#...I wonder how easy it is to sew through pants fabric. And I hope the stitches won't fall out if I try this.

[asjjohnson]

I bought some pants and fabric and grommets today.

Should I cut up my new (semi pricey) pants to try making lace-up wide-leg ones?

[light-is-typing]

Would you be down to write an Escape at Dannemora inmate sweat fic? I feel like it would be so hot to have jail Paul fuck a guard on a night shift or something 🙊. He acts so hard it’s definitely has me feeling some type of way!

Quiet

David Sweat x GN!AFAB!reader

Word count: 1.5 K

Summery: Reader wakes David late at night for a little help at the sewing room

Tags/warnings: NSFW!! Finger sucking

A/N: first time writing smut imma curl into a ball and hide away

It had been a very quiet night.

David Sweat was sitting on his bed, trying to draw an unsuccessful self portrait, when soft footsteps made him freeze in place. It wasn't that he was scared per say, but he couldn't deny the cold sweat damping his forehead.

He slides the canvas and his pencil under the bed with skillful speed and lays down, trying to soften his light panting.

"I know you're awake inmate Sweat." A whispery voice taunts at him. 

David can feel his slight annoyance at the know it all voice.

"I've got something to show you." the voice is tempting. David sighs and rolls around to look at the figure standing on the other side of the metal bars. He's trying his best to keep his temper down but something about this.. Surprisingly beautiful guard? screams danger.

Your fingers play with the keys in almost humorous manner. David shifts his body into a sitting position again. Your face lighten with a satisfied smile, and you put the keys in the cell's door, turning them around slowly as to not make a sound.

The door opens slowly, and you move out of the way, signaling him with you hand yo get up and follow you. He doesn't know why, but he does.

You guys walk silently, without exchanging any words, until you get to ta place he knows very well - the sewing room.

You walk around the sewing machines, and David follows you, his hand caresses them gently, it looks like being here gives him confidence, and his back straightens, his steps become heavier.

You stop in front of a big closet and turn around to face him, he doesn't stop in time and bumps into you.

"Woah, easy there" you chuckle.

"Sorry" he mutters, but he isn't really.

"Well," you squirm back. "I was informed that you're the best of the best in sewing here." A cocky smile stretches his lips. "And I was hoping you could help me with a special little project I'm working on" You finish.

"Hmm.. Let's see it" he gestures to the door, and you open it. Kneeling down, you take out a carton box full of cut out fabrics. You then look up at him. "I've been trying to make some bunny plushies for my little niece" you explain. David raises an eyebrow. "Bunny plushies?" His tone is almost mocking.

"Well, yes." You're slightly annoyed at his cockiness. "And as the best here, I was hoping you'd help me, but if you don't feel like it I can just put you back in your cell" you puff. 

"Hey, relax" he hand out his hand, suggesting his help; you take it, and he pulls you close.

you suddenly feel very small.

"I was just wondering what I get out of this." His hand hasn't left yours. In fact, his hold is firm, almost uncomfortably so, but instead of being scared, you feel a certain warmness forming in your stomach.

"Well.." Your voice breaks. "Ughm, well, what would you like?"

He doesn't answer immediately, instead, his pulls you in even closer.

"Can I ask for anything I want?"

"We'll see."

You try to back away, but even he notices it is an embarrassingly lazy attempt.

He chuckles, and you notice how white his teeth are, it makes a certain pulse go through your stomach and travel down to your panties. You swallow thickly. His eyes pierce you, a faint trace of a smile rests on his lips as his eyes travel all across your body, almost hungry looking. They then return to your eyes, and he looks directly at you when he says "I want to get to know you better."

"And just how are we going to do that?" You question.

"Well," David's hand leaves yours and slides up your thigh, making you gasp. "I think you have a slight idea." You swallow again, and lean against the table in the closet. David pushes you backwards, so now you're sitting on the table. Your legs open by themselves, and David takes on the invitation to get closer to you. He's just a bit taller than you, but with you sitting you seem much shorter than you are.

David leans down, and you feel his breath on your skin; it surprisingly smells minty, and you feel another tingle in your clit, which makes you shift your eyes down shamefully.

Then you feel a warm hand under your chin, and David lifts your head up so your eyes lock up again. He leans in even closer and thumb traces your lips - which part automatically. He smirks and shoves his thumb in slightly and a quiet moan escapes your lips, and makes you go beet red, which seems to only make him cockier. He pushes himself against you, and the brush of his surprisingly hard cock against your clit, even through your pants, brings a slight relief to your ache; you take in on the offer and grind against him, now getting used to hearing your whimpers bounce around the closet. David shoves his thumb deeper and it makes you gag, but he doesn't seem to mind, he's too busy focusing on how good your cunt feels against him. He leans down and bites your ear, before whispering to it softly "you better stay quiet" before backing away. A disappointed whimper leaves your lips, only to be cut away by a strong hand groping your cunt. You then hear another chuckle. "You're so wet already" he whispers against your ear, and you shamefully realize your slick has already wet your pants.

"Sorry" you murmur, having a hard time speaking with his thumb still pushing on your tongue. 

"No need to apologize," he scoffs, "I like it."

And with that you melt into his hand, grinding your pulsing clit against him eagerly and making stifled sounds. His hand wettens with your slick until the movements are sloppy and fast, you squirm under him and your breaths become short and stuttered. "I think I'm gonna-"

He backs away again, and you look at him, confused. "Why'd you stop?"

"You think you're the only one allowed to have fun?" He asks half seriously.

"Oh."

His wet hand leaves his belt shiny as he unbuckles it. His hand disappears inside his pants, and he storkes himself a few times before taking his cock out, and you gasp at the size of it. It's not too big, but it's definitely not too small. He shifts himself closer to you again, and his now free cock brushes against you. His hard form is even better feeling against you and a loud moan breaks from you.

"Please David" you breathe out, and he doesn't need anymore encouragement.

A firm hand slides down your pants, then your panties, and an experienced thumb brushes gently at your clit. 

"Fuck-" you practically scream at the touch."more. More!" You beg, but his hand leaves you needy and wanting more, as it goes back to stroking himself. He then guides himself and lands at your entrance, only to tease it, pushing in slightly, then coming back out, sending electricity all through your body. Finally you've had enough, and you push down at it, moaning satisfyingly as he hits a good spot. The feeling of your walls against him changes something in his actions - they become sloppy and almost compulsive, as he groans and holds you down by your chest, pushing even deeper. His hand travels upwards as he starts fucking into you, and lands on your neck, holding it to balance himself. Two fingers lay on your chin, touching your bottom lip, and your pink tongue greets them, as if to ask - "can I taste you?"

He agrees to the silent question immediately and shoves them in again, moaning as your wet tongue explores them, and you can feel him twitch inside you; and you wonder if he's already so close to cumming.

Your thoughts are cut with the feeling of his strong thumb rubbing you again. 

"God- David-" you bite down at his fingers.

"Shhh" He hushes you aggressively, a slight trace of pain on his face. As you look up, you explore them. His high cheekbones are colored red and are shiny with sweat, even his buzzed hair his all shiny.

Him quickening his movements brings you back to the feeling in the lower part of your body, and his thumb matches his pace, sending pulses of pleasure through your body.

He doesn't stop this time, and you're surprised to hear a high pitched whimper slipping out of his mouth, and he shivers.

You try to, but you can't help but smirk at how desperate he got so fast; but then again, the throbbing in your core argues in his defense.

Suddenly his movements stop, and he's panting, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, if you want me to last longer I need to-"

You're having none of that, and you push down into him, taking control as you fuck yourself into him again and again. 

"Please, I'm serious if you keep doing that- fuck!" And you feel a familiar hoteness filling you as he twitches and shivers and rutts into you. 

The hotness against the right spot pushes you over the edge, and a hushed scream echoes in the closet.

"Hello?" A muffled voice outside the closet cuts your orgasm, and as your wide eyes meet David's, both your hearts sink as you come to the same realization. Oh no.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Slip Stitch

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Read Part 1 here

Summary: You sew Tommy up after an altercation. Then, you help him with his other problem. (This fic is a strange mix of sticky sweet and horribly violent. This one got away from me. I’m very soft for this man)

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, death of minor character, oral, mirror sex, praise kink.

 ~~

             “TOMMY! GET OUT HERE!”

             You jerk awake, sitting bolt upright in bed. You’re dazed, wondering where you are until you hear Hoyt shouting outside and Tommy’s thundering footsteps as he descends the stairs. Then comes that horrible noise, the revving, the deafening roar of a chainsaw rumbling to life.

            You scream and clap your hands over your ears, pulling your knees to your chest and burying your face in them. It does little to help. The agonized screaming reaches you anyway. You hear them dying, whoever they are, their screams cut short. The chainsaw idles.

            Your doorhandle rattles and you startle. The lock clicks. A wild-eyed young man bursts into your room. There’s blood splattered across his shirt, terrible crimson dripping onto the floor as he moves. He slams the door shut and blocks it with his body. He spots you on the bed, takes in your tear streaked face, your normal clothes, the horror in your eyes.

            “We gotta get out of here. C’mon!” He assumes you’re a victim, like him. Well, he’s mostly right. He crosses the room and grabs your arm, tries pulling you to your feet. He’s wants to help you.

            “No, no, stop! You don’t understand, you have to get out of here—

            “C’mon, let me help you, c’mon!” he murmurs, keeping his shaky voice as muted as he can. You try and wrench your arm out of his grip, try to get through to him but he’s too frightened, too agitated. He’s not hearing you.

            “STOP, you need to run! You have to RUN!” you scream at him, but he’s not listening. He’s looking behind his shoulder, mumbling “out of here, out of here” over and over, tugging at your arm. He’s traumatized, out of his mind with fear. His nails are biting into your arm he’s gripping you so tightly.

            Suddenly, the door is kicked open with so much force it splinters, one of the hinges flying off the door frame to skitter across the floor. Thomas takes up the entire doorway, chest heaving, murderous intent in his eyes. You’ve never seen him so angry. He radiates it, makes you shrink back onto the bed and cower.

             Thomas grabs the boy’s arm, jerking him away from you so hard you hear the pop of his shoulder dislocating from its socket. He screams in pain and dread as Thomas hurls him down the hall. They disappear from view and you’re glad for it when the chainsaw growls.

            There’s screaming, then there isn’t.

            The chainsaw splutters and goes quiet. You hear Tommy panting, then his heavy footfalls as he hurries down the hall and into your room. He kneels at the edge of your bed, gently pulling you toward him. He inspects your arm where the boy had held you, turning it this way and that in his huge hands.

            You stare blankly at the blood and flesh coating the entire front of him. It takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you questioningly. You meet his concerned gaze and force a thin smile across your face.

            “I’m okay, Tommy. I’m okay.” You reach out to grip his shoulder reassuringly but quickly withdraw your hand when he flinches.

            “Oh no, you’re hurt,” you say, slipping off the bed to inspect the wound. This is good, good for you anyway. It gives you something else to concentrate on, something to occupy your mind instead of the horror that just took place a few feet from where you sleep. Tommy shakes his head, standing and gently brushing you off.

            “No, you can work later. This will get infected. It needs stitches.” You take his hand and lead him from the room. Careful not to look too closely at the mangled body and gore splashed across the walls, you lead Thomas to the bathroom and push him down so he’s seated on the edge of the tub.

            “You’ll have to take your shirt off.” He stares at you for a moment, frowning. You raise your eyebrows at him and he sighs, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. You help him slide the fabric off his injured shoulder. Blood leaks from the deep slash, thick rivulets that pour down his bicep and forearm to drip into the bathtub.

            You slap a washrag over the wound, holding pressure while you get the water in the tub running. Testing it, you find it warm enough. You soak the cloth, lathering it with soap before gently scrubbing away the dried blood and grime around Tommy’s wound. He tenses but says nothing, stoic as always.

            Once you deem it clean enough, you retrieve the sewing kit from under the sink. You choose the thinnest curved needle, feeling sorry for Tommy as you do. As you thread the needle, you recall the conversation you’d had with Luda Mae on your first day at the Hewitt residence:

             “I can cook. I can clean, and sew.” You plead your case, praying this insane family will choose to keep you alive. You wish Tommy would put you down. He still clutches you to his chest like you’ll float away if he lets go. Luda Mae scoffs.

            “Sew. Tommy can sew.” She frowns, looking between you to her son. She sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat and adds, “But it might do to have another cook ‘round here.”

             Guess your sewing skills are going to come in handy after all.

            “Sorry, Tommy. Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?” Thomas nods and grips the edge of the tub. He watches, brow furrowing, as you push the needle through his skin, pulling the thread until it’s red with his blood. You use a slip stitch, hoping to minimize the scarring.

            It’s almost easy to see him as a different person like this, passive and calm, watching intently as your fingers push the needle through his flesh. Like this, he isn’t the frightening chainsaw-wielding cannibal. Like this, he’s just Tommy. Tommy, who so tenderly held your face down in the cellar and cradled you to his chest like he would protect you from anything that would ever think of hurting you.

            It's easy to imagine, so you do. You imagine are together somewhere else, somewhere far away from this awful house. You imagine Tommy is just that: Tommy, not Thomas Brown Hewitt. You imagine you’re just helping Tommy mend an injury he acquired while working in the yard.

            Thomas flinches under your fingers, reaching up with his uninjured arm to grip the edge of your shirt. You’re sure it’s an unconscious action on his part. He hasn’t tried to touch you again since that first time. He’s kept his distance for the five months you’ve been imprisoned here. You wonder if it’s insecurity, or fear, or something else entirely. Thomas treats you like a porcelain doll, like you’ll crumble apart in his hands if he’s not careful enough. He must be afraid of hurting you.

            But he hadn’t hurt you. Oh no, quite the opposite. You’re loath to admit it, but there have been nights where you’ve awoken, drenched in sweat and slick between your thighs, high off dreams of Tommy taking you in the cellar. There are times you’ve burned with need and wished he would burst into your room to claim you again.

            You’re pulled from your reverie as you reach the edge of Tommy’s wound. You tug, knitting his flesh together and tie off the thread. Rinsing away the rest of the blood, you cover the wound with gauze and tape it to his skin.

            Thomas moves to get up but you push him back down. He looks up at you quizzically. You smile softly, taking the wash cloth and gently cleaning the sweat and blood from his forehead. He stiffens, eyes falling to his knees, then flicking to the door, looking anywhere but at your face.

            You comb your fingers through his hair, as much as you can while hindered by the strap of his mask. You still haven’t seen what’s underneath. You wonder if you ever will.

            Tommy’s eyes slip closed as you scratch your nails against his scalp. You move to his temples, rubbing gentle circles into his skin. Warmth blooms in your chest when you see his shoulders relax.

            You move to stand between his spread thighs, a better angle to work your fingers into his neck and shoulders. Thomas sighs, leaning forward to rest his head against your chest as you dig your knuckles into the stiff muscles between his shoulder blades. He flexes briefly before relaxing, and you’re momentarily transfixed by the way his defined back muscles ripple under his skin.

            You card your fingers through the damp hair on the back of his neck and Tommy groans quietly. You bite your lip, face heating up. He sounds like he did that day in the basement.

            He must feel you tense because he leans back to meet your gaze, searching your face. You stare into his deep eyes, full of adoration and a little smile tugs at the corners of you mouth. Only a monster could be unmoved by the way he looks at you.

            Then, your eyes trail lower and you notice the other effect your ministrations are having. You swallow thickly. Christ, you’re nearly drooling at just the sight of his clothed cock straining against his trousers. Too easy.

            Tommy notices you staring. You see the skin above his mask flush crimson and his eyes shift away from yours, ashamed. You suppress another grin, amused by how little effort it takes to make this powerful man squirm.

            You move to your knees, kneeling between his legs and leisurely sliding your hands up the inside of his thighs. Thomas inhales sharply, nails digging into the edge of the tub. He sits up as straight as a board and you briefly wonder if all your work kneading his muscles has gone to waste.

            “Is this okay, Tommy?” you whisper, maintaining eye contact and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the inside of his knee. Thomas nods quickly, too quickly. You stifle a giggle, fingers moving to his belt.

            Clink, pop, zip, rustle and there he is, heated flesh hard and flushed in your palm. You give him one slow stroke before scooting forward to drag your tongue up the thick vein along the underside. The scent of him hits your nose, spicy sweat and sharp soap.

            Thomas utters a strained whine, the sound going straight to your lower belly. You clench your thighs together and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock. You’re determined to pull more needy sounds from him.

            There’s no way to fit him all in your mouth, so instead you suckle on the tip, tasting salty tang on your tongue, and work your hands up and down his shaft. Tommy groans again, one hand leaving the edge of the tub to rest on the back of your neck.

            You hum in your throat as you hollow out your cheeks, looking up through your lashes to meet Thomas’ heated stare. He jerks, fisting a hand in your hair and hastily pulling you off his twitching cock. He gasps, the fingers in your hair trembling.

            You flash him a coy smile and bite your lip and you think he’s probably had enough of your teasing when he abruptly stands, pulling you with him and backing you up until you bump the edge of the sink. Fear sneaks up on you then, with Thomas towering over you, looking down at you with unbridled lust.

            His deft fingers find the button on your shorts, working them open and bunching the fabric in his hands, preparing to yank them off your hips. He seems to remember himself then, freezing and looking down at you, the question of consent in his eyes. There he is, your sweet Tommy.

            You place your own hands over his, wiggling your hips and working the shorts down your thighs. They only make it to your knees before Thomas is twisting you around and grabbing handfuls of your hips before grinding his cock against the flesh of your ass, groaning through his teeth. He’s desperate, that sound sending a jolt of arousal through your heated core. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety and excitement fighting for dominance in your mind.

            You bend over the sink and raise your hips so his cock brushes against your drooling slit. Reaching behind you, you grip his hot length, grinding down against the smooth skin to coat it in slick before bringing him to your entrance.

            You release him when he begins to push into your eager cunt, gripping the sink and breathing through your nose to keep yourself as relaxed as you can. Holy hell, you’d forgotten how big he is…. Gradually, Tommy advances, parting tight, slippery muscles until his hips meet the flesh of your ass.

            “Ohh my god, fuck,” you murmur, huffing breaths making the hair that has fallen in front of your mouth billow. Thomas reaches for your neck, gently gripping you under the jaw with one massive hand and tilting your head up so he can see your face in the mirror.

            Experimentally, keeping a close eye on your expression, he bucks his hips and you cry out, one hand gripping him around the wrist. You dig your teeth into your lip, afraid the others in the house will hear. He does it again and your eyes snap shut, a strangled moan ripping from your throat.

            Thomas starts up a steady pace, rocking into you and using the hand on your jaw to pull you back onto his cock. He’s more controlled this time, but you can feel his restraint slipping in the way his thick fingers twitch against your neck. He pants and you whimper, each thrust of that monstrous cock sending electric shocks of pleasure arcing through you.

            “Tommy, oh fuck, Tommy, yes, just like that, that’s so good, you’re so good—

            You’re babbling, hardly aware of the praise tumbling from your lips. Thomas moans noisily, his thrusts growing more uncoordinated and rougher the more you speak. Soon the vanity is thump, thumping against the wall with each slam of his hips, but you’re past the point of caring.

            Wonderful, liquid heat curls in your gut. You’re practically leaking around the cock stuffed inside you, can feel it spilling down your thighs to drip onto the floor. The edge is right there, a few thrusts away.

            “Yes, Tommy, please don’t stop, please, please, I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum—

            He’s first to the finish line this time, groaning low in his chest and pushing into you as deep as he can to paint your insides. The feel of his cock twitching against your clenching muscles sends you soaring out over the edge, your eyes snapping shut, hot pleasure roiling within you.

             You recover first, cracking your eyes open and taking in Tommy’s wrecked expression in the mirror. His eyes are closed tight and his chest heaves, shoulders hunched and quivering. You’re mesmerized by his arms and chest, defined muscles on display and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

             Gently, you ease yourself away, your dewy skin sticking you to one another. Tommy hisses when he slips out of you, a deluge of seed pouring from your creamy cunt to coat your already slick thighs. What a mess he makes of you.

             Turning to face him, you catch him off guard when you pop up on your tip toes to plant a kiss to the mouth of his mask. Thomas blinks when you pull away, eyes wide in surprise, but he recovers quickly, more than happy to slip his fingers under your ears and pull you in until your lips touch his through the slit in his mask.

             “I think I need a shower,” you giggle against his mouth. You feel his lips curl into a grin and you smile back, adding “Want to join me?”

[demomonic-murmurs]

Hii!! Can i make a request? I really loved your shimizu & yachi threesome!! Can i ask for a tribbing/scissoring follow up for it?

Another Lesson [Kiyoko × Reader × Yachi]

Yes hello anon I love you please always ask me for more wlw content.

This is a continuation of this story I wrote for my Kinktober prompt list.

Pairing: Kiyoko × Reader, Yachi × Reader, Kiyoko × Yachi

Summary: Kiyoko and you teach Yachi a few more things about the beauty of gals being pals. She is an eager learner.

Tags: Threesome, F/F/F, Kiyoko and Reader are in a steady relationship and Yachi joins in, Heavy Make-Out Sessions, Fingering, Tribbing, Scissoring, Sex Toys, Spit, Squirting

Yachi was adorable really. When [Name] and Kiyoko had invited her for an arts and crafts night, she had been ecstatic. They almost felt bad for using it as an excuse to indulge her again.

Sex with Yachi had been pleasurable for the three of them and [Name] felt oddly excited whenever she thought about the petite blonde joining them again. There was something about the way she could show Kiyoko's flushed face off, eyes red from crying and sobbing, mouth agape, drove running down looking absolutely fucked. Their first time with Yachi had been fairly vanilla, easing her into the idea that yes, two women could be together as well, a concept Yachi had been aware of and fantasized alone in her dark dorm room, desperately humping against the pillow for friction.

But [Name] wanted more. She wanted to show Yachi more. As much as she wanted to know. As much as she wanted to indulge them. As much as they wanted to induldge her.

The evening started off in a decent manner. [Name] knew about Yachi's love for scrapbooks and suggested it as an activity they could partake in over at her and Kiyoko's shared apartment. Such an innocent activity really. Yachi was nervous regardless, as if she was already anticipating something, hoping for something. She had been over at their place before. Kiyoko had been one of her best friends since high school and [Name] was someone she felt at ease with. The source for her anxiety was more so the fact that the last time she had been over they had done... it.

"Relax", Kiyoko murmured and rested a hand on Yachi's shoulder in a comforting manner before sliding down on the floor next to her, putting the plate of tea down on the table cluttered with various colorful pieces of paper, scissors and glue.

Yachi shuddered at the contact and thanked her upperclassman. [Name] returned as well, carrying a stack of pretty looking pieces of leftover fabric. The blonde knee that the taller girl liked to sew in her free time but was delighted all the same that she wanted to share something important to her with Yachi as well.

Yachi's instructions were easy to follow. It was easy for [Name] to understand why Yachi had been in a university preparation class. She carefully constructed ideas that seemed plausible to the two lovers. The way the usually meek and shy girl spoke with so much vigor in her voice was beyond endearing to see for the two of them.

Eventually, they began to finish their projects up and Kiyoko excused herself to the bathroom. [Name] understood her girlfriends signal and rested a hand on Yachi's thigh. She tensed up and flushed, hands gripping on the sheet of paper she was trying to put away. The blonde let out a squeak when [Name] began to draw circles, fingers dragging across her clothed thigh. Yachi could feel a weak spike of arousal shooting through her.

"I didn't mean to startle you Hitoka", [Name] murmured, her movements halting, "If you don't want to-"

"Please", Yachi yelled, shutting her eyes.

[Name] raised an eyebrow. "Please what?"

"...no please continue... I... want to..."

[Name] smiled. "Can I kiss you Hitoka?"

Yachi nodded feverishly. [Name] cupped the petite woman's cheek and leaned in to press a kiss against her lips, first softly before gripping at her thigh again, making Yachi gasp and granting [Name] access to her mouth. With her tongue moving against her own, Yachi could only squeeze her thighs together in an attempt to get some relief against the wetness forming between her legs. She leaned back, only to hit something soft.

"Oh. You have started without me."

Kiyoko's calm voice brought Yachi back to reality. She broke the kiss and turned her face to meet her upperclassman's gaze and Yachi could feel her words die on her still tingling tongue.

Kiyoko's colour was purple. A dark shade of purple. Alluring and mysterious. The thight lace hugging her skin looked divine, intended. The stark contrast of purple against her pale skin accompanied by her luscious black hair and storm grey eyes made her look even more like a goddess than she usually did.

"She is gorgeous isn't she?", [Name] whispered, hand resting on Yachi's shoulder just like it had earlier today. "I designed it myself. But if you ask me I would've gone for a see through fabric around her breasts. And something more thong like for her panties."

Kiyoko flushed before whacking her girlfriend on the head.

"You are definitely a reflection of Aphrodite my love. Absolutely and utterly horny", she uttered, rolling her eyes.

Somehow, they always managed to calm her nerves. Even now, with Yachi's arousal making her panties stick uncomfortably against her pussy and Kiyoko sitting behind her in the most gorgeous pair of lingerie she had ever seen, she felt calm.

"I could make you a set as well", [Name] stated casually, "I'd just have to take your size."

[Name]'s hand wandered alongside her waist before coming to a halt at her chest, gently cupping her breasts. Yachi let out a squeak and tried to spin around again, back to facing [Name] but was stopped in her endeavor by Kiyoko's plush lips.

Kissing Kiyoko was different from kissing [Name]. [Name] was wild. Her kisses left you breathless, yearning for more. Kiyoko's were slow and sensual, soft and gentle in their nature. Yachi felt as if she had ascended. Being trapped between the two hottest women she had ever layed her eyes upon fulfilled every fantasy she had developed after accidentally stumbling upon a yuri manga one of her teammates had left in high school. (She was still sure it was either Tanaka or Nishinoya, which made her wonder what they'd say seeing Kiyoko, seeing her like this.)

"I think you'd great in stockings. Something flowey and soft. A soft pastel pink would definitely be your colour", [Name] continued, thumbs brushing against Yachi's nipples. She moaned, muffled by Kiyoko's skilled tongue dragging across hers.

"I think so too", Kiyoko murmured against her neck after breaking the kiss, leaving Yachi gasping for breath, "maybe strawberries could fit her as a theme. Maybe a strapless bra with a heart cut out right here."

Kiyoko rested her hand right between Yachi's breasts, which were still pleasured by [Name]'s hands.

"I really don't- ah- know if that would look so- so good on me", Yachi whimpered self-consciously, tears forming in her eyes, a mix of pleasure and hesitation swirling in her hazed brown orbs.

"It would", Kiyoko said simply, grasping Yachi's shirt and pulling it above her head.

"I absolutely would", [Name] agreed and lifted her up slightly so her girlfriend could pull off Yachi's pants.

There was a dark wet spot on Yachi's white panties that she felt embarassed for possessing. Still dazed, Yachi barely even noticed [Name] opening her baby blue bra and letting it slide down her shoulders, leaving her breasts bare to the cool air of the apartment.

"Your boobs are so cute Hitoka", [Name] squealed excitedly, "I can't get enough of them. So adorable and perky. Plus you have pretty nipples."

Yachi yelped out in surprise and felt the heat rise back into her face. [Name] was forward and it left Yachi more than breathless.

"Don't mind her. She just has a preference for... breasts", Kiyoko sighed.

[Name] laughed and nodded before turning to Yachi. "She says that as if she doesn't like the attention. She does. I made her squirt once after I sucked on her nipple. Ms. prim and proper is more into it than she allows herself to be."

Yachi let out a short, breathless snort that she would have normally felt embarrassed about but they put her at ease. Any feeling of isolation or anxiety vanished as soon as she heard [Name]'s teasing voice or felt Kiyoko's comforting touch.

"So now that the lust has temporarily passed should we change the setting back into the bedroom? I dunno if uh- the prospect of getting cum over our cute scrapbooks is a thing to look forward to", [Name] stated, her hands still resting casually on Yachi's breasts.

It was cold without them shielding her boobs from the cool temperatur, Yachi thought as they shuffled from the living room into Kiyoko and [Name]'s bedroom that felt all too familiar in that setting. It was messier than last time, which meant that they had probably been a bit anxious having her over as well. The thought comforted her.

"Come here Hitoka", [Name] said, pulling her out of her thoughts. After undressing, she had seated herself on the bed, Kiyoko behind her, her head resting on her girlfriends shoulder and [Name] was patting on the space on her lap.

Yachi gulped, her hands wandering to her underwear, before remembering how wild [Name] had gotten the last time when Kiyoko was still wearing her panties and decided against it. Trying it out couldn't hurt. She knew it was fine if she told them to stop at any moment.

"Good. One leg on each side of my thigh. Lower yourself into a comfortable position okay?"

Yachi nodded, though could barely contain a whimper as she felt her clit brush against [Name]'s leg. Her hands had found their way around her neck where Kiyoko had intertwined their fingers in a comforting act while [Name]'s had wrapped around Yachi's waist. From her position she could only look into Kiyoko's eyes, lust buried under a thick layer of reassurance for the sake of her comfort and feeling of security.

"Rub yourself against me Yachi. Your tempo okay?", [Name] said, her fingers running comforting circles on Yachi's thin waist.

Yachi nodded and bit her lip as she pushed herself against the older woman's leg. She let out a moan, her legs shaking, unable to stop her from falling forward, her head resting against [Name]'s shoulder.

"Is too much", Yachi whimpered, "Wanna move but its too difficult."

Her pitiful gaze locked with Kiyoko's who held her hands a little tighter, offering her words of encouragement.

"That's fine baby", [Name] said, her voice vibrant next to her ear, "Do you want me to move you?"

Yachi nodded furiously and the grip on her waist loosened as [Name]'s hand wandered lower.

"If it's too much, tell us", Kiyoko said as she scooted to them so she was now sitting flush against her lover's back, her face just a few centimeters away from Yachi's.

[Name] rested her foot at one of the wooden planks of their bed so Yachi was now sitting a little elevated and let her lower body slide down her leg.

Yachi let out a loud moan, the fabric of her panties rubbing deliciously against her clit. The noises were eagerly swallowed by Kiyoko who had let go of one of Yachi's hands to cradle her face instead as she moved her tongue against the blonde's.

Her mind was hazy as [Name] moved her up her leg again, this time pushing her down more firmly. Her pussy was aching, enjoying the friction but not satisfied, throbbing for something, anything inside, filling her up.

"Fuck you're so wet Yachi", [Name] groaned as she flexed her thigh sending a jolt through Yachi's core. Her pace grew rougher, increasing in speed. Yachi broke the kiss with Kiyoko and moaned, resting her forehead on [Name]'s shoulder. Kiyoko didn't rest however, sneaking her arms under her girlfriends to gain access to Yachi's nipples, pinching and groping them eagerly.

Yachi let out a shrill squeak when she felt herself growing close to her release, the familiar heat building up in the pit of her stomach. [Name] wrapped one arm around her waist, making her arch her back and her chest closer to Kiyoko's greedy hands, and let her now free hand wander down to Yachi's clit. Each grind allowed [Name]'s fingers to brush over Yachi's clit and ever so slightly push in the velvety warmth of her walls.

Trying to chase that feeling of satisfaction, Yachi steadied herself on her shaky knees and lifted herself up before beginning to shakily fuck herself on [Name]'s fingers, pressing her chest against [Name]'s, trapping Kiyoko's hands accidentally between them.

[Name]'s pushing and pulling stilled as she felt in amazement the way Yachi was rolling her hips against her, trying to rub her clit against [Name]'s wrist. Her thin cotton white panties were ruined by this point as Yachi desperately tried to push more of [Name]'s fingers inside of ger only to be obstructed by the devilish material in their path.

[Name] cooed and obliged Yachi's wish and pulled her panties to the side so her fingers could reach her properly.

Yachi screamed when [Name]'s fingers sheated themselves fully inside of her, the stretch of her two digits being too much for the petite blonde. Regardless, Yachi's grip on [Name]'s shoulders tightened as she continued her brutal pace, Kiyoko's fingers pinching and rubbing her and [Name]'s nipples together nearly enough to send her over the edge.

"Kiyoko", Yachi sobbed, tears welling in her eyes. The dark haired beauty stopped trailing kissing on her girlfriends naked shoulder and locked eyes with the wrecked blonde, who dove in to kiss her desperately. The kiss was clumsy and startled Kiyoko but she returned Yachi's eagerness.

[Name]'s fingers brushing against Yachi's sweet spot was enough to drive her over the edge. Yachi let out a loud moan as she rode out her orgasm, her cum splattering against [Name]'s hand and thigh.

Her chest was heaving rapidly as [Name] lowered her on the bed and Kiyoko cleaned the wetness on [Name] and Yachi with a towel. As her hand softly brushed against Yachi's abused cunt by accident while cleaning her thigh it twitched weakly and Yachi let out a small whimper.

"You're a horrible influence on her my dearest. Look at her already craving more again... she must have used you as an example."

"I think you're the worse influence."

"Says the woman who got off on watching her friend cum. You're close aren't you? I can't blame you, I'm feeling quite turned on myself. Do you want to-?"

"Yes."

"You're so cute when you're eager."

The conversation barely made sense in Yachi's hazy mind. Only slowly was she regaining her ability to think. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, the ache between her legs not having quite left her body just yet.

Kiyoko's loud moan distracted her from continuing the thought, if you could really call it that, and she haphazardly pulled herself and to choke at the sight before her.

Kiyoko's legs were spread and she was laying halfway on her stomach, her bra and panties discarded to the side, her heavy breasts gravitating towards the soft mattress underneath them. [Name] was kneeling between her legs, trapping one of her legs while resting the other one on your shoulder.

[Name] was rutting against her and Yachi could see something pink entering and leaving their pussies. She was mesmerized by the fast and brutal pace [Name] was setting, much more feral than she was with her. Her gaze fell on Kiyoko and she felt a jolt of arousal shooting through her core.

Her face was erotic, something straight out of a hentai or porno, or at least what Yachi thought it would look like. Her hair was dishevled, her tongue was sticking out drool dripping on the soft matress underneath them, her eyes were rolling back in her head, her breast pouncing against the sheets nipples gracing them ever so slightly and her moans were titillating.

"She is so hot like that isn't she?", [Name] grunted out and doubled her efforts after Kiyoko let out a particularly loud moan after the dildo had brushed against her sweet spot.

"What... what is that?", Yachi asked, breaking her gaze with [Name], her eyes flickering to the pink monstrosity. [Name] smirked.

"Its a double headed dildo", [Name] explained,"We enjoy them a lot because we can do this."

[Name] pushed her hips down, forcing more of the dildo to be swallowed by Kiyoko's puffy pussy. She angled her hips and let their clits brush against each other, inducing a loud moan between the both them.

"Kiss her Yachi. Show us what you've learned", [Name] breathed out, rocking her hip against Kiyoko's, enjoying the friction this position was giving them for their clits.

Yachi nodded and crawled forward. She was wet again, the juices running down her thighs.

"Kiyoko", Yachi murmured, hands cradling her upperclassman's soft cheeks. Her eyes were hazy, almost unable to focus on Yachi, an almost dumb smile gracing her lips.

"Open your mouth", Yachi commanded, shocking herself with the authority in her voice. The black haired beauty did as she asked, opening her mouth eagerly for whatever the blonde woman had in store for her.

Yachi steeled her nerves and pressed her lips to Kiyoko's, her tongue twisting around hers just like [Name] had kissed her earlier. Kiyoko did not attempt to fight back whatsoever, enjoying Yachi's assault on her mouth. Yachi bit down on Kiyoko's lip until she could taste the blood on her tongue.

"Just like that Yachi", [Name] praised, the fingers of her free hand finding her aroused cunt and pushing two fingers inside of her.

Yachi broke the kiss and let out a moan, surprised by the sudden intrusion, the grip on Kiyoko's face tightening as their share spit ran down Yachi's lips, dripping into Kiyoko's mouth who eagerly swallowed it.

"Cumming", [Name] grunted, followed by a incohesive moan from Kiyoko and a yelp by Yachi as she buried her fingers deeper into her pussy.

"Holy shit Yachi", [Name] panted out, Yachi's head snapping back, "She is squirting."

Holy shit indeed, Yachi thought as she watched Kiyoko's juices squirt out of her, drenching not only herself but [Name]'s stomach as well. Then she went slack, panting heavily, trying to regain her breath.

[Name] pulled the toy out of her pussy but left in Kiyoko's side of it.

"She doesn't like to be empty immediatly after", [Name] explained, grabbing a paper towel from her night stand to wipe away Kiyoko's cum from her stomach.

"What exactly was that?", Yachi asked, her eyes still glued at Kiyoko's cunt which was red from all the abuse it had experienced today, now matching her swollen lips.

"Squirting", [Name] said, "One of the hottest things a woman is capable of doing. Kiyoko's a squirter. She's just too sensitive after all."

Yachi wasn't exactly sure what that meant but just settled on googling it later. She didn't want to ruin the mood.

"You didn't get to finish yet did you?"

"Ah, no it's fine-"

"Do you want to try it too? We have a smaller one we could practice with first and then", [Name] mused, glancing at her close to being passed out girlfriend, "you could take my position and I will guide you along. Poor Kiyoko didn't have her fill yet but she needs a moment."

Yachi shuddered, remembering the last time. They had been awake almost the entire night trying to satsify Kiyoko.

"I'd love to try out", Yachi said, trying to hide her excitement as her pussy twitched, awaiting the attention.

Girls love was the best in the end.

[statticscribbles]

Mission Pt 1: Backlog

Summary: A Peggy/Reader/Bucky, Reader is another winter soldier, Bucky was left in charge of you

You wake up and everything is black, you can feel the cold creeping in and you wish for the before. You squint against the light and can hear screaming and gunshots far off. The man standing in front of you holds a gun towards you; you nod and grasp it, moving out of the box they usually keep you in.

“Fuckin’ hell they didn’t say you were a woman.”

“Orders?” You ignore his questions and wait for him to say what he wants. He explains how you need to follow him and make sure he doesn’t get killed. 

“Accepted mission. Where is the end point?”

“End point? Uh, my hotel room.” You nod and follow him out. He screams as you drag him back to the wall and shove him through a door.

“Safe in room, wait.” You return to the main hall and pick off the agents searching for the man. You know they don’t expect you to have a new handler yet so they enlist you for help. You lead them back to the room shooting them when they peer through the doorway. You step on the bodies as you reach for the man.

“Sir, Come out. It’s safe now.” You tug him over the bodies and move towards the entry way. You press him towards the car, and he stumbles over his nerves as you shove him in the back seat.

“I am not being driven by a woman.”

“Then we walk.” He grumbles but settles into the back seat as you start the car. You drive in silence for a while before the man tells you his hotel address. You pull up to the building and can see most of the people in familiar clothes. You nod to the man and as he gets out he beckons you forward.

“To my room, those were your orders.” You tuck the gun away and nod moving in front of him to lead him towards room 304. You can tell you unnerve him although you’re not sure if it’s because you’re a woman or because you just killed ten people. You step over into the rooms threshold and nod to him as he enters it. You turn to him when he closes and locks the door.

“New Orders are-“ You shoot him through the stomach.

“My orders before you were to kill you, thankfully your mission did not interfere with superiors.” You nod and step over his body before aiming the gun at his head and firing. You begin to make your way back to the base but a smell wafts around you and you find yourself captivated by it. You follow it and find yourself standing in front of a diner. You catch a glimpse of your reflection and decide that there’s no blood anywhere so you can afford to stop in and eat real food, with the emergency money Commander gives you. You order a burger fries and a milkshake and the woman who takes your order smiles at you. You can hear the door opening and another person walking in.

“Hey there English, can I get you the usual?” You don’t look up but assume the woman’s nods form the scrape of the chair you hear next. 

“Any more leads on that old case? I’ve seen you pouring over the files, who was she anyways, she can’t have been that important to the SSR otherwise they’d have everyone looking for her.”

“You’re smarter than everyone gives you credit for, she was a very good friend.” You frown at the voice. You’ve heard it before, you’ve heard her before. You searching through your old missions and as you finish you burger the waitress worriedly fusses over you.

“You’re crying, are you sure you’re alright miss.” She hands you a tissue and you wipe your face with it. Clutching it you nod.

“Fine, just a bad memory is all.” You try to smile but the other woman is suddenly peering at your face.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name, I’ve been told I have one of those faces.” You smile awkwardly and glance up to the clock. It’s only been an hour; you’ll be able to make it to the safe house long before sunset.

“I’m sorry, are you sure you don’t know anyone by that name.”

“I wish I could say otherwise but I don’t know anyone named that.” You stand and excuse yourself, wringging your hands as you know she wasn’t asking the right questions. You make it to the safe house and Commander ushers you in fretting over you.

“What happened?”

“Target requested a mission, but it didn’t interfere with the orders to eliminate him, just extended the mission. He’s dead, in his hotel room.”

“You smell like grease..”

“ He decided to get food with me. I had a milkshake.” Commander frowns.

“And a burger and fries..”

“You’ll have to burn that off before we put you back in cryo. You know the rules about eating on missions.”

“It would have been suspicious to refuse..” Commander nods.

“Let's go train then, you haven’t beaten me in years.” Commander laughs and lets you charge first. You’re twisting yourself back and fumbling to grab at the knife you dropped as another agent scampers forward.

“Commander, a new mission..” The agent shrinks back when they see you panting holding the knife in front of yourself protectively.

“Thank you Jason, well, looks like you’ll be going into cryo for a while then… They want to work on improvements with other subjects, but they’re allowing me and my team to keep you in peak health; we’ll be waking you every few years to re-feed you and keep you up to date on the world. They said it should only take a decade or so to complete.” You nod and pocket your knife before following Commander down to the basement. You tense in fear as the cryo pod comes into view and you shrink back as the door hisses open.

“Come one, you know this has to happen eventually. Go on. Make it easier and choose to sleep.” You swallow and nod skittering around the edge before clumsily climbing into the open door. You peer up to see the Commander smiling down at you.

“You’ll be okay Y/N, you’ll be okay.” You feel the cold and you’re not sure if you nodded back before everything goes back to the dark before.

Commander looks no different than when you went back in, but you’re brought to a small table in the basement that wasn’t there before. You notice their limp as you settle into the chair.

“Your leg?”

“Nothing to worry about, just age. Now you’ve been out for five years, so this is everything that’s happened.. We also have some clothes and music for you to examine as well. If needed you can be brought out to the town nearby.�� You nod and begin to read the notebooks and newspapers that the agents have gathered for you. You look up the stairs as a knock on the door sounds. A male agent comes down holding a tray.

“Average meal of the week. Eat it.” You can tell he’s afraid, you’re not sure if it’s of Commander or you. You nod and eat the food mechanically.

“This is a chicken pot pie, it’s a simple easy dish to make, we could cook it if you want.. We have a week till you go back in. You’ll need to train and use some updated weapons.” You nod. Commander gives you the quilt that you’ve been told to sew. You add a few squares of fabric from the old dresses and clothes your wore. The new wardrobe you won’t wear is folded nicely in the closet. You wonder when the quilt will be finished and you secretly hope once it’s done they’ll let you keep it. Commander lets you work on the quilt for an hour before you’re brought up to the kitchen to learn how to make a chicken pot pie. You learn what and how to fire and dismantle an Uzi within the next two days. Once you have your knives strapped to your arms and legs Commander hustles you towards the town. You wish for the combat clothes you normally wear, but tuck yourself into the massive winter coat anyways. You’re tense and paranoid in the strange town, it hasn’t changed much but you long to go to the city nearby and look for the diner. Commander asks if you want to go to the city tomorrow as you seem to be able to handle the crowds of the town. You try to hide your excitement but can’t help the warmth in your smile. You wake up from the cot you’ve been sleeping on to hear shouting and a gunshot. You keep your knives close but stay curled under the blankets and coat from the wardrobe. You huddle curled under the coat tucking your body as close to yourself as you can get. You can hear footsteps rushing around the rest of the house and you can hear the door slamming to the basement and you tuck yourself under the coat fully. You hear men shouting and all the papers on the table being thrown around. You can hear them ripping the clothes out of the wardrobe and tossing them over the coat you’re tucked under. You hear stray gunfire and then the footsteps telling you they’ve all left the room. You peek out as you hear another set of footfalls. You can hear the limp as they stomp down the stairs and the worried face of Commander stares at you before hustling you over to the cyro’s open door.

“You have to get in now, we need to transport you to New York, it’s the safest place for you. Get in.” Commander shoves you forward into the pod, you turn around and see blood covering the doorway as it’s closed over you. You fall into sleep before you can question if the blood is your own.

You wake again to Commanders face. There are gray hairs are slowly creeping over the brown you’ve grown accustom to. You’re not sure why you’re expecting his hair to be longer.

“You’ve been out for fifteen years. Come on Y/N, time to get up, you’ve had enough beauty sleep. A lot’s been happening.” You stumble out of the pod and swipe your hand through your hair.

“We’ll have to give that a trim, it’s getting long again.” You nod and move towards the table you see in the corner.

“We’re in New York city. Still a basement, but that’s safest right now. Shall we get down to business? Quilt first, it helps with your motor skills and helps your body adjust to being out of the pod.” You’re handed the quilt and given twice the normal amount of fabric to add, you settle into the new armchair and start sewing.

“There was a space craft launched, and a new president, as well as Winston Churchill’s funeral, in addition to two men going into orbit, and a massive civil right’s movement. There’ were some amazing movies and musicals produced. And my favourite part of this year so far is that sixty-six of those nazi’s got life sentences in prison.”

“Busy year then?”

“Oh! Germany’s been divided by a wall as well, that happened a few years ago. You don’t need to know any of that though. I’ve woken you up because you have a mission. Here is everything you need to know about it, you have two days. It shouldn’t take you that long though.” You nod taking the black book from her hands you scan over the information and go to the wardrobe to find clothes to wear. You like this year; the clothes while not terribly loose seem to be long enough to conceal more weapons than previous years. You slip you knives against your skin and hum in time with the sound of the metal. You depart the safe house for the first time in a decade. You giggle at the thought. You’re walking through the streets and find the building easily. You walk through the doors and slip past the secretary  and up the two flights of stairs. You’re scanning the door numbers when a young woman approaches you.

“Excuse me can I help you?”

“Yes I’m looking for Mr. Phillips office I have a three pm meeting, and I’m terrified I’m late.” The woman smiles and leads you to a large door where she knocks and shoves you in with a wink calling out to Mr. Phillips’ that his three o’ clock is here. You smile shyly and notice another woman sitting in a chair.

“I should get going then. Sir, I’ll see you later.” The woman stands and as she breezes by you tense. She keeps her eyes straight ahead and you can tell she gasps as you tell Mr. Phillips you name is Y/N. You’re not sure if that was a reckless move, but within the hour Ms. Peggy Carter is the only one to remember. You’re sitting outside a familiar diner, cleaning one of your knives in the back alley before you start your way back to the safe house.

You slip into the house without knocking and you ready one of you knives dragging the tip against Commanders arm as it’s draped over the arm of the couch.

“You’re late, stop by to get a burger again?”

“No just to clean up, lot’s of blood.”

“Blood?”

“Yeah the orders on the paper were to kill Mr. Phillips..”

“After we got information out of him! How the fuck are we supposed to get information out of a dead guy!”

“I can get it I swear!” You stumble back as Commander lunges forward from the couch, gun gripped with white knuckles.

“You fucking better! Get out and don’t come back till you have all the information!” You scramble back to the headquarters and mumble an excuse about forgetting your purse. You shift through as many of the files as you can; folding and stuffing the papers into the bag you slipped under your skirt. You huff and finish emptying the file cabinets against the back wall. You hear footsteps approaching and sigh as you crawl onto the fire escape the slip into the alley. You return and throw the bag towards the chair Commander sits in.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for being harsh but that would have ruined the mission. I won’t punish you like the rest of the agents want me to. But if they ask I shocked you for a while.

“Of course.”

“You’ll have to go back in now, the mission is finished.”

“But I could help you look through the files.. or I could-“

“Y/N, you have to go back in. no arguments, go on. I’ll be down in a second.” You’re seated at the table scribbling in the margin of the notes you’ve been given to learn. Commander comes down the worn steps, the limp all the more obvious and you take a moment to truly look at Commander’s appearance. 

“Commander, your hairs long, we should trim it…” you laugh weakly.

“Come on, to the pod. In a minute though, I need to tell you something first.” You nod letting commander hold out the quilt to you.

“We’ll let you finish this, I’ve left instructions for your next handlers. When you go into the pod this time, I wont be here when you wake up. You’re going to be asleep for a long time, but you’ll be okay.” Commander smiles at you. Now is as good a time as any to ask.

“Commander, did I ever go on a mission with anyone named Peggy Carter, I keep remembering her but I’m not sure if, it’s all fuzzy..”

“You’ll remember her as you sleep, you’ll remember what happened to us. Now, Y/N, go to sleep.” You furrow your brow biting your lip.

“Goodnight Commander.”

“Bucky.” He smiles and kisses your forehead.

You can hear two people arguing as you wake up, you make a point not to move but another man’s voice say’s your heart rate is increasing. You try to keep yourself calm but you can feel the panic creeping in. He comments again on your heart rate accelerating and you open your eyes to realize the door to the pod is still closed. You slam your hand against it and it pops open. There are three men in front of you and two other people behind them that you can’t see.

“Did none of you read the instructions?” You watch as they’re expressions shift.

“Instructions?”

“Yes, look they’re right here. Commander, oh.. Here.” You hand them the piece of worn paper and you grasp at the quilt.

“I need to sew more on this, it helps with my motor skills.”

“Of course.” One of the men hands you the sewing kit and smiles softly. You nod back. You finish stitching the clothes you last wore and you look up as the group read the instructions.

“So it say’s here we give you all these notebooks, you read them, and we ‘take you out for current time activities’ which apparently is normal stuff people do every day in this time period..”

“What’s the year?”

“2018” A woman steps from behind the men.

“Peggy!” You jump forward clinging to her. You can vaguely hear one of the men cursing and another woman stands next to Peggy, she gentely pulls you off her.

“You changed your hair it looks so light? Did you get bleach to do it, is there a secret mission?”

“My name’s Sharon, Peggy was my aunt.”

“She died? But I never got to tell her I was okay..”

“You knew Peggy?”

“Yes, she was my friend, and I worked with her on some of the missions..” 

“Y/N?”

“At your service!” You beam at the man who walks down the stairs.

“Wow, you’ve changed quiet a bit since I last saw you, the hair looks good.” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“You knew me when I was Winter?”

“Of course, we only went on a few missions but your team liked to brag about you to my team. They called you the fist and went on and on about all your missions, they just called me Y/N..”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, number 56327. If you want to be more specific..”

“Oh. Oh god, I’m so sorry I didn’t..” You hold your hand up smiling.

“It’s alright. Nothing came of it.” He nods and moves you away from Sharon. You tilt your head at the other woman. She raises an eyebrow at you and steps closer. You step backwards and Bucky laughs.

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[sunshinelikesavatar]

Here We Are

In which Zuko crashes a ship, ends up very far from home, and meets a Water Tribe woman and her firebending son.

AO3 Link

Lightning blinded Zuko as he scrambled across the small deck of his ship, desperately trying to tie everything down. It would have been hard enough with the storm raging (seemingly out of nowhere), tossing his ship around and threatening to send him to the bottom of the sea, but now—now—

He wished his uncle were here. He wished he was far from this ship, curled up with a scroll as he listened to a storm rage outside, dry and warm. That his mother was alive, that his father wasn’t cruel and callous, that his country wasn’t fighting a pointless war—that he could secure his belongings before he lost them to the waves that crashed over the deck—

The rope that tied him to the ship had saved him at least twice already, and as his feet were swept out from under him again, he clung to it as he was thrown against the mast. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and desperately tried to stand. Another wave filled his mouth with saltwater and he coughed and hacked and tried to brace himself against the wood behind him. As the ship tilted, though, he lost his footing and crashed to the ground, clipping his temple on something as he went down.

His last thought before unconsciousness took him was somewhat nonsensical, all things considered:

I hope the tea set doesn’t break.

-

With a sigh, Zuko nuzzled down into the pillow. What a strange dream that had been, so violent. It felt so real, though. His body hurt and ached like he’d really been thrown around in a storm, and his throat even felt raw, like he’d been coughing up water.

Which is when he started coughing, coughing until the muscles of his chest were spasming and involuntary tears from the pain were leaking down his cheeks and sparks flew between his teeth. Trying to stand to get a drink or something didn’t work—he got as far as kneeling before he had to curl forward, forehead pressed into the pillow. He wondered if he’d die like this, alone and hacking out a lung.

A cool hand rested on his shoulder, incredibly soothing. As it moved, rubbing up and down his back, the urge to cough subsided. That hand should have frightened him, but he was so relieved and distracted from his diaphragm no longer attempting to eject itself from his body that he just focused on breathing, gasping in deep gulps of air.

Exhausted and realizing that he had no idea what was going on, he turned his face on the pillow to blearily blink up at the person kneeling next to him with his good eye. There was a fire lit behind them, though, leaving him only with a person-shaped silhouette. They had been kind, though—this was obviously not his room nor his cabin on the ship, and he was laid out on something comfortable. Warm and dry and not clinging to rope hoping the sea wouldn’t swallow him whole.

He tried to say thank you, but all that came out was a hum. The cool hand on his back moved up to his face, brushing back his hair. “Do you want water?” a woman’s voice asked him and he managed a nod. It took a bit of effort, but between the two of them they managed to get him sitting back on his feet as a cup of cold water was held to his lips.

It was not any easier to see the face of the woman helping him, but he supposed it didn’t matter too much. He cleared his throat, wincing at the burn of it, and rasped out, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he reveled in the ease of his breaths before shifting around to lay down again, bracing himself with his arm as he went. Curling into the warmth of—were they furs? It felt like furs, soft and fluffy—he told himself he would just rest a little while, just for a few minutes.

-

Katara watched the man as he slept, considering his face.

He was much more relaxed than he had been when she rescued him from the crashed remains of his boat. She was glad he’d woken up for a little bit to cough the water out of his lungs, even if it had left him crying (and breathing out sparks, and hadn’t that been a surprise?). Gently, she brushed her thumb against his unscarred cheek, wiping the tears away.

This was not a circumstance she could have foreseen. The only Fire Nation ships that came down to the South Pole were navy ships, armed and threatening if not outright invading. This man’s boat had been much smaller, made of wood and not metal. The broken boxes of supplies showed only the normal things one would expect to see on a personal boat: food, clothes (no armor), some trinkets and weapons, an oddly extensive collection of play scrolls, and a carefully packed tea set.

She had sent Kallik to gather up all the things he could and leave them just outside their hut so he wouldn’t disturb the man’s rest. In this particular case, she thought with a frown, perhaps it was for the best that her hut was on the outskirts of the village.

Because it was indeed a Fire Nation man currently sprawled on her bedding, a firebender, nuzzling cutely into the pillow. Pale skin and black hair could be Earth Kingdom or Fire Nation, but those brilliant gold eyes only came from one archipelago, and it wasn’t like earthbenders went around spitting sparks. So here he was, a Fire Nation man, horribly scarred and burned but born of fire nonetheless. The other villagers would not have dragged his limp form from the wreckage to save him, would not have healed his obvious head wound with waterbending or given him comfort as he cleared his lungs, but she had the beginnings of a very, very stupid plan stirring in her mind, and it required the cooperation of a Fire Nation man such as this.

Satisfied that he would rest easy, she turned her attention to his clothes drying by the fire. They were nicely made and no doubt the thin and light fabric was practical near the equator, but the weather further south required wools and furs. Shaking her head, she pulled out an old parka that had recently been given to her from one of the kinder grandmothers of the village and started to mend the obvious problems. If her plan was to work, this man would need a parka, sturdy boots, thicker pants and tunics—all the necessities, really. Even if all signs pointed to him not trying to end up here in the first place.

It was a while before Kallik poked his head through the door and grinned at her before turning his gaze to the sleeping man. He tiptoed over to her and settled by her side. “I got all the stuff I could and put it in the boxes by the door, like you said,” he whispered. “But Mom, who is he?”

She smiled at his impatience, smoothing a hand over his black hair and kissing his forehead. “It’s a surprise, sweetie.”

Kallik rolled his golden eyes and flopped against her. “Ugh, mom, I’m seven now. I’m too old for surprises!”

“Now that is just completely untrue.” She held the fur of the parka a little closer and pursed her lips. She’d probably need to patch the next tear…she set it aside for now, though. “Come on, help me with the bigger things in the wreckage and let him sleep.” Kallik pouted but followed her out.

-

The next time Zuko woke up, he was feeling much more alert. He could feel the sun’s energy zipping through his blood, high in the sky, calling him to wake and move and get on with the day.

A woman sat by the fire, stirring a pot of something. She turned to him as he pushed himself to a sitting position and smiled. “Hello,” she said, her voice kind and open. “Are you feeling hungry?”

To say he was confused would be to understate the situation. She was...Water Tribe. Very obviously Water Tribe, with dark skin and hair, bright blue eyes, and blue-dyed clothes that looked to be made of thick wool. The hut they were in was lined with hides, with Water Tribe decorations and stylings. And as far as he was aware, people of the Water Tribe didn’t exactly get along with the people of the Fire Nation.

His uncle had told him before to never look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth, though, so he merely nodded and took the bowl of stew and hunk of bread she passed him. It may have been the effect of surviving the worst storm of his life (he was pretty sure that hadn’t been a dream), but the food was absolutely delicious and he did his best to eat every drop, balancing the bowl on his legs as he used the bread to sop up the soup.

She let him eat in silence, putting a lid on the pot and pulling out some sewing. He watched her work, apparently unconcerned with the strange man sitting no more than four feet away. She was patching the knees of a small pair of pants and making tiny, precise stitches with a smile on her face. When he finished, putting his bowl on the ground by the fire, she put aside her sewing and turned to face him.

“My name is Katara,” she started. “You’re in one of the Southern Water Tribe villages at the South Pole.”

He couldn’t help the incredulous “What?” that burst out of him. What was he doing so far south? Had the storm really blown him so far?

She bit her lip and continued, “Also, your ship is completely wrecked.”

Dismayed, Zuko spluttered. That ship...that ship had taken up all his savings for the past six years to buy, and the first time he took it out for more than a day, he wrecked it?

“No one here knows how to fix a boat like yours,” she was saying, “So even if it wasn’t just firewood at this point, you probably couldn’t leave in it.”

He couldn’t help the slump of his shoulders. This had been his great escape, his plan to start a new life far from his father and sister. A truly inauspicious beginning, he thought with a scowl.

The woman, Katara, got to her feet and brushed off her tunic. “I have a canoe, though, and could take you to a nearby island if you wanted.” And he was baffled by her generosity, to do so much to help a stranger from a nation at war with hers. Before he could thank her, though, she said, “But I do have an alternative proposition for you.”

He leaned back, narrowing his eyes at her. It had been too good to be true after all.

Holding her hands out to the sides, she simply said, “You could stay here.”

And that was...not what he had expected. He cleared his throat, sure he’d misunderstood. “I beg your pardon?”

She sighed and pulled her braid over her shoulder to tug at it. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how to sell this to you. To make a long story short—”

Which is when the door to the hut burst open. Years of instinct had him jumping to his feet, arms in ready position. He let them drop as he saw it was a child. “Mom, Mom, Mom, I figured it out, you have to see what I did, I—” The child—a boy—turned to him with—

Golden eyes.

Oh.

He felt a bit sick. He wondered if his conclusions were hasty, though. Maybe...maybe she had happily married a Fire Nation man, who just happened to be out on a trip or something. During a war. In which he knew that there had been several raids on the Southern Water Tribe around the time of this boy’s likely birth date.

Katara’s smile was warm, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she steadied her son from his rush inside. “Kallik, I told you, play outside until I call for you.”

That seemed to startle the boy out of staring at him (at his face, at his arm, and people always seemed to stare) with wide eyes. “Oh! But Mom, I had to show you right away—” He held out his palms, cupped together, and furrowed his brow. A tiny flame popped into existence above his hands. It was, objectively speaking, a sad and flickering little thing, nearly entirely red with lack of heat and threatening to go out with each puff of air as the boy said, “Look, I figured it out! I made it on purpose!”

Which implied that there wasn’t a firebender around to teach him the most basic of firebending skills, such as, say, a loving father figure.

And Katara smiled and hugged her firebending son, kissing his hair. “Sweetie, great job! I knew you could do it! You’ve been practicing so hard. I’m so proud of you.” The boy beamed bright as a sunbeam. Then she laughed and gently pushed the boy out of the hut. “But I was serious about you playing outside! We’ve got some boring grown-up things to talk about.” Kallik groaned and whined but made his way out the door.

It was pretty easy to fit together the few pieces he had. He’d heard about this sort of thing, of soldiers who had so little honor that they would...would…Swallowing (his throat still hurt but he tried to ignore it), he looked at Katara again.

She shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Well, um, that’s my son. He’s...he’s just turned seven and he started...well, firebending.” Biting her lip, she looked towards the door. “There have been a few accidents recently. Nothing deadly or anything, but he gets so excited, and, well…” Here she mimed an expanding fire. “You know.”

He did know. It was something every new little firebender had to learn to deal with, how to temper the flame in your heart so it didn’t burn the world around you. Usually, there were family members, neighbors, teachers, friends, all sorts of people to support them.

Not here, though.

“I’m not...there’s no one here to help him. And I do want to help him, but I don’t know how.”

He almost asked about the boy’s father before he decided that was a terrible ideaand he should not ever bring that up ever, what’s wrong with me? “And you think I could?”

She wiggled her hand in a so-so kind of way. “If you were just here as a teacher, that would be easiest, but the village would hardly accept that. They almost turned me away just because of Kallik.”

Which also implied that this was not her home village, which meant she had either run away, been sent away, or her family was dead and she was alone. All of those options were heartbreaking.

“But...they don’t know the circumstances of Kallik’s, um...of Kallik.” Her face started flushing as she continued, “If I could pass you off as, um, my h-husband, only just able to join us here, that would p-probably work.”

There was already one glaring hole in the plan, though. “Most firebending teachers have both arms,” he managed to get out, turning his gaze to the central fire pit. As it often did whenever it came up, the space where his left arm had once been felt overly conspicuous.

Her hands were wrapped tightly around her braid now as she steadfastly focused on something on the floor. “That might actually, uh, help. You wouldn’t seem as...threatening, that way. And I don’t mean for you to teach him to fight, just to help him control his bending.”

He wondered how he would have reacted to that as a teenager, angry and desperate to prove himself to a father that didn’t care, that he didn’t seem threatening to a village of peasants. And he tried to remember and hold on to his uncle’s words of support, that losing an arm didn’t make him less of a man or a firebender, no matter what people thought. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. “So you want me to live here with you? Pretend to be your husband while I teach your son?” And was he actually considering this as a serious possibility? He hadn’t really had a plan besides “leave the Fire Nation,” after all.

“It sounds so dumb when you put it like that,” she muttered, “but yes, basically.”

And wow, there must be something fundamentally wrong with him as a person, because he didn’t even think before saying, “And it won’t bother you to have a...a Fire Nation man around all the time? With...with how Kallik, um…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Actually, he was fairly sure he should just burn up into ashes on the spot for bringing up the thing that was probably the most traumatic experience of this woman’s life.

Katara was looking at him with eyebrows scrunched together before she gasped and her eyebrows flew up. “Oh! Oh, um, no, that’s...ugh. I’m just so used to talking around it.” She took a deep breath. “Kallik isn’t my biological son. His, uh, real mom, she saw his eyes and decided she didn’t want him. I don’t blame her for that, the situation was terrible. I was supposed to...I don’t know, I don’t really want to think about it. But I...I couldn’t just...leavehim somewhere, and I knew no one in my tribe would want anything to do with raising him after everything, so I...left, I guess. Just sorta packed up and…” She gestured around them at the hut. “Here we are.”

Here she was. A woman who’d left her home and family to raise a son that she hadn’t birthed, a son that had Fire Nation blood singing in his veins.

“That’s what moms do,” he heard his mother say, softly laughing by a pond of baby turtleducklings.

“I think of you as my own,” he heard his uncle say, his hand warm and heavy and comforting on his shoulder.

He cleared his throat. “Can I think about it?” Because yes, he would actually be considering this as a life path. “Maybe take a walk or something?”

Katara bit her lip and moved to one of the chests lining the walls, opening it and rummaging around. “I would like to say yes, absolutely, but people are going to ask who you are as soon as you or I go outside. I’d rather have the story straight right from the start, whether you’re my, um, my husband or just a stranded sailor or something.”

Which made sense. So instead of standing in the sun like he wanted to, he sat next to the fire and stared into the coals. And then he thought and thought and thought.

-

Katara was almost giddy. He was considering it! He was considering her sort-of silly plan to teach Kallik firebending!

As she sorted through clothes, putting together a pile for the man—

Oh, wait. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

The man blinked up at her, startled. “Hm? Oh, my name.” He sighed. “Okay, I’m going to be honest with you too. Just so, you know, no misunderstandings.”

Her stomach started to sink. Was he a criminal or something? Her hand went to the lid of her waterskin, ready to pull out water to defend herself. She hardly knew this man, what had she been thinking?

“I’m running from my family. My dad, he, uh, he did...this.” He gestured to his whole left side and Katara had to swallow back bile. “But he’s been pretty clear that as long as I don’t draw attention to myself or try to mess with anything about the war, he’ll let me...you know, live. So I can’t use my real name.”

She almost asked who his father was before thinking better of it. A powerful (terribly, horribly powerful) bender, apparently connected with the war—likely a general. The “who” didn’t matter so much. Instead, she nodded. “That makes sense. Do you have a name in mind?”

The still-nameless man groaned and rubbed his face. “Maybe Li? There’s a million Li’s…”

Katara laughed. “Well, you might as well pick a name you like. Do you like ‘Li’?”

His grumpy glare very clearly said ‘no.’ He sighed and let his eyes wander around the hut, long fingers tapping on his knee. “How about...Kuzon. Yeah, that’ll work.” He met her eyes and bowed with fist held in front of him. “My name is Kuzon.”

Feeling a bit like she was playing a game, she bowed as well, hands braced against her thighs in Water Tribe fashion. “A pleasure to meet you, Kuzon.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile before he returned to staring at the fire.

At length, after she had straightened up most of the hut and started the non-essential mending, he groaned and twisted around, cracking his neck and stretching. He was like a seal-cat stretching in the sun, she thought with a grin.

With a gusty sigh, he turned to her. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She blinked in surprise. “You will?”

Nodding, Kuzon got to his feet. “Yeah. I didn’t really have much of a plan besides ‘get away from my psycho family’ to start with anyways, and I like kids. I wouldn’t mind helping you and Kallik out here for a while.”

Certain her grin was a bit too gleeful, she bowed in thanks. “Thank you! And once Kallik has been trained, I’ll help you get wherever you’d like to go, okay?”

He bowed as well. “Sounds like a plan.”

Leaping to her feet, she grabbed Kuzon’s hand and ran out the door. “Let’s go tell Kallik the good news!” She heard an incredulous laugh from behind her, but he ran with her.

They found him on the rocky beach by the wreckage of the ship. “Kallik!” she called, waving him over. “Kallik, I want you to meet Kuzon, he’s—”

Three figures came around the side of the wreck, other villagers. Katara felt her words catch in her throat as she saw their eyes watching with interest. Whatever she said would certainly spread like wildfire throughout their little village. And she realized, as she felt the warmth of Kuzon’s hand still in hers, that she hadn’t really thought this all through.”

“Um, he’s...he’s your f-father.”

[writingwhimsey]

The Tiger and The Oda Princess Ch. 10

Chapter 10

It was the next day and it was finally time for Shingen and I to head home to Kai. We were getting ready to depart Azuchi, my friends seeing us off. "Safe travels, Ava." Nobunaga said to me.

I smiled at him. "Thank you."

He was then looking at Shingen. "I will be expecting to hear from you soon, Tiger of Kai."

Shingen nodded at Nobunaga. "I...thank you for your help in keeping Ava safe and in bringing Motonari to justice."

Masamune sent us with more snacks and I was soon climbing inside the palanquin. We were on our way. It took about a week and a half for us to get back to Kai. We traveled only so long each day before making camp or stopping at a town and settling in at an inn. Asuna was basically calling the shots on the trip. Shingen listened to her without question as to my health.

We finally made it back home just as the sun was beginning to set. Shingen helped me out of the palanquin and I stretched. "Welcome home, my princess." He told me, placing a gentle kiss on the back of my hand.

I smiled up at him. "It's good to be home."

We made our way inside. I was tired and hungry from the trip. The maids prepared a meal for us, while Shingen and I settled in our room. We had just finished eating when there was a knock on our door. "May I come in?" Called the familiar voice of Yoshimoto from the other side.

"Yes, come in." Shingen called.

He came in and gave us a sad smile. "I am glad to see you are still doing well Ava." He told me. "I assume the baby is doing well, also?"

There was something in the look of his eyes that told me that he truly meant that, but that he was pained. I smiled at him. "Yeah, kicking me a lot. Plus Asuna is rather strict about our care."

"What's on your mind, cousin?" Shingen asked.

Yoshimoto nodded. "I wanted to thank you for your hospitality over these last few months, but I think my vassals and I should leave tomorrow."

"Where is this coming from?" Shingen asked.

Yoshimoto gave us yet another sad smile. He was then looking at me. "I also wanted to apologize to you, Ava."

"Apologize to me for what?" I asked.

"It's my fault you got kidnapped." He answered. "I should have put in more safe guards to help protect you and I failed."

"So that's why you're leaving?" Shingen asked.

Yoshimoto nodded. "Yes, after failing you both, I don't deserve to stay here."

"Don't say that." I found myself speaking up. "My being kidnapped was no one's fault but Motonari's."

"Ava's right, Yoshimoto." Shingen spoke up. "Besides you're family. There's no way I am letting you leave."

"Yes, please stay?" I asked.

Yoshimoto's smile turned gentle. "You both really feel that way?"

"Yes." Shingen and I answered together.

"We want you to stay." Shingen said.

"Yes, stay...besides no one else admires my work the way you do or has such an eye for fabric as you do either." I told him, as he had taken to going shopping with me from time to time and helping me pick out fabrics for my commissions.

"Thank you." He said.

"Hey, I love your work." Shingen said, his tone playfully jealous as he wrapped his arms around me.

I looked up at him and smiled. "I know, but Yoshimoto appreciates it in a different way."

"She is right." Yoshimoto agreed.

The three of us stayed up chatting for a bit longer before Yoshimoto left us alone. Shingen and I moved out to sit on the veranda and look up at the moon. I sat in his lap, leaning against him, my legs stretched out in front of me. His arms were wrapped around me, a hand resting on my belly.

As we sat there, the baby began to move. I placed my hand over Shingen's and guided it to the place I could feel the kicking. "Someone is feeling active tonight." He said and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"She always seems more active at night." I said absently.

"There you go saying she again." He teased me. "I think you have a feeling."

"Maybe." I replied. "Or maybe it's because you keep saying it's going to be a girl."

He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. "We'll find out soon enough."

We sat there for a while, gazing up at the moon and feeling our baby move. Both of us were smiling, happy to be home and have this moment of peace and privacy.

The following days were a blur of trying to finish up plans for the festival. The seamstresses and I were busy making lot of pieces to sell at the festival (though I wasn't allowed to do as much as I normally would, Asuna telling me I needed to still take things easier). Shingen had placed Yukimura in charge of increasing security measures for the festival, wanting everything to be safe and no one to be able to get inside who shouldn't be here.

Shingen spent a lot of time in council meetings and writing letters communicating with Nobunaga and the rest of the Oda forces. He was also receiving lots of reports from his Mitsumono, trying to get more information on where Motonari might be. Though that pirate lord seemed to be more evasive than we thought.

Of course, no matter how busy he was, he made sure to take meals with me and to end his days early enough so that we could spend our evenings together. It was just a week before the festival, Shingen had been in council all day, not even getting to take a break that day.

I looked up at him as he came into our room. "Welcome back." I greeted him with a smile.

Shingen returned my smile as he came to sit beside me. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you much today." He said, leaning over and kissing me gently on the cheek.

"I know you've been busy." I replied. "Asuna's finally letting me work a little harder, so I've had my sewing to keep me busy."

Shingen lifted a hand to cup my cheek. "Still, it is such a shame to have to miss my goddess so much." He was then pulling me into his arms and holding me close.

I nestled into his embrace and rested my head on his broad, perfectly sculpted chest. "Well, your goddess missed you, too." I replied.

Shingen placed a hand beneath my chin and coaxed my face up. Our lips met in a warm kiss. I parted my lips on a sigh and Shingen took the opportunity, slipping his tongue inside to deepen the kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer.

We broke the kiss after a few moments, both of us panting. Shingen kept a hand on my face and I leaned into his touch. "I'm starting to think Asuna is torturing us." He said.

I let out a sigh. "I think I have to agree." I replied. It had been around a month since I was kidnapped. I felt completely fine, the baby was still moving around and I had no signs of bleeding or cramping. Yet she would still not give us the okay for intimacy. "It's just not fair. When a woman is married to as sexy a man as you..." I blurted my thoughts aloud with a pout.

Shingen chuckled. It was then that I realized that I really did say that aloud and my cheeks reddened. As I tried to turn my embarrassed face away, he just brought my gaze back to his and then rested his forehead against mine. "It's good to know I'm not the only one suffering here." He teased me.

I smiled at him through my bashfulness. "I don't know if you know this, but you're quite sexy...and I also know what you can do with these hands...and I miss it."

We shared another kiss, this one briefer, but no less sweet or wanting. Our dinner was brought in shortly after and we began to eat. "So, are you any closer to finding Motonari?" I asked.

Shingen sighed and shook his head. "No. It is likely he's not even in the country and won't return until he has a new plan." He answered. "But I do have some other news that I think should make you very happy."

"Really?" I asked.

"After much debate among the council, everyone has agreed to form an alliance with the Oda...a permanent one."

I couldn't help the smile that came to my face. "Really? That's wonderful."

Shingen smiled at me. "Nobunaga and a few others will be coming here for the festival. We'll be signing the papers to make it official and the festival will be an act of good will as well as a celebration of the new alliance."

I was putting my chopsticks down and throwing my arms around Shingen. I felt his arms wrap around me in response. "I know this wasn't easy for you or the rest of the council considering everything that happened in the past...but I am happy that you all made this decision."

"I know." Shingen replied, embracing me slightly tighter, but still so gently. "I can't deny...especially after seeing the future that what the devil king is doing is necessary in order to achieve true peace, but I am hoping that if I work with him we can bring about that peace faster and costing as few lives s possible."

I pulled back slightly from Shingen. I placed my hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes. I could see he meant what he said. I smiled at him. "If anyone can do it, it's you."

"Though it's all only possible because of you, my angel." He told me.

"I don't know about that..."

"You don't even realize it." He said with a warm smile. "You're the main reason the Oda are even wanting an alliance with the Takeda in he first place."

"That's not true. I know for a fact that Nobunaga and the others respected you and Kenshin as honorable commanders, even if you were enemies...I heard them talk about your skills and Mitsuhide I am certain envies your information network."

Shingen chuckled. "That may be true...and he did mention that those were reasons for wanting an alliance with me...But we never would have known how we well we could work together had we not come together for your sake."

"Well, when you put it like that..." I replied.

Shingen kissed my forehead. "You are a woman worth fighting for and a woman worth uniting for."

"Okay, now you're just laying it on a little thick." I replied, my tone teasing, though it was to try and deflect from how bashful I was feeling.

"It's the truth though." He told me. "Besides, I can't help myself when I'm around you." He was then giving me a kiss on the lips.

I climbed onto his lap as our kiss continued and deepened, wanting to be as close as possible. It didn't take much for me to feel that needy ache begin to rise up in me. My need for Shingen, to have him all over me and filling all of my senses. Not to mention, I knew that he had mixed feelings about the alliance with the Oda and still fought with jealousy over them...I wanted and needed to be able to show him that he was the only one I want. That he's the man I love and the man I choose.

Shingen broke the kiss, but still held me close. "Dammit." He breathed out as he looked at me. "You're so beautiful...so perfect...and not being able to have you right now..."

"It's killing me too." I replied, resting my head on his shoulder. "I want you so badly."

We sat there for a while, just holding each other while our rapidly beating hearts calmed down. Okay, I am seeing Asuna tomorrow and demanding she lift the ban on sexy times with Shingen. I thought to myself.

Eventually we pulled apart to finish our dinner and then get ready for bed. We lay down in the futon and Shingen pulled me close. The feeling of being in his arms was where I wanted to be most of all. I soon fell into a peaceful sleep, wrapped in those big strong, loving arms.

Shingen lay awake, gazing at his love in the moonlight streaming in form the open window. "Would you believe me if I told you that you really are the reason that devil wants an alliance? He even mentioned it in our game of Go that first night when he brought up the alliance." He whispered to her sleeping form. "I am sorry that I couldn't bring myself to tell you that while you were awake...I really am selfish for wanting to keep you all to myself...and for hoping that Asuna lays off before they get here for the festival so I can mark you and make love to you before they get here."

Shingen let out a sigh before gently kissing Ava on the forehead. She let out a contented little sigh in her sleep and nestled closer to him. He smiled and kissed the top of her head before closing his eyes to sleep as well.

Chapter 11 below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/656432360937652224/the-tiger-and-the-oda-princess-ch-11

[mochi-marie]

hi!! i was wondering if i could request a written matchup with the haikyuu boys!

here i go. i’m a straight female, my pronouns are she/her. i’m 5’8 with brown hair at my shoulders and blue eyes. one my fav features is the small mole under my left eye! and style wise i’m ur typical tiny top + big pants girl or big sweater + tiny pants

i’m an intj and leo sun (although i strongly identify with my virgo moon and aries rising placements). i’m super independent and definitely shy. ppl know i’m comfortable with them when i can be mean (in a playful way). definitely a sarcastic sense of humour. i can be impulsive at times; it doesn’t take much pushing from my friends to convince me to do something dumb. my hobbies are painting and sewing!

my love language is quality time by a mile (physical touch is at the bottom of the list😬), i just love being with the people i love more than anything, idc if we’re doing nothing. i think i can be pretty flirty thanks to my gemini venus, but when things seem to get serious with others i chicken out loll (i also get bored of my crushes rlly quickly). my ideal type tbh is someone i can tease and theyll tease me back, i need the banter and wit (i think i’d need to be friends with the person first)

finallyyy (i wrote a novel i’m sorry) i’m a night owl! i cannot live without my 3 bffs i’ve been friends with for 8 years, i’d seriously die for them. fav song rn is the beach by the neighborhood (i’m rlly into them rn idk why). ideal first date is just talking and eating while looking at the city at night + a drive🤭

ok i’m gonna stop myself now lolll, thanks in advance if u do decide to do this!! <33

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: tysm for the request, love!! i loved reading through this, and i hope you like what i've written!

𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗢

♡ . . . REASONINGS : going through your ask, i have quickly determined that you would be best paired with, in my personal opinion, suna rintaro!

your clothing dynamic is so cute ( in my opinion ), and your overall appearance screams a certain fashionable minimalism that i feel he would be attracted to. from looks alone, with hair that ends at the shoulders and clothing that yells a simple dynamic, you would look very cute alongside suna rintaro.

as far as personality goes, once you're comfortable around each other, you better expect the banter between you two to be flawless. it's almost like second nature, and most people look at you both weirdly if you casually insult each other. he will most likely be there to point out dumb things you do, and to steer you away from doing it if he knows it'll end up in some sort of pain or discomfort for you. though if it isn't that bad, he honestly might just pull out his phone to record the dumb things you do, later on showing it to you and claiming he'll use it for black mail -- though everyone knows that he loves you too much to do something like that, and instead only looks back on the video or pictures fondly or when he's in a bad mood.

quality time preferred over physical touch? count suna in. he does not strike me as a very touchy guy, so my best guess would be that he would also really appreciate quality time, even if it is just spent in a comfortable silence that blankets the room. you could be tangled together on a couch, watching tv or playing on your phones, or sitting on opposite sides of the room in your own little world, smiling softly at the knowledge that you both are only a few steps away if you needed one another.

𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗-𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

♡ . . . if you both are ever really bored, he'll just send you a quick message asking if you want something to do, and if you say yes, a few minutes you'll find him outside your window, telling you to come down and go on a drive with him.

♡ . . . if you're ever being really sarcastic while he's in a bad or clingy mood, suna will simply flop onto you and lay there until you give in / up, allowing yourself to be smooshed by his weight as he enjoys laying on top of you.

♡ . . . suna will try to stick around you when you both go out, knowing how easy it is to convince you to do something stupid or dumb in nature.

♡ . . . suna is sometimes asked by a few others ( like atsumu ) to bring you their shirt or something, your hobby of sewing known ( if it's that kind of sewing ). suna will sigh, shirt in hand as he asks you if you would be up to fixing the tear in the fabric.

♡ . . . late night dates usually consist of you both driving around town to look at city lights like you like, stopping for fast food, and then going to an empty parking lot lit by street lights where you can eat on the hood of the car in peace, chatting and listening to music from the radio.

𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗔𝗥𝗗

𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗜𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗦

♡ . . . tsukishima kei, ushijima wakatoshi, none others considered!

[geeky-marie]

The little lie

Part 2 of Good luck charm

Dewey Finn x Reader

School of Rock :The musical

Warning : Smut, Fluff

N/A: Here my first attempt since a long time to write smut. I think i’m a little bit rusty so please be nice with my feeling. Comment if you want another of maybe send me a request I will try my best !

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

——–

The soft music of Dewey playing guitar for himself was filling the small apartment and put a smile on your lips.

Hide in the small bathroom of the man flat, the water of the shower running for giving the illusion. You look yourself in the mirror, passing one last time your hands on the side of the grey mini skirt and adjusting the tie.

Two weeks had passed since the show where you had to put Dewey’s uniform and the occasion to wear it again didn’t really happen yet. In fact, that night, it’s almost if you reach the bed before Dewey show you how grateful he was for what you did.

It was now time for you to remind him how his girl was hot in the color of Horace Green and how much you can rock is world.

Stopping the water,you step outside, passing the kitchen for reaching the living room. There, sitting on the couch, head down on his guitar, is fingers gently brushing the strings, your boyfriend was lost in his head, humming a song you never heard.

“ Mister Finn, is that a new song for the School of Rock I hear ?” You said, making your way into the room. 

“ Well I’m not sure yet, it’s like if it doesn't... Did you call me Mister Finn ?“ Dewey say, still focus on the sheet in front of him before lifting his eyes to face you “ Holy Shit !” 

The expression of his face shift in an instant. Swallowing hard is saliva, you could see his gaze become darker, passing from your leg to the skirt to your mid-open shirt, to the tie half hiding your bra to your mouth. Pushing with precaution the guitar aside, you climb on his knees, your skirt rolling up on your hips .

“ Class is over “ You playfully tell, a marvelous smile on your lips. 

“ I think I never wanted more than now to be the teacher's pet “ Dewey answer, grabbing your ass, pressing your cheeks in his rough hand.  

Smiling against his mouth, you lightly bite his bottom lip. 

“ What’s happened to mister stick it to the man ?” You joked. 

“ Oh shut up “ He growl, finding his way into your laced panties. Starting to rub your clit with his fingers, you feel his mouth gently kiss and suck the skin of your breast.  

Closing your eyes,your hands grabbing and stretching is band t-shirt. You heard yourself moaning, your hips moving to giving him better access. Cupping your vagina with his whole hand, giving no rest to your sensible clit, Dewey watch you enjoy his delicious torture, admiring every little expression of pleasure passing on your face. Feeling his finger leave your small button even for an instant, you open your eyes.    

“ Ple...please“ You beg, trying to trap his hand between your legs. 

“ Please what ?” Dewey ask, the smirk on his lips letting you know that he was taking a true joy to make you beg. 

“ Make me cum...I’m so close” You moan, biting your own lips “ Don’t be a brat” 

“ Me, being a brat !?” He laughs, falsely offend, pushing his two fingers into you entrance and adopting an already good pace. “ I just enjoy the show you give me “ 

You didn’t stay at the edge for long. Feeling his fingers pumping you and your overstimulated clit press against the fabric, you reach your first orgasm in an instant.  

Letting you regain your breath, it didn’t take long after that to discard the clothes of Dewey and throw your wet panties across the room. Still, your attempt to remove the, now, too warm uniform meet a firm opposition.

“ Keep it “ Dewey order, making pop some of the button of the white shirt. 

The man isn’t usually the kind who giving order in bed, but, right now, you frankly love it. 

“ I should have bought one a long time ago” You joke, kissing the crock of his neck, feeling the tips of his cock brushing against your wet hole.          

“I think it’s not the uniform in itself, it's the fact that you wear it. You wear my clothes in front of all this crowd, showing them that you are mine, entirely mine.” Dewey possessively confess, his voice deeper by the desire. Biting you shoulder and leaving a mark like for support his affirmation, he then buried himself in you, making you cry of joy. 

“ Yes, I'm Yours “ You respond, moving your hips as you start riding him, his hands guiding you to find the best rhythm for both of you. 

The first part of the stitches burst when the cock of Dewey found your G-spot, making your back arc and you heart skip a beat. The sensation, so good, make you stop on track and pant for several minutes before he take things in hands and bump against it again and again, glad of his little discover.

“ Come for me baby...make me hear the sweet music of you coming“ The musician say, pushing one last time on you special spot, making you reach your second orgasm and see stars. 

The rest of the sewing busting, was maybe due to the change of position. Or maybe the way Dewey grab both you boobs and the shirt while fucking you from behind. But to be fair, you were already too busy to notice the stitches. 

Breathing heavily against you neck, moaning your name like a prayer. His full length was stretching you, making your brain think at only one thing : him. Him, telling you how freaking sexy you are and how it was so good to being in you. Him, at the edge, making slap his skin against yours, making you moaning and grip the couch fabric. Him, Dewey Finn, coming at the same time as you, wrapping his strong arms around you to be sure you stay with him during this wonderful moment.

It was only after, when you were both lazily resting on the couch that he realize the sad fate of the uniform. 

“ Well, it’s true that we didn’t go easy on this poor uniform” Dewey laugh, helping you to remove the way to big coat. 

“ That’s not funny Dew, Billy will be so sad, look what we have done to his work, it have holes in it now. “ You complain, watching the torn material of the shirt you just removed. “ I will tell him that i’m sorry, it was an accident” 

“ You will tell to a young boy that you had sex with his teacher in the uniform he help you to adjust ?” Dewey laugh “ No, Y/N let me explain it to Billy, yes it was an accident but I will find something…a little lie” 

“ I don’t like the idea of lying to one of your students, but it’s true that we can tell him…” You admit.’ But now we don’t have the uniform either, I through you like it too because of what you said” 

Shifting his weight to being on top of you, he softly smile, laughing a little. 

“ I love you. Yes seeing you in my concert clothes was exciting, but holy shit, you’re mine and something it’s hard for me to understand it “ He reveal, kissing your lips” I didn’t know I could be possessive of somebody before you…but you know, maybe you could just wear my t-shirt often or…my shirt” 

Smiling, you reach is lips. 

“ I love you too and I will love wearing your clothes again “ You tell, kissing his mouth” But I have to concede I will miss the uniform or maybe it’s only you giving me order in bed” You finally joke. 

Laughing, Dewey lay down at you side, wrapping his arms around you. 

“ Don’t worry, I will ask Billy to design you one. You are sexy as hell in that thing.” 

_______

@beetlebitchywitch​ @beetlejuicecansteponme​

[asteraegis]

another fucking stupid ass smut

so like this one is fryeway too because, in case you were wondering why i write them more often, it’s really easy to write about two people that behave exactly the same way you do, which is why, as a lesbian, i am hoping for a female character like them some day so i can at least have more fun with writing erotica for the women from this series. so the tags on this one are mainly: mlm, Frotting, Rimming, Fisting, Praising, Slapping, Spitting, Spanking, Gagging, Choking, Biting, Sub/Dom, top!Jacob, bottom!Edward (obviously lmao). it does have a name as do the other smuts now, but this is tumblr so it doesnt really matter but if you’re interested it’s Lap Dog. find the other shit ive written via my deviantart page in my bio

“Let me in! C’mon, open the door!” Edward Kenway shouted, pounding on the door outside of the Fryes’ apartment. A surprise thunderstorm had caught him off guard on his way home and was currently drenching the poor man like a drowned gutter rat. “Jaysus, please open the damn door!”

              Edward heard a click as Jacob Frye unlocked his door. “Edward—"

              Kenway shoved past him, kicking his shoes off while Jacob closed the rain outside. “Thank god you were home, mate. I hate to ask, but can I stay here for the night?”

              Jacob blinked in confusion. “Uh, yeah, sure. Here, lemme get you a towel and something to wear.”

              “Anything but jeans, Jake, you know I won’t fit yours,” he called after the brunette, shivering in the living room.

              Jacob waved his hand in acknowledgement. “Yeah, yeah, you and your motherly hips. You best fit my sweatpants, Eddie, or else you’re wearing Evie’s bathrobe.”

“Gross, Jake.”

“Hey, she’s gone for the week, she’d never know.”

Jacob returned with the things he promised, handing them to his friend. Edward motioned for Jacob to turn around, which he did reluctantly. He then peeled off his soaking wet pants, boxer briefs, and shirt afore drying himself off with the towel from earlier and then pulled on Jacob's offered clothes. The t-shirt rested quite loose on Edward despite definitely being one Jacob stole from him; he must have taken it a while ago. The sweatpants, however, clung to Edward's damp thighs and rear more than he'd like, especially seeing as he had no underwear now. There were also several small tears in the pants, a trend among Frye's clothes. When Jacob turned around, he practically ate Edward alive with his eyes, glued to his trousers.

"Damn, my jeans really wouldn't have fit you, huh?" he laughed, Edward tugging at the fabric. "Ya know what, you can keep those. I think they look great on you, Eddie."

Edward grimaced, making Jacob laugh again, scooping up his sopping wet pile of clothes and tossing them in the dryer.

"You got a sewing kit or something? The holes on these pants are driving me mad, mate," the blonde asked from the other room, still tugging at the fabric to keep it from clinging to his skin.

"Yeah, Evie bought one a while back," Jacob knocked a few things on the shelf above him out of the way then grabbed a tiny plastic container, tossing it to him when he walked back into the den. "Here ya go, Ed."

"Thanks."

Edward sat on the couch, carefully trying not to stab himself in the leg with the needle while sewing up the old sweats. As he was finishing up the last hole, Jacob flopped down next to him holding a hefty mix of shirts and pants.

He shone Edward a puppy dog gaze. "Hey... while you're here and able to fix things... do you mind...?"

Edward scowled at him. "Really?"

"Please? I did manage to find you clothes to wear," he pleaded.

The corsair rolled his eyes, pulling the needle through and knotting the string to secure the last stitch. "Fine."

Jacob was beaming. "Ah, thanks, Eddie, you're the best!"

Edward sighed, stitching each item's tear while Jacob sprawled out with his head on Kenway's lap, scrolling through his phone.

After about ten minutes, Edward plopped the clothes onto Jacob's chest and huffed. "There, anything else you need me to do, you man-child?"

"Yeah, actually, can you make dinner please?" he replied, sitting up and setting the clothes on the coffee table.

"Are you shitting me, mate?"

"Pretty please? I'll clean the dishes afterwards."

Edward grumbled but nevertheless stood up. "Fine, but only because I'm hungry too and I know you can't cook for shit."

Jacob made a happy squeal then leapt to his feet, chanting praises behind Edward as he groggily shuffled into the kitchen. There, the blonde looked over the odd assortment of foods. The Frye twins lived like they were in a college dorm and could only make what could go in the microwave. He shook his head and opened the freezer, finding a frozen pizza haphazardly stuffed into the icebox. Edward took it out and shrugged, figuring it would do to satiate both of them, then turned on the oven.

Jacob sat at the table already, chatting up the weary-faced Edward while he put the pizza in to bake. He didn't listen to a word Jacob said, just stared at him with frustration while thinking that, even with how awful a cook Frye was, even he could follow the directions on how to bake a frozen meal. He was sure at this point Jacob was either just being lazy or genuinely had no idea what food was in his own home, though Edward assumed it was likely a mix of both predicaments.

When the timer buzzed, Edward pulled the pizza out of the oven onto a tray then cut it, feeling Jacob's wolfish gaze on the back of his neck. Knowing he wasn't going to bother getting his own food, Edward took Jacob a serving along with a plate of his own and sat across from him at the table.

"Thank you, Eddie, where would I be without you?" he said with a cheeky grin.

"Probably still out in the living room," Edward huffed.

“Yeah, and without me you’d still be outside.”

The two ate in relative silence, Edward scrolling through his phone to show Jacob he wasn't interested in any small talk. He finished before the brunette so he slid him his plate and kept looking at his screen. Jacob picked up the tableware and tray the pizza used to be on and scrubbed them down at the sink, setting them over a towel to dry on the counter, then returned to his seat at the table. Edward barely glanced at him so Jacob frowned, knowing Edward had caught on to his scheme of pretend incompetence.

"I finished the dishes; do you want to watch a movie or something?"

"It's still thundering, mate, power might blow."

"Okay... Do you want to—"

"No, not particularly, Jake."

Jacob squinted at Edward, seeing that yes, in fact, he was mad at him for making him do so much. He sighed, figuring he needed to show his friend he was truly thankful.

"So, Ed—"

"No."

Jacob kicked Edward under the table. "Ya know, even after being so nice earlier you still are an arsehole, Eddie."

"Yeah, I am, thanks," he replied, kicking Jacob back harder.

"I wasn't praising you," Jacob muttered, kicking him again.

Edward set his phone down and glared at him. "Kick me one more fucking time," Jacob sat still and the corsair nodded. "That's what I thought."

As soon as Edward picked his phone back up, Jacob smirked and kicked him in the knee.

"That's fucking it, mate!" Edward slapped his phone down then shoved himself away from the table.

Jacob hopped to his feet, excited that the pair were finally doing something. He backed into the living room as Edward charged at him, tackling Jacob to the ground and pinning his arms down under his knees. Edward then grabbed Jacob's throat with both hands, tucking his fingers deep under Frye's jaw.

"I fixed your goddamn clothes, I cooked you a fucking meal, and now what? You want me to entertain you?" Edward shouted at him.

Jacob coughed as he laughed, straining himself to choke back, "C-considering I gave you shel-shelter and clothes, yeah, Eddie, I-I do, and it seems I'm get-getting my way right now."

Edward groaned, removing his right hand from Jacob's neck and backhanding him. "Goddammit would you just shut the hell up, Jake?"

Jacob snickered under Edward, slowly turning his head back to face him. "D-damn, Ed, you h-hit hard."

Edward moved his hands to hold down Jacob's wrists, leaning into him so their faces were closer. "What the fuck is it gonna take to keep you quiet?!"

Jacob grunted as Edward pressed his thumbs into his wrists' centers and buried his nails in his forearms. "You could try slapping me again."

Edward shook his head. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I would, actually—" As Jacob was replying with another snarky remark, Edward rolled his eyes and spit on his face. "Ew! What the fuck, Edward?!"

Kenway flashed a smug grin at him as he started kicking his legs and protesting. "Keep talking and I'm aiming for your mouth next time, mate."

The two glared at each other for a short minute, both breathing heavy with irritation. Jacob snarled then began writhing around, Edward having to shove harder at his wrists to keep Jacob planted to the floor. The brunette thrusted his hips upwards in an attempt to buck Edward off him, successfully throwing the lighter man off balance. Jacob slid out from under him and with haste clambered onto Edward's back to hold him down. With one hand he grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and with the other he wiped Edward's saliva off his cheek.

"Nasty cunt," Jacob growled, tugging Edward's head back to look up at him.

The blonde squirmed under him, trying to kick his way free. "Get off me, Jacob!"

"Well, I might have done that if you hadn't spat on me!" Jacob's eyes glinted with a fiendish plan. Edward instantly caught on and began wriggling more, but to no avail. With both of his hands clutching his face, Jacob held Edward still long enough to return the favor, spitting onto his nose. "See? How do you like it?"

Edward whined as his face was shoved against the carpet. "Okay, fine! I'm sorry I spat on you, but I think we're even now, mate! Please, get the hell off me!"

Jacob shook his head, petting his fingers through Edward's hair. "Tsk, tsk, I don't think so. I think you need to prove to me you're worth respecting again after that."

"What?! Jake, get off—"

Jacob wrenched Edward's head back, giving him mild whiplash and making the man whimper. "I recommend you stop struggling and that you keep quiet, my dear sailor," He stood up to move to the couch, pulling Edward along with him. Sitting on the loveseat now, he still held the blonde tightly by the hair in his right hand while his left rested on his thigh. Edward winced as he was jerked down to kneel in front of Jacob and gaze up at him. "Can I get a 'yes sir?'"

"Fuck yo—"

Jacob slapped Edward across the face with the back of his left hand, making Kenway yelp and bite his tongue. "Can I get a 'yes sir?'"

Edward swallowed hard, then flicked his eyes up at Jacob's. "Yes... sir..."

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Edward huffed then spit the blood from his tongue bite onto the floor. "Yes. Sir."

Jacob smiled. "Good boy. Now wait here, I'm going to get you some gifts."

Edward grudgingly sat still, both out of curiosity in what stunt Jacob was about to pull and out of worry that if he decided to run off Jacob would do far worse to him once he caught up. He didn't have to wait long as Frye soon returned holding a black travel bag. He resumed to his seat in front of Edward, rustling his hair as he walked by.

"Thank you for waiting, Eddie, you’re so loyal," he leered, unzipping the bag. He pulled out a collar, a leather leash and harness, a pair of metal handcuffs, and a ball gag. "Turn around and undress yourself. Slowly."

Edward nervously eyed the items as he stood up and began disrobing. Jacob laid back on the sofa, his stare engraving itself into Edward's body. Kenway finally kicked off the sweat pants and placed the clothes on the coffee table. Jacob scooted to the edge of his seat and pulled Edward by the hips toward him, grabbing his wrists and handcuffing them behind his back. He then ordered for Edward to kneel down, which he hesitated in doing, resulting in Jacob yanking Edward's hair and repeating his demand in a brusquer tone. Once he had lowered, Jacob latched the collar around him and tightened it so it would rest around Edward's throat like a choker. He clipped the leash onto it. Next, he fastened the leather harness around Edward's chest.

“Open your mouth,” Jacob demanded. Edward pressed his lips firmer together, resulting in Frye smacking the side of his head, making Edward’s ears ring for a moment. “I said open your fucking mouth.”

Edward did this time; the ball gag being pulled into place in the pirate's jaws and fixed firmly in place, the ball resting over his tongue.

He chuckled with satisfaction. "There we are, now bend over my lap."

Edward turned towards Jacob and did so, Jacob's knees pressing uncomfortably into his ribcage.

"That's a good boy," Frye cooed, entwining his right hand's fingers around the leash so it was pulled taut. He slapped his left hand onto Edward's ass, causing him to yelp. “Aw, does it hurt when I smack you like this?”

Edward attempted to reply, but all he could muster was a weak moan past the gag.

Jacob snickered, spanking his friend again and receiving another cry in response. “I’m glad. Your little moans are cute.”

Edward whimpered as he smacked him again, his ears turning red at the sound of Jacob’s gruff laughter. He squeezed his ass in his palm, Edward’s skin turning pink where he had been hit. Jacob sat back against the couch, pulling Kenway up next to him by the leash. He shoved him down onto his back, pulling Edward’s legs up to swing over Jacob’s shoulders, much of Edward’s weight now pressing into the back of his neck.

The Englishman groped both of Edward’s thighs, situating himself in place with the privateer’s round ass at his chin. Jacob kissed down Edward’s inner thigh, stopping at the underside of his cheek and biting his flesh. His tongue trailed to his taint, licking down Edward in a circular motion. He kissed his rim, the blonde man squirming as the tongue slipped inside him. Drool dripped onto his chin and cheeks past the ball gag, his fingers curling into his palm as Jacob moved his thumb to massage Edward’s taint. He continued stroking his tongue about and inside Kenway, pressing his lips to him as well. Jacob pulled back from lapping at Edward, inserting his middle and index finger into him. Edward’s voice betrayed him, purring as the fingers slid up to Jacob’s knuckles. Jacob took note of this and grinned, sliding in his ring and pinky finger as well, getting a louder purr in reply. He tucked his thumb in, Edward’s moan far strident than the former, arching his back away from Jacob, his cock twitching while Frye gradually began to gently fist him. Jacob grabbed Edward’s harness with his free hand and laid friend across the couch, still prodding inside him. Edward whimpered in pain, his arms aching from the strain of laying on them and Jacob’s fist flexing inside him. Jacob’s free hand travelled up Edward’s chest, tracing over his stomach, rib cage, and toying with his nipple, pinching and pulling it. Edward groaned, his body tingling and toes curling.

Jacob leaned into Edward’s throat, letting his breath tease his skin. “Enjoying this, are you, my dear?” Edward mewled, his hips shaking as his cock quivered, his breath quickening. “I thought you might, naughty as you are.”

He bit Edward’s jaw causing a pained yelp. Jacob removed his fist from Edward’s rear, reaching around and unzipping his own jeans. Frye pressed his body against his skin, taking both their members in his hand and rubbing them against each other. Edward writhed about under him and grinded against Jacob, hoping he’d understand that he wanted his cock inside him already, enough with the teasing. The brunette trailed his tongue up Edward’s jaw line to his ear and nibbled him there too, then blew in his ear, making the gagged man squeal. Edward wrapped his legs around Jacob’s midsection and pulled him closer, Jacob having to prop himself up with both hands.

“Hungry little dog, aren’t you?” Jacob snickered, pressing himself against Edward’s ass. “Just so eager for me to be inside you again, hm?” He shoved one of his hands around Edward’s throat and immediately tightened his white-knuckled grip, Edward’s eyes watering. “Put your legs down, welcher,” Edward did as he was told, receiving a congratulatory pat on the cheek. “Good boy.”

Jacob flipped Edward over, shoving his face in the couch’s cushions, the slobber from the ball gag wiping over the fabric. He propped his weight up by holding the back of Kenway’s neck, his other hand guiding his cock at last inside him. He thrusted in calmly, to further tease Edward, who grinded his ass against his pelvis.

Jacob laughed and tautened his grip on his neck. “All right, fine, but only since you’ve been behaving so well, my sweet sailor.”

He bucked his hips, picking up his pace progressively until he reached a speed in which Edward was crying out almost nonstop. Edward was short of breath with his nose in the sofa and his eyes were clenched shut as he braced himself for each stroke. He found his tongue pressed to the ball gag, like he was a puppy nursing on its mother’s teat. Every now and then Jacob would fiercely slap Edward’s ass with his free hand which would make Edward groan deeply for the moment. A sudden thunder clap resonated through Frye’s apartment, startling Kenway and making him clench. Jacob bit his lip and pulled Edward’s head back by the hair.

“Trying to end it so soon, Eddie? But the fun’s just beginning!” he crowed, pushing his chest down to Edward’s back and biting his shoulder.

Edward gave a shrill cry as the teeth buried into his flesh. He tried to squirm out of the bite, but moving made him feel like his skin was about to tear open. He laid still, letting himself sink into the couch cushions while Jacob’s teeth sank into him. When he pulled back, deep marks were left in Edward’s skin, matching the bite on his thigh from earlier. He licked the wound as a small trace of blood from where his canines had dug themselves in dripped out. Edward’s skin stung at the touch of Jacob’s tongue to the cuts, whimpering as Jacob propped himself up higher to return to focusing on fucking Edward harder. As Edward began to reach climax, Jacob pulled out and spun Edward onto his back again, finishing the blonde off by rubbing his cock against his. Kenway’s stomach flexed as he came, white ropes striping him as he lay there trembling. Jacob tilted his head down, moving to a bent over position off the couch and licked Edward’s stomach clean, then moved to his head, running his left hand over his shaft while his right took off Edward’s gag. Immediately the pirate gasped and stretched his jaw, sore from it being forced open for so long. Jacob pulled at the leash to bring Edward upright, sliding onto his knees off the sofa, his face in front of Jacob’s pelvis.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he whispered to him.

Edward listened, of course, sticking his tongue out and Jacob pressed the head of his cock to it, spraying into Edward’s throat. He closed his mouth and swallowed, then put his lips to Jacob’s dick and sucked him clean, his half-closed eyes sleepily gazing up at Jacob’s satisfied grin. After a moment, Frye shoved Edward back, tucking his cock into his pants and zipping them. He sat on the couch, Edward turning around on his knees to face him, and Jacob dragged him by the leash up next to him, his head resting on Jacob’s lap.

He ran his fingers through his yellow hair, Edward lightly breathing with his eyes shut. “You really are obedient, aren’t you, Eddie?”

Edward sighed. “… Shut up.”

Jacob chuckled and unclipped his collar, leash, and harness. He patted Edward’s cheek and motioned for him to flip over. He reached around at unlocked the handcuffs, noticing red indents from forcing Edward to lay on the cuffs across his wrists. He put the “gifts” away in their bag then tapped Edward on his lower back.

“I’m done, you can put clothes on now.”

Edward groaned but nevertheless stood up and began pulling the clothes back on. As his shirt was tugged into place, Jacob pulled Edward onto his lap, resting his chin on the shoulder he had bit. Edward winced from the sting, squirming slightly. Frye rubbed cheek against Edward’s neck, adjusting himself to plant kisses along his neck and jaw. He pushed Edward’s hair out of his way and tugged his head back by the pony tail to kiss him on the mouth, licking Edward’s lips. Edward opened his mouth and Jacob snuck his tongue under his, then drew back. Kenway bit Jacob’s lip until the skin tore, then forced Jacob down onto his back and laid on top of him, kissing Jacob more, holding his wrists down to keep his hands from wandering. After he got his full, he curled up in the crook of Jacob’s arm, sighing deeply.

A warm smile spread onto Jacob’s face, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch onto Edward and took a deep breath in. I suppose I’m sleeping in jeans tonight, he thought, laying one last kiss on Edward’s head and an arm around his side afore closing his eyes, feeling himself drift off with his friend.

[angrylizardjacket]

crashed into me {Bernie Taupin}

Summary: Ash, having split from Roger, is called in to work with Elton John, where she meets Bernie Taupin, who feels like a breath of fresh air, even if he's not so different from Roger, he's different enough. It feel different. It feels good.

A/N: atrociously long but I don't know the word count. (Edit: akdkaldksfdg it's 8200 words wtf) I'm so so so sorry to mobile users who Read More doesn't work for. And for everyone else for the next 3 days until I can get to a laptop and add a read more. SO this is a thing. I'm actually a little proud of it. It'll get like 12 notes because it's obscure as hell but I'm enjoying myself and that's what matters. I hope that if you read it, you enjoy it too!!

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

When John Reid, Queen’s manager, calls Ash specifically, she can’t even begin to fathom what he wants. This is John Reid, who manages Elton John, who she’s met maybe twice in total, wanting her to meet someone- not Queen, just Ash. He calls and he asks her to meet him at his office, to bring her portfolio; he tells her that he’s got a client who is interested in working with her, and Ash feels like she’s going to throw up. 

When John Reid, Elton John’s manager, calls Ash, Queen’s designer, specifically, he knows without even really needing a meeting that she’d be perfect to work with Elton. The moment he’d met her, watched her negotiate for a place on EMI’s payroll with Foster, he knew she wasn’t one to be chewed up and spat out the industry like so many before her had been, and will be. She’s weathered rockstars, weathered Freddie Mercury for years by now, and she’s got the drive, the talent, and the vision to bring Elton’s extravagance to life. 

And more importantly, he knows what’s gone down between her and Roger, and since they’ve split, he doesn’t want either of their talent wasted on awkward encounters and unresolved tension; he wants to give her a project with another artist as much as he wants to give her an opportunity.

The meeting is more of a formality.

“Rocket, dear, lovely to see you, please take a seat,” Reid smiles warmly at her when she knocks on his door, wearing a bright red jumpsuit, the top of which is tied off around her waist, and a yellow, bejeweled, bell sleeved crop top. Her hair is out, looking somehow both styled, and an absolute, untameable mess, and she’s already reaching for her folio in the leather bag she’s got slung over one shoulder.

“Rocket? Who’s Rocket?” There’s someone on the sofa that Ash hadn’t been able to see for the door, and when she steps into the room, she can feel her heart in her throat. Elton. Fucking. John.

“Rocket here is a designer, she’s Queen’s designer actually, though she’s essentially on retainer for EMI; I think she could really bring your ideas to life, Elton.” Reid’s so clear and concise, and Ash has to remember to close her mouth, a little overwhelmed now that she knows exactly why she’s here. “Rocket, please, take a seat.” 

Ash steps quickly up to the desk, looking to Reid to avoid staring at Elton and the man she hadn’t noticed beside him, instead pulling out her portfolio and laying flat on the desk. The switch is instant, from nervous to all business, seizing the opportunity presented.

“You should have given me a heads up, I could have brought some of the actual pieces I was working on for Freddie, they’re far more impressive.” Ash tells him, voice a little tense. She avoids looking directly at Reid, opening up to the front page which was already a rather impressive photo of Freddie in a sequinned, striped jumpsuit, laid out over a sketch of the design with notes, and fabric samples. When she finally looks up at Reid, he’s giving her a faintly amused smile, before his gaze flicks to the sofa and it’s occupants.

“I’m sorry,” he’s not really, they both know, but Ash just gives a tight smile in response before he’s calling over the other two, “Elton, Bernie, would you like to come over and introduce yourselves and take a look at her portfolio, maybe get some ideas?”

There’s movement once he stops speaking; Elton, and the one who has to be Bernie, make their way over, both looking between Ash and Reid, a little confused, but mostly intrigued. Ash stands and moves to the side to let the other two get a good look at her work.

“Ash Clarke,” she offers her hand, smiling brightly trying to hide her nerves, “but most people around here call me Rocket; it’s a nickname turned professional name, you know how it goes,” she explains without being prompted, as if reading off a script. Elton grins at her.

“Elton John, lovely to meet you, Miss Rocket, I have to say it’s good to put a name to the brains behind some of Freddie’s pieces I’ve come to really envy,” he tells her, and Ash can feel herself turning bright red at the compliment.

“Thank you,” she tells him, her smile growing more bashful, still a little starstruck, “it’s lovely to meet you too.”

“You- you made all of these?” The other man asks, eyes bright as he looks up from where he’s been flicking through her portfolio. Ash drops Elton’s hand, and the singer turns to join his friend in looking through the book.

“Every design in there had to be made from scratch; it’s not as if you’re going to get Freddie Mercury’s look in Biba,” she laughs a little, gaze drifting as she scratches at the back of her neck, considering “I’m not exactly worried about time or effort in terms of construction; hand sewing a sequinned jumpsuit was pretty much my Everest.”

“We’ll see about that,” Elton says, and there’s an excited look in his eyes, and Ash pauses for a moment, before letting her grin turn a little sharp as she looks back at him.

“If anyone could give me a challenge, it’d probably be you.” 

And the moment her work becomes her focus, any indication of her earlier nervousness evaporates. When she greets Bernie, there’s a confidence in the way she holds herself, the firmness of her handshake, something in her smile he can’t quite identify.

Once they’re all introduced, Ash stands between the pair looking over her folio, walking them through designs, the intricacies of each piece’s construction; her voice is strong and her explanations are concise, though she’ll add amusing asides here and there. Before the half an hour meeting is up, Elton’s already agreed to take her on as his designer, and head dresser for the tour.

“I prefer to travel with my more intricate work,” Ash admits, a little awkwardly, but Elton’s already all but agreed. 

After everyone’s in agreement, a consultation has been arranged for Ash and Elton to go through some initial ideas, and Ash has signed onto the tour, she’s packed up all her things and is ready to head out. Reid’s office is in a very large, very fancy EMI building, and while Elton stays to talk with his manager, Bernie offers to walk her out, lest she get lost.

“How’d you come to work with Queen?” He asks, smiling goodnaturedly. The softness about his eyes reminds her a little of John. 

“I met Fred in uni, he’s like a brother to me,” Ash admits, though it’s a little hesitant, there’s a tightness in her own smile, and she avoids his gaze, “I’ve been working with them for about three-to-four years,” she paused, “dunno, just sort of fell into it, I guess.” She paused for a very, very long moment, before finally turning, slowing down to an actual stop. “You’re the songwriter, aren’t you?” After a beat, she frowned, amending, “like, I know you both write songs, but you’re- that’s what you do for the mostpart.”

Bernie blinked a few times, taking a moment to process all of what she’d said, amid the flurry of her accent, and found himself smiling, nodding as he actually took a moment to consider the woman before him.

“Yes, I write the words, Elton writes the music,” after a beat, his smile grew wider, “that’s generally how it’s worked out.”

“Well judging by the end product, it’s worked out quite well.” Ash’s voice was surprisingly fond, and Bernie agrees, laughing, and then they’re heading off again, and he’s asking her if she had a favourite song. 

“I mean, I do, I have a few, but they’re...” she hesitated, bouncing down the stairs to the ground floor, “most of them, well, they’re a bit tragic now, old memories and such; I don’t listen to them a lot anymore,” she found herself admitting.

“Can I ask what they were anyways?” And Bernie sounds genuinely curious. Ash makes a noise that sounds caught between a hum and a laugh, but Bernie holds up a hand, amusement shining in his eyes when she looks over his eyes, “can I take a guess and say one of them was Tiny Dancer?”

Ash laughs, nodding, though she’s also turning pink.

“The kicker is that I can’t dance to save my life, haven’t got a musical bone in my body,” they’re passing reception, and Ash waves to the woman behind the counter who smiles and waves at her in return, “but Rog was always adamant that the rest of the song was close enough that it didn’t matter.” Her words are fond but then her expression is twisting, falling once they step outside and her mind has caught on a memory; the reason she doesn’t listen to the song anymore, Bernie thinks. He goes to apologise, but then she’s smiling brightly at him, waiving it off and hopping down the front steps of the building.

She tells him it was lovely to meet him, so honest and bright, and he wonders if it was a trick of the light, her momentary scowl. He returns the sentiment in kind and tells her he looks forward to their next meeting. Ash’s smile grows wider, and then she’s off, easy for his eye to follow, all red and gold and ginger, like a flame through the sea of beige pants and slate grey sidewalks. Certainly she’s interesting, but he’s not quite sure what to think.

By the time he’s back in the office, though he’s sure to knock first, knowing Elton and Reid’s situation, he asks about her. Elton, ever the gossip, has already extracted from Reid everything he knows about the girl, within reason. 

The most scandalous gossip is always what Elton starts with, and it only takes a single sentence for the earlier interaction to start making more sense to Bernie.

“Well I knew I knew her from somewhere; she’s been in and around the tabloids in the past few years, dating Roger Taylor and all,” Elton leans back, smiling to himself; the gossip’s not malicious, it’s more like he’s proud of himself for solving some sort of riddle. It’s obvious he likes her well enough, is excited to work with her, is excited to work with someone who has the talent to match his ideas. 

They meet with her weekly; Elton because he’s the one she’s designing for, Reid because he’s Elton’s manager the same way Paul is Queen’s; in charge of the day-to-day, and Bernie because, well, because he can be, because he wants to be. Ash doesn’t complain, he’s good company.

They go over concepts at a coffee shop, and she’s dressed down from the last time they saw her. Her hair’s tied back, late and a little frantic, sketchbook in hand when she bursts in. There’s paint on her clothes and graphite on her fingertips, and loose pieces of thread littered all over her shirt if anyone looked hard enough.

She doesn’t give an excuse, just jumps straight into the ideas she had, opening her sketchbook to a page covered in designs and colours, telling them she’d have fabric samples after taking measurements.

She’s chaotic; a flurry of movement and colour, and a much thicker accent than Reid, exploding with ideas, and so enthusiastic about the ideas that Elton brings in turn. She’d rather write her address on a napkin than rip out a page of her notebook, and something about that is so endearing.

“Sorry, I know this isn’t usually how designers work,” she says, finally taking a moment to sip at the coffee she’d ordered on arrival, making a face at how lukewarm and unpleasant it was, “I’m just used to being far more hands on with my clients,” after a beat, she considered her words, before her expression wrinkles and she turns an entertaining shade of pink. “Professionally,” she picked her words carefully, “I like to establish a close and respectful relationship with my clients; I consider the people I work with to be friends.” She explains, and is thankful when no-one questions her on that.

Bernie’s the first to show up, a week later at the address she’d given them all, and it comes as a slight surprise to find that it’s not a studio, that it’s just her flat. She answers the door in practically the same clothes as she’d been wearing the last time she saw him, but with a grin adorning her face, looking far less hurried.

While she sets about making tea, he takes the moment to look around her apartment, picking his way past the reams of fabric leaning against every piece of furniture it seemed. There’s a selection of photos on her mantle, most notably, a slightly faded photograph of a younger-looking Ash, and Freddie Mercury, in front of the ocean. Most of her photos are of Queen members, though there’s a few of what he thinks is a band, though he doesn’t recognise them, the woman Ash is standing beside is stark naked, grinning and covered in body paint. There’s one, face down, and when he picks it up, he sees Ash asleep on Queen’s Roger Taylor, the two of them crammed into what Bernie recognises as a tour bus sofa; it’s labelled Osaka ‘72. It’s surprisingly intimate. He feels like he’s intruding. Something tightens in Bernie’s chest at the sight of it, and he puts it back down, wants to pretend like he never saw it, but turning back, he sees Ash watching him, quiet, leaning against her kitchen counter with two mugs in front of her.

“Sorry, I should have cleaned up.” Her voice is soft as she picks up the mugs, bringing one over to him where he’s floundering, babbling out apologies for intruding, though she doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead, she stands beside him, shoulder brushing his, looking at the rest of the photos.

“That one’s from our first year-” she picks up the one of herself and Freddie, “felt like we were the only two not straight out of high school, us old dogs had to stick together.”

This takes Bernie by surprise, who hadn’t thought much about how old she was, though when he thinks about it, he’d assumed she was younger than him, but perhaps that was just her height. It turns out he’s younger than her by just under a year; she’d just turned twenty-six. 

Elton and Reid turn up not long after, and she sets about making them tea also, before she starts taking Elton’s measurements. While she’s writing and sketching, she hands him a thick box of fabrics, and tells him to go through it, pick out some textures and colours he likes and that he thinks would work.

What a strange juxtaposition she presents herself as; endlessly patient and understanding with everyone around her, but always hurrying herself, wanting to do more, trying to push herself, challenge herself. Bernie can’t deny that he’s coming to quite like her.

In the months leading up to the album release and tour, they’re at her flat almost once a week, once a fortnight if they’re busy, but it becomes a familiar location. Ash is casual about it, insisting that suits would be overdressed, and so, even for Reid, it becomes a small sanctuary from the hectic life they’ve all been leading. Despite this, she’s always been a bit wary of Reid, not enough to have it effect their business, but every time she sees him in a suit, it seems to set her on edge; the moment he starts showing up in jeans and t-shirts, she seems far more comfortable. Sometimes they bring takeout, and Ash yells when Elton eats in costume, but she always relents ‘just this once’, every time. 

They swap anecdotes, and the three men come to realise that Ash was a lot closer with Queen than anyone else seems to know, and she in turn learns of Elton and Reid’s relationship. There’s a moment of nervousness, of hesitation after the confession spills from Elton’s lips, even Bernie is tense. After a beat, Ash sits back from where she’d been bent over her sewing machine.

“It doesn’t bother me, I’m in a similar boat after all, in terms of,” she flushes a little, gesturing vaguely to herself, though she’s facing away from them, hair hiding most of her face. There’s a new tension in the room now, “but I don’t have much of a preference,” she admitted, before laughing a little, looking back at them where they’ve taken up her sofa and armchair, “but honestly after everything I went through with Rog, I admire that you’ve kept it so discrete.” After this, she actually seems less tense around Reid, even when he’s wearing a suit, though Bernie’s not sure the others have even noticed.

Bernie finds her fascinating, will show up early just to talk while she will be sewing, or pinning, or embroidering, always doing something, always keeping busy. In turn, he’d started bringing his notebook, working on lyrics. They’d fall into companionable silence, working away at their respective tasks before Reid and Elton would show up and the noise would pick up again.

“Dude, how in the hell did you manage to tear this?”

Bernie arrives in time to see Ash holding what looks like it could be a shirt, gazing despairingly at Brian May, who just shrugged at her question. After a beat, she shook her head.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she sighed, taking a seat at her sewing machine, and greeting Bernie with a weary smile, “when do you need this by?” She asks Brian, who’s frowning in confusion at Bernie. The confusion is mutual. “Brian.”

“Saturday?”

“It’ll take me twenty minutes, can you make me a tea?” She sighs, and he’s happy to oblige. Once introduced, Bernie and Brian get on well, chatting idly about music and touring, and when Bernie mentions taking Ash on tour, Brian looks both surprised and amused, and before Ash can even open her mouth to protest, Brian’s already giving a wry yet vague warning about keeping an eye on her on tour. Before he can even finish she’s threatening to destroy his shirt, and that’s enough to shut him up.

Banter and teasing quips flow between them and it becomes obvious that they’re old friends through and through. Brian mentions that Freddie’s been whining without her around, and Ash gives a wry smile, calls Freddie a sook, and informs Brian that Freddie had been by the apartment only two days ago. She asks about how John Deacon was going with his girlfriend, and Brian’s smile turns fond as he catches her up. It doesn’t escape Bernie’s notice how they avoid talking about Roger.

Once the shirt’s fixed, Ash presents it with pride, and Brian takes her face in his hands, kissing her forehead and calling her a legend. Ash’s answering smile is toothy. Silence filled the little flat once Brian had left, as Ash leaned her head onto her desk with faint exasperation, her cheeks flushed.

“So, Miss Rocket,” Bernie leaned back in her armchair, mischief glinting in his eyes as he crosses his arms. He doesn’t call her that much anymore, but she’s not objecting to the nickname as much as she is this line of questioning he’s about to go down, “what exactly did you get up to on tour that it warrants a warning from Brian May?” There’s a teasing edge to his words and Ash actually gives pause, before looking up, cheeks still dusted with a faint blush.

“It’s not suitable for polite company,” her smile is sharp, amusement sparkling in her eyes, and Bernie laughs.

“Sweet of you to call me polite company-” but they’re cut short but Elton bursting in, asking if Brian May had just been here. 

Something about Ash’s relationship with Bernie had shifted that day, subtly, almost imperceptibly, but they both knew it had. Perhaps it was the solidarity of being close to someone in the spotlight, or the solidarity of everyone knowing your work but no-one knowing your name. Perhaps it was simpler than that.

Now, not that anyone noticed enough to make mention of it, when she wasn’t at her sewing machine or fitting Elton, more often than not she was by his side. Even at the photoshoot Reid had set up to get a look at the costumes under lights, Ash found herself coming to stand beside Bernie. Initially it had been to ask his opinion, but she’d then just stayed there, frowning at Elton with her tongue poking out just as little as she tried to think about what else the outfit might need.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” There’s pride in Bernie’s voice, and Ash hums distractedly, playing with the box of safety pins in her hand while Elton posed with a piano. His jacket was beautifully ostentatious, with big, furry shoulder pieces that somehow managed to distract from his tight, sequinned pants. It’s quite a look.

“Do you think it needs something?” She asks, tipping her head to the side. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Bernie says after a moment, before humming, “it’s quite fetching though, God knows only he could pull it off.” Ash laughs a little at that, but her frown deepens.

“Elton,” she calls out, and the singer’s attention immediately snaps to her, “you think it needs anything else?”

“A hat.” He answers, without missing a beat, and Ash’s face lights up like he’s given her the secrets to life, the universe, and everything.

“Of course!”

Once the photoshoot is over, Elton makes mention that they’re going out for drinks, makes a point to invite her, and Ash hesitates for a moment, but agrees, so long as she can stop by her flat to change. Halfway to her front door, arms laden down with garment bags, she turns back to the Rolls Royce the other three are crammed into, and asks where they’re getting drinks at a volume that’s probably louder than necessary. After a moment, the window is rolled down, and Elton’s smiling face is looking at her, telling her to wear whatever she’d wear out with Freddie, for context. Ash nods very seriously, tells him she won’t be long.

It only takes her five minutes before she’s crashing from her front door, a pair of enormous, black platformed go-go boots in hand, wearing a black, sequinned, sleeveless shirt, and brown, corduroy, high-waisted shorts. When she makes her way into the car, she’s too distracted trying to pull on her boots to notice where Elton was instructing the driver to go, or how Bernie was pointedly looking at anything but Ash.

Thankfully, Elton had taken the middle seat in the back, and was currently fawning over the sequinned shirt, and he and Ash got into a conversation that essentially amounted  to complaining about the texture of wearing sequins, but loving how they felt from the outside. When Elton asks Bernie his thoughts, the man in question stumbled over his answer, gaze fixed out the window. 

“He hasn’t got the same eye for fashion,” Elton stage whispered to Ash, who couldn’t help but giggle.

“That’s not his fault, people like him can get away with owning one leather jacket because they always look good in it,” she says blithely; Elton’s eyebrows raise with amusement, and Bernie’s grinning, turning pink about the ears.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” Reid finally chimes in from the front seat, and Ash, who has no interest in being embarrassed or playing coy, smiles, and says without hesitation that it is.

With her boots on, she’s about the same height as Bernie, though both of them are still dwarfed by Elton in platforms of his own, and with Reid in tow, the four of them make their way into one of the hottest clubs London has to offer. 

Elton boos when she says she doesn’t like drinking, but cheers when she agrees to cocaine, and boos again once she’s snorted a few lines, and rubbed the remains on her gums, and adamantly refuses to dance.

“So no drinking but a strong yes to coke?” Bernie laughs, sitting beside her in the booth. They’re shoulder to shoulder despite the ample room surrounding them, and he’s got a beer in front of him; Elton and Reid have already disappeared. Ash is surprised Reid even agreed to come out.

“I don’t hate who I am on coke,” Ash says, far too honestly, but she’s still smiling as if she hadn’t been painfully personal, “and I don’t black out on it; I like remembering my nights.” She elbows him, a teasing edge to her words and her grin. He can’t help but laugh, tipping his head back against the wall.

“I thought you’d rather someone more... exciting. Adventurous. Someone to give you nights worth remembering,” he hears himself saying, “not to say that I’m not fun,” he amended quickly, “but I’m no Roger Taylor-”

“Thank fuck for that,” she chuckles humorlessly, “you know, I’m so fucking sick of people assuming what I want; who I deserve, who I’m perfect for, according to them,” her jaw tightens, looking out at the dance floor, and Bernie can’t help but frown, turning to look at her, “listen, if you want to keep things professional, just say the word. But for the record,” she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze, expression serious, “out of everyone I could possibly be with in this moment, I’d rather you.”

Bernie doesn’t give himself time to hesitate, to deliberate, so he kisses her, his lips soft against hers, his hand coming to cup her jaw and pull her closer. She moves with him, pressing herself closer to his side, leaning in to his touch. When they break apart, he doesn’t drop his hold on her face, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek. She’s not smiling, though neither is he, both looking at the other as if waiting for the other’s reaction, both even a little bewildered. 

“You’re lovely,” Ash murmurs, eyes wide, “you’re so lovely and it makes me actually so nervous.” She admits, and Bernie can feel himself smiling.

“What?” He snorts, and Ash is turning pink. suddenly bashful, as if she’s regretting saying it.

“I can be such an asshole, I keep asking myself how I’ve tricked you into this,” she tells him, but she doesn’t look away, can’t bring herself to. His expression actually turns soft.

“You haven’t, and you aren’t,” he tells her fondly, and Ash finally ducks her head, moving out of his grip, her smile surprisingly vulnerable. "You're very smooth, though; 'I'd rather you'? How was I meant to resist that, not that I wanted to."

“I get... sappy when," she hums thoughtfully, "intoxicated." But her expression falls a little, "you don’t know me that well,” but she’s not moving away from him, though she’s sitting forward, looking out at the dancefloor.

“Well I think I’d like to.”

They don’t stay at the club long, it’s too hot, too crowded, too loud, and in different situations they’d both be enjoying it, but tonight doesn’t feel like that kind of night. They mill about the streets of London until they find a twenty-four hour cafe, and though it’s dingy, it feels perfect. They drink terribly brewed tea and talk and laugh until Ash is coming down from her high, and she’s still nervous, but not hesitant. She hasn’t felt nervous like this for a long time, and it’s a welcome feeling, if she’s being honest. 

He walks her home, kisses her at the door to her flat building, and grins as he watches her head inside, a little giddy. 

The next morning, Ash lies in bed, staring at her ceiling, stomach ice cold and full of anxiety, wracked with worry that he didn’t mean it, that he thinks she didn’t mean it. But around midday, she gets a call.

“How are you holding up?” On the other end of the line, Bernie’s voice is warm. 

“Pretty alright,” she’s smiling, shifting in her dressing gown and fluffy slippers, heart quickly warming as if exposed to sunlight, “how about you?” There’s a long pause, before Bernie’s quiet, hesitant laughter.

“I’m great. Do you want to grab dinner?”

They’re not dating, not if anyone asks, and it’s easy to be discrete while in London. For the first time in a long time Ash realises she doesn’t have to worry about people gossiping and speculating; she’d be lying if she said she didn’t relish it.

At first the people around them seem none the wiser; Ash is always busy, always on the move, so it’s easy for people to see her with him and not think anything of it. Perhaps their respective, standoffish nature makes it easier to fool everyone around them; they haven’t known each other long enough to be comfortable with casual contact in front of other people, even things that could be construed as platonic.

But then he shows up early to the final fitting, something Ash had come to expect. For the first time since he’s known her, her flat is actually clean, relatively speaking; she’s got rows of clothes racks around the room, each bursting with sequins and feathers and more colours than you can shake a stick at, and headdresses line practically every flat surface in the living room, with a few even lined up in the corners, but there’s no giant reams of fabric leaning against the sofa or the wall, her sewing machine sits idle and clean on the desk in the back corner. It takes him a little while to realise, but he sort of misses the clutter.

Ash herself is wearing jeans and knitted sweater that’s too big for her, offering tea around a yawn she can’t quite bite back on this early Sunday morning. Something about it, perhaps the sleepy way she blinks after she finishes the question, has Bernie’s mind stalling for just a moment.

“Bern?” She asks gently, and his mind snaps out of it; she’s already holding two mugs in anticipation, slight frown creasing her forehead in confusion. Bernie smiles, can’t help himself, bright and fond.

“Tea would be lovely,” he agrees, and makes his way over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. He turns, leaning against it to survey the now strangely unfamiliar living room. The kettle clicks on, and he can hear the busy London street outside, but it's a haze, like sunlight filtering in through the curtains, not quite distinct, but surprisingly comforting.

"How long have you been here?" He asks idly, crossing his arms and Wat hing over his shoulder as she adds sugar and teabags to the mugs.

"A few years," she muses, before leaving the cups be and waiting for the kettle to boil. Maneuvering around, she gently touches his arm as she passes, making a beeline for the sofa and flopping onto it, petting the seat beside her invitingly, "actually it was my first place after uni, if you don't count friends' couches," she laughs, moving automatically to tuck herself up beside him. His leather jacket is sun-warmed from being outside, and Ash hums appreciatively. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, looking at the rows of feather and pomped headdresses on the coffee table before them.

"Seems rather small for a studio space and your home."

"It gets the job done," Ash turns, rests her chin on his shoulder, and when he turns back to her, faint fondness in his eyes, she realises how close they are, "I'm a creature of habit." Her voice is so soft, but she's smiling, leaning in, and Bernie's got a hand on her cheek, kissing her softly as the kettle starts to whistle behind them.

There's a beat, a moment, Ash sighs heavily at being interrupted and rests her forehead against his for a moment. Bernie chuckles, presses a kiss to her forehead.

"I've got it," he assures, waiving off her protests, "no, I've been here enough times," he assures, "I think I can handle two cups of tea."

He moves like he knows the kitchen by the back of his hand, and Ash watches in fond awe as he finishes fixing them both tea. When it arrives, it even tastes almost perfect, and Ash, who'd curled up on the sofa, takes her drink with a murmured 'thanks' moving her legs over his as he rifled through the satchel by his side.

As Ash stretches, reaches down the other side of the sofa to grab one of the books stacked there, she feels herself slipping into a moment of sweet domesticity, something she hadn't realised she would be able to enjoy so soon.

"You working on anything interesting?" Three minutes after trying to read, she feels her skin start to itch, and the closes her book definitively. The scratching of Bernie's pen against his notebook is a painfully familiar sound for reasons that don't involve the sweet lyricist before her, and she enjoys domesticity as much as the next person, but she's got no project of her own; she doesn't like being idle.

"I'm always working on something interesting, it's just whether or not the label will see it that way," he mused, frowning at his notebook. Something about his concentration was so endearing, but they'd been taking it slow, both because Ash was so used to her relationships starting physical with feelings coming into the mix later, but she didn't want Bernie to think that all she wanted from him was sex. She just wanted to prove that she could take things slow, that she could care about the people she slept with before she slept with them.

But that jacket and his jeans and the way he'd been smiling at her had her feeling some type of way.

“You alright?” His voice brings her back to reality, and his hand where it’s resting on her knee is warm. Ash gives him a smile as sincere as she can manage, pushes all less than pure thoughts from her head; Elton and Reid would be arriving in less than an hour after all.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Not sure, didn’t really have any plans; why?” Bernie’s smiling slightly, and Ash tips her head to the side.

“I was thinking about visiting the Tate,” Ash sits up further, Bernie raises an eyebrow, intrigued. This thumb is brushing small circles against her knee.

“The art gallery?”

“No, the pizza place- yes the art gallery!” Ash laughs, leaning the side of her head against the back of the sofa, “they’ve-” she pauses for a moment, a little self conscious, like she’s sharing too much of herself to be saying this all out loud, “they’ve got a Pre-Raphaelite exhibition at the moment that I’ve been dying to see.” She admits. After a beat, her green-eyed gaze turns a little hopeful, “do you think you’d maybe like to come along?”

Bernie’s constantly surprised and delighted about the little things he keeps learning about her, and this is no different. He agrees easily.

The fitting goes well; it takes a while, obviously, with all the options she’s prepared, but Elton seems thrilled by the end of it, excited for the tour to start, and though Ash grumbles about getting all the outfits into garment bags and packing crates, she’s clearly very excited too. She and Elton bounce off of each other so well, her energy matching his the moment she’s focused on her work.

Bernie wonders if he has a type, regarding the people he cares about. He doesn’t think about it too hard.

She turns starry-eyed at the sight of Ophelia, and takes Bernie’s hand where they’re standing shoulder to shoulder in the gallery.

“She’s always here,” Ash clarifies quickly, coming back down to earth, “but she’s always so lovely.” She laughs and it’s a little awed. As the afternoon progresses, he comes to find that she’s a lot more invested in this than he’d realised. They float through the Pre-Raphaelite exhibition, with Ash making comment at every other work, and Bernie marvels at the art, at the gentleness of the figures, and their striking realism despite this.

“Spite is such a wonderful motivator,” Ash says with a knowing fondness, though her words startle a laugh from Bernie. Ash turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, “I mean it! The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, the group of artists who painted all of these, they formed in opposition of Raphael, and what was popular at the time artistically-”

“How do you know all this?” Bernie cuts her off, and Ash’s mouth snaps shut, frown adorning her brow for the barest moment.

“I studied it.”

"Double degree in fashion and art?" He nudges her shoulder but Ash's mood seems to have already soured.

"No, the fashion one was my second go; I started with Art History." She's fidgeting now, playing with his and like she's moments away from dropping it. But then he's giving her hand a gentle squeeze, asking what happened; when she looks at him, she's weary, looking, for a beat, half a second, far older than her age, "essentially," she begins, though her voice is painfully flat, as flat as her gaze is shallow, "I was expelled."

"Oh," he frowns, just slightly, takes the moment to process this information, to file it alongside everything else about her, seeing how it all fit together. Obviously it wasn't even close to being the whole story, but he didn't like the way the topic seemed to upset Ash, so he changed it.

"Which is your favorite, then?" He asked, tugging her gently into the next room, his voice light. At Ash's confusion, he smiled, "I'm sure you've seen enough art to pick a favorite piece."

"The Lacemaker;" Ash doesn't even give time to pass and think, the answer tumbling from her lips. She turns pink at her own enthusiasm. Bernie merely raises his eyebrow in question, and is rewarded by Ash waxing poetic about the tiny, beautiful piece hanging in the Louvre, the way the light's painted, the concentration on the woman's face, the attention to detail-

"I don't know why," actually a little breathless by the time she stops rambling about it, she's realised they're both sitting on a sofa in the lobby, having viewed the full exhibition by now. With both her hands on his knees, she hadn't realised how intense she had gotten until she realises how close they are, "she just takes my breath away." Ash murmurs, voice dropping to contrast how exuberantly she'd been singing the work's praises moments ago.

"You sound like you really love this painting."

There's a moment in time that follows, her gaze tracing his every feature, and he wonders what she sees in him, or even if she sees him at all. Lips twisting a little at that, a sharp shard of insecurity pierces his heart, his mind, as he wonders if she sees him or if she's -

Her smile is so gentle, so sincere, and her hand comes up to ghost along the side of his face.

"Art's very easy to love." She says it like its a fact, and perhaps for her it is. Bernie doesn't read into it, just lets go of the moment of insecurity and lets it fade quickly as Ash kisses him.

As it turned out, they weren't being as discrete as they had assumed; on the plane to Japan, the first leg of the tour, Bernie's asleep on the plane and Elton calls Ash over, looking pensive. Ash, who had been idly reading, a few seats away, no where near either Elton or Bernie, is confused for about three seconds before she gets to the musician himself, and he doesn't play coy with what he wants to talk about.

"I know you and Bernie are seeing each other," Elton's tone is surprisingly level, though Ash's stomach drops. "Don't try and deny it-"

"I wouldn't. Deny it, that is," she's quick to clarify, taking the seat opposite him. Elton gives her a small smile.

"I'm not going to tell you not to, or anything like that, he seems quite happy, as do you, and I like you well enough; you both deserve to be happy, of course," but he pauses, his light smile shifting to something more serious, more sinister, "but he means the absolute world to me, you understand? And if you hurt him, I- I'll-" he struggles to find the words, the threat, but it comes through loud and clear. Ash, however, reaches out, rests her hand on Elton's where it's pressed flat against the table between them.

"He's... he's good, isn't he?" And she's not asking it as if asking if he's alright.

"He's the best." Elton confirms with a gentle smile, relaxing a little. "He's not a saint, but honestly he's better than I deserve most of the time."

Honestly, it feels like Elton's given his blessing, in a roundabout way, and Ash wonders if Freddie would give Bernie the same speech if he found out. Ash is grateful, however, as the idea of keeping up the charade on tour had been stressing her out.

After the first show of the tour, they all go out for drinks at a bar where no-one speaks English and their translator is almost overwhelmed at their exuberance. They sit around a coffee table, a set of armchairs and sofas for Elton and his entourage, and Ash sits in Bernie's lap. It's easy, it's strangely casual, his hand on her thigh as he rambles how well the show went.

Drinks flow freely and drugs are passed around and when Elton asks, Ash will dance, will dance badly, but in that moment she's without shame, because to see such genuine smiles from the people she's come to consider friends, consider something more as is the case with Bernie, it makes it all worth it.

When she comes back, flush and grinning, and sees the way Bernie's smiling, fond and amused at the spectacle she'd made of herself, she feels that want that she'd been so carefully controlling flare to life.

"The irony of my employment in the music industry does not escape me," she laughs, breathless where she resumes her place in his lap, curling an arm around his shoulders.

"No idea what you mean," he responded loftily, hand on her thigh, pulling her closer to him, "just wondering dear, what song were you dancing to, because I don't think it was the one the club was playing."

The way she laughs, it lights up the room, at least for him, and for just a moment, the excitement of the night, the thrill of another country, the liberation provided from the booze and blow, it all coalesces into one ecstatic high.

"Let's get out of here," his voice drops low, his grip on her thigh tightening, "we can spend every other night partying with the rest of them." He actually nips at her neck and it's all the convincing Ash needs before she's getting to her feet, offering her hand and biting her lip.

"Lead the way."

Bernie's a nice person, well he likes to think he's a nice person, and he doesn't like to make assumptions about people, so, a few days later, when he again asked Ash what Brian had been warning him about, he hadn't expected her to show him.

"You're a writer; show don't tell, isn't that a rule?" She smirks, pinning Elton's headdress in place and petting the rockstar on the shoulder. Bernie's quickly turning pink at the mere implication of her offer, murmuring about how it's a different sort of writing, but Ash just presses a kiss to Elton's cheek, "alright, my work's done, I'm going to go debase myself in a closet." It's so blasé that Elton laughs, wishes her luck.

Though it's outwardly teasing, when she gets to Bernie himself, her expression turns soft. He looks pleased, actually, his blush fading fast, seems eager to be lead into the nearest empty room or closet. Ash is always sweet with him, always taking time and checking in to make sure he's alright, which Bernie appreciates; he can tell at times that he's not what she's used to, but she adapts. But he learns too; learns to pull her hair and kiss her rough, to dig his nails in but also to hold her close in the quiet moments after, because she says she doesn't know how music works but her whimpers and moans are their own kind of melody.

A girl like Ash would never be a forever for him, and they both knew this. She was the girl he could still work with even after sleeping with her, she’s the girl he can delude himself to thinking he’s in love with for the tour, she’s the girl who will smile at him the next time Reid brings her in like nothing ever happened. But she’s too much like Elton, with bigger dreams than he can rightly comprehend, and he’s sure she’d leave him in the dust if she had to... not that he thinks that about Elton.

Their relationship has a timer.

It started ticking down the moment he asks about what would happen after the tour, and Ash can't meet his gaze.

He thinks he might always remember that afternoon, the two of them enjoying a day off in bed together, the sky outside overcast, though it didn't matter because the room was heated to a be comfortable against their bare skin. Bernie's on his side, shooting for idle when he asks, his fingers ghosting over her skin, as if mapping the plane of her back, each divot and muscle and vertebrae. Ash is on her stomach, holding her pillow beneath her head, half her face smushed into it, watching him through out half-closed eye.

"I'll probably go back into project mode-" she starts.

"As soon as we get back? No down time between tours?" He asks, fingers ghosting up and down her bare spine. Ash gives a hollow laugh.

"I'm always on the move," is all the response she offers before continuing on, "Freddie managed to call me while we were in New York; they've finished a new album and he's honestly begging to have me back." She paused, her smile fond and faraway, "he calls it 'A Night At The Opera', keeps calling it his magnum opus."

"A man like Freddie, seems a bit soon to call it that," Bernie laughs, and Ash finally meets his gaze, something in her chest tightening at the easy, kind fondness that seems to spi from him.

"He's bound to have at least another eight in the coming decade," she agrees, but then her expression fades and she shifts, presses her face further into the pillow, as if trying to make herself smaller.

"I- Bern," with her voice so small and vulnerable, he can't help but frown a little, concerned. His hand stills, comes to rest at the small of her back, "I don't know what's going to happen with us." She admits, "I-" the words catch in her her throat, so he steps in.

"Ash, I love you but I don't think I could keep up," and she can tell it hurts a little for him to say it, like he's giving her an out even if his heart's not entirely in it, "you're the Rocket, love, always on the move." A few seconds pass, and Ash's expression falls.

"Burning out my fuse up here, alone." She murmurs, forlorn. The lyrics hang in the air between them, but as soon as he process what she says, what she means, how she's spiralling, he pulls her into his arms, holding her close.

"I'm sorry," she's hugging him back, her cheek resting on his chest, "I'm so sorry."

"No need to apologise," he assures, "let's just enjoy it while it lasts." He pauses, holding her just a little tighter, a lump forming in his throat, "and you'll never be alone, Ash, there's always be people who love you; Elton and I are just two of them, I promise."

Ash is quiet for a very long moment before she moves, propping herself up, finally meeting his gaze, her own full of adoration. After a beat, she breaks out into a disbelieving smile.

"You're good, you know that?" She half laughs, "much better than I deserve," shaking her head, she talks before he can form a response or protest, "I love you, and I think I'll always love you, in one way or another; is that weird to say? We haven't known each other that long if you think about it," already she's back to sounding like her old self, and Bernie's laughing, pulling her back into his arms.

"No, I get it; I love you too."

[imladris-soldier]

Lashes (pt 19)

Bill Williamson is a racist asshole. Everyone knows it. They just punch him and go on about their day. When a Lakota woman joins the gang, everyone expects things to go on as normal, slurs and all, and for a time, it does. But her curiosity gets the better of her, and she finds that hatred is something learned - which means it can be unlearned, if given time, care, and patience. And she has plenty of those… the first two, anyway.

Bill Williamson x OC

The mood around camp stayed tense over the next two days while Hosea and Dutch debated the bank job. The anticipation of that, on top of the lingering ice from the fight, kept things subdued and awkward. Star felt as though every one of her muscles were taut to their breaking point more often than not and soon took to arrow-making to occupy her time and take out her emotions on some unsuspecting wood. Charles provided her with endless feathers as he spent his time away from camp entirely, and he always brought back hunted birds to feed her new habit.

Bill kept quiet about the fact that he was protecting his lover, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what he was doing, sitting at her side with a gun near at hand. She felt better with him close, and every time Micah's eyes even slightly drifted in her direction, Bill would be reaching for his rifle. While she knew she would soon move past her altercation with the man and lose the lingering feeling of vulnerability, it was helpful to feel safe in the meantime.

Late one afternoon, Hosea began making rounds, announcing that the bank robbery was going ahead in the morning. As he approached Star and Bill, Arthur tagged along behind him. “Dutch says to get some rest,” the white-haired man told them. “We're movin' on Saint Denis in the mornin'. That said, Star... I was hopin' you might agree to stay behind at camp.”

“Why?” Bill demanded.

“'Cuz we need good fightin' folk to stay with those who ain't comin' along. Mrs. Adler will be stayin', and I was hopin' you might too. Whadda ya say?”

Star paused the monotonous movement of her knife against the stick in her hand to think. She could feel Bill's eyes on her, knowing well that he would prefer she go with him, but what did she know of robbing banks? She'd barely been involved in the Valentine job, and perhaps she had pushed her luck far enough by attending the mayor's party in town.

“I'll stay, Hosea. Seems like the best fit.”

He clapped his hands together, smiling. “Excellent. I'll leave you to it.”

As Hosea walked off, Arthur joined the pair around their small fire. “Appreciate ya bein' willing to stay,” he told her. “I know ya like to be in the thick of things.”

She offered him a smile before going back to her work. “I dunno. I'm a bit out of my depth here.”

“Nah. But I, for one, will feel better knowin' them that's stayin' has you and Sadie lookin' out for 'em. You are both mighty women.”

“Thanks, Arthur.”

As she scraped her knife against the wood, Star glanced at Bill out of the corner of her eye. He was slumped slightly in apparent disappointment, and he seemed to be mulling over some words to say, though he also seemed unwilling to speak them with Arthur present. After a moment, he cleared his throat and quietly asked, “Arthur, can I get a minute alone with my wife?”

Star's movements slowed immediately to a stop as Bill's question rattled around in her head. There was something intoxicating and dangerous about hearing him call her his own in such a way.

“Sure,” Arthur replied, lumbering to his feet and knocking the dust off his jeans. “I'll see you two in the mornin'. Get some sleep.”

He left them, and Star sighed, sitting aside her project to devote her attention to Bill. He was fiddling with one of the patches on his pants, tugging at the haphazard sewing. She waited patiently for him to start, and began weaving together a small crown of grass in the meantime.

“I... I know I ain't exactly made myself clear on... well... seein' as how sometimes I want you to stay home and sometimes I'm draggin' ya out there in the middle of shit. I just don't want ya to think... I know you're a good shot and all. I know you can take care of yourself. But, ya know, it's like you said. We watch each others backs, but we can only do that together. I-I-I'd just feel better... havin' you with me. That's all.”

Star nodded, taking some time to think on that. Her fingers worked at the grass in her hands, twisting it into a long rope that left behind a slight green stain. “You realize I would be a liability, don't you? I've never robbed a bank. Not properly.”

“Don't mean you ain't good at it,” he replied with a slight smile. “Ain't seen much you can't do.”

A small laugh skittered out of her. “Now, now. Compliments will not change my mind. Hosea was right to ask me to stay. I'll be of more use here looking after everyone. We have the rest of our lives for me to look after you.”

Something about that seemed to take a weight from Bill's shoulders. He smiled at the ground. “Guess that's right. Didn't think of it that way.”

“Besides, you know I'll be with you in spirit.” She crawled to him, placing her grass rope around his head before tapping his chest. “Right here. If you get into a tight spot, just ask yourself what I would do. And then... depending on the situation, perhaps do the exact opposite.”

Bill laughed, grabbing her waist and pulling her atop him as he laid back in the grass. She shrieked playfully, laughing with him. From her position above him, she pressed her nose to his. “You'll be ok. Everything is going to be ok. And when it's over, we'll be headed for a tropical paradise where the only things we'll have to worry about are sea monsters and sunburns.”

She said it for her own benefit as much as his. With the way things had been going, it was impossible not to worry and doubt, but doing so brought down the wrath of Dutch who was just so damned sure of himself and his dream. Star wanted to believe in him and the future he spoke of, but there were so many unknowns. When this job was finally out of the way, perhaps they would finally have some direction.

The pair spent the night close together, turning in early though neither found sleep so easily. After some tossing and turning, they both gave up. Bill took a comb to Star's dark locks and tried to practice his braiding. Charles had shown him some time ago, but he was still struggling to get it down. Fine motor skills weren't exactly his forte. Still, it was comforting for Star to feels his fingers in her hair, even if they occasionally pulled. He apologized every time.

As the sky began to turn grey, Star's anxiety grew. Despite knowing that it was best for her to stay, she wanted to go and watch her man's back. Hell, she wanted to watch everyone's back. Her single trip to Saint Denis was enough for her to know that it wasn't going to be easy getting out of there. Winding streets made for too many places that pursuers could bottleneck them in or cut them off.

When the camp began to stir, Star helped Bill dress in his suit, unable to keep a snicker to herself. “What?” he asked, turning to and fro, trying to find what she was laughing at.

“Nothing. It's just... was that the only fabric you could find?

“What's wrong with it?”

She appraised the plaid suit, leaning her chin into her hand. “I mean... nothing, really. It's just a bit... chaotic.” His hair was a bushy mess too, as usual, adding to the frazzled look. “Come here.” She grabbed some pomade and coated her comb in it before dragging it through his hair until it laid down into something resembling respectable. “Better.”

“I ain't tryin' to get a job at the bank, I'm tryin' to rob the damn thing,” he retorted, though not without amusement and warmth.

“You gotta get in the place first, and they're not going to let you within a mile looking like a vagrant who's had too much cocaine.”

“Now, that's just unkind.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his torso. “I'm only joking. You look fine.”

He sighed, twisting his arms around her shoulders. “Still wish you was comin' with me.”

“I am, remember? Right here.” She tapped his chest again. “Besides, you'll be back before sundown, and then we'll be outta here. No more gators and buzzing bugs. Paradise.”

“Right. Mangoes. All that.”

“Exactly. So go on. The sooner you go, the sooner we leave this place.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, and for a moment, Star wondered if this is what normal couples felt like. Just a wife sending her husband off to work with the dream of a better future. Of course, normal jobs didn't seem quite so harrowing.

They made their way outside where the camp was bustling with activity. Everyone was dressed sharply and mounting up or climbing atop a wagon. Star escorted Bill to the wagon he would be driving, though as she stood there, Charles squeezed her shoulder on his way by and Arthur pat her back with a reassuring smile. She gave them both smiles, then handed Bill's rifle up to him.

“So,” Hosea called, “we rob ourselves a bank, and within six weeks we're living life anew in a tropical idyll, spending the last of our days as banana farmers! Let's get the hell outta this place and rob ourselves a bank!”

With a clamor of whoops and hollers, nearly half the gang rode out of camp, kicking up dust. Just as they disappeared through the trees, Dutch's voice floated back. “This is it, gentlemen! The last one!”

And just like that, Shady Belle fell quiet once more, leaving those left behind with nothing more to do but wait. Ms. Grimshaw made half an effort to convince people to pack up so that they'd be ready to move when it was all said and done, but she didn't take to it with her usual vigor. Everyone was worried, but hopeful.

Star and Sadie kept an eye on the borders of camp, each taking patrol of either side. Without really realizing it at first, Star picked the eastern edge of camp so that she could stare in the direction of Saint Denis as she paced. Of course, for a long while, such an endeavor seemed useless, but when an explosion carried through the air, and a distant pillar of smoke became visible, it no longer felt so.

Ms. Grimshaw came to stand with her, staring in the direction of the smoke. “Must be Hosea's distraction. He is quite the showman.”

Star smiled softly. “You wouldn't guess it just from looking at him.”

“No,” the older woman agreed, “but I have known him for a very long time. He enjoys an artful distraction.” She paused, eyeing Star with a perception that smacked of a mother's. “Don't you worry yourself. They'll be alright. This ain't their first rodeo.”

A small chuckled found its way out of Star's tense frame. “No, I suppose it's not. It's all just kinda new for me, you know? I've only been with you all for a few months, and sometimes I forget the reputation the Van Der Linde Gang had prior to Blackwater going south. Even I had heard a tale or two of your exploits.”

“That right?”

She nodded. “I'm from farther north than you guys ever roamed, but stories travel. Of course, they change every time someone tells it too.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Ms. Grimshaw laughed. “Well, I'll leave ya to your work. Whenever you get hungry, Mr. Pearson made some oatmeal this mornin'.”

“Thank you, Ms. Grimshaw.”

When Star was left alone again, she turned her attentions back to the swamp. The only threat she could see was the monstrous creatures that lurked in the mud and hissed at anything that got too close, but they didn't seem particularly interested in raiding the place. The O'Driscolls seemed to have learned their lesson and stayed away, though they'd done damage enough by taking Kieran. Deep down, Star was looking forward to getting away from here – away from all the bad memories.

Morning turned to afternoon, and as that began to drag on, the fragile confidence that had hung over the camp began to dissipate. Star abandoned her post to find Sadie who was standing near the entrance of the camp, gazing into the trees.

“Don't you think they should've been back by now?” the Lakota woman murmured, trying to keep her voice low enough so that her concerns would not infect the others.

“From what Arthur told me about the plan... yeah. Maybe they just got held up.”

“Maybe. Had to take the long way back to shake followers or something. Still... we should probably get everyone ready to move, in case we need to make a quick exit.”

“Right. I'll see to that. You stay here. Keep an eye out. Holler if you see anything.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Sadie headed into the heart of camp, hurrying people along with the packing. Most of the equipment was good to go, but there were some lingering tasks to be done. Normally, Star would have expected to hear one of the girls grumbling about it, but no one did. The stakes were too high. Even Reverend Swanson had taken to loading things onto wagons.

Afternoon took a turn towards evening, and Star's chest grew tighter as the sky grew darker. The shadows between the trees were becoming harder to see through. The camp behind her was eerily quiet, almost as if they were all straining to hear any sign of the bank party.

When she could no longer see more than fifty yards in front of her, Star pulled back to camp. “Mr. Pearson,” she called quietly to the cook. “Keep the fires small.”

He nodded, but then asked, “Why does it feel like we're expecting to be attacked?”

“Because we don't know what's coming. They should've been back by now. For all we know, the next riders through those trees could be Pinkertons. Let's not give anyone more cause to find us than we must.”

“Star,” Sadie called, waving her over to a secluded spot by the porch.

She jogged to join her friend, and they huddled together in discussion. “Sadie, something isn't right.”

“I agree. We might wanna consider movin' camp.”

“To where? Nobody thought up a contingency plan if everything went pear-shaped.”

“I know, I know,” Sadie sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Just don't feel safe, stayin' here.”

“You're right. It doesn't.”

In the distance, little Jack asked, “Miss Mary-Beth, where's momma?”

Star and Sadie glanced over to find Mary-Beth's eyes on them as she answered, “Don't you worry about your momma and daddy. They'll be back soon.”

A slight rain had begun to fall, adding absolutely nothing positive to the mood of the place. “What do we do?” Star whispered, almost rhetorically.

Just then, she caught movement in the trees at the entrance of camp. She ran out, gun raised and shouted, “Who goes there?”

“Charles and Abigail!” her chosen brother's voice called back.

The camp burst into noise as everyone rushed the pair who had arrived alone and on foot. “Where is everyone? What's happened?” Ms. Grimshaw cried.

“It went bad,” Charles replied as Abigail rushed forward to pull Jack into her arms. “Pinks and cops everywhere. Hosea's dead. Lenny too.”

Mary-Beth gasped and Karen sighed, “Jesus.”

“John got cuffed and taken away. We don't know where.”

“What about the others?” Pearson asked.

“When I left 'em, Dutch, Bill, Javier, Arthur, and Micah were going to sneak on board one of the docked ships in the harbor. Don't know which one. Don't know where they are or where they're going. It's... it's just us.”

Everyone stood in shocked, grieving silence. Star turned her gaze back towards Saint Denis, fighting the desperate burn of tears around her eyes. I should have gone with him.

“We need to move camp,” Sadie announced decisively. “They're probably lookin' for the rest of us. We got everything pretty well packed, but we gotta find somewhere to go. Me and Charles will ride out in the morning to find a place. Star, you'll stay here to keep an eye on things, and when we find somewhere, we'll come get everyone.”

There were quiet murmurs of agreement and comprehension before what was left of the Van Der Linde gang slowly dissipated to find what sleep and comfort they could.

Charles came to Star, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked, his dark eyes watching her own as she gazed out into the darkness.

“No,” she whispered, her lip quivering. “But I'm not gonna let them see that. Somebody's gotta be strong for these people, and it's gonna have to be me and you and Sadie and Ms. Grimshaw. Otherwise none of us are going to make it.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But maybe they'll be back sooner than...”

“It doesn't matter what may happen. We need to proceed like they're never coming back. Because they just as surely might die wherever it is they're going. We can't rest all our hopes and actions on assumptions that they're coming back. They might as well be dead.”

“Star... he's not dead. Not yet.”

She turned to him, eyes sparkling with tears. “And maybe tomorrow he will be. He's not here. None of them are here. And we have to function without them. So there's no use holding onto hope. Hope has forsaken us.”

With that, she turned and stalked off into the night, unable to bring herself to go to the tent she and Bill shared. Instead, she made her way through the house, up the stairs to the Arthur's room. For a while she stood staring out of the broken window across from the door, then she moved around the room, examining Arthur's belongings. Each one she placed into her satchel. Whether he came back or not, she didn't want to leave them sitting around.

As the exhaustion of the previous sleepless night crashed down on her, Star curled up on Arthur's cot and cried herself to sleep, vowing that in the morning the tears would stop. When she rose the next day, she would be the protector the gang needed her to be. But for tonight, she would mourn her friends and send a hapless, hopeless prayer to the universe to keep the man she loved safe.

[cosplaytutorial]

hi! i was wondering if you could offer any advice for a johnny joestar cosplay im planning on making- specifically on how getting the star pattern and shirt line details would work. i know custom and star spangled fabric is an easy fix, but im kind of in love with a specific pleather that doesnt have any sort of print on it. thanks so much in advance!!

Hello there!

For this, you have three options that I can think of.

The first option would be to paint all of the stars on. You would need to make sure the fabric is stretched to where it will be when worn while painting to preserve that size when dry (putting it on a form works). I would recommend using the freezer paper stencil method.

The second option would be to use stretch applique to sew all of the stars down. This will be a cleaner and nicer finish than painting, but will also take you a long time to sew each point of the stars. Use a washable fabric adhesive to tack the stars down while sewing, and then wash the adhesive away. (They make this in both spray-on and iron-on form -- I would go with iron-on.) Here are my tips on stretch applique

The third method is to apply the stars with stretch heat n bond. This stuff is a miracle and the method that I would recommend. (In fact, once my partner found out about this product, she lamented it not existing when she did her own Johnny!) Simply iron this onto your stars fabric, peel off the backing, and then iron onto your pants fabric, preferably with a press cloth. I would iron it the first time before cutting the stars so that you don’t need to cut each star twice (once in fabric, once in adhesive). I wouldn’t normally recommend iron-on adhesives for a permanent attachment, but this stuff can hold stretch vinyl to stretch vinyl and retain stretch without peeling for a long time. I would, of course, test it on your materials first, and you can always go back and sew through this if needed, but I have personally seen good results from it.

I hope that helps! Good luck :]

—Fabrickind / Q&A Staff / Twitter

[mittens-220]

Female Lucifer Fanfiction Snippet 1

It’s not like nothing was written with regards to the Female Lucifer AUs. Nualie from the Hatamaou discord server was nice enough to help me write quite a bit. Here’s a snippet from each idea.

1. The same Hatamaou plot except for that Lucifer is female and Suzuno is male. It is heavily implied that after Lucifer was defeated in the Western Continent and prevented from dying by Olba, she was imprisoned somewhere in the Western Continent and was tortured badly. (This whole part before actually applies to all the fanfic ideas in this post) As such, she bears a grudge against Olba and also in some extent, Maou, because he would go and help Alsiel in the Eastern Continent, but not her. And also when she saw Maou protect Emi when she ambushed them in Japan, so she also misunderstood that he would rather protect his past enemy than her. Which is why she attacked Maou in Volume 1. This gets resolved later. In the plot of Volume 16, Lucifer gives Suzu chocolate.

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Maou climbed up the stairs to the library, careful not to disturb any of the other visitors. When he reached the top floor, he started searching for another stairway, one which might lead him to the roof. He had spotted something that could be one on the map.

It wasn't long before he found something which looked like a service staircase at the end of a long corridor, which also led to the washrooms. The door was much farther, though, to the spooky end of the badly lit corridor, well past the bathrooms. It gave Maou the creeps, but that could be a convenient hiding place.

He walked closer, and realized the staircase was unlocked. The door wasn’t closed properly, as a piece of wood had been used to block it open, when it logically shouldn’t be. This had to be the right place after all.

He climbed up those flight of stairs and he found himself on the roof of the library. The wind blew a gust across his face, and he squinted, momentarily losing balance from the powerful wind.

The platform wasn’t that big, and he was quick to spot a small purple haired figure that was curled up in the corner of the roof, half hidden behind a protrusion of unknown use.

“Go away, Satan.”

She noticed him right away. Maou had approached the small figure without really hiding his presence, intending to bring her back inside quickly, but before he could say anything, his Demon General Lucifer snapped at him.

“Urushihara, we were…”

“Don't come near me.”

Sensing that approaching Lucifer, who was clearly upset, was not a good idea, Maou sat down some distance away from her. One of her feet was dangling off the edge, but despite her lack of magic, she showed no fear. He glanced down- they were quite high up. High enough that he felt a little anxious, knowing that he couldn’t fly, but not nearly as high as he’d ever been.

She did not react to his approach beyond glaring at him very briefly. The flash of her face he did see revealed an upset expression. He waited for her to speak, but nothing happened, and he was starting to get goosebumps from the cold wind. Although summer was approaching fast, there was too much wind to stay in a mere shirt up here. One more reason to bring her back inside quickly…  

Knowing that they wouldn’t be getting anywhere until he said something, Maou decided to speak, tone gentle.

“I heard what happened from Ashiya.”

Still no response. Maou decided to continue speaking.

“Look, I’m sure Ashiya didn't mean anything by what he said…”

“So you believe him.”

Lucifer finally responded, but the tone of her voice held so much anger that Maou felt the stir of demonic magic in the air. She shouldn’t have any of it to spare, even if they had gone through in a public place, but Lucifer had always been on the impulsive side.

When he half-consciously reached out for the power, he found that he could take it for himself should he wish to do so. Strange.

Maou licked his dry lips. “I don’t know who to believe if you don’t tell me your side of the story.”

Lucifer didn’t look at him. “And even if I do, who would you believe, him, or me?”

In response to such a question, Maou fell silent. There was no way he could answer this. He simply didn’t have enough information to do so. After a few seconds, Lucifer simply laughed bitterly, and the demonic magic in the air seemed to increase. Dimly, he hoped that she hadn’t caused trouble before he arrived, to have access to magic, but her next sentence wiped all distractions from his mind.

“It’s always about Alsiel, isn’t it? The rest of us don’t matter.”

“That’s not it!” Maou protested, “I care about everyone! Even-”

“Even the Hero?”

Maou gritted his teeth. Was Lucifer jealous, or something? That was absurd. “What does Emi have to do with anything?!”

“I saw you walking with her.” Maou frowned, not understanding what Lucifer was referring to. Her fists were clenched over the fabric of her pants. “You were walking with her as if she wasn’t the person who killed so many of your people. You… you still thought she killed me, back then. Her side killed Adramelech, too.”

Maou suddenly recalled what Lucifer was talking about; it was the incident when they were attacked the first time, which led to Emi losing her wallet. Lucifer’s voice became more venomous. “And in the end, you even protected her. You could’ve used her as a shield, you could have just… run away on your own, but you would go as far as to protect her…”

Lucifer finally looked up then, and Maou sucked in a sharp breath when he saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her expression was one of anger, but pain and incomprehension, too.

Rage and vulnerability battled in her purple eyes as she glared at him, teeth bared. “It's not like I wanted to be with Olba, you know. After Emilia defeated me, I thought I was going to die, but he appeared, healed the worst of the injury… and I lived.”

Maou’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known that. He did know that Olba made contact with Lucifer at some point, since they appeared together in Japan, but he never expected contact to have been made in the very beginning.

Despite the surprise, he kept quiet, allowing Lucifer to continue speaking. Her voice was quieter than before. She didn’t see him when she recounted the events that led to their battle, a week prior or so, as if lost in unpleasant memories.

“I think I lost consciousness afterward. When I woke up, I was in an unfamiliar room, inside a small cage, and chained to the bars. There was something weird about the place, because even if my wings were out, I couldn't use magic. It was cold. It smelled a lot like blood, too. I don’t know if it was mine or not.”

Lucifer breathed in and out shakily, and continued speaking.

“Later, I found out that other demons captured in the Western Continent were also held here. They were being used as test subjects for weapons… weapons developed to be effective against demons. Day after day, I heard them scream, saw them die, all for the sake of the humans’ research.”

Maou felt a lump in his throat. He had… he had no idea. Demons weren’t familiar with the concepts of experimentation. Maou had barely acquainted his people with the concept of prisoners, during his reign.

Since Lucifer had paused to let her words sink in, he felt like he could speak. It wasn’t easy, though, with the growing uncomfortable feeling in his throat. It obstructed his breathing a little.

Still, he managed to squeeze out his question. Hesitantly, he asked, “Were you also a test subject?”

Lucifer shook her head. She opened her mouth, and for a few seconds Maou thought she wouldn’t add anything, but she squeezed the fabric of her pants and the words flowed out.

“No,” she spoke like her mouth was too dry, “I think Olba wanted to keep me alive, though I never saw him much because he was traveling around with Emilia.” She shuddered, and added with an even quieter voice, “I had other visitors though.”

Dread pooled in Maou’s guts. “Visitors?”

As Maou asked this, he felt a pulse in the air around him, and understood that the demonic magic increased with Lucifer’s agitation.

Still, she spoke.

“They were from the human army. They wanted to know more about the demon army so they could use that information to fight against us. I… I refused to tell them anything.” She chuckled bitterly. “It’s not like they would have freed me, even if I did.”

Lucifer’s voice seemed relatively calm when she first started speaking, but now, as she spoke, it was as if her throat was closing up and she was forcing words out of her mouth. She kept going, breathing out the words like it was her personal revenge against the guilty party.

“I told them I wouldn’t say anything. I told them. I’m old enough to have been on the brink of death before. I told them I wasn’t scared.” She took a breath, and Maou wondered if she told them the truth. “I told them, but they… continued to ask anyway. At first, they tried to be nice about it, promising things I didn’t care for or things I knew they wouldn’t give. I think they were a bit intimidated. But it didn’t work, so then they decided to force me…”

She breathed deeply to steady her voice, and met Maou’s eyes straight on. “Do you know...how it feels like...to have your feathers plucked out one by one?”

She paused. There was so much underlying rage in that young voice. A gust of frigid wind froze Maou to the core, and she talked on, fists spasming open and closed.

“You can’t know… what it feels like… to be cut so many times, you think you’ll bleed dry… to be beaten until every twitch of your body hurts… to be almost drowned, just almost, over and over… to be burned to seal the bleeding… to be kept awake when they sew your wounds shut… so they can do it all over again…” Her voice broke, and Maou thought she would stop, but she took a shaking breath and went on with a vengeance.

“They left me in rooms that were blank… and cold… for days at a time… whenever they couldn’t risk hurting me anymore… and there was so much nothing that I thought… I thought they’d sent me back to Heaven…”

At this point, she was shaking, and the horror that sealed Maou’s lips shut compelled him to crawl closer, but she ferociously shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me,” she growled.

Lucifer glared at him, eyes glinting too hard. Maou couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was out of breath from her outburst, and in a flash of lucidity, he realized she would regret it and claim to have lied later; in the same instant, he acquired the absolute certitude that she was telling the truth.

“In the end… that wasn’t even the worst of it, though, you know?”

It was the first time she addressed him so directly, and Maou flinched. She looked away from him.

“I can take threats… I can take pain… I can take being alone…” She hugged herself unconsciously, staring hard at the city below. “What I hated the most, was being a helpless thing in their hands. I wasn’t a person… or even a pet… I was… I was a thing… An object… Used for their convenience or pleasure. I hated it. I hated being scared… helpless…”

Maou suddenly remembered the terrified look she had given him when he overpowered Olba and her. Guilt tasted like a cold, heavy thing on his tongue, so much colder than the wind on his bare arms. Lucifer’s voice was barely above a whisper now, and she could barely choke out her next words.

“I hated… I hate being used…” At this point, the dam finally broke and Lucifer simply broke down in sobs. Maou closed the distance between them, touched her arm.

Lucifer jerked her arm away.

“I said. Don't touch me!” she shouted with an emotion so raw that Maou’s heart panged with pain. He paused, but his face soon turned determined. He approached again and wrapped both his arms around her, enveloping her small frame.

Lucifer stiffened and weakly tried to pull away, but Maou didn’t budge.

“Let go of me!” Lucifer shouted.

Maou heard the fear in her voice, the desperation, and his heart ached as he imagined what his Demon General must have experienced to react like this to physical contact.

“Lucifer, it’s alright, this is okay, I won't hurt you. You’re safe.” Maou said calmly, soothingly, as Lucifer continued to struggle in his arms. He repeated the words over and over, as if to calm down a wounded animal, and after what seemed like an eternity, Lucifer's movements weakened, and she stopped resisting him. She sighed, tears streaming down her cheeks, and spoke, voice filled with pain.

“Why didn't you save us?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You saved Alsiel, didn't you? Then why…”

“I’m sorry.”

Maou’s eyes were filled with sadness as he apologized over and over again.

That was the only thing he could do.

[baebbaeby]

No Better Excuse - Shownu [MONSTA X]

Title: No Better Excuse

Pairing: reader x Shownu [Monsta X]

Rating: fluff ♥

Length: 2.5k words

Summary: You’ve just been hired as a stylist coordinator for Starship Entertainment, but your work soon piles up as you realize the boys of Monsta X rip more clothes than you own. Shownu in particular keeps bringing you things to repair, but you suspect there is something more behind his actions than what meets the eye.

a/n: Hello!!! My first post and little scenario~ Hope anyone who reads this will enjoy!!!! I’m still not too used to writing ‘you’ fics but I do like them a lot so here we are~

‘Tight pants are going to be the death of me.’ There was a pile of 7 pairs of pants on your desk, all needing specific alterations. You had just been hired by Starship Entertainment, which meant that you were now part of the styling team for Monsta X. It had only been a couple of weeks since you started, so while you did not have the seniority to be able to style anybody just yet, you were in charge of repair and alterations for now.

You were enjoying your new job, it was everything you could have asked for, but you were not prepared for the amount of ripped seams and too-long sleeves that called for your attention all at once. Monsta X, you learned from your coworkers, were notorious for destroying their clothing. The members had even told you this themselves when you were introduced.

“Nice to meet you!” Wonho had beamed at you, “Shownu and I are sorry in advance for all the trouble our clothes are going to put you through!” That had earned a loud laugh from everyone, even you, until Minhyuk silenced you by adding, “He’s serious, you’ll have their entire wardrobe on your desk next week.”

He was almost right. That next week you had 5 shirts, 3 pants and 4 pieces of jewellery to repair just from Wonho and Shownu each. You didn’t even bother counting the amount of blazers from all 7 of them that you had to alter.

Though you were getting used to the workload, you still felt a little exhausted just looking at the pile of pants on your work desk, needing repairs in time for tomorrow’s performance. Kihyun’s pants were easy, he always needed exactly one inch off the ankles for his to fit, and then you would sew that one inch onto Hyungwon’s pants to make his longer.  The other three barely needed alterations, just small tucks here and there, it was really the oldest two that gave you problems.

For some reason, you just could not get their sizing right. Their bodies changed too frequently, from gaining muscle to losing weight, small changes that made an exact measurement impossible. You sighed as you worked late into the night, not leaving work for home until the dark early hours of the morning.

After having an acceptable amount of sleep, you arrived at the venue with your co-workers and Monsta X. You made sure to ask everyone if their pants fit okay, getting a thumbs up and a nod from almost everyone.

“Uhm, excuse me?” Wonho raised his hand and you smiled, taking a small sewing travel kit out of your pocket. “Ah, you came prepared.”

You laughed, “Yeah, I was having a  little bit of trouble last night so I made sure to bring backup for you two.” Wonho smiled and thanked you as you patted his leg when your work was done, you then turned to Shownu who just shook his head.

“The pants don’t fit at all?” You couldn’t mask your disappointment as you bent down next to him to get a better look, but he moved his leg away.

“Ah-no, the pants are fine. I don’t need any work.”

“Are you sure?” You poked a spot on his pants that seemed a little tight and he flinched, moving away again. “Yes, really it’s fine.”

You didn’t have time to argue as the boys were being ushered elsewhere, so you shrugged and wished him luck, though you swore you noticed his cheeks were a little darker than usual, but that may have just been the makeup.

You watched Shownu intently as he performed, groaning as you watched the seam on his inner thigh get tighter and tighter before bursting right as the lights went out and the performance finished.

“Why didn’t he say they didn’t fit?” You were frustrated, you had worked almost all night on those pants and you were going to have to work on them again.

You went straight for Shownu as they entered backstage again. “You.” His eyes widened as you went straight for the rip in his pants, poking around and pulling at the fabric. “You need to tell me if it’s too tight! Did you work out your legs yesterday? You should tell me!”

You pulled out your phone and showed the texts from the night before between you and Wonho. “See? Wonho texts me when his size might change so I can know!”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” Shownu bowed his head, flustered and you realized you were making maybe a little too big of a scene about it.

You bowed back, also apologizing. “I just don’t want my boss to see it and think I’m not doing well.”

Shownu nodded in understanding, apologizing again and this time you could tell that his cheeks were turning a dark red.

“Stop apologizing,” You whispered, “They’re going to think I was mean to you.”

“A-ah, Sorry.”

After a slight pause you both laughed, you could feel your own cheeks start to heat up as you looked at him. “When you don’t have any schedule, come see me okay? I need to make sure your clothes fit, alright?”

Your voice got softer, feeling a little embarrassed and almost shy as he nodded in response. “I will.”

You couldn’t really explain why, but you felt a little timid with Shownu for the rest of week, you felt like maybe you had freaked him out a little bit over the pants. He avoided making eye contact whenever you worked with him, and he hardly spoke.

You were beginning to think something was wrong until a couple of nights later when you heard your phone chime.

‘my schedules are done. Are you at the building?’ - Shownu

‘Yes, I’m still here!’

In truth, your hand was resting on the door handle of your car but you whipped yourself around and headed back to the building where your office was. You had just gotten yourself resettled at your desk when Shownu walked in, his hands carrying two plastic bags, the smell of freshly cooked food wafting in with him.

“Wow, you brought food?” You exclaimed happily, rubbing your empty stomach with one of your hands.

“Yeah, I thought maybe you wouldn’t have had the chance to eat yet.” He smiled at you, meeting your eye only briefly as he put the bags on your desk, already trying to set up the food.

“Wait,” You put your hand on his, preventing him from pulling out any more dishes. “We can’t eat yet, I have to measure you first!”

He looked disappointed as he pulled away, but you couldn’t ignore the burning feeling on your skin where your hands touched. You cleared your throat, shaking away your embarrassment before pulling out your trusted measuring tape. “I’ll do it quickly so we can eat soon, okay?”

Both of you were quiet while you measured various parts of Shownu’s body, while the room seemed to heat up by a million degrees the more flustered both of you got.You were measuring his waistline when his stomach growled, breaking the tension as you burst into a fit of giggles.

“Just hold on there sir, you’ll get your food soon okay?” To your amusement, Shownu’s stomach rumbled again. His eyes widened as he laughed with you, pressing a hand to his stomach. “Wow he’s really talking to you.”

“I’m the stomach whisperer.” You were grateful for the small tension reliever as you bent down, wrapping your measuring tape around Shownu’s thigh. All throughout school and training you had never been nervous about touching the models you were making clothes for, but you had to take a deep breath to stop your hand from shaking as you gently took his measurements.

“Okay, I’m done.” You smiled as you recorded the numbers in your notebook. “You can eat now.”

“Ah, I’m so hungry.” Shownu exclaimed, hurriedly getting out all of the dishes onto your desk. You grabbed a chair from another work area and set it behind him, gesturing for him to sit as he was already starting to munch on dinner.

You were in awe by the amount of food in front of you, barely knowing where to start until Shownu pushed a dish of mixed rice and vegetables in front of you and a bottle of water. You smiled and started to eat, realizing how much your mouth had been watering from just the smell.

You found your cheeks began to heat up again as you ate in silence, occasionally glancing at the man devouring food in front of you.

“Do you like it?”

You looked up to see Shownu staring at you, a small stain on sauce dripping from his mouth. “A-ah, yes, it’s very good.” You tried to hold in your giggle as you passed him a napkin. You watched as his cheeks turned deep red and he wiped his mouth clean.

‘Cute.’ You thought to yourself. You were prepared for another silence but you were pleasantly surprised to find Shownu was in a talkative mood.

“Did you always want to be a stylist?”

“No but I’ve always loved fashion so this just came naturally to me.”

He asked you about your studies so you told him about your time in school. He asked about your classes, your teachers, your friends, what you did in your free time, his impromptu interview seemingly endless.

“Well right now I don’t really have any free time,” You laughed, gesturing to your measuring tape. “Why so many questions?”

“Because you’re interesting, and I like hearing you speak.”

As if on cue, you both turned red, bowing your heads in embarrassment. You watched Shownu shove more food into his mouth a little clumsily and you smiled. “Thank you,” You could feel the small thumps of your heart, resonating within you. “Sometimes I feel like I talk too much, so it’s nice to hear you say that.”

You were left wondering about that conversation as the days went by, neither of you saying much as you worked together, along with the rest of Monsta X. You had Shownu’s measurements perfect now, which meant your workload was ten times lighter, but it also meant that you didn’t need to talk to him, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to make a good enough excuse to, no matter how badly you wanted to.

You were the last person in the office again, finishing up your work for the night when you heard a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” You glanced up to see Shownu ducking his head in shyly. “O-Oh, Shownu what-?”

“I have a repair I forgot to give to you.” He gently put a plastic bag on your desk, barely meeting your eyes and already backing away from your desk.

“Oh, well wait, when do you need it for?” You called after him, reaching your hands into the bag and pulling out a blazer that had a clear rip on the inside.

“Whenever you can, it’s not too important yet. Thank you.” You almost didn’t hear his gratitude as he was quickly shutting the door behind him. You tried not to think too much about how he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk to you. Had that conversation from some nights ago go too far? Or did he just not like you?

You sighed, trying to shake away the thoughts as you looked more closely at the blazer. You ran your fingers over the ripped silk, back and forth. You found your mind going blank as you stared at the design, your hand moving on its own until it stopped suddenly. You sat up straighter and brought the blazer up closer to your eyes.

You knew this design, in fact, you had made this design. This was Wonho’s blazer. You dropped it onto your desk, a puzzled expression on your face. Why was Shownu giving you someone else’s blazer? This man was really beginning to confuse you. Tempted to text him and ask him why, you decided not to, and just began to work on the blazer anyway.

You almost asked Shownu about it when you gave it back, but the question got stuck in your throat. You didn’t really want to know the answer. You just wanted to know why it was so hard for even you, someone who could never really be quiet, somehow suddenly couldn’t find anything to say to someone.

Another late night of working, you didn’t mind though, you were really liking your job the more you did it. There was a soft knock on the door, and you looked up to see Shownu ducking his head in again.

“Shownu?” Only his name came out of your lips but there was an unspoken question in the air, one that he seemed oblivious to.

“Sorry, I have something else for you. Thanks.” He dropped another bag onto your desk and immediately began backtracking. You were quick to pull out the pants that were in the bag, relieved to see that they were actually his but the damaged area caught your eye.

“Shownu - wait!” You ran after him whipping open the door right after he had closed it. He looked at you with wide eyes, questioning.

“What is this?” You held up the pants in front of you.

“Uhm, pants?” he scratched the back of his neck, glancing back and forth at you and the pants.

You sighed, pointing to the almost perfect hole that had been cut out in the thigh. “Pants don’t rip this way, the threads aren’t even worn out or stretched enough to rip by themselves at all. Why did you do this?” You dropped your hands to your sides, feeling defeated enough for you to build up your courage. “And why did you give me Wonho’s blazer?”

You could see the blush forming in Shownu’s cheeks and cursed internally as you felt yours heat up as well.

“I wanted to see you.” You swore your heart had done a triple backflip at the sound of his words. Your gazes were locked, and you felt speechless.

“I guess I just… couldn’t find a better excuse…”

A wave of relief washed over you. He had been feeling the same helplessness you had been, but unlike you, had actually acted on it. And now he was beginning to ramble nervously.

“I mean, I guess i should just say it now, I really like you so I wanted to see you and -”

He stopped when you smiled, gesturing to the pants. “You didn’t have to ruin your clothes for me, okay? Just message me. Or ask me to go for a coffee.”

That last part had slipped out, but it was too late to regret it, especially since Shownu’s face had lit up, his chuckle making your heart do another backflip. “Would you like to go have some coffee with me?”

“At this hour?” You pretended to scoff, as you grinned. “Of course I would.”

You headed back into your office, stuffing the pants back into the plastic bag and gathering your things to head out.

“I guess I am going to need those pants fixed though…”

“Then this better be a good date or maybe I won’t.” You grinned as he stared after you, shocked at your words but he soon caught up, his smile bigger than you had ever seen it before.

[acuppellarp]

Welcome to A Cup-pella, Shannon! We’re excited to have you and Kate Hummel in the game! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours. 

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns: Shannon, she/her. Age: 26 Timezone: CST Ships: Kate/Happiness Anti-Ships: Kate/Forced

IC INFO

Full Name: Kate Elizabeth Hummel Face Claim: Natalia Dyer Age/Birthday: 23/May 27th Occupation: Junior Editor at Vogue, member of Pamela Lansbury Personality: Stubborn, proud, sensitive, loyal, ambitious Hometown: Jersey City, NJ Bio: Kate Elizabeth Hummel was born on a stormy May evening. From then on it was a running joke between her parents that Kate had “come into the world with a bang.” The only child in a loving family of three, Kate spent her childhood showered with love from her parents. Elizabeth, her mother, was a stay at home mom with a passion for music. Together they watched classic era films, put on shows using the living room couch as a stage, and played dress up with the help of an abundance of fabric and an old sewing machine. While Elizabeth was her loudest supporter and best companion, Burt was the figure Kate looked up to from day one. A mechanic, he taught Kate that rocking a jumpsuit and grease could be cool. Despite working full days he always saved enough energy in case there was a tea party that he needed to attend or karaoke to sing.

Kate spent her first two years in school enthusiastically volunteering for every school show while also juggling three or four playground marriages. When she was eight years old, this all changed following the unexpected death of her mother. It was like someone had sucked all of the color out of her life. The once dramatic and lively girl became a shadow of her former self, her friendships and activities suffering as a result. At home the gaping hole that her mother had left was unavoidable, leaving her and Burt to wonder how to rebuild their life without her. Her lifelines during those days were the costumes and movies her mother had left behind. She memorized every word of every song finding solace in the lyrics.

The pain of losing her, while never truly healed, eased with time. As Kate got older her differences from her peers started to stand out. She enjoyed experimenting with fluidity in fashion, sporting both men’s and women’s fashion. While her few friends were obsessing over the latest boy band, Kate was throwing Fashion Week parties. During her sophomore year she was even the kicker for the varsity football team. Her deviance from societal norms pushed her far into outcast territory and made her an easy target for bullies. This hit a boiling point in her junior year when, after coming out as openly gay, her peers voted her as Prom King. Despite defiantly accepting the crown, Kate was shattered inside. She threw herself into her studies and music lessons, determined to get out of Jersey City.

Her persistence paid off with an acceptance to her dream school, the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. Before moving to New York her dad found love again and married Carole Hudson. Adjusting to this change was not easy at first, especially between her and Fiona. It took a lot of hard work but eventually they were able to form a fairly decent bond.

Kate thrived after moving to New York City. Living in the city of dreams brought her spirit and confidence back in full force. She found A Cup- Pella, Pamela Lansbury and a great group of friends. During this time she worked a variety of part time jobs while unsuccessfully auditioning for several parts on Broadway. When her big break finally came it was not in music, but in fashion. Kate accepted a job offer as a Junior Editor at Vogue and works there to this day. Even though she’s enjoying the stability of where her life currently is at, Kate still has big dreams that she hopes to achieve.

Pets: Twiggy, a black rescue cat. Kate rescued her from a shelter and frequently jokes that Twiggy is her shadow because she follows her everywhere at home. Twiggy is demanding and vocal. She loves to be petted by everyone in the apartment.

EXTRA INFO

K. / katethegreat / Aspiring fashion icon and cat lady. One day you will all work for me.

Five latest tweets:

@katethegreat: You can correlate how many times I visit the cat café with how desperately single I am. #noshame @katethegreat: Is it too much to ask for my life to be a BBC drama starring Dame Maggie Smith? #lifequestions @katethegreat: Don’t forget to wear your black and gold to support Pamela Lansbury at tonight’s Battle of the Bands! @katethegreat: I strongly believe that together Kate Middleton & I could rule the world. #watchoutwilliam @katethegreat: My grande non-fat mocha is the only thing getting me through this article on wide leg track pants. #fashionflop