#How to get metal Chime card

[playnextdoor]

Ok brat

summary: you don't like listening to your girlfriend, no matter how scary she is

cw: arcane universe (idk), sevika x reader, mentions of reader not eating, smoking, drinking, teasing, suggestive, sevika being a dom sorry not sorry, cursing, mentions of sex, no sex (maybe for part 2? we'll see), kissing, sevikas fingers in your mouth, she’s a lil rough ig, idk lmk if i missed anything im getting ready for class lol

“My head is killing me,” you groan softly, rubbing your head as your gaze drifts to Sevika. The two of you are slouched in some random booth at The Last Drop. The smell of cleaning supplies and sparked cigarette smoke fills the air, signaling that open time is just around the corner. Your legs are draped over hers, and her hand idly plays with the frayed hem of your pants. She shakes her head as she snuffs out her cigar, her dark eyes glinting with a knowing look.

“It’s because you haven’t eaten today,” she states flatly, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. Her hand finds your thigh again, caressing it lazily, the cool metal of her mech fingers sending a shiver up your spine.

“Okay, yeah, but that doesn’t really have anything to do with that,” you grumble, pushing her hand away and setting your feet on the floor.  You know Sevika a little too well, how she seems to read you, and while she might be right, that doesn’t excuse her know-it-all attitude. Her usual reaction to your attitude would be the snap of her fingers in your face or give your cheek a teasing slap, so you drop your head onto the table with a groan to let her know that you don't care about her scolding.

The doorbell chimes as someone walks in, followed by the shuffling of chairs and murmurs from the staff. Yet, Sevika’s silence makes you look up. She’s scowling, lips pressed together like a parent holding back a reprimand. She bites her bottom lip, clearly trying to keep herself from saying what’s on her mind.

“How about you think about the way you want to talk to me while I play my games tonight, yeah?” It’s not a question; it’s a command. You know exactly what that means, being banned from “your” seat, her lap, while she deals with what cards she’ll be playing. Your mouth drops open, recognizing the familiar punishment, and Sevika’s eyes narrow, waiting for you to say some slick shit back.

Instead, you stick your tongue out at her, not caring about being childish. She chuckles, lighting another cigar, and takes a long drag, eyes locked on yours. Without missing a beat, she blows the smoke in your face, and you cough dramatically, waving your hand and gasping for air. Her laughter echoes around you, low and warm, as she shakes her head in disbelief; what a fucking brat. And you can’t help but slam the table as you get up towards the bar to down whatever liquor is waiting for you there. 

-

“UGHHHHH, my head!” you groan, louder this time, for what feels like the umpteenth time today. After leaving early so Sevika could fix her mech arm, you’ve been moping around her office, mostly talking to yourself, fully aware that she’s still pissed at you for earlier. 

“What do you wanna eat?” Sevika asks as she rummages through a toolbox without glancing your way.

“Not hungry,” you reply.

“Didn’t ask if you were hungry. I asked what you want to eat,” she snaps, slamming the small screwdriver onto the desk. Her patience is thin, and the frustration radiates off her. Standing with a groan, taking a few long strides toward you, her presence filling the small corner you were in. You’re curled up in your usual spot: a makeshift nest of forgotten clothes left behind by Silco’s goons.

“What’s with the attitude?” Sevika demands, her voice lower as she’s daring you to test her.

You huff, kicking your foot out so that it hits the toe of Sevika’s boot, Her eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing with a hint of amusement. She studies you, and you can’t help but mimic her scowl, your mouth slightly agape as you stare back. You know your irritation stems from more than just a headache. You haven't eaten properly, snacking popcorn and downing a few drinks earlier. 

Sevika bends at her knees, placing her hands on them to get eye level with you. Her intense gaze makes your stomach swoop, and though you hate to admit it, the way she bites her cheek and the lines deepening between her brows are intimidating.

“So, this is how it’s gonna be tonight? Alright,” she says, mostly to herself with a hint of pettiness, nodding once before turning to leave the office with a huff. Her final words hang in the air, and you watch her go, feeling a sense of regret settle in your chest. Frustrated with yourself for getting upset, you can’t help but think that she deserved it but only a little.

-

“You know, my head is feeling fine after this…” you barely manage to say, mouth full of the pasta Sevika made an hour after your little outburst. The warmth of the dish has melted away your day long headache, and the second glass of wine Sevika poured just ten minutes ago leaves you feeling loose, almost ready to throw yourself at her. She glances up and catches your satisfied smile, your cheeks flushed and stuffed with food. Her lips twitch, fighting the urge to lean over and kiss you, but she keeps it to herself, offering only a small smile before finishing her last bite.

“Now you’re the asshole,” you mumble between chews, a playful glint in your eyes.

Sevika choked a bit, grabbing a napkin to cover her mouth.

“Excuse me? You were the one being an asshole all day, asshole,” she fires back, slapping the napkin down on the table with more force than necessary.

“Looks like you’re asking to get smacked,” swallowing the food before taking a sip of wine.

“Maybe you are,” she counters smoothly, and you pause mid-sip, glancing at her through the wine glass. The warped image of her smirk and the spark of desire pooling in your belly make you shake your head. Setting the glass down, you gather both plates.

“If you were thinking about getting some tonight, you’re in for a rude awakening, babe,” you say, rolling your eyes as you march to the sink. You clatter the dishes a bit louder than needed, rinsing out the wine glasses.

The atmosphere shifts as you feel Sevika’s presence behind you, a silent, almost magnetic pull. She moves through the kitchen, tidying up, pushing in chairs, and tossing away scraps of napkin you always fidget with during dinner. A knowing smile lingers on her lips as if she’s already mapped out how the night will end.

Later, in your hot ass shower, your attempt to use up all the hot water, you hear the bathroom door creak open. The thick steam swirls around Sevika as she steps in, leaving the door open. She squints at the fogged-up mirror, grabbing her toothbrush.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too hot, babe?” she asks, her voice casual as she squeezes toothpaste onto her brush.

“It’s fine,” you reply blandly, turning your back to the water as you feel its little pricks of heat.

Sevika finishes brushing her teeth, and a mischievous grin spreads across her face as she eyes the toilet handle. Before you can react, she flushes, sending a rush of icy water over your body. Her laughter booms as she runs out of the bathroom, feet stomping.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” you scream, the cold shock making you jump. Determined not to give her what she wants, you stay in the shower, grumbling to yourself as Sevika giggles from your shared bed.

-

Later, you’re perched against your pillows, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, glasses on as you attempt to lose yourself in a mystery novel. Just as you set the book and glasses on the nightstand, Sevika waltzs into the room, a towel hanging loosely from her waist, her top bare, and her mech arm detached. She’s drying her damp hair with her remaining hand, muscles rippling with every movement. You can’t help but stare at her, crawling to the edge of the mattress and arching your back on purpose.

“Can you do me a favor—” she begins, but the words die in her throat when she turns to see you, a picture of desire and mischief, your eyes dark and hungry. Amused, she strides over and cups your face in her large hand, thumb brushing over your cheek as she leans in.

“Aw, do you forgive me?” she whispers, her lips brushing your forehead before placing a soft kiss there. You press your lips into a thin line reluctantly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Forget what I said about not getting laid tonight,” you smirk, teeth nipping at her palm. Her grip tightens slightly, the playful heat between you palpable.

“Then from someone who couldn’t seem to listen before…” she trails off, her towel slipping dangerously low on her hips. Her fingers find their way to where you like them the most, your mouth. She doesn't even have to tell you, so obedient as you open your mouth, tongue lolling out with a smile. She curses, a fucking minx you are. Stuffing her fingers in your mouth, you happily take them, licking and slightly sucking onto them. You can't help but shift in your arch, the heel of your foot finding your cunt as you grind into it. Your eyes flicker up at her, eyes low and a look of pure pleasure as you hum around them. Slipping them out of your mouth, it surprises you when she grips your jaw, lips puckering as your eyes go wide.

Her gaze softens as she sees the want in your eyes, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. “You’d better be ready to follow instructions, right, baby?”

a/n: finallllllllyyyyyyy i got the courage to write for sevika. i feel like when i write about an arcane character, im not doing it justice lol hence why i archived my pitfighter vi drabble oops. hope you like it bc i had fun writing it. inbox is always open

[theflowerrooms]

i have a request (hopefully for some smut) 🙈 youve met Eddie because he was your exs dealer! You want to cop on your own but your shy and don’t know what your doing!

you lost your V card to your ex, and he was a selfish asshole to you, and Eddie could always tell

PLEASEEE and thank You 🥰

{to request} {Eddie’s masterlist} {main masterlist}

Treat you right

Eddie Munson x inexperienced!reader

Summary: you buy weed and smoke it with Eddie for the first time, he doesn’t know you but he knows your ex. He knows how bad he was and he knows how good he could be for you.

wordcount:

Warnings: drug use, smut, cursing, pet names, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), praise, Eddie’s super sweet but also super cocky, dacryphilia, marking, slight dubcon? they’re both high

Thank you so much for requesting baby <3 I loved writing this sm

You exhaled shakily. Phone in one hand and a piece of paper with a number and Eddie’s last name written sloppily across it. You got lucky, your boyfriend- ex boyfriend Andrew left his dealer’s number on your bedside table. You’d met Eddie on multiple occasions, you really liked him. He was sweet, funny, respectful, incredibly charming. You reminded yourself that as you nervously dialled his number.

“Hello? Munson residence.” You heard his boyish voice from the other side of the line and already you were smiling to yourself.

“Hey Eddie, um, this is-” He cut you off. “I know who this is doll, I could never forget a voice as sweet as yours. What can I do for you?” He chimed and you giggled, blushing.

Andrew really sucked, he never spoke to you so sweet.

You chewed your lip as you tried to form a sentence in your head that wouldn't embarrass yourself. "Um- I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say. I'd really like to buy from you, please." You spoke, careful with your words so you wouldn't sound like a complete idiot.

"Awe- y'calling for Andrew?" He asked, as if it wasn't obvious enough that you didn't know what you were doing.

"No- no, um, we broke up a little while ago he uh..." You trailed off, you didn't wanna over share and annoy Eddie. "He left your number at my house and I figured, y'know, I wanna buy some weed- please." You tried and failed to hold in your nervous giggle, you couldn't hear him smiling on the other side of the line at how cute he found you.

"Alright doll, tell you what. Since it's your first time buying from me I'll give you a pretty big discount, just let me know when you're free... and you can meet me, hm?" He offered, voice grainy through the phone.

You nodded, "Sure! I'm free whenever, um, where do you want me to meet you?"

✽-

  The air was chillier than you'd expected, you suddenly regretted forgoing a jacket, and wearing a skirt. You tapped your nails softly against the picnic table where Eddie had asked to meet. You were a bit early, but you didn't mind waiting, and you definitely didn't want to leave him waiting, so you didn't mind sitting there.

  You shivered, and then startled, squeaking as Eddie came up behind you, quiet as ever, and placed his jacket over your shoulders. You blushed and he grinned, rounding the table to sit across from you.

  "Fancy seeing you here, sorry for spookin' you doll." His smile didn't leave his face. The metal of his lunchbox clanged as he put it between you two on the table before opening it. "So. Do you just want what I usually gave to you guys?" He asked, eyes kind and welcoming. You never understood the things you heard people say about Eddie, the things Andrew said about him behind his back.

  "Um..." You trailed off, blushing again. Of course because you always went with your ex to buy weed from Eddie, he'd assumed you smoked it with Andrew. "How- how much did Andrew get usually?"

  You tilted your head and he tilted his in return. "You didn't smoke with him?" He asked and you shook your head. "Have you smoked ever?" You shook your head again.

  "Andrew never let me smoke his stuff. Told me if I wanted to smoke with him I had to find my own dealer, get my own weed." You chewed your lip anxiously as you explained. "And the only people I knew who sell it are you and Tommy Hagan. I don't trust Tommy so..." Eddie nodded, following along as you spoke.

  "And you trust me?" He asked, a lilt of surprise in his tone. You nodded and he smiled. "Well. My van is parked just down that trail over there, let's get out of the cold, hm?"

✽-

  You laughed loudly as Eddie tried, and failed to blow rings with the smoke he exhaled from his joint. You'd never been high before now, and you were loving it. Eddie coached you through it, showed you how to take a hit off of the joint, held it to your lips as you took your first inhale, then rubbing your back through the coughing fit it induced. He even let you drink his water when your throat grew dry.

  Now you sat across from him in the back of his van leaning against the cool metal wall. Your laugh triggered Eddie's laugh and you both doubled over in an intense fit of giggles.

  "I never understood why Andrew laughed so much when he got high." You giggled through your words, you understood now.

  Eddie laughed in response. He coughed and reached out grabbing your ankle, "What uh- what happened with Andrew? Not that it's any of my business but uh- I don't know. I'm nosey." He laughed, straightening himself as he awaited your response.

  You chuckled bitterly under your breath at the thought of your break up. "He sucked at sharing his weed but um, he was great at sharing his time, and his attention... his dick." You snickered and grimaced, watching Eddie's face match yours.

  He scoffed and leaned his head against his shoulder. "That's awful. I'm sorry- what an idiot." He squeezed your ankle in his hand. "I don't see how he could ever hurt you like that... take you for granted like that." He sighed.

  His words had you blushing. "Yeah well, it's okay, I'm mostly over it.  I know that there are other guys out there- better guys." You made eye contact with Eddie for the first time that night, and suddenly the energy of the whole night changed.

  He nodded slowly, mouth just slightly agape. You'd noticed how pretty Eddie was long before you and Andrew broke up. It was silent for a moment, Eddie's hand moved from your ankle to your calf, long fingers wrapping around the underside of it, thumb stroking your skin. "Yeah... there are plenty of guys out there who'll treat you better. You deserve to be treated right." He proclaimed, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Your throat went dry.

  Your legs relaxed, inching apart, calf resting fully in his hand. "I wanna be treated right." Your voice sounded so small and shy. You'd blame it on the weed.

  Eddie's eyebrows rose slightly his pupils wide and eyes glossy. "Let me treat you right." His voice was both domineering and pleading all in one and it filled you with a blooming heat.

  You couldn't find your words, just nodding eagerly, desperately. He didn't hesitate to move onto his knees, leaning over you and gently pulling you to meet his lips by your chin. His lips were warm against yours, you basked in it.

  His tongue glided over your bottom lip, waiting for you to part your lips before he entered them. It was a beautiful contrast compared to how Andrew would just shove his tongue in your mouth before you were ready, or willing.

One of your hands rested on the back of Eddie's neck lightly, holding him close to you while your other hand gently stroked his jaw. His hands found refuge on your thighs, holding the backs of them gently as he maneuvered his way between them. He didn't grind against you or anything, just kissed you, with his thumbs dragging tenderly against the goosebump ridden skin of your legs that were pressing against his hips. He was only willing to go at your pace, which you appreciated.

  He kissed you until your hips bucked up slightly, panty-covered clit bumping against the bulge in his jeans. The whimper you let out encouraged him to push his hips down to meet yours, he could feel your heat through the denim between you two.

  With the feeling of him rubbing against you, your let your head fall back as you whined softly. The sweet sounds you let out had his cock throbbing, and he soon found himself mouthing at the sensitive skin at your neck. "It okay if I leave marks?" He asked, his voice was dark but his words were kind, and you knew he'd listen if you said no. You also knew that you'd let him do anything to you if he kept making you feel good like this.

  "Yes-" and like that, you could feel him pull the skin below your pulse point past his lips, sucking there softly until he released your skin from his mouth and peppered kisses around it.

  You sighed at the cool air on your slick skin, you sighed as he continued kissing down your neck, sucking another mark just above the collar of your shirt. You looked forward to seeing the bruises he'd leave behind.

  You could feel his breath against your collarbone, his hands moving from your thighs to your waist, thumb playing with the hem of your shirt. Before he could even ask you to, you pulled back from him and pulled your shirt off.

He let out a heavy exhale as his eyes fell on your chest, his fingers twitching beside you. “You can take it off.” You spoke shyly, referring to your lace bralette. Your cheeks burned as you felt Eddie’s hand glide up your back, it only took a few seconds before you felt the clasp open and he was helping you remove your bra.

As your bralette fell to the floor of floor of his van next to your shirt, you heard Eddie’s breath hitch. “You are so damn beautiful.” Your heart was racing at his words, racing at how sincere he sounded. You weren’t used to this kind of attention and you were thriving from it

Quickly, Eddie’s tongue found your chest, flicking over your right nipple before he closed his lips around it, sucking softly. His fingers found your other nipple, gently pinching and rolling it until it hardened. The new sensation had your back arching, pushing yourself against him more. Eddie loved the noises you were making because of him, for him.

Eddie’s mouth left a trail of kisses from your breast and down your stomach. His bottom lip pressed against the band of your skirt and he held the fabric between his fingers. “Can I take this off of you darling?” He asked as he tugged lightly. You nodded your head but he didn’t move, “Words, baby.” He encouraged you to speak.

“Yes, please.” Your voice wavered with both nervousness and excitement. The eager smile on his face before he pulled your skirt down had your heart racing and your cunt throbbing.

When he pulled your skirt down, your panties came unexpectedly with them, you weren’t sure if it was intentional or not but neither you nor Eddie were complaining. What you really didn’t expect, was the audible moan Eddie let out at the sight of your naked body.

You began to sit up slightly, assuming Eddie would want you to ride him, but before you could get up all the way, Eddie was already laying between your legs, hands on your thighs. “What are you doing?” You asked softly and he tilted his head in confusion, tearing his eyes away from your cunt to meet your gaze.

He pressed a sweet kiss to your thigh. “I wanna taste you, that okay?” He asked, his eyes were blown out with lust, cheeks flushed red from arousal; still you knew he wouldn’t go any further if you told him it wasn’t okay.

“Taste me?” You asked, you weren’t sure what he meant. He smirked kindly, another kiss to your thigh. You were grateful he didn’t make you feel embarrassed for not knowing what that meant.

He inched closer to you, you could feel his breath against your opening and it made you dizzy. “I wanna taste your sweet pussy darling, make you feel good. I want you to cum on my mouth sweetheart.” He rasped, laying his head against your thigh. “What? Andrew never use his mouth on you pretty girl?” He was joking, but was both disappointed and pleased when you nodded your head, confirming his statement. He was disappointed that a gorgeous girl like you hasn’t experienced that before, but he was beyond pleased that he would be the first one to get to taste you. If he played his cards right, he’d be the only one.

You spread your legs for Eddie and relaxed back, his large palm squeezed your thighs as he held them open and immediately caught your clit in his mouth, sucking it gently, flicking his tongue over it, forcing moan after moan from your lips.

Andrew had never gone down on you before, despite the fact that you’d gone down on him every time he’d ask or even just every time you felt like making him feel good. He’d never return the favour however. You didn’t spend much time thinking about that- or any time at all. All you we’re capable of focusing on was Eddie and how good he made you feel.

Eddie thrusted his hips against the ground, sucking harder on your clit and moaning against it. Your thighs shook against your hand and you couldn’t speak. You wanted to tell him how good you felt, you wanted to let him know how good he was doing, but all you could manage was to moan and whine as you felt your stomach get tight.

He moved his hand off of your thigh and pushed two fingers inside of you slowly. There was a small stretch, but it didn’t hurt, if anything it felt fantastic.

He wanted to fuck you tonight, and so he’d make sure you were ready to take him, he didn’t want you hurting. Simultaneously, he sucked on your clit and pushed his fingers repeatedly against your g-spot. He revelled in the sensation of you clenching down on his fingers. He looked up at you from between your legs, your stomach flexing and your eyebrows pinched together as you moaned, his cock leaked precum into his boxers.

“Eddie-” you yelped his name, hips jumping and pressing down against his mouth. You could feel an impending orgasm, and you anticipated it with excitement. You’d never had an orgasm given to you by someone else.

He could feel you getting closer, he moaned loudly against your clit and you moaned even louder than him, yelling his name as you came. Your thighs shook and your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging lightly as your eyes teared up from searing hot pleasure.

Eddie rubbed your clit slowly as you came down from your orgasm. He moved up, peppering kisses over your cheeks until you came back to yourself, giggling. “I wanna see you, please.” You whispered, tugging lightly at his shirt.

He nodded, “Anything for you.” He had a sing-song tone that made you smile, and you watched hungrily as he pulled his shirt off. You didn’t have much time to admire his toned body, pretty tattoos, you were distracted almost immediately by the sound of his belt buckle.

Soon, you and Eddie were both naked in the back of his van, the windows of which were already growing steamy.

He leaned back over you and kissed you sloppily, hips slotting between your legs once again, only this time no clothes were separating you. “You gonna let me take care of you baby? Show you what it’s like to get fucked by someone who knows how to make a girl feel as good as she deserves?” He nudged his nose against yours, you were growing dizzy with lust and need for him.

You threw your head back as you felt the weight of Eddie’s cock slide against your soaking wet cunt. “Yes, please- please fuck me Eddie.” He loved the way your voice shook.

Within seconds, his balls were pressed flush against you, cock deep inside, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. He was both thicker and longer than Andrew, not by much, but still the difference was enough to have you sputtering.

“Oh god-” You moaned loudly, nails digging into Eddie’s shoulders as he began to fuck you.

He only laughed softly, “Close, it’s actually Eddie.” He teased, kissing your jaw as he hiked your legs up to rest on his hips as he fucked you harder, perfectly hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

You reached down to rub your clit but Eddie knocked your hand away with his own, rubbing it for you. He grinned wickedly at your broken moan, cock throbbing inside you at the sight of the thick tears pouring down your face. “Poor girl, so sweet and messy. Ever been fucked like this before? Andrew fuck you this good?” He asked.

You could only shake your head and cry for a moment before you found your words. “Never- never been fucked this good. You’re- you’re so g-good, Eddie.” You moaned, cunt clamping down on his cock.

Each of you were both growing closer, your hands and legs shaking, Eddie’s hips stuttered and his thrusts grew sloppy. His head fell down to your shoulder and you rested your cheek against his hair. “Cum inside me, p-please.” You whimpered.

He moaned in response, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. The feeling of him cumming inside you and playing with your clit had you arching your back and screaming his name.

You both rested in the back of his van for a while, just holding each other. Heavy breathing, sweat slicked skin, and gentle kisses. “Thank you.” You whispered.

“Thank you.” He answered immediately. “I’m sorry he didn’t take care of you the way you deserve.” He kissed you again.

After you both got dressed again, you grew shy, and Eddie only found it endearing pulling the smile from you that he desperately wanted to see. “I’ll give you a ride home doll, ‘n when you need, or want anything, you give me a call.”

Of course you agreed, thanked him. And as he drove you home and you stared at him with hearts in his eyes, you were so grateful for Andrew. Grateful for him leaving Eddie’s number at your house.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Hi! congrats for 700 followers!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 i love your fics and one shots <3

following the game… can i suggest Navy (ofc) Rabbit and if possible starfish too 🥺🥺🥺

Thank you 🫶🏼

HI SORRY THIS TOOK A BILLION YEARS BUT GUESS WHAT IT'S DONE NOW :) thank you for your patience sweet friend

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Female Reader

Trope/Prompt: Friends to Lovers x Body Worship

Summary: Law finds out you've never had an orgasm. A doctor treats a patients ailments. You get the idea. MINORS DNI

WC: 3100 hehe

TWs: inexperienced reader, alcohol consuption, fingering, oral sex f receiving, power dynamic kinda, smooth talking Law, body worship and praise, pet names, ugh it's porn.

Climax (+18)

——

Sure, the Heart Pirates weren’t the scariest or the biggest or the baddest pirate crew out there… but they were still pirates at the end of the day. The Heart Pirates could drink. Although Law himself didn’t indulge in as many rowdy evenings as the other members of his crew, he still enjoyed socializing with them. They were his crew, after all. 

This particular evening, Law found himself bored of his work and decided to venture out from his office and into the common areas of the ship. Law shuffled tiredly towards the sound of glasses clinking and slurred voices talking over each other. He almost decides to turn back to his bedroom and try to get some shut eye. His back ached, the twinge in his muscles pleading with him to go to sleep, but he hears something else. Your lilted giggle floats through the metal halls of the submarine and straight into his ears. He wanted to at least see you before he went to bed… something sweet to think about as he fell asleep… 

“Yeah, okay well you’re stupid, so.” You sip from your freshly cracked beer and roll your eyes at Shachi. 

“Wow! What a good insult, y/n! You’re so fucking creative!” Shachi jeers at you with a big fake smile on his face. “I set you up, and you lost! You have to finish your drink, I don’t care that you just opened a new one!” 

“Unless you want me to barf on your cards, probably not.” You chuckle. 

“And I have seen her throw up. It is NOT cute.” Ikkaku pipes up. Ikkaku leans in and whispers purposefully loudly to Penguin. “Shes a scream-puker.”

“Okay so, I am not a scream-puker!” You defend yourself. 

“Yeah, you are.”

Your head whips around towards the galley door. Law stands there leaning against the frame, looking exhausted, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. 

“Last time you had the flu I thought we were under attack and sounded the Tang’s defensive alarm.” Law says as he smirks at you. 

You pout and turn back to the table. 

“Okay that one time… and I was really sick, you know!” You huff. 

“Room for one more?” Law grabs a beer out of the fridge and sits down at the dining table without waiting for a response. 

“Of course, Captain!” Ikkaku chimes in. “We were just telling Shachi he has to finally tell that girl from the last island to stop calling him.” 

“She’s sooooo hot though! And she’s totally into me!” Shachi pleads his case. 

“We will never see her again!” You interject. 

“So? She doesn’t know that! And besides, the phone sex is better than nothing-” 

“You’re having phone sex? Here? On my ship?” Law immediately butts in and cocks his head in confusion. 

“… is that? Is that not cool? Did we have a rule about that or something?” Shachi questions. 

“No.. it’s just vile, Shachi.” Law shakes his head. 

“Hah! He thinks you’re fuckin’ gross!” Ikkaku points and laughs directly at Shachi who was making quite the face. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Oh whatever, I’ve been getting the best sleep of my life thanks to this! I’m like, almost twice as productive as I normally am!” He tries to build his case back up. 

“Why?” You ask, curious what those things had to do with each other. 

“What do you mean? Everyone knows how great the sleep is after you finish, am I wrong?” 

“You are correct there.” Penguin adds, sipping his beer. Ikkaku hums in agreement.

“Hah, okay. Wouldn’t know.” You add softly, secretly hoping no one would hear you. 

“What?” Ikkaku turns to you and asks. 

“Nothing it’s just that I… wouldn’t…? Know..?” Really pleading with your eyes for her to read between the lines and you wouldn’t have to say it out loud yourself. 

“Wait okay… you’ve never… had an orgasm?” Ikkaku’s eyes widen. 

“Correct.” You take a deep breath. “At least I don’t think I have.” You feign a laugh. 

“Oh you’d KNOW.” Shachi affirms from across the table, also staring at you with a bewildered expression. “Woah… that’s crazy. Are you a virgin or something?” He continues. 

“No!” You defend yourself. “The guys I’ve been with just suck, apparently. Can we stop talking about this?” You knit your eyebrows together and rub your eyes. 

“No way this is fascinating. How old are you? Twenty five? And you’ve never had an orgasm? Like never once? Even by yourself?” Ikkaku probes further. 

“Oooookay guys I never miss a good time to shut the fuck up, so I am going to head to bed!” You stand up from the table and straighten out your boiler suit. You were met with pleas and apologies from your crew mates, while your captain remained stoic during the entire exchange. You felt his eyes burning a hole through you as you left the galley. 

You swiftly make your way through the metal corridors of the ship towards your stateroom. You weren’t upset at your crew mates, it really was fascinating how you had made it this long in your life without feeling the peak of physical pleasure. It wasn’t for lack of trying, you had tried several times to pleasure yourself… and taken a small handful of lovers, none of whom could make you cum. 

You slip off your boiler suit and let it fall to the floor in an off-white heap. You pick out some grey pajamas, a thin camisole and matching shorts, throw it on and sit on your bed to brush out your hair. You untie your hair from the thick bun on your head and let it cascade down your bare shoulders. 

You had almost finished brushing our your locks when you notice the room has somehow changed… as if in the blink of an eye everything was sheathed in a faint blue glow. A familiar blue… 

“Wait no!” You could barely yelp out before you ass meets a different surface in an instant. “Ah!” You gasp and open your eyes to see that you’re no longer in your own bed, but in Law’s. You blink rapidly for a few moments to try and regain your surroundings. You catch your breath. 

You look up and see Law standing at the edge of his bed, looking at you with his shirt unbuttoned. Did he already have it unbuttoned when you were drinking… or did he take it off since then…? 

“Gods, Law.” You sigh and shake your head. “You can’t keep doing that to people. You could have just called my snail or something.” 

“Heard Shachi’s been keeping the line busy tonight.” Law looks down at your barely covered form on his bed. You push your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. He smirks. “So… is it true?” Law walks slowly around to the side of the bed, eyes never leaving yours. He was like an animal stalking its prey. 

“T-the orgasm thing?! T-thats what you brought me here to talk about?!” You could feel your cheeks flush bright red. You sink your head further behind your legs. “I-it’s really not a big deal…” You turn your eyes down to avoid his gaze. 

“You know, the human orgasm is really just a tool.” Law continues eyeing your body and ignoring what you had just said. “The reason it feels so good goes back to our earliest days of evolution. All living organisms, even plants, exist with one similar purpose in common. Do you know what that is, y/n?”

You pick your head up a bit from behind your knees. 

“T-to… n-not get eaten by a larger thing?” You sputter out.

“Reproduction.” Law answers his own question. “Every creature is designed with a primal need to create more of itself…” He paces towards his nightstand and back before taking his massive sword off his back and setting it against the bedpost. “The male orgasm is necessary for human reproduction, obviously. But the female orgasm…” He trails off and you look up and lock eyes. “Is it a bit more complicated…” 

“O-okay?”

“Some professionals say the spasming of the female reproductive organs during orgasm allows for easier penetration through the cervix for the ejaculate to pass through… and some say the female orgasm doesn’t even exist at all…” 

“Are you seriously doctor-ing me about this?!?” You finally find your voice a bit stronger in your throat. “I’ve lived this long without it and-“

“I however, y/n, don’t care what the purpose of it is. And I do know it exists. And I plan on giving you at least one this evening.” Law says as he sheds his button down off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Tattoos on full display, his chiseled abdominal muscles right at your eye level paired with the topic of conversation made you press your legs together even harder. 

“C-captain that is highly unnecessary and unprof-“ You try to protest shakily. 

“Nonsense.” Law steps so his thighs are against the edge of the bed. His right hand comes up to drag two fingers up your calf and rest his palm on your knee. He rubbed soft circles onto your knee with his thumb. “Now if you’re done being so stubborn, we can get started.” 

You leaned back on your elbows and blinked up at the man standing before you, your captain. You couldn’t believe this was really happening, but you were too stunned to question it. You trusted him with your life and more, why not let him try and help you?

“Alright.” You say softly, more to yourself than to Law. 

“Good. Now take your clothes off.” 

You cock your head back in surprise and your eyes widen. 

“Getting straight to it I guess…” You chuckle nervously. 

“We can go slower, if you’d like?” Law takes his hand off your leg, a genuine look of care in his grey eyes. 

“No no! I-it’s fine! I just didn’t, you know… like… well I wasn’t really planning for anyone to see me naked tonight is all!” You say awkwardly. 

“The only thing I care about tonight is pleasuring you. Will you let me?”

You don’t say anything in response, but you lift your thin grey camisole over your head and throw it to the floor. You didn’t look up to see Law’s response, you just shimmied your shorts down your legs and resumed your position laying on Law’s bed. 

Fully bare in front of your captain, you could feel your cheeks become hotter than they’ve ever been. 

“So what should-“ You begin.

“Fucking gorgeous.” Law interrupts. 

“S-sorry?” You question. 

“You are so fucking hot. So pretty.” Law was no longer staring into your eyes, but raking his gaze all over your naked body. “Spread your legs for me, yah?” Law asks, a bit more pleading than his normal demanding tone. It was like something shifted in him once you had taken your clothes off. He returns his hand to your knee, bringing his other hand as well this time to gently push your legs open to expose your sex to him. You hear him suck in a breath. 

Suddenly, Law pounces on you. You’re knocked back on the bed further and your head hits the mattress. Law chuckles playfully above you as he supports himself on his hands, black shaggy hair falling towards your face. 

“Hi.” He grins down at you. 

“H-hi..” You manage to smile back. Law leans down further and begins placing wet kisses along your neck, craning your head to the side almost involuntarily.  “O-oh okay.. t-that’s fine… AH!” You feel a cold hand pinch your left nipple.  

“So sensitive… this is going to be easy..” You feel Law’s mouth curve into a smile as he litters more kisses on you, this time across your collarbone. He moves his head lower and captures your right nipple in his soft lips and sucks gently. You let out a long sigh and throw your head back against the mattress further. Quiet gasps left your mouth as he worked your chest in his hands and tongue. 

Without fully realizing that Law’s hand had left your breast, you feel it cup your mound firmly without warning. You try to close your legs instinctively at the sudden contact. 

“Ah ah, no y/n. You’ve been hiding this pretty thing from me for too long.” Law says as he pulls back from your chest. He pressed his fingers against the top of your slit and started rubbing it in circles. “I promise it’ll feel so good.”  

Law leans up and places a gentle kiss on your parted mouth, you were too dazed to kiss him back just yet. He pulls away and settles himself on the floor on his knees in front of where you were laying. Strong arms hook under your knees and drag you swiftly so that your legs were hanging off the bed and your sex was mere inches from his hungry gaze and spit-slicked lips. 

“Even more fucking beautiful than I’d imagined…” Law says as he spreads your pussy with his thumb and forefinger, exposing your throbbing clit and dripping hole to him. “So eager and ready for me…” 

“Wait you imagi- SHIT!” You cry out as you feel Law’s hot tongue lap at your clit. It was so good, so thoughtful, so precise… he knew exactly what he was doing. “Oh my god-“ You had never received better head and he was only just getting started… maybe he was going to fulfill his promise. He alternative between suckling at your sensitive pearl and taking wide swaths over your whole sex with his entire mouth, as if he was trying to drink up every last drop your pussy was offering him. 

“So sweet…” You could barely understand what Law was muttering about, he was so drunk off your essence that all you could really hear was pained moans and groans of “mmhmmpph” as he enjoyed your taste. Your back was arching off the bed and you grabbed at Law’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you as you wanted to make sure he kept going. 

You moaned loudly as he slipped two fingers into your eager hole. He distracted you with harsh sucks to your clit as he crooked his fingers upwards inside of you. 

“Wait fuck!” You cry out, feeling a foreign sensation as Law pulled on that spot inside your walls. 

“Yeah there it is baby… there it is right there… let it happen…” Law cooed into your wetness as he continued to hammer into your sweet spot with his two fingers. He resumed his ministrations on your clit. 

“Law! I can’t!” You gasp as that warmth and pressure in your lower half grew stronger and tighter. 

“You can… get out of that pretty little head of yours, babe. Stop thinking and just let it go…” 

You try to center yourself and clear your mind, eliminating all thoughts except for the feeling of Law’s hands and mouth on you. It wasn’t hard to do, his presence took over your every sense entirely… the heady smell of his cedar cologne, the absolute determined and lust-filled look in his eyes that were peeking up at you from between your legs, and the overwhelming feeling of his mouth lapping up your juices with fervor. 

“I-I think… ah! Fuck!” Your shoulders lurch forward on their own, your walls starting to tighten sporadically around Law’s thick fingers. 

“You’re so close, pretty girl… just a little more… squeeze those tits for me, yah?” Law asks before returning his mouth to your throbbing nub. 

You do as you’re told and you wrap your manicured hands around your own breasts. You pull desperately at your nipples and cry out from the intense pleasure. 

“Law!” You moan your captain’s name as tears prick the corners of your eyes from the sensation. 

“Cum.” Law growls.

With a strangled scream, everything in your body released and your breath caught in your throat. Euphoric waves pulsed from your sex outwards and you felt the tears fall freely from your lash line as your legs shook. Your scream turned into a moan, and then fell into a whine as you suddenly felt too sensitive to have Law’s touch on you and you squirmed away. 

You caught your breath after what could have been 30 seconds or 5 minutes and take a look between your legs. Law stared up at you, face and bangs soaked in some sort of liquid… your liquid… and a stupid grin plastered across his face. 

“Holy fuck, I’m sorry I-“ You stutter out through heaving breaths. 

“Don’t.” Law stops you. “Don’t apologize. That was so fucking hot. Didn’t peg you for a squirter. Nice.” He rubs his hands on your thighs as he stands up. Your face flushes impossibly redder. “How do you feel?” Law asks. 

“I…” You flop your head back onto Law’s bed. “I feel like I got hit by a sea train but also incredibly light? My legs feel like pudding.” You sit back up on your elbows. “Law… captain… That was amazing…” You smile up at him. 

“Good.” Law looks down at the mess you’ve made between your legs and on his comforter. He looks down at his chest and sees even more remnants of your release. 

“How about we get cleaned up before bed and I can show you a few more things, yah? You’re staying with me tonight.” Law offers you a hand and you stand up on shaky legs to follow him to the bathroom. 

“Hmmm maybe this time it can be your turn?” You glance down at Law’s obvious bulge straining against his spotted jeans. “I owe you one, right?” You smirk. 

— —

>:)

[covenofagatha]

All that's left to burn (Part 3)

You're reeling from Lilia's tarot cards—who will be betrayed?

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: murder, gun play, threesome, oral sex, sex

Sacrifice. Betrayal. 

The words echoing in your head drown out the casual conversation Agatha and Rio are having. Once or twice, they look toward you and you nod, feeling like your head is bobbing in molasses, but they don’t question you. 

What if they turn you in? What if they cut a deal with the police? Who’s worth more to them: two killers from a small town or the former agent who killed an FBI director? 

You honestly don’t know. 

Maybe you could make a deal. You could say they made you do it, that you were blackmailed. They’ve been stalking you since you were about ten years old—except you killed that old woman when you were ten. 

There isn’t a solution, there isn’t a way out. What do you do?

“Are you okay?” Agatha asks and her voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. She’s looking at you with an eyebrow arched and you stare blankly at her. 

Rio reaches an arm out, fingers hesitating just mere inches from you. “You look like you’re going to be sick. Is it the pizza?” 

You might be able to blame it on the food court if you had taken more than one bite. They’re peering at you curiously and you feel your airway constricting. “Yeah, I’m good, I just need to get some water.” 

The metal chair legs screech against the linoleum floor as you slide back and stand up. You glance back as you walk away and see their heads close together, murmuring. A pit grows in your stomach. Maybe they’re plotting. 

There’s the logical part of your brain that’s trying to talk you down from your hysteria and you desperately want to believe it. Agatha and Rio wouldn’t do that to you. They could’ve killed you a hundred times since you met them. They came back for you! They want to be with you! Are you really going to trust tarot cards? Those aren’t even real. 

But the looks on their faces when you’d admitted you killed the man at the motel in Mississippi is still fresh in your mind. Shock…maybe a bit of annoyance…fear. 

But they said they would help you next time! 

Coldness slithers down your spine. What if that’s the trap? Get you to kill someone else and then call the police? Send you to prison? 

You don’t even know what to think anymore. You have a hard time believing they would do that, but maybe they don’t think you’re worth it anymore. 

The bells above the door to Madame Calderu’s Psychic Readings chime when you open it. You don’t even remember meaning to walk back here. Lilia isn’t in the room though so you wait for a few moments, trying desperately to avoid looking at the five tarot cards still laid out on the table. 

Then you hear someone talking. It’s nothing more than mumbling and you can’t make any of the words out. You look around to try to discern where it’s coming from—there’s about a hundred strings of beads in all different colors hanging down from an empty doorway. You step closer, careful not to breathe too loud. 

A floorboard creaks underneath you and the talking stops. You freeze. The voice starts again and you recognize Lilia. 

“It’s okay…it’s okay…you know it hurts a little…it’s okay,” she says and your brow furrows. There’s a loud sniff and you wonder what’s happening. Who is she talking to? What is she doing? What might hurt a little? 

But the lines of beads are too thick and you can’t see anything. 

And Agatha and Rio are waiting for you. 

You clear your throat. “Um, Lilia?” The rustling stops. “Hi, I just wanted—”  What did you want? How do you ask without telling her exactly what’s going on? 

Maybe you should leave. This was a bad idea. 

Before you can turn around and hurry to the door, there beads part and she’s standing there, looking a bit frazzled. You crane your neck to try to see who she was talking to, but the entrance is covered too fast when Lilia steps into the main part of the shop. 

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

Lilia smiles wryly and leads you back over to the table with her fingers lightly curled around your bicep. “Yes, of course. I’m just an old woman, dear, I’m prone to bouts of nonsense. Did you forget something? Your phone, your wallet?” 

It serves as a reminder that you have neither of those with you. You have nothing. You are alone with two serial killers. 

“No, I just was hoping for some clarification about the cards—”

She holds up a hand with rings on three of her fingers. “I can not give you clarification. Only advice.” She waits until you nod before continuing. “Do not allow the tarot to consume you. You might go crazy trying to understand what it means or how to avoid what you think will happen.” 

“But I need to know!” you exclaim. Lilia purses her lips and you still can’t shake the feeling that you’ve seen her before. “I could be in danger—” 

“—danger?” she interrupts, eyes flashing. “What happened to not believing in it?” 

It seems like the wrong moment for her to try to make a point and you scowl. “I need to know if I’m going to be betrayed. Will they betray me?” Your voice cracks, giving away just how desperate you are to have it not be true. 

Lilia sighs. “The cards do not lie. But just because you see what’s on the surface doesn’t mean you understand what’s underneath. You may think you know what the cards mean, but fate always has an interesting way of working out.” 

You don’t really know what to make of that. 

She sees the doubt still written on your face and sighs. Lilia turns to the table, reaches over, and picks up the Ten of Swords. The man still lies face down but the dark clouds above the shore look darker than they did before, if possible. Lilia conjures a pen from seemingly out of nowhere and scribbles something on the back. 

When she hands it to you, you see a phone number scrawled out. Even though you have no real way of calling her, the bad taste in your mouth starts to lessen. 

“In case you really are in danger and you can’t call the police,” she says earnestly and you meet her hazel eyes. There’s an almost knowing look and you genuinely think she might be a real psychic. 

“Thank you,” you rasp, tapping the card against your palm before tucking it into your pocket.

Lilia smiles softly as you begin to walk away to the door. “Good luck with your journey.” 

You stop dead-cold in your tracks and whirl back around. “A journey?”

“Aren’t we all on one?” she asks, rhetorical and unphased. You nod slowly, taking another step toward the exit, and she shrugs before snatching a rag off an end table and begins to shine a crystal ball. 

She starts whistling a tune and you give her one last look before hurrying back to the food court. 

Except Agatha and Rio aren’t there. 

Paranoid fear grips your throat and you turn around in a circle, frantically looking for them, feeling the walls closing in. You thought they’d turn you in, but leaving you here in a run-down mall in the middle of Nowhere, Mississippi with absolutely nothing to your name? 

That might be rock bottom. You’re not sure which is worse. 

Stay calm. You’re okay. Stay calm. You’re okay. The mantra repeats itself over and over until the words have no meaning and blur together. Ever since you met them in Westview, your entire life has been upside down. Nothing makes sense. You’ve become a completely different person. Do you want to be this person? Is this really you? What did they do to you? But you can’t really blame them, can you? You enjoyed it. You wanted it. You are a murderer. Are you losing your mind? That must be what’s happening. Staycalmyou’reokaystaycalmyou’reokay—

“There you are!” someone says and grabs your shoulder from behind, breaking you from the spiral. Your FBI training kicks in reflexively and you grip tightly onto their wrist, flip them around while spinning quickly so that their back is now pinned against your front, your arm holding them in place. You get a mouthful of thick, dark hair and when the person struggles, while saying, “It’s me! It’s just me!” you realize that you’re holding Agatha hostage. 

You let her go and she staggers away, turning around with a gleam in her eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t know who you were,” you mutter. 

“Don’t apologize. That was hot,” Agatha says with a wink and you feel a burst of heat in your stomach despite being incredibly weary of her. 

Rio sidles up to you moments later, out of breath. “Where did you go? You didn’t come back, we were worried. I checked the bathroom and you weren’t there.” 

That was going to be your excuse so you scramble for a new one. “I was just…looking for a water fountain. You know, old mall, I think there’s only one in this entire place. I had to walk almost completely to the other side.”

They don’t look entirely convinced but neither of them question you. 

“Well, shall we get out of here?” you ask, walking toward the mall doors. “I think we could get through Arkansas by the end of today.” They step up next to you, matching your strides, and out of the corner of your eye, you see them share a glance. 

“We were thinking,” Agatha says and you glance at her, “maybe once we get into Arkansas, we could spend the day there. Find a hotel, go for a swim, relax for a little bit.” 

“And if our little murderer needs to blow off some steam,” Rio jokes, nudging your elbow, and your body tenses just slightly enough that they don’t notice. 

Is this their plan? Entrap you while you’re killing someone? 

You try to brush it off. “No, I’m feeling okay, I feel like we should keep moving. I’m sure they’ve found the dead man in Jackson and we’re only a few hours away. We should put some more distance between us and him. Just because we’re ‘dead’ in Miami doesn’t mean they still can’t track us down.” 

“Oh, come on,” Agatha goads, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “don’t pretend like you aren’t just itching to do it again. Rio and I are.” You look at the other woman to find her nodding hungrily, teeth bared. Agatha lowers her voice. “Plus, it’s kind of like our wedding night. What better way to celebrate it than kill someone for the first time all together?” 

Nausea rises in your stomach. That’s a pretty fucked up way to put it. “Yeah, okay, let’s do it,” you whisper reluctantly, because if you protest anymore, they might get suspicious. 

They begin talking about supplies you’ll need—the murder weapon, cleaning supplies, gloves, how to avoid getting blood on your clothes—and you’re violently forced to remember just how adept they are at this. Even though they don’t have Agatha’s poisons which stopped the heart in a gruesome way and limited bleeding when Rio cut it out, efficient methods fly back and forth. You don’t give any input because you’re not very good at this part of it. 

You weren’t exactly worried with cleaning up your mess when you murdered the two men in your sleep. And Tony was a copy-cat kill, plus you had the vial of Agatha’s poison. And the woman from the woods, well. That wasn’t exactly thought-through at all. 

“What do you think, doll?” Rio asks and it jolts you out of your thoughts. Both of them are looking at you intently. 

“Oh, I’m good with whatever. Arson isn’t a bad way to do it,” you say, immediately wanting to take it back. There’s no thrill in arson, even though you think it’s less likely for them to be able to catch you in a trap that way. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow. 

But maybe if you can set things up on your terms, you won’t give them a chance to betray you. Your pulse starts to race at the thought of turning the tables. 

If you ask them to get the supplies, they’ll be on tape preparing for the murder. You can pick the house, one that’s secluded in the middle of the woods, preferably not near a police station or anything. In this part of the country, it shouldn’t be that hard. You could use the victim’s phone, maybe take an incriminating video or photos of Agatha and Rio to use as leverage if they do try anything. 

You may think you know what the cards mean, but fate always has an interesting way of working out. 

Lilia’s warning makes you pause. What if, by doing this, you’re the one who betrays them? What if they’re planning nothing like what you’re accusing them of and you send them to jail? When their only crime was choosing you? Are you sacrificing them? 

The overthinking is making your head hurt and you can’t tell what’s real or not real anymore. 

“I think arson’s a little too on the nose,” Rio says levelly and you nod, not fully hearing her. “Strangulation’s not bad. Or maybe a gunshot. Obviously not as much of a ‘crime of passion’ or as ‘dramatic’ as we used to be, but for the purposes of not drawing too much attention to ourselves…” 

“Rio’s right,” Agatha decides and your gaze snaps to her. “We just need something simple. Let’s start driving again and once we cross the border, we’ll start looking for a convenience store. We’ll need gloves for sure, hats and sunglasses might not be a bad thing just to keep anyone from noticing us.” 

You frown and try to make one last-ditch attempt to stop you from being betrayed by them or stop you from betraying them. You don’t even know which one is right at this point. “If it’s going to be something simple, why bother at all? I’m really okay and you both seemed totally fine when we made the rule to stop killing. You don’t have to do this just because you think it’s what I want.”

Rio saunters toward the car and tosses a wink over her shoulder at you. “We’re just in the mood for some really hot sex. To, you know, consummate our eternal bond. Oh, the romance.” 

Agatha takes your hand and rubs the ring that’s now painfully digging into your flesh. Ironic, you think. 

You’ll get your leverage. But you won’t use it. If they aren’t going to hurt you, you won’t have to hurt them. 

But it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

——

It’s dark out by the time you’re all ready. 

There had been a gas station just over the Arkansas border where Agatha had used up most of the remaining cash you’d pooled together before you left. Rio had gone in, jamming a baseball cap low on her head, and got three soggy sandwiches, a box of latex gloves, and wet wipes. You had given her a look when she tossed the wipes and the box into the back seat. 

“What?” she said, a bit of a snap to her tone. “This gas station wasn’t selling bleach.” 

The pit in your stomach only grew more after that. 

Agatha finally found a grocery store and you were the one that had to go in and buy some ropes just in case you’d need them. Agatha and Rio were already seen on the cameras at the gas station, they reasoned, and it was better to keep reappearances across town to a minimum. So you traipsed down the aisles, picking up rope, extra pairs of clothes, a bag of chips, and a bottle of wine. 

Getting a little tipsy certainly couldn’t harm anyone. 

Until you were checking out and the cashier scanned the wine. She looked you dead in the face and asked, “Can I see your ID?” 

You had stared blankly at her and she repeated the question. You shook your head and told her you didn’t need the wine and then she had called her manager over on the walkie-talkie, forcing you to sprint out of the store. 

Both Agatha and Rio tried to hide how upset they were and you apologized until they eventually said they forgave you. But you had to get back on the interstate and drive another fifty miles before you could stop again just in case. 

There was apparently no such thing as too paranoid. 

Rio went into the grocery store that time and walked out carrying a bag with rope, three shirts, three pairs of pants, and three sets of plain bra and underwear. 

The next batch of bad news came when Rio handed over Agatha all the money she had left and it was three dollar bills and about twenty-seven cents in change. 

“We need to find someone who’s rich,” Agatha muttered. It gave the murder a bit more meaning and importance, just because if you didn’t do it tonight, you three wouldn’t make it much further at all. 

So she’d driven just a bit further, until you got to Little Rock, and parked the car outside one of the nicer clothing stores. The engine was turned off and the three of you sat in silence, sweating, as you watched for someone who would do. 

Hours passed and you’d gotten out to pee. Rio came with you and Agatha stayed back.

“It really does look good on you, you know?” she had said, looking at your ring in the mirror. You showed it off to her, catching light on the silver, and she kissed you slowly but hotly, which left you wanting more. But Rio had pulled back and tutted and on your way back to the car, you held open the door for a man. 

He had put his hand on your waist, leaned in, and whispered, “Thanks, sweetheart.” Chills went up your spine and Rio glared daggers at him. 

Rio slid back into the front seat of the car while you climbed in the backseat. She pointed to the man who was now walking down the sidewalk. The sun reflected off his Rolex watch and blinded you. An asshole and rich. 

Perfect. 

Agatha tailed him to his house. It was a big manor, relatively secluded, with a wrap-around porch. The exterior walls were blue with a white trim, and large windows were covered up by curtains. It was impossible to see inside the house. There was a brick walkway leading up to the stairs to the red front door and there was a standalone garage behind it. 

Only one car, the one you followed. 

The next hour is spent still waiting, parked on the street, just to see if anyone else comes to his home or if he left. 

No one does, except for a blue car that drives by, and the moment the pinks and purples of the sunset fade into a dark blue, Rio opens the glove compartment and pulls something out before fastening the rope around her waist. You grab three pairs of latex gloves and hand them around and shove the wet wipes into your pocket. Your fingers brush against the tarot card that Lilia gave you and you stiffen. 

A reminder. 

The plan is for you and Rio to sneak around the back while Agatha goes up to the front door because the man doesn’t know who she is. You’ll either find an unlocked door or window or break one. Agatha will keep distracting him and then you’ll get him from behind, tie him up, and take him to the living room. That’s as far as you all got. 

Planning an un-incentivized murder wasn’t the same as when you had a reason for it. You figured you’d cross that bridge when you got there and figure out what felt right. Plus, as Agatha pointed out, it might be better to use what’s in the house. That way, it would just look like a robbery gone wrong. 

What they don’t know is that you’re going to take his phone. Even if you don’t get anything incriminating right now, at least you’ll have something. You’ll be a little less stranded. 

In just about twelve hours, you’ve gone from feeling completely accepted and loved to alienated and afraid. This whole mess seems reckless and stupid now. 

Did I choose the right path? 

You had been so certain that you had. And now you just want to cry. 

Rio waves you along once you get out of the car and you sneak up the yard in the shadows, press against the side of the house, and creep around to the back. You peer around the gutter pipe at the corner of the house to see the same man from the store wearing a red apron over a gray t-shirt and jeans while flipping a burger on the outside grill. The patio door that leads to the house is wide open. 

Rio snickers as he takes a swing of beer and spills it all over himself. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and goes back to tenderly poking the meat with his spatula. 

The doorbell rings. Agatha. 

The man curses, cleans his hands off his apron, and takes the burger off the grill, setting it onto an open patty. He heads inside, leaving the door wide open. You and Rio both put your gloves on. 

Rio makes a beeline for the burger and takes a bite. Red liquid pours down her chin and it looks like she’s bleeding. A heat flickers to life inside you, both from the visual and from the anticipation of what’s about to happen, even though you’re nervous. 

Your first feeling when you enter the house through the back is disappointment. He has a house this nice and this is what he does with it? 

There’s one couch facing a giant flatscreen television in the living room and posters of football jerseys hanging up on the wall. You can tell Rio’s thinking the same thing by the disgusted wrinkle of her nose. The island is fully covered in whiskey bottles and wine glasses and hard seltzers and you’re sure if you looked in the refrigerator, there would be nothing more than some lunch meat and maybe an expired bottle of mustard. 

Agatha’s voice is growing louder, maybe a sign that her conversation is ending, and Rio rummages around in a drawer in the kitchen. You’re standing guard, keeping your eyes peeled around the corner to the front door, where Agatha is gesturing wildly. She’s going on and on about how her car broke down and she lost her phone and she doesn’t know where she is and the man keeps trying to interject, but she won’t let him. You smile softly despite the tension in your body. 

There really is something about her. 

“How’s this?” Rio whispers, nudging against you and showing you what’s in her hand. It’s a meat tenderizer. 

You raise your eyebrows at it and nod, pursing your lips. “Yeah, I think it’ll do the job.” 

She hands it to you and you swallow roughly. It feels heavy and you tap the end against your other hand, imprinting the pattern into the latex. You can’t wait to take the gloves off. Your hands are sweaty and itchy. 

As you’re tip-toeing behind him, out of the corner of your eye, you see his phone resting on the foyer table. Your steps almost falter but you switch your gaze back to him and you think you see Agatha’s eyelashes flutter in a wink. 

He must notice that Agatha is looking behind him and he turns. His eyes widen in shock at you and before you can think too hard, you swing the tenderizer. 

It hits his temple, there’s a shower of blood, and he crumples to the floor with a groan. Exhilaration rushes through you and even though you think you might be in danger, you remember why you picked this path. 

You can almost feel the blood flowing through your veins, feel the fog in your head lift, feel the electricity cackling under your skin. There’s a dull heartbeat in your core that only worsens with the dark heat in Agatha’s eyes and the hunger in Rio’s gaze as they look at you, your face dotted with specks of red. 

Everything seems to be in slow motion until Agatha closes the front door and hurries over to the man, who is twitching on the ground like a fish out of water. 

Now’s your chance. 

Rio grabs the man’s legs and Agatha grips his wrists and together, they haul him over to the couch. Rio slips the rope off her torso and binds his hands together. He’s moaning something unintelligibly and you inch backwards toward the phone. 

All you have to do is slip it into your pocket. 

You hear them talking quietly about what to do with them, about if Rio and you saw anything in the kitchen, when you turn around to pick up the phone. 

There’s a click and your breath catches. Chest rising and falling, you swallow hard before pivoting and the tenderizer slips from your hand and falls with a loud thud. 

Rio has a gun pointed right at you. It’s a revolver, by the looks of it, with a long, thin silver barrel and a pearl grip. “What are you doing, doll?” she asks casually. 

“I was just—nothing, I just was going to see if he had any money,” you stammer. 

Rio takes a step toward you and the man on the couch starts to freak out. Agatha takes a piece of paper, crumples it up, and stuffs it into his mouth. 

“Are you sure? Because it looked like you were trying to get the phone,” Rio says, pointing the tip of the gun down at the end table. “Oh my god, shut up!” 

The man is hysterical now, sobbing, whimpering around the make-shift gag, and Rio rolls her eyes, turns around, and shoots him right between the eyes. You jump. 

The air seems to tighten with fear, dread, and danger. Your brain moves a hundred miles a minute trying to plan an escape should you need one. 

Rio advances toward you and you try not to cower, even as she clicks the hammer and the cylinder of bullets spins. 

“Where did you get that?” you ask. 

She grins maniacally. “At the store back in Mississippi. What were you planning on doing with the phone?” 

“I just wanted to check the news,” you scramble and Rio raises an eyebrow. You briefly look past her at Agatha, who’s browsing the living room. She doesn’t meet your gaze. “You know, see if there was anything about the man from the hotel or from my house back in Miami. Just to see if the police had anything.” 

Rio muses on this and nods slowly. “Do it quick then.” 

You grab the phone and tap the screen. It comes to life on a picture of a model with barely-covered cleavage. You ignore it and swipe up. 

Please enter the passcode or use face ID. 

Grimacing, you show Rio the screen. She takes the phone from you and calls out Agatha’s name while you lose all hope in your plan. Rio keeps the revolver trained on you while Agatha walks the phone over to the dead man and holds it out in front of his face. You wonder if the bullet hole in his forehead will cause any problems, but Agatha comes back a moment later and hands the phone back to you, unlocked. 

You open Google and type in news. Rio’s moved closer to you so you don’t dare try anything else. You can only see the first few words of the headlines and you scan them quickly for anything that stands out. 

Attempted prison break out in…

Should cops ride horses? The answer…

27 ways to use corn in…

“Anything?” Rio asks with a taunting tone. 

Shaking your head, you turn the phone off and try to keep your hands from trembling as you set it behind you. The latex gloves are killing you and so you rip them off and shove them into your pocket. 

Rio tuts and motions to the ground. “Get on the floor.” 

Heart pounding, you drop to your knees and gasp as she presses the revolver against your head. 

Is this it? 

Is this how it ends? 

Agatha comes up behind her wife so they’ll be the last two people you see. It’s fitting, really. They were the ones who brought you to life, so to speak. 

Rio’s finger finds the trigger and the thrumming inside you, under your skin, only grows worse. So close to death, and yet, you feel so alive. Do they feel it, too? 

There’s a wild look on Rio’s face as she stares down at you and a matching expression on Agatha’s. 

“You look so pretty like this,” Rio coos and your body feels like it’s overheating. 

It forces you back to the night when you found them in that house, having killed the man and the woman after handcuffing you to the bed. A gun had been against you that time, too. Your own gun. 

Will she pull the trigger this time? 

Or will it end the same way?

Your body betrays you and you feel the pool between your legs. Not only do you get off on murder apparently, you now get off on the sense that you could be murdered. 

But it’s not really about that. 

It’s about the control. 

“I think she’s enjoying this, Rio,” Agatha says in a hushed, awed voice and you bite your bottom lip, refusing to give her that satisfaction. 

Rio trails the gun down the side of your face and you shiver. “I think you’re right. Our little superstar likes the danger.” 

She presses the muzzle to your mouth. You can feel the cold metal against your teeth and your heart rate skyrockets. 

“Do you trust us?” Agatha asks and your eyes flick to hers. The vein in her forehead is throbbing and she looks like she’s losing herself in the visual. 

Do you trust them? 

Can you trust them? 

Betrayal. Sacrifice. 

If they were going to kill you, they would’ve done it by now. If they were going to turn you in, they would’ve done it by now. 

You nod your head ever so slightly and swear their expressions light up. The condensation from your muffled breaths fogs up the silver barrel. She takes the gun away for just a second to take off her gloves before putting it right back where it was. 

“Open your mouth, baby,” Rio says, the gentleness standing in stark contrast to the extra pressure she puts on your lips with the muzzle. 

Your mouth drops open just enough for her to slip the tip of the gun in, her finger still on the trigger. You’ve seen how precise she is with a knife so you’re not worried about her accidentally pulling it, but just the knowledge that she could has you heating up even more. 

She pushes the barrel further in, the muzzle almost reaching the back of your throat, and you gag around it. Agatha chuckles breathlessly and if you weren’t trained to notice these kinds of things, you’d probably miss the slight twitching in her hands and the almost indiscernible way she shifts her weight. You want them—you need them. 

Holding eye contact with Agatha, you begin to bob your head slowly up and down the barrel of the gun and Rio lets out a small gasp. It’s getting to them both maybe more than they thought but it just adds to the pulsing of your clit. 

Their darkness has threatened to overwhelm you since you were ten years old. 

But now you want it to. 

They wouldn’t betray you because you’re too much like them. You feel things the same way they do. They need this too much—need you too much. 

Just like you need them. 

Rio rips the revolver out of your mouth with a wet pop, strands of your saliva still sticking to it, and she tugs you up by your hair before pulling your mouth to hers. She engulfs your lips with a dominating hunger and you slump against her body because your knees ache from kneeling on the floor for that long. Her arms come around you to catch you and she slips her tongue into your mouth. You bite it and the metallic taste of her blood fills your tastebuds, joining the silvery tang still left from the gun. 

Agatha yanks you off her by the scruff of your neck and clashes her lips onto you, moaning at the copper hint she tastes. Rio steps behind you and pushes up your shirt and you gasp at her cold hands on your bare skin. You frantically pull at Agatha’s pants, just needing something to quell the ache inside you. 

“I need—please—need to touch you, need you to touch me,” you whimper against Agatha and feel her smirk. 

Is there a way to do this without getting your DNA everywhere? Before, they had their top-grade cleaning supplies so they didn’t have to worry about that. Now, you have a packet of wet wipes. 

They don’t seem to care. 

Agatha walks you back into the kitchen, presses you against the island, mouth never leaving yours. Rio trails after you and sweeps all of the alcohol off it, sending it shattering on the floor. You pull away from Agatha for a second to raise an eyebrow at her. 

Rio shrugs. “It’ll look more like a break-in.” 

You accept it and Agatha’s tongue is shoved into your mouth. She puts her hands on your lower back to hoist you up so you’re sitting on the marble countertop and unbuttons your pants. You help her pull them over your ass and down your legs to your ankles while she breathes into your open mouth. There’s a furious ache inside you and when Agatha slips her hand into your underwear and touches your clit, you see white. 

Someone’s hands grip your hair and drag you away from Agatha, who looks excited. Glancing behind you, you see that Rio has climbed onto the island behind you. Her legs are bare. Your breath stutters in your throat as she lowers you until you’re laying on your back on the cool marble, Rio looking down at you. 

Agatha sinks to her knees so her head is level with your clothed cunt and pulls you closer to the edge by the back of your legs. Her hot breaths against the wet fabric of your underwear make you shiver. She pulls the gusset over just as Rio moves over you, positioning her own bare pussy right above your watering mouth. You can see her folds glistening and almost fused together and you can smell her and you’d surge up and begin tasting her if you didn’t know better.

Agatha finally licks up your slit with her flattened tongue and it makes you keen right before Rio lowers herself onto your mouth. You’re immediately overwhelmed by her and you start rubbing her clit enthusiastically. She is wet. Her thighs tighten around your head and she already throbs just from the little stimulation and watching Agatha go down on you. 

Agatha’s tongue dips inside you, stroking against your walls, and you make a sound that’s muffled by Rio’s cunt. The woman on top of you gasps and her hips buck, smearing wetness all over your face. 

“Yes, fuck, doll, right there,” Rio groans, riding your face fast, more liquid leaking out of her into your waiting mouth. You swirl your tongue around her clit and you feel it pulse. Rio rakes up your shirt even more, hiking it to just below your bra, and digs her nails into your stomach. Your back arches off the counter, allowing Agatha’s tongue to get deeper inside you, and you groan loudly. 

You suck on Rio’s clit right when Agatha scrapes her teeth against yours and you and Rio both make strangled sounds. Sparks are racing under your skin, tension building in your stomach that’s been growing since you walked into this man’s house, and the pleasure Agatha is giving you is making you dizzy. Your cheeks are sticky and your tongue is burning but the fire in your stomach is roaring, finally being fed, and is there really anything more romantic than this? 

Than finding not one person, but two, who accept you, who see the darkness inside you and nourish it, who love you despite it? Maybe even because of it? 

Agatha bites your inner thigh roughly and the pain bleeds into a new pleasure, the sting of her teeth only making your clit throb even more. Your walls are clenching sporadically, hips grinding up and down on her face, and Rio is doing the same thing on top of you. 

Your mouth movements become sloppy against her but you do your best to double down and lap at her clit while occasionally moving down to shove your tongue inside her cunt. She always lets out a breathy gasp when you do and it sends a tingle straight down to your pussy, where Agatha just makes it worse. 

It’s like you’re in a whirlpool, getting sucked down into them, spinning out of control, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. All thoughts of the tarot cards are gone, thrown out by Agatha’s mouth pushing you higher than you’ve ever been, and you find it silly how nervous you were. 

“God, so good, fuck, I’m going to come,” Rio groans, writhing around on top of you, and she grinds down hard against your tongue, taking what she needs. You let out a muffled noise, the vibrations making her thighs shake, and Agatha picks up her speed too, tongue thrashing around your clit. Her nails dig into your legs and you gutturally moan into Rio’s cunt. 

She comes all over your face, more wetness gushing out, with a loud exhale. Rio still rides your face gently and you keep your tongue flattened so she can come down from the aftershocks. 

Agatha slots a hand up between your thighs and roughly pushes two fingers into you, curls them just right, and you see stars. Your orgasm hits you hard and Rio has to climb off your face because the echoes from the sounds you’re making are too much against her sensitive pussy. Agatha keeps licking at your clit and fucking you with her fingers until you weakly sit up and grab onto her hair. 

You tug her head up, a flash of pleasure running through you when you see your wetness staining her cheeks, and notice that she has a hand shoved into her pants. Your mouth drops open. 

Rio chuckles lowly as she slides off the counter and saunters over to her wife. She pulls Agatha’s hand out of her pants and salaciously takes Agatha’s middle three fingers into her mouth. They hold heated eye contact and you’re tempted to sneak a hand back between your legs. 

Once cleaned sufficiently, Agatha slips her fingers out of Rio’s mouth and dries them on her shirt. 

“Let’s check for money,” Agatha says, voice significantly deeper. You push yourself off the counter with a strong effort and pull up your pants. Rio gets dressed next to you. 

While Agatha searches the kitchen for cash, Rio goes upstairs, and you run the wet wipes over the counter in the hopes you’ll erase any trace of you or Rio. 

Rio bounds down the stairs holding a thick wad of bills, about two thousand dollars after she counts it. 

“That should last us a little bit,” Agatha approves and Rio grins while she tucks it inside her pocket. 

For good measure, you smash a window with your elbow that you wrap in one of the man’s jackets and Rio retrieves the bullet from his forehead. You definitely wouldn’t have thought of that, but it’ll make it harder for them to track down the gun now. 

Agatha raids the pantry and doesn’t find much besides Monster energy drinks and packets of ramen noodles. 

You’re reminded that men are very predictable. 

“Everyone ready?” Agatha asks. You and Rio both nod and check out the peephole to the door to see if anyone is there. A blue car drives by but once it’s out of sight, you three make a break for the car. 

“Good wedding night?” Rio jokes, glancing back at you once Agatha starts to pull into the road. 

You snort but nod. “Just how I pictured it,” you tease. 

Agatha laughs and looks over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you did. Murder and sex—what else do you need?” 

Something is folded in your pocket weirdly and it’s making sitting uncomfortable. You reach in and pull it out. 

The Ten of Swords. 

Contemplating it, you chew on your bottom lip. You feel bad for doubting Agatha and Rio, they wouldn’t hurt you. You’re convinced more than ever now that they wouldn’t betray you, or sacrifice you. 

But there’s still a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. 

Just because you see what’s on the surface doesn’t mean you understand what’s underneath.

Is there something you’re not seeing? 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @luckypupsmama @dontsh0vethesun @sydforreal24

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Friends: A Day at the Fair

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: You make a new friend.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Ten bucks for a game?” Bucky curls his lip at the sign. 

You giggle around the mouthful of dissolving spun sugar. You gulp and sigh, “oh, you’re such and old man, sometimes.” 

“Ten bucks!” He exclaims again, waving a hand.  

“In my day...” You say in unison with him and he stops abruptly. He squints as you turn and walk backwards with him through the fairgrounds. “And predictable.” 

His blue eyes dull in irritation. “Maybe the world is predictable, huh? And I’m just reacting to it.” 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you chime and twirls your cotton candy. “Have some, it’s yummy.” 

“I told you not to get that. It’ll give you a stomach ache.” 

“I’m an adult. I can do what I want.” You retort. “I’m gonna get a candy apple and a funnel cake and oooh, do they have those big baked pretzels?” 

“You’re going to get sick.” 

“That’s half the fun,” you smile and your heel catches on a rise in the ground, heavy rubber mats spread to hide thick wires. Bucky’s quick. So quick it makes you dizzy. He catches you and sets you right, sharply spinning you ahead. 

“You need to watch where you’re going,” he girds. 

You just laugh again, “aw, but I got you around to save me.” You put your feet right and fall back into step. “So you’re too cheap to win me that purrito stuffy, so I’ll just do it myself--” 

“I’m not cheap.” 

“Not at all,” you agree with a grin. He stops and face you. You look up at him and take another bite of spun sugar. 

“You are the worst,” he says as he digs in his pocket and twists on his heel, “fine, one purrito coming up.” 

He marches back to the shooting game and greets the man in his striped shirt. He pays for his go and picks up the rifle. He gives you a look before he raises the but to his shoulder. His posture is confident, if not bored. 

The pings come in fast succession. You don’t have a minute to count them but he stops before the rifle clicks, knowing exactly how many he’s fired. All in the centre of the bullseye. He flips the gun and hands it back to the work.  

“A purrito, whatever that is,” he demands. 

The fair employee gapes at him as he accepts the gun. He blinks then glances at the target again. His eyes rove back to Bucky and he frowns as he notices Bucky’s metal hand. 

“Dammit, I knew you looked familiar,” he grumbles and turns to take a purrito from the wall. He hands it over to Bucky who thanks him and turns to you.  

“It’s a cat... in a tortilla?” 

“Yes, a purrrrrrito,” you drag out the words. “Like a burrito but cuter.” 

He sighs, “of course.” 

“It’s so cute!” You wiggle it around gleefully, “I’m going to put it right in my room with all my others!” 

“Others?”  

“Oh, yes, I have a whole shelf of purritos. Big, small, calico, tabby... even a lion.” 

“Wow,” he mutters. 

“We all have collections. What about your cards? Hmm?” 

“Those are priceless. They’re baseball cards from the 1936 World Series. The Yankees won.” 

“Sounds important. I don’t really watch baseball,” you say. “But see? It’s your passion. You love those cards. You even put them in plastic. That’s kinda adorable. Means you care about them. Just like my purritos!” 

“Antique baseball cards are different from stuffed taco cats.” 

“Um, a burrito is not a taco,” you argue. 

“Don’t,” he points at you. “You always do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“You have to argue and then you put on that face--” 

“What face?” You pout. 

“Ah, quit.” 

“Fine,” you harrumph and tuck your prize under your arm. You tear off a piece of cotton candy and hold it out to him, “here.” 

“I told you--” he stops himself and accepts it. He eats it and lets out an ‘mmm’. 

“See, it’s good.” 

“It’s pure sugar.” 

“I know,” you agree triumphantly. “So, you wanna go on a ride? I like that big one!” 

You point with the empty cone and he tilts his chin up. “Sure, may as well get our money’s worth.” 

“Oh, fun! It’s going to be so scary.” 

“Scary?” Bucky snickers. 

“Not all of us jump out of planes, Mr. Avenger.” 

“Or sing and dance in frills,” he rebuffs. 

You roll your eyes. Your job isn’t the best but you get decent tips at the restaurant. Besides, you don’t exactly have the qualifications to save the world. Sometimes the distance between you, in more than age, is daunting. 

You pass a garbage can and toss the cone. You join the line for the ride and Bucky crowds in behind you between the metal barriers. You wait your turn as you bounce on your shoes and hug your toy. 

“I’m gonna name this one Mew-chanan. After you.” 

“Mew-- oh god.” He shakes his head as he connects the dots. “You’re so cheesy.” 

“And yet you’re still hanging out with me,” you smirk. 

You get to the front of the line and the work offers to hold the purrito. You hand him over and follow another to a seat. Bucky gets in next of you. You squeak as you’re locked into the seat and your insides begin to swim. You should’ve suggested the merry-go-round but you don’t want him to think you’re that lame. 

“My stummy—stomach!” You say as the ride starts to hum.  

“I told you about eating that--” 

Before he can finish, the ride lurches into action. Slow at first, rising and rising. The higher you get, the dizzier you are. As you get to the top, you latch onto his hand. You close your eyes and let out a long breath. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

You blink and look at him. Before you can answer, the ride drops at warp speed. A scream erupts from your chest and you close your eyes. It doesn’t last long but you’re breathless as you stop at the bottom. You squeeze Bucky’s hand as you tremble. You crush his fingers, his real fingers together. 

“Hey, Dreamy, it’s over,” he shakes your hand. 

“I know, I know,” you peel your eyes open. “That was... fun.” 

He watches you, his blue eyes almost cloudy. You open your hand and his thumb taps your knuckle before he turns his palm down. You blow out as the harness lifts from your chest. 

“Come on!” You hop out of the seat. “Let’s do another.” 

[ashs-cardboard-box]

An Odd Consolation

~ Sebastian Solace/GN!Reader

~ (Physical) Hurt/(Reluctant) Comfort

~ Platonic

~ 2.3k words

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

How long has it been since you’ve gotten a first-aid kit? Five floors? Ten? You were starting to lose track. After an encounter with what felt like Jesus Christ himself punishing you for being an Expendable, your head felt all fuzzy and distracting. Though, realistically, it was Eyefestation paired with a bad crossing from the Good People and a sprinkle of face burns from a steaming pipe. Not fun!

Large gashes paint your chest, just from the claws of the Z-96. The skin on your face felt tight as a result of your painful first degree burns. The worst part about this program was the pain. Sure, you can die and respawn which was cool..you guessed.. but getting mowed down by an angler variant? Or getting electrocuted? Or the puddles of void mass crammed inside the lockers? Torn to shreds by wall dwellers? It all hurt terribly. Only to be cursed to wake up again, with Sebastian right in your face, and do it all over again– Unless you wish to be blown up, of course.

You weren’t even collecting data anymore. Your, now torn, jumpsuit had long been dried since the last flooded path you managed to stumble upon, which further supports your theory that whatever wet warmth is sticking the fabric to your skin, is the blood from your wounds. Clutching your chest in a self-hug of sorts to prevent any more blood from spilling out, albeit unsuccessfully, you force yourself to keep going.

Every time you stop for too long to catch your breath, the intercom chimes overhead, with the same staff voice telling you – threatening you – that you need to move forward, lest you want to be detonated where you stand. So, you push forward.

One wobbly step after the other into door, after door, after flooded hallway, after door. Only stopping to hide in a locker, hide from turrets, or to dive as quickly as you possibly can into another room to hide from any angler that even remotely sounds like Pandemonium.

You were tempted to just give up and open up your vulnerabilities to the next entity that wanted your head on a spike. That was your best option after all. A bit more pain to finally make it all go away for a while? Before you wake up again, that is. A new start..sounded frustrating, but so damn enticing.

However, you’re pulled from your thoughts when a vent is pushed open on its own. The metal grate clatters loudly against the concrete floor right at your feet, followed by a hushed “over here!”. You’d completely forgotten about Sebastian in your misery. The angler-mutant-thing that always managed to find where you died, bring you back to life, and borderline insult you for your performance. You weren’t sure if he was always watching you through the security cameras or if he was getting reports from the other monsters somehow, but you couldn’t care at the moment.

Stealing a quick glance around the dark room, spotting a few Squiddles lingering in the shadows, you’re focused on the two doors in the room, both key-card locked. The first, the navi-path interface sparked, despite the green numbers telling you “027”. You can already guess that Z-96 is behind it and Painter has infected the interface. The second door reads “049”, which makes much more sense to your pain-addled brain. You vaguely remember Sebastian giving a rough estimate to where his shop is located. Somewhere around fifty?

Dropping down onto your knees a bit too roughly, causing blunt pain to your kneecaps – hardly protected by the flimsy knee pads Urbanshade provided – you steal a cautious glance behind you for wall dwellers before crawling towards the vent. One arm supports most of the weight of your front half, as the other cradles your chest wounds. You feel like you can cry out of relief at the flicker of Sebastian’s lure, causing the room to illuminate.

“Welcome back, frien- eugh..” He starts. Comforting, you think sarcastically with a subtle roll of your eyes. Offering him a tightlipped smile as you stand up, gritting your teeth from the strain of your wounds as your muscles struggle to keep you upright. “What..happened to you?” Sebastian inquires, slightly judgemental, with a tilt of his head. His three eyes follow your each and every move. Watching as you silently shuffle across the small space, right towards his tail. Fully locked onto the medkit strapped to the appendage.

Stuffing your hand into the deep pockets of your jumpsuit and pulling out what little amount of data you have. A handful of USB sticks and some soggy files… equivalent to only ninety bucks. God damn it. Your lack of proper data hunting had come to bite you in the ass. With a sigh, you opt to just buy a battery with what little options you actually have. Your flashlight was running a bit low anyways.

Haphazardly tossing a few folders and USB sticks on the floor for Sebastian to pick up, you trudge up to the desk directly to the right of Sebastian. Several DNA casings rest atop it, illuminated by a small lamp, Several different colors for, what you can imagine are, all sorts of different species. The large document that you know belongs to Sebastian practically taunts you to read it, but you shift your gaze back to the batteries. Reaching forward to grab one with a bloodied hand, only to pause when a large, pointed claw pokes you in the shoulder nearly pushing you over. “Are you not gonna fix that?” Sebastian prompts as he tugs his four-clawed hand away from you, clasping it back over his left, watching silently as you fumble, catching yourself on the desk. He tuts at the bloody print left behind as you set your palms flat onto the dull-white surface. “Don’t have enough data..” You grumble tersely, shifting your feet better underneath yourself as your knees threaten to buckle. Snatching the battery off of the corner of the desk, you slip your hand into your pocket and fish out your flashlight. Flipping it over and trying to twist the bottom of it off, struggling only slightly with slippery hands but you manage, sliding the battery into its compartment and twisting the small cap back on. Sebastian is silent, for some reason. Usually, there was some smart ass comment about how he doesn’t give credit or insulting your lack of funds…but there’s nothing. 

His eyes feel like they’re piercing into your soul as he stares down at you. You don’t pay attention to him. He’ll be there..just like always. Tucking your flashlight away, you grab the blue keycard off of the desk and turn back towards the vent with intent to leave Sebastian’s shop. 

That was until you feel two large claws on your upper back as Sebastian grabs ahold of the slack of your torn jumpsuit. Picking you up by the fabric with a humiliating ease, as if you were a kitten being held up by its scruff.

“How stupid are you?” He scolds as he sets you down on his tail. Your boots almost slip against his scales, unused to the uneven surface beneath you, but Sebastian, with an annoyed sigh, grabs you as gently as he can muster, setting you on the ground again inside the inner curve of his tail to prevent your…idiotic…self from dying over some dumb mistake.

“It’s the least you could do..apart from not dying, that is.” Sebastian mutters under his breath, chuckling at his own remark. Using his two left arms, he unfastens the first-aid kit from the straps around his tail, holding it in place. It’s too damn small in his claws, so he hands it off to you. Setting it, rather roughly, in your arms.

Stunned, you hesitate. What was he playing at? He would never give you free stuff. In fact, he would probably shoot you if you even asked. Staring down at the medical kit, jaw slightly agape. Sebastian huffs, plucking the kit from your hands again and flicking off the top with his...thumb? “You idiot…” He grumbles, dumping the contents onto his large palm, handing it down to you. The plastic lid and container tossed aside uselessly. A thick roll of gauze, bandages, skin tape, epinephrine, burn cream, antiseptic wipes..the usual insides. You raise your gaze up to meet Sebastian’s own, much more impatient one. Slowly reaching out and taking the gauze into your hands, grabbing a hold of the loose end and strapping it to your side, pinching it down beneath your fingers to your ribs. Pulling the roll back around your back, switching hands to get the other side, before completely around your chest. It fucking stings..bad. You can feel your blood trying to soak through the fibrous material, subsequently sticking it to your wound. But, you know it’s for the best. Trying to avoid Sebastian’s critical eye as you work, having to pause for a moment due to an ache in your bicep muscles from the repetitive motion. “Why are you helping me?” You question warily. Your voice causes Sebastian’s ear fins to flick every so slightly. Shrugging noncommittally, he sets down the extra materials on his tail in front of you, leaving it up for grabs as you need it.

“You needed it, didn’t you?” Sebastian scrutinized, inspecting the ring on his third hand, so he’s not creepily watching you bandage yourself. “That’s… not what I asked.” You huff, finally getting your chest tissue and ribs covered up. Looking up at Sebastian as he skims the small shop, like he hadn’t seen it before. Not-so-subtly moving his left hand down, using his claw to cut off the spare gauze attached to the roll, allowing you the proper amount you need.

“I know.” He states. “And I don’t care.” You hum suspiciously, but don’t push it. He was helping you out for free, why would you complain? Pinning down the loose gauze strand to your side once again, you use your free hand to finagle the edge of the skin tape, yanking it unceremoniously to grab a bit more slack you can actually use. Silently lifting it up by the edge, letting the roll freely dangle, wordlessly asking Sebastian to cut it as well.

Surprisingly, he complies. Swiping a claw against the tape, freeing it from the roll, causing it to hit the floor at your feet. Awkwardly adjusting the strap to prevent it from sticking to itself, you can pin down your gauze.

“Sit.” Sebastian demands, gingerly tugging on the back of your jumpsuit, causing you to lose balance and tumble backwards, landing right on your ass. It hurts a bit, but the pain quickly subsides. Your back pressed up against his firm tail, tilting your head back to be able to stare up at him. “What?” you question, only to be met with silence. He ignores you completely, but he doesn’t let you get up. Tucking his third hand up underneath your chin, keeping your head tilted up towards him. The coldness of his ring against your skin causes it to prickle with goosebumps, but you don’t mind much. Peering down at your half-burned face, his claw accidentally digs into a blister, causing you to hiss in pain. You didn’t really plan to do anything about the burn, just wanting your bleeding to stop, but Sebastian had other plans. “Sit.” He repeats firmly, as if you were going to get up and scurry off. His second left hand grabs ahold of the small tube of burn cream, puncturing it with ease before spreading a small amount on the length of his claw between the first knuckle and the second. Using the blunt side to massage the cream into your face, all while holding your jaw like an uncooperative pet.

Sitting still, you allow Sebastian to cover your burns. It’s an action neither of you are particularly used to, but neither try to jerk away from the other. With a sigh, you relax against him, closing your eyes. His skin isn’t particularly soft, feeling more like the grit of a cat’s tongue, but he seems to take more caution around it. Sebastian’s not exactly warm either, but he’s comfortable, at least. “Why’re you helpin’ me..?” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest to get a bit more cozy against the floor. You can feel your lower back tingling slightly as it begins to go numb, but shifting more will only cause more pain. “Because you lack the self-preservation skills to do it yourself.” Sebastian grunts, more focused on coating your face in petroleum jelly rather than his responses. Removing his hand from your face and draping it over you, making you feel incredibly small. His ear fins fluttering at the sound of an angler screeching as it rushes down the hall, searching for you. You hum monotonously in acknowledgement, subconsciously tensing at the sound, despite knowing it wouldn’t be able to reach you through the vent. “You’re not falling asleep on me. You still have things to do.” He states firmly, but he makes no actual effort to move you away from him. Pleased with the coverage on your face, Sebastian finally pulls his hand away, wiping the remaining residue on your jumpsuit. “‘m not.” You agree, but you know you’re probably lying.

You never really realize how exhausted you are until you’re on the verge of tears from pain alone and forced to keep moving. Kept on edge, stressed to the end of your wits. You knew you should get going. This was weird. Not to mention, Sebastian was usually an asshole..but you don’t move. Readjusting yourself underneath his large hand, acting as a blanket, you curl up into the curve of his tail, resting your head against it.

“Don’t let me get eaten..” You slur in your exhaustion, earning a small hum from Sebastian, not exactly giving you any sort of indication if he would or wouldn’t. Instead, he rests his thumb atop your head, moving it ever-so-slightly back and forth over your hair in a “petting” motion. He would probably charge you double next run, but as you began to fall asleep on him, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least you weren’t dead.

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

Hi gang I'm back X3 (he says with the intention to disappear for another decade)

Random fic drop !! I have like. 82 rdr fics open rn </3 procrastination is my best friend

[astr0-physcs]

if enough people like this, i will continue it smiley face

“Well fork me and call me the President.”

You screeched to a halt. That grating metallic country accent fills your ears, and you turn around slowly. You're met face to face with the cyborg that made your blood boil. Boothill. As a member of the IPC, the Galaxy Rangers were the last thing you wanted to see right now. Especially him.

“Didn't expect your grimy ass to show up ‘round these parts.” He smirks, confident. You resist the urge to punch him in the only remaining human part of his body.

“I can assure you, my ass is not grimy. There's no need to project onto me.” You snap back, cocking your hips to the side.

"Relax," Boothill drawled, his southern accent thick as honey. "Ain't lookin' for no trouble. Just here on a lil' job, same as you."

The air between them was thick with hatred, and the tension was palpable. You had a history—an ugly, complicated one.

Your eyes narrowed. "Not here for trouble? That's rich coming from you. You're trouble with a capital T."

Boothill chuckled, a sound that dug into your nerves. "Now ain't that the pot callin' the kettle black. You're no saint yourself, sugar."

You bristled, not liking how Boothill seemed to see right through you. You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to punch him. "I don't need a Galaxy Ranger of all people giving me a lecture.” Rolling your eyes, you turn around, trying to end the conversation. You approach the front desk, smiling tightly at the woman.

“Hi, room for ____.” You say, preparing to give the woman your invitation. The woman smiles.

“I'm sorry, that room is reserved for Mr. Boothill.” You freeze, eyes going wide.

“Im… I'm sorry-?” You were cut off by an arm slinging around you, unbalancing you.

“Yeah, that's us. Sorry for the confusion, ma’am.” Boothill smiled. You try to wriggle out from his arm, but he holds you fast.

“Is- Is this some kind of joke?” You say. Boothill laughs, shaking you around slightly.

“Why would this be a joke, sugar? We’ve got a room to share.” Boothill thanked the woman, taking the room keys. He leads you over to the elevator, pressing the button.

“That is ridiculous! I- I didn't sign up for this-” Boothill cut you off again. “Awh, don't worry. Think of it as a way to catch up with your old pal.”

You bristle again, trying to get out of his arm. “I think I'll pass. I want nothing more to do with you.”

Boothill jostles you again, and you resist punching him in public. “Don't be like that. Sure there's something to talk about. Like the murders…?”

You pause, finally looking him in the eyes. “How did you-”

“Ah, elevators here.”

You two step into the elevator, Boothill’s arm still slung around your shoulders.

“Fine. But ONLY the murders and nothing else.” You whisper. He shrugged.

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“Dont call me that.” You groan. Boothill snickered.

“What, you dont like me callin’ you sweetheart, sweetheart?” He said slyly.

You rolled your eyes, feeling your annoyance growing. "No, I don't," you snapped. "And if you call me that again, I'll punch you in the face." Boothill just laughed. "Feisty as ever, aren't you? It's almost endearing." The man's smirk made your blood boil.

“What room are we in.” You ask, putting an angry emphasis on ‘we.’ Boothill looked at the card in his other hand. “304,” The elevator dinged, a chime that dug under your skin even more.

“Right down this hall.” Boothill pulled you down the lavish hall, and you made a noise of surprise.

“Can you stop dragging me everywhere?” You huff, tripping after him. He met your eyes, teasing and mischievous.

“But wheres the fun in that? You’re so cute when you’re tumblin’ over yourself.” His sharp teeth glinted in the neon lighting.

“Cut it out, cowboy.” You finally shove him off of you. He laughs again, metallic and hoarse. The thought of spending any amount of time alone in a room with him makes your teeth grind. You couldnt believe this. How did Penacony, the biggest hotel in all the cosmos, manage to make this major of a slip up? You groan internally, wondering how long you could put up with this guy before you had to book another room out of pocket.

Boothill pressed the card to the handle, unlocking the door. He waltzed into the lavish room, whistling. “Shoot, this is one fine room here.” He flopped down onto the orange couch, letting out a satisfied sigh. You glared at his metallic form.

“Yeah this would be luxury, except i have to share it with you.” You muttered, glancing at the massive shell filled with liquid. The soft neon lighting reflected off Boothill’s limbs and your irises. The view of the hotel was mesmerizing, and you wish you could enjoy it to the fullest.

Boothill chuckled, hearing your muttered remark. "Aww, don't be like that, sugar," he drawled, sprawling out on the orange couch. "You're hurtin' my feelings."

You rolled your eyes again. “You keep rollin’ your eyes like that, theyll get stuck up there.” You heard the smirk in his remark, and you resist to roll your eyes a third time. He snickered. “Careful now, dont give yourself a headache.”

You sigh, pinching your nosebridge. “You are doing a good enough job.”

Boothill sighs heartily. “Ah, you are so easy to rile up.” You grit your teeth, trying not to prove him right. Ignoring him, you finally turn away from the window. Boothill opened his eyes, the red target meeting your eyes. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

“Tell me about the murders.” You say, watching his smirk disappear. He sighed, sitting up.

“Alright, ill talk to you about the victims.” He began recounting what he knew, how each disappearance happened and all the clues pointing to every which way. You nodded along, storing every detail inside your mind. Boothill spoke with a surprising amount of knowledge about the murders. You had to admit, you were impressed, although you would never give the cyborg the satisfaction of admitting it aloud. As you listened to the details, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The whole situation seemed odd. None of the clues made sense, and all the victims had died in different ways. Nothing about the murders added up.

You furrowed your brows in concentration. What could any of this mean? The metallic hum of Boothill’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, sugar?”

Ignoring his tease, you glance back to him. “Well none of those clues make sense. What do those clues mean?” You mused.

[illuminatedquill]

Short Story Summary: Hera Syndulla arrives at Sabine and Ezra's comm tower to drop off the first print editions of their personal trading cards.

*For @alphaofdarkness and @jedi-nurse who inspired this with their conversations on the Discord server. Hope you like it.

Lothal, Early Morning - Sabine and Ezra's Comm Tower

The characteristic soft chime that played whenever someone was waiting below in the comm tower's courtyard alerted Ezra to their guest's presence. Setting down the data-pad he had been browsing through for the Holo-Net's daily news, he stood and walked over to a nearby monitor at the security station that had been recently installed by Sabine as a precaution.

After all, the last time a guest had arrived she had ended up with a lightsaber stabbed through her abdomen. It was not an experience she wished to repeat again.

Shooing a curious Murley off the console, he pushed a button. The monitor's screen lit up, showing the crisp image of the tower's courtyard - and the familiar face of their guest.

Smiling, he spoke into the intercom. "Hello, Hera."

The green-skinned Twi'lek smiled back and waved at the camera. Seeing her face, practically the same since he had first seen it over a decade ago, always filled Ezra with a sense of warmth and comfort. Hera had been a steady friend, mentor, and surrogate mother to him during the hectic early days of the Rebellion. She was the eternal bedrock of the Spectres, the foundation from which all of them had built their new lives upon.

He noted the casual outfit she wore today: not her usual flight uniform, but a fashionable beige sport jacket, dark brown tunic, slim, high waisted pants, complete with comfortable walking boots. Grasped in her hands was a slim, non-descript wooden case.

"Retirement looks good on you, General," he remarked.

Hera snorted. "Semi-retirement. I was practically forced into it by Leia. She was very insistent."

"It's well-deserved," he replied. "And long overdue."

"And boring," she retorted. "I need structure, Ezra. A mission."

He laughed. "So, you're hiring yourself out as a delivery service now?"

She scowled at him. "Gotta do something. I'm still helping people, at least."

"And not getting shot at or participating in dog fights with pirates is presumably a benefit, as well," Ezra added.

"Eh," she said, waving a careless hand. "I kind of miss it, sometimes."

Hera peered up at the camera. "Are you going to let me up or we just going to chit-chat like this all day? I've got other places to be, you know."

Ezra grinned and let her in.

The slim wooden case lay open on the worktable, revealing the contents within. Ezra peered over it, taking in the sight of what Hera had brought.

She sipped at a caf, a special blend of Hera's favorite flavors. "Thanks for this," she said gratefully.

"Of course," Ezra responded. He picked up one of the items within the wooden case and observed it more closely: a trading card, thin and metallic. With a sense of bemusement, he inspected the image of himself on it, conforming to what he had perceived at the time of the photoshoot to be a "heroic" pose: his lightsaber activated and held in a basic guard position.

There was at least a dozen more of these contained within the wooden case.

"Where's Sabine?" Hera asked.

Ezra nodded towards the section of the comm tower's interior, where the master bedroom was located. "Sleeping in. She just returned from Mandalore late last night."

"Busy days for her, huh," Hera said.

Ezra shrugged, still eyeing the trading card in his hand. "Bo needs her to keep the clans in line."

He shook his head. "I can't believe these are actually real. A Jedi on a trading card."

"Hey, don't knock it," Hera said. "Skywalker's got a bunch, too."

Ezra's eyes widened. "Luke? How did the New Republic convince him to do this?"

"Same way we did with you. He had similar concerns: that Jedi shouldn't be involved in this sort of publicity, even with benevolent intentions," Hera explained. She paused to take a brief sip of her caf before continuing. "To counter this, the government pitched that it was for historical purposes. It was a good way to get the young ones across the galaxy up to date with knowledge of galactic affairs and the people who shaped them."

He blinked, remembering the exact same explanation being given to him. "It's a little scary that they found a way to trick Jedi into this."

Hera shrugged. "You're both history nerds. And there's no harm in giving the kids heroes to root for. I think you both appreciate that fact."

Ezra studied the cards some more, smiling a little. Living as an orphan on the streets of Imperial controlled Lothal, he would have given anything to have a fun side hobby like that.

"Leia, her husband Han, Skywalker, and Lando all have their own trading cards, too," Hera commented. She reached down and plucked a card from within the wooden case. "Everyone in the Ghost crew, also. Me, Zeb, Kanan - even Chopper."

Ezra snorted. He glanced over at the trading card Hera was holding, this one featuring Sabine. She was wearing one of her go-to civilian outfits, her head encased in a speeder-bike helmet. The characteristic Sabine Wren smirk was also in vivid display, along with one other feature that immediately caught his attention.

He frowned. "That can't be recent," he said. "When did she grow out her hair?"

Hera turned to him, surprised. "Right," she said. "You weren't here to see that."

She offered him the trading card. Ezra took it, gazing softly down at the image of his wife.

"She's beautiful," was all he could say. He had only ever seen Sabine with short hair, a necessity with her Mandalorian helmet. Even when she had come to rescue him on Peridea, Sabine had worn a short pixie-style cut. Ezra had assumed that had been her style the entire time he had been gone.

The deep purple he remembered from Peridea was present, but it blended beautifully with the longer locks of burning red. It reminded him of the gouts of flame bursting forth he had seen in paintings of dying stars; the effect of her dye colors presented the look of pure starfire flowing down her shoulders.

"Yeah, Sabine had these done a while ago," Hera confirmed.

"But they're just being released now?" Ezra asked. "Why?"

She sighed. "It took quite a bit of convincing for Sabine to acquiesce to this decision. You know how she is with public facing stuff like this."

Ezra winced, imagining the conversations between Sabine and the New Republic officials to be short and one-sided. Despite her brash exterior, he knew his wife to be an immensely private person, preferring to keep out of the public eye.

"I finally got her to agree, but Sabine would only do it on two conditions: first, that she would have a say in how the cards were designed. If her face was going to be on them, she wanted to ensure that the cards were artistically up to her standards."

Ezra smiled slightly. Sounds like her, he thought. Art was Sabine's first love, before she met him. She would want to make sure that the artwork showcased on the trading cards was befitting of the heroes they featured.

"What was the second condition?" he asked.

Hera cocked her head at him, her eyes suddenly wistful. "That her trading cards would only be sold as a set, not to be separated for any reason."

Ezra's brow furrowed. "She wanted her card to be permanently paired up with another?"

"Yes, Ezra," said Hera quietly. "Yours."

His eyes widened at the revelation.

"That's why hers are only being released now," continued Hera. "She was waiting for you."

Ezra was silent, looking over the cards: his and Sabine's, paired together.

Not to be separated for any reason.

He coughed, trying to clear the sudden lump in his throat. Hera clapped him on the shoulder.

"I think they look better together," she observed wryly. "Don't you?"

Ezra smiled; his eyes were moist with emotion. "Yeah," he agreed. "They do."

Sabine wandered out of the bedroom a little after mid-day. Her hair was sticking up on one end; eyes still bleary from the long sleep, she shuffled over to the couch and sat down next to Ezra.

"Had a good sleep?" he asked her.

She laid her head onto his shoulder. "Mmmmm. First soft bed in weeks. Heavenly isn't strong enough to describe it."

He kissed her head softly. "Is Mandalore still doing alright? No one's gunning for another civil war? "

"Yeah, clan meeting went nice and smoothly," she replied drowsily. "Boring."

Ezra chuckled, strongly reminded of Hera's same response earlier this morning.

"Sounds like progress," he mused.

She shifted her head on his shoulder, moving into a more comfortable position. "Heard you talking with someone. Was it Hera?"

He nodded. Sabine grimaced. "You should have woken me up, goober."

"You were tired. Hera didn't mind. Said she'll call later, to catch up with you."

Sabine didn't argue back, which was an indication of just how exhausted she still was. "What did she want?"

Ezra produced from his pocket the trading cards. "She was dropping these off."

His wife sneaked a glance at them and let out a surprised breath. "Karabast," she muttered. "I forgot these were a thing."

"Freshly minted, first edition," he bragged. "Super rare and valuable, I'm told."

She snorted. "Whatever. We should sell them and buy tickets to a star cruise."

Setting the cards down on the worktable, Ezra grinned and hugged his wife close. "I'm also told," he said gently, "that ours are not to be sold separately."

Sabine went quiet.

He reached over and laced his hand in hers. "It's very thoughtful of you," he whispered. "Thank you."

She squeezed his hand back. "We're a package deal, Ezra. I don't want anyone separating us ever again. Even in something as silly as trading cards."

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #11] Perry

warnings: birds! jaykay gets kissed in a club :( paint party! fun!! b and jk then proceed to have a totally platonic shower :) normal friend things!!

soundtrack: better - khalid; & cry! - middle part

wc: 5.9k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

Jeongguk ignores the look on Taehyung's face as you enter the bar that evening. It's not the hug that Jeongguk greets you with that's unusual, nor your typically sparkling appearance - but the smile on Jeongguk's lips? Yeah. Taehyung hasn't seen one like that in a while.

Still, he doesn't make a big deal of it, for Danbi's following just behind you. He's far more interested in his attempts (and failures) to chat her up, instead.

Namjoon watches on with shallow curiosity. His watchful eyes lounge on you as he takes a sip on his drink, a little more reserved than the others. Taehyung and Jimin greet you and Danbi like old friends, and in a way, it sort of feels like they are.

The club is empty - hasn't opened to punters yet, and won't for another half an hour. The suppliers hired for the paint cannons are still setting up; doing test runs into an empty space where patrons should be. It's strange to see this perspective of a club. Like a liminal space, it feels like you shouldn't be there - but the boys are unphased. Are used to it by now.

"And Hoseok?" Jeongguk questions when he notices the lack of sunshine shadowing behind you.

"Having drinks with the boys," you tell him without much care. You forget Jeongguk isn't as intricately weaved into your social life as he is into your personal life.

"The boys?" 

He doesn't mean to sound so affronted, but he'd always just assumed it was the singular boy; that your little trio was a friendship that existed within a vacuum. Of course, it doesn't. You've an entire social circle that he's none the wiser of.

You pay his confusion no mind. "Yeah. How are you? How have you been?"

The conversation moves on, Jeongguk leading you into the room behind the bar in which they're pregaming.

"It's technically the staff room," he says with a shrug. "But what the boss doesn't know can't hurt him."

There's an airiness to his demeanour; his tipsy brain just as fluffy as the clouds that float around the ends of rainbows. There's safety there. No promises of gold, just certainty of a stable foundation. 

It's a side to him you've never had the luxury of witnessing before, but part of you feels like you always knew he'd be like this. Always knew how he'd smile after a few drinks; how his giggle would sound just that little bit brighter.

"No Seoyeon tonight?" Jimin asks Yoongi as he arrives just a little after you. His cheeks are pink, the clammy heat of the club already getting to him, even when it's empty. Namjoon passes him a bottle of beer, unopened. Yoongi's unphased. Clamps the soft metal cap between his teeth and prizes it off, before he takes a sip and shakes his head.

"Nah, nah, she just dropped me off. Has brunch tomorrow with her friends so doesn't wanna be hungover," he explains as he takes a seat next to Taehyung.

Jeongguk leans over to you, quietly clueing you up. "His fiancée."

"Ah," you nod, before Yoongi turns his attention to you and Danbi.

You're reintroduced, and are quick to learn that Jeongguk and Jimin only ever seem to refer to you as Disco Ball amongst their friends. Yoongi mentions it first - 'you really do look like a disco ball' - but the rest of the boys chime in agreement. 

There's protest from you. Sure, you've got enough glitter to decorate a Christmas card on your eyelids, but your outfit is pretty subdued. Jeongguk had told you not to wear anything fancy - "the paint is water-based, but just in case. Don't want you to wreck your favourite party dress, or anything like that." - and so you'd listened. 

He doesn't tell you, 'cause he doesn't think you'll need it, but Jeongguk brought a spare shirt with him. Just a white one. Big. Wasn't sure if you'd think about the logistics of a paint party - but it isn't your first rodeo. You've been to a handful of events like these in the past, and know what to expect. 

You're in a big white shirt of your own, wearing it like a dress with a flannel layered on top.  Admittedly, the tights are giving disco ball chic - fishnets with teeny tiny gemstones sparkling underneath the dim lights of the backroom. 

Jeongguk can't decide on how the fuck to describe your style. It's not grunge - too sparkly for that. Equally, there's too much of an edge to you for it to be considered 'girly'. He doesn't understand it. Quite likes it, though. Likes that you're still wearing those black hightops you always seem to be in. 

Normally at the club you'd be in heels - but again, it's not your first rodeo. You know better than to tempt the paint party gods with a stiletto and sopping wet floor combination. Learnt that mistake the hard way back in university.

Jeongguk taps his foot against yours. No one else notices, too busy engaged in their own conversations. When you glance down, you realise why - he's in his converse, too. The only shoes he doesn't mind wrecking. They've been through the wars before. A little paint won't hurt them.

You knock his foot back. He smiles. 

There are no words exchanged, just an understanding; you and he are cut from the same cloth.

You pay attention to everyone else's shoes now. Are looking for other kindred spirits. Jimin's in Chelsea boots- black leather, a little tarnished, in need of a polish. 

Taehyung's in brogues for some reason, and you can't think of a worse shoe to have chosen for such an occasion. So many holes. So much to wreck.

Danbi, ever smart, ever stylish, is in a pair of white sneakers. She knows the game she's come to play. It's why she's in all white, too. 

Yoongi and Namjoon are both sporting Nikes, not too fussed about the evening ahead. 

And so it's just you and Jeongguk. You tap your feet against the floor and smile. "Stop copying me."

"I was here first, Byeol," he banters back, but is cut off by Yoongi declaring the need for you all to play a card game. It's one you don't think you've heard of, but make no objection. With the number of drinking games you've played over the last few years, you're almost certain you'll know it.

He deals cards and you quickly come to realise that you don't know the rules. Jeongguk tells you it's fine - "I'll help you out, c'mere." - and encourages you to show him your cards. He organises them; gets them in an order that will work for the game.

"Hey, I'm just as clueless!" Danbi pouts, and so Jimin grabs her cards to redistribute them. 

"We'll work as a team," he says, eyes flicking over to Taehyung, just to check how he feels about it. Danbi is oblivious, but you catch the way Taehyung raises his brows in Jimin's direction. There's a slight smirk on his lips. 

"Don't mind them," Jeongguk mumbles quietly, just for you to hear. "Jimin's just winding him up. Told Tae if he doesn't make a move that he will instead. Think he's just trying to encourage him. Making him be proactive, yanno?"

"He better bloody be," you muse, taking a sip on the drink Jeongguk had put in front of you when he started messing about with your cards. Tequila slammer. Fucking vile. Does get you fucked up, though.

"Jealous, are we, Byeol?" he smirks, swapping one of your cards with his. "Here, it'll help."

You don't dignify him with a response. It's a stupid thing to tease you about, because you know there's no way in hell Danbi would sleep with Jimin. While sharing is caring, sexual partners aren't something the pair of you have ever shared. Hasn't happened before, and won't happen in the future. It's an unspoken rule.

One that Jeongguk would do well to remember.

The evening carries on just as it began; light banter, drinks far too strong, and electromagnetic force somehow keeping you and Jeongguk attached at the hip. You're in the smoking area far more than you are on the dancefloor. You're not smoking, mind you, just talking nonsense. Making bets. Being stupid. 

"Have you read him yet?" You ask when Jeongguk finally presents you with Perry the paper pigeon.

He shakes his head. Bites his lip. "No. You can do the honours."

He watches your hands as you unfold the paper, but the soft laugh you produce draws his attention to your face. 

"Ask for someone's number," you read out, bemused at how shy Jeongguk apparently is.

He groans. "God, that's so embarrassing."

"Nooo," you laugh, drunk body swaying into his a little. He's giggling too, now. Can't seem to help it. "It's cute."

"So lame."

"Shut up," you beam. "It's a start! A good bloody place to start as well. Something easy."

Jeongguk vehemently disagrees. Tells you as such. Says, "imagine asking for a number and getting rejected over something so simple. Would be mortifying. A very valid fear."

"So you go for a girl you know is interested," you say. "Look, this is the best place for it. Remember how many girls find you on Instagram after they come here? It won't be any different now that you're out from behind the bar. If anything, you've got far more chances!"

He spends the next fifteen minutes moaning about it. You decide a drink is the only remedy to his whining.

You order four Purple Starfuckers from Yeonjun. Jeongguk is offended. Insists he can make them, despite the fact he is quite literally covered head to toe in paint. and has a permanent grin from just how tipsy he is. Yeonjun tells him no. Says the bar is off-limits. Jeongguk says he'll fire him, and Yeonjun just laughs in his face. 

"Alright. Bet you 10,000 you won't remember trying to fire me in the morning."

"Deal."

"Disco Ball, you're our witness," the blue-haired menace winks towards you. "Make sure he pays up."

"Aye, aye, captain," you wink back, and instantly regret the rogue pirate shtick because Jeongguk looks at you like you've got three heads. 

"The fuck?"

"What?"

"Captain," he snorts. "Captain."

"Oh, don't get jealous," you tease. "Is this because you want me to call you Daddy, again?"

This time, Yeonjun stops what he's doing. Looks at the pair of you with a slack jaw and wild eyes. Doesn't know what the fuck is going on between you, but knows he wants to watch every second of it unfold. 

When he serves you shots, he smirks. "Here you go. Captain," he nods in your direction, and then in Jeongguk's. "Daddy."

"Never call me that again," Jeongguk gags. 

"Sure thing, Daddio."

"Oh my God." 

Yeonjun walks away laughing to himself, all very amused. Will never stop calling Jeongguk Daddy now that he knows it'll get a rise out of him. Imagines you'll probably get a very different kind of rise out of him when you call him Daddy, but that's neither here nor there.

"I hate you for that," Jeongguk tells you, and you kind of believe him - but God, that broad smile of his is on full display, and the glitter on your skin is reflecting in his eyes like a clear nights sky. Impossible to feel anything remotely close to hatred around him, you think.

"It doesn't matter," you tell him, having noticed the girl behind the pair of you check him out at least three times since you've been at the bar. You kind of recognise her. Think you must have seen her before, whether it be on his follower's list or in the club. She seems like a safe bet. Interested.

"Girl behind you - look, quickly, but don't make it obvious -" Jeongguk turns around like a deer in headlights. "I said don't make it obvious! The girl with the high pony. She's been looking at you for a while now. I think she's into you."

Suddenly, Jeongguk feels very out of his depth. "Maybe we should go outside."

"Nope," you say so sternly that he feels like he's being told off at school. "Perry says you have to ask a girl for her number. Just a number. It's not a big deal. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She'll say no."

"Boo-hoo. Cry about it. It's two letters, Gguk. One word. It won't ruin your life. Here -" you pass him the final Purple Starfucker "- Down it. You've got this. If she says no, fuck her."

"If she says no to giving me her number, I don't think she'll want to fuck."

"Christ, not literally, Gguk." You spin his shoulders around. Give him a nudge. "Go. Do it."

He takes a breath. Psyches himself up. Swallows back the taste of his shot - which is a lot better than the tequila slammers he's been drinking all night - and catches her eye.

You retreat back a little bit, trying to make yourself look busy. Yeonjun watches on from the bar, even more confused than he was before. Were the two of you not just flirting? Are you not definitely boning? He could have sworn you were.

The DJ transitions into a shitty remix of an old Sean Paul song, and you wish you'd have kept Jeongguk around for a little longer to orchestrate a better soundtrack for him. None of the crowd cares how shitty it is though - cannons are launching buckets of neon paint onto revellers, covering every inch of the place in a technicolour haze. 

Your flannel shirt is in the backrooms, as is your bag. Danbi's handprints are on your tits, yours on her ass, but the rest of your shirt is just a haphazard mess of colour. There's no rhyme nor reason; just paint. So much fucking paint. It feels like you're back at work. 

A mirror runs along the back of the bar, and you use it to observe Jeongguk's adventure. You kind of feel like a proud parent as they begin to talk.

"Hey," the girl smiles. Jeongguk thinks she sounds sweet. A lot raspier than he expected. He quite likes that, though - although he can't really hear her all that well above the bass of the speakers. The way her lips curve thanks to his approach makes him feel a lot more secure in his endeavour. "You're normally behind the bar, right? I think I've seen you before."

"Oh," Jeongguk cringes, a little embarrassed. This is why he doesn't go for punters. He hates that there's never a clean slate. Always feels unfair. "Yeah, yeah. I manage the bar. I'm surprised you noticed."

"Well you do a very good job," she compliments, twirling a little hair from her ponytail with her index finger.

"I do?"

"I keep coming back," she shrugs. "So you must do. Could be something to do with how cute the bar manager is, though."

You watch on as he talks to her, bemused by the way his weight shifts from one foot to the other. Clearly nervous, you think it's wild that Jeongguk is so scared of rejection. He's a catch. Sure, his working hours are a bit unsociable, and maybe he doesn't have life figured out just yet, but you don't think he's too far off.

It'll take a little time for him to get where he wants to be in life, but he's actively working for it. He's studying, laying down foundations. Has a great social circle and is yet to present any qualities you think could be problematic for a healthy, enduring relationship. In a room of walking red flags, he's gleaming white.

"Who is she?" Yoongi asks with great intrigue as he comes to stand beside you.

"Not a clue."

"Does he know who she is?" He laughs. Knows that you and Jeongguk have only been hanging out for a little while, but can also read the dynamic between the pair of you fairly well. Knows that your opinion clearly matters to Jeongguk, and is trying to gauge your thoughts. 

"Hopefully he will do soon," you say with a warm smile. The girl is laughing at something Jeongukk has said, making his bashful gaze all the more endearing. "He's getting her number."

Yoongi chokes on his drink. "Holy shit."

It's been months since Jeongguk has even entertained the idea of another girl. Maybe even a year. Yoongi might not have known the ins and outs of his former fling, but he knows Jeongguk hasn't quite been the same since.

"Uh-huh."

"Is this Jeon Jeongguk finally back in the game?"

"Could be."

"Well, I never," Yoongi exhales. "You know how many times we've tried to get him back in the saddle?"

"You needed a woman's touch," you laugh, biting down on your lip slightly as you watch Jeongguk scratch at the back of his head. The girl is laughing, flirting, clearly. She rests her hand on his bicep, and Jeongguk seems all shy again. He looks up. Catches your gaze quickly. Doesn't let it linger, but finds himself thinking he should end the conversation and report back on everything that's happened - but when he looks back to you, he sees you engaged in conversation with Yoongi and decides against it.

"Clearly," Yoongi agrees. "I dunno what you've done to him, but he's finally acting like himself again."

"I'm just a good distraction," you shrug. 

You're right. You are. You make Jeongguk forget all about his inner turmoil, cause he's always worried about yours instead. He's thinking about it now, as the girl's hand lingers on his shirt. Trails down his arm. Reaches for his hand.

"Y'know, I've actually gotta get back to my friends," he says. He's snagged on thoughts about you. Nothing in particular. Just the fact that you exist. That you're there. That he's not hanging out with you, and he feels like he should be.

She nods. "Yeah, me too. Text me, yeah?"

He returns the nod, almost too eagerly. "I will. Have a good night, yeah?"

She pulls a little on his hand. Is aiming for a kiss she isn't gonna get.

But then Jeongguk feels your gaze on him again, and there's pressure to perform; to act as if he's doing well, as if he isn't absolutely shitting himself. He doesn't stop her when she leans in. Doesn't stop her when her palm rests on his chest. Doesn't stop her when her lips press against his. 

He wouldn't say he's encouraging it per say, but he definitely is letting it happen. He's not against it. In fact, he actually quite likes it.

"You're a miracle worker," Yoongi tells you. 

"Miracle workers deserve free drinks," you tease, because you're very much in need of one. 

"Right you are," he agrees, and turns to the bar. 

You let your eyes linger, watching Jeongguk as his awkward arm finally moves from the frigid position next to his body to the small of her back. Wonder if he tastes more like tequila or lemonade. Think it doesn't really matter. You don't like either.

"Stop staring, you perv," Yoongi calls back to you and tells you to choose your drink. Says it's on him, but you both know it's on Jeongguk's tab.

When he finally returns, there's a triumphant smile on his lips. Proud. And you have to admit, you feel a little pride, too. The Jeongguk you met a few months ago would have never kissed a stranger in a bar. 

The night rolls on without a hitch. 

Danbi and Taehyung leave first. Leave together. You don't think anything will happen - you know she's playing hardball - but it's an achievement nonetheless. Also proves that there was nothing to be concerned about when it came to Jimin, who also left around the same time with a random girl none of you knew. 

Yoongi ends up calling Seoyeon, gushing about how much he misses her and is in a taxi no more than five minutes later. Namjoon hops in for the ride, leaving you and Jeongguk to meander back to his place. 

By the time you arrive, the paint is dry on your skin; cracking. It's uncomfortable to say the least, and earned you some questionable looks when you ran into a takeaway to pick up some chips on the way back.

You blabber gibberish together like you so often do. You're both too tipsy for your own good. Jeongguk feels like he's been chewing on a ball of cotton wool. You immediately head for his fridge to retrieve a bottle of water. Just one. You'll share.

"She was pretty," you say softly, sitting on the floor of his kitchen. Side by side, you're watching the sun rise through his windows.

Jeongguk nods. Feels like he's being tested. Doesn't know the right answer, so he goes with the truth. "Yeah."

There's silence. Neither of you really want to discuss it. You're not sure why.

He steals one of your chips. Knocks his shoulder against yours. "The boys seem to like you."

"You think?"

He nods, and says, "you should meet Seoyeon, too. Next time we all do something, I'll let you know. She's always saying how we need more women around. I think you'd get along."

You smile. Yoongi is so easygoing that you're sure Seoyeon must be just as friendly. "I'd like that."

The silence resumes. There's a heaviness. It's probably just the alcohol, and it's probably nothing serious, but Jeongguk hates it. Things with you have only ever been light. Airy. Easy. It's not that it feels difficult now, just... different. Abnormal. Strange. 

"I-"

"Do-"

The jarring nature of your voices speaking over one another is unsettling. You bicker all the time. It's not unusual for you to fully disregard the words he speaks just to voice your own dumb point, and he often does just the same. There's no reason why either of you would stop talking now. 

You're holding back.

So is he. 

He takes another chip. Doesn't eat it. Throws it at you instead. 

"You little fucker," you laugh, and so does he. 

But then the silence settles again. Makes itself at home. Tucks itself into bed, says it going to stay for a little while.

"Byeol," Jeongguk eventually says, so quietly it's almost a whisper. His eyes are wise as he looks at the golden sun that rises on the horizon. 

"Hmm?"

"The longer the paint sits... the harder it will be to get out of our clothes."

"Mmm," you nod. "You're probably right."

"I am," he tells you. He knows he is. It's not his first rodeo, either. "We should..."

His words are weighted so heavily that they become lodged in his throat. He's drunk, and he knows he maybe shouldn't suggest what he's about to but he can't seem to help himself.

"We still have a bird to do."

You know what he's insinuating. Your first bird. The waterpark one. The one that was totally botched because it was more important to try than it was to be faithful to words written on paper.

"Gguk..."

He's not looking at you, just at the sunrise. "It's just a shower. Just to get the paint out. It's nothing like, deep. Doesn't mean anything."

You don't say anything. Truthfully, you think now is a really good time to do it. Things are so much easier when you're drunk.

"You kissed another girl tonight," you remind him.

He nods. "Mhmm."

"Do you not think that maybe it's a bad idea? A conflict of interest?"

He shrugs. "Think about it. Why did I kiss a girl tonight?"

"Because you wanted to?"

"Because I'm trying, Byeol. We made a commitment. Made those damn birds, and said we'd do them. You told me to get her number."

"Actually," you interrupt. "The bird did."

"Exactly. I did what the bird told me to do - but only after you encouraged me to do it, too."

"The bird never told you to kiss her. And the stakes are a little higher, here, no? Showering together surely is... I don't know. More?"

More of what, you couldn't say. Your tipsy brain isn't connecting all the dots. Nor is his. You both know it's a bad idea. You both also confusingly think it's a really good idea.

"No," he says, all rather plainly. "It's no different to the waterpark - it's just that maybe this time we'll need to wash our hair."

You consider the proposal. It's tempting. It really is. 

"Clothes on?" You ask.

"Yeah," he nods. "If you want."

"Y'know, for someone with a fear of rejection, you're pretty forward."

"I'm not scared of you," he laughs. "It's different."

And he really thinks it is. Thinks that it doesn't count. Thinks you're an exception, not the rule.

If you were sober, you'd tell him to fuck off.

But you're not sober.

And you're feeling a little irritated with the fact he's made progress and you haven't. Failure isn't something you enjoy, and being behind feels like failure to you.

So you stand. Kick your shoes off and pick them up. They'll need to go under the water, too. "Are you coming?"

For some reason, he's startled. Doesn't know what he was expecting. Maybe more refusal? Maybe he was looking for you to reinforce the boundaries already established by the pair of you.

But instead, you walk towards his bathroom. Start the shower up. Toss your shoes beneath the falling water, and call for him again. "Am I doing this alone, or what?"

You're standing by the basin by the time he approaches the door. He leans against the frame. Looks at you in a way you don't quite understand. You don't realise he took so long 'cause he had to sort his breathing out first - make sure he actually was still breathing. 

"You go first," you whisper so quietly he almost doesn't hear you above the torrent of water cascading down onto the tiled floor. 

He pauses before he reaches the water. "If you need to tap out, just say the word."

"What word?" You grin, as if anything like that has ever been discussed before. 

"Oh. Shit. I dunno," he smiles back. "Um... Chicken?"

"Chicken?"

"Chicken."

"Alright. Chicken it is."

You think it's fucking ridiculous, and you're right. It is. But it gets you both laughing. Has Jeongguk holding his hand out for you and pulling you into the water with him. Eases the weight on your shoulders as he rubs some of the now wet paint from your cheeks. 

"See, told you it'd be better to wash it off," he says a little triumphantly, his pretty teeth resting down on his bottom lip.

You reach up and reciprocate his kindness. "You're such a mess."

"So are you." 

Well and truly stained, your shirt is peach as the water runs through it. Jeongguk holds the shower head up and lets it run over your body, but there's nothing inherently intimate about it. Nothing sexual. It's platonic in potentially the weirdest way it could be - but most importantly, it feels safe. 

Again, you reciporcate. Let him take the lead. You can follow.

But then he catches you off guard.

"I'm gonna take my shirt off. There's paint underneath it I wanna get off."

The news is delivered so carefully that you almost think you're imagining it. Think that your tipsy brain has run wild - until he says, "okay?"

He waits for you to nod before he does it. 

Once you do, he grips the back of his neck, and pulls the shirt over his head. It falls to the ground with a thud. The water around it runs green. Your eyes are on the trail that seeps into the drain, and not him.

"Should I?" you ask quietly. "Should I take mine off?"

Jeongguk watches you closely. His heart thumps in his chest. He swallows. Studies your eyes; how they're refusing to look at his. Makes note of your shoulders and how they're slightly more curved than usual. You're cowering. Are a shadow of yourself. It really does seem like there's a deep-rooted fear, here. He feels guilty.

"If you want," he says. His voice is gentle. Temperate. Kind. "There's nothing to be scared of, Byeol. It's just me. Just us."

And you know he's right. The stakes are so low with him that it really feels like there's nothing to lose. What's the worst that could happen?

He'd see your body. That would be it. It wouldn't matter if he liked it or not. You're not seeking his approval. You know he wouldn't tell you his thoughts either way. Wouldn't comment on your appearance like that.

When you finally grace him with your gaze, he turns around; back to you, hands up like a white flag. You take in the sight of him; shoulders broad, the dip of his spine running like a river down his back. His efforts at the gym aren't for nothing.

You start to feel bad for evaluating him. It's all complimentary, but you shouldn't be looking at him like that. Not when you've just told yourself he wouldn't do the same to you.

"Tell me something," he says, not favouring the silence.

"Mhmm?"

"Why was this on your list?"

He hears your shirt slap against the floor of his bathroom, and then the soft pat of your feet on wet tiles as you turn around, too. It's only fair if his back is also turned. 

You're still in your fishnets, but you've only got a matching black underwear set on beneath them. Jeongguk's still wearing his trousers - until, pretty soon after your shirt is discarded, so are they.

Now it feels even. You're both are bare as one another.

"No reason."

Jeongguk knows you're lying. "I'll choose to believe you."

You smile. The way he speaks to you makes you want to tell him. Tell him everything. It's just stupid insecurities; nothing obscenely deep-rooted, you think. Chalk it up to a couple bad experiences. Underestimate just how severely Seokjin fucked with your head. 

"It's stupid," you whine.

"I highly doubt that."

And so you relent. "It's my fault, really. I... You ever just have like a gut feeling?"

"Sometimes."

"Had one of those, once. In the shower," your sentence comes out a little staggered. A little awkward. "Was with my ex and I just... His hair had smelt like candyfloss all week. Said it was a new shampoo."

Jeongguk thinks he knows where this is going. You pause. 

"Anyway, I did his hair," you continue a little flippantly. You're playing it off like it was no big deal. "He did mine. Yada yada yada, you know the rest. Realised later that evening that his shampoo was fucking mint scented. No sweetness, no nothing. So... yeah. The candyfloss scent..."

"Was someone else's shampoo?" Jeongguk guesses the end of your sentence, and is correct.

"He still denies it," you say. "I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Found myself in this god-awful cycle of insisting that we showered together - just so I knew he wasn't showering with someone else - only to end up crying halfway through it every single time. He was so fucking fed up with me by the end of it all. Told me I was fucked in the head. Said that if he did do the shit I'd accused him of, then it'd be my fault for driving him to it."

"Christ," Jeongguk hisses. He's heard some manipulative shit in his time, but that really fucking takes the biscuit.

You hum in agreement. Sound small when you say, "he smelt like candyfloss again the week before he ended things."

Jeongguk's at a loss for words. Wants to wrap you up in cotton wool. Can't believe someone would actually do that to you.

"Byeol?"

"Mhmm?" 

"Your ex-boyfriend's a prick."

"Yeah," you laugh, but it's cut short. There's a stutter in your diaphragm. You let out a deep breath. Hold back the pathetic tears you know are just dying to get out of your system. "Yeah, he was. Kind of my fault, though, isn't it? I'm the one who let him lie to me. Should have known better."

The fact you blame yourself is devastating to him.

"I'm gonna turn around," he says. "And I'm gonna give you a hug, okay?"

You nod, not that he can see it. Choke an "okay" out, and within a second, Jeongguk's arms are wrapped around you. He squeezes you tight, skin warm, heat beat firm beneath his ribs. Your back is to his chest, his head resting on yours. "He's such a fucking prick. It wasn't your fault, Byeol. Wasn't your fault at all."

He's never met your ex, but he decides there's no one in the world he despises more. Doesn't like violence; would definitely consider it for him.

You shrug. "Feels like it was."

"It wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

"Shit happens." 

He hates the way you deflect. Knows you'll never change, but dear lord, does he wish you'd realise that it's okay to struggle. 

There's a slight shift in your body, and he knows it means you're done with the hug. Been vulnerable for too long. Wanna get back to the 'normal' version of you.

You're still covered in paint, so Jeongguk tells you as such. You apologise for being such a mess - emotionally and physically. 

"S'cool. We both are, Byeol."

He leaves you to get washed up alone. Thinks you could do with a little privacy, and it means he can get his room sorted before your arrival into it. 

There's a scowl on his face as he organises the pillows. Can't believe how manipulative your ex had been. How dare he make you think you were imagining things, when it was evident he'd been straying. How dare he make you feel like that.

Jeongguk's no saint. He's done his fair share of fucked up things, but never anything like that. It infuriates him. Makes him want to fucking cry - partially out of frustration, but mainly because of how badly it had affected you.

He thinks of the night before you'd made the birds, and wishes you'd have just gone out with Danbi and Hoseok instead of seeing your ex.

You take your time in the shower. Are sad to wash off the feeling of Jeongguk's embrace, but know that you have to. You'd get too consumed by it otherwise. 

He leaves you a spare shirt outside the bathroom door, and tells you to come through to his room when you're ready. Jimin is still out, presumably asleep in some other girl's bed, so Jeongguk doesn't care too much for sneaking you around - not that he has to. You're just friends.

He takes the floor. Doesn't give himself half as many pillows as he gave you the last time. Still leaves his special pillows for you, though. 

"Uh-uh," you shake your head as you come into his room to find him already curled up in the pillow pile. "On your bed. I'm on the floor."

He shakes his head right back, defiant. "Too sleepy to argue. Go to bed, Byeol."

You're about to fight back. About to quite physically move him up onto his bed - but the soft sound of paper against pillows distracts you. 

"Shit."

Jeongguk sits up. "What is it- Oh. Shit."

You both just stare for a moment. Freeze, like you're in some kind of low-budget action movie. Look at his bed, then look at one another.

Another bird has fallen.

And as Jeongguk assesses from how bloody wonky it is, it's definitely one of yours.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Photo of Bob Dylan and Sara Lownds, Woodstock, NY, by Daniel Kramer(1965)

(Not Dark Yet)

* * * *

With your mercury mouth In the missionary times And your eyes like smoke And your prayers like rhymes And your silver cross, And your voice like chimes Oh, who do they think could bury you?

With your pockets well Protected at last And your streetcar visions Which you place on the grass And your flesh like silk, And your face like glass Who could they get to carry you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands Where the sad-eyed prophet Says that no man comes My warehouse eyes, My Arabian drums Should I put them by your gate Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal And your belt like lace And your deck of cards Missing the jack and the ace And your basement clothes And your hollow face Who among them can think he could outguess you?

With your silhouette When the sunlight dims Into your eyes Where the moonlight swims And your match-book songs And your gypsy hymns Who among them would try to impress you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands Where the sad-eyed prophets Say that no man comes My warehouse eyes, My Arabian drums Should I put them by your gate Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus With their convict list Are waiting in line For their geranium kiss And you wouldn't know It would happen like this But who among them really wants just to kiss you?

With your childhood flames On your midnight rug And your Spanish manners, And your mother's drugs And your cowboy mouth And your curfew plugs Who among them do you think could resist you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands Where the sad-eyed prophets Say that no man comes My warehouse eyes, My Arabian drums Should I leave them by your gate Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen They all did decide To show you where the dead angels Are that they used to hide But why did they pick you To sympathize with their side? How could they ever mistake you?

They wished you'd accepted The blame for the farm But with the sea at your feet And the phony false alarm And with the child of the hoodlum Wrapped up in your arms How could they ever have persuaded you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands Where the sad-eyed prophets Say that no man comes My warehouse eyes, My Arabian drums Should I leave them by your gate Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory Of Cannery Row And your magazine husband Who one day just had to go And your gentleness now, Which you just can't help but show Who among them do you think would employ you?

Now you stand with your thief, You're on his parole With your holy medallion And your fingertips now that fold And your saintlike face And your ghostlike soul Who among them could ever think it could destroy you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands Where the sad-eyed prophets Say that no man comes My warehouse eyes, My Arabian drums Should I leave them by your gate Or, sad-eyed lady, Should I wait?”

[justalittleficsideblog]

latte art

Choso x Reader coffeeshopAU!

Just a lil meet cute where Choso sees you enter a cafe and decides to use some of his new skills to impress you...

work count: 1.2k

“I see you layered your guyliner on extra thick today, Choso.”

Rolling said eyes, Choso dug through the counter and grabbed a bag of decaf beans to hand over to his pink-haired coworker.

He caught his reflection in the metallic of the espresso machine. It wasn’t that his eyeliner was layered extra thick, it was more a matter that he had never removed it from the night before.

And that he might’ve fell asleep while studying.

On his desk.

In the library.

“I never took it off.”  

Yuji blinked at him, taking the coffee and getting to work on another customer’s order. Choso had made it a habit to watch over the semi-new hire when he was assigned to the latte art and more complex orders. He had a tendency to overfill the cups.  

A chime sounded, indicating someone had stepped into the café.

Brows furrowed, he glanced at the clock. It was fairly late in the evening, not so close to closing as he’d hoped which meant they’d hit the “students getting shit done before midnight” crowd of the Sunday evening.

Rolling his neck, Choso adjusted his apron and walked over to the front counter.  

His eyes raked over you for a split second before speaking. “What can I get for you?”

You beamed brightly up at him, and he quickly glanced down at the screen in front of him as he waited for your order. You were a student, that was apparent by your bookbag and sort of worn out exterior. He hadn’t seen you around here last semester, and suddenly he was glad that the rotation of classes made you wander into the shop.

“Oh! And could I also get it with a cup of soup?” He nodded along, brushing a stray hair out of his face as he finished typing up the order.

“For here or to go?” His eyes flicked up to yours, examining your features.

“Here please!” you exclaimed enthusiastically. “I need a change of scenery that isn’t in the library,” you gestured to your backpack.

He nodded, gesturing to the card reader in front of you as you waited to pay.

 Having paid, you found a quaint spot by the window to set your bag down and pull out your ecosystem of electronics, he noticed.

How much could you fit in that bag?

“Hey, Choso. How do I make this again? Don’t I pour the creamer—”

The formerly mentioned male took the label out Yuji’s hands, realizing it was yours.

“I got it,” he grumbled. “Watch the register.”

Yuji sticks his tongue out at him but walked obediently over towards the front, working on the next person’s, much simpler, coffee.

He couldn’t help but glance over at where you were sitting, entirely engrossed in whatever you were doing. He watched as you shuffled through papers, brows furrowed in concentration.

A sudden burning shocked him out of his staring. With a hiss, he reflexively took his hand back that had been in the way of the espresso machine, causing the coffee to pour onto him, rather than into the cup.

He sighed. He’d have to do it again.

Reaching into the cupboard with his now throbbing hand, he grabbed a new cup and slapped your label on it. Now waiting for the drip (from a safe distance), he leaned back against the counter, debating what sort of art he should do in the coffee…

You seemed like the type to appreciate it.

Now determined, he grabbed the creamer, glancing in your direction as he did so. His eyebrows raised as he met your gaze, watching as you shyly glanced back down to your laptop.

Ok, now he had to make this perfect. Not the usual run of the mill that the regulars looked forward to from the other employees.

No fuck ups, Choso.

Squaring his shoulders, he rolled up his sleeves, adjusted his frame, and began to pour.

Carefully holding it in his hands, he swung open the miniature gate that separated the customer and employees sections of the front.

“Hey, what are you—” Yujis eyes snapped to the direction Choso was headed towards. “Ah, oh uh, never mind then.”

Moving into your field of view, Choso gracefully plated the mug in front of you, careful of your papers strewn about the small benchtop.

You gratefully looked up towards him and smiled.

Gahh…

He clenched his jaw subconsciously. He really liked the way the sides of your mouth quirked up when it was directed at him.

“Oh my gosh!” you gasped, cooing over the arguably very adorable cat’s face that was plastered in the middle of your cup. “I literally cannot drink this.”

He nodded silently in approval, his chest lightening a bit that you reacted positively towards it.

Glancing down at his name tag you blurted, “Choso this is the cutest thing that’s ever been added to my coffee order.”

Deciding against the rapid beating that was thundering inside his chest, he replied in kind. “If you’re around again, I’ll give you another one. The older folks don’t care much for that.”

Bullshit, he never did this sort of art on the coffee except for a select group of his employees and friends. He doesn’t know why he even did it for you in the first place, something just drove him to it.

“I hadn’t realized this café did it, I would’ve been in here last semester if I’d known about it” you laughed lightly, hand swishing in the air as you rolled your eyes.

“Why don’t you advertise it? I’m sure people from all over the campus would flock to get it done by you.”

He scrunched his nose. No, he hated making something personal to him so commercialized, the idea of having to do it over and over killed his enjoyment of it.

Shifting his weight, he admitted, “I don’t care much for it to be… marketed. I like the challenge to make new ones out of enjoyment.”

Had he come off as harsh? He admitted he hadn’t talked to a customer like this in well… ever. He didn’t want to come off as a creep, oh no, did he seem like a creep?

“Alright,” your voice cut through his thoughts. “I don’t think you’d know how to do a rose, would you?”

Your smile was enticing, and he licked his bottom lip absentmindedly. Folding his arms, he replied. “You’ll just have to come back and see.”

Eyes narrowing, you stuck your chin out in challenge. “Alright, you’re on then.”

Smirking, he walked back to the counter and shut the swinging door behind him. Yuji quirked an eyebrow at him, “What did you give her?”

“A cat.”

“Holy shit!” He stopped drying a mug, giving Choso his full attention. “Didn’t you just learn that one?”

He shoved his coworker playfully, nodding as he did so. “I’m taking my break.”

Staring blankly after him, yuji’s face broke out into a smile, looking from him to your table.

Tossing the apron onto the stool beside him in the back room, Choso eagerly pulled out his phone and typed into the search bar.

Megumi, who was now clocking in to take over for his pink-haired classmate, secretly peeked over his shoulder.

How to do flower latte art

[anomaly-hivemind]

SCP Elevator Ride

Word Count: 3,991

Summary: A woman who works at the Lovely Foundations ends up needing to get to safety using the only elevator that is Straight Path at this location. Their only escape route becomes more than she was ready for with some unaccounted guests.

"I was told that I shouldn't take the boring days here for granted, and I didn't fully understand until today."

Tag: No Smut, Survival Horror, POV First Person, Non-Consensual Violence, Pet Names, Trapped In Elevator, Elevators, Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, One Shot

It was my second month of working at the foundation, and things have been ordinarily average as far as I know.  Which isn't much consideration, I haven't been here long. I was also told that I shouldn't take the boring days here for granted, and I didn't fully understand until today. 

I was walking down one of the maze-like corridors that this site had with a couple of folders of some of my future assignments.  I was drifting into my own mind space about how this big science agency offered me a position a week after I got my degree. That was until I was forcefully yanked from it by a blaring siren that I could feel invading my very body.  I jump at the sound and look around me just now realizing how alone in this hallway I was. 

A panic ran through me as I heard a short message from an intercom that was a widespread containment breach with multiple anomalies roaming the site.  In a trice, I dashed down the hallway till I got to some large steel elevator doors.  I clumsily swiped my access card for the doors then quickly stepped into the empty lift.  Spamming the button, I needed to get to my designated safe area, which I was debriefed on, made me realize how far down the foundation I was currently located.

I despised the fact that I was going to have to be trapped inside an elevator in an event of high danger. The feeling of dread as the doors slowly shut in front of me, made my stomach churn. I hum a short hymn to myself to try and calm my rising nerves. Even with the slow-moving lift I could hear the pricing sounds of the alarm and the muffled intercom message playing on a loop. 

The loud mechanic cables click and creak as the gears elevate the elevator cage. A loud chime rang through the lift and the slight shake as it came to a stop brought me back out of my headspace. I looked up at the doors in a panic as they were pulled open on a new floor.  My heart rattled in my ribcage as I quickly closed my eyes and let the small comfort of darkness absorb me. The slimy sound of sludge approaching me made my nerves go into a frenzy.  The sound of a child-like chortle echoed over the sounds of the metal doors and brought my eyes back open. I looked side to side and didn’t see anything.

 “Guess I just imagined it,” I let out a sigh of relief until a loud purr and a jelly-like tapping on my ankle. 

I let out a high-pitched scream as I jumped up in shock and looked down. It was an orange dog-sized blob with small bits of candy inside of its translucent material that I could consider as flesh.  It slithers back and then inches closer to me.  It let out another elated giggle as it attempted to hug me.  I no longer felt fear as the wholesome slime alleviated my current worries.  I bent down to my knees to get a better look at the medium-sized goo. 

“I’ve heard about you once or twice, that's why you seem so familiar.” I slowly picked up the kind SCP. 

“I didn't recognize you at first because I was scared. I'm sorry buddy!” I gave the tickle monster a light hug and it let out a cheerful Purr.  My nerves feel at ease for a moment. 

Once again, I heard the elevator’s chime as the doors opened. I couldn’t help but be antsy again but not as much because I was holding SCP-999.   Inside walked a man or more so SCP, that I prayed I would never meet.  I've heard from a few veterans' researchers who had experiences with the being before. He was an Euclid class, I wouldn't normally even cross paths with a being so high maintenance in the first place. Most of the time I only deal with objects that are Euclid and safe. But not really anything of the sentient and murderous variety.  

The tickle monster hugs me more tightly as it senses my anxiety rising at the sight of being so close to the dangerous SCP without any supervision. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh due to its anomalous properties. 

He glances at me slightly without saying a word and pushes a button on the panel. My heart thumped in my chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off the figure across the lift space.  I study the plague doctor occupying the space with me. He could so easily take my life if he decided I had some kind of sickness or disease or any kind. I would end up with my innards misshapen and end up as a mindless obedient zombie. Killing my coworkers at the flick of a simple command. 

“You've been staring at me for a while now, miss, do you find anything about my appearance amusing in some form.” A slow deep accented voice echoed toward me, and I blinked quickly out of my trance. I looked into the “eyes” of SCP-049 for a moment without saying anything. 

“I’m sorry I just have heard a few things about you and… never mind.  Sorry, I’ll stop staring.” I look down at the sweet-smelling creature and try to not glance at the plague doctor. Muttering up my weak apology in hopes that he’ll accept it. 

I could feel the sockets of the doctor boring into me and scanning over my nervous posture. I let out short shaky breaths as I beg any kind of god figure and I mean ANY to spare me from upsetting the other lifeform from taking my life. Somehow by chance, he didn’t pounce at me: grabbing me and squeezing any pestilence out of me. Which I was thankful for in that short time until the elevator’s doors opened with a chime. 

Pops of vibrant orange enter the elevator shaft, at an unstable pace. Walked into a deteriorating D-class. Dark black tar-like ooze was dripping from the man's neck. Covering his face was a white theater mask with a large void frown. His hands were an unhealthy purple with some covering in black sludge.  He snapped his head at me as the entrance closed behind him. 

My heart dropped and my breath hitched.  I’m regretting accepting the foundation's offer to work at this hellhole. I don't think I'm making it out of this place alive and even if I do the O5 won't just let me quit.  

I wanna cry… I thought to myself, as I watched this decaying monster walk WAY too close to me. The smell of pungent rotting flesh made my nostrils burn. My eyes watered and my face cringed.  I leaned back without realizing it, I fell back into the corner of the cold wall. My eyes shift behind me for only a moment. 

A loud distorted laugh came from right in front of me.  No number of cuddles with SCP-999 would prepare me for the major creep factors of a sentient drama mask. I look back at the mask and see that he is basically stealing my space when it comes to distance. He was also no longer frowning and instead, a twisted smile had replaced it. Which I am now deciding is way worse than its over-exaggerated scowl. 

Its head tilted at me, and I could only blink in panicked confusion. I watched its viscous ink pour slowly from its sockets.  A rugged hand caressed my face, making me jump a little.  The dark residue made my face burn, and I could almost hear a slight sizzle. I pulled my lab sleeve up to my face and wiped it across my face quickly.

I somehow managed to squeeze the slippery monster out of my arms and it sank to the ground at my feet. I could feel my muscles tense up to the point that I didn't think that I could push the invasive SCP away even if I tried.  Which the mask took notice of with a pleased chuckle. This creature took an obvious depraved pleasure in my fear. 

That was before a part of the D-class melted off of him bringing him back to whatever goal he had in torturing me and not killing me outright.  He took a wobbly step back before slamming the stop button on the panel. The elevator shook abruptly then stopped moving altogether. 

My eyes went wide, and my mouth was agape at the sheer audacity.

“I don’t think I've had the pleasure of meeting you before, doll.” he moved his arm in a lackadaisical way to the side as he spoke in a far too playful tone.  His voice was laced with conniving undertones.

 I glanced past him as I saw the plague doctor watching the whole ordeal. His beak-like face tilted our way slightly.  The doctor quietly pushed the button to get the elevator to move again and shook his head in what I would assume was a disappointment. 

“You seem like you would be a great next candidate, Hun,” he jumped forward and moved his head up and down to make the fact that he was looking at me as noticeable as possible.  His shadow took up my whole person and I could no longer see the doctor at this angle.

Not like he would help me anyway; I think to myself.

“I could get us both out of here if you’re willing.” he leaned his head back some and straightened his shoulders a bit.

“So, what do you say darling?” he extends his less acidic hand to me. My face scrunched at the thought. Did he really think a few pet names were going to get me to fall into his arms and let him make me his meat puppet? Hell no!

Pushing his arm down with a folder I had, as I stared at his hand with a straight face. However, I came to my senses and realized how bad a decision that was when I looked at the vexed frown. SCP-035's purloined body was shaking with rage.  Parts of him were melting and dripping down his unstable body staining the bright jumpsuit. 

Maybe the frown was worse than the smile or maybe they both were equally as terrible.

He jumped at me with his hands up and reached for me and I froze at the worst time ever. He pulled me towards him by the neck. I hear the tenuous whimpering of the tickle monster grabbing my shoe. I choked out air as my skin burned at the corrosive liquid rubbing at my skin.  I pulled at the bone and gooey material in his sleeve that was definitely mixed with human flesh and black ooze. 

I tried to pull in any air, but my neck and lungs were starting to burn with fervor.  Dark dots started to appear and disappear, clouding my vision. 

“I was just trying to make this easy for you Bitch!” he shook me back as I pant and heave for air. His nails dug into my sensitive skin and I let out a weak cry as I could feel my warm blood mix with the cool dark acidic material. My eyes felt like they would pop out of my head as fat tears escaped from them, and my head pounded with a resonating headache.  

My body went limp, and I stopped putting up a struggle then everything started to go dark.

My heartbeat worked slowly, and I could feel it get ready to stop until the sonorous ring of the elevator rang through. I force my eyes to open slightly and watch the doors pull open.  

I must be a god's least and most favorite at the same time for the way I'm being pulled through the ringer.  The death grip on my neck loosened and I sucked in as much air as I could. If I wasn't being held up right now, I would be kissing the floor.

The door revealed a six-foot, middle Eastern man with blue eyes and dark hair, a symbol on his forehead, and most noticeable, bronze metal arms and legs. His white sleeveless shirt was stained with dirt and dried blood. Which would’ve made tiny sweat droplets form from my forehead if I wasn't recovering.

SCP-035 fully let go of my neck to eye the figure entering the lift. My knees gave out and I collided with the floor. I make an attempt to wipe away any of the black sludge around my neck to get rid of the constant sensations of pain.  

“You're going to regret this.”  I hear the disordered voice of the D-class mutter.  

I guess I'm going to have a permanent reminder of my near-death experience now. Thanks, jackass, I thought to myself as I tapped my now raw skin.  I'm going to have high blood pressure if I survive this elevator ride.

I fully get up off the floor and sigh as I watch the doors close behind my tall savior.  He looked down at me with tired eyes.

“Are you alright, miss?” 

“Somewhat,” I eye him with a deadpan expression and give a weak nod.

“Shouldn't you be at your safe area by now?” he whispered to me.

“That was the plan but now I just want to get out of this elevator alive,” I spoke through my teeth a bit.

“It would be safe if you stay in the elevator until you get to your designated floor.” 

“I might be willing to take my chances in these hallways.” I give a slight glare at the mask that can’t handle rejections. 

“I wouldn't recommend that,” he and I turned as the bell of the lift went off again.

 Cutting any further conversation on the topic.  When no one of normal height appeared, I looked down to see a colorful patchwork bear walk inside. 

How did they even reach the elevator buttons? you need a card to even get the panel to work. My thoughts were cut off by the sound whistle. I turn my attention away from the cute bear and look at where the sound came from. 

It was that damned masked again. 

“What!” I whispered, why am I whispering.

“I just wanted to say that you should take my offer in your best interest.” He leaned against the lift handle. 

“Look, if I say I'm sorry, will you listen?”  his voice was desperate as he held his arm which was mostly sludge and ooze.

“No” 

“Why you little-” he was cut off by the tall man. He looked up at him.  

“Get out of my way, asswipe!”  the mask growled at the metal man and shoved him hard in the stomach. 

Which seems to backfire because the SCP ended up hurled over in pain instead. 035 held his stomach with the arm he could and looked up with his frown. 

“What. The. Fuck was that!” he yelled out at the man whose name I still didn't know.

“You shouldn't put your hands on a person.” he looked at the half-melted man passively and just sighed.   

I looked down at the bear that was pacing in a circle around the tickle monster. The teddy looked rather panicked as it was jumping between several options at once.  The door of the elevator opened again but the chime was overpowered by an ear-piercing scream. I pace to see a plethora of dead mangled bodies. Blood spatter painted the walls and the floor. 

 Based on the pale dead woman she was the one who had called the elevator up.  Her outfit was stained dark crimson red and her key card was on the ground.  Though she looked like she had been dead for a few long minutes, so who screamed. 

A woman's voice echoed out from down the hall, repetitive pleas and I almost called out if it wasn't for the growl followed after.  The tall SCP clicked the button up again. That's when I saw it. A spiky beast-sized creature with a wide mouth and dry blood-colored skin.  It must have heard the button be pushed because it started sprinting at full speed down the hall.  I turned away from the door as it approached the steel door with a rough slam that shook the whole lift.  I turn back to see three blood-stained claws try to push through the door before being forced out by us moving away.

“What was That!” I let out a loud breath and placed my hand on my fast-beating heart. 

“That dear, was SCP-939, it can mimic voices it hears.” 

“Oh, and how do you know that!”  the masked man slurred. 

“I have a photographic memory.” His blank face made it seem like it was an obvious thing.

“Sir, what's your name?” It felt like it was the wrong time to ask but when else would I have the chance.

“Just call me Cain and what about you miss.” he gave me a slight smile.

“Oh, yeah. I’m [Redacted].”  

“Lovely name that is miss.”  I heard the doctor speak firmly.

“I agree.” Cain looked behind him at the doctor and they seemed to have small internal conversations.

The elevator was full of thick silence as we moved up more floors. The silence was mixed with the sound of the elevator moving, the sloshing movement of the tickle monster, and dripping opaque liquids hitting the cold floor.  

It was calm…too calm. 

Then the elevator’ annoying chime went off again. The door opened and it revealed a five-foot-something light brown-haired man with glasses and a golden amulet with a red gem in the middle. With a tag the J. Bight on it.  

“Oh, looks like you guys were having a party, mind if I join the fun.”  

The man sauntered into the elevator and pushed the last button on the lift panel.  He looked at the mixed group of SCPs, with a smile.  

“Long time no sees.”  Bright placed his hand on the SCP-035’s back for a second. Then finger gunned Cain and the plague doctor with a light nod.  He was trying to make conversations with the Doctor who seemed to be actively ignoring the man. 

“Fine mister grumpy pants don't say anything.”  Bright shrugged and went to the next SCP; the still decomposing masked man.  

“Did you change something that last time I saw you…Wait don’t tell me. You got shorter, didn't you?” Bright makes a gesture to 035’s striking height as the lower half of him starts to melt into an oozing puddle.  The man guffawed as he elbowed the tenuous tissue of the SCPS falling apart shoulder. 

“Who’s the poor bastard you got this time?”  The doctor fixed the positions of his glasses as he spoke. 

“Why would it matter, they're dead anyway.” The drama mask looked at me in a way that I could only assume was an attempt to glare at me.  The doctor followed the “look” of the SCP and made eye contact.  

We both stared at each other for a few moments without saying a word.  Then he started walking at me while he had a smile on his face as if he was plotting. My eyes widened as I looked back and forth as he approached.  

“Oh well hello, I don't think I’ve seen you before,”  He placed his arm on my shoulder as he talked. 

The door dinged and the patchwork bear walked out into the blank hallway in a hurry.  

“Well, I’ve only been here for two months.” I look at him from my side. 

“Really! You have lasted longer than some, that's for sure.” He patted my back and I leaned forward with the force.  

“Thank I guess.”  

“I'm Jack Bright if you couldn’t tell, I'm famous around here.” he nods to himself.

“How so if you don’t mind asking?” 

“I thought you would never Ask!” I have a feeling of regret for asking.

 “Well, I'm pretty much a superhero!” He fixed the wrinkles of his lab coat with a smirk.

“So you could get me out of here alive.” my eyes light up with hope because of his words, maybe I could get out of here alive for sure.

“Pssh of course all I would need is whatever you could give me in return.”

“That would be?” 

“ You could give me your soul, someone else’s soul, reproductive organs, your firstborn child, second born, or any red-headed stepchildren I'm not that picky, rented mules, gold spun from straws, child’s laughter or tears could work and I could work with any relative.”  Bright tried to count off the list with his fingers casually as if anything he just listed was normal.

I blink to myself for a moment as I try to comprehend giving this man any of these things as a viable option for my freedom. How would I even give these things in the first place?

“How about a coffee instead.” I shrugged at him with a hopeful look. But the look on his face told me that it was going to work.

“Special coffee?” I look at him with pleading eyes.

“Deal”  I looked at him in shock, was he really going to take special coffee as a justifiable answer. I'm not going to make him question it though.  I hope he’ll take alcohol-flavored coffee and well if he doesn’t…I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

The elevator chimes and this time SCP-049 walked out to probably cause some kind of mayhem.  The space was starting to feel less tense. As it became less crowded with danger. Honestly, if I didn't care about my life I would force these SCPs to go back into their containment room.

Bright started talking to Cain about something I don't really have the capacity to listen to.

Also how come I haven't heard from 035 in a minute did he leave.  I looked around and went down and saw the pile of orange clothes covered in dark slime with the frowned mask resting on top.

I hold back a laugh, looks like he seems to need more help than I did. However, a part of me was pulling me into wanting to put the mask on. I almost thought that I heard whispering; telling me to get closer.

I took a step forward before I felt a tap on my foot, I looked down at the gooey SCP, the tickle monster. I picked them up and held them in my arms. I played around with the friendly creature until it was time for the bells of the elevator to go off again. 

This time Cain got off and it was just the three of us in the lift.  I guess I'm keeping SCP-999 with me, I definitely don’t mind at all.  The single green button lights up the others on the panel. The passing hallway seemed to quiet down as well. 

The silence was calming and the feeling of doom and near death had subsided…mostly.  Doctor Bright was a little scary.

The final ding of the elevator made me want to scream in relief. 

I had lived.

I had somehow Survived, with a few new scars to prove it.

But most importantly I could get off this horrid elevator and move on.

I step out of the elevator with wobbly haste.  Making as much temporary distance with the cursed lift as I can.

Will I ever be the same as before… absolutely not! Probably won't be.

Maybe I'll take some stairs next time. 

It's without a doubt a hazard to leave the mask on the elevator alone, but oh well not really my problem right.  The events of that ride were no longer my problem.  

Maybe they’ll let me take some Class A amnestics to make me forget what happened at all.

[thereaderinsertlady]

jevil x reader x dimentio? i can only imagine having to put both on child leashes to contain the chaos.. or bribe them with smooches.

We loove jesters in this household. Here's the link on ao3, and I hope you enjoy!

Jevil x Reader x Dimentio - Managed Chaos

Both of the jesters were getting on your nerves today.

One of them– the impish one with a tail, was currently eating your cereal that you just poured out for yourself not even ten seconds ago, and the other one– a manipulative little twink, was trying to get you to buy him an expensive set of playing cards he found in some magazine. 

“No,” you told Dimentio firmly. “I don’t care that they’re made of metal– it’s sixty whole coins! And you–” you pointed at Jevil. “Quit eating my cereal!”

Jevil’s tail swayed back and forth as he sat on the kitchen’s countertop, spoon in his mouth. He gave you a smile before responding with his mouth full of cereal. “I can do anyf’ing, anything!”

“Not in this house you ain’t,” you hissed, throwing a balled-up paper towel at him. “Go get your own cereal! You don’t even like that kind! And– And quit talking with your mouth full!”

“I do’t care ah-t all, at all!” His tail swayed more, as if he was proud of himself. 

You eyed him. “You’ll care when I shove my foot up your ass,” you grumbled, shuffling over to the fridge and opening it, no longer wanting cereal.

…Dimentio slooowly peered over your shoulder. “So like a bee ready to strike, are you sure you don’t want to get me that card set?”

“I’m sure,” you huffed. “And I thought you were going to meet with that little gumball guy?”

“Marx?” Dimentio pouted. “We-ell, he’s in jail.”

“...Jail?” You looked over your shoulder to stare at him. “Why?”

“Ooh, well, you knooow,” he waved a casual hand. “Trying to kill people, as per usual.”

You rolled your eyes, eventually closing the fridge. No breakfast for you. “You should find better friends.”

He giggled, leaning in to smooch your cheek. “Why find ‘better’ friends when I have yooou, my dear?”

“And muh-e!” Jevil chimed with a mouth full of food.

“...And you,” he pouted again, briefly eyeing him.

You rubbed your face tiredly. “Let’s go to the store in a bit. I need to lay down for a minute,” you said, going over to the living room to flop down onto the couch tiredly. You really needed a nap of some kind…

After a solid minute, you felt a certain impish jester crawl onto your back, laying on top of you as if he was a plank of wood. 

“Jevil,” you mumbled, your voice coming out muffled. “Whatchu doin’...?”

“Sleeping, sleeping.”

“Mkay.”

After a bit longer, a blanket was laid atop of both you and Jevil, a figure sitting on the arm rest. “I shall watch over you two,” Dimentio said with a smile.

“How come you always watch me sleep?” You asked, keeping your face pressed against the couch.

“To make sure you’re safe, of course! Jevil does it too.”

“I do, I do!”

You rolled your eyes, though couldn’t help but smile a little. Letting your eyes close, you got comfortable to the best of your ability, slowly drifting off into dreamland.

[skele-bunny]

Can you talk more about quintessence ghouls? Just anything about them please

Hell yeah!! Long post bc I'm gonna ramble for a HOT minute

There's a whole variety of abilities quints can do. There's common ones such as: Mind Manipulation, Object Formation, and various levels of healing.

Some rarer abilities being: Possessors, Clairvoyance, and Ether Destruction

All Quint's do have the ability to heal, but it depends on their main ability and how much it takes over their process!

Enki (era 2) is a mind manipulator, which gives him more access to healing! He's able to project himself both into the mind and body, and where to locate issues. It's also easier for him to do thinks like quint intox, manipulate someone to his will, and break someone mentally. High healing varient

Omega has a mixture of object formation and bodily destruction. He can create temporary life forms or conjures. While with ether destruction he can bend other's souls and life forms, essentially killing them slowly. Despite this, in medical work, he's able to use his object formation for temporary fixes like quick casts or stitches! High healing varient

Aether has the ability of object formation. He's extremely proficient at life forms, mimicks, or even barriers if needed! One of his personal things is making spiders and fireflies for Dewdrop just to see him smile. Like Omega, he can use this for temporary medical work. Medium healing varient

Sarra (era 1) is a possessor with minor clairvoyance. Able to link with those deceased and become a vessel for them, or take over (wether by force or consent) another's whole body and mind. While it does give the perks of using that souls abilities as his own, it's a very heavy ability to have, which leaves him both exhausted constantly and susceptible to harm as he holds onto the spirits he allows in. He's able to use his clairvoyance for long future insight. Low healing varient

Phantom is a possessor. He doesn't know how to control or access it yet, but when he does and just like Sarra, he's susceptible to harm and constant exhaustion. When he does get the control of it, he's more of an open doorway to connect rather than using them. Has taken over a few Siblings to do things for him like chores, other than that, he just stays curious but too nervous to act it out. None-low healing varient

Delta after their transition only received partial mind manipulation. They're more in tune to link into someone to hear their thoughts or their current mental state. Other than that, they're still majority water.

Super shiny and decorated if not their horns and hair, then piercings and jewelry/clothing accessories. They're big on wind chimes, beads, and crystals.

They can read tarot cards very well and it's part of their morning routines. Don't always have to, but some like to be aware of what their day will be like or assistance for a problem.

Biiiggg on astral projections and meditation. Not only does it let them recharge their social and internal battery, it allows them just.... A break. A moment to step away from the current world.

Quintessence ghouls are more likely seen in the emergency department and surgical! Waters are seen for ICU and L&D, Earths in pharmacy/anesthesiologists, Air for physical therapy, and Fires with imaging & radiology. There's a mixture and no designation when it comes to regular appointments or visits, but there's a higher quantity of quints then other elements in medical settings.

They're big on trading as well, even topside. Prefer not to use money given to them inside the abbey if they can avoid it when it comes to acquiring things.

Book nerds. Straight. Nerds.

Majority of them have glasses as they can't read small prints, and are more likely to have large handwriting. Also yes, they have the doctor type of handwriting.

If they have high energy they can accidentally shock people that touch them. They're also more likely to smell like electrical appliances and metal! Very "silver" scents.

Quints are more likely to get along with earths as they have a very long history together, even in the pits. Earths are extremely susceptible to death if they experienced a leg break (hooves!) as they don't have a strong immune system to wade off infections and thus weaker healing. Quints were their saving graces that avoided a lot of death, in return of a permanent trading system. Their environments were very close to each other, as well!

Quints that die who are vengeful/don't feel completed are more likely to haunt than other elements. Poltergeist type, and they're fucking angry. Possessors can either rid of them into purgatory (which is a damnation, essentially) or pull them into their hold which is negatively looked at. That's why it's so important Possessors can control themselves and manage their door open/closed at will.

Curses and blessings galore! Wether in the form of sigils, casts, or items—they have something for anything. Oh, want a fertility boost? There's a cast for that. Oh, need to know if your mate is harmed? There's a sigil for that. Oh, want something for protection? There's an object for that.

GGAHHH I just think they're super ritualistic. Very in tune with bodies, death, and life. They take their practices very sacred and consider it treason for those to use their abilities to purposely harm others for anything other than defending purposes.

They ESPECIALLY hate it when their sigils/casts are manipulated from their original intention to cause harm.

Like a protection sigil being manipulated to a possessive sigil. Intent matters so much to them broo

[lacrymatoryao3]

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 9: January, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

3,075 Words (AO3 Link)

Arthur wasn’t sure what time it was, or much of anything for that matter, when Ana burst into his bedroom late in the night… Or was it early morning? Either way, the dawn had not yet broke and Arthur was jerked out of a deep sleep confused and disoriented.

“What, what?! What’s the matter?!” He shouted bewildered, reaching in a crazed manner for a weapon like his old instincts dictated.

Ana was hurriedly dressed, with a piece of paper with instructions scrawled hastily on still drying ink, “Owen was just here. Rosaline is in labor and I need to go over there. I don’t know how long I’ll be so I need you to take care of the house and Arthur Francisco. I wrote everything down… And please, use the stove this time when you cook anything. I already made lunch for him, it’s in the ice box.”

Arthur did hear pounding, but he had assumed it was something in his dream. He grunted rubbed his face, finally checking the clock on the end table. A quarter past 3 in the morning. Why did babies need to come when everyone was sleeping?

He saw her off, trying to shake the tiredness by standing on the cold porch until he couldn’t see her anymore. It seemed every man besides Mr. O’Hogan was doing the same thing, Mrs. Liang followed Ana not too soon after, then Mrs. Johnson in the distance. At least they all knew how babies were born. The only woman who had any real idea to help poor Abigail was Susan, and she had never had any of her own.

Arthur did sleep a bit more, sitting in the living room after getting the fire going, until the clock started to chime at 5. He practiced his usual morning routine and went into the kitchen, grabbing any cook books he could find. Ana had plenty of little recipe cards, however she had naturally wrote them in Spanish. He sat down after getting the coffee going and scanned the table of contents in each book to see if he could find something easy enough for him to make without it becoming a disaster. So many of the measurements they listed made absolutely no sense to him. What the hell was a ‘scruple’? Or a ‘dram’? He only knew a ‘gill’ as something fish had. He found one simple enough that didn’t have any of those, with the instructions understandable for someone as stupid in a kitchen as he felt like he was. Poaching eggs seemed simple enough. Making toast was easy.

He filled a small pot with water, setting it on the stove when it was hot enough for it to boil. As he waited he put a pan on the neighboring burner and dropped a spoonful of butter into it, letting it melt and cover the bottom. He cut some slices of bread and slapped them in, turning them every few minutes until they were crispy and a light brown. He put them onto a plate and into the warming shelf above the stove. The water was bubbling and steaming by then. According to the recipe he just needed to crack the eggs into the water and let them go until they set. He just watched them float in the water, the whites wrapping themselves back around the yolk like an overly complicated soft boiled egg. He strained them out with an odd looking utensil that looked like a metal spider’s web on a stick. He put them with the toast in the warming box.

Arthur went up and knocked on the door to Arthur Francisco’s room. When he went inside the boy was still snug in his bed. He almost felt bad needing to wake him, gently tapping him on the back until he opened his eyes.

“Hey.” Arthur whispered, “Time to get up and around.”

Arthur Francisco looked at him, baffled that he was the one there to rouse him, “Where’s Mama?”

“She’s with Mrs. O’Hogan. Her baby’s comin’ soon.” Arthur replied, silently thanking Ana that she already took the boy’s clothes out, “It’s just you and me today.”

Arthur had no idea what he was even supposed to do other than make sure the boy got out of bed. He was sure he knew how to take care of himself, he didn’t need to be supervised. On top of it he felt awkward just standing there as the child washed and dressed. He did note what Ana was talking about with him being like Arthur. It was in the way he fastened buttons, especially on his shirt when he left the two top buttons open as if he didn’t like the collar close around his neck. He moved his arms around to make sure his suspenders weren’t tight sitting on his shoulders. Arthur could really put a word on how it made him feel… The closest was a melancholic happiness, if that even made sense.

Even more like Arthur was he didn’t speak much in the morning. He mutely followed Arthur to the kitchen and sat down in his seat.

“Now, don’t expect anythin’ fancy like your mama can make.” Arthur said to him while taking out the poached eggs and the toast, sprinkling the eggs with some pepper. He absentmindedly poured the boy his own cup of coffee, before questioning if that was something Ana let him drink. He didn’t see any wrong in it. He was drinking coffee that young… Then again, he was smoking and drinking a few years later. None of it killed him, so one time for the kid wouldn’t hurt.

Arthur Francisco didn’t complain. His first few tastes of the drink gave him a puzzled look on his face, but he enjoyed the meal more than Arthur expected him to. Both ate in similar ways. They broke open the eggs with their forks so the yolk would bleed over the toast and dipped up the excess on the plate with the crusts.

In the stable the boy tended to his own horse, while Arthur helped the throng of other children. He got onto her on his own, he was still light enough to use only his arms to hoist him up into the saddle. Damn, Arthur wished he could still do that.

The youngest O’Hogan girl, Arthur believed she was called was Jane or something, went up to Arthur Francisco and asked if she could ride with him. He instantly and eagerly agreed. Arthur went over and helped her onto the back of Josefina, putting her legs on the same side so she didn’t wrinkle up her skirt.

Making their way through town more children joined. They sure did talk a lot, and all at once. Arthur found it to be a little too much noise for so early in the morning, it was like the girls giggling over coffee but tenfold. He tired to tune most of it out, staying focused on what was ahead and making sure the group didn’t run into each other’s horses or anyone in the street.

It was hard to believe the schoolhouse fit so many children. It looked like a two room shack at most with a covered bell tower and only one teacher standing on the porch to greet the pupils. Arthur assumed she was the other Svensson sister Ana had told him about.

He ushered and helped the children put their horses in the covered paddock in the yard. He made sure they had everything they needed, especially Arthur Francisco.

“All right.” Arthur said to him, “I’m heading off. If I’m back before the day ends I’ll come meet you. If not make sure everyone gets home safe.”

Arthur Francisco nodded, “Yes, sir. See you later.”

Arthur lit a cigarette watching everyone else go inside out of the elements. He sighed, turning Delfina to the direction of the sheriff’s office and jail.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

Mrs. O’Hogan laid in her bed that was covered by old rags. She let in sharp breaths and slowly blew them out, making attempts to regulate the pain ever contraction brought to her. Ana and the rest of the women – including Bridget, the O’Hogans’ soon to be 16 year old daughter – did what they could to keep her comfortable as they waited for Dr. Anderson and the local midwife, an older woman the town mothers affectionately called Nurse Henry.

The air when a baby was expected was a heavy and bittersweet one, with so many potentials that overwhelmed the mind if thought about too deeply. There was excitement, the coming of a new life and a sore buy joyous mother. There was fear, no matter what birth was a dangerous affair for both. Ana had Arthur Francisco there, as did Mrs. Liang with her youngest son Caihong, and Mrs. O’Hogan herself had Jane and Adam and Nicolas in the same bed in the same house with no major or worrying troubles. With all the religious and superstitious trinkets from different backgrounds surrounding her, there was high hopes the good luck would continue.

They tried to keep the mood light, if only for Bridget’s sake. The young woman was more nervous about the ordeal than her mother was. Mrs. O’Hogan occasionally muttered that she hoped the doctor and nurse would make it before the baby did. Mrs. Liang and Mrs. Johnson agreed, with Mrs. Johnson remarking her second son Emmanuel nearly came out as soon as her labor started.

Dr. Anderson and Nurse Henry arrived just shy of 4 in the morning. Her jovial nature relaxed some of the anxiety, opening her little bag and getting right to work. Dr. Anderson was mostly there in case pain relief was needed or the birth would need to become a surgical one. She did offer Mrs. O’Hogan something called Ether, a way to reduce the discomfort, that Mrs. O’Hogan waved off with a comment that she went through it 5 other times without it and she doubted it would be any different the current time.

Then, 3 hours went by…

They kept Mrs. O’Hogan relaxed, letting her rest in any position that she deemed comfortable. They gave her plenty of juice to drink. Every woman in the room took turns walking around with her several times. In between each action to help things get going Nurse Henry would look underneath Mrs. O’Hogan’s shift to check how her dilation.

The sunlight broke and brightened the room by the time the baby was ready. Mrs. O’Hogan sat at the edge of the bed, leaning back so the nurse and doctor could kneel below her with blankets with Bridget behind them to see what it all entailed. Ana messaged Mrs. O’Hogan’s back as she pushed, Mrs. Johnson holding her hand, and Mrs. Liang dabbing her face with a cool damp cloth.

The shrill cry of a baby was a delight to everyone’s ears. Nurse Henry wrapped the baby quickly and took it closer to the furnace to clean them and keep them warm.

The nurse evaluated the baby, “You got yourself another healthy baby girl, ma’am!”

“Oh thanks be to God!” Mrs. O’Hogan cried in relief.

Once the afterbirth passed the women helped Mrs. O’Hogan affix a washable sanitary belt between her legs for any bleeding then removed the rags to tuck her into bed. The nurse gave her the tightly swaddled baby girl. Mrs. O’Hogan didn’t need instruction on what to do. Everyone watched, quietly taking in the small creature who latched onto her mother’s breast.

Ana didn’t want the experience to be sullied for herself. She smiled away the envy. Her reflection on being pregnant wasn’t the most positive one, but it seemed completely worth it once she held her son years ago. Growing up she was taught she would have several children, like every woman around her in Mexico did. Yet there was only one.

The baby was put into her cradle, rocked until she fell asleep. Mrs. O’Hogan took the chance to do the same. The lull was a welcome one for everybody. Once Dr. Anderson and Nurse Henry departed, the rest of the women returned to their stations in the room, collapsing and closing their own eyes.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

The sheriff’s office looked like most others in every backwater town Arthur had found himself in, a wooden built and sided construction with one half heavy impenetrable stones where the cells were. He hitched Delfina to the side of it. He didn’t know what was compelling him to walk up to the door. He didn’t like nor trust the law in any capacity any more than he did. He didn’t need the money. That was the only thing that made him take the bounties before. He knew how easily, despite being considered dead, how it could be him running from these vultures again. What was it? To get the rush he once savored? To prove to some unseen judge he was a changed man?

He opened the door, interrupting whatever conversation Sheriff Strange was having with the three. bored looking deputies.

“Of course, if we ever get that goddamn rail line they’ve been promising-… Oh! Good morning Mr. Callahan.”

Arthur tipped his hat, “Sheriff.”

“Taking me up on bounties?”

Arthur nodded.

Sheriff Strange handed him a piece of paper. It wasn’t exactly what Arthur was expecting, just a scrawled note with a name, their crime, description of the person, their address, and the cost to turn them in alive.

“Now he isn’t the most high profile one we got around here, but how you handle him is how you earn my blessing.” The Sheriff explained, “Earl Harris is just your run of the mill card cheat. He’s mostly a thorn in my side, coming in every few months for the same offense. Check the saloon first. He’ll go easy unless he’s had liquor, but he’ll talk your ear off.”

The goal: find some old card shark and take him back to the jail. Probably just to spend whatever time he owes and get released to start it all over again. $2.50 wasn’t anything to sneeze at anyway. He left the Sheriff and his lethargic seeming deputies. Closing the door Arthur heard him chide them, for one of them to whine ‘Oh come on, Pa!’ in response.

He took a bundle of rope from one of Delfina’s saddle bags, attaching it to his belt just in case. He left her at the hitching post, the saloon was a convenient walk down the street. Arthur leaned against a support post, making himself look like another patron who had drunk until the morning. He nonchalantly looked into the large windows.

The card table was in the middle of the room, always within eye shot of the bar. The saloon was mostly empty except for a few stragglers from the night before, but there was a large group looking like they were playing a round of poker. He studied them. One that had his back to him seemed to fit who he was sent to search for – thin build, ill fitting denim overalls, long stringy white hair and from his vantage point what looked to be a matching beard, a tattered wide brimmed straw hat. He sort of reminded Arthur of Uncle if he had skipped several meals and was far more energetic.

Arthur pushed through the double swinging half doors and walked up to the table to his potential target, “Excuse me, partner. Are you Earl Harris?”

“Yeah! What’s it to ya?” The man replied, turning in his chair to Arthur.

“You think we could step outside? I have some business with you to speak about.”

Earl Harris excused himself to the other players. As he set the cards in his hand onto the table, a bundle of other cards slipped out of his sleeve for everyone to see. There was the evidence Arthur needed. It was so easy it was almost insulting.

One of the men against Earl Harris slammed threw his hand to the table, “You son of a bitch!”

Arthur swiftly led Harris out of the saloon as the men rose, taking off their jackets and rolling up their sleeves. The fight wouldn’t have been a fair one for them, Arthur was a head taller and twice their sizes, but the Sheriff wanted Harris alive and in all probability unbeaten.

“What’s this all about?!” Harris mumbled stumbling down the stairs at Arthur’s hand on his shoulder’s urging.

“Well, I’m afraid Mr. Harris you’re a wanted man.” Arthur explained, “You’re going to have to come with me to see Sheriff Strange and I’m hopin’ we could do this like gentlemen.”

Harris blinked and gave a mostly toothless grin to him, “Aw hell! Why didn’t ya just say so?”

The short walk felt like an eternity. The Sheriff wasn’t kidding about how incessant Earl Harris could talk. Arthur was audience to his entire life story and whatever detour he decided to focus upon before returning to the point. He had no concern about his impending incarceration. In fact, Arthur started to suspect he actually liked it.

Walking by Harris gave Delfina a hard pat on her rump, “Fine horse ya got here! Got the goddamn Gardener brand! Ya must be mighty close to that lady!”

“That’s no one’s concern but my own.” Arthur replied.

Harris didn’t take the hint, “Bout time she got herself a real man! That ol’ husband of hers weren’t much of one, if ya catch my drift!”

Arthur grabbed him buy the shoulder, his patience wearing thin, leading him into the Sheriff’s office. Harris gave a jovial greeting to them. He instructed Arthur what his preferred cell was. He gladly shoved him into it, getting as much distance from Harris as possible or he was at risk of getting Arthur’s gun handle across the head so he’d be quiet for a while.

“Told you he was conversationalist.” Sheriff Strange chuckled seeing the exhausted expression on Arthur’s face. He put the money he was owned on the desk. Arthur took it and made a gesture of thanks and goodbye.

“Tell Mrs. Gardener I said hello!” The Sheriff shouted after him, “Treat her right! She’s a fine, fine woman!”

Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself when riding away on Delfina. It made his skin crawl, not liking that any more than he did at the party.

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Outsider pt 1 Chapter 1

Outsider Series

Pairing: Dark Bucky- Winter Soldier/ OFC

Summary:  “Outsiders exist. You know they do, if you aren’t already one of them. The one who doesn’t fit in, the misfit, the sometimes rule breaker, and burden spirit. ”

Warnings: SMUT, violence, noncon! Do not read if this content if it offends you or isn’t your thing, please! DO NOT READ! And if you are under 18, click off this page!

June 23rd 2016

Awenha slumped in her chair while gazing at a hologram of an intricate web of brain activity. She swiped at a wild curl tickling the side of her face and she focused on the task. Brains and veins seem more accessible than actually accessing her emotions these days. She had been too complacent lately. She often heard the voice of her mother hum through her head to take risk, to break out of the ordinary, to find her place in the world. However, nothing pleased her more lately than the monotony of working in routine.

Awenha’s dark brown eyes narrowed she watched the program actuate then suddenly error. She continued to reboot the nano-modulator to catch the crappy trip scan that occurred when it booted up. The Joint Counter Terrorist Centre did not hire her to half-ass the stuff they dumped on her. Awenha had finally found her footing among the agency staff by proving her techniques and standards were just what the JCT needed to supplant divisive groups. But today she had spent a sixteen hour shift in a concrete building with recycled air eating days old left over tofu casserole that Carol brought once a month. However, she had to remind herself that top brass recruited her right out of the private sector and she had the same work for more money in Berlin.

Today, she needed the distraction. The side of her temple pounded as she rubbed at it. Anything really could pull her attention away her Project 458. And it would have been a sound reason to get off this floor.

“Hey, Dr. Broussard is coming into day with the Austrian terrorist.” Brock lazily strode in and tossed a file over on her metal desk. Awenha glanced over at the folder before typing up the final command before rebooting the device for hopefully the very last time.

The name Broussard kicked around in her memory. He had written a book about the criminal mind and the correlations of earlier childhood development. Something she had read in University with a typical dust cover with a morose bespectacled Dr Broussard on the back. But what he wrote was nothing much of a topic until she deviled deeper into his more controversial theories. Which she enjoyed more as they veered into the impossible, but she appreciated it.

“I wonder how long he will be here, I want to meet him.” She chimed in, then excitedly through a fist in the air.

“I got it! Finally, victory.” Awenha even jumped a bit as she walked toward Brock with the device. “Here, take this down to the team to deconstruct this thing. I want to know the origin of the code and where it is applied.”

Brock’s eyes didn’t blink as he stared at her. A subtle arch in is thin blonde eye brow gave away his blank expression.

“You can’t just walk down there. They’ve been hunting this man for ages.” Brock took the playing card sized ear shaped machine and shook his head at her. “It’s lock down time.”

“I’ll see how far I get.” She shrugged. “The worst that could happen is they turn me around. Then no loss.”

                   +                                        +                                        +

Her blue lab coat, and floppy badge gained her access passed every guard on her way to see that doctor of an obscure field of psychiatry. But she walked where her feet carried her though. She had never known a door too locked, a path too blocked that she couldn't get around. The area was busy with almost every agent in the building that was capable of firing a weapon. Awenha stirred with anticipation as she shifted her weight to the left nervously searching for the doctor.

“Sublevel 4, east wing! The blast paneling should hold him.” An armored man shouted from her left. Her eyes moved to the agents with guns and body armor escorting a large bullet proof containment cell and within it a man with jaw length hair with the saddest eyes she had seen in awhile. A tall statuesque man took long strides across the entry floor. Steve Rogers, Cap, steely eyed determination and absolute trust in his decisions held the gaze of the man he approached. He was certainly bigger in real time, she thought, as her eyes followed him across the facility.

And then her gaze settled upon a man, lean with glasses and a badge. He was walking in her direction and she eagerly stepped up to him. “Dr. Broussard?” she asked hastily.

The man didn’t stop at first, he offered a glance. His eyes shifted in the direction of the containment cell before he stopped and began to address her.

“Yes?” he asked.

Awenha’s eyes quickly glanced over his features, pale skin, two days worth of beard growth, thin faced, and his eyes darkened the longer she held his attention. This was not Dr. Broussard. She knew what he looked like on the dust cover. And the who now stood in front of her was not the dumpy doctor. Something was wrong here. Her mind raced at the implication of what she was discovering.

“You—You’re taller than I had expected. Sorry.” she stammered.

His expression changed quickly from curious to dangerous has he became uncomfortably close to her face.

“Dr. Tiakan is it? Counter terrorist biological division, floor 12; section 3?” He said in a thick accent she couldn’t place. She saw his hand reach up and hold her badge. “So, it would be easy to find you. In this building or outside of it.”

Everything about this man was presented in an air of threats and promises to harm. Awenha took a step back from him. Surprise and shock interrupted clearer thinking. And without another word spoken between them she turned to return to the safety of her lab.

                 +                                      +                                                 +

Awenha attempted a confident untroubled stride against the bundle of anxiety that formed in her mind. She held her chin up, focused her eyes on the on the path in front of her. Even so, she tried not to think about the man. Though it was never really in her personality to not act, her thoughts stilled at the consequences of not reporting. Doubt surfaced that perhaps she was wrong. Her instincts told her she was not. The man’s eyes and body language bore all the tale-tale signs of subterfuge, how could she be wrong? There could be only one course of action that was required. Awenha practically ran through her lab as soon as she entered the door toward her station. A quick search in the data base showed exactly the face of Dr. Broussard she had known. But wouldn't command know this? She asked her self. And the man who was now with this solider, the man who had threatened her, was not the good doctor.

Awenha bit at her fingernail as she stood in front of the screen. Her mind raced as she thought about command and who she could confide in. Her independence had been basically dependent on knowing those who could keep her in the position she wanted. Those few people pulled strings not ropes. Awenha rarely left her lab other than to eat and the only person she saw in command more than once was agent Natasha Romannoff. Awenha knew about her well enough not to speak about her life in great detail; the woman had a legendary memory. And the Avenger had been to her lab at least four times in the last year, so perhaps she could be trusted.

Awenha walked to her phone, picked it up and pressed the button for command when the phone cut off. The room fell dark and flashing emergency lights kicked on. It was silent. And it was a significant soundless feeling of apprehension that began to roll over her. It felt tense in her small lab, contrast to normal lighting everything was bathed in the dim lighting of emergency backup power with flashing red alert from the hall. She had been in action alerts before, several, but this felt different. A pointedly amount of fear began to surge through her and igniting her adrenal glands to call her into a flight or fight response.

Gun fire echoed down the hall in section 4.

Awenha ran back across her small lab to the half open door and then out into the hall. A few people ran, others closed their labs quickly, and then she saw a man. Centered in the hall, submerged in minimum lighting with crimson alarms shadowed across his features, he was walking with purpose in her direction. He filled the corridor, tall and stocky with power in his legs that only carried him faster than Awenha could process. A few seconds passed before Awenha began to piece together what this was. She was either in the way or his target. And yet, the false Dr Broussard couldn’t possibly believe her to be any real threat to his plans.

But then the man began to run.

Awenha dashed back into the safety of the lab she pushed her body upon the heavy metal door forcing it to shut. Before she could respond to what happened, Awenha was thrown back by the force of the man kicking the door open. She crashed backward into the nearby workstation, sending equipment and paperwork off the other side and clattering to the floor.

Terrified, she lunged for a gray crowbar underneath the diagnostic table. Adrenalin and fear moved her to swing haphazardly even before she was completely aware of the location of the threat. Her instincts were rewarded when she hit flesh, then another swipe Awenha bashed the man across the chest.

Her heart skipped a beat when she couldn’t retract the bar. Brown eyes traveled the length of the metallic bar to a hand. Silver material shined under the glow of emergency lighting in the shape of a fist that was wrapped tightly around the crow bar. Her ragged breathing was the sound she heard the loudest in this moment. Fear kept her still as she stared at the man.

Shaggy dark brown hair fell around a square white face with a rough beard. His thick brows above light eyes laid flat in zero expression. Oh god, she thought. Dull eyes were dilated to black in the low light. Dark pools swallowed her attention and focus and caused basic reflexes to grind to an agonizing halt.

His lips pulled back over white teeth as the man drew back his flesh right arm. The loud smack of his closed fist hit her left jaw, instantly smooth brown skin bruised. Stars and sparks blasted into her vision. The impact sent her into the wall behind the closed door, knocking the bar from her hand. He was on her before she could articulate the pain she was in. Her eyes rolled from the cement ceiling to the white door of her lab. Heavy eyes blinked back tears as her head lulled back in his direction.

The man gripped the collar of her blue lab coat he snapped her head back as he dragged her against him. Trembling hands pushed back on him. Thoughts of action came and went as adrenalin rushed through her veins. She kneed him in the groin but he did not react. Her dark brown eyes widened as he drew her closer to his face. More forcefully she pushed against his broad chest. Teary eyed and terrified she stared at him silently as she twisted her body in his grip. He held her tighter. He was hard like a wall, immovable.

The sound of his voice, short, clipped and feral rumbled in her ears. “It was easy to find you.” he said.

“I won’t say anything!” She pleaded and fought harder against his hold.

By only the collar of the coat the man shoved her to the floor so hard she heard the bones of her right wrist crack on impact. Hurt and scared her entire body shook. The beginning of tears poured into her eyes as she began to look around her immediate area.

Okoye’s smooth commanding voice filtered into her thoughts. Fight, anything can be a weapon you just have to be present in your surroundings.

Wild eyes landed on the compression spanner on the next workstation, it could be lethal in the right hands. It really could, she tried to convince herself. When triggered the blue plasma it radiated could burn hotter than a torch. Awenha bit past the pained wrist as she scrambled across the floor. Conquering the fear that threatened to stop her, Awenha started to sprint away from the man.

The sound of tearing and the splinting of her shin was heard first before she felt it. The pain swallowed her scream, her body jerked once again as a painful blow to her back and shoulders hammered the breath right out of her. Stunned and beaten into submission her body crumpled to the floor. Eyes wide in shock Awenha breathed, panic set in when she couldn’t feel if she was taking in air. Her hot swollen face pressed against the cool concrete floor she laid there and gasped for air. Crushing pressure across her back had her gripping the floor.

I don’t want to die. I don't want to die, her mind churned.

The tangy smell of iron filled her nose as slowly her breath returned. But the vibration of footfalls shifted her eyes in the direction of the man. She could see the detail on his dark boots, the trail of dust collecting the in nooks of the laces and shiny black speckles covered the tops. With a rough shove of his boot into her right shoulder he pushed her over.

“Stop!” Awenha’s mangled voice whimpered painfully in her throat.

Blood exploded from her mouth. His cold calculating eyes roamed over her body. She wondered what he was thinking. Her mind tripped over what could possibly be going through someone like him. His polished metal hand tighten into a fist. The mechanical hiss of servos whirled in the silence of the room. The feeling of dread shifted her eyes to his face. Sweat dripped from his nose as it flared, his jaw flexed. A sob rattled through her chest at the sight of him. Awenha raised a shaky hand, palm open in a show of surrender.

She flinched when he quickly stepped over her, straddled her body as he towered above her. His were eyes vacant of any of emotion. Seemingly lifeless eyes traced along her mouth, neck, and chest. Awenha’s mind raced as she saw his focus flicker down further to her body.

What did he want? Her mind reached for explanation. Anything to quiet the violent flashbacks of events that proceeded this moment. He was unreadable throughout the attack but here, now she knew from his roving gaze that he desired. The beating in her chest rushed blood to her head; she sucked in air hard trying to clear her mind. She couldn’t stop staring at him, unbelievable terror ripped through her mind at what the future held. The promise of continued strife and suffering lasted in the air between them. And with growing alarm tears began to pool around her eyes that blurred and darkened the image of him into a fuzzy outline. Not knowing what would happen next instantly made her nauseated. Awenha clinched her eyes against the feeling of sick. She tried to imagine anything but what had occurred.

She fought through the seizing feeling of faint when he fell to his knees. Her focus became the dull gray ceiling. She thought of the first time she entered the lab. Battling against the feeling of his hands pulling and tugging at the top of her blouse she tried to remember but lost it. His body was incredibly hot as he laid on her. Awenha made little effort to fight when he forced his body weight on her hard, the weight of him rushed out any air she was holding in. With a rough unlovable knee he kicked her rigid thighs apart to accommodate his lower half.

In her last stand, she resisted by turning her head at the feeling of his humid breath on her lips. Soft, warm, panting cascaded over her face as she moved to stop the scent from invaded her nose. -sweat, metal, and hot skin. His dry lips hovered over her ear; she could hear him swallow his breaths came more erratic in his intentions for her body.

She squeezed her eyes tight at the sound of his grunt.

A painful tug across the sensitive skin of her folds shot her eyes open. She heard one last rip and jumped under his weight as he tore her underwear from her body. A tattered scream flooded from her mouth but was quickly silenced with a strong clamp of his metal hand along her jaws. He dug in the edges of his metal fingers into her skin. Agonized resistance moved her body even when her mind had accepted her fate. Legs kicked, and the action shot searing pain up her right leg as a gargled moan escaped past the squeezing in her jaw. Still she bucked her hips against the attacker to gain distance.

His metal hand gripped her face hard forcing her to focus entirely on him and it stilted her motions. In this hell-scape moment she recognized that his eyes were blue- crystal blue, glassy and emotionless. Then she felt him painfully enter her body. She openly wept, tears streamed down the corner of wide eyes that remained fixed on vacant blue eyes. His breath was warm on her lips and moist in her nose. Awenha’s head jerked but could not move as he squeezed her jaw harder. She felt the warmth of his flesh hand casually caressed away a curly bunch of hair that covered the side of her face. His eyes fixated on her, she felt his hand return as he cupped the side of her head with every push. His eyes drifted in expressions between knowing and lust as he took her. It was different, a hint that his actions had emotional consequence for him.

Her vision was being consumed with him. There was no escaping him, no rescue, and no hope in her. The bumping motions of his hair as it glided around his damp face tickled her cheeks. But she was grateful for the sensation because for the rest of her had gone numb. Awenha’s mind tried to grasp at a memory, far removed from the hell of now. Bits and pieces of it filtered into her reality as she struggled to hang on to it. But it was ripped away when she felt his lips press against her. A small removed action that seemed foreign to him and yet did not stop him. She did not respond to his seemingly tender kisses and was met with harder pushing, a greedy action articulated with each painful plunge.

She heard him grumble low, his eyes fluttered shut as his mouth held against her as his motions halted. He opened his eyes; they were different now as he gazed down at her. Awareness shifted under hooded eyes and as quickly as she had witnessed it was replaced with a void of emotion. He freed her jaw and the pressure of his metal arm on her chest released as he put his weight on it and to stand. Awenha stared at him as he stared back at her. For a moment they locked eyes as if neither could occupy the meaning they both experienced. There was neither remorse, nor any sign that the crime he had committed affected him in any way other than raised his heartbeat.

And still his blue eyes watched. He stepped over her, cautiously retreating back toward the door never turning his back. And then she saw his eyes soften for a moment when he paused. Suddenly he looked away, his back straightened, his eyes returned to the blank expression. Awenha did not move quickly instead she pulled her lab coat around her chest. It was incredibly silent a part from her ragged breathing. She recoiled at his abrupt movement away from her as the man threw open the door and disappeared.