liyatea

[angstics]

gerard way at soma san diego (sept 29, 2005) | lj: mindriot19

[silver-scripts]

You're my downfall, you're my muse

pairing: Lockwood & Lucy

summary: Lockwood goes to grab Lucy’s spectre drawings to add to their report, only to grab the wrong sketchbook and find himself staring face to face with drawings of himself. Or the one where Lockwood is Lucy’s muse

word count: 2.3k

crossposted: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50742568/chapters/128515513

Lucy was sprawled out on her bed, idling flipping through a comic book George had lent her. He’d practically begged her to read it; he said he needed someone to talk to about it, and when Lockwood had declared he was too busy, George turned his bright-eyed gaze to her.

She’d folded to his puppy-dog eyes.

Anyways, she’d found herself surprising enthralled by the plot. She was so engrossed in it that it took her a few moments to hear the gentle knock on the loft door.

“I’m almost done, George! Hold on.”

The door opened, and Lucy didn’t take her eyes off the comic as footsteps entered the room.

But it Lockwood who cleared his throat.

“It’s me, actually,” he said, teetering on his heals. He flexed his fingers in front of his chest.

“Sorry,” Lucy said. “I just figured…” she trailed off. “Anyways, what can I do for you?”

“Holly’s putting together the report for Tuesday’s job. She said you had some done some sketches of the spectres that she wanted to include?”

“Oh, right.” Lucy waved a hand dismissively and returned her gaze to the comic book. “They should be on my desk. You can grab them.”

Lockwood looked across the room at the sprawling mess of papers threatening to spill off Lucy’s desk. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Lucy turned a page in the comic book as Lockwood walked past her, the corner of her eye following him as his lean figure settled before her desk and ruffled through a few pages there.

She glanced up at him through her eyelashes and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. So sue her if she allowed herself a quiet moment to appreciate the curve of his shoulders, the shape of his back. She watched as Lockwood rifled through a pile of papers and a stray sketch feathered its way to the floor, escaping his notice. Carefully, he picked up a small notebook, preparing to move it aside.

Lucy went cold.

“Wait, Lockwood.” She scrambled off the bed in a rush, knocking George’s comic book to the floor. Icy panic filled her veins as she stumbled over to him. Her sketches for work were on the desk, sure, along with the sketchbook she typically ripped them out of.

But there were two sketchbooks. And Lockwood was holding the wrong one.

Lucy suddenly felt very light-headed.

In slow motion, she watched as Lockwood fingered the place-marker ribbon at the bottom of the book and flipped open to the marked page. Her feet felt leaden beneath her. Some kind of chasm had opened up in the pit of her stomach and began to consume her insides. She felt altogether like she was disintegrating from the inside out.

No. The singular word repeated over and over in her brain, blocking out everything else. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. “That’s…” she started, her mouth painfully dry. There wasn’t a word to fill in the blank, so the sentence trailed off awkwardly. Private, she wanted to say. Stupid.

Lockwood ran a delicate finger down the length of the drawing, letting out a shallow breath.

“Me,” he breathed.

Well, it was that too.

The page he’d opened to was a sketch of him lazing in the library; feet draped over the side of the arm chair, his arm supporting his head as he flipped through one of his magazines. The lighting had been so soft, so hazy, that he looked like he’d walked out of a dream, that night. The fire had danced in his eyes as he read, lit the laugh lines on his face when he snorted at some idle piece of gossip in the news. Lucy couldn’t resist the urge to sketch him, then. She never could.

Before she could stop him, Lockwood turned the page in her sketchbook, and there he was again, rapier raised high in a defensive maneuver against Lady Esmeralda, his brow creased in concentration. His sleeves were pulled high up his arms, drawing an obnoxious amount of attention to the muscles in his forearms. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was biting his lip. Worse yet, his shirt had come untucked slightly in the back, revealing a small strip of skin that Lucy had had trouble tearing her gaze away from. She regretted, now, the care and detail with which she had rendered it, and felt a hazy blush creep up her cheeks at the memory.

The opposing page had a drawing of him in the kitchen, scrawling something on the Thinking Cloth. He had a hand tangled in his hair, which was askew in several places from him tugging at it in frustration. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his brows were furrowed in thought. The early morning light had washed him in an almost angelic glow; the ring of light above his head had even supplied a halo effect.

“Lockwood,” she started, feeling uncomfortably sick.

As if he didn’t hear her, he turned the page again. On it, a sketched version of himself was lounging in the shade of the apple tree in the back garden. It was so rare that Lockwood & Co. had any free time, and when they did, it was often colored with a feeling of unrest, like they should be out doing something. This had been one of the rare days where they not only had free time, but had felt inclined to use it to enjoy a rare sunny autumn day; Lockwood held an apple idly in his hand and was using a knife to cut off small chunks of it at a time. His mouth was spread wide in one of his signature grins, and his eyes were squinting slightly from the sun.

Lockwood — the real one — looked up from the page like he was coming out of a trance. He turned to look at Lucy, and she wished, not for the first time, that she was able to read him. She could sense the emotions of visitors just fine, but her talent with the dead apparently didn’t extend to the living. She could never tell what his expressions meant.

“This is…” he started, his eyes wide.

Lucy’s face felt like it was on fire. “I know. I’m sorry,” she said quickly. She fumbled with the papers on her desk, desperate to busy her hands with something, and flipped desperately through the drawings before she found the ones of the spectre Lockwood had come looking for.

Lockwood had turned the page again when she wasn’t looking, revealing a drawing of him standing with his back to her, coat flapping in the wind. They’d been standing in the front garden of one of their jobs, waiting for night to come. In a panic, Lucy ripped the book out of his hands and tossed it back on her desk.

“Right, well.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and pushed the spectre drawings towards him, but he looked as if he were ghost-locked. His hands still hung in the air as if he was holding an invisible sketchbook. “Lockwood?” she asked.

He blinked, dropping his arms. He looked at the sketchbook where it now lay haphazardly on the edge of the desk. The tiniest of creases had formed between his eyebrows. Were she not so used to studying his face (and then drawing it), she probably wouldn’t have noticed. “You…” he began.

“Please,” Lucy pleaded, desperate to avoid whatever accusation she knew was waiting on the tip of his tongue. She pushed the spectre drawings towards him again, feeling if he stayed a moment longer, she was going to start crying out of sheer embarrassment. “Just take these and go.”

Lockwood let out a shaky breath. He reached forwards, running a finger over the cover of the discarded sketchbook. Lucy felt her heart roaring in her ears. It would be just like her to make this entire situation worse by throwing up on his shoes.

“You draw me,” he whispered. It felt more like he was speaking the words to himself, simply thinking out loud, than it felt like he was talking to her.

Lucy set down the spectre drawings with a sigh, her hand falling loosely to her desk. She prayed he wouldn’t open the book again and discover just how many of those drawing there truly were. “Only sometimes,” she admitted quietly.

“No one’s ever…” he started, glancing up at her. She’d seen him look at her a thousand times, but the way he was looking at her now froze her in place. It felt like his eyes were looking into the deepest recesses of her soul, had peered straight into her heart and seen the truth in it. It only made her panic even more. It wasn’t hard to jump from the drawings to the obvious conclusion — there was only one reason she’d spend so much of her time painstakingly rendering him again and again.

She could feel her brain already trying to come up with ways to deflect the truth. They were just drawings, after all. She spent most of her free time drawing!

“They’re stupid, sorry. You should see the ones I’ve drawn of George. Or Holly, for that matter.” The words poured out of her in quick succession. “The lighting in this house is just really great, and all, and sometimes it’s nice to not just draw Visitors and floor plans, you know? And-”

Lockwood grabbed her face and kissed her.

If Lucy had known he’d kiss her to shut her up, she would have made more of an effort to ramble on about nothing in the past.

His fingers pressed delicately against her chin and the side of his cheek. The heat from his touch warmed her, the feeling akin to the first sip of tea on a chilly morning.

Lockwood’s gentle, questioning kiss grew hungry when he felt Lucy kiss him back. His grip on her grew desperate, and he took a step forwards, forcing Lucy’s back against the desk. The force of it knocked over her pencil cup, sending various writing supplies clattering loudly to the wooden floor.

Lockwood started at the noise and pulled away, as if remembering himself. His eyes shone, but almost immediately that light grew clouded. He pressed his swollen lips together and took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He avoided her gaze, and his cheeks flared with color, spreading to the tips of his ears. “That was… unprofessional of me, to say the least.”

Lucy’s immediate thought was that she didn’t care if it was unprofessional. Mostly, she cared that he had stopped. She wanted to grab his tie and pull his mouth back to hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She was still leaning haphazardly against the desk, and Lockwood swallowed hard before reaching around her to finally grab the spectre drawings. His arm brushed against hers, and his closeness sent her spiraling.

Say something, she chided herself. But she felt wholly frozen in place.

“Right, well. I’ll just take these.” He nodded at her and turned around, the edge of his foot pressing against the comic book that still lay strewn on the floor. Tenderly, Lockwood bent down, picked it up, and placed it delicately on the edge of her bed.

She knew the moment was breaking, knew she was losing her chance. But what was she supposed to do?

“Lockwood,” she said, her mouth moving before she could stop it. He hesitated. He never hesitated. Lockwood turned, but she hadn’t planned this far. Her face felt hot — some awful mix of embarrassment and attraction — and she was fairly certain her mouth was hanging open. He looked at her expectantly, and words tumbled out of her mouth before she even knew what she was going to say. “Don’t just… leave.”

Lockwood forced a smile. “I just… figured I’d save myself the embarrassment and see myself out.”

“Embarrassment?” she asked. The incredulous lilt in her tone made Lockwood wince slightly, but she was so shocked by his statement that she nearly had to laugh. “Why are you embarrassed?”

His face lifted in confusion. “I just…“ he started. “Got caught up in the moment, I guess. I didn’t mean…” he trailed off.

To kiss me?

Lockwood’s cheeks were flushed, and he looked wholly unsure of himself. He stood at a slight angle, like he was desperate to leave the room as quickly as possible.

And then something clicked in Lucy’s head.

He’s embarrassed because he doesn’t think I wanted to kiss him.

Lockwood shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Lucy just blinked at him.

“It’s okay,” he said tightly. “I can just… go.”

The words settled in the air, and really, Lucy couldn’t believe him. It felt like everyone was always making quips about how she looked at him, so while she’d been terrified when he’d seen the drawings, there’d been a small part of her that had figured he’d already known the truth.

But she hadn’t considered this.

“Gods, are you that thick?”

Hurt flashed across Lockwood’s face, but it was gone in an instant, because with two steps Lucy had crossed the room and kissed him. Embarrassingly, she had to step up to her toes to reach him, but Lockwood didn’t seem to mind. The drawings forgotten, they fell to the floor as he immediately tangled a hand in Lucy’s hair, the other settling on the square of her back. He pulled at her waist, tugging her closer still. He tasted of honey and mint, and a sweetness that melted Lucy to her core.

Breathless, Lockwood pulled away. His eyes were bright, if not a bit confused, as he searched her face. “What…?” he asked. The blush had returned to his cheeks, and it seemed he was having trouble not smiling.

“Why the hell do you think I draw you so much, you idiot?”

Lockwood’s blush deepened as his grin spread wider across his face.

[graysmiles-world]

1800s Steddie Vampire AU

The moon was high when Steve entered the cemetery, as it was most nights. It led him down the path, past the already dug up and reburied graves of many who had already passed. Despite the fact that he did not believe in the resurrection from those beyond the grave, a job was a job. And this was a job that paid particularly well. No one wants to come and speak to the dead, much less to exhume their bones and check for any fresh blood in their veins.

He picked up the shovel when he passed it on his hike. It always moved locations, night after night. Sometimes by the pine on the hill, others near the back of the cemetery with its handle stuck through the fence. And once, propped up so nicely, waiting for him, at the iron gate. 

Yet Steve ignored these peculiar things. Just as he ignored the way that he felt cold hands trailing across his shoulders, and tiny hands tugging at his coat. If one were to stop and think of everything strange that occurred in the cemetery in the moonlight, they would stand there until they themselves were just another one of the bodies buried beneath the living.

The dirt was dry and  crackled underneath his boots as Steve walked, matching the dead leaves upon the branches above him. The land had suffered drought in the many previous months, not helping the already awful curse that had struck the town and many more like it.

But the night was humid, and Steve could smell the petrichor as he moved about to his assignment. There was a storm brewing in the distance, making the already terrible gooseflesh rise even more along the back of his arms and neck.

Finally, he reached the grave of the man he was to dig up. Edison Munson, Steve was told earlier that day by his supervisor. The first to die in his apartment building of consumption, over a year before. His uncle had followed, and so had numerous others. And now little Maxine was sick, so her mother pled for help - and the doctor had sent Steve. Luckily, Edison’s uncle was a soft man, and he placed a marker next to the mound of dirt with the initials EM and 20. 

Steve heaved one great breath of fresh air before pulling up the cloth around his mouth and nose. He had learned that the stench of the dead was highly muffled by the dirt. And once that was gone, it felt like the curse itself was reaching inside one’s lungs and squeezing it to its death.

Steve set down the lantern he’d been carrying all this way next to the marker. He placed the tip of his shovel into the dirt and leaned down, bearing all his weight onto it. The sweat gathered on his brow and dropped onto the dry earth, leaving a darkened spot behind. 

He worked for over two candle marks, jumping at the clang of the metal against the bottom of the lantern. Thankfully, the light had not gone out yet. Multiple times, when Steve had been in the middle of digging - his lantern had gone out and would not be able to be relit. If the moon was bright enough he would continue by its light, but if not - he would be forced to return on the next evening to resume his work - praying that the cemetery would allow him to finish his job.

Robin wouldn’t be able to last a minute in here, he knew. She had tried once, months ago when Steve first started. She was able to make it twenty paces in before something tickled the back of her neck and she was racing out of there. Steve, who had already grown used to the strangeness of the area, only looked at her with confusion. But ever since then, she had refused to come back: claiming that she was only to return in a coffin herself. 

Instead, she found work as a laundress, marking the end of two years of them working only together. Steve would have been happy to quit himself, but the job made too much and Robin made too little to be able to support both of them in their one-room apartment.

She was deathly afraid of dying of consumption, and living on the street would only exhaust that risk: so here Steve was. Digging up dead people to check if they were the carriers of this malediction. He hummed as he worked, a jaunty little tune he’d heard in a tavern a few nights previous. It wasn’t Steve’s usual preference, but the song was catchy and he felt it was great to entertain himself while working. 

Steve finally finished, setting his shovel aside and moving to get a better view of the plain wooden coffin. This was usual for many who died in the past few years, except if they were extremely wealthy. What was not usual, however, was the way that the edges of the top curved up, and the lightened scratches among the wood. 

Steve lowered himself to his knees beside the coffin and checked his mask before wiggling his dirtied and cracked fingers between the top and the bottom of the coffin and yanking up. The nails came out much easier than expected and experienced, but Steve was too busy looking at the body within it to particularly care.

Steve has had this job for a while now. He’s seen bodies new and old, crumbling and still rotting. But never in his life had he seen a body that looked like this.

It was the most beautiful person Steve had ever seen. More beautiful than Nancy, his ex-fiancee, and more gorgeous than any other woman he’s courted or any girls working the street.

His skin was pale, glowing in the moonlight. His hair was dark, darker than Steve’s, and curled - reaching his shoulders. His fingers, long and thimble, crossed over his chest. Steve wished he had seen this man alive if only to catch sight of his eyes and to feel his gaze upon him. 

But this was impossible, Steve knew. A body that was dead for this long would be only bones. No soft tissue left. 

Hell, even recently deceased persons were not as otherworldly as this man. Steve had attended Nancy’s funeral and he could still remember how gaunt her cheeks were, how flat and limp her hair was. He remembered the rest of her family’s funerals as well, the thinness of Micheal’s hands, the way baby Holly’s chest seemed to cave into itself. 

Steve looked around him, not knowing if what he was seeing was real or not. Perhaps he was only dreamin, or had been so sleep-deprived that his mind made up this man because he was so touch-starved for affection. Or maybe he was now cursed, and hallucinations were the first stage.

But whatever it was, it was still there when he looked back at Edison. Steve’s shoulders slumped, and his head went foggy.

It was like when he and Robin were prescribed some strange medications for a fever a while back. It made everything so loopy and he felt like he was about to float up into the air and far, far, away.

This was similar, but instead of feeling like he was floating off into the atmosphere, Steve felt as if something was tugging him down to Earth. Deep into Earth. To Edison.

There was a pulling sensation at the center of his chest, at his beating heart. Like a string was wrapped around it and yanking out from behind his ribs and out of his chest. His body was a sacrifice, made and grown to be consumed by Edison. Steve reached out a shaking hand and placed it atop Edison’s. It was ice cold, freezing the blood in his veins and traveling up his arms. There was no way that Edison’s heart still beat. Yet, still, Steve’s own heart was pulling him closer and closer. He slowly reached up to remove the cloth covering his nose and mouth, leaving it dangling around his neck. 

Steve leaned up and over the side of the coffin, closer to Edison. He was a ballon, being tethered to place. His head bounced all over the place but was still steadily moving towards the corpse.

Something in Steve knew he should be freaking out. Thoughts screaming for him to get out of there, to run, overturned by the pressing thought of closer. Steve needed to get closer. 

All anxieties were out of view. Being disowned and left by his parents, not being able to find someone to love, the fact that he was a grave digger, and that his eyes dragged towards boys as often as girls. 

Nothing mattered except Edison. 

Steve was close enough to Edison’s face that if he were breathing, Steve would be able to feel his warm breath on his cheek. A stone dropped in his chest when he realized he couldn’t. His lips we magnets, moving towards Edison’s until they were pressed together.

Cold and chapped, and Steve just breathed out into Edison’s mouth once before the trance broke. 

Steve lunged back from the coffin. He whipped his head around wildly, searching to see if someone, anyone, had seen the sin he’d just committed. He didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be, and so his breathing settled when he realized he was still alone. His lantern had long since gone out, and he looked around himself with only the moonlight. 

Nothing had changed. The Earth had not shaken from his actions, and his heart, and lungs had not leaped from his chest. 

He laid back in the dried grass and dirt, uncaring of how dirty his hair was becoming and how annoying it would be to try and wash it with the water from the basin. 

Steve just worked on just breathing. In, out. In, out.

After a few moments, he felt alright enough to raise himself onto his hands, looking back at the coffin and how it lay so unassuming in the dirt. 

He sat up completely and moved to his feet, creeping unsteadily towards the wooden coffin. I’m just going crazy, Steve told himself. There will just be a body there, and then you can do your job. 

Steve looked over the edge of the coffin, convincing himself that Edison would still be there: dead as a doornail. 

There was nothing there. Not a scratch, not a tuff of fabric or hair to show that the coffin had been used in the first place. 

Steve felt like his throat was seizing up, and he stumbled back, trying to get away as fast as possible. He just needed to get out of there, and then he could flag down a carriage and get to his apartment. He’ll wake Robin and tell her what happened and in the morning they’ll go out looking for new work. 

But his plans were foiled when he rammed into something solid frigid. 

“Well,” warm breath ghosted against his bare neck. The cloth around it felt more like a noose than protection now. “I never expected to wake up to someone so pretty.”

Steve turned around as quickly as possible. He’s heard and felt lots of things in this cemetery, but this was the most real by far. It seemed the dead didn’t want to stay buried when a living, breathing, person was there. 

“Edison,” Steve breathed, eyes darting around the corpse that was just lying in the coffin minutes ago. They stood toe to toe, Edison moving forward with every step back Steve took. Edison was the same height as Steve, so his eyes stared directly into his own.

They were dark, glinting like stars in the moonlight and Steve was enamored. 

“I go by Eddie, actually,” Edison - no Eddie smirked, one corner of his mouth tugged up and revealing some rather sharp teeth. Steve couldn’t help the stuttering breath he let out at that, heat tugging in his gut. “And what do they call you big boy?” 

Steve gulped. “Steve. Steve Harrington” He doesn’t know why he introduced himself with his first and last name. A last name that isn’t even his anymore. 

“Well Steve,” Eddie slid his tongue between his teeth on the word, dragging it out. Steve felt rooted to the spot, unable to move from such an intense gaze. Suddenly, Eddie sprung back, his movements gay and flowing like a marionette on strings. 

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he bowed, a deep bow with the tips of his hair touching the dirt. Steve burrowed his brows and opened his mouth to say something but Eddie had already sprung back up and around before he could make a sound. 

He whooped and wiggled, screeched and screamed, and looked out to the world with such mischief in his eyes. And Steve knew, whatever he was - he wasn’t human.

While Eddie was seemingly enjoying himself a few paces before him, Steve crouched down to grab his shovel, standing back up slowly. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with it, maybe hit Eddie over the head and run for the exit. 

Before a plan could be formed fully in his mind, Eddie turned and spotted the shovel and the white-knuckled Steve had on it. In a moment, Steve’s back was against the trunk of a tree with Eddie holding a broken bottle to his neck. He wasn’t sure where he’d gotten it. Maybe it was in his jacket, or maybe he’d picked it up from the ground while slamming Steve against this tree.

“Don’t even try it, honey,” Eddie whispered to Steve. His eyes held no amusement, and seemed to reach deep into his soul and down to his stomach. It clenched and rolled with fear, and Steve decided to focus on that instead of the toiling heat gathering in his chest. “I’ll suck you dry and leave you in the coffin instead. No one would ever know where you’ve gone.”

Eddie moved forward until they were pressed together, head to toe. Eddie’s thigh was wrenched in between Steve’s, and his mouth was now placed around his Adam’s apple. Now Steve was able to feel the sharpened teeth against his skin and shivered. Just a little pressure, one wrong move, and Steve was bleeding out - dead in seconds. It shouldn’t have given him the reaction that it did, with Steve trying to resist writhing against Eddie’s thigh and pressing his throat harder against his fangs.

Steve felt Eddie laugh against his skin, dampening the area with heat and moisture. He leaned back, so there was just enough space to breath and speak. He ignored Steve’s whine at the lost. “Awh, you poor baby,” Eddie grabbed Steve’s cheeks and squished his cheeks together. He was still able to feel the press of the grass against his side. “Digging up bodies in the middle of the night, just trying to find someone to take care of you - is that it?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer, how Eddie wanted him to answer, so he just whined again. Eddie’s nails, which felt a little more like claws, dug into his cheeks. “Say you’re sorry, and I’ll take care of you.” 

Steve whined again, and then tried to speak through his squished cheeks. “‘M s’r’y,” he slurred. Eddie tilted his head, amusement filling his eyes and curving his lips. 

“I didn’t hear that, can you repeat it, sweetheart?” 

“I’’ so’ry,” Steve cried, feeling the hot rush of tears filling his eyes. He was so frustrated, but he didn’t know by what. The weapon against his side, Eddie at his front, the tree at his back. The toiling heat in his chest or the fear creeping up his throat. 

Eddie groaned and pressed his face against Steve’s cheek. “Now drop it.” 

Steve, who hadn’t even realized he was still holding the shovel immediately dropped it. Blood rushed back into his palms and it tingled down his arm. Pins and needles slid into his skin. 

Eddie groaned again, deeper, louder. He pressed his thigh higher up against Steve, up against his groin - where it was heavy and wanting.

“Good boy,” he panted against Steve’s cheek. Steve preened from the praise, breathing in stuttering gasps. He tilted his head back against the tree, giving more of his throat for Eddie to do with as he wished. 

“Eddie,” he gasped, “please.”

Suddenly, the heat was gone. Without anything to hold Steve up, he slid to the ground, ass on the dirt. Eddie was a few feet before him, eyes dark as he stared at him.

Steve just panted, gasping for breath. He didn’t know what to say. 

Eddie gulped, “You’re crazy, Steve Harrington.” 

With that, Eddie disappeared into the night.

Everything was quiet. For once, Steve wasn’t surrounded by the ghosts of the past waiting to take a bite, to pull and poke and prod. He was completely alone. 

[starsarefire824]

The Pact WIP...Thursday? ;)

Camping Trip Part II

They spend a long time paddling around the swimming hole Lucas has shown them, eat some lunch, swim some more, soak in the sun. Mike wears the stupid hat Max made him buy when he can feel the sun on his nose and cheeks, and watches her as she pulls herself up from the water, her hips swaying as she twists to sit onto the ledge next to him. She joins him where he rests on Will’s blanket and bites her lip mischievously as she pulls it down over his eyes. Then, before he can even think of a comeback or some teasing thing to say, she’s slowly pushing herself onto one leg, leaning on his shoulder heavily as she gets up, then floats over to where Lucas is sitting on the other side of Will, chatting with Lucas and Dustin as they still paddle lazily around in the water.

This has been one of the best days I’ve had in a long time, she had told him under the waterfall, but Mike can’t figure out why then it is that she looked so sad. Can’t figure out for the life of him why he was desperate to take her face in his hands and kiss it away. That’s not what she wants though, he scolds. She’s determined in her plan. She wants Lucas and El. That’s been their plan the whole time and one night under fireworks caught up in the moment isn’t going to change that. It’s the correct plan. Mike wants Will. It makes sense.

He frowns and he pulls off his hat, letting his gaze fall onto Will. He’s still on his belly, the plain of his back shining golden in the sunlight. Mike’s eyes snag on how his suit is slung low on his hips and he studies the curve of his backside and Apollo's dimples that sit above. He follows the gentle ravine of his spine and over rocky ribs and shoulder blades, studies his skin that’s littered with a tiny galaxy of freckles and moles; so many Mike could connect them with a marker and make up his own constellations.

He follows the curve of Will’s upper back to where his shoulders tense. He’s reading a book. Mike isn’t sure which. Something depressing knowing him. His hair shines in the sun too, red highlights glimmering through dark brown like the sparkling trails that shot off from the fireworks they watched the other week. He’s resting his chin on his hand, face close to the book, his lips moving slightly as he reads. Mike can’t see his eyes, hidden under his shaggy hair from the angle he’s sitting at, but he can imagine his lashes, full and dark and smudged along green and brown irises. 

Instinctively, Mike lays back on the sun-warm blanket that smells like Will’s and faintly of Joyce’s cigarettes. He falls halfway onto his stomach and wraps his arm around him. Will’s slick with sweat and his skin is softly burning like the brick of a hearth hugging a raging fire. Mike slides his hand up and over the sharp bone of his shoulder blade and he presses his fingers gently where his shoulder meets his neck. He can feel Will shiver beneath his touch and it makes the blood in his veins thrum with exhilaration. A breeze shoots through the trees in a gentle gust, making the leaves flicker like coins in the light. The dark and light sides of them, waxy and soft, take turns showing themselves off. Mike observes them against the bright blue, cloudless sky for a second before dropping his gaze, one eye squinting in the sun as he playfully looks up at Will. Will’s eyes wander from his page, his mouth stills, and he smiles at him, soft and sweet. His shoulders rise in shyness as he chuckles, but Mike swears he spots a glint of something heated and brazen there that he refuses to allow to rise above the surface. 

Mike opens his eye and catches his gaze as he turns his body, his fingers lingering and brushing ever so lightly along the back of Will’s neck and shoulders before falling away. He turns onto his shoulder and leans his head on his other arm like a pillow. 

“What are you reading?” Mike asks softly. 

Will’s eyes flash to him and he turns the book over so he can see the cover. “It’s called The Awakening.” 

Mike presses his lips together and hums. “What’s happening?”

Will sighs and bites his lip before closing the page over his pointer finger. “I’m almost finished. The main character’s lover has just abandoned her via letter. Seems it’s for good this time.” 

“What a dick.” 

Will huffs with a bitter smile. “T’yeah…. I don’t like him much even though it does seem like he really loves her. I feel bad for her though—stuck in a life she doesn’t want—-in the cage of what society expects her to be.” He frowns and closes the book, setting it next to him and turns over onto his back, head lolling towards Mike in slow motion. He puts his hand over his eyes to shade them, but they still are a blazing olive green and rusted orange. 

“How is the water?” he asks, and Mike watches his hips as they roll towards him. 

“Mmm—-it’s nice. There’s a little cove behind that waterfall.” 

Will’s eyes brighten with curiosity. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see that.” 

Mike chuckles at him and bends his knees up closer to his belly, not missing when they touch his. “Enough to get in the water?” he asks teasingly. 

Will hums under his breath and smiles as his eyes wander towards the water, but shakes his head. “No,” he states. “I don’t think so.” 

“I thought as much,” he laughs. 

It grows quiet between them after that, but Mike doesn’t look away from Will. His lips soften and his eyelids flutter in the sun and Mike thinks that he wants to say something, but Lucas’s voice slices between them and he can hear the water splash as he climbs out. “We should get back so we can get the fire going before it gets dark,” he says. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: Hey, I banged this out quicker than expected. This part went longer than I expected to not as much happened as I thought hahaha. But here we go, again.(I will try to update the masterlist asap)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Two Summers Later

The sun raised beads of sweat across your brow, even in the shadow of the tree. A gentle breeze rolled over the grass now and again, a soft sort of heat. You laid across the blanket in your thin dress, a subtle movement beside you, low babbling and grasping fingers. You breathed in the scent of pollen and watched the lush leaves sway above.

The footsteps were light but he was careful not to frighten you. The baby girl murmured, over a year old now. She stood, unsteadily, and he caught her before she stumbled too far. His shadow loomed above you as he lifted Elina and smiled at her round cheeks.

“How is my little baroness?” he cooed as he bounced her and her gibberish grew louder as she grabbed at his pale tunic, “my lady?” he peered down at you, “you look… serene.”

“She likes to watch the cloud but it’s much too bright today,” you sat up and grabbed your cane from against the trunk. Lord Zemo offered his hand and helped you to your feet, “so we have watched the bloom instead.”

“She is getting big. More agile,” he commented as she tugged at his beard. He’d grown it over the winter but hadn’t cut it even in the heat. She liked to pet it and you suspected that was the reason for his obstinacy, “how will you keep up with her?”

“I have learned,” you poked him with the tip of your cane, “still learning.”

“Very quickly,” he praised, “the accent is better,” he pinched two fingers together, “I almost believe you a woman of this land.”

“Sometimes I believe it myself,” you went to the bench and sat heavily. Your hip never healed quite as it had been before so you limped with the carved wood capped with silver and made the best of it, “bring her here,” you set the can aside and pulled the thin scarf over your shoulders, “she should eat.”

“I told you, a wet nurse would do her better,” he neared and handed her over after a final peck on her cheek, “and she is getting older. She eats at the table now.”

“She will have some proper food when we get in,” you covered her against your chest and unlaced the front of your gown, “I like having her close.”

He nodded and paced through the grass. He removed his silk cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was anxious as of late, you noticed only because it was an unusual trait for him. He sighed as he tucked his hat into his belt.

“Would you tell me?” you asked sharply as Elina latched.

“Tell you what?” he tilted his head coyly.

“What makes you uneasy?” you urged.

The tugging in your chest calmed you as you cradled your daughter close. When she was born, that had been difficult. She reminded you of her father then but now she was yours. She was the only gift he’d ever given you.

“It is… complicated,” he said with a frown, “I think it best we put the child down before we talk on it.”

“If you wish,” you relented, “Werner says she is doing well. I went to him this morning.”

“And you?” Zemo crossed his arms, “does he say you are doing well?”

You kept one arm around Elina and unthinkingly brushed the scar that stretched from your hairline to your chin, a rippled line along your cheek, one of a dozen markers of that fateful day. You still dreamed of it but they weren’t so much nightmares as vague memories.

“I will need the cane so long as I live,” you said and dropped your arm back under the scarf, “the scars will fade but not entirely. I suppose none of that matters.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin as he began to pace again, “back from the dead,” he mused, “we have a legend here, about a woman, a queen…” he went on, “she married a king who did not love her nor she him. He wanted another and he was… quite intent on it. So he accused her of adultery and witchery and passed on her the harshest sentence; she was drawn and quartered, pulled apart by horses.

“We have since done away with such punishments, too savage, but the legend goes that they buried the parts of her and the king married his lover on her grave. The gods saw it as an affront, the lies, the trial held in their names, the death imparted in the same vein, and then a mocking marriage on the site of their sins…

“In her casket, her body reformed though she still showed the signs of her fate. She climbed out of her resting place and visited her king in the night. She’d never done that before you see because he had no love for her, he never even tried, and she tore him piece by piece, worse even then the horses. Fingers, toes, tongue… balls, every bit of him plucked little by little until he was nothing.

“The legend never did say where she went after that, her grave was found disturbed and her body gone. Those women who suffer with violent or cruel men, they pray to her, they burn candles for her, and even, they kill their men for her.”

“Why are you saying all this?” you interrupted as you wiped up your chest and clumsily tied up the laces of your dress as Elina slobbered down it.

“Because I see you are reformed like the queen but I wonder, where is your sense of vengeance?”

You were quiet as you fixed your dress and lifted Elina above the scarf to pat her back. Soon she would no longer take the nipple and you were stubborn to keep it up for so long but the time passed and the thought of separation frightened you. Soon she would be old enough to realise how odd everything was and she would ask questions. You weren’t sure if you could ever answer them.

“Take her please,” you held her out and he came to lift her. He set her down on her feet instead and held her hand as she took some steps. She grew more bold by the minute. He bent as he ushered her around. You planted your cane in the ground and stood, “vengeance,” you said carefully, “I remember you warned me not to trust you, is that why? Are you ready to use me against him?”

“I always knew you were clever,” he smiled as Elina bent her legs and bounced in place. He chuckled at her and suddenly scooped her up. He tossed her and caught her as she trilled in excitement, “the time comes closer but the path is not clearer.”

You watched him as he stilled your daughter and balanced her against his side, “I don’t know if I can ever face him again,” you confessed.

“That is not what I ask,” he said, “it is not what I intend but...the winds begin to blow and I must let them carry me.”

You followed him as he set off towards the castle, The Tower Zemo, a bastion of brick among the grasslands. It was so tall one could see for miles in any direction and it could be seen in turn from just as far. He was patient as your cane plunked down after each step and he made silly faces at Elina.

“You have bided me longer than I expected. And her,” you said as you approached the open doors of the castle. The stairs were another task but you’d learned to take them with your hip.

“Her? You think I forsake her her father? She is nothing like him,” he replied as he waited at the tip of the steps, “and she is all the good parts of you. All that he didn’t take.”

“I am indebted to you, I am aware of that, but you do not attempt to collect your dues,” you challenged as you came level to him, “it makes me wary.”

“Would it be too… ridiculous to say that she is payment enough,” he smiled at your daughter, “she has brightened many of my days here.”

“It is because I know how things are. How it works among you noblemen,” you countered, “there is something more you want.”

“Tess,” he called and the pudgy maid appeared, “she is hungry, see that she is fed before she is laid down.”

“My lord,” Tess took the child eagerly and poked her nose playfully, “come here, little poppy.”

You watched her go as she began to sing to Elina. Her voice carried through the corridors as her wide hips swayed and her white hair wisped from under her cap. The old woman had seen your daughter into the world and since helped keep her there.

“So what is it you haven’t told me?” you turned on Zemo.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit?” he asked slyly.

“You are welcome to recline, sir, but I would hear you now. I’ve waited long enough,” you insisted.

“Well…” he took a deep breath and walked ahead of you. He turned back and clapped his hand together as the summer flowed in through the open doors, “I must send you away.”

“Send me away?” you gulped and looked to the door which Tess had just taken your daughter through.

“You will have Elina, I am not heartless,” he said, “though I will miss the little baroness.”

“Where are we going?” you quivered in relief.

“I have a castle on the lake, Heinrich’s Creek,” he explained, “it is a lovely little place. My mother’s favourite of my family’s holds. It is far away from court, further than this, and safe. Only my blood knows where it lies and… so only me and those who I would have escort you.”

“And why? Why do we have to go? Why now?” you prodded.

“I have received a letter from your King Samuel, co-signed by my own king. A party is on the road already and I have been once more tasked with hosting the negotiations. Your people are persistent. They will come here and I will represent the kingdom in these meetings and hopefully I can appease them quick enough that I needn’t worry about them sniffing around,” Zemo bristled, “I have not been allowed the privilege to know of who I host but any in the capital for the tournament, they would know the woman who gave them such a violent finale.”

“And after?”

“We will see how it unfolds first. It will be a chance to gain a measure of the climate. I might even hear after your former keeper, then I will decide what needs be done,” his dark eyes narrowed as mischief ticked in his cheek.

“Why?” you asked, “why cling to it?”

“I am as stubborn as he,” he said carefully, “I was willing to set it aside but he could not. And, my lady, if you haven’t the fire left for your vengeance then I can simply take it upon my own wrath. 

“Perhaps it is low of me but how he treated me, how he chased me out even if it did prove convenient to my deceit, it cannot be forgotten. And your people, the war I fought against them, they come to us for help and yet they still boast of their victory. I was there, no one won those battles.”

“So it is all a game of war?”

“Oh, no, I do not long for another war but… retribution leaves few options for the wronged,” he said.

You lowered your chin and moved around him. You sat on the stool by the wall and leaned back against the stone. “And if it put Elina in danger?”

“That is the last thing I want to do. That is why I would send you away.”

“But you said it yourself, you will have need for me… what then?”

He sniffed and his sole scuffed on the floor, “I promised you Elina’s safety, her life. You knew yours wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“I know but… if you--”

“I have friends who can see to the girl. I have made arrangements for the little baroness.”

“But--”

“It was never a title I gave her lightly,” he intoned, “she has noble blood and I have no heir. She will grow, she will live, she will flourish.”

You gripped your cane tightly and ran your nails along your skirt, “when do we leave?”

“Within the month. The party will not be here so soon, their progress will be hampered by the heat. There are droughts in the west.”

“And we will be safe at the Creek?”

“Impenetrable,” he assured, “enjoy your time there with your daughter.”

“While it lasts, right?” you uttered.

He looked away grimly and brushed his knuckles against this beard, “we both knew this wouldn’t go on forever.”

“Yes, we knew,” you stood and held your hip, “but you can’t blame me for hoping it would.”

[wkemeup]

Start Again

summary: A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath  pairing: steve x reader word count: 5k warnings: SMUT (18+), sex pollen (dub/con), a very slight dom!steve, angst, absolute filth ok dont shame me a/n: first sex pollen fic, first steve smut. felt right. and hot. 

“Rogers! Watch your six, dammit!” you shouted, hair whipping into your face as you lunged at a stray opponent aiming a gun directly at the back of Steve’s head. Roundhouse kick to his hand and the weapon flung halfway across the room; another blow to the man’s temple and then, he collapsed to the ground in a heavy thud.

“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” Steve chuckled from the doorway, turning back with a smirk over his shoulder as he nudged his way into the vault with the edge of his shield. All confidence and charisma and still, his ears were a little pink, his eyes flickering down at the floor by your feet when he held your gaze a moment too long. A hesitancy in his teasing. A sincerity nestled in pale blue eyes.

You chewed on the edge of your lip, unbothered by the coppery taste left behind by the hit of a Hydra agent unconscious at your feet, and you side stepped your way into the vault. Steve stood with his arm extended, gesturing you to lead the way, smile creeping up the left side of his mouth before he followed behind.

This was how things were between the two of you. Flirty banter. Quiet moments. Poking at the tension in the air with the blunt edge of a knife. Careful, but still pressing. Lingering. Waiting in agony until the moment it snapped.

“What is this place?” you asked, covering your nose with the crook of your elbow as a lingering burning sensation filled the air.

The walls were lined with chemicals placed neatly in organized vials, within enclosed glass tubes, and refrigerated syringes. Beautiful bright colors to dull, dreary shades, big and small, carefully sealed, with hazmat suits hanging from the rack at the corner of the room. At the center sat a single metal table with restraints hanging down off the sides.

You stepped closer to it, carefully examining the cuffs made of leather where it cracked along the outside from years of use. You shuddered to think of the men they laid strapped on this cold unforgiving surface, injecting god knows what into their veins.

“This is sick,” you exhaled, dropping the restraint and watching as it swung over the edge of the table.

“It’s Hydra,” Steve replied tensely. “Whatever they have in here, it can’t be good. Let’s just get what we came for and get the hell out.”

You nodded, walking closer to the shelves in search of the small vial Dr. Cho described. Blue in color, almost translucent, a liquid of only a few milliliters in total. If you were lucky it would be labeled NR-829. You didn’t know what it was for, but you weren’t one to ask questions. Steve went along with the mission without hesitation and you followed his lead. You trusted Steve enough for that.

It took a while as you filtered through dozens of unknown chemicals until you found the vial. Tucked in the back of the shelf, hidden behind a series of test tubes and a particularly large glass bottle with a large ‘X’ scribbled in black marker over the cap, the light blue serum sat in wait. You grinned, gently pulling the tube from its stand and holding it up for Steve to see.

“This is why I keep you around,” Steve teased, a sigh of relief etched into his tone.

“Thought you needed me to watch your six, huh?”

“That, too.”

Steve hung his head with a smile so wide on his face it made your stomach twist into knots. Hands planted firmly on his hips, stealing careful glances up at you from under long, thick lashes, you couldn’t help but admire the tenderness he carried. Even under pounds of muscle, a super soldier’s strength running through his veins, and the weight of the world on his shoulders, he still managed to carry an innocence, a lightness, and he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

“We should go,” Steve said after a moment and you nodded quickly, hoping he didn’t notice your staring.

You were just about to place the vial into the small pouch at the edge of your hip when a movement at the edge of the vault froze you dead in your tracks.

A flicker of metallic.

The click of the safety unlatching.

The grunt of a man in vengeance.

Laying on the floor, mouth covered in blood as it drenched down from his broken nose, the man you’d rendered unconscious now aimed a gun in your direction; a sickening grin pealed up along his cheeks to reveal yellowed teeth soaked in red.

Steve’s arm jutted out in front of you, yanking your body quickly out of the line of fire, but the man only smirked. He didn’t attempt to follow in his aim. Instead, he narrowed in on something beyond your position. Something on the shelves.

The gunshot rang out, echoing painfully within the small confines of the vault enough for a violent ringing to pierce in your ears, and still, you heard the glass shatter.

The air filled with the sudden sweet smell of candied apples and caramel; a scent specific to the night Steve dragged you out to Coney Island in efforts to relive his old memories, when you’d spent nearly half the night sitting on the docks prying sticky caramel from your fingers and laughing until your stomach hurt. The way he’d looked at you that night, like maybe all these feelings stirring deep in your chest might not be unrequited, how he’d smiled just enough until it pressed dimples to his cheeks.

No ordinary chemical could produce a smell like that. Not something so specific. Nothing but—

“Oh God.”

Steve was at the doors to the vault, desperately trying to pry his shield between them as the chemical spill must have set off emergency protocols and sealed you inside, but it was no use. He let out a visceral groan as he used all of his force, and still nothing.

“Steve,” you crocked, already feeling the sweat dripping at the nape of your neck. Your eyes glanced back at the emerald green liquid fizzling on the cement floor. The smell was intoxicating, burning almost to the point where it physically ached, and you closed your hands tight into fists.

“What is that?” Steve grunted, finally turning away from the doors. He brushed at his nose, confused, as tried to find the source. “It... it smells like... coffee and—and cinnamon sugar.”

The bakery down the block from the tower. Where you’d taken Steve in the early hours of the mornings when he’d find himself standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, shame lingering in his features and a redness in his eyes. It was a safe haven. An escape. The smell of a pleasant memory.

You’d heard that this chemical had the ability to manifest individually to those it effected, but it still took you by surprise. Drawn on the desires of its host, different to each in its unrelenting path. There was no time to wonder what it meant, why it smelled like the bakery around the corner and the nights you spent with Steve when the nightmares woke him in a blinding panic. There was no time because your eyes kept flickering down the lines of Steve’s body, tracing him hungrily, like a woman starved.

You choked back a moan, squeezing your thighs together as a sudden all-encompassing emptiness tore through you.

“Steve, listen to me,” you tried again, voice a little dry as you stretched your neck away from the collar of your suit, tearing your stare from his body as you focused on the wall in front of you. You zipped down the edge of your suit to your sternum and it only provided an ounce of relief. You were suffocating under it, burning, and you swore if you didn’t get it off soon you might collapse.

Steve didn’t seem to hear you though as he walked towards the exposed chemical on the floor, examining it. “Why expose us to this chemical instead of just killing us? What’s the point? What the hell is this stuff anyway?”

Your legs were crossed at the ankles, thighs pressing tightly together in an effort to relieve some of the ache at your core, but it did nothing. Not when you knew what you needed. Not when he was standing right there.

“Steve, please,” you whined, close to tears, hands gripping tight at the edges of the metal table.

Steve whipped around at the sound of your voice, panicked by the urgency, the desperation in it. His shoulder tensed, eyes darting wide at the sight of you.

The chemical had taken its effect quickly. Your hairline was drenched in sweat, heart pounding so painful in your chest you were certain he could hear it across the room, but what surprised him most was the slight tang in the air, a sweet kind of smell that was only and entirely yours; one he only dared allow himself to notice once before, under the cover of night when he’d walked past your bedroom in and heard the soft whimpers beyond the door.

Your legs were shaking under you, ready to collapse, and Steve darted forward. His hand gripped at your waist, trying to hold you steady.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he cooed sweetly, though there was a panic in his voice as he turned to look back at the sealed exit. He exhaled a heavy breath, pulling you in closer. “I’ve got you. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

The pressure of his hands was unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was exhilarating, like the touch of lightening to your skin and still, feather soft. It was a jolt of desperation that only worsened the pulsing at your core, the agonizing emptiness you felt between your legs.

You whimpered, shaking terribly in his arms, and then, his hands moved slowly up along your body to cup at your cheeks. He pushed away the damp hairs on your face, sky blue eyes searching yours, trying to understand what was affecting you like this, so concerned, so full of worry, but it was too much.

Your skin was too sensitive; every touch heightened beyond what you’d ever experienced and each rub of his thumb over your cheek bone, each pressured dip of his fingers against your neck, was almost unbearable. Your cunt clenched around air, waiting eagerly to be filled and used and — fuck — you were going to die if you didn’t get that damn suit off now.

“Y/n?” Steve called, though it sounded far away, like a lingering semblance of an echo long carried through a tunnel.

Unable to take it, you tore Steve’s hands away from you, stumbling back until you hit the table with a painful corner to your spine. You whined, shaking, whimpering, and as Steve tried to take another step closer to you, you held up a desperate hand.

“It’s not effecting you as quickly because—because of the serum,” you gasped, trying to find your breath as a hand slipped under your collar, pushing down at the zipper on your suit in search of relief, “but it will. It will, Steve, and we—we have to—God, we’ll die if we don’t, but—”

“What are you talking about? What’s happening to you?” Steve demanded, trying to step closer to you, to reach out in comfort, but you flinched away. You still had some semblance of control, even if your dignity was in pieces. You wouldn't dare let him touch you again until he understood what this was, until he could have some kind of choice.

“The chemical,” you shuddered, pointing to the shattered vial on the floor, “it’s the extract of the pollen Tony warned us about in Brussels.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. Brussels was almost three years ago but he remembered it well. They’d been tasked with infiltrating a Hydra base attempting to create an army of enhanced super soldiers by pairing the gifted with their knock off experiments. Creating offspring artificially wasn’t an option, it seemed, and well, Hydra needed to convince their participants to engage.

Realization hit Steve like a truck and he stumbled back, eyes wide. “N-No, it’s can’t be. That stuff should have been destroyed when we blew up the base...”

“Should have been,” you repeated, nodding slowly as you shrugged your shoulder out of the suit. The cool air touched your skin and it was instant relief. Teeth clenched, lump in your throat, you looked at Steve. “We don’t have a lot of time. I—I have to get this off. I feel like I’m burning alive...”

“Okay, okay,” Steve nodded, rushing towards you to help. You choked back a whine as his fingers touched over bare skin, slipping under your suit as he helped peel away the skin tight fabric until it dropped down over your thighs and was left in a pile on the floor.

Left only in your sports bra and panties, Steve started to evert his eyes, even as his breathing started to pick up in pace. It was affecting him slower than it did you, but it was still in his veins, it was still coming for him.

“Steve,” you gasped, your hands fumbling with the band of your bra, trying to pull it over your head. Your nipples were pebbled hard, the touch of the fabric agonizing against the buds. Your thighs squeezed tight together and you could feel how soaked through the thin cotton between your legs had become. You could smell it yourself, so you knew Steve could, too.

“Steve, please. I—I need you. It hurts so much…”

Steve swallowed, eyes gazing up at your body as you stripped clean of the remaining material. He tried desperately to hold your eye, but as your hand slipped down between your legs in search of some relief, he followed.

Your fingers dipped in between the folds, swirling in the wetness that dripped down your thighs, and even as you circled in rushed movements, sunk two fingers deep inside you, it did nothing to relieve the ache. It couldn’t be relieved on its own, not without help.

In a surge of pollen-induced confidence, you carefully reached out for Steve’s hand, letting your fingers hook around his as hooded eyes gazed up to a startling pale blue and the bite of teeth over pink, swollen lips. Slowly, you guided Steve’s hand closer to your core and when you were met with no resistance, replaced your fingers with his own, pushing his touch to the heat between your legs.

He shuddered as the wetness dripped over him, fingers moving of their own accord and circling sweetly at your clit. It was like fire through your veins, rendering you outside of yourself, and still, you needed more.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, running a free hand through your hair, but you could only whine in response, resting your forehead to his shoulder.

Hands curled into the thick fabric of his suit, dipping into the muscle in his arms as you tried to focus on the pressure on your clit, how his fingers swirled and circled and pressed and flicked at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but that emptiness lingered. It screamed at you, tore through your body and consumed you, begging to be filled, to be abused and used.

“More,” you begged, too far lost to the effects of the pollen to feel shame for the tremors in your voice or the neediness with which you rolled your hips to his fingers. “Please, Steve. I—I can’t. I need—”

“Okay, I’ve got you,” he said quickly, a softness in his tone as he helped ease you up onto the metal table. It was cold against your exposed skin, though it supplied no relief to the fever lighting like flames within your veins.

You called his name again, a desperate cry, and Steve gently ran his hands down your curves, slipping over your hips and thighs and gently returning to where you needed him. It was like he was trying to hold onto some kind of semblance of romance or affection amongst the intensity of the pollen igniting dangerous levels of dopamine and oxytocin in your brain; like maybe he could fool himself into believing it was real.

“It’s okay. I’m here, sweetheart. Just try to relax for me,” he whispered, sinking two fingers into you, and then a third. It was relief unlike anything else. The slight sting of the stretch, the rub of his knuckles by your entrance, the curving of his fingers deep inside your walls, pressing up against the spot that made your back arch up from the table.

“Fuck, Steve,” you gasped, eyes closed, overwhelmed in the sensations, in the pumping of his fingers and his thumb circling at your clit, the high that started to take over completely and render you in a mess on the table, open and exposed. “Yes! Ah—don't—don't stop!”

Even through your haze, you felt the slight touch of his lips on your forehead. Something so tender, so soft, in stark contrast to the heat of the pollen’s chemical amplifying your senses.

“That’s it,” Steve urged, his breath warm on your skin as your walls began to clench around him. Tighter. Tighter. He pumped his fingers faster, the sounds filling the room enough to draw heat to your face if it wasn’t for the heightened bliss produced by the pollen.

You rolled your hips against his hand, meeting him at his knuckles, begging for more.

More, more, more—

“Let go, doll,” Steve whispered against your ear, breath hot to your skin, “come for me.”

Closer and closer and rising to the very edge of the peak and— nothing.

You whined, a sob breaking through you as the crescendo faded out just before the highest note. Your body collapsed, sinking into hardened metal, exhausted, desperate, aching.

“What is it? What happened?” Steve questioned, panicked.

“It’s not enough,” you gasped. “I need you.”

Steve froze, slowly pulling his fingers from between your legs to find them dripping in your wetness. He closed his hand. “Y/n, I—”

“I need you to fuck me, Steve.”

He shook his head, backing up. “You don’t-- You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. Please, Steve,” you begged, your own fingers circling back at the head of your clit, swirling in the drench of your juices at your core and still, it wasn’t enough. It won’t ever be enough. You needed thick veins and a pulsing heartbeat, rushed thrusts, hands digging to your hips, and the labored pants of a man above you.

You needed him.

“You don’t want this,” Steve argued, determined, though you could see the pollen starting to take its effect. His pupils were blown wide, sweat dripping at the nape of his neck though he tried to brush it away. His legs were trembling.

“The pollen is only enhancing desires that already exist,” you urged, breathy and in gasps as your fingers worked tiredly at your clit and still—nothing. In your haze, you didn’t notice how Steve’s eyes widened at your confession. He stared at you for just a moment longer before he shook the thought from his mind, unwilling to let himself go there.

“Steve, I’m begging you. I gonna—I'm gonna die.”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let that happen.”

He could feel the pollen starting to take it’s hold in his own body and the longer he looked at you, exposed and ready for him, dripping, the sweet smell of your cunt filtering in the air, the closer he came to the losing edge of control.

The serum kept it at bay for a while, but he could feel his cock aching painfully hard under layers of Kevlar. The fabric rubbed against it, creating an almost burning sensation, and he understood why you were so desperate to rid yourself of your clothes.

Jesus – it was a miracle he kept it together as long as he did. He could still feel the squeeze of your pussy on his fingers; the heat, the wetness, the softest most vulnerable parts of you. His hand was sticky in your slick as he clenched his fist, nails digging painfully to his palms.

“Steve, it’s starting to affect you, too.”

He shook his head. “I can deal with it. I’ll handle it on my own.”

“You can’t, Steve. It won’t be enough.”

“It has to be!” he snapped, harsher than he meant to, but the pollen was pushing him towards an edge he wasn’t certain he’d ever come back from. “I can’t-- I won’t let that fucking chemical turn me into a monster!”

Steve groaned, raking his fingers through sweat damped hair and ridding himself of the shield and weapons strapped to his suit. He was panting long before he started shouldering the vault doors again, desperate to lodge his way through.

You closed your eyes, tears slipping past your temples as you laid on the metal table. Shaking, dripping at your core, aching. Your fingers doing nothing to relieve the painful, empty feeling left in Steve’s wake. Chills swept up your spine, like a fever, and you stared up at the ceiling, watching as the tiles swayed over one another, melting and twisting into a blur of grey cement as you listened to Steve’s labored breaths, the grunts in anguish, as he tried to break out of the vault.

But suddenly, it came to a stop.

A heavy exhale. A pained groan. And then—

“How certain are you?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, vision blurring, dizzy, but you could still see how desperately Steve was trying to hold himself back. His arousal was thick and prominent against his thigh, a wet spot growing at the head, as he rubbed himself through the outside of his pants.

“Y/n,” he asked again, tenser, strained. “How certain are you that it’s only enhancing existing desires?”

“Certain,” you choked out. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Steve. Since Coney Island.”

Steve gritted his teeth, and you could tell there was a part of him that lingered, wanting to know more, wanting to say something meaningful in return, but the pollen had taken a hold of him and he wasn’t the one in control anymore.

“I can’t hold back.”

You shook your head, heart racing in anticipation. “You don’t have to.”

“You don’t understand, Y/n,” Steve groaned, sliding his hand under his belt in search of some relief, unabashedly stroking himself in full view as his pants circled around his ankles. “I can feel this shit taking over and— I won’t be able to— I can’t hold myself back. Do you understand?”

He took a step closer to you, pulling his jacket off as well until he was naked before you. He paused at the edge of the table, hesitant for a moment, before slowly, he set his hands on the tops of your thighs. You moaned at the sensation, arching up for him, though he didn’t touch you where you needed him most. Instead, he let his hands travel along your legs, sliding all the way down to your ankles before he yanked hard enough to pull your body right to the edge.

You met him with a gasp, hands landing on his chest as you looked up to darkened eyes.

“It’ll be rough,” he gritted out.

You were panting, heart stammering. “I can take rough.”

“I might hurt you.”

“So hurt me, Captain,” you begged, voice low, hands snaking up around his neck.

“Say it again. Tell me you want this. I need to hear it,” he demanded, darker than you’d ever heard him, and still, there was a soft kind of pale blue in his eyes; a lingering piece of that tender, hesitant man you knew who kept his distance, who flirted and teased with shades of pink in his ears. He practically growled as his fingers dug deeper into your thighs.

“I want this,” you said firmly, your left hand raking through his hair, your right slipping down his stomach until you reached his cock. Circling your grip around his shaft, you slowly began to pump him and spread the precum down the throbbing vein underneath. His breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed as he sucked in a harsh breath.

“I want you, Steve,” you whispered against his neck, your lips pressing a kiss to his pulse point before you licked a stripe along his jawline, up to his mouth, where you paused. You caught his eyes for a moment, laced in lust and thick in desire, and you mewled against his lips, “fuck me, Steve. Use me. I’m yours.”

It was hard to tell what was the pollen and what was inherently you, but when it was Steve standing in front of you, his erection sliding at your folds, his eyes gazing hungrily into yours, you couldn’t find it in you to care where the words came from. They were real desires, a real longing, a real desperation you carried deep inside you, hidden under lock and key, and the vial shattered in the back of the room only released them from their cage.

Suddenly, Steve yanked you from the table, spun you around, and held you firmly against him, his breath like fire against your neck. Your back was only kept pressed up against his chest for a moment before he pushed you flush onto the table. The cold of the metal ice against your skin, your cheek pressed onto the surface as he kept you still with a hand on the mid of your back. Your toes barely touched the ground, but Steve had a good hold on your hips with his free hand.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his hand on your back nestling along your spine, pressing like the keys of a piano. You shuddered under him, trying to squeeze your thighs together but he kept them propped open. “Be a good girl for me, won’t you, baby? Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” Your hands gripped onto the edges of the table, your toes lifting off the ground.

“Gonna let me take what I want from you? Gonna let me use your body how I want? Fuck your tight little cunt? My sweet girl...”

“Yes,” you whimpered, shaking, as the painful aching between your legs grew stronger. “All for you. Just you. Steve... please...”

Steve’s hand gripped to your hips, painful enough to leave bruises but your whole body was stripped to the bare edges, sensitive unlike you’d ever been in your life, and the divots he dug were sweet relief. You ached for more. Whatever he would give you.

You felt the tip of Steve’s cock edging at your entrance and you let out a desperate whine. You tried arched up for him as much as the position would allow, even with Steve’s hand keeping your upper body flattened on the table as he came up to you from behind.

He slid into you with ease, bottoming out in one harsh thrust that nearly jolted the entire table. You gasped, holding onto the surface, reveling in the ache of the stretch, how thick he was pressing you open, stretching you.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Steve grunted, adjusting his grip on your hip. He pulled out, just to the tip, slowly, agonizingly, before he slid back in with a shuddered breath. “So fuckin’ good, baby. Your cunt’s fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Shit.”

You’d never heard Steve curse like that. It was foreign in his voice, but God, it was like pure sin. Pieces of him he kept hidden, desires he wouldn’t dare allow to the surface broken free by the pollen littering the air and seeping deep into his veins. A man without boundaries or confinements. A man unleashed.

“Fuck, yes, Steve,” you moaned, gripping so tightly at the edges of the table, you wondered if you might be strong enough to crack it. “God, Steve, don’t stop! Just like that—Just like—ah, fuck—”

He was relentless. Rushed. Desperate. Quick and harsh thrusts of his hips snapping against your ass, his cock throbbing and dragging against clenched walls, spurring on that twist deep in your stomach, bringing you closer and closer to release, to relief.

The noises he made only urged you on, filling the room with cries and screams, his name and yours, uncontained, unfiltered. Through the gasps in his breath, through your name exhaled low in his voice, he muttered praises and curses, his grip tightening, your skin burning against the metal surface with every drag of your body. It was a rush, a high, every thrust, every bruise he pressed into your skin, every inch closer to the peak that left you screaming his name over and over again until finally—

The ground fell out from under you, mountains crashing down, and you cried out through the free fall; impossibly sensitive, withering and desperate to hold on as he chased his own release, prolonging the longest, most intense orgasm you’d ever had, one that left you in near tears, until he came into you, releasing against your walls.

There was a moment of relief, of a comforting stillness. The labored pants of your breaths filling the room and the sticky sweet smell of sex overpowering the long faded scent of the pollen. The dizziness cleared from your mind, the high of the orgasm pulling you fully back to your senses, and you were shocked to find how cold the room had become.

And then the silence started to carry an unease within it.

Steve’s hand released its grip on your hips, on your back, unpeeling away from skin he’d colored under his touch and you tried not to wince at the sting of it because you knew he was watching you. Then, he pulled his softened cock from inside you, slipping out slowly and leaving behind a kind of emptiness that pierced straight through to your chest.

With the desperation gone, the heat of the pollen absent from your veins and a chill in your spine, you turned to find Steve, hoping for something as tender and sweet as the man you knew to offset the bruising on your body and the new kind of ache between your legs; pains you eagerly agreed to and even in your clearest thoughts knew with certainty you had wanted. Still, there was a need for more, something of the man you know Steve to be.

“Steve?”

He was scrambling to put his suit back on. Hands fumbling with his pants until he covered himself, then, quickly began to search around the room. Shaking hands yanked open drawers, throwing around papers and supplies until they covered the floor.

“Steve, hold on a moment...”

“I don’t-- I don’t have anything for you to--” he exhaled harshly, rubbing at his eyes and you realized what he meant. The sticky residue between your legs, his release and yours. He swallowed thickly, and it didn’t slip your notice that he couldn’t meet your eye. “Just-- just give me a second. I’ll-- uh—I'll find something.”

“Stevie, it’s okay,” you tried to tell him, but he couldn’t hear you.

You bent down and grabbed your suit from the floor, stepping into it as his cum had dried along your thighs. You could wash it away later. There was no concern for pregnancy. SHIELD provided all agents with standard birth control. Steve should know that and he should know that Sam would still be waiting on them in the jet, concerned that the coms hadn’t been working for the time you and Steve were trapped down there.

You crossed the room, coming up behind Steve and placing a hand on his bare shoulder. He flinched the moment your fingertips grazed his flushed skin and you pulled away, curling your hand to your chest. He turned to face you, but his eyes were focused on the floor by your feet. Even clothed, standing in front of him as the woman who had loved and adored him for years under the guise of friendship, he couldn’t bear to meet your eye.

A crack nestled in your chest, straight through your heart. God, you just wanted to hold him.

“Steve...”

The vault doors sprang open with a thunderous echo, a clear mist expelling from the ceiling.

A sudden darkness came over Steve’s features, the soft outline of his face turning hard as a growl brewed in his chest. He grabbed the gun from his waistband and bounded toward the exit. Without a moment of hesitation, he fired a single shot at the Hydra agent who had broken the vial of pollen in favor of killing either of you; still laying on the floor, barely even enough time to react to defend himself.

You gasped as a bullet lodged through the man’s head and he slumped over. Deep red pooling around him.

Steve stomped back into the vault, slipped the top of suit back over his head, ran his fingers through his hair to tame the mess. With his back turned to you, he paused.

“You have the vial we came for?” His voice was cold, detached, incredibly unlike the man you knew.

“Y-yes,” you replied, feeling for the small test tube securely placed in the container at your hip. You zipped up your suit to cover the exposed hills of your breasts; even with Steve’s back to you, it left you feeling exposed.

His back straightened, a short nod to himself, and he stepped over the body of the Hydra agent. Boots imprinting into the mess of blood, leaving a trail in their wake as he quickly made his way back to the jet.

You waited until the echoes of his steps disappeared down the hallway and you were left with a deeply unsettling silence. There, you allowed yourself to cry.

--

part two

[writefightandflightclub]

Clean-up in Aisle 4 (Will Miller x GN reader blurb)

Summary: a grocery store meet-cute with Will. Little bit of fluff, mainly angsty.

Author’s note: First time writing Will. Super quick one but hope you like it. Helps a lot if you know Will’s canon from the movie. You can read-up here if you wanna. Told you I was in Triple Frontier feels tonight!

Warnings: vague but thematic mentions of prior trauma related to military service and PTSD / anxiety themes, though nothing in-depth / graphic. Swearing. 

GIF: @will-grammer

The first thing you noticed about the man was the broadness of him. Wide shoulders, leading down to a nipped-in waist. You weren’t ogling. Really. It was simply hard to miss, since you nearly drove your cart into his back, the brick wall of a man coming to a sudden, dead halt in front of you as you each approached the grocery store.

The second thing you noticed, as you huffed out air and scooted your cart around him, was the way his hands white-knuckled as they wrapped -achingly tight- around the handle of his own cart, the tension extending into his forearms and along the veins of his straining biceps.

The third thing, causing you to fully abandon your intended pursuit of a passive aggressive side-eyeing, was his ashen expression; the way his gaze fixed unerringly on the sliding, automatic doors as though they were the gates to hell and he was deathly afraid to enter. You saw then that the tension extended all then way through the chords of his neck, into his chiselled jaw, which was covered in a scruff of blond beard.

You’d seen that look before. Seen it on others in the field; and out of it. Had seen it plenty when you looked in the mirror too. It looked like trauma, raw and exposed and bile-inducing, and the recognition had the words rising out of your throat before you could stop them.

“Hey, are you okay?” you had asked casually, in a cooling voice as you lined your cart up side-by-side with his.

It was reflex by now. You had seen too many comrades freeze in the face of danger - and in your experience, freezing near-always led to sub-optimal outcomes. Perhaps that’s why you felt a personal responsibilty to shock him back to life. He seemed stuck. He seemed like he needed a push, like that damn cart.

The man’s eyes - hazel centred and fringed with a piercing yet muted blue - flicked fiercely towards you, and the hint of volatility made you very suddenly take note of his size and latent strength, your body’s fight or flight response firing as he appeared to take a little unkindly to the interruption.

Of course, you stood your ground. You always do. It’s a bad habit of yours.

His eyes softened, however, just a little, as he clocked gentle concern rather than confrontation in your own, and he self-consciously shuffled from foot to foot, his heavy combat boots seeking surer-footing on the paving; quite literally grounding himself.

Oh, he’s definitely military this one. You recognised that too in the way he moved. In the habits ingrained in his body.

Still, you saw the rush of panic fleeting across his eyes as he ignored you and fixed his stare back on the threshold of the store. It might have looked like nothing -a simple line to cross- but you knew all too well how the smallest of lines could be something much bigger; a marker, a milestone, a hurdle.

It seemed hard for him. And if it seemed hard, and he was still here, trying, then you were damn sure it seemed important too.

You had noticed the ticks in his body then too. He tapped his boot and his fingers on the handle, almost as if he was counting. Counting-up or counting down to something, you were not sure.

“Afraid to go in?” you had asked him gently, devoid of any mocking.

“I had a bad experience here...” he had told you, his voice a deep, drawling, painfully empty baritone.

He told you this much, though he was not sure why or how he even began to speak. Why or how he looked at you. He was not sure either, why he was unable to continue speaking.

He was a speaker by profession, wasn’t he? He had repeated his story often enough as part of his motivational speeches, and yet, the words died in his throat now.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost... 

His hands tightened their grip on the cart, just like they had tightened...

“Hmm,” you acknowledged, chewing on your lip as you digested the new information.

“Well. Me too,” you admitted, as his eyes segued back to those double doors, bumping open and closed as his proximity continually reactivated the sensors. “It was bad. My shorts had split clean in half right down the ass-crack and no-one thought to tell me. Some of the clerks still call me Cheeky to this day.”

The incident you spoke of was painfully true, and at least mildly cheering, you thought, but the man barely registered it. At least, not initially. He took a moment, still staring, still counting, but then he looked at you with a reluctant and pained amusement that evidently took him by surprise.

Now, he saw you. His eyes gave you the once over.

You were not what he was expecting. That story wasn’t what he was expecting. He wasn’t expecting...

“Wait, what?”

Letting your mouth draw open into a smile, effortlessly holding his attention now, you had pressed on with your distraction.

“Split right up the ass-crack. Mortifying. So... I could use the company, if you’ll brave it with me?” You had nodded your head towards the double doors, and you had shifted your cart to casually bump his. “We could go together?”

The man had simply stared at you, and you had patiently waited for his response. The muscles in his jaw had twitched, tendons slipping over bone. He was frozen still; that is, until you had politely nodded and started to move away from him, with a sincere, “Take care of yourself, man.”

“Hey, wait up,” he had called as you moved ahead of him, and you threw your head over your shoulder to humourously inspect the seat of your pants.

“Shit, why, is my ass out again?” you had laughed, and Will tentatively laughed with you, following you into the store; crossing his personal boundary.

It was hard, and it was important.

You had waited for him to catch-up with a soft smile, proud of the man although you did not know him yet, and this time he had drawn his cart to a halt alongside yours.

“Your ass is not out,” he had promised. “Shit. Not that I was looking. I just, uh. Shit. I could actually use the company?”

“Sure,” you had nodded, without judgement, and you had stayed closely by his side on your usual, winding route around the store.

You had tried your best to cheer him and distract this stranger, and even earned a few smiles as you engaged him in meaningless conversation.

Then, the man had paused at the mouth of a particular aisle and stared turbulently into the vacant space there, face and body pulled taut as if replaying an unpleasant memory. He was about to abandon his cart, you thought. About to leave you with a hanging apology he in no way owed you about how he wasn’t ready for this.

It was important, but perhaps it was still too hard. 

However, instead, you had blitzed into the centre of the aisle and trampled over his ghosts, barraging all of his memories out of the way as you shifted armfuls of dog food into your cart with a clatter.

He had swallowed thickly, his hands stuffed into his pockets, until you shot him another soft smile.

“You have a dog,” he observed tentatively, consciously tearing himself away from the past. Counting the seconds; his breaths, his heartbeats, the cans of dog food. Moving forward.

“I do. He’s the goodest boi. He even has medals of honour.”

The man tips his mouth into a lop-sided smile. “What for? Can he walk on his hind legs?”

“Ugh, okay. I love it when smug fuckers underestimate my mutt.” You had added the last of your tins to the cart and gestured for Will to follow you into the next aisle. Away from his demons. He did follow. “No, actually,” you begin more softly, “he sniffed out IEDs when I was on my tour of duty.”

“Holy shit, you’re army?”

“Ex-Army,” you correct. “You too, I’m guessing?”

He had that look. That manner to his movements. The man looked like he had killed. It was a look you had learned to identify at ten paces. It was a look you saw in the mirror often enough.

“That obvious?” he says, sucking in air through his teeth.

“Oh yeah.”

He had smiled nervously at you. For the first time since meeting him, you noticed that he looked sweet.

“Yep, uh, I got out. Now I give motivational speeches where I relive my trauma and try ‘n’ convince recruits it’s all worth it.”

You had nodded, thin-lipped, as you moved towards the check-out.

You had wondered what happened to him out there, but something about the way his gaze had fallen on that spot in the aisle told you that what weighed heaviest wasn’t what he did while he was in, but what he did when he got out.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost...

That could happen. You had seen the pattern too many times amongst your buddies. Still, you had seen regret in this man’s eyes. That doesn’t always happen. Not everyone can pull back from the violence. Not everyone wants to.

You had peered into the man’s cart as he moved the items to be scanned. He had cola, lemons, and some sriracha in his cart, but... one step at a time. Coherent meals could come later.

This was hard. This was important.

“You should meet my floofy war hero. He’s outside in my truck,” you had offered, picking-up your bags, and the man picking up his... lemons etc..

“Oh yeah? Sure. Would be an honour,” he had smiled shyly, and you had tracked together over to your truck, thrown your bags in the back, and had let your boy out of the passenger seat.  

“Hey, buddy,” the man had cooed, kneeling down on the ground to deliver some quality scritches, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sight.

“Aw, he loves you! Freddie, you slut!” you had laughed as this huge, burly man baby-talked to your mutt, your dog rolling on the floor and showing his belly like you didn’t feed and water him and take him for walkies.

You had watched the man for a moment. You had noticed a lot about him already, but now you noticed that, shit, he was handsome. That smile. That laugh. Blonde hair and beard and piercing eyes. His arms rippling beneath his pale blue t-shirt.

He had risen back to standing and leaned up against your truck, looking like soemthing out of a catalogue. And then, there it was again. That look. That raw, exposed, bile-inducing look.

“Listen,” he had said earnestly. “Thank you. I probably would still be standing out front if you hadn’t taken pity on me.” 

“No problem. Except, not pity. Not at all,” you had reassured. Affinity, maybe. Recognition.

He had huffed out a gentle, grateful breath.

“For real though, I was getting kinda tired of eating gas station noodle pots. Wouldn’t have my...” he had finally peered into the paper bag, registering the groceries he had panic bought. “Fuck. Wouldn’t have my lemons and sriracha without you.”

“Okay. Now maybe I’ll take pity on you,” you had smiled, gently teasing, and you shifted a few choice ingredient from your bags to his, despite his protests that you’d done enough for him already.

“You did it,” you had said firmly. “I just walked into a place where all the clerks accidently saw my ass cheeks. Whatever you did. It was hard and it was immportant. You did that. You should be proud.”

He had looked at you curiously and disbelievingly with those piercing eyes of his, like he didn’t deserve your words - even though they were merely the truth. So, you had bumped him on the arm, loaded Freddie back into the truck, and had thrown him a “Take care of yourself, man” as you clambered into the driver’s side.

“Wait.. I...”

The handsome, troubled man had motioned to you and you had wound down the window, leaning your arm out the side of the truck.

“Yeah?” you had asked, with a soft smile, but the man had simply shaken his head.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost... 

Nevermind.

He had looked apologetic, like maybe he wasn’t ready to subject himself to anyone just yet. As if he looked at you and saw the ghost of someone he let down standing over your shoulder. Maybe even in your face.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost... 

His brows had knitted together, and he had looked down at his boots, shifting and seeking sure-footing all over again. Grounding himself.

“Listen,” you had offered, starting your engine up. “I do my weekly shop at 2pm on Sundays. You know, if you ever need some company? Or,” you had added with a smile and a casual wink, “if you ever need an excuse to check-out a nice ass again.” 

He had nodded his head and pursed his lips together, before a broad grin split his features, his deep baritone now sounding full as a chuckle spills out of him.

“Good to know,” he had smiled, looking up at you shyly, and he had stepped back to let you swing the truck around and pull away, offering you a wave.

He never did tell you his name, but you had a feeling that you might be seeing him around.

Sometimes, things were simply better with company, after all.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 5

Neil x Reader

Chapter 5: Blue blood

(see chapter 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: everything should be easier from now on, right?

warnings:  language, alcohol mention, 18+

author’s note: I know part 5 was supposed to be a finale. 

It’s not.

This is just where the story took me, and I think splitting it this way is going to pay out in the end.

song for this chapter: Laurel - Blue Blood

Anyway, enjoy! And let me know what you think, please?

-----

You stared at your boss, trying to wrap your mind around everything you’d just heard.

“Does that technically make me--?

“An assistant squad leader, yes,” said The Protagonist. “At least for the time being.“

He didn’t need to say anything else - you were well aware he meant it could go both ways from now on.

You nodded, glancing to your left at Neil.

“As long as it’s not an assistant to the squad leader...” you said and shrugged, trying to keep a straight face while Neil snorted loudly at your comment. You exchanged quick looks and you finally allowed a small smile to appear on your lips. It felt good to catch him off guard for once, and him getting a reference was a nice surprise as well.

“What’s so funny?” the boss asked, eyeing you warily.

Just as you opened your mouth to apologize, Neil collected himself enough to let out a long musing sigh.

“Ah, one could dream.”

You let out an exasperated huff and kicked him in the ankle, stifling a giggle. Fucking hell, you didn’t know what had gotten into you. Or him, for that matter, almost choking with laughter at your reaction.

TP must have been thinking the same because his eyes darted between both of you from under a raised brow. He cleared his throat.

“Are you two done?” he asked, and something in his tone made you straighten in your seats instantly as if you were two misbehaving kids in the principal’s office. “I need the first drafts from you by tomorrow noon.”

“Of course. Thank you, sir,” you said, internally cursing at yourself for losing your cool.

Your boss shook his head slowly and you could swear his usual polite expression cracked for a split second, revealing a glimpse of a smug smile hiding in a corner of his lips.

“Now go, before I change my mind.”

You grabbed the documents from the desk and mumbled a quick goodbye on your way out.

Neil followed you closely, his sparkling eyes showing no remorse for what had just happened.

“Would be easier if you still despised me, wouldn’t it,” he teased as he closed the door behind you.

You groaned and smacked his arm with the papers.

“What makes you think that I don’t?”

“Oh please,” he let out a throaty chuckle and sent you a roguish smile. The way he seemed to be almost obnoxiously confident in how this combo worked on you drove you mad every time. Not that he was wrong, it simply didn’t help the case he was trying to make. “Meet me at my place later?”

You gaped at him. “Can’t we use the conference room?” you asked and started walking down the empty corridor, hoping that being on the move would help your clearly malfunctioning mind.

Neil matched your pace. “It’s gonna take hours and the chairs there are far from comfortable.”

“Who would’ve thought you have such a sensitive ass,” you snickered and narrowed your eyes. “Admit it, you’re just looking for an excuse to lure me to bed.”

You stopped by the elevators. Neil hummed as he reached out to press a button to call one to your floor.

He leaned your way slightly and lowered his voice. “I think we’ve already established that we don’t really need a bed for that.”

...fair point. 

You swallowed with effort, turning his way. He was looking at you with an amused expression on his face, but you saw the way his gaze darkened under your stare. You could be annoyed with him being inappropriate all you wanted, but you had to admit - it was kind of reassuring how some things stayed the same after the recent events.

“Promise to behave?”

Neil raised a brow and a corner of his lips twitched.

“Only if you do.”

“Deal,” you said and walked into the elevator, nodding in a greeting to a couple of agents inside.

As the door closed with a small hiss, you caught a playful twinkle in the blue eyes.

“And only till we finish preparing that draft.”

His voice could be the prime example of corporate professionalism, and that one out-of-context line was obviously not enough to send an elbow to his ribs without raising suspicious looks from your colleagues.

...but you did it anyway.

---------

The time in Neil’s apartment could be counted by the emptied cups of coffee, the amount of scratched ideas, or the number of times you caught each other glancing at one another. And when you finally got close to cracking the case of planning that temporal pincer movement, it was already late in the evening, and you were glad you’d spent the last couple of hours on a comfy sofa instead of one of those god awful chairs in the conference room.

Neil kept his promise and was surprisingly easy to work with. His take on things, not yet tainted by years in the field, provided many fresh ideas, while your experience allowed you to catch and assess any potential risks on the fly. The way he paid attention to your words and cared about your feedback made you feel heard and appreciated, and that was something you weren’t quite used to. You didn’t have too much time to muse over it though, because there were still some parts of the plan you had to go through and the exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, making you less and less productive with every passing minute.

You crumbled a piece of paper in your fist and groaned, tossing it on top of a small pile of paper balls on the floor. As you moved your hand to your face to pinch the bridge of your nose, you noticed red and blue smudges from permanent markers covering your palm. Fucking hell. Choosing to rest your forehead on your knuckles instead, you closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts. You heard Neil standing up and moving to the kitchen. Seems like he needed a break as well.

A moment of silence was abruptly interrupted by the clanking of glassware. You raised your head and stretched your arms, only then realizing how stiff you felt after so many hours curled in one spot. Just as you got up, Neil came back with two glasses of what seemed to be a whiskey.

“Drinks?” you asked, puzzled. Anything with caffeine would be more fitting with your current state, especially since you were not done with the work yet.

Neil smiled as he handed you the glass.

“Thought we could take five minutes off to celebrate.” Seeing your perplexed face, he beamed a bit wider. “...your promotion?”

You laughed at your own confusion. Right. Shrugging lightly, you stirred your glass.

“Oh, it only means I got stuck with you, and I don’t know if it’s a thing to celebrate,” you said, holding back a mischievous grin.

Neil rolled his eyes and let out an amused sigh. “Drown your sorrows then.”

“That I can do,” you arched a brow and chuckled. “Cheers!”

The glasses clinked and you met Neil’s glance with something new shining from under the usual playfulness. He noticed the curiosity in your stare and smirked as he took a sip of his drink, sitting down on a sofa.

“You know what else we could use those five minutes for?” he asked casually, leaning back on the pillows with a roguish smile you knew too well.

You looked him up and down slowly, hoping the whiskey would help with the sudden dryness inside your mouth. That slightly unbuttoned navy shirt with rolled-up sleeves and the way he spread his legs made you weak. You mustered all the self control your tired brain could scramble before speaking again, the lit-up eyes being any indication of the effect he had on you.

“It’s closer to four now, I’m afraid.”

Neil put down his glass on a coffee table and knitted his brows together, pretending to run a short calculation in his mind.

“Ample.”

You downed your drink and teased, “Is it now?” as you placed the empty glass next to his.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said and reached out for your hand, pulling you to him before you could say anything else. As you fell on him with a quiet yelp, Neil wrapped one arm around your waist, securing you on his lap.

A faint protest about the draft not being finished got stuck in your throat. Captivated by the look in his eyes, it dawned on you that it was the first time you were so close, now without the rage boiling in your veins, without the danger of someone walking in on you; just you and him, focused on each other, too awestruck to make the next move.

You brushed a wild strand from his forehead and your fingers traveled further through his hair. Neil’s forehead creased, his jaw went slack and he searched your gaze, trying to figure out your intentions. As your eyes wandered around his features, your fingertips followed them unhurriedly. Grazing lightly against the eyebrows, gliding over the cheekbones, trailing along the sharp jawline till his breath hitched and his lips parted ever so slightly. You noticed how longing his stare became and you smiled softly. Was he always so gorgeous?

Leaning in and cupping his face in your hands, you could feel him tense for a split second, but as soon as you pressed your forehead to his, the arm wrapped around your waist pulled you closer to him and Neil exhaled slowly. He lifted his hand from your lap and his long fingers combed your hair and slid down, rubbing your neck gently.

You closed your eyes and let out a small sigh, relaxing under his touch, under the heat of his body. Breathing in the scent of his cologne, both arousing and grounding at the same time. Tilting your head, you nuzzled his nose and you could feel his brows furrowing as he followed your motion, stroking your nose up and down slowly. Tenderly. Brushing his lips with your fingertips, you lost yourself in this moment. In the warmth spreading through you. In the way your breaths intertwined.

Your hands traced back to his jaw and you felt it clenching in response.

Neil’s hand left your neck and you opened your eyes, only to notice his conflicted expression. And a glimpse of sadness tainting the blue irises. Seeing the confused look on your face, he palmed over your hand on his cheek, pulling it away hesitantly.

“We should get back to work,” he said, avoiding your gaze, his voice raspy and hollow.

The heart sank in your chest as you sprung from his lap. Of course.

“Yeah, right, sure,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling lightheaded, with the cold sweat slowly drenching the back of your shirt and the pulse pounding heavily in your ears.

You were such an idiot. Should have known better. You were never gonna learn, huh?

Gritting your teeth, you grabbed the markers and a fresh stack of papers and sat down on the floor at the far end of the coffee table, trying to ignore the enigmatic stare being sent your way.

Neil let out a deep sigh and reached out for his unfinished drink. As he put down the empty glass, he shook his head, looking somewhat defeated.

You cleared your throat and resumed where you'd left off, determined to get over the last details of the operation as soon as possible. Luckily, focusing on the work numbed down the crippling embarrassment. At least for the time being.

And although the initial flow was nowhere to be found, the plan was ready and bulletproof in a little over an hour. The presentation was finished. And so were you. Or at least that’s how you felt, collecting various blueprints and schematics covering most of the flat areas within your reach. 

You looked around, checking one last time if everything was ready to submit.

“Guess that’s it,” you said and started gathering your things, getting ready to leave. 

Neil followed you to the hall and watched as you put on the coat.

“Listen, I...” 

Holding your breath, you turned his way. Waiting for his next words.

Meanwhile, he struggled to find them, and a frustrated frown clouded his features.

“...let me at least call you a cab?”

The void in your chest grew an inch. Right.

“I’ll take a walk.” Your mouth contorted in a weak attempt to smile. “See you tomorrow, blondie,” you said dryly and walked out of the apartment, nauseous and desperate to get some fresh air.

How silly of you to think that it could be about anything other than sex. 

That’s what you get for being willing to open up.

Yet another painful reminder that you weren’t a relationship material. 

You exhaled shakily as your legs carried you to the only place able to stop your mind from spiraling.

Aim and pull the trigger. 

Repeat.

Simple.

(next chapter->)

[hauntedelation]

Offering

Description: Michael had grown much more comfortable in this place that he resides in. He finally feels progress accumulating in his life. Though, Mike is reflective and can’t help the abundance of space Walter takes up in his mind.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: I am extremely nervous to post my parts 😰 but, I know that there is a nice group of lovers of this story and I am dying to see everyone’s reactions. I have tagged everyone @feralrunaway​ tagged in her parts. This, right here, is one of the warmest pieces that I have ever written. It was a delight to type together. 

I proofread as much as I could, sorry for any errors. I hope y’all enjoy! 💖

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: smut (18+), oral sex, a bit of doubt, a truckload of fluff, trust exercise

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The large oak trees, heavy with emerald leaves danced outside Mike's window. He only had two views in the small quarters that he was living in. Each opening was spacious enough to see much of the flowery fields stretching out behind the church.

A single twin bed, one large oak dresser, a bookshelf, and a desk. This was what could fit in the room. Mike found that he did not need much, only space for him to lay out his work, a closet for his church attire, and a bed to sleep in.

Other than the clothes on his back and a burning desire for rebirth—for change within himself, Michael arrived with nothing. 

He was thankful when Walter took him in. From the beginning, everything felt too good to be true. Genuine benevolence, it was a bit of a rare phenomenon to experience. He thinks back that it must have been several years since he observed that. 

It may have been several years since I deserved that, he thought.

The young man could not believe his ears when he was told, "My doors are open to anyone. If you need a safe place, I have a bed open."

It was how Father Marshall spoke those words to him that day, how he never showed an ounce of irritation or disinterest in Mike. The man spoke to Michael with generosity and the respect that he seldom received.

The way that man made him feel alone, Mike struggled to find the words still. Father Marshall—Walter, opened up parts of him that he thought would never see the light of day. He reached inside Michael, with that thawing glint in his eyes and his staunchly charming voice. 

Mike knew that he was a goner.

That night of the rainstorm, in this very room where he was nearing his limit. There he felt the most exposed he had ever been and Walter did nothing but look deep into his eyes and take him in further. 

Come here, it's alright...

His hand laid over the knotted flesh on his chest, subconsciously fisting the fabric covering it. Walter's touch still remained. With each sting rapturing that very spot, the ghostly remains of those dark and horrific nights.

The grace of his warm skin against Mike's was a potent balm, pushing away those unsettling feelings inside—and for the first time since the accident, pacifying him. Walter, the only one who had accomplished this with Michael. And Mike wasn't sure that the man knew of the effect he had on him.

The wind blew gently along his cheek and forehead, and Mike lifted his head to look out the window. His eyes drifted over the stray clouds inching along the bright sky, taking in the summer air. They settled upon the sun peeking out from behind a fluffy overcast until his attention drifted back down to the book in front of him. 

He drowned in the pages, for it had been years since he actually sat down and read a book. Feeling the sun kissing his skin and the pages under his fingertips, Mike grew to find his escape in the romantic words.

The young man had not noticed the low creak of his bedroom door open, or the footsteps padding in. He missed the sound of the door closing and the click of the lock following. 

Michael leaned his elbow on the window sill, inching in closer. His attentive orbs traced the sentences in the pages.

The presence in the room muted, standing just a few feet away from the long side of the bed. They rotated their head to and fro, interest taken in the decorations and books littering the room. After several months of residency, the once bare and insipid bedroom now housed a fair amount of decorations. 

Pages of scripture, photographs of Michael and newfound friends, and even drawings the children gifted him sporadically hung the walls and the space of the shelves.

Michael had yet to notice any change in the room, the light breeze filled his ears and his mind was lost in the world of Maurice Hall.

The young man's shoulders kicked up slightly at the soft dip of his mattress. He froze, breath catching in his throat and his lids opening wide.

A thick arm snaked its way around the right of Mike, the volume of hair gracing the skin provided the young man a tell. He felt his remaining side become captured in another arm. Soon, Michael fell victim to an intoxicating embrace, as the familiar feel of a broad chest pressed to his back.

The whisper that met his ear was accompanied by the scratch of prickly hair.

"Hi."

So simple and an everyday greeting, but Mike couldn't help the grin manifesting on his face. He relaxed into those arms and allowed himself to take Walter in. He could feel the deep rumble of a chuckle vibrate his back and behind the shell of his ear. 

"It wasn’t my intention to startle you, Michael."

He shook his head.

"It's alright, Walt."

The older priest began kissing along the nape of his neck, murmuring his apologies into Michael's skin.

"I know that it's been a little while since you and I saw each other last. I have been caught up in work, projects with the other bishops."

Mike hummed, working to not squirm under the intense contrast between Walter's lips and his facial hair.

"I know, I...I understand. I've made myself busy with other stuff."

Father Marshall pulled away and took a look at the novel in Mike's hands, brow lifting to try to read the current page he was on. With his eyes following about halfway down the paper, his mind was sparked with the title of the famed book.

"Is that from my personal library?"

Michael didn't reply to the question.

He might have snuck into Walter's office here and there, curiosity getting the best of him. The man did have an impressive collection of books, many ranging of different genres and subjects. 

Mike found this particular title hidden inside a drawer in Walter's desk.

The younger male placed a marker in the opened book and closed it shut. The violet lace layering the cover and the silhouette of two men faced upward. 

Walter's fingertips were brought to the underside of Michael's jaw, with a tilt he connected their lips together. 

It was needful, eventually growing more so with quiet gasps and sighs. He rotated Mike's body, gently pulling him away from the window sill, and shifted his legs to surround his wide hips.

Michael's heart began to thud with a solid beat in his chest. He eagerly followed the older man’s lead, his body instinctively doing so. The sweeping touch of Walter, his large palms stretching over his skin and his lips urgent against Mike's throat lead the young curate into a dense fog. 

"I missed you."

It was soft and noted along Mike's jaw. At first, he thought it was simply a misunderstanding, it must have been. He didn't quite know how to respond, for that phrase rang loud and repeated in his ears.

Walter pulled away and rubbed his hands along his thighs. He pressed his forehead to Michael's and gazed down, taking note of the swell between the young man's legs.

When Mike's superior placed his lips once more to his, he found himself releasing hushed moans, each one taken into Walter's lungs.

His volume hitched lightly as a warm pressure smoothed over the tension in his jeans. The friction moved upward, his belt grasped. He could feel the brown leather start to loosen around his hips.

Mike stilled, hesitantly pulling his mouth away from Walt's. 

There was a quiet tension between the two lovers. Walter's brows quirked up in concern and he slowly pulled his hands away from the belt, resting his hands on either side of Mike.

"Is everything alright?" He whispered.

"I can stop if—"

"—N-no. It's okay."

Mike shut his eyes and sighed to himself, head dropping minutely. It was okay. Michael could not find a sign within that pointed toward anything less than what felt...right. 

The feeling jerking in his gut melted away with anything dark that was remaining. This was real, all genuinely happening. He could reach out and touch Walter, and he would be there, warm under his palm.

He was left with what felt like feathers inside of him.

Mike placed his fingers over Walter's and moved them back to his belt, "Please keep going."

While his lover gingerly loosened the confining fabric around his lower half, Mike lifted his face and nuzzled against the older priest's bushy cheek.

"I missed you too."

A breeze was sent through the opened window that speckled Michael's skin in a layer of bumps. He shivered, despite the season's high temperature plaguing much of the atmosphere outside.

His discomfort was abolished the instant Walter's lips met his rigid length.

Mike's fingers dug into the blanket, his mouth falling open at the sight in front of him. Walter licked and let his tongue follow the veins along the sides of his erection, taking the head into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks.

The young curate keened, his thighs spreading wider to allow Walt more room. He could feel the man's fingers lightly rub and massage his balls. His other hand anchored the base of Mike's length, compressing with each dip of Walter's head. 

Michael's hips jerked, as he tried to take his eyes off of the priest's reddening lips. His blackened pupils fell on the window outside, eyes fluttering at the sound of Walter sloppily swallowing him down.

He could hear himself spew shortened words that barely had the effort of coming out, each one ragged and shaky. 

"Ah, f-fuck. Walt—please."

Walter hummed, pulling his mouth off of Michael with a wet, gentle pop. His hand remained stroking the quivering length.

"How does that feel?"

The younger man simply bit on his lips, tearing his eyes away from the window to the striking blue down below. Their eyes met, and the priest grinned, dipping down and giving little licks at the slit on Mike's head.

The room soon erupted with a deep, teasing, laugh, and hoarse pleading. Walt lifted his head once more, releasing Mike's erection. He wet his lips and brought his palms to smooth along Mike's trembling thighs. 

The young man peered down at him with an inquisitive look. There was an expression on Walt's bearded face that read anticipation.

"I wanted to show you something...It's erm...Well here, let me—"

Walter sat up on his knees, carefully steadying his body to reach into his pant pocket. He pulled out a black, velvet sack, about the size of a change purse. He shifted closer to Mike, pulling out a black and silvery-looking object. 

Through a closer look, eyes squinting to get a better view, Michael could see that what was resting in his lover's palm was a finely shaped plug. 

And, well, it wasn't an ordinary plug.

The silver trim showcased the sleek design and contrasted finely against the onyx black color. He tilted his head to study the object further, on the flared end was a cross, raised slightly above the surface. 

Walter chewed on his lower lip as he watched Michael's eyes furrow down at the plug in his hand. 

"I assume that you know...what this is," he breathed out a chuckle.

"The reason I show you this is...I know how much you enjoy it when I perform things down there. And…" Walter paused, mulling over his next sentence. 

"You need to be ready for me—whenever you are wanting to continue. I want you to wear this, and…during that time, wherever you go the Lord will be walking with you."

Michael inhaled, eyes shifting between his lover's and the plug. With heat rising to his face and burning clear to his ears, he pulled a bashful grin up to Walter. Eventually, he slowly nodded his head. 

"Okay."

The beam on Walter's face would challenge the shining sun outside. He descended down Michael's legs once more, pressing kisses along his inner thigh and his knee. 

Without breaking eye-contact, Father Marshall reached under Mike's bed to find the small bottle of lubricant.

Walter's finger was cold and jarring against his sensitive hole as he spread the gel. Michael found himself chuckling in response, his hand going to rub at the back of his neck.

His lover returned his warm mouth to the throbbing length between his legs, drawing out those same muddled words and sighs from Michael's lips. 

With an attentive focus, the older priest pressed his finger into the puckered hole and began periodically stretching.

Michael could feel everything within him tumbling down, a flurry of jitters tickling along his spine and his groin. 

Walt reached up toward Mike's fidgeting hand by his broad shoulder and guided it to his mess of curls. Mike shuddered, breathlessly moaning as he watched the man's head bob over his length, long curls poking out by the spaces of his fingers. 

There, laying a few inches next to their bodies was the plug. The silver cross glimmered smoothly under the mid-afternoon sunlight, reflecting a white ray onto the ceiling above. 

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Taglist: @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks  @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard​ @littlefreya​ @zealoushound​ @luna-aestas​​ 

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- These tags hadn’t worked for me :(

If I missed anyone, I apologize!

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[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

A Chance Meeting

So it turns out I have absolutely no self control.  So here you are; Thorin POV of ADM.  Enjoy, and be sure to let me know what you think!

Part 1 of ‘Matters of the Heart’.  Link to Series Masterlist

Thorin’s POV of A Deep Misunderstanding

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count:  2,267

Warning(s):  Rude Thorin, a mild swear word or two

~~~~

I turned the map in my hands, trying to make sense of the twisting pathways of The Shire.  

Damn those Hobbits and their complicated city designs.  Why couldn't everything be straight instead of twirling around in circles?!

Glancing up to compare a street name on the map with those upon the wooden marker, I scowled in frustration.  I had already gone down the wrong path once, and I did not wish to repeat my mistake.  Well, then there was the other street I went down and got lost in.

"Why didn't the blasted wizard think to mention that there are multiple streets named after the same bloody plant?"  I grumbled to myself, striding down a pathway that seemed to match one on the map the aforementioned wizard had given me at our last meeting.

The dirt was well-trodden beneath my boots; pebbles crunching lightly with each step I took.  A light breeze gently guided the few clouds scudding across the bright full moon that lit my way.  The faded emerald flannel of my cloak and the hot Dwarvish blood that ran through my veins was enough to shield me from the breeze, but all the same I pulled the cloth tighter around me, disguising my figure.

The last thing I wanted was one of these Hobbits making a fuss about a Dwarf wandering through their streets in the dead of night.  That would just be the icing upon the cake to this already disastrous night.

Just then, I came to the top of the hill; a picket fence surrounding a round Hobbit dwelling that had the mark of Gandalf etched on the green door.  Vaguely, I could make out the sound of raucous singing and loud voices from where I stood.

Mahal, I was late.

Heaving a sigh of relief at finally reaching my destination, I opened the gate and trudged through up the cobblestones.  Stepping up onto the doorstep, I thumped thrice upon the door; my frustration getting the better of me.

Instantly the noise died down and silence fell upon the moonlight night.  I turned my gaze to one of the windows, trying to see who had all arrived before me.  

Then the door creaked open and I turned my head to look through it, gazing at Gandalf who was bent double as he stood in the entryway of the Hobbit hole.  A Hobbit stood just behind him, looking thoroughly put out.

"Gandalf.  I thought you said this place would be easy to find.  I lost my way, twice."  I murmured in a low voice, stepping inside.  "I wouldn't have found it at all, had it not been for that mark on the door."  I undid the chain fastening my cloak around my neck and pulled the garment off; folding it neatly and setting it aside.

"Mark?"  The Hobbit exclaimed, pattering over to the door to peer at it as Gandalf pushed it shut.    "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!"  He protested.  I ignored the peeved Hobbit and gazed around at my surrounds with a smile on my face.

Comfort was a word that described this place perfectly, and comfort was something that I longed for after a long journey from the Blue Mountains.

"There is a mark, I've put it there myself."  Gandalf replied to the Hobbit before turning to look over at me.  "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."  

I looked down upon the Hobbit, stepping closer to study him with a close eye.  "So, this is the Hobbit."  I murmured, disbelieving that this was whom Gandalf had talked so highly of.  Crossing my arms, I shifted on my feet.  "Tell me Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?"  I inquired roughly, walking around the Hobbit to look him over.

He looked small and used to the comforts of home; hardly someone I would take along on a arduous quest.  He would be more of a liability than an asset.

The Hobbit shuffled on his feet, looking utterly bewildered.  "Pardon me?"  

I continued on with my questioning, taking in the fine linens he wore.  "Axe or sword, what's your weapon of choice?"  I asked, coming back to face the Hobbit.

He rocked in place, glancing down at the ground before returning my gaze.  "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know."  He replied saucily, "but I fail to see why that's relevant."

I refrained from rolling my eyes, turning away from the Hobbit to look over at the others who had clustered in the doorway.  "I thought as much.  He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."  I smirked, looking back at Kili who grinned and laughed at my poking fun at the Hobbit.

The Hobbit looked disgruntled at my words, but stayed silent as I walked past him towards the doorway where Dwalin stood.  He and Balin turned and led me through the kitchen and into the dining room.

There in the dining room, a raven-haired woman worked at stacking plates; her back towards us as she picked up a pile.  Turning around, she started in surprise upon catching sight of us standing there, but kept her hold upon the plates.  

I was not one for petty, emotional feelings, but it would be a lie if I denied that I did not feel fluttering within my disloyal heart.  I was embarking on a dangerous quest; I had no reason to be lusting after a pretty dame.  But yet there was something about her that attracted me.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"  I asked with a raised brow, curious as to why the Hobbit had a Dwarrowdame in his home.  They were rare enough within Dwarvish colonies, so how did she come to be in these parts?  

But before she could respond, Gandalf spoke up from behind me.  "Her name is Estel and I brought her along with me because I believe she can be of use on this quest of yours."

I turned to look at him, unsure if my ears were working properly.

Take Dwarrowdame along on a quest that might very well claim all our lives?  I should think not!  Particularly if she is as attractive...NO!  I cannot think of her in such a way.  I had no business pining after a dame.

"I do not think that she can be of any help on this quest, Gandalf.  We do not need another person to look after..."  I murmured meaningfully, but Gandalf paid no attention me and went on to take his place at the table.

The lass--Estel--was quick to hurry away with her load of plates, heading into the kitchen where she lingered.  I took a seat at the head of the table as the rest of my companions made their way back into the room and found a seat.  

Everyone talked quietly as they waited for some unknown signal, but I remained preoccupied in my thoughts.  I had seen many different dames during my lifetime, but none--not even the most beautiful--had sparked such feelings as Estel had when my gaze fell upon her.  

It was not like she was different--oh, but she was--she was shorter in stature, sturdy, dark-haired with blue eyes that glimmered like sapphires or kyanite gems found deep within the mines.  No different than any other dame I had ever met.

But yet, she was entirely different all at the same time.  Such a contradictory thing, but true nonetheless.

Soft footsteps sounded behind me, and the woman preoccupying my thoughts appeared at my side with a bowl in her hands.

"We saved some of this back for you, Master Thorin."  She murmured softly, setting the bowl down in front of me.  I gazed up at her delicate features--ignoring how my heart fluttered as I took in the slight smile she wore.  

"Thank you, Miss Estel."  I nodded, and she nodded back before turning away to settle herself beside Bofur.

Jealousy rose within me like a dragon as Bofur turned to talk quietly with her.  She laughed softly at something he said and I resisted the urge to bolt upright and separate them.  Why did it matter?  It was not as if she was my One or anything.  These were just lustful feelings brought about by my long journey.  Nothing more.

But Balin's voice drew my attention away from the raven-haired lass.  "What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?"  He inquired, setting his elbows on the table before him as he leaned forward with interest.  "Did they all come?"

I swallowed my mouthful of warm broth and nodded, pushing aside all thoughts other than the quest we were embarking on.  "Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms...."

Later, after the Hobbit had fainted upon hearing the description of Smaug, I lingered in one of the hallways with Balin.  We watched as the Hobbit walked away from Gandalf, and Balin let out a sigh.

"It appears we have lost our burglar.  Probably for the best.  The odds were always against us.  After all, what are we?  Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy makers.  Hardly the stuff of legend."  He bemoaned, and my gaze flickered over to him as he stood across from me.

"There are a few warriors amongst us."  I countered softly, but Balin shook his head.

"Old warriors."

"I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills, for when I called upon them, they answered."  I murmured, "loyalty, honour, a willing heart.  I can ask no more than that."

That was all they had to offer in the first place.

Balin watched me carefully as I twisted the key Gandalf had given to me in my fingers.  "You don't have to do this.  You have a choice.  You've done honourably by our people.  You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains.  A life of peace of plenty.  A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."  He said quietly, but I only shook my head gently.

"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me.  They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland.  There is no choice, Balin.  Not for me."  

Balin smiled, his eyes twinkling at me.  "Then we are with you, laddie.  We will see it done."

I smiled gratefully at the elder Dwarrow, knowing that what I asked was no small feat.  We all ran the risk of losing our lives in this quest.

~~~~

Following my conversation with Balin, we made our way into the sitting room where the rest of the Dwarrows had begun to gather before the fire.  Instantly, my eyes sought out Estel and after a moment I found her sitting alone, cradling a mug in her hands as she stared into the flames.

Upon my entrance, she glanced up and her gaze met mine for a instant before she looked away again, looking down at her mug.

Ignoring the urge to go and talk with her, I walked over to the mantlepiece, leaning against it and staring down into the orange and yellow flames that danced to unheard music.  

Slowly, I began to hum, losing myself in thoughts and memories of a day long past; a day when fire lit up the sky and ground shook beneath the feet of a dragon.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold.  To dungeons deep and caverns old.  We must away ere break of day.  To find our long forgotten gold.

The pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night.  The fire was red, it flaming spread.  The trees like torches blazed with light.

Gradually, the rest joined in, choosing either to sing aloud or hum the melody.  The room filled with the heavy weight of sorrow as those old enough to remember the day recalled everything that had happened.  I scanned the room, my gaze lingered on the lass.

She sat mutely, her brow furrowed as she listened to the words.  Vaguely, I wondered how old she was.  Perhaps she was around Kili's age and had only heard the stories about that fateful day.  

I continued to watch her as the last notes faded away, the room falling silent once more, save for the crackling of the fire.  Drawing a deep breath, I pushed away from the mantlepiece and walked over to Estel, seating myself by her side.

It was strange; I felt nervous about approaching her.  

"Miss Estel, do you not know this song?"  I inquired in a low voice, and she turned her head to look at me; raven locks spilling over her shoulder to cascade down her back.

"No, Master Thorin.  I have never heard it before."  She answered, and I raised an eyebrow.

"You haven't?"

"No."  She bit her lower lip, drawing my gaze to it.  

I wanted nothing more than to steal a taste...  Mahal, what was I thinking?  

Drawing in a deep breath, I reluctantly focused my gaze on her eyes.  Estel continued to gnaw on her lip--driving me mad--as she glanced out the window behind the two of us.

"It is high time for me to call it a night I believe.  I will see you early tomorrow, Master Thorin."  She nodded to me as she rose to her feet; shooting me a smile that shouldn't have caused my heart to flutter like it did.

I had no business falling in love.

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[mybrothershands]

MBH/Dumpling Crossover

featuring @diddlesanddoodles lovely characters and edited by @thundering-sussurus

"No," Cairo said blatantly before Ka had a chance.

Farris eyed Cairo with a deadpan expression.

“Luckily, we ain’t so desperate a condition as to be needin’ yer services,” Farris replied, but there was a single vein along his temple that pulsed in repressed irritation. His eyes moved back up to Ka and he asked, “Ye always let that one talk fer ye?”

The man clamped his hand over Cairo's mouth. A lump had formed in Ka's throat, and he swallowed. "Ah... I, that is." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Something about the man made him anxious, and he could not help but shuffle in place a bit. "No, I thank you very much for... for letting me work."

He glanced over at the men working the enormous pumpkins. It was so odd to see so many halfling giants in one place. They were a far cry from being human, and yet their weathered hands seemed small and delicate as they worked. Somehow they had cultivated larger foodstuffs, and Ka found himself a bit jealous. They did not look as lumbering or stupid as he must. There were so few foods that were to-scale for his kind, and yet these people seemed to have every luxury and more, even if some of the animals were a bit... unorthodox.

He quickly looked away, realizing he must have been staring. Ka's eyes moved to Nenani, still sitting comfortably in Farris's arm. It was then he realized this must be the man who watched her while she was sick. The giant cocked his head ever so slightly. Maybe there was more to this man.

Ka picked his head up, meeting the little giant's eyes for the first time. They were a piercing pale green, and he felt as if they might bore right through him. He cleared his throat, trying not to look away. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime? Anything at all. Decorations hung, moving tables..." he cringed before offering the next suggestion, thinking of what he might be asked to do to those poor birds, "...unloading the wagon?"

Farris did not miss the heavy reluctance in his voice.

“I know a tenderfoot when I see one. So stop lookin’ like a panicked scullery maid,” Farris admonished.

Scullery maid? Still, Ka nodded at the instructions, more than happy to listen in silence. "Yessir, thank you," he said when Farris was done, then eyed Avery. He was not sure how he felt about being called a beanpole, but, in any case, he seemed to have gotten over his shock well enough. Past that, he did not seem as hard as Farris. None of them did.

Cairo, however, was getting testy at constantly having his mouth shut by giant fingers. "You're gonna suffocate me," the human grumbled when he was finally free. His companion ignored him and listened for instructions.

“Avery and Bart will handle the birds. Yer with Saen on pumpkin duty. They need broken down, cut up, and fried so my bakers can get them into the pies and into the ovens for luncheon service.” He turned around to call out towards the black-haired cook sitting among the piles of pumpkins. “Avery. Come and start in on these birds. I want the first batches roastin’ within the hour.”

Avery stood, looking utterly relieved to be taken off pumpkin duty, and marched towards them. His step faltered, however, as he got his first real look at Ka. But he squared his shoulders and continued towards the cart, trying to play off his momentary hesitation.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, glancing him up and down as he fished two of the birds from the back of the cart. He held one under each of his burly arms. “Who’s the bean pole?”

“Ka’s helpin’ out today,” Farris replied dismissively. “Now shut yer gob and get to it. The spice mixture is in the green jar on the counter. Should be enough fer all of ‘em, so don’t be too heavy handed.” He turned towards Ka and jerked his head in a clear indication for him to follow. “We move fast down here, understand? Ye have a question? Ask it. And I ain’t no babysitter either. Only child down here is the lil’un.”

Farris led him over to the fire pit. A table had been placed nearby, and on it sat a few knives, a long handled wooden spoon, and two large crocks: one of butter and the other of honey. Farris eyed the knives and then said, “I’ll get a more size appropriate knife fer ye. In the meantime, sit down and Yale will be back with yer breakfast.”

"Thank you," Ka said as he approached the pit. He nodded politely to the one called Saen and noticed how the little giant's hair stuck up in the front. At first glance, he looked a bit puckish, though that was yet to be determined. Ka found and palmed the pumpkin Avery had left behind. There was a patch of the orange skin the skin already shaved off, he noted. Taking a moment to study it, Ka sat down near the table and took one of the small knives, despite Farris's offer.

After a few attempts to work with the little knife that felt like a kid's toy in his hand, he seemed to remember something. "Oh, I actually have... my own." He pulled on the strap of his satchel, then flipped the top open, producing a six-foot blade that was definitely not a kitchen knife. It was blunted and had several nicks in it, however, apparently unloved. He reached out, arm easily closing the distance, and held it into the flames for a moment to burn off any filth.

"I am Ka, by the way," he said, eyeing the man who looked about his age. "He told me your name, but... I'm afraid I've already forgotten."

Putting down his own knife, Saen extended a welcoming hand to Ka.

“I’m Saen,” replied the cook with a wide friendly smile. Ka at first reached out with his left hand to shake, but then realized his error and switched the pumpkin to his other hand and shook with his right. It did not feel too small, as he thought it might have. It was more like shaking a boy's hand, though calloused and firm.

"Saen," he repeated.

“And don’t mind Avery none," Sean continued. "He’s got all the tact of a mule and as much sense as a rusted penny.”

“I heard that!” Avery called as he came back up the steps from having delivered the first two birds to Bart.

“Maybe ye were meant to!” Saen retorted with a cheeky grin. Avery threw up a rude gesture as he went to the cart to collect two more birds. Saen just laughed and said, “Ye should be grateful this one came to rescue from prep work. Yer right shit at peeling.”

Yale appeared then at the top of the steps with the two meat pies, bundled up in a clean tea towel. He stopped to talk to Farris for a moment before continuing on towards Ka and Saen.

Nenani pulled at the kitchen master’s shirt to ask a question. “Fine. Just keep outta the way now and don’t be a pest, eh?” Farris warned before crouching down and releasing Nenani onto the ground.

“I won’t,” she promised and scampered along after Yale. Farris eyed the courtyard and the workers within before turning and taking the steps down into the kitchen.

Careful not to touch the still-hot blade, Ka made quick work of the gourd, peeling the skin away in long, thin ribbons. Both Yale and Saen watched with no small amount of awe at how Ka made such fast work of the gourd. With a wide grin, Saen turned to Yale. “Can we keep him?”

The pumpkin fit like a large potato in his hand, so the task really was not that difficult for him. Still, he bit back a smile and pretended to be too focused on his work to notice. Then two sets of feet approached, one big and one small, and he picked up his head. "Hello again," he greeted Yale. Finding Nenani on the ground, he thought it might be safe to release Cairo and set the pumpkin on the table. He double-tapped his chest as a warning before fishing the man out of his pocket.

Cairo grumbled a bit, but stretched as soon as his feet were on the grass. "Stiff as a board," he groaned, then reached his hand in his britches and scratched his rear.

Meanwhile, Nenani walked up to Cairo but stopped a few feet short. She bounced on her heels, a little bashful and said, “Hello.”

The man frowned, eyeing her with a squint. He looked the girl up and down, then squinted further. He turned his head and spit on the ground. "Can I help you?" he growled.

There weren’t many humans in the castle, and Nenani had wanted to ask the man questions about his life with Ka. But any questions she had died on her tongue as she stared down at the floor where Cairo had spit. She made a face and, looking back up, met his gaze with a disapproving frown. “That’s gross.”

He raised a brow. "So it is," Cairo said, a bit bored. He jerked his thumb back towards the kitchen where Farris had disappeared. "That one there, little man, he take care of you?"

She nodded. “Yeah. Everyone in the kitchen kind of does, but Farris is my actual guardian. See?” She reached into the top of her dress to pull out her marker. It was nothing but a simple leather strap with a struck metal medallion, and she held it up to him, showing off the side with Farris’s seal.

Cairo furrowed his brow and gave a simple grunt. "Collared you, then," he said. Still, it was rare he met one who did not fear the giants. Even Ka she had been kind to. Crossing his arms, he studied the piece, but did not move to touch. "Why?"

“It’s not a collar,” Nenani insisted with a mild glare. “It’s supposed to let everyone know I’m allowed to be here and to leave me alone. Because if you don’t have a marker, you might be trespassing. And not everyone here likes humans and might try to hurt you.”

The man regarded her for a moment. That did not bode well for him; then again, he had not planned to leave Ka's side, either. He thought for a moment longer, then spoke slowly. "We don't have anything like that," Cairo began, "but Ka does have a pocket that lets the regular folk know he's safe."

He had detested the idea of the marker at first, but on second thought, it might be quite nice to silently say that one was protected by a giant. A bit of a trophy in his mind. He then looked back and realized something else. "With protection comes..." He paused, trying to think of the correct word, and then realized what a stupid thought he had had. "I don't think it would be proper for me to wear one. It's my job to keep him safe, not the other way around."

She regarded him with confusion at first, looking back towards Ka and all his towering height and substantial bulk and then back at the much smaller Cairo. She smiled knowingly. “That’s what Jae says about Barnaby and Maevis. That Barnaby is more Maevis’s guardian than he is his.” She tucked her marker back inside her dress. “But don’t be worried about not having a marker of your own. Farris’s permission is good enough. No one will bother you while you’re here in the kitchens. I’ve only had one giant try and hurt me since I came here. I threw a pepperseed in his eye.”

Cairo raised his brow. "Good girl," he lauded. "And what did little man do when he found out?"

“Bart told Keral first,” she replied.

“What’s this about Keral?” Yale asked, having heard only the tail end of their conversation. He had moved to the fire pit and the large flat pan that had been placed atop a thin metal rack of sorts to hold it above the fire.

“I was telling him about Thrist trying to eat me that one time,” Nenani answered matter of factly.

Yale growled darkly at that. “Yeah, that swine-faced fucker ain’t gonna be tryin’ that again. He’s lucky Farris wasn’t around or he’d have had his arse fer curtains, and Keral would be down a scout.”

Cairo made an awkward snort before wiping his nose on his shirt. Eat her? What kind of hellish nightmare was this place?

"Do I put the pieces in there?" Ka asked, indicating the pan. He had finished skinning the pumpkin and rolled up his sleeves before uncorking the gourd. In truth, he had heard the conversation as well, but he was already squeamish at the idea and did not think he wanted to hear the rest of the tale.

"Down a scout?" Cairo asked, oblivious to Ka's discomfort. "You mean he ain't dead?"

“Aye, but first slice ‘em thin-like. They’ll cook faster that way,” Saen told Ka. He looked to Yale. “Lil’ man has a point though. Never did figure out how Keral managed to keep Thrist’s neck out of a noose.”

Yale shrugged, lips pinched into a frown. “I suppose bein’ the king’s favorite has it’s perks. So long he keeps him far away from the lass, I’m content with whatever hell trek Keral sent him on.”

Saen turned to Cairo. “Ye see, Thrist is a blue coat ranger. Ye might ‘a spotted one or two of ‘em here and abouts, but mostly they’re out in the provinces and the wilds, keepin’ an eye on things and reportin’ back to Keral who then reports to the King. He’s the captain of the Blue Rangers. Back when the Blood King was still alive, they were a bunch of murdering thugs. But since Keral took over, he’s been tryin’ to bring the order back to its original purpose.”

“He’s also Farris’s brother,” Nenani added.

"Brother," Ka muttered under his breath. There was a wafer-thin sneer on his face that faded as he shook his head. He hollowed out the pumpkin with a finger, holding the orange guts in his palm for a moment before holding them out. "You keep the seeds?" he spoke up in a kinder tone.

"And Farris would have wrent him limb from limb," Cairo said slowly, watching Yale's face as he said it.

“I’m sure he has his reasons, but I can’t say I wouldn’t have paid good coin to see that,” Yale replied. He sighed in resignation. “But Keral isn’t a bad sort, even if his men are pieces of walking rubbish. Probably the most cheerful man in the whole castle. Until ye make him mad and then he looks a lot more like Farris.”

“And his whiskey is top shelf. Got a bottle of it fer my nameday a few years back. But careful," Saen added. He gave Cairo a wink. "It’s got one hell of a kick.”

Ka adjusted his seat, still unsure what to do with the pumpkin guts in his hand. Finding no better place to put them, he tossed the glob into the fire and went to slicing up the pumpkin on the table.

Meanwhile, Cairo put a hand to his heart. "What! You take me for a drunkard? No, no, no no no," he waved both hands before himself. "Lost my uncle to the devil juice," he declared.

“Apologies,” Saen replied, shamefaced, and he raised his hands to placate the human. “Meant no offense. Sorry fer yer loss there, lad.”

Ka promptly knocked the man over with a knuckle. "Dirty liar."

"Hey!" he spat, brushing the dirt from his person as he got up.

The giant turned to meet Sean's eyes. "He likes mead. Had to carry him home half the time-- hey! Don't kick me! Old fart."

"You didn't let me finish," the human growled, glaring up at him. "I had him right where I wanted, too."

"Saen is nice, you shouldn't do that to him," Ka said plainly. This earned him another kick in the shin.

Saen recovered from his surprise quickly, looking to Yale with a haughty grin. “Ye hear that, Yale? I’m nice.”

Yale had grabbed up some of the sliced pumpkins and tossed them onto the pan with a knob of butter, and they began to sizzle. He waved the wooden spoon at his fellow and retorted, “Only ‘cause he’s never seen ye lose at the pebble toss. Or yer tantrum afterwards.”

“Ah, I don’t lose that often,” Saen replied, suddenly defensive.

“Well, the three shillings I won off ye last month say otherwise,” Yale replied as he turned his attention back to the frying pumpkin. He abruptly turned back to Saen as a memory suddenly resurfaced. “And then there was the time ye bit Kol.

“Oi. He stole my sausage,” Saen replied with a frown. “Fair punishment fer the crime.”

“Well, I think you’re nice,” Nenani said and Saen turned to smile at her.

“Why thank you,” he said.

“Even if you bite people,” she added with a grin.

Saen’s smile drooped and he held his arms out in exasperation. “It was one time, and I was drunk off my arse!”

Had Ka been wrong? Maybe his first impression had been right. They were not being rude, at least not to him, but it reminded him how little he knew. He was just an outsider, after all, so decided to keep his mouth shut for a little while. Since Yale had deemed his sliced pumpkin worthy of the frying pan, he regarded the small pile of gourds and wondered just how many pies they planned on making. He shrugged, taking another pumpkin and tossed end over end a up a couple times before setting to peeling again.

Cairo, however, had no such convictions. "You," he said, hammering a finger at Saen, "I like you." He crossed the lawn towards him, much to Ka's dismay. "So what's this about the king's whiskey," he paused, recollecting, "and what the ripe devil is a nameday, for that matter?"

Saen began slicing up more pumpkins but paused at Cairo’s question, regarding the human with a look of horror.

“Ye mean ye don’t have namedays where yer from?” Saen asked. “To celebrate ye bein’ a year older?”

The human squinted up at him. "It's a birth-day, you fool. Because it was the day you were...?" He shrugged. "Unless you hatched from an egg. I suppose you do look a bit like a lizard, then."

Saen slid his knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and paused, staring off into space as he realized the silly mistake he had made. “Oh. Birthdays...huh. Yeah, those.”

Off to the side, Nenani laughed. Saen sent a brief glare her way, but it left soon as it came and he moved on. “As fer the whiskey, it’s ain’t the king’s. Keral’s a bit famous fer his whiskey round here. He doles it out to those he deems worthy of it every once in a while. Farris may still have a bottle. Ask ‘im nice like and he may give ye a nip.”

“Best wait till end of day though,” Yale advised in good humor. “We ain’t bluffin’ about it havin’ a right kick. And we don’t need ya wanderin’ ‘round only fer ye to lose yer footin’ and fall arse end into the fire.”

Saen snickered. “Yeah, just ask Jae."

"Mmh," Cairo grumbled, waving his hand. "Never been one to ask nicely myself." He knocked twice on Saen's shin.

At the motion, Ka watched the man with round eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth. Still, Cairo did not seem to care, and repeated the motion.

Saen looked down curiously and titled his head. “May I be of assistance?”

By now, Ka was visibly shaking his head, openly nervous. The human either did not notice or simply ignored him. "Up, I said," Cairo laughed. He eyed the orange stains on his hand. "Wipe your grubby hands off first, mind you. I don't want to smell like rotten fruit in an hour."

“Oh. Alright then,” said the cook, pleasantly surprised. He sat his knife down and roughly wiped his hands onto his apron before bending down. There was a moment’s hesitation as Saen tried to think of the best way of picking the man up. Unlike Nenani, Cairo was an adult and therefore taller and with considerably more heft to him. In the end, he used the same technique he employed with the little girl, which was to shove his hands under the human’s arms and lift him up. Perhaps it was simply that he was more accustomed to the weight of a small human child, but Saen was a little taken aback by just how much heavier Cairo was. Though really he shouldn’t have been. He did his best to not let it show on his face as he lifted the man onto a clean spot on the table.

Cairo winced a bit as the giant pinched the old wound in his ribs. Once set down, he let out a puff of air and brushed himself off. "Boy you got little girly hands, don't you?"

"Cairo..." Ka warned, though this time did not bother to look up. His stomach rumbled again, and it was then he remembered the pies Yale had brought. He hurried to finish skinning the pumpkin.

Saen tucked his hands under his armpits and pouted. “...don’t have girly hands...”

From the fire pit, Yale started to laugh.

The human took a bow. "My apologies, Princess. Would you like me to kiss your ring?"

With a sudden devilish smirk, Saen grabbed a piece of sliced pumpkin and pushed his ring finger through it and then shoved it in Cairo’s face. “Go on then.”

Yale turned to Ka. “Sorry about that one. I’d say he’s normally not like this...but I’d be lying.”

The big man shrugged. "Don't apologise to me yet. Mine may do worse," he said as he chopped up the pumpkin on the table. Just as he said it, Cairo pricked up as though offended.

"What!" he growled, scrunching up his face at the slimy vegetable.

The human's mood seemed to change then, and he put on a mask of haughtiness. "Your grace, I was only jesting! I wouldn't dare touch thine ring. Tis too great an honor for a lowlife such as myself... but if you insist--" He then took not the ring finger, but Saen's middle finger, and bowed before it. Cairo then proceeded to stick his tongue out and lick the knuckle.

“Oi now!” Saen snapped loudly, pulling back his hand in disgust, but the force of the movement caused his pumpkin ring to fly off of his hand and up into the air. And when it came back down again, it landed on top of Ka’s head.

The little man roared with laughter, while his giant friend was left with a sticky bit of pumpkin in his hair. Ka sat there a moment, eyes distant and unmoving. At last he drew a deep breath, let it out slow, and deadpanned, "Your highness, I think you have lost your ring."

Nenani covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a giggle, looking back and forth between them. Saen drew a breath to make a retort when a bellow sounded from the archway.

“I’M HEARIN’ A LOT ‘A TALKIN’ AND NOT A LOT ‘A WORKIN!”

Both Saen and Yale, more than accustomed to Farris’s hollering, turned their focus to their work. Nenani, still growing use to the sheer volume her guardian voice could achieve, was startled badly and jumped.

Ka gasped and hunched his shoulders at the sound. "Sorry!" he squeaked, though he knew the man could not hear him. He took the pumpkin from his head and pitched it into the fire. It had been a fairly solid piece, but his hair was still sticky in places from the stuff. Cairo, he noticed, had not budged other than to turn in the direction of the voice and square his shoulders as if to fight.

The giant then caught sight of Nenani still pulling herself together. "Are you okay, little one?" Ka murmured.

She blinked up at him and then nodded with a small sheepish smile. “Yeah. I’m still getting used to how loud Farris gets sometimes.”

“Bit of a wonder we ain’t all deaf,” Yale murmured to Ka with a suppressed grin.

“Do you ever yell like that?” Nenani asked Ka. The question came more from a curiosity about Ka’s height. Farris was one of the taller giants she had met and Ka towered over him. If Ka were to get as angry, she wondered if he was that loud.

Ka glanced from Nenani to Yale and then back again. He shook his head as he reached for one of the pies. He hesitated, remembering Farris's call, and chose to grab another pumpkin instead. "I haven't raised my voice since I was a boy," he admitted. "People get nervous when I use my normal voice, so I try to be quiet."

"Y'ain't that bad," Cairo growled.

Yale gave Ka a strange look. “Nervous? Why would they be nervous? I agree with yer brother. That’s plain stupid. What’s other people’s business if yer voice is a tad loud?” Yale gave Ka an appraising look. “Fer as tall as ye are, ye don’t seem to care fer the attention.”

“I always thought it would be really inconvenient to be really tall,” Nenani mused. She had found a small rock on the ground and had picked it up and was idly passing it between her hands.

Saen laughed and replied, “We could say the same fer ya small folk being so short. Ye get winded just climbin’ the damn stairs.”

Ka shrugged at Yale's question, but found the words strengthened him a bit. Even if the man was a giant in his own respect, it felt good to hear some encouragement on the subject. "You are... much more confident than I," he decided.

The giant shook his head as he peeled. His voice got quiet and apprehensive. "I've scared people before. Humans, mostly. I don't like it." He forced a laugh. "Maybe I worry too much."

Cairo picked his teeth. Upon finding something, he pulled it out on his fingernail, then stuck it back in his mouth. "Sure do," he grumbled. He turned to Sean and curled his lip. "I don't have to climb your stairs, midgey boy."

Saen grinned and poked the human’s middle. “Maybe ye should start,” he quipped.

Near the pit, Yale was considering Ka with a little more of a critical eye. He took the sight of him in and his words and pieced more of the puzzle together. He understood easily the apprehension that came with interacting with humans, though he and the rest of the staff and Farris all made jokes and snarky remarks about popping them into stews and pies. It was all a balm against the festering wounds left behind by the war. It was easy to joke to and make light of it all. It was their morbid way to reconcile with the very real evils they had done. That Farris had done for them. To save them. But Yale held himself just as responsible as Farris. No matter what the kitchen master told him. He too remembered those faces...

He looked to Nenani then, who was watching them with an open curiosity. Innocent. She knew only bits and pieces, and even then, he wasn’t sure she knew anything of the whole truth. If she did, she never let on.

He took the slices of cooked pumpkin and dropped them into a shallow earthenware dish. Staring at the other slices still sizzling along the hot metal pan, he spoke to Ka.

“Didn’t use to be. Confident I mean,” Yale admitted to him. “When I was younger. Durin’ the war and all. Scared a lot of humans in my life. And I'm talkin' real terror. Wasn’t my choice to do it, but I did.”

Ka was silent for a moment, trying to think over Cairo's angry exchange with Saen. The humans here had been foolish enough to wage war with the giants? Behind that, what had they done to deserve their wrath? He shook his head and decided to ignore it. "I... haven't had to kill anyone, fortunately. There was that one, erm, accident with a dragon rider, but..." Ka shrugged as he rolled the pumpkin over in his palm, unsure how to finish his sentence.

He then glanced over to where Nenani stood and recalled how protective Yale had been of her. If so much had happened to him, how had he recovered so well? He himself had been a mess the time he had hurt Cairo. Then again... "I suppose there are bad humans just as there are bad giants," he finished.

Yale nodded with grim understanding at Ka’s words. There was no need for him to say anything else as his meaning was plain as well as his regret. It only served to confirm in Yale’s mind the kind of man he was and it brought forth a feeling of smug contentment. He wasn’t always as good a judge of character as Farris, but he wasn’t bad either. He felt pride in knowing his initial assessment of Ka had been right.

[hemmingsmendess]

Rolling Stone- 5sos

5sos (all four guys) x fem!reader

Helping the guys get ready for the Rolling Stone cover shoot 

Warnings: oral sex (m&f receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, daddy kink

Word count: 3,151 (the longest fic I’ve written)

Rating: M (18+, this is filthy)

This came to life after  conversation I had with @piscespsychoward​

“The guys will be here in about half an hour, I need everyone to make sure they are ready for them.” Your boss said, looking around to the group of people that surrounded him, “Y/n, I need to talk to you.” Your heart sank at his words, a million possibilities of things you may have done wrong running through your mind. 

“What’s up?” 

“I need you to head back to the dressing rooms, you’re in charge of writing the lyrics on them.” 

“Yes sir.” Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you walked towards the dressing rooms. 5sos had been your favorite band for as long as you could remember, the thought of being in a room alone with them made your heart skip a beat. 

You opened one of the doors, the sign showing that it was Luke’s assigned room, and sat down in a chair by the door. 

The thirty minutes until they arrived went by excruciatingly slow, your anxiety growing by the second. A light knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“You can come in.” There was a moment before the door opened and Luke Hemmings made his way into the room. A smile spread across his face as he took in your appearance. You knew you would be meeting them today, so you wore a cute dress rather than your usual t-shirts and skinny jeans. 

“Hey, I’m Luke.” He greeted himself as he reached out a hand for you to shake. 

“Y/n,” you started “I’m here to do the writing for the shoot.” A blush crept upon your cheeks as you finished the sentence. Luke nodded his head as he began to remove his jacket. You looked him up and down, admiring the skinny jeans that hugged his legs just right. 

“You can lay your clothes on the back of the couch.” A smirk spread across Lukes face as you attempted to look away from him. 

“Thanks, boxers on or off?” The butterflies in your stomach roared to life again at the thought of seeing him naked. You cleared your throat before answering. 

“Um, whichever you’re more comfortable with.” Your breath caught in your throat as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, beginning to pull them down his legs.

Holy shit, this is actually happening. I’m gonna see Luke Hemmings dick. 

“Where do you want me?” You pointed to a spot in the middle of the room before grabbing the markers from the table and following Luke. 

“I’ll start off with your chest and arms, then move to your legs, ok?” He nodded his head, giving you permission. Looking down at the sheet of lyrics, you started writing “EVERYBODYS GOT THEIR DEMONS” across his chest. 

It only took a few minutes before Lukes torso was covered in ink. You stepped back to look over your work, taking in a breath before you spoke. 

“Ok, time to move on to your legs.” You took your bottom lip between your teeth as you sank to your knees in front of him, ending up face-to-face with his dick. No words were exchanged as you began your work, scribbling words on the smooth skin of his thighs. 

“Can you spread your legs a little bit?” 

It took almost 45 minutes until you had finished with the four men. Your panties were soaked by the time you finished working on Ashton. You were astonished by how big they all were, each opting to remove his boxers. 

The four men stood in the studio, posing for each picture. You stared unashamedly at them, watching the photoshoot play out. 

Within an hour you were back by the lounge, the shoot having just wrapped. Each man was in his dressing room, removing the ink from his skin. You were shocked when Ashton approached you, a smirk spreading across his face when he saw you. 

“Come with me.” He ordered, giving you a look that made your knees weak. You followed him back to the dressing rooms, only hesitating for a moment when he opened the door to his. 

“We saw the way you were looking at us.” Ashton said as he ushered you into the room, where the other three band members stood. 

“What’s going on?” You questioned. 

“Like Ash said, we saw the way you were looking at us.” Luke said as he approached you. They were all looking at you like you were their prey. 

Ashton stood behind you and grabbed the straps of your dress, slowly pushing them passed your shoulders, making the fabric fall to the ground.

“Tell us you don’t want this, and we’ll stop.” Ashton whispered into your ear. 

“Please,” you whimpered at his words, “don’t stop.” The sound of the door locking behind you made the moment even more real. 

“What do you want, baby?” Michael spoke up. 

“Anything.” There was a moment of silence, the men taking in your body. You wore a lacy bra with a matching thong, the material barely covered you. 

“Christ, ” Calum whispered as he noticed the large wet spot on your panties, “she’s soaked.” 

Ashton let out a low laugh as he unclasped your bra, grabbing your breasts in his hands. 

“You got nice tits, babe.” 

“Th-thank you.” You moaned as he pinched your nipple. 

“What should we do with her guys?” Ashton asked, acting like you weren’t even in the room. 

“I wanna see what that mouth can do,” Michael started, “she was practically drooling over my dick.” You nodded your head, letting them know that you were on with that. 

“Need you to use your words, baby.” Luke said, tracing your jawline with his thumb. 

“Please.” Was all you could get out before Ashton pushed you to your knees in front of Michael. His cock was already rock hard, the sight making your mouth water. You reached your hand up to wrap it around the base, giving the head a quick kiss. Michael let out a yelp as you took the tip into your mouth, running your tongue over the slit. 

“Fuck, that feels good.” He groaned, grabbing your hair and attempting to push you down further. You relaxed your jaw as he began to slide into your mouth. 

“Holy shit, she’s taking you to the base.” Calum remarked, surprise lacing his voice. You pulled off of Michael for a second, a whimper leaving his mouth at the loss of contact. 

“I suck a lot of dick, my gag reflex is basically non-existent.” You explained before taking Michael back into your mouth. You heard the three others bathrobes drop to the floor, clenching your thighs together at the thought. 

You felt a pair of large hands grip your waist, positioning you so your ass was in the air. You let out a moan when a pair of lips came in contact with your pussy. You angled your head to try to see who’s mouth it was, groaning when you saw Ashton. 

“Fuck, if you keep sucking like that, I’m gonna cum.” Michael whined. You doubled your effort at his words, the thought of him cumming in your mouth pushing you closer to the edge. 

“Taste so good.” You heard Ashton mumble as he worked his tongue, dragging it through your folds before pausing to flick your clit a few times. Your muscles almost gave out when two of his fingers slid into you, allowing him to focus his tongue on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

You sucked Michael as hard as you could, wanting to feel his cum in your mouth. 

“Oh, fuck! I’m close.” He grunted as you ran your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock. You pulled away, quickly replacing your mouth with your hand. You jerked him hard and fast, opening your mouth to catch his release.

“Fuuuuck!” He let out as he reached his orgasm, ropes of cum coating your tongue. Michael looked down at you just in time to see you swallow his release. 

Ashton quickened the pace of his fingers, trying to bring you to your first orgasm. The feeling of his mouth and fingers, along with Michael’s taste lingering on your tongue, was enough to push you over the edge. Your thighs clenched around Ashtons head as your body shook with shocks of pleasure. Ashton continues his movements, helping you through the aftershocks. 

“Holy shit.” You gasped as Ashton pulled away from your core. 

“Yeah.” Michael agreed. 

“Think you can handle a few more for us baby?” Luke asked as he moved in front of you. You shook your head in agreement. 

“Fuck me, please.” You looked up at Luke, giving him the most desperate face you could manage.  

“We don’t have condoms baby.” He replied, shooting you a sympathetic look. 

“Don’t care, I’m on birth control. Just, please.” You mumbled hastily, desperately needing to be filled. Calum, Ashton, and Luke all groaned simultaneously. 

“Ok, who do you want first?” Ashton asked, running a hand down your spine. 

“Calum.” There was quiet shuffling as Calum moved closer to you, grabbing your hips and moving you to lay on your back. 

“God, you look gorgeous.” He groaned as he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was full of passion, knocking your breath out of your chest. A soft whine escaped your lips as you felt his cock nudge at your entrance. Slowly, he slid inside of you, groaning at the tightness of your walls around him. 

“Fuck, you feel good.” He groaned as he bottomed out, his hips meeting yours. 

“Move, please.” You whined our. Calum slowly pulled back his hips before thrusting back into you, hard. You let out a loud moan at the feeling of his cock dragging against your most sensitive spots. 

“Shit, that's hot.” Came Lukes voice from somewhere behind you. You looked over to where he and Ashton stood, both men slowly jerking themselves. 

“I’m not gonna last long, you feel too good.” Calum grunted as your walls clenched around his length. He picked up his pace, slamming into you as fast and hard as he could, chasing his orgasm. 

“Fuck!” You screamed out, “Right there!” Your back arched when the head of Calum’s dick found your g-spot. “I’m close.” 

“Cum for me, come on babygirl.” You let out a whine as Calum stopped, his cock twitching as his orgasm hit. The warmth of his cum on your walls was the final touch you needed to fall over the edge again. Your orgasm washed over you like a storm. 

You whined as Calum pulled his softening dick from you, your body buzzing in oversensitivity. 

“You ready for me?” Luke asked as he replaced Calum between your thighs. You held up a finger to signal that you needed a minute. You made sure your breathing was steadied before you nodded your head. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke whispered to you, “I’ll go slow.” He finished the sentence as he slid into you, the stretch being a little easier this time. Luke took his time with bottoming out, not wanting to hurt you. He paused for a moment when he was finally buried inside you, waiting for your ok to move. 

“You can move, I’m ok.” You told him, running your hand through his hair. Luke nodded his head before starting his slow movements. He moved his head down closer to yours, kissing you softly. You were surprised at his tenderness, something about him just screamed ‘wild animal’. 

You let out a hum of contentment as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, moaning when you ran your tongue over his lip piercing.

“Fuck, you can go harder and faster,” You whined out. You were appreciative that he didn’t want to hurt you, but his shallow thrusts just weren’t enough. Luke’s eyes turned a darker shade of blue, biting down on your bottom lip as he thrust in harshly. You let out a scream at the feeling, you were already sensitive from Calum fucking you. 

“Does that feel good?” Luke let out a little laugh at the face you were making. 

“Y-yes, feels so good.” You stuttered out. Luke quickly reached down to rub his thumb over your clit, your back arched at the stimulation. Luke let out a groan as you dragged your nails down his back, leaving red lines on his skin. 

“You close? I can feel your pussy clenching around me.” Luke growled out between gritted teeth. The increasing pressure on his shaft was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“I-I,” was all you could manage before another orgasm came over you. Your pussy clenched around Luke, pulling him over the edge a little faster than he had wanted. A grunt escaped Luke as he gently pulled out of you, being careful of how sensitive you were. He smiled as he leaned down to place another soft kiss on your lips.

“You did so good.” He mumbled against your lips, slowly pulling away before walking over to join Michael and Calum on the couch. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, taking in the feeling of euphoria that was running through your veins. Ashton cleared his throat to remind you he was still there. You looked over to where he was standing, his cock was achingly hard in his hand. A whimper escaped your lips at the sight. It was no secret to anyone who knew you that you’re an Ashton girl. He’s hot, has a great body, and has an amazing personality, the thought of him alone could make you wet. 

“Think you can handle one more for me?” You nodded your head aggressively. “Gotta be careful baby, I’m not gonna hold back.” 

“Oh f-fuck, please!” An almost evil smirk appeared on his face as he walked around you, taking in the state you were in. You lay on the floor, naked with Calum and Luke’s cum dripping out of your pussy. Ashton kneeled down between your legs, dipping a finger into you and scooping up some of the cum. Your mouth watered as he brought it up to your lips, tapping your bottom lip gently. You slowly opened your mouth and took in his fingers. The taste of the two men mixed together was enough to get you riled up again. 

“Ashton, please.” You begged, his fingers still in your mouth. 

“Aww, do you want my dick? Having Calum and Luke wasn’t enough for you? Cockslut.” Your cheeks flushed a darker pink, if that was even possible at this point. 

Ashton reached up and took your wrists into his hand successfully pinning them above your head. You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but the struggle only earned you a slap to the thigh. You let out a gasp and the feeling. 

“Ready for my cock?” The question was rhetorical, he was already sliding himself through your slick folds. Your body tensed at the stimulation, you were extremely oversensitive by now. 

“God, she’s fucking ruined.” Michael gasped. A whimper escaped you as Ashton slid in, his cock was the biggest of the four. Your pussy was throbbing around him, desperate for him to make you cum. 

Ashton began thrusting into you, angling his hips so he was hitting the deepest parts of you. You couldn’t even explain what you felt. The pain of the oversensitivity mixing with the pleasure to create a feeling you had never experieced before. 

You let out a broken moan as Ashton moved one of your legs so it was around his waist, making him that much deeper. 

“Fuck, you’re still so tight after having two other cocks in you.” 

“I’m gonna cum, fuck!” You cried out.

“Not yet.” You let out a huff at Ashtons words. How can he seriously expect you to hold off your orgasm? All of a sudden, Ashton’s movements stopped. You jerked your head up and shot him a glare.

“Please, please let me cum, Daddy.” You bit your lip as soon as the word slipped out, The last time you accidentally called a guy daddy had not turned out well. You mentally cringed at yourself, afraid of how Ashton would react. 

Ashton let out a growl before he resumed his movements. “Aww, does babygirl wanna cum? Needs Daddy’s cock to help her finish?” Your eyes shot open as you felt another pair of hands on your body, You looked down and saw Luke caressing the skin of your stomach, slowly making his way down towards your clit. A whimper escaped your lips when he added some much needed pressure onto the bundle of nerves. 

“I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum!” you shouted out as the tip of Ashton’s cock hit the perfect spot. 

“Come on baby, cum for us. Show Luke, Calum, and Michael how good Daddy’s cock makes you feel.” Pleasure shot through your body as your final of the night orgasm crashed down on you. You barely noticed the extra wetness that appeared between your thighs. You heard them whispering something about ‘that was hot’, but you were too out of it to know what they were talking about. You closed your eyes and drifted off as exhaustion came over you. 

When you finally woke up, you were startled to realize you were in a hotel bed, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and a robe. You scanned your eyes around the room, trying to figure out where the fuck you were. You felt a wave of relief when you saw Ashton walk towards the bed, a glass of water in his hand. 

“Hey Y/n. How did you sleep?” 

“I slept ok, where am I?” A small smile crept onto his face as you sat up and pulled the robe tighter around your body.

“After you passed out last night, I dressed you in an extra t-shirt that I, thankfully, brought to the shoot. After everything we did, I sure as hell was not just leaving you, so I brought you back here.” Memories of what happened last night came flooding back to you. “Do you normally cling to people that much when you sleep?” Ashton asked, a giggle escaping at the look of horror that came onto your face. 

“I-” 

“It’s ok, I liked it.” He clarified. You slowly made your way out of the bed and began to put on your own clothes. Ashton turned around to give you some privacy, even after seeing every inch of you last night. You reached for your purse and pulled out your phone.

“I’m gonna call a cab, I don’t want to bother you.” 

“You’re not bothering me, but I understand if you want to leave.” You watched as he walked over to the counter. He came back over to you with a piece of paper in his hand. It had all four guys names, alongside their phone numbers. 

“Don’t be a stranger, we’d love to see you again.”

[summersubin]

meeting soulmate!taehyun for the first time

a/n: happy valentine’s day!! it’s so close to being last minute but i wanted to post something mushy and soft to celebrate... enjoy! :) thanks for reading~ (this is pretty long it’s about 1.7k i lowkey got carried away)

you were at a fansign

honestly you don’t know how you made it there, it was pure luck that you could actually get into it

looking around the venue, you saw just how many people were there

it was a hectic environment, buzzing with energy

the other fans around you were so excited, a hum of noise filling the air of the room

you were… pretty nervous

there was something about being here today that sat in your stomach heavily

you tried not to think about how nervous you were feeling, and clasped your hands together to help stop their shaking

there was a particular someone you were especially nervous to meet

you weren’t sure what it was, but there was something about kang taehyun that drew you in

you laughed at yourself, thinking about the strange draw on your attention he seemed to have from how far away from you he was

and it was funny timing, because as soon as your mind began wandering from the topic the girl in front of you started shrieking

from her conversation with her friend, you heard the word “soulmate” repeat itself a few times, and she bounced up and down in excitement

hearing that made something funny stir up in your stomach

soulmate? there was no way

you almost wanted to laugh at her

meeting your soulmate was a huge deal, one of the biggest moments you have in your lifetime, if not the biggest

meeting them here would just be… 

impossible? you thought, the word not quite sounding right

anyway, it was a silly notion, not something worth thinking about

you smiled nevertheless at the prospect, and then began to feel the excitement once again of being able to be there in that moment

you were really going to meet txt???

the line was gradually moving forward, you along with it, and the nerves jumped around inside of your stomach with each step closer to the table where the members sat, signing albums and talking to the fans

as the line got shorter, a weird pressure began building in your chest

you brushed it off as nerves, trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself, but it only seemed to grow stronger

you were very close now, able to hear the voices of the members making conversation with the people in front of you

and then it was your turn

soobin was at your end of the table

he smiled at you, eyes warm with kindness

he was the sweetest boy ever

you smiled back, still trying to ignore this weird feeling in your chest 

he took your album, quickly flipping through the pages with his big hands

he glanced up as he wrote, asking for your name

and you tried your best to keep up the conversation, but your mind felt awfully distracted

you had a strong urge to look just past soobin

the action was second nature

and just as you glanced over, your eyes met none other than taehyun’s

he seemed distracted too, still talking to the fan with himself as he caught your glance

he had this weird expression on his face 

you tore your gaze away and back in front of you when soobin raised his hands, offering them for hi-fives

awkwardly, you smiled, laughed, and met his hands with yours 

they really were soft

and you felt bad for a moment, hoping he wasn’t disappointed with how distracted you were acting

you had spent a good amount of time in front of him, but most of it was a blur in your memory

he said goodbye, and it was time to move on

when you took a step past soobin, the aching feeling twitched inside of you with the impact of your foot to the ground

and when you glanced up, you saw a hint of a wince on taehyun’s face

he sat in front of you now, and he kept going between meeting your gaze head on and ducking his head to look at his fingers

his fingers, which were holding the marker in his hands so tightly that his knuckles were white

and neither of you said a word

you opened your mouth to say something, but found you had nothing to say

so you bit your lip instead, and slid your album across the table towards him

and he took it gingerly, hesitantly opening it

you thought you heard him take a deep breath in and out

it was weird, it wasn’t visible, but it was like you could feel a physical link reaching from you to him, perfectly straight

at first he looked annoyed, but as you watched him for a few more moments you realized his hands had adopted a slight tremor which was quite similar to yours

he looked really nervous

and when he was done writing, he finally raised his eyes

you locked eyes with him, and after a beat, you took your chances at smiling gently

he offered a small smile in return, breathing out a laugh

“uh, what’s your name?” he said nicely, and after that utterance, a content feeling rushed through your veins

you eased up a bit, and when you replied, you saw the way his shoulders dropped slightly, eyes widening fractionally

he slid the album back to you, and after hesitating for a moment, feeling the awkward silence, he raised his hands up leaning his elbows on the table

it shocked you a bit, and you quickly glanced back at soobin to see if they were touching hands already

it hadn’t been that long already, had it?

and sure enough, soobin was still looking down at the fan’s album, just beginning to sign it

so you raised your hands to taehyun’s, not sure of what else to do

the second your fingers touched, an electric pulse like lightning went down your arm

you flinched, quickly pulling your arm away like you’d been burnt, and you took notice to the way taehyun had jumped slightly in his seat, glancing between his hand and you with a bewildered expression on his face

you rubbed your hand from the shock, and watched as he slowly brought his hand back to where it had been

you didn’t exchange words, staring at each other as if you were the only people in the enormous room

cautiously, you brought your hands back to his 

when they touched it was a different feeling from the first, one that went straight to your heart and sank in

it was like feeling whole, like coming home

taehyun closed his eyes, and then he was intertwining his fingers with yours

you held his hands, grip tightening

the hum of noise dissolved into the background, almost ceasing to exist 

when he opened his eyes again, and you met them, you knew without a fraction of doubt that he was your other half

he was your soulmate, and the two of you were fated to be together

“it’s you…” he whispered almost inaudibly, holding your hand tighter

you let yourself smile, happiness threatening to split your face open

he followed suit, as if your emotions were linked perfectly

you could feel the curious glances coming from beside you, not only from other fans but from the other members as well

it must have been an unusual sight, the two of you looking at each other as if you had known each other for years

“taehyun,” you barely muttered, and you saw the way his eyes immediately flickered back to yours, sparkling

“say it again,” he said softly

you stared at him for a moment

“my name. will you say it again?” he asked, voice as sweet and gentle as flower petals

“taehyun,” you said, smiling gently

he smiled harder, dimple poking in his cheek

and his thumb began to gently caress your hand

“i’ve been waiting for you…” was all you could say, and it was true, you had waited for so long to meet your soulmate

you’d spent countless days daydreaming about who they would be, how you would meet them, what life could be like once it happened

you felt the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes, overwhelmed with emotion

“me too,” you heard him whisper, eyes swimming with a sadness that perfectly mirrored yours

 “see me after,” he said quickly, catching on that the event still had to continue and you couldn’t stay forever

soobin had started giving the two of you nervous glances, trying his best to keep the fan in front of him perfectly entertained

“but how-” you started, a panicked feeling beginning to blossom in you at the idea of having to leave him, not being able to touch him anymore, or even be near him

“i’ll tell the staff,” he murmured, and then his gaze dropped to your linked hands

he met your eyes one last time, pausing there for a moment, and slowly pulled his hands from yours

no doubt, the rest of the fansign for taehyun would be a distracted mess, it would be a true test of his patience

he watched you with sorrow in his eyes as you walked away from him, every step leaving a heavy weight in both of you

but you both knew you’d be able to get through it, because you would be reunited 

and that was enough to wait any amount of time for

you continued down the line of members, laughing a bit as you did so because you knew you would probably be seeing a lot more of them

you did your best to avoid meeting the glances that you knew taehyun was throwing you whenever he got the chance

you didn’t want to become caught in his eyes and freeze up again when you were trying to act normally

the rest of the members were incredibly sweet to you

yeonjun tried and failed to mask the smirk on his face and pretended as if he didn’t know exactly what had just happened

he had been sitting on the other side of taehyun and probably heard a lot of the conversation

“it’s really nice to meet you,” he said lowly to you in a sincere tone

and his smile was radiant and warm, eyes shining

when you finished down the line, one of the staff approached you and lead you to a place where you could wait until the event was over

you walked anxiously, feeling the connection to taehyun who was still back there, the way your body wanted to go

but you followed the staff nevertheless, and waited for the moment you could be with your soulmate once again

[cambionverse]

envesseled (3 of 3): funeral

happy end of our 10th cambiversary day (for real this time), and the end—for now—of new envesseled content. but you may see more sneak peeks of envesseled during the writing process to come, because you guys: this one's a doozy. expect both length and angst.

this snippet comes with a big, major, huge spoiler warning - you know the one. it's basically an open secret at this point. content warnings for death and grief (which should be unsurprising, given the title).

thank you all so much for reading along and for joining us on this monumental occasion. we saved the best for last, so let's make you sad! <3

---

The new snow covers all but the freshest set of footprints. Even though Claire can't actually see Jesse, following him out of Singer's Salvage is easy. The clouds cover most of the moonlight, but white snow is still white snow, putting the silhouettes of trees into sharp relief. It isn't long before she works out his destination—the palo santo tree.

Where Ben is buried.

Claire could stop, now that she knows. Should stop, and give Jesse his privacy. But she doesn't. Like being unable to tear her eyes from a car wreck—part of her wants to see.

The grace protecting the clearing hasn't stopped the little wildflowers from being buried in white. Ben's grave marker could very well be buried too, Claire thinks—but her eyes land on it immediately, a large pile of stones pushed atop a shallow hole in the ground. Jesse, a black shape against the snow, stands huddled before it, bent against the wind or perhaps the whatever ill feeling he gets from the palo santo tree being so close. He stands there for a long time, without moving or saying a word. Snowflakes gather in his hair.

Eventually, Claire goes to join him. It's better than standing by herself, and—he looks so still, there in the snow. Jesse's indestructible, but she just wants to make sure.

Jesse starts when he hears her footsteps, but the hard line of his shoulders relaxes once she's close enough to make out his face. "So much for sleeping, hm?" he asks.

Claire doesn't say anything. The wind whips through the trees.

"I don't know what to say at funerals," Jesse says finally. "I've never been to one. Not my parents', or any of the Simms family—obviously." He shrugs. "I don't know what to say."

Is this Ben's funeral? A sorry excuse for one. He deserves better—but it doesn't matter, Claire reminds herself. None of this matters, none of it is real, because she's going to bring him back.

Jesse reaches into his pocket and produces a large smooth stone. "I've never really visited a grave, either," he confesses. There are tears frozen on his face. "But this is what you're supposed to do, right?" Carefully, so it doesn't fall, he lays the stone on top of the grave. "I don't know, I've never really known anybody who was Jewish except Ben, and I know he didn't keep kosher or anything like that. But the night before we left Cicero, after everything with the djinn, I found him picking out a rock. He said he wanted to leave it on his mom's grave, because it'd been so long."

They'd hung around in Cicero for a few days after everything happened, but Claire remembers now that Ben had disappeared for about an hour the morning they left, claiming he had some catching up around town to do. It was close enough to the truth that it didn't even set off Claire's grace. She hadn't thought much of it at the time—just another thing about Ben she wasn't paying enough attention to.

Jesse turns his head a little. "Can I ask you something?"

Claire crosses her arms, though even the snow doesn't really make her feel cold. Jesse seems to take it for agreement.

"Earlier today," he starts, and something in his tone sets Claire's teeth on edge. "Castiel said something like—it wasn't the first time he healed you?"

That's right, he did say that—and in front of everyone, because of course they all need to know about every horrible detail of Claire's life, she can't go around sharing things with people on her own fucking terms. Not enough for her to crack herself open and let Castiel back inside, is it? All he knows about her—from their time together, and after that—it's his to keep, and he can divulge it at a whim to whomever he chooses. Maybe that's why he brought it up to begin with: as blackmail.

"I thought you hadn't seen him," Jesse continues, tentative. "Since he...since you were young. I thought that was why you left home?"

Claire says nothing.

Finally, Jesse blows out a sigh that fogs the air around them. "All right," he says. "None of my business, I guess. Sorry." And he must be, for Claire feels no pain behind the word.

Still—Claire hurt his feelings, she can tell. After all, it must have seemed like a nice, private moment to divulge a secret. But he's right: it's none of his fucking business. She never told anyone about that night, not even Ben, and she's sure as hell not about to start now just because Castiel spilled the beans. It doesn't matter anymore anyway. None of it matters except getting Ben back. So that this—the grave, the body beneath it, this mockery of a fucking funeral—none of it has to come to pass.

Jesse lifts his head to look above him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but seems to think better of it, clamping his jaw shut and shaking his head. He takes a deep breath and holds it—to, perhaps, the count of four—and then at last says, "It'll be all right."

Following his line of sight, Claire spies a dark shape among the branches, swaying in the wind. Ben's bracelet, tied firmly around the lowest, closest branch to the grave. Small wonder she didn't hear it, with the rest of the tree sitting here singing so loudly it covers the sound.

She had wondered where it went.

Jesse turns away from it. "I'm freezing," he says finally, and gives Claire an expectant look. "Coming?"

Claire hesitates.

Something in Jesse's posture changes—the angle of his shoulders, perhaps. It's hard to tell in the dark. "All right," he says again. "I'll, uh. Be inside. If you need me."

She suspects it's Jesse who needs her, at the moment—even with the traps broken, he can't possibly enjoy being back in that house alone—but after a long silence, he goes on ahead without her.

When at last he disappears between the trees, Claire looks back up at the bracelet.

How she used to hate that thing, when she and Ben first met—a constant whining at the edge of her subconscious, reminding her that Dean Winchester's boy was nearby, a son in name whether or not that righteous blood was flowing through his veins. But just as she eventually took a liking to Ben, so too did she learn to like the sound. Some nights, after the grace sickness got bad, it was the only thing that let her drop off to sleep. Now it's entombed here just like Ben is, singing its song to no one.

A funeral. What do you say at a funeral?

Claire has only ever been to one funeral: the one she and her mother held a year after her father's first disappearance, just before Castiel. It was for closure, her mother said—to let go, move on, and leave the rest in the hands of the Lord. Even at age eleven, Claire had understood that the funeral was mostly for her mother, and so she let her mother do the talking.

And not two weeks after they laid her father to rest, he turned back up on their doorstep, Castiel and the Winchesters not far behind. The whole time they were letting him go, he was still out there, chained to a comet, lost inside that screaming light and condemned to a fate worse than death.

Claire didn't go to any more funerals after that, not even her mother's. A funeral isn't just letting go, it's giving up. And Claire's not going to give up on Ben, not when he still needs her help. All the years he stayed by her side when she gave him every reason to go, all the attempts she made to push him away that were met with his steadfast loyalty and patience—to repay that with a funeral is an insult.

Claire turns away from the grave. She will not mourn Ben. She will not.

The song of the palo santo grows fainter with each step she takes away from the tree. In her mind's eye Claire sees Ben's easy grin when he explained it to her for the first time, and then the lonely image of it stuck up among the tree branches, condemned to rot away in the elements after all the hard work Ben put into perfecting it. She thinks of the rest of her life, however many weeks or months she may have of it, spent in silence.

Claire stops.

This is not a funeral. This is not Ben's grave. He isn't gone, because she's bringing him back.

All at once Claire whirls, kicking up snow, and marches back up to the tree. It's nearly too high for her to reach, but after two tries Claire's hand closes around the branch and snaps it off completely. She pulls the bracelet off and tosses the branch carelessly to the ground. Now that she's touching the bracelet, she can differentiate its hum from the rest of the tree, and the song flows right up through her palm and into her bloodstream, momentarily cooling down her anger.

Claire's going to have to start wearing a jacket after all, she thinks, even as she slides the bracelet onto her own wrist. She can't let anyone see her wearing this.

She touches her fingers to the wood, and doesn't cry.

It's just like Jesse said: it'll be all right.

It'll be all right.

[twistedsinews]

No Markers That Line the Outcast’s Path

Cyberpunk 2077; V/Jackie, Mama Welles, Sebastian Ibarra; R (AO3 Flavor)

Music still coursed through her veins, giving sway to the way she moved and guiding the cadence of her steps.

Jackie closed the bedroom door behind them.

V dropped her bag near it.

They’d hit three bars on the way back to his apartment. And now they were drifting around one another, moving to a slower, more synchronous rhythm as she fell into his orbit. A slower cadence, for a different kind of dance; one he seemed perfectly of a mind to follow her on, small stumbles and all.

His hands drifted up her arms, and he rested his forehead lightly against hers. She held on to his jacket, one hand slipping under it to find more stable purchase on his chest.

Between the two of them, they might just have regained the sense of balance they’d left behind at the bar.

He grinned, a breathless chuckle behind it. This close, she could taste the alcohol on his breath.

“Gotta tell ya. I don’t think I have ever seen dance moves like that.”

“Never?”

Jackie gave a small shake of his head, but didn’t pull away from her.

“Must be ‘cause they’re the kind of moves you’d see around campfires, not in clubs. Don’t know many nomads, I take it?”

“Not many,” he agreed.

V nuzzled his jaw. He tilted his face towards her, mouth brushing against the decorative cyberware that graced her cheek. She raised her chin, tracing the sensation. Jackie lifted his head, then leaned back into her, his breath warm against her ear; one hand slid down her arm, glancing off her elbow before his fingers found her hip.

With a sharp sigh, Jackie abruptly straightened up, blinking as he did. Trying to rub the alcohol haze out of his eyes, he caught sight of the bed, and wandered over to sit down.

Hanging back, V tried to work her inebriated brain into comprehending what the fuck had just happened, eventually coming up with nothing.

“Um.” Jackie patted the mattress beneath him. “Yeah. Room for two.” He cleared his throat, and shrugged. “That is, if you don’t mind gettin’ cozy.”

V raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t looking at her to see it. He slid out of his jacket, threw it on the floor, then started working on his boots.

By the time she’d managed to slip off her shoes, he’d dragged himself up onto the bed. He’d tried to leave room, and tried to shimmied even impossibly closer to the wall once she lowered herself down next to him. They still wound up with his chest pressed up against her back, and his arm draped over her side.

Not that she could have said she minded. Not really.

“Sweet dreams, V,” he murmured into her hair.

She didn’t think to answer.

She didn’t even feel tired.

How was she supposed to sleep?

The room was quiet. Jackie was warm on the bed beside her. The soft rhythm of his breathing was comforting, easing the ache of emptiness that had filled her heart ever since she’d struck out on her own.

It took him a while to fall asleep.

By the time he did...

V was still wide awake.

Stuck in a strange city.

In a stranger’s bed.

Her mind drifted to the events of several hours earlier, when he’d tried to fleece her the bribe for their smuggling job, and planned to hang her out to dry on the contract.

What, that prompted V to asked herself, was she even doing?

Wriggling out from under Jackie’s arm, she sat up. He didn’t stir. Glancing down, she reached out to touch the back of his hand.

She was all alone now.

She couldn’t afford to make stupid choices. Not when one was all it would take to lay her out.

Bouncing forward to her feet, she found her shoes again. Once she had them on, she paced the length of the room.

Her gaze was drawn back to the bed, where Jackie was sleeping soundly.

Whether she was wrong about him, or completely on point – she figured the money he was bound to get from the iguana would more than make it up to him, either way.

Grabbing the bag that now contained her entire life along the way, she slipped out the door.

~*~

Dawn broke over the Night City skyline. Morning sunlight caught in the glass and steel and smog like dew in a spider’s web.

Nothing seemed to change, other than the lighting. The bustle of the crowd ebbed and flowed, seemingly at random, as V wandered through the densely inhabited streets. Storefronts and stalls fought to entice customers, and people moved with a frightening speed on their own personal tasks.

The sensory overload was overwhelming.

It was, V thought, an entirely new form of life, breathing on its own, veins of city streets packed with the blood cells that flowed through it. And, perhaps, just as oblivious.

Her pace slowed.

V came to a full stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Everyone around her kept on moving.

She didn’t know where she was going, or how to get there.

As she stood restlessly still in the middle of the crowd, a feeling of emptiness welled up within her.

She didn’t track how long she remained there, frozen in an unfamiliar world.

It might have been for all eternity.

Then she felt a tug on her belt. And snapped back to herself fast enough to snatch the hand of a girl, no older than ten.

V’s eyes narrowed.

The girl tried to pull away, and when that didn’t work, drew a knife, prompting V to catch her other wrist, twisting until the knife dropped from her fingers.

A few people glanced their way, but no one seemed to care; neither that the girl had been pickpocketing, nor that she had been caught doing so.

Shaking her head, V sighed. Keeping a hold of one of the girl’s hands, she deftly stooped to grab the knife with her other. Then, quite simply, she dragged the girl along with her until she found a quiet alley. The girl struggled along the way, dragged her feet, and eventually grew still – the blanched color in her face and grim expression suggesting what she thought of her odds.

“See this?” V asked, holding up what the girl had tried to steal. V could only imagine her cyberdeck was nothing to practically anyone else: it was ancient and cheap, and V was surprised she’d even managed to keep it working. “It’s worthless. You wouldn’t get anything for it, and it was wired to me anyway.”

She clipped it back to her belt, and tucked the girl’s knife in a band of her bag.

“Anyway, that’s not how you klep shit from people,” V explained, holding up a tiny ceramic bird figurine she’d found in the would-be thief’s pocket. “This is.”

The girl’s eyes widened.

“How-...”

V held up a hand, cutting her off. “I’ll show you. But only if you promise you’ll get it right from now on, got it?”

The kid stared at her in absolute wonder. Then nodded briskly. V cracked her knuckles. “Alright.”

She went over the basics, and they practiced for hours, until the girl had gotten it down. Then V taught her a couple of more tricks to utilize, before sending her off on her way.

~*~

The sun was high.

V had found a small restaurant to sate her growing hunger – there were plenty of them around – but she didn’t have much else to go on for her continued survival. Money would be scarce soon enough, and spending the night on the street might not have been a bad prospect... except there were too many people here, and not enough trust to go around.

She’d figure it out, she promised herself, as she kept moving.

The sound of someone sobbing cut through her reflection, followed by an angry shout. V followed the sound to smaller alley, cutting through the one she was in.

A few people turned their heads to see what was going on as they passed it by, a few even stopped, but no one stepped in to help the woman sobbing on her knees, cradling the still form – unconscious, by the looks of it, not dead –of a child, surrounded by a tough looking assortment of gangoons.

Their color pattern was familiar. And the symbolism woven into it. Jackie had been wearing something like that.

Maybe she’d been right not to trust him, after all.

As far as battlefields went, the assessment wasn’t good, but that was no matter.

Reaching for her knife, V strolled into the thick of it.

All eyes turned to her. Even, she suspected, some at the mouth of the alley.

The woman kept on sobbing.

“This ain’t your fight,” one of men growled.

“Is now,” V replied with a shrug.

The first man with courage – if a seven on one fight could be called courage – charged her. V braced the handle of her knife against her hip and shoved right back into him; his splashed the pavement at her feet as she ripped the knife through his gut.

There was a stunned silence, which V used to give the woman a shove towards the mouth of the alley. What was a mugging or a random act of violence when the gangoons had her to deal with, now, anyway.

Her bag knocked another of them cold, then she took off running in the opposite direction, leading them away.

This was their turf. V didn’t know her way. But that meant fuck all when they were too incensed to think and she was level headed as always.

Turning a corner, she bolted up a fire escape. She stashed her bag there, and paused to catch her breath.

The five remaining gangoons kept on running past beneath her. V held her breath, counted to twenty, and slid back down the fire escape quietly to shadow their footsteps. She caught up to the first one and dropped him easily.

Then the alley split – left and forward – and so did the remaining four.

She followed the two that went left, choking one out and slamming the other’s head into a wall in quick succession, before backtracking to find the other two.

Another went down quietly, leaving only the last.

Who she tapped on the shoulder.

He turned, right into her fist.

Leaving V to shake the pain out of her knuckles as he hit the pavement.

~*~

Twice more she’d run into gangoons before the sun was low in the sky, and had a few new bruises and bloodied knuckles to show for it. Still, they were worse off than she was.

Lost in her own thoughts, she cut across a plaza. There weren’t as many people there, odd as it was. A display buzzed when she walked past it, and she paid it no mind.

“Hey! Hey,” a voice shouted, near enough she started. V lifted her head, spun around, and found a man in uniform staring her down. “This is a crime scene.”

She looked him up and down. Then down and around, to find a corpse nearby at her feet – a businessman, going by the suit, or what was left of him.

“Uh...” V shrugged. “Yeah, guess it is. So?”

“So, you can’t be here!”

“Why not?”

He stepped closer. V stepped back. Her system flagged an alert as he scanned her.

“You look like you been in trouble today; so tell me, what kinda trouble you been in?”

His partner had risen from inspecting the remains to joined him. He nudged the first cop.

“You seein’ what I see?” he asked quietly. “Check her record.”

“Hey, you - what kinda nomad runs around Night City without a criminal record?”

“...one... who... doesn’t have one?” V ventured tentatively.

The cops exchanged a glance.

“Check her out,” the second cop stated.

They moved in a practiced routine, flanking her. V’s eyes flicked down as one pulled his neural link free, and back again.

She remained perfectly still as he moved closer.

He reached for her arm.

V decked him.

She didn’t wait around to see him hit the ground, or the other cop draw his pistol. Swinging her bag flat against her back, she ran like hell.

~*~

The moon was out.

The city lit up.

A mosaic of lives, overlapping one another.

V’s heart ached.

Maybe there was nothing here for her at all.

The stars ought to have been out by now, but the light and the smog obscured even that.

Still, she roamed. She didn’t have a place or purpose in mind, and right now it would be enough just to make it to the next day.

Then she saw them. Three men, two women – clearly with somewhere to be. What caught her eye wasn’t the clip of their stride, but the way they were dressed – utilitarian, armed but open about it, and not a touch of street chic or corporate in sight.

Nomads.

A smile spread across her face, and she followed them right along, sticking to the shadows.

They led her to a derelict building, pitching camp in the upper levels while leaving one woman to guard the door. She slipped past their guard easily, finding herself a seat on a nearby table as they clustered on the floor and rolled out what looked like a tactical map.

She only listened quietly for a few moments while they set up, then cleared her throat.

“Hi,” she chirped.

All four were on their feet again.

Three guns were leveled at her, and a knife was pulled.

V raised her hands to show she was unarmed, and let her hands drop back into her lap. The guy with the knife was the leader of whatever was going on, she surmised. The woman was a scout. The other two were muscle.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of the latter demanded.

“Nobody. I saw you walking on the street, and figured I’d say hello.” V shrugged. “Been looking for somewhere to stay the night, actually – thought you might know a place.”

They weren’t her people. She knew it. They knew it. It wasn’t the same. Still, she had more in common with them than anyone else in this place.

“You shouldn’t be he-...” one started to say.

“You’re fucking alone,” another accused with a scoff, and V flinched. “What does that tell us?”

“Chill,” the guy she pegged for their leader told them, before regarding her quietly.

“Bakkers?” he guessed.

V nodded once. “What��s left of ‘em anyway.”

He studied her for a moment longer, then his face split into a wide grin.

“Want a job?”

~*~

It was a simple job.

Crack security; slip in, move product out, vanish into the morning smog. An extra pair of hands made for faster work, and were all the more welcome.

She’d split with them to stow her bag, and met back up with them at the warehouse. She slipped inside with their scout, the two of them together making short work of the security systems and the guards to open the building up.

“What’re we acquiring, anyway?” V thought to ask, more as conversation than for curiosity as she stacked another case in the bed of the truck.

“Nothing much,” the man in charge of the plan told her.

“Worth a small fortune so everyone can eat for a month, random it back off to the highest bidder type not much?” The cases they were filching were unmarked, and that as often as not spelled trouble. “Or... this shit’s actually useful in the badlands, gotta get it from somewhere not much?

“The former. Got a buyer all lined up.”

V flashed him a smile before trudging back towards the warehouse.

They didn’t get a warning when a second wave of security flooded the building. It was gunfire and chaos, and, V realized far too late, a netrunner.

The others got away.

Or might have done – V hoped, but she didn’t see them, as she got cornered by several over-armored and very professional looking mercenary-style security guards.

Under the glaring light, she held up her hands, showing she was unarmed.

Her system was scrambled.

No one was coming to save her.

Putting up a fight and bleeding out on concrete floor wouldn’t mean much, and she didn’t stand much of a chance if she wanted to walk out alive.

~*~

V was thrown to the floor before a table, across from a older man. One whose most distinguishing feature was how prominently he wore his faith upon his chest; a glorious badge of honor. She tried to force her way up, but the hands that held her down on her knees only allowed her enough leeway to lift her head... to view the dusty, wide open room and the rough looking accruement of occupants therein.

Some of them were wearing that telltale array of red, black, gold she was already getting familiar with, for all that the lighting was too dim to make out the detail.

Her gaze was drawn back to the man in front of her.

The rest of them didn’t seem to matter, and she had the feeling he would have agreed.

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“No.”

By the subtle change in the expression on his face, he’d evidently expected her to. Expected her to respect him without ever having met him.

Score one for the rogue nomad.

“I am the man you tried to steal from.”

He paused, as though that, too, was supposed to mean something to her.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

She glared at the man as he tried to stare her down. Tried, because as the moments slipped by and she didn’t break, something flickered in the depths of his calm, composed gaze.

A subtle smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth.

She won.

They both knew it.

The man flicked the ash from his cigar over the tray on the table. And looked up, above her head. To the man holding her down.

“I want... everything you can dig out of her head.” Bodies shifted around her. She heard the telltale click of an interface cable, and grit her teeth. “Why she’s here. What she’s after. Who she works for. What they’re paying her. Where she lives. Who her people are. When you are finished-....”

She wrenched her arm loose, and hoping to make a grab for her knife. The man in charge of it all took a pull off his cigar as another goon stepped in to force her back down.

“As I was saying. When you are finished-...”

“Que pasa, Padre? Long time, no? Lookin’ for someone, word on the street is that she might’ve crossed your path.”

It took V what felt an astonishingly a long moment to realize she knew that voice.

Dragging her legs beneath her, V made a lunge to her feet. The grip on her tightened, and she was again shoved to her knees. Twisting to try to get a look over her shoulder, she found that the struggle had brought Jackie’s attention right to them.

When he saw her, the easy smile on his face tightened.

“Ay, V, there you are.” He moved straight for her, but his gaze wandered, taking in every man standing, and he glanced back at the door. “Been looking everywhere for you, you know that? Had me worried sick you might’ve gotten into some kinda trouble...”

Once he reached her side, Jackie locked eyes with the man holding her.

“¿Como está tu hermana?” he asked. “Tell her to call me sometime. We got catchin’ up to do.”

Reaching down, he took V’s arm gently in one hand, and with his other casually reached for that of one of the men that held her. The fingers in her shoulder pinched tighter, then let go, along with a second hand.

Jackie tugged V to her feet.

The second goon was still holding on to her. Jackie glared at him over her head.

“Mine, or don’t you think I made that clear ‘nough?”

The goon let go.

Jackie pulled her to his side, and his arm settled over her shoulders. There was a ripple through the crowd as the men and women shuffled to give them space...

...as well as to close ranks around them.

“Jackie Welles.”

“The one and only. How’s biz, Padre?”

“You know this woman, do you?”

V felt Jackie fidget beside her.

“Damn right I do. She’s my new partner.”

That seemed to take the man by surprise. His gaze flicked to her, his expression darkening, before returning to Jackie.

“Really, now?”

“Really! Met her on a border crossing gig. Hey, and I needed to talk to you about that, actually-...”

“She has been causing quite the commotion, if you haven’t already heard.”

Jackie’s arm tightened around her shoulders. She slid her hand under his jacket, pressing her hand to his back.

“Yeah, well – she’s new in town. She don’t know the rules. I promised I’d show her the ropes.” His voice dipped low, and he forced a sharp grin. “Ma told me to tell you hi, by the way.”

The man sighed deeply.

Then he flicked his fingers.

Beside her, V felt the tension in Jackie’s body ease, if only by the scarcest measure. He rubbed her shoulder, and steered her for the door with a brusque, “C’mon.”

The crowd parted for them. They reached the door before the man’s voice followed them.

“Jackie...”

Breathing out a sigh, Jackie turned back. Which prompted V to make half the turn with him; it was easier than fighting his grip. Curious anyway, she glanced over her shoulder.

“¿Sí?”

“Your little churchmouse is skilled. See that those skills are put to their best use, eh?”

There was a small thread of respect in the old man’s voice, as though their play had impressed him. V flipped him off anyway. Her smirk vanished when Jackie grabbed her hand, forcing it back down again. She glanced up at him to find his composure cracking.

“Ah. Will do, Padre.”

“And say hello to your mother for me.”

Jackie nodded.

“Sure thing.”

His grip on her tightened as he hustled her out the door before another word could get in edgewise. Gangoons, mercs, and other hangers about watched them cut through the small parking lot outside, where Jackie dropped his arm from her shoulder to snatch her wrist. He upped the pace until he was straight up dragging her through a network of alleys he markedly knew well, swearing under his breath half the distance.

~*~

They hit a small dead end, around the corner from a main street. It was there that he finally let go of her, before rounding on her.

“What the fuck were you thinkin’, eh?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea what you would’ve been in for if I hadn’t found you?”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

The edge was wearing off. Hers was, anyway. Jackie paced past her, and back again.

“Yeah, really? You think so?” he asked, jabbing her shoulder with a finger. “And why the fuck did you run off on me like that, didn’t I tell you I was gonna help you?”

V stood her ground.

“You also tried to rip me off one way,” she explained amicably, “then confessed to having planned to rip me off another.”

“I...” Jackie sputtered. “Yeah, but...” V blinked at him. “I came clean, didn’t I?”

V shrugged. She combed her fingers through her hair, straightening it a touch.

“I’m saying I didn’t know what to believe. I’m alone out here, you get that? I needed someone... something I could trust.”

“And you decided you can’t trust me, nothing I can do about it, just like that? Tch!”

V watched him pace, grumbling to himself – something about fucking nomads thinking they were the authority on trust, if her translation software got it right – as he did. A faint smile touched her lips, and she shook her head.

“Hey Jack.”

“What?”

“You saved my life.”

It took him a moment to follow.

“I did...?” But once it hit him, the aggression bled out of his posture. He drew himself up, straightening his jacket. “Ah. Yeah. Guess I did.”

Her smile deepened, then evaporated with a sigh. V flicked her fingers towards him. “But you know, I get it if the whole partners thing is off the table. I understand if you just want to split right here.”

Jackie’s head snapped towards her.

“What? No. No. Even if I did, which I don’t – don’t even think that – it just... it wouldn’t be right cutting you loose.”

“I... wasn’t wanting to force you into anything, is all. Right or wrong, I’d survive.”

“I’d survive, says the gonk just pissed off the badges; two – count ‘em – two gangs, and one of ‘em twice; and crashed some blacklist corpo merchandise deal overseen by one of the city’s top fixers – and that’s just what I fucking know about what you got up to – all in one fucking day.”

Jackie laughed, as though the sheer absurdity of it had sunk in.

“I don’t care how much of a badass you think you are, V. No one survives this city alone.”

He might’ve been right about that.

But from what she’d seen...

“Feels like everyone here is alone.” Crossing her arms, V scuffed one shoe on the pavement, then wandered the distance to the nearest brick wall, and leaned back against it. Jackie crossed his arms likewise, head cocked as he watched her.

“I mean, this place is interesting in a way... there’s so much... everything. So much to do and to see, and everything is so... it’s hard to keep track of it all...” V sighed. Then she scoffed; a mirthless chuckle, raising her eyes skyward. To a world high above their heads. “But down here in the gutter, you can’t even see the stars.”

“Dunno about that,” Jackie opined quietly. “Least one seems pretty bright from where I’m standing.”

V rolled her head towards him, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged, and shot her a thin smile. The corner of her mouth twitched in response, but her almost smile faded just as quickly.

“My mother was from the city, you believe that? I always wondered, and... when everything else in my life broke down, something in me thought... maybe if I came to one, I’d find some connection to her.” V swallowed. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place and... I’ve never felt so alone.”

“Don’t have to be that way, chica.”

“Oh, yeah...?”

“Trust me. Guy who just saved your life, here, remember? I know things.”

This time, V did smile back.

Almost despite herself.

She pressed her tongue to the corner of her lip.

“Think you might be able to help me out with another little cultural setback I seem to be having?”

“Mmhm.” Jackie intoned. “Yeah, shoot.”

V’s smile widened.

“Not that complicated. All I wanna know is, what’s a girl gotta do to get laid around here?”

It seemed to take a few seconds for the question to fully sink in. Jackie cast a quick glance around the empty alley, shrugged, then moved in closer, giving her a discerning once over as he did. Studying his face, she raised her chin as he pressed his fingers up under her jaw. His thumb brushed lightly along the scar that cut across her cheek.

“That right there might cost you a few options,” Jackie told her. “But...” he shrugged a shoulder, “I might know a guy.”

Reaching to trace her fingers along the back of his hand where it lingered, V regarded him for a long moment.

“No strings attached, no commitments, no respected no questions asked. Sound like a fair deal to you?”

He thought about it.

Or, at the very least, made an entire production out of pretending to.

A slight movement of her head, and his thumb brushed against her lips. Abruptly, he twisted his hand, breaking her loose grip, and leaned into the wall. He dipped down his face down to her level, and V’s eyes fluttered shut.

The touch of his mouth on hers was gentle at first. Tentative. As though he was feeling her out. V had to wonder, given everything else that had passed between them until now, if he thought she might’ve simply been fucking with him.

He certainly hadn’t read to her the unconfident type.

Her eyes cracked open again as he broke away. Again he touched her cheek, gently, as he studied her eyes. With a sigh, Jackie glanced over his shoulder.

“Ay, fuck it.”

The next kiss was crushing. Her arms found their way around his neck, and his fingers dug into her waist where he pressed her into the wall. In a fluid, practiced motion, Jackie reached down further to catch his hands beneath her thighs and heft her up to his level. Locking her legs over his hips, V took full advantage of her new height to blaze a trail of teasing kisses along his neck and jaw.

With a shift of his balance, Jackie pushed her even more firmly into the wall; V hissed a soft, “Fuck.”

“Mmhm,” he groaned against her neck in agreement, then pulled back just far enough to capture her mouth again.

~*~

“You’re sure you’re alright with... this?”

“Chica, I am more than alright with it.”

V swatted his arm as they reached the landing. “I was talking the whole you’re stuck with me now thing.”

“Huh? Oh.” Jackie chuckled. “I think you got it all wrong. You are stuck with me.” He glanced down at her as he reached for the panel for the door. “And, uh... so we’re clear on somethin’? I am not letting you out of my sight until I know you’re not gonna piss off the whole other half of Heywood. Just not happening.”

“That... seems fair, considering,” V remarked wryly under her breath, following him through.

This time through, there was a woman sitting comfortable in his family room.

“Hey, Ma!”

V paused a few steps past the door, which closed behind her, and found reason to fuss with the strap of her bag where it cut over her shoulder.

“This is V; we missed you last night when we rolled in...”

Jackie launched into the story of how they’d met, and how he’d promised she could stay with them, and why there was an iguana hanging out in the kitchen as he introduced her to his mother. V hung back, a little uncertain, while the older woman scrutinized this strange girl that had been brought into her home with piercing eyes and a curious smile.

V could see shades of Jackie’s smile there. When she snuck a glance Jackie’s way, she found him smiling at her. Openly, encouraging.

She smiled back, if faintly.

And, for the first time since leaving camp, V felt it safe to let her guard down.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Tom’s Fate

Ruyi ran down the snowy pathways of the mostly empty campus of Cassell College, her face wreathed in a smile, her breath fogging in the air as she panted.

Classes were still out and most of the students were off visiting family and friends.

But a few of her friends stayed.

Among them was Tom. The blinded, over-threshold hybrid had to stay on campus to be monitored and treated. Ru'Yi didn't have the heart to leave him. Her parents understood.

She held him by the hand and she ran, hurrying towards a looming stone building. It was Norton Hall. The building was legendary for a variety of reasons one of which was its being a prize for the Day of Liberty, a crazy celebration of freedom renowned for its property damage.

"They say no one stays in that building anymore, that it's cursed or something." Ru'Yi said.

Tom followed along obediently. "So of course we are the only ones who should explore it?"

They'd learned that most so called curses, and magic and miracles was actually knowledge alchemy passed down by the dragonclan. High blooded hybrids like them had little to fear from it.

They weren't foolish enough to approach the front entrance, instead skirting around the back brick fence. The wall loomed high above them, draped with frost blackened ivy. Ru'Yi craned her neck to see.

"Do you think you can jump it?" Tom pressed his hands against the masonry.

"Yes... But.. how to get you over?"

"Throw me?"

She laughed. “I’m not going to throw you over. It’s not that high. I can jump it.”

Tom couldn’t see her but he heard the soft hush of her feet leaving the ground. “Okay! I'm on the wall!” She shouted. “Now you jump I’ll catch you and pull you up and over.”

“Won’t I pull you down?” 

“No... I promise. The walls actually pretty thick up here.” She rustled the vines, sending snow down on his head.

The chill settled on his forehead. “Okay. One... two... three!”

He jumped, holding out his hand and as soon as they touched, he grabbed on tightly.

“Ah! You’re pretty heavy!” She strained to lift him up and over the wall and together they fell into the snowy lawn.

But she was laughing, unhurt. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Can I stand up without hitting my head on anything?”

“Yes, you’re fine.” She used her arm to brace him. “Wow.”

“What is it?”

“This is a pretty big garden. Like... I didn’t know there was so much property behind here.”

“What your step.” She carefully led him down a path. “There’s a lot of fallen branches. Careful, move a little to your left.”

They were walking, slowly but steadily. He felt the snow under his feet and moved gingerly to avoid slipping.

“This place is probably really beautiful in the spring. It’s full of trees. I bet we could... Ah!”

He felt her stumble and stagger. He tensed to brace her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, there’s something sticking out of the ground... wait, Tom, there’s something here.”

Ru’Yi left his arm and he reached out but couldn’t feel her any more. 

“It’s.... a grave marker.”

She didn’t say more and he started to worry. “Are you hurt?”

“No I...”

“What’s wrong?”

“It says Chu. Why does it say Chu? My last name is Chu! It’s the same character and everything... Chu Huoli...”

Tom stood stunned. “Is it a relative?”

“It must be. Look... he died a year before I was born... and... He was just a baby.” She stood up again and Tom felt her hand on his arm again. “We have to get into Norton Hall. Maybe there’s more information there!”

Tom followed reluctantly but had to keep her pace despite his sudden doubts.

“I should have brought a crowbar. The door’s boarded up!”

Tom’s lifted his head. “There’s a window open.  To our left. I can hear the wind whistling.”

“Yes! I see it! Here! Push your hands through the gap!”

Together, they pushed opened the stubborn window. Ru’Yi scrambled in first and then Tom followed. He could feel they were inside. There was no more wind. The sounds of the outdoors were suddenly muted.

Ru’Yi looked around. Everything was covered in drop cloths and and a layer of dust but she could tell it was an elegant space in its prime. 

“Where should we look first?”

“Maybe there’s an office where they keep records?” Tom offered.

They wandered the dark, watched over by paintings on the walls and murals on the ceiling that depicted dragons and dragonslayers of the past. Ru’Yi and Tom climbed a flight of stairs and opened a door to a large ballroom. She stopped.

“Did you find something?”

“There are... runes, dragon language scrawled all over the walls here!” Black paint depicted that serpentine, snake like language and as she read, she could feel her ears start to ring. A piercing pain, like a needle in her brain made her grip her head. “Ow...”

That twisting language wormed its way into her mind and she suddenly caught a strange vision. A bright yellow eye as tall as a house with eyelids that blinked like massive shutters. 

When she opened her eyes,  the runes had come alive with bright and scintillating lights. The inner fountains of her Dragonblood strength opened up and she felt the rush as the restriction placed on dragon gifts abruptly came untied.

“Tom! We have to get out of here!”

She turned to him. Her eyes were wide with fear and shock and she backed away from him. But he could see her as clear as the sunniest day.

His eyes glowed in his head, from that bright violet to a brighter crimson, the mandala spinning around his reptilian pupil. He could see into her, her pulse pushing blood through her veins, the tension in her muscles, ready to fight or flee at any moment. The expansion an contraction of her lungs. She was so delightfully alive.

“Tom! You have to get out of here! Your hands! Oh no!”

Tom looked down at his hands, tilting his head. They were crawling with blue-grey scales that opened and shut like the valves of a steam engine, letting off heat.

“Help!” Ru’Yi was running away, her curly hair flying behind her. She rushed down the stairs. Tom, filled with inhuman strength took one flying leap, and then another longer one, soaring over her head and landing in front of the front door right before she could make her escape.

She backed away, turning to flee towards the open window, but again, his strength carried him, up and over her head, cutting off her escape.

“Tom! You have to wake up!”

He didn’t let her run away again. In a blur, he rushed forward and collided with her, knocking her to the floor. She didn’t move again. She only moaned quietly, her eyes barely open.

Tom’s heart dropped as he seemed to wake from this odd unconsciousness to realize that she’d hit her head on the hard marble floor and that his hands had grown claws longer than the hands they were coming from.

“Stop! Stand down or I’ll shoot!” 

Brian, he must have come through the window.

Tom stared at him, the threat of the barrel of the gun swept away what little humanity had shined through his raging dragon blood with the spike in adrenaline. He leaped to the side, repelled off the wall. The gun flashed, but if the bullet hit, it had no affect. Tom smashed into Brian, sending the gun spinning across the tile floor.

Tom raised his claws, sharp enough to pierce through armor, but before they could tear through Brian and end his life, a burst of wind lifted him off the man and sent him flying across the room.

The dust, the drop clothes and lose paper was caught into the vortex that now lifted Brian from the floor, his eyes glaring down at him, glowing bright yellow. He opened his hand and the wind picked up a heavy armoire. It flew towards Tom, knocking him into the wall and pinning him there.

The wind was relentless. Tom, panicked and furious, tore into the the wood and began to splinter it.

“Calling backup to Norton Hall. I’m not sure why, but the restriction isn’t being applied here. Allman’s gone berserk. Chu is down.” Brian spoke into his wrist to the Executive Department. “They’ll be here soon. Don’t make us kill you, Allman.”

Allman’s claws dug into the wood and he snarled, flashing his fangs in the dark.

Brian used the wind and lowered himself to the ground, his jacket fluttering against his body. “Ru’Yi would be sad.”

He retrieved his gun and briefly checked it. “No hard feelings.”

Brian’s eyes shone with molten gold once again, summoning a wind that shattered the windows. That wind full of blades spun into a tight tornado, engulfed him and tore into his clothing. The splintered shards left hundreds of cuts in an instant. Tom shielded it his eyes with his arms full of iron-like impenetrable scales.

“Tom!” 

Brian caught Ru’Yi before she could run to him. “Don’t. He’s not himself.”

“You’re hurting him!”

There was the sound of shouting growing rapidly closer. “I’ve got the situation under control, use non-lethals.”

The door burst opened and dozens of students in black tactical gear rushed by them. They quickly gathered in a line, cutting off Tom’s means of escape.

One knelt, aiming the barreled of what looked like heavy artillery.

Ru’Yi could feel herself starting to panic. “Don’t kill him don’t-”

Brian’s hand was suddenly over her eyes and she heard a loud boom that shook the walls and sent plaster raining down on them. Brian was pushing and pulling her away. 

“Tom! No! Stop! Don’t! Don’t!”

Another...

And another...