints, Inej thought, not for the first time, and let herself melt into him.

She ran her hands up his shoulders and around his neck, crossing her wrists behind his head, and let him press her back against the wall. It was as if he was making up for lost time, and his touch drove her mad, in the best way possible. He parted her lips with his tongue, and a soft moan escaped her throat as his fingers twisted in the fabric of her vest.

“Gods, I’ve missed this,” Kaz rasped when they broke apart finally, lungs aching. His chest was heaving, breathless, as Inej dragged her fingers under the lapels of his jacket, over the hard muscle beneath, pulling him closer.

And she gasped as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to the soft bit of skin just below her ear, and she was ready to forget the world entirely when his teeth grazed her neck, his hands roaming her hips, except at the last minute, she remembered the time. While he cupped her ass, she slipped her fingers into his waistcoat pocket.

“Now,” she said, pulling back, suddenly. “We have to go now.”

“Did you just pick my pocket?” Kaz realized, a little dazed, as Inej replaced his pocket watch. But she was already soundlessly running for the docks.

The Wraith waited at Fifth Harbor, looking no worse for wear, as they scaled its sides in the dark and leapt aboard. Inej walked its decks in the moonlight, shining full beyond the tall masts. She knew that weeks in the water with no maintenance, the list of chores that needed to be taken care of had grown long. For one thing, the decks were covered in bird shit. There were sails that needed mending, hulls that needed shucked of their barnacles, cannons that needed cleaning. She at least needed to take stock of the work ahead, so she could quickly divvy up the load among her crew when the quarantine was lifted.

She could sense Kaz’s eyes on her, almost hungry since their exchange in the alley. And now that they had evaded the quarantine guards, she found she liked it. She gave him a provocative glance the next time she noticed his predatory gaze.

“You picked my pocket,” he repeated, slitting his eyes. His dark eyes in the silver moonlight made her heart skip. She turned to face him at the base of the mizzenmast.

“And whatever will you do about it, Brekker,” she challenged.

He tapped his cane against the wood of the deck three times.

“I have some ideas,” he rasped, a quirk of a smile on his lips, and Saints she wanted him to press up against her again.

It was as if he read her mind. He let his cane drop with a clatter as he took her in his arms, pressing her back against the wood of the mizzenmast, and she lifted onto her toes to hungrily take his lips with hers.

He wasn’t slow and methodical now. He was like a drowning man gasping his first breath of air. He was kissing her as much as he could, her lips, her cheeks, her throat, his hands digging into the back of her shirt, nearly lifting her off her toes. She brought her hands to either side of his face to hold him still, to kiss him deeper, to breathe in his scent like she hadn’t in weeks. Her Kaz. He wasn’t gone. He could fight his way out of any hole, no matter how black. And how she loved him for it.

One of his hands slid from her back, raking up her rib cage to cup her breast, and she gasped into his mouth as he kneaded it with his long fingers. There was warmth pooling between her legs, desire like a steady tide rising in her veins. She pressed her hips against his and found he was already hard. Her cheeks warmed. More, she needed more.

“I want you,” she gasped. She’d let go of his face, running her hands over his shoulders, as he left a train of kisses down her neck.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he groaned. And it was all the permission she needed: she started pulling at the buttons of his waistcoat, his white shirt, tearing some, pushing her fingers through to his hot skin and muscles underneath.

He wasn’t running. He tore at her shirt, his lithe fingers dancing through buttonholes as her blouse fell open to him, and he bent his head, pulling at the center of her back, to bring his mouth to her cleavage.

“Take those damn gloves off,” she demanded, and, as he did, she threw off her shirt and the useless mask from her neck and undid the bindings that held in her breasts. Kaz’s shirt was still hanging open, his hair he’d finally worked hard to put in place now falling in his eyes, as he stepped back to her, running his bare hands up her back, over her neck, to caress her breast.

She nipped at his earlobe, raking her hands down his torso, to that fine line of hair at his beltline. And as he kissed her again and again, she undid the black leather belt. He drew back with in a sharp breath as she pushed past his wiry curls and wrapped her fingers around his hard length.

“Is this what you want?” he rasped, as she began to stroke him. He released a low breath and leaned a little harder against the mast at her back.

“I want everything,” she told him in a husky voice, and he looked at her with those half-starved black eyes, lips slightly parted, before slipping his own careful fingers into her leggings.

Her head fell back against the mast and she tightened her grip on his cock as she felt his clever lockpick fingers slid over her clit. Her breasts heaved with a deep sigh, and Kaz let out a stuttering breath when she did, his eyelids fluttering.

“Careful,” he groaned with a gasp. “I don’t know if I can – shit, Inej, really, you could end this too soon.”

“I want you to feel what you make me feel,” she breathed, slowing her strokes.

“But I don’t want this to end,” Kaz gritted out, and looped his spare hand around her wrist, pulling her hand back. And just as she was about to protest, he slid both hands beneath her leggings at her waist. He wanted her bare again, she realized, and she was desperate for release.

She helped him slid her leggings to the deck, and before she could wonder what he was going to do next, he knelt before her, one hand on either thigh. With his careful eyes watching her always, he took one of her legs over his shoulder, bringing his soft lips to kiss her folds.

His breath was hot against her, and Inej raised her arms over her head to grab the mast behind her to keep her knees from crumbling under her.

“Where did you learn this?” she gasped, her heart racing. She shivered as he ran a hand over her core and her navel, stroking her tense muscles.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Kaz mumbled against her cunt, and the harsh rasp of his voice sent a wave of pleasure through her.

“I have to know--” Inej could hardly finish her sentence as he stroked his tongue slowly up the strip of her pussy. She would know, but it certainly didn’t matter now. Her legs were giving out under her, and he wrapped his strong arms under her thighs as she held onto the mast, his hair, anything to ground her.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, and he certainly seemed to have no intention to. He used one thumb to caress her clit as he sucked and stroked her folds, and her whole body was alight at his touch. The tension was building low in her abdomen, and she couldn’t hardly believe this was happening right here on her own ship. She gazed down at her Kaz, his perceptive eyes trained on her, the eyes that saw her and saved her and endlessly loved her, and she brushed his hair back as she felt the wave of orgasm nearing.

The trapped girl she’d been in the Menagerie could never have dreamed this could be her life. The trapped girl in the Menagerie might have slept easier knowing this day was coming.

“Kaz,” she breathed out his name in a soft moan as she came, wave after wave of sensation rolling through her core. “Thank you,” she was whispering, again and again. “Thank you.”

She was catching her breath as he straightened himself to his feet, kissing her softly while she came down from her high. His belt buckle was still undone, and she ran her fingers around the bare skin at his waist.

“How did you learn how to do that?” she asked him as she looked up at him, dreamily. He just shook his head with that sneaking, crooked smile. Well, fine. She could get him to talk.

She looped her hands through his belt and turned him so that his back now pressed against the mast, and then dropped to her knees.

“Fuck,” she heard Kaz whisper, and she quickly undid his trousers, dropping them to his ankles.

She’d seen him naked many times before, but this was the first time she’d decided to do something about it. His length stiffened just from her proximity, and when she glanced up at him, he looked like he was hardly daring to breathe.

She slowly brought the tip to her lips. Kaz drew in a breath.

“Tell me where you learned how to do that thing with your mouth,” she whispered with a smirk.

“Oh, that’s how this is going to be?” Kaz looked confident, but she saw how he already gripped the mast behind him. She dragged her tongue up his length, and he cursed again.

“You should tell me.”

“Holy fuck, Inej.”

This was going to be fun. Inej wrapped her lips around him, and he let out a low sound she’d never heard from him before. She worked her mouth up and down his length, relishing the pleasure she brought him, how she could turn this dangerous man into a gasping mess.

His thighs were already tensing as he struggled to hold himself upright. He’d been right; this wasn’t going to last long. He’d leaned his head back against the mast, chest heaving, and once he looked like he was going to cry out something, but instead he came with a grunt and a shudder, his fingers curling in her hair. She swallowed the heat that filled her throat, watching him quake and moan as she did, and only then did she release him.

“Nina told me.” Kaz was gasping, eyelashes fluttering as Inej stood up. “I wrote Nina for advice, and she told me about the thing I could do with my mouth. Holy shit, Inej.”

“You wrote Nina?” Inej wasn’t sure if she should be horrified or laugh. “I wrote Nina.”

Kaz opened his eyes at last, looking unconcerned.

“Well, I wasn’t about to ask Jesper for advice. And Wylan’s never even seen a vagina.”

“We will never hear the end of this.”

“She’ll raise us from the dead just to talk about it again.”

Inej thought for a moment before concluding: “Worth it.”

And because they were bored of The Slat, they curled up for the night in Inej’s captain’s quarters, the full moon filling the porthole window and lighting up the night. Sometime in the night, Inej awoke, caught a glimpse of the sea from the window, and poked Kaz in the side until he woke up.

KAZ

“What is it?” he whispered.

“The sea,” she told him.

He wanted to whine. He rarely slept soundly, and had she really just woke him up to look at the damn sea?

Of course she had.

She brought him above deck and shimmied down the ropes to The Wraith’s rowboat, gesturing for him to follow. Kaz felt like he was moving through a dream, but even in dreams, he would follow his girl to the end of the world.

She took the oars of the boat and told him to lie down in the center of the little craft. Kaz gave a relinquished sigh and did as he was told, letting her row them out into the dark harbor, slipping past guards’ watch lanterns, and out into the still waters of the open sea.

He’d long past given up on worrying about Inej’s decisions. If there was a reason she wanted them out in open waters in the middle of the night, it had to be a good one. He closed his eyes and listened to the lapping of the water, willing back old memories and thinking of Inej. His sea captain. He wouldn’t fall to the waters as long as she had him.

Eventually, she stopped rowing, dropped an anchor, and came to lie beside him in the center of the boat.

“It seems like I’m supposed to understand what’s happening,” Kaz said, their shoulders next to each other.

“I wanted you to have a new memory,” Inej said. “Just be still and look around.”

And Kaz raised himself up onto his elbows to look at the sea around him. It was at that moment he understood her love of the sea.

The black sky wrapped around them as far as the eye could reach, glittering with countless stars from horizon to horizon. The surface of the water stretched out all around, a perfect mirror of the sparkling lights in the heavens. Kaz drew in a breath in wonder, suddenly without words. If there was ever magic in the world, this was it.

He looked down at Inej, her hands under her head, as she gazed up at the sky, the picture of contentment.

“Maybe now you’ll think of this, too, when you remember the firepox,” she said, as she gazed softly up at him.

He would. Oh, he would.

He bent over, cupping her cheek, and kissed her fully. His girl. His Inej. His magic. His whole heart. She turned to him on her side, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts against his chest, unbound beneath her thin shirt. Desire coursed through him as he felt the puckered drag of her nipples across his body. His fingers slid through her loose hair, deepening the kiss, and blood rushed to his cock for the second time that night. What surprised him more was her hand dipping down, pressing against it through his trousers, as if she could coax it out.

“Again?” he wondered aloud, and kicked himself for it immediately. But Inej smiled against his lips and touched her nose to his.

“Better memories,” she whispered.

She slipped off her leggings while giving him a pointed glance at his tented trousers. It took a moment to understand her meaning. She wanted him to take them off.

He slid out of his trousers and then the rest of his clothes as Inej did the same, the cool night air brushing against her nipples and hardening them. He wanted to lose himself in them again, kiss them and taste them and –

Just as he was imagining the many things he was about to do to her breasts, Inej pushed him down again onto his back at the center of the rowboat. Slowly, she crawled on top of him, and his cock throbbed, begging, pleading.

This had to be a dream. Surely this was a dream. He only ever had dreams this good.

But the sigh she let out when their bodies connected was very real. And her tight heat sliding over his cock had never felt so good in his sleep. She guided herself down slowly, her hands on his torso, and Kaz released a shaky moan.

He’d convinced himself for years that this was impossible. The angry monster he’d been had locked every fantasy of this away. The broken boy he’d been was sure he’d never deserve this.

Here he was anyway.

Inej rocked over his length above him, taking her time, leaving slow, languid kisses on his mouth. He fitted his hand to the curve of her waist, her long hair brushing over his fingers. The desperation he’d felt on the decks of the ship had passed, and now he could float among the stars, his mind blank, giving his body wholly to the girl who loved him.

Every grim eventuality Kaz had conjured in his mind about the future seemed to dissipate there beneath the stars. He could be wrong. They would have time. They could live like this for years. There was nothing in their way. He had time. He had time.

When Inej quickened her pace, she was as slippery and wet as a minnow, and soon Kaz couldn't help writhing beneath her, arching, exulting, her name on his lips, his heart in her hands. He loved her; he’d love her til the end of time, and he said so, and he was nothing if not true to his word. And when he crumbled beneath her, he was unaware of anything but her her her, and when the wave subsided, there were stars all around her.

She kissed him again and again before lying beside him and mussing up his disheveled hair, grinning up at him with eyes that glittered in starlight.

“That was unexpected,” he panted, and looked over at her. “You’re not worried about – you know--” He gestured at her womb, fumbling for words.

“Nina told me how to prevent it, don’t worry.” Inej was breathing hard, too.

“We have got to stop talking about Nina when we’re naked. It’s getting weird.”

“Agreed.”

And though they knew they’d have to return to the ship before first light, Kaz tucked her close to his body anyway, tracing her curves with his fingertips, watching the stars above them. As he did, he thought of the future once more, only this time, he didn’t see death.

He saw an expanse as limitless as the infinite, starry horizon, as open to him as the sea.

[unstoppableforcce]

waves crash, ships don’t ( 7 )

The Mandalorian x reader

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wow okay, so I was going to have this up last night but then I made it so much worse, oops. enjoy ? I still really love all the feedback so please keep it coming !

The lightning that night woke you with a thunderous clap.

In your own defense, you had barely been asleep. After hours of laying on your sad excuse for a bed, simply staring at the ceiling, you had managed to briefly drift off and that was when the weather woke you back up.

By then, you knew no sleep was coming and you weren’t one to waste any more time waiting for it. You had to stay busy. Sitting… Lingering in it… It would all come back.

Who were you kidding? It was back the second the Razor Crest cut its engines on your front lawn.

The fire had nearly begun to die out, you noticed it the second you stepped out of your small room. But all of the firewood was still drenched.

It wasn’t a cold planet, quite the opposite, the steamy jungle surrounding the house and the hot winds off the coast kept everything plenty warm on its own. But the smoke was necessary to keep the natural insects away, not that they were dangerous, more of a nuisance than anything else.

But since you had taken up a home there, you had never once let the fire die out.

It was hard during the wet season, but you had managed. But not this year. Not with them here. You just weren’t functioning at your highest capacity and the mee thought f it made you uneasy.

Trying to keep a silent step, you inched closer to the central pit and watched as the embers continued to flicker, not much of a fire but still something small and warm. They each laid out around the room. Mando stayed on the couch, occupying one side while Cara took the other, a reasonable distance between the two of them which the child filled. Karga was on the other side of it, laid out across the floor strewn around with blankets.

But within seconds of standing over them and watching, you knew he was awake. You could feel his stare, even from where he laid down.

And you let it linger, pretending you didn’t notice, keeping your stare on the fire and nothing else. You weren’t sure why you did it, why you wasted the time playing into his hand, but you did. Wrapping your thin blanket even tighter, you stayed still, just letting him stare.

He may have been hurt still, but he knew you knew. You always knew.

Yet the silence lingered.

Every so often, a thunderous clap would echo, accompanying the violent downpour of rain against the roof or the child would let out a faint snore. In the briefest periods of silence from the storm, the waves could be heard crashing violently against the shore.

There was no rhythm to it. It was crude and disjointed. Nothing like the gentle lull you had been so easily encapsulated by the day prior while sitting on the damp sand.

This was as aggressive as the storm.

As a particularly large wave crashed, the wind whipped a gust of rain into the side of the house and lighting struck, a bright flash of light coating the room before an unsettling rap of thunder followed.

He sat up with a faint groan, incapable of letting the game of pretend linger any longer between the two of you. You were both too adept for that.

But you surprised him with your raspy morning voice, speaking first.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Even as it came with gravel in the tone, as tumultuous as the sea raging outside, it felt soft as it coasted to his ears.

Maybe it was because you looked particularly soft where you stood with your arms wrapped around your torso, keeping yourself encased with just the blanket, the dying fire casting an almost warm glow across the half of your form which faced it. Or maybe it was because you intended it to come out as soft, though he couldn’t wrap his mind around that idea for long.

You wouldn’t be soft, he told himself, not with him. 

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

You nodded slowly along with him, trying to not linger too long of the thought that he had been listening to you toss and turn in your bed, incapable of falling asleep the entire night. But you couldn’t help it. He laid out on the couch in a very specific direction, the direction facing your small room.

The ambient silence returned, him staring at you and you staring at the fire while the storm seemed to ravage the jungle and coastline outside the thin walls of your house.

But it wasn’t that noise which bothered you. It was the faint snores from the child that wouldn’t escape your mind. The small green creature which had been so bright. So happy.

That was a sound you needed out of your head, a sound you need to talk over. And suddenly the words fell from your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Why did you come here?”

Out of your peripheral, you could spot the slight change in sparkling reflection across his helmet as he quirked his head.

“We needed somewhere to lay low.” He answered quietly, another low groan escaping through his modulator as he managed his way to his feet. “Somewhere off the radar.”

You nodded again, still refusing to glance his way, even as he got closer to where you stood. From the corner of your eye, you could see he still had his chest plate and undershirt off, not replacing anything after you cut it off to save him. Instead, he had a blanket tossed over his shoulders, loosely shrugging over his form.

He looked warm. You forced your focus back to the crackling of the last remnants of wood in the pit.

“She apologized for you.” Again, the words came before you could stop them. But once they were out, you couldn’t take them back, nor did you have any intention to do so. 

He quirked his head once more, angling himself to you instead of the pit you stared at.

You answered before he even got the question out, “Cara… She said you were thankful I let you stay, that you felt bad for breaking whatever promise you made to me.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, toeing the line of audible once the thunder surged through the sky again. But he heard you. He was standing to close to miss it, and his stare followed the flex of your lips with every word you spoke. He didn’t miss a syllable.

Which was why his heart sank the way it did.

He stole a brief glance to where Cara had passed out, face inwards to the bend of the couch. He couldn’t tell if she was awake yet, he was trying as hard not to wake them as you were. But if she was awake, there was no way she would show it. He knew she would try to eavesdrop for as long as possible in place of disturbing them in any way.

He wasn’t sure whether he was mad or not. It wasn’t that her comment was out of place, or even wrong, it was that they had been words he was incapable of getting out, of telling you directly the way he wanted to and she told you before he got the chance. He wasn’t mad. If anything, he felt slightly inadequate.

“You consider it a broken promise?” Your meek voice eked out before he had a chance to assemble any version of an adequate response. “You told them you broke a promise to me but-”

“Yes.”

Your stare finally disconnected from the fire and turned to him. Half cast over in shadows, half burning with the warmth of the fire given the way he turned towards you.

Another calamity of waves against the shore crashed down and another violent strike of wind and rain hit the windows, giving the house a slight shake that neither of you paid any attention to now that your stares remained fixed on one another.

“I promised that I would keep you safe, and I didn’t.” He managed out through a clenched throat. His brain didn’t even know how he was managing it as he traced the intricate details across you equally as shadowed and fire painted face. “I failed you.”

You didn’t know what strength you were pulling from to keep his stare, but you couldn’t look away from the small slit of his helmet, knowing his stare behind it had never left you since you walked in.

A bright strike of lighting cast the two of you in a bright light for the briefest of seconds before fading back to the warm light of the fire, getting smaller and smaller each and every second, then the thunder came.

The memories were there as soon as the bright hue of the lightning hit across his beskar, illuminating him from the shadows briefly.

How the aggressive artificial lights of the stolen imperial ship had cast him in the same glow. Three years ago. The day he made the promise.

The ship was soaring through space at hyperspeed, he had abandoned the controls to come to the back of the cargo hull and watch you tend to your own wound. You knew he was staring. You always knew.

A bounty was placed on you. That was why he came to find you. What you had done in the two months since he had last seen you, he didn’t know, nor did he care. And he had absolutely no intention of freezing you in carbonite aboard his ship either. He found you to warn you.

Unfortunately, running with the paranoia of a hefty bounty on your head made you much more skeptical of the beskar covered hunter. The second he entered the cantina you were hidden in, you started a bar brawl, using it as a distraction to escape him. The long wound across your chin came as a broken bottle skimmed your throat and caught your jawline, a consequence of the battle you started to escape him.

Him. The man you had the least to fear from in the bar. You just didn’t know that at the time.

You managed to get out, but so did he, following you back to your ship just as you collapsed in the hull. A stolen imperial model. Not that there was any empire anymore, but it was certainly not a ship you bought with your own credits.

Futilely, you tried to fight him with blood cascading from your chin. He shut that down easily, but with hunters still following, he had no choice but to get you to safety aboard your own ship. Which was how he ended up flying it while you applied your own bacta in the hull.

And now, he just watched.

As soon as you had the last of the patch covering the wound, you looked back to him and sighed. He took that as an invitation to approach, whether it was or not, he didn’t care.

“So, how much are you getting for me?” You shot back carefully, eyeing him as he came to standstill in front of where you sat.

“I’m not.” He sighed, groaning briefly as he bent down onto his knees in front of you. “I came to warn you, not to bring you in.”

You scoffed, directly into his helmeted face, shaking your head as much as you could before your cut began to sting against the patch.

“I could never hurt you.” He tried again, placing his hand gently to your knee, waiting for you to hit it away, but you didn’t.

You let it linger as you always allowed his stare to.

“I don’t know who put the bounty on you, but I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And in that moment, with his gloved fingers drawing tiny shapes into your skin, you believed him. Worse. You trusted him.

You didn’t trust anyone. But you trusted him. 

For a year, you trusted him. You heeded his word and stayed put on a small planet, immersed in the religious culture as you traded labor for the monastery in exchange for privacy.

He knew hunters better than you did. He said you would be safe there. He promised you that.

A year later almost exactly, two hunters set fire to the entirety of the village to flush you out.

You woke to the sound of screams, screams of children and adults alike. The same children and adults who had accepted you so easily, who had been so bright and happy, who had been screaming with excitement as they celebrated their holidays just a mere hours prior to the current calamity.

The village was gone. Almost everyone was dead. And they did it to get to you.

Mando showed up two hours too late, finding you covered in blood, kneeling over the bodies of the two hunters responsible, a knife in your hand. The blood wasn’t yours. None of it was.

He didn’t bother trying to explain himself, he knew you wouldn’t hear it.

He just waited silently as he watched you wash the blood from your body in the still water of the lake.

Since the day the bounty was placed on you, he had only seen you smile when playing with the village youth. Now, as you washed the dark blood of the men who killed them from your skin, he knew he wouldn’t see you smile again.

He didn’t bother telling you he eliminated the one who put the bounty on you in the first place. It didn’t matter to you anymore. You knew he would only be back if he had done that, if he was sure you would be safe now, he had said just that. You didn’t need him to say it, you knew.

And it didn’t matter.

You pushed the knife into his hand as you walked with a drenched form out of the water, you were nothing like he left you.

He did that to you. He knew that. He had ruined you. 

As much as you wished it was a memory only brought back by him being there, you couldn’t lie. It was the highlighted plot of each of the nightmares that plagued you when you laid in bed desperate for sleep on this hot planet. It wasn’t even worse now that he was there. You couldn’t blame him like that. They were always bad. With him there, they were still bad. No worse. They couldn’t get worse.

He promised to keep you safe and failed. He knew that. 

Two years and he still didn’t realize that he hadn’t failed you in that respect.

“I’m alive.” You muttered out, pulling your blanket even tighter around your form. It wasn’t cold. You weren’t cold. You just needed to.

“That wasn’t what I promised you.” He sighed, taking a half step closer. “Everything that happened was my fault and I promised you.”

“I didn’t meet you at the door with a blaster because you broke that promise.”

He didn’t need to quirk his head to get you to continue, the dam was already broken, the words were coming now.

“I don’t blame you for what happened. I know how to accept responsibility for my own actions…” You inhaled and kept going. “But you left me here alone.”

“I thought that you wanted me gone.”

“You left me like I was some broken piece of equipment.” Your throat had gone dry, but you tried to muster through it. “You couldn’t look at me, that was why you left, don’t blame me.”

“I don’t blame you-”

“You can’t say you left because I wanted you to. I didn’t. You left because your guilt consumed you, so don’t blame me.” You huffed one last time, eyes finally dropping from where they had stayed on his helmeted stare. “I know what I was, I know what I did to get that bounty, I know they died because of me… But I never blamed you and you left me because you convinced yourself I did.”

You stepped around him and moved out of the living area before he had a chance to stop you. He was frozen, incapable of thinking of a single word of response as his heart tore in half.

He let you go.

The waves crashed again on the shore. Ragged and turbulent just like his breathing now. 

tags

@im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @bva14 @steve-thotgers @bonkybaaarnes @persephonehemingway @scintilla-morningstar @sarcasm-n-insomnia @jellyfishpoptart @tedpicklez @morgannope @vaultingphilosophy @fan-g0rl @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @ginger-swag-rapunzel @afootnoteinyourhappiness ( again, I think this is all of them, if I missed you or you want to be added, please let me know, either in the replies or send an ask)

[crowleyellestair]

Desperate Times Call for Stealing Outfits - Jaskier

AN//// Ok, I’m obsessed with this outfit, and I know that this is worn in most of the fics I write, so, here we go

My part 3 is coming soon!

Masterlist

 The hot water was physically relaxing to the bard, but it did little to ease his mind. Even looking over to Y/n, who laid on their shared bed, couldn’t silence his thoughts. She laid face down, her cheek smooshing against the hard cot. She tried to keep her eyes open and focused on him as she had been trying to get him to calm down.

While the sight of her, naked under the small towel that lazily wrapped around her, was a great deterrent, his mind couldn’t leave Geralt. He trusted the Witcher with his life, so the fact that his capability for keeping himself safe was being questioned frustrated the bard. Jaskier knew he’d be fine- the hunt was for a low level noonwraith, where’s the difficulty in that?

If Jaskier had anyone to blame for this line of worry, it would be Y/n herself, though she is trying to talk him down. Jaskier looked to her in any situation that logic is questioned, and since she brought it up, it worried him. She had noticed that the town seemed fine- lively, even, when they first showed up. There is a certain hatred the town holds for non-conformists, so it was odd that before the trio left, they received a job. Why would someone take a week to bring up the monster plaguing their town?

This got to the bard, and so there he sat, in the tub, questioning Geralt’s safety.

“Please, Jaskier. It was just an interesting thought. Correlation is not causation-.” Her entire sentence came out as one long sigh, cut off by a yawn. His hands picked at the wood of the tub’s rim, his eyes following the small ripples in the water’s surface.

“But that isn’t always true, is it. We aren’t sharing this room just because we have a mutual, brooding, unsafe friend. It’s because we’re in love.” His eyes flicked over to her, trying to emphasize his argument with a look, but he watched as a lazy smile spread. She had closed her eyes at that point, so his gaze was futile. It took a minute for her to respond, almost as if she was hearing him in slow motion. Y/n threw her hand up, pointing at him before dropping her hand back down just as fast and replying,

“Don’t forget the number one reason: Jaskier’s gorgeous bottom.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled. He quickly fell back into thought. He pushed out of the tub, snatching up the towel that wasn’t being used. He quickly rubbed himself down before finding an undershirt and pants. He looked decent enough to go out and find Geralt. Y/n had a great knowledge on alchemy, taking over Geralt’s need for replenishing magical items.

Jaskier quietly rifled through her alchemy bag, finding the wraith dust shot towards the bottom. He tiptoed over to her, looking down at her apparent sleeping form. To not disturb her, he didn’t reach for the blanket she laid on. Instead, he reached for his dark blue doublet he had planned to wear the next day, and placed it over her top half. Just in case she shifted in her sleep, she wouldn’t be chilly. Jaskier placed a kiss on her head before heading out.

 When Y/n woke, the room was dim. The candles had burned down to nubs, and the steam the lifted from the water had long passed. Her hair was dry and little noise crept in from the recently filled tavern. Her body snapped into a sitting position, eyes flying to try and find her loving bard. He couldn’t be found, but she noticed her alchemy bag had its contents gently strewn about. Jaskier must not have wanted to make too much noise by putting things back. Y/n took quick inventory, realizing instantly that the only thing missing was a noonwraith weakness. She sighed, putting together that Jaskier must have followed Geralt after she fell asleep.

Y/n looked around, trying not to let worry seep into her mind. Jaskier could easily get lost in the woods, never finding their friend. Or maybe he could be injured, especially if she was right, and it was a trap for Geralt.

Stalking around the room, she couldn’t find clothes. Y/n had always brought in the most coin by selling elixirs and gambling with Gwent. She had no qualms with having an open purse if the boys needed some, and Jaskier must have sent their clothes to the wash. Normally, it would be fine, but Y/n had run out of extra clothes other than her nightgown. As much as she was willing to go hunt the men, and maybe a wraith, in just that, Jaskier’s worries started to gnaw at her. Maybe she was right? It was just something she noticed, and her love for pollical conspiracy sometimes mixed with normal, harmless observations, which gave birth to her thoughts. Jaskier worrying and his absence threw her into a frenzy.

The only clothes around was Jaskier’s, and she threw the dark blue trousers on hastily. While his pants were tight for him, they were way too long and somewhat baggy on her. She laced the top of them just under her breasts, and she rolled up the ends, tucking them into her boots. Y/n couldn’t find his undershirt, so she settled for his doublet. The sleeves were too long, but rolling them up seemed difficult. The red triangle patterns mixed with the yellow slits looked nice, and she stopped to appreciate it for a moment. Jaskier might not know how to fight, but he does know how to find fine clothing. Y/n knotted the coat closed, but Jaskier had fiddled with the top section of them. Damn his need to show off his chest hair- even if she did love it. The valley between her breasts were left to be shown off to any onlookers, and her collarbone quickly got cold.

She thought herself foolish, but desperate times came desperate measures. Throwing her quiver and bow over her shoulder, she made her way into the forest.

 Y/n wasn’t great with tracking, her never really having a need to giving her a good excuse. Luckily, after walking a while in the direction she thought were fresh footprints, she heard Jaskier. Geralt must have been upset for him showing up, and she took off running towards her bard’s retorts.

She pushed through a bush line, straight into the wall of Geralt. Her body bounced off his chest, but his hands shot out to steady her. Her eyes flicked between the two, trying to evaluate for injuries.

“You two are okay?” Her breath came out in heavy puffs from running and relief. Her hands left Geralt’s arms before running over Jaskier, trying to feel for anything wet. “You two are okay!” Y/n let out a hearty laugh, pointing at Jaskier. The sleeve engulfed her hand, only her pointer finger popping out. She wagged it at him before her laughter died down. “You got to me with your worrying.” Her smile fell before cuffing the side of his head. “If you ever leave without telling me that you’re blindly running into danger, I will follow you like I did today, and kill you myself. What if I was right? What the hell were you to do then? That wraith bomb won’t be very effective against a person.” What she heard next was something she hadn’t expected. Geralt’s gruff voice was full of humor as he asks,

“Why are you wearing Jaskier’s clothes.”  Y/n blushed a little as she looked down at herself. She met his gaze, popping her hip and placing her hands on them. She tried to give an intimidating aura, but the sleeves bent, and her hands couldn’t be seen. The puff of the sleeves swallowing her neck, so her illusion was ruined.

“My clothes are being washed. Would you rather I wait if you were in danger?” She watched as his gaze raked her form before a smirk appeared upon him. His gaze left hers to look at the bard.

“At least we found someone who can actually pull the outfit off.” He looked back at her, giving off what she thought was an approving hum, and continued walking back to the town. Jaskier scoffed at his remark before looking down at her.

“He, although rude,” He yelled before quieting his tone, “is right. You look…ravishing. This is doing something to me.” A finger of his hooks itself on the top knot, popping it while staring into her gaze.

“Sadly, nothing could fill these trousers out like you do.” She winked, but the blush spread, and she leaned in to steal a kiss.

“Well, we can certainly take them off.”

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Charge My Card

Fandom: Marvel (CEO AU)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has been on back to back business trips for the past 2 weeks. Now that he’s coming home, he wants you prepared.

Warning: smut

A/N: inspired by Mamrie Hart’s boyfriend and the story she’s told on her podcast ‘This Might Get Weird’

Being away from your love for two weeks was agonizing. For so long, Steve has become an essential part of your every day life and for two weeks, TWO. WEEKS. he wasn’t there. 

Like the extremely loving and codependent people that you are, you talked every day while he was away. The timing was a bit weird due to the time difference, but you didn’t care if you lost sleep. Steve was worth it. 

It was midnight for you in New York and 9 o’clock for him in California. He was working on expanding his company in the West and, despite you being extremely proud of him, you just wanted your man back. 

“Hey, babe,” you sleepily wave at him through facetime. 

Steve seems to place you on a dresser as he begins to undress himself and pulling clothes out of the drawers, “Hi, sweetheart. Gimme a moment, alright?”

He steps back and pay you no mind as he discards his white button up, his undershirt following it. You whistle, “Yeah, take it off!” you giggle when you see him playfully roll his eyes at you. 

He pulls on a plain white tshirt and some sweatpants, then picks up his phone and goes to the bed. He lets out a content sigh as soon as his head hits the pillow, “Hey, beautiful.”

You giggle back, “Hey, handsome. How was your day?”

“I wrapped up all of my final meetings. I have a location so that means that Barnes & Rogers is officially expanding to California.”

You smile wide at him, “Congrats, baby! I knew you and Bucky would be able to do it! Did you guys go and celebrate?”

Steve shook his head, “We had a glass of champagne. Buck actually wanted to have a celebratory dinner, but I wanted to come back to the room, relax, talk to you.”

“You should’ve gone out to celebrate. This is big, Steve.”

He shrugged, “I know, but I’d feel a lot better celebrating back home. Without you and Nat, Buck and I wouldn’t have had the confidence to do this. You guys supported us through it all so it’s only fair that we’re there with you to celebrate.”

“Understandable. Did you want me to plan something? A dinner with all four of us? Or how about a big party? I can get Tony to-”

“Instead of worrying about that right now, how ‘bout you worry about how sore you’re gonna be when I get home,” his lustful gaze and mischievous smirk didn’t go unnoticed by you, as well as his insinuation. 

“Oh. We’re having that kind of celebration, huh?” 

He nodded, “Yup. I need to properly thank you for all the love, support, and patience you provided for me.”

“Hmmm...true.”

“M’ gonna fuck you hard you won’t be able to say anything but my name, baby girl.”

You whimpered, “Steve.”

“Mmmm. Exactly like that, sweetheart.” you watch as he glances to his side and smirks, “Well, it looks like it’s very late into the night for you, baby. I better let you get to bed.”

You scowl at your lover, “You’re a jerk and a tease, Steven Grant Rogers.”

Steve laughs and gives you a wink, “You know it. I love you, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too, babe. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

___________________________

You’re going about your day, sitting at your desk at work, when you get a string of texts from Steve.

Steve: Everything has been finalized. I’m flying back home today. 

Steve: [two photo attachments]

Your brow cocks at the sight of two pictures of his black American Express card. 

Steve: buy something real pretty that I can rip off your beautiful body.

Steve: See you soon, sweetheart. ;)

You feel your face heating up at what your man was insinuating. Looks like you’re going lingerie shopping right after work. 

__________________________

You stare at yourself in the full length mirror back at the apartment you shared with Steve. The baby pink teddy set clings to your skin perfectly, leaving very little to the imagination. 

You received a text from Steve ten minutes ago saying he was ten minutes away. So that meant he’d be arriving any min-

“Y/N?” 

Your body was already buzzing with excitement as soon as you heard his voice. You rushed out of the room and, you were originally going to act all seductive and waltz up to him. But your brain said ‘Fuck that’ and you ran right into his arms, lips against his, already messing up the shade painted on your lips. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” Steve mumbled and stepped back, “Lemme look at ya.’ his eyes raked up your lace clad form and licked his lips, “Goddamn, baby girl. Now that’s quite the sight.”

You shied away from his heated gaze, “I made dinner for you if you wanna-”

He shook his head, “Nah. I wanna go straight for dessert.” he takes your hand and tugs you to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. 

After a flurry of rushed hands and the flying of Steve’s clothes, you were laying on your back on the bed. The white silk sheets feeling soft along your skin. Steve hovered above you, his arms caging you to the bed, his dick hard and red for you already. 

Your hands raked up Steve’s toned arms, “Touch me, Stevie. I missed your touch so much.”

He leaned down and pecked your lips, “I’m right here, sweetness.” he kissed you again and continued to pepper kisses down your jaw, neck, chest. He licked your pebbled nipples that were hidden beneath the lace lingerie. With one hand, he unclasped the bra from its front, letting it fall open. 

His mouth immediately attached to your breast and you let out a moan as he licked and sucked at you, “Steve. Shit, baby.” your hands run through his crisp gelled blonde hair, now messing up the tresses. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, you feel his breath travel down your body as he continues his path down. 

He pauses at your stomach and blows hard against your skin, causing a farting noise to disrupt the sensual aura. You giggle and slapped his shoulder, “Steve!”

He chuckled, “What? I just wanted to hear you laugh for a moment.” he looked up at you with those soft, baby blue eyes. The ones that always made you fall in love with him all over again. 

His mouth then came to your mound. He pressed a kiss over your clothed core and then began to pull down at the thin fabric. You lifted your hips to help him pull them off and he tossed them to the floor. 

He hummed as his thumb softly stroked your slit, stopping at your clit and rubbing slow circles around it, “Absolutely perfect,” he mumbled.

“Steve,” you breathed out his name.

He looked up at you, “Whaddaya want, sweetness, tell me.”

“Want your cock inside me, please. I waited too long for this.”

He chuckled, getting onto his knees and settling in between your legs, his cock in his hand, “Couldn’t agree more. Guess I can get some of that later. Right now, my baby needs me.”

He teases your hole with his tip, getting him nice and wet before he slides in, “Jesus, baby, you’re soaking already.”

“Ste-ooohh fuck yes!” you cry out as he sheathes himself inside you. He stays there for a moment, relishing in your warmth, wetness, tightness.

“So snug around me, baby girl. Missed this. Missed you.” and with a hard thrust the intense fuck session began. 

Steve Rogers can be gentle in bed when he wants to be. And right now, he doesn’t want to be. 

His thrusts are fast and hard. Your legs are over his shoulders as he pounds into you so deep. Your back is slightly arching off the bed. His hands are on your breasts, squeezing and kneading them, pinching your nipples to give you pleasure.

“Fuck, Steve! Yes! Like that, baby! Fuck me hard!”

He smirks down at you and loves how you beg for him. He loves how let loose and come undone for him. He loves how you open yourself up to him. All for him.

“You love my dick, don’t you, sweetheart? Love cumming on my cock? Love when I pound you so hard you can’t even walk?”

“God, yes, Stevie! Love when you fuck me so good!”

“Goddammit, baby!” he grits his teeth and his pace doesn’t relent. In fact, he tries to go even faster. He wants to see you cum so bad. He loves that look in your face when you do, love that fact that it’s all his doing. 

“Play with your pussy for me, baby. I want ya to cum on my cock and cum hard.”

Your hand immediately goes to your clit and rubs fast circles around the hard, wet nub. You stare up into Steve’s lust filled eyes, “I wanna cum on your cock, Steve. God, make me cum.”

“Shit, I can feel you’re close. Keep goin’, sweetness. Wanna feel ya.”

You whimper out his name and you let your head fall back against the mattress, your hand and his cock working in tandem to bring you to your climax, “Fuck. Gonna cum. Fuck, Steve!”

“Do it, baby!” he groans when he feels your walls squeeze onto his cock, your body slightly shaking by how powerful the orgasm is. 

Steve watches as your eyes shut tight and your jaw goes slack. A deep moan emits from the back of your throat and you let out a somewhat of a squeal, followed by his name, “Steve, oh fuck!”

He smirks and then presses a kiss to your mouth, “Good girl, baby. Such a good girl.” he then moves your legs off his shoulders and hooks an arm around your waist. As he falls back against the bed, he pulls you up and you’re now straddling his lap, “Now ride me, baby girl.”

You start to rock your hips against him with no hesitation. Your hands rest on his chest and you fuck yourself on him fast and hard. His hands on your hips as he guides your rhythm.

“Love watching you like this, riding me so hard. You cock hungry lil’ girl.”

You moan at your lover’s dirty talk. Don’t get it wrong, Steve was a sweetheart and a complete gentlemen. But in the bedroom...it was a completely different story. 

A hand went to your clit and he began to rub you with his thumb, adding more pleasure to the mix. 

You groan out, “You want me to cum again already?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, this time, I’ll be joining you. Now ride me like ya really mean it, sweetness.”

You nod and brace yourself fully on Steve, with every thrust of your hips, a loud slapping noise of skin against skin echoes through the room. 

Steve bites his lip as he looks down, watching you fuck his cock, “Damn that’s sexy.”

“Steeeve, I’m gonna cum again.”

“Alright, princess, hold on. Nearly there.” his hand leaves your clit and goes back to your waist. He holds you still and begins to thrust up into you, hard. 

You throw your head back at the pleasurable feeling, “God, yes!”

Steve continues to watch you, desperate for your joint climax. His jaw clenches when he feels that tightness building up, “Fuck. Fuck! Gonna cum, baby! Gonna cum!” he throws his head back onto the bed and his hips thrust into you hard, “Oh my fucking God!” with one hard thrust and another, his hips fall back down onto the bed, his cock slipping out of you in the process, both his and your juices mixed together. 

You then roll off him and into the space beside him, your bodies hot and sweaty and your bra still hanging off your shoulders. 

“Goddamn,” Steve groans as he wipes a hand down his sweaty face. 

You giggled, “Well, would ya look at that.”

Steve turns his head towards you, “What?”

“I’m neither sore, nor am I only speaking in your name. Guess you didn’t do a good enough job, Rogers.”

He growled as he rolled on top of you, “My cock ain’t quite ready yet, but my mouth is fully functional.”

You smirk and lightly pat his cheek, “Well get to it then, Rogers.” your giggles fill the room as Steve scrambles down your body and buries his face in your pussy.

[daincrediblegg]

A fluffy gift for Egg, do with this what you will~

Your ringing ears were met with the telltale click of the door unlocking. The screeching whine produced by the rickety old doors hinges was familiar to you, it always signaled the arrival of your loving returning home to you after an arduous day apart. Yet today it’s significance was vastly overwhelmed by the grating effect its squeaking, neglected hardware provided. You were gripped with a pounding, incessant migraine. The sort that radiated from behind both eyes as it webbed wicked, malicious tendrils around the entirety of your skull, the surrounding muscles tightening in protest of the affliction. It spidered down your neck, biting into your traps where the base of your collar met shoulders. Everything was hazy; you were plagued with a maddening throbbing from your temples to your upper back, the mass of muscles irritated as a result. All you found you were capable of doing was laying as still as you could stand on the couch, desperation fueling you to rub circles over your forehead, pressing fingers down along the ridge of your brows, applying much needed pressure to your wailing temples. Everything otherwise innocuous and mundane now taunted you with its newfound ability to inflict pain and suffering. The television was too loud and blinding, no matter how low you set the volume. Not even the preferred, soft glow of candle light was tolerable, rendering you weakened in the pitch black of the apartment.

The moment he entered the apartment, it was instantly evident something was wrong. Arthur gingerly shut the door behind him with a muted click, shrugging his worn jacket from his narrow shoulders. Anytime he returned home, especially after a day as long as this, the atmosphere was always vibrant thanks to you. Typically at the stove spoiling him with another home-cooked specialty from scratch, or eager footsteps from another room in his quaint apartment as you hurriedly abandoned whatever it was you had been up to just to greet him. He was alarmed to the shift simply from the absence of music, muffled beyond the door as he fished his keys from his pocket. He could almost guarantee that any given evening he returned home to you, he was alerted to your presence by the crooning sounds of Fleetwood Mac or Clapton before he even ventured inside your shared space. Further startling, the apartment was dark. No fragrant candles burning, the cozy light emitting from an end table lamp, not even the luminescence from the television.

“Gen?”, he set the keys down on the counter adjacent to the door, leaning against the wall to steady himself as he set to prying off his shoes, “how was your day?”

He was simply met with a groan, sounding very much like it was breathed into a pillow or thick, knit blanket. Upon further inspection he found your form curled tightly in a ball, face buried in a pillow, an overall tense set to your luscious form.

“That good, huh?” his thin lips twisted in a sympathetic smile as he sank down slowly next to you, the cushions dipped beneath his weight, signaling his closeness. He brought a sinewy hand to rest delicately on your shoulder, thumb rubbing gently against your clothed deltoid.

“I want to die.” your mumble almost a whimper, refusing to uncurl yourself to acknowledge him properly. You hadn’t spoken all day, and now the act of speech felt labored, your words thick around your cotton tongue, mouth nearly devoid of all moisture. He chuckled a little, raking calloused finger tips down your back soothingly, up and down. His tone was a quiet murmur, the gentle rasp music to your tinnitus beset ears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were that close to your period,” long, dexterous fingers dragged up your back to thread in your hair, combing his fingers through your silken, dark locks.

“Oh, no it’s not that, I almost wish it was,” you craned your neck as much as the discomfort would allow, and you opened one heavily-lidded eye in his direction, “I woke up with the worst headache and nothing is helping.”

Olive iris immediately softened as you spoke, as he continued to affectionately stroke your hair, corralling the disheveled strands to hook behind your ear. You were everything to him, you injected so much warmth and color into his life that was so uniquely you. Your personal brand had stamped itself onto every facet of his life, and he couldn’t feel more fortunate or grateful. However seeing you laying there, your color drained, your sparkling eyes decidedly dulled and your ebullience replaced lethargy did his heart break. Of all the ways in which you had imbued an unstoppable feeling in him, the feeling intoxicating as he had never felt anything of the sort before you, he knew he was utterly powerless to help. He couldn’t take your headache from you and experience it in your stead as much as he ached to, and he couldn’t dispel the pain with a snap of his fingers, like he so desperately wished he could. He’d be damned, however, if that would stop him from doing everything in his power to nurse you back to health as much as he was able.

“Did you have coffee today?”

“Of course.”

“Water?”

Your silence caused him to arch an eyebrow, his countenance playfully scolding you.

“I…I had coffee, which technically counts it has water in it.”

He carefully stood, knees creaking as he did so, “you should know better than to use my own lines on me, missy.”

Eye popping open just to a narrow slit, you stole a peek to see he was grinning despite his teasing.

“Just lay there, I’ll be right back.”

Coiling into an even tighter ball on yourself, migraine rearing with vengeance, you shut both eyes once more, offering a weak, “Uh-huh.”

Arthur returned after just a few moments of running water at the sink, bringing with him two compresses. He urged you to sit up right, before placing the neatly folded towels; a cold compress over your forehead, and a warm one to drape over the back of your neck and shoulders.

“I’m going to go start the shower for you,” his lips brushed against your hairline in a peck as he stood once more, “just keep those on for the time being.”

-

After running the water for a few moments, and checking numerous times that the temperature was just right, he guided you to the bathroom with him, helping you out of your clothing while you rested your head against the crook of his neck.

He peppered kisses to the top of your head, ceasing his disrobing of you just to quickly bury his fingers in your shoulder length hair once more, massaging gentle circles into the base of your skull as you purred.

“How are we doing?”

“Better,” you hummed against his prominent collar bone, your warm breath ghosting across his skin and raising goosebumps as you did so, “the lights a little harsh on my eyes though.”

“I’ll take care of that, just get in,” he peeled the pale shower curtain back, watching your bare form retreat into the tiled enclosure with an appreciative glint in his eyes, “I’ll join you in a moment.”

The droplets of hot water pelted against your skin, enveloping you in a welcome embrace of delicious heat and clouds of steam. Your skin tingled from the sensation, melting the tension from your knotted muscles near instantly as you stood beneath the steady stream, eyes still shut.

You were alerted to Arthur’s return with the heavy padding of his bare footsteps, and the click of his lighter piercing the drone from the shower head. Cautiously allowing one eye open to glance your surroundings, you were pleasantly met with the bathroom bathed in total darkness, save for the flicker of a candle just behind the curtain on the bathroom sink, silhouetting Arthur as he shed his slacks and undershirt.

A quick rush of cool air swirled in as he peeled the curtain back to entertain, the goosebumps prickling against your skin soon soothed with his warm flesh as he embraced you in a hug from behind. He sighed against your ear, placing a kiss there, as he wrapped his arms tighter around you, nuzzling against your wet hair, beginning to leave a trail of kisses along your neck, dipping his head to reach your shoulder.

You melted in his touch, your fingers lazily brushing through the dusting of hair on his forearms, the muscles tensed as he all but held you up. His smell was clean, yet with an underlying hint of musk, akin to staleness from multiple cigarettes. You breathed it in almost greedily as the water dripped down your joined bodies. His gaunt body was quite firm, and he always ran incredibly hot. The bridge of his nose brushed against your jaw as he peppered the front of your throat with kisses.

“You know, I’ve heard orgasms can help with migraines.”

“Oh? Is that so?” his lips curled into a smirk against your damp skin, the scar puckering above his upper lip crinkling in the process.

Your eyes still shut, you tilted your head back to rest against his shoulder as his lips continued their affectionate, gentle assault. “Mhm.”

His voice a deep, hoarse rumble, “you know now that you mention it I seem to recall hearing something similar.”

You giggled as he pulled you closer, playfully nipping at your collar bone.

-

The two of you found yourself curled up in bed, Arthur deftly combing your damp locks with his fingers and gently twirling it as to be able to clip it up to keep it off your neck and out of your face. You laid against his side, legs twisted with his as you nursed the peppermint tea he had fixed for you.

“What would you like to watch?” you snuggled further into him, fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest.

Satisfied with his handy-work on your hair, he pawed at the end table, seeking the TV guide and set to thumbing through the pages.

“Well, we can watch the re-run of last nights WKRP in Cincinnati, or catch tonights episode of Taxi. Your call.”

“Hmm, WKRP.”

“You got it.”

It were the nights like these that kept Arthur going. You had always given your all so selflessly to him, you cared for him in ways he had never experienced, and did so so deeply, and without stipulation. Nights like these he could give back, prove to you in unspoken terms that he appreciated all you were and all you did for him.

Before long, he could feel your body go lax against his, deeper breaths escaping through your full lips as a much needed sleep over took you. He smiled to himself, running his hand up and down your back once more as he watched Howard Hesseman and Tim Reid ping off one another on the television unit at the foot of the bed.

All was right with the world.

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hey uh fam???? 3 read-throughs and I’m still like consistently on the verge of tears???? this turned a weird fuckin emotional day into a really good one and oh my god I don’t know if I could ever pay you back for this but I hope me screaming in your dms about how beautiful and detailed this thing is for the last 3 hours has been a good fucking start. Seriously. My fucking HERO. 

[16reapergrell66]

500,000 Coin Lowblow

Lucio Morgasson is a bounty hunter. He's sent to retrieve the head of Wyverne Lochland, a woman who had been selling in other bounty hunters. Can he keep his cool around this vixen, or will he be the next one sold?

Special thanks to @vesuviannights for the idea! She had gotten this as a fake fic prompt and I didn't realize how much I needed this till now.

Features: Pining, shower masturbation, blood/gore. Viewer discretion is advised.

It was a quiet night in Vesuvia. The Marketplace was quiet, save for a handful of people left. The lanterns were still lit, softly dancing in a light breeze. Lucio mingled with the crowd, trinkets still clinking and the leftover scent of warm pumpkin bread still clinging to life. He fingered some trinkets, watching them shine as they passed through calloused fingers. Others gleamed, catching his eye, and he picked them up, feeling their weight before placing them back.

 Just a 500,000 coin low-threat, huh? His mind wandered back to that wanted photo of her. Tamed curls, russet brown in color, eyes the color of emeralds, lips painted in a gorgeous shade of red. Freckles dusted her nose, the round apples of her cheeks. She had given the camera a particular smolder, one that gave him weird feelings--a tight, fluttery heart and warm, soft lips licked eagerly to cool them.

     He spotted her, carefully picking along the jewels and trinkets. Her hair was tied back into a loose knot, a beautiful hairpin helping to keep it in place. She laughed, a soft tinkle of bells among the hushed voices. She paid for a few jewels, pocketing them in her pants before leaving the stall.

     Shit, shit, sh-- His mind blanked. His heart skipped a few beats. This awful feeling crept through his limbs, warmth spreading down to other equipment. How in the world she rivalled his own beauty, he didn't know.

     Lucio gently shook his head, trying to clear it of irritating things. He gently grabbed her elbow, pulling her into a nearby alley. He pressed her against the wall, knee between her legs, lips just shy of her ear.

     "Don't you realize what you're doing?" He had growled this, low in her ear. "Why don't you wear a robe? You'll get yourself killed." He still couldn't shake the feeling, how his lips longed to be against hers, how he wanted to mark her, take her, claim her. He couldn't place the feeling, but he absolutely hated it.

     "Um...I-I'm...I….," Wyverne stumbled, stuttering her words. She played this innocent act well, yet there was something stirring in her abdomen. He was so close, a man of his allure doing things to her heart and mind.

     "You need to change, or you'll get caught," he growled, low in her ear. He handed her smooth material, soft and silky in her smooth hands. "Keep this, and please, get out." He pushed himself away, going out of the alley and disappearing back into the flimsy crowd.

     Wyverne clutched the black fabric, her heart racing. That was him! That was the bounty hunter, the one they called simply Morgasson. He was just as handsome as the rumors said, though he was a dangerous edge that loved the taste of blood on his long, silver tongue. She swallowed thickly, a hand over her heart. That was either a lucky shot or he was incredibly stupid! She was wanted for a reason, yet he seemed to buy into her act. If it was gonna be this easy, she'd have to wrangle more dumbasses more often.

♡♡

It was a few days later, the early morning greeting an already busy Marketplace. Wyverne was dressed in something more flattering for her figure, her top partially undone to softly reveal her cleavage. A long flowing skirt hid those legs, those gorgeous curvy legs with delicious thighs. She laughed at Selasi, a hand over her mouth to stifle snorts of pure laughter. Lucio cursed under his breath. Of course this wickedly good vixen wouldn't leave. She just had to stick around. 

     Wyverne grabbed her loaf of bread, paying Selasi. She tore off a chunk with a practised hand, bringing it to her lips. He watched them part, the piece of bread slipping inside, catching on her tongue. Again came that warm feeling, the one that wanted to claim her, mark her, bend her over the nearest stall.

     Lucio saw her disappear down a side alley, the same one as the other night, and followed her. He held an arm in front of her, making her lightly bump into him. She turned to face him, a momentary look of shock on her face. He pressed her against the wall, not as close as last time. His heart was pounding in his ears, a little too fast for his liking.

     "What the hell d'you think you're doing!?" Lucio was in exasperation at this point. Over the past few days, he had given her things he thought she needed--cloaks, blankets, medicine, books. She wouldn't tell him much, but this time he hoped she would.

     "Look, Morgasson. I appreciate the offers, the trinkets, the advice. But I can't leave. Not yet," Wyverne told him, voice soft yet firm. Her lips were painted with that ruby shade again, catching his eye. He bit his lip, smacking his fist against the wall.

     "What else do you need so that you will take my advice and leave this gods damned place??" He almost whined the last bit of his question, trying to look anywhere but at her. His pants felt awfully tight this morning, did they shrink?

     "I can't tell you, Morgasson. It'll put them in danger," she said, giving a slight shake of her head. She glanced down, then met his eye one more time. "I hope that's just a knife in your pocket, big boy," she remarked, ducking under his arm and carrying on with her day, still eating the warm bread.

     Lucio had groaned, low in his throat. That's why his pants felt tight this morning. Did she even know what she was doing to him!? He doesn't have time to pine after a target, he's got others for a lot shallower prices on their heads than hers. If only she'd stop her game--but then again he's loved games in his spare time. 

♡♡

It had been a few days since then, each time his conversations with her grew more and more, till it could almost be called casual flirting. He was sitting at his desk, early morning light shining through the sheers as he finished up a call with his bosses up top.

     "Yes. It took a while, but I found her." A pause, listening. "Mmhmm. Yes. She'll be gone tonight. Right. Take care." He hung up, sighing. He ran his golden hand through his hair, looking at the notes he had made sprawled on the desk.

     He had to do something, this was taking too long. Surely there were other pretty faces like hers, ones that he could easily take and pretend its her. He groaned, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. Why was he going through all this trouble for a gods damned crush? He has refused to make his move for almost two weeks now, he needs a plan in mind. Sighing, getting up and lazily stretching, he moved towards the bathroom, drawing a warm shower for himself. 

     He took off the red silk bathrobe, the steam billowing from the shower as he stepped inside. Water drummed over his skin, making it pink from warmth, running in rivulets down sculpted muscle and countless scars from past skirmishes with other prey. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and wetting his blond. He could see her, in his mind's eye, the way she had looked at the breadmaker's stall. He growled, low in his throat, wishing that she would leave his mind already as he took a small amount of soap and scrubbed his head. He rinsed the soap through, picturing how her top had shown just enough to tempt, how easily she had laughed, how she had thrown her head back, exposing her lovely neck. Lucio could feel himself hardening, almost tempted to freeze himself out with a cold shower. He grabbed the soap that smelled of pomegranates, and poured some in his hand, washing himself as his mind wandered again.

     Lucio could picture her, under him, a gorgeous look on her freckled face as she moaned his name. He could almost feel how she clawed at him, could almost feel how her walls pulled at him as she came undone. He flinched, a small twitch of the eye, furiously shaking his head. Now was not the time for such thoughts, even though he had washed himself to a full hardness in a matter of seconds. He rinsed off, and another mental image came to mind.

     Wyverne, on her knees, her lips pulled thin from him, her hands on his thighs, his pants around his ankles. He could almost hear her, how she choked on him, the soft pop as he allowed her to pull away, her soft lips dancing mere inches from his cock. He hadn't realized he was stroking himself, thumb running around the sensitive head of his cock and slipping through his slit. He tried to mimic her soft mouth and warm tongue, picturing the way she would look as she begged for his come. He rocked into his hand, fucking it as he pictured himself taking her, pressing her against a mirror, fogging it up as she cried out for him. A low groan, and he spilled onto the tile wall, his come painting the rich blues a creamy white. He stroked till he was spent, grabbing more soap to wash off again.

     "Gods damn she needs to leave," Lucio muttered, to no one in particular but himself. He turned off the shower, pulling the glass door aside and grabbing a fluffy white towel.

     He drew the towel over himself, softly sighing. If only she hadn't lured him.in with that delicious body and gorgeous eyes...and pouty lips. He mussed up his hair, smoothing it back when he left the towel fall around his shoulders. He looked in the mirror, then lathered his face and shaved the shadow of stubble he had. Lucio hummed to himself, applying his signature aftershave that smelled of warm, mulled wine and campfire smoke.

     He left the bathroom, tossing his towel aside, and pulled on a thin undershirt, loose and flowy and looking more like a tunic than an actual undershirt at this point. He pulled on his pants next, a tough canvas that he relied on more and more these days, fitted well so it hugged all the right places. His boots were next, a deep brown with a slight heel to add to his 5'10" frame, boosting him to a height of 6'2". He grabbed a vest, slipping it on and he grabbed his neck belt, fastening it over the popped collar. He grabbed his knife belt, slipping it over this thigh and fastening it, since that's all he needed nowadays. He glanced at the pointed armor, the stuff made for his golden hand, the one he lost to another high-priced bounty. He shook his head, deciding he didn't need it, and headed out, smoothing his hair back with a bit of pomade from his dresser.

♡♡

Wyverne was wandering the Marketplace, her eyes savoring each trinket and fabric roll. She absently popped another torn piece of bread into her mouth, the warm spices of pumpkin filling her. She ran fingers through silk, wool, and brushed cotton, eagerly spinning thoughts about her next tailoring project. She had glanced up and caught him in the very edges of her vision, clean shaven with glistening golden hair still wet from his shower.

     It was amazing, how a man like him could make her feel like a giddy teen again. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her fluttering heart as she continued like she hadn't seen him, a warmth spreading through her and gathering at the base of her spine. She popped another piece of bread in her mouth when she gently bumped into the bounty hunter.

"Hello, butterfly," Lucio said, greeting her. He noticed her hair was up in a bun, messily done with a hairpin to keep it all in place.

     "Morgasson," she replied, a smirk on her lips. He softly bit his lip, trying to not let a soft whine escape from his throat. "What brings you here?"

     "Just you, butterfly." He brushed her cheek with his cool metal gauntlet, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leading her away from the Marketplace.

     He led her down towards the docks, which weren't such a hustle and bustle this morning. Lucio snuck a piece of bread for himself, chuckling when Wyverne playfully smacked his chest. He went to lick his fingers, but Wyverne grabbed his wrist, a smirk on her lips that he was getting all too familiar with. She brought his fingers to velvet lips, breath catching as she slipped them inside her warm mouth, suckling the few crumbs from his slender digits. Her tongue swirled around them, soft little mewls escaping her throat. She pulled away, looking like the cat that got the cream as she ran to the docks.

     Lucio groaned, a smirk on his lips. His pants were awfully tight again, maybe he needed new ones. He ran after her, long legs quickly catching up to her, strong hands gripping her waist and pulling her back, spinning her around. Wyverne laughed breathlessly, hands on his arms, head thrown back against his shoulder, slight wisps of hair in her face.

     Lucio gently set Wyverne down, resisting the urge to kiss her like a man starved. He wasn't expecting her to kiss him, the softest lips in Vesuvia placing a kiss along the scar on his right cheekbone, red lipstick leaving behind a perfect print of her full lips. She smirked, fingers brushing his hand as she disappeared into a group of people, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

♡♡

Midnight. The streets are quiet. Too quiet. The only ones out are the girls, the ones looking for a fun time in colorful dresses and corsets. Lucio walked into the Town Square, the three tiered fountain lit up. He knew his target would be here, lost in an attempt to go back home.

     There she was, a scared look on her face. The perfect match for Wyverne. Lucio stalked his prey, keeping a distance away from her. She was frantic, muttering to herself as she tried to go back home. She kept looking over her shoulder, wanting to know if she was being followed or watched. She stopped, just beside the fountain, trying to remember how to get back.

     Lucio was behind her, his breathing stilled and heels silent on slick cobblestone. He reached for his knives, still on his thigh, a steel to the silver glinting in the light. When he was close, he wrapped his hand around her mouth, preventing the shriek that followed from escaping her lips. She tried to pry him off, to get away, to scream and shout through his warm flesh hand. He drew the blade across her throat, letting her feel the cool metal against heated flesh.

     "Your luck just ran out, little dove," he whispered in her ear, the point of the blade just drawing blood from her skin.

     She struggled harder, screaming and crying against his palm, trying to break free, kicking him in his shins. The knife plunged into her side, dragging down, ripping the silk dress she wore. Blood poured from the wound, her screams muffled against his hand. She struggled against his body, crying rivers of tears as the knife was drawn across her throat--once, twice, three times. Blood poured down the front of her, ruining the pure white with deep crimson. He finally let go, and she slumped to the ground, laying in her own blood.

     Lucio made short work of the decapitation, bringing it back to his boss for the reward money. 500,000 coin, and Lucio was gonna give it to that very-much-alive, drop dead gorgeous vixen that haunted his dreams.

♡♡

It had been weeks since that night, and Lucio hadn't seen Wyverne around at all. She had seemingly disappeared that day, like she had left Vesuvia. Lucio sighed, toying with the coin purse on his desk. Well, if he wasn't gonna see her again, might as well drink to her honor.

     The Rowdy Raven was as rowdy as ever. Barth greeted Lucio with a nod, bussing the bar area. Patrons laughed, sang merry shanties, played cards, and were just generally in good spirits. Lucio ordered himself a drink, and was about to sit down when he saw her, dancing in all her lovely glory.

    Wyverne's tamed mess of curls shone like a beacon, her laughter hitting his ears like a godsend. She raised a glass, rimmed with salt, and shouted cheers, downing the rest in one single shot. She pressed her lips to the inside of her wrist, and he swore she had glanced his way, making his heart positively ache for her touch.

     Lucio grabbed his drink and followed her, walking to a corner booth and sitting down across from her. He dropped the coin purse in front of her, a loud clink of coin. She looked up at him, green eyes full of wonder.

     "That was your bounty, butterfly," Lucio said softly, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a draft. She watched him, his Adam's apple gently bouncing as he drank.

    "How much...how much was it?" Wyverne spoke softly, her hand over her heart, voice gently shaking. She touched the rough cotton, feeling the weight in her slender, small hands.

     "500,000. It's all yours, butterfly," he told her, as easily as telling someone about the weather.

    "500,000!? Morgasson I couldn't possibly--" Wyverne was in shock when she was cut off, his metal hand on her soft ones. She looked at him, her lower lip trembling, her eyes wide and soft and oh how he wanted to just kiss her.

     "Just take it, butterfly. You need it, and maybe you'll leave this place." His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip. His fingers entwined with hers, all soft sweetness.

     Wyverne bit her lip, taking a sip of her full Salty Bitters, the salt still clinging to her lips. She swallowed the drink, and leaned over the table, kissing him with all the softness in the world. Lucio kissed her, easily parting her lips and slipping inside. Sure, it was a little bitter, a little salty, but something stirred in his gut, something predatory and primal. He pulled away, before the feeling got too strong, his fingers brushing her cheek.

     She kissed his fingertips, scooting around the table to sit next to him. Chat and conversation came naturally, and when the food came around she readily shared, occasionally feeding him. He didn't want the night to end, didn't want to leave her side, not without making her feel so good.

     "I'll see you around….Lucio Morgasson," she whispered to him, his name full of wanton desire. She kissed him again, his hands roaming her sides before she pulled away. Wyverne left the table, and when he looked down, there was her address, signed 'B' for his pretty nickname.

The next day, he went there, to her home on MagickAlley Lane. Her home was modest, colored in a dull brown, her flowers bright and vibrant. Lucio went up the worn oak door, his fingers feeling the smooth metal handle, about to pull it. His fingers fell when he found the note, plastered to the door with his own knife. Strange, since he didn't remember missing any.

Morgasson,

I can easily spend that 500,000 on my own. That sick friend story was just to get you to pity me. Read up on me, big boy, maybe you'll find something interesting for your….equipment.

Cheers lovely! B

Lucio chuckled, deep and low, almost a purr. So, that was her game, her fun and sexy little game. Alright, he could play that game. It was sexy while it lasted, he supposed, as he ripped the knife from the door.

     Guards swarmed him from all angles as he put the knife away, slamming him into the door. They spread his legs, patting him down, ripping the knife belt from him, tearing his shirt almost in half as they searched his chest.

     "Look, guys, if you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask," He commented, smirking like an evil maniac. The Guards simply shoved him further into the door, reading him his rights.

     "We were tipped off that you were here! By one Wyverne Lochland! She's skipped town. So sorry, 'big boy!'" The Guard sneered, pulling him back by the blond locks. "Maybe you'll find a new lover in those dungeons! Move him into the carriage!"

     Lucio busted out into laughter, an evil little laugh that shook him through and through. So she was the one who ratted him out!! That little minx!!! He was shoved into the carriage, still laughing. How dare she think she could put him away and act like nothing happened? Well, he'd remedy that, one way or another. Sure, it'd be a few years with all his charges, but he'd get his last fuck, right at the honeymoon

[coffinanon]

wrong name (Racetrack Higgins x reader)

warnings: reader has female genitalia but gender neutral pronouns are still used, overstimulation, lingerie kink, cunnilingus, mentions stealing

Masterlist

summary: The reader is flirting with Albert so Race fucks them in Alberts bed. It's basically just porn.

a/n: Race is highkey lowkey a cuck in this. oh well! sometimes it be like that. also im probably gonna write a part two to this if its requested cause im a kinky fuck this was so fun to write

You laughed, your face growing red from Alberts constant compliments. You were his selling partner. You would sell with Race, but you didn't exactly like to see him flirt with anyone and everyone just to coerce them into buying a paper. So you sold with Albert. And you couldn't complain! You really liked selling with him, you and him had grown closer since you started selling together. But, oh, did he love to flirt with you.

“Stop!” You cried out in between laughs, hiding your blushed face. Albert pushed further.

“What? I'm just saying how absolutely lovely you look on a daily basis! I mean, I’m sure you hear this from every guy you come across.” You rolled your eyes. Albert noticed that and continued to explain. “No, really! You don't see all the guys ogling you on the streets, but I do. And hell, I can't blame em.” Albert gave you a once over before looking back into your eyes, a cheeky grin on his face.

“If all these guys are so into me, why don't they ever approach me?”

“Race usually scares em off. He's pretty intimadatin’ that way. See, if you look behind you, he's glarin’ daggers at me right now.”

You tried to inconspicuously look back to see the look on Races face. He was glaring right at Albert, but when he saw you looking at him, he gave you a certain look. You turned around.

“Uh oh. Someone's in trouble. What does that look mean?” You gulped, taking one look back at Race.

He was leaning against a wall, all of his papes were sold, seeing as the day was nearly over, and he had his hand in his pocket. He was staring at you like a hungry predator looks at its prey. You turned around once more.

“You're right. That look means I’m in trouble.”

---

“What did you do?” Race asked, sitting in front of you, scarily calm. He looked right at you but you didn't meet his gaze. You crossed your arms.

“I didn't do anything. I was having a friendly conversation with Albert.” Race stood up abruptly.

“Bullshit! You were flirting with him.” Race dropped his calm demeanor and put on his regular boyish smirk. He rested a hand on your hip, and leaned in close, whispering in your ear.

“Did you like having him flirt with you? Huh? You like the attention he gave you?” Your arms dropped to your sides as his breath tickled your neck.

“Maybe I do.” You knew you were playing with fire, but god it felt good.

“You want more of that attention, huh? You just want Albert to worship you?” You couldn't help but nod. Race chuckled against your skin as he nipped at your neck.

“You wanna be fucked into his mattress baby? Wanna know what it feels like to have your face pressed into his pillow while you get fucked within an inch of your life? Cause I can give that to you.”

You nodded vigorously. You were already growing needy but you couldn't help it.

“Please!” You whined out. At that, Race started pushing you in the direction of the bunk. It was empty, everyone was at Jacobis Deli, playing cards. You and Race climbed onto Alberts bed. Race pushed you down so you were flat on your back, and straddled your hips. He wasted no time ridding you of your shirt; his mouth attaching to your now exposed nipples. He sucked gently, nipping on the soft flesh. You mewled in excitement. Races eyes flashed up at yours. He moved away from your breasts, diverting his attention to your pants. He quickly pulled your pants down, tossing them to the floor. His eyes lit up when he saw your panties. Dark emerald green satin, with lace frills at the legs and a border of fishnet at the waist band. He snapped the elastic waistband against your skin.

“These are real gorgeous, doll.” He ran his finger up your slit, feeling the wet satin. “How’d you afford these?”

“Stole em. I knew you'd like em, so I had to have em.” Race smirked and kissed the soft skin above the waistband of your panties.

“They're wonderful.”

With that, he kissed your clothed cunt, licking a quick stripe against it. He smiled against you as you arched your hips up.

“No, no, no. None a that, baby. Gotta be still for me. Albert would want you to be still.” That name brought you back to reality. You remembered that you were about to get eaten out in Alberts bed. The thought of your juices leaking out onto his sheets both excited you and terrified you. Mostly the former. You quickly brought your hips back down to the bed, still thinking about Albert. Race hooked his fingers onto the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. He kept them balled up in his hands as he devoured you.

You tried to stiffle your moans. If the boys walked back into the lodging house, the last thing you wanted them to hear was you screaming out in pleasure for Race. But Race quickly caught onto this.

"C'mon, doll, I wanna hear all the pretty little noises you love to make. I wanna hear you screaming Alberts name."

You froze. Race quickly fell out of his dom persona and sat up to face you.

"I'm sorry. If you're not comfortable doing that it's fine, I just thought-"

You cut him off with a quick peck to the lips, smiling at him as you pulled away.

"I'm fine with it. I was just shocked, is all."

He smiled, satisfied with your amswer, and pushed you back down on your back.

He quickly found his place in between your thighs once more, pressing harsh kisses and gentle nibbles onto the soft skin.

"Race, please!" He pinched your thigh.

"Wrong name, darling." His eyes flashed up to yours, as a way of saying 'We can always stop if you aren't comfortable.'

You quickly smiled at him and closed your eyes. As you thread your fingers through his hair, it was easy to imagine that it was Alberts head in between your thighs instead.

As Race took one quick experimental lick against your clit you moaned out loudly.

"Oh, Al, fuck." You moaned under your breath. Race gripped your thighs. He started rutting his hips against the mattress, moaning against your core.

"Albert, please. Your mouth feels so good, oh fuck." Your legs quickly began to shake. The idea of Albert worshipping you, and Race tracing shapes against your clit was too much.

"Albert, oh god I'm cumming!" With that, you came against Races mouth. You sat up, opening your eyes. You saw Race desperately palming himself through his pants, eyes screwed shut.

You grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand away from his erection. You helped him to sit against the wall. Once he was comfortable, you straddled him, grinding against him.

As Race was trying to find his bearings by gripping the rough sheets below him, his fingers found their way to a softer fabric. He grabbed it to inspect it. He smiled, and held it up for you to see.

"What's that?" You reached for the white fabric, but Race held it just out of your reach.

"Alberts undershirt." He glanced at you and smirked, grabbing your chin and holding the fabric to your nose. "Does it smell like him, baby?"

You moaned at the scent as you closed your eyes, grinding harder against Race.

"Al... Albert." Racequicjly tied the undershirt around your eyes, making sure that some of the fabric hung down to cover your nose.

Race grabbed your hips, controlling your pace. It was hard not to come in his pants.

Your soft moans of his best friends name were getting loader by the second. He could feel your legs start to shake once more. He could feel your juices soaking his jeans.

"Albert! Oh fuck. I love you. Fuck, I love you!" You screamed as you came, grinding down further against Race as you came.

That was his tipping point.

He tightened his grip on your hips. There were sure to be bruises there tomorrow. He grunted and gasped as his hips thrust up to meet yours.

"Fuck." He said as you panted heavily, your head on his shoulder.

"What?" Your hands reached back to untie the undershirt from around your head. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just, uh. I just came in my pants." You laughed and got up from his lap, reaching for the panties next to him. He beat you to it.

"Nuh uh. These belong to me now. You can steal another pair." He winked at you, climbing down from the bed, and walking toward his bed where he stored what little clothes he had. He quickly changed, gathered your clothes that were scattered around the floor, and returned to you, handing you your clothes, save for your panties.

You quickly got dressed. You looked at Race who was sitting across from you on the bed.

"When I said I love you, I was saying that to you, not Albert." He looked up at you and smiled.

"I know."

"Do you wanna cuddle?" He smiled wider.

"Yeah, but probably not here. The boys'll be back soon." You laughed and put your head in your hands. The reality of what you to did started to set in. He laughed with you. "C'mon, ladies first."

You found your way off of the bed, grabbing onto the edge of the mattress for support. You looked back at Race to see him looking back and forth between your panties and the pillow.

"Race, ya comin?" He looked up at you and smirked. He held up your panties.

"Shouldn't we leave Al a little thank you gift for lettin us use his bed? I mean it's only fair." You smirked back at him, quickly grabbing Alberts undershirt.

"Sure, but only if I can have this in return." Race smiled his signature boyish grin and slid your panties under Alberts pillow before hopping off the bed. He grabbed your hand, leading you to his bed.

"C'mon, let's cuddle." Almost as soon as you got settled in Races bed, you heard the door open, the sound of the loud newsies following.You smiled at Race.

"We were right on time." Race nodded. Mush came in and saw you too cuddled up.

"Aw, you guys! Come look at the two love birds!" Mush yelled out the door. In ran Mike, Ike, Elmer, and Specs, with Crutchie trailing behind.

"You two have fun?" Said Elmer, smiling at you two.

"Not too much though, right?" Said Mike, winking at you. Race pulled you closer towards him.

"Yes! Now leave we was just about to go to sleep." Race said, fake annoyance in his voice. He motioned for the others to leave the room. As they trailed out, he kissed the top of your head, slowly dozing off.

---

"I'm gonna head to bed guys, I've had a long day." Albert yelled behind him as he walked towards the bunks. A chorus of 'goodnight's followed.

Albert quickly crawled into bed, trying to get at least somewhat comfortable on the insanely uncomfortable bed.

He slid his hand under his pillow, going to flip it over, but stopping when his hands found something soft.

He grabbed the fabric, bringing it out from underneath his pillow. His breath hitched when he realized what they were.

Dark green satin panties.

They were gorgeous, and they looked expensive, so he knew none of the newsies would buy them just to prank him with. Plus, they looked...

Used.

Albert made a quick list of all the possible suspects.

Katherine and you.

Huh. Short list. Albert didn't know a lotta girls, turns out. None that regularly came to the Lodging House, anyway.

So. Katherine, and you.

He could easily mark Katherine off the list. She never really came in the bunk, only up to Jacks 'penthouse.'

So that left you.

You, he couldn't mark of the list as easily.

You were a wild card. You stole regularly, so the price of the panties didn't matter to you.

But why would you put your panties under his pillow?

Then again, maybe it wasn't you?

No matter who they belonged to, he quickly looked around making sure nobody was looking at him. Any newsies that were around were sleeping peacefully.

He brought the emerald panties to his face, inhaling deeply through his nose. It was hard to hold back a moan.

He looked across the room at you. You were laying in your own bed. It was a hot night, which was the reasoning behind you not sleeping with Race, and your pajamas.

God, your pajamas.

You wore mens boxers that you stole, and cut to look more like shorts, and a white tank top.

He looked at you for a second before closing his eyes and bring your panties to his already hard cock.

Two words left his lips from under his breath as he tossed his head back.

"Fuck, Y/N."

[maybe-your-left]

Cowboy Blues: No...Clydes Not Here

TW/CW: NSFW, Face riding, Daddy Kink (Clyde is our Big Daddy and I love it), General Smut

Cracking your knuckles was always a morning ritual for you. The steady pops proved that you had indeed slept good and the tension from the night before melted with each crack. Yawning and stretching your arms you rolled to your left, free to stretch your back and reach over to the bedside table. The clock read 9:30 AM. Scanning your room you noticed something missing… not sure what but something felt off. 

Scooting out of bed you looked around to see if anything jogged your memory. What had happened last night? You went to Duck Tape, got too drunk, Clyde took you home and… oh. Oh. Deeply inhaling your mind replayed the evening you shared with Clyde. His soft lips engraving themselves on your own, the swapping of moans and groans, the inappropriate dry humping. All of it felt like a dream. Walking into your bathroom you stopped short and saw the pink headband. The one you used on Clyde, next to the face brush, all placed in the wrong containers. Something must’ve happened, but the question now is, where is Clyde? 

Quickly running a brush through your hair and teeth, applying some lotion to your arms and legs you bolted out to the living room. Attempting to compose yourself, as casually as possible you stepped into your kitchen. Nothing. No sign of Clyde. Moving into the living room there was again no hint of life. Did he really just leave you? Alone in bed after the moments you shared? You thought he would at least be honest enough to tell you last night was a mistake, not just bolt out the front door. You didn’t even sleep together, well you did sleep together, but not sleep together. 

You turned back into your kitchen, ready to make yourself a cup of coffee when the front door swung open.  

In walked Clyde, a drink carrier in one hand and a box of pastries in a bag slung on his forearm. 

“Oh, shit” he quickly rushed into the kitchen, “I didn’ think y’d wake up so soon…” Setting the items on the island he walked over to you and planted a kiss on your forehead. “M’ sorry sunshine, did’ mean ta scare y’.” He turned around and began opening the bag, setting out 8 beautifully made goodies. Placing each one on a napkin before turning to you with a small smile. “An I got coffee too, didn’ know how t’ use whatever that is” motioning towards your Keurig on the countertop. 

Grabbing the coffee you took a seat at the counter. “Thank you, Clyde, I’ll have to show you how to work it next time.” A low chuckle came through his chest as he seated himself across from you and began eating a danish. 

Breakfast together played out like a ballet that the two of you had been doing for years. Silent and attentive to one another, only commuting through nods and hand gestures. Small smiles were offered as thanks to one another when handing napkins or a spare pastry. The dance you shared lasted for a few more minutes until you began to sit up. 

“Thank you again, for this and last night” 

“S’ no problem darlin’, had ta be sure y’ got home safe.” 

You weren’t sure if you wanted to bring up the moment the two of you shared last night. A small part of you wished that he would be the one to talk first but a large part knew that it was probably a mistake. Clyde cleared his throat pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Bout last night…” he raised his eyes to meet yours, “M sorry if I overstepped yer boundaries.” 

“What do you mean Clyde?” 

He coughed before he could respond. “Wasn’ right fer me t’ *cough* y’ know” his face was getting all flustered as he tried to apologize. He looked so cute while trying to summon up the courage he clearly had last night when he was getting handsy with you. 

“When we made out like school children?” you giggled, “I’m pretty sure I was the one who started that, you don’t have to apologize. I knew what I wanted and that hasn’t changed.” His eyes blew wide. 

“Y’ mean y’d want t’ do it again?” 

Leaning in so that your lips brushed his ear, “That and more.” Turning around you swayed into the bedroom, hoping to catch his eyes on your amply curved ass. The pajama shorts you wore left little to the imagination, and dear god in heaven did you want Clyde to come rip them off. Footsteps followed you to the bedroom, halting when you turned around and saw him staring down at you. His normally honey brown eyes were blown black from lust. His breaths were ragged and his hand twitched by his side. 

“I better get undressed for my shower…” you smirked and began to strip so slowly. You knew what you were doing to him, crossing your arms to pull your tank top off your head. Exposing your bare back to him while hiding your supple tits to the room. Dipping your thumbs to the waistband of your shorts you bent over and pulled them agonizingly slow to the floor. Clyde cleared his throat behind you. Shyly covering your tits with one hand and your pussy with another you glanced over your shoulder. 

“Oh, you’re still here?” 

Before you could take another breath he was on you. His lips crashed to yours and pulled all the air from your lungs. Your hands immediately grasped to his wide shoulders and you pressed yourself to his clothed chest. His tongue was inside your mouth once again, angrily wrestling yours. His pent up sexual frustrations were coming apart at the seams as his hand reached around and gripped your ass. Even his metal hand was wrapped around your waist, the cold causing your nipples to stand erect. 

Pulling away from the kiss you started unbuttoning his shirt while his lips traveled down your neck. You were so excited for his touch you were practically vibrating. Once his shirt was loose Clyde threw it off him and pulled off the undershirt. Getting down on your knees you scrambled to unbuckle his belt before his hand stopped you. 

“Why don’t y’ go lay on the bed sunshine, show Daddy what he’s gon’ taste” 

The nickname sent a shiver down your spine. Fuck, this seemly southern gentlemen was being filthy and you loved it. “Yes, Daddy.” 

You displayed yourself on the mattress, making sure to spread your legs just enough so he could glimpse your wet lips. He quickly pulled off his boots and jeans, pulling his boxers down and allowing his cock to spring to life. Big. He was big. Your eyes must’ve almost popped out of your head at the sight of him because he started chuckling. 

“Y’okay there?” 

Words had already left you, all you could think about was his massive cock. How good it would feel to stretch you, cum in you, claim you. It was huge even in his hands, veined and thick. Almost like it wasn’t even real. He dropped down to his knees in front of you and pulled your hips to the edge. 

“Y’ look so delicious,” he took a deep inhale in front of your folds, “So wet fer yer Daddy.” 

His tongue flattened along your slit. Licking from your entrance to your clit in one taste. His eyes shut as he moaned in appreciation. 

“Do I taste good Daddy?” 

He shoved his face back into your slit, licking and sucking on the outer lips before laying wet kisses to your entrance. Moaning in response to your question, he brought his fingers up to your slit. Tracing over and over with his fingertips while he lapped at your clit. You were desperate for release, to cum. You reached down and grasped at his hair to try and shove his face into your dripping core. 

Clyde pulled back and sat up on his heels. Wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Whining and desperate for friction again you started rubbing your clit as fast as you could. Snatching your hand away he rose up onto his feet. “Now hol’ on there, that’s my job, climb up and ride yer Daddies face.” Scrambling up and leaving room for him to lay down you quickly straddled his face and rub your hands on his bare torso. 

He wasted no time diving into your folds. Covering every inch of you with wet kisses. His tongue trailing up and down before darting in and out of your entrance. You moaned and started trying to grind your face on him. His left arm shot out in response and shoved your back down to be flush with his torso. Letting yourself be manhandled you looked forward and were met with his huge cock. Leaking precum from his slit, his balls tensed up against him, you just couldn’t wait to taste him. 

Wrapping your lips around his head and holding his shaft with both hands you moaned at the heat he brought. Circling your tongue on the head and leaning back and spitting all over the length Clyde moaned against your pussy. His right hand had snaked its way to your hole, teasing with his middle finger. Right as you wrapped your lips around him again he shoved the length into you. You felt your eyes roll back into your head as you hummed around him, trying to rock your hips back into his hand. Both of you sucking on each other, exploring the tastes and pressures you both liked. The room sounded like a porno was being filmed. 

Clyde kept a steady rhythm with his hand while he kept his tongue tracing your clit. Spelling the alphabet over and over, testing out little nibbles to get your to moan against him. You were making a huge mess on your side. Slobbering all up and down his cock, your hands moving slowly up and down where you couldn’t bring your lips. One hand dropped down and gripped his balls, earning a loud moan from Clyde. 

“Right there sunshine don’ y’ stop.” 

Pulling your lips off him and taking gulps of air you responded, “I won’t Daddy, don’t worry”. 

Pulling him back into your mouth you heard a noise. A weird noise, very high pitched. You tried to ignore it, rolling his balls with your fingers and opening up your throat as much as you could it happened again. Sitting up once again you kept a lazy stroke on him while you listened, Clyde had halted his attack on your clit to listen in too. Looking over at your bedside table you saw your phone, buzzing over and over again. 

“Do y’ need t’ get that?” he smirked. 

You tried to roll off him but he had your lower half pinned, wiping one of your hands off on the sheets you grabbed the phone. 

Mellie. 

Mellie. Clydes sister. 

The sister to the brother who had his face buried in your cunt. 

That one. 

Waiting until the buzz stopped you moved back into position while Clyde hummed when your hands grabbed him again. His finger begins to pump into you a little faster, his tongue back to lapping at the juices flowing out of you. Then it happened again. 

Your fucking phone rang again. 

“Oh my fucking god, seriously?” you whined and positioned yourself in a cobra-esc yoga pose on top of Clyde and ripped the phone toward you. “You better be quiet,” you warned Clyde who hadn’t stopped licking at you. 

“Hey girl, what’s-” 

“Where are you?” Mellie blurted out.

“What are you talking-”

“You had an appointment this morning at 9:30, we made it last night! I was gonna highlight your hair.” 

The color drained from your face. You suddenly remembered your conversation with Mellie, about how you wanted a more sunkissed look to accompany the summer season down in West Virginia. She had been so excited to show you the salon and maybe get breakfast before, and instead, you got too drunk and were currently riding her brother’s face and hand. 

“Well, you’re 20 minutes late, where are ya?” 

Your mouth was dry. You left like you were going to cry. You had just met here and you really liked her, thought she would be a good friend to have and you completely forgot about her. Clyde's tongue brought you back to reality. 

“What?” you glared behind you, not that you could see Clyde and tried to pull away from him. “I’m at home, I’m sorry, the morning just got away-” you yelped into the phone. Clyde had started to pump you again, but with two fingers. He really was trying to make you cum on his face while you were on the phone! 

“Are you alright? Sounds like you hurt yourself,” Mellies’s voice was laced with concern. 

“Mmhm, yup I’m fine,” you said through clenched teeth. Clyde was attacking your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking at it like his life depended on it while his hand squelched out your juices. “Well have ya seen my brother this morning?” 

“What? Why would I,” you suppress a moan “Why would I see Clyde?” 

“He had a haircut before you this morning and I didn’t reach his home phone or his cell so I was just askin’...” Mellie had trailed off while she spoke. She was genuinely concerned for him, little did she know he was being a piece of shit and bringing you to the cusp of ecstasy instead of seeing his sweet sister. 

“Do you know where he is?” 

You coughed to cover a moan, “No...Clydes not here.” Hearing his name he stopped playing with your clit and growled as his head hit the mattress. It seemed like he remembered his appointment too. 

“Look, Mellie, I’ll be there in 10 minutes okay? Then we can have a girls day.” You offered to her, hoping she could hear your smile through the phone. Giggling as she spoke back, “Okay I’m holding you to it.” 

“Okay sweet-” She cut you off again. 

“Oh an (Y/N), make sure to tell Clyde to drop you off at your car before you head over.” 

And then she hung up. 

“Son of a bitch.” 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @morby​ @kirah36​ @clumsycopy​

[artemisnightingale216]

Ch 2- A New Beginning

Authors Note: We have some very special cameos of some fan favorites that are sure to leave you laughing! I hadn’t planned on adding them in now or possibly ever, but they made it in anyway! I hope I did them justice!

Prologue

Chapter 1- Unemployed

Ottilie was at a lose. A month had already come and gone since losing her job at the studio, yet she still had nothing to show for it. It wasn’t has if she’d sat around wallowing in her sorrow, heavy as it may be. She’d looked tirelessly day after day, walking to business after business, her feet sore to the point of throbbing each night she’d come home.

It was only a few days prior that she nearly ran right into the Exterminators, the angel-esc creatures always arriving with no warning to carry out their duty, but had hidden just in time to escape them. She’d watched the carnage from her temporary safe haven, horrified but unable to look away. Only when the screams died out and all was quiet did she finally emerge, many others doing the same as they either raced home or started riots as they ransacked everything in sight. Never having had any interest in such disrespectful actions, she’d ran straight home and slid her back down the door once inside, sitting there in silence until her breathing and heart rate returned to normal.

Perhaps it had been wrong of her to think it, but the next day she had been secretly grateful they’d come; the number of dead demons meant there would be plenty of new job openings and had given her a brief feeling of hope, but that was quickly tarnished when she learned all too quickly that jobs went just as swiftly as they came. Most jobs she’d inquired about told her that she was hours too late, but one had told her she was only minutes. Discouraged despite the fact that it would have been low paying and not something she would have loved like she did at the studio, she’d left and returned home once again. After that, she hadn’t bothered looking. There was no point beating a horse that was already dead.

So there she sat in the living room, staring at nothing in particular as she rocked idly in her antique rocking chair, the usually soothing action doing nothing to ease her worries. The end of the month was coming all to quickly and she had nothing left to give her landlord. She would be kicked out as soon as she found out and she’d be left on the streets, which only made living in Hell all the more dangerous. She didn’t want to guess what would happen to her then.

A sigh escaped her before she rose out of the chair, her body feeling heavy with the urge to sink back into it. It did her no good to sit around and mope while she waited to be inevitably homeless. With nothing else to do, she distracted herself by cleaning.

She had never necessarily been a messy person, but work had always kept her busy enough that she neglected the more menial chores. It seemed dusting was a must, as a fine layer of the pesky particles had settled over some of her lesser used household objects, but a bit of cleaning solution fixed that up and left them sparkling like new. Next, she brought out a stepladder from the hall closet and worked at clearing the cobwebs from that had been starting to from in the corners of her ceiling, the disturbed dust floating around in the air making her sneeze on more than one occasion. When that was done, she polished the few pieces of silver she had on display in a small glass case hanging on the wall in her living room; she knew she would have to sell them eventually, though doing so now would do her no good seeing how they were hardly worth the cost of her rent, and told herself they would be her last resort. Afterwards came the floors, which weren’t terrible but did need a good scrubbing after all her years walking on them, the finished wood floors almost gleaming like mirrors, though thankfully not enough to see her own reflection. The wallpaper was her last task and took up quite a bit of time, the edges having started to peel back and needing re-glued before being smoothed out.

All together, this kept her occupied for a few days and she hadn’t thought much about her current predicament. Now that it was over, however, there was not much left to distract her. She tried reading from the small collection of books she had, but that proved fruitless as she couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of her. She even tried designing a new dress or two, but gave up when she realized she had no one to give it to.

Not for the first time, she found herself missing Angel. His spunky attitude and sass had always found a way to lift her spirits even when she found herself in the darkest of places, but now she felt his absence when she really needed him most. A part of her had hoped he would come and see her, but had to remind herself that she had never once told him where she lived. She had considered going to see him at the studio, but didn’t want to get in his or anyone elses way. Aside from that, it might be too painful for her, and that was something she could not handle right now.

Normally, she’d find comfort in being in the small cottage she called home, but after having been cooped up in it for several days it felt like she was suffocating. Deciding to act on her idea before she talked herself out of it, she changed into a fresh dress and put on her thick overcoat before stepping out into the ‘fresh’ air, or at least as fresh as it could get in Hell. Heading to nowhere in particular, she walked the streets with her head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone and ignoring their crude remarks just as she always did. She didn’t even bother looking at shops in hopes of seeing any help wanted signs, knowing she would see none.

Ottilie was not long into her walk before she found herself regretting it as an apparent turf war broke out. The street had been comfortably quiet, only a few demons walking along the sidewalks in the lesser occupied area of the Pentagram, when suddenly the ground beneath her feet trembled. She paused and looked around, wondering if anyone else had felt it too, but everyone seemed oblivious. Thinking it was just her nerves after having been cooped up for so long, she pressed on, but only made it a few steps before she felt another tremor, this one accompanied by a loud boom. This time, everyone on the street stopped and looked around in confusion, some even coming from neighboring streets just to see what the noise was. Another boom followed a tremor, both of them much closer than before, nearly knocking people off their feet as they stumbled a bit.

A deafening silence hung in the air as the noises suddenly stopped. Confusion set in further and everyone held their breath, waiting to see if it would happen again. A long howl of pain suddenly broke the silence, the outcry sounding as if it were getting closer and closer by the second. All heads turned to the right as a long black mass came flying out of a nearby alleyway before colliding with a car parked in the street. A sizable dent was put into the automobile and a demon slid down onto the asphalt, his tail coiled beneath him in an unruly manner as he groaned and rubbed at the back of his neck.

The demon was much taller than they’d originally thought, but that may have had something to do with his long serpentine tail, which made up the entire lower half of his body. His waist, chest, and arms were thin, especially in comparison to his thick lower half, but were made even more so by the black and yellow pinstripe blazer he wore, the padding in the shoulders almost making them look broader. His yellow undershirt was centered with a fuchsia colored eye, but whether or not he could actually see out of it was anyones guess. His underbelly was lined with two strips of light yellow, two rows of the same colored eyes as the one on his chest running down the length of them, and the yellow underside of skin that extended from his head, giving him the illusion of hair, also had two matching sets of eyes on either side, the top being much bigger than the bottom in size. The eyes that were actually set on his face were a much lighter shade of pink, the area around his slitted pupils just slightly darker. His wide fang filled mouth was pulled into a grimace, a forked tongue flicking out every thirty seconds in irritation as he continued to rub at the back of his head with large slender hands that extended into fuchsia colored clawed fingers. Around his neck was a rather huge black and yellow bow tie and atop his head was a matching top hat, but the hat had a mouth and eye of its own, the face seeming to correspond with the emotions of its wearer.

He shook his head to try and rid himself of the dull ache at the back of his skull and stared angrily at the alleyway he’d come flying out of only seconds before. “Why that arrogant, worthless, little piece of sh-!” He stopped when he noticed all heads turned to him, some of their expressions not looking on him kindly, and it clearly rubbed him the wrong way as he shouted, “What are you insufferable half-wits looking at!?”

“Well, if I had to guess,” a new voice called out tauntingly before a new figure stepped out of the alleyway, “I’d say they were looking at a piss poor example of a waste of space!”

The white skinned she-demon was a slender slip of a woman, her breast and hips large enough to give her a shapely figure, and the wide sharp-toothed smile she sported only spelled danger for those around her. She wore tattered and ripped clothing that revealed generous portions of the skin underneath; the off-the-shoulder magenta crop top over her chest put her bra straps on full display along with the tops of her breasts and the matching extremely short skirt around her hips doing nothing to cover her crotch was only saved by the black pants she wore underneath. On her arms were fingerless gloves that extended past her elbows, one colored black and the other white and grey. One foot was covered by a fuchsia boot with two white stripes across the top while her other was bare safe for the fuchsia toed white sock. Her shoulder and temple were dotted with three magenta freckles and the single eye in the center of her head had no pupil; in its place sat a large white x, making it hard to pinpoint exactly where she was looking. Her hair, ranging from hues of orange to pink, was slightly frayed and parted to the side with a thin stick of hair wrapped in a brown ribbon keeping a portion sectioned off from the rest.

The male, who Ottilie recognized from her long time in Hell as a snake demon, glared at the woman as he picked himself up off the ground. “You’d best watch yourself, missy! You’re on thin ice as it is and I’ve had just about enough of that mouth of yours!”

“Only just enough, huh?” the woman questioned in surprise before her smile returned. “I guess I’ll have to kick it up a notch, then!” She pulled out a small brightly colored ball and tossed it into the air before catching it again, the skull drawn on the front not a good sign for anyone.

“Well, kicking it up a notch might be an improvement in your case! Maybe then this fight would be a bit more evenly matched!” the snake demon sneered mockingly.

“And this coming from the guy who only a minute ago was sent flying and landed flat on his ass?” the woman snickered.

The snake demon glared again, looking around angrily as a few members of their audience laughed too, making him hiss in frustration. “All of you low life sinners had best get out of my territory before I make you regret ever stepping into it!” A pause hung in the air before the street roared with laughter, none of them intimidated after what they’d just seen; all but Ottilie, at least, who knew a threat when she saw one, but leaving now would only draw attention to herself and she received more than enough of that to begin with. “Fine then,” he smiled, clearly knowing something they didn’t, and pulled out a small whistle from inside his blazer. “Have it your way.” He brought it to his lips and blew into the small silver contraption.

It was strange when no sound came out of the whistle. It was strange when the snake demon placed it back inside his blazer and crossed his arms with a smug smile on his reptilian face. It was strange when the one eyed demoness looked around nervously despite nothing happening in that instant. What was even stranger, though, was when a flurry of battle cries could be heard coming from the adjacent streets followed by a stampede of small feet.

Heads turned in different directions as egg shaped demons came running out of the alleyways and side streets, many of them needlessly climbing over cars and trash cans even though they could have simply walked around the few that were there. They seemed almost never ending as they came pouring out like water from a faucet, most of them still crying out and shouting as if being called to battle, and their numerous footfalls were practically deafening despite how small their feet were. Once they eventually trickled off and reached the snake demon who appeared to have called them, they circled around him from all sides, creating a wall of protection around him, but their height didn’t seem to do much in his favor.

“Here we are,” one of the eggs looked up at the snake, a slight pause hanging in the air, “boss.”

“We got here pretty quick, didn’t we, Mr. Boss-Man!” another said, tapping on his tail repeatedly to gain his attention, nearly poking one of the eyes in the process.

The snake hissed at them, the skin around his head and neck flaring out in a threatening manner, making them all shut up and return their attention to the task at hand.

The one eyed demoness shook off her initial worry and her expression returned to one of cocky indifference. “You think those half-assed chicken shitted wannabes can scare me off? Why don’t you take your fetus rejects and go home to watch The Price is Right, old man?”

The snake demon looked confused. “The what is what? Ugh! Never mind! I’ve already staked my claim in this territory and I’ll not have some punky ruffian run me off of it… again!”

“You are a man of science, aren’t you? What’s that saying about doing something over and over again and expecting different results?” the one eyed demoness tilted her head mockingly.

“That’s not science, you imbecile! That’s the definition of insanity!” the snake demon said in irritation.

The demoness let out a single loud laugh and shouted, “Nerd!”

The snake demon looked around in irritation as people around him laughed along with her. “Ugh! You’ll all rue the day you laughed at Sir-!” he began as he reached into his blazer again only to cut himself off mid-sentence as he dug around deeper. Pulling his arm out, he patted himself down and looked around frantically. “Where is my ray gun!?” He looked around at the eggs surrounding him, their looks turning from determination to fear. “Which one of you has it?”

“It isn’t us,” another pause, “boss.”

“We would never think to take it from you,” the egg shook his head, his entire body moving with the motion.

“I think I saw Number Twenty-Six with it,” one raised his hand excitedly.

The snake glanced around and raised a brow. “Twenty-Six! Where are you?”

“Over here, boss,” another egg called out fearfully as he and two others came waddling as fast as they could from around a corner, a strange weapon about as big as he was held above his head. They appeared to be running away from something rather than actually toward the man who seemed to employ them.

That something came barreling out after them and smashed what appeared to be a blunt object over one of their heads, causing it to crack and cave in. The tall figure pulled the object, which was a baseball bat with nails hammered into one end, out the remains and the broken egg fell to the ground. The pavement and the bat were now covered in yellow yolk, but the work was not yet. The other egg not carrying the weapon turned and waved his hands in a stop motion, but was ignored as the bat swung to the side and sent him flying to the side, his body immediately exploding on impact and causing more yolk to coat the asphalt. The bat was aimed at the third egg, but it jumped out of the way in time and stepped into the small sea of his lookalikes, the gun in his hands the only way to tell him apart from the others.

Ottilie was so surprised to find that Angel Dust was the one wreaking havoc on the over sized eggs that she nearly called out his name, the shout catching in her throat once she realized she was about to call attention to herself, something she’d been trying to avoid only moments before. She was happy to see him, but now was not the time.

The egg demon made his way through the short crowd, the others around him parting to let him through only to step back into place once he passed. Once he was at the center, he held the gun-like weapon up as high as he could reach toward the snake. “Here it is, boss! I kept it safe for you, sir!” He seemed so proud of himself in that moment, but it was shattered when the object was snatched from his hands.

“Give me that before you hurt someone important… namely me!” the black scaled demon hissed. He flipped a few switches on the gun and it hummed to life, a red glass panel slowly glowing to a bright crimson red. He held it out in front of him and aimed it right at the one eyed demoness, her brow furrowing into a glare. “Now, where was I? Oh yes! You will all rue the day you laughed at the mighty Sir Pentious!”

“The only thing mighty about you is your age!” the demoness laughed before he pulled the trigger.

The center of the claw-like tips began to emit a crimson glow of their own as a sphere shaped ball appeared inside of it, the humming much louder now until it grew into a crescendo. The gun let off a strange noise as a beam of light flew out from the sphere and headed straight toward its target, the backlash from the force of it causing the weapon to fly back and hit Sir Pentious in the face.

Angel Dust came running up just seconds before the beam could hit the demoness and knocked her out of the way, the two falling to the ground in a heap. The beam instead hit the wall behind her and caused the bricks to immediately crumble into dust in a wide circle, a few heads inside the building poking out in surprise to see what had created the hole only to disappear back inside a few seconds later. Anyone wondering what a silly beam of light might have done were no longer questioning it and there was a brief moment of silence before demons were scrambling left and right, some trying to leave the street altogether and others ducking behind nearby objects big enough to hide them.

Ottilie had hidden herself behind a stack of wooden crates left to rot in a dead end alleyway, knowing that she had no chance of running in the heels she was wearing, and peaked out from behind to continue watching. With that gun around, she feared what would happen to Angel, knowing how reckless he could be in the face of danger; she wondered if a demon could even come back from being turned into dust or if she would have to face the sight of what was once his body being a permanent pile on the ground.

“Get them, you fools!” Pentious called out over the commotion, making his egg minions jump in surprise before they spurred into action. He watched in satisfaction as they formed into small groups and chased after their targets, most of them successful in tackling the ones running to the ground and beating into them with their tiny fists while the ones searching for the hiding demons looked around in confusion, some of them lifting up tiny rocks and looking under them as if they could hide under there; a good many of them passed by Ottilie, but none of them seemed to notice her. He and his hat rolled their eyes in irritation before he returned his attention to Angel and the woman he was helping up. “As for you two,” they looked at him and raised their brows, “I think I’ll just turn you both into the worthless bits of dust you are! What a fitting end to two wastes of space!” He aimed the gun again and pulled the trigger, but it only hummed for a second or two before dying out. He looked at the gun from a few different angles before beating it against his hand. “Darn thing always stalling! That’s the last time I use second rate wiring!”

Angel and his companion smiled at each other, the words they spoke to each other lost in the chaos, and took advantage of the situation. The one eyed woman plucked an egg off the sidewalk as he came running by and cracked him in half over her leg, causing his yolky innards to spill out as she pulled the two halves apart. She placed the skull painted ball she’d been holding up until that point inside the empty shells after igniting a strip of wick on the ball and placed them back together. The pieces somehow managed to stay stuck together as she tossed them high into the air. Angel held the nail laden bat behind his head, his eyes on the egg now falling toward him, and swung it as soon as his target fell into place.

Pentious looked up from tinkering with his gun in time to see the white, black, and yellow object flying toward his face. A grimace pulled at his features just before the shell crashed into his face and the explosive that had apparently been placed inside went off. A scarlet colored smoke blossomed out in a wide radius around him and left him hacking and coughing along with his hat once some of it cleared.

Angel and the woman exchanged a few more words and high fived each other before Angel ran off to chase after the egg demons while she stayed behind to face the now very angry snake demon.

Ottilie lost sight of Angel from her hiding spot, now somewhat relieved that he was out of the way of the deadly weapon in the hands of an apparent mad-man. Her eyes followed him as long as they could before he disappeared and she had to turn her attention to the rest of the chaos happening around her.

The small groups of egg demons had broken off and most of them were more or less on their own. More than a few of the remaining groups were bashing some handheld weapons, which appeared to be household objects that one normally wouldn’t carry around in hopes of attacking someone with it, against cars and other things on the street; Ottilie was left to wonder why they were doing this as a quick glance revealed no one was hiding underneath or around them and they could certainly see this much better with their small stature. The ones who had apparently gone rogue were still chasing around the demons trying to flee the scene, first attacking their legs to trip them up and then pinning them to the ground so they could beat into them only for the pattern to repeat once they escaped their hold.

One of the eggs had managed to discover a hiding place as he lifted the lid off a trash can that had turned over and found a cat demon hiding inside. The two jumped away from each other in surprise before the cat clambered out of the bin and tried to get away. The egg dashed after him, surprising fast for a creature of his size, and latched onto his leg once he caught up. The added weight caused the cat to try to kick him off before he was left unbalanced and fell to the ground. The egg leapt up and gripped onto the cats face, pulling rather hard on his fur and taking a few clumps out in the process. The cat hissed in a mixture of pain and rage as he clawed at the thing assaulting his face and tried to pull it off, this proving difficult without pulling out more of his fur than had already been. He eventually was able to get the egg off of his head and threw him as far as he could manage, turning and running as soon as he was away from it only to be ambushed by a larger group of them seconds later.

Ottilie watched as the egg soared through the air, calling out in a mixture of fear and excitement, and started to gravitate right towards her. She could have easily backed away and him splatter on the ground in front of her, but instead she held out her arms and caught him. The weight of him caused her to fall forward slightly, but she righted herself and held the over sized thing against her as he looked around dizzily. “Are you alright?” she asked as his eyes focused on her and looked up at her in surprise.

The sight that greeted the egg was Ottilie silhouetted by the sky above her, giving her the image of a crimson halo, a concerned look on her face. He looked up at her in awe and wonder, his hands around his face in a bit of fear, before he asked in an innocent manner, “Are you an angel?”

Ottilie blinked at him in astonishment. “No, I’m not.”

The egg gasped as he reached out toward her face, his hand hovering in the space between them. “Mama? Are you my Mama?”

Ottilies face twitched, like she wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such a question. Any sane person would have said no, but those almost innocent bright yellow eyes looking up at her in hope made her instead say, “Sure.”

The egg gasped again, his voice rising in elation. He threw his arms around her neck and nuzzled into it, his hard shell surprisingly soft against her skin. “Mama!” She could feel her cheeks heating up to the point her face felt like it was burning. “My nice Mama! My nice, sweet Mama!” She patted his back in an awkward but soothing manner, an action that felt familiar but she couldn’t quite place. His little hands gripped her tighter until he was practically holding on for dear life, repeating the action of patting her back as well.

It felt strange to be touched so willingly. Angel was the only one who had ever felt inclined to come within five feet of her without it being to step around her or not even realizing she was there in the first place. Though strange, it wasn’t entirely unwanted. Perhaps she was touch starved after so long even though the most Angel ever did was hold her hands or place his hand on her shoulder from time to time.

Just when she was getting used to the feeling, the egg in her arms stiffened, shuddered, and jumped from her lap. “Boss man is calling us back now! Bye-bye, Mama!” He waddled back the way he’d come, the rest of his look-alikes doing the same. She waved back at him even though his back was to her and he couldn’t possibly have seen it.

“Fine, keep this revolting travesty of territory while you can! I’ll be back for it!” Pentious was shouting at the demoness, the silver whistle clenched tightly in the fist he shook in her direction, his blazer tattered with fairly large holes and half his face covered in the scarlet smoke. He didn’t give her a chance to reply before he slithered off after his retreating minions and disappeared around a corner.

“Yeah, you better run, you burnt ass shit!” the woman called after him despite the fact he was already gone.

The other demons on the street didn’t take the chance of them coming back, leaving with their tails between their legs and a surprising amount of injuries to tend to. The only ones left on the street now were Angel, his female companion, and Ottilie, who was still hidden out of sight. If it had just been Angel by himself, she might have immediately run over to him, but she didn’t know or trust this woman who seemed to be rather proficient with bombs.

Angel walked back over to the one eyed demon as she brushed the dirt off of her clothes and he shook the yolk off his bat, a few of the nails either missing now or bent at a different angle than they had been. “You okay?”

The woman scoffed and flicked a lock of hair out of her face. “That pansy ass bitch wishes he could lay a hand on me!” He laughed boisterously along with her as he ran his own hand through his hair, picking a few egg shells out in the process. “What were you doing around here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in therapy or some shit at your fancy, smancy hotel?”

“We went through all that this mornin’,” Angel rolled his eyes as she snickered at him. “Besides… I was lookin’ for somebody.”

“Oooooo,” she taunted, poking him in the side repeatedly. “Did your boyfriend run off on you?”

It was Angels turn to scoff now. “No one runs out on this gorgeous mug!” His head turned down as his expression shifted to a mixture of anger and sadness. “I’m lookin’ for a gal pal.”

“Huh,” the woman said in surprise, not used to seeing him pull such an expression. “Well… I hope you find her.”

Angel offered her a half smile. “Thanks, Cherri.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she playfully punched him on the arm. “I’d best be heading off. Turf to watch over and all that bullshit.”

“Break a leg out there, kid,” Angel returned the action.

The two said their goodbyes and headed off in opposite directions, Cherri heading away and Angel coming towards Ottilie. Her eyes widened and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since a month prior and here he was walking in her direction, that familiar sway in his hips following each stride of his long legs, his steps just as quick as she remembered. Each second brought him closer and closer until he was right in front of her hiding place and then walking past it in the next. She wondered why she hadn’t stepped out yet or at least called out to him, but then she felt that pang of fear blossom in her chest. She wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to say to him. She hadn’t exactly said goodbye to him or even told him she had been fired and had run off like a coward. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away, knowing now wasn’t the time to wallow in her emotions like she had been. Now was the time for action.

Angel was a good ways away from her when she stepped out from behind the wooden crates that had acted as her shield, paused for a second, and started after him. Her steps were slow at first before turning into a light sprint and then escalating into a full on run. She was surprised to find that she didn’t stumble or trip on the concrete as she raced after him, his form getting closer and closer until he was only a mere ten feet away.

Realizing there was a noise behind him that sounded like the familiar sound of heels, he turned just in time to see a blur of blue and purple before it came crashing into him. He stumbled back a few steps as slender arms wrapped around his waist and a head buried itself just beneath his chest. “Whoa! What the Hell?” He looked down and saw a familiar head of curly lavender colored hair, his eyes widening at the sight. “Ottilie?”

*****

Angel placed a hot cup of tea in front of Ottilie before taking his seat at the table, the coffee shop they’d gone to quiet but a bit chatter going on around them. She quietly thanked him and started placing cubes of sugar into the streaming drink, stirring the contents once they were soft enough to get her spoon through. He took a sip of his smoothie while she did that same with hers and he looked at her like she’d grown a third head. “I still don’t see how you do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, looking up from her cup.

“Drink that boiling hot shit before it even has a chance to cool,” he shook his head as he dipped his finger in the whipped cream that topped his drink and licked it off. “My mouth would be burning right now.”

“I like the heat,” she shrugged as she wrapped her hands around the bottom of the mug, cupping it as the warmth spread through her gloves into her skin. “It feels nice.”

“Whatever floats your root beer.” He took another drink from his cup, this one longer than the last, like he was trying to avoid what he wanted to say next. When he finally pulled the straw away from his lips, he set the cup back down on the table and leaned back casually in his chair, top left arm draped over the back and his other hands placed in his lap with his legs crossed. “So… you workin’ anywhere else?”

She knew this would come up eventually and what it would lean up to, but was still widely unprepared for it. “No. I’ve been looking, but there doesn’t seem to be anything available. At this rate, I won’t be able to keep my home.”

He looked at her worriedly. “How long will you be able to stay there?”

“The end of the month,” she replied somberly.

“Ottilie… that’s three days away,” he pointed out. It was odd to hear him call her by her name. He’d only ever called her names like ‘toots’, ‘dollface’, and other things.

“I know.”

He growled in frustration and, had it been anyone else, she would have thought it was directed at her. “You should have just come to me instead of making me hear it from some low life stage hand and run back to the dressing room only to find you gone! I would have fought like Hell to keep you on!”

She looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course! No one knows how to do my makeup or measurements like you do!” he said a little too loudly, turning a few heads. She looked less surprised now. “This new dame they got can’t even get a seam straight and whenever she’s doin’ me up, she keeps pokin’ me in the eye and smearin’ on shit like she’s bakin’ a cake! If I have to go into a shot one more time with a bloodshot eye, I’m gonna scream!”

“Oh, I see,” she said slowly, her fingers playing with the rim of her cup.

He noticed her actions and let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging with it. “Look… just… next time somethin’ like that happens… come to me, okay? You know I got your back, right?”

A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she nodded, “Right.”

“Two of a kind?” he held out a pinky.

“Birds of a feather,” she locked her pinky with his.

“Now and forever! Whee!” they said together in delight, throwing their hands in the air like a gleeful celebration.

“Hey, shut the Hell up!” someone called over to them.

“Up yours, ya schmuck!” Angel called back, turning around his chair so he could face the voice.

“Ah, go fuck yourself, drag show!” the voice demanded.

“Fuck me yourself, coward!” Angel shook his fist at them. Ottilie nearly choked on her tea as she went to take a sip, some of it dripping down her chin before she could reach for a napkin to wipe it off.

“I ain’t coming within a country mile of whatever you’ve got festering down there!” the voice laughed. Angel looked perturbed at that. “Why don’t you get a real job?”

“I got a real job for you right here!” Angel flipped him off and gestured to his crotch. The other man lost interest then and walked off. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned back around in his seat. “Tryin’ to me to get a job when I already-.” He paused and stopped mid sentence. An idea seemed to strike him and he smiled like a kid in a candy store. He reached across the table and grabbed her shoulders with one set of hands while the other kept him balanced on the flat surface. “Ottilie! I have a job for you!”

She looked up at him in confusion, her head tilting slightly in question. “You want me to give you a blowjob?”

“Wait, what? No!” he answered quickly. “Just come with me! I’ll take care of everything!”

[ussarchangel]

Syncable/Sinkable

giftee: @maegfen

prompt: 1)Reunion – Mirror Lorca and Prime Michael are (somehow) reunited post S1 slightly added in prompt 2)Away mission as well.

rated T for some swearing

a/n: i tried to put some actual plot in this but it just didn’t want to happen. dear @maegfen, i hope this does your amazing prompts justice <3

For all intents and purposes, the war has ended, but its haze of paranoia still lingers. Paranoia, that turns out to be more justified than not when the whispers of a Klingon-made biological weapon are confirmed through Starfleet’s top secret communication channels. This in itself would not have concerned USS Discovery, had the weapon in question not been, allegedly, running on a spore drive.

Commander Michael Burnham chewed on her lip as she listened to this news. Apparently, she has the privilege of going on a mission to gather more intel and, preferably, acquire the weapon plans. Admiral Cornwell seemed more reluctant than usual to send someone into a possible- if not likely- death trap. Michael wondered how many friends, crew and colleagues she has lost during those months the Discovery was absent.

And that is why, a very short while later, Michael stands in a narrow alley on a small, barely habitated moon just off Starbase 343, staring at some teashop’s back door, just meters away from the assigned meeting point.

She checks her communicator, but neither Tilly nor Saru have made contact yet. She decides that’s probably a good thing, and opens the door.

Michael finds herself in a nondescript room, plain walls, no windows. She walks a slow circle around the room, observing, cataloguing. It passes as an office, barely. A makeshift desk and a chair, some PADDs strewn about. A small collection of strange artefacts crammed into a suitcase lying next to the desk. She leans forward to inspect them more closely, careful not to touch just in case they’re as dangerous as they are bizarre.

She finds nothing that tells her who the person she’s here to meet is, or what their motives for helping the Federation are.

Her snooping is interrupted by the creak of the door opening and before she even has the time to turn around, a familiar, gravelly voice calls out.

“Hello Michael.”

She freezes, eyes widened in shock, adrenaline level spiking. She’s motionless for barely a heartbeat before instinct kicks in and she swiftly turns, phaser already in hand.

Gabriel Lorca stands in front of her, whole and very much alive.

Her mind races with possible explanations to what she’s seeing, her eyes roving over his form trying to make sure it’s not an illusion, a trick. Michael doesn’t know who or what’s in front of her, but she knows she doesn’t trust him.

“How?”, she demands. To her surprise, her voice doesn’t falter. “I saw you die, how are you here?”

Lorca grins. “Calm down Michael, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.“

The attempt at a joke falls flat since he might as well be. His face is pale and sunken, the blue of his eyes highlighted by the dark bags underneath. Yet there he is, alive and unharmed. Holding her gaze and pointedly ignoring the phaser aimed at his chest.

He raises his hands in a calming manner. “It’s me,” he insists. His voice is level and calm but there’s an almost imperceptible nervous twitch to his fingers. Lorca shakes his head, “I don’t know how, or why, but it’s really me.”

There’s something in his eyes Michael recognizes, hard determination, self-assured arrogance. The tiniest flicker of fear. Intense. Familiar.

It’s him. It is Lorca, the one she knew. Thought she knew. Thanks to whatever curse or miracle, Gabriel Lorca really is here and alive. Relief washes over her, followed closely by anxiety at the implications that the emotion brings, implications she does not have time to consider.

"Put down the phaser, Michael. I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s true. She knows it the same way she knew he wouldn’t- couldn’t kill her on ISS Charon. There’s a sense of déjà vu to their current situation that could almost make her laugh. Michael shakes her head in resignation and lowers the phaser.

Lorca releases a small, relieved sigh and steps closer. She notices he’s still wearing the silver armor underneath his jacket, now with a stark, jagged, vertical slit in its center. It reveals nothing more than his undershirt but the sight still unnerves her. She can almost see the sword protruding from his chest, hear his surprised gasp as it impaled him.

She looks back up. “Why are you here?”

“I’m the informant you were sent to meet.”

“No, why are you here? In this universe, on this moon, alive?”

“Destiny?” he shrugs, almost teasingly. “The curious paths of the mycelial network? Take your pick, it’s as good a guess as any.”

She gives him a considering look but he doesn’t seem to be lying. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything anymore, but the issue of his resurrection is not her priority at the moment. Not to mention she’s worried what she might do or say if she doesn’t keep the conversation strictly to her mission objectives.

Michael keeps her tone curt and business-like. “Why are you helping us?” she inquires.

“Klingons have a weapon. I need a mode of transport,” he reasons. “A mode of transport Starfleet could provide, in their gratitude for my assistance.”

Michael raises a skeptical eyebrow. “And what makes you think Starfleet would be inclined to help you? Or anyone on Discovery for that matter?” She decides the unusable state of Discovery’s spore drive does not need mentioning.

He smirks. “Nothing. But I do think Starfleet would be inclined to try and avoid getting blown to shreds.”

She purses her lips, unconvinced.

He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t particularly want to stick around, and I’m sure Starfleet would love to get rid of me as well. There’s an Empire out there in desperate need of a leader,” he pauses, gauging her reaction. Michael doesn’t hide the disdain on her face. “And there’s nothing for me here,” he concludes.

The tone of his voice is detached, but Michael recognizes the question in it.

“How do you know Philippa hasn’t regained control of the Empire by now?” she bluffs.

Lorca’s mouth curves into a teasing smile. “As if you didn’t bring her back here with you?”

She can’t hide how the question startles her. The corner of her mouth twists into a vaguely guilty expression. “How-”

“You always were sentimental. Even the other Michael - my Michael – couldn’t easily abandon her, even after everything she’s done to her.”

A nostalgic sadness fills his eyes at the mention of the other Michael Burnham. Despite the truth revealed to her by Philippa, he looks like someone who lost a loved one. Michael wants to learn more.

“I am not her,” she asserts.

Lorca sizes her up. “No. You’re not. In so many ways you’re better, I told you that.”

His compliments have always made her feel… uncomfortable, but she never could pinpoint why. A certain warm feeling in her stomach, pleasant almost but intertwined with dread. She shakes it off, focuses back on her mission. Acquire the information. Get out. Easy.

“Let’s get this over with. What do you have for me? The weapon plans? Let’s hear it.”

“I don’t have the plans myself per se,” he drawls, “but I know a guy who does.”

Michael can feel the anger spark in her. “And who, pray tell, is the guy?”

“A fucking nutjob honestly, but reliable. Does business with anyone, no loyalty to any side. He has the plans and everything else you need.”

“And I’m guessing he’ll want something in return?” She gestures with her right hand which is still holding the phaser. It has the desired effect as Lorca glances nervously at it.

“A favor.” he replies. “He’ll give you what you need, but you’ll have to owe him a favor.”

Michael takes a moment to ponder that. Clearly, the Federation doesn’t do business with his type, but how much choice do they have?

“Alright”, Michael tucks her phaser back into its holster. “Where can I find him?”

“He’s usually somewhere around Vintaak system,” Lorca answers, his shoulders finally relaxing with the phaser out of sight. “But you can’t go there alone.”

Michael opens her mouth to protest but Lorca interrupts her. “He doesn’t talk to just anybody,” he explains. “You need someone he already knows. Someone like me.”

Michael nods. The whole thing is suspiciously convenient for him, and she’ll be damned if she lets him take advantage of her ever again. “Okay. Now tell me why should I trust a word of what you just said?”

He seems hurt at the abrasiveness of her words. "I’ve never lied to you, Michael.”

She cocks her head to the side, narrows her eyes.

He sighs, “Omitted facts, yes, but never lied.”

“Did you lie to her?” she asks abruptly. “To the other Michael?”

She doesn’t know what possesses her to open this can of worms now, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Her breathing quickens. All the unprocessed emotion of their unexpected meeting is bubbling up and she’s not sure she can keep it from spilling out.

His lips open in surprise. He walks closer, stops right in front of her. He raises his hand as if to touch her shoulder but then seems to change his mind and lowers it, balled into a fist. It doesn’t even matter because Lorca stares right into her eyes and it almost feels like a physical touch.

“Never.” His voice is raspy, almost breaks. “I’ve never lied to her. I was probably the only person who didn’t.“

Michael wants to come closer. She takes a step back.

“That’s not what Philippa said,” she protests, unconvincingly.

“You don’t believe me but you’ll believe the Terran Emperor?” he mocks. ”Because she has proven herself to be so trustworthy and honorable?”  He tsks, “Michael, I thought you knew better.”

Michael knows he has a point and she isn’t eager to admit it. To admit how quick she was to trust the woman with Philippa Georgiou’s face. Still, she presses on. “She told me what you did to her daughter. How you influenced her from a young age and…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. The disgust written plainly on her face finishes it for her.

His mouth tightens. “That’s what she told you?” he grits out, leaning away from her. “She said-“

Infuriated, he starts pacing around. “I would never,” he swears. In two quick strides he’s back in front of her, towering over her. It would be intimidating were it not for the gentleness in his clear, blue eyes. “Not you. Not her, not- not any version of you, from any universe.”

Despite her better judgement, Michael believes him. There’s compassion in her for him, for the loss of his crew, his lover, his world. Still, it is far overpowered by anger and pain.

Back when she first learned of his true identity she barely had the time to deal with the news before she was fighting him, fighting for the lives of her friends, and then watching him fall to his death. Now she is forced to confront him and all the hurt his betrayal brought that she has tucked away, ignored.

And she must confront him, or it will fester inside her, keep her up at nights. She refuses to let him get under her skin like that.

“It doesn’t matter,” she fumes. “You still used me, manipulated me for your own gain from the moment that prison shuttle was beamed onto the ship.” She trembles, fingernails digging into her palms. “Did you orchestrate that too or was it destiny?” She spits out the word like an insult.

“You’re damn right I orchestrated it,” he admits, unfazed by her anger. “The second I saw your name in the database I made sure to help you, out of pure fucking sentiment,” he snaps.

He clenches his jaw, runs his hand through his hair. It’s not the confession she expected.

Lorca continues, heated, “You were not meant to rot away forever on some mining planet. You, Starfleet’s best and brightest. An officer who followed her own damn reason instead of some idiotic law or principle and got punished for it? They didn’t deserve you.”

He takes a deep breath, calms down. Looks away as if he can’t bear the sight of her.

“I got you out because that’s what you deserved. I kept you safe because I wanted you to be happy. And yes, because I needed you. I needed you to win the war, I needed you to get to Philippa and most importantly, I needed you because on some days seeing you was the only thing that kept me grounded and sane.”

His gaze lifts to meet hers and she is struck by the open emotion. It reminds Michael of the softness on his face when she lied and surrendered herself to him on Charon. He looks at her reverently, adoringly. It’s too much.

She sighs, closes her eyes, drags her hands down her face. She’s tired, tired of not knowing how to feel around him, tired of weighing his every word, seeking the truth and picking out the lies.

“What do you want, Michael?” he asks softly.

“Peace. I want peace of mind.” She neglects to mention the tingle she feels every time he says her name, stands close to her, tells her terrifying truths- it will never let her have that. There’s a difficulty in managing her emotions she experiences around him that has nothing to do with her Vulcan upbringing.

She opens her eyes. She doesn’t know what he sees but it looks like it makes him sad.

“It would be easier if I was dead again, wouldn’t it?” He blinks and suddenly he’s steady and composed. A mask. “Just end it,” he suggests. “I know you can’t do it in cold blood. Do you want me to attack you? Would that make it easier?”

She frowns. Her gaze falls down to his chest, to the open wound in his armor. Slowly, she reaches out her hand and touches the ragged edges. She hears him gasp, feels it under her fingertips. His death never sat right with her. It wasn’t justice, it was revenge. The thought of watching him die once again reveals one thing she feels about him that she can be sure of.

“I don’t want you to die,” she confesses.

“You should,” he breathes.

Her eyes slide up. She notices the gray in his stubble, the crow’s feet around his eyes, the firm line of his mouth. He is so familiar, yet not at all.

He has the face of the man who lied and deceived and saved her life. The man who spits on everything she believes in, the man who gave her a second chance. And yet there’s something different about him since his true identity has been revealed. Something softer, more… real. He’s afraid. Uncompromising. There’s an ever present ghost of a smile, directed only at her.

The fog inside her mind clears and with a cold shiver and a startling clarity, she finally understands. She likes this version of Lorca better.

It terrifies her.

“Discovery’s spore drive will not be operational until we find a non-organic navigator,” she finds herself saying. “It could be months, if not longer until that happens. Your best chance is to lay low until we get it fixed, and even then I can’t guarantee we’ll help you.”

The smart thing to do would be to bring him back to Discovery, keep him in custody and have him escort someone to Vintaak so they can gather the intel. Then send him to trial and execute the sentence. Mirror universe or not, he committed crimes and violated Federation laws. She’d never get to see him again, and he’d pay for his crimes.

She knows this, he knows this.

Lorca stares at her in reluctant amazement, slack-jawed, frowning. Michael stands her ground, head held high. With nothing left to tie him to her, no reason to help her now, she’s ready to say goodbye forever. She suspects – hopes – he won’t let her.

“Okay,” he agrees. Pauses, waiting for her to continue. She doesn’t. “I have the transport to Vintaak ready and waiting?” he adds. Lorca’s smiling at her like he’s just won a battle that was deemed doomed from the start. It’s an expression she has gotten to know well during her time on Discovery, though she’s not sure his eyes ever had this youthful spark they do now.

A million and one thought crosses her mind, plans and strategies cancelling each other out, until one plan, one idea is left.

Well, it’s not the worst she ever had.

Michael nods, straightens herself up, and holds out her hand.

“Let’s go.”