#the fingertips are cold but the metal holds the heat of the rest of the body; so if you pressed your lips to the palm it might just be warm

[owlf45]

what if kudou built yoichi a prosthetic hand 👀

YEAHHHHH THAT'D BE SICK

[repulsiveliquidation]

Honeymoon || Alexia Putellas

I quite liked writing this one. based on this idea. Enjoy :)

warnings : smut, semi-public sex, rough sex, fingering, cunnilingus, strap-on, spanking, Daddy kink.

The plane touched down at Ngurah Rai International Airport promptly at half past 3 in the afternoon from Barcelona. After a long flight, all Alexia wanted was some cold champagne in the private beach cabanas you were raving about the entire flight there. She held your hand tight as the driver kindly took your bags and slipped them into the back, the sweltering heat already prickling at her skin like it did at home.

Alexia rubbed her thumb over the back of your fingers, smiling to herself when she felt her fingertip brush over smooth metal. She turned to look at you, watching as your eyes lit up at the sight of all the people that filled the streets of Bali. She felt her heart fill with more love than she had for you when you got married three days before, leaning to rest her head on your shoulder and feeling your arm snake around her middle.

A quick little nap on the half an hour journey to the hotel, Ale was ready to get unpacked and run down to the beach. She sipped on the welcome drink as you went through the paperwork and got your room key, leg bouncing excitedly.

“Ready, mi amor?” You ask, watching as Ale snaps out of her little daydream to smile up at you.

“Si,” she answers, standing up and taking your outstretched hand. The bellboy has already brought your bags to the suite and you make sure to flop onto the bed to make sure it “holds up.”

Ale unpacks at lighting speed, throwing on one of the many swimsuits she’d packed and refused to show you. You’re still figuring out the knobs in the bathroom when you hear Ale grumble outside.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Forgot somethi-” You ask innocently, walking out of the bathroom when the sight in front of you short circuits your brain.

Ale has a slutty two piece on, that’s suspiciously your favorite shade of blue, she’s struggling to tie the back of. She pouts when she realizes you’ve seen, clearly wanting to have surprised you on the beach later.

“Need help, princess?”

Alexia, normally composed, blushes a deep red and nods sheepishly, turning around and holding her hair to the side for you. You step forward and tie the back of her top in a neat bow, hands roaming to hold her hips as your lips press soft kisses along her nape.

“You look gorgeous, wanna stay in for a while?” You ask cheekily, pulling her closer to you. She shakes her head and pulls away from you, a pout back on her lips. You lean in and kiss her softly, nodding understandingly.

“Give me a minute, I’ll be ready.”

Alexia nods and you walk back into the bathroom. She packs a little bag with sunscreen and sunglasses, before sitting in the hallway waiting for you. She can hear you rummaging and making a little ruckus but she ignores it as she scrolls on her phone, texting her mom and sister that you’ve both reached safety and were about to head to the beach.

You tap her shoulder and she smiles up at you, a quick look of confusion on her face when she sees your full backpack passes quickly when she sees you’ve already opened the door and were waiting for her.

The walk to the beach was nice, the sun was out and the sea breeze was catching in your hair. Ale was practically giddy when she realized you booked a cabana all to yourselves, two glasses of champagne already poured and waiting for you.

“Amor, you didn’t have to,” she begins, crawling into the little tent that was beautifully decorated and provided perfect shade.

“You know my girl only deserves the best,” you offer, crawling into the seat beside her. She picks up the cold glass and you do the same, sipping on the refreshing drink before leaning back and taking in the stunning view of the sea. Ale leaned into your side and sighed, closing her eyes when you press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, baby,” you tell her softly, rubbing her arm gently. Ale looks at you with pure adoration and you fall in love with her all over again, before she leans in to kiss you.

Booking an expensive hotel with a private beach was certainly worth the money because while you were prepared you weren’t too sure if your plan was going to work.

Ale settled against you quickly, pulling out her iPad to read while you held your book in your hands. The waiters were good at their jobs, having the ice bucket filled nicely to keep the rest of the expensive champagne chilled. Alexia wasn’t one to drink while in season but since it was her honeymoon, her own rules be damned. Three glasses of Pol Roger Brut Vintage gave her a little buzz and she was not complaining.

her iPad was discarded to the side, one side of the curtain into the cabana opened already. She suddenly stood and opened the other side, turning around with a fierce look in her eyes.

“No taking your eyes off me, Daddy,” she instructed with a firm voice, taking her cover-up off a little too slowly to be unintentional. It wasn’t peak season in Bali so there were not many people in the ocean.

Ale sauntered off into the sea, making sure to strut her way into the salty waters. Your sunglasses sat on the edge of your nose, eyes glued to Alexia’s ass. She feels your gaze on her and it simply boosts her confidence as she slips into the water.

Dramatically, because Alexia is not one to be boring, she fully submerges herself into the clear water before coming back up and tossing her blonde hair back. She knows you’re watching carefully, making sure to sway her hips as she walks back into the cabana. She closes the curtains and begins to dry herself off, dabbing away at her perfect skin. She dries her hair off and sits back down on the cushions, grabbing her iPad and going back to read as if she didn’t just provoke you to sin.

You stare at her and stand, tying the curtains shut. She ignores you and daringly turns over onto her stomach and swings her legs back and forth, the book she was reading, ‘Playing with Matches by Michael Faudet’, on the screen.

She listens and the words on the screen blurry, hearing the familiar click and tug of your strap being attached to you. She aches to turn and look but she knows she’s in for it for teasing you and calling you names. Names she hoped the people around would hear faintly in about 5 minutes.

She adjusts herself when she sees you move the little bamboo table at the foot of the cushions out of the way. Her legs adjust a little too wide and the slightly drying material of her swimsuit reveals a wet patch that the sea did not contribute to.

Your hands gently knead her full ass, massaging her muscles with great care. Alexia is about to moan when your hand comes down on her skin hard.

“Daddy!” She gasps, looking back at you. She sees the dark lust in your eyes and feels your weight on her before the next smack leaves a nice sting on her skin. Alexia moans, grabbing a throw pillow to hold onto. Her back arches off the cushions a little and she swears she cums a little when she feels your palm press her lower back down to arch her back a little more.

“Such a fucking slut this early into our honeymoon hm? Couldn’t wait till we got back to our room to fuck darling?” You whisper seductively into her ear, weight draped over her with your cock pressed right on her soaked pussy. Alexia shakes her head and groans before stuttering an answer.

“No Daddy…”

“Why’s that, sweet girl?”

“Wanna be a good girl for you, Daddy. I know,” she gulps before continuing, “how much you love it when I’m being a good girl only for you.”

A shiver runs down your spine as your hands graze over her hips and back. She shuffles back and arches into you, cock pressing slightly into her pussy with the soaked material of her swimsuit blocking her entrance.

Your hands spank her ass hard once more, the lasting mark of your fingers make her skin sting when you kiss it. She moans and mutters words of thanks, biting her bottom lip.

Delicately gentle fingers pull the ties of her bottoms loose, the slightly cool air of the cabana hits Alexia’s soaked folds and she shivers underneath you. Your warm fingers run themselves through the mess she’s making, feeling her heartbeat steadily within her core.

“Wet already, my pet?”

Alexia whimpers.

“A-All for you, Daddy.”

You lick your arousal soaked fingers and hum in agreement. Two fingers gently slip into her cunt and you lean over her again.

“That’s right, slut,” you lilt, fingertips pressing her sweet spot hard, “this pussy belongs to me.”

You turn her onto her back and finger her hard and fast, dragging your fingers along her tightening walls as she desperately tries to keep her noises to a minimum. Clawing and squeezing her hands over her mouth as her thighs thrash about, you hear the distinct moment Alexia becomes more and more turned on.

She grabs your forearm and squirms, rolling her hips as she rides your slender fingers. Alexia looks up deeply into your eyes, her own filled with tears of pleasure that send electricity through your veins.

“You getting close, sweetheart? Is that what I’m feeling in your pussy?”

She throbs and prunes your fingers with her slick, head spinning as the blood rushes down between her legs.

“Daddy!” she yells, throwing her head back as she came. Her thighs shake and you’re sure people heard her but you don’t fucking care. Alexia looked so beautiful as she came and you wanted to burn the image into your mind.

She barely gets feeling back into her glutes when she feels you manhandle her onto her knees. Her knees give out and her ass stings as your hand spanks her ass again. Alexia moans and falls over when you pull her arms back behind her, pulling herself wide open for you to see.

Your tongue tangles itself with her folds and you moan into her when the taste of her sweet cum tantalizes your taste buds.

Clean and ready to be used again, Alexia pushes her ass out towards you like she knows you like, cunt winking at you teasingly. She sighs when the cold silicone presses into her, ridges and bumps sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

Before you can start to fuck her senseless, she turns and says something that almost buckles your knees.

“Use me how you want, Daddy.”

She swears your eyes go back into your head dangerously far, hair standing all over your body. You waste no time, thrusting into her pussy as rough as you knew she liked. Your hands gripped her hips tight, skin white from how hard you were keeping her in place.

Your skin slaps noisily against hers, the little voice in the back of your head begging that the sea, sand and waves would drown out the blatant sounds of sex on the beach.

Alexia struggled to convey her intense adoration for the pleasure she was receiving verbally, but took much love to the feeling of being used and bruised like she personally felt she was meant to be.

Her thighs trembled as arousal dripped down the insides of them, eyes closed tightly when she felt more hard smacks on her slightly bruising ass. Your teeth were gritted and baby hairs sticking to your forehead as you fucked her, a slight possessive smile starting to form on your face.

Muscles bulge as you turn the captain onto her back, legs pressed back and wide against her chest. Your hips never falter and pound into her cunt rougher as your thumb flicks over her swollen, throbbing clit.

“Close, my love?”

“So close, Daddy!”

“Do you want to cum on my cock, sweetie? Would that make your pussy happy?”

“Y-Yes Daddy, wanna cum on your cock! Joder!”

You spit right onto her clit and rub harder, pounding up into her sweet spot when her toes curl and back arches.

Alexia cums and sees white. Her core feels pleasure like never before, mind-numbing ecstasy sends her entire body into heaven.

“Hello, wife.” You greet, having cleaned her up with wipes and wrapped her in your cover-up. She snuggles into your chest and watches the sunset in Bali, pressing a soft kiss on your lips when you look down at her.

“I love being your wife,” she whispers, ear pressed over your heart to hear your heartbeat match hers.

“I think my wife is better than yours.”

“No way,” she says adoringly, “mine's perfect.”

[ripcupid]

This was for a request but then I deleted it and now posting it again. And please send request if you want more Sev smut 🤍

Pillow princess! reader x Sevika

“Come on, Princess,” Sevika coaxes, rubbing your thigh. You pout before reluctantly opening your legs. Sevika praises you softly, smirking at the dampened fabric of your underwear. “Such a needy girl, you needed me this bad?” she teases, sliding her thumb over your covered clit. As Sevika's fingers trace along your inner thigh, you can't help but melt into her touch.

You blush and nod, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement. You cover your mouth as she toys with your clit. “You know you have to use your words, let me hear you.”

"Yes, Sevika... I need you so badly…please don't stop." Your voice trembles with desire as you look up at her with furrowed brows, desperate for her to continue. Sevika strokes your face, kissing your lips softly. You whimper against her lips when she adds more pressure to your clit. She slides her hand to your neck making you let out the sweetest sounds as she squeezes just a bit.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” Sevika whispers in your ear.

“Yes, Sevika,” you say softly, grinding your hips against her thumb. She smiles, pulling back to loom over you. She keeps her thumb on your clit until you try and squirm away from her, noticing your already twitching thighs. Her cold metal hand slides from your neck down to your chest, tracing circles around your hardened nipples. Your back arches involuntarily, a gasp escaping your lips as she pinches them lightly. Her hand continues down, resting on your hips.

You whine as her thumb pulls away from your clit, leaving you throbbing and aching for more. She shoots you a disapproving glance making you mumble an apology. Sevika pulls down your underwear, exposing your cunt to the cool air making you press your thighs together. She coos softly and gently spreads your thighs apart, her eyes fixed on your exposed arousal. “Don’t be shy, pretty girl.”

You can’t help but look away, feeling Sevika’s eyes scan over your body. Sevika rubs her hands soothingly up and down your thighs, trying to ease your nerves. You bite your lip, trying to suppress a moan as she teasingly grazes her fingertips against your folds. With a slow and deliberate motion, she dips her fingers into your slick folds, teasingly circling your entrance. "Relax, baby," Sevika whispers, her voice filled with a mix of desire and reassurance. She slips her fingers inside you, curling them to hit just your sweet spot. Your body responds eagerly, arching your hips into her touch as you let out a soft gasp of pleasure.

"Such a good girl," Sevika murmurs, her voice husky with desire. Her thumb presses against your swollen clit, slowly rubbing small circles making your body tremble. Sevika's fingers push deeper inside you, the sounds of your wetness filling the air. Her metal hand firmly holds your hips as you squirm and writhe beneath her. You let out a long, low moan, whispering her name in a breathless plea for more.

"God- you feel so good," you manage to say between moans. Sevika's lips curl into a wicked smile as she pulls out her fingers and brings them to your clit, teasing the sensitive bud with a gentle touch. Your back arches in response, your legs spreading wider, wanting her to move faster. Sevika grabs your chin, locking eyes with you as she leans in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. As her tongue dances with yours, you moan against her mouth, the sound muffled by her lips.

Your hands find their way to Sevika's hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pull her closer, deepening the kiss. The taste of her lips and the feeling of her fingers on your clit drive you to the edge of coming, your breath becoming shallow and erratic. Sevika breaks the kiss, her breath hot against your skin as she whispers, "You wanna cum for me, baby?" You nod eagerly, unable to form words as she smirks and starts leaving open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and down your neck. "Say please like a good girl," she teases, her voice laced with a mix of desire and playfulness.

The anticipation builds as you struggle to find your voice amongst your whimpers, the plea finally escaping your lips in a desperate whisper, "Please, Sevika... I need to cum so badly." Sevika's eyes darken with satisfaction, her fingers slipping inside your cunt. She curls her fingers, hitting just the right spot, intensifying your need. Your breath quickens and your moans grow louder as Sevika brings you to the edge. Your legs tremble around Sevika, aching for the release that's so very close, “Can I please cum?”

Sevika smirks, hovering over you to watch as you come undone. “Go ‘head, baby.” With a desperate gasp, you arch your back, gripping the sheets tightly as waves of pleasure crash over you. You start to come down from your high, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Sevika leans in, planting soft kisses on your neck and whispering, "I'm not done with you yet."

You whine softly as she pulls out her fingers from inside you, brushing them over your sensitive cunt before bringing them to her lips, sucking them clean with a devilish grin. Your eyes meet hers, following her every move with a mix of anticipation and desire. Sevika reaches for her belt, unbuckling it slowly as she maintains eye contact with you. You whimper at the sight of her strap before flicking your eyes back up to hers.

"You can come for me again, right princess?" you press your thighs together feeling the lingering ache between them. You slowly nod as she pushes your legs apart, positioning herself between them. Sevika drags the tip through your slick folds, teasingly tracing circles around your puffy clit, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation. You squirm as she pushes the tip inside you, never taking her eyes off of your cunt as it slides deeper. "Just like that, baby, just lay there and take my cock," she whispers. You moan in response as she starts to slide in and out of you.

"I-It's so deep, Sev," you gasp, feeling the fullness of her inside you.

"Yeah, princess?" Sevika groans, pushing your legs further apart to watch as she slides in and out of you, "You're taking me so well." You let out a strained moan as she brings her thumb to your clit. Sevika smirks, watching your tits bounce with each thrust, relishing in the way your body reacts to her touch. The room fills with the sound of your moans and the slapping of skin against skin. Sevika holds your waist tight with her metal hand, her thrusts become harder and faster, her breathing growing heavier with each movement.

You reach down weakly trying to push her away, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your body. But Sevika firmly grasps your hand, and intertwines her metal fingers with yours, whispering, "You're doing so good, princess, so good for me." Tears brimming in your eyes as she brushes her cold metal hand against your heated cheek.

She leans down to kiss you passionately, her lips pressing against yours with a mix of tenderness and urgency. The taste of you on her tongue is intoxicating, making you whimper against her lips. Her thrust becomes slow and deliberate, breaking the kiss as you let out whiny whimpers of pleasure. She gazes into your eyes, her own filled with adoration as you look up at her with teary eyes. You bite your lip as her thrust picks up again. You feel yourself reaching the edge once again, gripping onto Sevika's biceps for support as your legs tremble.

"Gonna cum- Sev please lemme cum," you babble desperately, your voice filled with desperation. As the tension builds, you can't help but sink your nails into Sevika's back, leaving faint red marks behind. The sound of your whimpers and pleas only seem to fuel her desire to make you come as she maintains eye contact with you. The sensation of her thrusts becomes overwhelming, pushing you over the edge once again. You lay there, panting heavily, your body still tingling as she gently pulls out. Sevika leans down to kiss you gently, her kiss making a soft smile appear on your lips before she walks to the bathroom to get a warm towel to clean you up. As you catch your breath, you move up on the bed and find yourself wrapped in the warmth of the soft sheets.

[the-monkeies-girl]

OO OOH prompt 58. Locked in a small space with our boy Noa

Perhaps before dating but the tension is thereee, perhaps suggestive undertones perhaps. Perchance I'm begging for this

I'm going feral

58. Locked in a small space.

Grunting softly, you bit down on your bottom lip as it exploded in pain as you had just tried to kick the door of the closet you were stuck in. Yeah, go out to the Echo Ruins with Soona, Anaya and me, Noa gave you that charming acolate to get you to come, something you always sought for and chomped down at the smallest nibble just to spend more time with him. It would be fun, you said sarcastically, feeling sweat drip between your breasts and along the hairline of your forehead.

Two bodies were stuck in a space that was once used to store Echo items, eyes not even able to detect in the darkness what it had actually stored. Cramped. Hot. Chest to chest with an Ape who could tear your neck muscles right out and enjoy it, your skin running hotter at that idea. Even in the dead of wondering how you were going to get out, you couldn’t help but indulge in a bit of a fantasy given you were in incredibly close proximity to him.

Foot now seething itself up your leg as you had kicked at the metallic door with all your might, your eyes staring down at it intensely like that was going to heal it in the dark, unable to even turn around or bend down to grasp, your chest pressed against another that was riddled with dense fur that had absorbed much sun on the trip to the ruins themselves and in most instances, you’d have been more than okay and could rationalize that you were trapped with the Master of the Birds. But now? In the dead of Summer, your body gleaming with moisture as it, now being stuck finely with Noa’s fur as he rustled himself around to get an escape route planned, you gave in and let a small sigh leave your lips, escaping and littering against Noa’s face. He welcomed it, enjoying the nature of the coolness versus the heat that was beating from the sun outside. 

The door--- Noa looked towards its general direction or where he thought it was, your ears pricking up at the sound of the minute movement as it racked through all your senses, mouth falling open and panting softly. Something had snapped behind the two of you as you were rummaging through the small space, unable to see unless you actually went inside of it and it locked you inside. “Anaya,” His breath was hot against your face, swallowing hard at the sensation as if you thought it was the coldest thing on the Earth and wanting nothing more than his mouth to pant all along your body in a bid to cool you down. A prickle of self-satisfaction at that thought hit your spine and rested uncomfortably in your tailbone, “Soona will see we are missing. Come find us.” “How long?” You asked, shuffling a bit in your spot and raising your hands to press against the wall but finding yourself delving your fingertips into the fur that spotted around Noa’s diaphragm. He stiffened at that, remarking how even in the heat that was encasing you, your hands still felt so cold to him. “Can you feel behind me if there’s a doorknob on this side of the door to get out?” Noa only knew vaguely of the Echo concept of a doorknob. Such a foreign thing to him, but in a bid to get you both unlocked, he nodded in silence, knowing you were unable to see anything and reached his hands out blindly. They scraped against the top of your shoulders. “Sorry,” He uttered, “Cannot… see… No light…”

Licking your lips, you drew your bottom lip in again as you felt him fumbling against you, Noa’s incredible weight shifting both of your bodies a few centimeters backwards to the point where your back was now pressing against the cooler nature of the metallic wall. Noa--- Your eyes widened as if you could see the eclipse of his gold and green gaze. Had you pinned unintentionally, his hands holding onto the wall behind you and taking in the same delectation that it was indeed cooler than the air. Your eyes tried to see him, tried to make sense of where he was in conjecture to you but to no avail.

“Do-doorknob will be about uh…” White heat rose against you that played and tickled along with the heat of the Summer air. Dry, all consuming and encompassing, “Waist level for me.” Noa’s heart skipped a beat at that, his staggering feet moving that much closer to your own, a few of his toes pressing against the sole of your shoes. Another sorry was thrown your way, this time near the cusp of your ear as he dragged his hands from the rounding of your shoulders, down the wall towards what he hoped to be your waist.

“Do-Do you feel anything?” Noa preened, feeling the already hot hackles on his shoulders rise at the fact that he was able to feel your breath against his skin. Not just his fur. You were nearly consuming his shoulder, your face so near that it was able to tickle skin and not just the fur that lined it. 

“Do…not…” Noa burrowed his usually soft brow, feeling a cushioned nature near his spread out fingers. He pressed into it and tilted his head, mouth ajar as realization dawned upon him that he was feeling the gentle curves of your body, so hot in conjunction to the metallic slatted wall. Noa’s nerves felt like they were tethering to the brink of being completely shot, the fabric of your thinned t-shirt, worn from time, sticking against your body from the sweat that was encasing your pores. He thought about it for a moment and just moved onwards, trailing downwards to where he imagined your waist was. “Feel anything…” Swallowing hard, you nodded and let him graze the sides of your body without a word, allowing the pleasure that was now consuming you. A tiny sliver of hope rose that maybe there was no doorknob and Noa was going to have to fumble himself against you again as you tried against the other walls in the room. “It’ll be like… A circle sort of thing.” You whispered now, knowing how close to his ear your face was as he brought his body down slightly with his hands in desperation that maybe his eyes could adjust to even the pitchest black. 

“Still do not feel anything.” The Chimp muttered, feeling you tense up against him so deliciously that he wanted nothing more than to snap, drape himself against you, allowing you to flush against the wall so he could do what he pleased as he finally landed around your waist.

“Can try again, if you would… like… Maybe…” Noa’s voice was barely a touch above a hush as he pulled his face back up, hands still near the sides of your hips and looked at what he hoped was your face. He wanted nothing more in the moment, passing away from the heated frenzy of actually being so near to you by circumstance, than to see your eyes playing into his as temptation pinned him against the wall much like he had you at the moment. “Can I try… to feel again…?” “Th…” Voice hitching itself in your throat, you tilted your head back and felt it thunk against the wall in desperation to the implications of his words, your heart racing in your chest. “Yeah…”

“I will.” “Please…” You tried not to whimper, reaching your hands up to lightly place them on Noa’s forearms to guide him this time. His fur was hot and heavy to you, tangling deeply into your fingers as you urged him forward with silence. 

“SOONA---” Anaya hooted, almost ripping the door next to Noa and yourself right off the shingles and it came clattering onto the side of the outside wall from the force. Bright light finally pouring onto the two of you, blinding for a second as Anaya continued on his yelling to get Soona's attention. “FOUND. LOCKED---”

Anaya finally looked over the two of you, raising his brows at Noa for only a moment, knowing it was more than enough time for him to understand what was implied by the position you two were in. Your eyes widened directly into Noa’s before you mimicked the action to look at Anaya. “Should… Leave you? Can close the door again until you are done."

[watercolorfreckles]

The Max - Part 2

Part 1

When Eloise closed the book and set it aside, her heart jumped to find Artisan staring.

She watched the super’s mind tick, his attention picking her apart to expose the soft and squishy pieces of her. High school lab pig dissection came to mind: pliable flesh carved open to be poked at and scrutinized against a cold table.

She’d cried in that class. It had felt cruel to play at scavenger, pecking and probing for a once-living thing's deep and hidden parts as if she were entitled to its most vulnerable insides.

Though she felt more like the pig at that moment, it felt invasive, too, to track the inner workings of Artisan’s terrifying brain.

Eloise couldn’t seem to look away.

Artisan sat up from his resting position on the bed, grabbing at the inhibitor cuff on her wrist. A startled sound choked in her throat, managing not to jerk back on pure prey instinct. Her arm twitched, cagey, in his hold even as the rest of her froze. 

Her bones ached as if aware of how fragile they were.

Then her arm went numb altogether, turning jellied and moldable. Her palm folded in on itself, pliable bones bending grotesque and wrong and– painless.., as Artisan slid the cool curve of metal over her fingers and tossed it away.

Her bones settled back into their original positions and Eloise snatched her hand away as sensation returned, pins and needles tickling her fingertips.

She stared, horrified.

She stared, impressed.

Artisan smiled and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “It’s an interesting story. Though Dracula is a bit simple as an antagonist, don’t you think?”

Eloise blinked. Had the past minute really happened? She glanced at the abandoned cuff on the floor. Her brain floundered to catch up.

“Um. He is singular in his goals and motives,” she managed. “He isn’t portrayed as misunderstood or sympathetic in the original text, just hungry. And spiteful. He wants food, he wants control, and he wants revenge. He is evil, not for solely being different, but for abandoning all human instinct like love and care, even though human emotions–boredom, anger, hunger–are what drive him through the story… He chooses to turn his back on his humanity, to fulfill the role of monster, even though he is capable of more. It would not be evil if he had no soul. His soul humanizes him, but the force of his will strips it away. He is a villain of his own making. I'm not sure that can be simple.”

Artisan hummed. “Do you fancy me that sort of villain?”

Eloise shook her head. Her skin still itched with the phantom touch of his power.

“Dracula wouldn't have helped me.” Her voice sounded very small in her ears. 

“Will you help me with something?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices, Eloise. Dracula chose one straight path. I can be more…” He wet his lips. “Flexible. Helps stave off the boredom. I love a good unexpected twist.”

Eloise swallowed. “You think I’m useful. Is that why you’re protecting me? Do you plan to bleed me empty until you're full? Or…to fill me with your own blood until I become what you are? Dracula didn’t turn Mina to keep her safe… He did it to damn her.”

Artisan straightened out his spine to his full seated height. “What would you like me to do with you?”

“It doesn't matter what I want when I can't stop you.”

“I'm asking.”

Eloise tensed as a shout and bang echoed too close for comfort. She snatched a fistful of the supervillain’s sleeve and scrambled instinctively closer. 

When the noise finally subsided, Eloise looked at him. He was watching, letting her cling to him like a frightened puppy. She was practically in his lap.

Eloise let go as if burned. Heat flooded her cheeks. “S-Sorry-”

Artisan was smiling, a sharp curl of lips that sent her stomach swooping. “So which is it? You think me the monster that will bleed you dry or the scary guard dog that will protect you from the rest of them?”

She eyed him, then looked at the floor. “I think you're kinder than you let on.”

Artisan snorted. “I've never been accused of that before.”

“You asked what I want… I want to live. I want out of here, away from the violence and death. I just want to stay safe. I want to take a shower and scrub the blood out of my hair.”

Artisan leaned in. “If you help me escape, I’ll keep you alive.”

Her gaze jumped to him. “Me? How do you think I can help you?”

“Your power,” he replied, the ugly fluorescents catching the blood spots on his collar, “as you so subtly demonstrated, is to blend in. Raise no alarm bells. You can walk right past the firing squad. We can walk right past the firing squad.”

Eloise was already shaking her head. “I told you, it doesn’t always work. I can’t do it reliably on command. Besides–I can’t help a deadly supervillain escape The Max! I’d get thrown straight in here for life! I’m not even a supervillain! I’m barely super!”

Artisan’s eyes glittered, lowering his voice conspiratorily “Hm. You’d rather stay here? Unprotected? Okay. Should I just call the others over, or…?”

He stood from the creaking mattress, taking two steps toward the gaping hole where the door used to be with a teasing eyebrow quirked in her direction.

Eloise leapt to her feet. She skidded on blood-slicked shoes in her panic to grab at Artisan once more. “No-! No. Please.”

Their eyes met. That time, Eloise didn’t let go of the super’s arm.

Which would be worse? Angering Artisan and letting him break her into splintering pieces? Or being thrown to a pack of super-powered wolves? Angry, restless, nothing-to-lose, wolves…

She swallowed. “Please?”

For a moment, the cell fell into a familiar quiet, terse but not particularly uncomfortable.

Artisan turned to face her properly.

“I get you to the exit. You get me past the gunfire. The cameras are down, they’ll have no idea that you helped me. The two of us will slip free with no one the wiser. When they eventually notice us gone, after killing the other idiots who dart out into open fire, they will assume we slipped through the cracks separately. Deal?”

Eloise watched him, nerves buzzing through her body. “I didn’t know you could talk so much,” she said dumbly.

To some, that would be an insult.

Artisan snorted a laugh, clearly caught off guard. “Eloise.”

“What will you do when you’re out?” she asked, more quietly.

If she helped him escape and he went on to keep hurting people, wouldn’t their blood be on her hands?

It wasn’t fair. That would be far too much responsibility to ask of a girl who’d done nothing but do her best to stay on the sidelines, not step on any toes, and serve her time as quickly as possible. She couldn’t truly be expected to sacrifice herself in the name of altruism, could she? She wasn’t a hero. She wanted to go back to being a no-one, someone without the attention of supervillains and regulators of the Powered Peoples Registry.

And yet… she didn’t want people to die because of her choices. She didn’t want any more carnage.

Belatedly, gently, Eloise let go of his arm. Artisan tracked the movement.

“When I’m out..,” he mused, voice returned to the softer, low tone he normally used in the rare moments that he decided to speak, “I will never let them catch me again.”

Eloise’s mouth felt dry. “Business as usual?”

He shrugged. “Until I’ve regrouped. Then, I’ll come back for each and every person who trapped me in this hell hole. Every hero responsible for catching me. Every trigger-happy member of that execution squad outside. And–if any are even left alive–every guard, every staff member here, who ever locked me in this room. Ever kicked my plate of food just out of reach and laughed. Each of them who mocked me and treated me like- like cattle. And every little boot-licking coward here ‘just doing their job’; ‘just here for their paycheck.’ Their excuses for torturing us won’t matter anymore when they’re all broken and bleeding in the same mangled pile, will they?”

Eloise shivered. That sounded like a very, very dire outcome, no matter how much she agreed that the something needed to change.

“And… And me?” Her voice shrank impossibly small and fragile. “I’m staff.”

She imagined herself, a crumple of slimy sinew and shattered bones, piled with the rest of them. 

She picked at the dry skin of her lips–a nervous tic kicked into overdrive–and only stopped when the supervillain pulled her hand away from her mouth where it it began to taste of copper.

Artisan studied her, his expression giving nothing away. The thumb of his free hand smeared the bead of blood away. “No.”

“No?”

“Not you.”

Eloise’s heart squeezed. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to. And I do whatever I want,” he said simply. “Besides. Who will read to me when you’re gone? My right-hand’s voice doesn’t have quite the same effect. His has much more of a droning quality… If he attempts to replace you, I may need earplugs.”

Eloise’s sore lips twitched into a small smile. “If we help each other get out… What happens then? What if they come after me; after us?”

He grinned and it was a sharp thing of silver cutlery and broken glass; of moonlit, gritty alleyways. “We run.”

As a reminder, this story comes from a prompt that was given both to me and to @the-modern-typewriter! She made her series on it first and it is AMAZING! Go check it out on her patreon, it's The Supermax Prison Blues! I'm not in any way trying to copy her (though naturally, some influences might creep in from obsessing over her work!) or compare our work, as she is an absolutely magical writer, and her series is completely her own!

General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @thelazywitchphotographer @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost @tobeornottobeateacher @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , @distractedlydistracted @pensivespacepirate , @appleejuicee , @deflated-bouncingball @maybe-a-cat42, @m0chik0furan , @mercurymomentum , @fairysprinkles , @vuvulia , @amongtheonedaisy , @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room , @scorpio-smiles , @inkygemuwu , @wolfeyedwitch , @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo , @lem-hhn , @fanastywhump , @smallangryfish , @ladybookworm @freefallingup13 , @acaiaforrest , @a-blue-comedy , @puppyaddict , @talkingsperm , @qualitychaoslover , @deckofaces ,@7eselt, @annablogsposts , @lunatic-moss-studio , @medusas-hairband

[blushstories]

I’m back i know i know i bet you missed me djdkemem. I’ve just been thinking about Butcher and how he doesn’t seem like a cuddly type to me lol. So I was wondering if you’d please write something with how you think Billy shows affection physically?

HOLY MOLY YES. a compilation of physical affection from butcher coming right up. domestic to hurt comfort pipeline uknow -- sorry this took forever!!

The teaspoon clinks against the ceramic mug on the countertop, wayward drops of tea pooling around where metal meets granite as you put it down. Footsteps peel around the doorway and Butcher’s hand is pulled to one of two mugs as a moth to a flame.

Your own mug warms your chilled fingers, and you catch Butcher’s eye as he takes a sip from the unsweetened beverage, fingertips clamped around the rim. He winks, and with the knuckle of his index finger nudges underneath your chin. It’s quick, it slips past, but it says “thank you,” — or, more likely, “thanks, love.”

—

Your shoulders are hiked up to your ears, face inching closer to the screen of your laptop with every moment. You can't make sense of the encrypted files sweeping across the screen and time is running out. Butcher is watching his own screen across the table, head resting on his hand, fingers splayed over his mouth.

You place a foot in between his, squeezing his leg in-between yours. He's too far away to comfortably hold his hand, but he allows your legs to slot perfectly with each other; the comfort of his presence however, is not enough to keep at bay your panic.

His eyes flit to you when you exhale a bit too sharply. Chair legs screech across the ground and his hands warm your shoulders. Thumbs rub against your cool skin, pressing deeper as Butcher works towards the base of your neck. Bubbles of stress pop deep within your muscles, and whatever brief pain is evoked swiftly dissipates.

"You'll get it. Don't you worry," he says quietly.

_

The office – or more accurately, the Boys' hideout – is bustling. MM and Annie are leaning over his laptop, Hughie is peeling newspapers apart with a highlighter in hand, and Butcher is making coffees. You're stood in front of the whiteboard, making a plan for your next Vought operation. You're replaying every version of the plan you write, erasing and rewriting until the creases of your fingertips are filled with marker residue. You startle at fingers grazing your lower back. The corner of Butcher's mouth lifts, and you watch him place a mug on your desk.

"Whiteboard eraser lives over there, y'know." He gestures to the stand, where it does indeed rest next to the other pens. You roll your eyes playfully. "I prefer it this way. Helps me think better," You say. His hand returns to your lower back, fingertips slipping just under the hem of your shirt. "If you say so."

-

The surface of your skin glasses with ice as you begin to believe that heat is a myth. Your blood is speckled with shards of the stuff, and Butcher sits on the other side of the sofa. He doesn’t cuddle, you know that — he zips around who knows where all day and knows the sorts of sticky teasing that would seep into the minds of the Boys.

He uses the left armrest of the sofa to keep his head propped up, staring blankly at Vought News as they report another “incident” induced by one of their heroes.

A shiver runs up your spine, teeth knocking against each other as cold sets into your bones. "What does warmth feel like?" You joke, curling into yourself. "You're cold?" His eyes scan your shivering body. "Aren't you?"

Butcher shrugs. You scoff in disbelief, a vapour of your breath floating through the air immediately in front of you. "Unbelievable."

You turn back to the TV, only for your peripherals to alert you to movement from Butcher; he's lifted his arm up and opened his coat to you. Your jaw drops, "are you sure?" "Well, 'urry up, before I change my mind," he doesn't say it meanly. But you close the space between you in a blink and gently settle into his side. The excess of his coat wraps around you, and so does his body heat. His hand squeezes your shoulder and you feel a feather-light kiss to your head.

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt. 3

Part One  |  Part Two

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Language, Violence, Depictions of drowning, Fluff

Summary: Delivered to safety following the battle on the beach, you are left reeling as you grapple with nightmares and questions about an uncertain future. But as you come to know more about the Talokanil people and grow closer to their king, Namor is faced with a question of his own -- what does he do with this stranger from the surface?

A/N: It’s heeeeeere!! As always, thank you so much for your patience, for being here, and for reading! And a BIG thank you just for taking the time to engage with and be a part of this story. You all have been so encouraging to me as new writer, and I love being able to create something around characters that so many hold so dear. Comments and reblogs make my heart happy, so please show some love, share the joy, and be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

Bullets fly as bodies hit the ground in front of you. There on the open beach, spears soar high above your head. Your gaze is drawn to the heavens as a chopper falls from the night sky. It crashes onto the shore below, an intense heat flashing against you as you shield your face from the explosion.

Suddenly, the sounds of dying men and burning metal fade as you lower your hand. You look down to find yourself waist-deep in a raging sea, the battle on the sand becoming a distant memory as waves beat harshly against you, unrelenting and unforgiving. A deafening melody accompanies each swell of the tide. It consumes your mind with pain and serenity as you are pulled further out into the ocean’s depths, following its call. The chorus grows louder as the water rises to your chest, building with intensity. Then, suddenly, all is quiet.

And there he is.

Hovering just above the water’s surface, his winged ankles carry him effortlessly. His reflection glistens perfectly against the water, now calm and smooth as glass. Illuminated by the full moon behind him, his body is covered in beautiful armor made of gold, jade, and other metals. A finely crafted serpent headpiece with bright feathers crowns his head, resting just above his brow.

Namor.

Wordlessly, Namor stretches out his hand, beckoning you to come to him. You reach out as if your very being is at his command. But, before you can grasp hold of him, the chorus of voices returns with a vengeance. A violent tide drags you under, swallowing you beneath the waves. Further and further down you are pulled as darkness surrounds you. Looking up toward the fading light, Namor’s silhouette above the surface dissolves from view. Your lungs burn as you begin to drown.

You jolt awake, your body shooting up in a cold sweat.

Chest heaving, your mind desperately claws its way back to reality. You quickly scan your surroundings, clinging to any detail that will anchor your consciousness and keep you from slipping back into that nightmare.

Gripping the stone surface beneath you, you take in every porous curve your fingertips graze over. Looking upward at the high rocky ceiling, you study the patterns of limestone stalactites that hang like icicles. Droplets of water run down a few of them, their melodious drips echoing in small pools below, falling like a gentle, rhythmic rain.

This is the place Namor had spoken of the last time you saw him. The one where he promised you would be safe. And for good reason — here in this cavern, you were well below the ocean’s surface and out of range of any agents who might come searching for you.

By your best guess, you figure you have been down here about two days. It’s hard to be sure without the reference to natural light. The cavern itself is beautiful, though. Illuminated by pockets of glow worms that drape down from the ceiling, their soft luminescence casts gorgeous green and blue hues across each surface their light touches.

As your heart rate begins to even out, you continue to survey the cave. You look over at your belongings, bag laying on the ground, clothes hanging on a line to dry. Your heart drops a bit when you see your little leather-bound book, its pages separated and spread out across the rocks. Ink bleeding. Pages ruined. You had made your best attempt to salvage what you could. Perhaps if you had asked Namora how the two of you would be traveling to this safe haven, you wouldn’t have brought a damn book with you.

The dissonance of the Talokan melody still rings in the back of your mind. You cradle your head between your knees, rubbing your temples with your thumbs when you hear light footsteps approach.

Looking up, you find a familiar face entering the cavern. No longer geared up for battle, Namora dawns a lovely dress that gathers over one shoulder and flows down to the floor. It moves like waves with each step she takes toward you. Instead of a spear in her hand, she now carries a small tray with a medley of food.

“Eat," Namora says, placing the tray on a small end table beside you. She then moves gracefully over to your draped belongings, removing them one by one from the line and folding them into a neat pile.

“Can I ask you a question?” You inquire as you begin to nibble on a piece of food.

Namora shoots a skeptical look over her shoulder but says nothing, so you ask anyway.

“Have you always been a warrior?”

Unresponsive, she keeps her attention on one of your shirts which she has just pulled from the line, tucking it into itself and placing it with the others.

“It's just, I mean the way you fought those agents on the beach, you are — you are very good at, you know—” you should have given more thought to what you were going to say before opening your mouth because as you reach the end of your sentence all that comes out is, “—killing people."

Nice.

You cringe at your comment. It hangs in the air, practically mocking you.

“I’m just saying," you add, trying to recover, "you obviously know what you’re doing. It was impressive. Me on the other hand…” Your voice trails as you raise your bandaged hand, recalling how your first instinct in a fight was to block a fucking knife with your open palm. Next to Namora, your combat skills pale by comparison.

Halting her task, Namora finally turns to face you in one calculated motion. She stares for a moment then her eyes quickly dart toward the side entrance of the cavern where she had come through only minutes ago. The entryway is empty. When her eyes settle back on you, there is resolve in them.

“Up.” She says, walking toward you with purpose.

“What?” You reply in a tone that matches the confused look on your face.

“Up.”

You do as you are told, hastily pushing yourself to your feet. Namora steps in close and then taps your elbows.

“Up.” She orders a third time, only now she seems to be referring specifically to your arms. You follow her instruction, raising them awkwardly out in front of your body. You can almost hear the sigh of hopelessness when Namora, her brow furrowed, grabs your arms and positions each one in a fighting stance. Slipping a hand up to your left wrist, she grips it firmly while tapping your exposed forearm with the palm of her other hand.

“Shield.” She says with emphasis. Her eyebrows raise, looking for any indication that you comprehend what she is trying to explain. When you nod, Namora moves her hand from your wrist up to your fingers, balling them into a fist and tucking your thumb on the outside.

“Weapon.”

Namora then steps back from you, putting her own arms up to mirror your stance.

“Shield, weapon,” she repeats, patting her forearm and waving her closed fist.

“Shield, weapon,” you echo back to her, nodding your head again as you begin to understand more fully.

Just as she begins to step back toward you, a deep voice calls from behind.

“Namora.”

You both look up to see the large man who wears the hammerhead skull standing in the entry of the cavern. Attuma is his name, as you have come to learn. Namora straightens her posture as she turns to face him, her hands behind her back as she squares her shoulders in a commanding stance.

Attuma saunters a few more feet into the cavern, then speaks to her in their native tongue, a language still unfamiliar to you. The two of them converse back and forth for a few moments. You may not know what they are saying, but you can tell they disagree about something — whether with each other or someone else, you are not sure.

Namora swiftly turns back to you, her face serious again and her brows pinched together.

Fighting lessons must be over.

“Come,” she says.

Without any further instruction, she pivots back toward Attuma, who also turns to leave. You quickly grab your belongings which Namora had folded for you, stuffing them into your bag. You sling it around your shoulder as you exit the cavern.

Following the two generals into a tunneled hallway, you find yourself moving through a network of caves, each tunnel connecting to a series of other openings and pools. Soon, Attuma splits off into one of these open caverns, nodding to Namora as he does so. Your eyes trail him as he joins with more Talokan warriors, and just as you stare at them, they stare at you.

You continue walking behind Namora past them, their whispers reverberating through the tunnels.

“When was the last time someone… not Talokanil came here?” You ask. In typical Namora fashion, she remains silent and unresponsive to your question.

“Sorry,” you say apologetically, “back there it just seemed like they hadn’t seen someone new in a while.”

The two of you walk, furthering yourself from the turnoff where Attuma parted ways. Cautiously, you step around the uneven surfaces of the rocky ground. You can feel yourself being led deeper into the maze of caverns. If Namora decided to up and ditch you right now, you are certain you would be lost in this labyrinth forever.

“You are the first,” Namora says rather abruptly, catching you off guard. Not only does her response come well after your question was asked, but it is also the most she has ever said to you at one given time.

“The first?” You ask, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“To come here,” Namora answers. “The first surface dweller to receive Talokan’s aid. The first the king has ever…” she pauses a moment, searching for the right word, “tolerated.”

The influx of her voice is not lost on you.

“And you don’t approve?”

“It is not my place to approve, " Namora clarifies as she leads you around a bend and past several open pools of water. "I am… concerned. When it comes to you, I fear he is blind.”

Silence befalls you both again as you enter another cavern, this one much larger and more spacious than any others you have seen. Within it are several large pools, glistening with light reflected from more glow worms above. Their tendrils hang from the high vaulted ceiling like sparkling chandeliers.

In the center of it all stands a large hut enclosed by beautifully woven fabrics. You follow Namora shoulder to shoulder up the stone-carved steps to it until you nearly reach the side.

“We’re here,” Namora says, coming to a dead stop. She then takes a step back from you.

Still unsure of where “here” is exactly, you glance over your shoulder, looking to her for further instruction or explanation. But Namora gives you nothing. The moment you begin to take a step backward as well, her hand shoots out, holding the back of your shoulder in position with a firm grip.

Ah. Don't move. Got it.

Subconsciously you begin to hold your breath, bracing yourself for the unknown.

Then, there he is.

From around the corner of the hut comes Namor. Immediately you are taken aback by his appearance. Up to this point, you have only seen him suited for battle. Now he stands before you dawning a beautifully woven cape plated with gold and draped across his broad shoulders. His hair is slicked back and his arms are adorned with various metal cuffs. Truly a wardrobe fit for a king.

A single nod of his head and Namora is dismissed. You hear her small footsteps fade as she leaves the two of you alone.

“How is your hand?”

Namor’s question snaps you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you raise your hand, glancing at the worn bandage. "It’s fine, thank you.”

Staring at the gauze, you can almost hear the lullaby Namor hummed as he gently tended to your wounded palm the night of the battle. Something flutters inside you as you touch the corner of the fabric. Realizing your mind has drifted again, you bring yourself back to reality by following up with your own question.

"Are we in..." you stop to rephrase, shifting your weight from side to side as you look around the cavern, “Is this… Talokan?"

If it is, it's very different from what you pictured.

Your question brings a smile to Namor’s face.

"No," he answers with a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Talokan is far beyond this place. I assure you, your body would not survive the journey to its depths. But these caverns are safe, I promise you.”

Namor then shifts the topic of conversation.

“I am told some of your belongings were ruined on your traveling here, including your book. I apologize. I had hoped to make up for it.”

With one arm, Namor ushers you around the corner to the entrance of his quarters, inviting you inside.

Intrigued and eager to see what awaits, you accept his invitation. As you enter, you find yourself in a study of sorts. Lit by several lanterns, the room is warm and bright. Within it sits a small table, a prominent desk full of scrolls and artifacts, and a cozy hammock hung in the corner. But what catches your eye most of all are the walls.

All around you hang gorgeous tapestry walls with breathtaking murals that stretch from floor to ceiling.

“Did you do all of these?” You ask in disbelief as you move to one at the far end of the room. Your eyes widen as you gaze in admiration at the beautiful artistry.

“Yes,” Namor answers humbly, following behind you. “I think you will find a more accurate depiction of my history here.”

“I don’t know,” you say with playful skepticism in your voice as you inspect the artwork closer, “always be weary of your authors, right?” You smirk as you shift your glance sideways to Namor, echoing his words back to him in jest. His face is serious at first but quickly turns to amusement.

“You remembered,” he says nodding his head, an impressed grin now stretching at the corners of his mouth, “that is good.”

You return your attention to the paintings. What a gift it is to be standing here in front of them. Full of stories, full of history. And to be accompanied by the man who created them himself — who lived them himself. It is all a far cry from the vague glyphs you tried so hard to decipher in your book.

"They're amazing." You say in awe, following along the panels as you trace the line work delicately with your fingertip.

Immersed in the murals, you are too busy to notice Namor's softening gaze as he watches you study his work so intently. Here you are, an outsider who he has welcomed into his space. It is not like him to be so open, especially not with a stranger from the surface — never someone from the surface — yet, something about you causes a stirring inside of him. Perhaps it is your enthusiasm and wonders for his culture or your refreshing dose of humanity towards his people that compels his desire to be close to you.

As you follow the artwork from panel to panel across the walls, you arrive at a scene that suddenly makes you freeze. Your wrist snaps your finger back as if repelled by the paint itself. In front of you is a large image of Namor dawning a serpent headpiece as he hovers above the water. You are immediately back in your nightmare, your mind flashing to Namor’s outstretched hand then the darkness that closes in around you as you start to drown. You can almost feel the fire in your lungs as they grow desperate for air.

“What troubles you?” Namor asks with genuine traces of concern in his voice. Your sudden silence has not gone unnoticed. He moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with you now, looking up to analyze the same part of the mural.

"Nothing," you lie, shaking your head while your hand drops to your side. You withdraw from the painting, taking a few steps back from it and Namor.

“Your people," you say to change the subject, pointing your thumb to the rest of the artwork in the room, "they honor you. It's admirable, what you've done for them. To keep them safe all this time."

“But?” He senses there is more on your mind.

You stare at him, then turn your focus back to the tapestries surrounding you. Scanning them from wall to wall, you notice a pattern in the stories shown.

“It’s just,” you begin with uncertainty in your voice “for someone who has spent his whole life bringing peace to his people, I wonder how much of it you have experienced for yourself?”

Namor is quiet for a moment.

"And why do you wonder this?" He finally replies, turning to face you fully.

“I guess I look at these and I’m curious… how? How can you do that without completely breaking under the weight of it all? Even with—” you begin gesturing to his body and suddenly become desperate to come up with the right words in time, “superhuman strength.” Thank god.

“Hmmm,” Namor exhales, thoughtfully nodding as his gaze drops to the floor. He folds his arms over his chest, the golden band around his exposed bicep reflecting the light that softly glows from a nearby lantern. Taking a few steps toward you, he lifts his eyes to yours.

“It is true,” he says, “the burden I carry for the sake of my people does not always permit me the personal luxury of peace. It… can be difficult.” His tone shifts from diplomatic to vulnerable. “And who is to say I have not broken under it? It is that brokenness that has made me the leader I am.”

Turning his head toward the mural, he looks at it carefully before speaking again. His chiseled jawline accentuates the exposed veins protruding from his neck.

"To your question,” he continues, “I believe how is never as important as why. Why would someone fight to bring others peace when they themselves cannot have it?” Namor takes another step closer and lifts his hand to your chin, delicately angling your face upward toward his own. "Because we sacrifice to protect what we love.”

His eyes search yours earnestly. After a moment, Namor quickly drops his hand from your chin and you watch as he moves towards his desk, shuffling a few scrolls around before looking back up at you again.  

“I love my people,” he says, planting his hand firmly on the desk, “and I have seen evil, what it is capable of. I watch as the rest of the world grows desperate in their greed and ambition, their desire for power. They are becoming more dangerous by the day."

"You mean — surface dwellers?" You ask.

Namor raises his brow at you knowingly.

"Yes,” he answers cooly.

"I'm a surface dweller. Am I...dangerous?"

Namor sighs with a small smile.

“Yes. Though not in the way you may think.”

He moves from out behind his desk and back over in your direction.

“Now I have a question for you,” he says in a low voice, approaching you with a dark look looming over his face. “Please consider your answer carefully.”

The silence is intense. Your heart feels like it is going to jump out of your throat as you anticipate what damning question the king of Talokan has in store for you.

Namor’s expression changes on a dime, and he suddenly asks in a lighthearted tone,

“Are you up for a swim?”

—

You follow Namor out of his quarters and into the large open cavern. As you pass by several beautiful pools of water, you are enchanted by how the light dances across the rich tones of Namor's skin. The same light casts dazzling hues of aquamarine and cerulean across the surface of the pools, reflected onto the rocks surrounding them.

Namor approaches one of the bigger pools and removes the cape from his shoulder, exposing his bare chest underneath. Here is the Namor you recognize - prominent necklace, bare chest,  emerald green shorts. Before dropping his cape to the ground, however, he pulls out a Talokan mask from the fabric like the ones Namora and the other warriors wear.

“Take a deep breath,” Namor says as he turns to you. He pushes your hair back from your cheek delicately as he applies the apparatus to your face. Doing as you are told, you inhale deeply as the mask fastens over your nose and mouth.

“Stay close,” he instructs. You nod, and Namor steps to the edge of the closest pool. He looks back at you with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, with all the strength and grace of a god, he dives perfectly into the water and disappears under the surface.

You step closer to the pool. The faint rhythm of droplets falling from the ceiling rings throughout the cavern. You glance behind you toward the entrance, but there isn't a soul in sight. Namora’s words echo through your mind.

When it comes to you, he is blind.

You dive in, following Namor.

Once in the water, you quickly orient yourself. Looking around, you see the outline of Namor, his silhouette waiting for you in the distance. As you swim closer, he gestures for you to follow him. You kick your feet to propel yourself further downward, ears popping as you equalize to the increasing pressure.

You swim until you are clear of the caves. Though your muscles ache, there is something serene about being beneath the water; the quiet, the weightlessness, everything drifting harmoniously in rhythm with the current. For the first time since you can remember, your mind feels still. Free from the chaos. Somehow, the vast open sea does not frighten you with its deep blue void as it did in your dream. Not even a little. Instead, you feel a calmness in your soul as you lose track of time entirely, trailing Namor as you move through the ocean’s depths.

Quite literally in his element, you watch in awe as Namor swims so effortlessly. To him, it must be as easy as breathing. He looks more relaxed than you have seen him. Perhaps even enjoying himself?

You continue to swim, the water getting lighter as the visibility becomes clearer. A school of fish rushes past, their scales glimmering with each flick of a fin or contour of their bodies. Countless numbers weave around you in sync as if part of the same carefully choreographed ballet. You can’t help but smile as you watch them move so freely, and Namor can't help but smile as he watches you.

Suddenly the fish rapidly disperse and within seconds a huge mass flashes past you with incredible speed and agility. Your eyes widen and adrenaline rushes through you as you witness a killer whale chase the school, its size completely dwarfing your mere human frame. Involuntarily, you begin hyperventilating as you watch the giant creature swim off into the distance. When you feel a touch against your arm, you turn to find Namor next to you. His hand rises and falls in front of his torso, gesturing for you to take deep breaths. In, out. In, out.

The two of you remain suspended in the endless ocean blue as you your breath slows and your muscles recover. Namor looks upward, and as you savor the moment of rest you follow his gaze. You can tell by the light above that you are getting close to the surface, which must mean you are nearing your destination. When he nods, you know it is time to move. Slowly the two of you start your ascent and the ocean becomes warmer as you gradually near the top.

When you arise from the water, the sound of the rushing wind, the rolling waves, and birds flying overhead rush into your ears. Less than a hundred meters from you stretches a beautiful coastline covered in soft white sand and lined by rich green foliage.

You make your way towards it. Soon you are walking knee-deep in the waves, the tide splashing against the back of your legs as you near the shore. Removing the mask from your face, the sweet breeze of the island races by, rustling your wet hair and filling your nostrils with the earthy aroma of some nearby palm trees.

Namor has already reached the sand. He stands tall, water still running down his body. Staring out at the horizon, he runs his hand over his face and pushes his hair back, inadvertently flexing his bicep as he does so. The sun slowly begins its descent toward the Earth, its warm rays casting brilliant tones of red and orange across Namor’s exposed skin. It contrasts the deep blues and greens that illuminated him in the caverns, and at this point, you are confident he looks devastatingly beautiful in any light.

As you reach the shore, you take your place next to him and stare out at the skyline.

“Hard to beat a view like that,” you say breathlessly.

“My mother would always describe to me the beauty of the setting sun,” Namor responds. “I have no love for the surface world, but from time to time I visit this island. See what she saw.”

“Is this—?” You begin to ask.

“Where she is buried.” Namor answers before you finish your question. His eyes drop as he reflects, “I am not sure what I expected to see the day I came to lay her body to rest. I suppose the beauty of an island she spoke of so fondly. Instead, I found my brothers and sisters enslaved by men who took life without a second thought.” His jaw clenches as he recalls the bitter memory. “But I saw to it the favor was returned.”

His meaning is clear. You are not sure which makes you more nervous — the calm and cool way he says it, or the menacing smile that accompanies his statement. Either way, his smile disappears as quickly as it comes. You have seen Namor’s ferocity firsthand and know what he is capable of, especially when it comes to protecting his people. A nervous feeling grows in the pit of your stomach as you begin questioning his purpose in bringing you here.

You consider the facts:

You are a surface dweller.

He did call you dangerous.

Oh shit.

Anxiously you glance at him, then redirect your gaze back to the horizon to maintain your composure. The soft waves break along the shore, racing up to your ankles. As the sand beneath your feet gets pulled out by the tide, you wish with all your might you could be pulled away with it. Instead, you sink deeper into the ground, more immovable than before.

“Are you going to kill me?” The words come out blunter than you intend, but you stand by them despite the quiver in your voice.

The question pulls Namor out of his thoughts as he turns to you, eyebrows raised. He studies your face carefully before answering.

“I probably should," he says. There is no malice in his words, only honesty. “The knowledge you have of me and my people... it puts me in a difficult position.” His eyes are solemn. "But I have lived a long time, and in that time I have witnessed many in their final moments before death when one truly reveals themself. That night on the beach, in what you believed were your final moments, you kept your word to me and my people. You said nothing to those men, even with your life on the line. There is no truer test of loyalty.”

Without a word, he reaches his hand out for the mask you still carry. You cautiously hand it over.

"There is a village eastward,” Namor continues, “you will find everything you need there, and the means to leave this place."

You feel his palm slip under your fingers to receive the mask. He takes a deep breath, then purses his lips in the direction behind you.

“Or, just up the way beyond those trees is a house. It is not much, but comfortable. It is yours to use... if you wish. You would be safe here.”

The offer catches you off guard.

“I… I don't understand." You mutter in slight confusion.

With a deep inhale, Namor squints back at the setting sun to collect his thoughts. Then, taking another step closer, he eliminates virtually any remaining space between you. His eyes are deep and mesmerizing as ever. Your heart races from his sudden proximity and you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to speak again. He peers down at you, so impossibly close that you can sense the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"You are no enemy of mine," he says with authority, "and no prisoner of Talokan. You have my trust. And because of that trust, I will not order you to stay." Namor then drops the mask into the sand like it is worthless and gently slides his hands underneath your jawline, cradling your face in both of his palms. “But I am asking you to.”

You are speechless. The way he is holding your gaze, the tenderness of his thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek, the fluttering of his lashes as his eyes flick down to your mouth.

"Stay," Namor says fervently in one final clarifying word. It is not a command, but an invitation. Perhaps even a plea. But most importantly, it is a choice. Your choice.

His eyes quickly dart back up to yours as he awaits an answer, but even Namor is not strong enough to keep his attention from dropping back down to your lips. He is clearly focused on more than just the words he hopes to hear come out of them.

In an overwhelming wave of boldness, you allow instinct to take over. No lives at stake, no siren’s song  — it is only the burning desire within your very soul for him that compels you. You close your eyes and melt into Namor’s touch, pressing your lips to his.

The moment you do so, it is as if a surge of energy courses through your veins, electrifying your entire body. Namor immediately welcomes your advance, molding his lips to your own. The smooth piece of jade that pierces his septum presses cooly above your lip, contrasting the heat of his skin to ignite your senses. As he slides a hand around to the back of your neck, his fingers curl into your hair to bring you in even closer.

A small moan escapes you as the tip of his tongue traces along your bottom lip. You can feel his smile against your mouth, then a tug at the same lip with his teeth. Another invitation, to which you gladly accept. You part your mouth open to let Namor inside. Both of your tongues dance together as your kisses become deeper and more indulgent.

Consumed by his taste and his touch, you slide your hands up his bare chest, desperate for more of him. Without missing a beat, Namor responds by running his arms down your body and hoisting you up off the sand with ease. You wrap your legs around him tightly and take full advantage of this new, higher angle. Moving your mouth in tandem with his, you savor the richness of his lips and entangling your fingers in his dark locks of hair. 

The two of you ebb and flow just like the rolling ocean waves, losing yourselves in each other. It’s not until you feel a faint burning in your lungs that you face the harsh reality of having to break away for air. Everything inside you fights it. If Namor were the sea, you would gladly let yourself drown in this moment.

But Namor, also sensing your need for oxygen, begins to slow down. He lowers you gently to the ground, though he is careful not to let you slip too far away from him. The two of you breathe heavily as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Namor gives you another passionate kiss, this one slow and deep. His lips then move to the corner of your mouth and trail up to your ear, the heat of his breath spreading like wildfire across your skin. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Holding you close, Namor leans his forehead against your temple and presses his lips against your ear.

“Please," he whispers. "Stay with me.”

--------

Tag List! (I think I got everyone who requested to be included!) @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses @jamesbarnesbestgirl @nellycanwrite @namorlover @queenofthekill @uhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm @cosmic-lavender @fckwritersblock @doimakeyounervous-blog @viktoryn @bontensbabygirl @lokidbadguy @sammi-doll483 @violet-19999 @artaxerxesthegreat @zeeader @star-dusst @hawkins-2000 @madsothree @takeheartyall @slytherheign @agustdboyoongie @nightingal3-tales @psamathegoesrawr @myotakureprieve @spideyworldsposts @ginger-swag-rapunzel  @jurneesjourney @kpopgirlbtssvt @commondazy @vicky-8426 @05-redacted @boredoutofmydamnmind @h34rtsformilli @adoiescents @ari-fay @daddyslittlevillain @namorswhore @loversjoy

[azul-marie]

ramattra. (innamorare)

fem. omnic reader

no matter the days he’s spent with you, never will he tire of your beauty.

he runs a careful hand over the curves of metal, dips of steel and lining of cables that make you you. he does not see the manufacturing number assigned to you on your lower flank. he pays no attention to the designation given you by fleshly humans, who named you senseless letters and numbers to serve, to obey.

you are more than a number; none are capable of counting your worth. you are perfection, the only redemption your human creators could possibly hope to have. you have made yourself by way of your spirit, indeed, a dolce soul.

“my love.” he calls you, leaning down to press his face to yours. cold, unflinching metal scrapes together, but it is the warmth you bring to his chest the only sensation he feels. “my soul, my life.”

your laugh, resonance with a buzzing timbre sweet, sounds between his throat when you nuzzle closer against him. “i am well aware,” you tease, your fondness never lost on him. “you remind me so often, so gently for a mighty omnic.”

he forgets how easily he overtakes your slimmer, feminine build. how large his hands, his arms embrace and enfold you when the two of you lay alone in his chambers. how your face fits squarely clasped between his palms, they which pull you in close to kiss about your features, each a sudden spark igniting soft laughs and even softer touches.

rays of dawn’s light fall in through a crack of his curtained window, reflecting off your entangled bodies. specks of light are thrown about the room, like freckling stars across the twilight sky.

“i fail to be mighty in your presence.” he admits, a rumbling whisper. “for you bring me such joy none could ever replicate, a kind no other being has experienced before.”

“surely you jest.” you whisper back, modest as always. but he feels the way your exhausts heat up in an omnic’s way of bashful expression, his words flattering deep within the wires. it makes him chuckle, pulling you snug into his lap.

“never, soul. when i rest, i hear your voice call to me, how spring begets blossoms. when i wake, it is as if the iris itself has renewed my vigor, so strongly you sing to me in my dreams. it is no jest, and do not doubt; you are everything.”

his chest fills with the echoes of your delighted laughter, a pleasant balm in the form of sound. he holds you closer still, wishing only briefly to know what it feels like to touch, really touch, every lovely inch of you, wonderfully made as you are.

but the thought leaves quickly like it came. he has no need for skin, for flesh, for fingertips. there’s nothing, no thread of hair, no scent or smell, no sigh of breath or press of lips he needs to love you true. he is content with the cold, the sharp and edge of metallic bodies, the exposed balljoints of limbs and alloys that form these shells you occupy.

anubis be damned. he was not created only to serve, obey, to wage war on flesh and bones.

no. ramattra was made to love you and you alone, to be an interweaving of wires and light ever seeking your devotion, your benevolence. all this and more shall he follow with loyalty closer to worship, from past to now to future until the day humanity sees you for what you truly are — a goddess of steel, the muse of his soul, the love of his finite life.

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Voyeuristic Intentions: Blackwatch!Genji Shimada x Reader x Blackwatch!Cole Cassidy (NSFW)

Contains: Poly sex, oral sex, anal sex, slight masturbation, hair pulling, semi-public sex, spanking (done once), dirty talk, slight-voyeurism with a little surprise at the end ;)

Reyes’ office was dark, tall curtains drawn shut from the bright white snow outside glittering in the moonlight. Winds howled, pushing against the reinforced glass and metal windows that protected you from the harsh Swiss weather. It was dark overall, to be honest. Instead of the normal gray and white paint coating the walls of the rest of the Overwatch base, Reyes made it a fact to paint the walls black in his office despite the small Blackwatch wing matching the rest of the base.

Your feet squeaked against the polished marble tiles. They were a light gray to match the ceiling, contrasting the black, it made everything feel sterile strangely.

Normally it would feel like you were suffocating when you sat across from him in this office, the void black walls would feel like they were closing in on you as you would get a lecture. Now, it felt as though it was pushing them both closer to you.

Both the jingling sound of spurs and the clicking of cybernetics made your head swim. You felt hot under the collar of your Blackwatch uniform, you felt it clinging to you in ways that made you wish they would both pull it off of you faster.

You felt Cole’s hands run up your sides, fingertips digging into your ribs so tightly that you swore he could feel your heart beating through the bone cage. He hooked his fingers into the fabric, wanting to so desperately yank it off of you without fear of the consequences of a ruined uniform. That would certainly land you right back here in Reyes’ office for a stern lecture. He was behind you, his broad and brawny chest was pressed up against your back. He had his face buried in the side of your neck, his beard scratching at your skin as he pressed hot kisses to your throat and biting the columns of your neck. He was so warm, his heat made you want to cry and rip your uniform right off your body.

Genji was in front of you. Unlike Cole who was pressed up against your back, Genji gave you just a bit of room before you so you wouldn’t feel crushed. His hands were cold, you welcomed them as they traveled along your front side. From your face to your throat where he could feel your pulse racing under his thumb down to your chest and shoulders where he grabbed at to guide you forward into the empty office. His eyes were open, trained on yours, looking for even the slightest hesitation to let him know to stop.

Reyes’ office wasn’t all that furnished. A large metal desk towards the back of the room, his large and overstuffed desk chair sat tall facing three smaller chairs. They were metal with only a little bit of a padding for the cushion, it helped drill in the feeling that you were in trouble. You would rather be handcuffed in the holding cells on the concrete and metal jut out that made up the “bed” than those chairs. There were barely any hangings on the walls, just a few plaques bestowed upon him by Overwatch as well as a group photo of Blackwatch hung behind him.

All that was missing was the mug Cole comically had gotten him a while ago when you five had a mission in Houston; A big white coffee mug with the words ‘World’s Best Dad’ written on it seemingly with black crayon.

“You sure we won’t get in trouble,” you glanced over your shoulder to the tall cowboy behind you.

Cole only tutted you, knocking back the tip of his stetson, feigning being wounded.

“Darlin’, ya hurtin’ me,” he nuzzled into your hair, “ya know we’ll take mighty good care of ya.”

Cole nipped at your earlobe as he tugged on your uniform. Genji moved his cybernetic hand to your face, his cold fingers cradled your chin and lifted your head to look him in the eyes. The cyborg had removed his faceplate, revealing his full scarred face.

“And besides, the Commander is not here.”

“Yeah, probably fuckin’ Morrison in some broom closet,” Cole ground himself against your behind. “Just like how we’re gonna fuck you.”

You shivered at those words as the two gripped onto you just a bit tighter. Cole and Genji lead you deeper into the office towards the desk, Genji leaving your front for just a moment as he rounded the desk and pushed Reyes’ towering chair out of the way. Cole pushed you forward until you were pressed up against the ridge of the cold desk.

You were pushed down onto the desk only to catch yourself on your elbows. Cole wasted no time fumbling with the pants to your uniform, his large hands grabbing the belt and wrestling it off of you from behind until he was finally able to pull it off and lower your waistband and underwear to just below the curve of your ass. Cole, not being able to help himself, smacked your bare ass, a short cry managing to leave your lips before the cowboy clamped a hand over your mouth.

“Maybe we’ll save that for next time,” he smirked at Genji wolfishly.

The cyborg stayed silent as Cole fumbled with his belt, you felt Genji shift before you. The cyborg before you had removed the plate from his lower torso, revealing his erect cock now in your face. It wasn’t scarred like the rest of his body, and a bead of precum rested right at the tip slowly beading down his thick shaft.

You had leaned forward and wrapped your lips around Genji’s cock. The cyborg hissed as you swirled your tongue around his head, licking up the beads of precum that had leaked out. You had started to slowly bob your head along his length until he hit the back of your throat when you pulled back gently only to do it again. Genji placed his human hand on top of your head, fingers curling into your hair, nails biting into your scalp just enough to lightly pinch. He would sink his nails into your scalp every time you bobbed your head down on his cock, taking in his thick length more and more until you had swallowed him to the root. As you looked up, you noticed he wasn’t looking at you, instead, he had his eyes closed and his head was tilted up just a bit. His mouth was opened slightly, eyebrows twitching, and his breathing was shaky.

You heard Cole’s fly finally rip down, the cowboy’s cock hitting your bare asscheeks. You shivered when you heard him spit into his hands and stroke himself. Cole’s deep groans made you whimper against Genji’s cock.

You pulled away when you felt Cole spread your asscheeks. You whimpered at the tap at your hole and cried when you felt his lubricated head slowly penetrate through the tight hole. Genji gave you no time to catch your breath when he hoisted your jaw open and jerked his cock back into your mouth.

You could barely breathe between Genji’s cock basically choking you from the front and Cole’s cock stretching your ass from the back. Cole gave you only a moment to adjust to his girth before he started to move. It started with slow strokes, the cowboy hissing behind you as he tried to get used to how tight you were, he grabbed at your waist and dug his fingertips into your flesh.

Cole eventually got faster with his thrusts, he got more sloppy and rough with each buck of his hips. With every thrust, he would push you closer and closer to Genji, push your front into the desk even more, and jerk your legs up just a bit with each thrust to the point where you would be standing on your toes.

With every thrust from behind, you would jerk further forward, forcing you to take Genji up to the root every time.

You moaned, feeling your legs wanting to go numb. You felt static forming in your knees. Your back ached from the curve but you loved it. You don’t know how much time had passed. Minutes melted together to what felt like hours of bliss.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Cole groaned as he continued pounding away, “yer so fuckin’ tight. I can only imagine how that pretty mouth of yours feels right now.”

“Don’t stop,” the cyborg warned.

You weren’t sure who it was he warned, but you knew Cole wouldn’t let up anytime soon.

Genji’s fingers tugged at your hair again, making your back arch in a way that had Cole groaning and quicken his thrusts. You felt the coils in your core tighten up fast, you felt tight and stiff, about to tip over the edge into ecstasy.

You came with a short moan muffled by Genji’s cock. By that point, your pants had fallen to your shaking knees.

You felt Genji’s cock start to twitch in your mouth, he was groaning more, and his breathing was starting to labor until he finally came apart in your mouth.

You swallowed Genji’s salty cum, the cyborg forcing you to look him in the eyes as you did so with his fingers pinching at your jaw. You rocked in his touch as Cole still thrust from behind, you couldn’t help but screw your eyes shut when he bucked his hips and plunged himself deeper and deeper inside before you felt him twitch inside of you. You both let out moans at the warm stretch only for Cole to groan loudly, the cowboy planting a hand at the back of your head and forcing you cheek-down onto the Reyes’ cold desk.

Genji let go of your jaw to wipe away a drop of his cum that had dripped out from the corner of your mouth as Cole rode out his climax still in your ass, warmth seeping deep inside of you slowly before he pulled himself out, releasing his grip on your head in the process.

You shivered as you felt Cole’s hot and sticky cum roll down your inner thighs. The sudden opening of the door had your eyes fly open out of a mixture of shock and fear. You felt both Cole and Genji lock up, you and Cole having to whip your heads around to see the figure standing in the doorway.

Commander Reyes stood there, having now just looked up from the folder in his hands, eyes landing on the three of you at his desk and the creamy white mess. The Commander simply rolled his shoulders and lowered his brow, his lips were pressed into a tight line.

He dropped the folder to the floor by the door and kicked it closed with the heel of his combat boot, marching towards the three of you.

“Looks like you forgot to invite me to the party.”

[tillthelandslide]

Insufferable Arsehole Part 5: Don't Fuck It, You Muppet - Matty Healy Series

A/n: Here's the next part, I'm really enjoying writing this series and I hope you are all enjoying it too. If you have any ideas about Lou x Matty don't hesitate to pop it into my asks or message me. Or if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask :) love you guys for all the support. Especially @poisonmedaddy13 💜

Warnings: smut at the end of the chapter and a fair bit of fluff too

Minors DNI

You can read all previous parts here: Series Masterlist

Part 4

The band had stopped at some petrol station in the middle of nowhere. She can't deny she's lost track of how many shows they've done or where they're performing next, they've been on tour for over 3 weeks now. The group were sat inside the tour bus, a few going off at scattered times to sleep. She didn't sleep very much at the best of times (it could've had something to do with the crazy amounts of coffee she drank), but something about touring, all the adrenaline, made it even harder for her to sleep.

So there she sat: leaning against the tour bus, a spliff that George had rolled for her, resting between her fingertips, something to help you sleep he had said. She knew it probably wouldn't help but at least it would calm her shot nerves for a bit. She had been overthinking and replaying everything that had happened between Matty and her.

She heard the door to the bus open before someone was shutting it gently. She looked up to see a sleepy looking Matty, clad in a pair of joggers and a beaten tee. He offered her a dazed smile, clearly he had only just woken up. The smell of him drifts through her nose, completely overtaking the smell of the weed she's smoking.

"Hey" he says, grunting as he attempted to sit down next to her. Their thighs were plush against each other, his heat radiating off him and drifting into her: she was suddenly feeling a little bit sleepy.

"Getting a bit too old to sit all the way down here love" he grunts again making her giggle, a noise that makes his lips stretch further.

"I love hearing you giggle" he admits. She just smiles at him, taking another puff before offering it to him, he declines and she frowns, that's not like him, she thinks.

"You good?" She asks and he nods, just smiling at her.

"Yeah I'm good. Just don't need it right now" he says and she nods, taking another puff, finishing the spliff before stubbing it out on the ground next to her.

"Why are you out here on your own?" He asks and she smirks.

"Well I'm not on my own now am I silly?" She smirks, her intrusive thoughts take over and she moves to hold the hand that had been resting against his thigh. He finds himself squeezing hers, wanting nothing more than to raise it to his lips, too much too soon he thinks.

Her eyes drift from their hands to the men across from them, their driver and Jamie, sitting at the small garage. They had clearly filled up the bus with petrol, maybe the driver needed a break, who knew? But she appreciated the much needed lull.

Her eyes are drifting shut as she leans her head back against the cold metal of the bus.

"Are you sure you're okay love?" He asks, his words muffled by her new sleep induced state. Maybe the weed worked after all, or maybe it was Matty's presence; this new, sweet and loving Matty: which suddenly made her feel unbelievably relaxed, his hand on hers, thumb running across the soft skin at the back of it.

"Hmm." she doesn't open her eyes but feels his eyes burning into her skin. Her eyes slowly drift open after a beat, seeing him all too clearly now. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, she wanted to smooth her thumb over the lines that had formed there. His lip was in-between his teeth, gnawing it out of worry.

"I like seeing you like this" she admits, the high hitting her now. George always told her she was unwaveringly honest when she smoked weed, she was calm, but her words were always sincere when high. Maybe more sincere than usual.

"Like what?" His eyebrows still furrowed, lip still being chewed by his teeth. She leans forward, the hand that was unoccupied moving to pluck his lips from his teeth.

"All worried about me" she says and he chuckles, smiling down at her.

"And why's that?" He asks and her eyes are fluttering shut again, this time her head lands on his shoulder. He looks down at his shoulder, smiling at the sight.

"Means you do care about me" her words hit his heart and he leans forward, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. She wants nothing more than to be awake now, just so she can ask for another kiss. But her eyes struggle to stay open.

"Sleep love" he says, and she doesn't hear another word from him, or anything around her.

A while later she finds herself waking, suddenly in her bunk, she adorns George's jumper still, feeling incredibly cozy. She wonders how she got here, Matty must have carried her: the thought has her smiling to herself.

She hears movement coming from another bunk and slowly opens the curtain of hers to see who it was.

"We're here love. Matty made you a coffee" George says and she smiles up at him.

"Give me a few minutes yeah?" She asks and George nods. She removes herself from her bunk, collecting her things and going to get changed. She couldn't wait until they got into the hotel, a hot shower was definitely needed.

She quickly gets changed and makes herself more presentable, finally removing yesterday's make up, leaving her fresh-faced. She then finds the rest of the group, waiting outside the bus. Matty stands with two cups of coffee, offering her one very quickly upon seeing her.

"Thank you" she smiles, coming to stand inbetween him and George, their shoulders brushing. George wraps his warm around her and she leans in to him, making her move away from Matty slightly, she doesn't miss the quick frown that rests on his face before the previous smile is returning.

"Sleep well?" He asks and everyone's looking at the both of them then, not that she cares. She looks up at him, a smile on her face that makes everyone else smile.

"Amazingly" she says and he smiles down at her, no one else really knows what on earth there smiling at but the sight was nice. Everyone else begins talking about whatever else and she continues looking at Matty.

"Thank you" she mouths, referring to putting her to bed and the coffee.

"You're welcome"

She takes a sip from the coffee and practically moans at the taste.

"Alright Lou calm down" George says, looking down at her and they all laugh.

"What?!! It tastes nice!" She says, lightly hitting her best friend for teasing her. The group break out in laughter and she feels so happy, the worries of yesterday completely slipping her mind.

The noise does other things to Matty and she smirks upon seeing the look in his eyes.

"Okay guys let's get a move on" Jamie says. The group are quick to gather their things, making their way to their hotel rooms. Every single one of them knew that soon enough they'd all be in the same room anyway, it's what always happened. They never knew why Jamie booked multiple rooms.

Lou is quick to jump in the shower, soaking up the heat. She gets changed thereafter, the city they were in today was colder than the rest so she changed into a white jumper, a black skirt with a pair of tights and making sure to wear her usual leather jacket.

She got a text from George explaining that they were in Matty's room. They actually didn't have a show until the next day so decided to have a chill day with each other. The first of this tour.

She text back saying she was going to have a quick smoke before joining them.

She found her way out of the hotel, a security guard following her: a demand of Jamie's.

She goes to light her cigarette but hears her name being called. A group of three girls are walking towards her and the security guard gets defensive. She raises her hand at him, letting her know it's okay.

"Are we okay to say hello?" One of them asks sweetly.

"Of course!" She says cheerfully, wanting them to feel welcome. The girls come closer and Lou is quick to accept their hugs. She tucks the cigarette on top of her ear, before signing things they had brought along with them. She for one didn't mind a few fans coming to their hotel to say hello, but when they were swarmed it was a tad overwhelming. They appreciated their dedication and love regardless.

"How are you guys?" She asks them and each girl speaks, she smiles listening to them. They have a conversation about various things the girls asking Lou questions about the tour and the guys.

"We love your band don't get us wrong!! But you work really well with the 1975!" They explain and she smiles at their words.

"Thank you! I'm having the best time, I do miss my band though, they're a lot less chaotic than the boys" she jokes making them laugh.

The girls expressions change when the door next to them opens, revealing Matty. She can tell they're trying to keep cool and she smiles at them.

"Thought you'd be out here" Matty says, lighting his cigarette before his hand is grazing her back before seeing the girls in front of her.

"Hi!" He says, hand dropping from her back, not going unnoticed by the girls. Matty then hugs them before taking some pictures.

The group talks to the both of them, handing Lou a small bouquet of flowers she didn't even realise one of them were holding, a giving Matty a shirt that says "I hate Matty Healy" which makes all of them laugh before they say their goodbyes.

"They love you" Matty says and she lights her own cigarette.

They smoke together chatting about this and that before they're heading back to his hotel room to meet the rest of the group.

Matty ushers the security guard that had followed Lou away, Lou handing him the flowers and Matty handing over the tee before they enter the elevator. Matty clicks the number to his floor. His eyes find hers and he feels the air knock from his lungs.

"How come you get away without having security follow you everywhere?" She asks.

He's suddenly realising how especially pretty she is today.

"Love you look gorgeous" he breathes out, his words shocking her.

Her body finds his with one gentle pull his way. His hand is light against her waist, she can barely feel it but she can feel an almost electric sensation where it rests.

His other hand rests against her jaw, holding her gently, as if he's going to break her.

"Is this okay? I know I haven't even started showing you how sorry I am but I can't help myself-" he gets cut off by her lips against his. His hand grips her waist tighter now and she gasps against his lips.

"You think too much" she laughs against his mouth making him chuckle too. His craving for her feels slightly sedated now, with her soft lips pressed against his, his tongue softly making its way into her mouth to caress her awaiting one. The kiss is different than any they've shared before and she's the one that feels addicted now.

"I like when you kiss me like this" she murmurs against his mouth, he breaks away momentarily, her lips chasing his making him smirk.

He places a few pecks against her mouth as his fingertips drift over her freckled cheeks.

"Think I like you most like this" he says, making her eyebrows furrow.

"You're beautiful no matter what love. But seeing you like this reminds me of when we were younger. No make up, just you. Absolutely stunning" he says before he's pressing his lips against hers again, she has no time to respond and before they know it the ding of the elevator is letting them know they're at their floor.

The ding isn't what pulls them apart unfortunately, it's the groan of their best friend that makes them jump apart. George stands there, hand covering his eyes, groaning to himself. Matty and Lou can't help but laugh.

"Fucking hell... Was wondering what was taking yous so long" he says still covering his eyes.

"Stop being so dramatic" Lou says, shoving her best friend as she walks past him "we have to put up with you and Charli making out all the time" she says before she's walking off to Matty's room.

George removes his hand from his eyes, spotting his friend leaning against the elevator wall, a huge shit eating grin resting against his lips.

George smiles at this before he speaks "looks good on you mate" Matty frowns, not knowing what he's talking about.

"You, looking happy. Looks good" he says and Matty walks up to him then, clasping a hand on his back as they began to walk.

"Thanks mate"

"Just cut down on the making out please... Feels weird seeing my best mates suck face" he says making Matty laugh.

"You'll have to talk to her about that I'm afraid" he says, the two men laughing loudly.

Upon entering the room, Matty sees Lou resting in Charli's lap on a large love seat, the two girls giggling about something. George smiles at his two favorite girls before he's plonking himself down next to them, hooking an arm around the pair.

"You've got such ridiculously long arms G, it's weird" Lou says, the large man begins tickling her, making her get up from Charli's lap, making the other girl frown, kicking her boyfriend.

"Jealous much" Charli says before she takes her boyfriend in for a hug.

Matty begins talking to Hann and Carly, so her eyes land on Ross who pats the spot next to him on the sofa he's sat on. Matty's eyes catch hers as she sits next to Ross, whose arm hooks over her shoulders now. He feels no jealousy now as he looks over the pair, in fact he wants nothing more than to join them.

"How's your day going hmm?" Ross smirks at her, knowing something was up, especially given the blush that arises to her cheeks.

"It's good" she says and he laughs.

"I bet it is" he says, innuendo laced in his words.

"Shut up" she says, shoving his large shoulders as the pair laugh. They're both aware it's only been two days but the look Ross gives her let's her now he's happy for her.

Matty excuses himself from his conversation he was having and walks over to the pair "room for one more?" Matty asks and they both stare up at him.

"Of course" Lou says, looking over at Ross who smiles before nodding. Matty launches himself over the pair making them both laugh. Before he can get too comfortable, Lou's phone is ringing in her pocket.

"Shit, sorry" she says, awkwardly getting her phone out given that Matty was splayed across their laps.

"I've got to take this" she says, eyebrows furrowing. Matty's ears prick up at this, moving off them so she can stand. She quickly leaves the room and he sits back down next to Ross, wondering to himself what it was about.

She answers the phone and hears her manager on the other side of the line.

"Hello you wonderful human" he says. Now Lou's manager, Gregg, was one of the nicest people (alongside Jamie) that she had met in the industry. She was like her father at this point. But sometimes he cared, a little too much, and this was one of these times.

"Hi, everything okay?" She says, worry laced in her voice.

"Why do you sound worried? As if I can't just call you to check up on you" he says and she chuckles.

"Yeah sure. What's up?" She asks.

"Jamie said you haven't been sleeping much" he says and she feels her eyes rolling. "and you've been spending a lot of time with Matty, since when did you like him? Last time we spoke you said, and I quote: "he's an insufferable arsehole" he says and she chuckles. Barely any time has passed and Jamie's already grassed on the pair

"I actually had a great night sleep thank you very much. You know me, touring and sleep don't go hand in hand but I'll be fine" she says ignoring the Matty bit for now.

"I do know you. Very well in fact. And I know that you will burn yourself out if you don't sleep" he says and she groans. She knows he's right but like a stubborn daughter she finds her eyes rolling again.

"Yes I know" "good" he says.

"So Matty?" He asks and she seriously thought she had avoided it.

"It kind of just happened" she explains.

"What happened?"

"Nothing much really. Not yet. But I don't hate him now, he's actually... Quite bearable" she explains, keeping her cards close to her chest.

"Okay... Well I know you've got George to defend you, but I will kill him if he hurts you" he says and she sighs.

"I don't need defending Gregg. I can deal with whatever happens okay?"

"Okay. We miss you, call us more yeah?" He says and then they finish up their conversation. She goes to open up the door, hearing the boys talk in hush tones.

"I'm happy for you mate, I really am. We are all. Just don't fuck it up okay?" She hears George say.

"I dont intend on fucking it up. Have I given you any indication whatsoever since we last spoke that I was going to fuck it up?" She hears Matty say and then G groans.

"No" George says.

"He's just saying mate" Ross says, defending G.

"I know he's 'just saying'. But it's fucking annoying. I don't think either of you realise how fucking serious I am about her. When I said I'd prove how sorry I am... How I feel about her, how I've always felt about her. I fucking meant it. Look I know I'm not sincere very often but I'm trying okay?" She hears him say, he sounds a bit miffed at his friends and she wants to go in and hug him but she feels a bit awkward now, if she entered now it would be obvious she had been listening in.

"Im sorry mate, I'm just trying to look out for you... And her, she's like my sister" George says.

"I know! But right now, you don't need to look out for either of us. What happened to earlier? When you said happiness looks good on me?"

"It does"

"Then maybe butt out for a bit yeah?" She hears him say, she hears the boys call after him, he must've gone somewhere else. She walks in then, eyes finding both the boys who look like two dears in a headlight.

"Did you hear all of that?" Ross says and she knows there's no point lying, she nods and both of their expressions soften.

"Sorry" they say in unison.

"I don't know what everyone's problem is at the moment: you two, Gregg... But I'm a grown woman and I can deal with my shit myself okay?" She says firmly, making both the boys nod up at her, not wanting to say another word.

"the day so far has been pretty awesome. So don't ruin it." Another nod from the pair. "Now where did Matty go?" She asks and they both point to the balcony.

"Figures" she laughs before walking out on the balcony.

"Hey" she says softly upon seeing him. His head snaps towards hers, his features softening when he realises it's her.

"Oh hi... Sorry, thought you were g or Ross" he says, turning his attention back to his cigarette.

"It's okay..." She says, coming to lean against the balcony, next to him, their shoulders resting against one another.

"You okay?" She asks softly, lightly bumping her shoulder against his. He turns his attention back to her, offering her a small nod.

"I will be..."

"You know I heard what they said right?" She asks, hand finding his back.

"I didn't" he laughs, hand running through his hair in worry. He didn't know what her reaction would be, would she be annoyed at what he said? Would should like that he defended himself and his feelings towards her?

"I appreciate what you said though" she says, leaning forward to place several soft kisses against his cheeks, making him giggle.

"I like it when you're sincere" she says, pulling back to look at him.

"Yeah... Me too" he says and she smiles at him, he doesn't smile back at first, clearly still annoyed at the two men.

"Don't let them ruin it. We've had a good day so far right?" She asks and he nods.

"Especially the part in the elevator" she says, trying to get him to smile.

"Yeah I liked that part" he says, flicking his cigarette off the balcony before his hands pull her into his chest, lips pressing against her forehead.

"I'm not going to fuck this up okay? I know it must be confusing for you, I mean I acted like I hated you for years and then suddenly I'm confessing my feelings towards you... just didn't want to lose you. But I'm serious about this" He asks and for whatever reason, she truly believes him.

"I know" she says simply, leaning up to kiss him, a gentle kiss, just her lips massaging against his softly.

"I'm never going to get used to that" he says as she pulls away.

"Well you better because I don't plan on stopping anytime soon" she says making him laugh, pulling her closer to him and bridging the gap between their lips again.

She tasted sweet like strawberries, mixed with tobacco and he couldn't pull himself away. Especially when her hands found his hair, pulling gently at the strands.

They heard a car beep from below and he pulled away, suddenly aware they were on a balcony, where anyone could see.

"Someone could see us" he says when she leans back in, pressing her lips back to his.

"Let them see" she sighs against his mouth, tongue meeting his, the couple fighting for dominance, in which he won.

"Baby" he says and she moans at the nickname.

"Say that again" she says, gripping his shirt in her hands, needing him closer, the bottom of his hiking up to reveal part of his stomach.

"Baby we should stop" he says and she feels sense come back to her brain.

"You're right" she says, taking a step back, laughing at his disheveled appearance.

"Sorry about that" she says, soothing her hands down her jumper, chuckling to herself at the lack of control she just showed.

"Never be sorry" he says, pulling her into a corner of the balcony that was fairly covered from the public eye.

"Thought you said we should stop" she chuckles as his lips smear against her neck.

"I can't stop around you" his lips continue to smear against her neck, bruising the skin: the make up team were going to hate her later.

----------------------------------------------------------

Matty brings the shirt on stage that the fans they met yesterday gave to him, during the second half of their set.

"Yesterday, Lou and I met some lovely fans. They gave Lou some pretty flowers..." He begins "perfectly fitting" he says without the microphone just so she could hear in her in ears. "And they gave me this shirt" he says, revealing the fabric to their audience.

Matty holding the "I hate Matty Healy" shirt was displayed on the screens next to the stage, so everyone could see. The crowd screams and goes absolutely mental making them all laugh.

"Thought you might want to wear it love" he says, the nickname slipping out without a second thought, not that she bothered to care. He was teasing her but she wouldn't back down now.

"Seems appropriate" she says into her microphone before he's passing it to her.

She throws it over the top of the shirt she was wearing, although Matty secretly hoped she would take the shirt off, not that he wanted everyone to see that, just himself.

The crowd goes crazy again and they all laugh. They continue their set, Lou wearing the shirt throughout the whole show.

The time came for their final bows, the boys all exchanged the same look as Lou began to walk off stage, before George was running towards her, hooking his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back on stage, making the crowd go crazy.

"What are you doing?" She asks as she's met with Matty and the rest.

"You're as much a part of this band now as the rest of us" Matty says, the sweet sentiment making her tear up a little.

"Don't you go crying on us now" Ross says, pointing a finger towards her, she wipes the tears from her eyes as she laughs.

"Come on" Adam says, hooking his arm around Ross and George, Matty hooked his arm around Lou before they all shared a quick group hug, before turning back to the crowd and bowing.

Lou then left the guys to do their individual waves to the crowd before one by one they left, Matty leaving the stage last.

She waited on the side lines for him, every single one of the guys smirking at her as they went past (not without hugging her tightly first).

Matty then came running back to her, scooping her up into a tight hug, making her giggle as her feet left the ground.

"That was the fucking best" he says, putting her down and looking her deeply in the eyes.

"You're the fucking best" he says, pulling her into him again.

"So are you Matthew Healy. So are you" she's the one to pull him closer now, gripping his shirt tightly as she stands on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his.

All the air left in his lungs seems to leave him and he quickly grasps her waist, attempting to steady himself.

"Wait... Lou" he says making her reluctantly pull away to look at him.

"What's up?" She asks, worry sketched across her features. His eyebrows furrow too, almost copying hers.

"I haven't even begun to show you how sorry I am...." He says, fingertips playing with the hem of her shirt as he hesitates over his next words. She's about to tell him he can say whatever is on his mind and she wants him too, but he speaks before she gets the chance.

"Don't want you thinking... Thinking I'm like.... Using you or something" his words are jumbled and very casual considering it's Matty, but she knows he's like this when he's nervous.

She laughs a soft laugh as she looks up at him, his eyes flutter as she slowly leans up to kiss him, just once, a sweet and firm one.

"How about...." She says, pulling away from him, one hand resting against his chest, one on his jaw. He sees her eyes darken and he knows he couldn't resist her even if he tried. Her lips find his neck, pressing and sucking against the flesh there before finding the shell of his ear.

He doesn't expect her mouth to take it in, neither does he expect the profane groan that falls from his lips as she sucks it before whispering her next words.

"You take me into your changing room and show me how sorry you are" she says and he can't stop himself from grasping her, swinging her over his shoulder and taking them to his changing room.

They pass the boys, Lou waves at them as she giggles, a smirk rests on Matty's face and Ross and Adam cheer and laugh as George groans.

"At least try to keep it down" they hear George shout as Matty skillfully opens the door, before slamming it shut.

He's setting her on her feet before lightly pressing her against the wall.

"I'm not going to break Matty" she says and his grip tightens then, forcing himself to stand in-between her hips. His hips press against hers and she moans, the sound slipping into his mouth, tongue playing with hers as her hands grasp his hair.

"Baby" he groans as she tugs at the curls.

"Hmm" she moans against his mouth, parting their lips briefly before he's taking a step back.

He stares at her for a few moments, smirking and shaking his head to himself.

"Forgot you were wearing that top" he says making her look down at the fabric. Her fingertips find the hem of it but before she can tug it over her head his fingers are stopping her movements.

"Keep it on" he says, voice deep: barely a grumble, but the noise awakens something inside her and she's pushing herself off the wall, capturing his lips with hers. They move quickly against each other and he can't believe how bad he wants her, but he is yet to prove his words.

"Slow down love, we've got all the time in the world" he says, pulling away from her slightly, pressing featherlight kisses around her face, making her giggle.

He pulls back to look at her again, not able to get enough. She pouts at him and makes grabby hands making him chuckle.

"Want you to fuck me" she admits and he throws his head back and groans. He wants that so badly but right now he needed to prove how sorry he was and he only knew one way he could truly do that.

"Trust me love, we will get to that" he says and she sighs as she pouts again. He steps forward again, grasping the edges of her skirt. He looks deeply into her eyes as he pushes the fabric upwards so it's resting against her hips, revealing her black lace underwear.

"You're so fucking gorgeous" he says and her breath falters as the curly haired man drops to his knees in front of her. His next words nearly have her cumming on the spot.

"Let me worship you" he says and she throws her head back in a moan as his swollen lips press against her inner thighs. Her hands quickly weave into his hair, interwoven in the strands as she tugs at them, needing more of him.

"Baby I'm so sorry" he says, and a kiss is delivered to her clothed centre: she gasps.

"Want to show you how sorry I am, will you let me show you how sorry I am?" He murmurs against her covered core, the vibrations making her arch against the wall.

She's nodding and although he sees her through his eyelashes he needs to hear her say it.

"Need to hear you love" he says and she's quickly moaning out a "please Matty" and that's all he truly needs before he's tugging her underwear down her legs. He helps her step out of it and she chuckles as he stuffs them into his back pocket, smirking up at her before delving in.

He starts with a soft kiss to her clit, loving the way such a simple act has her eyes fluttering shut. They snap open as he pulls back, stopping his movements all together.

"There's a good girl, keep those beautiful eyes open for me, think you can do that yeah? Need you to see how sorry I am" he says and she's nodding harshly, wanting nothing more than to have him on her again. He lowers his lips to her centre again, another kiss being placed against her swollen bud.

He presses kiss after kiss on her clit, around her thighs and over her mound, her hands are pressing against the back of his head, wanting more friction from the heavenly looking man in-between her thighs.

"Matty please" she begs again, his eyes find hers and he knows he's done for.

"Okay love, just wanted to love on you for a second" he says making her smile down at him. The smile drops from her face not a second later as another kiss is pressed against her clit. This time his tongue splays out flat across the surface and he sucks. He smirks as her hands fly back to his hair.

He sucks the bundle of nerves harshly, whispering "I'm sorry" in-between every suck that's delivered.

She goes to beg for more but her prayers are answered as his tongue makes a few calculated swipes across her folds, dipping into her core at the last moment.

"Fuck Matty" she moans, she had always thought that Matty looked like a good kisser and of course that had been confirmed. But never in the time she had known him had she thought he would be this good at giving head. She had heard rumours when they were younger, she had thought they were just the mutterings of desperate girls, but now, with the same boy she used to shamefully fantasise about, in-between her thighs, eating her up like she was honey: she knows for a fact they were right.

"Taste so good sweetheart, going to let me have more of you?" He asks moaning into her dripping cunt, making her spasm at the vibrations.

All she can do is nod down at him. He doesn't do anything and she knows he wants to hear her again.

"Take it, take it all" she says, not making my sense in her own mind but that's all he needs to hear before his tongue is plunging into her, curling up inside her and hitting her soft spot.

Her moans are loud now but neither of them care.

"So sorry love" he speaks in-between strokes of his tongue "don't know how you ever could've thought I hated you". A swipe of his tongue, a moan from her, a suck on her clit, a tug of his hair.

"You're too fucking amazing to hate" he admits and she trashes against the wall, the pleasure almost too much to bare. His words were only making her pleasure more intense and their unbroken eye contact had her moaning his name like a mantra.

"I'm sorry" he says again, before his tongue is curling into her again.

"Matty" she says and he knows she needs more.

"What do you need baby?" He asks and her eyes are fluttering shut before opening to look at him again. The sight is devilish, his curls are a mess on top of his head, his lips were swollen and glistening with her juices and his eyes were the darkest she had ever seen them. Her eyes wandered down for a moment, seeing a clear bulge resting against his trousers: he was enjoying this.

"Need your fingers" she admits and he gets back to work, sucking on her clit as his fingers spread over her folds, teasing her before one dips in. It's the first time he's had his fingers in her and he knows he'll be addicted to this too: what with the way she's saying his name and begging for more.

"Fucking hell" he murmurs against her "so fucking tight"

The feeling was euphoric, she had always been obsessed with his hands, how large, calloused and veiny they were, especially when he played guitar, but having his long fingers dip inside her pulsating walls had her moaning louder now. He curved his finger into her before adding another one, his tongue working on her clit.

"Matty" she sighs, her moans stopping as her mouth hung open. He could tell she was close by that simple fact. She was so blissed out she could no longer moan, all she could do was chant his name as he chanted an aray of "I'm sorry's" and "could never have hated yous". She grasps his curls tightly in her hands, pushing his head further into her, making him moan around her clit.

"Let go, for me love" he says "want to taste you" he admits and that's all it takes before she's spasming against the wall, her eyes snapping shut as she tips over the edge.

"Matty" his name is drawn out and he swears it's the best thing he's ever heard, it has him moaning against her as she coats his tongue in her juices.

His moaning at the taste of her, sweet like honey.

He's quick to support her now slaking body, standing from in-between her thighs to hold her waist tightly, kissing her neck and lips lightly as she came down from her high.

Her legs were like jelly and she was undeniably grateful he was holding her up.

"You with me love?" He asks and she nods into his neck, pressing her own kisses to his warm skin.

"You're really fucking good at that" she says, unintentionally stroking his ego.

"Yeah?" He says, smirking down at her as she moves from her place in his neck. His hard on is pressing against her thigh and she can't help but let her eyes drift down.

"Don't worry about me love" he says, fingers pressing against her chin so she's looking at him. He grasps her chin and pulls her gently towards him, several soft, loving kisses being pressed against her lips, making her sigh against him. The rough, fast or harsh kisses were euphoric but those soft ones he delivered to her mouth had her heart pounding at a hundred miles per hour.

"Trust me I haven't even started showing you how sorry I am, that was just a start" he admits and she smiles against his lips.

"Okay...." She drifts off, handing diving down his chest to rest against his lower abdomen, feeling his v-lines through his shirt.

"But.. how about for now" she says, sucking his neck, his ear, anything she could press her lips against "I show you how thankful I am" she says and he groans as her hands cup him through his trousers.

"You don't have to thank me love" he says, although he'd love nothing more than for her to get him off.

"Oh I want to" she says, her sultry tone has him twitching under her palm.

"Fuck" he says, smashing his lips back to hers. They're rudely interrupted by a knock on the door and they both groan as they're forced to pull apart.

"You too need to stop fucking because we need to leave" they hear George say.

They pull apart, Matty adjusting himself to hide his erection as she tugs her skirt back down. He goes to offer her underwear to her but she simply smirks before opening the door and walking out, tugging him with her, forcing him to quickly stuff them back into his trousers before anyone saw.

He shakes his head at her before they walk hand in hand, following the boys to the cars that wait for them outside. Their hands drop from each other's as they see a collection of fans standing opposite their cars, they all wave a smile at them before getting into the vehicle.

Part 6

[vosh-rakh]

3e634, chapter 1

"I'm sorry, the Temple of Dibella is closed,” the priestess said. “You can receive your blessing, if you wish, but the other sisters are in seclusion."

Malekaiah frowned. She looked around anxiously at the alien masonry of the temple’s interior. The four statues of nude Dibella resting against the pillars kept their gazes resolutely forward, ignoring Malekaiah’s plight. She pressed her fingertip hard against the point of her tusk, a bad anxious habit she’d long ago acquired. The tusk was too dull to draw blood, but one could hope.

Finally, her eyes alighted on the shrine against the wall, its points rising like flower petals towards a central space, and she was given the courage to look back at the priestess. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quavering, but somehow she pushed on. “I’ve been an acolyte of Dibella all my life. I’m on an important mission to spread her love to those who have never known it.”

“I’m sorry, sister.” The priestess offered a small smile as compensation. “The sisters cannot be disturbed.”

Malekaiah looked up at the brass chandelier on the ceiling, and closed her eyes briefly. “Okay,” she said, nodding, but avoided the priestess’s pitying gaze.

The priestess nodded, and returned to her cleaning.

Malekaiah approached the shrine to Dibella. She gently placed a hand on one of its dull red wings, trying to feel for Dibella’s energies. Then she knelt, clasped her hands, bowed her head, and prayed.

Please, sweet Dibella, I beseech thee: grant me the power and wisdom to see thy love and beauty in every facet of this world, so that I may spread the knowing to those who know only sorrow and ugliness. Let thy kiss become my kiss, lips sweet enough to embrace the world.

Malekaiah couldn’t remember how the prayer was supposed to end, so awkwardly she cut it short there. Unclasping her hands, she rubbed her face, trying to bring some heat to her cheeks, and rub some wakefulness into her eyes. It was so cold here, in Skyrim, and she had barely slept on the long carriage ride from Anvil to Markarth. She had a long journey ahead of her, and she needed to be prepared.

Almost on instinct she quickly felt for the short steel hiding under her ochre robes. Yes, Da’s dagger was still there. Even in this foreign place, it brought her a strange sense of safety.

Malekaiah rose and walked out the temple door. She was immediately faced with the western mountain enclosing the city, waterfalls cascading down the cliff with a deafening roar, flowing into the waterways that ran down the city’s streets. Behind those falls stood proud and ancient the bizarre stone-and-brass architecture of the dwarves, yet as ordinary to the people here as timber and brick.

After a moment of awe, Malekaiah drifted left along the stone walkway, skirting south around the pillar which the temple of Dibella crowned. Down a level of the city, straddling one of the rivulets, was a small smithy, jarringly built of wood. Over the roar of the waterfalls rang out the sharp clang of hammer on metal, and a woman shouting at her apprentice with very colorful language. Turning her head to the left, Malekaiah saw the distant silver mines, crawling with hard-at-work miners, seeming from this far away like ants carrying their burdens of ore.

Malekaiah descended the stairs, making her way down from the temple. They led her closer to the smithy, where she caught a glimpse of the smith. She was an Orc, which stopped Malekaiah in her tracks. There were very few Orcs in Anvil; most had left for bustling Orsinium about a decade or two ago. Despite going to their homeland to proselytize, she didn’t know much about her race. She had read as much as she could about them and their history and ways before leaving, but most of the sources she was able to get her hands on were outdated and often very bigoted.

The smith must have felt Malekaiah’s gaze, and she looked up at her with a scowl. She waved her off with a hand holding an unfinished sword.

Malekaiah quickly turned to continue on her way, but in so doing she ran straight into one of the city guards. He reached for the sword on his hip. “Watch where you’re going, outsider!” he shouted.

“Sorry,” Malekaiah quickly mumbled. The guard, seemingly dissatisfied but uninterested in an actual confrontation, pushed Malekaiah aside and continued on his way.

Malekaiah rubbed her shoulder where the guard had pushed her and looked again at the smith, who had apparently seen the whole thing. She shook her head at Malekaiah and went back to her work.

A bit shaken, Malekaiah continued descending the stairs, following one of the rivulets. She reached for the talismans around her neck. First, the amulet of Dibella: she rubbed the violet stone in the center of the metal flower. It was cold, but it gave her some comfort, anyway. Her hand roamed across her neck to the other talisman, the strange icon left in her swaddling cloth when her parents abandoned her in Cyrodiil. She could feel its rageful face, teeth and tusks bared, and a fuming heat flooded her face. She let go, shook her head, and tried to forget about the encounter with the guard.

Malekaiah continued along the stone path through the city, hoping to find an inn where she could stay the night. Instead, she found herself at the front gate again, faced with the small market situated there.

The square was bustling with activity, a dense crowd - surely half the city - swarming from stall to stall, gawking at and haggling for the goods on display. The few children who could pry themselves from their mothers’ watchful eyes ran through the forest of legs, squealing like pigs.

Something caught Malekaiah’s eye. A gleam of silver, or steel. Her vision snapped to the stall on the far end of the market, selling jewelry. A woman was trying on a prospective purchase.

But there was something else, a man pushing through the crowd, the sun shining in his hand.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The woman removed the necklace. The man grabbed her mouth from behind. He raised his shining hand and jerked it across her neck, right where the necklace was a moment ago. Blood sprayed on the silver on the stall’s counter. The woman behind it, her face also spattered with red, covered her mouth and screamed.

Just as the crowd began to react to the shriek, the assassin turned around, still holding up the now-mute and struggling woman by her chin. Her head was nearly severed, so vicious and deep was the spurting gash.

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!”

The throng devolved into chaos, women and children screaming, men shouting and shoving to escape. There was only one guard nearby, somehow, and he was slow to react, ineffectually trying to push his way through the crowd.

Malekaiah was frozen, staring at the gore of the wound. The man dropped the woman after she stopped moving, and turned back to the stall. The jeweler had fallen to the ground in shock. The assassin vaulted the counter, sending rings and necklaces and torcs to the ground with a tinkling sound that Malekaiah shouldn’t have been able to hear over the din, but could have sworn she did.

He advanced upon the jeweler, dagger in hand, blade under fist. She extended an arm to protect herself, and the assassin’s blade pierced her hand, stabbing all the way through. Her pained scream pierced the sky. The assassin inverted his grip, blade over fist, and began slashing. The jeweler took a cut to the stomach before raising her arms to defend again. The steel tore through the sleeves of her dress as well as the flesh of her forearms.

A fire ignited in Malekaiah’s throat, melting her freeze and compelling her move. She hiked up her robes and withdrew her dagger from the sheath fastened around her thigh, and she advanced through the dissipating crowd. She vaulted over the counter, knocking off yet more jewelry, and approached the assassin’s back.

Firmly gripping the dagger’s hilt, in one simple motion, she thrust the blade deep into his back, sliding effortlessly between two ribs.

Poppies bloomed around the wound, soaking into his shirt.

The assassin exhaled sharply as his lung collapsed, and stopped attacking the jeweler. His weapon clattered to the ground, and he slowly turned to face Malekaiah. With shaky breath, and through bloody coughs, he mustered, “I die for my people,” and then collapsed, dead.

Slowly, shakily, Malekaiah bent down to pull the dagger from the assassin’s back. Once the blade was free of his flesh, there was an upwelling of blood, painting his tunic a deeper black.

She looked across at the jeweler, who stared at her, frightened, tears streaking down her face. Malekaiah took a step forward, causing the jeweler to squirm backwards with a squeal.

“P-please…don’t…” mumbled the jeweler.

Malekaiah glanced at the bloody blade in her hand. Some portions were untouched, clean steel, and she could see her reflection clearly in it. But in the bloody bits, the wet gore reflected a demented distortion of her face. She screamed, too, and tried to wipe the blood from the blade with her cuff. But all she accomplished was staining her sleeve.

Malekaiah returned the dagger to its sheath on her thigh, struggling to keep her hand steady. She tried to approach the jeweler again, with open hands. “I won’t hurt you,” she assured. “I’m a healer.”

The jeweler hesitated, but nodded, letting Malekaiah come forward. Malekaiah knelt next to her and channeled Dibella’s grace to her hands, which glowed with a golden light. She began to hover them over the jeweler’s wounds, slowly bidding them close.

Suddenly, something cold and sharp lifted Malekaiah’s head by the chin. Forcibly she looked up to see one of Markarth’s guards pointing a sword at her throat.

“What are you doing, murderer?” the guard spat from beneath his helmet.

“I…” Malekaiah quavered, blinking rapidly.

“You idiot,” shouted the jeweler at the guard. “She saved my life!”

The guard seemed to finally take full stock of the situation, seeing the woman’s slit-throat corpse, the assassin’s face-down body, and his bloody blade discarded at his side.

In the meanwhile, Malekaiah continued healing the jeweler, starting with the slashes on her arms and the thankfully superficial cut on her abdomen. Malekaiah looked at the stab-wound through the jeweler’s hand with dismay. “I can’t heal this on my own,” she told the jeweler, who had mostly calmed down.

Malekaiah turned to the corpse and dagger behind her. She wiped as much blood from the blade as she could, and used it as a tool to cut a relatively clean strip of the assassin’s tunic. She turned back to the jeweler and apologized. “This will hurt.” The jeweler nodded and offered her injured hand. Malekaiah delicately wrapped the strip of cloth around her palm, tying it tightly. The jeweler groaned at the final tug but otherwise didn’t complain.

“She needs a more experienced healer for her hand,” Malekaiah said, looking up at the guard, who had withdrawn his sword to its sheath.

“I’ll take her to the temple,” the guard growled. Taking her unhurt hand, he helped the jeweler stand. As they began to walk off, he turned his head and said, “Keep your nose clean, orc.”

Malekaiah knelt there numbly for a moment. But eventually her close proximity to two corpses and so much blood became too much, and she forced herself to stand. She examined her robes, and found them surprisingly spared, save for the cuff she used to wipe the blades clean.

The market was almost completely empty now, save for a few late-arriving guards come to gather the bodies. But there was another man, fast approaching Malekaiah. His smile did nothing to disarm her anxiety after the preceding harrowing events, and she reached instinctively for the dagger through her robes.

“Easy there, friend,” said the stranger. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He glanced at the dead woman being carried off by a couple of guards. “Gods. A woman attacked, right in the streets.” He seemed to notice the blood on Malekaiah’s cuffs, and asked, “Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

“I was right there,” Malekaiah answered. She ran her hand across her bare scalp and looked away. “He killed that woman, and then…tried to kill the jeweler.” Her words felt like lead dropping from her tongue, seeming to almost hang from her lips, not wishing to be said. Her voice didn’t feel her own. “So I…I…I killed him.” She covered her face so the stranger wouldn’t see the unbidden tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the stranger said. “I hope the Nine give you more peace in the future.” Malekaiah lowered her hands to look at him, just as his expression suddenly changed. He quickly reached out his hand, shoving something into Malekaiah’s. “Oh, by the way, I think you dropped this.”

Malekaiah jumped at the sudden movement, but calmed a bit when she realized it was just a piece of folded paper. “Is this…yours?” she asked, confused.

“Mine? No, yours. Must have fallen out of your pocket in the commotion.” He offered a little wave and then turned to leave.

Malekaiah was positive she didn’t have any parchment on her before this man gave her this note. She unfolded and read the brief note scrawled in an uneven hand: “Meet me at the Shrine of Talos.”

Malekaiah looked back up at the man, who was now halfway across the square. “Shrine of Talos?” she hollered. “Where’s that?”

He stopped in his tracks and half turned towards her. “Huh?” He scratched his chin. “Not sure. I don’t worship Talos, myself. I think I heard someone mention it was underneath the Temple of Dibella, in the big crag in the center of the city.” Then he turned and walked away.

Malekaiah’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Then she glanced at the note again, and sighed. She folded the paper back up and slipped it into a pocket in her robes.

She looked up toward the center of town, at the crag where she had just come from the Temple. It truly was an enormous feature, dominating the city’s skyline.

She checked for her dagger again, and against her better judgment, she made her way towards the Shrine of Talos.

-----

It took some walking around the crag to find the correct path to the shrine, as well as walking past its unmarked doors on accident several times. The doors were large and notable: huge brass double doors twice her height, surrounded by ornate ancient masonry. But there was no indication they belonged to the shrine of a Cyrodiilic war god.

Malekaiah pushed open the heavy doors with some effort, and stepped into the dark corridor, faintly candlelit and sloping downwards. She narrowed her eyes in the darkness, but her Orcish vision quickly acclimated. At the bottom of the slope she could make out two figures: one, surely a statue of Tiber Septim, stoically leaning on a sword; the other, a man kneeling before the altar, head bowed.

Malekaiah slowly descended the corridor towards the shrine’s sanctum. She tried to be quiet so as not to disturb the man’s prayer, but despite her best efforts he still somehow noticed her approach as she neared the end of the ramp.

The stranger from the market quickly stood and turned to face Malekaiah. “You came,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’m sorry to drag you into Markarth’s problems, but after that attack in the market, I’m running out of time.”

Malekaiah blinked rapidly. “What?”

Breathlessly, the stranger continued, “You want answers? Well, so do I. So does everyone in the city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he’s a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess.”

Unbidden, images flash into Malekaiah’s mind: a torn open throat, poppies, and a demon staring back at her in the bloody blade.

It was as if her head detached from her neck, and began to float away. She responded numbly to the stranger in an automatic process seemingly devoid of any conscious intention. Her conscious attention was no longer in the room.

The entire conversation grazed past her like a breeze. She may have agreed to something, but the memory of precisely what was slippery. She was vaguely aware that at some point, the man - suddenly she remembered he called himself Eltrys - left the shrine. But she remained, standing before the altar, invisible to herself.

Malekaiah returned to her body, and found herself kneeling at the altar, hands clasped, muttering an unintelligible half-prayer to - presumably - Talos. She stopped herself. She had never worshiped Talos; it struck her as odd that Skyrim had shrines at all, as he was chiefly a Cyrod’s god. She felt nothing stirring in her heart from the attempt. Oddly enough, though, she felt something stirring in her gut.

Oh. She was hungry. She stood, dusted off her knees, and left the shrine.

———

Not even the warmth of the inn could take the chill from Malekaiah’s bones. She shuffled into the threshold, and suddenly all of the many eyes of the crowded tavern were on her. Whispers accompanied them:

“Is that…”

“Did she really…”

“She really is a…”

Malekaiah pressed her thumb into her tusk hard as she shambled towards the bar. She vaguely recognized that she was falling into her old bad habit, but it seemed to keep her head screwed onto her neck, so she allowed it this time.

She clambered onto a stool at the far end of the bar. She knew she needed to order dinner, and rent a room for the night, but she was an immobile statue, unable to speak. So she folded her arms on the counter and buried her face in them.

After a moment, a gentle male voice reverberated, “Hey, lass.”

Malekaiah lifted her head to see the barkeep looking at her.

“You’re the Orc who killed Weylin, right? Saved Kerah’s life?” He didn’t look angry, but it felt like an accusation to Malekaiah nonetheless.

Without speaking, Malekaiah nodded slowly.

The barkeep reached underneath his side of the counter and placed something on top of it. Malekaiah recoiled immediately, but her alarm softened as she saw what it was: a tray filled with food. A bowl of steaming potato cabbage soup; a thick rye-bread trencher, topped with a hefty slice of goat cheese and an entire roasted goat shank; on the side, some kind of dark-berried pie, and a large mug of what smelled like mead.

“You did good, lass,” said the barkeep with a smile. “Food’s on the house. Bed too, if you need one for the night.”

A holler went up through the room, all the whispering mouths turned to joyous raucous. A nearby Nord reached over with his mug. It took a moment, but Malekaiah realized she needed to lift her own and clank it against his. Both cups overflowed, and the coolness of the splashed mead felt good on Malekaiah’s hand.

Malekaiah was afraid to eat at first, not sure her appetite would be up to the massive challenge. But she didn’t miss a bite. She even drank the whole mug of mead, despite never having had alcohol in her life. The barkeep, whose name was Kleppr, led her to her room after the festivities became too much for her. It wasn’t long after her head hit the pillow that she fell into a deep sleep.

-----

It was early morning, and the sun was yet to peek through the window into their home. All that lit the room was a small candle on the table between them. Its flame flickered across her father’s dark face, dancing across his features: his round spectacles and the dull brown eyes behind; his large, bulbous nose, a mountain dividing his face into two separate landmasses; and underneath, the thick mustache covering his upper lip completely, a dense dark broom of hair. His clean-shaven scalp even caught the light, casting vague orange smears across his head.

She admired his looks. He looked like a father ought, she thought. She pitied her childhood friends and their imperfectly paternal fathers.

Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep, she tried to imagine what her “true” father looked like. Would he measure up at all? Surely he was greener, and with prominent tusks, but what of the mustache? The spectacles? It was usually at this stage that she began to feel intensely ashamed for considering it at all. Da was her father, and that was that…

Da slapped her hand away from her mouth – she had been pressing her fingertip into her tusk again. “Stop that,” he muttered sternly.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Lost in thought, again.”

Da huffed. “Don’t think so much.” Pivoting quickly, he said, “Don’t be afraid.” From the satchel leaning against the legs of his chair he pulled out two items. She squinted to make them out in the darkness: one seemed to be metal, gleaming in the candlelight; the other was some loose assemblage of leather strips.

“A parting gift?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, Kaiah.” (She loved it when he called her that.) “Nine forbid you ever need to use this.” He delicately handed her the objects; as the metal one passed nearer to the flame, she recognized it as a dagger.

“What is this?” she asked, startled.

“I said don’t be afraid,” he rebuked. “It’s protection. You go alone into dangerous lands. Nine forbid you ever need it, but…just in case.”

She slowly reached for the blade’s grip, her hand shaking ever so slightly. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, Da let go. She was surprised by the lightness of it; she had expected heavier.

“And this,” Da said, holding up the tied leather strips, “is your sheath. It will tie around your thigh. Keep it concealed beneath your robes.”

She nodded numbly as he gave her the sheath. The leather was soft under her fingertips.

“How will I know when to use it?” she asked.

“You’re a grown woman now, Kaiah,” answered Da. He began to rise from his chair. “I trust your judgment.”

She began to rise as well, expecting an embrace. But he turned his back to her, and approached the smoldering ashes of last night’s fire in the furnace. There he stood, quiet, hands clasped behind his back.

She wanted to hug Da, for him to tell her she was doing the right thing, that she would be okay. She started to slowly shuffle up behind him –

But the dagger was still in her hand, and her fingers tightened around it. She surged forward, blade first.

His lungs deflated with a sudden gasp, and poppies welled around the wound in his back, piercing right between his ribs.

She cried out, “Da!” She let go of the dagger and tried to back away from this murder.

But his hands unclasped themselves, and reached up to grab her arms – joints popped and bones cracked from the unnatural extension required. He began to turn his head back, further and further, vertebrae shattering as it swiveled to face her. But it wasn’t his face.

The candle on the table behind her seemed to roar into a conflagration, fully illuminating his hideous visage, a demented ashen demon, teeth glistening with gore, lips spread wide with malice and rage. It shouted, “Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!”

-----

She woke up screaming, “I’m sorry!”

She grabbed the burning hot talisman hanging from her throat and, through her tears, saw Da’s twisted, angry face in the icon. She ripped it from her neck and threw it across the rented room, and wept.

-----

Blessedly, the ancient stone walls of the inn seemed to be thick enough to stifle her screaming and sobbing. At least, no one came knocking on her door to get her to shut up.

Malekaiah knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep; she was too afraid of further nightmares. She decided to get dressed and go for a walk.

Before she left the room, she glanced back at its dark corner. A faint gleam caught her eye; the demon talisman from her swaddling cloth. She approached it and retrieved it; it was still slightly warm. She reasoned she couldn’t blame it entirely for the dream, and after all, it could prove useful in Wrothgar - it could open some doors. She tied it back around her neck.

Malekaiah quietly left her room and passed through the stone corridor into the inn’s main chamber. Although packed and active last night, in these early hours before dawn it was dead. Everyone had retired to their beds, except for a single drunkard passed out in the corner.

In the lingering light from the fires, she caught a glimpse of the bloodstains on her cuffs. She decided on where her walk would take her.

The air outside was near freezing. Malekaiah wished she’d packed a pair of gloves. She pulled up the hood on her robes in an effort to protect her cheeks from the chill.

It seemed the guards of Markarth kept the streets lit overnight; she saw one a ways down who was tending to a brazier with her torch. Malekaiah considered asking the guard if she had a torch to spare, but she wasn’t brave enough. So she carried on by the occasional light of braziers, hoping she remembered her way back to her destination.

After some searching, Malekaiah arrived: the small stream by the blacksmith’s. (The old Orc woman didn’t seem to be there yet.) She wasted no time undoing the red sash around her waist, and then pulling her ochre robes off and over her head. All that remained was her woolen underclothes, but they still covered her neck-to-ankle.

“Pretty wiry for an Orc, aren’t you?”

Malekaiah jumped and dropped her robes into the stream. She tried to snatch them out, but the flow was too strong. She turned to try to make out who had addressed her in the dark.

“Sorry,” the voice said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t alone, so you didn’t strip all the way down.”

Malekaiah strained to focus her eyes. The woman a ways down the stream had a crate of objects that glimmered in the moonslight, and a bandage wrapped around her waving hand.

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. “You’re…”

“My name’s Kerah,” answered the woman in the darkness. “I figure the least I owe you for saving my life is my name.” She waved her hand again. “Can I have yours?”

“Malekaiah.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Kerah said. She reached out with her uninjured hand and grabbed Malekaiah’s robes as they passed by her in the stream. “Come here, Malekaiah. You might want these.”

Malekaiah slowly obliged, drawing closer to Kerah. As she did, she noticed the box was filled with blood-spattered silver jewelry.

“Cleaning the merchandise before we open,” smiled Kerah as she handed Malekaiah the robes. “It needs to be presentable, of course.

Malekaiah knelt beside Kerah and furrowed her brow. “Are you okay?”

Kerah tilted her head slightly. “Oh, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said with a light wave of her bandaged hand.

“No,” Malekaiah said, “I mean…” She gestured vaguely at her own shaved head.

Kerah’s face hardened a bit. “It’s fine. Such is life in Skyrim. Especially the Reach.” She pointed at the bloodstains on Malekaiah’s robes. “Not the first time blood’s been shed in this city, and it won’t be the last.”

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. Attention having been drawn to the bloodstains, she began to scrub futilely at them in the stream.

Kerah idly watched Malekaiah’s attempts to clean her robes while fiddling with a necklace from her crate. Finally she said, “That’s not going to work. Here.” She reached beside her and offered Malekaiah a small round object.

Malekaiah took it gently, and her fingers brushed against Kerah’s. She had expected them to be soft, but the tips were rough and calloused. Malekaiah realized Kerah wasn’t just a jeweler - she was a silversmith. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine.

It took a moment for Malekaiah to return to her senses. She examined the smooth object in her hand. It was yellowish-white, with darker flecks throughout. “What is -”

“Soap,” Kerah interjected. “Goat tallow, potash, and a little lavender imported from Whiterun for the scent.” She waved towards the robes. “Give it a try.”

Malekaiah gave the bar of soap a sniff - it did smell faintly of lavender. She began to scrub at the blood stains with it, and gradually they began to fade until all that was left were patches of slightly darker ochre.

“Thank you,” Malekaiah whispered when she was done. She tried to hand back the soap, but Kerah pushed it away.

“No, keep it,” Kerah said. “I have plenty. Margret taught me how to make it a while back.”

“Margret?” Malekaiah asked.

Kerah winced. “She is…was…a customer of mine. She was…the one at my stall this morning. When you were there.”

It took Malekaiah a moment to piece it together. Then the image of the woman’s bleeding throat flashed before her eyes, and she quickly shut them tight. But it didn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Kerah wiped a moonslit tear from her eye. “It’s okay.” She sighed, her entire body shuddering. “I don’t know about where you’re from, but in Skyrim, we celebrate our dead. Even when they’re taken from us.”

“Anvil,” whispered Malekaiah.

“Hm?” replied Kerah, tilting her head.

“I’m from Anvil. In Cyrodiil.”

“Oh. So was Margret. From Cyrodiil, I mean. Not Anvil.” Kerah smiled. “She was here to buy a pendant for her sister in the Imperial City. Have you ever been there?”

Malekaiah shook her head. “Never left Anvil county. Not until I came here.”

Kerah reached out her hands. Malekaiah accepted the offer with some hesitation, placing her hands in Kerah’s. They certainly weren’t the pampered hands of a merchant; this woman worked a forge. And judging by the quality of her wares, she was good at it.

“So what brings you to Markarth, Malekaiah?” asked Kerah.

“I’m an acolyte of Dibella,” Malekaiah answered. “I’m on my way to Orsinium to proselytize.”

“Hm,” Kerah said. “That must be a tough crowd.” Malekaiah’s face fell a bit, so Kerah added, “But maybe they’ll listen to you, since you’re an Orc and all.”

Malekaiah smiled slightly. “Maybe.”

The sun was beginning to rise now, Kerah’s crate of silver dazzling in the early dawn light. “Damn,” she blurted, pulling her hands away from Malekaiah’s and burying them in the assorted jewelry. “Sorry, I really need to finish this and get ready to open.” She smiled again, wide and sparkling in the sun’s golden glow. “It was lovely getting to know you, Malekaiah. Be safe in your travels, and good luck.”

Without the warmth of Kerah’s hands, Malekaiah’s fingers felt lonely in the cold Skyrim air. “Thank you for the soap,” Malekaiah said as she gathered her wet robes and began to stand.

“You saved my life,” Kerah said as she scraped hard blood from a sapphire. “It’s the least I can do.”

Malekaiah waved awkwardly with the hand holding the soap, but Kerah was now fully engrossed in cleaning her merchandise. Malekaiah nodded and walked away.

The robes tucked under Malekaiah’s arm were dripping wet. Looking up the stream, she saw the blacksmith’s forge again, situated on an island in the center of the flow. She squinted at it in the dull morning light, and could just make out a couple of aprons hanging from a line strung between two of the hut’s posts. She still didn’t see the Orc there, so she approached.

Malekaiah had to ascend a level of the tiered city to find the stone bridge crossing the stream. At the smithy, she glanced around. On a table near the anvil she found a pair of small iron clamps. She took them and used them to hang up her robes on the line with the aprons.

Exhausted from her short sleep that night, she sat at the stool by the table. She pulled her hands in her sleeves to keep them warm, and laid down her head on the table…

-----

Malekaiah was pulled awake by a firm hand wrapping around the back of her neck and yanking up her head. She yelped and reached up her hands, but her assailant slapped them down.

“What are you doing in my workshop, whelp?”

Malekaiah was just barely able to turn her head to see the fuming Orc smith gripping her nape. “I…I…I…” Malekaiah’s sudden rip from sleep kept her from forming a sentence.

“Not thieving, I hope?” continued the Orc woman. “You know what we do to thieves in the strongholds? We take their hands, whelp.” Suddenly, Malekaiah noticed a flash of light on the steel axe in the woman’s other hand.

“Uh, Ghorza?” It was a man’s voice, albeit a timid one, coming from behind the furious woman.

“Not the time, Tacitus,” growled the woman, presumably Ghorza.

“Look,” Tacitus continued anyway. He must have pointed, because Ghorza turned. She moved her whole body to look, letting Malekaiah see Tacitus was gesturing at her hanging robes. “She’s just drying her clothes,” Tacitus laughed.

Ghorza dropped Malekaiah and moved over to the robes. Malekaiah scurried into the corner.

Ghorza plucked the clamps from the line, causing the mostly-dry robes to fall to the floor. “These aren’t clothespins, girl,” she growled. “I’ll have your hide if these rust.”

Tacitus, a soot-faced young Cyrod, bent down to look at Malekaiah - he seemed to take notice of the sheath on her thigh. “Wait, Ghorza. I know this one! She was the one at the market yesterday, who killed the Forsworn!”

Ghorza huffed wordlessly. “Stand up and let me have a look at you, girl.”

Malekaiah felt heat rush to her cheeks as she slowly obeyed, keeping a hand hovering near the sheath just in case. Ghorza towered over her, but Tacitus in the corner was about Malekaiah’s height. Malekaiah began to wonder if she was short for an Orc.

Ghorza placed her rough smith’s hands on Malekaiah’s shoulders, squeezing as she moved down to feel her biceps. “Pretty scrawny,” she said before grabbing Malekaiah’s chin and tilting her head this way and that. “And maybe not so bright - no common sense, at least - but you know how to kill. A decent sign.” She let go and turned around. She pulled something from a rack and turned back to brandish it before Malekaiah. “Here. See how this feels.”

It was a sword - Malekaiah guessed it was made of iron. She took it by the offered handle from Ghorza and waggled it around a bit. It was lighter than it looked.

Ghorza stepped back. “Give it a few swings.”

Malekaiah looked up at Ghorza’s eyes, anxious. But she did as she was told, and swung at the air a few times. They were clumsy swipes, and the sword nearly fell from her hand at the end of the last.

“Stop,” ordered Ghorza. “No training. Shouldn’t be surprised.”

Malekaiah laid the blade across both hands and inspected it. The metal was dull, without the sharp gleam of her Da’s dagger. She asked, “Is this…a gift?”

“No. It wasn’t going to be free, at least.” Ghorza retrieved the sword from Malekaiah with a delicate touch that betrayed a great respect for the iron. “But it wouldn’t do you any good without any skill. Swinging it wildly is ineffective, at best. Get you killed, at worst.” She pointed the sword at Malekaiah’s sheathed dagger. “Better off with something smaller. And staying out of trouble in the first place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Malekaiah as she watched Ghorza return the sword to its rack. She took the opportunity to retrieve her robes from the floor.

Ghorza turned back and looked Malekaiah up and down for a moment, arms crossed. Finally she said, “You did good in the market yesterday. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” Malekaiah said.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Yes m-” Malekaiah began, but Ghorza’s eyes flared up, and so she hurried away, nearly tripping over her dangling robes in the process.

-----

Unlike in Anvil, the sun in Skyrim never seemed to rise very high in the sky, even by midday. But Malekaiah knew she’d be mostly keeping to this same northerly latitude for her journey, so she figured she’d have to get used to it.

Malekaiah had stocked up on food and supplies this morning, spending almost all of her remaining gold, before leaving the city about an hour ago. She followed the main road west as it faded from paved to dirt to cleared to tracks to footprints to complete obscurity. Now she and Magnus faced the same direction, the latter sure of his path over the mountains, but Malekaiah much less so. She knelt in the dirt and puzzled.

When overwhelmed, Da always taught her to take things one step at a time. She scanned the jagged horizon of slate-gray peaks, and looked for low passages between the rising slopes and cliffs. She followed a trail of them closer and closer until a nearby path emerged.

She stood and dusted off her knees. She was ready to keep walking, but then she heard footsteps behind her. She turned back to see a woman there she hadn’t noticed before. She was a dark elf, a Dunmer, wearing shiny brass armor and a deep black cloak with red trim. Her hood shrouded her face in darkness, but two locks of white hair spilled out from underneath onto her shoulders.

“Muthsera?” croaked the Dunmer, betraying what Malekaiah understood as the accent natural to residents of the volcanic island of Vvardenfell, in the Ebonheart Pact.

Tentatively, Malekaiah responded, “Yes? How can I help you?”

The dark elf said, “I’m lost. Which way to Solstheim?”

“Oh, I’m not from here,” Malekaiah said with an apologetic smile. But she wracked her brain for memories from her geography lessons. “Solstheim…that’s an island, isn’t it? In the Sea of Ghosts?” She pointed east, behind the Dunmer.

The dark elf didn’t so much as turn her head to acknowledge the gesture. “Oh,” she said, staring exclusively at Malekaiah. “Thank you.” She broke eye contact briefly to glance up at the skies as she asked, “Seen any dragons lately?”

“Sorry? Malekaiah said, looking up where the dark elf did. She didn’t see anything, so she looked back down. “Dragons aren’t real, are they?”

The Dunmer’s lips spread open wide, revealing two rows of yellow, viciously sharp teeth in a wicked grin. “Oh, yes,” she said, her teeth not separating as she spoke, “Of course they’re real.” Her red-nailed fingers wrapped around the corners of her hood and peeled it from her face, the shadows receding to reveal her eyes, blood-red and wide, and the third, tattooed on her forehead, crimson ink glowing brightly. “You’ve just met one.” She rushed forward, grabbing Malekaiah by the face and pressing her thumb into her forehead.

“Praan.”

And nothing but thick blackness remained.

[domesticatedanimal]

FFXIVWrite2024

Prompt 13: Butte

Implied offscreen child harm. This one was an experiment, not my best, but wanted to try out a new style. Dawntrail spoilers.

She Carried Fire

It was nearing noon as the two travelers rode into the tiny town by the railroad tracks. A tavern, a few ramshackle houses, and a low platform of hewn logs serving as a train station. The strangers left their chocobos near the outskirts of town, tying them loosely to the old dead tree near the well. As they stepped toward the tavern, one of the riders lifted a roughly-rolled cigarette to her lips, snapping a spark from her fingertips to set it alight.

Two shetona, by the look of it, one dark as coal, the other pale as snow. Both with ebony black hair that seemed to shed any sunlight that fell on it. As they reached the center of town, the female stopped, standing casually in the dust as her male companion continued to sidle into the tavern.

The woman seemed to be too comfortable for a stranger, though it was true that she had never been here before. With the banditry and violence that had run rampant in Tural since the dome appeared, she should have been terrified. No woman stood alone, outside, unless she had tired of living.

But there was an air about the woman. Some cold shadow that seemed to hang over her, something earned from turning your eyes to the dark corners of the earth, seeing the evil that lived there, and facing it with a smile, again, and again.

A crash rang out from the tavern, glass hitting polished wood. A few moments later, the male returned, slightly faster and with a bit less confidence. He was followed through the door by a massive lump of a man - a new Roe in town that called himself Mud.

Mud was as burly as he was stupid, and in the few short weeks he had been around, he’d already put two card cheats into the dirt. With no sheriff and no guns to turn to, the townsfolk had little choice but to tolerate him, and hope that the next group of bandits through town would recruit him and relieve them of his presence.

But it seemed like that was about to change.

The sun was high, now, burning and heavy in the sky. The air shimmered in the heat. Even the incessant whine of desert insects had fallen quiet. Too hot for crickets, it seemed. The male stranger paused at his companion’s side, whispering something to her, before moving past her toward the opposite end of the street.

Mud stopped in the middle of the road and stared at her. A handful of gawkers had been pulled outside in his great wake, and they now gathered on the porch of the tavern, half-hidden behind old dried out posts.

“There a reason you dust bunnies are interrupting my game?” Mud shouted, laughing to himself about the joke. What he lacked in wit, he made up for in memory, and he had been holding onto that insult for years. "Here to try to evict me?"

The stranger did not bristle. She finished a drag on her cigarette and let the warm butt fall to the dirt.

"This is bigger than that, now," the reply was barely above a whisper, but it carried through the town all the same. "You need to give me some information."

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” A tinge of anger already rose in Mud’s voice. He tossed his ratty poncho over one shoulder, revealing a rusted but menacing looking culverin dangling from his hip. “Who exactly do you think you are?”

The stranger threw open the sides of the dark linen duster that hung over her form, one hand now resting on the handle of a long revolver.

“Today, I'm just a bounty hunter that was supposed to be on vacation.”

The word ‘bounty’ was all the excuse Mud was looking for. With surprising dexterity, he lugged the massive gun up out of its holster, and into a two-handed grip, with the barrel fixated straight ahead.

Two blasts echoed through the town. The first, heavy and booming, as Mud’s weapon fired. The second was metallic and shrill, as his shot went far afield to put a massive dent in the side of the town’s water tower. The bounty hunter didn’t flinch. The bartender could have sworn she shined with a bright orange light, for just a moment, but would decide it was the glare of the sun as he retold the story over the coming years.

She raised her revolver with practiced precision, squeezing the trigger three times. Mud’s gun arm exploded, sending the weapon into the dirt under a pile of gore. The fourth round buried into his thigh, bringing him to his knees, and the fifth into his opposite shoulder, leaving his remaining arm dead and numb.

The stranger approached him, as Mud knelt panting in the dirt.

“Where’d you leave the girls, Mud?”

“What?” He whined, “What fucking girls?”

The stranger drove the barrel of her gun into Mud’s hefty ribs.

“The shetona girls your little posse rounded up last night.” Her thumb clicked back on the gun’s hammer. “I’m not asking twice.”

Mud gulped, blood running in rivulets from his lips.

“Warehouse,” he finally gasped out, “Other side of the tracks.”

“They hurt? You hurt them, Mud?”

“No! No, buyer pays more if they’re fresh.”

“Fresh?”

“He…”

Mud never got to finish that sentence, or any other. There wasn’t much left of him at all, in fact. When she was done, the stranger’s pistol glowed a dull red.

The two Viera riders had been in town for less than an hour, and left behind a story that outlived them both.

[threewaywithdelusion]

spinning (for you)

There’s something magical about the open road at night. 

They’re in the middle of nowhere, driving down a deserted highway in Steve’s Bimmer. It’s just them and the darkness and the endless Indiana summer air. Sometimes they drive under a street lamp and in the sudden puddle of light, Steve will be able to see Eddie's features. His big dark eyes and soft smile and the dimples in his cheeks. Steve is glad the road is empty and there are fields on either side because he can barely pay attention to the road when Eddie looks like this.

He can’t look away. Especially not when it feels like every glimpse could be his last. 

He’s mourning a relationship that isn’t yet over, but Steve’s been here before. He knows what it looks like when someone is falling out of love. He knows the feeling of kisses that only he initiates. The taste of bitter blood in the back of his mouth. 

He doesn’t think Eddie has realized it yet, that they’re racing towards the end. And Steve is nothing if not stubborn. He will hang onto this relationship by his fingertips until he’s bloody and bruised and he won’t let go until Eddie asks him to. 

It took Nancy almost a year to give up on Steve. Steve wonders if Eddie will be able to last longer. 

Probably not. They’re both too big for him, these beautiful, passionate people. Nancy with her sweet smile and her steady hands and her dreams of seeing her name in bylines in newspapers far, far away from Hawkins. Eddie, with his boundless energy and his quick fingers and his dreams of playing on stage for masses of adoring fans. 

Steve was never going to be enough for either of them. He should just be happy to have gotten a bit of their time. 

But he’s an inherently greedy thing. He wants forever and never more so than when he knows it’s out of reach. 

There’s nothing certain in this life but death and taxes and Robin, and Steve loves her more than anything else but she’s part of him. She’s his Self, like his blood and his guts and his brain. 

Steve can be lonely even with Robin there. Not lonely like a big, empty house. Lonely like the static of a record spinning after the music has already ended. 

She didn’t choose him. They’re trauma-bonded soulmates and she can’t separate Steve from herself any more than he can separate her from himself. 

Steve wants someone to want him, not just need him. 

He’d thought, for a moment, that Eddie could be that person. He’d fallen hard and fast, the way he always does, and miraculously Eddie had felt the same. They’ve had months of lazy kisses and rough sex. Of Eddie reading books aloud with Steve’s head resting in his lap. Of Steve cooking breakfast and the two of them sharing it, bite by bite. Of slow-dancing in Steve’s living room and head-banging in Eddie’s trailer. Of holding each other close after nightmares and mouthing over sun-warmed skin in grassy fields. 

Now, the late season heat feels heavier every day, one last gasp of summer before autumn sweeps it away, and Steve knows that when the cold comes it will find them already dead. 

Steve’s memory hasn’t been the same since the series of concussions, but he’s trying so hard to pay attention to all these little moments, like if he presses them hard enough into his synapses he might be able to keep them. 

Like right now, Eddie rolling the window down as they speed down the darkened roads. The wind lifts up Eddie’s curls, swirling them around so that Eddie is all flyaway hair and flashes of pale skin. He’s grinning, sticking a hand out the window to feel the air fly by, singing along to a new metal song that came out last week. 

He already knows all the words. 

“Ain’t it funny how it is? You never miss it ‘til it’s gone away,” Eddie sings. 

That’s not true, Steve thinks. I miss you and you aren’t even gone yet. 

Eddie launches into the chorus, which even Steve has heard enough times to know the words to. The hazards of dating a metalhead. 

“Come on, Stevie!” Eddie says. “I know you know it!”

He grabs one of Steve’s hands off the wheel and starts moving it back and forth in a silly little dance. Steve knows better than to attempt headbanging while driving (and Eddie laughs at his headbanging anyway, says Steve is too careful not to mess up his hair) so he shimmies side to side in a way that doesn’t fit the metal music at all. 

Eddie whoops like he doesn’t care. 

As the second verse comes on, Eddie sings at the top of his lungs and Steve rolls all the windows down. The wind whips through the car and it feels like they’re sitting in the middle of a storm. It’s electric. 

“Too much time on my hands! I got you on my mind!” Eddie sings. He’s lit up, completely in his element. Eddie feels larger than life sometimes and here, grinning as he sings into the abyss of the night sky, Steve could almost mistake him for a figment of his imagination. A pipe dream; too good to be true. 

The chorus explodes from the speakers and Steve joins in on the singing. 

“So-o-o, understand, don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years!”

Eddie’s fingers are tight around Steve’s, rings digging into his skin, and Steve hopes they’ll leave a mark, something he can look at later. A little piece of proof that this was real, that Eddie Munson chose to hold his hand. 

“Face up! Make your stand! And realize you’re living in the golden years!”

They’re dancing so hard the car is bouncing, Eddie’s hair flying everywhere, the wind whistling through the windows and the music roaring through the speakers. Steve’s blood is thrumming and in this moment, he feels so, so alive. 

He isn’t sure sometimes, that all of this is real. Isn’t convinced that he wasn’t eaten by a demodog in a junkyard. That he didn’t die deep in a Russian base. 

And even when he thinks he’s alive, he isn’t sure he’s real. Who the hell is Steve Harrington? A boy with a silver spoon in his mouth and parents he occasionally forgets exist? A guy who will practice keg stands in secret until he makes himself sick, all so he can volunteer to drink at a party and have everyone’s eyes on him? A devoted boyfriend who leaves notes in his girlfriend’s locker and kisses her in hallways, like he’s performing love for the masses, and doesn’t ever notice that she doesn’t love him back? An infallible hero, who can take hit after hit and always get back up?

Who is Steve when nobody is watching? Does he even exist?

In this moment, he feels like he does. He can feel Eddie’s skin and his own heartbeat and he thinks he likes whatever creature is sitting in the driver's seat, even if he’s not sure it’s Steve Harrington. 

So understand

Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years

Face up, make your stand

And realize you’re living in the golden years

As the song ends, Eddie whoops, loud and long. Steve laughs, enamored, and Eddie presses a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand. 

The next song to come on the station is Mötley Crüe and Eddie groans at the glam metal. 

Steve takes advantage of Eddie’s disdain to flip the station. This is how they pass control back and forth, each getting to stay on their preferred station until a song they don’t like comes on. Then the other person gets to take control of the music. 

Steve doesn’t particularly care what genre of music he listens to, so he usually gets more songs in a row. But metal songs last way longer than any other genre, so Steve and Eddie get about even time on each of their stations. 

A few months ago, Steve had thought that was a sign from the universe that they fit together. That they were in balance. 

A few months ago, Eddie tried to pretend to like glam metal so he could stay on his station and Steve didn’t know him well enough to call him on it. It was only once they’d been on Eddie’s station for two hours that Steve even thought to question it. In his defense, he was too busy watching Eddie headbang and sing and smile to pay attention to anything else. 

Last week, Steve lied about liking a song because he wanted to stay on his station for longer and Eddie rolled his eyes, not like he thought Steve was being cute, but like he was genuinely annoyed. 

Steve is always endearing until he isn’t, but he can never figure out why. He doesn’t think he changes his behavior — people just get bored or annoyed after a while. 

There’s something in him that’s unlovable. He’s not sure if it’s so deep within him that it takes people a while to find it or if it’s something obvious and superficial that grows tiring after a while, grating from overexposure. 

But Steve can feel the sands of time running low. 

“Alright!” says the DJ on the radio. “Next up, we have a request. This is for Jimmy, from Angela. This is Thank You For The Music by ABBA.”

Eddie lets out a loud groan and dramatically curls up in the passenger seat, hiding his face in his hands. 

Steve grins. For all that Eddie disdains pop radio, he has a fondness for ABBA. Steve has caught him many times bobbing his head along to the beat. Once, he even caught him singing Gimme Gimme Gimme, though Eddie maintains that when he does it, it’s out of gay rebellion and not appreciation for ABBA. 

“Nope!” Steve says cheerily. “I’m not letting you get away with this!”

He pulls the car onto the shoulder of the road and gets out, leaving his door open as he rounds the car to Eddie’s side. Eddie feigns reluctance but he lets Steve drag him out of the passenger seat and to the front of the car. They’re standing in the beam of the headlights, the only spot of light in the empty road, and Steve pulls Eddie into his arms. Properly. Like they’re slow-dancing, the way they do in Steve’s living room the nights they’re soft with each other. 

Those nights have been getting fewer and farther between and Steve wants one last dance. Here, outside the Hawkins town limits, in a place that’s both nowhere and anywhere. No expectations or history or promises to way them down. Nothing but the cicadas and the music filling the air. 

Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing

Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing

The song is a bit too upbeat for a slow dance, but Steve doesn’t let that deter him. He marches them back and forth, Eddie laughing as his feet get stepped on, and Steve feels a thrill at making him laugh. 

He keeps them going through the verse, but he can see Eddie beginning to look around. Maybe it’s the woods or the darkness or the bad memories creeping in. It’s normal. It’s fine. 

Except that Eddie is always getting distracted of late. Always looking away. 

Steve feels like a performer, desperately trying to be the star of the show. Like a child, asking his parents to be proud. 

Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty

What would life be

Steve spins out dramatically, throwing his arms wide, then twirls back into Eddie’s arms. Eddie fumbles to catch him, their feet getting tangled up, and when Eddie tips over, off-balance, Steve turns the motion into a dip. 

They’re clumsy and unpracticed and he’s sure the dip looks terrible. But Eddie’s yelp of fear cuts off into a surprised bark and when he meets Steve’s eyes, he’s impressed. 

Steve pulls Eddie upright again and they’re close together, breathing the same air, Eddie’s eyes huge, pupils tiny in the glow of the headlights. 

“You’ve got moves, Harrington,” he says. 

Steve smiles. Doesn’t say that a month ago Eddie would have called him Stevie. 

“Only when I have someone worth using them on,” he says instead, and it’s the kind of flirty, glib comment that belongs at the beginning of a relationship. Not at the end of one. 

It makes Eddie’s face fall a bit and Steve doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He was only trying to get Eddie to smile. 

He’s a disco ball; he’s a record. Spinning endlessly. Anything, anything as long as it will keep you looking. 

He wishes he knew what Eddie wants so he could become it. But he thinks it’s already too late. 

The bridge slows down and Eddie starts to take a step back, like the song is over. But Steve wants his perfect last dance. 

He pulls Eddie in close. His arms wrapped all the way around Eddie’s torso, Eddie’s folded over his shoulder. He tucks his face against Eddie’s neck, against all that soft, dark hair. Eddie smells like cigarettes and motor oil and the 2-in-1 shampoo Steve scoffs at but secretly loves the smell of. 

Eddie pulls him closer and they sway, side to side, way too slowly to match the music. 

Without a song or a dance, what are we? 

So I say thank you for the music

For giving it to me

As the last notes of the song ring out, Steve pulls Eddie into a kiss. It’s achingly slow, sweet but hungry. A desperate, tragic goodbye. 

Eddie steps away first, giving Steve a strange look. He starts for the passenger side door and Steve can’t bear to see this end, so he blurts out “Let’s lie on the hood. We can stargaze.”

Eddie stops and turns and for a moment Steve hopes. But then he says, “Maybe another night, baby. I’m tired and it’s late. We should get going.”

You’re always going. I’m always watching you leave. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. Swallows down the thickness is his voice. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He gets back into the car. Lets Eddie turns the radio down as he down a wide U-turn and points them back towards Hawkins. 

He glances over at Eddie, who is staring out the window. Watching the scenery go by, maybe. Or lost in thought. Somewhere Steve can’t reach him. 

Steve blinks furiously as he refocuses on the road, his throat tight. He wishes they were more than this. He wishes he were enough. 

He would be a firework show if it would make Eddie smile. He would be Eddie’s favorite lover; his stalwart best friend; the world’s best actor. He would be Eddie’s favorite song. 

But he can’t do any of that. All he can do is blink back the tears, put on a performance of a smile, and drive Eddie home. 

~~~

I'm still editing this, so feel free to give feedback. It's meant to give mirrorball vibes, is that coming through?

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 26 - Gray's Anatomy

You wake up. It's bad news.

On AO3.

Nothing. Floating? Time passes maybe. Or doesn’t. No focus. Just stillness, darkness, and nothing at all.

A shiver of sound. A single drop of rain gusted off the wet branches of a pine tree above you. Splats right on your forehead, cold and wet.

But nothing hurts. And you don’t want to. You’re tired. You’ve been tired a long time. Longer than this brainworm bullshit.

Another shiver. Almost words. All dry and rasping, but the nothing shivers around it.

Some bullshit. Just let you rest for fuck’s—

“Eleanor,” the voice rattles.

You slam back. Lungs seize, muscles scream and cramp and your body twists. Horrible noises wrench out of your throat. Ice and then terrific heat blasts through you and your vision sort of explodes.

And then it’s over.

You sprawl, boneless, mindless for a time. Dimly register someone moving over you. Tucking limbs in. Someone that smells faintly like flowers on a spring morning.

You drift into dreams. Fragments of them, anyway. Nothing you’ll remember later. Just your brain flailing around, trying to reconnect torn and jagged wiring.

The brainworm pulses in time to your heartbeat. Even it tries to hold you together. Hold some sense of you in place long enough for that strange, icy burn to finish sewing you back together.

When you open your eyes again, it’s dark.

This feels very déjà vu.

“Hello?” you say. Your vocal cords are shredded. The cough is automatic and pain roils through you.

Someone murmurs. A cool hand, fingertips rough with calluses slide under you. You recognize the scent. Shadowheart. She’s easing you up, bracing you against her. Then cool metal touches your lips and your body latches onto the first taste of water.

“Did Astarion bite me again?” you rasp.

She says a word, not English. Right. Language potion all used up.

You’re in a tent. Blue fabric above you, though it’s hard to tell in the low light. Quiet voices chatter outside. Your mouth tastes like you’ve been licking a week-dead skunk, and your bones creak when you move.

The fuck happened?

Shadowheart lifts what you now know is a bowl again. You sip more water. Let your throat work that down, and then polish off the rest. Only once that’s done does she let you lie back down.

You remember…walking? Sunlight. Being really tired.

Did…did you pass out?

Shadowheart leans out of the tent and calls to someone. Gale answers back. Footsteps crunch outside, and then he’s poking his head in. Surveys you. His smile is strange and tight around the edges. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Oh fuck.

“What,” you start to say, remember again that none of y’all can fucking understand one another.

He only nods and converses with Shadowheart. Who says the word “no” along with some verbs. Gale sighs and ducks back out.

“Um,” you say.

Then Shadowheart lifts one of her camping crackers. Says a verb you think in this context means “Eat this or I’ll make you.”

You really don’t want to. But expectation pours off of her, and she holds eye contact until you blink first and take the cracker. Force a nibble.

More footsteps. Ones you’re beginning to recognize as Gale, and the other…the other is fucking weird. Too light. Kind of dragging, almost? Like—

The tent flap lifts. Gale and—

You choke on a mouthful of cracker. Crumbs spray everywhere but you’re too busy trying—and failing—to throw yourself backwards in a primal scream as Wither’s desiccated face peers down at you.

“Jesus,” you manage, still choking (sorry, Shadowheart).

Withers doesn’t seem bothered. Withers never seems bothered by anything. You’re not even sure he notices the rest of the world around him. No idea what goes on in that shriveled brain (does he have a brain? how does that even work and why does your mind insist it looks like a crusty, dehydrated old sponge?).

The others speak. You catch your name a few times.

“It was not thouest time,” Withers says. Holy fuck, his voice should not echo like that. Nothing should sound like that and you should absolutely, definitely not be fucking around with dead people.

Gale seems exasperated for some reason. Gestures to you.

“Ah. The limits of the mortal tongue. Very well, if I must.” Never have you heard a mummy sound so dry. Then he turns to you and all thought flees into the night. “Thou was conceived of a different plane. As thouest body is born from it, so is thouest soul. As one was removed from that plane, the bond betweenst the two strains, and will, in time, sever.”

You gawk. Lot of old-timey words in there. A lot of mystical woo woo shit.

“My soul?” you manage.

“Indeed.”

“It’s not…” Real, you want to say. No heaven, no hell, no great judgment day for your mother and her husband and their band of psychos to sweep the “unclean” from the earth in the lord’s name. “It’s still…on earth?”

“Tied to the pane that bore it, yes.”

But you are here. So…

“Did I just fucking die?” you say.

“Indeed. Thouest body lives and breathes, but thouest soul remains connected by merely a single thread. One that frays, even now.”

You look at him. Look at Gale and Shadowheart. Who both wear the grimmest expressions you’ve ever seen on them. And you’ve seen them picking over eviscerated bodies.

“Can you fix it?” you say. Your throat is tight and your voice comes out all strained and pathetic.

“As such, that is beyond my power,” Withers says and everything goes sort of numb.

You…are dying. Like, actively. That’s what he’s saying. You apparently have a real soul, and it’s not in fucking Faerun with the rest of you, and that’s going to kill you.

“However, I can anchor thee. Strengthen the bond between thouest soul and flesh for a time.

Gale makes a motion to you. Taps his temple. Your brainworm twitches. He’s asking permission for a mindwhammy.

Well fuck. This is, this is all a little much. Sure. Whatever. Why not.

You think of your own worm. Of the way it felt when it pulled at that dead guy.

There. Something in Gale. The parasite shivers, reaching, wanting.

It connects.

This isn’t the wild flood Astarion triggered. This is tighter, more focused even as your skull pounds and the damn thing crocodile rolls along the inner curve of your brain cavity.

A potion. Gale’s thoughts are narrow and focused, less a blast of sunlight, and more a narrow laser beam. And that thought must leak across because you feel him pause, feel thoughts moving like great gears in his mind before he forces that aside. And he’s not thinking in words, exactly. More ideas and visuals and feelings. And there, swimming around all of that, a touch of fear. Not entirely for you. Something deeper, darker, far more personal—

A shove. You almost lose the connection. It was him, redirecting you. He gives you a small shake of his head.

No prying. Even unintentionally.

Don ’t want to do this too often. No idea if it will strengthen the parasite.

Ah, makes sense.

I have the ingredients. Very common. Steady supply. Will have the first batch in the morning. Strengthen your ties to this plane, coax your soul closer. Withers gave instructions. But more needed …

The connection wriggles. Loosens. He fumbles for it, a kite string unspooling out of control, the kite caught in a massive gust.

Need relic. Summon your soul and contain it.

The connection snaps. The both of you fall back, reeling.

“Fuck!” you say and slam your hand over your right eye. The pain throbs for a moment before it begins to soften, to dim, to fade.

Leaving…no pain. For the first time in days, your mind is clear. Battered and bruised, but not locked in a vice of agony.

Your soul fraying from your body. Fuck a duck.

“Thou shall remain until the time is right,” Withers says all cryptic, like a magical, talking fucking mummy. And that seems to be that. He just turns and leaves all of you there.

“Sorry,” Gale says (you’ve picked that one up by now). Gestures. You think he means to ask if you’re alright.

You’re not. You’re anything but. Your face is going hot in a way that usually means sobbing, but everyone is all staring at you, and you crunch down hard on the inside of your cheek.

Don’t. You can’t fucking do that, don’t you do that. You will not cry in front of these people. You will not give them or anybody that. Never. Never again. Stop.

You give Gale a thumbs up.

Which he seems to understand? Sure.

He nods and leaves. Off to make the potion to keep your soul from flying off into space or whatever. Because that’s something you get to worry about now, how fun.

Magic is going to be the only thing keeping you alive. Potions. Cause that’s going so swimmingly right now, too.

Shadowheart finally leaves you to rest. Lets the tent flap close behind her. Leaving you in the dark, where you can turn away, pull the blanket up, over your head, and scream silently. You have a lot of practice at that. Know how to quiet the gasps in between so none of them ever come and check on you. You can suffer alone and in silence. You’re good at that.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[lumyart]

oos next chapter sneak peek pretty please please please😔😔😔

Took me too long to answer and to edit so have smut as a peace offering and teaser while i cry and try to finish the last 400 words missing from the next update😭

'The menacing metal teeth of two identical clamps rest in the center of her palm, offered like a blessing, proposed like a sweetened curse.

The tip of her breasts tingle in anticipated pain, revel in imagining what will soon course through her body to join the heat pooling between her thighs. Rhaenyra presses on their ends, watching, entranced, as their teeth part to tease, murmuring a shiver down her back - a spell of arousal curling around her body and rendering it useless, helpless to resist Rhaenyra’s orders.

"Open your mouth."

Her lips part immediately.

Rhaenyra places a soft kiss on her temple, tender, an image opposite to the sweet torture held between her fingertips. A show of gratefulness, as Alicent interprets it.

"Warm these up for me while I get you ready."

Rhaenyra closes the clamps again and places them on her tongue, nudging her chin for her mouth to close around the cold metal. The concentration required to hold them on the trembling surface of her tongue distracts her mind from its connection to her body, and a whimper is stolen from her throat when two fingertips wrap around her nipple, harsh and demanding. "We wouldn't want those sweet little things in too much pain, do we?"

Alicent cannot answer, but she knows it isn't expected of her.'

[sennamybeloved]

KISS PROMPT FORRRRRRRRRRRR MARLENE

WEEEEEEE ITS OUR 2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY TODAY!!!!!! <3333 i got 31 - while laughing :)

tag list: @caracello @minkymeatshop @connor-roys + winter 👹

all reblogs are appreciated !

Bluejay’s hands are so jittery- she can’t even open the little wooden box that she cradles in her fingers, the little wooden box that's been stowed beside her bed for weeks now. She's been watching it collect dust as she impatiently awaits the day- this day- when she will finally pass it off to its rightful owner.

When she does get it open, pushing up the metal latch and forcing the stiff hinges open, she feels relief when her gaze lands on the present that resides within; a necklace, with a glittering silver chain and a charm in the shape of a star. It’s very simple, but it's also very beautiful.

Trembling fingers graze the metallic surface of the charm. She wants to hold it, to observe it more closely, one last time before it is no longer hers, but she lacks the motor control needed to do so.

She surrenders to her own anxiety, closing the box and stuffing it back into the pocket of her sweatpants. She then reaches her other hand into her other pocket, feeling around for the two follow-up gifts. She touches a crystal (clear quartz, smooth and cold against her fingertips) and a perfume roller that is scented like patchouli and frankincense.

She has everything. She just needs to get home now.

Rain beats down on her back as she trudges along their neighborhood’s sidewalk. Rainwater soaks through her worn Converse—a pair of shoes she would not have worn today if she had known of the impending downpour. Her jacket wasn’t designed to withstand these kinds of conditions, so water begins to seep through it, soaking her clothes. She’s shivering, teeth chattering as she stuffs her hands deeper into her pockets, trying to stay warm despite herself.

Just ahead, through the misty haze, she sees their house. She breaks into a light jog, kicking up water as she rushes up to their front door. After fumbling with their lock for a moment too long, she bursts inside, stumbling out of the frigid rain and into the comfort of her own home. The relief is near instantaneous; the heat both warms her and dries her, and the absence of puddles sloshing and thunder cracking in her ears is more than welcome.

Re-composing herself, Bluejay calls out to her girlfriend. “Marlene?”

While awaiting a response, she strips off her coat, her hat, her shoes. She rings out the end of her shirt and smoothes out the creases in her pants. Fingers comb through damp hair, attempting to set it back into place. She needs to look good for this- it is their anniversary, after all.

Soon, Bluejay hears footsteps thumping down the stairs. Stumbling hurriedly out of the mudroom, she spots Marlene emerging from the stairwell. She’s still wearing her nightclothes- old sweatpants and a tattered tank top. Her loose curls are pulled back into a bun, yet a few stray ones fall into her face. She looks just as beautiful as she always does. Bluejay feels her mouth growing dry and her nerves going wrought, as if she’s speaking to a fleeting crush and not the girl she’s loved and adored for two whole years now.

“Hey,” Marlene greets, offering Bluejay a kind half-smile. “You look damp.”

Bluejay takes a moment to search Marlene’s face for a hint of recognition; a glint in her eye that hints at her having something fun planned for their special day, or perhaps something to suggest that she at least remembers it. But no, she looks to be herself, plainly.

She forgot their anniversary last year too.

“Uhuh,” Bluejay huffs, attempting to shake the water off her arms. “That's very observant of you, honey.”

Marlene chuckles a little. “Thanks. Want me to get you a towel?”

“Yes please.” Bluejay laughs. Maybe then, she can sit down on the couch, rest her legs, turn off her brain for a minute… before she has to give Marlene her gifts.

So, as Marlene walks off to fetch her a towel, Bluejay makes her way over to the couch. It’s an old, tattered thing, yet it is still very comfortable even after years and years of weathering. She doesn’t care much for its appearance, so she has no qualms with plopping her damp body right on top of it.

She takes this brief moment of solitude to check her pockets again. Wooden box with the necklace still inside, crystal, perfume roller. She sighs, long and heavy—why is she so nervous?

She picks her head up when Marlene comes back into view, carrying a freshly washed towel- she tosses it to Bluejay, who is delighted to find that it is still warm from the wash. She dries her face, her hands and arms, her hair. Her clothes are still very, very wet, but this feels a whole lot better.

“Where even were you?” Marlene asks as she sits down on the couch beside Bluejay. “I mean, what compelled you to take a walk during a storm?”

Huh. What a perfect segway.

“I like just the rain,” Bluejay begins with a little chuckle. “But nah, I, uh- I was buying some things. Two things, actually… and, uhm. They’re for you.”

The delivery is far from perfect, but that’s okay. She watches Marlene’s eyes go wide with intrigue at the prospect

“Oh?” She tips head to the sides, loose curls falling over her face. “What do you mean?”

Bluejay opens her mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. She only manages to stutter incomprehensibly for a moment or two. She halts herself, biting her tongue as she draws in a harsh breath. “I, uhm… okay.” She laughs anxiously. “Trying this again. Ahem.”

She reaches out, taking one of Marlene’s hand in two of her own. Her anxiety is climbing, doubts roaring in the back of her mind, threatening to come surface. Is she positive that it is the 16th? Yes, yes she is. She double- no, triple-checked. Once this morning, twice at the store. She just needs to go for it.

“It is our two year anniversary today,” she states, unable to keep herself from smiling. “Two years ago today, I bit the bullet and asked you to be my girlfriend. You said yes, obviously, and here we are. Two whole years later.”

There it is, that look of recognition. Surprise morphs into satisfaction which quickly distorts into fear. Bluejay isn’t upset that Marlene forget; she makes up for it by being wonderful every other day of the year. Besides, Bluejay let her forget last year, because she didn’t have anything planned.

But things are different this year. She has something planned, and it's going to be great.

"Bluejay..." Marlene breathes, speaking in a tone that is partly fond and partly said. That look on her face—so gentle and so genuine—melts Bluejay's heart. She smiles at her and keeps on talking.

"And to celebrate our anniversary, I got you some gifts. Just some little things, don't sweat it too much. Uhm..." she reaches into her pocket for the thousandth time, pulling out that fated wooden box. She hands it off to Marlene in a manner that is almost urgent, one that says get this away from me, whereas Marlene takes it in her own hands so carefully, cradling it as if it is something precious.

With fingers that are stronger and steadier than Bluejay's have ever been, she opens the box. Her eyes light up like fireworks when she sees what resides within.

"Oh wow," she laughs warmly as she picks up the necklace, taking a moment to inspect it carefully. Bluejay's nerves melt away when she sees how happy Marlene looks- she sort of knew the necklace would be a hit. Stars are one of Bluejay's things, and silver (especially silver jewelry) is totally a Marlene thing. It's the perfect anniversary gift.

"Bluejay, I love it..." Marlene tells her, and Bluejay chuckles bashfully.

"I'm really glad you do," she says. She wrings her hands in a manner that is both excited and anxious. "Put it on! It's gonna look great on you."

Marlene was already halfway there, pushing away stray curls as she fastens the silver pendant around her neck. It sits so perfectly on her chest, accenting her strong up body in the way necklaces always do. Bluejay feels a warmth creeping across her face and a grin pulling at her mouth.

"Yeah, you're beautiful," She says, and Marlene smiles back at her, averting her eyes coyly.

She shuffles through her other pocket, fumbling with the two smaller gifts for a moment before revealing them unceremoniously. "A crystal. Clear quartz. Since, uhm... you showed some interest in my crystals. And a perfume roller, patchouli and frankincense." She dumps them into Marlene's hands, and with that, the most nerve-wracking part is done. She looks up at Marlene's face, who looks surprised but also happy; her smile is unwavering as she inspects both of the trinkets.

"Thank you." She says, and Bluejay can tell that it is genuine. "You're so sweet, I... you didn't have to do all this, you know."

Bluejay nods. "I know..." She places a reassuring hand on Marlene's leg. "But I wanted to. Because you deserve it, babe."

Marlene opens her mouth to speak, but all she can manage is yet another little chuckle. She's flustered and taken aback, that much is clear, but as long as she is happy...

"I just want you to know that I care about you," Bluejay rambles on. "And that I am just as grateful to have you now as I was back then."

"Thank you, Blue." Marlene says again, slightly more sober this time. Bluejay's anxiety is reflected on her face as her once happy expression mellows out into one that is slightly more somber. She wears a faint, nervous smile on her lips as she confesses to Bluejay which she already knows, "This is lovely, really. I'm grateful. I just... I forgot it was our anniversary."

Bluejay can't help but laugh. "I know you did. I don't care, seriously. You're fine."

Marlene is silent for a moment. Then, perhaps only because Bluejay is laughing, she begins laughing, too.

They're both laughing now. At what, they aren't exactly sure, but Bluejay feels a lot less nervous and she hopes that Marlene feels a lot less guilty.

Bluejay nuzzles her face into Marlene's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her waist in a sideways half-hug. She leaves kisses her on her shoulder, her jawline, her cheek. Marlene brings a hand up to cradle Bluejay's face as she kisses her. A messy, open-mouthed kiss that is all teeth and laughter.

They fall into each other's arms like it is second nature to them, embracing each other warmly and surely. Bluejay's head resumes its place atop Marlene's shoulder. She sighs a long, tired sigh of relief as she snuggles up to her. This couldn't have gone better.

The pair exist in comfortable silence for a moment, but only for a moment. "Why didn't you remind me last year?" Marlene asks.

"Because I didn't have anything planned," Bluejay scoffs. "I felt bad."

Marlene sighs, rolling her eyes. "Oh my god..."

Bluejay giggles, hugging her just a little tighter. "Sorry. Maybe I can like... help you set a reminder for next year."

Marlene's fingers trace the edges of Bluejay's shoulder blades, her head turning so that she can press her face into her tangled black hair. "Yeah. I'll get you back for this next year. Count on it."